Title:          The Eyes of a Child
Author:         Lovesfox
E-mail:         lovesfox@rogers.com
Website:        www.geocities.com/fanficcorner
Category:       Angst, Post-Requiem, MSR
Spoilers:       Up to and including Via Negativa
Rating:         R
Summary:        A Mulder returns story, with a twist.
                I am choosing to ignore the latest development in                                            
                Season 8 (TINH).  Scully is still pregnant, however,
                and the baby is definitely Mulder's.

Disclaimer:     Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the rest are not mine, 
                no matter how much I wish they were.  They belong 
                to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter.                                                                 
                   



The Eyes of a Child
By Lovesfox

Part 1 of 12


Prologue

Midnight Mass
Church of the Blessed Heart
Washington, D.C.
Dec. 24, 2000


Dana Scully sat in the last row of pews as the service continued.  She 
had slipped in moments after it had started, smiling apologetically, 
her cheeks flushed with cold and embarrassment, as she passed the 
ushers manning the doors and quickly found a seat. 

The familiar sounds and rhythms of the Midnight Mass soothed her, and 
with a long sigh, the tenseness slowly left her body.  One hand made 
its now habitual journey to the swell of her belly, slipping through 
the folds of the opened, long coat she still wore.  The baby fluttered 
against her fingertips, and she soothed it gently, absently.

She followed by rote, responding automatically, her hand rising in the 
age-old gesture to cross herself, kneeling on the prayer bench when 
necessary.  She rose and shook hands with the family in the pew in 
front of her for the Kiss of Peace.

As her gaze moved about the large church, nearly filled to capacity, 
taking in the beautiful stained glass windows depicting various scenes 
from the Bible, she thought about her mother.  About the disappointment 
her mother had not been able to contain at her decision not to attend 
Mass at her mother's church.  At her mother's well-intentioned 
invitation so that she would not be alone on Christmas Eve.

Her mother did not understand she wanted to be alone.  No one else 
understood either.  Both Skinner and Doggett had separately inquired as 
to her plans for the evening, and upon hearing that she had none, had 
tried to convince her to join them.  She had declined both times, over 
their voracious protests, finally having to resort to a raised voice, 
which had stunned them both into silence, and left her feeling slightly 
ashamed.  They had at least left her alone, which had been her 
intention, albeit achieved rather roughly.

As if that were not enough, Frohike had phoned, speaking in a hushed 
voice on her cellular, asking her if she would like to drop by the Lone 
Gunmen's place for some non-alcoholic eggnog and home-baked shortbread 
cookies.  Her earlier anger had dissipated, leaving her melancholy and 
sad, and at Frohike's invitation, she had nearly burst into tears.  It 
was with supreme effort that she had declined, pleading fatigue.  He 
had accepted her refusal, and then expressed immediate concern, which 
she had hurriedly assuaged, before wrangling a promise from her to 
allow he, Byers and Langly to drop by the day after Christmas.  

The Lone Gunmen had become more to her since Mulder's disappearance.  
She was not quite ready to term them as friends, although she could not 
as yet think of a better word to describe their newfound relationship.  
Their devotion to researching any and all possible leads to finding 
Mulder ran almost around the clock, and she knew she could count on 
them at any time to aid her if the need arose.  Their quiet awe in 
learning she carried Mulder's baby had touched her, as did their 
constant mothering and sometimes unnecessary but well meaning helping 
hands. 

Mulder.  Where are you?  Scully sighed again, blinking back the sudden 
moisture in her eyes as she thought of him yet again.  As if in 
response, the baby surged against her hand almost painfully, and she 
had to smother her gasp, looking around her to see if anyone had 
noticed her odd behavior. Fortunately, the pew she sat in was empty, 
and the people in front of her were too engrossed in the homily to pay 
attention to a lone pregnant woman.

When she was hard at work on a case with Doggett, it was easy to slip 
Mulder to a back corner of her mind, although she often thought about 
what he would do in certain situations that arose.  It was at quiet 
times like this that he eased into her consciousness, her very being, 
and it was all she could do not to close her eyes and drift in the 
memories.

