Chapter 7: A Normal Life



1.

Pinecrest, Virginia, 31 Bridle Path Way 
December 8th, 6:45 P.M.



As they waited for an answer to the ringing of the front door 

bell, Tiff was worried.  Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.

Skinner's face had taken on the expression of a man who'd ingested 
a tart lemon.  His gaze was roaming over the clapboard front of 
the house. 

He commented, "You realize this place cost more money than both of 
our fathers--put together--earned in their lifetimes?"

She only had time to nod before Mulder pulled the door open.

He looked surprised, and not pleasantly.  "Sir.  Tiff.  
Did we forget something?"

This was her cue.  "No, Mulder.  We forgot something.  Walter and 
I, that is. . ."  Oh, great.  "Mr. Skinner and I realized we 
didn't have a present this afternoon, so we wanted to bring 
something by."

As though joining the performance, Mulder mouthed the line, "You 
shouldn't have."

Skinner gave him a reason to be leery of their visit when he 
observed, "Quite the lean you've got here on this porch, Mulder."

Appearing resigned to his fate, Mulder held the door open wide.  
"Yes, Sir.  I know, Sir."



Tiff glanced around the foyer as they removed their coats.  She 
liked the house so far.  It had that comfortable but shambled, 
please-stay-upright-until-we-can-qualify-for-a-home-improvement- 
loan sort of look.

Mulder led them into the front living room.  

Scully was stretched out on an overstuffed, dark green couch 
before a crackling fire.  She seemed to be snoozing.

Mulder gently grasped a sock-covered foot peeking out from under 
the afghan draped over her legs.  "Scully?"

She woke with the jerk of someone afraid to be asleep.  Her hands 
restlessly grasped at her waist.  Tiff recognized that as the move 
for a gun.  Instead her fingers explored the expanse of her belly 
of a moment.  Tiff watched an expression of wonder and confusion 
shift through the drowsy blue eyes.

"Dammit," Scully spit out.  "I must have fallen asleep again.  I 
keep doing that," she finished with a slight bit of anger directed 
at a bewildered Mulder.

Skinner shifted from foot to foot behind her.  Coward.

Tiff gave her a big smile.  "That's it, honey.  You're sleeping 
for two, you know."

As Scully struggled off of the couch, brushing aside Mulder's 
offered hand, the woman shot Tiff a sharp-edged glance.

Tiff felt the 'going visiting' smile freeze on her face.  Perhaps 
her trepidation was well founded.

2.
Skinner watched Mulder add another log to the fire.  The 'ladies' 
had removed themselves to take a tour of the nursery.  He had 
decided to give that a pass.  

He had a few things he wanted to go over with Mulder.  The man was 
avoiding his gaze.  He didn't blame him.  He knew his face was 
arranged in a sour expression.  He couldn't help himself.

The first words to come out of his mouth were as harsh as he knew 
they would be.  "How do you expect to protect her sitting out here 
in plain sight?"

Mulder still had his back to him.  He didn't answer for a moment.  
Skinner could feel his face heat to red-hot anger.  He was 
transported back to the time when he was in Mulder's position, 
firmly behind the eight ball with his father.  He wouldn't answer 
either.  He knew silence was the only power he had possessed with 
the overbearing man.  

Mulder finally faced him and his tone was cool when he spoke.  
"This is the way Scully wants it.  After some thought, I realized 
she might have the right idea."

"You're kidding!"  Skinner burst out.

Stiffly, Mulder continued, "No, sir."  He swept his arm towards 
the long bank of windows along the wall.  "On the right we have 
old Mrs. Kershaw.  She hasn't liked the look of us since we moved 
in.  No, sir.  She keeps a constant eye out her window, because 
you gotta be vigilant.  When we finally make a move, she's going 
to be right there, with her finger hovering over the phone 
touch pad, to dial 9-1-1. The only problem with Mrs. Kershaw is 
that she goes to bed early."  

He pointed toward the front of the house.  "But that's all right.  
Mrs. Lopps across the street has a terrible time with her knees 
and is up every hour in the night to take a walk around.  She 
likes us, but worries about that pretty Mrs. Mulder.  Won't call 
her Scully, but we're willing to let that slide because she feels 
it's her duty as a good neighbor to take a peek out of her 
curtains when she makes the track around her house."  He stopped 
when he ran out of breath.

Skinner merely twitched his tightly held lips.

Mulder sighed in resignation.  "I know it doesn't seem like much, 
but it's okay.  We are followed all the time.  We have tracking 
devices everywhere."  With a determined tone, he went on.  "It's 
all going to work out."

Skinner was silent as he remembered the time he had said those 
words with as much forced confidence.  He had thought joining the 
Marines would finally earn him the respect he had yearned for from 
his father.  After his announcement, his father had only nodded 
and had lifted his paper to resume reading the baseball scores. It 
was his older brother who had spoken and it was with contempt.  
"You're a fucking idiot.  Only fucking idiots go to Vietnam.  
You're gonna die."

He realized his face had been held in the same expression of 
frozen resistance he now saw on Mulder's face.

A low chuckle escaped him.  After all these years, he finally 
could see where his brother had been coming from.  Skinner felt 
his brother's fear and concern now as he watched the younger man's 
features harden to become obstinate.  

"All right," he said.  "I'll take your word for it."

Mulder flopped down on the couch and pulled the afghan up onto his 
lap.  "Thanks."

3.
Tiff paced around the nursery like a caged animal, but her words 
were all correct.  "I love what you've done for the window 
treatment.  It's perfect!"

Scully was rearranging the pile of stuffed animals on top of the 
bureau to give the bear a place of honor.  "Thank you."  She 
shrugged and glanced at the windows with her brow furrowed as 
though she was examining an odd specimen.  "Uh...I wanted to keep 
the room sunny without worrying about it being too hot."

Tiff nodded stiffly.  "Yes, I see."  She flayed her arm up towards 
the ceiling.  "And the borders!  I think the stars and moons are 
perfect!"

When she turned to face Scully, the woman looked struck with 
astonishment, a brow raised.  Tiff lifted her wide shoulders in 
defeat.  "Maybe we're not the right kind of women to pull this 
off."

Scully nodded and moved a small lamp on the bureau top a quarter 
of an inch to the left.  "Yes, I wonder about that question every 
day."



When they returned to the living room, the men folk were chatting 
semi-amicably about power tool selection.  

Scully seemed to be willing to try again at her role.  "Would you 
like to join us for dinner?"

Mulder nodded and looked at Tiff in expectation.  She glanced over 
to Skinner and could see from his tight face that he was holding 
onto something that might burst if left to fester.

"Oh, I'm sure you both have had enough partying for today.  We'll 
be going."

Mulder and Scully trailed after them, giving half-hearted protests 
as she and Skinner rushed towards the door.

4.
Tiff and Skinner sat in her car.  Despite the fact her hand was 
resting on the key, she hadn't started the engine yet.  

She asked, "So that's a normal life, huh?"

Skinner just nodded.  Through the front windows of the house, the 
curtains still wide open, they could see Mulder and Scully 
beginning to rearrange their furniture.

When he spoke, the question came out of left field.  "Did you ever 
smoke?"

"No," she answered.

"I did.  Started when I went to Vietnam.  Stopped a couple of 
years ago, cold turkey.  But every now and then, I have this 
overwhelming urge for a cigarette."

"Now?"

"Yeah," he said.  

"Well, come over to my place and I'll make you dinner.  Isn't that 
what you do when you have an urge?  Eat?"  Tiff realized her 
cheeriness sounded forced and cursed inwardly.

He shrugged.  She still didn't start the car.

Through the window, bright now in the falling night, she could see 
Mulder pushing the sofa across the room as Scully directed him 
from an armchair.

Tiff motioned her head towards the couple.  "How did this 
happen?"

He shrugged again.  "I'm not a good storyteller."

She urged him, "Come on, tell me how they got together."

He turned in his seat and the whisper of his slacks on the 
upholstery seemed loud.  In the dark interior, the flash of his 
teeth was a bright light.  "I could show you."

She turned too, and settled into her seat, feeling a coil of 
excitement and need begin to unbend slowly in her stomach.  

As his finger stroked her forearm, he murmured, "It's my theory it 
started with a touch..."

He leaned in close, not to kiss her, but to whisper in her ear, 
"And a glance..."

After allowing a shiver to climb up her spine, Tiff gripped her 
car key tightly.  "I have a meatloaf I can defrost."

Skinner shifted back to the passenger seat.  "That would be nice."

As the tires spun the car around, she added, "And a couple of 
slices of my mother's pecan pie."

He allowed a chuckle out.  "I'm looking forward to it."

5.
Mulder straightened the couch until it was parallel with the wall.  
"There."

Scully stood back and surveyed his work.  "I don't know..."

He perched on the arm of the sofa.  "What?"

She found herself becoming lost in thought.  "Scully?"

She shook her head and glanced over at him.  "I was thinking."

"Should I move the table too?" he asked.

"No.  I mean, no, that wasn't what I was thinking about."

He seemed to be concentrating on the arrangement of the furniture. 
"Hmmm?"

She plowed on.  "I was wondering...how much confidence do you have 
in our theories?"

He blinked at her.  "Which ones?"

She controlled her temper, barely.  "The baby.  Do you completely 
believe the baby is...all right?"

He laughed.  "Scully!  I can't believe you're still chewing this 
over!"  When she didn't response, his brow furrowed.  "Can you 
ever just accept something you know to be true in your heart?  Why 
do you always have to look at every possible awful scenario?"

Her words fell with the brittle quality of shattering ice.  "So 
you completely believe everything is fine?  This baby is ours? 
It's healthy?"

"Why wouldn't I?  What do you think?" he asked.

She hadn't been able to put her worries in words, and now, 
confronted with his challenge, she still couldn't think of what to 
say.  "I'm sure everything is fine," she muttered.

"Do you *feel* anything different?" he asked as he came to her to 
stroke her belly.

"How do I know? I've never been pregnant before!" she burst out.  

"Scully, don't worry."  He lifted his hand from her belly to 
gently caress her neck.  His fingers circled her new, healing 
scar.  He murmured, "I know you love to worry.  Don't.  I'm not."

She lifted her downward cast eyes to search his.  He smiled as he 
moved closer and pulled her into a loose embrace.  "I have 
complete confidence in you.  You won't let anything happen to 
the baby.  Or you.  You're my hero, you know that?"

She shook her head and stared down at her feet again.  His lips 
were on her cheekbone.  "Well, you are," he whispered.

He reached over to snap off the floor lamp.  "Let's me make 
dinner.  You're just tired and hungry."

She almost broke.  She wanted to tell him all of her nightmares 
and visions.  But as she watched him close the flume on the 
fireplace and pull the drapes closed, she went over what she would 
say, and the words sounded foolish.  He was right.  


6.
The Factory 
10:15 P.M.



When he followed the old man, Krycek had developed the habit of 

trying to keep in his blind spot.  Just in case.  He wasn't sure 

what the case might be, but he wanted to be prepared.  

Unfortunately, the clone had picked up the habit from him, and was 
only a light footfall behind him. 

He glanced back.  Kenneth nodded at him. 

All three men entered the laboratory assigned to Dr. Alvin 
Kurtzweil.  The doctor seemed to be expecting them.  He was seated 
in a straight-backed chair facing at the doorway.  He sat very 
still.  

The older man didn't seem to notice the doctor's odd behavior.  
Lighting a cigarette, he asked, "Doctor?  You have a report for 
us?"

Kurtzweil blinked, once.  His large, lizard-like eyes shifted from 
man to man.  Finally, he spoke.  "Yes."

Krycek lost patience.  He realized this man was being kept 
medicated so that even the simplest duties were a chore, but he 
didn't have time to pull out every word.  "What have you found?"

The doctor sighed deeply.  He sifted through a stack of files on 
the table next to him.

That was all Krycek could take.  He jerked his head savagely 
towards the doctor.  Kenneth nodded and moved towards the seated 
man. 

Looking alarmed, Kurtzweil leaned forward.  "It didn't work!"

One word drifted over to the doctor on a trail of smoke. "Oh?"

"No.  We were unable to duplicate the gene from the blood sample."  
Looking contrite, he added, "Sorry."

The older man moved closer to the doctor.  "I'm sure you are.  You 
realize how important this work is?"

Like a robot, the man in the chair said, "Yes.  It will save the 
human race.  That is very important."

Krycek had the oddest sensation the clone was holding in a laugh.  
He turned to look at him, but Kenneth's face was as passive as 
always.

Krycek smirked and said, "So we need the baby."

Kurtzweil looked alarmed, but nodded quickly.  "Yes.  We do.  
Bring Ms. Scully here.  I can take care of her.  And the baby."

The old man shook his head regretfully.  "No.  We don't need 
Mulder tearing this world apart looking for her.  We wait."

Krycek challenged him.  "You're sure the plan for recalling her 
will work?"

The sagging shoulders lifted to answer the question.  "How well 
does anything work?  It doesn't matter."  He shifted his gaze to 
Kenneth.  "I'm sure you'll succeed if the first plan doesn't."

"Don't hurt her!" admonished the quivering doctor.  He still 
hadn't gotten up from his chair.

Soothing, the old man assured him, "We won't."  He turned to the 
other two men and dismissed them.  "Dr. Kurtzweil and I have some 
business to discuss.  I suggest you get back to work."

Kenneth's expression did register some surprise when Krycek merely 
nodded and motioned the clone to follow him out of the room.  
Krycek pulled the door shut so that it clicked loudly, but then 
gave it a slight, quick push back.  The latch didn't catch and the 
door was left slightly ajar.

He stood off to the side of the door.  He could see Kenneth 
waiting for him at the end of the hall, but he ignored him.

He listened.

He could hear the old bastard, up to something as usual.  He shook 
his head in wonder.  

"You've confirmed the genetic match?"

The doctor's quaking voice said, "Yes, but--"

Smoothly, he was cut off.  "Good.  That's all.  Get back to work."

Krycek hurried away from the doorway before the his superior could 
exit, his mind furiously whipping through all the possibilities as 
to what the crazy old man could be up to.  He couldn't think of 
anything yet, but he knew he had to find some answers soon.


7.
Mulder had decided to shower before getting into bed.  He had left 
Scully tucked into bed and, he assumed, asleep.  But when he 
opened the bathroom door into their bedroom, he heard her low 
conversation.

