TITLE: Promised Land Author: Laura Castellano laurita_castellano@yahoo.com May 22, 2000 - July 22, 2000 Rating: R Spoilers: Requiem--maybe some others, but they won't be big ones. Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be Keywords: MSR, Angst for everyone, MT Mulder-sized thanks to my beta reader Julie, for asking all the right questions and helping me keep it focused. And to my foddx sisters for the inspiration and encouragement. Archive: Yes Summary: Mulder has returned and his child is about to be born. What dangers will they face? Promised Land Chapter 1 When it was her turn, the recovery had been simple, although almost deadly. She'd appeared in a hospital one day, comatose, her arrival a mystery, and although they'd all been certain they would lose her at first, they could hold her hand, and talk to her through the coma, and it was peaceful, and not such agony to watch. They couldn't have realized that, of course. Surely it was agonizing to sit helplessly by as her body gave up its fight to survive. They thought it was difficult because they'd had nothing to compare it with, and even her fight with the cancer had been a known quantity, for the most part; certainly it was a battle that was fought countless times every day in nearly every hospital in America. The resolution might have been somewhat unusual, but nothing on the X-files was ever mundane, not even expense reports. Scully lay on her bed, propped up with three pillows, her hands idly caressing her swollen abdomen as she lost herself in thought. It was one of her favorite activities these days, work and strenuous exercise being forbidden, and as it always happened, Mulder became real to her again. She could feel his strong arms around her, hear his whispered laugh in her ear, and, if she closed her eyes and really concentrated, she could smell the scent of him, the soap, the sweat, the skin, his hair...all the smells she associated with Mulder. She remembered the last time she'd held him, afraid to let him go, knowing he would refuse to stay. "I won't let you go alone," she'd said, and had sent him off with her talisman, the cross, that symbol that had sustained them both when they had been separated in the past. "Bring it back to me," she'd whispered, pulling his lips to hers for a last kiss, and he had nodded his promise. Even then, she realized now, she'd known something was wrong, had felt a sense of foreboding that she was unable, at that time, to identify. She'd been more in control of her emotions in those days, able to hold her breakdown until she was alone, but Mulder--he was never good at goodbyes, and she had seen the tears shimmering, unshed, in his eyes as he turned away. She felt the familiar stab of pain through her heart at the memory, but ignored it--what was there to be done? She had searched everywhere on earth he could possibly be, hadn't she? She, Skinner, Langly, Byers and Frohike had literally scoured the planet for a sign of him, although Skinner kept insisting that he had seen Mulder disappear into the forest, and witnessed the ship taking off with his own eyes. Unlike herself, Skinner was firm in his belief of what he had seen, never wavering. Scully found that once the visual evidence of anything unbelievable had disappeared, her memories became muddled, confused between what she knew, from her years of experience as a scientist, must be true, and what had been right in front of her, if only briefly. Mulder, though--Mulder was a believer, in the plausibility of all things. Sorcerers, mutants, extraterrestrials...all of them blended together in Mulder's view of the possible, each met with the same acceptance he would give to the fact that oak trees grew from acorns. She held to only one impossible belief: that one day he would return to her, whole, healthy and completely himself. Every night and every morning she prayed for his return with the renewed faith that trying times always brought her. It was funny, she realized in her clearer moments, that while religion defied science on many fronts, she accepted it because she had been taught it from infancy, and yet she denied the knowledge of things she had seen as an adult, claiming her memory was untrustworthy or even absent, when in her deepest heart she knew it was simply a truth her mind could not accept. She threw up walls, barricades from the obvious when she needed to do so, and she had hurt him with her refusal to believe on more than one occasion. The phone beside her bed rang, startling her from her thoughts, and she almost ignored the shrill sound. There was nobody she wanted to talk to tonight, nothing she wanted to talk about. Surely it would be one more attempt by well-meaning friends to cheer her, or perhaps another wild goose chase to follow. It might even be Alex Krycek, whose existence she had come to accept, barely. The knowledge that Krycek might be the only link to Mulder when he was returned was the one thing that kept her from killing the bastard, and yet, so far, every time he had resurfaced with a supposed "lead" it had been a dead end, one more damnable brick wall against which to bang her aching head. As for Krycek, no matter how selfless his motives might appear, she could not bring herself to trust him. She would never forgive him for the things he had done to them in the past, never. If it had not been for his interference all those months ago, Mulder wouldn't have gone back to Oregon. He wouldn't have been taken, and he would have been here to experience the wonder that was his child growing in her womb. She clung stubbornly to her blame of Krycek; it was solid and sure. "Yes?" she said curtly, picking up the phone at last, because there was always the ghost of a chance it could be important. It could be real news about Mulder. And this time, out of all the countless, useless times, it was. "Agent Scully? Dana Scully?" Her ears perked up; the voice was familiar, although not immediately identifiable. It was wrapped around memories of Mulder, and that made it worthwhile. "Yes, who is this?" "Agent Scully, this is Billy Miles." Her breathing stopped, momentarily--Billy Miles had gone with the others. He'd been missing all these months as well, and if he had been returned-- "Mulder!" she demanded, unable to control the harshness in her voice even though she knew it was not this boy's fault that Mulder had been taken. "Where is he?" "He's here." She didn't need to ask where 'here' was--everything had centered around Bellefleur, Oregon, and suddenly it seemed natural that Mulder would be there. "Alive?" "Yes. He needs you." Calming herself, forcing deep breaths, Scully thought quickly. "I can't fly right now, Billy," she told him. "I'll have to send someone else, a friend. What's his condition?" "He's...they hurt him pretty badly." He was obviously reluctant to discuss the shape Mulder was in, and his coyness pissed her off "How badly?" she snapped, immediately regretting her anger. She tried to remain calm, she tried not to frighten Billy with her intensity, but all she could picture was poor Mulder, alone and helpless, terrified, possibly in pain. "He's just...I can't explain it," Billy said helplessly. "He'd never experienced it before. He was the only one among us who had never--" "All right," she interrupted. "I'm sending someone out there right away, tonight. Can you look out for Mulder until then? Does he need a hospital?" "I don't think a hospital is going to do him any good," Billy replied grimly. "He needs you. He keeps repeating your name. It's all he'll say." That pain stabbed her again, and she closed her eyes against its ruthless assault. She terminated the call instantly, her finger punching the speed dial button for Skinner. Dragging herself to the side of the bed, for the first time she cursed her unwieldy pregnant body. If it weren't for the baby, she could fly to Mulder, take him in her arms, comfort him, heal him, but her doctor had specifically warned her against flying, citing her age, first pregnancy, medical history, ad nauseam. She'd agreed to everything; she would take no chances with Mulder's baby. Scully stopped her thinking short, horrified that she'd even had such a thought. If it weren't for the baby, she reminded herself forcefully, the promise of a part of Mulder surviving, *she* would never have survived these past seven months. Mulder's child had been her savior. The second she heard Skinner answer, she announced in a rush, "He's back." Skinner drew in a sharp breath. "Where?" "Oregon. Billy Miles just called me. He's back too." Skinner realized the difficulty immediately--he'd been forced to put her on desk duty several months earlier, per her doctor's orders. "I'll go tonight. I'll bring him back to you, Dana. I promise." "Hurry, Walter. He's alone, and afraid." She tried not to let her voice choke on a sob, but he heard it anyway. "I'll take care of Mulder," he promised her gently. "You take care of his child." ----- Mulder lay in the corner, curled into the tiniest ball his six-foot frame would allow. He had been here for hours now, remaining as silent as possible, occasionally allowing a little whimper of fear to escape, then waiting, terrified, barely daring to breathe, for them to discover him. To make himself invisible was his only hope; maybe when they came, they wouldn't be able to find him. Maybe this time he would fold up so small that he would meld into the wall, the white clothing they gave him blending so completely with the whiteness of the room that he would be invisible to them. This time. Something was different, though, and with careful thought, forcing his tortured mind to focus on the puzzle, he finally realized what had changed. Normally when they came for him, there was no hesitation. They found him, unfailingly, no matter how he tried to hide, jerked him to his feet, dragged him from his cell, ignoring his screams of protest, and took him to the bad place. The hurting place. They were oblivious to his tears and his pleading and his cries of torment. They went about their business as if he made no sound; indeed, he wasn't certain they could even hear him. They showed no pity, no mercy, no remorse. This time was different. This time, there was only one, appearing as always in the shape of a man, a human, but this human looked familiar, and he approached carefully, and his demeanor did not pose a threat, somehow. Mulder instinctively knew that this one was different, but he still crept further into the corner. They had done things to him, to his mind. He could no longer trust his instincts. This one knelt beside him, not touching, and spoke his name gently. Mulder had not heard spoken words in forever, until today, until the other one, the one who brought him here to this new cell. That one had been gentle as well, appearing non-threatening as he'd tried to get Mulder into the comfortable bed, so different from the hard, narrow cot to which he had become accustomed. He had ignored the words, knowing they were false, nothing but a cruel trick. He didn't yet understand why, but with this new, bigger, more comfortable cell, complete with simulated earthly daylight, they were trying to lull him into a sense of security that would end up hurting, somehow, always hurting. Everything always hurt. He refused to allow them to fool him, and so he ignored the bed in favor of his corner, and prayed that he would not be found out this time. Surely, sometime, even his prayers must be answered--Scully believed in them. He clutched at the charm around his neck, whispering his good-luck word. "Scully...Scully..." "Mulder?" spoke the deceiving, careful and quiet monster crouching before him, and Mulder buried his head in his knees, wrapped his arms around himself and hoped they would think he was dead this time. He heard another voice, then, the one that had initially tried to trick him. Scully's name echoed in his ears, and he knew it was only another fraud; Scully was not here. Scully would never find him. He knew she had tried her best--she would do no less. He knew and understood and loved her and at the same time hated her for not being able to rescue him from his own personal hell. "He hasn't said anything except Agent Scully's name. He just curls up and jerks away whenever I try to touch him." Skinner straightened, looking Billy up and down. The boy seemed fine--perhaps a bit shaken and thinner than he should be, but in possession of all his faculties. Not at all like the stricken man who was now trying to shrink even further into the protective corner. "Have you ever seen this before?" Skinner asked, staring down at Mulder, feeling somewhat foolish, talking to this young man about alien abduction experiences as if they were a part of everyday life. Billy nodded soberly. "The first time is always the worst," he said, almost apologetically. "And they hurt him pretty badly. We saw." "You saw what they did to him?" "Well, not everything, but..." "Tell me. I need to know." Billy cast his glance down at the man on the floor, closing his eyes quickly as if to block out a horrible, remembered vision. "I can't," he said shortly. "There are no words for it. Besides, there's nothing you can do about it now. He'll get better. Or he won't." Skinner gave him a sour look, kneeling in front of Mulder once again. "Mulder?" he asked, reaching out a hand carefully toward the terrified agent. He drew it back instantly when the curled-up man tried to crawl through the wall in an attempt to avoid him, whimpering pathetically. "Agent Mulder, do you know where you are?" "...hurt me don't hurt me Scully I want Scully I want..." The words were barely audible but Mulder's lips moved frantically, forming them over and over again. "Believe it or not, this is progress," Bill said. "When we were first returned, the only word he would say was her name." Skinner glanced up at him. "Progress?" he asked sourly, and then softer, almost to himself, "I have to get him home. How the hell am I going to do that when he doesn't even know where he is?" "I don't think you should try to move him yet. Stay here for a few days. Maybe he'll come out of it enough to recognize you. If you can get through to him that you're taking him to her..." "He's so thin," Skinner observed, standing again and taking a few steps back, feeling strangely hurt when Mulder visibly relaxed. It wasn't Mulder's fault that he was in this situation, he reminded himself sternly. If anyone was to blame, it was Alex Krycek for sending Mulder out here, but even that wasn't entirely true. Mulder had come of his own free will. They had all believed at first that he'd sacrificed himself to save Scully, but now Skinner wondered if Mulder had known all along that he would be taken--he'd watched Mulder walk calmly into the forest and never return. "Let me try," Billy offered. "He might feel easier with me." He slowly approached the quivering Mulder, kneeling beside him as Skinner had done, and reached out a hand, equally slowly. Mulder watched him warily, his eyes shifting back and forth between Billy's face and his hand, until the hand lay on his shoulder, not hurting, not threatening, just resting there. Gradually, when several minutes passed and Billy did not move, Mulder relaxed a tiny bit. "Agent Mulder," Billy said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "Would you like to get into bed? Would you like to sleep now?" "Don't hurt me." It was the first coherent sentence Mulder had spoken. "I won't hurt you," Billy said kindly. "I only want you to rest. Will you get into the bed?" As he spoke, he indicated the double bed, shoved against one wall of the bedroom. "Come, stand up. I'll help you." He took Mulder's left hand, slowly, always slowly, helping him to his feet. Mulder's entire body trembled, and he clutched at Billy's arm to keep from falling. "All right, one step. Put your foot out. One step." Billy spoke as gently as if to a small child, encouraging him, and Mulder did as Billy said, putting his right foot out six inches, tentatively resting his weight on it, searching Billy's face to make certain he was doing right. "Don't hurt me," he whispered again, clutching fiercely at Billy's arm. "No one is going to hurt you, I promise. Take another step." Four steps later they were beside the bed, and Billy eased Mulder down onto it carefully. When his back hit the mattress, Mulder's face changed, grew frightened. The softness was a shock--he'd expected the hard table where they'd abused him so many times--but still, the monster had him lying down, and that was a bad position in which to be. He lay there quietly while Billy lifted his feet to the bed and spread a blanket over him. There was no use resisting at this point. Once they had you on the table, they were going to hurt you, and there was nothing you could do or say to stop them. Still, he had to try. If he didn't try, they won and he descended into total madness forever. He couldn't move now. He didn't know when the monster had injected him with the drug that always paralyzed his arms and legs, he hadn't felt the prick this time, but already he couldn't move. Luckily, he had the word to keep him from falling over the edge... the word he repeated over and over, like a magic charm even as they tried to wrest control from him. They could control him physically, but they could never take away the small feeling of triumph that his word gave him, however briefly, and even when they delved into his mind, the word remained untouched. Scully. Scully. "Please don't--don't hurt me again," he begged hoarsely, tears beginning to seep from beneath his clenched lids. "Shh, it's all right," Billy soothed, patting Mulder's shoulder lightly before backing away. "Nobody is going to hurt you this time. We're going to let you sleep now." Mulder lay there, unbelieving, tense, waiting for the agony, and when it did not come, he dared to hope the voice was telling the truth. Finally deciding he must take advantage of every painless moment, he allowed himself to relax enough to drift into a light sleep. He would need his strength for when they began the testing again. The two men stood silently, watching as Mulder sank into an exhausted sleep, and once he was breathing evenly and slowly, left the room, leaving the door ajar to hear any sound the tormented man might make. "What the hell was done to him?" Skinner demanded roughly. It was more of a shock to see Mulder like this than he'd expected, but the truth was, he hadn't really known what to expect. If anything, he'd pictured Mulder in the same shape Scully had been in when she'd been returned--comatose, weak, even dying, perhaps, but...not this. This fearful, pleading Mulder was a stranger to him, and he didn't like the transformation one bit. It was as if the true Mulder had been exchanged for his complete opposite. Where was the defiant, self-assured agent Skinner had called a friend? And more to the point, how was he supposed to get this traumatized shell of Mulder back home to Scully so he could heal? And would he heal? Was there a chance Mulder might never get any better than this? Skinner refused to give that thought credence. Mulder was strong; he would survive. Billy sank heavily into a chair, hating the question, resting his face in his hands for a few minutes while he considered how best to explain to Skinner that Mulder was in a natural state for what he'd endured. Finally he shook his head in frustration. It was impossible to explain post-abduction trauma to someone who had never had the experience. That was why the stories sounded so incredible when abductees told them. That was why everyone thought they were crazy. "I can't explain to you what happened to him," Billy repeated wearily. Suddenly the whole world felt like a weight on his back. He had returned from months away too, only to learn that his father had been killed by the alien who had taken him to the ship. The realization of his loss was only just beginning to seep in--Billy had been so concerned with Mulder that he hadn't yet had time to grieve. At heart, Billy Miles was a very kind man, and Mulder's situation had demanded that he put his own troubles aside for a time. Even though he and the others had not suffered overmuch this time, Mulder had been a new specimen. The aliens had subjected him to extensive testing in order to establish a baseline at first, and then they had apparently discovered something about him, some anomaly, that made them want to test him further. Something was wrong, Billy could tell. They couldn't get complete control of Mulder, they'd had to use drugs to subdue him, and even then, they had only been partially successful. Billy was confused-- he had never seen this happen before, but he was guiltily glad that they were much too consumed with the puzzle that was Mulder to care much what the rest of them did. While the other abductees were left to themselves, allowed to mix with one another and simply exist, Mulder was kept alone, confined, and every day they seemed to find some new way to torment him. Billy believed, from his own experiences, that they had no concept of human pain, that they had no concept of humans as sentient beings, aside from those with whom they had struck bargains in the past. Mulder was nothing to them, no more than an interesting lab animal, and therefore his pain was inconsequential, if they even knew it existed. If they knew, they did not care. "So you keep saying," Skinner responded tersely, "but I don't understand why. Do you know, or don't you?" "I told you before, there aren't words for it!" Billy flared, his temper at last frayed to the breaking point. Had this man forgotten that *he* had been taken as well? In the next instant, he regretted the thought. His past seven months had been a holiday compared to what Mulder had endured. Seeing Skinner's look of exasperation, Billy backed off. It was obvious that Skinner's patience was wearing thin as well. "It's hard to explain," he said hesitantly. "Sometimes it's in your mind, and sometimes it's all over your skin and sometimes it's just inside you, but it always hurts." He paused, searching for the proper way to tell this man what his agent had endured. "It was worse for him. I don't understand it, but they were only concerned with him. The rest of us were pretty much ignored once they discovered him. Something about him-- I don't know, I only know they left us alone for the most part and concentrated on Agent Mulder." "He didn't appear to have any scarring," Skinner said thoughtfully--it was one of the things he knew about Billy; the boy had plenty of scars. "They aren't obvious, but they'll be there. Maybe only inside." He paused. "They're better at hiding them than they used to be. Their techniques have...improved?" "But what did they *do*?" "I can't explain!" Billy shouted, frustrated at not getting through to this seemingly intelligent man. Couldn't Skinner understand that beings not of this world used methods of what they would call "science" not of this world, and that their procedures could not be described in words of this world? "It doesn't matter, anyway. There's nothing you can do about it now, it's done." Skinner's eyes narrowed. He knew Billy wasn't bullshitting him, and yet he couldn't wrap his mind around this "no words" concept. "He needs to be in a hospital," he said at last. "Surely there are