Title: Song of Experience Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) Category: WillFic, MSR Rating: PG-13 (unless the f-word makes it an R) Summary: Will Mulder and Scully's past stand in the way of a future with their son? Spoilers: Follows series canon through Scary Monsters (i.e., the Gunmen are still alive). Anything up to that point is up for grabs, spoiler-wise. This story takes place in the universe established in my previous story "Song of Innocence." While you might be able to follow this story without reading its predecessor, I highly recommend reading "Song of Innocence" first to understand the events surrounding Mulder's return and to get to know the character of Will Mulder. Several events from that story are referenced herein, without extensive explanation. New sections will be posted weekly and, if real life allows, more frequently. However, this story is not a WIP; it is finished and undergoing final editing. Feedback: Makes my day, at attalanta@aol.com. Web page: http://members.aol.com/attalanta/index.html Archive: Gossamer and Ephemeral, okay. Otherwise, please ask. Disclaimer: The characters of Scully, Mulder, etc. are not mine, and I intend no infringement and make no profit. The character of Will Mulder, as presented here, is mine. The story also contains allusions to the character of Harry Potter, with a particular reference to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and a quote from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, both by JK Rowling. Also mentioned is The Mysteries of Harrison Burdick, a picture book by Chris Van Allsburg written for kids but perfect for anyone with an imagination. Songs mentioned include My Love, performed by Paul McCartney & Wings; Mama Told Me, Joy to the World, and One, all by Three Dog Night; and the following Beatles tunes: Free as a Bird, Revolution, and Norwegian Wood. * * * * * "We are verbs, not nouns, experiences unfolding, stories telling themselves as sequels to other stories previously told." Sylvia Boorstein * * * * * Somewhere in North Carolina December, 2008 They left early in the morning, so early that Will still wore his pajamas. They were his favorites, a warm flannel pair with a dog's-paw print that was nearly overwashed into a splotchy blue-gray. Will was curled up in the backseat, his pillow propped against the locked car door and a worn fleece blanket bundled around him and Pup, his stuffed dog. It had been dark when they'd sped away from DC early that morning, and Will had blinked sleepily at the glassy-black windows of their house. Now he squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the dirty back window of the car, stained with salt from Washington roads that seemed a million miles away. They were driving west now, Will guessed, but he didn't know why. His dad had said they were going south, following the Atlantic coastline to their destination. But Will was too tired to puzzle over this latest mystery, so he closed his eyes and tried to slip back into sleep, cocooned in the oversized blanket. Pup lay under his arm, warm from Will's body heat, reminding him of the warmer dog, the real dog, the one they'd had to leave behind. Will squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think of Phoenix, his still-new Chocolate Lab puppy. He had tried not to cry when he said goodbye to the dog that morning, savoring each sandpaper lick and wet-nose nudge before his mom's hand on his shoulder reminded him that it was time to leave. Minutes passed without sleep, and Will decided to give up on it. He opened his eyes again, this time squinting carefully at his surroundings. Still in the car, still driving west, and still the car window was cold against his fluffy pillow. He blinked at the front seat, at his mom's red hair barely peeking over the passenger's side headrest. His dad was still driving, and Will could see his fingers thrumming absently on the steering wheel. Will peered out the window, watching the jagged shore to their left. The water lapped peacefully against the rocks and sand, beckoning him. He hoped it would be warm enough to go swimming. The water would be cool, his mom had warned him, maybe too cold for swimming, but Will didn't care. He would swim anyway. He hoped he had remembered to pack his goggles and flippers; Will bet that there was lots of cool stuff on the ocean bottom, especially after the storm they had heard about when his dad flicked on the radio in search of a traffic report as they sped through Virginia. "Are we there yet?" Will asked. He pushed himself into a seated position and wedged his shoulders between the front seats. His mom rolled her head across the headrest to face him. She smiled a sleepy smile, her eyelids drooping a little and her face relaxed. "Not much longer," she told him. "Wanna navigate?" his dad asked, shooting him a quick glance through the rearview mirror. "Okay," Will said, and his mom handed him a folded map. "We just passed Morehead City," his mom said, twisting in her seat. She tapped the coastal town on the map with one polished fingernail. "Right there." Will's eyes traced up and down the map, trying to estimate miles and hours between Morehead City and Washington, DC, and between Morehead City and the red-inked star that marked their destination. He smiled when he found the map's key in the corner of the page. "We're almost there," he said. "Can we go to the beach first?" His dad chuckled. "We've got a lot to do, kiddo," he told Will. "Maybe later; we'll have plenty of time for the beach. I promise." "'Kay," Will said, leaning back up against his pillow. He gazed longingly out the window at the ocean. Gulls flew alongside the car, then broke away to head for a string of rocks near the shore. Will smiled as he scanned the tempting waves, and he thought of his swim trunks packed in one of the suitcases in the trunk of the car. Then a sign caught his attention. "There it is," Will said, scrambling to sit back up and pointing at the road sign. "It says two miles ahead." "Yeah," his dad said. "It should be right up here." The car slowed then and they veered off the highway and onto a side street that ran even closer to the shore, parallel to the highway before the interstate bent further inland. His mom lowered her window then, letting in a gust of cool ocean air, and Will inhaled the heavy brine smell of the water. He smiled. A few minutes later they pulled onto a driveway and parked. "Is this it?" Will craned his neck for a better view. "End of the line," his dad said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "I'll be right back." So Will waited with his mom in the car, the two of them watching as his dad disappeared through the squeaky screen door and into the large white house. "It's right on the beach," Will said. "I can't wait to go swimming." "I know, sweetie," she said, and Will grinned because he knew that she loved the ocean as much as he did. "After we get settled in, if it's not too cold." She undid her seatbelt and turned to face him. "Why don't you get your things together," she suggested. "Dad'll be back in a minute. The sooner we get everything unloaded and unpacked, the sooner we can go to the beach." "Okay," Will said eagerly, hurrying to fold up his blanket and locate Pup from where he'd gotten wedged between the seat and the door. He dug his sneakers out from under the front passenger's seat and jammed his feet in, not bothering to tie them. Then his dad was back, leaning into the car to toss two small keychains at his mom. "That was quick," she said, holding up the second keychain with a quizzical look on her face. "Your mom's," he said as he opened the back door and pulled out the garment bag hanging on the hook there. Will scrambled out of the car, trying to juggle Pup and his pillow and blanket. His mom met his dad at the trunk and together they managed all the luggage after his mom fit Will's backpack over his shoulders. His dad slammed the trunk shut and the three of them walked slowly toward the large white house. Will sniffed the delicious, salty air as they went, thinking again of Phoenix. 'This looks like a dog who'd like to play Frisbee and run on the beach,' Will's dad had said the day they got the puppy, and Will was sad that they had to leave him in Washington. He knew his grandma would take good care of Phoenix, at least until she left to join them. His dad propped the screen door open with one suitcase, and Will and his mom squeezed past him. "Stairs on the right," his dad said. "All the way to the third floor. We've got rooms four and five." His mom led the way to room number four, fitting the key in and leaning back against the door to push it open. The room was big, one entire wall dominated by a sliding glass door that led onto a spacious balcony. The door was open, letting a cool breeze billow the curtains, gauzy and white and floor- length, into the room. Will's mom hefted the suitcases she was carrying onto the bed, then stepped through the curtains to stand on the balcony outside. She stayed there for a long minute, the wind blowing her hair, until his dad joined them in the room, an amused smile on his face when he caught sight of Will's mom staring longingly at the sea. She turned abruptly and fished the second keychain out of the pocket of her khaki pants. "I'll check on the other room," she said before she disappeared into the hall. Will's dad added his suitcases to the pile on the bed, and Will slung his own backpack down, too. He went to stand next to his dad on the balcony, and Will could see their car parked down on the driveway, the shells that served as gravel sparkling in the sun. But by far the most enticing view was the nearby stretch of beach, dark waves beating against yellow-white sand. Will shivered in excitement. "There's only one bed in the other room, too," his mom said as she returned. "I know," his dad said. His mom's brow wrinkled in confusion. "How were you expecting to work the sleeping arrangements?" His dad sighed and stepped away from the balcony, coming to stand next to Will's mom, near the old-fashioned floor- length mirror. "I thought Will and I would take one room, and you and your mom could have the other, at least for the first two nights. Then your mom can share with Will." He grinned at her. His mom raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Hey, you know the superstition, Scully," he joked. "I'm assuming that not seeing the bride before the ceremony includes not waking up beside her that morning." "Getting traditional in your old age, Mulder?" his mom teased. He gave a casual shrug. "Hey, we could use all the luck we can get." His mom nodded, looking thoughtful. "I take it there weren't any two-bed rooms available." "Nope," his dad said. "I asked." "What about John and Monica?" "They'll rough it," he said. On his mom's narrowed gaze, he continued with a shrug, "I don't know, Scully. The bed and breakfast is booked solid; we got the last three rooms. Anyway, I'm sure they've faced tougher conditions in the field than a queen-sized bed with a soft quilt and enough pillows for a small country." His mom let out a little snort of dissatisfaction and crossed her arms over her chest. "It doesn't matter," Will said softly, and his parents whirled around in identical motions to face him. Their jaws dropped open slightly as they comprehended the meaning of their son's words. "What?" his mom asked. Will felt his cheeks redden as he looked down at the toes of his sneakers. That was something he hadn't planned on telling, a secret thing he'd felt from John recently. "They have sleepovers sometimes." "Will!" his mom admonished, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. His dad just laughed. "Sleepovers," his dad repeated, incredulous. "Well, they do," Will said, finally meeting their gazes. His parents just shook their heads, and Will watched his dad help his mom lug her suitcases into the other bedroom, their continued chuckles following them out of the room. * * * * * It was too cold to swim, just as they had warned Will, but that didn't stop their son from sulking as the three of them walked along the shore, shivering as the waves tickled their ankles. Will kicked his bare feet at anything that didn't rush away with the surging tide and a few things that did. He scowled out at the waves and sighed longingly. The sky matched Will's mood, gray and menacing, brewing up one hell of a storm that, so far, the weather forecasters were predicting should come and go before the day of the wedding. Scully watched her son's brooding face as he stared out at the rolling waves, wishing, like Will, that it was summer, warm and humid, and that the tide rushing in held a welcome coolness instead of draining the feeling from her bare feet. With her left hand, the one that Mulder wasn't holding, Scully reached out for her son, catching one hand to lace her fingers with his. "Will, there's something I want to ask you," she said, and he tore his eyes from the water to look up at her. "What?" She stopped walking then, and both Mulder and Will jerked to a halt beside her, the two of them connected through her. "It's about what you said earlier. About John and Monica having... sleepovers." Will nodded. "Will, why did you... How did you know that?" She didn't quite know how to come out and ask him this, but clearly it was important that she and Mulder understand their son's range, so to speak, for Will's sake as well as their own. Between Will's nightmares - and, all too often, Mulder's -- it was hard enough managing time alone together, and even more difficult if the little boy sleeping on the other side of the wall couldn't stop himself from intruding into their bedroom. "I dunno." He shrugged. "I could just feel it." Mulder squeezed her hand then, and she gladly passed the conversation over to him. "Will, what was it, exactly, that you felt?" Will looked up at his father, his face soft and innocent, and, at that moment, Scully wanted nothing more than grab him and hold him tight to her, to keep him safe forever. A seven year old didn't need to be thinking about adults having sleepovers, she thought fiercely. He should be thinking about school and friends and Little League. "I could just feel it. Like they liked each other, but really a lot. Weird feelings between both of them. Before it was just from one at a time, and it was different then. I don't know. It's hard to explain," he told them. Scully nodded, looking over her shoulder at Mulder, who shrugged. She cleared her throat, then tried again. "Will, do you remember when we talked about privacy, how people like to have private thoughts and be by themselves sometimes?" "Yeah." He crinkled his nose at her, clearly not understanding the turn of the conversation. "Well, this is like that. I know you aren't trying to know what John and Monica are feeling, but those kinds of things are especially personal, sweetie. The way a person feels about someone they love, or even someone they really like - that's private." Understanding dawned in Will's eyes. "Like when you and Dad close your door at night?" "Yes," she told him, grateful that she didn't need to spell out the connection for him. "Exactly like that. Sometimes there are things people want to share in private. I know you can't stop what you feel, Will--" "But I can," he said, jutting out his skinny chest with obvious pride. "Sometimes I can, if I concentrate really hard on something, like when I'm reading a book or watching a movie I really like. Sometimes, if I try really, really hard, I can think about something else, like remembering the little words on the screen in the beginning of Star Wars or the first chapter of Harry Potter." Thunder rolled overhead, and the three of them looked up expectantly, waiting. But nothing followed: no lightning, no splatter of rain, not even another rumble of thunder. They gave a collected sigh of relief and continued down the beach in silence. What Will had said ran through Scully's mind, and she tried to dampen her relief; she was glad that her son was learning to control this ability, but she didn't want him to mistake that relief for wishing that he didn't have the ability at all. For months she had been experimenting with sequestering her own thoughts, trying to protect her son from certain of her feelings. But Scully had never imagined that Will might be trying to do the same thing, trying to be a normal little boy. * * * * * "This is how you do it." Will watched John fit the wiggly worm onto the hook, scrunching his nose at the sight of the impaled worm, still squirming despite having been skewered. He looked over at his dad, who displayed a similar look of disgust on his face. John laid his fishing pole onto the sun-bleached deck of the pier, careful to hang the worm end over the water. Reaching into the crumpled paper bag propped up against his thigh, he extracted another slimy worm, which he held out to Will. Will drew back, his shoulder hitting his dad's as he stared at the next innocent little worm, ignorant of its fate. Will shook his head, then looked up at his dad. "I can't," he said, and turned to his dad. "Will you do it, Dad?" His dad made an expression that Will had only ever seen once before, that time being half an hour earlier, after which John had quickly turned their small rented boat around as Will's dad barfed over the side. It was funny that he would get seasick, Will had thought as he held his dad's Yankees cap tight against the strong wind, because his mom loved boats. 'Just like your father,' his grandma would say every year as Will's mom savored the ferry ride over to Martha's Vineyard, where they vacationed with his Uncle Bill's family. The image of her, face turned into the sea spray, hair ruffled by the wind, always made Will smile; he loved the ocean as much as she did. "Oh, give me that," John groused, snatching Will's fishing pole, baiting it, and then doing the same with his dad's. Then John took up his own pole again and cast it. Carefully Will watched the nearly transparent line soar through the air before hitting the choppy water. His dad mimicked John's cast with a practiced fluidity, and then the two of them helped Will with his pole. Will stared at the pulsing waves, wishing for the hundredth time that it was warm enough for him to strip off his shirt and sandals and cannonball into the ocean. But it was not swimming weather. Besides being cold, it was windy, with heavy, suffocating clouds spread out from horizon to horizon. The weather forecast they had heard on the radio while eating breakfast that morning had predicted another day of threatening weather, with thunderstorms anticipated that night. Just a chance of rain remained for the day of the wedding, and they were all holding their collective breaths for nice weather since the ceremony was scheduled to be held on the beach. 'Y'all are jus' plain crazy for goin' out in weather like this,' the man at the bait shop had said as the three of them picked out their poles. Both his dad and John had smiled at that, unfazed. Fishing was boring, Will thought after several long minutes with the only noise the wind whipping through his hair and the ocean crashing against the stilts that held up the pier. Will leaned toward John and glanced at the half-open bag of worms, then quickly looked away. They were only worms, he knew, but Will felt sorry for them, nonetheless. He imagined the creatures squirming about peacefully in the wet dirt, eating whatever worms eat and playing with their worm-families, happy and safe, only to be plucked unfeelingly away, never to return to their homes. To be used as bait. Will shook his head to clear his thoughts; fishing was gross when you put it that way. "Too bad Mom's not here," Will said, staring at the point where his fishing line disappeared into the murky gray waves. His mom and grandma and Monica were running last- minute wedding errands in Morehead City. 'Girl stuff,' his grandma had told him with a wink. Will had nodded even though he had no idea what his grandma meant. The girl he knew best was his mom, and her kind of stuff was surgical scrubs and bubble bath, and Will couldn't for the life of him imagine why they would need those things for the wedding. "Mom did the worm part last summer, when we were on vacation with Uncle Bill's family," Will continued. "Why does that not surprise me?" John said, shaking his head. Will smiled proudly. "She put the worm on--" "Baited," John supplied. "She baited all our hooks," Will told the two men. "Hers and mine, and Matt's and Patrick's and Abby's. And even Uncle Bill's." His dad and John nodded, and another silence fell over the trio. It was supposed to be quiet, Will remembered. That's what his Uncle Bill had told Matt and Patrick the previous summer as they argued over who was going to catch the bigger fish. They had gone fishing twice that summer, and it had been Abby, with some help from her father, who had hooked not only the biggest fish among their family, but one of the biggest caught that season at the bait shop where they had rented their poles. A picture of Abby and her enormous fish had been posted on the shop's Wall of Fame, much to Matt and Patrick's dismay. Now when Will remembered that time, he thought of it as The Last Summer: The Last Summer without his dad. The Last Summer that he and his mom would vacation with his Uncle Bill's family (for, even though his dad had said otherwise, Will knew that nothing could get him and Uncle Bill to share an already-crowded cottage for two weeks). The Last Summer he would spend wondering whether his dad, wherever he was, was thinking of him. The Last Summer watching jealously as his cousins argued over what they were going to get their dad for Father's Day. And The Last Summer he would spend staring at the picture of his dad when he was Will's age, thinking that maybe his own father, Will's grandfather, had gone fishing with Will's dad at that very same place. "Won't touch a worm..." John shook his head as he grumbled good-naturedly at Will's dad. "I can't figure where you draw the line, Mulder. I've read the files; I know the kinds of places your hands've been." "Where?" Will's eyes darted between his dad and John. John chuckled. "Oh, a certain medical waste receptacle comes to mind." "A what?" Will asked. "It's where they dump waste in a hospital," John explained. "You know, the sorts of things they remove during surgery: gangrenous toes, tumors, that kind of stuff." "Eew," Will exclaimed. "How come your hands were in there, Dad?" The wind feathered Will's hair into his eyes, and he pushed it back, looking over at his father for an answer. "I don't remember," his dad said finally. "If you wanna read the file," John offered, and Will's dad shook his head. At Will's continued curious look, John continued, "Lookin' for a guy's head, if I recall correctly." His dad nodded, slowly, as though he were just remembering it himself. "I'm surprised you remember that," he said. "You read those files - what? - seven, eight years ago?" "I do have the need to consult them again from time to time," John said. Then he lowered his voice, as though they weren't the only people sitting at the end of the long pier, three crazy tourists braving the ominous skies and blustering winds. "I know Dana's got her own notes, but if you ever wanna sneak a peek at the originals sometime..." "No." His dad's answer was swift and stern. "No, thanks." John shrugged. "Suit yourself. I just thought--" "Uncle Bill says you're not supposed to talk when you're fishing," Will interrupted when he caught sight of the look on his dad's face, like he was remembering something horrible. Will heard, a name connected with strong negative emotions but no concrete facts. His dad's non-remembering feeling, Will knew. "Uncle Bill said it scares the fish away," Will continued. His dad swallowed hard. "Your Uncle Bill's right." John said nothing, just glanced between the two of them. Even though Will was concentrating hard on the ocean, purposefully avoiding John's gaze, out of the corner of his eye he could see John looking from Will to his dad and back to Will again, a suspicious look on his face. * * * * * End Part 1. Continued in Part 2. Title: Song of Experience (2/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * "I still wish you had a veil, Dana," Maggie Scully said as she brushed her daughter's hair slowly, meeting her eyes through the mirror mounted over the vanity in the bedroom they shared. "It would be so much easier to put your hair up with a veil." Scully sighed and took the brush her mother handed her. She knew her mom was more than a little disappointed that Scully was eschewing so many of the traditional trappings of a wedding: no bridal shower, no bridesmaids, no veil or wedding cake, no bouquet to toss. And, most heartbreaking for Margaret Scully, no priest to perform the ceremony. But, to her credit, Maggie had kept quiet, for the most part, after her daughter and future son-in-law had finally settled on wedding plans. "I have something for you." Maggie sorted through her suitcase and came up with a small velvet box, which she pressed into her daughter's palm. Scully cracked open the box to reveal a familiar pair of pearl earrings. "Grandma Colleen's earrings," she gasped. Her mother nodded. "I can't tell you how many times I've almost given them to you over the years. Now I'm glad I saved them." Scully gazed down at the shiny pearls, remembering lying on her parents' bed as a little girl, Melissa curled up beside her, listening to her mother spin stories about her own mother and grandmother as she dressed for base Christmas parties. She and Missy had reveled in the stories, gathering fuel for later shared daydreams about wearing long, beautiful dresses and dancing to orchestra music in a fancy ballroom. 'These earrings will be yours someday, Melissa,' Maggie had said as she slipped them on, the familiar scent of her special dress-up perfume wafting toward her daughters as she bent toward the mirror. 'And this necklace will be yours, Dana.' Maggie leaned down to allow her daughter fasten the fragile antique clasp. And Scully remembered the day her mother had given her the necklace, the single pearl hanging from the delicate gold chain. It had been the day she'd graduated from medical school, and the bright June sun had winked at her as it reflected off the necklace. Her mother's hands had been warm and loving as they fastened the chain around Scully's neck. Scully removed one earring from its velvety bed and fingered its cool gold post. "Melissa's earrings," she whispered. She looked up at her mother to see the hint of a tear in her eye and a shaky smile on her lips. "You should give these to Bill," Scully said softly. "For Abby when she gets older. I'm not going to have anyone to pass them on to." Her mother set her hand on her daughter's. "You don't know that. You may have a daughter-in-law someday, maybe even a granddaughter of your own. Billy has plenty of family heirlooms for Abby and the boys." Scully paused, cherishing the weight of the earrings in her palm. "Thank you, Mom," she said as she removed her small hoop earrings and replaced them with the pearls. She snapped shut the tiny jewelry box, then jumped at a loud knock on the door. "Dana, it's Monica." "Come in," Scully called as her mother sat down beside her on the long bench that matched the vanity. "Nervous yet?" Monica asked with a teasing grin. She closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed, across from Maggie and Scully. Maggie chuckled. "Ask her what she's eaten today." "Dana?" Monica prompted. Scully smiled sheepishly. "I ate." "Dry toast and coffee." Maggie gestured toward the half-filled styrofoam cup sitting on the corner of the vanity. "Well, I can't say that I blame you," Monica said with a thoughtful look on her face. "It's a big step." Scully nodded absently, though in her mind the change was more in words than in being. She had never cared for anyone the way she did Mulder; she had loved him for years, even before she knew that he shared her feelings, even when she'd gone to bed at night wondering where he was, whether he was safe. Whether he would ever return to them. Monica reached over and set a small wrapped box in front of Scully, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Since you didn't have a bridal shower..." Scully groaned and opened the box, fishing through the tissue paper to uncover a bed of soft midnight-blue satin. She lifted a stretchy garter out of the box. "I figured you probably didn't put any stock in the old 'something old, something new...' tradition, but I think it's better to be safe than sorry," Monica told her. "Thanks, Monica." Scully slipped the garter over her bare leg and secured it above her knee before pulling the hem of her slip down to cover it. It was true: Scully didn't take the old saying seriously, but she realized that her mother had taken care of the 'something old' and that her dress was something new. "You're missing something borrowed, Dana," her mother pointed out. "Don't worry about it, Mom," Scully said as she ran her fingers over her slip, tracing the garter underneath. But her mother regarded her thoughtfully, one eyebrow raised. "There's more in the box," Monica told her with a wink. Scully suppressed a groan as she reached to the bottom of the box. "Monica," she said, embarrassed, as her fingers found two delicate silky straps among the tissue paper. Scully bit her lip as she felt the inevitable blush creep over her face. "Well, let's see," her mother urged with a wicked grin. Scully obliged and lifted the item out of the box. It was a nightgown-- a negligee, really -- in a deep blue that matched the garter. It was short and silky and simply cut, with a plunging neckline. "I had to guess on the size," Monica admitted. "I hope it fits... and that it's put to good use." Scully cursed the warmth of her embarrassment even as it inched toward her ears. "Monica," she groaned with a sideways glance at her mother. "Oh, Dana," her mother sighed as she shared a mischievous grin with Monica. "Do you think I'm so old that I've forgotten the importance of a wedding night?" Monica laughed as she stood and stepped toward the window. "Looks like it's clearing up out there," she commented as she parted the curtains to peer outside. "It's stopped raining, at least." "Thank goodness for that," Maggie said as she joined Monica at the window. Scully nodded. The weather had been mercurial at best since they'd arrived on Monday morning, with intermittent showers predicted for that afternoon. But they'd had a small tent set up outside in case of ran, so Scully wasn't worried about the weather. She wasn't worried about anything, she realized. Really, she wasn't... If only she could convince her somersaulting stomach of that fact. "Well, I'd better go and let you finish getting dressed," Monica told them. "I'll see you downstairs, Dana, Mrs. Scully." "Thank you again, Monica," Scully called after her. "She's a good friend," Maggie said as she took up the hairbrush again. Scully nodded; somewhere along the line Monica had become more than just a coworker. Most probably, Scully thought, when she'd stood between Scully's knees and told her that the baby was crowning, and asked, more than a little fearfully, should she start to push now. Between her mother's comment and the languid strokes of the brush through Scully's hair, she felt like a little girl again, her mother fixing her hair for school, twin braids that matched her sister's. She closed her eyes, enjoying the comforting stroke of the hard brush bristles against her scalp. "I wish your father were here for this," Maggie said, and Scully met her mother's gaze in the mirror, smiling her understanding. "I know it wasn't the way you wanted it, Dana, but he would've been proud to walk you down the aisle." Scully nodded, remembering the pained look when she'd told her mother that she would be walking herself down the aisle, such as it was. The hairbrush slowed and was replaced with her mother's small, sure hands smoothing through her hair. Through the mirror Scully watched the soft look on her mom's face, the faraway gaze in her eyes. Thunder rumbled outside, and Scully took a deep breath. "Do you... do you think he would have approved?" Maggie let go of her daughter's hair and turned Scully's shoulders to face her. "Your father loved you, Dana; he would have wanted you to be happy." Her mother's face softened as she smiled. "And he would have loved being a grandfather." Scully nodded, her lips turning up in a smile as she imagined her father with Will, the little boy lost in his grandpa's strong arms. She blinked back her own tears, mourning for her son and for the grandfather he would never know. "But if you're asking if he would have approved of Fox..." Her mother paused, and Scully nodded. "That I don't know, dear. Your dad and I were married for over thirty years, and he still managed to surprise me from time to time." The expressions on both women's faces brightened, and Scully wondered whether her mother was remembering the same time she was, the impromptu trip their family had taken to the Grand Canyon the summer she was ten, when her father had announced at dinner that they were leaving for a vacation the next morning, destination unknown, so you'd better pack smartly, sailors. "I like to think that your dad would have admired Fox's integrity and honesty," her mother continued. "And his dedication to you and William. Fox is a good man, Dana; I'm sure your father would have seen that." Scully smiled back at her mother even as she carefully considered the older woman's words. No, she thought; her father would not have liked Mulder, at least not at first. He would've seen the same things that her older brother still saw: a man from a broken home, an intense agent with a dangerous job, a lover who had left her alone with an illegitimate child. But in her mind, she imagined that Mulder would have grown on her father. As he had on her, Scully thought with a slow smile as she remembered the cocky, boyish agent whose office she'd first invaded fifteen long years ago. Still lost in thought, Scully let her mother gently turn her shoulders so that she once again faced the mirror, and the older woman resumed her brushing, one hand resting softly on her daughter's shoulder. * * * * * Will kept his left hand in his pocket as he wandered through the empty halls of the inn, his grip sweaty against the soft velvet box. "Take good care of these," his dad had said as he dropped the small box in his waiting palm, and Will had looked up at him with concern. "Maybe you should hold them," Will had suggested. "You're the ring bearer," his dad had answered with a grin before turning back to the mirror for another go at his tie. "I trust you." Will had held the box tight in both hands as he kicked his legs against the baseboard of the big bed in their room. The shiny black toes of his dress shoes skimmed the carpet as he watched his dad's reflection in the mirror. His fingers moved nervously at his collar, and he slipped the tie from around his neck with a sigh. "Are you nervous?" Will asked. His dad smiled at him through the mirror. "Maybe a little," he admitted as he slipped the tie back under his collar. He flexed his fingers once, twice, then went back to the tie. But again it got stuck somewhere before it got tied, and his dad sighed. "Maybe more than a little," he said, stepping over to his suitcase, which was mostly packed and now sat next to the door. They were going to switch rooms after the ceremony, his dad taking Will's grandma's place in the room he and Will's mom would share for the rest of the week. And his grandma would move in with Will for their last night before the two of them returned to DC. His dad unzipped a pocket of the suitcase and took out a tall gift-bag with butterflies printed on it. He sat down on the bed beside Will and handed it to him. "Do me a favor? Go take this to your mom for me?" "What is it?" "A surprise." He winked at Will. "Wait while she opens it, okay? I wanna know what her reaction is." "Okay." He slipped off the bed and headed for the door. "Will, wait," his dad called, jogging the few steps to meet Will at the door. "What?" His dad slipped his arms around him and held him tight. "Thanks, kiddo." "For what?" Will asked. "For being you," his dad said, and a grin overtook Will's face. Now, standing at the door to his mom and grandma's room, Will fingered the jewelry box, half afraid that it would somehow disappear. He imagined a black hole forming in his pocket, sucking in both the ring box and the shiny blue-gray stone he'd found on the beach the previous day and put in his pocket for safekeeping. Will switched the gift-bag to his other hand and knocked on the door. His mom's voice answered. "Who is it?" "It's me. Will." A minute later his grandma opened the door, a big smile on her face. "Don't you look all grown-up," she exclaimed, pulling Will into a hug. "Are you all ready?" Will nodded. "Except for my tie," he said as his mom stepped out of the bathroom. She was wearing a shiny off-white dress, and her hair was half pulled up away from her face so that she almost looked like a different person. Her dress was plain, with thin straps over her shoulders, but it looked soft and silky. "You look beautiful," he told her, awed. His mom chuckled softly. "This is just my slip, Will. My dress is still hanging up in the bathroom. Grandma was trying to do my hair, but--" "Doesn't it look nice, Will?" his grandma asked. He shrugged. "It makes you look different." "'Different,'" his mom repeated. "That does it. The hair goes." She reached up and slipped something out of her hair, and then she looked like his normal mom again. "Dana," his grandma admonished. "Much better." His mom shook her head and finger-combed through her hair. "It'll never stay with this wind anyway." She gave an apologetic smile at Will's grandma, who sighed and set the hairbrush she'd been holding on a dresser. "I give up," his grandma said, shaking her head. "I'm going to go downstairs and make sure everything is coming along as it should. I'll check on Fox, too," she told Will's mom before leaving the two of them alone. "Need help with your tie?" his mom asked, reaching for the light blue silk looped through his collar. Will nodded. "Dad was gonna do it, but it would've taken forever." His mom cocked an eyebrow at him then, and Will shrugged. "His hands were shaking from being nervous and he couldn't even tie his own tie." His mom smiled at that and knelt in front of Will after he sat down on the bed. She folded his collar up and slid the tie into the right place before beginning on the knot. It had been a long time since she had done this for him, Will realized; his dad had taken on that job recently. His mom picked up her head then, her face close to Will's before she pulled back to scrutinize the knot and adjust the tie to the correct length. She started to stand, but Will threw his arms around her. "Thanks, Mom." "You're welcome, sweetie," she told him, her hands coming around him and then up to brush through his hair. Finally she pulled back and looked him up and down. "All set now?" Will nodded and squirmed a little on the bed. He might look nice, but his dress-up clothes were uncomfortable, especially his shoes, which were pinching at his heels. He longed for the sneakers in his room and wondered how many minutes it was until the wedding was over and he could switch shoes. Will tried to shove his feet toward the front of the pinchy shoes, scrunching his toes up tight. A few minutes later his mom came out of the bathroom wearing a dress the same color as her slip. She'd also put on sandals with high, high heels, the kind she kept in the back of her closet for special occasions when she had to dress up. "You smell nice," Will observed as she came to sit beside him on the bed. She smiled. "Thank you." She folded her hands together then, but Will thought he could see her fingers shake a little before she lowered her clasped hands to her lap. "Are you nervous, too?" "A little," she said, one hand fluttering around her stomach. "I've had butterflies all morning." Then Will remembered the present his dad had given him for her. He reached behind himself on the bed and handed her the bag. "What's this?" He shrugged. "Dad just said to give it to you." She raised an eyebrow as she opened the bag and pulled out a tall, insulated pouch, like the kind Will kept his juice box in when he packed his lunch for school, only bigger. His mom unzipped the pouch and peered inside, and then a big smile spread over her face. "What is it?" She said nothing but pulled a glass bottle out of the pouch. Will squinted at the bottle. "Why did he give you iced tea?" His mom just smiled some more and shook her head. "It's a long story," she said, and Will nodded, disappointed. There were lots of long stories between his mom and his dad, some that they shared with him but many that they did not. Sometimes his curiosity got the best of him and Will tried to tap into their thoughts to understand what they were feeling. But afterwards he always felt guilty; Will knew he shouldn't do that. So he let his mom have her private thoughts. She shook the bottle a few times, then unscrewed the top. She took a drink before passing the bottle over to Will. He took a sip-- nothing special, he thought as he swallowed. Just ordinary iced tea. He handed it back to his mom, wondering what the big deal was. "We have a few minutes before we have to go downstairs," she said. "There's a story I want to tell you." He smiled. "One you haven't told me before?" "One I haven't told anyone before," she said. "Not you or Grandma or Dad." Cool, Will thought. He loved his mom's stories, especially the exciting ones about when she and his dad worked together. There were so many, about vampires and werewolves and all sorts of spooky things. It used to be that his favorites were the ones she told him about his dad and her, about the short time they'd been together both before and after he was born, almost like a family. But now that he had the real thing, Will liked her adventure stories best. "It happened before you were born," she began. "It was a few weeks before Christmas." Will grinned. He loved Christmas, and this year was going to be the best ever, his first Christmas with his dad. He had even gotten to go to the beach, even if it had mostly been too cold to swim. Will thought longingly of the shopping bags full of wrapped gifts waiting in the closet at home. "But I wasn't looking forward to the holidays. I was feeling sad." "How come?" "Well," she sighed, "at work your dad and I had a different boss -- not Mr. Skinner -- and we weren't allowed to investigate any of our usual cases. Someone else had taken over our office and our work. I thought it would be temporary, but it was getting longer and longer. It was starting to feel permanent, and your dad and I were frustrated. "Christmas can be a very sad time. And I was missing Em... um, my sister and my father a lot that year. "Then one night," she told him, "I had a dream. A dream about you." Will smiled, and his mom patted his hand. "You were five years old, I think, and you came to me and said, 'Don't worry, Mommy. It's all going to be okay.' And then I woke up. I knew it was a dream, Will, but you felt so very real. "And then, a few nights later, you came to me again, and you said, 'Please don't be sad, Mommy. I love you.'" "Were you sad because of Christmas?" "Because of Christmas, and because the dreams felt so real. Will, a little while before that, my doctor told me that I would never be able to have a baby of my own." His mom's fingers slipped between his and she squeezed his hand. "He did?" She nodded. "Yes. So when you came to me in my dream and called me 'Mommy,' it just made me even sadder." "I'm sorry," he said. "No, sweetie," she insisted, laughing and hugging him. "No. It was just a dream. You didn't do anything wrong." Will nodded, but he knew how real dreams could be, how scary. He had bad dreams all the time, dreams about men coming for him and bright lights and people crying for help. And he knew that his dad had nightmares lots of times, too, but this was the first time he could remember his mom telling him about her dreams. "I kept having those dreams. I would see you, and you would talk to me or hold my hand. Once... once I even got to hold you," she said with a big smile. "The dreams felt so real that I went to see another doctor, and then another, just to see if maybe the first one had been wrong. "I went to so many doctors and they all said the same thing: no children. It was impossible. Finally I went to one specialist who said that maybe it could happen. He thought he could help me, so your dad and I went to see him, and he performed lots of tests and did some procedures to try to help me, but nothing was working. Finally we were down to our last chance, and it seemed that maybe it had worked. Maybe--" "And that's how I was born?" he filled in. But she shook her head. "No, baby," she said. "I was wrong. It didn't work, and your dad and I were both sad because we wanted you so badly. "Then I had the dream again. But this time you weren't alone. You were there with your Grandpa Scully and your Aunt Melissa, and your dad's father, too. You told me, 'They're taking care of me now, Mommy, but it'll be your turn soon.' "Both of your grandfathers and your aunt were there with you, but it was your Grandpa Mulder who was taking care of you. He held your hand and he walked with you when you came over to me. And I remembered that I'd seen him in my dreams before, holding you and taking care of you." "And then I was born?" This time she nodded. "And then, slowly, your dad and I started to realize that we loved each other, and it was then that we made you. "And you know what, Will?" "What?" "You look just like you did in my dreams." "I do?" She nodded and hugged him tight. "I love you, baby boy," she said. "I've loved you since before I knew you were a possibility." "I love you, too, Mom," he told her, and he heard her sniff a little, like she was going to cry. Will hoped not. There probably wasn't much time left until the ceremony started and his dad would be worried if she was crying, even if it was for something good. Then there was a knock on the door. "Dana?" his grandma called. "Do you need anything?" "No, I'm good, Mom," his mom said as they stepped out of their hug. She blotted under her eyes with her thumb. "Well, we're ready when you are," his grandma responded, and then Will could hear her footsteps trail down the hall. His mom paused at the mirror, then took a deep breath and headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. "Ready?" Will reached into his pocket, panicked for a moment when he didn't feel the small velvet box, then exhaled with relief when he located it in his other pocket. "Yeah." They went into the hall and his mom motioned for him to go ahead of her on the stairs. He looked back at her and asked, "Is that why you named me after Dad's father? Because he took care of me in your dreams?" She smiled at him. "Yes," she said. * * * * * End Part 2. Continued in Part 3. Title: Song of Experience (3/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * "Looks like you could use some help." Mulder jumped, his tie slipping out of his collar and onto the carpet. He turned toward the door, where stood his mother-in-law-to-be. "Sorry, Fox," she said. "The door was open." She bent and picked up the tie, then nodded at the bed. "Have a seat." He stepped toward her with one hand held out. "I think I can manage, Maggie." "Please, let me. Billy got married in his dress whites, so I've never had the opportunity to do this." She chuckled. "Besides, that's not what I hear." "Someone has a big mouth," Mulder muttered good-naturedly as he gave in and sunk down onto the bed. "He's just excited," she said. "It isn't every child that gets to be a guest at his own parents' wedding." Her tone was cheerful enough, but Mulder wondered whether there was some hidden meaning there. He swallowed hard as Maggie slid the tie around his neck and began to knot it. Finally her practiced hands tightened the knot and Maggie moved away so that he could see his reflection in the mirror. He turned to her. "Thanks." She smiled but it was a nervous smile, and Mulder forced himself to wait on her as Maggie reached over and brushed invisible lint off the shoulders and lapel of his dark gray jacket. He watched as she fussed over him, noting the distanced, almost sad look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Maggie," he blurted out. "Sorry? Fox, what--?" "I'm sure this wasn't what you pictured for Dana's wedding." Maggie's expression turned thoughtful. "No, but this is the way Dana wants it, and I learned long ago not to stand in the way of that. I'm sure by now you're well-versed in the Scully stubbornness." Mulder chuckled and nodded. "Besides," she continued. "I've found that in this life we have to take what we're given and try to make the best of it. I may not have chosen this for Dana, but it's what she's chosen, and that's the most important thing. You make her happy; how can I possibly complain about that? "I have something for you, Fox." Maggie reached into the pocket of her pale yellow jacket. "This seems to be the day for presents for Dana, but this one is for you." Maggie held out her hand to reveal a short lapel pin, brightly colored and striped. Mulder eyes widened as he realized what it was. Whose it was. "Maggie..." "Listen to me, Fox," she said, her late husband's military medal still laying between them. "Bill left one for each of the children. I gave them theirs years ago; this was Melissa's." She pressed the pin into his hand, and the point pricked at his palm. "Maggie, I can't take this," he insisted. "This should stay in the family." "It is," she said as she closed his fingers over the medal. * * * * * The wedding was boring. Not that Will didn't expect that. On the contrary; even though he'd never been to a wedding before, his grandma sometimes watched "The Wedding Story" on The Learning Channel, so he already kinda knew what to expect: kissing and crying and silly vows. Of course, his parents never did things the normal way, so Will hadn't yet ruled out the possibility of gunfire, explosions, or headless zombies. But so far it was boring, Will thought as the waiter pulled the curtain closed and blocked them off. They were in a small room in the back of the hotel restaurant, just the six of them: Will, his mom and dad and grandma, and John and Monica. So they had plenty of space in the curtained-off room, which Will figured could fit at least another two tables. Even the weather had cooperated. The skies had been gray and threatening, but no rain had fallen during the wedding. 'Thank you, Lord,' Will had heard his grandma murmur as the ceremony ended and the wedding party headed inside to the accompaniment of a protracted rumble of thunder. Will wasn't sure whether she had been talking about the weather or something else entirely. The waiter brought wine, a big bottle that everyone shared except for Will and his mom, who had felt queasy with nerves all day. Instead, the two of them shared a big pitcher of ice tea, making Will remember the bottle he'd delivered as a wedding present from his dad. His mom must have remembered it, too, because she clinked her glass against his dad's wine goblet with a shared smile. After their drinks arrived, Monica smiled wickedly at Will's mom, then started tapping her knife against her wine glass. John chuckled and, after a nudge by Monica's shoulder, reluctantly joined her, clinking his own glass. Will watched as his mom and dad glanced at each other, the hint of a blush on his mom's face. "Come on, you two," Monica urged. "What's Monica doing?" Will asked his grandma, who was sitting beside him at the round table. "It's a tradition at weddings," his grandma explained. "People hit their glasses when they want the bride and groom to kiss." Will smiled at that, then lifted his own knife to tap it against his full glass of tea. His grandma joined them, and Will's mom and dad finally gave in, turning to each other for a brief kiss. When they pulled away, Will's dad turned to him with a smile. He bent down and, with a wink, whispered into Will's ear, "Think you can keep that up when we get home?" They went through dinner like that, with his grandma or Monica or once even Will's dad himself clinking against his glass to urge a kiss from his bride. Will's eyelids started to droop when the waiter took away his still-half-full dinner plate, but he perked up again when dessert came around, chocolate cake with raspberry sauce. Smiling, Will watched his mom feed his dad a bite, carefully aiming at his mouth, then his dad do the same to his mom, but purposefully missing to dab chocolate onto the tip of her nose so that he could kiss it off. After the dessert plates had been cleared away and the waiter had brought coffee, Will watched his dad stand and offer his mom a hand. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Dance with me, Scully." His mom shook her head. "There's no dancing here, Mulder." "There is if we want there to be," he told her. "There's music, and there's room. Come on, Scully..." She sighed, glanced around their little curtained-off area, then finally took his hand and stood. Will's dad grinned in victory as the two of them came together and started swaying to the music. Will turned to his grandma and, with a smile on his face, scooted his chair over so he could lean up against her. She slipped her arm around him, and Will saw John reach for Monica's hand under the table. "I'll never say goodbye to my love, It's understood. It's everywhere with my love, My love does it good. Only my love does it good to me." Then the song ended, and Will's mom and dad stepped apart, his mom coming over to him. "Your turn," she said, holding out her hand to her son. "To dance?" Will blurted out. She nodded. "But I don't know how," he insisted. "There's no trick to it." His mom tugged him off his chair and into her arms. "Just listen to the music and sway. And don't step on my toes," she added. Will looked down to see that she'd slipped off her sandals. He wiggled his own toes at her, encased only in his black dress socks, and his mom smiled at him. They got through the song with minimal damage to his mom's toes and only two near-collisions with Will's dad and grandma, and John and Monica, who had joined them on the makeshift dance floor. When the song ended they switched partners, and Will ended up with Monica. John offered his hand to Will's grandma, and his parents were together again, his mom looking especially short next to his dad with her shoes off. Her new wedding ring sparkled with the light of the candles on their table, and Will smiled. He had gone with his dad to pick out the ring. It was the same day they had looked for a new tie for Will, after discovering that his old one had somehow gotten ruined while he was using it to secure the blankets he'd made into a tent under the dining room table. Will hadn't liked the jewelry store. The lights were too bright and the saleswoman looked at his dad funny, her smile big and fakey, and her eyes blinking like she had an eyelash stuck in them. His dad hadn't seemed to like her either, though, and he'd led Will around the store, asking his opinion on rings that, to Will, all looked the same. Bored, Will had plopped down into the comfortable chair in the corner of the store, focusing on the saleswoman. She was trying to figure them out, he knew, wondering whether his dad was really his stepfather-to-be or whether the woman he and his dad were calling 'Mom' was really going to be his stepmother. "Tired?" Monica asked now as Will yawned, and he nodded. Will and his dad and John had gone swimming that morning, something Will knew had more to do with keeping him busy and tiring him out than wanting to swim, because the water had been freezing-cold. Now, between the long swim and the overall excitement of the day, Will knew that he wouldn't have trouble falling asleep that night. Before he knew it, Will felt a pair of strong arms lift him off his chair. He mumbled out a half-question and was met with a soft "sh." Will opened his eyes to see his dad's face, a soft smile on his lips, then closed them again. His dad carried him upstairs, where Will awoke enough to change into his pajamas and crawl into bed. His dad tucked him in, but his mom must have been there, too, because Will felt her lips press against his cheek in a goodnight kiss. * * * * * A man and a woman were eating breakfast in the kitchen when Will and his grandma went downstairs early the next morning, their shoulders nudging each other gently as they ate. But it was the wrong man and woman, not his mom and dad. Will tried not to let his disappointment show as he sat down at the table beside John. "Good morning," Monica said, and Will's grandma exchanged greetings with the two agents, who had already finished their breakfasts and were sipping at coffee while they flipped through the thin edition of the local newspaper. "When are you two heading back?" his grandma asked. "Soon," John said. "We're already checked out." He nodded toward the luggage piled by the door. Will stared at the bags sadly. His own suitcase and backpack were packed and waiting upstairs in the room he'd shared last night with his grandma. He thought of Pup, tucked into the pocket of his backpack, and wished he had his stuffed dog there with him. He was feeling sad this morning, something his grandma had said was letdown from all the excitement of the previous day. But Will wasn't so sure. "We were planning on leaving early," Monica explained. "It's a long drive back, and I'm sure we'll have a pile of work waiting for us at the office. But I wanted to say good-bye to Dana and Mulder first." "Well, they should be down any minute now," his grandma said. "They promised to see Will and me off." John and Monica both looked over at Will, who was busying himself with peeling the wrapper off a blueberry muffin. He couldn't really feel anything for sure, but he knew they were wondering about him and if he was sad to be going home without his parents. Will felt his grandma's hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Do you want some juice?" she asked, reaching for a pitcher. But John beat her to it, hefting both the orange and grape juice pitchers over to her. "Thank you, John." She turned two glasses upright. "Orange or grape, Will?" He shrugged halfheartedly. It didn't matter since there was no pineapple and that was his favorite. He watched her pour a half-glass of orange juice and set it in front of him. Then she poured herself some grape juice and a cup of coffee and contemplated the selection of muffins and Danish on the tray in the center of the table. Will nibbled at his muffin and waited. He felt strange that morning, not as happy as he had at the wedding the previous day but not exactly sad either. As much as he loved staying with his grandma, he wished he could go home with his mom and dad and just go back to his normal life, instead of going to his grandma's house and waiting for his cousins to arrive for the holidays. As much as Will was excited about his dad being there for Christmas for the first time, he dreaded the days before the holiday, which he'd have to spend with Matt, Patrick, and Abby. "'Morning." Will turned at the sound of his mom's voice to see her standing in the kitchen door, her wet hair hanging to her shoulders and a smile on her face. "Mom," he cried, and he jumped up to meet her at the door. He threw his arms around her waist. "Whoa," she said with a laugh, taking a few steps back. "Nice to see you, too, sweetie." Still in her arms, Will turned when he heard the amused chuckles of John, Monica, and his grandma. They smiled indulgently at him, but Will saw his grandma and mom exchange a concerned glance. "Where's Dad?" he asked as she tried to extract his arms from around her waist. "Still upstairs," she said. "He's in the shower; he'll be down in a minute." Will nodded and was forced to pull away from his mom when she moved to take his seat at the table. But then John and Monica stood, John taking one last gulp of his coffee. "We'd better get going, Dana," he said, setting his mug down with a thunk. "It's a long drive back to DC." His mom nodded in agreement and exchanged hugs with John and Monica. "Have a good time, Dana," Monica said with a wink as she pulled away from his mom. "Enjoy your present, and tell Mulder we said congratulations." "I will," she said, "and thanks for driving all the way down for this. We all really appreciate it." She hauled Will up on her lap then, and he craned his head back to lean against her neck, watching John and Monica. "Bye, Will," John said to him, and Will slipped off his mom's lap long enough to give them each a quick hug good- bye. He and his mom and grandma watched as the two agents retrieved their overnight bags from near the door and gave one last wave before they left. "Did you eat already?" his mom asked, and Will shrugged. "I'm not hungry." "You'd better eat something. It's a long drive home." "That's his muffin," his grandma pointed out. "Finish your muffin, Will." She pushed the wrapper toward him, then poured herself a cup of coffee and took an apple cinnamon muffin from the platter. They ate in silence for a minute, Will savoring his breakfast and his mom's presence. It was an irrational thing, he knew, but he didn't want to go back home without her. "What time were you planning on leaving, Mom?" his mom asked. "After I finish my coffee and Will eats his breakfast." She nodded down at her nearly empty mug. "As long as Fox comes down to say goodbye." "Mom, do you think Phoenix will remember me?" he asked then. They had never left the dog home alone before, not ever. Even though the Gordons had promised to take good care of him, Will was worried about Phoenix. He hoped the puppy wasn't scared, being all alone in the dark, empty house. "Of course he will," she assured him. "He's probably missing you right now, dreaming about you taking him for a walk and going to the park to play ball." Will smiled at her and took a big bite out of his muffin. "He won't be mad at me?" Will asked. "Even though I'm staying at Grandma's and he's staying at home by himself?" "He'll just be that much happier to see you when we go visit him," his grandma said. "We'll stop by in the morning and again at night to feed him and let him out, and the Gordons will check on him, too." "I know," Will said, "but I don't want him to be lonely at home by himself. He might be worried about me. He might get scared." "There's nothing to worry about," his mom promised. "Phoenix will be fine at home, and you and Grandma will have fun at her house. And before you know it, your dad and I will be back, and it'll be Christmas. You don't have to worry, sweetie." "And if we need to, Will, we can always sleep at your house one night," his grandma said. "In case Phoenix gets lonely." "Thanks, Mom," his mom said. "But you don't have to--" But she was interrupted when his dad stepped into the kitchen. He was dressed but had bare feet and, like Will's mom, wet hair. He smiled at them as he poured himself some coffee. "'Morning," he said, ruffling Will's hair on his way to sitting down at the table. "That was a long shower," Will observed, and his dad smiled. "Not as long as your mom's," he said with a wink at Will. "She hogs all the hot water, and then she tells me to hurry so we have time to have breakfast and say goodbye." Will giggled as his mom reached across the table to poke at his dad's chest. He fell back in mock injury, his eyes twinkling. "Do you think Phoenix misses me?" Will asked his dad. His dad looked thoughtful while he chewed a big bite of Danish. "I'm sure he does." He took a sip of his coffee. "I know Mom and I will miss you. A lot." "I'll miss you, too," Will said, and for the first time that morning he wanted to cry when he thought of leaving his mom and dad and going back to Washington. Then he thought of Matt and Patrick and Abby coming later in the week, and he wished he were still a baby and could grab onto his mom's arm and whine and cry until she agreed to let him stay. But Will knew that he was too old to do that now, and the realization made him sad. "We'd better get going," his grandma said softly. "It's a long drive back, Will. You want to use the bathroom before we go?" Will nodded and dashed upstairs just as his mom and grandma moved toward each other for a hug. When he got back downstairs, his grandma was patting his dad on the back before she headed up to the bathroom herself. "Come here, sweetie," his mom said, stooping down, and he went willingly into her arms. "You know I'll miss you." Will nodded against her chest, fighting hard to stop the tears from coming. "Be good for your grandma. Go to sleep when she tells you, and no reading under the covers or in the bathroom." She said this last sentence sternly, punctuating it with a pat on his back. "Promise?" "I promise." "And play nice with your cousins, Will," she reminded him. "Don't get upset with them; I'm sure they're going to be sad that they won't be able to spend Christmas with their dad." Will nodded. His Uncle Bill had left just after Thanksgiving, and by now his ship was somewhere in the Pacific Ocean; Will knew he wasn't scheduled to return for a long time. For Will, that was both good and bad; good because it meant he wouldn't have to see Uncle Bill, his least favorite relative of all, but bad because Matt and Patrick would be even meaner to him than usual to make up for missing their dad; they always were when Uncle Bill was at sea for Christmas. "I love you," his mom told him. "We'll call you tonight, okay?" "Okay," he said, and she finally loosened her arms around him. Will held on for another second, then stepped away from her and flew into his dad's arms. He buried his head in the crook of his dad's neck as his dad stood and held him against his chest. "We'll be back in five days," his dad promised. "Mom and I will talk to you every night." "I know," Will said softly. "Have fun with your grandma, and don't let your cousins get to you, okay?" His dad's hand came up to cradle Will's head against his shoulder, then ruffle through his hair. "Okay." Will took a deep breath, still fighting tears. "I'm gonna miss you, Dad." "Me, too, buddy," he said. "Love you." "I love you, too," Will said as his dad set him back down on his feet. But before he could pull away, his dad leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Just five days," he whispered in Will's ear before straightened. By then his grandma came back downstairs, her purse slung over her shoulder and her car keys in her hand. "Do you need help with the bags, Maggie?" his dad asked. "That would be wonderful, Fox; thank you. They're still upstairs, in my room. Two suitcases and Will's backpack." "Be right back," his dad promised, and took the stairs two at a time. He returned a minute later with a suitcase in each hand and Will's bag slung over one shoulder, the backpack looking small and silly against his broad chest. His sandals smacked against the wooden stairs. Will's mom scrambled to hold the door open for him, and Will and his grandma followed them outside. After they'd gotten the car all packed up, Will reluctantly climbed in the front seat beside his grandma. As the Chrysler roared to life, Will felt a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. He wished he hadn't finished that muffin. His mom and dad each leaned down to kiss him goodbye one last time, and then his dad pushed the car door closed. With a wave, his grandma pulled away, tires crunching on the seashell-lined driveway. Will craned his neck around, watching through the back window and waving at his parents until he couldn't see them anymore. * * * * * Scully was silent as she watched her mother and son disappear down the driveway. She felt a strange tug deep down, a feeling she hadn't experienced in years, not since she'd last been separated from her son, when he'd been taken from her as a baby. She remembered the despair she'd felt back then, the first time she'd been alone in years: without Mulder and his mischievous grin, without the sweet smile of her baby boy. Just her own determination that someday, somehow, they would all be together again. Scully shivered at the memory and stepped back against Mulder's warmth. He brought his arm up to hook around her shoulders, and Scully could feel the new weight of his wedding ring press against her shoulder. "He'll have fun with your mom," Mulder said as she settled against his chest, turning her head to rub her cheek against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "He'll miss you, but he'll be okay." "I know." And hopefully so will I, she thought. She looked up at Mulder to see that he, too, had an anxious expression on his face. Scully couldn't help but wonder again at the changes in her life in just the past six months: Mulder's return and recovery, his developing relationship with Will, their marriage. Things were going so well for them that it was almost hard for her to believe it was all real; Scully had to stop herself from wondering whether it was a dream, whether she'd wake up to find herself in a cold, empty bed, the sound of her son's full- blown nightmare pushing in through the wall. Or worse yet, in her old apartment, an empty crib in the corner. Instead, Scully relished the strength of Mulder's arm slung around her shoulders, the warmth of the sun against her face, the dull roar of the ocean just yards away. She reminded herself that there was no reason to expect anything bad to happen. Enjoy this, she ordered herself. The previous days' storm had even cleared hours before, providing a dramatic backdrop to their first coupling as husband and wife. "He'll miss you, too, you know," she reminded Mulder, who nodded. Scully turned to smile at him. "I've never told you how much it means to me to see you with him, Mulder," she said. "Not just playing basketball or watching movies or helping him with his homework, but just being with him." Her grin broadened at the confused look on Mulder's face. "That you're so affectionate with him," she explained. "So easy together, and after everything that's happened... How you love him, Mulder." She reached up to set her palm against his cheek and felt tears prick at her eyes, a culmination of her son's leaving and the emotions brought to the surface by her memories. "I love the way you love him." * * * * * End Part 3. Continued in Part 4. Title: Song of Experience (4/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * 1978 West Harbor Road Bethesda, Maryland "Grandma?" Will looked over at his grandma, who didn't even pause in her kneading of the sticky lump of dough in front of her to reply, "Yes?" "Did you ever meet my other grandma and grandpa?" Her hands slowed, but did not stop their well-practiced motions. "No," she said. "No, I never did." She sped up her rhythm again, and Will stared, trance-like, at the familiar movement of her hands. She was making paska, which, according to Will's mom, was an Easter bread. But it had been his grandfather's favorite, so Will's grandma made it for every special occasion -- Easter, Christmas, birthdays -- even after her husband's death. And sometimes more often now, because she claimed that all that kneading soothed her arthritic fingers. "Is there something you want to know about them?" his grandma probed gently. "We can call your mom and dad if it's important." Will shook his head. It wasn't important, not really. He had just been thinking about his grandfather lately, ever since his mom told him about the dreams she'd had before he was born. Will had asked his dad about him once, when he was making a family tree for school. It hadn't been easy to ask; Will could tell that it made his dad sad to think about his own father, but Will didn't understand why. Even his mom, who told Will that she had never met her son's other grandfather, got strange feelings whenever she talked about the original William Mulder. Plus, his dad didn't remember a lot, and Will didn't want to make him feel worse by continuing to press on a painful wound. At least his dad remembered some stories about his sister, and what he didn't remember, Will's mother did. Second-hand memories, she'd said once; she'd heard so much about Samantha Mulder that it was almost as though she'd known the little girl herself. Will could understand the feeling. Samantha. An immediate picture sprang to Will's mind, as clear as though it was she and not Abby who was his cousin. Dark braids, hazel eyes, a smattering of freckles, a familiar smile. In his thoughts, Samantha was a little girl, the older sister he might have had. She had been eight years old when she'd disappeared, and Will realized that in just five months, he'll catch up to his aunt. "What do you think happens when you die?" Will blurted out. This time his grandma turned to look at him, a puzzled expression on her face. "Now, what brings these questions on?" Will shrugged. "I dunno." His grandma held his gaze for another minute, then turned her attention back to her dough. Will just watched her, the book he'd been reading several minutes ago abandoned on the table beside him. He glanced over at the book, held open by a flour-dusted rolling pin, secure in its little knitted sleeve that, Will supposed, was supposed to protect it. Will scooted the rolling pin off the pages, brushing flour off the bottom of a page. 'You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us?' the page read. 