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Title: One of my Own (The 2002 Version) 1999 version here Summary: Mulder and Scully discover they are going to be parents after one night together. Will it bring them together or pull them apart? December 13, 2000 "Taco Bell? Again?" I ask as she points out the window at the fast food restaurant we just drove past. "Yes, Taco Bell. And then a strawberry milkshake from McDonald's," she says, noticing the Golden Arches just down the street from the Bell. "Okay. Whatever makes you happy," I say as I go to make a U-turn to make our run for the border. We've had Taco Bell for lunch or dinner everyday for two weeks now. Doesn't matter if we're in DC or on the road. At least the milkshake idea is new. I've had my fill of Burrito Supremes and I honestly don't know how she could possibly eat another Seven Layer Burrito. Really, I don't. She's been so cranky lately and I'll do anything to please her. "Scully, are you feeling all right?" I ask as we pull out of the Taco Bell drive through. "I'm fine," she mumbles through a mouth full of burrito. Of course she's fine. She could be dying and she'd be fine. She has a dab of guacamole on her chin and I wipe it off with my thumb before heading back out into rush hour traffic. "Don't forget my milkshake," she reminds me before I can get too far. By the time we get back to the Mark Twain Motor Lodge, she's done with her dinner and is slurping away at the remains of her milkshake. We go our separate ways, like always, at the motel. I flip on the TV to discover a constant barrage of static while I finish my 'dinner.' I discard my tie and loosen the collar around my shirt before knocking on her door. There is no answer. Her side of the door open, so I enter. She is fast asleep, curled up on the double bed. She's still wearing her suit, including her shoes. It is only 7:15 p.m. and the case we've been working on hasn't been that strenuous, but she's out cold. I sit down on the hard vinyl chair next to her bed, watching her sleep. Reaching over, I turn off the room lights with a loud click. The only light in the room is filtering through the open curtains. Passing headlights play shadow games across the walls, while nearby, someone fills an ice bucket and slams a door. Still she sleeps. I've never seen her as tired as she has been over the last month or two. She sleeps on all our flights and while I drive. I even found her nodding off at her desk last week. I even caught myself praying to that God of hers that she is not sick again. Not now. Not ever. I want to go lie down next to her, to hold her tight. She doesn't want that. Not again. It only happened once, in the middle of the night in some backwater Louisiana town. It's been slightly over two months ago now and yet, it feels like yesterday to me. They say everything changes, and they're right. It doesn't matter. I wouldn't trade that occasion for the world. We only talked about it once as the old, cliched morning after broke the spell of the stormy night. I woke up in her motel room bed, and she wasn't there beside me. The wind had subsided, taking with it whatever she might have felt the night before. She was up and dressed and sitting in a chair, not looking at me. She looked like she could desperately use a cigarette. Or a drink. From the expression on her face, I knew what was coming next. I wasn't thinking straight, Mulder. This isn't right, Mulder. It will cloud our judgment, Mulder. It can't happen again, Mulder. I heard them all in a matter of minutes. I remember standing up and walking over to her, naked and cold. I remember telling her I was glad it happened, that I would never change it. I told her I loved her and I always will. Then I left her sitting alone in that darkened room, to think about it. I needed to escape the hurt look on her face, the undeniable look of regret. I wanted to flee to my room and get out of that place as soon as I could. That night hasn't been mentioned since. I play it over and over in my mind approximately every 12 minutes and 4.7 seconds, but I never say anything to her. We sit silently together on long car trips with it hanging between us, but neither of us has the nerve to say a word about it. She leaves her adjoining door open all the time now. I don't know why. I don't even know if she knows I watch her sleep. Maybe it is all she can give me now, her silent concession to me. I wait for the day she will come back to me. And I put up with a constant diet of burritos. December 28, 2000 I wake up with a start only to discover I had fallen asleep in a bathroom stall. My head is resting against the wall. I am so tired, I can't help but to doze off. Mulder is going to think I fell in. Mulder. I don't think I have ever hurt any man more. It's for the best, I keep telling myself. If I had more energy, I'd explain it better to him. I'm just so tired. I wanted to be with him, at that time and place, but somehow it was wrong. It will never work. My heart is saying one thing, and my head is saying another. We have a job to do, and no time for this now. Especially now that I can't even keep my eyes open. It's gotten so bad I'm now sleeping in the office bathroom. I'm sure Mulder really wouldn't care if I took an afternoon nap at my desk, but I'm too embarrassed. And I'm too scared to admit that something might be wrong. I *know* there is something wrong with me. I know I should check in with my oncologist again soon, but I don't want to hear what they have to say. I don't want to go through it all again. At least I'm not losing any weight. I would be really scared if that were happening again. I hear the main door open and I hear footsteps. They don't sound like a woman's. "Scully?" he calls for me. I knew he would come for me, like he always does. "I'll be out in a minute, Mulder," I answer back, hoping he doesn't notice that I don't have to adjust my clothing or flush, considering I didn't actually use the facilities. Well, this time at least. The bathroom is becoming my second favorite place in this building. I exit the stall to find him leaning against the wall, waiting for me. His arms are crossed in front of him, and his eyes meet mine briefly, conveying more than I want to see. I have to look away. "Are you okay, Scully?" he asks, his voice filled with worry. "I'm fine," I answer curtly, as I wash my hands in the sink. "Usually, I would accept that answer, but you haven't been fine recently. You look exhausted. You fall asleep everywhere. And this taco thing has to stop," he says, moving from the wall and coming towards me. "I'm sorry. I just haven't been myself lately. Should we get out of the women's room now?" I ask, not wanting to be caught in here having a conversation with my partner. The rumors have always been there and now they're a truth that no one can know about. I don't want to add fuel to the fire. "No. I want you to go to your doctor. Scully, I don't want anything to be wrong with you," he says, his voice soft and pleading. He reaches out for me and pulls me to him. I don't resist. I'm too tired to resist. I let his arms fold around me and cradle me against him. I could sleep here against his body, listening to his heart. But I can't. I don't want to get that close again. Not if there is something wrong. "I'll make an appointment with my family practitioner, Mulder. I promise," I tell him, and he releases me from his embrace. January 4, 2001 She has been in with her doctor for over an hour now. She asked me to come with. Of course I would go anywhere with her. She should know that by now. I alternately flip through a two year old copy of Redbook and pace the floor. I'm sure the inhabitants of the large fish tank are tired of seeing me go by when someone calls my name. I turn around to find a nurse standing a few feet away from me. "Mr. Mulder, Dana would like you to come back to the exam room," she says, as she turns to lead me back there. "What's wrong? Is she okay?" I ask, following her, my mind filled with questions and my voice filled with dread. "I'll have to let her discuss that with you," she says, as she takes me to a closed door and knocks on it. I find Scully sitting