In horror, he said, "No!  No, Scully!"

Big blue eyes, overflowing with innocence, met his.  "What?"

"Don't act ignorant with me!" he chided.  "I heard what you said!"

She shrugged and pulled the comforter up higher under her chin.

"No, Scully," he pleaded.

"I was just talking to the baby," she said.

"I heard what you called him.  I beg of you, Scully, as a man 
who's spent his whole life with the name Fox--"
   
She stopped playing stupid.  "It's just a pet name.  A lot of 
people give the fetus a pet name.  In fact, we haven't discussed a 
name."  She patted his side of the bed invitingly.  "Let's name 
the baby tonight and I'll start calling him that right now."

He could tell from her serious, clear expression that she really 
believed what she was saying.  In one flash of insight, he 
suddenly understood marriage.  It wasn't being deceived or lied to 
that broke a man down.  It was his realization of the utter 
futility of attempting to gain the upper hand on even one issue.  

They would discuss this.  They would choose a name.  They would 
get the silver cup engraved.  And when it was all said and done, 
his son would go by the name Kit Mulder all his life.

Kit Mulder.  Mulder could picture the boy at eighteen.  He would 
be tall, with windswept blonde-streaked hair.  Big, white Kennedy-
esque teeth.  He would do a little modeling for Ralph Lauren on 
the side.  He would be All-American in some obscure WASP sport 
like lacrosse.  By then, Scully would have aged gracefully, 
allowing a few gray hairs to twist in among the red.  She would 
start wearing twin sets and a strand of pearls.  

He on the other hand, would become fussy and musty--good lord, he 
would be nearly sixty when Kit finished high school!-- by that 
time.  He would be frantically trying to keep on top of an ear 
hair problem and would have taken to wearing tweedy cardigans.  He 
wouldn't be surprised if he took up the Kabbalah, studying for 
hours in a cluttered office.

This was not a pretty picture.  His perfect WASP wife and child 
and then--him.  All because Scully had it in her head to name 
their boy Kit.

But he knew he must play along for marital harmony.  He had 
promised himself he would never whine in an argument and wasn't 
going to start now.

He did allow himself a sigh, and lifted the covers to crawl in 
beside her.  She curled up next to him, scratching his belly like 
a good dog that deserved a reward.

"Is there a family name you like?" she asked.

He chose his next words carefully.  "I suppose we could go with 
William."

Her hand stilled.  Equally carefully, she replied.  "I suppose.  
If you want--"

"No!  I mean, if you want to--" he stumbled out.

"No.  That's all right.  I just assume Bill and Tara will have 
another child someday and I think it would be nice to let them use 
the name if they want," she answered sensibly.

He nodded, butting the top of her head.  "Yes."

She went back to the topic at hand.  "What's another family name?"

"You should choose--"

"Mulder, please don't tell me you're going to be one of those, 'I 
don't know, what do you want?' men."

He furrowed his brow.  "No.  I was being polite."

She pinched his arm.  "Well, stop it.  A family name." 

"Okay.  Isaac."  He lifted her hand and rubbed the rings he'd 
given her.  "He was my uncle."

"He's dead?"

"Yes.  A long time ago."

"All right.  Then it's proper," she said.  He wondered when she 
was going to ask where his Jewish heritage was going to fit into 
their married life. She hadn't mentioned putting up a Christmas 
tree yet.  Well, he'd just outwait her on this topic.

"A middle name.  Your turn," he prompted.

She wiggled into the crook of his hip, her round belly surrounding 
his hard hipbone in a pleasing manner.  "My turn?  Okay, okay..."

He suggested, "A saint.  What's your favorite saint?"

"An inter-faith name?"  He could feel her lips brush his bare 
chest as she grinned.  "Uh...Patrick."

"You're sure?  Brought Christianity to the dark northern pagans?  
Ran the snakes out of Ireland?  That guy?"

She nodded vigorously.  "Yes.  Isaac Patrick Mulder."

Her lips pulled together, but not to kiss him.  To frown.  "That 
bumps along--"

He reached over her to snap off the bedside light.  "Then it's 
perfect.  It matches this marriage."

Small, sharp teeth bit him gently.  "Ike.  I like that.  A good, 
clean, masculine sounding name.  Ike Mulder."

He could tell she was falling asleep.  Her body was becoming 
looser and spreading out over his like melted butter.  He felt he 
could safely whisper, "Kit Mulder."

8.
Scully was flat on her back.  She was cold, but she was powerless 
to find some way to cover herself.  Her limbs weren't responding 
to her commands.

She blinked.  Bright light was shining in her eyes.  But she 
didn't want to close them.  She was afraid of the dark.  

A shadow fell across her face.  A puff of cold breath swept over 
her cheek.  She could smell leather and cloying cologne.  Cool 
lips touched her skin.  She couldn't turn away, but repulsion 
shook her body.

A voice, low and husky, whispered in her ear.  "See you later, 
love.  When you come to me."

She could scream.  She knew she could scream.  She opened her 
mouth as wide as possible and felt triumph as her vocal cords 
tore with the sound that she made.

"Scully!  Scully!"  The man was holding her tightly.

She fought him with all her strength.  He pinned her to the bed 
nonetheless.  She gasped with terror and unshed tears.  The lips 
were on her temple.  This time they were warm.

"Honey, it's okay.  It's just a dream," the low voice reassured 
her.

She nodded, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.  
She forced her eyes open.  

Shadows on the wall.  The moon was full.  The blinds created bands 
of light and dark like bars on a cell.  The sheets were soft and 
whispered wordless comfort as she writhed.

Mulder was still holding her tightly.  She reassured him with a 
shaking whisper from her sore throat.  "I'm fine, Mulder.  You can 
let go now."

He loosened his grasp and she struggled out of the bedding.  She 
had to use the bathroom.  

He called after her, his voice heavy with concern.  "Scully?"

"Everything's all right," she called back over her shoulder, 
forcing strength into her hollow tone.


~~*~~*~~*~~*~~



Chapter 8: Parallax



1.

Washington D.C.
December 17th, 11:30 A.M.

Scully awkwardly wiggled out of her trench coat.  Turning towards 
the manicurist's station, she ignored the shocked gasps of the 
other patrons.  She stole a glance into the mirror and frowned at 
her image.  There was nothing more ridiculous looking than a 
pistol-packing pregnant woman.

Unsnapping her shoulder holster, she slipped it off and carefully 
set the pistol on the nearest chair as she settled in front of the 
manicure equipment.  She smoothed her warm brown chenille tunic 
over her belly and placed her hand in the manicurist's.  

She gave a distracted small smile to the young, vacant-looking 
blonde, and began flipping through a glossy woman's magazine as 
the woman worked.  One of those magazines she wouldn't be caught 
dead bringing into her home and averted her eyes from in the 
supermarket line.  For some reason, they always seemed like 
completely appropriate reading material while at the beauty salon.

*How to Get Your Man to Be Your Love Slave!*

She flipped past that page with a furious twist of her wrist.  If 
her man became any more of a slave she'd expect to hear the 
clanking of his chains in the dark of their bedroom.

The blonde gave a small sound that she took to be an attempt at 
the beginning of a conversation.  She ignored her.

*How To Get Your Man To Give You An Orgasm Every Time!*

She lingered on the page despite the fact she didn't need this 
advice.  No problem there. Quite obviously, her pleasure was 
completely at the center of Mulder's motivations in bed.  

And therein lay the problem.  How could she possibly complain when 
her husband seemed completely focused on her sexual needs? Or at 
least what he'd decided were her needs and how to satisfy them.

He approached her body with all the care and planning of a bomb 
defusing expert.  He came to her only at night, slowly making love 
to her in complete darkness.  

She had a horrible suspicion he didn't want to see her nude. Every 
time she started to undress, he quickly looked away.  He never 
took her nightgown off as he made love to her. If she came to bed 
in a snowsuit, she was sure he'd continue with business as usual. 

Like a faithful pack mule, he carried her carefully to the top of 
the peak, his swaying gate lulling her into a hypnotic state, 
wheezing to a halt to allow her to take in the breathtaking view.

He touched her only where and when was necessary for a response. 
He made love to her, but never touched her deeply.  Each step 
seemed to be carried out with the sole intent of giving her 
pleasure, taking nothing for himself.

*How to Get Your Man to Read Your Mind!*

That was it.  Right on the head.  She carefully unfurled the fist 
that was grasping the page and smoothed the crumpled paper.  In 
the past, there were times that she swore he could read her mind.  
Many times she had felt she knew his thoughts. 

Why the hell couldn't he figure out what she wanted now?  She 
wanted it back.  That moment.  After just one hit of the 
possibilities of that man's mouth and her own body, she was 
officially an addict.  And like an addict, she was afraid she was 
going to resort to sudden violence to get it.

She took a deep, calming breath. The manicurist was trying to get 
her attention to work on her other set of fingernails.  As she 
changed hands, she changed magazines.  The last one was too 
depressing.

*How to Tell Your Man Your Every Desire!*  The words screamed off 
the dark red cover next to an impossibly thin model.

After skimming the article, she slapped the page.  She shouldn't 
have to tell him anything!  He should just know!  She'd be damned 
before she sat Mulder down and went through her shopping list of 
sexual needs.

After all, it was only sex.  Penetration, stimulation, release.  
What was she expecting?  Had there been some deep, hidden fantasy 
of Fox Mulder as a fantastic lover?  

Aimee, her hairdresser, was motioning her towards the shampoo 
area.  As she rose from the chair, Scully gave her body another 
once-over in the huge, wall-covering mirrors.  If he wasn't as 
desirous for her as she would hope, she didn't want to know. She 
didn't want to have that conversation at this point in her 
pregnancy.  She was having enough problems keeping her self-
confidence.  

She wanted him to lurk behind the door, grab her, throw her across 
the bed. . .tear her clothes off. . .bite her until welts formed 
all over her skin. . .She had to shake her head furiously.  She 
quickly shifted her gaze from her shape.  She suspiciously 
resembled a round little hazelnut.  She didn't blame his 
trepidation.  After all, she was always doing a double take when 
she saw herself in the mirror.  Who was that?  

But he was treating her as though she might break and she didn't 
like it one bit.  Was she no longer Scully?  Was she just a woman?

Holding the arms to support her weight, she lowered herself into 
the low chair.  She might take the initiative herself if she 
didn't feel so out of form. She didn't know this body.  She felt 
like she was trying to play tennis with a pair of handcuffs on 
when she was in bed with Mulder.  She couldn't get her center of 
balance or a handle on the big, quick moving body shifting over 
her in that damned, pitch-black room--

"Dana?  Dana!?"  Aimee was bellowing in her ear.   

"Huh?"  Scully pulled herself back to the matter at hand.

Aimee ran her fingers through Scully's hair and met her gaze in 
the mirror on the far wall.  "It's been a long time--"

Feeling the guilt that only a hairdresser could bring down on her 
head, Scully muttered, "Yes, I know.  I'm sorry I had to cancel 
our last appointment.  Something came up--"

"Obviously!"  Aimee pointedly looked down at Scully's belly.  "So, 
you have news?"  She picked up Scully's hand to peer at her rings.  
"Nice.  Very nice."

Scully pulled her hand slowly into her lap as she leaned back in 
the chair for her hair to be washed.  "Yes.  I got married."

Aimee seemed to be ignoring Scully's awkwardness.  "I didn't even 
realize you were dating someone."

Scully opened her mouth to try to explain her relationship with 
Mulder and then closed it again. "It all happened very fast."

Aimee looked down and smiled at her.  "I can tell.  I always say, 
*watch out for the quiet ones.*" 

Scully grinned.  "Yeah."  She sobered and said, "Aimee?"

"Yes, honey?" Aimee swirled the shampoo through her hair.

"If I come in, and I'm not pregnant anymore, but I don't pull out 
a baby picture to show you--don't ask, okay?"

A wet, soapy hand briefly patted her shoulder.  "Of course, 
honey."

Aimee forcibly turned the conversation to Capitol Hill gossip and 
Scully was grateful. 

2.
Scully was rummaging through her purse for a pen when she heard 
Aimee, standing behind her, say, "Hello, may I help you?"  Those 
were the words at least.  The suggestions and meanings in those 
words were much more. 

Without looking up, Scully said, "Mulder, what are you doing 
here?"

His palm was at her back, rubbing the sore vertebrae at the base.  
"I had some time.  I thought I'd join you and your mother for 
lunch."

"Get me my coat, will you?" she asked as she gave up the search in 
her purse.  

As he bumbled off to the coat rack, Aimee sidled up beside her.  
"Nice.  Very nice."

She had to practice.  "Yes.  He's my. . .husband."  When would she 
stop putting that pause in the statement?

She watched him coming back with her trench, or rather, watched 
the other women watch him come back to her.  Taking a grim 
satisfaction, she pulled his cheek down to give it a thank you 
kiss, feeling the rough cheek warm under her lips.

A search of the pockets of her coat revealed only a lone latex 
glove, long forgotten.  Giving a sigh, she tugged at the glove, 
just to hear the rewarding snap.

"Here."  She thought Mulder was offering her a pen, but he was 
handing Aimee cash for her services.  With a generous tip.  Scully 
stood still for a moment, stunned.  Her husband had just paid for 
her haircut.  

"Scully, come on.  Your Mom is waiting."  Mulder was holding the 
door open for her.  She gave a mental shrug and joined him.

3.
Mulder had excused himself to return to work, winding his way 
through the maze of tables. Scully was in no hurry to go back to 
Quantico, and her mother seemed to want to continue chatting.  

Scully watched his back disappear through the door.  "Dana?  
Dana!?"  Her mother was talking to her.  She really had to find a 
way to concentrate better.

"Yes?"  She turned back to her mother with a vacant smile.

"How are things going, dear?"  Maggie was smiling back, but it was 
smile filled with intent and purpose.  

Scully felt her heart freeze in mid-beat, like a deer paralyzed 
under the beams of an oncoming semi tractor-trailer.  

"Everything's fine, Mom.  Just fine."  To anyone who didn't know 
her as well as her mother, her tone would have sounded normal.  
But it was just a smidgen too high.

Her mother's smile warmed to a smothering blanket.  She motioned 
to the waiter to refill her coffee cup and turned her gaze back to 
Scully.  Maggie protested, "I didn't say it wasn't."