'You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him.' Was that true? Will wondered. Harry Potter's parents had died when he was just a baby, leaving him without any memories of them at all. If Harry's father could be inside him, did that mean that Will was somehow infused with his grandfathers and grandmother? With Samantha and with his mother's sister, too? Is that what happened to you when you died, that you became a part of the people who'd loved you? Will was still tracing his finger over the floury page of his book when his grandmother's hand covered his. "I think we go on to Heaven, Will," she told him. "Those of us who live well enough to get there. And I like to think that those we love stay with us." She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze, but her eyes were teary. "I don't think it would be Heaven if I couldn't check in on my grandchildren every now and then." Dough in hand, his grandma went over to the counter, where she plopped down the sticky mess onto a waiting cookie sheet. Will watched as she split it into three parts, then he climbed onto the stool beside her and helped her roll each third of dough into a thick log. Together they braided the dough, Will's floured hands holding the end of the plait in place while his grandma wound the strands together. They finished the braid and Will's grandma slid the cookie sheet into the oven. She went to wash her hands then, but Will's attention was caught by the calendar on the wall, at tomorrow's date, which was circled in red. The date was not labeled, but Will knew what the circle meant. Sometimes it was easy for Will to forget that he even had cousins at all, easy to forget that his grandma had three whole other grandchildren that she loved as much as she did him. Mostly that was because they had always lived far away, first in California and then in Texas. He only really saw them two or three times a year, Christmas and again in the summer, when they went on vacation together; only rarely did Will see them for Thanksgiving or just for a visit. As if reading his mind, Will's grandma came over to check the calendar, smiling as she tapped tomorrow's date with her finger. "Anything special you want to do tonight?" she asked Will. "It's our last night together, just the two of us." Will considered this for a long minute. "Can we just go see Phoenix?" he asked finally. "If that's what you want to do," his grandma told him, and Will nodded. He could always count on his puppy to cheer him up when he was feeling bad, and Will was pretty sure that he was going to be feeling bad once his cousins arrived. Maybe after that he and his grandma could watch another Christmas movie and finish decorating the tree. All they had left to do were a few more strands of popcorn and cranberries, after stopping to give their scarlet-tipped, needle-pricked fingers a break the previous night. And they could watch Miracle on 34th Street; they had seen most everything else at least once, and The Grinch twice. Yes, he decided, they could sneak popcorn and watch the movie and Will could remind himself that, like the little girl who at first didn't believe in Santa Claus, he too could have a happy Christmas this year. * * * * * "Incoming!" Will felt a small blob of cookie dough land on his arm. "Quit it," he told his cousin without looking up from his book. "I'm trying to read." Will brushed the bright pink doughball onto the counter. "*You* quit it," Patrick insisted. "You're always reading. Come on, Will, play with me." Will peered over the top of his book and saw multicolored splotches of dough decorating the kitchen. Dough on the counter, dough on the floor; there was even dough on the walls. He tipped his head back and, sure enough, saw a large green doughball hanging from the ceiling fan. "You three better clean that up," Matt ordered with his usual bossy, I'm-in-charge voice. "Mom and Grandma'll be home soon, and they'll be pissed." "You said 'pissed,'" Abby reported, eyes wide with awe. "You shut up, Matt," Patrick shot back, ignoring his sister. "You're just mad 'cause *you're* the one who'll get in trouble if there's a mess; Mom left you in charge." "Just wait," Matt warned them. "And we'll see who gets in trouble." And then he rose from his perch on the stool in the corner of the kitchen, shot them a disdainful look, and sauntered out of the room, his ubiquitous Discman in his hand and a stack of CD cases tucked under his arm. "I'll play with you," Abby offered, looking up from the brightly colored family she had molded out of whatever cookie-dough dregs she'd managed to swipe from her older brother. "Not you, twerp," Patrick told her. "Come on, Will." Will just shook his head. He knew how it went: his cousin would beg him to play together, promising all sorts of fun and hatching schemes of how they could get Matt into trouble and/or bother Abby. But then, when Will finally acquiesced, Patrick would turn on him, announcing that the game was called 'Target' and that it entailed the older boy chasing Will around the kitchen, half-loaded cookie gun in hand, taking shots at him like they were playing some deranged, edible version of paintball. No thanks, Will thought, turning back to his book. "You suck," Patrick announced as he flopped dramatically onto the stool next to Will, pounding his fist into a small pile of pink and white dough and smiling at the design he had created. "I'm telling Mo-om," Abby said. "Telling her what?" Patrick asked. "You said a bad word. You said 'suck.'" "You just did, too," Patrick pointed out. "That doesn't count," Abby insisted. Patrick smiled wickedly at Will, nudging him with his shoulder. "Did you know that if you rearrange the letters in 'Abby' it spells 'baby'?" he asked none-too-subtly. "I'm telling Mom," Abby cried. "You and Matt both swore, and now you're being mean!" "Go ahead, tattletale," Patrick said casually. He picked up one of her cookie-dough people and started rolling it into a skinny snake. "And I'll tell Mom that I caught you snooping for your Christmas presents in her closet last week." Abby's mouth opened into a little round O. "*You* suck," she muttered, so softly that only Will could hear her. He smiled and went back to reading his book. Patrick started kicking his feet against the table then, and Will looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "Stop kicking." But his cousin smiled victoriously. "When do your mom and dad get here?" Patrick asked. "On Christmas Eve," Will said. Just one day, he thought, and forced himself not to count the hours and minutes as well. He couldn't wait until his parents got back to DC. He had missed them from the very first day, but at least it had been fun when it was just him and his grandma. She'd taken him Christmas shopping, watched all the Christmas movies with him, and driven him and Phoenix to the park one day when it was almost warm outside. And he'd helped her wrap gifts and set them under the tree they'd picked out and decorated together. His grandma had even let him put the angel on top, which was traditionally his Uncle Bill's job. But all that had come to an end the previous afternoon, when the rented van driven by Will's aunt had pulled into his grandma's driveway. Now Will was sharing the guest bedroom with Matt and Patrick. At least he'd gotten the single bed; the two brothers were forced, despite considerable grumbling about 'seniority,' to share the double. Not only did Will not enjoy sharing his grandmother and his bedroom with his cousins, but when they were around he had to be so much more careful, careful not to slip and read into their feelings and say something wrong. Of course, Will was used to being careful during the day at school, but then he got to go home, where he could be himself with his mom and dad. Even with his grandmother it was okay if he let something slip; typically she would let it pass without saying anything. But staying with his cousins and aunt exhausted his restraint; Will was ready to get his mom and dad back. "What does your dad look like, anyway?" Patrick asked casually, and Will looked at his cousin curiously. It was no secret to either boy that Patrick's father and Will's had never been friends. Just why that was, Will couldn't exactly tell, but all he had ever felt from his Uncle Bill when his dad's name was mentioned was deep-seated animosity. Will remembered once when he was little and his grandmother had invited her extended family for Christmas, and Will had met great-aunts and - uncles, and second and third cousins that he hadn't even known existed before. One cousin of his mom's had commented that the Scully height gene must have bypassed his mom and been passed directly to Will, to which Will's mom had commented softly, "He gets his height from his father." No one had known what to say to that -- Will guessed that his mom's distant relatives had probably never heard of, never mind met, his dad -- but his Uncle Bill had thought plenty about it, mostly bad words that would've sent Abby running off to tattle. "Grandma took pictures at the wedding," Will told his cousin, pointing to the thick envelope on the counter. Patrick slipped off his stool and retrieved the photos. He slid the prints out of the envelope and slowly paged through them, stopping mid- stack. Will craned his neck to see which one it was: the photo showed Will and his mom and his dad, not posed together after the ceremony like most of the pictures, but days earlier, before the wedding. Will remembered when his grandma had taken the picture, when the four of them had gone for a walk on the beach the day his grandma had arrived. In the photo, the three of them were sitting together on the beach, surrounded by the complicated sandcastle that Will and his dad had built together. It was that negative that his grandma had taken to get enlarged and framed to give his parents as a Christmas gift. "He's old," Patrick commented finally. "He is not." Will looked longingly at the picture and missed his parents all over again. "He looks as old as Daddy," Abby remarked, pushing her narrow shoulders between the two boys for a glimpse. "But he has a bigger nose." "No, he doesn't," Will insisted. "Whatever," Patrick said as he flipped the picture over and browsed through the rest of the way through the pile. Finally he set the photos on the counter and looked up at Will with a challenge in his eyes. "Matt said that even though your mom and dad are married now, you're still a bastard, 'cause they weren't married when you were born." "Aaaww," Abby chastised. "You swore again. This time I'm really telling Mom." "Shut up, twerp," Patrick told his sister, taking a swipe at her head as she scampered out of the kitchen. "Matt!" Abby called, her feet pounding up the stairs. "Matt, Patrick just tried to hit me. And he said *two* bad words." Will said nothing, just flipped his book back open and tried to ignore his cousins. Abby was a tattletale baby, but Matt and Patrick were the worst, teasing him and wanting to play mean games where Will always ended up as their target. Yesterday they'd conned him into playing cops and robbers until Will discovered that, as a robber who'd made a jail break, his sole purpose in the game was to avoid being pummeled by his bigger, stronger cousins. "And," Patrick continued, undaunted, "they told us in catechism that if you have a baby and you're not married, when you die you go to hell." Will set his book back on the counter, leveling a piercing gaze at his cousin. "Why?" he challenged. "Why what?" "Why do you go to hell?" Patrick shrugged. "'Cause that's the rules," he insisted. "At least that's what Mrs. O'Brien said. She said it's in the Bible, I think the Ten Commandments... Don't you even go to catechism?" Will shook his head. Most weeks he went to church with his mom and they talked about the mass on the drive home: what had been read from the Bible, what the priest had said, and what it all meant. Those were some of his favorite times with her, just the two of them together. Sometimes his dad went to visit his friends the Gunmen when they were in church, so Will and his mom stopped for brunch on the way home, just the two of them. "That's not in the Ten Commandments," Will informed his cousin. "Yuh-huh," the other boy insisted. "Mrs. O'Brien said--" But Patrick's rebuttal was cut off by the ring of the telephone. "I'll get it," Matt shouted, and they heard footsteps race down the hall upstairs. "Matt's got a girlfriend," Patrick confided in Will. "Ashley. She calls him all the time at home, except when Dad's there. Then Matt hides in the pantry and he calls her." A minute later they heard feet pounding down the steps and into the kitchen. "It's Aunt Dana," Matt told Will, who hopped off his stool and reached for the cordless phone on the counter. "Mom?" "Hey, sweetie." His mom's voice sounded happy and relaxed, and Will wished he were there with her, on the beach in North Carolina with her and his dad instead of cooped up with Matt, Patrick, and Abby. "Are you having fun with your cousins?" "No." His mom laughed then, and to Will it sounded as though she were just in the other room. "What have you been doing?" "Making cookies." Will glanced around the kitchen. At least they were supposed to be making cookies; his grandma and aunt had gone out to run errands, leaving the four children with strict instructions to take the last batch of cookies out of the oven when the timer rang and then clean up the kitchen. At least they'd remembered the cookies, Will thought. "I made special ones for you and Dad," Will told her. He looked over to the cooling rack, where sat the two cookies he'd decorated for his parents, with red and green icing spelling out 'Mom' and 'Dad' in a careful script and silver sprinkles lining the edges. "I'm sure they'll be delicious," she said. "Did you go swimming?" "No, sweetie, I'm afraid it's still too cold," she told him. "What do you *do* then?" he pressed. It sounded boring to Will: to be at the beach but unable to swim or snorkel or anything because it was too cold. He didn't know what the point of it was anyway, why they couldn't just have waited until the summer to get married, so they could swim in the ocean. A pause, and then his mom said, "Well, we walk on the beach every day, and sit by the water and read. Last night we drove into town for dinner and did some last-minute Christmas shopping." Will stifled a yawn. It sounded boring to him, and why his mom and dad wanted to stay in North Carolina together instead of coming back to do Christmas stuff with Will and his grandma, he did not understand. "Do you miss me?" he asked. "Silly Will," his mom said, and Will could hear the smile in her voice when she said that, one of the names she used to call him when he was little. "Of course I miss you; Dad does, too. Speaking of Dad, he's standing here with his hand out, waiting for his turn on the phone. I'll see you tomorrow, okay, sweetie?" "Okay," he said. "I love you." "Love you, too, Mom," Will told her. "Hey, buddy." His dad's voice sounded soft and safe and familiar, and Will closed his eyes to pretend that his dad was standing there in the kitchen with him. "Hey." Will smiled. "How's it going there?" "Okay," Will said. "I wish you and Mom were here." His dad chuckled. "Well, it's only one day more. How's Phoenix doing?" "I think he's depressed." Again his dad laughed, amused. "Depressed, huh? What makes you say that?" "He doesn't wanna eat," Will said. To him this was the most significant; usually Phoenix ate everything that was in his bowl and lots of stuff that wasn't. "Last time, me and Grandma had to feed him some kibble by hand, because he hadn't eaten anything at all. He looks sad, and when we visit, he won't even go outside unless I go with him." "I'm sure he'll be okay," his dad reassured him. "Maybe you wanna take your cousins the next time you and Grandma go see him." "Maybe," Will echoed with a shrug. He knew his dad was thinking that maybe his cousins would be interested in the dog and then maybe they'd all magically become friends; his grandma had suggested the same thing the previous day. But Will wasn't sure he wanted to share Phoenix with his mean old cousins. He wasn't sure he wanted to share his dad with them either, he thought with a glance at Patrick, who was studying one of the photographs and trying to pretend that he wasn't listening in on Will's half of the phone call. * * * * * End Part 4. Continued in Part 5. Title: Song of Experience (5/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * It was still early when they slipped inside the house. Too early, Mulder thought with a yawn. It had been a long drive back from North Carolina, and they'd left late the previous night and not arrived in Washington until just then. They had gone straight to Scully's mother's house, their suitcases still jammed in the trunk. "Mom?" Scully called out softly. "Maybe they're still asleep," Mulder whispered. "No," Scully said. "Mom gets up at the crack of dawn on Christmas Eve to get a jump-start on--" Her words cut off into silence as Margaret Scully stepped into the living room. "You're back," she exclaimed, pulling her daughter into a lengthy embrace. "How was the drive?" "Long," Scully said as her mother gave Mulder a brief hug as well. "The beach was beautiful and the weather was good, but I'm glad to be home." "We both are," Mulder put in. Scully nodded. "Where's Will?" she asked, glancing around the empty living room. The house was suspiciously quiet, Mulder thought, especially considering that it currently housed four inhabitants under the age of thirteen. "Sleeping in the family room," Maggie said with a smile. "They wanted to have a sleepover, and it just seemed easier to spread out the blankets and sleeping bags down here than cram the four of them into the spare room upstairs." Scully shot Mulder a suspicious glance, and he knew that she was wondering what kind of sleepover Will and his cousins had had. It was no secret between the three of them that Will was hesitant to spend time with his cousins, especially Matt and Patrick, who teased him like Mulder imagined older brothers might. And none of the boys enjoyed having Abby tag along. "How was he?" Scully asked her mother. "Did he give you any trouble?" "Of course not," Maggie said, waving off her daughter's concern. "We had a good time together. We finished our Christmas shopping and wrapped presents, and he helped me drag the ornament boxes down from the attic and decorate the tree." Mulder smiled over at Scully, but she just worried her lower lip between her teeth. He set his hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Maybe I'll just go check on him," she said before slipping past her mother and disappearing into the family room. Maggie gave Mulder an indulgent grin. "How was she being away from him for so long?" He shrugged. It was not the first night Scully and Will had spent apart, but the five days Mulder and Scully had spent alone in North Carolina had certainly been the longest mother and son had ever been away from each other. They had called him at Maggie's every day, but still Mulder knew that it had been tough for Scully to leave their son alone with his grandmother for so long. She had said little about it, but the look in her eyes when they hung up the phone every night was evidence enough. "It was a little rough," he admitted. "I don't think she realized it would be so difficult until we actually watched your car drive off." Maggie nodded. "With just the two of them alone for so long..." Yes, Mulder thought. He understood. Scully's relationship with Will had always been close, the two of them sharing so much together, secrets and stories and special times. "I know," he said. "But I think the time apart was important for her. For both of us." Maggie nodded. "And for Will," she added. "He looked forward to your phone calls every night, Fox, and not just to talk to Dana." Mulder smiled. "Thanks, Maggie," he said. It wasn't that he was insecure about his relationship with his son, but he didn't mind his mother-in-law's reassurance, either. * * * * * Scully crept silently into the family room, stepping over sleeping bags and pillows, a half-filled bowl of popcorn, and a teetering pile of video games beside the television set. She spotted Will immediately among his cousins, the only child with his sleeping bag pulled over his face, hiding him from view except for the fringe of dark red hair on his pillow. "Will," she whispered, kneeling down besides his sleeping bag. She tugged the soft fabric down to uncover her son's face, his eyes closed and his mouth opened slightly in sleep. "Hey, sleepyhead, wake up." He blinked then, his eyes brightening when he made out her form. "Mom!" He scrambled out of the sleeping bag, kicking Pup loose in the process, and into her arms. Will clung to her tightly, and Scully leaned back, sitting on her heels, as she held her son. "I missed you," he said. "I missed you, too," she told him, slowly stroking his back as his breath warmed her neck. "Where's Dad?" He pulled out of her embrace to glance around the family room. "In the living room with Grandma," she told him, and he jumped up. "Dad!" he shouted, and Scully grabbed the hem of his pajama top as he started to dash away from her. "Sshh. Don't wake your cousins." "Dad," he whisper-called, scampering into the living room. When he saw Mulder standing near the door, Will launched himself into his father's arms. Mulder lifted him off his feet, Will's skinny legs coming up to circle his waist. With Will's head resting on Mulder's shoulder, Scully could see the smile stretching across Mulder's face -- my husband's face, she thought incredulously. "Miss us?" Mulder chuckled as he moved to set Will down. But the little boy still clung to him, so Mulder shifted his arms to make his grip more comfortable as he held Will awkwardly against his side. Will nodded. "Did you miss me?" he asked, his big eyes hopeful. "Of course," Mulder said. "I had no one to build sand castles with." "Not Mom?" Mulder shook his head. "Nah," he said. "All she wanted to do was walk in the waves and read her book under the umbrella." Not all, Scully thought, shooting him a teasing little smile, which was met with a smile and a slow shake of his head. Scully felt eyes on her then, and she turned to see her mother watching them indulgently. She could feel her cheeks reddening, but she didn't look away. You're married now, she reminded herself, the gold band still feeling foreign on her finger even after nearly a week. Will yawned then and laid his head on Mulder's shoulder. "Are you tired, Will?" Mulder asked. "You wanna go back to your sleepover?" He just shook his head, a contented smile on his lips. Then the front door flew open, and Tara Scully, accompanied by a large gust of wind and an armful of groceries, blew in. "Windy out there," she announced with a chuckle as Maggie stepped forward to take the bags from her arms. "Dana," Tara exclaimed after pushing her cropped blond hair out of her eyes. "You're back." Scully nodded and let herself be swept into her sister-in-law's exuberant embrace. "Congratulations," Tara said, then pulled back and turned to look at Mulder, who was standing to the side and still holding a sleepy Will. "Mulder," she said. "It's been a long time. It's good to see you again." She approached him with a hand stuck out, then giggled. "What am I doing? Welcome to the family, big brother." Then she pulled Mulder into a hug, positioning her arms so she could include her nephew in the embrace as well. Then she turned back to Scully, a smile lighting her eyes. "You look good, Dana," she teased as she slipped off her parka. "Marriage must agree with you." Scully gave her a tolerant smile, but she felt like rolling her eyes. This kind of thing was why she'd initially been hesitant when Mulder had proposed. She knew her sister-in-law was well-meaning, but really. Scully was a forty-four year old mother; the blushing bride jokes weren't exactly appropriate. Getting married at her age -- at their ages -- had seemed silly at first, a white dress and stuffing cake into each other's mouths and throwing a bouquet to giggling bridesmaids... not that she had any appropriately aged female friends or even relatives to fill that role, anyway. But then Mulder had reminded her that it wasn't about the wedding. They could get married any way she wanted: a big Catholic ceremony; a justice of the peace; hell, he had even suggested stealing away to an Elvis chapel in Vegas, though Scully had generously decided to interpret that one as a joke. It's us that counts, not some ceremony, he had reminded her when her mother's urgings to set a date, choose a location, and shop for a dress had threatened to overwhelm her. He had even taken care of finding a place for the wedding after overhearing a coworker talk about the wedding he'd attended at a nice little bed and breakfast in North Carolina. "Let's see your ring," Tara urged, capturing Scully's left hand with her cold fingers. An engagement ring was another thing that had seemed overindulgent to Scully. She had been glad when Mulder's proposal hadn't been accompanied by the traditional diamond solitaire; it just wasn't her. It seemed ridiculous to plan an engagement, like they needed time to get to know each other and navigate their life together, when they had already been sharing a son and a home, when they had shared so many other things over the years. So when it came to a wedding ring, Scully had expected a plain gold band; she'd been looking forward to it, actually. She was relieved that Mulder understood that a flashy engagement ring was not what she wanted. It seemed girly and impractical; given the latex gloves she wore for hours a day, chances were that a solitaire would snag on something anyway, or that she'd be forced to constantly slip it on and off, and risk losing it. But instead of a plain, thin band, Mulder had surprised her. "It's beautiful, Dana," Tara said, running her fingertip over the line of sparkling diamonds. The stones were embedded in the thick gold ring, protecting them from scalpels and bone saws and exuberant seven year olds. Then Scully's nephews lumbered in, with Matthew, the oldest, dragging a drowsy Abby along behind him. "Breakfast," Matt grumbled. "Can we have Pop-Tarts, Mom?" "Yeah, Mom," Patrick echoed. "Did you get strawberry?" "Manners?" Tara prompted her yawning sons. "Aren't you three going to say hello to your Aunt Dana?" "Hi, Aunt Dana," Patrick said, and Scully stooped to hug her nephews and niece hello. Don't have to stoop so far anymore, Scully thought as she hugged Matthew, who was nearly as tall as she was. She smiled down at Abby, who continued to hold on tight to her aunt's hand after Scully slipped away. Scully cuddled the sleepy little girl against her side. "And this is your uncle," Tara said as Matt and Patrick dug through the grocery bags for their breakfast. The boys turned to face Mulder, looking him up and down with identical skeptical Scully-stares. Tara pulled her sons in front of her, squeezing the boys' shoulders as she smiled up at Mulder. "Mulder, this is Matthew and Patrick," she said, pushing both boys toward their new uncle. They gazed up at him, apparently unimpressed, and Mulder smiled at them with matching uncertainty. "And that's Abby," Tara said, nodding at her daughter, who was still propped up against Scully, half asleep. "*Now* can we have Pop-Tarts?" Matt whined. Tara sighed. "Yes, you may," she said, and they all followed her into the kitchen, carting the grocery bags along with them. "Yes! Strawberry," Patrick cried out, pumping his fist in the air as he pulled the box out of a grocery bag. The adults worked quickly, preparing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, cereal, bacon, and Pop-Tarts, which Scully soon learned were so prized among the three Scully children because Tara did not allow her children to eat them at home. But among her own family, it was Mulder, not Will, who was most appreciative of the sugary breakfast, earning him reluctant kudos from Matt and Patrick. But Scully's focus was on Will, who alternately clung to her and Mulder's sides as they readied the Pop-Tarts and cereal, then set the table. Her mother had said that she and Will had had fun together, but each night when they'd phoned him, Scully noted the same pained tone in her son's voice. She wasn't worried, exactly, but she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that Will's clinginess concerned her. * * * * * Fox Mulder was happy. Not the jump-up-and-down, I-just-proved-the-existence-of-extraterrestrial-life kind of happy he had felt when he and Scully had finally become husband and wife. No, this was more of a peaceful kind of happy. Content, Mulder corrected; he was content, which, when he stopped to contemplate the feeling, was immensely better than plain old happy, which from his experience was fickle and fleeting. Mulder glanced down to the figure sleeping on the sofa next to him, her head on his thigh. He smiled as he smoothed a wayward strand of hair off Scully's face. His wife was dozing peacefully beside him; his son was upstairs playing; and Mulder himself was safe and warm and not hospitalized. In short, it was the best Christmas in Fox Mulder's memory. Of course, it didn't hurt that the last Christmas Mulder remembered began with him and Scully lying in pools of their own imaginary blood. Admittedly, there wasn't a lot of competition. Scully stirred then, muttering something unintelligible. Mulder gently stroked her shoulder, and quickly she fell back into a tranquil sleep. "Is Dana still sleeping?" Maggie asked softly, popping her head in from the kitchen. Mulder nodded. Both Scully and Tara had started feeling ill after sampling Tara's new eggnog recipe, and Scully, after a cup of peppermint tea, had dropped off to sleep on the couch in the living room, fighting to stay awake even as Mulder tried to lull her to sleep with a gentle back rub. "Poor baby," Maggie whispered as she came into the family room. She pushed her daughter's sweaty hair off her face, then lay a cool compress on her forehead. She made a gentle, tsking sound, then turned to Mulder. "Are you all right, Fox? Do you need anything?" Mulder shook his head. Neither he nor the children had had any eggnog, so they were in the clear. And so far Maggie, who had had just a sip, wasn't feeling any ill effects, either. After taking Scully's half-filled mug of now-cold tea off the end table, Maggie returned to the kitchen, leaving Mulder alone with his bride and his thoughts. It had been a beautiful morning. Washington had woken to a Christmas surprise: a snowfall heavy enough to provide the proper holiday ambience yet light enough not to stand in the way of the city's travel plans. Mulder himself had awoken to a familiar warm body draped over his own and a small, cold foot lazily stroking his calf. He and Scully had scarcely exchanged their 'Merry Christmas's when Will had bounded in, forgetting to knock, and launched himself onto their bed. Mulder had scrambled for his boxers, slipped them on while Will was energetically spreading his Christmas cheer, and ushered his son downstairs with a promise of waffles for breakfast. He, Scully, and Will had opened their gifts to each other after breakfast, then dressed for Maggie's, where they continued their celebration with another round of presents, followed by an early Christmas dinner. All four children were upstairs now, playing surprisingly peacefully with a board game that had been a gift from their grandmother. Knowing the kids' propensity for any game to turn into a war, Mulder supposed he should go upstairs and check on them. But between the weight of Maggie's delicious Christmas dinner still digesting away in his gut and the gentle heaviness of Scully's head on his lap, he was loathe to move. Plus, Mulder reflected, he was content. A slow smile was stretching across his lips when Tara walked in and took a seat beside the Christmas tree, busying herself with gathering errant balls of wrapping paper that had, just hours ago, been the ammunition in an all-out battle: the Scully boys versus the Mulder boys... the Mulder *men,* he corrected. Either way, it was he and Will against Matt and Patrick, and more than drilling his nephews with wrapping paper balls, Mulder had enjoyed the look on his son's face when he realized that, for the first time, he was no longer outnumbered. Tara sniffled loudly as she tied up the trash bag, and Mulder's smile faded. "Something dead in there?" he kidded. His sister-in-law looked up at him with tears in her eyes and a sheepish smile on her face. "I just got off the phone with Bill," she explained. "I didn't hear the phone ring," Mulder mused. Tara nodded. "You were sleeping." "I was not," he insisted. "If it wasn't you, then I'd say Dana has a pretty masculine snore." Mulder grinned. "Well, I wouldn't say that to her face, but..." Tara's laugh turned into a cough, and she reached under the tree for the small pile of unwrapped gifts that were addressed to her husband. Tara and their children had left Bill's gifts from them at home, but those from his mother and sister sat waiting. And, no matter how much Mulder hated the guy, he had to admit that there was something about those few lonely gifts that made him sad. "It's just hard," Tara said, her gaze still focused on the top package. She curled one of the strands of ribbon around her index finger as she spoke. "Not being together for the holidays. I miss him, and the kids miss him, and there's so many things he's just plain-old *missing*... And it's not that he's in any more danger than usual, or that I didn't know that this was how it would be when we got married... "It's just, right now, sitting here alone, that doesn't make it any easier." Tara looked up at Mulder, tears in her eyes, then gasped. "God, Mulder, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking... Here I am, complaining about not being together one measly Christmas, when you and Dana..." Tara's focus was on her lap, on tugging free from the ribbon, which had knotted around her finger. "I can't imagine how difficult it was for the two of you. Seven years apart..." She looked at him expectantly then, but Mulder avoided her gaze. He could hear his sister-in-law's silent plea: tell me you missed them, tell me you thought about them on Christmas, tell me you were missing her as much as she was missing you. "Actually, Tara, I--" I don't remember, he was about to say. But the look on Tara's face, so raw and needy, gave Mulder pause. He barely knew this woman, but he knew enough to see that his truth was not what she needed to hear. "I missed them every day," he told her. Nodding, Tara sniffled and smiled. "Thank you." She rose then, gave Mulder a hesitant and tear-damp kiss on the cheek, and went into the kitchen. "Liar." Mulder nearly jumped off the couch, taking his apparently awake wife with him. "You heard that?" Scully craned her neck so that she was looking up at him, and Mulder caught the washcloth as it slipped from her forehead. "I did." Pushing back from the couch, Mulder bent over somewhat awkwardly and kissed his bride. Scully hummed softly against his lips, which he took as a cue to deepen the kiss. So he did, slipping one hand under her head and caressing the soft skin behind her earlobe with his thumb. His finger found the back of the new earrings he'd bought her for Christmas, the diamonds that matched her wedding band. When he finally pulled up for air, Scully was smiling. "Don't change the subject," she scolded. "Why did you lie to her?" "I didn't lie." Scully's brow furrowed. "You're starting to remember?" Mulder shook his head. "I don't understand," Scully said. "I don't have to remember to know that I spent every day missing you and Will," he told her. At this, Scully smiled and pushed herself off Mulder's lap and onto her elbows so she could brush a soft kiss against his lips. "Feeling better?" he asked her. Scully nodded. "Last year," she began, then paused for another kiss. "Last year, Will and my mom and I went to Bill's. He was on leave, the weather was beautiful, and we had a nice enough time. But if someone would've told me then that this was where I'd be this Christmas, I wouldn't have believed it. Having you back..." She leaned over and kissed him again, more leisurely this time, pausing for breath and to murmur "Merry Christmas" against his lips before diving in again. "Eew! They're kissing," a child's voice called out, and Mulder groaned into his bride's mouth. "I guess the honeymoon's over, huh?" he said, and Scully sighed as they pulled apart. * * * * * End Part 5. Continued in Part 6. Title: Song of Experience (6/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown January, 2009 "When?" The look on Will's face was pained, his eyes haunted as he stared at his father. "Soon, Will," Mulder said, reaching across the dinner table for his son's hand. "Tonight." But Will jerked away from him, shoving his hands on his lap. "You promised," he huffed. "You said you wouldn't ever leave again. You *promised* me." "It's just for a few days," Scully intervened, reaching slowly for her son's arm and catching him above the elbow before he could move away from her. He didn't pull away, but Scully could feel his tensed muscles as she gently stroked his arm with her thumb. "He's not leaving for good," Scully assured Will. "He's just--" "There's a little boy in Arizona," Mulder explained. "He disappeared on his way home from basketball practice. Just disappeared. The police haven't been able to find him, and his parents are so worried, Will. They haven't seen their son in almost two days." Almost two days. Not a good sign, Scully knew; after forty-eight hours, there was little chance in finding a missing person and almost no chance in finding him alive. She remembered that from her training at Quantico, and from the dozens of missing persons cases she had worked with Mulder. It didn't matter who the suspect was: a crackpot neighbor, an unknown kidnapper, shapeshifting aliens, or nearly indestructible supersoldiers; forty-eight hours was forty-eight hours. Mulder had shared very little about the case with her when she got home that afternoon, only that he and Dave Margulies, his boss, needed to be in Arizona as soon as possible, and that Ellen, who usually took out-of-town cases with Dave, had caught an ear infection from her daughter and couldn't fly. Scully knew that a little boy's life depended on it, but she also knew that there was another little boy who was going to have a very difficult time accepting his father leaving. "And you're going to find him?" Will asked in a small voice. Mulder nodded. "I'm going to try," he told Will. Will studied his father for a long minute then, and Scully braced herself, certain that a tantrum of some kind was to follow. Generally Will was a well-behaved child, but his father leaving seemed to be a trigger point for him. But, once again, her son surprised her. "Okay," Will said softly. Okay? Scully wanted to ask. Okay? Where were the histrionics she'd gotten simply for preparing Will's least favorite dinner just the other night? Scully stared at her son, surprised to see him calm: no tears, no telltale red face that broadcast when he was upset. "Can we go with you to the airport?" Will asked in the same unaffected tone. "Dave's gonna pick me up in--" Mulder glanced at his watch. "In half an hour." Will just nodded as his father pushed his chair back and dropped his napkin onto the table. "I'd better get upstairs and pack." Mulder stopped beside Will's chair. "I'm sorry that I've gotta go, Will. But I knew you were old enough to understand why this is important." Then, with a ruffle of Will's hair, Mulder was gone. Scully waited at the table with her son, watching him watch Mulder leave the room. "You okay?" she asked him. Will just nodded. "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure," he practically shouted as he jumped up from his seat and bound upstairs. "You're excused," Scully called needlessly as she listened to her son's feet pound up the steps. She set her napkin on her plate with a sigh. So Will was upset, and rightfully so; when Mulder had taken his job with a small private investigation firm, he'd made it clear to his boss that he didn't want to travel. And Dave had been understanding; he employed at least one other investigator who had young children and worked primarily out of the office and on local cases, an arrangement made even easier for Mulder by the nature of his work. What Scully didn't understand was Will's reaction. She sat at the table for a minute longer, staring at congealed plates of chicken stir fry and the tiny crouton boats floating in lakes of raspberry vinaigrette. She fingered the rim of her wine glass, taking one last sip from the nearly full goblet before following her husband and son upstairs. When she got in the hall, Scully stared at the two closed bedroom doors, Will's shut tightly and her own still open a sliver, the clinking noises on the other side indicated that Mulder was selecting a belt from the hook on the back of the door. The door to the master bedroom came open a little more, and, with a lingering look at Will's door, Scully joined Mulder in their bedroom. He looked up from his half-packed suitcase when she entered, and he flashed her a smile. "I think he's okay with it," Mulder said. "Don't you?" He hurried over to the closet then, sorting through shirts and cursing under his breath when he discovered that he hadn't ironed his favorite blue shirt. "Mulder--" "Huh," he murmured, tossing three shirts onto his suitcase, hangers and all. He dove back into the closet, this time kneeling on the floor in search of shoes. Mulder chucked several running shoes over his shoulder before he found what he was looking for. "What?" he asked, turning to face her as he hurried over to his underwear drawer. Scully opened her mouth to explain, to tell him that, no, she didn't think Will was okay with it; that *she* was barely okay with it; that she thought maybe Will was afraid to be angry with Mulder, afraid that -- promise or not, wedding ring or not -- he might not come back this time. But then Scully caught sight of the alarm clock on the bedstand, the colon blinking at her accusatorily. She knew there wasn't enough time for that kind of discussion. "Nothing," Scully said. "Never mind." Mulder stopped, looking up at her from his open drawer. "You sure?" She paused, considering. "I just... Be careful, Mulder," she said finally. "Be careful in Arizona." And be careful with Will, she wanted to add; he may be perceptive and intelligent, but he was still a child and still very much insecure with his father's place in his life. Mulder grinned at her. "Aren't I always careful?" "Yeah, right," she muttered. "Seriously, Mulder..." "Seriously," he repeated. "I am now. Don't worry, Scully. I'll be back before you know it." * * * * * And he was, both careful and back before she knew it. Scully and Will picked Mulder up at the airport just three days later. After being happy and surprised to see them waiting for him at the baggage claim, Mulder had been decidedly closemouthed when Will asked about the case, about the missing little boy. But Scully could tell from the look in his eyes that the case had not been a success. She had tried to prepare Will for the worst, knowing that he would be curious when his dad got home. She reminded her son again and again that not all investigations turned out happily, that sometimes bad things happened to good people, a concept that she figured he was quite familiar with already. But Scully knew that he'd only listened halfheartedly, giving her the same amount of attention he had when she'd tried to bring up his reaction the night Mulder had left. After two days of not getting anywhere except annoyed on both their parts, Scully had decided to give up on her interrogation. Will was not going to share this with her, and she had to allow him that privacy. Still, she knew that this was a sore spot for them, something she'd have to watch; it would do none of them any good, after all, for Will to be walking on eggshells around Mulder, afraid to be angry or upset lest his father leave again. Instead of discussing the case on the ride home, Mulder had dug into his carry-on and produced a small gift bag. He passed it to Will in the backseat. "Is this for me?" Mulder nodded and turned halfway in his seat to watch as Will opened the bag. At the sound of a soft rattling, Scully glanced back in the rearview mirror. But she could see nothing, so she turned her attention back to the road. "Oh, cool," Will exclaimed. "You like it?" Mulder asked. "Yeah." A pause, then, "What is it?" Mulder chuckled. "A dreamcatcher," he answered, reaching back to rustle the thin strips of leather, causing the feathers and beads attached to them whisper against each other. "What do you do with it?" There was a red light then, and Scully twisted in her seat for a glimpse of Will's dreamcatcher. It was beautiful, with dark leather bands laced with white feathers and deep brown beads. A single bright blue bead was woven into the top, slightly off-center. "You hang it at the foot of your bed," Mulder explained, "and when you sleep, it captures all your bad dreams." "So I won't have nightmares anymore?" "That's the idea," Mulder told their son. "I like it," Will said. "Thanks, Dad." "There's more," Mulder said, and Scully shot him a cross look. Buying Will presents was not going to make up for Mulder's having to go away. Scully knew he wasn't purposefully trying to buy his son's forgiveness -- and she had to admit that he had managed to find an intriguing gift -- but she also knew that Mulder's sense of guilt was strong and that, whether he believed Will was okay with it or not, he felt bad for leaving. "It's not for you, though," Mulder added. Scully sighed heavily. "Mulder," she began. "It's not for you, either, Scully," he said. She darted a glance at him, eyebrow raised. "Oh, it's not?" Mulder shook his head. He scooted over so that his lips were beside her ear and, with a glance back at Will, who was still engrossed in his dreamcatcher. "I can think of a more... *exciting* way to thank you for your patience with my little trip to the desert, Scully." "Promises, promises," she sighed. She both felt and heard an intake of breath from just beside her ear as Mulder prepared to answer her, but he was interrupted by another exclamation from the backseat. "For Phoenix?" Mulder slid back to his side of the car and again twisted halfway around, his hand coming to rest casually on her thigh. "Yup," he answered Will. "I saw it at the airport. You think he'll like it?" "Yeah," Will said, passing the gift up to the front seat when they arrived at another stop light. Scully laughed when she caught sight of the collar. It was black, with small yellow suns woven into it, between the carefully scripted 'Phoenix' that decorated the collar. "Cute, Mulder," she said as the light changed. Scully maneuvered the car around a parked snowplow. They'd had a minor snowstorm the night before, with another predicted for the next morning. The weathercasters were predicting an ice storm that night, and the plows were out, salting the streets in anticipation. "Dad?" Will's voice came from the backseat, as soft as the tinkle of the beads and feathers of his dreamcatcher. "Yes?" Mulder answered as his hand, still resting on her thigh, gave a gentle knead. "I'm glad you're home." Mulder turned to her and smiled. "Me, too, Will," he said. "Me, too." * * * * * February, 2009 Mulder slipped into the bedroom, planning to just leave a cup of warm tea for his sleeping wife and then check in at sick bay number one, his son's bedroom. But Scully wasn't asleep, he discovered as he pushed the door open carefully. She was still lying in bed, though, her knees curled up to her chest and her hair falling over one eye. "How're you feeling?" Mulder asked as he left the door open to allow a wedge of light into the room. "Better," she said, squinting at him as he set the mug on the bedstand. "How's Will?" "Further down the road to recovery than you," he told her. "He's up to toast and popsicles now, and he's begging for more." "And?" she prompted. "And I've been following your instructions to the letter. I promise." He drew an X over his heart with his middle finger. Will had been begging for milk and one of his grandma's M&M cookies, which he knew were waiting in the cookie jar in anticipation of his recovery, but Mulder had held tight to Scully's directions, not wanting his son's flu to return. It was no picnic taking care of a small crabby boy and a woman who proved the old 'doctors make the worst patients' adage, and Mulder had no desire to lengthen his sentence. Gently he sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers finding Scully's hair. She hummed softly as he combed through her sweaty, knotted locks. "Feels good," she muttered. Maybe he could talk her into a bath later; it would probably make her feel better, cool her off or heat her up, depending on her ever-changing body temperature. "Feel up to some tea?" he asked, nodding at the steaming cup. "Maybe later." "Still feeling nauseous?" "A little," she said. "And dizzy and hot flashes and cold sweats..." "Well, judging from your son's rapid recovery, I'm willing to bet you'll start to feel better by tomorrow." "Mmm" was all she said, but Scully did ease the tea cup off the bedstand to cradle it in her hands, absorbing the heat and basking in the steam issuing from the hot liquid. "Cold?" He tucked the covers up around her shoulders. "Better now," she said, rolling her head over to rest against his thigh. "Don't get too close," he warned. "I've seen the destruction wreaked by this bug firsthand and I guarantee that you want no part in the clean-up end of it." Not that Mulder was really worried about catching anything; if he was going to get the flu that had plagued his son and wife for the past few days, he figured he'd have gotten it already. But so far he was clean, which had sentenced him to the roles of nurse, janitor, and jailer. More than once he'd wished that he, too, had been infected; he had dreamed of Maggie Scully arriving armed with homemade chicken broth and cool washcloths. Mulder had wondered more than once if this was some kind of payback for missing seven years worth of chicken pox and ear infections and strep throat. "Mmm" Scully said again, watching him through half-closed eyes. She set the mug back on the bedstand. "Not sure this is catching." "What do you mean?" "I don't think it's the flu," she said. "Not completely, at least." "Why not?" "Uhh, well." She opened her eyes to squint at him. "I never had a fever, and that's a pretty strong indicator of flu." "Then what?" A tiny fear danced deep down in his stomach, and Mulder clenched his abdominal muscles in preparation. Say something, Scully, he prompted. Say anything except cancer. Please, God, he thought desperately, not cancer again. In a flash, he understood Will's fear of his leaving, a reflex emotion that was the boy's response to every new situation. "I think it's menopause," she told him. "What?" "Menopause," she repeated, and he just stared at her, mouth gaping open. That was one thing he hadn't expected. Not that he hadn't known the symptoms, but still... "Aren't you kind of young for that?" She was only forty-four, after all. He wasn't any sort of expert, but didn't menopause happen to women in their fifties or sixties? To little old ladies with blue hair and white-soled shoes and Kleenex stuffed up their sleeves? "A bit," she admitted. "But some women are menopausal as early as their thirties. It's not unheard of. "And the symptoms fit," she continued. "The hot flashes and cold sweats, especially. I haven't been regular for years, but I haven't had a period in a while. It all makes sense, but I'm going to call for an appointment with my doctor to make sure." Mulder remained silent, considering this possibility, and after several minutes Scully rolled onto her side to face him. "What do you think about that?" she asked softly. "What do I think?" he repeated. "I didn't know I got a vote." That earned him a smile, albeit a slow one, and he shrugged. "What should I think?" "Obviously menopause affects how women feel about their bodies," she explained, "but there's research that suggests that it can also impact how a woman's partner sees her... since she's not young and fertile any longer. Some men don't-- don't want that. Don't find it desirable." Before answering her, Mulder lifted the quilt and slipped in bed beside his wife. To hell with the germs, he thought, daring the little buggers to make him sick. He moved slowly until he was spooned tight against her, her head cradled against his chest. "You know I love you, Scully," he said. "I wanted you when you thought you were barren; I wanted you when you were big with our son," he said with a stroke of her flat stomach. "And I'll want you when we're both old and gray and reminding each other where we left our teeth. You'll be swatting my wrinkled hands away when I'm chasing you around the nursing home with my walker." She chuckled at that, and Mulder grinned and rubbed his chin against the top of her head. "Thank you," she muttered. Minutes later she was asleep, evidenced by the soft and steady rhythm of her breathing and the childlike way she relaxed even further into his embrace. Anytime, babe, he thought. Anytime. * * * * * End Part 6. Continued in Part 7. Title: Song of Experience (7/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Her hands were shaking when she opened the back door. Scully stepped into the kitchen, set her bag on the table, and listened for Mulder. Soft footsteps padded across the floor upstairs, so she shrugged out of her jacket and walked slowly to the master bedroom, clutching at the railing of the stairs. Mulder was squatting in front of his dresser, clad only in dark boxer-briefs. He was tugging a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer when she stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. "Hey, Scully," he said. "I didn't hear..." His voice trailed away when he caught sight of the look on her face. "What is it?" Mulder asked immediately. "What's wrong?" She stepped over to the bed and dropped her jacket onto the mattress behind her. "Sit down, Mulder." "What?" he demanded. "Just tell me." "After you sit," she insisted, and finally he acquiesced, slipping his jeans on but not buttoning them before sitting down beside her on the bed. "You said," she started, then took a deep breath. "You said you'd still want me when we're old and gray and senile--" "I didn't say 'senile.'" He took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. "I can't make any promises for 'senile.'" She rewarded him with a flash of a grin before her expression once again turned more somber. "What if... what about if I'm pregnant?" "What?" "I'm pregnant, Mulder." The look on his face was priceless, almost worth the cost of admission. His eyes were wide and his jaw dropped open inelegantly. His hand lay limp over hers, a dead weight, and after several speechless minutes, Scully gave it a tentative squeeze. "Mulder?" "Pregnant?" he echoed. "You're pregnant?" She nodded, and the situation was suddenly more real than it had been before, more real even than when Mary Speake, her gynecologist, with a shit-eating grin on her face, had shared the news. Not menopausal, she had assured Scully. Pregnant. Scully let her eyes close as she drifted back into the morass of anxiety in which she'd been swimming ever since she heard the news. "I'm forty-four, Mulder," she reminded both of them. "Forty-four. Do you realize how old I'll be when it graduates from high school? Sixty-two years old. Sixty-two, that's how old. Hell, forget about high school, I'll be over fifty when it's Will's age. Fifty, Mulder. I'll be-- "No, scratch that. I'll be forty-*five* when it's born, not forty-four. Do you realize that when my mother was forty-five, she had children in their twenties? This is insane, Mulder, completely insane! "I don't know if I can do this. Forty-four, Mulder. I'm forty-four," she repeated, as if she hadn't been forty-four for almost a year already. "How can I possibly do this? My first pregnancy was difficult enough; I was high-risk back then, and that was seven -- no eight, eight years ago. "I must be crazy; I must. To think of doing this again: the late-night feedings and the diapers and the teething and the crying. My god, the crying... Well, the crying might not be so bad," she said with a strangled laugh. "My hearing will probably start to go by then, so--" "Slow down, Scully." She turned to look at him, having almost forgotten that he was still in the room with her. Mulder was hunched over, elbows on knees, so that their eyes were level. Scully took a deep breath and exhaled, waiting. "What did the doctor say?" he asked. She took another breath. Forgot for a minute to exhale, then remembered when her chest started to feel tight. "She said I'm pregnant." She hoped that Mulder wasn't still stuck on the mere fact of the situation. "Due at the end of August. "Oh, God. August," she sighed, adding and subtracting maternity leaves and school years and generally making her head spin. "Scully, do you... do you not want this baby?" Baby. Want this baby. Suddenly she was catapulted into another, as yet unvisited realm, one in which the situation was not just a pregnancy but a baby. She hadn't started thinking in those terms yet, comprehending the news as an actual person instead of just a shock. During the car ride home she hadn't yet moved past the mathematics of it all, the age she would be at its birth, at its first birthday, the age when it realized that she was closer in years to its friends' grandmothers than their mothers. "Scully?" "No, I... I do," she assured him. "I do want it. I'm just a little... overwhelmed right now." He nodded, slipping his arm over her shoulders. Finally Scully gave in to the fears and worries burning through her and fell up against Mulder's side, letting him cradle her against his warm, bare skin. "It is overwhelming," he said. "Christ, Scully, I'm forty-seven. Do you know--?" "Maybe we should quit with the numbers," she suggested. "They're making my head spin." "Okay." Mulder reached up to cup her head and gently guide it to his shoulder. He combed her hair off her face with his fingers, but Scully could still feel him doing the mental arithmetic and knew that his numbers were even more grim than hers. Of course, she thought, he wouldn't be the one in the stirrups crying for an epidural. Scully directed her thoughts to more pleasant places, to wondering about gender and hair color and eye color and smiles and noses, to thinking about a baby instead of a pregnancy, finding herself a little calmer when she put the situation in those terms. "We're not *that* old," he said finally. "So we're in our forties. People have babies in their forties all the time now... Don't they? I mean, I don't think the Guinness Book will be knocking on our door. We'll be fine. We'll just be--" "No more math," she insisted weakly, and instead he rested his head atop hers. They sat there together for several more minutes, Scully working on absorbing this news, trying not to let her brain figure out how old she'd be when this child graduated from college. Then she pulled away from Mulder, who gave a soft noise of disapproval as she slipped from beneath his arm. "What about you?" she asked. "Do *you* want a baby?" He looked as though he were seriously considering her question, and Scully felt a new anxiety creep in. She would not have an abortion; that much she knew. She had gone through so much to bring Will into this world safe and healthy that she couldn't even allow herself to consider that possibility, despite the fact that, once again, the circumstances were less than ideal. To think of what her life would be without her son, and to imagine the chance to have another child... Scully waited for Mulder's answer to her question, her stomach queasy with worry. "I admit this isn't something I've imagined for us. Not recently, at least," Mulder said. "I mean, I'm forty-seven and we've had more than our share of health problems and, Jesus, if this baby's anything like Will..." That sapped the remainder of Scully's strength, and she nestled herself back under Mulder's arm. If the baby was like Will... She didn't even want to think about what that would mean. "But even with all that," he told her. "I can't help but see it as a fresh start. Being there from the beginning, getting to experience everything I missed with Will. "Scully, maybe this is our second chance." * * * * * "What about Will?" Mulder asked when they heard a car pull into the garage. It was Scully's mother, back with Will. The two of them had spent the afternoon together. 'Doing grandmother things,' Margaret Scully called it, refusing to share all but the most basic details with her daughter and son-in-law. "What about him?" "We have to tell him," he said. "He'll know, Scully. He may not immediately realize what's going on, but it won't take him long." "Of course he will," Scully realized. "We'd better tell him, then. Today." "Okay," Mulder said. They listened to the slam of the car doors and the sound of her mother's key in the front door. "How do you think he'll take it?" Mulder asked. Scully shrugged. "He once told me that he had asked Santa for a brother or sister for Christmas, but I think that was more about being lonely than wanting a sibling." "You sure you don't want to tell your mom, too?" Mulder asked as he grabbed a t-shirt from the closet. "Get it over with all at once?" Scully shook her head. "No," she said. "I can't say I'm completely comfortable telling Will this early, either, but I don't see that we have a choice. It's better we tell him than have him figure it out on his own." "We're home," a familiar voice called then, and Scully exchanged an anxious look with Mulder. "Upstairs," Scully shouted. "Come into the study," Will called back, and Scully followed Mulder out of the bedroom and into the study. There they found their son already booting up the computer, his grandmother pulling up a chair beside him. Mulder shot Scully a dazed look then, and she knew he was imagining hanging wallpaper and putting together a crib and pacing the floor with a crying infant. She hoped her smile didn't look like a grimace. "What do you have there?" Mulder asked, coming to stand behind them at the computer. "New game," Will said, eyes wide as his attention never wavered from the screen. "Baseball. Grandma got it for me." They watched as Will pressed a few buttons and quickly installed the game. "Play with me, Dad," he urged, and Maggie offered Mulder her chair. They watched as a small figure wound up and pitched the ball to the batter, with Mulder clicking on the keyboard in an attempt to get his player to swing. But he struck out looking, and a chorus of boos trickled down from the stands. "I'd better get going," Maggie said, rising and rolling her shoulders as Will and Mulder hovered over the instruction book, trying to figure out the correct keystrokes to swing the bat. "I have that Pre-Cana meeting tonight." Scully nodded. Her mother was one of several widows and widowers scheduled to speak to a group of engaged couples from her church. "Bye, Will," her mother said, and he tore his gaze from the screen long enough to receive a kiss from his grandmother. "Thanks for the game, Grandma," Will called as Scully followed her mother downstairs. "Are you okay, Dana?" her mom asked, and Scully couldn't help the guilty feelings that crept in. Part of her wanted to share her news, to allow her mother to sweep her into her arms, to tell her not to worry and assure her that everything would be okay: she wasn't too old to have another baby, she and Mulder could handle this, Will wouldn't have trouble sharing his parents, the baby would be normal... But Scully just shook her head. "Fine, Mom. Just tired," she said. At least that last part was true. Right then nothing sounded better to her than crawling into bed with a mug of tea and a cool washcloth over her eyes and drifting into an uncomplicated sleep. Maggie Scully paused in slipping on her thick winter coat and turned to face her daughter. "Are you sure you've shaken that flu?" she pressed. "You still look ill." She held her daughter's face in her hands for a minute, her palms warm against Scully's cool cheeks. "It's something in your eyes, Dana," she said. "I've always been able to tell when you were sick by looking into your eyes." Her mom locked gazes with her for a long moment, and Scully resisted the urge to look away. Finally her mother pulled Scully into a goodbye hug. "Don't push yourself if you're still not one-hundred percent, dear. It will just make you worse," she said softly, her lips to Scully's ear before she kissed her cheek. Scully nodded. "Go upstairs, take a nap or a nice long bath, and let Fox worry about Will and dinner. He's more than capable," she assured her. "He has most of my recipes stored up here." She tapped her temple as they pulled apart. "Okay, Mom," Scully said, then watched out the window as her mother got into her car and backed out of the driveway. Then Scully turned and went slowly upstairs, listening to the cheers and grunts of her husband and son and the echoing technovoice of the computer announcing a homerun. * * * * * Half an hour later Scully was awakened by the sound of a car pulling into the garage. She pushed herself up on the couch, puzzling over the blanket that had somehow appeared on her while she was napping. Will, she realized as she focused on the outer-space print of her son's sleeping bag. He had even left Pup for her, tucked gently between her left side and the couch. She cupped the worn dog's face in her hands, a sleepy smile on her face. "Dinner," Mulder called as he dropped a take-out bag on the kitchen table. He came into the living room then, stooping to kneel beside the couch. Phoenix was right behind him, claws clicking on the kitchen floor. "You awake?" She nodded, her stomach grumbling in agreement. "And hungry, I see," Mulder said with a chuckle as she stood and folded the blanket. "Well, lucky for you, you're married to a very talented man. I've managed to slave over a hot stove for hours to replicate what I know to be your favorite dinner from Antonio's." "Wow," she said as she followed him into the kitchen, the dog on their heels. "You *are* talented. You've even managed to recreate the take-out bags." "Oui, madam," he said, going to the cupboard for plates. "That's French, Mulder," she corrected. "Not Italian." "Hey, you go with what you know." He shrugged. "Anyway, I don't think you can complain about the end result: dinner for three, at your service." She watched the expression on his face shift. "Dinner for four," he corrected, and Scully let a slow smile spread over her face as he reached out a hand. She guided him to her flat abdomen, feeling his fingers curl around her as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Jealous, Phoenix pushed his wet nose between them. "Don't get your hopes up," Mulder murmured to the dog. "I didn't mean you." "You really ready for this?" she asked, her words nearly drowned out by the sounds of Will's computer game emanating from upstairs. Mulder nodded. "We have, what, six months?" She nodded. "I'll be ready in five." Scully chuckled. "Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" He grinned. "Actually, I'm okay as long as I don't start adding numbers again..." "Subtracting isn't any better," she muttered. Mulder shot her a quizzical look. "I was pregnant on our wedding night," she explained. "When we shared that bottle of champagne." "You can't worry about that, Scully." She nodded. "I know, but..." He massaged her shoulders. "Hey, if memory serves, we got half-drunk on Shiner Bocks not long after Will was conceived, and I don't see him hurting for brain cells." She allowed herself a smile. "True." "And, as I recall, I drank most of that champagne," he reminded her. "You were feeling sick most of the day." She remembered. Nerves, she'd said with a breathy laugh. Strange that, after all they had been through together, it took a wedding to make her stomach jumpy and her head spin. Not nerves, Scully corrected now. The signs had all been there, only she had misinterpreted them. Nerves, she had self-diagnosed. Menopause. Even food poisoning after just a sip of Tara's experimental eggnog. Mulder squinted at her with great seriousness. "Stop worrying," he said softly, giving her shoulders one last knead before pulling away. "Hey, Will," he shouted, and then Scully heard him take the steps two at a time. "Time to eat." She couldn't completely make out Will's answering whine or Mulder's reply, but a minute later her son's footsteps pounded downstairs behind his father's. Scully was digging for silverware when Will and Mulder joined her in the kitchen. The dog sat near the table, his nose pushed high in the air, aiming at the smell of dinner. "What're we eating?" Will asked, unrolling the white take-out bags. "Wow, real dinner from Antonio's," he marveled. Antonio's was Will's favorite, but typically they only ordered pizza. Dinner from Antonio's was expensive, Scully protested when Mulder suggested it, and their favorites were breaded and fried and loaded with saturated fat. The last time they'd gone to Antonio's had been the night Mulder had proposed, and it had taken Will forever to choose an entre from the vast menu. "What's going on?" Will asked as he eased styrofoam containers out of the bag. "Why Antonio's?" Mulder grinned at her and went over to the refrigerator for drinks, leaving Scully to share the news with their son. She guided him to sit down at the table, then took the chair beside him. "Maybe we should put these back in the bag. Keep them warm," she said, replacing the take-out containers and rolling the bag tight over them. "Uh-oh," Will said. "It's bad." He focused on Mulder then, and Scully didn't need any special abilities to know that he was worried that his father was leaving again. Scully wondered if that fear would ever cease being Will's knee-jerk reaction when anything changed. "It's not bad," she assured him. "Don't worry." He knitted his brows together as he watched her carefully, the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he concentrated. Scully knew that they couldn't wait until after dinner to tell him. She thought he'd be too preoccupied with his new computer game to pick up on anything, but from the expression on his face she could tell that he was trying. "It's good news, Will," she said, and she wondered whom she was trying to convince. "At least Dad and I think so, and we hope you will, too." Scully reached across the table and took Will's hand, then gave a quick glance toward Mulder, looking for courage wherever she could find it. "How would you like to be a big brother?" "What?" he asked, his forehead creased in confusion as he glanced between his parents. "What do you mean?" "We're going to have a baby," she told him. "Dad and I just found out today." The expression on Will's face was shock, yes, Scully thought, but also excitement. The corners of his mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles, and his focus moved to her stomach. After several minutes of scrutiny, Scully covered her abdomen protectively with both hands. "Will?" she asked, a little worried now. She could feel Mulder tense behind her. "Are you okay?" "I'm going to have a sister," he announced. * * * * * "We don't know yet, sweetie," his mom said. "The doctor will have to do some tests before we know if it's a boy or a girl. Or we could wait to find out in August, when the baby's born." Will nodded and concentrated on feeling his sister. But the feeling was fuzzy, like the time he'd tried on his mom's reading glasses even after she told him they would hurt his eyes. Like someone had crayoned outside the lines. "Wait," his dad said, laying his hand on Will's arm. "Why do you say that, Will? Why do you think it's a girl?" "I can feel her," he said. "I can feel her in my head." His parents exchanged a glance. "What do you feel?" his mom asked. "Just that she's a girl." He looked up at them uncertainly, his brow wrinkled with the effort of trying to focus on the feeling of his sister. "Maybe I can feel more, later," he offered. "It's okay," his dad told him. "It'll be a nice surprise, I think, to get to know your sister once she's here with us." Will nodded, and his mom busied herself with unrolling the take-out bag and passing out their dinner. But he could tell that she wasn't sure whether she should believe him or not. She wondered if he was just wanting a sister and that's why he thought the baby was a girl. He watched his parents as they sorted out the styrofoam containers and poured iced tea. He didn't know what to say. He was going to have a sister, something he had never really thought about. For so long it was just him and his mom, and, even though he thought it would be fun to have a sibling, Will had never really thought it would happen. He had always been a little jealous of his cousins for that reason, especially Matt and Patrick; they didn't always get along, but they managed to make do to team up against him. It was like they had built-in friends. Will speared a plump ravioli and chewed thoughtfully. He wondered what his sister would look like, what her name would be, what she would be like. Would she like baseball? Would she have red hair like him and his mom? Would she be able to play with him or would she be too little? Will was reaching for his second slice of garlic bread when a thought struck him. "Do you think she'll be like me?" Will watched as his mom and dad exchanged long looks, both turning to him at the same time. Will fidgeted in his seat, clutching the napkin on his lap, waiting. "I don't know, sweetie," his mom said finally. "I don't think we'll know that until the baby's born, at least. Maybe longer." He glanced between his parents, both of whom were staring at their plates but not eating. Their feelings came to him at once, and Will's fork clattered down onto his plate when he finally understood what they were thinking. "You don't want her to be like me," he whispered in a choked voice. "You want her to be normal." "No, Will--" his dad started. "Uh huh," he insisted. "Don't lie. I can feel it; you don't want her to be like me." Will's mom scooted her chair closer to his, then slipped her arm over his shoulder. "Listen to me, sweetheart," she said. "Dad and I both love you very much, and we wouldn't change anything about you. You know that." His mom stared at him, eyebrow arched expectantly, until, finally, he nodded. "But I want you to think about how difficult things are for you sometimes because of what you can do. Think hard about that for a minute; do you want things for your sister -- or brother -- to be as tough as they've been for you? "I know it can get very lonely sometimes, sweetheart, but do you really want this baby to have the same kinds of struggles you've had?" Will looked down, a little ashamed. He didn't want to be alone, but he remembered how many times he'd wished he were normal, how often he'd prayed at night that the things he could do would just disappear and let him be like the other kids. When he thought about it, Will realized that it was kind of mean for him to want his sister to be like him just so he wouldn't feel lonely anymore. "I guess not," he admitted in a soft voice. "Will," his dad said, and Will met his dad's steady gaze. "You know that Mom and I will love this baby no matter what, and I think you'll love her, too." Will nodded. "And there's really no use in worrying about whether she'll be like you; or whether she'll be a completely normal, average kid; or whether she'll be special in a way that we can't even imagine yet," his dad told him. "We can't change what she's like. We just have to love her." * * * * * End Part 7. Continued in Part 8. Title: Song of Experience (8/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * When Mulder found Will, it was in his bedroom. His son sat hunched over the small table, tiny jars of paint open all around him. As Mulder stepped into the room, he could see, in the center of the table, the painting Will was working on. It was dark, with slashes of blue and purple and black crisscrossing the page in no apparent pattern. Mulder watched as Will added to the design, the brush clutched tightly in his fist as he scribbled with his paints. "There you are." Mulder sat on the edge of Will's bed, his knees too old to attempt the empty child-sized chair across from his son. "What are you painting?" "Nothing," Will said without looking up from his painting. He gave the page one last slash with a dark burgundy he had mixed in a small plastic bowl, then set down his brush. But he still didn't meet his father's gaze, instead staring down at his paper. Mulder could see his tongue poking out through his lips, a sure sign of Will in full contemplation mode, as he had been ever since he had found out about the baby three days earlier. "Something wrong?" Mulder asked. After another moment of thought, Will reached out for his brush and dipped it slowly into the cup of water at the far corner of the table, swishing thoughtfully. Finally he removed the brush and set it on a folded paper towel. "Why does Mom have to have a baby?" Mulder tensed. "What?" "Why does she have to?" "Er, Will, you, uh... you know where babies come from," he said, half-stating, half-questioning. Scully had told him that she had explained sex to Will already, in answer to their son's curious questions. When she told Mulder this, he had vacillated between relieved and disappointed. He admitted to some embarrassment when he thought about having The Talk with Will, especially at such a young age, but he couldn't help feeling that he had been robbed of sharing that moment with his son. "I know *that,*" Will stated, and Mulder nodded with some relief. "Then what's wrong?" he asked his son. "I thought you were excited about having a little sister." Will just shrugged. "You're not excited?" "I guess." "Being a big brother'll be fun," Mulder reminded him. "When she gets old enough, you can teach her all sorts of things: how to swim and play basketball, which is the best swing at the playground, where to rub Phoenix's belly to make his leg jump." Mulder grinned. "How to convince Mom to let you stay up past your bedtime..." "Yeah," Will said, but his reply lacked enthusiasm. Mulder regarded his son, who still hadn't met his father's gaze. The boy's face was drawn up with worry, his eyes dark with focus on the drying painting in front of him. Mulder waited. "But I don't want you to go away." Will's voice was so soft that Mulder nearly missed it despite the quiet of the bedroom. "I'm going somewhere?" Finally Will met Mulder's gaze with a scrutinizing look that was all Scully. He nodded solemnly. "Away," he explained. "Like after I was born." Ah, Mulder thought, finally understanding. "Will, I'm not going anywhere. Before the