Summary: A child is born.

An Estate on the Potomac River
Late Afternoon/Early Evening

Special Agent Dana Scully scanned the garden with an expert eye. Given the choice -- assuming, of course, that she had been appointed as head of the security detail, which she had not -- Scully would have argued against the choice of this garden overlooking the river for the reception.

Granted, the garden at the back of the two-story ante-bellum style mansion was beautiful. Low-trimmed pink and scarlet azalea hedges meandered along the garden pathways, and a magnificent rose garden surrounded an open gazebo that was set midway down the sweep of a close-cropped bluegrass lawn that fell in a gentle slope toward the Potomac. Ancient willow trees, their drooping green-clad branches swaying languidly in the light breeze, bordered the property and edged a flagstone walk that led to a private dock jutting out into the river.

It was tempting to forget one's duty in such a setting, Scully realized -- or at least to let the visual delights of this former private estate dull the wariness necessary for staying alive. --- Or for keeping other people alive --- the auburn-haired agent reminded herself sternly. Even though a metal detector had been set up at the guest entry, Scully knew better than to rely totally on such technology. There were many kinds of weapons, she knew -- some not even metal-based -- and often there was no substitute for the practiced eye of an experienced professional in situations such as this.

So far, thankfully, the gathering had been as tame as a vickerage tea party in a Regency novel of manners. And the well-bred gentility probably masked just as many undercurrents, Scully thought wryly. She brought her attention back to business as the microphone in her ear crackled, and a low-pitched male voice spoke over the circuit.

"Talk to me, Scully. What's your report?"

The trim agent recognized her boss's clipped verbal shorthand despite the poor quality the tiny wire imparted to the sound. "All quiet here, sir," she replied, her tone matching his for crispness.

"Very well. Link up with Agent Mulder and circulate."

Skinner's quiet, no-nonsense voice was as bracing as would be the physical presence of his solid strength at her back. Not for the first time, Scully envied whomever had been Skinner's partner when the AD was a field agent. Now, of course, the older man's strength and abilities were there for the entire division to draw upon, and Scully was grateful for it. "Yes, sir," she replied calmly. "Moving now."

After the AD signed off, Scully skirted the well-dressed men and women at the buffet table, taking care that she was never too close to anyone. Looking ahead, she could see Mulder's tall figure approaching from the river path that led up past the gazebo. As her partner drew near, Scully noticed that his movements looked a little unsteady, and the auburn-haired agent gave a small grin of commiseration.

Joining her after a moment, Mulder lay his hand over his belly and smiled weakly. "Got any dramamine in your holster, Scully?"

Scully's smile bloomed fully at the plaintive sound in the tall man's voice. "Mulder, that only works if you take it before you go out on the water."

"I was afraid of that," Mulder replied even while his eyes alertly scanned the garden.

"I thought you were a good sailor, Mulder," Scully remarked. Her own observant gaze coolly cataloged the reception guests as she walked at Mulder's side. Circulating through the elegantly-dressed society ladies and tuxedo-clad men, the two agents looked like any other attractive couple at the upscale charity gathering.

"I am," Mulder said, "but I woke up this morning with the headache from hell." As they passed the buffet table, he looked away from the artfully arranged selections with a visible wince. The sight of pate and raw oysters did his stomach no good right now. "Bouncing around in an oversized rowboat and squinting through binoculars while having to listen to Agent Forbes describe his great-grandmother's recipe for pig brains and scrambled eggs just about did me in."

"Mulder, hearing that last little detail about does *me* in," Scully said dryly, nodding automatically as another agent and his ostensible 'date' passed them.

After a moment's more elbow-brushing walk through the perfumed and cologned crowd around the gazebo, Mulder paused beside a beautifully maintained planting of Martha Washington roses that edged the west side of the structure. Leaning in toward Scully to speak privately, he murmured, "So what are we doing babysitting this little soiree, Scully? There are enough deep pockets here to hire a corps of bodyguards."

"I don't know, Mulder," Scully replied. Then she frowned, wondering again at the size of the security team in comparison to the number of invited guests. Most of the division seemed to be here: moving among the genteel crowd, forming a perimeter around the estate and the parking area, and checking the estate house itself at irregular intervals -- to say nothing of taking turns bouncing around in an oversized rowboat patrolling the river landing. It was almost as though something more was going on this afternoon than the usual reception, buffet, 'dig into deep pockets for charity' affair common in the nation's capital.

The touch of Mulder's gently-guiding hand at the small of her back drew Scully's attention back to the moment. "At least you got a chance to show off your Sunday best," he said, eyes briefly following the movements of a reed-slim brunette whose gown left little to the imagination.

Scully noticed the direction of her partner's gaze. "And I'll bet that *she* didn't choose her party dress with a view to how well the gown would conceal her Sig Sauer," she remarked dryly.

Mulder laughed quietly. "I thought that was why women carried purses, Scully."

The auburn-haired agent drew a breath to reply, then held up one hand in an automatic 'wait a minute' gesture as the microphone in her ear crackled peremptorily. Mulder reached up to his own ear, pressing his fingers against the instrument that he wore.

"Agent Mulder... Agent Scully... copy this?" Skinner's baritone voice was as cool and professional as always, but Scully caught an undercurrent of tension beneath the deep rumble. Both agents acknowledged with a single word, and the AD's voice spoke again. "I got the word for you, agents. Stand down in twenty minutes."

Mulder's eyes met Scully's gaze, and he saw his partner's eyebrow lift slightly. Skinner's unexpected report of the sudden change in the known time-frame seemed wrong to Mulder, unless the AD simply meant that he and Scully were to expect their relief early. Frowning, Mulder requested, "Say again, sir."

"I'm not going to repeat myself, Mulder," Skinner's voice crackled back. "Report here in twenty-five."

The connection broke with a tiny pop, and Mulder shrugged. "Now we 'got the word,' F.B.I. woman. Let's move."

The Estate Library
Twenty-five Minutes Later

Standing with his back to the pinewood bookcase and faced so that he could see out the french doors that opened onto the estate's rear lawn, Walter Skinner looked over his shoulder as Mulder and Scully entered the room. "To answer the question that I'm sure you're about to ask, Agent Mulder," the AD said, "no, we are not terminating our surveillance early. The stand down is for you two." Pausing a moment, unable to vanquish the underlying worry beneath his clipped words, Skinner lifted one big hand to massage his forehead above his right eyebrow with strong, blunt fingers.

Mulder picked up on that unconscious gesture, but took care not to remark on it. Instead, he glanced at his partner, who lifted an eyebrow in response. "Sir," Scully said, picking up on Mulder's unspoken cue, "is there something wrong here?"

As if realizing that he had unknowingly telegraphed his tension, Skinner let his hand fall. "No. By the time you get back to my office, Kimberly will have a new case file ready for your review. Look it over; see if it warrants your involvement. I haven't seen it yet myself, so I'll be there after AD Tompkins arrives to take over." Noticing the lift of Mulder's chest to an intake of breath, the big man shook his head, forestalling any remark the agent might have made. "He was at the briefing, too, remember? There'll be no problem here."

"Yes, sir," Mulder said, letting his question rest for the moment. "Leaving now."

The agents were partway to the library door when Skinner spoke again, more quietly this time, his voice halting them. "Agents... Did you happen to see whether Mrs. Skinner has arrived?" There, that sounded normal enough, he decided.

Mulder shook his head, and Scully replied, "No, sir, we didn't. Shall we check before we go?"

"No, that's not necessary, Agent Scully," Skinner assured her. "You have your assignment; daylight's wasting." It was a measure of Skinner's preoccupation that he didn't notice Scully's concerned look as she exited at Mulder's side.

When the room was empty again but for himself, Skinner let his ramrod posture relax to the extent of leaning back against the bookcase. Damn... after their quarrel that morning, he probably shouldn't have hoped she'd come. To be perfectly fair, it hadn't been a quarrel, really, but this day had meant so much to Mariel, and of course he hadn't been there. Why should he even have imagined that his duties would allow him to be beside his wife at her sabbatical party?

Skinner shook himself out of it, and decided to take time after he was relieved to find Mariel, if she'd arrived. But then, if he found her, he'd have to tell her that he was going to his office for yet another important meeting and that his wife could just drive on home by herself. Cursing aloud, Skinner deliberately slammed the library door behind him on his way out.

The Estate Grounds
Somewhat Earlier

Mariel Skinner arched stiffly, rubbing the small of her back to ease the cramp in her muscles. At least her abdominal muscles had always been strong, so that, even at Sweetie's size and weight, the baby was well-supported. --- But that still doesn't make standing with you for hours any picnic --- Mariel thought, resting one hand on her swollen belly.

The young agent at the metal detector took her invitation and relaxed enough to smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Skinner," he said, taking her purse and gesturing her through the detector.

Mariel chuckled to herself at the aplomb with which the young man took in her 9mm automatic and scanned her concealed weapon permit. --- I'm just your everyday, pistol-packing music teacher. Well, former music teacher. --- "Do you know if my husband is busy?" she asked, accepting her purse back.

"No, ma'am, but I imagine that he is. Shall I contact him for you?"

Mariel thought about it for a moment. She needed to talk to Walter, but she also considered that it was unfair of her to expect him to concentrate on personal, possibly emotional issues while he was in the middle of heading up an event-security detail. Mariel supposed that her husband could turn things over to a deputy for a while so that they could talk, but.... No, this wasn't the time or the place, she decided. Better just to wave from a distance, or something, so he'd know she was here, and that she'd come despite the fact that he hadn't been there for her that morning.