some medical tests and procedures that could help us determine--" "There are no medical procedures to be done for him now," Billy said flatly. "And don't you think he's had enough of testing?" Skinner turned away, frustrated at his own helplessness, but Billy pressed on. "He's barely hanging onto sanity now. If you take him into a hospital, they're going to label him as emotionally disturbed and slap him in a psych unit." He moved in front of Skinner, refusing to allow the older man to elude his gaze, willing him to understand by the very force of his words. "They'll put him in restraints, they'll drug him--he might not survive. I've been there, Mr. Skinner. Believe me, a hospital is the last thing he needs." Skinner nodded at last, still not really understanding but willing to let the matter drop, for now. Crossing quietly to the bedroom door, he peeked inside to make certain Mulder was still sleeping, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed Scully. She answered on the first ring. "You found him?" she asked breathlessly. "How is he? Is he alive?" "He's alive, Dana, but..." Skinner bit his lip, not quite knowing how to proceed, until her concerned voice jarred him. "Just tell me, Walter," she said sternly. "God knows, after the past seven months, news that he's alive is better than I'd hoped for at times." "He's in a highly emotional state," Skinner explained, keeping his voice as clinical as he could, trying not to realize that it was Mulder, *Mulder*, his friend, lying on that bed, afraid to let him near. "He doesn't seem to realize where he is, he thinks he's still...in their hands. He thinks he's going to be hurt." Scully, who had hoped Mulder would be spared any remembered pain, as she had been, bit back a sob, cursing the hormones that made her an emotional wreck these days. Dana Scully, hard-assed FBI agent, cried at the drop of a hat lately. "Does he recognize you?" "Not yet," he told her gently, "but he's asking for you. I wish--" "I'll drive there," she said immediately. "I'll get in the car and be there as fast as I can." "No!" he ordered gruffly. "You can't take the chance. You know what your doctor said about taking easy the last few weeks." "Walter, I won't risk losing him again!" she retorted sharply. "If he's there, and I'm the only one he'll recognize, then damn it, I'm going to give him a friendly face!" "Scully--" "Look, I won't drive it myself, all right? I'll get the guys to bring me. I'm sure they'll agree. They can drive in shifts, we can be there in two days. Walter, don't try to stop me. Nothing in heaven or hell is going to keep me away from Mulder now, do you understand?" She was bordering on the hysterical, he realized, and the thought of Dana Scully in hysterics boggled the mind. There was nothing he could do or say to stop her. The best he could do was to try and manage the situation from afar. "I'll call them and arrange everything," he agreed, albeit reluctantly, trotting out the 'boss voice' that was occasionally effective with her, although not as often as he'd like. "You get ready to go. They'll be there soon to pick you up." Then he ruined the "boss" image by asking anxiously, "Okay?" She thought for a minute. Skinner could handle the details while she packed for herself and Mulder, something familiar, something he could feel at home in. His jeans and favorite gray t-shirt, the one she slept in every night since his disappearance. He had left his casual weekend clothes at her apartment on the last night they had spent together. Once she'd come home from the hospital, numb from the dual shocks of Mulder's abduction and her own, unexpected, unbelievable pregnancy, she'd fished the shirt out of the laundry hamper, pulling it over her head, inhaling his scent, watching as the gray turned black in spots, dampened by her tears. She had steadfastly refused to wash it for the first month, until the smell of her own skin on the fabric overshadowed the smell of Mulder. Only then did she risk laundering the precious item, and as soon as it was safely dried and folded, it went back under her pillow, ready for her to slip it over her naked skin before climbing into bed, only to wet the pillow with still more tears of grief and loneliness. God, but she had missed him. "All right," she said at last. "You call them, but Sir--if you can't arrange it, I'm driving myself." She put down the phone without waiting for his reply, and hauled herself up from the couch. Walter would arrange it, all right. He had never stopped blaming himself for "losing" Mulder, no matter how many times she had tried to explain to him that he had been as helpless in the face of it as was she. They'd wanted Mulder, and they'd taken him, and he'd gone there, giving them their opportunity, at the urging of Alex Krycek. It was as simple as that. And she would never forgive Krycek for it. She would also never believe his protested innocence; Krycek worked for whichever side would benefit him the most, and for some reason he had wanted Mulder gone. Or maybe it hadn't even been as personal as that. Maybe they'd given him something in exchange for delivering Mulder. Lies within lies, hidden in puzzles within puzzles--she was so sick of it all. She would probably never know the true answers, and right now, she didn't give a damn. She just wanted Mulder back. When the guys pulled up outside her apartment two hours later, she was ready, more than ready. She'd packed clothes for herself and Mulder, necessities for a week, not knowing how long it would be before Mulder could make the trip home, and something else very important. Mulder's cherished photograph of Samantha. A permanent fixture on his desk at home, had for the past seven months resided on Scully's bedside table. It reminded her, oddly enough, not of the girl in the picture at all, but of her devoted older brother, who had spent his life in search of her, only to find she had been lost to him for years. It was a symbol of a quest, but more importantly, it was a symbol of the man behind that quest, the man who never gave up, the man who could conquer anything in the face of incredible odds. Tucking it carefully into her suitcase, nestled protectively among the clothing, she prayed he would be able to overcome one more time. She wanted him back, but she needed *all* of him. She needed the man she loved. She needed the father of her child. Scully stepped outside, not waiting for the boys to come in for her, and stopped in surprise at what now stood in front of her building. She'd expected their ancient van, in fact had already resigned herself to a long, uncomfortable trip in it, but this vehicle looked like-- "It's a used ambulance," Langly confirmed, hopping out and gallantly swinging open the back door. Scully stuck her head inside and saw two cots, one piled high with comfortable pillows, and on the floor between them, a large ice chest, filled with drinks and munchables. The usual barrier between front and back was gone, making it a simple matter to move from the front seat to the cots in back. Amazed, Scully turned to the three men who now stood gathered around, awaiting her approval. "I can't believe you did this so quickly," she said, shaking her head with a smile of wonder. Byers offered his hand, helping her climb into the back of the converted ambulance, and they settled her on a cot, leaning her against the soft pillows. "We wanted you to be as comfortable as possible," he told her seriously, stowing her suitcase beneath the cot. "None of us want to face Mulder if anything happens to you or the baby." She placed her hands protectively across her stomach and smiled her thanks, her eyes welling with tears again. "Let's get this show on the road," said Frohike brusquely, embarrassed at the show of emotion from Mulder's normally stoic partner. He and Langly climbed into the front seat while Byers stretched out on the extra cot and, to Scully's surprise, fell asleep almost instantly. She was too excited to sleep, although it had been a long night, so she lay there, barely noticing the jostling of the vehicle, her thoughts centered only on the man she sought. It was irrational to believe that he would be unchanged, she knew, but she couldn't help picturing him the way he had looked the last time she'd seen him. She could almost feel his skin beneath her fingers. Skinner had told her he was in bad shape, but what exactly did that mean? How changed would she find him? She closed her eyes, instinctively clutching at her neck for the cross that had not hung there in seven months. And she prayed. _____ Skinner sat quietly, watching the steady rise and fall of Mulder's chest as he slept. He could almost count the ribs beneath the odd white fabric covering them, and he wondered just how long it was since Mulder had been decently fed. "He needs to eat something," he told the young man who had just entered the room. Billy nodded. "Nothing too heavy, though. The nourishment they give you is...different. It's not food, exactly. That's why he's so thin." "Soup?" Skinner was trying hard not to be annoyed at this boy, who was doing his best, really, to help Mulder. It was just that there was so little that could actually be done, and if there was one thing Skinner hated, it was feeling powerless. Billy nodded again and disappeared, while Skinner's eyes never left his friend. Mulder had awakened once, early that morning, screaming frantically, and Billy had been the one to calm him, Billy had been the one to speak softly to Mulder until he quieted, his frightened, bloodshot eyes still darting about the room in search of danger, his tense body pressed against the wall but relaxing, little by little, until at last he slept again. Skinner stayed back, in a chair against the opposite wall, out of Mulder's immediate line of sight. He hoped Mulder would come out of it enough to recognize him before Scully arrived, but if he didn't...well, Skinner was pinning all his hopes on Scully. Mulder knew her, whispered her name over and over again, wanted her nearby, and it was she who would be his salvation, Skinner was certain. He had been amazed, observing Mulder as he slept, to discover the slight bump beneath the white shirt. Lifting it oh-so-carefully so as not to awaken the slumbering agent, he was astonished to find Scully's cross. How it had survived all those months, why it had not been taken away, he had no idea, but Skinner recognized a miracle when he saw it--even a small one. No wonder Mulder remembered Scully. He had managed to hang on to the only tangible evidence he had of her in spite of everything he'd been through. Skinner's thoughts were interrupted when Billy returned, carrying a mug of steaming soup, and he realized he hadn't even heard the microwave bell. Nodding his thanks, he took the mug and set it gently on the table beside the bed. If Mulder didn't wake up soon of his own accord, he supposed he should try to rouse him, but the thought of pulling Mulder from what appeared to be peaceful sleep into the horror of his memories stayed his hand. Soup could be reheated; precious rest might not be recovered so easily. Before the mug had cooled completely, before Skinner became afraid at the length of time he'd slept--almost twelve hours, not counting the one frightening episode--Mulder slitted his eyes open, closing them again almost immediately. Skinner sat back and waited, watching, silent. He wondered if Mulder would recognize him now. In a moment, the eyes sneaked open again, just a hair. "Agent Mulder?" Mulder let out a little sigh. "Scully?" His hands, still trembling, although not as badly as before, groped upwards of his chest to locate the gold chain, pulling the tiny talisman from beneath the shirt and gripping it tightly. "She's on her way. Do you remember who I am? Do you know where you are?" "S-Sir?" Skinner smiled broadly. "Yes, Mulder, it's me. You're safe now." "Don't know where..." It seemed too much of an effort for Mulder to speak, as if all the energy had been simply drained from his body, but Skinner took heart at the few words he'd said; Mulder seemed to be approaching lucidity at last. "I have something for you to eat," he told the agent. "Do you need help to sit up?" Of course Mulder needed help, Skinner knew, but he also knew that offering assistance could be met with terror. Mulder's eyes opened again, staying wide this time, fixed on the older man's face. "Eat?" He said the word as if he'd never heard it, as if it had no meaning for him at all. "Food, Mulder. You know--nourishment?" There was nothing to grin about, except for the fact that he was so damn glad to see a glimmer of the real Mulder, a Mulder who recognized him. Skinner reached out his hands slowly, and after an initial darkening of fear in Mulder's eyes, the agent allowed Skinner to grasp him beneath his arms and pull him to a sitting position. He leaned against the headboard heavily, breathing like a man starved for oxygen. He looked up at Skinner, his gaze never wavering now. "Scully?" he asked again, weaker this time but still intent. "She's coming." Skinner debated for a second whether or not to tell Mulder about the baby, then decided it was too much to hit him with all at once. Mulder was barely cognizant now, he only just recognized Skinner. He didn't want to risk sending him back into the horror with any sudden shocks. Instead, Skinner picked up the mug, feeling the warmth it still retained, decided it didn't need reheating yet, and offered it to Mulder. Mulder stared as if a mug full of warm broth was a curiosity yet unknown to him. Slowly, Skinner brought the soup toward Mulder's mouth, and when it was beneath his nose, Mulder inhaled deeply. All of a sudden a huge smile broke out on his face. Skinner smiled back, again feeling like a bit of an idiot, but it was just so good to see some sign of humanity in Mulder at last. "Food," Mulder said, recognition in his voice, eager, but still so weak. He reached for the mug with uncertain fingers. Skinner had to help him--the soup sloshed out when Mulder tried to hold it. The trembling in his hands had increased again, suddenly, and Skinner reflected that Mulder reminded him of an excited child. Skinner held the mug while Mulder took a tentative sip, then grabbed at the mug with both hands, wrapping his fingers around Skinner's in his haste to gulp the broth. After a few healthy swallows, Skinner pulled it away, and felt a knife of remorse at the expression on Mulder's face. Now the excited child looked as if his only Christmas present had been stolen. "Not so fast," he said kindly. "You can have it all, but you have to drink it slowly. If you gulp it down you'll get sick." Mulder nodded reluctantly, pulling the mug toward his mouth again. He watched Skinner over the rim of the mug as he drank, protesting each time the cup was taken away and displaying obvious relief when it was returned. When at last it was empty, Skinner took the mug and replaced it on the table, then reached to help Mulder settle back into the bed. He forgot to move slowly. He was met with terror. "Don't hurt me!" Mulder cringed, pulling away, and Skinner immediately drew back, raising his hands to show that he was not a threat. "I won't hurt you, Mulder," he said in what he hoped was a soft, reassuring tone. "I won't even touch you if you don't want me to." As the short bout of fear faded, it was replaced by the realization of what he had done, and to whom. Mulder looked suddenly crestfallen, even ashamed. "Sorry," he muttered, but Skinner refused to accept an unnecessary apology. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Mulder," he insisted. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have tried to rush you. I don't want to frighten you. I only want to help." "Scully?" Mulder asked again, sounding so plaintive that Skinner cursed inwardly, wishing above all else that he could somehow magically produce Mulder's partner. As Mulder stared up at him, hazel eyes glazing over, Skinner was suddenly afraid Mulder was slipping back into his earlier, frenzied state, and was at a loss as to how to prevent that. "Sleep now, Mulder," he said, hoping a soft voice would turn away the wrath of Mulder's subconscious. "Scully will come for you. She always does." The words seemed to ground Mulder, Skinner saw with relief, pulling him away from the abyss of horror. As if recognizing the truth of them, Mulder settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes, opening them quickly a time or two, making sure he was still safe, then at last drifting off to sleep. "He'll be like that for a day or two. Afraid, like that." Skinner turned to see Billy watching from the doorway. "I'm not sure if he really remembers who I am." Billy nodded. "Probably. He seems to know you mean him no harm, at least, but he's learned to trust no one." Mulder's catch-phrase, Skinner reflected ironically. And yet, he'd trusted Krycek...or had he? Again, Skinner wondered what had gone on in Mulder's mind of which none of them were aware. Mulder had been almost totally silent on the flight to Oregon, and during the drive to the spot where the space craft was supposed to have been downed. In fact, he'd spoken more in those last five minutes with Skinner than he had in the five hours before. It was as if he'd been...preparing, and for the hundredth, maybe thousandth time in the last seven months, Skinner wondered just what Mulder's plans had really been. ----- "Shit!" Scully muttered as they made their way slowly, too damned slowly, across Montana. A post-Christmas snowstorm had taken them by surprise, and Scully could feel the anxiety building in her as she leaned forward, gazing into the whiteness over the dash. "Relax," said Frohike, who was driving this shift. "Mulder's not going anywhere." They exchanged a glance--because neither of them would ever again be sure that Mulder wasn't going anywhere, wouldn't be taken from them--and then both resumed their forward stares. After a while, her eyes began to droop, and she leaned back against the seat, trying desperately to find a decent position, one that didn't make her feel as if she was leaning against a pile of rocks. The cots in the back were reasonably comfortable, but Scully had insisted upon sitting up front today, as if it would make the miles fly by faster, and Langly and Byers, who had taken turns driving throughout the night, were both sound asleep. She could have dislodged Langly, he'd had more sleep than Byers, but she didn't have the heart. The three of them had treated her like a piece of fine porcelain on this trip, and while it irritated her to be so coddled, it had also touched her deeply. She would never have believed it when they first met, but these guys possessed the proverbial hearts of gold. Their friendship and support, along with Skinner's, and the knowledge that she was carrying Mulder's child, were the only things that had kept her going these last few months, when the loneliness and heartache threatened to pull her down. Scully still didn't know *how* she had overcome infertility, and for all she knew, this baby might be her only chance for motherhood. Right now it was the only piece of Mulder she had left, and she wasn't going to take any chances with it, so she allowed the coddling, in spite of her natural sense of independence. It made the guys feel useful. "We'll be there by tomorrow," Frohike commented, and a few minutes later, "The storm seems to be letting up a bit." Scully peered out the window again, and indeed, it did seem clearer. It had been snowing steadily since early that morning, and now, hours later, she wanted to scream with frustration. She stared out the window into the whiteness, lost in memories of Mulder, unconsciously clenching and unclenching her fists, and Frohike watched her out of the corner of his eye. They'd all seen Scully change while Mulder had been missing, not just in the obvious way, but subtle changes. She no longer had the hard edge she'd once possessed, and Frohike didn't know how much of it was pregnancy, and how much was simply missing Mulder. She had an air about her at times, when she thought nobody was watching, almost of defeat, although she always managed to hide it when she was aware of scrutiny. He thought, deep down, she'd given up hope of ever seeing Mulder again, and now that the promise of him was just miles away, she was frantic to actually lay eyes on him, touch him, have something tangible to convince her that he was really back. Scully yawned deeply, aware that she'd barely slept since receiving Billy's call and that it was unhealthy for both herself and her unborn child, but damn it, how could she sleep when Mulder was so close? She knew she wouldn't really believe it until she saw him for herself. Langly tapped her on the shoulder, motioned her toward the cot he had just vacated, and she didn't argue this time. She settled herself on her side, a pillow tucked between her knees and another under her arm, and closed her eyes, hoping sleep would come. When she had been a little girl, she, like all children, always had trouble falling asleep on Christmas Eve, knowing the gaily wrapped packages downstairs held hidden treasures to delight her heart and soul. At those times, her mother would sing to her, brushing her hand carefully through Dana's hair, whispering to her that the sooner she slept, the sooner it would be time to wake up and open the presents. She felt like that child now, knowing that if only she could fall asleep, miles would pass unnoticed and when she awakened, Mulder would be that much closer. She longed to wrap him in her arms, bury her face in his chest, and never let him go. Buried beneath her longing, though, lay her secret fear. What kind of Mulder would she find at the end of this interminable road? ----- This morning, Mulder had managed to pull himself to a sitting position without assistance, and he'd barely flinched when Skinner held out the mug with the warm soup. Skinner saw that as a great improvement. He was still afraid to give Mulder anything more solid than the mushy, almost melt-in-your-mouth noodles that came with the soup to eat, for it had only been two days since his return. So far they'd managed to avoid any mishaps with food intolerance. Skinner figured they'd been lucky. Today, Mulder took the mug, still held in Skinner's steady hand, drew it to his lips, then frowned and pushed it back. The trembling in his hands came and went now, but always when others were nearby, it was present. It was very pronounced this morning. "What is it?" Skinner asked, removing the mug from Mulder's shaky grasp. "Don't like it." Mulder's eyes were downcast, his voice weak, but there was an unmistakably stubborn expression on his face. More improvement. Not begging them not to hurt him, not asking for Scully, just complaining about the food. This boded well. "You don't like the soup?" Mulder stared at him mournfully, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and Skinner was reminded of the bowl of brightly colored candies his grandmother had always kept on her coffee table. Every time he would visit her, he would ask for a piece of the candy, and every time he put it in his mouth, he ended up spitting it out because beneath the pretty beads of red and pink and yellow and green, hiding like some vile creation from the devil's kitchen, was