baby's born or after." "But you had to leave when I was born," Will reminded him. "I did," Mulder said. "But that doesn't mean I'm going away again. I'm not." He gave Will a slow grin. "You're stuck with me." "Then how come you had to leave before?" "You know this, Will," Mulder said, weariness overtaking him suddenly. He scrubbed at his forehead with one hand. "Mom and I have talked to you about some of the dangerous things that were happening before and after you were born. We were trying to keep you safe so that we could be together again." "Then it was my fault that you had to go," Will surmised. "No," Mulder said, his voice louder than he had intended. "No, Will, it was absolutely not your fault. It was mine and Mom's decision, and it was no one's fault. "I didn't want to go," he reminded Will for what felt like the hundredth time since his return in August. "I wanted to stay right here with you and Mom and take care of the two of you." "But you left." "We thought it would keep us all safe." "What if you have to leave again?" Will challenged. "I won't." "But what if you *do*? What if you find out that you're in danger if you stay here. Where will you go?" "I'm not leaving you," he promised. Will opened his mouth to protest, and Mulder continued. "It's not going to happen; that's not my job or Mom's job anymore. No one's leaving. "And that's nothing you need to worry about, Will; keeping this family safe is my job, and Mom's. We'll protect you, and we'll protect the baby. That's our responsibility, not yours. Do you understand?" Will nodded. "But what if we weren't safe anymore?" "You know," Mulder said thoughtfully, "I think our family is better when we stick together, don't you?" Will nodded. "So even if there was danger and I had to go away, I would take you with me." "And Mom?" "Of course." "And the baby?" Mulder smiled. "Right now, Mom and the baby are pretty much a package deal, but yes, Will, the baby, too." "And Grandma?" Mulder chuckled, imagining their motley crew fleeing DC under the cover of darkness: two well-traveled former FBI agents, a seven-year-old with mysterious mind-reading abilities, a newborn, and an elderly Margaret Scully. The five of them traversing the country, laying low in once-familiar shabby motels, driving through barren deserts and lush forests... "If Grandma wants to come, then, yes, she's certainly welcome," Mulder told his son. Finally Will smiled, a big, broad grin still chockfull of baby teeth. "Thanks, Dad," he said, grabbing for his paintbrush. * * * * * Scully awoke to an empty bed, Mulder's cold half still made. She glared at the alarm clock for a minute, then gave up and grabbed her discarded robe off the chair in the corner of the bedroom before heading into the hall. She found Mulder in the study, squatted beside a bookshelf, piles of photo albums scattered around him. "Go back to bed, Scully," he said without looking up. "I'll be up in a minute." "You said that an hour and a half ago." When he looked up at her it was with an apologetic smile. "How did you know it was me, anyway?" she asked as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Lucky guess," he said as he pulled another album from the shelf. Scully came to stand behind him, surveying the damage: a stained coffee cup, an empty bag of sunflower seeds, and a small mountain of picture albums. She set a hand on his shoulder and slowly massaged the base of his neck with her thumb. "Whatcha looking for?" Mulder flipped through several pages, and Scully caught sight of Will as a toddler, opening Christmas presents, fighting with his cousins over a blur of a toy. "There aren't any pictures of you pregnant with Will, are there?" "There are a few," she said, settling down on the floor next to him. She found the right album and slipped it off a pile near Mulder's right thigh. After flipping through a few pages, she offered him the book. "My mother took these when she came over for my birthday," she told him as she gazed past him at the photos, trying to skim alongside the delicate surface of her memory, unwilling to fall head-in at this time of night, in this state of mind. There were only a few shots, each with Scully looking warily or outright frowning at the camera. That day had been a difficult one, spending her thirty-seventh birthday with her mother, opening gifts that had depressed her even further: a gift certificate for a massage that reminded her how lonely she was, a maternity dress in a size that she wasn't yet ready to admit she needed, and a stack of books with titles that depressed her: 50,000 Baby Names, Making It Work as a Working Mom, and Single Parenthood: When Single Doesn't Mean Alone. She had tried to be grateful for her mother's helpfulness, but her patience was growing thin and her waist thick, and her mind had been preoccupied with memories of birthday number thirty-six, spent in bed with Mulder, alternating blazing-hot sex with feeding each other cold Chinese take-out and double-chocolate birthday cake. And it was the two-month anniversary of Mulder's death.. "That's it?" Mulder asked, looking up at her as he pushed the album off his lap. She blinked at him. "What?" "Do you have any others?" "I know there's at least one more," she said, surveying the stack of books. "It's in Will's album." She picked the book out of a pile on the other side of Mulder and pointed it out to him. He flipped the album open, groaning when he saw the photos on the first page. "Scully, how could you?" She chuckled. "He wanted to know what you looked like when you were a kid," she said, running her finger over the generous nose of a three-year old Fox Mulder. "He loves this book." She watched as he stopped at a page of a four-year old Fox and a newborn Samantha, the infant's mouth screwed up indignantly, her brother looking up at the camera with worry. He paged through the first half of the book, pausing to groan at several pictures of his young, shirtless self showing off nonexistent little-boy muscles. "Where on Earth did you find these?" "When I bought the house I went through some of your things in storage," she explained. "I found a few old photo albums." He skipped ahead and found the photo she'd remembered. "Do you remember when my mom took this?" she asked, and Mulder nodded, staring down at his younger self surrounded by pieces of Will's unassembled crib, Scully sitting nearby and looking exhausted. And very pregnant. Mulder looked up from the photo and squinted at her as if he were mentally adding a thirty-pound beach ball to her abdomen. He smiled, and she fussed with her hair, pushing it behind her ears with a self-conscious hand. "It's different this time, isn't it?" he asked. "What do you mean?" He shrugged. "It's all changed. Our jobs, our relationship, Will..." "And you want it to be the same?" "No," he said immediately, meeting her eyes with an insistent gaze. "No, of course not. I just-- We're going to be able to give this baby so much more than we gave Will. A real family, a home, two parents..." Ah ha, she thought, finally comprehending. It was not fear or anxiety over the changes that were about to come over their life, but guilt that was keeping Mulder awake. "We did the best we could for Will," she said softly, reaching across his lap to close the picture album. "And I don't think we did too badly." "*You* didn't," he said, and she wanted to throttle him. Yes, she had raised Will alone for seven years, but it frustrated her that Mulder wanted to focus on that past when they had a future together, all three -- now all four -- of them. "Mulder--" "I know, Scully, self-pitying again." He shrugged. "I just wish that we could have given Will the stability this baby will have." "Will's seven, Mulder, not seventeen," she reminded him. "He's still a kid, still growing up. He still needs us -- needs you -- now as much as he did when he was a baby." * * * * * Georgetown University "Okay, class," Mrs. Freedman called out, and Will turned his attention to the teacher. Outwardly he had been watching the icicles dripping from the window ledge, but really he had been thinking. Thinking about his sister, trying to recreate the feelings he'd had when he first realized that she was a girl, trying to tease out something more. Will had been doing that whenever he was bored during class ever since his mom had told him about the baby, but each time he had failed. A few times at home he had tried reaching into his mom when she was sleeping, thinking that he wouldn't have to wade through her own complicated thoughts and feelings to get to the baby. But so far he had felt nothing more than he had that first time. A second figure standing in the front of the class with Mrs. Freedman caught Will's attention then, and he focused on what the teacher was saying. "...remember Joy Gillen. Joy was in our class for a short time before winter break, and now she's back with us for good. So let's all make Joy feel welcome, okay?" The class gave a collective murmur as they gawked at the girl standing in the front of the class. But she didn't meet their gazes, just stared down at her feet, reaching up once to push her wire-rim glasses further up her nose. Will couldn't help but envy the smiles and curious glances that Joy was receiving. He could tell what the class was thinking without even trying: everyone was excited about a new student. The class always got that way with someone new, which happened so infrequently that it made for great excitement. It was a small class, and they all knew each other so well that a fresh face was always welcome. To Will, however, the introduction of a new student meant something different: the chance that, this time, he might find a friend. Will remembered Joy from the first time she'd been in their class a few months ago, and he wondered why she'd left and then come back. Will tried to tune into her thoughts, but all he could glean was an undercurrent of worry and fear over once again being the new kid in class. He felt bad for her, standing up there in the front with everyone staring at her, sizing her up for their friendship. "Joy, why don't you take the empty seat over there," Mrs. Freedman said, pointing to a chair two rows over from Will's desk. Joy nodded and took her new seat, and Mrs. Freedman went through the afternoon agenda that she'd written on the board. "So I want you all to get together with your writing groups," Mrs. Freedman said. "Today's assignment is to finish up your rough drafts. I want one clean draft from each group before you leave today so that I can read them over and make copies for everyone for next time." Mrs. Freedman's announcement was punctuated by the scrape of desk chairs as the class organized themselves into their writing groups. Normally Will liked writing, but he hated groups. All groups, really, but his writing group especially. Each group had been given a drawing, a story title, and a single line of text from this book, 'The Mysteries of Harris Burdick,' and their assignment was to write an original accompanying story. Will was more than a little creeped out by his group's assigned drawing. It showed a boy about their age asleep in his bed. And, coming into the boy's bedroom through an open window, were five bright lights. The title of the prospective story -- Archie Smith, Boy Wonder -- and the line of text -- "A tiny voice asked, 'Is he the one?'" -- were downright spooky. Will couldn't stop staring at it the day the drawing had been assigned. He'd brought home his xeroxed copy of the drawing, unfolded it on the dining room table, and showed it to his parents. 'It's just a drawing, Will,' his mom had assured him. 'Just a story from a children's book.' His dad had helped him look up the book on the Internet, and they'd learned that it had been published in 1984, long before Will was born. Of course he was not the boy in the bed. Still, just looking at the picture scared Will; he hadn't been able to bring himself to reread the caption since Mrs. Freedman read it aloud that first day in class. But Will had made up a half-dozen possible stories in his head for the drawing. In his favorite, poor Archie Smith was, indeed, 'the one' and went on to defeat evil wizards and dragons and all sorts of monsters. At the end of his final adventure, Archie was greeted by his fairy godmother, who'd given him a special potion that wiped out all his powers so Archie Smith became a normal little boy. Of course Will hadn't shared his story with his group. They wouldn't understand, he knew; they were too busy writing Archie Smith into a tragic hero, fighting valiantly against humanoid robots but ultimately sacrificing his life for the good of the planet. Will didn't care for his group's story, so he restricted himself to giving advice on spelling and stuff, and then only when asked. Which was rarely, so he typically spent groupwork time staring out the window and thinking. Dutifully Will pushed his chair over to join his group. He set his notepad and pencil on his lap and waited for Jessica Yue, their group's reader, to start the read-through of their draft so far, so that they could decide how they wanted to finish their story. "Group one," Mrs. Freedman said, and Will and the rest of his group looked up to see their teacher standing at the outskirts of their small circle of chairs, one hand resting on the new girl's shoulder. "Since you're the smallest, Joy will be joining you. Joy, are you familiar with 'The Mysteries of Harrison Burdick'?" Mrs. Freedman asked. The girl nodded. "Well, then, I'm sure you'll be able to jump right in," the teacher told her with a smile. "Jessica there will show you what drawing your group was assigned." Mrs. Freedman gave Joy a pat on the back, then pulled up a chair for her before stepping over to stop an argument in group three. Jessica passed Joy their drawing, then started to read their draft, but Will focused on watching Joy study the drawing. She made a strange, almost scared face, and Will concentrated on her a little harder, curious as to why she'd leave their class and then come back. She probably had lots of interesting stories of her own, and Will wondered whether he would ever learn them... or whether she'd just befriend Paul and Jessica and the rest of the class. But instead of dipping easily into Joy's thoughts, Will found himself struggling. It was a feeling he'd never had before, like he couldn't get inside Joy's head. Even when his mom was blocking him, Will had never felt this way, like all he was feeling was his own struggle to get inside her head, but magnified over and over again. It was like there was nothing of Joy at all except... Then Will realized what he was feeling: it was Joy, and she was doing the same thing to him that he was doing to her. It was like he was in a department store dressing room with lots of mirrors, where you could look forward and see yourself from behind, and then see endless reflections of yourself, growing smaller and smaller, fading into forever in the glass. Will gasped and pulled out of Joy's thoughts, eyes wide as he stared at this strange new girl. She was staring back at him, her head cocked to one side and her mouth dropped open in a little round O. Will blinked at her, then tried to speak. But his mouth was dry, and all he could get out were silent puffs of air. And Joy was frozen in place, eyes unblinking behind her glasses. Finally Will looked away. He pushed his chair backwards, hearing it tumble to the floor behind him. But he didn't care; he just jumped up and bolted for the door. "Will?" Mrs. Freedman called after him. "Where are you going, Will?" He just ran. * * * * * From: attalanta@aol.com Date: 5 Oct 2003 07:50:27 -0700 Subject: [all-xf] NEW: Song of Experience (9/?) by Christy Source: atxc Title: Song of Experience (9/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * It hadn't happened in a long time. In fact, Scully was hard-pressed to remember when the last time had been, the last phone call from Will's school suggesting that "maybe you ought to come pick him up, Dr. Scully." It had been so long that she'd thought maybe Will had outgrown this, the emotional fits that frightened teachers and students and never failed to prompt a call to her at work. A seemingly incongruous thought came to her mind then, and Scully remembered something her mother had told Will once years ago, while they were watching the Padres, her mother's favorite team, thump the Orioles. Never talk up the opposition's slumps, her mom had said; it was bad luck to mention that their batter was hitless in his last twenty-five at-bats because, before you knew it, he would be launching the next pitch into the bleachers. Scully found her son's classroom with ease, but when she peeked in through the small window in the door, she saw that Will's desk was unoccupied. When she reached for the doorknob, she heard a soft voice calling her from down the hall. Scully turned to see Maya, the graduate student who helped out with Will's class, poking her head out from a door halfway down the hall. Scully hurried over to meet her. "Thanks for coming so quickly, Dr. Scully." Maya stepped into the corridor and closing the door behind her. Scully nodded anxiously, trying to peer around the young woman and into the classroom she was effectively guarding. "What's going on?" she demanded. "What happened to Will?" "I'd like to explain that," Maya continued in a gentle voice, "but I'm afraid that, right now, it's all something of a mystery to us." "A mystery?" The younger woman nodded. "The class was doing groupwork when all of a sudden Will jumped up from his seat and ran out of the classroom. I found him in there--" Maya gestured to the classroom behind her. "-- and I've been trying to get an explanation out of him for the past hour," she said. "But he won't tell me what happened, and he's refused to return to his classroom. He insists that he's not sick and doesn't want to go to the infirmary. The only time he gave me an answer other than yes or no was when I asked him who to call to pick him up." Scully nodded. "Thank you." "I just hope he's okay," the younger woman said, stepping around Scully and back toward Will's classroom. "And I hope we see him back here tomorrow." Maya gave Scully an encouraging smile, then slipped back into Will's classroom. Scully took a deep breath, then turned to look through the window and into the room in which her son had taken refuge. But the view behind the smudged glass told her nothing: all she could see was Will sitting at the end of a long table, head in his hands. She opened the door. He didn't move at the sound, and Scully called out, "Will?" Finally he turned to face her, the expression on his face blank and unhelpful. "Will, what's wrong?" she asked, closing the door behind her and coming to sit beside him at the table. Scully reached out for her son's shoulder, and as soon as she made contact, he collapsed against her, his fingers clinging desperately to the sleeve of her coat. "Mommy," he cried out, and Scully scooted her seat closer to his, so that he was nearly on her lap. Slowly she stroked his head, his arm, his back. Eventually Will was able to calm himself, though his breathing was still erratic and, from the wet spot soaking through her sweater, Scully suspected that he was still crying. "What is it, baby?" she asked softly, her lips against his ear. "What's w rong?" "I can't--" He stopped to take a deep, congested breath. "I can't tell you." "Of course you can," she insisted. "You know you can tell me anything." He shook his head against her chest, and Scully said nothing more, just rubbed his back while Will finally caught his breath. "I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong," Scully whispered. At last Will turned his tear-streaked face up to look at her, his eyes bright with a familiar stubbornness. "Not here," he said. "In the car?" He shook his head. "At home?" she suggested, and Will nodded. Together they stood and, with Will still clinging to her coat, Scully maneuvered them out of the room and down the hall, her son's sniffles echoing off the cinderblock walls and the construction-paper art-class creations tacked to them. * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown She had gotten Mulder's voicemail when she'd called his cell phone on the way home, so Scully was surprised to see his car already in the garage when she pulled into the driveway. Her message had been cryptic, just that she had picked Will up from school and that Mulder should meet them at home as soon as he could. It wasn't that she didn't want to worry him, but, really, she hadn't known what else to say. Mulder was in the kitchen, two cups of decaf already poured. Standing at the counter surrounded by the makings for dinner, he was adding a generous amount of milk to her mug when they walked in. He had yet to change out of his work clothes, but the knot of his tie was askew, and his jacket was draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "What is it?" Mulder demanded, setting the milk jug down. "I thought I was supposed to pick Will up today. What happened?" Scully filled him in on what little she knew as she took off her and Will's coats and hung them on the hooks near the back door. "And he promised he'd tell me what happened when we got home," she finished with a pointed look at her son, who was occupying himself with the glass of milk that his father had poured for him. "Come on, Will," Mulder urged. "Maybe Mom and I can help." "What if you can't?" Will asked softly. "Why don't you let us be the judge of that?" Mulder suggested. "Just tell us, sweetie," she said. Finally Will took a deep breath and nodded. "There was a new girl in class today. Joy. She was in my writing group." Will looked up at them then as if expecting some sort of reaction. Scully simply nodded, encouraging her son to continue. "I sort of couldn't help it," he said, eyes downcast once again. "I recognized her from before. She was in our class in the fall and she left, but now she's back. I was curious; I wanted to know why..." "So you read her thoughts," Mulder finished, and Will nodded, eyes wide. Scully waited, but apparently Will was finished. He slumped back in his chair, sighing deeply. "And then what?" she probed. She couldn't imagine what awful sorts things this little girl must have been thinking to send Will running out of the classroom "What was she thinking?" she repeated. Will looked between her and Mulder, his fright evident by his expression. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "You couldn't read her thoughts?" Mulder asked, and Will nodded. Something inside Scully softened. That's it? she wondered. That's what had so frightened Will? She knew he'd encountered that before, being unable to get a handle on a person's feelings. It occurred most often with people he didn't know very well, and Scully remembered more than one time when he'd later slipped easily into that same person's thoughts. Scully remembered these times well; it was these experiences that had first given her the idea that perhaps there was something she could do to keep her own thoughts private. "Why did you leave the classroom, Will?" Scully asked. Will chewed his lower lip in a worried, pensive expression that reminded Scully of Mulder. She glanced over the table to her husband, who, oblivious to the likeness, was tuned into their son. "I felt something," he said. "I could feel my own thoughts, but they were coming from her... She was doing it, too." "Doing what?" Mulder asked. "She was reading my thoughts, too." This time Mulder did meet her gaze. For a long time their communication was non-verbal, both of them staring, surprised and worried. What the hell does that mean? Scully wondered. Who was this girl? How was it that she could do this? And, most importantly, why? Finally Mulder glanced over to Will. "Are you sure?" he asked. Will nodded. "Has this ever happened before?" Will shook his head. "Even with other people whose thoughts you couldn't read at first?" Scully clarified, and again Will shook his head. "What did you do?" Mulder asked. "I got scared," Will admitted. "So I just... I left." "You didn't say anything to this little girl? To Joy?" Scully questioned. "No," Will told them. "I didn't know what to do." "Do you think she felt it, too?" Mulder asked. "I think so," Will said. He looked at them in anticipation, as if waiting for their instructions, no doubt expecting them to be ripe with wisdom, and Scully was struck with how much their son expected of them. Though reluctant to tell them what had happened, he now seemed confidant that they would know exactly what to do. Scully only wished that were the case. "Maybe you should ask her about it," Mulder suggested. "But you always said not to tell anyone," Will said, almost accusingly, to Scully. "I did," she admitted. But never had she anticipated that there might be anyone out there like Will. Of course, she'd wondered about Gibson Praise more than once over the years, but Scully could never bring herself to search for the boy. If he was safe, she didn't want to bring any attention to him; and if he wasn't safe... Well, Scully wasn't sure that was something she wanted to know. "So you think I should ask her, Mom?" Will was staring up at her trustingly, and Scully could feel Mulder tense slightly, even from across the table. Will seemed skeptical of his father's advice, and from the look on her son's face, Scully knew that he would do whatever it was she suggested. She nodded, hoping that she was not making a mistake. * * * * * Oak Hill School Georgetown "Can I sit here?" Joy looked up, startled by Will's voice. From what he could tell after a few days of observing Joy, none of the other kids wanted to be her friend. He had watched her at the after-school program they both attended at Georgetown, plus at his regular school after discovering that Joy was in his same grade but a different class. In fact, she had gotten into a fight with Paul Dade during gym the day before, which had only interested Will even more in this mysterious new girl. Will didn't get along with any of his classmates, really, but Paul Dade was the meanest of them all. Joy just shrugged at him, her gaze returning to the toes of her dirty purple boots, which were kicking a small hole in the rubber chips under her swing. Will sat in silence for a minute, not sure what to say. He knew he had to ask Joy about what had happened on her first day. That's what his mom thought, and, deep down, it was what he knew was right as well. Joy had felt it, too -- whatever *it* was -- Will could tell that much from the look on her face before he ran out of the room. He had to know more. "My name is Will," he offered. "I know. You're the one who ran out in the middle of class," she said, squinting at him. "The kid who's always by himself." Joy narrowed her eyes, as if she were Superman and were trying to use her x-r ay vision on him. It looked to Will as though she was trying hard to look mean, but instead she just looked kinda scared. "You have no friends," Joy stated plainly. Neither do you, Will thought angrily as a large piece of his hope for her friendship died at her words. But Will wasn't ready to give up yet; he just couldn't. So he ignored her and forged ahead. "You're Joy, right?" She said nothing, so Will started to swing, his legs pumping slowly as he rode higher and higher, toward the wintry gray sky. He looked over at her invitingly, but Joy did not join him, so Will slowed and came to a rest beside her. Unsure of what else to say, how else to try to get close to her before he broached the inevitable, Will watched as Joy kicked the toes of her boots at the blacktop. Finally he asked, "How long have you been able to do it?" She turned to face him, a defiant look in her narrowed eyes. "Do what?" "Do it," Will said softly. "You know. Like on your first day." Joy turned away from him, her light brown ponytail whipping around to smack against her earmuffs. "I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted. "I've been doing it forever," Will told her. "I'm trying to learn how to turn it off now." There was a long pause. Maybe that interested her, Will thought, that he could turn it off. He waited, breath held in anticipation. Then, "I said, I don't know what you mean." "I bet I can get you to do it," Will challenged. "Tell me what I'm thinking." He closed his eyes and concentrated on his name, William Mulder. Will filled his whole mind with it, imagined it spelled out in tall white letters against the black of his closed eyelids. "Stop it," Joy hissed, but her voice had lost most of its anger and now sounded almost desperate. "Stop." William Mulder, he thought. William Mulder. He heard the words echo through his brain, heard them in different voices: his own, his mother's and father's, his grandma's, even their classmates'. Will's eyes were still closed, but he could feel Joy tense beside him as surely as he could hear his voice in his own head. William Mulder, he thought at her desperately. Say it! "William Mulder," Joy spat. She scrambled off her swing and stomped over to the other end of the snow-crusted playground. Will leapt off his own swing and chased after her. Joy wasn't running, so Will easily caught up to her and matched her strides, keeping pace with her. "I told you," he insisted. "I told you you could do it." "All I did was say your name," Joy argued. "I don't know what you're talking about." "But that's what I was thinking about," Will said. "I was thinking my name, and you said it." He lowered his voice. "You knew what I was thinking." "I already knew your name," Joy told him. "Mrs. Freedman said it when you ran out of class that day." Oh. Right. Will turned and realized that Joy had stopped walking, and he ground to a halt, then dashed back to her side. "I'll think about something else, then," he told her, stepping around to her left when Joy turned her head to avoid his gaze. "I'll think about something that you don't know, something nobody knows." Joy said nothing, just stared at him with her cool, daring gaze, so Will scoured his brain for something to think about, a secret that Joy couldn't possibly know. Then it came to him, and he concentrated on the thought of his sister, on the feeling he'd had when his mom told him about the baby. I'm going to have a little sister, Will thought at Joy. I'm going to have a sister. This time he kept his eyes open and watched Joy's face as she resisted his thoughts. Her lips were pursed and her jaw clenched. Will could feel the struggle she was having: her own stubbornness against the truth. He watched her eyes flicker toward him and then away, then finally close. He concentrated his mind on his to-be sister, forcing his attention inward, away from Joy's rapid thoughts. Finally, the truth burst from her lips. "You have a sister," she shouted, her voice loud enough to earn the attention of a couple of kids playing kickball, who shot Will and Joy annoyed glances before returning to their game. Joy sniffled loudly and wiped her nose with the back of her mitten. "Or maybe you don't," Joy said, softer this time. She sounded almost confused, and still she refused to meet his gaze. "I don't know. I can't..." "You can," Will insisted. "You're right. My mom's going to have a baby; I'm going to have a sister. But nobody knows yet. Just me and my mom and my dad; not even my grandma." Finally Joy turned to face Will, and he could see tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "How did I know that?" she asked in a small, scared voice. Will smiled, opened his mouth to answer her. But then they heard the voice of the recess aide, calling them back inside. The two of them stood there for another minute, staring at each other, Joy's gray eyes feeling as though they were boring right into him. "Let's go," the recess aide yelled out, and together they clomped through the rock salt-coated playground toward the warmth of their classroom. * * * * * End Part 9. Continued in Part 10. Title: Song of Experience (10/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Will didn't see Joy again until Thursday. On Tuesday, the day he had forced Joy into reading his thoughts, Mrs. Freedman had kept him after the rest of the students had left. Was he okay? she'd wanted to know. Was he sick? Was that why he'd run out of class the other day? Will had stared at the clock behind his teacher's head as she talked, half listening to her and half hoping that Joy's mom might be late picking her up she they could talk some more. But when Mrs. Freedman finally took his word that, yes, he felt fine, Will had grabbed his coat and backpack, and sprinted outside, only to discover that Joy was already gone. He'd spent all that night thinking about what he was going to say to her, about all the questions he had that maybe she had, too. Questions that maybe she had answers to. The next day arrived all too slowly for Will, who'd convinced his dad that he had to get to school early. Will ended up being the first person in class that day, and he'd felt butterflies in his stomach every time another car pulled up and another student tumbled out. Would this be Joy? What would he say to her? Would she approach him? Would they have time to talk before class or would they have to wait until recess? Will's leg twitched nervously as he watched the seconds tick by. But Joy never showed. Will's stomach dropped when the bell rang for class to begin. As his teacher took roll, Will continued to watch the second hand creep around the clock, constructing all sorts of stories as to why Joy might be late: traffic, a car accident, a broken alarm clock. He had even composed an exciting adventure about UFOs descending from the sky to hover in a ring of white light, sucking Joy out through the sunroof of her mom's car as her body hung limply in the air. Eventually Will accepted the fact that Joy was just plain old absent. It took him until recess to remember Joy's first time in the Georgetown class that fall, how she'd gone home just like everyone else, just like an ordinary day, but how she'd never come back. Will wondered whether that was the case again, whether Joy was just a sometimes-visitor in their class. Maybe even a spy, he thought with wonder, a special spy trained by the government to find out secrets. And, stupid him, he'd told her his, without her even having to ask for it. But she could do it, too, Will argued with himself. If she was looking for information about reading people's minds, she would have to search no further than her own brain. Nevertheless, Will didn't know what to expect on Thursday. He'd constructed so many fantasies about what might have happened to Joy that he was almost surprised to see her sitting at her desk, staring blankly out the window as though she had never left. Before he knew it, a big smile broke across his face, and it stayed there while Will passed Joy's desk on the way to his own. She looked up at him, eyes wide and scared-looking, but then she gave him a reluctant smile, and Will felt better. Class seemed to last forever, and more than once while he was staring at he clock, Will could've sworn that time was standing still. Finally it was time for their break, and Will held back while the rest of the kids sprinted toward the door. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he watched Joy slowly put her supplies back in her desk. He walked unhurriedly past her chair, and, without a word, she rose and joined him. Together they pulled on their coats and hats, then headed outside, still silent. Finally they reached the end of the blacktop, the farthest point from the rest of the students, and they stopped. When Joy turned to face Will, he knew that she had been just as excited as he. "What's it called?" "Huh?" he asked. Of all the questions he had imagined her asking and all those that he was burning to ask her, this was not one of them. "What's it called?" she repeated. "This thing you -- er, we -- can do? Does it have a name?" Will shrugged. "I don't know if it has a real name," he told her. "Sometimes I call it legilimency." "You call it *what?*" "Legilimency," Will pronounced carefully, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. It was nothing he'd ever said out loud, even when he talked to his parents about it. It was his own secret word, for his own secret ability, but now it felt right to share it with Joy. "Legilimency," Joy tested out. "How come you call it that?" "Have you ever read Harry Potter?" Will asked. Joy shook her head. "Not any of them? Never?" Will asked, disbelieving. He thought everyone had read Harry Potter. Even his cousins had read the series, despite the fact that Patrick typically read only comic books. "Never," Joy said. "My mom doesn't like fantasy books; she says they only confuse kids, and that real life is complicated enough." How sad, Will thought; his favorite fantasies were very important to him -- Harry Potter and Star Wars and so many others. He knew how they could be true even if they weren't real. Suddenly Will was very grateful for his own mom, who read Harry Potter with him and even told him all sorts of cool bedtime stories that sounded like fantasy but, she insisted, were all too real. Not to mention the stories his dad told him... "Well," Will continued. "It's a word in the Harry Potter books. Legilimency means that you can remove feelings or memories from someone else's mind. Harry can do it," he offered, and for some reason saying that felt like he was bragging. He decided to change the subject. "How long have you been able to do it?" Joy shrugged. "I didn't even know I could until the other day," she said. "But now I think maybe I could always do it; I just didn't know what I was doing. "I've always known things," she explained, "things no one else knew, like what someone was going to say before they said it, or how they were feeling. Things like that. At first I thought everyone could do it. But I found out... I found out they couldn't, that I was the only one. "How 'bout you?" Joy asked. "How long have you done it?" "As long as I can remember," Will told her. "Since I was a baby, I think." "Do you know anyone else who can do it?" Joy asked, hope evident in the excitement in her voice. Will shook his head. "Not anymore." "Not any... But there were?" Joy pressed. "There were others? Who? When? How come--?" Will heard footsteps then, crunching against the icy blacktop, and he whipped around, toward where the other kids were playing. But it was only Eric, one of the boys in their class, chasing after a runaway kickball. Will watched as he ran back to the game, the ball under one arm. "We have to be careful," he urged Joy, grabbing her arm to guide her further from their classmates' game. "No one else can find out." Joy nodded impatiently and yanked her arm away. "But we aren't the only ones? Who else can--?" "No one else," Will said. "Not anymore. My dad could, a long time ago, before I was born, but he can't anymore." It had made him sick, Will thought, remembering the memories he'd inadvertently skimmed from his father so many months ago. His dad had been forced to explain then, to tell Will all about how that ability had made him so sick that he had to be sent to a hospital and tied up, and how it had put Gibson Praise in so much danger that he had to hide somewhere where no one could find him anymore. Joy's eyes grew wide. "He could?" Will nodded. "And he told me about someone else who could, too. A boy." "A boy our age?" He shook his head. "Probably he's a grown-up now." If he's still alive, Will thought chillingly. "He disappeared." Joy sighed. "So it's only us?" "I guess," Will said. "I wonder if *my* father could do it," Joy said dreamily. "Are your parents divorced?" he asked. She shook her head. "My father died when I was a baby," Joy explained. "I don't remember him." "You could ask your mom," Will suggested. Joy shook her head almost violently. "I can't," she insisted. "She doesn't like talking about him at all." Will could understand that. If Joy's dad was dead, it probably made her mom sad to think about him. It had made his own mom sad to think about Will's dad sometimes, too, and he hadn't even been dead, just away. But that had never stopped her from telling Will all sorts of great stories about him. "It's not because she's sad," Joy continued, and Will wondered whether Joy realized that she'd answered a question he hadn't asked. "She gets really mad when I mention him. I used to think maybe they were really divorced and she only told me he was dead. Maybe he was really alive somewhere, and he was looking for me. But my aunt said that he's really dead, and that I shouldn't ask my mom about it because it was a tragedy." Then Joy seemed to realize something else. "Your dad knows?" she asked. "He knows what you can do?" He nodded. "Him and my mom and my grandma." Will paused, and Joy looked awestruck. "Doesn't your mom know?" She shook her head. "Huh-uh. I can't tell her. She... she won't understand." "How do you know?" Will pressed. "Maybe she will. My mom does. She helps me a lot, and she even--" "How do you do it?" Joy interrupted. "I mean, it looks easy for you. And you said you can stop it..." Will nodded, not understanding why Joy had changed the subject but going along with her anyway. "I'm trying to stop it," he told her. "And I can sometimes, if I force myself to think hard about something else. "But I don't know how I do it," he said. "It just happens. And it's easier with some people than with others. It was always real easy with my mom, but now I think she figured out a way to block me." Will expected Joy to be excited by this, at least surprised, but she said nothing for a long minute. Will waited, listening to the cheers and boos of the kids playing kickball behind them. The wind whipped up with an especially violent gust, and Will reached up to anchor his hat to his head. Finally Joy asked, in a very small voice, "Why us? How come we can do this? And how come we're the only ones?" Will exhaled sharply, watching the ice crystals of his breath dissipate and then disappear into the cold winter air. "I don't know," he told Joy. * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown "There you are," Mulder said when he found Will in the study. He was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a blanket tucked around him and Phoenix sitting beside him, his chin resting on the dark leather upholstery. Will had a textbook open on his lap and he was so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn't notice when Mulder stepped into the room. "Time for bed," Mulder called as he sunk down onto the couch next to Will. "Whatcha looking at?" Mulder leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the book, his eyes widening when he made out the photos on the page. "What is that?" "One of Mom's books from medical school," Will answered, eyes still glued to the page. Mulder scanned between the photos on the page. All infants, or perhaps miscarried fetuses: babies with cleft palates, missing limbs, extra fingers, tumors the same size as their heads; plus defects that he couldn't even begin to put a name to. "Look at this," Will said, flipping forward to a page half-filled with photos of Down Syndrome infants and children, and half-filled with a line graph, of which Will placed his finger in the center. "Maternal age dependence of incidence of trisomy 21," Mulder read aloud. Will's finger trailed along the exponential curve of the plot, stopping when he reached the high point of the line. Then he traced back down to the x-axis, pausing on the maternal age of 45. "Forty-five years old," Will read. "Down Syndrome incidence at birth: one in 28." "That doesn't sound like a lot," Mulder offered. Will's finger ran further down the page. "'The incidence of Down Syndrome rises significantly after a maternal age of 35,'" he read, "'as is evidenced by a comparison of the low incidence of one in 1,530 live births at a maternal age of 20.' "There's more," Will said, slowly paging through the chapter. There were additional photographs, children and babies with obvious physical deformities, and ideograms of infants, labeled with hidden symptoms: mental retardation, hypotonia, renal defects, congenital heart defects, failure to thrive. Staring at these photographs, Mulder felt a chill rush over him. He and Scully had been so concerned about what their ages might mean in terms of exhaustion and appearance and stamina, but never had they discussed the effects of their ages, in particular Scully's age, on the physical well-being of their child. What if something went wrong, something genetic or even environmental: he and Scully had both been exposed to chemicals and entities that they couldn't even begin to understand. Sure, Will was healthy, but what about this baby? What if they had been exposed to toxins that needed time to incubate or multiply, poisons that would hurt the baby or hurt Scully? What if... "You were supposed to help Will get ready for bed, Mulder, not aid and abet." Mulder looked up to see Scully standing in the door of the study, a smile on her face that faded as she took in the serious expressions of her husband and son. "What's wrong?" Will held up the textbook, opening it to the page with the photograph of a girl with Down Syndrome and the maternal age chart. "Is the book right?" Will asked. "Is there going to be something wrong with the baby?" Scully came over to the couch and squeezed between Will and Mulder. She took the book onto her lap and paged through it, then shut it resolutely. "The book is correct," she told them. "When a woman gets older, there's a greater chance for her baby to be sick or have problems. But you have to look at these numbers the right way," she cautioned. "Maybe the chance for an older mom to have a baby with Down Syndrome is greater, but most babies are completely healthy, whether their moms are fifteen or forty-five. "And that's why I'm going to have the amniocentesis," she reminded them. Dr. Speake had suggested the amnio at Scully's last visit, the first time they'd brought along Will, all three of them awed into silence when the baby's heartbeat filled the exam room. "The amnio will tell us a lot about the baby: if it's a boy or girl, if it's healthy or not." "What if it's not?" Will asked, and Mulder was glad for his son's courage; he couldn't quite get the same question past his lips. "I don't think we should worry about that now, Will," she said. "But if the baby isn't healthy, then we'll have to do the best we can and look for a way to help make her better or take care of her. Okay?" Will nodded, and Mulder found himself nodding as well, comforted by Scully's words. Will leaned his head against his mother's shoulder, and Scully slipped her arm over his shoulders, then found Mulder's hand with her warm fingers. She smiled up at him, then leaned over to kiss the top of Will's head. "I'd tell the two of you not to worry about that," she said, "but I know that you're both so good at worrying that it won't stop you from thinking about it until we get the results of the amnio." Mulder chuckled and Scully squeezed his hand. "Remember, though, that I was thirty-seven when you were born, Will. That's over thirty-five, which is the age that doctors consider high-risk, and you're perfectly healthy." But not normal, Mulder couldn't help thinking. * * * * * Georgetown University March, 2009 "Mom, this is Joy," Will said shyly as Scully sat down on the stairs beside her son and his friend. Joy smiled up at her, her gaze quick and assessing as she studied Scully through her wire-rim glasses. It was her turn to pick Will up at school that afternoon, but her real purpose was to meet Joy's mother. For the last week Will had been asking to go over to his new friend's house to play or else to have her over to his, and Scully had insisted on meeting Joy's mother before trusting her son to the woman's care. More than her mother, however, Scully was interested in meeting her son's first friend. Will had shared with her and Mulder what little he had learned about Joy's abilities, but Scully was not satisfied. Irrational though she knew it was, she had a burning desire to interrogate this girl like a suspect, to come to learn how and who and why and what, as well as to understand this girl, to make sure that Will was not putting all of his hopes for friendship in someone who was going to disappoint or hurt him. "It's nice to meet you, Joy," Scully said as she offered the girl her hand. Joy took it and they shook, gently but firmly. "How was school?" Scully asked as Joy's hand slipped from her grip. Will just shrugged. "Okay." Scully nodded. Yes, school was always okay. Will rarely had good news to share and, like his father, was sometimes reluctant to share the worst of his news in order to spare her secondhand hurt. But, also like Mulder, eventually she drew it all out of him, anyway, the teasing and the jokes and the loneliness. "How about you, Joy?" Scully asked, turning to study the little girl. "Did you have a good day?" "I guess," Joy said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. She shrugged, tossing her light brown hair over her shoulders. She was tiny and small-boned, but there had been nothing diminutive in her grip when they'd shaken hands. Joy shot Will a look, and Scully glanced between them, curious. Will had never had a friend before, and this fact alone intrigued her about Joy. Add to that Joy's apparent similar abilities to Will, and Scully's curiosity was pushed to its limit. She wanted to talk with this girl, to understand who she was and where she came from, but Scully also knew that this was neither the time nor the place to delve into Joy's life. So, despite the couple dozen questions burning in her brain, Scully held her tongue and remembered why she was there. Then there were footsteps, hurried and closely spaced, and a voice. "Sorry I'm late, honey." Scully squinted in the sun as she gazed up at the woman standing over her. She stood, Will and Joy rising with her, and Scully watched Joy hang by while her mother squeezed her shoulder and gave her a big smile. Then she turned to Scully. "Patti Gillen," the woman said, offering Scully her hand. They shook. "Hi. I'm Dana--" "Dana Scully," Patti finished softly. "Yes," Scully said, pulling her hand out of the other woman's grasp. "How did you know that?" Patti's face broke into a huge grin. "Federal Grounds coffee shop, your apartment, a train station..." Scully's mouth fall open in surprise as she felt the pieces of the puzzle fall together. Of course, she thought, remembering her vague recognition of Patti at Will's class play in November; thinking back further, to a scared mother whose husband had snatched away her baby, then to a grieving widow huddled over her husband's body in the train station. And this was the girl who shared Will's abilities? Scully felt a once-familiar prickling run down her spine as she glanced between Patti, Joy, and Will. Hell of a coincidence, her investigator's mind told her, but with her heart, all she could think was that this girl had done the seemingly impossible: she'd befriended Scully's son. "Patti. I remember," Scully said. "You're okay; I always wondered." Patti nodded, then pulled a surprised Scully into a desperate embrace. "We should talk," she whispered into her ear, her voice low so that Will and Joy could not hear her, though Scully knew this gesture was useless. "Without the kids." Scully glanced over to Will and Joy, who were watching them carefully, knowingly, as though they had expected this. Even so, Scully nodded. "You know," she said pensively, "there's a park just a block from here. We could walk over there." She looked down at Will and Joy. "Would you two like that?" Will's eyes narrowed at her and she raised her eyebrows in a desperate hope. Maybe he knew that something strange was happening, she figured, but he must not understand everything. Certainly he and Joy could not have known of their mother's meetings so long ago. Or could they? Scully wondered. Finally Will acquiesced and shrugged. "Okay," he said. All four of them were quiet on the short walk to the playground, and when they got there, Scully and Patti brushed a thin layer of snow off a pair of swings for the children before doing the same to the benches of a nearby picnic table. The kids climbed on the swings, not giving their mothers a second look. "I don't know where to start," Patti admitted with a slow smile as they sat on the slightly damp benches. "Start with the train station," Scully said. "What happened after the train station?" "The train station," Patti said slowly, leaning back against the picnic table and allowing her gaze to drift over to where Will and Joy were swinging, their legs pumping in rhythm. "I was scared to death after that," Patti admitted. "After we buried my husband, I packed up Joy and moved to Chicago. I figured... Well, I knew that it wouldn't take much for them to find us there, but I just had to get away from DC. I'd gone to college in Chicago, so I knew the city and I had some friends there. It felt safe; it *was* safe." "But now you're back," Scully said. Patti nodded. "I liked Chicago, but Joy... Joy did not like Chicago; Joy didn't like anything. She was in trouble at school -- fights with the other kids, talking back to teachers. Last year, she refused to go to school for nearly a month; I was worried that she'd have to repeat first grade, but she was already ahead of her class. She's always been smart," Patti said, and Scully tried to ignore the niggle of worry that was working its way up her spine as Joy's story began to sound more and more familiar. "Then, in September, she ran away from home." At Scully's incredulous expression, Patti nodded, a grim look on her face. "That's right. Seven years old and she's running away from home. She didn't get far -- a policeman saw her walking down the street with her little pink Barbie suitcase and brought her home." "Where was she going?" Scully asked. "She wouldn't tell me," Patti said. "She wouldn't talk to the cop, either; he had to go through her suitcase to find her name and phone number. She wouldn't speak at all, and we ended up in the offices of every child psychiatrist in Chicago. Joy's got a medical file almost as tall as she is: attention deficit disorder, mild autism, oppositional defiance disorder, conduct disorder, Asperger's... I've heard 'em all. "After Joy ran away," Patti continued, "I decided to move back to Washington. I have family here -- my sister and brother-in-law and their kids -- and I thought it'd give Joy some grounding, a better family life, you know? My sister's got five kids and she offered to watch Joy after school." "You weren't worried about returning to Washington?" Patti shook her head. "It's funny," she said, a reluctant smile teasing the corners of her lips. "At the time, it never occurred to me that my husband might not be right about all that crazy supersoldier crap; I bought right into the stories he spun, hook, line, and sinker. I didn't know very much about his job -- national security, he always said when I asked -- but I trusted him, fool that I was," she said. "Almost cost me my life, and my daughter's. "At first I thought they'd follow us to Chicago. I was paranoid; we moved from motel to motel the first few weeks we were there. I was afraid to leave Joy with anyone, even college friends who'd never met my husband. But once we'd been away from Washington for a while and experienced nothing more suspicious than a hang-up phone call... well, I started to doubt him." "And now?" Scully asked. Patti's eyes narrowed. "Now I think he was full of shit," she announced. "I can't find any reason to believe what he said. Not one." "But what about the things you saw," Scully pressed. "You told me that when Joy was a baby she could move things with her mind. How do you explain--?" "I don't," Patti told her. "And I've stopped trying. I probably imagined it; I was so exhausted trying to take care of a newborn and keep together a marriage that had been on its last leg for months. And with my husband's suggestions... well, I was just ripe to see something like that. Whatever it was, real or imagined, I'm not losing any sleep over it anymore. "Joy's given me enough normal problems to worry about," Patti said. "She doesn't like school, hates the other kids, and can't stand her teachers. The administration at her school here in DC insisted on testing her to make sure she belonged in second grade, what with her extended absences last year, and they told me she should be in the Georgetown program. They said that she might just be acting out because she's bored with school, and that a more advanced class could help her. She might make friends being around other kids like her." Scully nodded. More familiar territory, she thought, remembering the suggestions made by Will's first grade teacher, whom Will had hated with a passion that had reminded her of Mulder's disdain for Kersh. "But it hasn't been the savior I was promised it would be," Patti said. "She went for a week, then refused to go back. I was so angry with her; the program isn't exactly cheap, as I'm sure you know, and I couldn't get a full refund. But I thought it would be easier not to fight with her about this, too, so I told her she didn't have to go to Georgetown if she went to her normal school. I thought maybe she could spend more time with my sister's kids, maybe make friends with her cousins. "And then, the other week," Patti continued, "all of a sudden she wants to go back to Georgetown. No explanation, just 'I want to go back to the other class.' So here we are." Patti sighed. "And here you are. How have you and Will been? I was worried about the two of you, after that night at the train station. Whether you were safe." Scully nodded, running her fingernail along the grain of the wooden picnic bench. What to tell Patti? She had made a mistake trusting this woman once, but that had turned out worse for Patti than for her. And, she reminded herself, Patti hadn't said anything about Joy being able to read minds; clearly it was best for Scully to keep that development to herself. "We stayed in Washington," she started. "Will's been going to Oak Hill since kindergarten, and he started the Georgetown program this fall. We... we've had some of the same issues you mentioned. Problems with other children -- difficulty making friends, mostly. I had such hope," she admitted, "when Will first mentioned Joy. We thought maybe he had finally found a friend, his first friend his own age." Scully allowed herself a smile, which Patti returned with no small measure of desperation. "Joy didn't mention Will until yesterday," Patti told her. "Just like all of a sudden she wanted to go back to the Georgetown class, all of a sudden she has a friend. At first I wondered whether she was lying; it certainly wouldn't be the first time." As tough as things had been for her son in the past, Scully felt worse for Joy. Clearly this little girl had had a more difficult time than Will, her loneliness manifesting itself in aggression and rebellion, and her own mother refusing to see the truth. Scully sighed softly and looked over at Patti, only to see that the woman was focused on Scully's left hand. "You've married," Patti said, noticing Scully's wedding ring. "So Will has a stepfather; I've always wondered if Joy would be having all these problems if her father were around. If she had siblings, maybe. But who can blame a guy for not wanting to stick it out with the single mom of a problem seven year old?" Scully's thumb ran over the cold metal of her ring. "Not a stepfather." "Mulder?" Patti asked after a beat, her shock evident in her voice. "Mulder came back?" Scully nodded. "My god, I never thought..." Patti gazed off in the distance, watching as Will and Joy launched themselves off their swings in a synchronized, seemingly choreographed leap, then scampered over to the merry-go-round. "What?" Scully prodded. "I never imagined he'd return," she admitted. "My husband said... Well, clearly he was mistaken. I suppose that shouldn't surprise me after all that's happened, after all his worries about Joy have turned out to be nothing but overreaction and paranoia." Scully nodded, but she wasn't so sure. So much of what Patti was saying was familiar: enhanced intelligence, problems making friends, loneliness and isolation. Certainly Patti had to realize that there was something to her daughter's problems beside a slew of trendy diagnoses... didn't she? Scully had learned little more about Joy's father after the man's death, but she did know that he had been deep in NSA, that his death had been covered up expertly, his body already gone when Scully, Doggett, and Reyes had returned to the train station after venturing into the quarry to search for Mulder. Even the train operator had claimed not to know what they were talking about when they asked about the man who had been shot there less than an hour before. "Funny that our children managed to befriend each other," Patti mused. Scully just nodded as she watched Will and Joy huddled together near the monkey bars, whispering to each other. Funny, indeed. * * * * * End Part 10. Continued in Part 11. Title: Song of Experience (11/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown "And don't forget Phoenix's towel," Scully called after Will as the back door slammed shut. He turned around and waved the old dog towel at her before dropping it on the back stoop. She watched for a minute as her son and his dog romped through the mud, squinting to make sure that Will had remembered to change out of his dress shoes. Scully turned back to the stove, lifting the lid off a small steamer pot sitting on the burner. A plume of steam issued from it and Scully backed up a half-step before seasoning the green beans with a squirt of lemon juice and a generous dash of pepper. "Need any help in here, Dana?" Scully turned and smiled. "When did you get here?" she asked, crossing the room to greet her mother with a hug. "I didn't hear your car pull in." "Just now." Margaret Scully grabbed an apron from the hook on the back of the pantry door. "And I brought dessert," she told her daughter, nodding toward the living room as Mulder entered carrying a stack of Tupperware containers. "It's just the four of us, Mom," Scully laughed. "How much dessert do you expect us to eat?" Maggie just smiled. "Will's a growing boy, Dana, and he loves my strawberry-lemon pie. And so do you," she added with a smile as Scully turned back to the stove. "So, how can I help?" her mother asked, crowding next to her to watch her daughter's progress with their Easter dinner. "You can let me handle dinner," Scully instructed. She was determined to make this meal special, the first holiday dinner she had prepared since Mulder's return. And Scully wanted it to be special for another reason. She and Mulder had decided to tell her mother about the baby today, their first of many announcements. They had even solidified their plan by telling Will of their decision at breakfast that morning. He'd been ecstatic, and frankly Scully was surprised that he'd kept quiet about it this long. Will was good at keeping secrets, but this had been a doozy and he'd had to keep it for so long that Scully wouldn't have been surprised if he'd let it slip to her mother. "Look at that dog run," Scully's mother said as she peered out the window at her grandson and Phoenix. "Those two are going to wear each other out!" "I hope so," Mulder murmured as he carefully arranged the contents of the refrigerator to fit Maggie's desserts. Scully laughed. "Mulder and Will took the dog for a run in the park yesterday," she explained. "And guess which one of them came home hobbling?" Scully gave Mulder a gentle push on his shoulder as he joined them at the back window. "Hey, I didn't see you chasing those two through a creek and up the side of a cliff," he said as Maggie chuckled. "I don't think I did too badly, anyway. I have a good forty years on Will, after all." "Didn't do too badly? You were sure singing a different tune when you got home yesterday. 'My back hurts, Scully,'" she mimicked in a low, whiny voice. "'Have some pity and rub my back, will you?'" "You really should consider obedience classes," her mother advised. "For Mulder or the dog?" Scully teased, and Mulder squeezed her shoulders. "Funny," he said. Maggie smiled at them. "They've got them at the Y near my house and--" "Already done, Maggie," Mulder said. "They start in two weeks." "They?" she repeated. Scully nodded. "Phoenix and Will." "Will is taking the class with him?" "Yeah," Mulder said. "We thought it was best. Phoenix is his dog, after all." "I didn't know they allowed children," Maggie said, watching as Will tossed a ball to Phoenix, who leapt high in the air to catch it then ran around the tiny fenced-in yard when Will tried to retrieve the toy. "They do," Scully told her. "As long as an adult attends with them. The man who runs the class said he's had kids as young as five." "Well, let me know if you need an adult," Maggie volunteered. "I know you two are busy with work." "We're okay, Mom," Scully said. Thankfully, Mulder's usually flexible work schedule made that possible, and he was planning on taking Will to most of the classes, which began after school but before Scully typically got home. Plus, Scully didn't know if her mother could handle both a seven-year-old boy and an exuberant puppy; sometimes Scully wondered whether she herself could. "Well, give me a call if he ever needs a ride," her mother said, removing a handful of silverware from the drawer and heading into the dining room to put the finishing touches on the half-set table. When her mother was well out of earshot, Scully stepped up against Mulder, tilting her head up at him as she spoke. "Wanna tell her now?" she asked, a smile glinting in her eyes. He grinned back at her. "Sure," he said, "but I thought you were going to do it during dinner." She shook her head. "I think you should tell her." Mulder looked back at her in surprise. "Me?" he repeated. "She's your mother." True, but she would have a host of people to tell: John, Monica, her brothers. And, although they had both been there, she had been the one to break the news to Will. Plus, it was she who had told her mother about their decision to get married. It was Mulder's turn, Scully reasoned; she wanted him to have someone to share the good news with as well. "I think you should," she told him. His gaze was puzzled as he regarded her carefully, and she nodded, feeling his excitement in this small thing she had given him. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering there for a minute, his lips pressed warm against her skin. "Okay," he whispered, planting another kiss between her eyebrows. "If you're sure." An amused laugh preceded her mother's return to the kitchen, and Scully quickly stepped away from Mulder, grabbing the spoon from the spoon rest on the stove and fussing over the pots. "Are you sure you don't need any help in here, Dana?" her mother asked. "You seem to be a little distracted... I wouldn't want dinner to burn." Scully felt her cheeks redden as she concentrated on the bowl of mashed potatoes warming on the back burner. "You know, Maggie," Mulder began casually, "we might need you to take Will to a few of those obedience classes after all." "Oh?" "Yeah," he continued. "That is, if they conflict with this other class we're taking. We don't have a schedule for that one yet, but--" "Another class?" "Mmm," Mulder said, and out of the corner of her eye Scully saw him lean back nonchalantly against the counter. Boy, he was really drawing this out, wasn't he? Scully suppressed an amused laugh. "There's this Lamaze class," he continued. "But we don't know when--" "Lamaze?" Her mother's voice was a delicate balance of shock and hope. "Dana? Does this mean... Are you...?" Scully turned away from the stove to smile at her mom. "Pregnant," she confirmed as her mother hurried across the kitchen to hug her. "My baby girl," Maggie gushed into Scully's ear as she squeezed her tight. "Oh, Dana!" Finally she pulled away, only to turn toward Mulder, enveloping him in a strong embrace. "Fox," she exclaimed. "Congratulations, both of you." "Thanks, Mom," Scully said as her mother released Mulder, only to pat him affectionately on the arm. She smiled at her mom's fondness for Mulder, a feeling that had grown stronger during the time Mulder had stayed with her when he was released from the hospital early the previous fall. "When are you due?" "August," Scully said. "August?" Maggie repeated, hurt and puzzlement now evident in her tone. "And you didn't you tell me until now? Dana! Is everything okay?" She nodded. "Everything's fine. But we weren't-- it was unexpected," she explained. "And I'm on the high end of high-risk, so..." Her mother sighed with relief. "A baby. That's wonderful news," she said, looking between them with a big smile. "I'm so happy for the two of you." A movement in the backyard caught her attention then, and she turned to see Will trying to lead Phoenix back toward the house, waving the towel at the puppy. "Does Will know?" Scully nodded. "We told him when we found out. We didn't want him to, uh, pick it up on his own," she finished uncertainly. Even after all these years, her mother still wasn't at ease talking about her grandson's abilities. Her mother typically took these types of discussions in stride, but Scully could tell that they made her uncomfortable, that her mother worried about what these abilities meant for Will, about why he had them and what would become of them and who might be interested in them, about their effect on his ability to have a normal childhood. "Yes," her mother said thoughtfully as the back door creaked open. "I imagine that would be a concern." Scully stepped quickly toward the door to see Will squatted on the small slab of stone patio. He was holding Phoenix still with one arm looped around the dog's belly, while he used the other to aim the towel at the puppy's muddy paws. "Need some help?" she asked, turning the apron so it hung on her backwards, like a cape. "He keeps squirming," Will said as Scully crouched down beside him, taking the towel. With her son holding the dog, she wiped his paws clean, then handed Will the dirty towel. He paused to slip his shoes off, leaving them outside. "Wash up, Will," she told him. "We're eating in a few minutes." "'Kay," he called as he took off for the bathroom, the dog hot on his heels. Scully reached outside and banged Will's shoes together, knocking off the largest clumps of mud, then decided they were clean enough to set them near the door inside. "What does Will think?" Maggie asked as Scully returned to the kitchen, going to the sink to wash her hands before returning to her dinner preparations. "Is he excited about the baby?" "He's ecstatic," she told her mother as she transferred the green beans into a serving dish, which she handed to Mulder to place on the table. He returned to the kitchen with Will, and Scully squinted at her son's hands. "That was quick. You washed?" she asked, and he nodded earnestly. "With soap?" "Ye-ess," he said, and Scully shot him a look. "Yes, I used soap," he repeated more politely as Mulder grasped his shoulders gently and pulled the boy up against him. Grinning, Mulder dropped his head and said in the general direction of Will's ear, "We told Grandma." Will twisted to look up at Mulder, who nodded at him, then turned to face his grandmother. "Isn't it cool?" he asked as he threw his arms around her. "I'm gonna have a sister!" "You know the sex, Dana?" her mother asked, hopeful, looking at her daughter over Will's head. "It's a girl?" Scully traded glances with Mulder. "Will thinks it's a girl--" "I *know* it's a girl," he insisted. "-- but we haven't gotten the results of the amnio back yet." "It's a girl," Will assured them, taking the basket of rolls Scully handed him and heading into the dining room. * * * * * Georgetown Mulder couldn't think of anyone else to call. He had tried her office number, her cell number, and her mother's number. He had tried the Pathology Department secretary and a colleague with whom she sometimes ate lunch. Scowling at his cell phone, Mulder punched in his last hope and waited through three rings before the call was picked up. "Doggett." "Agent Doggett, it's Mulder," he said into the phone as he braked at a stoplight. The other man's surprise was clear even through the staticky connection of Mulder's cell phone. But that did not surprise Mulder; his contact with John Doggett was typically limited to polite greetings or, if it was absolutely necessary to spend prolonged time with the man, heated discussions about baseball, the only thing the two men were willing to admit they had in common. "Mulder. Hey." "Have you seen Scully?" he asked the agent. "No, I haven't. What's--?" "When did you see her last?" Mulder pressed. "Do you know?" "Uh, it's been a while, Mulder," he said. "Monica and I have been away on a case for nearly a week. Somethin' wrong?" "I can't get a hold of her," Mulder told him. "She's not answering her office phone or her cell. She was supposed to pick Will up at his friend's house, but she's late." Forty-five minutes late, he thought with a check of his dashboard clock. "Is Agent Reyes there with you?" "Yeah," Doggett said, and Mulder could still hear him even though his voice took a slightly muted tone. "Monica, you seen Dana lately?" "No," she said. "Why?" "It's Mulder," Doggett's voice replied. "He can't reach her." There was a scraping sound then, and Reyes's voice became clearer as she took the phone. "Mulder, it's Monica. You can't find Dana?" "No," he said. "She was supposed to pick Will up and she never showed. And she's not answering her cell phone." "I haven't seen her in over a week," she said. "Maybe two. But I talked to her this morning and we made plans to have lunch on Wednesday -- Dana wanted you to be there, too, John," Mulder heard Monica say in a more muted voice. "Mm hm," Mulder said, turning onto Joy's street. Scully had planned to tell them about the baby during that lunch. Just the previous night while they were dressing for bed, Mulder had commented that they couldn't put it off much longer; Scully was starting to show. She'd brushed him off, recalling that he'd pointed out the new roundness of her belly over a week ago. But you weren't dressed then, he'd argued back. I wasn't showing this early with Will, she'd maintained. But then he'd impressed her with the wealth of pregnancy knowledge he'd accumulated by reminding her that women started showing earlier in subsequent pregnancies than in their first, and-- "Listen, Mulder," Reyes continued. "I'm sure it's nothing, but I'll check around and see if she's helping anyone with anything around here. I know Agents Veronne and Mickelson were looking for someone to do a rush autopsy; maybe they called Dana." "Maybe." But Mulder didn't think Scully even knew Agents Veronne and Mickelson; at least he'd never heard her mention them. And that wouldn't explain why she had forgotten about Will and hadn't called Mulder or her mother to get him... "I'll call you if I find anything," Reyes told him, and Mulder recited his cell phone number for her. He hit the END button and then punched in another familiar number. He hadn't wanted to worry Maggie Scully, but Mulder didn't know who else to call. He'd tried her once already but gotten her machine. Mulder waited through six rings, then left a message this time, simply asking her to call his cell phone when she got in. No need to frighten her if Scully turned out to be caught in a meeting without her cell phone. Mulder pulled into the parking lot of the building where Joy lived, catching a glimpse of two small, worried faces in the front window of Joy's apartment. The window was partially fogged up from their breath, with Joy's glasses reflected back as round little lights. But it was the expression on Will's face that worried Mulder: his son was scared. * * * * * Will was quiet on the drive home, staring through the windshield with unf ocused eyes. Mulder asked him about school, about what he'd done with Joy, but Will answered as briefly as possible. He'd seemed grateful when Mulder gave up on the conversation and flicked the radio to an all-news station with the idle thought that perhaps Scully had been derailed by a traffic jam... without her cell phone, he added with a sinking feeling in his gut. Then his cell phone trilled. Mulder fished the phone out of his jacket pocket and hit the TALK button. "Mulder." "Mulder, it's John Doggett. Have you heard from Dana?" "No," Mulder said. "And I take it you haven't, either." "Sorry. What I can tell you is that she's not working with any of the agents that Monica and I've spoken to, and we've spoken to several. I called the Pathology Department secretary after I talked with you and she hasn't seen Dana, either, not since this morning. She even had her paged." "And?" "No response," Doggett said. "So I checked with Security at Quantico. Her car's still there, and she hasn't run her parking pass through the garage scanner." "Shit," Mulder muttered. Then, after a glance toward Will, who was pretending, poorly, not to be interested in the phone call, he added, "You didn't hear that." Will just stared straight ahead and ignored his father. "Anything else?" Mulder said into his cell. "I'm at her office now. I thought I'd check it out, try to find a calendar or day planner maybe, but her door's locked. And the department secretary must've just left, because there's no one around to unlock it for me." "Security?" Mulder asked. "I was thinkin' more of you," Doggett said. "I've dealt with Quantico Security, and I can tell you that unless Dana keeps a spare key at home, you'd better bring a lock pick." Mulder sighed. "She does have a spare set at home. I'm headed there, but I've got Will with me. It might take me--" "That's okay. I can poke around, see if anyone around here's seen her." "I'll meet you there," Mulder told him before ending the call and handing the phone to Will. "Here. Call Grandma, see if she can come stay with you." Will took the phone but just stared at the display. Then he looked over at Mulder. "You don't know where Mom is?" "We're trying to find her," he assured his son. "John and I are looking for her. Monica, too." "But you don't know where she is?" Mulder paused, then, "No." Finally Will punched Maggie Scully's phone number into the cell phone. "No answer," he told his father. "Leave a message?" "No." He had already left a message; two would certainly panic her. Especially if he found Scully in one of the labs at Quantico, having lost herself in work. Mulder tried to ignore the ache in the pit of his stomach at the growing unlikelihood of that scenario. "We can try her again later... What about the Gordons next door? Do you know their number?" "No," Will said. "How come?" "I need to find someone to stay with you. I suppose we can go next door and check with them when we get home." "I can come with you," Will offered. "I don't think that's such a good idea, kiddo." "Why not? I've been to Mom's office a bunch of times," Will told him. "Yeah, I know," Mulder said. But he didn't know what they were going to find at Scully's office, and Will certainly didn't need to be there to see it. Whatever it was. "We'll try the Gordons, okay? Then we'll see." * * * * * FBI Academy Quantico, Virginia No one answered the door at the Gordons' house, so Will was still riding shotgun when Mulder pulled into the Quantico parking garage and found an empty spot in the visitors' section. They walked past Scully's car on their way inside, and Mulder stopped and peered into the window. "Mom's car," Will whispered. "How come her car's still here?" Mulder said nothing, just examined the exterior of Scully's Accord. Nothing out of the ordinary. Same with the interior, from what he could see. He had her second set of keys on the chain in his pocket, but Mulder was more anxious to get into Scully's office; he could always send Doggett out to check on her car. "Let's go." Mulder guided Will away from the car and toward the elevator, one hand on his son's shoulder. When they got to Scully's office, Doggett was leaning against the doorjamb, paging through several sheets of paper. He looked up when they approached, surprised at the double-time squeak of Will's sneakers that accompanied Mulder's. "I couldn't get a hold of Maggie," Mulder explained as he slipped Scully's spare keys from his jacket pocket. "Wait here," he told Will, planting him in the doorway to the hall. "You haven't spoken to Mrs. Scully?" Doggett asked. Mulder knew what he was thinking: maybe Scully was with her mother. But that still didn't explain why Scully wasn't answering her phone, why she had forgotten to pick Will up. Unless something was wrong with Maggie... "I left a message on her machine," Mulder said as he unlocked Scully's office. Mulder pushed the door open and the two men stepped cautiously inside, Doggett reaching over to flip on the light switch. Mulder went around the desk to plop down in Scully's chair, eyes riveted to her desk top. He sorted through the papers stacked there, trying not to upset their organization. He found a desk-top day-planner but, comparing that day to the previous several Mondays, he could find nothing out of the ordinary. Then he flipped through stacks of papers and used the four-digit voicemail code penned on the bottom of the February 23 page of her day-planner, thankful for Scully's predictability. But her messages proved less than helpful, and Mulder slammed the phone down in frustration. "Mulder?" "What?" Mulder asked, unable to keep the aggravation out of his voice. "Mulder." He looked down at Doggett, who was squatted beside him, sorting through Scully's open desk drawers. The agent reached into the deep bottom drawer and produced the bag Scully used as a purse. Mulder looked between Doggett's startled expression and Scully's bag, the black leather satchel she carried with her everywhere. "You wanna do the honors?" Doggett asked him, holding out the bag. Damn right, Mulder thought. He took the bag, cleared a spot on Scully's desk top, and dumped out the contents. "Shit," Doggett muttered. "Her wallet." Mulder snatched up the wallet and opened it. Nothing out of the ordinary: her credit and ATM cards were all there, in addition to her driver's license; Will's school photo and a tiny picture of the three of them, taken on the beach after their wedding ceremony; approximately $50 in cash; and a random collection of plastic cards for Blockbuster, the public library, the grocery store they frequented. "Checkbook's still here," Doggett said. "I don't think anything's missing from her wallet, either." Mulder set the wallet back on her desk and pushed past Scully's cell phone for the smaller version of her day-planner that she carried with her. He flipped open to that day, noting that "Will, 4:00," was indeed penciled into this afternoon's slot. Then Mulder paged forward and back several weeks, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Of course, he couldn't translate all of Scully's shorthand notations, but from what he did understand, her day had been utterly nondescript. "Can I come in now?" Both men turned at the slightly whiny voice that drifted in from the doorway. "Yeah," Mulder called. "Come in." Will stepped into the office, his eyes rapidly scanning the small room. "Will, you've been in here before. Anything look out of place to you?" Mulder asked. "No." Will's eyes stopped at the two framed photographs on Scully's desk, and he turned them around so he could see them. "Mulder, you know what this is? It slipped outta her date-book." Doggett offered him a tiny photo printed on glossy computer paper. The picture was grainy, black and white blobs, but Mulder recognized it immediately: it was a duplicate of the ultrasound photo tacked to their refrigerator at home. "It looks like an ultrasound." Doggett squinted at the image. Will put the picture frames down and crowded in for a look. "Yeah," Mulder said. "Is this from a case she's workin' on?" Mulder looked over at Will, who stared at him, his eyes big and scared. "No," Mulder told him. "It's hers." "Hers? Do you mean...?" "It's ours," Mulder clarified. "She's pregnant." Doggett looked up at him, eyes wide. "You're not serious?" Mulder nodded somberly. Doggett looked back and forth between Mulder, the fuzzy ultrasound photo, and Will, the agent's mouth open in surprise. He shook his head, one hand coming up to swipe across his worried brow. "Shi-- shoot," Doggett murmured with a sideways glance at Will. "Yeah," Mulder agreed. "Shoot." * * * * * End Part 11. Continued in Part 12. Title: Song of Experience (12/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown "What's all this?" Mulder asked as he opened the door to reveal a handful of agents waiting on his front stoop, a collection of black suits and conservative ties more effective than a handful of meds in bringing back bad memories. "Just a precaution," Doggett said. "Why? What did you find?" Mulder asked Monica Reyes, who led the pack of agents into the house. "I still haven't been able to get a hold of her," Reyes said as she closed the door behind them. The suits trailed inside, stopping to scan the foyer with critical eyes. "Damnit." Mulder spun on his heel and paced across the foyer. He brought the heel of his hand to his forehead and pressed hard, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Damnit!" "Look, I talked to the Deputy Director," Doggett began. "Skinner?" Mulder asked. "You called Skinner?" "I called him." Reyes laid a gentle hand on his arm, but Mulder jerked away. "I thought maybe he'd contacted her for help with a case. I know that isn't protocol, but he might have had something sensitive he wanted her to--" "But he didn't," Mulder filled in. "No," Reyes said. "But he wants us to call him if you don't hear from her. Given Dana's history, he thought it best to assign a few agents, just to be safe. These are Agents Klein, Bradley, and Glauss." Mulder nodded at the agents. Reyes's voice was light, almost cheery, but it set his nerves on edge. He didn't want empty assurances from Reyes or Doggett, or from the Deputy Director, no matter whose name was currently attached to the title; all he wanted was Scully back. "If it's okay with you, Mulder, we'd like to set up home base here for the time being, in case Dana or her mother calls," Doggett said. "You haven't heard from Mrs. Scully yet, have you?" "No," Mulder said. It was his last hope, morbid as it was, that Maggie had had some kind of emergency and Scully was with her. Unlikely though it had become, Mulder clutched the frail thread of that one final hope with both hands. He followed Doggett and Reyes into the living room. Klein, Glauss, and Bradley settled on the couch, opening matching briefcases to remove notepads and pens. The agents had identical detached expressions on their faces as they cast critical gazes around the living room. "I've brought the agents up to speed on what's happened," Reyes informed Mulder. "Is there anything else you can tell us about her plans for the day, Mulder?" Mulder shook his head. "Only what I've already told Doggett. She had two classes this morning, then a department meeting after lunch. She doesn't have lab on Monday afternoons, but I think she has office hours scheduled." "No cases she's working on?" Doggett prompted. "No projects with anyone in the field? No special autopsies that she's mentioned?" "No." "What about old cases? She been looking into anything that the two of you used to investigate? She bring any work home?" "No," Mulder said. "Unless you're interested in the exams she's been grading or her lesson plans, she doesn't bring work home." Doggett droned on, but Mulder was past the point of listening. He was still stuck on Doggett's question about old cases they had investigated together. Why would he ask that? Was there something he and Reyes were looking into, something that could be hazardous for them? Something that could endanger Scully? Frustrated at his fruitless questions, Doggett turned his attention to the eager agents looking out of place on the couch, their hands folded identically in their laps. As Reyes passed out copies of the notes she had made thus far, Mulder left the agents alone in the living room. He had to get out of there, had to get away from the cluster of overeager agents and the xeroxed copies of Scully's Bureau ID they held in their sweaty little paws. * * * * * His dad had forgotten all about him. Not that Will was surprised about that. Not after the look on his dad's face when Will and Joy watched him climb slowly out of his car and trudge up to her building. He'd waited patiently enough through Joy's mom's chatter as Will pulled his jacket on, but Will knew that, inside, his dad's mind was going a mile a minute with worry. So Will hadn't really expected his dad to say much about where his mom might be or how they were going to find her. Will had just gone up to his room, wanting to avoid the agents that Monica had brought, needing to escape from the pitying looks directed at him. After taking Phoenix outside, he took the dog up to his room and closed the door. Will hadn't done anything, just curled up in the small space between his bed and the wall, halfheartedly petting Phoenix. "There you are." Will started at this voice, so loud and close to his closed bedroom door. Phoenix's ears perked up at the sound, and he looked to Will for reassurance. One hand on the dog, Will scooted further from the door. Leave me alone, he thought angrily as the unfamiliar voices continued. "Had to find another bathroom," another man answered. "The downstairs one was occupied." A pause, then, "Why, you find something new?" "Nah, nothing. I'm still digging through her personnel file from when she was in the field." "Good read?" A deep chuckle resonated through the hall. "Hell, yeah. What it lacks in brevity it makes up in creativity; her medical file alone's a few inches high, and I think I've only got the first volume, through '97." "She injured on the job a lot?" "From what I can tell, they both were." "Both?" "Her and Mulder. Hospitalizations up the wazoo: strange viruses, unexplained attacks, shootings -- hell, she even shot *him* once." "You're kidding?!" At this Will smiled. He remembered his own wonder the first time he'd seen the scar on his dad's shoulder. He'd always known that his mom was strong and brave, and he'd always thought it was so cool; he didn't know any other kids whose moms took target practice. But she'd never told him that she'd shot her own partner; it had taken his dad's return for that story to come out. "There are several appended files as well," the voice continued. "References to Mulder's hospital records -- which make for a novella in their own right -- plus records for her sister." "*Her* sister?" "Yeah, her sister was shot and killed because someone mistook her for Agent Scully. Awfully dangerous to be a member of this family, if you ask me." Will's heart pounded in his chest. All he'd known about his Aunt Melissa's death was that she had been shot. There's no story there, Will, his mom had always insisted when he asked what had happened to her sister. Then she'd change the subject, sharing a story about her and Aunt Melissa when they were young. Will knew that his dad's father had also been shot. Were these men right: was it dangerous to be in his family? Maybe someone was after his dad, too, or even Will himself. Or maybe his grandma. After all, she was missing, too; she hadn't been home when Will had called her earlier... "Anything in those records related to her disappearance?" one of the agents continued. "Hard to tell. There's so much in there, it's gonna be a bitch to tease it all apart. Maybe we'll get lucky and the mothership'll return her and I won't have to do it." "So you think that's what happened? She was abducted?" "Course not, but ten to one that's the story she'll come back with." "Where is she, then? What do *you* think happened to her?" "I'm still working on that one, but I will tell you this: I'm planning on having a good long chat with the husband tomorrow." Will clutched tighter at Phoenix's fur, causing the dog to whine softly. He muttered his apology, and Phoenix nudged his nose at Will's leg with easy forgiveness. "Shit! You think he's involved?" "Wouldn't surprise me. They've got a damn interesting history there, and he seems more than a little unstable to me... Of course, Agent Doggett'd just love that one." "What do you mean?" "You don't know Doggett very well, do you?" the other man asked, his voice slightly lower. "Not particularly." "He's hot for her. Has been for years, but I don't think he's ever done anything about it." "Really?" "No question, the way he talks about her. Plus, there're some interesting dynamics going on between him and Mulder, that's for sure." The men chuckled. "I guess I gotta do a better job of keeping up with Bureau gossip," one of the men said. "I always thought it was Agent Reyes that Doggett was after." The men's voices faded away, but Will sat stick-still against the wall, Phoenix's head pushing insistently, almost worriedly, at his knee. Will didn't understand: what did these agents think had happened to his mom? That she had been taken away by aliens? Out of everyone in the world, why would aliens want *his* mom? And it didn't seem like these agents were trying very hard to find her, Will thought angrily. They sounded like they didn't know what to do or where to look, like they were just waiting for her to show up on her own, when the aliens finished with her or something. And his dad. His dad was more upset than Will had ever seen him, and more scared. He couldn't remember ever seeing his dad scared before. Sure, he'd only known him for a few months, but his dad was usually so strong and brave. Will remembered the videotape his grandma had given him, his mom and dad in Los Angeles looking for a werewolf, guns ready and flashlights blazing. He thought of the look on his dad's face at the wedding, like he had just gotten the biggest, best present ever. And the look on his face this afternoon... Will was unable to stop the tears. * * * * * Mulder watched as the agents took over his house, setting up laptops on the dining room table, gearing up the coffeemaker, commandeering the living room to make phone calls from their cell phones to keep the land line free in case Scully were to call. He was so busy pacing and racking his brain for any hint as to what cases Scully had been working on that Mulder didn't even notice the time until a pizza delivery man showed up with a stack of boxes, demanding to be paid. Half-dazed, he slipped his wallet out of his pocket, but Agent Klein beat him to it, signing the credit card slip the delivery boy handed her. "These guys eat like there's no tomorrow," she said with a smile. "If you're planning on joining us, you'd better find your son and get back down here before it's all gone." Damn, Mulder thought as he went upstairs to retrieve Will. He had nearly forgotten about Will in the chaos of the afternoon. Plus, Will had been quiet ever since Mulder had picked him up from Joy's, saying little in the car and at Scully's office and even less once they'd gotten home. As he paused at his son's closed bedroom door, Mulder tried to remember whether Will had even come downstairs when Doggett and the other agents had arrived. "Will?" he called out as he pushed the door open. Will was sitting on the floor and leaning against the foot of his bed, knees tucked up to his chest. Pup was cradled against his chest like an infant, and Phoenix sat next to Will, his head pressed against the boy's hip. "Will, dinner," Mulder said. "I'm not hungry," the boy murmured, still not looking at Mulder. "Neither am I." Mulder slid down to the floor beside his son. They sat without speaking for several minutes, the only sounds the hum of conversation and clang of silverware and plates from downstairs, and Phoenix's steady breathing. "When's she coming home?" Mulder closed his eyes. "I don't know." "Where is she?" "I don't know." Will was quiet for a moment, then, "Dad?" "Yeah?" "I'm scared," Will whispered. Mulder slipped an arm around Will's shoulders and pulled the boy against his chest. Will came easily, finally turning to face Mulder, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed from crying. Me, too, Mulder thought, and Will's soft nod against his chest told Mulder that he didn't need to speak his feelings aloud for his son to understand them. Only the stiffness in Mulder's knees told him that he had been sitting with Will for some time when he heard the front door open, followed by a familiar feminine voice. He and Will traded glances, both their heads cocked to better hear the voice. Their shoulders slumped in tandem as they both realized the identity of their visitor. After a soft pat on his son's back, Mulder left Will and went downstairs to meet Maggie, whose voice by that time had gained a nearly hysterical volume. "Where are they?" she demanded. "I had a message from Fox to call his cell phone, but he isn't answering." As he hurried down the stairs, Mulder reached into his jeans pocket and removed his cell phone. BATTERY LOW, the display read, and he grunted in frustration as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Idiot, he thought; what if Scully had been trying to call? He could have missed her. He might have... "What's happened?" Maggie demanded. "I need to talk to--" "Maggie," Mulder called, and his mother-in-law turned toward the stairs. Though he had just seen her the previous day, to Mulder, Maggie Scully looked as though she'd aged years. Her face was screwed up with worry, providing additional wrinkles across her forehead and around her eyes. Her hair, a soft brownish-gray, had been mussed by the wind outside, but she took no notice of it, her hands clenched tightly in front of her chest. She's old, Mulder realized for the first time. Maggie didn't need this kind of worry. Not at her age. Not ever. "Fox," she exclaimed, hurrying up the last few steps to meet him. "Fox, what's wrong? Your message sounded urgent but you weren't answering your phone. And then when I got here, all these agents... I had to park down the street. I didn't know what--" He took her hand and guided her upstairs. "What's wrong, Fox?" she demanded as he closed the study door behind them. "Where are Dana and William?" "Will's in his bedroom," Mulder told her. Mulder glanced away from Maggie, ashamed as she understood his half-answer. "I don't know where she is," he admitted, feeling like he was once again facing his father after Samantha's disappearance. He was unable to meet Maggie's gaze. "She was supposed to pick Will up this afternoon and she never showed. I haven't heard from her since she left for work this morning, and she's not answering her phone. "I was hoping she might be with you," he admitted. Maggie shook her head. "Are you sure, Fox? Maybe she got tied up at work or stuck in traffic or--" "I've been to her office," he said softly. "Her bag is there: her wallet, her phone, everything. Her car is still there, Maggie." Then Mrs. Scully sunk down onto the couch, her head in her hands. "Not again," she moaned, head downcast. Then she looked up at him, fury in her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was tight with anger. "What do they want with her, Fox? What do they want with my daughter? Haven't they taken enough from her already?" Mulder ached for Maggie; she had already lost her eldest daughter, and at such a young age; and she had been through so much with Scully, so much of it his fault. Mulder shook his head and stood there wallowing in his own guilt until a voice broke through. "Mrs. Scully?" John Doggett stood at the door looking wearier than Mulder had previously noticed. The man's white dress shirt was wrinkled, the knot of his coffee-stained tie askew. "Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry." He joined them in the study, shutting the door behind himself. "I have to ask you about Dana." Mulder shot the agent an irritated look. "Doggett, can't this wait?" He glanced back at Maggie, who had regained her composure, her back ramrod straight and her shoulders squared. Mulder exhaled sharply as, at that moment, he saw more of Scully in her mother than he was prepared for. "It's all right, Fox," Maggie assured him, reaching for him. Her grip was strong and sure as she squeezed his hand. "If I can help in any way..." Doggett nodded and took a seat at the desk chair. "When was the last time you spoke with your daughter?" "Yesterday. We had Easter dinner here, and..." Maggie gasped with a sudden realization. "Oh, goodness, Fox... No. Is that what they want? Is that why--?" She glanced at Doggett, then back at her son-in-law, worried that she'd revealed too much. "What?" Doggett pressed. "Mulder, if there's something I should know--" Mulder shook his head. "We told her about the baby yesterday," he explained. Maggie turned to him, wide-eyed. "Is it the baby; is that it, Fox? Why would they want her baby?" "I don't know," he admitted softly, staring down at the floor. His mother-in-law's gaze felt almost accusatory, and Mulder couldn't quite bring himself to meet her eyes. * * * * * End Part 12. Continued in Part 13. Title: Song of Experience (13/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * It wasn't until after midnight when the house finally emptied out. Doggett had kept his cadre of agents working long into the night, not seeming to notice the lateness of the hour until Klein complained that she had missed putting her kids to bed. After that, the agents had filtered out slowly, with Doggett the last to leave. He wandered around downstairs, looking half-heartedly for his car keys, as though he were afraid to leave for the night without tangible results. "How's Will doin'?" Doggett asked as he gathered notes and computer print-outs into labeled folders. "He's worried." "Yeah," Doggett agreed. He jammed his arms into his jacket, then finally found his keys in the inside pocket. "I think we all are." Mulder walked the agent to the front door, pausing there and turning to face Doggett. "I want to thank you," Mulder said. He held out his hand, and Doggett shook it, surprised. "No need." Doggett ducked his head as he contemplated his keychain. Then he looked at Mulder, his face set in determination. "We'll find her, Mulder." We found you; we'll find her: it was the unspoken sentiment between the two men, and Mulder wanted to say that this time they didn't have the time it had taken to locate him. They didn't have the luxury of finding her and burying her and then resurrecting her and their child months later. Mulder had the feeling that he and Scully were running out of miracles. "Yeah" was all he said as he watched Doggett walk out to his car. Mulder stood at the door and waited while the agent backed out of the driveway, part of him dreading returning to the echoing quiet of the house. Finally, when he could no longer follow Doggett's taillights down the street, Mulder shut the door and locked it, then flicked off the outside light. He leaned back against the door, staring up the dark steps. There was a light on upstairs, shining from the left side of the hall, so Will was likely still awake. Mulder walked slowly through the downstairs, turning off lights and double-checking locks. He sighed at the pile of coffee-stained mugs and dirty dishes in the sink, promising himself that he'd take care of them first thing in the morning. Finally Mulder stood at the base of the stairs again, his body too heavy to climb them. He knew he needed to go upstairs and face Will, but for the first time he was afraid of his own son. Will probably already understood what it meant that Scully was still missing; they were all still haunted by Mulder's seven-year absence, in subtle yet persistent ways that never quite seemed to fade. If Will were any other child, Mulder could have easily lied to him, told him not to worry, that Mom would be home soon and of course she would be okay. But Will would know. Finally he gathered the strength to climb the stairs, flicking on the light in the master bedroom and not even bothering to close the door before he shucked his jeans and slipped into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He put on a pair of thick winter socks before venturing into the bathroom. Spring was coming on strong now, overpowering winter's damp chill, but it was still cool out at night, and Mulder had been chilled all day. It wasn't until he stood at the foot of the queen-sized bed that the full impact of Scully's disappearance hit Mulder. He had never realized just how large their bed was, how empty, until he was faced with climbing into it alone. Most nights Scully went to bed before he did, or they went together; rarely was Mulder the one to pull down the covers, toss aside the extraneous pillows, and slip between the cool sheets. So he stood there now with his hands on his hips, staring at the bed. He supposed he could always sleep on the worn leather couch in the study, but Mulder knew that it would be even colder than the bed. It may not so obviously remind him that Scully was missing, but certainly it would remind him of a time when he was, nevertheless, alone. "Dad?" Mulder turned to the door, where Will stood, dressed in his pajamas and holding Pup in a chokehold that looked almost painful. Phoenix was beside him, eyes glowing in the dim light and his head pushing up against Will's hip. The dog's tail wagged lazily from side to side. "Yeah, Will?" Will eyed the big empty bed as he worried his lower lip between his teeth. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" Mulder nodded, then padded toward the bed and pulled down the quilt and sheets. Will climbed in beside him, on Scully's side. "Phoenix, too?" "Yeah, Phoenix, too." Will patted the bed and, with only a bit of assistance, the dog clambered up. Scully didn't let the dog on any furniture, claiming that it was setting them up for problems when the puppy reached his full size, and now Phoenix stepped carefully on the soft bed, pausing to sniff at the sheets with curiosity. Finally he found an adequate spot at the foot of the bed, plopped down, and curled himself into a ball. For his part, Will kicked his feet at the tightly tucked sheets to get comfortable. Finally he stopped fidgeting and Mulder turned off the bedside lamp, pulling the sheets high around his shoulders to keep warm. Will was close but not touching, and Mulder could feel the heat radiating off his son's small, warm body. "Dad?" "Hmm?" "I prayed for Mom to come home." Mulder waited a long beat, then finally, "Okay." "Did you?" Will asked, and Mulder opened his eyes to see his son staring at him from across their pillows, wide-eyed and hopeful. Mulder didn't know what to say without hurting his son. Religion was Scully's department; he figured his role would come if and when Will started to question the Church's dogma and his mother's devotion to a religion that she obviously did not follow to the letter. "No," Mulder said finally. "How come?" He sighed, shifting his feet to fit against Phoenix's warm belly. "Will, we've talked about this." He tried to keep his tone patient. "I don't go to church--" "But you don't have to go to church to pray," his son insisted. "True." "Then will you?" Mulder looked past his son's concerned gaze to the bedstand on Scully's side of the bed, to the gold cross embossed on the leather cover of her Bible. He remembered Scully's own admission when he had been missing so many years ago, when she had been pregnant with Will: she had prayed for him. Every night and at mass on Sunday mornings, she had told him, plus the dozen or so please-God-let-him-come-homes that she had muttered throughout the day. A wave of inadequacy flooded over Mulder. "I don't know what to say," he admitted. "Please?" Will tugged on his father's hand to get his attention. "Just think, 'Please let Mom come home.' That's all you have to do." Mulder studied his son's hopeful expression, Will's lips pressed together with worry. "I don't think that's going to help anything, Will." "But can't you just do it anyway? Please?" "Okay," Mulder acquiesced finally. He closed his eyes, picturing his wife as he'd seen her last, dashing out the door that morning, hair still wet from her shower, fitting the lid on her travel coffee mug, reminding them that she would pick Will up from Joy's on her way home. Will squeezed his father's fingers desperately. Please, Mulder thought. Please let Scully come home. * * * * * "No! Stop! Mommy, help! Mommy!" Mulder was pacing in front of the microwave when he heard the screams. He bolted from the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding in his ears. Will's voice was thick with terror, and he kept crying out as Mulder ran down the hallway, his hand clutching impotently at the seam of his sweatpants as he remembered that he no longer carried a weapon, and certainly not while wearing his pajamas. "Will?" The little boy was thrashing about in the bed, his feet kicking at the tangled sheets binding his ankles. At the foot of the bed, Phoenix's head was raised in alarm. When the dog spotted Mulder in the doorway, his tail gave a single, pathetic wag before he pushed his head against Will's struggling feet. "Will," Mulder called, louder this time, and finally his son turned to face him. "Dad?" "I'm right here." He crossed the room in three steps and dropped onto the bed beside the boy, Will climbing into Mulder's lap before he was even sitting down. "Shh, it was just a dream, Will. You're okay. You're safe." He didn't know whether the wetness pressing against his t-shirt was from his son's tears or his sweat, and Mulder rocked Will while his breathing calmed and his shaking subsided. "They were coming to get me and you weren't here." "I'm here now," Mulder assured him, damning the timing of Will's dream. Five minutes earlier and he would've still been in bed with his son. "Look, I'm right here. You're safe now, Will. It was just a bad dream." "No, you were gone," Will insisted as his fingernails dug into Mulder's arm like tiny claws. "You were gone like Mom, and they were coming to get me, too." He kept his voice calm. "Who was coming to get you?" "Bad men," Will said. "Lots of them. They were coming to get me, and you weren't here." Something tightened inside Mulder, an old fear, but he said nothing, just rocked his son. It was not a new nightmare: someone coming for Will, bad men who were going to take him away and hurt him. Idly Mulder wondered whether it was possible that, deep in his subconscious, Will held some memory of his own birth; after his most vivid dreams it was not unusual for him to scare Scully with strangely accurate descriptions of a dark, deserted farmhouse and bad men who wanted to hurt him. Mulder and Scully had discussed this on more than one occasion, with Scully claiming that Will could not possibly recall his own birth and Mulder assuring her that he had once read an article about children who remembered traumatic births. "I'm scared, Dad," Will whispered into Mulder's shoulder. "It was just a dream, Will," Mulder reminded him. "I'm right here now. And no one's coming to get you." I promise, he thought, but he could not bring himself to profess the words aloud. Just then Mulder's stomach growled, and Will pulled away from his father's chest with a tearful giggle. "I don't know about you," Mulder said, offering his son a smile, "but I'm starved. There's leftover pizza in the fridge. Want me to heat some up for you?" Will nodded, then followed Mulder downstairs, Phoenix at their heels. The timer on the microwave dinged as they entered the kitchen, and Mulder slipped the heated plate onto the counter. Phoenix pushed his head against Mulder's leg, sniffing at the pizza-scented air. "Is there any pineapple?" Will asked as he wrinkled his nose at the slice of pepperoni and green pepper his father offered him. Mulder went to the fridge and pulled out the half-empty box, opening it for his son. After a long deliberation, Will picked out a piece with mushrooms, and Mulder slid the slice onto a plate and popped it in the microwave. They ate their pizza in silence, their chairs pulled up next to each other at the table and Phoenix at Will's side, his curious nose poking up onto Will's lap. * * * * * End Part 13. Continued in Part 14. Title: Song of Experience (14/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Doggett found him in the study. Mulder had needed some time away from the bustle of the agents downstairs, with Doggett and his cohorts thinking aloud, running through what-ifs that Mulder could not stand to hear vocalized. So he was lying on the couch upstairs, one arm thrown over his eyes, trying to give the three Advil he'd swallowed time to fight his monster of a headache, when he heard a soft knock on the study door. "Come in," he called, thinking that it was Will until he heard his visitor settle onto the desk chair. Mulder opened his eyes and squinted at John Doggett. "You okay?" Mulder didn't acknowledge the question. "Do you need something?" "Yes." Doggett refused to meet the other man's gaze. "You're familiar with the protocol, Mulder; you know why I'm here, what we need from you." "Yeah," he admitted, closing his eyes for a brief respite from the light. "Maggie should be here soon. She can take Will out somewhere; I will not do this with my son in the house." "Fair enough." Doggett rose from the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll be back when she gets here." "Fine." Mulder wanted nothing more than to sink back into the worn old couch, but he knew that he needed to make a phone call first. So he grabbed the phone off the desk and punched in a number he knew by heart. It took just a minute for him to explain the situation and another minute for her to agree to come, and then Mulder was back on the couch. He slipped the pillow out from behind his head and set it over his eyes. Neither he nor Will had had much sleep the night before; Will had woken three times with nightmares, each one worse than the last. Finally, sometime after 4 AM, Will had fallen asleep clutching his father's t-shirt, his heart racing even in his sleep. But Mulder had remained awake until the alarm clock buzzed needlessly less than three hours later. So he must have fallen asleep on the couch because, before he knew it, Doggett was back in the study, standing over him, arms crossed over his chest. "Mulder?" "Yeah." He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Maggie here?" "Here and gone," Doggett said. "She took Will to get lunch. He wanted you to come, too, but we peeked in on you and I convinced him that you needed your sleep." "Thanks," Mulder said. "Where are we doing this?" "Why don't we go downstairs," the agent suggested, and Mulder rolled off the couch, straightening his wrinkled t-shirt as he followed Doggett into the dining room. Seated on one side of the table was Agent Bradley, looking every inch the part of FBI Golden Boy. A clean legal pad, three pens, a glass of water, and a stack of file folders were lined up neatly in front of him. The seat opposite Bradley was pulled out in invitation. Mulder sat down, nodding at Alice Rosen, his attorney, who sat primly on a dining room chair that had been pushed back against the wall. He knew Alice well, and it gave him considerable comfort having her there now. She had seen him through three deaths (one of them his own), multiple will signings and amendments, and more brushes with the law than he could remember. Literally. Alice nodded at him, her cropped white hair shining in the light coming in through the window, and Mulder felt a little less like he was facing the firing squad. He tried to manage a smile for her but failed miserably. "Skinner's letting me run this inquiry on one condition, Mulder, and that's that I let someone else question you," Doggett explained as he took the chair next to Alice. "He wants this by the book, and you know I'm too close to the two of you to be the one doin' it." Mulder nodded; he had figured as much. He turned to face Agent Bradley, who uncapped a pen and cleared his throat. "Well, then," the young agent said, his voice cracking. He coughed. "We all know each other here, Mr. Mulder, so we might as well begin. "First I'd like to discuss some of your wife's history, if we may." He looked up from his notepad and pinned Mulder with his gaze. "But Agent Doggett tells me that you've had some memory troubles ever since you returned to Washington last summer." Mulder nodded. "Are you sure, Mr. Mulder, that you haven't missed something in your comments to Agent Doggett regarding your wife's disappearance? Perhaps something she said or did, something suspicious or unusual that you might have blocked out?" "My short-term memory is fine," Mulder said, his voice tense. "The problem is with old memories. Certain past cases I've investigated, some events from my childhood." Bradley nodded, apparently satisfied. "Okay, then." He paused to uncap his pen. "This wasn't the first time your wife disappeared, was it, Mr. Mulder?" "No," Mulder said. Cut right to the chase, don't we, Bradley? he thought. "Why don't you tell me about what happened in the fall of 1994." Mulder sighed. "We were separated," he began, but Bradley stopped him with one hand. "I wasn't aware your personal involvement with your former partner dated back to 1994." "We were separated at work. Reassigned," he explained. "But she was helping me with a case, a hostage situation with a man who claimed he'd been--" "Abducted by aliens, isn't that right, Mr. Mulder?" Bradley's grin was condescending, and Mulder wanted to reach across the table and tighten the knot of the man's tie. Slowly. "Yes," he said flatly. "The man was injured, escaped from the hospital, and broke into Scully's apartment. He believed that if he took someone else to the location where he'd previously been abducted that they would take the other person instead of him." "And they did?" "She disappeared," Mulder said. "But she returned, correct?" "She *was returned* several weeks later, unconscious." "And after she recovered from that," Bradley continued, and Mulder's chest tightened at the casual way Bradley brushed past the days Scully had laid unconscious in the hospital, some of the worst of his life. The agent slipped through several more sheets of what was likely Scully's file from Personnel before looking up at Mulder. "In 1998, she disappeared again. To Antarctica, this time?" Mulder clenched his teeth. "Yes." "It says here that you found her, Mr. Mulder." "Yes." "And how, may I ask, did you know where to look?" "I was given a tip," he said tightly. "A tip?" "Yes." "From whom?" "I never learned his name." "Do you suspect he might be involved in your wife's current disappearance, Mr. Mulder?" "No," he said. "And why is that?" "Because he's dead." Bradley cocked an eyebrow at him. "That's very interesting, Mr. Mulder. You don't know this man's name, yet you seem certain that he's no longer alive. How would you know that?" "I saw his car explode." "You were present when this man's car exploded?" Mulder nodded. "And how did that happen, Mr. Mulder?" Agent Bradley pressed. "Did you happen to see who caused this explosion?" "No," Mulder said. "Were you involved in this man's death, Mr. Mulder?" Bradley asked, drawing out the question dramatically. "No." Bradley nodded slowly, tapping his pen against his notepad. "Let's move on, then, why don't we," he said, frustration seeping into his voice. "I need you to tell me everything you can about your wife's disappearance. Starting with the last time you saw her." "Yesterday morning," Mulder began. "She was late leaving for work, and she didn't have breakfast with us like she usually does." "'Us'?" "Will and me," Mulder clarified. "Will is your son?" Bradley asked, and Mulder nodded. You know he is, he thought; you met him here yesterday. What a prick. "And why was she late?" "She was sick," Mulder said softly, remembering. He had suggested that maybe Scully should ask Dr. Speake about it at her next visit. Wasn't morning sickness supposed to be over already? No, she'd said with an amused grin; I was sick with Will for nearly five months. I'm fine, Mulder. Fine, fine... "That's right," Bradley said, paging through a paper clipped sheaf of papers. "Your wife is pregnant." Mulder nodded, barely able to hold his tongue. He didn't care for Bradley's tone, the way he insisted on calling Scully 'your wife' instead of 'Agent Scully' or 'Dr. Scully'; nor the way he clarified facts that everyone present knew, as if they were in court and he was stating it for the record. No, Mulder did not like Agent Bradley. "So she was sick," Bradley prompted. "Yes. She was late leaving for work. She grabbed her keys and some coffee, told me that she would pick Will--" "Decaf?" "Excuse me?" "I asked if the coffee was decaf," the agent repeated calmly. What the hell difference does it make to you, Mulder thought at Bradley. But all he said was, "Yes, it was decaf." "Mmm," Bradley noted, scribbling something on his notepad. "Continue." "That's all," Mulder said. "She took her coffee and her bag, and she told me that she'd pick Will up at his friend's house on her way home from work. And she left." "And did you talk to her during the day?" "No," Mulder said. He and Scully did not typically phone each other during the day, not unless one of them was going to be late or early, or otherwise needed to make a change in plans. Every once in a while he phoned Scully out of boredom, when he was working from home and fed up with the little blinking cursor of the computer rebuking him for not being more productive. But he hadn't talked to her yesterday. "And how did you realize she was missing?" Bradley asked. "Our son called me and said that she was late." Bradley nodded. "And it's unusual for her to be late?" "Scully is always on time," he told the agent. "Will gets anxious when she's late, and she knows that." Bradley glanced up at him with a challenging look in his eyes. "You call your wife by her last name, Mr. Mulder?" Asshole, Mulder thought; you know I do. "Yes." Again the agent scribbled something on the legal pad, which he'd angled so that Mulder couldn't read it. "Is there anything else that happened yesterday morning?" he asked. "Anything out of the ordinary that might aid us in locating your wife?" "No," Mulder said. "Where were you when your wife disappeared, Mr. Mulder?" "After I drove Will to school, I went to work. I got home around 4:30." Mulder kept his tone even; he had known this question was coming. It was rule one in the disappearance of any adult: Suspect the spouse. "Well, then, let's move back a few days, shall we? In the last week, has anything unusual or suspicious happened? Any strange phone calls or visitors? Did your wife mention anything unusual at work?" Mulder shook his head. "Nothing." "And how would you classify her home life?" Bradley asked in a bored tone that Mulder remembered from making phone calls during his and Scully's shit-patrol while they were still under Kersh's thumb. "A demanding job, a new marriage, one child and another on the way: I imagine that things at home must be stressful. Difficult to handle, perhaps." "Scully was not overstressed," Mulder answered. "And your marriage?" the agent pressed. "I understand you were married rather recently. The first few months can be pretty rocky; I know." Bradley flashed an understanding smile, and Mulder almost laughed at the man's pathetic attempt to empathize with him. "Any arguments lately?" "No." "None at all?" Mulder shook his head. Of course there were disagreements, you ass, he thought. It was the way he and Scully loved each other, challenged each other: heated words and fervid debates. But their disagreements were not the kind Bradley was interested in, and, besides, his memories of these disagreements were colored over by their fervent making up. "Children can be awfully perceptive about these kinds of things, you know," Agent Bradley was saying almost conversationally, and Mulder felt the sharp, bitter rise of bile in his throat. "They do tend to worry when they overhear their parents argue... I'm sure you know all about that, don't you, Mr. Mulder?" "But of course we'd get the same answer if we were to speak to your son, wouldn't we?" Bastard, Mulder thought as his mouth snapped open to reply. But his attorney beat him to it. "Drop it," Alice Rosen snapped. "We all know you have no reason to speak to the son, Agent Bradley." She directed a stern look at the agent. "Not yet," Bradley agreed nonchalantly. Then he turned and pinned Mulder with his gaze. "How old is your wife, Mr. Mulder?" "I believe the answer to your question is in that file you've got open right there," Mulder said, his voice even as he nodded at Scully's personnel file. Bradley had pushed his folders toward the center of the table in order to fit all of them, and Mulder could see the Bureau insignia and Scully's original FBI photo, her face almost unfathomably young and innocent. "There's no need for an attitude, Mr. Mulder. Just answer the question." "She's forty-five," he said, eyes narrowing at Bradley as he spoke. Bradley located something on the top page with his index finger, tapped it twice, then glanced up at Mulder. "I believe that's somewhat older than most expectant mothers, Mr. Mulder." It was not a question, and Mulder did not offer a reply. "How would you classify your wife's reaction upon learning of her pregnancy?" Mulder sighed, meeting Bradley's gaze with a warning look. "We were surprised at first," he admitted, "but excited. Scully had been told that she couldn't have children." "And your reaction?" Under the table, Mulder clenched his hands into fists until his knuckles started to ache. "As I said, we were surprised. Both of us. But we were also happy at the news." "But there was also some anxiety, too, wasn't there, Mr. Mulder?" Bradley pressed. "Imagining myself in her place--" Mulder shuddered in horror at the image that brought to mind. "--I would certainly be anxious. Forty-five years old, newly married to a man who has a knack for disappearing when she needs him, a man who couldn't handle fatherhood the first time around--" "What the hell are you implying?" Bradley just shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps this new development was the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. The last of many changes in your wife's life in the past year, too many for her to handle," he suggested. His expression grew cold. "Or perhaps she was just tired of being the one who gets left." Mulder shot a furious glance at Doggett, who was staring down Bradley, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. But the interrogating agent was studiously avoiding Doggett's gaze. "No," Mulder growled as he looked back to Agent Bradley. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to throttle Bradley, but the reasonable part of Mulder, small as it was, knew that an emotional reaction wouldn't help matters, not for him or for Scully. And certainly not for Will, Mulder reminded himself; he had to do this right for his son. Will didn't need his father arrested for assaulting a federal officer, even if the guy was a jackass. Bradley just nodded, his attention focused on his notes. "Just one final question, then, Mulder," the agent told him. "There are a few dates I'd like to make sure I have straight." Mulder nodded tightly. "You were returned... when?" "Last August," Mulder told him. "And the two of you were married in...?" "December." "December," the agent mused. "That was rather impulsive, wasn't, Mr. Mulder? Four months after your mysterious, unexplained return, after a stay in the psychiatric ward of Georgetown Memorial Hospital, and you and Agent Scully are rushing down the aisle?" "Agent Scully and I have known each other for fifteen years," Mulder growled. "So, no, I don't see our marriage as 'impulsive.'" "I see," Bradley said. "And, as I understand it, your wife is due in August. Correct?" "Yes." "August," the agent commented lightly. "Married in December, baby due in August... If I may, Mr. Mulder, how certain are you in the paternity of the child your wife is carrying?" The room erupted into a frenzy of angry words and jerking movements. "You son of a--" Mulder roared before his attorney reached his side and drowned the rest of his words with a jumble of legalese that Mulder hoped was a threat. At the same time, Doggett jumped from his chair to Agent Bradley's side, gripping the younger man's upper arm so tight that Doggett's knuckles were white. "Dad, we're home!" Mulder stiffened at the sound of his son's voice, his eyes darting between Doggett, Bradley, and Alice Rosen. His attorney shared a regretful look, and Doggett couldn't meet Mulder's gaze. Even Agent Bradley looked mildly repentant at the interruption. "Shh, Will," Maggie's voice answered as Mulder heard the front door shut softly. "Your dad might still be asleep." "Dad," Will called, quieter this time. "Grandma and I have a present for you." "In here, Will," Mulder called out as he rose from his chair. He leaned over the table at Bradley. "This is finished," he hissed at the agent. He pushed the chair back, then went into the living room, leaving the chair tottering on two unsteady legs before it crashed to the floor. Will and Maggie were taking off their coats, Maggie hanging both in the foyer closet, and Will rushed over to greet him. "You're awake!" "Yeah," Mulder said, slipping his arms around his son. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, gathering comfort from Will's clean, little-boy smell and trusting embrace. He had to force himself to let go, not wanting to scare his son. "How was your lunch?" "It woulda been more fun if you came with us," Will said. "But John said you needed to sleep, so Grandma and I brought something back for you." Will handed him a brown take-out bag, and Mulder unrolled the top. "What's this?" Maggie chuckled and Mulder turned to face her. "William was insistent on bringing you lunch," she told him. "And then he saw this on the menu and knew you'd love it." "What is it, kiddo?" "A cheeseburger with mushrooms and onions and--" Will stopped and smiled broadly, "--and sunflower seeds on it!" "Sunflower seeds?" Will nodded, his eyes bright with excitement. "I know how much you like sunflower seeds." "I do," Mulder said, ruffling Will's hair. "And I've never had them on a burger before. Thank you." Will smiled at him, then ran off, calling out for Phoenix. "Are you all right, Fox?" Maggie asked, a familiar suspicious look on her face. He nodded. "Fine," he told her. "Thank you for taking him." "No problem." She patted his arm before heading toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make myself some tea. Would you like some with your lunch?" "Yes. Thank you," he said, watching as she and Doggett nearly collided as the agent wandered into the living room. Mulder jerked his head at the front door, stepping outside into the cool spring air. He clenched his fists at his sides, the take-out bag with his lunch still in one hand. "What the fuck was that?" Mulder demanded as Doggett joined him on the small front porch. "Am I a suspect; is that what you're trying to tell me? Or do you think that Scully left me? Left *Will*? That the baby's not mine? Godamnit, Doggett, just what the fuck is going on here?" "Mulder, calm down--" "I will not calm down. I think I have a right to be upset when I'm treated like a suspect in my wife's disappearance when you know damn well--" "I had no idea Bradley was going there," Doggett insisted. "You have to believe that, Mulder; I know you have nothing to do with this. And I know that Dana would never leave Will. Or leave you for anyone else. Christ, I *know* that." Mulder watched the wistful, almost regretful expression on Doggett's face for a moment, then turned on his heel and stepped as far away from the agent as he could. He was besieged with old, familiar feelings, and was suddenly not sure who to trust with Scully gone. And most of all, he was sick of this shit. You've let down your guard, he told himself, trusting Doggett and Reyes, and these other agents you don't even know. Scully is the only one you could ever trust. Only Scully. Mulder gripped his hands into tight fists, feeling his wedding band dig into the palm of his hand. Doggett laid a hand on Mulder's shoulder, but Mulder pulled out of the agent's grip. Doggett sighed. "Look, Mulder, I'll talk to Agent Bradley, get him straightened out. You know some of those questions were valid, but he stepped way over the line. "Let me do my job here, Mulder. Just trust me." Mulder said nothing, just stared off the porch and down the street at the rows of houses. Doggett stood with him another minute, then went back inside, the door slamming shut behind him. Mulder's gaze was caught by the line of Bureau-issued cars parked in the street in front of their house, and he remembered when half his time had been spent in cars just like those, passing endless miles with Scully and a bag of sunflowers as his only companions. Only Scully, he thought. He could trust no one but her. * * * * * End Part 14. Continued in Part 15. Title: Song of Experience (15/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * "Damn, I must really be in trouble if they're sending the big man in to question me," Mulder said as he crossed the kitchen to meet Walter Skinner. The elder man cracked a rare smile, wrinkles breaking out at the corners of his mouth and eyes. "You here to arrest me, copper?" Mulder held out his hands, wrists together, as though Skinner were about to slap a pair of cuffs on him. "You're not in trouble, Mulder," Skinner assured him, pulling the other man's hand into his warm grip. "Someone should pass that on to Agent Bradley." Skinner nodded and took the seat that Mulder indicated at the kitchen table. "Yes, I heard about that; your attorney was very... persuasive. She may look like somebody's grandmother, but she certainly doesn't act like one." He shook his head. "I am sorry about that, Mulder. Agent Bradley--" Mulder clenched his jaw and sucked in a tight breath. "If Bradley even approaches my son..." Skinner held up one hand in surrender. "Bradley was out of line; I've already spoken with him. If he talks to William without my permission, he'll be off this case and investigating mail fraud in Montana before the week is out." Mulder managed a smile at Skinner's loyalty. "Thank you, sir." Silence fell over the bright kitchen, and Mulder took the opportunity to glance out the side window to check on Will, who was playing in the backyard with the dog. "Not that it isn't good to see you again, sir, but--" "What am I doing here?" Mulder nodded, and Skinner set a thick manila envelope on the table between them, nudging at the cup of coffee Mulder had poured prior to Skinner's arrival. "I received the surveillance footage from Quantico Security." Skinner nodded at the envelope, and Mulder tugged open the flap of the envelope to remove a slim, shiny DVD case and a sheaf of papers. "The relevant footage -- and a complete transcript of Agent Scully's comings and goings yesterday." "Relevant?" "They tracked Scully from her office, to the classroom, to the lab, then back to her office, ostensibly for lunch. After lunch, she attended a Pathology Department meeting, then returned to her office. At approximately 3:00, she left her office again, this time taking the elevator down to the basement. All she had with her were her keys; the surveillance footage clearly shows her locking her office door before going downstairs. Then she disappears. A camera in the basement picked her up as she stepped off the elevator; she turns the corner, but then she's gone." "Gone?" Mulder repeated. "How can she be gone? Wasn't there another camera? What about--?" "There should have been," Skinner admitted. "But that morning there was a technical problem with that camera. The Head of Security called for a repairman, but he was told that they couldn't get anyone until mid-week." "And that's it?" Mulder asked. "The camera's out of commission, Scully disappears, and that's the end of it? Case closed?" Skinner shook his head. "I went down to Quantico myself to talk to the Head of Security. We found a closet in the basement, near where the broken camera was located. The lock on the closet door was busted. There was a bottle with traces of chloroform: no idea how long it's been there and no prints. "And we found this." Skinner took the envelope from Mulder and tilted it, allowing its final contents to spill out into his hand. Mulder leaned over the table for a better view, then gave a swift intake of breath when he saw what lay in the palm of the Deputy Director's hand. "Her necklace," Mulder exhaled, plucking the plastic evidence bag from Skinner's hand. He loosened the ziplock on the bag, then looked up at Skinner. "Can I...?" The elder man nodded. "It's already been checked for prints and trace evidence." Mulder waited, looking at Skinner expectantly. "They didn't find anything." Mulder nodded; he'd figured as much. He opened the plastic bag and let the delicate gold chain slip into his palm. Its clasp was broken, and Mulder had to shake the baggie to dislodge the tiny cross as well. With his other hand, he worked the thin chain slowly around his palm, molding it into a lopsided S-shape before closing his fingers over it. "Thank you, sir." Mulder understood that, as the Deputy Director, delivering a useless bit of evidence to the husband of a missing agent was not exactly part of Skinner's job description. And, despite the years since he last worked with Walter Skinner, Mulder was grateful to have the man there with him. "You sure you're all right?" Skinner asked, studying Mulder through his wire-rim glasses. Mulder nodded. "And William?" Mulder exhaled slowly, sneaking another peek out the window to check on his son. He could see the flash of Will's bright blue windbreaker out of the corner of his eye. "We're okay, sir." Skinner nodded then, though his face belied his disbelief. He looked thoughtful for a minute, then, "Speaking of William... Is he at school?" Mulder shook his head, rising from his chair and stepping toward the window. "No, it's his spring vacation this week." Mulder nodded at the scene outside, and Skinner joined him at the window. The older man let out a surprised breath. "Well, he's certainly grown," he said. "I think the last time I saw him, he was in diapers." Mulder smiled then, and went to the back door and opened it. "Hey, Will," he called as he stuck his head out. "Come in here for a minute." "You don't have to--" Skinner started, but Mulder shook his head. "I think he'd like to meet you," Mulder told him. "Scully's told him about you." "*Scully* has?" he asked. "Maybe I should leave now..." Mulder chuckled. He understood Skinner's uncertainty -- certainly Scully had not been his biggest supporter over the years; a certain gunpoint incident in Mulder's apartment stood out in far memory -- but Mulder was fairly certain that Scully had only shared good stories with their son. "Dad, you should've seen Phoenix," Will said, panting as he ran into the kitchen, pausing at the door to keep the dog from coming inside. "He's getting real good at sitting and stuff. I bet he'll be the smartest dog there when obedience classes start." "I'm sure he will," Mulder told the boy as he noticed the man standing in their kitchen, his hands clutched in front of him nervously. Mulder almost laughed aloud at the sight of the Deputy Director of the FBI uneasy at meeting a seven-year-old boy. "Will, this is Mr. Skinner. He used to be Mom's and my boss when we worked together." Mulder watched as Will nodded and squinted at Skinner, waiting a long second before taking the man's proffered hand in a tentative shake. The Deputy Director's hand dwarfed Will's tiny, paler one as they slowly shook. Suddenly Mulder realized what his son was doing, that he was reading into Skinner. Mulder was torn between trying to stop Will somehow, not wanting his son any more involved in this dangerous situation than he already was; and wanting Will to get a good long look inside the mind of a man whose allegiance had been in question more than once in the past. "Are you gonna help find my mom?" Will asked, blinking up at Skinner with eyes that suddenly resembled his mother's. Skinner's gaze darted to Mulder, then back to Will. "That's why I'm here." Will held Skinner's glance for another minute, then stepped away and turned to his father. "Can I go back outside now, Dad?" "Go ahead," Mulder told his son, and he and Skinner watched as Will rejoined the dog in the backyard. The boy ran from one side of the small patch of grass to the other, Phoenix trailing half a step behind him. The dog gazed lovingly at his boy, tail wagging and slobbery lips seeming to form a smile as Will turned around to praise him. Mulder turned to Skinner. "Looks like Scully, doesn't he?" "Actually, Mulder," Skinner said, "I was thinking that he reminds me of you." * * * * * "Mulder?" Doggett asked as he stepped into the kitchen some time later. Mulder turned from his perch against the kitchen counter, where he had spread out the papers Skinner had brought him that morning. "You okay?" "Just dandy," he said, meeting Doggett's gaze. Doggett nodded. "I thought I'd let you know what we found." Doggett had relocated his cadre of agents from the Mulder home that afternoon, sending two back to Headquarters and one to Quantico to question possible witnesses to Scully's disappearance. Doggett himself shown up with Skinner, remaining after the Deputy Director had left. "Agent Klein's finished with the check of Dana's car. She called to say that she found, uh..." "What is it, Doggett?" Mulder asked. He was in no mood for guessing games. "She found an ATM receipt," Doggett said. "Sixty dollars, dated yesterday morning. Looks like she went to the bank before work. "Look, Mulder, you know it's protocol. Klein had to check," he said, apologetic, his gaze darting away. Mulder sighed. Yeah, he knew all about protocol. So they had to check for any recent large withdrawals from their accounts. So what, Doggett? Mulder wanted to ask, his frustration escalating. Clearly Doggett thought this line of investigation meant something; it only mattered enough to mention to Mulder if he really expected to find something there. "So what'd you find?" "Nothing helpful," Doggett said, and Mulder wondered what the man would have found helpful: an empty account? "That morning's sixty-dollar withdrawal was the only activity on the account in over a week. Last thing before that was the direct deposit of your paycheck. So looks like we struck out on that front." "There are other accounts," Mulder said softly, and Doggett looked up at him, surprised. He would find out anyway, Mulder reasoned, and it would look less like he had something to hide if he was up-front about it from the start. "Other accounts?" "Yeah," Mulder said. "I'm assuming you're gonna want to check those, too." Doggett nodded and grabbed a pen and notepad off the counter. "Shoot." "There's a joint savings account," he said. "And another account in my name, but she has access." Doggett shot him a questioning look. "Family money," he explained, and Doggett nodded. "Anything else?" Doggett prompted. "Well, the house is in her name, but it's mortgaged. There are other properties -- homes in New England that belonged to my parents. Those are in my name, too. And there's a savings account for Will." Doggett nodded. "And she has access to that?" "Yeah," Mulder said. "It's not as much as the other accounts, but--" "How much are we talkin' here?" Mulder burned at the question even as he understood Doggett's need to ask it. "I don't have an exact figure," he admitted. "It's whatever my accountant estimated would be the cost of college in the year 2020." "And total?" Doggett pressed. Mulder sighed. "I could give you a ballpark, but you'd have to talk to my accountant." Doggett said nothing for a minute, just studied Mulder with a critical expression. Finally he tossed the pen on the counter and pulled the top sheet off the notepad. "I appreciate your honesty, Mulder," he said before he left the other man alone in the kitchen. So John Doggett appreciated his honesty. Woo hoo, Mulder thought as he shook his head; under other circumstances, he would've been amused at the man's comment. Of their own accord, Mulder's hands clutched the handle of his coffee cup, and he imagined that they were around Doggett's neck. Despite everything that had happened, Doggett still had reservations about him. Appreciate your honesty, my ass, he thought as he snatched the coffeepot from the machine and poured himself a fresh cup. * * * * * Will looked everywhere: upstairs, downstairs, even the basement. He was quiet, tiptoeing through the house, careful not to wake his dad, who had fallen asleep on the couch in the study again. Will knew he hadn't slept very well for the last few days; he could hear his dad sometimes, the TV on low and tuned to CNN, the crunch of sunflower seeds, the creak of the floorboards in the study as he paced. Five steps across the room, then spin and five steps back. At night Will counted the steps, tapping evenly like a metronome, as he lay in his bed. Like counting sheep, he told his stubborn, sleepless brain. Just count them and fall asleep. But his brain refused to listen, and last night Will had counted 175 steps before he gave up. "Phoenix," he hissed as he crept down the upstairs hall. Will checked his bedroom again, even peering under the bed, but the dog wasn't there. He found a tennis ball next to his dresser and bounced it on the floor. "Phoenix, ball!" Still no Phoenix. Will dropped the ball, which rolled into the corner of his room, then stepped softly into the study. His dad was still sleeping, covered with an old striped blanket, his neck bent at a funny angle and his head leaning up against the armrest. He looked very old like this, Will realized. The gray in his dad's hair shone brightly in the early morning light, and his face was tense, even in his sleep. He muttered something unintelligible, then shifted on the couch. The blanket slipped down to his waist, exposing something shiny hanging along his collarbone. Will crept closer to the couch to get a better look at the chain around his dad's neck. It was gold, and there was something... His dad moved again, and now Will could see what was attached to the necklace. His mom's cross. Where had his dad gotten his mom's necklace? Will couldn't remember her wearing it when she left Monday morning, but she rarely took it off. Will stepped away from his dad and searched the room, then dropped down onto his belly to check under the couch. He was pretty sure that Phoenix was too big to fit under there, but it had been one of his favorite hiding spots when he was a new puppy. Then Will tiptoed out of the study and into his parents' room, checking under their bed, behind the door, even in their bathroom, which Phoenix usually stayed out of because his paws always slipped on the tile. Then he heard a whining sound coming from the closet, and Will pushed open the half-closed door. There was Phoenix, standing in the middle of a pile of laundry, a wadded-up piece of something in his mouth and the empty laundry basket upturned next to him. "Phoenix," Will scolded. This was one of the dog's new favorite games: find the laundry. He somehow managed to locate their dirty-clothes baskets, no matter where they were hidden. Will had kept his laundry basket under his bed for a week, until he found the puppy's backside sticking out from under the bed, tail wagging gleefully as he pawed through Will's dirty clothes. And he never took the normal stuff, either. Not t-shirts or even socks. Always underwear. It was his newest way to get attention, which meant that whenever they had company, Phoenix always found something really embarrassing to take. Like Will's old Superman briefs when John had stopped by to drop off something for his mom a couple weeks ago. Now Will stood, hands on his hips, staring at the dog, who was looking at him with such a sad expression that Will almost felt bad for him instead of being angry. "Phoenix," he hissed softly. "What did you take?" The dog cocked his head, eyes wide and wet, and his tail wagged once as if in apology. I'm sorry, Will imagined him saying. But I'm a retriever; I'm only doing my job. "Give me that." Will snagged the elastic waistband of whatever Phoenix was clutching, but the dog wouldn't give it up. Will's feet slipped out from under him and he plopped down on his backside amidst the pile of laundry. "Bad dog," he said sternly, and the puppy finally relinquished the slobbery piece of cloth. He laid down next to Will, set his head on the boy's lap, and looked up at him with a contrite expression. Will shook out the wet piece of cloth, straightening it. Then he realized what it was: his mom's underwear. Will dropped the underwear on the laundry pile and leaned down to lay his head against his knees, his face close to the dog's. "I miss her, too, boy," he said, and Phoenix wagged his tail in agreement. * * * * * The bright blue FBI warning was flashing on the TV screen when his dad joined Will on the couch. He set a bowl of popcorn on the cushion between them, then held out his other hand, in which he carried two Cherry Cokes, the glasses clinking as Will took one. "Thank you," Will said. He held the glass up to his face, letting the fizzy carbonation bubbles tickle his nose. Although she didn't disallow it outright, his mom discouraged Will from drinking soda. Until his dad had moved in, they hadn't even kept any in the house. Will had been unfolding the envelope of microwave popcorn when his dad took two cans of Coke out of the fridge and asked if Will wanted one. Feeling vaguely guilty, Will had nodded. It was strange the ways he felt as though he were betraying his mom. Now Will took a handful of buttery popcorn and chewed thoughtfully as the blue screen switched over to a familiar preview. Will had always found comfort in repetition: he had read the Harry Potter series more times than he could count, and the case of his Star Wars DVDs was bandaged with heavy packing tape to keep it from completely falling apart. On the screen, the close-up of a kiss dissolved into mayhem, a black and white police car chasing a souped-up truck through heavy city traffic, taking out lampposts and fire hydrants and the tables of an outdoor caf, nearly missing a woman slowly pushing a stroller, unaware of her near-fate. Will turned to look at his dad, who was staring not at the television screen but above it, at Will's latest school photo, which sat, framed and slightly dusty, on the shelf atop the television. "How come so many people want to hurt you and Mom?" His dad didn't turn to look at him, but his gaze did shift to the screen. He stared unseeingly at a humungous explosion and two figures running from the wreckage, a man and a woman, pulling each other along by their joined hands. "Why do you ask that?" his dad said finally. "You had to leave when I was a baby -- because it was dangerous, you said -- and now Mom..." "Now Mom's gone, too," his dad finished for him. He snatched the remote off the coffee table and hit PAUSE, freezing the scene in place. On the screen, the man and the woman, hair mussed and cinder-speckled from the explosion, gazed at each other with a shared understanding, knowing they had narrowly escaped their demise. "Yes," Will said. "Mom and I have both told you about when we worked together, how we investigated crimes and helped catch criminals," his dad continued. "Of course none of the criminals wanted to get caught. Sometimes they were angry at us for doing our job." "Didn't they go to jail?" Will heard his dad think, and he looked at him curiously. His dad shook his head then, a rueful smile on his face as he realized that Will had most likely caught that last thought. "Some of them do," his dad told him. "But not all. There might not have been enough evidence for the courts to convict, so they were let free. And sometimes... sometimes they got away." Got away and came after his mom and dad? Will still didn't understand. If he was a criminal, he'd want to get as far away as possible from the police and the FBI and everyone who was trying to catch him, instead of going *looking* for them. Dumb criminals. "Is that where Mom is?" Will asked in a small voice. "That's why you're looking on her computer and reading all her old notes? Because you think an old bad guy came to get her?" He could tell from the look on his dad's face that he hadn't realized that Will knew what he was doing in the study every night, when Will was supposed to be in bed asleep but was in reality lying there, worrying about his mom and, yes, his dad, too. Wondering when his mom would come back and, if she never did, when his dad would start acting like normal again. "That's one possibility," his dad said. "I'm looking through our old cases, and John and the other agents are following other leads." They lapsed into silence then, Will contemplating what John might be doing to help find his mom. How long would they look for her? Why couldn't they find her? What if they went on forever like this, his mom missing and his dad sulking around the house like it was a maze and he was a rat who couldn't be bothered to figure it all out because he knew the cheese had been removed? He saw his dad reach for the remote to unpause the movie, and quickly Will turned to him with a new question. "But if there are always bad guys after you, how come you had to work for the FBI? Why didn't you and Mom do another job?" "Lots of people have dangerous jobs, Will," his dad explained. "Police officers, fire fighters, soldiers in the army... If no one wanted to do those jobs, then none of us would be safe." People with guns, Will thought. Like his mom. He thought of the locked box high up on the shelf in the study closet. What his dad had said made sense, but it didn't explain why *his* mom and dad needed to do those jobs. Why they had to be the ones who were in danger. It just wasn't fair. "When I grow up I'm gonna to have a safe job," he announced. His dad smiled but said nothing for a minute. For some reason, he seemed to feel conflicted about what his son had said. Will couldn't exactly tell what his dad was thinking, but he knew that he felt sad and hopeful and frightened all at once. was the only word Will could pick out. Then Will remembered something he had overheard one of the FBI agents say, that it was dangerous to be a member of this family. They had mentioned his Aunt Melissa's death, but there was also his Aunt Samantha and his dad's father. Was that his legacy? he wondered, a gun and danger and the drive to get them before they got you? "Dad?" "Yes, Will." "Are the bad guys gonna come after me, too?" "Of course not," his dad said. "Why would anyone want to hurt you?" Will just stared at his dad, who sat chewing his bottom lip, his eyes focused almost, but not quite, on Will's. Will didn't need to read anyone's mind to know that his dad was lying. He waited for him to say something else, to explain... But he said nothing. "You're lying," Will said softly. "Why aren't you telling me the truth?" His dad looked as though Will had physically hit him. His face was so sad, and immediately Will wished that he hadn't said anything at all. It was just that his dad had never lied to him before, not that Will could tell, at least. Sure, they had had misunderstandings, but this was the first time Will could tell for absolute sure that his dad was lying. "The truth," his dad muttered. "Will, I don't know the truth. I don't know where Mom is or who took her or why. I just *don't know.