--- Stop acting hormonal, Mari --- she scolded herself. --- You're not a spoiled brat to expect everything to break your way. --- Still... it hurt. "No, that's all right," she said at last to the young agent. "I'll just circulate around."

Not far from the guest entrance, and unnoticed by the agent and the dark-haired woman who spoke there, a man stood in partial shadow beside a trellis festooned with climbing roses. He saw the woman immediately, and without altering his normal cool demeanor, he let the sight of her warm him. That was a pretty little dress she had on, not one that hid her pregnancy, certainly, but one that enhanced the upright carriage of her sturdy frame and the elegant lines of her neck and arms. Somehow, she seemed more beautiful every time he saw her; but now was not the time to linger over that thought. Crushing his cigarette underfoot, the man turned back to his companion and resumed his conversation.

The Ladies' Powder Room
An Hour Later

Mariel Skinner entered the powder room, taking in her surroundings with a little smile. Late sunlight poured through stained glass windows set high up in walls that were papered with fleur-de-lis patterns in gold and white brocade. Crystal wall sconces edged a gilt-framed mirror, and in the middle of the long rectangular room was a curved-back settee upholstered in ivory velvet. To the right of the settee was a low marble table bearing an enamel bowl filled with rose potpourri, several small alabaster bottles containing lotions and perfumes, and a tiny silver bell, presumably to be used to summon the powder room attendant. Hmm, elegance indeed.

Glad to find a place to sit down at last, Mariel sighed as she settled into the velvet lounge, swinging her long legs up to rest on the cushions. Closing her eyes, she lay her head back and concentrated on relaxing.

After some time spent circulating, Mariel finally had seen Walter as he walked down the marble steps at the back of the estate. He'd looked over when she waved, and said something briefly to the man beside him before moving through the crowd toward her. Caught by the pull of his dark eyes as surely as she knew that he'd been caught by her own gaze, she'd managed to get through the milling people to take his arm. He'd leaned down briefly, stern expression relaxing for a second, and she knew that her heart was hoping for a kiss, even though she also knew that he wasn't comfortable with displaying his feelings in public, especially not while on duty. Then his cell phone had shrilled, and she heard him mutter what sounded suspiciously like a curse as he answered it. Realizing that they'd have no time for a word, Mariel had placed her lips at his ear and murmured, "See you at home."

Now, relaxing for a while before starting the drive home, Mariel hoped she'd be able to stay awake until he got there. They still had things to talk out, and, maybe, things to unsay. "How about you, Sweetie?" she asked the baby quietly, rubbing her abdomen. "Wish we'd seen your daddy for longer, too?"

The infant shifted beneath her palm. Mariel lifted her hand to watch as Sweetie apparently turned completely around inside her, the baby pushing an elbow or knee up in a visibly moving bulge that traveled from left to right completely across Mariel's belly. "Well, that was interesting to see," she said with a gentle laugh. "Would a little Puccini help you to settle down?" --- And me, too... --- Still smiling, Mariel took a deep breath and began one of her favorite mezzo arias, "Oh, Mio Babbino Caro."

Although she sang softly to avoid bothering the other women using the powder room, her voice lifted smoothly and gracefully through the aria. She was unaware of tears pooling in her eyes as she voiced the young heroine's plea to her father to allow her to marry the man that she loved. The man that she loved.... --- No, I won't cry.... Oh, Walt, I know the man you are. I know you didn't mean it.... ---

Even while Mariel sang, she was aware of voices coming from behind the gilt-inlaid oak door leading to the bathroom section of the powder room. Two women were talking, and the conversation caught Mariel's attention despite her ability to tune-out strangers in public places such as this. After the first overheard sentence, she stopped singing and listened unabashedly.

"Did you see that man out there?" one woman asked. Her voice was breezy with a hint of magnolias in the accent. "The tall, balding one with wire-framed glasses?"

"The one with the *body*?" the other woman said, italicizing the word with her voice. "I saw him. Girlfriend, if he's a bureaucrat, then they're sure making them better than they used to!"

Both women laughed, and Mariel shook her head, pulling a wry face. She was aware that women took second looks at her husband, but she didn't think that she'd ever get used to it. --- Go find your own guy --- she thought dryly.

The second woman spoke again. "I also saw his wedding ring, *and* his wife, so it's hands off for this one, I guess."

"So when did a wedding ring ever stop me?" the first woman replied. Even muffled as it was by the sound of running water, the warm drawl sounded rich and seductive. " Which one was his wife, anyway?"

"The tall lady with shoulder-length dark hair. Didn't you see them, near the back stairs?"

"Oh... the one who looked hefty enough to be ten years pregnant?" Magnolia Voice laughed. "No problem there. Once she leaves 200 pounds in the dust and looks like she's stuffed a washtub under her shirt, he'll start looking around. They all do."

Mariel didn't hear the other woman's reply. Suddenly bereft of breath, conscious of a deep, painful ache inside her, she stood up a little awkwardly from the lounge. Magnolia Voice's words echoing in her ears, Mariel Skinner gathered herself up tall and proud and left the powder room. It was time to drive home, and she definitely was going to stay awake until Walter got there....

Walter and Mariel's Home
Night/Early Morning

The towels beneath her hands were warm from the dryer, their thick, fluffy weave smooth to her fingertips. Movements easy from years of practice, Mariel Skinner folded the towels, laying them each in a steadily growing pile at the foot of the bed. Next came the hand towels, their bright floral patterns contrasting with the solid colors of the bath towels. She was separating briefs and lingerie when she heard the familiar creak of the top two stair risers, and heavy, long-strided footsteps approached the master bedroom.

--- He's worn out --- Mariel thought compassionately. --- I can tell by the way he's walking. --- She pushed the folded clothes aside and sat on the edge of the bed, tucking the skirts of her turquoise silk robe around the bulge that was Sweetie. Walter came into the room presently, jacket over one arm, the ends of his unfastened tie dangling down his white shirtfront. "Hi," she said, trying for lightness. "About time you showed up, stranger."

She looked so lovely sitting there, he thought: fresh, cool and clean. --- Quite a contrast to my wrinkled shirt and 5 o'clock shadow. --- The corners of his mouth quirked upward. "Yeah... I saw my weight bench in the garage, so I figured this was the right house." He threw his jacket over the clothestree and draped the tie next to it. "You shouldn't have waited up for me," he went on, unfastening the holster leathers. "It must be past midnight by now."

Her mist-grey eyes sought and held his dark-chocolate brown eyes, and Mariel sighed at what she saw in his gaze. --- I know, Walt... I know. It's hard for a proud, strong man to admit some things. --- Deciding to set out the issue openly, she said aloud, "I can sleep late tomorrow, remember? I don't have early classes then... or any other day now, for that matter."

Understanding by her words and her demeanor that she was ready to talk things out, Walter pulled his shirttail out of his trousers and walked around the end of the bed to sit beside her. Close enough to Mariel to touch her, to breathe in the scent of her soap-scrubbed skin and see the glow of the bedside lamp in her clear grey eyes, he reached out hesitantly. When she didn't move, he drew a fingertip along her cheek, tracing a slow, delicate line down her neck to her collarbone, which was just visible above the neckline of the silk robe. The robe he'd given her for their first anniversary, one of several gifts of love.

Swallowing as he felt his body's joyous response to her nearness, he said, "I know that today was important, Mariel. I'm sorry that I wasn't there," he continued to stroke her collarbone, feeling the firmness of the bone beneath satin skin. "And I apologize for sounding short-tempered when you called my office." Remembering the mad scramble of last-minute details before his team could leave for the estate, he grunted a rueful laugh. "Hell, I *was* short-tempered at that point, but I had no right to vent on you."

"You're right," she murmured, "you didn't. But I guess it was one of those things. I got upset because we'd decided months ago that I would take my sabbatical at this time, Walt," she said. "And you knew six weeks ago that the party would be today, but you still didn't make it." Mariel gestured toward the closet, willing herself not to touch him, not to smooth her hand across his shoulder and cradle his neck in her palm. "They gave me a lot of gifts, Walt, the students, too. I never expected that. And I wanted you there... needed you there to share how I felt. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The dark wings of her brows and her long dark lashes glistening with moisture drew his heart and his lips like nectar draws a hummingbird but he stilled himself, knew that he couldn't kiss her now. "Yes. I wasn't there to share something important to your life." Walter stood up abruptly, yanking the cufflinks from his shirt with sharp, spare gestures. "Damn it, Mariel, do you think that I don't know how you feel about things?" he asked, voice suddenly rough-edged. He tossed the cufflinks onto the dresser and pulled his shirt off. "But it's not going to be the last time that Bureau business will come up to make me miss important occasions."

Mariel sighed, looking up at him, drinking in the sight of his smoothly-swelling chest and powerful arms. "I know, Walt. I've known all along that, well, the taking down of evil would interfere with our lives sometimes." Despite her feelings of tiredness and disappointment, she smiled at the quaint-sounding phraseology her mind had supplied. Well, wasn't that what her man was all about, and *who* he was, a man pledged and sworn to take down evil when necessary? If he ignored his responsibilities, would she or Sweetie, or anyone else, ever be safe? Even if she did look as if she'd stuffed a washtub under her shirt.... "It still hurt, even if I did understand."

The hell of it was, Walter Skinner knew that Mariel would have to go on understanding, maybe for longer than she had the patience for. God knew that he never wanted *that* to happen. Her presence and her love were all that kept him sane, sometimes. Occupied with his thoughts, he shifted automatically to give his wife room as Mariel reached around his legs to pick up the piles of folded clothes and set them onto the hardwood floor. Then she straightened, and gently rubbed the inside of his knee through the soft dress trousers. "I'm going to bed, sweetheart. Don't be long."

