From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 20 Mar 2002 02:28:21 -0000
Subject: Silent Distances (1/2) by C and Me
Source: direct

Reply To: berngard3@yahoo.com


Silent Distances (1/2)
by C and Me  berngard3@yahoo.com 
Rating:  Slight NC17 (is that like "a little pregnant"?) 
Classification:  RS  
Keywords:  post-ep Requiem, Mulder angst, MS married, Mulder POV 
Archive:  Please let me know where 
Disclaimer:  Only those of the inner circle -- Carter, Fox, 1013
-- may "own" these creatures but can they really be possessed,
cornered, bartered, or are they like gossamer fairies, flitting
from one to another, bestowing inspiration and mysticism on the
unsuspecting? 
Date Authored:  8/27/01 
Spoilers:  Requiem (there is NOTHING here remotely akin to
Seasons 8 or 9.  Don't look, you won't find it.) 
Summary:  Sometimes those who wait have the hardest of tasks, and
endurance may just be a matter of the mind.  When Mulder returns,
in what condition will he find Scully?

* * *

Part 1

* * *

Martha's Vineyard

Today is the beginning of the sixth month.  I watch the waves
crash on the beach below the house, the breakers of high tide
rolling in.  It's crystal clear today, blue sky, wispy clouds on
high, a slight breeze from the ocean.  Not too chilly, nice in
fact.  

I try to memorize the days ... just in case ... in case she wants
to know what she missed yesterday or the day before or last
month.  Just in case....

I turn back to her chair positioned out of the sun under the
umbrella on the flagstone patio.  I had the patio installed about
a month ago; I got tired of having the lawn chairs sink into the
turf every day, leaving little divots at night.  The patio
actually turned out quite nice, rimmed by a low wall so Sammy
eventually won't ride his trike off and over into the dunes.  Big
enough to barbecue or dine on.  

I splurged.  I went out and bought the full set of patio
furniture.  Y'know, chaise lounge, chairs, rocker, table,
umbrella.  But I think we'll get their use out this season,
especially if the weather stays like this.  I know.  It's so
damned domesticated you wouldn't know me as the former inhabitant
of this body, but what the hey.  It's still me, although my life
has changed more than I wish to contemplate. Some good, *great*
actually.  Some really, really bad.

Scully's sitting in the lounge where I placed her not ten minutes
ago.  Later this afternoon after her nap I'll move her to the
table and chairs and reposition the umbrella.  

I sigh and crouch next to her, describing the scene before me.
"It's a beautiful day, Scully.  Lots of sunshine.  The gulls are
making a meal out of some bread on the shoreline.  And if you
squint and look far enough out to the horizon at ten o'clock you
can see a ship passing.  Must be a freighter.  Could be headed to
Baltimore."  

I hold her hand as I speak, gently circling my thumb on her
fingers.  She lost weight while I was gone and has yet to gain it
back.  It's a fight just to keep her where she is now.
Ninety-eight.  So little.  So frail. 

But her color is good today, a rose in her cheeks.  Hope I didn't
keep her out in the sun too long yesterday.  Maybe I should move
her inside this afternoon.

I entwine the digits of my left hand through her hair as my right
still holds her delicate fingers in my grasp.  Shampoo tonight I
think.  When was the last one?  Two days ago?  Three?

I lightly rub her head and lean in, planting a kiss on her
temple.  "I love you, honey.  I'm still here.  Right here,
Scully."  I tell her this every time I can.  It's become my
mantra.  Sometimes I think she'll wake up and sing those words
from here to doomsday just to torture me.  But sweet torture it
would be.  At least it would mean she's back.

She's been like this for seven months now, I'm told.  Of course,
I only remember the last six.  Seven months.

Our little boy is seven months old.  She's missed all of it,
almost.  Well, I guess she did have those first two weeks after
his birth, before *this*, but two weeks is nothing in the life of
our child.  

Sammy.  

Samuel William Mulder.

She named him for my sister, so I'm told.  I have no doubt.  

Sammy.

It's a beautiful name.  And he's a beautiful baby.  

My son.

I still can't get over that.

I am a father.  A *father*!  

And  he's got red hair just like his Mom.  And a stubborn streak
a mile long, kind of like her also.  And he likes to babble
endlessly.  I guess like me.  And my hazel eyes.  

My son.  

He's inside sleeping now.  I put him down for his nap before I
carried Scully out here.  He'll wake in another ... oh, half
hour, I note checking my watch as my hand still plays in Scully's
hair.  I have a longer time of quiet in the afternoons during his
nap than in the mornings.  Mrs. Scully tells me this is normal.

Maggie.  I'm supposed to call her 'Maggie' now after all this.
She's gone back to Baltimore for a few days.  I don't begrudge
her these small 'vacations'.  She needs them.  She needs to
reconnect with *her* life, her home, her friends, her church.
She'll be there a few days, then return when she's rejuvenated
and ready to face this again.  She has a life of her own, I try
to remind myself.  My life is here, right here in this house on
the Vineyard.

Ironic.  The beginning of my life was here, and now too may be
the end.  I never wanted to come back here; I wanted to divorce
myself from these memories and this place.  But I guess it's
fitting.  The sea and the sand and the gulls and the sun. I knew
Scully would respond to a place like this better than that
sanitarium in which they had her down in Virginia.  And she has.
Her color's improved; her eyes have a renewed sparkle. Still no
indication of cognizance, but better than before. Definitely
better.

And you can't beat the rent.  Free.  I still own this house of my
father.  Mom's gone.  Samantha's gone, *long* gone. Dad's gone.
But this house remains.  Strong, unbending.  I guess there's
something to be said about building a foundation on a rock.  I
think of this place now as my rock.  It has to be. It is what
will get us through this time.  The familiarity of life on the
island.  The knowledge of the ocean and its breezes. The salt and
sea air.  Scully and I have this in common, and maybe it is the
common which will bring her back to me.  Maybe.

I stand and stretch, making sure she is sufficiently covered by
the blankets.  "Hon, I've got to go and check on Sammy, and then
clean up the kitchen.  I'll be just inside if you need me. Okay?"
I pat her head gently, "Okay."

I leave the sliding glass door open so I can hear if anything
happens.  The kitchen windows which also look out back are open
as well.  

I run quickly up to Sammy's room and peek in.  My boy is sound
asleep in his crib, the windup mobile hitting the last notes of
its lullaby.  His little fists are balled up next to him and he's
sucking on his pacifier.  Thank heavens for MamMams; no buck
teeth here.  I quickly check the diaper count at the changing
table.  Fifteen.  Good enough for today.  And the pail.  No, I
guess I already cleaned that this morning.  I get lost in my
thoughts sometimes and can't remember what I did earlier.  I
wonder if housewives have this same problem.

Passing our bedroom, I throw the remaining dirty clothes in the
basket and haul it downstairs with me.  Coming back into the
kitchen, my first concern is of course Scully.  Nope; still
sitting out there under the umbrella, same expression on her
face.  No change.  The baby monitor is out there on the table
next to her, but I've got a second one here in the kitchen so I
can hear Sammy.  The Gunmen set up three receivers off the one
monitor for us.  Such mechanical genius.  Way beyond me.  Maybe I
should send them an e-mail.

I quickly sort the clothes and throw in a load of whites. Looks
like we're running low on soap and fabric softener. Should last
us until Maggie gets back, then I can go shopping while she
watches Scully and Sammy.

Closing the laundry room door to the thump thump thump of the
washer, I go to the small desk I've set up in the kitchen and
turn on my computer.  I put it here so I can watch Scully more
closely.  The desk is even on wheels and sometimes I take the
whole set-up outside to enjoy the weather.  Maybe later today,
after Sammy wakes up.  He can play in his portable crib on the
patio and I can write.

It's time to add yesterday's observations to the journal.   I
really shouldn't do this, I tell myself.  It's so hard to keep
focused sometimes, and I feel today is one of those times. Alone,
without Maggie to cheer me up, I tend to become more maudlin. The
wave's crashing over me and I feel myself flounder and go under.

Oh, Scully.  Why?  What happened?  What was so ... I don't know,
*harder*?  *Different*?  What was it that you couldn't hang on
one more month?   I know.  I knowIknowIknow.  I've beat my head
against this wall for six months, ever since I returned and found
you in the sanitarium.  I KNOW it's my fault.  I KNOW it's
because I was abducted and you were pregnant and alone and left
to search on your own and didn't think I was coming back. I KNOW
all this.  But *why*, Scully?  WHY?  Why *us*?  Why is it always
us who have to endure these hardships?  WHY?

I take a huge breath and expel it slowly, trying to force myself
to calm down.  This is always so *hard*.  It would have been hard
enough returning and resuming my life with Scully without this
*condition* happening to her.  But now, finding her like *this*
my life is in complete upheaval.

That first day I woke up on the grassy lawn of the park in
Alexandria near my apartment.  I knew immediately it was not
where I was supposed to be, or the last place I had been.  I
stumbled home, only to find my apartment was relet to *Michael*.
Who the hell was Michael?  Some friend of Frohike's I gather.  

I made it to the Gunmen's lair, where they told me about Scully:
how  she was pregnant.  How she insisted on every test humanly
possible on the fetus, until she was sure it was whole, and
natural, and alive ... and MINE!  What a shock that was, Scully.
*Mine*!  I still remember feeling so weak-kneed I had to sit
down.  

Then came the second shock wave that afternoon:  Scully was gone.
Suffered a breakdown.  Placed in isolation, it was presumed. Only
Skinner knew where she and her mom and the baby were.  I was told
Scully was so afraid They might come after the child, she asked
Skinner to hide her and the baby.  But before he could do
anything, she suffered a breakdown, became unresponsive and
catatonic, so that Skinner asked her mother to care for the
infant.  Then he admitted Scully to an unknown sanitarium, and
hid her mother and the baby.  That was a month before I
reappeared.  The Gunmen knew nothing more.

'Reappeared'!  What a crock of shit!  They tell  me I was
abducted, but I have no memory of it.  I recall being in the
woods in Oregon with Skinner, having ordered Scully not to go.
And then, the grass in the park along the River.   But there is
no denying it was seven months since the last time I saw her.

Skinner was ... well, 'shocked' seems a good word. Responding to
the call from the Gunmen he showed up at their door an hour
later.  The look of surprise on his face was precious.  I've
catalogued it to recall in times when he hauls my ass in front of
the OPR panel again, y'know, something to brighten my day.  I
never thought he was a physical, touchy feely kind of guy, but he
startled me that day by taking me into a quick and manly hug.  

