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Title: Sunshine and Shadows Summary: Everybody tries to adjust to life with the baby. August 10, 2001 6:17 p.m. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..." "Waaaah! Waaahh! WAAAHH!" "You make me happy when skies are gray..." "Wah! Wahh! Waaah!" "You'll never know dear, how much I love you..." "Waaahh! WAAAAAH!" "Please don't take my sunshine away." Unless you can get him to stop crying. No, I don't mean that. I would never want someone to take him away. Even if he's slightly colicky. "Ok, so that song isn't doing it for you, is it pumpkin. Come on, sweetie. Pwease, pwease, pwease stop crying. Mommy will be home in a little bit. I pwomise," I say, reduced to talking baby talk. Christopher started crying the second Scully left the apartment and hasn't stopped yet. I've been dancing around this tiny apartment with him and singing everything imaginable from 'In-a-gadda-da-vida' to 'As Time Goes By', but nothing is working. "Mommy said she'd be right back." Good God! How long has she been gone? Two hours now? I know she desperately needs to get out and away from us, but for this long? "Ok. Let's try this one. It worked for your grandma the other day," I say to my son as I hold him tight and slow dance around the living room some more. Most nights this works. Of course, most nights he has his mom or grandma dancing and singing with him. "Some day, when I'm awfully low, Even if that is all red and bunched up. "Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm No, you don't smile much yet, but you are still beautiful. "Waaaaahhh! Waaaah!" That one isn't working either. "So, you don't like the oldies, do you? I'm getting tired, buddy boy. You want to sit and rock a little?" I sit down in the rocker and put him down on his tummy on a receiving blanket over my knees and rub his back. Some nights this does the trick. Other nights, nothing helps. I know Scully had to get out to clear her head. I appreciate how hard it has been for her to move into motherhood. I appreciate how unexpected it was. One week ago I told her about the little visit I had with our smoking friend. She has not been the same since. I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I don't know if I can give it all up for this tiny soul. Will this person finally be the leverage they need? I want both my life's work and my son. I also want my son's mother to come home and make him happy. August 10, 2001 I had to get away and think. I'm so tired. I've only been gone a mere twenty minutes now. I've got to do this. I have got to get my thoughts out of the shadows, even if only for an hour. I am making that first trip alone most new mothers make. I'm driving to the grocery store by myself. I don't know what is wrong with me. My head is cloudy form the lack of sleep. Although I feel this overwhelming love for Christopher, I feel nothing for anybody else. I have been exhausted before. Medical school, for one. There were many cases with Mulder where there was no time to sleep. Then there was Antarctica. I thought I could never be as exhausted as I was when we got home. Or Africa. I know better now. Sleep was at least an option then. I have no choice but to nurse my ever-hungry son every two hours and attend his every need. This is the best for him, I tell myself, but what about me? I've lost me. Mulder has left for hours at a time to go into the office, even though he is on leave. I feel as if I have no where to go anymore. Now Mulder brings that damn Cancer Man into the picture, with his evil threats. I am doubting Mulder's ability to protect Christopher and still work on the X-Files. I have the right to ask him to quit to protect my son. Should I even have to ask him? I am losing control of it all. Mulder's future is so easy, or at least it appears that way to me. He knows what he wants. For me, the future is getting steep. The responsibilities of parenthood are overwhelming. I need to protect this child. That is all I know. Who can save my son from his future if his father won't? It always goes back to Mulder. It is a damned Catch-22. Without Mulder, I might be living a normal life with a husband and children who aren't threatened. With Mulder, I do have a son who's very existence makes his parents pawns in some elaborate chess match. Without Mulder, there would be no Christopher. With Mulder, there is a Christopher. I can't live without Christopher now that I have him. August 10, 2001 "Hush little baby, don't say a word..." "Waahh! Wahh!" "Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird." "Waaahhh!" "If that mockingbird don't sing..." "Papa's going to buy you a...a..." A what? Bell to ring? No, that's not right. How could I not