"By the Wind Grieved" (9/13 )
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1

***************************************************

Sighing, Dana Scully stood at the dining room window and 
ground her fists against the base of her spine.  Her lower back 
had been killing her since she had awakened that morning,
throbbing ceaselessly with a dull, deep ache.  

It was snowing again, she noted absently, squinting against 
the outside glare.  The tiny white flakes drifted lazily on 
the other side of the glass, riding the wind like miniature 
parachutists.  The sight should have been pleasing.  It was 
pretty, after all, peaceful.  Yet, the winter scene did little to 
soothe her.  The matters troubling her couldn't be righted by 
anything so simple as a turn in the weather.

She supposed part of the problem was she finally had time to 
think.  For so long she had focused on other things--Mulder's 
disappearance, his return, his lack of memory, the attempt 
made on his life.  Now, however, while these distractions had 
in no way vanished, they had to some extent been mitigated.  
Action had been taken, by her and by others, to protect her 
partner.  They were doing all they could to keep him from 
harm; he was doing all he could to recover his past.  

Yet her part in the proceedings no longer required from her 
every waking moment.  They had gotten through the last of
the files days before; she had no particular responsibilities 
awaiting her now each day.  Mulder might spend his hours 
rereading this case summary or studying that bit of research.  
She, on the other hand, was free to leaf through magazines if 
she liked or watch one of the two dozen movie channels the 
house's satellite dish captured.  She could nap or lounge or 
walk halfway to China on the damned treadmill in the basement 
if she wanted to, all without suffering a moment's guilt.

Or instead she could rue her lack of preparedness as a mother. 
She could stare at the calendar, all too well aware she was a 
month away from giving birth, knowing she had no name chosen, 
no clothes for the little one, no bottles or pacifiers or rattles to
clutter up his or her non-existent crib.  She could wish she had 
someone in whom she could confide her fears, to whom she
could name her longings.  She could miss her mother, her home, 
her life.  She could curse for the hundredth time her decision to 
keep secret from Mulder the paternity of their child.  She could 
say a fervent prayer they would all come out of this unscathed.

In short, she could make herself miserable.

Which was what she had been doing now for days.

"You okay?"

Startling at the gentle query, Scully turned and saw Mulder,
clad as she was in jeans and a sweater, watching her.  He had
been doing a lot of that lately.  She had lost count of the number
of times she had caught him staring at her over the past week 
or so, his hazel eyes studying her with what she thought might 
be concern.

"I'm fine," she said, leaving off her awkward massage and
mustering for him a smile.  "My back is bothering me.  That's
all."

He hesitated, then offered, "If you want, I could maybe rub
it for you."

"That's all right.  You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to, but I want to.  I mean...I'm willing to
if you think it would help."

Actually, at that moment, Scully could think of nothing that 
would help more.  "Thanks, Mulder.  I would...I would really 
appreciate that."

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she took a seat at the 
table nearby.  Leaving a space between her chair and the table 
itself, she leaned forward and folded her arms atop the polished 
oak.  Stretched comfortably in that way, she laid her head on 
her crisscrossed limbs and closed her eyes.  As soon as she was 
settled, she felt rather than heard Mulder move into position 
behind her.

"Tell me if the pressure is too much," he murmured, his 
breath teasing her ear.

"I will," she promised, the vow muffled against her sweater.

Seemingly needing no other assurances, Mulder began his 
massage, his hands closing carefully around her narrow 
shoulders, then releasing once more.  Relaxing into his
touch, Scully took a long, deep breath, resisting the urge
to exhale it with a moan.  The slow, sure kneading of her 
aching muscles felt good, that was certain.  But it wasn't 
only the physical sensation which brought her pleasure.  It 
was the fact that Mulder and she were connecting, even in 
so inconsequential a way as this.  

Because as closely as they had been working these past few 
weeks--poring over the files for hours each day, sleeping 
next door to each other each night--a distance had cropped 
up between them.  One that had not been of Scully's making.

The separation had developed gradually, deepening as they had
slogged their way through the zip discs.  At first, she had thought
it might be her imagination, that what she had initially believed
was Mulder's detachment from her was, in fact, merely interest 
in his recently discovered past.  The wealth of information 
regarding their work together had to fascinate him, she reasoned.  
With the possible prize for his study his missing memory, he 
had been bound to become engrossed in the files.  As hopeful
for that outcome as he, she could hardly blame him for focusing 
on work rather than on her.

Besides, it wasn't as if he were being rude or uncaring towards 
her.  On the contrary, Mulder had been solicitous to a fault.
The majority of the meals they ate together he cooked.  He
surrendered the living room to her every afternoon for what 
had become, much to her chagrin, her regularly scheduled 
nap.  She had needed to resort to threats of physical violence 
whenever she had wanted to help around the house, even with
simple tasks such as clearing the table or washing and drying 
the dishes.

Yet every kindness on Mulder's part, every polite gesture 
or caring word, seemed to originate from arm's length away.  
He had begun holding back from her.  All the playfulness, 
the questions, the ready affection she had come to expect 
from the man she loved had been withdrawn as swiftly as it 
had once been given.  It was as if she were suddenly rooming 
with an exceedingly well-behaved stranger.  

Scully didn't think Mulder was angry with her or upset.  She 
had asked him numerous times if he was all right, and he 
had always answered in the affirmative.  Yet something was 
different between them.  She could feel it.  If things were as 
they once had been, she would have demanded from him the 
truth, kept after him until he confessed.  But, with her own lies 
weighing heavy on her heart, she couldn't rouse within herself 
the indignation necessary for such an inquisition.  Instead, she 
let matters lie, all the while missing him.

Missing him when he was never more than a room or two
away.

He was even closer now, she thought, bending over her as he 
worked out the stubborn knots in her back.  She could smell 
him, his warm male scent surrounding her.  She could feel the 
heat radiating from him, chasing away the chill that seemed 
to come from within her rather than from the frosty landscape 
out of doors.  She yearned to turn and burrow against him, to 
wrap her arms around him and absorb every last bit of that 
delicious heat.  She wanted to nestle against him and confess 
everything once and for all, to share with him the truth about 
their child and the life they had once enjoyed together.

If only she could find the words.

Angry at herself, at the mistakes she had made and all the things
she continued having so much trouble saying, Scully could feel 
her emotions begin to get the best of her.  Tears burned suddenly 
against her lowered lids.  Oh, damn it, she thought miserably.  
Damn it all to hell.  She couldn't cry now, not with Mulder so 
near.  She would never be able to hide it from him.  He was too 
close...

"Scully?"

Shit.

Sniffing, she hid her face against her arm and said nothing.  
Go away, Mulder, she told him silently.  Please go away.

Yet he ignored her voiceless plea.  Instead, his hands stilled 
against her back, his palms resting now just below her shoulder 
blades.  "Scully," he whispered, trying once more to gain her 
attention.  His voice was soft and almost unbearably gentle.  
She knew she wouldn't be able to resist its quiet power for 
long.  "Scully, what's wrong?"

Surrendering to the inevitable, she raised her head and opened 
her eyes.  The moment her lashes lifted, her tears escaped, 
running hot and unchecked down her flushed cheeks.  
Embarrassed, Scully swiped at them with her fingertips, 
spreading them over her skin like lotion.

"It's nothing, Mulder," she murmured, summoning up a wobbly
little smile, but unable to hold his gaze.  "Hormones probably.  
I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he asked, coming around to sit in the chair
nearest her.  Reaching out, he covered one of her hands with
his own.  "There's nothing to be sorry for.  I didn't hurt you,
did I?"

"No, no," she assured him swiftly, her eyes darting to his, 
then away.  "Nothing like that."

"What's the matter then?" he asked, plainly worried.

"I don't know...I just think my emotions are on overdrive
right now.  You know?" she said, trying to come up with 
some kind of explanation for him.  She might not be ready 
to broach the matter of their baby, but she could give him 
some measure of honesty.  "I'm letting myself get worked
up about things that normally wouldn't bother me."

"What kinds of things?" he asked.

She had hoped he might take her answer at face value, allow
her to hide behind her vague excuse and be done with it.  She 
should have known better.  Not even an alien mind wipe had 
been able erase Mulder's need for the truth.  Her eyes drawn 
time and again to their linked hands, Scully chose her words
with care.  "I've been feeling, well...kind of useless here the 
last couple of days."

"Useless?" he echoed with what sounded like amazement.
"Why would you feel useless?"

"Well,...I don't really have anything to do anymore," she 
said haltingly, not wanting him to feel guilty, but needing 
him to understand at least part of the reason for her malaise.  
"We've gone through the all files.  I've answered what 
questions I could for you.  Now it's just a waiting game."

"Waiting for what, exactly?" he queried, frowning.  "For me
to get my memory back?"

"Yes, of course.  But not only that."

"What else, then?"

She shrugged again.  "Lots of things.  Our lives have been in
a kind of limbo since we've gotten here."

Gnawing on his lip, Mulder nodded, his expression troubled.

Knowing that look all too well, Scully rushed to reassure him, 
to dissolve his sense of blame before it could fully take shape.  

"Mulder, don't get me wrong--I want to be here," she said,
taking his hand in hers.  "I told you that before.  I wouldn't 
leave this place if I could.  I just don't like feeling as if I'm
sitting around, doing nothing, especially when there are so 
many things I should be doing."

"Like what?" he asked.

She thought about it for a moment, considering what she 
could and could not say.  "Well...getting ready for the baby, 
for one.  It's like I told you before.  I'm not all that far along 
with my preparations."

"Couldn't you ask your mom to help you?" he queried.  "We
could probably arrange to get some sort of a message to her,
tell her what you need."

"Normally, I'd say yes," she replied.  "Mom would love to do
all that shopping stuff.  But with me being out of the picture 
for Christmas, she's going to be heading out of town soon.  
She may even already be gone."

"I thought you said she was going to be home for the holidays."

"That had been the plan.  With the due date getting close, and
my not being able to travel, everyone was going to come to
DC.  Now, however, with my being here instead, it doesn't 
make sense for Bill to uproot his family and fly out east, 
especially not with two small boys in tow.  When I spoke to 
Mom before we left, she said she would probably be heading 
out to San Diego after all."

"You don't know you won't be home for Christmas," Mulder 
argued without much conviction.

"It's only about a week and a half away," she gently reminded 
him.  "With Krycek out there and God only knows who else
might be looking for us, I'd say it's more likely than not we'll 
be waking up Christmas morning right here."

His eyes drifting from hers, Mulder looked around the room, 
his gaze faintly censorious.  "And this place isn't exactly full 
of the holiday spirit, now, is it?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked.  "You know as well
as I do how lucky we are to be staying at a place as nice as
this."

"You're right," he murmured, his attention yet focused 
elsewhere, his hand slipping free from hers.  "I do."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean it would probably be a lot easier for you to relax and
get ready for the baby if you were at home with your family
rather than here with me."

Shaking her head, Scully sighed, a fond if exasperated smile
tugging on the corners of her mouth.  "Mulder, that's not
true."

"Scully, we're practically prisoners here," he insisted.

"Stop trying to turn me into a victim!" she urged, her plea
coming out more sharply than she had intended.  Mulder
must have felt its bite.  Frowning, he drew away from her 
slightly, the muscle in the corner of his jaw pulsing in alarm.  
Seeing his distress, Scully immediately forgot all her own 
problems, her need to comfort her partner now her sole 
concern.

"Mulder, I think you've got some misconceptions about me
and my family," she began, reaching out to rest her hand 
lightly on his arm.  "When we get together, it's not exactly 
a scene by Norman Rockwell, you know."

"I thought you were close to your mom," he said, allowing 
her touch, yet remaining unmoving beneath it, wary, as if he 
feared provoking her again.

"I am," she said.  "But that doesn't mean there aren't tensions
between us, tensions that are only exacerbated when you add
my brother into the mix."

"This is Bill we're talking about, right?  Not the other one."

She nodded.  "Right.  Charlie won't be coming home for 
Christmas this year. Bill and his family will be playing host 
in San Diego."

"And you two don't get along?"

Lips pursed, Scully shrugged.  "It's not that, really.  Bill's heart
is in the right place.  It's just that he can be a little overbearing 
at times.  He thinks he's looking out for me when what he's 
really doing is telling me how to run my life."

Mulder looked astonished at the very idea.  "Doesn't he trust 
you to do that yourself?"

"Not to his satisfaction," she admitted ruefully.

"Then the man must be an idiot," he muttered.

That surprised a chuckle out of her.  "Are you sure you don't
remember him, Mulder?  Because I have to tell you--your 
reaction to my big brother is very much in keeping with the 
relationship you two have already established."

"What?  He doesn't approve of me?" Mulder asked.

"He doesn't approve of our work," Scully said, thinking to 
explain the reason for Bill's dislike in general terms, not 
wanting to again wound Mulder as she unwittingly had before.  
"In his eyes, you represent that work."

Nodding slowly, Mulder slid his arm out from under her hand 
and, twined with its twin, folded it across his chest.  "What 
about the baby?"

Chuffing mirthlessly, she assured him, "Oh, Bill doesn't 
approve of that either."

 "Doesn't he want you to settle down and raise a family?"

"That's exactly what he wants," she replied.  "Only that's not 
going to happen.  Just because I'm going to have a child doesn't 
mean my professional life is over.  I'm not saying there won't 
be adjustments to be made, but I'm not leaving the FBI.  And 
that's something my brother has had difficulty reconciling."

Again, Mulder nodded, seemingly with more vigor this time.

"So you see, Mulder, even if I were to spend the holidays with
my family, the chances of us having a old-fashioned Christmas
are next to nil," she said, leaning towards him across the table.
"I mean...I would love a big old tree, a fire burning in the fireplace,
carolers at the front door.  But that just isn't who we are, not 
who we've been for a long time."

"Do you miss them, though?" he asked quietly, sitting forward 
in his seat now as well.  "Your family, I mean."

"I do," she confessed.  "Part of me misses not being able to
see everybody.  But you know...given our track record, it's
probably for the best."

"What do you mean?"

"You've read the files," she said wryly.  "You know the kinds 
of things that happen to you and me this time of year.  All in 
all, I'd say we're safer here than we would be anywhere else."

"Do you like being safe, Scully?" Mulder queried, his voice 
soft, yet somehow suggestive, as if more than one question 
were being asked.

Confused by his meaning, Scully feigned a kind of glib 
nonchalance.  "Better that than sorry."

Mulder nodded one last time.  

Although it looked to her as if he didn't entirely agree.

			*****

He was in love with her.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the idea, not when he
had been sliding down that oh-so slippery slope for weeks
now.  Yet the power of the emotion, the depth and breadth
of it, had blind-sided him nonetheless.

Her kindness had won him over initially, the patience she
had shown him when he had been all but hostile to her, the
loyalty that seemed to bind her to him more firmly than ropes
or chains ever could.  

Soon after, she had impressed him with her intelligence, with 
her quick mind and discerning eye.

Then, he had come to appreciate her bravery...

...her strength...

...her compassion...

...her integrity...

The list could have stretched for miles.

But it wasn't until he had begun rummaging amongst the files 
that Mulder had realized at what cost he enjoyed Scully's 
company.  Studying their case histories, he couldn't help but
think how much his reaction to what he read must resemble 
that of a motorist driving past an accident scene.  Part of him 
had been mesmerized by what he had learned, dazzled by the 
danger, the intrigue, the wonder he had discovered recorded 
there on the page.  Yet another portion had been appalled at 
what his partner had suffered during the course of their 
investigations--injury, illness, betrayal, the loss of loved 
ones and Scully's own good name.  Her travails had sickened 
him even as her ability to persevere had filled him with awe.  

He yearned to ask her why--why she stayed with him and the
Bureau, why she didn't just pack her bags and head off into
private practice with her baby and its father.

But rather than raise that unfortunate question, he had asked 
another instead.

"Scully, it...um...it says here that as a result of your abduction,
you...uh...you can't have children.  How is this...I mean, did 
something...?"

"We don't know what happened, Mulder.  This baby was...
unexpected.  I guess you could call it a miracle."

A miracle.  After all she had been through, Scully still believed
in miracles.

How could he not love her?

Or perhaps, after fully understanding what they had shared 
over the past seven years, a better question would have been...

How could he think of loving anyone else?

Not surprisingly, this newfound awareness did little to cheer 
him.  He might be profoundly, irrevocably in love with his 
partner.  She, on the other hand, had bestowed her affections 
elsewhere.  She had said it herself, that very afternoon.  He 
was part of her work life.  So much so, that her brother had 
taken a dislike to him based on that, and that alone.  Intimacy
with Scully was out of the question.  That side of her was 
reserved for another, undoubtedly more deserving man.

That knowledge was a bitter pill to swallow, and for days
Mulder had turned inward to try and come to terms with
the realization.  It hadn't been easy.  He had struggled--with 
Scully's constant nearness and his own desire.  At a time 
when he would have given anything to hold her in his arms, 
he had instead kept his distance.  A plastic smile glued on 
his face, he had tried to figure out a solution, a way to erect 
safeguards against a woman he now admitted wholeheartedly
he wanted, but couldn't have.

In theory, a terrific idea.  In practice, a notion that made about 
as much sense as the whole Florida ballot debacle.

All he had wound up doing was hurting Scully.  Again.  Not 
a week after he had confided to A.D. Skinner the fear that he 
might indeed do exactly that.  Mulder could see it in her eyes 
when he would sequester himself away with his work or 
respond to one of her friendly overtures with polite indifference.  
Even as it was happening, he had realized just how wrong his 
behavior was, but he hadn't known what else to do.  Keeping 
her at bay was the only defense he had.  He couldn't escape her, 
not when they were virtually under house arrest.  Temptation 
was everywhere and his will was eroding daily.

By that morning, it had been washed away completely.  When 
he had come upon Scully standing at the window, looking so 
alone and forlorn, he had recognized just what a sham the past 
several days had been.  Pretending he didn't care hadn't solved 
anything.  All the feelings he had for her were still there, 
sublimated but alive.  He had accomplished nothing but to 
drive a wedge between them.

And he didn't want that.

Judging by her reaction, he suspected Scully didn't either.

So he had reached out to her, offering solace and a sympathetic
ear.  And in so doing, had gotten more than he had bargained
for.  

Not her tears.  Although, he had felt terrible about them.

Something else.  Something way, way better.

In the midst of their conversation, Scully had revealed a 
certain longing, a longing Mulder thought he might actually 
be able to satisfy if he got just a little help from his friends.

He didn't know why he felt compelled to do this thing.  It was 
silly, after all, and Scully was just as likely to laugh at him as 
to offer him her thanks.  Yet he wanted to, just the same.  He
wanted to give her something no one else could give.  He
wanted to see her smile, either with him or at him.  He didn't
care, just as long as her mood improved from what it had
been that morning.  

Scully had said she felt useless, idle.

Well, Mulder had a project in mind for her, for them both.

