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Title: Faith Summary: Scully thinking about life. Accolades and my first-born go to: T Bishop for her dear friendship, incredible beta and relentless hounding...I mean encouragement g. At times I had such little faith. Small and innocuous, my virtues seemed to fade like the setting sun. And, just when I felt like Persephone, a maiden persecuted to the abyss of darkness, I was reminded of impending motherhood and once again granted a renewed hope. That one day would start like any other since Mulder's disappearance. After a night filled with fitful sleep, I'd awake to his absence and start the morning ritual of throwing up. Myth number one: Whoever said that women were at their most beautiful when pregnant was obviously a cloistered monk. I'd weigh the choices of my current circumstances, fitful sleep or vomiting, and then decide water and Bremmer wafers were my only real option. Even this did not go down well. Rationally, I knew this Godforsaken, miserable feeling was caused by hormones and should have passed weeks ago. After all, I was four and a half months pregnant. Myth number two: Throwing up is not just for the first trimester anymore. For I was one of the lucky few continually reminded of her state of pregnitude by an almost constant condition of nausea; as if the rapidly diminishing options of designer clothing weren't enough. Disappointment number 438: The Watermelon Seed does not carry Donna Karan or black business suites. What's wrong with these people? I could have started a daily documenting of vomit, I mused during another mad dash to the toilet while having dinner at my mom's. We could place it in canning jars and Mom could boil them to a perfect airtight seal. Along side would be the burial archive of former lingerie, 'gone, but not forgotten.' Far be it for me to deny Mulder the privilege of sharing every glorious detail of this event when he eventually returned. My mother didn't think this was a very good idea and claimed this was St. Gerrard's way of reminding me of my blessings and my miracle. Lest I ever forget the disparity I felt when I learned I was infertile. Although I never asked her, she is a sly one and I imagine she and her friends have long been sending prayers and novenas on behalf of my former infertile self. When I questioned her wisdom on the holiest of topics, my query pursued 'who' would be the patron saint of an FBI agent abducted by aliens? "Why Dana," she replied, "I thought you knew?" Responding to the quizzical look on my face, which seemed to have said, 'Is there really a patron saint for this?' she gently touched my cheek with the unconditional love and knowing invested in a mother's intuition. "You are, dear." Oh God, help me. Mulder didn't have an ice cubes chance in hell of being found. I was not worthy of the honor my mom attributed to my character; but, considering everything, I appreciated it nonetheless. She was an endless source of strength; and reminded me that Mulder and I have a bond and the respect of friendship that crosses all time and barriers. "In a way," she stated matter-of-factly, "faith is maintaining our innocence. Don't become so jaded, Dana, that you're no longer able to see the signs along the way." By listening carefully and keeping my eyes open, I too, would know that all is well in the world and my faith would be rewarded. If I didn't share her features and my father's coloring, I would have bet my last dollar I was adopted. My assurance in the world has always been based in fact and as I grew, also in science. Taking leaps of faith has never been easy for me; and at a time when I needed this undying belief, I struggled to maintain its existence in my life. I also needed to throw up again. The tears began to well in my eyes at my ridiculous thoughts, but mostly for my loss. And my nosedive into another brief depression had just won me a perfect score of ten. As I was unable to see as I drove, I pulled into a church parking lot to sob my heart out. When my display of emotions seemed to have exhausted the resource from which they sprang, I wiped the wetness from my face, searched the car for a tissue or napkin so I could blow my nose and then took notice of the Church's marquis, 'Do You Want To Believe?' "Yes," I replied through a quivering breath. "Yes." So, maybe it was a good thing Skinner had sent me to a seminar that day. Anything to keep my rapidly changing form from overly curious and peering FB- eyes with nothing better to do than gossip about Mrs. Spooky sans Mr. Spooky. Annoyance number 1,013: Don't these people have lives? I was grateful for the winter season. Hiding my ballooning shape under a long coat - even in my drafty basement office where I felt like I was burning in hell - gave some peace of mind. But I would not be able