fully dressed in the corner of the exam room. Her doctor is writing notes on the chart and discussing referrals. "Scully? Are you okay? What's going on?" I ask, needing to know the bad news so I can assimilate it and figure out where to go next. "Ah, Agent Mulder. Nice to see you again," the doctor says to me, reaching out his hand. I recognize the man as one of the many doctors who came to see Scully while she was fighting her cancer. I shake the man's hand and return my focus to Scully. "What is it? Will somebody please tell me?" I demand. "Mulder..." Scully says, looking away from me and towards the floor. Shit. It isn't good. Please, don't let it be the cancer again. Please. "Agent Mulder, maybe you need to sit down for this. I will leave you two alone for a couple of minutes," the doctor says as he slips out the door quietly. I roll his chair in front of Scully and sit down, putting my hands over hers. She doesn't pull away. Please, oh, please, don't let this be serious. "Scully... Dana ... are you okay?" I ask, not knowing what to call her right now. Actually, words aren't easy to come by right now and I fight to get them out. "Scully?" "Mulder ... Fox ... yes, I am," she jokes, as a little smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "What's wrong? It's not ... " My eyes search hers for an answer. "I'm pregnant." I think two hours go by before I say something. Or maybe it is just half a minute. I can't tell. Now my eyes are searching for more answers. "You can't be. You're infertile. The doctors said ..." I start to argue. I have to argue because I can't accept this that easily. They said ... I know what they said. "I know," she says, tilting her head to the side and watching me struggle with my thoughts. "Then how? I mean, not how, but how?" I ask. Something had to have happened. This is something that she was told she could never have. "I don't know," is all she says. "And I'm ..." I ask, not really doubting that it could be anyone else. I wouldn't be the man sitting here if it was. "Who else would it be?" she asks, as she places her hand on my cheek. "I don't believe it," I say. "I can't believe this can be happening." "Finally, there's something you don't believe," she says with a tender smile. "Are they sure?" I ask. I don't want her hopes to be dashed by some error in the lab. The pain would be too much. "They did the test three times now," Scully reassures. "Do you know what this means?" I ask, my mind not even able to comprehend everything yet. "We're going to be parents," she says, her voice sounding so sure. "We? I'm going to be a part of this?" I ask. After the last two months I was doubting whether she even wanted me as a partner. "This baby is yours, too. Of course you'll be a part of this," she says. I get to be part of the baby's life. "Do I also get to be a part of your life?" I ask. I don't think I can handle just having half of it. The child but not the mother. She looks away from me. "We'll work on it. It will take some time, but in reality, you already are a part of my life," she says softly, and it is the most I could ask for right now. I pull her close to me and hold her tight. The doctor knocks on the door and comes back in. "Do you have any questions, Agent Mulder?" he asks me. He is smiling. I suppose this is great news for him, too. One of his patients is receiving astounding news. "Yes. How?" I ask, still dumbfounded. "Well, I think you'd know that by now," he says with a smile. Usually, I'd make some witty comment, but my brain is numb. "Everyone said she'd never be able to conceive a child. How did this happen?" I ask. Everyone said it. All of her doctors said she was infertile. All her ova were gone, taken from her. Where in the hell did this one come from? "Dana, did you actually ever try to conceive a child?" he asks her. "No," she answers while looking at me. I didn't think she was out there trying to make babies on her spare time. "Well, these things happen. One of the fastest ways to get a woman pregnant is tell her she can't. I know lots of couples who would die to be in your shoes. Don't question it. Consider it a gift," the doctor tells us. I have to question everything, including the gifts. No, especially the gifts. I hope this isn't another plot of those men always hiding in the shadows. If it is, I will hunt each one of them down myself and finally kill every last one. "This does explain the Taco Bell," Scully says. The doctor laughs. "I know this kind of falls under the category of an old wives' tale, but I've heard that craving Taco Bell means you are going to have a boy," he says as he finishes up some notes. A boy. That would be fine with me. So would a girl. Anything as long as it's healthy. "Dana, I want you to go to a high-risk OB/GYN as soon as possible. They are probably going to run every test imaginable on you, due to your history. I'm sure that everything will be just fine, though. Let me know, please?" he asks. He is truly concerned about her. "I will," she says as he leaves us alone again. "Scully, I'm shocked. Shocked, but happy," I say, pulling her close to me again. "Trust me, no one is more shocked than I am," she says. I hope she never regrets this, that it's mine. "When are you due?" I ask, needing to know how much time I have to make everything work. To convince her that she needs me in her life. "July," she says. "We have a lot to talk about," I whisper into her ear. "I know." January 5, 2001 I am utterly embarrassed. I am a doctor. I am a woman. I should have known. I had it ingrained in my head that there would never be a child of my own borne from my body. There are probably children out there of my own genetic structure. I only know of one, but I'm sure there are more. But a baby of my own? I didn't dare to dream of such a possibility for awhile now. I never imagined having one of my own. Mulder is sitting in his chair, across our office, smiling at me. I heard that men get this way. Like their sperm have a large S on their tiny chests and wear little capes. Of course, I had nothing to do with this new life we created. We created a life together. That will take some time to get used to. One time. One damn time in eight years of knowing him. I still don't even know what possessed me. Must have been the wind or the rain. I cannot explain myself. Now what? There are so many people to tell. My mother should be the first. Then Skinner, eventually. That should be a treat. I'll make Mulder do it. "Mulder, stop grinning at me," I demand from across the room. "I can't help it," he says, still smiling. "Stop." He gets up from his chair and walks over to me. I have no idea what's coming next. He leans in close to me. He's always worried about the people that are listening. "Should we get married?" he asks me. "I don't think that is necessary just yet," I say, realizing what marriage would mean. He and I would be together, not just as parents but committed to each other for life. Why does that scare me? Aren't we already committed by being parents. Or else we will be committed when we try to raise this child of ours. "Should we pick out names?" he asks. "We have nearly seven months to worry about that," I counter. "Do you want me to be the one to tell Skinner?" he asks, as if he has been reading my mind. "Yes. And you are coming with to tell my mother." "No ... Skinner I can handle, but your mother..." "You are coming with," I state. I think she will need to see the both of us. "Okay. Is she going to expect us to get married?" he asks. "I don't know yet, Mulder. Just be glad my brother Bill isn't in town," I say. That would be disastrous. He makes his way back to his side of the office. I want to go to sleep again, but not before I go pee. This is getting annoying. January 7, 2001 If I could melt into the wall, I would at this moment. We are at her mother's house. I feel like I did when I was seventeen and got caught with Karen Russell doing everything but. If I could have melted into the wall then, I would at least have had the practice to do it now. I could be Mothman Mulder. Scully is in the kitchen talking to her mom. I'm lurking around, trying desperately to avoid them. I don't know why I