Although her voice was still colored slightly with echoes of disappointment and sadness, there was acceptance and a gentle invitation in her tone. Walter stirred to the hot throb of blood within him and slowly unbuckled his belt, watching her draw her robe off her shoulders and down her arms. She left the robe there, a drift of turquoise upon the dotted Swiss comforter, and slid her legs under the percale sheets. Beneath the full-length rose colored gown, her figure was swollen, lush, ripe near to bursting with living fruit.

After a year of marriage, Walter knew every inch of Mariel's body. His hands and his lips had memorized every curve and hollow; he knew where and how to touch his wife in order to soothe, or comfort, or give pleasure. But, because of their exhaustion, or his late hours, or his concerns about her physical well-being, times of shared passion had become few in this latter stage of Mariel's pregnancy. Indeed, it had been over a month since they'd made love.

She was carrying Sweetie big -- she sometimes joked about the baby hanging onto her spine at arm's length from the inside while sticking body and legs straight out in front -- and she was troubled by swollen legs and feet. Fearing to hurt her or or tire her unnecessarily, Walter had limited his physical affection to hugs and gentle, non-demanding touches. But, looking at her now, seeing the silken fall of her hair upon smooth, soft shoulders, Walter could feel his pent-up desires aching for release. He shook himself, desperate to keep his wits about him.

Mariel settled into the bed, gave him a little teasing smile and fluffed his pillow, setting it down again with a pat. He knew that her words, and these gestures, communicated her willingness to break their month-long fast. But he thought that she needed gentleness from him now, and assurances that he did, indeed, understand her feelings and empathize with how painful giving up her music teaching -- at least for now -- had been for her. And in her condition she didn't need to have to endure the weight of his big body on hers or... or any of the rest of it.

He realized that she was looking up at him with a quizzical expression as she lay nestled onto the pillow. Turning his eyes from her sweet, lush temptations, he muttered, "I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight, Mariel."

Shock arcing through her body like an electrical charge, Mariel sat upright with a jerk, fingers splayed on the mattress to keep her balance. "What? Walt, you belong *here*, next to me," she said, surprise and dismay clear in her voice. "Not off in the guest room. What's wrong?" Unbidden and unwittingly, Magnolia Voice's words leered across Mariel's mind: ...*When she leaves 200 pounds in the dust and looks like she stuffed a washtub under her shirt, he'll start looking around.*...

"There's nothing wrong," he grated, deliberately not looking at her. He couldn't give in to his love and desires now. She needed rest after this stressful day, and peaceful sleep, not.... Walter heard the mattress shift, and felt two strong hands clasp his own.

Mariel was kneeling up on the bed, holding his hands, searching his eyes. "No, Walt... Whatever this is, I'm going to fight for you," she whispered clearly. "I'm not going to let you go away."

Walter stared down at her. "Mariel, what are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere, except down the hall."

She tugged on his hands, pulling him close enough to press one of his hands upon her abdomen. He felt the baby move, twisting fluidly within her womb. The infant's movements were strong and purposeful, and Walter stroked Mariel's belly, wondering if the baby could feel the motion of his hand. "There," Mariel murmured, drawing his other hand to her lips, kissing each fingertip in turn. "There's the fruit that our love made. I'm not letting you go, even if... even if I do look like a... a walking beachball."

"Mariel, what...? Of course you're big: the baby is due in three weeks or so." Walter returned her kisses, anointing her own fingers with his lips, knowing as he did so that the dam was broken and that he wasn't going to stop touching her until they both were satisfied.

"So you're not... disgusted? We haven't fooled around for a while and I... I thought that you wanted to sleep in the guest room because you hate how I look now. I mean..." Mariel floundered to a stop, tried again. "I'm not much of a turn-on now, I guess, and you know how you men like nice bodies and...."

That was as far as she got before Walter cut off further words with his mouth. "God, sweetheart," he said after a moment, kneeling in front of her. "I thought you were uncomfortable and sex would just make it worse." He tilted her head back gently and pressed his mouth into the warm hollow of her throat. "You're beautiful," he whispered, feeling her skin quiver beneath the movements of his lips. "And I don't even want to imagine what kind of son of a bitch I'd be if I resented my wife getting big with my own baby."

Eyes shining, she stroked his ears and pulled his face close, lips parting for him with her kiss. With that touch, Walter Skinner knew that he was lost and that he wanted to be lost and wanted her to be lost with him.

He kissed her deeply, his hands slipping over her gown even as he told himself that he had to keep some control. But her mouth tasted so good and his body was so eager after their abstinence that he knew controlling himself would be damned difficult. After a few moments he discovered that Mariel was just as hungry for his loving as he was for hers.

"Wait... wait, sweetheart," she gasped against his throat. "Let's go slow. I'm so big...."

Walter yanked off his belt, disrobing quickly. "Your gown, honey," he murmured, stretching out beside her. Then he ran a palm over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble. "I'll go shave first," he said, starting to slide out of bed.

Eyes bright, she caught him from behind by the shoulders, and with an easy twisting maneuver plunked him right back down onto the mattress. "No, that'll take too long." She made short work of pulling off her nightgown, then murmured, "Um... the light, Walt."

"Not yet," he growled, drawing her down. He nestled his head near hers, cheek on her hair, and settled his arm around her waist. He smoothed her hair aside to kiss her throat, lingeringly, and she squirmed over a little to offer more to his lips. After a moment, he brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Mariel, I'm lonely for you, honey. It's been hard, this time...."

The longing and love and desire in his voice brought hot, salt wetness to her eyes. "Walt, I'm lonely for you, too," she whispered back. "But I'm so big now that I'm clumsy...."

"You can be on top," he murmured, and rolled over invitingly, opening his arms.

He looked so beautiful resting there, she thought. Dark eyes hot, chiseled lips damp with kisses, big-boned, muscular body so obviously ready for her loving. Yet he was waiting for her to find her comfort first. She leaned down with some difficulty and kissed his breast, twining his chest hair in gentle fingers. "No, honey, I couldn't move properly." She threw a bright glance up at him. "At least, not properly enough to make you feel good."

Walter swore under his breath. "Bother that. Come up here while I think about this."

Giggling and deeply happy, Mariel scooted up to tuck herself, half on the mattress, half upon his massive chest. Although Walter found it difficult in the extreme to think at all, he tried manfully all the same. Finally he managed to say, "I remember now. I saw a book in the library once that had a long section about different positions and techniques for sex when one of the partners was physically limited in some way." --- There... --- he thought --- That was coherent. I think... ---

Mariel smiled, finding more places to kiss. "And what were *you* doing looking at that?"

"I was interested in a part about sex during the late stages of pregnancy, honey." He pulled her up higher, found that the tender place under her ear tasted as good as ever. "There was a lot about that, and some pretty informative pictures, too."

Mariel pulled back a little and stared. "Pictures? You mean photographs? Someone let a photographer take pictures of them while they were..."

Walter laughed. "No, it wasn't as risque as all that. Drawings."

"Oh." She hesitated, then asked softly but hesitatingly, "And what did you learn, Walt?"

He let his left hand wander, and smiled tenderly at her resulting expression. "I learned that I can pleasure my love very nicely without her having to strain herself any."

Mariel whispered, "But you know that I want *you*, not just... Well, you know...."

He certainly did know. "Here," he murmured, sliding his arms around her shoulders and hips, "let's try it this way." Walter's strength helped her to move, and after a moment Mariel pulled one pillow under her cheek while he tucked the other beneath her belly. Soon, breath warm against her ear, he whispered, "Is that good?"

"It will be, Assistant Director, sir," Mariel whispered back with a giggle, "when we get some action going."

He laughed out loud and gave her shoulder a tiny nip. "You'll get some, all right." Soon his actions matched his words, and he turned her head just enough to kiss her thoroughly. "I love you and I want to give myself to you and please you and you can please me, too, that way...."

Then Walter didn't want to talk any more. He wanted to love Mariel and give her all the delights that his strong male body was capable of bestowing on her. He wanted to hear the voiceless sounds that she made and the way she gasped his name when she was almost there... almost ready.

Mariel heard the sounds and realized that they were coming from her own lips, that she was giving voice to the ecstasy that was so close now, so close. "Walt, love," she gasped, feeling his strength in the very depths of her womanly body. "Oh...that's so good..."

Her voice whispering her pleasure and joy sent his own responses soaring, and he groaned against her shoulder, his voice rough with passion. "Mariel...I love you." He slipped his hand down, tenderly but insistently stroking where he knew she loved to be caressed.

He was rewarded by her eager response, and listened with pleasure to the murmurs of joy that flowed from her lips as the fulfillment of his love and care surged to its peak within her. A moment more and he was with her, gasping her name as his own passion found its release.

"Oh..." Mariel whispered after a while, "oh...oh, gosh!"

"Yeah..." Walter whispered, laughing softly. "That's the truth!"

Mariel eased to her back, cuddling to his side into his waiting arms. She lay her head on his breast, rubbing her cheek against his skin, giggling softly at the tickle of his chest hair. "Mmmm... Can we do it again?"

"Sure." He chuckled. "Tomorrow morning."

She lifted her head to look at him. "What's the matter, Mr. S.?" she teased seductively, running a fingertip over his lips. "Can't keep up with me anymore?"

His smile was wide and warm. "Hmmm... give me a little while longer, Mrs. S.," he murmured, kissing her fingertip, "and I'll show you what I can do."

She lowered her lips to his, nibbling gently between each word. "If it's better than what you just did, I may pass out."

"I wouldn't like that," he replied. "I want my lady to be well aware of everything."

