Date: Sun, 02 Jul 2000 16:35:19 EDT
Subject: "Meant to Be?" - COMPLETE - (01/05)
Source: direct

TITLE: "Meant to Be?"
AUTHOR: Jen
EMAIL: JenR13@aol.com
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Never Again, Emily, The End, The Ghosts That Stole Christmas. This 
story takes place in the 6th season, after The Ghosts That Stole Christmas 
but before any other episode of the season. Sort of an alternate universe.
CLASSIFICATION: SRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance, babyfic, Alternate Universe.
ARCHIVE: Go ahead and do it with my blessing.
SUMMARY: A night in a motel on a case leads to an unexpected surprise. 
Written in
Scully first-person POV.

DISCLAIMER: Mine? As if.

AUTHOR'S NOTES 6/27:  At the End.


"Meant to Be?"
By Jen

Chapter 1

It happened. Yes, it happened. What might you ask is it? That's the question 
I've been asking myself for the last two hours. The question I've been 
asking myself over and over again as I pace the worn, light blue carpet of 
yet another motel room.

Yes, a motel room. Of all places why did it happen in a motel room? I've 
never pictured "this" happening in a motel room. But exactly how did I 
picture it? Differently?

I did "it" with Mulder. There I said it. Not that it was so hard to say, it 
was just hard to believe. Not that I didn't want it, I wanted it more than 
anything. Maybe I was a little out of practice, the closest I've gotten to 
getting laid was Ed Jerse. Getting laid? Is that what I just said? What I 
had this time was not "getting laid." At least that's not how I would 
describe it. It was sex. Well, technically it was sex, but it was . . . 
more.

Six years we have been partners. Fox Mulder has gone through many women, at 
least I've heard. Yet he was a gentlemen with me. Never touched me. At first 
in the back of my mind I thought something was wrong with me. Of course I 
never got close enough for him to "touch" at first. Distant, that's me. Dana 
Katherine Scully, distant extrodinaire.

He came into my room tonight. It was obvious neither one of us expected what 
would come. We're on a case. Stupid background check assigned by Kersh. This 
check brought us to a small town in Ohio, checking up a tanker trunk driver. 
Nothing unusual was happening. It was a routine check really. Our first case 
after the night we had in the "house" on Christmas Eve. Though that night 
should have brought us closer, it did though not the way most people would 
expect it to do. I couldn't sleep and ended up dragging my butt to Mulder's 
door at an ungodly hour, his present tucked behind my back. And we did talk. 
But not really that much. I never did believe what happened that night and 
it still baffles me. Yes, something baffles Dana Scully. It happens.

We were done with the check, and all ready to leave first thing in the 
morning. The flight was set for 9:32 a.m. On more night in the cheap motel 
and we would be out of here. Go back to playing solitaire on the computer 
waiting for as Mulder would put it, "a real assignment" to come along. Then 
something happened.

It was simple really. We had gone back to the motel and I decided to talk a 
walk. Our case might have taken us to a small little town, but it was a 
small quaint little town and the sky was clear, and the weather was not that 
cold, for January. So I grabbed my coat and walked out.

A small town and a quiet walk. Lots of time to think. But I was tired of 
thinking, it was tiring. I walked past a small park filled with children.

Children. I should have walked right past it, I should have. Christmas had 
just passed and thoughts of Emily were still in my head. I should have just 
walked by, but I didn't. I stopped and watched the children laughing and 
playing and I didn't feel sad, I just felt empty. Barren. Lost.

As if enchanted I watched them. Watching as they pushed each other on the 
swings and slid down the long slide. Watched as they tied their shoelaces, 
watched as they called for their parents.

And I was fine. I really was. No tears, just enchantment. Until I saw her.

A little girl about four years old, right by me. She had gotten her coat 
caught on the fence. I reached over to help her and she looked at me. Her 
blond hair fell just short of her shoulder, her thick bangs covered her 
forehead. Her eyes seemed to look through the very face of my soul.

I freed her coat from the fence yet her eyes were still on me in an eerie 
yet comforting fashion.

"Emily!" I heard a woman call. Her mother. I looked back at the girl. Her 
name was Emily. I felt tear threaten to make themselves known. In that split 
second it all comes back, Emily, last Christmas, everything. I quickly walk 
away from the crowd, not wanting them to see the tears in my face.

I practically ran back to the motel, not knowing why I feel like this. Why 
can't I get past this? She's dead.

I reached the motel, and made a dash for my room. I was going to lose it. 
This isn't supposed to happen. What happened to my control? What happened to 
hiding my feelings?

I had almost reached the door when Mulder decided to walk out of his room at 
that same moment. He saw my face.

Mulder can be an idiot sometimes. He can run off and leave me. He can have 
no thoughts for my feelings, sometimes. Yet he can also be incredibly sweet. 
And caring. And tonight was one of those moments.

I'm not sure what happened next. Maybe it was because I was vulnerable, 
maybe it was something else. I felt like it was one of those romance novels. 
I told him about the park and tried not to let him see me cry. I don't why I 
didn't want Mulder to see me cry, but I just didn't. But the tears couldn't 
hide themselves, they came out like a river.

Then everything happened so fast. Before I knew it, Mulder was in my room 
and we did "it." And neither of us said anything. We just looked at each 
other.

"Scully," Mulder had started, and I suddenly felt cold under the blankets. 
Not the kind of physical cold, but an empty cold. I had sex with Mulder. My 
partner. I looked at him, not knowing what to say and unsure what he would 
say. What could we say? We had just done something that neither of us knew 
what to say about.

It wasn't that I didn't want it. I just didn't want it the way it happened I 
guess. The truth was I probably wanted it more than I knew. But both of us 
didn't know what to say.

I didn't respond. Mulder obviously took it for a bad sign. "I'm sorry," he 
muttered, "this was a mistake." He dashed out of the room to his own. I 
wanted to stop him to tell it wasn't a mistake, but I didn't. Maybe it was 
because I wasn't sure if it wasn't_ a mistake.

That was two hours ago.

Now I'm in my motel room, alone. Mulder and I have not spoken to each other 
in that time. I've taken up pacing, it's a good form of exercise. Better 
than that Ab Roller. My suitcase was packed and yet it was still only 7 p.m. 
at night. Any look toward the bed reminded me of Mulder. Of "it."

Would this change us? Of course it would, I told myself. The last thing I 
needed now was to ask myself stupid questions. Mulder is, well maybe was, my 
best friend. I cared for him deeply, he was, hell still is, my . . . life. 
Life. A simple word. He runs off and does crazy things. He has people after 
him and trouble follows him everywhere. Yet he is my life. How boring and 
mundane my life would be if I didn't have him. Sure I could leave the FBI, 
and go for that "family way of life" but then I wouldn't have him, my 
Mulder.

Did I just say my Mulder? I sat down on the bed, for the first time not 
feeling uncomfortable as I did, and thought that over. The pangs of jealousy 
I felt when Diana came along, how I felt she was taking _my Mulder_.

Is he really _my Mulder_? I shift positions on the bed, and listen to the 
silence that surrounds me. All of a sudden it seems to hit me. I had sex 
with Mulder.

Yes, I said that already, I know, but this time it really seemed to hit 
home. My partner, my best friend, and one action had changed it all for us.

I love Mulder, I do. I know, I've known that. And he loves me back. It's an 
unspoken line of communication between us. But our love was one that never 
had to be expressed in words, it was just there. It had been there for a 
while. But we never admitted it, we never made a move. We were partners, 
friends. We had each other and for now that was all we needed. But after 
tonight, who knows.

I eventually fell asleep that night, though I'm not sure when or how. I fell 
asleep listening to the sounds of Mulder pacing in the next room. And I was 
lost. I had no idea what to do or say.

My dreams were vivid that night, in bright brilliant color. They seemed 
almost surreal. It was if my brain had decided to go on rewind; my dreams 
that night were all of moments past, cases and situations that Mulder and I 
could have found romance, but never did. Quiet moments where unspoken words 
were all that passed between us.
Where feelings mattered and words just got in the way.

I woke with a start that morning, staring at the digital clock beside my 
bed. 6:48. I stared at the clock for a while watching the numbers change 
from 6:48 to 6:49 to 6:50. At 6:51 I heard Mulder wake, thanks to the paper 
thin walls of this cheap motel.

As soon as I heard him, the urge to get away from the wall suddenly came. I 
quickly dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, turning on the 
shower so the water would drown out the sounds of the room next door.

For the next hour I stayed in the bathroom, telling myself I was just 
getting ready, but knowing that I really was avoiding going into my room to 
hear Mulder or going outside and having to face him.

But as I ran a brush through my newly dried hair, I knew I would have to 
face him. We would have to talk about this. Or would we? In the back of my 
mind I had a strange idea that maybe we could forget this and go back to the 
way we were. I kept convincing myself it could happen. It made me feel 
better to tell my heart a lie, but my mind knew. The sensible part of my 
mind knew.

It argued with me. Telling me things could never go back to the way they 
were. Then my heart seemed to join in. Do you want it to go back to the way 
it was? You can build on this.

Build on this? Was I fooling myself? I let Mulder leave my room last night 
thinking what we did was a mistake. I myself wasn't sure if that thought 
wasn't exactly false. And my heart tells me to build on this. You've been 
watching too many romance movies, Dana.

I finally step out of the bathroom and glance at the clock. 7:56. We have to 
get the airport if we want to make our flight. Then another sense of dread 
hits me. The drive to airport. The drive that was going to be twenty minutes 
at least.

Could two people who just slept with each other say nothing to each other on 
a car ride that would last twenty minutes at least?

Well, you will soon find out. I put the remaining things in my suitcase and 
just as I was closing it, I heard a knock at the door.

"Scully?" comes a tentative voice. Mulder. "We have to get going." His voice 
is uncertain and somewhat distant.

I pick up my suitcase and grab my coat. I open the door to find Mulder 
outside of it, his own bag in his hand, the other hand clutching car keys. 
Our eyes meet yet we say nothing. Nothing. Finally Mulder turns his eyes 
away from mine and begins to walk toward the car. I follow trying to 
concentrate on nothing else but the sound of our footsteps on the gravel. 
Sounds echo around me, the birds, the wind. My eyes continue to watch our 
feet as they walk.

It seems like a lifetime, though I know it's only about 15 seconds, but we 
finally reach the car. Oh God, if I think 15 seconds is a lifetime, how will 
I deal with the hours to come?

We got into the car without a word. Mulder had thrown our bags into the 
trunk and started the car. We were on our way. And that's how it stayed. For 
the next twenty minutes complete quiet. It was so quiet that when my purse 
fell off the seat it seemed to deafen us both. Our eyes caught at that 
moment, but we turned away. Went back to our code of silence.

The silence continued when we reached the airport. The only words we spoke 
were the necessary ones, like "you sure you have the tickets?" and "don't 
forget to check your bag."

It seemed as if fate didn't want us to talk either. The flight we had was 
packed. We didn't sit together; in fact we were two rows away from each 
other. It was probably best, for now at least. I didn't know what to say to 
him, and I was sure he didn't know what to say to me.

I looked out my window staring at the blue sky. I frowned at its false 
appearance. Not everything's sunshine. As the plane began to move I gripped 
my seat and turned to my right. Usually Mulder was there to grip my hand and 
distract me. This time he was two rows back physically. Emotionally he was a 
lot farther away. And as I gripped my armrest tighter I realized I might 
have lost the best friend I had in the whole world. And that scared me most 
of all.

Chapter 2



5 weeks later

The flu. Of all the times I picked to get it, I got the flu. Between 
fighting achiness and nausea, I was ready to go home and do nothing but get 
into my bed. Mulder and I were no longer on the outs. We never discussed 
what happened out in Ohio, in fact for the first couple of weeks, we hardly 
spoke at all. Then slowly we made conversation, always avoiding the one 
subject we probably should have been talking about. Buried it in fact.

We went back to working cases and the thing I thought would never happen 
did. Strangely we seemed to go back to normal, well normal for us. As long 
as we never discussed that night, we were fine. We were ok.

Okay, we weren't _okay_, but I was just grateful that we were talking. And a 
few short weeks Mulder hadn't drudged an x-file out of Spender's garbage, 
though I was sure he was close to doing it. To Mulder what we were doing was 
pointless, he missed his basement office without a view. As we slowly went 
back to way we had always been, he slowly grew more and more bored with his 
new assignments. Instead of during work he would sit at his computer and 
e-mail the Gunmen or cruise the internet and join in on their games. He was 
so happy when he reached the twelfth level of Doom™, and I just stared at 
him wondering why just over a month ago I risked ruining a friendship like 
this. A friendship that never grew tired or old. The thought made me laugh.

