From: juliettt@aol.com (Juliettt) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Marriage: "Lullaby For a New Generation" 1/1 by Juliettt Date: 24 Oct 1995 05:08:38 -0400 "Lullaby For a New Generation" by Juliettt@aol.com (September 26, 1995, posted October 24, 1995) Another kinder, gentler X-Files story. This one is part of my Marriage series and takes place sometime after "Life Changes" but before "Room Service" (the latter of which is still in the works). There are several references in it to my earlier story, simply called "Lullaby." RaEnright wrote a sequel to that one called "Another Lullaby" that really isn't necessary for the understanding of this story, but she's a good writer and I recommend it anyway. And, of course, Dana Scully (Mulder), Fox Mulder, and everybody else you recognize here from _The X-Files_ belong to Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions and FOX Broadcasting, not to mention the marvellously talented actors Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny. I am simply borrowing them for the purpose of these -- and other -- stories. I have no permission, but neither do I intend any offense, only a lot of respect and love. Any other characters are mine, as is this story. Special thanks go to Sheryl and Mary Anne for their always-helpful comments. **************************************** "Lullaby For a New Generation" by Juliettt@aol.com **************************************** The sharp cry cut through the night, waking them both. There was a momentary surge of panic and adrenaline, the result of years of law enforcement work. Then, as their surroundings registered on sleep-benumbed brains, they slowly breathed a sigh of relief, their heart rates settling back to normal. Scully struggled upright in bed, her eyes blinking in an attempt to draw in what little moonlight shone into the room through the blinds. She did *not* want to turn on the lamp and fully awaken Mulder. When she reached to throw back the covers, however, she felt his hand, warm and strong, on her wrist. "I'll go." She chuckled softly. "Mulder, as wonderful as you are, there are just some things you can *not* do." He laughed in response. "Stay put. I'll be right back." And before she could protest he was out of bed and padding across the room. She sat back against the headboard and watched him go, saw him for that brief instant that his tall form passed through a silver moonbeam that struck the floor halfway between the bed and the door. The light caught in the fine hairs on his back and illuminated them. She also saw in that all-too-short moment that his hair was messy from sleep and that he was yawning silently. She smiled. What a dear, dear man. He wasn't romantic -- at least, not in the ways that traditionally defined romance. But he was thoughtful. He might not -- and never had -- surprise her with flowers. , she reminded herself, for he *was* unpredictable, and might, just when she had begun to count on the fact that he never would, do just that. He had never hired a strolling violinist when they were out to dinner. Of course, they were usually too busy debating the merits of one paranormal theory or another to listen to the music, anyway. There *had* been several rather memorable late night picnics, but they usually doubled as UFO sightings. No, Mulder showed his affections in rather more unique and creative ways. Up until a few months ago he had routinely accompanied her in to work for early morning autopsy calls just so she would not have to go alone, and then he would slip out and buy her an extra large mocha and a croissant to be consumed after she was finished. He'd make certain the car was always full of fuel when he knew she would need it. Or he would sneak home during lunch when he knew she was going to be in meetings or the lab all afternoon and put a pot of spaghetti sauce or a casserole on to cook so that when they arrived home, hungry and exhausted, there would be a hot meal waiting. And then, if she were especially tired, he would insist on doing all the dishes instead of simply drying them as he usually did, and maybe even run her a hot bath and leave her to soak the stress of the day away. And then, too, he gave a mean backrub. . . . So what if he didn't give her flowers and candy and soft music? He gave her his love and respect and time and gratefully accepted the same from her. She supposed she should not have been surprised; even during the early days of their partnership she had been struck by his consideration. For a long time she had thought of it as simple overprotectiveness, but now she knew better. And, of course, this thoughtfulness was not one-sided; Dana herself was fully as capable of giving as receiving. But she had never met another man who was so capable of both strength and tenderness as was her husband. And on nights like tonight he would willingly climb out of their warm bed to fetch their squalling son and bring him to his mother to be fed, knowing that he could not fall back asleep because he would have to take the little boy back again once he was sated. . . . There was a soft shuffling noise and then her eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, could just barely make out his shadow in the doorway. Then he crossed the room, and when he hit that shaft of moonglow she saw, in his arms, the tiny bundle snuggled close and warm against his upper chest, the baby's fine hair the deep brown of his father's. The picture filed itself in her mind almost without conscious thought, adding to the many