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Title: What I Want 2: Coming Together Author's Notes: This is a continuation of my "What I Want" (available here at Gossamer) universe which provides glimpses and chronicles events in Scully's romantic relationship with a fellow FBI agent. Though you can definitely pick this story up without reading the first, I think you may want to read the previous one to see how Scully came to be involved with someone besides Mulder ("What I Want," which picks up after the events of "Two Fathers/One Son" deals with this in detail). Yeah, I know it's sacrilege (and I'm a shipper!) but Scully needed some action! That's what fic is for. The stories so far: As I stated in the first of this series my main objective was to see if I could create a sympathetic, likeable love interest for Scully that was three-dimensional, not just a plot device or a way to make Mulder jealous. I think I succeeded in "What I Want" and liked him so much myself that I've continued to write Scully/Michael stories. This is Scully's attempt at a normal relationship (if she actually tried to pursue a relationship outside the X-Files) and a normal life that I think many of us Scullyists would like to see. I've tried to be true to the character despite the fact she's dealing with more everyday circumstances, not case files. Lastly, I have to say I'm assuming here that the Consortium did indeed fry and the threat of colonization does not exist anymore. Otherwise, I can't see Scully carrying on a relationship or taking the time for anything other than work. And if you read the following story or any in the series, I thank you. Someone having an interest in it besides me would be cool although I'm having fun writing it. Summary: After finding each other in "What I Want," Scully and Michael come together in a more permanent way. Michael's past and present also come together leading to the revelation of a secret. Now, on with the story: I swipe away a piece of lint from my suit jacket and straighten my tie. Peering into the mirror, I realize I look good--a lot younger than my 33 years. Even with the goatee Dana has insisted I not shave. I also look happy. I finally am. Unbeknownst to Dana, I have a secret hiding place. From it, I remove two small velvet boxes, placing one in my right-sided coat pocket and the other in my left-sided coat pocket. And I wait. Nervously so. For it's Friday night. It's a special night, and I have big plans. She was running late having had to stay later than expected to finish up an autopsy. When she arrived home, she was subdued but brightened considerably when she saw me. Usually we'll talk about work if one of us is having a hard time with something, but I didn't have the heart to get into it today being it's her birthday. Knowing my luck, something disturbing had happened and it would kill the mood all together. When she emerges from the bathroom in a beautiful silk slip after a shower, I eye her with an appreciation that is mirrored back at me in her own eyes. In moving from the warmth of the bathroom to the cool of the bedroom, the nipples of her breasts have hardened and protrude through the thin silk enticingly. That's all it takes for all the blood to rush to my groin. I sink heavily onto the bed to wait with every intention of watching her dress though I know it's dangerous. Sometimes she puts on a show, donning her lingerie and pantyhose in an achingly slow, tantalizing fashion to unnerve me. Other times, she just goes about her business though I still marvel at her. She saunters by me, and I playfully pat at her ass. "Get a move on, woman, or we'll be late. Our reservation is for 8:30." She shoots me a deadly look in response that I know is in jest. Then she goes about trying to unnerve me. "Michael, I have an idea. How about we go late or better yet, we don't go at all. I'll make it worth your while," she promises suggestively and plants herself in my lap, straddling me. She starts reigning irresistible kisses along my neck and jawline. "D, as extremely tempting as that sounds, I'm gonna have to decline. We haven't been able to get out for a while, and it's your birthday. I want to take you out, show you a good time, give you a fancy meal. Let me do that for you." "Michael, you're such a spoilsport," she pouts. "Why would I want to go out when everything I want is right here." On the word "here," she caresses the bulge in my pants with her deft doctor's hand. Oh, Lord. How much is one man supposed to endure before he succumbs to the woman he loves? "Please, baby. Let's just go, and I'll make it up to you when we get home. I promise." "You promise to fuck me when we get home?" Sometimes she tries to shock me into getting her own way by talking dirty. Sometimes it works but tonight it won't. It can't. I've had these plans for a while, and there isn't anything or anyone who's going to derail them. Even the promise of Dana's small, tight, perfect body. "Yeah, I'll fuck you or make love to you. Whatever you want. I love you." "Love. . . Me...Now," she whispers in little puffs that hardens me even further. She again christens my neck with wet kisses while she undoes my tie, this just about undoing me in the process. With difficulty in my heart, I turn her away. "I think I'll wait for you downstairs. You're relentless, and I don't know how much more I can resist," I state almost breathless from her kisses and backing away in defeat as it is my only defense. "Suit yourself," she shrugs and murmurs neutrally, going about her business once again. Outside the bedroom door, I still watch her with fascination. Though I should tear myself away and go downstairs like I planned to, I'm having trouble putting one foot in front of the other as she slips on a sexy olive green dress that accentuates her hair and eyes perfectly. I retighten my tie and swallow hard at the sight before me, my body longing to join her in the ancient dance, my head fighting for control, it's sight set on the long term goal. This time, my head, my brain that is, wins out. Michael and Gennaro are at it again. Eyeing me. Smiling and pointing in my direction. I know they've got something planned. Yet again. Gennaro Mastrantonio is the maitre de here at Cesco's, the Little Italy café Michael and I frequent as much as possible. This restaurant is perfectly intimate and romantic with live piano bar music. We find it a little pricey but worth every penny because of the impeccable food and service. Gennaro sticks out like a sore thumb here because he reminds me of Uncle Charlie on "My Three Sons"--old and crotchety but lovable. For some reason, he took a strong liking to Michael and I, and whenever we come in, he gives us the best, most private table in the house. He talks to us like we're his son and daughter, and I find him to be a sweet, sweet man. On my return from the ladies room after dinner, I spy the two of them together in the vestibule right off the bar. They're deep in conversation, most likely in Italian which I'm loathe to interrupt. I perch by the bar smiling slyly, my eyebrow raised in anticipation for them to notice me watching. When they do, the pointed stares and smiling starts. I'd almost be offended if I didn't know better. With the same sly look on my face,I approach the men, latching my arm through Michael's when I reach his side. "What are you boys up to?" "Nothing. Right, Gennaro?" Michael quickly nudges our friend. Gennaro snickers in response and then turns his attention to me. "Dana, a bit of advice. A man in love like my friend here cannot deny you anything. Whatever you want will be yours. Just remember that." "mmm. I'll take that under consideration. Thanks, Gennaro," I offer brightly despite the fact I'm already privy to this information. Without waiting another minute, Michael whisks me away, casting Gennaro a jokingly disapproving glance over his shoulder. "Yeah. Thanks, John." Upon our return to our table, I notice a blue velvet box there waiting for me. Curious, I pick the box up, holding it out to him. "Is this my birthday present?" I ask with the glee of a child. "Not really but take a look." Opening the box reveals the most gorgeous sapphire and diamond antique ring I've ever seen. "...Michael...This is beautiful....Was it your mother's?" "No, it was my grandmother's. It's a very special ring meant for a very special woman." "Tell me," I urge. "I'll try to keep this short. When my grandparents came over to this country from Sicily, they had nothing; nothing except for that ring. They left what little prized possessions they had back in Italy. When they settled here, times were tough for a long while as they could barely make ends meet. Though she cherished the ring and all that it meant to her, my grandmother insisted they pawn it. Despite all the hard times they endured, my grandfather wouldn't hear of it because he knew how much she loved it. When my grandmother died, my mother held onto it and gave it to me about 15 years ago, told me to give it to that special someone. I've held onto it all this time, but I want to give it to you now." I flush at the sentiment though I'm touched beyond words. "That's a wonderful story." "It is," he agrees. "I was wondering if you'd wear it." "I'd love to," I assure him, holding out my right hand. Surprisingly, he takes my other hand instead and places the gem on the ring finger of my left hand. It's surprising because we haven't talked marriage in some time and he hasn't actually come out and asked me to marry him. My heart skips a beat at this development. Before I can question his intentions, Gennaro and the piano player, Guillermo, arrive at our table with a chocolate birthday cake adorned with candles. All three men then proceed to sing "Happy Birthday" and applaud after I've made a wish and blown out the candles. Yes, the men have set me up yet again, and I flush with embarrassment as the whole restaurant has probably heard us celebrating my birthday. But Michael's idea is really very sweet, well meaning and done out of love. When we're alone again with Gennaro abducting the cake into the kitchen to cut it, a sheepish Michael explains away his actions. "I'm sorry if that embarrassed you. I thought it would be fun." "No, don't be. It was fun. No one's sung "Happy Birthday" to me like that in a long time...I liked it. Really." I smile and grasp his hand in mine, receiving the gift of his