He dialed the phone the first moment he was able.  When
Scully excused herself to use the washroom, he took the
opportunity, ducked into the study and called the cottage.  
Montrose answered.  

When Mulder explained what he needed, the big man 
responded, "Do I look like one of Santa's elves to you?"

"Oh, come on," Mulder replied, his volume low.  "It's not 
that big a deal.  It'll take, at most, ten or fifteen minutes
of your time."

"Ten or fifteen minutes that should be spent ensuring your
and Agent Scully's safety.  This is not a game, Agent Mulder.
There are people out to kill you.  Remember?"

"Yes, I do.  But I don't believe what I'm asking you to do
will in any way jeopardize that safety.  Do it when one of the 
other teams comes in on rotation.  That way there will be four 
agents in the vicinity of the house.  That should be plenty of 
protection."

Montrose remained silent on the other end of the line, 
seemingly not yet convinced.

"What do you say?" Mulder cajoled.  "I mean...she's up here,
isolated from her family, weeks away from having a baby.  And
it's nearly Christmas.  Is it really that much to ask that we give 
her one nice afternoon?"

With that, Montrose grunted.  "Do you really think she's going 
to go for something as hokey as this?"

"I have no idea," Mulder answered honestly.  "But I'm working
with limited resources here."

The other agent made Mulder wait for a second or two more
before verbally giving him the nod.  "All right.  We'll lend you 
a hand.  Bartholomew and Pritchard are due in at 2:00.  Look 
for us around then."

"Thanks, man," Mulder said.  "I really appreciate this."

Hitting the power button on his phone, Mulder glanced at
his watch.  12:40.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

He had just enough time to make his preparations.

Crossing to the desk, he opened the top right-hand drawer
and began doing just that.

			*****

Scully had a feeling something was up.

She didn't know what exactly that something might be, but 
Mulder was acting oddly.  Even for him.  

After their conversation that morning, she had thought perhaps
they were back on familiar ground.  Mulder had seemed much 
more open to her, much the way he had been before they had 
arrived at the house.  They had joked some and talked and, 
at Mulder's prompting, even played a cut-throat game of 
backgammon.

She had won.

Gracious in victory, she had offered to make them lunch, grilled
cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

"Sounds yummy," Mulder had said, rocking on the balls of his
feet.  "But I'm not all that hungry.  I've got some stuff I've gotta
do."

"What kind of stuff?" she had asked.

"In the basement stuff," he had replied, turning to leave.  "Why
don't you go ahead and eat, though?  I'm going to be downstairs 
for awhile."

Brow wrinkled with consternation, Scully had done as he had
suggested, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich taking the place of 
soup and grilled cheese.

It wasn't any fun to dirty pans if she was only going to cook for 
herself.

Nibbling on her PBJ and flipping idly through an issue of 
Newsweek that dated from the summer before, Scully yearned 
to stick her head through the basement doorway and see just 
what the hell Mulder was doing down there.  She could hear him 
moving around, the occasional scrape of metal against metal, the 
thump of something hitting the large wooden workbench below.  
Could he be building something? she wondered.  Repairing 
something?  He had talked about constructing for her a crib.  
But that had been just a joke, right?

Scully's musings continued, right through her scarcely tasted
lunch and on to the dish washing that followed.  She was just
about to give in to her curiosity and peek in on Mulder's
mysterious activities, when she heard him bounding up the
stairs.  Marching right past where she stood in the kitchen, 
drying her hands, he crossed to the window, looked out, then, 
with a glance at his watch, returned to her.  His eyes were bright, 
his hair disheveled, and he looked as if he were having trouble 
controlling the urge to smile.

She smiled back.  It was just easier that way.

"Mulder, is everything okay?" she asked, studying him, more
bemused by his behavior than she liked to admit.  "Are you 
feeling all right?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, of course," he said just a tad too quickly.  
"Everything is fine.  The guys didn't call, did they?"

"What?" she queried, setting aside the dishtowel.  "Renfrew
and his gang?  No.  Were you expecting them to?"

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets.  "Not really.  
But they usually check-in in the afternoon,...so I thought...
you know...that maybe you would have heard...I don't know--"

His rambling explanation was interrupted by the sound of 
footsteps on the front stairs.  Mulder's eyes met hers, wide and
strangely excited.  Then he grinned and headed towards the 
entryway.  Intrigued, Scully trailed after him.  Before either 
of them could reach the door, however, it opened and Agent 
Renfrew entered, looking a trifle sheepish.

"Uh...got a delivery for you here, Agent Scully," he announced.

With that, Agent Montrose came inside, a bushy evergreen in
his arms.  "Where do you want it?" he asked.

"Over there, by the fireplace," Mulder directed.  "Just hang on
to it for a minute though, will you?  I've gotta go get something."

"Mulder, what the--?" Scully began, eyes wide as she looked 
first at the tree, then at him, utterly incredulous.

"You said you'd love a big ol' tree," he told her, jogging by
on his way to the basement doorway.  Once there, he bent 
down and retrieved some items from the top step.  The first 
was an odd-looking contraption made of C-clamps and wires, 
the second, a simple metal bucket, inside of which were two
bricks.  These in hand, he trotted back into the living room.  
"Since you're not going to be able to tell Santa your wish list 
in person this year, I figured maybe I should do a little wish 
fulfillment of my own instead.  Assisted, of course, by our 
next door neighbors here."

"How did he talk you two into this?" Scully asked, eyebrow
raised.

"Don't look at me," Renfrew said with a shake of his head and
a sideways glance at his partner.  "He took the call."

"Montrose, you want to bring that over here," Mulder said,
setting the bucket on the floor, then kneeling beside it.  "We'll
see if we can't get it anchored down."

"What you got there, man?" Montrose asked, lugging the 
tree to the spot Mulder indicated.  "Did you McGyver 
something together or what?"

"Yeah, I did," Mulder replied.  "I just hope it works."

"It better," Montrose warned, peering down through the lush
branches.  "We've got to get back out on watch."

"Patience," Mulder murmured, his head bowed over his task.
"Patience."

Stepping closer, Scully watched as Mulder fitted his creation
to the sides of the bucket.

"Okay, now ease it in there," he instructed.

Montrose did as he was told.  As soon as the trunk hit the 
bottom of the bucket, Mulder tightened the various clamps.
That secured, he then slid the bricks in along the perimeter 
in an effort, Scully assumed, to weigh the whole thing down.

"I've got to admit--not bad," Renfrew said moments later, his
voice warm with approval.

"Is it straight?" Mulder asked, looking up at her.

Scully circled to one side, then another, checking out the
angle.  "I think so."

"Great!" Mulder said, pressing to his feet.  "A little water,
and we should be all set.  Thanks guys."

"Don't mention it," Renfrew murmured, a small smile stretching 
his lips.

"Merry Christmas, Agent Scully," Montrose said, heading
towards the door.  His partner followed along at his heels.

"Merry Christmas, Agents," Scully called softly.  "Thanks
for everything...thank you very much."

Renfrew waved his hand at her as if to say "it's nothing" and 
pulled the door shut behind him.

Alone again together, Scully turned to regard her partner.  He 
stood about ten feet away, his smile still in evidence.  Although
she thought she spied a kind of hesitancy now in his hazel gaze, 
one she wanted quickly to dispel.

"Wow," she whispered with a smile of her own.

"You like it?" he asked.

"Yes, I like it," she said.  "Thank you."

"It's not stupid?"

"No."

"Or corny?"

"It's a little corny.  But I don't think that's such a bad thing."

With that, he seemed to relax a bit, and took a step closer to
her.  "Good.  I'm glad."

"Me too," she said, her eyes beginning to mist.

That he would even think to do something like this...

What a wonderful, wonderful man.

"Merry Christmas, Scully," he said, edging nearer to her still.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder," she replied, closing the gap
entirely.  

Hands resting lightly on his chest, she stretched up and kissed 
him softly on the cheek.  Mulder started ever so slightly, then
held himself very still, as if he believed any movement on his 
part might perhaps frighten her away.  Scully lingered there a 
bit longer than she probably should have, her mouth pressed
parted against his warm skin.  As she lowered her heels to 
the floor and began to move away, their bodies brushed against 
each other, throwing her slightly off balance.  Mulder took hold of 
her upper arms to steady her.  They both chuckled, awkward 
suddenly in their almost embrace.

"So now what do we do?" Scully murmured, her gaze 
studying the place where his sweater ended and his jeans 
began.

"We decorate it, of course," Mulder answered, the words 
rumbling, low and pleasing, inside his chest.

That drew her gaze to his.  "With what exactly?  Did you come
upon a hidden store of Christmas decorations you've been 
keeping from me?"

He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear.  "Scully, where's 
your imagination?  We don't need tinsel and colored lights.
We have other resources."

"Such as?" she queried lightly.

Mulder took a step away from her and spread his arms wide,
as if inviting her to consider all extreme possibilities.  "Well...
we've got popcorn we can string...if we can find thread."

"There's a travel sewing kit in the linen closet," she said 
helpfully.

"Great.  We haven't got any cranberries to string along with 
the corn, but I'll bet the blueberries we've got will do."

"Blueberries," Scully said, wrinkling her nose.  "I like 
blueberries.  To eat, I mean."

"We won't use all of them," he assured her.  "Just enough to 
add some color."

 "Okay.  Well...um...we could use tinfoil for a star," she 
suggested, entering into the spirit of things.

"Good idea," he replied.  "We could probably come up with 
some kind of ornaments too.  I found a roll of fishing line 
downstairs.  We could use that to hang them on the tree."

"Oh!" she said, recalling suddenly a childhood memory.  "When 
I was in grade school, we made these ornaments one year out of 
dough--just flour, water and...salt, I think.  You shape them like 
Play-doh and then bake them.  Seems to me they were pretty 
easy.  I could probably figure out the recipe."

"We could give them a try," Mulder said with a nod.

But, even as he agreed, Scully shook her head, recalling belatedly
the latter stage of that long ago arts and crafts project.  "Only 
you need to decorate them," she said glumly, "with paint or 
something.  Otherwise, they're just these blobby white mounds."

"We have markers," he said, as if such a thing were obvious.

"We do?"

"Yeah.  I found a pack of eight in the desk drawer.  Some
pretty good colors.  Red and green anyway."

"Red and green are good," she said.

"Seems to me the creative juices are finally flowing," Mulder 
said with what sounded to Scully like a kind of satisfaction.  
"Let's take advantage of it.  Why don't you see if you can pour 
some water into the bucket to keep the tree from drying out.  
Meanwhile, I'll go gather our supplies and meet you at the 
dining room table."

"Deal," she said with a grin.

Not ten minutes later, they rendezvoused, Mulder juggling
markers, scissors, tape, glue, a ruler, the sewing kit, fishing line 
and an assortment of pens and pencils.  For her part, Scully had
searched through the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator, and 
brought to the table aluminum foil, popcorn, a quart of 
blueberries, and an added bonus--a roll of thin red ribbon.

"Look!" she said, drawing his attention to this last item.  "The 
drawer in the corner there had wrapping paper in it and this.  
We can tie bows on the tree.

"That'd work," he allowed, dumping his supplies alongside 
hers.  "Kinda girlie, though, don't you think?"

"Bows aren't girlie," Scully said archly, rising to the bait.  
"They're festive."

"Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe," he replied with a smirk.

Wasting little time, they got to work, popping popcorn and
mixing batter.  Before long, they had edible ropes of beige 
and blue to loop around their tree and a couple trays of less 
than perfectly shaped wreaths and candy canes.

"Can we eat these?" Mulder asked, eyeing one mutant cane
speculatively.

"No, you can't eat them," Scully replied, feeling suddenly
as if she were talking to one of her nephews.  "They're for the
tree.  Now let that pan cool and we can color them."

"Why, though?" he pressed, picking up the little ornament
and bouncing it lightly on his palm.  "They were made with 
edible ingredients."

"Edible, yes," she said.  "But not very tasty."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

"How do you know they don't taste good unless you try one?"

"For your information, I have tried one," she said, carefully 
filling in a red stripe on the candy cane she was currently 
decorating.  "In the third grade.  The memory of the flavor 
haunts me to this day."

"Not too good, huh?"

"Nope."

Mulder hooked the curved end of the cane over his little finger
and swung it gently from side to side.  "What did it taste like?"

"Plaster, I guess.  Or maybe papier-mache."

"God, Scully.  Was there anything you =didn't= eat as a kid?"

"Mulder," she growled with mock censure.

The little stick of dough chose that moment to spin off Mulder's
pinkie and crash to the tabletop below, cracking upon impact.

"I told you to let it cool," she murmured sweetly, looking at 
him through her lashes.

"Nobody likes an I-told-you-so, Scully," he retorted with 
pretend ire.

The afternoon passed quickly.  Scully couldn't remember the
last time she had had so much fun.  It was ridiculous, she
supposed, that a grown woman should get that much enjoyment 
out of something so childish as coloring, but she had, she did.  
Judging by his enthusiasm and goofy grins, Mulder seemed 
to be getting as big a kick out of it all as she.  She couldn't 
have been happier.  Not even the slight cramping that had 
started low in her abdomen hours earlier could detract from 
her pleasure.

Soon, they moved their base of operations to the tree itself.
But before hanging the fruits of their labors on the branches, 
Mulder turned to the fireplace and began stacking logs.

"What are you doing?" Scully queried, kneeling at the foot
of the pine and breathing in its fresh, green scent.

"I know you've seen this done before," he teased.  "I'm 
building you a fire."

"Is this supposed to be part of my wish list too?" she asked, 
realizing all at once what might have been his impetus.

"Absolutely," he said, striking a match against the hearth
stone and catching the rolled up piece of newspaper he held
on fire.  "You said you wanted a tree, a fire, and carolers."

He bent down and shoved the now burning newsprint
beneath his tower of wood.

"I was going to ask Montrose and Renfrew to croon a
few tunes," he added, glancing at her over his shoulder.  
"But I was afraid they would hurt me."

She looked over at him and chuckled.  "Probably a very real 
possibility."

In no time, the fire was crackling and popping and throwing 
luscious warmth.  Working side by side, they began to hang 
their homemade decorations on the tree, Mulder stretching
to reach those places near the top of the six-foot pine, Scully
concentrating mainly on the branches below.

She was on her knees, bending low to hook a chubby green
wreath on a branch near the back of the tree.  Mulder was 
hidden from her, so when he murmured, "Oops," she had 
no idea of the cause.

"Everything okay?" she asked, ducking her head and slipping
out from between the needles.

"Everything is fine," he assured her, the tree still between them.
"In fact, I just discovered something."

She sat back on her heels and looked up.  "What?"

Mulder came around the evergreen and into view, mischief in 
his eyes.  "Mistletoe."

In his hand was a twig of pine, one end of which was wrapped
in a ribbon bow.  With the exception of its size and color, it 
looked nothing at all like the plant he claimed it was.

"Mulder," she said, smiling, yet aware her heart had all at once
begun to beat double-time.  "That's not mistletoe.  That's a piece
of the tree that no doubt broke off when you tried to tie a bow
around it."

"I didn't break it off," he insisted, moving closer to her.  "It fell
off in my hands.  Like it was meant to be."

"All right," Scully agreed, sliding her tongue over her suddenly
very dry lower lip.  "Perhaps it wasn't you who did the damage.  
I'm sure this poor tree got jostled around good when Montrose 
dragged it here from wherever he and Renfrew cut it down.  
The branch could have gotten cracked then.  The fact remains, 
however, that that is not mistletoe.  It's pine."

Kneeling beside her, Mulder shook his head.  "I'm not so sure
that this is the time for facts, though, Scully.  You know?  I
mean...who really cares if this is pine or not?  Who cares what 
type of tree this is at all, or how long its branches measure or 
even what kind of ornaments are hanging from it?  Sometimes, 
that kind of stuff just doesn't matter.  Sometimes you have to 
let it all go."

He was very near to her now, their knees almost touching.

"But if you let it all go..." she said, taken aback by how breathy 
her voice sounded to her ears, "...then what?"

From where Mulder was positioned, she could see the fire 
reflected in his eyes.  But something else was shining in them 
too, a longing, and a sadness Scully would have given anything 
to banish.  

"You pretend," he told her softly.  "You pretend...even if only 
for a little while...that everything is exactly the way you want 
it to be."

She couldn't swallow; she was surprised she could even still
speak.  "How do you want things to be, Mulder?"

He reached out his hand, the one holding the sprig of green,
and traced the shape of her face with his fingertips.  She could
feel a few of the twig's needles catching, dragging lightly 
through her hair like a comb.  "Kiss me, Scully.  Just once.  
Let me kiss you."

Her mouth opened, then closed.  She wanted to answer him,
to tell him what a bad idea this was, to beg him to hurry and
fit his mouth to hers.  But nothing would come out.  All she
could do was sit there, trembling now, her eyes wide and moist.

He watched her, his gaze hooded, seemingly trying to gauge
her interest.  Then, at last, with no help at all from her, he 
made his decision.  Mulder took her silence for consent.  
Lifting his mock mistletoe above her head, he leaned in and 
covered her lips gently with his.  Her hands fluttered to his 
shoulders.  She gasped.  But she did not stop him.  She 
allowed him to kiss her and, what was more, Scully kissed 
him back.

She opened her mouth for him, needy as she pressed against 
his familiar lips.  It had been so long since they had done this,
she realized, months and months.  She had wondered, at times, 
in the depths of her loneliness and despair, whether she would 
ever again have the opportunity to breathe Mulder's breath, to 
nudge his nose with hers, to feel his eyelashes tickle her cheek.

But now she did and it wonderful, glorious--the taste of him,
the firm, fleshy texture of his lips, the heat of his mouth, 
warmer than the fire blazing nearby in the hearth.

She mourned when Mulder began to pull away only to rejoice
when he returned, this time without the counterfeit mistletoe.
His hands reached up to cradle her face, to hold her balanced 
on the palms of his hands.  "Scully," he whispered, his eyes 
nearly shut, hunger glittering there between the lashes.  Then 
he dipped his head again.  This time, not only did their lips 
meet, but their tongues tangled as well.

Scully couldn't think, couldn't move save to cling to the man
kissing the life out of her.  All gentleness was gone.  Their 
lips ground against each other now, angling this way and 
that, as if desperate to find the ideal fit.  His tongue rubbed 
roughly over hers, wetly, exploring the confines of her 
mouth. Breathless, she followed his lead, grabbing at his 
arms for balance, tumbling sideways when he did, to lay 
supine on the floor.  Mulder loomed over her, his body
caging hers but taking care not to press against her swollen
middle.  

A little light-headed by their sudden change in position,
she stretched up and tunneled her fingers through his hair,
the cool, crisp strands sliding easily between them.  Wrapping
her leg around his, she tried to pour all her yearning, all her 
love, all her apologies for the things she had chosen to keep 
from him into her kiss.  She had no idea what had prompted 
Mulder's actions, but she knew what this moment and this man 
meant to her.