My only response was, "Where is she?"  I croaked out the words
around the lump forming in my throat.  All I wanted since I woke
up on that grass was a change of clothes and to hold Scully to my
chest.   "Just tell me where she is."

One thing I have to say for Skinner, he knows when not to fight,
when to remain silent and when action is the only answer. Without
even saying 'good-bye' to the Gunmen, we were out the door in a
minute and to his car.  He tried to tell me on the way to
wherever about Scully's condition and what she'd been through the
past months.  I picked up on bits and pieces, but my mind was
still whirling around the idea of Scully in a psych ward and a
baby of mine somewhere else.  

He first took me to see Maggie.  Thank god the child was sleeping
or she might have dropped him when she saw me get out of the car.
She was down the steps and in my arms as soon as I closed the
door.  Maggie Scully has always treated me like a son and she did
that day, clutching and weeping and more than glad to see me. But
there was a hollowness in her eyes, not just trepidation, but
weariness.  To Maggie, the long battle was not yet over.

She took me into the house and tried to explain Scully's
condition.  The words she related were all familiar to my
psychological training.   But the end result was the same: Scully
was unresponsive to stimuli, awake it seemed, but unable to care
for herself or others, someplace off in her own world, in her own
mind.  Maggie put a lot of faith in my return, believing like on
t.v. I would just walk in and Scully would snap out of this
state.  I knew better, and my heart sank to my feet.  It would
take a long time to bring her back, if ever.  

But I'll be damned if I would let Scully live in that hell hole
until she came around.  As sanitariums go, Skinner really did a
good job.  It was clean and the staff to patient ratio was low,
but still.  It was no place for my Scully.  So I packed her off
and brought her and Maggie and the baby up here to my dad's old
house on the Vineyard.  I'm glad Mrs. Scully agreed so readily to
come; I know nothing about the care and feeding of infants,
although I've learned a lot in the past six months.  

Skinner comes up every now and then.  He updated me completely to
what Scully went through while I was gone.  I begged him for
every sordid detail.  I had to know if there was something, some
trigger, anything which I could use to bring her back.  I found
nothing.  

Mrs. Scully arranged for the Sisters from a convent on the
mainland to come in weekly to minister to Scully.  Scully turned
to the Church so frequently when things vexed her or became
difficult; no sense not doing so now when I am sure some part of
her still needs her religion.  I don't mind, really.  They're
pleasant to talk to, and they work with the whole family, me and
Sammy included.  

Physically Scully's fine, except for losing muscle tone and
becoming rail thin.  Maggie and I work with her daily on limited
exercises, but it's not the same.  When she comes back she's
going to be horrified at how much endurance she's lost.  And she
eats and drinks, but of course we must be the ones actually to
feed her.  So I guess there is *some* limited response.  

But not enough, and it's tearing my heart out.  I have pledged I
will be with her, stay with her through all this and beyond.  But
I can't help thinking it may be years before we see any progress
in her condition.  

I miss you so much, Scully.  So very, very much.

And I love you to the depths of my soul.

I told Maggie your and my big secret.  I felt I had to; I owed it
to her.  After all, you and I share the same bed here every
night, and I hold you close in my arms.  

She took the news with the grace and serenity with which your
mother is well known.  I tried for straight out truth:  you and I
were married a little over a year ago, before I disappeared. I
made sure to resecure the ring on your finger -- and on mine
-when I found you in the sanitarium.   You wear it now, a glint
of gold in the sun.

Oh, Scully.  My beloved.

Please come back to me.

I hear Sammy begin to fuss through the monitor.  Before heading
upstairs to him, I go back out to the porch to check on Scully. I
lean over and kiss her hair.  "Hey, hon, Sammy's up. You want me
bring him out here?  He should get some sun today. And then I can
work on making his bottle and then some lunch for you and me.
I'll be right back."  

As I walk toward the doorway, I throw back over my shoulder, "And
we've got to try to do a little bit of exercises today." That's
usually Maggie's job, but I can't let what little muscle tone
Scully has left disappear just because Maggie took a few days
off.  

I talk to Sammy as I pick him up and carry him to the changing
table.  As a psychologist, I know it's important both the baby
and Scully hear my voice, often and always soothing.  I do this
now as much for him as for her, and therefore, for myself.  

My son is a little fussy, still waking from his nap, but now
clean and dry.  I carry him downstairs and set him on Scully's
lap for a few minutes.  I want him to become used to her visage,
and I think somewhere inside her she too needs the connection.  

"Scully, look who's here?  Look who woke up.  That's my boy."  I
never thought I'd start making cooing noises and baby talk, but
Sammy seems to respond to it, kicks and laughs a little.  I lay
him back against Scully's chest and wrap her arms limply around
him.  She can't hold him, so I remain right there, my palm
pressed to his stomach, tickling him as he giggles and squirms.
Still no reaction from his mom.

After a few minutes, I place him in his playpen on the patio not
too far from Scully.  It maintains a contact, continued sounds
hopefully enticing her to breach this barrier which keeps her
from us.

I head inside and prepare his bottle.  Actually, Maggie helped me
out by stocking the fridge with two days' supply of formula, so
all I have to do is warm it.  Sammy's really good at being
patient with his old man.   As that's heating, I return outside
and drag the rocker of the patio set next to Scully. When the
bottle is ready, Sammy and I sit next to his mom, and the only
sound heard is his slurping and sucking, and the glide of the
rocker and the breaking of the waves.  

Sammy's going to be up for a little while now, so I've got my
hands full.  Watching Scully.  Watching Sammy.  Watching the
laundry and making our lunch.  At noon I can put on CNN and get
some intelligent, adult dialogue about what's happening in the
world.  Not that I care too much. 

I bring out my tuna sandwich and Scully's food.  Today it's tuna
salad loaded with mayonnaise.  She'd kill me if she was alert
enough, but she needs the extra fat in the salad dressing. I've
also got bite-sized chunks of cucumber and tomato.  The doctors
said to feed her as much as her body will tolerate and as often
as she'll eat.  She's been pretty good about this, actually. Like
Sammy, she eats about five times a day, and downs at least a cup
worth  of sustenance each time.  But, as I said, it's not enough
to build back her body's reserves.  Barely enough to maintain the
level she's at.  

Whatever this state is in which she lives now, she retains good
control over her bowels and bladder.  We're like clockwork,
aren't we Scully?  Half an hour after eating I take her to the
bathroom.  She's better than she could be, I keep reminding
myself.  Not great, but manageable.  

Sammy starts to nod off just as Scully finishes her lunch, and I
take him back upstairs and lay him down.  Next it's Scully's
turn.  Although she can sit up without support, she can't walk,
so it's either the wheelchair or I carry her.  I think she hates
the wheelchair.  I know I would.  So I make it a habit to carry
her when I can, when I don't have Sammy or groceries or something
else in my hands as well.  She's as light as a feather, and I
know I've built up quite an impressive upper body in her absence.

After the bathroom, I set her gently on the bed in our room. It's
the big four poster variety.  Since Scully does not move around
in her sleep, I have little fear of her rolling out of bed.
"Sweet dreams, my love," I whisper as I move a strand of hair out
of her eyes and close her lids.  

The house is too quiet this afternoon.  Even CNN is not enough to
shake the blues I'm feeling.  I busy myself with cleaning up from
lunch and planning dinner, and monitoring the laundry, but it's
not enough.  So I go back to my journal and enter yesterday's
statistics. We try to keep as much information on Scully as we
can:  temperature, skin coloration, bowel and bladder outputs and
frequency, food intake, *any* reaction we can stimulate.  That
latter category has been sparse for months. It's supposed to help
her doctors assess her mental state, but I think it just gives
them more information that is basically worthless.  All it tells
them is whether the vessel of her body is surviving.  My Scully
is not alive, or at least not awake right now.

Tonight is family bath time.   I do this when Sammy is awake,
because he's more alert and enjoys himself.  He takes to water
like his mom.   Scully and I have an oversized bathroom with one
of those large claw foot tubs, so we all can fit.  I move a chair
into the room so Scully can be present while I bathe Sammy.  I
actually can do this without getting into the tub with him.  We
have one of those plastic baby tubs that I set in the larger
porcelain one, and Sammy and I splash around for a while. All the
time talking to mommy, giggling and making faces.  He doesn't
even mind getting his hair washed, just lays back on my arm and
kicks his feet.  

When he's done, I set him on my lap as I sit on the toilet and
dry him thoroughly.  Tonight we picked out the blue sleeper with
the fuzzy dog on the front, a gift from Bill and Tara Scully.
They actually have been quite pleasant to deal with these past
six months.  Tara came by and stayed with us for a few days when
she was on the East Coast visiting relatives, and Bill stopped in
when his ship docked at the Connecticut shipyard.  Maggie kept
him out of my way, and he sat with Scully reading to her every
morning.  His last words to me were, "Take care of her.  She
really needs you now."  Yeah, like I didn't know this.  But at
least he was civil.

Strapping Sammy into in his portable seat, the one which bounces
slightly when he kicks his legs,  and leaving it on the floor I
drain the tub and start getting ready for Scully.   I still don't
know quite what to make of today.  When I went to get her up from
her nap, she had rolled over onto her left side. As I said,
Scully doesn't move in her sleep.  Never.  So I was startled to
see such a change in her position.  I've kept a more watchful eye
out for any other reaction or semblance of cognitive behavior all
evening, but have yet to see any. Starting the water in the tub,
I leave to find a pair of comfortable pajamas and underwear for
her.

I hear Sammy cooing in the bathroom, and for a moment I think I
hear a whisper.  Then I realize I've left the window open in
Sammy's room, so the sound must have been from the outside.   I
return to the bathroom and shut off the taps in the tub.  I'm as
careful with the temperature of Scully's bath as I am with
Sammy's.

Stripping her cautiously of the tee shirt and jeans she wore
today, I look vainly in her face for any hint of awareness. None.
Nothing.  

I quickly throw off my clothes.  Bathing Scully does require me
to be in the tub with her, especially to wash her hair.  I lift
her and set her gently down into the water.  For just a moment I
think she blinks at the water's temperature.  But then nothing
else.  Must have been my imagination.  

