From: sukie tawdry Date: 24 Aug 2002 12:36:04 -0700 Subject: NEW - The Way Things Are (1/?) by Sukie Tawdry Source: atxc TITLE: The Way Things Are AUTHOR: Sukie Tawdry EMAIL: sukie_tawdry@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 SPOLIERS: Season 1 CATEGORY: Guess you could call it AU. Diverges from canon some time during season 1. KEYWORDS: Story, M/S (some elements of M/other) DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me. Sniff SUMMARY: One night and their whole lives were changed forever. FEEDBACK: Good or not so good--go ahead. I can take it. I'm a big girl. ARCHIVE: Again, go ahead. AUTHOR'S NOTES: At end. Part 1 - Snow Blindness It had been a terrible idea, right from the beginning. What on earth had she been thinking--screwing her partner. She'd vowed to be smart on this new assignment. She'd walked into that dreary basement office and shook his hand, utterly determined that she wouldn't make the same mistake she had with Jack and Daniel and all the others. And how long had it taken her to fall into bed with Mulder? Not even six months--how pathetic. Certainly, Mulder was rather irresistable, beautiful in his loose-limbed grace. And his brilliance was as blinding as the sun glinting off snow. That was what it had been--snow blindness. But she knew from the beginning that Mulder wasn't interested in a relationship with her or anyone else. She'd heard rumors that Mulder was a "pickup artist", and she'd seen plenty of evidence that his reputation was well earned. She'd taken phone messages from more than a few women--rarely the same woman twice. She'd seen him wear the same clothes to work that he'd had on the day before, only a little more rumpled. Damn, if he hadn't still looked more gorgeous than anyone had a right to, even when his suit was creased and his jaw was stubbly. If anything, he was more beautiful with that sleepy-eyed "I've got fucked this morning" look about him. He was a player, and she had sworn off players. Oh, he flirted with her. She was pretty sure it was a knee jerk reaction from him, something he wasn't even aware he was doing. He teased and prodded and touched her too often and stood much too close. Mulder pushed the limits in general and her buttons in particular, and he seemed to enjoy both. She'd known better, dammit. It didn't take a psychologist to see that Mulder was a tortured soul, chasing an elusive truth and taking wild chances in that pursuit. She'd had to bail him out of too many tight situations when he'd ditched her to do something dangerous. And it didn't take a Ph.D. to see that he dulled his pain with one night stands. If she were totally honest with herself, she would admit that she felt a tiny bit jealous of those women. Maybe that was why she'd behaved so stupidly. It had been their last night in Kenwood, Tennessee after the Samuel Hartley case. Feeling the sting of not solving the case fast enough to save lives, they'd had a few too many beers in the pool hall bar. Actually, she'd been having the beer. Mulder had been drinking scotch. Something had haunted him about that case, and she knew it had to do with his sister. Mulder sat close to her, looked into her eyes a little too often. It unnerved and excited her, and she found herself gazing back at him. He had traced a lazy finger along her arm, testing, perhaps, to see if she flinched. She didn't flinch. They were both drunk by the time they left the bar. Their motel had been down the street, so they'd left the car at the pool hall and walked the two blocks. Their steps had been a little unsteady, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. She was sure they looked like a couple of drunken sailors, up until the part where he stopped in the deserted street and kissed her. It had been a tentative kiss, the kind of kiss that happens when two people are drunk, and one of them bends over to say something to the other. Their lips met once, twice-- little nipping kisses until he pulled her close and began to devour her mouth. Not that she'd fought or anything. Far from it. She'd twined her arms around his neck and pushed her tongue into his mouth. He pulled her up against his body, her toes barely grazing the pavement as he pressed her against his rock hard cock. There had been little question in her alcohol-hazed mind as to what was going to happen next. Her legs felt like jello as they stumbled to the motel. She had barely gotten her door open before he had his hand under her blouse, cupping her breast through her bra. She was pretty sure she was whimpering by that point. He made short work of her front-closure bra. She wondered how much practice he had. The kissing and groping went on and on until they'd fallen back onto the bed. Her nipples grew hard in the cool motel room air. He brushed his thumb over the tip, lightly at first, and then more firmly. She had known in some little corner of her mind, that she should stop him from hiking her skirt up around her waist. When she'd reached out to unzip his pants in order to get closer to his cock she recognized it as a bad, bad idea. But he was so hot and hard that she couldn't stop herself from reaching into his boxer shorts and closing her hand around him. It made him moan so delightfully. He tugged her panties down her legs, shredding her pantyhose when his nails caught on the sheer material. And did she try to stop him? Of course not. She lifted her hips obligingly, turning from side to side as he worked her underwear off. Slick from her juices, his fingers found her clit. She heard herself making little sounds: mewling, moaning, totally embarrassing noises as tongue followed fingers. He lapped at her, chuckling softly at her bucking hips. She must have looked ridiculous, skirt up around her waist, blouse open and breasts bared. At that moment, she couldn't have cared less as his tongue dipped into her vagina and back up to swirl around her clit. "C'mere," she mumbled, pulling on his shirt. He obeyed, climbing up her body and settling between her thighs. He pushed into her with one thrust, as she dug her heels into the firm flesh of his ass. It was then that reality began to pick at her brain. She almost pushed it away, so lost in the sensation of Mulder moving within her. But that tiny bit of responsibility forced her to speak when she wanted only to moan. "What are we doing?" she gasped as he put his hands under her thighs and pushed back, changing the angle and driving deeper into her body. "I thought that was...obvious," he grunted. "This is crazy...oh god, that feels good. We're not...oh...using any protection." "We should stop," he muttered, as he drove into her. "Yeah," she agreed, hooking her ankles behind his neck. "Oh, yeah...ohyeahohyeahohyeah." But he didn't stop, and she didn't want him to. No, she definitely made no move to stop him. Actually, her moans and gasps and the fact that she couldn't stop thrashing her head from side to side, probably gave the impression that she wanted it to go on forever. And then her whole body was pulsing, quaking from within. Her back arched, and she grabbed fistfuls of bedspread as if that would keep her from flying around the room. Her orgasm seemed to trigger a chain reaction as he stiffened over her and grunted out words that weren't really words. She didn't remember anything after that. The next morning, she woke up alone--naked and sticky. The bed reeked of sex, and her clothes were strewn around the floor. She'd sat up too fast and moaned into her hands, trying hard not to be sick. The wrongness of the whole thing hit her with the force of a runaway truck. Mulder's clothes were not mingled with hers on the floor. The only sign that Mulder had been there was the smell of semen on her skin and the sheets. That and the ache between her legs. It had been a long time between sexual partners, and her body complained. Gingerly, she stood up, and holding her head, walked to the window and looked out. The bright Tennessee sunshine mocked her--reminding her again of how stupid she'd been the night before. She stooped to pick up her blouse, noting that some of the buttons had come off. She gathered the rest of the clothes, and stuffed them in her dirty laundry bag, unwilling to put them back on, even to go searching for Mulder. Instead, she pulled on a pair the sweatpants and shirt she'd worn while lounging around the motel room during the case. She fought the desire to pretend this hadn't happened, to show up all neatly pressed and sunny for the trip home. But she worried that if she did that, their partnership would be more damaged than it already was. So she went to find her partner. She stood in the morning sunshine, knocking on Mulder's door and fighting the urge to run back to DC and hide under her bed. Had Mulder done that very thing--left her and run back to the comfort of his office? She walked around the building, hoping to find a coffee machine. She spotted him sitting in a dirty white plastic chair by the motel swimming pool. Though it was chilly in the early spring air, his feet were bare and his rumpled shirt untucked and unbuttoned. Though he probably heard her footsteps, his gaze didn't move from the dead leaves lying on the black plastic pool cover. "I'm so sorry, Scully," he said as she dropped into a nearby chair. "That was a terrible mistake and shouldn't have happened." "You're right. It should never have happened, but it was as much my fault as yours." "I want you to know that I'm clean. What with the hospital stay when I was shot this year, I've had more blood work than a Nevada hooker. And I...uh...I haven't taken a chance like that since I was in high school." She nodded, unsure of what to say next. She was too embarrassed that with her medical background, the health issues had not occurred to her until he had brought them up. "I don't drink often," he went on. "It makes me do stupid things. I...uh...we could have avoided the whole fucking mess if I'd stayed out of that bar." "Quite the sweet-talker, aren't you, Mulder. Don't worry--the secret is safe with me. Nobody ever has to know you lowered yourself to screw your partner." "You think that's what this is about--that I'm ashamed to have slept with you?" "Never mind. You weren't the only one drunk last night, and you weren't the only one who was horny." She pushed herself out of the chair, ready to escape back to her room. "Listen, I know I'm blowing this all out of proportion. I'm hung-over and oversensitive this morning." "No. I need for you to understand," he said, rising and gripping her arm. "You mean a lot to me--too much, really, to screw our relationship up with meaningless sex." She tried not to wince at the word 'meaningless.' It had been certainly ill-advised, but it hadn't been meaningless to her. "I don't want to screw things up either. Maybe it's best if we just leave this here and forget it ever happened." Forget it ever happened. That was the trouble, wasn't it? He might have been able to forget, but now, two months later, she knew she would never be able to forget. They'd gone home, though, and never spoke about it again. He continued to get phone calls from women, had continued to show up at work looking a little the worse for wear--maybe more often than ever. He treated her professionally and they continued to forge their partnership. They proceeded in fits and starts. She tried not to bristle when he teased her over her lack of boyfriends before the little trip to the forest that nearly got them both killed. He showed genuine caring and concern, both during the mission and afterward when terribly ill, they'd landed in a month long quarantine. And only a few weeks ago, he had carefully put her in her place when she tried to call him by his first name. Fair enough. He clearly wanted this to be a work relationship and not spill over into private time. He was gentle about it--she couldn't fault him. But it had stung a bit, nonetheless. She hadn't been concerned when she missed a period. Her body had undergone a serious trauma when she'd been so badly dehydrated by the insects they'd encountered in the forest. Surely her cycle would return to normal when her body had a chance to recover completely. But the signs became impossible to ignore when she found herself vomiting in the ladies room three times in the past week. It didn't take a medical degree to figure this one out. Which is how she ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bathroom, tearing a tissue into confetti as she waited. Waited for the little stick to turn pink or blue or whatever the hell this one was supposed to do. She'd tried four different kinds of tests, not wanting to accept the truth as each one gave it's verdict. With shaking fingers, she reached for the last in the series of little white sticks. She blinked back tears as she looked at the plus sign. It was time to talk to Mulder. Author's notes: I began to wonder, what would have happened in the first season, if instead of making Gillian Anderson wear an overcoat in July, 1013 had decided to write her pregnancy into the show. Stay tuned for the next installment in this exercise in "What if?" I'm going to try to post weekly or at least every ten days. Part 2 - Pillar of Salt "Glad you could make it, Scully." Mulder was tipped back in his chair, his feet crossed on his desk. "Stuck in traffic again?" She wanted to punch that smirk right off his face. She'd spent the morning crouched by the toilet, alternately being sick and checking the cadre of pregnancy tests, each one delivering its bad news. "No, I wasn't stuck in traffic," she said, shooting him a "don't mess with me" look. "Is everything okay?" he asked, his concern apparent. "I don't mean to pry, but you haven't been yourself lately. You look very pale this morning, Scully." Just when she thought she had him figured out, Mulder would surprise her. When she had decided he was too obsessed with his work to notice anything else, he turned gentle and tender. "I'm fine. Well, actually, I wasn't feeling that well this morning, but I'm better now." She cleared her throat. This wasn't going to be easy. "Can we go for a walk, Mulder. I need to talk to you, and I'd prefer not to do it here." "Now you're scaring me. Are you sure you're all right? You're not having aftereffects from the insects, are you?" "No. Nothing like that. I just....we need to talk." "Okay. Of course," he said, wariness in his voice. They left the building, walking the two blocks to the Mall. Each time they had to cross a street, his hand would come to rest on her back. He was like that--gentlemanly and a little territorial. "What did you want to tell me?" he asked, when they reached an area away from any tourists. She took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to be sick. Now, that would be disastrous, throwing up on Mulder's shoes in front of dozens of gawking tourists. On the other hand, it would certainly open up the subject at hand. "I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you, Mulder. I haven't seen a doctor yet, but...I'm pregnant. At least that's what four separate home pregnancy tests said." He didn't speak, and she wondered how long it had been since anyone had been truly able to shut him up. Finally, he found his tongue. "You're sure....you're sure it's..." "Yours? Yes. Unless I had sex with someone and developed amnesia, yes, it's yours." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you." His gaze seemed to be fixated on a street vendor, unable to meet her eye. "I'm not insulted. It was a fair question. I don't sleep around, Mulder." She pinned him with a fierce look. "There is no chance this is not your child, Mulder. Look, I'm not any happier than you are about this." "One drunken night. One stupid, miserable drunken night. I can't believe this." "Are you insinuating this is all my doing? Because, if you are, Mulder, I need to remind you that I was not alone in this stupidity." He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. "You're right. I didn't mean to imply you were the only one at fault. Scully, what are you going to do?" "Gee, I thought talking to you was the logical first step. What with you being there at the time of conception and all. I thought you'd want to be the first to know, but obviously I've misjudged the situation." "Scully, I'm not denying my responsibility, but honestly, what happens next is up to you." He stuffed his hands in his slack pockets. "I was hoping you would want to be part of that decision, Mulder. Obviously, you don't." She turned and began to walk back to the office. She fought the urge to run as fast and as far as she could. "Wait! Scully, wait." He caught up to her easily with his long legs. His hand gripped her upper arm. "I...I don't mean to be callous. I'm still in shock, okay." "I have to go," she said, as she pulled out of his grip. Head held high, she walked away, glancing back when she reached the corner. Mulder remained where she had left him staring after her. The basement office was blessedly empty when she arrived. Mulder was probably still standing on the Mall, a pillar of salt, rather like Lot's wife. She retrieved the file she'd been working on the day before and headed up to the forensic area where she hoped to camp out in an empty office. She wasn't sure what she'd envisioned when she told Mulder. She'd have hated it if he tried to dictate her next move. He was right--there were choices before her--keep the baby, give it up or abort-- but ultimately, the decision was hers. She'd never felt so alone in her life. Her mother was still reeling from Bill Scully Sr's death. Melissa was hard to reach these days, still traveling the West Coast. Scully was too embarrassed to tell her friends. How utterly humiliating--a thirty-year-old physician, FBI agent, independant woman--finding herself "in trouble" like some teenager. And the father of the baby was no more interested in her than a teenager's one-night stand. She couldn't even be angry with Mulder. He'd made it perfectly clear from the very beginning that finding out what happened to his sister was all he cared about. "Nothing else matters," was what he had said all those months ago as they sat in a darkened motel room on their first case. He allowed no distractions or impediments to his quest. The women he slept with were an evening's diversion, a way to scratch an itch. She'd seen him sidestep the morning after phone calls, gently and carefully extricating himself from further involvement. It was no wonder that he was panic-stricken now. She wasn't a one -night stand, a pick up. They had a partnership, a relationship of growing trust, and that was on the line. She had no doubt that he cared for her on some level. She could see the affection in his eyes, hear it in his voice. But Mulder was a terribly isolated man. He seemed to be somewhat estranged from his family. He didn't appear to keep in touch with anyone from his ISU days. He'd acted pleasantly surprised whenever they'd come across people from his past. Mulder traveled light. She had turned her cell phone off earlier, and checking it now, she saw a series of messages from Mulder. She turned it off again. She wasn't ready to talk to Mulder, not until she sorted things out. Trying to work, she concentrated on the autopsy results from their last case. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a packet of saltine crackers. They helped the morning sickness a little. She munched a few, only to find herself in the ladies room within the hour. She knelt on the cold tile floor after losing everything she had in her stomach. Thank God, the bathroom was deserted. That was all she needed--to set the Hoover building grapevine into motion. Hey, did you hear--Agent Scully got knocked up. Really, wonder who she took off her panties for. Well, you never know about those frosty types--sometimes they're real sluts. Bet it was that sexy partner of hers--he'd be hard to resist. Yeah, but how long 'til he takes a powder? She pushed herself up from the floor, her stomach a bit steadier. Her legs felt shaky as she walked to the sink. Mulder was right, she looked like a ghost. He'd been generous--he hadn't mentioned the dark circles under her eyes or the hollows under her cheekbones. Weren't pregnant women supposed to get chubby cheeks? She splashed water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She was becoming a little concerned about the vomiting. She wracked her brain, but couldn't remember enough from her medical school training to know what was normal in early pregnancy. It was after four thirty when she went back to the basement office. She had steeled herself to face Mulder, though she wasn't sure what to say to him. It turned out to be a moot point--Mulder wasn't there. She lifted a post-it note off her computer terminal, "Dropping off the prints from the Miller case--see you tomorrow." Using the privacy of the deserted office, she phoned her gynecologist and made an appointment for the next afternoon. Gathering her things, she left the office. Scully couldn't remember when she'd felt so exhausted. Her apartment looked dusty and neglected when she arrived home. Lately, she had no energy at the end of the day. She couldn't remember the last time she had straightened up. The answering machine yielded a series of increasingly terse messages from Mulder asking her to call him. She hit the erase button. Too tired to eat, she kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the sofa. In moments, she was sleeping soundly. It was dark when she woke. Blessedly dark, and quiet. Her mind felt clear for the first time in days. Suddenly, she saw the options before her, and realized that there was only one true choice. She couldn't abort this child. It was wrong. Not for anyone else, perhaps, but for her, for Dana Scully. She had never taken the easy way out, and to abort the child because it was inconvenient wasn't right for her. She'd been raised to a strict code of right and wrong. You took responsibility for your actions. You owned up to the consequences no matter how uncomfortable. And she didn't think she could give this child up, no matter what the impact to her career or her reputation. She made a decent living and her skills would ensure her security. With Mulder's support or without, she would do what she had to do. She needed to tell him. He would, no doubt, be relieved that he was off the hook. She thought about calling him, but decided he deserved to hear the news in person. She felt more energized than she had in days. It was all so clear now, so simple. She hummed along with the radio as she drove to Mulder's apartment. But the damned morning sickness reared its ugly head, and she rushed to park the car. She wondered why the hell it was called morning sickness anyway, since she seemed to be sick morning, noon and night. She knocked on Mulder's door, frantically swallowing back the nausea. In her misery, she barely listened for movement behind the door. Desperate, she pulled out the key she still had to Mulder's apartment, a remnant from the days when he was freshly home from the hospital with a bad leg wound. She pushed the door open, frantic to get to the bathroom before she vomited in the hall. The sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks. A naked Mulder sat on his couch. He wasn't alone. The woman who straddled his lap was naked as well, her short brown hair swinging as she turned her head to see who had walked in the door. "What the hell?" the woman screeched. What the hell, indeed, Scully thought. Mulder was saying something, but Scully couldn't take the time to decifer his words. "Damn morning sickness," Scully muttered, as she bolted for the bathroom. Part 3 - Cornered "What the hell are you doing here, Scully?" Mulder asked from the open bathroom doorway. "I would have thought," she moaned, "it was fairly obvious." Could her life get any more humiliating? Throwing up in the midst of Mulder's overactive sex life was an all time low. "Mulder, do you want to explain this?" The woman had put on Mulder's shirt, though it didn't cover much. She stood, hands on her curvy hips, perky breasts heaving in anger. Well, maybe there were new levels of humiliation to plumb after all. The woman eyed Scully with something between pity and disgust. "It's complicated, Cassie. I..." "On second thought, don't bother with an explanation. And, if you were thinking of calling me tomorrow--DON'T." Cassie flounced off, with as much dignity as an angry half-naked woman could muster. Scully crouched next to the toilet, listening to the rustle of clothes from the next room and the slam of the apartment door. Wave after wave of nausea crashed over her. "That went well, don't you think?" Mulder asked, sarcastically. "Would you mind not pointing that thing at me?" Scully asked, gesturing at Mulder's still impressive erection. "Oh, for fucks sake," he muttered, leaving the room. He returned a moment later, wearing jeans. Her stomach had finally settled, so she flushed the toilet one last time and sat back against the tile wall, her legs out straight in front of her. "Sorry about Carrie," she muttered. "Cassie," he said, wetting a washcloth and handing it to her. "At least I think it was Cassie. Or Callie." "No, I think you were right--Cassie. Anyway, I'm sorry." The washcloth felt deliciously cool against her heated skin. She draped it over her face, as if she could shut out the whole wretched mess. He slid down to sit beside her, his bare back to the tile wall. "No. I'm sorry. I was feeling a little...uh...cornered. I stopped into a bar..." "Doesn't matter. You don't owe me anything, Mulder. That's what I came here to tell you, but I started to feel so sick." "Scully..." "I wanted to tell you that I'm going to keep the baby." Mulder sighed deeply. She heard his head clunk against the tile wall. Pulling the washcloth from her face, she turned to look at him. "Obviously, that wasn't what you wanted to hear." "I never said that," he muttered. His eyes held a look of complete misery. "You didn't have to. But you don't have to worry--you're off the hook. I don't expect anything from you, Mulder, so you don't need to feel 'cornered'." "I think you should lie down," he said, scrambling onto his feet. He extended a hand to her. "I'm worried about you." She allowed him to help her up. He kept an arm around her waist and led her to the living room. Why the hell did he have to be so gentle? And why the hell did she feel such raging, pathetic jealousy? Mulder had every right to fuck whomever he chose. "I'd rather not lie down on that," she said, nodding at the sofa-- scene of Mulder's naked tryst. Why did she feel like a wronged girlfriend? Mulder obviously considered himself a free agent. Two months ago, Mulder had turned to Scully in a drunken frenzy. She had merely been a warm, willing body when he needed to blot out the pain. It clearly meant nothing to him--less than nothing. His only concern for her now was for a friend who had gotten herself in a bad situation. "Fine," Mulder sighed, leading her to the bedroom. His bedroom was a disaster scene, boxes of files, magazines, books everywhere. It was clear he rarely slept here. He shoved piles of papers from the bed, and she stretched out. He pulled her shoes off. "I'm fine, really. I should be leaving." "You look like hell," he said, sitting on the side of the bed. He reached for her hand. "Your hands are like ice. Scully, is this normal?" "I don't know. I've never been pregnant before." "You're a doctor." Irritation crept into his voice. "I'm a pathologist, Mulder. My OB/GYN rotation was a billion years ago. I'm sure it's fine. I have a doctor appointment tomorrow." "Look, what I said before about feeling cornered..." "I understand, Mulder. You were blindsided. So was I, frankly. I had plans for my life. There were things I wanted to do--things I hoped to do on the X-Files, and I'm not sure how having a baby fits into all of that. This isn't exactly what I dreamed of." She struggled to sit up, and Mulder pushed her down gently. "I mean it--lay down. He stroked her hair, his hand lingering on her cheek. "I...I want to help you. Financially, that is. I obviously don't spend money on creature comforts." Annoyed, she looked around the cluttered bedroom. "I agree with you there, Mulder, but you don't 'owe' me, okay." "I'm not trying to keep this a monetary arrangement, Scully. It's just that...it would be safer for you and for the baby if it's not...official." She pushed his hands away and sat up, scooting to the end of the bed. The urge to flee was overpowering as she shoved her feet back in her shoes. "I've got to go." "Scully, wait. There are things you don't know. This could be dangerous in ways you can't even imagine." "You've made yourself very clear, Mulder. Don't worry--like I said, you're off the hook." <><><><> "Try and relax, Dana. You're a little tense." Paula Sherwood's hands were gentle, and blessedly small, but Scully grimaced anyway. "It's been a rough day." Rough day indeed. She and Mulder had barely spoken. There had been no affectionate banter, no wisecracks, not even shoptalk. "Fundal height is good. Consistent with ten weeks gestation. Everything looks great," Paula said, ending the exam. She removed her latex gloves and helped Scully to pull her feet from the stirrups and sit up. "Why don't you get dressed and we'll talk. Is the baby's father here?" "No. He couldn't make it." Scully could tell from the little frown on Paula's face, the obstetrician knew it was an excuse. Paula smiled and left the examining room. Damn hormones. She hated being on the verge of tears all the time. Scully slid off the examining table and reached for her underwear. The set was lacy and sexy, and no one was going to be seeing it any time soon. God that was a depressing thought, as was the prospect of wearing big 'old lady' panties in a few months. She dressed quickly and went in search of Paula's office. "Dana, come in. I'm so excited for you. I love helping medical school friends start their families. How have you been?" "Busy. Work is always interesting." "Sounds exciting. Dana, I am a little concerned about a few things. I sense that you're under a great deal of stress, and that can affect the baby." "I'll admit that it's been a stressful year. I'd been teaching up until about six months ago, when I started working in the field." "Is the work you do dangerous, Dana?" "It can be, I suppose. But my partner and I don't take unnecessary chances and we watch each other's backs." "Dana, much as I advise women that their lives don't have to change with pregnancy, there are certain physical limitations. How will this affect your partnership?" Scully couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to answer that question. She cast her eyes down and swallowed hard. Paula sighed, apparently gleaning all the information she needed from her patient's reaction. "I see. Dana, I can't tell you to change occupations, or what choices to make in your private life, but I can tell you that I see the toll this is taking on you. You're two pounds lighter than at your last checkup six months ago. I would expect some weight gain by ten weeks gestation. You need to take the time to eat." "Paula, I try to eat but I just haven't been able to keep anything down. The morning sickness is just awful. I can't believe how whiny that sounds, but, honestly, I can't believe my mother did this four times." "Well, every pregnancy is different. I have some pamphlets here that should help. I'd like you to try some of the suggestions in them--small, frequent meals, saltine crackers, ginger ale. If you're still having trouble keeping food down, we'll try some vitamin therapy," Paula said, handing her the materials. "It may be miserable and inconvenient, but morning sickness is rarely dangerous. Just watch out for dehydration. I know you're well aware of the signs. "And I want you to try to slow down. You have a difficult job, but you need to get enough rest. Dana...is the father going to be able to support