I love you, she told him inside her head.  I love you so much.

Please don't hate me when I tell you what I've done.

I didn't say anything because I didn't want to hurt you.  I'm 
sorry.  I'm sorry that in the end I've only made it worse.

Almost as if hearing her voiceless plea, Mulder tore his 
mouth from hers and, dropping soft, penitent kisses along 
her jaw line, mumbled an apology of his own.

"Scully...I'm sorry...I know this is wrong.   But I can't...I 
tried--"

"Mulder...no," she said brokenly, her eyes welling, her hands 
sliding free from his hair.  "Please...please don't say that."

"I have to," he whispered, lifting his head just long enough
to catch sight of her glistening eyes, then lowering it once 
more to hide his gaze against her neck.  "I have to try and 
explain."

"No, you don't" she said, pushing on his shoulders in an effort 
to try and make him raise his head.  She couldn't take the coward's
way out on this.  She had to look him in the eye when she told 
him the truth.  "You don't understand--

So engrossed were they, neither heard the sound of another 
moving cautiously up the front stairs and onto the porch.  They 
were oblivious to the slow turning of the knob and quiet snick 
of the door swinging open.  It wasn't until the intruder spoke 
that the two agents realized they were no longer alone.

And that their unwanted guest bore a very familiar face.

"Well, if it isn't the X-Files' own little mommy and daddy to-be,"
Alex Krycek crowed as he stood framed in the doorway, pistol
held steady in his one good hand.  "How nice to see you two 
have managed to pick up right where you left off."

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Continued in Chapter X

"By the Wind Grieved" (10/13 )
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

Notes way back when, prior to chapter one.

***************************************************

Before he had entered the house, the one-armed man would 
have bet Fox Mulder would be the one to gasp his name.  After 
all, the X-Files' senior agent had always had a certain gift for 
the obvious.  Yet instead, it was his partner who voiced it first, 
softly, as she stared up at him, her eyes wide with recognition 
and shock.  

"Krycek!"

By contrast, Mulder all but ignored him, his attention belonging 
solely to the woman lying beside him, the one who looked as if 
she had recently been well and thoroughly kissed.

"Agent Scully," Alex Krycek answered pleasantly as he closed 
the door behind him, his gun still trained in her direction.  "Nice 
to see you looking so well.  You know, it's true what they say.  
Pregnant women really do glow."

While his description was accurate--Scully's cheeks were 
pink, her eyes big and bright--Krycek knew as well as she 
her physical state had little to do with the child she carried.  
She was embarrassed.  Plain and simple.  Which to Krycek's 
way of thinking was a very good thing.  He may have 
currently had the upper hand, but experience had taught 
him never to underestimate these two.  Any little anything 
that might upset or unbalance either of them could only be 
to his advantage.

"What do you want?" Mulder queried, his gruff tone 
interrupting Krycek's musings.  While they remained on 
the floor near the fire and a shabbily decorated pine, the 
agent had helped his partner to a seated position.  Resting
on her hip beside Mulder, Scully's eyes sought out his.
Yet, like a sulking child, he now avoided her gaze.

Interesting.

"Actually, I don't want much of anything from you," 
Krycek said, taking a step closer, intrigued by the pair's 
odd behavior.  "At least not now.  My job is simply to 
keep you two here and out of trouble.  I wouldn't want
you to get in the way of things."

"What things?" Scully asked.

"You'll know in good time," Krycek replied.

"We've got a small army of agents patrolling this property,
you know," Mulder said, glaring up at him.  "You're 
outnumbered."

"Not anymore," Krycek informed him with a smile.  "Four 
of your six agents have been taken out of the game already.  
The remaining two will be history before the night is out."

"Have you killed them?" Scully asked, some of the color
draining from her face.

He hadn't.  Despite what many might believe of him, 
Krycek preferred to do his job with a minimum of bloodshed.
Still he saw no reason to share that bit of information.

Better to let them worry instead.

"Let's just say you shouldn't be expecting any last minute
charge of the cavalry."

"So while you're here, baby-sitting us, what's your partner
doing?" Scully asked, raking her fingers through her tousled 
hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

"How do you know about my partner?" Krycek countered, 
taking a seat on the arm of the sofa.  Might as well get 
comfortable, he thought.  None of them would be going 
anywhere for awhile.

"Marita Covarrubias was helpful in that regard," Scully said, 
her gaze flickering again towards her partner, then away.  
Mulder still wouldn't look at her.  Yet he had shifted on the 
floor so he was now positioned between her and the man 
with the gun.

Krycek smiled to himself.  It was just like old times.

"Marita is a bitch," he said without rancor.  "She likes to 
think she's smarter than me."

"Isn't she?" Mulder queried dryly.  "After all, she's still got 
both her arms."

"While I've got you," Krycek said, his gun pointed squarely
at the agent's chest.  "So tell me, Mulder--given the situation, 
who would you say is the one with the brains?"

Frowning, Scully put her hand on her partner's shoulder as if 
silently urging him to keep his mouth shut.  Mulder ignored 
her mute plea.

"That depends," he said instead, "on what you've come here 
for.  If you want me, then what are we waiting for?  Let's go.  
Leave Scully out of this."

"Mulder!" she cried, tugging on his arm.  "Stop--"

"What makes you think it's you I want?" Krycek asked slyly, 
toying with his nemesis just a bit.  Childish though he knew
it was, he enjoyed the way it made Mulder's jaw screw tight, 
made his eyes flash with temper and dread.  "Maybe I want 
to take Scully away from all this.  Did you ever think of that?
Maybe I want her baby, Mulder, your baby.  Maybe I suddenly
have the urge to start a family of my own."

As he could have predicted, his needling had an immediate 
effect.

"You touch her...," Mulder snarled, pushing swiftly to his 
feet, his fists clenched and ready.  "You so much as lay your 
one remaining hand on her--"

"Mulder, don't!" Scully begged, grabbing hold of his wrist 
in an apparent effort to keep him from charging his armed  
foe.  "He's taunting you.  Can't you see that?  Goading 
you.  It means nothing.  Don't give him the satisfaction."

Smirking, Krycek raised his brow as if to ask, 'Who are you
going to believe, Mulder--Scully or me?  Which do you think 
I really want, her or you?'

The trio held their positions for a moment or two more, until
Mulder swiped his lower lip with his tongue and, turning his
back on his former partner, helped his current one to her feet.
Krycek watched the two, their hands joined, their gazes darting
like hummingbirds, flitting this way and that, but never really
lighting on each other.

What the hell had he walked in on?

"Okay," Krycek said, when the crisis had passed and his 
captives stood side by side before him.  "Now, seeing as 
we're all going to be here awhile...Scully, if you wouldn't 
mind bringing me first your phones, then your weapons.  
I'll be holding my gun on Mulder, here.  So behave yourself.
And don't take too long."

"All right."

With another quick look at the father of her child, Scully 
did as she was told, retrieving her cell phone from the 
kitchen countertop and that of Mulder from the side table 
at the opposite end of the sofa.

"Great," Krycek said, the muzzle of his gun pointed at an 
exceedingly watchful Mulder.  "Now remove the batteries 
and throw them outside.  Far.  I don't want to hear them 
hitting the porch or the steps."

Again, Scully did as she was bid, holding the door open as 
she propelled the batteries far into the early evening black, 
their landing silent and, no doubt, snowy.  Finished, she shut
the door once more.

"Now your weapon," Krycek instructed, standing and stepping
behind Mulder so the agent was positioned between Scully 
and himself.  Though the chances of Scully firing at all were 
slim, Krycek knew they would be nil if Mulder blocked her 
intended target.  "I want you to go get it.  When you have it 
in hand, remove the magazine and throw it outside with the 
rest.  Then bring me the gun itself."

Scully hesitated a moment, then turned to the coat rack on her
right.  Reaching beneath one of the jackets stored on it, she 
pulled out a holster that was hanging hidden there.

"Nice and easy now, Scully," Krycek warned from behind 
Mulder's shoulder.  "Make sure your hands are where I can 
see them."

Nodding slightly, she slipped her gun free and popped out its
clip.  Opening the door, she hurled the magazine as far as she 
could, grunting with the effort, then pulled the door closed
again.

"Probably should have left that open," Krycek said.  "You've
got Mulder's ammo to dispose of as well, don't forget."

"Mulder doesn't have a gun," Scully said, crossing towards 
him and setting her unloaded automatic on the coffee table.
She paused as she bent to lay the gun down, her body
stiffening as if with a sudden cramp or ache.  Her hair hid
her face from view, so it was impossible to tell from her
expression the severity of the pain or what might have been 
its cause.  Regardless, the moment didn't last long.  When she 
stood upright again, she moved as if all were well.  Krycek put 
the matter out of his head.

He had other things to concern him.  "Since when doesn't 
Mulder carry a gun?" he asked, coming around so he could 
look both agents in the eye.  This was news to him.  

"Since you or whatever monsters you handed him over to
stole his knowledge of how to handle one," Scully said,
unblinking.

While Scully's explanation made a certain amount of sense,
Krycek didn't necessarily believe her.  

There were just too many reasons for her to lie.

"That the truth, Mulder?" Krycek asked, adjusting his aim so
that Scully was in his sights rather than the man to whom the 
question was addressed.  "Are you now officially unarmed 
and considered not very dangerous?"

Mulder swallowed hard, his gaze locked on Krycek's automatic, 
but his voice didn't waver.  "That's right.  These days I'd be 
more likely to shoot myself in the foot than hit what I was
after."

Eyes narrowed, Krycek considered whether this might be 
true.  He supposed it could be possible; Mulder could have 
had his weapon taken away.  He had no way of proving it 
one way or another, of course, without turning the house 
upside down and searching for the damned thing.  Not a 
project he particularly wanted to undertake just then...
 
"Don't kid yourself," Krycek finally said, his decision made.  
He would believe their story.  For now.  "You would have 
been just as likely to do that in the old days, too."

Was it his imagination or did Scully shoot Mulder a furtive 
sideways glance?

If she had, Mulder disregarded it.  "Cute," he said instead.  
"Real cute.  Scully didn't tell me what a regular laugh riot 
you are, Krycek."

"I have my moments," the rogue agent murmured with a smile. 

Mulder nodded slowly, his gaze measuring.  "I bet you do."

Ah.  This was familiar too.  The stare-down.  The silent 
dare.  The gauntlet one or the other of them invariably threw 
whenever their paths crossed.  Amused, Krycek wondered 
if Mulder had any memory at all of their many previous 
confrontations, if he recalled the attendant rush of adrenaline, 
the quickening of breath, the coiling of muscle that signaled 
violence was threatening to erupt.

He wondered if Mulder got turned on by any of it.

As Krycek did himself.

"So now what?" Scully demanded when it seemed her two
companions had, for a moment, forgotten she existed.  "You 
have our cell phones and you have my gun.  If that was all 
you were interested in, you could have gone shopping at 
Walmart.  What do you want with us?"

Krycek didn't answer directly.  Rather, he asked, "What 
time you got, Scully?"

Sighing with what sounded like frustration, the auburn-haired 
agent consulted her watch.  "Twenty till seven."

Picking up her gun and stashing it in his coat pocket, Krycek 
nodded.  Everything was running right on schedule.

"Why don't you two have a seat on the couch?" he suggested,
circling as he pointed to the piece of furniture with the muzzle 
of his automatic.  "Maybe we'll watch some TV.  I'll bet that 
dish of yours gets practically every channel known to man."

"Don't tell me you paid us a visit just because your cable is 
out," Mulder muttered darkly as he lowered himself beside 
Scully on the sofa.

"No, I didn't," Krycek replied, plopping himself down in the 
chair across from the two agents and at last unzipping his 
leather jacket.  Time to settle in.  "As you guessed, Mulder, 
I came here for you." 

"I'm flattered," Mulder murmured, sitting forward so his
elbows balanced atop his thighs, the dying fire casting 
shadows on his face.

"You should be," Krycek replied.  "We've been watching this 
place for more than a week now, learning the layout and the 
schedule your guards keep.  They rotate on four hour shifts.  
Did you know that?"

Neither agent answered, though Scully looked Mulder's way
again.  As before, he did not return her gaze.

Krycek continued.  "They do.  There's more to it, of course--
the switching of partners and automobiles, and the opportunity
for them each to get enough sleep.  It's impressive, the intricacy
of it all.  And yet the whole thing goes off like clockwork.  
Every day, every time."

He leaned forward now, sitting much like Mulder, the only
difference between them being the weapon clutched tightly 
in his hand.

"Which was how we knew there would be a team coming 
in at six tonight and one at ten.  We entered the cottage this
afternoon just after five, and took care of the agents that were 
there.  They didn't know what hit them.  After that, it was easy.  
We just hung out until the next team arrived.  My partner is 
waiting for the final pair now."

"They call in, though," Scully said.  "The agents.  They check 
with each other.  The ones who are still out there...they'll be 
suspicious when no one answers at base."

Smiling, Krycek shook his head.  "No, they won't.  You see...
that's the other thing we spent the last week or so doing.  My
partner is amazingly good with voices.  Really.  The guy
could have a career in Vegas.  We've been intercepting your
guards' calls since we got here.  My man has got their speech 
patterns down.  He knows the lingo they're using, the codes.  
He could get on the phone right now and pretend to be any 
one of them.  Their own mothers wouldn't know the difference."

"So, your guy ambushes our guys at ten," Mulder said flatly,
his brow furrowed, his hands clasped  between his knees.  
"Then what?"

Krycek shrugged.  "Then my partner, you and I leave 
Agent Scully here behind.  We go somewhere nice and quiet, 
someplace we can talk.  I want to know what you've been up 
to, Mulder.  I want to hear all about your adventures."

"He doesn't remember anything!" Scully blurted out, her 
hand rubbing restlessly over the swell of her belly.

"I know," Krycek said.  "But I think we may be able to do 
something about that."

"You can get me my memory back?" Mulder asked.

Krycek cocked a brow.  "We can try."

"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Scully snapped.

"It means we have recently gotten access to the technology 
responsible for taking Mulder's memory to begin with," Krycek 
said.  "We believe that if we can reverse the process used on 
him, his memory should return."

"You believe...," Scully echoed fearfully, realization dawning
on her face.  "But you don't know for sure."

Krycek said nothing.

"You've never tried this sort of thing before, have you?" she
asked, her cheeks darkening with her mood.  "Have you?"

Krycek saw no reason to lie to her.  "No.  No, we haven't.
It's not like the procedure is something we get a big demand 
for.  Mulder will be the first."

"The first...," Scully repeated in disbelief, pushing herself 
awkwardly to the edge of the sofa cushion, the difficulty 
she had in shifting her seat seemingly only adding to her 
rage.  "You son of a bitch.  You selfish, superior son of a 
bitch."

"Scully," Mulder murmured, looking at her at last, warning
in his gaze.

"Mulder isn't some sort of lab rat you can experiment on 
at will," she continued, uncaring of her partner's concern.  
"You have no right to do this, no right to do any of this."

"What is it you think I've done?" Krycek asked, impressed
in spite of himself by her ferocity.  "What do you think my
part has been in all this?"

"I think you've used him, you bastard," she growled, her eyes 
blazing blue, her posture drawn so tightly she quivered with 
the tension.  "You set Mulder up.  You put him through 
months of God only knows what kind of torture all because 
you wanted information, information you were too much of 
a coward to get any other way."

"You're right," Krycek said, pushing to his feet and coming 
to stand above them both, his mouth hard, his palm beginning 
to sweat around the grip of his weapon.  "I need the information 
locked inside Mulder's head.  We all do if this planet is going
to have any chance at all of survival."

"So you plan to take it," she sneered, clearly unforgiving of
his motives.  "Just like you always take whatever it is you 
want.  A file, a life--what do you care?  The end justifies the 
means, right?"

"That's enough, Scully," Krycek muttered.

"No," she said, unafraid.  "I don't think it is.  I want you to 
explain it to me, Krycek.  Make me understand.  Tell me 
how you sleep at night, how you get through each day 
without putting a gun to your head--"

"Shut the fuck up.  Do you hear me?" Krycek warned, 
his automatic pointed at her head, his patience all but gone.  
"Just.  Shut.  The fuck.  Up."

Something in his voice must have gotten through to her,
pierced the bubble of reckless courage fueling her tirade. 
Perhaps the gun itself had made an impression or maybe 
she had just ran out of things to say.  Whatever the reason, 
Scully fell silent.  She stared up at him, censure still glittering 
in her eyes, yet said no more.

"That's better," Krycek murmured, holding her gaze.  "For 
everyone, I think.  After all, too much excitement can't be 
good for the baby.  Wouldn't you agree?"

Neither agent replied.

Krycek nodded, satisfied his point had been made.  "All
right.  Enough talk.  Mulder, grab the remote and let's see 
what's on TV.  I don't know about you two, but I could go 
for a little mindless entertainment.  In my experience, 
conversation is highly overrated."

			*****

The day had turned surreal.

It had been strange enough to have FBI agents deliver
a Christmas tree to their door.  But as far as Scully was
concerned that bit of whimsy paled next to watching TBS' 
Tom Cruise marathon with Mulder and a pistol-toting Alex 
Krycek.

At their captor's insistence, they had tuned in to "Days of 
Thunder" and were now an hour into a severely edited for 
television version of "Risky Business."

Risky business, indeed.

Mulder and she were being held at gunpoint.  Their fellow
agents were either dead or incapacitated.  Krycek planned
on using her partner's head as his very own science project. 

And she was in labor.  

Had been, by her calculations, for nearly six hours now.

Physician though she was, Scully hadn't realized it at first, 
hadn't recognized the signs.

But they had been there, plain as day.

Her backache had intensified soon after Mulder and she had 
begun their tree decorating party.  The cramps had started 
not long after that.  Yet, while she had been admittedly 
uncomfortable, she hadn't given the symptoms much thought.  
She was always being afflicted by little aches and pains these 
days.  So what?  She was eight months pregnant; it went with 
the territory.  The twinges had been easy enough to ignore.  
They had been having such a good time, Mulder and she.  
The last thing she had wanted to do was spoil the mood with
complaints.

But as the afternoon had worn on, the severity of the pain 
had increased.  Not dramatically, at first.  It had been more 
a matter of her considering swallowing a few Tylenol than 
of her demanding Mulder drive her to the hospital.

Nothing to worry about.  No need for concern.

However, by the time Krycek had made his appearance, 
Scully could no longer deny the truth.  Those little twinges 
she had tried to ignore were contractions.  Unlike her usual 
assorted aches, they wouldn't go away.  They would come 
faster and hurt more until her body could do nothing but 
surrender to their demands.  They were the harbingers of 
birth.  Her baby was coming.

And Scully was going to fight its impending arrival with 
every last molecule of her being.

She couldn't have the baby now.  Could not.  Not when 
there was a murderer in the house.  A murderer who could
well decide to try and use the child against her and the man 
she loved.