Scully let out a long, shattered sigh.  She wasn't going to be 
getting back to work anytime soon.



4.
Pinecrest, Virginia, 31 Bridle Path Way 
5:45 P.M.



Mulder was mixing tomatoes, chopped green peppers, and mushrooms 

in a large bowl.  The heating oven was warming the kitchen to a 

homey temperature.  Checking the clock again, he pushed down 

concern.  

Scully wasn't late.  He had to stop being so protective.  
Sometimes he got the distinct impression Scully was plotting his 
murder for his hovering.

Still, his heart settled down to comfortable rhythm when he heard 
the front door open.  He called out, "I'm in here, Scully.  
Preparing a feast fit for a queen." 

It wasn't Scully.  Maggie was standing in the doorway, holding a 
covered pie plate.

He wiped his damp hands on a dishcloth.  "Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry.  
I thought you were Scully.  She's not home yet."

"She isn't?"  Maggie set the pie down on the counter and moved 
forward to give him a kiss.  Before his heart took off on a mad 
gallop, she put his mind at rest.  "Oh, yes.  She said she had to 
stop at Graham's to pick up some presents before the sale ends 
tomorrow. I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

He turned his attention to the pie.  "Pumpkin.  My favorite.  
Thank you, Mrs. Scully."

Her hand was warm and dry on his bare forearm.  "Fox, dear.  
Please, call me Mom."

Slowly he said, "All right."

Her face became contrite.  "I'm sorry, if you're uncomfortable--"

Quickly, he covered his embarrassment.  "Oh, no!  It'll just take 
some getting used to--"

She patted his arm again as she leaned against the counter and 
peered into his bowl.  "Yes.  Marriage brings so many changes to 
your life.  And the two of you have had so many things to get used 
to--"

He went back to chopping garlic.  "Yes. . .Mom.  But I think it'll 
be worth it."

That earned him a smile and he decided Maggie Scully's smiles were 
at least as beautiful as Scully's.  "Good.  Very reassuring for a 
mother to hear.  But I must warn you that marriage never stops 
being a challenge, no matter how long you're together."

He nodded.  This was very pleasant.  In the kitchen of his lovely 
home in the suburbs, chatting with his mother-in-law while making 
lasagna, pie for dessert. . .

She was chattering in the background.  "I remember the first time 
Bill introduced me as the mother of his children.  Of course I 
loved being his wife and adored my children, but--"

Mulder furrowed his brow and tried to follow where this 
conversation was going.  "I went home and cried for two hours 
straight.  I wasn't his girl anymore.  Now I was a mother in his 
eyes.  A woman wants to feel desired. . .sexually, not just 
revered.  Do you understand, Fox?"

Mulder felt a small smile fix on his face as his heart ground to a 
halt in his chest.  He understood perfectly.  Scully had told her 
mother he was a shitty lay.  And he was about to get some sex tips 
from his mother-in-law.

5.
Scully shed her shoes as she staggered into the entryway of their 
house.  "Mulder?" she called out.

Nothing.  Concern prickled at the back of her neck.

She set down the package containing the lamp on the console table 
and followed the wonderful smell of pasta towards the kitchen.

Mulder was sitting at the kitchen table, making a show of reading 
the newspaper.  He didn't lift eyes to meet her questioning gaze.  
Something in the set of his shoulders and his bent head made her 
not give him a kiss as she walked past him.  

Fine.  Let him have his mysterious little pout.  She wasn't going 
to play guessing games in her marriage.  When he was ready to say 
what was bothering him, she'd be ready to hear it.  She pulled the 
refrigerator door open to get a drink.  

"Where did this pie come from?" she asked, puzzled.

"Your mother brought it by," was his cool response from behind 
her.

"What was she doing here?  She didn't say anything about coming 
over while we were at lunch."  She was trying to balance the milk 
carton in the crook of her elbow while rummaging for the cranberry 
juice.  

"She suddenly decided we needed. . .pie," his words were measured 
out for her.

Scully didn't want to turn around.  She wanted to stay in the open 
doorway of the refrigerator until she froze solid.  She was 
already halfway there.  All her blood had stopped in her veins. 

6.
As it turned out, she didn't need to spend the evening in the 
refrigerator.  A night in bed next to Mulder had the same effect.  

She was sure he'd spend the night on his old couch in the den, but 
his stiff body lying beside her was a more suitable punishment for 
her transgression of revealing marital confidences. 

As she snapped the light off, he said coolly, "I have an early 
meeting tomorrow.  I won't be here when you wake up."

She stifled a few choice words and nodded, the sound of her hair 
moving on the pillow oddly loud in the icy silence of the bedroom.

7.
True to his word, he was gone in the morning.  Scully flipped the 
coverlet back and struggled out of bed.  Fine.  She could outwait 
him on this childish. . .disagreement.

Shedding her flannel nightgown, she wandered into the bathroom 
nude.  She scrubbed her body until it glowed red under a torrent 
of hot water, all the while muttering various replies to his 
phantom accusations.

Finally, she had to turn the water off and slammed open the glass 
shower door.  As she groped for a towel, her hand came back empty.  
Cursing, she looked around the steam-filled room.  All the towels 
were gone.  The bastard must have picked this morning to do some 
housework.  Too bad he hadn't replaced the towels after taking 
them to the laundry room.

"Dammit," she grumbled as she stalked out of the bathroom, nude, 
and now dripping.  And stopped short.

Mulder was sitting in the over-stuffed armchair, apparently 
waiting for her.  Probably wanted to have a mature discussion.  
Well, he wasn't going to get it.

It was his expression that pissed her off the most.  He was out 
and out staring at her nude, round form.  His eyes were completely 
blank as they shifted over her shape, continually coming back to 
her swollen breasts.  

Fuck him, she thought furiously.  She was pregnant and this is 
what pregnant women looked like, not some fashion model.  "What 
are you doing here?" she sputtered, refusing to feel embarrassed 
or try to cover herself.  

He gasped out, "Uh. . .the meeting was cancelled."

"You took all the towels," she accused him.

"Oh," he said as his eyes continued to fixate on her body.

That was it.  He was so horrified he was paralyzed.  She was going 
to have to get her own damn towel.  She turned on her heel to get 
her robe from the closet when his voice stopped her.  "Where's 
your tattoo?"

"What?"  She hadn't realized she was that close to him.  One 
graceful finger was extended on the end of an impossibly long arm, 
stroking her bare back.  She craned her neck around to look at 
him.  Now his face was covered with puzzlement.  

"Your tattoo," he whispered.  "It's gone."

"I had it removed.  When they were lasering off the scars from my 
gunshot wound I had them go ahead and take it off too."

"Why?"

"It'd served its purpose."

Something in the way Scully said those words sounded like a slap.  
He'd had fantasies about that tattoo and now it was gone. He'd had 
plans for that tattoo.

He couldn't stop his finger from tracing a circle on her bare, 
white back, imagining he could see the remnants of the brilliant 
red ink.

She made an odd, long sound.  Like a hiss.  Or was it a moan?  The 
room seemed very still and quiet.  There was his labored 
breathing.  Her breathing sounded rapid and shallow.  

He wanted the tattoo back so he could eat it off.  That's right.  
That was his fantasy.  He heard the cracking sound of his knees 
making contact with the floor.  

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back against his mouth.  His 
teeth sank into her skin and when he pulled away, a satisfying red 
mark remained.  He was immediately flooded with regret.  He'd hurt 
her.

There was that sound again.  It was definitely a moan.  And her 
soft little ass was being shoved back in his face.  A sweet smell 
was wafting up to his nostrils as he frantically licked his mark, 
hoping to clean it away.  

The odor was one part lime body wash, another part vanilla 
shampoo, another, a perfume that had no name.  

Mulder decided not to think.  He decided thinking would be a 
mistake at this point.  He couldn't figure out why he was furious 
at her one minute, she was furious at him the next, and this 
minute she was grinding her ass in his face while he bit at it. 
While he made satisfied, snuffing noises, his nose stroked her 
soft skin. His tongue and teeth found nature's markings to bite 
and lick, her collection of moles and freckles becoming landmarks 
for his mouth to map.

Fumbling, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, 
frantically shoving his boxers under his half-erect penis.  Dimly, 
he realized he needed some sort of plan, even if he didn't give it 
deep thought.

Hobbled slightly by his half-mast pants, he got back into the 
chair.  From this position, he could reach forward and sweep his 
palms over those amazingly plump breasts, warming them while the 
nipples hardened under the pads of his trembling fingers.

Her back arched in response and the moans lowered in pitch.  He 
liked that sound a lot.  She hadn't made this much noise since 
their wedding night.  True, she hadn't said a word yet, but he was 
going to take these sounds as a sign of her approval.

The little ass was now twitching in his face and seemed to be 
searching for his full and throbbing dick like a lap-seeking cat.  

Yes, there was an idea.  He pulled her down, his fingers reaching 
between her spread legs to open her hot, soft and slick folds for 
his waiting cock.  As soon as she settled on him, he realized he'd 
made a fatal error.  There was nowhere to go from here.  The moans 
turned to grumbles as she saw her feet couldn't touch the ground 
to get any leverage and he was unable to thrust because the chair 
was too low.

Good going, he cursed himself as he tried to keep a hold of the 
wiggling little round beetle on his lap.

Time for action!  He never could figure out how he did it, but 
somehow he hauled himself out of the chair, kept a hold of her, 
pulled out, turned and set her down in the chair on her knees, 
bottom up.

He really had just intended to get his clothes the hell off and 
get a better grip to carry her to the bed.  Then that back arched 
and that white ass twitched again.

She had draped her arms over the back of the chair and her bright 
lips, glistening between her spread thighs, looked so 
inviting. . .



Her hair was drying in a mass of curls and she had to sweep it 

aside to glance back over her shoulder at him.  Her eyes narrowed 
and her mouth went slack, panting hot breaths.  What did she want?  
He was going to have to guess right.

Suddenly, she spoke.  "Get me a pillow."

He frantically looked around the room.  Must find a pillow.  
Scully wanted a pillow.  Why did Scully want a pillow?  Must not 
think.  Get pillow.

Clutching his lowered pants with one hand, he scrambled to the 
bed, snatched a pillow off the end and hustled back to her.

He handed it to her and she gave him the gracious nod of a queen 
to her favorite subject.  His fingers lost their grip on his pants 
as she pushed the pillow under her belly as support and settled 
her weight on it, raising her inviting ass up to him again.

Sidling up to her, he tentatively grasped her hips and pulled 
himself closer to her.  The back dipped and then raised the hips 
to rub against his bobbing wet cock.  Okay, maybe he was reading 
her signals correctly. . .

He guided his dick to her lips again.  He had to bend his knees 
slightly for the angled entry but as he slid into her vagina, they 
both gasped out in amazement.  He felt like he'd fallen down some 
deep, dark well and it was closing up behind him.

Scully leaned on her crossed arms, panting lightly, biting her own 
forearm.  Was that a good sign?

She pushed back against him, taking him in that extra notch he'd 
always been terrified to go. Her slick thighs were now snugly 
pressed to his and he swore the pores of the skin on his balls 
were sending him detailed descriptions of the texture of her 
labia.  

He realized he hadn't moved yet until she started chanting, 
"Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme. . ." 

Her words poured over him like honey from a silken comb.  Words 
that sounded trashy coming from another woman were a holy command 
from her lips.

He could only respond by nodding madly.  The most intelligent word 
he could manage to form was, "Uh-huh."

Bending his knees again, he began to thrust into her.  He took 
long, deep strokes, taking in a great gulp of air and then 
expelling it as he pressed into her, like free diving in the 
ocean.  

His fingers traced the flush of arousal that washed like a red 
tide over her freckled skin, rippling over her shoulder blades, 
trickling down her spine as he tried to catch the wave.

She quickly picked up his rhythm and contracted her vaginal 
muscles around his cock when he was fully enclosed within her.  As 
he pulled back they both moaned with the relief of the deep mutual 
caress. 

She was whispering now, "YeahMulderyeahMulderyeahMulderyeahMulder. 
. ."

He could hear the hum and pop as a light bulb went off over his 
head.  She liked this.  She liked it this way.

He stuck with tried and true.  "Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh. . ."

She bowed her back to rub her nipples against the fabric of the 
chair, causing her pelvic bone to press down on his cock.  He was 
certain it would look as flat and red as a tongue when he pulled 
back.  She must have heard his squeak of pain because she gasped 
out, "Does that hurt?"

He moaned, "Yes.  No."

She just nodded and began swiveling her hips back against his 
thighs.  They seemed to have made an unspoken agreement to make 
this last as long as possible.  

His gaze roamed the room to distract the fitful little boy hopping 
up and down in his brain, wanting to come, and come now!  His 
attention was caught by the image of two other people across the 
room.  They were fucking too.

He lost his rhythm and Scully immediately noticed.  "Whaa?" she 
asked, her mouth muffled on her upper arm where her head had come 
to rest. 

"Look," he gasped.

They were caught in the mirrors on the sliding closet doors.  A 
woman's tight little shape, crouched on her knees in an armchair, 
completely nude.  A man, still dressed, madly fucking the woman.  
Only it was them.  And he could watch.  

"Nice, huh?"  He was knocked off rhythm again.  She probably 
wouldn't find watching very erotic. 

She rolled her head over to be able to see them.  He watched a 
slow, dirty smile spread over the woman's lush lips.  "Oh, yeah," 
moaned out from the lips.

As she ground back into him again, encouraging him to pick up his 
thrusts, she groaned, "Mr. Mulder, quick, give me those insurance 
estimates.  My husband is going to be home any minute."

"You tramp!" he grunted, trying to stifle a laugh.  This was sex.  
He needed to be serious.  None of his usual bullshit.

And then she giggled.  "You want me to give it to you?" he asked 
breathlessly.

"Yeah."  She was bracing her hands on the back of the chair in 
anticipation.

He grabbed her hips firmly.  He felt free for the first time.  He 
wasn't worried about hurting her or the baby.  

He slipped a shaking hand under the crease of her hip. Collecting 
some lubrication from their joining, he found her clit and began 
rolling it vigorously.  Immediately, she began the shake like a 
little russet terrier with a rag in its sharp teeth.  

