Summary: Pilgrimage: A journey to a shrine or sacred place.

Author Notes: This is a sequel to A Man Walks Into a Bar -- but if you haven't read it, I think you can still enjoy this. And if you did read it and asked for a sequel, thanks -- and sorry it took so long!

"Hey. Mulder, we're here. Come on, buddy, wake up."

The vaguely familiar, irritating voice nudged Mulder out of his half-sleep, where he'd been pleasantly drifting through memories of Scully. A man's voice.

*What man? Where am I?*

The blanks occurred much too often since he'd regained consciousness in an alley somewhere in Boston two weeks ago. He still had no memory of where he'd been for the past nine months, and he had also discovered that once-familiar names, dates, phone numbers, and other details of his life before had vanished, slowly rising to the surface at odd times, like wreckage on the ocean.

Panic, his familiar companion, clutched at his throat and he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, to concentrate on the dashboard in front of him. Focus on the details. Assess the situation. You were an FBI agent once, for God's sake.

The voice belonged to Scully's new partner, Agent Doggett. Mulder still wasn't quite sure how he felt about the man, particularly his habit of calling Scully "Dana," he supposed he should be grateful that Doggett had rescued him from that grimy alley behind the Minuteman Pub where he'd been living for the past two weeks, but instead, he'd stolen the agent's gun and forced him to drive to Washington.

To Scully.

On the worst nights, the coldest nights, he'd despaired of ever seeing her again. He had no money, other than some change tossed his way by the owner of the bar in exchange for cleaning the bathrooms. His wallet and ID had probably been stolen within minutes of being dumped in that alley -- if he'd even still had them. He considered himself lucky to still have his own clothes and shoes, as filthy as they were.

The return to consciousness had been a nightmare. It had taken hours to get his body to obey his brain's feeble commands. He'd felt like Gulliver, tied down by thousands of tiny ropes, struggling to move his fingers, open his eyes, much less sit up. When he finally got to his feet and took a few toddler-like steps, he felt as if he were trying to swim in clear gelatin. The sun had risen and set again before he made it out of the alley. He'd spent the night huddled in a doorway, only to start the process all over again the next morning, helped along by a policeman's nightstick.

But the physical weaknesses, as frustrating as they were, didn't frighten him as much as the empty chasm of the past nine months and the gaping holes even in the time before that. He could recall faces without names, and then names without faces. Numbers would pop into his head that meant nothing to him, or he wouldn't be able to recall something as familiar as his own FBI badge number. For a man who had always prided himself on his nearly perfect memory, it was like losing a limb.

When he finally recalled Scully's home number, he'd scrounged enough change to call her from a pay phone. The machine picked up, and he closed his eyes, letting the sound of her voice pour over him like honey. When the beep sounded, he was still caught up in his emotions, at a loss for words. Somehow, "Scully, it's me," didn't seem adequate. Then an angry patron waiting to use the phone solved the dilemma by shoving Mulder out of the way and hanging up.

He'd told some of the staff at the Minuteman that he was an FBI agent and had begged them to call the bureau, but even though one or two had nodded sympathetically, he soon realized they had no intention of calling anyone. He supposed he couldn't blame them, after getting a look at his reflection in the mirror in the restroom. Only Fox Mulder would believe this story.

Mulder got out of the car and made his way up to the front door of the building as Doggett pulled away with a squeal of tires.

It wasn't until he got to the door that he realized he wasn't at Scully's. He was at the front door of his own apartment building. That damn Doggett had tricked him. The man hadn't wanted to take him to Scully in the first place, saying it was too late and she needed her rest. As much as he hated to admit it, Mulder decided Doggett had been right. A few more hours wouldn't hurt, and he could take a long, hot shower and get some sleep in his own bed in his own apartment. If he even still had an apartment anymore. And why the hell did Doggett have a key?

Fortunately, his mind supplied the code for the entry panel after only a few moments of concentration. With a click of the lock, he was inside, surprised but relieved to see his name still on his mailbox.

God bless Scully or Frohike or whoever had paid the rent in his absence.