am embarrassed or scared. Scully is grown woman. Still, I got this woman's unmarried daughter pregnant. I feel like the bad guy. I want to listen in, to get the gist of the situation. "It was only one time," Scully tells her mother. She sounds like a teenager. Honest, Mom. It only happened once. We didn't mean for this to happen. "I don't care how many times it was, Dana. I would have preferred it if you were married and settled down first, but after the news about your infertility, I'm just happy for you," her mother says. "I was hoping you would be happy. I'm happy," Scully says. She hasn't told me she is happy very often. "And Fox?" Mrs. Scully asks. "I'm happy," I reply as I come through the door. "And are you getting married?" she asks, looking from me to Scully and back to me. "Let me get used to the idea of a baby first," Scully says quickly, pressing her hand against her still flat abdomen. "I asked her about getting married," I make sure to add. "And you told him no?" her mother asks, jokingly. "I don't want the baby to think we had to get married," Scully tells her mother. I'm sure there would be more she would tell her if I was somewhere else. "I see you two have a lot to discuss," Mrs. Scully says, still looking at me. "We know," I say to the grandmother of my child. January 25, 2001 Mulder insists on going to the OB/GYN with me. I don't know why. He's getting into this parenting thing too easily. The doctor confirms what I already know. I am pregnant. It is a miracle. I should be happy. I would be happier if I wasn't nauseous all the time. Actually, it is not all the time. Just from 6 a.m. to 7 a.m., and then from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m. Whoever named it morning sickness didn't know what they were talking about. I've only thrown up once, though. Mostly it is the dry heaves. If I don't eat, I get sick. I'm getting tired of having to take saltines with me wherever I go. When I was growing up, I always thought I'd love to be pregnant. It's not horrible, but it isn't that great either and I've barely experienced it. There is a delicious anticipation to the whole affair, probably because I don't know what I'm getting into. Excuse me, what we are getting into. I keep forgetting that Mulder isn't exactly running away from this. I am no longer completely dependent on Taco Bell. Potatoes are what keeps me going now. French fries, potato soup, hash browned potatoes, country fried potatoes, au gratin potatoes, twice baked potatoes, cheese potatoes and even the good, old-fashioned baked potato. I'm only three months pregnant. Six more months to go. Mulder jokes that he hopes the state of Idaho has stocked up. I'm not showing at all, which is good, because I don't know what to do about my job. I know I can't keep running after criminals and unearthly freaks for much longer, but I am not quite prepared to give it up yet. Mulder is worried I will get shot, get injured, or get abducted. Mostly I do paperwork. No one has noticed so far. I am sure when the time comes, I can go back to Quantico. I don't know what will happen to this partnership after that. I imagine it will cease to exist. As much as I am overjoyed by the thought of having a child, the thought of not having this particular job saddens me. I am hoping that the time constraints of raising a child will fill the void that the loss of being on the X-Files will inevitably bring. I find Mulder waiting for me in the lobby. He was there for most of the exam, but left when it got too personal. I wonder if he knows exactly how personal child birth can get? He did watch my eyes well up with tears when we listened to the baby's heartbeat for the very first time, and I do believe he got a little emotional himself. "You ready?" I ask him. "Sure. When do you have to be back for your next visit?" he asks, looking at the appointment reminder card I have tucked in my hand. "Next month," I say. "You know, we do have to deal with work soon," Mulder says. "I know. Maybe next week," I say, not wanting to deal with it at all. "Okay. You just let me know," he says, as he leads me to the door. "Good. Now lets go find some potatoes." February 14, 2001 I'm sitting on the cold bathroom floor next to her. She won't get more than one foot away from the toilet tonight. She has been sick all evening and I think it is all the potatoes. Scully is trying to set the record for the most number of potato dishes consumed in nine months. Scully is also now on a mission to eradicate anything with a scent on the face of the earth. Right now she is ranting about any cleaner labeled springtime fresh. I can no longer wear cologne. I can no longer use anything with a scent. Unscented deodorant, unscented shampoo and perfume-free laundry detergent are all I can use now if I want to be in the same room with her. She also has gotten rid of all those scented hand cremes she used to use. She packed everything she had with a scent in a big plastic bag and dumped them. She tells me it is normal. Pregnant women have a heightened sense of smell. Actually, they have a heightened sense of everything. She can hear me from a mile away now. I'm in the bathroom with her, and I'm not sure why. Guilt? Because I did this to her? We're stuck in some hotel in Omaha. She found a restaurant that had the best potato casserole. Unfortunately, after that we had to go out to the Omaha Stockyards to investigate some strange cattle deaths. Do you know what one-hundred year old stockyards smell like, even in February? A century of cow shit. Not even a foot of snow could kill the stench. I've never seen my partner look like she did when we stepped out of the car. She has been heaving up everything since. I'm slowly getting used to it. I've spent most my nights of the last month camped out on her living room couch. She doesn't tell me to leave, but she doesn't invite me any closer, either. I guess it is still a wait and see thing with her. Usually she is vomiting in the bathroom when I get up in the morning. I would love to reach over to her now and brush off the hair that is hanging in her face. I would do it, but she smells really bad. March 16, 2001 Mulder is sitting on my couch reading "What To Expect When You're Expecting." My mom bought it for him, not me, assuming that all those years of medical school would have taught me everything there is to know about pregnancy. At five months, it's a miracle I'm still not showing. The swell of my belly isn't anything I can't hide under my clothes. Good thing, too, considering we haven't dealt with the whole issue of work yet. I just hang back in every case we work on, and do paperwork. I'm getting good at paperwork. Our expense reports have never been so timely. Sooner or later we will have to face the powers that be and let them know. The morning sickness has stopped. The cravings haven't, I think as I try to figure out what to cook for dinner. Cheesy potato soup sounds good. "Scully, is this true?" Mulder asks me from over the top of the book. "What's that?" I ask back over a can of soup. "That women in their second trimester are, um, well, have an increased libido?" he asks sheepishly. "I suppose you could say that," I answer, cautiously. It isn't that I haven't thought about it. I have this man sleeping on my couch every night. A part of me wants him so much that I ache with desire. And another part keeps telling me not to go there yet. There are so many other things we have to deal with now. "And you?" he asks. He's watching me closely now, and I would guess he didn't miss the blush that spread across my face. "I suppose you could say that," I answer again. "And you aren't going to do anything about it?" he asks, his voice low and hushed, and I know what he thinks I should do about it. "What would you like me to do about it? I'm pregnant. It's not like I could go out and pick up some guy at a bar or anything," I answer. He looks hurt. I had no intentions of hurting him. Just slowing down this freight train I feel moving through the living room. "I guess not ..." "I'm kidding you, Mulder. Are you suggesting I should do something about it?" I say, my brain momentarily deciding to let the damn train fly off the tracks and pick up the pieces later. How else did I ever think this would work? This is the only way... "Yes. This," he says to me as he gets up from the couch, picks me up and carries me into my bedroom. I'm actually giggling for the first time in months. His gesture is funny and touching all at the same time. "At least I know I can't get pregnant this time," I say to him as he puts me down on my bed, my can of soup rolling somewhere. He smiles at me, remembering something from another night. The only other night. "That's what you said to me the last time, Scully. 