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        This author's e-mail address has changed to: shalimar@attbi.com
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Part 14

The powerful answering roar of their boat's engine surprised her. 
It seemed that despite appearances, the old girl had some life in
her.  Thank God.

She hung on to the steering wheel, aimed dead for Singapore and
began praying under her breath.  They *had* to out run the other
boat. 

After two minutes she glanced back and with a sickening punch to
the gut realized that it wasn't going to work.  The other boat
was gaining steadily.   

She glanced anxiously around the open water.  If they couldn't
outrun them, they'd have to lose them. 

Somehow.

Mulder crawled back beside her and pulled the chart down.  "You
remember the way back, Scully?" he yelled over the noise of the
engine.

"Yeah!  Can you see who it is?"

"No!  No, but whoever it is they're chasing us.  There are
pirates in these waters, but I never thought they'd go after a
little boat."

She glanced back.  No way on earth were those pirates.  The boat
behind them was steadily closing ground.  "I don't think we can't
outrun them!  I'm heading for those islands!"

She turned the wheel sharply and aimed for a group of islets not
far to the west.  Mulder lost his hold and slid across the
floorboards, coming up hard against the side of the boat.

"You okay?!" she yelled.

He frowned and pointed.

"Scully!  The storm!"

She craned her neck.  Oh Jesus.

The huge angry clouds of a tropical storm were coming fast. 
Faster than she'd ever seen a storm build up in her life.

They were caught between the storm and the other boat.  

Already, the surface of the water was rough with squalls, and the
sky had darkened to an eerie greenish-yellow.  

She cringed as a streak of lightning lit the ominous clouds.

Mulder peered ahead over the edge of the boat.  "Can we make
it?!" he called back to her.

"I don't know!" The wind snatched the words out of her mouth. 
"If we can get in there maybe we can lose them!" 

He pinned the flapping map still with both hands against the
floorboards.  "Here, between these two is a narrow passage."

"How deep?"  she yelled.  

Her hair was coming out from under her hat and a piece was
whipping her in the eyes.  They'd definitely recognize her if it
got free.  "Grab the wheel!"

He knelt on the map and steered as she crouched and stuffed all
her hair out of sight beneath the hat.

"How deep!"  she yelled again.

"A meter at low tide.  What's the tide now?"

"Almost out!"

She straightened and took the wheel again.  The islands were
coming up fast, but the storm was nearly upon them.   Another
flash of lightning streaked to the water and struck with a crack.

Scully felt the hairs all over her body prickle at the electrical
charge.  Hell.  That was too close.  Maybe the lightning would
convince the other boat to turn back.  She glanced over her
shoulder.  No such luck.  They were coming fast.

Suddenly, rain pelted from the sky.  The Bimini offered scant
protection from the wind-driven drops.   A hard gust hit them
broadside and the boat shuddered and lolled sluggishly for a
moment.  The engine coughed, then caught again and the boat
straightened and rolled over the rough waves.  Grimly she hung on
to the wheel and headed for the gap.

She felt Mulder's hand wrap around her ankle and give her a
squeeze.  She let go of the wheel with one hand and rested her
fingers for a second on his head.  Five minutes ago you and I
were in tatters, but at the first threat of danger we stand
shoulder to shoulder.  

The words went through her head like a little benediction.  He
met her eyes and gave her an encouraging look and her ankle
another squeeze.

United we stand.  Amen.

"Hang on!" she yelled. 

The island group was small.  Some of the islands no more than a
hundred feet across.  

"Slow down!" he yelled.  "The passage you want is to the left
after the second inlet."

"Okay!"  She nodded, but didn't decrease the speed.  Suddenly
they were out of the choppy water and the boat's engine screamed
as it hurled across the calm in the lee of the first island.

Scully yanked back on the throttle and spun the wheel hard.  The
boat heeled to one side and flew across the suddenly shallow
water neatly into the narrow passage and dropped flat with a
plop.

"Damn it, Scully, how the hell did you do that?"  Mulder's voice
was loud in the relative quiet of the passageway.  They were in a
lull, the wind was barely blowing.  The channel was only about
twenty feet across and looked like it narrowed further as it
snaked out of sight.  

She looked down at his hand on her ankle.  He had it in a death
grip.  His other hand was marking their position on the chart.

"Can we keep going?" she asked him

"Yeah.  But it's shallow, keep all the way to the right."

She steered the boat as close to the bank as she dared.  She
twisted around and looked back. "I don't see them."

At that moment the other boat flashed across the end of the
passageway.  She heard a shout and then the sound of the other
boat's motor changing as they turned, coming back.

"Damn!"

"They draw too much water.  They can't follow us across that
shallow part."

"All they have to do is wait til we come out."

"The channel goes all the way through."  He stared, worried, at
the seemingly impenetrable jungle ahead of them.  "At least
that's what it shows on the chart. . . ."

At that moment everything became eerily silent.  The jungle, the
wind. . . .  She glanced up.  The clouds were dark and low,
hovering barely above the treetops.

The air around them sizzled.  She glanced at Mulder and he was
staring up at her wide-eyed.  It was as if they were looking at
each other underwater.   Under opaque, evil, electric-green
water.   

She cut the motor almost to nothing.  "We need to tie up to ride
out this storm, Mulder.   NOW!"  

No sooner had she said it that the storm hit and all hell broke
lose.  The heavens opened and rain slashed out of the sky.  The
wind caught them hard, slamming the boat against the bank and
ripping a corner of the canvas Bimini free.   

Thunder deafened her as she tried to reach for the cover, only to
have the angry wind grab the canvas and lash her cheek with it.

She put one hand up to ward it off and tried to steer with the
other. 

Mulder dragged at the elbow of the arm she was steering with,
trying to pull her down.  "The other boat!" she thought he
yelled.  She turned and sure enough, there was the other boat,
inching into the channel behind them.  

Mulder yelled again and threw himself up and hard against her,
just as she saw the man in the bow lift a gun.

Lightening flashed.  The gun thundered.  She felt something whip
across her forehead, heard Mulder desperately scream,
"Sculleee!!" and then everything went black as she crumpled to
the deck.










Part 15





. . . . it was pitch black . . . the hard surface under her back
rocked sickeningly . . . his weight was heavy across her. . .
wrapped over her, his arms tight, protecting her from the night
and the rain . . . she was soaking . . . and cold where his skin
wasn't pressed to hers . . . his bare wet shoulder was against
her nose . . . she smelled ozone and skin and sweat and fear and
the blackness around them. . . . 

Over the roar of the storm and the jungle and the rain she could
hear him.  He was swearing. 

"Shit.  Shit.  Shit,", and then "Scuh-lee. . . ." softly
pleading, with a broken catch in his voice.  His arms tightened. 
He was squeezing her so hard she could barely breathe.  
 
She tried to open her mouth and tell him she was fine, she tried
to squeeze him back and reassure him . . . but . . . before she
could, she swirled back down into darkness. . . .









. . . . it was dark. . . still dark . . . she was gently being
lifted then dropped, lifted then dropped.  A boat.  That was it. 
A boat.  She was on the family sailboat in her bunk.  Melissa and
Bill and Charlie were asleep in their bunks and she could hear
the low voices of her mother and father up on the deck.   She'd
been having a bad dream--  Had she cried out?  She heard her
mother say, "I'll check the kids," then saw her, her shape darker
than the darkness behind her as she poked her head in the hatch.  
Then soft steps went back across the deck.  Her dad's soft, "Was
it Dana?"  Then her mom's softer, "Mmm-hmm."   

Then softly, singing.  They were singing her a lullaby of the
sea. . . .

     ". . . .Where billow meets billow, soft be thy pillow, 
      O weary wee flipperling, curl at thine ease.  The storm
      shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, asleep in 
      the arms of the slow swinging sea. . . ."

Comforted, she drifted back to sleep.










. . . .were those tears on her face?  Or was it warm rain?  

She opened her eyes.  It was still dark.  Mulder stood above her
at the wheel, his naked chest glimmering as he steered.   His wet
shirt must be what was tucked under her chin.  Something else,
smelling of fish and gasoline--a rough canvas tarp--covered the
rest of her.

The steady thump thump of the engine vibrated against her back. 
She tried to open her mouth to say his name, but she couldn't. 
Those must be tears on her face because the sky was clear.  He
was steering them home by the light of the stars. . . .










When she woke again, they were back at the Marina, and she was
alone in the boat. 

A soft glow from hanging electric lanterns lit the docks. 
Everything looked too clean, too festive and a million miles from
what they'd just lived through.  

She turned her head slightly.  He was on the dock, tying up, his
movements quick and frantic.

Her mouth worked after all.  "I'm fine, Mulder," she said, as
loudly as she could.  He turned, jumped back into the boat and
dropped to his knees beside her.  Concern etched his face.  

"Shhh.  Stay still," he said and gently stroked her temple.  "I'm
getting you to a hospital."

"Was I shot?"  She tried to move, she was stiff all over.

"No.  A tree fell across the boat.  Knocked you out cold.  You've
been out for nearly two hours."

"Two hours?"  She frowned. "I think I'm fine."

"Stay still.  I'm going to call an ambulance."

"No, no," she protested.  "I'm fine."  And she moved to sit up,
her head swimming.  For a moment he tried to hold her down, then
gave up and pulled her carefully against him.  Wrapping his arms
around her, he rocked her softly.

"Fuck this," he whispered into her hair.  Then he clutched her
more tightly against him and his voice broke.  "Fuck all of it."

She was horrified at the stark desperation in his voice.  She
slipped her hand up to touch his face.  "What, Mulder?  What
happened?"   

He lifted his head and stared down at her.  "They saw me, Scully. 
They fucking recognized me."

Oh, God.  

"Oh no.  Oh no, Mulder."

He nodded, then shook his head.  "Let's get out of here."

"I think I can walk."

"No."

He lifted her, cradled against his bare chest and clambered
awkwardly out of the boat.  "Come on.  Let's get you in the car."

Her head, still pounding, was starting to clear.  "What happened,
Mulder?  I saw them shoot at me."

"As soon as they saw it was me, they left.  They just looked at
me, recognized me, and left.  I don't know if they made it
through that storm.  I don't know how we made it.  I think it was
a waterspout, Scully."

She nodded gingerly.  Whatever had slammed into the back of her
head, it couldn't have been the whole tree, but it felt like it.

"Are you okay, Mulder?"

He didn't answer, just carried her up the ramp to the parking
lot.  He was puffing by the time they reached the car, but he set
her carefully inside, then got in himself, turned on the car and
cranked up the heat.  

He rummaged in the back seat and found his sweater.  

"Let's get this wet stuff off you."

He gently slipped it off over her head, helped her pull on his
sweater, then pulled his own wet shirt on over his head.

"Mulder," she said softly.  "Are we still going to be able to get
Liam?"

He turned to her, his eyes bleak.  "I don't know."

"Mulder. . .?"

"I don't know," he repeated and shook his head.  "Will you be
alright alone for a couple minutes?  I've got to go give back the
keys to the boat."  He stared at her.  "I can't believe you're
okay.  I was--" he broke off and cleared his throat.  His gaze
was soft as it ran over her face.  "Are you really okay? "

"I'm really okay, Mulder," she reassured him.  "What kind of
damage did we do to the boat?"

"Surprisingly little."  The slightest flicker of a smile came
into his voice.  "At least we didn't send this one to the
bottom."

Thank-you God, she sent up a little prayer.  

He turned away suddenly and slammed his fist against the steering
wheel.  She jumped.

"Enough of this!  Fuck this.  I did it again, didn't I, Scully? 
Just about killed you.  And now I've screwed up our chances of
getting Liam."

"Mulder, no!"  she protested.  Suddenly she was awake enough to
realize what the trauma of driving the boat back through the
unfamiliar night--with her out cold on the deck--had done to him. 
He was strained to the breaking point.  

If the situations had been reversed . . . she would have been
desperate.  And now he was blaming it all on himself.

She reached out and touched his arm gently with her fingertips,
then wrapped her fingers around his wrist.  "*I* screwed up,
Mulder.  *I* made us follow her.  *I* wouldn't leave.  You were
the one making sense all along, and I was ignoring you.  It was
my fault we were even out there."

His eyes searched hers, then he shook his head and let out a long
frustrated sigh.

"I never should have brought you to Singapore, Scully.  Me and my
fucking brilliant ideas."

"Mulder. . . ."

He pulled his arm out of her grasp.

"I'll be right back.  You sure you're okay?"

She nodded slightly and flinched at the pain.

"Let me look at it."  He turned on the overhead light and she
bent her head toward him.  He gently parted her hair without
touching the tender area.  "The bleeding's stopped."

"Bleeding?"  She reached up to probe gently around the swelling
and winced again.  She wished she could take a look at it
herself.  It hurt like hell.   "Mulder that's blood on your
shirt.  You can't go into the office like that."

"I'll tell them we got caught in the storm.  I cut myself.  No
big deal."

He cupped her face and ducked his head slightly to see her eyes. 
His thumb stroked over her cheekbone lightly.  "Does this hurt?"

"What is it?"  

"It looks like it's beginning to bruise.  God, I'm sorry,
Scully."

"Mulder, stop blaming yourself.  It was my fault."

He just shook his head.  "I'll be right back," he said quietly,
and let himself out of the car.
 









On the ride back to the hotel she convinced him she didn't need
to go to the hospital.   Her head hurt more than she was telling
him, but . . . even if she had a concussion there was nothing
they could do about it.  

So, wet and bedraggled, they snuck in the parking entrance at the
hotel.

In the shower she closed her eyes and leaned against his chest.
The hot water felt wonderful as it sluiced over them both,
warming her chilled skin.  He carefully soaped her hair and body,
then rinsed her gently.  She tried hard not to let him see how
weak she was, but her knees buckled as he toweled her dry.  

He swore and picked her up.

After he'd tucked her in bed, he slung the towel he'd used on her
around his naked hips and he sat down beside her.

"Scully."  He frowned, concern in his eyes.  "I need to get you a
doctor."

"No.  I think I'm just hungry.  It's been a long day."

He stared at her steadily, the slightest tinge of sorrow crept
into his voice.  "I wish," he said slowly.  "You could just trust
me enough to tell me--for once--how you really feel."

She searched his face.  With everything that had happened . . .
last night . . . today. . . . 

They'd reached a turning point, she realized suddenly, there was
no going back.  If she needed the truth from him, he needed it as
much from her.

"Hungry, shaky, exhausted" she said simply, and it was easy after
all.  "My head's throbbing like hell . . . upset about Liam . . .
I just thought he was a baby, produced by invitro fertilization
and A.I. and now to find out that he's the product of a
conspiracy of . . . experimentation. . ." she trailed off.  "and
confused. . . ."

The expression that came over his face, pleased because she was
telling him, yet worried because of what she was saying, was so
endearingly Mulder that it made her chest tighten.

. . . confused because on the one hand I feel completely alone in
a world turned upside down, where a consortium from hell has
taken my eggs and are creating unknown horrors with them, and
confused because I'm not alone, there's you, and furious at you
and frustrated with you and confused because I think I'm falling
back in love with you . . . .

She closed her eyes and wondered what would happen if she just
blurted out the words.

She felt his hand lightly stroke her temple.

"Scuh-leee?  Don't shut your eyes, you're scaring me."

She opened her eyes and met his worried gaze.  She managed a
small smile to try to reassure him.  "I really think I'm okay.  I
don't have any dizziness or nausea, so I don't think it's a
concussion." She sighed.  "I'm just beat."

He looked at her long and hard, then let out his breath in a deep
sigh.  "Okay, if you *promise* to tell me if you think it's
worse."

She forgot and nodded, wincing.  He winced too, in sympathy, then
stood.  "I think I can do something about number one on your
list."   

He picked up the phone and ordered dinner.   She had to smile as
he ordered burgers and fries.  She couldn't think of anything
she'd rather eat.  American food in Singapore.  This entire trip
grew more surreal by the minute. 

He hung up the phone and smiled at her, a not quite genuine
smile--but it was a noble effort.  "See?  It's easy.  Now, how
about some ice for that bump?"  He adjusted her pillows and
tucked the covers close around her neck.  "Rest until dinner gets
here."

When dinner arrived he helped her sit up against the pillows and
pull a t-shirt over the tender lump on her head.  Then he curled
up beside her on the bed and watched her while she ate
ravenously.  He didn't say much, and didn't eat much either.
 
He caught her eying his plate.  

"Here, finish mine," he said, and pushed his barely touched
dinner towards her.  Neither of them had eaten much all day, she
realized.  Why wasn't he eating?  

"Aren't you hungry, Mulder?" she asked, worried.

"No," he said flatly, and swung his legs off the bed.  Before
dinner he'd dressed again in black jeans and a black T-shirt.  
Now, he paced restlessly around their suite, looking dark and
dangerous.

He was planning to go somewhere.  Where?

He prowled out on to the verandah and leaned against the railing. 
He stayed there for a long time, looking out at the night.  She
turned her head, settled her cheek on the soft cotton of the
pillow and watched him.

She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open when he suddenly
came back inside.  He tossed both suitcases on the foot of the
bed and began packing.  Her eyes drifted shut . . . she'd ask him
in a minute or two why he was packing tonight . . . and then she
must have dozed off, because the next thing she heard was the
snick of the door.

He was letting himself out.

"Mulder?" she called after him softly.