His strokes were sloppy and frantic now, but she didn't seem to 
mind.  The chair creaked alarmingly but neither cared.  He felt as 
though he was stretching for the finish line of a race and turned 
to check the mirror.  Sure enough, he was leaned over her, gasping 
and thrusting, going for the gold.  

She was encouraging him,     
"Rightthererightthererightthererightthere. . ."

He wasn't sure what he had right because quite frankly, he 
believed he'd lost complete track of any consciousness.  Every 
thought and every ounce of energy was draining out of him as he 
came.  He was just eternally grateful that she appeared to be 
enjoying her own orgasm, moaning endlessly now, words gone, 
leaving gibberish in its place as she thrashed beneath him.
  
When they both finally stilled, he pulled out and fell back to his 
knees.  Rolling over in the chair to face him, she reached out and 
grabbed his tie to pull him in for a deep, probing kiss.  

She pushed him back playfully.  "Thanks, Mulder."

"Anytime," he gurgled.

Cocking an eyebrow at him, she said,  "You sure you want to make 
promises--"  

He didn't answer in words.  He let his gaze, roaming over her 
expanse of white skin, peaked like meringue with goose pimples as 
her flesh cooled, speak for him.  She was his own Paleolithic 
Venus, a fertility goddess whose exaggerated rounded shape was to 
be worshipped.  

His head was still spinning from his release.  He was a crazily 
blipping satellite, whirling around a white full moon. 

He must have said it all out loud.  "Oh, Mulder."  But she looked 
pleased.

Scully watched Mulder fumble with his tie, as though he wasn't 
sure if he needed to straighten it or take it off.  She would 
decide for him.

"Call Tiff and tell her you're going to be late.  Then take those 
clothes off.  We need to shower again," she said.

He looked up at her and narrowed his eyes.  "First, I need to give 
you a lesson about Hanukah."

"What?"

Struggling to his feet, swooping her up into his arms, he carried 
her to the bed and dumped her on it.  Stepping back as though to 
examine the tableau--Scully sprawled on the crumbled comforter--he 
said, "Remind me to take that pie plate back to your mother with a 
thank you."

"Don't you dare!" Scully mumbled as she crawled to the edge of the 
bed. She gave into an impulse as he bent over to pull his shoes 
and pants off.

"Ow!  What're you doing?" he protested as he twisted around to 
look down at her in confusion. 

Settling back to admire her handiwork, a bright red bite mark 
square on his left ass cheek, she said,  "I've always wanted to do 
that."  Only she hadn't realize it until this moment. 

"You should have.  I wouldn't have minded. . ." he was grinning at 
her as he shed his shirt.

She ignored him and asked, "Hanukah?"

"Yeah.  You get one small gift a day for eight days, much better 
than the gluttony of Christmas morning.  Better yet, of course, is 
celebrating both.  Best of both worlds," he added as he gently 
pushing her flat onto the mattress before falling to his knees at 
the edge of the bed.

When she settled back, her heart began to thud erratically in 
anticipation as he draped her legs over his shoulder and pulled 
her crotch towards his mouth.  Perhaps she was in a holiday mood.  
At the moment she felt his hot breath on her aching lips, she felt 
a Hallelujah chorus rising within her. 


~~*~~*~~*~~*~~



Chapter 9: Fire and Ice



1.

Pinecrest, Virginia, 31 Bridle Path Way 
February 8th, 2:30 P.M.

Scully lay down for a nap while Mulder was out playing 
basketball with Tiff. A spike seemed to be slowly driving itself 
into her lower back.  

She couldn't sleep.  It didn't matter.  Now the nightmares came 
even when her eyes were open, suddenly seizing her just as she 
convinced herself they were gone forever.  She didn't bother to 
scream anymore.  It solved nothing and made her throat sore. 



Recently, when they had been shopping at the mall, Mulder had 

chuckled as he glanced over at their bodyguard examining the 
scented candles at a kiosk. 

"I don't even notice we're being watched anymore," he'd commented.

Scully had nodded, but she didn't agree.  The eyes watching him 
all the time were inside her.  The mass within her belly shifted 
as Mulder walked beside her, following his movement.

She'd grunted and he'd turned in concern.  Weakly, she'd said, 
"The baby's active today."

The smile that lit up his face squeezed down on her heart as the 
baby pressed up with nearly unbearable force.  His long hand 
reached out and lightly swept across the orb.  His palm settled 
where a foot was kicking.  "Good boy.  Fight," he had said 
fiercely.


She sat up in bed, fitfully pushing away the coverlet.  Shivering, 
she pulled on the red flannel robe Mulder had given her at 
Christmas.

Unlike other pregnant women, she was cold all the time.  It didn't 
matter how high she turned up the heat.  Her skin felt warm to the 
touch, but the freezing cold radiated from inside her womb.  

Shuffling into the bathroom, she cranked on the hot water to take 
a shower.  It would heat her for a few minutes, relieving her 
distress.  She turned to the vanity, but avoided looking at her 
frightened features in the mirror.

Before she could brush her hair, she had to clean out the red
mesh that filled the bristles of her brush.  Her hair was falling 
out.  Her nails were breaking.  Her joints felt loose and achy.  
Pressing her shaking hands to her belly, she tried to soothe the 
stirring beast. 

Climbing into the shower stall, she plunged herself under the 
boiling spray.  Gradually all her worries were washed away by 
the waves of heat and she gave a shaking chuckle.  She was just 
suffering from anxiety.  She had nothing to fear.  

2.
Scully was finishing her shower when Mulder entered the bathroom. 
He watched her bulbous form, softened by the steam on the glass 
door, twist under the spray. 

She called out, "How was your game?"

He began to strip off his sweats.  "Short.  It goes by pretty fast 
when I can't hit my three-pointer."

The door opened and her rosy-pink form emerged.  He wrapped her in 
a large fluffy body towel and she gave him a small, satisfied 
smile in reward.  "So Tiff beat you."

"Beat is such a final word," he pointed out.  "I like to think of 
it as just another chapter in an eternal battle for ultimate 
domination," he said as he gently rubbed her all over with the 
towel.  She writhed under his ministrations and kept her grin 
under control.

"I'm glad you have an activity to burn some energy," she murmured 
as she slipped out of his grasp and snatched her red robe off the 
hook on the wall.

Before he could stop her, she escaped the room, and with a rueful 
sigh, he turned down the hot water for his shower.

When he finished, Mulder stuck his wet head out of the bathroom.  
His comment died in his throat at the sight of Scully delicately 
curled up on a low stool in front of the fireplace.  He'd built a 
fire for her before he went in to shower and it crackled and 
snapped.

She had let her robe fall from her shoulders, leaving it gathered 
around her waist and he could openly view her heavy breasts 
resting on her swollen belly.  According to the social norms, this 
wasn't supposed to be an erotic sight to him.  It was however, and 
he wondered what was he going to do when she wasn't pregnant 
anymore. 

She was carefully combing out her tangled locks, drying them 
slowly in the heat of the flames.  She lifted her head and looked 
at him with concern.

"Mulder? Did you need something?" she asked.

For the life of him he couldn't remember.  He watched tides shift 
and rise in her eyes. 

He just grinned foolishly and her head fell back a little so she 
could look up at him from under her golden lashes.  She briefly 
tugged at her plump lower lip, let it go, and rasped out, 
"Come here."

God, he hoped he wasn't turning into one of those men who wanted 
to be ordered around and disciplined, but his cock thickened and 
the evidence seemed to be to the contrary.  Like a shy little boy 
he clung to the doorjamb for a moment and then sidled into the 
room, looking at his feet and twisting his towel in his hand.

Mulder stopped in front of her and Scully felt her head whirl with 
anticipation.  Good Lord, she had become wanton in the past couple 
of months!  She was a bad girl, leaving her vegetables on her 
plate, and stuffing her face with treats. 

He stood in front of her, unashamedly nude.  Narrow streams of 
water still ran down the hard planes of his body.  She reached up, 
captured one of the drops off the bottom of his right pectoral 
muscle and licked it slowly from her fingertip. 

"You need to dry off," she whispered.

He started to lift the towel but she put a hand over it to still 
him.  She tugged him a little closer so she could stay crouched 
down on the stool and began to lick and suck the water from his 
warm skin like a mother cat with her kitten.

There was a dark part of her brain that wanted to keep and record 
these memories for the eventuality that she had to leave him.  She 
wanted to always remember the taste of his flesh, its firmness, 
and the texture of his body hair, the spot where it went from fine 
and silky to coarse and wild. 

Her hands reached around his hips and her fingertips traced long 
tracks on the bands of his back muscles before dropping to clench 
his strong buttocks.  His groan reverberated out of his abdomen 
and down her throat as her tongue followed the swirling patterns 
of his chest hair to his navel.

His cock filled with blood and lifted from between his thighs, 
slipping into the tangle of her drying curls.  She raised her eyes 
to his face and he was gazing down at her with a mixture of want 
and fear.  She wet her lips quickly and his look switched entirely 
to fear.  

She realized with a pang that she hadn't yet been able to enjoy a 
long, leisurely oral exploration of her husband's penis.  Although 
things had improved in their sex life, a combination of her loss 
of mobility in bed and his damned noble behavior had kept her 
mouth above the navel most of the time.

Everything was so new and she felt a stab of anger at this whole 
situation.  True, if none of this had happened they probably would 
still be sitting across from each other in the basement ordering 
pizza for a late night dinner.  But it wasn't fair that all these 
baby steps in a physical relationship had been jumped over.  Would 
things ever just be normal for them?

As she reflected, she allowed her gaze to caress his half-erect 
penis. It glowed deep orange in the firelight and she liked the 
surreal effect.  A slow smile formed when she noticed a single 
droplet of water clinging to the plump head.  She glanced up to 
his eyes again and they were begging.

With just the tip of her tongue, she gently lapped it away and he 
moaned.  Under her hands his ass tensed.  She closed her eyelids 
briefly and took in a deep breath, gathering the smell and sound 
of him. 

Keeping her tongue broad and flat, she ran it up the underside of 
his cock, urging its engorgement.  She liked the moan she got from 
that move and couldn't stop herself from smiling again. 

Using the tip of her tongue again, she ran it all around the head, 
burrowing into the corona as she let one hand wander into the vee 
of his ass, pressing the bone where the two hard cheeks met. Her 
finger tried to slip between them but his muscles tensed to rock 
hard. 

"Trust me.  I'm a doctor," she murmured.

"Uh--that's okay.  I've already had my check-up for the year," he 
moaned.  She decided to keep that little technique for another 
time down the road when he might be more receptive.

She scratched his firm buttocks just hard enough to feel the satin 
of his skin ripple under her nails. 

His penis, brushing lightly on the softness of her cheek, jerked. 
"It's okay," she crooned.  She could feel the heat radiating off 
his flesh and wanted to soothe him.  She turned her head and blew 
a gentle cooling breath on his inflamed cock. 

Brushing it up against his stomach with her hand, she began to 
rain light, sweet kisses, suitably chaste for a rough cheek, on 
his warm sac.  When he whimpered slightly, she decided she could 
go a step further.  Her hand was still lightly stroking his cock 
like a satin-coated puppy, so she nibbled on the impossibly soft 
skin that covered his balls. 

"Oh Christ, Scully.  Oh. . ." he panted out between lax lips.

Worried, she asked, "Am I hurting you?"

"Uh--" he gurgled, his fingers dancing at the back of her neck.  
She took that as encouragement.

She ran her tongue upward again, tracing the tight ligaments that 
were holding his now rock-solid cock taut.  

His breathing became ragged with desire and she let her head roll 
back again and looked at him one last time.  Up over the ridges of 
his abdominal muscles, slipping over the mounds of his pectorals, 
travelling the hard column of his neck, around the ragged edge of 
his unshaven jaw, past his moist full lips to rest on his closed 
eyes. His lashes fluttered, but he didn't open his eyes to return 
her gaze.  She had him enthralled.

With that thought, she pulled his cock down to her mouth, 
surrounded the head with her lips and then slid down his length, 
engulfing as much as she could.  This time the long groan came out 
through his cock, or at least that's what it felt like.  She 
chuckled and that earned her a cute little gurgle of a moan.

She ministered to him, using care but perseverance to concentrate 
on the sensitive head.  She could really get used to hearing the 
sound of that constant rumbling moan that came from his diaphragm 
above her head.  Letting go of his cock, she let her hands wander 
over his butt again, finding a squeezing rhythm to match her 
sucking.  Without her grip on the base, his cock was pressing 
against the roof of her mouth and she could tease the underside 
with her tongue.

His hands fluttered at her head, at her shoulders.  They didn't 
seem to know where to light or what to do, but she liked the 
sensation of an apparition urging her onward.

His balls were taut and hot when she brought a hand forward to 
grasp them.  His moans became guttural groans and the hands were 
gripping at her shoulders. 

She felt as though the fire had spread across her body and settled 
between her own legs. Although she had wanted to concentrate on 
Mulder's needs, she couldn't stop herself from slipping her hand 
over her belly and under its bulk to find her own desire ripe and 
aching. 

She glanced up at Mulder and his eyes were finally open, watching 
her. She almost stopped touching herself until she noticed his 
breathing increase. He wanted to watch and she wanted to please 
him.

She would have to hurry to catch up with him. She slowed her 
rhythm on his length but began stroking herself furiously. The 
sweat ran down her belly and lubricated her hand. 

He lifted the hair off the back of her neck to cool her skin, 
shifting the strands through his shaking fingers, drying it to a 
mass of curls.

Then he pulled her body closer to him. "I wanna..." he groaned as 
he reached down with his big dark hands. He grasped her breasts 
firmly, lifted their weight, and began squeezing them to match the 
rhythm of their bodies.

The heat and pain was unbearable.  She couldn't take it anymore. 
She pressed hard on her clit, finding the right spot.  Her orgasm 
was a relief and she passed the gift onto him, pulling him over 
the edge into her abyss.

He tried to tug her off of his pulsing hips, but she was greedy, 
drinking every bit of him she could.  She wanted to inhale his 
essence and strength.

He couldn't even speak, just making raspy gasps of fulfillment.  
She delighted in his complete submission to her.  As he fell to 
his knees beside her, her emotions whipped around so fast her head 
spun and she was his slave, draping her small body over his 
prostrate form to soothe him. 