So, as Tom Cruise romanced first a redhead, then a blonde,
Dana Scully sat watching, and tried desperately to will away 
her labor pains.

She didn't really believe she would be able to make them 
disappear.  She did hope, however, she would be able to 
keep the two men with her from finding out her condition.  
Now that she knew Krycek's plan, she didn't want him to 
change it on her account.  

As it stood, Krycek wouldn't link up with his partner 
again until after ten o'clock.  Prior to then, he would be 
alone and outnumbered.  

Granted--outnumbered by a pregnant woman in the midst 
of giving birth and a man who couldn't remember how to 
throw a punch let alone what taking one might feel like--
still...

If only they could get to Mulder's gun.

It gave Scully some small measure of solace to know her 
partner's service automatic was upstairs in his sock drawer.  
The problem was retrieving it.  She doubted she could 
convince Krycek to let her go upstairs alone for any reason.  
For all his faults, the man wasn't stupid.  He wouldn't let 
either her or Mulder out of his sight...

...unless he absolutely had to.

Wait a minute.

Maybe they wouldn't need the gun upstairs.  Maybe she 
could take Krycek out without it.  

A plan began to form inside her head, its shape imperfect 
yet simple enough to draw.  Simplicity would have to do.  
Time was running out and so was Scully's acting ability.  
Her contractions were becoming more and more difficult 
to hide.  

Even Mulder had noticed the last one.

When it had hit, she had sucked in a quick, harsh breath
between her teeth and held herself very still, waiting for 
the pain to pass.

"You all right?" Mulder had whispered in the midst of it, 
his mouth inches from her ear.

"Yeah," she had assured him breathlessly, unable at that
moment to say more.

"You sure?  It's seems like you're...I don't know...fidgeting
some."

"Indigestion."

"Do you two mind?" Krycek had said, looking over at them.  
"I'm trying to watch the movie."

That had been the longest interchange Mulder and she had
shared since Krycek's ill-timed bombshell.  Scully knew she
had wounded the man she loved.  Yet she had hope all was 
not lost.  

Because for all Mulder's show of ignoring her, he had still 
noticed when she fidgeted.

He had been ready to pounce on Krycek just for suggesting 
he might harm her.

He had, without thinking, shielded her from a possible bullet. 

In spite of everything, Mulder still cared.

So did she.  Deeply.  More than she could say.

Luckily for them both, actions spoke more loudly than words.

Taking a slow, cleansing breath, Scully put her plan in motion. 

"I need to go to the bathroom," she announced.

Tearing his eyes away from a coolly knowing Rebecca 
DeMornay, Krycek grumbled, "Can't you hold it?"

"Not these days," she wryly replied.

Sighing, he hesitated, then gestured towards the hallway.  
"Well, go on.  And hurry up."

"I'll try."

With a helpful arm up from Mulder, Scully rose to her feet
and padded slowly towards the downstairs powder room.  
Closing the door and locking it behind her, she quickly 
did her business then got down to the matter at hand.

What was there in that tiny room that she could use as a
weapon?

Bending down, she quietly opened the cabinet beneath the 
sink and peered inside.

Damn it.  She had been hoping for an aerosol can or two,
something she could use to blind Krycek, hurt him as she
once had Donny Pfaster.

No such luck.  It seemed their cleaning supplies were kept 
elsewhere.  All that was stored below was toilet paper, a 
plunger, and a rusting bathroom scale.

Undaunted, Scully checked the vanity.  There, the pickings
were a good deal more promising--a nearly full bottle of 
rubbing alcohol and a metal nail file.  

Okay, she thought, testing the file's point with her thumb.  
This could work.  If she could maneuver near enough to 
Krycek to get the alcohol in his face, she could take advantage 
of his distraction and use the nail file as a makeshift knife.  
She realized it wasn't exactly razor sharp, but it should hurt 
like hell if she could get enough force behind the jab.  It was
no match, of course, for Krycek's automatic, but beggars 
couldn't be choosers.  She would have to make do with 
what she had. 

Unscrewing the top off the bottle of alcohol and setting it
aside, Scully waited, knowing that sooner or later her absence 
would grate on Krycek's nerves.  Sure enough, she hadn't been
in the bathroom ten minutes, when he knocked on the door.

"Scully, what the hell are you doing in there?"

"Just a second," she said, flushing the toilet and running
water in the sink.  "I...um...I'm not feeling real well."

"That's too bad.  Open the door."

"I will," she assured him, washing and drying her hands
before turning off the faucet once more.  "Just, give me...
I'll be right there."

"Scully...=now=."

"Okay, okay.  Just hang on."

Flipping the lock, she cracked open the door, nail file concealed
in her right hand, the alcohol hidden behind her back.  

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her head bowed.  "I started feeling
a little dizzy in there."

As she had expected, Krycek was waiting for her in the hall, 
his weapon drawn.  "If you're feeling dizzy, go sit--"

Striking as quickly as she was able, Scully pushed the door
open the rest of the way, whipped out the bottle of alcohol 
and threw its contents at Krycek's eyes.  The burning liquid 
hit its mark.  Screaming, he staggered on his feet, twisting 
and turning as if to try and avoid the pain.

"=Shit!=" he cried, rubbing his arm wildly against his face,
his gun still in hand.  "Oh, God!  Shit...shit."

"Scully?" Mulder called anxiously from the living room.

"Mulder, get over here!" she shouted, tossing the empty
bottle away and taking aim with the nail file.  "Get over 
here now!"

Unwilling to wait for her partner to join her, Scully edged 
nearer to Krycek, trying to get in position to plunge her 
weapon into his back.  She was just about to deliver the 
blow, her slender file raised and ready for attack, when 
Krycek caught her unawares.  Doubled over in agony, he 
straightened suddenly, his arms flung wide and fast.  As 
close as she stood to him, Scully couldn't dodge in time.  
Krycek's gun caught her on the chin, the blow snapping back 
her head and sending her careening into the wall, temple first.  
Dazed by the impact, she crumpled in a heap.

"SCULLY!"

Barreling past her, Mulder flew at Krycek, murder in his 
eyes.

"You sick fuck!" Mulder roared, grabbing hold of Krycek's 
jacket and throwing him to the ground.  "You like hitting 
pregnant women?  Does it make you feel like more of a 
man?"

"Mulder...the gun," Scully said weakly from where she lay
sprawled, bleary-eyed on the floor.  "Be careful of the gun."

She couldn't tell whether Mulder heard her or not.  He didn't
look her way.  Instead, he straddled Krycek and drove his fist 
into the one-armed man's jaw.

"Mulder, what the fuck!?" Krycek yelled, bucking beneath
his assailant, his lip split, tears streaking his flushed face.  
"She's the one who attacked me!  She practically blinded me!"

"Yeah?" Mulder said mockingly, his forearm pressing against
Krycek's windpipe while his other hand tried to pry the gun
free from his hand.  "Well, excuse me if I'm having trouble
working up the proper level of sympathy."

Head throbbing, Scully struggled to get her legs beneath her.  
I have to do something, she thought, watching as the two men 
rolled this way and that, wrestling for control of Krycek's 
weapon.

His gun.  I need to get Mulder's gun.

Moving slowly, Scully got to her hands and knees in preparation 
for rising when a swift, breath-stealing pressure girded her middle.

Oh, God, it hurt.  

Teeth clenched, she groaned against the indignity of it all, her 
protest sounding long and low.  Sitting back on her heels, her 
arms wrapped around her belly, she hung her head and rocked 
as she rode out the pain.

"Scully?"

She wanted to answer Mulder.  She could hear him calling 
from what sounded like far away, much more distant than
what she knew him to be.  But before she could say anything, 
a flood of liquid gushed from between her legs.

"Oh, shit," she moaned, eyes squeezed shut.

"Scully, what is it?" Mulder asked now from right in front 
of her, his battle with Krycek seemingly forgotten.  "What's 
wrong?"

Lifting her lashes, she looked up into his frightened face. 
"Mulder, it's the baby."

"What about the baby?"

"It's coming."

"Now?!"

"Yeah, now.  And I think I'm going to need your help."

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Continued in Chapter XI

"By the Wind Grieved" (11/13)
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

As I am an aunt, not a mother, I needed to do some research
for this chapter.  Thankfully, Jen and Maribeth were there to
save me from myself.  Anything I got right is because of them.
Anything I got wrong is my fault alone.  Thanks, you guys.  I
really, really appreciate all the help.

***************************************************

Mulder didn't think; he didn't speak.  He simply swept Scully
up in his arms and ran for the door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

They had only gotten as far as the living room when Krycek's
voice stopped him.  Breathing hard, Mulder turned around, 
fairly certain of what he would see.  Sure enough, Krycek 
trailed little more than half a room away, his gun again in 
hand and pointed in their direction.  

"In case you haven't noticed, Agent Scully has gone into labor,"
Mulder said as evenly as he was able.  "I'm taking her to a 
hospital."

"Guess again," Krycek gritted out as he neared them, limping
slightly, his eyes and face red and wet.  "Sorry, Mulder, but 
we're all going to stay right here."

"She needs a doctor," Mulder insisted, his voice cracking
with the strain.

"Mulder, no.  It's okay."

Even though he cradled her close, Scully's soft words
startled him. 

"What...Scully, what do you mean?" Mulder asked, turning 
his back on Krycek, wanting to somehow shield the woman 
he held, use his body as a buffer against the danger the other
man posed.

A bruise had already begun to form near her hairline, marking
the spot where her head had hit the wall.  A matching wound, 
smaller in size, darkened her chin.  Otherwise, she appeared 
unharmed, her flushed cheeks and glistening brow the only 
signs of her condition.

"Krycek isn't going to let us leave this place," Scully said, 
her hand gripping his sweater.  "Not until he's certain he'll 
be able to take you with him unimpeded."

"To hell with Krycek," he retorted, low so as to try and keep 
their conversation private.  "I don't care about him.  You need 
to get to a hospital."

"No," she argued just as quietly, shaking her head.  "I don't.  
At least not right now.  Mulder, women have babies all the 
time without the benefits of modern medicine.  I'll be fine."

As much as he admired it, her calm was threatening to send 
him right over the edge.  "Scully, I would wager the majority 
of those women have someone with them when they give birth, 
someone who knows what the hell they're doing."

"I have you," she murmured, looking up at him.

Oh, no.  No.  He couldn't do that.  "I am not a doctor nor a 
midwife," he muttered, the horror engendered by the very 
idea suffusing his words.  "You know as well as I do my 
knowledge of medicine doesn't extend much past Bactine 
and Band-Aids."

Any reply Scully might have made was silenced by her next
contraction.  Stiffening in his embrace, she gasped, then 
moaned, her lips pressed tight to muffle the sound.

"Scully?" Mulder whispered, clutching her tighter to him.  Oh, 
God.  What were they going to do?  Butterfly McQueen and 
he might be worlds apart, but they had just about the same 
level of insight when it came to childbirth.

"Come on, Mulder.  Get away from the door.  Now."  Terrific.
Krycek again, waving his gun menacingly.  Mulder had almost 
forgotten he was there.

"Take me...upstairs," Scully said suddenly in a hush, her body 
slowly relaxing in his hold, her words spoken between pants.

"Upstairs?" Mulder echoed.

"I'm going to have the baby here," she said, her cheek resting
against his collarbone.

"Scully...," Mulder began.

"Mulder, even if by some miracle you were able to convince
Krycek to let us go, we'd still have to deal with the weather,"
she said, her volume rising just a bit.  "Look out the window.
It's snowing harder than it was before.  The wind has picked 
up.  To get to the hospital, we would have to drive for miles 
down unfamiliar, unlit, unplowed blacktop."

Chewing on the corner of his mouth, Mulder reluctantly 
nodded.  

"We don't even know for certain the roads are still passable," 
Scully continued, her breath yet labored.  "I realize our current 
situation is far from ideal, but the alternative isn't much better.
I don't want to give birth in the back seat of a car.  Please...
let's just go upstairs."

"I think you should listen to her, Mulder," Krycek said with
the faintest suggestion of a smile.  "It's awfully cold out there.
Besides, if you take one step closer to the door, I will fire.  I
swear I will.  If you try and set foot outside this house, I will 
put a bullet in one or the other of you.  I can't miss from this 
range."

Jaw clenched, Mulder considered Krycek's threat.  Would
the bastard really do it?  He might.  Just from reading through 
the files, Mulder knew how utterly unprincipled his former 
partner was.  True, Krycek needed the information hidden 
away inside his head, but the one-armed man could always 
shoot to wound.  

Then, of course, there was Scully's safety to consider.  
Based on his behavior, it didn't appear as if Krycek was 
in any hurry to harm her or her child.  If he was, he would 
have killed her when the evening began.  Still, that didn't 
make her immune from injury.  If she got in Krycek's way, 
he would take her out.  Mulder was certain of it.  

He couldn't let that happen.

"All right," he said at last, speaking to both the woman in
his arms and their captor.  "We'll do it your way."

With a wary glance in Krycek's direction, Mulder fulfilled 
Scully's request, taking the stairs quickly yet carefully.  
Krycek once more followed in their wake, lagging a step 
or two behind.

When they reached Scully's room, Mulder crossed to the bed, 
intending to set her atop it.

"No, I don't want to lay down" she said, stopping him.  "I
can't.  Not yet.  Just put me on my feet."

Mulder hesitated, the memory of her last contraction making 
him question the wisdom of her simple request.  It had hit 
her so hard before, like a blow or a vice.  He hated to release 
her, to leave her standing there on her own.

Rather than being annoyed by his indecision, Scully seemed 
amused by it.  "Mulder, it's okay.  I have to get cleaned up," 
she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.  "And 
changed.  I'm wearing pants.  I can't give birth wearing pants."

Oh, yeah.  Pants.

"I'll be all right," she assured him.

Still not entirely convinced, he nonetheless lowered her legs 
to the ground.  Yet even as Scully regained her footing, he 
held on to her, his hands closed loosely around her arms.  
They lingered there, ostensibly to hold her steady, though 
Mulder recognized the contact was as much for his benefit 
as it was for hers.

"I have a nightgown in the top drawer there," she said, 
gesturing to the bureau at the foot of the bed.  "Would
you hand it to me?"

Letting go of her at last, Mulder retrieved the garment.  
It was white and short-sleeved, the bodice buttoning down 
the front.  He hadn't seen Scully wear it, but he imagined it 
would probably fall to just below her knees.

"Thanks," Scully said, taking it from him.  "I'll be right 
back."

She started to exit the room, on her way, Mulder assumed,
to the bathroom down the hall, when Krycek stepped into
her path.

"Oh, no," he said, his gun pointed at her chest.  "I don't 
think so.  Not again."

"I'm just going to go change clothes," Scully said, glaring 
up at him.

Krycek thought about it for a moment before saying, "Mulder,
come over here, would you?"

Curious yet cautious, Mulder did as he was bid.  His face 
expressionless, Krycek watched him approach.  As soon 
as Mulder drew alongside him, the rogue agent wrapped 
his prosthetic arm tightly around the other man's throat 
and put the gun to his ear.

"Do what you have to do, Scully," Krycek told her from just
over Mulder's shoulder.  "Do it, and do it quickly.  Just know
that if you make a single false move, I'll kill him.  I don't care 
what information Mulder holds inside his head, I'll splatter it 
all over the wall here.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said, paling, her nightgown bunched in her hands.

"Go on then."

Once Scully had left the room and the bathroom door had
snicked closed behind her, Mulder mumbled, "That was laid
on rather thick, don't you think?"

"You don't believe I'd kill you, Mulder?" Krycek whispered 
in his ear.

"No," Mulder answered softly.  "I don't believe you would."

Krycek chuckled.  "Well, you're feeling awfully self-important 
all of a sudden.  Must be impending fatherhood."

"No," Mulder said again, his Adam's apple bobbing against 
Krycek's false arm.  "Just common sense.  You and your 
partner wouldn't go to all this trouble only to lose what you 
came here for in the end.  You need me.  You'd sooner put 
a bullet in your own head than in mine."

"What about in Agent Scully's head?  Do you think I'd be 
willing to do that?"

Even though he recognized Krycek was once more yanking 
his chain, Mulder couldn't help but react.  He was so sick of 
this, of being used, being manipulated.  "I swear to God, 
Krycek...if you do anything, anything at all--"

"You'll do what, Mulder?" Krycek sneered, huffing as Mulder
pulled and pushed against his hold.  "Be really, really angry
with me?"

"You do anything to hurt her and I promise you, you'll never 
get what you want from me."

"Oh yeah?  And just how do you propose to stop me?" 
Krycek asked.  "The procedure we have planned for you is 
by its very nature involuntary.  We don't need your cooperation 
for it to succeed."

Finally having had enough, Mulder twisted abruptly, his action
quick and unexpected enough to wrest him free of Krycek's 
hold.  But rather than move away from his captor, Mulder
turned instead to look him in the face.  Krycek's gun hovered 
inches from his sternum.  Mulder really couldn't have cared 
less.  "For your procedure to work, you need me alive, don't 
you?"

Krycek's eyes narrowed.  "What are you saying?"

Mulder smiled, small and sure.  "I'm saying that if you harm 
Scully or her child in any way, I will kill myself.  It's as simple 
as that."

Though Krycek strove to maintain his usual bravado, Mulder 
thought he spied a measure of doubt darkening the other man's 
leaf green gaze.  Doubt and fear.  "You want me to believe 
you'd actually off yourself?  I don't think so, Mulder."

Mulder's smile broadened.  He had been unsure himself until
he had said it aloud.  Suddenly the idea made perfect sense.  
"Think again."

As if confused by Mulder's pronouncement, Krycek wrinkled 
his brow.  "That's nuts.  =You're= nuts.  What makes you 
think we'd even give you the opportunity?"

"Oh, I'm not saying it would be a walk in the park," Mulder
allowed.  "I'm sure you'd do everything in your power to keep 
me good and safe.  Away from high windows and sharp objects.  
But you and I both know how hard it would be for you to watch 
me every minute of every day.  Sooner or later, you and your 
partner would be bound to slip up.  I'd just need to be patient, 
pick my moment."

Krycek studied him, seemingly searching for clues as to 
Mulder's sincerity.  Mulder met his gaze, unflinching.  Why 
not?  He had nothing to hide.

"That moment would come, Krycek," Mulder murmured.
"Moments like that always do.  And when it did, I'd be ready.
Think about it.  Think how easy it would be for me to die if 
you were to take away my reason for living."

"Your reason for living?" Krycek scoffed a bit too heartily.
"Now who's laying it on thick?  For God's sake, Mulder, 
you have virtually no memory of Scully or her child.  How 
much time have you spent with her since you returned?  A 
month?  Less?  Think about it, man.  Are you really willing 
to die for her, for a woman you barely even know?"

Was he?  Krycek was right, after all.  In so many ways, 
Scully remained a mystery to him.  Even with all the hours 
he had spent with her, talking, reading up on their shared 
history, he still knew so little about who she was, who they 
were, together.  