He came back in and closed the door.  He crossed to her side of
the bed and looked down at her.  Then reached out and carefully
brushed back the hair sticking to her damp forehead with his
fingertips.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.  She studied his eyes.  The expression
in them was . . . preoccupied.

"No.  I'm hot."  She pushed away all the covers and sat up.

"The A.C.'s cranked."  He frowned and pressed his palm to her
forehead.  Obediently she held still while he judged her
temperature. 

"You feel okay, a little clammy."  He slid his hand down and felt
the pulse in her neck.  "What about the bump?  The ice helping?"

"A little.  It's still throbbing."

"Want me to get you something, Scully?"

He was going through all the right motions, but his mind was
elsewhere. 

"No.  Where were you going?"

"Oh, just. . . ." he trailed off and he focused on her a little
more fully.  She looked back at him and waited.

He licked his lips, then sighed.  "I'm going to go try to buy a
gun."

"No," she protested.

"I'll probably be able to find one, Scully."  

"No," she said again.  She reached out, linked her fingers with
his and tugged.  "How am I supposed to pay for Liam if you're in
jail?"

He looked at her and sighed, then let her pull him down onto the
bed beside her.

Her gaze fell on their suitcases, ready near the door.  He
followed her look.  "Just in case we need to get out of here in a
hurry."

"Tonight?"

"I hope not."  He glanced around their room.  "I think this is
about as safe as it gets."

"Tomorrow?"

He nodded. 

"I keep thinking about it," she said.  "Do we still try to go to
Charlotta's?"

He ducked his head and looked at their intertwined fingers.  He
rubbed the band of her ring. . . . 

His ring.

"Mulder.  Maybe they'll just think we were out on the water for
pleasure, and running into them was a coincidence. . . ." she
trailed off lamely at his frown.

"No chance in hell, Scully.  They recognized me as *me*."

Oh no.  She'd been so groggy, she'd misunderstood.  Oh no.

"I keep hoping," he went on, "that--somehow--they won't put two
and two together and realize that we're the Hales.  Charlotta
wasn't on the boat chasing us.  Just Crawford--one of them--and
Calderon.  She's the only one who'd recognize us as the Hales." 
He was quiet for a moment.  "We need to outbid the DaSilvas and
get the hell out of Singapore with the baby as quickly as
possible."

"How long will the electronic transfer take? Mulder!  Tomorrow's
the Fourth.  We'll never be able to transfer the money."

"The money is here, in the Bank of Singapore."

"It's here?"

He looked up at her.  "You think I'd leave that to chance? 
'Sorry, Madame C.  Forgot the holiday in the States.  Do you take
Visa?'."

She gave a relieved sigh.  He seemed to have every step of this
under control.  This time she was the loose cannon.  It was an
unsettling thought.

"Frohike was the one who reminded me about that.  We owe him
another one.  Hey Scully, maybe we should name the baby after
him."

She smiled.  That didn't need an answer.

"Then there's a flight at 8:30 p.m.  We'll leave as soon as we
get him."

"If we get him. . . ." she whispered.  His eyes were shot through
suddenly with a dark emotion she wasn't sure she wanted to
categorize and she trailed off, her smile gone.  He was very much
on the edge, she realized.  Desperate, dangerous.  They were the
eyes of a cornered male who would protect his own or die trying.

His expression grew more intense and he squeezed her fingers
hard.

"We *have* to get him, Scully."

She squeezed his back.

They stared at each other, the tension thick in the air between
them, then she nodded slightly and he nodded back, and as if by
making a pact . . . everything would come out all right. . . .

"I'm sorry about today." she whispered.

His eyes held hers for a long moment.  "Me, too."

He dropped his gaze and reached out and stroked the curve of her
waist, covered with the soft cotton of his t-shirt.  His hand
moved down to the hem but didn't lift it.  Just brushed his
fingertips across her thigh.

"Me, too," he said again.

All it once he stood up and started shedding his clothes.  She
took a deep breath into her lungs of relief.  The tension in the
air dissipated abruptly as if it had never been.

He turned out the lights and crawled in beside her, wrapping his
arms around her.   He pulled her against him, fitting her close
against his body with a sigh of his own.  She could hear the
worry in the sound, feel the strain in his body.  Today had been
too close a call.  Yet again.  She hugged him a little tighter.  

And now . . . tomorrow. . . .

Suddenly she wanted to forget--just for a little while--and make
him forget--everything.  

Tomorrow.  Today.  What she'd said to him on the boat. . . .  Did
any of what he hadn't told her matter now, really?  It hadn't
been worth risking their lives over, that was certain.  Did
anything matter except the two of them still alive. . . ? 

And still together.

She sighed and ran her fingertips along the line of his jaw.

God.  

Her hand slid down his chest, across his stomach to the waistband
of his boxers, then eased inside the cotton.

He lifted his head and looked down at her.  He gave a low
surprised laugh as her hand trailed even lower.  "You should know
better; if you have a concussion. . . ."  

She merely smiled and wrapped her hand around him.  He drew in a
sharp breath and dropped his head to kiss her.

And they made love.  Slow and sweet and as gentle this time as it
had been rough the night before.  Had it only been last night? 
It felt like weeks.  She sighed against his mouth and tried to
tell him with her hands and lips what she was still completely 
unable to put into words. 
 
He brushed the fingertips of one hand tenderly, gently over her
body, barely touching her skin.  He stroked her softly,
carefully, as if she were the most fragile thing on earth and
might suddenly break.  But at the same time, his hold on her with
his other arm never loosened.  He held her close to him, as if he
didn't hold on to her tightly enough, she might suddenly
disappear. . . .

And then his mouth and tongue slid slowly lower, down across her
breasts, her stomach, until he was between her legs, nuzzling
her.  His hand was warm and gentle on her thighs as he spread
them apart.  The pressure of his lips increased, his tongue, his
fingers dipping inside.  She shuddered and shut her eyes and let
the blinding lights of her orgasm explode behind her closed lids. 

Then he was over her, inside her.

But as she felt his climax ride over her, it seemed that one part
of her brain, still alert, was watching . . . watching him moan
softly into her neck, watching her legs wrap around his back and
press herself into him . . . and she knew without having to see
that there was a sadness in his closed eyes that she couldn't
erase.










She lay in his arms, her back nestled against him, looking out at
the moonlit night.  There'd been a rain squall here, too, and it
had washed away the haze and humidity leaving the fresh smell of
rain-bruised exotic flowers to fill the air. He adjusted her
slightly, fitting her closer against him.

She turned in his arms and pressed her naked breasts against his
chest, stretching her legs and tucking them between his.  His
hands ran down her spine, outlining every bone and molding her
closer.  She felt her pubic hair mingle with his and suppressed a
groan.   She wanted him again, but . . . she was far too tired to
do anything about it.  So instead she stretched like a cat,
pressing as much of her skin against his as she could.  

Only when you were this tired with someone, she thought, could
you smooth your skin on theirs, stretch your muscles against
theirs, rub your lips across them and have their skin belong to
you.  

"Scuh-leee," he whispered softly in her ear.

"Hmmm?"  

"Still can't sleep?"

"No. . . ." She rubbed her cheek against his chest hairs.  Then
she sighed open-mouthed against his warm damp skin, inhaling the
warmth and smell of the skin of his chest.  His aura.  She sucked
it deeply into her lungs.  It was hers now.  If they had one of
those aura cameras and took a picture of her right now she'd be
glowing slightly from head to toe. . . .

She smiled against him.  She was so tired she was delirious.

"I'm so tired I'm beyond tired," she said aloud.

"Mmmm.  Me too."  His fingers were in her hair, stroking it. 
Carefully avoiding the lump.  "How's your head?"

"It's okay."   

He moved his head so he could see her face.  "Cross my heart,"
she said.  She couldn't reach her own chest, so she drew a quick
X over his heart with the tip of her index finger and smiled at
him.

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable in
the dark.  But something about his face. . . .

That would be roughly forty-five minutes of forgetfulness, she
realized ruefully.

He pulled away from her gently.  She was reluctant to let go of
his warmth.  "Let go, Scully.  I need to use the bathroom."  She
sighed and let go.

When he returned he settled down on the other side of the bed,
away from her, and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He might as well have been on the opposite side of the room.

Damn.

Lord knows there was enough on her mind to keep her awake all
night, too.  But this was Mulder.

"Mulder?" 

"Mmmmm?"  

"What are you doing over there?"

"Thinking."  His voice was so soft it took her a moment to figure
out what he'd said.

"You can't do it over here?"

He shook his head.  "No," he said softly.

"Mulder . . ."

"Yeah?"  He rolled on his side to face her. 

"About today."

He just looked at her.  His eyes were bright in the dark.  He was
wide awake.  

"You're blaming yourself."

He still just looked at her.

"But it was me.  I screwed up.  I'm sorry."

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

She sighed.

"Mulder . . . what if . . . what if we go to the house tomorrow,
and they're not there?"

He sighed and put one hand up to rub his eyes, then turned his
head to look at her again.

"Come here," he said.  She scootched across the bed and he pulled
her to nestle against him.   "Shhhhh."   He stroked her forehead
lightly.  "How can I wake you up every couple hours to see if you
have a concussion if you won't go to sleep?  Don't think about it
anymore, Scully.  Close your eyes, you need to rest." 

"You're thinking about it."

"Shhhh," he said.  "I'll think for both of us."

And his fingers gently rubbed her forehead, smoothing the tension
out of it.  She shut her eyes and tried to relax and slow the
images in her brain.

After a few minutes she felt herself finally on the verge of
sleep, but she was still too conscious of the tension in his body
against hers.  She opened her eyes one more time to see his face. 
 
His eyes were still wide open.  Staring sightlessly into the
night.  

She turned her head slightly and dropped a kiss on the nearest
bit of his skin, then, lips still pressed against him, she
drifted off to sleep.











Part 16

Raffles Hotel
Singapore
July 4





She dressed slowly in front of the mirror.   She pulled on her
panties and bra, then moved closer to the mirror to stare at
herself.  All her energy was gone.  She looked--and felt--totally
drained.   Pale.  Her nose sunburned.  The graze on her cheek,
and . . . a large ugly bruise marked the skin over her left lower
ribs.  She didn't remember how it happened or even feeling it
last night.  But now it was sore.  

Prodding it gently with her fingertips, she carefully felt the
ribs beneath the skin.  They seemed okay.

And another bruise on her wrist.  She turned and rummaged in her
jewelry bag for a wide bracelet and clasped it over the bruise. 
It covered it.  Sort of.

She glanced over at the bed.  Mulder was still asleep, hunched
under his pillows.  She didn't know when he'd finally dozed off,
but he'd stolen all the covers in his sleep and she'd let him,
not wanting to wake him.

The clock read nine-thirty a.m.  He could sleep another hour and
they'd still have plenty of time to get to Charlotta's.

She rummaged in her make-up for some concealer and rubbed it over
her cheek.  There, she thought.  With a little blush over that. .
. . no one would know.

Unless of course they'd been chasing them.

The bump on her head ached steadily, but, thank heavens, was
hidden by her hair.

She sighed and turned pulled on a loose flowing skirt and a
sleeveless blouse of the same shade of dark tangerine.   

Orange.  The color of bravery.

Or was it cowardice?  Whatever . . . whichever one it was, they
were walking into the lion's den.

She walked over to the edge of the bed.  He was sound asleep and
snoring slightly.  She kissed her fingertips and pressed the kiss
on the pillow by his cheek, then went to get some breakfast.










It turned out there wasn't enough time and they were late.  
They'd had to check out of the hotel, then get the luggage into
the car.  It took forever and the midday heat was breathless. 
She was soaked with perspiration by the time they'd sped through
the streets and arrived at Charlotta's.  And her head was aching
abominably.  She would have given anything for the Tylenol
sitting at the bottom of her suitcase.

It was quarter past twelve, but the same silent servant met them
at the door without question and waited to show them through the
house.

She exchanged a relieved glance with Mulder as they leaned down
to remove their shoes.

This time the verandah was filled with people.

She quickly scanned the crowd and stopped short.  Mulder bumped
into her from behind.  Three men they'd never seen before,
dressed all the same in white suits and wearing the same
impassive expression, stood in strategic spots around the room. 
The gleam of a dark leather holster beneath ones arm caught her
eye.  She tried to not to stare at them and felt more nervous
perspiration break out under her arms.  

Armed guards.

The small of her back felt naked with out her Sig Sauer.

Suddenly Mulder's fingers pressed reassuringly in just the spot
where her gun normally rested, then he gave her a little push
into the room.

Two white-uniformed nurses stood beside two mosquito net-draped
wicker bassinets with Madame Charlotta.  Scully started toward
them but Charlotta's dog stood abruptly and made a low woof in
the back of his throat.   At a word from Charlotta he sat back
down and stared at them suspiciously.

Mr. DaSilva, his back to the crowd, was talking on his cell
phone.  Ms. DaSilva, looking sleek in a black sheath that
probably cost more than Scully made in a month, was holding a
very young baby on her lap and calmly wiping baby spit-up off the
black silk.

Scully tensed for a moment until she realized the baby was too
small to possibly be Liam.

Feeling far too self-conscious of the guards, she walked to the
closest bassinet and looked in.  In it was another very small
baby.  Presumably a boy, about two months old.   He looked up at
her with big blue eyes.  This then was the other blond baby boy. 
Liam was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh!  They're darling," Scully couldn't help herself.  They
*were* darling.  "May I pick this one up?"

"If you wouldn't mind washing your hands first, Mrs. Hale."

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry."  One of the nurses gestured at a door
at the side of the porch.  It was a small lavatory.  Both she and
Mulder crowded inside.

"Those men.  Do you think--?"

"Shhhh," he whispered against her ear under the cover of the
running water.  "So far so good.  I think we're okay.  I don't
think they know." 

She turned to open the door.

"Sc--  Wait." 

She turned back.  He reached out and took her hand, turning it
over to examine the bruise on her wrist she'd half-hidden with
the bracelet.

He swore under his breath. 

"Does it show too much?"

"Scuh-leee. . . ." he trailed off.  She glanced up at his eyes. 
He was staring at her wrist, unbelieving.

He lifted her hand and gently kissed the bruise on the inside of
her wrist.  It was starting to turn a greenish purple, she noted,
but it was nothing to make him this upset.

"It doesn't even hurt," she told him softly.

He just shook his head, his expression still agonized.

"Come on," he said.  "Let's go back out."  He turned abruptly
away from her and pushed open the door.

She took a deep breath and followed him.









The little blond baby boy was darling.  She picked him up and was
handed a burp cloth by the smiling nurse.  

Scully eyed the young woman, a Malay, she'd guess, "Are you his
mother?" she asked, very softly.

The nurse threw a quick glance at Charlotta and the guards.  The
Madame was busy in conversation with Mrs. DaSilva.   The guards
could have been statues.

She looked back at Scully and shook her head briefly, then backed
away from her to stand beside the bassinet.

Scully perched on a low couch and looked down at the baby.  She
rocked him gently and he made a small gurgling sound.  For the
first time since she'd found out she was unable to bear children
she felt a sudden glimmer of hope.  Even if buying Liam didn't
work out. . . .  To know this place was here, with these adorable
babies. . . .

She felt suddenly embarrassed at the selfish direction her
thoughts had taken.  She of all people knew what was behind this
place.  All at once the baby yawned, scrunching up his face.  She
couldn't help but smile at him.  Whatever evil had created him,
this baby was innocent.  She lifted him and kissed him on the
forehead.

She looked up and met Mulder's eyes.  He was watching her, his
eyes a little sad.  He'd been on the same wavelength.

"Don't get too attached to him," Ms. DaSilva said suddenly.  "I'm
buying both."

Mulder raised his eyebrows at Scully, then his gaze swung to Mr.
DaSilva.

Scully followed his look.  For a split second Ed looked mildly
startled then he fished in his breast pocket and drew out a
leatherbound folder and a gold pen.

"Do we need to go through a bidding process on these two, Madame
Charlotta?" he asked.

"No," replied Charlotta, "We have more than enough blond babies. 
But just the one red head.  If you want them, they're yours, Mr.
and Mrs. DaSilva."

"Where do I wire the money?" he asked, and pulled a cell phone
out of another pocket.

"Here's the information."  Charlotta handed the servant a card to
carry to Ed.   

Ed was already dialing.   

"That's one hundred thousand even?"

Madame Charlotta nodded.   

Ms. DaSilva was smiling like a cat.

Scully looked back down at the baby in her lap.

"Isobel?  Isobel?   Iz . . . Honey?"   Mulder's hand was suddenly
squeezing her shoulder, but it was the breathless way his voice
dropped on the endearment, identifying her fully, that made her
turn. 

Another nurse had entered, carrying. . . .   

It had to be Liam.

Scully stood and handed the baby she was holding to his nurse,
then held out her arms for the boy.

He was heavy, a good five pounds heavier than the younger infant. 
The extra months had given him much better neck control.  He
lifted his head and stared at her, his big eyes wide and blue. 
His hair was quite a bit longer than in the picture Mulder had. 
And definitely red.

Suddenly she was shaking.  

Oh, God.  His face, his cheeks, his nose. . . his little mouth.

Her eyes sought Mulder's.  He was staring, not at Liam, but at
her.

His heart in his eyes.

He was beside her in a flash and his arm went around her tightly,
holding her steady.

"Here.  Sit," he said softly, and helped her settle back on the
couch behind her.  He sat close, his arm around her waist.  They
looked down at the baby.

The baby was calmly looking up at them both.

