Date: 12 Jun 2002 19:06:21 -0700 From: Karen Rasch Subject: *REPOST* "By the Wind Grieved" (1/13) by Karen Rasch Source: atxc "By the Wind Grieved" (1/13 ) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine. They belong to 1013 and Fox Television. I'm merely borrowing them for fun. Sadly, no profit is being made. At least by me. Rating: PG-13 Classification: A, MSR Keywords: "Requiem", Reunion, Amnesia, Baby Archive: That would be lovely. Please make certain my name remains attached to the story. Thank you. I'm sorry I can't give you guys the option of downloading a single file, but as it stands I don't have a web site. Some people have mentioned to me my old URL (home.earthlink.net/~krasch) is still active. I find that odd as I haven't had an Earthlink account in almost a year. Regardless, I don't seem to have any control over that page anymore. If you're missing chapters I'm happy to email them to you. Spoilers: "Requiem" specifically, though really anything through Season 7 is fair game. This is a Doggett-free universe. Nothing against Robert Patrick, but I started this story before I fully understood his role in this new XF season. Summary: Stop the madness--it's another "Requiem" story! Although, some time has passed so perhaps the fanfic market isn't quite as flooded as it was a few months ago. This piece isn't necessarily a follow-up to "All We Know." It can work in that universe or it can stand alone. Whichever you prefer. Months have passed and Mulder is back. But things are not as they once were. He doesn't know who he is or what Scully and he are to each other. Together they must reclaim the past before their enemies take away their future. ************************************************** "Oh lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again." - Thomas Wolfe ("Look Homeward Angel") ************************************************** November 18, 2000 11:14 p.m. Washington, D.C. Nurse Tamika Taylor was little over three hours into her shift and already the night was one for the record books. Never, in all her years at Washington General, had a man magically appeared on a gurney in Admittance, unknown and unattended to. And never had a pregnant woman threatened her. A small pregnant woman with a badge. And a gun. Tamika had been standing at the desk, her head bowed, riffling through the array of papers in her hands, when the tiny terror barreled her way to the counter. "Excuse me. I'm here about the John Doe that was brought in earlier this evening." Engrossed, Tamika didn't even look up. "Just a second, please." "Nurse...Nurse, I'm sorry to interrupt whatever it is you're doing--" "I'll be right with you," Tamika promised, brow furrowed as she searched for the patient history she had assured Dr. Moretti would be run upstairs to him at once. But before Tamika could find the missing form, a slim, manicured hand dropped heavily atop the documents she held, flattening them in her grasp. "Not good enough." The three short, soft words lifted Tamika's gaze level. Inches from her nose was shiny federal badge. "I am Special Agent Dana Scully, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I have reason to believe that the man abandoned here tonight in one of your hallways may be a colleague of mine who has been missing for several months. I need you to take me to him immediately. If you do not, you will leave me no choice but to place you under arrest for impeding my investigation. Do you understand?" Taking a step back, Tamika looked around the badge to the woman holding it. Agent Scully stood petite and proud, her chin lowered, her lips pressed tight in an impatient little moue. Temper flashed in her eyes and resolve, the fierce, manic kind. Tamika considered calling Security, thought about rallying her co-workers around her and claiming home field advantage. Only she didn't say or do any of that. Because beyond the badge, past the spirit and command Tamika recognized when looking into Agent Scully's gaze, she caught a glimpse of something else. Fear. Hope. Desperation, just barely held in check. I don't know what your story is, Special Agent Dana Scully, Tamika mused, her eyes dark and discerning, but I'll bet that up till now it hasn't been the happily ever after kind. So rather than putting the other woman in her place, Nurse Taylor stepped out from behind the Admissions desk and gestured towards the hallway on her left. "He's this way," she said, leading the agent down the corridor. "We kept him here rather than sending him upstairs. We don't have all his lab work back yet, and with us not knowing who to call as next of kin and it being typical Saturday-night-busy--" "Is he all right?" Scully asked, her long winter coat flapping around her legs as they walked. Tamika shrugged. "It's difficult to say for sure. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness, so the doctors haven't had the opportunity to question him in any detail. "Based on what we do know, however, I'd say the prognosis is good. He shows signs of mild hypothermia and shock, and he seems under-nourished. Otherwise, everything checks out. Unless some surprises show up in his blood work, I see no reason why he shouldn't make a full recovery." "Thank God," the agent murmured beneath her breath, her eyelashes dipping in what looked to Tamika like a combination of weariness and relief. The nurse smiled, feeling a trifle awkward, not knowing either this woman or the situation well enough to adequately comment. "Well, here we are," she said, drawing to a halt outside one of the treatment rooms. "Your John Doe is behind the last curtain there." "Thank you," Agent Scully said. "No problem," Tamika assured her, their earlier confrontation all but forgotten. "I hope he's your man." Agent Scully smiled tightly, then nodded. "So do I." Intrigued despite herself, Tamika watched her, watched as the other woman crossed away from her and towards the far bed. She wasn't able to see the bed's occupant, not from her station near the door, but Agent Scully remained in view. Tamika saw how the other woman straightened her spine and squared her shoulders before beginning her short walk across the linoleum tile. She noted the way she paused just before reaching the opening of the curtain and wiped her palms against the sides of her coat, her hands seeming to tremble. In profile, she saw the agent's lips part and her eyes widen before she whispered, "Mulder? Mulder...is that you?" And she heard the unseen man reply in a voice that was wrinkled and worn as week old newsprint. "I don't...I'm sorry...Who are you?" * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter II "By the Wind Grieved" (2/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** "I don't...I'm sorry...Who are you?" The man in the bed looked up through bleary eyes. He was exhausted. And thirsty. And hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. The inside of his mouth tasted dry and rough, like it was lined with burlap. He suspected he might be drugged. It was hard to think, hard to see. No matter how intently he focused, everything appeared wrapped in gauze. And white. All around him was white. The bed linens, the curtain cocooning him, even the walls themselves. Blank. Sterile. Cold. All except her. The woman who spoke as if she knew him. With her bright head of auburn hair, she stood at the foot of his bed, glowing in the midst of all the chalky nothingness like a flame. Chilled despite the blankets covering him, the man wished he could reach out to her, draw her near and warm himself at her side. But that was out of the question. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone stretch out his hand. Then the woman moved, took a step or two closer, as if she had somehow sensed his yearning. She drew even with his waist, her coat draped around her, dark and full, concealing her body. So the man concentrated on her face. Her expression was gentle, yet pensive, her brow wrinkled with concern. She was pretty, this woman. Her eyes were blue. Vivid, summer sky blue. "I'm Scully," she told him softly, speaking slowly and carefully, as if the matter were of great import. "Dana Scully. Do you remember me, Mulder?" He wanted to, wanted to please her, this stranger who looked at him so kindly. He wished he could tell her what she so obviously longed to hear, to smooth the tiny crease between her worried eyes. But he so tired. Far too tired to lie. "No," he admitted in a whisper, his lashes drooping. She bit her lip and nodded. "That's okay," she said. "You've been through a lot. Why don't you get some rest? We'll talk more tomorrow." Tomorrow. She was coming back to see him. That was a good thing, he thought. Heartened by the notion, he closed his eyes. "'kay." She touched him as if to silently say good-bye, took his hand in hers and gave it a quick, firm squeeze. He was asleep before she had left the room. ***** Walter Skinner found the woman he was looking for curled over a cup of decaf in the hospital cafeteria. She was sitting alone, dressed in narrow black pants, white T-shirt, and a long, loose, gray v-neck. With it being well after midnight, the serving line was closed, but the room's vending machines shone brightly, wordlessly hawking their wares. A handful of other people sat scattered elsewhere around the room. "Agent Scully." Her eyes lifted from their contemplation of her coffee. Skinner could see her weariness reflected in them from twenty feet away. "Sir. Thank you for coming out so late." He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. "How is he?" She moistened her mouth with her tongue. "His doctors haven't gotten all their test results back yet, but based on their initial findings, he appears to be in amazingly good shape. He looked a little thin, I thought. And he shows signs of mild exposure and shock. But for the most part...I'm hopeful." "That's good," Skinner said, his face splitting with a grin. "That's great. Excellent news." "Yes, well...there is one thing." She was watching her coffee again, studying the path made by her spoon as she absently swirled it round the cup. "And what would that one thing be?" he asked, leaning in, his arms folded atop the table. Scully didn't look at him at first. When she spoke she tried to smile as if the curving of her lips might somehow leaven what she had to say. "When I saw him...he didn't seem to recognize me." Skinner pulled back a touch in surprise, his eyes narrowed. "Well, maybe..." He hesitated to even raise the issue, hated to see this woman's dreams dashed when she had been disappointed so many times before. Yet he couldn't help but wonder, "Scully, are you sure this guy is really him?" Her head remained bowed. He was getting very familiar with the part of her hair. "We won't have a positive ID, of course, until we're able to check his fingerprints and DNA against the information on file. But based on visual identification alone..." Her eyes met his. "...yes, Sir. I'm sure." Skinner nodded, eyebrows raised like twin flags of surrender. Of course she was sure. She wouldn't have called him otherwise. And if this man had passed Scully's own personal muster, chances were good the fingerprints and DNA would check out as well. After all, no one knew Fox Mulder as well as his partner. "So what do you think is going on?" Skinner asked. "Was he just tired or could it be maybe that his mind has been somehow ...impaired?" Lips pressed thin, she shook her head and, tapping her spoon against the rim of the cup, set it on the table. "I don't know. He seemed kind of out of it when I spoke to him. The nurse said he had been conscious only intermittently since they'd found him. It's possible he just needs time...time to adjust." Skinner nodded, but couldn't help but hear his own doubts and fears echoed in Scully's husky voice. "Where is he now?" "They're moving him to his own room. The two agents you sent were standing watch when I left. I'm going to head back up there, I...um...I just needed a minute." His mouth lifting in a lop-sided smile, Skinner laid his large hand on top of Scully's far smaller one, hoping the gesture lent her some small measure of comfort. A minute. Christ. A year probably wouldn't be sufficient time for this woman to process all she had been through in the past six months. He didn't know how she did it sometimes, how she managed to hold together not only the X-Files, but her life. And that of her partner. She had done it on her own; Skinner had no illusions about that. No matter how often he had attempted to help, to offer emotional support, be a friend, he was politely, yet firmly turned away. Scully was more than willing to accept from him professional assistance--greater access to the Bureau's vast resources, introductions to his own network of contacts--but she drew the line at anything personal. He suspected it had been the same for others who had tried to get close. The toll such isolation had demanded had been high. Looking at her now, drinking from her largely untouched cup of coffee, he could see the cost staring back at him from across the table. While her middle was swollen large with child, Scully's face was pale and pinched, circles pooled beneath her eyes, hollows throwing her cheekbones into even greater relief. He knew the kinds of hours she had been putting in. Alone, because she had resisted any and all attempts to partner her with someone else. She had worked the cases she had been assigned, then had routinely put in what amounted to another day's labor searching for Mulder. All of this accomplished while another life matured inside her. God. He was exhausted just thinking about it. "Come on, Scully," Skinner said, pushing to his feet. "Let's check in on Mulder one last time, then I'll take you home." Her eyebrow arched. "I'm not going home, Sir." His lips thinned in exasperation. "Scully, you told me yourself Mulder was pretty much out of it. I'm sure he'll sleep through till morning. You can be back here before he wakes up." She didn't even blink. "I'm not going home." He didn't want to argue with her, didn't want her to expend the energy necessary to go head to head with him. Bracing his hands against the tabletop, he leaned down and spoke quietly, his voice as gentle as he could make it. "Dana, he's going to be okay. He's resting in a room protected by two armed guards. He's safe. He's home." Her eyes began to glisten suspiciously. "Sir,...knowing what you know...about Mulder and me...do you really believe I could leave him on his own again?" Unable to hold her liquid gaze, Skinner sighed and looked away, his own guilt over Mulder's disappearance destroying both his ability and desire to sway her. "No. No, I guess not." She nodded, her expression showing no pleasure in his acquiescence, and taking one last sip, set aside what remained of her decaf. Standing straight again, he smoothed a hand over his bald head and glanced towards the door. "If you're finished with your coffee, what do you say you and I take a walk?" Her brows lifted in surprise. "Where to?" "Upstairs," he said, checking his watch. 1:03. It was going to be a long night. "I'd like to get a look at our supposed prodigal son myself." "Okay," she said, levering herself awkwardly out of her chair. Skinner hesitated just an instant before reaching out his hand to help her. His hesitation, however, was enough to make the move unnecessary. She rose, seemingly belly first, without his assistance. Gathering up her cup and spoon, she crossed to the trash bin, tossed them inside and returned to him. "He's in room 417," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Skinner nodded and fell into step beside her, just barely resisting the impulse to take her arm, knowing the courtly gesture would be unwelcome. There were some things Dana Scully just needed to do on her own. * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter III "By the Wind Grieved" (3/13 ) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** It wasn't the light filtering in through the room's blinds that awakened Scully. It was the sensation of someone else's eyes watching her. Pushing her tangled hair out of her lashes, she struggled to sit upright. Not an easy task given her present girth. She had fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning, slumped to the side in one the room's molded plastic armchairs, a spare pillow cushioning her head, her coat serving as a makeshift blanket. Despite her brave words to Skinner, she ached all the way up her spine, the pain most intense at her neck, which felt as if somehow during the night the muscles there had been tied in a series of macrame knots. Blinking away sleep, she directed her gaze towards the head of the room's single bed. The man she believed was Mulder sat there, propped against a mound of pillows, staring back at her. "You're awake," she croaked as she grabbed at the coat wadded in her lap, trying to keep it from slithering away and onto the floor. He nodded, his eyes shadowed and solemn. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "How do you feel?" At first, he said nothing. Then... "Better," he whispered hoarsely. Better than what, Scully wondered, looking at him with a mixture of wonder and dismay. True, his eyes seemed clearer than they had the night before and a touch of color had returned to his complexion. But his sharp cheekbones slashed his face, slicing through its usual boyish softness like razors; his hair was long and unkempt, his jaw and upper lip covered by beard. "He looks like Rip Van Winkle," Skinner had murmured when he had first laid eyes on him not all that many hours before. Yet, if this man was who she thought he was, he had been removed from his world not for years, but months. Only months. Not all that much has changed, has it, Mulder? Scully longed to ask. We're still who we were, aren't we? "I spoke to your doctors while you were resting," she said instead. "You seem to be responding well to treatment. They think you'll probably be up and around in no time." He just looked at her, a wariness she wasn't used to seeing from him, hardening his features. "What do you remember?" she queried softly, gently, determined to win his trust. Again, he said nothing, yet his eyes never relinquished their hold on hers. "Do you know your name?" she asked. He frowned and seemingly thought about it for a moment. "You said...last night," he rasped at last. "Miller...?" "Mulder," she said quietly. "Is that...my name?" he asked, his voice louder than hers, harsh, demanding. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, it is. Fox Mulder." "Fox Mulder," he echoed as if trying on the moniker for size. "Is it familiar to you?" she asked after a time. He held her gaze for a second longer before lowering his head and shaking it with remorse. "No." "It's okay--" she began soothingly. "No. No, it's not!" he suddenly growled, his eyes once more boring into hers. "I don't know who I am." The outpouring of words must have tickled something in his obviously parched throat. He began to cough then, almost immediately, gag. Wincing at the pained sound, Scully hoisted herself out of her seat as quickly as she was able and crossed to the bedside table to pour him a glass of water. Behind her, her coat puddled unnoticed on the floor. "Easy, easy now," she murmured, handing him the styrofoam cup. "Just take it easy." His eyes closed against their tearing, the man in the bed sat hunched over the glass, seemingly oblivious to her, taking small, careful sips. The water appeared to be doing its job. Slowly, he quieted. "You'll remember," Scully said as she watched him, just barely resisting the urge to comfort him with her touch. "You will. You just need to give yourself time." "How do you know?" he ground out, lifting his head. But before Scully could answer, all her would-be assurances wilted like blossoms under a dessert sun. His expression... Why was he looking at her like that? "Who are you?" he whispered, shrinking against the bed clothes, his eyes wide with a kind of dread. "What--?" she began, confused by his actions. "I told you. My name is Dana Scully." "No...not what I mean," he mumbled, shaking his head, his hands all but crushing the now empty cup. "What do you mean, then?" she asked, wondering at his sudden mood swings. Such shifts were to be expected, she supposed, given all he had no doubt been through. But that didn't make dealing with them any easier. "I don't understand. What's wrong?" "How do you know me?" he asked her, his gaze now averted, focused instead on his lap. "Who are we...?" "We're friends," she said, stepping closer. "We work together." "Friends," he echoed softly, as if he didn't quite believe her. "Yes." "And that's it....friends?" "Well, no. I mean...we're partners," she said, struggling to find a way to distill all Mulder and she had been through over the years into a simple line or two. "Partners?" he parroted weakly, his eyes lifting to hers before dropping to her middle. Swallowing hard, he paled and stared at the rounded expanse sheltering their unborn child. Scully's gaze followed his. Oh, she realized with dismay. I see. I get it. "Yes. We're partners, Mulder," she said, her voice determinedly calm and low, her hand resting now atop his shoulder. "We've worked together for years. You're my dear, dear friend." He gazed up at her for a breath or two, intent, his posture still and taut. "So, then this...?" Scully took a deep breath, hesitating just an instant before assuring him, "We're =friends=." Their eyes held for a moment or two more before the man she hoped was her partner dropped his head into his hands and expelled a long, shaky breath. "Oh, thank God....Thank God." Trying hard not to feel hurt by his fervent relief, Scully didn't notice at first the man framed in the room's doorway. "Agent Scully, may I have a word with you?" Assistant Director Skinner. Dressed in his tailored nine-to- five garb, the suit and trench coat a marked contrast to the previous evening's sweatshirt and jeans. Unable to read her superior's shuttered expression, she gently patted the bedridden man's shoulder in farewell and joined Skinner in the hallway. He immediately took her by the arm and, stepping past the room's two gun-toting agents, guided her away. "You want to tell me just what the hell that was all about?" Skinner muttered, practically dragging her down the corridor in his rush to put space between them and the mystery man. "What are you talking about?" she fired back, pulling herself free from his grasp. "What do you mean telling him that child isn't his?" he demanded, bending down to stage whisper the words into her face. "Why would you do such a thing?" "I fail to see how that's any concern of yours, Sir," she retorted, her nagging conscience lending a measure of belligerence to her tone. "Normally, I'd agree with you, Scully," he said. "What my agents do in their off-hours is their own business. "However, in this particular instance, things are different. With you and Mulder it all gets mixed up--personal, professional --maybe you can see where one ends and the other begins, but I sure as hell can't." "Either way--" "Scully, if that is Mulder in there, he deserves the truth," Skinner said swiftly, his tone gentling just a touch. "After all he's been through...anything less would be unfair. Especially from you. He's lost months of his life. According to what you've told me, his memory--" "Sir, how long were you standing there just now?" she queried softly. "Long enough," he replied. "Long enough to see the look of horror on his face when he thought perhaps this child might be his?" she asked, trying hard to ignore the tears she could feel pricking at the backs of her eyes. Skinner grimaced in sympathy. "Scully, I'm sure--" "I know he didn't do it to hurt me," she said wearily, looking away as she pushed her fingers through her still tousled hair. "In fact, I'm sure he didn't give his reaction any conscious thought at all." Skinner reached out and touched her gently on the arm. Scully wished he hadn't. It was so much harder to hold it all together when someone made an effort to be nice to her. "That man--whoever he is--is frightened and terribly confused. He's ill. He doesn't know who he is or where he's been. And he certainly doesn't know how the hell this baby or I fit into the picture." "That's still no reason to lie to him," Skinner said gruffly. "I didn't lie to him," Scully insisted, looking up at him once more. "Maybe not outright," Skinner admitted begrudgingly. "But there is a little thing known as 'the sin of omission'." "Don't you think I wanted to tell him, Sir?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. "To share this with him. Don't you think I would have told him everything if I could?" Seemingly unable to hold her gaze, Skinner studied instead the tile at his feet. "Scully--" "We don't even know for certain that man in there is him," she continued, striving for a reasonable tone. "My gut tells me that it is. And yet, I could be wrong. What point is there in discussing this at all until we know for sure?" Lips pressed thin, Skinner glanced up at her and nodded. "And besides--even if that is Mulder in that bed. He's not ready for it, Sir," she said with a sad, sure smile. "Believe me. That man in there is barely able to consider his own identity, let alone the responsibilities that identity may have waiting for him." "So what do you want to do?" he asked. Scully shrugged, one brow lifting in tandem with her shoulders. "First, confirm who he is. Then, we help him heal." "And if this guy is indeed Mulder, when during that process do you tell him he's a father?" "When he's ready." Skinner chuckled mirthlessly. "How do you plan on knowing when that is?" "I'll know." He shook his head, seemingly bemused. "You sound awfully sure of yourself, Scully." "Do I?" she queried with rueful surprise, allowing herself the luxury of leaning against the hallway wall for support. "Well, that's good to know." "How's that?" "Because, Sir," she said wryly, "I have never been less sure of myself in my entire life. And yet, the last thing that man in there needs is for me to show doubt, she thought to herself. About him. About me. About any of it. I need to be strong. For all of us. Strong, she repeated silently. I've got to be strong. For just a little while longer at least. * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter IV "By the Wind Grieved" (4/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** The results came back from the lab in a matter of days, the process driven by the Assistant Director himself. The fingerprint analysis and DNA findings bore out Dana Scully's initial ID. The man who had been abandoned in Washington General's corridor was indeed none other than the previously missing Fox Mulder. One mystery solved. Yet so many others remained. Namely--at least, in the mind of a certain recently returned FBI agent--where the hell had he come from and where did he go from here? Some of the answers weren't all that long in coming. Without consciously meaning to, Mulder soon fell into a kind of routine with the woman he had come to accept as his partner. She visited him in the hospital everyday, sometimes more than once. Often, she would stop by in the morning on her way to work and then return in the early evening before she headed back home again. On the weekends, her presence was even more pronounced. She camped out in his room from breakfast until well after his dinner tray had been cleared. In the beginning, when he did little more than sleep the hours away, it seemed neither of them knew quite what to say to each other. Which wasn't exactly surprising, Mulder would later acknowledge to himself. After all, he had no history to draw upon with which to make conversation and Scully appeared too concerned with his well-being to do much more than sit beside his bed and murmur reassurances. For the first few days, he allowed it, allowed her to treat him like hand-blown glass. Precious, yet delicate, and far too easily broken. Soon, however, as his energy increased and a vague sense of himself began to form, it galled him that this tiny pregnant woman believed it her duty to protect him. He started to get angry. At himself, at the great gaping void that was his past. And at her, for knowing him better than he did himself. "Why are you the only one who visits me?" he asked a week into in his convalescence, his query voiced with a petulance he regretted but could not contain. "You and that bald guy." "Assistant Director Skinner," she clarified, seemingly set on ignoring his fit of pique. "He's our boss, the man we report to. As for anyone else dropping by...we've um...well, we haven't exactly publicized your return." Fears about his blasted safety again, he guessed. He knew he was being guarded, not only by this Scully woman but by the two armed behemoths patrolling outside his doorway. They had even installed a security system on his windows. As if anyone was going scale four floors just to get to him. "But my family...," he began, dismissing such a ridiculous idea. "You've at least told them, right?" At that, Scully looked away, and moistened her mouth with her tongue. "Mulder...I'm sorry," she said to a point somewhere near his left hip. "But I'm afraid there really isn't anyone to tell." "No one?" he asked, the revelation coming as a bit of a shock. He realized he was no longer a child, but surely he wasn't of so advanced an age that he had outlived the rest of his immediate circle. "What--I've got no mother or father? What about a brother or sister?" "Your father passed away several years ago; your mom, earlier this year. You had a sister...but she died when you were both in your teens." Hearing the unfortunate news, he fell silent for a time, chewing on his lower lip and staring sightlessly at the wall opposite his bed. "Do I have a wife?" he finally queried. "No." "Girlfriend?" She hesitated for an instant before saying softly, "No. You don't." He couldn't decide which was worse, the wave of loneliness that, at that moment, threatened to drown him or the pity he was certain would be waiting for him when he again met his partner's gaze. Closing his eyes against both, he drew up his knees and, balancing his elbows atop them, dropped his head into his hands. "Shit." "Mulder?" "How long did you say I was missing for?" he asked, scrubbing his now smooth cheeks with his palms. A few days before, he had let them shave him and cut his hair. The hospital barber had used his FBI badge as a guide. "How many months?" "Six. You disappeared last May." Chuckling without a trace of humor, he shot Scully a sideways glance, his temple resting wearily against his knee, his arms now looped around his calves. "Tell me I at least have a dog who noticed I was gone." With what looked like regret, she shook her head. "No dog. Fish." "Fish," he said with disdain, his eyebrows arching towards his hairline. "I've been taking care of them," she assured him. "You've ...or rather =I= have lost a couple, though. We'll need to take you shopping for more." "Fish," he said again, the word mumbled, his face once more pressed against his knees. "Who the hell keeps fish? They're not pets, they're accessories. Like lamps or ashtrays. What good are they?" "Given our lifestyle, I'm sure you--" "'Our lifestyle'?" he echoed, sitting back and twisting to face her more fully. "See...that's another thing I don't get." "What?" she asked, all calm and composed in her tailored wine-colored pant suit. It made him crazy how cool she was, how perpetually in control. But then, why wouldn't she be? he reasoned. After all, he was the one in the spotlight. The one everyone was watching, the odd one who had vanished only to reappear like some sequined magician's assistant. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to be his friend and yet it seemed whenever they were together, all she did was ask him questions, grilling him, like he had done something wrong... How do you feel, Mulder? Do you remember me, Mulder? Do you even know your fucking name, you stupid, stupid man? Screw that. Let's see how Agent Scully likes being on the receiving end for a change. "So, what does your husband think about all this?" "M-my husband?" she sputtered. Hmm. Judging by the look on her face, that little salvo caught her by surprise. Good. Mulder shrugged. "Husband, boyfriend...whatever. What does he think about you hanging out here all the time? Is he the jealous type?" Scully cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter in her chair. "What makes you think I'm married?" He made a show of eyeing her up and down. "Well, you may not be wearing a ring," he conceded after a beat or two, his gaze slipping from her now flushed face to her prominently expanded middle. "But you certainly didn't get like that all on your own." "Mulder, I-I don't think...this is neither the time nor the place..." No question about it. He had struck a nerve. The auburn- haired agent was good and flustered. And angry. If looks could kill, he'd be dead ten times over. Wow, he thought. This was fun. "I mean...what's a guy to think?" he goaded, warming now to the game. "You sit here day after day, hour after hour, presumably to keep me company. You tell me we're only friends, yet =clearly= there is someone with whom you've been 'friendlier' in recent months. So, I've gotta wonder-- what's going on here--?" Moving clumsily, Scully pushed slowly to her feet. "Mulder, enough--" Only he wouldn't stop. Couldn't. All the frustration, all the anger he held towards his predicament and the nameless, faceless faction who were responsible for it finally had an outlet. A target. And, what do you know--it was even painted red. "Come on, Scully. Tell me the truth," he demanded with a sneer, leaning towards her now from his place amongst the bedclothes, his manner as aggressive as he could manage given his weakened state. "Am I the other man?" Lips pressed tight, she shook her head. "I'm not going to even--." Then, deciding to say no more, she stopped and turned away, her intention clearly to leave the field of play. Yet, Mulder couldn't help but get in a final parting shot. "Am I the other man, Scully?" he called after her, his voice insinuating and snide. "Or is he?" Scully had gotten all the way to the door, her heels tip-tapping smartly against the linoleum tile. The hour was late--at least, for hospital time--and in deference to their privacy, Skinner's bodyguards had allowed her to close the door. Her hand circled now around the knob. But rather than turning it and continuing her march to the hall beyond, she paused there, her head slightly bowed. "Y-you know, Mulder...you say you wonder if anyone noticed you were gone." She was sputtering again, speaking with the same strangled timbre which earlier had signaled her anger. Mulder sat there in his bed, paralyzed with an exhilarating mixture of anticipation and fear. Was she was going to return to the game, he wondered, would she whirl around and let him have it, eyes flashing, both barrels blazing? Part of him welcomed the idea, wanted to see this particular woman with a full head of steam, her usual composure melted away by the heat. Only, there wasn't a bit of him who yearned for what he got instead. When Dana Scully faced him once more, her posture straight, her stance strong. Tears shining in her stormy eyes. "I did," she told him. "I noticed. I missed you every minute of every day for the last six months." He didn't know what to say to that. All the words that had been pushing and shoving inside his mouth in their rush to be spoken had seemingly already been voiced. "Seven years we've been together, Mulder. For seven years, you've been my best friend," she continued quietly. "I've worked beside you, fought for you and with you, covering your back the same way you covered mine. We were a team. "Then one day you went into the field without me. You left me behind, and took Skinner in my place. Only...only he came back alone. He told me...he told me he had lost you. "Lost you," she repeated in a whisper, her shoulders lifting and falling in a forlorn little shrug. "Like a mitten or a shoe. I-I tried to find you. For months, I tried. But there weren't really any clues for me to follow and even with what I did know, I had no idea where to begin looking." Shamed, Mulder listened to her, regret finally urging one soft word past his lips. "Scully..." "So, I'm sorry if you feel trapped in this bed," she said, ignoring his entreaty, an errant tear escaping from between her lashes. "I'm sorry you're frustrated and confused and undoubtedly frightened by all that's been going on. "But I'm not sorry we've got you here safe and secure. You're back, Mulder. Finally. That's what's important to me. And if having that means I've got to put up with a few temper tantrums along the way...well, if you could remember anything about us, you'd know I've been through a hell of a lot worse." Wiping her cheek dry with a single, impatient swipe of her fingertips, she turned back towards the door. Only, he couldn't let her go. Not now. Not yet. "Scully," he tried again, this time a little louder than before. "Wait." "What?" she asked with a sigh, both hands wrapped around the knob this time, her face averted from his view. At a loss for what to say, but suddenly desperate to keep her there, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "When are you due?" She hesitated a moment, then looked over her shoulder at him. "January fourteenth." "A Capricorn," he said. "Really?" "Yeah," he assured her, although he couldn't fathom why he knew such a thing. "Just like Jesus." She stood there for a beat or two longer, still only partially turned towards him, her hair hiding much of her expression. "Good night, Mulder," she said at last, twisting her wrist and cracking open the door. "Scully?" he called again, stopping her before she could make her exit. "What?" she asked, now silhouetted in profile by the hallway light's glare. "Whoever he is, he's a lucky guy." The corners of her lips quirked. "Yes, he is," she agreed. She then pulled the door shut behind her, murmuring, "Luckier than he knows." * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter V "By the Wind Grieved" (5/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** Scully hated lying to him. It had been bad enough at the beginning, when he had been frail and whiskered and confused, so unlike the Mulder she had known. But as time passed and his strength returned, she found her deception increasingly difficult to maintain. The Fox Mulder she knew was back. Or so it seemed. Every day, she watched his personality develop, take shape before her eyes, its form familiar and sorely missed. She discovered, to her delight, that his intelligence remained intact, that his sense of humor was as droll as ever. He looked now just as he always had, his hair trimmed, his face shaven. He had even regained the weight he had lost, the junk food he had charmed her into smuggling past the nursing staff no doubt assisting in the effort. She spent every spare