to attribute my abdominal distention and frequent bathroom breaks to eating too many peanut M'n'M's and drinking copious amounts of water for much longer. Doggett had to know, didn't he? He never said a word but Christ, he couldn't be that stupid, could he? I imagined hearing Mulder commenting on my shape, "Come on Scully, get those little feet and that duck waddle moving." Of course this is Mulder and he would later apologize and beg for mercy, on his knees - especially when I had my gun trained on his thoughtless self. And I would forgive him, after he flew to Toledo and brought me back a Tony Packo's chilidog. It was entirely his fault I was craving the ultimate in food and indigestion. It all started with a useless trip to Detroit when Mulder insisted that the death of one Javier Rodriguez was directly related to the possible cause of an alleged alien abduction.... "Mulder, you've got to be kidding? Mr. Rodriguez, as unfortunate as it is, died from injuries he received in an auto accident." I responded to him in my most rational and medically persuasive voice as I lightly tossed the file onto his desk. Looking at me as though I were dumb, blind and stupid, he quickly noted what was not obvious to me. "That's what they want you to believe, Scully." "That's what 'who' wants me to believe, Mulder?" "The government, the Consortium. It's a well-documented fact that Javier Rodriguez was a multiple abductee, and the injuries he sustained in the auto accident were not serious enough to bring about death." "That's an interesting observation, Dr. Mulder. Thank you. But don't you think we should wait for the autopsy results before we go traipsing off to the Great Lakes?" "Well, we could." He looked at me sheepishly in only the way Mulder could, and added, "But you're doing the autopsy. Times a wasting Scully and our flight leaves in two hours." He quickly left the office before I could persuade him further. Twelve hours and one autopsy later, I discovered that while Mr. Rodriguez did die needlessly, it was not from alien intervention. Having been a former blood transfusion patient, of which St. Joseph's Medical Center was not aware, Mr. Rodriguez received another transfusion as a result of his accident. As the later blood was not leukocyte reduced, he developed what's known as a febrile reaction, alloimmunization. And while this is rarely a deadly condition, it does sometimes occur. Mulder was crushed, and I was too exhausted to say 'I told you so.' Just when I thought it was safe to leave for Detroit Metro, Mulder announced his grand plan. "Come on Scully, I'm taking you to Toledo to make this up to you." "Gee Mulder, how thoughtful. But really, it's unnecessary; I've been to Toledo...once." Not trying to wound his already disappointed feelings, but also trying not to subject myself to any further anguish, I attempted, once again, to dissuade him from this noble deed. "Really, it's not a problem at all; Toledo is only an hour drive. Besides, there's someplace special I want to take you." A coy Mulder is a hard to resist Mulder. "Let me guess, the Mud Hen stadium?" He looked aghast. "Scully, have you been holding out on me? I didn't realize you followed baseball farm teams or..." he paused moving his body close to mine, "are you possibly hoping for another private baseball lesson?" "Don't flatter yourself, Mulder. I told you I was in Toledo once. We have a field office there, remember." "Yes, I do remember," hereplied, attempting to hide his disenchantment at my rebuttal. "But this has nothing to do with baseball, unless you've changed your mind on that private lesson." The private baseball interlude never happened - well at least not on that trip. But two hours later we were sitting in the quaint restaurant known as Tony Packo's on Toledo's east side eating the best hotdogs I've ever had in my life. Jamie Farr's Klinger wasn't kidding about these. Afterward, we went to International Park and watched the full moon glow on the river. Mulder then delivered a romantic geography lesson about the Nile and the Maumee River's being twin sisters as they both flowed north. He certainly has a way with words and trivia sometimes. I really wished I had one of those hotdogs as I thought about that moment. My ability to drive eventually returned; and I left the asphalt sanctuary for my medical seminar - although my sense of navigation seemed to remain in the church parking lot. I took every wrong turn possible and found myself in yet another parking lot of an all year Christmas store. Christmas...How could I forget about this past Christmas? I was 15 weeks pregnant, and the thought of traveling to San Diego to spend the holidays with Bill and Tara was out of the question. Especially with the nausea I was experiencing. I told my mom of my decision at the beginning of December, citing