"Hi, little guy."  Mulder said to him and stuck out a finger. 
The baby swung his hand at it and on the second try grabbed it
tightly.  "Remember me?"

Scully touched him gently on his smooth little baby cheek,
captivated.  

"Hi, Tweetie," she said softly.  She could barely breathe.

Liam broke into a smile.

Mulder and Scully both laughed a little sheepishly.  

She turned her head and watched Mulder watch the baby.  She was a
breathless mass of nerves and he looked so . . . happy and . . .
calm.

She pressed a kiss against Mulder's ear.  "Thank you," she
whispered.

He didn't look at her, but a slow smile spread over his face.  

Scully looked at the others, they were all watching them with
varying expressions.  Madame Charlotta and the nurses were
smiling.  Ms. DaSilva looked half-amused, half-disgusted.   Ed
was still on the phone, ignoring everyone, spilling out a stream
of numbers.

"Do we have any names?"  Madame Charlotta asked.

"Christopher and David," said Ms. DaSilva.

Ed merely nodded and clicked the hang-up button on his phone. 
"Done," he said.  "When can we take them?"

"So you've rescinded your final offer on the older baby, Mr.
DaSilva?"

"Yes!  We don't need three!"

"Tristan will call my bank to confirm the wiring of funds, and
then you'll be free to take the children with you."  She turned
to Mulder and Scully.  "Mr. and Mrs. Hale--"

Scully turned and met Mulder's eyes.

"We'll take him," she said.

"George, Jr.," said Mulder. 

"Wonderful," said Madame Charlotta.
  
Mulder pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.  "Seventy-five?"

Madame Charlotta smiled and nodded.

Mulder nodded back and started punching in the numbers.

Scully felt goosebumps on her arms and looked up.  All three
guards were now staring at herself and Mulder.  Expressions still
impassive, but . . . she shivered.  

With great effort, she pulled her gaze away from them and looked
back down at the baby.

Her baby, she thought, and bit back a small sound that was half
laugh, half sob.












Part 17





It was quiet and hot in the garden.

The sun struck down, blindingly hot on the white stones of the
courtyard, its heat reflecting into the deepest reaches of the
shade.  The lush tropical plants and trees drooped in the heat; 
even the mynahs were silent, keeping their comments to
themselves.

The afternoon was completely still.  

Waiting.

Their electronic transfer was taking forever.

The DaSilvas were long gone, both small babies packed into
carseats in the back of their chauffeur-driven limo. 

She and Mulder could have waited in the screened-in verandah.  At
least the slow-moving ceiling fans ruffled the air, giving the
illusion of coolness . . . but inside they would have been under
the watchful eyes of the guards.  Instead they'd taken Liam for a
walk in the garden and found a bench, tucked out of sight in the
shade of a vine-covered pavilion.  And now they were waiting,
too.    

Liam was asleep, in blissful infant utter-relaxation on Mulder's
shoulder, and . . . she couldn't stop looking at his sleeping
face.

Another miracle.  

Meant to be this time, she hoped.

The soft color of his skin . . . the sweet line of his lashes on
his cheek . . . his little baby ears . . . his fingers . . . his
fingernails. . . .

She dragged her gaze away and scrutinized the patch of gardens
and buildings visible from their bench.

The guards, she was sure, were somewhere close, chaperoning from
just out of sight.  They'd probably appear quickly enough if they
made a sudden dash for their car. 

Mulder hadn't said much since he'd made the phone call setting
their transfer in motion.  He sat, looking relaxed, legs
stretched out in front of him, eyes slightly closed, his fingers
gently stroking the sleeping baby's back.  Deceptively peaceful.

She wrapped her fingers around his arm, unsurprised to feel how
tight his muscles were.  

He was in watchdog mode.  

So was she.

They were still a long way from home free.

"What did he say to you before they left?" she asked, more to
distract herself than anything else.   

"Who?  DaSilva?"  He smiled slightly.  "He said he knew better
than to go out and spend that thirty thousand."

She laughed softly and shook her head.  "What a pair.  Why do you
think she wanted L- - little George, Jr. so much?  She seemed
happy enough with the boys she chose. " 

Mulder was lazily scanning the house and grounds.

"She was a redhead last time I saw her."

"As simple as that?"

"Mmmphh." 

This waiting was killing her.   Her head was pounding horribly,
she felt bruised all over and all she wanted to do was take a nap
in a tepid bath, then sleep for about a year.   

She let out a deep sigh, leaned her head against his shoulder and
shut her eyes.  His cotton dress shirt was damp and she rubbed
her cheek against it.  They'd make the perfect picture of a happy
family if anyone was watching them, and she needed the touch of
his body for the moment. 

"What do you think they'll do with two babies?" she asked. 

"Hire a nanny," Mulder answered, his voice absent.

"Hire *two* nannies."

"Me-ow."

She raised her eyebrow at him innocently, then smiled and went
back to watching Liam.  She couldn't decide if he looked like
Bill as a baby, or Charlie.   She'd have to call her Mom and get
her to send some of their old pictures the minute she was back in
the States. 

Her Mom.  She smiled against him.  Her Mom was going to be
ecstatic.  Confused, but ecstatic. 

The baby made a small noise.  Happiness?  Discomfort?  She
couldn't read him yet.  His eyes were still closed and he was
sleeping peacefully, but they probably shouldn't have him out in
this heat much longer.  She reached up and felt the back of his
neck with her fingers.  He seemed fine, probably more used to
these temperatures than they were.

"Is it too hot for him?"

Mulder eyed her.  "It's not that hot.  He's fine."

"Not that hot?  It's boiling."

He turned his wrist to glance at his watch.

"The transfer should be done soon and then we'll get out of
here." 

The baby's mouth opened in his sleep, forming a perfect O, and
she suddenly wished she had a camera.  

Four months.  She'd already missed four months.

"No nannies," she said softly.

Mulder shifted his arm slightly.  "Scuh-leee," he said very very
softly, almost . . . warningly. 

"What?"  She raised her eyes and looked at him.

He was looking at her, his expression wary.

"What?" she asked again.

He sighed and looked away.

"Mulder?" she said softly.

He turned back to her.  "I already have."

"Already have what?"

He was watching her closely.  "Hired one."

She sat up suddenly.  Too fast, she told herself.  Too fast for
the watching guards, too fast for her head.  She forced herself
to relax back against the seat and put one hand to her forehead. 
She was dizzy.  She had to get out of this insane heat.

"You hired a nanny?"

He nodded.

"In D.C.?"

He nodded again, very slowly, his eyes still carefully watching
her. 

In D.C.

He'd hired a nanny in D.C.

"But. . . ."

She tried to grasp exactly what this meant.  But her mind simply
repeated: D.C.  D.C.  A nanny in D.C.

"You told me," he said slowly, his face very calm, his voice . .
. carefully detached.  "That you didn't want to know about him."  

Suddenly her head was really pounding.  She felt the sweat break
out on her upper lip and forehead.  

He was silent a moment while that sunk in.  "I had a while--a
month--to think about that.  And I thought I'd better make
plans."

"But how . . . Mulder . . . you didn't really believe me when I
said that--did you?" 

He looked away from her, out over the dozing gardens and narrowed
his eyes slightly, his teeth digging hard into his lower lip.  He
was quiet for a long moment.  "I didn't really believe you'd
leave, either . . . but you did."  His eyes swung to hers.   The
pain she saw there made her catch her breath.  That much hurt?
she marveled.  Undimmed even after a half year apart? 

And suddenly the conversation was about something entirely
different.  

"Mulder . . . I. . . ."

"Shhh!" he warned sharply.  "George."  His eyes flashed away from
hers and swiftly around the grounds.

Her gaze followed his.  Nothing stirring.  

She shut her eyes tiredly and tried to think.

He'd asked.  She'd left.  She'd left because he'd asked her to .
. . demanded she leave.   

Or maybe . . .

No.

That was what she'd been telling herself.  But maybe the truth
was . . . 

She'd left because she'd been ready to leave.  

Her head was truly pounding now.  They needed to talk.  Badly. 
But not now.  Not here.   

She opened her eyes.

He was quiet.  His eyes were shut, his head bowed forward, his
lips against the baby's temple. 

He was going to take Liam to D.C.  That had been his plan from
the start.  He was buying this baby for himself.  Not for her.

Anything she could possible say was stuck behind the tears
clogging her throat. 

How had she missed this?

Mulder began to speak, his eyes still closed, his voice so soft
she had to lean toward him to hear him.  

"In San Diego?  That night in the nursing home?  I picked up his
inc--" he seemed to stumble over the word, "incubator and held it
in my hands.   And I thought,  'I've got it.  Finally.  Proof.'  
Proof of what they'd done to you.  Of what they'd done to all
those other women.  The evidence that's always eluded us.  I had
it.  I was holding it.  Enough of it to demand some answers,
maybe, bring some people to account.  Enough to get some
justice." 

She nodded slowly.

"And then. . . ." he trailed off.  "And then he kicked.  Just a
little, tiny kick.  But all at once I knew that I wasn't holding
some abstract set of statistics or evidence. . . .  I was holding
a human being." 

He raised his head then and looked at her fully.  "Your child." 

She swallowed hard.

"My first reaction was to run right out of there with him and
rush him to you.  But you were in the hospital with . . . Emily. 
And he was being kept alive by. . ." He shifted uneasily.  ". . .
a technology I didn't think we could duplicate.   And . . . I
couldn't do that to you.  Show up in the middle of everything you
were going through to bring you another--possibly dying--baby." 

She stared at him, her eyes filled with tears.

"So I left him there.  It just about killed me to do it, but I
decided it was better to walk away than cause you any more pain.
. . ."

He cleared his throat.

"So Frohike and I tracked Transgen; kept an eye on what was
happening with them.  Followed their shipping orders, medical
supply orders, payroll, everything.  When he found out where
they'd moved the operation, when we made the connection between
Madam Charlotta and Liam?"  He shook his head.  "You don't know,
Scuh-lee. . . ."  

His voice had become almost inaudible.   She had to lean closer
to hear him.  "It was like finding. . . .  Like getting
everything I ever wanted.  Only better, because--" 

She nodded, wide-eyed.

"Because he's fresh and new.  Because he's got no past to haunt
him.  Because he's the one good thing that could come from
everything that happened to you. . . while you were with me."   

It wasn't what she'd expected him to say.  But . . . it was
better.  The intensity, and honesty. . . . The tears were
spilling down her cheeks now.  She rubbed them away. 

"Mulder," she whispered in relief.  "I do want him.  I'm so sorry
that I made you think I didn't." 

He looked at her, his eyes full of relief and hope.

"You won't need a nanny," she laughed a little thickly through
the tears.  "Of course I'll take him." 

He looked at her for a moment.  Waiting.

She nodded.

"I'll take a leave of absence.  Don't worry, Mulder.  We'll be
fine." 

He kept staring at her.  "You'll be fine," he whispered flatly. 

She nodded.

"In L.A.?" 

"Of course, in L.A.," she replied softly.  She reached out to
stroke Liam's small fist, then glanced back at Mulder.

As she watched his eyes grew sad, then disbelieving. 

He gently shifted the sleeping baby to his other shoulder, the
one away from her, and spread his hand protectively across Liam's
back.

"Mulder, what?" she said a little desperately, scared by the look
in his eyes.  

"Seven months."  He narrowed his eyes at her, and nodded as if
finally understanding her.  "Seven months," he repeated and gave
a short bitter laugh.   "--and don't forget seventy-five thousand
dollars--later.  And I'm still one clueless son of a bitch."  He
made an eloquent noise of disgust in the back of his throat.  

"No deal," he said flatly.

He stood up and turned his back on her, dismissing her without
another glance. 

"Come on Liam," he said, and walked away.










She stared after him in shock. 

No deal??

What the hell?

What had he thought--?  

She bit her lip as she watched him walk across the garden, head
bent over the sleeping baby.  

Come off it, she told herself sharply.   You knew this was
coming.  You knew he'd ask--something-- and that you needed to
have an answer ready.

Yes or no, Scully.   

Scuh-lee.

And she might as well have slapped him across the face.

She stood up quickly and felt the blood rush out of her head. 
She sat back down just as quickly, and willed the creeping
darkness at the edges of her field of vision to fade away.  Which
would look less disturbing to the watching guards: her with her
head between her knees, or slumped to the ground?
 
Knees, she chose, and leaned forward, resting her head on her
palms.   

When Charlotta's servant appeared at her side several minutes
later with a tall glass of ice tea, she was able to sit up and
reach shakily for the glass.

The young man stayed beside her while she drank, the slightest
tinge of compassion in his dark eyes. 

"The heat . . ." she managed, by way of explanation.

"Would you like me to get your husband, Mrs. Hale?"

Her eyes went to Mulder, standing at the far side of the garden. 
He was in the shade of some kind of exotic willowy tree, rocking
Liam slightly.  He was watching her.  When he saw her look he
turned away.

She bit her lip.

"No, thanks.  I'm fine."

"Yes ma'am."  The servant nodded and went back into the house. 










Part 18





"Mr. Hale?  Congratulations."  

A strong wave of exotic perfume accompanied the soft voice. 
Scully's eyelids fluttered open and there was Madame Charlotta
shaking hands with a smiling Mulder standing a few feet away from
her.

"The transfer's gone through?"  Even to her ears her voice
sounded weak and uncertain.  

Charlotta's eyes settled on her briefly.

"Yes.  Congratulations, Mrs. Hale.  You're new parents.  
Excited?" 

Scully rose slowly to her feet, one hand on the back of the
bench.  No rush of darkness this time.  Thank God.   "Yes.  It's
. . . wonderful!" she managed, a bit too brightly, and smiled as
broadly as she could.

Suddenly the nurses were around them.

A young Malay girl in white held out her arms for the baby. 
"We'll change him before you leave, Mr. Hale," she said softly.

Scully's eyes flashed to Mulder's at the unintended double
entendre, but he didn't look at her, just smiled down at the
nurse and said, "Show me how."   The girl giggled and led him
away. 

Scully, her head still pounding,  swallowed once, let go of the
bench and turned to Madame Charlotta.  "Anything else?"  she
asked.

"Just a few papers to sign and you'll be on your way."  They
turned and started walking slowly back toward the house.  "Do you
plan to see any more of Singapore before you return to the
States?" 

"Um . . . maybe," Scully answered, and half-listened as Charlotta
told her the various places they simply *must* visit.

Scully finally interrupted the flow of words.   "Excuse me,
Madame, but was George, Jr. taken care of by one . . . um . . .
nurse in particular?"

The woman raised her eyebrows, then understanding flashed in her
eyes.  "Do you mean will he miss someone in particular?"  

"Yes."

"No."  Madame Charlotta patted her on the arm reassuringly. 
"He's been given exceptional care and attention by several very
loving nurses.  You can see he's a happy, healthy baby.  But from
now on you'll be taking care of him and I know he'll bond with
you immediately.  After all, Mrs. Hale."  She smiled.  "You're
his new mama."

Scully nodded at the flurry of reassurance, then followed the
woman into the house. 

She skimmed the papers Charlotta set in front of her, then
signed, careful to remember, for the moment, she was Isobel Hale. 
Then Mulder and Liam reappeared, circled by a group of laughing
nurses.  She plastered the smile back on her face, and let
herself be swept along as they walked them to the car.

All the nurses and Charlotta had to hug and kiss the baby
goodbye, then helped load him into his new carseat and put all
his bags into the back seat.  

Scully stood to one side, swaying slightly, and thought longingly
of the car's air conditioning.  Mulder was behaving like the
perfect new dad.   Asking about feeding and sleeping and
blankies; smiling proudly down at Liam and completely ignoring
her.   He checked the seatbelt on Liam's carseat one final time,
and reached for the passenger door handle. 

She licked her lips, "I think you'd better drive, Mul--."

He looked at her then; took in her face with a quick irritated
glance, took hold of her elbow and practically shoved her inside
the car.

Dimly she registered Madame Charlotta and the nurses waving
goodbye as he started the car, drove slowly down the long
circular drive and past the uniformed guards at the gate.  
Scully rested her head against the headrest, eyes shut.  She
breathed slowly, waiting for the air conditioner to kick in.  
Finally, blessedly cool air streamed from the vents and she sat
perfectly still letting it slide over her overheated skin.

After a few minutes she pulled down the visor and angled it like
a rearview mirror at the road behind them.  

Not a car in sight.

They'd made it. 

She adjusted the mirror so she could watch Liam in his seat.

"We did it," she said softly.  "We did it, Mulder.  We got him." 

He didn't answer.

She glanced over at him.  He was slouched back in the seat,
driving fast, his movements quick and automatic.  He was
frowning.

"Mulder. . . .  We have to talk."

He didn't acknowledge her words and she wondered if he'd even
heard them.  They drove for a few blocks in silence.

"So talk," he finally snapped out, his voice raw and edgy. 

She cringed.  Shit.

"Look Mulder, I can't give you back the time you spent looking
for him, but I have some money--" 

"Fuck the money."

"But you said. . . ."

"I was just making noise.  It has *nothing* to do with the
money." 

She swallowed hard.  Okay.  She'd suspected that.  "My life *is*
in L.A. now--" she began. 

"You've made that obvious."

His voice.  Jesus.  She'd hurt him.

"Mulder . . . look, whatever you thought I was saying back there. 
I never meant to hurt you.  I thought. . . ." she dropped her
head into her palm and rubbed her forehead.  She glanced at him
sideways.  He was scowling at the road.   "I don't know what I
thought," she finished miserably. 

