From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 3 Dec 2002 12:20:45 -0000
Subject: The Naked Kitties: Headers, Notes, and Prologue by Li\'l Gusty
Source: direct

Reply To: lil_gusty@hotmail.com


Pay attention because this is gonna get confusing.


Title: The Naked Kitties: Headers, Notes, and Prologue

Classification: SRA
Keywords: Mulder/Scully RST, Scully DAL for Mulder, Mytharc 
          (kinda)
Rating: NC-17 for just about anything you can imagine
Spoilers: the last one specifically is "Requiem," but knowledge 
          of the entire Mythology Arc is recommended
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they belong to 
            Mr. Chris Carter, lucky bastard
Thanks: to realb, Karri, Vicki, and Liam for betaing, 
        cheerleading, and ass-kicking.
Notes: So realb asks me one day as we're having lunch, "will you 
       write a post-ep for "En Ami?"  I said no, but she offered 
       to buy me cheesecake, so here's the closest thing she's 
       gonna get.  It's not a post-ep, but it does deal with the 
       events of the episode that have gone largely ignored by 
       most people.

       I've taken the liberty of re-writing the second part of 
       "Requiem" for this story.  Assume that the Cigarette 
       Smoking Man is NOT sick or dying.  Also, this fic starts 
       right before the final scene in the hospital (where Scully 
       tells Skinner she's pregnant), replaces it, and continues 
       into it's own little universe from there.

       I've written this story in four parts, not including this 
       one, and will be posting them approximately two weeks 
       apart.  The whole thing is finished, though, and comes to 
       about 220K.  My main concern with this story is that no 
       one is interested in reading it with the premise that it 
       has.  If so, I apologize for wasting your time.  If not, 
       let me know that you're reading it and what you think 
       about it.  Please?



Summary: Scully is offered the one thing she never thought she 
wanted.  All she has to do is give up the one thing she can't 
live without.



<><><>Prologue<><><>

The Gunmen rushed me to the hospital after my graceful fainting 
spell last night.  Frohike is funny when he panics, but he's also 
sweet.  They're all sweet; so concerned and careful with me, 
treating me like I was a soap bubble that would either burst or 
float away if they turned their backs.  Of course, fear had a lot 
to do with it.  Fear for my well being, but for their own as 
well.  They know that if anything ever happens to me in their 
presence, Mulder will kick their asses individually, then as a 
group.  Then probably individually again.  It's very heroic in an 
annoying, patriarchal sort of way.

The doctor made a simple diagnosis of acute dehydration 
aggravated by exhaustion.  I just need a few days rest, according 
to him, but he wanted to keep me overnight for observation so 
that they could monitor my vitals.  Patients who are dehydrated 
and a little sleep-deprived rarely faint out of the blue, he 
said.  Langly told him to shut his "pie hole" and that I was a 
doctor myself.  Byers added that I could make the proper 
diagnosis.  Frohike finished by telling the doctor that I had 
been diagnosing patients since he was taking his teddy bears' 
temperatures.  It made me smile.

I did tell the doctor, who was much more respectful towards me 
afterwards, that I would need to be out of the hospital by one 
tomorrow afternoon.  I have to pick up Mulder at the airport.  
His flight from Oregon gets in at two thirty.

"Just one night, Scully," he kept saying.  "Skinner will be 
there, nothing will happen.  With any luck, we'll come back 
disagreeing about the 'weather balloon' he thinks we saw."  He 
kissed me on my cheek, giving me one of those, "I would do more 
but I'm afraid you'll shoot me again," looks and I hugged him 
again.  For ten minutes.  I just didn't want to let him go last 
night, so we ended up sleeping in my bed together.  Not 
"together" together, just together, fully dressed, holding each 
other, like we did the night his mother died.  In the morning, he 
was gone before I even woke up.

I'm lying on my side, facing the window, when I hear the door 
open behind me.  Must be the doctor coming to check on me and 
remind me to stay off my feet as much as possible for the next 
twenty-four-to-forty-eight hours, like I need the reminder.  The 
muffled squeakiness of expensive dress shoes catches my 
attention, though, and I turn my head, wondering why Mulder took 
an earlier flight.

"Good morning, Agent Scully," the Smoking Man says politely, 
sliding his hands in the pockets of his slacks.  "How are you 
feeling?  Rested?"

I sit up a little too quickly - dizziness.  Dammit.  "What are 
you doing here?"  Is all I can think of to say.

"I came to pay you a visit, see how you were," he pauses, 
suppressing a grin and stepping closer anxiously.  "Reacting to 
the news."

"What news?"

His withered old face falls, disappointed.  "You mean you haven't 
heard yet?  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spoil your surprise."

"Why don't you cut the bullshit and tell me why you're here," I 
seethe.

He just grins again.  "Doesn't it strike you, a physician, as odd 
that you're only suffering from a mild case of dehydration and 
yet you're fainting, having dizzy spells, an upset stomach?"

My eyes grow wide - how did he know about that last one?  I kept 
it to myself.

"If you were on the other side of the table, Dr. Scully, what 
would your diagnosis be?"

I think for half a second, almost telling him what kinds of tests 
I would order.  "You have thirty seconds to get out of here 
before I call security," I say instead.

He looks down at his shoes, then back up to me, stepping close 
enough to sit beside me on the bed.  "It'll just be our little 
secret for now, okay?"  He asks.

I raise my chin at him, daring him to continue.

"You're pregnant, Agent Scully.  Consider it a gift from me to 
you.  To make up for my...most recent betrayal."

Black edges my vision as I squint my eyes and my mouth goes dry, 
opening involuntarily.

"Don't get excited yet until you've heard the details," he says 
sarcastically.  "It gets better."

"I'm pregnant?"  I ask him, not believing one word that comes out 
of his nicotine-stained mouth.  "That's impossible, or did you 
not get the memo?"

"During our vacation together, I had one of our doctors implant a 
zygote into your uterus.  While you were unconscious, it 
implanted itself.  You're about six weeks along now."  He smiles, 
proud of his ingenious plan.  "Congratulations."

I swallow the rising bile in my throat and my eyes go out of 
focus.  "Why?"

"I told you, it's a gift.  It does come with a price, though."

Of course it does.  "What price?"

"It's not human.  Well, not entirely.  It's a hybrid, much like 
the little girl that you believed to be your daughter, only this 
time, the technology is much more advanced.  Your baby will not 
be sick like, what was her name?"

"Emily," I whisper.

"Like Emily was.  It will be perfectly healthy."

"And you expect me to believe this?"

"It doesn't matter whether you believe it or not, it's true.  But 
don't start getting visions of motherhood just yet.  You won't be 
allowed to keep it, of course.  We just need it to gestate inside 
a human mother and when I was informed that it was your 
ova...well, I decided to be generous.  It's the only chance 
you'll ever have to feel your child growing inside you, Agent 
Scully.  I suggest you make the most of it."

I can't wait until Mulder hears this.  "So, what, you're going to 
steal it from the hospital after it's born?  That's a little 
uncreative for you."

"Oh no, Agent Scully.  You'll be abducted again and the fetus 
will be taken from you at eight months.  No need to risk its 
birth in a hospital when it's so valuable.  Don't worry, though.  
You'll have no memory of the procedure."

"I'm not worried about that.  I'm worried about what I might do 
to you if you don't get out of my room right now!"  I growl at 
him in a low, dangerous voice.  I still don't believe him, but 
he's getting a little specific for my tastes.

"You don't seem too thankful for my generosity.  I thought we'd 
cleared up any ill feelings we had towards each other."

"Was that before or after you used me against my partner for your 
own dirty work?"

He looks down again, frowning slightly.  "Yes, I imagine it was 
difficult to explain that to Agent Mulder.  Which brings me to 
the second part of my offer."

"What offer?"

Looking up, he grins again, enjoying this show-and-tell.  "You 
don't need to worry about picking him up at the airport this 
afternoon.  He caught a connecting flight in Oregon."

My heart stops beating for a few seconds as I decipher his 
riddle.  "You son of a bitch..."

"Hear me out, Agent Scully.  He was taken for insurance and he 
will be returned to you safely, provided you meet our 
requirements."

"What requirements?"  I ask breathlessly.

"The alien bounty hunters want your baby for their research.  We 
had the technology to create it, so we made a deal.  They took 
Agent Mulder to ensure our cooperation.  When your baby is ready 
to be born, we'll give it to them and they'll return Agent Mulder 
to us and I'll turn him over to you.  Simply, really."

"You take my baby and I get Mulder back?"

"Yes," he says flatly.

"I don't believe you," I tell him again, moving to stand.  
Another wave of dizziness hits me and I fall back against the 
bed, shaking.

"Your doctor will be in in a moment to confirm your pregnancy, 
Agent Scully.  It has nothing to do with your beliefs."

"Even if it is true," I say slowly, taking deep breaths through 
my nose.  "It's still my body and my baby; I'll be damned if I'll 
let you have either of them."

"Then hear this: If you attempt to abort this pregnancy, if you 
try to run and go into hiding, we'll find you.  We know your 
every movement by that chip in your neck.  I'm sure you know the 
consequences of removing it.  This baby will be born, Agent 
Scully, and if it's not, Agent Mulder will pay the price.  I have 
it in my power to kill him and I will."

"Why kill him now, after all these years?"  I ask, trying 
desperately to poke holes in his argument.

"This is my last chance to be on the right side when colonization 
begins.  I won't let you or him cheat me out of that," he says, a 
deadly serious tone in his voice.

I look down at my feet dangling above the shiny tile floor and 
blink tears back from my eyes.  "You selfish bastard," I say 
under my breath, but he hears me.

"Not selfish, Agent Scully.  Self preserving.  You'd be wise to 
try it yourself."  His shoes squeak loudly this time as he walks 
across the floor, opens the door, and leaves me in an eerie 
stillness.

I don't believe him, I tell myself as I pick up the phone on the 
bedside table, dialing Mulder's cell phone with shaking fingers.  
I don't believe him, it can't be true, he's trying to scare you, 
Mulder answer the phone, I don't believe him.

No answer.  Not even the recorded message telling me that the 
cellular customer I'm trying to reach is unavailable.  After 
twenty six rings, I hang up.

I don't believe him.  Mulder's flight gets in at two thirty, I 
need to go home and shower and change so I can be on time.

As I'm dressing, the doctor comes in and crosses his arms, 
scowling when he sees me defying his orders.  "Well, we figured 
out what's caused all these fainting and dizzy spells," he says, 
pacing around behind me.  "Congratulations.  You're pregnant."

<><><>End Prologue<><><>

Title: The Naked Kitties, Part I: Must Have Sharp Razors

<><><><><><>

On the way home, I stopped at the drug store and bought nine 
pregnancy tests - one of each brand they had.  The teenaged 
cashier's eye widened and she momentarily ceased her gum-popping.  
I wrote a check for them and was pealing out of the parking lot 
before she had time to string together an intelligent question.

I tried Mulder's cell phone over and over - as soon as I'd hang 
up, I'd place the next call.  After approximately four hundred 
rings, I decided to call Skinner's and see what he had to say.

Only Skinner didn't answer.  An obviously young, probably blond 
and perky, woman did.  "Hello?"

I actually pulled the phone away from my ear, stared at it, and 
ran off the road for a few seconds.  "I'm sorry, I'm trying to 
reach Walter Skinner."

"And you are?"

"Who are you?"  I snap.

"I'm Jennifer Lynn, a nurse at Bellefleure Memorial Medical 
Center.  Are you family of Mr. Skinner?"

Oh, God, a nurse?  Shit, shit, shit.  "No, I work with him.  Is 
he all right?"  And more importantly, is there a man with him?  
Tall, big nose, pretends to be afraid of needles to get your 
breasts' attention?

"He was brought in last night with some first and second degree 
burns to the face, hands, and arms.  He should be fine, but he's 
resting, so I'll have him call you when we wakes up, Ms..."

"Scully.  Special Agent Scully."

"Special Agent Scully," she repeats back to me, sounding 
intimidated at the title.

"Is there a man with him?"  I venture, feeling that I already 
know the answer.  Missy would be so proud of me.

"A man?  No.  Mr. Skinner was brought in by a Sheriff's Deputy 
this morning.  They didn't find anyone with him."

I close my eyes, hot tears sliding out from under my too-thin 
eyelids and down my cheek to drip off my chin.  Opening them 
again, I get back in my lane and press the accelerator closer to 
the floorboard.  "Thank you.  I'll be catching a flight out there 
soon, so just tell him I'm on my way, please."

"I will," she says softly, obviously distracted, before she hangs 
up.

Mulder could be out in the woods somewhere or, or someone 
could've abducted him or, or, or, or...

...something.  It really doesn't matter, though.  I have to go 
find him.  Spotting a gas station up ahead, I pull quickly into 
the parking lot, flip a U, and speed off in the opposite 
direction towards Dulles, dialing Delta's number.

<><><><><><>

There must be some kind of IQ test that these ticket accountant's 
have to fail in order to get this job.

"You listen to me.  I am an Agent with the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation.  It is imperative that I be on that flight, do you 
understand me?"

The guy looks at me like, imperative?  What?  Who is this woman 
and what kind of obsession does she have with my nose hairs?

"Did you hear what I said to you?  I said HOLD THAT FLIGHT, 
GODDAMN IT!!!"

Suddenly, he snaps to attention, seeming to comprehend swearing.  
Before I can murmur a sarcastic thank you, I'm overcome with a 
strong wave of dizziness.  The collection of pregnancy tests is 
rattling around in my tiny "overnight" bag, calling me to put an 
end to this charade.

"Uh, if you can get to gate fourteen in five minutes, they'll let 
you on the flight," he stammers out, not looking at me.  I'm 
already gone anyway.

And these airplane bathrooms?  Just how can people actually have 
sex in here?  I can't even maneuver my arm so that I can pee on 
the stick.  Of course, it would help if my stomach weren't 
threatening to have me vomit all over the floor and I didn't see 
spots when I tried to bend over.

After all this, Mulder better hope he's laying unconscious in the 
woods somewhere and not, well, I don't want to finish that 
thought.  He probably got separated from Skinner when whatever 
burned Skinner happened - Mulder would run ten miles away at the 
sight of fire and not even realize he was moving until he ran 
into a tree - and the Deputy simply didn't see him.  And 
Skinner...wasn't lucid enough for the Deputy to take seriously 
when he claimed there was another man out there.  By now, 
Mulder's probably made it back out to some country road where 
some kind soul picked him up and took him to a hotel or 
something.  He's probably found Skinner and may be at the 
hospital with him, both biding their time until their flight.

Wouldn't that be something?  If I got there only to find that 
they're in Washington?  What a pain in the ass.

God, please let me have the pain in the ass.

Five minutes later, I have a pink, two lines, three blues, and 
three different colored pluses.  Which all mean positive.

I give in to my stomach and dry heave over the sink.  Half the 
prophecy is fulfilled; I'm finally starting to believe that the 
black lunged son of a bitch may be telling the truth.

<><><><><><>

I must look like an escaped mental patient, running into the 
hospital lobby and holding my badge up for all the world to see - 
not that I care.  As long as someone answers my questions, 
everything will be fine.

"Where is Walter Skinner's room?  What floor is he on?  And what 
about Fox Mulder, is he here?  Where is he?"  The woman behind 
the counter just stares at me, wide eyed, hand hovering over the 
phone receiver.

"Agent Scully?"  I hear from behind me and turn around, a tall, 
green-clad man coming towards me with his hat in his hands.  "I'm 
Sheriff Harris."

"Is my partner here?"  I ask him, ignoring his non-hat-holding 
hand that he extends.

"No, ma'am.  Just the Assistant Director -"

After "no," I turn towards the nearest elevator and leave him 
behind me.  "Where is he?  I need to talk to him."

"He's upstairs.  They had to give him some pain medication; 
knocked him out last night.  After the nurse told us about your 
call this morning, I sent some Deputies out into the woods where 
we found Mr. Skinner to look for the other man you mentioned."  
His voice tells me - and the other people in the elevator 
pretending not to listen  - what I already don't want to realize.

"Did you find him?"

"No ma'am, we didn't.  Deputies are still looking, though.  If 
he's out there, we'll find him, don't worry."

I'm worried he's not out there, though.

When the elevator dings, I follow the Sheriff down the hall to 
what I assume is Skinner's room.  Before I can reach out to open 
the door, his big arm comes out to block me.  "Agent Scully, I 
don't know that you'll be able to get anything out of him.  He 
was...upset last night and along with that pain killer, they had 
to give him a sedative."  I give him a look that tells him he's 
wasting my time.  "Just so you know," he finishes, reddening 
slightly.  "I'll get his doctor for you."

I don't thank him, just push open the door.

Skinner's lying there, pale except for the red and white blisters 
covering one side of his face.  His corresponding hand and 
forearm match, like he tried to shield himself from whatever 
burned him.  As the door softly clicks closed, he turns his head 
towards the door, opening his eyes slightly.  "Scully?"  He 
whispers, and I walk over to him, sitting down gently on the bed 
and resisting the urge to take his hand.

"Yeah.  How are you feeling?"

"Groggy."

"That'll go away," I tell him, little beads of sweat starting to 
dot his forehead.

"Did they tell you?  About Mulder?"

I suck in a deep, sharp breath.  "They said they couldn't find 
him."

"There was a light...a bright light, and then he was gone.  It 
sounded almost like a helicopter, but a helicopter wouldn't have 
done this to me."

"No.  It wouldn't," I agree softly.  Suddenly, I want nothing 
more than to curl up into a ball and sob.  That son of a bitch 
was right: They took Mulder.  Bastards.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  You trusted me and I let you down."

"It wouldn't have made a difference, sir.  If They wanted him 
that badly, They would've found a way to take him regardless of 
what you did."  He looks at me, bewildered.  I wish I could tell 
him what I'd been told, but that bastard told me that it was "our 
little secret," so I just look away, wiping the tears off my 
cheeks and hoping he didn't see them.

The door opens, then, and an older-looking woman steps in with a 
chart in her hand.  "Are you Special Agent Scully?"  She asks me.

"Yes," I say, trying to regain a little composure.

"I'm Dr. Robinson.  Would you step into the hall with me, 
please?"

Following her outside, Sheriff Harris, who had probably been 
pacing the hall, thinking about how much trouble he's about to be 
in when the FBI finds out that one of their agents has 
disappeared and one was injured in his jurisdiction, starts a 
long circuit down to the other end of the hall, away from us.

"How is he?"  I ask the doctor.

"He'll be fine.  We'll probably release him tomorrow.  I was told 
that you were expecting to find another man with him."

"Yes, my partner," I say softly.

"Do you have any idea what may have happened to this man?"

I think he was burned by a space craft, I don't say.  "Some," I 
answer instead, ignoring her look that asks me to continue.  "You 
haven't given him another sedative today, have you?"

"No, the Sheriff's been wanting to talk to him."  She pauses, 
then says in a low, secret voice.  "Are you all right, Agent 
Scully?  You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," I tell her, giving her a tight smile.  "Excuse me, I 
need to use the phone."

Much to the Sheriff's dismay, I duck into the stairwell, pulling 
out my cell phone and dialing the Gunmen's number, waiting until 
I'm outside the building to hit "send."

Langly answers quickly.  "Lone Gunmen."

"It's me, turn off the tape."

After few clicks - one to turn off the tape, one to put me on 
speaker phone - Frohike starts asking questions.  "How you 
feelin'?"

"Fine.  I'm in Oregon."  I hear the collective gasp and someone's 
mouth open to protest me not following Mulder's orders, but I cut 
them off.  "Listen, I can't give you much over the phone, but I 
need you to find more of those satellite transmissions with the 
microburst activity.  We've got to find this ship."

"What's up?"  Byers asks.

"Just find the data.  This is important, boys, I need this as 
soon as possible."

"Uh, wasn't Mulder supposed to be looking for that ship, Scully?"  
Frohike says, obviously confused.  "We gave him the latest data 
we had."

"Yes, he was.  He found it, too.  Call me on my cell when you get 
it."  I hang up before they can figure out what happened and ask 
more questions.  Mulder always warned me about how unsecured cell 
phones were - They could be listening.  They probably don't know 
that I know Their plan, either, and I don't want to think of what 
the consequences would be for Mulder if They found out.

As I walk back into the lobby, I pass the cafeteria and my 
stomach growls loudly: I haven't eaten all day.  Maybe that's why 
I'm so dizzy and weak.  Tentatively, I place my hand over my 
stomach, wondering if the baby's hungry, too, then jerk it away, 
scolding myself.

I need to try and talk to Skinner again, see if he can tell me 
anything else, I tell myself as I pass the cafeteria without a 
second glance.

<><><><><><>

Skinner was incoherent from whatever sedative they gave him last 
night - it must've been strong enough for wild animals - so 
Sheriff Harris led me to the Station to wait for his Deputies to 
return.  The polite thing to do would've been to tell him that it 
was a waste of time, but with the recent disappearances of two of 
his Deputies, Theresa's husband and Billy, I couldn't blame him 
for wanting to find who or whatever was responsible for this.  I 
let him feel productive and thanked him for all his help, 
checking my cell phone every five minutes to make sure I hadn't 
missed the Gunmen's call.

With nothing for me to do at the Station, after Harris went about 
whatever he was doing in his office, I snuck out and headed for 
the woods.  Not like it'll really do me any good - I know what 
happened to Mulder and, if I really believe what the Smoking Man 
told me, no amount of evidence I find will help me get Mulder 
back.  I'll just have to assume that everyone will keep up there 
end of the deal and bide my time for the next six and a half 
months.  

God, six and a half months without Mulder...I haven't gone two 
days without talking to him in all the years we've been partners.  
I already miss him terribly, and it's barely been over twenty-
four hours.  Of course, it could just be psychosomatic - me 
missing him more because I know that I won't see him for months.  
It doesn't ease my mind any knowing that I was promised he'd be 
returned.  The Smoking Man didn't even specify if he'd be alive, 
injured, or dead and there's no telling what those Bounty Hunters 
are doing to him.  Shit, I have to try and find him.  If I was 
the one missing - again - nothing would stop him from trying to 
find me, regardless of the promises or deals that were made.

And it could all be a lie.  The Smoking Man may have made up that 
elaborate story just so I wouldn't look for Mulder; he may have 
no intentions of ever returning him.  But how would that explain 
me being pregnant?

It wouldn't.  I don't know what to believe.  I wish Mulder were 
here, he'd help me figure this out.

My phone rings then, snapping me out of my self-pity and despair.  
"Scully?"

"It's us," Byers says, sounding worried and afraid of something.  
"We, uh, found some data."

"Great.  Where is it?"

"Gone," Langly says sadly.  "We can't find any more microburst 
activity anywhere in the world.  The thing just vanished."

"And took Mulder with it," Frohike finishes.  "Is that what you 
were trying to tell us earlier?"

I take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose against the 
tears trying to form.  "Yes," I say softly, hearing muffled 
curses around the speaker.

"How long are you staying out there?  Do you want us to come?"  
Frohike asks.

I hadn't actually thought about it - how long I would look for 
him out here.  He's not here anyway, so it really doesn't matter, 
I guess.  I can't just go home and not look, though.  If it is a 
lie, if They did abduct him for no other reason than to do all 
Their tests on him, They're torturing him, mutilating him.  He'd 
be expecting me to find him.  He'd be screaming for me when They 
started the drills.  He'd wait for me...