mental snapshots she had taken and put away over the past few months. She smiled again. When William was born Fox had been so disappointed -- delighted, of course, in their son, but disappointed that he had not had Dana's flaming red hair. He had, however, been gleeful when the baby opened his eyes and regarded his daddy with his mother's deep, clear blue gaze. The bedsprings creaked as Fox carefully sat down and swung his legs up onto the bed, cradling his precious burden as though it were the most valuable thing in the world. He waited until she was ready and then almost reluctantly laid the baby in her arms. She accepted him and smiled down at him although she knew William could not see her face, and began to nurse him. "Hey, little one," she whispered, and bent to kiss his head. Her son, of course, ignored her, intent on getting what he wanted. She laughed a little. In that he was *definitely* like his daddy. Mulder put his hand behind her back and pushed slightly and she scooted forward, knowing what he wanted. He carefully slid behind her, pulling her back against his chest so that he could hold them both, his wife and their son, in a strong embrace. She settled back against him with a contented sigh, and for a long time the room was filled with a silence broken only by the sounds of soft breathing and the baby suckling and swallowing. She closed her eyes, surrounded by the two men she loved -- her "boys," as she called them. Her fingers stroked the baby's head, curling strands of his thick, silky hair around her forefinger. William Fox. Mulder had *not* wanted to pass on his name to the baby, but she had insisted. "I want to name him after both of our fathers and *his*, Mulder." "Scully. . . ." "We can make it his middle name, then. Please, Fox. This is really important to me." As always he could not resist her. And a part of him was flattered, really, and proud that he had a son, that his beloved wife wanted to name their first child after him. And, too, perhaps this would help to heal that old wound, the one that had made the sound of his own name so unbearable to him for so many years. Every time he had heard it he had heard in his mind his sister calling him for help. His parents had refused to call him anything else, of course, and Scully's mother had always called him "Fox." And, after they were married, Dana had begun calling him "Fox," too -- but only on occasion. Usually only when they were alone, and in their husband-and-wife roles rather than in their FBI- partner roles. Funny, though -- when they were at their *most* intimate they typically reverted to "Mulder" and "Scully." It made sense, really -- when he had first begun to love her she had been "Scully," not "Dana". . . . But her occasional use of his first name was healing, too. Slowly she became aware that William had stopped nursing. She felt his soft, slight baby breath warm against her skin, its echo on the back of her neck where Fox had evidently fallen asleep. She smiled again, then frowned slightly. She really did not want to wake him, but his arms were wrapped around her. Suddenly she felt soft lips brushing the side of her neck just below her ear, and shivered. "I'm not asleep," he whispered. She smiled. "Junior tanked up again for the night?" She snorted. "Fox, you have *such* a way with words." He chuckled. "I'll take him back." She remained motionless for a moment longer, just enjoying the feeling of this night, the velvet darkness of the room enfolding them, the mingled scents of sweet baby skin and musky adult male and shampoo and fabric softener, and sighed. "I wish we could just stay like this," she whispered. "Me, too," he whispered back, his arms tightening around her. But they couldn't, and they knew that. Morning and a return to the outside world was only a few hours away, and there would, in all probability, be a new case awaiting them. Once again she was grateful for the fact that as division heads they had less field work to do, and that back in the nineties the Bureau had implemented a daycare system that placed children in nurseries in the same buildings in which their parents worked. They were especially blessed in this respect because the daycare center was on the third floor, just down the hall and around the corner from their offices. And once again she wondered whether Skinner had . . . no. He couldn't know for certain when had split the X-Files divison and given them those offices that they would get married, much less that they would have children. . . . Could he? She smiled softly, thinking of all the times she or Mulder had stepped out of the office for one thing or another. Eventually they no longer even bothered explaining, just sheepishly walked out the door for a quick trip to the nursery. Mulder in particular had made quite a nuisance of himself, even going so far as to take files in with him and sit in a chair next to the crib. Except the workers never complained. But then, she thought with a grin, the workers were all women, and most women had a soft spot for a good- looking -- make that a *very* good-looking -- man who quite obviously adored his infant son. She stifled a snicker. Once she had returned to the office from one meeting or another and had encountered Mulder seated at his desk, eyeing her half-sheepishly, half-defiantly over the file whose pages he turned with his left hand. His right was occupied with gently rocking William, who lay sound asleep in his car seat on his daddy's desk. Next to the seat sat a large styrofoam cup half-full of