A muscle in his jaw tightened, but there was no other change in
his expression.   

"Well, whatever either of us *thought*, it doesn't matter
anymore," he said, his tone telling her as strongly as words that
her apology had come too late.  "They knew." 

"What!??"

"They knew," he repeated bitterly.  "They knew exactly who we
were and they let us walk in and take him."

She thought back desperately.  It had all gone smoothly.  What. .
. ? 

"Mulder? How do you know?"

"Calderon and two of the Crawfords were watching us from the
upstairs terrace when we were out in the garden.  Talking to
Charlotta, and another woman--" his tone became ironic, "who
could have been Charlotta's twin. "

"Oh my God," she said in disbelief.  "Her, too?  Did they know
you saw them?" 

"No."  

"They recognized you from the boat?  Why didn't they stop us?" 

He shook his head.  "Don't you get it?  They've known it was us
all along.  This has been one big set up."

She leaned forward to look in the mirror again.  Still no sign of
anyone following them.   

He gave a derisive laugh.  "They don't need to follow us. 
They're at my apartment now, drinking my beer and installing a
surveillance camera."

"But how could it be a set up?"  she protested.  "You found them,
they didn't find you.  And Liam's DNA?  It's a match.  You saw
them take the blood.  They can't have faked that." 

His eyes rested on her face briefly and dispassionately.  The
expression in them chilled her.  "I think Liam is the *only*
thing that's real here."  

She gasped shallowly, and turned away from him.  Mulder hurt and
angry was one thing.  Mulder, deliberately cruel was something
she had no defenses against. 

"They wanted us to take him.  Clearly, they didn't want us to
find out they knew.  For some reason, we're supposed to think
we've beaten them at their own game." 

She waited for the familiar passion to creep into his voice, for
the *we're gonna make these bastards pay* determination, the way
it always did when these men--whoever the hell they were--stepped
in and screwed with their lives.

But there was nothing in his voice but a kind of self-
recriminating bitterness . . . and he'd obviously made up his
mind she was no longer on his side.

He turned away from her slightly and hunched one shoulder,
concentrating on the road.  

"But why, Mulder?  Why would they want us to have him?  You said
it yourself:  he's evidence." 

"Why did they want you to have Emily?"

She stared at his profile and frowned.  "They didn't Mulder.  I
found--" 

"You found her?   Why San Diego?  Your dead sister's voice on the
phone?  And your brother and Tara suddenly pregnant after being
based there?  You told me yourself they've been trying for
years."

She sat stunned.  "Mulder, no, not Tara--"

He moved one shoulder in a minuscule shrug.  

"She's pregnant again," she told him.

He didn't look surprised.

"Tell me you don't have any evidence. . . ." she whispered. 

He gave a frustrated sigh, then shook his head.

She took a deep breath.  "If they wanted me to have her, why
didn't they give me the means to keep her alive?"

For a long moment he just drove.  Eyes narrowed at the glare. 
Then his face changed and he shut his eyes for a second.  

"Oh.  Shit," he said very softly under his breath.

"Mulder?"

He ignored her and frowned, apparently concentrating on the
increased traffic as they drove through downtown, but she had a
feeling he wasn't seeing any of it.   She knew that expression. 
He was thinking back, trying to piece things out.  

She  turned and looked back at Liam.  He gurgled at her, and she
summoned a tiny smile for him.  She turned back to Mulder.

Finally he shook his head.

"No.   Everything was going fine until I came to see you.   And
I've screwed up every step of the way since.   Me and my fucking
plan."  His voice was unbearably mocking.  

"Mulder, don't. . . ."

"Mulder don't what?  Don't tell you something else you don't
really want to hear?"  

She stared at him.  "What?"

"You tell me not to protect you, that you want to know the truth. 
But we both know that doesn't mean the whole truth, does it?"  He
glanced at her, his eyes cynical.  "Well, I don't know which
parts I'm supposed to filter out any more."

"Mulder. . . " she trailed off, shocked.

"Do you know how hard it was not to tell you about him?"

She silently shook her head.

"I planned to tell you about him--*tried* to tell you when I came
to L.A.  But you stood there with your happy new life and your
drawer full of condoms and your 'Go fuck yourself Mulder
attitude', and--"   His gaze flicked over her briefly.  "It was
easier to sleep with you than to look in your eyes and try to
figure out if you wanted to know you had a son."
 
She froze.

"So I dragged you here, hoping. . . ."  He took a long ragged
breath. "I thought when you found out, you'd be ecstatic.  But
you threw that right in my face."  His eyelids flickered
momentarily, then he shook his head and watched blankly as
pedestrians crossed in front of them at a light.   "Let's see.  
What else did I screw up?  Slept with you when we got here, even
though I swore to myself I wouldn't.  Practically got you killed. 
Again."    

He might as well have been checking off a grocery list.  "And
then slept with you *again*, when--look at you--"  His eyes slid
sideways to skim over her for a second, then away.  "--you
probably have a concussion.  All because I can't keep my goddamn
hands off you."

His fingers tightened suddenly on the wheel.

They might as well have been around her neck.  She realized she
wasn't breathing.  She shut her eyes and focused on trying to
breathe.  

"I thought--  I thought he might make up for some of the shit
I've caused you.  Or even. . ." his voice was all at once
dripping with sarcasm.  ". . . that suddenly all would be
forgiven and you'd come running back."  He gave a snort.  "What a
fucking fool I am." 

She opened her mouth, but she had no idea what she was about to
say.  "You thought what?" came out, but then her voice cracked.
All the blood seemed to have drained out of her head.  She took a
deep breath and tried again.  "You thought you could use Liam . .
. to bribe me . . . to come back?"

He turned his head and met her eyes, challenging her.  "Does that
shock you?   You already knew I'm an asshole, right?  That's why
you left."  

She wanted to clap her hand over his mouth and scream, Stop! but
all she could do was sit there and stare at him and let his
scathing words wash through the car. 

"And now. . . . This.  You.  Today.  Them--"   He made a sharp
angry gesture encompassing everything.  "They figured it out. 
They fucking figured out what I was doing and I have no clue how. 
Frohike and I were *so* careful." 

"But," she said.  "We've got him.  He's right here."  She peeked
at Liam, he waved his arms when he saw her.   His face crinkling
up in a big smile.

God.

"You just don't get it, do you?  He was going to be ours.  Now
he's theirs."   

Her brain focused on one word: "ours".   She glanced back at
Mulder quickly.
 
His eyes narrowed.  "But it's not about you anymore.  It's about
him.  Protecting him."   

"Mulder.  What you thought--"

"I don't know what the fuck I thought."  His eyes slid to meet
hers.  She'd never imagined he could look at her with that
expression: a sort of angry insolence.  "At this point," he
continued, "I doubt there was any kind of thought involved."

She felt raw all over, as if every nerve ending on her body had
been flayed.  And her head.  God, if she didn't take something
for it soon she would throw up.   

"Mulder . . . stop," she protested.  "Don't do this."  

He was still staring at her, finally letting her see the
disillusionment he felt for her, stark in his eyes.  "I wish I'd
never shown up on your--"

"Enough!"  she cut him off mid-sentence.  "Pull over."

"What?"

"Stop the car."

"Can't it wait till the airpor--?"

"No," she said sharply.  "I said stop the car."

He pulled the car over without comment, staring straight ahead. 
"Open the trunk."

He released the trunk catch and sat back in his seat.  He didn't
look at her, just tapped his fingers slowly on the wheel.  

Her suitcase, naturally, was at the bottom of the trunk.  She
shoved his to one side, and with sweat pouring down her face,
fumbled with the combination lock and dug for her make-up bag. 
Gratefully her fingers closed on the small bottle.  She stuffed
her suitcase half-shut, slammed the trunk closed, and looked
around.  They'd stopped at a park on the river.  And, she sighed
with relief, there was a food vendor where she could buy a drink.

As she stood in line, she watched a family having their picture
taken in front of a large stone fountain at the water's edge.  

A mother, father and three little girls posed as another tourist
took their picture.  They all said 'cheers' just as the man
looked down at the woman and smiled. . . . 

God.

He'd sworn to himself he wouldn't make love to her?  

He regretted it?

Was it true?

They'd come full circle.  Back to her listening in shock as he
threw out angry words.  Words meant to hurt her.  Words meant to
push her away.

Was this it, then?  The real end of the road for the two of them? 
She ought to be furious with him, but . . . she knew
self-flagellation when she saw it and she knew the insidiousness
of these men . . . what they'd done to him--to both their lives. 
He'd told her how much the baby had meant to him; finding out
that Liam would somehow be part of their terrible plan was a
final blow . . . and he thought she'd deserted him--again.  Two
final blows. 

Instead of anger, all she felt was a kind of sick commiseration.
. . . and a numb sensation, almost as if she was floating.  Hot
and floating, high above it all.    

He was sorry they'd made love. . . .

She closed her eyes against the shimmering heat off the pavement
. . . she could still see his eyes. 

Christ.

It had had the ring of truth.  It was the truth.

She opened her eyes as the family walked away, chattering and
laughing like real tourists.  Her mouth twisted wistfully as she
watched them, then her eyes focused on the statue squirting water
from its mouth, trying to decipher what it was--

"Just this, Miss, yah?" the vendor asked pointing to juices and
bottled water she'd picked. 

She nodded, and then as she paid, she saw the disposable cameras
on the vendor's cart and bought one, too.

Juggling bottles, she opened the car door and sank thankfully
back into the coolness inside.  

Mulder was leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed. 
She glanced back at Liam, asleep again in his seat.  He'd
probably be up all night on the plane.  His face, so sweet, and
one hand clutching his rattle, even in his sleep.  Thank God he
was too small to understand any of this.

Her eyes went back to Mulder, and ran over his profile;
exhaustion and defeat were etched into every line of his face. 
With a start she noticed more than a few threads of grey hair at
his temple.  

Mulder getting grey.  

The sight hit her harder than anything that had spilled out
during his tirade. 

All these years she'd been biding her time, waiting for Dr. Dana
Scully's perfect life to finally begin: perfect career, perfect
man, perfect house, and somehow even 2.4 perfect uber-children. 
She'd convinced herself the day would come and everything would
fall into place and she'd be suddenly, instantly, easily, happy.

And Mulder . . .  she'd told herself that if she fell in love
with him--if she let this imperfect man into her heart--then her
*real* life would get screwed up.

Somehow she'd totally ignored the fact this *was* his real life. 
He'd never pretended otherwise.  And he'd just spent another half
a year of it tracking down her child. 

Oh Mulder, she thought, her eyes running over his face.  What
have I done? 

She took in the sheen of perspiration on his forehead, the
pale-grey tinge of his skin.  Her eyes went to the pulse
fluttering in his neck.  It was difficult to read visually but. .
. he looked like he was in shock. 

"Mulder."

He opened his eyes and looked at her.  The expression in his eyes
was . . . terrible.   

"Here," she said.  "I got you some juice.  Drink it."

His eyelids flickered slightly.  "I thought you'd left."

She raised one eyebrow. 

"I thought," he said slowly. ". . . you'd gotten out of the car,
taken your suitcase and just left me here in the middle of
Singapore."

She held up the bottle of Tylenol for him to see.  His eyes slid
away from her face and focused on the bottle.  He watched as she
shook out four and swallowed them with a grateful swig of her
drink.  His eyes met hers again.  The terrible expression was
gone, replaced with a kind of blank wariness.  

He held out his hand, palm up.

She shook two pills into his hand and handed him his juice. 

"I was actually admiring you for it," he went on, his voice
weary.  "That you had the balls to just get up and walk out on my
sorry ass twice."

She chewed her lip briefly and thought about it.  "And leave you
alone with Liam on that flight?" 

He paused a long time, then, "We'll be fine."

Oh, Mulder.  Touche.

"You had my passport," she said quietly at last.

"And your ticket."  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled
out their passports and tickets and separated hers.  "Here."  He
held them out to her.

She didn't even look at them.  "I've been waiting to hear the
truth from you for a long time, Mulder," she told him, her
carefully dry tone covering up the fact that her insides were not
exactly steady.  "I guess I can take it without walking out."  

He looked at her, completely uncomprehendingly.

She finished off her first bottle of juice and opened a second
one.  It was already making her feel better.  Mulder'd just about
finished his.  She tried to remember the last time she'd seen him
eat anything.  He hadn't been eating much since they'd arrived. 
Suddenly, she was hungry.  Very hungry.   If she could get
herself and him through the next five minutes then they'd go get
lunch.

"Look," he said.  ". . . you--"

"Shut up!" she said flatly. "I said I can take it, *not* that I
want to hear any more of it today."  She paused.  "And NEVER in
front of Liam again.  Got that?"

He pursed his lips, then turned and looked over his shoulder at
Liam.  She watched him watch the sleeping  baby.  The skin around
his eyes still looked bruised, but the color was coming back to
his face.

"Mulder.  Alright.  They know.  But don't forget what's important
here. . . . *One thing*.  Remember?  Now let's get him the hell
out of Singapore."
  
He turned back to her and she met his eyes squarely as he
searched her face.  She didn't know if he'd found any answers
there, but finally he looked down at the passport and ticket
still in his hand as if he didn't remember how they'd gotten
there.

He slipped them back in his inside coat pocket.

She gave a huge internal sigh of relief and glanced at the car
clock.  They still had a couple hours before the plane.  Next:
food.

She saw his eyes go to the camera in her lap.  

"Lunch first," she said.  "And then . . . in case anyone's
watching, we're going to play happy tourist family.  Because--"  
She picked up the camera and waved it him half-temptingly
half-admonishingly.  "Guess what?  I know where your Merlion is,
Mulder." 










Part 19





Venice Beach





Her nose was buried comfortably in the familiar smell of her own
pillow . . . she opened one eye . . . it was light out.  Morning? 
Afternoon?  Groggily, she turned her head and eyed the quality of
light through the window . . . foggy . . . in July?

She lifted her head sharply.  Had it been a dream?

Keeping still for a moment, she listened to the sounds of her
apartment.  It was so quiet.   

Had they left?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rushed, silent
and naked, to her bedroom door. 

It took a fraction of a second to scan the room.  The couch was
empty; the sheets and blankets refolded on the end.  The bathroom
door stood open.  He wasn't in the apartment.   

But Liam was.  Still curled up, sound asleep, in the nest of
quilts she'd made for him in the little alcove at the edge of the
study section of her living room. 

And there was Mulder's carry-on bag.  She exhaled: a sharp,
inadvertent sound of relief.   

She realized she had one hand closed tightly in a fist pressed
against her heart.  Her pulse had gone from zero to one-fifty in
two seconds.  

She watched the rise and fall of Liam's chest for a moment, then,
taking a deep breath, deliberately relaxed her fist and headed
for the bathroom.

The floor was wet, the air smelled like his shampoo.  His dopp
kit was on the counter. 

He was still here.  Liam was still here.

What the hell was she going to do?  

She had to figure something out.  Fast.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror suddenly caught her eye.
Oh, Sweet Jesus. She looked awful. 

She leaned forward to critically examine her bruised cheek in the
mirror.  It was a lurid combination of green and yellow.  And,
now she could see herself in something other than the ill-lit
airplane bathroom, she realized the trauma went further than she
had originally believed, extending purple and black with a tinge
of yellow to delicately shade the fragile skin around her eye. 
  
No.  Not a dream at all.

She stepped back and inspected her whole body.  Her nude body
looked too small, too thin--all angles and bruises.  An ugly
greenish purple splotch covered her entire side.  Her rib and hip
bones stuck out too prominently . . . her breasts were small and
lonely looking. . . .   Not anyone's idea of appealing, she
thought sadly.  God, nothing like your own mirror to tell you the
truth. 

She heard a noise from the living room and tensed, then relaxed.  
Definitely the sound of a hungry baby.

She grabbed her robe, still hanging on the back of the bathroom
door where she'd left it a million years ago and pulled it on.

When the baby saw her, he stopped crying and smiled.

"Hey Liams," she said softly.  "Are you glad to be off that
plane?  Me too."  She knelt down beside him, scooped him into a
hug and kissed him on the nose.  "Where's you-know-who?" 

Liam just looked at her wide-eyed, without replying.

"That's your new Dad for you," she told him, her tone only
half-playful.  One of his little socks had fallen off and she
hunted for it through the covers with her free hand. "'Liam,'"
she said in her best imitation of Mulder.  "'I hear they've been
seeing lights in the sky in Wyoming.  Gotta go.  See ya in a
week, liddle buddy.'"

Liam laughed. 

She laughed back in delighted surprise and hugged him.  "I didn't
know you were big enough to laugh.  That's right.  Just laugh at
him when he tells you that."   

She held his fat little foot up to her mouth and kissed the soft
instep.  "Not that he ever warned me, mind you."  She lowered her
voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  "Just tell him:  But, Daddy,
my sock disappeared!  I think little grey men took it.  Maybe you
better stay home and investigate!" 

Liam smiled at her, then began waving his arms excitedly.  She
ducked her head and rested her lips against his ear.

"Maybe I should just steal you," she whispered.  "Make *you*
disappear."  She looked down at him   "How would you like that?"

For about thirty seconds she contemplated it.

She sighed.  Wish I could do it, she thought.  Wish it were that
easy. 

Liam was making what she now recognized as very hungry noises and
she rummaged in his bag for a bottle of ready-made formula.   