a heavy workload and the ongoing investigation of Mulder's disappearance. Mom then decided to remain in Maryland as well, to be close by should I need her support. Bill and Tara, in turn, announced they were flying east to spend the holidays with us. All I wanted was to be alone, to grieve and feel ill in the solitude of my apartment, but Mom turned this into the event of the year. A large party was planned for December twenty- third, with every Scully and Harper family member known to man in attendance, and then just the immediate family on Christmas Day. No one knew I was pregnant, not even Mom - and I prayed I would make it through this holiday with no one the wiser. I really believed that this one prayer would be fully answered, and it was...almost. The party on the twenty-third went fine. There were too many people and too much activity for anyone to notice that I couldn't eat or how often I used the bathroom. Such was not the case for Christmas Day. Mom wanted me to spend the night Christmas Eve, but I graciously declined due to a full house with Tara, Bill and Matthew. At least when I woke, no one would notice the unnatural sounds emanating from the guest toilet. I think I would have been able to make it through the day if Great Aunt Margaret hadn't stayed with Mom. I was feeling fine - really I was - until the smell of the turkey started to attack the precarious balance of my stomach. I excused myself for the fifth time since sitting down to our meal and when I returned I was the focus of my family's concerned interrogation. "Dana, are you okay?" Bill asked. I would have found his concern touching if he wasn't such a pathetic nuisance in my life. Mom, the eternal peacekeeper and moderator of all things, simply stated that my time at work had been extremely stressful. "I'm sorry about Agent Mulder," Tara said attempting not to look at my brother. "Have you...are you any closer to finding him?" "Jesus, Tara, even Dana doesn't have the power to requisition a space shuttle and go looking for him across the Milky Way. Do you, Dana? Mom did say it was suspected he was abducted by his little green, excuse me - his little 'gray' men - didn't she?" I wanted to slap the smugness off his face and send it flying to the Milky Way. "No, Bill. Our search and investigation will continue to take place on a more earthly level." "Well personally, I don't know why you're all in a huff about this poor fellow. What's his name dear? Agent Mulder?" My aunt Margaret's voice startled us all. I honestly thought she was beginning to doze at the table she was so quiet. "I mean I think it's much easier to believe someone has been kidnapped than Mable Peterson thinking she saw Elvis at the grocery store last week! Poor dear, she hasn't been the same since The King passed away." She patted my hand in comfort knowing full well that Bill could be the biggest and most insensitive jackass around. Just when I thought the subjects of Mulder and my queasiness had been forgotten, my elderly aunt spoke again. "Dana, you know you've got that look about you. It's the same look I had when I was pregnant and the same look your mother had when she was pregnant with all of you children." She took a short pause to cross herself in remembrance of Missy and my father. My mom's shrill voice broke the shock and horror I felt at being discovered. "Aunt Margaret! Remember we told you that Dana..." she attempted to choose her words carefully with respect to my presence, "...she can't have children." "Oh hush Mary Margaret! I'm not a senile old biddy that can't remember what she's been told. But miracles happen everyday as long as you believe. Don't they, Dana?" How could I lie? I can't lie as long as I believe... "Yes, miracles do happen..." I spoke softly, looking into my aunt's eyes. "I'm so happy for you!" Her whole body smiled at her intuition being right again. I should have known; I should have remembered that Aunt Margaret was better than any obstetrician I know at predicting pregnancy. Eighty-seven years old and she didn't miss a beat. Giddy with excitement she couldn't wait to ask her next question. "How far along are you?" "Ah...um...fifteen weeks." She raised her glass of wine to toast my good fortune while Bill choked on his Christmas dinner. My mom's face was frozen and Tara sat in shock. "Dana?" That was the only word my mother could get out before Bill regained his ability to breathe and speak. "Dana..." Bill's voice was filled with a caution I'd never heard before. "Will I want to know who the father is?" Judging from the tone and cadence of his voice, I highly doubted now would be a good time to tell him. "No, Bill. I don't think you will." He didn't pursue his line of questioning; and soon my mother was commenting about what a truly interesting Christmas this turned out to be. Of course she also didn't forget to add that we should have a talk...soon. The most miraculous event of the day, however, was not my unintended announcement of pregnancy, but the conversation I had with my brother later that night. Mom and Tara were upstairs tucking Matthew into bed and Aunt Margaret had fallen asleep. I stood in a peaceful living room, lit only by candles, a magnificent Christmas tree, and a warm, crackling blaze in the fireplace. I felt safe, and for just one moment, happy. The falling snow was beautiful and the view glistened with an illumination I rarely took time to notice. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Bill placed his hands on my shoulders, gently massaging my stress away. "Yes, it is. Beautiful and peaceful," I acknowledged his attempt to reconcile our sometimes bitter-differences. "You know, Dana, I-" "Bill, if you've come to chastise me and the life I've chosen, maybe we could save this for another day?" I did not need this now - or ever; I did not need his recrimination to fuel my own sense of inadequacies. "I was saying, that I've been paying attention to the paths we choose in life. As a commanding officer, I take for granted the bravery and courage of the officers and enlisted soldiers in my charge. But as your older brother, I didn't want to admit I held a much different standard for you. I never understood your choice to join the FBI, Dana, until one day, I saw over and over again, your faith, courage and strength reflected in the men and women who serve under me. I was never more ashamed of myself as I was at that moment. I can't promise that I'll stop my over-protective behavior, but I'm very sorry for mistrusting what kind of person you are and how you've chosen to live your life. I really thought it was my job to protect you when...it's my job to love you." His words echoed through my body, but I could barely believe what I was hearing. Tears streamed warm down my face and my body trembled at his confession. "I believe, Dana, there can be no greater acts of love than trust and faith. And I have faith that you know what's best for you and this baby; and trust that Mulder will be returned." Holding each other, we stood silently at the window watching the snowfall with a faith renewed and a hope strengthened. I think of those times with a fond remembrance, when the path I walked gave me strength and echoed Mulder's presence in my life. The hospital is quiet now; and as I feel another contraction starting, Mulder continues to massage my lower back, humming some unknown tune intended to provide me with comfort. I roll over to grab his hand and begin taking deep, steady breathes. "That's it, Scully," he coaches, "breathe deep. I'm breathing with you." I moan and pant through the discomfort until the contraction eventually ends. Mulder offers me some ice chips and gently wipes my face with a cool cloth. All too soon the contractions are coming closer together and I feel my body take on a life of its own. I'm weepy and nauseous; I can't stop shaking; and I swear to God the Nubane drip is empty. "Mulder, would you please get he nurse? I think the Nubane is empty." I am a doctor and at no point have I developed a cavalier attitude regarding childbirth and pain. Any birth that does not require an inhuman act is natural; and I have no compunction requesting pain reducers at a time like this. Covering me with another blanket, Mulder carefully places a kiss on my cheek. "I've pressed the call button, Scully. She'll be here in a minute." "Well what the hell is taking her so long? Oh Mulder, I'm having another one..." Breathing together like synchronized swimmers, I focus on his eyes and his words of encouragement, "You're doing great, Scully, you're so beautiful." Nurse Rachette finally arrives; although Mulder informs me she is neither old nor mean and looks more like one of those nurses on a soap opera. What the hell does he know? She turns on a light that would raise the dead, and in her most patronizing voice, says, "How are we doing, Dana?" Mulder doesn't give me an opportunity to respond. Could he actually be afraid of what I might say or do? "She says her Nubane is empty...and...she's shaking and feeling nauseous." Yes, I actually think he's afraid. Gloving her hand, she announces that it's time to check my cervix again. Mulder hates this part and his facial expressions vacillate between pain and gagging. Come to think of it, I'm not particularly fond of this myself - especially when I have another contraction during the middle of her examination. The intensity of the contractions has changed; and she guides us through our breathing - which is actually a comfort, because if Mulder continues to breathe erratically, he'll hyperventilate in no time. Removing the glove from her hand, she smiles and states, "It's show