own smile in return. Just then, Gennaro returns with two pieces of cake. When he places a large plate in front of me, there's a slice of cake, or more accurately a slab of cake, along with a beautiful solitaire diamond engagement ring lying on the china. The ring though is the centerpiece of this plate that is elegantly decorated with chocolate and strawberry sauces as well as a generous sprinkling of cocoa. "Oh, Michael...what's this?" I murmur softly with a mixture of fear and delight. My heart is swelling in my chest, and I'm starting to get very warm. "A slab of 'Death by Chocolate.' You gonna eat all that, Dana?" he jokes, purposely ignoring the obvious. I hold the ring out with wonder and excitement, my eyes darting back and forth between it and Michael. "You're too much, you know that?" "What do you think?" he asks anxiously. "It's gorgeous--simple and elegant. Something I definitely would have chosen for myself." "Are you sure? Because if you don't like it, we can exchange it for one you do like." "No, I love it," I beam. "Dana, you don't have to give me an answer today--" "Are you asking?" I tease. "You know I am though I realize we haven't really talked about it lately and our situation is a little awkward. But...I love you and I want to marry you. I hope you will be ready one day soon, and when you are, you'll do me the honor of wearing my ring." I don't say anything but I wear a smile from ear to ear, already knowing what I will do, what my answer will be. . . A light snowfall blankets the area this February evening. After dinner, Dana and I strolled around Washington enjoying the feel of the cold snow against our overheated skin. Bringing up the subject of marriage had made me a nervous wreck, and Dana's initial surprise to it had left her in pretty much a similar state. To be honest even though we had broached the subject of marriage before, I hadn't expected an answer of her. Therefore, I wasn't hurt when I didn't receive one though I would have loved one just the same. Maybe she didn't think we'd ever get around to it or that I'd ever get the guts to ask. All in all, it really doesn't matter. I shall wait as long as it takes for Dana to say yes. Back home, I sit up in bed waiting for her to join me. When she does, she's a sight to behold in an old white dress shirt of mine, sleeves rolled up, the cotton hanging nearly to her knees. I don't know what it is, but there's something immensely sexy about the woman you love wearing your shirt. I eye her with barely contained hunger. "It's chilly in here," Dana comments as she plants herself on my lap, straddling me. "Not for long. Let me warm you up, birthday girl." "I like the sound of that," she murmurs. "I like you. Period. Everything about you. You look beautiful. Good enough to eat." My hand greedily caresses the softness of her face, our eyes burning into one another. "Be my guest," she smirks. "Yes, but before I partake of the feast before me, I want to give you a little something." "Oh, Michael, I'm expecting a big something." "Baby, can you get your mind out of the gutter and off sex for a minute?" "Oh, like you, you mean? That's hilarious coming from you!" "I can't help it if you turn me on every minute of every day," I smile. "Now, don't go anywhere. I've got a couple of little things for you," I promise with a quick kiss to her lips before scampering away. "But I want the big thing," she whines loudly and playfully. "In due time," my voice wafts from just outside the room. A moment or two later, I present her with two dozen red and peach roses and a small tray boasting a plate of strawberries and whipped cream as well as a bottle of champagne. "You think of everything, don't you?" she gushes, and I lay the scrumptious feast before her. "We try. For you. Only for you. Happy birthday." We kiss then, long, deep, lingering, full of the promise that is to come. She is irresistible, and I feel the familiar heat burn within me, specifically in my groin. She thinks she's finally gonna get some but I break our kiss and playfully dab a handful of whipped cream on her luscious lips. Dana chuckles and starts to lick the sweetness away until I complete the job for her. My tongue is insistent at her mouth, and she gives as good as she gets. She wants more though, much more than I'm willing to give this second. I want her to enjoy this special moment, enjoy something as simple as the two of us sitting here eating delectable strawberries laden with whipped cream and sipping sweet champagne. Sometimes we have so little time together everything is done in a hurry. But not tonight. By dabbing more whipped cream on her lovely face, I've slowed her down a bit. After popping the cork on the champagne, I pour two tall glasses, handing her one. I clink my glass to hers and start to sip until she shocks me with her next words. "How about a toast to your wife?" Dana asks, her eyebrow shooting skyward. Needless to say, I choke on the bubbly. "What?...What are you saying?" Dana retrieves her engagement ring from the breast pocket of her shirt and holds it out to me. "What I'm saying is, take this gorgeous ring here, place it on my left hand and I'll accept your proposal." "You'll accept my proposal? Sounds like I've made some deal or negotiation with you," I complain mildly. "C'mon, baby, that's not what I meant, and you know it. This is hard for me; I'm not good with this kind of stuff." "Then try again," I suggest. "How about...I'd be...ahem...honored to be your wife." "Much, much better," I commend, letting her off the hook. Then my voice turns suddenly serious of its own accord. "Dana, this isn't some whim for me." "I know that. It's not for me either." "I want you to remember something. . . I sewed my oats after I was shot, quickly tired of it and reflected on my life, the shooting, how I wasn't supposed to pull through. I realized life was precious, and I wasn't going to just settle. For anything. And that included my previous relationship. So for me, now, to propose means I have absolutely no doubts. And I don't want you to have any." "I don't. What I meant when I said this was hard for me is that the way the past couple years had gone before I met you I had come to terms with the fact that marriage and a family weren't in the cards for me. I finally accepted it and didn't worry about it anymore. But now that you're in my life, I can't believe how much I want to marry you and...I don't know...have all those frilly girl things even though I've always been a tomboy. So, don't misunderstand--it's not hard for me to say I love you, so, so much. I want more than anything to marry you--no doubts." "You're sure?" "Yes," she states simply. "So, if I slip this ring on your finger, you'll be my wife?" "Yes, I will." I can't help but smile from ear to ear at her pronouncement. Hopefully, they'll be no turning back, no more snags in the road. How we survived the threat Mulder represented to our relationship I'll never know. I just thank my lucky stars every day that she chose me. I pull her into my arms, embracing her tightly, so elated that I can't help but joking around and teasing her a little more. "D, how old are you?" She pulls back, eyeing me quizzically and suspiciously. "Why?" "Just answer the question, cranky." "Older than you, but a lady never reveals her age." "That I never understood. Men love older women." "Thanks," she replies sarcastically. "You make me sound ancient." "Stop." "So, how old?" "Thirty-six. Three years older than you and three years wiser I might add." "This is true. I fell in love with you because you're brilliant, not to mention beautiful." "Well, there's something else I want you to remember about age. In a few short years, I'll be at my sexual peak. Think you can handle me?" "It seems to me that you're there now, the way I sometimes have to keep up with you. I thought you were giving me everything that you got." "Un-uh. You ain't seen nothing yet." And this amazing woman proceeds to show me just that. If I don't get it together, I'm going to be late. After a wonderful evening filled with sex, whipped cream, strawberries and champagne, Michael and I woke up extremely late Saturday morning, something we almost never do. We usually reserve that luxury for Sunday mornings wherein we just lounge around for hours reading the paper or what have you. But Michael felt so good and warm this morning (as he always does) that I didn't want to get up. The slight hangover I was nursing from the 2 bottles of champagne we polished off hadn't helped matters any. Mom and I had planned a brunch date weeks ago that I'm determined not to be late for. I've finished dressing but scramble around putting the finishing touches on my hair and make-up, almost ready to go until the doorbell rings. I mutter to myself but figure Mom has decided to meet me here at the house instead. I start talking to her as I dash for the door, attempting to open it and put my earrings in simultaneously. "Mom, I'm sorry---Oh...May I help you?" my voice rises into a question, surprised to see an unfamiliar and attractive young woman standing before me. "Hi. . . Does Michael Anzotti live here?" the woman asks nervously. "Uh, who's asking?" I question automatically, defense creeping into my voice and my posture. "Oh, I'm sorry. My name's Angela Ciccone." That name--I know that name yet I don't recognize the face; I'm certain I've never laid eyes on this woman before yet I know her name. When she elaborates, I realize why. "I'm an old friend of his from Chicago, and I was just wondering if I could say hello." Perfect. "Old friend" is code for ex-lover. Marvelous. Just what I need today. "Sure. . . Sure. My name's Dana." I offer my hand for a friendly handshake, her grasp limp within my firm one. "Why don't you come in and make yourself comfortable while I get Michael. Can I get you something?" "No, I'm fine," she smiles slightly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. I nod and then trudge slowly towards the stairs in a state of confusion, wondering what in the hell she's doing here. Pausing in the doorway, I watch Michael as he presses the heavy weight to his chest and back up again. I'll wait until he's done with the set rather than disturb him while he has free weights in his hands. Sweat glistens all over his perfect body, and I can't help but appreciate the cuts of his muscles. He's stressing his body to the limit, grunts