I sniff a little too loudly into the phone.  "Agent Scully, are 
you all right?"  Byers asks in his soft, concerned voice.

No, I'm confused and tired and thirsty and I want my partner 
back!  "Yes, thank you.  I don't know how long I'll be staying, 
but I need you on that end looking for more data."

"Okay.  Anything you need, let us know."

"I will."

A tense silence dotted by static takes over until I finally hang 
up, not wanting to worry them anymore.  If I asked, they'd be out 
here to help me comb the woods.  If I told them the truth, they'd 
sit me down and tell me how much Mulder would want me to do 
everything in my power to keep this baby and let him go, then 
take me out to buy pink and blue onesies.

It occurs to me then that I hadn't even considered what Mulder 
would say if he were here.  Would the Gunmen be right?  Would he 
tell me to forget about him and take this one last chance at 
having a child and do everything I could to protect it?  Would he 
die for my baby?

Our last night together in the hotel, he'd told me as much in 
other terms.  He'd wanted me to be happy and he equated children 
with happiness.  I wonder if that's what his happiness would be, 
lots of babies.  Together?

My happiness is with him.  Without him is empty.  It hasn't taken 
me long to realize that.

If I gave up this baby for him, I don't know that he would ever 
forgive me.  He'd be flattered by my choice, though he'd never 
admit it.  He'd finally believe that I really do love him as much 
as I said I do, as much as he loves me.  He'd finally realize the 
extent of my commitment to him.  And he'd hate me for it.

When Mulder is returned - not if, but when.  If I have to kill 
every single one of those shape-shifting motherfuckers myself, I 
will - I just won't tell him about the baby.  It'll probably 
already be gone, anyway.  He never needs to know.

As it starts raining later, steadily getting heavier and heavier 
until I can't wander aimlessly through the woods anymore with 
tears in my eyes and my stomach rolling and gurgling, I check 
back into the same hotel we stayed at two nights ago, curl up in 
the same bed he told me how worried he was about me and how sorry 
he was that I'd never have a baby like Theresa's, and pray that I 
don't dream about him and babies tonight.

<><><><><><>

He sits up in bed as I approached the door, pushing the covers 
off his legs to stand and calling for me in the dark.  "Scully?"

"Yeah," I whisper back to him, thinking that a loud voice was 
inappropriate for night even though there was no one it would 
wake.  "I'm here."

"Where you goin'?"  He asks sleepily, turning on the lamp beside 
his bed and blinking against the brightness.

"Home.  It's late."  He nods, picking his pajama pants up off the 
floor and swinging his legs to the side of the bed, sliding the 
pants on as he stands.  "I'll let myself out.  Go back to sleep."

"No.  You can stay, I'll sleep on the couch."  He's already 
gathering a pillow from the bed and searching for a blanket in 
the closet.

"Mulder, that's ridiculous.  It's not that late."

"You don't want to stay?"  He asks me, giving me his sad, 
forlorn, pitiful look and stepping towards me.  Mmm...he smells 
like sleep and warm.  In truth, I want nothing more than to curl 
up in bed with him until morning.  He looks like he wants the 
same thing.

"No.  I'll stay, but I don't want you sleeping on the couch 
because of me.  I think we can share your bed, what about you?"

"I think so."  He gives me a sad smile.

After changing into one of his t-shirts and arranging ourselves 
in bed, I close my eyes and start to drift easily back to sleep 
when he calls my name again, softer this time.  "Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think that you and Daniel will start seeing each other 
again?"

Opening my eyes, I turn over to face him in the dimness from the 
street lights outside.  "Why?"

He fidgets, arranging and rearranging his hands on top of his 
chest and not looking over at me.  "I just wondered if you'd be 
starting a relationship with him once he's released from the 
hospital."

I think for a moment: it's certainly what Daniel wants.  And 
after he completes the task I assigned him, to take 
responsibility for the pain in his daughter's life and his own, 
he may call me and tell me that he's finished, that we can be 
together again.  "No.  I don't think so," I finally decide.

He hesitates for a few seconds.  "Why not?"

"Because, I'm not the same person that he's been in love with all 
these years.  I don't have room in my life for a relationship and 
I know he'd want me to quit the Bureau...I'm not ready to do 
that.  I'm not ready to make the kind of commitment he'd want."

"You can, you know.  It's okay," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"Quit the Bureau, get on with your life.  I know you never 
intended for this to become a lifetime responsibility, anyway, so 
you can leave if you want to.  I won't stop you."

I inch closer to him, slowly stretching my arm over his stomach 
and feeling him hold his breath.  "Do you want me to?"

"No," he says, exhaling.

I lay my head on his shoulder, my ear over his heart.  It's 
pounding nervously.  "Neither do I."

He tentatively puts his arm around my back, holding me tighter 
against him.  After a few minutes, he speaks again, sounding 
exasperated.  "Scully, I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"What?"

"I don't know if I want to keep our relationship the way it is," 
he says slowly, his heart speeding up a bit.  "This thing with 
Daniel...it scared me.  When you were telling me about him 
earlier, I kept thinking that the next words out of your mouth 
would be that you were leaving me for him.  It terrified me, 
Scully, I couldn't stand that."

I raise my head, pretending that I'm staring deep into his face.  
"What do you mean?"

He turns his head away from me, trying to gather the courage to 
speak.  "Sometimes, it hits me how much I love you and I can't 
believe that we're still just friends after all these years.  
Then sometimes, I'm happy with our relationship the way it is.  
I've never had a friend like you, Scully, and I don't want to 
change it, but I think that I want more, sometimes.  I want you 
to be in my life forever.  I just can't decide what role you'd 
fill."

"What are my choices?"  I ask him.

He sighs, frustrated that he can't just come right out and say 
whatever's on his mind and embarrassed that he's telling me at 
all.  "My best friend, like you are now, or...something...more 
serious."

"Oh," I repeat.

He pulls away from me and rolls to the edge of the bed, burying 
his face in the pillow.  "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't even be so 
presumptuous.  You probably don't want that."

"Mulder," I sigh as I follow him, draping myself across his back, 
"I don't know what makes you think that."

He doesn't respond, but doesn't try and move away from me 
anymore, either.

"I think that I'd like to try something more serious, too.  I 
want to be a part of your life.  I want you to always be a part 
of my life, no matter what happens."

He takes a deep breath under me and I hear his heart slow down a 
little.  "Do you love me?"  He whispers.

"Yes," I whisper back.

He turns over again and we lay face to face, our forehead and 
knees together.  "Are we okay?"

"We're okay," I decide, and our weeks of awkwardness are over.  
"And we'll try this more serious thing."

"Okay."

"Okay," I parrot.

We fall asleep like that.  In the morning, I discover that, in 
our sleep, we'd moved away from each other.  He didn't stir as I 
got up, showered, dressed, and left.

<><><><><><>

I wake up the next morning, seeing his sleeping face behind my 
eyelids and cursing the phone for waking from such a sweet dream.  
"'Lo?"  I say into my palm, figuring out which end I'm supposed 
to talk into a little too late.

"Scully?  It's Frohike, you awake?"

"No."

I hear someone hit someone else and Langly say, "Of course she's 
not awake, moron, it's five a.m. there."

"Did you find something?"  I ask, remembering that I'm in Oregon 
and Mulder's gone and I'm pregnant and oh, God, I think I'm gonna 
be sick...

"No, that's why we're calling.  We haven't been able to find 
anything.  These satellite transmissions were showing activity 
every twenty minutes or so, but nothing since the night Mulder 
was taken."

"Shit," I whisper.

"Yeah, we know," Langly agrees.  "We'll keep checking, though, 
let you know if we find anything."

"You haven't found anything, have you, Agent Scully?"  Byers 
asks.

"No, and it rained here last night, so any evidence was probably 
washed away."

"Those bastards," Frohike starts.  "They think They can just get 
away with it."

"I have to go.  I'll call you later," I say just in time to hit 
the end button and lean over the sink.  How I can have anything 
in my stomach to vomit up is beyond me, since I didn't eat 
anything yesterday.

I end up on my knees in front of the toilet for nearly an hour 
before I can manage to stand up without getting dizzy.  Whoever 
called this morning sickness obviously didn't know what they were 
talking about - more like morning torture.  I just hope the 
morning part turns out to be accurate.  That's all I need right 
now: to be vomiting instead of looking for Mulder.

But if it helps to get him back, it's worth it.

By the time I got to the hospital, Skinner was dressed, showered, 
fed, and angry.  He was demanding to participate in the search 
for Mulder and Sheriff Harris was having a difficult time 
containing him.  All the promises of agents from Portland and 
police from three counties did nothing to settle him down.

"Scully, tell them they need more than just manpower out there," 
he pleaded as soon as I walked in his room.

"Sir, Mulder's not out there.  We both know what happened to him 
and that he won't be found.  Now, anyway.  And you know that 
there won't be any evidence, either."

His jaw drops and he looks back and forth between me and the 
Sheriff, wondering what dimension he woke up in.

"We can conduct this investigation from DC, through the X-Files.  
That's our best hope right now," I continue, not believing the 
words that were coming out of my mouth.

He couldn't either.  "Scully...you're just giving up?  Going 
home?"

"No, Sir, not giving up.  Just pursuing this from a different 
angle.  OPR will want your statement immediately anyway and the 
sooner I can get a file open on him the better."  I have a 
feeling that I should tell him the truth, that I'm almost afraid 
to look for Mulder because of what the repercussions might be, 
but he'd just tell me that the Smoking Man can't be trusted and 
not to believe his deals and promises.  He'd also take me off of 
field duty, which is the last thing I need.

"Sir, listen.  With two of my Deputies missing, we're not gonna 
stop this search any time soon.  You go back to Washington, 
settle everything you need to there, and we'll cover everything 
on this end," Harris suggests helpfully.

Skinner finally closes his mouth and looks down at me.  "Can I 
get out of here?"  He asks tersely.

"Yes, you've been released."

"Good," he says, picking up his bag and wincing as his burned 
skin tightens around the handle.  "Scully, get on the phone to 
those friends of yours, see if they can locate this ship."

"I've already tried that, Sir.  They can't.  It's gone."

Harris just looks confused.

"What do you think happened, then?"

"I don't know," I tell him slowly.

He studies me for a second, a peculiar look on his face.  "Book 
us a flight home, then.  I don't know how I'm gonna explain this 
to OPR."

<><><><><><>

Skinner was absolutely silent on the plane; he wouldn't even look 
at me.  We parted at the airport and I drove straight home, 
chanting to myself that I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't cry, I 
wouldn't cry.

Mulder's supposed to be with me.  He's supposed to be asking me 
how much I missed him as we drive to his apartment.  He's 
supposed to ask me to stay for tea once we get there.  We're 
supposed to sit on his couch and talk, then decide that we missed 
each other too much to just sit here talking all night and go to 
bed in the middle of the afternoon.  Or maybe we're just supposed 
to order a pizza and watch movies all night, falling asleep 
spooned together in his bed.

I'm not supposed to be alone, carrying a child that's not even 
completely human, while he floats somewhere in outer space, 
wondering if I'm looking for him and hoping I'm not abducted 
next.

There are two messages on my answering machine when I get home.  
I figure one will be from OPR, but the other, I don't know about.

"Agent Scully, this is your official notification that the Office 
of Professional Review requires your presence tomorrow morning at 
eight a.m."  Yeah, I figured.  I fast forward to the next 
message.

"Hi, this message is for Dana Scully.  This is Mary Anne at 
Doctor Walker's office calling to remind you of your prenatal 
exam this Thursday morning at ten.  If you need to cancel," blah, 
blah, blah.

I didn't make an appointment to have a prenatal exam.

Of course, old Smoky did.  I'm sure he needs the baby to be 
healthy while I gestate it for him.  For Mulder.  This is his 
little way of telling me that I'd better take care of myself.  I 
sigh loudly and punch the delete button harder than necessary, 
then stomp petulantly into the kitchen, vomit into the sink, then 
stomp into the bathroom, run myself a too-hot bath, sink down 
into it, and cry.

It's not supposed to be like this at all.  Having a baby should 
be a happy time, something to celebrate.  It should be the proof 
of two people's love and devotion, not an elaborate blackmailing 
scheme.  My husband, the father, should be going with me to the 
appointments and reminding me to drink lots of orange juice and 
take my vitamins and pick out paint for the nursery.  We should 
curl up in bed together at night and press our hands to my 
stomach wondering when we'll feel it move.  He should suggest 
names for the baby, telling me Elvis would be a great name with a 
straight face.

Goddammit, Mulder, why did you have to leave me now?  And why did 
I have to let you go?

I wonder if it would've mattered, though, if I'd managed to 
convince him to stay.  Would the Bounty Hunters have just 
abducted him from his own apartment?  Or would They have taken me 
to get to him.

Of course, Dana, that's why you're pregnancy was timed to 
coincide with these abductions in Oregon.  They knew that Billy 
Miles would call you and you'd be out there to investigate.  
Then, you'd start having all those dizzy spells and weakness and 
Mulder would figure that, since all of the people that had 
disappeared had a history of abduction, you'd be next.  Maybe 
They even knew of your recently escelated personal relationship 
and decided to use it to Their advantage.  They knew that Mulder 
would take you home, then come back to Oregon to investigate 
further, all the while telling himself he'd done the right thing 
by keeping you same two thousand miles away when, if They really 
wanted you, it'd be no great inconvenience to Them to travel to 
DC.

Those bastards really thought of everything, didn't They?

Now I know how Mulder felt all those times that he blamed himself 
for everything that had happened to me over the years.  It may 
not have been his fault, but indirectly, he was partially 
responsible.  As I am, for Them doing God knows what to him just 
so They can have ensure my cooperation and the health and safety 
of this damn baby.

I just hope I get the chance to tell him how sorry I am.
 
Sufficiently pruned but no cleaner, I get out of the tub and 
crawl into bed wet and naked, knowing I won't sleep at all 
tonight.

<><><><><><>

The sum-total of my meeting with OPR was to inform me that the X-
Files had been shut down and I had been reassigned to Quantico.  
Skinner was on the panel but he didn't make eye contact with me 
the whole time.  When I got up and left after being dismissed, 
there was a shocked look on his face - he expected me to fight 
the decision, to plead with them to let the X-Files remain open, 
and to argue that it was the only way to find Agent Mulder.  The 
only way to find Agent Mulder is to have this baby, but they 
don't have to know that.  I turned off my emotions and went to 
pack up my meager belongings in his office, then drove to 
Quantico and unpacked them all.

The next day at my prenatal exam, the doctor, who was probably a 
part of this scheme, told me that everything looked healthy and 
normal, but that I was anemic and would need to go on iron 
supplements as well as to start taking prenatal vitamins.  I made 
an appointment to see him the same time next month, like he 
suggested, and went back to work afterwards.

I've made some decisions about this whole catastrophe since then.  
One, that part of this deal is for me to accept the Smoking Man's 
"gift" without question, to be thankful for the opportunity, and 
to be willing to give up my child when They ask if I want Mulder 
returned, so I can't start to think of this child as mine - I'm 
only a temporary caretaker.  I don't need to be picking out 
maternity clothes or wondering if I want a boy or a girl.  I need 
to be focused on the tedium of the next few months, counting the 
days until Mulder will be back and trusting that he'll be healthy 
and whole and that he won't remember any of what's happened and 
that he'll never find out about the deal I made.

Two, that as part of my trusting the Smoking Man, I have to act 
like I do.  That means no looking for Mulder - through the 
Bureau, anyway.  The Gunmen may pick up reports of UFO sightings 
somewhere and I can just decide to take a few days off to visit 
that place - a coincidence.  No documented travel expenses and no 
official case reports.  Nothing that would indicate I'm looking 
in case They decide not to honor their end of the deal.

Three, that when Mulder comes back, we both quit the Bureau and 
move up to northern Canada, where there's nothing but snow and 
the people speak French.

Two weeks goes by fast, but Skinner continuously calls me, just 
to check on me, he says.  I can't decide whether it's annoying or 
endearing, but I give him the general "I'm fine," and make polite 
conversation.  When he comes to see me, however, I find it more 
difficult to brush him off.

Thinking it's one of my students or perhaps a lost coworker, I 
tell the owner of the hand that knocks to come in, not looking up 
from my desk.  "Scully?"  The slightly soft but strong at the 
same time voice asks cautiously.

"Sir?"  I mimic his tone, starting to stand and then remembering 
not to.

"I didn't want to talk about this over the phone, but this might 
not be the best place to discuss it, either," he says, looking 
around the room like he's trying to imagine all the places They 
could hide a listening device.

I just stare at him, my right eyebrow increasing its elevation.

"I wanted to know what you've found," he continues, suddenly 
terse.

"Found?"

"Yes.  About Agent Mulder."

I gape, then recover.  "I haven't found anything, sir."

He manages to cover his shock well, steeling his gaze on me and 
making me look away - he always knows when I'm lying.  "You 
haven't found anything?"  He repeats neutrally.

"To be honest, sir, I haven't been looking," I admit softly, 
finding my desk blotter to be unexplainably interesting.

"Well, I have.  Do you care to know what I've found?"

I snap my eyes back to his.  "N-no, sir."

"No?  Agent Scully, is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, sir."

"Then why are you suddenly apathetic about the whereabouts of 
your partner?"

I fold my hands in my lap, tightening my fingers' grips around 
each other.  "I'm not, sir, I just...I have a job to do.  Here, 
away from the X-Files, which is what this case is."

"The X-Files have been closed, Agent Scully, and you and I both 
know that those agents out in Oregon aren't going to find 
anything.  It's up to us."

No, actually it's up to some shape-shifting aliens and a man who 
claims to be Mulder's father, I don't say.

He takes his glasses off, sitting down heavily in the chair in 
front of my desk and pinching the bridge of his nose, looking 
exhausted.  "I have to say I'm disappointed in you, Scully."

Me, too, sir.

"When you were taken years ago, Mulder was..." he trails off, 
looking through me.  "...beside himself with worry.  He wasn't 
eating, sleeping.  Nothing mattered except for you, finding you.  
I was afraid he was going to snap, to be honest.  When he came to 
me, telling me to offer Cancer Man anything he wanted if he would 
just return you...Mulder offered me his job, the X-Files - his 
life, Scully, all for you."

I look down again, blinking back tears.

"I never really understood a bond that strong after only two and 
a half years together.  Part of me just thought it was Mulder 
being Mulder, but another part of me understood that he really 
cared for you, even back then.  Over the years, that's only grown 
more and more apparent to me.  You and he have one of the 
strongest partnerships I've ever seen.  And now you just...give 
him up, like he doesn't matter.  I expected more from you, 
Scully, and I know Mulder would, too," he finishes softly, 
putting his glasses back on and standing.  In an instant, the 
stoic, terse Assistant Director is back, the softer side of him 
hidden again.  "I'm going to do everything in my power to see 
that he's returned, including contacting my unofficial channels."  
His eyes dare me to try and stop him.

"Sir, if They knew something, if They were responsible for this, 
don't you think we would've known?  They would have given us some 
sort of evidence, proof.  They'd want us to know that They were 
responsible," I say, not believing a word of it.  If Skinner 
tries to interfere, They may hurt Mulder, They may kill him, as 
punishment.  I wish I could tell him that.  He may be able to 
help me trick Them or beat Them at Their own game.

"You handle this the way you want to, Scully, and I'll handle it 
the way I want to," he tells me, not liking the pale, drawn look 
on my face as he turns and walks out my door, closing it quietly 
behind him.

<><><><><><>

The time passes quicker than I'd imagined, during the day, 
anyway.  At night, though, the hours linger longer than they 
should and the dark teases me with nightmares about what They're 
doing to Mulder.  I don't sleep much anymore after the sun goes 
down.  A quick nap right after work and I'm up again by nine - I 
have work to do.  I have to look for him, if only to make the 
slowly ticking nighttime hours go by faster.

Working at Quantico allows me to put in forty hour weeks, eight 
to five, Monday to Friday, no weekends, no evenings.  Those are 
spent at home, combing UFO newsgroups and chatrooms, satellite 
photos and reported sightings, quietly searching for the ship.  
So far, I've found nothing promising, but I will.  It has to come 
back some time and I intend to be there when it does, following 
it around like Hippies following The Dead if necessary.

Some early mornings, while the rest of the time zone is happily, 
safely, normally asleep, as I lay alone in my bed with my hands 
on my stomach, feeling the slight bump there, I cry.  No, I sob.  
I moan miserably, desperate for Mulder to come and soothe me, to 
kiss me and make it better, to bring me ice cream and tell me I'm 
not gaining enough weight, to put his head against my stomach and 
talk to the baby.  At those times, I feel like I'm the only 
person left in the world, wondering why God chose to spare me and 
not someone more worthy of life, growth, happiness, miracles.  At 
those times, I'm certain that this time, They've won and that 
I'll never see Mulder again.

Some early mornings, I think of all the different ways I know to 
do a simple abortion in my bathroom - They'd never have to know.  
If this is the only way I can deny Them what They need to succeed 
in Their work, I'll do it without hesitation.  At those times, 
I'm certain that They'll never win, but neither will I.  I won't 
let it be a draw, though.  I'll just have to find another way to 
get Mulder back and keep us safe - my own life be damned.  He 
deserves better than a life of running away from the Bounty 
Hunters because of me.

Some early mornings, I silently search the Internet for 
information.  At those times, I know I'll win - that I'll find 
him.  I don't even notice the baby moving around inside me - a 
secondary, temporary object in my life.

I don't take care of myself like I should - I forget to eat, too 
caught up in my search for evidence or my self-pity, I stopped 
taking the vitamins Dr. Walker recommended simply because it 
required too much self discipline.  I've kept going to my 
prenatal appointments, though, out of simple fear of the 
repercussions to Mulder.  I'm sure that Dr. Walker reports my ill 
health to Them anyway.  He says I'm too skinny, that I'm too 
anemic, that I need to rest and stay off my feet.  He wonders why 
I don't want to look at the ultrasound pictures or know the sex 
of my child.  He asks me about names and if I have any concerns 
about the birth.  He doesn't ask about the father, though.

It's not hard to hide my stomach.  I've stayed about the same 
size everywhere except my waist, so adding black, one-size-too-
big, jackets to my wardrobe and staying seated as much as 
possible while I'm around my co-workers isn't a problem.  Not 
that I socialize much with the other doctors, anyway.  I've 
become more reclusive, more private, and less trusting since 
Mulder disappeared.  My office door stays locked and I stay alone 
as much as possible.  No one notices me and, if they notice my 
stomach, they're not asking any questions.

I've withdrawn from my family, too.  My mother and I had been 
growing increasingly distant over the past few years and I no 
longer talked to her like I used to.  Whenever she calls, she 
tells me stories about Bill and Tara, their perfect little 
family, and how excited she is that Tara's expecting again.  A 
girl, this time, they hope.  I never told her about Mulder's 
disappearance or about the baby - she wouldn't understand, 
anyway, and it's easier to remain silent than it is to try and 
explain.  She's leaving in a few weeks to go to Pearl Harbor and 
help Tara out with the baby; she wants to see me before she goes.  
I tell her that I'm busy at work and won't have time.  She's 
disappointed, but used to it.

The Gunmen probably feel that I've betrayed them by not searching 
for Mulder like he searched for me.  If they only knew the truth, 
they might be able to help me, like Skinner.  I can't endanger 
them, though, and I certainly can't endanger Mulder just because 
I need someone to talk to. 