'Trust me, Mulder. There's no way I can pregnant.' I remember it well," he says before he kisses me for the first time since October of last year. I have to keep telling myself to breathe. Stop kissing her and breathe or I'm never going to make it. And I have to will my hands to stop trembling although that's about as hard as the breathing thing. She and I have done this before but that doesn't seem to matter to my hands and my lungs and everything else. We did this but it wasn't like this. That was some strange fluke. A chance happening between two lonely people. This is the start of forever. She moves up the bed and I crawl after her, reaching for her clothing as we go. My hands brush against her breasts and I can't help but to smile. "Those are ... um ... those are quite ..." I try to say and she blushes. "Those aren't mine," she says and I laugh at the comment. "They feel like yours," I say, my fingers finishing with the buttons on her blouse. It falls open and I stare at the roundness of her breasts pressing against her bra. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't move. She just stares up at me while I take everything in, a look of wonder playing across her face. "What?" "You," she says, her hand moving up to stroke my cheek. "What about me?" "It's just that I'm sorry for what ... for everything. For these last few months. I just didn't know," she says, blinking back tears. I curve my body in next to hers and hold her in my arms, my hands sliding down to the barely perceptible bulge that's our baby. "There's nothing to be sorry for." "I was scared. I'm still scared," she says, her hand resting on top of mine. "Of what?" I ask. I know what I'm scared of. I'm scared none of this is real. That I'm going to wake up tomorrow and discover someone made this all up and convinced us to believe it. That we don't have even an inkling of what the truth really is. "That the baby isn't ... yours. Or mine. Ours. That there's something ..." she starts to say, her voice cracking. "That I don't know how ..." "The doctor said don't worry about it. You never tried before. Right? You never did?" I ask, turning her to face me. "When would I have had the time?" "Time was all that was stopping you?" I ask and the worried look on her face is replaced by a smile. "Time ... and the right person." "I've been here for years," I say and she pulls my face down for a kiss. It's long and sweet and I can't control my breathing again. "But the time wasn't right," she says, our mouths barely moving apart. She whispers the words against my lips and I feel them move through me, echoing as they go. "Now it is." "Yes, it is," I agree, kissing her again. Her tongue moves past my lips and we tentatively taste each other, moving slowly this time. I don't want to rush through it like the first time, both of us racing against a storm and whatever forces were at work that night. There's nothing this time. Her hands pull at my t-shirt and I move away from her long enough to tug it over my head and toss it away. She slips out of her blouse and I unclasp her bra, watching her round breasts fall free from satin and lace. "Is this okay? Does that hurt?" I ask, stroking my thumb over a now hardened nipple. She closes her eyes and sighs, and I take that to mean it's just fine. I gently glide my tongue over the other one and listen to her gasp in response. My fingers travel down over her ribs and down to the button of her pants, which is already unfastened, allowing for more room for her slightly expanded tummy. I slide the zipper down and she lifts her hips, allowing for me to ease her pants down as far as I can reach. She does the rest, kicking them off with her feet. Her fingers tangle through my hair, pulling my mouth away from her breasts and pulling me towards her face. "Kiss me," she says and I do as I'm told, our lips brushing slightly at first. I back away, each touch a little more teasing and she finally has enough and pulls me all the way to her, her tongue crashing into my mouth. In between kissing and breathing, I somehow manage to get both of us completely undressed. My hand slips between her parted thighs until she moans and presses against my touch, wanting more. Her fingers wrap around my cock, moving her just right and it's been so long since I felt anything like this that I lose track of everything else I was doing. She doesn't seem to mind. She watches my face with such an intensity as she makes me so hard it aches. My whole body aches for her, from my heart downwards and I push her hand away. I no longer need slow. I just need her. "Mulder, now..." she says in agreement to my unspoken thought. "How would this be best for you? I mean, I've never been ... with someone expecting ..." "And I've never done this while expecting so I think we'll just have to work it out. All I know is I need you," she says and everything stops as we watch each other, letting this all soak in. But it doesn't stop for too long. She reaches for me, pulling us so we're facing each other on our sides, her leg hooked over my hip. "Here. Like this ..." I slide into her and find myself going over that breathing thing again. The palm of her hand rests on my cheek and she smiles, letting me know that it's all okay. That it's always going to be okay as long as we've got each other. He begins to move so slowly, as if he's afraid of breaking me and I can't stop smiling. The expression on his face alone is priceless and I try to capture it in my mind, never wanting to forget this. The first time and my reaction the following morning can be forgotten as long as we have this. Straining to keep the pace slow for some reason, his eyes flutter closed and he bites his lip. "It's okay. Really, Mulder, it feels wonderful and this can't hurt the baby. You know that," I say and his eyes open slowly. I kiss him and take that lip between my own teeth as my hand moves from his face to rest on his hip, urging for him to go faster. Our eyes lock, not breaking our stare once as he goes faster. His hand moves between our sweaty bodies to touch me, circling against my clit at just the right pace. Everything in the room begins to swirl around me and I find myself fighting not to gasp for air. It's hard enough to remember to breathe let along not to sound like I'm drowning. But I am. He keeps moving and touching and I keep watching his eyes, for once knowing everything that's going on in his mind right at this second. And for once, it's nothing I can contradict. "Stop thinking and just feel," he says, knowing me too well. "I am feeling ..." I say and he thrusts in harder and faster, repositioning himself so he can get a better angle and not finding one easily. I arch against him, wanting him in further, if that's even possible and I gasp with disappointment when he slips out. "Come here," he says, sitting up before me. "What?" I ask and he reaches out for me. "Just come here ..." I'm pulled into his lap before I can say a word, my legs wrapped around his waist, and he slips into me again. His hands go under my ass and he helps me rock against him, showing me how to circle my hips so it feels just right. Does it ever feel right. He keeps thrusting at just the right spot and it's not too much longer before my whole world goes all off kilter. I'm left holding onto him, struggling for air and fighting to make this last longer. "Promise me ..." I try asking a question but am interrupted by his thrusting up and into me even harder now. "Anything ..." he says. I can tell by the look on his face that he's struggling to make this last, as if it might be the last time we