Today I came into work ready to hurl. I found Mulder, like the many others, 
working at his computer, except what he was doing, as usual, wasn't 
classified as "work." He turned his chair at my footsteps and smiled.

"Level 13, today, Scully. I can feel it. Langly's gonna owe me twenty 
bucks," he said as I draped my coat across the back of my chair. His 
expression changed as he looked at my face. "You look like hell, Scully."

So much for the use of subtlety, Mulder. "Just a touch of the flu," I reply 
as I look through the papers already on my desk.

Mulder has now completely turned his chair around. "The flu, Scully? 
Shouldn't you be home in bed?" He has a look of concern on his face and I 
almost want to laugh. This seems like a role reversal of so many other 
times.

"I will, Mulder. I promise," I assure him. "I'm going to do some light 
paperwork, then I'm heading home, happy?"

Mulder nods and looks as if he wants to say something more but turns back to 
his desk. I sit at my own and look down at my work, but find my mind 
wandering, as it has been for the five weeks, and 1 day if I want to be 
exact. Yes, I'm exact. That's how long it's been since the incident. And 
Mulder and I are back to normal. We sleep together and then we go back to 
our "normal." Well, the Bureau was wrong. Spooky and the Ice Queen do not 
have a romantic relationship. We're friends, as we always have been. Good 
friends, the best in the world. Always there for me, we have an unspoken 
friendship "love." But somehow my daily speech didn't sound as convincing as 
it usually did. Did I want something more? Today I was too sick to think 
about it. Truth was I had no idea.

I was true to my word and left a message for Kersh saying I was heading home 
early due to illness. I hadn't even eaten anything this morning, except for 
coffee, which after a mad dash to the ladies room, I realized I couldn't 
keep down. I left for my car in a dash, leaving a worried Mulder back in the 
office, still sitting at his glaring computer screen.

The first thing I did when I got home was collapse on my bed, taking my 
shoes off. I didn't even bother to get changed. I fell asleep kicking myself 
for getting sick now. When I awoke next, it was dusk and there was a 
pounding at my door. I got up, feeling tired but better, even hungry, and 
stumbled toward the door.

"Who's there?" I mumbled sleepily, and unlatched the door.

I opened the door to find Mulder, his key out, smiling sheepishly at me. He 
held take-out bags in the other hand.

"I got nervous when you didn't answer the phone, so I decided to come check 
on you and see if you were feeling better. I brought food." He held up the 
bags as proof. I found myself smiling at the simple caring gesture. He was 
worried about me. It seemed a caring, loving .  . . a second, loving?

"If you are up to eating," he gestured toward my apartment, interrupting my 
thoughts and I realized he was still in the hallway. I let him in, and 
actually grew hungry as I smelled the scent of Chinese food as Mulder 
carried it into the kitchen. Chinese food and a night with Mulder. I 
realized how "normal" that sounded. That was us, and I hoped it would never 
change.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as I rummaged through my cabinets for some 
plates.

"Much better," I admitted, "Guess I just needed some sleep." Mulder nodded 
and smiled and we sat to eat. I smiled and just enjoyed his companionship, 
though it was just friendship tonight. Friendship was the way I wanted it to 
be tonight. The idea of something more was pushed aside in my head, for the 
time being and I enjoyed this. The one night that reminded me why Mulder and 
I were such good friends. We knew how each other thought. And that made me 
smile.


Five days later

Damn this flu. It wasn't going away. I was sick as a dog in the morning and 
seemed to eat like a pig in the evening, only to have everything revisit me 
again in the morning. All I wanted to do was sleep. Mulder was worried about 
me I know, and I responded to his concerns by blowing up at him, in the 
hallway of the FBI. Yes, I definitely was not myself. Damn flu.

I had already called in sick twice, and enough was enough. I decided, like 
it or not, I needed to make an appointment with my doctor. Every time I make 
an appointment with my doctor, I always dread it. Well, maybe 'dread' isn't 
the word. More like maybe the tiniest bit of fear. Fear that it's coming 
back. The cancer. I try to tell myself it's gone, but I always have to add 
that 'for now' sentence after it. For me it would never be truly gone.

So I called into work, and told them I would be late. Mulder had stopped by 
last night and brought food with him again, so he would figure I was still 
sick and of course I still was. It was just the flu.

Then why am I sitting in the waiting room of my doctors office ready to tear 
the magazine in my hands to shreds?

I'm overreacting, I know. But overreacting is all I have been doing lately. 
My emotions have been on an up and down cycle, like PMS decided to sneak up 
and attack me all month. I wish the PMS would go away and bring my 'friend' 
and then I could go back to work and devour chocolate with a legitimate 
reason.

I'm a little late this month. Nothing major. Ever since the cancer, I 
haven't exactly been like an alarm clock, if you know what I mean. I'm a 
week late. No big deal, I've been later. And I know I'm not pregnant.

Pregnant. I repeat that word in my mind. The symptoms would add up, and I 
did have that night . . .

Dana, you're nuts! It's the flu. You know you're infertile. I can't have 
children. Can't produce a family. Suddenly the memory of Emily seems all to 
fresh in my mind.

I put the magazine in my hand back on the table before it becomes tiny 
little paper pieces on the floor. Somewhere in the next five minutes the 
nurse calls my name and I get up and follow her into an exam room. I don't 
want to admit it, but I think my hands are shaking, ever so slightly. I 
squeeze my hands into gentle fists to steady them. I'm in control, I have to 
be in control.

The nurse takes my temp and blood pressure, and gives me a gown to change 
into, along with my favorite part of the exam, a cup. I now understand why 
people would grimace at that when I did my internship. Rotating into many 
departments, the only similar thing was that everyone hated tests and hated 
being sick. I could identify with that, a little more than I'd like to.

The doctor comes in and we go through the usual exam. I wait for her to
diagnosis the flu, but she steps out for a minute, to check something. The 
butterflies in my stomach come back full force.

She's only gone a second, and when she returns she asks a question that 
shocks the hell out of me.

"Dana, when was the date of your last period?"

I'm shocked. I weakly reply that it was...  I have to pause and think about 
it.

"It was six weeks ago," I reply in a voice that doesn't sound like the voice 
I'm used to hearing.

She nods, and tells me to brace myself. Then she tells me the words I 
thought I would never hear.

"You're pregnant."

I'm what!?

"What?" I reply, weakly, the room wanting to close around me.

"You're pregnant, Dana. Of course, I'd like to do an ultrasound to be sure, 
and then I'll give you the name of-"

"I can't be," I say stubbornly, interrupting her. "I can't have children."

She lays down her chart and looks at me. "If I told you how many women I end 
up recommending to an OB who said they couldn't bear children, you'd be 
amazed." She paused. "I've read your history, Dana. Most people call this a 
gift from God. I know I would."

I nod mutely as she continues.

"Like I said, I would like to do an ultrasound to be sure. Then I'll give 
you the name of an excellent OB, Dr. Rebecca Johnson. She works with 
high-risk pregnancies, and although your pregnancy may not be high risk, the 
factor of your cancer could make it high risk."

I nod again. Things go by fast after that. Next thing I know I'm walking out 
of the office with an ultrasound picture in my purse and a business card in 
my hand. Then it hits me: I'm pregnant. With Mulder's baby. I have a black 
and white photo of our baby in my purse. The baby I'm carrying. The one 
thing in the world I thought I would never be able to have, God gave to me. 
Why?

"Don't question God, Dana. Only thank him," my mom used to tell me when I 
was a kid. So as I walked out into the parking lot of the doctors office, I 
looked up toward the sky. I had no idea what to do, what to tell my family 
and most importantly, what would happen to Mulder and I. I had no idea what 
to do. But I looked up at the sky, and forced a smile upon my face.

"Thank you," I whispered into the faint sun. "Thank you for my gift."

End (01/05)

Chapter 3

I entered the office later that day, practically clinging to my purse as if 
it was my only hold to life itself. It's near noon, and I'm glad to see the 
office is semi-vacant, lunch hour was my Godsend today. Somehow as I walk 
toward my desk, I can almost feel eyes on me, and yet I know no one is 
looking. You're paranoid, Dana. Nobody knows. Nobody knows you're pregnant.

I approach my desk and find Mulder at his computer, staring intently at the 
screen. As I drop my purse on my desk with a gentle thud, Mulder looks up 
with a smile.

"Level 14, Scully," he replied, then appears concerned. "Are you feeling 
better?" The question is caring and gentle, yet at that very moment tears 
threaten to escape my eyes.

"Yes," A short answer, one Mulder doesn't look completely satisfied with, 
but it will have to do. I'm not going to talk to him now. The walls have 
ears. And in the FBI, they have more ears then you can count.

Yes, maybe I am a little paranoid. After working with Mulder for six years, 
I have picked up a habit or two. But now I have a secret that right now is 
threatening to take away all of my control. Control has always been 
something I was proud of. That's why it hit me hard with the cancer. It was 
in control. But I didn't let it control me. I wasn't going to let a little 
thing like being pregnant make me fall to pieces.

Ha! Since when have I thought being pregnant was a little thing?

Mulder's looking at me now, and all I can see the concern on his face. 
Mulder, please don't ask what's wrong. Not today.

"Scully, are you sure you are okay? Maybe you need some more time off."

I breath a little easier. At least he didn't ask me what was wrong. I force 
myself to smile. "I'm fine, Mulder," I reply and get the urge to kick myself 
for using the same-old tired sounding line I always use. That we both always 
use. It's become something of a joke for us.

He nods. "So it was just the flu?" he asks casually as he turns back to the 
computer, which was now displaying a message saying he had mail.

"Yes," I lie, "It's all gone now." Oh, Mulder if only you knew. If only I 
could tell you. But not yet. But I will.

I sit back in my chair and watch him open his mail. Somewhere in the fantasy 
part of my brain, I imagine a child with the same hazel eyes and sense of 
humor. I can feel myself smile at the thought, but then questions come along 
with it.

Does Mulder want to be a father?

What if I tell him and he never wants to talk to me again?

And then a very paranoid question. Was my getting pregnant was part of 
"their" plans?

I distractedly turn on my own computer screen and shove the thought onto a 
dusty shelf in my mind. That way I wouldn't have to think about it. Won't 
have to face it. Damnit, Dana, I curse myself. I have to think about it.

Mulder's so engrossed in his e-mail that he doesn't notice my disposition 
and for once I'm glad he's not the most incisive person in the world.

I'm pregnant. The sentence echoes in my head, like a bad dream. Yet, it's 
not a bad dream, it's a miracle. Yes, my own little miracle. Growing inside 
of me. The thought sends a warm feeling through my body and down to my toes.

A girl. That's what I want. A little girl. Parents aren't supposed to have 
preferences, they just want a healthy baby. But me, secretly I hope it's a 
girl. One who can look at me with her father's eyes and tell me about how 
she thinks the kid down the street is plotting against her.

Yes, it would make the perfect Hallmark commercial.

I have to stop daydreaming. This is real life. And Hallmark-style lives 
don't happen to women who are afraid to tell the one person who matters most 
that she's pregnant. No, it doesn't happen at all.

I remember a time when I was little, and woman's daughter next door died. 
All my neighbor would do was cry, and flowers with sympathies were always 
arriving at her doorstep. Yet my mother said sadly that it was a blessing in 
disguise. I just looked at her like she was crazy. She smiled, and told me 
about how the little girl was very sick, with terminal cancer (a memory that 
now still chills me a little) and that it was only a matter of time before 
she died. She was suffering greatly, my mother said, and it was better she 
was gone now then later, because now she was in heaven with no suffering. I 
had nodded my head and tried to understand. A blessing in disguise. I 
glanced toward Mulder, who was now back into his Doom™ game. Maybe this was 
a blessing in disguise. But it was hiding itself well.

I let my chin rest in my hands and knew I wouldn't tell him today. Hell, I 
probably wouldn't tell him tomorrow. And the day after that was iffy. What 
was I scared of?

Well, let me just check my check list.

Oh, yeah. There are a lot of things to be scared of. A hell of a lot. And I 
didn't even mention telling my mother.

Or worst yet, telling my brother.

Scared wasn't the word I was looking for anymore. Terrified was more like 
it.

I shifted through my paperwork, and let my mind wander into work. It was so 
much easier to avoid something rather then face. God knows I was doing a lot 
of that lately.


A week and a half later

A week went by, a last faster then I thought it would. The morning sickness 
was horrible, and almost every morning I found myself waking up and running 
to the bathroom to make it in time. Nobody told me it would this bad.