She had been so lost in remembrance that she had not realized the Mass 
was coming to an end.  She did not join the long line of parishioners 
waiting to partake of the Communion, and instead slipped out of her pew 
on the other side.  With quiet careful steps she approached the bank of 
votive candles and knelt on the bench provided.  She lit candles for 
her father and Missy, saying a brief prayer for each.

After a long moment spent staring at the flickering flames of hundreds 
of lit candles, she reached for the wick once more.  Her hand trembled, 
and she had to steady it with her other one to light it and bring it to 
a fresh candle.  

A candle for Mulder. 

Scully looked up at the statue of The Virgin Mary, and a lone tear slid 
down her cheek.

She whispered one word.

"Please."

***


Three Weeks Later

X-Files Office
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
January 14, 2001
8:00 am


Scully's hand reached for the doorknob, a little surprised that the 
door was closed.  It jiggled, but did not turn.  Her eyebrow arched. 
Not only closed, but locked as well.  She had actually beaten Doggett 
to the office.  Juggling her briefcase, she fumbled for her keys and 
unlocked the door, pushing it open with a nudge of her foot.  

Once inside, she flicked on the lights and headed over to Mulder's 
desk, dropping her briefcase on the tidied surface.  She shook her head 
slightly.  When would she stop referring to it as Mulder's desk?  With 
a shrug, she told herself, never.  It was Mulder's desk; she was just 
using it until he got back.  Until, not if he came back.

She sat down in her chair and reached out to turn her computer on, gaze 
wandering over to Doggett's much messier desk.  Lack of neatness was 
one thing her temporary partner shared with Mulder.  An unflagging 
determination to solve each and every case was another.  

A sound at the door had her lifting her head.  Doggett strode in, his 
hands full.  "Morning, partner," he said.  He waggled the white paper 
bag in his hand.  "Brought you breakfast.  A whole wheat bagel with 
preserves, and a glass of milk."  That said, he used his elbow to shove 
a pile of folders on his desk aside, and put the bag down.  He shrugged 
out of his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair before 
plopping onto it to dig inside the bag.

As he handed her the wrapped bagel and container of milk, Scully 
recalled the other thing he had in common with Mulder.  His 
protectiveness towards her.  She smothered a sigh; he really did mean 
well.  It just got to her sometimes, because ever since he had learned 
of her pregnancy, it had multiplied.  Buying her healthy foods, asking 
her if she needed to put her feet up. It was sweet, but annoying.  It 
was also painful, for she wished it were Mulder who was doing all those 
things for her.  There was a tiny kick within her womb, and the motion 
dragged her from her melancholy. "Good morning," she replied finally, 
accepting his offerings.  "You didn't have to buy me breakfast.  Thank-
you."

"I know I didn't," he responded, lifting a huge powdered jelly donut 
from the bag.  "I wanted to."  He took a large bite of the donut, and 
Scully watched as powdered sugar rained down to fall on his desk.  
Doggett swiped half-heartedly at the crumbs, uncaring as he brushed 
them onto his pants.

She stared enviously at the steaming cup of coffee he lifted next, 
watching as he took an experimental sip.  She had to smile when he 
pulled back with a muttered curse.  It was obvious he had burnt his 
lip.

He had looked up at the right time, and caught her smile.  He returned 
it, before saying unnecessarily, "It's hot."  His smile widened into a 
grin.  "Jealous?" 

He knew how much she craved a cup of coffee.  She had never been a huge 
coffee drinker, but she loved a cup in the morning.  She had seen him 
watching her a couple times, heading to the coffee maker with her mug, 
and then returning empty-handed, shaking her head.  "Extremely," she 
replied, smiling again, for she had sworn off coffee, even decaf, for 
the duration of her pregnancy.  Her closest vice was the occasional cup 
of herbal tea.