you in this pregnancy?" Scully stared at the sheaf of booklets in her hands, willing herself not to cry at the gentle concern in Paula's voice. "He isn't able to be involved right now." God that sounded like he was married. In a way, he was married--to his work, to the search for his sister. "It's fine, really. I can manage. The FBI is quite "family friendly" these days." <><><><> "What did the doctor say?" "Mulder, I don't understand you." She looked up from her decaf tea, shaking her head. He hadn't called after the doctor appointment the afternoon before, but she hadn't expected him to. "It was a straightforward question, wasn't it?" Mulder shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously uneasy under her cool stare. "Oh, it was simple enough. I just can't figure out where this concern fits in with your "unofficial" status." "Come on, Scully. You know I care about you. Please...what did the doctor say?" She sighed, eyes focused on the cloudy surface of her tea. "She said I'm fine. Everything looks fine." "I'm glad to hear that. I was worried." She nodded. So worried he needed to pick up the next available woman. She pushed that ugly thought down, reminding herself again that she had no right to feel possessive. "I know you were. But I'm okay, don't give it another thought." Her voice sounded harsh in her ears. "What did she say about the morning sickness?" Why the hell did he have that tender sound in his voice? His kindness grated on her skin and felt like pity. "She said it's perfectly normal. Really, let's drop it, all right?" "Sure. Forget I asked." The wounded look was one he did well. She turned away, suddenly fascinated by a Yeti clipping on Mulder's bulletin board. "You can't have it both ways, Mulder. You can't behave like the concerned father-to-be and the innocent bystander at the same time. It isn't fair, and it's too confusing. So just go back to ignoring me, okay?" <><><><> Part 4 - Pitched Battle "Dana, sweetheart, come in. You look tired; are you feeling all right?" "I'm fine, Mom." Dear God, this was going to be hard. The memory of every time she had ever disappointed her parents flashed before her, from the first "C" on a test to her choice to join the FBI. Her mother took her jacket and hung it in the hall closet. "It's just that you were in the hospital not too long ago." Scully glanced away, uncomfortable under her mother's scrutiny. Margaret Scully missed nothing. "That was over a month ago, Mom, and I really am fine." "Well, I'm just glad you're here. Dinner is almost ready." "You shouldn't have gone to a lot of trouble," Scully said, hugging her mother. "I'm here for the company, Mom." Scully tried to keep her voice light as the two women entered the kitchen. "It's no trouble at all. I hardly ever get to see you, sweetheart. Let me fuss a little." The scent of baking chicken filled the air, and Scully reflected that a smell she would have found appetizing a month ago was rapidly causing her to become nauseous. "Uh, Mom, can dinner wait for a little bit?" "Dana, honey, is something wrong? You just got very pale." There was a tiny vertical worry line between her mothers eyes that Scully couldn't remember seeing before tonight. "Can we go into the living room, Mom? I want to talk to you." She couldn't stay in the kitchen a minute longer, and giving her mother a visual demonstration of early pregnancy was not her idea of how to open up a dialogue. "Of course. Let me turn down the oven and I'll be right in." Scully moved through the living room, hands clenched at her sides. She pictured her father in this room, looking up from his book the night she told him about the FBI. What would he say if he could see the profound mess she'd made of her life? She glanced at the display of family photos: scrubbed faces in school pictures, snapshots in front of the Christmas tree. She picked up a small silver frame, studying the photo of seven-year-old Dana and Ahab as they exchanged mock salutes. Swallowing hard, she tried to force down the nausea. She listened to the sounds of pans clanking and the oven door being opened and closed. Picture in hand, Scully drifted over to the sofa. She turned at the sound of her mother entering the living room. "All done. Dinner will hold as long as it needs to. If there is one thing I learned with four children, it was how to hold dinner." Margaret Scully anxiously dried her hands on a dishtowel. "Sit down, Mom," Scully said, patting the sofa. Her mother tended to rattle on when she got nervous and Scully didn't think she could stand to wait a moment longer to deliver her news. "Mom. I...there's really no easy way to tell you this..." Scully couldn't look at her mother, staring instead at the silver framed photo. "Dana, you're scaring me. What is it?" Margaret reached for Scully's hand, squeezing a little too tightly. "I'm pregnant." There. It was out. Her mother was silent, shocked. "I didn't even know you were seeing anyone," her mother said, finally finding her tongue. Disappointment was etched on Margaret Scully's face. "I'm not seeing anyone, Mom. I...I know Dad would be so ashamed of me. It was an accident." Who was she kidding? It had been a train wreck, a cataclysm. Scully's eyes filled with tears. "And the father? Was he an accident too? Where does he fit in?" "He won't be involved, Mom." "Is he married, Dana?" Her mother's mouth was a hard little line of reproach. There were rules--things a good person did and didn't do, and in Margaret Scully's eyes, an affair with a married man would be among the worst transgressions. "No, nothing like that. All that matters is he won't be participating." "What kind of man would leave you to handle this alone, Dana? Do you have any idea how difficult this is going to be? It was hard--you have no idea how hard--when you all were babies and your father was away. It's lonely, and you're more tired than you ever in your life dreamed of. Oh, Dana..." "He's not a monster, Mom. He's a good person, but he just can't be part of this. I...uh...I'm in this alone." Her mother didn't speak for awkward seconds, no sound in the room but their breathing and the tick of the clock. Slowly, Margaret Scully reached over and took her daughter's hand. "You're not alone." <><><><> Two days later, she and Mulder went to Dearborn, Michigan to investigate a case of automatic writing that had turned up clues in a stalled murder investigation. Life, after all, didn't stand still because she was having a crisis. Mulder had done as she'd asked, keeping his concern to himself, and in the process, keeping his distance. He spoke to her only when necessary and kept his comments work related. He made no move to carry her luggage and didn't turn around in the airport to see if she was following him. Head held high, she refused to ask for help, even when her head pounded and her legs felt like lead. It was a pitched battle between the two of them--Mulder's studied unconcern, Scully's stubborn pride. Her independence proved almost impossible for her to maintain. Trips to the ladies room became longer and longer as she vomited up every morsel she consumed. In the campaign to return to business as usual, Mulder seemed to find an ally in the lovely detective who had called them in on the case. Pam Clayton was tall and slim and completely professional. Scully would have hated her if she could muster up the energy. The agents spent nearly a week in Dearborn evaluating the actual paranormal aspects of the case and assisting with the investigation into the clues brought forth. And perky little Meg-Ryanesque Pam Clayton was with them every minute, smiling up at Mulder, asking him questions and generally occupying his attention. The first day, they witnessed an automatic writing session. Mulder and Detective Clayton watched with barely concealed excitement as Marcella Krause, a seventy-year-old legally blind retired school teacher, scratched out phrases she couldn't see, even with her coke-bottle glasses. Scully hung back, standing near an open window, both to show her skepticism and because the stale old-lady smell of the room was making her sick. "What do you think, Scully?" Mulder asked, as he walked to the window. "I mean, if you were able to form an opinion from over here." "I saw all I needed to from here. Do I think Mrs. Krause has tapped into some source of information about the Hartfield murder? No. I'm not sure how she is doing what she's doing, but I think we'll find a more conventional reason than 'transmissions from the great beyond'." "Well, I'd love to here your theory," Mulder said. Detective Clayton moved over to them, resting her hand gently on Mulder's arm. "I've looked over the phrases Mrs. Krause wrote, and some of them are very promising. I'd like you to take a look, Agent Mulder." Of course, Mulder had to give Pam his undivided attention. To be fair, Detective Clayton had been warm and friendly to Scully, seeking her expertise on the forensic details. Scully lived on ginger ale and saltine crackers. One night, she treated herself to a 7-Up for a change of pace. It really didn't matter, since she couldn't keep any of it down. By the third day, she began to worry a bit, knowing she would need to call Paula as soon as they got back to DC. Much to Mulder's pleasure, the clues developed into some excellent leads. Scully reminded herself it didn't matter how the information had come about as long as it helped solve the crime and led to a conviction. But it still rankled her to see Pam beaming at Mulder. Detective Clayton invited them both to dinner on the night before they returned to Washington. Meals had been a trial all week, with Scully attempting to avoid Mulder's scrutiny. She'd managed to be away from the others at mealtime as often as she could. The prospect of being a third wheel as Mulder charmed the lovely Pam was just too much for Scully and she begged off, saying she wanted to order room service and have an early night. She managed six saltine crackers and a half cup of chicken bouillon but lost all of it within the hour. She worried that for every drop of fluid she took in, she lost more with every session of vomiting. She tried to sleep, but her body was restless. The sheets felt rough as her arms and legs thrashed about. Scully dozed, her mind fuzzy and unfocused. She tried not to listen for sounds from Mulder's room. It was late when she finally heard footsteps in the hall. The door to Mulder's room opened and closed. Voices drifted through the wall--Mulder's drone and the higher lilt of a woman's voice. She recognized that light tone as belonging to Detective Clayton's. Scully grimaced in the dark. The voices murmured in conversation for what seemed like hours, and Scully found herself straining to see if she could detect a shift from the drone of speech toward giggles and moans. "Oh God," she muttered as she realized what she was doing. She didn't need this. Life was wretched enough without being the unwilling witness to Mulder's overactive sex life, she pulled a pillow atop her head to block out the sound and tried to sleep. Exhaustion overtook her eventually, and she fell into a deep dreamless sleep. She woke feeling bruised in the morning. Regarding her image in the bathroom mirror, she noted her alarming pallor. Her eyes seemed lost in purple shadows. She gave up trying to cover the damage with makeup. Her suit seemed to hang on her frame, the button on her skirt a little loose. But she was beginning to detect a hard little bulge below the waistline and she knew that soon, her secret would be out. Then the rumors would start, the whispers behind her back. Her legs felt like rubber as she walked to Mulder's door. He answered her knock, looking crisp and healthy. He was in his stocking feet, his shirt untucked. "Come on in, Scully. I'm just about ready," he said, buttoning his shirt cuffs. "I ordered some toast and orange juice. Why don't you help yourself." In the short time she'd known him, she couldn't remember Mulder ever ordering toast for breakfast. She picked up a half slice of dry toast, taking a tiny bite. It gave her something to do that didn't involve looking at the unmade bed. Mulder sat down to tie his shoes, and she couldn't resist any longer. The bed was well rumpled, sheets tangled and pillows thrown about. Scully turned away and looked out the window. "All ready. Let's go," he said. She slept most of the flight home, grateful for the brief oblivion. She would open her eyes from time to time, and Mulder always seemed to be watching her. It was nearly 2:00 PM when they landed at Dulles. Mulder surprised her by not relinquishing her bag when he pulled it from the luggage carousel. She wanted to protest, but knew she wouldn't have been able to manage it. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other as it was. They had almost reached the exit when the world tilted and she stumbled against Mulder. He dropped the suitcases and caught her before she fell. Her last thought as she fainted dead away was that this was the first time Mulder had held her since that one insane night. Part 5 - Beeswax She woke to the sound of a heart monitor and the unmistakable smell of a hospital room. Eyes still closed, she was aware of two sensations: the vague pinching of an IV needle on the back of one hand and the security of a strong grip holding her other hand. She remembered bits and pieces of the last hours--Mulder's voice, choked with emotion as he called for help in the airport, the shriek of the ambulance siren, the sting of blood work being drawn. She opened her eyes to see Mulder's worried face. His jaw was covered with stubble, his eyes dark with fear. He sat in a hospital-issue plastic chair, worrying that incredible bottom lip with his teeth. "The baby?" she croaked. "The baby is fine," he reassured her, squeezing her hand. "You're going to blow your cover, Mulder, if you hang around like this," she croaked. Her head felt like a soap bubble, floating through the air. He smiled and brought her hand to his lips. "I'll take my chances," he mumbled against her fingers. "How do you feel?" "A little woozy, I guess. Pro'ly something in the IV." She couldn't get her tongue to work properly. "I wanna see my chart. Find it, okay." "Are you going to be able to read this?" he asked, lifting her chart from the holder on the end of the bed. "Just give it to me, okay," she said, prickling with annoyance. He handed her the chart and she held it in front of her face. The words all bled together, indecipherable in her medicated state. Hoping to at least fake it, she made "hmmm" sounds, flipping the pages briskly. Mulder seemed to be fighting a smile. If she could get out of bed, she'd smack him. Taking the chart out of her hands, he returned it to the end of the bed. "Your doctor was in earlier. She said you became severely dehydrated. They're giving you fluids and something for the nausea--said it might make you drowsy. You've been drifting in and out." Mulder's recap of her condition seemed to ignite something inside him. He paced from bed to window to door, as if he needed to work off excess energy. He turned to her and she could see a flash of anger pass over his features. "Scully...I wish you'd told me how sick you were," he said, his voice tight with control. "I wish I had, too," she said, forcing her eyes to remain open. "But you were busy with Dective...De-tec-tive Clayton." "Scully, we were working on the case. That's all." "Tha's not all, at all...that sounded so funny. God, I'm loopy. You shouldn't pay any attention to me...but then, tha's not much of a stretch for you, huh? Anyway, I know she came back to your room last night--I could hear you. It doesn't matter...none of my beeswax." She had the vague feeling that she was saying too much, but she couldn't seem to stop. She giggled, the sound peculiar in her ear. "That's what my brother used to say -all- the time, 'Go 'way squirt--none of your beeswax'." She giggled again, and remembering that she never giggled, tried to make a stern face. Oh, dear, but