A long time ago, Mulder told me about this ritual that he had 
when he was a kid: before he would walk into his bedroom, he 
would close his eyes, certain that, when he opened them, Samantha 
would be there playing or laying on his bed like she had never 
mysteriously disappeared.  His exact words to me were, "I'm still 
walking into that room...every day of my life."  At the time, I 
couldn't imagine living my life with my eyes closed, anxious to 
open them to see what I'd missed, but afraid that what I'd missed 
would still be missing.  It's a sad way for anyone to live their 
lives; I couldn't imagine doing it for twenty-seven years.

I've found myself doing it more and more lately, though.  Waking 
up in the early morning dusk, my first thought is not to 
immediately open my eyes.  I guess I think that if I concentrate 
hard enough, if I remind myself that Mulder should be beside me 
in bed or, at the very least, asleep on my couch, and if I listen 
hard enough I can hear him breathing, when I finally open my 
eyes, he'll really be there.

When I walk into my office, I close my eyes as I unlock the door, 
for some reason thinking that he'll be on the other side with 
coffee and those deliciously fattening, buttery chicken biscuits 
he knows I love, ready to give me a smile and a "check this out, 
Scully."

At night, when I'm scanning the message boards and newsgroups for 
any UFO sightings, I close my eyes before I look away from the 
computer screen, thinking that he'll be behind me, ready to mock 
me for finally winning me over to his side.

When I can drag myself into bed at the end of another long, 
fruitless day, I close my eyes and crawl between the sheets, 
thinking that, if I reach out far enough, I'll find him curled on 
the other side of the mattress, radiating Mulderheat.

I've become him in many ways and that makes me feel closer to 
him.  I've begun to live my life with my eyes closed, afraid to 
open them for fear of what I'll see when I do, but afraid to keep 
them closed, afraid of what I'll miss.

And much to my disappointment and shame, everyday, I find myself 
opening my eyes a little more.  Maybe I'm just learning to live 
without him; maybe I've made peace with his absence.

Or maybe I'm just becoming numb.

<><><><><><>

The door to my office slams as Skinner stalks in, leaning over my 
desk and directly into my eyes.  "You're in on this, aren't you?"  
He asks angrily.

"What?"

"You helped Them orchestrate this.  That's the reason you didn't 
go with him to Oregon - it would make you look bad if you let him 
be taken, make it look like you'd failed to watch your partner's 
back.  Those dizzy spells were fake, just so he'd be concerned 
about you and make you stay here.  Isn't that what happened, 
Scully?  Mulder was right from the very beginning - you are a 
little spy.  You've been working against him all these years.  
Everything's been leading to this moment and you executed it 
almost perfectly.  You certainly had me fooled."

Standing before I can think about it and leaning over so that I'm 
face to face with him, I try not to shriek "What the hell are you 
talking about?"  at him and probably not succeeding.

"My unofficial channels," he calmly explains, "told me 
everything.  That you knew about this and went along with it."

I start to panic.  "Sir-"

"How far back does it go, Scully?  What about your abduction, 
your cancer, was that all planned, too?"

"Sir, that's not...that's not what happened."

"That's why you're not investigating his disappearance, isn't it?  
You don't want to incriminate yourself?"  He asks rhetorically.

"I'm not -"  Not what, involved?  I guess I am involved.  "I 
didn't help Them plan this, sir.  How could you think I'd betray 
him like that?"

"Then explain it.  He said you had one more secret, so tell me 
Scully.  Make me believe this.  Make me believe you didn't know 
about this and do nothing to stop it."

I take a deep breath, then lean back, away from him, letting 
tears come and thinking they'll help him see my desperation and 
earnestness.  "I had to make a deal."

Skinner nods, listening, but not believing yet.

"He came to me while you and Mulder were gone - I was in the 
hospital because I had fainted. He told me that I was pregnant -"

His jaw twitches and he leans back, softening.

"- That the baby was a hybrid, but that I was the mother and They 
needed it to gestate naturally.  If I had the baby and gave it to 
Them, They'd return Mulder.  That's the reason They took him, so 
that I wouldn't have a choice but to cooperate," I tell him, my 
voice flat and dull.

"Scully..." he whispers.  "How?"

"When I was with him last Spring, I disappeared with him.  He 
drugged me and one of Their doctors did the procedure."

He hesitates for a moment before breaking eye contact and looking 
at my stomach.  "Does Mulder know?"

"No."

Shaking his head, he walks around the desk until he's beside me, 
reaching out silently to unbutton my jacket and pull it away from 
by body.  Realizing what he's doing, I turn slightly to the side 
and he gasps, seeing the barely-there bulge underneath my shirt.

"Jesus, Scully.  Why didn't you tell me?"  He asks in awe, 
wanting to reach out and touch it to make sure it's really there.

"He said it was supposed to be a secret.  I was afraid that if I 
told anyone, he'd do something to Mulder."

"So, you're going along with this?  You're letting Them do this 
to you?"

"Do I have a choice?"  I ask, my voice thick.

We stare at each other for a moment before he looks away, 
dropping his hands from my body and stepping back.  "What do we 
do in the meantime, then?"

"Just wait.  And hope They don't want to renegotiate."

Nodding, he turns to walk out of my office, pausing in the 
doorway.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  If there's anything I can do..."

I shake my head and he walks out, not saying another word.

<><><><><><>

Today was a good day: I only cried for a few minutes in the 
shower this morning and I remembered to drink half a glass of 
orange juice which I immediately regretted.  I know that the 
folic acid is good for the baby, but the overall acidity of the 
drink is just too much for my stomach to handle.  My "morning" 
sickness ended months ago, but the weakness in my stomach when I 
wake up has lingered.  Sometimes, I can't even brush my teeth 
because it makes me gag.

The sacrifices I make for this thing.  I guess that's what 
parenthood is all about, though, making sacrifices for the well-
being of your child.  If only it was mine - completely, 
permanently mine - I might be a little more willing.

The UFO groupies that Mulder would've fit in so well with have 
been increasingly silent the past few weeks.  Either someone is 
redirecting my connection to the sites or there's just nothing 
out there to discuss.  I went to bed earlier than I have in a 
long time, though, remembering to keep my eyes open as I smooth 
the covers out beside me and glance at the clock, making sure I 
set the alarm.

Oh, and the baby moved today.  I guess that's what that was, 
anyway: just a tiny ripple in my stomach.  I was getting ready to 
go to a class and I pressed my hand against it, stopping in the 
middle of the hallway to try and feel it again.  Mulder would 
love to feel this, I thought, our child saying hello.

Our child?  Not our child.

After class, I went back to my office, locked the door, and cried 
so hard, I vomited into the bathroom sink, then came home early 
to stare at the walls.

Maybe not such a good day after all.  Better than some, though.  
Getting better all the time (can't get no worse, as John would 
say).

Later that night, as I wake up from a dream about Mulder and a 
little boy building sand castles together, I feel something 
dripping between my legs.  Sitting up and switching on the lamp, 
I pull back the covers and look at the sheet underneath me.  It's 
red - blood.

Is this it?  Did They abduct me and take it from me already?  I'm 
barely six months along - he said it would be eight months.  Was 
this Their plan all along, to take what They needed and leave me 
to slowly bleed to death in my own bed?

I'm afraid to move.  I have to get to the hospital, though, but 
the slightest movement I make could make this more serious.  How 
long have I been bleeding?  Why didn't I notice it sooner?  Slow, 
insistent cramps begin, then, getting more and more intense as I 
lay there, wondering what I should do.  Maybe I should call 
someone and have them drive me to the hospital, but who?  No one 
knows about this.  An ambulance?  No, that would draw too much 
attention.  I take some deep breaths and another wave of cramps 
hits me, more blood gushing onto the sheets.  No time to rethink 
this, Dana.  I have to go now.  Slowly, slowly I move out of bed, 
dress, and head towards the nearest hospital.

If They didn't take me, then this is a miscarriage and if I lose 
this baby, They'll kill Mulder.  They'll kill him because of me 
and I'll never see him again.  Then, They'll take me and start 
all over with a new ovum, only this time, there'll be no 
incentive for me to let Them have it.

The admitting nurse calmly listens to my frantic sobs about a 
baby, blood, and how I need help, then helps me lay down and 
stays with me until the doctor can get there.  "Is there anyone I 
can call for you," she asks softly.  "The father?"  That just 
makes me cry harder.

The ER doctor easily finds the baby's heart beat, assuring me 
that it's fine for right now, before sending me up to OB.  They 
admit me and start an IV, claiming I'm dehydrated, then push 
something from a syringe into my blood and tell me to sleep.  I 
can't help it; it must have been a sedative, but I fight it, 
thinking of how a sedative isn't good for the baby and that this 
might be Their opportunity to take me ahead of schedule, kill 
Mulder, and keep me as a brood mare, before I finally can't open 
my eyelids again.

When I wake up, I have a visitor.

"I just heard what happened, Agent Scully.  The doctors assure me 
that your baby should be fine," he says calmly.

I just glare at him: Not my baby.

He smiles evilly.  "You haven't been taking care of yourself very 
well according to Dr. Walker.  Surely you knew that it was 
dangerous, or does it not matter that if your baby dies, so does 
Agent Mulder."

"You son of a bitch."

"I've spoken with my associates about this.  Apparently, we 
didn't anticipate the degree of your...connection with him.  We'd 
always assumed that Mulder's loyalty and dedication to you wasn't 
reciprocated."

"What the hell does that mean?"  I snap, not wanting him to 
realize how much his words have stung me.  If They couldn't tell, 
how could I have expected Mulder to?

He gets an almost regretful, far away look on his face as he 
says, "You miss him a great deal, don't you Agent Scully?  And 
you're willing to sacrifice your only chance at motherhood for 
his safety."

"Yes," I answer automatically.  "Not like I ever had a choice 
anyway."

"Oh, you did.  You seemed anxious to make a deal according to the 
original terms.  If you'd been reluctant, we might have allowed 
you to keep this child.  Surely you know there are others like 
you.  This baby can easily be replaced.  Surprisingly, you were 
quite adamant regarding Agent Mulder's eventual return."  He 
stops, assessing my open mouth and wide eyes.  "You can't have 
them both, Agent Scully, and you've already made your decision.  
Unless you'd care to change your mind?"

My voice fails me at first, my jaw moving soundless, before I 
manage a weak, non-committal,  "No."

"Good.  While we've been watching your gradual decline in health, 
we've been discussing what we could do to reverse it.  There's 
only one feasible option that we'd consider, even though it took 
a great deal of convincing on the Alien Bounty Hunter's part - 
beyond taking you to one of our hospitals until the birth."  I 
narrow my eyes at him and he grins, glad to have finally gotten 
me angry.  "I've always tried to protect you and Agent Mulder 
when I've felt it was necessary and this is one of those times.  
To ensure your baby's safety, They're willing to return Agent 
Mulder to you now as insurance."    

"When?  Where?"

"First, you have to assure me that you'll take better care of 
your baby, Agent Scully.  If you don't, we can easily take him 
again and this time, we won't be so...accommodating towards him."

"Tell me he's all right," I say slowly.  "You promise me that 
he's safe."

"He's safe, Agent Scully.  It was my one condition in this whole 
matter, that he stay safe."  For some reason, I believe him.  
Maybe it's because I want to.  Maybe it's because I need to.  "Is 
it a deal?"

"Yes," I say in a much stronger voice than I feel.

Another evil smile.  "Good, good.  I'll let them know."  Then, he 
turns and walks to the door.

"Wait a minute!  What about Mulder?"  I scream, sitting up 
abruptly and immediately regretting it.

"He'll be returned to you soon.  In the meantime, rest and try 
not to worry about him," he says, a much too delighted look on 
his face as he disappears into the hallway.

<><><><><><>

It was one of those nights that you just wanted to light a fire 
in the fireplace - whether it was actually cold enough to or not 
- put on your oldest, most comfortable pajamas, then fix some hot 
chocolate and curl up on the couch with a good book, movie, or 
partner/friend/recent lover: one of those nights when the rain 
never seemed to end.  Clouds had covered the sky all day and it 
had drizzled off and on, never falling too hard that you'd need 
to turn your windshield wipers to "lo," you could leave them on 
"delay."  Walking across the parking lot to and from work this 
morning, the tiny, cold rain drops had stung my skin in a 
refreshing way, reminding me that, for one more day, at least, I 
was alive and I could feel.  They hit my contacts and made little 
blurry spots that disappeared when I'd close my eyes.  A messy 
day that you didn't want to go out in if you didn't have to and 
certainly not at night.  

Yet, for some reason, I'm not in front of my blazing fireplace in 
my oldest, most comfortable pajamas with some hot chocolate, 
book, movie, or partner/friend/recent lover.  I'm in the middle 
of the woods.

What snapped me out of my zombie-like state was the baby kicking.  
It's been doing that more and more often lately and it must not 
like the cold and wet anymore than I do.  I stop walking and 
stare up at the black, star-less sky, wondering what the hell I'm 
doing here and why.

The wind picks up, then, and the soaked tree branches shake the 
water off of themselves and onto me.  My hair plastered to my 
face, my clothes soaked, my teeth chattering, and my toes and 
fingers numb, I do the only logical thing: I start to cry.

They're small, quiet, choking whimpers at first but quickly 
become long, painful things that reverberate in the open air 
around me, sounding like a dying animal, alone and afraid.

And I am: alone and afraid, that is.  I may as well be dying 
anyway, though, for all the good my life is to anyone right now.  
Somehow, I've become a brood mare for a multi-national 
governmental conspiracy to create successful alien-human hybrids, 
someone whom They'll take anything and everything from to ensure 
that I fulfill that capacity to Their satisfaction, someone whom 
They can call to anywhere They choose at any time for whatever 
sadistic and self-serving reasons They develop.  Someone who has 
no choice over her own future.  Slowly, I sink down to the 
squishy-soft ground against a tree trunk, draw my knees as close 
as possible to my chest, wrap my arms around them, bury my face 
in the little hole I've created, and sob.

Is this just a test to see if They still have this power over me?  
Is this where They're going to abduct me from and take my baby -

No, dammit.  It.  The antithesis of humanity and happiness inside 
me.  THE baby.  Not mine.  Never mine.

Or is this where They're going to kill me because I'm not useful 
anymore?  Or because I know too much and I'm a danger to Them?

They promised me Mulder would be returned and I've been taking 
better care of myself - eating more, gaining weight, resting, 
staying off my feet as much as possible - much to Dr. Walker's 
and Their approval.  I should've known, though.  One day, I'll 
learn not to trust Them, even when They say that Mulder's life 
depends on it.  Trust no one, Deep Throat said.

After my sobs have quieted to a dull, pathetic keening, I hear an 
abbreviated, painful moan from somewhere in the distance and snap 
my head up, waiting and watching.

It's completely dark now.  I don't have a flashlight or my gun.  
For some reason, They didn't think it was important for me to 
have either here.

Again, the sound: a definite moan of pain, the voice slightly 
rough, like it's been overused lately.  Leaves rustling - it's 
just a few feet ahead of me, the moaning just isn't very loud.  I 
stand up quickly, keeping my back against the tree trunk and 
wrapping my arms around it for support, trying not to make a 
sound.

Something that sounds like a deep breath - an exhale of 
exhaustion and frustration.  Nothing after that.

There was supposed to be a full moon tonight.  The clouds had 
obscured it but, occasionally, there would be a break in them or 
a thin spot and it would shine through, barely illuminating the 
night:  a body about fifty feet in front of me.  Fully clothed.  
Lying on its side.  Dark hair.  Blue jeans.  Dark jacket.

"Mulder?  Mulder," I ask desperately, running over and kneeling 
beside him.  His eyes are closed and his breathing is erratic.  
He's shivering, God, he's so cold.  No bruises, no blood.  Just 
cold.  "Mulder, can you hear me?  Wake up.  Mulder, wake up.  
It's me, Mulder.  Please, come on, wake up.  It's Scully."

"Mmmm..." is all I get at first, but I try to turn him over onto 
his back to see if he has any wounds on his chest or if his 
airway's obstructed.

"Mulder...come on, wake up.  You're safe now.  You're with me, 
wake up.  You're okay."

He winces as I touch his throat to feel his pulse and moans 
again, finally forming a syllable.  "Sc..."

"Mulder, open your eyes.  Look at me.  Mulder, please.  It's me."  
I start crying again - he's not responding.  Dammit, he said They 
wouldn't hurt him!

"Sc..." he moans again, turning his head towards me.  "Sc--ee."

"Yes, Mulder, it's me.  Open you eyes and look at me."  I have to 
get him to the car - did I even drive up here?  Where is here?  I 
don't even know where the nearest hospital is.

He's not injured - at least, not that I can see and I don't want 
to undress him in the middle of the cold rain.  I have to get him 
to a hospital and I have to get him to my car - my keys are in my 
pocket, so I must've driven.  I slide my arms underneath his and 
pull, then decide I don't have any leverage from this position 
and stand, trying again.

"No," he whispers faintly, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and 
tensing his body.

"Mulder, it's me.  It's Scully.  I'm not going to hurt you, I 
just need to get you out of here.  I can't lift you, you're going 
to have to stand.  Can you do that?  Can you stand and walk?  I 
can't carry you, you have to try," I encourage him, trying to 
lift again.

"Scully?"  He asks, sounding drunk, and not opening his eyes.

"Yes, Mulder, it's me.  Stand up, we have to get out of here."

Finally, he starts to comply and stiffly wraps his arms around my 
shoulders, trying to pull himself up.  When we're awkwardly 
standing, me holding him up while he sags against me, it occurs 
to me that I have no idea in which direction I came and how to 
get back to the car.

His head lolls and he makes a painful sound again, starting to 
slip back towards the ground.  Deciding it might be easier to 
keep him awake if we're moving, I lead us straight ahead, into 
the darkness.

Half an hour later, after the rain has started coming down harder 
and Mulder is officially unconscious, we reach the parking lot 
and my car.  I maneuver him into the passenger's seat, then slide 
into the drivers, my stomach bumping against the steering wheel 
as I reach over to adjust his vents and turn the heater on high.  
Taking off my jacket and draping it over him, then turning his 
head towards me, I take the time to stroke his too-white cheek 
and push the longer hair back from his face.  "Mulder," I 
whisper, knowing he can't hear me.  "You're safe now.  You're 
safe with me."  I take a deep, watery breath, and kiss his 
forehead before putting the car in reverse and trying to find our 
way home.

<><><>End Part One<><><>

The Naked Kitties, Part Two: Careful Not To Cut The Skin

<><><><><><>

Of course as soon as I sat down, the phone rang.  I didn't even 
give it a second thought - Daniel hadn't been too happy with my 
admission that no, I didn't want to "pick up where we'd left 
off," no, I didn't need him, no, I hadn't missed him all these 
years.  In the past ten days, he's called at least ten times.  
When I asked him why, he said he wanted me to know that he was 
thinking about me and that he loved me.  If it wasn't so 
annoyingly sickening, it'd be sweet.

The bathroom door was closed, but I heard the tell-tale "beep" as 
my pre-recorded message ended and then the low, muffled tones of 
the male speaker leaving his just thinking about you and love you 
speech.  I just sank further down into the bubbles and silently 
wished for more wine to appear in my glass because I was 
certainly not getting up to refill it.

Mulder and I had been adolescently awkward around each other in 
the past ten phone call filled days which did nothing to 
alleviate my discomfort.  I think I hurt his feelings when I left 
without waking him that morning, but what choice did I have?  I 
had to go home to get ready for work and I didn't want to wake 
him - he rarely gets enough sleep anyway and it was much too 
early for him to be up for work.  My plan for the office was to 
act like nothing had happened the previous night; outside the 
office, however, I'd planned to touch him more - just casually, 
naturally - to flirt more openly, to invite him to stay overnight 
at my apartment more.  His plan, if he had one, which wasn't 
likely, was to either jump in head first, have sex, and damn the 
consequences, or to pretend that we hadn't had the conversation 
at all, forget that we loved each other and wanted to physically 
express that fact, and go back to being just partners and 
friends.

And as is our wont, we didn't talk about any of this.  Of course.  
Heaven forbid we actually communicate about something important.

It's been getting worse, though.  He barely said anything to me 
today beyond "we have a flight at eight thirty-five Monday 
morning, see you at the airport," and didn't look at anything 
below my chin without getting red and dropping his eyes.  I'm 
figuring out that Mulder is a little less experienced at this 
sex-game than I thought he'd be.  Or maybe he's just playing 
naive and hard to get.

I told someone once that the best relationships come from 
friendships.  I wonder what I was thinking when I made that 
brilliant deduction.  At times, the thought of having sex with 
Mulder is a little...incestuous.  We've had these unspoken 
boundaries - both real and figurative - since we met.  Crossing 
them will just feel weird, maybe even revolting.  I feel strange 
about touching him in intimate ways with an intimate purpose - 
I've been touching him for years, I've seen him naked, and I've 
been privy to some rather vocal solo entertainment sessions 
conducted while on the road.  I know everything about him and 
while sometimes, it makes me more comfortable with the idea of 
"more serious," sometimes it intimidates the hell out of me.

Correction: I don't know if he's a good lover.  I can't decide if 
I really want to find out, either.  Things are so much more 
complicated when you don't have a half-naked, partially aroused 
man beside you in a big, warm, comfortable bed.

All of that led to a pretty stressful week.  When I got home 
today, all I wanted to do was to relax, unwind, and be lazy for 
as long as possible.  The wine and warm water have done wonders 
for me, only now I just don't ever want to move from this tub 
again.

Until I hear something that sounds like a door closing outside.  
I sit straight up in the tub, my hands going to cover my breasts 
and my eyes darting around the room, looking for something that 
can be used as a weapon.  Then, a voice: "Scully?"

I exhale heavily, then sink back down, chill bumps rising on my 
arms and chest.  "In here."

His footsteps shuffle across the carpet as he approaches the 
door, stopping just outside of it.  "Sorry.  You weren't 
answering your phone."

Oh, it was him.  Not Daniel.  Why is that a little disappointing?  
"Yeah, I was screening," I explain, like I don't have Caller ID.

"Oh."

Of course Mr. LowSelfEsteem thinks I didn't want to talk to him.  
"Mulder, you can come in."

He slowly pushes open the door, searching the room for me.  When 
he finds me, he flushes a deeper red than earlier and finds his 
shoes very interesting.  "I didn't need anything, I was 
just...I'll wait outside," he tells the floor, already turning to 
walk back out.

Right: bubbles don't cover much, Dana.  And now that the 
previously half naked, partially aroused man who was beside me in 
a big, warm, comfortable bed is fully clothed in those jeans and 
that gray T-shirt in my overly cool bathroom, things aren't as 
complex as they seemed just a few minutes ago.  "Mulder," I call 
to him.

"Yeah," he says, deciding the ceiling hasn't been inspected in a 
while.

"Come here."

He drops his head and ambles slowly over to the opposite wall, 
staring blankly in the direction of the window.

Not good enough.  "Sit down."

Absently, he moves to the toilet and starts to sit on the closed 
lid.

"No, here," I ask him softly, dropping my arm out to the side of 
the tub, my fingers dripping tiny spots of water onto the floor.

He sits down Indian-style next to the tub, tugging at his 
shoelaces.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"  He asks, not looking up.

"What's the matter?"  Is it me, or did my voice just get deeper?

"I, um...I lied to you."  He leans his forehead against the side 
of the tub, exhaling miserably.