"Here we go!  Thank goodness we have one left."  

The baby sighed contentedly as he latched on to the nipple. 






~ ~ ~ ~ ~   ~ 
The rest of the afternoon in Singapore and boarding the plane had
been a blur.  They'd barely exchanged ten words.  Between the
mind-numbing roar of the engines, their uneasy truce and the
increasingly unhappy baby, there hadn't been much chance to talk
on the plane, either. 

Every now and then they'd slip into something like normal
conversation, without mention of what they'd just been through,
or what they were heading into.  It was as if they were in a
state of suspended reality, where what had happened before and
what would happen next simply didn't exist.

By the second leg of the flight--still eight hours out of
L.A.--they were both on autopilot. 

Liam screamed in terror, unnerving them both, when they tried to
put him in the bulkhead bassinet, so he'd been in Mulder's lap
the whole time, dozing fitfully, obviously miserable.  

Mulder, his head bent over the baby, hummed him a little song,
and gently stroked his shoulder, trying to calm him.

"Poor little guy," she said softly. 

Mulder looked up at her, his expression closed, his eyes still
carefully distant.  "I wonder if he misses his nurse."

"Well . . . Matthew knows Tara," she said, striving for a normal
tone of voice.  She turned her head and let her hair fall in
front of her face, hiding her features from him as she dug in one
of Liam's bags, looking for something, anything, inspiration.

Cloth diapers on an airplane.  What a nightmare.  

"Sometimes," she went on, "when he cries, he only wants her. No
one else will make him happy.  I asked Madame C.  She said he'd
been taken care of by several nurses, just for that reason.  But
he still doesn't know us. . . ."  She stopped; she was babbling. 

Liam struggled suddenly and arched his back.

"Want me to take him?" she asked.

"No."  He rocked Liam a little harder.  

She'd about given up asking Mulder to let her hold the baby.  He
obviously was determined to prove he could do it all himself. 

"Try putting him on his tummy, Mulder.  Rub his back."

He hesitated a second, then gently turned the baby over and did
as she suggested.  Liam seemed slightly more comfortable, and
shut his eyes again.

"Look!"  she said triumphantly.  "A Binky."

"A what?"

"A Binky," she said, holding the pacifier out on the palm of her
hand. 

"That's a soother," Mulder informed her.

"Thank you, Dr. Spock."

She stuffed the Binky on her finger like a ring and leaned her
head back against the seat, watching the sleeping baby.  In under
thirty seconds her eyelids were drooping. 

Liam chose that moment to let out a sudden wail.  She dipped the
pacifier into her cup of Coke to rinse it, wiped it on the napkin
and held it to the baby's lips.  After a few grumbles he took it
in his mouth, closed his eyes and started sucking hard. 

"Coke?  You'll ruin his teeth."

"He doesn't have teeth."

"Well he will," Mulder countered.

"Not before the end of this flight, he won't.  *Hopefully.*  How
was I supposed to wash it?" 

"You're a doctor.  It should be sterilized."

"I'm also the second youngest of four.  I can remember seeing
Charlie's Binky washed in things a lot stranger--and a lot
stronger--than Coke."

"I could have called Miss Singapore to bring us some hot water." 

"And a half an hour later when she brought it he'd still be
crying?  Look at him." 

Liam was fast asleep.

"Coke can take the rust off a carburetor."

"Mul-der."  She sat back against her seat and closed her eyes,
hoping that would end the discussion. 

Learning to be new parents at 36,000 feet. . . .   
~ ~ ~ ~ ~   ~






A sudden gurgling noise in her lap brought her back to the
present and her fingers encountered something warm, wet and
gooey.  "Uh-oh.  What's this?"   She turned him around and looked
at his back.  "You, Mr. Baby, have one very full di-dee.  What a
mess!   Thank goodness we're not on the plane for this one."

Liam looked at her and smiled and gurgled happily.  He reached
out for the front of her robe, got a good hold and started
yanking.  

"Pleased with yourself, are you?"  She grabbed his bag and
carried him into the bathroom. 

"Don't tell me," she told him, searching through his bag.  "Just
one clean diaper left, too?" 

She undid his red jammies and peeled them back.  "Oh, geez."  She
managed to get them off him and dropped them in the sink.

She carefully removed the cloth diaper and wrapped it in the
plastic pants.  "I don't ever want to see one of these again,"
she told him.  She tossed it toward the trash.  It landed,
naturally, with a soggy *thunk* on the tile floor. 

"Hold still, Liam, hold still.  Ohhhhhh.  Liams."

Instead, he wiggled with delight, and now he was covered from his
heels to his elbows.  She looked down at her knees.  Her robe was
a mess, too.

Liam had decided her hair was the best toy he'd ever seen and
grabbed at it with his little fists.  She should have tied it
back before starting this, she realized too late.  She shrugged
it back with her shoulders as best she could.  

"Okay, Mr. Stinky.  Tub time for you."

She turned on the tap and leaned over to test the temp with her
elbow.   She glanced at Liam, lying almost on his side, trying to
reach the hem of her robe and turn over at the same time. 

She grabbed him.  "Oh no you don't."  She picked him up and held
him awkwardly under the running water.  She washed him off as
best she could, while he laughed and waved his arms, splashing
water into her face and down the front of her robe.  It was
almost impossible to hold on to him and wash him at the same
time. 

"You, Liam, are one slippery little pumpkin."  She looked down at
herself.   The baby was pretty much clean but now she was a mess. 

"Okay.  Move over.  I'm coming in." 

She lifted him out of the tub, put the stopper into the drain and
let it fill with clean water.    

"I'll bet somebody's got what we need in his dopp kit."  She
reached for Mulder's bag on the bathroom shelf, it crashed to the
floor, spilling its contents.  

"Oh, sh-- oot, we'll have to pick that up in a minute."  She
pushed through his spilled toiletries, razor, shaving brush,
shaving cream, deodorant, toothbrush, with her toe.  Shampoo. 
"There we go.  See?  I know all his secrets."  She poured some
baby shampoo from the travel-sized bottle under the rushing
water.   

Liam was smiling up at her as if she'd said something funny.  

"Well," she amended gently.  "I used to."

She shrugged out of her robe and tossed it in the corner.

"Okay, here we go.  Back in the tub."  She stepped in  and sat
down cross-legged with Liam on her lap.  "There.   Better?"  

He smiled at her again and she kissed him on his fat cheek.  "You
are a little darling, you know.  I wish . . ."  she trailed off
with a sigh.  "I just wish."







~ ~ ~ ~ ~   ~ 
The steady drone of the plane's engines had become one with her
nervous system.  The smell of plane seats, baby and Mulder, her
whole world.  She had almost been asleep, her brain numb. . . .
  
"Are you feeling any better?" he asked quietly.

She thought about it without opening her eyes.  Miraculously, in
the cool, dry interior of the plane, her head had finally stopped
throbbing.  But she was truly exhausted.  Physically and
mentally. 

She opened her eyes.

He was watching her.  

She let her gaze travel over the picture he made.    The sleeping
baby in his lap.   His hair a mess, his jaw covered with
thirty-six hours of beard.  His expensive shirt loosened at the
collar, rumpled and splotched with baby spit.   A burpee thrown
over one shoulder.  His eyes tired, but, behind the aloofness,
she could suddenly see it plainly--concern for her.   

She felt the old familiar tug at her heart, stronger, more
insistent than ever. 

Instead of pushing it away, she let the feeling slide over her,
through her, until it was as if what she felt for him were her
very blood, being pumped from her heart, warm through her veins,
arms legs, fingers, toes . . . head. 

It's surge of power left her breathless.  

She wanted to reach out and touch the stubble on his cheeks,
brush her fingers against his mouth. . . .

He was still waiting for an answer, watching her curiously. 

"Um . . . better.  Thanks."  She swallowed hard.  "But I think
I'll get an X-ray, just in case, when we get back."

He nodded.  "I should have made you go to the hospital."

"Mmmnhph," she murmured noncommittally.   "How 'bout you?" she
asked.  "How do you feel?"  

His pursed his lips and didn't say anything.  She'd meant
physically, but that obviously wasn't what he was considering.  

He looked down at the sleeping baby, and a muscle clenched low in
his cheek.  "I'm okay," he murmured finally.  

She didn't think so.

She had to touch him.  She lifted her hand and placed it on top
of his. His skin felt dry and cool and slightly dehydrated.  Her
fingers slid of their own accord around to his inner wrist.  She
pressed their tips hard against the veins.  She needed to feel
his blood flowing warm through him, too.  

They'd been so careful not to touch each other.  This was why.
The contact was thrilling, electric, the current flowing from her
body to his and back again.  She concentrated on the sensation,
absorbing it, and wondered again if it was even remotely possible
that these feelings racing through her blood for him--this
passion--could be one-sided.   She could feel his heart beating,
first in her fingers, then in her hands, then in her arms and her
chest.  All at once she realized their hearts were beating
together.  Perfectly in time.  The hair on her arms stood on end
as she listened with her fingers.  Thump.  Thump.  Thump.

"Are you taking my pulse?"  He sounded amused.

She glanced up at him quickly.  Couldn't he feel it, too? 
He was looking down at their hands.  He turned his hand over in
hers and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, his fingers
seeking her pulse, too. 

Her wrist looked very small and delicate in his hand.  Too
delicate.  And the bruise ugly.  She flexed it a little,
reassured by the sight of her muscles rippling under the skin. 
He cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For getting us out of there.  I'd still be sitting there, I
think." 

She ducked her head, trying to see his face.  She couldn't see
his expression.  "I think Liam might have had other ideas."

He shook his head slightly, his attention still on their hands. 
He licked his lower lip. 

"And for not washing your hands of me."

Mulder. . . .   God.  Was he apologizing?  "It never even
occurred to me," she said softly. 

He looked at her sideways, considering her seriously, then
nodded, "Anyway, thanks." 

"You're welcome."  She gave him a little tiny half-smile.

He watched her for a moment then looked away without returning
the smile.  He shifted uncomfortably and glanced at his watch.  

"Seven more hours of purgatory," he said, obviously changing the
subject. "Can you get some sleep while he's out?" 

She nodded.   

He looked back at her in time to catch the tail end of her nod,
and nodded back. 

He let go of her wrist and pulled the sleeve of her cardigan back
down over her bruise, and placed her hand back on her side of the
armrest. 

"Then sleep," he said quietly.

"If the flight attendant comes by, get us some more bottled
water, okay?"

He nodded and pressed the call button.

She shut her eyes and stuck her suddenly chilly fingers under her
armpits for warmth.  

She heard the flight attendant come and go, then come and go
again with the water.

A few minutes later, she could still feel his gaze on her. 

She opened her eyes, surprising an expression on his face of
total unhappiness.  It disappeared instantly.  

"Drink the water," she said.  "You're dehydrated."

He gave her a little sad half-nod and whispered, "Sleep."

She nodded at the water.  He drank half the bottle, glanced at
her still watching him and drank the rest.  He tucked the empty
bottle into the seat pocket, then settled his head back with a
tired sigh, shutting his eyes.

Her eyes fell on his fingers, gently stroking the back of Liam's
neck. 

She reached out for his other hand and linked their fingers.  He
didn't open his eyes, just tried to pull away.  She wouldn't let
go; she pulled his hand into her lap.  His fingers were perfectly
still for a moment then tightened around hers.  She squeezed
back.  She turned their linked hands so his rested beneath hers, 
palm to palm, her inner wrist pressed firmly against his pulse.  
She adjusted her shoulders more comfortably against the seat
back, closed her eyes and fell asleep.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~   ~






She'd done it on the plane and everything had seemed fine, but
she couldn't help herself. 

She checked the back of his neck again, then closely examined
every inch of his skin.  She found nothing but soft, sweet,
delicious baby skin. . . .

She leaned him back in her lap so she could dampen his hair, then
poured a little baby shampoo in her hand and slathered it all
over him, then rinsed.  

"There. Much cleaner." 

Liam suddenly reached out his hand and grabbed at her breast. 

"You remember those from when you were little?  Is that where you
got your milk?"  

Liam opened his mouth and nudged her nipple.  She felt an odd
thrill.
 
"Wasn't your bottle enough?  Sorry honey, but those don't work on
Aunt Dana--"   

Shit.

She bit her lip hard and shut her eyes.  

Shit.  Shit.  Shit.

Slipping into Aunt Dana-Matthew mode had been too easy. 

This is not Matthew, she told herself, this is your son.   

*My* son.  

Mine.

She took a deep breath and looked down at him.  

It still seemed so unreal.  

Now he was trying to push a pile of bubbles into his mouth.   
"You know," she told him.  "I know another little boy just about
your size.  His name is Matthew, and he's your cousin.  Maybe . .
. you two will get to play together . . . sometime."
 
He suddenly turned back to her nipple, ducked his head and tried
again.  A sudden longing overtook her. 

"Okay, little one," she said softly.

She lifted his open mouth a little closer to her breast and he
latched on, sucking hard. 

She gave a little startled laugh.  It felt unbelievable.  Liam
snuggled into her breast, shut his eyes, and kept sucking.

She studied his profile as he sucked busily.  Chubby baby cheeks,
pert little nose, firm little chin.  She thought she could see a
resemblance to her own baby pictures around his nose and cheeks .
. . and maybe a little resemblance to Emily. . . . 

And she wondered, not for the first time, who his biological
father could be.  Whoever he was, she hoped he was healthy, happy
and completely unaware of any of this--   

But she wished like hell she could get her hands on his medical
history. 

She suddenly shut her eyes.

God?  Are you listening?  Why couldn't I have given birth to this
baby the old fashioned way?  Nine months after making love to the
man I'd chosen to share my life with?    

Mulder.  She wished Mulder could be his father more desperately
than she'd wished anything in her life.

She stared hard down at Liam, deliberately memorizing his face,
the way he looked snuggled against her breast, the way his mouth
pulled on her nipple, his small fist pressed against her.  She
tucked away the moment in her mind.

Oh God.  

How am I going to let him go. . . ?

"I think I'm jealous."

She started and looked up.  Mulder was slouched against the
bathroom doorframe, watching them. 

"Mulder!"  She felt herself blush, a full red-hot body blush. 

"How long have you been there?" 

"Long enough.  Couldn't find his Binky?"

She felt incredibly vulnerable sitting there naked.  What a
bizarre and pathetic sight she must appear to him; a beat-up and
barren old maid, sitting in a bathtub, nursing a baby at her
empty breast.   

She felt her eyes prickle with tears.

He couldn't even let her have this?

"Jealous of what he's doing, Mulder?  Or just because you'd like
to breast-feed him yourself, too?"  she said tartly

He looked baffled, then faintly chagrined.  "I startled you." 
His eyes dropped away from her face to the baby.   "I'm sorry."
    
"Um. . . .  He wanted a little snack, I think," she said quickly,
to cover up her embarrassment.  

He didn't meet her eyes, just nodded.  She saw his eyes travel
across the clothes in the sink, the mess on the floor, her robe
in a heap in the corner.  He knelt beside the tub and began to
pick up the contents of his kit.

Surreptitiously, she tried to ease Liam away from her breast.  He
wouldn't let go, just sucked harder.   

"He's not going to be happy when he figures out there's nothing
in there."  God, Dana, she thought, shut up.

He looked up at her, the tiniest hint of pity in his eyes.  "Want
me to get a bottle ready?" 

She bit her lip; she didn't want his pity.  "We're out of
formula." 

"Nope.  I just went to the store.  *Disposable* diapers.  Wipes. 
Formula.  Do you know how much that ready-made stuff costs?   I
bought powdered.  Same brand."  He paused and watched Liam.  "But
he looks like he's enjoying what he's doing just fine." 

She looked at him.  "So we're on a budget now?"  She was very
uncomfortable with the way he was staring at the baby at her
breast.

He didn't answer, but his eyes flicked briefly to her face and
away.  Obviously *we're* was not the operative word.

"Can I ask where you got the money, Mulder?"

Mulder gnawed his lower lip. "The cottage."

"You sold it?"  The cottage on Quonochontaug.  "Wasn't it your
mom's?" 

"She never wanted to see it again.  Me either."  He lifted one
shoulder. "I told you," he said, "I would have done anything to
get him."

"Mulder. . . ." she began, then stopped, shocked at the
desperation in her voice. 

He shook his head and finished picking up his toiletries.  He
gingerly picked up the diaper and inclined his head  toward the
trash.  She nodded.  He tossed it in, then stood and put his kit
back beside the sink.  He paused as if was going to say
something, then threw a tight look at her and went out the door.  
She heard the rustle of grocery bags as he carried them into the
kitchen. 

She bent her head over the baby.

Liam's eyes were shut, but his mouth was still suckling greedily. 

She shut her eyes and concentrated hard.







~ ~ ~ ~ ~   ~ 
On the final decent into LA, Liam awoke screaming.  

With the pacifier in his mouth he'd slept for seven hours
straight.  She'd slept for almost as long, her head awkwardly
crooked against the seat back. 

Mulder, apparently, had held the baby on his lap the entire time. 
She didn't know if he'd slept or not.  With the one part of her
brain that could still fire up a few synapses, she managed to
feel a little twinge of awe and admiration for the way he was
handling the baby.  

The Binky was no use.  She was surprised when Mulder handed him
to her to sooth.  

She jiggled him on her lap as Mulder hunted desperately through
the bags for a bottle.