I had begun to eat Saltines®, and whoever said they help morning sickness is 
sadly mistaken. I felt like throwing the entire box of crackers into my 
bedroom wall, and came very close to it one day. Regardless of the fact that 
the crackers weren't helping, I continued to consume them; I'd gone through 
a box in about 3 days. At this rate I should probably buy stock in the 
company.

It was now the weekend, another Sunday was here. Another Sunday where the 
first thing I did was puke my guts out. Lovely.

Mulder still had no idea. I hide things well, I must admit. I could hide my 
bad days with the cancer from Mulder, and I could hide my morning sickness 
from Mulder. When he commented on my coffee breakfast my response was, 
"Maybe I am picking up some of your bad habits."

I wasn't going to tell him until it was absolutely necessary. Like when my 
water broke and it was time. Who are you fooling, Dana?

A glance at my clock told me it was 9:33 a.m. I walked out of the bathroom 
for the third time this morning, and took a long look toward the Saltines 
sitting on my bureau. Could I go through another month and a half like this? 
Or worst yet, longer? My medical school brain told me that morning sickness 
usually disappears by the third month, but that same brain told me that that 
wasn't always the case for all women.

I'm cursing my "never follow the crowd" way of thinking right now.

I hear a knock at my door.

"Dana?"

My mom. Shit.

I love my mom, I really do. It's just that I wasn't really up to company 
right now. But that wasn't even the reason I didn't want to see her. The 
reason is my mother has the knack for guessing what's wrong. Like guessing 
I'm pregnant. And knowing my mother's track record, she's usually right on 
the money. That's why I couldn't lie to her as a kid. As an adult, I learned 
that avoiding her was the only way to successfully lie.

Well, I don't think that plan is successful anymore.

The knock repeats itself and I stare out my bedroom door, not wanting to 
rise from my position on the bed.

"Dana?"

Ok, she's getting impatient now. That I know. And my thoughts are confirmed 
as I hear a key turn and my door open.

"Dana?" This time the voice comes my living room. The thought of facing my 
mother right now is bringing the nausea back.

"Dana, why didn't you answer?"

She is now standing in the doorway of my bedroom, looking at me sitting on 
the bed. Her eyebrow raises slightly in the position I have given Mulder on 
more then a million different occasions. He wonders where I get it from.

"I guess I just didn't hear it," I answer lamely, knowing my mother will see 
right throw it.

I'm right. "Dana are you feeling all right?"

She looks at me with the typical mother look, a combination of love and 
concern. I love my mother, I really do, but right now I really wish she 
wasn't here.

She pulls the mother act. Walks into my room and before I know it her hand 
is on my forehead. I think of the groans Mulder is always giving my I do 
this to him. Maybe I should learn to be a little easier on him. But then 
again, it's usually a big illness with Mulder. I'm just pregnant. Not sick. 
Just pregnant.

"Mom." I push her hand away. "I'm fine."

Her eyes narrow at me, as if she is studying every inch of me before coming 
to her conclusion.

"Dana, for someone who is usually up and ready by 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday, you 
are not fine."

I don't answer that. Damn my early bird attitude. It's not something I 
wanted to adopt. My father was an early bird, a military man usually is. I 
was up every school day by 6, and on the weekends, it was rare for me to 
sleep past 8. No wonder my mom thought something was wrong.

"Mom, I'm fine really," I try to reinforce. Her eyes scan the room and fall 
on the object I probably should have shoved into the drawer. The Saltines.

I can see her mind working. She's putting the pieces together in her head. I 
look down at the floor, another bout of nausea filling my stomach. This time 
I'm not sure it's from the morning sickness or from the fact that my mother 
is close to discovering what's wrong with me. I don't know which feeling is 
worse.

She walks over to the bureau and picks up the box. The scene when she
discovered I had cancer is running through my head. I half expect her to 
yell at me. I know she knows. Or at least suspects. The nausea is having a 
field day with my stomach.

She doesn't yell. In fact she doesn't say a word. She's silent as she walks 
toward the bed and sits next to me, the box of Saltines in her hand.

"Dana?"

I look up like a little girl whose been caught with her hands in the cookie 
jar.

"Yes?"

My stomach does a flip-flop and this time I'm not going to get around it. I 
stare at the bathroom door and now I am going to find myself inside of it in 
the near future and then my mom will have all the proof she needs.

"Dana, are you-"

I don't hear the rest of her question as I quickly get up from the bed and 
rush into the bathroom. I know that it's not ladylike and goes against all 
the manners my mother have talk me to interrupt a conversation by running 
off to vomit. But she's my mother and she's seen worse.

Though I can't think of a worse right now. In fact I can't think of anything 
right now. I'm too busy throwing up the Saltines I ate.

I hear the door turn and now my mother is coming in. Memories of her holding 
but my hair as I got sick as a child fill my mind as I sit back against the 
wall. But I'm not a child anymore. Still she bends down and brushes the 
stray hair out of my face.

"How far along are you?" she asks, as she sits down next to me. That's what 
I love about my mother. She's always there for me even when I don't want 
her. But now that she knows, I'm glad she's here. Funny how your mind can do 
a 360 in just a few minutes.

"About seven weeks," I reply, staring toward the wall. I know what question 
will follow.

"Who's the father, Dana? I didn't think you were seeing anyone."

That's right, Mom. I'm not seeing anyone. That's how my life has become. 
Screw my partner and yet I'm still not "seeing" him. That's my life.

I don't answer her, I just let my gaze fall to the floor.

"It's Fox, isn't it?"

Damn, my mother. She's good. The FBI should think about hiring her. Mulder 
would be pretty impressed how much she can get out of people with a simple 
"mother" look.

I nod, quietly.

"How long have you been dating?"

Dating, Mom? Gee, I think we forgot to do that somewhere along the line.

"We're not, Mom."

"You're not?"

She looks at me with a look of confusion mixed with disappointment. I think 
somewhere in my mother's head she has always been trying to fix me up with 
Mulder. Well, I know that's not going to happen. Especially when I can't get 
enough courage to tell him he's going to be a daddy.

And that I'm going to be a mommy.

"We're not," I tell my mom, and let out a long sigh. Thankfully my mother 
seems to understand. She gets up, knowing I will tell in good time, and 
offers a hand up off the floor. I may not be able to lie to my mother, but 
avoiding subjects in my middle name. As I walk back into my bedroom and sit 
on the bed, my mom asks another question.

"Does he know?"

My mom sure knows which questions to ask today.

"No." I answer the question truthfully and quickly, hopefully she will give 
me time to come around with the details. I have to give her credit; she 
seems to back off a little.

"I think I'll make you some tea. It helped me when I was pregnant. Why don't 
you take a shower," she says and leaves me for a minute. I'm grateful for 
the time to pull myself together.

Thirty minutes later I join my mother in my kitchen, my hair wet, but 
feeling much better. My mother has even started breakfast.

"Mom, I don't think-"

"It's just toast, Dana. Not too much."

My mother knows me better then myself sometimes.

She sits down at my table, looking as if she has a hundred questions. I 
don't feel like answering a hundred questions. She seems to know that, too.

She watches me sit down and pick at my food. After taking a long sip of her 
own coffee, she looks at me, with a look a couldn't really describe. A 
disappointed look yet there was something else. I expected my mother to be a 
bit disappointed. I knew she expected to get grandchildren after a man had 
put a ring around my finger. Well, I always was different. Her face holds 
something more than that feeling, though. It's almost as if she was . . . 
smiling.

She catches my stare and takes another sip of her coffee.

"If it helps any Dana, congratulations," she says with a small smile, that 
turns into something I've never really seen my mother do before: grin.

"I want a granddaughter, Dana. Bill and Charlie both gave me boys, and while 
they're great, nothing beats a little girl."

My mother wants a girl? The happiness and acceptance of that sentence hit 
before the reality did. I somehow pictured my mother acting differently, and 
I've learned she continues to surprise me. My mother, full of surprises.

A little girl. That would be nice. Now I've got two votes, counting my own 
for a little girl. Hopefully Mulder will chime in and make it three. They 
say men all want sons, but I think Mulder is a little different. I bet he'd 
make her daddy's little girl and-

What the hell am I thinking?? I've haven't even told him. He may not even 
want a child.

I'm back to square one. Who was it that said pregnancy brought a world of 
joy? To me, it was bringing a world of problems. I can't really blame it 
though, I was the one who got myself into the situation.

But it takes two to tango.

But I'm going to be doing the tango alone unless I tell him. And everyone 
knows the tango is easier with two people.

My mother looks at me with another look of concern.

"Dana, are you sure you are all right?"

No Mom, I'm not. I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes. Call it
hormones, but I end up doing something I haven't really done in front of my 
mother in years. I sit there and burst into tears.

End (02/05)

Chapter 4

He knows.

Yes, it's just as I said: he knows.

After all my worrying about how to tell him, nature decided I was taking to 
long and went ahead and told him for me.

Things were going well. After bursting into tears in front of my mother, she 
became my support. I still hadn't told Mulder yet, and she don't say 
anything, although I know she wanted to. Her look was enough. I had to tell 
him soon. That I knew.

I was now in the middle of my second month, now about 10 and half weeks 
along. The morning sickness is still there. It's bad on some days; better on 
others. I'm still stuck on my coffee breakfast. My brain tells me that 
coffee is no where near enough for a breakfast for two, but my stomach 
always has other ideas.

Still fate wanted my secret out.

We were on another case, doing another background check. We didn't go
anywhere like Ohio, in fact we were only in Maryland, a stone's throw away 
from D.C. Mulder still had no idea. In fact he spent the entire morning 
complaining about how the FBI was trying to get him to resign.

He even pulled me near a Chinese restaurant. "How about after we do the 
FBI's dirty work, we go to lunch and blow the rest of the day off?"

I had to make a quick escape from near that restaurant before my morning 
sickness once again reared its ugly head. Explaining to Mulder how I was 
okay after puking up on the sidewalk was not on my to do list today. Instead 
I walked quickly away from it saying nothing.

Mulder gave me a strange look. "Scully, are you okay?"

Not that question, Mulder. I give my usual answer.

"I'm fine. We should get this done."

Mulder eyed me for another minute before nodding.

The morning was slow. My stomach was on one of its bad days today. The
nausea was getting bad, and I was afraid I'd have to make a mad dash to the 
ladies room soon. We had to go by the DMV for some information and as soon 
as we got there, I knew I'd have to find a ladies room.

I made a flimsy excuse and hurried off. After loosing my coffee (the only 
thing I had consumed that morning), I took a look at myself in the mirror. 
Bloodshot eyes and a pale face were not attractive today. Splashing water on 
my face, I tried to will both the nausea and dizziness I was feeling away.

I walked out of the restroom and found Mulder talking to the woman behind 
the desk. I bypassed the long line of people renewing their driving 
licensees to make to over to him. As I passed them, I began to feel a little 
lightheaded. I credited it to the fact that I hadn't eaten anything all day. 
A glance at my watch told me it was 11 a.m. My stomach tended to settle 
itself around 12, 1 o'clock, so hopefully I would keep something down then. 
Hopefully.

I shook my head as the lightheadedness seemed to increase. Maybe I should 
get something to eat, no matter whether it says down or not.

I'm not sure what happened next, but I know I must have stumbled. Next thing 
I knew Mulder was by my side, calling my name. It sounded so far away. 
Pretty soon things went black.

The sounds were the first thing that came back, slowing filtering into my 
brain. The bustle of people walking by, the distant sounds of a loudspeaker. 
The smell came next. It was antiseptic and I knew at once I was in the 
hospital.

Damn it. I must have passed out. As soon as I opened my eyes I found a nurse 
pushing some curtains back. At least I was still in the ER. That meant I 
probably wasn't out for very long.

The nurse who had pulled the curtain back was now checking my vital signs. 
The same old song and dance: blood pressure, temp, etc.

"Look who's awake."

Damn, she was a perky nurse. Just what I needed now. She did her job and
looked up at me shaking her head.

"You worried your poor husband to death," she continued.

Husband?

"He was very worried. Gave this whole song and dance about cancer. He nearly 
fainted when the doctor told him it was only your coffee breakfasts and 
morning sickness due to the pregnancy that were the cause of your fainting 
spell. Turned sheet white, like he was about to pass out. I had to grab a 
chair quick and push his head between his knees before he was okay again."

My husband? Turned sheet white when he found out I was pregnant?? Oh my
God.

I think I turned sheet white then because the next thing the nurse was 
saying was that she was going to get the doctor.

"No, I'm okay," I manage to get out.

The nurse smiled. "I figured you never told him. Well, if it helps, he 
reacted better then my husband when he found out I was pregnant. Nearly tore 
up the house. And _I_ told him."