Then there was the matter of their child.

Although he still hadn't gotten confirmation from Scully herself, 
Mulder believed Krycek's opening jab.  He was the father of 
child she carried.  He knew it from the way Scully reacted.  Yet 
for some reason, she had felt the need to keep that information 
from him. 

Why?

She had been good to him, certainly, since he had returned, her 
genuine fondness for him impossible for him to misconstrue.  
Yet what had prompted that affection and how deep did it 
run?  Did her soul long for his, as he had discovered his did 
for hers?  Or were her emotions tempered somehow, those 
rather of a partner or a friend?  Was the baby in her womb 
the result of some ongoing affair, or of an evening neither 
of them had planned nor wanted to relive?

So many questions needed answering.  Yet even as Mulder
asked them, voiced the queries aloud inside his head, he
recognized full well any reply he might get would ultimately 
be meaningless.  Regardless what Scully might tell him, his 
feelings for her would remain unchanged.  It didn't matter if 
or how she loved him.  He loved her.  Without reservations 
or conditions.  The choice might not be smart or even safe, 
but such considerations held no sway when it came to his
heart.  It belonged to Scully now. 

Would he die for her?

Mulder didn't even hesitate.  "Yes."

Krycek held his gaze a moment longer before shaking his
head.  "Then God help you both."

"Mulder?"

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Scully framed in the
doorway.  She wore the cotton nightgown and a pair of 
sloppy white socks.  The terry cloth robe she kept hanging 
on the bathroom door completed her ensemble, its snowy 
softness hanging down to brush against the backs of her 
calves.  

She seemed so small and fragile standing there, he thought, 
breakable, with her naked legs and brilliant eyes.  Mulder 
was used to Scully being able to take care of herself, to 
take care of them both, if he were to be honest.  Only now 
her body was conspiring against her, stealing her strength 
and demanding her focus turn inward, away from any 
outside threat.  In the hours to come, it would be up to 
him to protect her, to keep her safe not only from Krycek 
but from the danger their own child could potentially pose.

Jesus.

"How you doing?" Mulder asked, turning towards her, 
swallowing down all his fears, all his worries over whether
he was ready for such responsibility.  He would have to be
ready, he told himself.  There was no one else.

"Okay," she said, taking a step closer, her eyes darting in
the direction of Krycek's gun, then away.  "I'm doing okay.
I had another contraction in the bathroom just now, but I'm...
I'm all right."

He nodded.  "How far apart are they, would you say?"

She shrugged.  "Five, six minutes maybe."

"What does that mean?" he asked.  "How soon do you think
before...?"

She shook her head.  "I can't be certain.  First births are 
notoriously difficult to predict.  Near as I can judge, I've 
been in labor for almost seven hours now.  With the rate the 
contractions are coming, I'm guessing...I don't know.  Two
or three hours, maybe."

Mulder consulted his watch.  Ten minutes till nine.  Two hours
would put them right around eleven.  Shit.  Even with a speedy
birth, Krycek's partner would be back before the baby arrived.
Great.  Then what?  Did Krycek and his buddy think they 
would be able to convince Mulder to take off with them?  Did 
they expect he would just leave Scully behind, abandon her to 
give birth to their child alone?

If so, they had another thing coming.

"What do you need?" Mulder asked now, crossing to her.  
"Can I get you anything?  Do you want to lie down?"

"No," she said, giving him a small smile.  "Not right now.  I
think I want to walk, actually."

"Walk?" Mulder echoed, surprised.  Scully stood there, 
shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets, swaying on her feet.  
She didn't look like she would be able to remain upright much 
longer, let alone pace the halls.

"I've got too much energy," she admitted almost sheepishly,
her eyes meeting his for an instant before flitting to the floor.  
"Nerves, I guess.  I...I can't just lie down.  I need to move."

"Whatever you want," Mulder told her.  

"Will you come with me?" she asked.

Mulder stole a peek at Krycek.  He stood, watching the 
two agents, seemingly bemused by their interchange.

"Do you mind?" Mulder asked dryly.

"Knock yourself out," Krycek drawled.

"Okay," Mulder said, returning his attention to his partner.  
"So...how should we do this?"

After a moment or two of fumbling, they decided upon 
an old-fashioned skater's grip.  Standing just behind her, 
Mulder took Scully's left hand in his.  He then wrapped 
his other arm around her waist, anchoring her to him.  
Scully's right hand rested atop his.

"Make sure you stay where I can see you both," Krycek 
instructed, his shoulder propped against the bedroom's jamb
as he watched them go.  "I don't want either of you disappearing 
on me, Mulder."

"What the hell do you think I'm going to do?" Mulder 
muttered as they turned and began shuffling slowly down 
the hall.  "Throw her over my shoulder and shimmy down 
the drainpipe?"

Scully's hair hid her face from view, but he heard her chuff
softly at his quip.  She was holding on tightly to him, as if 
for all her supposed energy, she feared her legs might suddenly
give out.  Mulder didn't know what he could say to reassure
her, so he settled for hugging her closer to him still.  Lost as
she was in her body's demands, he wondered if Scully even 
noticed the change in his embrace.

They moved in silence down the shadowy corridor, away 
from Krycek and his gun.  Listening to Scully breathe beside 
him, each inhale and exhale to follow seemingly a conscious 
act of will, Mulder tried to come up with some sort of plan, 
a means to deliver them from Krycek's clutches.  Yet, despite 
his efforts, nothing was coming easily to mind.  Not for the 
first time, he longed to know the things his former self would 
have known.  Tactical maneuvers, hand-to-hand combat, 
hostage situation strategy.  The old Fox Mulder would have 
had that information at his fingertips.  The new one hadn't 
even been able to defeat a one-armed man in a fistfight. 

These concerns rolling around inside his head, careening 
off one another like pinballs in an arcade, he noticed they 
had reached the far end of the hall.  Only a doorway or two 
remained before they would have to turn around and go back 
the way they had come.  He was just about to mention this 
to Scully when she spoke.

"Mulder, I want you to listen to me," she whispered, the words
coming out quick and harsh.  "When we get back to the room,
I'm going to ask you to get towels for us to spread on the bed.
I'll keep Krycek busy.  You go get your gun.  It's in your 
bedroom, right?"

Well, what do you know?  It seemed he wasn't the only one 
who had been trying to come up with a way out of this mess.  
"Scully, I am not going to put you in the middle of a gunfight 
between Krycek and me."

She squeezed his hand so hard he almost winced in reaction.  
"Mulder, it's the only way.  We've got little more than an hour 
before Krycek's partner joins us.  We have to strike now."

"You are not in any condition to 'strike'," he reminded her,
peering past Scully's curtain of hair to try and catch a glimpse
of her eyes.  "My God, don't you realize what will happen?  
The minute I walk into that room with my automatic, Krycek 
is going to use you as, at best, a bartering chip, at worst, a 
human shield.  I'm sorry, Scully.  But I can't let that happen."

"Fine," she spat, coming to a halt, her head bowed.  "Then 
take the gun and get out of here.  I can keep Krycek occupied, 
while you--"

"You expect me to leave you here alone with that lunatic?" he 
muttered.  "No way, Scully.  No fucking way."

"He won't hurt me," she began, chin lifted at last and tilted his 
way.  "He needs me..."

Only, as before, Scully's argument was cut short by a contraction.
Crying out against the pain, her knees buckled.  Mulder caught
her before she could fall, his mouth at her ear, his lips moving 
softly beneath her hair.

"I won't leave you.  Do ask me to.  I can't.  I'm going to stay
here with you till the end.  I'm going to help you deliver our
baby."

"Everything all right?" Krycek asked from the other end of 
the hall.

Scully was breathing heavy beside him, her upper body limp
in his arms, her head cushioned against his chest.  Shoving a 
trembling hand through her hair, she tucked a fall of it behind 
her ear, and bared her face to Mulder's gaze.

"Mulder, I'm sorry," she murmured brokenly, tears glistening
on her lashes.  "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's all right," he assured her quietly and pressed a gentle kiss
to her brow.  "It's okay."

And surprisingly it was.  Any anger Mulder had felt, any hurt 
over Scully's deception had vanished somewhere along the 
way.  He didn't know where it had gone, and frankly didn't
miss it.  What he felt now, holding her, was so much better.

"What's going on over there?" Krycek called, his voice more 
impatient this time than it had been before.

"Nothing," Mulder growled, scowling at him over his shoulder.  
"Scully's having a contraction, that's all."

"I think I can walk some more," she mumbled, pushing away
from his embrace to stand on her own again.

"You sure?" Mulder asked, worried, his hands loosening their
hold but not relinquishing it entirely.

Scully sniffed and nodded.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I think so.  Only...
when we pass the bathroom, let's stop and get a drink of
water, okay?  I'm getting thirsty."

"Sure," he said, turning around with her and heading back 
towards the bedroom.  "Sure, Scully.  Whatever you want."

And so it went.  Scully led and he followed.  Business as
usual, Mulder mused.  Back and forth.  Up and down.  With
side trips to the bathroom every now and then.  

While Mulder didn't have occasion to time them, Scully's 
contractions seemed to be coming more frequently and lasting 
longer, their increasing force requiring more and more of her 
concentration.  She didn't speak except to give him direction.  
Although the air between them crackled with tension, he was 
thankful for her reticence.  Had she required small talk, he really
didn't know what the hell he would have said.

They walked the hall for another forty minutes or so, when 
Scully stopped him.  "Mulder, I need to sit.  Okay?  I need 
to sit down."

"All right," he said agreeably, ushering her past Krycek who 
stood sentry-like beside her bedroom door, his face impassive.  
"In here.  Let's just go in here and get comfortable."

He led her straight to the bed, expecting her to climb gratefully
atop it.  Instead, she hobbled to the end of it and, clinging white-
knuckle tight to the foot board, dropped to a squat.

"Scully...you okay?" he queried.

She looked up at him, her robe pooling around her in a circle, 
her hair sticking to her sweaty brow.

"Go get towels for the bed, Mulder," Scully said, her voice 
throaty and soft.  Mulder knew what she was really asking
him to do.  The minutes were ticking by.  Krycek's partner 
would return soon.  If he were to have any chance at escape
it would have to be now. 

Mulder shook his head.

"Mulder, please...," she tried again, her eyes pleading with
him.  "Go.  Get.  Towels."

Smiling, he reached down and cupped her cheek in his
palm.  Her skin was warm and moist to the touch.  "I'll get 
towels, Scully," he said.  "I'll get them...and I'll be right 
back."

Groaning with frustration, Scully hung her head, seemingly 
unable to look at him anymore.  His smile fading, Mulder
turned to leave the room, intent on his task.  Krycek stopped
him.

"Mulder Jr. better be coming along pretty soon now," Krycek
warned, his gun tickling Mulder's ribs.  "It's getting late.  We 
have a schedule to keep."

"I'm not leaving her," Mulder said flatly.  "Get used to it."

Brow lifted, Krycek stared at him for a moment or two more
before murmuring, "Go get Scully her damned towels."

Mulder bobbed his head and did just that, grabbing a stack of
terry cloth from the hallway linen closet.

When he returned to the room, he found Scully had discarded
her robe.  Clad now only in the lightweight gown and socks,
she stood beside the bed, bent at the waist, her hands pressed
against the mattress so as to support her weight.

"I thought you wanted to sit down," he said, dumping the 
towels near the head of the bed and coming over to stand 
next to her.  Not knowing what else to do, he slid his hand 
slowly along her back's graceful slope, tracing her spine. 

"No, I can't sit," she said wearily, shaking her head from side 
to side.  "Not yet.  Not yet.  Oh, God..."

With that, she staggered, caught in the grip of yet another 
contraction.  As before, Mulder caught her, hooking his arm 
around her middle in an attempt to keep her upright.  Holding 
Scully to him, he could feel the muscles in her abdomen ripple, 
clench hard, like a prizefighter's fist beneath his grip.

"Jesus," he whispered, awed by the power her small body was
exerting, frightened by it.  

Scully said nothing.  She only moaned and turned her head 
away, grimacing as if embarrassed by the sound. 

"Scully, if you're trying to prove how tough you are, you
can stop right now," Mulder said, legs braced for balance,
his cheek nuzzling at her hair.  "I already know.  Okay?  
I'm convinced."

Lured perhaps by the teasing lilt of his voice, Scully glanced
sideways at him, her eyes bleary and very blue.

"If you need to make noise, make noise," he said, reaching
around to smooth a few stray strands of auburn from her 
bruised temple, hoping as he did so Scully didn't notice
just how badly his hand shook.  "If you want to yell, yell.  
There's no one here to impress.  No one who isn't impressed 
already."

Scully looked over at him, a slack bundle in his arms.  She 
was flushed and disheveled, her hair a mess, sweat beading 
down the side of her battered face.  "It hurts, Mulder," she 
confessed.

"I know it does, sweetheart," he said gruffly, the endearment
slipping from his lips without thought. 

She watched him a second longer, her gaze searching his,
before assuring him, "But I can do this."

Mulder nodded, his throat clogged all of a sudden, blocking 
whatever words he might have spoken instead.

Scully smiled then and Mulder joined her.  Brushing his
cheek with her fingertips, she took a deep breath as if to
gather herself, and got back to business.

"We need to put the towels down," she instructed, easing
herself from his arms, her feet finding firm purchase once 
more.  "On the bed."

"All right," he said, taking a step away, giving her room.

"And pillows.  We're going to need pillows."

Again, like a lackey serving his queen, Mulder set off to do 
Scully's bidding, pillaging the other bedrooms and closets
and returning to her, his arms loaded with as many pillows
as he could find.  Scully had already begun spreading a layer 
of terry cloth in his absence.  

"See if you can't sort of pile them there against the headboard,"
she directed, making her way slowly around the mattress.

"You're going to sit?" he queried, tossing the feather cushions
where she wanted them.

"Yeah," she said.  "I think so.  Gravity, you know...it should
help."

"Okay," he said, putting the last pillow in place.  "Okay.  Now...
what else do we need to do?  There's more stuff to do, isn't
there?  I mean...I should be boiling water or something, 
shouldn't I?"

Despite her obvious discomfort, Scully chuckled.  "You could, 
I guess.  Though fire would do just as well.  We need to 
sterilize a knife."

"A knife?" Mulder squeaked, looking at her from across the
bed.

"For cutting the cord," she said, sitting down at last, a few 
leftover towels in her lap.  "See if you can't find a steak knife
or something in the kitchen, the sharper the better.  Turn on 
a burner and heat the blade.  That should do the trick."

"All right."

"One more thing," she said, handing him the towels that
remained.  "While you're downstairs, toss these in the dryer."

"Why?" he asked, taking them from her.

"For the baby," she explained, scooting back slowly and
carefully to rest against the mound of pillows.  "Once it's 
here, we'll need to keep it warm."

Once it's here, Mulder repeated to himself.  It was really
happening.  Their baby was on the way.

"All right," he said, nodding.  "Okay.  I'll be right back.  
Do you want to bring you anything?"

"Water, please," Scully said, her head tilted back against the
headboard, her legs splayed, her hand rubbing circles round 
her swollen abdomen.  "Big glass, lots of ice.  I think I'm 
going to need it."

"Why is that?" he asked, although he had a pretty good idea
what her answer would be.

Closing her eyes, Scully licked her lips and sighed.  "The easy 
part is over, Mulder.  This is when the real work begins."

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Continued in Chapter XII

(I really tried to have the baby be born in this chapter.  But 
it's like Scully said...first births are notoriously difficult to 
predict. <g>)


"By the Wind Grieved" (12/13 )
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

Notes prior to chapter one.  Thanks for hanging in there with
me.
***************************************************

Mulder was still downstairs when Alex Krycek's partner at long
last made his appearance.  Krycek knew the man only as Simon, 
which was how he had been introduced to him weeks before.
Krycek guessed Simon was his surname, though he had never 
bothered to confirm his suspicion.  A guy in his line of work 
learned early not to ask too many questions. 

"Are you aware Agent Mulder is downstairs sharpening a 
knife?" Simon asked when he had climbed the stairs, opening 
the conversation with his customary cool.  He was dressed 
much as Krycek was, jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, a trench 
coat topping his outfit rather than the jacket Krycek wore.

"Oh, is that what he's doing?" Krycek said, striving for as bland
a tone as his compatriot.  Simon never seemed to get unnerved 
by anything.  That, in and of itself, was sometimes enough to 
rattle Krycek.  "I'd wondered what was taking him so long."

Simon's eyebrow lifted.  "And this doesn't...concern you in any
way?"

Krycek shook his head.  "Not as long as Scully is up here with 
us."

He jerked his head in the direction of the open bedroom door.  
The men looked in and saw that the woman in question had 
pushed herself away from the nest of pillows where once she 
had rested.  She was currently on all fours in the center of the 
bed, panting raggedly.  Her head was bowed, her body so 
drenched with sweat her nightgown clung, transparent, to her 
back.  Her hair veiled her face.

"What's going on?" Simon murmured.

"She's in labor," Krycek explained.  "Has been, apparently,
since well before I made my entrance.  That's why Mulder
is downstairs playing with knives.  He needs something to
cut the cord."

"Cut the cord?" Simon echoed.   "What--for when the baby is
actually delivered?  Don't tell me you're considering hanging 
around here that long."

Krycek shrugged and motioned for them to step away from
door.  No sense in letting Scully in on their plans.  "With the
way she's been moaning and groaning, it probably won't be 
all that long now.  Besides, we may not have a choice.  Mulder 
has informed me he has no intention of leaving Scully in this 
condition."

"There are ways to remedy that little problem," Simon retorted,
reaching into his breast pocket and pulling from it his automatic.  

Krycek placed his hand on the other man's arm.  "Not so fast," 
he warned, his voice pitched low.  "Though I'll admit I've led 
Mulder to believe otherwise, I'd rather not kill Scully or her 
child unless we absolutely have to.  They may prove valuable."

"To whom?" Simon queried at a similar volume, his gun still
in his grip.

"Any of a number of people," Krycek said.  "You know how
many players are involved in this particular game.  It would
be stupid for us to forfeit her life or the life of the child over 
a simple matter of inconvenience.  We may be able to use 
them later."

"It'll be more than inconvenient if we don't make our exit soon," 
Simon countered.  "Those agents aren't going to be out of it 
forever and the roads are getting worse as we speak.  The 
longer we stay here, the more danger we put ourselves in.  
Ourselves and the project."

"I agree," Krycek said soothingly.  "I don't want to stay here
any longer than we have to, either.  Unfortunately, Mulder has 
decided to make things difficult."

Simon sighed and looked back towards the stairs.  "When 
hasn't he?"

Krycek smiled at how put-upon his partner sounded.  "Tell 
me about it.  It's bad enough he wants to stay put till Scully 
gives birth.  But something tells me once the kid is here, he'll 
dig his heels in even harder."