OhGodohGodohGod.  He changed his mind and now I look like a slut.  
And a fool.  "What?"

"I did need something." 

Oh.  That.  "What?"  I ask again, sliding my wet fingers through 
his hair, trying to soothe and reassure him.

"I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"The last time you didn't answer your phone, it turned out an 
escaped necrophilic murderer had you tied up in your closet."

Of course.  Why didn't I think of that?  I get a chill all of the 
sudden and pretend it's because the air conditioner just came on.  
"I'm fine, Mulder," I whisper, scraping his scalp lightly with my 
nails.

"I know.  And I know you can take care of yourself and you don't 
need me worrying about you.  I know you hate it when I do, but, 
God, Scully...what would I have done if I'd have gotten here and 
you were laying in this tub, covered in your own blood, with your 
fingers and hair cut off?"  His voice has a slightly thick edge 
to it and I know he's trying not to cry.  Mulder is worse than 
women with his monthly cycles - sometimes, he's happy, positive, 
and nothing can bring him down.  Other times, he's weepy, 
regretful, and walks around looking like he's about to pull out 
his gun and shoot himself in the head.

"I don't hate it when you worry about me," I tell him.

"You don't?"  He asks, finally looking up at me with those sad 
puppy-dog eyes.

"No.  It reminds me that you care."  I give him a soft, slightly 
weary smile and his already dilated pupils get ever bigger.

He must notice that mine do as well because, for a long, tense, 
electric moment, we just stare at each other in silence, not 
blinking or breathing, watching our irises become entirely black.

The moment is broken when he swallows thickly and flushes again, 
looking down.  Remembering to breath, I start panting instead, 
the alcohol beginning to buzz through my veins.

"Mulder?"  I ask him in an even deeper voice.

"What?"

"Do me a favor."

He looks up, swallows again, then nods.

I fish for my body pouf under the water, then hold it out to him.  
"Wash my back?"

He looks positively shocked for three seconds before deciding to 
comply, taking the pouf from me and looking at it like he doesn't 
know what it's for.  I sit up, drawing my knees to my chest, and 
look at him expectantly as he dips it in the water behind me and 
draws it up my back, across my shoulders, and down again.  Up, 
across, down.  Up, across, down.  Slowly.  Maddeningly.  
Deliciously.  My head lolls on my shoulders and I give him 
another weary smile, moaning in approval.

Then, he stops, keeping his hand underneath the water behind me.  
When I open my eyes, he's staring at me, looking starved.  
Another long, tense, electric moment, only in this one, he's 
moving closer to me until his lips barely graze mine, his breath 
warm on my lips.  I inhale and don't move again.

His lips move over mine, kissing and begging to be kissed and I 
do what I always do give in and ooooooooooh God his tongue is 
like velvet and he's devouring me and I wish we weren't in this 
tub and we were in bed or on the couch or in the middle of the 
Bullpen at the Hoover Building I don't care I just want more I 
want that tongue everywhere and his hands everywhere and I can't 
breathe I have to breathe God don't stop Mulder don't -

We're both panting at the end of the moment this time, watching 
each other, waiting for the other to make the next move.

"I think," he starts, not able to look away from me now.  "I 
think I should go."

WHAT?  Nonononononono.

"I, um...this isn't why I came over.  I don't...I want this...I 
don't want this...Scully...not like this," he finally decides.

Nooooooooooooo.  "Like what?"

"I don't want to do this for the wrong reasons.  I want it to be 
because we're ready, I mean mentally, emotionally ready, not just 
physically.  Not yet.  Not like this."

"Mulder," I say, taking his hand and lacing our fingers together.  
"If we keep waiting until we're ready, we'll never stop waiting.  
Something will always keep us from this."

He looks down into my eyes and says softly, "But I want it to be 
perfect, Scully," squeezing my fingers tightly.

"It is," I assure him.  He keeps staring at me as I rise from the 
tub, looking away as I minimally dry myself, turn around and lead 
him into my bedroom, sitting him down on the bed and straddling 
him before he has a chance to object.

"Tell me this is forever," he requests for the six hundredth time 
as his hands slip under the towel, enjoying the lack of bra-clasp 
to fumble with.

I moan something unintelligible against his mouth, moving his 
hands from my back to my front and pointing him towards the loose 
knot of the towel.

"No," he says, pulling away and waiting for me to look up at him 
in confusion before continuing.  "Tell me.  Tell me that this is 
forever, Scully."

Taking a deep breath and licking my lips, I do.  "This is 
forever, Mulder."

"Change," he whispers against the pulse in my neck.  "This is 
gonna change.  Everything...everything's gonna - unhhh," my hands 
against his erection, eager.  "chaaaaange.  No more FBI...no more 
dangerous cases...too much...too much at stake..."

I tug his head back up to mine, then, not wanting to talk about 
dangerous things and the FBI and everything waiting for us 
outside this room.

"Promise, Scully," he moans as he pushes slowly inside me.  
"Promise.  Change.  Forever.  Love you."

"Love you, too, Mulder," I tell him as I wrap my legs high around 
his ribs, pushing him further inside me.

It was so easy that night - making love to him.

<><><><><><>

I can't imagine what the ER team thought when I staggered through 
the ambulance bay doors, Mulder hanging limply at my side.  We 
were soaked and his skin was blue, his breath coming in watery, 
inconsistent pants.  The nurses and doctors jumped as soon as 
they saw us, though, grabbing two gurneys and hollering at each 
other for different things.  Not knowing any better, they put us 
in separate trauma rooms and threatened me with a sedative if I 
didn't calm down and stop screaming since they were trying to do 
their jobs and help my friend - did I know what had happened to 
us?  Are there any pre-existing medical conditions we should know 
about?  Is he allergic to any kind of medications?

No, I have no idea what happened to him; He said They wouldn't 
hurt him.  No, no pre-existing medical conditions that I know 
about, but I haven't been privy to his health and care the past 
five months.  Yes, he's allergic to morphine based pain-killers, 
let me up, I have to see him.

Once they figured out I was pregnant, they confined me to a bed 
and admitted me "for observation."  I threatened to call in every 
FBI agent in the state, whatever state that was, if they didn't 
let me see Mulder.  It worked and I signed myself out AMA just in 
time to watch them wheel Mulder up to have an MRI to check for 
head injuries.

It wasn't too hard to find a hospital, actually.  Once we were 
out of the parking lot and back onto what looked like a heavily 
traveled road, I saw a blue "H" sign and followed it.  I still 
have no idea where we are, but Mulder's with me and that's all 
that matters right now.

I'm filling out his admission forms in the waiting room when the 
ER doctor comes to tell me his condition.

"Ma'am?"  He still didn't know my name.

"Dana Scully.  I'm a doctor," I inform him, my teeth chattering 
from my damp-and-clinging-to-me clothes.

He gives me a look that says, "yeah, right," and takes a deep 
breath.  "What's your relation to Mr..."

"Mulder, Fox Mulder.  We're FBI agents.  He's my partner."

Another look that says, "wait, I thought you were a doctor."  
"And you have no idea what happened to him?"

"No.  I found him like that."

"Found him where?"

"In the woods."  His face stays perfectly still, anticipating an 
elaboration.  "I can't give you any more details than that, I'm 
sorry.  I honestly don't even know where we are."

"You're in Milford, Pennsylvania," he answers uneasily.

Well, at least Old Smoky is consistent.  I nod, getting 
impatient.

"Beyond severe dehydration, malnourishment, and a few healing 
bruises and scratches, there's nothing wrong with him.  His 
pupils were sluggish to react and his pain reflexes were slow, so 
we suspected a head injury, but the MRI was negative."

"Have you done a Tox screen?"

"Yes, but the results aren't back yet.  I d-"

"It could be a sedative," I say, more to myself than to him.  
"They could've drugged him so that he wouldn't wake up or 
remember..."

"That's what I'm thinking at this point.  Without knowing what he 
was given, we can't estimate how long he'll be unconscious, of 
course, so it'll be touch-and-go until the results of his blood 
test comes back."

"When can I see him?"  I ask, changing topics rapidly as my brain 
switches from detached, clinical, doctor mode to concerned, 
anxious, friend mode.

"A nurse will come and get you when he's settled.  He's breathing 
on his own, but there was some fluid in the lungs, so were 
monitoring his blood-ox levels and we're also monitoring his 
heart rate and temperature.  There's a strong possibility that he 
could develop pneumonia from the dampness and his compromised 
immune system.  We'll be keeping a close eye on him, though," he 
tries, and fails, to be reassuring.  "If you have any questions, 
have the nurses page me."

I nod, then collapse heavily into a cold, hard plastic chair, 
hanging my head between knees, or, as close as I can get to them 
over my stomach.  The baby has taken to sticking its foot 
underneath my bottom right rib and that spot aches from me 
pushing its foot down and it kicking it back up there.  It hasn't 
moved in a few hours - its probably tired and hungry and weak 
like me.

The nurse will be here any second, though.  I have to see Mulder.  
I have to make sure he's all right.

Oh, shit.

I have to hide this from him.  How am I going to hide this from 
him?  He'll know, he always knows, as soon as he wakes up, and 
he's going to want answers.  He'll want to know all about the 
baby and the deal I made and then he'll be angry.  He'll be angry 
that I trusted the Smoking Man and put myself in danger and 
agreed to this -

"Miss Scully?"  A tired-looking woman shakes my shoulder lightly, 
getting my attention.

"Hmm?"

"You can see Mr. Mulder now.  Follow me."

<><><><><><>

He looks impossibly pale against the overly bleached white 
sheets, but his chest rises and falls steadily, if a little 
noisily.  The door softly clicks closed as the nurse leaves me 
alone with him.

The distance between the doorway and the bed seems to take 
forever to cross, my footsteps quiet against the tile.  In the 
half-light from the hallway, I can see faded yellow and green 
bruises on his cheeks, jaw, and arms,  A scratch across his eye.  
He'd definitely lost weight, but not so much that he looks 
emaciated, and muscle mass.  His hair is longer and ragged and 
there's a fine layer of goosebumps down his arms -he's cold.

I spread the blanket from the foot of the bed over him, trailing 
my hand up his leg, over his hips, across his chest, and down his 
arm until I can lace my warm fingers through his chilled ones, 
sitting gently beside him and trying not to jostle him.

He said They wouldn't hurt him and He lied.  They beat him and 
They starved him.  It's probably not the only inconsistency I'll 
discover before the deal is done.

"Mulder," I whisper, leaning down so that my nose is behind his 
ear, my cheek against his stubbled one.  I kiss him lightly on 
that tender spot under his jawbone, where I can feel his strong 
pulse, and let my lips linger there.  God, I missed this.  I 
missed him.

I switch hands, holding his with my left while my right cups his 
cheek, holding him against me.  For the first time in five 
months, I breath deeply, momentarily believing that, as long as 
he's beside me, all is right with the world.

And if he'd only wake up and come back to me, everything would be 
perfect.

<><><><><><>

But perfection, I've discovered, comes in many different and 
widely varied forms, most of them wholly unrecognizable when it's 
really just not what you'd expected.

The nurses of perpetual cheeriness come make an appearance every 
four hours to take his temperature, blood pressure, and to make 
sure that, while I've been watching him, he hasn't stopped 
breathing.  One asks me if I'd like some coffee or something to 
read.  I didn't look away from the steady, deep rise and fall of 
his chest.  This could still be a dream, I think.  He could still 
be...wherever he was, being subjected to...whatever They did to 
him.

When he finally stirs at a little after four, I breath in and out 
slowly, afraid of scaring him.  His breathing is only erratic for 
a few seconds before he turns his head towards me, opening and 
closing his mouth before opening and closing his eyes.  I step up 
to his bed from the chair I hadn't budged from in six hours, 
wondering what to say.

His skin is loosely-packed, freshly fallen snow on a lake of 
crystalline ice, belated pine needles streaking the surface and 
marring the flawlessness.  I'm afraid to touch because he'll 
melt, but snow always melts eventually.

"D'I have a dream?"  He asks slowly, his voice freshly scoured 
rusted metal.

"What?"  I gasp, caught off guard and expecting something 
completely different.

"What're you doin' here?  D'I have a 'nother dream?"  He rubs his 
eyes, brushing off a few flakes, then sits up, reaching for me.  
"You okay?  You dizzy again?"

"No, no.  I'm fine."  I choke back tears and wonder if he thinks 
it's still May and not October.  Gently, I sit down beside him, 
afraid the fragile ice will crack and he'll slip through, under 
the surface and I won't be able to get him back.

"Whassa matter, then?"

"Mulder, do you know where you are?"  I whisper, looking around 
and wondering how he could miss it.

Apparently, he's just noticing his surroundings.  "Uh...not 
Oregon, I guess.  Hospital?"

I nod once, biting my lower lip to keep from crying.  Warm tears 
melt snow.

"What happened?"  Panicking.

A deep breath - the baby kicks, waking up and demanding an early 
breakfast.  "You don't remember?"

"No."  He looks over his body and I see him wiggle his toes from 
underneath the blanket, checking for injuries.  "What happened?"

"How do you feel?"

"Fine, Scully, what the hell happened?"  He grabs my arm above my 
elbow and the coldness leaches into my bones, making me jerk 
away.  Too much.

The baby kicks again, reiterating its request.  I feel nauseous, 
the cold from him contrasting thickly with the sudden heat of the 
room.

"Scully?"  His voice is low, concerned for me.

"Happy birthday," I whisper.

A blank look.  "What?"

"Your birthday was last week - happy birthday."

"My birthday's in October, Scully, you know that," he says 
slowly, melting.

"I know."

"Wh-"

And I burst into tears, pulling my knees as close as I can get 
them to my chest and sobbing until the baby sticks his foot 
underneath my rib and I have to stand, pacing and hoping he can't 
see the bulge.

He watches me in silence and I pretend his eyes aren't fixed on 
my abdomen, though it's too dark to be sure.

"You were abducted."  It's enough of an explanation, I think.

"How?  Scully -"

"Skinner said you walked off to fix one of the lasers and then 
there was a light overhead.  He thinks he saw a ship and then you 
were gone."

Ten second silence.  "Are you okay?  They didn't take you, too, 
did They?"

"I'm f-"  It would be a lie.  "No, They didn't take me."

He lets out a slow, even breath.  "What did They do to me?"  He 
asks in a voice too tiny for him.

I cross my arms over my swollen breasts, decide my breasts are 
too sore, and let my arms hang uselessly at my sides while I try 
to speak in a steady voice.  "We don't know yet.  You were just 
returned - I just found you late last night."

"You found me?"

"Yes.  In the woods."

"Scully, it's too dangerous for you to be out here.  They could 
still be here, waiting -"

"We're not in Oregon.  We're in Pennsylvania.  The Smoking Man 
brought me here last spring."

His face hardens, refreezing.  "What about the others?  Billy 
and...Theresa's husband?"

"I don't know."  I honestly hadn't thought to care.  I've had 
other things on my mind.

"Scully?"  He asks, sounding lost and afraid in the darkness.

I touch my bottom lip lightly with my fingertips, remembering 
when it was easy to kiss him and not be afraid of the cold.

He inhales, holds his breath, then exhales.  "How long before I 
can go home?"

"You were dehydrated and a little malnourished.  Nothing serious.  
A few days."

Smoothing the covers over his legs, he keeps watching me.  "Do I 
even have a home?"

The way he asks that, so pathetic and lonely and unsure and 
scared, snaps me out of my reverie.  I know what this is like - 
being returned to a world that had gone on turning without me, 
having to catch up on three months worth of news and family and 
work, while everyone watches you and smiles, happy to have you 
back.

"Yes.  Everything is just how you left it," I say, returning to 
the bed to venture further onto the lake, testing my weight to 
see if it breaks.  Except me, I don't add.

He closes his eyes and tips his head back, exposing a reddened, 
bruised throat.  "Tired," he mumbles, sliding back down in the 
bed.

"I know," I whisper, smoothing his hair back from his scratched 
face and starting to bend down to kiss his forehead before 
remembering that bending is not an option.

"Yeah, you do, don't you?"

"Yeah."  I stand and tuck the covers tightly around him, melting 
the snow a little more.  Melting isn't bad.

"I don't remember anything, Scully.  Just telling Skinner there 
was no such thing as a snipe, then nothing."

"It's okay."  Soothing, comforting, pushing him into sleep and 
unconsciously rubbing over the sore area that's the baby's 
favorite to kick.

"Stay?"  He asks softly, eyelids heavy.

"Yes.  Go to sleep."

"Mmm."

The ice creaks and groans, but doesn't break.

<><><><><><>

At six a.m., one of the nurses asked me if I wanted some 
breakfast.  When I said no, she gestured to my stomach which I 
thought I'd hidden well, and said she was bringing me some 
anyway.  Cream of wheat, dry toast, and orange juice; she stood 
there and watched me eat it.  "You gotta take care of the baby 
and not just his daddy, hon," she reminded me lightly before 
continuing her morning rounds.

So people naturally assume that the baby is Mulder's - why 
shouldn't they?  It must be obvious to them that I love him 
deeply and, to a lesser degree, that he loves me.  To them, we're 
the perfect little couple who're about to welcome the third 
member into their family and can't wait to do so.  If they only 
knew.

Some time between the ten p.m. and two a.m. vitals check, I'd 
realized that I couldn't just hide the baby from Mulder until 
They decided to take it.  If he didn't notice my stomach, he'd 
notice a wailing baby trying to come out of me.  When he did, 
he'd want answers: is it his?  If not, whose is it?  How?  You're 
supposed to be infertile, Scully?  You did what?  You made a 
deal?  With the Smoking Bastard?  How could you do that, Scully?  
My life for your child's?  He told you it was a hybrid?  And you 
trusted him?  Jesus, Scully, are you that naive?

And Mulder being Mulder would assume that he could fix all of 
this by offering himself to Them in exchange for my safety and 
the baby's.  Knowing Them, they'd take Mulder, then take the 
baby, just to show both of us how powerful They are.  Then, I'd 
be worse off than I was before this whole nightmare started.

It would be easier for him if he didn't know the truth - yes, I 
have to lie to him to save him.  He won't realize it now, but he 
will later, when They take it.  When I need him to help me pick 
up the shards of my life, he'll know why I couldn't risk losing 
him again.

In one of my fits of estrogen-induced happiness and faith in 
optimism, I'd put together a scrap book of all the things Mulder 
had missed: sonogram pictures, synopsis of the first time I felt 
the baby move, when I discovered that I was showing, normal 
things like that.  I'd written in the back that I hoped it looked 
like him and that its last name on the birth certificate would be 
his.  I should've burned it after the estrogen high wore off, but 
I stuck it in a drawer instead and then, in a fit of 
testosterone, forgot which one I'd stuck it in.  If I'm not 
bawling, I'm forgetting my social security number and if I'm not 
picking out wallpaper for my non-existent house, I'm thinking of 
all the different ways I know to perform safe, bathroom 
abortions.  Damn hormonal moodiness.

I'm somewhere between the mandrake tea and the animalistic 
keening when Mulder wakes up in typical Mulder fashion: eager to 
get up and move.  Yes, I missed him terribly but, five seconds 
after he opened his mouth, I'm already sick of him.

"When can I go home, Scully?"  He asks, not even fully awake yet.

I don't even look at him, concentrating on keeping my legs 
crossed, which is no easy thing these days.  "I told you last 
night, not for a few days."

"Why not?  If I'm dehydrated, I'll drink water.  You can take 
care of me better than they can here."

Taking a deep, calming breath, I stand and remember not to put my 
hands on my back to massage.  "You need IV fluids, not just tap 
water.  And you need vitamins."

"But I need rest, too, right?  I can't get that here.  I promise 
I'll do whatever you say at home, just get me out of here, 
Scully," he pleads.  I remember that: just wanting to get back to 
normal.  To him, everything is normal.  Yesterday he was in 
Oregon and we had just had sex for the first time.  One little 
side trip and then he would come back to start his new life, one 
without all the shadows and conspiracies and disappointments.  A 
new life with me as his lover.  Then, he wakes up in the hospital 
to an angry, moody partner/friend/lover/brood mare - no memory of 
the past five months.  He just wants everyone to leave him alone 
so that he can continue with his New Life plan.

God, I'd give anything if he could have that.

"Mulder -" I start, my voice betraying the fact that I got 
absolutely no sleep last night.  Someone knocks on the door, 
though, and enters without permission.

"Morning," his doctor who's name I didn't catch earlier says 
brightly, nodding first to Mulder, then to me.  "How're you 
feeling Mr. Mulder?"

"Anxious to get out of here," he answers easily, tensing his 
fingers in the blankets.

"Well, we should be able to help you out there.  You're 
responding well to the rehydration, so I think you'll be able to 
go home sometime today."

"Really?"  He asks, looking at me curiously.

"Yep.  In fact, if you're ready, I can get your discharge papers 
now."

"I'm ready."

The doctor nods, then walks out of the room, promising a nurse 
will be in in a few minutes.

Mulder's steady stare becomes unnerving and I walk into the 
bathroom, retrieving his clothes and setting them on the bad 
without looking up at him.

As I start to turn away, he grabs my wrist and pulls me back.  
"Scully," he says softly.  "What's wrong?"

I sigh harsher than I mean to.  "Nothing."

"Yes, there is.  What's the matter?  What are you not telling 
me?"

"Nothing, Mulder," I insist, mentally hurrying that nurse.

"Something is.  You've been acting strangely ever since last 
night.  First you were crying and distant and now you're angry 
and distant.  Why?"

I shake my head, not trusting my voice to be strong and 
unemotional.

He strokes his thumb over the inside of my wrist, feeling the 
pulse there.  "I know that some things have changed, Scully.  
They were bound to in five months but..."  This is hard for him, 
too, and he pauses, regrouping.  "I want you to tell me why you 
don't want me to go home.  I think I have a right to know."

"Nothing's changed," I whisper, finally looking up at him from 
underneath my hair.

"What, then?  What's the matter?"  He whispers back, pushing the 
hair away behind my ear and making me shiver in the process.

His eyes are dark and bottomless and, for a few seconds, I want 
to find the bottom of them and never come out.  Instead, I shake 
my head, ready to tell him no again when the nurse comes bustling 
in.

"Here you go, Mr. Mulder, if you'll just sign here."  He does, 
the pen a little loose between his fingers.  "All right.  As soon 
as you're dressed you can go."  She turns to me and asks in a 
lower voice, "May we speak in the hall while he gets dressed?"

I look at him and he nods, telling me he can at least dress 
without help, which is better than what I could do after I was 
returned.  Nurse Perky and I leave him in peace, closing the door 
behind us.

"I know you're a doctor," she starts, "but here are some basic 
care guidelines that we give to all the patients."  I stare at 
the papers like they're written in ancient Greek, my hand shaking 
lightly.  "You will be the one taking care of him, won't you?"  
She asks as if it just occurred to her that I might not be.

"Yeah," I say, nodding.

She gives me the usual spiel about calling her if we have any 
questions, blah, blah, blah.  My hormonal pendulum is swinging 
back to Get This Thing Out Of Me Now Before It Kicks A Hole In My 
Uterus and I'm getting antsy to go home, too.  Out of habit, my 
hand goes to push its foot from under my ribs and lingers there, 
staring at my reflection in the floor and trying to determine 
which posture is best so that Mulder won't notice.

"Scully?"  He asks a few minutes later, his head sticking out of 
the door.