She moved her briefcase to the floor beside the desk and then unwrapped 
her bagel and took a bite.  The preserves, a blend of blackberries and 
raspberries, she thought, had her taste buds humming.  Thankfully her 
morning sickness had ended with her first trimester. Although, she 
thought sarcastically, her "morning sickness" had encompassed the 
entire day.  Now she only had to worry about spicy foods and heartburn.  

She snorted to herself.  What only?  How could she forget that the 
father of her baby, as proven by genetic testing, was missing and 
purportedly in outer space and that she rarely got more than five hours 
of sleep a night, and those were the good nights? Or that the pregnancy 
itself was a mystery?

Enough, she told herself.  She had been dwelling on that thought far 
too much lately.

As she ate, she contemplated the man sitting across from her. Doggett 
wasn't Mulder, no one could ever come close, but somehow he had gotten 
to her.  Not sexually, although she could admit the man had absolutely 
beautiful eyes, maybe not even as a friend, but definitely more than 
just a partner.

It had taken her a long time to get over her mistrust of John Doggett, 
but as they worked more and more on cases together, and he had listened 
and talked to her as an equal, she had gradually let down a little of 
her guard.   She supposed things had started to change back in Utah, 
after he had rescued her from that cult.  Cutting a slug the cult 
believed to be the Second Coming of Christ out of your partner's back 
had to rank right up there with the worst of nightmares.

And Scully had no qualms admitting Doggett had rescued her.  If he had 
not doubled back to that house and snuck inside, she was certain that 
slug would have killed her, no matter what the cultists had believed.  
When she had admitted to him in the hospital a few days later that she 
had been wrong in pursing the case without him, she had seen something 
in his eyes.  A sort of unity.

She had still kept things hidden from him, though, finding it difficult 
to trust someone she believed to be Kersch's watchdog.  Her admittance 
to yet another hospital during the investigation into the Ibogan Temple 
Cult, fearing she was miscarrying.  Her pregnancy itself.

As she took another bite of her bagel, she mused to herself that she 
was glad her pregnancy was no longer a secret.  To Doggett, anyway.  
She had yet to switch to maternity clothes, not wanting prying eyes 
around the Bureau cracking Baby Spooky jokes, but she knew the time was 
coming soon when she would have to cave in and buy some.  There were 
only so many inches the waistbands of her pants and skirts could be let 
out.  Fortunately she had always been big on blazers, and they helped 
to hide her burgeoning belly.

It was the lack of just such a blazer that had led to Doggett's 
discovery of her secret, the day after New Year's.  Although she had 
spent the holiday with her mother, forcing herself to partake of the 
somewhat elaborate feast her mother had prepared, her mom had phoned to 
say she was dropping by that morning, to bring her some leftovers.  
When the knock had come at her door, she had been lying on the couch, 
wearing a somewhat clingy tee shirt and sweatpants, her hair scraped 
back in a messy ponytail.  Sure it was her mother, she had opened it 
without checking the peephole.

It had not been her mother. 

John Doggett had stood there, casually dressed, and holding a pink-
flowered Poinsettia.  His eyes had dropped from her stunned face to the 
bulge that was her baby, clearly revealed by the tee shirt. 

What had followed had been difficult. 

Once he had gotten over the initial shock of the evidence plainly 
before him, his eyes had narrowed in anger.  She had actually taken a 
step back in fear, seeing the flush on his face.  His body had been 
coiled tightly, like a spring, when he stalked past her into her 
apartment.  She had taken a deep breath, slowly closing the door, 
before turning around to face him.

His mouth had opened and closed several times, as if he were searching 
for the right words, or perhaps curbing the wrong ones.  "Agent 
Scully," he had said.  "When were you planning on telling me you were 
pregnant?"  He had begun pacing, while she still stood by the door.  
"Don't you think this was information I needed to know?  What if 
something...what if something else had happened to you?"

She had felt shame, knowing he was right.  At the same time, she still 
wished she had been able to keep it a secret a little bit longer, to 
protect the baby.  And because Mulder did not know about his child.