*" "But they said it was dangerous to be in this family. That someone killed Aunt Melissa because--" "They?" His dad's tone was angry. "Who said that? Will?" Will bent over to fiddle with his shoelaces, stalling. His dad was mad now. Not at him, maybe, but still mad. Probably he'd be angry if he knew that Will had been eavesdropping on those two agents that day. "Will?" He met his dad's gaze and tried not to look too guilty. "Two of the men here on Monday, looking for Mom." "The FBI agents?" his dad asked, and Will nodded. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said. "I know you're mad and I know it's not nice to listen in on other people's conversations, but they were right outside my bedroom and--" "No," his dad said, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "I am angry; you're right about that. But not at you, Will. I'm not mad at you." Will nodded and snuggled up to his dad's side. His dad put an arm around his shoulders and they sat together like that for so long that Will almost forgot what he had asked his dad about in the first place, about their whole family being in danger. He opened his mouth to ask again, but then looked up to see that his dad had fallen asleep. Will stared up at his dad, almost jumping when he snored once, loudly, then settled deeper into the couch cushions. Carefully, so not to disturb his dad, Will slipped the remote control from his grip and turned the television off. Yawning, he reached around the back of the couch for the blanket draped there. Carefully he tucked it around his dad, then sat back down next to him. He curled into his dad's warmth and covered himself with the blanket. * * * * * End Part 15. Continued in Part 16. Title: Song of Experience (16/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * April, 2009 "Where's my sister, you sorry son-of-a-bitch?" Mulder sighed into the phone as he pushed his chair away from the computer. He stood, cradling the phone in his other hand, and stretched, his back cracking. "Bill," he sighed. It was not a question. "Tell me," Bill Scully demanded, his voice raging over the staticky phone line. "What have you done to her this time? Where is she?" "I don't know where she is," Mulder admitted, unable to keep the defeat out of his voice. He sat down on the couch and set the cradle of the phone down beside him, then ran his hand over the smooth leather upholstery. "Damnit, Mulder, if anything's happened to her--" On the other end of the phone line, Bill's tirade continued, but Mulder's attention was caught by the small figure standing in the doorway. "Dad? Who's on the phone?" "Will, why don't you go let the dog in," Mulder suggested after he slipped his hand over the phone receiver. "I think I heard him barking." "I didn't," Will called over his shoulder as he ran off in search of Phoenix. "You've got my nephew there with you?" Bill demanded. "Yes," Mulder said tightly. Where else would Will be? *His* nephew, *his* sister: they're my wife and my son, you ass, Mulder thought. "If you so much as touch one hair on that kid's head--" Nice, Mulder thought, more empty threats from a man who saw his beloved sister and nephew at most three times a year. "Jesus Christ, Bill. He's my son," Mulder spat into the phone. "Listen to me," Bill hissed. "Dana may have wised up and left your sorry ass, but you'll never in a million years convince me that she'd abandon her child. Never." "I never said she left," Mulder insisted. "And Mom told me about the baby. Don't think that's not suspicious, either, Mulder. What, a pregnant wife cramps your style, so you get rid of her? Not ready for another child, are we? Wouldn't be the first time you shirked your responsibilities in that regard." "Listen, Bill," Mulder began, his voice rising unintentionally. But then the sounds of Will climbing the stairs gave him pause. "I don't wanna hear it," Bill told him. "All I know is, if Dana doesn't come back, safe and sound and godamned *soon,* you'll wish you'd never been born. And I'll make sure Will knows--" Mulder hung up the phone. But it was not soon enough. Will entered the study and came over to sit beside Mulder on the couch. "Phoenix wasn't barking," Will said softly. He leaned his head against his father's arm, and Mulder shifted so that he could put his arm around his son. "Dad?" "Yeah?" Mulder answered, concentrating on keeping the tone of his voice even and under control. "Why does Uncle Bill hate you so much?" Mulder froze as a dozen possible answers, most of them inappropriate for a seven year old, flew through his head as he looked down at his son's innocent face. "I don't know if 'hate' is the right word for it, Will," Mulder said finally. "It's true that your Uncle Bill and I have never gotten along, but I don't think--" "Then why is he so mean to you?" Will pressed. "How come he thinks you hurt Mommy?" Mommy. Prior to her disappearance, Mulder had never heard Will call Scully 'Mommy,' just as he had always been 'Dad,' never 'Daddy.' But lately a few 'Mommy's had slipped out. Not often but enough to be worrisome and, though Mulder's inner psychologist was twitching with anxiety, he suspected that he wasn't yet ready to examine the implications of this. "You love Mom," Will continued. "I know you do." Mulder nodded. "Of course I do," he assured Will. "You and Mom and the baby are the most important things in the world to me." "Then how come Uncle Bill--" "I don't know, Will," Mulder admitted. "But I do think your Uncle Bill is very sad about what happened to Mom; he's her brother and he loves her, too. But he doesn't like feeling sad, so he decides to feel angry instead. I think it's easier for him to just to be mad at me instead of being sad or scared for Mom." "But *why?*" Mulder shook his head. "Sometimes people -- sometimes *men* -- think that admitting they're sad or scared makes them weak." "But it doesn't?" Will asked. "No," Mulder told his son. "No, it just makes them human. Everyone can feel scared or sad, Will, just like everyone can feel happy or angry. I don't want you to think that it's wrong for a man to be sad or scared, or for a man to cry. Because it's not." Will craned his neck so that he could see his father's face. "Are you scared now, Dad?" "Yes," Mulder answered truthfully, never breaking away from his son's intent gaze. "Me, too." * * * * * Mulder missed her in the quiet times. In the mornings he missed her face, warm pinks and reds and golds; the way the soft light ignited her freckles. And the purring sounds she made as she woke, like the tiny kitten his sister had had when he was a child, the calico they'd all overfed, even his father, because they couldn't resist its gentle, insistent pleading. He missed her at night, missed the sounds of her clothes falling to the floor as she changed into her pajamas: soft silk slipping onto the rug; the clack of heels dropping onto the closet floorboards; lace being exchanged for cotton flannel, or sometimes the other way around. And he missed her now, as he stood at the sink, washing his and Will's dinner dishes. She would be drying, taking the opportunity for an occasional snap of the towel against his ass. Or she would be reminding him to rinse the dishes before loading the dishwasher; without her, he felt a guilty thrill when he slid an unrinsed plate into the machine. Will was sitting beside him, watching with wide eyes the path of each grimy dish from the table and into the dishwasher without the required detour to the sink. But Will said nothing because he was sitting on the kitchen counter, another Scully no-no. The phone rang, and Mulder scrambled for a towel while Will reached for the cordless. He prayed that it wasn't another call from Bill Scully. "Hello," Mulder answered after he and Will switched. "Fox Mulder?" "Yes?" "Mr. Mulder, this is Detective Andrea Wilson with the Eugene, Oregon, Police Department..." Detective Wilson was still talking, but her voice had turned into an incomprehensible drone to Mulder's ear. He gripped the countertop, reaching blindly for the wall. He needed something to put his back up against. "Mr. Mulder?" "I'm sorry," he told the detective. "I'm sorry. What did you say?" "I apologize for the late hour, but I want to get this cleared up as soon as possible. Mr. Mulder, we have a possible match to the description of your wife faxed to us by the local FBI field office. I tried to get in touch with the agent in charge of your wife's case -- one John, uh..." "John Doggett," Mulder supplied. "Yes," Detective Wilson said. "Anyway, I couldn't reach Agent Doggett at the number I have listed here." "Do you need me to come there?" Mulder asked. To his ears, his voice sounded as cold as he felt inside. A loud cry of dismay off to his right reminded Mulder that he was not alone. He glanced over to see that Will had jumped off the counter and was standing in front of his father, eyes wide with panic. "I don't think that will be necessary," the detective answered, and quickly Mulder shook his head in reassurance as he held out one arm for Will, who burrowed into his father's side. "How can I help you, then, Detective?" "I'd like to check with you the physical description we have on your wife. Let's see... The FBI Missing Persons report lists her as 45 years old, 5'2", approximately five months pregnant. Is that correct?" "That's right," Mulder said. "Red hair and blue eyes... And her prints are on file with the Bureau," he added. A good investigator would check there first, Mulder thought irritably, before making this kind of call. A pause, and then Detective Wilson's voice was apologetic. "We don't have any prints to match against, Mr. Mulder." "Oh," Mulder breathed, and he could feel Will move his arms to encircle his father's waist, though the sensation felt miles away. The detective cleared her throat. "The report I have here also mentions a tattoo. Could you describe it for me, sir?" "It's low on her back. Just above her waist," Mulder told her. "A circle, maybe a few inches in diameter. If you look close, it's a snake swallowing its tail." He held his breath then, waiting an interminable length of time for the detective's response, knowing that all hope for his future was hanging in the balance. And Will's future, Mulder thought, reaching down with his free hand to grip his son's bony shoulder. "In that case, I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Mulder. This isn't your wife we have here." The intensity of Mulder's exhale almost shook the copper pots hanging above the stove. Certainly it shook him and Will, who was staring up at his father with a frightened expression on his face. Mulder managed to mutter goodbye before setting the phone down on the counter. "Who was it, Dad?" Will asked as Mulder fumbled over to the kitchen table to sit down. Was this what they had to look forward to? Calls from the police and visits to the morgue to identify bodies? A game of Russian Roulette, waiting for the inevitable bullet to fall into the chamber and destroy him? Mulder heaved a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Dad," Will pressed. "What did they want? Why did you describe Mom's tattoo?" Mulder opened his eyes and met his son's anxious gaze. Anxious, but not confused. Will knew, Mulder realized; he may not have listened to the conversation word-for-word, but still he knew what had happened. And he knew what hadn't. "It's nothing," he told Will. "A detective was calling with a question about Mom's case, and I told her what she needed to know." Will's gaze was piercing, his changeable eyes almost as bright blue as his mother's. Mulder swallowed hard under his son's slow scrutiny. "It wasn't Mom." It was not a question, but Mulder answered it anyway. "No. It wasn't Mom." Will nodded solemnly, and the two of them sat there for a long minute, staring at each other, until Mulder stood and went back to the sink. When he finished loading the dishwasher, Will was still there, watching. "I'm going to bed," the boy announced in a soft voice, and Mulder nodded dully. He sat at the kitchen table and listened to the sounds of his son getting ready for bed, not understanding why that night's sounds seemed especially muted and sad. After several minutes Mulder followed his son upstairs, detouring to the back door to let the dog out one last time for the night. Will was already in bed when Mulder got there, and he had his stuffed dog clutched tight under his arm. Will chose a story, and Mulder read it with slightly less than his usual care, but Will did not complain when Mulder didn't do the voices, and he didn't seem to notice when his father inadvertently skipped a page. But Will was still awake when the story ended, and Mulder gave him a goodnight hug and kiss. Will was quiet, forgoing his ritual begging for a second story. So Mulder wished his son a good night, flipped off the light, and went back downstairs. He let the dog in and closed up the house, turning off lights and locking doors. Phoenix followed him upstairs, watching with confusion as Mulder stripped to his boxers and slipped into bed. "I'm tired," he told the puppy, whose ears perked up at Mulder's voice. The dog stood there, tail wagging hopefully, until Mulder gave in and patted Scully's side of the bed. Phoenix clambered up onto the mattress, curled himself into a tight circle, and was asleep in minutes. Mulder, on the other hand, couldn't seem to settle down. He remembered when Phoenix was still very small, when the puppy would whine and cry when he was tired, even going so far as to nip at them in frustration. It was Scully who'd known that the dog was simply tired. 'He needs to learn to self-soothe,' she'd said, explaining that infants had to learn much the same thing. 'Even me?' Will had asked, and Scully had chuckled. 'I think you're still working on that one,' she had joked. Now Mulder wondered whether he wasn't the one who'd never learned to self-soothe, the one who needed comfort from another in order to feel safe and protected. He stared enviously at the dog, snoring away at the foot of the bed. But at some point Mulder must have fallen asleep, because hours later he was awakened by a soft voice calling for him. "Yeah?" Mulder sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Dad?" Will called again from the hallway, and he sounded close to tears. "Dad?" "Yeah, Will," Mulder said. He motioned for Will to come to him, but the boy didn't move. "Look what I did," Will whispered. Mulder squinted through the darkness, then got out of bed and came to stand by his son. It was then that he spied the dark spot on the front of Will's pajama bottoms and noticed the acrid smell of urine. "I'm sorry, Dad," Will cried. "It's okay. It was an accident." Mulder took his son's shoulder and guided him back to his bedroom. They both cringed when Mulder flicked the light on to reveal that Will's sheets were also soaked. "I'm sorry," Will repeated. "Hey." Mulder squatted down to his son's level and used his thumbs to wipe Will's face clean of tears. "It's okay. Everyone has accidents," he said. "Let's go get you cleaned up." * * * * * "Air conditioning the house?" Mulder asked the crown of red-brown hair peeking over the open refrigerator door. Will stepped back from the door and let it swing closed. "It makes the room hotter," he explained, "not colder. It's because the motor--" "I know," Mulder told him, reaching around his son to pull the refrigerator door open again. "I suppose you're hungry." It was past seven o'clock, but Mulder had forgotten all about dinner until he'd started to wonder what Will was up to and found him in the kitchen. Mulder had been in the study, scrolling through the files on Scully's computer, trying to piece something, anything, together to explain his wife's disappearance. His wife... Not for the first time, Mulder was glad that they'd gotten married. Not just because he loved her but for a practical reason: now he had a way to refer to her, a name that allowed others to recognize the significance of their relationship. After all, not everyone understood the utter importance of "Scully." Together Mulder and Will peered into the nearly empty fridge. "We don't have anything to eat," Will announced. "No, we've got-- What is this, anyway?" Mulder removed a small Tupperware container and lifted the corner of the lid. Will shrugged as Mulder gave the contents of the container a sniff. Still puzzled, he offered the container to Will, who leaned over and peered inside. "Tabulleh," he told Mulder. "Mom was in one of her cooking moods." Mulder nodded and returned the container to the fridge. All they had was Scully-food, he realized: non-fat yogurt and twelve-grain bread and wilting vegetables in the crisper. Mulder opened the freezer and blinked past the puff of icy air. He frowned. The freezer was also poorly stocked: half-filled ice cube trays, a bag of frozen corn, and what looked like a popsicle, though it was difficult to tell from under an inch of freezer-fur. Mulder dug in deeper and smiled when his half-numb fingers touched the hard plastic of a frozen ziplock baggie. "Aha!" He pulled two baggies from the freezer, then closed the door. With his thumb nail Mulder scratched the frost from one bag, uncovering Scully's neat printing: Salmon, 12/08. "That's okay to eat, right?" Mulder looked down at Will. "It *is* frozen." Will made a face. "I don't like salmon." Mulder sighed. "Well, kiddo, it's either salmon or yogurt or frozen corn. Take your pick." Will squinted up at him. "You're not gonna cook the corn?" "Nope, I'm having it raw," Mulder said, ruffling his son's hair as he slung the frozen salmon-bricks on the counter. He dug around the bottom drawer for a pan that would fit the two fillets, then let the salmon clatter out onto the tray. Will watched as Mulder prepared the fish, guided by his memory of the salmon Maggie had cooked once when he had stayed with her. After he slipped the fish into the oven, he grabbed the corn from the freezer and set the vegetable steamer-pot on the stove. Then Mulder ripped open the bag of frozen corn and picked out a few kernels. "Mm, tasty," Mulder said as he crunched on them. "Eew," Will squealed, backing away when Mulder offered him the bag. He took a few more kernels before dumping half the bag into the steamer. Not too bad, he thought as his stomach grumbled in hunger. When Mulder pulled the half-filled rice jar from the cupboard, Will frowned with displeasure. "Mom always makes her potatoes when we have salmon," he told his father. Mulder nodded. He knew all about Scully and Will's agreement: Will would eat his serving of salmon only if Scully promised to make his favorite potatoes. "I don't know how to make them. Do you?" "She puts spices on them," Will offered helpfully, pointing to the well-stocked spice rack. Mulder chuckled and surveyed the small, neatly labeled glass bottles. "Yeah, but which ones?" "I dunno," Will said. "Something red and some other stuff." Big help, kid, Mulder thought as he surveyed his choices. The rack held a hell of a lot of red, and 'some other stuff' didn't exactly narrow his choices either. Mulder's skill in the kitchen had certainly improved after his stay at Maggie's, but he was nowhere near this guess-the-spice game that Will was playing. "I'm sorry, Will," he said finally. "I think we're gonna have to settle for rice today." Will huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "But Mom promised! She always makes her potatoes when we have salmon. Always." "I know," Mulder said. "But Mom isn't here and I don't know how to make them." "But I want potatoes!" Mulder sighed as he filled the rice pot with water from the tap. He set the pot on the stove, then turned to face his son. "Look, Will, this is all we've got. We can go grocery shopping tomorrow, but right now it's salmon and corn and rice. I don't like it any better than you do, but that's the way it is." Will said nothing, just stared him down, a familiar stubborn crease appearing over his eyebrows as he watched Mulder prepare their dinner. Will made no move to take the plates and silverware Mulder set near him on the kitchen counter, so Mulder did his son's usual job of setting the table, then added two glasses of ice tea to the table. Finally dinner was ready, but Will remained riveted to his spot as Mulder loaded each plate with food. He sat down at the table without another look at his son and began to eat, not at all surprised when Will did not join him. Instead, Mulder heard the refrigerator door open, and he turned to see Will pulling out the loaf of bread and stuffing two slices into the toaster. Mulder finished his dinner to the sounds of Will munching on plain toast as he stood his ground in the kitchen, not giving the plate of salmon, rice, and corn another look. For a moment Mulder considered exerting some of his supposed parental authority and insisting that Will eat the dinner he'd prepared. But Mulder was so very tired of fighting. He was tired of paging through old case reports that were in his writing but that he had no memory of compiling; tired of slogging through useless computer files; tired of answering the trivial questions that Doggett bothered him with several times each day. It wouldn't kill Will to eat toast for dinner once, Mulder decided, and then he slid Will's fillet of salmon onto his plate and cut into the cold fish. * * * * * From: attalanta@aol.com Date: 1 Nov 2003 10:31:39 -0800 Subject: [all-xf] NEW: Song of Experience (17/?) by Christy Source: atxc Title: Song of Experience (17/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Offices of Mary Speake, MD Washington, DC Mulder pushed through the door to the doctor's office in an angry haze. "Where's Dr. Speake?" he demanded as the receptionist craned her neck to see who was disturbing the peaceful pregnancy-pastel of her waiting room. "I need to see Dr. Speake." "Mr. Mulder, correct?" the receptionist said. "Yes. I need--" "I know what you need," the receptionist told him a little snappily. "I'm the person you spoke to on the phone. I'll let the doctor know you're here." "Thank you," he said meekly, suddenly embarrassed as he glanced around the waiting room, taking in shocked patients in various stages of pregnancy and a handful of well-mannered men with overprotective, disapproving looks. Mulder slinked down into one of the plush chairs, riveting his gaze on an out-of-date issue of Working Mother magazine. Mulder paged through the magazine, not paying attention to its contents until he saw a young red-headed boy in a photograph that accompanied the article. The child made him think of Will, whose spring vacation had ended and whom Mulder had had to force back to school that morning. And Mulder had almost given in to Will's persistent arguments; as much as he knew that it was doing Will absolutely no good to sit around the house all day with his father, Mulder couldn't help but worry about his son when he dropped him off at school that morning. Of course Will needed to get back to his old routine, not dwell on his mother's disappearance... But was Will safe? Mulder had wondered as he stood outside his son's bedroom door that morning, one hand on the doorknob. Was someone going to come for him, too? If they had taken Scully from Quantico, kidnapping a seven year old from an unsecured school would provide little challenge. Then again, if someone -- or several someones -- really wanted his son, Mulder knew that, as an unarmed, forty-something ex-federal agent, he could offer little resistance. Still, it had been difficult to watch Will join the crowd of children trailing into the school. Mulder had squinted at the overstuffed bulk of Will's backpack before realizing that, along with his lunch and schoolwork, it contained his stuffed dog, Pup. "Mr. Mulder?" the receptionist called. Mulder rose and followed her into the office, accompanied by the pissed-off stares of the other waiting-room occupants. The receptionist showed him to a small office at the end of the hall, where Dr. Speake was standing behind her desk, sorting through the contents of a file cabinet. "Mr. Mulder," she said when she turned to greet him. "Have a seat." Mulder nearly told her that he'd rather stand, but then figured that he needed to get on this woman's good side if he was going to get her cooperation, so he offered her a stiff smile and sat down. "Now," Dr. Speake said, taking her own seat, "Why don't you tell me why it was so important that you see me today." "I need to know the results of my wife's amniocentesis." Dr. Speake sighed. "My receptionist told me that she explained our office's disclosure policies to you on the phone." Mulder nodded. On Saturday afternoon he and Will arrived home from the grocery store to a blinking light on the answering machine, notice from Dr. Speake's office that they'd received the results of Scully's amnio and that she should call the office on Monday. On the phone this morning the receptionist had told him about the office's policy for third-party notification: there was to be no notification, not even to the baby's father, without written permission from the patient. A necessary precaution, the receptionist had apologized, after a rather nasty lawsuit several years back. Of course, most patients don't bother with such a form, the receptionist explained, electing instead to bring their partners with them to learn the news firsthand. "But your receptionist didn't give me a chance to explain," Mulder told the doctor. "My wife is missing. She's gone. You know her history, Dr. Speake. If this has anything to do--" "Gone?" the doctor asked. "Gone where?" "I don't know," he said. "The FBI is trying to find her, but... She disappeared from her office a week ago." A week, he repeated mentally; they were counting in weeks now, not in days. Scully had been gone for a week. Mulder swallowed hard. "I need to see the results of that test," he insisted. "And not just to know if the baby's okay. If there's something wrong, something... different about the pregnancy, I need to know that. If it could help us find her..." Dr. Speake was quiet for a minute then, staring at the manila folder lying atop the stack of papers on her desk. "What do you mean?" she asked finally. "You know Dana's history," Mulder explained. "You were her doctor for part of her pregnancy with our son. Surely you remember the scare she had with that woman who switched her medication." "I remember that those were vitamins, Mr. Mulder," Dr. Speake stated. "Nothing to worry about." He raged inside just remembering that time, standing outside the exam room, waiting, he was certain, for Scully's bad news. "There was *everything* to worry about," he seethed. "If someone had switched your medication, even to vitamins, would you accept it without explanation?" Dr. Speake sighed, and Mulder watched her trace her fingernail down the edge of the folder. She looked up at him, squinting, evaluating. "I suppose you could get a search warrant," she said, "if there is indeed an official investigation into Dana's disappearance." Shit, Mulder thought. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. This was his wife and his child, damnit; he didn't want to learn their fate from the mouth of Agent Doggett, who would likely be serving the warrant. Or worse yet, he thought, from Agent Bradley's smug, ass-kissing mouth. "I could," he said nonetheless, hoping the doctor wouldn't call his bluff. Dr. Speake nodded. "Officially, Mulder, I can't give you any information without Dana's signature on that third-party consent form." Mulder opened his mouth to object, but Dr. Speake beat him to it. "But unofficially," she added. "Unofficially, if I happen to leave a file on my desk and have to leave the room to attend to a patient... Well, I suppose that's a different story, now isn't it?" She rose from her chair, flicking the top file toward the center of her desk. The doctor winked at him, then left her office, shutting the door behind her. Mulder scrambled for the file, knocking down one of the picture frames on the doctor's desk in his hurry. He checked the side tab for Scully's name, then flipped it open. He scanned the top page. Patient's Name: Scully, Dana K Physician: Mary Speake, MD Sample: Amnion Reason for Referral: Maternal age > 35 years Projected Due Date: August 14, 2009 Fetal Chromosomal Analysis: 46,XX Note: Fetus appears to exhibit no genetic abnormalities; see attached karyotype. Mulder sighed with relief as he leaned back in his chair, the folder clutched to his chest. He didn't need Scully's medical background -- or the attached image of the baby's chromosomes -- to understand that his daughter was healthy. * * * * * St. Joseph's Church Georgetown "Mulder? Fox Mulder, is that you?" Both Mulder and Will turned back toward the church doors, the wind whirling around them. Mulder pulled his jacket tight around his middle, then checked to make sure Will was all zipped up. He scanned the crowd and finally spotted a familiar figure hurrying toward them. "Mulder," Jerry said as he reached them. "You go to mass here? I didn't even know you were Catholic." "I'm not Catholic," Mulder told his co-worker, the same answer he'd given Will when he'd asked could Mulder please take him to church that afternoon. But Will had insisted and, like so many things recently, Mulder had had a difficult time refusing his son. Plus, although he'd never been to church with Scully, somehow sitting in the back pew of St. Joseph's made him feel closer to her. "My wife--" "Yeah," Jerry said, offering him a sympathetic smile. "I heard about your wife. Dave told us -- well, he said you wouldn't be in the office for a while. How's the investigation going? Anything turn up?" Mulder narrowed his eyes at the man. Jerry Sanders seemed like a good investigator, a man Mulder could trust. But he was taking no chances these days. Despite the fact that Mulder knew that both Doggett and Skinner had given him a talking-to, Agent Bradley's careless accusations still echoed in Mulder's ears. "Slow," Mulder said truthfully. In fact, they'd uncovered nothing new since Skinner discovered Scully's necklace. "How are you doing?" "We're fine," Mulder told him, and it was then that Jerry noticed Will standing beside Mulder, holding tightly onto his father's hand, as he had throughout the mass. Will had let go of him just three times, once to shake hands near the end of the service, again to slip his jacket back on, and the final time to dip his hand into the cup of holy water on the way out. "Your son, Mulder?" Jerry asked. He nodded. "This is Will." "Hello, Will." "Hi," he said, looking Jerry up and down with a critical eye. Jerry offered the boy his hand and Will shook it tentatively. Then the three of them made their way slowly through the parking lot. "I'm Jerry, Will. I work with your dad." Solemn, Will nodded as his hand slipped from Jerry's grasp, fingers trailing slowly behind. They paused at Mulder's car, and Will went around to the passenger's side. Mulder unlocked the door and Will climbed in, pressing his face against the glass to watch the other parishioners strolling through the parking lot. Mulder turned back to Jerry. Jerry stared into the car at Will and jiggled his keys anxiously. "Let me know if you need anything, Mulder," he said finally. "An extra pair of eyes to poke around for you, an understanding ear to bend." He nodded at Will. "Even a babysitter. My niece is great with kids; she watches her unruly younger brothers after school, and she takes care of Frieda when I'm out of town." Mulder chuckled, knowing that Jerry loved Frieda, his spoiled little cocker spaniel, with all the passion of a dedicated parent. The guy kept a picture of the dog on his desk at work, for pity's sake. "Thanks, Jerry." "Really, Mulder," he insisted. "Ten to one we won't hear from you until you're back in the office, but I want you to know that I'm there if you need anything." Mulder looked over at Will, who was watching them through the half-fogged-up car window. "Yeah," he said. Jerry clasped Mulder on the shoulder. "Really, man, give me a call. I'm not a half-bad listener, and I've got a little experience in this particular field." "Huh?" And what field was that? Mulder wondered. The field of alien/government abductions of pregnant FBI agents? Jerry dug his hands in his pockets and concentrated on a lone dandelion pushing valiantly through a crack in the asphalt, persisting despite the cold spring wind whipping across the church parking lot. "I thought you knew." He shrugged. "It happened a couple years back. My, uh, my fiance disappeared a week before we were supposed to get married. Carjacking. The guy knocked her unconscious, took her brand-new Miata -- it was a wedding present from her parents -- and left her there to die. "She came through it okay, physically. But we-- we never made it down the aisle. Stuff like that, it changes you, ya know? Both of you." Mulder nodded; he knew. God, he knew. He wondered if every one of Dave's recruits had a sob story to tell, a missing child or spouse or sibling. Samantha's smiling face came to mind, and Mulder wondered whether he was the only one whose story didn't have a happy ending. "I'm sorry," Mulder said, and Jerry nodded, then patted Mulder's shoulder before heading off to his own car. Mulder got in the car and buckled his seatbelt. He glanced over to check Will's belt, which still hung from the side of the door. "Seatbelt, Will," Mulder reminded his son. But Will just stared out his window, the blank look on his face reflected back in the glass. "Will?" Will jumped at Mulder's touch on his arm. "Seatbelt," he repeated, and the boy promptly buckled up. "Dad?" "Yeah?" Mulder said, slipping his key into the ignition. "That man out there?" "What about him?" "He feels sorry for us," Will said. * * * * * Will frowned at the reflection in the mirror. Then he opened his mouth, carefully probing his loose tooth with his tongue. Still a stubborn bit of sinew anchored it to his gums, but now he could twist it a full 180 degrees around. Will did that now, pressing the smooth backside of his tooth against the inside of his lip. After slipping his toothbrush into its holder, Will played with his loose tooth for another minute, then flopped back onto the toilet seat, dejected. He was the only kid in his second grade class who had yet to lose a tooth. Joy had lost three so far, two on the bottom and one on top, and she had still another that was loose. Just keep poking at it, Joy had advised during recess the previous week. It'll fall out eventually. But Will wasn't so sure. It had been loose for weeks, since even before his mom had disappeared. She'd told him just to stop playing with it and pull it out already. She'd even hinted at a special pillow bought just for the occasion, with a pocket for the tooth, to be replaced with money from the tooth fairy while Will slept. Will knew there was no tooth fairy; he wasn't a baby. No tooth fairy, no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny. He didn't admit these things to his mom and dad, of course, but he knew. His parents liked to pretend that he was still a child in that way, that he still believed in such things, still had a little kid's view of the world, all safe and good and ripe with happy endings. Will wondered whether he'd ever truly believed those things. With a sigh, he stood and went back over to the mirror, opening his mouth as he again tongued his tooth. He pressed up against the bathroom counter, his face close to the mirror. Will gave one final push at his tooth and felt something pop. He gasped and pulled back from the mirror in time to see his tooth drop out of his mouth and clamber into the sink. Will smacked his palm against the wet porcelain, trapping the tooth away from the drain. "Dad!" he called, gathering the small white tooth in his fist. The bathroom door banged open as he ran into the hall. "Dad!" His dad was upstairs in a flash, taking the steps two at a time and sucking in a deep breath as he nearly collided with Will in the hall. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "What is it?" Will offered his dad a proud grin and his right fist, which his dad peeled open to reveal a milky white tooth and a speck of bright red blood. His dad sighed and leaned back against the wall. "Don't scare me like that," he scolded even as his fingers encircled Will's wrist and gently drew his hand closer. "Let's see." He tipped Will's chin up with his index finger. Will obliged, stretching his mouth open all the way and noticing for the first time the taste of blood, ripe and metallic, on his tongue. "Well, it's bleeding," his dad said, guiding Will into the bathroom, where he pulled a couple squares of toilet paper off the roll and knelt down in front of Will. Tenderly he pressed the tissue against his son's gums. Will whimpered and pulled back at the contact. "Sorry," his dad said as he mopped up the blood. He tossed the tissue into the trash and filled a cup with water. "Swish, don't drink," he advised. After passing his dad the tiny tooth, Will obeyed, repeating the action until the taste of blood disappeared. He filled up the cup and drank it down, then turned to his dad, who was staring at the small tooth cradled in his hand. Will pressed up next to him and looked at the tooth, dried blood where the root would be. "What do I do with it?" Will asked. "I used to put mine under my pillow," his dad said. "Mom told me she had a special pillow," Will told him. "Do you know...?" His dad shook his head. "She never showed me." They stood there together, staring at the tooth. Though his dad had said nothing, Will could feel the righteous anger radiating off him. "It's okay," Will said. "I can put it under my pillow. The Tooth Fairy'll know where it is." Will held out his hand, palm up, and waited until his dad dropped the tooth onto it. "I'll look for it," his dad promised. "Maybe in her dresser..." And then he disappeared into their bedroom. Will followed, stomach churning, though whether from unease or the blood he had swallowed, he did not know. He stood in the doorway and watched as his dad slid open the first of his mom's dresser drawers. The smell of her, perfume and soap and something else, filtered through the room, and his dad's intake of breath was so sharp that Will could hear it from across the room. Will watched as his dad sorted through the contents of the drawer, then went on to the next and then the next. Each drawer he opened was like a slap in the face, like a violation of his mom's privacy. Her privacy had always been important to her; even as a child Will had always known that and, from the look on his face as he sifted through her things, so had his dad. It had not taken Will long to learn that there were things better left unasked about; even though his mom had never denied answers to any of his questions, Will could not bear the pain he knew would result from certain inquiries. "It's okay," Will assured his dad. "I'll just put it under my pillow. I have lots of other teeth; I'll use the special pillow next time." His dad turned to him, dejected among the few pieces of Will's mom's wardrobe that had slipped to the carpet at his feet. "I'm sorry, Will," he said. "I'm sorry." "It's okay," Will repeated. He bent and picked up a black, faded t-shirt, worn soft from overwashing, and held it out to his dad even though what he really wanted to do was slide it over his head and close his eyes and pretend that it was his mom's arms and not her shirt that was surrounding him. "Next time," his dad agreed as he took the shirt from Will. "Mom'll know where it is." * * * * * End Part 17. Continued in Part 18. Title: Song of Experience (18/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown "Free as a bird, It's the next best thing to be Free as a bird. Home, home and dry, Like a homing bird I fly, As a bird on wings. Whatever happened to The life that we once knew? Can we really live without each other?" Mulder closed the door to the study, only half-succeeding in drowning out the music coming from his son's bedroom. Will and Joy had discovered Scully's CD collection, and for the last two and a half hours it had been all Beatles, all the time: Let It Be. Here Comes the Sun. I Am the Walrus. And, the last time he'd stopped in to check on them, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Mulder hadn't been back in since. He sighed and stared at the inside of the door, willing himself not to hear the music, not to remember... They'd been driving home from dinner on their last day together in North Carolina, the radio playing through an all-Beatles hour in an attempt to thread some variety into the other stations, which were broadcasting nothing but Christmas music. Scully had found the station several days earlier, after they'd suffered through yet another warbly version of Silent Night. "What's your favorite?" Scully had asked him, turning to face him, the back of her head resting against the side window, her hair bright against the dusky twilight. "My favorite?" She had nodded toward the car radio. "Favorite Beatles song." A slow grin had slipped onto his face. "Guess." Her own smile grew and she studied him, eyes twinkling as she worked her way up and down his body as if seeing him for the first time. "Nothing from the early years," she said finally. "Something post-rag-tops and matching suits, something later and more rebellious..." She gave him a wicked grin. "Fool on the Hill?" "Ha, ha." "Okay... Revolution?" "'You say you want a revolution? Well, you know; We all want to change the world'?" He shook his head. Scully had shrugged. "What, then?" "Norwegian Wood." She crooked an eyebrow at him. "Really?" "'I once had a girl. Or should I say, she once had me,'" He reached across the front seat and set his hand atop hers. The smile on her face had been so beautiful, so open and unencumbered. And they had had an amazing last night there together, walking on the beach, shoes dangling from their entwined hands as the cool surf lapped at their bare ankles. They had found a soft spot in the sand, used Mulder's jacket as a blanket, and made love under the stars, the pounding waves rumbling in counterpoint. Now Mulder wished he had taken in every detail from that day, bottled it up safely in his supposed photographic memory for later. But he had never dreamed he would need it. Suddenly Mulder realized that the house was quiet. No blaring music, no off-key voices singing the wrong lyrics, nothing. "Hey, Will," Mulder called as he walked down the hall. He pushed on the half-open door to his son's room. "Will? Joy?" They were sitting on Will's bed. Their legs were crossed beneath them, their hands were clasped, and tears were streaming down Will's cheeks. "Will?" Will's eyes flew open and he blinked at his father, bringing one hand up to wipe at his tears. "Mom," he choked out. "Mommy..." "Will, what's going on?" But Will just cried. Mulder turned to Joy, setting his hand on the girl's shoulder. "What is it? What happened, Joy?" Her eyes were wide and scared, shiny behind her glasses, and it was then that Mulder realized that she, too, was crying. "Joy?" "We, um, we were trying -- well, we were practicing. I was trying to focus on something, on some faraway feelings, and Will was helping me. And he said, 'Why don't we focus on my mom?' So we did..." "You what?" "But it wasn't working," Joy explained. "So Will said, maybe we could focus on his sister instead. Maybe we could feel her. "And we did." "I don't understand," Mulder told her. "What did you feel?" "Mommy's hurt," Will said. "Like she's sleeping, but there are tubes and machines. And-- and, she's tied to the table. A hospital table." Mulder's voice was barely above a whisper. "Like an operating room?" Will nodded. "Did you see anything else?" Mulder prompted as Will crawled onto his lap and huddled against Mulder's chest. Will nodded. "There was an address. On the door to the building. Inside it looked like a hospital but the outside was like a warehouse. Joy saw it, too. It was 6168 Glendale." "That's all? No city or zip code?" "No," Will said as he buried his face against his father. "I'm sorry, Dad." "No," Mulder insisted as he stroked Will's back. "No, don't be sorry. God, Will..." He turned to Joy, who was watching their interaction with curiosity. "Joy, I need you to go downstairs, into the kitchen, and bring me the phone book. It's right next to the phone." "Okay," Joy said, then ran off. "Sshh. It's going to be okay. We'll find Mom now," he told Will. "I'll find her. I promise." Will nodded and sniffled. Then Joy was back, and she dropped the heavy phone book onto the bed beside Mulder. With one hand still on Will, he flipped through the book until he found the street and zip code listings. Of course, he thought as he sifted through the pages, 6168 Glendale might not even be in DC; whoever had taken Scully could have moved her anywhere by now. But if they hadn't... Mulder's heart caught in his throat when he found the listing: Glendale Avenue, addresses 4000-6999, had a zip code Mulder recognized: downtown DC. He paged over to the map then, tearing it as he spread it over the bed and traced down to find the street. "Will, come on." Mulder extracted his son from his side. He thought fast, remembering their neighbors, the Gordons, an older couple whom Scully had used as emergency babysitters over the years. "I'm going to this address, and you and Joy are going next door to stay with the Gordons." Mulder braced himself for an argument, but Will just nodded as he went over to his closet for his sneakers and slowly, as if in a trance, laced them. Mulder shepherded the kids downstairs, pausing to grab his keys and cell phone. "I have my cell phone, Will, so if you feel anything else, you call me, okay? As soon as you feel it, even if you're not sure. You, too, Joy." He leveled the girl with a serious gaze. "Okay," they echoed as Mulder reached up to knock on their neighbors' door, praying that someone was home. When Mrs. Gordon answered the door, Mulder mumbled a hasty explanation about a family emergency that he would explain later if she could just... "Of course," the older woman told him, and Mulder bent down to give Will a fierce hug before he and Joy slipped past Mrs. Gordon and into the house. "If you need to, you can call Dana's mother and she'll come and get them," Mulder told her. "Will knows the number. I'm not sure when--" "We'll be fine, Mulder," Mrs. Gordon assured him. So Mulder thanked her and, keys in hand, dashed back to his own garage. But instead of heading for the car, he went back into the house, his mind racing. He should've told them to call Joy's mother and let her know where they were. I should've reminded Will to call me if he feels anything else, Mulder thought as he took the stairs two at a time. In the study, he went to the desk and searched the top drawer. Finally he found the key, then dashed over to the closet and pulled the door open, reaching blindly for the lockbox he knew was shoved in the back corner. I should've told Will that I love him, Mulder thought as he worked the lock and slipped Scully's gun into the waistband of his jeans. * * * * * 6168 Glendale Washington, DC If what Will saw was anything like the scene that lay before him now, Mulder figured they were in for years of therapy bills. It was indeed a warehouse, old and rundown like the rest of the neighborhood, inconspicuous except for the shiny new key-card scanner mounted near the side door. Mulder squinted at the tiny plastic box, at the bright pink "P" printed where a company name might have been. The symbol should have meant something to him, Mulder knew. It rang a vague sort of bell, and he figured that he must have seen it somewhere in the mountains of files and field reports he'd waded through since Scully's disappearance. Mulder was stepping away from the door in search of a less-secured entrance when he noticed that, while the door was shut, the lock had already been busted. He gave an experimental push on the door, and it swung open in invitation. One hand clutching the unfamiliar weight of Scully's Sig, Mulder entered the warehouse. The building consisted of a single large room painted in sterile, shiny white. A metal table sat in the center of the room, a small mound draped in a white sheet lying atop the table. Heart in his throat, Mulder ran to the table and yanked off the sheet. His first thought was that she looked different. Scully was nude, pale and goosefleshed on the cold metal table. It wasn't just the dramatic rise of her belly that was new but the look on her face, peaceful and serene. Too peaceful. Mulder jammed the gun into the waistband of his jeans and fumbled for Scully's wrist, feeling desperately for a pulse. But his fingers encountered only the thin plastic band anchoring her wrist to the table. Mulder grabbed a scalpel from the metal cart at the foot of Scully's bed and snapped her binds. His fingers trembled as they traveled up to her neck, searching for her jugular with the back of his hand. The pulse there was strong and sure, and Mulder exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. She was alive. Whatever had happened to her, whatever they'd done, once again she had survived. He sent a silent prayer up to Scully's and Will's God, not yet ready to claim Him as his own. Then Mulder noticed the IV that fed the inside of Scully's right elbow and, without a second thought, yanked the line out. Blood ran from the wound, wetting her arm and his hand, and dripping onto the floor. Mulder grabbed at the sheet that had covered her, which he'd dropped on the floor. He twisted it around Scully's elbow, staunching the flow of blood. Bending over her, one arm under her shoulders, Mulder held Scully's upper body against his. Her body was heavy, limp. Dead weight, his mind supplied, and Mulder had to feel for her pulse again to reassure himself. He ran his hand over the back of her neck, searching for the slim scar, then turned her upper body off the table far enough for him to trace the familiar circle tattooed on her back. "Scully," he wailed into her ear, his mouth pressing into her hair and tasting it, dirt and oil and violation thick on his tongue. "Oh, Scully." Mulder trailed a shaking hand down Scully's cheek and over her arm, coming to rest on her belly. He pressed desperately against it, feeling for signs of life. Give me one kick, he begged his daughter. Just one tiny ripple. But he felt nothing. He had not felt the baby kick before Scully had disappeared, though she claimed to have felt a flutter more than once. Then, as now, he had pressed his hand against her, seeking his daughter but finding nothing. Should a baby be moving by now? Mulder could not remember and his ignorance only escalated the jittery feeling in his gut. A wail of sirens jolted Mulder out of his reverie, and he rearranged the bloody sheet to cover Scully's torso. He shielded his own body over the sheet, feeling her slow, faint heartbeat against his own chest. Lights flashed blue and red against the whitewashed walls, and a dozen footsteps clomped on the cement floor. Somewhere, brakes squealed and guns cocked, but the only sound that mattered to Mulder was the shallow expiration of air issuing from Scully's mouth and into his ear. "FBI," someone called. "FBI! Freeze!" "I'm her husband," Mulder yelled desperately. The next voice was softer but no less insistent. "Step away from the body, sir." "She's not a body; she's my wife," Mulder called out. "She's--" A hand on Mulder's shoulder caused him to whirl around, only to see John Doggett's strained face. "We've got her," Doggett said. "She's safe. Let the paramedics do their job, Mulder." For the first time Mulder noticed the EMTs at his side with a stretcher and their plastic medic boxes. They glanced uncertainly between Mulder and Scully and Doggett, and Mulder allowed Doggett to guide him back, away from the table. "I told you to stay put," Doggett barked as both men watched the medics assess Scully. Mulder pulled his arm from the agent's grip, ignoring the order, just as he had when Doggett had first issued it during Mulder's phone call on the drive over to the warehouse. Mulder stepped around Doggett, but it was no use. Scully had disappeared in the huddle of busy EMTs. Only her bare white feet were visible at the end of the table, her toenails still the same shade of pale pink she'd painted them on Easter morning. "Mulder, there's blood on your hands." From somewhere Doggett produced a clean towel, which he handed to Mulder. Eyes still on Scully, Mulder barely bothered to wipe at his hands. The blood was already drying, and he succeeded only in smearing it up his arms and across the towel. "She's pregnant," he announced unnecessarily as the paramedics removed the sheet Mulder had placed over her, baring Scully's nude form. "She's pregnant." * * * * * George Washington University Hospital Washington, DC "Dana Scully?" the doctor called as he stepped into the ER waiting room. "Is someone here for Dana Scully?" "Here," Mulder called out, slipping away from Will to stand. "Ms. Scully's family?" the young doctor asked as he stopped in front of the bank of chairs where Mulder, Maggie, and Will sat. "Yes," Mulder said, shaking the doctor's offered hand. "What happened to Scuh-- to my wife?" The doctor eyed Mulder's hands, dried blood still caked under his fingernails and in the folds of his knuckles. Quickly Mulder shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, though this did nothing to hide the dark brown smears on the sleeves of his shirt. The doctor looked over at Will and Maggie, then back at Mulder. "If I could talk to you alone first, sir?" Mulder looked back at Maggie, who nodded. "Go on," she urged. "I'll stay with Will." Mulder nodded back at her and followed the doctor through a door and into a smaller waiting room. He took one of the chairs scattered around the tiny table and waited while the doctor closed the door and joined him. "Mr. Scully--" "It's Mulder," he corrected. "Mr. Mulder. I'm John Hamilton, and I'm one of the ER docs treating your wife. First, let me tell you that she's not critical." Mulder fought a sigh of relief. This was good news, but he wasn't going to believe anything he hadn't see with his own two eyes. "Is she awake? Can I see her?" "She's still unconscious. But we expect her to wake soon," the doctor said. "It's the drugs, Mr. Mulder. She's been given something, so--" "Drugs?" Mulder repeated as his stomach dropped to his feet. "She's pregnant," he informed the doctor, though at this point in Scully's pregnancy, the man didn't need four years of med school or Mulder's fumbling hints to determine this. "Is the baby--?" Dr. Hamilton nodded. "Yes, we're aware of her pregnancy," he said. "How far along is she?" "Five months," Mulder told him. "Five months and a half months." "Any complications?" "No," Mulder said. "Nothing. She's been fine." The doctor nodded. "Is this her first pregnancy?" Mulder shook his head. "Second." "Any complications with the first?" "Uh, yeah," Mulder said, scrubbing a hand through his ragged hair. "Last time she had a, uh, an abruption. Where the placenta pulls away from the uterus?" "Mm hm," Dr. Hamilton said, pausing to make a note on a pad of paper he produced from the pocket of his white coat. "Any health problems?" Mulder shook his head. "Okay, and who--?" "No, she had cancer," Mulder corrected, wondering if this mattered. It must have, because the doctor's head jerked up. He pinned Mulder with a concerned gaze. "Cancer? When?" "Uh, ten... no, twelve," he calculated. "Twelve years ago. In '97." "That was before her other pregnancy?" Mulder nodded. "And do you know what kind of cancer?" "It was a nasopharyngeal tumor," he said, his hand going automatically to the bridge of his nose as the image of a long-ago x-ray flashed in his mind. "She had radiation and chemo." "She's been in remission since then?" the doctor asked. Mulder nodded. "I'll need the name of her doctors," Dr. Hamilton said. "Her OB and her oncologist, and anyone else she sees." "I'm not sure about her oncologist, but her obstetrician is Mary Speake." "Yes," the doctor said. "I know Dr. Speake; I'm sure she'll want to take a look at your wife as well. When was Dana's last check-up, do you know?" "Uh, it's been a few weeks," Mulder said, thinking back. His mind was fuzzy with missing sleep and stress, though, and he couldn't remember the exact date. "She missed an appointment yesterday." "Mm," the doctor said, eyebrows raised as he scribbled something else down. Then he set the pad on the table and looked up at Mulder. "I have an awkward question for you, Mr. Mulder," he said, "but I have to ask." Mulder nodded. "Have you had intercourse with your wife in the past 72 hours?" "What?" Mulder asked. "She's been missing for--" "Specifically," Dr. Hamilton continued, "have you had intercourse using a condom?" "But she's pregnant. Why would..." Then Mulder's heart rose up in his throat as understanding sunk in. "What are you trying to say?" "Mr. Mulder, on our physical exam of your wife, we noticed vaginal latex irritations. We assumed that she'd just had an exam, but if you say--" "No," Mulder told him, feeling pulse pound between his eyes. "No, she hasn't. Does that mean... Have you--?" The doctor laid a gentle hand on Mulder's where it rested on the table. "There's no indication that she's been assaulted," he assured him, and Mulder relaxed against the back of the chair. "What there is evidence of, however, is that someone's performed several... medical procedures on your wife." His disgust returned. "Medical procedures?" Dr. Hamilton nodded. "She appears to have had an amniocentesis in the past 24 to 36 hours, as well as the internal examination and an ultrasound; we found a spot of the dried ultrasound gel near her hip and, as I mentioned, the remnants of lubricant from an internal exam. We took samples of both and handed them over to the FBI agent who brought her in. John Doggett, I believe his name was." Mulder nodded. He doubted they'd find anything from a couple of spots of medical gel, but it was procedure. Doggett was faithful to procedure, unlike Mulder, who'd already been scolded for screwing up the agent's crime scene by letting emotion override training when he'd found his wife unconscious and strapped to a hospital gurney. "Despite that," Dr. Hamilton continued, "Dana is in fairly good shape. She does have a broken wrist. But it's a clean break, probably caused in part by a vitamin deficiency. That isn't uncommon in pregnant women, especially if they're malnourished, which is probably the case with Dana, considering all she's been through. Nothing to worry about, though; it should heal well." "And the baby?" "The baby is stable," the doctor said. "The fetal heart rate is just a bit low, but so is your wife's, so we're not overly concerned about that just yet. We believe it's a side effect of the drugs." "The drugs," Mulder repeated. "What will the drugs do to the baby?" The doctor sighed. "Of course, it's never recommended to give a pregnant woman drugs -- any drugs -- unless it's absolutely necessary. However, everything that's shown up on her tox screen so far -- sedatives, mostly -- are safe for a fetus. All of them are in the formulary for treating a pregnant patient." Mulder nodded, relieved. "The only thing we're concerned about right now, Mr. Mulder, is the level of your wife's amniotic fluid," the doctor explained. "As I said, the baby's condition is stable, but whoever performed the amniocentesis removed a rather significant amount of fluid." "What does that mean?" Mulder asked. "Technically, the baby is suffering from something called oligohydramnios: not enough amniotic fluid. This could have long-term complications, but we expect the level will build back up when we get Dana properly hydrated again." "And if it doesn't?" he pressed. "Let's not borrow trouble," Dr. Hamilton suggested. "Unless Dr. Speake has mentioned problems with low levels of amniotic fluid--" Mulder shook his head. "--then given the proper nutrients, your wife shouldn't have any trouble replenishing what was lost with the amnio." "That's what we know, Mr. Mulder," Dr. Hamilton said. "But what we can't figure out is why." Why, Mulder thought. There was no why; there was never a why. Not one that they could hope to understand, at least. If they were lucky they would one day discover a who or a what, but there was never a why. "Can I see her?" Mulder asked. The doctor nodded. "She's been moved to Intensive Care, but I can take you there." "My son..." "One visitor at a time," Dr. Hamilton told him. "And the hospital doesn't allow children under the age of 13 in the ICU. Your son can see her when she's more stable. Not so many machines around to frighten him there, either." Mulder nodded, though he doubted that anything Will saw in this hospital would frighten him more than what he had already seen and felt when he found his mother. Another way he had failed to protect his family, Mulder thought. He sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes as he followed the doctor to the elevator. Up in the ICU, Dr. Hamilton led him over to the corner cubicle, which was nearly filled by a large bed and the very small, very pale woman lying in it. Beeping monitors were wedged in the corner of the glass-walled cubicle, their sounds joining the steady electronic chirp of the ICU. Mulder grasped the doorframe as his knees threatened to buckle. Back in the warehouse he had acted on instinct: cutting her binds, tearing out her IV... doing what he knew was necessary for Scully to be safe. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of really seeing his wife's condition, the pallor of her skin, the shallowness of her breathing, the new rise of her belly. "Scully," he cried. "We've got both her and the baby on monitors," Dr. Hamilton explained as he bent over to check the read-out from one of the beeping machines. "It looks like their heart rates -- both your wife's and the baby's -- are climbing. So that's good news." Mulder just nodded dumbly as he stared at Scully, at the purple bruise in the crook of her right elbow. His fingers danced lightly over the skin there, tracing the raw bruise he had given her. Then he reached out and took her hand, surprised at the clamminess of her skin as he threaded his fingers through h ers. But the beat of her radial pulse against his wrist was strong, and for that Mulder was grateful. "One more thing, Mr. Mulder," the doctor said as he paused on his way out of the cubicle. He fished into his pocket and pulled out something small and gold and shiny. "We had to remove her ring to put the cast on." Dr. Hamilton held out the band to Mulder, and the row of inset diamonds sparkled in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the bulb mounted over Scully's bed. Slowly, as if he were moving through water, Mulder reached out for the ring. The doctor dropped it into his hand before leaving the cubicle. Mulder closed his fist around the band, which was warm from being in Dr. Hamilton's pocket; warmer, in fact, than Scully's hand. Mulder dropped his head down to the bed, resting it beside his wife's, and his shoulders shook as he wept. * * * * * End Part 18. Continued in Part 19. Title: Song of Experience (19/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown Mulder toed open the front door of their house, then quickly hopped inside, fitting his foot between the heavy wooden door and the wall to muffle the slamming sound. He juggled the heavy weight of his son as he maneuvered around Phoenix, who was pushing against his legs and whining. Mulder kicked the door closed behind him, briefly balancing Will in one arm as he locked the door. The deadbolt slammed into place and echoed through the house, and Mulder craned his neck to check on his son. Thankfully, Will was still asleep, as he had been since the ICU nurse graciously informed Mulder that visiting hours were over, and he'd have to come back in the morning. "Just a minute, boy," Mulder whispered at the anxious puppy, who was doing a familiar dance that told Mulder that he had exactly one minute to get the dog outside before he had yet another mess on his hands. So Mulder deposited Will on the sofa, jogged to the back door, and let the eager dog out into the dark night. Will was still asleep when Mulder returned, and he stared at the boy for a long minute while he debated just letting his son sleep on the couch. Then Will squirmed, trying to get comfortable on the sofa, and Mulder sighed. He scooped his son back into his arms and went upstairs. Will was still sleeping when they reached his bedroom, so Mulder set him on the bed and carefully undressed the boy, untying tennis shoes, slipping off jeans and socks, and leaving him in his t-shirt and underwear. He could go without pajamas for one night, Mulder decided as he pulled the comforter up to Will's chin. Mulder stood there for a moment, watched his son's chest rise and fall slowly, watched his eyes twitch behind his lids as he slipped into a deeper sleep. Then Mulder reached out for Will, set his hand on his shoulder, then up to his hair. Finally he bent down and kissed him goodnight, lingering for a minute against Will's warm forehead. By the time Mulder got downstairs, Phoenix was whining at the back door, so Mulder filled the dog's food and water dishes before letting him inside. "Okay, boy," Mulder whispered into the darkness of the kitchen as the snuffly sounds of a feeding dog filled the air. "We're home. You're okay." Phoenix finished and turned to face Mulder, tail wagging, surmising that it was time to play. Mulder just shook his head. "Sorry, boy, bedtime," he told the dog. He patted his thigh, figuring it wouldn't hurt to let the dog sleep in the bed with him; it certainly wouldn't be the first time he had broken one of Scully's house rules in the past few weeks. "Come on," he told the dog, who eagerly followed him out of the kitchen. But the phone rang before Mulder could reach the stairs, and he quickly grabbed for it, not wanting to wake Will. "Hello?" "Mulder? It's Patti Gillen--" Patti, Mulder's sleepy brain repeated. For the first time in hours he remembered Joy and hoped that either Maggie or Mrs. Gordon had gotten her home. "Patti--" "I've been calling you all night," Patti blundered on, and Mulder squinted at the blinking red light of the answering machine. "I want to know what's going on with my daughter." "Patti--" "I get a phone call from Anne Gordon, whoever the hell that is, telling me that she's watching your son and my daughter at her house. Now, I want to know what's going on, and why my daughter wasn't where she was supposed to be when I came to pick her up this afternoon." "I'm sorry, Patti." Mulder plopped onto the couch with a sigh, his head dropping against the back of the cushion. Phoenix settled beside him, resting his head on Mulder's shoes. "I had to leave the kids, and Mrs. Gordon's our neighbor; they were in good hands, I promise." "Yes. I spoke with her when I picked Joy up." Patti's voice had calmed, but only slightly. "She said Dana's mother had brought Will to the hospital, that they'd found Dana." "Yes." "I hope she's all right." "She... We're still waiting," Mulder answered finally. "Well, I'm glad she's back," Patti said, though she sounded anything but, her voice still snappy with anger. "Now I wanna know what the hell's going on with my daughter." "Excuse me?" "You heard me. I haven't been able to get a word out of her since I picked her up this afternoon. Nothing. Now, what happened?" Mulder sighed, glancing around the pitch-black living room. "Can you come over here?" he said finally. "What?" "Can you come here? I can explain everything to you, but I'd rather not do it on the phone." A long pause, then, "Fine," Patti snapped. "I'll be right there." Mulder figured he should get up and check on Will, but his weariness kept him rooted to the soft couch cushion, his feet weighted down by Phoenix's heavy head. Instead, he found his eyelids drifting shut as he slouched down on the sofa. The next thing he was aware of was a loud knock on the door, and Mulder jumped up, hurdling over the dog and hoping that Patti would not go for the doorbell next. She was standing in the doorframe, her body buzzing like a live wire, her eyes drilling into him. "Okay, I'm here." She stepped into the foyer, and Mulder had to grab at the door to keep it from slamming behind her. "Talk." He glanced behind her, through the front window at the darkened windows of Patti's car. "Where's Joy?" "She was sleeping," Patti explained. "A friend's watching her. Now what the hell happened?" Mulder motioned toward the couch and, as Patti sat down, he took the chair across from her. "Will and Joy were... practicing." Patti's eyes narrowed. "Practicing? Practicing what?" "They were working on Joy's range," he explained. "They were focusing on Scully, trying to tap into her feelings; they were trying to find her." The set of Patti's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Mulder dropped his voice. "And they did find her. A warehouse downtown; they saw the address on the building. I sent them next door and went to get her." Patti was shaking her head, a disbelieving look on her face. "You're telling me..." She paused and choked out a half-laugh, half-sob. "You're telling me that Joy and Will used their ESP--" "It's not ESP." "Fine. Used whatever the hell kind of special *powers* they have... Used them to find Dana?" Mulder nodded. "Bullshit," Patti spat. "That's bullshit. I don't care what kind of far-fetched ideas you want to put in your son's head, Mulder, but I ask you to leave my daughter out of it. I know the kind of crap you believe, and I've put up with it because her friendship with Will has meant so much to Joy. But if you continue to fill her head with this kind of science fiction--" "Ask her," Mulder insisted. "Give her some time to process everything, then ask her yourself." "I don't need to ask her; I've heard her story, Mulder, about how she and Will both can feel other people's feelings. I've heard all about it," she hissed. "She's gonna need someone to talk to, Patti," Mulder advised. "I wouldn't trust a therapist with something this sensitive, but if you want, I could talk with--" "Like hell you could. I don't want you feeding into this crazy fantasy of hers; you've done enough already. Maybe you think I'm a fool, Mulder, believing the same kind of crap that my husband believed. "But he's gone now, and where are all his predictions, hm? Supersoldiers? Aliens? Thinking that Joy was some kind of... project or experiment. Some kind of freak. "She's just a little girl," Patti insisted. "A very troubled little girl who would be much better off if her father hadn't gotten himself killed over some paranoid delusion. "And you're not helping by feeding into these fantasies of hers. You or your son." Patti stood then, grabbing her purse and jamming it onto her shoulder. "I gotta go." "Patti, wait." Mulder rushed toward the door. Patti whirled around to face him, one hand on the doorknob. "What?" "Don't punish Joy because you're angry with me," he begged. "Will and Joy need each other now more than before. Patti, please." She sighed, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since she'd stepped into the house. Patti closed her eyes for a long moment, and when she opened them and began to speak, her voice was soft. "I'm not heartless, Mulder," she said, but her face was devoid of expression. "I know how close Joy and Will are, and I want my daughter to be happy." Patti swung the door open and stepped outside, then turned to face Mulder once more. "I'm not going to keep Joy and Will from being friends. All I'm asking is that you respect my wishes concerning my daughter. Keep her out of all this, and everything will be fine." * * * * * George Washington University Hospital Washington, DC Any day now. It had become the doctors' refrain when Mulder arrived at the hospital each morning after dropping his very dissatisfied son off at school. 