I want to tell this woman that Mulder's not my husband, that we're not even 
together, but the words don't seem to want to come out.

"I'm going to get the doctor, anyway. He wanted to know when you came to. 
And I'm sure your husband will want to see you as well."

Would she stop calling him my husband!?

I have no idea what to do now. Mulder knew, and from what I had heard, 
hadn't taken it well. He knew he was the father. Hell, all he had to do was 
the math. And I don't exactly get around, in fact I haven't had sex in six 
years. I could have probably considered myself near nunhood until that night 
with Mulder. That night that was . . .

Oh my God, what am I going to do now?

I don't have much time to contemplate that thought, though. The doctor walks 
in, a chart in his hands, and a Mulder behind him. One that's looking at the 
floor, avoiding all eye contact with me, and is pale enough to consider 
checking himself in here as well.

I turn toward the wall like a coward. Guess neither of us is batting a 
thousand today.

The doctor begins his speech, which was really more like a lecture. Tells me 
coffee is not what an expectant mother lives on, that if the nausea was 
really bad, I should have consulted my OB. Reprimands me, telling me that as 
a medical doctor I should know better. How'd he know I was a medical doctor? 
Guess Mulder told him that. I just listen, half-kicking myself in the ass 
for getting myself in the situation in the first place. If only I had taken 
better care of myself I could have . . .

Could have what Dana? Could have put off telling Mulder until the baby's 
30th birthday? Maybe this was for the best.

Mulder's pale complexion is telling me otherwise. Maybe I should talk to the 
doctor about him.

The doctor beats me to it. "As long as you take better care of yourself, I 
think you can avoid another situation like this. I suggest you talk to your 
OB about the nausea, though." I nod, and he looks at Mulder, a bit 
concerned. "Are you all right, Mr. Mulder?"

Mulder looks up weakly. "I'm fine," he replied. "She's the one I'm worried 
about." He points to me, not even sure what to call me today. No "my 
partner." What is going to happen to us?

The doctor smiled. "Your wife will be fine, Mr. Mulder. She just needs some 
rest and a normal breakfast." He gave a little wink. "I learned to cook by 
making my wife breakfast during her first pregnancy." He gave a few 
instructions, and the nurse handed me my clothes. He left me alone with 
Mulder.

I didn't look at Mulder as I slowly swung my legs around. He didn't look at 
me. He turned away as I grabbed my blouse, but finally broke the cruel 
silence that had elapsed between us.

"I'm sorry I didn't correct him when he called you my wife," Mulder started, 
still turned away from me. "But they kept saying it over and over, and I 
thought it was a lost cause." His voice is a bit distant, afraid. A new 
voice I've never heard before.

"It's okay," I reply, not knowing what else I can say. I quickly finish 
dressing, hurrying as I button the last buttons on my blouse.

"You can turn around," I say, not knowing if he really will. He does, 
slowly, with caution. His eyes seem to stare at the wall for a moment, but 
finally they make their way toward me. I don't turn away. We have to talk. 
We can't go on like this; it just won't work.

"Scully," he starts at the say time as I say, "Mulder."

We both pause, smiling briefly. "You go first," I urge him and he purses his 
lips, and I can almost see his brain searching for the right question to 
ask. Just fire away, Mulder. There is no right question in this game.

"How did you..., I mean you can't....?" He doesn't even complete thought, 
but I know what he means. I answer him, calmly. He deserves to hear 
something from me.

"I don't know, Mulder. I didn't think it could happen, either. But it did."

"It's-"

"Of course its yours, Mulder. I haven't been very 'active' in the last weeks 
with anyone else." Here it comes. The "night." I should know by now we would 
have to talk about it sometime.

He pauses and takes a couple of steps closer toward me. He's hesitant. I've 
never seen Mulder so hesitant before. He always dived headfirst into other 
things; that's how he always got hurt. This time, he's using caution. I 
never thought he knew the meaning of the word before today. I decide to do 
something to let him know he doesn't have to take so much caution. That's it 
okay for us to talk. I had dreaded this moment from the minute I found out I 
was pregnant, yet now I just want to get out in the open. My mind has been 
changing its mind lately. Maybe these hormones aren't all bad. Especially if 
they help get through this conversation.

I get up and grab Mulder's hand.

"I'm not asking you to-"

He interrupts me. "I would never leave you or this baby," he defends.

"I didn't say you would."

More silence.

"I'm just saying that you don't have to feel obligated to-"

He grips my hand tighter. "I know." We both know. Know that we don't have to 
get married, that we don't even have to live together. I should have never 
thought for a minute that Mulder wouldn't have wanted this baby. Though I 
can't picture him as the perfect father figure (hell, I never pictured 
myself as the perfect mother figure, either), I should have known that he 
would never desert me. Our six year "relationship" may never have turned to 
a true "romance" (so to speak), but we had something that was better. 
Something that pushed him to go to the ends of the earth for me, literally, 
when I was in trouble. He went to Antarctica for me, surely he would at 
least support our baby. My heart tells he would do more. We don't have to 
get married, we don't have to live together, that's not important now. The 
only thing that's important is the life we both created. The life that for 
some reason God wanted to be created. My miracle. My heart can't help but 
hope that it's _our_ miracle too.

Watch out Dana, one thing at a time. You can't go and act like a lovesick 
teenager. You have a baby on the way now.

And no wedding ring on my finger. Mulder is absently looking down at me, but 
not at my face. I realize he's looking toward my stomach. I don't why, 
somehow I think of this of an unMulderlike gesture. Still, I get a good 
feeling seeing this. Almost a feeling that thing will work out. That things 
will be okay.

There you go again, Dana. Dreaming is becoming my favorite pastime now. It's 
easier to dream about a great life then go and get one yourself.

I do something strange, then. Taking Mulder's hand, I bring it up to my 
stomach and smile.

"You're not going to feel anything. It's too early."

His face takes on a weird look when I do this. He lets his hand sit there, 
gently, almost as if he was trying to read the contents inside. I've never 
seen it better, but he looks . . . content, almost. Like he's found 
something he's been looking forever for. I almost want to know who has 
replaced the Mulder I know with a pod person. He pulls his hand away, and 
looks up at me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concern suddenly on his face. "I mean I'll drive 
you home so that-"

"Slow down, Mulder. I'm fine. Just haven't been taking as good as care of 
myself as I should. I've never been pregnant before, plus I've spent too 
much time around your bad habits."

He smiles, and leans in toward me. I can almost feel my heart skip a beat as 
I can feel the heat of his body so close to mine. Why is he doing this? Are 
we okay? The conversation we just had was so confusing I didn't know what to 
think. Mulder had been so distant, yet now he was . . . so close. So very 
close. The pale face I have seen no longer that ten, fifteen minutes before 
was gone.

"Mulder?" I manage to say, with a bit of puzzlement. "We need to talk about 
his."

He nodded. "We do."

I'm silent again. I don't where to begin. I glance around the room. Well, 
first things first. I don't want to have this conversation in an ER exam 
room, although it's a second home to us both. I just realized that we both 
need to get out more, or maybe a tad less.

"Mulder, we should get out of here." I reach toward the bed for my purse. 
Suddenly he grabs my hand.

"Scully, you're right. We need to talk about this."

Didn't we just say that? We're back to being inches apart from each other. 
Mulder's hazel eyes find my own and I suddenly find myself happy in the 
position I'm in. Standing in an ER exam room, inches away from Mulder, his 
hand in mine. No wonder the staff thought we were married. Was that what all 
people thought? Maybe I should go with the crowd.

Here I was pregnant. I had told my mother, and she was okay with it. A bit 
disappointed at the fact I wasn't married, but still supportive. Now Mulder 
knew, in a situation I hoped to avoid. He nearly passed out at the doctor's 
words, and now was almost memorized by the situation. Maybe it was a reverse 
shock. I should look that up when I got home.

"You want to talk about this, Mulder. We will talk about it."

"I know, Scully." He pauses. "Six years together as partners, Scully. I 
wonder what the office pool is up to now. Probably hundreds." His eyes are 
dancing, the mischievous look I know so well is in them. "Do you want this, 
Scully?"

The question is simple, really, yet I can think of different "simple" 
meaning it could mean. Like, did I want the baby. Yes. Or did the question 
mean something else?

"The baby? Of course I want the baby. It's the one thing I thought I would 
never had. I want it very much." This was true. I had never realized I 
wanted a baby until I couldn't have one. But isn't that what they say about 
most things? You don't realize you want them until you discover you can't 
have them.

"No, Scully." Oh, God, _he's_ going to bring it up. I never thought Mulder 
had the guts. I never did. Even when I got pregnant.

"I don't want to-"

"This isn't about traps, Scully. This is about us. This is about-" He stops 
suddenly and grabs both of my wrists. He leans in, and I know it's going to 
happen. Suddenly I feel like a high school girl waiting for her prom date to 
give her that one kiss she will never forget.

Oh, and I certainly won't forget _this_ kiss, either. He leans slowly, and I 
let him. We're locking lips before we know it, and neither of us pulls away. 
I don't know how much time passes by, but neither of us is willing to end 
the moment we are having right now. Six years seemed like a mere waiting 
period for a product like this. Is this how it's meant to be? Is this how 
it's supposed to happen? My mind wants answers, but my heart already knows 
the answer.

Take it or leave it, Dana.

Hell, I think I'll take it.

"Excuse me?"

We both look, like guilty teenagers caught red-handed by a parent.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I just need you to sign the release forms." The 
nurse holds out a clipboard and I stop and sign the bottom. She smiles.

"You're free to go now." She begins to walk out, but stops at the door. "Oh, 
and congratulations!"

"Thank you," I mutter, watching the nurse walk out the door. I turn to 
Mulder. "What just happened here?"

He looks at me. "I think we just made out."

I nod. "Mulder, I want to know-"

He interrupts me again. "Scully, why do you need an answer to everything? 
Sometimes there isn't one. I don't know what will happen. But do we need to 
plan out our entire future when it hasn't even really begun yet? So let's go 
get lunch. Your choice. My treat."

He begins to walk out the door. I can feel another page turn in the story of 
my life. Mulder knows I'm pregnant, we make-out in an exam room, and then we 
just go out to lunch. Were we a couple now? I didn't know, but I smile.

Mulder's right. I don't need an answer. At least not now. I have a few 
months ahead to plan everything. Today I was going to relax, and enjoy the 
first stress-free day I've had in the last three months. This baby was 
hungry and so was I. I picked my purse and walked out the door after Mulder. 
Maybe we were a couple. Maybe everyone would think we were married. So what? 
Let them think that. Maybe that's the way it was meant to be.

Chapter 5



2 and a half months later
(5 months - babytime)

June was beautiful this year. The sun shined through the windows and the 
cold D.C. had seen only a couple of months back seemed like a distant 
memory. The weather seemed to suit my mood. Sunny, yet still held a couple 
of small clouds on the horizon.

It had been exactly two and half months since Mulder discovered I was 
pregnant. What's happened since? Tons. No, we didn't run out to Vegas to get 
married. Nor did we declare our love for each other in a passionate, 
splendid way. That only happens on soap operas. We knew we loved each other, 
we didn't even have to say it. We were going to have a baby, so we took a 
step. We moved in together. In fact Mulder didn't tell me he loved me until 
he was moving boxes into my apartment.

"Scully," he had said, placing a box of books on my kitchen table.

I looked up from my crossword puzzle. "Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mulder." Then I went back to my crossword puzzle. It was as 
simple as that. No, I don't have a ring around my finger. Yes, this baby is 
going to born into wedlock. And yes, my mom is ok with that, for now. I can 
picture her planning my wedding sometime in the future, however. What mother 
doesn't want to do that for their daughter?

And are Mulder and I sleeping together? Well, if you mean we're getting it 
on every single night then you're probably seen too many of Mulder's porn 
films. But, yes, we love each, we're having a baby, and we do sleep together 
occasionally. Who knew all it would take for Mulder and I to form a 
"relationship" was a one night stand and a baby on the way? Maybe we could 
sell our story to the soaps one day.

Oh, and yes my brother Bill knows as well. I didn't really intend to tell 
him. I had been beginning to show, though, and he noticed I gained weight 
when he came to visit. And, as some people may think, he did not go out and 
murder Mulder on the spot. He may be Navy, but he's not that rash. Sure, he 
spoke a few choice words, and told me that I could do better. But I know 
he'll come around. He only looks out for me, even though I can look out for 
me on my own. Guess I'm always be his little sister in the same way I'll 
always be my mom's baby girl. Tara, on the other hand, was very happy for 
me, and even offered to go baby shopping with me. I have to admit pregnancy 
is starting to grow on me.