"Oh, I will be...."

Later, after a little rest and a little laughter and teasing, Walter helped Mariel adjust herself again against his body so she would be comfortable and ready. He was delighted with her spirited wordplay, now that she had been reassured about his love and support, and hoped she would continue to relax and feel comfortable with their physical sharing.

--- Oh, Walt, you don't know how wonderful it is for me to be able to love and play and enjoy your beautiful body --- she thought, letting her kisses wander over his face and throat. --- I always suspected that I would never be a disappointment to my husband like this... and I guess that I'm not.... ---

A little while later, Walter whispered, "All ready, sweetheart?"

Mariel shifted a bit more, then sighed, "Ready...." Soon the sigh became a soft moan and she whispered, "Oooh, didn't we just do this?"

"Sure did...." --- If you knew how much you turn me on.... --- Soon he murmured against her ear, "Want more, love?"

"Yes... oh, yes!" Then she laughed, a warm, rich sound before her breath became a soft pant. "Walt... you're all I need, all I want.That's right... oh, yes, yes....!"

Neither was aware of when the other fell asleep at last. The rest of the night passed quietly while Walter and Mariel slept in each other's arms....

F.B.I. Headquarters, Assistant Director Skinner's Office
Morning

He liked coming to the building at this time of the morning. The hallways were quiet, the human traffic sparse. When he entered the office, the admin assistant's desk was as yet unoccupied. Opening the inner office door, he saw that the blinds behind the desk were still drawn, and the early sun made itself visible as glimmering parallel lines bleached upon the edges of the slats. The air was cool, as yet unscented by the delicate drift of Kimberly's perfume, or by the dry staleness of stacked files and folders, or yet by the sour tang of sweat-damp shirts and blouses as overworked, stressed agents and assistants came in with problems and questions and left with solutions and assignments.

Quiet and still. The man settled into a chair near the far wall and crossed his legs loosely. He didn't mind waiting this morning. For some time, the only movement in the room besides the lift and fall of the man's chest was the lazy, almost sensually slow upward drift of smoke from the cigarette in his hand as it rested upon the chair arm. Gradually, he sensed rather than heard the building come to life around him.

In the proper time came the sound of a door from the outer office. Then footsteps, light and evenly spaced, with a barely-heard clack as of a solid heel such as Kimberly might wear. Of course, the AD's executive assistant prided herself on her punctuality. Soon he caught the scent of fresh coffee as she brewed her favorite gourmet blend: cafe arabica, he believed. Yes, the rich aroma fit the blend quite well. He stubbed out his cigarette. He hadn't long to wait now.

Presently, across the room, the inner door opened slightly, and the bulk of a tall, powerfully-built man cut off the light coming in from the smaller office. "Agent Mulder," the smoker heard the man say, "what are you doing here? I thought you and Agent Scully were leaving this morning."

"Sir, Scully's downstairs switching our reservations right now," Mulder's voice came clearly as the door continued to swing open. "But you have to see this, sir. This photo of the collaborating evidence is fake. I haven't had a chance to analyze it officially, but..." Both men were in the office now, Skinner in full regalia of suitcoat, tie and briefcase, Mulder holding up an open file for the AD to see. The man in the chair stood lazily, and both men recognized his presence and halted as if to one mind .

"What are *you* doing here?" Skinner's voice was cool, even, and hard-layered with menace. Damn the man.... Skinner had awakened at peace that morning, hopeful of the future, contented and thankful that he'd been given the grace to love and to be loved. Now here was this S.O.B. to trouble his life once again; the man whom Skinner once had been prepared to kill with no compunction and no regrets. If Mariel had died in Arizona.... The AD forcefully shelved his memories, conscious of Mulder standing in quiet support beside him.

The smoker smiled. "Even though it's early, Mr. Skinner, there is no reason for the vocabulary of an assistant director to be so limited."

Skinner stood behind his desk, setting his leather case down with such a slow, careful movement that leather meeting wood made no sound. "I have meetings this morning. State your business and get out."

The smoker continued to smile, and looked over at Mulder. The hazel-eyed agent returned the stare, then glanced at Skinner. "Do you want me to step outside, sir?"

"Stay here, Mulder." Skinner pulled off his suitcoat, draping it over the back of his chair. "This man doesn't have anything to say to me that I wouldn't want overheard."

Giving a soft chuckle, the smoker pulled out his cigarettes. "Are you sure?" Without waiting for any response, the older man continued. "In truth, there is nothing sinister about my presence here today, Mr. Skinner. I merely wish to enquire about the health of your lovely wife. I assume that the baby is due practically any day now."

Skinner's belly tightened to a twist of rage and disgust. "What business is that of yours?" His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, bracing his palms flat on the desktop. "I trust you remember the subject of the conversation we held in this very office 18 months ago?"

The grey-eyed smoker twisted a wry smile around the cigarette clasped between his lips. "Of course I do, Mr. Skinner. You reminded me of it once before, in Arizona. I would give you the same reply today." The smoker fired his lighter, bringing the flame to the tip of the cigarette. "I must say that pregnancy appears to agree with your wife. The child was conceived in Arizona, after your reunion with Mrs. Skinner? Yes, how very fitting that would be: the renewal of love and devotion after your sad separation." He shook his head, remembering. "Life can be strange, Mr. Skinner. Given another time and place, your child might have been mine."

--- *Unbidden by his will, memory of that day in Arizona returned to Walter Skinner... Mariel kneeling beside him, asking him to make love to her, to claim her back.... Claim her back...? From 'him', from this bastard?... Oh, dear God....* --- Walter Skinner moved slowly around the desk, his stride the lithe, elegantly menacing stalk of a panther before the spring. The big man was vaguely aware of Mulder moving up beside him, but his entire being was focused with laser intensity upon the greying, wrinkled smoker before his eyes. "Are you implying that you raped my wife, you son of a bitch?" The words came roughly, grated out from a raw, tight throat.

The smoker drew deeply on his cigarette, letting the smoke trickle out of his nostrils to a slow exhalation. He caught the spark of a sudden confused speculation in the AD's narrowed eyes, buried though it was beneath the heat of Skinner's controlled rage. No, this wouldn't do, the smoker realized. Skinner was no fool.... His own grey eyes shuttered, the smoker smiled, thin lips curving in amusement. "Come now, Mr. Skinner," he said, lowering the cigarette. "We're all adults here. It's considered to be rape only if one of the parties involved in the act is unwilling."

Salacious, mocking, deliberately crass, the words were barely out of the smoker's mouth when Skinner moved. Silent and swift, within the span of two heartbeats and before the older man's brain even could register the motion, the AD was at the smoker's throat. His eyes glittering slits in a face twisted and unrecognizable in a frozen rictus of rage, Skinner wrapped his fingers around the other's neck. Digging his thumbs into the man's Adam's apple, the AD began to squeeze his fingers shut. Pinned by the big man's strength, the smoker heard the hiss of his own blood in his ears, saw the swelling blackness devour his vision and knew that he was facing the moment of his death.

There were sounds and shouting, someone was yelling close to Skinner's ear, someone's hands were yanking at his arms. Mulder... Mulder's voice hissing at him, the agent's hands forcing his grip to loosen. "Walter, stop it!" Mulder was yelling. "Who'll protect your family if you're in prison?" At last the words and the sense of them penetrated the blood-haze of primal rage, and Skinner dropped his hands, sinking back upon the desk as the spent fury left him drained and breathless.

The smoker fell back, too, collapsing against the lamp table. He massaged his throat and gasped in quick, whooping breaths. It had been years since anybody had attempted to throttle him, and the older man took a few moments to recover his wits.

Still panting himself from the tussle, Mulder tried to breathe deeply to calm his heartbeat. Damn... He hadn't realized that his boss still could move so fast. Although he'd been conscious of the AD's building anger, the hazel-eyed agent had been caught unawares by Skinner's actions. Trying to pull the man's hands from the smoker's neck had been like trying to bend a steel girder. He looked up then as the smoker straightened from his boneless slouch.

"You must think your position is unassailable." The smoker's voice was grating and hoarse, but still understandable. "Mulder won't always be around to save you, Skinner."

Speaking for the first time to the smoker, Mulder jerked out a cold smile and remarked almost casually, "Threats, in front of a witness?"

Skinner stood up, pushing away from the desk. He had himself in hand now, and knew that later he would be appalled by how closely he had come to killing a man with his bare hands. Right now, though, there was only one more thing he had to make clear. Through tightly-clenched teeth, he ground out, "You lying, foul-mouthed bastard. If my wife tells me that you so much as touched her little finger, I *will* come for you and finish this job. And I'll pick the moment very carefully."

Distracted as he was by a painfully raw throat, the smoker knew that he had succeeded in driving that moment of speculation from Skinner's mind. "Very well." The man shrugged. "I know that neither of you will believe it, but I honestly meant only to express my concern today." The older man looked fully at the AD. "I'm not sure if you fully understand how fortunate you are, Mr. Skinner. Please keep that in mind."

At that moment, the telephone on Skinner's desk shrilled. Without taking his eyes off the smoker, the AD stepped back and lifted the receiver. "Kimberly, I can't take a call now.... All right, put it through.... What is it?... Are you all right?... No, no don't drive yourself, call the paramedics.... I'm coming now.... Yes.... God, I love you, too. I'll be there.... Call them now.... Goodbye." Skinner replaced the phone and unconsciously straightened his shoulders, preparing himself.