Her hands smoothed across his muscles, spreading the sweat that 
had pooled on his spine.  The only word she could find to say was 
his name, over and over in the dim room, lit dark red by the dying 
fire, "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder. . . "


3.
February 14th 10:45 A.M.



Scully woke with a start.  Silence.  It had stopped raining.  The 

storms of the past two days had passed.  The room was glaringly 

white.  She crawled painfully from the bed to go close the 

curtains.  She needed to sleep.

But as she gripped the fabric, the scene in the backyard struck 
her.  A drop in temperature below freezing had followed the rain.  
Icicles hung from the bare dark trees like chandeliers.  The dead 
lawn was tipped with white and the cover on the pool glistened 
threateningly like a black hole.

Suddenly she realized she was no longer cold.  From within her 
belly, she could feel an unbearable heat growing.  She felt as 
though a glowing red band of steel was slowly tightening around 
her abdomen.

She gasped as the sensation of a hand clawing at her belly from 
within racked her body.  Frantic, she glanced around the room.  It 
was time to go.  

4.
Mulder barely made the sharp turn down his street with.  Out of 
the corner of his eye, he saw Tiff grip her door handle, but she 
said nothing.

The shining black street seemed to buck to try to shake his car 
off.  He stayed in control and steered into his driveway.

As he leapt from behind the wheel, Tiff called after him, "I'll 
take the back."

The call about Scully had found them staking out a possible 
location of the clone, Kenneth.  He had lost faith in being able 
to find the man, but he had felt as though he should look into 
every lead.

Now he wondered if it had been a ruse to divert him.

He kept one hand resting on his gun as he passed through his front 
door.

Even though he knew she had left the house an hour ago, he called 
out, "Scully?"   

Byers had made the call, his voice strained.  "Scully's dropped 
out of sight, Mulder.  Her shadow thought she was going shopping, 
but she suddenly sped up on the freeway and got out of his range 
in heavy traffic."

As he began babbling accusations and recriminations, Byers cut him 
off.  "We have guys spreading out all over the area with receivers 
set to her coordinates.  Why don't you go to the house and see if 
you can find any clue as to why she would run?  We'll be in touch 
as soon as we find her."

Byers had sounded so positive.  Mulder wasn't as sure.  He checked 
the living room first.  Looking out the large windows into the 
backyard, he saw Tiff checking the bushes.

A CD jewel case lay on the coffee table.  He returned it to the 
wall cabinet.  Elvis Costello.  He slipped the case in next to 
Elvis Presley.

**Scully had wrinkled her nose when he set up the CDs that way.  
"They should be alphabetized so we can find them easily."

"They are organized.  I'll always know the two Elvi are beside 
each other.  Strange bedfellows and all that."

Bemused, she'd said, "Strange bedfellows?"

He'd grinned and had pulled her between his legs as he'd settled 
to sit on the back of the sofa.  "We made them strange.  And 
bedfellows.  The joining of our two Elvi."**

Turning away, he crossed the room to the alcove that held their 
computer.  He started it up, checking logs to see if she'd 
received or sent any messages.  Nothing.

The schedule of their Lamaze class was posted on the corkboard 
over the desk.  They would miss this afternoon's meeting.

**He was convinced everyone in the class thought they were odd and 
vocalized that feeling one night as they entered the meeting room.  

At the edge of the mat, Scully had settled on her pillow.  
"Mulder, get a grip.  Stop being so paranoid."  She'd quickly 
shaken her head before he could respond.  "I take that back.  It's 
an insurmountable obstacle.  No, why would they think we're odd?"

"Besides the obvious answer?" He'd asked as he folded his legs 
into an origami of a resting crane to sit beside her on the floor.  
"We don't fit in.  Look at all of them."

She'd glanced around the room.  "What?"

"They're all so happy," he'd insisted.

She'd tipped her head to her shoulder to look at him intently.  
"And we aren't?"

He realized he'd backed himself into a corner.  "It's not that.  
We're just different than they are, that's all."

Turning her attention to the instructor who was calling the class 
to order, she'd muttered, "We always have been.  Why should this 
be something new?"**

When he moved to the kitchen, Tiff was coming through the back 
door.  "Nothing in the yard.  The grass is frozen solid.  There 
would be tracks if anyone had crossed it."

He nodded and she moved through the room to check elsewhere. 

He opened the refrigerator.  He didn't know what clue he hoped to 
find in there.  His gaze ran over the neat rows of bottles, 
cartons and dishes, all arranged by size and contents.  No more 
finding something green growing at the back of a shelf while late-
night foraging.

His gaze fell on a package of baloney, only two slices gone, 
tucked in the meat drawer.

**Scully had been restless that evening, pacing the living room.  

"Honey, do you need something?" he'd asked.

"No," she said defiantly.

"Scully. . ."

"What?"

"What do you want?"  He tried again.

Grimacing, she asked, "How can I have an urge for something I've 
never eaten?"

He shrugged.  "What do you want?"

"I want a baloney sandwich."  Her hesitant tone suggested she'd 
just confessed to an extramarital affair.

Realizing they had no baloney, he had struggled up from the couch.  
"Let me go get you some."

"No!  My mother never allowed us to eat processed meat."

He raised a brow at Maggie Scully's extreme attitude towards 
baloney. 

Scully muttered, "Let's go to bed, I don't need a sandwich."

"I'm going to stay up for a few more minutes, wait for the 
ballgame scores on the news," he had told her.

When he'd entered the dark bedroom half an hour later, a voice had 
drifted from the bed.  "Mulder?"

In the act of pulling off his socks, he had said, "You want me to 
go get you some baloney?"

"Please."**


He slammed the refrigerator door shut and loped up the stairs to 
join Tiff in the bedroom.

She had the closet door open and was checking the contents.  "It 
looks like the suitcases are still all here."

His tone suddenly sharp, he asked, "Why wouldn't they be?"

Her answer was as tired as her sad eyes.  "You know the drill, 
Mulder."

He insisted, "You don't understand us.  She would never leave me. 
Never."

Tiff blew a breath from puffed-out cheeks.  "Dammit, Mulder!  I 
wasn't born a heartless bitch!"  She gave him a small smile.  "I 
was made this way.  I have to follow the procedure."

He turned his back on her to continue searching.  Scully's 
hairbrush had been abandoned on top of the dresser.  She'd been 
complaining about her hair falling out.  He lightly touched the 
thatch of strands caught on the bristles.

He hadn't believed her.  She had the thickest hair he'd ever seen 
on a woman.

**The first time he'd buried his hands in her hair, he'd been 
surprised at the weight, cradling it in his palms.  It had always 
looked so fine and fragile to him.

He had said that out loud.  Her warm sigh was followed by a 
chuckle, stifled to a moan when he buried his face in her neck.  
"Are you kidding?" she'd whispered in his ear.  "I could lift a 
car with a strand of my hair."**

"But do you still believe in happy endings?" he threw over his 
shoulder to Tiff.

She didn't answer for a moment.  Then, "Yes."  He heard her open 
the bedside table drawer.  "Did she keep her gun in here?"

He joined her.  "Yes."

"It's gone," she said as she shoved the drawer shut.

He could only nod, numbness beginning to filter into his limbs.

"What was she wearing when she left?  Can you figure it out?" Tiff 
gently asked him.

He went to the open closet and let his gaze sweep over the hanging 
garments before flipping open the dirty clothes hamper.  He found 
Scully's exercise leotard on top of the dirty laundry.  Purple.  
She'd called the color eggplant--he'd called it purple. 

**"Tinky-Winky," he'd murmured one afternoon as he watched her 
stretching and bending around her bowling ball of a belly, 
following the instructions on her video.

"What did you call me?" she'd sputtered out between her deep, 
fill-your-lungs-feel-the-burn breaths. 

"Tinky-Winky," he'd said, settling back on the bed to enjoy the 
view of her plump ass rising and falling as she bent over.

"Oh?"

"The Teletubbie."  He grinned at the mental vision of her with a 
TV screen on her belly.

This had stopped her.  "Excuse me?" had been her dangerous words.  
Taking the moment to wipe sweat from her brow, she'd asked, "Since 
when do you know the names of the Teletubbies?"  He'd opened his 
mouth, but she cut him off.  "Oh, that's right.  They're aliens."

He'd shaken his head. "No, it's not that.  But I did feel I needed 
to research children's programs to be able to make an informed 
decision."

Returning her focus to the grinning, happy woman on the screen, 
she'd asked, "And?"

Definitely, he'd announced, "They're evil incarnate."

"I could have told you that," she'd said dryly.

He'd rested his head on the pillow.  "But you're cute."**

Sliding the closet door shut so hard that it shook in its frame, 
he said, "She's probably wearing a blue knit jumper.  She usually 
wears a turtleneck with it and tights.  And she's been very cold.  
She'll be wearing her heavy black coat."

Tiff pulled out her phone.

"Who're you calling?" he asked.

"The authorities."  Before he could protest, she broke in.  
"Mulder, this isn't time for your motley crew of nerds.  This is 
serious."

"Don't you think I know that?" he hissed.

"What harm will be done putting out an APB?" she pointed out.

They went back down to the living room as Tiff muttered orders 
into the phone.  

"Is this the most recent photo of Scully?" Tiff asked, holding up 
a framed picture.

He forced himself to look at it.  He nodded.

In the picture, he was looming behind her, reaching around to 
clutch her belly.  He'd thought it would feel like petting a 
sheep, soft and plush.  Instead her stomach felt as smooth and 
firm as his favorite old worn-out basketball.

He pushed out the word. "Yes."  She nodded and moved to turn on 
the scanner and send the image to the police.

5.
He was sitting on the sofa counting the ticks of the clock when he 
heard the sound of tires in the driveway.  His overjoyed flight to 
the front window was pulled up when he saw Skinner step out of his 
car.

"Did you call him?" he asked Tiff.

She looked out the window around his shoulder.  "Yes I did.  Is 
that a problem?

He shrugged, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by defeat.  "No, I guess 
not."

When Skinner joined them in the living room, they gave him what 
little information they had.

The blip of the fax machine drew Tiff's attention away.  She 
grumbled at the reports spitting out of the machine.  "Nothing!"  
A flashing light pulled her gaze to the computer screen, left on 
after Mulder's search.  "You've got mail."

Mulder quickly clicked on the icon.  No subject line, but it was 
from Scully.

"She has e-mail on her cell phone," he told Tiff and Skinner as he 
opened the message.

//I love you// were the three words.

"Fuck!" Mulder burst out, the frustration of the situation 
overwhelming him.  With shaking hands, he grabbed up the phone and 
dialed the Lone Gunmen.

Byers picked up halfway through the first ring.  "Yes!?"

"Mulder.  Scully just sent an e-mail with her cell phone.  Are you 
monitoring her phone?"

He could hear the painful shuffling sound of Byers dragging his 
body across the room.  "I've been manning the phones, but we do 
have a monitor on her cell."

The wait was endless as he heard Byers muttering and tapping on 
computer keys down the phone line.

"Here.  She was heading out. . ." He heard Byers take in a breath.

"God dammit, Byers!" Mulder roared down the line.

Byers whispered the information.  "Route 211.  Towards Blue Ridge 
Parkway."

"Skyland Mountain," Mulder gasped.

Byers rushed onward.  "I'll get the boys headed up that way, start 
sweeping the roads for her signal."

"Do that.  We'll be headed up now," Mulder barked before slamming 
down the phone.

Skinner grabbed his arm as he started to hurry from the room.  
"I'm coming with you."

Mulder paused for only a second to think.  "All right.  Come on 
then, both of you.  We've got to find her.  Now."


~~*~~*~~*~~*~~


Chapter 10: Woman's Work



1.

Blue Ridge Parkway 
February 14th, 5:25 P.M.



Screams echoed in the room, so loud that Scully pressed her hands 
over her ears.  Only then did she realize it was her mouth open, 
emitting the sounds.  She threw her body against the wall to break 
herself out of her terror.  She registered nothing but pain 
beating out of her abdomen.

Panting like a frenzied animal, she paced the floor.  The room was 
too small.  But she welcomed the darkness.  There was so much she 
didn't want to see.  

She didn't want to see the green ooze that was now splattered on 
her thighs.  She didn't want to watch her stomach ripple and 
expand as the creature moved.  She didn't want to see the 
reflection of her fear-stained face in the black windows.

She had to remain strong.  She had to remain conscious.  She had 
to find the fortitude, one last time in her tumultuous, too short 
life, to fight one last battle. 

She needed a weapon.  She had her gun, but she didn't trust her 
aim at this angle.  A knife.  A good knife.  She knew where she 
needed to make the incision.  She knew what she had to do.  She 
knew her duty.  She stumbled towards the kitchen to procure the 
necessary instrument.



2.

Despite Mulder's long right leg rigid and straight on the 

passenger side of the car, Tiff kept her speed careful in the 

seemingly innocent light snowfall.  Skinner was no better, 
gripping the sides of her seat to keep himself pulled forward, his 
breath coming in sharp puffs to her ear.

Dusk had fallen and she navigated the slippery curves of Route 211 
with trepidation.  

Finally, she spotted their objective.  Two vehicles pulled off the 
road.  Scully's car was askew, but not wrecked.  A VW Beetle was 
snuggled up beside it, and a short, bedraggled man was waving them 
down.  One of the searchers, this Gunman had called in his find.

Mulder jumped out before she could come to a complete stop.  When 
she joined him at Scully's car, the Gunman was babbling.  "Yeah, 
so, Dude!  So, I like, caught her sig for just a sec.  Got my 
bead.  And then, like, poof, gone!  But I kept at it, and boom, it 
was back!  But I got here.  Nothing!  The car, that's all.  I was 
so stoked.  And then I found this."

They gathered around the odd little man to look into his 
outstretched palm.  The small transmitter that had been planted 
under Scully's skin was covered with drying blood.  Unnecessarily, 
he said, "I don't think they want us to find her."

Mulder moved to her car, his face shining a pale gray in the dim 
light of dusk.  He wrenched the door open and stepped back at the 
sight under the sickeningly yellow glow of the interior light.  
Tiff and Skinner crowded in.  The little Gunman peeked in through 
the back window.  "Yeah, like, wow, when I saw that!  I thought, 
shit!"

Tiff gulped and then asked, "What is that?"  The driver's seat's 
pale beige upholstery was stained dark from some liquid.  There 
were patches of a dark green mucus-like substance.