Holding her up, I climb into the tub behind her.  I have to
remember to keep up the constant chatter with Sammy, so he
focuses on us and doesn't start to fuss.  I lean Scully back to
my chest, holding her head against my arm and shoulder as I begin
to wash her gently with the big washcloth.  Maggie came up with
the idea of using a cup to pour water over her hair to make
shampooing easier, and it really does work.  I've switched to
baby shampoo because I don't want to sting her eyes.  I never
have, and have always been very careful to keep the soap out of
her eyes and away from her face as much as possible.  But I know
one day -- and my days are growing short, if statistics are to be
believed -- she'll jerk or I'll slip my grip on her and she'll
end up with soap in her eyes.  I can't imagine hurting her any
more than I already have, so it's the little things I try to
watch out for now.

After a while I start to sing one of Sammy's favorite lullabies.
It helps calm him and has a way of relaxing me and this woman in
my arms.  Scully, my love.   I look out over the room, tears
misting in my eyes.  This is my family.  My *family*.  The two
most important people in the world to me.  I am responsible for
their very life, their existence.  And if I didn't love them
beyond the bounds of this universe like I do, it would be a
daunting task.  I tighten my grip around Scully's stomach and
give her a hug, as I feel the tears course down my cheeks. 

My love.  My life.

I hold her until I feel the water around us growing tepid, then
haul my sorry ass out of the bath and wrap my wife in an
oversized towel, lifting her and setting her in my lap.  As with
my son, I towel her off thoroughly and tenderly, and dress her in
the pajamas and panties I brought in.  

Setting her back on the chair, I realize I didn't bring in any
clothes for me.  Great, Mulder.  It's always something.  In the
six months I have been doing this, I don't think one bath session
went the way it was planned.  Always something missing. Things
run more smoothly when Maggie's here.  She takes care of Sammy's
bath usually and I just watch.  Oh well, time to give the
neighbors a quick show, as if it's something they've never seen
before.

I lift Scully into my arms and carry her into the bedroom, laying
her back on the bed and covering her with the blankets. Then I
make a quick grab for boxers and a tee shirt for me and head back
to my son in the bathroom.  

Sammy's fallen asleep in his chair, not unusual.  But it means
he'll waken about one a.m. and want to eat.  I'll have to
remember to set my alarm, just in case he does not wake up I
should check on him.  I tuck him into his crib and set the mobile
to play, and make sure I close the window.  

A quick trip downstairs reminds me of the fool I am.  I've left
the back door unlocked and the kitchen window open during our
entire bathing session.  I recall too many of the cases Scully
and I went on where the parents failed to make sure all the doors
and windows to the house were locked before their child went
missing.  

I haul in Sammy's playpen from the patio.  Although it won't get
too cold outside tonight, the dew will make the pen useless by
morning, and Sammy does like to be outside if he can.  I lock up
everything and make a thorough check to assure myself there are
no monsters lurking in the shadows.

Switching off the lights on the stairs, I head to the bathroom.
One final cleaning and our two hour bath ordeal is over.  I
usually crash nightly on the bed next to Scully and watch t.v.
until I fall asleep.  More and more often, I'm finding my daily
activities are enough to exhaust me, so I tune in the boob tube
maybe ten minutes before I'm out like a light.

Walking back into the bedroom, I set my alarm and shut off the
lights.  Scully's breathing seems normal, but she has again
rolled onto her left side.   I settle gently in bed next to her
and draw her into my arms.  As her hand comes to rest on my
chest, I feel the fingers constrict.

For a moment I freeze.  This could be nothing more than a
physical response by her body to electrical energy trapped in her
nerves and finding its way to her fingers.  When I broke my
finger in college, I remember having nervous spasms as it
contracted along the splint, all involuntary movements.  

But I try to tell myself I can hope.

Hope.  It's what I've been living off for the past six months. Or
years, if you want to consider my search for Samantha.

I take a deep breath and steel myself for the vacuity I will see
in Scully's eyes when I lift my head to look at her.  Okay, I'm
ready.  Please, God, please....

I raise my head off the soft pillows and look down at the woman
in my arms.  My wife.  My beloved.  The very reason for my
existence and survival all these years.  

And I am staring into the bluest eyes I have ever seen, even in
the dim light from the television.  

She blinks, a sparkle setting into her eyes and across her face. 

A cognizance.  A recognition.

"Sc- ,"  I beginning, trying to force the sound out of my throat
which has suddenly gone bone dry and as small as a pea. "Scully?"
I dare not breathe, dare not ask for more.

Her hand clenches again on my chest, as her lips move trying to
form sound.  "Mu ... "  It is a croaking, strained and scratchy
sound from disused vocal chords.   Barely a whisper.

OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!  

I scramble off the bed and flick on the small lamp on the night
stand, turning back to her and praying I have not hallucinated
this.

"Scully?  Dana?"  I kneel next to her and take her face in my
hands.   My heart is beating rapidly in my chest, and I am sure
she can feel it through my hands, if she can feel my palms, if
she *knows* them.

Ohmygod!  I think she's back, or coming back.  

I feel the sob start in my chest as my breath comes rapidly in
pants and spurts.  "Honey?  Can you hear me?  Are you here?
Scully, are you here?"

She grabs at my arm, her grip wraithlike, but it is the most
blessed feeling I have felt in six months.  "Mul-duh?"  She
whispers, only half the sound really coming out.

Ohmygod.  Scully, my wife, my love, is here!  I grab her into my
arms and cry silently into her hair.  I feel her arms come around
my back, holding onto me weakly.  

When I lay her back on the bed, my mind goes into overdrive.
Hospital.  I have to get her to the hospital.  She has to be
checked out, monitored, whatever.  Sammy.  I can't take him with
me and I can't leave him here by himself.  

Then I remember Jenna down the street.  She's a nurse. Maggie met
her one day when she was out on a walk, and, I cringe, made
friends with her and told her of Scully's condition.  Jenna was
very nice, coming in several times and checking on Scully.
Offering to babysit anytime we needed her. Jenna.  Well, I need
you now.  I pick up the phone and dial her number, hoping it's
not too late to impose on her in this manner. 

"Scully," I say to my wife as I wait for the connection and Jenna
to answer.  "I've got to get you to the hospital.  It'll be
okay."

Jenna answers on the second ring and tells me she'll be right
down.  She'll watch Sammy for me for as long as it takes.

My next call is for the ambulance.  I know the small hospital
here on the island cannot take care of Scully.  We've seen the
doctors twice and each time they transported her to Boston, just
in case.  My buddy from high school works as a volunteer EMT, and
knows also of Scully's situation.  He assures me they'll call for
an evac to Boston, but take her to the local facility first.  

I'm pulling on my jeans as the front doorbell rings.  Scully has
taken in the last five minutes, a certain amusement and confusion
in her eyes.  She has not spoken again, but I can tell she's
lucid and watching my every move.  I lean over and kiss her
cheek.  "Don't move," I admonish, then bolt down the stairs in my
bare feet to let in Jenna.   I'm brushing tears out of my eyes
and off my face as I reach for the door handle.

She follows me back to the master bedroom, telling me it will be
all right.  I fall back against the door as she examines Scully
briefly.

"Dana, I'm Jenna.  I'm a nurse from down the road.  I want you to
follow my finger with your eyes."  Jenna moves her index finger
slowly in front of Scully's face as my wife complies.  I know
even in my limited medical understanding Scully's ability to
perform this simple test means she is alert, able to comprehend
and follow instructions, able to focus on a single object.  It's
a mountain and Scully's just scaled the highest peak.  I want to
jump for joy and rejoice, pull her into my arms and fling her
around the room in a wild dance.  

Instead I reach for the phone and dial Maggie Scully's number.
She's not at home, but I leave a message on her machine to return
as quickly as she can.  I leave her the name of the hospital in
Boston.  She'll understand perfectly that something major has
occurred.

I hear the sirens of the approaching ambulance, and grabbing a
shirt hurry down to the front door again.  I hope Sammy is able
to sleep through this.

As Scully is loaded onto the gurney, I relate to Jenna Sammy's
sleeping and eating habits, my cell phone number and Maggie
Scully's number in Baltimore.  I'm sure she's  beginning to
believe I've lost all my emergency training and sanity, I'm so
flustered.  She smiles tolerantly at me and tells me she and the
baby will be all right, as she escorts me to the ambulance. As
the doors close, I can't help but wonder with my paranoid little
mind if I'm leaving my son to the devil incarnate.  I've got to
stop worrying so.  Jenna seems actually nice and quite capable.

Scully is still awake as we travel to the hospital, and I clutch
her hand in between my two, hanging onto her for dear life. Heart
and blood pressure monitors are all normal, as she's hooked up to
the equipment in the ambulance, but then they have never been
abnormal in these seven months.  It's the brain activity I'm
worried about.  An EEG and MRI should help with this assessment,
but they won't perform those more advanced tests until she's in
Boston.  I worry that if Scully falls asleep she may never wake
up again for me.  

Oh god, please don't let this flight into lucidity be temporary.
Please let me have her back ... completely, fully, forever. Sammy
and I need her, so much.

When we arrive at the local facility, I see the chopper warming
up on the helipad.  I insist on staying with Scully, and since
these people have been through this before with me and Scully,
they know not to deny my request.  In five minutes, we are
settled into the helicopter and making our way to Boston. It'll
be a forty minute flight.  

Although there's an EMT in the back with us and the pilot is a
trained emergency nurse, I know Scully is scared, probably from
the tense expression on my face.  I lean over her, arching my arm
around her head and bringing my mouth to her ear so she can hear
over the din of the chopper blade.

"Scully, my love," I start.  I have to tell her.  She has to
know, just in case I lose her again.  "I love you ... with all my
heart, I love you.  I will be here for you always.  And Sammy,
he's beautiful, my love.  So very, very beautiful. Your mom's
coming up and will bring him to the hospital so you can see him.
We've missed you so much.  I promise, Scully, whatever happens,
you and he will be with me forever, and I will do everything in
my power to keep you safe."  I kiss her gently on the cheek where
tears have rolled toward her ears.  I know she understands
everything I've just said, and more.  "I love you."  Some of the
moisture on her face is my own.

Scully grabs for my hand, taking it in a grip which I recognize
immediately is stronger than an hour before. "Mul-duh," her voice
is still a hoarse, broken whisper.  "Love ... you ... you un
Sam-mee ... doan ... leef ... me."

