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Title: Power of Suggestion She was crawling through a murky tunnel, on her hands and knees in the filthy substance of crushed hopes and utter despair, crying out as the underdog she was. It was dark, the kind of dark you only experience if you're alone and defenseless, the kind of dark where no one is going to help you when the shadows come to life and make your world stop. And it was going to stop, she felt it in her frail body, in her every pore where life force was slowly draining out. And she had been thrown into this world before. She had felt the utter terror of being unable to fight, of being unable to stand up for herself and the ones she loved. She was again that victim, again that sacrificial lamb of faces unknown, herded off to slaughter, herded off to be used, for good this time, because now she was aware as it was happening. "Don't let them take my baby, don't le..." her voice trailed off as the futility of it all sunk in. It was time for the monsters to come out of their little holes and show her how meaningless her existence was in the bigger scheme of things. She had eluded death so many times, now her time had come. And she wouldn't be able to fight it. She wouldn't find that strength a fight required. It wasn't in her anymore. She was tired. Exposed. She didn't recognize herself. She had opted to let oblivion take over, because there was only so much a woman could endure before she had to surrender completely. If they'd take her child, and straight from her womb at that, she'd have no strength to fend them off. She would perish. She didn't recognize the person in her body, yet she was who she was now, not the woman from eight years ago, the woman who found fulfillment in the struggle. That woman would never have given up. But now she was another woman, a changed woman, alone in the face of evil, on the verge of letting the enemy win, of resigning to her fate to be demolished completely. She was not herself. She no longer felt tears, her face had grown too accustomed to the fluids of grief. Her journey was coming to an end and her strength was weaning, like the fickle existence of candlelight exposed to growing nocturnal and humid wind, her light was dying. She was perishing. She turned to look out into the heartless darkness. Demonic faces greeted her, their features an ill-willed, eerie lifelessness, their mouths set in tight lines void of sentiment, lifeless hands rubbing lifeless hands, waiting to abduct, experiment and throw away . She could see they had been brought to life for this moment, their existence here dictated by evil plot and a hunger for the innocent. The child inside her held meaning for those schemers and plotters. Yet, she could not understand their motives. She would have to give up her child to these dark forces without even a hint of explanation as to why. Rationally, this was not happening to her, yet it was. The faces grew more and more ominous as she pleaded with them. There was no sympathy, no guilt in those hollows and beads staring at her exposed, protruding belly. She closed her eyes, sobbing at the injustice of it. What she once had been had already perished. A few moments passed. Memories flickered before her, and she knew happiness was in the past and death lay ahead. "Push!" She saw a glimmer suddenly. There, among the ghost-like, was a tiny spot of bright light, a minuscule star growing closer, and she calmed herself down to discern better, focusing on the warmth emanating from it. "Push, Dana!" It was him, her heart, reminding her to stay strong, no matter what was happening, because it was all about her in the end. She was the key, the one who was never going to perish. "Push, Dana, push!" He was knocking on the door, demanding to wake her up now, because she had to fight them, no matter how tired she was. It was her assignment, to debunk the spooky. The light warmed her face. The murky tunnel around her disappeared, because she remembered him, remembered that through some kind of miracle he was still there for her. He had not perished. She felt his palm press softly on her rounded belly, now tumultuous with impending life. He was whispering soothing words into her ear. His lips brushed against her cheeks and her nose. She closed her eyes more tightly. He removed his black leather jacket soundlessly, finding his spot at the end of the makeshift bed with gentle movements. He wasn't nervous or afraid, and those sentiments radiated off of him and gave her strength, erasing all fear from her system, bringing her serenity instead. His presence gave her renewed focus. It was him. It was his voice giving her loving instruction. It was his hands that awaited the gift still inside her belly. She was going to be a mother and he was going to be a father, and no one would take their baby away from them. Their baby was not going to perish. His gaze told her to push and she did. He grabbed her hand and the touch was electric, invigorating her. She pushed. She wanted this baby more than anything, his reassuring murmur told her he wanted the baby too. She pushed again. This time he announced he could see the baby crowning. Those words were balm to her and she pushed again, this time mustering all her energy and sheer force of will, and, indeed, soon she could hear the soft sounds of a baby taking his first worldly breaths. "Oh, baby..." Scully lifted her head at the sound of Mulder's whisper. "Oh, Scully, I am not talking to you, I am talking to my baby." Mulder grinned toothily at her and then his focus returned to the little sticky bundle. She mustered a chuckle and let her head fall back on the pillow of old quilts, jackets and sweaters. Her entire body was too strained to banter right now. "Mulder, what is it?" she managed after a few calming puffs of air. "We have a beautiful son," he whispered. "It's a boy...it's a healthy baby boy!" She opened her eyes and saw Monica glare at the strangers. They snapped out of their lifeless state and began a rushed exit as if on cue at the sight of her perfect little son. "Dana, we need to get you checked out, you're bleeding quite a lot. I think you need some stitches. We have to call Mulder," Monica explained and gave her the child and rushed to get to her cell phone. The little baby was lying peacefully on her chest now. Mulder was lying next to her, his arms protectively around them. She had never felt this safe. "Thank you, baby, for being here with me..." Scully whispered and kissed the top of her baby's head, and Mulder hummed beside her, inched closer and buried his face in her neck. She bit her lip in an effort to keep from grinning, but her silent mirth was disguised in a mighty yawn. "You did say that to ME, didn't you?" he murmured into her skin, but she was too exhausted to comment. The End
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