black licorice. Walter hated black licorice. He never remembered, from visit to visit, that Grandma's pretty candy was really just black licorice in disguise, and he was always disappointed. Mulder had that look on his face now, as if he'd been anticipating chocolate or caramels and had been handed black licorice. Skinner glanced at the soup in the mug; he'd barely noticed it when Billy handed it to him. Tomato. Before, it had always been chicken noodle. "You don't like tomato soup?" Mulder shook his head again, more noticeably this time, a look of mild disgust on his face. Skinner smiled. "No problem, Mulder," he grinned. "I'll just get you something else." He rose and made his way into the kitchen, where Billy was pouring the remainder of the soup into a bowl for his own lunch. Billy looked up when Skinner entered, raising his eyebrow questioningly. "He doesn't like tomato," Skinner said, setting down the mug, and Billy shrugged, picked it up, and poured the contents into his bowl. "There's chicken and there's vegetable," he said, gesturing toward the cupboard. "You can give him whatever he likes." "We'd better stick with chicken. He did okay with it yesterday." Skinner opened the cupboard and pulled out the familiar red and white can, the kind found on his mother's pantry shelves when he was a kid, and no doubt Mulder's mother's pantry shelves as well. It was, after all, a longtime staple of the American diet. It didn't take him long to heat the soup, and soon he returned to Mulder, hoping the progress that had been made wouldn't disappear in the next few hours. Since Skinner's arrival, Mulder's reactions had been unpredictable, to say the least. His agent was sitting exactly where he'd left him, and Skinner breathed a small sigh of relief. Early this morning, they'd had to coax him out from beneath the bed when a car had turned the corner, shining its headlights into the bedroom. The bright light had convinced Mulder he was about to be abducted again, and their initial attempts to pull him out from his hiding place had sent him into a frenzy, screaming, kicking, worming his way as far under the bed as possible until his back was against the far wall. It had taken Billy, that time, to calm him down. Mulder seemed to recognize in Billy a kindred spirit, if not completely understanding who he was, and Skinner was gradually learning when to step back and let the Miles boy take over. "Chicken," he said now, approaching slowly and holding the mug out to Mulder. Mulder stared at it for a moment, as if confused as to what Skinner was offering him, then his face cleared and he reached eagerly for the food. Skinner steadied the mug until Mulder got a good grip on it with both hands, then allowed him to control it by himself. Mulder had seemed to accept his edict that the soup not be drunk too quickly, lest he vomit it back up, and now that he realized each meal wasn't his last, was content to sip slowly at the warm liquid. Skinner resumed his chair, picking up the book he'd grabbed off a shelf, (something about the air force and military secrets, something he wasn't really paying attention to at all, and if you asked him the title when the book wasn't in his hand, he couldn't have told you) and left Mulder alone to eat. The younger man sipped at the soup mechanically, one sip every three or four seconds, rhythmically. It was unnerving. Nobody ate like that, Skinner thought, unless they hadn't been allowed to eat at all in so long that they'd forgotten what it was all about. He wondered how the aliens had gone about getting nourishment into their captives--obviously not in the usual way. When the mug was empty, Mulder held it out and Skinner took it from him silently. He was almost to the door, intending to return it to the kitchen and maybe get Mulder a drink of water, when the voice stopped him. "Thank you, Walter." Skinner turned slowly, afraid to frighten this new, tentative Mulder. "You remember me?" he asked softly, and Mulder nodded. "Do you remember what happened to you?" Mulder's face clouded over and he began to pluck at the sheet covering him. "Mulder, do you remember?" Still no answer, like an obstinate child, and Skinner got the impression in those few seconds that Mulder did, in fact, remember too much. He hoped to god he was wrong. A thought struck him, suddenly, and he wondered why it hadn't occurred to him before. So far, there hadn't been many parallels between Scully's abduction and Mulder's, but he felt a growing certainly that they had at least one thing in common. Crossing to stand over Mulder, trying to smile reassuringly so the other man would not be frightened, he stretched his hand out slowly. "I won't hurt you," he told Mulder gently. "Don't be afraid of me. I've never hurt you." At first, he really thought it would work--Mulder regarded his hand with some fear as it approached, but he seemed to be winning an inner battle with himself, as if his intellect knew he had nothing to fear from Skinner. The war appeared almost won when Skinner's hand touched the back of his neck and Mulder went berserk. "No!" he yelled, drawing back and kicking at Skinner, flailing his arms in his haste to retreat. "No, don't touch me there!" He scooted to the other side of the bed, his knees drawn up protectively, and stared at Skinner with fear-widened eyes. Skinner backed away immediately, but not before his fingers had scraped across the tiny, telltale scar, confirming his suspicion. Mulder and Scully now had matching implants. Billy appeared in the doorway, watching as Mulder rocked back and forth slowly, chanting under his breath, "...don't touch me there don't hurt me Scully Scully where's Scully..." and Skinner wanted to yell in anger at himself and his own stupidity. Mulder had been doing so well until he'd screwed it all up by trying to touch him, and for what? Did it fucking matter whether or not Mulder had an implant? "He'll be all right now," Billy told Skinner, taking the empty mug that Skinner had forgotten he held. "He'll calm down in a few minutes. Why don't you wait in the other room." It wasn't a request, and Skinner allowed Billy to give him a gentle shove only because he knew it was in Mulder's best interest. Seething, wanting to slam the boy against the wall for coming between him and his friend--the man who had saved his *life* damn it--he forced himself to relax. His anger was irrational, born of fear and fatigue, and it couldn't help Mulder now. Billy could. A few minutes later, Billy emerged from the bedroom, still carrying the empty mug. "I think he'll be okay now," he said, gesturing with his head toward Mulder's room. "He's pretty much calmed down." "Why is this happening?" Skinner demanded. "I don't understand--one minute he knew who I was and the next--" "Flashbacks," Billy said shortly, and left the room. Flashbacks. So Mulder was remembering the things that had been done to him, and something, something involving that implant, had hurt him badly, enough to make him terrified of having it happen again. Shit! How dense could he be? He remembered when he'd returned from 'Nam, and the months of horrific flashbacks he'd endured. They would come upon him suddenly, triggered by a host of different things or sometimes nothing at all, and they had not left him quickly. He shook his head impatiently. He needed to get his act together; Scully would be here soon, and she would not tolerate even well-intentioned idiocy, not if it hurt Mulder. Cautiously, wary of startling Mulder, Skinner pushed the door open to find his agent lying on his side in the bed. When he approached, Mulder gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry," he offered. "I kind of freaked." "I'll say," Skinner agreed, taking his seat again. "You okay now?" Mulder nodded, staring out the window at the lightly falling rain, the grey day, as if seeing into the future. Or the past. "They gave me an implant." "I know." "They can hurt me with it." There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. Mulder lay quietly. He seemed to fugue out for a few minutes, but finally came back to himself enough to ask, "When is Scully coming?" "She's on her way right now." "So she'll be here today?" Skinner rubbed his forehead, hoping to banish the headache that was attempting to begin there. "Probably tomorrow." "She's not flying?" "No." Mulder closed his eyes at that, seeming not to question why his partner wasn't racing to get to him as quickly as was humanly possible. Then his brow furrowed for a moment, and he looked as if he was trying to solve a puzzle which was missing several pieces. At last he opened his eyes and triumphantly announced, "Scully's afraid of flying." If Scully was afraid of flying, it was certainly news to Skinner. The fact that Scully flew everywhere on a regular basis seemed to have eluded Mulder, and Skinner decided this explanation would suffice for now. If Mulder needed to believe that Scully feared getting on a plane, that this imaginary fear was the reason she was not yet at his side, he wasn't about to argue. Instead, he just nodded and picked up his book, watching surreptitiously while Mulder lay there, breathing evenly, staring into nothingness for a long, long time before sleep finally claimed him again. ----- "Sixty more miles," Byers announced, glancing at the road sign they had just passed. Scully's breathing quickened. Sixty miles. One more hour until she would be with Mulder again. How could she wait another sixty minutes to hold him? And how would she find him? That was her biggest question, and her worst fear. Skinner had spoken to her several times, unable to give her any concrete information, saying only that Mulder was "in bad shape." It had driven her nearly mad. He did say Mulder was asking for her, though, so at least Mulder remembered. She looked down at her belly, enormous with his child, and hoped he would find this to be good news. Oh, she had no doubt he would be happy for her--he knew how much she'd craved motherhood--but how would *he* feel about being a father? Their intimate relationship had been so new they'd never dared discuss anything as permanent as marriage, and since neither of them thought she could bear children, there'd been no reason to mention that possibility at all. In fact, that first night together, in the wee hours of the new year, somewhere in the back of her mind while Mulder was holding her and kissing her and generally driving her wild with need of him, she remembered thinking that there was a tiny silver lining in the cloud of her barrenness; she no longer needed to concern herself with birth control. She almost laughed out loud, remembering the moment, remembering his face when she'd told him later of her thoughts. He hadn't known whether to laugh or brood, but she'd finally coaxed a grin from him. She'd never come to accept the idea of being unable to have children, but she had grown used to it, as if it was a familiar ache that had become part of the white noise of everyday living. She no longer felt a sharp pain when she thought of it. The miracle of finding out she was pregnant, really pregnant, just after she'd learned that Mulder was gone...the emotions had almost overwhelmed her. Indescribable happiness coupled with indescribable pain. She hoped never to experience such a thing again. ----- He'd had another nightmare, and this time neither Skinner nor Billy was able to bring him out of it. Mulder was underneath the bed again, and since their one attempt at fishing him out had proven disastrous, they decided to leave him there temporarily, keeping watch to make certain he wasn't in any danger, but refusing to alarm him further. He'd screamed a lot, at first, swinging at them when they'd tried to calm him. Billy had hollered for Skinner to hold him, fearing Mulder would become completely unmanageable, but Skinner refused. "Let him go," he ordered firmly. "He's not hurting anything, we're only frightening him more." Once Mulder realized he wasn't under attack he'd scrambled beneath the bed, huddling against the wall, moaning Scully's name again and again. Skinner knelt beside the bed at first, talking calmly to him, but when he seemed to be having no effect, he simply seated himself in his usual chair and waited. After fifteen or twenty minutes, the mumbled pleas for Scully stopped. After half an hour, a hand emerged, then an arm, wriggling, and soon the rest of Mulder followed. He sneezed, emerging from his hidey-hole, and Skinner regarded him solemnly. "Guess I freaked again," Mulder said sheepishly, refusing to meet Skinner's eyes. "Guess you did. Better now?" Mulder nodded. "I was having a dream. They were..." His voice drifted off, and then he shook his head sharply, as if to banish the memory. "You know, you don't have to talk about it yet, but if you want to..." Mulder grasped the blanket hanging there, painfully pulled himself to a sitting position, and leaned against the bed. After a long minute he whispered, "Yet?" Skinner raised an eyebrow. "Did you think you could just push the memories down inside yourself forever? Mulder, you of all people know the danger in that." Skinner's words were spoken calmly, but Mulder could hear the steel behind them. He closed his eyes momentarily, giving a slight shake of his head to show that yes, he knew, even though right now he didn't necessarily agree with Skinner's assessment. "I don't want to talk about it...yet," he muttered. "That's fine. Do you need some help getting back into bed?" Mulder considered, wanting to spring to his feet like the man he'd been before, but lacking the energy. The testing took a lot out of a person, he'd known that even before--hadn't it almost destroyed Scully?--but until he experienced it for himself, day after day after day with no opportunity in between to regain strength, he hadn't realized how long-lasting the draining effects could be. After willing his body to rise several times, and seeing it simply refuse to obey, he finally had to swallow his pride and admit he needed assistance. Skinner took pity on him, didn't make him say the words, accepted his chagrined expression as a request for help. He reached down, slowly, not making the mistake of approaching too quickly again, and Mulder, after masking the fear that barely crossed his face before it was gone, the fear that he knew was irrational and misplaced, but couldn't prevent to save his life, allowed Skinner to take him by the arms and pull him to his feet. He glanced down at himself and realized for the first time that his feet were bare. His clothes were somehow familiar, yet odd-- similar in design to hospital scrubs, but made of a fabric he could not identify. It didn't seem to get dirty, ht noticed, puzzled at the fact. He'd been under that bed for half an hour, and Billy Miles was never going to win the Housekeeper-of-the-Year award. Some of the dust bunnies under that bed were so big they were scary. His face was dirty, as were his hands and his bare feet, but the clothing was completely unsoiled. It wasn't even a matter of brushing off the dirt--it simply hadn't retained any. "I don't like this," he said, unclearly, and Skinner, naturally not understanding what he meant, just helped him into bed, covering him carefully because Mulder had begun to shiver. 'Shock,' said Skinner's subconscious, but the only thing he could think of to do in cases of shock was keep the person warm. "I want this off," Mulder said, staring up at Skinner. "What?" asked the older man, clearly confused. "These clothes. I don't like them." Skinner thought for a few seconds--Mulder was staring down at the white shirt with distaste. Surely he had something his agent could wear. With a sigh, Skinner realized he should have packed some sort of bag for Mulder, but he'd been in such a hurry, he was lucky to have remembered even a few things for himself. "All right," he said at last. "Will you let me help you?" Mulder nodded, and Skinner carefully pulled the shirt over his head, taking care not to break the chain on Scully's cross, then removed the pants. He averted his eyes when he realized Mulder wore nothing beneath them, but Mulder seemed unconcerned, burrowing beneath the covers to get warm. Skinner fished around in his overnight bag, producing a shirt and a pair of sweat pants, too large for Mulder, but they would suffice. At least they would help to keep him warm, and give the man some dignity. Skinner pulled the shirt over Mulder's head, then handed him the sweats and turned his back while Mulder slid them on. When he turned around again, Mulder was once more huddled under the blankets. "Thanks," he mumbled sleepily to Skinner, and then, "Scully?" "Soon," Skinner promised. "She'll be here soon." He moved toward the door, intending to ask Billy for some extra blankets. "I need her." The words were whispered so softly that Skinner almost missed them, might have done so if he hadn't just at that moment glanced back tell Mulder where he was going, seen the lips moving, practically read the words from them. ----- When they finally arrived at the Miles home, Langly grabbed Scully by the arm as she bolted from the vehicle--it was the only way to prevent her tearing up the sidewalk on her own, and although a steady rain had been falling all day, it was now dark, and the temperature was dropping quickly. He was afraid the cement would be covered with a thin sheet of ice. "Hold on, you'll fall," he warned sharply, ignoring her venomous look and helping her up the walk. "I'm not a fucking invalid!" she snapped, and instantly regretted her anger. "Sorry, Langly," she muttered. He shook his head slightly. "It's cool." Before they reached the porch, the door was thrown open and Skinner emerged. "Thank god you're finally here," he announced. "Scully, are you okay?" "Fine," she answered shortly. "Where's Mulder?" She shook off Langly's helping hands and took the steps two at a time. Skinner grabbed at her arm, but she evaded him as well; she was incredibly tired of being babied by men. Scully was certain if one more person tried to "help" her walk, she would end up pulling out her weapon. "Agent Scully," Billy greeted her. He was sitting in the cozy living room, a glass of wine in his hand, and rose to pour one for her. Almost immediately he stopped, staring at her pregnant belly. "So that's why you weren't able to fly," he commented, a small smile playing about his lips as he drained his own glass. She looked him up and down briefly, her physician's mind categorizing by force of habit. Drug abuse, probably prescription, and more than likely the beginnings of a drinking problem. Who could blame him, after what he'd suffered? Mentally shrugging off Billy's problems, she turned to Skinner. "Mulder?" she asked again, her impatience showing in her brusque tone. "In here," Skinner told her, leading her toward the bedroom where her partner lay. "You should go in alone. He gets frightened if he's overwhelmed. And Scully...move slowly." She nodded, already halfway through the door, and when she saw him she stopped dead. What a sight he was--and what a beautiful sight for her very sore eyes. His hair was longer--obviously his captors hadn't cared about giving him regular haircuts--and shaggy, and the darkness of it framed his pale face, giving him a surreal appearance. His cheekbones were hollow, his eyes sunken, his ribs too obvious, but he was Mulder, her Mulder, here at last. He observed her warily for a second, then, when he realized who she was, his face melting into an expression of combined hunger and tenderness that left her breathless. In the next instant, he changed again. His eyes drifted lower, then widened in shock as he saw her belly jutting out, revealing her condition. His face grew suspicious, cold, and before she could speak, he turned away to face the wall. His hands clenched the covers tightly at his sides and she could see he was fighting back tears. She shook her head, confused at his reaction, until it dawned on her that Mulder couldn't possibly realize the child she carried was his. She fought back a surge of anger--how could he ever *think* such a thing?--then, forced herself to remember that Mulder had, in all likelihood, been through hell, that he might not remember what had happened before he was taken, that he might not be himself. "Mulder?" She said his name tentatively, afraid of what his reaction would be, but there was no reaction at all. He just continued to lie there, staring at the blank wall, avoiding her. She crossed cautiously to the bed, remembering to move slowly, and sat next to him. She searched his still form for signs of panic and to her relief, detected none. "I've missed you," she told him softly, covering one clenched fist with her hand. "Obviously." The sound was bitter, and she felt another wave of righteous anger. Grasping his chin tightly between her fingers, she forced him to face her. He fought her, but didn't have the strength to free himself, so since he could not escape her physically, he closed his eyes, shutting her out. "Damn it, Mulder, look at me!" she insisted. He refused, lying passively while she still held his chin. At last, frustrated, she released him, and the shock of seeing the marks she'd left on his face brought her back to reality. This was Mulder, and he'd been missing for months. He'd no doubt endured horrible things--Skinner had said they'd hurt Mulder, but could give no details, and now here she was, expecting him to be overjoyed at the revelation of impending fatherhood. He was still adjusting to being back. No doubt the pregnancy hadn't even really sunk in yet. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered, fighting back the hated tears again. "I'm so sorry...I tried to find you...we searched everywhere..." Those tears came then, in spite of her efforts, rolling down her cheeks in big, fat droplets, making her nose run. She sniffed, and that, at least, got through to him. He opened his eyes to her, and in their depths she finally saw him, *him*, the Mulder she'd always known. He was still in there. The relief and remembered pain washed over her without warning, and Scully could do nothing more than lay her head on Mulder's chest and bathe him in her tears. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting to feel his arms around her, but for long moments there was nothing. Grief had never felt so lonely as it did now, while he lay unmoving beneath her. Then, just as she'd begun to believe he'd changed forever, afraid he didn't love her any longer, perhaps hated her for not finding him and bringing him home, she felt movement. His arms rose, slowly, ever-so-slowly, and one trembling hand stroked her hair. The other rested lightly on her back, rubbing gentle circles there. Her sobs increased at his touch, relief at last outweighing the fear--at least he wasn't repulsed by her. She thought she felt his lips move against the top of her head, and forced herself to quiet her sobs. "Sorry...I'm so sorry..." His murmur was barely audible, but it was all she needed. "Mulder, I tried," she said again, raising up to look into his face. "We all did." She swiped at the tears still on her face, giving him a tiny smile. "I'm so sorry--" Her voice hitched on a stray sob and she fought for control. "--I know they hurt you--" "Scully." He said her name so simply, and yet it was a sound she'd almost despaired of ever hearing again, and the magic of it on his lips sent her back into her crying spell. Dimly she was aware that she was behaving like--well, like a pregnant woman, she supposed--but she didn't care. She'd fought back an ocean of tears since Mulder's disappearance. She was entitled. She was due. "Scully...how?" he asked at last, his voice strained, and after a moment of puzzlement, she realized what he was asking--he still did not understand whose child she carried. "Mulder, the baby--it's yours," she told him urgently. "I didn't realize you were thinking... I love you, I told you I loved you and I have never stopped loving you. I could never let another man touch me after you, the very thought of it...Mulder, I could never..." she finished in a whisper. Her fingers clutched anxiously at his arms, as if she feared he might slip away at any moment. She raised up to see the expected look of joy on his face, and was surprised to find it guarded; he was afraid to believe her. "I discovered I was pregnant the day after you disappeared," she pressed on, refusing to let him throw her off track. "It's all I've lived for since then. Your child, and finding you." The hoped-for expression of happiness began to creep through then. He pulled her back down to his chest, murmuring unbelievingly, "Mine? Oh god Scully, mine? Our baby? How?" His question this time was genuine, and now she was inclined to give him an answer. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I was hoping you would help me figure that out, but I think it must have something to do with that time I went with the smoking man." His eyes narrowed at the memory, still crystal clear in spite of all the muddle in his mind. Some things hurt too badly to be forgotten. "He drugged me, Mulder," she continued, "sufficiently that he was able to undress me without my knowledge. Who knows what he could have done to me, or had someone else do, while I was unconscious? Maybe he did something to the chip." He winced at the mention of implants. "Are you sure..." He bit his lip, knowing what he was thinking was awful, but afraid to believe that the dream of Scully having their child could possibly come true. "Yes," she said firmly. "I've had every possible test run. It's a boy, perfectly healthy, son of one Fox William Mulder. No doubts whatsoever." His hands crept down to touch her abdomen reverently. "A boy?" he asked, tears of joy thickening his voice at last. "Our baby boy, Scully? Yours and mine?" "Ours," she confirmed, smiling happily at the normalcy of the scene, all at once, finally, knowing it couldn't last. There was a knock at the door, and she raised off his chest to call, "Come in." Skinner pushed the door open a crack, peering inside. "Everything all right?" he asked, trying not to look concerned and failing miserably. The beaming smiles on the faces of the two agents were his answer. With a great feeling of relief, he smiled back at them and retreated. Two seconds later, all hell broke loose. Scully had run her hands lovingly down Mulder's arms, twining her fingers in his, lightly pinning him to the bed, not even intending such an action, just letting what felt natural take its course, when he suddenly lost it. "No!" he yelled, tensing and jerking away, trying to escape her. His larger body was so weakened that even she, a small woman eight months pregnant, was able to hold him in place, and she did, afraid that he would injure himself with his thrashing. He was flailing wildly beneath her, his legs kicking, head turning from side to side in terror. "Don't! Don't hurt me don't touch me!" he yelled, twisting frantically in her grasp. Skinner was at Mulder's side almost instantly, pulling Scully away from him and holding her when she fought, unfazed by her increased size. "Scully, stop!" he ordered the struggling woman in his arms. "Let me go, damn you!" she panted. "What's wrong with him? What's happening?" "He's having a flashback," Skinner told her grimly. "It's better to let it run its course--there's nothing you can do." She jerked again, still trying to escape Skinner, when Mulder flipped himself off the bed and skittered into the darkness beneath it. She heard small, keening moans coming from him, hitching sobs, almost incoherent pleading for invisible hands to release him, not to hurt him, and then came the worst, because he was calling her name, calling for her to help him, save him, make them stop hurting him, and suddenly it was all too much for Scully. She was grateful for the strong grip of Walter Skinner when the world went black around her. Skinner grabbed at her as she began to fall, pulling her upright. He looked around, startled, when Billy spoke from behind him. "You stay with him," Billy said, reaching for the unconscious woman. "I'll take care of Agent Scully." He lifted Scully, bracing himself for her size, and carried her to the living room. He lay her carefully on the sofa, and by the time he'd fetched a glass of water from the kitchen, she was beginning to awaken. "What--?" she asked, staring up at him in confusion, and then, remembering, "Mulder!" She tried to jerk to a sitting position, but Billy's firm hands on her shoulders stopped her. "Just relax, Agent Scully," he told her, forcing her to lie back. "He'll be fine. Mr. Skinner is with him." He shook his head. "We've been through this with Agent Mulder a time or two already." "But what...?" she asked, finally accepting the glass of water he pressed on her, downing it quickly. While she drank, he explained, "He has flashbacks. They can be...really bad, sometimes. It's better to let him come out of them on his own. If we try to hold him down, they only get worse." "I was afraid he'd hurt himself." "I know, but so far he hasn't." "Mulder never did take very well to being restrained," she commented, holding out the empty glass. "I think that's the problem," he told her soberly. "He was restrained a great deal of the time while we were--" He broke off, rising abruptly to return the glass to the kitchen, and Scully shoved herself up so she was reclining against the arm of the sofa. "Billy, what happened to him?" she asked without preamble when he returned, and Billy sighed heavily. "I can't even begin to put it into words," he said shortly. "I've already told Mr. Skinner this more than once. Nobody can understand it unless they've experienced it for themselves. There aren't English phrases to describe the tests and procedures. They hurt like hell, and Mulder was put through them every single day. There's nothing more for me to tell you." She shuddered inwardly at his words; while she'd known there was a very real possibility that Mulder would be subjected to the testing during his abduction, she had hoped that--like her--he would remember nothing. Apparently that was not the case, and she cursed Krycek anew for sending Mulder into this situation. Before she could begin formulating yet another plan for Krycek's murder, the bedroom door opened and Skinner emerged, looking pale, but somewhat collected. "He's asking for you, Dana." She was off the sofa as quickly as her cumbersome body would allow, creeping quietly into the bedroom where Mulder now sat safely in a chair, staring out the window. He was wrapped snugly in a blanket, still shivering slightly. "Mulder?" she asked hesitantly, and was startled to see fresh tears on his face when he turned to her. She forgot Skinner's admonitions about moving slowly, forgot everything except that the man she adored was in pain. Holding out her arms to him, she was relieved to find him respond, reaching for her, clutching her to him desperately, like a man grasping at a life preserver. His tears wet her face, and she brushed them gently away. "Oh Scully, they messed me up so bad..." He couldn't finish his sentence. Holding her tighter still, pulling her into his lap so he could wrap his arms entirely around her, he began to sob quietly into her shoulder. "Do you want to tell me?" she asked softly, when his sobs had subsided a bit. "I--don't know how to--they got inside my head and they hurt me, Scully, I tried to fight them for as long as I could...I tried every time..." "Shhh, it's all right," she soothed, gently rocking his head against her breast. "You're with me now, everything's all right." "I can't remember anything--and then it will suddenly hit me--then it's gone again--" "Mulder, that's probably a blessing." "I just want to forget it all." "I know," she said, stroking her fingers through his hair over and over, calming him. "I know. It's over now." He was bathed in sweat, and after a little coaxing, she managed to persuade him to change his clothes, with a little assistance from her. When she opened the bag to pull out fresh boxers and a soft shirt, his eyes fell on the picture of Samantha. Slowly, he reached for it, and Scully gave it to him, watching as he gazed at it for several minutes, his face impassive. Finally, he stroked a finger across the glass in a tender caress. "Do you think they did to her...what they did to me?" he whispered sadly, and she could do nothing for his pain except draw him to her arms and hold him while he sobbed out the grief. Eventually she got him back into bed, his limbs shaking with fatigue, and then she sat beside him and held his hand until he fell asleep. Just as his eyes began to droop closed, he forced them open again. "Scully, when is our baby due?" She smiled, stroking the hair away from his eyes. "In two weeks," she said gently. "Now sleep, Mulder, you're exhausted." ----- "How are we supposed to get him home?" The men swung around to stare at Scully as she entered the dining room, where they had all gathered around the table. She realized, from the expressions on their faces, that none of them had given the problem a thought, except possibly Skinner. "I just assumed he would fly back..." Byers said hesitantly. "If it was safe to put him on a plane, I'd have done that myself," Skinner pointed out. "Then he'll drive back with us," Frohike said, and Langly gave a snort. "What's gonna happen when he goes off his tree again?" he demanded. "You want to try to control him?" "You have a better idea, you long-haired punk?" demanded Frohike angrily, and Byers jumped in immediately. "Hold it!" he said sharply. "This isn't helping Mulder." "He's liable to have a flashback at any time," Billy offered. "Especially these first few weeks." "So, we can't fly him, we can't drive him...what other alternatives are there?" Skinner asked. No one had an answer except Scully, and she hated the words even as she spoke them. "We drug him," she answered softly. "We keep him under all the way home so he can't hurt himself." "You can't do that to Mulder!" Byers protested. "What else can she do?" Langly asked him. "If Mulder freaks out on the trip, there's no telling what might happen." Nobody liked the idea, but they had to reluctantly agree. "We need to have him medically examined," Scully began, but Billy shook his head emphatically. "Don't do it, Agent Scully. Don't take him to a hospital. He won't be able to handle it, and there's nothing they can do for him." "But Billy," she argued, "I need to know what was done to him, physiologically. I need to know what we're dealing with, and you can't seem to tell me, and neither can Mulder." "Maybe we could get a friend of ours to check him out," Frohike offered. "Again, we could keep him under while it happens so he doesn't go off the deep end." Wearily Scully sank into a nearby chair. The idea of drugging Mulder against his will and having him examined by a doctor was abhorrent to her, but she knew he would never agree to an examination. He was still so easily frightened, and the episodes seemed to come on without warning. "All right," she finally agreed, "but I'm going to be with him every second." "Sure," Frohike told her. "I'll go on ahead with Skinner and make the arrangements. The rest of you can drive back with Mulder." "What about the drugs?" Scully asked. "It's a good idea, but where are we supposed to get something to keep him out? I can't just whip out the old prescription pad, you know." She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but she was tired, and the headache that had been building all afternoon was in full force now. "I've got that covered," Billy said, leaving the room and returning shortly with several medicine bottles. "You'll have to get these down him, but they should do the trick." Scully took the bottles, three of them, and looked them over. "Percodan?" she asked, raising one eyebrow, and Billy shrugged. "My doctor is a longtime friend of my father's. He pretty much gives me whatever I need to sleep. I've only used two of those--they're pretty strong. I recommend them." She looked at the other two prescriptions--Xanax and Vicodin--and agreed. She handed them back to him, slipping the Percodan into her pocket. "How are we going to get him to swallow them?" Byers demanded. "Mulder hates any kind of drugs, you know that." "He'll take the first one, because I tell him to and I'm not in the mood to argue," Scully said grimly. "The rest, we'll worry about when the time comes. I think I can get them down him while he's conscious enough to swallow but not conscious enough to object." "You're the doc," Byers said in a tired voice, stretching his arms above his head. "Billy, is there a comfortable floor where I can crash? I think we should leave tomorrow, as soon as we've all had a chance to get some rest." "I can do better than that," Billy told him. "This sofa makes into a bed. There's a recliner there--" he pointed to the chair occupied by Langly--"and in Agent Mulder's room." "I'll sleep there," Scully said quickly. "It's easier for me to breathe in a recliner anyway, and I want to be near him in case..." "Just remember not to try restraining him," Skinner warned. "If he has another episode, leave him be, and call us if you think he's going to hurt himself." "I'm sure you'll hear the noise anyway," she sighed, accepting the blanket Billy offered her and making for Mulder's room. It had been a long few days, and now that the opportunity for sleep presented itself, she intended to make the most of it. ----- She approached him, the bottle of pills hidden in her hand, feeling awful about their decision, knowing they really had no choice. There was no other way to get Mulder home without the risk of him hurting himself, or someone else, being too high. "How are you feeling this morning?" she asked him, slowly lowering herself to sit on the bed beside him. He turned on his side, tucking one hand beneath his cheek, and studied her. "What is it?" he asked at last, and she raised her eyebrows, as if in surprise. "What is what?" He sighed. "Scully, after all these years, don't you think I know when you have something on your mind? You have to tell me something, something you'd rather not say, I can see it in your eyes. Just tell me." She shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. "You do know me too well," she murmured, staring out the window at the gently moving trees. "Not too well, just well enough," he corrected. She expected him to ask again, but he didn't, he just waited patiently until she held out the prescription bottle. "We had a long discussion last night about the best way to get you home safely," she confessed. "We decided this might be the best option." He looked at the bottle, then his eyes flicked back to her face and he waited some more. "I should help you avoid the nightmares," she told him in a rush, hoping her words sounded believable, afraid they didn't. "You've been through so much already, and we just don't want you...traumatized anymore..." Her voice trailed off as his he gained a knowing expression. He held out his palm, resignation on his face, and she reluctantly shook two of the pills into his hand. Now it was his eyebrow that raised. "Two?" "It's important that you sleep soundly," she told him, staring at his shoulder, the glass of water on the bedside table, anywhere but into his eyes. "Right," he said in a clipped tone, and before she could reinforce the argument, he tossed the pills to the back of his throat and swallowed them, washing them down with a healthy swig from the glass. "That should make sure I'm no trouble to anybody." "I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered, stroking his face with her hand. She fought to keep the tears from welling in her eyes, but he saw, anyway. "I just don't know what else--" Mulder placed his hand over hers. "It's all right, Scully. I understand." "Do you?" she asked regretfully. "Do you really?" He nodded. "Just make sure the guys don't get any weird ideas while I'm out. You know how much they love their practical jokes, and I don't want to wake up with my head shaved," he grinned, rubbing her fingers comfortingly. She laughed then, half laugh and half sob, really, wiping away the gathering tears. "I'll guard you with my life." He close his eyes, waiting for sleep to claim him, and just before it did, he thought he heard her whisper, "You are my life." ----- The trip back was long, boring and blessedly uneventful, although Scully would not have been surprised if she'd gone into early labor with all the jostling she endured. This retired ambulance obviously needed new shocks. Mulder knew, when he allowed Scully to give him the Percodan, that when he awakened he would no longer be at Billy Miles' house in Oregon, but it never occurred to him that they would drug him all the way across the country. He expected to make the trip in an airplane, in a few hours, not in the back of a makeshift van over the course of several days. The number of days, and indeed any sights there might exist to be seen, were of no consequence; Mulder passed the trip in a haze. Every time Scully approached him with a bottle of water and a pill in her hand, he fought her, but his fight was useless--he was weakened, and drug-stupored, and besides, if he gave her any trouble, Byers or Langly would hold him while she forced the pill into his mouth, clamping his jaws together until he had no choice but to swallow. He fought more out of a desire to regain control than out of an objection to the drug; Scully's promise was true--he did avoid the nightmares. It was less than two days, but it felt like weeks to Scully as she forced yet another dose on her partner. He resisted, again, and she had to call for help, again. "Langly, can you hold him?" "I've got him, Scully." Mulder's arms flailed weakly, his head turning from side to side in protest until Langly grabbed his jaw, holding him still, forcing it open, and Scully was able to shove the medication into his mouth. She hated what she was doing to him, saw the anger and betrayal in his eyes, but still she continued. Her fear that Mulder would have a violent flashback and either harm himself or manage to escape from them--and she shuddered at the use of the word 'escape' but there was really no other appropriate term--kept her resolute. She forced the Percodan into him, crying softly to herself once he was asleep, stroking his cheeks, face, hair, hands, just to touch him, knowing that the evil she did to him now was keeping him safe. She knew he would forgive her, once they were home and he regained his senses. He had to. For Mulder, it was a time of blackness and confusion. When he was awake, he was barely aware, but they did allow him to emerge from the influence of the drug long enough to get food into him, and to answer the necessary calls of nature. He was vaguely aware of being supported by two of the guys while he relieved himself, barely conscious of the event. Then it was back to the cot, and back to the pills, and he was just grateful, somewhere in the part of his brain that still functioned on an intellectual level, that they didn't tie him down. He knew why Scully was doing this to him, and thus he could not hate her, but all that was forgotten in the animal ferocity to avoid being forced, yet again, to swallow a small pill that produced complete helplessness. When at last the vehicle stopped moving, and two of his friends dragged him to his feet, supporting him as he shuffled along, he was certain the torment was over. He was wrong. They took him inside a building, unfamiliar and reeking the sterile smell of hospitals. His eyes drooping but kept determinedly open, he began to panic, but he was only half-conscious, and Byers and Langly kept a firm grip on him. He could hear Scully's gentle voice speaking to him in a steady stream of reassurance. At least he assumed that was what she was doing; he was unable to make out more than a word here and there. His terror peaked when he forced his heavy lids open once again and realized they were in an examining room, complete with table for the victim to lie upon, to be immobilized while they-- "No! Let me go not again don't hurt me!" He yelled as loudly as he could, but no one came to his rescue, and the men--more than the two now, there were more--wrestled him forcibly to the table. Glancing around wildly, he saw the faces of his friends--Langly, Byers, Frohike, Skinner, and another man he didn't recognize. The day he had always dreaded had arrived at last. The aliens had taken the form of people he recognized, people he trusted. He felt angry tears of frustration sting the back of his eyelids as he struggled helplessly against them, outnumbered by their superior numbers and their incredible strength. He could hear Scully ordering, "Put him out, *now*!" and his tears turned to sobs of despair. "Not her, not Scully!" he moaned as he felt his wrists and ankles being strapped down. The larger strap came over his chest, and then he was staring up into the machine, the machine that hurt oh god it hurt so bad always so bad please no Scully don't let them hurt me why are you letting them hurt me There were hands holding his arm still, a sharp sting, and then merciful darkness. "Are you all right?" asked Dr. Jones, concerned at Scully's pasty white face, and she nodded weakly as she sank into the chair Frohike provided. She'd thought--they'd *all* thought--that Mulder was more out of it than he'd proven to be, and the scene just played out had shaken her badly. Hearing him call her name in his terror--she had a sudden flash of understand for what Mulder had lived with all those years, remembering Samantha calling to him for help. She buried her face in unsteady hands, fighting back tears, and felt a gentle rubbing on her back. Raising her head slightly, she saw Byers gently soothing her. She watched while Dr. Jones--and she didn't for one second believe that was his real name, but the guys all assured her he was a genuine medical doctor, and trustworthy--removed Mulder's clothing, examining him from head to toe, took x-rays, drew blood, and as many other tests as she could think of that might help them diagnose what Mulder had endured at the hands of his alien captors. It was when she rose to do her own physical exam that she found the scar from the implant--Dr. Jones hadn't examined the back of Mulder's neck, but somehow Scully just knew, even though Skinner had never mentioned it to her, that Mulder would have a chip. "Matched set," she muttered, her fingers lightly scraping across the scar, fully healed, so the chip must have been implanted soon after Mulder was taken. "What?" asked