He turned, stabbing a hard finger toward the smoker. "You. Get out of here, now. Out of my life, out of my wife's life." Swinging toward Mulder, dismissing the smoker with body language as surely as he dismissed the man from his thoughts, Skinner said, "Deal with your case, Mulder, as you see fit." Snatching up his suitcoat, Skinner jabbed the intercom. "Kimberly, cancel or reschedule everything. Mrs. Skinner is going to the hospital." --- And so am I. God, sweetheart, I'm on my way. It'll be all right... it has to be all right. ---

Walter and Mariel's Home
Earlier that Morning

Mariel Skinner lay quietly in bed. She watched the curtains warm and glow with the strengthening sun, and stroked her "Sweetie bulge" with drowsy contentment. She felt wonderful this morning, limbs loose and relaxed after satisfying lovemaking, heart and emotions at peace. Still a little sleepy, she reached under the pillow to retrieve her rosary, and told the beads until she drifted off again.

Waking a little later, she decided to take a leisurely shower and fix herself a light breakfast. Walter should be into his morning by now, she figured, and it was time that she got going herself. She sat up, hearing the delicate rattle of crystal beads as the rosary slid off her breast where it must have rested when she fell asleep over the prayers. She smiled, kissed the crucifix and slid the beads under her pillow.

Hmm... After the routine of classes and concerts, it probably was going to take a while to get used to relative leisure, but she hoped she'd be able to enjoy the quiet for the next few weeks, anyway. The coming of Sweetie would make leisure a forgotten word! Chuckling softly, Mariel stretched, swung her legs over the bed and stood up carefully.

Warm liquid cascaded down her bare legs, and Mariel gasped in surprise. What the heck? She sat down again, quickly, but the leakage did not abate. Her bladder wasn't full, so she knew this could be only one other thing. The baby's placental sack had torn.

--- Think, Mari.... --- The water breaking meant that labor would begin soon, and, more critically for the infant's health, the baby was now exposed to outside infections. She should get to the hospital as soon as possible. All right. First call the ob-gyn, then Walt. But wait now, it would take too much time for him to drive home from downtown and then turn around and take her to the hospital. Her mother and step-father would be on vacation for a few more days -- nobody expecting the baby this early -- and Mariel didn't feel comfortable calling any of her friends out of the blue for a ride. Well, she was still capable of driving.

She picked up a towel from the stack on the floor and folded it, then stood gingerly and tucked the towel between her legs. The waters soaked the fabric immediately, and Mariel bit her lip. She hadn't realized there was so much fluid to be lost. Beginning to be a little frightened, she fumbled for the telephone to make her calls.

A Washington, D.C. Hospital
Later That Day

This must be what hospital public-relations brochures called a "birthing room," he decided. It was no bigger than an average bedroom, with chintz curtains softening the window and floral patterned wallpaper in place of institutional white paint. The bed itself, though obviously a hospital bed, had a knotty pine veneer frame with matching headboard. And in the middle of that bed, her dark hair awry, her lovely face damp with a sheen of sweat, lay his wife.

Hearing Walter's steps, Mariel looked up and tried to grin. "Hi. I'm glad you could make it for *this* important event."

Walter grabbed the only chair that he saw and dropped it by the bed. "My God, honey, of course I made it," he said, clasping her hands. Hating the surety that his professional skills and personal abilities were useless here, Walter threw a glance at the sensors and leads attached to Mariel's abdomen. The nurse checking the monitor readouts didn't even look up from the machine. Doubtless she was accustomed to seeing anxious husbands.

Noticing his look, Mariel murmured, "Fetal monitors. Don't mind them -- they're just in case." Breathing deeply, she squeezed his hands hard. Walter realized from the strength of her grip and the rhythm of her breathing that she was riding out a contraction. Then her fingers relaxed and her body sank back onto the pillow. "I'm thirsty, Walt," she whispered.

"Sure... sure, honey," he said. Spying a glass on the bedside table, he picked it up. It was filled with ice chips, and he fed her one, stroking her cheek while she worked the ice around in her dry mouth. "Did the contractions start right after you called?"

She nodded. "I'm already dilated a few centimeters."

"That's good," Walter said, rubbing her hands. He kissed her palm and held it up to his face, closing his own hand over hers. "The baby must be in a hurry to come out. But I never figured things would happen so fast, or start so early."

"Me, either. I guess the water breaking must have jump-started things."

Walter rubbed her abdomen with a light touch, uncertain of how to phrase his thoughts. "Mariel..." He paused a moment, and she turned her head on the pillow, her eyes quizzical. "Did last night have anything to do with the water breaking? I mean, did me being inside you, do something to cause that?"

Mariel studied his face. His chocolate-brown eyes behind the wire-framed glasses were dark with worry, his firm lips slightly parted as he waited with concern for her reply. --- I love him so very much --- she thought. --- And he's so afraid that he did something to hurt me or Sweetie. --- Reaching up to stroke her fingertips over his mouth, she said, "No, of course not, Walt. Remember, I'm specially designed for the pregnancy thing." She grinned a bit roguishly. "I'm also specially designed to have you just where you were, so please don't worry." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You didn't do anything but make me feel wonderful, but you do that anyway, just by being you."

Walter could feel his cheeks flushing from the warmth and love in Mariel's voice, and he leaned forward to kiss her thoroughly. --- God, what have I done in my life to make me deserve this woman? --- Nothing, he was sure. She was a precious gift. He tasted her breath against his lips and was just beginning to smile when he felt her stiffen, another contraction washing over her body. "Should they be so close together this early?" he asked, beginning to worry.

"Not from what I've heard," Mariel replied when she had her breath back. "My mom said that I took about fifteen hours, all told." Touched by Walter's renewed concern, she murmured for him and kissed his mouth again. "It's o.k.," she soothed. "Every baby's different. Maybe ours is in more of a hurry than I was."

Walter smiled. "Whenever Sweetie gets here, I'll be ready."

Mariel reached up to him, and they embraced as well as they could what with the monitors and Sweetie. "Yeah, me, too," Mariel whispered, kissing him yet again. --- Umm... I'd better be careful --- she thought. --- This is hardly the time to get all warm and ready. --- They hugged in silence for a while, until a male voice spoke from the other side of the room.

" Mrs. Skinner, let's see how things are progressing, shall we?"

Mariel tried to relax as Dr. Eamonn Macklin proceeded with an internal exam. Dr. Macklin, red-haired, blue-eyed, and with freckles enough to make his arms look permanently tanned, had been Mariel's physician for years. The Dublin-born, American-trained ob-gyn liked Mariel, even if he disapproved of the violence that sometimes surrounded her F.B.I. husband. In Macklin's opinion, worry about one's spouse's welfare on the job did not lend itself to a stress-free pregnancy. Well, she'd done pretty well so far.

Careful not to say that the timing of this exam had been prompted by his reading of the monitor tapes, Dr. Macklin made easy small-talk while he felt the baby's contours. He was aware that his patient's husband was staring at him hard, almost as if the man suspected that something might be wrong and was willing the doctor to spit out the news. Stripping off the latex gloves, Macklin said, "The baby is presenting as a breech, Mrs. Skinner, and there is indication of some slight fetal distress."

"What does that mean in English?" Walter asked, not even trying to conceal the hard edge in his voice.

"The baby's upside-down," Mariel said, squeezing Walter's hand.

"That's right," Macklin confirmed. "The baby is bottom-down, and it feels as though both legs are tucked up toward the chest."

"You still haven't told us what that means," Walter reminded the doctor. The AD was in no mood for circumlocutions. If something was wrong he wanted to be able to face it squarely.

"It means that I recommend a Caesarean section rather than a vaginal birth. There is the possibility of a breech baby getting stuck part-way down, so to speak, which in turn increases the chances for complications both to the baby and the mother." He gestured toward the monitors. "The fetal EKG already shows some... bothersome readings, so I think it's best if we proceed immediately."

"I..." Stunned by the swift turn of events, Mariel couldn't enunciate another word. A moment ago, she and Walter had been looking forward to a normal childbirth. Now, she was facing major abdominal surgery and an anesthetic.... Shaking her head sharply, trying to order her thoughts, she said, "All right."

Walter caught the odd undertone in her voice, but before he could speak the doctor said, "There are some papers to sign for the C-section, and I'll have the staff anesthesiologist explain your options." Macklin smiled encouragingly and patted Mariel's knee, but when he stood up to leave Walter quickly blocked his way and caught the doctor's upper arm in a powerful grip. His face hard, his eyes cool and wary, the big man edged the doctor toward the door.

"This anesthesiologist, do you know him? Do you trust him?"

Macklin frowned. "Yes, on both counts. He's worked with me many times." The doctor glanced from Walter to the bed and back. "Mr. Skinner, is there something going on that I should know about before we proceed?"

The AD released his hold on the other man's arm. "My wife has been... put in jeopardy more than once, doctor," Walter said, holding the physician's gaze with a look that would intimidate Saddam Hussein. "I have to be sure that she's not in danger even here."

Macklin shook his head. "Mr. Skinner, I suppose that your profession requires you to be slightly paranoid, but let me assure you that your wife is in no *danger* under my care. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll contact the anesthesiologist and we'll get things moving here."

The Birthing Room
Shortly Afterward

Mariel stared at the papers. Sign here, initial there, verify that patient has been informed about the potential risks involved with the various types of anesthetics. Damn... as if she wasn't nervous enough already. At least, if the anesthesiologist was as meticulous about the actual performance of his profession as he'd been about explaining the options and procedures involved, she probably would be all right. Probably....

