From: "diadem" Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2001 22:39:21 +0100 Subject: Hope (1/1) by Diadem Source: xff Title: Hope (1/1) Author: Diadem Category: Scully-angst Rating: G Spoilers: Requiem Notes: Not sure exactly when this is set. Mulder hasn't returned, so I've taken liberties with the timeline of the series in that respect, but as I haven't seen most of series 8 yet, I feel I can get away with it :o) Feedback: This is my first post in almost six months, so I'd really appreciate it Diadem@cwcom.net Hope (1/1) by Diadem If there's one thing Mulder was always good at, it was turning up at the last possible moment, and saving the day. I've lost track of the number of times he pulled it off, charging into a situation just as I'd given up any hope of a shining knight on a white charger coming along to get me out of whatever mess I'd gotten myself into. Or, more usually, whatever mess Mulder had gotten me into. Since his disappearence I've been hoping against hope that he would show up in time. That he would walk into the office one morning, as though nothing were wrong, and tell me about the next case we would be flying across the country to investigate. I would leave it a couple of weeks, let things settle down, and then tell him about the baby. Time kept ticking by, though, and I had to modify this plan slightly. It would be obvious that I was pregnant, to anyone who saw me. Everyone at the bureau believed the baby was Mulder's. DNA tests revealed that it was. I didn't know how. To this day, I don't know how Mulder came to be the father of my child. But I knew he would take the responsibility seriously, that he would love the child, because it was the miracle I had so desperately wanted. I had no doubt in my mind that he would come back. He would let himself into my apartment, find me reading, or cooking, or sleeping, and see the changes in me for himself. He would swear to be there for me. He wouldn't need to, because I would know already, but he would say the words anyway. It's one of the things I love about him, his need for confirmation. And when I woke up early this morning with searing contractions, I knew he would be there for me. He would arrive in time to take me to the hospital. I knew he would. He didn't. Instead, John dropped by to check up on me. He has done far more for me over the past few months than anyone would have expected him to. I think he surprised himself at times. He found me in the bathroom, hunched over, holding the towel rail for all I was worth. He didn't ask any questions, just calmly took my hand, and held it until the contraction passed. Then, still without speaking, he grabbed my overnight bag from the hallway and bundled me out of the building and into his car. I had left it longer than I should have. I had spent too long waiting for Mulder. By the time we got to the hospital my contractions were coming fast, almost one on top of another. I couldn't walk. I could only focus on the pain, and hope against hope that I could pull through it. I'd been shot beofre, but this was a different kind of pain altogether. I felt arms wrap around me, lift me out of the car. Mulder. I forced my eyes open, needing to see him, needing.... something... I finally came back to my senses when I was lying on a bed. The pain was still there, but it was manageable, somehow. As I became more aware of my surroundings I noticed the mask over my mouth and nose. I reached up to remove it, but found my hand was being held by another, stronger hand. I felt the hand squeeze mine in reassurance, and the mask was removed from my face. "Welcome back." They were the first words he had spoken to me since he had arrived at my apartment. John. I tied to speak, to thank him, but another contraction hit me full on, the strongest yet. He must have got the message, though. He smiled at me, and simply held on. I was finding it hard to breath, hard to focus, hard to even think. And yet one image remained in my mind, a vision of Mulder, pushing through those doors, demanding to know where I was, having, as always, left everything until the last possible moment. I couldn't help myself. I screamed. I cried out, and crushed John's hand in mine as the image faded to black. I should feel let down. I should feel as though Mulder has deserted me, that this, if nothing else, should provide confirmation that I'm on my own. But I don't feel that way. All I know is that the birth of our daughter, however impossible, can't have been the last possible moment for us. If it had been, he would have been there with me. With us. I sent John to get a coffee and call my mother a few minutes ago. I think he got the impression that I had to be on my own for a moment. As I gaze down at the crumpled bundle of blanket and baby nestled in my arms, I can see that he was right. And we may be on our own, baby, but neither of us is alone any more. End (1/1) Feedback to Diadem@cwcom.net