"Never!"  I hiss back.  "Never."

She closes her eyes and drifts to sleep.  A cold fist grips my
heart as I wonder if those were the last words she'll ever speak
to me.  I lay my head on her shoulder and weep.  I don't care
anymore about what the EMTs will think, whether it's macho or
not.  This is my *wife*!  Oh, Scully, please don't leave me.

* * *

I have been sitting in this hospital room for a week.  It does
not look like I'll be leaving anytime soon.  

Maggie arrived from Baltimore the same day we checked into the
hospital, then went back to the Vineyard to take care of Sammy. I
guess it was just too hard for her to watch her child lie in this
bed and wither away so.  If it were me, if I were a few years
older and that was Sammy lying in the bed, I guess I too would
have a difficult time.

Scully's been doing ... well, I thought *before* was bad. This
makes 'before' look like a cake walk.  She stopped taking liquids
or food five days ago.  She is now completely unresponsive.
Intravenous lines snaked in and out of her body, until they set
up a central line three days ago.  Now she has a catheter, a G.I.
tube for feeding, and her central line through which she receives
everything else she needs, supposedly.  She's dehydrated and
weak.

As if that wasn't enough, yesterday she developed a raging
pneumonia.  Her gasps come through the mask, all monitored by the
beeps and whirs and bells on the other side of her bed.  

I live here now.  I pulled the recliner next to the bed, so that
when I lie back she could still see me,  if she awoke.  I hold
her hand constantly, or her arm or fingers, anything to maintain
contact.   I sleep in fits and spurts, two hours here, three
there.  I shower in the patients' bath in the middle of the
night.  Maggie sent up a few changes of clothes two days ago. The
gift was well appreciated, but I wish Maggie would come herself.
She needs to visit Scully.  I'm so afraid what will happen if....

Patricia found me yesterday when she came on duty.  Yeah, I was
crying.  Sitting here holding onto my lovely wife's arm and
sobbing into the sheets.  Patricia's taken pity on me.  She says
she has two patients to care for now.  She brought me a bag full
of hamburgers from the deli down the street tonight, and keeps me
plugged with fruit juice and coffee.  I think she's trying to
wean me off the caffeine though.  I found myself tucked into the
recliner under a blanket that wasn't there when I dozed off in
the wee hours of the morning, Patricia's gift, I'm sure.

I hate this.  I hate seeing Scully languish like this.  I hate
that I can do so little for her, other than be here.  I miss
Sammy, feeling his cherubic hands cup my face as he slobbers a
big kiss on my lips.  Tickling him and hearing his infectious
laughter squeal across the house.  I miss being able to hold
Scully in the bath or in bed, or just see her eyes sparkle and
her smile.  I can't believe it's been more than a year since I
heard her voice or felt her lips on mine.  God, I miss her!

* * *

"ALHALHALHALHALHALHALHALHALHALHALHALHALH."

The cacophony awakes me from my sleep in the recliner.  At first
I am unsure from where the ungodly noise is coming.  It's harsh,
scratching, low in timbre but loud.

I look at the woman in the bed next to me and realize the sound
is coming from her.  Scully!  I reach for the call button, but
Scully's cries have been heard all the way down to the nurses'
station and they are here before I can move far. Patricia shoves
me and the recliner away roughly.  

Scully's wails have not stopped, but seem to become louder. I
move to the foot of the bed, hoping she can see me still here and
this will calm her.  What I see sends chills up my spine.

She is flailing, reaching out to grab an arm or hand of *anyone*,
but the medical team is too concentrated on their jobs to grasp
onto her.  And the look on her face, it is full of fear ... and
yet blank at the same time.  I don't think she can see, me or
anyone else for that matter.

Ohmygod, please, not this!  Not her sight!

It takes twenty minutes before she stills and we are back to a
more 'normal' disposition.  I hold her hand tightly in mine, my
other fingers stroking her hair as I whisper to her that it will
be okay.  She's back on the oxygen mask and has had trouble
breathing.  The muscle relaxants she's just received
intravenously will make her sleep soon.

The doctors tell me her loss of sight is only temporary, a side
effect of her malnutrition and dehydration and her generally
deteriorating condition.  It should come back.  They are pumping
her full of protein substitutes and everything under the sun to
bring up her fluids and weight.

"Scully, I'm still here.  I'm still here with you.  You need to
get some sleep.  And I'll stay.  I'm not going anywhere."

I guess in the long run it's a good thing she has awakened. The
doctors see more brain activity on her EEG, and if this latest
episode means anything, at least she's no longer unconscious.
That scream really stressed her vocal chords. She'll need a
speech pathologist as well as a physical therapist.   I can't
take her home until she's gained some weight and is taking solid
foods.  It could be another week or two.

Scully wakes about six hours later and I've had a good nap back
in my chair at her side.   Patricia's left me a razor and
toothbrush, usual hospital supply, and I make quick work in the
bathroom.  

"Muhl--."  Scully's voice is hollow and dry, a grunt.  

"Hey, sweets," I greet with as cheerful a voice as I can muster.
"Let me get you some ice to suck on.  It'll relieve some of the
pain in your throat."  I talk to her as I work, and she sucks on
the ice chips I put to her lips.  "The blindness is only
temporary, Scully.  Just until you get your system back up.  But
I'll tell you, you're not missing anything.  Just your standard
hospital room.  Y'know, monitors, I.V. tubes, gray walls, white
floors.  Me."

I see a tear trickle down her cheek and quickly wipe it away with
the back of my finger.  I lean in and kiss her forehead. "I'm not
going anywhere, Scully.  I'm home now, forever.  I'm ... I'm so
sorry."  My voice breaks as I recall my stupidity a year ago to
go back to Oregon.  I move and sit on the bed, drawing her gently
to my chest as I cradle her in my arms, first time in a long
time, both of us cognizant of the contact.  I think we both end
up crying.

"Sssuuh--," Scully starts to speak.  "Ssuuhmm-"

"Sammy?"  Of course, she wants to know about Sammy.  "Oh, Scully.
He's so beautiful.  He's at home with your Mom on the Vineyard.
We're staying at my Dad's old place until you....  She's been
helping me with him.  I-I really don't know too much ... y'know
... about babies.  But god, Scully, he's incredible.  He's just
so ... so beautiful."  I break into tears again as I clutch her
tightly.  "Thank you," I breathe into her hair.  "Thank you so
much.  I don't know how ... the infertility, but we'll talk about
it later.  But thank you, my love."   She tightens her weakened
grip on my shirt and sobs quietly.

Exhausted by our emotional 'reunion', Scully sleeps most of the
rest of the day.  I call Maggie to give her the good news of
Scully's rejoining the rest of the world.  She promises to bring
Sammy up soon and leave us the 8 x 10 picture we had taken last
month.  

The next few days are a whirl of activity.  Scully's responding
well to the antibiotics and we've gotten the pneumonia under
control.  She's still on a mask, but not a respirator.  The
speech therapist came to assess her condition and the damage to
her vocal chords from prolonged disuse.  It's not hopeless, but
it will take a long time and a lot of work on Scully's part to
recover her voice.  And the physical therapist also dropped by to
start a daily regimen of exercises which Scully must do in bed.
My job is to keep her on schedule, making sure she does her
'homework' three times a day, ten minutes of exercise.   And her
sight's returned.  She has a problem with bright light so I keep
the room dim.  So much progress, so much activity.  She's
exhausted.

* * *

When Scully woke up today, she reamed me out.  Well, not with
words as much as with her eyes.  She still has that glare down
pat, and can shrivel an unsuspecting nurse or technician.  

"Go home," she mouthed when she looked at me.  I guess I'm ripe.

Maggie's coming up today, so I'll take a few hours out when she
gets here.  She won't bring Sammy yet, maybe by the weekend, but
she'll be here to watch Scully for a while.

When Maggie gets here, she shoves me out of the room and hands me
the car keys.  I make it to a motel two blocks away. As much as I
want to see Sammy, I don't think it would be a good idea if I
fell asleep at the wheel.  I'll sleep a few hours then head home
to him, before I turn back to Boston.  Jenna's with him now, so
everything is okay in my world for the time being.

The manager of the motel looks at me, then over my shoulder
trying to spy the woman I'm supposedly smuggling into the room. I
registered only for a few hours.  I guess I just made his day. 

I crash on the bed without changing.  Maybe Maggie can use the
room before she drives back to the Vineyard later.  I'm asleep in
seconds.

It's ten hours later when I awaken.  Middle of the night.  I drag
my pitiful carcass to the shower and stand there until the water
turns cold.  Ahhhh.  Changing into the clean clothes Maggie
brought up with her, I feel like a new man.  

I call the hospital and Patricia tells me Maggie's asleep in my
recliner, and everything else is 'normal'.  Scully's sleeping
well, waking, and today took her first bites of semi-solid
oatmeal.  The catheter's coming out tomorrow (thank god!).  I
leave the message that I'll be back by mid-morning.  Maggie will
be okay until then.  But I really want to see Sammy.

Traffic's virtually nonexistent this time of morning and I make
it to the Vineyard in record time.  Guess I should have called
Jenna before I fell asleep.  She's greeting me with the business
end of a frying pan, until she recognizes the man behind the dark
circles and wizened features.

"Hi, Jenna," I croak rather hoarsely after I regain my composure
and she lowers the pan.  

"Dr. Mulder," she sighs in relief.  "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see Sammy," I explain rather feebly.  It's four in
the morning and I know he's not awake and the woman before me is
probably tired and maybe just a little irritated at me.  I
realize the irony of it all and chuckle softly.  "Go back to bed,
Jenna.  I'll just crash here on the couch.  I won't wake him
right now."

She heaves a resigned sigh and heads back upstairs.  I'm right
behind her, taking the turn into my son's bedroom.  He's sound
asleep, his breath barely stirring the air in his crib.

"Hey, Sammy," I whisper softly as I stroke his cheek then hair.
My son, my son.  A sob reaches my throat and I just want to hold
him.  Gently I pull him into my arms and sit on the rocker.  I
cradle him against my chest.  My baby, my son. "Mommy's coming
home soon, Sammy.  She'll be here with you and me and Grandma,
and she'll really *be* here."  I swipe at the tears on my face.
"She'll be here, for us."