--- Breathe, Mari --- she instructed herself. --- It's for Sweetie's welfare; you'll be fine. --- But Mariel knew from the way Walter was looking at her that she wasn't fooling either of them. Her husband was standing beside the bed, his arm around her shoulders, lightly stroking her arm as she looked down at the papers she had to sign. Without raising her head, she said, "Doctor, if you'll excuse us a minute, I want to discuss something with my husband." Pleased that her voice had sounded pretty normal, Mariel closed her eyes.

After the man left the room, Walter lifted Mariel's head with a fingertip beneath her chin. "All right, Mrs. S.," he said, voice soft yet gently commanding. "You're literally in the arms of the law, now. Tell me what's wrong?"

So much for sounding normal. Mariel shifted on the mattress, unconsciously biting her lip against the pain of another contraction. They were starting to hurt more. "Walter, I don't want a general anesthetic because I want to be awake when Sweetie comes out." She got it all out on one breath, and squirmed again as the pain shifted its focal point. She felt Walter's arm tighten, his strong muscles flexing against her back. Letting him support her upper body, she waited until the pains eased before continuing.

"But with the other choices, well..." She paused, then bit her lip before continuing. "As far as a spinal goes, um, you're going to laugh at me, but, well, I'm afraid of having any anesthetic that has to go into my spine." Mariel felt the hot wetness behind her eyes and willed herself not to cry. "I'm afraid that, what if something goes wrong and I never get any feeling back and... and I'll never know, um, sexual pleasure with you again. I waited so many years to find you and I'm scared now but I know it's really childish and I should be thinking about the baby's welfare...."

"Mariel." The single word was sufficient. When Walter saw that she was allowing the tears to come, he bent to cradle her against his chest, one arm still around her shoulders, the other arm resting lightly over Sweetie. Walter Skinner had learned early in their relationship how important he was to Mariel. Strictly raised, chaste by choice as well as by creed, Mariel had a passionate physical nature that had finally found freedom to blossom within the secure underpinning of their marital vows. They'd explored each other's bodies and emotions gently, taking time and care to establish the natural pattern and rhythms of passion and restraint that would nourish them whether they might be granted one year of life together or sixty. --- I want a hundred more --- Walter thought, and then his thoughts continued wistfully: --- But at my age, maybe that many more isn't even a viable wish.... ---

"You're not being childish," he murmured against her damp hair. "I understand there's always risk with these procedures. But I'm sure it'll be o.k." Walter continued to hold her, supporting her with his strength. He knew that she needed some time to settle down, and then they would discuss the options. "I'm here; I always will be, no matter what happens. But nothing will, except that we'll have Sweetie to hold."

After a while Mariel sat up straighter. Sweeping her palms over her wet cheeks, she pulled in a slow breath. "You're right," she said, her voice firm once again.Then she smiled up at Walter, her eyes radiant with love and anticipation. "Let's sign the papers, and go get our Sweetie."...

The Anteroom to OR Suite B
Early Afternoon

Walter Skinner stepped into the scrubs, pulling the baggy, green paper sterile pants up over his trousers. Frowning at the matching booties, he muttered under his breath but yanked them on. He knew the precautions were necessary, but chafed at the time lost when he could be with his wife.

Through the windows in the swinging push-doors, he could see Mariel lying on the operating room table, the anesthesiologist behind her, the hospital gown folded away from her back. Skinner could see her long, elegant legs, clad now in high fluffy stockings, and his spousal instincts stirred angrily at the thought that the OR technicians could see so much of her body. --- Get hold of yourself, mister, and stop being an idiot --- he ordered himself. --- They're all professionals, specializing in obstetrics. They see naked women every day. --- But logic didn't ease the sense of outraged propriety within him.

Walter was reaching for the scrub top when he noticed that Mariel's hands were clenched and that she was holding her breath as the anesthesiologist, standing behind her, adjusted the syringe. God... he should be in there, holding her hands. She was afraid, she needed him.... "Damn!" The scrub top was too small to stretch over his massive chest, so he grabbed another from the pile and improvised with the two garments, one for each arm and shoulder. Knotting the flimsy ties in any way that would hold the scrubs on his body, Walter pushed open the door to take his rightful place beside his wife in the operating room.

OR Suite B
Immediately Thereafter

--- All I'll feel is a prick, huh? --- Mariel Skinner thought. --- Sure... I know how it feels when I go to the dentist; this'll be worse. --- Her skin roughened under the cool touch of the air conditioning, and a shiver glissaded along her nerves. It had to be the temperature making her body tremble. After all, she was lying half-naked on a sheet-covered metal table under an air vent. That's what it was. Surely it wasn't because she was nervous. --- Walt, where are you? --- her mind whispered.

"Don't move, Mrs. Skinner," the anesthesiologist murmured from behind her, laying his latex-gloved hand on her shoulder. The touch was warm and slickly plastic at the same time, and she subconsciously shied away from it.

"Sorry," she whispered, and fought the automatic urge to look up when she heard the swinging doors swish open and heavy, firm steps approached the OR table. Then two broad, lightly tanned hands reached down into her field of vision and closed over her clenched fists. Walter's beautiful, strong hands.... Mariel whispered, "About time," and managed a smile when Walter kissed her temple.

"Yeah.... I had some trouble with my sartorial arrangements, but here I am," he said as he sat on the stool beside the table. He knew that he had read Mariel right when her smile widened and she actually giggled a little. Her eyes lifted to take in the improvised scrub tops stretched and sloppily bunched over his chest, and the giggle became a deep chuckle.

"I guess that Mr. Blackwell won't put you on his 'best-dressed' list this year." Then the laugh faded, and Mariel bit her lip. "I'm starting not to feel my legs, sweetheart," she murmured with a tiny quiver in her voice. "Guess I can't change my mind now."

"No, guess not," Walter agreed, kissing her cheek. Then he shifted his body on the stool and tilted his head to look her fully in the eyes. "Time to have our baby, Mrs. S.," he said, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. Not caring that two doctors and the OR staff were in the room preparing instruments and equipment for his wife's Caesarean, Walter placed his mouth lightly upon hers and whispered, "I love you."

It was all he needed to say, all he ever would need to say. Man and wife kissed for a moment, until the anesthesiologist cleared his throat. Brought reluctantly back to the time and place, Walter lifted his head, his eyes and heart filled with the sight of his wife's flushed, lovely face. The doctor smiled and said, "Let's get you on your back, Mrs. Skinner. Sir, support her head as I turn and lift her.... That's right," he finished when Mariel was settled on her back. Then he set a light frame over the table at her waist level and draped a sheet over it, effectively screening Mariel's view so that she couldn't see her lower body. "We'll give it a few more minutes to get you completely numbed out."

Mariel stared up at the light panel in the ceiling until the doctor turned toward his monitors. Then she reached upward to draw Walter's head down until she felt his cheek settle on hers. "Honey, remember... if anything goes wrong, be sure that Sweetie is baptized. Dr. Macklin knows how to do it."

God.... He and Mariel had discussed this before, but now that the time of delivery was nigh, the possibility that he might lose his child immediately after birth was an intolerable thought for Walter Skinner. He knew intellectually that unforeseen complications during childbirth sometimes resulted in such sad losses, but he couldn't bear the possibility that such a thing might happen to Sweetie. Forcefully ordering his thoughts so that his voice would be normal enough not to upset her, Walter said, "I remember, Mariel. I'll see to it if... if it's necessary."

Mariel nodded against his cheek. He lifted his head and she looked at him, studying every inch of his loved face, breathing in the scent of his skin mingled with hints of the spicy aftershave that he always wore. --- Dear heart, there's one more thing.... --- "Walter, promise me one more thing," she said, her breath a warm whisper against his ear. "If anything happens to me, promise that you'll arrange for Masses to be said for my soul."

Walter choked back a curse, his body stiffening. He flexed suddenly cold hands, working out the harsh tingles that sparked down to icy fingertips. "Mariel... damn it, don't talk like that," he whispered fiercely, slapping his palms down onto hard thighs. The muscles there felt as tense as his strained throat. "Honey, it's bad enough thinking about the statistical possibilities of losing Sweetie, but you...."

Mariel did not release his gaze. Tenderly, but very clearly, she said, "Walter Sergei Skinner, do you promise?"

At that moment, he understood the deepest meaning of the promises in his marriage vows. They were bound in soul as well as in body and heart, and he would caretake the welfare of her very being as surely as she would care for him. He took a slow breath, and cradled her head between his hands. "I promise, Mariel," he said simply, and knew from the glow in her eyes that it was enough.

OR Suite B
Shortly Thereafter

"We're almost there, Mrs. Skinner," Dr. Macklin said, preparing to reach for the baby. The procedure so far had been an almost textbook-case Caesarean: patient's physical readouts normal, incision completed with no complications, infant's vitals strong. The only thing that was bothering him was the bleeding. She was clotting slower than he liked, and he would have to keep a close eye on that. A Vitamin K injection should help, he decided.

But now he was ready for that first view of the baby. Well, the baby's round, pink bottom in this case, and the tiny legs folded right up over the face. Yes, that's the way, he thought as he slid two fingers of each hand under the small hips and lifted gently. Then he eased one hand under the shoulders to cradle the neck and head.

"I have the leg now," Macklin announced, and a moment later: "Mr. and Mrs. Skinner, you have a baby girl."

Mariel gasped, "Is she o.k.? Oh, Walt... a little girl!"

"Yeah." Walter's eyes were moist as he stared at his baby. Wet, pink skin splotched with blood, tiny arms dangling, rosebud mouth opening to a burbling cry, the baby dangled from Macklin's gloved hand as the doctor drew out the other little leg. The infant's cries strengthened and Walter Skinner's own lips parted in a wide grin. "With her lungs, I guess you won't be the only singer in the family, honey," he said, unaware that his cheeks were damp.