Once Bill knew, he passed it along to Charlie, who passed it along to just 
about the whole family. My mom always said: "Tell Charlie Scully a secret 
and you might as well tell the world." Before I knew I had distant family 
members calling with congratulations and asking when they missed the 
wedding. They didn't miss it; it hasn't occurred yet. I don't even know if 
it will, but for the first time in my life, I'm okay with that. I don't need 
to plan my entire life. I just need to get through the next four months. 
Then I can go back to being a control freak. I've decided hormones are a 
great worry lifter.

Of course here comes the important thing: I have to tell people at work, 
mostly meaning I have to tell Kersh. Something I think Mulder was going to 
enjoy more than I would. It wasn't something I was looking forward to, but 
something I had to do. I was wearing baggy and non-flattering clothes to 
work to hide my slightly bulging stomach. My morning sickness had just about 
disappeared, but I was going to need some maternity leave. Maybe I could 
just call in sick for a couple of months straight.

And maybe pigs will fly tomorrow, Dana.

Yeah, right.

I thought today would be as good a day as any. I had a sonogram appointment 
at two that afternoon, something Mulder was strangely very excited about. 
He's been shocking me lately. The one man who I would think would be scared 
at the prospect of fatherhood went out yesterday and came back with a 
truckload of baby toys. Every toy was neutral, since we didn't now if the 
baby was a boy or girl. Though, come to think about it, Mulder did buy a few 
pink things. I think he wants a girl. He's never really told me a 
preference, but after yesterday's credit card bill I think he wants a girl.

Good. Another vote in my favor. Too bad votes alone can't get you a baby 
girl.

Mulder got up early this morning, heading off to work saying something a 
mound of paperwork Kersh had stuck him with. I figured he was really going 
to play an early game of Doom™ with the Gunmen. I got up usually, got ready 
for work, and intended to see Kersh about my condition at 10:30 sharp. That 
was my schedule and I'm sticking to it.

And before anyone asks, no I was not going to tell him about the baby's 
father unless he came out and asked. I knew what type of people Kersh knew. 
It was only about eight months back when I found that Cigarette Smoking 
bastard in his office. If he had to ask who the father was, he was a little 
denser than I thought.

I stuck to my schedule. Went into work, and at 10:30 went by myself to see 
AD Kersh. I sat down in the chair in the office and told him I would need 
some maternity leave in about four and a half months. He looked at me, said 
that I was entitled to the leave, and gave me congratulations. He didn't pry 
into my personal life. I hadn't walked into the office with Mulder, so he 
couldn't assume we were involved. He couldn't prove it. I knew that two 
coworkers dating was not against FBI regulation, they just didn't like the 
couple to working as closely together as partners. Something about how it 
would distract them from their duties in the FBI. Oh wow, it would stop 
Mulder and I from doing another background check. Oh, darn, how the FBI 
would hate that.

I think I've been around Mulder's sarcastic comments too long.

I found him back at his desk, glasses on, looking through a pile of 
paperwork on his desk. He looked up as soon as my feet were with his range.

"How did it go?" he asked, taking his glasses off and placing them on the 
desk.

"Fine. I have maternity leave in about four and a half months. I decided I 
wanted a little time before the baby came." Mulder nodded.

"So he didn't pry?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Mulder, I highly doubt he doesn't know. I just think 
he's not willing to ask."

Mulder smiled. "I did think he was a turkey, but never a chicken." He 
checked his watch. "It's about eleven. Want to duck out for an early lunch?"

"Mulder, regardless of the fact you may hate it, this is still work."

He glanced at the papers around him. "This isn't work, Scully. This is
punishment."

I sighed and sat down in my own desk behind him. "Punishment or not, it pays 
the bills. Especially the $387 bill on your credit card from Toys-R-Us®."

Mulder just grinned. "A baby has to get a few toys."

"Define a few for me, Mulder."

He let his hands fall down to the desk. "Okay, Scully you win. I work. 
Besides I do need to pay off the crib I just ordered."

Crib? I don't want to know.

"Think of as a break from investigating mutants, Mulder. Somehow I don't 
think this baby will work around your 'X-Files investigating' schedule."

Mulder looked up from the paperwork he had just gone back to. "If we ever 
get them back," he mumbled before going back to work.

Baby or no baby, some things never change.


Later that day

Mulder had gone back to his paperwork for exactly five minutes when the fire 
alarm sounded. The entire building spent the next forty-five minutes 
standing across the street as the fire department declared the J. Edgar 
Hoover Building safe. Thanks to someone who left their cigarette to close 
their own paperwork (Mulder has his own theories about that situation, of 
course), Mulder had his excuse not to work. Shortly after the fire escapade, 
he dragged me out to lunch and it was straight to the OB from there.

I had a two o'clock appointment for a sonogram. Since I was five months 
along, we would be able to see more, and even determine the sex of the baby.

Personally, even though I wanted a girl, I didn't want to spoil the surprise 
of discovering the sex of the baby before it decided to enter this world. 
I've had this discussion with Mulder, about whether or not to find out the 
sex. I think Mulder wants to know, but we agreed either both of us finds out 
now, or both of us finds out at the birth. Not one now and one at the birth. 
That could risk one telling the other. So, part of me wanted to know, the 
other part didn't. Which would win? I hadn't decided yet.

I caught Mulder leafing through Parenting Magazine in the waiting room. He 
continues to surprise me. The same sunflower eating, porn watching, paranoid 
as all hell man was also a sucker for babies. Who would have figured?

He even took the magazine into the exam room, and kept pointing out things 
as I sat on the cold table, bearing the stirrups. Mulder did gulp when he 
saw those. I have a feeling he may want to step out of the room during that 
part of the examination. Oh, well, you can't exactly blame him for that.

"Did you know that a lot of new names are coming out?" he said, looking up 
from the magazine. "Madison. Who wants to name their kid after a sports 
arena?"

I smile and raise my eyebrows. "Well, your name's not exactly 'normal' 
either."

He looked back down at the pages. "I am not going to punish any kid by 
naming him 'Fox'."

"It's not that bad of a name. It's unique."

Mulder just gives me a look. "Well, I'm not of those people who insists the 
first son be named after the father. There are plenty of other names you 
could pick from."

"Such as?"

He grinned. "Well, we could always name him Melvin."

He ducks to miss the magazine I throw at him.

"So you think it's going to be a boy?"

He looks at me. "I didn't say what I thought it was going to be."

"No preference?"

"You're not going to trick me, Scully," he say with a smile. "I'm not 
telling."

So much for my definite vote for a girl. Oh, well, he has to crack sometime. 
My OB, Rebecca Johnson, comes in soon, and for the first time, sees I have 
someone with me. However, she doesn't pry. A lot of people haven't been 
prying, and while it's a comfort, I find it a little strange. Like there's 
something I'm not seeing.

Paranoid, Dana, not everyone is interested in your personal life.

Five years in the basement sure gave me a new look on the world.

She goes through the normal exam first, with Mulder casually lifting his 
magazine up to cover his face. He made a comment about how the price 
difference in diapers was very interesting, when I knew he was just trying 
to stall until that part of the exam was over.

Finally we got down to the one part I knew Mulder had been looking forward 
to: the sonogram. As soon as something began to show up on the scene, he 
eyes perked up and he followed it as if it were the truth he had been 
searching for his whole life.

"So what is it?" he asked.

"Don't you want it to be a surprise?"

He looked at me for the answer. We had both had enough surprises in our 
life, enough twists and turns, it might be nice to know what we were 
expecting for once. So that we could prepare, so that we were at our best.

But then again, we're not talking about aliens taking over the earth (I 
still doubt that would happen) we're talking about the sex of the baby, 
here.

I shook my head. Some surprises were nice. He nodded in agreement.

"Besides, I have a bet with Frohike going."

I don't want to know what the winner of that bet gets. Though the Gunmen 
have been sweet, sending me a gift certificate to a maternity store. Frohike 
had added to the bottom of the card, "Though you would look good where ever 
you shop." I dropped the card back to the kitchen table when I read that, 
but I decided it was a sweet gesture. And I _did_ need maternity clothes.

So about a half hour later, Mulder and I were walking out of the doctor's 
office, Mulder muttering something about buying a frame so we could show the 
sonogram to the baby when it got older.

And sure enough he did buy one, adorned with flying saucers.

Years from now, I'll laugh at it, and maybe the baby will to.

End (03/05)

Chapter 6

Month Six – babytime

If you worked in the FBI and didn't know that Dana Scully was pregnant, then 
you were living under a rock. A very big rock. I got so many congratulations 
that I was sick of smiling and saying "thank you." I could not longer hide 
the fact I was pregnant; I was now in the smaller maternity clothes, but 
definitely gaining weight. I heard the rumors going around, that Fox Mulder 
had finally 'planted the seed' into Dana Scully, and for once wasn't upset 
about them. They were right, but I wasn't about the spill the beans unless 
someone directly asked. And I hadn't met anyone brave enough yet.

Until I ran into Walter Skinner.

I donut why I was near his office, perhaps it was something about paperwork 
and such, but I nearly bumped into to him, coming very close to losing the 
stack of papers I held in my hand.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully," he said as I straightened the papers I had. I 
felt his glance fall down toward my stomach. "I heard about your...addition. 
Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," I said, smiling.

"Scully you donut have to call me sir anymore, I'm not your boss," he 
replied with a smile. "I suppose that you and the father are very happy."

I noticed how he said "the father" like he wanted to say more. "Yes, we 
are."

"Sharon and I were happy when were expecting our first, too."

I frowned. I had no idea the Skinner had any children. "You have children, 
sir?"

He shook his head. "The baby was stillborn. We never did get the courage to 
try again."

"I'm sorry."

"That's okay, I'm sure that you and Mulder will have the best of luck-" He 
stopped when he realized he had said "Mulder." He paused. "I didn't mean 
that-, well, what I meant was, aw, hell, is he?"

"You mean Mulder, sir?"

He nodded. "For the sake of the FBI."

"Yes, but for now it's our secret. If anyone else wants to know, they ask 
themselves."

He smiled. "See how many will do that," he said as he walked away.

Three days later Mulder and I received a delivery. A high chair courtesy of 
a Walter Skinner.

Mulder was stunned; I just smiled.

Go figure.

Our job had been mundane; background checks had never been very interesting 
to begin with. I found Mulder's Doom™ tournaments more interesting than the 
paperwork that piled up on my desk. There was one good thing about 
background checks, though. Mulder hadn't had a work related injury in 
months, well, with the exception of the boating accident about nine months 
(or was it ten?) back, but you really couldn't call that work related. It 
was more like one-of-Mulder's-half-assed-jaunts related. Since this baby 
thing, I have noticed that he seems to be becoming a little more careful. Is 
Fox Mulder actually thinking first and using good judgment?

Nah. Has to be my imagination.

Today was Tuesday, a beautifully clear day in the beginning of July. Mulder 
and I had stopped by my mother's for Fourth of July last weekend, and Mulder 
had avoided my also visiting brother Bill at all costs. Surprisingly, there 
was no bloodshed. Bill and Mulder both behaved, like civilized men, an 
occurrence I truly believed would never happen. Never say never, I guess.

I'm surprised at how normal my life has become lately. Nothing strange has 
happened, and I'm almost afraid to say that I miss that. I never pictured 
myself falling in love with my partner, having a child, and having a . . . 
well, a normal life. Something tells me that this can't be happening. I'm 
almost expecting someone to rain on my parade. I find myself looking over my 
shoulder, always trying to find the catch. After all that has happened to 
me, there has to be a catch. Right?

I just donut know anymore. One day at a time, I take it. One day at a time. 
I can't go wrong with that.


6 months, three weeks – babytime

Well, another uneventful three weeks have passed. The baby is fine, I 
couldn't be better, and Mulder has used every curse in the book (plus he 
invented some of his own) trying to put up a crib yesterday.

We're living in my two bedroom apartment; he's now given up the lease on 
his, something that definitely signifies commitment. I still donut have a 
ring on my finger, marriage hasn't even been discussed. However, it has been 
placed on the table. Neither of us is in a rush, though. We love each other, 
but marriage? I think this baby may be old enough to participate in the 
wedding if we continue at our rate.

But what is marriage, but a slip of paper and a joint tax return?

Union of two people in the face of God, Dana.

Oh, yeah, there's that.

My mom already has a guest list. It's only a matter of time before she 
starts dropping stronger hints.

Oh well, I have bigger things to think about now. Like names. Names are a 
big argument between Mulder and I. We both have lists and they do not meet – 
anywhere.