know this song? I can remember Sinatra, but not this lullaby? Oh, yeah. I know... "A diamond ring." "Waaaah! Wahh!" "You know, kiddo, I'd buy your mommy a diamond ring, but I'm beginning to believe she really doesn't want to ever marry me." "Waaaah! WAAAAAH!" "That's how feel about it, too. Ok, if that diamond ring..." What can a diamond ring do? I've heard Scully sing this to him. I should have paid some attention to her, I guess. Now I remember... "Turns to brass, papa's going to buy you a..." A kilo of grass? It rhymes, and maybe some papas would, but I'm in law enforcement. A papal mass? No, that would be your mother. Come on, Mulder, think... "A looking glass." "Waaaahhh!" "This isn't working, either, is it, pookie? Do you need your diaper changed? Well, we can handle that, can't we, Christopher? Then we will call our mommy and see when she will be back." I get all the diapering essentials together and peel off his wet diaper. "Oh, shoot!" I forgot about keeping parts of a baby boy's anatomy covered until the other diaper is in place. Time for T-shirt change number twelve for the day. "We just won't tell mommy about that one, will we, Christopher?" I wash him, finish with his new diaper and get him dressed in dry pajamas. At least all the activity has slowed his crying down from a steady wail to an occasional wail. After changing my clothes, I pick him up off the bed and place him on the my shoulder again. I talk to him, hoping my voice will keep him quiet. "You know what we are going to do some day, Christopher? We are going to go to a pro basketball game. I'm not talking the Washington Wizards. I'm talking about the Knicks. Then during the summers, we will go see the Yankees a few times. I know the Orioles are closer, but we're talking about the Yankees. Now, for football, we can just go see the Redskins. Does that sound good? No ice skating, though, ok? Not even if mommy begs. You just say no. Hey, should we call mommy now?" August 10, 2001 I'm standing in the cookie aisle when my phone rings. I should have left it at home. "Scully," I answer. "Scully, it's us." "Us?" Well, that is new. "Yeah. You, me, baby makes three. That's an us," he says. "What did you need? Is Christopher ok?" I ask as I pick up a package of Vienna Fingers and examine them for God only knows what reason. "He's fine. Well, actually, he won't stop crying," Mulder says, sounding like he's admitting defeat. "Did you feed him? I left a bottle of milk for him in the fridge." "No....no...I didn't feed him yet." I can hear him rattling around in the refrigerator. "Try that." "Scully, are you ok?" he asks. He's always been too damn intuitive. "Yes, I'm fine," I tell him, trying to sound as sincere as I can. "You don't sound fine. Scully, you sound...flat," he says, and he is right. I do sound flat. And even more than that, I sound tired. "I'm just tired. Did you get him his bottle yet?" I ask. "I'm working on it. I think you have postpartum depression," Mulder declares. "Is that your professional opinion?" I ask, knowing he's right and hating him for it. "Yes, it is." "Give Christopher his bottle. I'll be home in an hour or so." "Let me guess. You are at the grocery store standing in the cookie aisle." "No, I'm not," I lie. "Yes, you are. Because there's a lot of choices on that particular aisle. More importantly, you are in control of those choices. They aren't difficult or life altering choices. It won't matter if you bring home Oreo's or Vienna Fingers. You feel like you've lost control of everything else in your life right now. You are trying to find something you can control," he says, knowing me too well. "And that would be cookies? Mulder, why are you profiling me?" I ask, mad that he can do it with such ease. "I'm not. I know how you feel. I've been alone with Chris for two hours now..." "Actually, It's only been about forty-five minutes," I tell him. "Whatever. He's very demanding. Our lives have changed and now you feel out of control." "Why don't you save it for when you go back to work next week." "Is that what this is about? That I'm going to go back? That I'm not giving it up?" I don't say anything. "Scully, I'm in this just as far as you are. I love him just as much as you do. I'm not going to let anyone hurt him," he tells me, but the words are so hard to believe. "Maybe that's the problem. You think you in as far as I am but you don't have to be. You still have control of your life. You can still walk away. You can still go back to work and risk it all," I tell him. "But I'm not going to risk it all. I'm not going to walk away. I just have to figure it all out. We are not only responsible for ourselves and each other now, but also for this person we created. Like I said, I will