she was flying high. "She came back to my room after dinner and we talked. Nothing more." Irritation had made his voice loud. Mulder took a deep breath and spoke again, this time in a softer voice. "Why don't you take a nap? You can hardly keep your eyes open." "Don't tell me what to do," she said. She tried to keep her eyes open, but unfortunately, the mere suggestion that she take a nap proved too much to resist and she fell asleep before she could ask Mulder why he was always so bossy. Mulder was standing by her bed when she woke again. This time, Dr. Paula Sherwood was with him, speaking in a low voice. "Ah ha, Sleeping Beauty awakes! I was just telling Agent Mulder about the time we dressed Dr. Spritzer's lecture hall skeleton in that Frederick's of Hollywood get up." "Oh Lord, Paula," Scully groaned. "I'll never live that down now." "Sorry about that." Paula grinned at her. "Something tells me you can hold your own." "Oh, she's more than capable," Mulder said, dryly. "When she isn't passing out on me." "Yes, when she isn't passing out. Dana, I've got a bone to pick with you. You were supposed to watch out for dehydration, remember? Well, you shot right past morning sickness and ran headlong into Hyperemesis Gravidarum." "I know, I know. We were out of town, and it just got away from me. I was going to call you as soon as I got back, really." "How do you feel now? Any nausea?" "I feel pretty good, actually. No nausea at all. I was very groggy before, but I'm more awake now." "I lowered the dosage on the Phenergan. I'm going to continue the saline drip until your electrolytes stabilize and you can hold down solid food. Dana, this was awfully close." "I know it was. I'll be more careful--I promise." "I'm going to hold you to that, Dana. I'm going to let you get some rest. I want to get home in time to kiss the kids goodnight before bedtime. I'll stop by tomorrow." "Good night, Paula." "Good night, Dr. Sherwood," Mulder said, standing and offering his hand. Paula leveled a shrewd look at him before as she shook his hand. With a final wave, she left. "I think she suspects something," he said, looking toward the open doorway. "Well, you're pretty transparent, Mulder. With you hanging around looking so worried, she's going to make assumptions. I didn't say anything to her." Mulder yawned and returned to his seat by her bed. He looked exhausted. Waking up to find him with her had meant a lot to her, but it was better not to grow too used to his presence. "Mulder, it must be late. You should go home." "You probably want to get to sleep," he said. She thought there was a hint of regret in his voice. "I slept all day. I'll be awake for a while." "I'm pretty wired. I'd like to stay a while longer, if that's all right." "Suit yourself," she said, shifting to a more comfortable position on her side. A vague memory of giggling nagged at her brain. "I...uh...I hope I didn't say anything stupid when I was medicated." "You were pretty...medicated," he said, smiling at her. "Scully, you said you heard Pam Clayton in my room last night. I...uh...I just want you to know that all we did is talk. She left about 11:00 and I watched TV for a while and went to sleep." "Mulder, you don't have to explain." She closed her eyes in embarrassment. "I hope I didn't say anything....I mean, it really isn't my business what you do on your own time." "I think maybe it is your business, Scully. Or maybe it should be. Shit, I don't know what I'm saying. It's not that I didn't notice Pam was beautiful, but it felt wrong. I...it just felt wrong. I know you don't have any reason to believe me. I've hardly been celibate, but I've always made it a rule to keep distance between work and any 'extracurricular activities'." "I guess meaningless sex with me was your exception to the rule," she stated, leveling a look at him. There was a certain satisfaction to see the look of chagrin on Mulder's face. "I...I shouldn't have said that to you the next morning, because it wasn't true. That night was anything but meaningless to me." "It meant so much, you couldn't wait to escape?" "Do you want to know my first thought when I woke up that morning?" he asked, taking her hand. "After the initial shock of waking up in bed with my partner, I thought...I thought I'd never seen anyone look so beautiful that early in the morning. I lay there watching you for the longest time. Your skin was all creamy white--and your lips were parted just a tiny bit, so pink and perfect..." He seemed to stop himself, afraid perhaps of having said too much. She felt tears slip down her face. Mulder brushed them away with his thumb, his hand drifting down to cup her cheek. "I wanted nothing more than to gather you up in my arms, kiss you awake and make love to you all over again. And then reality came crashing down." His fingers withdrew from her face, and he sat forward with his hands between his knees. "I realized how high the stakes were, how much was at risk. Scully, our partnership means everything to me. It's been a long, long time since anyone had given a damn whether I lived or died." He shot her a sidelong glance. "Did you ever wonder why I never went out with the same woman twice?" "I have my theories." "One-night stands don't last long enough to get complicated. The women want nothing more than a good time with no strings. And that's about all I'm capable of providing. Scully, my last real long-term relationship died of neglect. At the end of the day, I'd given every bit of energy over to the work. I had nothing left for her. Eventually, she wised up and left. I wish I could be the man you deserve. But I can't give you what I don't have." His voice broke her heart, so full of sorrow and regret. She ought to be angry. She should rail at him--shout that she needed him, their baby needed him. But she couldn't. Damn him for making her care. "Go home, Mulder," she said gently. "Get some rest." He stood and brushed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow." She switched out the light as he left. It was a long time before she slept. Part 6 - Armistice With the blessed end of the first trimester, the nausea had abated. Scully gained seven pounds in three weeks, making her doctor very happy. The recuperative powers of the human body amazed Scully. Relationships were a little harder to mend, but she and Mulder did their best and settled into a pattern. They studiously ignored her pregnancy. They continued to work well together, maintaining an enviable solve rate. He made the leaps and she proved him right. They achieved an armistice in the painful war they'd fought. Mulder had been subdued, almost as if he was grieving. He no longer showed up rumpled in the mornings. He was neatly dressed each day, but he looked as if he wasn't sleeping well. His face seemed thinner, the cheekbones and jaw in sharper relief. The phone calls from assorted women had ceased, as far as she could tell. No breathlessly generic 'Is Fox there?' queries. It had been a long time since she'd overheard Mulder brushing last night's date off. There was a yearning quality to Mulder these days. He always seemed to be on the verge of asking her something. She would catch him reaching out to touch her, only to see him force his hand back to his side. His eyes always seemed to track her movements. She tried not to read too much into Mulder's silent surveillance. After all, he'd always been a little territorial. So perhaps now he carried her suitcase when they were traveling, or dropped her off at the door instead of letting her walk through the parking lot. Well, nice guys did that kind of thing. And Mulder had always been considerate. And if he called her more often in the evenings, well, friends talked on the phone. She reminded herself that it really didn't mean anything. It was confusing, though, this kindness without commitment. She made an appointment to speak with Skinner. Mulder offered to go with her, but she needed to do that alone. No need to engage Skinner's suspicions any more than she had to. Mulder would have fidgeted in his seat, giving off "it's me" rays. She marched up to the fourth floor and announced herself to the AD's assistant. Straightening her suit, she prayed the changes to her body weren't too obvious yet. The skirt's waistband was finally getting tight. Soon, she'd have to start holding it together with a safety pin. Thank goodness the jacket to this suit was long. Skinner's admin answered her phone, speaking in a low voice. "The assistant director will see you now," she announced. "Agent Scully." Skinner looked up from the stack of paper on his desk. His white shirt was perfectly pressed, the creases on the sleeves knife sharp. "Thank you for seeing me, sir," she said, entering the office and moving to a chair opposite her boss's desk. "What is this about, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked, as he sat down and gestured for her to do the same. "Are you having a problem with Agent Mulder?" "No, sir. This has nothing to do with Agent Mulder. I do have something that I need to tell you, though. I'm pregnant." She rather enjoyed watching Skinner's face as she delivered her news. In the second before his expression returned to stern and businesslike, she caught surprise and curiosity. And he couldn't legally ask her any of the questions that must be rattling around in his head. His eyes strayed briefly to the chair Mulder usually occupied before returning to her face. Scully had never trusted this man completely. He'd never given her any reason to doubt him in the short time he'd supervised the X-Files team, but there had always been something off kilter. There always seemed to be the stink of cigarettes in the office, and she knew the AD didn't smoke. She remembered the strange man who had hung back in the shadows of the office amidst a cloud of smoke, silently observing. The same man had been present the first time she met with Chief Blevins, upon her assignment to the X-Files. Though she'd never heard him speak, the man had always seemed ominous. Skinner cleared his throat and leveled a careful look at her. "Have you shared this news with Agent Mulder?" Scully glanced over at the sofa against the wall. The heavy glass ashtray on the end table contained several cigarette butts, a thin twist of smoke still drifting up from one. "Yes, sir. Agent Mulder is aware of my condition." "I see," Skinner said, gruffly. "You'll inform me if your doctor makes any changes in your work status." "Certainly, sir. I'll let you get back to work," she said as she left the office. Standing in the hall, she pondered AD Skinner's inscrutable connection with the man responsible for the cigarette butts. Mulder had talked about obstacles put in the path of his work. Was this man the source of those obstacles? She returned to the basement office to find Mulder standing at the worktable she used as a desk. He held the black and white ultrasound photo she'd brought back from her appointment the day before. There were tears in his eyes and an expression of such longing on his face. She froze in the doorway, unable to look away. The ultrasound appointment had been an awkward situation. Scully told Mulder she had to leave the office early, but with all pregnancy-related subjects out of bounds, she hadn't told him why. So, her mother had gone with her, watching with Scully as the image of the baby appeared on the monitor. It had been a bittersweet experience, seeing her child for the first time and realizing how much she wanted to share it with the child's father. She'd left the picture in plain sight, not as a rebuke or tease, but as an opportunity. Holding the photo with a trembling hand, he gasped as if someone had struck him, seeming to crumble internally. Something broke apart in her at the sight of Mulder obviously in pain. She cleared her throat, and Mulder hurriedly replaced the picture on the desk. "I'm sorry. I...uh...the picture was out, and I thought it might be evidence from the Bielman case." She smiled at his fib, crossing the room and picking up the picture. "It's all right. You can look at it," she said, pointing. "You can see the head here and the way the arm is bent--see, she's sucking her thumb." "She?" "That's what the technician thought. I don't know if I'd be painting the nursery pink on that evidence alone, but I am starting to think of the baby as 'she'." He looked at her midsection, shaking his head. "Amazing." "It is pretty amazing. Seeing her appear on the monitor just about blew me away. I guess I hadn't really thought beyond the initial shock of being pregnant. But there is a baby here," she said, resting her hand on the small mound of her belly. "A whole new little person." She took his hand in hers, gently placing it where his child lay within her. He closed his eyes, gasping slightly before he drew his hand away. "I can't. I...I wish it wasn't like this. Scully, it isn't safe for me to be involved." "Is this about your sister?" Mulder sighed. "At some point, everything comes back to Samantha." "Are you afraid this baby will be abducted, too? Or is it that you'll get distracted? That you'll stop looking for Samantha? What exactly are you afraid of, Mulder? I don't understand." "There are things I can't tell you. It's just too dangerous. If I had any sense at all, I'd ask Skinner to reassign you." She stared at him for a long time. "Well, I certainly appreciate having decisions taken out of my hands, Mulder," she said sarcastically. "Reassignment. Is that what you want?" "No! Not at all, but it isn't about what I want. You'd be a lot safer if you weren't connected to me in any way. Both of you." <><><><> They were called to consult on a case in Fredericksburg for the next few days. Too close to justify overnight accommodations, they'd made the hourlong drive each day. The ghostly visions of Confederate soldiers had turned out to be film school students making a very low budget horror film. She and Mulder drove back to DC after wrapping up the case. "It's almost 6:00," Mulder said. "We should stop for dinner." She smiled in the darkened car. For a man who routinely forgot to eat when he was working, Mulder had been vigilant about mealtime on this case. He obviously didn't want a repeat of the Dearborn debacle. "Okay." They stopped at a Crackerbarrel in Dumphries. Mulder seemed to pick at his food, all the while watching her carefully as she ate her dinner. She could swear he counted each forkful. The line for the register was long, so she wandered the gift shop while he waited to pay their bill. She looked at the old-time dolls, china tea sets and hand-painted jumpers, shaking her head at the inflated prices. A display of baby paraphernalia caught her eye. She knew she should stay away, but she found herself holding a sweet, pale yellow sweater, tenderly embroidered with apples and pears. "So tiny," Mulder said. She hadn't heard him approach, and now he stood at her elbow. "Yeah," she agreed. She moved to replace the sweater on the display shelf, when Mulder took it out of her hand. He moved around another shopper, returning to the cashier line. "You don't have to do that, Mulder," she said, catching up to him. "I want to. Please, let me do this one admittedly inadequate little thing." She nodded, tears in her eyes as he took out his wallet and paid for his purchase. How ridiculous, she thought; it was only a trinket from a gift shop chain. But somehow it touched her. Mulder smiled, his fingers brushing hers as he handed her the brown paper bag. They rode the rest of the way home in silence. She held the brown bag over the rise in her belly, as if to say, "Here baby, your daddy bought you something. He just may never be able to let you love him." He guided the car to a stop in front of her apartment. He'd insisted on picking her up each day for the drive to Fredericksburg. As she reached for the door handle, he touched her arm. "I'll call you later," he said. "I mean, if that's all right." Mulder's face was tender in the muted light from a