"Hmm?"

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too.  Let's blow this joint," he says brightly, anxious to 
follow me home.

<><><><><><>

I think he found it odd that the furniture in his apartment 
wasn't dusty and that the air wasn't stale.  And that his fish 
were alive.  And that there was food in his refrigerator.  And 
dirty dishes in his sink.  And he had bubble bath in his 
bathroom.  He just grinned at me and asked if that was his 
welcome home present, then asked who was playing in the World 
Series.  I shrugged and stopped my fingers from unbuttoning my 
jacket.  He went back into the bathroom and said something about 
taking a shower, then eating.  He expected me to stay here and 
eat with him.

Figuring that his stomach wouldn't be able to handle anything 
very heavy, I heat up some tomato soup and fix some rice on the 
stovetop to go with it.  When we were sick as kids, my mom used 
to put the rice in the soup - it was my favorite part of being 
sick.  As I watch the water boil around the rice, my vision gets 
blurry and I realize that the pendulum has swung back and I'm 
crying again, wishing I was a little girl and that mommy could 
fix everything with a cool cloth and tomato and rice soup.

Mulder's going to think it's odd that I haven't taken off my 
jacket.  My clothes - the ones I don't remember putting on - are 
too tight to chance him not noticing, so I'll have to leave my 
jacket on and convince him that I'm cold.

When the shower cuts off, I go and sit on the couch, watching the 
bowls of soup cooling on the coffee table.  He brushes his teeth, 
shaves, and dresses in pajama pants and a white t-shirt before 
venturing out of the bedroom, his growling stomach proceeding 
him.

"Smells good," he says as he sits down beside me, picking up his 
bowl greedily.

I just sit, staring at my hands and trying not to burst into 
tears.

"Mmm, tastes good, too," he mumbles around his full mouth before 
noticing that I'm not joining him.  "You okay?"

I nod, sniffing quietly.

"Not hungry?"

I shake my head.

"Why'd you make two bowls, then?"

My chest heaves and I sniff louder, not able to stop it.

"Scully -"  He starts softly, putting his bowl down and moving to 
put his arm around me.

I stand up suddenly, wobbling on my feet a little.  "You're not 
right," I say miserably.

"What?"

"You're not right.  You're fine.  You're not supposed to be.  
I...I wasn't, but you are.  You act like nothing's happened.  How 
can you do that?"

"To me, nothing has happened.  I don't remember anything, Scully.  
Nothing.  I don't even have any injuries.  I wasn't sick like 
you.  I'm fine.  A little stiff, but fine," he tells me, standing 
beside me and watching me like I'm a frightened, injured animal 
he's trying to help.

"You said you were tired," I remind him, wiping tears off my 
cheeks and remembering to stand up straight, but not too 
straight.

"That, too," he concedes, taking another step towards me.

The only sound in the room for a few long seconds is my thick, 
heavy breathing and his, slow and measured.

"I'm going home," I finally decide, not looking up at him.

"Why?"

That hurt, lost, and afraid voice again.  It makes me cry harder.  
"Because.  You n-need to r-rest."

"So do you.  You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?"

"No, b-but, y-y-you n-need -"

"I'll rest better if you're here -"  He puts his hands on my 
shoulders, looking down at me.  I can't see much of the floor 
between us and I wonder if he can see the bulge.

My chest heaves and I try my best to take deep, calming breaths, 
otherwise not moving.

"- but you can go, if you want," he finishes softly, making it 
obvious he doesn't want me to.

Nodding, I step away from him, moving blindly towards the door.

"Call me later?"  He asks as I'm walking into the hall.

With my back to him, I nod again, then close the door, leaving 
him alone.

<><><><><><>

I ended up crying the whole way home from his apartment.

How can I be so insensitive to him?  He's just been through an 
incredibly traumatic ordeal.  He was missing for five months and 
now he's back to a world that's entirely different from the one 
he left.  He's sick and he needs someone to take care of him.  
And I just leave him there like these past five months haven't 
been the most miserable of my life because he wasn't here.  God, 
what a cold-hearted bitch!

It's better this way: he'll take my distance as me moving on.  
When he finds out about the baby, he'll assume that I've met 
someone else and that I've decided to pursue a relationship with 
him.  He'll leave, then - just fade into the background like any 
other friend after so many years.

Only Mulder's not just a friend - to him, we've just become 
lovers.  He promised me that we'd change and move on together; 
he'll want that.  Of course he'll want that.  He loves me and 
thinks that I love him.  I do love him.  Bitch, Dana.  You're a 
bitch!

After They take the baby, I can go back to him and tell him the 
truth.  I'll explain how I gave it up for his safety - maybe 
he'll understand.  He'd do the same for me, if he were in my 
position.  Maybe we can still have our life together.  Maybe he 
can forgive me for hurting him.

I sit on my couch until it's dark outside, wrapped in a blanket 
and rocking myself slightly, crying and cursing and pushing the 
baby's foot away from my ribs.  After a while, I must've fallen 
asleep, because Mulder is kneeling in front of me, watching me 
with wide, shiny-damp eyes.

"Hey," he whispers, brushing my hair behind my ear and smiling 
softly, happily.

Before I can catch myself, I shrink back into the cushions and 
away from him.

"You okay?"  He asks slowly, sniffing and letting small tears 
drip from his eyes.

I nod, wrapping the blanket tighter around me for protection.

"Scully - God," he breaths, setting his palm lightly on my 
stomach and looking at me in awe.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sitting up and suddenly feeling hot and nauseous, I push his hand 
away and launch myself into the kitchen to get away from him.

Heknowsheknowsheknowsheknowsheknowsheknows.  God, I was so stupid 
to think he wouldn't notice.  Goddammit!  Stupid, stupid, stupid!  
Shit!

He follows me, of course, and slides his arms around my waist 
from behind.

"Don't," I say, trying - and failing - to push him away.  He has 
me pinned against the sink, though, and I have no where to go.

"What?  What's the matter, Scully?  Why didn't you tell me?"  His 
palms are flat against my stomach again and looking down at it 
over my shoulder.  "Were you afraid I'd be angry?"

I shake my head, wiping away fresh tears and relaxing into him 
like I've wanted to do so much in the past few months - to let 
him hold me and just stop thinking for awhile.

"What, then?  Scully, how?  How did this happen?  I thought we 
couldn't."

I shake my head again, the rest of my body trembling with the 
effort of trying not to scream.

"I'm not angry, Scully.  God, I'm...I can't believe this.  I want 
this.  I'm happy, God, I'm happy, Scully."  He pressed his lips 
against my neck, breathing slowly.  Not appreciating the heavy 
weight above it, the baby kicks at his hand, trying to dislodge 
it.  Mulder gasps softly, then presses a little harder, eliciting 
another kick.  "Was that him?  Scully, was that him?"

I nod silently, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my 
knuckles turn white.

"Our baby," he breathes, kissing me lightly behind my ear.  "Our 
baby, Scully."

I start whimpering miserably, then, and my knees buckle from 
exertion.  He effortlessly picks me up and carries me into the 
bedroom, mumbling something about it either being a big baby or 
I'd hidden some extra weight well as he pulls the covers over me 
and lays down beside me, holding me close.

"You know what this means?"  He whispers, stroking the material 
smooth over my stomach.  "Now you have to marry me - you don't 
have a choice.  Well, you do, but I won't let you not marry me.  
And we'll have to find a house.  With a big back yard - quiet, 
away from the city.  You're, what, five months?  We don't have 
long."  He's just thinking out loud, now, imagining his perfect 
fantasy where the baby is normal and healthy and we get to keep 
it.  "What's the matter?"  He asks after a minute, raising his 
head to look at me.

I shake my head, wondering what to tell him.  The truth?  No, of 
course not.  I'll have to lie, but how?  He's already planning 
for the future, thinking that we're going to be a happy little 
family of three soon - how can I disappoint him?

"Are you sick?"  He presses.  "Is it the baby, is something 
wrong?"

"It's not yours," I remember to whisper, my whole body shaking 
violently.

I feel him tense behind me, all of the air leaving his lungs.  
Closing my eyes, I turn my head into the pillow and let it absorb 
my hot tears, ashamed.

"You're lying," he says flatly after a moment, his hands still 
pressed against my stomach.

"N-n-no," I manage to tell the bed.

"Yes, you are.  It can't be anyone else's.  You're at least five 
months along which means that you got pregnant the night -" he 
sighs raggedly, putting two and two together.  "The night I left 
for Oregon.  God, Scully, if I'd known...if I'd known, you know I 
wouldn't have left.  God, I'm sorry, Scully."

He's not listening to me.  "It's not yours, Mulder.  I'm not five 
months, I'm seven."

"Then it was the first time we -."  Again, he tenses, this time 
actually processing my claim and doing the math before asking in 
a strangled voice, "Who?"

Shit...I sniff and wipe my face with my hand, erasing my tears.

"Why did you leave me that book, then, if it's not mine?"

"What?"

"That book - the one with all the sonograms in it.  It was in my 
desk.  You made it for me while I was gone and then you left it 
there.  If I'm not the father, then why did you make it for me?"  
He asks angrily.

Oh, goddammit.  No, no, no, no, no, no.  "I-I...I...I didn't -"

"You're a bad liar, Scully," he says calmly, feeling the baby 
kick at him again.  "Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not," I say, starting to whimper and shake again.

"You are."  There's no anger in his voice now, just confusion and 
hurt.  "Why are you lying to me?"

"I-I-I'm n-n-"  He gets up, walks around the bed, and lays back 
down in front of me, tilting my face to his.

"You are.  Why?"

I do what I do best, then: burst into loud, keening sobs and bury 
my face in his chest while he holds me tightly, whispering that 
it's okay and to calm down, I'll upset the baby.  If he only 
knew.

<><><><><><>

When I wake up this time, it's to the smell of something yummy in 
the kitchen and the sounds of pots being dropped and muffled 
cursing.  Mulder must be cooking -

Mulder.  Mulder's back.  He's safe and he's in my kitchen, 
cooking us dinner.  I smile and burrow further into the covers, 
thinking that, for right now, all is right with the world.

Then the baby kicks and Mulder knocks on the door, poking his 
head in before letting the rest of his body follow.  "Hey," he 
says softly, sitting beside me and finding my hand underneath the 
covers, lacing our fingers together.  "Have a nice nap?"

I nod absently, focusing on how warm his hand is.

"I made us some dinner.  You hungry?"

Not anymore.  I blink at him in the lamp light, wondering how 
late it is.

"C'mon, I'll bet the baby's hungry."  He smiles at his words, 
then pushes the covers off of me and waits for me to get up and 
follow him into the kitchen.  "You okay?"  He asks once I'm 
seated with a plate of chicken-flavored Rice From A Box in front 
of me.

"Yeah," I whisper, picking up my fork and pushing the rice around 
a little.

He watches me as he eats his own rice, then starts talking rapid-
fire, not even pausing to breath.  "I was thinking.  I think we 
should get married - if you want," he adds softly.  "I want to.  
I mean, I've wanted to - that was the plan, right?  Eventually, I 
mean not immediately, but now I think we should.  Not -now- now, 
but a few months after the baby's born.  I'm sure you're mother 
will want a big, elaborate wedding, but if you don't want that, 
I'm not gonna force it.  As long as we're married, it doesn't 
really matter how, although it'd be nice if it was in a church so 
your mother wouldn't hate me more than she probably already does.  
And we need to look at houses - I got on the Internet and looked 
for a few, wrote down the numbers, you know, and made a few 
appointments for this weekend.  I don't see any baby stuff around 
here, Scully, is he gonna sleep in a drawer?  We need to get some 
stuff - I guess we can do that this weekend, too.  What's wrong 
with it, is it not good?"  He asks, taking a long sip of his tea 
and gesturing at the rice.

To appease him, I take a tiny bite.  I am hungry, but I don't 
feel like eating.

"So, I was thinking Virginia, but if you'd rather be closer to 
your mother, that's fine.  Houses are cheaper in the suburbs of 
Alexandria, but that doesn't really matter.  You're not still in 
the field, are you?  I don't want you in the field - it's too 
dangerous.  I'm sure Skinner's already taken care of that, but if 
he has-"

"We can't keep the baby," I tell the pile of sticky rice, 
interrupting his diatribe.

"W-what?"  He asks, leaning towards me.

I keep my voice monotone, not betraying how hard it is for me to 
tell him this.  "We can't keep the baby, Mulder.  I wasn't lying 
when I told you it wasn't yours.  It's not, but I don't know 
whose it is.  It's a hybrid, like Emily."

His eyes turn dark and feral, his hands clenching and unclenching 
on the table.

"The Smoking Man approached me the day after you were abducted - 
I didn't even know you were gone yet - and told me that he had 
had a doctor implant the zygote in me while I was with him in 
Pennsylvania," I say softer, more empathetically.  "I'm the 
mother, but the father's DNA was extra-terrestrial.  He said 
They'd abduct me and take the baby at eight months."  In the 
misery and loneliness that the past five months have been, it 
slipped my mind that the deadline was coming so close.  Assuming, 
of course, that They stick to the original plan now that the 
arrangement has been altered.

"Scully, that doesn't- that doesn't make any sense.  Why would 
They do this?  Why now?"

"He said it was the next phase of the project - to have the 
hybrids gestate inside human mothers."

Nodding, he takes a deep breath, licking his lips like an animal 
stalking its prey.  "And you're just letting Them do this?  Have 
you have genetic tests run?  Are you sure what he's telling you 
is the truth?  You can't trust him, Scully, you know that."

"I didn't have much of a choice."

"You did.  You do.  You could go into hiding or, if the baby was 
abnormal, you could've," he swallows, "terminated the pregnancy."

"He said that if I did, They'd kill you," I say deliberately, 
finally meeting his eyes.  "He said They're working with the 
Bounty Hunters - that's who abducted you.  You were taken to 
ensure that I would go along with this.  You weren't even 
supposed to know about this - They were going to return you after 
They'd taken the baby, but when -" my voice breaks and I have to 
look away from him.  "When I had a miscarriage scare last month, 
They decided to return you early.  I wasn't taking care of 
myself, looking for you, and it was hurting the baby."

He stares at me for long, tense seconds, waiting for me to 
continue.  When I don't, he sits back in the chair, picking up 
his fork like he means to stab something with it.  "You seem 
awfully calm about this," he finally says, focusing on the metal 
prongs.

"I don't have a choice," I repeat, feeling the urge to cry again.  
Damn this hormonal pendulum.

"You do, Scully.  You don't have to give up your child for me."

"It's not my child, Mulder.  It's a hybrid, a creation.  An 
abomination of nature.  I don't want it."

"How can you say that?"  He screams, standing up and pacing 
beside the table, looking wild and confused and afraid.  "This 
child is a part of you!  It's probably the only child you'll ever 
have!  How can you be so emotionally detached from it?"

"They're going to take it from me anyway!  Why shouldn't I be 
detached?"

"You can fight Them, Scully.  -We- can fight Them."

"And what if They take you again?  What if They don't return you 
this time?  What if They kill you?"

He leans down to me, his nose brushing mine as he speaks.  "It 
doesn't matter, Scully.  You can't let Them do this.  I'm not 
gonna let Them do this.  I'm not gonna let Them use you and 
abduct you and take from you and I'm sure as hell not gonna let 
you allow Them to," he says in a low, threatening voice.

I look away from him, my cheeks burning and hot tears scalding 
paths down them.

"Scully..." he says, sitting down again and softening his tone.  
"I can't imagine what these past five months have been like for 
you, but we can't let Them win this one.  You can sit there and 
tell me that it doesn't matter, that you don't want the baby, but 
it's a lie.  I know you, Scully, and I know how much you want 
this.  You have to - I do.  Even though according to you, that 
child has no blood relation to me, I want it.  I want to keep it 
and raise it like it was mine.  I want us to do that together.  
But most of all, I don't want you to have to give up that option 
for anything, especially me."

"If I had to choose, I'd choose you," I tell him.  "Nothing else 
matters to me."

He puts his hand on my back, rubbing and closing his eyes against 
his own tears.  "Then we'll have to make sure you don't have a 
choice to make."  Confused, I look up at him.  "There's more than 
one way to skin a cat, Scully.  We'll just have to explore the 
other ways."

<><><>End Part Two<><><>

From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 24 Dec 2002 16:57:28 -0000
Subject: The Naked Kitties, Part Three: Stretched Thin by Li\'l Gusty
Source: direct

Reply To: lil_gusty@hotmail.com

The Naked Kitties, Part Three: Stretched Thin

<><><><><><>

I didn't say much to him for the rest of the night.

I knew this would happen.  I -knew- it and I let his sensitivity 
and his pathos affect me.  All he had to do was put his hand to 
my belly to feel the baby - what he believed, despite everything 
I'd told him, was -his- baby - move.  I felt something inside me 
start to melt as he looked up at me with those round, awe-filled 
eyes and then it refroze again, harder than before.

He's going to do something stupid.  He's going to try and make a 
deal or a trade or something to save the baby.  He's going to get 
himself killed.

I shouldn't have let him manipulate me like that.  I should've 
stuck to my story about how the baby belonged to someone else, 
then told him that the father and I were going to get married and 
that I had to move to some tiny island nation where they don't 
speak English right away.  He would've been hurt, but he would've 
let me go.  He'd be safe.  He'd be alive.

"Scully, did you -" He stops, staring at me.  His eyes are 
painted glass beads, shiny and bold.  "Does Skinner know that 
I'm...back?"

I shake my head, looking away from him.

He knows I'm angry but he doesn't care.  He goes into the bedroom 
and picks up the phone.

His voice is hushed and all I can hear is the occasional 
syllable, not enough to understand the words.  In a few minutes, 
he comes out again, shrugging into his leather jacket.

"I'm going out for a while," he says softly, standing over me and 
expecting me to stop him.  I don't.  Leaning down, he presses his 
lips to my forehead quickly, hand on my stomach, and locks the 
door on his way out.

He doesn't come back that night.

<><><><><><>

The next morning, I awake to the sound of something shattering 
and hushed cursing from the kitchen.

When I manage to waddle out of my bedroom, Mulder's on his hands 
and knees picking up the pieces of a coffee mug and wiping up the 
spilled coffee.  When he sees me, he winces, dropping his head 
and looking back at the floor before speaking.  "You should be 
resting," he says as he stands, throwing the paper towels and 
broken ceramic in the trash can.

I cross my arms over my aching breasts, fixing him with an icy 
stare.

"I was gonna make you some breakfast, but I don't see any 
breakfast food in here."  He opens the refrigerator and sticks 
his head in, searching for something and coming up with orange 
juice.  "Folic acid," he reads from the carton, "helps prevent 
some birth defects."  Pouring me a glass, he sets it down on the 
table and pulls out the corresponding chair.

He's wearing the same clothes he was last night and I wonder 
where he's been.

"Nice pajamas," he adds, starting to sweep the floor in case 
there are tiny shards of ceramic left.

I'd started sleeping in one of his work shirts a when all my 
pajama tops got to be too small.  The buttons were tight, but not 
bulging, and it reminded me of how much bigger than me he was.  
I'd never washed it, but a few weeks ago, it had lost his smell.  
The night I realized that, I'd cried myself to sleep.

"Do you have to take these iron pills with food?  I can go out 
and get you something."

"I'd rather you tell me where you went last night," I finally 
tell him, sitting down and turning the juice glass around between 
my hands.

"To talk to Skinner.  He wondered why you hadn't called him, but 
I told him we'd been busy.  You didn't tell me that he knew about 
this deal you made."  He clenches his jaw, sitting across from me 
and folding his arms.  "How many people know, Scully?"

"Just you and him.  My mother...my mother doesn't even know I'm 
pregnant."

He opens his eyes wide, not believing that.

"She left to stay with Bill and Tara a few months ago.  He's 
stationed in Hawaii and Tara just had a baby, so," I shrug, 
thinking that explains everything.

"A baby?"

"Yeah, another boy - Conrad Joseph.  They wanted a girl and 
they're already planning to start trying again this spring."

He nods.  "What do you want?"

I look at him, not knowing what he means.

"Boy or girl?"

"It doesn't matter," I tell the orange juice.

He stands, pouring himself a cup of coffee and not facing me.  "I 
think I want a girl.  I go back and forth.  As long as it's 
healthy, it doesn't really matter, but I'm sure your mother would 
love a granddaughter since both your brothers have had all boys."

I shake my head, feeling nauseous.

"I told the realtor that we'd meet him at the house at ten, 
so..."  He trails off, hiding behind the cup before starting 
towards me.  "I went home before I came back here - I had to get 
some clothes anyway - and I brought you this."  Pulling something 
out of his pocket, he holds his closed hand out to me.  When I 
continue to stare at the table, he sets whatever it is down 
beside the glass and says very softly, "It was my mother's.  I 
got it from the house in Chilmark after she died.  It's the 
closest thing I have to an engagement ring right now, but I think 
it'll fit."

My eyes fill with tears and, when I blink, they vanish.

"I'm going to take a shower," he tells me, disappearing down the 
hallway.

After I hear the door close and the water turn on, I pick up the 
delicate gold and sapphire ring and pretend not to be surprised 
when it slides snuggly onto my finger.  He probably had it sized 
last year, knowing him.  I want so much to be able to wear it and 
let it be faithful to what it stands for - love, companionship, 
eternity. 

I want so much to be warm inside again - since he disappeared, 
there's been sleet pulsing through my veins and heavy, dark, 
winter clouds covering my mind.  He can thaw me.  All I have to 
do is pull back the shower curtain and let his veils of heat and 
his arms envelope me.  If it were that simple, I'd stay inside 
them forever.

I slide the ring off, setting it back down where he left it.

<><><><><><>

Some time ago - I don't know exactly when - we'd gotten in the 
habit of leaving the connecting doors between our motel rooms 
unlocked and open when we had them.  It wasn't an invitation so 
much as it was a confirmation - I'm here and you're welcome.  We 
didn't even knock before entering anymore; it was unspoken that 
we could come in.

Of course, I'd never actually used this arrangement to my 
advantage after Mulder had gone to bed.  It should still stand, 
though, as long as I didn't loiter if he was asleep.

And I'm not loitering.  I'm sitting and watching.  There is a 
difference.

To say that we'd been quiet and distant the past few weeks since 
our initial sexual consummation was a gross understatement.  We'd 
withdrawn into ourselves, preferring solitude and silence to 
companionship and conversation.  Our days at work were passed by 
one of us asking simple, quick questions, giving lingering, 
concerned glances, and extending hopeful invitations to dinner 
and the other responding with monosyllabic words, grunts, or just 
head nods and vague gestures.  He knew I was concerned about him, 
and I knew he was concerned about me, but neither of us hadn't 
pushed the other beyond the daily, "What's the matter" 
accompanied by increasingly pathetic, worried facial expression.  
For some reason, I interpreted his not pushing as apathy even 
though I knew better: he probably thinks I regret having sex and 
want to forget about the whole forever arrangement.  Nothing 
could be further from the truth; it's just difficult to make such 
a drastic change one night, then act like in never happened the 
next morning.

I cared about him, but, after a while, you get tired of getting 
the same shoulder shrug and head shake and just give up.  Like 
the door, I knew he was always open, though, should I choose to 
walk in unannounced.

Like now.  I'd finally decided that I missed him too much and I 
wanted to talk.  If he regrets us finally having sex, he can tell 
me.  I would understand and, if I was a little hurt, I would 
manage to get over it.  Limited Mulder is better than no Mulder 
at all, so long as we both know the limits.