Both lists hang on the refrigerator, with various cross outs and new 
entries.

Mulder's boy name of the week: Andrew.

Mine: Sean.

His girl's name: Elizabeth.

Mine: Anne.

At least we're in favor of old-fashioned, normal names. We just have to 
agree. We're both stubborn; neither wants to sacrifice either name.

He suggested Elizabeth Anne for the girl's name. I said why not Anne 
Elizabeth.

One of us has to comprise.

Well, we have about two months to try.

Let's hope this baby does not decide to come early.


6 months, three weeks, and three days – babytime

The due is approaching. _Very_ slowly. My ankles are swelling and the
Washington, DC July heat is not letting up. At least I'm delivering in 
September, when it's cooler.

Yet, with our weather pattern, who knows?

I had a meeting with Kersh today. His reasons weren't specified; something 
about my maternity leave. Mulder bid me a small "have fun" without looking 
up from his computer screen. He is becoming something of a computer junkie 
lately. Just as I was leaving, he looked up.

"I'll go pick up lunch," he promised. I nodded in agreement and went to wait 
for my appointment.

It was after sitting outside of Kersh's office for 48 minutes (I was 
counting) that I was beginning to get a bit annoyed. My stomach was 
rumbling, and I could feel the baby having a kicking frenzy inside of my 
stomach. No more 11 a.m. meetings.

I glanced up at Kersh's secretary for about the millionth time, ready to 
tear her apart of she said "I'm sure it will be any minute" another time.

I was jolted out of my secretary attacking thoughts by the ring my cell 
phone.

Geez, Mulder, what's so hard about picking up lunch? You've done it before.

I found my phone and answered it, "What, Mulder?" instead of my usual 
"Scully."

"Is this Dana Scully?"

That definitely wasn't Mulder. Suddenly I got a bad feeling in the pit of my 
stomach. The baby's kicking stopped; perhaps it sensed something too. I had 
read something about how babies can channel into your emotions.

"Yes, who's calling?" Please tell me that you're asking me to renew my
subscription to "The New York Times."

"My name is Tina Parks, and I'm a nurse at Washington General-"

Oh, God, don't say it.

"-and we have a Fox Mulder here. According to the information we found on 
him, you're his next-of-kin. Is that correct?"

That bad feeling is the pit of my stomach made it's way to my throat. "Yes, 
what's happened?" Calm, I have to remain calm. I always remain calm.

"Mr. Mulder has been is car accident and-"

"How bad?" The words were out of my mouth before I could even think; before 
I could even breathe. Just let him be okay. I heard the woman pause, 
something I knew was a bad sign.

"I won't lie to you, Ms. Scully. I think you should get down here right 
away. He was sideswiped, well actually according to the police-" She paused 
again, I knew she was considering whether or not to share information with 
me that the police should tell me themselves. I heard my own breathing 
hitch. This was just happening.

"he was most likely run off the road. I think you should get down
here as soon as possible."

I couldn't speak. I heard the line disconnect, but I just sat there with the 
phone in my hand, not moving, not doing much of anything. Finally I let the 
phone drop to my lap with a gentle thud, my stomach taking its fall. I 
didn't even notice.

Run. Off. The Road. The catch, this was the catch.

But why not me? I'm the one with the precious cargo. Unless they are going 
to start one family member at a time.

I feel a pang in my stomach. This can't be happening. This just can't be
happening.

I can feel the gaze of Kersh's secretary.

"Are you all right, Agent Scully?"

That question couldn't be farther from the truth.


Chapter 7


Still six months, three weeks, three days – babytime

How many times have you been here before, Dana?

I think I've lost count. To me this is just another waiting room, just 
another hospital stay to add to the long list.

One of this days he's not going to come home.

Please don't let that be today.

I got down to the hospital as fast as an almost seven-month pregnant woman 
could. I think I sped through at least two red lights.

Now I'm sitting the surgical waiting room, a room that's not foreign to me. 
It's just another four walls, just another nervous nail biting waiting 
period. Its just another stack of insurance forms to fill out.

Or is it?

Things are different now. I move my hand down to my stomach and absently rub 
it. Things are different.

My mother joined me about an hour ago. I don't know who called her, but I'm 
glad they did. He's been in surgery for almost four hours now.

That's a long time. But he's had longer.

I talked to the doctor. He's a mess, basically. Hit his head on the 
dashboard; he's lucky he missed the windshield. He doesn't has airbags in 
his car; something that I constantly argue with him about. We usually take 
my car because of it. But today we left at different times, in different 
cars.

I should have made him take my car.

His other injuries include internal bleeding, broken ribs, and a nice little 
pneumothorax caused by one of the ribs that basically decided to snap in 
half.

I'm calm, I'm surprisingly calm.

That is what is worrying me the most.

The police talked to me also. They had five eyewitnesses who saw a brown van 
tailgate Mulder for almost five minutes, before it suddenly pushed itself 
forward, causing Mulder to easily lose control.

The car had no license plates. And tinted windows. No one saw the driver.

Oh and the car was abandoned less then two miles from the hospital, wiped 
completely clean of any fingerprints.

And I'm calm.

Secretly, I'm thinking about how many people I could knockoff with my gun. I 
leave my hand on my stomach. One thing I don't want to do now is get myself 
so worked up that I send myself into labor.

Mulder would kill me if I had this baby without him.

I don't want to have this baby without him. I can just think of the crib at 
home he's worked so hard to put together. He finished it two days ago and 
yesterday it collapsed. I should have seen it coming.

Just like the table that collapsed in the _Joy Luck Club_. I remember high 
school English class. Didn't my English teacher say that in every story when 
something fell or collapsed that it foreshadowed a bad situation to come?

I never did like English. Science was definitely more my forte. That way
everything always had a definite answer, there was no "it could go either 
way" or "you have to read between the lines to see the true meaning." At 
least not in my schooling.


The X-Files and Mulder couldn't have proved me more wrong.

I think in the fifth hour of surgery I fell asleep because the next thing I 
knew someone was shaking my shoulder.

"Ms. Scully?" I sit up suddenly, cursing myself for falling asleep. I find a 
doctor dressed in green scrubs standing in front of me, a chart in hands.

"Mr. Mulder is out of surgery."

Out of surgery? I glance at the clock on the wall and discover I've only 
been asleep for about half an hour. I stop cursing myself.

"How is he?" I manage to mumble, my voice not completely with it yet.

The doctor gripped the chart in his hands, something I recognized as a 'I've 
got bad news to tell you' grip. A girl I went to medical school with used 
the tactic; I told her that it tips off the family members immediately. She 
still did it.

"I'll be honest with you, Ms. Scully, he's in bad shape. We managed to patch 
him up, but he's not out of the woods. The head injury is what we're most 
concerned with, so the next 24-48 hours will be critical."

"Can I see him?" It was my first impulse, besides wanting to go out and 
personally shoot the person responsible for this accident.

The doctor nodded. "He's been taken up to ICU. I'll let them know you're
coming."

After that, I kinda just walked up there as if on autopilot. I knew the way; 
I've walked these walls a lot more than I'd admit. Mulder tends to go 
between Washington General and Northwestern Georgetown. It mostly depends on 
which one is closer at the time of the incident.

The next hours are a blur. I sit mostly by his bedside, spending the maximum 
time that I'm allowed at his bedside. My mother forces me down the 
cafeteria, I call in sick for work. Only twenty-four hours go by, but it 
seems like a lifetime. Sit, get up, eat. I do eat, but not for myself, but 
for the baby. I figure I might as well have some common sense.

Mulder's a fighter and doesn't surprise me. After twenty-five hours he's 
awake. And then goes right back to sleep after groggily acknowledging me. 
Its three hours later when he awakes again wanting to know how long he's 
going to be laid up here that I know he's going to be okay.

And I can't be happier. Yet, it still bothers me.

If they wanted him dead, then why didn't they do the job completely then?


Seven months, four days -- babytime

"I've been here for eight days, Scully. I want to go home."

He's whining like a two year old. And I love it. He's really making a great 
recovery. Just this morning, I found him with a baby catalog in his lap and 
a credit card in his hand. How he got a hold of the catalog, I don't know, 
but I decided that he has to get out of here soon before my (correction, now 
'our') apartment is mistake for Toys 'R Us.

Now he's looking at me again, with that look he's been perfecting for the 
last six years. All I can do is smile and go to find his doctor to talk 
about release papers. He's beaming and talking about a nice comforter he 
found for the crib he built.

I still haven't had the heart to tell him the crib he spent so much time 
putting up collapsed. Yet, somehow, I know he won't mind putting it back up.

Either that or he gives in and pays the extra fifteen dollars for 
construction.


Seven months, 19 days

He's been home for a week and a half and things are going back to normal, 
well, what you can call normal for Mulder. He was disappointed to see the 
crib back in pieces, but putting it back to together is the least strenuous 
activity I find him happy with. He seems to have forgotten how he still has 
another week and a half of medical leave before he can even step foot in the 
FBI.

Maybe next I should buy a self-assembling high chair.

"Shit! Damn piece of-"

Then again, maybe not.

My mind has almost forgotten about the accident, but almost isn't enough in 
my book. The police found no leads; the case was going nowhere. Mulder was 
alive and almost as good as new, so I tried to concentrate on that. But I 
still can't get rid of the feeling I have in the pit of my stomach.

Neither can the baby. He or she kicks like crazy whenever I seem to think 
about it. I don't know what to make of that. Things have been too easy. I 
somehow doubt that "they" would just leave us alone. As my due date grows 
closer, I just get more worried. September 14 is circled on my calendar, but 
all I feel is dread about that day.

I curse myself for that feeling. A baby brings joy, but then you throw in 
the last six years of my life and . . . well, you don't exactly get the best 
feeling in the world. Maybe I'm just paranoid.

Mulder taught me well.

"Scully?"

I turn and find him holding his hand, a look of pain on his face. I sigh and 
take his palm, and look at the nice three inch gash that it now has.

"I think we should have someone come and assemble the crib," he says weakly 
and all I can do is laugh.

"Ok, but first back to the ER. You're going to need stitches," I answer, 
picking up the car keys. He grimaces.

Yes, things are definitely getting back to normal in the Mulder world, at 
least.


Eight months

August 14th has arrived. The one month countdown has continued. My mother 
told me she started packing for the hospital at eight months, just in case. 
That was a good thing, too, because I was two and a half weeks early. I 
decided I wasn't going to be unpacked when this baby let me know it wanted 
out. Thus, at eight months, my bag was packed and by the door. Mulder just 
shook his head. I just smiled.

"Babies are like the government, Mulder. They arrive when they want, on 
their own schedule."

"Own schedule? Yeah, I guess even screwing the people has a schedule these 
days." From my position on the couch, I throw a pillow at him. He just ducks 
and goes back to the paperwork he has laid in front of him.

Mulder's gone back to work, though he has another week before he's totally 
cleared to go into the field again. He's just been catching up on paperwork, 
a hell of a lot of paperwork. Yes, we're still on background checks. And 
yes, Mulder's less than enthusiastic, just as before.

My maternity leave starts in about two weeks, though I can tell Mulder 
wishes I would talk off earlier. He's lucky I'm taking off two weeks 
_before_ the baby. If I really listened to what I wanted, I'd be working 
until I went into labor. But I know I need some time off, and I have swollen 
ankles to prove it.

I've been getting a lot of "You still here?" and "When is that baby due?" at 
work, so I really do need to get out of there. They are driving me nuts. 
Especially all the women who I never talk to who come up to me and give me 
advice that I don't want and I don't need. Why does everybody think that 
just because I'm pregnant I need every piece of child rearing advice I can 
get? Plus, no one ever agrees. I've gotten more contradictions than 
agreements. It's very confusing.

Mulder and I still can't agree on a name. He's still insistent about the 
name Elizabeth, and refuses to name a baby girl anything other than that. 
Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if we had a boy.

I still want that girl, though.

The crib is up, thanks to my neighbor Nick upstairs who had just finishing 
assembling his niece's the week before. Mulder grumbled throughout the whole 
process, but it was basically because he was pissed he couldn't do it 
himself. He got over it quick, as soon as he discovered that Nick was a 
Knicks fan. And thankfully a married Knicks fan. I try to remind him that 
I'm eight months pregnant, why would I go shopping now, but he doesn't 
listen. That's jealousy for you. And for some reason that's kind of nice.

Life has become what I thought I'd hate. Somewhat normal hours, and a 
family. I had always wanted a family, but somehow I had pictured it 
differently. However, some things are meant to be.