coffee, and it looked for all the world like their son had drunk his way through half a cup of mocha and then fallen asleep. She remembered shaking her head at Mulder, who ducked his head back into the file. "Mulder. . . ." "Hey, he's not interfering with my work." "And you're not interfering with his sleep, either, I notice." She couldn't help but smile. How could she rebuke him, especially when he looked at her like that with those eyes of his? No wonder the women down in daycare had let him sneak William, of whom they were excessively fond, out of the nursery. It was probably a very good thing that the baby had her eyes instead of his, because a little boy who looked exactly like her *big* boy would likely get by with almost anything. And she knew she would have to be the disciplinarian in the family, because Fox was absolutely besotted. Just look at him sitting there, trying so hard to convince her he had his mind fully engaged with the case while his right hand, his large hands capable of such gentle tenderness both with her and with their son, slowly rocked the car seat, one long index finger clutched in William's tiny hand. It was the finger that did it. She melted. "Fox." He looked up from his folder. "It's lunchtime. And it's nice outside -- let's go for a walk -- *with* William." He flashed her a radiant grin and dropped the file. Minutes later they were walking by the reflecting pool. She sank to "their" bench and Mulder sat down beside her, placing the baby carrier between them on the seat. This bench had seen a lot of changes in their lives -- Deep Throat, Mr. X . . . the painful separation when they had closed the X-Files. . . . Sorrowful conversations with Margaret Scully during Dana's abduction . . . more late-night meetings than either of them cared to admit . . . and, finally, Mulder's proposal and her own acceptance on the day the X-Files division had been split. They sat there in relative silence, quietly munching on sandwiches and watching the gentle breeze play through their son's hair. Finally Scully sighed and stood. "Guess he has to go back, huh," Mulder smiled wryly. She reached out and tousled his hair playfully. "'Fraid so. It's hard on me, too, Mulder. . . ." He nodded. "I know." But they could not be together otherwise. He wouldn't dream of asking Scully to quit working. It had never seemed fair to him that simply because it was the woman's body that carried the child she should have to make all the sacrifices. And this, really, was better than most families could do: William did not have them all the time, but he had *both* of his parents nearby and involved and loving him -- and each other. They walked back to the J. Edgar Hoover Building slowly, and Mulder returned William to daycare without a word of protest. But somehow she knew that would not be their son's last trip to his parents' office. . . . And maybe next time it would be his mother who would wheedle the workers. . . . Her mind snapped back to the present. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there thinking, but her back was beginning to cramp. She sighed again and sat forward, allowing Mulder to slip out from behind her. He stood beside the bed and held out his arms for the sleeping baby, cradling him high against his shoulder in case their son awoke and felt the need to burp. She reached up and traced a single index finger down the tiny back and smiled up into her husband's eyes. He smiled back down at her through the nearly opaque darkness and slowly crossed the room and went down the hallway to the nursery. Dana slid back down against the pillows and waited, following in her mind's eye their progress through the silent house. Now he would be passing the spare bathroom, now turning into the doorway of the corner room that had been the library until the baby was born. At first they had kept the cradle in their room but now William was sleeping in a crib and they had decided they needed to get some part of their pre-baby life back. And their son was smart, as was to be expected with parents like his. He knew instinctively when they were in the room, even if he could not see them, and would keep them awake with his cooing and babbling and whimpering. They had a baby monitor that a more experienced Melissa had given them as a shower gift, and they used it. It had been hard, especially the first few nights with the monitor. One or the other -- or both -- of them had hopped up every half hour just to run down and check on the baby. There was the sound of creaking wood; he had simply turned over onto his back. He whimpered a little; he was dreaming, his lips making a soft sucking motion that made Mulder stifle a laugh in his palm. The monitor was too quiet -- was he all right? That was when they had discovered that their son "performed" for an audience. After that they -- and he -- had slept much better. Now, she realized other merits of the baby monitor. She could identify the exact moment Mulder entered the room and crossed to the crib. She listened for the sounds of his putting the baby down but instead heard a faint creaking. He was settling down into the big rocker that sat in the corner. she thought with a smile. She knew William was sound asleep and thus didn't need any "settling down" for the night. But evidently Mulder *did*. And then a quiet, musical sound. She furrowed her brow and reached for the volume knob. Mulder was singing, crooning softly to their son. Over in Killarney, many a year ago My mother sang a song to me, in tone so sweet and low. Just a simple little ditty, in her dear old Irish way Yet I'd give the world if she could sing that song to me today. . . . Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-ra-li Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra, hush now, don't you cry, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra, too-ra-loo-ra-li Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra, hush, 'tis an Irish lullaby. . . . She sat in the darkness, stunned. Her father's lullaby. The song went on and on, Mulder simply repeating the old air until his voice, growing softer and softer, finally trailed off halfway through the chorus. She listened carefully but heard nothing. Even the creaking of the big rocking chair had stopped. Curious, she slipped out of bed and padded across the hardwood floor, down the hall, and into the corner nursery. Fox Mulder was sitting in the chair, his son held securely against his chest, and both were sound asleep. Another ray of moonlight cast his face in profile and illuminated the faint smile on his lips. She stood watching them for a moment with a smile of her own, then shook her head and sighed. She leaned over them. "Mulder," she said softly. "Hmm?" He stirred and opened eyes like hazel stars and smiled at her. "Guess I fell asleep." She reached for their son and settled him in the crib, then turned back to Mulder, offering a hand to help him up. Instead he surprised her by pulling her down into his lap. The chair creaked as he began slowly rocking again. "Fox. . . ." "Shhh," he shushed her. "Don't want the boy to get any ideas about going back to bed with you. Not that I blame him in the slightest," he finished with an audible, though sleepy, grin. She giggled into his chest. "You're incorrigible." "Thank you." They rocked for a minute or two in silence, listening to their son's soft breathing. Then, "Mulder?" "Hmmm?" "How did you know about that song?" He cuddled her closer. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." "After everything we've seen together, you really believe that?" He brushed a kiss against her forehead. "Sorry. But it definitely qualifies as an extreme possibility. . . ." "Try me." She felt his grin against her forehead and smiled, knowing what he was thinking. "Mulder. . . ." "It was Thanksgiving 1995 -- the first one I spent with your family." She nodded. "I remember." "Do you remember how I found you singing to Krista after dinner?" She nodded again and he went on. "And then you told me about your father singing to you when you were little." Yes. She remembered. She had tearfully told him of her father's ballads and of how she regretted that she would never be able to thank him -- or to hear him again. He took a deep breath. "That night -- something woke me up. I heard -- a voice." "A voice?" "Mmm-hmmm. A man's voice. Coming from your room." He hugged her more tightly. "I peeked in. You were asleep -- and alone -- but I definitely heard this voice -- singing." He whispered into her hair, "Scully, he was singing that song." She pulled back slightly to look at him. His face, illuminated by moonlight, was serious. "You're kidding." He slowly shook his head. "I told you it was extreme." He reached out and touched her cheek. She was silent for a moment, remembering the dream she had had that night of her father sitting beside her on the edge of the bed as he had used to, singing to her. She had had dreams of him before and since, but that one had been so lucid as to seem . . . real. Even had it not, if Fox said he had heard him. . . . She nodded. "I believe you." His smile was brighter than the moonlight. "Someday we'll have to tell William." "Someday," he agreed, then hesitated. "Dana -- I . . . I hope I didn't hurt you by singing that song." When she shook her head he smiled again in relief. "I -- know how close you and your father were. I want to be as good a father to our children as he was to you. . . ." She leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth. "*You* are a *wonderful* father, Fox." He closed his eyes in a silent thank-you. She knew how important it was for him to hear that. He had been so concerned that his own father's coldness might have passed itself on to him. Not for the first time, Scully marvelled -- Fox was more like Bill Scully than he was like his own father. "Now come back to bed." "You don't have to ask me twice," he grinned. She stood up and this time he took her hand in his and stood also, then stooped slightly and lifted her in his arms. "Mulder. . . ." "Hush. Just let me enjoy this. I couldn't do it for a long time." He held her for a moment, looking at the crib. "And maybe someday. . . ." She smiled and kissed the top of his head. "One at a time, Mulder. . . ." He smiled up at her and then walked back down the hall, still carrying her, and placed her on their bed. He slid in beside her and she snuggled back into his arms. Their son would know and love his father. And because of his father he would know both of his grandfathers as well. Three generations of fathers and sons, bound by a love stronger than death. . . . They slept. *End* -- Dedicated to my grandfathers Victor and Edwin, of blessed memory -- Juliettt's Marriage Series: "Epithalamion" "Wonders Wrought" (2 parts) "Waking" "On the Road" "Girls' Day Out" "Watching the Storm" "Life Changes" (2 parts) "Success" "Lullaby For a New Generation" Juliettt@mail.aol.com Troupe Leader, Dragon Posse, Lone Gunwoman #7, Eden Agent, Clan McBride, Wolfpack, WWtBJLSWWGU, TFOSG charter celebrant, SKKS co-founder, BBTG!