"Not with my Sig pressing against the base of his skull he 
won't," Simon muttered.

Krycek shook his head.  "I don't know.  Mulder can be 
awfully stubborn.  With or without his memory.  I think 
we'll get farther with stealth than with force." 

Simon frowned.  "What have you got in mind?"

"Have you got anything left after taking care of those last two
agents?"

"You mean the tranquilizers?" Simon queried, tucking his 
automatic in the waistband of his jeans and retrieving from 
another inner coat pocket a black leather case.  Tugging on 
its zipper, he opened it to reveal a Derringer-sized pistol and 
a single, equally dainty, dart.  "Just one.  Why?"

"Give it to me," Krycek directed.  "Load the gun and give it 
to me."

"What are you going to do with it?" Simon asked as he did 
as Krycek had requested.

"Make certain Mulder leaves with us when the time comes,"
Krycek said, stashing the tranquilizer gun in his jacket
pocket.  "That he not only leaves with us, but leaves without
a fight."

			*****

Scully was hurting.  Big time.

Prior to going into labor, she had tried to ready herself for
what was to come.  Birth was difficult work.  She knew that, 
had witnessed it firsthand.  Pain was a factor, yes, but she 
firmly believed the outcome would outweigh any discomfort 
she might feel along the way.  She had been gut-shot once, for 
crying out loud, she should certainly be able to grit her way 
through a few hours of contractions.

She could handle it.  

Or so she had thought.

What Scully hadn't taken into consideration, however, was the 
way labor wore on a woman.  In the past, when she had been 
injured, the initial blow or wound had typically been the worst 
of it.  A degree of distress had followed, of course, but that had 
usually been tempered by medication or escaped from in sleep.  

This was different.  While she had been aware her contractions 
would intensify as labor progressed, she hadn't been prepared 
for the speed with which they had begun to follow each other.  
When her water had first broken, she had been able to recover 
between each one, relax and breathe just a bit, regain some 
small measure of control.  Now, however, just scant hours later, 
they seemed to hit practically one right after another.  Endlessly.  
They were exhausting her.  Sapping her strength and stealing 
her will, just when she needed both so desperately.  God.  She'd 
never be able to push the baby out.  Not now.  Not alone.

She needed help.

She needed Mulder.

Mulder...

Where the hell was he?

Admittedly somewhat befuddled by the sensations wracking 
her, it felt to Scully as if he had disappeared downstairs a 
lifetime ago.  What could he be doing down there when he 
should so clearly be upstairs with her?  Didn't he realize their 
child was about to be born?

Then, as if he were somehow answering her silent summons, 
she heard him pounding up the steps, his feet hitting the 
hardwood treads like an angry drummer beating the skins.

Voices.  Two of which she knew well, the other new and 
unwelcome.  Questions...

"What have you got there?"

"What does it look like?"

"You planning on carving your initials in me, Mulder?"

"Don't give me any ideas."

Hurry.  Hurry, she urged inside her head.  Stop talking and 
hurry to me.

"Scully?  Scully...how you holding up?"

Oh there you are, Mulder...

She tried to answer his simple query.  But when she opened
her mouth, all that came out was a low, wrenching moan, her 
body choosing that moment to seize violently yet again.

"Shit."  She had frightened him.  She could hear it in his
voice.  "Oh, God...what can I do?  Tell me what to do."

She was on her hands and knees, where she had been now
for the past ten minutes or more.  The position was comfortable, 
but she didn't think she could give birth in it.  Didn't want to.

"Help me," she gasped, her arms giving out, her cheek pressed
against the towels beneath her.  "Help me..."

"I will," Mulder promised shakily, his fingers combing through
her tangled hair.  "Tell me how.  Scully, you have to tell me 
how."

"I need...to sit up.  Sit back," she muttered, struggling to regulate
her breathing.  It was becoming increasingly more difficult to 
think.  She didn't know how much longer she would be able to 
talk Mulder through the process.  "I need to move."

"Okay...okay," he murmured in a comforting tone, his hands
skating along her hunched form, the light touch oddly reassuring.
"Why don't we...um...why don't you roll over to the side, okay?  
And then from there I can help you turn."

That sounded like as sensible an idea as any, so Scully let herself
collapse over onto her right side.  She hadn't realized how tired
her arms had become.  It felt good to just rest there for a bit, the 
terry cloth cushioning her flushed cheek.  Eyes fluttering shut, 
she drew her knees up so her posture mimicked that of the child 
she carried, and concentrated on the oxygen entering and exiting 
her lungs.

"You ready?" Mulder queried from somewhere above and 
behind her.

"In a minute," she mumbled, waving her arm wearily in the air.  
"In just a minute."

"It's okay," Mulder said, capturing her flailing hand in his and
giving it a squeeze.  "It's all right.  Take all the time you need."

Take all the time you need, Scully repeated to herself, drifting 
for a moment.

Take time...time...

"No," she murmured suddenly, brow creased as she shook her
head.  She couldn't do that.  Not anymore. 

Didn't Mulder understand? 

Time had run out.

It's just like back in Dallas, she thought.  There is no time.  Not 
for them.  Not now.  No time between contractions, no time 
until their baby is born, no time before Krycek steals Mulder 
away.  Again.  Maybe forever.

But before she could articulate any of that, her body convulsed 
once more, her muscles burning and bunching, the pain centered 
at her core rushing out to her extremities, flooding her from head 
to toe.

"Oh...God...," she whimpered, crushing Mulder's hand in hers.

"Scully...?" 

We've wasted so much time, she mourned inside her head, lost 
amidst the misery.  We had years and years of it, Mulder, and 
what did we do?  Chase lights in the night sky, crawl through 
sewers after mutants.  What were we thinking?

"Scully...come on.  Stay with me here.  Breathe...that's right.
Breathe through it.  That's better."

Better, better....Oh, Mulder, I should have known better, 
after Duane Barry or even that last trip to Bellefleur.  I should 
have realized how precious time was.  Why didn't I realize that?  
I had realized I loved you, after all.

"That's right.  Good girl...good girl.  Now relax...that's it.  Shh.
Relax while you can."

Scully heard Mulder, his voice piercing the haze surrounding
her, and recognized that what he said made sense.  Only she 
couldn't follow his directive, couldn't relax.  Not just then.  She 
had something she had to tell him first.

"I love you," she whispered, her eyes still closed.  "I love you, 
Mulder.  I don't know why I didn't tell you before...when you 
came back.  I love you."

"Scully...?"

"I love you."

			*****

She loved him.

Sweet God in heaven.

Yet before Mulder could fully wrap his mind around that 
particular revelation, another contraction took hold, its grip
terrible and swift.

Wailing, Scully curled in still further on herself, Mulder's
hand yet clutched tightly in hers.  Resting one knee behind 
her for balance, he let her draw their tangled fingers to her
breast.  Bending over her in that way, he could feel her heart 
beating wildly against his wrist, could sense the heat rolling 
off her skin in waves. 

Mulder stayed there, caging Scully's body with his, until the 
pain had ebbed and her cries diminished.   Then, muttering 
a mix of imprecations and comfort, he gathered her in his 
arms and deposited her where she had told him she wanted to 
be, propped against the headboard, pillows supporting and 
surrounding her.

Settled there, legs sprawled, Scully tipped back her head and 
lifted her lashes.  Her tired eyes looked out from beneath them,
their usual sparkle dulled.

"Water," she demanded hoarsely, blinking slowly at him.  
"Please."

Obedient to the last, Mulder handed her the glass he had 
brought from downstairs, then sat facing her, even with her 
hip.  The knife he had also fetched lay ready on the night 
stand nearby, swaddled in a clean dish towel.

Both hands wrapped tightly around the tumbler, Scully 
brought it to her lips.  As she drank, her gaze wandered before 
fixing on a point just past Mulder's left shoulder.  Staring, 
her brows lifted as if in silent exclamation.

"Get out," she rasped, lowering the glass.  "Get the hell out, 
both of you."

Rescuing what remained of the water, Mulder turned his head.  
Behind him, he saw Krycek and his associate framed in the 
doorway, peering into the bedroom like a pair of armed 
Peeping Toms. 

"You heard the lady," Mulder muttered, pushing angrily to 
his feet.  "Get out of here."

"Sorry, Mulder," Krycek said, his expression perversely 
unapologetic.  "But we're staying put."

"Fine," Mulder spat as he crossed to stand before them.  
"'Stay put' in the hall."

"Mulder, it...it doesn't matter," Scully said, opting to play 
peacemaker.  "Just...just go wash your hands.  Okay?  Hurry."

It did matter, though, Mulder thought.  Scully deserved more 
than to give birth with a couple of perverts ogling her.  He
hesitated.

"Go--," she entreated softly, her plea cut short when another
contraction hit.  Grabbing hold of the bedclothes, she bent
her head and groaned, the low, ragged sound raising the hairs 
on the back of Mulder's neck.

Swearing beneath his breath, Mulder shouldered past Krycek 
and the other man, and dashed to the bathroom.  Once there, 
he turned on the water as hot as he could bear.  Pushing up 
his sleeves, he lathered all the way to his elbows.  And while
he scrubbed, he thought about all the many ways things could
go wrong.

Scully was small.  What if she wasn't able to push the child
through the birth canal unassisted?

The baby was a month early.  What if it needed an incubator
or some special kind of treatment?

What if it was born breech?

Or with the cord wrapped around its neck?

What if something were to happen to Scully?

What if she hemorrhaged or had a stroke...

...or...or...?

He needed to get back to the room.

Trotting down the hall, arms bent, fingers pointed skyward 
like a surgeon, Mulder spied Krycek and his partner 
standing slouched against the wall outside Scully's bedroom.

"Stay!" Mulder barked as he jogged past.  To his delight, both
did exactly that.  Feeling cocky now, he turned once he had
crossed the threshold and bumped the door closed with 
his hip.  He had no way to lock it, so the gesture lacked a 
certain finality, he acknowledged to himself.  Still, given the 
circumstances, it was the best he could do to try and ensure 
Scully's privacy.

"How you doing?" he asked, coming to her side.

Eyes closed, Scully sat at an angle at the head of the bed, 
her back bolstered by pillows.  Her knees were bent, her feet 
pressed flat.  Her heels nearly touched the backs of her thighs.  
Her gown had ridden up, exposing the length of her legs.  The
hem, however, pooled between them, hiding her crotch from 
view.  "Mulder," she murmured, lashes lifting when she heard 
him speak.  "I think I need...I need to push."

"Okay...okay," he said agreeably.  "What should I do?"

"Check and see how much I've dilated," she directed, her 
voice breathy and high.

"Check and see?" he echoed weakly, sinking down on the 
bed, facing her.

She nodded.  "See...see how much space...if you can feel 
the head."

Oh dear Lord.

Scully wanted him to look between her legs.  

Try though he might, Mulder couldn't help but hear Beavis
and Butthead snickers bouncing around inside his brain.

Get a grip, he told himself with a mental shake of his head.  
Be an adult.  It's not like this isn't familiar territory.  You've 
been there before.

It's just that somehow you managed to lose your snapshots 
of that particular trip.

"Mulder, just do it!" Scully urged through clenched teeth, 
her color high, damp bits of hair sticking to her cheeks.  

"All right," he said with a quick bob of his chin.  "I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.  Okay."

Edging closer to her on the bed, Mulder slowly lifted her 
gown.  With as much gentleness as he could muster, he traced 
the opening to her body with his fingertips.

"How much?" Scully asked, her hand rubbing softly across
her belly.  

Frowning in concentration, he shrugged, wanting to get this 
right.  "I don't know...three...four inches, maybe."

Without warning, another contraction struck.   Scully cried
out brokenly and lurched against the headboard so hard the
entire bed shook.  Startled by the quake, Mulder jumped and 
began to pull his hand away.  But before he could withdraw 
it, she stopped him, her palm slapping down atop his forearm, 
holding him in place.

"Can you...can you feel the head?" she gasped, her eyes 
locked on his.

Grimacing, he reached up inside her.  "Um...I don't--.  Wait!
Yeah.  Scully, yeah!  Oh my God, I...I think I can."

Scully's hand fell away from his arm, her head twisted fitfully 
against the wall behind her.  "I gotta push, Mulder.  I gotta 
push now."

"Go on and do it then, Scully," he urged, slipping free of her 
body.  After all, she should know better than anyone what she 
needed right now, he reasoned.  "Just go ahead and push."

Taking a slow deep breath, she did, grunting and groaning 
and bearing down with all her might.

"That's it, that's it," Mulder encouraged, his hands stroking 
up and down the backs of her calves.  He felt like an idiot, 
like a fucking cheerleader.  But at that moment he didn't 
know how else to help.  "You can do it.  You're doing great."

Scully pushed until she couldn't push anymore.  Then,
releasing the air she had taken in, she collapsed against the
pillows, panting furiously.  Scrambling to his knees, Mulder 
leaned over and retrieved what remained of the water.  With
a shaky smile, he brought it to her lips.  Watching him through
her lashes, Scully took a sip, then spoke. 

"I'm tired."

"I know you are."

"I have to push again."

"I'm with you."

Over and over, Scully pushed and strained, struggling to 
bring their baby into the world.  Mulder did what he could,
murmuring words of praise and support, massaging her
hands, her legs, her feet, coaxing her to drink water when 
she could.  The contractions came and went as well, their 
timing somewhat slower than before, but their power as 
fierce as ever.  

The longer her labor continued, the more admiration Mulder
had for the mother of his child.  He would watch her during
one of the few, brief respites she enjoyed, trembling with
exertion, clinging to the last vestiges of her strength.  Yet 
even as taxed as she was, Scully fought on, undaunted despite 
all she had been through that day.  He didn't know how she 
was doing it.  He was exhausted just watching her.

Finally, though, little more than two hours after she had begun
pushing, all Scully's grueling work paid off.

She was bearing down with particular force, her face nearly 
purple with the effort, when Mulder saw a dark mass push
outwards from between her legs.

"Oh, my God.  Oh my God, Scully!" he cried, his voice cracking
with excitement.  "I see something."

She gasped twice, high and quick, took another deep breath and 
pushed even harder.  

The top of the baby's head slipped out, covered in goo.  Wisps 
of deep brown hair feathered the little one's crown.

"Jesus," Mulder murmured softly, utterly amazed at what 
he was witnessing.  "That's it...that's it.  Just a little more.  
You're almost there, Scully.  You're almost there."

Chin to her breastbone, Scully huffed and puffed.  Keening, 
she grabbed bunches of the bedding in her fists, and pressed 
down again.

A forehead emerged, followed by a pair of scrunched shut eyes.  
A tiny nose slipped free and the sweetest rosebud mouth.

Mulder's hands hovered beneath the newborn's noggin, ready
to catch it, like a center fielder waiting for that long high drive 
to hit his glove.  Somehow, some way, tears had begun trickling
down his cheeks.  Funny.  He couldn't remember starting to cry.

"I can't believe...oh, Scully.  Look at him," he whispered with
awe.  "Look at him.  He's perfect."

And he--or she--was.  No blue baby.  No cord around the throat.
None of the disasters he had envisioned.  Everything was fine.

From the neck up.

"One more push," Mulder cajoled, feeling vaguely guilty for
even asking her for such a thing.  "One more good push.  Come 
on."

Jaw set, Scully raised her head and looked him in the eye.
Their gazes clung, the moment oddly charged.  Then, with
an almost imperceptible nod, she tipped back her chin and
let out with a roar.  Her body tensed, her muscles rippled.

One shoulder popped loose.

And another.

Then, at last, with nothing left to hold him back, a slippery, 
pink infant slithered from his mother's body and into his 
father's expectant hands.

"Oh, Christ, Scully!  Christ.  It's a boy."

Feeling somewhat dazed by the whole thing, Mulder balanced 
his now wailing son on his palms and looked up at his partner.  
Scully appeared as out of it as he.  She lay in a loose-limbed
heap against the pillows, her brow wrinkled, her chest heaving.

"We have a son," he told her softly. 

Scully smiled, her eyes welling, and stretched out her hands.

"Give him to me," she said.

Mulder did as she asked.  Cradling the little one carefully, he 
scooted up to sit beside Scully and gently place their child 
in her arms.  She immediately drew the infant close, mindful 
of the cord still connecting them.

"H-he's so beautiful, Mulder," she murmured haltingly, her
fingertips gliding delicately, reverently, along the baby's 
mottled skin.  "Isn't he beautiful?"

"Just like his mama," he answered gruffly, leaning in to press
a kiss to the center of her brow.

At that, Scully glanced up at Mulder almost shyly for an instant 
before clearing her throat and shifting her hold on their son.  
Clutching him to her now in the crook of one arm, she used her 
free hand to pop open the buttons on her gown.

"He needs to nurse," she explained quietly.  Mulder nodded,
as if he had known this all along.

Scully didn't seem to pick up on his fib.  Her head bowed, she
was busy, baring her breast to Mulder's wide-eyed gaze, and
bringing their child to her nipple.  The little guy didn't catch 
on at first.  Not as quick as his old man, Mulder thought.  But 
finally, he figured out the teat's purpose and closed his lips 
around it.  Scully watched him as he suckled, a lone tear rolling 
slowly down her face.  Mulder watched the two of them, his 
heart so full at that moment, he was certain it would soon burst 
wide open.

"You should probably go downstairs and take those towels
out of the dryer," Scully said after a time, her eyes flickering 
his way.  "We need them to help keep him warm."

"All right," Mulder said, though he made no move to leave
her side.  They both knew what waited beyond that room.
He was in no hurry to introduce their captors to their son.

"We'll also need something to tie off the cord before you
cut it," she continued, stealing still more glimpses of him.
"Dental floss or a shoelace maybe.  Twine would even work.  
Whatever you can find."

Scully apparently wasn't ready to think about Krycek and
his buddy either.  Good.  Mulder was more than happy to 
continue the charade.  "What about the placenta?  Do we 
need to do anything?"

She shook her head and, finally, looked at him directly.  
"Not right away.  Now that he's nursing, it should expel 
itself."

Mulder nodded, holding fast to her gaze. 

 Scully smiled at him, her eyes glistening.  

A knock at the door interrupted their interlude.  "How are
things coming in there?"

Scully's face lost half its color.  "Mulder..."

"It's all right, Scully," Mulder assured her with a smile.  
"I've got to go downstairs anyway."

"Be right there, Krycek," he called.

Her expression pinched and troubled, Scully eased the baby 
from her breast.  As he had already stopped actively nursing, 
he went without much of a fuss.  Holding the infant to her, 
she then buttoned back up her bodice.  Mulder waited.  When 
she was covered, he went to the door.

"It's a boy," he announced to the two men he found waiting 
for him in the hall.  "I need to go downstairs for a minute.
I'll be right back."

Hand in his pocket, Krycek bobbed his head.  "Don't be long."

With one last glance at Scully and their son, Mulder turned 
and headed down the steps.

He never saw the look exchanged by Krycek and his partner.