Of course, he was asleep.  I always did have great timing.  He 
has to wake up eventually, and since I can't sleep anyway, I'll 
just sit here and wait.

He'd had the curtains open when I'd come in - he claims he can't 
sleep in complete darkness - but I'd closed them until there was 
just a tiny stream of light coming through the cracks as I sat 
down at the omnipotent little table in front of the window, 
letting the soft snores and the light from the moon keep me 
company.

I can barely make out the slight rise of his hips underneath the 
mounds of covers.  His head is partially covered, too, and he's 
on his stomach, his head turned away from me as he sleeps, his 
breathing deep and even, relaxed.

I wish I could've fallen asleep as easily as he did.  In the past 
week, I don't think I've gotten more than two hours in a row and 
it's starting to grate on me.  I just can't seem to turn my mind 
off lately.

Movement from the bed, then: he huffs as he turns over, towards 
me, and pushes the covers down so that he's cool.  I can't tell 
if his eyes are open, but, if they are, he'll have to see me 
sitting here.  I wonder if he'll be angry.

"Scully?"  He asks drowsily, and I smile, wanting to hear him say 
my name in that voice over and over again.

"Yeah," I answer him, just a breath with some intonation 
attached.

"Whassamatter?"

"Nothing," I lie.

"Hmm," he sighs as he rolls to his back.  "You always sit there 
while I s'eep?"

"No."

"Then why are you there t'night?"

Caught, I look down in the direction of my feet, and close my 
mouth.

"Is okay.  You wanna lay down?"

When I look up at him again, pretending I can see his face in the 
dimness of the room, he's pretending to look back at me, waiting.  
Silently, I stand and walk around his bed, pulling back the 
covers and sliding into the warm place he left me.  
Mmm...Mulderwarm...and all my thoughts melt away into the night 
as I resist the urge to curl into a ball against him.

"Now, what's the matter?"  He asks again, significantly more 
awake.

I exhale, sounding exhausted - which I am - and open and close my 
mouth a few times before figuring out what to say.  "I don't 
know."  It's another lie, but I don't know how to verbalize what 
I'm feeling, so it's close enough.

He lets out an exasperated puff of air, then turns onto his side, 
away from me, again, not pressing any further.

For a few minutes, I try and convince myself that physical 
nearness is better than no nearness at all and close my eyes, 
trying to relax.

"Scully?"  He asks softly a few minutes later, not even bothering 
to turn over.

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever wonder where it ends?"

"Where what ends?"

"This.  Working for the Bureau, being shuffled around from one 
meaningless assignment to another."

"You mean, this arrangement?  You and me?"

"No," he says quickly.  "You know they're talking about shutting 
us down again, don't you?"

I nod my head against the pillow - I'd figured as much.

"It's just...ever since I heard that, I've been wondering where 
it ends.  When I can quit with a clear conscience and move on 
with my life."

"Oh," I breath, hesitating before he turns over and slides closer 
to me, laying his head on the very edge of my pillow.  "Is that 
what's been wrong with you lately?  You've been thinking about 
quitting?"

"I don't know.  Honestly, I don't, Scully.  I've been so 
confused...I thought that if they ever tried to shut us down 
again, I'd be angry and I'd fight them, but I just didn't feel 
it.  It's more like...I don't know, like a burden is being 
lifted, I guess.  I think I've wanted them to do this for a long 
time."

"How long?"

"Since Samantha - since we found her," he admits.  "I told myself 
a long time ago that I still needed to find the man that did 
this, bring him to justice, not just for her, but for you and 
your sister and Emily -" He hears me sniff quietly and lowers his 
voice, almost embarrassed to bring this up.  "But my heart's just 
not in it anymore.  I'm so tired of this, Scully, you have no 
idea how tired I am.  No, yes you do, I'm sorry."  He looks over 
at me for the first time, expecting me to be angry at him.

"No, I don't," I whisper secretly, like there are others in the 
room and I don't want them to overhear.  "You've been doing this 
your entire life, almost.  I can't imagine what that was like for 
you, knowing you'd devoted your life to finding something that 
was never there to find."

"It was just wasted time," he agrees sadly.  "I wasted my 
life...and now I want to stop wasting it."

I sniff again.  "Is that how you see it?  That it was wasted 
time?"

"Yes.  And I'm sorry you got pulled into it."

"I don't see it as wasted time, Mulder."

"You don't?  After everything that's happened to you, you don't 
resent me and my worthless quest?"

I slide my head closer to his, so that my lips are just beside 
his ear.  "No.  I'm grateful that I met you.  I thank God every 
night that you're in my life and I ask Him to keep you safe so 
that you'll always be with me."

He sighs, his breath watery and sad.

"If you want to be," I clarify.  "Mulder, I don't want you to do 
something that makes you miserable because of me.  If you want to 
quit, then quit."

"What would you do?"  He asks, lowering his voice to our 
conspiracy tone.

"I don't know; go back to Quantico, maybe.  They've wanted me 
back for years -"

He nods, not wanting to encourage or discourage that idea.

"- but that shouldn't matter when you're trying to decide what 
you want to do."

Maybe he wants me to tell him that it should matter.  Maybe I 
should demand that he stay by my side and fight as I try to bring 
the man who's ruined my life to justice, just as I've done with 
him all these years.  Or maybe he just wants an excuse to stay.

"What would you do?"  I ask.

"I don't know.  I have no idea," he admits.

"Well, you can't quit the Bureau until you decide," I tell him 
needlessly.

"I did, once.  Quit without deciding what I'd do after that.  I 
typed up my letter to Skinner and gave it to him without a second 
thought.  You know what he did?"  He turns his head towards me so 
that we're nose to nose.  "He tore it up into tiny pieces and 
told me it was unacceptable."

"When was this?"

"When you were in the hospital after your abduction.  Everyone 
told me you were dying and there was nothing I could do, so I 
just quit."

"You gave up?"  I ask in a stronger voice.

"No, but I couldn't keep working there.  I'd just figured out 
that the Bureau had something to do with it and if I kept working 
there, it was like I was contributing to it - even more than I 
already had."

My silence makes him uncomfortable, so he rambles to fill the 
emptiness.

"As I was walking out that day, X approached me.  He said that 
the men that were responsible for your abduction were going to 
search my apartment that night at eight seventeen - they thought 
I had information about what had happened to you - and that I 
needed to be there to kill them.  So I sat there, waiting for 
them until someone knocked on my door.  It was only seven thirty, 
though; it was Melissa.  She told me that you were getting weaker 
and they didn't expect you to live until morning - she wanted me 
to come see you and I told her I couldn't.

"Right after she left, though, I decided that being with you as 
you died was more important that killing the men responsible.  If 
I killed them, I would've been no better than they were.  I 
would've been a calculating murderer.  So I went to the hospital 
and sat with you until sunrise.  When I got home, they'd been 
there - they destroyed my apartment looking for whatever they 
wanted.  And I just sat down on the floor and cried," he finishes 
softly, his breath hitching.

"Mulder," I whisper, laying my head against his heart and sliding 
my arm around his waist, pulling him against me.

He wipes away tears with one hand and puts the other on my back, 
rubbing gently.  "You saved me that night, Scully, but sometimes 
I wonder how much pain I would've spared you if I'd been at home 
to kill those men.  I'm sure whoever had sent them would've had 
me killed shortly after that, but you would've lived anyway, so 
it would've been worth it."

"You don't know that.  I like to think that you were the reason I 
woke up."

"Why?"

"I told you, I had the strength of your beliefs.  Isn't that what 
you said to me that night?"

"Yes."

I don't elaborate, letting him ponder that revelation for a while 
before I finally say, "I'll support you no matter what you do, 
Mulder.  I just want you to do it - or not do it - for the right 
reasons."

He can tell by my voice that I'm getting sleepy again, so he 
opens his mouth to tell me thanks for letting him talk with me 
about this and go back to my room when I tighten my arm around 
him and snuggle into his side, getting comfortable.  "'Night, 
Mul'er."

After a minute of shocked hesitation, he answers me.  "Night, 
Scully," he says.  I smile slightly and, for the first time in a 
long time, I fall asleep easily.

<><><><><><>

I remember asking him once if we could just get out of the car: I 
never knew he wanted to, too.  I never imagined that he'd take 
the initiative.

"What'd you think, Scully," he whispers in my ear, kneading my 
shoulders and beaming.

I sigh and clench my jaw, not answering.

The realtor had told us that the house is almost eighty years 
old, but still strong and sturdy.  It's had four different 
owners, all who kept it up nicely.  The last owners were retiring 
and moving into a smaller house, since their children had moved 
on to their own lives.  According to Mr. Hutz, the house was 
wonderful for couples just starting out, nodding to my belly that 
Mulder had insisted I stop hiding.

"This could be the baby's room," he says, walking around the 
room, looking out the windows, and kicking the wall lightly like 
he's checking the tires on a car.  "We could paint it or maybe 
put up some wallpaper...the crib could go here...and that thing, 
what's it called, the changing table, could go here.  How much 
furniture do you figure a baby needs anyway?  More than fish, I 
bet."

He stops in front of me to see if I caught his joke.  I did, but 
I'm not laughing.

"Let's go see the master bathroom - I think it has a big tub that 
you can soak in."  He takes my hand and leads me down the hall, 
the realtor watching us with a curious expression.

"God, it's huge!"  His voice echoes in the vaulted ceiling.  
"Scully...Scully," he finally realizes that I'm not as anxious to 
pick out our rest stop as he is.  "Don't you like it?"

I nod, looking down and squeezing my eyes shut against my tears.

"Then what's wrong?"

"You're not being practical, Mulder.  Why do we need a house like 
this?"

"For the baby," he reminds me, stepping closer and dropping his 
voice.

I shake my head, my hands going to my back and rubbing where it's 
sore.

He sighs, frustrated, and pushes my curtain of hair behind my 
ears.

The realtor approaches, mumbling something about how miserable 
his wife was in her eighth month and asking if I need to sit 
down.

Mulder waits for me to answer, then does it for me.  "Can you 
show us the other house while we're out here?"

<><><><><><>

Six hours later, Mulder and Mr. Hutz were shaking hands, 
exchanging congratulations and thank yous.  I sat in the car with 
the heat on full blast, my hand pressed into my ribs, absolutely 
miserable.

"Sorry it took so long," Mulder says as he climbs back in the 
car.  "He wanted to make sure we were sure before he took it off 
the market.  I told him I'd talk to the bank and call him later 
this week about finalizing the contract.  He said he's never had 
customers who buy after only looking at three houses, but I told 
him that we really didn't have anything specific in mind."

Looking over at me as he waits for traffic to pass, he takes my 
hand and laces our fingers together.  "I thought maybe we could 
go look for baby stuff tomorrow.  If you feel like it - you look 
exhausted."

I nod and he takes his hand away, turning onto the road.

"You like the house, don't you?  I saw your eyes light up at that 
Jacuzzi bathtub."

"I just think you're moving too fast," I say, turning to stare 
out at the dimness of the evening.

"We don't have much time, Scully.  That baby's not gonna wait 
until we're ready for it."

"That's not what I mean."

"What, then?"

"Mulder, you just got out of the hospital.  You were just 
returned after being gone for five months.  You're bouncing back 
in like nothing's happened."

He nods, not really paying attention.  "But nothing happened.  I 
don't have any injuries and I don't have any memory.  They didn't 
do anything to me."

"Are you sure?"  I ask him softly.

"I'm not waiting around to find out.  I don't have a job and I 
don't have any immediate plans for the future beyond dragging you 
to the courthouse, if I have to, and settling down.  That's all 
that I'm worried about right now.  And if the baby's gonna have 
my nose," he grins.

"Chances are you'll never even see it," I say more to myself than 
to him.

"Scully, when did you get so pessimistic?"

"When I was told by an evil, vindictive man that he would take 
the baby or kill you.  Isn't that what you and Skinner talked 
about last night?  How to circumvent my decision by offering 
yourself to him?"

"If I wasn't planning to be here for all of this, why would I be 
buying a house and marrying you?"

"So that me and the baby will have everything you think we need."

He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

"I don't want you doing that.  I don't want you making any deals 
to try and save this thing.  I've made my decision and can you, 
for once, respect that?"

As we slow down for a stoplight, he turns to me, taking my hand 
again.  "Scully, look at me."  I do - his face is creased with 
worry and exhaustion, but his eyes are bright and hopeful.  "Do 
you trust me?"

I blink, my eyes burning.  "Yes.  You know I do."

"Then trust me now.  I'm not putting myself in any unnecessary 
danger, but I'm not letting you sit passively back and let this 
man continue to rob you of things that are precious to you.  Just 
trust me when I say that everything will work out, okay?  
Please?"

I look away, my breath hitching, and he eases onto the gas again, 
slipping through the night.

<><><><><><>

I remember when I was little, my mother would tell me and Melissa 
bedtime stories about our wedding days.  We couldn't have been 
more than ten, but she would regale us with memories of her own 
wedding - of walking under the swords that the sailors held above 
their heads, of our father in his best dress white uniform, of 
how much love and hope for the future she saw in his eyes as he 
waited for her at the end of the altar.  She would smile tearily, 
tucking us in and telling us about how we would understand when 
it was us walking underneath those swords one day, when it was 
our husband in the dress whites and it was love and hope for us 
we saw reflected back at us: when we married a Navy Man, we would 
understand.  Usually, those stories would be a preface to her 
telling us where we were moving to next and how long we had to 
pack and say goodbye to the tenuous few friends we'd managed to 
make.

I knew at the tender age of seven that I didn't want to marry a 
Navy Man and move all around the world.  I loved my father and I 
admire him for what he did, but I would never subject my children 
to that kind of temporary lifestyle.

Mulder asked me once, a long time ago, what it was like not 
having a hometown.  Not having any life-long friends.  He'd grown 
up in a small, posh community, graduated with the same group of 
people he'd gone to kindergarten with, and couldn't imagine such 
a life as mine.  I told him it was very lonely and that I'd 
learned early on that the only constant in life was family.  He'd 
looked wistfully at me, shook his head, spit a sunflower seed 
into his fingers, and mused about yet another way we were 
completely different.

It was a hard life - a hard way to grow up - but the one thing it 
taught me, that I've always appreciated, was how to be 
transparent to people.  How to not be frigid, but not be warm, 
and how to make superficial, fleeting friendships that you could 
always say goodbye to the next time your country decided to 
uproot you.  I learn fast in new environments and am keenly aware 
to subtle social barometers; I know how to fit in and be liked 
and I know how to guard myself against getting too close.  If you 
get too close, you get hurt.  People always leave you and, if 
they don't, you'll leave them.  Either way, everyone is 
transitory, so don't work too hard at getting attached.

It had worked well for my entire life.  Then, I met Mulder.

One night after we'd made love and I lay on top of him, him 
stroking my bare back and murmuring against the top of my head 
how he could feel every rise and dip of my spine, I'd realized 
that Mulder was the best friend I'd ever had.  He was the closest 
person outside my family that I'd ever known.  He was the most 
permanent thing in my life.  My heart sped up when I realized 
that I was too attached to him and that, at some point, he would 
leave me just like everyone else.  For the first time in my life, 
I'd let my defensive, transitory varnish drop away and left 
myself open and vulnerable to someone - and I was bound to get 
hurt.  He pressed his open palm to my back, where my heart was 
beating wildly, and asked me what was wrong.  I told him nothing 
and he laughed softly, telling me that was reason number four 
hundred sixty two that he loved me: I never whined.  I laughed, 
too, and whispered against his skin that I was afraid of losing 
him.

"You'll never lose me, Scully," he whispered back, trailing his 
lips down the soft hair along my temple.

But he lied.  I did lose him.  Not two weeks later, I was 
pregnant and alone.  I knew I had made a mistake when I let him 
get close to me, when I let him hurt me.  I knew I couldn't make 
the same mistake twice.

But oh, how I missed him.  How I wanted nothing more than to 
absorb him into my skin and never be without him again.  How I 
wanted him inside me for the rest of our lives.  How I wanted to 
wrap my arms around him and never let go.

To him, we'd just made a pact for our future: that after our case 
in Oregon was finished, we'd cut back on work and fill in each 
our lives with the other.  We'd decide what was important to us 
and how we could pursue that.  The only certainty was that we'd 
be together; beyond that, our future was open, endless.  A new 
beginning.  To me, that was six months, a forced hybrid 
gestation, and a manipulative abduction ago - we weren't even in 
the same world.

He wanted to pick up where we'd left off and I wanted to end 
everything: us, our jobs, our future.

He stays with me every night while I type autopsy reports and 
write lesson plans, making sure I eat a balanced dinner and get 
to bed at a decent time, asking me about colors for the baby's 
room ("Pastel green?  I like blue, but what if it isn't a boy?  
We really need to find out, Scully") and whether or not we should 
make the Gunmen godfathers.  At ten o'clock, whether I'm done 
working or not, he ushers me into my bedroom and tucks me in bed, 
kissing me on the cheek, placing his hand on my belly, and 
looking like he wants more.  He's waiting for me to invite him to 
stay with me, to hold me all night long, and to get me ice cream 
when I wake up at one thirty dying for some Concession Obsession.  
Instead, I rub the sore spot the baby loves to kick and thank him 
for being here, reminding him to turn out the light on his way 
home.

I know he's confused and I know I'm hurting him.  It'll hurt less 
when They come to collect on the deal I'm sure he's made.  It'll 
all be worth it then.

I have dreams, sometimes, where I have the baby.  It has brown, 
wavy hair and blue eyes and my nose and his lips.  The doctor 
tells me it's normal and it looks perfect.  They ask me to fill 
out the birth certificate and I don't even get past the baby's 
name before I realize that Mulder isn't there.  On those nights, 
I call him and he comes over to sit with me while I cry and shift 
restlessly in bed.  Sometimes, as I'm dozing, I'll feel him lay 
down beside me with his head against my stomach, murmuring to the 
baby how much he loves it and how excited he is for it to arrive.  
Once, I threaded my fingers through his hair and dreamed I smiled 
at him and he smiled back.  I get wistful sometimes.

I wonder what will happen after the baby's gone.  If he'll spend 
the rest of his life looking for it like he did with Samantha, 
thinking that if he could find it and bring it home he could 
construct his own little family.  If he'll still want to pick up 
where he left off with me and try to have a bright, happy future.  
If he'll hate me for letting Them do this.

He doesn't know what it's like to lose a child.  Everything else, 
yes, but not a child.  I hope he never does.

He does know me and he knows how hormonally emotional I've 
become.  He takes my anger with a twist of dry humor and he rubs 
my back lightly when I'm depressed.  When I ask him to stay, he 
stays; when I tell him to leave, he leaves.  He always comes 
back, though.

Tonight, he's being especially obnoxious.  He went shopping today 
and brought home six different wallpaper samples, asking me to 
choose which one I liked better.  I peaked in the oven at his 
latest concoction, swallowed the iron pill he'd left out for me, 
and propped up my swollen feet on the coffee table.  I don't know 
what he does all day, but house-husband Mulder is a little 
frightening.

"I think we need a theme, Scully," he starts, sitting down beside 
me and stretching two samples out across his knees.  "That's what 
the lady at the store said: we pick a theme and build around 
that.  Wall color, border, a mobile, bedding, decorations.  She 
was showing me this Noah's Ark thing, but that was too warm and 
fuzzy for me.  I like the stars."  He unrolls one of the samples, 
small, soft yellow stars on a pale blue background.  "We could 
paint the top of the walls this yellow, put a chair rail in the 
middle, and put the wallpaper at the bottom or vice versa.  Or, 
we could paint the whole wall yellow and put the border at the 
top.  They have this mobile thing, with a moon and some stars, 
that go with it, and the blankets and stuff, of course.  What do 
you think?"

I think I'm retaining so much water, I'm gonna float away.

"They had this baby sea animal thing, too, that has a white whale 
on it.  It's new, though, and she wouldn't give me a sample.  I 
told her we'd be back this weekend."

"You have this all planned out, don't you?"  I ask, opening up a 
random folder of autopsy notes.

"Well, someone's got to.  He's not gonna wait for us to get 
things ready for his big debut," he grins, poking my belly 
lightly.  In response, the baby kicks back, and Mulder lays his 
palm flat, wanting to feel it again.  "Where'd you go today about 
ten?  I called you, but your voice mail kept picking up."

"I had a doctor's appointment."

"What's wrong?"  He asks quickly.

"Nothing, just a monthly check up with the OB that C.G.B. hand-
picked.  I'm thirty-two weeks.  Do you know what that means?"

He closes his eyes briefly.  "Eight more weeks," he whispers, 
rubbing my stomach lightly.

"No," I correct, frowning.  "I'm eight months.  They said They're 
taking it at eight months."

He blinks twice, not looking away from my eyes.

"So you can throw all that shit away," I continue, starting to 
feel the pendulum swing into the depression end.  "I told you not 
to do this."

"Scully -"

"I have work to do, Mulder.  I need to get started."

Letting out a slow, steady breath, he stands and goes into the 
bedroom.  I hear a plastic bag rustling and a few minutes later, 
he comes out, sitting down beside me again.

"I got something for the baby today," he says softly, sounding 
upset.  "It reminded me of that puff ball you called a dog.  I 
thought we could name him Queequeg Two, The Revenge."

A small, stuffed Pomeranian appears on top of my sketches of the 
victim's lungs.  He gets blurry, and I blink back tears.

"I know you're nervous, Scully, but you don't need to be.  
Everything will be fine.  After the baby gets here, you'll see.  
It'll be perfect and we can forget that this whole thing ever 
happened.  They're not going to take him.  Not now, not ever."

"What did you do?"  I ask slowly, my voice rough and heavy.

He takes a deep breath.  "Nothing."

"What.  Did.  You.  Do."

"I didn't do anything, Scully."

"GODDAMMIT MULDER!"  I scream, throwing my file against the wall.  
The papers flutter to the ground like snow and I stand, pacing in 
front of the couch and stepping on the soft flakes.  "I TOLD you!  
I TOLD you not to do this!  You ALWAYS do this to me!  Goddammit 
WHY can't you just not second guess me for ONCE?"

He sits calmly, watching me, his eyes the only part of him 
moving.  "Scully, you weren't given a fair choice -"

"My CHOICE was to either have this THING, this ABOMINATION or 
YOU!  I chose YOU, dammit!  I made my decision!  I DON'T WANT 
THIS THING!  I WANT YOU, MUL-"  And then I sob, not able to hold 
it back.  "I want you, Mulder," I say more softly.  "They can't- 
you- I- you..."  Loud, hiccupping, diaphragm based, fetus-
upsetting sobs.  He rises, finally, standing over me and placing 
his hands on my shoulders, trying to draw me into his chest.  "I-
I c-c-can't let them take you again.  I-I can't lose you, Mulder.  
I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't..."

He wraps his arms around me awkwardly, trying not to squish my 
stomach, and hushes me quietly.  "You won't lose me, Scully.  
You'll never lose me."

I link my arms around his waist, hoping to God it isn't a lie 
this time.

"But I won't let you lose this, either.  I know you're afraid, 
Scully.  You're terrified that what the Smoking Man told you is 
true.  You're terrified that this baby will be like Emily.  I am, 
too.  I'm scared to death.  But I won't admit that I don't want 
this.  And I know, whether you'll admit it or not, that you want 
this, too.  You have to, Scully."