Mulder leaned in closer.  Straightening up, he said, "Her water's 
broken.  The green substance is called meconium.  To put it 
bluntly, the baby's shit.  This isn't good.  She's in premature 
labor and the baby could be hurt by aspirating it."

He looked frantically up and down the road, seeming uncertain as 
to where to start.  The Gunman said dejectedly, "I know, man.  
I've looked for tracks, but the snow has covered everything."

Tiff noticed that Skinner had wandered away.  She figured he was 
going to take a leak along the tree line.  Then she saw him flip 
on his flashlight.

He called to them, "Come on!  This way."

Mulder motioned to the Gunman to stay behind as he and Tiff 
plunged after Skinner into the woods.  

As she followed the bobbing beam of his flashlight in the complete 
blackness of the forest, she wondered if Skinner was being driven 
by a need to look anywhere for anything.  Then she saw that he was 
sweeping the trees with his light and checking the muddy ground.  
A strand of red hair here, on a branch.  A heel print there, 
crushing a clump of mushrooms.

He was intent and sharp-faced, like one of her Uncle Job's 
coonhounds.  She recognized his expression.  It was the same when 
he got carried away on the rare occasion he told her war stories.  
He pressed his large frame through the matted tree branches by 
slipping first one shoulder forward, then the other. 

She followed closely and ignored the panting, stumbling Mulder 
behind her.  She sensed Skinner's excitement.  They must be close 
to something.

All three fell out of the close-knit trees into a yard.  A small 
cottage, dark and boarded up, huddled in the opening.


3.
"Where the fuck is that woman?" growled Krycek.  

Kenneth met his angry, inquiring gaze with his usual blank stare 
and Krycek had an almost uncontrollable urge to kill the clone.

Like a ship slipping from fog, the old man moved out of his blue 
cloud to stand in front of Krycek.  "Control yourself.  You're 
accomplishing absolutely nothing with your outbursts."

Krycek bit back a retort and instead shifted his intensity to 
examining his supervisor.  He could tell the man was trying to 
keep his facade unshaken, but there was a tension under the dried 
leaf exterior.

He didn't like that one bit.  He needed everyone at optimum 
performance for everything to run smoothly. 

"Well?" he asked Kenneth.

"Still nothing, sir.  There have been no sightings since she 
eluded them in Strasburg."

The yellow teeth of the man snapped like an old turtle.  "Dammit, 
Krycek!  She's on her way here!"

Krycek found himself washed over with a gleeful sense of control 
in the face of the old fool's anxiety.  "But where the fuck is 
she. . .sir?  She should have been here two hours ago.  If I find 
out, after all this, that this stupid bitch ran herself off the 
road--"

Apparently tired of the sparring, the old man gave new orders.  
Turning to the waiting group of men, he said, "Get out on the back 
roads.  Try not to draw attention to yourselves, but do a house-
to-house search.  Find that woman!"

Krycek nodded.  Now they were getting somewhere.


4.
Scully could feel the creature moving, pressing its way downward, 
out of her body.  She pulled her jumper up and tried to focus on 
her shining white belly in the dark room.  Her fingers carefully 
traced where she thought the body was positioned.  Could she 
strike the heart?

She didn't trust herself to remain conscious when it ripped its 
way outward.  She remembered the body of that poor bastard in 
Phoenix. 

Under the swell of her stomach, she swore she could feel the head 
in the birth canal.  The torso would be right there--She'd found a 
butcher knife in the kitchen.  Placing the tip between her navel 
and the crease of her groin, she sucked in a deep breath.  She 
would have only one chance.  

Just as she was ready to plunge the blade into her abdomen, she 
heard movement and voices outside.  Someone was there.  

She had been unable to fight the urge to return to Skyland 
Mountain.  Certain that They wanted the creature, she'd decided to 
hide in this house.  Foolishly, she'd thought she'd outwitted 
Them, but now They were here.

She laid down the knife and picked up her gun.

5.
When he saw the cottage, Mulder charged forward.  "You guys take 
the back!"

He ignored the protests of Skinner and Tiff and leapt up the front 
stairs.  He quickly checked the shot-off lock on the door before 
pulling it open.  He dodged to the side and then slipped into the 
dark front room.

He could hear someone panting in the blackness, rasping breaths 
like a chained dog.  

"Scully?" he whispered.  He suddenly realized this was probably 
the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life.  

The hammer went back on a gun, a loud crack in the stillness.  He 
must be making a beautiful target, silhouetted in the doorway, the 
moonlight streaming through the door giving him a deadly halo.

Darting to the left, he fell into a shadow.  The first shot ran 
out, whining by, burying itself in the doorjamb.  

"Scully?" his voice sounded frantic to his ears.

Suddenly there was the sound of a scuffle.  He rushed forward, 
momentarily blinded by Skinner's powerful flashlight before it 
found its target, Tiff wrestling a gun from Scully.  

"Help me, you fuckers!" Tiff roared at them.

Startled out of their shock, the two men moved in.  Grabbing 
limbs, together they managed to pin Scully down.  She fought with 
an unbelievable strength.  

Mulder barely maintained control over his grief.  "Scully!  
Scully!" he pleaded.  He doubted she could hear him, even though 
his mouth was against her ear.

He didn't recognize the woman he saw in the wild eyes revealed in 
the glow of the flashlight.  

"Scully!" he sobbed.

Skinner said, "Mulder, something's wrong with her."

"I can see that!" he spit at his superior, finding his own reason 
slipping away.

"Scully!  What's wrong?"

She didn't answer, just furiously shook her head and bucked under 
their grip.

Her mouth opened and he thought she was going to speak, but 
instead, she began to scream.  The sound rolled out of her 
straining throat, beating at them like a wild surf.  

Sounding frightened, Tiff muttered, "Jesus!"  Then, more 
reverently, "Jesus help this woman."

Skinner seemed to have recovered from his earlier shock.  "Call 
for help."

Tiff sat on Scully's feet to hold her down and pulled her cell 
phone from her pocket.  "Damn!  I can't get a signal!"

"Someone'll have to go back to the road and try to make the call," 
Skinner said with a business-like tone. 

Tiff glanced down at the now silent, writhing Scully in horror.  
Before she could protest, Skinner went on, "I'll stay.  I've been 
present at a birth.  You go."

Tiff shook her head.  "Dog, watching some Vietnamese woman give 
birth in a rice paddy doesn't count for much training--"

He cut in, "Sharon and I had two children.  I was there.  I took 
the classes."

She sputtered, "Walter--"

"Go!" he insisted, turning his attention to Scully.

"Will you be able to control her?" Tiff asked Mulder.   He nodded 
and she got off of Scully's feet, hurrying to the door without a 
backward glance.


** Before her pregnancy, Scully could never remember her 
nightmares when she woke shaking and drenched in sweat.  She 
hadn't ever wanted to remember.  Now she recognized the visions 
like a face to which she couldn't place the name to until this 
blinding moment.

The darkness became the white room of her dream.  Men had tied her 
down.  They had touched her.  She didn't want to be touched.  They 
had exposed her genitalia to the cold air.

Stepping forward from the faceless figures, Alex Krycek had stood 
over her, looking down with detached interest like she was a moth 
pinned to a board.  

A punk.  That was the label she'd instantly attached to him when 
he'd followed Mulder into her autopsy bay.  But she'd 
underestimated him.

In the dream, he wore that ridiculous skinny tie, but under his 
paperboy's haircut, his callow face held the sneer of a man who 
had power over her.  
    
And now They had gotten her again.  Inside, she sobbed with anger 
and fear.  But she wouldn't show these men her emotions.  

A heavy pulse was thumping in her belly, an ominous drumbeat to 
her execution.  She should just face it, let it take her.  Then 
she could sleep.  Finally, sleep without dreams.  She felt all her 
hope drain from her heart.

Her cracked lips whispered, "Mulder." **


Mulder pushed her hair from her sweat-soaked skin.  "Scully?  
Honey?  Do you hear me?"

He looked at Skinner with frantic hope.  "Sir?"

Skinner glanced up from his position at her feet and shook his 
head.  He had put Mulder at Scully's shoulders, his arms linked 
under her armpits to control her arms.  He was at her feet, 
keeping her knees propped up.  

"I don't think she's come out of it, Mulder.  Do you have any idea 
what this is?"

Mulder pulled her limp form closer and tried to ignore her blank 
eyes.  "Her fixed expression reminds me of when she was in the 
trance with Dr. Werber.  But I don't understand.  If they got to 
her and put her under hypnosis, why did they abandon her 
afterwards?"

Skinner was distracted.  "Pull her up higher, Mulder.  Get her in 
a squat position.  She's pushing."

"The muscles of the uterus will push the baby out automatically 
once the contractions have begun.  I just don't want her to be in 
any pain," Mulder murmured as he pulled her torso up.

Skinner nodded.  "We've got to get her out of this spell.  Do you 
have any ideas?"

Mulder felt lightheaded with fear.  "While she was in a trance 
with Dr. Werber, her heart stopped.  I'm afraid this is part of 
their plan."

Skinner nodded again.  He'd pushed her jumper up and had his 
flashlight trained on her blood-red vulva.  Mulder would have 
chuckled at the bizarreness of the scene if it wasn't his Scully.

"Here's another contraction, Mulder," Skinner noted.  When Mulder 
glanced down again, he noticed her belly had tightened and 
hardened.  He could only nod and hang onto Scully's dead weight.

6.
Tiff jogged down the long driveway of the cottage towards the main 
road.  She passed several other houses, equally dark in this cold, 
wet off-season.  Her breath quickened when she saw a light in a 
house further along the road but something made her pull up short.  
Black cars were gathered on the roadside and flitting figures 
seemed to be searching the underbrush.

She ducked behind a tree and immediately, her arms were pinned to 
her sides.  As she tried to struggle, a mild voice said in her 
ear, "You can't escape me.  Don't waste your effort."

She hissed, "Kenneth Bond, I presume."

He didn't answer.  She could sense him watching the activity from 
over her shoulder.  He asked, "You've found Dana Scully?"

She tried to struggle again.  He squeezed her arms very slightly 
as a warning.  "She's not in her right mind?"

She tightened her lips and didn't say a word.  Some emotion 
finally entered his voice.  "While she was in their control, They 
put instructions in her subconscious to come up here.  If I'd 
known, I'd have warned her.  You must go back to her."

"How generous of you," she spit out.

"No.  I don't want to see Dana Scully hurt.  Or her son."

"You work for them!" 

His grip tightened again.  "I've helped her before.  You know.  
You trusted me then.  Trust me again."

He freed her suddenly.  She swung around to peer into his blank 
pale eyes in the dimness.  She saw no duplicity there, but no 
brightness of intellect either.  

"I'll call for help.  They're working their way down the road.  If 
she's in that direction, they'll find her soon.  You must go 
help."

"How do we get her out of the trance?" she asked, not quite 
believing that she was going to listen to him.

"The kill switch phrase is, 'I heard them lift a box and creak 
across my soul.'"  He shrugged at her raised eyebrow.

"Go!" he urged her.  "Hurry!"

She felt herself turning her back on him and began to lope back 
down the road.

7.
Low, harsh whimpers were coming from Scully's throat.  The sounds 
appeared to be only a reaction to the pain.  There was no other 
sign she felt the baby being pushed out of her body.

Mulder asked, "What's happening?"

Skinner peered up at him from his post between Scully's legs.  
"It's coming."

Mulder could feel hysteria knocking at his door.  "I figured that!  
Is everything okay?"

Skinner just shook his head and gave him a withering glare.  "As 
well as can be expected under the circumstances."

He vowed not to ask that question again.  He could feel her warm 
blood beginning to seep through his pants where his bony ass was 
numbly balanced on the cold floor.

He fumbled for his gun at the sound someone entering the cottage.

"It's me!" Tiff called out hoarsely. 

"Did you get through?" Mulder asked.

Hurrying to the window, she was peering out through the drawn 
curtains and he felt terror filling his heart.

Tiff glanced back at him and queried, "How is she?" 

"She's doing all right.  What happened?" he pressed.

"I ran into our friends.  And Kenneth Bond."

"What!?"

"They're on the way here.  We don't have much time.  Can we move 
her back to the car?"

Skinner said, "No.  Kenneth Bond talked to you?"

"Yes.  He's going to make the call.  He sent me back here."

Mulder couldn't see Tiff's face in the dark room.  "He let you 
go?"

She cut him off in his rapidly galloping thoughts.  "He helped 
before.  At the hospital.  I believe him."

"Oh?"  Skinner was watching her with suspicion in his eyes.

She begged, "This is our only chance!  He said this trance was 
planted in her psyche.  She was supposed to meet them up here.  
But something obviously went wrong." 

Mulder was cold.  "And he suggested a way to get her out of this?"

"Yes!"  Tiff was approaching them.

"I can't trust him!"  Mulder said.  He didn't add that he wondered 
if he could trust her.  He turned to Skinner.  "What do you 
think?"

Skinner looked up at Tiff.  He shook his head.  "I concur."

Tiff looked furious.  "What choice do we have!?"

Her head snapped back around at a sound outside the house.  
"They're here.  Now.  We have to do it."

"Tiff--"  Skinner tried to stop her.

Loudly, Tiff said, "I heard them lift a box and creak across my 
soul."

A strange, low hiss came out of Scully's throat.  Mulder pulled 
her closer to his chest, fury at Tiff overwhelming him.

Tiff was rushing back to the window, ignoring the sputters of 
Skinner and Mulder.

"They're out there."  Her voice held doom.

Mulder could feel movement returning to Scully's body.  "Scully?  
Can you hear me?"

Her eyes fluttered and she seemed to be trying to focus.  Her 
hands settled on her belly.  

Skinner sounded oddly formal.  "Agent Scully?"

She began to pant.  Mulder hoped she was remembering her Lamaze 
training.  "Scully?"

Tiff whispered, "Cloak that light."

Skinner moved his body to block the light and supported Scully's 
knees as she bore down.

Mulder could see silent shadows moving outside the window and they 
all seemed to be holding their breaths.  Scully's rapid breathing 
sounded loud as gunfire in the small room.

Tiff had pulled out her weapon.  In the darkness, Mulder watched 
the flicking of the whites of her eyes as she followed the 
movements.  Her head cocked at the sound of the door being tried.  
Muffled voices could be heard.