of exertion filling the room and reminding me of the grunts of our lovemaking. What a welcome thought compared to some of the thoughts running rampant in my head at the moment. The weight is returned to the rack with a loud clank, Michael aware of my presence without my having to say a word. "What is it, baby?" He reaches for the towel on the floor, rises to a sitting position, and begins to wipe the perspiration from his body. I enter hesitantly and take a seat on the bed opposite the weight bench, giving him one of my smile/frown looks. He smiles back, but a silence pervades. "Dana, what is it? I thought you were meeting your mom for lunch." "Yeah, I was on my way out but the doorbell rang. . . someone's here to see you," I announce nervously, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "Brian?" Oh, how I wish it was Brian, his partner. "No, no...Angela Ciccone." I try to gauge his reaction, but it is one of confusion and annoyance. "Angela Ciccone?...Are you sure?...What would she be doing here?" he mutters aloud, his brow crinkling. "You have no idea?" "No. Not a one." I glance down at my hands clasped in front of me and try to refrain from chewing on my lip. Michael's fingers underneath my chin force me to look up at him. "Hey, there's nothing to worry about." "Do I look worried?" I'm really trying not to. "Yeah, in that bemused Dana Katherine Scully way. This is no big deal. Let me just put some clothes on, and I'll find out what she wants." He begins to change from shorts and no shirt to sweat pants and a sweatshirt while I look on. Then the big question. "Do you want to stay?" There's a long pause before I answer. "Yes. . . No. . . I don't know," I sigh with frustration. That's it in a nutshell. "Do you want me to?" "I want whatever you want. If being here is going to make you uncomfortable...or if not being here is going to make you uncomfortable, then stay. You know I have nothing to hide." "Yes, but her presence is...disconcerting. What do you think this is about?" "I haven't the foggiest idea." "Well, something must be up. Why else would she show up out of the blue after all these years," I ask, pacing a short, tight line as I sometimes do when I'm trying to solve an X-File. "Maybe she was in the neighborhood," Michael shrugs, trying to keep the mood light. "Funny, Anzotti," I reply, not amused. Michael finishes dressing and comes over to halt the hole I'm cutting in the carpet with a firm grip to my shoulders. His hands then slide down to grasp my hands gently. "Why are you getting so rattled over nothing?" "Nothing? It's not everyday your fiance's beautiful ex-girlfriend drops by from Chicago unannounced." "I repeat it's not everyday I see you get rattled over nothing. You know everything that went down between Angela and I." I remember early in our relationship Michael made an offhand comment that he had been lonely for some time. I scoffed at him, thinking there was no way a man as handsome as he didn't having women falling all over him. But sometime later in our relationship when the prospect of taking it to the next level became a reality, we revealed our past relationships to one another; and I had, indeed, learned that he had been alone for awhile. Yeah, there had been a one night stand or two when he was younger and some short-term affairs that never blossomed into anything substantial other than sex. Then there had been Angela Ciccone. Angela had been a substantial part of Michael's life but not in the way you would ordinarily think. The story goes that they were together exclusively for two years in Chicago, Michael content with the status quo, more a less happy but unhappy at the same time. Their mutual friends, her family, and Angela herself all pressured Michael to propose marriage though he had made it clear to Angela he had no intention of marrying her. So instead, Angela proposed, certain that Michael would have no choice but to accept. When he turned her down flat, she left him, and they never saw one another again. Michael didn't bat much of an eyelash and requested a transfer to the DC field office nine months later. We met through Mulder a short time after and the rest is history. "Fine. So I know everything. Despite what you think and as much as I hate to admit it, I get insecure and jealous, too." "Dana, I'm sorry if this situation is making you feel that way. It's a lousy feeling. I know from experience," he laments. "Don't say it," I command. "Say what?" "This has nothing to do with him." "No. No it doesn't. But now you know some of what I go through because of Mulder. At least, I can stand here and tell you that there's no contest. I don't love her--I never did. Can you tell me the same?" Christ. He's right. I feel stupid and ashamed. Like I've treated him horribly unfair. And I probably have though it's been unintentional. I hang my head in mild disgust with myself. "So are you staying or going?" "I'm...going. I trust you. I trust us." "Good--that's as it should be. I'll find out what she's doing here and then I'll get rid of her," Michael smiles confidently and takes me in his arms. I wish I displayed half the confidence he does. I take Dana's hand in mine as we descend the stairs. As I reach the foot of the stairwell, I notice Angela discreetly replacing the framed picture of Dana and I that she had been looking at back on the end table. She whirls around to face us but her own face is inscrutable at what she's just been inspecting. When she sees me, she seems to light up. I can't say I feel the same. We parted over four years ago, and it was actually a relief to me. She wanted the whole nine yards--marriage, a house, kids. All the things I wasn't ready for and, frankly, neither was she. I think the reason I wasn't ready was because I knew she wasn't the one. "Angela," I mutter, still proudly holding Dana's hand. "Mike, hi. . . It's good to see you," she says smiling and looking genuinely happy. I can't return the smile. "You've met my fiancé, Dana, Dana Scully." "Uh yeah. Yeah, we met just before." She tries to smile again but her face has gone stiff and distinctly pale. The three of us nod and look to one another expectantly, the air about us quickly becoming thick and awkward until Dana mercifully breaks the silence. "Well, Angela, it was a pleasure to meet you. I was just on my way out to meet my mother for brunch, so you'll have to excuse me." Dana offers a polite smile and makes a beeline for the door after slipping on her coat. I follow off after her wishing she would stay. My anger with Angela has grown considerably since I saw her standing in our living room pawing at our picture. She has some nerve showing up here, invading our space, invading our lives after all these years. Dana turns to face me before she departs, and I marvel at her strength; if our roles were reversed, I don't know that I could be this strong. I notice she's neglected to close up the top part of her coat which I button up for her. I then grab at the lapels and pull her close for a passionate goodbye kiss. She responds fully but looks to me with surprise and a little embarrassment when our lips part. Dana's never been one for public displays of affection, but we're not in public. This is our home, I love her, and I'm just doing what I normally do. I'll be damned if I'll act differently because Angela's standing a few feet away. Refusing to acknowledge Dana's reservations, I instead talk to her softly and intimately. "I'll see you later and be careful driving. . . I love you." She smiles faintly at me and then goes on her way, my attention on her not wavering until she's well out of sight. I then turn my attention to Angela knowing I wear a look of displeasure. "So, Angela, what can I do for you?" "Mike, you look wonderful. How have you been?" "Fine. Great in fact." I know telling her she looks great, too, would be the polite thing to say, but I don't want to encourage her. I just want to know why she's come all this way and then send her back that way. "Angela, what are you doing here, it's been four years since . . ." I wave my hand in the air hoping she gets my meaning. "I know, it has been a long time...Would you mind if we just sit and talk for a little while?" "What do we have to talk about?" I shrug, hands buried deep in my pants pockets. "Things. You. What you've been up to. Let's just sit down." She leads me to my couch, and I begrudgingly appease her. She keeps looking to me expecting something. What, I'm not sure but the awkwardness I feel because of it is palpable. "So," I sigh, not able to contain my frustration. "So, it's been a long time, and I'll be honest with you, Mike. In all the time we've been apart, I haven't stopped thinking about you or caring about you. What happened after I left?" I find the first part of her statement troubling but choose to ignore it. "I stayed in Chicago for another nine, ten months while awaiting a transfer to DC. This is where I've been since." She, in turn, ignores what I've said and the logical progression of our conversation. "Did you think of me, too?" I'm kind of stunned by the question and don't know what to say; the truth would hurt her and I don't like to hurt people purposely. "Angela, why did you come here?" I counter. "I...it's just...Like I said, I've never stopped thinking or caring about you. I just wanted to know how you've been, if you've been happy." "Angela--" I hedge and she presses. "Mike, it's just a simple request." "Angela, what do you want from me? What do you want me to say?" Again, I don't want to hurt her, but she's harping on this. "Just the truth, Mike. I don't think that's too much to ask." "You show up out of the blue, you're in my house--you've met my fiancé, whom I love very much. The answer is yes. I've been happy. Very much so." The look on her face and the sound of her voice belies her next words. "Good. Then I'm very happy for you." "Are you?" I ask skeptically. "Because I get the distinct impression that that's not the case." "Mike, your happiness was always important to me. I just always thought and still think our happiness is tied together." "And how's that?" I ask unconvinced, wondering about her logic. "I want to tell you something, tell you how you affected me," she says, looking at me earnestly. "About two months after I left you, I discovered I was pregnant. . ." OH, NO. NOT THIS. NOT NOW. I've finally got my life together, I'm