Dr. Jones, but she ignored him. Her eyes met Skinner's, and he nodded grimly. He'd known. "Get him dressed and let's get him out of here before he wakes up," she snapped at the guys suddenly. "I won't have him traumatized again. They scrambled to do her bidding, well-used by now to her sudden mood swings. They had never wanted to fuck with Scully at the best of times, but pregnant...none of them was that stupid. Mulder was dressed and loaded into the back of the ambulance, driven to her apartment and put into her bed as quickly as was humanly possible. "You going to be all right?" Skinner asked quietly after the other three had left. Fiercely telling herself that she would *not* break down now, that she *would* retain her dignity, she muttered, "I'm fine, Walter." Then, feeling guilty, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you so much. For everything." "You'll call if you need anything?" he said, and she knew it was more a demand than a request. She gave a little smile and a quick nod. "I'll call." When he had gone, and she was left alone with Mulder, she removed his jeans and the grey shirt, stripping him down to his boxers, biting her lip at the way they hung on his thin frame. Refusing to give in to the tears again, she climbed into bed beside him, cuddled close to his still form, and fell into an exhausted sleep. Chapter 2 He opened his eyes slowly, still feeling groggy but not quite understanding why, and it was several minutes before he was able to recognize the oddly familiar surroundings. He was in Scully's apartment, in her bedroom, in her bed, in fact, and as further evidence that he wasn't just having a dream--a *good* dream for a change--there was a very pregnant redhead sleeping peacefully beside him, her head resting on his arm. Mulder closed his eyes, allowing sleep to drift in and out, and in one of his bouts of semi-consciousness remembered that somehow he and Scully had been separated, for a long time, too long, and that now he was back, and she was beside him, and that she was having their baby. Moments later, the memory of *why* they had been separated hit him, and his eyes flew open. He stared at the ceiling in panic for a minute, forcing himself to control his breathing until he relaxed. It was over. He was safe. He was home. His hands felt instinctively for the cross, and when he touched it, he sighed with relief. It really was over. He glanced down at Scully and felt a stirring of longing--surprised at the feeling, considering how hellish the past...how long had it been since he'd awakened, confused and terrified, at Billy Miles' house?...okay fine, he told himself, considering how hellish the past week or so had been. Or whatever. He wanted to roll on his side, take her in his arms, kiss her and maybe even gently make love to her, if that was safe at this stage, (his experience with pregnant women being somewhat limited), but he couldn't seem to summon the energy. He had never felt so weak, not even when he was fighting for his life after being infected with the retrovirus a few years ago. Just raising his eyelids every few minutes took all his strength. He finally gave up on the thought of lovemaking, although he was pleased to note that even after all he'd been through, memories he shoved away forcefully as soon as they tried to emerge, his hormones could still take an interest in the woman at his side. As if sensing that he was awake, Scully raised her head, stared at him for a minute, and when he closed his eyes and resumed his even breathing, lay back on his arm and slept again. He had several more hours of peaceful rest before the dream woke him. In fact, it was almost noon when Scully was jerked awake by a terrified Mulder, cringing away from her as if she was the most fearsome sight he'd ever witnessed. "No, not that, it *burns*!" he howled, scrabbling to free himself from the tangled sheets. "Oh god no please! Please don't burn me please!" When he was unable to extricate his legs from the sheet, he used his arms to pull himself off the bed, falling into a heap on the floor. His burst of adrenalin seemed to have spent itself then, and he could go no farther, but he lay curled on her bedroom floor, whimpering, pleading with her over and over again not to burn him. Cursing the bastards who had hurt him--'burned him how could they have burned him surely they didn't use *fire*'--she knelt carefully beside his huddled form, speaking softly to him, comforting words of love, hoping to reassure him through the fear. It took her a minute to realize he was still asleep, probably a residual effect of all the drugs she'd fed him, she thought grimly, and after watching him moan piteously for another minute, she gave him a sharp slap across his face to bring awareness into those terror-wide eyes. He stared at her in shock, the imprint of her hand starkly red against his pale face, and she took his head into her embrace, hugging him softly, rocking gently back and forth while she crooned to him until she felt his body begin to relax. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for slapping you, Mulder. Okay now?" she whispered when his fretful noises had completely subsided, and after a minute he nodded his head. "I had a dream," he said in a raspy voice. "It was--" He broke off, as if unwilling to finish, and she decided a change of subject was in order. "What do you say we get cleaned up?" Both of them were drenched in sweat and covered with the odor of a long trip and no bath. Mulder nodded at her suggestion, and Scully grasped the side of the bed to pull herself to a standing position, Mulder followed her into the bathroom, waiting while she climbed into the shower and adjusted the water, then stepping in behind her and closing the curtain. His movements were jerky, uncertain, as if he had to think the simplest action through to its conclusion. He glanced at her naked body, then looked away quickly--it felt odd to be here with her; it had been too long. Then, unable to resist, he looked again. He was struck by the sudden thought that she was radiantly beautiful, and wondered if he would ever find her as sexy as he did right then. His eyes fell on her swollen belly and he smiled just as she turned around. He was caught. She flushed. "I'm sorry--I must look like a whale," she stammered, but he stopped her, pulling her gently into his arms. "Don't," he whispered softly. "You look beautiful. You aren't fat, you're carrying my son, *our* son." He chose to ignore her snort of disbelief when she pulled away to pick up the soap. "Tell me that when *you* can't see your feet," she scoffed, and he chuckled quietly. She washed herself, then passed the bar of soap to him. He took it, staring at it for a second before beginning to rub it over his chest. He imitated her movements, as if he had forgotten the mechanics of bathing himself, but by the time she handed him the shampoo, he seemed to have remembered. She noted with relief that he didn't reach for the conditioner she always put on her hair--Mulder never used it, and if he had forgotten that fact it would have only worried her more, but he seemed to have found his stride, at least in the shower. "You do this backwards," he commented, and she gave him a puzzled look. "I always shampoo first, then soap," he explained. "Clear evidence that we haven't showered together often enough," she grinned, and he responded with a weak smile of his own. She reached up to touch her cross which still hung around his neck, and he watched as she caressed it. "I should give you that back, I guess." She shook her head. "Keep it as long as you want to, Mulder. I have to confess, I was amazed that you still had it." His face clouded for a second, then settled into his bland, 'I-don't-care' look. "They didn't take it. I don't know why. Even when they did the testing, they left it alone." She dropped the subject, seeing that the discussion was painful for him, and they finished quickly, wordlessly, rinsing off and stepping carefully onto the bathmat, first her, then Mulder, doing exactly as she did. After she'd brushed her teeth, while he watched intently, she fished beneath the counter for the small bag of his toiletries that he'd kept at her place in the few weeks before his disappearance. She had looked at it longingly for months before finally shoving it out of view, the sight of it bringing back too many painful memories, but now she was glad she'd kept it. Mulder took the bag curiously, as if he'd never seen it before, but the moment he opened it, recognition flooded his face, coupled with--was it relief? "Remember that?" she asked quietly, and he nodded. She'd surprised him with the bag one weekend, after he'd spent several unplanned nights at her apartment. He always had to go home to change clothes and brush his teeth, because he never expected to stay, but then one thing would lead to another... After it had happened two or three times, Scully had gone out and purchased the toiletries kit, complete with shaving supplies, toothbrush and toothpaste, adding a few other little things she thought might be appropriate. Mulder had been delighted, not just at receiving an unexpected gift, but at the implication that he was welcome to stay over, that she *wanted* him to stay over, any time they both chose. He extracted his toothbrush and the brand of toothpaste he always used--Aim, she couldn't stand the taste of Aim but Mulder refused to consider anything else ("It's cheap, Scully, and it works as well as anything.")--and moved toward the sink purposefully. Then stood there for several seconds, staring at the faucet as if wondering what came next before reaching tentatively to turn on the water. As before, his movements grew more certain as he progressed, until he was finally brushing his teeth like an old pro. Scully wracked her brain for symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, but couldn't remember anything like this ever being mentioned. She supposed it was reasonable to expect this behavior, after being captive for months, unable to perform these daily rituals, as well as having his mind messed with in god only knew what ways. She only hoped there was nothing seriously wrong with Mulder, nothing they had yet to discover. She left him in the bathroom, going to her closet and taking out one of the loose-fitting pullover dresses she favored in these last weeks of pregnancy. Bending over to fasten shoes was impossible, so she'd taken to wearing slip-on sandals and pumps when she went out, and as long as she was relaxing at home, Scully saw no reason to wear anything that made her any more uncomfortable than she already was, so she skipped shoes completely. She slipped the dress over her head, smoothing it down her belly, and gave a little start of surprise when a pair of long arms snaked around her waist--or what used to be her waist--and a mouth nuzzled at her neck. "I missed you so much," he sighed against her skin. "I'd like nothing more than to take you into that bed and show you, but I just don't think I have the energy right now." She turned in his arms, pulling him close in a fierce hug. "We have forever," she told him. "You're back and you're safe with me and we have all the time in the world now--" She broke off when her voice tried to choke up, and thought for the millionth time how happy she would be after the baby was born, and she could be in control of her emotions again. Hormones sucked, plain and simple. On the other hand, it was hormones that had gotten her into this situation, and the effects of those hormones had been very nice indeed. Mulder's plan sounded enticing, but this wasn't the time. He'd done nothing more than shower and he was already beginning to sway on his feet. "I have some clothes for you," she said, guiding him over to sit on the bed and then opening a dresser drawer. She produced a pair of sweat pants, boxers and another of his t-shirts, a black one this time, and tried to ignore how sexy he was, sitting there on her bed completely naked, even if he did look incredibly thin and haggard. Just to have him back-- "Here," she said briskly, shaking off the threatening tears again. She handed him the boxers and he slipped them on, standing to pull them up, then sinking gratefully to the bed again. His breathing was already heavy. They repeated the action with the pants, and then she pulled the shirt over his head, dressing him like a child, grateful for any reason to touch him, run her hands over the skin--how she'd missed the feel of him. "What are you doing with my clothes, Scully?" he asked curiously, and was surprised when she blushed. "I just...it made me feel like you were nearby," she whispered. The look he gave her almost took away the last of her self-control. Ignoring the urge to begin blubbering again, she asked him, "Can you make it to the kitchen?" He gave her a look that said he wasn't sure, so she helped him stand. He leaned on her, but only a little, mindful of her condition, and it struck her that even now, when he was more weakened than she, he was watching out for her. Scully helped him to the table and plopped him into a chair, then moved to the refrigerator and started pulling things out. "What are you doing?" "I'm fixing breakfast," she told him, turning to give him a smile. "Or maybe it's lunch. Whatever we call it, you need to eat, and I'm *always* starving these days. Junior here is going to be an eating machine, just like his daddy." "Not 'junior'," he said, a stubborn look settling on his face, and she realized all at once how much she'd missed arguing with him. "Aw, come on," she teased. "I'd love to have a little baby Fox running around here." She laughed at his expression, crossing to drop a kiss on top of his head, then another. He grasped at her hand and pulled it to his cheek, savoring the nearness of her. "I'm only kidding," she told him, rubbing his face lightly. "I wouldn't do that to you." "I wouldn't do it to our son." He stared at the counter where she'd placed eggs, cheese and milk. "What are you making?" "I thought omelets," she replied, going back to her task with another light kiss placed on his cheek--she couldn't get enough of touching him. "Hungry?" He didn't have to think before answering--food was a concept to which he was rapidly becoming accustomed. "Starved." She bit her lip at his single word, hiding her face from him. He was starved, damn them all to hell, or at least halfway so. There were so many questions she wanted answered, but now was not the time. Right now, they were having a relatively normal moment, and she wasn't about to break the spell. She finished her preparations quickly and a few minutes later placed a hot omelet in front of him. He watched as she took her seat and picked up her fork, then did the same, imitating her again, and soon was digging into his meal with enthusiasm. Halfway through the omelet, he put down his fork. The weary look had returned, and Scully was afraid he might fall off the chair. "Mulder, are you all right?" she asked anxiously, standing up and moving toward him as quickly as she was able. He nodded, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. "I just--I hate feeling so tired all the time, Scully." She put her arms around him, leaning in to hug him over her belly. "I know," she soothed. "It will pass, I promise you. Mulder, you've just returned from a terrible ordeal, both emotional and physical. It's going to take a while before your body gets back into shape." The haunted look had come into his eyes again, and in attempt to banish it before it could break off another piece of her heart, she tugged at his arms. "Let's go into the living room," she suggested. "Maybe there's something on tv you'd like to watch." He stared at her blankly for a second, then smiled, much to her relief. It had taken him a moment, but he remembered television, thank god he remembered. Now if only they could get him past the hesitation, but she supposed she should be grateful he was sane, and not try to rush his recovery. It was just, she thought as they made their way slowly toward the couch, that she was going to have a baby any day now, and she wouldn't be able to be strong for him then, not for a while. She was afraid of what might happen to him, and to her. "I should be the one taking care of you," he joked, almost as if he'd read her mind, while she eased him down to the sofa. "I'm sorry, Scully, I--" He broke off, his voice choking with tears. He fought to get his emotions under control, and for a moment she thought he'd won. The next thing she knew, she was holding him and he was sobbing into her shoulder, sobbing out all the terror and pain and loneliness, sobbing on and on and on until his eyes burned and his throat ached and there were no more tears. Mulder cried for a long time, and she held him for a long time after that, gently stroking her fingers through his hair, until he raised up to look at her. He seemed surprised to find her face wet with her own tears. "I'm sorry, Scully. I wish I had been here for you, through... all of this," he finished, touching her belly lightly. "You were," she smiled through her tears, brushing them away quickly. "I know it sounds corny, but you never left me. I always felt you near." "But I wish I had been able to help you. It can't have been easy." "Well," she replied, scooting slowly back to lean against the arm of the sofa, "If you'd like to make up for lost time..." He grinned. "Whatever you want, it's yours." She took him literally, slipping off her shoes and thrusting her feet into his lap. "My ankles get swollen," she explained, amused at his expression. "And my feet hurt." He smiled again, and she saw a flash of the old, teasing Mulder there. "Am I nothing but a foot rest for you?" he demanded in mock irritation. "Oh, you're much more than that," she said seriously, her eyes twinkling nonetheless. "Yeah?" "Yes. You're also a foot masseuse, and that's a very important job. Now get to work." He took one foot between his long, slender hands, beginning to work it from toe to heel. Scully leaned back and closed her eyes, occasionally letting out a contented noise that sounded remarkably like a purr. Mulder grinned and started on the other foot, but it wasn't long before the muscles in his hands began to ache, adding to the weariness he felt all over. He slowed his massage, closing his own eyes, relaxing, and moments later stopped completely. Scully was enjoying her foot rub so much she didn't realize her masseuse was pooping out on her. The feel of his hands on her skin was so intimate that she found herself growing warm with desire for him, aching for the physical love they had not shared in nearly a year. She knew he was in no shape to accommodate her right now, but maybe if she took the lead, did most of the work...? She lay there carefully planning her seduction of Mulder as his movements slowed and became even more sensual, and smiled slyly to herself. Mulder felt it too, she realized happily. He wanted to make love with her as badly as she wanted him. Now it was just up to her to make it happen. When he stopped, she decided the time was right to approach him. Opening her eyes a slit, she drank in the sight of him, his head thrown back revealing his long, sexy neck, that little hollow at the base of it tempting her, his face more relaxed than she had seen it since his return. "It's been so long, Mulder," she whispered, moving her bare foot provocatively against his crotch and frowning when she was unable to locate even the hint of an erection. Okay, she thought pragmatically, so he needed a little help--he had, after all, been under a lot of stress. She could work with that. In fact, she was so hot for him that she was ready to rip off his sweats and suck him until he was so hard he begged her to let him come. Getting to a sitting position wasn't easy, but Scully was determined, and after a good sixty seconds of struggle, finally accomplished her goal, squatting on her knees next to Mulder. She leaned over him, intending to suckle at his throat where she most loved to taste him, when he suddenly emitted a tiny snore. Only then did she realize he'd fallen asleep. "Well, hell," she muttered, taking in the sight of him relaxed in slumber. "That's what I get for lusting after a sick man!" She grinned at him, despite her frustration. God, it was good to have him back. At least the dreams weren't plaguing him right now, and after all, she had kept him full of drugs for the past few days. It was only understandable that he'd be tired until all that stuff got out of his system. Also, it didn't take a doctor to see that his body was worn out from whatever his captors had put him through. With a sigh, she settled herself against him, forcing her desire to subside while she contented herself with snuggling and breathing in his scent. She took comfort in the knowledge that he was here, and safe, and hers. The baby gave a sharp kick just then, and she let out a soft, "Oof!" but Mulder never stirred. He didn't move when the telephone rang half an hour later-- Frohike telling her "Dr. Jones" had the results of Mulder's tests--and he didn't awaken when they knocked at the door with them not long after. ----- Scully, the guys and "Dr. Jones" sat around her dining room table discussing the test results in low undertones, hoping not to wake the subject of their conversation from his much-needed rest. She was grateful that he'd managed to sleep for over an hour already without being disturbed, and planned to get several more hours out of him if possible. The previous night had been plagued by unsettled dreams, but not, she thought gratefully, the terrifying ones. He was probably still too doped up for that. "What did you find?" Scully demanded quietly, searching the doctor's face for signs of bad news. "Not much," he admitted, handing her a folder. "Tissue samples appear to be normal. He showed signs of odd brain activity, but you already knew about that. He also has a small object embedded in the back of his neck, but I'm told you already knew that as well." She nodded. "One really odd thing is his x-rays," Dr. Jones went on, spreading several sheets out on the table for her to examine. She picked up one and held it to the light, studying it carefully for a moment, seeing nothing amiss, and then her eyes widened. There, across Mulder's left femur, were three tiny marks that looked almost like healed breaks. Almost, but not quite--they were too clean, too straight, to be actual breaks in the bone. "They can't be what they look like," she said, turning to him with wide eyes, and he nodded agreement. "They look almost like...like someone *sliced* through his bones," Dr. Jones said. "And look here--" He handed her the x-ray of Mulder's ribs and Scully gasped. The marks were there as well, so small as to be almost invisible, so odd you might think they were a discoloration on the film, and yet forming a perfect line down each side of the ribcage. Studying the x-rays carefully, she was also able to detect the marks on his fingers, upper arms and skull. "Oh my god," she breathed, "what the hell did they do to him?" "There's something else, Scully," Frohike told her, shoving another page of the report toward her. "He has the same branched DNA that you had after you were abducted." She stared at him. "None of the others showed that--at least not before. I wasn't able to examine them after their return, but that--" she shook her head in confusion. "It doesn't make sense! I was nearly dead, how can Mulder be...?" "I know. Maybe that's the anomaly they found in Mulder. Maybe it was supposed to do something to him that it didn't do." "Control him. Billy said they tried to control him and they couldn't. Something in Mulder's own genetic makeup allowed him to fight them." "No wonder they wanted to study him so badly," Langly cut in. "Mulder must've weirded them out good." "There's something else we're not considering," Byers put in quietly, and they all turned toward him. "Mulder's about to become a father," he said pointedly. "His child could have the same anomaly." Scully's eyes widened in horror at the implications contained in his simple statement. "They'll never take my child," she said fiercely. "I don't think they'd be so obvious as to just take him," came a voice from the sofa, and the entire group stared at Mulder, awake at last. He stood, on shaky legs, and made it most of the way to the dining room table before beginning to sway on his feet. Byers jumped up to help him and Frohike helped ease Mulder into a chair. "Thanks, guys," he muttered, staring at the floor, hating his own weakness. "It's great to see you looking more like yourself, Mulder," Langly told him. "I--thanks," he said, obviously uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. He quickly steered it back to the topic at hand. "I don't think they'll try to kidnap the baby," he told Scully. "Why not, Mulder? What's to stop them?" "It's too risky. There are too many people who know what's going on, there are too many people who could compromise their plan. Too many people we could get to, if necessary." Scully didn't agree, but there seemed no point in arguing. Mulder was acting and sounding like his old self, and she wasn't about to do anything to upset him now. There was no telling what would set him off again, the only certainty being that something would--eventually. "Can I see those?" he asked, reaching his hand toward the x-rays, and Scully reluctantly handed them over. She was afraid that he would have a panic attack when he saw the odd marks, but he remained calm. His face paled a bit, and his mouth tightened, but that was all. After perusing them for a few minutes, he handed them back to her. "Do you--do you remember any of this, Mulder?" she asked hesitantly. "Yes," he replied shortly. "And no, I don't want to talk about it." There was a minute of uncomfortable silence before Byers cleared his throat. "We'd better get going," he announced, standing and motioning for the rest of them to do the same. It was obvious that Mulder and Scully needed to be alone right now, and there was nothing more they could do, anyway. "Mulder, take it easy," he continued, clasping his friend's shoulder for a moment, and Mulder nodded as the four of them trooped out of the apartment. Scully gathered the papers out of sight, shoving them back into the folder and sliding them into a drawer while Mulder watched the Gunmen and the doctor leave. When the door had closed, he turned back to the table to find it empty of x-rays, blood reports and so forth. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Scully just put on her stubborn face, and Mulder sighed. He wanted to look at the medical report, but he didn't have the heart to insist she pull the papers out again. She was probably right--now wasn't really the time. He was still too close to it all, and right now he felt pretty good, even if he was weak and tired. He wanted to enjoy the day with her. The last thing he wanted to do was delve into the memories of how those marks had come to be etched on his bones. "You promised me television," he reminded her, and Scully smiled. "So I did," she agreed, rising and offering him her hand. He ignored it, pulling himself to his feet, and to his immense pride, made it all the way back to the sofa under his own power. Then he collapsed, panting for breath, and she pretended not to notice while she grabbed the remote and settled herself comfortably against him, nestled in the crook of his arm. His hand rested on her belly, and he grinned hugely when the baby kicked again. "Kid's definitely an athlete," he told her, and she rolled her eyes. "Believe me, Mulder, I know. He's been playing basketball in there for months. Even if I *had* been with another man, there would be no doubt in my mind that this is your child." He knew she was joking, but the idea of Scully with someone else made him feel physically ill, so he changed the subject yet again. "What are we watching?" he asked, nodding toward the tv. She pretended to consider. "You promised that when I invited you over for dinner, we'd watch 'Steel Magnolias,' she reminded him, and he grimaced. "That promise doesn't count," he argued. "It was made in a moment of weakness. I was still reeling over the fact that you eat popcorn with no butter. And besides, I was so horny I wasn't thinking clearly anyway." She almost giggled at the memory, feeling a rush of relief that he remembered that evening. At least they hadn't stolen that part of him, not all the precious memories of the two of them together. Her laughter subsided when she saw the hungry look in his eyes, and when he leaned over to pull her into a gentle kiss, she found herself returning it eagerly. Their lips met, then their tongues, and suddenly there was nothing and no one in the world except the two of them, tasting each other after long months of drought, clutching frantically at one another. The kiss went on and on, and suddenly Scully could stand the wait no longer. Her overactive hormones dictated what she did next, and she wasn't even sure, when her hands reached for the hem of his shirt, what was happening. In a flash she pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, and he didn't seem put off by her action, in fact he welcomed it, sliding his hand up her leg, grinning when he encountered stubble there but moving onward to lightly cup her, feeling her wetness. She ground against him, moaning with the pleasure that came in an unexpected rush--it had been so long, too long--and then his fingers slipped beneath the cotton crotch and found her, beginning to rub her gently, then harder, faster, while she rocked back and forth against him. She felt the climax building within her until she couldn't stand it, panting her rapid, hot breath into his face, moaning in the back of her throat with the need for him to finish, bring her over the edge, and then he did, and it was wonderful, and she bit back a scream of pleasure as the world exploded around her, all centered on his magical fingers. When at last she returned to reality, little by little, it was to find him gazing at her with wide, loving eyes, his expression relaxed and happy, and she smiled, she couldn't help smiling at the sheer joy she felt at *his* joy. "Mulder," she whispered, kissing him again, lightly this time, but lingering there against his lips, savoring the taste of him once more. "Scully, I want you," he answered, almost groaning with his desire. "Can we--is it possible--?" She smiled again, giving him a gentle push backwards until he was lying on the sofa. "Oh yes, it's possible," she told him. "I don't want to take any chances," he said, sincerely hoping her doctor-like wisdom would convince him this was safe. "I don't want to hurt you or the baby." She leaned far over, her belly pressing against his, and kissed him again. "Just you let me take care of this," she ordered playfully, and stood in order to remove her panties. He sat up to help her, sliding his hands up her legs again toward the cotton undergarment she wore, and she giggled. "What?" he asked, gazing up at her in confusion. "I saw your face when you felt my hairy legs," she retorted with a grin. "Wait until you're eight months pregnant, buster, and we'll see if *you* can bend over to shave your legs." "I don't know which thought is more abhorrent," he murmured, sliding the dress up to nuzzle at her crotch. He kissed her, through the panties, then kissed his way up to the waistband, grabbing it with his teeth and tugging downward. If Mulder had been the suave hero of a romance novel, no doubt this action would have gone smoothly, but since this was real life, and none of that stuff ever really worked, he found the panties got snagged on her hips halfway down. Growling in frustration, he reached up with both hands and yanked them off her. She gasped at the suddenness of it, then gave him a feral smile and pushed him onto his back. His cock was alive and well this time, bulging the crotch of his sweat pants in a most satisfying manner, and Scully licked her lips as she stared down at him. Mulder felt himself grow even harder at her gaze, as he reached hungrily for her. Quickly, she slipped the dress over her head, tossed it on top of his shirt, then added his sweats and boxers to the pile. She stared up and down the long, beautiful expanse of his naked body, feeling tears try to start again when she thought of how much she had missed this, missed *him*, every part of him, and then she shook away the memory. He was here, and feeling good at the moment, and he wanted her. God knew it wasn't an opportunity to be wasted. She settled herself on him, straddling him carefully, and watched his eyes darken with passion when she took him in her hand and slid him slowly inside her warmth. The feel of Mulder, after all these months of longing, made her cry out with pleasure, and she felt a thrill when she heard his answering gasp. "You feel so good, Scully...so good..." he whispered, reaching up to cup her breasts, kneading them gently, careful lest they be sore, obviously pleased at the swollen size of them. She sat still for a moment, adapting to the fullness, re-accustoming herself to the depth and contours of him inside her. "Mulder..." she breathed as she began slowly moveing him in and out of herself, her eyes closed and her lips parted, lavishing every bit of her love on him. He was tiring rapidly, but not about to stop when ecstasy was so close, so he lay there and allowed her to take the lead, pumping him slowly at first, then, as she approached another orgasm, faster and faster until he could feel himself tighten unbearably. The sight of her pregnant belly against his, the knowledge that a physical proof of their love existed and would soon be living, breathing, in this very room, coupled with the beautiful picture her face made in her arousal, nearly drove him over the edge. His hands slid down from her breasts to clutch her arms, lifting her, trying to help her as she carried them both farther and farther down the river of bliss until he felt her muscles convulse around him, more tightly than he could ever remember or maybe his memory was faulty maybe it had just been so long for both of them he wasn't sure but one thing he was certain of he loved her loved her loved her and seconds later he was screaming out his love as she milked the essence of him with her tightness, screaming and screaming her name until at last he collapsed against the sofa, drenched with sweat, utterly wrung out, blissfully happy. Normally, after such a satisfying encounter, Scully would have collapsed on top of him, hugging him close while the languid after-sex feeling engulfed them both, but the baby made that impossible, so instead, she lay back toward the other end of the sofa, settling herself between his legs and draping her own on either side of his body. She drifted in and out of blissful reverie for a while until she realized he had fallen asleep again. Poor guy, she thought, climbing carefully off him and covering him with the afghan her mother had made her years ago, when she first went to college. Worn out, but still her Mulder. Kissing her fingers and placing them on his forehead for a moment, she went into the bathroom. She needed to clean herself up, and her back was hurting after all that activity. A warm soak would be nice, and then she'd somehow manage to shave her legs. She hadn't cared when she was alone, but now that Mulder was back, she wanted to look her best. Even though she knew he didn't mind, really, knew it was silly, the feminine side of her wanted to be as beautiful as she could be for him. Especially now when she felt as lithe and graceful as a small hippopotamus. She started the water, making sure the temperature was just right, not as hot as she'd normally prefer it since that was bad for the baby, but warm enough to soak away her aches. She added some scented bubble bath and slipped into the tub, sliding carefully down until she could lean back and relax. Closing her eyes, Scully drifted, her ears trained on the living room for any possible noise. Mulder was sleeping; it could be bad. After twenty minutes, when the water had cooled considerably and she had heard no disturbance from the other room, Scully pulled the plug and hauled herself out of the tub. She had to get on her knees, then grab onto the small towel rack where she hung her washcloth, using it as a brace while she pulled herself to a standing position. Then, because she was always afraid of falling, she reached for the other towel rack, the one outside the tub, and steadied herself on it while she climbed out onto the bath mat. Smiling at her success, she opened a drawer and withdrew her electric shaver. Maybe she wouldn't be able to reach all of her legs, but she'd do her best. Maybe she would get Mulder to do the rest for her. She smiled--the thought struck her as bordering on the ridiculous, a hen-pecked Mulder doing her bidding no matter how silly...but then, he had missed months of her pregnancy, so he owed her. She plopped down onto the bed, setting her left foot on the mattress, and turned on the battery-operated shaver. She'd barely touched her leg with it when she heard a howl of terror from the living room. Dropping the shaver, Scully hurried out as fast as she could move. Mulder wasn't on the couch, but a quick search revealed him in the corner of the room, pressed against the wall. His eyes were wide with terror, and he moaned over and over again, "...no no don't do it not again please no Scully Scully Scully..." She ran to him, taking his face in her hands, calling his name, but he didn't even seem to see her. His gaze was fixed over her shoulder, and she realized he was staring into her bedroom. She hadn't turned the shaver off when she'd dropped it, and it was still buzzing away on the floor. "...Scully Scully no don't hurt me not again not that again no it *hurts* Scully Scully..." Quickly she returned to the bedroom, grabbing up the shaver and switching it off, then went back to where Mulder now sat, huddled on the floor, his face buried in his knees as he tried to push himself as far into the corner as possible. "Mulder, it's me," she said softly, kneeling before him. "It's Scully. You're all right now, Mulder. Nobody's going to hurt you." She didn't touch him--she was afraid to touch him--but she continued to let her calming voice wash over him, and in a few minutes his eyes peeked out, darting around the room frantically before settling on her face. "Scully?" She nodded, stretching out a hand carefully and slowly. "It's me, Mulder. It's okay. You're safe here." Sudden realization flooded his face, and he sighed. "I hate this," he muttered. She almost laughed and almost cried in her relief. "I know, but it's over now." "Scully?" "Yes, Mulder?" He paused, then asked casually, "Do you think you could help me get dressed?" She did laugh, then, unable to hold back her feelings, and soon he joined her, the two of them laughing until tears ran down their faces, and neither of them was sure if they were tears of mirth or tears of pain. She brought him his boxers, oblivious to her own nudity, and helped him slip them on, then the two of them made their way slowly into the bedroom. They lay down on the bed, cuddling each other, and Scully watched as he slipped into sleep yet again. After his breathing slowed and deepened, she gently extricated herself from his embrace, donned fresh panties, and slipped back into the dress she'd left on the living room floor. Mulder hadn't eaten much at breakfast, and their prior physical activity was bound to have drained him, she thought with amusement. She'd better get something ready for dinner. She finally settled on spaghetti with tomato sauce, partly because it was easily prepared and partly because she knew he needed the carbohydrates. Besides, Mulder adored spaghetti. He'd eat a lot of it. Then maybe he'd have enough strength later on for some more mattress dancing, she told herself with a wicked grin. 'Dana Scully, you're incorrigible,' she thought in her mother's voice, and then in her own, 'No I'm not. I'm insatiable. Besides, I'm pregnant. It's allowed.' Mom's voice hushed after that, and Scully hummed to herself while she boiled water for the pasta. The baby kicked her again and she leaned over, breathing slowly and massaging her abdomen. That one had been bad, and it took a few minutes for the pain to subside. "Active little sucker," she muttered to herself, adding herbs to the canned spaghetti sauce so it would taste more like homemade. She searched through the freezer until she found the loaf of garlic bread she'd stashed there a couple of months ago. She knew it wasn't healthy to eat too much of that type of thing, and she certainly had no intention of remaining fat after the baby was born, but right now, Scully wanted garlic bread, wanted it in the worst way, almost as badly as she'd wanted Mulder earlier. "I'm pregnant. It's allowed," she proclaimed, tossing the loaf onto a baking sheet and turning on the oven. When everything was ready, and she had already snitched a small piece of the bread--because who could wait for garlic bread when they were eight months pregnant?--she went into the bedroom to wake Mulder. She found him lying in the semi-darkness, his eyes open, watching her. "You're awake." "I've been lying here, listening to you," he told her. "Listening to me?" "Just listening to your movements. Listening to the normal sounds that people make when they're living their lives. I missed that. I didn't realize how much until just now." She swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. "How about some normal eating activity?" she suggested brightly. "Spaghetti and garlic bread." He didn't have to be asked twice, swinging to a sitting position and then waiting there for a few moments while the dizziness passed. 'Orthostatic hypotension,' she'd called it, and said it was perfectly normal in his weakened condition, and that it would diminish. He hoped so, and soon. It disturbed him to feel himself grey out whenever he sat up too quickly. She handed him the clothes she'd grabbed on her way to the bedroom and he slipped them on slowly. "Okay?" she asked, wanting to hold out a hand to help him but knowing Mulder would refuse--he wanted to do this on his own and she had to let him. He nodded, heaving himself to his feet, and she let him walk ahead of her toward the kitchen. He made it, barely, dropping into a chair and breathing heavily for a few minutes, but he made it. She gave him a plate filled with pasta and sauce, and he flashed a grateful smile before digging in. She was pleased to note that the hesitancy seemed to be gone, and chalked it up to the amount of drugs he'd been given on the trip home. That much Percodan would have slowed anyone down. He ate it all, this time, cleaning his plate enthusiastically, and Scully watched in satisfaction as he reached for the last piece of bread. "You want to share it?" he offered, holding it out to her, but she shook her head. "Little Fox has had all the butter he needs today, thanks," she replied, smiling at his wince. "Maybe we'd better discuss names, Scully," he said pointedly, and she picked up her plate and his, rinsing them and loading them into the dishwasher. "Leave that, I'll get it," he told her. "I've gotten more rest than you have in the past twelve hours. In fact, I feel like I've done nothing except sleep." "Oh, you've done more than that," she said, smiling wickedly. "Besides, you need your rest." "Why's that?" "Because I have plans for you later on, Mulder. Big plans." He leered at her, rising to help her anyway, and then grasped the edge of the counter for balance. "Damn," he swore softly. "Just sit down," she ordered, pointing at the chair with a stern finger. "This takes five minutes. Then we'll go sit down." "Good," he replied, sinking back into his chair gratefully. "Don't think I didn't notice how you tried to dodge the issue of names." "Look, I'm only teasing," she told him as she rinsed out the spaghetti pan. "I know you don't want to name our baby 'Fox' and that's fine with me. I'd like something a little less...unusual myself. But I would like it if you'd let me give him the middle name of 'William,' she continued, placing the pan in the dishwasher and turning to him. "That covers you, your father, and my father. Can't go wrong with that." "William's fine," he agreed, "but what do we *call* the kid?" She shrugged, reaching out a hand to steady him as he rose to his feet again. "I don't know. Something normal. Something that won't lead to his getting beat up on the playground." "I agree. How about something commonplace, like John?" She made a face. "Never liked that name. How about Daniel?" He gave her a glare and she winced. "Sorry, Mulder. I wasn't even thinking of him, I swear. I've just always liked the name." "Not Daniel." "Not Daniel," she agreed, settling him on the sofa. "Tyler?" "Too trendy." "Hmmm...not trendy...Michael?" He shook his head. "Michael was the name of the bastard that Phoebe cheated on me with." "Well, I'm glad it's not a girl," she said, nestling her head against his shoulder. "At least we don't have to go through the list of your old girlfriends, rejecting all *their* names." "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in a hurt tone, and she sighed. "I'm sorry, Mulder, I don't mean to be a bitch. Seems my hormones override my good sense these days. It didn't mean anything, I promise." She propped her feet up on the coffee table, flexing them just because it felt so good to stretch those muscles. "I'll be lucky if you don't ditch me before the baby's born," she said mournfully. "You're actually lucky you didn't see me in my earlier stages. I was hell on wheels. You can ask the guys." "Scared 'em, did you?" he asked, rubbing her bare foot with his. "You have no idea. You were too out of it on the trip home to see how they all cowered before me." It was a conversational track Mulder didn't want to take, so he changed the subject again, something he was getting quite good at, he reflected. "How about Stephen?" "Who?" "Stephen," he repeated. "For the name. You *are* getting scatterbrained," he teased and she punched him lightly in the belly. In reciprocation he placed his hand on hers, smiling when he felt the baby move. "He's really active," he observed. "He's running laps today." "What do you think, big guy?" Mulder asked, leaning over to place his ear over her stomach. "Want to be called Stephen?" In response, the baby moved against his cheek and Mulder smiled broadly. "He says 'yes'," he reported to Scully, and