hour sitting by his bedside, talking to him, answering questions and calming his fears. Together they played board games and cards, watched television, and discussed the books and magazines she brought him. Stories were told; history was shared. Bit by bit, Scully relearned him, while at the same time, tutoring Mulder on her. She had to. Because while Mulder was now able to hold discourse on any number of subjects--from the Chaos Theory to Sandy Koufax's curve ball--he still had no knowledge whatsoever of his own life or any of the other lives that had touched it. Which was ultimately why, despite her grave misgivings, she yet refrained from telling him her child was his. This Mulder had no memory of their years together, she reasoned when she lie awake at night, twisting restlessly beneath the covers. He didn't know of their joint sacrifices and devotion, their triumphs and their trust. He couldn't even remember loving her. So how could she burden him with the responsibilities of that love? No. She would wait. Wait until he was better, until he was completely restored. And with any luck, that day wouldn't be all that long coming, she assured herself one December Sunday morning as she greeted the guards sipping coffee outside Mulder's hospital room. She had gotten the official word from his doctors. The latest round of test results were in. Aside from his highly selective case of amnesia, her partner had a clean bill of health. The psychologist assigned to the case recommended he continue with regular therapy sessions. Otherwise, his physicians saw no reason why he couldn't be released. Mulder didn't know it yet, but she had come to take him home. "Hey, Scully--am I into college football?" "I don't know," she said, entering the room and closing the door behind her. "Are you?" Mulder sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, a heather gray henley, and floppy white socks. He had his glasses on and was surrounded by sections of the Washington Post. "That's just it. I don't know," he said, gesturing to the sports page. "I'm reading the paper and there's all this talk about the bowl games coming up--national championships and all that--and it means nothing to me. You said that... before...I liked sports. So shouldn't this...shouldn't I care who wins and who loses? I mean...shouldn't this interest me in some way?" She considered as she eased her coat from her shoulders. "Perhaps. But, honestly, Mulder, while it's true you followed sports, I don't recall you rooting for any particular college team." He frowned. "So, I =didn't= like football?" She shook her head. "I didn't say that. I just remember you being more into pro ball. Like the Redskins, for example." This seemed to perk him up. "I liked the Redskins?" "Well, they =are= the home team," she said with a smile. "But, yes, to answer your question, you were a fan. You even invited me to a game once." "I did?" he said, seemingly pleased at the revelation, his small smile mirroring her own. "What happened? Did we go?" Her smile fading slightly, Scully shook her head again. "No, we didn't. We couldn't. The case we were working on got in the way." "Too bad," he murmured with what sounded like real regret, his eyes drawn once more to the newsprint circling him. "Mulder, what's this all about?" she asked, crossing towards the bed, her coat folded over her arm. "What does it matter what team or even what sport you liked before? You're not bound by your past, you know, any more than anyone else is." "You're right," he said, gathering up the newspaper sections and stacking them in a ragged pile. "I have absolutely no ties to my past. That's the problem." "I didn't mean it like that--" "Don't you get it, Scully?" he asked, tossing the paper to the foot of the bed and swinging his legs around to sit facing her. "I've been meeting with my shrink every day for the past two weeks. We've tried talking it out, drawing it out, hypnosis--you name it. And I still can't remember a damned thing prior to waking up in this hospital. I don't know anything about myself. Nothing except what you've told me. I can't tell you my favorite food, what movie I saw last. I can remember how the game of football is played but I haven't a clue whether I cheer for Florida or Florida State. You tell me--how is that possible?" "I don't know. I don't know what's causing this. But I do know you can't rush the process," she said, reaching out her hand and laying it lightly on his shoulder. "You've got to give yourself time--" "I'm sick to death of time," he muttered, looking up at her from the edge of the mattress, his gaze hectic. "I have a seemingly endless supply of it, but nothing to do with it. Do you know what I do when you're not here, how I spend all my precious time? I read. I watch TV. I wait for some... something. A moment, an instant. Some flicker of a memory. But it never comes, Scully. It never does. So I look at the paper some more, I watch the news, I talk to the guys at the door. I fill my days with other people's lives, not my own." "Mulder...," she murmured, lifting her hand to skim it gently through the hair at his temple. The strands sifted between her fingers, silky and cool. "I know it's hard, but it's not going to be like this forever. You just need to be patient." With her touch, he bowed his head and sighed. "Shit. Oh, shit. Scully, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I swore to myself I wasn't going to do this again." "Do what again?" she asked, repeating the caress. He lifted his gaze to hers, his lips twisting with what appeared to be chagrin. "Be a selfish, ungrateful son of a bitch. Like I was before." She draped her coat over the foot board and sat down beside him. "Before what?" she asked. Removing his glasses, he closed his eyes once more and rubbed the lids with the heels of his hands. "Like that night... when I was such a bastard. I told myself I wasn't going to let that happen a second time." "And you haven't," she said with shrug. "Nothing happened here but a little venting, Mulder. That's all. Given all you've been through, I'd say you're entitled." He turned his head and peered at her through his lashes, his eyes now bleary and bloodshot from their massage. "I don't need to take it out on you, though." "Don't worry about it," she said, bumping companionably against his shoulder with her own. "I'm tougher than I look. Besides, that's what friends are for. To be a sounding board. You'd do the same for me." He looked at her for a breath or two, studying her face, his expression thoughtful. Then, setting his glasses aside, he reached over and captured her hand in his. Focusing on their clasped palms, he said quietly, "I would, you know. I would do that or anything else you asked. I owe you, Scully. I owe you a lot. Don't think I don't realize how much." All but hypnotized by his nearness, by Mulder's soft voice and the slow sweep of his thumb across her knuckles, she spoke in a hush, as if fearful anything louder might shatter the fragile mood. "Mulder, you don't owe me anything. I don't expect some sort of 'payment' from you. I'm here because I want to be here. Because I don't know where else I would be but with you." Her confession seemed to surprise him, and he hesitated an instant before asking shyly, "So does that mean you're going to continue coming to see me, even though the possibility exists I'm going to act like a jerk?" "Your being a jerk has nothing to do with it," she said, taking the opportunity to transition their conversation, to broach the main reason for her being there, "but I'm afraid I won't be coming to the hospital anymore." Mulder's look of panic made her instantly rue her wording. "What...why not?" Giving his hand what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze, she said, "Because you won't be here." He shook his head, clearly confused. "Why? Where will I be?" "Home," she said simply. "Home?" he echoed with a frown. "Yes," she said, taking hold of his other hand. "Your home, Mulder. Today's the day. I've spoken with your doctors. They see no reason to keep you here. The work that still needs to be done can be done on an outpatient basis. As far as they're concerned, you're free to go." He blinked at her. "I talked to Skinner. I know this probably wouldn't be your first choice, but he wants to keep the guards assigned to you," she went on, "at least initially. While we're getting you checked out of here, I'll have them do one last sweep of your apartment. We've been over it before, but you never know. I think it's better to be safe." Gnawing on his lower lip, he nodded, his gaze dropping away. Puzzled by his continued silence, Scully leaned in closer, her head cocked in question. "Mulder?" "Wow," he said breathlessly, his eyes yet evading hers. "Aren't you happy?" she asked, sitting back and releasing his hands. "I mean...I thought you'd be excited about this, about the opportunity to start living your life again." "What life?" he queried darkly. "The life I can't remember?" "You will," she assured him, tamping down all her own doubts and fears in the face of his. "You've got to believe that." He sighed and looked at her at last. "Scully, I can't even remember where I live." Smiling, she once more covered his hand with hers. "Lucky for you, I can." Reaching into her coat pocket, she grabbed hold of the key chain Mulder had once given her, and dangled the shiny ring between them. "And if you're nice to me, I'll even lend you my key." ***** Mulder didn't know what he expected when he entered his apartment for the first time. A part of him half suspected some crazed villain might be waiting there, his still unnamed kidnapper ready to greet them with a gun. Another hoped perhaps the space might spark something, a familiar smell or sight at long last urging some deeply buried memory to the surface. He was unprepared, however, for what did occur. Nothing. No images of the past floated to mind, no snippets of conversations long forgotten or moments frozen awaited retrieval. This place was to him like any other. Only colder and dustier than most, its rooms smelling of stale air and neglect. "We need to bump up the thermostat," his partner said from somewhere behind him. "I'd turned it down to try and conserve energy." He heard the door close and turned to face her. Scully looked back at him, dressed in her weekend get-up of stretch pants and sweater. While she met his gaze directly, Mulder saw in her eyes a kind of wariness. This was uncharted territory for them both and, despite her brave front, he could tell Scully was as nervous about it as he. Oddly enough, he found comfort in that. She didn't know what would happen now. Neither did he. "So this is the place, huh?" he said for want of anything better. "This is it," she confirmed. "If I haven't mentioned it before, thank you for keeping it for me," he said, setting down the small bag he had brought with him from the hospital. "I'll pay you back whatever I owe you." "I know," she said, crossing away from him to adjust the thermostat. "I'm not worried about the money." "I am," he admitted, sliding his arms free from his leather jacket and hanging it on an odd-looking coat rack just inside the door. "I don't even want to think about my hospital bills." "I wouldn't worry about that either," she said as she moved to the living room windows and drew open the blinds. Outside, the gray winter sky hung overhead with a gloom that matched Mulder's own. He wondered if he could make it any cheerier inside by flipping on a light. It was worth a try. "You'd be surprised what the FBI's health insurance will cover. Besides, you were working on a case when you went missing, all the proper paperwork filed and everything. As the investigation into your disappearance remained open all these months, you've continued to draw a salary. The paychecks should be piling up." "Great," he murmured absently as he wandered in her direction, taking in his surroundings. "Maybe I can afford to buy some new furniture then." Standing at his desk, Scully looked appalled at the notion. "Why would you want to buy new furniture?" He glanced again at the shelves, the prints, the chairs and tables--all functional, yet far from fashionable. "Why wouldn't I?" he asked. "I mean...look at this place. It's not exactly the lap of luxury." She shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong with it." "You don't see anything wrong with it?" he echoed. "Scully, open your eyes--it's a pit." "Mulder, it hasn't had anyone living in it for six months," she said reasonably, although the urgency with which she argued her point suggested she wasn't entirely disinterested. "The place is bound to look a little rough around the edges." "Maybe," he conceded, his lips pursed in thought. "I don't know, though. If nothing else, this couch has got to go." To his surprise, Scully stepped between him and the sofa, almost as if she thought to protect it from him. "You can't get rid of this couch." "Why not?" he asked, smiling, amused by her vehemence. "It's all beat up. Look at it--it's scratched and scuffed. It's even got a little tear here along the seam." "Mulder, you love this couch," she said, her arms folded firmly against her chest. "When I first met you, you slept on it practically every night." He looked down into her upturned face. "Why did I do that?" Thinking about it for a moment, she shook her head. "I don't know. Probably because you kept falling asleep while you were in the middle of things. You've always driven yourself pretty hard, but it was especially true back then. We had a lot going on. I don't think you cared where you laid your head." Mulling over that particular insight, he crossed back towards the entry hall, thinking he would check out the kitchen next. "What about you, Scully? You seem pretty driven, and yet I'll bet your place is more Martha Stewart than this." "Oh, I don't know about Martha Stewart," she said, trailing after him. "I'll admit, there was a time in my life when things like whether the curtains matched the rug were important to me. But... I don't really feel that way anymore." "You don't?" he queried, looking back at her, surprised yet pleased she was revealing something personal. Their conversations tended to revolve around him. It was a treat to hear her talk about herself instead. "That seems odd. Especially with the baby coming. Don't most women like to nest?" His mentioning the child appeared to make her uncomfortable. Frowning, she unbuttoned her coat, then removed it, draping it over a nearby chair, all the while avoiding his eyes. "It's funny you should say that. My mom has been bugging me.... I haven't even gotten a nursery together yet. No crib, no nothing." "Why?" he asked, standing across the dining room table from her. She shrugged, seemingly still self-conscious. "I don't know. I was focused on other things, I guess. I kept thinking I had time. You know? That I'd get to it sooner or later." "Tick-tick, Scully," he said with a smile. "You're getting close now. Better put Pampers on your Christmas list." He had expected a quick retort, a chuckle, or a perhaps only a smile. Instead, Scully said nothing at first. Rather, she stared at him, stared hard, a kind of wonder in her gaze. He had no idea what he had done to prompt such a reaction. Yet, he would have given anything to know its cause. He would have given anything to have her look at him that way again sometime. "I already got my Christmas gift, Mulder," she said at last, circling around the table to stand less than an arm's length away. "It just came a month early. That's all." She was looking at him with such feeling, such emotion, he couldn't speak. His throat felt suddenly thick, almost as if it were swollen with strep. He swallowed hard against it, but the words still wouldn't come. Scully didn't seem to notice. She too was silent now, her eyes bright amidst the shadows, her lips curved in a tremulous smile. Something was happening between them here, he thought, something important. He could sense it, but couldn't name it. It was all too new. This life, this woman... What had he done to prompt this? What had he said? What did she want from him? What would the old Mulder do? Thankfully, he didn't have to answer any of those questions. Scully found her voice first. "You don't need to say anything, Mulder," she told him calmly, almost as if she had read his mind. "I just want you to know... it's really good to have you back." "It's good to be back," he replied, her seeming calm somehow relaxing him as well. He might not fully understand what had just passed between them, but the certainty he saw in her made his own doubts seem silly and unnecessary. Whatever it was they had--friendship, partnership--it was good. That, he knew. He could trust it. And her. "Thank you for being the one to welcome me home." Smiling, she fell silent again and, opening her arms, stepped into his embrace. His eyes closing, Mulder clasped her to him carefully, mindful of her size and the life she sheltered inside her. She felt small against him and warm, her heat chasing away the apartment's stubborn chill. As they stood there, holding each other, he marveled at how quickly perception could change, at the speed with which a person could long for something they once had shunned. When he had first realized Scully was pregnant, that this woman who had appointed herself his guardian angel was with child, he had panicked. He had thought her concern was for him alone, that she had found him, slept by his bedside, armed and ready to defend him, because she cared for him, worried for =him=. Weak and confused, he had desperately needed that kind of strength, had relied upon it almost instantly. Without understanding why exactly, he was convinced this woman could help him. She knew him, after all, had called him by name. Yes. She would make sense of all the nonsense. He believed that. He had to. Until her coat dropped from her lap, and he saw his protector was only months away from giving birth. Then, an odd irrational fear took root inside him. What if Dana Scully had come to him with needs of her own? What if she was the one looking to him for support, for comfort? What if he was her baby's father? No, no. It was all too much. He couldn't be that man. Not just then. He had his own problems to deal with, he couldn't shoulder hers as well. Please, don't let the baby be mine, he had pleaded shamelessly to the heavens. Please, please, don't let it be mine. God may not have answered him directly, but Scully had responded readily enough. Her child belonged to another man, she had told him. They were merely friends. Just friends. The knowledge had soothed him then. How ironic that in recent days he had begun to yearn for something more. But then...who could blame him? he mused, his cheek nestled against her hair. Scully was a beautiful woman. Her body fit well with his, he noticed, even with her swollen tummy. He liked the way her head tucked neatly beneath his chin, how the base of her spine was positioned perfectly for his hand. She smelled of Ivory soap, warm womanly skin and the faintest hint of lavender, her subtle perfume wholesome, yet strangely erotic. He imagined for a moment what it might be like to wake up to that same smell on his pillow. If he wasn't careful, he could get used to this, he admitted to himself, breathing her in. He could grow accustomed to holding her, soft and supple in his arms. And wouldn't it be easy to want still more? a small voice needled inside his head. Don't you wonder what her lips might taste like, how her body would feel sliding hotly over yours? Aren't you curious what sounds she would make if you touched her just right? But that wasn't going to happen, he reminded the voice. None of it was. Much as he might be tempted to learn the answers to those and so many other questions he had regarding Dana Scully, the truth was she belonged to someone else. Her life was with a man whose name he had not yet even learned. It wasn't lack of curiosity that kept the information from him. He was dying to know just who this bozo was. But after the previous week's fiasco--the one where he had basically accused her of two-timing--he had made himself a vow to stay out of his partner's affairs. That was the least he owed her, especially after the way he had behaved. If she wanted to tell him about the father of her child, he would gladly listen. But he wasn't going to pry it out of her himself. After all, he had no idea how long her attentions would last. Sooner or later, he would lose her to this unknown rival, when their baby was born, if not before. He wanted to enjoy what time they had left together. For them to be the friends she had assured him they were. "Hey," he murmured now into her ear, searching for a friendly topic to help ease them apart. "I know I haven't been much of a host up to this point, but are you hungry? You probably haven't eaten since breakfast. Do you want to order food or something?" She slid her arms from around his waist and brought them up between their bodies so that her palms rested against his chest. "Actually, I'm not all that hungry," she murmured to his breastbone. "But I wouldn't mind something to drink. Do you want a cup of tea? I could make a pot. You usually keep some around." "Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice," he said with a smile. "But later, I'm thinking pizza. What do you say? My treat." "Sounds good," she said, stepping past him and into the kitchen. Reaching up, she pulled open a cabinet door and peered inside. "Just make it a large one. Thin crust. Onions, green peppers and extra cheese." His smile broadened as he backed away, watching her stand on tiptoe to root through his cupboards. He was just about to offer his assistance when she found what she was looking for --a battered box of herbal tea bags. "So it's true then what they say about pregnant women and their cravings, huh?" "Be thankful I don't have a taste for anchovies." Chuckling, Mulder grabbed his duffel bag and headed off in search of his bedroom. He found it and the bathroom next door without too much effort. It took him even less effort to put away his belongings. While he waited for the kettle to whistle, he poked around in his closets and dresser drawers. What he found there was encouraging. It seemed his taste in clothes was better than his decorating sense. All in all, his wardrobe wasn't half bad. Soon, however, he returned to Scully. She greeted him at the archway leading to his living room and handed him a mug of tea. "I put sugar in it," she said. "Though I wound up scraping the bottom of the bowl. We're going to have to take you grocery shopping, Mulder." He took a sip; the brew was hot, scorching his tongue. "I assumed as much. Grocery shopping and fish shopping-- I hope I don't get the two confused." She chuckled and, with her tea, strolled past him to take a seat on the couch. Mulder smiled at her choice, then sat down beside her. "You know, Scully, I'm beginning to think the one who 'loves' this couch is you, not me." He expected her to deny his playful accusation. But to his surprise, she did nothing of the kind. "You're absolutely right," she said, casting him a sideways glance over the rim of her mug. "I do. I have a lot of fond memories involving this couch." "Ooh. That's sounds interesting," he teased. "Anything juicy?" "Not in the way you mean," she retorted with a smile. "It's just that your couch has been witness to a lot of history between us. I'd hate to see it go." "What kind of history?" he asked, taking another careful sip of his tea. It tasted like what he imagined tree bark must taste like, woodsy and bitter. He couldn't imagine he had actually liked this stuff before. Maybe he had kept it around for her. "Oh, I don't know," Scully said, her hands cupped around her mug. "All sorts of things. A lot of it was work related, of course. Our discussing various cases, writing up reports, that sort of thing." "Sounds exciting," he drawled, setting the tea aside. "Some of it was fun, too," she said. "You introduced me to 'Caddyshack' on this couch, and 'Plan Nine from Outer Space'." "Ah, the classics," he murmured, somehow knowing these films, although he couldn't recall ever having seen them. "I've slept here," she admitted, "waiting for you to come back from whatever mess you'd gotten yourself into, furious that you had left me behind." "I had a habit of that?" he queried. "A nasty habit," she grimly assured him. "One I'm hoping you won't take up again." Abashed, he nodded, imagining the fierce dressing-downs he had no doubt received when he had returned from his misadventures. "I sat here with you, Mulder, after your mom had died," she continued. "We talked all night. You told me about your childhood, the Vineyard. I tried to make you smile by telling you stories about being a Navy brat. We were hoarse by the time Skinner came by the next morning." "I wish I could remember that," he said pensively. "I wish I could remember any of it." "I know you do," she said, laying her hand atop his arm in comfort. He sat there, enjoying her touch, yet at the same time so tired of the melancholy that had prompted it. So very tired. Enough was enough. Sighing, he pushed to his feet. "Hey, Scully. Let's go do something. Go grocery shopping or whatever. I need to get some air, I think. The walls are beginning to close in." Setting her half-finished tea beside his, she nodded. "Okay. There's a supermarket a couple of blocks from here. I'll phone the guys downstairs and tell them where we're going. We can take my car and they can follow us." Smiling at her easy acquiescence, he reached out and took her hand in his, pulling her up to stand beside him. She had just released his hand and stepped past him when he heard a sharp, hollow ping, then the crack of shattering glass. Before he could even wonder at the cause, Scully gasped, then stumbled, listing sideways into him. He caught her by the shoulders to stop her fall and was all set to tease her about her clumsiness when she looked up at him, her head lolling weakly against his chest. "Mulder, get down," she rasped, tugging at him, her gaze glassy, her voice pained. "Get down on the floor." He bent his head to ask her why and was astonished to see blood trickling from her hairline, staining her pale complexion red. "Scully!" he whispered, horrified. "Get down," she pleaded again, clinging to him. Another pane of glass splintered to pieces. This time, the bullet that had torn through it glanced off the coffee table inches from where they stood. "Shit!" Trembling with adrenaline and fear, Mulder finally did as Scully had instructed, cradling her against him as he pulled them both behind the arm of the couch and to the floor. "Scully...Scully? Oh, God. Where are you hurt?" he queried, leaning over her on the rug, his fingers probing gently at her scalp, searching for the wound. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?" "Scratch," she whispered, her eyes battling to stay open. "Just a scratch. Stay down, Mulder...stay down. There's a sniper--" "I know there's a sniper," he muttered, wincing as violently as she when he found what he had been seeking. Jesus. The gash hidden beneath her hair didn't look all that deep, but there was an awful lot of blood. "We've got to get you to a doctor." "No," she argued softly, her hand clutching at his sleeve. "Just wait....we need to wait. Gotta let the guys catch him first." The guys. That's right. His two bodyguards were outside in the car, supposedly keeping watch... ...while blood ran in a rivulet down the side of Scully's face. "Where's your cell phone?" he asked hoarsely, peeking out over the arm of the sofa. He couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean they were in the clear. "In my coat pocket," she mumbled, her lashes fluttering. Damn it. He was losing her. "Stay here," he said gruffly, squeezing her fingers tightly with his. "And try to stay awake. I'll be right back." "'kay." Jaw set, he turned and crawled on his belly to the dining room. No further shots rang out. Scully's coat was where she had left it, draped over a chair. Keeping low, he plunged his hand into one of the pockets and retrieved her phone. Stabbing wildly at the buttons, Mulder dialed the number he had learned just that morning. On the third ring, the agent known as Montrose answered. "Montrose here. Who is this?" "It's Mulder, you asshole. Where the hell are you? We're being shot at." "We're aware of that, Agent Mulder. Back-up has been called for, and Agent Renfrew and myself are in pursuit. Just sit tight and stay away from the windows." "It's a little late for that," Mulder growled. "Agent Scully has been hit. We need medical assistance immediately." "S'okay, Mulder," she called softly from the living room, her words slurred and slow. "I'm all right....not shot, just a scratch." "=Now=, Montrose," he insisted, Scully's faint assurances doing more to frighten him than anything else. He didn't like how distracted she sounded, how thin and reedy her voice had become. "You listening to me? You get the paramedics up here now." "Will do," the agent said before hanging up. Feeling marginally better for the exchange, Mulder scuttled back across the floor to his partner. They were going to be all right, he told himself. Even if he didn't know what the hell he was doing, the agents outside did. "I'm back, Scully," he murmured when he had reached her side. "Just like I promised. You take it easy now. Help is on the way." Only she didn't answer him. She just lie there, her eyes closed, her lips parted and blanched. Blood now matted her hair. She was unconscious. "Scully?" And all Mulder could do was hold her until the paramedics arrived. * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter VI "By the Wind Grieved" (6/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** Dana Scully woke with a whopper of a headache. But as bad as she felt, Fox Mulder looked far worse. She had glimpsed his expression earlier, before coming to in the hospital treatment room. She had been loaded onto a gurney at his apartment and was being wheeled down the hall to the waiting elevator. Rocked side to side by the gentle motion, she had roused to the sensation of her fingers being all but crushed, seized in a warm, moist grip. Curious as to who was clinging to her so, she had raised her heavy lashes and seen Mulder trotting alongside the stretcher between the two paramedics, his worried eyes locked on her face. "Mulder," she had murmured dreamily, trying and failing to muster a smile for him. "Shh," he had said quietly, his attempt at a smile a shade more successful than hers. "It's okay. You're going to be fine. They're just taking you to the hospital to get checked out." "They catch him?" she had asked, her voice matching his in volume. "No," he had said, shaking his head. "No sign of the guy. Skinner has got agents out there now, though, canvassing the neighborhood. They'll find him." She hadn't had the heart to tell him just how unlikely that was. "S-stay with Montrose and Renfrew, Mulder," she had implored instead. "Don't...it's not safe. Not yet." He had seemed surprised by her admonishment. "Scully, don't worry about me. I'm fine. You're the one they're carting off to the hospital." They had reached the elevator. Moving into position, the paramedic at her feet had swiveled the gurney through the open door and Scully's world had spun with a sickening lurch. Her sight had wavered, then dimmed, promising a return to unconsciousness. Her breath shallow, she had struggled against the threatening oblivion, needing to tell Mulder just one more thing. "They were gunning for you, Mulder," she had insisted even as the edges of her vision began to speckle and darken. "Sir, if you could move out of the way, please," the paramedic near her head had requested. Softly, her fingers had slipped free from Mulder's hold. She had wanted to keep him with her, but couldn't seem to make her hand do her bidding. She couldn't even see him anymore. As if from nowhere, a dense gray fog had rolled in, filling the elevator car and stealing her sight. Still, she had known he had yet lingered nearby. Before the door had slid shut and darkness had claimed her fully, she had heard him whisper. "Yeah. But they hit you." Then nothing. Until now. Good Lord, the lights in here are bright, she silently noted, the observation her first upon awakening. She squinted against the overhead fluorescents, their glow nearly blinding in its power, and sharply turned her cheek to try and escape the fearsome glare. Unexpectedly, that small movement was enough to aggravate the wound above her left ear. The skin there pulled and burned, adding to the headache the lights had seemingly spawned. Moaning softly, she closed her eyes again and lightly fingered the dressing secreted in her hair, wondering just how serious her injury was. "Scully?" She knew that voice. Taking care not to make the same mistake twice, she pivoted her head slowly in its direction. Once there, she lifted her lashes a second time. Mulder sat beside her, hunched and miserable, his chair pulled close to the bed, her blood on his sweater. "Hi," she said, studying him. "How are you feeling?" he asked. She thought about it for a minute. "Like I got kicked in the head by a mule." His eyes flitted away from hers to focus on the floor. "Close enough." She wet her lips with her tongue. "Have you spoken to the doctors?" "Yes," he said, his face brightening just a touch. "You were right. It was just a scratch. Hell of a headache, I'm sure, but no concussion." She blinked rather than nodded. "What about the baby?" Mulder took her hand. But instead of holding it vice-like as before, he raised it to his lips. Scully watched, astonished, as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. "The baby is fine," he told her gruffly. "The doctors were concerned at first about your blood pressure, but that seems to have stabilized. You're going to walk out of here with a half dozen stitches, Scully, but it could have been worse. We were lucky." With that, he smiled, seemingly thankful for their fine fortune. She smiled back at him, thankful for that and a good deal more. Safe there in that bed with Mulder whole beside her, the months all at once melted away. Her partner and she had never been separated. She had never cried herself to sleep with fear and longing. Mulder had never had things stolen from him that others shouldn't even have had the right to touch. This was just another in a long line of hospital room conversations, another scary near-miss. Nothing they hadn't triumphed over before. But then, the man she loved whispered... "Do you want me to call him for you?" Scully frowned, jarred from her reverie. "Call who?" "The baby's father," he said just as quietly, her hand still clasped in his. The baby's father? Her eyes welled at his concern, at the way he was looking at her, his gaze troubled and intent. Oh God, Mulder. How could you believe I would want anyone else? "Y-you don't need to call him," she began hesitantly, wishing she had had more time to prepare an explanation. "He isn't--" "Agent Scully?" Instinctively, she stopped and turned her head towards this new, yet familiar speaker. Instantly, pain flashed from temple to temple, searing across her brow. It felt to her like no more than she deserved. "Sir?" she answered back weakly, her eyes narrowed against the ache. Assistant Director Skinner crossed into her line of vision, dressed in gray slacks and a black turtleneck, his trench coat covering both. "How are you holding up?" Gently, she pulled her hand free from Mulder's grasp, needing to put some distance between them. She couldn't touch him just then, could barely look him in the eye. "Not too bad, all things considered." Skinner nodded. "That's good to hear. I spoke briefly to your doctor on the way in. He'd like to keep you overnight for observation. However, I'm thinking we may need to get you out of here sooner than that." Pushing to his feet, Mulder stood and faced their superior. "With all due respect, Sir, it seems to me Scully's physician should be the one to make that call, not you." "Normally, I'd agree with you, Agent Mulder," Skinner said mildly, seemingly unmoved by the younger man's harsh tone. "Unfortunately, given what happened today it may not be safe for her here. For either of you." "What have you learned?" Scully asked, amused in spite of herself by the display of testosterone. "Not a whole hell of a lot," Skinner growled, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. "Which is why I think we should get the two of you someplace safe until we figure out what's going on." "There's no lead on the shooter?" Mulder asked in disbelief. Skinner shook his head. "Judging by the angle of the shots, we're guessing he was positioned on the roof of an apartment building across the street from yours. Our men have been up there, but they've found no footprints or shell casings to confirm our suspicions. We have agents going house to house, but I'm won't be surprised if they come up empty." "They won't find anything," Scully murmured, pressing her fingers to her temples in the hope it might alleviate the pounding there. "The guy was a professional." "I agree," Skinner said. "I just wish I knew who hired him. And why he waited until Mulder was discharged from the hospital before he came after him." "Wait a minute," Mulder demanded. "Why is everyone so sure it was me he was firing at? Scully was the one who was hit." "Only because I stepped in front of you," Scully reminded him. "Besides, if someone wanted me dead, they would have tried something long before now. Why wait until you returned?" "Why return me at all if they want me out of the picture?" Mulder countered, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. "If they wanted to kill me, when didn't they do it when they had the chance?" "Mulder, over the years you and I have made enemies, not all of whom have the same agenda. It's possible that one faction may have been responsible for your kidnapping, while another might be behind today's shooting." As if dumb struck, Mulder stared at her for a beat or two, his mouth hard. Finally, he shook his head. "Shit," he spat, his fingers combing roughly through his hair. "I am next to useless like this." "What are you talking about?" Skinner asked. "What do you think I'm talked about?" Mulder said, dropping his arms. "My God. A bullet was fired through my window today, and I didn't have the presence of mind to hit the deck until Scully told me to. She could have been killed because of me. We both could have." "Mulder, you can't blame yourself--," Scully began, stretching out her hand to him. He ignored her entreaty, choosing to pace instead. "Then who the hell should I blame, Scully--you? We're supposed to be partners in this and yet I can't even remember how to load a gun, let alone fire one." "No one expects you to," Skinner said reasonably. "None of this is your fault, Mulder." "Of course it is," he argued, whirling to face them both. "You said so yourself. I'm the target. And anyone who gets near me is going to be at risk. Christ, I'm a danger to everyone I come in contact with. The best thing I could do would be to disappear all over again." "No!" Scully cried. She had been sitting there, listening, doing her best to be patient. She understood that, as before, Mulder needed to vent, to release some of the fear and guilt he had no doubt been feeling since the shooting. But all patience dissolved at the thought of him vanishing again, leaving her alone... She struggled to sit upright, to raise herself from her current angled position. But with the baby and her aching head, she didn't get very far. She managed only to lift her shoulders from the pillow when the room began to dip and twirl. Moaning in frustration, she wilted sideways. "Whoa," Mulder murmured in her ear. She didn't know how he had managed it, she hadn't seen him move. But somehow he had caught her, his arms holding her strong and fast. "Take it easy, Scully. Take it easy. I'm not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway." "Not ever," she said fiercely, her lashes drooping against the dizziness, her cheek resting high now on his chest. "I'm not going to lose you again, Mulder." Their faces were close, their voices hushed, Skinner's presence forgotten in the heat of their exchange. "I'm only thinking of you," Mulder insisted, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You and the baby. It's not safe for you to have me around." "Just because you're the one they want doesn't mean the baby and I aren't targets too," Scully said, her vertigo gradually subsiding. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Mulder, our separating doesn't necessarily guarantee my safety," she said. "They can use me against you, as a hostage... or worse." "Or worse?" he echoed. "They've done it before," Skinner said quietly from the foot of the bed. "Scully was...taken herself. To punish you, we believed. She was missing for months. She came back so sick from whatever it was they had done to her, we didn't know for certain she'd pull through." Mulder glared at first one, then the other of them, as if demanding they take the revelation back. "It's true," she murmured softly, lifting her hand to his face in a kind of mute consolation. "Jesus," he muttered finally, easing Scully away from him and lowering her gently back onto the pillow. "Mulder, we need to stick together," she said stubbornly, grabbing hold of his ruined sweater before he could walk away, her fingers clinging to its hem. "It's the only chance we have. Please. You have to trust me on this." For the longest time, Mulder stood motionless, his eyes averted from view. At last, he spoke, his head still lowered. "All right, Scully. We'll do it your way. Only you have to trust me too." "What are you talking about?" she asked, her hand falling away. "I need to know what we're up against," he said, his gaze now meeting hers, sure and resolute. "No more trying to protect me. No more telling me only what you think I need to hear." "I haven't--," she protested. Even though she had. "Look--I'm not trying to point fingers here," Mulder said, cutting her off. "I'm sure you had your reasons. But, frankly, those reasons aren't good enough anymore. There's too much at stake. Like it or not, you need me, Scully. And I'm no good to you the way I am." She couldn't argue with that, not with any of it. A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "All right, Mulder. You have yourself a deal. Just what exactly do you want to know?" "All of it," he said flatly. "I need to know everything you and I have been through over the past eight years." "Then you need to know about the X-Files," she replied. He nodded. "You've told me they're made up largely of unsolved cases, cases other departments have passed on." "That's true," Skinner offered. "Only these particular cases often have...unusual elements to them." "Unusual how?" Mulder queried. "Mostly supernatural or extraterrestrial," Scully murmured, watching closely for his reaction. Mulder took the news better than she had anticipated. He simply pondered it for a moment, his hands on his hips, his brow furrowed. "So are you telling me we've got aliens after us?" "More likely alien collaborators," she said with a wry smile. He stared at her. "I don't suppose you've got documentation on any of this?" "Files and files of it," she assured him. "Shit," he said heartily, turning away from her to stride towards the window, then back again, his hand rubbing slowly over his mouth and chin. "Sounds to me like I've got some reading to do." ***** Upon hearing Skinner's plan, Mulder realized he would have more than enough time to get that reading done. "I already have a car and a team of agents waiting," the A.D. said. "As soon as we can get Scully squared away, I want to get you two out of here." "Will we be going to a Bureau safe house, Sir?" Scully inquired. "No. Given what's happened, I don't trust there aren't leaks within the FBI itself." "Our own people are against us?" Mulder asked. "There have been instances in the past where that has been the case," Skinner explained with some measure of regret. Mulder could only shake his head. Aliens, alien collaborators, ghosts, goblins--God only knew what else. Was there anyone who wasn't after him? "I have a friend who owns a vacation home in northern Pennsylvania," Skinner continued. "I've visited there several times over the years and am familiar with the house itself and the parcel of land it stands on. I've spoken to this friend and he is willing to let us borrow it indefinitely." "Where is it exactly?" Scully asked. "The property is part of the Allegheny National Forest. It's pretty isolated up there, not a lot of people--especially during winter. But there's only one access road to the place and the sight lines from the house to the surrounding woods are good. All in all, it should be easy to defend." "Against who?" Mulder muttered, almost to himself. "Or what?" "I don't know," Skinner admitted. "Not yet. That's why I want you two tucked away somewhere safe. The property actually has two sets of living quarters--the main lodge and a smaller guest cottage down the drive. You two will take the big house, Montrose and Renfrew will be in the cottage. They'll rotate with two more sets of agents who will patrol the perimeter." "Sir, what about Agent Scully?" Mulder asked, glancing in her direction. "What about me?" the small redhead murmured, glancing back. "Well...how isolated is it exactly?" Mulder queried. "I mean ...she's close to her due date now. If anything should happen..." "You'll be about 30 miles outside of Brookville," Skinner said. "They have a small, but fully equipped hospital. If the situation should arise, the agents on duty will be able to get Scully whatever care she needs without too much trouble." "Besides, Mulder, I'm more than six weeks out," Scully assured him. "I can't imagine we'll be hidden away up there anywhere near that long." With a smile, she looked to Skinner for confirmation. The Assistant Director looked back, saying nothing one way or another. Feeling like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas--after his heart had expanded to its proper size--Mulder watched as Scully's smile faded. He was certain she had no idea just how much her face gave away. Damn. Because of him, not only would the poor woman be away from her child's father at this crucial time, but she would quite possibly miss spending the holidays with her family as well. "Sorry about all this, Scully," Mulder mumbled. "Don't be silly," she said with a determinedly upbeat tone of voice, one Mulder didn't entirely buy. "It's the only way." Perhaps. But that didn't stop him from feeling badly about it just the same. Once the plan had been laid out, matters moved with impressive speed. Agents known and trusted by Skinner were dispatched to both Mulder and Scully's apartments to pack them bags. Others were sent ahead to the house to stock it with supplies and ready it for occupancy. Mulder didn't know what the hell kinds of strings Skinner was pulling to make it all happen, but he couldn't help but admire the big man's efficiency. In the midst of this whirlwind of activity, it was Scully herself who remembered the most important provision of all. "You sure you're really ready to go through the files, Mulder?" she asked, propped against the pillows. "Yes," he said. "I am." "Well, in that case...Sir, back when we had the basement fire, Agent Mulder made digital copies of whatever files we could salvage," she said to Skinner and Mulder both. "He wanted backups in case, God forbid, something like that happened again. I have a set of copies in my safety deposit box. I believe Agent Mulder keeps his in a similar place. A third set is stored with the Lone Gunmen. It seems to me that, given the circumstances, theirs would be the easiest to retrieve." "The Lone Gunmen?" Mulder echoed, wondering just who in the world these particular shooters might be. "They're friends of yours," Scully explained. "Of both of ours, actually. Among other things, they're conspiracy theorists. The three of them publish a magazine with that title." "If they're friends, why haven't I met them?" Mulder asked. Scully grimaced with chagrin. "That's my fault. They know you're back, but I had asked them to hold off visiting until things got more ...settled. Their...enthusiasm can be a bit overwhelming at times." "I'll pick the files up myself," Skinner said. "Just do me a favor and call the Gunmen first, let them know I'm coming. I don't want to show up at their door unannounced. I don't think they trust me." "I wouldn't take it personally," Scully said with a wry smile. It wasn't long before Montrose delivered their suitcases. Excusing himself, Mulder stepped out of the room to change, allowing Scully the chance to get dressed herself. When he returned, clad now in a clean pair of jeans and sweater, she was with her physician, Dr. Talcott, signing her release papers. "Can you give her anything for the pain?" Mulder queried, even though he recognized it really wasn't his place to ask. "I'm sorry. But with the baby, I can't really prescribe anything more powerful than Tylenol," Talcott said with regret. "And even those need to be restricted in terms of dosage." "Don't worry, Mulder," Scully said, sitting dressed and woozy on the side of her bed. "I'll be all right. I just need to get some sleep. That's all." "Might as well do that in the car," Skinner said, choosing that moment to enter the room. "It's going to be a five or six hour drive. You won't get in until well after midnight." "Great," Scully said without enthusiasm, her eyes closing wearily. "Best of luck, to all of you. I'll have an orderly bring a wheelchair around for Dr. Scully," Talcott said, exiting with his clipboard under his arm. "That's not necessary," Scully called after him, eyes snapping open. Without waiting for assistance, she began to scoot to the edge of the mattress. "A wheelchair would be fine," Mulder said, crossing to her and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, effectively keeping her seated. Scully looked up at him with annoyance. "When did you get to be so bossy?" "I'm just doing what you would do for me," he assured her. "Oh, I see," she grumbled. "Pay back, huh?" "Not at all," he argued, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "I'm looking out for you. That's all." "Mulder, I'm fine," she insisted with a sigh. "Scully, you have stitches in your head because =a bullet hit it=," he said slowly and sternly. "You have admitted to me you have a headache, you haven't eaten since this morning, and you're nearly eight months pregnant. For God's sake--let the guy wheel you to the door!" "I'll be waiting outside," Skinner said, ducking out of the room, a small smile softening his mouth's firm line. Neither acknowledged the other man's departure. Scully sat there, eyeing Mulder through her lashes, her expression unreadable. Much as he believed he was doing the right thing, Mulder couldn't help but worry he had in some way overstepped his bounds, behaved in a way counter to what he once might have in the past. Finally, Scully spoke, her voice scraping the bottom of her register. "So...you're looking out for me?" He shrugged, then lifted his hand and tucked a few flyaway strands of auburn hair behind her ear, feeling oddly embarrassed as the object of her scrutiny. "Trying to, anyway." She hesitated a moment more before saying, "Thank you." His hand faltered, his fingers still twined in her hair. "For what?" "For taking care of me," she said softly. "It's been a long time since anyone has done that for me. I'd forgotten what it felt like." A long time since anyone had taken care of her? A woman like Scully, someone who was weeks away from giving birth? Just who was this idiot she was seeing? "It's the least I can do," he said lightly, sliding his fingertips one last time over her tousled hair. "Especially now that we're going to be roomies." "Are you okay with that?" she queried, a frown creasing her forehead. "With all of it? A lot has happened today. How are you doing?" Chuckling ruefully, he shook his head. "Honestly? I don't think it's clicked yet. You know? None of it feels real." "I'm not surprised," she said gently. "The things you've heard...it all must seem pretty incredible." "To put it mildly," he said dryly. "It'll probably seem even weirder when you go through the case files," she warned. "The things you're going to read about, Mulder...it may be difficult for you to take in." "Is that why we haven't talked about it before now?" he queried, already knowing the answer. "Yes," she said, her eyes dipping guiltily from his. "I'm sorry for that, for keeping things from you. I only did it because..." "You wanted to take care of me?" "Yes." He looked down at her from where he stood. Scully sat, clearly exhausted, pale, circles beneath her eyes, specks of dried blood clinging to her hairline. "Funny how that works, isn't it?" he murmured, although, at that moment, amusement was in no way what he felt. Rather, a kind of resolve flowed through him instead. Resolve tempered by fear. Scully had seven years of friendship to draw upon when it came to him, seven years of memories binding her to his side. By comparison, he had enjoyed scant weeks in her company, less than a month total for him to forge a bond. Yet, in the end, what did time really matter? It could have been only minutes they had shared and yet he would still feel the same pull, the same affection, the same trust. He was sure of it. He cared deeply what happened to Dana Scully, to her and her unborn child. Their welfare had quickly become as much his responsibility as it was anyone else's. And he would do whatever he had to do to keep them both safe. * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter VII "By the Wind Grieved" (7/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** The car Skinner had spoken of was, in fact, a van, made for situations just like theirs. Navy blue in color with Virginia plates, tinted windows, and plenty of cargo room in back, it had been designed to be as nondescript as possible. But in case the whole incognito thing didn't work out, the windows, windshield, side and back panels were bulletproof. It was like driving in a tank made by Ford, complete with cup holders and an in-dash AM/FM cassette stereo. Behind the driver and co-pilot bucket seats was a single upholstered bench. Agents Montrose and Renfrew climbed in front while Mulder guided Scully inside with a hand to her elbow. "Upsy-daisy, Scully. Watch your head." Moving slowly, she settled on the far end of the bench. Mulder sat beside her. With the last of the gear stowed in back, Skinner stuck his head in through the open side door. "I'm going over to Gunmen's to pick up the files and then I'll stop by your place, Scully, to get your laptop. From there I'll head out and meet you two later at the house. Is there anything else you think you might need?" "Sir, you'll have to borrow a zip drive from the Gunmen too. My computer isn't equipped with one," Scully said from her seat near the window. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'm sure they have one lying around somewhere," he said, hand braced against the edge of the door. "I guess that's it, then. Have a safe trip. I'll see you both there." But before the A.D. could step away, Scully called out, "Oh, Sir! There is one more thing." "What?" he asked, turning back. "I don't know if you want to take them with you or what, but...would you mind feeding Mulder's fish?" Skinner's jaw worked from side to side before he answered with a sharp bob of his head. "Okay." "Thanks." Mulder murmured with a smile, the notion of his no-nonsense boss fish-sitting amusing him somehow. "Don't mention it," Skinner growled, grabbing hold of the door handle. The noise the door made sliding shut muffled the sound of Mulder's laughter. Turning the key in the ignition, Renfrew started the engine. Adjusting his seat, Montrose glanced over his shoulder at Mulder and Scully, the African-American agent's eyes shining almost black in the shadows. "You two think you can sleep if I turn the radio on?" Scully smiled wanly. "I can't speak for Agent Mulder, but I could probably sleep through just about anything right now." "Go for it," Mulder told him, watching as Scully removed her coat and began folding it into a neat little square. "Just stay away from easy listening and Rush Limbaugh, okay?" The big man chuckled. "How do the blues sound? There's an all-night program I like to try and catch. I'll keep the volume low." "Sounds good. I could go for a little Buddy Guy." With Montrose searching the FM band, the van pulled out of the hospital drive. Shrugging out of his jacket, Mulder looked to his left and saw Scully trying to wedge her coat between her chin and the window. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Pillow," she said, gesturing to the fast wrinkling trench. Poor Scully, he thought fondly. Exhaustion had reduced her to caveman speak. She couldn't hide the fatigue in her eyes, the slump of her shoulders. The day had taken its toll. Mulder thought he might be able to do something about that. "Come here, Scully," he said with a smile. "I've got a better idea." "What?" Reaching across her body, he took the coat from her hands and placed it on his thigh. "Lay your head down," he said, patting his leg in what he hoped was an inviting fashion. "You're not going to get any quality sleep propped up against the glass like that." Her gaze flitted from his lap to his face and back again. "Aren't you tired?" she queried, clearly tempted, yet not entirely convinced. He shook his head. "Nah. I'm too wired to sleep. You go ahead, though. Stretch out, get comfortable." She hesitated for a half second more before saying softly, "Thanks, Mulder." Swinging her legs up onto the seat, she turned sideways and laid her head gingerly on his leg. "Oh. Hang on a minute," he said before she was entirely settled. Scully started to rise, only to have Mulder lay a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. "No. It's okay. Just let me do this." Taking his jacket, he draped it on her like a blanket. "Mulder, you'll need this," Scully protested as he covered her. "No, I won't," he assured her, arranging the black leather over her. "I'm wearing a wool sweater and Renfrew up there has already got the heat cranking. I'll be fine." Turning her head, she peered up at him, the smallest smile shaping her mouth, her cheek inches from his crotch. God help him. Mulder knew it was wrong. Scully was his friend. But with the picture she presented, sleepy and sweet, and near, so very near to a rather responsive part of his anatomy, he couldn't stop his thoughts from turning ...somewhat more than friendly. "You're sure?" she asked him, her voice throaty and low, its husky alto feeding all those pesky impure musings. Focus, Mulder, he coached himself. Focus. Now what were they talking about? "I'm sure," he mumbled at last. "Go to sleep." She looked at him a moment longer, then sighed with what Mulder thought, to his surprise, was a kind of contentment and laid her head back on his thigh. "'Night, Mulder," she murmured in a hush. "Good night, Scully," he said just as quietly, resting his hand on what he judged to be neutral territory, her shoulder. They were speeding towards the Beltway now, Ruth Brown on the radio, Renfrew and Montrose chatting softly from time to time up in front. It was dark inside the van, the dashboard instruments the only light. Alone in the back with Scully curled up beside him, warm and still, the mood was intimate, reflective. Releasing a long, slow breath, Mulder watched the asphalt roll beneath their tires and tried to make sense of it all. Hell of a day, he thought. No other way to put it. Talk about your highs and lows. And revelations, don't forget revelations. Who knew he was an honest-to-God Man in Black, an alien hunter? And here he had been thinking he was basically a federal cop, handling kidnapping, drug busts, that sort of thing. Elliot Ness without the fedora and bathtub gin. It would all be too absurd, too crazy to be believed if it wasn't for Scully. She gave the whole thing credibility. She was a doctor, after all, a scientist. If she gave credence to the work, their investigations had to be some basis in fact, some evidence her wonderfully rational mind couldn't ignore. And what exactly was that work? Part of him couldn't wait to get his hands on the files Skinner was busy retrieving, to learn precisely how he had spent the last several years of his professional life. With any luck, the information in those records would be the key to unlocking his past. How could it not? Scully had told him more than once that the X-Files had been his obsession. If they couldn't jump-start his memory, he didn't know what would. But another part of him worried about what he might find on those discs, afraid the data stored there might reveal a life he wasn't ready for, make demands he wasn't prepared to meet. It wasn't the supposed supernatural bent of their investigations that bothered him. Oddly enough, he was more intrigued by the notion than fearful. With no history of his own, he had no prejudices to color his perceptions. He was open to the possibilities. He wasn't so naive as to think that what Scully and he did was by any measure "normal." But he also didn't see how the exotic nature of the work automatically cheapened it or made it any less valid. What concerned him more was the idea that his existence to this point had apparently been subjugated by these files, that he had put on hold any sort of private life to chase creatures from both Earth and beyond. While he hadn't been able to draw from her many details, Scully had explained that he had viewed their work as personal, motivated in the beginning by his desire to find his missing sister. That was all well and good, he supposed. One might even label it a noble quest. But...he couldn't even remember that sister or her tragic disappearance, an event that had seemingly shaped his life from an early age. Without that loss, that need, to drive him forward, Mulder wondered just how motivated he would be to keep on as before, the X-Files his all-consuming passion. The woman resting beside him shifted in his lap. Her head heavy against his leg, he judged she was already asleep, his conclusion confirmed a moment later when she nuzzled his thigh with her cheek. No way would she have done that awake. Smiling, Mulder lifted his hand and slid it softly through her hair. She sighed, her eyes darting beneath their lids. Watching her dream, he did it again. The strands were tangled but soft. Carefully, he combed through the matted silkiness, separating pieces with his fingertips. There was Scully to consider, too. If he were to go back to work in the basement, he would get to continue working with her. Or he thought he would. They really hadn't discussed her plans after the baby was born. Given what he knew of her, he would be surprised if she chose to give up her career in favor of raising a child. Of course, he really had no sense at all about the man in her life. For as generous as she was about most things, Scully could be remarkably stingy with information about her significant other. Even tonight, when he had inquired as to whether she had been able to get hold of the man to let him know what was going on, all she said was, "I spoke to him. He knows where I am." Mulder had no idea if he was tall or short, old or young; he didn't even know what the man did for a living. None of that should have mattered--after all, he wasn't the one involved with the guy. But, like it or not, his curiosity was slowly eating away at his complacency. Mulder wanted to know who the hell he was. He wanted to be able to put a face on the lucky bastard. He wanted to know what kind of man he would have needed to be to win Dana Scully's heart. ***** Scully was awakened to Mulder brushing his knuckles softly against her cheek. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead," he whispered, his mouth hovering above her ear. "We're here." She started, then stilled, remembering where she was and who she was with. She opened her eyes, but couldn't see much from where she rested. It was still dark outside. "What time is it?" she mumbled, pushing awkwardly to her elbows. Mulder's large hands gripped her gently by her upper arms and helped her the rest of the way up "About quarter after three," he said, reaching out and tucking a fall of hair behind her ear. "You slept straight through. How you feeling?" She captured a yawn before answering. "Better, I think. My head doesn't hurt as much. I'm still kind of tired, though." Mulder smiled. "Lucky for you the night life around here sucks. You can crash out and not miss a thing." With that, the two rear doors swung open. Scully turned and looked over her shoulder. Agent Renfrew stood at the back of the van, his craggy face thrown into harsh relief by the cargo hold light. Just behind him she could make out Montrose's linebacker silhouette. "Agent Mulder, if you want to help Agent Scully into the house, we can take care of your bags and the rest of this stuff," Renfrew said. "Thanks, guys," Mulder said before she could object. "Is the door open?" "Just unlocked it myself," Montrose said, stepping forward, a suitcase already in his hand. "Come on, Scully," Mulder said, stretching to the right to throw wide the van's sliding side door. "Let's get you to bed." Drowsy and stiff from her long nap, the persistent pain at her temples beating in time with her heart, Scully decided to allow her partner's coddling. It had been a tough day. If Mulder wanted to tuck her in, who was she to object? Scooting along the seat, she reached for his hands and let him guide her to the ground below. It was colder outside than she had anticipated. Ice crunched beneath their feet and a light dusting of snow coated the ground. She was glad they had each taken the time to put back on their coats. "The radio said a storm is on the way," Mulder reported, his breath expelling from his mouth in fluffy clouds of white. "We're supposed to get anywhere from four to six inches by tomorrow night." "Looks like we got in just in time," she said as they made their ways to the stairs, Mulder's arm locked around her shoulders, hers around his waist. The change in weather surprised her. It had been mild when they had left the D.C. area. The only light available came from the inside of the van and the steps were slick with nearly invisible patches of ice. Just to be safe, they took it slowly, Mulder hanging on to the railing while she hung on to him. With night and the whipping wind impeding her vision, it was difficult for her to get a sense of what the house looked like. All she could tell was that it was big, two-stories, and covered with what appeared to be cedar shingles. "Here we are," Mulder said, holding the front door open for her. Scully stamped her feet free of what snow she could and entered, Mulder followed close behind. Once inside, he closed the door and began feeling along the wall with his hand. "Where the hell is the switch?" A second later, he found it. A simple flick and suddenly the entryway was flooded with light. Narrowing her eyes against it, Scully had to bite back a moan. No question about it--her headache was better, but not entirely gone. "Hey, this place isn't half bad," Mulder said from somewhere off to the side. Eyes now adjusted to the light, she took a moment to look around. Mulder was right. "Not bad at all," she agreed. If they had to be holed up somewhere, they could do a lot worse than this. From where they stood, she could see a central staircase basically divided the house in two. To their right was the kitchen and dining room, a breakfast bar separating one from the other. To their left was the living room, complete with fireplace and big screen TV and a hall which looked like it might lead to another room or two in back. Whoever owned the house had decorated in Eddie Bauer casual. The furniture looked rough hewn, but well-crafted. The sofa was overstuffed and piled with throw pillows; the tables and chairs were made from honey-colored oak. Braided rag rugs dotted the gleaming hardwood floors; the knotty paneled walls were hung with landscapes and dried flower arrangements. The atmosphere was homey and welcoming, not at all like a typical safe house. From outside, Scully could hear footsteps on the stairs. Opening the front door, she saw Renfrew and Montrose struggling onto the porch with their gear. "Where do you want your things, Agent Scully?" Montrose asked, shouldering his way across the threshold. "Um...upstairs, I guess," she said, unsure where she was sleeping. "Scully, why don't you go up with him," Mulder suggested, coming to stand beside her. "Not all that much is going to go on down here. I'll wait up for Skinner to arrive with the discs and then I'm probably going to hit the hay too." "I could wait up with you," she volunteered, only to ruin the offer with a yawn. Chuckling, Mulder shook his head. "There's no need for both of us to stay up. I'm still wide awake, while you, quite clearly, are not. Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning." She hesitated a second before acquiescing, common sense winning out over pride. "Okay. But don't stay up any later than you have to, Mulder. You need your sleep too." "Yes, mom." Giving her partner the evil eye, Scully turned and trudged up the stairs after Montrose. "This room okay, Agent Scully?" the agent asked when they had reached the second floor. They stood outside one of two front bedrooms. "Oh, I don't care," she assured him with a weary smile. "A bed is a bed. I'm sure this one will be just fine." "All right then," he said, entering the room and turning on a floor lamp he found just inside the door. "We'll be right down the road if you need us. Use your cell phone. You have the number. Have a good night." "Thanks. You do the same." The room was actually far better than just fine. It was charming. Smallish, it had been decorated in a manner more feminine than the rooms downstairs. A double bed and matching night stand dominated one wall, each piece whitewashed so that, in places, the darker wood showed through from underneath. Across the room stood an equally distressed armoire and a tufted green chaise. A dresser that looked as if it might be an antique completed the furnishings. A handmade quilt in shades of green and purple and yellow covered the bed while canvas sprinkled with faded violets covered the walls. It was all terribly inviting. The only problem was Scully was too pooped to appreciate it. "In the morning," she mumbled to herself, turning off the light that Montrose had just turned on. Toeing off her shoes and shrugging off her coat, she ignored the suitcase by the door and crawled up onto the bed fully clothed. Tugging on the quilt, she pulled half over on her while laying on the rest of it. Cocooned in its cushioned depths, she thought to herself as she drifted off to sleep, 'This place is so nice. It's almost like going on vacation.' Almost like going on vacation... Except for the men who were out to kill Mulder. Or possibly herself. ***** When next she rose, it was to the sound of drawers opening and closing, and some kind of kitchen gadget--a grinder?-- whirring noisily. Peeking out from under the covers, Scully sniffed the air. Coffee. God, she missed coffee. She wondered if the stuff downstairs was with or without caffeine. Only one way to find out. Rolling ponderously out of bed, she glanced over at the clock on the night stand. 10:00. Damn. She hadn't meant to sleep so late. She got up, crossed to her suitcase and popped it open. Rummaging through the contents, she searched for whatever toiletries she could find. Surprised yet pleased to discover a bag filled with soap, toothpaste and other essentials, she took it with her and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Setting her bag on the sink, she peered into the vanity mirror. Good Lord, she grumbled to herself, shoving her fingers through her sleep flattened hair. Look at me. She was wearing yesterday's clothes, yesterday's make-up, and she hadn't even brushed her teeth before going to bed.... She needed to get cleaned up. Twenty minutes later, she felt like a new woman. Freshly showered and dressed in maternity jeans, a long-sleeved white T-shirt, with a plaid flannel shirt over that, she checked her reflection in the bedroom's full-length mirror. She had brushed her hair but hadn't washed it. She couldn't yet, not with her stitches. So rather than wear it down, she had pulled it back in a low ponytail, securing the slippery strands with a clip. Studying her reflection, Scully couldn't help but chuckle. With her dress, hair, and lack of make-up, she looked far younger than her years, more like a grad student or twenty- something slacker than a middle-aged M.D. "That is...if you can look past Junior, here," she mumbled, her rounded middle seemingly the only thing at that moment standing between her and the Fountain of Youth. As if in response to her droll observation, the baby she carried poked her with its foot, the jab striking her high in the belly. Smiling, she rubbed her hand over the spot and watched in the mirror as her face transformed with wonder. "Good morning, little one," she murmured, her eyes misting, her heartbeat stuttering like a bashful child. "How you holding up?" Rubbing her hand slowly over her abdomen, Scully waited, eyes locked on her reflection, to see if perhaps the infant inside her might choose to do it again. But after a minute or two of standing there, breath all but suspended, she realized the kick was probably not going to be repeated any time soon. "Just like your father," she mumbled with the faintest of smiles, fondness, not anger, rumbling beneath the surface of her words. "I leave you alone and you run wild. But when I want you to do something, you just sit there like a lump." Where was Daddy, anyway? She needed to share this with him. Padding down the stairs in her stocking feet, Scully found Mulder in the kitchen, flour, sugar, eggs and other assorted food items arranged before him on the counter. "Hey, good morning," he said, greeting her with a smile. "How did you sleep?" "Like the dead," she said, smiling back at him. "I don't suppose the coffee I smell is decaf, is it?" "No, sorry," he said with regret. "It's the regular kind. I didn't see any decaf in there on the shelf." "That's okay," she said, crossing past him to the refrigerator. "I kind of figured that would be the case. It usually is." Opening up the stainless steel side-by-side, she saw it was stocked to the brim. The agents Skinner had sent had done their job admirably. Pulling out a carton of orange juice, she opened up a nearby cabinet and took down from it a glass. "How about you? What time did you go to bed?" He shrugged, leaning against the counter, watching her. "I don't know. Skinner got here about an hour after we did. Your computer and the discs are in the study in back, by the way. I went to sleep right after he left." She poured the juice and put the carton back. Coming to stand beside Mulder, she eyed the mess on the counter before asking, "What are you doing?" He seemed to preen just a little. "Making breakfast." "You know how to cook?" she asked, taking a sip from her glass. His face fell. "Why? Don't I?" Smiling, she shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe. I couldn't really say. We ate out a lot, you and I, or ordered in. I don't think I ever saw you actually make something more involved than toast." Mulder thought about it for a second, then shrugged again. "Well, how hard could it be? I mean...this guy has a shelf full of cookbooks. All I have to do is follow the instructions." "What are you planning on making?" Scully asked, coming around the breakfast bar to take a seat on one of the stools there. "Pancakes," he said from the other side of the counter. "Pancakes and bacon. How does that sound?" Her stomach chose that moment to gurgle long and loudly. Eyes widening at the sound, Mulder burst out laughing. Chuckling herself, Scully could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I'd answer you. But that would only be redundant." "Hey, that's all right," he rushed to reassure her. "Seeing as you're eating for two these days, your body is bound to be a bit more demanding." "=Someone= is being demanding," she said with a rueful smile. "First the baby kicked me and now this." "The baby kicked you?" Mulder asked, seemingly delighted at the notion. "Yeah," she said, feeling unexpectedly shy with her confession. "Where?" he queried, circling around the counter towards her. "Here," she said, swiveling in her seat. Pulling back her flannel shirt, she laid her palm against the spot. Something hard pressed back against her hand, something that hadn't been there before. "Oh, wait," she murmured softly, her eyes sliding from his, her fingers tracing along the ridge she had found. "Mulder, come here. Come here." "What? What is it?" he asked, concerned. "Feel this," she said, taking his hand and placing it where hers had been. Gently, he ran his fingertips over the upper slope of her belly, carefully, like a blind man reading Braille. "What is that?" he asked, his breath ruffling her hair, his hand continuing its slow caress. "The baby's foot," she replied, unable to keep the tears from welling when she looked up into his excited eyes. "It's his heel, I think, pressing up against the womb." "His?" Mulder echoed, his palm now resting flat against her. Its heat warmed her through the thin cotton she wore. "Do you know that it's a boy?" "No," she said, placing her hand on top of his, holding him to her. "Not for sure. I've had ultrasounds done, of course. Everything seems to be fine. But I haven't wanted to learn the baby's sex." "Why not?" he asked, looking down