Sammy squirms and arches his back, but does not awaken.  I guess
I'd better put him back in the crib and let him sleep longer, but
I just sit here in the moonlight and watch him breathe.  I guess
I fall asleep holding him, because when I awaken the sun's
sending coral rays onto the ocean below. Sammy's still tucked
tightly against me.  I can tell when he begins to waken because
his breathing changes, almost imperceptibly.  

His eyes open and he's somewhat startled.  Then the most amazing
thing happens:  he recognizes me!  His eyes open a little wider
and he smiles and reaches for my face.  

"Hey, Sammy.  Your old man finally decided to make an appearance.
How've you been, buddy?"  He squirms and gives me that look which
tells me he needs his diaper changed and he's hungry.  "Okay,
okay, little buddy.  We'll get right on that." I lean down and
kiss him tenderly, then add a second kiss from his Mom.

Oh my god, how I love this child!  My son.  My *son*!

After spending a too brief morning with Sammy, I leave him once
again in Jenna's care and head back to Boston, clean clothes for
Maggie, me and Scully in tow, along with Sammy's most recent
picture.  Maggie looks tired but in good spirits when I arrive at
the hospital. It's almost noon and she could use a good night's
sleep.  I hand her the car keys and the motel room key, and bid
her 'sweet dreams'.  She gives me a hug, kisses Scully good-bye
for now, and heads out.  Looks like we'll be taking shifts from
now on.

Scully's awake, propped up in bed and trying to exercise on her
own.  I too have not lost my ability to glare and flash her a
good one.  I soften under her tenacious look.  Sitting on the bed
with her I pull her into my arms.  I just want to hold her for
now.  Someone washed her hair recently and she smells great. 

"I've missed you," I sigh into her hair, planting a kiss on the
crown of her head.  Removing the oxygen mask she tilts her head
up as I lower my lips to hers.  Oh god, Scully, it's been a long,
long time.

I gently lay her back to the pillows and reach into the duffle
bag I've brought.  "I've got something to show you," I murmur as
I extract the photograph and bring it up to her. "Sammy sends his
love.  As soon as you're strong enough, I'm taking you home and
teaching you how to change diapers."

Scully slowly reaches for the picture, Sammy sitting on my lap.
It's pretty good actually.  We had it taken last month at one of
the local department stores.  Scully clutches the photo to her
chest as tears trickle down her cheeks.  "Maahh ... baaa-beee." I
hold her to me as she keens, months of separation engulfing her
at once.  

* * *

End Part 1
Story continues in Part 2

* * *

Part 2

* * *

Over the next week, we settle into a routine.  Maggie comes once
every third day to relieve me, and I head south to Sammy, staying
only twenty four hours before I return to the hospital. Scully's
regaining her strength and has gained almost five pounds.  I'm
amazed; I didn't think hospital food was *that* good.  

She has physical therapy once daily.  She started working on leg
lifts with weights.  Five pounds was too much, so they dropped
back to two and she's pretty well mastered that.  Today they're
working on her back and upper arm strength.  She'll be sore
tonight for sure, just in time for a Mulder back rub special. And
tomorrow she gets to try walking.

The speech therapist comes in daily as well, helping Scully with
vocal stretches and tongue exercises.  When I suggested I could
give her some tongue exercises, I was banished from the room. The
therapist threatened to wire Scully's mouth shut if my wife
continued to work on her own in the evening; she's not helping
any by straining her chords more than therapy will allow.  

If she continues to progress as she has, I'll be able to take
Scully home by the end of the week.  We haven't talked about
where 'home' will be, but for now, I'm content to stay at the
house on the Vineyard.  Sammy seems to like it, enjoys the patio
and fresh air, and right now it seems like 'home'.  

"Muhl-duh," Scully croaks at me.  I know it's an unfair
characterization, but it best describes the sound she can make.  

"You sound just like when you sang to me in the Florida forest,"
I grin.

"Muhl-duh, shu-ut u-up!"  She's become really good at telling me
off, even with just half a voice.   "I'm hu-uhn-gee, an I nee tu
bussh maah teet."  Her speech is still halting and slow.

"You're in luck.  I stopped at that deli down the street and," I
respond as I grouse around in the brown bag I carried in today.
"I got you an egg salad sandwich and potato chips."  

She rolls her eyes at me.  I know this meal's loaded with fat and
cholesterol, but she still needs to gain more weight.  We've had
this on-going discussion since she regained consciousness and
could eat solid food.  I'm not giving in until I can no longer
see each rib.  

"Di-eh Co-ohk?"

"No diet anything for you.  Not yet."

She shags the sandwich and grins as she sinks her teeth into it.
I've won this round.  

"You and Shana work on your consonants today?"  I inquire around
my rueben.  Scully nods her head at me, and I continue. "You've
got PT this afternoon.  Arms, y'know," I remind her as I pump my
bicep.   "Gotta be able to pick up that big boy when we get
home."  I think she already has this incentive in mind. It's her
one goal, home with Sammy and me.  

Scully and I have never lived as husband and wife, so this new
experience could also bring some uneasiness for her.  Before I
disappeared, we kept our relationship pretty much hush-hush from
everyone.  I don't think anyone knew, if their reaction to
Sammy's parentage was any hint.  All I ever wanted was to be able
to hold her as she slept and have her wake in my arms.  Maybe
sometime within the next week, my wish will come true.

* * *

Scully woke with a shudder at about ten o'clock.  Just lay awake
looking at the ceiling.  That same cold fist of fear I've felt
before inched up in my chest again.  "Scully?" I whispered
quietly.

She turned her head and stared at me down past her shoulder and
our entwined fingers.  "Wheya you been, Mulduh?"  She still has a
tough time saying her 'r's.

I'm not sure what she's asking about.  Well, okay, yeah. I know
*exactly* what she's asking about -- my time in Oregon and then
wherever.  We haven't discussed my disappearance at all, other
than the few times I've told her I was sorry for being gone.  I
really haven't given it much thought over the past six months,
other than deriding myself for missing her pregnancy and my son's
birth.  And it's not like I *know* where they held me or at whose
mercy I was kept.  So I'm not keeping anything tangible from her.

But I don't want to talk about this now.  It seems so removed
from what my life is.  The office, the X-files, our never-ending
search for The Truth -- it all seems so distant, as if it's not a
part of us any longer.  And I'm not sure I want it to *be* a part
of us.  I mean, we've got Sammy now to think of first, and
Scully's health and getting well, and healing our relationship,
our *marriage*, for crissakes.  I have a lot more important
issues upon which to concentrate.

But she asked, so I have to say *something*.  "Ssh, Scully. I'm
here.  I'm right here with you.  And I'm not leaving.  Go back to
sleep, love.  We'll have plenty of time later to talk, when
you're stronger."

She throws me that glare again and her eyes penetrate my veiled
attempt to exculpate myself from this topic.  Her jaw works in
anger.  I'm not sure if I'm buying the farm here because I was
gone -- albeit against my will -- or because I went to Oregon and
put myself in danger.  

"Wheya whu you?"  She tries to pronounce each word distinctly so
I won't miss the message here.  It tears my insides to see her
try so hard to speak, especially about things so important to
her, to see the frustration in her eyes and feel the inadequacy
roiling off her.  I have to answer.  I can do no less for her
since she has shown such fortitude for me.  

"I don't know, Scully," I respond hoarsely, dropping my gaze to
our clenched hands.  A frown tugs at my mouth as I force back the
tears.  I see the glint of our wedding rings in the dim light and
know I am responsible for my wife's present condition. Somehow my
absence drove her to this:  the stress, the frustration of
endlessly searching in vain, the fear of raising a child -- our
child -- on her own, not knowing when or if I'd ever return, or
what condition I'd be in if I did.

I grab her arm to steady myself as something fearful flits
through the back of my mind, almost like a memory of what I
endured, but not quite.  My tears fall silently on her sheets. "I
don't know where I was.  I remember the forest in Oregon, and
laying out the grid with Skinner, and then the bright light.  I
saw several of the abductees there:  Billy Miles, Teresa Nemman,
and the shape shifter we'd run into before, from the bridge with
that clone who said she was my sister.  And then ... nothing.
Nothing at all.  Not until I woke up in the park in Alexandria
along the River, and went to look for you."  

I look up at her.  She's turned her face back to the tiled
ceiling, as if to exile me from her regard.  Her jaw's still
working.

"I needed you."  She hitches a breath and continues, "I needed
you so much, and you wuh gone."  She turns a steel glare on me
and grabs for my collar, pulling me up to her side until she can
clutch my face between her hands.  I can feel the bones of her
fingers.  "Don't you eveh do that again.  Don't you eveh leave me
and Sammy again.  You heah me, Mulduh?"

I have been scorched by fires cooler than that Scully glare and
those hands.  There was nothing to do but respond weakly, "Yes,
ma'am."

"Doan you 'yes ma'am' me.  I'm you-ah wife!"

I had to laugh.   The whole scene was too comical for words. I
knew I was asking for all hell to break loose, but so help me....
Dana Scully -- weak as she was then, still unable to talk very
well, the one woman I could never live without and without whom I
wouldn't even want to try, mother of my beautiful son, staunchest
friend and supporter I've *ever* had, love of my life -- was
doing her best to haul my ass over the coals from her hospital
bed.   

Oh, give it up, girl!  

My grin earned me a punch to the arm, or at least what passed for
a punch from ninety-seven pound weakling wife.  I toed off my
shoes, grabbed an extra blanket at the foot of her bed, and
stretched out next to her, mindful of the wires to which she was
still attached.   I pulled her to my chest and she relaxed her
head there, toying with the buttons on my shirt.

"Woman," I started in my gruffest voice, quickly dying to a
pathetic whine.  "I will *never* leave you again.  You're going
to get so tired of seeing my sorry ass, you're going to beg me to
get lost.  And until that day comes -- eons from now -- you and I
have a son to raise.  And if we're really lucky, maybe he won't
hate us or ever follow in our footsteps.  I am sorry, Scully." My
voice quiets to a whisper as I plant minute kisses along her
temple and into her hair.   "Sleep now, my love. We'll be a
family again soon."

She tightens her grip on my shirt.  I wonder if she's afraid I
won't be here when she awakens.  

* * *

Sammy is squealing and hopping up and down in his car seat, he's
so excited.  I doubt he knows what about, but he must sense
something momentous is happening today.  We're on our way to see
Scully and bring her home from the hospital.