'Any day now.' They must have learned that in medical school, Mulder thought, somewhere between 'Turn your head and cough' and 'This won't hurt a bit.' Maybe that was where Scully had perfected her own refrain of 'I'm fine,' which Mulder never thought he'd be longing to hear. She's fine, the baby's fine, they insisted. Any day now. One hand on Scully's, Mulder sipped from the cup of coffee one of the nurses had brought him. They all knew him now. They had gawked at the crazy, bloody man who'd come in with that poor pregnant kidnapping victim, but now they knew him only as the man they had to pry away from his wife's side each night when visiting hours ended. Only the doctors knew that this was not the first time he'd sat at Scully's bedside, and Mulder hoped it would stay that way; he and Will had had enough pity for a lifetime. There was a knock on the window outside Scully's cubicle then, and Mulder turned, expecting Maggie, who typically joined his vigil sometime before lunch. But standing behind the smudged glass partition was John Doggett. Mulder groaned and turned back to Scully. "Damn, Scully, I don't know how you could stand working with this guy for so long," he grumbled as he leaned to press a gentle kiss on her hand before joining Doggett in the hall of the ICU. "How is she?" Doggett peered past Mulder and into the cubicle. "Same." Doggett nodded. "And Will?" "He's doing okay," Mulder said. In truth, Will was frustrated at not being allowed in to see his mother. When they move her out of the ICU, Mulder had promised his son, repeating the words of the ER doc that first night. But the truth was that Mulder had seen a child not much older than Will in the ICU the other day. Probably Mulder could ask Scully's doctors to bend the rules, but so far he had resisted. There was so little he could protect his son from: losing his mother; seeing her in the warehouse, bound and unconscious; not knowing whether she or the baby would be okay. At least he could protect Will from this, from Scully hooked to monitors and looking small and fragile and as pale as the last days before her cancer went into remission. "You have a minute, Mulder?" Doggett asked, and Mulder checked his watch. He nodded. He didn't want to leave Scully alone during visiting hours, but Maggie would be there soon. "Coffee?" Mulder offered, but Doggett declined. "I've only got a few minutes before I have to get back to the office. This shouldn't take long. "Mulder, I have a few questions about the phone call." The phone call. It was the lie he'd told the agents and paramedics and hospital staff that night when they'd asked how he'd found Scully. An anonymous phone call that had tipped him off to the address of the warehouse. He'd left the details vague. Mulder nodded absently, his thumb worrying his wedding band around his finger. Any day now, he thought. He had known this was coming, the day Doggett asked for more than a casual explanation of how Mulder had found Scully. The day Doggett wanted it for the record. "Can we go over the phone call again? What did the caller say?" Mulder sighed. "He said that he knew where Scully was. He gave me the address of the warehouse. He didn't say it was a warehouse, just said I could find her there. That's it; there's nothing else to tell, Agent Doggett." Doggett nodded, eyes narrowing as he worked this through. Mulder simply waited: he had told Doggett that much twice before. He didn't know what the man was fixated on, but it made Mulder nervous. He didn't want to lie to him, but he couldn't tell Doggett the whole truth either. So he had settled on some half-assed story that Doggett could see through without even trying. "What about the informant?" Doggett asked. "What did his voice sound like? Young or old?" "Young." "How young?" "Hard to tell," Mulder said. "He didn't say much." "Did he have an accent? A lisp? Anything to distinguish him?" "No." Except, Mulder thought, that his voice caught when he said 'Mom.' "Nothing?" "Nothing." "Okay," Doggett said. "What about his syntax? Any unusual words, unorthodox phrases, anything like that?" "No." "Background noises?" "No." "So the phone just rang, you picked it up, he told you that he knew where Dana was. You asked where, and he gave you the address. Anything else you can remember, Mulder? Anything?" "Look, Doggett," Mulder pronounced carefully. He was seething now, burning with frustration in keeping this secret, worried about Scully and the baby, worried about Will, who had spoken little more about what he'd seen than he had that night. "I wish I could offer you something else that would help." A pause, then Doggett continued. "Mulder, I'm gonna come clean with you now, and I'd appreciate if you'd do the same. When you called me on your way over to that warehouse, I sent Agent Klein over to your house, in case it was some kinda trap and you were being watched. You know, get you out of the house, get in there and get something they needed. It all seemed too convenient." Mulder swallowed hard. "And the interesting thing is, Agent Klein got the idea to *67 your phone. Just in case the caller was careless and wasn't at a phone booth." Damn it all to hell, Mulder thought, but he remained silent. "And imagine Agent Klein's surprise when she gets an answering machine with some kid's voice. So Klein had the call traced and did a check on the number. Turns out the last person to phone your house was calling from the residence of one Patricia Gillen. Now, knowing you and Dana have a son, Agent Klein got to wondering whether maybe this last call was for him. Maybe it wasn't our kidnappers after all." Mulder nodded. The last call had come earlier that afternoon from Joy, asking if Will wanted to play. Mulder ran scenarios through his head, trying to imagine what Doggett might make of this inconsistency. "Dana's address book was right on the kitchen counter, next to the phone, so Klein looked under Gillen and, lo and behold, there she was. Patti and Joy Gillen. And, when she told me the name, I remembered Will talking about a new friend from school named Joy. "So why don't you tell me what's goin' on, Mulder? The truth this time." The truth, Mulder thought. Yeah, right. "That call came after..." But his story sounded hollow and he knew Doggett would be able to see through his lie. Doggett nodded. "You sure about that? I mean, if I were to check with your phone company, get a record of incoming calls, I'd find a connection to some unknown number right before that call, correct? "Or maybe the call came on your cell phone," Doggett suggested. "We could get those records, too, Mulder. Why don't you gimme a break here and help me out?" Mulder clenched his jaw and looked past Doggett, over at the blinking red call light outside one of the patients' curtained off rooms. "I can't," he said tightly. Doggett reached out to touch Mulder's arm, bringing the other man's attention back to him. "Look, Mulder, I'm only tryin' to help. You know we can get those phone records: impeding the progress of an investigation... That alone would likely cost you your job, not to mention if you're trying to hide something..." Mulder said nothing. "Cut me some slack here," Doggett said. "We're just trying to help you. You and Dana. All I wanna to do is find out who took her. You've gotta trust me on this." "I can't help you," Mulder insisted through clenched teeth. "Fine." Doggett glared at Mulder, hands on his hips. "Look," Mulder hissed, stepping close to Doggett. "Don't you think I want to know who did this to Scully... who did this to my *daughter*? But I can't help you, Agent Doggett. I can't." "You won't," Doggett insisted. "I'll be damned if I know why, but you don't want to help. In fact, you're goin' out of your way to hinder this investigation." "I can't." Mulder shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The image that came to his mind was of Will several months back, crying hysterically after a lonely day at school after being teased for being 'weird'; Will apologizing for reading his thoughts on the first afternoon they had ever spent alone together; Will calmly announcing that he was going to have a sister... "I am trying to protect my family," Mulder told Doggett, his voice tight and low, before he spun on his head and stalked down the hall toward Scully's bed. * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown "I wanna go with you to see Mom tomorrow." Mulder looked up from his desk to see Will standing in the kitchen doorway. He was dressed in his pajamas with Phoenix beside him, the dog's tiny white teeth latched onto the hem of Will's t-shirt. Will batted at Phoenix's nose and the dog released, then looked up at his boy with large, teary, sad-puppy eyes they found impossible to ignore. Will's hand found the dog's floppy ears, and Phoenix leaned in for petting. "Not tomorrow," Mulder muttered, shuffling the papers on the table, searching for a stamp. He squinted his eyes shut for a minute, trying to ward off the headache that had been coming on steadily since dinner, despite the four Advils he'd taken. "Another time." "I wanna go." Mulder slipped his glasses off and set them on the teetering stack of bills on the table. He pushed the papers away, cursing the neglect that had grown them to such insurmountable heights. Scully usually paid the bills, or at least organized them by due date and left them on his desk when she was too busy. He didn't mind writing the checks and addressing the envelopes, but Mulder hated keeping track of these things; too much like a field report without the fun of being in the field. Mulder looked up at his son. "I know you want to see her," he said. "Not tomorrow, though, Will. She's still in Intensive Care." "But you said they might move her tomorrow." "Might." Mulder scrubbed at his brow with the heel of his hand. "Another day. I promise." "It's not fair," Will protested. "No," he agreed. "It certainly is not fair. I'm sorry." Will pursed his lips, arms crossed over his chest. "She's my mom and I want to see her. *You* get to see her." Mulder tensed. Please don't do this now, he thought at his son, but the little boy didn't seem to be in a very perceptive mood, Mulder observed as Will tightened his hold on his upper arms. The dog pushed his nose at Will's thigh for the loss of contact. "I know that you miss her, Will, and that you love her, but you're still not coming with me." Will stomped his foot. "I helped find her. It's not fair that you can see her and I can't," he shouted. "You're just being mean." Mulder had no response for that condemnation, so he decided to ignore it. "Look, Will, I'll talk to Mom's doctors tomorrow and maybe you can come to the hospital later in the week. Okay?" But Will was not to be pacified. He narrowed his eyes at Mulder, his jaw clenched impossibly tight. "I hate you," he shouted before he ran upstairs. Mulder watched his son stomp up the stairs, waiting for the obligatory door slam before he let his head thunk atop the pile of bills. Fox Mulder, this is your life, he thought in the over-cheery voice of a game show announcer. You have a stack of bills that you are, despite an overpriced Oxford education, unable to comprehend; a part-time job you haven't been to in weeks; a wife and unborn child who were kidnapped and drugged into unconsciousness; and a son who hates you. Would you like to move onto the bonus round? Mulder pushed the bills into a pile that he dropped in the half-filled junk drawer, then shut off the downstairs lights and checked the locks. He followed his son upstairs, suppressing his own urge to stomp. He paused at Will's closed bedroom door, one hand stopping inches from the heavy wood before he changed his mind. Maybe he just needed some time by himself. Instead, Mulder turned and bypassed the big empty bed in the master bedroom for his old standby, the couch in the darkened study. He dropped onto it without changing his clothes or setting the alarm clock, grabbing the blanket from over the back. And then, since Mulder couldn't think of a valid reason not to, he wept softly as, on the other side of the wall, his son did the same. * * * * * End Part 19. Continued in Part 20. Title: Song of Experience (20/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * When Will awoke the next morning the house was quiet, the near-omnipresent drone of old movies and CNN absent for once. Wondering if his dad was still asleep, he wandered into his parents' bedroom. But the bed was empty and looked like it hadn't been slept in. Fear started to gnaw at Will but softened a little when he noticed the pillow and blanket shoved in the corner of the couch in the study. But his dad wasn't there either, so Will went downstairs, ears perked for a sound, any sound. Finally he wandered into the kitchen, where his grandma sat at the counter, mixing something in a big bowl. "Good morning, honey," she said when she turned to see him standing in the doorway trying to mat down his sleep-spikey hair. "What're you doing here?" Will squinted at the clutter of baking ingredients on the counter. "Making breakfast," she said, not really answering his question. "Where's my dad?" "He got a call from one of your mom's doctors and went to meet him at the hospital." She dragged one of the tall stools over to the counter. "She's fine -- nothing to worry about -- her doctor just wanted to talk with your dad." She patted the blue cushion on the stool, and Will climbed up. "How do raspberry muffins and scrambled eggs sound to you?" she asked as she sorted through the contents of one of the cupboards, finally pulling out a shiny set of unused muffin tins. "Okay." But his mind was still caught on his dad's absence. Was everything really okay, or was his grandma trying to protect him? Will wasn't so sure anymore. He couldn't really tell that anyone was lying to him, but it did feel like everyone was in on a secret except for him. Will just couldn't pin down what the secret was or who was keeping it. Or why. "Here." His grandma pushed the tins toward him. "Why don't you put the papers in for me." Will took the stack of cupcake papers and fit them into the tins, concentrating on arranging them so that each color was touching each other color, grateful to occupy his mind with the mundane task. When he finished he watched his grandma drip batter into each paper, then slide the tin into the oven. After gathering the dirty bowls and spoons in the sink, his grandma pulled the other tall stool over to where Will sat and climbed up onto it. "Will, what would you think about coming to stay with me for a little while?" she asked. "What?" "Just for a few days," she assured him. "Your dad's going to need to be at the hospital a lot." She paused to run a sponge over the counter. "We'll have fun together, just like over Christmas. You can even bring Phoenix this time. He'll love it, with the whole backyard to run around in." "Stay with you?" "Not long, just for a little while," she promised. "It'll be easier for your dad knowing that you're with me instead of having to worry about who's taking care of you." "Leave my dad?" "You'll see him all the time, Will. He can come for dinner, even spend the night if he wants. And when your mom gets better, you can go with him to see her at the hospital." Will stared at her, not knowing what to think. Was this because of what he'd said to his dad last night? Of course he didn't mean it; he loved his dad, and he had felt sick all last night when he replayed in his mind the mean things he'd said to him. "Your dad thinks it's a good idea," she offered. Will knew that his grandma was hurt because he wasn't excited about staying with her, but he just couldn't work up any enthusiasm. Maybe this had all been his dad's idea. Maybe he thought that Will really *did* hate him, and now he didn't want to live with Will anymore. Maybe he didn't love him anymore, and when the new baby was born, his dad would keep her and take care of her and love her, and forget all about Will over at his grandma's. "He does?" She nodded and patted his hand. "It'll be fun. Just the two of us. What do you say, Will?" He chewed his lip, watching the seconds tick by on the kitchen timer she'd set for the muffins. "But my dad'll be lonely staying here all by himself," he said finally. His grandma smiled. "I'm sure he'll be fine. He lived by himself for a long time before you came along, Will. Plus, he'll be spending lots of time at the hospital with your mom. Don't worry about him." "Okay," Will said softly. "Why don't you go upstairs and get cleaned up," his grandma suggested. "Breakfast will be ready by the time you're finished, and then I can help you pack up some things." Will nodded and went upstairs. Numbly he went through the motions of showering and changing his clothes, and then went downstairs. He ate some eggs and a muffin without tasting anything, and studiously avoided his grandma's concerned gaze. Then she followed him upstairs, and together they got suitcases out of the hall closet, his mom's old luggage from when she'd traveled all the time for work. Together they packed Will's things, more things, he knew, than were necessary for a short stay. * * * * * George Washington University Hospital Washington, DC As much as Mulder had hated Intensive Care, with its crowded cubicles and limited visiting hours, he would not have asked about moving Scully upstairs had he known where she was headed. The maternity floor had been Dr. Speake's idea, suggested in a whisper, as though she had known what it would do to Mulder to watch laboring women wheeled past Scully's room, nervous fathers-to-be trailing behind, video cameras in hand. As if she knew it would rip out his heart every time he heard those final, excruciating pushes encroaching in from the next-door room, followed by lusty cries and tearful declarations of love. It was necessary, Dr. Speake had said apologetically. Though unconscious, Scully was not in immediate danger: her heart rate and respirations were regular, and the neurological testing they'd done showed that she had not suffered brain damage. Instead, Dr. Speake had used the unknown effects of the drugs on the baby to justify Scully's continued hospitalization. Hence the maternity floor. The doctors were pleased with the egress of drugs from her system, Doggett was only mildly irritated at the lack of progress with his investigation, and Maggie was more cheerful than she had cause to be. She had even suggested taking Will for a few days to give the boy something to think about besides his injured mother and sister. And, according to Maggie's reports, Will was doing as well as could be expected. It was Mulder who was losing it. "She's going to be fine, Fox." Mulder looked toward the door, even though there was only one person still alive who called him 'Fox.' "Hi, Maggie." She smiled and joined him at Scully's bed, her hand reaching around her daughter's cast to cover her fingers. "She's going to get better. I can feel it." Mulder said nothing, just closed his eyes and concentrated on the warm weight of Scully's hand in his. "I know you don't believe me," Maggie started. "I want to believe," he said softly. "Then do. She came back to us before, and she'll do it again. She has so much more to come back to this time." Mulder moved his other hand over the soft curve of Scully's belly and was rewarded by a gentle fluttering kick. It was not the first time he'd felt the baby kick; that had come in the ICU, in the presence of an amused Dr. Speake. She'd explained that it was likely the drugs had kept him from feeling anything in the warehouse. A good sign, she'd said with a smile. "She's moving a lot more now," Mulder said softly. "Have you felt it?" He heard Maggie gasp and looked up to see her staring at him wide-eyed. "Dana moved?" she asked, her breath catching. Then she looked down at his hand and her shoulders slumped. "No. The baby." Maggie nodded, her hand joining his on her daughter's abdomen. "She's very active. You're going to have your hands full." His hands, Mulder thought. Not their hands. But Mulder said nothing, and he could feel Maggie's eyes on him. "Dana will be okay, Fox." "Will she? Because, frankly, Maggie, when I think about what it will mean if she isn't, it scares the hell out of me. Taking care of an eight year old and a newborn? I can barely handle Will on my own." "You do just fine with Will; you're a good father, Fox." Maybe, he thought. Or maybe Will was better off with Maggie, better off with a dad who came over for Sunday dinner and didn't stay long enough to screw him up. All Mulder knew for sure was that he loved Will and that it was hard, so much harder without Scully to keep everything together for Will. And for him. "At least Will tells me when I'm screwing up," Mulder said. "He tells me how to make his lunch, and where Scully keeps her medical records, and why the plastic cups can't go on the bottom rack of the dishwasher. "But I don't know how to take care of a baby." He stared at his mother-in-law's hands pressing on the small, fluttering lump that was becoming his child. "I don't even know how to feed a baby or how to change a diaper. When I left eight years ago, Scully was still nursing Will; I'd changed exactly three diapers, and only one without her help." "Don't underestimate yourself, Fox," she told him. "And, besides, Will is most certainly not easy." He smiled then, and it actually reached his eyes for the first time in weeks. "No," he agreed, "I guess he isn't. "I just don't know what to do," he admitted. "I don't know how Scully did it all alone for so long." "She wasn't alone." Maggie's hand moved across the bed and settled on his. "And you wouldn't be, either." * * * * * "Ready?" Mulder gave Scully's hair one last brush and smiled up at the nurse, Heather, who was standing in the doorway. She gave him a reassuring smile. "She looks beautiful." Mulder nodded absently as he returned the brush to the table beside Scully's bed. She was beautiful, he agreed, but this body that lay in the bed was only a shadow of his wife, like a sister or maybe a cousin; the resemblance was uncanny, but no one would mistake the two. Her face looked different, her makeup replaced by the added weight of pregnancy. Her hair was longer than Mulder had ever seen it and, though one of the hospital staff had offered to cut it, Mulder couldn't bring himself to allow her. When the monitors were off, the only sign of life was the gentle rolling of the baby, but Mulder refused to think of her as a living incubator. "Your son's here," Heather told him. "I thought you might want to talk to him before he comes in, give him an idea of what to expect; he's in the waiting room with Dana's mother." "Thank you." That was a good idea. There weren't many machines or tubes that might frighten Will, but Mulder imagined that he was probably anxious anyway. As was Mulder. He hadn't seen his son since their argument over Will coming to see Scully. Dr. Speake had called Mulder early the next morning and he had in turn called Maggie to come to watch Will. He had tried to get to Maggie's for dinner since then, but Mulder had fallen asleep at the hospital both times and arrived at Maggie's to a sleeping son and a rewarmed dinner with only his mother-in-law for company. "I could help you talk with him," Heather offered. "If you want." "No, I'll do it." Mulder gave Scully's hand a squeeze and stood, pushing his chair away from the bed. "How old?" Heather asked. "He'll be eight in May," Mulder told her, borrowing what had become Will's standard response since he had decided that he had been seven for too long. "He's adorable." Heather gave him a big smile. "I can see Dana a little in his coloring, but he looks just like his daddy." "Thank you," Mulder mumbled as he stepped into the hall and headed for the waiting room. Maggie and Will were sitting by the door, Will's feet kicking back and forth against the chair leg. When Will looked up at him, his eyes were wide and scared. "Dad," he cried, jumping from his seat and running over to his father. Mulder held his son as he buried his head against his father's arm. "I'm sorry. I don't really hate you, Dad. I don't." "I know," Mulder assured him. "I know you don't, Will." Will sniffled and Mulder hoped that he wasn't crying already; he hadn't even seen Scully yet. "It's okay. I know. "Let's go see Mom, okay?" Mulder guided Will out of the waiting room, turning back to nod at Maggie, who smiled at him. Will reached up and took his father's hand and Mulder squeezed it, noticing that Will was clutching Pup tightly in his other fist. "Wait." Mulder stopped them outside Scully's room. "Will, I need to-- Your mom's hooked up to some machines. There's a heart monitor on her and one for the baby." Will nodded nervously. "And there's a cast on her wrist, and an IV in her arm for them to feed her. Okay?" "Yeah," Will said bravely, but his grip on Mulder's hand as he pushed the door open betrayed his son's fear. "You can talk to her," Mulder told him as they stepped toward the bed. "The doctors aren't sure if she can hear us, but I talk to her all the time." "Okay," Will said. Mulder stood beside him at the bed, and Will was quiet as he stared down at his mother, then, after a long look, glanced back up at Mulder. "It looks like she's sleeping." Mulder nodded and brushed his hand through Scully's hair, and Will reached out, too, then hesitated. "Go ahead. It's okay to touch her." Will brushed his hand against Scully's so carefully. Mulder stepped around him and toward the end of the bed. He pulled Scully's blankets down to mid-thigh, watching Will's reaction. "The baby got big," he said, awed. Mulder nodded, then took Will's hand and guided it to Scully's belly, sandwiching it between his hand and the hard bulge. "Come on, sweetheart. Move for your brother." They waited for a minute until Mulder felt a gentle rolling motion against his fingertips. He pressed Will's palm against the soft cotton of Scully's hospital gown. "Feel that?" Will nodded, turning to look up at Mulder with awe. "That's my sister? It feels like butterflies." Mulder chuckled. "Yup, that's her. She moves a lot now." "Do you... Do you think it hurts Mom when she does that?" "No," Mulder told him. "I'm sure it doesn't. She used to love to feel you kick." "She did?" he asked, and Mulder nodded. "Did you feel me, too?" "I did." Not nearly enough times, Mulder thought, but I did. Already he'd felt his daughter move more than he had Will. They stood there for several more minutes, Will's small, warm hand pressed under Mulder's, both of them awed by the gentle movements beneath Scully's hospital gown. He could feel her cool skin on his fingertips, and finally Mulder pulled away from Will to adjust the blankets around Scully's legs. Then he collapsed into the seat beside the bed. Will stood there for another minute, then stepped up next to Scully's head. "Can I talk to her by myself?" He looked over at Mulder shyly. "Just for a little while?" "Sure," Mulder told him. "I'll be right outside the door." Will nodded, and Mulder stepped toward the hall, the squeak of the soles of his sneakers in time with the slow beep of Scully's heart monitor. He shut the door behind him but left it open a crack. He didn't want to hear Will's words to his mother, but Mulder craved the constant thrum of Scully's heartbeat, outpaced by the quick staccato of his daughter's. After a minute Mulder heard a strange choking sound, and he pushed the door open. He reached Scully's bedside in three long strides. "What is it, Will? What's wrong?" Will just shook his head, tears streaming down his face to rest on his upper lip. "I want--" He hiccupped. "I want my mom." "I know, Will," Mulder said, sitting on the padded chair and holding his arm out to his son. Will sniffled and climbed onto Mulder's lap, sitting sideways on his father's thigh and pressing his face against Mulder's shoulder. "I know you do." * * * * * Mulder waited until Will was sleeping soundly before trying to stand. Will was getting too heavy for this, he thought as he shifted his arms around his son. Either that or Mulder was getting too old. He bent carefully to kiss Scully's forehead, noticing that Will had tucked his stuffed dog near her left hand, his worn nose resting against the gentle swell of the baby. "He must be tired," Maggie said with a sad smile when he met her in the waiting room. "To fall asleep so quickly like that." "I think he's worn out." Mulder sighed as he plopped himself onto the chair beside his mother-in-law. "He cried himself to sleep." Maggie shook her head, patting Will's arm gently. "Poor thing. Was it seeing Dana?" Mulder nodded. "He wants his mom, and I can't say that I blame him; I want her, too." "I'd like to see Dana first, but if you carry him to my car after that, I can take him home and put him to bed," she told him. "Then you can stay with Dana." Mulder considered this, their pattern of the last several days: Will staying at Maggie's while Mulder slept at the hospital with Scully; Maggie staying with Will during the day after he put up a big enough fight for her to give in and allow him to stay home from school for "just one more day." "No," he decided. "Will and I are going home tonight." "Fox, are you sure?" He nodded. "Will needs -- hell, we both need some semblance of our normal life back. We're going home tonight, and tomorrow I'm taking him to school." "Well, I wish you luck, then." She gave him a knowing smile. Mulder chuckled, shifting Will so that he could stand. "You should stay with Dana tonight, if you want." "Maybe I will." She smiled. "I do have an overnight bag in my trunk." So Mulder walked Maggie out to the parking garage, where he helped her haul her overnight bag out of her trunk and she helped him settle Will into the back seat of his car. With a hug of thanks, he drove her back down to the hospital entranceway, and each went their separate way, a parent to the aid of their child. * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown Will was still sleeping as Mulder navigated the dark streets of Georgetown, his snores about as interesting as the commentary on NPR, which Mulder had the radio tuned to so that he wouldn't give in to his own exhaustion and fall asleep. Mulder tuned out the radio and the snores, and was almost surprised to find himself praying. He had been praying, more or less, ever since Will's prodding that first night. It wasn't as though he expected some white-bearded man in a robe to choose his dinky little demand in some magic lottery of prayers. In fact, when he thought about it, Mulder found that he wasn't really praying to someone as much as he was putting form to his thoughts. And Mulder found that his prayers, if that's what they were, actually made him feel better. Closer. Closer to Scully, because he knew she had done this same thing for him when he was missing, and because he wondered whether she was doing it right now, wherever her mind was, sending up silent prayers for her safety, for the safety of their unborn child. And closer to Will, whom Mulder knew was doing the very same thing. At first he hadn't known what to say, so he had simply echoed Will's plea: Please bring Scully home, then Please let Scully be okay. Lately, though, he'd gotten more articulate, thinking about how much he loved her, how much he and Will both needed her, how badly he wanted them to start anew with this baby. How thankful he'd been to find her alive in that warehouse, and how desperately he needed for her to come back to him fully. That night Mulder added a new variation to his prayer. Along with the 'please' s and 'help's, he wove in a generous 'thank you.' Thanking Scully for being a survivor, thanking Will for locating her, thanking Maggie for being there for them all. Finally Mulder pulled into their driveway, parking his car beside Scully's dusty Accord. After unbuckling Will, he carried his sleeping son into the house and gently laid the boy on his bed. Will didn't wake until Mulder began peeling off his son's clothes and replacing them with pajamas. Will blinked at him sleepily. "Are you staying at Grandma's, too?" "No, Will, we're home," Mulder told him. "Home?" Yeah, Mulder thought, that place we used to live, all three of us happy here together for a few months before it all went to hell. Remember that? "Yes. Home. Your bedroom." Will squinted by the light of the lamp on his bedstand. "Oh," he said. "Is Grandma here?" "No, she's staying with your mom tonight." "You're not going back to the hospital?" "No, Will. I'm staying here with you. We're both sleeping at home tonight, in our own beds." "How come you aren't staying with Mom?" "Listen, buddy." Mulder squatted beside Will's bed and paused to replace a wayward stuffed animal next to his son's pillow. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to drive you to school, and then I'm going to stop in to see John and Monica, and maybe check in at work for a little while. Then we can go see Mom after school. Together." "You're not going to see Mom tomorrow?" Will's question was punctuated with a yawn. "I am," Mulder told him. "With you." "How come?" Mulder studied his son's sleepy expression. Will yawned again, showing off the gap where his tooth used to be. "Will, I don't know when Mom's going to wake up," he admitted. "But we can't just put everything on pause while she's in the hospital. We're going to go back to school and work tomorrow, and then when Mom does wake up and come home, she's going to be so proud that we we've been doing okay on our own." Will nodded and Mulder leaned down to press a kiss on his son's forehead. With a sleepy smile Will slipped his pajamas on, then scooted down in his bed. He held out his arms for a good-night hug, and Mulder obliged, holding on an extra beat after Will had let go. Outside Will's bedroom the house was dark and quiet, and Mulder's steps echoed as he went down the hall to his own bedroom. In the light of the bedside lamp, Mulder studied his expression in the mirror, the dark circles under his eyes and new gray hairs along his hairline. He couldn't help but feel that Scully was going to wake up and not recognize them, her haggard, sleep-deprived, failure-as-a-father husband and her depressed, neglected, truant son. Hell, he thought, she wasn't even going to recognize her own body, never mind the two of them. * * * * * End Part 20. Continued in Part 21. Title: Song of Experience (21/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * George Washington University Hospital Washington, DC Life never went as planned. This was not news to Fox Mulder; he had understood this as a twelve-year-old boy watching his sister disappear and waiting his life away for her to return and fix their family. He had understood this as a burnt-out profiler with a string of failed relationships, and he understood it again when the partner he'd just finished breaking in disappeared into the cold Virginia night. Mulder could tick off a half-dozen other instances where the few plans he had made for his life had been thwarted: Scully's failed in vitro attempt, her unexpected pregnancy, the threats to their safety after Will's birth. So many times Mulder had thought that he finally had his life figured out, that he was finally safe and knew where his future was taking him. Now this. Mulder stared down at the hospital bed, at the outline of his wife, pale and tiny except for the bulge of her abdomen, like an oasis in the desert. It was a bittersweet reality that the baby was healthy and thriving as her mother lay unconscious and weak. Mulder brushed the back of his hand against Scully's belly, lingering there when he felt the gentle answering movement within. He stared at Scully's placid face, the lax set of her facial muscles and the slight part of her lips. She looked as though she were sleeping, he thought, or as though she were dead. Mulder looked up slowly at the soft snick of the door closing, taking a second to compose himself. "Good morning," Dr. Speake said, and Mulder nodded in response. "I'm glad you're here, Mulder." The doctor came to stand beside him at Scully's bedside, brushing her hand over her patient's. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you." Mulder nodded for her to continue but, after a long look at Scully, Dr. Speake shook her head. "Why don't we go down the hall," she suggested. "There's more privacy there." At Mulder's confused look, she elaborated, "No nurses interrupting for morning vitals." Mulder acquiesced and followed Dr. Speake into the small lounge down the hall, studiously avoiding eye contact with anyone. That was a lesson he had learned the very first day of Scully's residence on the maternity floor. He had needed just one look at the small huddles of happy, excited faces of expectant family members to discover that. "Have a seat, Mulder." Dr. Speake sunk into a battered armchair and set her clipboard and coffee cup on the table beside her. "What is it?" Mulder asked. "Is something wrong?" "Dana's fine," the doctor assured him. "There's been no change in her condition, or in the baby's. "And I'm afraid that's exactly the problem," she continued. "Dana's health insurance has good prenatal benefits, which, quite frankly, I've been exploiting to allow her to stay here." The doctor paused, and Mulder filled the silence with the apparently obligatory "Thank you." Dr. Speake shook her head. "As I said, Dana's coverage is good, but, unfortunately, it does have its limits... Mulder, we need to talk about where Dana is going to go when she leaves the hospital." "Leaves?" "Yes. She's healthy and the baby's healthy. There's no medical reason that Dana needs to remain hospitalized, and it isn't going to take long for her insurance carrier to realize that." "No medical reason? What about the fact that she's unconscious?" Mulder was incredulous. "Or doesn't that count for anything?" Despite the apparent lack of effect on her brain by anything that had been done or given to her while she was missing, Scully had still not awoken. Wasn't that enough to keep her hospitalized? It certainly had been in '94, he remembered, imagines of heart monitors and a disconnected respirator flashing through his mind. "Unfortunately, no," Dr. Speake told him. "She's stable and the medical intervention she's currently receiving is minimal. From the hospital's point of view, she's taking up a bed that could be filled by someone sicker, someone who does require our care." To hell with the hospital's point of view, Mulder thought. But he took a long minute of silence, staring past the doctor's head at the painting on the wall behind her. It was a cheap print, the kind that reminded him of crappy motels, adjoining rooms, and a collection of vending machine snacks piled between them as he and Scully poured over case files. "Mulder?" His attention flashed back to the doctor, who stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup, an expectant expression on her face. "What?" he barked back. Dr. Speake narrowed her eyes at him but did not comment on his snappish response. When she spoke her voice was gentle. "We need to talk about where we go from here. Where Dana goes." His answer was immediate. "She goes home." The doctor's expression was dissatisfied but unsurprised. "Mulder--" "She's coming home," he insisted. "Just hear me out before you make any decisions, Mulder. Dana may not require the services of a 'round-the-clock nursing staff, but she does need constant care. She'll need- -" "I'll do it." "You'll empty her Foley; change and clean her catheter; keep up her IVs? You'll bathe her and turn her to keep her from getting pressure sores? You'll--" "Yes. I will." The doctor sighed. "I don't think you realize what an enormous responsibility this is," she insisted. "This is a twenty-four-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week job, Mulder, and not one you can do alone." "I'll do it," he told her. "And Dana's mother--" "With all due respect, Mulder, I've met Mrs. Scully. She obviously cares very much about her daughter, but I doubt she has the physical strength required for this kind of care. Maybe she could help some now, while Dana's still small, but as the baby grows, I'm afraid Mrs. Scully's role will become limited." "Then I'll do it." "Mulder, I know your employer is very understanding and that he's given you a leave of absence during this ordeal. But eventually you'll have to go back to work. You'll need to hire a home health aide, a hefty expense that may not be covered by Dana's insurance. "And you have your son to worry about," the doctor continued, "and soon an infant daughter, too." "I'll do it," Mulder insisted. "I can take care of her." "I know you love your wife, Mulder; no one is questioning that. I just want you to try and look at this objectively. In a few short months, you'll have two children to care for. I know your mother-in-law is very involved in her grandson's life, but her role in Dana's care will be limited, at best. You can't care for Dana and two children on your own." Dr. Speake's voice softened, and she found Mulder's hand with her own. "Mulder, I want you to consider a long-term care facility for Dana." Mulder snatched his hand out from under the doctor's. "No." His voice was slightly breathless. "No. I'll take her home. I'll get help. But I won't send her away somewhere... Somewhere like *that,*" he said as he caught a glimpse of the shiny brochures Dr. Speake had placed on the table. What looked like a gussied-up hospital room stared back at him from the top brochure, an overly smiling nurse with her arm around an elderly woman in a hospital gown. There was something vacant in the older woman's eyes, something missing. Mulder shuddered. "Just think about it." Dr. Speake pushed the brochures toward him, then rose and collected her clipboard and coffee mug. "You still have some time before you need to make any decisions. Talk it over with Dana's mother, and think about what Dana would want for her children. We can talk more later." Mulder had to sandwich his lip between his teeth to keep from speaking as he watched the doctor walk out the door. Finally, when the lock clicked shut behind her, he exhaled loudly, knocking the brochures off the table with one angry swipe of his arm. * * * * * Will skipped alongside his grandma as they walked down the hall toward his mom's hospital room. He was in a great mood; he had spent the previous afternoon at Joy's, working on a new board game. Will had made his first game by himself over a year ago, but he and Joy had played it a million times already, and now they were making a new one together. More than anything, though, Will was glad to see Joy again. They were still in the same class at school, but ever since that afternoon when they'd found Will's mom, they hadn't seen each other away from school. At first Will thought maybe Joy was scared; even though he'd been helping her with her powers for weeks by that time, they'd never done anything that frightening before. But it had been her mom, not Joy, who hadn't wanted Joy playing at his house. This had both comforted and worried Will; he'd been happy that Joy wasn't avoiding him, but Mrs. Gillen's panic at his and Joy's abilities was the kind of thing Will had always feared. Over the years he had imagined all sorts of scary things that might happen were anyone to discover what he could do - being taken, screaming, from his mom in the middle of the night; being locked up in lab somewhere and poked and prodded and tortured. And now Will added a new nightmare: being forced to flee with his dad, leaving behind his mom and sister and the only friend he'd ever had. Two days later, though, Joy had come to school with good news: her mom had said it was okay for them to play together, as long as they played at Joy's house. And that had worked out for all of them, for Will's dad and grandma because they were spending lots of time at the hospital, and for Will and Joy, who didn't care where they were, as long as they got to be together. Joy understood him in a way that no one ever had before. Not even his dad, who'd had Will's same abilities a long time ago. Joy was different: she was like him, born with this power, not made crazy by it. Joy knew what it was like, all of it: the intrusive thoughts, the friendless recesses and gym classes, feeling like there's no one in the whole entire world that can truly understand you. "And we're going to share the game," Will told his grandma. They turned the corner and nearly collided with a scrub-clad nurse who was jogging to catch the elevator. "Joy'll have it one week and I'll have it the next. Joy's mom said that was called joint custody." His grandma laughed, then paused to secure her coffee cup in the drink holder. They'd brought their lunch upstairs from the cafeteria so that they could eat in his mom's room. She wasn't eating anything - she still got fed through her IV, which Will had gotten to watch the nurse change the night before - but it was still nice to eat together, like a real family again. "So you've retired Quest?" his grandma asked, referring to Will's previous foray into game invention. He shrugged. "It was a baby game," Will told her. "The game me and Joy are making now is gonna be *much* harder." "Joy and I," his grandma corrected absently. Will just shrugged. "Maybe I'll teach Quest to my sister. When she's old enough, I mean." His grandma rewarded him with a big smile. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea." They turned the corner and entered his mom's room, and Will jumped when he saw that she was not alone. An old man in a long white coat was bent over her, one hand on her cheek. In his other hand was a clipboard, but his gaze was focused on Will's mom's face. "Can I help you?" The man turned at the stern tone of Will's grandma's voice. Except for the slight red cast of his face, the man reminded Will of Severus Snape, the mean Hogwarts professor in the Harry Potter books, the one who'd gone to school with Harry's father and had always hated Harry. "Hello." The man's voice was smooth as he smiled first at Will's grandma, then down at Will. "You must be Dana's family." "And you are?" Will's grandma prompted. The man was wearing a hospital photo ID on the clip around his neck, but it was turned backwards, so Will could see neither the man's name nor his picture. "Dr. Daniels." The man offered his hand, which Will's grandmother shook after only a short pause. "I saw Dana when she was in the ER." "Dana was treated by a Dr. Hamilton in the ER," Will's grandma said. The man gave a sidelong glance at the door, then returned his gaze to Will and his grandma. "Yes," he said. "You're quite right. Of course. I, er, I consulted with Dr. Hamilton. When Dana first arrived, that is. I'm glad to see that she's doing so well." Will's grandma gave the man a skeptical look, and Will's stomach felt jittery. There was something about this man that just wasn't right, something that Will didn't trust. He was lying; Will knew that, but he couldn't tell what the truth was, or even what the man was lying about. He just had a bad feeling about him. "Well, then." The man crossed his arms, pressing the clipboard to his chest. "I'd better get going." He nodded at the tray Will's grandma was still carrying. "Leave you to your lunch." The man brushed past them on his way into the hall. "I'll let Dana's doctors know you stopped by," Will's grandma called after him. Finally she set their lunch tray on the table at the foot of his mom's bed. She pulled two chairs up to the table, but Will remained rooted in place, staring out into the hall after Dr. Daniels. Wrong, wrong, wrong, his gut told him. "Will?" His grandma stepped into his line of vision, and Will jerked his head up to look at her. "What is it?" Will just shook his head. He didn't know anything, not really. And it always upset his grandma when Will talked with her about what he could do; he didn't want to scare her. So what if he had a funny feeling about this doctor? He hadn't been hurting Will's mom or anything; she was safe there in the hospital. And he did have an ID badge around his neck, even if Will hadn't gotten a look at the name on the front. Besides, Will couldn't even tell what the man had been lying about... "Nothing," Will said. But he could feel his cheeks growing pink with his fib, just like they always did. His grandma narrowed her eyes at him and took his chin in her hand. "William Scully Mulder, now I know you're lying to me." "It's nothing, Grandma," he insisted, pulling away. "I'm fine." But this seemed to upset his grandma even further. "Tell me." Will rolled his lips and glanced again into the hall. "That man..." "What about him?" "He was lying." "Lying? About what?" Will just shrugged. "How you know that?" his grandma asked. Will raised his eyebrows at her. "I just knew," he said meaningfully, and finally his grandma nodded. Will watched her wage an internal battle, uncertain as to whether she should believe him. She looked over at the hospital bed, staring at Will's mom for a very long time, just watching. Then her gaze traveled back toward Will before she stopped and jerked her head back to the foot of his mom's bed. "Her chart," his grandma whispered. Will's eyes scanned the foot of his mom's bed, where her chart usually hung. But it was not there. He looked at his grandma with wide eyes. "Her chart. It's gone." * * * * * That day Mulder had returned to Scully's room to a scene straight out of one of his nightmares. A half-dozen scrub- clad members of the hospital staff swarmed in the hall of the Maternity Ward, and two hospital security guards framed her doorway, the beer bellies that hung over their belts surely striking fear into the hearts of any would-be assailant. Christ, Mulder thought; I can't even go to the bathroom without all hell breaking loose... "What happened?" Mulder had shouted, pushing through the crowd. "What's going on?" "Do you have ID, sir?" the mustached guard had asked. "ID? She's my wife!" "Who's your wife, sir?" The guard checked a clipboard. "Dana Scully. Now will you tell me what's going on here?" "I'm gonna need to see--" "He's fine, Stu," a familiar voice said, and Mulder watched Dr. Speake emerge from the sea of hospital staff. "He's the husband. Let him through." "What happened?" Mulder demanded as the doctor ushered him into Scully's room. He saw Will and Maggie sitting in the corner, huddled together near Scully's bed - her occupied bed, Mulder realized, allowing himself to relax. Will saw him, too, and ran over. "Dad!" He collided with his father's legs, burying his face in Mulder's side. "You okay, buddy?" Mulder wrapped his arms around his son and looked over at Maggie, who was watching them from across the room. But Mulder couldn't decipher the look on his mother-in-law's face. "I'm okay," Will assured him, but he still clung to Mulder's legs. Mulder hauled Will up onto his hip, even though both of them were getting too old for that. He turned to face Dr. Speake. "What happened here?" "There was a minor incident," she explained. "It was nothing, really." "Nothing? You call hospital security for nothing?" Then she went on to explain the situation as she understood it: Will and Maggie returning from the cafeteria to find a strange man leaning over Scully's bed, a Dr. Daniels who'd claimed to have treated Scully in the ER. Maggie realizing that Scully's chart was missing, only to be discovered by a staff member in the stairwell, apparently intact. And there was no Daniels among the hospital staff, doctor or otherwise. "There's nothing to worry about, Mulder," Dr. Speake had assured him, followed by the Nurse Manager, the Head of Hospital Security, and, finally, Agent Doggett, whom Mulder had called after Will had shared his own suspicions with his dad, whispered between the two after Will pulled his father into the washroom. So when Mulder heard a commotion in the hall the next day, he was out of his seat like a shot, pausing only to shoot Will a warning look and think sternly, at his son. When he opened the door, however, he saw Agent Alan Kim arguing with a younger man and woman. Doggett had assigned an agent to twenty-four-hour guard of Scully's door after Mulder explained the situation to him, and the position was currently occupied by Kim, a rookie agent that looked like a twelve year old playing dress-up in his father's suit. "Everything okay, Agent Kim?" The agent sighed. "These two are insisting that they need to see Agent Scully. I've told them that no one is allowed--" "No," the young woman said rather forcefully. She turned to Mulder, waving an identification card in his face. "Look, we're students of Dr. Scully's; we're in her lab section. We were supposed to meet her the other week and she never showed. And Administration wouldn't tell us anything. They just said we would have a substitute instructor indefinitely, and--" "It's okay," Mulder told the agent. He opened the door and let the two students in. "We didn't know there would be guards," the boy said in a slightly awed tone. "We're sorry." "We just heard that something had happened to her at Quantico," the girl chimed in, "and that she was in the hospital. One of the other students has a brother who works in the ER here, and he was talking about this FBI agent who was admitted. He said that Dr. Scully..." The girl paused to take a breath. "Are you an agent, too?" She looked critically at Mulder's jeans and t-shirt. "No." And not for a long, long time, Mulder thought almost wistfully. "I'm Dr. Scully's husband." He nodded at Will, who was hunched over Scully's arm, drawing on her cast and apparently oblivious to their visitors. "That's our son, Will." "I'm Erin, and that's James." The young woman offered Mulder her hand. "We didn't mean to intrude," James said. "We only-- Well, Dr. Scully wasn't just our lab instructor," Erin explained. "James and I, she's been helping us with our forensics. We were having a hard time and she's been reviewing with us after class. And we were worried. We heard that something had happened at the Academy, and, well, is she-- is Dr. Scully going to be okay?" Mulder motioned the students toward the two empty chairs near Scully's bed and against the window, while he sat on the foot of her bed. "Something did happen at Quantico," Mulder confirmed. "She was... taken. Abducted. The other day we got a phone tip." Mulder glanced at Will out of the corner of his eye to see that his son had paused in his drawing, his pencil poised above Scully's cast. "We got her back." Mulder set his hand on Scully's foot, beneath her thin blanket. "Is she going to be okay?" James asked. "We're still waiting for her to wake up," Mulder told them. "But her doctors are hopeful. Just a broken wrist, otherwise." The three of them glanced over at Will. "What're you drawing there?" James asked the boy as he scooted his chair toward Will. "Butterflies." Will said glanced among the adults. "For my sister." "You have a sister?" Erin's eyes did a quick scan of the room. "How old is she?" Will looked over at his father then, and Mulder reassured him mentally. he thought at Will. "She's about three months away from being born," Mulder said, still watching the anxious look on Will's face. he assured his son. "Oh, God," Erin exclaimed. "Really? She's *pregnant*? That's horrible. That someone would do such a thing..." "Is everything okay?" James asked. Mulder nodded. "So far, so good." There was a long, awkward silence then, and Mulder was reminded of the similar response they'd received when they'd informed Doggett's team of Scully's pregnancy, so different from Maggie's joy at their news. Mulder wondered whether this was the kind of reception Scully had gotten when she was expecting Will, more uncertainty than congratulations. Had their growing child had been her only source of comfort as she tracked down blind leads in her search for him, as it was now with him? Some mornings the only things that got Mulder out of bed were Will and this baby and the indignation that they couldn't lose everything just as soon as they had regained it again. "I bet your mom's gonna love that," Erin said then, breaking the silence. Mulder chuckled. "Yeah, let's hope this paint wipes off fiberglass like the guy in the art store said, or else Mom's gonna be pretty ticked at both of us, huh, buddy?" "You have paints, too?" James asked Will, who promptly turned his mother's arm to expose the colorful flock of butterflies that he had painted on her cast the previous day. "Wow," Erin said. She leaned over the bed to get a better look. "That's beautiful. You're a talented artist, Will." Will gave her a shy smile and went back to his fiberglass canvas. He consulted the thick book of butterflies that sat open on the bed next to Scully's hip. Maggie had brought the book to the hospital several days ago, charmed at her grandson's nickname for the baby. "Well, we didn't mean to interrupt," Erin said then. "We should really get going." She stood and pulled a small square of paper out of her purse. "Could you give us a call when Dr. Scully wakes up? I wanted to thank her for her help, tell her how the exam went." Mulder nodded and she handed him the paper. "Thanks. It was nice meeting you." "You, too," Mulder called as the door closed behind Erin and James. He settled back in his chair, still staring at the door. Scully had been in the hospital for weeks, and, as far as Mulder knew, Erin and James had been the first visitors she'd had that were not either connected by either blood or investigation. Mulder watched Will work on Scully's cast, the tip of his tongue poking between the new gap in his teeth, a tiny pink worm that flicked up and down as Will glanced between his butterfly book and his mother's cast. Without asking, Mulder knew that Will wanted Joy to visit. But all Mulder had seen of Joy since what he had come to call That Night was her head in the window when Mulder picked Will up from his friend's house. And, while he understood Will's wanting Joy to see Scully, to replace the nightmare scene that must still exist in her head with a peaceful hospital bed and kicking baby sister, Mulder could not do it. Even without Patti's insistence that Joy and Will play only at Joy's home for now, Mulder didn't feel right about subjecting the girl to this scene. I barely feel right subjecting Will to it, Mulder thought as he watched his son's small hand anchoring Scully's arm as he colored a bright yellow spot on the wing of a small black butterfly. * * * * * End Part 21. Continued in Part 22. Title: Song of Experience (22/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown Will was lying on his bed, reading the new Encyclopedia Brown book his grandma had brought him, when something landed on his head. "Huh?" Will muttered as he put the book aside and uncovered his face. The flying fabric was a shirt, his favorite t-shirt, which his dad had just washed with the laundry that morning. Will looked up to see his dad standing in the doorway, dressed in a sweatshirt and warm-up pants. And he was smiling. "Come on," his dad said. "Get dressed." "Where are we going?" Will fingered the shirt, still warm from the dryer. "Just get dressed," his dad urged. "Sneakers and something you can get dirty." Still Will just stared as his dad took Will's old sneakers from his closet and set them on the chair near Will's bed. He did the same with a sweatshirt and sweatpants, then set a baseball hat atop the pile. Since his mom had disappeared, the only places Will ever really went were the hospital, his grandma's, Joy's, and school. His dad had gone to work just three times, and Will knew he hadn't been there very long the last time because he'd been waiting for Will in the car when he got out of school, already halfway through the newspaper crossword puzzle. They had gone grocery shopping a couple times and, upon Will's urging, had gone to church twice, but that was all. Nowhere interesting and nothing fun. "We need to get outta here for a little while," his dad explained. "Change clothes and meet me downstairs." So Will acquiesced, shucking the clothes he was wearing for those his dad had picked out. He jammed the baseball cap on his head, then went downstairs to find his dad filling two water bottles from the tap. His dad didn't explain any more, so Will just followed him to the car, trying to guess their destination as they cruised through the streets of their neighborhood. Finally they pulled into a familiar parking lot, and Will was surprised when the car rolled to a stop. "Batting cages?" he asked. "That's right." Will followed his dad around to the back of the car, where he removed Will's bat and another, larger one from the trunk. They rented batting helmets and his dad got change for the pitching machine, and then they went to find an empty cage. Will watched as his dad fed quarters into the machine, programmed the speed, then took his place at home plate. He adjusted his grip on the bat, his hands tight around the wooden handle, and waited for the pitch. It came hard and fast, and he swung through it, almost spinning himself in a circle. His dad didn't say anything, just exhaled long and deep, then stepped back into the batter's box. This time when he swung he made contact, a crisp crack of wood on leather, and Will watched the ball soar in a perfect arc until it hit the mesh net at the other end of the batting cage. His dad took another half-dozen swings, hitting most of the pitches into the netting. Will watched closely, admiring the fluid stroke of his dad's swing. He'd never played baseball with his dad except on the computer. Basketball, yes, several times before winter arrived full force, but not baseball. Will had known from their discussion at the start of spring training that his dad was a fan, and he remembered that his dad had played baseball as a kid, too. But now Will smiled with the realization that, even after all these months, he was still learning new things about his dad. His dad stepped out of the batter's box. "Your turn." Will nodded and stepped in, waiting while his dad fed more quarters into the slot for the pitching machine. He waited, squeezing the barrel of the bat as he stared down the machine, pretending it was a real pitcher. Finally the ball came, but Will's swing was late, and the ball skimmed off the side of his aluminum bat. So Will got back into position and waited for the next pitch, but this time he was early, again fouling off the ball, which dribbled away to the side of the cage. The third pitch Will hit, his stroke feeling as long and sure as his dad's had been, the hollow thud of the ball against the metal barrel of the bat sweet and satisfying. Then there was the next pitch, and the next, and Will felt better than he had in a long, long time, concentrating on just trying to smack the ball as far as he could. Will's arms were sore when the balls ran out and he was forced to stop, his back and shoulders aching as he reached up to take off his batting helmet. His dad leaned against the back of the batting cage, his hands still gripped tight around his own bat. "That felt good," Will said. His dad nodded and took his place in the batter's box, and Will watched as he went through another round of balls, this time rocketing each one into the top of the net. When his dad was finished, he dropped the bat and slowly rolled his shoulders. His head hung low as he pulled off his batting gloves, but Will could see that his cheeks were shiny and wet. Sweat, Will thought, or maybe tears. * * * * * 1978 West Harbor Road Bethesda, Maryland The sun was shining and birds chirping as Will stared out the open window of John Doggett's car. John had picked him up from Joy's house that afternoon, because his grandma had a meeting of her church group and his dad surprised him that morning by announcing that he was going to work. Will supposed he should be cheered by these signs of spring, persistently pushing through the long winter. Last year the warm breeze had made him think about t-ball season starting and school letting out. And this summer he should have so much more to look forward to, taking his puppy to obedience training, his dad in the stands at his games, a new baby sister. But instead Will just felt tired. He hadn't slept well for almost a week, and last night he'd been kept up by a heated telephone conversation between his dad and John. Will hadn't heard John's end of the call, but from his dad's side it was clear that John was angry with him, disappointed even. And it hadn't taken Will long to realize why: somehow John knew that Will's dad had lied to him about how he'd found Will's mom. And it was all his fault. Will had pondered this as he turned in bed the previous night, kicking at his sheets with frustration. It was his fault that John was angry at his dad, that he no longer trusted him, even that John suspected him of doing something bad. It hadn't taken Will long to decide what he had to do. "John?" Will said softly as the car pulled into the driveway. John turned to face him, pausing to unsnap his seatbelt. "Yeah?" Will paused for a second, knowing that this was the last chance he had to back out. It would be so easy for him to chicken out; he could always try again another time. But he also knew that this was something he had to do; his dad needed him. And with that thought, Will knew he could be brave. "Do you know who Gibson Praise is?" John's eyes betrayed his surprise at the name, but he said nothing, just nodded. "You know what he could do?" "Yeah. That kid who could read minds. How do *you* know what he could do?" Will took a deep breath, his toes curled up tight inside his sneakers and his stomach similarly tied in a knot. "I know because I can do it, too," he whispered. John just stared at him. "Come again?" "I can do it, too. Well, not exactly like that," he corrected. "It's not reading minds; it's more like really knowing someone's feelings." John sighed. "Will, I know you're a very perceptive little boy. And very intelligent." His voice had a condescending tone that Will had never heard from John before, and Will thought that maybe telling John wasn't such a good idea after all. "It's true," Will insisted. "I know what you're feeling now." "What am I feeling?" "You don't believe me. You're worried and confused." John shook his head. "Listen, Will, it doesn't take a psychic to know--" "I'm not psychic," he insisted stubbornly, knowing that he sounded like a disobedient child. "I just... feel things sometimes." "Sometimes? Like now?" Will nodded, realizing what he needed to do. It was obvious to anyone what John was thinking now, so Will had to think back and remember a time when he'd felt John's feelings. A time when he'd felt feelings that no one would have guessed but that John would have remembered, feelings that... "Do you remember when we went to the Orioles' Opening Day last year? My mom came with us? Remember?" "Yeah," John said. "I remember." "During the seventh-inning stretch, I went with my mom to get something to drink." John nodded almost imperceptibly. "After we left, the man sitting next to us told you that you had a nice family. He said that he wished his wife and kids would come to games with him. And you didn't correct him." John's face paled. "How the hell could you have heard that?" "I didn't hear it," Will told him. "I didn't have to; you thought about it for the rest of the night. You felt bad because you didn't tell the man that we weren't really your family, and you thought that my mom would be mad if she knew. "And," Will added as an afterthought, "you felt lonely because you didn't think you'd ever have your own family again. You were missing Luke." John just stared at him then, his breath heavy in the quiet car. Will waited, still afraid that he'd made the wrong decision, especially about mentioning Luke. John rarely talked about his son, and most of what Will knew about Luke Doggett was from his mom, who really didn't know much either. Luke was like a secret that they all knew -- Will and his mom, John and Monica -- but no one talked about for fear of hurting the others. What if John decided that he was a freak? What if he wanted to take him to a lab and have Will studied? What if he decided that Will was an X-File? Will didn't know if his mom and dad could protect him if John did that, especially with his mom in the hospital and his dad so worried about her. His dad... Will thought of his dad, the shadows under his eyes and the tired slump of his shoulders. The sad way his dad looked at his mom in the hospital bed, the pain on his face when he reached out to touch the baby growing inside her. You're doing the right thing, Will reminded himself. He had to help his dad. "Why are you telling me this?" John's voice was tight with fear. "This is something you should talk to your father about, Will." "He already knows," Will said. "And I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but I had to. To help my dad." John's expression was confused, and Will continued. "You think my dad is doing something bad because he won't tell you how he found my mom. You think he's trying to protect a bad guy. But it's me he's protecting." "What?" "We, I, uh," he stuttered, realizing that he probably couldn't tell John the entire truth after all. He couldn't tell him about Joy; John didn't even know Joy, and it wasn't fair for Will to spill her secret for her. "I was trying to feel for her. It wasn't my first try, but I was getting closer; I was starting to feel her." "Your mom?" "No," Will said, "my sister. I tried my mom first -- I thought she'd be easier, but she wasn't. So I tried with my sister, and it worked. I could feel her." John nodded. "So you told your dad where she was," he said. "That's why he couldn't tell me. Protecting his family..." Will waited and watched the confusion on John's face work through and eventually clear a little. He stared at Will like he had never seen him before, and Will tightened his grip on the door handle, wishing he were inside the house where it was safe instead of sitting there with John, trying to figure out the man's jumbled-up feelings. He could tell that John didn't want to believe him -- he kept trying to convince himself that Will was just a kid making up stories -- but then he reminded himself that Will didn't lie often, and that he certainly wouldn't lie about something this important. Then John got scared again and stopped believing, and then he wondered how Will could have known about what had happened at the ballpark if he wasn't telling the truth, and John started to believe what Will was saying. The seesaw of John's emotions was giving Will a stomachache. "Who else knows about this?" John asked finally. "My mom and dad," Will told him. "And my grandma. That's all." He told himself that it wasn't a lie leaving Joy out of his answer. And Joy's mom, who didn't really believe them anyway. John sighed. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for telling me this, Will. That was a very grown-up decision for you to make on your own." Will said nothing, just waited, still afraid. So now John believed him; but what was he going to do about it? John sensed his apprehension, and he put a hand on the boy's arm. "I won't tell anyone else, Will," he assured him. "But I'm going to have to talk to your dad about this. So if there's anything else you need to tell me..." Will shook his head. "Then my dad isn't in trouble? You aren't mad at him anymore?" John set his hand on Will's shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I'm not mad at him, Will, and he's not in trouble. You don't need to worry about that anymore." * * * * * FBI Headquarters Washington, DC The basement office was the same in every way that didn't matter. Mulder's old "I Want to Believe" poster still hung behind the desk, bright and un-sun-bleached. Familiar metal file cabinets still stood beneath the small, useless window, and in fact seemed to have multiplied to occupy the entire back wall. Even the feeling of the room was unchanged, the cold, dark weight of mustiness and mystery that Mulder had once thought as necessary as oxygen. Still a woman and a man inhabited this insular realm, armed with service weapons and flashlights, seeking answers and justice and The Truth with not one but two capital Ts. But it was not right. The woman had dark hair and an extra couple of inches, and the man had a New York accent and an annoying affinity for NASCAR; and right now, to Mulder, it was the small things that made all the difference. This kingdom was Fox Mulder's no more, and so he stood in the doorway, watching the not-so-new Prince and Princess of the Paranormal huddle together over a desk, arguing in hushed tones. Their arms brushed against each other as they reached across the desk, and Agent Reyes's lips approached her partner's ear when she spoke. Mulder squinted at them, trying to make them into who he needed them to be, but there was a hole in him the size of a small redheaded woman and an even smaller not-yet-daughter that reminded him that the old adage was true after all: you can't go home again. After a minute Doggett chuffed loudly at his partner's argument and threw his hands in the air. "You can't prove that theory, Monica, and you..." A look of panic flashed across his face when he spotted their visitor. "Mulder." Reyes's head snapped up, and she stepped away from her partner, eyes darting guiltily toward the door. "Hi, Mulder." "Agent Doggett. Agent Reyes." Mulder stepped into the office. "Somethin' wrong, Mulder?" Doggett asked. "Is it Dana?" "No," Mulder assured them. "No news." Hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, Mulder approached Doggett, dropping his voice and giving the agent a pointed look before glancing back toward the door. "If you have a minute, Agent Doggett...?" Doggett glanced between Mulder and his partner, whose full attention was now on the two men evading her gaze. "Yeah. Yeah, sure, I got some time," Doggett said. He grabbed his coat on this way to the door. "Can you finish up here, Monica? I'll be right back." "Wait a minute, *partner,*" she said, coming around the desk, hands on her hips. "Aren't you forgetting something... or someone?" "I just need to talk to Agent Doggett. Alone," Mulder clarified. "Sorry." Monica clenched her jaw. "If this is about Dana's case..." "No," Mulder assured her. "It's personal." Monica stepped back behind the desk, but by the set of her jaw and the flash of her eyes, Mulder knew that she was not happy about it. "Fine," she said. "Fine. I'll just be here. Working." After shooting an apologetic look at his partner, Doggett followed Mulder out of the office. Mulder suppressed a smile. Had he and Scully been that transparent? They'd always thought that no one had known about their relationship until Scully's pregnancy, but if they had looked at each other like Doggett and Reyes had just been doing... Gazing, Mulder thought, feeling a spark of recognition somewhere in his Swiss-cheese memory. "Mulder," Doggett started as soon as they stepped into the empty elevator. Mulder held up one hand. "Not here," he said. So Doggett followed him to the parking garage, then to Scully's Accord. Mulder had driven her car back from Quantico after Doggett's team had searched it fruitlessly for clues, but since then it hadn't left the garage. Mulder supposed he should drive it -- probably it was not good for a car to sit idle for too long -- but until today he could not even bring himself to acknowledge its presence in the garage. But Mulder hadn't had time lately to take his car to the Gunmen's to get it checked for bugs, and the even layer of dust on Scully's car proved that it hadn't been disturbed since its return. So the choice was Scully's car or find some other safe place to talk, and Mulder had almost gone with the latter when he climbed into the Accord, adjusted the seat, and discovered that the vehicle's interior still smelled just like her. "Where are we goin', Mulder?" Doggett asked when they pulled out of the parking garage. "Nowhere," Mulder told him. "But we need to talk and we couldn't do it in your office." "About Will." "Yeah," Mulder said. "About Will." There was a long silence then as Mulder stopped at a red light. He stared straight out the windshield, waiting for Doggett to make the first move. Although Will had given his father a detailed description of the conversation he'd had with Doggett, Mulder was reluctant to introduce any specific facts, just in case there was something Will had not shared with the agent. Mulder glanced over at Doggett, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He reached down behind him and pulled something out from the cushion. Chuckling, Doggett held up a plastic Lego person that Will had been searching for for weeks. Mulder smiled as Doggett dropped the toy into the front console. "I'm sure you have questions," Mulder offered. "Hell, yeah... How did it happen, Mulder? And why?" Mulder shook his head. "I wish I could answer that, Agent Doggett." "Yeah, well, I can't say I'm surprised by that," Doggett admitted. "But he is like that Gibson Praise kid, right?" "It's different than with Gibson," Mulder said. "Will's abilities are... less focused, less developed maybe. We're not sure." "When did it start?" Doggett asked. "I remember that Dana was worried about Will when he was a baby. Does that have somethin' to do with it?" "I don't know," Mulder admitted. "Will was two the first time it happened." His voice was soft as he relayed the story to Doggett, a secondhand memory that he had never voluntarily revisited. Of all the stories Scully had told him about Will -- first words, first steps, first day of school -- this was Mulder's least favorite first. It had saddened him to hear this story from her, how frightened and alone he knew she must have been, even though she had been reluctant to admit as much. How badly Mulder wished he could have been there with her. Their own private X-File, he thought. Doggett's questions continued as Mulder drove in a wide circle around the Hoover building, and there were so many questions that Mulder started to get a bad feeling in his gut. As it stood, his trust of John Doggett was tenuous. Despite Doggett's current relationship with Agent Reyes, Mulder knew that the man still held feelings for Scully, feelings so deep that perhaps even he himself believed that they were gone. But, his own initial insecurities notwithstanding, Mulder had always felt he could trust Doggett with his son's safety if that ever became necessary. He had always been good to Will, and Mulder tried to give that relationship a wide berth. But now Mulder was beginning to worry whether Will's secret was truly safe with John Doggett. He worked on the X-Files, after all, and Mulder knew all too well the investigative zeal attached to that office. Even, or perhaps especially, when personal matters were at stake. "Mulder... Mulder?" Doggett's question snapped Mulder's attention back to his passenger. "Yeah?" "Will's okay, right?" Mulder glanced over at Doggett. "What do you mean?" "I read the X-File on yours and Dana's experience with the pieces of that ship. Will isn't... affected like that, is he?" "No," Mulder assured Doggett. "No, he's healthy. Normal in every other way we can tell." "Good," Doggett said. "That's good." A pause, then Doggett continued, "I promised Will I'd keep his secret, Mulder, and I'll promise you the same. I've closed the inquiry into the 'phone call' that led you to find Dana. You don't have to worry about that anymore." "Thank you." Mulder wanted to take Doggett at his word, to trust the man. Certainly he could tell that Doggett was concerned for Will's well-being, but still Mulder had one worry. "And Agent Reyes?" he asked. A pause, then, "What about her?" "Does she know?" Doggett shook his head. "I'm a man of my word. I said I wouldn't tell anyone, and I haven't." Mulder let this sit a minute, still feeling his way around the subject. "Because I would understand -- and I think Scully would, too -- if Agent Reyes were to know." "She doesn't," Doggett said tightly. "I know that kind of secret can be difficult to keep," Mulder continued. "Between partners, I mean." "Just what are you implying, Mulder?" Doggett asked. Mulder gave the man a knowing look but just shrugged. "Because if you're makin' an assumption based on what you saw back in the office just now," Doggett started. Mulder shook his head. "Let's just say that sometimes Will... stumbles upon things," he explained. "Oh." Mulder was almost pleased to see the shade of red that had come over the agent's face. "Oh, shit." He scrubbed his hand over his forehead. "Who knows?" "Just Will and Scully and me," Mulder assured him. "And I think all three of us understand the importance of keeping this secret. You don't have anything to worry about either, Agent Doggett." Doggett sighed and turned in his seat to face the window. There was a long pause, and Mulder could imagine the thoughts running through the other man's mind; certainly they had taken up residence in his own so many years ago. "You know why Will told me, don't you, Mulder?" Doggett said finally. Mulder nodded. Will had explained that, how he knew John was suspicious of how Mulder had managed to find Scully. At first Mulder had been angry with his son; he wished the boy would have come to him and explained the feelings he was picking up from Doggett rather than make such a big decision on his own. But after talking with Will, Mulder came to the realization that his son was growing up; still he was young, but his was a life that forced a certain maturity. It had been a sad realization for Mulder, something like a failure. "I don't know what Will told you," Doggett continued, "but your son was trying to protect you, Mulder. He knew I was suspicious, and he loves you so much that he's willing to do anything to save you." "I know," Mulder said softly. "I hope you do," Doggett answered, his voice tight. "I hope you do." * * * * * End Part 22. Continued in Part 23. Title: Song of Experience (23/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * George Washington University Hospital Washington, DC "'And then Prince Charming bent and kissed her on the lips. Sleeping Beauty slowly opened her eyes, and the spell was broken. And they lived happily ever after. The end.' "Okay, Dad, now you kiss her." "What?" "Now you have to kiss her. Like Prince Charming in the story." "Will, do you know how hard your mom would laugh if she were to hear you comparing me to Prince Charming?" "Dad, you have to try. You at least have to try." A sigh, then, "Will..." "Please? You made me try those weird whatever-they're-calleds at Grandma's house." A murmured "Capers" was followed by, "Okay. Okay, fine." Then Scully felt warmth on her forehead, and she struggled to open her eyes. I'm here, she thought. I can hear you. She tried to move, to open her mouth to speak, but she felt as though she were wrapped in a tight cocoon, her body heavy and somehow detached from her brain. "No, not like that! You have to kiss her on her lips." Pages rustled, then, "Look at the picture. Prince Charming didn't kiss her *forehead.