ever do this. "Promise me that we'll do this again soon. Very soon," I say and with that, he smiles at me for just a second before he thrusts one last time. His face contorts with pleasure as I feel him empty inside of me and we both slump against each other, not willing to separate just yet. "That was worth the wait," he says and I kiss him. I kiss him long and hard until we fall over on the bed, a tangle of arms and legs. And then I kiss him some more. "That book is to blame for this," I say when we finally come up for air. "That book and your inquisitive nature." "At least we know what's to blame this time," he says, his voice so soft that it melts me. "Someday we'll know why," I say as his hand rests on top of my belly again, softly stroking the slight curve of baby. His baby. I don't know how or why but it has to be. "Maybe this time, there is no why. Maybe it just is," he says, knowing full well what I'll have to say about that. But I don't say anything, knowing there's no point in it. I wouldn't know where to even begin looking for the answers anyway and maybe in the end, the answers don't matter. It just is. And it *is* ours. "I'm hungry," I say right as my stomach rumbles. "It has been at least a half an hour since you ate," he comments and I shove him just a little. "Maybe sex makes me hungry," I say and he looks at me as if I just opened up and shared some huge secret with him. "Or maybe it's just the baby." He rolls away from me and reaches for something on the floor. It's my can of soup and he places it in my hands, giving me a smile. "I love you, Agent Scully. I love you and all your potatoes," he says and I don't know what to say. I need to say something but the words don't come out. Do I? Love him? Why can't I just figure that out and admit it or deny it? "And I need to go eat some of these potatoes," I say, rolling off my bed and reaching for my robe. "Just come back to me quickly," he says, settling in against my pillows and not even noticing I didn't return the sentiment. Before I can leave the room, he's asleep, probably exhausted from all those months of sleeping on the couch. I cover him up with a quilt before I go off to the kitchen to make dinner. March 21, 2001 "Agents, first I want to know why you didn't come to me with this ... problem sooner? Second, I want to know how much longer you planned on going on field assignments, Agent Scully?" Skinner asks, his voice low and rumbling, his tone a little harsher than I imagined. Scully is holding her own rather well. Better than I am. I'm still working on that melting into the wall technique. I have yet to get it perfected. I can barely stop from wiggling in my seat under the scrutiny. For the past two hours, we have been questioned about everything, from conduct to expense reports. I know Skinner is upset, but I still can't quite put my finger on what upsets him more. We've been in trouble before, but not this kind of trouble, so to speak. I just can't tell whether he is more upset by the fact that two of his agents are going to be parents together, or by the fact that we will now be separated due to Scully's condition. We were having one hell of a solved rate streak going. Plus, the paper work has never looked better. The rumors have been out there for weeks now. Someone saw us shopping together for baby items. We only have four months to go. Sooner or later, we had to start buying blankets and bedding and towels. Six of everything, the book said. How someone under ten pounds can use six of everything, I don't know but I'm sure I will find out. "Agent Mulder?" Skinner asks, snapping me back to attention. "I'm sorry, sir. What did you say?" I ask, not hearing a word that he said. "I'm reassigning Agent Scully back to Quantico for the time being. I will work on getting you another partner in the near future, preferably a man this time, so we can avoid this again," Skinner says with all seriousness. I just look at him. A little smile appears on his face. Scully smiles, too. "Agent Scully, I want you to seriously reexamine what direction you want your career to move in. Being a single parent and in law enforcement can be tough. I'm not saying you are off the X-Files forever, but I'm sure your capacity will be changed," he says, sounding very concerned. "I can't have both of this child's parents out in some tight spot risking their lives. It just isn't going to work that way." "I have several months to examine all my options, sir. Plus maternity leave. Teaching again at Quantico will be fine for now," Scully says, sounding so sure. Quantico sounds so far away, I think to myself as I look at Scully. She is starting to look pregnant. She has that slight swelling around her face and her waist line is starting to expand a little. She is so beautiful. All of her. Now I get to see all of her, and take part of all the changes her body is going through. And those breasts. Oh God, those breasts ... "Okay, agents, I think that will do it for today. I will be talking to you both again shortly," Skinner says, dismissing us. Scully and I get up to leave. We're almost to the door when Skinner stops us. "By the way ..." Skinner calls. We both turn to him, not knowing what to expect. "Congratulations." April 27, 2001 The ultrasound gel they are spreading over my belly is cold. I know they can warm this goo up. It can't be that hard. I have become huge over the last few weeks, and my doctor is worried. I went from gaining about four pounds a month to gaining ten in the last three weeks. Mulder just looked at me in shock when he got back from an out-of-town assignment and then exclaimed that I was huge. I smacked him. This whole ultrasound experience is uncomfortable. My full bladder is enough to make me break down. "Think of a stream. Think of a babbling brook. Think of a waterfall," Mulder says, teasing me. "Mulder, if you don't stop it now, I'm going to wet the gurney," I say and fully meaning it. He is standing next to me holding my hand, while I'm holding in about a gallon of urine. "Let's see what we've got in there," the technician says as she starts pushing at me. Mulder bends down close to my ear and whispers, "Hopefully, it's human..." "I can see one baby. An active one at that. You are going to have your hands full, Mr. and Mrs. Scully," the technician says. Mulder is getting used to being called Mr. Scully, considering they're always looking at my chart and assuming we're married. No one seems to notice that my title is doctor. I guess in child birth, it doesn't matter. "Do you want to know what sex it is, Dad?" she asks Mulder. It is the first time someone has called Mulder 'Dad.' He doesn't look as surprised by it as I do. "Do you?" he asks me, his eyes meeting mine. I think he does want to know, so something is sure in our lives, and we can plan to go in a certain direction. "I guess ... if you know for sure," I say, knowing that many mistakes have been made with the determination of sex. "Oh, honey, I know for sure. You're having a boy. See, right there, that's external plumbing," she says. Mulder and I try to see what she is pointing at, but the little image keeps moving around. I wanted a girl, I won't lie. My mother and I have always had a great relationship on the whole. I was hoping to repeat that with a little girl of my own. I wanted someone to have girl talk with, to dress up, to take shopping. I wanted to raise a strong, independent woman and send her to medical school. Send her wherever she wanted to go. But a beautiful, healthy son will do just fine. June 14, 2001 "Curtis?" I ask her and she wrinkles her nose. "No," she answers, her nose unwrinkling a little. "Cuthbert?" I ask, already knowing the answer. "Cuthbert? No," she says. "Damon?" "No," she says again. "David?" I ask. "No," she says, wrinkling up her nose again. "Dawson?" "No." "Scully, there must be a name you like," I ask, getting frustrated. "Keep reading," she says, pointing at the book I bought today. I am sitting up next to her in her bed, flipping through this baby name book. Scully is now on bed rest, until her blood pressure drops a little. So far it has been one day and she is already going crazy. Everybody keeps telling