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Title: Morning Moment Summary: Alternate world; the world of the Occasional Journals of Dana Scully, M.D. one & two; this time from Mulder's perspective. Comments: I'm writing these as they pop into my head--nothing big, nothing formal. Feedback: Yes. Please. E-mail or atxfc. April 5, 2002 Mornings are a bitch these days. Usually they start with my ankle throbbing, then aching progressing to knifing pain as the painkillers wear off. Most of the time I'm grateful to wake up from the nightmares of Cicely and Caribou; from reliving the look on Maggie O'Connell's face as I slug her to get her the hell out of there and leave Chris Stevens's body to those faceless aliens with the flamethrowers; from the horror of burnt bodies and screaming kids, scared to death the entire time that Scully and the baby haven't gotten clear of Caribou and I'll find their bodies in the wreckage. Or worse--see them and *not know* it's them. It's all jumbled up and I don't know when or where I am. Damn painkillers. I don't know why this ankle isn't healing. Yeah, the bone's basically shattered, but you'd think after a while things would get better. Maybe it's the scarlet fever. I don't know, damn it, and I *hate* these pills. But not this morning. I'd gladly take an extra dose of painkiller to go back to this dream. It was a Scullydream--not the usual one where we're screwing like minks up until it segues into the stink and nightmare of the fall of Caribou. No, this one was sweetness and cuddling and the baby with my eyes-- Baby? Hey, wait a minute. I'm not hearing the usual sounds of worried voices in the next room. Nothing like the nightmare where I've been dealing with sickness and pain, waiting until I'm strong enough to go find Scully. Hell, this place doesn't even smell the same. There's Scullyscent on the pillow. Or am I imagining it, and I'll open my eyes to be back in that darkened room? God knows it's happened enough times already. I don't want this to be a fever dream. I'll keep my eyes closed and maybe the uglies won't come to visit. I want to be with Scully so damned bad, want to see her and touch her and *know* for certain she wasn't one of those charred bodies I checked in Caribou. Dear God, even though I don't believe in you, please let what Coop's been telling me to be true. I don't care if she's gone half-crazy in the backwoods of Twin Peaks, waving her gun around while nursing the baby. Just let her be healthy, let her *be there*--I can deal with a crazy Scully, I just want a living Scully, damn it. Footsteps. Faint mewling cries, like that of a hungry baby--dear God, let it be true. Hell, I'll let Scully drag me into the church and have a priest say whatever it is over me if I open my eyes and see my Scully alive and well, not one of those charred bodies I couldn't identify. Please. Please. C'mon, Spooky. You can do it. But what if it's *not* her? What if this is just another of those indeterminable hidey-holes they've been sticking me in--if there was still a FBI, I guess I'd be Most Wanted # 1, from what Coop says. What a distinction. I could live without it. C'mon Mulder. Open your eyes. You have to sooner or later. That creaking noise sounds like a rocking chair. Dare I--- I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. This is *not* any place I've been recently. Now I dare to turn my eyes slightly, toward the rocking noise. Red hair. That's all I dare look at for the moment. It's not as immaculate as she used to keep it. Hard to do in a small backwoods cabin. I turn my head more. Thank you God. It *is* her. Thinner-faced than I've seen her since the cancer days, though, with dark circles under her eyes--oh please, no, let it just be stress and worry, not *that* again-- She's looking down. I let my eyes wander. She's wearing a green and gold flannel shirt, unbuttoned as she watches the dark-haired child nurse. Thin, too damned thin. She's not been eating well, I'll bet. But that baby--good grief she's a lunker. Maybe that's where the weight's gone--that baby's not missing any servings, I'll bet. Definitely a Mulder kid. Scully smiles down at her, and I'm pretty sure the baby's looking back up at her as she works her hands on Scully's breast, just like a nursing kitten. It's all I can to do keep from making any noise to disturb the tableau, the most gorgeous thing I've seen in ages. Right now as far as I'm concerned there's nothing more beautiful than Dana Katherine Scully, unless it's Hope Catherine Mulder. This is not a dream. I really am here, with my two girls, and the nightmares are gone. Then the ankle picks this moment to send sharp needles of fire up my leg. For a moment it's all nasty stuff as I moan and close my eyes tight, burying my face in the pillow to stifle any further noise, noise is not good, noise could alert unwanted listeners to my presence and bring down those fucking Colonists or their damned alleged Rebels on my sorry ass..... Then *her* hand strokes my brow. "You okay?" I nod and roll onto my back, unwilling to trust my voice just yet. She's half-sitting on the bed, somehow managing to keep moving while letting the baby keep on nursing. Damn. I remember Harry Truman telling me he's found her pacing with gun in one hand, baby nursing and braced on her other arm, thinking she's hearing invaders. She's already scared the shit out of Joel Fleischman, to the degree he won't come up here without Harry--Harry isn't afraid of her. I reach out for her free hand, press it to my cheek, then kiss it. She gives me that enigmatic smile, then slips her hand free from mine and removes the baby from her breast, putting Katie on her shoulder to burp her. Now I can remember it all, the feverish moving around, the nights of not sleeping in a strange place while Coop was bringing me here, barely awake while Harry and Joel briefed me on Scully's condition and security concerns. Not that I can do much, weak and injured as I am right now--hell, I can barely walk. It was late last night when I finally got here, half-carried up the hill by Harry and Coop. Katie was sleeping and Scully-- "You sure you're okay?" she asks again. "Hurts like a sonofabitch," I say. "But god, Scully--just to see you, you and Katie--I wasn't sure but that it wasn't a dream. I'm still afraid I'm going to wake up--" She smiles again at that and takes Katie off her shoulder. "Here's a dose of reality," she says. "Want to hold your daughter?" "Give me a minute here." I pull myself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard, leaving my injured leg straight while bringing my good leg up for a brace. Scully puts Katie into my arms and snuggles up next to me. I stare down at those eyes turning to hazel, hair dark as mine with Scully's mouth and Scully's nose and Scully's eyebrows. I can see it now, two women arching their eyebrows at me when I say something stupid. I don't care. Right now, with Katie solemnly gazing at me and Scully leaning against me I'm in heaven on earth. Coop can rant all he likes about damn fine coffee and damn fine cherry pie. The finest things on earth are with me right now--and I don't care what it takes, I don't care if I have to crawl, if the only weapons I have are my teeth and nails, I'll fight to the death to keep those fucking aliens away from those I love. Nothing is going to happen to these two. Period. Soon enough, once I'm healed up, I'll have to go back to work fighting those fuckers. Soon enough all three of us will have to leave this place for a new hidey-hole--the lesson of Caribou is that no one place is safe for very long. But for right now I'm home. Home is with my Scully and my Katie. No matter where we are. jrw
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