His key slipped easily into the door, and Mulder pushed it open slowly. The room was dark, but there was enough light coming in the window that he could see the familiar furniture and pictures on the walls. The fishtank gurgled contentedly in one corner.

Then he noticed there was a light on in his bedroom. Maybe one of the Gunmen was staying here, or whoever was feeding the fish had left it on for some reason. Mulder crept around the corner and peered into the bedroom.

His breath caught in his throat, and his knees gave out, leaving him to sink against the wall for support.

*Scully.*

Once he trusted his legs to support him again, he moved into the room, barely daring to breathe, lest he awaken her. She had fallen asleep in his bed, her glasses still perched on her nose, the book lying beside her, some thick medical text. Scully had never been one for light bedtime reading. The golden light from the lamp fell softly across her hair and her face, and he marveled at the change in her. She'd let her hair grow longer than he'd ever seen it, nearly to her shoulders, thick and wavy and gloriously red. As usual, a strand of it caressed her cheek, making his fingers itch to brush it aside and tuck it behind her ear. Her face was fuller now with the extra pounds from pregnancy, but she'd been too thin ever since the cancer, and the added weight looked good on her. The comforter could not disguise the mound of her stomach and had slipped down to reveal the heaviness of her breasts straining against the silky, pale pink pajama top. Mulder felt his mouth go dry.

She was more beautiful than he remembered.

She was pregnant with their child.

Not wanting to disturb her, he started to back out of the room, but bumped into the door jamb, unable to stop the yelp as his funny bone connected sharply with the wood.

Scully stirred and opened her eyes, immediately catching sight of him. She blinked once. Twice.

"Not again..," she muttered and closed her eyes. "Go away."

"Scully. It's me. Mulder," he whispered around the lump in his throat. He moved into the room, coming closer to the light, not so much for her to see him better, but because he could not stay away from her.

She opened her eyes again, the familiar gray-blue that reminded him of the ocean. He wanted to drown in her as he knelt beside the bed. He wanted to touch her, but he could not soil her with his grimy hands, as much as he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her go. A ragged pilgrim exhausted from the journey, he was content to simply gaze at her, to record the details of her rose-flushed cheeks, the subtle shades of red in her hair, the wrinkle of her nose as she squinted at him...

"This is not happening," she muttered, taking off her glasses and rubbing at her eyes. "This is hormonal. This is not-"

"Scully, it's me. I'm here," he whispered, almost as much to reassure himself as her. She was looking right through him, as if he didn't exist, and he was suddenly terrified that this was some feverish fantasy created out of his longing and desperation and he would wake up shivering in the alley behind the Minuteman Pub.

Then she reached out and touched his shoulder. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock as her hand connected with solid flesh. He put his own hand up to hold hers there as she started to pull away.

"I'm here," he repeated softly.

Her fingers clutched at the shabby sweater as the color drained from her face. For a moment he was terrified she would faint, that something horrible would happen to the baby, all because of his selfish need to see her, to touch her, but then she gave a little sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and pulled him into her arms, crushing her against him, against their child. He breathed deep of the familiar scent of her hair, burying his face in the silken strands, his hands running across the slick softness of her pajamas as she wept against his shoulder in near silence.

"Are you all right?" he murmured into her hair. "Am I hurting you?" He started to pull away and her nails dug into his back.

"No. Don't leave me again." A tremor went through her and he sensed she was holding tightly to her composure. He gently drew back so he could look in her eyes, now heavy-lidded from crying. Tears glistened on her cheeks, clung to her lashes. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, unaware of the wetness on his own face until she did the same to him, and they both smiled a little unsteadily, not quite convinced this wasn't some dream conjured from loneliness and grief.

"I've seen you everywhere." She swallowed hard."But you weren't really there."

"I'm here. Now," he took her hand and ran it along his beard-stubbled cheek, placing a kiss in the soft palm. Then his gaze went to her stomach. "Is the baby okay? Why aren't you at your place, or at your mother's?"

"The baby's fine. I just have to stay in bed for the last few weeks of the pregnancy." Her sigh spoke volumes about how frustrating that was for her "And I'm not at my place because...Well, somebody had to take care of those damn fish."