"Give her to me," Mariel said, straining to see over the waist barrier.

"Apgar first," Macklin said, and passed the baby to the pediatric nurse who, for all Walter could have told, apparently had materialized from the light fixture. It was not long before the nurse laid the infant belly-down upon Mariel's breast. "She's good and healthy," the nurse said. "But I'll have to take her back in a minute."

Mariel Skinner couldn't keep her hands away from Sweetie. She stroked the baby's limbs, smoothed her palm up over the small rounded bottom and delicate back. The infant's skin was warm and slickly wet, her dark hair matted to her head. Eyes open but unfocussed, mouth working in reflexive sucking movements, the baby pushed her face into Mariel's skin, instinctively seeking for something. Mariel knew what it was, and, unaware of the growing pallor of her own cheeks, eased the infant over just a little. "There's my little sweetheart," she crooned as the tiny mouth touched her nipple and attempted to latch onto that warm, interesting place. "That's my sweet love."

Beside her, holding the baby's foot with his strong fingers and marveling at the delicacy of his daughter's form, Walter listened with love to the lovesong in Mariel's voice. He felt laughter bubbling up within him, the sheer joy of life and creation brought to fruition before his eyes. "God... she's beautiful," he said. "So tiny."

"With us for parents," Mariel whispered, "she won't stay tiny for long."

Occupied as he was, Eamonn Macklin smiled to hear the new mother and father murmuring nonsense at the other end of the table. This small, seemingly insignificant moment was in reality a bonding of love at first sight. Macklin believed in such things only at times like this, when Mom and Dad came face to face with the little human they had created with God's help.

But right now... Putting the wonder of new-minted life from his mind, Macklin bent his head against the point of his shoulder, quickly shoving his glasses closer to his eyes with an automatic movement that did not contaminate his sterile hands. Damn it, *this* bleeding wasn't textbook Caesarean. Obviously Mrs. Skinner wasn't a hemophiliac, and the ob-gyn knew that she wasn't taking blood thinners. Again obviously, the Vitamin K injection hadn't helped. She wasn't clotting at all now, and he didn't need the anesthesiologist's words to alert him to a decidedly unwelcome complication.

"B.P. starting to drop," Macklin's colleague said, sounding as if he had expected a visit from the tooth fairy sooner than seeing that reading.

"All right. Give me the counts." Eamonn Macklin turned to his nurse, who was already waiting beside him with the tray. "Let's get this taken care of," he said. He threw a quick glance upward, and saw that the pediatric nurse had already turned from her task of preparing the wheeled bassinet to take Baby Girl Skinner to the nursery. "Annie, need your help," he said, and jerked his head toward the delivery table.

Annie moved with smooth precision, pushing the bassinet right up against the table. Her years of experience as a pediatric nurse had not dulled her dread of moments like this, when something went unexpectedly wrong and the ob-gyn team had to shift from assisting in the giving of life to the saving of life. Keeping her voice matter-of-fact, the nurse said, "Let's step outside, Mr. Skinner." Preparing to pick up the infant, she took a tiny blanket from the bassinet.

His attention jarred away from his wife and child, and momentarily confused by the sudden change in the room from relaxed competence to brisk professionalism, Walter jerked to his feet. Now that he was standing and could see beyond the barrier at Mariel's waist, he realized that Dr. Macklin and his nurse were bent closely over Mariel's abdomen, and that the anesthesiologist was chanting off readings in a quiet monotone. "What's going on?" Walter demanded, frightened by what he saw. Dear God, why was Mariel bleeding so much?

... Mariel blinked, trying to clear away the mist before her vision. Sweetie looked farther away to her, somehow, which was silly. The baby couldn't crawl yet, and she herself hadn't moved. Had she...? --- I'm dizzy, too --- she thought drowsily. --- Some strong anesthetic. --- Then she shivered. They didn't turn up the air conditioner, did they?... Mariel murmured, "I'm so cold, Walt. Is there a blanket?"...

"You should leave now, Mr. Skinner," Annie said, tucking the blanket around the baby. The pediatric nurse wasn't unsympathetic to the look of confusion and fear in the man's face, but he didn't belong in here now. They had a serious job to do. "We'll take your baby to the nursery," she continued, and lifted the child from her mother's breast.

Taken abruptly from her mother's warmth, bereft of that familiar heartbeat and deprived of the sweet nourishment that she craved in order to sustain her life, Sally Katarina Skinner howled in rage and pain and loss. Parental instincts further aroused by the cries, Skinner reached out instinctively for his child but instead found his arms gripped as someone began to hustle him from the room. "What's going on? Why can't I stay with my wife?" Nobody answered him, and Annie followed, pushing the bassinet with its frantic, screaming occupant out past the doors.

"B.P. ninety over fifty and dropping." The anesthesiologist said, and Macklin nodded brusquely without speaking, busy with his task.

... Unaware that her husband no longer was at her side, Mariel whispered, "Walt, I don't feel good...." Her words trailed off and her eyes closed. The hand that had been stroking her daughter's back slipped down limply, heavily, and beside the delivery table, the anesthesiologist's monitors began to beep....

Unable to process this sudden, frightening turn of events, Walter stared back into the OR through the window in the double doors. Damn, he didn't even understand what was going on, except that... Oh, God, she was bleeding so much and what were they doing in there and... Several breath-held seconds that seemed to count the span of a lifetime passed before a loud buzz blared from the monitor. To Walter Skinner, that noise was like the obscene trumpet call of a fallen angel, and he swung an anguished stare toward his wife's immobile features. --- God, please.... She loves you -- we need her! Don't let this.... --- Too numb to complete the voiceless prayer, Walter stood frozen, painfully aware that he could do nothing to help, unaware that the prayer itself was his most important contribution.

Inside the room, the anesthesiologist said, "We have cardiac arrest."

The Anteroom to OR Suite B
The Same Time

He knew now that it was foolish of him to be here. Certainly his colleagues would say that he was displaying a decided lapse of judgment, and no doubt they would be correct. After all, there was nothing to be gained by his presence here: no secret to be uncovered, no eyewitness to be dealt with, no duplicity to be set in motion. And yet, here he was, pressed against the wall behind a steel locker, staring at the broad, green-clad back of the man who had the right to be here, the man who was Mariel Skinner's only love. Not a man like himself, not ever, and of course that was only right and proper....

His right hand worked in his pants pocket, his fingers clenching spasmodically around the cigarette pack, crushing through the wrapper to grind the tobacco cylinders to dry shreds. Perhaps at another time the smoker would enjoy the irony of the situation: two men who loved a woman thrown together to share this pain, even though *he* was unaware of his, the smoker's, presence. And why should the big man be aware, the smoker thought, when the AD's entire being was straining toward his wife, unconscious of anything but his fear for her?

The smoker schooled himself to inhale evenly and slowly, then let all his breath out in a soundless sigh. How many times, he wondered dispassionately, was it possible for a man to lose his soul before actual physical death? Once before he'd lost it, for Lorene. Was he to lose it again, now, for a woman who despised the very sight of him? It was time to go, and yet, he couldn't leave. He had to know unequivocally, irrevocably, whether he truly was dead this time....

The Anteroom of OR Suite B
Immediately Thereafter

The room was a sudden blaze of noise and moving figures as the OR team pulled the crash cart from its place by the wall, shoving it against the table. Forced outside, Walter echoed his daughter's shrill cries achingly into his very marrow, clenching his fists into painful, white-boned balls to squeeze the scream back into his own head. --- No... Oh, God, no! ---

He only could watch through blurred eyes, exiled from his wife by the professionals who went about their duties with choreographed perfection. Adjust the voltage... charge the paddles... clear... The paddles were applied to Mariel's chest, and her body jerked to the charge. After an agonizing moment Walter saw her chest lift to a huge, gasping intake of breath. Then another, and another, until her breathing settled to an even rhythm.

Inside the room, the anesthesiologist announced with triumph in his voice, "We have sinus rhythm."

Macklin's voice came swiftly. "Good. Bleeding is under control now, too. Let's get the transfusion going." --- Damn, all right! Good girl! --- Macklin thought irrepressibly. --- You're going back to your family. And you, Mr. Skinner --- the ob-gyn's thoughts continued, --- keep yourself together. Your family needs you. ---

Walter was not ashamed to feel the hot wetness of tears welling from his eyes. After a moment he got himself in hand and blotted his cheeks on his scrubs-clad arm. Then he pushed his way back inside and bent over Mariel, stroking her damp hair and kissing her cheeks and eyes and lips, everywhere on her face that he could reach until she blinked and sighed against his skin. "Gee," she murmured, her voice sounding heavy and exhausted, "Did I fall asleep? Silly time to do that! Where's Sweetie?"

Walter looked into her tired, half-lidded grey eyes and realized that Mariel didn't know what had happened, or nearly had happened, to her. He threw a quick look at Dr. Macklin, who nodded slowly. Breathing deeply to still any tell-tale tremor in his voice, Walter said quietly, "They took her to the nursery, honey. There was... kind of a problem here."

Mariel gasped. Sudden fear tightened her face and she raised her hand a little, instinctively reaching out to her husband's strength. Walter clasped her hand tightly and kissed her palm. "It's o.k.," he said quickly. "Sweetie's fine."

"Then, what...?"

Macklin's voice came from beside Skinner's shoulder, and the big man looked over as the ob-gyn leaned down. "Your baby is fine, like your husband said, Mrs. Skinner. But you had an abnormal bleeding episode leading to hypovolemic shock and a stopped heart, so we're going to keep a very close eye on you for a while."