"Shhhhh, sweetie.  Shhhhh.  Daddy's looking for your milk."  She
said it before she realized it.  Her eyes went to Mulder.  He
stopped what he was doing for a split-second, then went on
looking for the bottle as if he hadn't heard.

A flight attendant appeared at Mulder's elbow.  "It's his ears,"
she said, looking at them both as if they were from Mars.  "The
pressure change.  Don't you have a bottle?" 

She rushed off down the aisle as Mulder finally unearthed one.  

He made a face at the woman's back then turned his head and
smiled tiredly at Scully.

Finally.  

She gave him a tired smile back. 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~   ~








The water in the bathtub had cooled and the smell of fresh-brewed
coffee was filling the air when Liam's mouth finally relaxed. 

When she looked up, Mulder was back at the door watching them. 
She gave him a small tentative almost-smile.  "Mulder?  Can you
take him?"

He shoved himself away from the doorframe and pulled a towel off
the rack. 

She lifted the sleeping baby and Mulder wrapped him gently. 

He was just fastening the diaper when she came out wrapped in a
towel.  He pulled a cotton swab out of Liam's bag and gently
dried the baby's ears.

"There you go, buddy," he murmured soothingly.  

Mulder placed the baby on the quilt on the floor and pulled a
cotton blanket up over his shoulders. 

"It's warm enough in here for him, for now."  He glanced at his
watch.  "He's going to want a bottle before long."  

"You're really good with him, Mulder.  Really, really good," she
said tiredly.  "You'll be fine without . . ."   she trailed off.

Me.  Fine without me.

He stopped what he was doing and considered her silently.

She gave him a bare smile and turned away.  She went back into
her bedroom, pulled on a t-shirt and undies, and sat down on the
bed.

She glanced at the date on her watch.  Was it really only the
fifth here in the States?  Her tired brain tried to figure it all
out.  She rubbed her forehead.  Five days, six nights and two
plane rides with Mulder and her carefully ordered life was in
shambles.  She'd known about Liam for exactly four of those days. 
She still had awful jetlag, her brain felt like mush, the bump
still tender when she moved her head too quickly.  She'd broken
heavens knows how many international laws and-- 

Tomorrow he was just walking out again, and taking her baby with
him. 

They needed to talk.  She needed to march out there right now and
calmly and rationally make the argument why she should be the one
Liam should live with.  She was a doctor, she could keep a closer
eye on him, make sure he stayed healthy; Mulder could see him as
often as he wanted . . . some sort of joint custody, maybe . . . 
and--

She shut her eyes tightly.  

No.  

She needed to tell him the truth.  Exactly how she felt.  That
she wanted them both *completely* in her life, and that it would
break her heart to have either of them get on that plane
tomorrow. 

It was so simple.  She'd tell him the truth, lay it all in his
lap, see how he responded.  He'd listen.  He'd have to.

She needed . . . God . . . she needed more sleep.  She'd just put
her head down on the pillow for a second . . . then she'd go tell
him. . . .







~ ~ ~ ~ ~    ~ 
Lying to the Customs agent at LAX was a breeze.  She couldn't
believe she hadn't even thought about it, but was unsurprised
when Mulder produced a passport for Liam, too. 

The predawn air was tinged with the distinct smell of smoke as
they left the building.   Mulder paused and sniffed.  "Fireworks. 
Was last night just the Fourth here?" 

She had no idea, just shook her head and took the passports out
of his hand.  She looked at Liam's curiously.   It was stamped as
if he'd traveled into Singapore the same day they had.  

Amazing. 

George Ellery Hale, Jr.  

Her eyes moved further down the page.  Date of Birth:  February
23, 1998.  

She stopped short and looked up quickly at Mulder.   

He was watching her.  He set his suitcase and Liam's carseat down
on the pavement.   Liam was awake, looking around in wonder at
the bustle of the airport. 

"We did it," he said.  "We got him."

She drew in her breath and held it.

"Dana," he said.  His mouth twisted a little.  

Ohhh no. . . .

"I wanted to thank you for coming with me to Singapore," he said
formally.  

She wasn't sure what to say; she just nodded.

He reached out and took her left hand.  His touch was cold.  "I
couldn't have done it without you.  Couldn't have gotten him.  I
know that doing some of the things we had to do to get him were
against your principles.   I want you to know that I appreciate
it."   

Carefully rehearsed.

She waited.

His fingers pressed hers gently.  They both looked down at their
hands.  The ring.  His thumb gently stroked it.

He glanced up at her, his eyes wistful.  "It was my
grandmother's," he said.   

She nodded.  

"Isobel . . . and Liam."  

She nodded again.  She'd figured that out.

"I think they were the last truly happy people in my family." 

She nodded one more time.  

"Thank you for . . . pretending. . . ."

She tried to pull a little breath into her lungs, but she
couldn't with the touch of his hand on hers.  She pulled her hand
out of his grasp and looked down at the ring.   

Pretending.

Yup.  That's what it had been.

The ruby winked like a dark drop of blood in the fluorescent
lights, the pearls, nearly opalescent.  The old gold gleamed
richly, as it had for nearly eighty years.  Oh, Christ.  Tears. 
Again.  She pinched her lips together hard to drive them back. 

This was as good a time as any.  She pulled at the ring.  It
didn't want to come off.  She dug her teeth hard into her lower
lip and gave the ring a vicious yank.   It flew off, scraping
skin with it.  She held it out to him in her palm.

He stood stock still and stared down at it without touching it,
his mouth tightening almost imperceptibly.

"Do you want the necklace back, too?" she asked.

She watched him swallow hard.  It seemed to take his whole upper
body.  Neck, shoulders, torso. 

Just then Liam let out a shriek of glee.  They both looked down
at the baby and watched as he managed to reach the teething bear
toy in his lap and bring it to his mouth.  Then they both looked
back at the ring.  Mulder carefully took it from her palm without
touching her skin and put it in his pocket.

"Um . . . no . . . um . . . " he said and turned away from her,
looking around vaguely as if realizing where they were.  His eyes
focused on a bus at the curbside.  "The flight back to Dulles is
from Delta . . . I guess . . . there's the bus over to the other
terminal.  So . . . I guess . . . um . . . you can grab a cab. .
. ."  

He trailed off and studied her, his expression troubled and
slightly dazed.   Her eyes had followed his to the bus.  It
clearly said, "Anaheim/Disneyland" on the front.  They flicked
back to his face and she scanned his eyes anxiously.  He was
ditching her, as quickly as possible. 

During the entire flight she hadn't been able to admit that he
was going to take the baby and go home.  Without her.  

But it seemed that was exactly what he was going to do.

She felt suddenly as if she'd been kicked in the stomach.

He took a deep breath then leaned down and picked the carseat by
its carrying handle. 

The fragile calm she'd achieved on the plane, since the car,
since Charlotta's garden, suddenly deserted her.

"No!"  She reached out and grabbed the handle with both hands. 
He looked down at her hands, then his eyes slowly rose to her
face. 

"Look, Mulder, at Charlotta's you said, 'No deal.'  Well, what is
the deal?  What do you want?  Tell me."

She tightened her hands around the handle and pulled slightly.  

He didn't say anything.  He didn't let go either, just watched
her with careful eyes. 

"Tell me!  You have to let me see him, Mulder.  You have to let
me be part of his life.   Do you want me back in DC?  I'll come
back.  Do you want me to come back to work with you?  I'll do it. 
Christ, Mulder, I'll sleep with you if that's what it takes, but
you've made it clear--"  His eyes flickered slightly and she
broke off.  "Whatever.  Now you tell me EXACTLY what you want and
I'll give it to you.  Anything.  Anything in exchange for seeing
him.  Deal?" 

People streamed by them as they stood staring at one another,
playing tug of war with a baby in a carseat smack dab in the
middle of the exit to the baggage claim.   

Mulder was still staring at her with that worried look in his
eyes.  God, it seemed all he ever did was stare at her.  He
didn't say anything, didn't move, just looked at her, then closed
his eyes and stood there, shutting her out, breathing through his
mouth.  

Finally, he opened them and looked at her as if he couldn't quite
remember who the hell she was or why the hell she was there.

"I don't want anything from you," he told her, his voice low and
toneless.  "Just . . . tell me what *you* want.  Tell me exactly
how *you* want this to work and we'll do it." 

She stared at him.  Her mind floundered quickly for a reasonable
answer. 

What did she want?  When she'd found out about the baby, what had
she thought was going to happen?  That she'd have Liam . . . and
Mulder would . . . come to see them . . . and at some point
they'd all be together.  Somehow.

Apparently she couldn't have that.

So, next best: for him to be with Mulder . . . and she'd come see
them . . . and maybe at some point. . . . 

"I want to be able to come see him," she said, her voice sounding
a lot firmer than she felt.  "To spend time with him."

He gave his head a half shake.

"You can see him anytime you want.  You can be Aunt Dana and
breeze into town twice a year with an armful of gifts.  Hell, you
can live in DC and drop by every day."  He shook his head again a
little harder as if to clear it, looked down at Liam for a
second, then pulled on the carseat handle and started to turn
away.  "But don't forget to call me before you decide to drop by. 
So you can make sure I'm out."

Shit.   

She held on.  "No!"

He didn't answer and they both just looked down at her white
knuckles hanging on to the carseat.  The baby was heavy in this
position.  Her arms were starting to shake with the strain.   
Liam looked up at them both happily, enjoying the swinging
motion.

Mulder lifted the seat slightly.  She tugged back.

"Mulder, please, please, please don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything," he said flatly.

"Yes, you are.  Stop, please stop."  And damn it, now the tears
again.  Angrily she blinked them back.  "You're not even letting
me say goodbye to him!  I didn't walk out on you in Singapore. 
Please . . . don't walk out on me now."

He just looked at her. 

"Mulder, I've hurt you.  You've hurt me.  But this isn't about
you and me.  This is my baby.  My son.  Please don't use him to
punish me.  Please.  Please," she felt the last bit of her pride
begin to slip away and she raised her chin, she could barely see
him, her eyes were so full of tears.  "Christ Mulder, I'm begging
you.  Don't take him away from me."  Her voice broke and dropped
to a whisper.  "Please don't take him away from me, Mulder. 
Please." 

He continued to stare at her, then bit his lip and sighed. 
"Okay, okay, I'm letting go.  Don't drop him," he said softly.  
Carefully he let go of his side of the handle, making sure she
wasn't going to fall over in the other direction.  He
half-frowned at her. "Look.  This--  Not here." He paused for a
long moment, considering her, then looked down at the baby. 
"I'll . . . stay tonight.  Liam doesn't need another flight right
now." 

She dropped her head forward in a mixture of relief and despair. 
God, she was disgusted with herself.   What had they come to that
they couldn't even talk without it disintegrating into something
horrible?

"Do you want me to stay at a hotel?"

"No," she whispered miserably, lifting the car seat and awkwardly
wrapping her arms around it.  She leaned her head against Liam's
cheek.   The baby reached up and grabbed her hair and yanked
hard.  It brought more tears to her eyes, but she didn't care. 
He turned away from them to hail a cab. 

At her apartment, the pillows and sheets that Mulder'd used the
night before they'd left for Singapore were still on the couch. 
She waved in their general direction and spread a quilt on the
floor of the little alcove in her study area.

"Don't you want him in with you?" 

"This is L.A.," she said, adamant.  "He has to be away from
anything that might suddenly topple in an earthquake.  Besides. .
. . this  . . ."

"What?"

"Nothing," she gritted through her teeth.  "This is the perfect
spot for him.  That's all." 

She transferred the--thankfully--sleeping baby from his carseat
to the quilt and, leaving Mulder to fend for himself, stumbled
into her bedroom, peeled off the clothes she'd been wearing for
two days, and fell, exhausted, into bed.










part 20






She lay with her eyes shut, listening to the low moan of the fog
horn.  

Every now and then she could hear the far-away clang of the bell
buoy off the pier in Santa Monica, and from somewhere much
closer, the steady beat of bass from a stereo.  She was curled up
on top of her unmade bed, the familiar softness of the chenille
throw from her couch tucked up under her chin.  He must have
covered her while she slept.  

Finally she opened her eyes.  It was dusk, the fog thick outside
the window.  She'd slept for awhile.  
 
She'd be jumping up and running to the bedroom door in a repeat
performance of earlier today--if her feet weren't snuggled cozily
against the warmth of his bare calves.  And she could hear the
sound of Liam sucking from his bottle about two feet behind her
back.  She listened, she could hear Mulder's soft breathing, too.

"You awake?" he asked quietly.

She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.  He was
sitting back against the pillows, still wearing the t-shirt and
shorts from this afternoon, his legs stretched out in front of
him.  Liam was in his lap.   She didn't have any idea why he was
in here with her, but she liked waking up and finding both of
them there.  

Liked it very much.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied softly.  He was watching the baby eat.  He
didn't look up. 

She stretched her neck gingerly and pushed her hair off her face.
"What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You needed sleep."

She let her breath out with a little sigh.  "Thanks."

And not just for not waking her.

"We came in here because there's a party going on downstairs and
it was too loud for Liam in your living room." 

That was the music then.  Her eyes fell on the delightfully
comfortable over-stuffed chair and footrest in the corner of her
bedroom.  "Mmmhmm.  That's okay, Mulder."

He was quiet for a few moments.  "Your very tall, half-dressed
neighbor dropped by to ask if you wanted to go."

She glanced back at him again.  "Adrianna?  She was *half*-
dressed?"

That made him smile, just the tiniest smile, but still down at
Liam, not at her.

"Maybe just an eighth-dressed?"  He considered.  "A sixteenth?" 

"That sounds more like it."

"She took one look at Liam and--"  He shook his head.  "She thinks
I'm bad news. . . ."  He trailed off.

Bad news.  She wasn't going to touch that.

When she didn't comment he kept talking as if he'd never said it. 
"Can't remember the last time I saw a fringed purple suede
bikini."

"She's wearing that one?  I used to have a vest like that."
  
He turned and quirked his eyebrow at her.

"Don't give me that look, Mulder.  I was eight.  I loved that
vest."

His look softened slightly. 

Almost a smile.  Not quite.

"Adrianna's okay," she said.  "I forgot about the party this
weekend, it's probably been going on since Friday."

"Don't tell me . . . this is a party building?"

"Famous for it."

He nodded slightly as if mentally adding up the Scully he'd known
and an apartment building famous for parties and full of wacky
neighbors. 

She wasn't sure if he was doing it consciously or unconsciously,
but she'd seen him in action so many times that she'd recognize
it in her sleep:  Relax the suspect first with small talk, then
cut to the tough stuff.  She had no problem with it, in fact she
embraced the familiar rhythm.

She turned her head away from him and shut her eyes, carefully
concentrating on the vibes between them.  They were relaxed,
peaceful.  At least for the moment the tension had eased.  There
was an underlying current, but it wasn't a negative one.  She
opened her eyes and was unsurprised to find herself looking
directly at her sister's picture.  No phone calls this time, but
. . . *Tell him the truth*  Melissa's eyes urged her. *You know
what you feel.  Tell him you love him.*

Feelings . . . Love.  

Oh, Missy . . . it was always so easy for you.

She squinched her nose slightly at Missy, then rolled over to
face Mulder, managing to do it without breaking the contact
between her toes and his legs.  Her right foot insinuated itself
under his leg, the sensitive skin on the top of her foot pressing
into the warm crook at the back of his knee.

Mulder was looking down at Liam with a funny little smile on his
face.  The baby was eating with his eyes closed, his expression
content.  The feeling of him tugging at her nipple came back to
her with a rush.  

The mommy urge was a hell of an urge.  

"I was thinking about what you said," he said.  "Breast feeding
him myself.  Imagining giving him something from my body that
*fed* him."  His voice was full of wonder.

"Really?" 

"What did it feel like?" he asked.

"Amazing. . . .  In fact," she said slowly.  "I wish I had . . .
milk."

He nodded as if it wasn't a big deal at all, just a perfectly
natural thing for her to want, and was quiet for a few more
moments, looking down at the eating baby.

"Can't they stimulate lactation with hormones or something?"

"Yes.  Yes, they can.  You can take estrogen--to simulate the
high-estrogen state of pregnancy, then stop taking it, to
simulate birth.  That causes the pituitary to produce prolactin
and oxytocin, the milk-producing hormones. . . ."  She paused. 
"Wait.  Do you mean in you?"

He laughed, a soft inadvertent laugh.  She shut her eyes and let
the sound wash gently through her.   Mulder. . . .

"Nooo.  Not me.  You, of course."  She opened her eyes.  He was
studying her.  "It's not like there's anything *wrong* with you.  
If you wanted to there's in-vitro fertiliz--"

He stopped short.

Her face suddenly felt very stiff.   Why was he talking about her
having another baby?  Because she couldn't have this one? 

"Hypothetically," she said slowly.  "But . . . some cancers can
react to the estrogen of pregnancy. If there were any recurrence
of mine in my system . . . it might be like gasoline feeding a
flame."

He looked slightly sick.  "I'm sorry," he said softly.  He looked
genuinely upset.  "From what I've read I thought that was just
breast cancer.  And I thought--"  He broke off and swallowed,
then was quiet for a little while. "What about a surrogate?"

"What are you talking about here, Mulder?  There are a lot of
factors involved.  Eggs.  Sperm.  According to you, I don't have
*any* eggs."   She was unwilling to break this mood, but . . .
her gaze ran over him, concentrating on everything, his body
language, his words, trying to figure out exactly what he was
saying, what he'd been saying.  She indicated Liam with her chin. 
"Besides, why would I want to have another baby?  I have a baby."