Meant to be. That statement itself gives me a shiver. I keep thinking its 
just a charade. That 'they're' (why do I say that I always wonder) just 
waiting for Mulder's and my guard to go down. That out baby is going to be 
tested and ...

I have an overactive imagination.

Or maybe not. It seemed I'm more paranoid then Mulder these days. Though, I 
know when he thinks I'm not looking, he's e-mailing the 'guys' and putting 
them on the lookout. Yeah, this is a real storybook romance, all right. 
Perhaps I should start writing children's books while I'm at it.

During my last week at work, I got an interesting proposition offered to me 
by AD Kersh. I could say good-bye to background checks and field work until 
my maternity leave and for two months after it to go back to the autopsy 
game. At first, I considered it garbage and suspected something was behind 
it, but in the end, Mulder got me to take it. Said it would allow me more 
time with the baby for the first couple of months.

"You can always chase a fertilizer truck, Scully," he teased, and was in 
surprisingly good spirits. For some reason I think it's the fact that word 
got down that the X-Files solving percentage is down. Way down. At this 
rate, though, I'm afraid Mulder may resort to stealing them from the filing 
cabinets in the basement. If only it were basketball season...


8 months, 14 days

My heart's still pounding.

Today was not a good day.

It was my last day of work before my maternity leave started. My mother was 
taking me baby item shopping the next day, excited as could be over the fact 
the two week countdown was about to begin. However, she was going to drag me 
past the weeding displays I knew, but I wouldn't mind so much.

After today, I don't think I feel like shopping.

It was simple really. Some coworkers had (to my surprise) decided to give me 
a cake and a kind of baby shower. Turns out, since Mulder and I got 
involved, that I seemed a little 'brighter' to some people. I hadn't noticed 
a change. I still don't think there is one. The thought was nice and I was 
all set to leave, a bag of baby gifts ready to take with me, when I noticed 
a small white envelope next to the bag.

I had picked it up, thinking I'd neglected it before and it went with one of 
the gifts.  Curious, I had opened it, reading its contents. My demeanor 
changed immediately.

"No 'accident' is a mistake. It's only a warning. Watch your step." The 
sentence has ingrained itself in my memory. It could be prank, but the line, 
typed in its simplicity seemed like no prank to me. Mulder was the same, 
taking the paper and starting his own private investigation. I'm just off on 
my own, thinking of what it meant. I never saw anyone drop the note off.

What made it even worse was the same message was in an e-mail sent to my
mailbox, the returning address not existing. It was a warning. What was 
going on here? I had two weeks until my due and now this? Something was 
going to happen.

Mulder immediately asked for two weeks off, and was on the phone at least an 
hour tonight, before pulling me into the bedroom and telling me to pack.

"What is going on?" is my immediate reaction.

"Frohike got a hold of some security tapes from the Bureau. Someone likes 
us, Scully. Just enough to tell us to get the hell out of here. At least 
until you have that baby."

"What a minute, Mulder. I'm just as worried as you are, but where are we 
going to go?"

"The guys found us a place. Upstate New York. And someone who might be able 
to help us lose the trail." He's throwing clothes into a duffel bag and 
starts to open my drawers as well. For a moment he stops and meets my eye, 
before stepping toward me. "I love you, Scully. I'll explain everything on 
the way, I promise. Just trust me?"

I start going through my drawers.

End (04/05)

Chapter 8

It had to be bad. We were in a rental car, driving to New York. A car rented 
with aliases, and we were most definitely not leaving a paper trail behind 
us.

"Mulder, what the hell is going on?" I felt as if we had moved so fast that 
a cloud of dust could seen behind us. I heard him sigh and grip the wheel 
tighter. "Mulder."

"My 'accident' Scully. I kept trying to tell myself it was an accident, but 
someone's toying with us."

"You always think someone is toying with you Mulder--"

"No, Scully, I'm right about this," he interrupts, his voice determined. 
"You couldn't conceive before, we should have seen it right there-"

It was my turn to interrupt. "Wait a minute, Mulder, there are such things 
as miracles-"

"Scully, I know about your strong Catholic roots, but this is far from the 
story of Elizabeth suddenly conceiving a child after years of no success and 
age against her. You always talk about science and face it, Scully, science 
was against us."

I was silent. I sat, taking in what he had just said.

"What did your OB say when you talked about your infertility, Scully?"

I turn to look at him, thinking for a moment. "She said that mistakes can be 
made and be grateful."

"Yeah, about your test results."

"Perhaps I had a sudden regrowth-"

"Of thousands of eggs, healthy and just waiting for sperm to create 
thousands of babies."

"What are you talking about, Mulder?" I suddenly jerked his hand, causing 
him to jam on the brakes. Thank God from the nearly empty road. I knew that 
I had no idea what he was talking about. My doctor had simply said that a 
regrowth of a few eggs was explainable, but what was Mulder talking about?

"Mulder, I need an explanation."

Another sigh came from him. "Scully, that OB, that doctor of yours, is 
lying. According to a report that Gunmen got their hands on you could easily 
populate a small city. We could have a very large and very healthy family."

I was suddenly breathless. I could hear Mulder pulling over to the side of 
the road and eventually my door being opened. I looked to find Mulder's eyes 
staring into my own.

"I found out last night."

"That the kind of thing you should share, Mulder."

He takes my hand and placed it on my stomach. "Well, the result is worth
whatever happened."

I begin to wonder what else he found out the night before. "Mulder, what 
else did the Gunmen tell you?"

Another sigh. That is beginning to become the trademark that comes with back 
news. "We're being watched, Scully. More than usual. Whoever 'gave' you back 
the ability to conceive is lurking. Maybe for payment. But if it's our 
smoker behind this, I'm not sure what the hell he wants."

"The baby's healthy, Mulder. Normal. What could they want with it?"

"I keep wondering, Scully. They perhaps that result of those tests you had 
done were doctored as well. It's our baby, yes, but what else could be-"

"I still worry about that, too, Mulder." I do worry about it. About how this 
baby could turn out like Emily. However, I kept convincing myself my fears 
were unfounded. Until now. "Mulder, we _made_ this baby. Us. Not some 
laboratory."

"I can't help but think that us becoming a couple was just an added bonus to 
our plan. That you getting pregnant because of a night we spent together was 
just an added convenience; they didn't have to kidnap us to accomplish."

"That's very paranoid, Mulder. Even more then usual."

Mulder gives me a grin. "I love you. I want things to be okay, Scully. I 
want, for once, everything to be okay. I never thought I'd say this, but for 
once, I wish I was something boring like an accountant, living in a little 
white house, in a little town in the middle of perfect suburbia."

"You'd get bored. I'd get bored."

"You're probably right." Giving my hand one last squeeze he closes my door 
and climbs back into the driver seat and pretty soon we're back on the road 
toward a destination that could bring unknown disaster.


3 days later
Upstate New York

The cabin was nice, definitely a quiet vacation spot. The Gunmen had planned 
well; the place was well stocked and belonged to a subscriber of theirs who 
turned out to be a doctor in the Big Apple. Of course, I think his wife is a 
little wary of the fact that her husband has such connections. However, Mark 
and Judy Andrews, as they introduced themselves when we arrived, we there to 
stay with us. Both Mulder and Byers had agreed that since I obviously 
couldn't seek medical help if something went wrong during the birth, a 
doctor could come in handy. Especially when I learned Mark was an OB. I 
could pry. I could. But I'll save that for the car trip home.

The place has enough medical supplies to deliver ten babies, if you ask me. 
Mulder is just a tad overprotective. Almost immediately after arriving, he 
has Mark examine me. Then I sat down with a lot of information I got from 
Mulder. Then I saw it all.

The test results revealed the fact that I was a perfectly normal female. A 
piece of information that would normally have me up dancing for joy now had 
me suspicious and nosy. They seemed to be dirty fingerprints all over every 
test I had performed during my pregnancy. My own doctor had referred the OB 
to me. However, I now had photocopied prove that Dr. Rebecca Johnson had 
entered into a deal with someone for a great deal money. And though the 
details were sketchy it seemed that the answer was simple - information 
about me was the exchange. I saw the appeal of the money that could help 
further a growing practice. Still, the ethics of medicine had gotten lost in 
the shuffle.

This was all three days ago. I had been pondering this all for three days. I 
have a week and a half left till my due date, but the baby has definitely 
dropped. It seems that I'll be delivering before my due date. I have to 
admit, though, I think I'll miss being pregnant. After having a human being 
inside you for so long, I started to think about what it would be like after 
he or she was gone.

She. I wanted a she. I was still stuck on Anne. However, Mulder's insistence 
on Elizabeth was beginning to wear me down as well. Mulder was in love with 
calling a little girl 'Beth' and I hate to deny him a pleasure.

But it is me that will be delivering this child.

And that is something I will not have him forget.


The countdown - 9 days to go

"False labor, Mulder. I can happen with the first pregnancy."

I am only trying to tell him that for the eightieth time. Mark gave up and 
went back to bed after it had been determined there was going to be no baby 
tonight.

"Are you sure?"

Mulder had turned into a nervous father. He was an example of those fathers 
you see on TV that can't find their keys when their wives suddenly go into 
labor. Oh, of course, there was one difference. I wasn't his wife.

Judy had been trying to sell me on marriage. It wasn't that I wasn't sold on 
the idea, but that I didn't want anyone to think Mulder and I had just tied 
the knot because he 'knocked me up.' We loved each other and that was what 
mattered. I think.

"Do you need anything, Scully? Anything?"

Another thing that Judy and Mark picked up on was how Mulder and I still 
call each other by our last names. We tried to explain, but somehow it was 
an inside joke that only we understood. I couldn't call him 'Fox'; he would 
call me 'Dana' on occasion but it still seemed like a foreign word from his 
lips. I'd always be 'Scully'; he'd always be 'Mulder.'

"Mulder, I'm _fine_. For the thousandth time, I'm _fine."

"Don't you think that's getting a bit old, Scully," Mulder teases me and I 
hit him on the shoulder, before preparing to get up. That's another thing. 
Petite as I am, it's getting harder and harder to get up. I will not miss 
that little bothersome 'adventure' after this baby's delivered.

I change the subject as a serious thought crosses my mind. "Mulder, have you 
gotten any 'new' information?"

"From Frohike?"

I nod.

"Nothing. They seem to have hit a dead end. We may have thrown them off
course, Scully. I think they want something with the delivery. After we get 
past that, we should be home free."

"What makes you so sure about that."

"I got a theory." He flashed me another grin.

I give a little laugh. "Like I haven't heard that one before." Walking into 
the bedroom, I expect to hear Mulder's footsteps on my heel. Instead I heard 
them retreating.

"Mulder?"

"Just going to check my e-mail, Scully."

"This late?"

"Theories don't know what time it is."

Of course, after that comment, I know I'll find asleep at the computer the 
next morning.


8 days to go.

I didn't find Mulder asleep at the computer the next morning. Instead I 
found him sitting on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Mulder?"

"Someone has tracked us to the rental agency, Scully. But Langly said that 
luckily they found a barren trail after that."

"The baby-"

"Right, Scully. You have to have that baby. The sooner the better. Before 
they pick up the trail again."

I stop to let his words set in.

Chapter 9



"Are you sure you want to do this, Scully?"

"No turning back now, Mulder."

If it had been six years ago, I would have believed Mulder was completely 
paranoid and completely nuts about me having this baby as soon as possible. 
Of course, it wasn't six years ago and I wanted to go back to my apartment.

I also wanted to be able to get out of a sitting position without any 
difficulty.

The moment I had calmed down about my pregnancy, I had read every piece of 
literature ever written on the subject. One interesting piece of text was 
one I'd heard about but never truly looked into. It was the 'natural' ways 
to induce labor. I had thought they were a load of crap.

And nine hours later, I've decided that while they may work for some women, 
they did _crap_ for me. All I gained was embarrassment and comments from the 
peanut galley of Fox Mulder.

So, now here I was, sitting up against about five pillows, in the room 
Mulder and I were staying in. I had a fetal monitor up, an IV in, and an 
angry OB, against a Pitocin-induced labor for no medical reason.

I then learned just how persuasive Mulder's seeming paranoid mind can be 
when it comes to crisis. Mark was still against it, but seems to be looking 
over his shoulder every five minutes.

As if someone would come into plain site.

What am I saying? Do I think someone is going to take this baby from me?

Whoa, I better not answer that one.

I wasn't all together happy about the prospect of inducing labor, myself. I 
had wanted to have this baby the natural way. I'd go into labor, Mulder 
would freak out, we'd go to the hospital and hours later (I wasn't even 
thinking about labor pains) we'd have a little baby.