she laughed. "More than likely he's wondering where that deep voice came from all of a sudden," she argued. "He probably recognizes you, and wonders where you've been all these months." "Sorry buddy," Mulder said to her stomach. "I had a previous engagement, but I'm all yours now. Yours and mommy's." She was overcome with a sudden rush of longing, and she grasped his hair gently and tugged, pulling him up so she could kiss him full on the lips. "We're all yours, too," she whispered. He returned her kiss passionately for a few seconds, then pulled away with reluctance. "Much as I'd love to follow through on that thought, I just don't have the stamina right now," he sighed, leaning back against the sofa, disappointment written on his face. "No problem, Mulder," she whispered, snuggling close to him again. "I'm a mass of hormones these days, totally unreasonable in my demands. Let's just cuddle, shall we?" She grimaced. "I can't believe I just said 'cuddle.' I'm making myself nauseous, how can you stand it?" Then, with a small sigh, "Maybe we can expose little Stephen to some good television." "Reruns of Saturday Night Live?" he asked hopefully, grinning at her disgust with her own words. "The Nature Channel," she contradicted, and after a short tussle over the remote, which he let her win, they settled on a documentary about the Viking people showing on PBS. Mulder dozed during the program, naturally, and she found herself hoping the drugs would work out of his system soon--all this sleeping was making her nervous. Although she knew he needed it, knew his body insisted upon it, having him so quiet was almost like having him gone. No, she reminded herself firmly as she returned from one of her quarter-hourly trips to the bathroom, not like having him gone, not at all. When he was sleeping she could see him, touch him, smell him, snuggle against him...if she was quiet she could even hear him breathing. Not like having him gone at all. She studied Mulder intently while he slept, and her mind drifted back to the x-rays. What had made those almost imperceptible breaks in his bones that were so exact they looked like slices? Had they somehow...the thought was too horrendous, and she shook it off. Besides, there weren't any corresponding marks on his skin, which made the whole thing doubly curious. How could they possibly have broken his bones in such a precise manner without marring the skin at all? And did he remember? Was he awake through it all? He said he did. She shuddered. She remembered a long-ago medical professor telling the class, "Orthopedic pain is generally considered to be the worst kind of pain. When you have a patient who has had any type of orthopedic surgery, you're not going to be giving them the lightweight stuff. You're going to be giving them morphine." The idea of Mulder enduring such an awful thing while awake and aware brought tears to her eye. The Viking program had ended, so Scully began flipping channels in search of something that might help cheer her up. She belched quietly, cursing that piece of garlic bread she'd just had to have, and shifted position. She wanted her Tums, but they were in the bedroom and she didn't feel like going for them. "Not very ladylike," Mulder murmured, reaching sleepily for the remote control. She surrendered it, feeling the urge to urinate yet again coming on, knowing it was as good an excuse as any to fetch her antacid tablets. When she left him, he was happily immersing himself in a sports news program, and she found herself suddenly fiercely glad that he hadn't missed all of the basketball season. At least he could indulge a few of his passions. She doubled over with a gas pain halfway to the bedroom. Breathing deeply and slowly, she stood up, still for a moment to make sure the pain was gone, then finished the trip to the bathroom. She swore under her breath when she sat on the toilet--her panties were already wet with droplets of urine, and it irritated her. Must *every* bodily function be made more difficult during pregnancy? Was she going to have to deal with incontinence now, as well? She sat there for several minutes, but couldn't seem to get the urine to flow--it was as if she could do nothing but drip. A sudden thought struck her, and she raised her head in shock, staring straight ahead as she realized what was happening. It was almost two weeks early, but her water had broken. She was having the baby. She hauled herself to her feet with assistance from the towel rack yet again, and yanked up her panties. She could feel the fluid leaking from her now, not gushing, it didn't always gush, she knew, but a steady flow. "Mulder!" she yelled, hoping he would hear her and come--he slept awfully soundly nowadays. "I need your help!" She would never know what got him in there so quickly, would never realize that she was parroting the exact words she'd screamed into his answering machine all those years ago when Duane Barry had taken her, but before she could draw breath to yell again, he was there, his face white and worried, leaning against the wall for support. "Scully, what is it? What's happened?" he demanded quickly, and she made a calming motion with her hands. Damn, he was more nervous than she. "My water's broken," she told him breathlessly, reaching for a towel to shove between her legs, discarding the now soaked, useless panties. "We have to get to the hospital." He gaped at her. "You're having the baby *now*?" She sucked in her breath as another of those "gas pains" hit her, clutching at his arm to keep from falling, and he supported her gently, helping her into the bedroom when the pain had passed, seating her on the side of the bed. "Not right this second, but soon, I think," she told him, and smiled at his fretfulness. "Relax, Mulder. We have a while yet, the baby's not going to arrive here in the bedroom. Could you get me a fresh pair of panties, please?" Numbly, he did as instructed, bending down to help her step into them. "I have a bag packed, in the closet on the floor," she told him next, and he fetched it quickly. He reached for her, pulling her to her feet, and she stopped him. "Mulder?" "Yeah, Scully, what do you need?" He brushed his fingers through his hair frantically. "Put your shoes on." He glanced down at his bare feet, rolled his eyes, and raced into the living room, his adrenalin rush giving him energy that he wouldn't have had under normal circumstances. By the time he'd pulled on his socks and forced his feet into his sneakers, Scully had already put in a call to the doctor, and to Skinner. "Walter promised to drive me to the hospital when the time arrived," she told Mulder calmly, "and frankly, I don't think you're in any condition to drive right now." He nodded, with a look of exasperation on his face--he knew it was true, but still, *he* wanted to be the one to help Scully. After all, this was *their* baby, hers and his, and Walter Skinner didn't seem to belong in this scenario. In the next second he was chiding himself for his selfishness, reminding himself that not only had Skinner been there for Scully when he couldn't be, but that Skinner had been the one to come to Oregon and rescue him from those first few, awful days. He wasn't so much a boss right now as he was a friend...as odd as that thought felt, he owed Skinner. Now it looked like he would owe him even more. Scully sat next to him, breathing slowly through another pain, and Mulder put his hand on her belly, hoping to massage some of the agony away. "Don't do that!" she snapped, and he jerked away as if burned. Once the pain had passed, she took his hand in hers. "Sorry," she apologized. "It hurts more when you do that. If you want to, you could massage my lower back. It's killing me." She turned so she was facing away from him, and felt his tender hands stroke over her back, rubbing gently, not too hard, not too fast, just right. "Perfect," she told him, leaning her head against the back of the sofa. "Scully?" "Hmmm?" "How long is this going to take?" She heard the barely-disguised panic in his voice, and smiled. The eternal male question: 'How long are you going to have to hurt like this?' "There's no way to tell, Mulder," she replied, bracing herself for the next pain--they were coming much more quickly now. "If it continues like this, I'd say not long!" she gasped when it hit, and reaching back, pushed his hands away from her until it had passed. "I won't touch you while you're having a pain," he told her, "but you have to tell me when they start." She nodded, still gathering breath from the last one, and they sat there together for the next fifteen minutes, him rubbing her back until a contraction hit, then backing off until she relaxed again. Skinner knocked at the door and Mulder jumped up to let him in. He strode into the living room, looking both agents up and down. "Time to go?" he asked Scully, and she nodded gratefully. "Mulder? You okay?" "I'm fine, Sir," he said firmly. "At least for now." The trip to the hospital was uneventful, for which Scully was grateful. The idea of giving birth in the back seat of Skinner's Oldsmobile was unappealing in the extreme, and she breathed a sigh of relief when they pulled up to the doors of the emergency room. Skinner went inside to tell the staff what was happening while Mulder helped her from the car, and soon two orderlies and a nurse appeared, one pushing a wheelchair in which they quickly settled Scully. "Is one of you two gentlemen the father?" asked a nurse, and Skinner and Mulder both turned their gazes from the door where Scully had disappeared. "I'm--I'm the father," answered Mulder in a shaky voice, and Skinner watched him closely, wondering if he was about to go down. "I'll need to get some information from you, Sir, and then you can join your wife." "She's not--we're not--" "I have the information you'll need," Skinner broke in, stepping forward. At Mulder's expression, he added, "Scully gave it to me while you were gone, Mulder. Just in case. Go on in, I'll take care of this and call Mrs. Scully." Mulder gave a slight shake of his head and turned away, pushing through the double doors where they'd taken Scully. When he reached the Labor and Delivery ward, he was immediately spotted by a nurse, who showed him into the cubicle where Scully was being hooked up to a fetal monitor. Someone was starting an IV on her and someone else was asking her questions, but she ignored them all when she saw him. "Mulder," she smiled. "I thought you'd gotten lost." "Skinner's taking care of stuff out there," he said, feeling suddenly shy in this world of pregnant women and medical personnel. He felt a wave of panic from the hospital smells assaulting his senses--too much too much like them--but just as they threatened to overwhelm him, Scully gasped, and he was able to push the memories away and concentrate on the baby that seemed in such a hurry to meet the world. He knew nothing about this, he realized, and he shook off a wave of sadness that he had missed attending childbirth classes with Scully. It didn't matter now. All that mattered was make sure their baby arrived, and that he and his mother were safe. "My mother?" she asked, gasping as another pain hit. "Walter said he'd call her." Once all the nurses had cleared out, he sat in a chair beside her bed, holding her hand quietly. Every few minutes she would begin her deep breathing, and she would squeeze his hand tightly until the contraction passed. Every bone in his left hand ached horribly, but he kept still about it, not wanting to sound as if he was complaining while she lay there in the preliminary stages of giving birth. ----- Seven hours later, Mulder was ready to scream with fatigue and frustration. Scully wasn't even holding back, snapping at him, the nurses, the doctor, and anyone else who happened by. Skinner had checked in once, more to see if Mulder was doing all right than Scully, about whom he had no doubts, and retreated quickly when she ground out, "Doesn't anybody have anything better to do than come in here and stare at me?" Maggie Scully, having been through this four times herself, had come in to see her daughter, stayed for a few minutes, kissed Dana's cheek, and taken herself off to wait and drink coffee. Mulder begged Scully to take something for the pain, but she steadfastly refused, finally telling him she was the fucking doctor and she would fucking decide when she needed some fucking drugs. After that, he kept quiet, rubbing her back when she wanted it, offering his hand for her to crush when she had a pain, and generally lying low. Finally she seemed to have a break--the contractions backed off a bit and Scully fell into a light sleep. Mulder saw this as a good thing, but unfortunately, the doctors did not. "I want to do an ultrasound," Dr. Richards said, pressing his hands lightly around Scully's abdomen. "Something's not quite right in there, but I can't figure out what it is. The baby isn't in any distress, according to the monitor, but she's not making any progress." Mulder held back, watching, worried, while they brought in yet another machine and a technician to match. Scully woke up during all the disturbance, her eyes seeking out Dr. Richards immediately. "What's wrong? What's wrong with my baby?" she demanded. "Probably nothing, except that he's an active little fellow," Dr. Richards assured her. "This is Mark, he's going to do a quick check on you to make sure the baby's still in the proper position. I have a feeling the little sucker may have twisted on us, but I can't tell from simple palpation." Scully's gaze went straight to the fetal monitor, but it showed nothing unusual. "No cord, I hope," she said, relaxing back with a sigh. "Probably not," he agreed. "Now if you'll just hang tight for a minute, we'll find out what Mark can see." Sure enough, a few seconds later Mark announced, "Transverse lie." "Shit," muttered Scully. "Can you turn him?" Dr. Richards bit his lip. "I might be able to, Dana, but that would only increase the risk of the cord wrapping. I think you'd better resign yourself to surgery." "Surgery?" demanded Mulder. "What the hell does 'transverse lie' mean? What's wrong?" "Means your child, while going for a two-pointer, managed to turn himself sideways," she told him, reaching for his hand. "It's nothing, don't worry. I'll have a simple c-section, and soon we'll have our baby." "Scully, surgery is *not* nothing!" "Mr. Mulder could I ask you to wait in the waiting room down the hall? Someone will let you know as soon as it's over. C-sections don't take long." "But--" "Mulder, do as he says! I'll be fine," Scully ordered, and then they were wheeling her away from him, leaving him standing in an empty cubicle that only moments before had contained the woman he adored, preparing to give birth to their child. Dejectedly, he made his way down the corridor in one direction, turning to look back just as they wheeled Scully into an operating room at the other end of the hall. Suddenly he felt all the breath leave his body, as if he was floating in a vacuum, and he reached blindly for the wall, his hand seeking support and finding none, before the scream emerged from deep within him. Skinner and Mrs. Scully heard the noise, racing from the waiting room just in time to see Mulder fall, hitting his head with a *thunk* against the wall on his way to the floor. Mrs. Scully immediately rushed down the hall toward the nurses station while Skinner tended to Mulder. He was relieved to note that Mulder hadn't lost consciousness, and that the sudden bump on the head seemed to have brought him out of his impending panic attack. "You okay?" he asked, lifting Mulder so he could sit, leaning him against the wall. "...hurt her don't let them hurt her..." Mulder mumbled, rubbing at his head. "Mulder!" Skinner barked, taking his agent's face in both hands and forcing him to focus. "Nobody's going to hurt anybody. Scully's going to have your baby. She'll be fine." Mulder's eyes, wide and panicked, flitted around for a moment before zeroing in on Skinner's face. "Sir?" he asked weakly, as if only just realizing where he was. "Yeah, Mulder, it's me. Everything's all right. How does your head feel?" Mulder stared at him for a moment, then slumped back against the wall. "Is this ever going to stop?" he moaned, and Skinner put his hands underneath Mulder's arms, lifting him to his feet. "It's been less than a week," he admonished as he guided Mulder toward the waiting room. "It's going to take a while for the flashbacks and panic attacks to go away." He pushed Mulder lightly into a chair, and soon Maggie returned with a nurse to check him out. The nurse examined the bump, asked him some questions, and announced that he was probably just going to have a small lump, but that if he experienced any dizziness, disorientation or nausea to inform her immediately. Once she departed, Mulder sat restlessly, fidgeting, shifting position every few seconds--Skinner could tell Mulder wanted to pace but didn't have the energy. The past eight hours had taken their toll on the father as well as the mother. He made Mulder lean forward so he could check where he'd hit his head, and grinned ruefully at the sight--a small lump, but no broken skin, and Mulder seemed to have forgotten all about it. Hard-headed as ever, Skinner thought when Mulder jerked his head away, irritated at the attention. Maggie sat quietly, paging through 'Better Homes and Gardens,' but the men were not so calm. Since Mulder couldn't pace, Skinner did it for him, roaming the room restlessly, staring out the window, watching the television, which was tuned to CNN Headline News, repeating the same stories over and over ad nauseam, and idly searching through the magazines available, finding nothing of interest, but finally settling on 'Fishing World' simply because it held more appeal than 'Family Circle' or 'People.' He seated himself next to Mulder, who was making a visible effort to remain composed, and flipped open the magazine. He pretended to scan the page, but his attention was really focused on the man beside him, carefully observing Mulder to make certain he didn't slip back into his panic. It was obvious the flashback had passed, probably eliminated by the blow to his head, but the nervousness remained. Skinner supposed it had to do with Scully being wheeled into the operating room. It had most likely reminded Mulder of being taken for testing--he didn't know exactly what his agent had suffered, and wasn't sure he wanted details, but Billy had told him Mulder had been restrained much of the time. He'd been watching Mulder for less than fifteen minutes when a nurse poked her head into the room. "Mr. Scully?" she asked, glancing at the two men. "Mulder," Skinner corrected, indicating the nervous agent. "He's the father." The nurse smiled. "Sorry. Just wanted to let you know that mother and baby are both doing fine." Mulder jumped to his feet, no longer controlling his apprehension. "Can I see them?" he asked anxiously. "Your--Miss Scully is still in surgery. The baby will be taken to the nursery in just a few minutes, after they've cleaned him up. If you'll follow me, I'll take you there." Both men and Maggie Scully trotted obediently after the nurse until they reached the swinging double doors that led to the nursery. "Family only, beyond this point, I'm afraid," she said, looking pointedly at Skinner, and Skinner stopped automatically. Mulder grabbed his arm, towing him along. "He's family," he told the nurse firmly, and didn't wait for her arguments, pulling Skinner through the doors toward the big glass window that gave an unobstructed view of the nursery. There were seven babies there already, and Mulder gazed at them with a sense of awe. In just moments, his child, his and Scully's, would join these children, new to the world, innocent and trusting. All of them were miracles, in their own small way, but his and Scully's... Mulder swallowed a lump. There could be no greater miracle, he decided, and when a nurse pushed an empty bassinet to the window with a card inside that said, "It's a boy!" and below that, "Scully-Mulder" he felt a burst of pride, and a huge grin broke out on his face. "Our baby, Walter," he whispered, touching the glass. "Scully's baby." Maggie cried unashamedly. Skinner said nothing, but his face was full of wonder as well, and a few moments later, when the nursery door opened and another nurse carried a tiny, blue-blanket-wrapped bundle over and placed him in the bassinet, Mulder felt tears forming in his eyes. He tried to stop them spilling over, but two made their way down his face, and then two more. He couldn't help them. His son, this was *his* son, this beautiful, perfect child with dark brown fuzz on his head and Scully's nose--he could see that at once. The mouth was his, and Mulder gave an inward sigh--the kid would be teased unmercifully by his peers, he knew from experience, but that lower lip looked so adorable jutting out there as the little mouth smacked, seeking food. As he watched, a perfect, miniature hand freed itself from the blanket and waved frantically, and then the mouth opened wider and began to scream. Mulder leaned his forehead against the glass and felt still more tears coursing down his cheeks. "He's beautiful," he managed, his voice choked. "Can you believe it? My son..." "I've had almost nine months to get used to the idea, and I still can't believe it, Mulder," Skinner stated, his voice low and reverent. "I never thought my baby girl would have her own baby," Maggie said through her tears. All three felt as if they were sharing a highly spiritual moment--although the meaning may have been different for each of them--as they stared at the child they had all believed could never be...perfection in a small package, screaming for his supper. "Mr. Mulder?" They both turned at the voice, and saw Gina, the nurse who had been with Scully during the long hours of labor. "Where's Scully?" he asked immediately, feeling a twinge of guilt that he had been so awed by their child that he'd forgotten to ask about the mother. Gina beamed. "She's fine. She's in recovery, and she's asking for you. If you three will come with me..." Skinner and Mulder exchanged a glance; of course Scully would want her mother, and naturally the father would be allowed into the inner sanctum, but they were surprised that Skinner invited, in this hospital that seemed to adhere so strictly to the "family only" rule. Mulder finally decided that Scully had probably asked for them both. Nobody was likely to screw with her, especially not now. Gina took them through yet another set of double doors, into a room where patients were separated from one another by curtained cubicles. Scully lay in the center cubicle, eyes closed, red hair brighter than usual against her pale, tired face, but that same face reflected her unimaginable joy. "Scully?" he murmured gently, slipping his hand into hers, and she opened her eyes. "Mulder, did you see him? Isn't he perfect?" Her voice was still a little slurred from the anesthesia, but she seemed reasonably cognizant. "Perfectly perfect," he agreed, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "Good work, mom." "Couldn't have done it without you," she grinned. "Mom, did you see him?" Maggie smiled happily, her face still damp from her