her to enjoy the rest, because it isn't ever going to be like this again. I just enjoy being with her and watching the baby move around in her abdomen, like something from 'Alien.' "Jesse?" I start again. "I don't know," she says, looking a little puzzled. "Kirby?" I ask, adding a goofy accent to it. "He'll get beat up." "Then should we name him Rocky?" I ask. "No." "Well, we aren't naming him after me," I tell her. "I wouldn't do that to a child, Mulder," she says and we both ponder the name game in silence for a minute. "When you were a kid, didn't you think of these things? Don't all girls have the names of their children picked out by the time they are seven?" I ask her. I know Samantha planned on having Jennifer and Steven. Little did we know she would never have any ... "I wanted to name a boy Christopher," Scully finally says. "What's wrong with Christopher?" I ask. I like it. It would settle this easily. It is a little 'Christian' as far as names go, but it sounds like a real boy's name. Not like Cuthbert. "It is the second most common boy name in America. He will be one of a million Christophers," she says, frowning slightly. "It beats being one of one Fox," I counter. "Besides, remember the name of the storm he was conceived during?" She gives me an embarassed smile. I don't know why she would be embarassed now. I'm not sure why we did it right then and there, but I'm sure glad we did. Blame it on the rain. "Christopher Scully," she says, and so it is decided. Something that will last his lifetime was decided in moments by two other people. "Now a middle name ..." I ask, flipping open the book again. "Christopher Robin Scully," she says, peeking at me from the corner of her eye. "Oh, yeah. He won't get beat up with that name. Not at all," I say, imagining a boy in little black shoes and shorts carrying around his bear and a balloon. "Christopher Ryan Scully," she says. I like it. "Getting better. Actually, that is perfect. We just set forth a course in his life that he has no control over. Will the name Christopher make him more popular? Did I become what I am because I have the name Fox?" I start to ask. She just looks at me. "Mulder, I'm getting tired of this." "Picking names or being house-bound?" I ask. I thought the name choosing was supposed to be fun. "Both. Did you tell your mother yet?" she asks. Shit. I've been avoiding it. "No." "When are planning on doing that?" Scully asks, her voice telling me I'll be doing it tomorrow. "She'll get a birth announcement," I mumble. "Mulder ..." "Okay. I'll call her tomorrow. I promise," I say, as I lean over and kiss her on the forehead. "I'm due in less than a month. Don't you think she will be a little upset?" Scully asks. "Probably. Why don't you rest for awhile. Are you getting hungry?" "I could use a glass of milk," she says after giving it about one second of thought. "I'll be right back." I head towards her kitchen. I didn't know one could crave milk, but she does. Protein and calcium. Does the pregnant body good. She's really feeling awful. When I came 'home' today, I found her crying in bed. She was looking at a Victoria's Secret catalog and lamenting that her body would never be the same. Hormones kicking in, I imagine. I told her she never looked like those 6'2 models with long, blonde hair in the first place and that she looked just fine. Maybe just a little puffy. I never seem to be able to say the right thing anymore. So far everything is going smoothly. Her weight gain slowed down, but not before her doctor ran a battery of tests for something called preeclampsia. Now we have this blood pressure thing to deal with. Not to mention indigestion, heartburn, sore feet and a sore back, to name a few. And that's just me. We still haven't resolved exactly how we are going to raise this child. I occasionally bring up living arrangements. I can't imagine telling a kid that yes, your parents are together but they live in different suburbs. Oh, and, by the way, your mother won't marry your father for some unknown reason. I live at her place anyway. I don't know why we just can't find a bigger place somewhere and set up a nursery. She can be just a little stubborn sometimes. Thank goodness we enjoyed the glory days of her second trimester, because she says she is now too huge for anyone to find her attractive. I keep telling her that it's my child, and I find her to be quite beautiful, but she doesn't believe me. Well, I lived without it before. It won't kill me. I go to hand her the milk I poured for her and find her fast asleep. June 28, 2001 I am attending my last Lamaze class with my mother. Leave it Mulder to ditch me when it really counts. At least I'll know how to breathe right when I yell at him later. Mostly, the class discusses the birth process, which I already know. I wanted Mulder to experience the classes. My mother has already been there four times. Maybe I won't even let him in the delivery room. Maybe I would rather have my mother there instead. That is what I will do. He'll pay for chasing those UFOs of his. Damn it all. I'm discovering that constipation that lasts for two months can make someone grouchy. Add to that the fact that I have acid reflux so bad I have to sleep sitting up in a chair, and I have become a virtual bear. Nine months is simply too long for this whole process. Now Mulder can't even be here. Bastard. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here in the first place. I know, I was there in that motel room, too. Hoo boy, was I ever there. It is still his fault. The least he could do is show up to a Lamaze class. Damned bastard. We are all sitting on the floor in the dark, relaxing. Well, as relaxed as a group of extra large women can get. My mother starts to move away from behind me, where she has been supporting me. "Mom? What's wrong?" I ask, trying to turn to see what is going on. "Shh, Dana ... I'll see you in a couple of minutes." A familiar form moves into her spot and pulls me back to rest on him. Of course he would do this. Just because I thought he was a bastard a second ago. Now I have to feel constipated and guilty. July 4, 2001 I am enjoying my day off by assembling baby furniture at Scully's apartment. I still haven't figured out how a baby swing could come in so many pieces. After I assemble each item, she goes around and 'tests' them by pushing down on them and rattling them around a little. I guess she trusts me with everything but the baby. Her mother had a baby shower for her. Actually, it was a couples' shower, which is horribly embarrassing for men. We all stand in the background while these alien life forms we used to call our wives or girlfriends "ooh" and "ahh" over little blue clothing. "Scully, can you hand me that wrench thing?" I ask and she tosses it at me. I'm working on putting together a cradle. She doesn't want a crib yet, so we picked out a cradle for in here and a bassinet for the other room. Then she picked out the bedding. Something all pastel and soft. I wanted something bright and filled with primary colors to stimulate his mind, but I lost in the end. I even assembled data for her on the advantages of using red and black when decorating for infants. She says when we get a place that has a nursery, we can do brighter colors. I take this as a good, although subtle, sign. It is the first verbal sign she has given in all this time that we are going to have a future living together. "What should he wear home from the hospital?" she asks me. "I don't know. I never really thought about it," I answer, looking up from the latest piece of baby equipment I'm putting together. "How about this?" Scully asks. She is holding up this tiny white outfit that has 'Daddy's Boy' embroidered on the chest along with a row of little ducks. "That will be perfect," I tell her. "Unless he turns out to be a she." July 8, 2001 "Did you feel that?" he asks me. Mulder is looking at the monitor that detects contractions. The numbers are flying way up and I'm gripping the bed rail as hard as I can. So hard, actually, that the wood stain is coming off on my hands, and he wants to know if I can damn well feel that. "Of course I can feel that! I can't believe