I shake my head, my hair catching on the light dusting of stubble 
on his throat.

"What if," he whispers, smoothing my hair down and pressing his 
lips to my forehead.  "What if the Smoking Man was wrong?  What 
if we did this without his help?  If it was normal and healthy 
and perfect, Scully.  Would you want it then?"

Instead of answering, I swallow my sobs and let my body tremble 
with the effort of holding them inside.  Eventually, I let him 
carry me into the bedroom, not waiting for an invitation before 
he lays down behind me and pulls me close against his chest, 
outlining his body with mine and holding me while I sleep.

<><><><><><>

"Hey," he whispers, lacing his fingers through mine.  They're 
cold and I squeeze them tighter, warming them.  "Have a nice 
nap?"

I sit up quickly, my eyes going wide.  "I went to sleep?  How 
long -"

"Not long.  Lay back down, the pizza's not even here yet.  You 
okay?"

"Yeah," I answer, rubbing my eyes against the dim evening light 
from the window.

I should've known that when I made Mulder my lover, I'd get a lot 
more than just a stiff dick and a few thousand "I love you's" 
every night.  Devoted Mulder, caring Mulder, sickeningly sweet 
Mulder, attached at the hip Mulder, and grinning for no reason 
Mulder all came in the package.  We've only had sex seven times 
now, but I can tell that he wasn't kidding when he made me 
promise forever.

It should've been the easiest thing in the world, making the 
change, but it was one of the hardest and most arduous things 
I've ever done.  Every word I say, every gesture I make, I'm 
afraid of sending him the wrong signal and him withdrawing from 
me.  If that were to ever happen, our professional relationship 
and our friendship would soon follow.  There was so much at stake 
that, at times, I questioned whether or not a little pleasure was 
worth the risk.  Then, he would curl up behind me, wrap him arms 
around me, and whisper that he loved me as he was falling asleep.  
Not only did it send shivers down my spine, it melted any 
uncertainties I'd had.

When he'd invited me over to do our monthly expense report, I 
knew that I wouldn't be going home tonight.  Word was that all 
divisions were being audited for extravagant spending and we were 
on the chopping block first.  We'd worked hard on the report for 
an hour before turning on the TV and ordering a pizza.  A few 
minutes later, I was asleep, my legs draped across Mulder's lap.

"Got you some Tylenol," he says, handing me a glass of water and 
moving to sit beside me on the couch.

"Thanks."  He knows that numbers give me a headache: considerate 
Mulder.

"I thought we'd finish this tomorrow."  The papers that were 
strewn across the floor and the coffee table earlier are in a 
neat stack on the corner of his desk now, the unspoken assumption 
hanging in the air.  You'll stay tonight, won't you?

"Okay."  Yes, of course I will.

He grins - for the fiftieth time tonight - and stands, walking 
back into the kitchen.

I turn onto my side and face the television - some commercial 
with a little blond girl in a ballerina outfit is on.  The 
voiceover is saying something about how special mothers are for 
loving and caring for their children.  Only the best moms give 
their children Tropicana orange juice.  By the time Mulder's back 
in the living room, tears are streaming down my face.

"What's wrong?"  Asks Concerned Mulder, kneeling beside me again.

Not answering, I reach for his hand, staring at him with wide, 
curious eyes.

He reaches up to wipe a tear track away with his thumb.  "Scully, 
what?"

"I want to ask you a question and I want you to give me an honest 
answer," I say, barely above a whisper.

"Okay," he nods.

"If we could...would you -"  I reach behind his neck, pulling his 
face down to mine.  "I love you."

"I love you, too," he whispers against my cheek, his tongue 
capturing a tear.

"If we could, Mulder...would you want a baby?"

His breath is a long, hot, narrow stream against my neck.  "Why?"

"I just...I want to know that I'm not taking anything away from 
you."

"Scully..."  He kisses my temple, tunneling his fingers through 
my hair.  "You're all that I want, Scully.  As long as you don't 
take that away from me, nothing else really matters."

"But if we could, would you?"  I persist.  For some reason, it's 
very important that I know this.

"No," he says after a long pause.

"You're lying," I whisper, starting to cry again.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to have to sacrifice that for me."

"If that's all I have to sacrifice," his nose trails down my 
cheek and over to my lips.  "It's worth it."

And I believed him.

<><><><><><>

It's dark outside even though it's only a little after seven 
thirty: I'll have to get used to the time change all over again.  
The lamp beside my bed is on, casting a warm, rose-colored glow 
over the still room and I burrow further under the covers, happy 
to be inside, out of the much-too-cool-for-the-beginning-of-
November wind.  There's something heavy and hot behind me: Mulder 
and his glasses, a book propped on his chest.

I turn slowly towards him, my stomach brushing his hip under the 
blanket.  He smiles, finishes his paragraph, and lifts his arm to 
let me snuggle closer into his chest.  I missed this: dozing with 
him as he reads or watches TV.  Our sleeping schedules never 
coincided and sleeping together didn't change that.  He'd stay up 
until one or two and lay in bed until noon whereas I liked to go 
to bed early and wake up to usher in the sunrise.

"What're you reading?"  I mumble sleepily into his shoulder.

"'Infant Personality Development: Grand Psychodynamic Models.'  
If I'd have known I'd need this stuff, I would've paid more 
attention in my development classes."

"Whassat mean?"

"That means I spent too much time staring at Phoebe instead of 
the professor," he teases.

"No, psychodynamic."

"Any theory that's based on Freud's models is psychodynamic.  
Jung, Erikson..."

"Sex?"

"It's more than that.  Don't go back to sleep, you didn't eat any 
dinner."  I hear the book close and he shifts as he sets it on 
the bedside table.  "You feelin' better?"

"No," I mouth against his skin.  He turns to face me, sliding 
down the pillows until we're nose to nose.

"What's the matter?"

I shake my head, finding that warm place against his throat.

"Scully," he says after a still moment.  "We need to talk."

I need to get warm.  Curling tighter into the arc of his body, I 
fight the urge to chatter my teeth.

"I don't like this distance you've put between us lately.  We 
were so close to working the dynamics of this out before and now 
it's like you're not even interested in it.  I know...I -know- 
how this feels to you, but you know how this feels to me, too.  
We're the only people that can understand each other right now 
and we need that.  We need to work this out.  You need to talk to 
me."

His throat vibrates against my cheek as he speaks and it lulls me 
into a light relaxation.

"And I need to talk to you, too.  I haven't been doing that."  He 
pauses as the baby shifts, rearranging his hand so that he can 
feel each subtle movement.  "I'm afraid to slow down," he 
continues in a whisper.  "I'm afraid of waiting to see how this 
turns out and having everything vanish: you, the baby.  I know 
I'm just avoiding myself but I feel like I have to move on.  When 
you were returned, I was amazed at how quickly you seemed to pick 
up where you left off - I expected you to have nightmares or 
flashbacks, but you didn't because you didn't remember anything.  
Whatever They did to you, They kept you sedated enough so that 
you were never able to consciously process what was happening.  
You had no psychological effects because there was no 
psychological trauma.

"The same thing happened to me, though.  They didn't do 
-anything- to me, so I can't have any memories or dreams or 
flashbacks.  There's nothing to fuel it.  I know that five months 
of my life have passed, but, to me, it was just like being 
asleep.  Skinner wants me to take a leave of absence and see a 
therapist and I know as a psychologist that there are facets of 
this that I'm avoiding, but there are more important things that 
I need to address right now.  Like you.  Like the baby.  Like 
where we go from here.  I'm filling up my life with other things 
so I don't have to face my own experience."

Every time I blink, his voice becomes a little more husky and his 
breathing comes a little quicker.  This time, he stops, swallows 
thickly, and looks down to see if I'm paying attention.

I am.  He's never had a more rapt audience.

"I don't mean for you to feel like I'm forcing you to do things 
you don't want to and I don't want you to feel like I'm rushing 
this.  This is just what I want and, in a way, I guess I'm trying 
to make up for these five months.  I want to marry you.  I want 
to buy a big house in the country.  I want this baby.  It just 
seems like everything is available now and I'm afraid that if I 
don't take it, it'll slip away.  Does that make any sense at 
all?"

"Yes," I tell him.

He closes his eyes, pulling me closer.  "I miss you, Scully.  I 
miss this.  Please tell me it's not too late."

"It's not too late."

"If I'd have known you were pregnant, I never would've gone to 
Oregon.  You know that, right?"

"Yes."

"I think I'll regret that for the rest of my life: not being here 
for this.  I've missed so much of your life and the baby's - it 
doesn't matter if it's not mine, Scully.  Even if it is a, a 
hybrid, I still want," he swallows again, beginning to cry.  "I 
still want to be apart of this.  This is the only opportunity 
I'll ever have to experience this and I don't want to miss 
anything.

"I guess the point of this is to tell you that you have choices.  
I'm not going to force you into anything.  If you don't want to 
get married, we don't have to.  If you don't want the house, we 
won't buy the house.  If you don't want me to have anything to do 
with the baby, I won't.  If you want to let Them take it, then 
it's your choice.  You believe that it's your baby, not ours, so 
it's up to you.  You know what I want and, regardless of the 
circumstances, that won't change.  They're your decisions."

I press my open mouth against his heart, too shocked to speak.

"Whatever you decide, though, Scully...please don't shut me out 
of -your- life.  I promised you you'd never lose me.  Promise me 
the same," he whispers.

"I promise," I finally manage to say.

He squeezes me once, then rolls away from me.  "Dinner should 
still be warm.  Do you feel like coming to the kitchen or do you 
want me to bring it in here?"

Not speaking, I rise and follow him out of the bedroom, a little 
unsteady on my feet.

<><><><><><>

Dinner was silent.  Mulder watched me as I ate, struggling to 
swallow a few bites of his own, then washed the few dishes by 
himself.  When he was finished, he stood in front of the table, 
wringing the dishrag nervously in his hands, and asked me very 
softly if I wanted him to go.

No, I told him.

He nodded, looking dazed, and waited for me to give him 
instructions on how to proceed.

I stood in front of him and guided him to my chair, placing each 
of his hands on either side of my stomach.  "Put your ear here," 
I whispered to him.

He did.

"Do you hear it?"

He nodded slowly.

"What does it sound like?"

"A heartbeat?"  He asked, his voice shaking.

I tugged his head up with my fingers in his hair, stepped closer 
to him, and kissed him softly on his lips.  "Come to bed," I 
whispered.

He'd never been nervous when we'd made love before; his hands are 
shaking now.  "You're sure this is okay?"  He asks me for the 
thousandth time, kneading my breasts with his hands the way I 
showed him.  Not too rough, but not too gently: just right.

"Yes," I moan, looping my leg over his from in front of him.  
We've never done it like this before - from behind.  Then again, 
we haven't done much of anything beyond the basics.

"I won't hurt the baby?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I say a little too sharply.  He presses his lips against 
the bump at the top of my spine, dropping his hands to my hips.

"And I won't hurt you?"

I pull one of his hands lower with my own, pressing his fingers 
against my clit.  "No."

Slowly, slowly he penetrated my body with his, merging his soul 
into mine.  They can't take this away from me again.  They can't, 
I won't let Them.  I won't let him.

Afterwards, we lay together, his body molded around mine while 
the cold air pushes at the windows, begging to be let in.  The 
baby complains about being jostled.  Mulder asks again if 
everything is okay, if he wasn't too rough.

Perfect, I tell him, my eye-lids heavy.  For that moment, 
everything is perfect.

<><><><><><>

Then I wake up, burning.

So hot, God, so hot.  His body behind mine is fire and the covers 
are coal.  I can't breathe.  There's something on the sheets 
that's not from us.  Not from him.

The stain is brownish-red beneath me.  My womb contracts, my 
hands going to push away the pain.  The baby doesn't move.

"Mulder?"  I call for him in the dark.

"Hmm?"  He calls back sleepily.

"Mulder, wake up."

He must hear the panic in my voice.  "What, Scully?"

"Mulder, the baby."

"What?"  He sits up beside me, hands covering mine as my womb 
contracts again.

"I t-think my water broke."

"WHAT?"

"My water broke, Mulder, it's too soon," I pant.

He's already up and dressed.  "What do we need to do?"

"They're taking it.  I told you, They're taking it."  More pain, 
deep inside me.  "Mulder!"

"What, Scully, tell me what to do!"

"Hospital."

He helps me dress and carries me to the car when I discover I 
can't walk.  In the ER, he tells them he doesn't know the name of 
my obstetrician and stays beside me while the attending physician 
searches for the heartbeat.

"How far along are you?"  He asks, looking between us nervously.

"Eight months.  I just had my check-up earlier today," I answer, 
clenching my teeth against the pain.  These aren't normal 
contractions, I know that.  They're deeper, stronger.  It feels 
like my viscera is contracting into itself.

"I'm gonna have a nurse give you a little somethin' for the pain, 
okay?  You just need to relax and take some deep breaths."

"What's wrong," Mulder asks, his face the color of the sheets.

"Her blood pressure's a little high and she's got a slight fever.  
Since her water broke and she's starting to go into labor, we're 
gonna give her somethin' to slow that down.  If we wait too long, 
there's a chance she could get an infection, so we'll try and see 
how much the baby's lungs are developed and, if we think there's 
a good chance, we'll go ahead and deliver.  If not, we'll wait a 
few days and see what happens.  We'll know more once her OB calls 
us back but, until then, one of ours is on her way down," he 
patiently explains.  "Y'all just sit tight.  The nurse'll be in 
soon to give you somethin' for the pain."

He closes the door, leaving us alone, and I grab Mulder's hand, 
holding it tightly.  "He must've done something earlier."

"Who?"

"The obstetrician.  He said everything was fine and he told me 
that I was eight months, Mulder, he was telling me that They were 
still planning to take it.  He did something to me to make me go 
into labor, Mulder."

"You said They were gonna abduct you, though.  Why would They 
abduct you from here?  There are witnesses, it's too risky."

"Mulder, They're taking it.  I told you, They're taking it.  I 
told you."

"Scully..." he glances through the glass, seeing if anyone's 
watching.  "I need to call Skinner, okay?  I'll be right 
outside."

"No, Mulder, don't leave.  Please, don't leave."

"I'll be at the nurses' desk, Scully, I have to call Skinner."

"Why?"

He sets his jaw, looking torn between me and the phone.  "I told 
him I'd call him if anything happened," he says half-heartedly.

"You did something.  You and he did something, didn't you?  You 
lied to me!  Dammit, Mulder you LIED TO ME!"  I scream, another 
pain hitting me.

"Scully, please calm down.  You're making it worse.  The doctor-"

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!  YOU GODDAMMED BASTARD!  HOW COULD YOU DO 
THIS TO ME?"  I feel more liquid start to flow between my legs 
and Mulder's face gets a little more pasty.

He runs to the door yelling for a nurse while the world around me 
gets white and hot and heavy.

"Mulder -"  I scream feebly as a nurse walks in, then turns 
around and yells at someone to page Maternity.

Mulder's not there.  No one is there when the world gets black 
and cold and light and I start to float.

<><><>End Part Three<><><>

The Naked Kitties, Part Four: But What Happens to the Bodies?

<><><><><><>

When I can think again, I'm surprised to be in a warm bed with 
soft sheets.  It's quiet around me, but there's noise outside, 
muffled by something - a door?  They have me in a room, then.

My arms aren't restrained which I find odd - surely They knew I'd 
regain consciousness and try to get away.  Or maybe They're 
watching me from somewhere, ready to storm in and threaten me

- or threaten Mulder -

if I try to move.  Yes, They're surveilling me right now.  They 
just wanted me to be comfortable while They emotionally torture 
me.

I raise one hand and feel around my abdomen - everything is fuzzy 
and tingling from my waist down and there's a bandage that runs 
the length of the area far below my navel.  The skin above that, 
where the baby was, is loose and flabby, kind of; empty.

They took it.  They really took it - it's gone.  Forever.  
Another child I'll never get to see grow up -

No, this is different.  It's not like Emily, it's...it's 
different.  I didn't want it.  I didn't need it, I couldn't have 
raised it.

I turn my head on the soft pillow, licking my dry lips and 
wondering if I even want to open my eyes.  No, I decide.  I'll 
lay here in blissful ignorance for a while.  Soon enough, They'll 
come in and tell me what They've decided to do with me.

I wonder where Mulder is.  Surely he's not here - the Smoking Man 
didn't say anything about taking him, too.  Is he still at the 
hospital, thinking I'm being treated by doctors there?  Or is he 
already a basket case, searching for me, searching for the baby.  
I wonder, if he had to make a choice between me and the baby, who 
he would choose.

Maybe I don't want to know.

God, I'm so exhausted.  My whole body aches and it hurts to even 
think.  I just want to sleep...forever would be nice, but I'd 
settle for eight hours of uninterrupted perfect unconsciousness.

There's a soft knock on the door, then someone with squishy-
sounding shoes enters, trying to be quiet.  They know I'm awake, 
why are They bothering?

"Dana," a gentle voice asks.  "Are you awake, honey?"

She doesn't sound like one of Them, not that I really remember 
what They sound like.  Maybe she's a decoy, a red-herring.

I blink my eyes open slowly, closing them against the bright, 
harsh sunlight that scorches them.

"I saw that," she says teasingly.  "You're probably still groggy 
from the anesthetic, huh?"

Laying in this weak, prone position makes me an easy target, I 
realize, and I try to sit up.  I don't get far - not only does a 
sharp, burning pain slice through my abdomen and my head get 
light, but the Decoy Nurse pushes on my shoulder, easing me back 
down.

"You can't get up yet, honey.  Lay back down and rest."  I hear 
Velcro being torn and she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my 
arm, inflating it until my whole body aches from the pressure.  
"Still a little low," she says more to herself than to me, or 
maybe it's to the surveillance cameras.  "I'm gonna page Dr. 
Thomas and tell her you're awake; she'll want to talk to you.  I 
know you're tired, honey, but do you think you can stay awake for 
a few more minutes?"  She asks, the cuff hissing as it deflates.

I don't answer, but surely she doesn't expect me to.  She removes 
the cuff from my arm and squishes back out of the room, leaving 
me in the still silence.

Dr. Thomas must be the person overseeing the experiment.  Hell 
will thaw before I'll let her touch me.

When I try to sit up this time, the lightheadedness returns along 
with black spots in front of my eyes.  The pain in my abdomen 
settles into a dull throb centered beneath the bandage.  I lift 
the gown They've dressed me in and rip the gauze away, revealing 
a neat, thin red line, the stitches pulled tight.  When I touch 
it, the immediate area around it is numb while the rest of it 
radiates fire.  Strange; I wonder what They used to make the 
incision.

Clothes, I need clothes.  The ones I was wearing have to be here, 
but I can't remember what Mulder dressed me in during his 
panicked hurry to get me to the hospital.

The tile floor under my feet is like little squares of ice; I 
can't stand.  My legs are too weak and I can't stand up.  God, 
what have They done to me.  I grip the edge of the nightstand - 
an oversight in Their staging: hospital rooms don't have rich, 
wooden furniture pieces, wallpaper, and curtains - and try to 
pull myself up, starting to succeed when another surge of 
dizziness overwhelms me and I collapse onto the bed again, 
clutching my abdomen, trying to suffocate the flames there.

Decoy Nurse and Dr. Thomas, who must've been watching all of this 
from the monitor, choose that moment to enter, both running to me 
and making some noise about how I wasn't supposed to try and get 
up yet.

Too weak to fight them, They arrange me in the bed.  Dr. Thomas 
examines my incision, tells Decoy Nurse I haven't pulled any of 
them out, and to see if she can reach my husband.  "Tell him 
she's awake," she orders her.

Husband?  I don't have a husband.

"Dana, I want you to listen to me, okay?  My name is Amanda 
Thomas and I'm your obstetrician.  I'm the doctor who delivered 
your daughter last night, but you probably don't remember that.  
Are you listening?"

Daughter?  I don't have a daughter, either.  Not one I've given 
birth to, anyway.  What the hell is she talking about?  I blink 
at her a few times, belying my confusion.

"This incision is from your c-section.  You may remember the ER 
physician telling you we were going to try and wait to see if you 
were in false labor last night or if your contractions would stop 
on their own.  Do you remember, Dana?"

The last thing I remember is Mulder screaming, terrified, for a 
nurse and telling me he had to call Skinner.

"The baby's heart rate was dropping, as was your blood pressure, 
and when your water broke a few minutes later, you went into 
vasogenic shock and we delivered to save both of you.  Luckily, 
it worked."

She waits for me to react, but all I can do is stare at her with 
an open mouth and wide eyes.

"Dana," she says, more softly, "your baby is in extremely 
critical condition in our Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  Her 
lungs are underdeveloped and her blood sugar was very low from 
the stress of the delivery.  I'm not going to make you any 
promises, but we're doing everything we can to help her.  We've 
got her on a ventilator and some steroids to help her lungs and 
we're monitoring her around the clock.  She's got the best 
doctors and nurses in all of DC helping her.

Right now, you need to worry about yourself first - your blood 
pressure is still low and you lost a lot of blood from the 
surgery.  There was a tear in your uterus and your husband asked 
us to try and fix it instead of doing a hysterectomy if we could, 
and we finally did.  You'll be laying here for a little while and 
the sooner you rest and heal, the sooner you can go see your 
daughter.  Okay?"

No, no, no, no, it's not okay.  It's not supposed to happen this 
way - you're supposed to take the baby and return me and let 
Mulder and me pick up where we left off before this whole thing 
happened.  I'm not supposed to have to watch another child die 
and not be able to do anything about it.

Damn it, notmychild, notmychild, notmychild.  It deserves to die, 
it's a project, an experiment, an abomination.

"Your husband was upstairs, but I had Hannah call him and tell 
him you were awake, so he should be here in a few minutes.  We've 
already discussed this, so he knows everything I've just told 
you.  Do you have any questions?"

Who are you?  Where am I?  Why didn't this work like They told me 
it would?

"It's a lot to be confronted with all at once, I know.  I'm sure 
you'll think of something.  Your husband can have me paged if you 
need me.  Just rest and try not to worry too much, okay?"  She 
squeezes my arm once, smiles slightly, then leaves.

He lied to me.  Mulder did something to make Them leave the baby 
here with me.  He traded himself for it.  And what if it dies?  
Will They let him come back?  Or will I be alone?

Goddamn you, Mulder, you selfish, arrogant, son of a bitch.

Tiny, hot tears slide over my temples and disappear into my hair 
as a thought occurs to me: this time, there's nothing stopping me 
from looking for him.  That's what I'll do.  I'll get Skinner and 
the Gunmen to help me - or not, I can do this on my own - and 
we'll find him and bring down Ol' Smokey and the rest of Them.

And what about the baby?  A little voice inside my head asks.

<><><><><><>

I'm half-dozing, half-planning when the door to my room squeaks 
open and someone walks in, stopping two steps from the doorway.

I don't have my contacts in, so all I can see is a tall man in a 
dark suit - it could be anyone.  The Smoking Man himself, maybe?  
Come to collect what's his and chastise me for being so gullible 
and complacent while he took everything that mattered from me.

A few more steps towards me and the man stops again.  "Agent 
Scully?"  A deep, gentle voice asks me.

Skinner.  Is this "my husband?"  Did I fall down a rabbit hole 
somewhere?

"Scully, are you awake?"  He asks me a little louder.