about to get everything I want and she's going to ruin it by telling me she had my baby. This is like some nightmare out of a badly written soap opera. Or is that an oxymoron? I've got to try to laugh or I'm going to cry. My stomach has crawled into my throat, and I'm feeling nauseous as I try to continue to listen to her story. ". . . After we broke up and I didn't hear from you again, I was a mess. I was extremely hurt and lonely and not long after ended up sleeping with some guy I barely knew only to discover I was pregnant . . ." Oh, thank God. It's not mine. It couldn't be mine. I knew it. Because that would be cruel. Cruel to myself, to Dana and not to mention an innocent child. A feeling of relief washes over me. While I'm coming down from the panic, Angela continues to ramble on. ". . . That coupled with losing you, knowing you were most likely not the baby's father scared me. I was miserable, and I seriously thought about having an abortion. But when I thought about you and about how much I loved you, I decided right then and there that I could do it. I could have this baby no matter who the father was, and I could give it a healthy, happy life. Throughout the nine months I carried my baby, I thought of you and our love and it got me through. When I thought I couldn't do it in the beginning, that I couldn't go through with carrying the baby to term, when I was sad and miserable--you got me through it all. And I wanted to thank you. I now have a wonderful little boy." Angela's admission is, of course, unexpected. She seems to genuinely want to thank me but what am I supposed to say? I haven't knowingly played any part in this scenario. "Angela, I'm glad for you, I really am, but I haven't done anything--" "Mike, didn't you hear what I just said? I have a wonderful four- year-old boy named Joseph because of you." "You named him Joseph?" I question, disbelieving. That's my father's name and my middle name. "Yeah. Joseph Michael. I wanted him to have your name but have it be a little different. If he grows up to be anything like you, he'll be doing something right." For what seems like the umpteenth time, I don't know what to say to her. Should I be flattered or grateful? Am I wrong for not feeling that way? "That's...great," I mutter uncertainly and then scramble for something else to say. "Uh, do you have any pictures of your little boy?" "No, none on me I'm afraid. . . Mike...I was wondering...how are you doing with all this?" "Uh, fine, fine. It's fine," I mutter again uncertainly. "I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm." "Look, Angela, I don't want to seem rude but you've told me you had a child and that the child isn't mine. Apparently, I gave you some sort of comfort and inspiration, enough that you named your son for me. That's flattering," I lie, "but it still doesn't explain why you came all this way." "I was hoping that this...touched you in some way...that maybe we could get back what we once had," she explains hopefully. If that's what she truly believes, the time has certainly come to set the girl straight. "Angela, there's no way that's going to happen." "Why? Why not?" I laugh at the ridiculousness of her question, the complete and utter gall she has. "Do you really have to ask?" She finally seems to come to her senses, murmuring nervously, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. "You're right. . . You're right. Maybe I should just go." She then rises and sprints for the door. I stand but have no intention of chasing after her. "Angela--I'm sorry but I honestly don't know what you expected of me." "I'm sorry, too, but I just had to try. I've lived with this regret for a long time and finally got the courage to do something about it. But it was crazy to think you were pining away for me all this time. Again, I'm sorry. . . I'm gonna get going." "You don't have to run out of here--" "Actually, there's an earlier flight leaving from Dulles in two hours and I think I best be on it. I've made enough of a fool of myself," she explains with embarrassment. I look at her and still can't offer much sympathy; she's made both Dana and I very uncomfortable. "Take care of yourself, Angela." "You, too, Mike," she says, smiling faintly and staring after me. She hesitates to leave like she has something important to say but then quietly slips out the door. The drive to the restaurant to meet my mother was fraught with blaring horns and near mishaps at my distraction. If you couldn't guess, I was having trouble keeping my mind on anything other than Michael and Angela. And that other...how should I say...incidence...coincidence...or DELUSION I had when I left the house. But I was determined to get through this lunch date without too much reflection and self-pity about the current situation. Anyway, with this sense of uncertainty looming over me, I actually removed my diamond engagement ring from my finger and tucked it safely in my bag before meeting my mother. A deep sense of guilt washed over me at what I'd done to something so precious to Michael and I, but it couldn't be helped. I wasn't in the mood to get into marriages and dresses and ceremonies at the moment. At some point, I guess I lose track of our conversation because I notice my mother clearing her throat in a bid to gain my attention. "Hmm? I'm sorry, Mom, what were you saying?" "Honey, what is it? You've been pushing the food on your plate around for 15 minutes, and you haven't heard a word I've said since we got here. What's got you so distracted? Is it Michael?" "No. Michael's good. Everything's good," I offer without much conviction. She smiles, but I don't know if she necessarily believes me. But she wants to believe as evidenced by her next question. "Any more talk of the two of you getting married?" "Not at the moment," I lie. It's the last thing I want to do to her, but I don't want to talk about this now. "Why, do you know something I don't?" "Not really. Let's just say I know he's interested. How about you? We haven't talked about this in so long." "Oh, I'm very interested. Is that silly of me?" "Silly to want to marry the man you love?" "Mom, I'm thirty-six years old. I'm not a naïve girl anymore. I'm not going to live happily ever after in a house with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids. Obviously unless we adopt, Michael and are aren't going to have any kids. Isn't that the real reason people get married these days? So that their children aren't bastards--" "Dana, when did you become so jaded? Is that the only reason you think your father and I got married?" "No, of course not but things were different then." "But love is love. When I see you and Michael together, I can feel the love that you share. It reminds me so much of your father and I....He's so much like your father, and he loves you so much." "As I love him." "Then think of marriage as a celebration of that love, a celebration to be cherished with all your friends and family in attendance. It's a big, formal party in a sense. That's how you should try to think of it, not as something to go through only if you intend to have children." I sigh. "You're right, Mom. I know you're right. Don't mind me. I'm just...cranky this afternoon." "Only this afternoon?" she jokes. "Gee, Mom, you're a laugh riot." "I'm just kidding, honey. What's bothering you?" "I'm just feeling...out of sorts." I look up at her, her motherly gaze quickly and successfully penetrating my resolve not to discuss this. So, of course, I then blurt out the problem. "Michael's ex...as in ex-girlfriend showed up out of the blue on our doorstep this morning." She shoots me a knowing glance. "Out of sorts or jealous?" "Maybe a little jealous," I concede after a moment. "What did she want?" "I don't know. I left to meet you before we could find out." "Oh, Dana, if leaving made you uneasy, we could have postponed our brunch date. I would have understood." "Absolutely not. For the first time in my life and as I told Michael, I believe in him. I believe in the man I love. And I believe in myself and the choices I've made. Staying would have been contradictory to that--it would have appeared that I was lying to him and to myself." It's true. Michael is so different from all the men I've been involved with. That belief, that trust we share was never able to be attained with Daniel or Jack. "Well, I think what you did was admirable. Not many people in your position could be that strong." "That strong or that stupid?" I half joke. "Dana, you're being too hard on yourself. It's natural to be a little jealous and uncertain. If you want to cut this short though, I'll understand." "No, I don't--we haven't spent much time together lately." She nods her understanding and despite my protests to the contrary, we're up and out of the restaurant only 15 minutes later. I'm both dying and dreading to get home. Dying because there was certainly a part of me that didn't want to leave the two of them alone though I trust Michael implicitly; it's Angela I don't trust. And dreading because her presence at this late date only means trouble. Plus, there's something else gnawing at me. Something I should probably tell Michael. Something I saw or thought I saw upon leaving the house for my brunch date, the implication of which is devastating and life altering. So how do I do this? Should I say anything? Was it real or just my imagination? The drive home alone allows me to go over the choices in my head, and I decide I'll just play it by ear; see what Michael says. No need to alarm him for nothing. When I approach the house, it appears that the coast is clear. For that, I am thankful as I wasn't looking forward to facing Angela again. Somehow, though, even with her gone, I still have an inkling that things are not right. When I enter, Michael is busy stoking a fire in the fireplace. It's actually turned into a blaze that does not require his rapt attention any longer, but he insists on fiddling with it, most likely his restlessness taking over. When he sees me, he looks relieved by my return, his whole body seeming to relax and respond to my presence. "Hey," he smiles infectiously and plants himself down on the couch. "Hey, yourself," I can't help but smile back. "How was your date?" "Okay, I guess." After hanging up my coat, I settle down opposite him on the couch, my left leg tucked beneath me. "Just okay? I thought you were looking forward