streetlamp. She was seized by a wave of attraction, shocked at the power of it after all that had happened. She loved this man. What had begun as infatuation had deepened and transmuted into something she could no longer deny. It wasn't sensible; it would only bring her pain. Scully had repeated the phrases over and over, a mantra of caution and sensibility. But in the end, all the words in the world couldn't change one unmistakable fact: she loved him. Scully tried to keep her eyes on the misty street beyond the windshield, but her gaze strayed to the man next to her. Mulder's eyes were trained on his hands, locked tightly on the steering wheel as if he were afraid it might fly away. As if resisting a powerful force, his gaze drifted around the car before locking onto her face. There was a hunger in his expression, an ache so deep it took her breath away. The air between then seemed magnetized. Mulder leaned closer, his breath whispering against her face. She remembered another night when she'd turned her head to find Mulder this near. They'd been propelled that night by lust and intoxication. Tonight, there was something much stronger at work. His lips were warm as they brushed against hers. Had they been this soft that night? She tilted her head slightly and deepened the kiss. Her fingers rose to cradle his cheek before slipping into the silky hair at the back of his head. He pulled her into his arms, tenderness becoming passion. Surely, he hadn't kissed her like this months ago. No one had ever kissed her with this much emotion. He pulled away, gasping for air and visibly shaken. She shook her head, hoping to clear it. Would things ever be easy between them? "I'd better go," she murmured, reaching for the door handle. Mulder touched her lips with his thumb. "I...uh...I'll call you later," he said, his voice trembling a bit. "Good night, Mulder." She turned as she reached the door of her building, dazed by what had happened. She caught Mulder's eye as he watched her from the car, his expression unreadable. When was this fucking rollercoaster going to stop? Her heart couldn't take any more sharp corners and sudden dips. As she arrived at her apartment door, she realized she'd left the baby sweater in the car. Well, she -had- been distracted. She'd ask Mulder to bring it to work when he called her later. She unlocked her apartment door, and pushed it open. Her last conscious thought as hands grabbed her and a strange smelling cloth was pressed to her mouth, was of the little yellow sweater and the man who bought it. <><><><> Part 7 - Confinement Her first sensation was needing to go to the bathroom. Nothing new there--she was four months pregnant and pretty much always had to go to the bathroom. Head throbbing, Scully opened her eyes to find herself lying on a hospital bed in a white-painted room. The room was nearly featureless--no decoration and no furniture beyond the bed and a small bed stand. She could see a white tile bathroom, the door of which had been removed. "So much for privacy," she muttered, her mouth dry as cotton. Her legs were wobbly as she slid off the bed. She remembered kissing Mulder, walking to her apartment and then nothing. Scully's hand flew to her mouth, suddenly recalling the sweet smelling cloth that had covered her face and obliterated the world for a while. Had the smell been chloroform? Forcing her panic down, she tried to recall what chloroform smelled like. Arms protectively wrapped around her belly, she prayed that whatever the hell they'd used on her, hadn't hurt the baby. A fragment of a song played in her head. She couldn't remember where she'd heard it, but with a hand on her belly, she whispered the words, "Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around." Dear God, she was losing her mind--humming show tunes, no less. "Big talk, huh, baby. Haven't been so successful in the protection department, have I." Her clothes had been replaced by a blue and white patterned hospital gown. From the draft on her backside, she determined that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. A stack of identically printed gowns sat on the end of the bed, and she slipped one on to act as a bathrobe, covering her bare back. The floor was cold as she walked to the bathroom. The whole room felt chilled, especially with her less than adequate clothing. A wave of dizziness hit as she glanced up at the ceiling, spotting several closed-circuit cameras. She shivered, realizing every move, every breath she took was being monitored. Her desire for privacy was overcome by the pressure on her bladder, and she walked into the bathroom. Physical needs met, she washed her hands, glancing around the room. Lots and lots of white tile and not much else. A commode, sink and open shower were all the room contained. Everything was recessed and out of reach: light fixtures, soap dispenser, even the toilet tank. There was nothing she could use to defend herself or escape. She tottered back to the main room, trying the handle on the door. Of course, it was locked, as she assumed it would be. There was a small window in the door, and she had to stand on tiptoe to see through the wire-mess embedded in the glass. A blank wall was the only view available. She fought the urge to pound on the door in hysterics. She jiggled the door handle again, a little more desperately this time. Scully examined the nightstand to find the drawer and cabinet section were locked tight. She climbed onto the bed, wracking her mind for anything she could use to her advantage. Trying to force her eyelids to stay open was becoming harder and harder as the residual effects of the drugs in her system took their toll. She fought to stay awake, but sleep overtook her. She woke to the sound of the door being unlocked. Scully climbed out of bed as two people entered the room. Both were in hospital scrubs, their heads covered by paper operating room hats and their lower faces by sterile masks. The taller of the two individuals was a woman, though her body was bulky. The man was short but extremely muscular, biceps bulging against the short sleeves of his scrub top. "Dr. Scully, I see you've awakened from your afternoon nap. What lovely timing. We're going to take a little trip." The woman's voice was melodious, lilting and quite ominous. "Don't come near me!" Scully shouted, as the two approached. "I'm a federal agent! Let me go!" The woman's eyes and broad pink forehead were all Scully could see of her face. The eyes were pale blue, the eyelashes so blond they appeared white, giving her a strange rabbit-like appearance. The woman seemed to enjoy Scully's protestations, smiling through the mask. Scully fought, using her FBI training, bloodying the man's nose to her great satisfaction. She lashed out with her feet, getting in some effective kicks, but eventually found herself overpowered. The man caught Scully's arms, twisting them behind her back and forcing her face down onto the bed. "NO! Stop this now!" Scully cried out, voice muffled by the blankets. "I'm pregnant! Don't hurt my baby--stop!" "We're well aware of your condition, Dr. Scully. I had hoped to avoid drugging you again, but you leave me little choice." Again, the cheerful, terrible voice. Scully face was pushed into the mattress, muffling her screams. She could feel cold air on her backside as her gown was flipped up. "But, you'll be relieved to know, this won't hurt your baby at all." Scully felt the sting and burn of an injection in her hip. She continued to flail under the strong man's hands, but gradually, her movements became sluggish. She was powerless as they easily hoisted her onto the bed. Laying in a drugged stupor, Scully felt herself lifted onto a gurney. She tried to move, but her arms and legs wouldn't obey her commands. Even her voice would not work. She was screaming in her head, but no sound escaped her lips. She couldn't keep her eyes open against the bright lights as they wheeled her out of her room. Scully knew only the sensations of movement and rough handling as the gurney came to a halt. Her last impression before succumbing to complete oblivion was having her bare feet placed in cold metal stirrups. Scully came back to herself with the sensation of cramping. Her eyes flew open in alarm, fear sweeping away the tendrils of unconsciousness. She lay curled on her side in the hospital bed, arms protectively hugging her midsection even in sleep. Memories of being overpowered came back--the rabbit-eyed woman and her muscular helper. The woman's sing-song voice grated in Scully's mind, the pleasant words belying the heartless message. Scully ran nervous hands over her rounded abdomen. There seemed to be a tacky residue on her skin. Her fingers found a bandaid, high on her belly. There was another bandaid at the crook of her arm, the adhesive pinching her sensitive skin. She pulled that one off, examining the needle mark and bruising on her arm. What had happened to her? She reached between her legs, closing her eyes in disgust as she detected the slipperiness of lubricant. Someone had performed a pelvic exam, and most likely amniocentesis. Scully felt chills, realizing that her pregnancy was at the very early limit for that test. She bit her lip, imagining the large needle used in that test, picturing it piercing her innocent baby. God, if they'd hurt this child, she would hunt them down and kill them without a second thought. There was a tray on the bed stand, containing a dish with a metal cover, a container of milk and a small box of cereal. She lifted the cover to find eggs, toast and bacon. Pushing the tray away, she lay back on the bed. Even the innocuous box of corn flakes was suspect in this nightmare place. Mulder had tried to warn her. She'd discounted his words; assuming he was simply terrified of fatherhood. She owed him an apology and sincerely hoped she'd get the opportunity to deliver it. The thought that she might never see Mulder again nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she refused to let *them* see her cry. If she started to cry, she might never stop. She knew he must have been frantic when she didn't answer the phone the night he'd dropped her off at her apartment. He had always taken his responsibility to her seriously--to watch her back, to be there for her. She prayed that he wouldn't do anything foolish in his anxiety. Her family would be terribly worried. She hated the idea of her mother, so recently widowed, trying to deal with the disappearance of her youngest daughter. The sound of the lock turning brought her out of her thoughts. The door swung open and Dr. Rabbitface entered the room with a fresh tray in her hand. She placed it atop the untouched tray from breakfast. "How are we feeling today?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled by the mask on her face. Holding Scully's wrist, she took her pulse. "Any cramping? Spotting?" "Go to hell." Scully pulled her wrist out of the woman's grasp. "If you don't answer my questions, Dr. Scully, the orderlies will hold you down while I examine you." Rabbitface's tone was reasonable and even as she reached into her pocket for a pair of latex gloves. "Some cramping. No spotting," Scully enunciated carefully. Happy now?" "See how much easier it is when you cooperate?" The woman eyed the stack of trays. "You must eat, Dr. Scully," she said, her voice dripping with concern. "It isn't healthy for the baby." "I'm sure you were terribly concerned about my baby when you performed tests on her." Rabbitface took the untouched breakfast tray. "The health of your child is of paramount importance to me. I expect you to eat your lunch. You won't like the consequences if you don't do as I say." The door closed after the woman with a chilling finality. Scully pulled the blankets around her a bit closer. She tried to remember the last meal she'd eaten. How many days had it been since dinner on the way back from Fredericksburg? She ignored the hunger pangs, still unwilling to eat anything brought by Rabbitface. Why did they keep the room so cold? Was it to keep her huddled in bed? That tactic was apparently working as she shivered and looked around the brightly lit room. The lights never dimmed here. She wasn't sure how much time had passed with no cues except the meal trays. For all she knew, it had been four in the morning when lunch was delivered. Scully dozed on and off, eyes closed against the light. Scully was awake this time when the door was unlocked. She slid out of bed, not wanting them to find her at a disadvantage. Dr. Rabbitface entered followed by two orderlies, one of whom carried a fresh meal tray. The woman eyed Scully with disappointment, as she examined the untouched luncheon tray. "We can't have this, Dr. Scully. I would rather not resort to force feeding. Hmm...perhaps a little aversion therapy is in order." The woman turned to the orderlies and nodded in Scully's direction. "Hold her." Scully fought, but was no match for the two orderlies. She was quickly restrained her between them. Rabbitface smiled sweetly as she untied the strings of Scully's hospital gown, snatching it away. Goosebumps rose on bare skin. Scully struggled between the two smirking orderlies. Rabbitface stripped the sheets from the bed and gathered up the stack of hospital gowns. She went into the bathroom and returned with a small pile of towels. "Perhaps a little exposure will stimulate your appetite, Dr. Scully. You'll be happy to know that this won't harm your baby at all." Glancing at the orderly, the woman smiled. "I imagine surveillance won't be such a chore now." In a voice laden with reason and sympathy, Rabbitface continued, "Now, you needn't worry that the food is drugged. You've seen how easily we can subdue you. There is simply no reason to add anything to your food. Now, if you eat your dinner and all your meals tomorrow, we'll see about returning your gown. Good night, my dear." They left, carrying every scrap of fabric out of the room. Shivering in the cold air, Scully eyed the dinner tray. "Fuck them," she muttered, curling up on the bare mattress. They must have increased the air-conditioning. The room felt like a meat locker, and Scully shivered under the bright lights. She wrapped her arms protectively around her belly, as if she could protect her child from the evil that permeated the very air of this place. Her mother would tell her to pray to God for protection, but Scully wasn't sure if God was listening these days. She'd seen so many monsters--all too human creatures, preying on those who couldn't fight back. If God was out there, he'd apparently turned a blind eye. When she had been young, faith was easy and the world had seemed good and true. The prayers of her childhood were comforting chants, whispered in the darkness of her bedroom. Purely as meditation, Scully began to recite those prayers now. Her doubt in God's interest did not take away any of the comfort in repeating the words over and over. She found the greatest succor from the "Hail Mary." Perhaps she just identified with another pregnant woman who found herself in tough times. Morning came in the form of a fresh breakfast tray delivered by an orderly. Scully had spent part of the night shivering and weighing the danger of possibly drugged food against becoming weak from hunger. She had little doubt that further refusal to eat would result in a nasogastric tube or worse. Ever practical, Scully consumed most of her breakfast. She ignored the smug look in her nemesis' pale blue eyes when the breakfast tray was traded for a lunch tray. After Scully had eaten her dinner, Rabbitface appeared with hospital gowns, sheets and a blanket. Her voice throbbed with satisfaction and triumph. "It's so much nicer, isn't it, when we do as we're told." Scully resisted the urge to spit at the woman. Rabbitface left carrying the empty dinner tray, and Scully reached for a hospital gown. The days seemed to blend together with nothing to distinguish each one. Scully tried to keep track of the time by