*" "Will..." "Da-aad, come on. Please?" Then another warm pressure, this time on her lips, and Scully struggled to move against it, to part her lips, tilt her head, even to bite. Something, anything, to let them know that she was there. But there was no response from Mulder or Will, and she knew that she hadn't moved. "It didn't work." Will's voice was disappointed, distraught, and Scully wondered what had happened. Where she was and how long she'd been this way. It felt like forever; she could barely remember how to move her limbs, how to command her eyes to open, and when she tried to move she knew that nothing had happened. "Will, that story's a fairy tale. You knew as well as I did that it wasn't going to wake her up." * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown In his experience, a ringing phone at 2:39 AM meant only one thing: bad news. Mulder wanted not to answer it, wanted to let the incessant ringing continue until whoever it was gave up and left a message, a message he could deal with in the morning when he was a little less exhausted. Deal with or delete, Mulder thought as he covered his head with his pillow. So it was against his better two-AM judgment that Mulder fumbled for the cordless phone that he'd left on the bedstand, finally finding it and holding it up to his ear. He jumped when it emitted another shrill ring, then finally found the TALK button with his thumb. "'Lo?" "Fox Mulder?" The voice on the other end of the line was soft but official-sounding. The perfect tone, he imagined, for whoever made those horrific calls to summon family members to the hospital at 2:39 AM. "Yes." Mulder pushed himself to sit up against the headboard. "Can I help you?" "This is Eileen at GWU Hospital. I'm calling because--" "What happened?" he demanded, an adrenaline-fueled wakefulness taking over, surging through his veins. "My wife-- Has something happened to my wife?" "She's fine, Mr. Mulder. That's why I'm calling," the voice explained. "She's awake." He had to remember to breath. "What?" "She's awake," the voice repeated. "Your wife has regained consciousness. I know the hour's late, but there's a note in her chart that you want to be called as soon--" "Yes," he insisted. "Yes. Thank you." Mulder dropped the phone onto the bed without ending the call and had to hunt for it in the sea of sheets to quiet the buzzing dial tone when the woman on the other end hung up. The light, he realized, reaching over to turn on the lamp on Scully's side of the bed. He fumbled with the tie of his pajama pants as he headed over to the closet for a shirt and a pair of jeans. His fingers tripped over the buttonholes as he walked barefoot into the hallway. "Will," Mulder shouted as he went back into the bedroom for his shoes. His voice rumbled through the late-night quiet of the house, and downstairs he could hear the dog waking, his claws clicking on the kitchen floor. "Will, up and at 'em," Mulder called as he rapped on his son's bedroom door. "We're going to the hospital; Mom's awake!" * * * * * George Washington University Hospital Washington, DC Mulder's heart thudded in his chest as he pushed open the door of Scully's room. Will was clutching his hand, which was now tingling for lack of blood, and the two of them stumbled into the darkness of the room, momentarily blinded after the bright light of the hallway. He blinked at the bed, letting his eyes adjust until he could finally make out Scully's shape. She was in a different position, half-sitting instead of propped up on her side, but other than that, she looked just as she had when he'd left her that afternoon: eyes closed peacefully, hands clasped together on her lap. "Scully?" he called softly. Then she turned to him, and Mulder smiled with relief as he caught sight of her familiar blue eyes shining in the dark. "Mommy!" Will dropped Mulder's hand and flew across the room to his mother's bed, nearly throwing himself into her arms. "Careful," Mulder warned. He watched them from the door, Will half on Scully's bed and Scully leaning over to hold him. Both had their eyes closed and their hands tightly clutching the other's clothing. Finally Scully looked back toward the doorway, toward Mulder, a beatific smile on her face. "Hey," she said softly, holding her free hand out to him. "Hey." He crossed the room, arm stretching toward her. When he reached her bedside, Mulder weaved their fingers together, then brought his face down to hers. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then to her cheek, then finally met her lips. She returned his kiss, and it felt so good; so very, very good. He had been kissing her unresponsive form for too long. Now, finally, she was kissing him back. "Thank you," he whispered, whether to her or to someone else, he didn't know. Finally the three of them pulled apart, and Scully smiled as she glanced between them. "What'd I miss?" she asked as Will crawled up on her bed. Slowly Scully scooted over to make room, and Will curled up next to her, his head resting on her lap, a blissful smile on his face. "Jesus, Scully..." Mulder pulled her back into his arms. "I thought-- I was afraid that--" He turned to look into her eyes, his heart squeezing in his chest when he saw tears there. "Are you okay? We're not hurting you?" She shook her head. "It feels good," she assured him. "I'm sore, but just to feel *anything* again..." At the questioning look on his face, she smiled. "I could-- I've been able to hear you, you and Will, for a few days. Just your voices, really; I couldn't see anything. It was slow, like a curtain was being pulled back. First hearing you, and then I could feel you. And feel..." Scully trailed one hand down to her belly, which was probably significantly larger than she remembered it. She caressed the new breadth of it. "The nurse said the baby is okay?" His hand joined hers and squeezed gently. "She's perfect." "She?" He nodded, his smile matching Scully's. "I saw the results of the amnio you had with Dr. Speake. A healthy little girl; Will was right. And Dr. Speake says everything is completely normal." "She's a fighter." "Like her mom," Mulder agreed, then let his eyes drift over to Will, still sleeping with his head on his mother's lap. "We make strong babies, Scully." She smiled and her gaze followed his. "Has he been okay? Have *you*?" Mulder nodded, but he couldn't lie to her. "He had -- we both had -- a rough time," he admitted. "But we're okay." Now that you're okay, he thought. "You should take him home." Scully ran the back of her hand over Will's soft cheek. "Put him to bed." Mulder shook his head and stroked his thumb over her fingers. "There's no way in hell I'm leaving you now." "Mulder, I'm fine," she insisted. "I had the nurse call my mom after she phoned you. She should be here soon. And Will should be sleeping in his own bed." She studied Mulder's thoughtful expression, trying to anticipate his obligatory argument. "Really. Go." He looked over at his son, who was moving in his sleep, trying to get comfortable. "Okay," he agreed as Will mumbled something unintelligible. "When your mom gets here we'll leave." She nodded then and smiled at him wearily. "You tired?" "I feel like I haven't slept in weeks, which is strange because that's all I've been doing." Mulder smiled and leaned forward to press another kiss to her forehead, not trusting himself with her lips. He knew that if he started there he'd never want to stop, wouldn't be able to get enough of her, despite the fact that they were in the hospital and Will was curled up in bed beside his mother. "What happened?" Scully asked in a small voice after she checked to make sure Will was still asleep. "What did they do to me, Mulder?" He tightened his grip on her hand. "What do you remember?" "Very little," she said. "My computer crashed, so I went down to Tech Support. I tried to call, but their line was busy. "I stepped out of the elevator, and..." She paused to take a deep breath before continuing. "Someone was there. A man. He grabbed me and pulled me to the side. Into a janitor's closet, I think. He had a gun..." The hand holding his went to her belly then, and she led their joined hands in a slow circle around their growing child. "He pressed the barrel to my abdomen, and he said... He said, 'One word and I'll pull the trigger. And you and I both know that you're not going to risk a gunshot here, don't we?'" Mulder sucked in a breath, his body tightening as if(threatened, evef as he felt the warmth of Scully's body against his hand. He waited for the surge of protectiveness to end, but it only grew, filled him with its intensity. "Then there was another man," Scully continued. "He had gauze soaked in something sweet-smelling and he pressed it to my mouth. "That's all I remember," she said. "Until a few days later. At least I think it was a few days. I was someplace bright, lots of lights and I could hear machines -- medical equipment, I think -- beeping. There was a man standing over me, but he wasn't one of the two that took me. This one was wearing a surgical mask and scrubs. He said, 'Shit, she's awake,' and then I saw him inject something into my IV... And the next thing I remember is here, in the hospital. "What happened, Mulder?" He sighed, relishing the tight grip of her hand on his, of the way she was pressing their joined hands into her belly. He stared down at the bright butterflies filling her cast, then lowered the rail on the side of her bed. Scully shot him a questioning look, but Mulder simply perched himself on the edge of her mattress, as close as he could get to her with their son also taking up a generous portion of the hospital bed. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. "Will found you." He raised his gaze to meet Scully's. "He and Joy. They found the baby, actually. They--" She slipped her hand from his and pressed her fingers to his lips. "I understand," she said with a sad smile. Mulder nodded; he didn't want to say any more, either, not in a hospital where anyone could be listening in or watching them... He took her hand in his again. "I went there. Called Doggett and they brought you here--" "Thank you," she said softly, but Mulder just shook his head. There was no reason for her to thank him, not when it had taken their seven-year-old son to find her. He cleared his throat. "The doctor who saw you in the ER said you'd been..." He paused, trying not to choke on the word. "Examined. He said you'd had an internal exam and another amnio, and that they -- whoever did the test -- they'd taken out lots of fluid." The expression on her face was nearly painful, and Mulder reached over to caress her cheek. "It's all okay now," he assured her. "He said it's all been replenished; you're okay and the baby's okay." Scully nodded, exhaling heavily as she fell back against her pillow. Carefully Mulder laid back beside her. There was more to discuss, he knew; they had to go over her limited memories for a possible description of the men who had taken her, and he had to inform her of the situation with Doggett. But right then Mulder wanted nothing more than to just hold her, to be able to reach out and touch Will, touch the growing bulge of the baby, to assure himself that it was all real, and to know that she was feeling as much as he was; he was not dreaming. "I almost forgot," Mulder said, running his finger along the inside of his shirt collar, finally locating the gold chain around his neck. He found the clasp and undid it, then slid the object off the necklace. "What...?" He held out his hand to her, showing her the wedding ring the doctors had had to remove in the ER. The ring he had been wearing around his neck ever since, hanging from the longest gold chain he'd found in her small jewelry box. He'd bought a new chain for her cross and replaced the necklace around her neck soon after they'd found her, but her ring he'd worn himself, needing to keep some piece of her near him. Together they looked at her ring finger and the cast on her left hand. Scully offered him her right hand. He smiled, then slid the ring on before bringing her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckle. "I do," Mulder whispered. * * * * * From: attalanta@aol.com Date: 30 Nov 2003 17:50:30 -0800 Subject: [all-xf] NEW: Song of Experience (24/?) by Christy Source: atxc Title: Song of Experience (24/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Somewhere in her sleep-dulled brain, it made sense to Scully that she felt like a butterfly that had gone to sleep and awoke a caterpillar. Or like she'd switched bodies with someone who wasn't an exact fit. She was weak, her body soft and white and doughy. Her limbs were heavier than she remembered, and ineffectual, her arm collapsing when she tried to prop herself up in bed. The first night she'd had to stop and rest after the simple exertion of dinner, though it had been only broth and strawberry jell-o. Your strength will come back, assured the nurse who'd given her a bag bath the previous night, when Scully could only stare as her hospital gown was lowered to reveal her new body. She'd asked for a mirror afterwards, and reluctantly the nurse had brought her one. Scully had never considered herself especially vain. Yes, she took care in certain aspects of her appearance: heels to make her taller, cover-up to disguise the mole on her upper lip, pricey perfume to ward off the stink of formaldehyde. Small things that made her feel like a woman despite living in a man's world. But she had never been excessively concerned with her appearance, which was a good thing considering her encounters with carnivorous fungi and dung explosions and Antarctic freezer-burn. So Scully was confused by the overwhelming sense of grief she felt as she studied the betrayal that was her body. With the nurse's mirror, she examined her face, dark circles prominent on her too-pale complexion, and surveyed the parts of her body she was still too weak to maneuver into view. She hadn't needed a mirror to see her swollen abdomen. Scully felt huge and clumsy, certain she would topple over if the nurse were to let her try to stand. She seemed bigger than she had ever been with Will. Not possible, her rational self insisted; you're only six months pregnant. But still she felt awkward, off-balance like a toy Will had once had, a ball transformed into a person, wide in the middle with undersized feet and head. Roly-Poly, Will had named him. And she couldn't remember ever being this tired. Not when she was sick with cancer, not during Will's birth, not even when she'd awoken after her previous abduction. Strangely, the feeling both scared and comforted her: though exhausted, her memories were still intact, still there to compare to her current experience. But Scully had had little time to reflect on any of this, as she'd done little more than sleep since she'd resumed consciousness just two days ago. Will and Mulder had hovered at her bedside, filling her waking hours with smiles and laughter and stories. Her mother had been in and out of Scully's room, seemingly content to just sit and hold her daughter's hand, letting her grandson do the entertaining. Yesterday Will had talked nonstop until he fell asleep, head in her lap, for the second day in a row. And Scully had dropped off right there beside him, one of her many catnaps. Each time she awoke frustrated and angry as she realized that, once again, she'd nodded off in the midst of one of Will's or Mulder's stories. The first time she'd awoken from such a nap it had been to her son's smiling face, with a hole where Scully remembered a tooth. Her son's first lost tooth. It was just one in a long list of things she'd missed: the results of her amnio, Will's third-quarter report card, the look on Mulder's face the first time he felt their daughter move. Even something as mundane as daylight savings time; all of it had passed her by without a hitch. And there was also the experience of maternity clothes shopping, a small joy that had once again been robbed from her. With her first pregnancy, Scully had stalled, holding herself together with safety pins and rubber bands, wanting more time to incubate her secret. Until her mother came by one Sunday with a shopping bag full of maternity clothes, which she'd placed in her daughter's bedroom, and without a beat asked whether Dana was feeling up to mass that morning. Scully had gone shopping on her own later, after a glimpse of the ribbons and bows her mother had chosen, and after the elastic waistband had broken on the only pair of pants that fit, snapping her out of her denial. This time it was Mulder out shopping. The image of Mulder wandering through the maternity department brought another smile to Scully's face, and this one stuck. He had been so adamant to do this for her, actually insisting on it when Scully's mother had volunteered to stop by the store for something Scully could wear home from the hospital. 'The store?' Scully had wondered, until she realized that she no longer fit into anything out of her closet. But Mulder had kept her entertained all morning with his phone calls from the mall, inquiring about sizes and colors and, the last time, asking mischievously whether, just out of curiosity, did Victoria's Secret have a maternity section? Scully was still smiling as she replayed that particular call in her mind when a heavy knock on her door made her jump in surprise. "Dana," the voice called, still familiar after all these years. Scully stared in disbelief at the man standing in her doorway. Apparently they were destined to meet every nine years. Like a comet, Scully thought. Or like the locusts. "Daniel?" He came around to her bedside, his expression warm and friendly. For perhaps the first time, Daniel looked old to her. His skin was dark, too tan against his white hair and mustache. Scully scoured her brain, trying to remember how old he must be, but came up empty. Late fifties, she decided. Maybe older. "I see you're awake," he said. "How did you know I was here?" "I work here. I was called down to the ER for a consult the night you were brought in. I saw your name on the board." She nodded. "I don't put much stock in fate, but I'm beginning to think that 'coincidence' is too mild a term." He smiled, giving her a long stare. "You look better, Dana. How are you feeling?" "Good," she said. "Tired, but good." "I'm glad." He settled down on one of the chairs next to her bed, his gaze steady on hers. He sighed as he set one ankle on the opposite knee, getting comfortable. "The last time I saw you -- what was it, almost ten years ago? -- I wasn't ready. You were right; there were still things I had left unfinished. My relationship with Maggie..." "How is Maggie?" He smiled. "She's wonderful. She was married a few years ago, and she had twins in October. A boy and a girl." "Congratulations." Daniel nodded. "Thank you," he said. "I didn't want to listen, but you were right, Dana. There were things I needed to fix with my daughter. We've been working on that. It hasn't been easy, but we see each other once a month now. I don't want to miss seeing my grandchildren grow up." "I'm happy for you, Daniel." But Scully was still uncertain why he was here. "Last time I wasn't ready to work on a relationship with anyone before I fixed what was broken with Maggie, and you knew that. I owe you an apology, Dana; I know I didn't make it easy for you to point that out." She nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "But now," he continued. "I can't help but think that seeing you here, well, it gives us another chance. Last time I got my daughter back. Maybe this time..." Scully shook her head, suddenly understanding. "Daniel, there isn't going to be a 'this time.'" But he cut her off, reaching for her hand, which he slipped out from under the tray table that covered her lap. He held up her left hand, the bright colors on her cast in sharp contrast to the dull gray and white of the hospital sheets. His eyes focused on her bare ring finger before meeting her gaze. "No ring." She held out her right hand, revealing her wedding ring. "The cast," she explained. "Oh." He let her left hand drop back to the bed. "You're married, then?" Scully nodded. "Kids?" She nodded again. "Still with the FBI?" "Yes," she said. "But I teach now. At Quantico." He chuckled then. "I always imagined you'd make a good professor." Daniel said nothing as he studied her face, a pensive look in his eyes. His gaze lingered over her lips, and Scully felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. His expression shifted her back in time, back to the days when she had admired his practiced mind by day and worshipped his body by night. It felt like a lifetime ago and, in many ways, it had been. "Are you happy, Dana?" he asked. "The last time we met--" "I am," she told him, but the look in Daniel's eyes was uncertain, almost disapproving in a paternal way. There was a time when Scully would have done anything to avoid that look, and then there was the last time, their final fight about her leaving medicine for the FBI, when she had quite intentionally provoked it. "Mom," a voice called then, and both she and Daniel startled at the interruption. "Mom, Grandma and I brought..." Will came to an abrupt stop in the doorframe, one hand holding a bottle of juice. He stared at Daniel, his eyes wide and frightened. "I brought you juice," Will said softly, finally crossing the room to hand her the bottle. Scully took the juice and set it on her tray, then reached for Will's hand. "Will, this is an old friend of mine, Dr. Waterston. Daniel, this is Will. My son." Daniel smiled, coming over to offer the boy his hand. But Will just stared at him, his confusion plain on his face. Finally Daniel let his hand drop to his side as he glanced between Scully and Will. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his white coat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I have to get going, Dana," Daniel said, backing toward the door. "I've got rounds to finish up, and it looks like you're in good hands here." He flashed Will a smile, but the expression was not returned. With a nod at Scully, Daniel disappeared into the hall. "That wasn't very polite," Scully scolded as Will continued to stare at the place where Daniel had been standing. "Why didn't you shake Dr. Waterston's hand, Will?" Slowly Will turned to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip crushed between his teeth. "Do you know him?" he whispered. "Yes," Scully said. "Dr. Waterston was an old friend. I worked with him before I joined the FBI." "Oh." Will plopped down in the chair beside her bed. "Oh." "Will, what's wrong?" She reached over and turned her son's chin so that he was facing her. "I think I made a mistake," he said softly. "A big mistake." "Tell me," she urged. The look on Will's face was so serious that Scully was beginning to feel frightened, though she couldn't begin to guess what Will was upset about. "That man--" "Dr. Waterston." Her son nodded. "He came to see you once when I was here with Grandma. Before you woke up. He said... I think he said that he was just checking on you, and that he was your doctor in the Emergency Room. But I-- I could tell that he was lying; he wasn't really your doctor." "And," Scully prompted, sensing that there was more. "And I told Grandma and Dad, and Dad had John get a guard to stand outside your room. Dad and John thought Dr. Waterston was one of the bad guys who took you away." Scully reached over the side of her bed and reached for Will. Her son stepped eagerly into her embrace. "It's okay," she assured him as she kissed the top of his head. "You didn't do anything wrong, Will." "But I made a mistake," he said. "He wasn't trying to hurt you, and I told Dad--" "You did the right thing," she repeated. "You didn't know who Dr. Waterston was. You told Dad what you felt, and that was exactly the right thing to do." * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown "I'll get it! I'll get it!" Will ran into the kitchen at the first ring of the phone, but his grandma had beat him to it. So he waited semi-patiently, watching his grandma for any indication of who the caller was. Finally she hung up the phone and Will pounced. "Was it them? Did they leave? When--?" "Slow down," his grandma said with a chuckle. "That was your dad. They just left the hospital; they should be here by 6:00." Will whooped and jumped in the air, scaring Phoenix, who was sprawled beside the refrigerator, eyes scanning the floor for dropped food. "Mom's coming home," Will shouted, thrusting his fist in the air. "She's really coming home!" "We'd better get busy." His grandma grinned indulgently at him, then checked the oven. She was making one of his mom's favorites, spinach lasagna and salad with homemade dressing. Will had helped her with dessert, chocolate chunk brownies that were cooling on the counter and vanilla ice cream still in the freezer. It was all perfect; it had to be. It was the day his mom was coming home from the hospital for good. Of course Will knew that she would have to go back for check-ups and for physical therapy since her muscles had grown weak from being in bed for so long. But finally she was going to be back home, and it was all going to be okay again. Not like in the hospital, where she was quiet and sleepy and sometimes seemed like a different person. "Is your banner finished?" his grandma asked as the oven door squeaked shut. "The banner," Will exclaimed as he hurried into the dining room, where his Welcome Home banner was spread across the table. Will grabbed his paintbrush and got back to work. His banner was almost finished; he just needed to color in the last few letters and hang it. A few minutes later a familiar weight pressed against Will's legs, and he put down his paintbrush. "Careful, Phoenix," he warned, leaning down to pet the dog. Phoenix gazed up at him longingly, and Will gave in, sinking to the floor beside his puppy. "Mom's coming home," he told the dog, whose ears twitched in response. "Mommy's coming home and it's all going to be okay." Phoenix seemed to smile at him before he licked Will's cheek. Then his grandma came in with a stack of plates, and Will scrambled up to help her set the table. They hung the banner first, fastening it in the living room so it was the first thing his mom saw when she walked in the door. "Do you think she'll like it?" Will asked his grandma as they stood back to admire the sign. Welcome Home, Mom! the slightly wobbly letters read, and Will had decorated the corners with butterflies to match his mom's cast. They were still setting the table when he heard his dad's car pull in the driveway. "They're here," Will shouted, running to the front door, his grandma and the dog on his heels. "Mom's home!" Will didn't realize his mistake until he heard the back door open, the door to the garage. "We're home," his dad called out, and Will raced back into the kitchen. "Mom!" Will launched himself at his mother, who was standing carefully, one arm hooked around his dad's and the other resting against the kitchen counter. "Careful," his dad warned as he intercepted Will, effectively absorbing his son's exuberant greeting before passing him onto his mother. "Mom, I missed you," Will said, trying to fight back unexpected tears. His mom's laugh was soft. "Sweetie, you just saw me this morning," she reminded him, and it felt so good to hug her like this, standing like normal instead of lying in her bed. Her height was familiar, protecting, despite the new weight of her stomach pressing into him. "I know," Will said. "But I missed you here." She kissed the top of his head, and Will squeezed his eyes shut tight. He had just plain missed her, missed her tucking him into bed and kissing him goodnight, even missed her asking him whether he'd brushed his teeth even though she knew he had. His dad never asked, just trusted Will to remember. And Will always did; he used to complain about his mom's reminder, telling her that of course he had brushed, and he wasn't a baby. It was strange the things he had missed. "Welcome home, Dana," his grandma said, and Will had to force himself out of his mom's arms to give his grandma a turn. Then Will was grasping at his mom's hand again, pulling her into the living room. "You have to come see," he urged her, and she followed him, her grip tight around his. "It's a surprise." He pointed at the banner, looking up at her hopefully. "It's beautiful," his mom said, leaning down for another hug and kiss. "I love the butterflies." Will beamed up at her. "And I've made dinner, Dana," his grandma said. "Spinach lasagna, your favorite. It should be ready in about ten minutes." His mom's hand on Will's shoulder was heavy as she turned to face his grandma. "I'm a little tired, Mom," she said. "I think I'm just going to go upstairs and rest for a while." "We made brownies for dessert," Will offered hopefully. "And we have vanilla ice cream, too." "Of course, dear. You must be exhausted," his grandma said, but Will could see the worry in her eyes. "Dinner will keep in the oven; we'll just wait until you're hungry." But his mom shook her head. "You three go ahead and eat. I'm not sure my stomach is up for lasagna and brownies just yet." Will opened his mouth to object, to remind his mom that she'd been eating all sorts of regular food in the hospital for the last few days, and just last night for dinner had had take-out from her favorite Chinese restaurant. But the strong hand that had clamped down on Will's shoulder gave him pause, and he looked up to see his dad standing there, shaking his head slightly. So Will said nothing, just let go of his mom's hand and watched his dad follow her upstairs, one hand hovering protectively at her lower back. After his parents disappeared upstairs, Will's grandma sighed, then went into the kitchen, calling behind her, "Go wash up, Will. Dinner'll be ready in a few minutes." But Will just slumped down on the couch, staring at the empty staircase and listening to the soft upstairs sounds echoing through the quiet house, doors closing and drawers opening and the bed creaking. Phoenix whined softly, his wet nose pushing against Will's hand until he gave the dog a halfhearted pet. The banner at the top of the steps folded down at the corner, almost coming unfastened. It seemed to mock him, and Will grunted at it, surveying the messily printed letters, the awkward butterflies, the dark smear in the corner from where he'd accidentally rested his paint-splattered arm. Then he noticed the mistake, the strange spacing that made the message into 'Wel Come Home, Mom!' Well, come home already, Mom, he thought as his dad's footsteps started back down the stairs. * * * * * Okay, so he doesn't remember much about that time. Mulder was the first to admit it: whatever they had done to him, they'd managed to clear his mind of things he might not have even realized he was missing, if he didn't have Scully's memory for back-up. More than a few memories remained, ones he wanted to believe were so deeply ingrained, so essential, that they were untouchable. There were the two Lamaze classes he had attended with Scully, when he had been allowed to hold and touch her without the prerequisite hospital admission. There was the single doctor's appointment, when they'd sat in the waiting room surrounded by graphic brochures and parenting magazines and pregnant women sizing up the obvious discomfort between the out-of-place pair. And then the appointment itself, when he'd heard the baby's heartbeat for only the second time, the first being the night Scully was released from the hospital, when he'd offered her cold pizza and a family heirloom and wished he'd been brave enough to offer her himself. And Mulder remembered every minute of his foray into fatherhood, from the first time he'd seen his son, covered in blood and vernix and his mother's tears, to the last time, with William covered in soft cotton and baby powder and his tears. There was lots Mulder was missing from that time. A jaunt to an oil rig, for one; he had read about it in the files Scully kept on her computer, wondering why she had written up a case that she hadn't investigated, and one that seemed, somehow, to strike a nerve with her. That case had been his opportunity to run off where he knew she couldn't follow, and now Mulder couldn't imagine what he'd been thinking, why he'd subjected her to that unnecessary pain when there was so much he couldn't spare her from. Like now. Like Scully's transition back into the world of the living. It was not the dramatic transformation that Mulder had experienced. When he'd left, Scully had barely been "Mommy" and they were still getting used to the name "William;" when Mulder had returned, she had long been "Mom" and their son was "Will," and there were more changes than Mulder could count. The changes Scully was dealing with were more subtle, Mulder supposed, but he knew that didn't meant they were easier to accept. Not that Scully didn't put on a good show, forcing smiles and laughs. She barely protested when Dr. Speake suggested Scully not start back at work until after the baby was born. She grunted and sweated patiently through her physical therapy. At home, she tolerated Sci-Fi Channel movie marathons, navigated around the intricate Lego village Mulder and Will were building in the dining room, and listened passively as Will recalled his and Joy's adventures at school. But her heart wasn't in it, and, after years of experience, Mulder knew better. So did Will. * * * * * End Part 24. Continued in Part 25. Title: Song of Experience (25/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Will awoke to screaming. At first he thought it was a dream. It was a woman's scream, high and terrified, and it was not the first time he'd heard that sound in his nightmares. But then he heard the call -- "Mulder!" -- and Will knew that it was no dream. So he scampered out of bed and down the hall, stopping at his parents' closed bedroom door. Will knew he wasn't supposed to go into their room if the door was closed, but with his mom screaming... He pressed his palm against the door and it swung open. "No, stop, not the baby," his mom was muttering. She was half-sitting up in bed, facing away from the door, and Will's dad was beside her, one arm slowly rubbing her back. "Shh, shh," he soothed. "It's okay, Scully; you're safe now. It's just a dream." She seemed to calm a little then, and Will backed away from the door. "The baby, Mulder--" his mom cried, and he couldn't remember ever hearing her like this before. She sounded weak and helpless, and a shiver ran through Will. "No one's taking the baby," his dad insisted. "Feel her, Scully. See? She's safe right here; no one is going to hurt her." His mom nodded then, slumping over until she came to rest against his dad's side. "Oh, God, Mulder," she sighed, shuddering. "Tell me," he prompted as he held her. "What did you dream, Scully?" She shook her head. "I can't." "Scully--" "Not yet," she insisted. "Later maybe, but I can't yet." His dad said nothing more, just held her, and Will could only stand there and stare. He could feel Phoenix behind him, the dog's warm, humid breath on Will's hand. Will reached down, his fingertips grazing the top of the dog's soft fur. "Will," his mom blurted out, and Will jumped at the sound. His dad turned his head toward the door and spotted Will standing there. 'Bedroom,' he mouthed, his expression stern, and Will nodded, pulling on Phoenix's collar as he backed out of the doorway. He returned to his bedroom, but he could still hear his parents' voices. "Will, Mulder," his mom said. "I hope he didn't hear--" "I'll check on him," his dad promised. "In a minute." Will crawled back in his bed, leaving the door to his room open a crack. Phoenix walked in a tight circle, then plopped down beside the bed, resting his nose up against the mattress. Will's eyes were starting to drift closed when he heard the hall floor squeak. He blinked at his dad, who came to sit on the edge of his bed. His dad looked exhausted; his eyes were barely open and were underscored with dark circles, and his hair was spiking out in every direction. "Is Mom okay?" Will asked as he pushed himself up against his pillows. "What did you hear?" his dad asked. Will averted his dad's gaze, reaching out to rub the coarse, spiky fur on Phoenix's muzzle. "Screaming," he whispered. His dad reached over to pet the soft, downy fur on the dog's neck. "Mom just had a bad dream," he assured Will. "You know how scary dreams can be sometimes. But she'll be okay." Will regarded his dad with a skeptical eye. His dad was right; he did know that dreams could be so frightening that they seemed real, even after you woke up. But he could also feel that his dad was very worried. "Are you sure?" Will asked. "She'll be okay," his dad said. He leaned over to kiss Will goodnight, then patted the bed. Will obliged and scooted down, allowing his dad to rearrange the covers around him and retrieve Pup from where he'd fallen under the bed. "Good night, Will," his dad called as he closed the bedroom door behind him. She'll be okay, Will repeated to himself as he stared up at the constellations on his ceiling. Of course his mom would be okay; she was at home and she was safe, and she had him and his dad there to love and protect her. And she had the baby. Besides, his dad had promised. Will found Cassiopeia, his favorite, and traced its familiar 'W' shape. She'll be okay, he thought, even as he heard his dad's thoughts echoing from the hall. * * * * * May, 2009 It was how Mulder imagined the Twilight Zone might feel, or an alternate universe. Or maybe he and Will were just watching too many old sci-fi movies. Either way, life in the Mulder-Scully household had changed, and Mulder was still puzzling over exactly how it had happened. Scully was home, and that was something he'd dreamed about, even prayed for, for weeks. But they hadn't slipped back into their same, easy, pre-abduction routine. Scully was on an extended leave of absence from the Bureau, and now her activities consisted solely of doctor's and physical therapy appointments; chauffeuring Will; and thinking, which she did either in bed or camped out on the couch, a blank look on her face. If Mulder didn't know better, he'd think she had been replaced by one of those replicants that populated bad sci-fi movies and his own nightmares, which, hovered between make-believe and that vague feeling of recollection that he was growing used to. But he had checked the back of her neck, mapped out her scars, and tested her memory; he knew it was the original Dana Katherine Scully who had been returned to him. But they weren't connecting in the same way they had before this mess. Just last night there had been such an awkwardness between them that Mulder had wished his life came with a remote control. Really all he needed was two buttons: a "pause" that gave him time to think, and something akin to the "SAP" button, which not only told him what he was acting like but would translate Scully-speak into English and give him a chance to say the right thing to his wife for a change. Maybe he was watching too much television. Carefully Mulder closed the back door, trying to be quiet as he slipped off his shoes and set the mail on the kitchen table. He took a tentative sniff and realized with relief that dinner was in the oven. A good sign, Mulder thought with a cautious smile; if Scully had felt up to making dinner, maybe it had been a good day. The kitchen was empty and the house quiet, so, shoes in hand, Mulder crept into the family room in search of his family. He found Scully on the couch, a blanket over her legs despite the first tentative almost-summer heat wave they were experiencing outside. "Hi," he said, bending to kiss her. She responded with a smile and a gentle hand on his neck. Another good sign, Mulder thought. "Good day?" he asked. Scully nodded, and Mulder caught a glimpse of a stack of newspapers on the floor beside the couch. He hadn't intentionally saved the copies of The Post that they'd received since Scully was missing; he simply hadn't found the time or energy to read them. He'd piled them up in the garage just to get them out of the way, and Scully had been slowly working her way through them since she'd returned home. "Anything good?" he asked, nodding at the orderly pile. Scully gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Not unless you count the so-called police raid on an old warehouse downtown." Mulder swallowed hard. Doggett had been unable to keep her story off the local news; both police and rescue squads had been involved, and supposedly a local news crew had gotten footage of the warehouse where Scully had been found. Mulder hadn't seen it, but Doggett assured him that Scully's name and picture had been kept out of the story, a tall tale Doggett had made up in the glare of the news crew's backlights and spun for the press. "Where's Will?" Mulder asked. "Upstairs," Scully said. He nodded and moved to head upstairs himself, to change out of his suit, but Scully's hand on his arm stopped him. "There's an envelope for you on the table." She nodded toward the end table near the front door. "Registered mail." Mulder nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He suspected he knew what the envelope contained; he'd gotten a call at work that afternoon telling him to expect this. Mulder tore the envelope open; scanned its contents, a single sheet of paper; and jammed the pages into his jacket pocket. "Well?" Scully asked. He sighed before he turned around and returned to the couch. Scully slid her feet to the floor, and he sat down beside her, then handed her the letter. "You seem upset," she commented after reading the page. Damn right I'm upset, Mulder thought. He'd never heard of anyone glad to receive a summons. But it wasn't the summons that upset him; it was where he was being summoned to. The case he and Dave had investigated in Arizona so many months ago was coming to trial, and both men were being called to testify. "I'll call the judge tomorrow," Mulder told Scully as she handed the letter back to him. "Maybe I can explain the circumstances and get him to agree to a taped testimony." "Circumstances?" Scully's voice was tight. "You're just out of the hospital," he began. "I've been home for weeks." "Ten days," Mulder clarified. He was already working at how he would explain it to the judge, that he couldn't leave his wife alone after everything that had happened, that she might be in danger, that she had a high-risk pregnancy and needed help caring for their son. "And I'm fine," Scully insisted. "Will and I are okay here by ourselves when you're at work. Go to Phoenix, Mulder; we'll be fine." At the sound of his name, the dog came trotting in from upstairs, his nose pushing at Scully's hip. Then Phoenix noticed Mulder, and he jumped at him, overjoyed that his entire family was now home. "Scully, it's okay. I'll just tell the judge--" "Tell the judge what?" she demanded. "About your poor, pregnant wife who can't possibly take care of herself? I watched your ass for over seven years, Mulder. I think I can handle two children, one of which is still in my uterus." "But..." "I'm also the woman who shot you," she reminded him. "Don't forget that." He stared down at the summons, then back up at Scully, whose eyes were flaring with indignation. For a minute he simply stared at her, at the familiar look of an angry Scully -- cheeks flushed, eyes bright, lips clasped tight together. He had missed that look; he had missed that Scully. Mulder felt his own anger flare up in reflex, but it was quickly squelched by the image that came into his mind: Scully lying in that warehouse, strapped to the examining table, her skin eerily pale. He didn't want to argue with her. "I just don't want anything to happen to you." Mulder's voice was soft and gentle, and he laid his hand on Scully's thigh to prove his noble intentions. "I can't lose you again." Immediately he could see the fight drain out of her. The muscles under his hand relaxed. "I know," she said. "And we'll be fine, Mulder. Isn't this exactly what we're trying to prevent with Will?" she reminded him. "The constant fear that he's going to lose one of us?" Of course she was right; they had even discussed it months ago, how they had to continue to live their lives without giving in to their son's fears, especially the fear that Mulder would leave them and not return. Was he doing the same thing as his son? Mulder wondered. Still, he had an uneasy feeling about leaving Scully and Will alone... "We'll be fine," Scully said again. "My mom'll be around in case of an emergency. And Phoenix will protect us," she added, and the panting puppy seemed to smile at her as she stroked his neck. Mulder opened his mouth, still working on an objection. "But what if you go into labor?" was all he could muster. Scully smiled indulgently. "Mulder, we still have months before we even have to start worrying about that," she assured him. "Go to Phoenix." He nodded mutely, watching as, once again, the dog pressed his nose eagerly against Scully's hip at the sound of his name. * * * * * Suzanne Sebberini disappeared on March 28 on her way home from softball practice. A runaway, the police claimed at first, telling her parents, Capitol Hill lobbyists who were half-crazy with worry about their only daughter, that she would be back soon, when the thrill wore off. That was before Suzanne's car, a brand-new Volkswagen Beetle bought for her sixteenth birthday, was found, stripped and abandoned on a country road several hours from her parents' home in Crystal City. After that, the police ran through the usual suspects: parents, boyfriend, even a girl that one of Suzanne's friends claimed envied the missing teen. But the interrogations proved fruitless, The Post reported, and by that time Suzanne had been missing for over a week. The Sebberinis taped a tearful plea to their daughter's kidnappers, begging for her safe return. The tape was aired on all the local news programs and a few non-locals, thanks to Suzanne's parents' influence. Four weeks later, Suzanne's body was found in an abandoned barn three miles from her car, a gunshot wound near her temple making her unrecognizable to all but the DNA technicians. The man who owned the barn was arrested the next day; his picture, taken as he was being led, handcuffed, out of his house, ran on the front page of that day's Post, beside Suzanne's tenth-grade school photo. Everyone thought, but no one gave voice to, the curious physical similarity between the suspect to Suzanne, both of them with the unique combination of white-blond hair and dark eyes. Dana Scully followed this case from beginning to end, perhaps because the papers had covered it so thoroughly due to the Sebberinis' influence in Washington. Or perhaps it was because Suzanne Sebberini had disappeared the very same day she had. Scully hadn't been looking for the story. She had been checking for a write-up of her own disappearance, actually, though she suspected, and rightly so, that she would not find one. Unlike Alice and Tony Sebberini, Fox Mulder knew that no plea to the public would bring his loved one back, and so Dana Scully's disappearance had remained quiet, discussed only within the walls of 717 Locus Street and the J. Edgar Hoover Building, and among a handful of confused students at Quantico. What did Dana Scully and Suzanne Sebberini have in common besides March 28? Nothing, Scully told herself: at sixteen, Suzanne was young enough to be her daughter. The girl was beautiful and popular, a cheerleader as well as the starting pitcher of her private high school school's softball team; in her memory, Dana Scully had been awkward and quiet, good in science and attracting only boys whose final sights were set on her sister. Suzanne's kidnapper, a stranger to her until March 28, was awaiting trial in a Virginia jail, while Scully's abductors were roaming free, perhaps roaming as closely as next door -- who knew? Dana Scully, already a mother, had been pregnant; but, until her murderer had had his way with her, Suzanne Sebberini had been a virgin. Suzanne's body had been discovered by a jogger trying out a new backroads route; Dana Scully had been found by her husband. And then there was the crucial difference: Dana Scully was still alive and breathing, while, according to The Post, the remains of Suzanne Sebberini had been cremated and freed over a beach near her family's Georgia vacation home during a private memorial service. Scully couldn't say precisely why her thoughts so often turned to Suzanne Sebberini. There but for the grace of God, her mind supplied in a voice that sounded eerily like her mother's. But she knew that was not all. What had happened to Suzanne Sebberini represented an evil even worse than that which had been perpetrated on Scully. This girl's murder had been random, her killer a stranger. Suzanne Sebberini's parents did everything right: lived in a safe neighborhood, taught Suzanne not to talk to strangers, provided their daughter with a cell phone just in case. But still Alice and Tony Sebberini had an empty spot around their dinner table, and in the pink bedroom at the end of the hall, and in their hearts. What kind of world is this? Scully wondered as she stared at the news program blaring out of the television. In what kind of world was a woman, an FBI agent nonetheless, abducted from her workplace; an innocent sixteen year old raped and mutilated beyond recognition; and an eight year old vanished from the living room of her own home, leaving behind only a twelve-year-old witness who would spend the rest of his life-- Yes, Scully thought, of course her thoughts returned, too, to Samantha Mulder, to another girl who couldn't be saved. Will was at Joy's for the afternoon, leaving Scully alone with the dog and her own thoughts. So she had been watching CNN all day, simultaneously entranced and disgusted by the evils of the world. War, famine, violence; even the sports highlights made her cringe as a huddle of soccer players went at it, fists and blood flying. Scully laid a protective hand on her belly and felt her daughter's gentle movements. What kind of world am I bringing this child into? she thought. A world where nobody was safe. A world where innocent sixteen year olds and not-so-innocent forty-five year olds were snatched from their families. Mulder had called her that morning, his voice slipping into a now-familiar whine when he apparently decided that her tone was sounded depressed. If she was depressed, Scully decided, she had earned it. She had lost months of her life, had had her body violated in some unknown way, and not for the first time. She tried to hide her feelings when Will was around, but since he had been at school and at Joy's all day, Scully had allowed herself the luxury of wallowing. The sound of the front door opening jarred Scully out of her reverie. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she imagined she could feel the adrenaline shooting through her veins. Scully cursed this newfound overactive startle response. Previously she had been calm under pressure, her heart rate even, her trigger finger steady. But since her abduction she'd startled at the most benign of sounds, the dog's claws on the kitchen floor, the toilet flushing, even the crack of the bat when Mulder and Will watched baseball on television. No longer could she fall back to sleep after Mulder's alarm clock blared in the morning, this new hyperactive awareness not allowing her to settle back into bed. "Thank you," a familiar voice called, and Scully fell back against the couch with relief. She glanced at the cable box, noting that it was actually ten minutes past the time she had expected Will home and that she had spent another afternoon lost in the maze of her thoughts. "Hi, Mom," Will called as he stepped into the family room. He dropped his jacket and backpack on the floor next to her, then squeezed beside his mother on the couch and leaned over for a kiss. "Hi, sweetie," she said, concentrating on emptying her mind of her previous thoughts, just in case. "Did you have fun at Joy's house?" Will nodded. "Her mom said maybe they can get a cat this summer. So me and Joy were looking up cat pictures on the Internet." "Mm hm," Scully said as she straightened the newspapers strewn on her lap into a pile. CNN droned on in the background, and for perhaps the sixth time that day Scully heard about genocide in Rwanda and conflict in the Middle East. She snatched the remote off the end table and clicked the television into silence. "Mommy?" Will's soft voice rose above the crinkling of the newspapers, and Scully turned in surprise at it; she had not been 'Mommy' in years. "What is it, Will?" she asked as he pressed against her. "Why aren't you happy to be home?" Awkwardly, Scully maneuvered so that she and Will were sitting side by side, hips touching. "I am," she insisted. "I am very happy to be home." Will pulled back from her and gave her a skeptical look. "Then why does it feel like you're sad?" Scully studied her son's earnest expression, the worried crease above his eyebrows. "I'm not--" she began, but then stopped. There was no use in trying to lie to Will, even to protect him. "Yes," she admitted, "I am sad sometimes." Scully's mind ran through a half-dozen explanations for her son, something that would make sense to the boy, something that he could not misunderstand to be about him or about Mulder. But the inevitable 'why?' did not come; Will only burrowed against her, his head resting against his mother's chest. Scully patted his head and said nothing, just trusted that her son could understand the secrets of her heart. Finally Will pulled back and gave her a shy smile. "I'm gonna make dinner," he announced. Scully chuckled. Was that her son's way of saying he was hungry? "What should we have?" she asked, moving to sit up. "No," Will insisted. "I'm gonna make dinner. For you." "Sweetie," Scully said gently, "I know you want to help, and I appreciate that. But you're too young to cook. I'll--" "No, I can cook! And I know what I'm going to make." And with that, Will leapt from the couch and ran into the kitchen. Scully pushed herself off the couch to follow him, but Will stuck his head back into the family room. "No, you stay there," he ordered. "*I'm* gonna cook dinner." So Scully settled back against the couch, a curious smile on her lips. She listened to the sounds in the kitchen, realizing that something was being microwaved and something taken from the refrigerator. A loud crash jolted Scully nearly off the couch cushion, but Will's call of "It's not broken!" made her smile as she tried to relax. Will's shoes squeaked against the floor as he dashed across the kitchen and down into the basement. A minute later, his feet pounded upstairs. After some time Will appeared in the family room, his t-shirt and face smudged with something dark red. He offered her his hand, and, with her son's help, Scully rose from the couch. Will led her into the dining room, and when she caught a glimpse of the table he had set for them, Scully's smile stretched across her face. Two pieces of her mom's spinach lasagna, Scully's favorite -- dug out of the freezer, no doubt -- had been served onto mismatched plates. In the center of the table sat another plate, this one piled with toasted peanut butter sandwiches. They were crooked and oozing peanut butter over the sides, and one was capped with the burnt heel of the loaf. But they looked delicious. "There was no salad left," Will explained sheepishly. "But there was dessert." He pointed to two small dishes that sat near the center of the table. Scully stepped close enough to see that they contained pineapple sherbet, already soft and melty, just the way they both liked it. When he was a baby, Scully used to dip his teething rings into her own bowl of sherbet, a treat Will had loved. Then she noticed the centerpiece, two electric candles, the kind they set up in the windows at Christmastime. So that explained Will's trip to the basement, Scully thought. "Is it okay to use those?" Will asked uncertainly when he caught her staring at the candles. A real candle had been pushed to the other side of the table; Will was not allowed to play with matches. Scully pulled Will into the strongest hug she had given in weeks. "It's perfect," she told him, looking over her son's head to survey the collection of food. His favorite and hers, and a childhood staple that never failed to make her feel safe and loved. "It's exactly what I needed." * * * * * End Part 25. Continued in Part 26. Title: Song of Experience (26/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * His mom tugged another pile of cardboard boxes out of the hall and into the study, then sat down with a big sigh. "Here." She pushed a couple boxes Will's way. "And remember," she reminded him, "if you aren't sure whether to keep it or not, put it in the pile by the desk and I'll look at it." "I know, Mom," he repeated for the thousandth time that afternoon. After driving around all morning to find boxes, Will and his mom had spent the afternoon packing up the study. His mom wanted to have everything boxed and labeled and ready for his dad to move into the basement when he got back from Arizona. Will pulled the top drawer out of the desk, then sat down next to it, running his fingers over the collection of pens and paperclips and crumpled old envelopes. He found a small wooden box shoved in the corner of the drawer and unearthed it from an avalanche of blank note cards and CD-ROMs. He set the box on his lap and lifted the lid. Inside, lying in a nest of folded, dog-eared papers, was a photograph. A little girl, blond hair and big eyes, smiling, wearing a party hat and sitting in front of a birthday cake. Will turned the picture over. "Emily," the back said. "Mom?" His mom shot a distracted glance at the drawer. "You don't have to empty that, Will," she told him. "Dad can carry it down just like that and put it back in the desk after it's moved into the basement." "Mom, who's Emily?" His mom's head snapped up, and this time she focused on the photograph he held between his dirty fingers. He looked up at her and the expression on her face was nothing he'd ever seen before: surprise, sadness, even maybe fear. Finally she pushed aside a pile of books to scoot closer to him. She held out one hand and Will passed her the picture. "This is Emily," she said softly, running a fingernail along the worn corner of the photo. "But who is she?" he asked. She looked sort of familiar, and he wondered if maybe she was a cousin. His mom came from a big family and had lots of cousins. Maybe he had met Emily at his grandma's house for Christmas or her annual Fourth of July picnic. There were always random relatives there, people who liked to squeeze Will's cheek and squeal that he looked like his mother. He waited what felt like forever, feeling her weighing reason and common sense and a hefty dose of other emotions. He got a vague sense of before being banished from her thoughts. "Tell me?" "Emily was... She would've been your sister." One eyebrow raised in confusion, Will looked down at his mom's belly, then back up at her. "Not this sister." She said as she rubbed her hand over her abdomen. "Your older sister." "I have an older sister?" She nodded. "Tell me," Will said when, once again, he couldn't pick up anything more from her. Lots of emotions, but no facts. No story, and he knew there had to be one in there somewhere. "It happened a long time ago," she started. "Before I was born?" "Yes." "Before Dad?" he pressed. "After," she said. "It was after I met your dad." Will nodded eagerly for her to continue. After what felt like an hour, she did. "This wasn't the first time I disappeared, Will. A few years before you were born, I was missing for several weeks." "You were?" Will asked. "What happened?" "I don't remember much," she told him. "But that's not the important part. I was sick when I came back, sort of like this time, but I didn't know why until a few years later." "Why?" "You remember when we talked about sex, Will," she prompted, and he suddenly felt really sick. They weren't going to talk about *that* again, were they? It wasn't the most fun thing he'd ever done, and he could tell that his mom hadn't enjoyed it so much either. Plus, Joy had told him that it should've been his dad that told him about sex, anyway. That's how it worked, she had said, because they were both boys. So not only did the subject make Will feel all icky, but it also made him feel cheated. "Yeah," he said slowly. "And I told you about sperm cells and egg cells?" He nodded. "Well, one of the reasons why I was so sick when I came back was because they took all of my... well, they took some of my egg cells." Will's brow wrinkled as he considered this. He knew that egg cells were kept in women's ovaries, deep down inside their bodies. He didn't want to think about how someone would get them out without the woman knowing about it. "And then, a few years later, I found out that they used one of those egg cells. They used it to make a little girl." "Emily," Will reached for the picture, which his mom tilted toward him so he could see it again. She did look a little like his mom when she was little, Will figured, remembering some of his grandma's old photos, but not really anything like him. Except, maybe her eyes... "Where is she?" "She was sick, Will," his mom explained. "Very sick." "What's wrong with her?" he asked, suddenly feeling very afraid. His mom had disappeared and came back sick, and then this little girl -- his sister, sort of -- was sick... Maybe he was sick, too; maybe that was why he could feel things about people. Maybe Emily was like him, and... "She had anemia. Autoimmune hemolytic anemia. Her body was making antibodies that latched onto her blood cells and destroyed them. She was very sick, and the treatment wasn't working." His mom's voice was a whisper. "She died, Will." "What happened when you found her?" he pressed. "How old was she? Did she have another mom and dad? Were you her mom?" His mom sighed softly, her hand again rubbing small circles against her stomach. "No," she said. "I wasn't her mom, at least not the way I'm your mom. She was four years old when I met her, and she had a mom and dad who were dead. I was trying to help her, to get her the right kind of medicine to make her better, but she was just too sick." "How old would she be?" "Fourteen," his mom said softly, almost like she didn't quite believe it. "She would be fourteen." "Did she... was Dad her dad, too?" Will asked. "I mean, her biological dad?" "Will, I don't know who-- No," she corrected. "Your dad was not her father." Will nodded, waiting and watching his mom as she stared down at Emily's picture and kept her hand pressed against her belly. Finally she looked up at him, her eyes bright and shiny, and set the picture down on her knee. She held her hand out to Will, and he scooted over to sit against her. He tried to lay his head down on her lap, like he used to, but that was getting harder to do. He could feel the hardness of her stomach against the back of his skull, and then his sister gave a little flutter, kicking him in the head. Will smiled as his mom's hand moved off her belly and onto his head, gently stroking his hair. "I've wanted to tell you about her for a long time," his mom said softly. "But I wasn't sure how to explain it to you. I wish she could've been your sister, Will." * * * * * The boxes were packed, but Scully was still fussing around the study, making sure each carton was sealed and labeled. It wasn't a long journey down to the basement, to what she figured was the rightful place for this stuff anyway, things that had filled the subterranean office of the X-Files so many years ago. Right now, the ambience in the study certainly fit that of their former office. The sun had set long ago, but Scully hadn't wanted to haul herself off the floor just to turn on the overhead light. Instead, she'd exhausted her reach plugging in the desk lamp that sat beside her on the floor. The light was bright, but not meant for a room this size. So the empty corners were shadowed, mountains of boxes piled like an obstacle course, furniture stacked near the door. Will had gone to bed almost an hour ago, after dozing off in her arms, his head resting on her lap. Scully had let him sleep there for a while, until her legs started to feel tingly and she needed to switch positions. She felt an odd sort of weight lifting off her as she told her son about Emily, the not-quite-daughter that she'd been keeping a secret from him. Scully wasn't sure why she hadn't told Will about Emily before. Certainly she'd shared plenty of other disturbing bits from her and Mulder's past, though she always tried to spin them in a way to make them less frightening. But Will often sensed that she had left something out and, always his father's son, he would press her for the missing bits of her story, squealing with delight and fear at the scary parts. Scully felt free in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. Living with Will, she was constantly censoring not only her words but her very thoughts, not allowing herself to ponder anything she wasn't willing to explain to her son. Of course, over the years she'd stolen time for herself to think, time when she was lying in bed at night or showering in the morning, even downtime at work. It was then that she could let her mind roam free, let herself remember private things, memories just for her: the way the light had played on Mulder's face the first night they made love; the grief of holding Emily's body in her arms, the death of what she thought to be her last chance at motherhood; the experience of her first abduction... Scully hadn't realized the toll it had taken on her over the years, suppressing so many painful memories. She had always been one to hold things inside, to turn them over in her mind like a jagged rock, until she had mapped out the painful pieces. For years she had not been able to do this, in an attempt to keep her thoughts from hurting her son, and now Scully was surprised at how free she felt just by releasing the weight of Emily, the daughter who had lived in Scully's memories but never in her body and only briefly in her life. The CD skipped onto the next track, and Scully reached down to where the portable stereo sat on the floor, cranking up the volume. She pushed herself to her feet and tried to dance along with the music but, as with so many other activities, she found the bulge of her daughter to be in the way. So she stepped away from the CD player, swaying gently, singing along, 'Don't turn on the lights 'cause I don't wanna see. Mama told me not to come. Mama told me not to come. That ain't the way to have fun. No. Uh-uh.' She moved along with the music, feeling the baby stir and kick her for the sudden change of pace. Scully grabbed the dust rag off the doorknob and headed for the window, brushing the cloth over the dusty sill. Smiling, she pressed her other hand to her abdomen. This is what free is, Scully thought, and she received a sharp kick in response. The whistle, a perfect match for the pitches in the song, came from the direction of the hall, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Mulder," exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" He hadn't been due back from Arizona until tomorrow morning; she and Will were going to meet him at the airport, and Scully was already planning the menu for a special welcome home lunch. "Our flight tomorrow was cancelled, but the airlines offered us the last two seats on their final flight out to Dulles this afternoon." He crossed the room and stopped just in front of her, but did not reach for her. Neither did she reach for him. Instead, she just stared. He must have come straight from court; he was still wearing a wrinkled suit, though his tie had been removed. And he looked exhausted, the darkness under his eyes accentuated by the shadow of evening stubble on his cheeks. "How did it go?" she asked. "It went," he said with a shrug. "You should've called; we would've picked you up." He shook his head. "I wanted it to be a surprise." Scully glanced toward the hall. "And Will's already in bed..." "I'll still be here in the morning," Mulder told her. He held out his hand, and when she took it, he pulled her up against him. "You okay?" he asked tentatively. Scully nodded against his chest. They had left things up in the air, never having discussed Mulder's reticence to go to Arizona and leave her alone with Will. Of course they had spoken since then, the next morning while driving to the airport and three times on the phone, but each time Will had been there, hovering, preventing a more serious discussion. "I feel good," she told him, relishing the soft caress of his fingers on her waist and back. He leaned down and spoke into her ear. "I'm glad," he said. "And I'm sorry." "Sorry?" "I know you can take care of yourself, as well as anyone else I know." But I couldn't, Scully thought. I was outnumbered and overmuscled and not even armed. But she said nothing, just waited for Mulder to continue. "What worries me," he said, "are the things you can't -- no one can -- defend against. But I don't want to live that way, running scared, teaching our children to always be afraid." "Do you think... Do you think we should go away?" This had been Scully's worst fear ever since she woke in the hospital and realized what had happened: that they would need to leave Washington, to live under assumed names, to spend their lives on the run... for her daughter to never know where she came from. It was not the life she wanted for them, especially for her children, and so she had not let herself think about it. Not when Will was around, at least, which had proved to be most of the time. "No," Mulder said. He pulled back slightly and met her gaze. "Scully, I think this, what happened to you, this just proves that they can get to us anywhere. Look where they took you from: not from home, not out of your car or at your mom's. They took you from the safest, most secure place you go. "They can find us anywhere." Mulder moved his hand up to the back of her neck, and Scully shuddered. "I think we're safest here, with the backing of our friends and family, not to mention the Bureau and Agent Doggett. Now that Agent Doggett understands..." Scully nodded. She was still getting used to the fact that Will had let John in on their secret. At first, after Mulder had told her, she'd felt betrayed that her son would make such a decision without her. Later had come the guilt that he'd had to do it at all. "And, whatever happened -- whatever they did -- I think the important thing is that you and the baby are both fine." "Just like when Will was born," she added. She and Monica had run to the furthest, most obscure place they could find, but still it wasn't far enough. They'd come and They'd seen what it was They needed to see, and, in the end, They'd left. Mulder hummed his agreement, then reached away from her for the CD player, to replay the last track. Scully smiled as the music again filled the air, the bright twang of the guitar and the steady drumbeat. She lost herself in the rhythm and in the feel of Mulder around her, his warmth and familiar scent holding her. "'I've seen so many things I ain't never seen before,'" she sang when the line came up, one of her favorites. "'I don't know what it is, but I don't wanna see no more,'" Mulder responded, more reciting than singing. "Three Dog Night, Scully?" he asked as the chorus repeated again and again. She nodded against his chest. "I used to sing to Will when he was a baby," she said. "Joy to the World." "I seem to recall that particular selection from a cold Florida forest." She grinned up at him, and he swayed them gently to the music as the next track started. "And for Will's sake, I hope he's as tone deaf as you are if you insisted on regular performances." She swatted his chest gently. "Get used to it," she said. "I'm brushing up." They swayed together again, both caught up in music and memories and hopes for the future. Scully could feel the baby pressing against her tight quarters, grasping and kicking. And, by the smile on his face when he looked down at her, she knew that Mulder could feel it, too. "I wasn't sure you remembered that," she continued after a minute. He smiled. "And I also remember that you chickened out on the second verse, Scully," he said. She raised her eyebrows, and he grinned. "'If I were the king of the world, Tell you what I'd do, I'd throw away the bombs and the cars and the wars--'" "'And make sweet love to you,'" she finished softly. "Well, after your clear disdain for 'wrestling,' I figured I wouldn't press my luck." He chuckled, then pulled back to spin her in a slow circle. "'One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do,'" he sang. "'Two can be as bad one. It's the loneliest number since the number one.'" They swayed for another minute, and then she tilted her head up to speak the lyrics as close as she could get to his ear. "'It's just no good anymore since you went away. Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday.'" "I think that's my line," he said. "I think it's both our lines," she said, and thought to herself, But hopefully not anymore. * * * * * Five Across: Carson McCullers's "Heart," 3 words. "A Lonley Hunter." Scully smiled at the carefully penciled-in letters that filled half the boxes. Will wasn't half-bad with the puzzle, she mused, but he could still use some work on his printing. And his spelling, she thought as she patted down the bedstand for the pen she knew Mulder kept there. It was nearly 10:00 in the morning and Scully felt decidedly decadent, still in bed, flipping through the newspaper. Yesterday's newspaper, since she hadn't yet ventured farther from her warm sheets than the bathroom. Scully idly scanned the comics pages, finally picking out the crossword puzzle. "Are you sleeping?" a tentative voice asked as the door squeaked open a few inches. "You can come in, Will," she called, pushing herself into a seated position. The door swung open then and her son came in, still in his pajamas. "Happy Mother's Day," Will said as he crawled up into the bed with her, settling himself in the lingering warmth on Mulder's side. He leaned over and kissed her. "Dad said I had to wait till you were awake to come in. He said you needed your sleep and that we could bring your breakfast up later." "Thank you, sweetheart," Scully said, choosing to ignore the familiar overprotectiveness of her husband and son in favor if a quiet morning to herself. Will placed his hand on her belly. "Is she awake?" "She's been pretty quiet this morning," Scully said. Thankfully, she thought; so far, this baby kept Will's and Mulder's hours, waking early in the morning and staying up until late at night. Scully directed Will's hand toward the last place she had felt a kick, early this morning when she awoke as Mulder slipped out of bed to let the dog out. "I think she's going to be another bad sleeper." "Like me." He smiled proudly. "And Dad." They waited for a minute, feeling nothing, and then Will's hand slipped away. "I have a list," he said, reaching into the pocket of his pajama bottoms to hand her a crumpled piece of paper. Scully nodded but didn't take it. "Let's hear it," she said finally. "Okay. First is Lily." Lily. She weighed the name against the heaviness of her daughter that was pressing solidly against her abdomen. Not bad, Scully thought. "Lily," she repeated aloud, then shook her head; it sounded too much like 'Scully' for her tastes. "What else?" "Um, okay," Will said, scanning his list. "What about Hermione?" Suddenly she recognized the genesis of Lily. "We are not naming this baby after any characters out of Harry Potter," she scolded her son. This was not like naming the dog; her daughter was not going to be named after a prepubescent witch. Will frowned as he crossed off down to the halfway point of the page. "Or Star Wars," she added. "Come on, Mom," he whined as he flipped to the next sheet. "There are some good names there." "Will..." "Okay, okay..." Will sighed heavily and poked his pencil through a hole in the notebook paper. "Aah, sleeping beauty wakes." Both Scully and Will turned to see Mulder standing in the doorway, that morning's edition of the newspaper and a single red rose in his hand. He set both onto the bedstand, then leaned toward the head of the bed for a good-morning kiss. "Happy Mother's Day," he said as his hand traced over her stomach. "Having a sleepover, are we?" She smiled. "Will is sharing his latest crop of baby names." "Aah," Mulder sighed, settling in at the foot of the bed. He lay on his side and turned to face his son. "Lay 'em on me, kiddo." Will skimmed his list of names, then, with a glance at Scully, finally picked one. "What about Lily?" he tried. "Or Hermione." "Hermione?" Mulder repeated. "You actually want to curse your own sister with the name Hermione?" Will shrugged. "She's one of my favorite characters in--" "Let me guess," Mulder said, grinning. "In Harry Potter." Will nodded. "Will," Scully said. "I am not going to have a daughter who wants to be referred to by her last name because she hates her first name." Mulder chuckled. "Been there, done that." He swooped down to grab their well-worn baby name book off the floor where he'd tossed it in frustration the night before. Scully reached toward the bedstand for Mulder's reading glasses and handed them to him, then watched Will scrutinize his list, wondering where besides Harry Potter and Star Wars he had searched for names. "Did Melissa have a middle name?" Mulder slipped a finger into the book to keep his place as he looked up at her. "No. No middle name," she told him. "But her Confirmation name was Anne." His eyes lit up. "What a coincidence," he said. Not quite as coincidental as all the Wiliams sprinkled in their family trees, she thought. "Samantha's middle name was Anne... What about Anne? Or Anna?" "But that's so, so... normal," Will despaired, flopping onto his back in the nest of Mulder's pillows. Anne. Scully weighed the name. Anna Mulder. It wasn't bad, she thought -- certainly better than Hermione -- but she wasn't sure she wanted to name another child after a relative she would never know. After someone so closely connected to their work and the tragedies they had suffered because of it. This was a new start... their second chance, Mulder had called it when they found out she was pregnant. "What about Hannah?" she suggested. "Hannah," Mulder said. "Chaninah." "What?" Scully asked. "Chaninah," he repeated. "In Hebrew means 'mercy,' a joyful, generous mercy." Scully smiled. A joyful, generous mercy; that was perfect. She turned to her son. "Will?" He shrugged. "I guess it's okay," he said. "Hannah." "Hannah Mulder," Scully tested. All three nodded solemnly, and it was decided: Hannah Mulder. Finally, Scully thought. They had been tossing names back and forth for the last several weeks. Between Will's predilection for literary names and Mulder's casual confidence that they'd figure something out in time, Scully had been scrambling for a name they all liked. Hannah Mulder, she repeated again, smiling. Will reached for the name book. "Now we need a middle name." Scully groaned and flopped back onto bed. * * * * * End Part 26. Continued in Part 27. Title: Song of Experience (27/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Camden Yards Baltimore, Maryland "Look! They're showing the birthdays!" Will jumped to his feet, his eyes riveted to the scoreboard. Finally it appeared: "Happy Birthday, Will Mulder! Age 8." When the scoreboard switched to the next greeting, Will turned around, beaming at his parents and Joy. "This is my most favorite birthday ever. Thank you," he exclaimed, hugging his mom and dad in turn. So far his birthday had been great: presents that morning, then picking up Joy and heading to the ballpark. They'd eaten lunch there -- hot dogs and peanuts and ice cream -- and his mom hadn't said a word about the fat content or their lack of vegetables. And to top it off, the Orioles were playing the Cleveland Indians, Will's very favorite team, and the Indians were even winning! His dad chuckled as Will returned to his seat and Joy handed back to him his new baseball mitt, a birthday gift from his mom and dad. "I'm glad you're having fun," his dad said. "Happy birthday, sweetie." His mom stood and stretched her arms over her head, then looked down at them, one hand guarding her eyes from the sun. "I'm heading to the ladies' room. Anyone need anything from the concession stand?" "Again?" Will asked. His mom had already gone to the bathroom twice, and it was only the seventh inning. His mom narrowed her eyes at him, but her lips were quirked into a half-smile. "Yes. Again. And I don't want to hear a word out of either of you." She pointed in turn to Will and his dad, daring them to say anything. Will smiled but said nothing. It was just so easy to tease his mom now, between her hourly trips to the bathroom and the way her belly button poked out of her stomach. "I hafta go, too, Dr. Scully," Joy told his mom. So Will watched the two of them head off, hand in hand, to the bathroom, then, after a glance at the field to make sure that play hadn't resumed, he turned to his dad. "This really is my most favorite birthday ever," Will told him. "And not just 'cause of the game, either," Will continued. He'd gone to baseball games for his birthday before, but never had he brought a friend along. Never had he brought his father along. "You're here, and Joy, and... and Mom's here, too." Will had never thought this last thing would be so important. Of course he'd always loved his mother, but before she'd disappeared maybe he'd taken her a little for granted. All his life she'd been there, and he'd never even considered that this wouldn't always be so. "It's a special day," his dad agreed. "Eight is a very important age." Will looked at his dad uncertainly. "Well... You get a little sister in a couple months. You have a friend to play with this summer. You start third grade next year..." His dad's voice trailed off, but he could hear what his dad wasn't saying, what Will already knew: the other reason that eight was an important age for the Mulders. Will smiled at his dad. "I just wish Grandma could've come." While his grandmother loved baseball, she preferred to watch it from the comfort of her own sofa. The seats were too uncomfortable, she claimed, and they aggravated her arthritis. But they were going to his grandma's house afterwards, for dinner and birthday cake. "I'm sure she's watching the game on TV," his dad said. "Maybe she'll see us." "Maybe," Will said, and he and his dad turned their attention back to the field, where the players were taking their places. A strike-out and a ground-rule double later, his mom and Joy were back. His mom sighed as she dropped into her seat, then rubbed her belly. "Is she kicking?" Will asked, automatically reaching out his hand. He loved to feel his sister kick; it reminded him that she was a real live person in there, not just something that made his mom's back hurt and her feet swell, and made her go to the bathroom every ten minutes. His mom nodded, and Will felt a few kicks before losing interest. A roar from the crowd pulled his attention back to the game, until he heard a soft, uncertain voice. "Can I feel?" It was Joy, and she was staring at Will's mom's stomach with an awed look on her face. Will held his breath as he waited for his mom's answer. He knew she didn't like strangers touching her just because of the baby; she had complained about it during their last trip to the grocery store, when the elderly woman in line behind them had felt her belly without even asking permission. But Will hoped she'd say yes to Joy. While she acted normal around him, Joy was still very quiet around his parents, like she wasn't completely sure she could trust them. Will knew that if Joy was asking this, it was because she wanted very much to feel the baby. "Sure," his mom said, and Will gave her a smile of thanks. His mom took Joy's hand and pressed it to her side. After a minute, Joy's face lit up with wonder. "I felt it! It was like a little kick," she said. "That's so cool!" Will's mom smiled at her and started to push back in her seat, but Joy's hand remained on her abdomen. The expression on Joy's face changed, her eyes growing wide. Then she snatched her hand back, and Will's mom stared down at her, a strange look on her face as she cupped her belly with her own hands. "Did that hurt?" Joy asked in a soft voice. "No," his mom answered. "No, it doesn't hurt. Not unless she kicks my full bladder." But Will knew that wasn't what his mom was feeling. Maybe it hadn't hurt her, but Will could feel a power coursing through her, buzzing and thrumming like nothing he'd ever felt from anyone else before. And, he knew, it was nothing his mom had felt, either. Will also knew that that was not what Joy had meant. He didn't know what, but something had happened, something Joy had done or maybe just felt, and he didn't understand it, either. Not really. But Joy was quiet, and the four of them turned their attention back to the game, to the tune of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," which was blaring from the speakers now that it was the seventh inning stretch. Will watched his dad stand, then offer his mom a hand. She slowly got to her feet, then turned her back to him, and he massaged her shoulders and lower back. Will took advantage of his parents' distraction to turn to Joy. "What did you feel?" he asked. For a minute she just stared at him, and wordlessly Will begged her to say something before the song ended and his parents sat down again. "I think your sister is like us," she answered finally. "How do you know?" She looked over at his mom, still standing in front of Will's dad. Now her head was dipped, letting her ponytail fall to the side and exposing the faint pink scar on the back of her neck. 'I was injured on a case,' she'd told Will when he'd asked her about it in the past. But now, after she told him about Emily and the first time she'd disappeared, he knew what it concealed. "I just do," Joy said. "Mom said we won't know that until after the baby's born," Will told her. She said nothing, just stared at him. But he knew what she was thinking: Will opened his mouth to press her, to ask again how she knew, but the music was ending and his parents were sitting down, and he didn't want them to overhear. All he could do was think the question at her, hard and fierce, and hope she would pick it up. But either she did not, or she chose not to acknowledge him, because Joy didn't reveal anything else, either in word or in thought. Will tried to pay attention to the game, but he found that he was distracted. Even an appearance by his favorite pitcher, brought in for a save situation in the bottom of the ninth, couldn't earn his complete attention. Joy said the baby was like them, that she just knew it after touching his mom's stomach only once. Well, Will had been feeling the baby kick for months, and he didn't know anything. A faint tinge of jealousy dug at him. *He* should be the one to know that kind of thing; it was his sister, after all. It wasn't fair that Joy could feel something and he couldn't. Will's mind was still caught on these thoughts as the game ended and, after one last pit stop at the ladies' room, when they headed to the car. His parents glanced at him and Joy, clearly concerned at their protracted silence, but they said nothing. His mom and dad thought he and Joy were tired, Will knew, and his mom was sure that the bright sun and junk food they'd consumed hadn't helped matters. But that wasn't it, Will thought as they finally reached his dad's car. He and Joy climbed into the back seat and buckled up, each resting their heads against the plush cushions, inches apart. Will still held his glove in his hand, and he bent it the way his dad had taught him, trying to mold the leather to the shape of his hand. In the front seat his parents talked quietly, discussing the best route to his grandma's house in the post-game traffic and Phoenix's newest tricks and the missing-persons case his dad had just been assigned to at work. Their conversation was tempered with soft smiles and light brushes of his mom's hand against his dad's knee as he drove, and Will closed his eyes, feeling warm and safe and loved. Suddenly Will felt a twinge, a tug of his attention over to Joy, who was regarding him with what he could only describe as longing. She said nothing, but Will had no trouble understanding what she was thinking. * * * * * 717 Locust Street Georgetown June, 2009 Scully opened her eyes to see Will's head hovering just over her belly, so close to touching that she could almost feel his body heat coming off him in waves. His eyes opened almost as soon as hers did, his neck snapping around so he could meet her gaze. "Sorry, Mom." He gave her a wistful smile, and she could feel his head moving away from her. So Scully reached down to thread her fingers through her son's hair and press him gently against her belly. "What are you doing?" she asked as she felt the baby kick against the new weight of her brother's head. "Listening," he said. "Listening?" She felt the slow movement of his nod against her stomach. "Listening to what?" "To my sister." His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as though he were afraid she might be angry with him. "What did you hear?" "Nothing," he admitted. Scully slipped her hand down to the base of his skull, her fingers grazing over the smooth skin of his neck, and guided his head up to look at her. She struggled to sit up a little on the couch, pushing onto the floor the medical journal she'd fallen asleep reading. She tucked her feet up under her to make room for Will on the couch. "What were you hoping to hear?" she asked. He shrugged. "I dunno." "You'll hear her soon enough," Scully told him. "In a few weeks she'll be crying so loud you'll be begging us to let you stay over at Grandma's so you can get some sleep." Will smiled. "Really?" "Really. And then it won't be long before she's talking and singing and yelling at you to stay out of her room." He nodded, looking away. Finally he met her eyes again. "But I wanted to hear something now." "I know." Scully could sympathize. She, too, was eager to see her daughter. Even though she was still several weeks away from her due date, she felt as though her pregnancy was taking forever. She hadn't felt this anxious with Will but, then again, she'd had other things on her mind through much of her first pregnancy, between Mulder's abduction, his death and burial, and his resurrection and rocky road back to real life. And then there were her worries about the baby's health... "Do you want to get my stethoscope?" she offered. He had listened to the baby's heartbeat more than once with her stethoscope, sometimes for minutes on end, moving the end of the scope around the circumference of her belly to find the perfect spot. "No," Will said. "That's not what I was trying to hear." * * * * * End Part 27. Continued in Part 28. Title: Song of Experience (28/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * Georgetown Memorial Hospital Georgetown July, 2009 The emergency room was surprisingly calm. This was in stark contrast to the turmoil coursing through Fox Mulder's every cell. Running on adrenaline and pure, gut-wrenching fear; he dashed through the automatic doors and glanced around manically in search of someone in uniform. A scrub-clad figure walked by, and Mulder grabbed the person's arm. "Help, I need help," he panted. The woman nodded calmly, as if she were used to such urgent pleas from frenzied strangers. "What do you need, sir?" "Are you a doctor?" Mulder asked, sizing up the petite woman, who looked to be just barely older than Will. "A nurse," she corrected. "Now what happened?" "My wife." His breath hitched, and when Mulder realized he was still clutching the woman's uniform, he let go. "My wife's in labor." The nurse glanced around, and then her gaze returned to him. "Where's your wife, sir?" "The car," he said. "She's in the car." Mulder jerked his thumb toward the doors, and the nurse hurried over behind him. His car was parked just outside the ER, the driver's door open and emergency brake lights flashing. He yanked open the passenger's side door to reveal a perturbed Scully, eyes narrowed and one hand resting casually against her belly. The nurse shot him a dubious look. "You're in labor, ma'am?" Scully chuffed at that and shook her head, grasping the car to give her enough leverage to stand. Pushing past the nurse, Mulder reached for her arm, which she snatched away from him. "Really, Mulder," she insisted, as she had during the entire ride to the hospital. "I'm fine. It's nothing." After a glance at her obviously mistaken and greatly overreacting husband, she sighed and shook her head at the nurse. "I'm not in labor." But the woman was eyeing Scully's belly with obvious suspicion. "How far along are you, ma'am?" "Thirty-five weeks," Mulder answered, only to be rewarded by twin looks of irritation from both Scully and the nurse. "And you've been having contractions?" With her eyes trained in a death-stare on Mulder, daring him to say anything, Scully nodded. "I know it's early," she said, "but I'm sure they're just Braxton-Hicks. Nothing to worry about." The nurse nodded, but nevertheless motioned for a passing orderly to bring a wheelchair out to the car. "You're probably right, but why don't we get a doctor to take a look anyway? Since you're here," she added. Scully shot another narrow-eyed gaze at Mulder. "Since I'm here," she said heavily, and let the nurse help her into the wheelchair. Mulder moved to follow them inside, but the nurse turned back, one arm held out. "Why don't you move your car, sir?" she suggested. "There's a parking lot for ER patients just off to your right. I'll take you to your wife when you get back," she promised at the dubious look on Mulder's face. He nodded, watched the nurse wheel Scully inside, then dashed around to the driver's side of the car. He got in and slammed the door, feeling some satisfaction in the sound, and thrust the car out of park, heading for the lot. He knew Scully was pissed at him for insisting on bringing her to the hospital. But she'd woken up from an afternoon nap with a new cramping sensation in her belly, and when she'd mentioned off-handedly to her mother that this feeling was different from anything she'd felt with Will, Mulder had immediately dashed upstairs for her hospital bag, which she'd only just packed the previous night. 'Can't hurt to be prepared,' she'd said as he teased her about anal retentive tendencies and Type A personalities. Worst-case scenarios flashed through Mulder's mind as he drove too quickly through the parking lot. It was too early for labor, that much he knew. Babies were supposed to come at forty weeks, give or take a few days, not a few weeks. And certainly not over a month. He scoured his mind for other possible explanations. Indigestion, maybe; they'd had spicy Chinese food for dinner the previous night. Or perhaps it was just stress; Scully had certainly had enough of that in the past several months. Or sex, Mulder realized with a sinking feeling. Scully's doctor had yet to forbid 'judicious sexual activity,' and they'd made love just the previous night. Maybe they hadn't been 'judicious' after all, Mulder feared as he jogged back into the ER. Maybe they'd been foolhardy. Reckless. Stupid. Rash. Irresponsible. As Mulder's mind ran through his mental thesaurus, he surveyed the crowded ER, searching for the nurse who'd taken Scully away. Instead, he found himself face to face with Mary Speake. "Hello, Mulder," the doctor said. "I hear Dana's giving us a little scare." "But how did...?" The doctor just smiled. "I was upstairs, attending to another patient, when I was paged down to the ER. What happened?" Mulder followed Dr. Speake to the nurses' station, and then to one of the curtained-off areas down the hall. "Scully says it's just Braxton-Hicks contractions, but it's early," he said needlessly. "Is it too early?" "Let's just see what's going on first," Dr. Speake said. She stopped at the curtain and turned to Mulder, giving him a stern look. "Didn't I tell you two to call me if Dana experienced any early contractions?" Mulder nodded, dimly remembering that order from Scully's last appointment. He patted his jeans pockets and realized that he didn't have his cell phone with him. "Sorry." Dr. Speake gave him a brief smile. "Understandable," she said. "Just don't let it happen again. Let's see what we're dealing with." "Okay, Dana," Dr. Speake said as she pulled back the curtain in the corner room, if one could call the small, cramped, area a room; Scully, the nurse, and the wheelchair nearly filled the tiny space. Scully was sitting on the bed, already changed into a hospital gown. "Did you check her yet?" the doctor asked. The nurse shook her head. "When they said you were in the building and headed down here, I thought I'd let you do the honors." "So you're experiencing contractions?" Dr. Speake asked, and Scully nodded. "How far apart?" "They're not regular," Scully said, huffing loudly as she settled back against the headboard. Mulder moved around to the head of the bed, adjusting pillows until Scully batted his hand away in irritation. "But my amniotic sac broke when I was changing into the gown." Her voice held some disappointment, and both the doctor and nurse lapsed into a significant silence as Dr. Speake rolled a stool over to the foot of Scully's bed. Mulder glanced back and forth between Scully and her doctor. "What's that mean?" Dr. Speake said nothing as she set took her place at the foot of the bed. Gently she eased apart Scully's knees, and Mulder felt a small hand clench around his as the doctor began her examination. "Scully?" he pressed. "It means we can't stop the labor," she told him, turning to face him, her face tight. "Once the amniotic sac's gone, we have to continue with labor or else risk infection." * * * * * Will figured that he'd been in more hospitals in the last few months than ever before in his life. He hadn't even been born in a hospital, just had a pit stop at one on his way back to Washington, according to his mom. But now, after his dad's return and his mom's lengthy hospitalization, he was an old pro. He walked proudly through the long hall, his grandma gripping his hand too tightly for comfort. His grandma had been scared ever since his dad phoned from the hospital to say that, yes, the baby was coming and, yes, Will and his grandma should come to the hospital now. She hadn't said anything, but his grandma had bustled around the house, wondering what to bring, who to call, even which route to take to the hospital. Will had been worried, too. His sister was coming early, and he knew from his mom's medical books that this was dangerous for the baby. Now, with his mind clouded with fear, Will couldn't remember the statistics, but he knew they weren't good. And his grandmother knew this, too; Will had caught her quietly, frantically chanting the Hail Mary as she hunted for her car keys. The door to his mom's hospital room was open, and Will and his grandma were greeted by the site of his mom's bare back as she sat hunched over the bed, her head resting on his dad's shoulders. Her hospital gown gaped open in the back, and her tattoo stood dark against the pale pink of her skin. "That's it, Scully," his dad was saying in a calm voice. "It's almost over. Breathe through it." "Shut up, Mulder," his mom muttered, her voice tight. She brought her hands up to his dad's shoulders, and Will could see her fingers digging into his t-shirt. Will looked up at his grandma, a little afraid and not entirely sure if they should go inside. His mom had told him what to expect: pain and screaming and crying. On her part and his dad's, she'd joked, but Will knew that, underneath, she wasn't kidding. Will had read all about labor, though his mom's medical books focused more on mechanics and complications than on pain. His mom had wanted him to think carefully about whether he wanted to be there, and she'd reminded him that Grandma would stay home with him if he wanted. Will had just nodded, remembering the unintentional sojourn he'd made into her mind after asking her about his own birth, remembering the pain, so primal and scary and intense, that he'd felt through her. But he'd been practicing isolating himself from others' thoughts, and Will was confidant that he could do it, that he could be there to experience the birth of his sister with really *experiencing* it. "Hey, buddy." Will turned away from his grandma to see that his dad had spotted them, and that his mom's contraction seemed to be over. She was still leaning up against his dad, breathing hard, but there was a smile on her face as she craned her neck to see her son and her mother standing in the doorway. "Hi," Will said, still not sure if he should go in. Even after his mom's talk, her reminder that it was his choice about whether he wanted to be there, his dad had taken him aside and said that if either his mom or the doctor wanted Will to leave, he'd have to listen. No matter what his mom had promised. "You can come in, sweetie," his mom said. Will looked over at his dad, who nodded. So he and his grandma joined his parents in the hospital room, Will coming around to hug his mom, carefully, and his grandma pausing to cinch his mom's hospital gown in the back. "You were untied," his grandma said. "How are you doing, Dana?" "Slow," his mom said as she moved carefully to lie back in the bed. "Last time the nurse checked, I was only at six centimeters." She frowned up at the clock on the wall. "And that was... That was only ten minutes ago." His grandma chuckled. "Patience, Dana." She stroked her daughter's arm. "She'll come in her own good time." His mom closed her eyes. "Let's just hope her own good time isn't too many weeks early," she said softly, and a solemn silence fell over the room. A glance at his grandmother revealed her to be touching the cross she wore around her neck. Will wasn't surprised to see that his mom's hand was also at her neck, her fingers on her own cross. But Will's dad just stood there, looking worried and tired, until he reached for the plastic jug on the tray table. "More ice, Scully?" She nodded and took the cup, tapping it until the last cubes of ice fell in her mouth. She passed the cup back to his dad and smiled her thanks. "I'll just go fill this up," his dad said, already stepping toward the door. "If you're okay for a few minutes...?" "I'm okay," she said. "And if you're not back for the next contraction," his grandma added, "I can stand in." His dad nodded and winked at Will's mom. "Just don't have that baby before I get back, Scully," he called out over his shoulder as he stepped into the hall. Will's mom and grandma began a conversation about hours of labor and difficult births and babies with large heads, and Will tuned out. Instead, he moved to the door and watched his dad at the ice machine, which was just down the hall. He paused to get a drink of water, too, and then, instead of returning to the room, his dad went the other way down the hall. Will glanced back toward his mom, who was still engrossed in her conversation with her own mother, before heading down the hall after his dad. He walked on tiptoe, not wanting to reveal himself, and stuck very near to the wall. Finally his dad paused at a closed door, then pulled it open and went inside. After waiting a long minute, Will approached the door, glancing around a lot like he'd seen in a spy movie he'd watched with his dad the other day. 'Reflecting Room,' read the large letters on the door's sign. These were followed by a list of benefactors, and the request, 'Quiet, Please.' And beneath this, another sign, this one was another sign, this one with carvings of tiny birds in flight along its edges. There was a quote in the center, and, though he didn't completely understand what it meant, Will smiled as he read it: 'He prayed as he breathed, forming no words and making no specific requests, only holding in his heart, like broken birds in cupped hands, all those people who were in stress or grief.' - Ellis Peters. There was also a window in the door, a tiny little square of glass almost too high for Will to see into. But when he stood on his toes he was tall enough, and he could see his father inside. Not staring into the tiny reflecting pool in the corner or giving any attention to the various religious symbols and statuettes that filled the room. Instead, his dad was among the chairs arranged in rows in the center of the room, and he was kneeling. Will watched for a minute, transfixed. After urging his dad to take him to church a few times when his mom was missing, Will had dropped the subject. He knew his dad was uncomfortable with it, as he'd been when Will had asked -- begged, really -- his dad to pray for his mom that first night she was gone. Then Will saw his dad's chest heave up and down dramatically, and he realized that he was intruding. Feeling guilty, he quickly tiptoed back to his mom's room, but not before he watched his dad press a kiss to his wedding ring. * * * * * "Check... Check the monitor," Scully panted as her hand crushed his knuckles together with such force that Mulder thought he could feel his bones grinding against each other. "The monitor?" he repeated dumbly. She pulled down the oxygen mask she'd been wearing only semi-faithfull y. "The fetal heart monitor," she grunted, jerking his hand in the direction of the machine beeping at her bedside. "What's the number on the monitor?" "83," he read. "82, 83, 81." Then she groaned and turned her head to face him. "Get the nurse in here," she said. "Or Dr. Speake. Get Dr. Speake." "Scully?" "Do it!" she ordered, replacing the oxygen mask over her face and effectively ending their conversation. Mulder pulled his hand from hers to poke his head into the hallway. He waved for the nurse, only to find her already headed to Scully's room. She went over to the heart monitor and checked the read-out, glancing at Scully as her contraction petered off. Scully took several deep breaths, then reached up to push her sweaty hair off her forehead. "Call Dr. Speake," she told the nurse, her voice thick through the mask. "Please. Call the doctor." The nurse narrowed her eyes at Scully, then glanced back at the machine. "I'll get her," she decided, hurrying into the hall. "What's wrong?" Mulder demanded, grasping Scully's hand desperately. "Scully, what is it?" "The baby's heartbeat," she said, almost panting in exhaustion. "During the contractions, her heart rate is dropping too low." "What does that mean?" She looked at him over the oxygen mask, eyes weary. "It means that when I have a contraction, she isn't getting enough oxygen." Mulder's eyes widened. "Not enough--?" "Here's our troublemaker," Dr. Speake joked as she entered the room, the nurse on her heels. "What's the problem now, Dana?" "The fetal heartbeat's been dropping during her contractions," the nurse supplied. "Do the section, Mary," Scully pleaded. Mulder glanced at the monitor, then took Scully's hand, bracing for another contraction. "Huh?" he asked as her eyes dropped closed and her jaw tensed. But no one answered him as the beep of the heart monitor slowed and Scully's grip on his hand strengthened. 84, 82, 81. "Scully?" he pressed. "Dr. Speake?" After waiting out the long contraction and watching the heart rate bottom out at 74 beats per minute, the doctor nodded at Scully. "When this contraction ends, I'm gonna check your progress, Dana." "Just do the surgery, Mary. Please," Scully panted. "Surgery?" Mulder repeated, watching as the baby's heart rate hovered at 74 for another minute, then started rising, indicating that Scully's contraction was ending. Dr. Speake moved around to the foot of the bed, adjusting her patient's gown. Without a word, Scully brought her knees up to allow the doctor to check her progress. "The cord's not prolapsed," Dr. Speake said after a quick exam. She guided Scully's legs down to the mattress. "But you're barely at eight centimeters. We're gonna have to do a Caesarean," she explained as the nurse hurried out of the room, only to return with a handful of other gowned medical personnel. "What?" Mulder asked. "What's happening?" "Mr. Mulder, your baby's heart rate is dropping when Dana has a contraction, which means that the umbilical cord is getting compressed. The baby isn't getting enough oxygen, and we need to get her out. Now." The nurses were unhooking Scully's monitors then, throwing the room into a deafening silence with the loss of the baby's staccato heartbeat. Before he knew what was happening, they were wheeling his wife from the room. "Wait," he called, stepping toward the door as she disappeared into the hall. "Scully!" "Put these on, Dad." One of the scrub-dressed people thrust a plastic-wrapped pouch at him. "Over your clothes." Mulder looked back at Dr. Speake, who was hurrying out of the room. "Wait," he called out weakly. "What...?" "Mr. Scully?" the nurse asked him. "Mulder," he corrected half-heartedly. "What's happening? My wife..." "Your wife is going to be fine," the nurse assured him. "And so is your baby. But we need to get her delivered as soon as possible. Put those on and I'll take you into the operating room." Mulder nodded mutely, struggling to get the paper-thin scrubs on over his jeans and t-shirt. He grappled with the stretchy green booties, fitting them over his running shoes, and the nurse handed him the cap. He followed her down the hall and through several sets of double doors, then into an ice-cold operating room. "Here you go," she said, reaching up to tie a mask over his face. She led him over to the operating table, to Scully's head, and pointed him toward a small wheeled stool. "You can stay right up here. We keep the screen up so you don't have to worry about seeing anything. You or Mom." She gave them an indulgent smile. "I don't think that'll be a problem," he muttered, and the nurse cocked a curious eyebrow at him. "*Mom*'s a pathologist." The nurse nodded then and took her place at the foot of the table, where the action was, leaving him to Scully. "Hey." He smiled down at her as he took a seat on the stool. Mulder tried not to think of what was happening on the other side of that screen. The glimpse he'd gotten on his way in had been of Scully's ample belly covered in a dark liquid he assumed to be a disinfectant, and he had no desire to see more. "I bet you never thought you'd see me in these, huh?" She smiled nervously, and Mulder set his hand against her cheek, stroking softly. "Don't worry," he said, dropping his head to rest beside hers on the cold table. "She's going to be okay. You'll both be fine, Scully." She nodded, her teeth chattering. "Mark the time," a voice announced from the other end of the table. "I'm cutting." Scully craned her neck in an attempt to see around the screen, then sighed in defeat. "Didn't you tell me once that it only takes a minute to get a baby out by c-section?" he reminded her. "I can't--" she paused to shiver-- "I can't believe you remember that." He nodded. It had been years ago that she'd said that, when she was pregnant with Will. He remembered that night, the day she'd finally been discharged from the hospital after the abruption. He hadn't said anything to her about it, but that event had forced him to consider the possibility that this all might not have the expected outcome. That maybe she would lose the baby, or it would be sick or born too early. Or that he'd lose her. For the first time, he'd admitted to himself that he was being an ass, telling her that he didn't know where he fit in when the new, insecure, little-girl look on her face told him: Right here, idiot. An effort-filled grunt from the other end of the table caused Scully to glance up at him with worried eyes. He smiled weakly, trying not to reflect her fear back at her, and just stroked through Scully's hair with his fingers, pausing intermittently to rest the back of his hand against her cool cheek. "Is she out?" Scully asked. "Almost," Dr. Speake muttered. Then, "After all this fuss, you don't want to come out, do you, sweetie? Got cold feet on us?" Another grunt, then, "There." "Is she out?" Scully pressed. "She's out, Dana," the doctor told her. "She isn't crying. Why isn't she crying?" Scully demanded, neck straining in a vain attempt to see the baby. Mulder returned his hand to her hair, and she dropped back the few inches to the table. "Just give her a minute," Dr. Speake answered as Mulder took his turn attempting to peer around the operating table to catch a glimpse of his daughter. Hand still resting against Scully's head, he wheeled his stool far enough away to see a pair of scrub-clad workers scurrying around with a small, dusky-blue baby. "Why is she blue?" he blurted out. At the stricken look on Scully's face, Mulder knew that he'd said the absolute wrong thing. "She's blue?! Mary, what's going on? What's wrong with her?" "Give her time, Dana," the doctor repeated, her voice unbelievably calm. "The cord was knotted around her neck. She'll pink up." But again the muscles Scully's neck were straining, trying in vain to see the baby. Her eyes darted back to Mulder, and they shared a long, fearful gaze. Mulder could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, as well as Scully's own rapid pulse from where his hand now rested against her jaw. Time seemed to stretch out impossibly slowly, the operating room filled with his and Scully's heavy breaths and, beyond them, hastily muttered, incomprehensible medicalese. "Come on, sweetheart, breathe for us," said one of the staff working on the baby, and was finally answered by a lusty cry. "Thank God," Scully sighed, closing her eyes, her head falling back against the table. Mulder leaned over to kiss her forehead, hovering there for a minute to savor the feel of her skin against his lips. "Go see her," Scully urged, opening her eyes. "Make sure she's okay?" He nodded and walked on rubbery legs to the metal table, getting his first real look at his daughter. So beautiful, Mulder thought. Her skin was pinkening now, and her chest rose and fell as she screamed. Her face was nearly obscured by the oxygen mask one of the nurses was holding in place, but Mulder could see her eyes squinched shut above the clear plastic, and the indignant arch of one perfect eyebrow. He smiled and reached out for her, finally making contact with the heel of her tiny foot when one of the medical staff moved to the other side of the baby. "What's her one-minute APGAR?" Scully demanded. "Mary?" "Five-minute APGARs are more predictive," Dr. Speake reminded her. "You know that, Dana." A nurse stepped in front of Mulder then and, reluctantly, his finger slipped off his daughter's heel. He wandered back to Scully, his gaze darting between his wife and his daughter, who was lying on the tiny exam table, naked and bald and shivering as she cried. "What does that mean, APGAR?" he asked Scully. "It's a test," she explained. "To evaluate a neonate's awareness." Scully craned her head. "Mary?" "Wait for the five-minute, Dana," she repeated. "What's her weight, then?" Scully pressed. "Five pounds, five ounces," came a nurse's voice from across the room. Scully beat him to the question: "Only five pounds?" Will had been nearly eight pounds, and Mulder remembered wondering at how very tiny his son had seemed the first time he'd held him in his arms. The idea of a baby had been so huge, so all-encompassing, that it had been surprising to see how very small the actual child was. "Almost five and a half," Dr. Speake corrected. "And that's big for thirty-five weeks, Dana. Don't worry." Mulder didn't know what to do, didn't know whether he should stay with Scully or try to get closer to the baby, who was being attended by a small army of medical personnel. But they seemed to be moving much less quickly than before, which Mulder could only hope meant that the baby was no longer in danger. He stared as they worked on the baby, cleaning her and probing her and then finally covering her in a yellow blanket. "Dana," someone called out, and after the nurses parted, one of them held up the baby, tightly wrapped to resemble a football. A very tiny football, Mulder thought, as Scully sighed with relief. "Oh, Hannah," she called out, reaching her hand toward the baby. "Dana, we're gonna take the baby down to the NICU," another nurse said. "She seems fine, but a neonatologist should look at her, just to be safe." The nurse approached Scully with the baby, holding her so that the new mother could kiss her daughter's pink cheek. Hannah's eyes were closed, but she squirmed when Scully's lips touched her skin. "You can come with her, Dad," the nurse told him, so, after stooping to press a kiss to Scully's forehead, Mulder followed the nurse out of the operating room, his eyes glued to his new daughter. * * * * * End Part 28. Continued in Part 29. Title: Song of Experience (29/?) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * For the first time in years, Scully woke from a peaceful slumber by the cry of an infant. Her infant. Smiling, Scully squinted and blinked despite the darkness of the room. She turned toward the sound, only to be blocked by a large, dark shadow. "Shh, sweetheart. You don't want to wake your mommy." Scully watched as Mulder bent over the cribette and slowly, carefully lifted the baby out. He settled her in the crook of his arm, but still she whimpered softly. "Shh," Mulder urged as he stepped away from the crib and toward the window. "Look, Hannah, look what's out there." Mulder stepped up to the glassy surface of the window, and the dark, shimmery image of father and daughter reflected back to Scully. She smiled as she watched them, letting her eyes drift closed for a long minute before snapping them back open. "You probably can't see that, baby girl, but it's beautiful out there. There's the North Star, that bright shiny light." Mulder craned his neck as he looked out the window, maneuvering the still-mewling baby to give her a view of the sky. "And there's the Little Dipper, hanging down from the North Star, and the Big Dipper just over toward those trees." From his reflection on the darkened windows, Scully could see Mulder smile; his thinking smile, Scully knew. "I read once that the number of stars in the sky is exactly equal to the number of cells in the human body. I wonder..." he mused, and the thinking smile was back. "Unfortunately," he continued as Hannah's cries started to intensify, "we can't see any more stars from here; the city lights dull everything. "But one day," he said, "when you're older, we'll go to beach, and you'll be able to see the stars over the ocean. You'll love the beach, Hannah: there's water where you can swim like you've been doing inside your mommy. Your brother can teach you; he loves the beach, too. You can build sandcastles together. "Shh," Mulder urged again, shifting Hannah until she rested against his chest. Scully was about to reveal her wakefulness and ask Mulder to bring the baby to her when Hannah suddenly quieted. "You like that?" Mulder asked her. "You can probably feel my heartbeat like that, can't you, Hannah? "We don't want to wake your mommy," he continued, his voice as soft as though he were reading a bedtime story. "She's had a long, tough day and she needs her rest. "She's amazing, your mommy. She can shoot a gun and cut a mean Y-incision and give CPR to save your life... or mine, more times than I can remember. She can balance an expense report -- or our checkbook, which is an even bigger accounting disaster -- and cook Easter dinner and wash an overgrown puppy. She's also very good at soothing after nightmares -- your brother and I have given her lots of practice at that, I'm afraid. "She's a good mom, Hannah; she's had eight years of practice, and she already loves you so much. She does all the voices when she reads bedtime stories, and she likes to sing lullabies. But if you're lucky you'll be tone deaf like her and your brother, and you won't ever know that she can't carry a tune. "And you have a great big brother, Hannah. Will is so anxious to meet you. He'll take care of you and teach you, and the two of you will have each other long after your mom and I are gone. "I haven't had as much practice at being a family as they have, Hannah, just a couple of months. But I was alone with your brother for a few weeks, and he's still standing. Not even a scar. Well, there *was* that tooth thing..." Then Mulder's voice took on a more somber tone. "I can't promise I'll be great at this Dad thing, Hannah, but I'm working on it. But your mom... your mom'll make up for me. She'll teach you to be smart and strong and kind. Just like she is." Scully tried to keep silent, but the pain of her incision when she tried to suppress her laugh was too much to bear. Was there nothing about this pregnancy that could be easy, she thought as she winced and groaned. Mulder heard her and turned around, Hannah still cradled against the left side of his chest, over his heart. "Are you turning my own daughter against me, Mulder?" He walked over to her bedside, a sarcastic little smile teasing at his lips. "Just giving her a little preview of life in the Mulder-Scully house," he said. Scully nodded, holding out her hands for the baby. Mulder carefully transferred the tightly wrapped bundle into her mother's arms, then stepped back, taking in the picture. "I'm going to try to feed her. Undo me, will you?" Scully leaned forward, wincing a bit. Mulder slid his hand over the warm skin of her shoulder, exposed by the gape in her hospital gown, and untied the knot there. He slipped the gown down on one side, and Scully shivered in the cool air. Mulder watched as she guided the baby to her breast, trying to interest the whimpering infant. Scully brushed her index finger against Hannah's lips, then over to her cheek, but the newborn's cries continued, her head pushing against Scully's breast, but too high up. Scully readjusted Hannah, then slid her nipple against the baby's lips, which promptly opened. Mulder watched as Scully immediately popped the nipple into the infant's mouth, and, after a confused minute, Hannah gave a few tentative sucks. "You're amazing," Mulder muttered. Scully watched Hannah for another minute, then looked up at him with a sleepy grin. "If you're amazed by this, you're gonna have a ball for the next couple of months." He chuckled. "Not just this," he told her. "You." His gaze darted around the room before coming to rest on his feet. "You, uh... how much did you hear of what I said to Hannah?" Scully smiled. "Just a little." He gave her a rueful smile. "I meant it. You amaze me, Scully, everything you can do. You're so strong and smart and brave, sticking with me for all those years on a crusade you probably didn't even believe in..." "I did," she told him, brushing her thumb against the curve of the baby's bald head. "No matter what I thought of the cases we investigated, I always believed in you." He sat on the edge of her bed, watching as Hannah stopped feeding and drifted back to a sated sleep. Scully moved her to the other breast, trying in vain to get the snoozing baby interested in feeding again. She fumbled for a minute with the soft yellow blanket wrapped around her daughter, then looked up at Mulder. "Can you unwrap her?" He did, loosening the blanket carefully as Scully shifted Hannah in her arms, then watched as Scully ran her index finger against the tiny arch of Hannah's foot. The baby stirred, her blue-green eyes blinking with a start, her little mouth popping open in indignation. Scully took that opportunity to fit her nipple into Hannah's mouth, and the baby obliged and began to nurse. "See," Mulder said, leaning over to kiss his wife's forehead, then his daughter's. "Amazing." * * * * * Mulder found Will and Maggie in the waiting area, leaned up against each other in sleep. He chuckled when he heard their snores, delicate little Scully snores, almost inaudible despite the quiet of the waiting room. He knelt down next to Will, nudging his shoulder gently. "Will, wake up," he urged, smiling as his son's eyes blinked open, then closed quickly at the harsh overhead lights. "If you can keep your eyes open, buddy, you can meet your sister." That woke Will, who pushed himself upright, and Mulder had to reach out for Maggie to keep her from keeling over onto Will's vacated seat. "Really?" Will asked. "I can see her? And Mom, too?" "Mom, too," Mulder assured him. "But you have to be quiet. Let's let your grandma sleep, okay?" Will nodded, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as Mulder tore a subscription card out of a magazine lying on the coffee table. He grabbed a pen from the nurses' station and scribbled Maggie a note: "Will's with me. Come meet your new granddaughter. Room 401. -FM" Mulder slipped the note next to Maggie's hand and led Will down the corridor toward Scully's room. She had turned on the light over her bed, and the bright beam spotlighted her glossy red hair and the baby's bald head. "That's my sister?" Will asked, scampering into the room, his sneakers squeaking on the tile when he came to an abrupt stop next to the bed. "Careful, Will," Mulder warned as Will set a knee against the mattress, trying to catch a glimpse of his sister. "He's fine," Scully said, carefully shifting over in bed to make room for Will to climb up next to her. Mulder lifted Will onto the mattress, setting him beside Scully. Will reached out and brushed his finger down the side of Hannah's face, then bent over until his face was next to his sister's. "Hi, Hannah," he whispered. "My name is Will. I'm your brother." Then he pressed his lips against her cheek, pulling back when she fussed at the sudden pressure. He looked up at Scully hopefully. "Can I hold her?" She nodded, then gently placed the baby in his arms. "Careful," she instructed. "Keep your arm under her head; she can't hold it up by herself yet." Will nodded, the tip of his tongue sticking between his lips as he concentrated on holding the baby in all the right places. Hannah made a soft mewling noise as she settled herself into the cradle of her brother's arms, and Will suddenly looked worried. "Did I do something wrong? Am I hurting her?" "You're doing it perfectly," Scully told him, and he grinned with pride. Scully looked over at him, smiling, as Will leaned his head against his mother's side, Hannah still cradled in his arms. Mulder perched on the end of the bed, wordlessly watching the scene before him. At the head of the bed, Scully and Will were both beaming, their pale skin lit pink with excitement. And Mulder knew he was doing the same; he could feel an uncontrollable grin splitting his face. "Do you think she recognizes my voice?" Will asked. "I don't know," Scully said, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. "Are you tired, Mom?" Will asked, and both Mulder and Scully chuckled in response. "Yeah, sweetie, I am," Scully told him. Will nodded solemnly. "Because it took so long?" "Yes, and because it was such hard work," Mulder answered for her, and Scully looked over at him with a sleepy smile. He found her foot beneath the cover and gave it a squeeze. "And because your mom's amazingly strong and brave." "Did it hurt?" Will asked in a soft voice, and Mulder got a strange feeling with this question, like Will already knew the answer... Or maybe not, Mulder thought, studying his son's serious expression. Something in Scully's eyes cut through her previous exhaustion as she, too, regarded Will carefully. "You asked me that before," she reminded him, her voice barely above a whisper. "About when you were born. Do you remember?" Will nodded. "It always hurts, baby," she said. "It hurts when it's happening, but then when your baby is here, you forget how much it hurt, because you love that baby so much." Scully leaned over to kiss Will's, and then Hannah's foreheads. Will beamed at that answer, but Mulder shot Scully a confused look. She simply shook her head at him, her eyelids drooping as she once again yawned impressively. A soft knock on the door, and Maggie Scully had joined them around her daughter's bed, cooing over her new grandchild. She took the baby from Will's arms, studying the little girl and comparing her features to those of her daughter and grandson, and to Bill's children. Finally she smiled in Mulder's direction. "I think she has your eyes, Fox," Maggie commented, squinting as she surveyed her son-in-law's face. Mulder grinned and came around to join Maggie, gazing down at his daughter. "I don't know," he said. He'd been thinking that Hannah had Scully's eyes, and hopefully Scully's nose, but he remembered from when Will was born that it wasn't uncommon for a newborn's eyes to change color as they developed. "What do you think, Dana?" Mulder and Maggie turned to Scully, who was now fast asleep, her head turned to the side and her mouth open. She gave a little snore then, and the rest of the family laughed, though softly, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant or her sleeping mother. "I've got her, Fox," Maggie told him. "I'll stay here with them if you need to make any phone calls, get something to eat..." Mulder opened his mouth to object, but a tug on his arm got his attention. "Go to the bathroom?" Will asked. "All right," Mulder said. "Thanks, Maggie." And, after running his hand gently over his daughter's tiny belly and pressing a kiss to her soft cheek, he led Will out of the room. Mulder pushed open the door to the restroom, and Will was quiet as they used the facilities and washed their hands. Will declined Mulder's offer to head to the cafeteria for something to eat, which Mulder was grateful of when he realized that he had no idea what time it was and whether the cafeteria was even open. On their way back to Scully's room, Mulder spotted a pay phone. He stopped in front of the phone, staring, and Will bumped into his father's legs. "Are you gonna call someone?" It was then that Mulder realized that there was no one for him to call. No parents eagerly awaiting word of the birth of their new grandbaby. No sibling asking about the baby's weight and name, negotiating time off work for a visit. No one. Not even any friends, unless he counted the Gunmen. They were good guys, but more and more Mulder found himself noticing the distance between them. They were part of his old life, something Mulder knew he had to separate himself from if he had any hope in securing a safe future for his family. He looked down at Will's eyes, big and questioning, and remembered Scully's calm, proficient nursing of Hannah. Though he was saddened by his gradual slipping away from the Gunmen, Mulder knew it had to be. He would not sacrifice his family for his ambition the way his own father had. The Gunmen realized it, too. They had said as much during Scully's disappearance, when they'd tried to help him but had worked even more covertly than usual. Mulder still saw them sometimes; a few weeks ago he was annoying Scully, who'd been having wild mood swings but was unwilling to admit as much. So he'd taken Will over to the Gunmen's with him, and the five of them had played computer games for a couple of hours. Besides, Mulder thought, the guys had a new g-man now. It was an odd pairing, but somehow, over the past decade, John Doggett had carved his own niche with the Gunmen. Aided in no small part by Scully, Mulder knew. He smiled as he pictured Doggett's critical eye surveying the Gunmen's lair. Doggett's amusement at the guys' newest theory. Doggett... Mulder reached out, fingers brushing the phone receiver, considering. Then he dug into his pocket for a quarter and dialed a long-ago familiar number. John Doggett would be in the basement office, Mulder knew. He didn't know how he knew that since he wasn't sure of the time or, now that he considered it, even the date. His daughter's birthday. But Mulder knew where John Doggett was, and that Monica Reyes would be there with him. Mulder smiled at Will as the phone began to ring. * * * * * End Part 29. Continued in Part 30. Title: Song of Experience (30/30 -- END) Author: Christy (attalanta@aol.com) * * * * * EPILOGUE 717 Locust Street Georgetown August, 2009 Thunder rolled slowly, a gentle growl, as Mulder stepped carefully into the nursery. He was headed up to bed, making sure the windows were closed against the burgeoning storm and giving one last check on Hannah before he settled in for the night. A flash of lightning lit the nursery, and Mulder squinted at the large dark lump huddled on the carpet beside the crib. "Will," Mulder whispered. He bent and nudged his son's shoulder with his hand. "Will, wake up." "Huh?" Mulder gave Phoenix a poke with his foot, and the dog craned his neck to look at him, eyes blinking back sleep. The dog squirmed under the weight of his boy, who lay with his head on the soft fur of Phoenix's belly, Will's dark hair rising and falling as the dog breathed. "What are you doing in here, Will?" "Hannah," he said, sitting up and turning to look at the crib, where his sister lay, her eyes suddenly illuminated as another burst of lightning flashed outside. "Hannah was scared." Mulder smiled. *Hannah* was scared, was she? "She was?" Will nodded solemnly. "The storm scared her." Mulder offered Will a hand, then pulled the little boy to his feet. "I didn't hear her crying." "She didn't cry," Will told him. "Then how'd you know she was scared?" Mulder asked. "I just knew," he said. "She's afraid; she doesn't want to be alone." "Okay." Mulder pointed Will toward the door and gave his shoulders a gentle shove. "Why don't you go back to your own room. I'll take care of your sister." "Okay," Will yawned. He patted his leg and Phoenix rose, sent Mulder a rather cross look for interrupting his sleep, and followed Will into the hallway. Mulder stood for a minute and regarded his daughter, who lay awake but quiet in the crib. She blinked at him, her face crumpled up in preparation for a cry. Her tiny mouth, so like her mother's, was puckered into an indignant little "o." He reached over the slats of the crib and rubbed her belly through her thin cotton pajamas. "Shh, Hannah. Go back to sleep." She yawned and Mulder held his breath in hope, but then a loud crash of thunder roared through the house, and Hannah let out a shriek of terror. Her body tensed, her fingers clenching into fists and her hips flexing to curl her legs toward her body. "Okay," he acquiesced, lifting the baby from her crib. "Okay, so your brother was right: you are scared." Mulder cradled his daughter against his chest, slowly rubbing her back until her breathing slowed. After a quick check of the windows in the nursery, Mulder brought Hannah with him to Will's bedroom. One-handed, he inched the drapes closed. "Why don't we go see Mommy?" Mulder whispered. "Let's see if the storm woke her, too." Scully was indeed awake, though whether by the storm or by the little boy currently occupying Mulder's side of the bed, Mulder did not know. He chuckled as he stepped into the dimly lit bedroom, careful of the dog sleeping near the door, obviously banished there by Scully. "*Hannah* was scared, huh?" he teased his son, who shrugged sheepishly. "Looks like someone else was scared, too." "Mom said I could sleep here." Mulder nodded as he made a lap around the bedroom, rubbing Hannah's back as she stared over at her mother and brother sitting in bed together. Will was curled up into a ball, his head on his mother's lap. Scully had her hand in Will's hair, stroking gently, and he blinked sleepily. "Do you want me to take her?" Scully asked, stifling a yawn. "Maybe she's hungry." "I think she was just frightened," Mulder said as he made a lap around the bed. "She didn't cry until she heard the thunder." Mulder continued pacing around the bedroom, throwing in a sway and a pat each time he passed the window. Eventually Hannah calmed, her slight weight growing heavier and looser in his arms. Something inside Mulder stiffened and threatened to break, as it did every time he felt his daughter's tiny body relax, so trustingly, in his arms. This feeling was new to him, something he had been denied with Will, since Mulder had left before he had had time to overcome his anxiety and grow comfortable holding his son. And when he'd returned, Will was already a little boy. Still beautiful, still loving; but the innate trust of a newborn had been replaced by caution. Hannah was different. Once Mulder had gotten past the initial anxious stage, he was able to better enjoy his daughter, to feel confidant that, eventually, his mere presence would be enough to soothe her and lull her to sleep... at least for now. Hannah's breath grew slow and even, and finally Mulder decided to chance that she had fallen asleep. He came to sit on the edge of the bed beside his son. "Will asleep?" he asked Scully, who nodded, her wedding ring shining in the light from the bedside lamp as her hand continued to stroke through their son's hair. "And Hannah?" He angled himself so that Scully could see the infant. Again she nodded, and Mulder edged toward the corner of the bed. "I'd better take her to her crib then. I'll come back for Will." "Wait," Scully said, reaching for him. She smiled serenely, and Mulder pushed back toward the center of the bed. He settled himself beside Will, gently nudging the boy to gain some more mattress real estate. His son sighed in his sleep but obliged Mulder and rolled toward the center of the bed. "Do you know what today is, Mulder?" Scully asked in a whisper. "Thursday." His answer was punctuated by a yawn. "It's Friday, but that's not what I meant." "No, it's Thursday," he insisted. "Because you were glued to the TV from nine to ten, nitpicking the medical inaccuracies of CSI." She gave him a slow smile and nodded at the alarm clock on her bedstand. "It's Friday now." "And that means...?" She turned on her side to face him, her face soft in the dim light from the fading storm. Will stirred with her sudden movement, and Scully's hand slipped over to her son's shoulder to comfort him. He burrowed his head into Mulder's pillow and Scully pulled up the sheet to cover his shoulders. "It means that a year ago today, Will and I went to the National Gallery of Art. We were on our way home when my cell phone rang; it was Skinner, calling to tell me that you were at Georgetown Hospital." "A year?" He was amazed; it felt like so much longer than a year. She nodded. "A very eventful year." "Mm hmm." She was silent for a minute, then, "Thank you, Mulder." "For what?" Scully smiled, and Mulder thought that it wasn't so long ago that he had wondered whether that was a sight he would ever experience again. He fought the urge to crawl into the bed and never emerge, to cocoon his family within these four walls, safe and sound and together. He knew that was not possible, that Will -- never mind Scully -- would never tolerate it, but a man could dream. "For the past year and for eight years as partners before that," Scully said. "For Will and for Hannah." She reached out, past their son's sleeping form, and traced Mulder's jaw with the back of her hand. "And for coming back to me." "I should be thanking you," he told her, his gaze trailing over her sleepy eyes, her tousled red hair, the gap where her pajama top hung low over the soft curve of her breast. Then he met her gaze and their eyes locked, studying each other. "I should put Hannah down," he reminded her, nodding at their sleeping daughter. "I think that can wait a minute." She carefully scooted herself and their sleeping son over on the bed. "Stay with us?" Forever, Mulder thought as he settled slowly on the mattress, cradling Hannah against his chest. The baby stirred but did not wake, and Mulder slid toward Scully, reaching his hand out for her. She met him halfway, and they rested their linked hands between them. Before long Scully closed her eyes and let her head come to rest against the headboard in a light sleep. But Mulder remained awake. He looked at his family, at the soft glow of their alabaster skin in the dim light: at Scully's hand entwined with his, her wedding ring pressed coolly into his skin; at Will's hand reaching toward his mother in his sleep; at Hannah's tiny fingers, curled into fists against Mulder's chest. Mulder gave a half-hearted glance past the door and into the dark hall, knowing that he would have to go put Hannah down; as warm and comforting as it was for the four of them to sleep together, Mulder knew that his daughter was still too young to safely share their bed. Then inspiration struck, and Mulder slipped out of bed, stopping to reassure Scully with a hand on her shoulder when she stirred at the dip in the mattress. He navigated carefully out of their bedroom, stepping over the dog snoring away near the door, and grabbed the infant carrier from the nursery. He set the carrier on the floor next to his side of the bed, then settled Hannah in for the night, aided by a long flash of lightning. He gave a spin to the butterfly mobile hanging from the carrier handle, then went back to the bed. As Mulder reached for the lamp on the bedside table, he caught sight of the windows and realized that he'd forgotten to check them. Sighing, he got out of bed again, rubbing his brow with his fist as he glanced outside, half-lidded eyes surveying the puddles quickly forming on the darkened street. Shivering as another crack of thunder filled the air, Mulder closed the blinds tight and adjusted the curtains before crawling back into bed. * * * * * Mulder did not notice the car, a nondescript beige sedan parked across the street, blatantly disregarding the No Parking - Fire Zone sign posted next to the Fergusons' overgrown crabapple bush. The car was familiar enough not to draw any attention, having been parked in front of the bush long enough to accumulate an aesthetic spatter of crabapple juice after the tempestuous summer storms they'd experienced for the past few days. But the man in the car noticed, was watching through the tiny video monitor mounted on his dashboard. He sighed as the light in the bedroom window finally flickered out and the monitor went black. Then his attention was caught by the tiny cell phone vibrating its way across his dashboard. "Shit," he muttered as he tugged his earpiece out and reached for the phone before it dropped to the floor. The man traded the listening device for his cell phone, checking the caller ID to see a familiar number before he punched the TALK button. "Now, sir?" the man asked in greeting. His response was a pause, drawn out by the slow exhale of cigarette smoke from the other end of the line. "No." "No?" "No," replied the gravelly voice of the caller. "Let them be." The man paused, squinting up at the darkened bedroom windows of the Georgetown townhouse he'd been surveilling. His video feed was useless without the lights, and the receiver of his listening device lay silent on the passenger's seat, its dark cords snaking across a collection of Styrofoam cups, crumpled fast-food wrappers, and an empty bottle of No-Doze. "Yes, sir," the man responded finally. Another pause and another flash of lightning, during which the man shot his gaze over to the monitor, only to find that the scene had not changed: all four subjects were still lying together, the baby tucked in an infant seat near the bed, with Mulder presiding over the sleeping family. "And you can remove the surveillance equipment," the caller told him. The man scrunched his forehead in confusion. Remove the surveillance equipment? But without the devices -- which had been so difficult to plant in the first place, considering the house's overcautious inhabitants, not to mention that damned dog -- the man could hear nothing, see nothing. He would not be able to-- "Remove them," the caller repeated. "Remove them all." "Yes, sir," the man said dutifully as he scowled up at the bedroom window. "I think it will be most interesting to watch the Mulder children... develop." The man nodded. "Yes, sir." It should mean nothing to him; after all, the end of this assignment simply meant the beginning of a new one. Another job, another city. Perhaps something more interesting than surveillance this time; it was not likely, but he could hope. The man glanced around the messy interior of the car; it was tiny and it was dirty, but he had grown used to it, just as he'd grown used to this assignment. Now the man was surprised to realize that he was going to miss it. He'd grown accustomed to this beat, to this quiet Georgetown neighborhood and its peaceful inhabitants. And, he grudgingly admitted, he was starting to take a liking to that kid. Reminded him of his own son when he was a boy, walking that overeager puppy out to fetch the newspaper, tossing shot after shot at the basketball hoop mounted above the garage, missing the backboard as often as he hit it. So vulnerable, the man thought. So trusting. "Shall I begin a report for the others?" the man asked as he reached over to the passenger's seat for his earphones, turning off the volume and returning them to their tiny black case. "No," came the answer from the other end of the line. "No report?" "No report," the caller confirmed, his comment punctuated by the ringing of the dial tone in his ear. On the other end of the line, the caller let his fingers trace across the back of his phone as he took a long, slow drag from a freshly lit cigarette. A smile curled the corner of his lips. No report, he thought. No need to write a report that would only be filed away in an unmarked drawer, unopened and unread. No one was interested in his project anymore; the man knew that. They were the new order, eager and overrun with ideas, and they thought him old and out of touch, too caught up in personal vendetta to be taken seriously. They humored him only out of the sense of obligation one gave a wise professor who had outlived his usefulness, a kind of awe at what he had once been and pity for what he had become. Or perhaps they humored him out of the hope that one day his experience might prove as valuable as he had hinted it would be. That, the man thought as he let the smoke curl away from his subtle grin in a long, thin line, or else they were afraid of him. None of them understood his so-called obsession with Fox Mulder and Dana Scully and their progeny. But then again, none of them had seen the things he had seen; none of them knew the things that he knew. And none of them would be prepared when the time came. Not like I will, the man thought as he took another long drag from his cigarette. If I live to see the day. * * * * * And across the city, in a Georgetown brownstone, the tiny butterfly mobile hanging above a baby carrier began to spin... THE END Final Author's Note: As this story may well be my last, I want to thank everyone who has been kind enough to send me feedback for this piece and for the others I've written, especially the regulars at the Haven. I also need to thank Nusacme and Linda, who has been so helpful in the creation of both this story and Song of Innocence, and who returned to XF fanfic to beta for me. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing X-Files fanfic, especially writing for the character of Will. I would love to find time to write more about Will, and about Hannah, but I'm afraid that medical school is turning the concept of "free time" into a distant memory for me. Thanks, guys. I enjoyed the ride.