He considered that, licked his lips and swallowed, but he didn't
rise to her challenge or disagree.  His shoulders remained
relaxed.

She took a breath and tried to relax, too.

"Your face," he said.  "Before.  In the bath.  Brothers . . .
sisters. . . ."

She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd kneed her in the
stomach.  She felt the breath go out of her with a whoosh.

"And . . . I was just thinking we should have stormed the island
and taken your eggs." 

She barely bit back a gasp.

He bent his head over the baby again.  The growing dusk in the
room made it difficult to see his face.  The only sound was the
sturdy sucking sound of Liam's mouth on the bottle.  

"So . . ." he said.  "You shouldn't take estrogen to induce
lactation, either?"

"Well . . . there is a natural method.  The lactation hormones
can also be produced in response to nipple stimulation."

She stared at him, a sudden clear picture in her mind of Mulder
over her, filling her, his mouth incredibly gentle on her breast. 
She felt her cheeks flush as her body responded to the thought.

He was staring at her, too.  He turned away from her, took a deep
breath and let it out slowly.

"Like a baby sucking?" he asked.

She nodded. "Or a breast pump."

"And that's enough?"

"Apparently.  It takes a couple weeks . . . but if you're lucky,
yes."

He nodded thoughtfully.  

Was it her imagination or was he pressing very gently on her feet
with his legs?

"Mulder. . . ?" she asked very softly. 

He didn't say anything and they both watched Liam, his mouth just
moving a little on the nipple.  She gently pressed a little on
his leg with her toes.  Suddenly the silence was highly charged.

He swung his head around and looked at her.  "You're not the only
one with feelings about all this, you know."  She could see his
eyes clearly for the first time, the expression in them a jumble
of emotions.  Sadness.  Distress.  Anger.  Grief.  Need. 
Wistfulness.  But no hope.

She nodded a little. "I know," she said softly.

His eyes moved over her face.  "Do you?"

"I think so."  She nodded slowly again, trying to encourage him
with her eyes.  "Tell me."

He scrutinized her face, his expression all at once cautious. 
She could feel the sudden tension in his muscles under her toes.  

"I wish he were mine," he said.

She felt her heart speed up.  Just his?  Theirs?  Oh God.  What
the hell was he saying?  That he wanted her, too?  Or just Liam? 
Or. . . .    With every fiber of her body she tried to read what
he wanted her to say. . . .

Shit.

"Yours?"  She licked her lips.  "Or ours?"

He didn't answer, just looked at her.  Finally, his lips twisted
wryly and he looked back down at the baby.  "If you have to ask--
"  He shut his mouth and shook his head.

So if she had to ask . . . and that meant what?  Damn.

"Damn it, Mulder!" she said suddenly.  His head swung around
sharply to face her and the baby jumped in his sleep. "I can't
read your mind.  If you want me to know something, tell me.  This
whole trip it's as if there's been a script that you have and I
don't.  And if I can't guess what the hell my line is supposed to
be, then I'm in trouble.  Again.  So--" she broke off and made a
sound that sounded a hell of a lot like a frustrated growl.

He looked startled.  She frowned at him, pulled her feet away
from his legs and rolled abruptly away from him, curling into a
fetal position.  Melissa's picture on the bureau in front of her
was watching her with gentle concern. *He can't read your mind
either, Dana.*

*Shut up, Missy,* she thought at the picture, closed her eyes and
sighed.

Mulder didn't say anything for a little while.   

Suddenly, she felt him brush her shoulder with his fingertips. 
Just the lightest touch, then gone.

"You're hungry," he said.  "Me too."

She didn't say anything.  He was right.  She was starving.

"Liam's dropped off, he's still exhausted from the plane.  I'll
put him down and then what do you say I make you dinner?"

Make her dinner?  She turned her head and looked at him.  Mulder
had his head bent over Liam, but he was watching her out of the
corner of his eye.  There was something in his expression that
hadn't been there before.  She couldn't put her finger on it.   A
willingness, maybe.

"Feed your partner when she gets cranky," he said softly.  "I
learned that from you."

His partner.  If she opened her mouth, she'd say *I'm not your
partner anymore* and she didn't want to say that, so she kept her
mouth shut.  

The words hung in the air between them, anyway.

"Can we eat out on your balcony?"

She just looked at him stubbornly.

He studied her expression.  "I stayed so we can talk," he said
softly.  "So . . . can we talk over dinner?"

She gave in and nodded.  "I don't know what I have in the
fridge."  The last time she'd looked in there. . . .  "Maybe some
eggs."

He winced.  "Wait.  I bought some stuff.  

She looked out the window.  "It's kind of foggy out there."

"I love the fog."

"Me too."  

"Can we light your little fireplace?"  He gave her a tiny smile.

She couldn't help herself, she gave him a tiny smile back. 
"Okay, sounds good," she said, her voice sounding calmer than she
felt, and sat up.  "Here, I'll put him to bed.   Did you change
him again?"

"Yes."

He handed her the baby.  Liam was limp and heavy with exhaustion,
adorable in a little fuzzy yellow sleeper.  She took him into the
other room and tucked him under his blankie in his corner, then
knelt down and gave him a kiss on his temple.

She turned, Mulder hadn't moved, he was still sitting in the near
darkness of her bedroom, watching her through the door.  She rose
slowly to her feet and walked back into the other room, suddenly
conscious she was wearing only a T-shirt and panties.  She sat
back beside him on his side of the bed.  

"He seems okay, Mulder."

He nodded.  His eyes dropped to her breasts, bra-less beneath her
t-shirt, then down to her bare legs.

"The blood you saw them take?" she asked.  "Everything was normal
when it was taken?"

"Yes. . . ."  It seemed to take him a great effort to pull his
eyes away from her legs and back to her face.  "Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said softly.  "I can't help it." 

"I know."

His eyes traveled across her face for a moment, lingering on her
mouth, then he sighed and turned to her bedside table and picked
up his airplane tickets.

Oh God.

"Do you have a pen?" he asked. "I need to make a quick call."

"Oh, Mulder. . . ."

He just looked at her.

"Tomorrow--" she said a little desperately, ". . . maybe you could
stay another day and we could take him to a pediatrician for
tests."  She tried to stop herself.  They needed to talk about
this calmly and rationally like adults, not with her pleading . .
. again.  

"I need to be there, to talk to the doctor," she managed in a
calmer voice.  "UCLA, the doctors here, it's the best pediatric
care in the country." 

He considered her, his eyes glinting slightly.

"Please stay a couple days, Mulder?" 

His eyes searched hers, then his gaze fell to her mouth again and
rested there.  He shut his eyes.

She lifted her hand and softly touched his face.  He flinched
slightly, but kept his eyes closed.  She cupped his cheek and
stroked the line his closed lashes made against his cheekbone
with her thumb. Her other hand slid to his knee, then to his
thigh. She leaned forward slowly and pressed her lips against
his.  

He remained perfectly still and let her kiss him, his mouth soft
and warm beneath hers, but he didn't kiss her back.  His lids
opened and she pulled back a little to look into his eyes. 

Her eyelids fluttered slightly at his look.  His expression was
full of sadness and regret.

"Don't," he whispered, then shook his head, just one small slow
shake, back and forth.  "This . . ."  His eyes dropped to her
mouth, then back to her eyes.  ". . . Isn't us."  He reached up
and put his hand over hers, and gently pulled it down away from
his cheek.  Then lifted her other hand from his thigh and put it
back in her lap.  

Ohhh.....

Christ.  Her heart hurt, physically hurt.

This was it then, she thought as sharp sadness hit her, then
shock.  No adult heart to heart over dinner on the balcony was
going to change the finality of that.

She shut her eyes and tried to take a deep breath.  It didn't
relieve the pressure in her chest.  She sat back and looked at
him unhappily.   The expression on her face couldn't have been
good, because he suddenly looked concerned.  Very concerned.  

"I'm sorry," he said, very, very softly.  "For the things that
happened.  For the things I said.  For everything."

She nodded, swallowed hard and leaned forward, pressing a second
gentle kiss on his mouth while he remained still, letting her
lips linger an extra moment.  Memorizing his softness and
texture.  Last time, she thought, I love you. . . .

Pulling back, she reached up to touch his lower lip with just the
very tips of her fingers.  

"I'm sorry, too," she said softly.  Now her chest was aching and
full of tears and they were forcing their way up into her throat. 
She swallowed them back and let her hand drop to her lap.  Her
gaze fell on the airline ticket, still in his other hand.  "Um .
. . pen . . .  pens are in here."  She pulled out the drawer of
her bedside table, then stood abruptly.  She had to escape before
the tears started to overflow.  

He was staring into the drawer, not moving.

"What?" she asked.  He didn't answer.  She leaned over him to see
what he was looking at.

Tucked down under a book and a few letters, one small box of
condoms, obviously never opened. 

"I can't believe you even remembered that, Mulder."

He just looked at her.  "Did you say it to make me jealous?"

"Jealous?  Are you kidding me?  No.  I said it because I wanted
you inside me and you wouldn't shut up."  There, that was the
truth.  She could have laughed at the expression on his face. 
Instead, she felt her lips twitch into the barest of sad smiles
and her sinuses start to burn with the sharpness of the impending
tears.  "And I never had a *fuck you* attitude, I don't know
where you got that.  When I opened the door and you were standing
there?  I was glad to see you--GLAD."  She took a deep breath. 
"That night, Mulder?"  He became very still.  "That night was the
most beautiful thing that ever happened to me in my life."  

He searched her face, frowning slightly.  "But you said--"

"We both said things I think we regret about that night.  But the
truth is . . . the truth is, it was wonderful.  At least for me.
. . ." she trailed off.

Now her throat was so full of tears that she'd be hard put to say
another word.  At least she'd been able to tell him that. 

The last light from the window was falling on his face, but she
was standing with her back to the window and her face must have
been in shadow, because he was looking up at her as if he
couldn't see her very well.  He turned and reached one hand up to
switch on the bedside lamp.  

The last thing she needed was for him to see her face clearly. 
"There should be a pen in there somewhere," she blurted out, her
voice full of tears.  "Help yourself."  She ducked her head and
turned to leave.

His hand around her wrist stopped her.  He switched the light on. 
She didn't want to turn back.  She tried to pull her wrist away
from him, but he tugged.  

She turned, blinking in the sudden lamp light.  "Muld--"  He was
looking up into her lamp.  One finger pressed against his lips.

She leaned over and followed his gaze.

An electronic bug.

She gasped.

A bug here?

Oh God.

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief.  The tiny wire was tucked
along the edge of the shade.  Virtually unnoticeable. 

It was true.  Her apartment bugged.

Her *bedroom* bugged.

He was right.  He should never have come here in May.  This was
how they'd found out.

Oh God.

She hadn't figured it out, but they had.  And just now?  What had
they been talking about?  Liam, UCLA, induced lactation. . . . 
Some faceless person just listened to her telling him that
sleeping with him was the most beautiful thing in her life . . .
and God, someone had been listening that morning when they'd made
love.

This couldn't be happening.  

Suddenly she was shaking.

At that moment, her phone began to ring.  She barely heard it.

She twisted her wrist out of his grip and turned away, stumbling
over her suitcase on the way to her dresser.  She dragged a pair
of bike shorts out of a drawer and pulled them on.

The phone was ringing insistently.

Tears were streaming down her face.  Mulder was all at once next
to her.  "Scully?" he said softly.

Blindly, she pushed past him and headed barefoot for the front
door.  She glanced at Liam, he was sleeping peacefully.

The phone had stopped ringing.  The answering machine had picked
up.

"This is Walter Skinner."  She vaguely heard the voice, but it
made her pause, midflight.  "Agent Scully??  I'm sorry to have to
bother you on a Sunday, but if there is ANY chance that you know
the whereabouts of Agent Mulder, it's EXTREMELY URGENT that I get
in touch with him."  He paused.  "*Dana*--it's imperative I
locate him right away.  Even if you have any ideas where he might
be. . . ."

Mulder could deal with it. 

"Scully!!  Wait!  Wait!!"

Then, a sharp "Fuck!"  Then, "This is Mulder, I'm here."  And she
was out the door. 

As soon as she was outside she ran.  The apartments, palm trees,
Sunday evening beach-goers, fog, everything tear-blurred
together. 

And then she was crying too hard to run, the tears in her throat
and nose blocking her breathing.  She slowed to a walk and
stumbled on, fighting to catch her breath.  Finally she reached
the furthest end of the beach and dropped down on her stomach on
the sand.

Surrounded by her own private cocoon of fog, she put her head
down on her arms and sobbed.




Part 21











Concentrate.

Think of something--anything--else.  

Dammit.

The smell of damp sand.  

Breathe it in.

The wet chill of the evening air.   

Feel it on your skin.  Feel the gooseflesh on your arms.  You're
starting to shiver.  Lying in cold, damp sand, in a t-shirt and
bike shorts is insane--

He doesn't want you.

Oh shit. . . .

Breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

You can't have Liam.

Pain.

Sharp pain.

Red.  

Fuck.

Get yourself under control, dammit.   

Calm.  

The fuck.

Down. 

Liam's whole life is fucked up because of a bug in your
apartment.  You should have known you weren't out of it.   You're
a professional.  You should have checked for bugs.

Mulder worked for six months to pull this off without a hitch and
now it is all fucked up because of you.

Your fault.





Breathe.   Breathe.





Get up off the sand.

You need to go back.

If Skinner needs him, he may leave tonight.

Get up.  Go back.

Come on.  Get up.  Go back.  You need to say good-bye.

. . . they might already be gone. 

Oh fuck.





More pain.   Breathe.





She couldn't have stood up if her life depended on it.

The adrenaline that had jagged through her veins at the sight of
the bug and sent her flying down the beach had deserted her,
leaving her shaky and weak.  She lay motionless on her stomach,
tightly closed eyes pressed hard against her wrist.  

. . . it would be easier just to let them go without you there to
make another scene. . . . 

Another tremor ran through her body at the thought.  





How on God's earth did you stand right here on this beach after
making love to him in May and so easily decide you wouldn't go
back with him to DC?  

One month ago.  One month.  How could you have been so incredibly
naive?





You are fine.

Just . . . fine.

Just fucking fine--

Okay.  If you can't concentrate on something else, dwell on this,
wallow in being a complete idiot. 

You did this to yourself.   You let yourself fall foolishly,
immaturely, completely in love with him.  You put the power for
your happiness in his hands.  

You have to take it back.  You can take it back.

Easy to say.

When he was here in May there wasn't any Liam.

No.  He knew about Liam and he didn't tell you.




Liam. . . .   




* . . . we can bring this baby up as friends, Mulder.   You will
take him back to Washington . . . I will come visit . . . I will
act like I am not in love with you . . . just like I always have
. . . and you will act like you are a little bit in love with me
. . . just like you always have. . . .   

Only now I know better than to believe it. . . .*





Pain.





Again.




Breathe. . . .





You are fine.

You will be fine.  It sucks and you'll be miserable for a while .
. . but this won't kill you.  You are alive.  You lived through
cancer.  You lived through Emily's death.  You lived through
Missy's death.   You lived through Dad's death.   You have
yourself.  And life will go on.   Liam is alive and you will do
everything in your power to keep him that way.

And what happens when Mulder becomes involved with someone else?  
What then?  Go on, take *that* scenario to the end.  Marries
someone else?   His eyes . . . looking with love at someone else? 
And they're a family?

Pain again.  

White hot.

Concentrate.  Breathe.  Block it out.  Breathe.  In.  Out.  In. 
Out.  The smell of the sand.  Fishy.  The ocean.  Fishy.  The
seaweed.  Fishy.

Fuck!





Trying to concentrate on anything else was absurd.  She gave into
the pain and let it take her.  

His eyes.

When he kissed her for the first time . . . when he told her
about Liam . . . when . . .

. . . when you made furious angry love . . . when you gave him a
blow job on the boat. . . when he watched you hold Liam for the
first time. . .

"This isn't us."

She gritted her teeth.   

Pain again.  Black, this time.   Fucking.   Knifing.  Pain.   So
hard, hot and blinding she gasped aloud, and bit the back of her
hand, grains of sand against her mouth.  In her mouth.  

She hadn't understood til that second he said it, how much she'd
believed that she could make it work.  

GodDAMMIT.

She turned her head and spat.

Breathe dammit.  Breathe.

Fuck breathing.

All she could do was feel.  

She let her forehead droop back into the sand. 

She could yell at herself from one end of the beach to the other,
but she couldn't control this.   In a few minutes she'd catch her
breath and be able to get up and go back, just because she was
tough guy Dana Scully.  And no one would be able to tell from the
outside just how hard this had hit her.  She would go back and
calmly tell them good-bye. . . .   She would go back to work, she
would tell them her Fourth of July weekend was fucking fabulous
and she'd had a great time.   The bruise on her cheek?   The
black eye?  Too much volleyball at the beach. . . .

But, the truth was. . .  she took a deep breath and finally
admitted it to herself:

This.  All of this . . . the truth was . . . 

She was seriously fucked up.












All at once she sensed him.  

He didn't make a sound or touch her, but he was there.  

She could feel him.  Stronger than the mist's clamminess on her
skin.

His aura . . . if she believed in auras.  Oh, Hell.  She believed
in his aura, and the only place she wanted to be was inside it.

She pressed her forehead hard against her wrists and didn't move.