"That's right, little buddy.  Mom's coming home.  Won't that be
fun?"  I look at him in the rear view mirror as he claps his
hands together.  Maggie dressed him in a cute sailor's outfit in
keeping with Scully tradition.  Something about 'home from the
sea', not that Sammy's even been *in* the water, much less out
*on* it.  Maybe it has something to do with Scully:  home from
being 'at sea', so to speak.  Whatever.  I'm just glad not to be
making this trip several times a week, and to have Scully home
... in our bed ... in my arms ... lucid.

Scully's only seen pictures of Sammy since she came out of her
waking coma (I'm not quite sure what else to call the mental
state I found her in and in which we lived for so long.  This
fits.).  I expect all sorts of histrionics when I finally show up
with him -- gasps, tears, hopefully not fright or uncertainty or,
worse yet, rejection.  I'm not sure I could deal with the latter.
He's such an integral part of my life now, and should be
essential to Scully's recovery.  I just hope she sees it that
way, too.  Needless to say, I'm nervous, maybe even more so than
my wife.

Sammy's all energy as I walk with him down the hall toward
Scully's room.  We've had to stop a few times so he could be
ogled over by one nurse or another, one older woman -- the
grandmotherly type, y'know.  I balance him on my arm sitting
outward so his fat little legs can dangle from this Mulder-seat.
I take a big breath and push Scully's door open.

She's sitting on the bed, dangling her feet just like her son,
bag next to her on the bed all packed and ready for us, her hands
worrying in her lap.  She gasps at the first sight of Sammy, and
as I approach her slowly I see tears swelling in her eyes.  Her
hands tremble as she reaches out to take this squirming bundle of
baby.

As I lower him into her arms, she sighs a whispered, "Sammy." The
word breaks all over the place, and if I didn't know what she was
saying, I would have missed it entirely.  A lump starts in my
throat as well as I sit next to my family and draw my arm around
Scully's shoulder.  She's crying in earnest now, touching Sammy
everywhere she can just to confirm he's real and not just a
figment of her memory.  

"Oh my god, Sammy."  Scully's in awe of our baby boy.

Sammy squirms and plants his round little paws on his mom's face,
laughing at her as he searches her eyes.  When Scully leans
forward to give him a kiss, Sammy's ready for her and puckers up
his baby lips, giggling as he plants a fat wet kiss on Scully's
face.

"Oh Mulduh," she sighs as she leans her head against my shoulder.
"He's weal.  Ou-ah little boy is weal."

I lean down and nuzzle my nose into her soft tresses. "Yours and
mine, Scully.  Our family."  I'm so choked up I don't think I can
say anything more if I had to.  Tears begin to cloud my vision,
falling from my chin as I wrap these two people in loving arms, a
gesture I have longed to make for more than a year now.  

At length our reunion is broken up when Sadie comes into the room
pushing a wheelchair.  "Mrs. Mulder, time to go," she announces
cheerfully, then spies Sammy.  "Oh what a beautiful baby!  Is it
a boy or girl?"

Scully looks up and chokes out, "He's my son."  The pride in her
voice is unmistakable even if it is marred by the stone which has
taken residence in her throat.  

"Well, I'm sure he's just the medicine the doctor ordered. With
him around I don't see you having much of a choice but to get
better soon."  Sadie has been Scully's day nurse since Scully
first came into the hospital, and is quite aware of the latter's
physical limitations and mental condition.  "The sooner you three
get home, the better," she remarks as she turns to help Scully
into the chair.  I retrieve Sammy and Scully's small suitcase, we
say our 'good-byes' and are back on the road heading south in
less than ten minutes.  

Both Sammy and Scully are lulled to sleep by the whine of the
tires against the pavement.  As she lays her head back and shuts
her eyes, Scully reaches over and grasps my hand firmly.  "Thank
you, Muldah," she whispers as sleep begins to claim her.  I raise
our joined fist to my lips and kiss her hand tenderly. I'm so
grateful her exile from us is finally over, I send a silent
prayer of my own thanks to Scully's God.

Scully awakes as I pull into the gravel drive of the house. Sammy
is still dead to the world in his car seat in the back. As I
round the car, Maggie comes down off the porch and waits on the
walk, her hands clutched in front of her face.

I reach in for Scully, only to have my hands swatted away in
annoyance.  "Get the walkah," Scully instructs me as she waves
off my efforts to carry her into the house.  Dutifully, this
husband does as he's told.

Scully's relegated to the use of a walker for now.  She has a
three-legged cane for extremely short distances of less than ten
feet.  Her atrophied muscles require daily physical therapy and
lots of protein drinks.  She has worked really hard to be able to
walk, especially after being told she could not leave the
hospital until she could make it to the bathroom without
assistance.  Her feet still tend to turn inward, the right more
than the left.  In a few weeks, when she's strong enough to go on
short walks in the neighborhood, she'll have to wear braces on
her lower legs and feet to straighten her gait if it is not
better by then.  Scully hates the idea of such orthopaedics, but
she's determined to start walking unassisted as soon as she can.

I position the walker at her car door as she struggles to stand,
still swatting away my hands as she grabs onto the door for
support.  She brushes me out of the way as she takes her first
tentative steps on the unlevel ground.  Maggie remains rooted to
her spot on the front walk, watching her daughter with a mixture
of admiration and heartache.  I stand back, ready to catch my
wife if she should stumble.

Slowly, what I imagine as painfully, Scully maneuvers herself and
the walker across the lawn toward her mother.  I realize Maggie
has not seen Scully walk this distance unassisted by hospital
personnel.  As much as I hate to see such an agonizing effort, I
am heartened beyond belief at Scully's progress over the last six
weeks since she first awoke.  Given time and with her stalwart
determination, I know Scully will recover fully.

Maggie reaches for her daughter over the last couple feet of
distance, drawing Scully into a fierce hug.  Tears stream
silently down my mother-in-law's face.  Scully clutches her
mother, overwhelmed by pride in such a seemingly minor
accomplishment.  I know better; this exercise was another
mountain scaled successfully.

As I see Scully's right leg collapse at the knee and ankle, I
breach the distance to her in four long strides and scoop her up
into my arms.  This time she comes without protest, grabbing me
firmly around the shoulders and burying her face in my neck to
hide her tears.  I just beam as I kiss her hair.

"Maggie, can you retrieve Sammy?  I think he's still asleep in
the back seat,"  I ask as I make my way up the front steps toward
the house, precious cargo balanced in my arms.

"Of course, Fox,"  Maggie calls to my back, thankful for a few
moments to recover herself in the guise of grandmotherly duties.
"Lunch is ready in the kitchen."

Scully withdraws her head from my neck as we enter the foyer.
"Umm, you smell so good," she purrs in my ear as she runs
delicate fingers through the hairs at my temple, turning my face
toward hers.  There's a definite fire in her eyes, despite the
dark circles thereunder which remind me just how weak she still
is.

I kiss her quickly.  "Don't start with me, woman, or your mother
will find us humping like bunnies on the front couch." It's been
a long, long time since I've made love to this creature who now
shares my name.  I'm reminded of my abstinence as all the blood
in my body floods south at the mere idea of reacquainting myself
with Scully.

"Muldah!"  Scully chides playfully, swatting my shoulder.

"You started it," I defend as I wag my eyebrows at her.

She nuzzles that spot behind my ear with her little Scully nose,
humming seductively.  I hasten her into the kitchen, just so I
can readjust myself before Maggie returns with our baby.  Scully
laughs as the blush rises in my cheeks.  After years of sexual
innuendo and banter with this woman, she knows exactly what it
takes to turn the tables on me.  I set her gently on the chair at
the table, giving her a hasty peck and a "later" as I quickly
withdraw to the refrigerator in search of drinks.  Scully just
chuckles at me.                   

Maggie has made us chicken sandwiches and salad for lunch. As she
reappears with Sammy in tow, I exit out through the dining room
to haul in Scully's walker, cane and suitcase.  I am sure my
retreat does not go unnoticed by Maggie.  She's a smart woman,
whose own husband returned from months at sea to a growing family
and a wife from whom he'd been absent too long.

By the time I return from carrying items upstairs Scully's
cradling Sammy in her lap, a bottle in his mouth.  Maggie has
thoughtfully positioned Scully's arm on the table so Sammy's
weight will not overwhelm his mom.  She looks content, peaceful
as she watches his face, his eyes concentrated on her.  Scully
looks up at me and just beams, a beatific smile conveying so much
love.  And here I thought Scully would be the one rendered to
tears by today's reunion.  Sissyman Mulder here, at your service.
I swallow hard to force back the moisture collecting in my eyes,
and stumble to my chair at the table.

"Scully, honey," Maggie observes half way through our meal. "You
look a little tired, like you could use a nap."

Scully is quick to assert a strength her body does not yet
possess.  "No mom.  I'm fine.  I took a nap in the ca-ah."

"Umm humm," Maggie indulges but there's no agreement there.
"Anyway, I thought I'd take Sammy to Jenna's, then the three of
us can go to the Village.  There's some shopping I want to do. If
that's okay with you, Fox?"  She looks at me for support.

"Sure," I readily respond.  She's right; Scully does need her
rest.  But I think this is just a surreptitious attempt to give
Scully and me some time together this afternoon.  Like I said,
Maggie's been through this herself before.

Despite her continued protests, after lunch I carry Scully up the
stairs and deposit her on our bed, with her walker and cane
strategically at the ready.  "Be right back," I tell her as I
softly close the door.  Oh, yeah!

I find Maggie on the phone with Jenna when I return to the
kitchen to help with the lunch dishes.  Yeah, like no prior plan
here, but Mrs. Scully's such a dear.  While Maggie goes to
replenish Sammy's diaper bag, I finish the dishes.  I walk the
two out to my car.  After fitting Sammy into his car seat, I
straighten and give Maggie a hug and kiss on the cheek. "Thanks,"
I whisper as she swats my chest dismissively.

"I'm sure we won't be back for at least two hours, Fox.  You make
sure Dana gets some rest.  Looks like you could use a little shut
eye yourself."  She waves as she backs out of the driveway, "I've
got my key."  And she's off.

I make a beeline back to the house and head upstairs after
locking all the doors and starting the dishwasher.  Scully's just
coming out of the bathroom, leaning on the cane.  She's clothed
in one of my dress shirts, and I'm sure that's all.

"I didn't know wheya anything of mine is," she explains
sheepishly.