tears. "He's beautiful, Dana. He looks just like you, only he has brown hair like Fox." "He has Mulder's mouth," Scully corrected sleepily. "I'd know that mouth anywhere." Another nurse approached to take readings on the numerous monitors attached to Scully, and politely informed them, "I'm afraid I can only let one of you stay." "Mulder," said Scully, refusing to relinquish his hand, and Mulder didn't have to be asked twice. He pulled up the only chair in the cubicle close to her bed and sat there, his eyes glued to her face. "She's so pale," he told the nurse, whose badge read 'Carl' with a whole host of letters tacked on after his name. Carl nodded at Mulder's concern. "It's perfectly natural, after what she's been through," he assured the nervous father. "She'll get her color back soon." "When will you be taking her to her room?" asked Mrs. Scully. "Probably in another hour, possibly two. We want to make sure she comes out from under the anesthesia with no complications." "Dana, Mr. Skinner and I will be in the waiting room," Maggie said, kissing her daughter again. "We'll see you later." "Bye, Mom," Scully said sleepily. "Walter--thank you for everything." "Take care, Dana," he replied, giving her arm a squeeze, and then they were gone, leaving Mulder and Scully alone. She slept, then, her body succumbing to the effects of the anesthetic, and an hour later they moved her to a private room. Mulder stood by proudly as they wheeled his son into the room in his bassinet, and Scully roused at the sound of the baby crying. "He's hungry," the nurse smiled, gathering up the baby and placing him carefully in his mother's arms. Mulder watched in awe as Scully put their son to her breast and the tiny mouth began to suckle. The nurse, seeing that the small family was doing fine, told Scully to call her if she needed anything, and made herself scarce. Mulder sat beside Scully, stroking his son's soft cheek while the infant fed, eyes closed, making small contented noises. "He likes this," Scully observed, and Mulder grinned. "It's one of his daddy's favorite places to be," he replied wickedly. "Hey kiddo, leave some for me." Scully laughed aloud, startling the baby, then soothing him when he released her nipple and began to cry. Soon, he was feeding happily once more, and Scully smiled at Mulder, sniffing back her tears. The baby finished his meal, and Scully shifted him to her shoulder, burped him, then simply held him while he succumbed to sleep. "He's beautiful," she said softly, gazing at Mulder with an expression of sheer happiness. "Mulder, he's beautiful. I love you." Before Mulder could answer, Mrs. Scully knocked at the door. "Can I come in?" she asked, sticking her head inside the room, and Scully nodded. "I think he's finished, finally," she said, pulling the dozing baby away from her breast and arranging her gown. She handed Stephen to his adoring grandmother, who proceeded to rock him gently, murmuring nonsense words and phrases into his tiny ears. "He has an appetite like his daddy," Scully teased, gazing fondly at her mother and son. "I have no idea to what you are referring," said Mulder pointedly, and Scully smiled again. It seemed all she wanted to do these days. "I'd like to talk to the two of you about that," Maggie said firmly, and Scully rolled her eyes. "About eating?" Mulder asked, deliberately misunderstanding, and Maggie frowned. "I don't like the idea of my daughter having a child out of wedlock," she told them seriously. "I know you're an adult now, Dana, and it's your decision, but this is my grandchild. You can't expect me not to have an opinion. It was different when Fox was--missing, but he's here now." Mulder's mouth tightened momentarily at her referral to his abduction, but he said nothing. Scully was not quite so subdued. "Mom, Mulder just got back," she reminded Maggie gently. "He's still got a lot of trauma to work through. I don't think you should throw this at him right now. It's something we can talk about later, after life settles down." Maggie smiled. "Honey, let me tell you something. Once you have a child, life *never* settles down. You don't realize that yet, but you will soon. And Fox..." She bent to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You know I love you. I don't mean to put any pressure on you, but I needed to let you know how I feel about all this. Now, I won't mention it again, I promise. I'm going to go home and get some rest, and I'll see you both in the morning." She bent to kiss Stephen, sleeping peacefully in his mother's arms, then Dana, and finally Mulder. "It's good to have you back, Fox," she whispered, giving him a quick hug before slipping out of the room. Skinner, who had entered a few minutes after Maggie but had held back during the conversation, stepped forward. "I should be going, too," he told them. "Mulder, I know you'd like to stay, but..." "I'm not leaving Scully or the baby," Mulder said firmly, and Skinner gave him a searching look. "I'm fine, Walter. Really." "Mulder, you know the flashbacks can come upon you suddenly, and maybe a hospital isn't the best place for you to be right now." "I want to stay." Mulder put on his stubborn face, and Skinner sighed. He'd never had much luck getting past that--Mulder would say whatever Skinner wanted to hear, then go off and do as he pleased anyway. It took Scully to break the impasse. "Mulder, I think he's right," she said softly, and he stared at her, breaking her heart with his hurt look. Steeling herself, she went on, "It could be dangerous, for you and for Stephen. If anything happens, I'm in no condition to help you." "We'll come back first thing in the morning," Skinner promised, taking Mulder's arm, sensing a victory. "You can stay at my place tonight." "I don't want to," Mulder insisted, and it was Scully's turn to sigh. "Walter, would you give us a minute, please?" she asked, and Skinner nodded and left the room. "Mulder--" "Scully, please," Mulder said, turning to her after Skinner was gone. "I just want to be with you. I don't want to leave you and I don't want to leave Stephen." "I know," she replied sadly. "I don't want you to go, but we have to think of our baby now. Mulder, think about it--what would happen if you had one of your flashbacks, a bad one? You don't know what you're doing when that happens. You might hurt him." "I wouldn't hurt him!" Mulder retorted, aghast at her suggestion. "Scully, I would *never* harm our baby, you know that!" "I know you wouldn't mean to," she answered, unswayed, "but what if you did? Are you telling me that you can predict just what you'll do?" She stared at him, daring him to disagree, and after a minute of returning her gaze obstinately, his shoulders slumped and his eyes closed in defeat. "Fine," he muttered. "But don't expect me to be happy about it." "I'm not happy about it either," she reminded him, her face filled with love as he took the baby from her and returned him to the bassinet. He came back to her side and leaned over to kiss her. "I'll miss you," she whispered after the first chaste peck, pulling him back for another kiss. This one was longer than the first, not the quick smack on the lips he'd intended but a real kiss, and Mulder felt himself growing warm at her touch. "All right," he said at last, straightening up. "We'd better stop now, or little Stephen will get more of an education than he needs at this stage of his life." "Go home with Walter, Mulder," she commanded, clutching at his hand. "And come back in the morning. Early." He raised her fingers to his lips for one last kiss, caressed his son's face gently, then left without looking back. Skinner saw the heartbreak on Mulder's face when he emerged from the room. "I know you don't like it, Mulder, but it's really for the best," he told the agent, feeling the inadequacy of the words and yet at a loss for anything better to say. "I hate it," Mulder said fiercely. "And I hate *them* for doing this to me. This is the most important thing that's ever happened in my life, and I can't experience it to the fullest because of what they did." "Don't worry, Mulder," Skinner said, throwing his arm across Mulder's shoulders and leading him down the corridor. "One day, you'll make them pay. I know you will." Mulder's nightmares that night were worse than ever, and while Skinner was watching over him as Mulder tried to claw his way through the wall, Skinner breathed a prayer of thanks that Scully, at least, could get through to Mulder. ----- The crying woke them both at 3:47 a.m., and Scully switched on the lamp beside the bed, still groggy with sleep. "I'll get him," she mumbled, easing herself carefully out of bed. She'd been home from the hospital for two days, but it was still impossible for her to move quickly. She walked bent over, like a hunchback, Mulder had teased, but she wouldn't let him coddle her. "Damn," she muttered, stumbling for what felt like the thousandth time over the giant toy the Gunmen had arrived with on the day after the baby's birth. "Mulder, I swear, if I trip over this bear Stephen's "uncles" brought him one more time..." She let the threat hang while Mulder snagged the bear off the floor, setting it on the end of the bed where Stephen could see it. He had almost hurt himself laughing when they guys had arrived, storming into Scully's hospital room with Frohike in the lead, carrying the enormous stuffed animal that was almost as tall as he. Scully had just rolled her eyes and smiled. The guys would never change. "I have to use the bathroom, can you talk to him for a minute?" "Sure," he smiled as she handed him the wailing infant, and Mulder immediately began to rock him back and forth, babbling soothing words. "Mommy's getting your food, we just have to give her a minute. Yes, she doesn't understand how hungry a boy gets, does she? Mommy will be right here, she'll take care of everything. She always does that. How about if I tell you a story, would you like that? I'll tell you about a man I met once named Eugene Tooms. He had reeeeealy long arms, and..." Scully smiled at the Mulderspeak as she hurried to wash her hands and get back to Stephen. As she turned, her elbow bumped a glass that Mulder had left on the bathroom counter, and before she could catch it, it went crashing to the floor. "Damn," she muttered as the glass shattered, stepping carefully around the pieces. Half a second later she forgot all about the safety of her feet in her haste to get to Mulder. It wasn't easy--she could barely move, and needed the wall for support at times, but she managed to make her way into the bedroom as quickly as possible. Mulder had dropped Stephen on the bed, where the baby lay squalling and frantically waving. He had retreated to the floor beside the bed, where he was desperately trying to shove himself beneath the heavy piece of furniture. It wasn't as high off the floor as the bed in Billy Miles' guest room, and Mulder wasn't having much success, but he was giving it the old college try, nonetheless, screaming as loudly as his son. "Don't! No! Leave me alone! I won't let you touch me again, you bastards!" Scully quickly scooped up her son and deposited him in his crib at the foot of the bed, then knelt down beside Mulder. She had enough experience now to know not to touch him, but she did her best to talk him out of it, knowing that if she could ground him in reality with her voice, he would gradually overcome his panic. "Mulder! Mulder, it's me, listen to me, nothing is going to hurt you. Mulder, no one is going to hurt you, I promise, listen to me, you have to come back. Mulder, you have to come back. Mulder, Stephen needs you, you have to listen to me." The sound of his son's name seemed to reach Mulder, and he froze all at once, giving up his struggle to hide under the bed as his eyes began to slowly focus on his surroundings. Finally, after the usual darting around the room, they fixed on hers, finding calm and comfort in her steady blue gaze. "Scully?" he whispered. "Oh my god, Scully, what did I do?" "It's all right." Now that the crisis was past, she leaned against the side of the bed, exhausted and relieved, but Mulder only heard his son's cries. "Scully, what did I do?" he demanded again, hauling himself from his position halfway beneath the bed and running for the crib. "Nothing, Mulder, he's all right," she assured him, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. "You didn't hurt him." Mulder picked up Stephen, cradling him in his arms as he spoke to the baby. "Sorry, daddy's so sorry baby, I'm so sorry." Scully arranged herself against the pillows and reached for the baby, and Mulder waited until his child was contentedly suckling at Scully's breast before going into the bathroom. His whole body was trembling, and he needed a glass of water badly. "What the hell?" he asked aloud, seeing the shards on the floor, and Scully gave a strangled laugh. "I broke a glass," she called softly. "That's what set you off. The noise..." "Shit," he muttered, going to the kitchen for a broom and dustpan. He cleaned up the mess while Scully finished nursing the baby, and once they had him tucked safely back into his bed, snuggled up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. He had so far managed to carefully avoid acknowledging what the sound of shattered glass reminded him of, but very soon, he knew, he would have to tell someone. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the glass container breaking, the jar containing an alien-human fetus, could see the fluid spreading across the floor as he sent another container to join it, and another. He frowned--he couldn't recall how he had gotten into the room, he could only remember the feeling of urgency to destroy the aliens' horrible science project. He'd only managed to smash the three before they came for him, grasping at his arms with hands that looked human but possessed the power of five strong men. They'd let him scream his curses at them, oblivious to his cries, his struggles, or the curious eyes of the other abductees as they'd dragged him into the testing room, and then it had been the shock, the tiny, electrode-like pads all over his body and they hadn't even tried to control him that time, hadn't even *tried*, they'd *wanted* him to suffer, he remembered realizing as the pain began and he started screaming that they *did* know, they *did* understand human suffering, and this was revenge, this was punishment, and his throat grew raw as his screaming went on and on and on-- "Mulder!" Scully said sharply, feeling the tension in his body building moment by moment, as the vision assaulted him. He jerked at the sound of her voice and, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly, forced himself to banish the memory. After long minutes of silence, he whispered against her hair, "I'm sorry, Scully." Scully shook her head gently. "It's all right, Mulder. Nothing happened." She yawned, half asleep already, and barely heard his muttered, "But it might have." Stephen cried again at five, and Mulder sleepwalked to the crib, handed him to Scully, and then returned him when the feeding was finished, quickly changing his diaper, grinning at the fact that he had already become an expert at the task. All three slept for several hours then, only stirring when the infant's hunger once again awakened them. "Kid sure has an appetite," he commented, holding the baby while Scully used the bathroom--washing her hands very carefully this time--then settling Stephen against her breast for his mid-morning snack. "Mom has one, too," she replied, stroking the fuzz on Stephen's head. "I'm starving." Mulder disappeared into the kitchen, and by the time she had finished feeding Stephen, changed him and placed him in the middle of the big bed where he was safe from the edges, Mulder returned with a small tray. "Breakfast in bed," he announced proudly, setting the tray over her lap, and she grinned. She'd stocked up on frozen, easily prepared items several weeks earlier, mostly because she expected to be dealing with an infant by herself, and Mulder had taken one of the breakfast meals in her freezer, heated it in the microwave, and arranged it carefully on a plate. "Good work, chef," she teased. "How'd you do that so quickly?" "I'm good," he boasted, snitching a piece of bacon from her plate. "You sure are," she agreed, and he bit his lip. "Stop looking at me like that, Scully," he pleaded. "We can't do anything for weeks, and here you sit, deliberately torturing me." Her answer was another smoldering look. Wickedly, she put a slice of the bacon in her mouth, running her tongue up and down it seductively before biting it sharply in two. "You think this is funny!" he accused as he watched her give up the playfulness and quickly down her breakfast. "Hey, I've hardly slept in the last week," she returned, scooping up the last of the scrambled eggs with her fork. "I'm easily amused when I'm tired." She watched as Mulder played with his son, holding out his finger, moving it back and forth for the baby to track, then laughing when Stephen managed to grab it. "Ouch!" he yelped in mock pain, and then turned to her proudly when the baby gurgled. "He laughed at me, Scully, did you hear him?" "Sure he did, Mulder," she agreed, rolling her eyes sleepily and relaxing against the pillows. "Hmph," he said, turning back to his son, who was now yawning in his face. "Mommy doesn't believe me, but we know the truth, don't we, Stephen?" The baby gurgled again when Mulder picked him up, and after being walked throughout the apartment three or four times, fell asleep with his head against Mulder's shoulder. Carefully, Mulder placed him in his crib, covered him, and headed for the shower. While he was standing under the steaming spray, Mulder allowed his thoughts to drift to the crisis they'd experienced in the middle of the night. He could face that memory now, horrible though it was, but how many others waited in the shadows of his recollection, poised to ambush when he was least prepared? It sent a pain directly through his heart to know that he might have injured his son, and by the time he shut off the water, Mulder had reached a decision. It was one he had avoided, one he didn't want to come to, but after last night he knew he had no choice. He was going to have to get help dealing with the flashbacks. He waited until Scully had showered and dressed to broach the subject. They were sitting on either end of the sofa, Stephen lying between them, guarded carefully by his doting parents lest he wiggle too close to the edge and fall off. "Scully, I have to see someone." The statement came out of nowhere, and she stared at him in surprise. "By 'someone' you mean..." "A psychiatrist," he affirmed, meeting her eyes steadily. She had tried to convince him to seek help and he had steadfastly refused, but that was before he had endangered his son by losing himself in a flashback while holding him. The smile on Scully's face made the difficult decision worthwhile, and she squeezed his hand lovingly. "Thank you, Mulder," she said softly. "I know you don't want to do this, and I'm very proud of you." A little overcome, he dropped his eyes to their son, who was quietly examining his surroundings with wide, dark blue eyes. "I have to," he answered, tickling Stephen's chin playfully. "If I had hurt him...god Scully, it would kill me." "*I* would kill you," she retorted, only half in jest. "I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt our son." He raised his head to look at her and was surprised by the determination he saw on her face. "It's that "mother bear" instinct, isn't it?" he grinned. "I've seen it in action before, but never with quite this level of ferocity." "I don't like doing things by halves," she commented, sticking her fingers into Stephen's diaper to feel if he needed changing. "That's why I think we should discuss what Mom said at the hospital." "You mean...about getting married." She nodded. "Mulder, I'm not trying to rush you into anything, I just think..." "What, Scully?" he prompted when she trailed off. She took a breath. "I just think our son deserves two parents who love each other and are legally married." "Two parents who love each other isn't enough?" She shook her head lightly, her eyes on the baby. "Not for me. And not for him." Mulder leaned against the sofa back, staring at the ceiling. "We don't have to, of course," she said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice, but he heard it, and turned to look at her with all his uncertainty showing in his eyes. "Scully, you know I love you, right?" he asked slowly. She nodded once. "I just don't see what the big deal is. I've been married before. It's not all it's cracked up to be." She made a noise of exasperation that caused little Stephen to jump, so she picked him up and held him before he could begin to cry. "Maybe it was because you didn't marry the right person," she replied evenly, keeping her attention on her son. Mulder had told her about his brief, disastrous marriage to Diana Fowley, and it was a topic she didn't care to discuss further. He exhaled slowly, suddenly exhausted by the whole conversation. "Maybe," he muttered. Scully saw his fatigue and, in spite of her desire to resolve things, decided a change of topic was in order. "So, when are you planning to see this psychiatrist?" she asked curiously, wondering if he would really go through with it when push came to shove, or if *she* would end up doing the shoving, of him, right through the doctor's office door. "Soon." "Soon?" she repeated, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Today," he amended, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in an attitude of casual relaxation belied by the visible tension in his body. "I'll call today for an appointment. "There's the phone," she said pointedly, nodding at the telephone which sat, taunting him, on the coffee table. With a slight grimace, out of options at last, Mulder slowly reached for the telephone book. Reluctantly flipping through the yellow pages until he reached 'Physicians - Psychiatry," he glanced over the listings, finally slamming the book in disgust. "I don't know any of those doctors," he complained. "And how the hell am I supposed to tell a psychiatrist what happened to me, anyway? They'll lock me up and throw away the key." Stephen started fussing, so Mulder took him from Scully and stood up to walk him--it dealt with dual needs; both father and son could work out their agitation with the movement. "Mulder, you don't have to tell him everything," she replied irritably. "Tell him that because of the nature of your job, you can't reveal details, but that you need help getting over the flashbacks. Surely the doctor doesn't have to know every little fact in order to help get you past that?" He paced silently for a few minutes, then said thoughtfully, "There might be another answer." She waited. "The guys," he reminded her. "They knew a doctor who would dope me up and do all those tests on me in confidence." Scully flushed, still feeling guilty about that, even though she knew it had been necessary. "Maybe they know a psychiatrist who believes in little green men," he continued, his tone mildly sarcastic. "Grey," she corrected automatically, and he smiled, at last, only a small one, but a smile. "Grey." -----