He leaned in to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Thank you."

"Mulder...?"

"Yes?"

"Would you... would you like to take a shower?"

He laughed for the first time in days. His ever-practical, yet tactful Scully.

He meant to wash quickly, not wanting to waste a moment of time with her, but as the hot spray pounded his skin, stinging his wounds, but cleansing him of the hopelessness and fear of the past two weeks, he couldn't bring himself to get out until the water started to cool down. He dried off, moaning in bliss at the feel of the fluffy cotton towel, and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms he'd found tossed in the corner, which promptly drooped to his hips. He had to pull the drawstring tight to keep them up. A glance in the mirror showed a hollow-cheeked, scruffy stranger with bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, and he was amazed that he hadn't frightened Scully into premature labor. Shaving the stubble helped him appear a little more human, and he found a toothbrush and brushed his teeth until his gums started to bleed. He found an old gray t-shirt hanging on the back of the door and slipped it on, hoping to hide the scars and bruises on his torso, as well as his too-thin frame.

He walked back into the bedroom and crawled gingerly up onto the bed beside Scully, careful not to touch her. "Is this okay?"

She smiled. "It's *your* bed, Mulder. You don't have to ask my permission."

"I meant with the baby."

Her hand went to her abdomen. "It's fine. With both of us." She looked at him with Dr. Scully in her eyes and put her other hand on his arm, squeezing gently."Mulder, are you all right?Have you been to a doctor?"

He shook his head. "You're my doctor, Scully," he said, trying to lighten the moment. She was the one he was worried about. "There's nothing wrong with me that a few good meals and some rest won't cure."

She sank her teeth into her lower lip and looked away for a moment before turning to him again, searching his face, sudden tears brimming in her eyes. What happened to you?" she whispered. "Where have you been?"

He put his hand over hers as she touched his cheek, her fingers cold and trembling. He wanted to offer her reassurance, give her answers, but he couldn't lie.

"I...I don't remember, Scully. I woke up two weeks ago in Boston and barely knew my own name. I tried to get in touch with you, but-" He closed his eyes against the memory of those desperate hours, the terror of never seeing her again.

"Ssh. We'll talk about it later." She shifted a little closer to him, the warmth of her body warding off his sudden chill. "It's all right."

"No, it's not," he said, frustrated that she was once again in the role of comforter when he should be taking care of her. Guilt rose like bile in his throat, choking him. "I should have stayed with you. I should never have left."

"You didn't know, Mulder.You were trying to protect me. I don't blame - Ah..."

Mulder's eyes flew open as he heard her stifled gasp and felt her body stiffen. "What is it? Is the baby coming? Do you need-"

Scully smiled at him and placed his hand on the firm, hard mound of her stomach. A moment later he felt a small but definite movement, and his eyes flew to hers.

"Our son or daughter is anxious to meet you," Scully smiled.

"Oh my God," he breathed, looking at her in awe. Without even realizing it, he leaned over and pressed his lips against her forehead, as she had so often done to him when words seemed inadequate and awkward. Her hand slipped around the back of his neck and kept him there, gently lowering his mouth to hers until their lips met in a long, lingering kiss. When the baby kicked again, a little more vigorously, they finally parted, smiling at each other. Mulder reluctantly moved away and started to climb out of the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"You and the little kickboxer need your rest," he said. "I'm going to sleep on the couch."

She reached out and grabbed a handful of his t-shirt."Oh, no. You're not leaving my sight."

Mulder didn't put up much of a struggle.

He crawled under the blankets to lay down next to her, snuggling close, his head against her shoulder, and she pressed a kiss into his hair just before she turned the light out.

"Scully...?" he asked drowsily, in the darkness.

"Yes, Mulder?"

"Is this that normal life you keep talking about?"

She chuckled. "I suppose it's a reasonable facsimile. Why?"

He nuzzled against the silk of her pajamas, breathing deep of the scent that was uniquely Scully, feeling clean and safe for the first time in his most recent memory.

"I think I could get used to it."

The End

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