time! You're fully dilated and effaced. I'll be right back with Dr. Bishop." "Did you hear her, Scully? We're gonna have the baby now." He showers me with affection; I'm not sure I have the heart to tell him I'm scared to death. "Mulder, I'm not ready. I just need a moment to prepare myself. What if something happens? What if something's wrong?" My anxiety swells and threatens to overtake what little sensibility I have left. Gathering me into his embrace, he comforts me with his assurance. "We're gonna be fine Scully. The baby is going be fine - more than fine; he or she's going to be perfect." His voice is so soft, and in his eyes I see his faith in me and in this process. How I survived all these months without him I'll never know. Dr. Bishop enters my birthing room with her obstetrical team in tow, and a wave of relief passes over me. I really admire Tekla Bishop. She has a never ending supply of energy, wears beautiful clothing like I used to, and is humming 'Happy Birthday.' "Ready to have a baby, Dana?" She smiles. Whatever modesty I had remaining is now totally gone. The lower part of the birthing bed is removed, stirrups are set in position with draping and my legs are ever-so-non-gracefully placed in their hold. The room is a whirlwind of activity and Mulder...looks lost and confused. My doctor, snapping on the latex and taking her place between my legs, instructs me not to push during this contraction and breathes with Mulder and I. "Okay, Dana, on the next contraction I want you to start pushing. And, Mulder, I need you to count to ten, slow and steady. Got that?" Mulder nods his head in agreement - still looking dazed and lost. The next contraction begins all too soon and I push with everything I have. I vaguely hear Mulder's voice counting and Dr. Bishop in the background reminding him to go a little slower. I want them both to be quiet. We're still at this pushing thing and it has to be hours, if not days, since we first began. At this point, I don't care about my-tough-as-nails-FBI-you-can-do-anything-persona. I announce that I've had enough and I'm going to take a break for a while. We can come back to this later, after I've rested. I need to sleep; I'm so tired and my energy is spent. Dr. Bishop's voice is calm and tells me "just a few more pushes." Mulder, again, tells me I'm 'doing fine.' "Just shut up!" I scream at him. "Mulder, if you tell me one more time that I'm fine, I will shove 'fine' up your ass permanently! I am NOT fine! This hurts like hell and no one will give me any drugs and I just want to go home and I can't!" My sobbing is uncontrollable and my body is totally drained of all strength while my limbs respond as though they were jelly. My ranting is short lived as the force of another contraction takes over. I want to yell at this power that has invaded my being, but my voice is stuck in my throat and I hold my breath. "Push, Dana, just two more pushes," Dr. Bishop encourages me. As hard as I try, there is nothing left to give. "I can't...I can't do anymore," I sob with frustration. I reach for Mulder and bury my face in his chest. Gently, he sits beside me and brushes back my damp, sweaty hair. His eyes are bright and I think filled with tears. He places his hands along my cheeks and kisses me softly on my dry, chapped lips. His voice is shaky and, yes, I believe he's about to cry. "Did I tell you, Scully, how much I missed you when I was gone? Because if I didn't, I want you to know that just thinking of you and your strength gave me the will to fight and go on. Even when there was no hope in continuing to believe, I would hear your voice and imagined you with me. I would see you everywhere, Scully. Whenever I closed my eyes, or whenever I was allowed to speak with the others. Someone would always say one of your lines, a phrase that's just 'you' - and I'd start to believe that maybe there was a God after all. That - after everything we've been through - you would be waiting for me when I returned...just like you've always been there for me, no matter what. You're the reason I'm here, Scully. You're the reason I'm alive. Only you...and I love you so much." At 4:02 am we delivered a healthy - vocal - baby boy. Weighing 8 pounds, 9 ounces and twenty-two inches long, he looks like an infant version of Mulder. Including a thick crop of brown hair. We're safely nestled in our room; both of us cleaned from our mutual labor, and snuggled in the arms of Mulder. Never in my wildest imagination did I think this possible - that Mulder and I would one day be parents together, and looking forward to a normal life. Well, as normal as it can be for us. All things considered, with a lot of faith, and a few miracles thrown in for good measure, I finally learned how to believe... ~Fini~
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