counting the trays of food that had come into the room. With the three trays that she hadn't eaten, she counted two dozen meals. It was after the twenty-fourth meal tray that Scully began to feel dizzy. She lay in bed, wishing the room would stop spinning as Rabbitface entered the room. "There was somethin' in the food, wasn' there?" Scully slurred. She struggled to sit up. There were now two rabbitface'd women, smirking at Scully. One of them pushed her back on the bed. "Why Dr. Scully, I'm crushed that you can ask that," the woman said with mock indignation. Hands held her down as she thrashed weakly on the bed. "You just need a little nap." <><><><> In case you were curious, the line Scully sang was from "Nothing's Going to Harm You," from Stephen Sondheim's Sweeney Todd. Part 8 - Safe "Cain' find 'em, no sir." Scully forced one eye open to see a wizened dark face inches from her own. "Ah think somebody stole 'em," the old woman said with conviction. "Coulda been you. D'you take my shoes?" "Huh?" Scully opened her other eye and looked around. She was in a hospital--there was no mistaking that, apparently lying on a gurney pushed against a corridor wall. "Mrs. Kitchings, you need to come back to the exam room, honey." A nurse approached the old woman. "Let the lady sleep, okay?" "I think she stole m' shoes." "Mrs. Kitchings, your shoes are back in the exam room." The nurse glanced at Scully. "This doesn't look like one of our blankets," she said, curiosity in her voice. She checked Scully's wrists for a plastic identification band. "Now, where did you come from?" "Don't touch me," Scully growled, pulling her hand back, panic rising within her. Would Rabbitface find her and put her back in the cold white room? "Dr. Nasir!" the nurse called out. "This patient doesn't have an ID bracelet." A dark-skinned balding man walked over, shaking his head. "How long has she been here?" "It's been so busy tonight; we've had them stacked out in the hallway. I didn't notice her until a minute ago," the nurse said. She turned to Scully. "Do you know how you got here?" Dazed and frightened, Scully tried to climb off the gurney. She had to get away--they might be coming to get her, to hurt her baby. "Don't come near me," she warned. "Easy...easy," the doctor said, grabbing her arms. "We only want to help you." The struggle to escape caused the room to spin. Scully squeezed her eyes shut trying to ease the dizziness. "Please don't hurt my baby," she mumbled as she passed out. <><><><> "Dana! Oh my God, Dana, everyone's been so worried about you." Paula Sherwood burst into the cubicle, embracing Scully as she sat on the exam table. Pulling back a little, Paula looked at her patient. "They called up to Obstetrics, asking if we'd lost a patient. As soon as they described the woman, I knew it was you." The second time she'd come back to consciousness, Scully had been coherent enough to identify herself. She'd held herself together, making sure the hospital staff bagged the gown and blanket she'd been left in as evidence. Dressed in a fresh gown and covered by a new blanket, she tried to make sense of what had happened to her. The dizziness was gone, but she was left with a dull headache and a knot of fear in her belly. "Where were you, Dana? Are you all right?" "I don't know...I was kept in a room. I don't know where." Scully looked down at her hand, resting on the small bulge in her abdomen. "Your mother's been frantic," Paula said. "And your partner...Dana, I was getting worried about him. Have you called them?" "I tried. One of the nurses brought me a phone. I talked to my mother--I thought she was going to pass out on me. I wasn't able to get hold of Mulder though--I left messages, but he wasn't answering his phone or his cell. God, I hope he's all right." "I think the question is, 'are you all right'?" Did they hurt you?" Concern played across Paula's face. "Paula," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not sure what they did to me." "Oh Dana." Paula slipped an arm around Scully's shoulder. "We'll find out, okay?" "Okay," Scully whispered. Her stomach roiled in fear and uncertainty as Paula collected the items she'd need for an exam. "Dana...I have to ask you something. Do you think you were raped?" "No. Not sexually." Scully closed her eyes, willing herself to continue. "They drugged me several times, and I know they performed tests. But, I don't know what they did when I was unconscious. I think they did an amnio. Oh God, Paula...what if they hurt my baby?" "We're going to find out, I promise. "Right now, I'd like to draw blood for some testing. Are you comfortable with that?" Paula asked. Nodding, Scully looked away as Paula worked. It comforted Scully, knowing that Paula was saving her patient from one more pair of hands touching her. "All done. Dana, we're going to get through this. I'm going to have you lie down now." Scully's body wouldn't obey her, her arms and legs felt paralyzed with fear. Paula rubbed her shoulders, speaking softly. "I know this is hard, Dana. But it's the only way we can find out what happened." Scully nodded, the lump in her throat making speech impossible, and allowed Paula to help her get into position. The doctor was gentle as always, talking through the entire exam. Every action was made with a quiet notification beforehand. "Dana, I think we should treat this as an assault," Paula said, as she reached for a rape evidence kit. Scully squeezed her eyes shut, nodding. She tried to control her breathing, reminding herself that this necessary and careful exam bore no resemblance to the invasion her body had undergone when she was unconscious. But that didn't stop the tears from slipping down. "All done. Dana, everything looks fine. I'm just going to listen to the heartbeat." Paula stripped off her gloves and straightened the hospital gown over Scully. She fitted the earpieces in place, and positioned the stethoscope over Scully's abdomen. Her face broke into a smile. "Sounds great. Nice, strong heartbeat." "Thank God." Scully exhaled shakily, covering her face with her hands. "Listen for yourself." Paula smiled, fitting the earpieces onto Scully and moving the stethoscope into place. Scully gasped with joy at the sound of the baby's fast, strong heartbeat. Paula extended a hand, helping Scully sit up. Both women turned at the sound of shouts and scuffling beyond the door. "I need to see Dana Scully!" Scully's breath caught at the sound of Mulder's voice. "Sir, you have to calm down! The doctor is in with her now. Sir! You can't go in there." "Scully! Scully!" The pounding on the door echoed like gunfire. "For Pete's sake, hold on a minute," Paula muttered, opening the exam room door. Mulder burst through, saw Scully and seemed to sway on his feet. He crossed the room in three long strides, enfolding Scully in an embrace that threatened to fracture her ribs. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, his body shuddered against her. "I thought I'd never see you again," he murmured into her hair. Her hands moved over his back, feeling the too sharp bones of his shoulder blades through the limp fabric of his shirt. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I think so." She blinked back tears. For the first time since she walked into her apartment, who knew how many days ago, she felt safe. Now, if she could only figure out how to go to work every day wrapped around Mulder, she might just make it. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry," he whispered against her. "It's okay. I'm okay." She turned her face into the crook of Mulder's neck, inhaling the scent of pain and sweat. *cough* "I'm just going to run these blood samples out to the desk." They continued to cling together long after Paula quietly closed the door behind her. When they separated, finally, Scully took a good look at Mulder. What she saw shocked her, and she understood why Paula had been so concerned about him. His face was all angles, his jaw a sharp, painful edge. His hair had become overgrown, casting shadows where it hung over his eyes. It was the pain and desperation in those eyes that took her breath away. "When was the last time you slept, Mulder?" He offered a wry smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter. Nothing matters now that you're safe." Hunger radiated from his eyes, and he seemed unable to look away. His hands never left her, touching her arms, her face, her hair. Even a discreet knock on the door failed to distract Mulder. "Dana? Dana, are you in there?" "Come in, Mom," she called out, recognizing her mother's worried voice. "Oh thank God." Her mother flew across the room, arms outstretched. Mulder reluctantly stepped back, allowing Margaret Scully to embrace her daughter. "Oh, honey, I've been so worried." "I know, Mom. I'm so sorry." "Hello, Mrs. Scully," Mulder said, shuffling his feet and looking at the floor. "Agent Mulder." Her mother's tone was wary as she nodded to him. He seemed to fade into the background, perhaps unsure of his place now that her mother had arrived. But his eyes never left Scully. "You're shivering, sweetheart," her mother said, her arm protectively around Scully's shoulder. "I brought some clothes as you asked. The waistband on the pants is elastic--I think they'll fit." Maggie pulled a turquoise jog suit out of a bag, her fingers busily smoothing the fabric. "Thanks, Mom," Scully said as she reached for the suit. "I can't wait to put on some real clothes." "Do you need help, dear?" "I'll be fine, Mom. I just want to get out of here." "Well, I see good news travels fast," Paula said, returning to the room. "It's wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Scully." "I'm just so happy that Dana is all right," her mother said. "She is all right isn't she?" "I'm fine, Mom," Scully said, hoping to regain some control of the situation. "And as soon as I get dressed, I'm going home." "Is that wise?" Margaret Scully asked Paula. "I mean, Dana was unconscious just a few hours ago." "Dana, we probably should keep you for observation," Paula said, turning to her patient. Scully was grateful someone was talking to her. "Paula, I want to go home." She glanced around the examining room with a shudder. "I...I don't think I could bear a night in the hospital." Paula met her patient's eyes with understanding. "I'd prefer you to be here, but I agree--you can't rest if you don't feel safe. I do think someone should be with you, though." "Of course she shouldn't be alone..." Mrs. Scully began. "She won't be alone." The three women turned, surprised at the intensity of the quiet, deep voice. "I'm taking you home, Scully." <><><><> Part 9 - Mr. Accidental A fragment of bright yellow crime scene tape still clung to her front door. The plastic was slippery against her fingers as she pulled it off. "Lovely," she muttered, shivering a little despite Mulder's jacket worn over the jogging suit. Mulder stood beside her, his hand warm against her back. "Your bag is still in evidence," he said. "It was found inside the open door of the apartment. You must have dropped it when you were grabbed. Your mother gave me her key at the hospital." "Why didn't you tell her you already had a key?" she asked. It had been months since they had exchanged keys during Mulder's recuperation from the wound he'd received in North Carolina. "Didn't have the guts," he replied, hiding a smile. "Let's just say, your mother intimidates me a little." She was a little surprised at her mother handing Mulder a key to anything, much less her daughter's apartment. Margaret Scully had been less than enthusiastic at the idea of Mulder staying with her. "Dana, I want you to come back to my house," she'd said at the hospital. Scully had been adamant; she needed to sleep in her own bed. If she didn't go home that night, she might never be able to face returning to the place where she'd been kidnapped. The larger hurdle was in persuading her mother that Mulder should accompany her home. It had been Mulder who pointed out that as an armed federal agent, he was better equipped to protect Scully. Reluctantly, Margaret agreed to wait until the next day to stop by with groceries. Scully was sure her mother would be up all night, shopping and cooking. Mulder unlocked the apartment door, pushing it open. Scully swallowed past the lump in her throat, walking into the living room on legs that felt like rubber. "There may be a little fingerprint dust here and there," he said, walking ahead to turn on a lamp. "I called Skinner while you were getting dressed. He agreed to hold off on any questions until tomorrow." She slipped out of Mulder's jacket while he busied himself with the lights. Surreptitiously, she brought the fabric to her face and inhaled, breathing in the warm, clean scent of Mulder's aftershave. She had come so close to never seeing him again. Shuddering, she remembering how frightened she'd been, how alone. She dropped the jacket over the back of the couch. The room tilted slightly. As she reached out to steady herself with a hand on the sofa, Mulder rushed to her side. "Hey, we need to get you to bed." If she'd had an ounce of energy, she would have bristled at Mulder's "take charge" routine. Instead, she allowed him to lead her through the living room and into her bedroom. "Can you hand me a nightgown?" she asked as she sat on the bed. "Top drawer of the dresser." Mulder looked exceedingly uncomfortable rummaging around in her lingerie drawer. She might have smiled if she wasn't so drained. The remains of the drugs in her system seemed to press down on her like an ocean of water. He finally drew out a blue plaid nightshirt, a Christmas gift from her mother several years ago. "This one okay?" "Fine," she answered. It was certainly appropriate, she thought, for a high school sleepover. Maybe she and Mulder could make brownies and set each other's hair. "Can you manage?" he asked. He seemed relieved at her nod and left, closing the bedroom door behind him. Slowly, she unzipped the jog suit top and slipped it off. Her hand rested on the gentle bulge of the baby, and she wondered when she would start to feel the child move within her. Sometimes, it all felt a little unreal--the physical changes, the emotional upheaval--as if it were all happening to someone else. She shrugged into the nightshirt, standing to shake it down over her hips. Scully toed off the sneakers her mother had brought with the jog suit. Skimming the slacks down, she kicked the them off and dropped back on the bed. God, she was tired. The simple act of climbing into bed seemed an insurmountable task. "You okay?" Mulder called through the door, probably having hovered right outside. "Yeah. Come on in," she answered. He looked exhausted standing in the doorway, with eyes slightly glazed over and shoulders slumped. How long had it been since he slept for more than an hour or two? "I wondered if you needed any help." Mulder approached the bed, straightening the pillows and drawing the comforter down so she could slip underneath. "I...uh...I do have a favor to ask." Sitting against the pillows, she glanced down at the blanket. "Would you stay with me until I fall asleep?" He nodded, turning out the light. "Sure," he answered, softly. She slid down, turning on her side. Mulder sat on the end of the bed, his back curved in exhaustion. "Why don't you lie down?" she asked. He shook his head in token resistance. Looking into her eyes, he smiled ruefully before pulling off his shoes and stretching out beside her. It was a toss up as to which of them was asleep first. <><><><> "Hold her down." Her arms and legs were held down, gripped by hands like iron vices as she struggled fiercely. "Let go! Leave me alone!" "Settle down, my dear," Dr. Rabbitface said, her voice honey sweet. The woman's eyes glittered like blue ice chips. "We need to do a few more tests." Rabbitface held a large syringe above Scully's abdomen. The long needle glinted in the bright light, its sharp tip moving closer and closer to the bare