I'm expected to breathe through this!" I say, trying as hard as I can to focus and breathe. "Fox, instead of looking at the monitors, why don't you work on breathing with your wife," the maternity nurse tells him. "He's not my husband!" I say through clenched teeth. "Dana, the anesthesiologist is on his way. We will get you an epidural within an hour," the nurse says, as she looks at the little screen and the tape and marks something. "An hour? An hour!" I nearly shout. Why don't they let me do it myself? "Back labor can be hard. Would you like to try to see if we can reposition the baby a little?" she says, as she moves to my side. "Anything has got to better than this!" "I need your help," she says to Mulder. They both help me curl up into a ball on my knees and I can feel that some of the pressure is released off my lower back. "That usually does the trick for awhile," the nurse tells me, as she readjusts the external monitors on my abdomen. Another nurse enters the room. That makes about twelve people to have come in here in the last six hours. Half of them say things like 'we just want to see how far you are along' as they snap on their latex gloves. There is no modesty in childbirth. Of course, if it would make this process go any faster, the Pope himself could come in here and check me. I don't care. Now the doctor is coming in for the second time since I've been here.. "Dana, how are we doing?" my doctor asks, as he gloves up. "I've been better," I say. I have gained a new respect for my mother in the last few hours. I must remember to send a dozen roses next Mother's Day. "Well, let's just see how far you are along," he says, saying what everybody else says. The doctor and nurse reposition me and he checks. Mulder turns away. I suppose I would, too. "Four centimeters. We can break your water. That might speed things along. Plus, we can put in an internal monitor. It will give us a better indication of what is going on," the doctor says, as he goes about gathering equipment up. "Okay," I say. After that process is done, Mulder turns back to look at me. "Good God! No wonder all the furniture in here is vinyl," Mulder says, a look of distaste moving across his face. "Childbirth is messy, Mulder. Oh! Hsssss!" comes out of my mouth as another contraction hits. "Focus, Scully. Breathe," Mulder says. How stupid is he? "Damn it! Why don't you breathe!" I say to him a little too sharply. But the pain is driving me to talk like this. "I'm not the one having the baby. I'm just here to help," he says. Like he has no damn responsibility for what is going on. I grab his hand and squeeze tight. All his knuckles crack. The anesthesiologist finally enters the room. "Thank God!" Mulder says, looking more happy to see the man than I am. "She's trying to break my hand!" "You wouldn't be the first new father with broken fingers," he says in a matter of fact tone. He picks up my chart and flips through it. "Dana, I need you to turn onto your side and have you curl up into a ball if you can," he says, as he helps me move through the contractions. I try to comply to the best of my ability. He explains everything he is doing to me until finally he helps me into my original position. "That should help in just a little bit. Now, you won't be able to walk and sometimes labor slows down a little, but usually nothing serious," he explains to me. I can feel it helping already. I am discovering that knowing about childbirth, delivering a baby and experiencing it first hand are different things entirely. No one on earth can be entirely prepared for what their body is going to go through. I can only think in small, focused bits. I have six more centimeters to go until I can push. One centimeter at a time, Dana, I tell myself. Mulder is somewhere being useless. He offers words of encouragement, but he doesn't really know what this is like. They induced labor at 9 a.m. this morning. The contractions are so strong and the back labor so bad I finally asked for an epidural. I said I wasn't going to use one. Mulder just looked at me like I was quitting. He can have our next baby. I don't care right now. He gets to pace around and eat Jell-o and leave the room. I don't. I guess that is why I'm going to get the esteemed title of Mom. "Scully? Are you doing okay? You kind of drifted for a minute," Mulder says to me. "I'm doing much better now that I can't feel my lower body. Much better," I say, finally able to bear the pain for the first time in awhile. "Want to play canasta?" he asks with a smile. "I'm not feeling that much better." My mother peeks her head around the corner. "Mom, come in," I say, nearly crying out to her. "Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing?" she asks, taking my hand in hers. I've been waiting for her to get here. I need her. "Four centimeters," I say, knowing I have a long way to go. "And she has an epidural," Mulder adds in an accusatory tone. "I don't blame you one bit," Mom says, casting a admonishing glance at Mulder. My mom is much more comforting right at this moment than Mulder. I need my mom to mother me while I slip into motherhood myself. "Listen, I'm going to run to the cafeteria for a coffee. Anybody need anything?" Mulder asks, sensing that I need my mother right now. "More ice chips," I tell him. "Now, that I can do," he says. He kisses my damp brow and leaves the room. "It's so nice that the father can be in the room now," my mother comments. "He's not much help," I add. "They never are," she says with a smile. I can feel the contractions, but they have a dullness to them. They are not as demanding of my every thought as they were before. Mulder comes back in few minutes and helps me with some ice chips. He then retreats to the couch in the corner and reads a pamphlet on infant formula while my mother stays by my side for awhile. Hours go by with my mother and Mulder changing positions regularly. The doctor comes back to check on me. He and the nurse have a hushed conversation in the corner. I can sense that something isn't going exactly right. "Dana," the doctor finally says calmly, taking my hand into his. "You've been at eight centimeters far too long. The baby isn't going past zero station as quickly as we would like to see. Pitocin can cause stress on the baby and we are seeing indications of that stress on the monitor. We can't up the dosage anymore. It is what we call failure to progress and we're going to have to seriously consider a c-section." I'm so tired by this point, I don't care. "Will the baby be okay?' Mulder asks. "I'm sure he will be. But we need a healthy mom and a healthy baby. She's getting worn down," the doctor explains to all of us. "Go ahead," I say. "I'll get the surgical team ready. We do c-sections right down the hall here so you won't even have to leave the maternity ward. You'll only be able to have one person in there with you so you'll have to make that decision," the doctor says, before leaving the room. I reach out my hand towards the one person who needs to be there. Who I need most by my side. "Mulder, stay with me." July 8, 2001 I'm the one wearing scrubs for a change as I wander into the surgical room. Scully has already been wheeled in there, and the anesthesiologist is hard at work. All of a sudden it went from two people having a baby to a team having a baby. She is shaking as I try to hold her hand. "The anesthetics do that," a nurse informs me. Scully looks so much smaller now, in this bright, sterile room. "This isn't how I wanted this to go," she says to me, speaking in a shaky voice. "I don't care how he is born as long as you both are healthy," I tell her. The surgical team is busy getting her prepped and the doctor is explaining to me exactly what to expect. "You're not squeamish, are you?" the doctor asks me. "You wouldn't believe what I've seen in my line of work," I say, my mind suddenly flooding with visions of the pieces and parts I've seen over the years. "Nothing compares to the insides of your wife or the birth of your own child. Trust me on that one," he says to me as he goes back to prep work. "Scully..." I say, trying to think of the words to express everything I'm