What was I high on when I thought that concept up?

I was most definitely not looking forward to labor at this point. Despite 
the fact that Pitocin can take hours to work (or not even work at all - I am 
not going to think about that situation), the contractions are more rapid on 
onset (quoting a textbook there, Dana?) and can be more intense. Not to 
mention the greater chance of needing a C-Section.

I was most definitely _not_ going to think about that.

Yes, right now I am going to think about the end result -- a little baby, 
soft and sweet. And I don't even care if it's a boy or girl.

Okay, maybe I care a little.


11 hours later.

Okay, now I definitely don't care if it's a boy or a girl.

I just want it _out_.

Since I was having this labor induced I had decided that I wouldn't use any 
drugs, hence make this birth somewhat 'natural'.

Once again, _what_ was I thinking??

It's wasn't so bad at first. Then one contraction hit and well, without an 
x-ray, no one can prove I broken Mulder's hand. Surprisingly, though, he's 
still here, coaching me, nursing an ice pack over very swollen knuckles.

Yet, I still want to use every curse word known to man. Ironic world, huh?

The contractions are getting closer together and I can't wait for this whole 
thing to be over. I suddenly have this urge to call for my mother (who, by 
the way, is going to be _pissed_ when she finds out I had this baby without 
her presence nearby) and have her kiss it better.

"Is it too late to say that I've changed my mind?" Shit, did I just say that 
sentence out loud?

I hear Mark. "I think so, Dana."

I did say it out loud. Score one for weakness, Dana.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? Pretty soon you'll be at the point of 
no return. It's just full speed ahead from there, Dana."

"I know." Breathe. Think back to the Lamaze classes. I get a mental picture 
of Mulder's shock at the childbirth video we had to watch. Geez, after 
everything we've seen, I would have never guessed childbirth would make 
Mulder jumpy. "And no." I look at Mulder, who is trying to hide the pain 
from his hand from me. He smiles.

"Hey, just hold out a little longer. You're doing great."

His words, though sincere, don't mean a crock of shit to me at this moment.

"Easy for you to say."

I should be more compassionate, perhaps, as I think back an hour to Mulder 
declining painkillers himself, but hell, I'm in labor. And it hurts.

I had asked my mother about the actual labor. She was in labor for 36 hours 
with Bill, and by the time she got to Charlie she was down to an 8 hour 
labor. Well, 8 hours passed for me, and I am praying it's not going to be 
36.

Another contraction hits me, and I look for something to grab onto. I closed 
my eyes, and was ready to gab air when I feel a familiar hand latch onto 
mine. I open my eyes and was surprised to see Mulder's good hand holding 
onto mine.

I was never more in love with him as at this moment.

The contraction eased and his eyes look into mine.

"Scully?"

"What?" I'm sweaty, unattractive, in pain, and not the most happy camper at 
this point.

"Marry me."

"What?" I stare at him for a couple of minutes. "Mulder, I -"

Of course, another contraction interrupts me. I hear Mulder's voice through 
it, though and as the pain eases once again, I try to think about what he's 
just asked me.

Mulder asked me to marry him.

What am I going to say?

He's still looking at me, and I know he wants an answer. Then before the 
next contraction hits, I smile at him.

"If I get to pick the name."

"No way!" he murmurs and goes to kiss me.

A contraction interrupts him, however, and it's more intense this time.

"Beth is the perfect, name, Scully."

"So . . ." Breathe. "sure . . . it's . . . going . . . to . . . be . . . a 
girl?" After all this, it better be a girl.

"I have a theory on this, Scully. The Gunmen are running 2 - to - 1 odds on 
it."

"Don't make me laugh, Mulder."

"I'm not." I can picture the pout as I close my eyes against another 
contraction. They are coming closer.

Hopefully it won't be much longer.

17 hours into labor.

Not much longer, my _ass._

Mulder's words stopping being comforting and staring becoming annoying about 
four hours ago. That was when, Mark had told me "looking great, the way 
you're dilating, it shouldn't be much longer."

Then my dilation slowed.

Now it's stopped and has been that way for the last hour.

My medical mind is worried. The baby is going nowhere. I'm not dilated 
enough for this baby to be delivered. I can't have a C-section in the middle 
of a cabin - this is not a hospital.

I am getting scared.

After another exam, I could see Mark getting worried.

Great, just what I need. The OB freaking.

"It's just 2 more centimeters, Mark. Give it a little time. Maybe the baby 
will drop." Another contraction hit and I wanted to push.

"You can't push. According to the sonogram, the baby's head is never going 
to fit even if he or she dropped. There's no choice but C-Section."

Shit. I glance out the window. The slightly overcast September sky has 
turned dark, as if predicting the turn of events. Mulder has turned to talk 
to the doctor himself, asking questions like 'how the hell are we going to 
do this' and I think back to why we're having this baby now in the first 
place.

What if 'they' catch up? I still am unsure about who 'they' is. As I look at 
the stormy sky, it seems like a trail of smoke has inhabited the clouds, 
turning their usual white gray. Smoke . . .

Another contraction comes. This baby wants out and it's not going to happen 
the natural way.

I want my mommy.

I glance back out at the sky. I need everything to be okay.
I need 'Beth' to be okay.

Did I just say 'Beth'? Mulder's name has attached itself to my brain. But 
hell if I'll name a little boy 'Andrew.'

I hear rain start to fall against the window panes.

Chapter 10



It's amazing how fast things can get done. It seemed that one minute I was 
worrying a hell of a lot about needing a C-Section far from a hospital then 
the next minute it was happening.

I've never seen anyone more nervous then Mulder.

Well, besides myself that is.

Mark had contacts and that at least put my mind a little bit more at ease. 
In a half an hour there were three more people in the room, and I was 
already prepped. I spent five minutes 'discussing' the choice of anesthetic 
and won my argument with a spinal. I wanted to be aware of what was going on 
- it was my body.

It was still raining, the dark clouds giving their all. I saw Mulder with a 
suspicious eye and had almost forgotten why this birth had become rushed in 
the first place.

Can anything in my life be simple anymore?

Not since the X-Files, that's for sure. Not that I would trade this for a 
job in the medical profession. Mulder had told me to "go be a doctor" once, 
and part of me had wondered what would have happened if that was the path I 
chose to take.

Oh, well, no use wondering about "what ifs."

"Ready for this, Scully?"

I look up to find Mulder dressed in scrub wear and I know there's no turning 
back now. I am going to be a parent in just a few minutes.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

And it begins. I feel as if I'm holding my breath as the doctor makes the 
first incision. I notice Mulder is looking away. Funny he was never 
squeamish during autopsies; then again it was never a living breathing 
person that you knew and loved.

The idea of names was running through my head when felt something being 
lifted out of me. I couldn't help but feel a little empty at that point. I 
had been pregnant for nine months and now it was over.

"It's a girl," I hear Mark say but I'm drawn to the fact that the little 
human, not yet even cleaned off and crying her little head off, was mine. 
All the years I pictured becoming a mother never prepared me for this 
moment. I felt more happy and proud then I ever did. The excitement was 
making me lightheaded.

"Oh my God, Scully, we have a little girl," I heard Mulder murmur. He, too, 
is glued to our child as it there were nothing else in the world that 
mattered.

At that moment, there is nothing else.

I'm speechless, overjoyed, and actually a bit dizzy.

I see my little girl being moved out of my site and vaguely notice someone 
cleaning her and handing her to Mulder, but things seem a bit out of focus.

" . . . a little bleeding . . ."

I hear words around me but there are jumbled and make no sense. Mulder is 
holding our daughter and being ushered away. I think he is . . . don't take 
the baby away.

Things suddenly become dark.


Some time later

The first thing I notice is soft sheets. Like the ones that were on the bed 
Mulder and I had been sleeping in. The next thing I notice is pain. Not bad 
pain, but enough pain that I'd be sore for a while, I figured. My mother had 
a C-Section. With me actually. I remember she said it wasn't a picnic. At 
least I was feeling. I was okay, I figured, even though I could still feel 
an IV running into my left arm and could hear a heart monitor beeping softly 
in the background.

I opened my eyes.

Mulder was sitting in a rocking chair, holding a little bundle, and softly 
singing.

I never thought I'd see that. I stir a bit more and Mulder stops, and 
realizes he's been caught. He blushes and I know, then, that he'll be a 
great father. I wonder why I even thought he'd hate the idea. For day one, 
he's been the most supportive enthusiastic guy a woman could have. Yet, he's 
blushing at being caught in a rocking chair with his daughter, singing.

There are worse things you could be caught doing, Mulder. A couple of tapes 
comes to mind along with a mental note to do a quick inventory when we get 
home. Then again, he had seemed to kick that habit when he and I started 
doing the real thing.

"Scully, she's beautiful." He gets up and I notice the cast on his hand for 
the first time (yikes, guess he did break something) and carries the bundle 
to the bed, sitting down next to me, and pulling aside the blanket.

She's perfect. I've never seen a more perfect child in my life.

I know I'm being partial, but I don't care.

She's my daughter.

Wow.

Mulder is beaming, and I think back to when I woke up. I have no idea how I 
got here; it's big void. Something went wrong, I figured.

"Mulder, what happened?"

He looks up from our daughter. "You just bled a little after delivery. The 
doctor says you'll be fine, but that you have to take it easy for a while. 
He also recommends that we let nature take its course for the next one 
though."

Next one? Did I just hear that?

"You want more kids, Mulder?"

"Of course I do. A whole set of kids. Why? Are you surprised?"

"A little," I admit. One baby was one thing, but many others were another. 
Then again, why am I surprised. Mulder has shocked me over the years. Many 
times. I should be used to it.

He sighs and hands me the baby. I breath in her scent and get my first look 
at her. She has a full head of brown hair, like her father, but other then 
that, I'm not sure who she resembles.

"She has your nose, Scully." I look up at Mulder. "I wasn't sure about this 
whole idea, at first. I didn't think that I'd be a good enough father."

"Mulder-" I start, but he interrupts me.

"But now, I'm ready to give it a try. As long as you are. I'd be ready to 
give another one or two a try, too."

"Well, let's get past one at a time, Mulder."

"I meant what I said when I asked you to marry me, Scully. I mean, we've 
done the 'kid thing.' Marriage should be a piece of cake. Hell, you even win 
with the name. We can call her Anne."

I look from my daughter to Mulder.

"No, you win, Mulder. Beth has grown on me. Elizabeth Anne. And marriage
will make my mother very happy. Me, too." Mulder smiles. I swear he knew in 
advance I'd cave in. "But I name the next one. No questions asked."

"As long as it's not Fox, we have a deal."

I run my hand over my baby's tiny toes. Suddenly, my eyes catch something.

"Mulder."

"What?" His eyes are draw to my hand.

"What's that look like to you?" I point to a mark on the bottom of her foot. 
It's looks like a puncture of some kind, and I'm panicking. I subconsciously 
reach up to the back of my neck.

Mulder just shakes his head. "It's nothing, Scully. At least, not what you 
think. I had Mark draw blood, just so we could run a check on her. Make sure 
everything's okay."

I relax. I should have known that. Geez, Dana, you're only a doctor. "Then 
it's over?" My voice is unsure and sounds much like a child asking that 
question to her mother right after the doctor's given her a shot.

"I wouldn't say that. Nothing seems to be over for us."

I look back down at Beth, and see her blue eyes looking at me. I think about 
calling my mother. I think about getting her baptized (there's my Catholic 
upbringing). I think about the joy I'll see in my mother's eyes when I tell 
her I'm getting married. I think about Beth's first day of school, of what 
kind of person she is going to be. Of what kind of life she's going to lead.

I only want the best for her. I suddenly wish everything would settle. 
Mulder and I may not have the X-Files, but we still have every bit of 
conspiracy surrounding us. He's looking for the truth.

I didn't know what I was looking for.

But somehow I think I've found it in Beth's eyes.

"The End"
For now.

I started this story over a year ago. It was a hard story for me to 
complete. I was slightly turned off the X-Files for a short time this year 
and suffered bouts of writer's block, but after watching "Requiem" I felt 
inspired to complete it. As so I have. However, this may just be the 
beginning. I am considering turning this story into the beginning of a 
series of stories that spawn off into an Alternate Universe after the 6th 
season episode, "The Ghosts That Stole Christmas." The next will probably be 
told from Mulder's point of view and involve Scully, Mulder, and baby in a 
life together as a family and something that will always remain, Mulder's 
quest for the truth. I'd love to hear from readers about that idea.

Thank you everyone who has helped on the long journey to complete this 
story.
Feedback is appreciated at JenR13@aol.com

End (05/05)