skin. "Get away from me," Scully shouted. "Mulder! Mulder, help me!" "I'm here. I'm here, Scully. It's okay. You were dreaming." Mulder pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "You're safe now." She realized her face was wet with tears, strands of hair plastered to her cheeks. Mulder brushed the hair back, looking into her eyes. "Can you tell me about the dream?" She shook her head. To talk about it would make it too real, would bring it right into this room. "Maybe later, okay?" "Sure," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "We'll do whatever you need. Do you want some water?" "No, thank you. What time is it?" she asked, her voice shaking. "About four," he said glancing at his watch. "You need to try and sleep some more." She nodded, sliding down in bed. Mulder lay spooned behind her, his hand tenderly stroking her hair. "I won't let anything happen to you." His arm snaked around her waist, hand resting on her belly. With Mulder's breath stirring her hair, Scully drifted off. Waking to sunlight streaming between the slats of her blinds, the dream was almost forgotten in the safe warmth of her bed. Mulder was gone, but his scent remained, comforting her as his presence had in the middle of the night. She stretched, cat-like, luxuriating in the softness of her own nightgown and sheets. Rolling onto her side, she peered at display on her alarm clock. She hadn't slept until 10:30 in years. Life always seemed so much easier to face in the morning. Using the bathroom, she turned the lock with satisfaction, not because she needed to, but because she could. Her stomach growled, and for the first time in days, she she wanted to eat. These were such small things, but miraculous to her now. She heard the murmur of voices drifting from the kitchen as she opened the bedroom door. Wrapped up in her bathrobe, she allows hunger and curiosity to draw her to the kitchen. "Well, Dana was never one to fuss," her mother said. "She fractured her wrist when she was six, rough-housing with her brothers. Not once did she complain; we didn't know it was broken for two days until I noticed she was favoring it." "That sounds like Dana. I didn't know she hadn't told you about the dehydration." An uncomfortable silence had settled over the kitchen. As she reached the door, Scully saw Mulder standing by the counter, studying his fingernails with more intensity than they warranted. Her mother sat at the kitchen table, her hands cradling a mug of tea. "Good morning. I can't believe how long I slept." Scully walked into the kitchen. "Or that I made such interesting breakfast conversation," she muttered under her breath. "Good morning, sweetheart. Are you hungry? I brought some groceries." "Starved. I'll just get some cereal." "Nonsense. Sit down. Let me get you some juice," her mother said, rising from her chair. "I can whip up some eggs in a jiffy." Scully sat, watching Mulder move out of her mother's way as Margaret bustled between fridge and table and stove. His shirt was creased from being slept in, his jaw covered with stubble. A frying pan sat on the range burner, recently used. A plate containing the remnants of breakfast and a used juice glass lay in the kitchen sink. "Agent Mulder, would you like more eggs?" her mother asked. "No thank you, Mrs. Scully." He turned to Scully. "Uh...I'm going to hit the shower, if that's all right." "Sure," Scully said, bemused. Her mother laid a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and toast before her. Scully watched Mulder's retreating back over the edge of her juice glass. Could things get any more surreal, she wondered, than her mother cooking Fox Mulder breakfast. Only the concept of Mulder showering in her apartment while mother eyed daughter with a pensive gaze. "I take it that's Mr. Accidental?" her mother asked. Scully choked on a sip of juice. "Mom..." "Don't bother to deny it, Dana, because we both know it's true." Her mother returned to the table with a refilled tea mug. "Eat your eggs before they get cold." "Mom, there were reasons I couldn't tell you." "I know, I know. There are far too many things you can't tell me." "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was in the hospital last month. I knew you'd worry, and I really was fine." "Dana, you don't end up in the hospital because you're fine. I don't want you to keep things from me anymore. I don't like having to find things out from a complete stranger." Margaret glanced in the direction of the bathroom. "I will admit, though, he was the only one who would give me a straight answer when you were missing." "You must have been so worried." "We were all worried. I don't think Agent Mulder ate or slept the entire time you were gone. He'd stop by with whatever news there was on the investigation...one night I thought he was going to collapse on my doorstep. Dana, I just don't understand." Her mother broke off and listened for the sound of the shower. "He obviously cares for you. Why won't he acknowledge this child." "It's hard to explain, Mom. Mulder...Mulder was afraid that his involvement in this pregnancy would bring unwanted attention from some men he has been investigating for work." "And you think that's who kidnapped you? Dana, what kind of men is Mulder investigating? Is it...organized crime?" "In a manner of speaking. They're certainly organized." "Oh, honey...what are you going to do?" "I don't know, Mom. I just don't know what's going to happen." The cessation of running water signaled the end of the conversation. The women listened to the distant sounds of Mulder moving around the bathroom. "Scully," he said as he returned to the kitchen. "I just talked to Skinner. He's going to come by after lunch. He said he wanted to handle your debriefing himself." "I'm flattered," Scully said dryly. "Assistant Director Skinner is our new boss," she told her mother. "Uh, Scully. I'm going to run to my apartment while your mom is here. I need to pick up a few things." "Mulder, you must have things you need to do. I'll be all right," Scully said. "Everything I need to do is here, Scully. I...uh...I'm going to move in for a while." "Funny, but I don't remember advertising for a roommate. Tell me, Mulder, how does this fit in with your non-involvement policy?" "I was wrong about that. I thought you'd be safer if I kept my distance. But that was a mistake--you were in danger anyway. I won't get in your way," he assured her. "We'll be roommates-- nothing else, I promise." "That's not the point, Mulder. I can take care of myself. I don't need a bodyguard or want you here out of some misplaced feeling of obligation." "Scully, I've never doubted you could take care of yourself. Hell, you've saved my ass a few times." Mulder seemed to realize they weren't alone in the room, turning to see Margaret Scully watching them with curiosity. "But right now, you need someone. Scully, I couldn't handle it if something happened to you. I...I need to be here, okay?" Something in his eyes kept her from arguing further. "One week," she offered. "A month," he countered. "Two weeks," she said. "And that's final." <><><><> Part 10 - Hunch "We're all grateful for your safe return, Agent Scully." Assistant Director Skinner's large frame dwarfed the easy chair as he fidgeted with his pad and pencil. She regarded him from the sofa, still a bit surprised that he was conducting the interview himself. "Thank you, sir," she replied, clutching a mug of hot tea between her chilled hands. "I'm glad to be back." Mulder sprawled at the other end of the sofa, his eyes never leaving her. He'd arrived earlier that afternoon with a duffle bag, two suitcases and a large carton of papers--far more than two weeks worth of belongings. She'd half expected to see his fish tank strapped to his back. Now, he was making himself quite comfortable. Skinner eyed him with curiosity. "The hospital gown and blanket are still being examined, and the analysis from your physical exam isn't back yet," Skinner said, shifting position in his chair. "Agent Scully, what do you remember?" "Agent Mulder and I returned from Fredericksburg on..." She couldn't remember what night it had been, which upset her more than she would admit. "Tuesday. July 10th," Mulder prompted. He watched her through hooded eyes. This was the first time he would hear her story; she'd been too exhausted to talk on the drive home last night. He'd seemed satisfied just to have her beside him, but this afternoon, she had his undivided attention. "Yes. We returned the evening of the 10th. Mulder dropped me off around 8:30. I unlocked my apartment door and walked in. Someone grabbed me and placed a cloth over my nose and mouth--possibly chloroform or another sweet-smelling anesthetic inhalant; I was unconscious almost instantly." Her mouth was unbearably dry. Taking a sip of her tea, she forced herself to go on. She hoped her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, and didn't reflect the turmoil in her mind. "I woke in what appeared to be a sparsely furnished hospital room. I'm not sure of the actual location...I was locked in the room the entire time, except when I was examined." "Examined? By whom?" Skinner asked. He seemed to have gone rather pale, sweat glistening on his bald head. "I never saw their faces--they wore surgical masks. There were three individuals, one woman and two men. The woman was large and powerfully built, very blonde, almost white hair under a surgical cap, and pale blue eyes. The two men were both muscular and dark-haired with dark eyes. They overpowered and drugged me." She stopped and took a long drink of tea. Her hands had begun to tremble, creating a tiny tidal wave in her mug. Mulder was no longer lounging on the sofa. He sat forward, hands clasped between his knees, tension evident in his every fiber. "Have you and your doctor been able to determine...what was done to you, Agent Scully," Skinner asked, his eyes trained on his pad. Mulder had sprung off the couch, pacing the edges of the room. "As I said, I was sedated throughout the exam. But I believe blood was drawn and a pelvic examination was performed." Just within her line of sight, Mulder froze, his body vibrating like a tuning fork. "And an amniocentesis was probably done, though it was dangerously early for that test to be administered." "Did it hurt the baby?" Mulder asked, his voice choked with emotion. He returned to the couch, perching on the edge of the seat. "I don't think so. My doctor thinks the baby wasn't harmed. She's scheduled me for a full exam and a sonogram, just to be on the safe side." "And after the testing, was there any other interaction with your captors?" Skinner asked. "They brought meals, clean linen. I saw the woman most often. She appeared to have a medical background. She took my temperature and blood pressure--superficial testing only. But there was always this element of control." "Did they hurt you, Scully?" Mulder asked, his words sharp and tight. "No. Their purpose seemed to be making sure I knew I was vulnerable, that they could subdue me whenever they chose. They made it clear that they didn't want to hurt the baby, so their approach was more psychological than physical." "Agent Scully, it's clear the focus of this abduction was your pregnancy." Skinner cleared his throat. "Who knew about the baby?" "Mulder, my mother, my doctor, and....you, sir." "And the baby's father?" Skinner asked. "The father is aware," Scully answered, her voice cool and controlled. She willed herself not to glance at Mulder. Skinner's eyes drifted from her to Mulder and then back, but he didn't pursue the question. "And you told no one else, Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?" Mulder shook his head. "What about your mother, Agent Scully? Did she tell anyone?" "I doubt it. She isn't likely to broadcast the news that her daughter is going to be an unwed mother." "And the father," Skinner said. "Would he have told anyone?" "The father has made it clear he won't be involved. I doubt he would be discussing it with anyone." She fought back a bitter chuckle before leveling her gaze at Skinner. "Sir, did you tell anyone about my pregnancy?" She couldn't categorize the look that briefly passed over Skinner's face: guilt, anger, or maybe just surprise that she'd confront him on this. It passed almost immediately as Skinner composed himself. "I haven't...spoken to anyone about your condition," he said, rising from his chair. "Agent Scully, you must be exhausted. I'll call if I have any further questions." <><><><> "You missed a spot," Mulder said, pointing to a smudge of tomato sauce on the back of a dish. "Thanks." She dunked the dinner plate back into the soapy water. This was truly bizarre--washing up after dinner like an old married couple. If she didn't dwell on the details of an unwilling father, unwed pregnancy and unpleasant abduction, she and Mulder could be almost normal. They'd enjoyed a dinner consisting of her mother's lasagna and garlic bread. Mulder had put away two servings leading Scully to wonder if she could afford the grocery bills he'd generate. But remembering how thin he'd felt when he embraced her, she found herself offering him a third helping. Margaret Scully had surprised her daughter by accepting Mulder's houseguest status without argument. Scully wasn't sure what precipitated that agreement. Perhaps her mother thought a reluctant father was better than no father at all. Unfortunately, Mulder was concerned with her safety and nothing else. He had no intention of being more than a bodyguard. "What did you mean back there...with Skinner?" Mulder asked as he took a wet dish out of her soapy hand. "I answered his questions. What do you mean, 'what did I mean back there'?" Scully rinsed the suds from a salad bowl. "Skinner thinks the baby's father is a deadbeat, Scully." "What does Skinner's opinion matter? The less he knows about the whole thing, the better." "It sounds as if you suspect him of involvement in your abduction." Mulder carefully placed the dish on the counter as Scully handed him the clean bowl. She looked down at the steaming dishwater. "It all seems so coincidental; I meet with Skinner, and in a matter of days, I wake up locked in a hospital room. "That's quite a stretch, Scully. Do you have anything beyond coincidence to base this on?" Mulder lounged against the counter, waiting for her to finish the next dish. She scraped fiercely at a clump of congealed cheese on the surface of a plate. "No, nothing concrete, but I had the strangest feeling when I left his office that day." "So you're condemning him on a 'hunch'?" he asked, incredulous. "Mulder, you make leaps every day, and I'm expected to jump along with you. Will you give me a little credit here? There was a smoldering cigarette butt in his ashtray, and the place reeked of smoke. We both know who hangs around that office. I don't think Skinner scratches his backside without that man knowing about it." The dishwater sloshed as she scrubbed the plate, splashing up on the front of her shirt. "Damn it," she muttered, wiping at her belly with a dishtowel. "I think you're wrong about Skinner," he said with conviction. "Oh, and what do you base that on? A 'hunch'?" "He was there for me when you were missing. I was going off the deep end there, Scully. I mean, really losing it." Mulder seemed embarrassed by his admission. "Skinner isn't that good an actor. He was genuinely worried about you. And he kept me from falling apart." She rinsed the last dish and handed it to Mulder. Emptying the dishpan, she turned to face him. She was moved by his honesty, but couldn't deny her instincts. "Something isn't adding up about him. I don't know what's wrong, but he's connected somehow." She dried her hands on a dishtowel and turned to him. "I'm tired. I think I'm going to take a bath. Mulder was still leaning against the kitchen counter, lost in his thoughts, when she left the room. Entering the bathroom, Scully closed the drain on the tub and turned the taps full throttle. She