Mariel closed her eyes tightly, and the AD mentally cursed Macklin's cool, clinical recitation of facts. At the same time, he knew that Mariel hated it when someone tap-danced around the facts, to use her own phrase, so maybe it was better if she heard it all up-front. She sighed then, and opened her eyes. "So I... I died?"

"Technically, yes," Macklin replied before Walter could speak. "But I guess the heavenly choir had enough mezzo-sopranos for now, so they sent you back."

Mariel smiled slightly. Leave it to Eamonn Macklin to think of a line like that. Actually, the statement was rather apropos, considering. "O.K.," she whispered finally. "O.K. Now what?"

"Now we get you down to CICU and run some tests," Macklin said. "We'll let you have the baby when we're sure you're all right."

"What do you mean: 'let me have the baby'?" Mariel flared back despite her exhaustion. "You can't keep my baby away."

Skinner felt his heart lift. Yes, his love was back, despite it all. He leaned over to anoint her mouth with a gentle kiss and said, "Just until you're better, honey. I'll be here to keep an eye on you both." Then he straightened, continuing to hold her hand while the OR staff finished preparations for the trip to the CICU. Then he remembered something, and asked, "Mariel, is it possible to arrange for Masses to be said to thank God, too?"

"Sure." Even though she was tired, worried, and beginning to experience the unpleasant side effects of the anesthetic wearing off, Mariel sensed love and peace flowing through her body. She murmured, "All I did was have a baby, and... and go on living, Walt."

"Yeah," the AD said, his voice low-pitched and warm. "Our beautiful daughter, you... I figure I've got plenty to thank God for." Feeling peace descend into his soul, Walter walked beside his wife as she was wheeled out of the room.

The Anteroom of OR Suite B
The Same Time

The smoker stepped back from the double doors, feeling his breathing ease at last. So... all was well, and any moment now the Skinners would leave the OR to begin the next phase of their lives. There was no longer any need for him to stay. He would wait a few moments, though, to be sure that the hospital corridor was clear before he left. He had no wish for AD Skinner to see him, and not because he feared the younger man's anger. This was their time now, and he had no place in it. Indeed, he never had, and never would. At least, the irrevocable question had been answered, and he knew that some small portion of his soul was still his to keep.

** A Private Hospital Room
The Next Morning

Mariel Skinner rested back on the pillows and pushed aside her breakfast tray. She'd finished it all: decently flavored oatmeal, warm poached egg on toast, and orange juice. She knew that she had to eat properly for her milk to come in.

At least she was out of the CICU. The tests had established that she had no undiagnosed heart condition that might have caused the cardiac arrest. As she understood the explanation, her heart had stopped because of the hypovolemic shock due to blood loss, which in turn had been caused by a condition called idiopathic thrombocytopenia. Dr. Macklin had said that, basically, her blood clotting mechanism wasn't working properly for reasons unknown. At least she could be treated for it, which was a blessing.

Mariel shifted her body slightly on the mattress, wincing with the movement. Her abdomen was abominably sore, and she couldn't cough or sneeze without gut-wrenching pain. Dr. Macklin had said he'd remove the catheter after lunch, since he wanted her to walk to the bathroom by herself. That was a step in the right direction, she knew, even though she didn't look forward to the pain that walking would bring. On the up side, her mother and step-father were due in that night, having been summarily summoned home from vacation by an exultant Walter, and said spouse himself was due any moment. Mariel couldn't wait to hug him again.

Then she sighed, looking down at her hands as they lay in her lap. They looked the same as always: strong hands, the long, slim fingers tipped with neatly manicured oval shaped nails tinted a soft pink. She flexed her fingers and smoothed her fingertips over the yellow bedspread. Yes, they worked the same as always, the muscles obeying her mind's commands with the same sure grace.

In many ways, she'd been granted another chance, she realized. It wasn't every day that she died, and yet did not die. Still, she did not think that there was anything about her life that she must change. She loved her husband dearly, and planned to be the best mother she could. Well, maybe she should talk to her confessor about it.

The sound of voices in the hallway drew her attention back to the present, and Mariel smiled, recognizing Walter's deep tones. After a moment, said spouse pushed open the door and held it for the nurse who entered right behind him. The AD's arms were full of a huge floral arrangement, and the nurse pushed a bassinet that held a small, blanket-wrapped bundle. Mariel grinned joyously as the bundle wiggled and voiced loud disapproval of the current situation. The nurse said cheerfully, "Here's a hungry little lady for you, Mrs. Skinner."

Mariel opened her arms eagerly, and the nurse lay the bundle upon her breast. The nurse remained a moment until she was sure that Mariel knew how to help the baby latch on, then waved as she left. "I'll be back later."

"Much later, I hope," Walter growled, and sat up on the edge of the bed. Mariel smiled at him and, as soon as he was settled, nestled back against his broad chest. He put his arms around her, cradling her body close, hoping that his light pullover sweater wasn't scratchy on her bare back.

Half-sitting, half-lying on the bed with Sweetie in her lap, Mariel found a comfortable place on Walter's breast for her head. It felt so good to lie there, sheltered within her husband's embrace, feeling their baby's tiny mouth and tongue working her nipple to draw out the nourishing liquid that came before the true milk would arrive, hopefully within the next day. Walter's kiss on her cheek brought her head around, and she smiled up at him.

"Does that feel good, when she suckles?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Mariel replied peacefully, closing her eyes. "It's wonderful."

"Is it like when I concentrate on your breasts?"

Mariel opened her eyes again, feeling the warmth that flushed her cheeks. "No," she said. "It's not quite the same. This is, well, different. Sweetie is drawing her life from my body."

Walter Skinner smiled. "I do that, too, sweet love," he said, voice deep and velvet-smooth. "From your body and your heart, and I'll never stop."

Mariel laughed softly, rubbing her cheek against his bare throat. "Hey, you better never stop. And as long as you're mine, I won't, either."

Walter's arms tightened. "I'm just thankful that you're still here to be mine," he whispered, memory roughening his voice. Damn... He didn't need any wake-up calls to make him realize how precious she was, and how deeply their lives were intertwined. He heard Mariel murmur something and lowered his head to find her mouth waiting, soft and gentle, for his.

They rested in peaceful silence while Sally Katarina nursed greedily. After a while Mariel offered her other breast, and Sweetie set to work just as strongly as before. "She'll grow a mile a minute if she keeps nursing so well," Mariel murmured, beginning to get sleepy. And the baby would bring in her milk sooner with such strong suckling, which was good. "Sweetheart," Mariel asked drowsily when the baby began to doze, "who sent the bouquet you brought in?"

"Agents Mulder and Scully wired that one, from the field," Walter replied. "It must have put quite a dent in their expense account." It was a monstrous thing, in size anyway: snapdragons and African daisies and tall red ginger and other flowers that he didn't know the names for. It took up a small table all by itself, and Walter looked at the other arrangements that had been set up on the windowsill. "If flowers keep coming, we'll have a lot of thank-you notes to write," he said.

When Mariel didn't answer, Walter looked down to find his wife sleeping, her breast rising and falling in a gentle, natural rhythm. He kissed her hair, and shifted his right arm so that he could support Sweetie as well as cradle his wife. "That's my two little loves," he murmured, kissing Mariel again, then bending his head to kiss their infant's cheek. Sally Katarina slept as well, her little mouth still moving in occasional suckling motions even in her sleep.

His two loves, his two reasons to go on living. --- God --- he swore to himself --- I'll keep them safe and secure, with your help. --- For now, he was content to hold them both, strengthened and energized by Mariel's love and ready to support Sweetie as she began her journey through life. Mariel's husband, friend, and lover, and Sweetie's father, guide, and protector. Yes, that was what he wanted, the life that he wouldn't trade for any wealth or honor or power that the world could offer. Smiling, Walter Skinner lay his cheek against Mariel's soft hair and set his mind and heart on their life to come.

The Maternity Floor Front Desk
The Same Time

The driver always saved his last deliveries for this floor. It cheered him and made a nice end to his business here to deliver flowers and plants to the new mothers, and he liked to peek into the nursery window at the new arrivals. His own kids had been born here, and the sight of the infants, even if they were fussing and screaming, took him back a few years. "Last one," he said to the desk nurse, setting the arrangement down.

The nurse glanced at the card and smiled. Another arrangement for Mrs. Skinner. Soon the lady would have enough flowers to open her own shop. This one was a little different, though. It was one of those living gardens, built around a Southwestern theme with succulents and cacti. At least it wouldn't need a lot of water. "Thanks," she said, "I'll take it in later."

Outside the Hospital
A Few Minutes Later

The man watched the floral delivery truck drive away. He understood that she would throw away the arrangement if she realized who had sent it, but perhaps, just perhaps, something from him might find a place in her home for a little while. He knew that such a thing would be all that he ever could have.

Turning away, the smoker walked to the waiting car and got in. "I'm ready," he said to the driver, and drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The car pulled away from the curb and soon was lost in the mid-morning traffic. The End -- For Now....

Please reply to Mary Mastrangelo at mastrame@inetworld.net or TBYV46A@prodigy.com Author's Notes:

After I posted the first version of this story, I realized that I should go into more detail regarding Mariel's blood loss during the C-section, as well as to update my delivery scenario. I wish to thank Suzanne Bickerstaff for her kindness in answering my medical questions. Any mistakes I may have inadvertently made in the OR are not her fault!

I have also radically changed a key section of the story, altering it so it would reflect my original vision for the scene. My thanks go to my two friends and faithful readers/commentators, Clare Skinner and Jude Dettmann. They help me remember that my initial instincts are often the correct ones, and unselfishly give me support and friendship along the way. -- Mary Mastrangelo

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