She's absolutely breathtaking.  "What's mine's yours," I manage
to croak out.  Embarrassed at how I'm ogling her, I dig my toe
into the floor and stuff my hands into my pockets, looking
everywhere except at her.

"Muldah?"  She calls to me coyly.  "Come he-ah."

I'm beside her in a flash.  Scully pushes the offending cane away
from her and reaches her hands around my neck.  "I think we have
an aftahnoon alone, if I'm not mistaken," she breathes into my
neck.  I feel her tongue come out and run across my jaw line. It
sends shivers down my arms and heat into my groin.  I groan in
defeat.  There is no sense fighting this, not that I really want
to.

"But I don't have anything," I admit, frustrated at my oversight.
In Scully's weakened condition there is no way an unplanned
pregnancy could be good for her, no matter how much either of us
wants to enlarge our family.

"Well, *someone* put a box of sponges undah the sink, and I don't
think it was the babysittah," Scully laughs at my discomfort at
discussing the topic of birth control.  It's not something we
ever considered before, believing Scully to be infertile and not
prone to pregnancy.  Guess Sammy showed us, nixed that idea in
the bud, so to speak.

Oh my god!  Maggie.  So organized and always thinking ahead. Like
mother, like daughter.  I should have known.
Thankyouthankyouthankyou.

Scully's fingers have slid to the throat of my henley and she's
trying to unbutton the same, her movements still lacking finesse
and coordination.  I scoop her up and set her on the bed, seeing
she's already turned back the sheets.

I stand and pull my shirt over my head.  Scully reaches for my
belt and the fly of my jeans.  "Anxious, huh?"  I tease.

"Muldah, it's been a long time since I've even *seen* you. You at
least got to see me these last sev'al months."

I shed my tennis shoes and socks slowly as I watch the aching
frustration build in my wife's eyes.  

"Muldah!  Huh-wee up!"  Poor baby, she still has problems with
those 'r's.

"Scully," I warn only half in jest.  "I'm not sure I'm going to
last too long."  If she keeps pleading with me I'll come the
moment I'm inside her.  "It's been a long time for me, too."  I
drop my jeans and boxers at my feet and watch as her eyes widen
at my already surprisingly large erection.  I can feel unused
muscles strain inside me.

Scully gasps and tries to move back on the bed to give me space.
Gingerly I kneel astride her, helping her lay back against the
pillows, trapped between my legs.  Without removing my eyes from
hers, I languidly unbutton the shirt and let it fall open to her
shoulders.

She reaches for me as I lower myself slowly to her waiting lips.
My tongue caresses her mouth, pressing in tenderly to taste her
breath, her tongue following mine back inside mine. When we
withdraw we are both panting.  I find my legs have repositioned
themselves of their own accord, coming to rest between Scully's.
Her thighs are pressing against mine as I am positioned to enter
her without much further ado.  I have enough brain power left to
notice she is hot and wet and very ready for me.

Scully arches her back, forcing her breast into my hovering palm.
"Muldah, touch me," she begs.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Nevah.  You could nevah huaht me," she assures in a whisper.

Tenderly I caress her breast, rubbing the erect nubbin between my
fingers.  I'm so afraid she'll bruise easily, the veins clearly
visible under her almost-transparent skin.  The little moan she
emits almost sends me over the edge.  Gingerly I reach between
us, down past her curls and in between her folds. I find the
small bundle of nerves hidden there and circle my finger over it.
Scully whimpers and arches her back further.

This is so different than the few times we made love last year.
Today is gentle, tender, calm, a passion deep and abiding shared
between two.  Those other times were hot and furious expressions
of sex and emotion too long denied.  This time reminds me of our
wedding night, the first time we made love as husband and wife,
each finally and perhaps fully realizing the extent of our
commitment to the other.

I feel Scully shudder.  "Oh god, Scully.  I can't hang on much
longer," I confess in her ear as she pulls my face to hers again.

"'S'okay," she assures.  "I want you in me, now.  Now, Muldah,
now!"

I could never deny that request in a million years.  I slide into
her slowly, feeling her walls stretch at the intrusion. Scully's
eyes widen and she sucks in a short breath, before clenching her
lids shut in what I can only assume is pain.

"Oh god, Scully.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry."  I quickly try to
withdraw but she's got her nails buried in my back and is pushing
me down to her.  

"No!  Don't stop!  It's okay.  I'm fine ... just a little tight."

I comply again, moving forward carefully until I'm fully embedded
inside.  Just that thought makes my throat tighten in awe.
Scully's awake, well -- or at least getting better -- back with
me and we're together again, truly, faithfully, completely
together.

I slide out carefully, then pump in again a second ... third ...
fourth time.  I'm sure I'll have permanent scars on my back from
her fingers.  I feel her tremble violently against me and snake
my arms around her drawing her close as she comes.  And I am
there, right there with her, spilling inside this lovely woman,
my wife.

As I lay her back against the cushions of our bed, I lower my
face to her neck.  My sobs come out in great undulating wails. I
can't stop myself.  I cry for the months I was gone from her, for
not being here when she needed me the most, for missing Sammy's
birth.  I ache for not being able to save her when despair and
loneliness overrode her senses and beckoned her into a dark chasm
in her mind, and for not being able to pull her out for six
months.  How could I have ever done this to her?  She has always
been there for me, always patched me up, held me when I was
injured or ill, never leaving my side unless I forced her away.
And yet again, as she now comes back to life in my arms, she has
forgiven me for all my wayward wanderings, taken me back to her
heart without asking for more.  

"Muldah, it's okay," Scully croons in my ear.  "It's okay. We'ah
okay."  She holds me as tightly as her arms will allow, and I am
treated to the sound of her heart under my ear, beating steady
and sure.

Keeping her tightly to me, I draw up the covers and tuck her
under my chin.  "I love you, Scully, so much.  And I've missed
you."

"I've missed you too, Muldah, like theah's no end."

As sleep claims us, we remain tangled together as one entity.

* * *

"Dana!  What are you doing?!"  It's Maggie Scully's voice coming
from the stairwell.

I crane my neck and see through the windows night has descended.
Maggie and Sammy must be back by now.   Searching my hand along
the sheets I find Scully's not in bed any longer.

"Ssh.  You'll wake Muldah."  

That's enough for me to scurry out of bed.  I can only find a
pair of beat up sweats.  Forcing my legs through them, I stumble
to the door as I pull them up around my hips.  In the dim light I
take in the scene before me.

Maggie's holding Sammy tightly to her chest as she stands on the
stairs looking at Scully, who is seated with a baby blanket in
her lap about a third of the way down  the flight, the
indentation from Sammy's previous perch quite evident.  Scully's
right hand clutches the stair rail above her, as her left hand
holds her three-legged cane, two feet precariously balanced on
the step on which her feet rest.  There is no mistaken her
attempt to scoot down the stairs on her butt, Sammy tucked into
her lap.

I feel my anger and fear -- mostly fear -- edge to a boil.
Through clenched teeth I ask Maggie to take Sammy down to his
playpen in the kitchen.  Without moving my eyes from where
they're burning into Scully's, I ask, "Has he been changed?"  

Scully's eyes flash at me confirming he most likely has been. Her
walker is nowhere in sight, and my guess is it's still back in
the bedroom.

Maggie checks his diaper.  "Yes," she mumbles as she disappears
around the corner with our son.  

I have little doubt she knows exactly what I'm going to say to
Scully, but in order to give the appearance of privacy I pause to
consider where I'm going to have this blow-up I feel coming on. I
could take her back to the bedroom, but I'm reluctant to do so.
The space is too intimate, and I really want to give Scully some
equal footing here.  I pick her up -- a little more roughly than
before perhaps, I have to admit.

"Muldah!  Put me down," she barks indignantly.  "I just want to
go downstai-ahs."  She tries to flail with her hands, but
eventually settles down and just crosses her arms in front of her
as I head for the study on the first floor.

I park her on top of the desk, then go back and close the door
with a resounding thud.  I figure she'll have a better vantage
point as I pace back and forth in my agitation.

"Muldah, -"

"Don't start, Scully.  What you did was incredibly irresponsible
and reckless.  I can't believe you would place yourself and our
son in such peril like that!"

She crosses her arms with a huff in front and just lets me have
my say.  

I try to soften my rebuke, remembering what she has been through.
"I know you're frustrated by your lack of independence, and I
know you want to spend time with Sammy, but, my god, Scully!  You
could have....  Something serious could have happened to you ...
and him.  

"And how did you even get out to the stairs to begin with? That
cane is for *short distances* only.  The doctor's said no major
walking with it.  You still need the support of your walker.  One
wrong step, one weakness in your ankle, one unanticipated squirm
by Sammy, and you could have pitched over the railing!"  I feel
my throat constrict and tears well in my eyes, but I'm on a roll
here.  "What am I supposed to do when I find you at the bottom of
the stairs with a broken n-neck or b-back?" I manage to force
out, tears streaming down my cheeks. "My ... our son crushed
under you?  God, do you have any idea....  I have been on pins
and needles with you for six months, wondering if you were ever
going to snap out of it, watching your body wither away right in
front of me....  

"God, Scully, please, please don't scare me like that again." I
bury my face in my hands briefly as I hitch my breath and try to
calm my fears.  "I'll give you as much freedom as you want, but
not ... not so recklessly, not with Sammy like that, not on the
stairs.  Please...."  I slump against the opposite wall from her,
my face still in my hands.  The images of what could have
happened taunt my mind.

"Muldah," Scully's voice breaches the darkness, its cadence
contrite and apologetic.  When I raise my head she has her arms
extended to me, inviting me to her.  "You-ah wight, Muldah.  I'm
so-wee."  I gather her to me and lower my head to her shoulder.
"I should nevah have twied that with Sammy.  I just wanted to
take him downsta-ahs."

"I know, hon.  I know.  But please, not on the stairs.  Can you
call me next time?  It's either me or an electric lift. I'll call
them tomorrow if you want."  I look up to see if she's buying any
of this.  

"I'll make you a deal.  You leave my walk-ah o-ah cane at the
sta-ahs, and I'll call you when I have to change elevations,"
Scully proposes, caressing the hairs at the back of my neck as
she still holds me.

I pull back and search her eyes for the commitment I know I'll
find there.  She's not kidding.  She'll actually admit she needs
me, at least twice a day as she moves from one storey to the
other.  "Deal," I agree.  "But the moment you break it, Scully,
I'm putting up a locked gate at the head of the stairs and
throwing away the key."  I guess this should give me good
practice for when Sammy starts toddling in a few months.