Skinner's hoarse whisper caught Mulder's attention.  "It's 
coming!"

He peered over Scully's shoulder to see the baby's head crowning.  
"Shit!" he uttered.  "Try to help her!  She's going to tear!"

Someone was pounding at the door.  Skinner looked up from his 
duty.  "Dammit!" he hissed.

Tiff muttered, "I'm going around behind them.  Block the door 
after me."  Skinner struggled to his feet to follow her as Mulder 
pulled Scully's straining body higher so she could push down.

Skinner was back quickly, but took Tiff's duty at the window.  
Mulder could only concentrate on the form sliding from Scully's 
vagina.  There seemed to be so much blood and mucus.  He'd always 
been squeamish, holding it back as much as he could so Scully 
would have some shred of respect for him.

Now that it was Scully's body being torn open he was close to 
fainting.  Only the fact that these next few minutes would be the 
most important in his life kept him conscious.

A gunshot burst into the cold, dark night.  A yelp of pain and 
then the muffled sound of a body sliding down the wall could be 
heard close to the door.  Tiff must have taken one out. 

There was the sound of running feet and shouts.  Skinner strained 
to see into the darkness.

Mulder had to help Scully.  He finally loosened his grip on her 
upper body and moved down to ease the baby's last few movements as 
he freed himself from Scully's body.  

Scully lay quietly, still panting with exertion.  He carefully 
lifted the slippery white baby from the puddle between her quaking 
thighs.

"Scully, are you okay?"

She didn't answer.  He believed she was out of the trance but now 
seemed to be under the power of a crushing exhaustion.

The baby was squirming, his mouth gasping soundlessly.  Mulder 
turned him over, cradling Kit in his palm, and ran a finger up and 
down his spine until a little mucous ran out of his mouth and 
nose.  

Another shot rang out, this one further away.  He could tell 
Skinner wanted desperately to join Tiff outside. 

"How's she doing?" he threw over his shoulder to Mulder.

"The baby's out.  Now she needs to pass the placenta."  He placed 
Kit on his stomach on Scully's belly, the umbilical cord still 
attached, shed his own jacket and draped it over the two bodies. 

Her eyes seemed to focus for a moment in the dark, latching onto 
the bundle on her abdomen.  "Yes, Scully.  You did it.  A 
beautiful baby boy."

Another volley of shots made him jump.  They were further away.  
"She's leading them away from the house."  Skinner noted.

"Yes."  Mulder pushed Scully's limp legs back up. "Scully, you've 
got to push some more."

She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows and seemed to react 
automatically, bearing down.  Blood gushed out and swirled to 
create a sticky puddle on Skinner's jacket.  Mulder fought his 
nausea again.

She gasped in pain.  He encouraged, "Come on, Scully.  Almost 
there!"

There was the sound of pounding on the door again.  Skinner said, 
"Shit!  They're back!"  He leveled his gun at the door as it 
quivered on its hinges.

Mulder couldn't give the attack any more attention.  He turned 
back to Scully.  He could see terror in her eyes, and reassured 
her.  "Don't worry.  Just push."

The furrow deepened in her brow and she pushed herself higher to 
bear down again.  She finally spoke.  "Yes."

He couldn't stop a face-splitting smile.  "There you are, Scully!  
I was worried for a minute."

She just nodded and seemed to be concentrating.  Finally he could 
see the placenta poking out of her swollen labia.

The door swung open violently and Skinner started firing.  A dark 
shape dropped away from the opening and then another behind it.  
Another shadow darted away.  Skinner rumbled forward to slam the 
splintered door shut.

Ignoring the commotion as best he could, Mulder had carefully 
picked up the placenta and set it aside.

He'd noticed Scully's discarded coat in the corner and quickly 
fetched it. Sliding to the floor again, he pulled her and Kit into 
his lap.  "Look, Scully.  Look at our baby."  He draped her coat 
around her shoulders.

Skinner was at the window again, trying to make something out in 
the dark.  Gunshots began to shatter the glass panes, sending him 
diving for cover.  They could hear a single gun trying to pick out 
their attackers.  Tiff was still out there somewhere.

An arm had come out of the bundle on his lap.  "Mulder?"

"Yes, Scully?" 

"What's happening?"

"Nothing.  Go to sleep."

"Okay."  Her body seemed to dissolve in his grip, becoming light 
as a drifting cloud.     

He reached down to rub the baby with the jacket, trying to help 
his circulation.  He was answered by a faint cry.  Good.  His baby 
was a fighter.

Skinner was at the corner of the window, returning the fire that 
occasionally whined over their heads.  "I'm running out of 
bullets," he commented with a distant voice.

Mulder wiggled his gun free from its holster and slid it across 
the floor towards him.  "There you go."

A figure suddenly rose up in the window and the room filled with 
the flashes of ignited gunpowder as the man and Skinner shot it 
out.

The shape dropped away, but Mulder was left shaking, clutching 
Scully to him as they curled around the baby's body.

Suddenly, he was blinking as bright light flooded the clearing 
outside the cottage.  A helicopter was dropping down to the scene.  
A voice blared from it, "Drop your weapons!"

Shots were the answer and they were returned from the bushes.  As 
rapidly as the scene unfolded, it fell silent except for the 
beating of the helicopter blades.

Skinner raised his head to peer out.  "All clear.  I think.  I'll 
check."

He hurried to the door and cracked it open.  

"Police!  Come out with your hands where I can see them."

Skinner bellowed, "I'm FBI!  Who the hell are you?"

The voice sounded surprised.  "State troopers!"

Tiff joined in from across the clearing.  "It's all right, 
Skinner!  It's the proper authorities!"

Skinner seemed to relax.  "I'll go check on an ambulance."

Mulder nodded.  He felt very close to tears.  Pushing back the 
coat from Scully's drawn face, he stroked her cheek.  Her 
eyelashes fluttered.  "Scully?  It's okay.  Everything's okay."  
He fought down a sob.

She looked up his with hazy eyes.  "The baby--"

"He's right here," Mulder told her.  He pulled his coat free from 
Kit's head to show her the baby but she had drifted off when he 
glanced down at her again.  He lifted her hand and settled it on 
Kit's head.  Her fingers flexed in a reflex, cupping the small 
skull.

Mulder felt desperately weak and tired.  Relief washed over him as 
he heard footfalls on the porch.  

The room was suddenly filled with light and bodies.  Skinner was 
ranting into a cell phone, arranging search teams and security.  
Tiff was filling in the local troopers as best she could.  EMTs 
swarmed down on Scully, the baby and him.  

He refused to let go of Scully and the baby.  They were all he had 
in the world, and as the jabbering voices and jostling movements 
of the crowded room overwhelmed him, their warm bodies seemed to 
be his only anchor on sanity.

Finally, the three of them were loaded into an ambulance for the 
long ride back to Washington.  They let him have a gun and he 
remained huddled beside the gurney holding Scully and Kit, 
gripping it with bloodless hands.   


~~*~~*~~*~~*~~



Chapter 11: Three Fathers



1.
Washington D.C. 
February 14th, 10:05 P.M.



Tiff hadn't expected Skinner to accept her offer to come up to her 

apartment after he'd driven her home.  She felt awkward as they 
hovered together in the foyer.

"I could make some coffee," she suggested.

"You probably want to go to sleep," he responded.

"I can make some for you.  Are you going back to the hospital?"  
She moved towards the kitchen.

He followed her.  "Yes.  I want to make sure the agents I assigned 
are staying focused on their job."

"Can we trust those people?" she wondered out loud as she measured 
the coffee into the coffee maker.

"Yes, I've picked them myself."  He seemed definite so she nodded.

She still felt uncomfortable.  She joined him in the living room.  
"It should be ready in a minute--I'm sorry."

His brow creased.  "What?"

"I'm sorry.  About bringing up the baby thing.  You've never 
said..."  She was starting to stumble.  "You never said anything 
about having children--"

He broke off her words.  "No, I haven't--"

She didn't want him to feel he had to explain.  "I mean, it's 
certainly your business...after all, we're just fuck buddies."

Now he seemed pissed.  "What!?"

She shook her head and for the first time since they'd gotten back 
from the Blue Ridge Mountains, she was able to look him in the 
eye.  "That's what we've always been."

"Maybe to you."  Her heart squeezed down to a concentrated form at 
his words.  

She was stubborn.  "Are they with Sharon?"

He fell heavily onto the couch.  "No."

She lost her nerve.  "You don't have to--"

Removing his glasses to rub his tired eyes, he tossed them onto 
the coffee table.  "They both died in infancy.  Multiple birth 
defects.  After the last one died we had some tests done."  Now it 
was his turn to look her in the eye.  She sat beside him.  "I...I 
may have been exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam.  My sperm shows 
several severe abnormalities."  He looked down at his clasped 
hands.  "Our marriage might have survived the first loss, but we 
didn't make it though the second."

All she could garble out was, "Oh..."  Even though she was on the 
pill, he had always insisted on using condoms, carrying them in 
his wallet like a teenaged boy.  She'd assumed that meant he had 
multiple partners or thought she did.  Instead, it looked as 
though he was terrified of her becoming pregnant.

Her mouth was babbling on ahead of any thoughts of self-
preservation.  "We could adopt.  There are lots of biracial and 
black babies needing homes..."  In horror, she stopped.  Somehow, 
in this whole mess, she'd just proposed marriage to Walter 
Skinner.

If it was possible, the air in the room got heavier, thickening to 
the consistency of sludge.  When he turned to her, she could 
barely 
hold her head upright to keep her gaze level with his.

Diplomatically, he said, "That's true."

She let out a shattered breath, molecule by molecule.  "What were 
their names?"

His jaw clenched down like a trap snapping shut to hold down his 
pain.  Reaching out, she ran a hand along his tightly muscled jaw 
line, trying to free that tension.  "Dog?"  He didn't answer.  She 
leaned in to kiss him.  Just gentle pecks on each cheek but when 
her hand came to rest on his chest, she noted his rapid breathing.  

She pressed on.  "What were they?" 

He shook his head violently as though he was a baby himself.  Her 
heart was breaking but she had to press on.  

But when she leaned in again to kiss him more forcibly, he 
suddenly lunged at her, pushing her down into the cushions and 
frantically pulling at her slacks.

Unafraid, she joined him, pushing his suit jacket off, ripping his 
zipper open, using her strong arms to anchor herself to his body.

His face fell into the crook of her neck and his rasping breaths 
pounded at her ear as he fumbled with her underwear, his 
underwear.  She let him do all the work.  She whispered 
encouragement as her hands swept over his back.

She wanted him to feel as strong as a brick house, sheltering them 
from all their losses.  She threw one leg up over the back of the 
couch so their two large bodies could fit on it.  Her other leg 
wrapped around his hip, pulling him towards her weeping vagina. 

He was trying to reach his pocket to get a condom.  Now she 
was firm. "No!"  

She grabbed his hand and forced it to her blouse-covered breast.  
"No."  He paused, but kept his face buried in her neck.

Her strong thigh pushed his hips back between her legs.  She asked 
again, "What were their names?"

He plunged into her with no gentleness.  She gasped through the 
brief flash of pain and then groaned slowly.  She didn't want him 
to be gentle.  Not now.

He began to thrust into her, using the arm of the sofa above her 
head for leverage.  She thought he was grunting but then she 
realized the sounds were forming a name.  "...Peter..."

She couldn't stop her tears from leaking out of her eyes.  
"Yes...yes...yes..."

"And...and...Nicholas.  My sons' names were Peter and Nicholas,"  
he gasped out.

"Yes, baby.  It's okay.  It's okay," she heard herself promising.  
It wasn't okay though.  It was like falling down a crevice and 
being crushed as the walls tightened around her.  She didn't know 
if she could make this feel better.

She realized he was close.  She felt the familiar straining of his 
neck tendons against her cheek.  He was trying to pull out.  She 
brought her other leg down and clasped her calves together across 
the tightened muscles of his ass.  

"Tiff...Tiff...Tiff--" His despair was cut off by a deep groan.  
He'd never made that sound before and she felt dampness where his 
cheek was pressed to her skin, like a passing spring rain shower. 
For the first time, she felt herself filled with his seed.  He had 
touched her everywhere now.

She kept up her empty promises.  "It's okay.  It's okay--" 

He collapsed on her and she finally loosened her grip on his hips.  
He quickly disentangled himself and she pulled herself up into a 
corner of the sofa.  He was pulling his pants back up without 
looking at her.  "I've got to go to the hospital."

He had his coat on and was halfway to the door.  "All right.  
You've got a key."  She was glad to hear there was no plea in her 
voice.  

He paused with a hand on the doorknob and nodded.  Then he was 
gone.  

She sat for a few moments until the chill of the cooling 
stickiness on her thighs woke her from her trance.  She trailed a 
fingertip through the thick liquid oozing from her.  She rolled 
her fingers together as though weighing the substance.  It looked 
like any other man's ejaculate.  This one was empty at the least, 
dangerous to their hearts at the worst.  The bittersweet promise 
of a big shy boy with pale eyes or an awkward, tall, skinny girl 
with glasses was gone. 

The sharp smell of the percolating coffee dragged her from the 
sofa.  She'd wait for him.


2.

Fairfax Hospital 
11:45 P.M.



Skinner saw Frohike and Langly first.  He almost didn't recognize 
Langly with a day's growth of facial hair.  Frohike couldn't get 
any grubbier looking and gave him a half-hearted wave.  Skinner 
nodded in acknowledgement but moved on.  Quietly, he told the 
agent in charge to let the Gunmen stay close.  

On the way to Scully's room he was surprised to catch sight of 
Mulder slumped in a waiting room chair.  He almost chickened out 
and passed by.  It had been a very long, very emotional day.  

Just then, Mulder looked up and met his gaze.  Skinner had seen 
Mulder desperate and in pain before, but it was all overshadowed 
by the fear in his eyes now.  He had to go to him.

"Why aren't you with Agent Scully?" he asked.

Mulder looked away.  "She's asleep."

Skinner couldn't hide his surprise.  "That's never stopped you 
before."  Too late, he knew he'd let the lightning out of the 
bottle with his statement.

Mulder just shook his head like a surly teenager.  Skinner fell 
heavily into the chair beside him.

Mulder asked, "What the fuck am I gonna do?"

"What do you mean?"