poured a capful of sandlewood bubblebath under the rushing water and checked the temperature of the water. Rising from the tub, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. They say pregnant women glow. This pregnancy had been anything but easy, but as she looked at her reflection, Scully had to admit there was a certain luminescence to her skin. Her eyes were brighter, her hair shinier. How incredibly ironic. Scully went into the bedroom to undress, stripping off the slacks and long-sleeve top she wore. Looking down at her rounded belly, she realized that maternity clothes were definitely on the horizon. She removed her underwear and wrapped herself in a white terrycloth robe. The bathwater continued to rise, filling the air with woodsy scent. Scully shrugged out of the robe, accidentally over-turning a metal towel rack when the sleeve got caught on it. The rack toppled with a mighty clatter as it hit the tile floor. She replaced the rack, straightening the towels, when she heard pounding on the bathroom door. Before she had a chance to open her mouth, the door flew open, revealing a worried Mulder. "Are you all right?" he gasped. His expression changed from worried to embarrassed in the space of a heartbeat as he realized she was naked. "I'm sorry. I called out, but you didn't answer. I was afraid you'd fallen." His gaze never left her, eyes glued to her changing body. Embarrassment changed to something else, as a look of amazement overtook Mulder's face. He seemed transfixed, staggered by the changes in her body. "I knocked over the rack. I didn't hear you over the running water," she said. Indeed, the noise almost drowned out the sound of her heart thudding in her chest. The water needed to be shut off, but she couldn't make her body move. She was barely able to breathe. His hands twitched as his side, almost as if he were fighting not to reach out and touch her. She glanced down, noting the roundness of her enlarged breasts, the nipples hardening even in the warm air of the bathroom. She rested her hand on the gentle curve of her belly. "I think I'm getting clumsy." "I think this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he whispered and shook his head, as if to clear it. "I should let you take your bath." His embarrassment seemed to return as he slipped out of the room. She watched the door close behind him, trying to figure out what had just happened. As she slipped into the still warm water, she smiled at the sound of Mulder gently banging his head against the wall. <><><><> Part 11 - Off-balance "You have a headache because you're experiencing caffeine withdrawal. You can have real coffee, Mulder. I won't be upset." "As long as you have to drink this swill, I do too," Mulder said. He tossed two aspirin back and washed it down with a gulp of lukewarm decaf. Two weeks had come and gone, and Mulder showed no signs of packing up. She hadn't the heart to bring up the deadline, maybe because she enjoyed the company. It was nice to see him across the breakfast table, spooning up his sugar-frosted cocoa puffs. Scully did her best to put the abduction behind her, but the impact of the experience came through in ways she couldn't control. She woke screaming many nights, rousing Mulder from his makeshift bed on her sofa. He'd stumble into the bedroom, hair on end, and eyes at half-mast. Though frustrated that she wouldn't share her fears with him, he never denied her the comfort of his embrace. He also didn't call her on the odd little habits that had cropped up. He'd eye her long-sleeves and layers of clothing in midsummer, but never broached the subject. And if he wondered why she checked the doors several times a day, unlocking and locking them again, but he never questioned her on it. They certainly were a pair, she thought, as she took a bite of cantaloupe and watched Mulder grimace over his coffee. His behavior confused her. Though he despised it, he drank decaf coffee in solidarity with her. But when Paula sent her for a repeat ultrasound a few days ago, he politely declined her invitation to come in and stayed in the waiting room. Had he been afraid seeing the image of his daughter would bond him to her? Maybe Scully had hit on the truth weeks ago--Mulder thought he would become distracted by this child and abandon his search for Samantha. So Mulder kept up his careful resistance against anything that might tie him emotionally to the baby, with odd moments of utter devotion. Between Mulder and her increasing girth, she couldn't tell what kept her more off-balance. "We're going to be late, Scully." Mulder stood, stretching his arms out, the crisp white of his shirt dazzling in the morning light. He carried his mug and cereal bowl to the sink. Having Mulder around was proving to be a huge distraction. Late at night, she would shuffle past his boxer-clad form on her way to the kitchen for a glass of milk. The sight of him, half-naked and stretched out on her sofa was almost more than she could handle. Her bathroom smelled of his soap and aftershave. Her hall closet carried the scent of his leather jacket; she found herself occasionally running her hand over its suppleness. The smooth wool of his suits, the fresh cotton of his shirts--she was in Mulder sensory overload. She should have sent him packing--should have thanked him for his support and protection and waved goodbye. It hadn't been easy, but she'd come to grips with her feelings for him weeks before. Loving someone who felt only fondness and responsibility for her was the hardest thing she'd ever done. And yet, there were times when she caught Mulder watching her with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks. He never commented when she lounged around in her soft cotton pajamas or left the shower with damp hair and dewy skin. But she wondered if perhaps she was having much the same effect on Mulder as he was having on her. "Let's go," she said, rising and smoothing the fabric of her jacket down. She'd finally broken down and bought a few maternity suits, but they were still baggy on her. Her mother had found some loose-fitting cotton knit separates that looked professional, and they had become her daily uniform. Her changing figure was definitely generating stares, as she knew it would. Arriving at work each morning with Mulder and leaving with him each evening was certainly providing fodder for the water cooler speculation society. If Skinner had heard rumors about their living arrangements, he kept quiet about it. In fact, her only contact with her boss since the interview in her apartment was one five-minute meeting where he informed her the blanket and hospital gown had yielded no usable forensic evidence. The rape kit showed no evidence of semen or other foreign substances and the blood work had also proved inconclusive. The sedatives had broken down completely in her bloodstream. She hadn't been surprised; the people who took her wouldn't have left a trace. Work had become her refuge. The familiar patterns of analyzing data, performing autopsies and arguing with Mulder felt safe. Even the boring aspects of routine paperwork and expense reports were a source of comfort. She recognized the Mulder she found in the basement office. The Mulder in her home confused her, but the partner at the office was someone she understood. In their short but intense partnership, Mulder had been all she could have asked for in terms of allowing her to carry her weight. Knowing he trusted her to keep up with him had meant a great deal to her. Mulder had always been a bit protective, taking the responsibility of watching her back very seriously. But lately, small changes had crept into his attitude. They spent far more time in the office catching up on paperwork and less time out in the field. And when they were in the field, Mulder seemed glued to her side. A case in point was the investigation they'd been working on for the last few days. Arthur Davison's DNA was recovered from the body of a rape/murder victim and his teeth marks were found on her breasts and stomach. What should have been an open and shut case was complicated by the fact that Davison had been in jail at the time, unable to post bail on a sexual assault charge. Davison had been convicted of two other rapes over the last five years, and had been suspected in a number of others. In each case, he'd left bite marks on the victims. Sandra McCaffey had differed from his other victims in only one way-- she was dead. In past investigations, Mulder would suggest splitting up so they could cover more ground. This trip, she had a tall, handsome shadow. She was never out of his line of sight whether she was examining the murder victim or speaking with police officers. This morning, they were interviewing Arthur Davison at the jail. Mulder was convinced that Davison had some ability to be in two places at the same time. They were still debating that explanation on the drive to the jail. "Bilocation, Scully. Surely a nice, Catholic girl like you knows about bilocation." "I'm familiar with the term, Mulder. Certain saints and holy people could be seen in two places at once. Surely, you're not comparing Arthur Davison with St. Anthony of Padua..." "Arthur Davison was booked at 3:35 on July 25. Sandra McCaffey time of death couldn't have been earlier than 11:00 on that night, yet his semen was present in her vagina and his teeth marks in her tissue. How do you explain it if you eliminate the possibility of bilocation?" "Mulder, there could be several completely mundane explanations." "Well, you concurred with time of death, if I recall correctly." "Time of death was consistent with the evidence." "And she couldn't have survived for any time after the skull fracture?" "No. The damage was such that she would have died instantly, but we have no proof that Davison killed her, only that he raped her. Someone else could have killed her later." "The blows to McCaffey's head were so violent, pieces of skull were embedded in the brain tissue. That kind of damage was inflicted in rage, the kind of rage a sexual assault would generate. Scully, no one else killed Sandra McCaffey. Arthur Davison raped and murdered her." The argument was shelved as Mulder pulled into a parking space. They proceeded to the front desk and checked their weapons. The agents were shown into the interview room where they waited for Davison to be brought down. The suspect had waived having counsel present for this interview. He'd apparently asked for a public defender for the first questioning after his arrest, but determined the lawyer was a "stiff," and that he, the suspect, was smarter than his counsel. Mulder and Scully sat on one side of the interview table. They didn't speak while they waited for the suspect. Mulder flipped through the file notes, his foot beating a steady tattoo against the table leg. Davison was brought in, shuffling his feet in ankle restraints. His swagger was evident, even with his hands in cuffs as he dropped into his chair. His dark eyes burned with a low flame of anger. "Hey, a girl cop. Must be my lucky day," Davison said, smirking. "Interview with Arthur Davison. August 11, 1994. Agents present: Dana Scully and Fox Mulder." Scully spoke into the small tape recorder and placed it on the table between them. "Mr. Davison, did you know Sandra McCaffey?" Mulder asked. "I know a lot of people," Davison answered. "Some, I'd like to know a little better." The suspect leered at Scully, rattling his handcuffs as he gestured in her direction. "When did you have sex with Sandra?" Mulder sat forward, the authority in his voice intended to engage Davison's attention. "I don't even remember the bitch." "Well, if she were still alive, I'm sure she would remember you. Your teeth marks would remind her. So tell me, how did you do it?" "How did I do what? Oh, wait...I got it. I stuck my dick through the bars. Yeah, that's it. I fucked her right through the jailhouse bars." Davison snorted with laughter. "I was here by suppertime. You got nothing on me." "Is it that you hate women so much that you're able to rape and kill them without even being present?" Mulder leaned forward, his arms folded on the table. "You're fucking nuts. You know that? You're crazy." "We know you raped her, Arthur. The evidence doesn't lie. And when you were finished, you killed her." "I didn't kill nobody." Davison turned to Scully. "I'm just a sex machine," he sang "and I won't work for nobody but you." "So you only rape them," Scully said, sharply. "You only beat them and sink your teeth into them. Does that make you feel powerful?" "Listen, Bitch," Davison snarled. "You don't know shit." "You raped her, didn't you, Davison. You bit into her flesh and then you killed her." Scully's voice was scornful. "I didn't kill nobody, Bitch. You better shut the fuck up. Maybe we ought to put that pretty mouth of yours to some good use," he said, half rising out of his chair. Mulder was on his feet in a flash, leaning across the table to shove Davison back into his chair. The suspect raised his hands, defensively. "Okay, okay...I get it. She's your bitch." Mulder's hands were flat on the table, his body a study in rage. Her partner looked as if he could beat Davison bloody without a second thought. "That's enough," she murmured softly beside Mulder. He glared at Davison a moment longer before taking his seat again. "I got nothing more to say; I was in jail when that bitch was killed and you can't touch me on it," Davison said with a smirk. "First time I was ever glad to be here." <><><><> "Do you want to explain what the hell you were doing in there?" Her heels click out an angry beat as she stalks across the parking lot to the car. "What was I doing?" he asked, confused. "Yes, what were you doing? What the hell was all that male posturing with Davison? I was finally getting somewhere with him." "The only thing you were close to getting was a possible assault by that guy." "He was in restraints, Mulder. I was in no danger and you know it. I knew exactly what I was doing in provoking him. Hell, I've seen you do that a dozen times." "That's different," Mulder said. He reached the car first, his long legs allowing him to overtake her. "Mulder, why haven't we been out of the office in weeks?" she asked. "You're upset because you have cabin fever? Okay, so we've been in the office a lot lately." Mulder's hands were on his hips as he looked down at his feet. His voice was soft when he spoke again. "You needed a break, Scully; a lot has happened to you." "Mulder, you have to let me do my job. You can't wrap me up in cotton and lock me away just because I'm pregnant." "I also can't stand by and watch a lowlife like Davison threaten you." "Mulder, would you have felt the need to interfere if I were a guy?" Scully felt the hot flush of anger rise up from her collar. "What about if I hadn't been pregnant? Would you have done that?" "But you are pregnant," he said, his voice ringing loudly. He glanced around the parking lot as two police officers looked at him. Lowering his voice, he continued. "You're pregnant with my baby, so you'll have to forgive me if I feel a little protective." "I'm grateful, Mulder. More grateful than I can say for all the support you've given me since I was returned." "It was important to me," he said, ducking his head. "It was important to me, too." She reached out and took his hand. "But I just wonder what it all means. You say things like 'you're pregnant with my baby,' but I still don't know where you really stand and it confuses me." "I wish I could tell you what you want to know." Tears stung her eyes as she realized how impossible it all was. She'd been living in a dream, enjoying Mulder's company and support. But too soon, the pull of the truth would draw him away from her. Scully had never been one to hide from reality. The two of them had been playing house and it was time to get used to taking care of herself. She squeezed his hand. "Mulder," she said, gently. "I think you need to move back home." <><><><>