at her with tenderness. A tenderness that was going to be her undoing if she wasn't careful. Maybe she should let herself be undone, she thought. Maybe she should tell him; perhaps now was the time. "I don't know," she murmured, glancing away from all that dangerous tenderness and down instead at their stacked hands. "I don't know why I never asked. I guess...I like surprises." Mulder didn't say anything at first, then chuckled before mumbling, "Well, that makes one of us." Confused by his reaction, she looked up at him again. "What do you mean?" He slid his hand free from under hers. "I mean...some surprises are better than others." "Such as?" He shrugged, then folded his arms across his chest. "Such as ...finding out you've won the lottery. That's a good surprise. Or having someone give you a gift you weren't expecting. That's good too." A gift, Scully echoed inside her head. Their baby was like a gift. Wasn't it? "And learning a baby's gender only after it's been born...that's a 'bad' surprise?" she asked aloud. "No, no, no, no, no," Mulder said swiftly, reaching out to grip her lightly on the shoulders, squeezing her there as if for emphasis. "Not at all. Not at all. It's just that...something like that is really, really important. It's a life-changing event. And, for me...I wouldn't want any surprises." "You wouldn't?" she asked, wondering if that meant she should or shouldn't speak. "No," he said emphatically, his hands dropping away from her arms. "Absolutely not. No surprises." No surprises. Oh, God. She should have told him right away. Why had she chosen to wait? What possible advantage had she thought she would gain? "Of course, all of this is moot." "It is?" she queried weakly, her heart feeling as if it were in free fall through her body, plummeting, cold and lifeless, towards her toes. "Yeah," he said with a smile. "After all, you're the one who is going to be a parent here, not me." "You might be one day," she said, giving it one last try. "One day," he agreed. "But not now. Thank God." "Why do you say that?" she asked with a frown. "Only for all the most obvious reasons," Mulder said, crossing away from her and back around the breakfast bar. "I've got no memory, no job, really. I'm on the run from someone or something that seems set on killing me. I mean...come on, Scully. With all that going on, what kind of father could I possibly be?" Turning in her seat, Scully rested her forearms on the counter and looked down at her now clasped hands. Tears were threatening again. Angrily, she blinked them away. "I don't know, Mulder...I think you would be a wonderful father." She could feel him staring at the top of her bowed head, but she didn't meet his gaze. She couldn't. If she did, she would lose the battle with her tears. She was certain of it. And the last thing she wanted to do right now was cry in front of him. "Thank you," he said, oblivious to her all her tortured musings. "That means a lot to me, Scully." She nodded, but still didn't look at him, until a moment later, when his hand came into view. Saying nothing at first, he laid it atop hers. "Hey, you're not mad at me. Are you?" he quietly asked. That demanded she lift her head. If she didn't, he would know beyond a doubt something was wrong. Steeling herself, she cleared her throat, and looked up. Mulder stood there, regarding her with concern. "No, of course not," she said, forcing the words out in as cheery a tone as possible. "Why would I be mad at you?" He shrugged, seemingly ill at ease. "I don't know. This whole baby thing, maybe." "Mulder, don't be silly--" she began, pulling her hands out from under his. "I mean...I think it's great that you're going to have this child, Scully" he said, his palms pressed now against the counter. "It's just that =I'm= not ready for it. That's all I'm saying. You know what I mean?" "Yes," she said brightly, nodding her head so rapidly her brain felt as if it were jiggling around loose inside. "Of course, I do. Of course." Mulder stared at her a beat longer, as if weighing her sincerity, before nodding himself. "Good. Okay. So...you still hungry? How many pancakes can you eat?" Sliding from her seat, Scully stood, her legs unexpectedly shaky beneath her. "Actually, I'm feeling kind of nauseous all of a sudden. I think I'm going to take my orange juice upstairs and maybe lie down for awhile." "Lie down?" he echoed in amazement. "Scully, you just got up." "I know," she said, edging away towards the stairs, her glass gripped tightly in her hand. "I know. I probably won't sleep. I just...I just need to rest." "Um...well, okay," Mulder said as she climbed the steps. "If you need anything, just yell down. I'll come up and check on you later." "Okay," she called over her shoulder. "Sorry about breakfast." "Don't worry about it. Feel better." Oh, Mulder. I'd like to, Scully thought as she reached the landing and turned the corner towards the second flight of stairs. I really would. The only problem is I don't see that happening anytime soon. You see, the father of my child doesn't want it. When this is all over, he may not even want me. And I have no one to blame for this entire mess but myself. * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter VIII "By the Wind Grieved" (8/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** He had insulted her. He had hurt Scully's feelings at a time when those feelings were closer to the surface than usual. There could be no other explanation. Could there? No. That had to be it. Without meaning to, he must have somehow made her think he found her pregnancy distasteful or unattractive or simply a bad choice all the way round. Yet how could she believe that of him? How? How could she think him so judgmental? Didn't she know how much he admired her, how glad he was for her and the father of her child, how covetous he was of their situation? Wasn't it obvious? Mulder had felt as if he had been all but transparent that morning, when he had stared down into Scully's shining, happy eyes and felt the life growing inside her press hard against his palm. The intimacy of the moment had snuck up on him. One minute, he had been laughing with her, charmed by the embarrassment her noisy, empty tummy had caused, and the next he was literally holding in his hand proof that another life flourished inside her. A life that for one crazy, mixed-up instant he had wished he had helped create. The desire had made no sense. He had had no right to it, no claim. The very idea was absurd; with all he had facing him just then, he was the last person on earth who should be readying to welcome his child into the world. Yet still he had wanted it, desperately--the baby, Scully, all of it--had wanted to be part of something bigger than himself. Adrift as he was, no past to anchor him, he had yearned for a place to belong, for a purpose to help direct him. He had wanted to be needed, most especially by this particular woman, a person he found himself needing more and more each day. In that moment, when they had stood there, sharing the peculiar joy to be had in so small a thing as a child's foot, he had thought for just a second he had glimpsed a similar want in her, a longing only he could satisfy. Telling himself that longing granted him permission, Mulder had indulged his whim, had allowed himself pretend he was the man Scully was meant to confide in, the one who was supposed to be beside her now, offering support. Until he had nearly kissed her, and brought the entire illusion crashing down around them both. It had been a near thing. So very near. He had been standing before her, close enough to notice she had used a different soap that morning. A faint, unfamiliar trace of citrus had clung to her skin rather than the customary lavender. They had been staring at each other, Scully's eyes soft and shimmering, her hand's slight weight warm atop his own... ...she was looking at him and he was touching her and it was wonderful... ...but it wasn't enough. Not by half. He had wanted more, had yearned to deepen whatever this thing was that flowed between them, to give the feelings he had for Scully physical expression. What would she do if he kissed her? he had mused, already anticipating the taste of her lips. He had been scant seconds from finding out. Only Scully had glanced away. And, in that instant, sanity had returned. The moment she had bowed her head, it was as if a switch had been flipped inside him, one that had shut down all those sweet yet treacherous desires. Oh my God. What the hell had he been thinking? he had asked himself. This was Scully. His friend. He couldn't take advantage of her that way. Not after all she had done for him. What would she think? So he had stepped away, both literally and figuratively. Nothing going on here, ladies and gentlemen. Uh-uh. No way. Taking care to drive home his point, he had assured Scully fatherhood was the furthest thing from his mind. After all, he couldn't have her without having her baby. And if he wasn't interested in her child, then he wasn't interested in her. That made sense, right? Well, it had. At the time. To his admittedly muddled brain. Jesus. He had made such a mess of it. He had wounded the one person in the world he wanted most to protect. And the really sorry part of the whole thing was, he had no idea how he had managed it. While he had indeed stressed his own lack of readiness in the parenthood department, he had thought he had made it clear how pleased he was for her. Yet, apparently, he hadn't done a very good job of it. Fine. He would just have to try harder. And he was more than willing to do so. If Scully would just come back downstairs. She had been up in her bedroom all day, ever since their aborted breakfast. He had checked on her once, mid-afternoon, when his own company had become too much to bear. Climbing the stairs and tip-toeing softly to her door, he had rapped against it with his knuckles. "Scully," he had called, his voice not much more than a whisper. "Everything okay?" She had not answered. She could have been sleeping, of course. Or she could have been playing possum. Guilt weighing heavily on his conscience, Mulder had been too much of a coward to open the door and find out which. Instead he had crept back down the stairs and returned to what he had been doing. Puttering. Cleaning up after himself in the kitchen, daydreaming out the window as he watched the snow fall, scouting out all the house's nooks and crannies. He had even called over to the cottage to see how things were going with their small army of bodyguards. Agent Renfrew had had little to report. It seemed he and his partner were as bored as Mulder was. Too disheartened to begin work alone on the files and too distracted to do anything else, Mulder had finally just given up and sacked out on the sofa. His sleep was light, however. He was roused late afternoon by the sound of footfalls overhead. "Mulder?" Pushing his fingers through his tousled hair, he sat up and peered over the back of the couch. Scully was on her way down the stairs, dressed as she had been earlier, her face scrubbed down to the freckles, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. He could detect in her no outward signs of distress, although she eyed him much as he imagined he must be eyeing her, with caution. "How are you feeling?" he queried politely. "Better, thanks," she replied, crossing towards him. Although he wouldn't ever call attention to it, Scully was beginning to walk with a bit of a waddle these days. Seeing it never failed to bring a smile to his face. "Sorry about before." "There's nothing to be sorry for," he said, swinging his legs around and rising to his feet. "If you don't feel well, you don't feel well." Coming to a halt at the end of the sofa, Scully glanced down at the floor and tucked a stray fall of hair behind her ear. "Yes, well...so what have you been doing all day?" He shrugged. "Not much. Taking it easy, mostly. Checking the place out. I, um...I discovered there's a gym downstairs in the basement. Well, a weight bench and treadmill, anyway. And a woodworking shop. If things get slow, we can build you that crib you said you needed." "You think you know carpentry?" she queried with the smallest of smiles. "At least as well as I know how to cook," he assured her, his smile matching hers. The corners of her mouth still upturned, Scully nodded and cleared her throat. Her gaze was meeting his only intermittently, Mulder noted. He wondered if she feared more what she might see or what her own eyes might give away. "Did you have a chance to get started on the files?" she asked after a moment. He shook his head. "Actually, I kind of wanted to wait and do that with you." Scully lifted both brows. "With me?" "Do you mind?" he asked, feeling foolish suddenly for not having approached her about this sooner. He had assumed he would have her assistance going through the discs. But with the way things had been going between them, perhaps it would be wise not to take anything for granted. "I mean...I realize the files are probably pretty complete. But you were there. You know? There are bound to be things only you would be aware of, things that didn't make it into the official records." "No. I don't mind," she said, taking a step towards him. "You're right, in fact. There are a lot of things that didn't make it into our final reports." Mulder nodded once more. "Based on what you said at the hospital, I figured as much. I don't imagine the powers that be take too kindly to reading accounts of alien invaders." "Actually, several of our case files include mentions of alien encounters." "No way," he said, edging closer to her, his hands on his hips. "Way," she insisted, seemingly bemused at his disbelief. "I'll admit, there were times I tried to smooth things over by positioning some of our more outlandish theories as being only one of several possible hypotheses. But we didn't try and hide what we learned, Mulder. Not from anyone. We told the truth." He chuckled, amazed. "And we were never called on the carpet for that kind of thing? No one ever questioned whether we were making proper use of taxpayers' money?" "On the contrary," Scully assured him, her tone bone dry. "We were called on the carpet so many times I think I probably have permanent rug burn." "But if that's the case, why were we allowed to continue?" he asked, the awkwardness he had sensed between them earlier slowly fading into memory, replaced on his part by a curiosity he couldn't contain. "Why didn't someone in authority shut us down?" "We =were= shut down. Twice. The first time we were separated; you were put on wiretapping detail and I was transferred back to Quantico. More recently, we both got relegated to desk jobs. We spent months doing all the scut work Kersh could find for us while agents Fowley and Spender took over running the X-Files." "Wait a minute. Wait a minute," Mulder muttered, waving his hands as if in surrender. "Who are these people? Kersh, Fowley, Spender...I don't know those names." "No, you wouldn't," she said. "We haven't spoken about them." "Seems to me like we should, though," he said. "Don't you think? I mean...Skinner said he thought there might be a leak within the Bureau. Isn't it possible it could be one of them?" "There was a time I would have agreed with you. Now, however, that scenario seems less likely. While we still may have Kersh to deal with, Fowley and Spender are no longer a threat. They're both dead." Taken by surprise at the news, a thought occurred to Mulder, the possibility admittedly unlikely, yet one he couldn't help but voice. "We didn't kill them, did we?" Scully chuffed, seemingly both appalled and amused. "Mulder! No, we didn't =kill them=! What kind of agents do you think we were, what kind of people?" "I don't know!" he admitted, embarrassed. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking you, why I =need= you to help me fill in the blanks. You're the one who knows me best, Scully. How can I hope to learn who I was--who I am--if not through you?" They stood at the end of the couch, toe to toe, Scully looking up at him, a small smile yet playing on her lips. "I'll help you, Mulder," she said, having no trouble now holding his gaze. "You know that." "Yeah?" he asked, concern over her earlier hasty retreat still preying on his peace of mind. "Yeah," she said softly, reaching between them to take hold of his hand. Fingers tangled, she squeezed. Mulder squeezed back. "Thanks, Scully," he said, more relieved than he cared to confess. "You're welcome," she murmured. And just like that, all was forgiven. Or so it seemed. Hands still linked, Scully and he strolled into the kitchen, chatting now about things like dinner choices, who would cook and who would clean up. Yet, even as he poked around in the refrigerator, searching the crisper for salad fixings, Mulder couldn't help but wonder. How had they done it? How had Scully and he repaired things without really even discussing the problem? He wasn't complaining, but he was curious. Had it always been this way between them? Did Scully and he always leave things left unsaid? ***** When Walter Skinner made the drive up to northern Pennsylvania the following Saturday, he was met at the door by Mulder, wearing jeans and a gray turtleneck. The agent greeted him with a smile and a hushed voice. "Hey. What are you doing here?" "I wanted to see for myself how you and Agent Scully were managing." "Great. We're doing great. It's good to see you, Sir," Mulder said, shaking his hand. "Come on in. We need to keep it kind of quiet, though. Scully is zonked out on the couch." Skinner nodded his understanding and stepped inside. Removing his coat in the entryway, he looked towards the living room and saw that Mulder was right. His partner was indeed resting soundly, curled up in the corner of the sofa, her glasses on the side table nearby, the crocheted afghan covering her, pulled up to her chin. "She does this almost every afternoon," Mulder murmured from beside him. "We'll be going at it, plowing our way through these files and suddenly she's out like a light. Yesterday, she nodded off on me mid-sentence." "That kind of thing is to be expected, I guess," Skinner said, his volume low. "What with the baby and all." "Yeah, I know," Mulder replied, gazing fixedly at the sleeping woman half a room away, affection shining unguarded in his eyes. "I know." "She's been okay, hasn't she?" "Yeah. Far as I can tell, everything is fine. It's kind of tough with Scully, though. She holds her cards pretty close to the vest." "She always has." Mulder shot him a sideways glance. "I've been wanting to ask you about that. You...uh...you feel like a beer? Whoever stocked this place was kind enough to include a case of Milwaukee's finest, and Scully certainly isn't going to help me drink it." His mouth dry after the long drive, Skinner smiled appreciatively. "A beer sounds great." Trailing after Mulder into the kitchen, he watched as the younger man retrieved two bottles of brew from the refrigerator. Keeping one, the agent handed the other to his guest. Twisting it open, Skinner took a swig, then leaned back against the countertop to get more comfortable. He didn't know what exactly was on Mulder's mind, but he had a feeling whatever it was might take awhile. "So what did you want to ask me about?" Skinner queried, folding his arms across his flannel-clad chest, beer in hand. Mulder worried the label of his bottle with his thumbnail, his eyes focused on that rather than on the man standing opposite him. "How well do you know Scully and me?" Skinner shrugged. "You two have been reporting to me on and off for the past six years or so." Mulder nodded, his lips pursed. "Okay, but...how well do you =know= us?" "I like to think of you and Agent Scully as friends," Skinner said, shrugging again. "But to be honest, Mulder, with the two of you, there's not a lot of room for anyone else." "What do you mean?" "As partners--as a team--you and she are basically...self- sufficient. You tend to turn to each other for help before going to anyone else." "So, she trusts me, then." Skinner chuckled, incredulous. "Yes, of course, she trusts you. More than anyone." "More than the father of her child?" Mulder queried in disbelief. Oh, shit. Skinner didn't want to go there. "Believe me, you have no reason to doubt Scully's devotion," he muttered, taking another drink of his beer. Mulder nodded again, his brow knitted in thought. "Mulder, what's this about?" Mulder shook his head. "I don't know. Nothing, probably. It's just...hard sometimes. I'm not always sure how to read Scully. I don't know how to act with her, what to say." "Has something happened?" "No. That's just it. It's more like a feeling I have." "What kind of feeling?" Mulder sighed and looked away. "I, um...I'm probably way off here, but,...I think maybe Scully might be keeping something from me. Well, if nothing else, Mulder's intuitive powers seemed to be intact. "I don't know, Mulder. Seems to me the one you need to talk to about this is Scully, not me." "I know," Mulder said, shoving his hand almost angrily through his hair. "I know you're right. The problem is it's not like Scully has said or done anything specific. I'm basing this on instinct and instinct alone." "For a lot of people, that wouldn't be enough," Skinner admitted. "The thing is, your instincts have always been on the mark." Mulder brought his bottle to his lips. "I just don't want to hurt her again." "Again?" Skinner queried with surprise. "I seem to have a knack for it," Mulder muttered after taking a swallow. Skinner set down his half-finished beer and took a step closer to Mulder, as if to emphasize by proximity his point. "Look, Mulder, I don't know what you've done or what you think you've done. But I do know one thing--you are the last person on Earth who would ever willingly hurt Scully." Gnawing on his bottom lip, Mulder pondered this a moment. "You think so?" "I know so. Scully knows it too." "What do I know?" The men turned and saw a newcomer to their little tete-a-tete. Dana Scully was standing in the archway leading to the kitchen, dressed in sweat pants, a baggy cable knit sweater, and thick white socks. Her hair was mussed and sleep-flattened on one side, and she had a crease on the corresponding cheek, marking where it had pressed against the sofa cushion. Seemingly paralyzed by this rather less than fearsome sight, Mulder stole a glance in Skinner's direction, eyes wide with panic, appearing for all the world like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Scully looked at first one, then the other of the two men, the bemused smile on her face widening when both took their time in answering her. "Oh, this must be good." "Not at all, Agent Scully," Skinner said, rescuing Mulder from himself. "We were just talking about the importance of good communication." "Is that why you're here, Sir?" Scully queried, eyebrow raised as she crossed to the refrigerator and took from it a bottle of water. "To 'communicate' something to us?" "Well, as I told Agent Mulder, I'd wanted to see how you two were faring--" "Not that it isn't nice to see you, Sir, but if that was all you wanted to do, you could have used the phone." Lips pulled up in a reluctant smile, Skinner looked down at the floor, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets. "That's true. I could have called." "But you didn't," Scully said, closing the refrigerator door and turning back to face them. "Which leads me to believe there must be a pretty good reason for your being here. One that goes beyond simply seeing how Mulder and I are doing." Skinner nodded. The auburn-haired agent was right. "Why don't you two have a seat? I want to show you something." Skinner crossed away from the kitchen and into the entryway. Slipping his hand into the inside breast pocket of the jacket he had left hanging there, he withdrew from it a grainy black and white photograph. The picture was of two men having a conversation over coffee. "Yesterday, I received this in the mail," he said, returning to his two agents. They were seated across from each other at the dinner room table, looking at him expectantly. "It was accompanied by a note signed by Marita Covarrubias." As Skinner sat down at the head of the table, Mulder reached over and took the picture from him. Studying it for a moment, he murmured, "Alex Krycek." Skinner felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his veins. "Do you remember him?" Mulder shook his head, the photograph still clutched in his hands. "No. Sorry. I don't remember him or anything else from before. But I recognize the guy. Pictures of him were mixed in with some of the files." "The files," Skinner echoed, nodding. "How has that been going?" "We've been working our way through them, case by case," Scully explained. "We started out going in chronological order, but as we've gotten more into them, we've sort of been jumping around a lot, going from topic to topic instead." "We've haven't gotten as far into them as we probably should have by now," Mulder said with a self-deprecating smile and a glance in Scully's direction. "It's been kind of slow going. I ask a lot of questions." "Imagine that," Skinner said mildly. Scully took the picture from Mulder and looked at it as intently as her partner had, her focus on the man seated across from Krycek. He appeared to be close in age to Alex, but was bigger, broader, with longish black hair and an olive complexion. "Do we know who this second man is, sir?" "No. Not yet," Skinner said. "This is a copy of the original photograph. The lab back in DC is working with the one Marita sent, trying to ID Krycek's friend. So far, no luck. He's not showing up in any of the usual databases." "You said there was a note," Mulder prompted, "from that Marita whoever." "Covarrubias. Yes," Skinner confirmed. "And although neither Agent Scully or myself have been in touch with Marita for several months now, the note does appear to be legit. The style of the handwriting matches up to various samples we have on file from her days at the UN." "Do you have a copy of it?" Scully asked. "What does the note say?" Skinner shook his head. "The original is at the lab with the photo. I didn't bother to make a copy of it because the message was easy enough to remember: 'Tell your agents to beware these two men. They are looking for them and are being highly paid for the search.'" "Wait a minute," Mulder said, looking at his partner, confused. "Didn't you tell me that Marita and Krycek work for the same side?" "Most of the time," Scully said. "Not all of the time. It's like I said before, there are different factions involved here. Alliances are fluid with these people. They can be bought. No one more so than Alex Krycek." Mulder nodded. "Okay. So what do we do now?" "Same as before," Skinner said. "Nothing changes. I dropped off an envelope full of these photos to the cottage before I came up here. The agents guarding you now know these faces as well as anyone. They'll be on alert. I expect you to be as well." "We will," Scully pledged with a meaningful glance in Mulder's direction. "What do you think is going on here, Sir? How is Krycek involved?" "Isn't he the one you said came to us about the downed UFO in the first place?" Mulder queried, clearly trying to make some sense of all the intrigue. "Yes," Scully said, her face darkening with the memory. "He and Marita were the ones who all but led you to it." "When you went missing," Skinner added, "we thought perhaps the whole thing had been a set-up. That the reason Krycek and Covarrubias had wanted you involved was so they could more easily engineer your abduction." "A theory that gained credibility when the two of them disappeared not long after you did," Scully murmured, taking a sip from her bottle of water. "So...is that why you think Krycek wants me dead?" Mulder asked. "Because I returned when he didn't expect me to?" "I don't know," Scully said, shaking her head. "I'm not convinced he was the shooter. I just don't see what's left of the syndicate giving the job of assassin to a man with one arm." "This other guy could have been the one who pulled the trigger," Skinner suggested. "It's possible," Scully agreed. "But if that was the case, then what exactly is Krycek's role in this? It's not like he hired this other man to go it alone, not if what Marita told us is true. She said they were =both= looking for us." The three mulled over the possibilities a moment, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. "There is a scenario here we haven't considered yet," Skinner said at last. "One where Krycek never intended Mulder would be gone for good." "What are you talking about?" Mulder asked. "What if Krycek did set you up," Skinner said. "What if he led you to that UFO with the express purpose of your being taken up in it. But what if he also thought you'd be released some day. In the vast majority of abductee cases, the victims are returned." "But Mulder said he didn't believe the abductees would be returned this time," Scully interjected. "He said he thought this was some kind of 'mop-up' mission for the aliens. That was his reason for keeping me from going back with him to Bellefleur." "Mulder was right, when it came to those people who had been abducted in the past," Skinner said. "But he wasn't one of them. He had never been taken before." "Okay. So now I'm back," Mulder said, seemingly exasperated his two companions were talking about him as if he weren't there. "What do you think Krycek wants? To get together over a drink and discuss old times?" "Information," Skinner said without hesitation. "What kind of information?" Scully asked. "To the best of our knowledge, Mulder is the first trained agent to ever have been abducted by these beings," Skinner said. "Sure there have been aficionados who have been taken in the past, member of MUFON and the like. But, as far as we know, no one with Mulder's unique blend of interest and experience has ever been aboard one of those ships. Duane Barry is probably as close as they had come previous, but his deteriorated mental state made him a less than reliable scout." Scully paled. "Are you saying you think Krycek sent Mulder up there as a kind of unwitting spy, hoping he'd learn something Krycek could sell or use himself against the aliens?" Skinner shrugged. "I don't know. I'm only guessing. But it fits with what we know so far." "If you're right, the joke's on him," Mulder mumbled with a wry smile. "I can't remember any of the stuff he sent me up there to find out." "Krycek may not know that, though," Scully said softly. Skinner nodded, his expression grim. "No, he may not. And I sure as hell don't want either of you around when he finds it out." * * * * * * * * "By the Wind Grieved" (9/13 ) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1 *************************************************** Sighing, Dana Scully stood at the dining room window and ground her fists against the base of her spine. Her lower back had been killing her since she had awakened that morning, throbbing ceaselessly with a dull, deep ache. It was snowing again, she noted absently, squinting against the outside glare. The tiny white flakes drifted lazily on the other side of the glass, riding the wind like miniature parachutists. The sight should have been pleasing. It was pretty, after all, peaceful. Yet, the winter scene did little to soothe her. The matters troubling her couldn't be righted by anything so simple as a turn in the weather. She supposed part of the problem was she finally had time to think. For so long she had focused on other things--Mulder's disappearance, his return, his lack of memory, the attempt made on his life. Now, however, while these distractions had in no way vanished, they had to some extent been mitigated. Action had been taken, by her and by others, to protect her partner. They were doing all they could to keep him from harm; he was doing all he could to recover his past. Yet her part in the proceedings no longer required from her every waking moment. They had gotten through the last of the files days before; she had no particular responsibilities awaiting her now each day. Mulder might spend his hours rereading this case summary or studying that bit of research. She, on the other hand, was free to leaf through magazines if she liked or watch one of the two dozen movie channels the house's satellite dish captured. She could nap or lounge or walk halfway to China on the damned treadmill in the basement if she wanted to, all without suffering a moment's guilt. Or instead she could rue her lack of preparedness as a mother. She could stare at the calendar, all too well aware she was a month away from giving birth, knowing she had no name chosen, no clothes for the little one, no bottles or pacifiers or rattles to clutter up his or her non-existent crib. She could wish she had someone in whom she could confide her fears, to whom she could name her longings. She could miss her mother, her home, her life. She could curse for the hundredth time her decision to keep secret from Mulder the paternity of their child. She could say a fervent prayer they would all come out of this unscathed. In short, she could make herself miserable. Which was what she had been doing now for days. "You okay?" Startling at the gentle query, Scully turned and saw Mulder, clad as she was in jeans and a sweater, watching her. He had been doing a lot of that lately. She had lost count of the number of times she had caught him staring at her over the past week or so, his hazel eyes studying her with what she thought might be concern. "I'm fine," she said, leaving off her awkward massage and mustering for him a smile. "My back is bothering me. That's all." He hesitated, then offered, "If you want, I could maybe rub it for you." "That's all right. You don't have to do that." "I know I don't have to, but I want to. I mean...I'm willing to if you think it would help." Actually, at that moment, Scully could think of nothing that would help more. "Thanks, Mulder. I would...I would really appreciate that." Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she took a seat at the table nearby. Leaving a space between her chair and the table itself, she leaned forward and folded her arms atop the polished oak. Stretched comfortably in that way, she laid her head on her crisscrossed limbs and closed her eyes. As soon as she was settled, she felt rather than heard Mulder move into position behind her. "Tell me if the pressure is too much," he murmured, his breath teasing her ear. "I will," she promised, the vow muffled against her sweater. Seemingly needing no other assurances, Mulder began his massage, his hands closing carefully around her narrow shoulders, then releasing once more. Relaxing into his touch, Scully took a long, deep breath, resisting the urge to exhale it with a moan. The slow, sure kneading of her aching muscles felt good, that was certain. But it wasn't only the physical sensation which brought her pleasure. It was the fact that Mulder and she were connecting, even in so inconsequential a way as this. Because as closely as they had been working these past few weeks--poring over the files for hours each day, sleeping next door to each other each night--a distance had cropped up between them. One that had not been of Scully's making. The separation had developed gradually, deepening as they had slogged their way through the zip discs. At first, she had thought it might be her imagination, that what she had initially believed was Mulder's detachment from her was, in fact, merely interest in his recently discovered past. The wealth of information regarding their work together had to fascinate him, she reasoned. With the possible prize for his study his missing memory, he had been bound to become engrossed in the files. As hopeful for that outcome as he, she could hardly blame him for focusing on work rather than on her. Besides, it wasn't as if he were being rude or uncaring towards her. On the contrary, Mulder had been solicitous to a fault. The majority of the meals they ate together he cooked. He surrendered the living room to her every afternoon for what had become, much to her chagrin, her regularly scheduled nap. She had needed to resort to threats of physical violence whenever she had wanted to help around the house, even with simple tasks such as clearing the table or washing and drying the dishes. Yet every kindness on Mulder's part, every polite gesture or caring word, seemed to originate from arm's length away. He had begun holding back from her. All the playfulness, the questions, the ready affection she had come to expect from the man she loved had been withdrawn as swiftly as it had once been given. It was as if she were suddenly rooming with an exceedingly well-behaved stranger. Scully didn't think Mulder was angry with her or upset. She had asked him numerous times if he was all right, and he had always answered in the affirmative. Yet something was different between them. She could feel it. If things were as they once had been, she would have demanded from him the truth, kept after him until he confessed. But, with her own lies weighing heavy on her heart, she couldn't rouse within herself the indignation necessary for such an inquisition. Instead, she let matters lie, all the while missing him. Missing him when he was never more than a room or two away. He was even closer now, she thought, bending over her as he worked out the stubborn knots in her back. She could smell him, his warm male scent surrounding her. She could feel the heat radiating from him, chasing away the chill that seemed to come from within her rather than from the frosty landscape out of doors. She yearned to turn and burrow against him, to wrap her arms around him and absorb every last bit of that delicious heat. She wanted to nestle against him and confess everything once and for all, to share with him the truth about their child and the life they had once enjoyed together. If only she could find the words. Angry at herself, at the mistakes she had made and all the things she continued having so much trouble saying, Scully could feel her emotions begin to get the best of her. Tears burned suddenly against her lowered lids. Oh, damn it, she thought miserably. Damn it all to hell. She couldn't cry now, not with Mulder so near. She would never be able to hide it from him. He was too close... "Scully?" Shit. Sniffing, she hid her face against her arm and said nothing. Go away, Mulder, she told him silently. Please go away. Yet he ignored her voiceless plea. Instead, his hands stilled against her back, his palms resting now just below her shoulder blades. "Scully," he whispered, trying once more to gain her attention. His voice was soft and almost unbearably gentle. She knew she wouldn't be able to resist its quiet power for long. "Scully, what's wrong?" Surrendering to the inevitable, she raised her head and opened her eyes. The moment her lashes lifted, her tears escaped, running hot and unchecked down her flushed cheeks. Embarrassed, Scully swiped at them with her fingertips, spreading them over her skin like lotion. "It's nothing, Mulder," she murmured, summoning up a wobbly little smile, but unable to hold his gaze. "Hormones probably. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." "Sorry for what?" he asked, coming around to sit in the chair nearest her. Reaching out, he covered one of her hands with his own. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I didn't hurt you, did I?" "No, no," she assured him swiftly, her eyes darting to his, then away. "Nothing like that." "What's the matter then?" he asked, plainly worried. "I don't know...I just think my emotions are on overdrive right now. You know?" she said, trying to come up with some kind of explanation for him. She might not be ready to broach the matter of their baby, but she could give him some measure of honesty. "I'm letting myself get worked up about things that normally wouldn't bother me." "What kinds of things?" he asked. She had hoped he might take her answer at face value, allow her to hide behind her vague excuse and be done with it. She should have known better. Not even an alien mind wipe had been able erase Mulder's need for the truth. Her eyes drawn time and again to their linked hands, Scully chose her words with care. "I've been feeling, well...kind of useless here the last couple of days." "Useless?" he echoed with what sounded like amazement. "Why would you feel useless?" "Well,...I don't really have anything to do anymore," she said haltingly, not wanting him to feel guilty, but needing him to understand at least part of the reason for her malaise. "We've gone through the all files. I've answered what questions I could for you. Now it's just a waiting game." "Waiting for what, exactly?" he queried, frowning. "For me to get my memory back?" "Yes, of course. But not only that." "What else, then?" She shrugged again. "Lots of things. Our lives have been in a kind of limbo since we've gotten here." Gnawing on his lip, Mulder nodded, his expression troubled. Knowing that look all too well, Scully rushed to reassure him, to dissolve his sense of blame before it could fully take shape. "Mulder, don't get me wrong--I want to be here," she said, taking his hand in hers. "I told you that before. I wouldn't leave this place if I could. I just don't like feeling as if I'm sitting around, doing nothing, especially when there are so many things I should be doing." "Like what?" he asked. She thought about it for a moment, considering what she could and could not say. "Well...getting ready for the baby, for one. It's like I told you before. I'm not all that far along with my preparations." "Couldn't you ask your mom to help you?" he queried. "We could probably arrange to get some sort of a message to her, tell her what you need." "Normally, I'd say yes," she replied. "Mom would love to do all that shopping stuff. But with me being out of the picture for Christmas, she's going to be heading out of town soon. She may even already be gone." "I thought you said she was going to be home for the holidays." "That had been the plan. With the due date getting close, and my not being able to travel, everyone was going to come to DC. Now, however, with my being here instead, it doesn't make sense for Bill to uproot his family and fly out east, especially not with two small boys in tow. When I spoke to Mom before we left, she said she would probably be heading out to San Diego after all." "You don't know you won't be home for Christmas," Mulder argued without much conviction. "It's only about a week and a half away," she gently reminded him. "With Krycek out there and God only knows who else might be looking for us, I'd say it's more likely than not we'll be waking up Christmas morning right here." His eyes drifting from hers, Mulder looked around the room, his gaze faintly censorious. "And this place isn't exactly full of the holiday spirit, now, is it?" "What are you talking about?" she asked. "You know as well as I do how lucky we are to be staying at a place as nice as this." "You're right," he murmured, his attention yet focused elsewhere, his hand slipping free from hers. "I do." "Then what do you mean?" "I mean it would probably be a lot easier for you to relax and get ready for the baby if you were at home with your family rather than here with me." Shaking her head, Scully sighed, a fond if exasperated smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. "Mulder, that's not true." "Scully, we're practically prisoners here," he insisted. "Stop trying to turn me into a victim!" she urged, her plea coming out more sharply than she had intended. Mulder must have felt its bite. Frowning, he drew away from her slightly, the muscle in the corner of his jaw pulsing in alarm. Seeing his distress, Scully immediately forgot all her own problems, her need to comfort her partner now her sole concern. "Mulder, I think you've got some misconceptions about me and my family," she began, reaching out to rest her hand lightly on his arm. "When we get together, it's not exactly a scene by Norman Rockwell, you know." "I thought you were close to your mom," he said, allowing her touch, yet remaining unmoving beneath it, wary, as if he feared provoking her again. "I am," she said. "But that doesn't mean there aren't tensions between us, tensions that are only exacerbated when you add my brother into the mix." "This is Bill we're talking about, right? Not the other one." She nodded. "Right. Charlie won't be coming home for Christmas this year. Bill and his family will be playing host in San Diego." "And you two don't get along?" Lips pursed, Scully shrugged. "It's not that, really. Bill's heart is in the right place. It's just that he can be a little overbearing at times. He thinks he's looking out for me when what he's really doing is telling me how to run my life." Mulder looked astonished at the very idea. "Doesn't he trust you to do that yourself?" "Not to his satisfaction," she admitted ruefully. "Then the man must be an idiot," he muttered. That surprised a chuckle out of her. "Are you sure you don't remember him, Mulder? Because I have to tell you--your reaction to my big brother is very much in keeping with the relationship you two have already established." "What? He doesn't approve of me?" Mulder asked. "He doesn't approve of our work," Scully said, thinking to explain the reason for Bill's dislike in general terms, not wanting to again wound Mulder as she unwittingly had before. "In his eyes, you represent that work." Nodding slowly, Mulder slid his arm out from under her hand and, twined with its twin, folded it across his chest. "What about the baby?" Chuffing mirthlessly, she assured him, "Oh, Bill doesn't approve of that either." "Doesn't he want you to settle down and raise a family?" "That's exactly what he wants," she replied. "Only that's not going to happen. Just because I'm going to have a child doesn't mean my professional life is over. I'm not saying there won't be adjustments to be made, but I'm not leaving the FBI. And that's something my brother has had difficulty reconciling." Again, Mulder nodded, seemingly with more vigor this time. "So you see, Mulder, even if I were to spend the holidays with my family, the chances of us having a old-fashioned Christmas are next to nil," she said, leaning towards him across the table. "I mean...I would love a big old tree, a fire burning in the fireplace, carolers at the front door. But that just isn't who we are, not who we've been for a long time." "Do you miss them, though?" he asked quietly, sitting forward in his seat now as well. "Your family, I mean." "I do," she confessed. "Part of me misses not being able to see everybody. But you know...given our track record, it's probably for the best." "What do you mean?" "You've read the files," she said wryly. "You know the kinds of things that happen to you and me this time of year. All in all, I'd say we're safer here than we would be anywhere else." "Do you like being safe, Scully?" Mulder queried, his voice soft, yet somehow suggestive, as if more than one question were being asked. Confused by his meaning, Scully feigned a kind of glib nonchalance. "Better that than sorry." Mulder nodded one last time. Although it looked to her as if he didn't entirely agree. ***** He was in love with her. He shouldn't have been surprised by the idea, not when he had been sliding down that oh-so slippery slope for weeks now. Yet the power of the emotion, the depth and breadth of it, had blind-sided him nonetheless. Her kindness had won him over initially, the patience she had shown him when he had been all but hostile to her, the loyalty that seemed to bind her to him more firmly than ropes or chains ever could. Soon after, she had impressed him with her intelligence, with her quick mind and discerning eye. Then, he had come to appreciate her bravery... ...her strength... ...her compassion... ...her integrity... The list could have stretched for miles. But it wasn't until he had begun rummaging amongst the files that Mulder had realized at what cost he enjoyed Scully's company. Studying their case histories, he couldn't help but think how much his reaction to what he read must resemble that of a motorist driving past an accident scene. Part of him had been mesmerized by what he had learned, dazzled by the danger, the intrigue, the wonder he had discovered recorded there on the page. Yet another portion had been appalled at what his partner had suffered during the course of their investigations--injury, illness, betrayal, the loss of loved ones and Scully's own good name. Her travails had sickened him even as her ability to persevere had filled him with awe. He yearned to ask her why--why she stayed with him and the Bureau, why she didn't just pack her bags and head off into private practice with her baby and its father. But rather than raise that unfortunate question, he had asked another instead. "Scully, it...um...it says here that as a result of your abduction, you...uh...you can't have children. How is this...I mean, did something...?" "We don't know what happened, Mulder. This baby was... unexpected. I guess you could call it a miracle." A miracle. After all she had been through, Scully still believed in miracles. How could he not love her? Or perhaps, after fully understanding what they had shared over the past seven years, a better question would have been... How could he think of loving anyone else? Not surprisingly, this newfound awareness did little to cheer him. He might be profoundly, irrevocably in love with his partner. She, on the other hand, had bestowed her affections elsewhere. She had said it herself, that very afternoon. He was part of her work life. So much so, that her brother had taken a dislike to him based on that, and that alone. Intimacy with Scully was out of the question. That side of her was reserved for another, undoubtedly more deserving man. That knowledge was a bitter pill to swallow, and for days Mulder had turned inward to try and come to terms with the realization. It hadn't been easy. He had struggled--with Scully's constant nearness and his own desire. At a time when he would have given anything to hold her in his arms, he had instead kept his distance. A plastic smile glued on his face, he had tried to figure out a solution, a way to erect safeguards against a woman he now admitted wholeheartedly he wanted, but couldn't have. In theory, a terrific idea. In practice, a notion that made about as much sense as the whole Florida ballot debacle. All he had wound up doing was hurting Scully. Again. Not a week after he had confided to A.D. Skinner the fear that he might indeed do exactly that. Mulder could see it in her eyes when he would sequester himself away with his work or respond to one of her friendly overtures with polite indifference. Even as it was happening, he had realized just how wrong his behavior was, but he hadn't known what else to do. Keeping her at bay was the only defense he had. He couldn't escape her, not when they were virtually under house arrest. Temptation was everywhere and his will was eroding daily. By that morning, it had been washed away completely. When he had come upon Scully standing at the window, looking so alone and forlorn, he had recognized just what a sham the past several days had been. Pretending he didn't care hadn't solved anything. All the feelings he had for her were still there, sublimated but alive. He had accomplished nothing but to drive a wedge between them. And he didn't want that. Judging by her reaction, he suspected Scully didn't either. So he had reached out to her, offering solace and a sympathetic ear. And in so doing, had gotten more than he had bargained for. Not her tears. Although, he had felt terrible about them. Something else. Something way, way better. In the midst of their conversation, Scully had revealed a certain longing, a longing Mulder thought he might actually be able to satisfy if he got just a little help from his friends. He didn't know why he felt compelled to do this thing. It was silly, after all, and Scully was just as likely to laugh at him as to offer him her thanks. Yet he wanted to, just the same. He wanted to give her something no one else could give. He wanted to see her smile, either with him or at him. He didn't care, just as long as her mood improved from what it had been that morning. Scully had said she felt useless, idle. Well, Mulder had a project in mind for her, for them both. He dialed the phone the first moment he was able. When Scully excused herself to use the washroom, he took the opportunity, ducked into the study and called the cottage. Montrose answered. When Mulder explained what he needed, the big man responded, "Do I look like one of Santa's elves to you?" "Oh, come on," Mulder replied, his volume low. "It's not that big a deal. It'll take, at most, ten or fifteen minutes of your time." "Ten or fifteen minutes that should be spent ensuring your and Agent Scully's safety. This is not a game, Agent Mulder. There are people out to kill you. Remember?" "Yes, I do. But I don't believe what I'm asking you to do will in any way jeopardize that safety. Do it when one of the other teams comes in on rotation. That way there will be four agents in the vicinity of the house. That should be plenty of protection." Montrose remained silent on the other end of the line, seemingly not yet convinced. "What do you say?" Mulder cajoled. "I mean...she's up here, isolated from her family, weeks away from having a baby. And it's nearly Christmas. Is it really that much to ask that we give her one nice afternoon?" With that, Montrose grunted. "Do you really think she's going to go for something as hokey as this?" "I have no idea," Mulder answered honestly. "But I'm working with limited resources here." The other agent made Mulder wait for a second or two more before verbally giving him the nod. "All right. We'll lend you a hand. Bartholomew and Pritchard are due in at 2:00. Look for us around then." "Thanks, man," Mulder said. "I really appreciate this." Hitting the power button on his phone, Mulder glanced at his watch. 12:40. Not bad. Not bad at all. He had just enough time to make his preparations. Crossing to the desk, he opened the top right-hand drawer and began doing just that. ***** Scully had a feeling something was up. She didn't know what exactly that something might be, but Mulder was acting oddly. Even for him. After their conversation that morning, she had thought perhaps they were back on familiar ground. Mulder had seemed much more open to her, much the way he had been before they had arrived at the house. They had joked some and talked and, at Mulder's prompting, even played a cut-throat game of backgammon. She had won. Gracious in victory, she had offered to make them lunch, grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. "Sounds yummy," Mulder had said, rocking on the balls of his feet. "But I'm not all that hungry. I've got some stuff I've gotta do." "What kind of stuff?" she had asked. "In the basement stuff," he had replied, turning to leave. "Why don't you go ahead and eat, though? I'm going to be downstairs for awhile." Brow wrinkled with consternation, Scully had done as he had suggested, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich taking the place of soup and grilled cheese. It wasn't any fun to dirty pans if she was only going to cook for herself. Nibbling on her PBJ and flipping idly through an issue of Newsweek that dated from the summer before, Scully yearned to stick her head through the basement doorway and see just what the hell Mulder was doing down there. She could hear him moving around, the occasional scrape of metal against metal, the thump of something hitting the large wooden workbench below. Could he be building something? she wondered. Repairing something? He had talked about constructing for her a crib. But that had been just a joke, right? Scully's musings continued, right through her scarcely tasted lunch and on to the dish washing that followed. She was just about to give in to her curiosity and peek in on Mulder's mysterious activities, when she heard him bounding up the stairs. Marching right past where she stood in the kitchen, drying her hands, he crossed to the window, looked out, then, with a glance at his watch, returned to her. His eyes were bright, his hair disheveled, and he looked as if he were having trouble controlling the urge to smile. She smiled back. It was just easier that way. "Mulder, is everything okay?" she asked, studying him, more bemused by his behavior than she liked to admit. "Are you feeling all right?" "Yeah. Yeah, of course," he said just a tad too quickly. "Everything is fine. The guys didn't call, did they?" "What?" she queried, setting aside the dishtowel. "Renfrew and his gang? No. Were you expecting them to?" He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Not really. But they usually check-in in the afternoon,...so I thought... you know...that maybe you would have heard...I don't know--" His rambling explanation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the front stairs. Mulder's eyes met hers, wide and strangely excited. Then he grinned and headed towards the entryway. Intrigued, Scully trailed after him. Before either of them could reach the door, however, it opened and Agent Renfrew entered, looking a trifle sheepish. "Uh...got a delivery for you here, Agent Scully," he announced. With that, Agent Montrose came inside, a bushy evergreen in his arms. "Where do you want it?" he asked. "Over there, by the fireplace," Mulder directed. "Just hang on to it for a minute though, will you? I've gotta go get something." "Mulder, what the--?" Scully began, eyes wide as she looked first at the tree, then at him, utterly incredulous. "You said you'd love a big ol' tree," he told her, jogging by on his way to the basement doorway. Once there, he bent down and retrieved some items from the top step. The first was an odd-looking contraption made of C-clamps and wires, the second, a simple metal bucket, inside of which were two bricks. These in hand, he trotted back into the living room. "Since you're not going to be able to tell Santa your wish list in person this year, I figured maybe I should do a little wish fulfillment of my own instead. Assisted, of course, by our next door neighbors here." "How did he talk you two into this?" Scully asked, eyebrow raised. "Don't look at me," Renfrew said with a shake of his head and a sideways glance at his partner. "He took the call." "Montrose, you want to bring that over here," Mulder said, setting the bucket on the floor, then kneeling beside it. "We'll see if we can't get it anchored down." "What you got there, man?" Montrose asked, lugging the tree to the spot Mulder indicated. "Did you McGyver something together or what?" "Yeah, I did," Mulder replied. "I just hope it works." "It better," Montrose warned, peering down through the lush branches. "We've got to get back out on watch." "Patience," Mulder murmured, his head bowed over his task. "Patience." Stepping closer, Scully watched as Mulder fitted his creation to the sides of the bucket. "Okay, now ease it in there," he instructed. Montrose did as he was told. As soon as the trunk hit the bottom of the bucket, Mulder tightened the various clamps. That secured, he then slid the bricks in along the perimeter in an effort, Scully assumed, to weigh the whole thing down. "I've got to admit--not bad," Renfrew said moments later, his voice warm with approval. "Is it straight?" Mulder asked, looking up at her. Scully circled to one side, then another, checking out the angle. "I think so." "Great!" Mulder said, pressing to his feet. "A little water, and we should be all set. Thanks guys." "Don't mention it," Renfrew murmured, a small smile stretching his lips. "Merry Christmas, Agent Scully," Montrose said, heading towards the door. His partner followed along at his heels. "Merry Christmas, Agents," Scully called softly. "Thanks for everything...thank you very much." Renfrew waved his hand at her as if to say "it's nothing" and pulled the door shut behind him. Alone again together, Scully turned to regard her partner. He stood about ten feet away, his smile still in evidence. Although she thought she spied a kind of hesitancy now in his hazel gaze, one she wanted quickly to dispel. "Wow," she whispered with a smile of her own. "You like it?" he asked. "Yes, I like it," she said. "Thank you." "It's not stupid?" "No." "Or corny?" "It's a little corny. But I don't think that's such a bad thing." With that, he seemed to relax a bit, and took a step closer to her. "Good. I'm glad." "Me too," she said, her eyes beginning to mist. That he would even think to do something like this... What a wonderful, wonderful man. "Merry Christmas, Scully," he said, edging nearer to her still. "Merry Christmas, Mulder," she replied, closing the gap entirely. Hands resting lightly on his chest, she stretched up and kissed him softly on the cheek. Mulder started ever so slightly, then held himself very still, as if he believed any movement on his part might perhaps frighten her away. Scully lingered there a bit longer than she probably should have, her mouth pressed parted against his warm skin. As she lowered her heels to the floor and began to move away, their bodies brushed against each other, throwing her slightly off balance. Mulder took hold of her upper arms to steady her. They both chuckled, awkward suddenly in their almost embrace. "So now what do we do?" Scully murmured, her gaze studying the place where his sweater ended and his jeans began. "We decorate it, of course," Mulder answered, the words rumbling, low and pleasing, inside his chest. That drew her gaze to his. "With what exactly? Did you come upon a hidden store of Christmas decorations you've been keeping from me?" He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "Scully, where's your imagination? We don't need tinsel and colored lights. We have other resources." "Such as?" she queried lightly. Mulder took a step away from her and spread his arms wide, as if inviting her to consider all extreme possibilities. "Well... we've got popcorn we can string...if we can find thread." "There's a travel sewing kit in the linen closet," she said helpfully. "Great. We haven't got any cranberries to string along with the corn, but I'll bet the blueberries we've got will do." "Blueberries," Scully said, wrinkling her nose. "I like blueberries. To eat, I mean." "We won't use all of them," he assured her. "Just enough to add some color." "Okay. Well...um...we could use tinfoil for a star," she suggested, entering into the spirit of things. "Good idea," he replied. "We could probably come up with some kind of ornaments too. I found a roll of fishing line downstairs. We could use that to hang them on the tree." "Oh!" she said, recalling suddenly a childhood memory. "When I was in grade school, we made these ornaments one year out of dough--just flour, water and...salt, I think. You shape them like Play-doh and then bake them. Seems to me they were pretty easy. I could probably figure out the recipe." "We could give them a try," Mulder said with a nod. But, even as he agreed, Scully shook her head, recalling belatedly the latter stage of that long ago arts and crafts project. "Only you need to decorate them," she said glumly, "with paint or something. Otherwise, they're just these blobby white mounds." "We have markers," he said, as if such a thing were obvious. "We do?" "Yeah. I found a pack of eight in the desk drawer. Some pretty good colors. Red and green anyway." "Red and green are good," she said. "Seems to me the creative juices are finally flowing," Mulder said with what sounded to Scully like a kind of satisfaction. "Let's take advantage of it. Why don't you see if you can pour some water into the bucket to keep the tree from drying out. Meanwhile, I'll go gather our supplies and meet you at the dining room table." "Deal," she said with a grin. Not ten minutes later, they rendezvoused, Mulder juggling markers, scissors, tape, glue, a ruler, the sewing kit, fishing line and an assortment of pens and pencils. For her part, Scully had searched through the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator, and brought to the table aluminum foil, popcorn, a quart of blueberries, and an added bonus--a roll of thin red ribbon. "Look!" she said, drawing his attention to this last item. "The drawer in the corner there had wrapping paper in it and this. We can tie bows on the tree. "That'd work," he allowed, dumping his supplies alongside hers. "Kinda girlie, though, don't you think?" "Bows aren't girlie," Scully said archly, rising to the bait. "They're festive." "Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe," he replied with a smirk. Wasting little time, they got to work, popping popcorn and mixing batter. Before long, they had edible ropes of beige and blue to loop around their tree and a couple trays of less than perfectly shaped wreaths and candy canes. "Can we eat these?" Mulder asked, eyeing one mutant cane speculatively. "No, you can't eat them," Scully replied, feeling suddenly as if she were talking to one of her nephews. "They're for the tree. Now let that pan cool and we can color them." "Why, though?" he pressed, picking up the little ornament and bouncing it lightly on his palm. "They were made with edible ingredients." "Edible, yes," she said. "But not very tasty." "How do you know?" "How do I know what?" "How do you know they don't taste good unless you try one?" "For your information, I have tried one," she said, carefully filling in a red stripe on the candy cane she was currently decorating. "In the third grade. The memory of the flavor haunts me to this day." "Not too good, huh?" "Nope." Mulder hooked the curved end of the cane over his little finger and swung it gently from side to side. "What did it taste like?" "Plaster, I guess. Or maybe papier-mache." "God, Scully. Was there anything you =didn't= eat as a kid?" "Mulder," she growled with mock censure. The little stick of dough chose that moment to spin off Mulder's pinkie and crash to the tabletop below, cracking upon impact. "I told you to let it cool," she murmured sweetly, looking at him through her lashes. "Nobody likes an I-told-you-so, Scully," he retorted with pretend ire. The afternoon passed quickly. Scully couldn't remember the last time she had had so much fun. It was ridiculous, she supposed, that a grown woman should get that much enjoyment out of something so childish as coloring, but she had, she did. Judging by his enthusiasm and goofy grins, Mulder seemed to be getting as big a kick out of it all as she. She couldn't have been happier. Not even the slight cramping that had started low in her abdomen hours earlier could detract from her pleasure. Soon, they moved their base of operations to the tree itself. But before hanging the fruits of their labors on the branches, Mulder turned to the fireplace and began stacking logs. "What are you doing?" Scully queried, kneeling at the foot of the pine and breathing in its fresh, green scent. "I know you've seen this done before," he teased. "I'm building you a fire." "Is this supposed to be part of my wish list too?" she asked, realizing all at once what might have been his impetus. "Absolutely," he said, striking a match against the hearth stone and catching the rolled up piece of newspaper he held on fire. "You said you wanted a tree, a fire, and carolers." He bent down and shoved the now burning newsprint beneath his tower of wood. "I was going to ask Montrose and Renfrew to croon a few tunes," he added, glancing at her over his shoulder. "But I was afraid they would hurt me." She looked over at him and chuckled. "Probably a very real possibility." In no time, the fire was crackling and popping and throwing luscious warmth. Working side by side, they began to hang their homemade decorations on the tree, Mulder stretching to reach those places near the top of the six-foot pine, Scully concentrating mainly on the branches below. She was on her knees, bending low to hook a chubby green wreath on a branch near the back of the tree. Mulder was hidden from her, so when he murmured, "Oops," she had no idea of the cause. "Everything okay?" she asked, ducking her head and slipping out from between the needles. "Everything is fine," he assured her, the tree still between them. "In fact, I just discovered something." She sat back on her heels and looked up. "What?" Mulder came around the evergreen and into view, mischief in his eyes. "Mistletoe." In his hand was a twig of pine, one end of which was wrapped in a ribbon bow. With the exception of its size and color, it looked nothing at all like the plant he claimed it was. "Mulder," she said, smiling, yet aware her heart had all at once begun to beat double-time. "That's not mistletoe. That's a piece of the tree that no doubt broke off when you tried to tie a bow around it." "I didn't break it off," he insisted, moving closer to her. "It fell off in my hands. Like it was meant to be." "All right," Scully agreed, sliding her tongue over her suddenly very dry lower lip. "Perhaps it wasn't you who did the damage. I'm sure this poor tree got jostled around good when Montrose dragged it here from wherever he and Renfrew cut it down. The branch could have gotten cracked then. The fact remains, however, that that is not mistletoe. It's pine." Kneeling beside her, Mulder shook his head. "I'm not so sure that this is the time for facts, though, Scully. You know? I mean...who really cares if this is pine or not? Who cares what type of tree this is at all, or how long its branches measure or even what kind of ornaments are hanging from it? Sometimes, that kind of stuff just doesn't matter. Sometimes you have to let it all go." He was very near to her now, their knees almost touching. "But if you let it all go..." she said, taken aback by how breathy her voice sounded to her ears, "...then what?" From where Mulder was positioned, she could see the fire reflected in his eyes. But something else was shining in them too, a longing, and a sadness Scully would have given anything to banish. "You pretend," he told her softly. "You pretend...even if only for a little while...that everything is exactly the way you want it to be." She couldn't swallow; she was surprised she could even still speak. "How do you want things to be, Mulder?" He reached out his hand, the one holding the sprig of green, and traced the shape of her face with his fingertips. She could feel a few of the twig's needles catching, dragging lightly through her hair like a comb. "Kiss me, Scully. Just once. Let me kiss you." Her mouth opened, then closed. She wanted to answer him, to tell him what a bad idea this was, to beg him to hurry and fit his mouth to hers. But nothing would come out. All she could do was sit there, trembling now, her eyes wide and moist. He watched her, his gaze hooded, seemingly trying to gauge her interest. Then, at last, with no help at all from her, he made his decision. Mulder took her silence for consent. Lifting his mock mistletoe above her head, he leaned in and covered her lips gently with his. Her hands fluttered to his shoulders. She gasped. But she did not stop him. She allowed him to kiss her and, what was more, Scully kissed him back. She opened her mouth for him, needy as she pressed against his familiar lips. It had been so long since they had done this, she realized, months and months. She had wondered, at times, in the depths of her loneliness and despair, whether she would ever again have the opportunity to breathe Mulder's breath, to nudge his nose with hers, to feel his eyelashes tickle her cheek. But now she did and it wonderful, glorious--the taste of him, the firm, fleshy texture of his lips, the heat of his mouth, warmer than the fire blazing nearby in the hearth. She mourned when Mulder began to pull away only to rejoice when he returned, this time without the counterfeit mistletoe. His hands reached up to cradle her face, to hold her balanced on the palms of his hands. "Scully," he whispered, his eyes nearly shut, hunger glittering there between the lashes. Then he dipped his head again. This time, not only did their lips meet, but their tongues tangled as well. Scully couldn't think, couldn't move save to cling to the man kissing the life out of her. All gentleness was gone. Their lips ground against each other now, angling this way and that, as if desperate to find the ideal fit. His tongue rubbed roughly over hers, wetly, exploring the confines of her mouth. Breathless, she followed his lead, grabbing at his arms for balance, tumbling sideways when he did, to lay supine on the floor. Mulder loomed over her, his body caging hers but taking care not to press against her swollen middle. A little light-headed by their sudden change in position, she stretched up and tunneled her fingers through his hair, the cool, crisp strands sliding easily between them. Wrapping her leg around his, she tried to pour all her yearning, all her love, all her apologies for the things she had chosen to keep from him into her kiss. She had no idea what had prompted Mulder's actions, but she knew what this moment and this man meant to her. I love you, she told him inside her head. I love you so much. Please don't hate me when I tell you what I've done. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that in the end I've only made it worse. Almost as if hearing her voiceless plea, Mulder tore his mouth from hers and, dropping soft, penitent kisses along her jaw line, mumbled an apology of his own. "Scully...I'm sorry...I know this is wrong. But I can't...I tried--" "Mulder...no," she said brokenly, her eyes welling, her hands sliding free from his hair. "Please...please don't say that." "I have to," he whispered, lifting his head just long enough to catch sight of her glistening eyes, then lowering it once more to hide his gaze against her neck. "I have to try and explain." "No, you don't" she said, pushing on his shoulders in an effort to try and make him raise his head. She couldn't take the coward's way out on this. She had to look him in the eye when she told him the truth. "You don't understand-- So engrossed were they, neither heard the sound of another moving cautiously up the front stairs and onto the porch. They were oblivious to the slow turning of the knob and quiet snick of the door swinging open. It wasn't until the intruder spoke that the two agents realized they were no longer alone. And that their unwanted guest bore a very familiar face. "Well, if it isn't the X-Files' own little mommy and daddy to-be," Alex Krycek crowed as he stood framed in the doorway, pistol held steady in his one good hand. "How nice to see you two have managed to pick up right where you left off." * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter X "By the Wind Grieved" (10/13 ) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes way back when, prior to chapter one. *************************************************** Before he had entered the house, the one-armed man would have bet Fox Mulder would be the one to gasp his name. After all, the X-Files' senior agent had always had a certain gift for the obvious. Yet instead, it was his partner who voiced it first, softly, as she stared up at him, her eyes wide with recognition and shock. "Krycek!" By contrast, Mulder all but ignored him, his attention belonging solely to the woman lying beside him, the one who looked as if she had recently been well and thoroughly kissed. "Agent Scully," Alex Krycek answered pleasantly as he closed the door behind him, his gun still trained in her direction. "Nice to see you looking so well. You know, it's true what they say. Pregnant women really do glow." While his description was accurate--Scully's cheeks were pink, her eyes big and bright--Krycek knew as well as she her physical state had little to do with the child she carried. She was embarrassed. Plain and simple. Which to Krycek's way of thinking was a very good thing. He may have currently had the upper hand, but experience had taught him never to underestimate these two. Any little anything that might upset or unbalance either of them could only be to his advantage. "What do you want?" Mulder queried, his gruff tone interrupting Krycek's musings. While they remained on the floor near the fire and a shabbily decorated pine, the agent had helped his partner to a seated position. Resting on her hip beside Mulder, Scully's eyes sought out his. Yet, like a sulking child, he now avoided her gaze. Interesting. "Actually, I don't want much of anything from you," Krycek said, taking a step closer, intrigued by the pair's odd behavior. "At least not now. My job is simply to keep you two here and out of trouble. I wouldn't want you to get in the way of things." "What things?" Scully asked. "You'll know in good time," Krycek replied. "We've got a small army of agents patrolling this property, you know," Mulder said, glaring up at him. "You're outnumbered." "Not anymore," Krycek informed him with a smile. "Four of your six agents have been taken out of the game already. The remaining two will be history before the night is out." "Have you killed them?" Scully asked, some of the color draining from her face. He hadn't. Despite what many might believe of him, Krycek preferred to do his job with a minimum of bloodshed. Still he saw no reason to share that bit of information. Better to let them worry instead. "Let's just say you shouldn't be expecting any last minute charge of the cavalry." "So while you're here, baby-sitting us, what's your partner doing?" Scully asked, raking her fingers through her tousled hair in a vain attempt to tame it. "How do you know about my partner?" Krycek countered, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa. Might as well get comfortable, he thought. None of them would be going anywhere for awhile. "Marita Covarrubias was helpful in that regard," Scully said, her gaze flickering again towards her partner, then away. Mulder still wouldn't look at her. Yet he had shifted on the floor so he was now positioned between her and the man with the gun. Krycek smiled to himself. It was just like old times. "Marita is a bitch," he said without rancor. "She likes to think she's smarter than me." "Isn't she?" Mulder queried dryly. "After all, she's still got both her arms." "While I've got you," Krycek said, his gun pointed squarely at the agent's chest. "So tell me, Mulder--given the situation, who would you say is the one with the brains?" Frowning, Scully put her hand on her partner's shoulder as if silently urging him to keep his mouth shut. Mulder ignored her mute plea. "That depends," he said instead, "on what you've come here for. If you want me, then what are we waiting for? Let's go. Leave Scully out of this." "Mulder!" she cried, tugging on his arm. "Stop--" "What makes you think it's you I want?" Krycek asked slyly, toying with his nemesis just a bit. Childish though he knew it was, he enjoyed the way it made Mulder's jaw screw tight, made his eyes flash with temper and dread. "Maybe I want to take Scully away from all this. Did you ever think of that? Maybe I want her baby, Mulder, your baby. Maybe I suddenly have the urge to start a family of my own." As he could have predicted, his needling had an immediate effect. "You touch her...," Mulder snarled, pushing swiftly to his feet, his fists clenched and ready. "You so much as lay your one remaining hand on her--" "Mulder, don't!" Scully begged, grabbing hold of his wrist in an apparent effort to keep him from charging his armed foe. "He's taunting you. Can't you see that? Goading you. It means nothing. Don't give him the satisfaction." Smirking, Krycek raised his brow as if to ask, 'Who are you going to believe, Mulder--Scully or me? Which do you think I really want, her or you?' The trio held their positions for a moment or two more, until Mulder swiped his lower lip with his tongue and, turning his back on his former partner, helped his current one to her feet. Krycek watched the two, their hands joined, their gazes darting like hummingbirds, flitting this way and that, but never really lighting on each other. What the hell had he walked in on? "Okay," Krycek said, when the crisis had passed and his captives stood side by side before him. "Now, seeing as we're all going to be here awhile...Scully, if you wouldn't mind bringing me first your phones, then your weapons. I'll be holding my gun on Mulder, here. So behave yourself. And don't take too long." "All right." With another quick look at the father of her child, Scully did as she was told, retrieving her cell phone from the kitchen countertop and that of Mulder from the side table at the opposite end of the sofa. "Great," Krycek said, the muzzle of his gun pointed at an exceedingly watchful Mulder. "Now remove the batteries and throw them outside. Far. I don't want to hear them hitting the porch or the steps." Again, Scully did as she was bid, holding the door open as she propelled the batteries far into the early evening black, their landing silent and, no doubt, snowy. Finished, she shut the door once more. "Now your weapon," Krycek instructed, standing and stepping behind Mulder so the agent was positioned between Scully and himself. Though the chances of Scully firing at all were slim, Krycek knew they would be nil if Mulder blocked her intended target. "I want you to go get it. When you have it in hand, remove the magazine and throw it outside with the rest. Then bring me the gun itself." Scully hesitated a moment, then turned to the coat rack on her right. Reaching beneath one of the jackets stored on it, she pulled out a holster that was hanging hidden there. "Nice and easy now, Scully," Krycek warned from behind Mulder's shoulder. "Make sure your hands are where I can see them." Nodding slightly, she slipped her gun free and popped out its clip. Opening the door, she hurled the magazine as far as she could, grunting with the effort, then pulled the door closed again. "Probably should have left that open," Krycek said. "You've got Mulder's ammo to dispose of as well, don't forget." "Mulder doesn't have a gun," Scully said, crossing towards him and setting her unloaded automatic on the coffee table. She paused as she bent to lay the gun down, her body stiffening as if with a sudden cramp or ache. Her hair hid her face from view, so it was impossible to tell from her expression the severity of the pain or what might have been its cause. Regardless, the moment didn't last long. When she stood upright again, she moved as if all were well. Krycek put the matter out of his head. He had other things to concern him. "Since when doesn't Mulder carry a gun?" he asked, coming around so he could look both agents in the eye. This was news to him. "Since you or whatever monsters you handed him over to stole his knowledge of how to handle one," Scully said, unblinking. While Scully's explanation made a certain amount of sense, Krycek didn't necessarily believe her. There were just too many reasons for her to lie. "That the truth, Mulder?" Krycek asked, adjusting his aim so that Scully was in his sights rather than the man to whom the question was addressed. "Are you now officially unarmed and considered not very dangerous?" Mulder swallowed hard, his gaze locked on Krycek's automatic, but his voice didn't waver. "That's right. These days I'd be more likely to shoot myself in the foot than hit what I was after." Eyes narrowed, Krycek considered whether this might be true. He supposed it could be possible; Mulder could have had his weapon taken away. He had no way of proving it one way or another, of course, without turning the house upside down and searching for the damned thing. Not a project he particularly wanted to undertake just then... "Don't kid yourself," Krycek finally said, his decision made. He would believe their story. For now. "You would have been just as likely to do that in the old days, too." Was it his imagination or did Scully shoot Mulder a furtive sideways glance? If she had, Mulder disregarded it. "Cute," he said instead. "Real cute. Scully didn't tell me what a regular laugh riot you are, Krycek." "I have my moments," the rogue agent murmured with a smile. Mulder nodded slowly, his gaze measuring. "I bet you do." Ah. This was familiar too. The stare-down. The silent dare. The gauntlet one or the other of them invariably threw whenever their paths crossed. Amused, Krycek wondered if Mulder had any memory at all of their many previous confrontations, if he recalled the attendant rush of adrenaline, the quickening of breath, the coiling of muscle that signaled violence was threatening to erupt. He wondered if Mulder got turned on by any of it. As Krycek did himself. "So now what?" Scully demanded when it seemed her two companions had, for a moment, forgotten she existed. "You have our cell phones and you have my gun. If that was all you were interested in, you could have gone shopping at Walmart. What do you want with us?" Krycek didn't answer directly. Rather, he asked, "What time you got, Scully?" Sighing with what sounded like frustration, the auburn-haired agent consulted her watch. "Twenty till seven." Picking up her gun and stashing it in his coat pocket, Krycek nodded. Everything was running right on schedule. "Why don't you two have a seat on the couch?" he suggested, circling as he pointed to the piece of furniture with the muzzle of his automatic. "Maybe we'll watch some TV. I'll bet that dish of yours gets practically every channel known to man." "Don't tell me you paid us a visit just because your cable is out," Mulder muttered darkly as he lowered himself beside Scully on the sofa. "No, I didn't," Krycek replied, plopping himself down in the chair across from the two agents and at last unzipping his leather jacket. Time to settle in. "As you guessed, Mulder, I came here for you." "I'm flattered," Mulder murmured, sitting forward so his elbows balanced atop his thighs, the dying fire casting shadows on his face. "You should be," Krycek replied. "We've been watching this place for more than a week now, learning the layout and the schedule your guards keep. They rotate on four hour shifts. Did you know that?" Neither agent answered, though Scully looked Mulder's way again. As before, he did not return her gaze. Krycek continued. "They do. There's more to it, of course-- the switching of partners and automobiles, and the opportunity for them each to get enough sleep. It's impressive, the intricacy of it all. And yet the whole thing goes off like clockwork. Every day, every time." He leaned forward now, sitting much like Mulder, the only difference between them being the weapon clutched tightly in his hand. "Which was how we knew there would be a team coming in at six tonight and one at ten. We entered the cottage this afternoon just after five, and took care of the agents that were there. They didn't know what hit them. After that, it was easy. We just hung out until the next team arrived. My partner is waiting for the final pair now." "They call in, though," Scully said. "The agents. They check with each other. The ones who are still out there...they'll be suspicious when no one answers at base." Smiling, Krycek shook his head. "No, they won't. You see... that's the other thing we spent the last week or so doing. My partner is amazingly good with voices. Really. The guy could have a career in Vegas. We've been intercepting your guards' calls since we got here. My man has got their speech patterns down. He knows the lingo they're using, the codes. He could get on the phone right now and pretend to be any one of them. Their own mothers wouldn't know the difference." "So, your guy ambushes our guys at ten," Mulder said flatly, his brow furrowed, his hands clasped between his knees. "Then what?" Krycek shrugged. "Then my partner, you and I leave Agent Scully here behind. We go somewhere nice and quiet, someplace we can talk. I want to know what you've been up to, Mulder. I want to hear all about your adventures." "He doesn't remember anything!" Scully blurted out, her hand rubbing restlessly over the swell of her belly. "I know," Krycek said. "But I think we may be able to do something about that." "You can get me my memory back?" Mulder asked. Krycek cocked a brow. "We can try." "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Scully snapped. "It means we have recently gotten access to the technology responsible for taking Mulder's memory to begin with," Krycek said. "We believe that if we can reverse the process used on him, his memory should return." "You believe...," Scully echoed fearfully, realization dawning on her face. "But you don't know for sure." Krycek said nothing. "You've never tried this sort of thing before, have you?" she asked, her cheeks darkening with her mood. "Have you?" Krycek saw no reason to lie to her. "No. No, we haven't. It's not like the procedure is something we get a big demand for. Mulder will be the first." "The first...," Scully repeated in disbelief, pushing herself awkwardly to the edge of the sofa cushion, the difficulty she had in shifting her seat seemingly only adding to her rage. "You son of a bitch. You selfish, superior son of a bitch." "Scully," Mulder murmured, looking at her at last, warning in his gaze. "Mulder isn't some sort of lab rat you can experiment on at will," she continued, uncaring of her partner's concern. "You have no right to do this, no right to do any of this." "What is it you think I've done?" Krycek asked, impressed in spite of himself by her ferocity. "What do you think my part has been in all this?" "I think you've used him, you bastard," she growled, her eyes blazing blue, her posture drawn so tightly she quivered with the tension. "You set Mulder up. You put him through months of God only knows what kind of torture all because you wanted information, information you were too much of a coward to get any other way." "You're right," Krycek said, pushing to his feet and coming to stand above them both, his mouth hard, his palm beginning to sweat around the grip of his weapon. "I need the information locked inside Mulder's head. We all do if this planet is going to have any chance at all of survival." "So you plan to take it," she sneered, clearly unforgiving of his motives. "Just like you always take whatever it is you want. A file, a life--what do you care? The end justifies the means, right?" "That's enough, Scully," Krycek muttered. "No," she said, unafraid. "I don't think it is. I want you to explain it to me, Krycek. Make me understand. Tell me how you sleep at night, how you get through each day without putting a gun to your head--" "Shut the fuck up. Do you hear me?" Krycek warned, his automatic pointed at her head, his patience all but gone. "Just. Shut. The fuck. Up." Something in his voice must have gotten through to her, pierced the bubble of reckless courage fueling her tirade. Perhaps the gun itself had made an impression or maybe she had just ran out of things to say. Whatever the reason, Scully fell silent. She stared up at him, censure still glittering in her eyes, yet said no more. "That's better," Krycek murmured, holding her gaze. "For everyone, I think. After all, too much excitement can't be good for the baby. Wouldn't you agree?" Neither agent replied. Krycek nodded, satisfied his point had been made. "All right. Enough talk. Mulder, grab the remote and let's see what's on TV. I don't know about you two, but I could go for a little mindless entertainment. In my experience, conversation is highly overrated." ***** The day had turned surreal. It had been strange enough to have FBI agents deliver a Christmas tree to their door. But as far as Scully was concerned that bit of whimsy paled next to watching TBS' Tom Cruise marathon with Mulder and a pistol-toting Alex Krycek. At their captor's insistence, they had tuned in to "Days of Thunder" and were now an hour into a severely edited for television version of "Risky Business." Risky business, indeed. Mulder and she were being held at gunpoint. Their fellow agents were either dead or incapacitated. Krycek planned on using her partner's head as his very own science project. And she was in labor. Had been, by her calculations, for nearly six hours now. Physician though she was, Scully hadn't realized it at first, hadn't recognized the signs. But they had been there, plain as day. Her backache had intensified soon after Mulder and she had begun their tree decorating party. The cramps had started not long after that. Yet, while she had been admittedly uncomfortable, she hadn't given the symptoms much thought. She was always being afflicted by little aches and pains these days. So what? She was eight months pregnant; it went with the territory. The twinges had been easy enough to ignore. They had been having such a good time, Mulder and she. The last thing she had wanted to do was spoil the mood with complaints. But as the afternoon had worn on, the severity of the pain had increased. Not dramatically, at first. It had been more a matter of her considering swallowing a few Tylenol than of her demanding Mulder drive her to the hospital. Nothing to worry about. No need for concern. However, by the time Krycek had made his appearance, Scully could no longer deny the truth. Those little twinges she had tried to ignore were contractions. Unlike her usual assorted aches, they wouldn't go away. They would come faster and hurt more until her body could do nothing but surrender to their demands. They were the harbingers of birth. Her baby was coming. And Scully was going to fight its impending arrival with every last molecule of her being. She couldn't have the baby now. Could not. Not when there was a murderer in the house. A murderer who could well decide to try and use the child against her and the man she loved. So, as Tom Cruise romanced first a redhead, then a blonde, Dana Scully sat watching, and tried desperately to will away her labor pains. She didn't really believe she would be able to make them disappear. She did hope, however, she would be able to keep the two men with her from finding out her condition. Now that she knew Krycek's plan, she didn't want him to change it on her account. As it stood, Krycek wouldn't link up with his partner again until after ten o'clock. Prior to then, he would be alone and outnumbered. Granted--outnumbered by a pregnant woman in the midst of giving birth and a man who couldn't remember how to throw a punch let alone what taking one might feel like-- still... If only they could get to Mulder's gun. It gave Scully some small measure of solace to know her partner's service automatic was upstairs in his sock drawer. The problem was retrieving it. She doubted she could convince Krycek to let her go upstairs alone for any reason. For all his faults, the man wasn't stupid. He wouldn't let either her or Mulder out of his sight... ...unless he absolutely had to. Wait a minute. Maybe they wouldn't need the gun upstairs. Maybe she could take Krycek out without it. A plan began to form inside her head, its shape imperfect yet simple enough to draw. Simplicity would have to do. Time was running out and so was Scully's acting ability. Her contractions were becoming more and more difficult to hide. Even Mulder had noticed the last one. When it had hit, she had sucked in a quick, harsh breath between her teeth and held herself very still, waiting for the pain to pass. "You all right?" Mulder had whispered in the midst of it, his mouth inches from her ear. "Yeah," she had assured him breathlessly, unable at that moment to say more. "You sure? It's seems like you're...I don't know...fidgeting some." "Indigestion." "Do you two mind?" Krycek had said, looking over at them. "I'm trying to watch the movie." That had been the longest interchange Mulder and she had shared since Krycek's ill-timed bombshell. Scully knew she had wounded the man she loved. Yet she had hope all was not lost. Because for all Mulder's show of ignoring her, he had still noticed when she fidgeted. He had been ready to pounce on Krycek just for suggesting he might harm her. He had, without thinking, shielded her from a possible bullet. In spite of everything, Mulder still cared. So did she. Deeply. More than she could say. Luckily for them both, actions spoke more loudly than words. Taking a slow, cleansing breath, Scully put her plan in motion. "I need to go to the bathroom," she announced. Tearing his eyes away from a coolly knowing Rebecca DeMornay, Krycek grumbled, "Can't you hold it?" "Not these days," she wryly replied. Sighing, he hesitated, then gestured towards the hallway. "Well, go on. And hurry up." "I'll try." With a helpful arm up from Mulder, Scully rose to her feet and padded slowly towards the downstairs powder room. Closing the door and locking it behind her, she quickly did her business then got down to the matter at hand. What was there in that tiny room that she could use as a weapon? Bending down, she quietly opened the cabinet beneath the sink and peered inside. Damn it. She had been hoping for an aerosol can or two, something she could use to blind Krycek, hurt him as she once had Donny Pfaster. No such luck. It seemed their cleaning supplies were kept elsewhere. All that was stored below was toilet paper, a plunger, and a rusting bathroom scale. Undaunted, Scully checked the vanity. There, the pickings were a good deal more promising--a nearly full bottle of rubbing alcohol and a metal nail file. Okay, she thought, testing the file's point with her thumb. This could work. If she could maneuver near enough to Krycek to get the alcohol in his face, she could take advantage of his distraction and use the nail file as a makeshift knife. She realized it wasn't exactly razor sharp, but it should hurt like hell if she could get enough force behind the jab. It was no match, of course, for Krycek's automatic, but beggars couldn't be choosers. She would have to make do with what she had. Unscrewing the top off the bottle of alcohol and setting it aside, Scully waited, knowing that sooner or later her absence would grate on Krycek's nerves. Sure enough, she hadn't been in the bathroom ten minutes, when he knocked on the door. "Scully, what the hell are you doing in there?" "Just a second," she said, flushing the toilet and running water in the sink. "I...um...I'm not feeling real well." "That's too bad. Open the door." "I will," she assured him, washing and drying her hands before turning off the faucet once more. "Just, give me... I'll be right there." "Scully...=now=." "Okay, okay. Just hang on." Flipping the lock, she cracked open the door, nail file concealed in her right hand, the alcohol hidden behind her back. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her head bowed. "I started feeling a little dizzy in there." As she had expected, Krycek was waiting for her in the hall, his weapon drawn. "If you're feeling dizzy, go sit--" Striking as quickly as she was able, Scully pushed the door open the rest of the way, whipped out the bottle of alcohol and threw its contents at Krycek's eyes. The burning liquid hit its mark. Screaming, he staggered on his feet, twisting and turning as if to try and avoid the pain. "=Shit!=" he cried, rubbing his arm wildly against his face, his gun still in hand. "Oh, God! Shit...shit." "Scully?" Mulder called anxiously from the living room. "Mulder, get over here!" she shouted, tossing the empty bottle away and taking aim with the nail file. "Get over here now!" Unwilling to wait for her partner to join her, Scully edged nearer to Krycek, trying to get in position to plunge her weapon into his back. She was just about to deliver the blow, her slender file raised and ready for attack, when Krycek caught her unawares. Doubled over in agony, he straightened suddenly, his arms flung wide and fast. As close as she stood to him, Scully couldn't dodge in time. Krycek's gun caught her on the chin, the blow snapping back her head and sending her careening into the wall, temple first. Dazed by the impact, she crumpled in a heap. "SCULLY!" Barreling past her, Mulder flew at Krycek, murder in his eyes. "You sick fuck!" Mulder roared, grabbing hold of Krycek's jacket and throwing him to the ground. "You like hitting pregnant women? Does it make you feel like more of a man?" "Mulder...the gun," Scully said weakly from where she lay sprawled, bleary-eyed on the floor. "Be careful of the gun." She couldn't tell whether Mulder heard her or not. He didn't look her way. Instead, he straddled Krycek and drove his fist into the one-armed man's jaw. "Mulder, what the fuck!?" Krycek yelled, bucking beneath his assailant, his lip split, tears streaking his flushed face. "She's the one who attacked me! She practically blinded me!" "Yeah?" Mulder said mockingly, his forearm pressing against Krycek's windpipe while his other hand tried to pry the gun free from his hand. "Well, excuse me if I'm having trouble working up the proper level of sympathy." Head throbbing, Scully struggled to get her legs beneath her. I have to do something, she thought, watching as the two men rolled this way and that, wrestling for control of Krycek's weapon. His gun. I need to get Mulder's gun. Moving slowly, Scully got to her hands and knees in preparation for rising when a swift, breath-stealing pressure girded her middle. Oh, God, it hurt. Teeth clenched, she groaned against the indignity of it all, her protest sounding long and low. Sitting back on her heels, her arms wrapped around her belly, she hung her head and rocked as she rode out the pain. "Scully?" She wanted to answer Mulder. She could hear him calling from what sounded like far away, much more distant than what she knew him to be. But before she could say anything, a flood of liquid gushed from between her legs. "Oh, shit," she moaned, eyes squeezed shut. "Scully, what is it?" Mulder asked now from right in front of her, his battle with Krycek seemingly forgotten. "What's wrong?" Lifting her lashes, she looked up into his frightened face. "Mulder, it's the baby." "What about the baby?" "It's coming." "Now?!" "Yeah, now. And I think I'm going to need your help." * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter XI "By the Wind Grieved" (11/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com As I am an aunt, not a mother, I needed to do some research for this chapter. Thankfully, Jen and Maribeth were there to save me from myself. Anything I got right is because of them. Anything I got wrong is my fault alone. Thanks, you guys. I really, really appreciate all the help. *************************************************** Mulder didn't think; he didn't speak. He simply swept Scully up in his arms and ran for the door. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" They had only gotten as far as the living room when Krycek's voice stopped him. Breathing hard, Mulder turned around, fairly certain of what he would see. Sure enough, Krycek trailed little more than half a room away, his gun again in hand and pointed in their direction. "In case you haven't noticed, Agent Scully has gone into labor," Mulder said as evenly as he was able. "I'm taking her to a hospital." "Guess again," Krycek gritted out as he neared them, limping slightly, his eyes and face red and wet. "Sorry, Mulder, but we're all going to stay right here." "She needs a doctor," Mulder insisted, his voice cracking with the strain. "Mulder, no. It's okay." Even though he cradled her close, Scully's soft words startled him. "What...Scully, what do you mean?" Mulder asked, turning his back on Krycek, wanting to somehow shield the woman he held, use his body as a buffer against the danger the other man posed. A bruise had already begun to form near her hairline, marking the spot where her head had hit the wall. A matching wound, smaller in size, darkened her chin. Otherwise, she appeared unharmed, her flushed cheeks and glistening brow the only signs of her condition. "Krycek isn't going to let us leave this place," Scully said, her hand gripping his sweater. "Not until he's certain he'll be able to take you with him unimpeded." "To hell with Krycek," he retorted, low so as to try and keep their conversation private. "I don't care about him. You need to get to a hospital." "No," she argued just as quietly, shaking her head. "I don't. At least not right now. Mulder, women have babies all the time without the benefits of modern medicine. I'll be fine." As much as he admired it, her calm was threatening to send him right over the edge. "Scully, I would wager the majority of those women have someone with them when they give birth, someone who knows what the hell they're doing." "I have you," she murmured, looking up at him. Oh, no. No. He couldn't do that. "I am not a doctor nor a midwife," he muttered, the horror engendered by the very idea suffusing his words. "You know as well as I do my knowledge of medicine doesn't extend much past Bactine and Band-Aids." Any reply Scully might have made was silenced by her next contraction. Stiffening in his embrace, she gasped, then moaned, her lips pressed tight to muffle the sound. "Scully?" Mulder whispered, clutching her tighter to him. Oh, God. What were they going to do? Butterfly McQueen and he might be worlds apart, but they had just about the same level of insight when it came to childbirth. "Come on, Mulder. Get away from the door. Now." Terrific. Krycek again, waving his gun menacingly. Mulder had almost forgotten he was there. "Take me...upstairs," Scully said suddenly in a hush, her body slowly relaxing in his hold, her words spoken between pants. "Upstairs?" Mulder echoed. "I'm going to have the baby here," she said, her cheek resting against his collarbone. "Scully...," Mulder began. "Mulder, even if by some miracle you were able to convince Krycek to let us go, we'd still have to deal with the weather," she said, her volume rising just a bit. "Look out the window. It's snowing harder than it was before. The wind has picked up. To get to the hospital, we would have to drive for miles down unfamiliar, unlit, unplowed blacktop." Chewing on the corner of his mouth, Mulder reluctantly nodded. "We don't even know for certain the roads are still passable," Scully continued, her breath yet labored. "I realize our current situation is far from ideal, but the alternative isn't much better. I don't want to give birth in the back seat of a car. Please... let's just go upstairs." "I think you should listen to her, Mulder," Krycek said with the faintest suggestion of a smile. "It's awfully cold out there. Besides, if you take one step closer to the door, I will fire. I swear I will. If you try and set foot outside this house, I will put a bullet in one or the other of you. I can't miss from this range." Jaw clenched, Mulder considered Krycek's threat. Would the bastard really do it? He might. Just from reading through the files, Mulder knew how utterly unprincipled his former partner was. True, Krycek needed the information hidden away inside his head, but the one-armed man could always shoot to wound. Then, of course, there was Scully's safety to consider. Based on his behavior, it didn't appear as if Krycek was in any hurry to harm her or her child. If he was, he would have killed her when the evening began. Still, that didn't make her immune from injury. If she got in Krycek's way, he would take her out. Mulder was certain of it. He couldn't let that happen. "All right," he said at last, speaking to both the woman in his arms and their captor. "We'll do it your way." With a wary glance in Krycek's direction, Mulder fulfilled Scully's request, taking the stairs quickly yet carefully. Krycek once more followed in their wake, lagging a step or two behind. When they reached Scully's room, Mulder crossed to the bed, intending to set her atop it. "No, I don't want to lay down" she said, stopping him. "I can't. Not yet. Just put me on my feet." Mulder hesitated, the memory of her last contraction making him question the wisdom of her simple request. It had hit her so hard before, like a blow or a vice. He hated to release her, to leave her standing there on her own. Rather than being annoyed by his indecision, Scully seemed amused by it. "Mulder, it's okay. I have to get cleaned up," she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "And changed. I'm wearing pants. I can't give birth wearing pants." Oh, yeah. Pants. "I'll be all right," she assured him. Still not entirely convinced, he nonetheless lowered her legs to the ground. Yet even as Scully regained her footing, he held on to her, his hands closed loosely around her arms. They lingered there, ostensibly to hold her steady, though Mulder recognized the contact was as much for his benefit as it was for hers. "I have a nightgown in the top drawer there," she said, gesturing to the bureau at the foot of the bed. "Would you hand it to me?" Letting go of her at last, Mulder retrieved the garment. It was white and short-sleeved, the bodice buttoning down the front. He hadn't seen Scully wear it, but he imagined it would probably fall to just below her knees. "Thanks," Scully said, taking it from him. "I'll be right back." She started to exit the room, on her way, Mulder assumed, to the bathroom down the hall, when Krycek stepped into her path. "Oh, no," he said, his gun pointed at her chest. "I don't think so. Not again." "I'm just going to go change clothes," Scully said, glaring up at him. Krycek thought about it for a moment before saying, "Mulder, come over here, would you?" Curious yet cautious, Mulder did as he was bid. His face expressionless, Krycek watched him approach. As soon as Mulder drew alongside him, the rogue agent wrapped his prosthetic arm tightly around the other man's throat and put the gun to his ear. "Do what you have to do, Scully," Krycek told her from just over Mulder's shoulder. "Do it, and do it quickly. Just know that if you make a single false move, I'll kill him. I don't care what information Mulder holds inside his head, I'll splatter it all over the wall here. Do you understand?" "Yes," she said, paling, her nightgown bunched in her hands. "Go on then." Once Scully had left the room and the bathroom door had snicked closed behind her, Mulder mumbled, "That was laid on rather thick, don't you think?" "You don't believe I'd kill you, Mulder?" Krycek whispered in his ear. "No," Mulder answered softly. "I don't believe you would." Krycek chuckled. "Well, you're feeling awfully self-important all of a sudden. Must be impending fatherhood." "No," Mulder said again, his Adam's apple bobbing against Krycek's false arm. "Just common sense. You and your partner wouldn't go to all this trouble only to lose what you came here for in the end. You need me. You'd sooner put a bullet in your own head than in mine." "What about in Agent Scully's head? Do you think I'd be willing to do that?" Even though he recognized Krycek was once more yanking his chain, Mulder couldn't help but react. He was so sick of this, of being used, being manipulated. "I swear to God, Krycek...if you do anything, anything at all--" "You'll do what, Mulder?" Krycek sneered, huffing as Mulder pulled and pushed against his hold. "Be really, really angry with me?" "You do anything to hurt her and I promise you, you'll never get what you want from me." "Oh yeah? And just how do you propose to stop me?" Krycek asked. "The procedure we have planned for you is by its very nature involuntary. We don't need your cooperation for it to succeed." Finally having had enough, Mulder twisted abruptly, his action quick and unexpected enough to wrest him free of Krycek's hold. But rather than move away from his captor, Mulder turned instead to look him in the face. Krycek's gun hovered inches from his sternum. Mulder really couldn't have cared less. "For your procedure to work, you need me alive, don't you?" Krycek's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?" Mulder smiled, small and sure. "I'm saying that if you harm Scully or her child in any way, I will kill myself. It's as simple as that." Though Krycek strove to maintain his usual bravado, Mulder thought he spied a measure of doubt darkening the other man's leaf green gaze. Doubt and fear. "You want me to believe you'd actually off yourself? I don't think so, Mulder." Mulder's smile broadened. He had been unsure himself until he had said it aloud. Suddenly the idea made perfect sense. "Think again." As if confused by Mulder's pronouncement, Krycek wrinkled his brow. "That's nuts. =You're= nuts. What makes you think we'd even give you the opportunity?" "Oh, I'm not saying it would be a walk in the park," Mulder allowed. "I'm sure you'd do everything in your power to keep me good and safe. Away from high windows and sharp objects. But you and I both know how hard it would be for you to watch me every minute of every day. Sooner or later, you and your partner would be bound to slip up. I'd just need to be patient, pick my moment." Krycek studied him, seemingly searching for clues as to Mulder's sincerity. Mulder met his gaze, unflinching. Why not? He had nothing to hide. "That moment would come, Krycek," Mulder murmured. "Moments like that always do. And when it did, I'd be ready. Think about it. Think how easy it would be for me to die if you were to take away my reason for living." "Your reason for living?" Krycek scoffed a bit too heartily. "Now who's laying it on thick? For God's sake, Mulder, you have virtually no memory of Scully or her child. How much time have you spent with her since you returned? A month? Less? Think about it, man. Are you really willing to die for her, for a woman you barely even know?" Was he? Krycek was right, after all. In so many ways, Scully remained a mystery to him. Even with all the hours he had spent with her, talking, reading up on their shared history, he still knew so little about who she was, who they were, together. Then there was the matter of their child. Although he still hadn't gotten confirmation from Scully herself, Mulder believed Krycek's opening jab. He was the father of child she carried. He knew it from the way Scully reacted. Yet for some reason, she had felt the need to keep that information from him. Why? She had been good to him, certainly, since he had returned, her genuine fondness for him impossible for him to misconstrue. Yet what had prompted that affection and how deep did it run? Did her soul long for his, as he had discovered his did for hers? Or were her emotions tempered somehow, those rather of a partner or a friend? Was the baby in her womb the result of some ongoing affair, or of an evening neither of them had planned nor wanted to relive? So many questions needed answering. Yet even as Mulder asked them, voiced the queries aloud inside his head, he recognized full well any reply he might get would ultimately be meaningless. Regardless what Scully might tell him, his feelings for her would remain unchanged. It didn't matter if or how she loved him. He loved her. Without reservations or conditions. The choice might not be smart or even safe, but such considerations held no sway when it came to his heart. It belonged to Scully now. Would he die for her? Mulder didn't even hesitate. "Yes." Krycek held his gaze a moment longer before shaking his head. "Then God help you both." "Mulder?" He glanced over his shoulder and saw Scully framed in the doorway. She wore the cotton nightgown and a pair of sloppy white socks. The terry cloth robe she kept hanging on the bathroom door completed her ensemble, its snowy softness hanging down to brush against the backs of her calves. She seemed so small and fragile standing there, he thought, breakable, with her naked legs and brilliant eyes. Mulder was used to Scully being able to take care of herself, to take care of them both, if he were to be honest. Only now her body was conspiring against her, stealing her strength and demanding her focus turn inward, away from any outside threat. In the hours to come, it would be up to him to protect her, to keep her safe not only from Krycek but from the danger their own child could potentially pose. Jesus. "How you doing?" Mulder asked, turning towards her, swallowing down all his fears, all his worries over whether he was ready for such responsibility. He would have to be ready, he told himself. There was no one else. "Okay," she said, taking a step closer, her eyes darting in the direction of Krycek's gun, then away. "I'm doing okay. I had another contraction in the bathroom just now, but I'm... I'm all right." He nodded. "How far apart are they, would you say?" She shrugged. "Five, six minutes maybe." "What does that mean?" he asked. "How soon do you think before...?" She shook her head. "I can't be certain. First births are notoriously difficult to predict. Near as I can judge, I've been in labor for almost seven hours now. With the rate the contractions are coming, I'm guessing...I don't know. Two or three hours, maybe." Mulder consulted his watch. Ten minutes till nine. Two hours would put them right around eleven. Shit. Even with a speedy birth, Krycek's partner would be back before the baby arrived. Great. Then what? Did Krycek and his buddy think they would be able to convince Mulder to take off with them? Did they expect he would just leave Scully behind, abandon her to give birth to their child alone? If so, they had another thing coming. "What do you need?" Mulder asked now, crossing to her. "Can I get you anything? Do you want to lie down?" "No," she said, giving him a small smile. "Not right now. I think I want to walk, actually." "Walk?" Mulder echoed, surprised. Scully stood there, shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets, swaying on her feet. She didn't look like she would be able to remain upright much longer, let alone pace the halls. "I've got too much energy," she admitted almost sheepishly, her eyes meeting his for an instant before flitting to the floor. "Nerves, I guess. I...I can't just lie down. I need to move." "Whatever you want," Mulder told her. "Will you come with me?" she asked. Mulder stole a peek at Krycek. He stood, watching the two agents, seemingly bemused by their interchange. "Do you mind?" Mulder asked dryly. "Knock yourself out," Krycek drawled. "Okay," Mulder said, returning his attention to his partner. "So...how should we do this?" After a moment or two of fumbling, they decided upon an old-fashioned skater's grip. Standing just behind her, Mulder took Scully's left hand in his. He then wrapped his other arm around her waist, anchoring her to him. Scully's right hand rested atop his. "Make sure you stay where I can see you both," Krycek instructed, his shoulder propped against the bedroom's jamb as he watched them go. "I don't want either of you disappearing on me, Mulder." "What the hell do you think I'm going to do?" Mulder muttered as they turned and began shuffling slowly down the hall. "Throw her over my shoulder and shimmy down the drainpipe?" Scully's hair hid her face from view, but he heard her chuff softly at his quip. She was holding on tightly to him, as if for all her supposed energy, she feared her legs might suddenly give out. Mulder didn't know what he could say to reassure her, so he settled for hugging her closer to him still. Lost as she was in her body's demands, he wondered if Scully even noticed the change in his embrace. They moved in silence down the shadowy corridor, away from Krycek and his gun. Listening to Scully breathe beside him, each inhale and exhale to follow seemingly a conscious act of will, Mulder tried to come up with some sort of plan, a means to deliver them from Krycek's clutches. Yet, despite his efforts, nothing was coming easily to mind. Not for the first time, he longed to know the things his former self would have known. Tactical maneuvers, hand-to-hand combat, hostage situation strategy. The old Fox Mulder would have had that information at his fingertips. The new one hadn't even been able to defeat a one-armed man in a fistfight. These concerns rolling around inside his head, careening off one another like pinballs in an arcade, he noticed they had reached the far end of the hall. Only a doorway or two remained before they would have to turn around and go back the way they had come. He was just about to mention this to Scully when she spoke. "Mulder, I want you to listen to me," she whispered, the words coming out quick and harsh. "When we get back to the room, I'm going to ask you to get towels for us to spread on the bed. I'll keep Krycek busy. You go get your gun. It's in your bedroom, right?" Well, what do you know? It seemed he wasn't the only one who had been trying to come up with a way out of this mess. "Scully, I am not going to put you in the middle of a gunfight between Krycek and me." She squeezed his hand so hard he almost winced in reaction. "Mulder, it's the only way. We've got little more than an hour before Krycek's partner joins us. We have to strike now." "You are not in any condition to 'strike'," he reminded her, peering past Scully's curtain of hair to try and catch a glimpse of her eyes. "My God, don't you realize what will happen? The minute I walk into that room with my automatic, Krycek is going to use you as, at best, a bartering chip, at worst, a human shield. I'm sorry, Scully. But I can't let that happen." "Fine," she spat, coming to a halt, her head bowed. "Then take the gun and get out of here. I can keep Krycek occupied, while you--" "You expect me to leave you here alone with that lunatic?" he muttered. "No way, Scully. No fucking way." "He won't hurt me," she began, chin lifted at last and tilted his way. "He needs me..." Only, as before, Scully's argument was cut short by a contraction. Crying out against the pain, her knees buckled. Mulder caught her before she could fall, his mouth at her ear, his lips moving softly beneath her hair. "I won't leave you. Do ask me to. I can't. I'm going to stay here with you till the end. I'm going to help you deliver our baby." "Everything all right?" Krycek asked from the other end of the hall. Scully was breathing heavy beside him, her upper body limp in his arms, her head cushioned against his chest. Shoving a trembling hand through her hair, she tucked a fall of it behind her ear, and bared her face to Mulder's gaze. "Mulder, I'm sorry," she murmured brokenly, tears glistening on her lashes. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you." "It's all right," he assured her quietly and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. "It's okay." And surprisingly it was. Any anger Mulder had felt, any hurt over Scully's deception had vanished somewhere along the way. He didn't know where it had gone, and frankly didn't miss it. What he felt now, holding her, was so much better. "What's going on over there?" Krycek called, his voice more impatient this time than it had been before. "Nothing," Mulder growled, scowling at him over his shoulder. "Scully's having a contraction, that's all." "I think I can walk some more," she mumbled, pushing away from his embrace to stand on her own again. "You sure?" Mulder asked, worried, his hands loosening their hold but not relinquishing it entirely. Scully sniffed and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Only... when we pass the bathroom, let's stop and get a drink of water, okay? I'm getting thirsty." "Sure," he said, turning around with her and heading back towards the bedroom. "Sure, Scully. Whatever you want." And so it went. Scully led and he followed. Business as usual, Mulder mused. Back and forth. Up and down. With side trips to the bathroom every now and then. While Mulder didn't have occasion to time them, Scully's contractions seemed to be coming more frequently and lasting longer, their increasing force requiring more and more of her concentration. She didn't speak except to give him direction. Although the air between them crackled with tension, he was thankful for her reticence. Had she required small talk, he really didn't know what the hell he would have said. They walked the hall for another forty minutes or so, when Scully stopped him. "Mulder, I need to sit. Okay? I need to sit down." "All right," he said agreeably, ushering her past Krycek who stood sentry-like beside her bedroom door, his face impassive. "In here. Let's just go in here and get comfortable." He led her straight to the bed, expecting her to climb gratefully atop it. Instead, she hobbled to the end of it and, clinging white- knuckle tight to the foot board, dropped to a squat. "Scully...you okay?" he queried. She looked up at him, her robe pooling around her in a circle, her hair sticking to her sweaty brow. "Go get towels for the bed, Mulder," Scully said, her voice throaty and soft. Mulder knew what she was really asking him to do. The minutes were ticking by. Krycek's partner would return soon. If he were to have any chance at escape it would have to be now. Mulder shook his head. "Mulder, please...," she tried again, her eyes pleading with him. "Go. Get. Towels." Smiling, he reached down and cupped her cheek in his palm. Her skin was warm and moist to the touch. "I'll get towels, Scully," he said. "I'll get them...and I'll be right back." Groaning with frustration, Scully hung her head, seemingly unable to look at him anymore. His smile fading, Mulder turned to leave the room, intent on his task. Krycek stopped him. "Mulder Jr. better be coming along pretty soon now," Krycek warned, his gun tickling Mulder's ribs. "It's getting late. We have a schedule to keep." "I'm not leaving her," Mulder said flatly. "Get used to it." Brow lifted, Krycek stared at him for a moment or two more before murmuring, "Go get Scully her damned towels." Mulder bobbed his head and did just that, grabbing a stack of terry cloth from the hallway linen closet. When he returned to the room, he found Scully had discarded her robe. Clad now only in the lightweight gown and socks, she stood beside the bed, bent at the waist, her hands pressed against the mattress so as to support her weight. "I thought you wanted to sit down," he said, dumping the towels near the head of the bed and coming over to stand next to her. Not knowing what else to do, he slid his hand slowly along her back's graceful slope, tracing her spine. "No, I can't sit," she said wearily, shaking her head from side to side. "Not yet. Not yet. Oh, God..." With that, she staggered, caught in the grip of yet another contraction. As before, Mulder caught her, hooking his arm around her middle in an attempt to keep her upright. Holding Scully to him, he could feel the muscles in her abdomen ripple, clench hard, like a prizefighter's fist beneath his grip. "Jesus," he whispered, awed by the power her small body was exerting, frightened by it. Scully said nothing. She only moaned and turned her head away, grimacing as if embarrassed by the sound. "Scully, if you're trying to prove how tough you are, you can stop right now," Mulder said, legs braced for balance, his cheek nuzzling at her hair. "I already know. Okay? I'm convinced." Lured perhaps by the teasing lilt of his voice, Scully glanced sideways at him, her eyes bleary and very blue. "If you need to make noise, make noise," he said, reaching around to smooth a few stray strands of auburn from her bruised temple, hoping as he did so Scully didn't notice just how badly his hand shook. "If you want to yell, yell. There's no one here to impress. No one who isn't impressed already." Scully looked over at him, a slack bundle in his arms. She was flushed and disheveled, her hair a mess, sweat beading down the side of her battered face. "It hurts, Mulder," she confessed. "I know it does, sweetheart," he said gruffly, the endearment slipping from his lips without thought. She watched him a second longer, her gaze searching his, before assuring him, "But I can do this." Mulder nodded, his throat clogged all of a sudden, blocking whatever words he might have spoken instead. Scully smiled then and Mulder joined her. Brushing his cheek with her fingertips, she took a deep breath as if to gather herself, and got back to business. "We need to put the towels down," she instructed, easing herself from his arms, her feet finding firm purchase once more. "On the bed." "All right," he said, taking a step away, giving her room. "And pillows. We're going to need pillows." Again, like a lackey serving his queen, Mulder set off to do Scully's bidding, pillaging the other bedrooms and closets and returning to her, his arms loaded with as many pillows as he could find. Scully had already begun spreading a layer of terry cloth in his absence. "See if you can't sort of pile them there against the headboard," she directed, making her way slowly around the mattress. "You're going to sit?" he queried, tossing the feather cushions where she wanted them. "Yeah," she said. "I think so. Gravity, you know...it should help." "Okay," he said, putting the last pillow in place. "Okay. Now... what else do we need to do? There's more stuff to do, isn't there? I mean...I should be boiling water or something, shouldn't I?" Despite her obvious discomfort, Scully chuckled. "You could, I guess. Though fire would do just as well. We need to sterilize a knife." "A knife?" Mulder squeaked, looking at her from across the bed. "For cutting the cord," she said, sitting down at last, a few leftover towels in her lap. "See if you can't find a steak knife or something in the kitchen, the sharper the better. Turn on a burner and heat the blade. That should do the trick." "All right." "One more thing," she said, handing him the towels that remained. "While you're downstairs, toss these in the dryer." "Why?" he asked, taking them from her. "For the baby," she explained, scooting back slowly and carefully to rest against the mound of pillows. "Once it's here, we'll need to keep it warm." Once it's here, Mulder repeated to himself. It was really happening. Their baby was on the way. "All right," he said, nodding. "Okay. I'll be right back. Do you want to bring you anything?" "Water, please," Scully said, her head tilted back against the headboard, her legs splayed, her hand rubbing circles round her swollen abdomen. "Big glass, lots of ice. I think I'm going to need it." "Why is that?" he asked, although he had a pretty good idea what her answer would be. Closing her eyes, Scully licked her lips and sighed. "The easy part is over, Mulder. This is when the real work begins." * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter XII (I really tried to have the baby be born in this chapter. But it's like Scully said...first births are notoriously difficult to predict. ) "By the Wind Grieved" (12/13 ) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com Notes prior to chapter one. Thanks for hanging in there with me. *************************************************** Mulder was still downstairs when Alex Krycek's partner at long last made his appearance. Krycek knew the man only as Simon, which was how he had been introduced to him weeks before. Krycek guessed Simon was his surname, though he had never bothered to confirm his suspicion. A guy in his line of work learned early not to ask too many questions. "Are you aware Agent Mulder is downstairs sharpening a knife?" Simon asked when he had climbed the stairs, opening the conversation with his customary cool. He was dressed much as Krycek was, jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, a trench coat topping his outfit rather than the jacket Krycek wore. "Oh, is that what he's doing?" Krycek said, striving for as bland a tone as his compatriot. Simon never seemed to get unnerved by anything. That, in and of itself, was sometimes enough to rattle Krycek. "I'd wondered what was taking him so long." Simon's eyebrow lifted. "And this doesn't...concern you in any way?" Krycek shook his head. "Not as long as Scully is up here with us." He jerked his head in the direction of the open bedroom door. The men looked in and saw that the woman in question had pushed herself away from the nest of pillows where once she had rested. She was currently on all fours in the center of the bed, panting raggedly. Her head was bowed, her body so drenched with sweat her nightgown clung, transparent, to her back. Her hair veiled her face. "What's going on?" Simon murmured. "She's in labor," Krycek explained. "Has been, apparently, since well before I made my entrance. That's why Mulder is downstairs playing with knives. He needs something to cut the cord." "Cut the cord?" Simon echoed. "What--for when the baby is actually delivered? Don't tell me you're considering hanging around here that long." Krycek shrugged and motioned for them to step away from door. No sense in letting Scully in on their plans. "With the way she's been moaning and groaning, it probably won't be all that long now. Besides, we may not have a choice. Mulder has informed me he has no intention of leaving Scully in this condition." "There are ways to remedy that little problem," Simon retorted, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling from it his automatic. Krycek placed his hand on the other man's arm. "Not so fast," he warned, his voice pitched low. "Though I'll admit I've led Mulder to believe otherwise, I'd rather not kill Scully or her child unless we absolutely have to. They may prove valuable." "To whom?" Simon queried at a similar volume, his gun still in his grip. "Any of a number of people," Krycek said. "You know how many players are involved in this particular game. It would be stupid for us to forfeit her life or the life of the child over a simple matter of inconvenience. We may be able to use them later." "It'll be more than inconvenient if we don't make our exit soon," Simon countered. "Those agents aren't going to be out of it forever and the roads are getting worse as we speak. The longer we stay here, the more danger we put ourselves in. Ourselves and the project." "I agree," Krycek said soothingly. "I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to, either. Unfortunately, Mulder has decided to make things difficult." Simon sighed and looked back towards the stairs. "When hasn't he?" Krycek smiled at how put-upon his partner sounded. "Tell me about it. It's bad enough he wants to stay put till Scully gives birth. But something tells me once the kid is here, he'll dig his heels in even harder." "Not with my Sig pressing against the base of his skull he won't," Simon muttered. Krycek shook his head. "I don't know. Mulder can be awfully stubborn. With or without his memory. I think we'll get farther with stealth than with force." Simon frowned. "What have you got in mind?" "Have you got anything left after taking care of those last two agents?" "You mean the tranquilizers?" Simon queried, tucking his automatic in the waistband of his jeans and retrieving from another inner coat pocket a black leather case. Tugging on its zipper, he opened it to reveal a Derringer-sized pistol and a single, equally dainty, dart. "Just one. Why?" "Give it to me," Krycek directed. "Load the gun and give it to me." "What are you going to do with it?" Simon asked as he did as Krycek had requested. "Make certain Mulder leaves with us when the time comes," Krycek said, stashing the tranquilizer gun in his jacket pocket. "That he not only leaves with us, but leaves without a fight." ***** Scully was hurting. Big time. Prior to going into labor, she had tried to ready herself for what was to come. Birth was difficult work. She knew that, had witnessed it firsthand. Pain was a factor, yes, but she firmly believed the outcome would outweigh any discomfort she might feel along the way. She had been gut-shot once, for crying out loud, she should certainly be able to grit her way through a few hours of contractions. She could handle it. Or so she had thought. What Scully hadn't taken into consideration, however, was the way labor wore on a woman. In the past, when she had been injured, the initial blow or wound had typically been the worst of it. A degree of distress had followed, of course, but that had usually been tempered by medication or escaped from in sleep. This was different. While she had been aware her contractions would intensify as labor progressed, she hadn't been prepared for the speed with which they had begun to follow each other. When her water had first broken, she had been able to recover between each one, relax and breathe just a bit, regain some small measure of control. Now, however, just scant hours later, they seemed to hit practically one right after another. Endlessly. They were exhausting her. Sapping her strength and stealing her will, just when she needed both so desperately. God. She'd never be able to push the baby out. Not now. Not alone. She needed help. She needed Mulder. Mulder... Where the hell was he? Admittedly somewhat befuddled by the sensations wracking her, it felt to Scully as if he had disappeared downstairs a lifetime ago. What could he be doing down there when he should so clearly be upstairs with her? Didn't he realize their child was about to be born? Then, as if he were somehow answering her silent summons, she heard him pounding up the steps, his feet hitting the hardwood treads like an angry drummer beating the skins. Voices. Two of which she knew well, the other new and unwelcome. Questions... "What have you got there?" "What does it look like?" "You planning on carving your initials in me, Mulder?" "Don't give me any ideas." Hurry. Hurry, she urged inside her head. Stop talking and hurry to me. "Scully? Scully...how you holding up?" Oh there you are, Mulder... She tried to answer his simple query. But when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a low, wrenching moan, her body choosing that moment to seize violently yet again. "Shit." She had frightened him. She could hear it in his voice. "Oh, God...what can I do? Tell me what to do." She was on her hands and knees, where she had been now for the past ten minutes or more. The position was comfortable, but she didn't think she could give birth in it. Didn't want to. "Help me," she gasped, her arms giving out, her cheek pressed against the towels beneath her. "Help me..." "I will," Mulder promised shakily, his fingers combing through her tangled hair. "Tell me how. Scully, you have to tell me how." "I need...to sit up. Sit back," she muttered, struggling to regulate her breathing. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to think. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to talk Mulder through the process. "I need to move." "Okay...okay," he murmured in a comforting tone, his hands skating along her hunched form, the light touch oddly reassuring. "Why don't we...um...why don't you roll over to the side, okay? And then from there I can help you turn." That sounded like as sensible an idea as any, so Scully let herself collapse over onto her right side. She hadn't realized how tired her arms had become. It felt good to just rest there for a bit, the terry cloth cushioning her flushed cheek. Eyes fluttering shut, she drew her knees up so her posture mimicked that of the child she carried, and concentrated on the oxygen entering and exiting her lungs. "You ready?" Mulder queried from somewhere above and behind her. "In a minute," she mumbled, waving her arm wearily in the air. "In just a minute." "It's okay," Mulder said, capturing her flailing hand in his and giving it a squeeze. "It's all right. Take all the time you need." Take all the time you need, Scully repeated to herself, drifting for a moment. Take time...time... "No," she murmured suddenly, brow creased as she shook her head. She couldn't do that. Not anymore. Didn't Mulder understand? Time had run out. It's just like back in Dallas, she thought. There is no time. Not for them. Not now. No time between contractions, no time until their baby is born, no time before Krycek steals Mulder away. Again. Maybe forever. But before she could articulate any of that, her body convulsed once more, her muscles burning and bunching, the pain centered at her core rushing out to her extremities, flooding her from head to toe. "Oh...God...," she whimpered, crushing Mulder's hand in hers. "Scully...?" We've wasted so much time, she mourned inside her head, lost amidst the misery. We had years and years of it, Mulder, and what did we do? Chase lights in the night sky, crawl through sewers after mutants. What were we thinking? "Scully...come on. Stay with me here. Breathe...that's right. Breathe through it. That's better." Better, better....Oh, Mulder, I should have known better, after Duane Barry or even that last trip to Bellefleur. I should have realized how precious time was. Why didn't I realize that? I had realized I loved you, after all. "That's right. Good girl...good girl. Now relax...that's it. Shh. Relax while you can." Scully heard Mulder, his voice piercing the haze surrounding her, and recognized that what he said made sense. Only she couldn't follow his directive, couldn't relax. Not just then. She had something she had to tell him first. "I love you," she whispered, her eyes still closed. "I love you, Mulder. I don't know why I didn't tell you before...when you came back. I love you." "Scully...?" "I love you." ***** She loved him. Sweet God in heaven. Yet before Mulder could fully wrap his mind around that particular revelation, another contraction took hold, its grip terrible and swift. Wailing, Scully curled in still further on herself, Mulder's hand yet clutched tightly in hers. Resting one knee behind her for balance, he let her draw their tangled fingers to her breast. Bending over her in that way, he could feel her heart beating wildly against his wrist, could sense the heat rolling off her skin in waves. Mulder stayed there, caging Scully's body with his, until the pain had ebbed and her cries diminished. Then, muttering a mix of imprecations and comfort, he gathered her in his arms and deposited her where she had told him she wanted to be, propped against the headboard, pillows supporting and surrounding her. Settled there, legs sprawled, Scully tipped back her head and lifted her lashes. Her tired eyes looked out from beneath them, their usual sparkle dulled. "Water," she demanded hoarsely, blinking slowly at him. "Please." Obedient to the last, Mulder handed her the glass he had brought from downstairs, then sat facing her, even with her hip. The knife he had also fetched lay ready on the night stand nearby, swaddled in a clean dish towel. Both hands wrapped tightly around the tumbler, Scully brought it to her lips. As she drank, her gaze wandered before fixing on a point just past Mulder's left shoulder. Staring, her brows lifted as if in silent exclamation. "Get out," she rasped, lowering the glass. "Get the hell out, both of you." Rescuing what remained of the water, Mulder turned his head. Behind him, he saw Krycek and his associate framed in the doorway, peering into the bedroom like a pair of armed Peeping Toms. "You heard the lady," Mulder muttered, pushing angrily to his feet. "Get out of here." "Sorry, Mulder," Krycek said, his expression perversely unapologetic. "But we're staying put." "Fine," Mulder spat as he crossed to stand before them. "'Stay put' in the hall." "Mulder, it...it doesn't matter," Scully said, opting to play peacemaker. "Just...just go wash your hands. Okay? Hurry." It did matter, though, Mulder thought. Scully deserved more than to give birth with a couple of perverts ogling her. He hesitated. "Go--," she entreated softly, her plea cut short when another contraction hit. Grabbing hold of the bedclothes, she bent her head and groaned, the low, ragged sound raising the hairs on the back of Mulder's neck. Swearing beneath his breath, Mulder shouldered past Krycek and the other man, and dashed to the bathroom. Once there, he turned on the water as hot as he could bear. Pushing up his sleeves, he lathered all the way to his elbows. And while he scrubbed, he thought about all the many ways things could go wrong. Scully was small. What if she wasn't able to push the child through the birth canal unassisted? The baby was a month early. What if it needed an incubator or some special kind of treatment? What if it was born breech? Or with the cord wrapped around its neck? What if something were to happen to Scully? What if she hemorrhaged or had a stroke... ...or...or...? He needed to get back to the room. Trotting down the hall, arms bent, fingers pointed skyward like a surgeon, Mulder spied Krycek and his partner standing slouched against the wall outside Scully's bedroom. "Stay!" Mulder barked as he jogged past. To his delight, both did exactly that. Feeling cocky now, he turned once he had crossed the threshold and bumped the door closed with his hip. He had no way to lock it, so the gesture lacked a certain finality, he acknowledged to himself. Still, given the circumstances, it was the best he could do to try and ensure Scully's privacy. "How you doing?" he asked, coming to her side. Eyes closed, Scully sat at an angle at the head of the bed, her back bolstered by pillows. Her knees were bent, her feet pressed flat. Her heels nearly touched the backs of her thighs. Her gown had ridden up, exposing the length of her legs. The hem, however, pooled between them, hiding her crotch from view. "Mulder," she murmured, lashes lifting when she heard him speak. "I think I need...I need to push." "Okay...okay," he said agreeably. "What should I do?" "Check and see how much I've dilated," she directed, her voice breathy and high. "Check and see?" he echoed weakly, sinking down on the bed, facing her. She nodded. "See...see how much space...if you can feel the head." Oh dear Lord. Scully wanted him to look between her legs. Try though he might, Mulder couldn't help but hear Beavis and Butthead snickers bouncing around inside his brain. Get a grip, he told himself with a mental shake of his head. Be an adult. It's not like this isn't familiar territory. You've been there before. It's just that somehow you managed to lose your snapshots of that particular trip. "Mulder, just do it!" Scully urged through clenched teeth, her color high, damp bits of hair sticking to her cheeks. "All right," he said with a quick bob of his chin. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Okay." Edging closer to her on the bed, Mulder slowly lifted her gown. With as much gentleness as he could muster, he traced the opening to her body with his fingertips. "How much?" Scully asked, her hand rubbing softly across her belly. Frowning in concentration, he shrugged, wanting to get this right. "I don't know...three...four inches, maybe." Without warning, another contraction struck. Scully cried out brokenly and lurched against the headboard so hard the entire bed shook. Startled by the quake, Mulder jumped and began to pull his hand away. But before he could withdraw it, she stopped him, her palm slapping down atop his forearm, holding him in place. "Can you...can you feel the head?" she gasped, her eyes locked on his. Grimacing, he reached up inside her. "Um...I don't--. Wait! Yeah. Scully, yeah! Oh my God, I...I think I can." Scully's hand fell away from his arm, her head twisted fitfully against the wall behind her. "I gotta push, Mulder. I gotta push now." "Go on and do it then, Scully," he urged, slipping free of her body. After all, she should know better than anyone what she needed right now, he reasoned. "Just go ahead and push." Taking a slow deep breath, she did, grunting and groaning and bearing down with all her might. "That's it, that's it," Mulder encouraged, his hands stroking up and down the backs of her calves. He felt like an idiot, like a fucking cheerleader. But at that moment he didn't know how else to help. "You can do it. You're doing great." Scully pushed until she couldn't push anymore. Then, releasing the air she had taken in, she collapsed against the pillows, panting furiously. Scrambling to his knees, Mulder leaned over and retrieved what remained of the water. With a shaky smile, he brought it to her lips. Watching him through her lashes, Scully took a sip, then spoke. "I'm tired." "I know you are." "I have to push again." "I'm with you." Over and over, Scully pushed and strained, struggling to bring their baby into the world. Mulder did what he could, murmuring words of praise and support, massaging her hands, her legs, her feet, coaxing her to drink water when she could. The contractions came and went as well, their timing somewhat slower than before, but their power as fierce as ever. The longer her labor continued, the more admiration Mulder had for the mother of his child. He would watch her during one of the few, brief respites she enjoyed, trembling with exertion, clinging to the last vestiges of her strength. Yet even as taxed as she was, Scully fought on, undaunted despite all she had been through that day. He didn't know how she was doing it. He was exhausted just watching her. Finally, though, little more than two hours after she had begun pushing, all Scully's grueling work paid off. She was bearing down with particular force, her face nearly purple with the effort, when Mulder saw a dark mass push outwards from between her legs. "Oh, my God. Oh my God, Scully!" he cried, his voice cracking with excitement. "I see something." She gasped twice, high and quick, took another deep breath and pushed even harder. The top of the baby's head slipped out, covered in goo. Wisps of deep brown hair feathered the little one's crown. "Jesus," Mulder murmured softly, utterly amazed at what he was witnessing. "That's it...that's it. Just a little more. You're almost there, Scully. You're almost there." Chin to her breastbone, Scully huffed and puffed. Keening, she grabbed bunches of the bedding in her fists, and pressed down again. A forehead emerged, followed by a pair of scrunched shut eyes. A tiny nose slipped free and the sweetest rosebud mouth. Mulder's hands hovered beneath the newborn's noggin, ready to catch it, like a center fielder waiting for that long high drive to hit his glove. Somehow, some way, tears had begun trickling down his cheeks. Funny. He couldn't remember starting to cry. "I can't believe...oh, Scully. Look at him," he whispered with awe. "Look at him. He's perfect." And he--or she--was. No blue baby. No cord around the throat. None of the disasters he had envisioned. Everything was fine. From the neck up. "One more push," Mulder cajoled, feeling vaguely guilty for even asking her for such a thing. "One more good push. Come on." Jaw set, Scully raised her head and looked him in the eye. Their gazes clung, the moment oddly charged. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, she tipped back her chin and let out with a roar. Her body tensed, her muscles rippled. One shoulder popped loose. And another. Then, at last, with nothing left to hold him back, a slippery, pink infant slithered from his mother's body and into his father's expectant hands. "Oh, Christ, Scully! Christ. It's a boy." Feeling somewhat dazed by the whole thing, Mulder balanced his now wailing son on his palms and looked up at his partner. Scully appeared as out of it as he. She lay in a loose-limbed heap against the pillows, her brow wrinkled, her chest heaving. "We have a son," he told her softly. Scully smiled, her eyes welling, and stretched out her hands. "Give him to me," she said. Mulder did as she asked. Cradling the little one carefully, he scooted up to sit beside Scully and gently place their child in her arms. She immediately drew the infant close, mindful of the cord still connecting them. "H-he's so beautiful, Mulder," she murmured haltingly, her fingertips gliding delicately, reverently, along the baby's mottled skin. "Isn't he beautiful?" "Just like his mama," he answered gruffly, leaning in to press a kiss to the center of her brow. At that, Scully glanced up at Mulder almost shyly for an instant before clearing her throat and shifting her hold on their son. Clutching him to her now in the crook of one arm, she used her free hand to pop open the buttons on her gown. "He needs to nurse," she explained quietly. Mulder nodded, as if he had known this all along. Scully didn't seem to pick up on his fib. Her head bowed, she was busy, baring her breast to Mulder's wide-eyed gaze, and bringing their child to her nipple. The little guy didn't catch on at first. Not as quick as his old man, Mulder thought. But finally, he figured out the teat's purpose and closed his lips around it. Scully watched him as he suckled, a lone tear rolling slowly down her face. Mulder watched the two of them, his heart so full at that moment, he was certain it would soon burst wide open. "You should probably go downstairs and take those towels out of the dryer," Scully said after a time, her eyes flickering his way. "We need them to help keep him warm." "All right," Mulder said, though he made no move to leave her side. They both knew what waited beyond that room. He was in no hurry to introduce their captors to their son. "We'll also need something to tie off the cord before you cut it," she continued, stealing still more glimpses of him. "Dental floss or a shoelace maybe. Twine would even work. Whatever you can find." Scully apparently wasn't ready to think about Krycek and his buddy either. Good. Mulder was more than happy to continue the charade. "What about the placenta? Do we need to do anything?" She shook her head and, finally, looked at him directly. "Not right away. Now that he's nursing, it should expel itself." Mulder nodded, holding fast to her gaze. Scully smiled at him, her eyes glistening. A knock at the door interrupted their interlude. "How are things coming in there?" Scully's face lost half its color. "Mulder..." "It's all right, Scully," Mulder assured her with a smile. "I've got to go downstairs anyway." "Be right there, Krycek," he called. Her expression pinched and troubled, Scully eased the baby from her breast. As he had already stopped actively nursing, he went without much of a fuss. Holding the infant to her, she then buttoned back up her bodice. Mulder waited. When she was covered, he went to the door. "It's a boy," he announced to the two men he found waiting for him in the hall. "I need to go downstairs for a minute. I'll be right back." Hand in his pocket, Krycek bobbed his head. "Don't be long." With one last glance at Scully and their son, Mulder turned and headed down the steps. He never saw the look exchanged by Krycek and his partner. Eyes trained on her baby boy, neither did Scully. ***** If it wasn't for the fact that she was holding a newborn, cord still attached, covered in blood and God only knew what else, Krycek could almost have convinced himself Scully had just gotten laid. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair tangled and tousled. The bedclothes were twisted beneath her and her demure white nightie was bunched up mid-thigh. "How you feeling?" he asked affably, sauntering to the far side of the bed. "Well enough," she murmured, looking up at him, distrust evident in her gaze. Smart girl, he thought. "A boy, huh?" he said, moving nearer still. "What are you going to name him?" Scully watched him warily, and pulled the baby more closely against her. "We haven't talked about it yet." Krycek came to a halt at the head of the bed, his right arm practically brushing Scully's left one. "Let me see the little guy." "He's right here," she said, though she in no way loosened her grip on the child. So Krycek leaned over her as if trying to get a better look. "He has your eyes." "All babies' eyes are bl--," Scully began. Only to be stunned silent by the dart Krycek fired into her left shoulder. She gasped in surprise and opened her mouth as if getting ready to cry out. But before she could do much more than take a breath, Krycek clamped his prosthetic hand over her mouth, driving her head back against the wall with a soft bump. Between the drug, her exhaustion and the baby she was juggling in her arms, Scully wasn't able to put up much of a fight. Within seconds she was out cold. As soon as she was, Krycek released her and pulled the tiny dart from her body. She slumped against the pillows, her chin lolling to the side. The baby lay curled up, undisturbed, in the center of her chest, mewling softly. Satisfied the child was in no danger of tumbling from his perch, Krycek stashed the gun and spent dart back in his pocket. Giving his partner a warning look, he called downstairs, careful to inject just the right note of panic into his voice. "Mulder, get up here!" "I'm coming." "Mulder, get up here now!" Grumbling under his breath, Mulder soon did as he was told, bounding up the stairs, his arms loaded with freshly warmed towels. "What? What is it?" Krycek gestured towards the bed. "It's Scully." Standing in the doorway, Mulder looked at his partner. His eyes grew huge and frightened. "Scully? Scully, what's wrong?" When she didn't answer, his complexion turned chalky. "Scully?" he tried again, stumbling towards her, the towels falling forgotten from his hands. "We were talking," Krycek said in an apologetic tone. "She complained of being dizzy. Then she just...kind of...keeled over." "Scully...," Mulder breathed, ignoring Krycek's explanation entirely. Crawling onto the bed, he stabbed at her throat with his fingertips, searching wildly for a pulse. "No. Oh, God... no. Please..." "I'm sorry, man," Krycek murmured with sham sympathy. "I really am." Finally, it appeared Mulder found what he had been looking for, proof that Scully's heart yet beat. His hand slipping slowly from her neck, he knelt beside her, sagging in relief. "She okay?" Krycek ventured, prodding him just a bit. "What did you do, Krycek?" Mulder muttered, turning his head towards his former partner and glaring up at him from the mattress. "What the fuck did you do?" "Nothing," Krycek said guilelessly. "Nothing. I told you-- she just passed out." Mulder weighed Krycek's sincerity for no longer than a breath before pressing to his feet. "We've got to get her to a doctor." Krycek had to fight the urge to smile. "Oh, no. The deal was, we stayed put until the baby was born. That's done. Now we're out of here." Mulder looked at him in disbelief. "Are you out of your fucking mind? We can't just leave Scully here, leave the baby. We need to get them to a hospital." "Get real, Mulder," Krycek said, warming to the game. "My partner and I have got a job to do. Maybe it's escaped you in all the excitement, but our objective is to bring you back =without= attracting a lot of unnecessary attention. Showing up at an emergency room with an unconscious woman and a newborn is not going to help us accomplish that particular goal." "It can," Mulder argued, his voice rising in volume. "Don't you see? No one needs to know who you are or even how Scully and the baby got to the hospital. All we need to do is take more than one car when we leave. That way we can just...just drop Scully and the baby outside the emergency room entrance in one car and leave in another. That's all we'd have to do." "That's all?" Krycek echoed mockingly. "That's a hell of a lot. Get your stuff together, Mulder. We're getting out of here." "No!" Mulder cried, circling around the bed to get in Krycek's face. "Listen to me. Listen...if you leave them here like this, they could die." "What do you expect me to do, Mulder?" Krycek said coolly. "Play hero? Why should I? What's in it for me?" Mulder thought about it a minute. "My complete cooperation." "That so?" Krycek queried lightly. "It is," Mulder confirmed with a nod of his head. "Take Scully and the baby to someone who can help them, and I'll do anything you want." "But I already told you, Mulder," Krycek said, unwilling to make this easy for him, "we don't need your cooperation for the process to work." "How do you know that, if I'm going to be the first person subjected to it?" Mulder countered with a touch of desperation. Krycek simply looked at him. "Think about it," Mulder pleaded. "If nothing else, wouldn't things move a lot faster if I played along? Wouldn't they?" Krycek pretended to consider the notion. "How would I know your dedication would be the same once Scully and the baby were safe in some hospital somewhere?" Mulder didn't hesitate. "You have my word." "Your word?" Krycek parroted with a chuckle. Behind them, the baby began to cry, weak, pathetic little wails of grief. Wincing at the sound, Mulder looked over at his child. And at the mother who lie beneath him, still as death. Staring at the tragic tableau, his expression changed. His jaw clenched tight, his eyes grew bleak. Suddenly, as if he were unable to stand the sight a moment more, Mulder turned away and grabbed hold of Krycek by his jacket lapel. Pulling him near, Mulder thrust his face inches from that of the man in his grip. "If my word's not good enough for you, Krycek, then name your price," Mulder gritted out. "I don't care what it is. It doesn't matter to me; I'll pay it. Just get them out of here. Get them out of here =now=." Krycek stood there, enjoying the same little spark of excitement he always did when Mulder's temper got the best of him. Simon hovered just over Mulder's shoulder, ready to save the day, if necessary. Krycek shook his head. Rescue wouldn't be required. "Not bad, Mulder," Krycek said softly instead. "I like your willingness to be flexible. You have yourself a deal." Swallowing hard, Mulder nodded. "Why don't you get Scully and the kid ready to go," Krycek suggested. "No sense in staying here any longer now, is there?" Nodding yet again, Mulder released him with a none too subtle push. Krycek smiled and stepped past the would-be intimidator to Simon. "See if you can't find that second car Mulder was talking about. I'll finish up here and meet you downstairs." "Don't take too long," Simon warned before going on his way. "We won't," Krycek replied, watching Mulder gather a few of the towels from the floor. Crossing to the bed, he gently wrapped his son with the still warm squares of terry cloth. Tucking the baby more securely against Scully, Mulder then began folding the bedclothes in around them so that mother and child were snugly cocooned within the covers. We won't take long at all, Krycek thought, as Mulder lifted his precious bundle into his arms. Not when Mulder wanted them on the road every bit as badly as Krycek did himself. * * * * * * * * Continued in Chapter XIII "By the Wind Grieved" (13/13) by Karen Rasch kmrasch@hotmail.com It's been awhile since I've visited this particular universe. Thank you, Revely and the gang on Scullyfic, for believing that anyone noticed. Endnotes follow. *************************************************** Despite his telephone rousing him from sleep before his alarm clock could, Walter Skinner didn't actually make it to Dana Scully's bedside that day until after sundown. The delay was far from intentional. One roadblock after another kept getting thrown in his way. First, Skinner and his team needed to figure out precisely what had happened at the safe house, why check-ins had been missed and no one seemed willing or able to answer their phone. Knowing just who to call and how to persuade, the Assistant Director personally contacted the proper local authorities, directing them to the property. Yet even after the house and grounds had been explored and the officers concluded disaster had indeed struck--Mulder and Scully were nowhere to be found, Skinner denied himself his heart's desire. As much as he yearned to be in the field leading the search, he knew he would ultimately do more good at the Hoover Building marshalling the FBI's resources. So Skinner bided his time. Consulted maps. Monitored weather reports. Sucked down caffeine. And made still more calls. His level-headed approach paid off shortly before noon. The hospital in Brookville responded to one of the pictures the FBI had faxed their way. It seemed that Scully's photo matched a Jane Doe who had been found unconscious and abandoned in a car outside their Emergency Room entrance in the wee hours of the morning. Swaddled with her in a fluid-stained quilt had been a newborn boy. For reasons puzzling her physicians, the woman had not yet awakened, yet even so the staff at Brookville felt certain their redheaded patient was the FBI's missing agent. The location of one of his people at long last known, Skinner ordered an around-the-clock guard on Scully and her child, then finally hit the road himself. Unfortunately for him, all those hours spent eyeballing the Weather Channel hadn't made travel any easier. Snow and ice and wind continued to punish the mid-Atlantic states, slowing traffic between the capital and Pennsylvania to an arthritic crawl. His drive took nearly double the time it should have. He showed up at the hospital just as the patients' dinner trays were being cleared. "I'm here to see Dana Scully," he growled, stepping up to the admittance desk and flashing his badge at one of the nurses there. "Assistant Director Walter Skinner. I called from DC." "Yes, sir. We've been expecting you." Scanning the hallways for trouble, like a Wild West gunman checking out the local cantina, Skinner trailed after Nurse Jennifer Talbot, the short brunette woman glancing at him over her shoulder as she led him down the corridor. "I understand you're Agent Scully's superior." "That's right." "Tell me, Mr. Skinner, does she usually follow your orders?" Skinner frowned as he brushed frosty drops of moisture from his coat sleeves. Damned snow. "Usually. Why do you ask?" "Just wondered," Nurse Talbot murmured as they rounded a corner. "We've had a devil of a time getting her to follow ours." Half a hall in the distance, Skinner spied their destination, the two armed agents flanking the room's doorway a dead giveaway. "What are you talking about?" "Agent Scully has been largely unresponsive since she awoke," the nurse said, her gait unhurried. "She shows no interest in eating or drinking; she barely looks at her child." "Is she all right?" Skinner asked, coming to a stop, his hand grabbing hold of his companion's arm to halt her progress as well. "Medically, I mean." Nurse Talbot nodded, apparently indifferent to Skinner's firm grip. "Based on the examination and the tests we've run, she seems to be in very good health. We found no unusual trauma that could be attributed to her child's birth. The baby itself is fine. We did discover traces of an unknown substance in Agent Scully's blood, but the doctors think that will dissipate in time. Overall the prognosis is good." "So you think the problem is more emotional--is that what you're saying?" The nurse paused before she spoke. "Possibly. It's difficult to say without knowing more of her history. Her depression could be postpartum in nature. Or it could be something else. You know her better than any of our staff. Why don't you speak to her and see what you think." Concluding that Nurse Talbot offered excellent advice, Skinner pushed past the room's two sentries, anxious to reunite with one of his missing agents. Scully was sitting on the bed when he entered; her baby's bassinet stood off to the side. Her gaze was focused there. The room was nearly as dim as the twilight outside. A single bulb burned above the headboard. "Scully?" Like a mechanical toy in need of oil, she rotated her head to look at him. What Skinner saw in her expression made his chest ache with sympathy. Scully's face reminded him of a fallen souffle. The fullness she had gained in her cheeks the past few months remained. Now, however, the skin seemed to sag on her bones, pale and doughy. Her eyes were shadowed beneath and within. "Where is he?" she whispered. Skinner didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I don't know." Scully looked away again, her vision trained seemingly on the floor near where her child slept. "Krycek took him." "Krycek was there?" "Yes." He took a step closer, thinking perhaps he should offer some sort of physical comfort to the small, shattered woman, yet in the end unable to actually touch her. Scully didn't want his comfort. She wanted her partner. Skinner could feel it. "What happened?" "Krycek came. He had a partner, an accomplice who was charged with taking out the agents you had stationed." "They're all right, you know," Skinner assured her quietly. "The agents--Renfrew, Montrose and the rest of them. We found them drugged, trussed up like Christmas turkeys, but alive." Scully nodded, but said nothing. "What else do you remember?" Skinner prompted when his agent seemed disinclined to continue. Her eyes flickered towards the bassinet. "I went into labor. Mulder...he helped me. Krycek wanted to go, but Mulder said no. Not until the baby came." "How did you get here?" Skinner asked. Scully frowned. "After the baby was born, Mulder left the room. For towels or something...Krycek was there, talking to me. I don't remember what he said, but...I was so tired all of a sudden. I couldn't keep my eyes open... I felt light-headed, uncoordinated. The next thing I knew I woke up here." Skinner pursed his lips. Scully's story dovetailed with what he had been told of her medical condition. Undoubtedly, she had been drugged like the other agents. "I don't understand why he didn't take me with them," she murmured, her brow yet furrowed, her fingers picking at the blanket covering her legs. "Why he let the baby and me go." "Maybe it would have been too difficult to care for you both," Skinner suggested, "what with it being so soon after your giving birth." Scully turned her dull eyes his way. "If we were such a bother, why didn't he simply kill us? Why take the risk of bringing us here?" Skinner swallowed hard and ran his palm over his bald pate before replying. "Maybe because Mulder insisted." Scully lifted her brow. "We know Mulder and Krycek were the ones who brought you to the hospital," he said, edging nearer still to the bed, his hands shoved firmly now in his trench coat pockets. "I don't know if this accomplice you speak of had a hand in it, but we have Mulder and that one-armed son of a bitch on the security camera tape." "You have them on tape?" Scully echoed, her brittle voice breaking on the query. "Yes." "Show me." Skinner inclined his head in agreement, and sent one of the agents stationed outside for a wheelchair. The fact that Scully wordlessly let him ease her into it and wheel her down to the security room further proof in his mind of just how badly she was hurting. Emotionally, so much more than physically. "The picture quality is just about what you'd expect given the set-up," Skinner said once they were settled the hospital's security hub. He had perched himself on a console to the right and just behind Scully. The guard who was to be their audio-visual assistant manned the controls. "But I don't think you'll have any trouble identifying the individuals on the tape." Scully's eyes were riveted on the monitor before her, her shoulders rounded, her hands gripping the wheelchair arms. She didn't look Skinner's way or bother to comment on his statement. With a nod to the security guard, the videotape began. At first, the grainy black and white feed showed nothing but the covered entrance to Emergency. Snow fell. No cars were present, though a man strolled through the picture towards the parking lot Skinner knew waited beyond the frame. Perhaps he was a doctor going home after a late shift or an orderly or nurse taking a break. Suddenly, a late model sedan rolled into view, the automobile dark, with four doors. Skinner had already ordered the car's plates run through the FBI database. The vehicle had been reported stolen two days earlier from a suburb outside Philadelphia. Initially, on the video, the driver and his backseat passenger were masked by shadow. However, once the car stopped and the driver side door swung open, Alex Krycek's baby-faced mug was easy to recognize. He stepped out of the automobile, then leaned down to say something to the vehicle's other occupant before shutting the door and looking expectantly over the roof of the sedan. After a second or two, the rear passenger-side door opened. "Mulder," Scully breathed, her expression rapt as she watched her partner climb from the car. He didn't immediately close the door behind him. He stood for a moment, half in, half out of the vehicle, as if drawn to something or someone yet inside. "We found you and your baby in the backseat," Skinner said softly to the back of Scully's head, realizing even as he said the words how unnecessary they were. Scully didn't seem to notice. She said nothing in reply, the gentle whir of the tape curling round its spools the room's only sound. Not knowing what else to say, Skinner returned his attention to the monitor. He saw Mulder crawl back inside the automobile, his arm outstretched as if reaching towards those who remained. Krycek gave his former partner only an instant before banging his fist on the top of the vehicle. As soon as Mulder's head withdrew once more, the one-armed man gestured off camera. Looking tired and frustrated, Mulder seemed to hesitate, then nodded. Closing the car door, he circled around to Krycek's side. With what appeared to be a grim smile, Alex took hold of the other man's arm and led him away. Leaving behind the sedan and its two hidden passengers. "Thanks," Skinner said to the security guard, aware the tape held little else of interest. "You can pause it here." The other man nodded and complied with the Assistant Director's instruction. "That's all we have," Skinner said, pushing to his feet. " We assume the accomplice was waiting in another car off-camera somewhere to take Krycek and Mulder away. Unfortunately, we don't have any witnesses to back up that assumption." Or give us a description of the vehicle, he finished inside his head. "You and the baby were discovered soon after the men left," he continued, circling around the woman in the chair. "You know what happened from that point on." Scully didn't agree or confirm. She simply sat, her gaze yet trained on the flickering monitor. "Scully?" Skinner said quietly, peering past her hair to get a look at her face. Tears rolled down it. One after another, leaking from both eyes. "Scully," Skinner repeated, finally giving in to the urge to touch her. Moving slowly and carefully so as not to startle her, he laid his hand on her terry cloth clad shoulder. Scully didn't seem to notice. She continued to stare at the image frozen before her, a delicate tremor now coursing through her; Skinner could feel the vibrations against his palm. "Scully, are you all right?" he asked more urgently. She still didn't answer, didn't even seem to know he had spoken. She just sat there, fingers yet clutching the arms of her chair, trembling and weeping. Silent. Scully didn't speak a word. She didn't need to. Skinner understood her grief all too well. ***** God. How could she ever have yearned for a Christmas tree of her very own? The shoulder-high pine had been waiting for her when Scully had come home from the hospital, her baby in her arms. It stood in the corner of her living room, dripping with tinsel and lights, shiny ornaments dangling from its branches, brightly-colored packages stacked beneath its boughs. Scully knew her mother meant well, that she saw the evergreen as a means to lift her daughter's spirits. Only Scully had hated the thing on sight. Yet she had left it standing, not in deference to her mother's sensibilities, but to convince Maggie and the rest of the Scully clan that Dana Scully was on the mend. No more crying jags, no need for medication or counseling. Or constant supervision. She could be trusted to care for herself and her newborn son. She could be left alone for Christmas. No matter how much her mother insisted to the contrary. "Dana, Christmas is a time for family. Especially this Christmas. Come with me to San Diego. You know Bill and Tara would love to see you and the baby." "Mom, I just can't...I need some time to process this. You know? Some time to get used to being back home." "Let us help you. Let the family help. Please, you shouldn't be alone--" "No. Don't you see? Being alone is exactly what I need right now. Try to understand--I'm not up to answering questions or making polite conversation. I can't...I don't have the energy for it." "Dana, you wouldn't have to--" "Mom, please. Please. Just go. I'll be fine. I promise." It had taken some doing, but in the end, Maggie bowed to her daughter's will. With the greatest reluctance, the elder Ms. Scully had that morning boarded a plane bound for the west coast. On Christmas Eve. The Gunmen were to thank for that particular holiday miracle. Somehow, some way they had come up with a last minute ticket, a single aisle seat on a United jet leaving out of Ronald Reagan International. Scully had driven her mother to the airport herself, her baby boy in tow. "I'll call tomorrow," Maggie had assured her, her carry-on strapped to her shoulder, her Pullman standing at her feet. "We all will. To wish you and the baby Merry Christmas." "Okay, Mom," Scully had said, mustering a smile. "Have a good flight. Give everyone my love." "I will. You take care." Leaving her mother at the terminal with a quick press of lips to cheek, Scully had pointed her car back towards Georgetown with nary a regret. As she pulled up outside her building, she spotted the agent Skinner had assigned to watch the place. Olive complected, he was about her age and built like a bouncer, with curly black hair and a crooked nose. Tomaselli, she thought his name was. She had met him once years before at an FBI leadership conference. Nice guy, as she recalled. She had tried to tell Skinner a bodyguard wasn't necessary, that if Krycek and his people had wanted her and her son dead, they would have killed them at the safe house. Only Skinner hadn't been convinced. And Scully had been too tired to argue the point. So now the poor man was camped outside her apartment building on Christmas Eve. Happy fucking holidays. Sorry, Agent Tomaselli, she apologized without words. I swear this wasn't my idea. Scooping her son out of his car seat, Scully took him inside, wondering what she would do with herself--and him--now that she was finally on her own. No doctors, no nurses, no hovering family and friends. "It's just you and me, Will," Scully murmured, bumping the door closed with her hip, then balancing the baby one-handed against her shoulder so she could secure the locks as well. "Alone at last." She had been home nearly a week and this was the first time the apartment hadn't held a guest or two. Her mother had moved in lock, stock and steaming soup pot as soon as she had gotten back to D.C. Skinner and the Gunmen had been frequent visitors as well. Even a few of her neighbors had knocked on her door, eager to see the building's newest resident. If she didn't hear another doorbell ring it would be too soon. "Okay," she said with a sigh, cradling her son against her so his heavy little head nuzzled the crook of her neck. "Let's see. What to do, what to do..." Will's mid-day feeding. That's right. It was just about that time. Good. That was the beautiful thing about babies--they gave a person's life structure, she thought, settling her child in his infant seat so she could get comfortable. Scully had always been a woman at ease with routine. But she had never truly realized how valuable order could be until the baby had been born, Mulder had been taken... ...and she had still somehow needed to make it through the day. When she had first arrived home from the hospital, routine had quite literally saved her sanity. Her newborn had needs that ran on a kind of unalterable schedule--feedings, naps, diaper changes and the like. Embracing her role as mother, Scully took to the regimen like a redhead duck to water. She found the simple tasks soothing, like meditation or the mindless repetition of brushstrokes through silky hair. As long as she could focus on fastening diaper tape tabs just so or properly supporting the baby's head while he nursed, she could forget just for a moment or two that the child's father wasn't there to share these chores with her. She could stop worrying about what shape her life would take now that a Mulder-sized chunk was missing from it. Hanging her coat in the closet, Scully forced such fretful musings from her mind, banishing them with a skill born of much practice. Crossing back to her son, she lifted him from his resting place and took him to sit on the sofa. Holding him in the bend of one arm, she used her other hand to loose the buttons on her blouse and free her breast from her nursing bra. "Time to eat, sweetheart," she cooed, bringing his lips to her chest. It took him only a moment to latch on. Scully winced, then adjusted the little one against her. She didn't know how much longer she was going to be able to breastfeed. Her nipples were horribly tender and her baby boy sucked like a vacuum. "Ow...ow. Jeez, Will. Ease up a little bit. Please." Will. William. As much as she would have liked Mulder's input on their child's name, the choice had ultimately been a no-brainer. Their son's moniker honored both his parents' fathers, a decision Scully was certain Mulder would have supported. After all, he knew how close she had been to her beloved Ahab. And despite the tortured history between the two Mulder men, she thought love had persisted between them to the end. She had seen for herself how gravely her partner had mourned the loss of the man he had called 'Dad'. "Are you ever going to know your father?" she asked the bundle in her arms. Will gave no response. His eyes were sleepy with bliss, drooping lashes nearly hiding their dark blue hue. Scully ran her fingers lightly over the hair on his crown. Not much was there, but she thought the sprinkled strands looked brown. Like Mulder's own. "Will you two ever throw a ball together or pitch a tent in the backyard?" Will didn't seem to notice how thin his mother's voice had become or care that her cheeks had begun to blotch with color. "He loves you, you know. Loves us both. Even when he didn't know us, he loved us. Isn't that crazy?" Shit. Scully could feel moisture welling up behind her eyes, could feel her nose tingle and her chest clench. She didn't want to cry. She really, really didn't want to cry. She was sick to death of tears. "Some people have thought your dad was crazy, you know," she continued, stubbornly pushing the words past the blockage in her throat. "They thought he was seeing things that weren't really there. I thought it myself sometimes. At first." Noticing the baby's mouth had ceased its pull, Scully eased Will away from her breast and straightened her clothes. "He wasn't, though. Mulder was right. He was one of the only ones who really knew what was going on. But even so, he wasn't scared. Not of that, of them. He pursued the truth at all costs. All costs. It meant everything to him." Wetting her lips with her tongue, Scully brought Will to her shoulder and began patting him on the back. "Sometimes...sometimes I think it meant even more to him than you or me..." 'Meant'? 'Pursued'? Oh, God. She was thinking of Mulder in the past tense. "No," she murmured, tears flowing unreservedly now. "Oh, no." Pushing shakily to her feet, she paced the length of the sofa, clutching Will to her, her grip so tight she wondered if she might bruise the child inadvertently. I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry, she vowed inside her head. It hasn't been much more than a week and already I've given up hope. I'm so sorry. Where was her resolve? When Mulder had initially gone missing, she had never ever allowed herself to believe she wouldn't find him. She had persisted with the fervor of an evangelist when everyone else had succumbed to doubts. But things had been different then. She hadn't been worn down by months on her own. Mulder and she hadn't yet delivered their child together or known the bittersweet joy of rediscovering each other, of letting love kindle a second precious time. She was exhausted now. And scared. More frightened then she could remember being in a very long time. It had been difficult enough to be strong alone, but now, needing to be tough enough for both the baby and her, having to protect his fragile young life, to raise him to be fine and brave, to be his father's son... "I can do it," she insisted, her voice low and bitterly resolved, her damp cheek pressed to the top of Will's downy head. "I can. I swear it, Mulder. I can. I can." Only she didn't want to. Not alone. Not without him. I only want one thing for Christmas, Santa... And if I get it, I promise I'll never ask for anything again. ***** When she laid Will down for his afternoon nap, Scully stole some shut-eye as well. She didn't really think she'd fall asleep. But when she curled up on her bed with Will beside her and the room warm and dim, her body accomplished what her brain seemed unable to. It shut itself off. She slept for more than three hours. When she awoke to Will's fussing, Scully saw through the window the streetlights were lit. She flicked on the bedside lamp as well. "What time is it?" she mumbled, squinting at the nightstand clock. 5:30. "Wow, Will. You and I must have been more tired than we thought." Will responded by kicking his legs and letting loose with a squawk. Scully smiled and was just about to reply herself when she heard a knock on the door. "Oh, great," she murmured, pushing her hair back from her face. "What do you think, Will--do you suppose Tomaselli needs to use the bathroom?" Leaving the baby safely centered on the mattress, she flipped on a lamp in the living room, then crossed to the door. Peering through the peephole, she expected to see Tomaselli's Italian good looks twisted comically by tiny fish-eyed lens. Only it wasn't Tomaselli looking back at her. It was another man. Another face. One she knew infinitely better than that of the agent parked outside her building. "Mulder!" "Scully?" The voice was muffled, but definitely his. She couldn't get the door open. She couldn't =fucking= get the door open. Scully's fingers suddenly seemed twice as wide and three times stiffer than usual. That would be the ultimate irony, she thought, her insight just this side of hysterical--to be separated from the man she loved not by villains or distance, but by her own lack of motor skills. "Scully? Everything okay?" "Yes! Yes! Just a second." Finally, after far too much scrabbling and the loss of a fingernail, Scully yanked open the door. Mulder stood in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a sweater, and a parka she didn't recognize. He looked...well. He looked whole. He looked amazing. "Oh, thank God," she whispered, not knowing what else to say. "Thank God, Mulder." Mulder didn't seem any more articulate than she. "Scully," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her hair. "Oh, God." "I was so worried," she confessed, on tiptoe as she clung to him. "Where have you been?" "I don't know. I don't know where I've been. Are you all right?" "Yes. Yes, of course, I am." "And the baby?" "The baby's fine. He's great. What about you?" "Never better. I'm here. We're all here. Life is good." With that, Mulder's lips found their way from Scully's ear to her cheek. Kissing her there, he whispered against her skin, "I was so scared." "Of what?" she asked, ready to call down all manner of damnation on Krycek's head. What had he done to Mulder? What had the bastard done? "I couldn't wake you," he said, his eyes flitting over her features, from brow to chin and back again, his gaze restless, as if he were trying to look at every part of her all at once. "From the time I came upstairs until we reached the hospital...I didn't know what was wrong. I thought ...I thought something had happened with the baby...that you were..." "I was drugged," she told him, cradling his face in her palms. "Krycek gave me something." "But you're all right now?" "I'm all right now." He bowed his head and kissed her again. Softly. This time on the mouth. "Come in," she begged when their lips had parted. "Come inside. How did you get past Tomaselli?" "Toma-who?" he asked, following her into the apartment, his steps slow and dreamy, like those of a sleepwalker. Scully closed the door behind them and locked it once more. "The agent outside," she explained, running her hands up and down his arms, squeezing and petting, reassuring herself that he was there, that he was real. "Skinner has him watching the place." "I don't know," Mulder said with a shake of his head. "I didn't see anybody. But then again, I wasn't looking for anyone. It had started raining so I had my hood up. Maybe he didn't recognize me." "How did you get here?" she asked. "I was driven," he replied, taking off his coat and draping it over a chair. "In the back of a paneled truck. I'm not sure where from. We drove around for hours. Might have been Virginia or Maryland, maybe even Pennsylvania. I couldn't see anything. They let me off at the Lincoln Memorial. I walked from there." "You walked?" she echoed. "I needed the exercise," he assured her with a smile. Taking his hand, Scully led them to the couch. "What do you remember, Mulder?" she asked when they were seated. "Everything," he said simply. "Everything except what Krycek hoped I would." "What are you talking about?" "When we first met, your hair was long. Much longer than it is now. You told me you were looking forward to working with me and I accused you of being sent to the basement to spy." "Your memory," she sputtered, inarticulate with joy. "It's back. All of it." "Yeah," he said, his smile broadening. "Surprisingly enough, Krycek didn't lie about that. His 'procedure' fixed whatever had gone wrong in my head. Unfortunately for him, however, I had no clear memory of my abduction, nothing that was of use." "What do you think that means? Will Krycek's people leave you alone now?" "I don't see why not. If they wanted me out of the picture, why return me to D.C.?" Why indeed. "Did it hurt?" she asked, stretching out her free hand and skimming her fingers through his hair. "The procedure. Did they hurt you?" "Some," he admitted, squeezing her other hand. "But it was worth it, Scully. I have my life back. Finally, I have it all back." Scully nodded. "I'm glad...I missed you." "I missed you too," he said, leaning in. Almost as if on cue, a strained bleat sounded from the bedroom. "Sounds like someone else has missed you as well," Scully said with a grin. Mulder's entire face lit up in recognition. "Hey, little man. Daddy's home." Her grin lingering, Scully trailed after her partner to the bedroom. She watched as Mulder settled himself beside their son, then reached out his hand and laid it gently on the baby's tummy. "What did you name him?" Mulder asked quietly, massaging the little one's middle. The baby stilled beneath him, staring up at his father in apparent fascination. "William," she said. "Of course," he said, looking up at her, his expression pleased. "I should have known." "He's a good baby," she said, taking a step closer to the two men in her life "He's alert, even-tempered..." "Must take after me," Mulder ventured with a smirk. Scully nearly sprained a brow in reaction. Will chose that moment to scrunch his eyes closed and wail. "Oh, yeah," Scully murmured. "He takes after you." "Oh, come on; that's not fair," Mulder protested, lifting the now yowling baby into his arms. "I think the little guy just needs his diaper changed." "You want me to take him?" Scully offered, her arms outstretched. Mulder thought about it for a second. "Let me try." "You sure?" "Hey, I gotta start sometime," he said, standing. She smiled. "Okay. While you're doing that, I'll go let Tomaselli know he needs to improve his powers of observation." "Why don't you hold off on that?" Mulder suggested from the bedroom doorway. "How come?" Scully inquired. "You tell your watchdog out there I'm back and he'll immediately call Skinner. The next thing you know, the big guy will want my statement, and you, me and baby makes three wind up spending Christmas at the Hoover Building." Scully pretended to seriously ponder the issue. "It wouldn't be very nice of me to come down on Tomaselli like that. Not on Christmas Eve." "Nah. That kind of thing would be more Scrooge than Scully." "You've convinced me. The changing table is in the dining room." "I'm on it." Following Mulder back out again, Scully realized the living room could really do with a bit more illumination. Indulging an impulse, she turned on the Christmas tree lights. Mulder glanced over as if noticing the evergreen for the first time. "Nice tree," he remarked. "I've seen better," she replied, thinking back to the one they had left behind in Pennsylvania. Mulder smiled. Scully smiled back. She then watched as the man she loved changed his first diaper, attacking the problem with more enthusiasm than skill. Her smile refused to leave her face. "So, do you think this tree has any mistletoe in it?" Mulder asked when the baby had stripped, wiped and re-diapered, his voice casual in the extreme. "Mistletoe?" Scully queried as she crossed to stand beside him. "Yeah, mistletoe," Mulder said, holding Will in his arms. "It's a kind of parasite, you know. It grows in trees like orchids." "Oh, that's right," she said, nodding. "We found some of that in our other tree, didn't we?" "Exactly." "And you were inquiring...why?" "Just curious," he said with a shrug. "Funny," Scully said. "I'm curious too." "'Bout what?" Leaning in, she kissed him, soft and sweet. "If this would be as good as I remembered." Mulder reciprocated, his buss lasting a trifle longer than hers. "I'd say our memories are excellent," he murmured afterwards. Scully smiled and wrapped her arms around Will and Mulder both. "And with a little luck, we'll create more and more of them as the years go by." "Merry Christmas, Scully." "Merry Christmas, Mulder." * * * * * * * * * The End Notes: Those of you who have been following this story since the beginning know how dreadfully long it's taken me to complete it. There are many reasons for that. Don't worry-I'm not going to bore you with them. Suffice it to say, I apologize for the delay. Thanks to those for whom this chapter matters. You're more patient souls than I. This is my final piece of XF fanfic. I've been active since the fall of 1995 (when I had a 2,400K modem and was downloading stories via FTP from the original Gossamer). Since then, I've written 30 stories. I don't know that I have that much more to say about our favorite fibbies. I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my work. You gave me a reason to keep posting the silly things. I want to especially thank, however, the writers who drew me into the fanfic world in the first place and who have inspired, thrilled and humbled me ever since. I'd list them, but I know I'd forget way too many to ever do the roll justice. Let's put it this way-I have close to 1,300 XF stories saved on my hard drive. I know I'll be rereading them for a long time to come. It's been a gas. Karen