protect him ," he says. I want to sit down and cry in the cookie aisle. I don't want to argue over any of this. I want it all to be normal. I want the big house and the picket fences. I want a family. Dad, mom and baby. I don't want my baby used to control us. I don't want strangers saying they had a part in creating him. "I love Christopher, but maybe I just wasn't ready for this. It's not like I planned on having a baby with you, Mulder. Now we have crossed a line we can't go back over," I say, even though some of those words might hurt him a lot. "That's what you get for making whoopee, Scully. We crossed that line about ten months ago. You should have thought of it then," he says, and I can tell I did hurt him. "I did. Remember?" "So, I'm not the man you planned on spending your life with? Is that it? You missed out on the big, fluffy white wedding? The honeymoon? You think I stole those things from you?" I am crying now. I don't know how I feel about him right now. "We never had a relationship before we had a baby," I tell him. "Like hell we didn't! Our relationship was better than that of half of the married people out there," he says, his voice getting louder. "And now it's gone," I say, my voice cracking. "Now it can only get better. Why don't we talk about this when you get home?" "No, it's easier for me to tell you this way." I can hear him take in a deep breath. I can also hear Christopher complaining in the background. It makes my breasts tingle, and I have to put one arm across them. "You want me to move back to my place?" I don't know what to say. I don't honestly care if he stays or goes right now. That is how tired I am. "Maybe. I think so. Yes," I finally answer. There is no sound from the other end except a small cry from my son. Maybe it was Mulder. "Ok. I'll get my stuff together and I'll leave when you get back." The phone disconnects. Well, that was taking control of something, now wasn't it, Dana? August 10, 2001 I hold Christopher close to my chest and give him his bottle of breast milk. I rarely ever get to feed him. I'm not going to claim to be one of those fathers who say they are envious of the mother's ability to breast feed. I'm not. But it's moments like this that make all the sleepless nights worthwhile. I know I lack the heart and soul behind the feeding that he is used to with his mother, but he seems to be getting pretty comfortable. "Christopher, your mommy and daddy are having some problems right now. They have nothing to do with you. You mean everything to us. I know you don't understand this, but I want to tell you anyway. Your mom and dad have been through a lot together. Not all of it is good. I just want you to know that I love you, and your mommy loves you. No matter what happens to your parents, we both love you. I also love your mommy. A lot. Daddy has to make some choices that could effect the rest of your life," I tell him as his eyes get droopy. He's starting to fall asleep. I don't want to let him go, but I have to. I get up and place him on the bed between some pillows. I get out my bags and pack up my clothes and toiletries. I also grab the receiving blanket that's in his cradle. I need something to take with me. I know what is wrong with Scully, but I don't know how to help her. I can't give her back the old life she had. I don't even know if I want to. I also can't just give up everything I've ever worked for that easily. I have to at least see some of it through. I know she loves our child. I just don't know if she loves his father. I will give her the time she needs. I can do this. I lie down on the bed and a pull Christopher on to my chest. I need to hold him. We both are asleep in a matter of minutes. August 10, 2001 When I get home, I find them asleep in bed. Mulder has Christopher across his chest, arms holding him tight. I notice his bags are sitting next to the bed. I want to talk to Mulder, but I don't want to wake Christopher. I lie down next to them and turn out the lights. Two hours later, I wake to Christopher's cries. He is hungry. Mulder must have put him in his cradle before he left. I pick up my son and go to the rocking chair in the living room to nurse him. He is so restless. He must sense something is wrong with the world. I don't want to hurt him I want him to have a family, but I want a family where he is safe. Christopher just watches me with those all too familiar eyes. His father's eyes. I sing to him as he takes his time nursing. "Baby mine, don't you cry, baby mine, dry your eyes. I want him to have a future. I want him to have his father, but do I want his father? Maybe without his father doing what he does, he doesn't have a future anyway? I am so lost. "From your head down to your toes, He