feeling. "Yeah, Mulder," she says, sounding very tired. "Thanks." "For what?" she asks, turning her head to look at me. She has on an oxygen mask right now, and so many tubes running here and there. It makes me shudder, as I remember the many times I've seen her lying in a hospital bed. But this time is a good time. "Choosing me to be here with you," I say, giving her hand a squeeze. "You're welcome. Hey, Mulder?" she say, pulling me slightly to her level. "What?" "I love you," she says, her voice so soft and gentle. It is the first time she has ever said that to me. I hope it isn't just the drugs. July 9, 2001 I can hear him crying, but I can't see him. "It's a boy!" the doctor says, confirming what we already knew. I start to cry at the sound of my own baby. The nurses take him over to the corner to warm him up, get his APGAR scores and clean him. "He's seven pounds, eight ounces and twenty inches long," someone says. "The time of birth was 12:02 a.m.," another nurse says. I want to see him. Now. I have waited nine months for this life to make itself known, and I don't think I can wait much longer. "Dad, would you like to show him to your wife?" someone asks Mulder after what feels like forever. He comes back carrying a little package swaddled in a blue blanket. His arms contain the most beautiful human being on earth. Christopher Ryan Scully. "He's too perfect," I say, as I feel the tears begin to fall down my face. "The advantage of a section baby is that their heads come out perfect with very little bruising. He is a cutie," the doctor says as he continues closing me up. "Would you like to come with your son to the nursery for his first bath?" one of the nurses asks Mulder. I never saw Mulder leave a room faster than he did for that opportunity. July 9, 2001 I have never witnessed a more beautiful sight. Scully is holding Christopher for the very first time. We are in the recovery room, along with her mother and a few nurses getting her comfortable after surgery. They are explaining to her how the morphine would wear off in the morning but she could enjoy this time with her son without pain. Most don't know she is a doctor and I guess it doesn't matter now. Scully is in a world of her own, examining tiny fingers and toes. He was wrapped up tight when they brought him in, but she has to check him over for I take off his little cap so she can see his light auburn hair. Or at least the little bit that is there. "Scully, is there a reason he looks like Skinner?" I tease her. "Mulder, didn't you know? I'm just using you as a cover," she says in her feisty voice. I see some of the drugs are already wearing off. "Would you like to try feeding him now, Dana?" one of the nurses asks. "I can bring in the lactation specialist if you would like some help." "That would be great," she says in a sleepy voice. I yawn loudly. This has been one hell of a day. "Get used to it, Fox. You aren't going to get much sleep for the rest of your life," Mrs. Scully says to me. The nurse helps Scully position Christopher so he isn't pressing on her abdomen for his very first feeding. Mother and child struggle a little, but soon they both catch on. Or latch on. Scully just smiles at him. I was wrong before. Now I have never witnessed a more beautiful sight. July 9, 2001 He is going to be a feisty one, my little Christopher. A few people have come by to visit and they all say he looks like me. I don't see it. Except for the hair, he looks like Mulder. I think people say that to the mother because of all the work she puts into it. The dad will show up for fifteen minutes nine months before the child is born, and ends up with a little human that looks like him. Mulder spent the night curled up on the tiny couch in the room. I told him to go home, but he didn't want to leave. Now he looks about as bad as I do. Actually, right now, no one could look as bad as I do. Earlier, the nurse was telling me all the advantages she has noticed by having a c-section. Everything from keeping certain parts of the female anatomy intact to the baby not having a cone head. I wanted to tell her that I can't see the advantages, especially not after they made me get up to take a shower. Doctors make the worst patients, the old adage says. Especially when they are recovering from major abdominal surgery *and* dealing with a newborn. Throw into that mix a new mother trying to get the knack of breastfeeding without placing the baby on any sore spots, and you get one cranky doctor. I wish they would just let me lie in bed and watch my son. He's magnificent. Now I know that all the things my mother said were true. There really is no greater love and it happened so fast. Love at first sight. That is the only way to describe it. I am sitting in a chair I'm afraid I'll never get out of and Mulder is holding Christopher in the crook of his arm when A.D. Skinner comes by for a visit. He sets down a vase of flowers and takes a close look at our baby. "Agent Scully, how are you doing?" he asks as Mulder shows him our son. "I feel like I have been shot in the stomach again and then had a baby dropped in my lap this time, sir," I say, not trying to sugar coat the experience at all. "He looks like you, Agent Scully," Skinner says, looking at me and then back to the baby. "That's what everybody keeps telling me," I say, with a weak smile. "Mulder, I never thought I'd see the day you were carrying around an infant," Skinner says, looking slightly amused by it all. Fox Mulder the father. "It's not bad, sir. If you would like to borrow him sometime, you can. Hey, we could use him to pick up women ..." "Not my son," I say. "Well, I don't want to stay long. I just wanted to see Christopher. And to see how you were doing," Skinner says. "I'll walk you out, sir, if that's all right with you Scully?" Mulder asks as he carefully places our sleeping baby into his isolette. "I'll be fine. I'll page one of the nurses if there's any trouble." July 9, 2001 Skinner had barely pulled away when I heard someone coming up behind me. "Babies are such a special gift, aren't they, Agent Mulder," a familiar voice says. I turn around to find him standing not four feet away from me, lighting a cigarette. "What in the hell are you doing here?" I ask, trying to control myself. I'm tired. I don't want to make a mistake and kill him. Or maybe I do. It's a shame I don't even have my weapon. "Seeing the new arrival, Agent Mulder. He is beautiful. Looks a little like his mother. A little like his father. And..." he takes a drag on his cigarette, "he looks a little like his Grandmother Mulder did when she was younger. So beautiful." "Listen, you bastard, I don't know what you want..." "Do you think these gifts come without a price? Do you think babies just materialize out of nowhere?" the bastard asks, still puffing away on his cigarette. "What are you talking about?" I ask back. "The decisions you are going to make for your son's future. His protection," he says, his words hanging in the air. "I'll protect him myself." "Did you ever think that is what your father said about you? How is he protecting you now, Fox? I'm that boy's only insurance policy," he says. I know what he wants. He wants me to give it all up, to let them win. Even then it will never be an insurance policy. If they want to make us bend, they now have the leverage to do it. "I see by the look on your face, you know I'm speaking the truth. I will save him, Agent Mulder. I made him, and I will save him," he says, his voice hissing as if he were really a snake, not just a perfect human replica of one. "You made him! I don't remember you there," I say. Fuck. I knew it was too good to be true. This wasn't just an accident. "I gave her the means. You took the opportunity. It's all still my doing. Without me, there would be no Christopher Ryan Scully with the auburn hair," he says, smiling a self congratulatory smile. "Leave the baby alone," I demand, my voice cold and hard. This is one thing they can't mess with. "I'll get back to you, Agent Mulder, to see what you've decided." He walks back into the shadows. All I can do is fall to my knees and weep. The End
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