to it." "I was--I just had trouble enjoying it. My thoughts were centered here...How did it go?" "Awkward to say the least." "I gathered it would be. What did she want?" "She claims she just wanted to find out how I was, if I was happy." "And that was it?" I ask incredulously. "Basically." "What are you not telling me?" "It was a lot of her wishful thinking and reminiscing." "Wishful thinking about?" "It doesn't matter," he shakes his head. "I want to know," I insist expectantly. "Dana--" "Michael," I say sternly. It's really not a request, and he knows it. "She was fantasizing...About two months after she left me, she discovered she was pregnant. Though she had been with another man, she fantasized that the baby was mine. . ." My God. Michael continues to explain, but I'm not hearing him anymore shocked into realization as I am. "Pregnant, huh?" I murmur. Yep. Here we go. "Yeah--Dana, it's nothing. I know what you're thinking, but the child isn't mine." Unfortunately, I'm not convinced. "Michael, tell me something. . . You didn't happen to see pictures--did Angela show you any pictures of the child?" "No. To be polite, I asked to see some, but she didn't have any in her wallet." Sure she didn't. What mother doesn't carry around pictures of her child? None that I know of. "She has a little boy?" I ask with trepidation. "Yeah--why are you going on about this?" "What's his name?" I continue, ignoring him. It may not mean anything, but I want to know for my own edification. "Dana?" he asks, looking to me like I've gone mad. "Just humor me. What's the child's name?" Michael averts his gaze and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Joseph. . . Joseph Michael," he finally mutters tightly. Christ. My eyebrows raise, and I try to control my emotions. "Real subtle," I murmur. "Just because the kid has my name, it doesn't mean anything. I can explain it--I told you she was fantasizing." I can explain it, too. But I'm not sure you want to hear it or if I want to give voice to it. You certainly don't want to see it even if it's as plain as day. I rise from the couch and turn my back to him, not quite sure how to say this. "Michael, I saw something...or thought I saw something when I left here to meet Mom. There was a car parked in front of the neighbor's house with...an older woman and a little boy. I happened to notice them because they were playing 'patty cake,' and I thought it was cute. But at one point, the little boy looked right at me and . . ." "And what?" I finally turn back to him, ready to look him in the eye, ready to reveal what I saw. "I thought...I thought he was the spitting image of you," I inform him, my voice cracking. "Dana," he protests. "I know it sounds crazy, and I thought it was just me because of Angela showing up so suddenly this afternoon. But how can I think otherwise now?" "Dana, do you realize what you're saying--You think Angela came here to tell me she had my baby?" "I don't know what other conclusion to come to." "I don't buy it. Why would she wait all these years?" "Why wouldn't she? You two certainly didn't end up on amicable terms." "Right, but why would she come all this way to tell me and then choose not to. It doesn't make any sense." "Maybe she got scared off. Maybe I scared her." "If you scared her, why didn't she just take off when you came upstairs to get me? She had plenty of time to beat it out of here." "I don't know...Maybe she thought I was a one-night stand or something. When you introduced me as your fiance, I think she was surprised; she didn't look too pleased if I recall." Michael sits hunched over on the couch, rubbing at his temples, trying to make some sense of what I'm laying on him. "What do you think I should do?" "Depends on if you think what I'm saying has merit." "Everything you say has merit," he says with such certainty, looking at me with such love. I smile and then go to him, taking his large hand in my small one. "Did she say what her plans were? Was she going back to Chicago right away?" "Yeah, she said she was headed to Dulles from here." "Then I suggest you hightail it to the airport and see if you can catch her. This is too important to wait." "What am I going to do, confront her at the airport?" "If need be." "What about you?" "I'll stay here and call around to some of the motels near the airport. Find out if she checked in and checked out and who she was with if possible." I can tell he's shell shocked by this whole thing, and I understand the feeling. It's the same feeling I had upon discovering Emily. Because of it, it seems he can't get the strength to stand and get going. "Michael, it's gonna be all right," I murmur. Whatever happens, I'll try to make it all right. While I waited for some news from Michael, I found out that Angela had checked into a Motel 6 near the airport only a day ago with another adult and a child. Unfortunately, she had also checked out early this morning and was probably well on her way back to Chicago. Antsy, I surfed the net to locate an address in case Angela wasn't at the same place she had been when she and Michael were together. As I had expected, Michael came up empty handed at the airport. The last flight to Chicago for the day had taken off about twenty minutes prior to his arrival, and despite flashing his badge, he was wasn't able to find out if Angela had been on board. It was safe to assume she had been though. Michael had kind of retreated unto himself when he returned and I thought it best to leave him be. He needed to come to terms with a situation that was quickly becoming a reality, a situation I was familiar with but couldn't offer all that much insight on; I still had trouble dealing with Emily, the way she came to be, and the quick blur in which it all occurred in. If he wanted to talk, though, I would tell him anything he wanted. I would be there. It's late now, and I lie in bed wide awake and alone. Michael gets a lot less sleep since we've been together as he has a tendency to watch over me because of the infamous chip in my neck. Tonight, it's a combination of this and thoughts of a little boy he doesn't know that keep us apart. When the bedroom door clicks open slightly sometime later, I sit up in bed and speak to him, barely able to contain the need in my voice. "Baby, come to bed." "I can't sleep." "Neither can I, but let me hold you." I turn down the covers on his side and continue to gaze his way in the dark. There's a fraction of indecision on his part but then he slips into bed. Though he turns away from me onto his side, I wrap my arms securely around him and place a kiss in the middle of his bare back, snuggling into him. His hard body against my softer one feels wonderful. I'm not sure what to say or if I should say anything at all but then he surprises me by breaking his self-imposed silence, our voices soft and intimate in the dark of the night. "I'm sorry about this." "What are you sorry for? You haven't done anything." "Look, this is something that you had no control over, and we have to deal with it. And together we will deal with it...Michael, you've been so quiet all night. Tell me what you're thinking about." "At this moment, absolutely nothing. I can't bear to think anymore." "But that's all you've been doing. You can't help yourself. I know." "Yes, you do. . . Sometimes I wonder how you carry on." "It's difficult, but I have to force myself. . . Emily occupies this special space in me that's always there, always thinking and feeling. When I see children her age, I can't help thinking of her. Even though I only knew Emily for the briefest of times, losing a child is unbearable. It's gotten easier, but that pain, that regret will always be there, it will always be a part of me. That's why this is so important, why you can't just let it go. You do know that don't you?" "Affirmative, Agent Scully," he answers with a weariness that is not often evident in his voice. "Then what's the plan, Agent Anzotti?" I press. We have to move on this. "Plan?" "Yeah. What do we do about Joseph? How do you want to go about finding out the truth?" "I'll call Angela tomorrow and talk to her. What else can I do at this point?" He sounds so lost and hopeless. "If you call her and confront her over the phone, she's just going to lie and she's apt to make herself and Joseph scarce ifyou threaten to go to Chicago. I say we go up there and surprise her. That way she can't lie, she can't hide, and you can see Joseph with your own eyes." "You'd do that?" "Of course," I assure him. He still seems to have some lingering doubts about what I'd do, how far I'd go for him I guess because of what I'd put him through in the past. I believe Mulder fits squarely into this equation and I'd like to erase each and every one of Michael's doubts. Permanently. "When do you want to go?" "Tomorrow. First thing." We're both quiet for a while, and I try to concentrate on something, anything but the unproductive thoughts of Michael and Angela flowing through my brain. I'm successful for a bit and then can't help expressing one of them aloud. "If you had known Angela was pregnant, you would've never left--you would have married her even if it was the last thing you wanted." It's not a question--I know he would have done the right thing. Meaning, we wouldn't be. We couldn't be. "Yes, I would have married her." I place another loving kiss to his back. "Michael, I probably shouldn't say this...but I'm not sorry you left. I'm not sorry you're a part of my life, that you're loving me and letting me love you. I could never be sorry for what we have no matter how it turns out. I'm sorry if that sounds horrible." "No, Dana," Michael assures me and turns onto his back, pulling me close. I nestle into his arms relishing the strength and warmth of his body while he strokes my hair. "In fact, I'll repeat the sentiment. Even if Joseph is my son and we've missed all this time together, I could never be sorry that you and I found each other. Never." The night ticks on, neither one of us attaining sleep. Peace, however, is and always has been found in each other's arms. Same nondescript Chicago street. Same quaint little house. Same fucking rickety car in the driveway. No wonder I had to get out of this one note, dead-end place. The ride from the airport to the Ciccone residence was about 20 minutes, and I knew the route like the back of my hand. Like it was yesterday. Thank