is full and back to sleep in thirty minutes. I bring him to bed with me and hold him close. Sometimes when I look at him, I am paralyzed with love. The thought of losing him brings tears to my eyes. If something happened to him now, my heart would be empty. My arms would ache from the loss of him. There would be no way to fill that emptiness. I wonder if Mulder feels the same. Would the loss of Christopher just be one more loss in his life, or would it be different? He has never lost a part of himself like a child. I have before when I lost Emily. I cannot endure that again. I just don't know the future of this family. I don't know how to save it. August 11, 2001 I can't go back to this. I can't so easily give up the life we have discovered together. I am back to sleeping on my couch. The only difference is I'm clutching a baby blanket scented like my son. And I'm not sleeping. Everything is different now. This place isn't home. I turn on the TV to discover I forgot to pay the cable bill. I haven't really lived here in six months. The me that lived here then would have put in a video. The me that is staying here now is too tired to move that far. I finally fall asleep to the sound of static. The pounding on my door makes me jump. Reflexively, I want the noise to stop before it wakes the baby up. Then I realize the baby isn't here. "Hold on a minute," I yell to the person on the other side of the door as I turn off the TV. I look at my watch. I have just slept for ten hours. A slight pang of guilt overcomes me. I open the door to find Scully standing there with Christopher in his baby carrier. "Come in," I say, taking the carrier from her. I have him out of the carrier and back into my arms as quickly as I can work the buckles. "I missed you," I tell him as I kiss the top of his head. "I'm sorry," Scully says. "For what?" "Asking you to leave." I don't know what to say about that. I don't know why she did it in the first place. "What are you doing here so early?" I ask, cradling my son in my arms. "It isn't early. We've been up for awhile now." "I'm sorry. I'll watch him if you would like to get some sleep," I offer. "No, I'm fine. I came here because I need to talk to you." She sits down next to us on the couch. Christopher's eyes are drawn to the lighted fish tank. Too bad there are no living fish in the thing. "What is it, Scully?" "This morning while I was getting Christopher dressed, I was looking at that lithograph my mother gave me when she first found out I was pregnant," she says. "The one with the mother and child? The one hanging over the changing table?" I ask. "Yes. I've looked at it through hundreds of diaper changes, but have never paid much attention to the scripture verse on it." "Jeremiah, isn't it?" "'For I know the plans I have for you...to give you a future and a hope'." "And?" I ask, now rocking our son in the crook of my arm. "Mulder, he isn't ours." "What!" I exclaim, not knowing where she is going with this. "We are only borrowing him from God. I know that of all the things you believe in, God isn't one of them, but hear me out. This is the only way I can deal with this. He belongs to God and God is letting us raise His child. Only God knows what the future holds for him. Not you, not me, not even that bastard who says he gave him to us. God gave him to us. No matter how much we love him, God loves him more," she says, her voice sounding stronger than it has in days. I don't know what any of this means to us. "I'm not in control," she continues, "I have to have faith that God does have a future and a hope for him. For all of us. He controls it all. I can't control all the evil in this world. I can't keep him safe from all harm. What I can give him is faith and a conviction in his beliefs. He must grow up believing in something. This is what I want it to be. That God does have a future for him." "Do you want me to quit?" "I believe you will do the right thing for yourself, for him, and for me. I believe in you and I believe that you do love our child more than anything else in the world. Even more than the truth." I pull her close to me. I have Christopher in one arm, Scully in the other. I don't need anything else for right now. The future be damned. This is now and this is real. "I phoned Father McCue this morning. We have an appointment with him to discuss baptism." "But I'm not ... anything," I say to her. She laughs. "I'm sure that will come up in the conversation. I still need to do this. I need to fill his life with faith." "Scully?" "What, Mulder?" she asks. "Can I come home?" "Yes, you can," she says, pulling me close and kissing my forehead, "Yes, you most certainly can." The end
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