Breathe.   

Breathe.    

Breathe.   

Breathe.

Christ.  His scent was there, too, mixed with the salty smell of
the fog and the clammy fishy wet sand.

"Go away," she whispered, probably not loud enough for him to
hear.

She heard a little sigh and then a faint rustle as he settled
down beside her in the sand.  She could hear his breathing now,
hard.

She wished he had just gone.  She didn't want him to see her like
this.  

Dana Scully flat on her face in the sand. 

Agent down.

"Go," she said again, barely louder, still without lifting her
head.

He didn't go.





"You were right," she told him finally, her voice low and muffled
by her arms.   "You should never have come here to see me. *I*
wish you'd never come here.  I wish you'd never told me about
him."

A small sob threatened to escape and she dug her fingers hard
into the sand and held her breath, turned her head and pressed
her gritty mouth against her arm.

He didn't say anything.





"It's how they found out," she whispered.  "If you hadn't told me,
he would have been safe."
   
She listened.  He'd figured it out, too.  He must have, because
his breathing didn't change.

She took a deep breath.  "I'm so sorry I fucked everything up. 
Just take him and go.  I can't do this anymore."

Her eyes filled with tears and she waited.  She bit down hard on
her lip to keep another sob from escaping.  Her tooth went right
through her lip and her mouth filled with the warm salt taste of
her blood.  She swallowed the blood and waited.

He didn't go.





"How could I--," he stopped and she heard him swallow.  His voice
was raw.  "How could I not tell you about him?"  he said at last. 
A thread of despair ran through the words. 

She glanced at him sideways under the cover of her hair.

He was lying on his stomach in the sand beside her, resting his
chin on his hands, staring out at the few yards of grey ocean
they could see in the fog.  Her gaze flew quickly over his face .
. . his lashes, his cheeks, his mouth. . . .  His forehead was
furrowed.  He was trying to hide it in his voice, but he was
upset, too.  Incredibly upset. 

As if sensing her eyes on him he looked toward her, she turned
her head away quickly and looked in the other direction.  

No.

*Immature* is not the word for what you feel for him.   

Not even close.

She struggled to remember the reasoning she'd used all spring to
convince herself she'd be better off without him.

He was full of flaws and idiosyncracies and neurosis and weird
fucked-up ideas that got weirder and more fucked-up as the years
went by.  He was lonely and intensely complicated.  His cynical
wise-cracking exterior hid a sentimental streak as deep as the
ocean.  She only agreed with him half the time. . . .  He had
laugh crinkles, and a few grey hairs and a funny nose. . . .

Except those were all the things she loved about him.

Getting information out of him was like pulling teeth.  She hated
that.  But--Christ--she was even beginning to understand it.

And he was godforsakenly brilliant.  

The only man she'd ever met who was almost as smart as she was. 

What you feel for him, she told herself--a little
condescendingly--is a heart-stopping lung-aching sexually charged
*mature* love that would have made your fresh-faced little self
with her perfect little plan blush scarlet, cross her legs and
run from his office that very first day.  

This kind of love would have been as far-fetched as an X-File to
her. . . .






"I couldn't find you.  You scared me," he interrupted her
thoughts softly, his voice still hoarse.  The warm skin of his
elbow just brushed hers for a second.  God, she really didn't
need her heart to go crashing against her ribs again.

She let out a sigh.  It would be dark soon.  She was freezing. 
She didn't have anything to say to him and she didn't have any
answers.  Whatever he wanted from her right now, she didn't have
it left to give.






"Don't blame yourself, Scully.   I should have known they were
watching you."  He seemed to have realized she wasn't going to
answer him, he went on talking anyway.  "You just realized it,
didn't you?" he said quietly.  "What it could have been like if
they didn't know?" 

Liam.   

She gave up.  She had to take a peek at Liam.  She turned her
head and looked at Mulder again.  He was lying with his eyes
shut.  She raised her head and looked on the other side of him. 
Liam wasn't there.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"Your neighbors have him."  He said without opening his eyes.

"What?  Which one?"

"All of them.  Didn't you see?  You ran right through the party
by the pool.  Adrianna marched up, took him out of my arms and
pointed after you.  I didn't argue."

"But. . . ."

She judged the strength in her legs.  It wasn't that she didn't
trust her neighbors . . . hell . . . he was probably safer with
Adrianna than he was with her.   But . . . . who the hell knew
who was who in this world.

She pushed herself to her knees, then put one leg under her and
then the other and stood up.  She turned away from him, heading
back up the beach.  She'd run about a mile from her apartment
south to the entrance of the Marina, it shouldn't take her too
long to get back.  After about ten seconds she realized she
wasn't up to jogging all the way on the soft sand and she turned
and headed for the hard-packed water's edge. 

"Scully, wait!"

She ignored him and kept putting one bare foot in front of the
other.   Her knees were a little wobbly.  And Christ if the damn
crack on her head wasn't throbbing again.  She really needed to
get that checked tomorrow.  Of course it was a concussion, she
just hadn't been willing to admit that to herself either.  She
was a little lightheaded, but that was just her blood pressure
going from flat on her stomach to standing up and running in a
couple seconds.  That would go away in a minute.  She didn't feel
great, but she'd had enough of giving in to physical weakness. 
She'd worked so hard to get back into good physical shape since
her cancer.  Five days with Mulder had stripped her of that, too. 
 

She had to get back to Liam.  She had a bad feeling about leaving
him with anyone.

"They just let us walk out of Singapore with him, they're not
going to take him now."  He caught up with her.  "Besides, they'd
be no match against that cast of characters."  She felt his
fingers brush her elbow.  "The King said he'll sing to him if he
gets fussy. . . ."

She almost smiled at that, then a half sob slipped out of her
throat.  She tried to rub at her face with the shoulder of her t-
shirt on the side away from him, then gave up and ducked her head
and let her hair fall in front of her face.  

"Shhhh, Scully." 

His fingers went around her upper arm and he slowed, pulling on
her.  She shivered at the sound of his voice, so soft on her
name.  At least he was calling her Scully again. 

"God, your skin is like ice.   Stop a sec."

She slowed down to a walk, but kept going.  She pulled against
his fingers, but he wouldn't let go.

"Stop, Scully,  stop.   He'll be okay for a few minutes.   We'll
go right back."

He tugged her around to face him, but she kept walking backwards.

"Stop," he said firmly and stopped short.  She had no choice but
to stop, too.   His fingers went under her chin and he gently
tilted her face up.

She met his eyes defiantly through the shower of hair over her
face.  

He winced. 

"Oh, Scuh-leee," he said softly.  His eyes were dark and serious
and intense--and filled with compassion.  Her face must be a
disaster.  

He let go of her chin and carefully pushed the hair back out of
her eyes without touching her face.  Then very, very lightly, so
lightly his fingertips touched only the sand, not her skin, he
began brushing the grains of sand off her cheeks.

The fingers of his other hand were still wrapped around her upper
arm.  He was probably afraid she was going to try to pull away
and run.  He was right.

"He's yours," he said quietly.

She stared up at him as what he'd said sank in.  

Oh . . . God.

His mouth twisted in a little rueful smile.  "You're his mother. 
He needs to be with you, not me."  His eyes held hers for a
moment, then slid away to watch his fingers as they continued to
brush her face clean.  His featherlight touch was incredibly
gentle. 

She couldn't say a word.  Just sucked in her lower lip and felt
her eyes fill.
 
His fingers seemed to hesitate for a second, then moved to her
lips and began brushing the sand from her mouth, he increased
their pressure infinitesimally.  The warmth of his fingers moved
across her cold lips.  "What'd you do to your mouth?  Your
mouth's bleeding."

She just shook her head fractionally.

"Scully," he said softly. "This was *never* *ever* supposed to be
about hurting you."

Breathe.  

It seemed to be the only thing she could still do.  And not very
well.  She could feel her breath bounce off his hand to slide
back across her lips.  She shut her eyes and sent up a little
prayer: 

Thanks, God.   Thanks . . . but--

She took a very deep breath and opened her eyes.   He seemed
completely absorbed in what he was doing.  He licked his lips,
his eyes still on her mouth.  

"Mulder. . ."  

Her voice sounded very high, breathless and very unsteady.  She
was trembling.  Reaction, cold, Mulder-induced insanity,
whatever, but she was shivering.  Dreadful little shivers.  In a
moment her teeth would be chattering.  Oh, for sixty seconds of
the boiling temperatures they'd left back in Singapore.

"I love you," she said. 

His fingers stopped and his eyes met hers with a click.   He
searched her eyes for a long moment, then his expression grew
thoughtful.  He looked away.   

"For giving you back what's yours?  He wasn't mine to take."  He
shook his head.  "No."

No.

His eyes eased back to hers, almost hesitantly, and he examined
her face.  "Come here, you're freezing."   And before she quite
realized what he was doing he'd lifted his t-shirt, pulled her
close against his warm bare chest and pulled the t-shirt down
over her head and back.   He wrapped his arms around her and held
her close, rubbing his hands over her arms and shoulders to warm
her.

She put her hands against his stomach and pushed a little against
him.  "Mulder. . . ."

"Shut up," he said.  "I think you're in shock."

She hugged her arms to herself and stood stiffly in the cocoon
under his t-shirt.  She wasn't in shock.   She would know if she
were in shock.  She wasn't in shock. . . .   Was she?  When was
the last time she'd had anything to eat or drink?  On the plane
last night?  Trust Mulder to think if she told him she loved him,
she was must be in shock.  "Shhhhh," he said again and pulled her
closer, even though she didn't think she'd said any of that out
loud.  Suddenly she found her cheek pressed up against the very
warm skin of his chest.   

She relaxed a little.  She'd wanted to be inside his aura.  Well,
here she was.  She shut her eyes and let herself relax a little
more, breathing in his warmth, his smell.   It *was* warmer
inside his t-shirt and she was warming up.  

"You warmer in there?" he asked.  

She nodded against his sternum.   Warm . . . warm.

"I was trying to figure out how to tell you," he said softly.  "I
was going to tell you at dinner.   Apparently, I can't even tell
you good news."   

His hands chafed gently over her shoulders and arms, still
working on chasing away her chill. 

"For a little while there I pretended he was mine," he said, his
voice still low, and rumbling in his chest under her ear.  "But
he's not.  He's yours."

She was quiet.  She knew him.  That was twice.  She took a huge
gulp of musky Mulder-scented air.  

"Yours, Mulder?"

His hands stopped. 

Maybe this time he would answer.

She waited, concentrating on the heartbeats against her ear.

One.  

Two.  

Three.  

Four.  

Five.  

"Or pretended he was ours?" she prompted softly.

Six.  

Seven.  

Eight.  

Nine.  

Ten.  

Eleven.  

Twelve.   

Thirteen.  

Fourteen.  

Fifteen.  

Sixteen.  

Seventeen. 

"Scuh-leee. . . ." he said softly, near her ear.  

She was trembling again--and not from the cold.   His hands
started moving slowly over her back again, gently rubbing
shoulder blades, her spine.

Eighteen.  

Nineteen.  

Twenty.  

Twenty-one.   

Twenty-two.  

Twenty-three.  His heart sped up a little.  Twenty-four.  Twenty-
five.  Twenty-six.  Twenty-seven.  Twenty--

He took a deep breath, so deep she could hear the air being drawn
through his lungs.

Twenty-nine.   Thir--

God.  Did she really want to know?  Never mind, Mulder.  I think
I'd rather not--  Oh for Chrissakes.  Just tell me--

"Ours," he said softly, and she thought she felt his lips come to
a rest on her head through the fabric.

She moved suddenly and reached for the hem of his shirt, pushing
it up over her head and then carefully smoothed it back down over
his stomach.   It was chilly away from his body. 
 
She tilted her head up and met his eyes; tear-stains, sand, blood
and all.  His face was apprehensive and the least bit resigned. 
She stared at him for a long moment.  She had a sudden suspicion
that he was sorry he'd said it and didn't want to know what she
had to say.  To him, not knowing would have the beauty of the
unknown.  

To her it was hell.

Too late, Mulder.  You said it first.

"Me too," she told him.

His expression didn't change, he didn't move a muscle, only his
pupils moved, dilating in the near darkness as he searched her
face. 

He let his breath out suddenly with a little gasping catch. 

She suddenly felt shy.  She had no clue what the hell to do next. 
He didn't seem to know what to do either, he tilted his head
sharply and looked at the waves lapping near their feet.

"Come on."  She looked down at her feet.   Her toes were numb. 
"Let's go back and get him."

Her eyes flicked to his for a split second as he looked sideways
at her and nodded.  

She turned to walk away down the beach, but his hand on her
shoulder stopped her.  He slid his arm around her shoulders a
little awkwardly, she slipped back into his warmth and tucked her
arm around his waist.  

They walked without talking, the only sound the muffled rush of
the surf.   The fog had an unreal quality to it--  Fog in July,
something else to put at El Nino's doorstep.  But despite the
fog, dusk was lingering a very long time tonight.   Had it only
been a week or so since the longest day of the year?  She wasn't
feeling chilled any more, she was just floating along in the
twilight beside him, not really thinking about what they'd just
said.  

And despite the fact that they were holding each other, they were
not even remotely in sync.

She looked down at their feet.   Funny how she'd never noticed
how her stride was only a little more than half of his.   She had
to take an extra step for every few he took.  But he was trying
to shorten his stride, so every now and again she'd have to take
a little extra step to catch up. . . .  

There was only one set of prints coming from the other direction,
in places washed away by the tide.   The stride was a lot longer
than the prints they were making now.   He'd been going fast.

He was looking down at their prints, too.  "I went as far as the
Santa Monica pier before coming back this way," he said.

That was five, maybe six miles.   

She'd hadn't expected him to come after her. . . .

"What did Skinner want?" she asked him.

"Shit!" he said, and stopped short.  He let go of her to pull his
cel phone out of his pocket.   "I told him to call me back on my
cel in ten minutes and hung up on him."

He turned on the phone and it rang instantly, startling them
both.  They looked down at it, then at each other.

She raised her eyebrows at him.   

He shook his head, and his eyes dropped to her mouth.  He raised
his hand and gently stroked the side of her face.  "Scuh-leee,"
he whispered, his eyes holding hers.

She just looked up at him.  Suddenly his arms were wrapped
tightly around her back, pulling her up onto her toes and close
against him.    

She let him hug her hard, her hands resting lightly on his waist. 

He must have dropped the phone, because it was ringing in the
sand at their feet.

He loosened his grip a little and raised his head to look down at
her, then bent toward her.  He was going to kiss her.  

"No."  She put up her hand, and his lips came to a stop against
her fingers.  She was far too fragile right now to do this.  
She'd kissed him good-bye already tonight, and that was enough.  
She wouldn't kiss him again unless . . . unless . . . .

Unless it meant forever. 

Dramatic, but true.

The damn phone wouldn't stop ringing.

"We have to talk," she said softly.  How many times had they said
that in the last two days?  Too many. 

He nodded and pressed a gentle kiss against her fingers, then
reached up and took her hand and pushed it aside, his fingers
linking with hers.  His eyes were still on her lips.  

She froze as he leaned in closer.  He stuck out his tongue just a
tiny bit and ever so lightly licked the side of her bottom lip. 
Oh, God . . . he was licking away the blood, his tongue warm and
gentle.  He carefully traced the curve, then sucked her bottom
lip softly into his mouth, then let go.  

She looked into his eyes.  Gold and grey and translucent. . . . 
Wild.   

She caught her breath.

Oh God.

"Please. . . ." she breathed.

"We'll talk all night, Sweetheart," he whispered, and he leaned a
little closer.

Sweetheart. . . .   She pressed her lips together so they
wouldn't open on their own and shut her eyes to block out his
face, his expression, his concentration her mouth.  
 
She could feel his warm breath caressing her lips.

"Oh, Mulder," she whispered.  "Please. . . ."

He let his mouth just brush across hers.  

"Scuh-leee, look at me," he breathed.

She opened her eyes.  His were half-shut, full of longing.

"Please. . . .  Please stop," she said desperately. 

He stopped at that and lifted his mouth a fraction away from
hers.

"Don't," she breathed.   "I can't take it."  His eyes searched
hers.  She dropped her head so he couldn't see her face, so she
couldn't see his.  "Don't hurt me any more," she protested
softly, so softly it wasn't really even meant for him to hear.

He drew in his breath and pulled her close under his chin.  "I'm
sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair.

The phone jangled again at their feet.  She tried to step on it
and turn it off with her toe, but it kept ringing, pressed down
into the sand.  "The phone. . . ."
  
"Fuck 'im," he said.  His head dropped and he pressed his face
into the side of her neck.

"If you can bear it, just hold me," he whispered.  "Please."

She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him hard.  As
hard as she could.  He held her and rocked her back and forth.

She couldn't believe the phone was still ringing, slightly
muffled in the damp sand.   What the hell could Skinner possibly
want?  

"Just talk to him and get it over with," she whispered.  

His grip tightened on her, his lips whispered something into her
neck.  Finally he raised his head.   She was unsurprised to see
that the desperation was gone from his eyes, and a kind of
determination had taken its place.  It was what she was feeling
herself.

They would go back, hunt down any more bugs, then go out on her
balcony and talk.   And maybe they could resolve this. . . she
crossed her fingers suddenly behind her back.  

Don't jinx it by thinking it.

Not pulling his eyes away from hers he leaned down and picked up
the phone and brought it to his ear.