goodness it's not as Dana's by my side where she belongs. The rental car squeaks loudly as I apply the brakes to pull alongside the curb. I stare at the house, this excursion stirring up memories I'd really rather not revisit. Not that they're all that unpleasant but Dana and I are making all the memories I want or need. A comforting hand lands on my forearm breaking the unwanted reverie, the voice accompanying it just as welcome. Dana's eyes meet mine full of love and concern. "You okay?" "Yeah but I'm still thinking that we're making a mistake, that this is just some big misunderstanding." "You're probably right...and if you're ready, let's go put both our minds at ease," she says, slipping her hand over mine and squeezing lightly. Such a small gesture from Dana feels enormously comforting. Warily, we approach the Ciccone residence hoping to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. Ringing the doorbell does not bring anyone to the door though I note Angela's mother peering through the curtain of the living room window. I continue to ring the bell and pound on the door for a good three minutes or so. If the woman thinks I'm leaving, she's got another thing coming. Finally, she seems to come to the correct conclusion and unlocks the deadbolt, leaving the chain lock firmly in place. Josephine Ciccone's eyes peer out at me though the slightly open door. It's the same distrustful eyes that used to pierce through me four years ago. "Hi, Mrs. Ciccone. It's Michael Anzotti--" She doesn't say a word in response or acknowledge me in the slightest so I end up explaining. "I'm...I'm an old friend of Angela's...You do remember, don't you?" "Yeah, yeah, I remember. What do you want?" she growls. "I need to talk with Angela." "She's not here, and she won't be back for a long while." "I'll wait for her--it's very important," I insist. "Come back tomorrow." As if she didn't already know, I explain the inconvenience in that. "I'm in from DC. I need to talk to her now or at least wait for her." "I'm afraid that's impossible," she claims and attempts to slam the door closed, my workboot in between the door preventing her efforts. That only works her up. "Get out of here! Please! You must go!" Just one look at me and Dana knows I'm going to lose it so she tries to be the diplomatic one. At least for a moment. "Mrs. Ciccone, we just want to talk. What's the harm in that?" "There's harm in him just being here." "Why?" Dana demands. "What are you trying to hide?" "Nothing. My daughter and I don't want him here." I look to Dana with disgust, and she knows my patience has run its course. "Mrs. Ciccone, if you don't let us in, I'm going to break in the door." "Go ahead but I warn you I'll call the cops." "You do what you have to do." Dana moves aside as she knows I will do what just I proclaimed. She doesn't necessarily agree with my actions but I know she understands the frustration I'm feeling. And now there's reasonable cause to believe that the Ciccone's are hiding something. It only takes a few forceful bashes into the door before the chain lock gives way, allowing our entrance. Mrs. Ciccone stands stunned into place at our intrusion, mouth agape, clutching something in her arms. I can sense Michael's embarrassment at what he's done, the way he's scared her, but the feeling will swiftly pass after I coax her to hand over what she's holding onto for dear life. "May I see what you have there?" I ask gently. Slowly, she pries a picture from her own fingers, handing it to me with a distraught face. It's a picture of a young boy with familiar dark hair and brown eyes. Now, I've seen the Anzotti family. I've met Michael's brothers and sister and their own children. I know their features, their physical characteristics. So when I see this picture of Joseph, I can safely conclude two things. One, I was not delusional yesterday. And two, Joseph is, without a doubt in my mind, Michael's child. Without meaning to, I think my face has contorted in pain at the revelation, Michael noticing. "Dana, what is it?" "I think you may want to take a look at this," I croak, my voice full of swirling emotions, handing him the evidence of Angela's deception. Without even looking at the framed picture, he already knows, the look on my face and the sound of my voice conveying everything. He can read me better than Mulder most times, and he flashes me one of those 'are you sure' looks with his eyes. I nod, and his eyes shut briefly. He makes his way to the sofa, practically falling into it and leaving the picture face down on his thigh. His eyes find mine asking me to join him, to be by his side and comfort him in this trying time. I do as asked, sitting with him, taking his hand in one of mine, and slowly turning the picture over with my other hand when he's ready. When he sees the truth that lie in just a simple picture of Joseph, his breath hitches, his eyes closing in anguish. He reaches out for me, and I take him in my arms, holding him close. An unknown amount of time passes as we sit together in silence letting the enormity of the situation sink in. I wish I could make this better but I don't know how; I don't know what to say. I continue to hold him wondering what we are going to do. In answer to my unasked question, Michael shakes his head in uncertainty. After Mrs. Ciccone had handed me the picture, she had retreated to another room to deal with her own anguish. Sometime later, Michael had gone in after her to calm her down and find out what she knew. As I sit here now at the Ciccone kitchen table, I don't how I should feel or what I do feel other than a deep, abiding sympathy for Michael and a roiling anger towards Angela. And it's not right to feel that way towards her. I really don't know everything that went on or what circumstances she found herself in. Still, what she has done is inexcusable. And unthinkable. A short time later, the front door clicks open; and from the angle I'm at, I watch as Angela and Joseph shuffle in. While she sheds her coat and then her son's, she bellows to her mother. "Mom, we're home. Whose car is that parked out front?" "Ours," I state simply and rise from the table, revealing my presence. "Wh-What are you doing here...Dana, is it?" "Yes, Angela. Michael and I came here to get some answers." "Answers? Answers to what?" "Angela, don't do this. Not anymore. Don't continue to lie straight to our faces," I plead. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. How dare you--" Having heard Angela's voice, an angry Michael starts shouting to her from the other room. Before he can say too much, I head him off and signal with a slight cock of my head that it's not safe to talk--Joseph is nearby. "Michael, don't . . ." He nods his understanding and together we head the few steps to the kitchen, Mrs. Ciccone trailing close behind. Time seems to stand still when Michael sees his son for the first time. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight; all of us do. The resemblance between father and son is undeniable. My heart twists in my chest just a little tighter, and Michael's fists clench and unclench uncontrollably at his sides. A nervous Angela finally finds her tongue. "Mom, why don't you take Joseph in the other room. Mike and I need to have a little talk." Mrs. Ciccone does as her daughter suggests, swiftly whisking Joseph away, neither Michael nor I able to tear our eyes off the little boy. When he's gone from our sight, we look to Angela expectantly, waiting for some explanation to this mess. No explanation, however, will take away the pain, the sorrow or the anger that the exceptional man standing beside me is feeling right now. I know because I feel it, too; he's an extension of myself. There's a long pause as Michael attempts to reign in his emotions. Then he starts to lay into his former girlfriend. "So, what have you got to say for yourself, Angela?" "Mike, just calm down." "I'll calm down after I get some answers. Start talking," he instructs unkindly though she doesn't. She just looks to him with annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest in a near act of defiance. "Angela, I'm really losing my patience. Either start explaining or--" "Or what? What will you do? I will not talk about this with her here," she announces with disdain, casting her gaze my way. "The hell you won't. This concerns Dana as much as it concerns me. I want her here." Noting Angela's stubbornness and feeling much like a third wheel, I pull Michael aside. "No, it's all right. Maybe I should just go in the other room." "Why? I want you to be here." "I realize that and I want to be here for you but I'm just agitating her...I know how difficult this is but try to remain calm." I conjure up a smile for him which he is able to return. Our foreheads come together lightly, my hand finding his and squeezing my love and support. "It's going to be all right. Remember that." I feel his eyes boring into my back as I retreat and then he lays into her once again. I sink into the couch unsure of what to do with myself. As much as I want to tune out their conversation, I can't. I'm a voyeur and a curious one at that. I listen even as Joseph cautiously approaches with some coloring books and a box of crayons cradled in his arms. "Hi," he greets and looks to me with a child's wide eyes. "Hi, sweetie," I smile even without meaning to. I can't help it. He's adorable. "My name's Dana," I say, holding out my hand to him. "I'm Joe," he introduces himself without hesitation and shakes my hand with a surprisingly firm grip. "I know. It's nice to meet you, Joe...I thought you were supposed to be with your grandma . . ." "I was. I was coloring for her, but she fell asleep. Will you color with me?" "Sure, I'd love to." I take a seat on the floor, patting the spot next to me. "Why don't you come sit down here." We sit side by side Indian style, and he lets me choose the book I'd like to color in. I end up picking his Sesame Street Elmo book, which he indicates as his favorite. We then proceed to color a picture together, more or less. He does much of the work as I can't help watching him, noticing his mannerisms and his uncanny resemblance to Michael. Meanwhile, Michael and Angela's voices waft out to us from the kitchen. "How did you figure it out?" Angela asks. "Nevermind that. How could you have gotten pregnant?" "The usual way." "Don't screw with me, Angela. I