Eyes trained on her baby boy, neither did Scully.

			*****

If it wasn't for the fact that she was holding a newborn,
cord still attached, covered in blood and God only knew 
what else, Krycek could almost have convinced himself 
Scully had just gotten laid.  Her cheeks were rosy, her hair 
tangled and tousled.  The bedclothes were twisted beneath 
her and her demure white nightie was bunched up mid-thigh.

"How you feeling?" he asked affably, sauntering to the far 
side of the bed.

"Well enough," she murmured, looking up at him, distrust
evident in her gaze.

Smart girl, he thought.

"A boy, huh?" he said, moving nearer still.  "What are you 
going to name him?"

Scully watched him warily, and pulled the baby more closely
against her.  "We haven't talked about it yet."

Krycek came to a halt at the head of the bed, his right arm
practically brushing Scully's left one.  "Let me see the 
little guy."

"He's right here," she said, though she in no way loosened
her grip on the child.

So Krycek leaned over her as if trying to get a better look.
"He has your eyes."

"All babies' eyes are bl--," Scully began.

Only to be stunned silent by the dart Krycek fired into her 
left shoulder.  She gasped in surprise and opened her mouth 
as if getting ready to cry out.  But before she could do much 
more than take a breath, Krycek clamped his prosthetic hand 
over her mouth, driving her head back against the wall with 
a soft bump.  Between the drug, her exhaustion and the baby 
she was juggling in her arms, Scully wasn't able to put up 
much of a fight.  Within seconds she was out cold.  

As soon as she was, Krycek released her and pulled the tiny
dart from her body.  She slumped against the pillows, her 
chin lolling to the side.  The baby lay curled up, undisturbed,
in the center of her chest, mewling softly.  Satisfied the child 
was in no danger of tumbling from his perch, Krycek stashed 
the gun and spent dart back in his pocket.  Giving his partner 
a warning look, he called downstairs, careful to inject just 
the right note of panic into his voice.

"Mulder, get up here!"

"I'm coming."

"Mulder, get up here now!"

Grumbling under his breath, Mulder soon did as he was told, 
bounding up the stairs, his arms loaded with freshly warmed 
towels.

"What?  What is it?"

Krycek gestured towards the bed.  "It's Scully."

Standing in the doorway, Mulder looked at his partner.  His 
eyes grew huge and frightened.  "Scully?  Scully, what's 
wrong?"

When she didn't answer, his complexion turned chalky.
"Scully?" he tried again, stumbling towards her, the towels 
falling forgotten from his hands.

"We were talking," Krycek said in an apologetic tone.  "She
complained of being dizzy.  Then she just...kind of...keeled
over."

"Scully...," Mulder breathed, ignoring Krycek's explanation
entirely.  Crawling onto the bed, he stabbed at her throat with 
his fingertips, searching wildly for a pulse.  "No.  Oh, God...
no.  Please..."

"I'm sorry, man," Krycek murmured with sham sympathy.  
"I really am."

Finally, it appeared Mulder found what he had been looking for, 
proof that Scully's heart yet beat.  His hand slipping slowly from 
her neck, he knelt beside her, sagging in relief.  

"She okay?" Krycek ventured, prodding him just a bit.

"What did you do, Krycek?" Mulder muttered, turning his
head towards his former partner and glaring up at him from 
the mattress.  "What the fuck did you do?"

"Nothing," Krycek said guilelessly.  "Nothing.  I told you--
she just passed out." 

Mulder weighed Krycek's sincerity for no longer than a breath 
before pressing to his feet.  "We've got to get her to a doctor."

Krycek had to fight the urge to smile.  "Oh, no.  The deal was, 
we stayed put until the baby was born.  That's done.  Now
we're out of here."

Mulder looked at him in disbelief.  "Are you out of your
fucking mind?  We can't just leave Scully here, leave the baby. 
We need to get them to a hospital."

"Get real, Mulder," Krycek said, warming to the game.  "My 
partner and I have got a job to do.  Maybe it's escaped you 
in all the excitement, but our objective is to bring you back 
=without= attracting a lot of unnecessary attention.  Showing 
up at an emergency room with an unconscious woman and 
a newborn is not going to help us accomplish that particular 
goal."

"It can," Mulder argued, his voice rising in volume.  "Don't
you see?  No one needs to know who you are or even how 
Scully and the baby got to the hospital.  All we need to do 
is take more than one car when we leave.  That way we can 
just...just drop Scully and the baby outside the emergency 
room entrance in one car and leave in another.  That's all 
we'd have to do."

"That's all?" Krycek echoed mockingly.  "That's a hell of a lot.
Get your stuff together, Mulder.  We're getting out of here."

"No!" Mulder cried, circling around the bed to get in Krycek's
face.  "Listen to me.  Listen...if you leave them here like this,
they could die."

"What do you expect me to do, Mulder?" Krycek said coolly.  
"Play hero?  Why should I?  What's in it for me?"

Mulder thought about it a minute.  "My complete cooperation."

"That so?" Krycek queried lightly.

"It is," Mulder confirmed with a nod of his head.  "Take Scully 
and the baby to someone who can help them, and I'll do anything 
you want."

"But I already told you, Mulder," Krycek said, unwilling to make
this easy for him, "we don't need your cooperation for the process 
to work."

"How do you know that, if I'm going to be the first person 
subjected to it?" Mulder countered with a touch of desperation.  

Krycek simply looked at him.

"Think about it," Mulder pleaded.  "If nothing else, wouldn't 
things move a lot faster if I played along?  Wouldn't they?"

Krycek pretended to consider the notion.  "How would I know
your dedication would be the same once Scully and the baby
were safe in some hospital somewhere?"

Mulder didn't hesitate.  "You have my word."

"Your word?" Krycek parroted with a chuckle.  

Behind them, the baby began to cry, weak, pathetic little
wails of grief.  Wincing at the sound, Mulder looked over 
at his child.  And at the mother who lie beneath him, still as 
death.  Staring at the tragic tableau, his expression changed.
His jaw clenched tight, his eyes grew bleak.  Suddenly, as 
if he were unable to stand the sight a moment more, Mulder
turned away and grabbed hold of Krycek by his jacket lapel.  
Pulling him near, Mulder thrust his face inches from that of 
the man in his grip. 

"If my word's not good enough for you, Krycek, then name 
your price," Mulder gritted out.  "I don't care what it is.  It 
doesn't matter to me; I'll pay it.  Just get them out of here.
Get them out of here =now=."  

Krycek stood there, enjoying the same little spark of excitement
he always did when Mulder's temper got the best of him.  Simon 
hovered just over Mulder's shoulder, ready to save the day, if 
necessary.  Krycek shook his head.  Rescue wouldn't be required.

"Not bad, Mulder," Krycek said softly instead.  "I like your
willingness to be flexible.  You have yourself a deal."

Swallowing hard, Mulder nodded.  

"Why don't you get Scully and the kid ready to go," Krycek 
suggested.  "No sense in staying here any longer now, is there?"

Nodding yet again, Mulder released him with a none too
subtle push.  Krycek smiled and stepped past the would-be
intimidator to Simon.

"See if you can't find that second car Mulder was talking 
about.  I'll finish up here and meet you downstairs."

"Don't take too long," Simon warned before going on his way.

"We won't," Krycek replied, watching Mulder gather a few 
of the towels from the floor.  Crossing to the bed, he gently 
wrapped his son with the still warm squares of terry cloth.  
Tucking the baby more securely against Scully, Mulder
then began folding the bedclothes in around them so that 
mother and child were snugly cocooned within the covers.

We won't take long at all, Krycek thought, as Mulder lifted his
precious bundle into his arms.  

Not when Mulder wanted them on the road every bit as badly
as Krycek did himself.

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

Continued in Chapter XIII 


"By the Wind Grieved" (13/13)
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com


It's been awhile since I've visited this particular universe.  Thank
you, Revely and the gang on Scullyfic, for believing that anyone
noticed.  Endnotes follow.
***************************************************
Despite his telephone rousing him from sleep before his 
alarm clock could, Walter Skinner didn't actually make it to
Dana Scully's bedside that day until after sundown.  

The delay was far from intentional.  

One roadblock after another kept getting thrown in his way.  
First, Skinner and his team needed to figure out precisely what 
had happened at the safe house, why check-ins had been 
missed and no one seemed willing or able to answer their phone.  
Knowing just who to call and how to persuade, the Assistant 
Director personally contacted the proper local authorities, 
directing them to the property.  Yet even after the house and 
grounds had been explored and the officers concluded disaster 
had indeed struck--Mulder and Scully were nowhere to be 
found, Skinner denied himself his heart's desire.  As much 
as he yearned to be in the field leading the search, he knew 
he would ultimately do more good at the Hoover Building 
marshalling the FBI's resources.

So Skinner bided his time.  Consulted maps.  Monitored 
weather reports.  Sucked down caffeine.  

And made still more calls.

His level-headed approach paid off shortly before noon.  
The hospital in Brookville responded to one of the pictures 
the FBI had faxed their way.  It seemed that Scully's photo 
matched a Jane Doe who had been found unconscious and 
abandoned in a car outside their Emergency Room entrance 
in the wee hours of the morning.

Swaddled with her in a fluid-stained quilt had been a newborn 
boy.

For reasons puzzling her physicians, the woman had not yet 
awakened, yet even so the staff at Brookville felt certain their 
redheaded patient was the FBI's missing agent.

The location of one of his people at long last known, Skinner 
ordered an around-the-clock guard on Scully and her child, 
then finally hit the road himself.  Unfortunately for him, all 
those hours spent eyeballing the Weather Channel hadn't 
made travel any easier.  Snow and ice and wind continued 
to punish the mid-Atlantic states, slowing traffic between the 
capital and Pennsylvania to an arthritic crawl.  His drive took 
nearly double the time it should have.  He showed up at the 
hospital just as the patients' dinner trays were being cleared.

"I'm here to see Dana Scully," he growled, stepping up to the 
admittance desk and flashing his badge at one of the nurses 
there.  "Assistant Director Walter Skinner.  I called from DC."

"Yes, sir.  We've been expecting you."

Scanning the hallways for trouble, like a Wild West gunman 
checking out the local cantina, Skinner trailed after Nurse 
Jennifer Talbot, the short brunette woman glancing at him 
over her shoulder as she led him down the corridor.

"I understand you're Agent Scully's superior."

"That's right."

"Tell me, Mr. Skinner, does she usually follow your orders?"

Skinner frowned as he brushed frosty drops of moisture from 
his coat sleeves.  Damned snow.  "Usually.  Why do you ask?"

"Just wondered," Nurse Talbot murmured as they rounded a 
corner.  "We've had a devil of a time getting her to follow ours."

Half a hall in the distance, Skinner spied their destination, the two
armed agents flanking the room's doorway a dead giveaway.

"What are you talking about?"

"Agent Scully has been largely unresponsive since she awoke," the
nurse said, her gait unhurried.  "She shows no interest in eating or 
drinking; she barely looks at her child."

"Is she all right?" Skinner asked, coming to a stop, his hand 
grabbing hold of his companion's arm to halt her progress as 
well.  "Medically, I mean."

Nurse Talbot nodded, apparently indifferent to Skinner's firm
grip.  "Based on the examination and the tests we've run, 
she seems to be in very good health.  We found no unusual 
trauma that could be attributed to her child's birth. The baby 
itself is fine.  We did discover traces of an unknown substance 
in Agent Scully's blood, but the doctors think that will dissipate 
in time.  Overall the prognosis is good."

"So you think the problem is more emotional--is that what you're 
saying?"

The nurse paused before she spoke.  "Possibly.  It's difficult to say
without knowing more of her history.  Her depression could be 
postpartum in nature.  Or it could be something else.  You know 
her better than any of our staff.  Why don't you speak to her and 
see what you think."

Concluding that Nurse Talbot offered excellent advice, Skinner 
pushed past the room's two sentries, anxious to reunite with one 
of his missing agents.

Scully was sitting on the bed when he entered; her baby's bassinet 
stood off to the side.  Her gaze was focused there.  The room was
nearly as dim as the twilight outside.  A single bulb burned above 
the headboard.

"Scully?"

Like a mechanical toy in need of oil, she rotated her head to look 
at him.  What Skinner saw in her expression made his chest ache
with sympathy.  Scully's face reminded him of a fallen souffle.  The 
fullness she had gained in her cheeks the past few months remained.  
Now, however, the skin seemed to sag on her bones, pale and doughy.  
Her eyes were shadowed beneath and within.

"Where is he?" she whispered.

Skinner didn't pretend to misunderstand.  "I don't know."

Scully looked away again, her vision trained seemingly on the floor
near where her child slept.  "Krycek took him."

"Krycek was there?"

"Yes."

He took a step closer, thinking perhaps he should offer some sort 
of physical comfort to the small, shattered woman, yet in the end 
unable to actually touch her.  Scully didn't want his comfort.  She 
wanted her partner.  Skinner could feel it.  "What happened?"

"Krycek came.  He had a partner, an accomplice who was charged
with taking out the agents you had stationed."

"They're all right, you know," Skinner assured her quietly.  "The
agents--Renfrew, Montrose and the rest of them.  We found them
drugged, trussed up like Christmas turkeys, but alive."

Scully nodded, but said nothing.

"What else do you remember?" Skinner prompted when his agent
seemed disinclined to continue.

Her eyes flickered towards the bassinet.  "I went into labor.
Mulder...he helped me.  Krycek wanted to go, but Mulder said
no.  Not until the baby came."

"How did you get here?" Skinner asked.

Scully frowned.  "After the baby was born, Mulder left the room.
For towels or something...Krycek was there, talking to me.  I don't
remember what he said, but...I was so tired all of a sudden.  I
couldn't keep my eyes open... I felt light-headed, uncoordinated.  
The next thing I knew I woke up here."

Skinner pursed his lips.  Scully's story dovetailed with what he
had been told of her medical condition.  Undoubtedly, she had 
been drugged like the other agents.

"I don't understand why he didn't take me with them," she murmured,
her brow yet furrowed, her fingers picking at the blanket covering
her legs.  "Why he let the baby and me go."

"Maybe it would have been too difficult to care for you both,"
Skinner suggested, "what with it being so soon after your giving
birth."

Scully turned her dull eyes his way.  "If we were such a bother, why 
didn't he simply kill us?  Why take the risk of bringing us here?"

Skinner swallowed hard and ran his palm over his bald pate before
replying.  "Maybe because Mulder insisted."

Scully lifted her brow.  

"We know Mulder and Krycek were the ones who brought you to
the hospital," he said, edging nearer still to the bed, his hands
shoved firmly now in his trench coat pockets.  "I don't know
if this accomplice you speak of had a hand in it, but we have
Mulder and that one-armed son of a bitch on the security camera
tape."

"You have them on tape?" Scully echoed, her brittle voice
breaking on the query.

"Yes."

"Show me."

Skinner inclined his head in agreement, and sent one of the
agents stationed outside for a wheelchair.  The fact that Scully
wordlessly let him ease her into it and wheel her down to the 
security room further proof in his mind of just how badly she 
was hurting.

Emotionally, so much more than physically.

"The picture quality is just about what you'd expect given the 
set-up," Skinner said once they were settled the hospital's 
security hub.  He had perched himself on a console to the 
right and just behind Scully.  The guard who was to be their 
audio-visual assistant manned the controls.  "But I don't think 
you'll have any trouble identifying the individuals on the tape."

Scully's eyes were riveted on the monitor before her, her 
shoulders rounded, her hands gripping the wheelchair arms.  
She didn't look Skinner's way or bother to comment on his 
statement.

With a nod to the security guard, the videotape began.  At first, 
the grainy black and white feed showed nothing but the covered 
entrance to Emergency.  Snow fell.  No cars were present, though 
a man strolled through the picture towards the parking lot Skinner
knew waited beyond the frame.  Perhaps he was a doctor going 
home after a late shift or an orderly or nurse taking a break.  

Suddenly, a late model sedan rolled into view, the automobile dark, 
with four doors.  Skinner had already ordered the car's plates run
through the FBI database.  The vehicle had been reported stolen
two days earlier from a suburb outside Philadelphia.  

Initially, on the video, the driver and his backseat passenger were 
masked by shadow.  However, once the car stopped and the 
driver side door swung open, Alex Krycek's baby-faced mug was
easy to recognize.  He stepped out of the automobile, then leaned 
down to say something to the vehicle's other occupant before 
shutting the door and looking expectantly over the roof of the 
sedan.  After a second or two, the rear passenger-side door 
opened.

"Mulder," Scully breathed, her expression rapt as she watched her
partner climb from the car.  He didn't immediately close the door 
behind him.  He stood for a moment, half in, half out of the vehicle,
as if drawn to something or someone yet inside.

"We found you and your baby in the backseat," Skinner said softly
to the back of Scully's head, realizing even as he said the words
how unnecessary they were.  

Scully didn't seem to notice.  She said nothing in reply, the gentle 
whir of the tape curling round its spools the room's only sound.

Not knowing what else to say, Skinner returned his attention to 
the monitor.  He saw Mulder crawl back inside the automobile, 
his arm outstretched as if reaching towards those who remained.  
Krycek gave his former partner only an instant before banging his 
fist on the top of the vehicle.  As soon as Mulder's head withdrew 
once more, the one-armed man gestured off camera.  Looking
tired and frustrated, Mulder seemed to hesitate, then nodded.  
Closing the car door, he circled around to Krycek's side.  With 
what appeared to be a grim smile, Alex took hold of the other 
man's arm and led him away.  

Leaving behind the sedan and its two hidden passengers.

"Thanks," Skinner said to the security guard, aware the tape
held little else of interest.  "You can pause it here."

The other man nodded and complied with the Assistant Director's
instruction.

"That's all we have," Skinner said, pushing to his feet.  " We 
assume the accomplice was waiting in another car off-camera
somewhere to take Krycek and Mulder away.  Unfortunately, 
we don't have any witnesses to back up that assumption."

Or give us a description of the vehicle, he finished inside his
head.

"You and the baby were discovered soon after the men left,"
he continued, circling around the woman in the chair.  "You 
know what happened from that point on."

Scully didn't agree or confirm.  She simply sat, her gaze yet
trained on the flickering monitor.

"Scully?" Skinner said quietly, peering past her hair to get a 
look at her face.

Tears rolled down it.  One after another, leaking from both
eyes.

"Scully," Skinner repeated, finally giving in to the urge to touch
her.  Moving slowly and carefully so as not to startle her, he 
laid his hand on her terry cloth clad shoulder.  Scully didn't seem 
to notice.  She continued to stare at the image frozen before her, 
a delicate tremor now coursing through her; Skinner could feel
the vibrations against his palm.

"Scully, are you all right?" he asked more urgently.

She still didn't answer, didn't even seem to know he had 
spoken.  She just sat there, fingers yet clutching the arms
of her chair, trembling and weeping.  

Silent.

Scully didn't speak a word.