Scully cups my face in her hands, thumbing away the traces of
tears from my cheeks.  "Muldah," she sighs.  "I'm so-wee to have
upset you so.  It's okay, a good lunning expewience.  No mo-ah
hot dogging on the sta-ahs."  She leans in and plants a sweet
kiss on my lips.

As she tries to get away, I gently pull her head back to mine, my
lips searching for hers.  God, how I've missed kissing my wife! I
don't think I can ever get enough of this.

Scully pulls back and slaps my shoulder.  "Nuff, Muldah.  Mom
will wondah what happened to us."

"You stay here until I get your walker?"

Scully lets out an exasperated sigh.  "Okay."

I kiss her again, letting a growl escape my throat, and hurry
upstairs to retrieve her walker, and a shirt for myself.  Don't
need to parade around bare chested for Maggie Scully just because
I quickly fled to the landing when I heard the earlier commotion.

When I return, Scully's exactly where I left her, perched on the
edge of the desk and looking annoyed because it took me so long.
"Sorry," I mumble as I position the walker in front of her and
help her off the desk.

"Muldah, will you pwease stop saying that?  I'm ... it's okay."
Okay, okay, Scully.  Whatever.  We move at our snail's pace to
the kitchen.

Maggie's sitting in one of the chairs at the table, bouncing
Sammy on her knee as he laughs at the faces she makes.  She looks
up, smiling as Scully glides into the room and drops heavily into
a second chair at the table.  I lean down and kiss Sammy on the
head, laying a light hand on Maggie's shoulder as I pass and go
to the fridge.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maggie pass
our little boy to his mother, the older woman keeping a cautious
hand on Sammy's back until Scully has him settled in her lap.

Turning back to the fridge, I stare at its contents, forgetting
my task as I relieve the memory of the last ten minutes.  Why
does this frighten me so?  Why is having Scully finally home such
a difficult situation to which to adapt?  I've wanted this for so
long, so very long.  But now that she's here, I dunno....  It's
like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, the next tragedy to
strike, maybe this time actually taking us down never to recover.
God, this is going to take a long, long time to get over.  

I can't do this.  I can't do this right now.  

I shut the refrigerator, perhaps more firmly than originally
intended.  Muttering an "Excuse me," I quickly flee to the
privacy of the living room, then back to the office where I shut
the door behind me and lean heavily against it.  I know the two
woman are back there in the kitchen, staring after me with looks
of irritated distress on their face, but I can't face them right
now.  

I slump in the old wooden desk chair, messaging my forehead and
trying to block out all sound and thought.  I've had years of
practice.  I should be able to overcome my worry and fear where
Scully's health and safety are concerned.  But not now. Now I
can't.  Now it's so much more, more intimate, more life-altering.
Not just my life, but Sammy's, too.  Oh Scully, I feel like I'm
losing it, like I'm losing you, my sanity.  I need you so much. I
need all of you.  I've never needed anyone -- other than Samantha
... well, other than to *find* Sam.  But now, it's all very
different.  I'm supposed to be the head of the household, father,
husband, lover, caregiver.  I'm supposed to be in charge, and I
can't even get myself together enough to go out there and make a
little supper for my family.  I'm not strong enough to do this
anymore.

I stand on shaky legs and head for the stairs, intent on changing
into my sweats and going for a run.  Maybe that's exactly what I
need, a little exercise to clear the head.  Three minutes later I
make it out the front door unnoticed.  I heard Scully still
talking quietly with her mother in the kitchen as I left.  

I pound the pavement with my feet, jogging briskly after I
stretch and warm up.  I could take these roads with my eyes
closed, so familiar am I with their curves and shoulders,
pavement and gravel.  Three miles or so down the road I notice
I've got company pulling up beside me on the left.  It's Jenna
the nurse, the one who watched Sammy that night everything
finally started going right for me.

"Hey, Doctor Mulder," she greets, barely winded.  "How's your
wife doing?  Is she home yet from the hospital?"

"Uhh, yeah.  She's doing much better.  Thanks for asking." I
pause as I consider just how much I want this company and how
long to continue this conversation.  "She's home now.  Still has
a few difficulties maneuvering, but she's doing great."  

Scully really is doing well.  After all the hell we've gone
through these last several months, how could I ever question her
current condition?  She's doing better.  My *wife* is home with
me and my son.   We are a family, and if I could just get my ass
in gear I'd learn to appreciate the simplicity of that gift
alone.  Why do I need to look for answers, miracles when the same
abound around me?  Scully's *home*, and alive and alert. She can
hold Sammy in her lap and open her arms to me.   I can make sweet
love to her, smell the sunlight in her hair and see the ocean
reflected in her blue eyes.  

"That's great," Jenna breaks into my reverie.  "I'm really happy
for you.  Why don't you two and Sammy come down to dinner with
Todd and me sometime?  We'd love to have you.  I really don't
know too many people on this island yet.  We'll keep it light and
informal."

I flash her a thankful smile.  "Maybe," I hesitate.  I'm not sure
Scully's ready to go out in public yet, not with the walker and
cane still so necessary.   "She's still a little slow, still
using the walker."

"Oh, I understand," Jenna quickly interrupts.  "I've seen it
before.  Just whenever you're ready.  You're always welcomed at
my place, and if you ever need me to watch Sammy again, don't
hesitate to holler.  He's such a good boy.  Gave Todd some
ideas," she laughs lightly.  "Gotta break off here.  See ya'
'round," she waves as she turns up one of the side streets.

'I'm really happy for you.'  Her words echo in my head, beating a
rhythm with my feet.  'Happy for you' ... 'happy'.  

Am I happy?  Is that what is so unsettling about this whole
affair?  Is that what I'm feeling?  I wince at the word.  

I'm braced by the sea air and find my way down to the dunes and
the beach below my house.  No, *our* house.  It's mine and
*Scully's* now.  Suddenly I realize just what the problem is I've
been trying to ferret out for the last twenty minutes as I ran. I
now have to share everything with someone else. *Everything*.
Sammy, the house, Maggie's attentions and mothering, my day, my
night, my bed.  My life.  When I said "I do" so many months ago,
I meant it, every word.  I promised myself to Scully, lock, stock
and barrel.  But now, *now* that marker is being called.  Now it
really is 'til death do us part'.  No going back on my
commitment.  I'm not saying I want to, just that now ... now it's
all very, very different.  

Oh my god.  I wonder if I realized then what I promised.  Who was
I then, and who was is woman now sharing my life?  What did we
get ourselves into, and was it the wisest decision I could have
made?

That's it.  I've got the proverbial cold feet.  I'm like a
nervous groom on his wedding night, suddenly realizing the
magnitude of what I just did more than a year ago.  Typical
Mulder timing.

Oh, this is wrong.  This is all very wrong.  

I'm, well, forty I guess.  I should have been quite aware of what
I was doing when I married this woman.

I drop my head into my hands.  Stop it!
Stopitstopitstopitstopitstopit!  Stop having these doubts.  Stop
second guessing this decision.  Stop flirting with the danger of
a single life.  You're only going to serve to push yourself away
from her.  Is that what you *want*, you dumbfuck?  You want there
to be no Scully?  You want there to be no Sammy?  We went through
that; we went through *all* of that before.  And that's exactly
why you're so uncomfortable now.  Face it, MulderMan, you're just
not used to coming out on top in life's battles. 

You're not used to winning. 

I remember too well the pain and despair and loneliness when
Scully was abducted.  I remember the heartache of having Emily
die in her arms.  I remember too long years of grief, the aimless
wandering with no one and nothing in my life except an unrequited
quest for knowing what happened to a little sister lost so many
years ago I'm beginning to lose the sound of her laughter.

I do not want any of that again.  Ever.

But I am so scared about this ... this new life I have.  And so
unprepared.

I've been going through the motions for six months, because that
was expected of me.  And I would never have abandoned them. But I
don't want to play a role now.  I don't want to look back in
thirty years and realize my heart's desire was unmet because I
spent my time being something I'm not.   

Well then, what are you?

I'm a man ... 

            ... in love with a woman ... 

                                               ... and a little
boy.  

The realization hits me right between the eyes.  My life is now
defined by someone else ... *two* someone elses.  That may be
nothing new, but the people are.  I've wasted my life to this
point.  I never looked for this because I didn't think I could
have it, didn't believe myself worthy of it.  And truth be told,
my parents did little to bolster the confidence I needed to
search for a life this basic.  I didn't look for this because
quite frankly there was no one with whom I wanted this life. Not
even Scully when I first met her.  Somewhere along the way, I
found the person.  I found myself.  Scully helped me discover who
I really am.  And in doing so, I stumbled upon the only person
with whom I would ever want to share my life.  She's back there
at the house, holding a miracle in her lap and a flame in her
heart with my name written all over it.   She waited for me to
return, like I know now she always well.  She persevered through
trials hell could not imagine.  She lost the battle only days
before I reclaimed my position on this earth.  And she left
behind a message for me more true, more deeply ingrained, more
forthright than any hand could ever pen.  In a small bundle of
legs and dimples and baby fat she told me how much she loves me,
how much she always would, how steadfast her love would remain
despite the tribulations we faced before and will face in the
future.  She left me the promise of redemption.

The ocean's was a solid blue today.  I climb the bluff to my
backyard and the new patio.  Standing there I turn and look again
out into the night, a gentle breeze lifting my hair.  I want this
life.  I want this life with Scully, but only with her.  I can
promise her nothing in return, but I'm not sure that matters.  My
dowry is bankrupt, but my heart ... my heart is overflowing.

I feel cold and small fingers entwine with my hand as it rests
idly at my side.  The touch is startling at first, and I look
down to find Scully's ocean eyes looking up at me.  I panic,
wondering how she maneuvered the low wall to make it to my side,
but something in her gaze tells me to question no further.  She's
here and that's good enough.

My heart catches in my throat as the breeze picks up her hair and
flutters it back from her face.  She's still the breathtakingly
beautiful woman I met so many years ago.  Like the ebb of the
sea, the distances between us have been breached once again in
silence.  I gather her to me and hold on for dear life.  

Scully just laughs into the wind, setting off a chime inside my
heart, draining my fears and worries with the receding waves.   A
gull bobs and dips above us.  All is finally right with my world.

***

The End