know you were on oral contraception, and we used condoms . . ." "I...I stopped taking the pill about seven months prior." "So you consciously made that choice without my knowledge, to what? To trap me? To force me to marry you?" "I knew that's how you were going to see it. I thought we were going to get married anyway." "Even though I told you differently?" "I thought you just had cold feet. . . I thought I could change your mind. Obviously, I was wrong." "When did you find out you were pregnant?" "After I left you. Just as I explained yesterday." "You must've known I was still in Chicago for awhile. Why didn't you just come to me?" "Are you kidding? I asked you to marry me and you turned me down flat. Do you really think I wanted to give you another chance to humiliate me? No matter how much I loved you and wanted to be with you, I didn't want you to stay with me just because I was pregnant." "So you decided I didn't need to know, that I had no rights. Who do you think you are to decide that for me?" "I'm sorry...I didn't...I didn't think." "Yeah, for four years you didn't think." "I don't know what to say." "What was yesterday all about--you couldn't take the guilt anymore? You track me down after four years, come all the way out to DC, intrude on my life--yet you still don't tell me. You actually lied again." "I'm sorry. I saw how happy you were, and I didn't want to upset that, upset you." "Don't give me that. Don't tell me you were doing it for me. You were doing it for yourself. You're just as selfish now as you were when we were together. What you realized was that I was in a committed relationship with someone else and that there was no chance in hell we were going to get back together even if we had a child together. So there was no reason to tell me at all, right?" "You know, there's no point to this because whatever I say you're just going to make me out to be the bad guy." "Aren't you? But I'm sure you've seen to it that I looked like the bad guy with all your friends and family." "That's not true. Nobody even knows who his father is except for my mother. But make no mistake about it. I think you're the bad guy in all this. I think you fucked everything up." "I fucked everything up?!" "Yeah, we could've been married, you could have been with your son, we could've been happy. But you fucked it all up. Tell me, Mike, was it worth it?...What does she have that I don't?" "Dana's not a topic open for discussion. In fact, this entire conversation is over because I can't stand to look at you anymore," Michael spits, his voice edging ever closer as he heads to where Joseph and I are. "What are you doing?!" Angela's voice demands about a beat or two later. I look up at the harshness I hear and realize she's glaring at me as I try to prevent Joseph from tripping on his untied shoelaces. Jeez. Isn't it obvious? "Relax. She's just helping him tie his sneakers," Michael defends although there's no reason he should have to. She's being more than just a little unreasonable. Angela rushes to her son, effectively pushing me aside, and then performing the same task I had just been busy with. "He doesn't need any help," she explains red-faced. I look over at Michael near the front door, more than ready to blow this pop stand. From the look on his face, I think Angela's overreaction at my helping Joseph has managed to make him angrier. But I won't let her win as I take the time to say goodbye to the lovely little boy I've had the pleasure of spending the last hour with. I playfully ruffle his hair and crouch down to his level. "Joe, I have to go, but I want to thank you for spending time with me. I really enjoyed coloring with you." "Me, too," he beams. "Maybe we can do it again sometime. You be a good boy for your Mommy, and I hope to see you again real soon." I rise to join Michael's side, and Joseph places his small hand in mine to shake once again. "Bye-bye, Dana." "Bye, sweetie. It was so very nice to meet you." After a disapproving glare at Angela, I do indeed join Michael's side. Angered by her petty little display, I keep my back turned to her as she and Michael converse once more. "What are you going to do?" she asks him, fear creeping into her voice. "I don't know. I need some time to think." "Mike, you can't take him away from me. You may be his father, but he doesn't even know you." "And who do I have to thank for that?" Michael remarks snidely and then moves behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. It's time to go. I glance back at her with the last word on the matter. "We'll be in touch." This time, I take the wheel, guiding us as far away as fast as possible from the Ciccone residence. Michael needs to get his head together for he's got that shell-shocked look about him again, which is understandable; this day has not turned out like we intended. My attention wavers back and forth between him and the strip of road I navigate us on. Basically, I have no idea where I'm going on these busy Chicago streets but I know what I'm looking for. "Hey, Anzotti," I say conversationally, looking over at him with concern. "How are you holding up?" "I'm numb." "I know. Even though we suspected, it was still quite a shock." "It was though thanks to you I was somewhat prepared. If I hadn't been, this would be just about the most unbearable thing." "It will get easier. It'll get better." "Will it?" "Yeah. I'm a believer, don't you know?" I say with amusement in my voice, my eyebrow arched skyward. "Since when you...you, skeptic, you?" he says with equal amusement. "Since you came into my life and gave me the courage to believe in things I never thought possible. Excluding the paranormal of course." "Of course," he agrees, his head falling back to the headrest, his eyes searching out our location. "Dana, where are you headed? The airport's in the opposite direction." "I remember. I'm looking for a motel." "Our flight leaves in a couple of hours," he protests mildly. "Well, I thought we might stay a couple of days. You need some time to think and work through this away from the craziness of DC. I don't want you to make any rash decisions about something so important. If you'd rather go home though, I can turn around and we can still catch that plane. It's up to you. Just say the word." "I say...you're right. As usual. Did I ever tell you how brilliant you are?" "As a matter of fact, you have. That's one of the reasons I keep you around. You do wonders for my ego." "Dana, let's be honest. I do wonders for more than just your ego." "Right but why don't you hold that thought until you can make good on it." "Oh, how I'd like to make good on it--" "But you're exhausted. I am, too. This situation is very draining." Thankfully, I've come across a Best Western and turn left off the turnpike into the hotel parking lot. My peripheral vision catches Michael staring at me for, like, the last minute; and his attention makes me a bit self conscious though I don't let on. "Dana, look at me," he demands gently after I don't acknowledge his stare. "What?" I ask after safely guiding the car between the lines of our parking space and shifting into "P." "I just wanted to thank you." He leans into my space, gently taking hold of my face in his two hands, kissing me passionately and so completely that a gush of wetness has invaded my underwear. "mmm. Maybe I'm the one that should be thanking you," I smirk and lick the yummy taste of him from my lips. "I'm serious." I try to put on my best serious face, but can only smirk again in spite of myself. "Okay, what are you thanking me for?" "For all that you've done. For being here. I couldn't do this without you." "You don't have to, but I'm glad, I'm glad that I seem to be of help...Now, why don't you go get us a room and I'll get our bags." "Sure thing," he responds, sweeping his thumb enticingly across my bottom lip before he departs, my lips still tingling from his kisses. I'm on his heels, our two duffel bags in tow, waiting a few feet off to Michael's left at the hotel reception counter. The clerk finishes up with the previous customer, and Michael takes his turn. "I need a room for a couple of nights for my wife and I. Nonsmoking, please." I smile in response to his almost truth while he pulls out his wallet, offering his credit card for billing purposes. The clerk does her thing, glances over to me when she speaks and hands Michael our key cards. "Mr. and Mrs. Anzotti, you're in room 223. Enjoy your stay with us." Michael turns away from the counter looking down at the key cards in his hands, nearly bumping into me. He grins sheepishly and then relieves me of our bags. As we head toward the elevators, I can't help teasing him. "My wife and I, huh?" "You heard that?" he asks, a smile still gracing his gorgeous face. "Yep." "Well, I think it has a nice ring to it," he says unapologetically and with satisfaction. "So do I," I murmur with a gleam in my eye. Dana and I settled comfortably into our room, finding the Queen size bed beckoning our weary bodies and promptly falling asleep for a couple of hours. I think the only reason I was able to sleep amidst this craziness was because of Dana. As usual, she is the shining light in my life, a life awash in nothingness without her. We awoke feeling somewhat revived and ordered room service for a late snack. Without any real prompting on my part, Dana spoke at length about Emily, telling me what was in her heart. And I was truly grateful for her honesty. For her trust in me. For opening my eyes. Because talking to her about the loss of Emily lessened the anger and resentment I've felt toward Angela and to a lesser extent Joseph. It made me see things in a different light than I ordinarily would have. It may be a terrible thing to say, but I'm not all that sure I would have jumped at the chance to get to know my son, to want to be a father to him without talking to her. Joseph's existence is a complete and utter surprise, and I've only recently started to contemplate the sacrifice and responsibility that accompanies parenthood because of my relatively solid relationship with Dana. (I say relatively because there's always Mulder's presence looming in the background). Considering where I was at and my feelings for Angela, I wasn't ready for that responsibility four years ago. The following morning we returned to our room after a nice, hearty breakfast at a local diner. For a change, Dana