Mulder garbled, "I haven't dared call Mrs. Scully.  I don't want 
her to see this mess.  I'm so..."  He stopped, a sob holding back 
his words.  He got control and started again, this time with fury.  
"I'm so fuckin' angry!"

"About..."

Mulder looked at him with shock.  "About?"  He looked away and 
seemed to get control.  "Maybe not what you think."

"Oh?"

"I can understand that those bastards got control of her mind, 
made her do those things.  What I can't understand--what I can't 
find a way to forgive--is that, once again, she couldn't tell me 
what was happening."

"She didn't say anything?  No clues?"  

"I just thought it was Scully.  Being Scully.  How do you know 
when to take a pregnant woman's fears seriously?  She said it was 
anxiety linked to the pregnancy.  Why wouldn't I believe her?"

Skinner began to feel the itch of irritation spreading across his 
skin.  "What do I know about women?  I've got one ex-wife and..."  
Christ, how did he get in these situations?

Mulder gave him a look filled with self-pity.  "That's okay, sir.  
I understand."

Sighing, Skinner forced himself onward.  Slowly he started, "I 
only know Dana Scully as an agent.  She has always shown herself 
to be strong and capable, invincible almost.  She has me 
completely convinced.  But sometimes I'll be standing beside her 
and glance down...and I have to look down and down to find her.  
Then I realize I could crush her like a bug."

"As long as she wasn't armed--"  Mulder muttered.

"That's not the point!  I can't believe she would ever break, but 
everyone breaks, Mulder.  Everybody.  I know.  You've got to give 
her that right.  And there's such a thing as too much respect.  
It's a long fall from the top of a pedestal."

He grumbled, "So I've been told.  But I want her to be open with 
me.  She should have told me something was wrong--"

Again, Skinner asked,  "Did she express definite fears to you?"

Mulder shifted his gaze away.  

Taking a guess, Skinner kept talking.  "Questioning her instincts 
is a good thing on a case because you need to look at all the 
possibilities, fight to find the answers.  It's not too good in a 
marriage.  That's the only thing I figured out after the divorce."

Now the men exchanged a look of mutual self-pity.

Skinner found himself uncharacteristically rambling on.  "She said 
to me, 'You can't be the man I need you to be.  I love you, I 
always will.  But I need so much more right now.'"  He swung to 
the side to look Mulder straight in the eyes.  "Don't want to 
scare you, but all the songs are wrong.  Sometimes love isn't 
enough.  I never could figure out what she needed, Mulder, so I 
don't think I can be any help.  For what it's worth--"  He 
shrugged in frustration.  "Just try to give more."

Bowing his head, Mulder said, "Thanks.  I'll think about what 
you've said."

Anita approached.  Mulder immediately jumped up from his chair.  
"Is something wrong?"

She shook her head and grasped his arm to give it a squeeze.  
"Stop worrying!  Isaac is doing fine.  Being premature, he's a 
little underweight, but isn't showing any of the signs you were 
concerned about."

Mulder bowed his head in relief.  The doctor continued.  "Dana's 
awake.  I've checked her out and physically, she's as good as can 
be expected."  She gave Skinner a worried look.  "But she's 
emotionally traumatized and is still suffering from memory lapses.  
Fox, I think it would be best if you were the one to fill her in."

Mulder nodded.  She asked, "Do you want me to bring Isaac to the 
room?"

"Yes.  And we're going to call him Kit."

Anita smiled broadly.  "I'll go get him right now.  Why don't you 
go ahead?"  She lost her smile.  "And prepare her for seeing her 
son."

Skinner clapped him on the back.  "Go on, Mulder." 

"Thank you, sir."  Mulder gave him a shaky half-smile.

Wearily, he pulled himself out of the chair.  "I've got to go.  
Good luck."

2.
When Mulder first entered Scully's dim room, he thought she was 
still asleep.

But then he noticed her body shaking with tremors.

"Scully?" 

"I'm bleeding, Mulder."

He hurried to her bedside.  "Where?"

She pulled the sheet back and motioned below her waist.  "There.  
The baby..."  

She seemed disoriented and he leaned in the check her pupils.  The 
orbs were the mystical blue of a Vermeer peasant's gown.  But her 
pupils were as black as wells, empty and bottomless with fear. 

Her voice was small.  "He's gone."

He rushed to reassure her.  "Kit's fine.  The tests show him to be
perfectly normal.  He's right here in the hospital.  Anita's 
bringing him to you right now."

Keeping her lips tightly pressed together, she began to shake her 
head violently.  He carefully settled his weight onto the bed.  
When he lifted her hand and wrapped his fingers around it, her 
returning grip was frantic but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

He suddenly hated hospitals and their pale walls that drained her 
soul away.  He wanted to pick her up and carry her out of here.  

He could hear his voice, determinedly over-bright.  "They want to 
keep him for observation for a few days, but he seems very strong.  
And you know what?"

She was staring at where her hand was lost in his grip.  She shook 
her head. 

"You realize we've won?  It's over.  We have Kit.  Blood samples 
have been drawn and given to the Gunmen.  Those people have 
nothing to gain by taking him now."  He reiterated, hoping she 
could take some of his strength.  "We've won.  We have nothing to 
fear anymore."

Her head shook violently again.  He almost didn't hear her 
whisper.  "How can I--"

He stopped her.  "I have to apologize."

That got her attention.  Her gaze snapped up to his face.  He 
nodded, giving a shrug.  "I wouldn't listen to you and that almost 
cost me everything."

Her gaze dropped again, but he could tell from the furrow in her 
brow that she was mulling over his words.  "I vow to you, 
Scully--"  He tipped her chin up so she was forced to look into 
his sincere eyes.  "Tonight.  Here.  In front of no witnesses and 
no god, I swear to you with all my heart.  You and Kit will always 
be my center.  Forsaking all others."

The black of her pupils warmed to velvet.  He smiled in relief.  
"I see now.  All these years--the culmination of my search--I 
need my family."  Her palm was warm against his cheek and he 
leaned into the comfort.  "And now I have that."

The door opened, and the brief spell was broken.  Anita peeked 
around the corner.  "Ah, she's still awake!"

Holding the door open for the nurse carrying the baby, Anita 
babbled on.  "Brought you a guest, Dana.  Someone who's quite 
anxious to see you again."

Mulder felt Scully's nails clawing at his palm and he hung onto 
her hand with all his strength.  The nurse was approaching them, 
and he could see the bundle in her arms was squirming.  Those odd 
little noises he'd heard come from other babies--but now that they 
were coming from his own child--were terrifying as they gurgled 
out of the blanket.

Anita plowed on, despite the fact Scully was staring at their 
hands again.  "He probably wants his dinner, Dana--"

Scully's damp eyes shot up and she shook her head violently.  
Anita reassured her.  "You'd completed your lactation classes.  
Relax, your body will take care of business."  She patted 
Scully's shoulder.

The nurse was waiting but Scully made no move to take Kit.  She 
stared mutely at the bundle.  Mulder finally reached up and took 
the baby.  

"Why don't you leave us alone?"  With false cheer, he added, 
"We've got to get used to this.  Might as well start tonight."

"Of course," Anita said.  "I want to go over and check on John.  
He had a long day too and I know he's going crazy stuck there.  
Give me a page if you have any concerns or questions."

Mulder nodded.  "Thank you, Anita."

Scully finally spoke.  "Yes.  Thank you.  And thank John too."

"We were just doing our jobs."  Anita gave Scully's cheek a quick 
peck and her arm another squeeze.  "That's what friends are for."

She and the nurse slipped out of the room.  Mulder became aware of 
the heat coming off of Kit.  It reminded him this was a living 
being.  Carefully, he pulled the blanket back from the small red 
prune face.  His own face scrunched up in imitation.  How could 
anyone hold their features that way for an extended period of 
time?  It was so uncomfortable. 

He heard a gasp of a giggle and turned to give Scully a grin.  She 
glanced away quickly.

Pulling the blanket all the way off, he lay Kit's squirming little 
body out across his thighs.

He started talking casually.  "He's a little underweight for his 
height but Anita's not worried.  Anyway, he'll probably have these 
proportions his whole life.  Might as well start out that way." 

Kit's eyes finally opened and Mulder was struck by the solemn 
expression held in them.  He had to shift his own eyes away from 
that gaze as he took the small cap off of Kit's head.  "No hair 
yet.  Wonder why?  With the two of us as parents, he should have a 
mop."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tentative fingertip reach 
out to stroke Kit's thigh.  "Long legs.  That's not good.  He'll 
be able to reach the car pedals by eight.  I was able to."  

The snort came from Scully again.  He took that as encouragement.

"Why don't you hold him?" 

He'd moved too fast.  The finger was snatched back and he could 
hear her hair rustle against the pillow as she shook her head.  

Lifting the baby to his shoulder, carefully supporting his head, 
he said, "Okay.  That's fine.  I'll hold him."  He patted his back 
and he heard a small burp in his ear.  "It feels nice.  He's so 
loose.  It's as though he spreads out and becomes a part of your 
body right away."

A sharp breath was sucked in next to him.

In his other ear, he heard Kit begin to whine faintly.  "What's 
the problem, Captain?"  He glanced over at Scully and the 
expression of longing on her face caused him to stumble.  "Uh--I 
don't know if I'm going to be able to handle this baby thing.  I 
mean, how do you know what they want?  I'm thinking eating will be 
his main concern in the beginning, but I'm sure his needs will 
become more complex as time progresses.  However, it's my 
understanding verbal communication is still a ways off."

She nodded and her fingers lightly stroked the back of Kit's head.  
She whispered, "No hair at all."

"Nope."  

The whine was beginning to rise in pitch.  "Uh--Scully?  I don't 
want to push you--but I think this is where you come in."

She started to shake her head, but then seemed to force herself to 
stop.  He began to talk as quickly as possible to slip through the 
crack in her door.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Scully.  You don't have any reason 
to be angry with yourself.  No reason to feel guilt.  You gave 
birth to a beautiful baby--"

Her raised voice sounded like the opening of a rusted trap.  "No!  
I was going to kill him, Mulder!"

"No, Scully!  You were under Their control!  They wanted you to do 
those things--"

Furious, she burst out, "And I was going to do them!  I was going 
to kill my baby, kill myself, leave you--"

"Scully, for once, please!  Cut yourself a little bit of slack.  
Accept that you aren't infallible and can't be in control every 
second of the day."  He dissolved in anguish.  "Or else it's going 
to be a very long fifty years."  

Kit chimed into the argument, reaching a high note of a wail. 

Mulder thrust him towards her.  "If you want to be a superwoman-- 
now's your chance.  Solve all your son's problems, right now." 

Her eyes stormed and he was encouraged.  Good.  She had her fight 
back.  

Carefully, she took Kit from him, supporting his head and cradling 
him close.  The baby looked suddenly huge against her small body 
and Mulder was shocked to realize this little human had come out 
of her.  He was in awe of the entire process.

She didn't seem to want to let go of Kit to use a hand to get her 
gown open.  "Mulder?"

"Sure."  He reached across, untied the bows, and pushed the fabric 
aside to reveal one heavy white breast.  She looked confused and 
worried.  "You want my help?"

A slow smile spread across her face.  A finger from the hand 
holding Kit's head stroked his cheek.  "Think you can handle it?"

Slipping one long arm around her body, he guided the baby's head 
towards her breast.  "I've got to be good for something.  And if 
there's anything I know, it's your breasts and all the techniques 
of suckling them."

She let a full laugh loose this time. 

With false seriousness, he chided her.  "Give the kid a break.  
You've created a moving target."

Scully couldn't stop another giggle.  "Sorry."  

Kit was ignoring both of them and his small mouth was leaving a 
drool trail on her breast as he tried to find her nipple on his 
own.

Softly, she said, "Here," as she guided his head to its target and 
tickled his cheek to open his mouth.  Her eyes widened as he 
latched on. 

To her, it felt as though Kit's surprisingly strong mouth 
wasn't taking from her body, but giving her something.  Something 
she needed so desperately at this moment--strength.  Each tug of 
his lips seemed to be connected to her heart, filling the chambers 
and pumping warmth to her limbs.
   
She could vaguely hear Mulder encouraging her, "Only remember the 
good things.  Kit's here.  He's healthy.  Nothing else matters 
anymore."

She nodded.  "I'll try."

Scooting over a bit on the bed, she pulled Mulder the rest of the 
way on to it and he came willingly, curling his long body in 
beside hers.  His head came to rest on her shoulder so he could 
watch every flicker of Kit's drooping eyelids.  Another pull on 
her nipple, another nerve brought back to life.  

Her voice sounded normal to her own ears for the first time in a 
long time.  "Yes, everything will be fine."


3.
The Factory 
February 15th, 12:50 A.M.

Krycek strode out of the old fool's office, slamming the door 
behind him.  His thoughts whirled as though they'd been tossed 
into a cyclone.  He had to sort them out.

He was certain that someone within their organization was helping 
Mulder and Scully evade them.  There was no other way things could 
get this fucked up this often.

He strode down the aisle of green liquid-filled tubes, sparing the 
forms floating in them barely a glance.  He should pay more 
attention.  It would seem those bodies were their last chance.  

Their opportunity to make any money out of this deal was slipping 
away.  All they could hope to do was get their own survival out 
of those experiments.  

And yet the old man seemed satisfied.

Krycek ducked into a shadow and pulled from his pocket a small 
receiver for a bug he'd planted.  His supervisor had seemed intent 
on hustling him out of the office, as though something was on his 
mind.  He was sure he would be making a phone call.

At first, nothing but the old man's labored breathing could be 
heard.  He didn't mind.  He was patient.

Then he heard the rustle of fabric, followed by the beeping of 
cell phone buttons being pushed.  

//It's me//

//How is he?//

The silence was long.  Krycek cursed quietly.

//All right.  How much time do we have?//

He could hear the flick of the old man's lighter.

//Don't worry.  I told you!//  The rumble of the voice rose.

Out of the corner of his eye, Krycek saw Kenneth standing in the 
shadow of the nearest tube as though he was waiting for a bus, his 
eyes straight ahead.  But he knew the clone was listening to 
everything.  His heart hardened to stone.  He almost missed the 
old man's final words but the tone caught his attention.  He'd 
never heard that man speak in such a voice, full of love and 
strength.

//Don't worry.  Daddy will take care of everything.//  



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