"Yes," I try to answer.  It comes out as a dry whisper, but he 
hears it and approaches the bed, dropping his large hand down to 
my arm and wrapping his fingers around it, not squeezing, just 
holding.

"How are you feeling?"

"Where's Mulder?"

He makes a pained face like he knew that question was coming, 
glances behind him, and lets go of my arm.  Pulling the strangely 
out-of-place wooden rocking chair up, he sits, then simply stares 
at me, a little nervous.

"He made some kind of deal, didn't he?  Himself for the baby.  
Did They take him again or did They just kill him this time?"

"Scully," he starts, taking off his glasses and pinching the 
bridge of his nose like he's been rehearsing this scene in his 
head since Mulder called him last night and has just forgotten 
his lines.  "I can't tell you that."

"Yes, you can.  You have to.  This concerns me as much as it does 
him and I think I have a right to know, dammit.  Tell me where he 
is."

"I can't."

We argue silently with our eyes for a few seconds before he 
blinks and looks down at his hands, helpless.

"Then I guess I'll have to find him without you," I say 
flippantly, pushing the covers off and secretly dreading trying 
to stand again.

"Scully, stop.  Lay down.  You just had surgery -"

I arch my right eyebrow at him and beg him to tell me why I 
should continue to stay here instead of look for my 
partner/friend/lover/possible fiance.

"I promised Mulder I wouldn't tell you where he went or what he 
was doing.  I won't break that promise."

"He could be in danger...sir," I add icily.

He clenches his teeth, narrows his eyes, and says in a deep, 
stern voice.  "Let me assure you, Agent, that I wouldn't let him 
endanger himself without adequate support and backup."

"So he is with Them, then?  What did you do, send the entire VCS 
with him for backup?"

"That's enough, Scully!"

The dizziness comes back from my anger and he must notice it 
because his eyes soften.  He looks away while I lay back down, 
grateful to put my head against the pillow again.

"He asked me to tell you not to worry about him, just to worry 
about yourself and your daughter," he finally says, putting his 
glasses back on and gripping the bedrail tightly.

"Did he also tell you to pretend to be my husband so you could 
have access to us?"  I ask, a little weaker and breathier than 
I'd intended.

He snaps his eyes to me, deciding not to answer and further 
implicate himself.  "Agent Mulder knows what he's doing, Scully, 
we both know that.  Trust him."

"I do trust him, sir.  I just don't trust Them."

He sighs helplessly.  "He asked me to stay here with you until he 
gets back," he admits.  "He didn't specify how long that would 
be, but he made it plain it could be a while."

On either side of my hips, I clench the blankets tightly in my 
fists.

"Those friends of yours are taking turns watching the baby - just 
to make sure no one tries to bother her and that she's getting 
the attention and care she needs.  Mulder arranged that, too.  
The doctors ran some blood tests on her as soon as she was born, 
just as they do on all infants, and found no abnormalities, 
genetic or otherwise.  Other than being a little too early and a 
little too tiny, she's normal and healthy."

I look away from him, tears starting to come again.

"Congratulations, Scully," he says softly.  "I'll be outside if 
you need me."

<><><><><><>

I remember when Matthew was born.

Tara was falling asleep every five minutes, waking up when 
someone came in the room and yelling at them to leave her alone, 
that she was tired.  Bill was beside himself with his perfect 
little baby boy.  Mom smiled a lot and nudged me to do the same.

I was numb.

Down the hall, my daughter was dying and there was nothing I 
could do to help her or ease her pain.  Mom had come to me the 
night they brought Tara in and told me to come join the family.

"I am with my family," I told her sadly, looking past her and at 
Mulder, who was standing outside Emily's room, pale and helpless 
and sorry and exhausted.

Mom turned to look, too, then stood up a little straighter, not 
knowing what to say as she walked back to the maternity ward.

After she finally died that night, while I was laying beside her, 
counting her breaths and feeling her pulse, I told Mulder I was 
going to see how Tara was doing.  He asked if I wanted him to 
come with me and, when I didn't answer right away, he put his 
hand on my back and steered us towards the elevator.

I didn't realize how much time had passed, but the sun was just 
beginning to rise over the tops of the buildings outside.  
Matthew was curled up in his bassinette on display for the world, 
healthy and normal.  No one else was there looking, just me and 
Mulder.

"He's beautiful," I whispered to the glass window.

Mulder nodded, his hand still pressed against my back.

"I don't know why I tried to adopt her.  My life isn't conducive 
to a child and certainly not one as sick as she was.  I guess I 
just thought she deserved to be loved just like any other child.  
I thought I could give that to her."  Shaking my head and looking 
away, I said softly to myself, "I don't know what I was 
thinking."

"She did deserve to be loved, Scully, and you could've given it 
to her.  You did give it to her," he whispered close to my ear.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes against the tears I felt 
forming there, and exhaled slowly.  "I couldn't have done it 
alone, though.  She wouldn't have deserved that."

After a moment, he spoke again.  "You wouldn't have been alone."

Inside the nursery, a baby started to cry and a nurse picked it 
up, murmuring comforting words.

"We created a child, Scully.  It may not have been the 
romantically approved way, but we both had a hand in her 
conception.  I would've done anything I could to help you."

"Did I make the right decision?  To let her die instead of 
treating her?"  I asked, placing my palm against the cool glass 
and touching my nephew.

"Yes," he told me.

Later, he stood outside Tara's room waiting to take me back to 
their house for the night.  The nurses had brought Matthew into 
visit and Bill and Mom were passing him around, assuring an 
exasperated Tara he was the cutest baby they'd ever seen and 
arguing over who he looked like.  When my turn came, Mom held him 
out to me and I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself and 
looking down at the floor.

The conversation ceased and everyone stared at me, wondering why 
I didn't want to hold him.  I didn't tell them Emily had died 
earlier.  They wouldn't have cared.

"I'm going home," I told them, walking out the door.

I had a funeral to plan, after all.

Later, I overheard Mom and Bill talking about me.  Bill accused 
me of being selfish and unable to be happy for anyone who has 
something I want.  Mom defended me weakly, saying he could never 
understand what it was like to be denied your role as a woman: to 
procreate, reproduce, to leave something behind for the world 
after you're gone.

I'd never understood that, either.  How children can come to 
define who you are and how you impact the world.  In a way, 
working on the X-Files - making the world a safer place - had 
become my gift to the world.  I had contented myself to that, 
pushing all thoughts of motherhood and babies who looked like me 
(or Mulder) to the back of my mind.

I wasn't lying to Mulder when I told him I didn't want this baby.  
There's no sense in wanting something you can never have, after 
all.

And then to have it and lose it again?  Would God be so cruel?

I picture Mulder in the NICU, standing beside our baby, his 
finger ringed by four tiny ones, praying she lives while I pray 
that she doesn't, just so I don't have to learn to love her only 
to have her taken away.

Maybe Bill was right.  Maybe I am selfish.

<><><><><><>

Nurses bustled in a few hours after Skinner left, smiling and 
asking me if I was ready to try and walk. 

I didn't say anything but, apparently, I didn't have much of a 
choice.  They helped me stand, told me to take some deep breaths 
and slow down when I almost fell back onto the bed as the first 
slice of fire ripped through my abdomen, and steadied me as I 
shuffled down the hall and back to my room again.

Skinner stood back, watching, a sad look on his face.

After I was back in bed, one of the nurses promised me that, 
after I rested a little, I could go see my daughter.  I shook my 
head at her, looking away.

"What's the matter?"  She asked.

"I don't want to see her," I said in a steady, deep voice.

She blinked at me, then told me to rest and she'd be back later.  
"I'm sure you'll change your mind," she added on her way out.

If she only knew.

The maternity ward of a hospital is a depressing place to be for 
those who can't look forward to going home with a healthy child.  
All the mothers, exhausted and excited, hold their babies out so 
their husbands can see, exchanging wonder and marvel and 
disbelief.

And I lay here, listening, wondering where my Mulder is and what 
kind of havoc the hybrid child will create for us in the future.

I understand why Tara was so angry when we wouldn't leave her 
alone, though.  All I want to do is sleep and be warm and without 
pain.

And not alone.

The sun sets and the nurse who promised me I'd change my mind 
never comes back.  After a shift change, a different nurse's weak 
attempts to get me to eat some dinner, and a brief visit from Dr. 
Hammond, I turn onto my side as much as I can, then close my 
eyes, willing my heart to slow down so the dull throbbing in my 
abdomen will as well.

There's a quiet sound of a door opening, then muffled footsteps 
across the tile to the bed.  A hush of denim on cotton as someone 
sits down in the rocking chair beside me.  Warm fingers reaching 
for my cold ones underneath the blankets, finding, then soft lips 
pressed against each of my knuckles.

"Hey," he whispers, smiling, as I open my eyes.

I don't know whether the tears are in anger or happiness, but 
they're abundant and scalding.  "Where were you?"  I manage to 
get out without sounding too pathetic or desperate.

He leans closer to me, pressing his lips against each of my 
eyebrows, then the bridge of my nose.  "I had some things to take 
care of.  How are you feeling?"

I lean into his warmth, not answering.

"I brought you something."  He turns on the bedside lamp and 
reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, holding a Polaroid 
picture out to me.  "This is her," he says slowly, his face awash 
with awe.

There's a mass of tubes and wires that meet in the center of a 
plastic-covered bed - a tiny, red splotch with a white diaper at 
one end and a plastic knit cap at the other.

"The nurses said you hadn't been able to go see her.  She's 
beautiful, Scully.  She's...she's so small.  She can fit in my 
palm.  Her doctor says she's strong, though.  I told him it runs 
in the family."  He leans down for another kiss on my cheek, 
licking his lips where my tears were.

I place my finger on the smooth plastic of the picture, my mouth 
agape, as if I could touch her through it.

"We need a name.  Do you have any ideas?"

My hand comes up, shaking, to dry my cheeks.

"What about Katherine.  That's pretty, don't you think?  What 
about a middle name?"

I look back at him, wondering why he's even bothering.

"I knew a girl once whose name was Anice.  Katherine Anice 
Mulder.  How does that sound?"

He smiles, then looks back at the picture, away from me.  "Help 
me out, Scully," he says, mesmerized by the tiny, red splotch.

"It doesn't matter," I whisper to him weakly, swallowing a deep, 
painful sob.

He exhales quickly, then looks back at me, his face hard, angry.  
"What's it gonna take, Scully?  She's here.  She's-she'll be 
fine.  They're not gonna take her.  What more do you need?"

"I need to know what you did.  I need you to stop lying to me and 
pretending we're a happy little family.  Mulder, I can't...you 
promised.  I can't lose you again."

"You won't," he says firmly.  "I didn't lie to you.  I didn't do 
anything."

"Then why weren't you here?  You send Skinner and the Gunmen to 
watch us and make sure no one bothers us, you tell me the deal I 
made is off now, you go out at night and meet with God knows who, 
promising them God knows what for this...this thing -"

"Our daughter, Scully.  She's not a thing, she's a baby, a little 
girl.  A normal little girl," he interrupts.  "I had genetic 
tests done: everything's fine.  I had a paternity test done and 
she's mine.  She's ours, Scully.  Why can't you accept that?"

"For how long?  How long before They decide They need her and 
take her again?"

"They won't!"

"How do you know?"

"Because, I -"  He stops, swallows, and looks down, focusing on 
the picture.  "If you could just see her," he starts again, 
softer.  "Scully, I know you're afraid, you're afraid to love her 
and get attached to her, but she needs it.  She needs you with 
her.  The more contact preemies have with their parents, the 
sooner they go home, Scully, it's a statistical fact."

I shake my head, looking out at the dark night and the few lights 
left on in the buildings around the hospital.

"Then you can lay here and feel sorry for yourself," he says, 
standing up angrily.  "I'll be upstairs with our daughter when 
you're ready to grow up and stop acting so damn pitiful and 
selfish."

I notice he left me the picture of her as he walks out the door; 
I could call him back and give it to him.

I don't.

<><><><><><>

He drug me to bed half way through an MSNBC special on the rising 
costs of infertility treatments and the various options couples 
were choosing to try and increase their odds of pregnancy.  I 
think I was still crying but, by that time, I was nearly numb to 
whatever was going on outside my body.  All I remember was him 
pulling me up and guiding me to his bed, laying me down, then 
sliding in beside me and pulling me close.

I must've started sobbing quietly again because he squeezed me 
and kissed my temple, repeated the cycle until the whimpers 
subsided.

"Why didn't you tell me, Scully?"  He whispered softly into my 
hair, trying to stop me from shaking.

"Tell you what?"

"That you wanted...this."

"I didn't know.  Sometimes it just hits me how much I want 
something I can't have.  Or maybe it's just knowing I can't have 
it if I did want it."  Logically, I know I'm no more able to care 
for a child now than I was two years ago when I tried to adopt 
Emily.  But still, I'd at least like to have the choice.

He just nods silently, sliding his legs over mine and enveloping 
me completely.

"I guess we should've discussed this before we started sleeping 
together," I finally say, breaking what is for me an awkward 
silence.

"It wouldn't have made a difference."

"How can you say that, Mulder?  You just told me you wanted it 
and I can't give it to you.  That's unfair to you and selfish of 
me," I trail off, afraid of what would happen to me if he agreed 
and ended this new facet of our relationship, pursuing a future 
with someone who could give him as many children as he wanted.

"There are other options," he says slowly, gauging my reaction.  
"There's adoption, surrogate motherhood -"

"It wouldn't be ours."

"We could make it ours."

I shake my head vigorously, pushing my face further into the 
pillow.

"What do you want me to say, then?  That you're right, I 
shouldn't have gotten involved with you when I knew I wanted 
kids?  That I'm gonna abandon you 'cause you can't give me 
children?  Do you think this is that flippant?  Do you not take 
this seriously?"

"How serious is it?"

We're silent and still for a few minutes, the only sound the 
faint rustling of the sheets as we breathe nearly in tandem.

After almost ten minutes, he speaks again, his words simply 
breath with deep tones attached.  "I've been thinking a lot about 
that, Scully.  Since they're shutting down the X-Files 
anyway...what happens next?  I know...I think we're both ready 
for it to end and I think this would be a good time for that to 
happen."

That was the night before he left for Oregon.  If we only knew 
what kind of an ending it really was.

"Scully," he whispers, turning me onto my back so he's looming 
over me in the darkness.  "Promise me that whatever happens, you 
won't end this and say it's for me.  You know what I want most; 
let me keep it."

Had I known that was the last time we'd make love for a long 
while, I'd have been more attentive and present.  He tried to 
coax me into relaxing but settled for me being moderately aroused 
and clinging to him like I was terrified he'd get away, which I 
was.

The next morning, I was sore from holding him against me so 
tightly.  He was just gone, leaving empty promises and a surplus 
damp spot on the sheet.

<><><><><><>

The NICU is softly lit, leaving most of it in darkness.  The 
young nurse who meets me at the door says it's because the babies 
aren't ready for all the sensations of the world: light, sound, 
touches, so they try to keep it as dim and quiet as possible.

We stop at a sink where she asks me to wash my hands; procedure, 
to protect against germs, she needlessly explains.

Mulder is in the back, sitting on the edge of another wooden 
rocking chair, his hand in a port door on one of the isolettes.  
The tiny, red splotch is on the other side of the door, her 
little chest rising and falling rapidly, a pastel pink blanket 
draped over one side of the plastic that's covering her.

The nurse leaves me standing there, staring at them, murmuring 
something about being there if I need her.  I don't really hear 
her; I'm not really paying attention.

He must know I'm there.  He turns around and smiles slightly, 
withdrawing his hand from the isolette and standing, helping me 
to sit and watching me carefully as I wince against sore muscles.

I know what all these machines are, I know what they do.  The 
tube down her throat to help her breath, the catheter in her 
umbilical stump to eliminate waste, the IV in her heel for food, 
the sensors taped to her chest to monitor her heart.  It's still 
scary, though, to see all of them attached to such a tiny, 
helpless thing.

Girl, Dana.  It's a girl.  Your little girl.

Mulder kneels next to me, one hand lightly resting on my back, 
the other touching the baby again.  "She likes it when you touch 
the insides of her elbows," he whispers so softly, I barely even 
hear the words.

With blurry eyes, I reach through the door, imitating his light 
strokes with the tip of my finger.

Her skin is so soft.

He must notice me shaking because the hand on my back starts 
rubbing gently: soothing.

"See how her head's turned towards us?  She wants to play."

"Is she asleep?"

"No.  She hasn't opened her eyes yet.  I'm hoping for blue."

"Most babies have blue eyes when they're born," I tell him, my 
voice thick and useless.

"Hopefully, they'll stay that way.  Like yours," he adds.  "Your 
nose and chin and I think I see a few wisps of brown hair under 
her cap."

I shake my head.  "How did we do this?"

"You're the doctor, you don't remember?"  He teases.  "She's 
perfect, though."

"Is she?"

"She is," he assures me.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both in awe of what we've 
created until he quietly breaks the silence, still staring at 
her.  "The Gunmen brought the blanket.  Langly bet on a boy, so 
he owes Byers, Frohike, and me cheese steaks."

I nod, remembering how worried they were about me when I fainted, 
before any of this even started.

"Scully, I didn't make a deal.  I couldn't.  Skinner and I 
couldn't find the Smoking Man - we assume he's dead."

I open my mouth to ask questions, but he shakes his head, asking 
me to let him finish.

"I do remember things from when I was abducted, Scully.  The 
Bounty Hunters talking - planning, I guess.  They thought I was 
unconscious, but I guess I wasn't.  They were using the Smoking 
Man, making him think they were working together when really they 
just wanted him for his access to us.  Their plans were to kill 
him, kill me, and take you and the baby.  When I remembered this, 
I told Skinner.  We were going to try and make a deal: your 
safety - our safety," he amends, "for what I just told you.  
Saving his life so he could protect ours.  Skinner put out 
feelers, but we never found him.

"The staff here tried to contact Dr. Walker and let him know you 
were in labor, but the number for his office was disconnected and 
the rooms were empty when I went looking for him.  I think They 
realized she," he nods to our daughter, "wasn't what They thought 
she was and They tried to take everything away.  He was 
instructed to induce labor assuming she couldn't survive this 
early.  She surprised Them, though."

"What about us?"  I ask, strangely calm at his revelation.

"That I don't know.  Most likely, They'll just retreat and lick 
Their wounds."

"Planning the next wave against us?"

"I don't know.  I think we know too much about Them for Them to 
simply try and threaten us into submission, though."

"They'd just kill us instead."

"The last thing we need to do is hide from Them," he says as if 
he's been thinking about this for a while and has all the details 
worked out.  "We need to be as visible as possible so that if 
anything happens, people will ask questions."

"What about her?"  I ask, inhaling deeply for the first time in 
eight months.

He smiles.  "We take her home and watch her grow up."

I nod, sliding my finger down her arm until it rests in her palm.  
In response, her fingers curl around it, holding tightly.

"That's where I was.  I went to find Dr. Walker and, when I 
couldn't, I just went back to the house, getting it ready.  Her 
room's all fixed.  The rest of the house is empty.  As soon as 
you're ready, we can move in."

"What if I'm not ready?"  I ask him quietly.

"Then we'll wait."

"What if I'm never ready?"

"You will be," he promises.

<><><><><><>

I think I'm living in a dream now.

The baby - Katherine, I keep reminding myself - was able to come 
home after six weeks in the NICU.  She's still tiny, but her 
doctor thinks she's healthy and will grow up to have a normal 
life.  So far, she hasn't shown any symptoms of anemia or any 
other blood or genetic disorders.  Her eyes are blue, much to 
Mulder's delight, and he calls her his Katie Blue.

He insists I wear the engagement ring he gave me, saying it's 
part of the effect of the happy little suburban couple: we need 
to appear normal for the neighbors, Scully.  I know it's really 
just hopefulness on his part.  When I go out, I wear it and the 
wedding band he bought to match his.  As soon as I get back home, 
I take off both, maintaining it's dishonest.  He wears his ring 
all the time.  If I ask him why, he says it's to get used to it.

I didn't want to stop working so he didn't force me to.  Instead, 
he stays home with Katherine and, much to my surprise, does all 
the housework without complaint.  They're always waiting at the 
door to greet me when I get home and I'm always tempted to get 
back in my car and leave, sure I have the wrong house.  Katherine 
giggles as Mulder kisses her, murmuring that mommy's home and 
then kisses me, asking me how my day was and frowning when the 
ring comes off with my watch and shoes.

He sleeps beside me at night and insists it's better for 
Katherine if she sleeps in a bassinet beside our bed.  I know 
it's just so he doesn't have as far to walk when he gets up to 
check on her twenty times every night.  When she cries, he's up 
immediately and heading down to the kitchen for a bottle or to 
the nursery for a diaper change.  He says it's so I can rest and 
because I'm the one who has to get up early.

It doesn't even feel like my life.

Mulder is still Mulder, but he's happy now; content.  His 
romantic notions are obnoxious and his patience and gentleness 
with the baby are shockingly natural.  At night, after she's 
asleep, he'll tell me about a documentary he saw on the Discovery 
Channel about Atlantis, saying we should take a vacation one year 
and see if we can find it.  He doesn't mean it, though.  The next 
morning, he'll tell me very seriously he's done with that part of 
his life now; that we - Katherine and I - are his life.

He doesn't know this, but I keep a picture of them together on my 
desk at work.  When people ask me who the baby is, I say 
automatically that she's my daughter, then wonder why it was so 
automatic.

As I walk to and from my car every day, I look over my shoulder 
to see if anyone is watching and waiting to follow me home.  I'm 
still convinced that, any day now, this perfect life Mulder has 
created for us will shatter and collapse on top of us, crushing 
us under its weight.

So far, though, no one has watched me and no one has followed me.  
Katherine continues to grow and learn and amaze us with her 
infant babbling.  Mulder continues to assert that she's the most 
beautiful and intelligent child ever born, whispering to me while 
I'm rocking her that he loves me and asking me when I'll be ready 
to get married.  I continue to shake my head, kiss Katherine's 
little palm, and he continues to tell me he'll wait forever, but 
she won't.

"For her, Scully," he repeats like a mantra.

I never ask him if we'll have forever.  I just nod and refuse to 
admit she's become my life, that everything I do now is for her.

I practice three times a week at the shooting range for her.  I 
keep something we could use as a weapon in every room for her.  I 
sleep only a few hours a night, always on alert, for her.  I 
watch my rear view mirrors as I drive for her.

They didn't take her, but sometimes I wonder if I wish They had.

It would've been so much easier if They had, I think some nights 
as Mulder paces up and down the hallways as she cries, colicky.  
It would've devastated him if They had.  It would've numbed me if 
They had.

But They left her here - or maybe They never intended to take her 
at all.  The damage is done, though, regardless of whether or not 
They decided to take her back or leave her with us.  Regardless 
of whether or not she really is ours, completely and naturally.  
Regardless of whether or not I can ever convince myself of 
either.

Sometimes, I want to ask Mulder why They did this.  If They 
wanted to break us, to stop us from working and searching and 
threatening Them, They've won.  If They wanted to separate us on 
a deep, visceral level, so that we'll always wonder who the 
other's talking to on the phone late one night, They've won.

Mulder once told me that there was more than one way to skin a 
cat - he was right, but the kitties are still suffering long
after they've been skinned.

<><><>End<><><>

Feedback: lil_gusty@hotmail.com
Thanks for reading!