actually indulged in waffles with butter and syrup while I went for the "hungry man" egg special. I think the stress we've been under had revved up our appetites although we'd only had a snack the night before. I really enjoyed our time together at breakfast because, for once in the last two days, there was no mention of Angela. It was just us. I plop into the comfortable hotel chair, Dana doing the same opposite me. She eyes me, smiling slyly. I return the smile. "What, gorgeous?" "I'm just thinking that you're looking much better, more relaxed." "I'm feeling much better. About everything. Even though thing's are far from settled." "The reason being?" "You. Always you. Don't you know that by now?" She smiles again, a little shyly this time in response to my compliment, and it is a sight that always sets my heart aflutter. How this woman still does not know what she does to me, what she does for me is unimaginable; I try to remind her every chance I get. "I do but thank you for being generous enough to always let me know...So what do we do next?" "I'm trying to figure that out. What are my options?" "Michael, we've talked so much but not about what you want out of this. Do you want to be a part of Joseph's life?" "You know at first I wasn't sure. But after talking with you, I realize that I do. I really do." "Well, you're his father, and you have rights. So it depends on how you want to proceed--I mean you could sue her for custody but I don't really see that as an option--" "No, I can't take him away from Angela. That would be cruel and wouldn't benefit Joseph in any way. Besides, I probably wouldn't win a custody battle." "Then you make every effort to work something out by talking to her. Work out an arrangement. I don't know why but I have a feeling she'll be reasonable despite how badly she's handled all this." "Hopefully. . . In the meantime, I've got an idea; there are some things I want to check out while we're here." I grab for the phone book in the motel bureau. "I think I know what you have in mind, and I think it's a good idea. Just to be sure." "What is it I have in mind, Miss Smartypants?" "You're going to look up some former acquaintances or friends of Angela and yours. To contact them and talk with them about Angela. Ensure that she's a good, stable mother that can provide adequately for her son. And as I said, I think that's a good idea." "D, you are amazing," I admit with awe, confirming the truth in her words. Dana jokingly toots her own horn. "I am, aren't I?...Now, lets get to work." I hand her the phonebook and rattle off some names, smiling all the while. The woman is indeed amazing. Thing's are working out better than I expected. Angela has been willing to do the right thing and allow me to become a part of my son's life without too much resistance or interference on her part. For that, I am thankful although I'm sure the money I've offered to provide every month for child care hasn't hurt matters. Dana and I did prove enough to our own satisfaction that Angela is a loving and responsible mother and that any money I provide will be used appropriately. Despite what she's done in the past, she seems to truly want Joseph and I to get to know each other, for me to be the active male parental figure that he so deserves. That said, being a part-time parent is far from ideal, but it's the best I can do. I can't move back to Chicago--I don't want to, it's not where I belong. My work, my life, my love, and my heart are in DC now. Dana and I have made a real commitment to each other, and it's not fair to ask any more of her. So, we'll all do the best we can with weekends, vacations, and holidays. It will be difficult to get to know my son and have to spend so much time away from him, but I'm committed to being the best parent I can despite the obstacles. Tomorrow, Dana and I are taking Joseph to the park for some quality time together, and I'm looking forward to it. Then the following day before our flight back to DC, we have a short outing planned at the zoo. I'll cherish this time the three of us spend together and hold it in my heart until the next time. And I cherish the woman in my arms right now. This amazingly unselfish woman. All she's thought about is me and my feelings. Never her own. We spent all day yesterday talking with those former friends of mine and all day today hashing things out with Angela. Not once did she complain or look displeased. When we returned to our motel room much later on, I said something funny to her, and we both collapsed onto the bed with a serious case of the giggles. We continued to give into the laughter, enjoying the respite from all the heavy gloom and doom we'd been through the last couple of days. Suddenly, Dana's face went serious, gazing upon me with an intense desire. She lovingly caressed my cheek and then the back of my neck, her hand strong and insistent there, forcing my eager lips to her perfect rosebud ones, kissing me slowly at first until our lips met in a frenzy of passion. She tugged and tore at the zipper to my jeans and the shirt tucked inside, her intentions clear and oh so welcome. I had ached for her but was unwilling to initiate anything other than our brief kiss in the car, fearing I'd already taken so much from her and given nothing in return. I wanted her to come to me, take what she needed, take what she wanted, my feelings, my pleasure if it came to that, inconsequential. Finally, I was getting what I wished for. When she sank down onto me, sheathing me in her silky warmth, I could've come right then and there at the sheer perfection of it all. But I held back with all my might at her murmurings, her proclamations of love, her moans that nearly drove me insane so that she could take from me. I touched her breasts and her clit the way I knew she liked, her response pleasing me immensely. Watching her, the sweat glistening lightly on her brow, her eyes closed in ecstasy as she moved over me and I ground up into her, was extraordinary. She was so achingly beautiful when she came that I had to catch my breath. She wanted me to come, too, and I did at her insistence, my orgasm achieved after positioning her on her back and slamming into her perfect body only twice. For a little while, we lie in each other's arms quietly content and sated. Still, it bothered me that I didn't know what was going on with her, how she was handling this new addition to our lives. Though I am loathe to disturb our contentment, I ask her the question outright. "Dana, how are you doing with all this?" "Fine," comes my plain, simple, automatic reply. She hasn't given me one of these meaningless one-word answers in a long time as I've gotten her to open up about most things. Now that I know something's wrong, I persist. "No, really. Please be honest with me." "I'm...coping," she says mysteriously. "Coping, huh? That doesn't sound very good." "It'll work itself out. Don't worry about it. You have enough on your mind." "You're what's on my mind. What is it?" "This situation just...awakens my insecurities." "Your insecurities of?" "The fact that I cannot bear your child, and she can. She has." "But you know that doesn't matter to me, right? I mean we've discussed this." "I know and I thought I put it successfully behind me--" "But it's reared its big, ugly head," I conclude the obvious. "Exactly." "Baby, I know it's hard but don't let it. Don't let Angela put these doubts in your head. Otherwise, she wins again. And she's won far too much already." "That she has," Dana admits ruefully. "I guess I just don't want to disappoint you." "You could never disappoint me. You never have and you never will." "That's not true. In the beginning of our relationship, I did nothing but disappoint you and I'm sorry. I don't know if I ever apologized for it but I'm apologizing now." "That's not necessary--you were going through so much then and we're way past that; We're strong now." "We are," she confirms. "Dana, I have something to ask of you; and being the way you're feeling, I don't know how you'll react." "You know you can ask me anything." "Well, I want you to be as much a part of Joseph's life as I am. When he's with us, I want you to have a say in everything. And when there are decisions to be made, I want you to decide with me. He couldn't have a better mother than you, and I want you to be that for him. Will you do that? Can you do that?" She looks up at me from where she's burrowed her head in my chest, her eyes brimming with tears. I've obviously touched her, and I love that fact. "Of course; I'd love to. You needn't ask." "I didn't think so, but it's not fair to assume--" "Michael, he's your flesh and blood. Every time I looked at him while we were together yesterday, I could see you, see your mannerisms in him. And he has your eyes. Your beautifully expressive dark brown eyes. How could I not want to be a part of his life? He's a very special person just like his Dad . . ." Her fingers sweep across my lips, her hand laying lovingly on my cheek, conveying her feelings, the truth in her words even though her voice and eyes have already done so. She pecks me on the mouth and then begins to extricate herself from me and the tangle of the covers. "Baby, where are you going? Don't get up," I whine. "I have to. I just remembered I have something I want to give you." "What?" "Just a minute," she admonishes lightly, smirking at my impatience and poking around in her purse, carefully removing a sheet of paper that had been tucked away. "Here, Joseph and I made this together, and I thought you might like to have it." She hands me a page that has been carefully torn from a coloring book, a page adorned with bright reds and oranges, some of the colors neat within the lines, others scribbled across the picture and out of the lines though not done so on purpose or with less care. I smile from ear to ear at what she has so generously given to me; Elmo and Ernie never looked so wonderful to my eyes. "This is so great! Thank you." I pull her fiercely into my arms, holding her with all my might, thanking her profusely for this precious little gift. Now I know it's all going to work out. I feel it and know it in my heart. And that's all I can ask for; that's the only thing I want. For my wife, my son, and myself to come together. END Go onto What I Want 3: Up, Up and Away from Me
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