She didn't need to.

Skinner understood her grief all too well.

*****

God.

How could she ever have yearned for a Christmas tree of 
her very own?

The shoulder-high pine had been waiting for her when 
Scully had come home from the hospital, her baby in her 
arms.  It stood in the corner of her living room, dripping with 
tinsel and lights, shiny ornaments dangling from its branches, 
brightly-colored packages stacked beneath its boughs.  Scully 
knew her mother meant well, that she saw the evergreen as 
a means to lift her daughter's spirits.  

Only Scully had hated the thing on sight.

Yet she had left it standing, not in deference to her mother's
sensibilities, but to convince Maggie and the rest of the 
Scully clan that Dana Scully was on the mend.  No more 
crying jags, no need for medication or counseling.

Or constant supervision.

She could be trusted to care for herself and her newborn
son.

She could be left alone for Christmas.

No matter how much her mother insisted to the contrary.

"Dana, Christmas is a time for family.  Especially this 
Christmas.  Come with me to San Diego.  You know
Bill and Tara would love to see you and the baby."

"Mom, I just can't...I need some time to process this.
You know?  Some time to get used to being back home."

"Let us help you.  Let the family help.  Please, you 
shouldn't be alone--"

"No.  Don't you see?  Being alone is exactly what I need 
right now.  Try to understand--I'm not up to answering 
questions or making polite conversation.  I can't...I don't 
have the energy for it."

"Dana, you wouldn't have to--"

"Mom, please.  Please.  Just go.  I'll be fine.  I promise."

It had taken some doing, but in the end, Maggie bowed to 
her daughter's will.

With the greatest reluctance, the elder Ms. Scully had 
that morning boarded a plane bound for the west coast.  
On Christmas Eve.  The Gunmen were to thank for that 
particular holiday miracle.  Somehow, some way they 
had come up with a last minute ticket, a single aisle seat 
on a United jet leaving out of Ronald Reagan International.  
Scully had driven her mother to the airport herself, her baby 
boy in tow.

"I'll call tomorrow," Maggie had assured her, her carry-on
strapped to her shoulder, her Pullman standing at her 
feet.  "We all will.  To wish you and the baby Merry 
Christmas."

"Okay, Mom," Scully had said, mustering a smile.  "Have
a good flight.  Give everyone my love."

"I will.  You take care."

Leaving her mother at the terminal with a quick press of
lips to cheek, Scully had pointed her car back towards 
Georgetown with nary a regret.  

As she pulled up outside her building, she spotted 
the agent Skinner had assigned to watch the place.  
Olive complected, he was about her age and built like 
a bouncer, with curly black hair and a crooked nose.
Tomaselli, she thought his name was.  She had met 
him once years before at an FBI leadership conference.
Nice guy, as she recalled.  She had tried to tell Skinner a 
bodyguard wasn't necessary, that if Krycek and his people 
had wanted her and her son dead, they would have killed 
them at the safe house.

Only Skinner hadn't been convinced.

And Scully had been too tired to argue the point.

So now the poor man was camped outside her apartment 
building on Christmas Eve.  Happy fucking holidays.

Sorry, Agent Tomaselli, she apologized without words.  
I swear this wasn't my idea.

Scooping her son out of his car seat, Scully took him
inside, wondering what she would do with herself--and
him--now that she was finally on her own.  No doctors,
no nurses, no hovering family and friends.

"It's just you and me, Will," Scully murmured, bumping
the door closed with her hip, then balancing the baby
one-handed against her shoulder so she could secure
the locks as well.  "Alone at last."

She had been home nearly a week and this was the
first time the apartment hadn't held a guest or two.  Her 
mother had moved in lock, stock and steaming soup pot 
as soon as she had gotten back to D.C.  Skinner and
the Gunmen had been frequent visitors as well.  Even
a few of her neighbors had knocked on her door, eager 
to see the building's newest resident.

If she didn't hear another doorbell ring it would be too soon.

"Okay," she said with a sigh, cradling her son against
her so his heavy little head nuzzled the crook of her neck.  
"Let's see.  What to do, what to do..."

Will's mid-day feeding.  That's right.  It was just about that 
time.

Good.

That was the beautiful thing about babies--they gave
a person's life structure, she thought, settling her 
child in his infant seat so she could get comfortable.  
Scully had always been a woman at ease with routine.  
But she had never truly realized how valuable order 
could be until the baby had been born, Mulder had 
been taken...

...and she had still somehow needed to make it through
the day.

When she had first arrived home from the hospital, routine 
had quite literally saved her sanity.  Her newborn had needs 
that ran on a kind of unalterable schedule--feedings, naps, 
diaper changes and the like.  Embracing her role as mother, 
Scully took to the regimen like a redhead duck to water.  
She found the simple tasks soothing, like meditation or the 
mindless repetition of brushstrokes through silky hair.  As 
long as she could focus on fastening diaper tape tabs just 
so or properly supporting the baby's head while he nursed, 
she could forget just for a moment or two that the child's 
father wasn't there to share these chores with her.

She could stop worrying about what shape her life would
take now that a Mulder-sized chunk was missing from it.

Hanging her coat in the closet, Scully forced such fretful
musings from her mind, banishing them with a skill born
of much practice.  Crossing back to her son, she lifted
him from his resting place and took him to sit on the sofa. 
Holding him in the bend of one arm, she used her other 
hand to loose the buttons on her blouse and free her breast
from her nursing bra.

"Time to eat, sweetheart," she cooed, bringing his lips 
to her chest.  It took him only a moment to latch on.
Scully winced, then adjusted the little one against her.
She didn't know how much longer she was going to be 
able to breastfeed.  Her nipples were horribly tender and 
her baby boy sucked like a vacuum.  "Ow...ow.  Jeez, 
Will.  Ease up a little bit.  Please."

Will.  William.  As much as she would have liked Mulder's
input on their child's name, the choice had ultimately been
a no-brainer.  Their son's moniker honored both his parents'
fathers, a decision Scully was certain Mulder would have 
supported.  After all, he knew how close she had been to
her beloved Ahab.  And despite the tortured history between
the two Mulder men, she thought love had persisted between
them to the end.  She had seen for herself how gravely her 
partner had mourned the loss of the man he had called 'Dad'.

"Are you ever going to know your father?" she asked the
bundle in her arms.  Will gave no response.  His eyes were 
sleepy with bliss, drooping lashes nearly hiding their dark blue 
hue.  Scully ran her fingers lightly over the hair on his crown.  
Not much was there, but she thought the sprinkled strands 
looked brown.  Like Mulder's own.  "Will you two ever throw 
a ball together or pitch a tent in the backyard?"

Will didn't seem to notice how thin his mother's voice had
become or care that her cheeks had begun to blotch with 
color.

"He loves you, you know.  Loves us both.  Even when he
didn't know us, he loved us.  Isn't that crazy?"

Shit.  Scully could feel moisture welling up behind her 
eyes, could feel her nose tingle and her chest clench.  
She didn't want to cry.  She really, really didn't want to 
cry.  She was sick to death of tears.

"Some people have thought your dad was crazy, you
know," she continued, stubbornly pushing the words 
past the blockage in her throat.  "They thought he was 
seeing things that weren't really there.  I thought it myself
sometimes.  At first."

Noticing the baby's mouth had ceased its pull, Scully eased
Will away from her breast and straightened her clothes.

"He wasn't, though.  Mulder was right.  He was one of 
the only ones who really knew what was going on.  But
even so, he wasn't scared.  Not of that, of them.  He 
pursued the truth at all costs.  All costs.  It meant 
everything to him."

Wetting her lips with her tongue, Scully brought Will
to her shoulder and began patting him on the back.
"Sometimes...sometimes I think it meant even more 
to him than you or me..."

'Meant'?

'Pursued'?

Oh, God.

She was thinking of Mulder in the past tense.

"No," she murmured, tears flowing unreservedly now.  
"Oh, no."

Pushing shakily to her feet, she paced the length of the
sofa, clutching Will to her, her grip so tight she wondered
if she might bruise the child inadvertently.

I'm sorry, Mulder.  I'm sorry, she vowed inside her head.  It 
hasn't been much more than a week and already I've given 
up hope.  I'm so sorry.

Where was her resolve?  When Mulder had initially gone 
missing, she had never ever allowed herself to believe she 
wouldn't find him.  She had persisted with the fervor of an
evangelist when everyone else had succumbed to doubts.

But things had been different then.  She hadn't been worn down 
by months on her own.  Mulder and she hadn't yet delivered 
their child together or known the bittersweet joy of rediscovering 
each other, of letting love kindle a second precious time.

She was exhausted now.  And scared.  More frightened then she 
could remember being in a very long time.  It had been difficult
enough to be strong alone, but now, needing to be tough
enough for both the baby and her, having to protect his fragile 
young life, to raise him to be fine and brave, to be his father's 
son...

"I can do it," she insisted, her voice low and bitterly resolved, 
her damp cheek pressed to the top of Will's downy head.  "I can.  
I swear it, Mulder.  I can.  I can."

Only she didn't want to.  Not alone.  Not without him.

I only want one thing for Christmas, Santa...

And if I get it, I promise I'll never ask for anything again.

*****

When she laid Will down for his afternoon nap, Scully 
stole some shut-eye as well.  She didn't really think 
she'd fall asleep.  But when she curled up on her bed 
with Will beside her and the room warm and dim, her 
body accomplished what her brain seemed unable to.  
It shut itself off.

She slept for more than three hours.

When she awoke to Will's fussing, Scully saw through 
the window the streetlights were lit.  She flicked on the 
bedside lamp as well.

"What time is it?" she mumbled, squinting at the nightstand
clock.

5:30.

"Wow, Will.  You and I must have been more tired than
we thought."

Will responded by kicking his legs and letting loose with a 
squawk.

Scully smiled and was just about to reply herself when she 
heard a knock on the door.

"Oh, great," she murmured, pushing her hair back from her 
face.  "What do you think, Will--do you suppose Tomaselli 
needs to use the bathroom?"

Leaving the baby safely centered on the mattress, she
flipped on a lamp in the living room, then crossed to the 
door.  Peering through the peephole, she expected to 
see Tomaselli's Italian good looks twisted comically by 
tiny fish-eyed lens.

Only it wasn't Tomaselli looking back at her.

It was another man.

Another face.

One she knew infinitely better than that of the agent
parked outside her building.

"Mulder!"

"Scully?"  The voice was muffled, but definitely his.

She couldn't get the door open.  

She couldn't =fucking= get the door open.  

Scully's fingers suddenly seemed twice as wide and three 
times stiffer than usual.  That would be the ultimate irony, 
she thought, her insight just this side of hysterical--to be 
separated from the man she loved not by villains or distance, 
but by her own lack of motor skills. 

"Scully?  Everything okay?"

"Yes!  Yes!  Just a second."

Finally, after far too much scrabbling and the loss of a 
fingernail, Scully yanked open the door.  Mulder stood
in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a sweater, and a 
parka she didn't recognize.  He looked...well.  He looked 
whole.

He looked amazing.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, not knowing what else to
say.  "Thank God, Mulder."

Mulder didn't seem any more articulate than she.

"Scully," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and 
burying his face in her hair.  "Oh, God."

"I was so worried," she confessed, on tiptoe as she
clung to him.  "Where have you been?"

"I don't know.  I don't know where I've been.  Are you 
all right?"

"Yes.  Yes, of course, I am."

"And the baby?"

"The baby's fine.  He's great.  What about you?"

"Never better.  I'm here.  We're all here.  Life is
good."

With that, Mulder's lips found their way from Scully's 
ear to her cheek.  Kissing her there, he whispered
against her skin, "I was so scared."

"Of what?" she asked, ready to call down all manner
of damnation on Krycek's head.  What had he done
to Mulder?  What had the bastard done?

"I couldn't wake you," he said, his eyes flitting over
her features, from brow to chin and back again, his
gaze restless, as if he were trying to look at every 
part of her all at once.  "From the time I came upstairs 
until we reached the hospital...I didn't know what was 
wrong.  I thought ...I thought something had happened 
with the baby...that you were..."

"I was drugged," she told him, cradling his face in
her palms.  "Krycek gave me something."

"But you're all right now?"

"I'm all right now."

He bowed his head and kissed her again.  Softly.
This time on the mouth.

"Come in," she begged when their lips had parted.
"Come inside.  How did you get past Tomaselli?"

"Toma-who?" he asked, following her into the apartment,
his steps slow and dreamy, like those of a sleepwalker.
Scully closed the door behind them and locked it once
more.  

"The agent outside," she explained, running her hands
up and down his arms, squeezing and petting, reassuring 
herself that he was there, that he was real.  "Skinner has
him watching the place."

"I don't know," Mulder said with a shake of his head.  "I 
didn't see anybody.  But then again, I wasn't looking for
anyone.  It had started raining so I had my hood up.  
Maybe he didn't recognize me."

"How did you get here?" she asked.

"I was driven," he replied, taking off his coat and draping
it over a chair.  "In the back of a paneled truck.  I'm not sure 
where from.  We drove around for hours.  Might have been
Virginia or Maryland, maybe even Pennsylvania.  I couldn't 
see anything.  They let me off at the Lincoln Memorial.  I 
walked from there."

"You walked?" she echoed.

"I needed the exercise," he assured her with a smile.

Taking his hand, Scully led them to the couch.  "What
do you remember, Mulder?" she asked when they were
seated.

"Everything," he said simply.  "Everything except what
Krycek hoped I would."

"What are you talking about?"

"When we first met, your hair was long.  Much longer than
it is now.  You told me you were looking forward to working
with me and I accused you of being sent to the basement
to spy."

"Your memory," she sputtered, inarticulate with joy.  
"It's back.  All of it." 

"Yeah," he said, his smile broadening.  "Surprisingly enough, 
Krycek didn't lie about that.  His 'procedure' fixed whatever had 
gone wrong in my head.  Unfortunately for him, however, I had 
no clear memory of my abduction, nothing that was of use."

"What do you think that means?  Will Krycek's people leave
you alone now?"

"I don't see why not.  If they wanted me out of the picture,
why return me to D.C.?"

Why indeed.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, stretching out her free hand and
skimming her fingers through his hair.  "The procedure.
Did they hurt you?"

"Some," he admitted, squeezing her other hand.  "But it 
was worth it, Scully.  I have my life back.  Finally, I have it 
all back." 

Scully nodded.  "I'm glad...I missed you."

"I missed you too," he said, leaning in.

Almost as if on cue, a strained bleat sounded from the bedroom.

"Sounds like someone else has missed you as well," Scully 
said with a grin.

Mulder's entire face lit up in recognition.  "Hey, little man.  
Daddy's home."

Her grin lingering, Scully trailed after her partner to the 
bedroom.  She watched as Mulder settled himself beside their 
son, then reached out his hand and laid it gently on the baby's 
tummy.

"What did you name him?" Mulder asked quietly, massaging
the little one's middle.  The baby stilled beneath him, staring
up at his father in apparent fascination.

"William," she said.

"Of course," he said, looking up at her, his expression pleased.  
"I should have known."

"He's a good baby," she said, taking a step closer to the
two men in her life  "He's alert, even-tempered..."

"Must take after me," Mulder ventured with a smirk.

Scully nearly sprained a brow in reaction.

Will chose that moment to scrunch his eyes closed and
wail.  

"Oh, yeah," Scully murmured.  "He takes after you."

"Oh, come on; that's not fair," Mulder protested, lifting the 
now yowling baby into his arms.  "I think the little guy just 
needs his diaper changed."

"You want me to take him?" Scully offered, her arms 
outstretched.

Mulder thought about it for a second.  "Let me try."

"You sure?"

"Hey, I gotta start sometime," he said, standing.

She smiled.  "Okay.  While you're doing that, I'll go let 
Tomaselli know he needs to improve his powers of 
observation."

"Why don't you hold off on that?" Mulder suggested
from the bedroom doorway.

"How come?" Scully inquired.

"You tell your watchdog out there I'm back and he'll 
immediately call Skinner.  The next thing you know, 
the big guy will want my statement, and you, me and 
baby makes three wind up spending Christmas at the
Hoover Building."

Scully pretended to seriously ponder the issue.  "It wouldn't
be very nice of me to come down on Tomaselli like that.
Not on Christmas Eve."

"Nah.  That kind of thing would be more Scrooge than 
Scully."

"You've convinced me.  The changing table is in the dining 
room."

"I'm on it."

Following Mulder back out again, Scully realized the living
room could really do with a bit more illumination.  Indulging 
an impulse, she turned on the Christmas tree lights.  Mulder
glanced over as if noticing the evergreen for the first time.

"Nice tree," he remarked.

"I've seen better," she replied, thinking back to the one 
they had left behind in Pennsylvania.

Mulder smiled.  Scully smiled back.

She then watched as the man she loved changed his first 
diaper, attacking the problem with more enthusiasm than 
skill.  Her smile refused to leave her face.

"So, do you think this tree has any mistletoe in it?" Mulder 
asked when the baby had stripped, wiped and re-diapered, 
his voice casual in the extreme.

"Mistletoe?" Scully queried as she crossed to stand beside 
him.

"Yeah, mistletoe," Mulder said, holding Will in his arms.
"It's a kind of parasite, you know.  It grows in trees like
orchids."

"Oh, that's right," she said, nodding.  "We found some of
that in our other tree, didn't we?"

"Exactly."

"And you were inquiring...why?"

"Just curious," he said with a shrug.

"Funny," Scully said.  "I'm curious too."

"'Bout what?"

Leaning in, she kissed him, soft and sweet.  "If this would 
be as good as I remembered."

Mulder reciprocated, his buss lasting a trifle longer than hers.
"I'd say our memories are excellent," he murmured afterwards.

Scully smiled and wrapped her arms around Will and Mulder
both.  "And with a little luck, we'll create more and more of them 
as the years go by."

"Merry Christmas, Scully."

"Merry Christmas, Mulder."

*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

The End


Notes:  Those of you who have been following this story since
the beginning know how dreadfully long it's taken me to complete
it.  There are many reasons for that.  Don't worry-I'm not going
to bore you with them. <g>   Suffice it to say, I apologize for 
the delay.  Thanks to those for whom this chapter matters.  
You're more patient souls than I.

This is my final piece of XF fanfic.  I've been active since the
fall of 1995 (when I had a 2,400K modem and was downloading
stories via FTP from the original Gossamer).  Since then, I've
written 30 stories.  I don't know that I have that much more to
say about our favorite fibbies.  I want to thank everyone who
has taken the time to read my work.  You gave me a reason
to keep posting the silly things.  I want to especially thank, 
however, the writers who drew me into the fanfic world in the 
first place and who have inspired, thrilled and humbled me ever 
since.  I'd list them, but I know I'd forget way too many to ever 
do the roll justice.  Let's put it this way-I have close to 1,300 
XF stories saved on my hard drive.  I know I'll be rereading 
them for a long time to come. 

It's been a gas.

Karen