She had found herself apologizing yet again.  Doggett had settled down 
pretty quickly, telling her he understood in a way why she had not told 
anyone.  She had quietly informed him that Skinner was the only other 
person to know, besides her mother.  Who had shown up just then.  After 
introducing them, he had left, telling her he would see her at work the 
next day.  She had thanked him for the Poinsettia, and for his concern, 
and bid him goodbye.  Her mother had commented that he seemed like a 
nice man, and she had agreed.  He was a nice man.   

Doggett's voice jolted her from her reverie.  "Hey, Dana, you all 
right?" he asked, and Scully looked up to see him watching her with 
concern, a sprinkle of sugar on his lips.

"Just thinking," she replied, and saw him relax back into his chair, 
taking another sip of his coffee.  "John," she called softly, and when 
he looked up again, she gestured at her own lips, making a wiping 
motion.

There was a ringing sound next, and at first she looked at the 
telephone on the corner of the desk before realizing it was her 
cellular.  Which was in her briefcase.  She bent, a little awkwardly, 
huffing out a breath at the tightness in her midsection, and reached in 
the side pocket to pull it free.  She straightened with relief. 
Pressing 'send' and holding it to her ear, she briskly said, "Scully."

She heard Frohike's voice saying, "We need to meet," and then a dial 
tone.  

She clicked the phone off, aware of Doggett's curious gaze, and putting 
the cellular down on the desk, reached for the other phone.  She dialed 
Skinner's extension, and when Kimberley's chipper voice answered, said, 
"Good morning, Kimberley.  It's Agent Scully.  I need to speak to AD 
Skinner, please." 

She waited tensely, staring at Doggett, who was now leaning forward in 
his seat, watching her intently.  Moments later she heard Skinner's 
brisk greeting and spoke. "Sir, it's Agent Scully.  I need to go to the 
specialist's now, so I will be out of the office."  It was a pre-
arranged signal, one they had worked out a couple of weeks after the 
incidents in Arizona, with Gibson Praise and the Alien Bounty Hunter.  
She was telling him to meet her at The Lone Gunmen's hideout as soon as 
possible.  She listened to him give the answering response, informing 
her he would leave in ten minutes.  She thanked him, hung up the phone 
and told Doggett, "We have to go now."

Without a word he stood up and slipped into his jacket as she gathered 
her briefcase, tucking her cellular back inside.  He waited until she 
walked through the door and then followed, pulling it shut and locking 
it.  Their strides were quick and even as they made their way to the 
parking garage.

***

The Lone Gunmen's Lair
Arlington, VA
January 14, 2001
9:10 am


Although Doggett had in a sense worked with the Gunmen, and even spent 
some time with them at her place, he had yet to be granted access to 
their inner sanctum.  This would be the first time.  

Scully couldn't resist watching him as he observed the extreme security 
measures the paranoid men employed.  His facial expressions changed 
many times, from exasperation at the numerous locks on the door and 
their caution on admitting the two of them to amazement at the variety 
of equipment housed within. He did refrain from commenting, however.  
Scully saw that his silence gained him bonus points in the Gunmen's 
eyes.

Frohike was all solicitousness, taking her arm and leading her to a 
stool, asking her if she were hungry or thirsty.  He offered her 
everything from milk and cookies to a full course meal.  To appease 
him, she asked him for a glass of water.  He hustled off to do her 
bidding, while she watched Doggett watching Langly re-set all the locks 
on the door. There was as yet no sign of Byers.

Doggett then began wandering around, peering at computer screens and 
perusing maps and radar photos scattered about.  He found an issue of 
their paper and picking it up, started to read.  An occasional twitch 
of his lips or a raised eyebrow signaled he had found something 
interesting.  Or amusing.

At the brisk knock that came then, all eyes turned to the surveillance 
camera's monitor.  The grainy black and white image was that of AD 
Skinner, looking tensely at the door.  Scully watched as Langly hustled 
over and opened the numerous locks and chains to admit her superior.

Skinner stepped inside, eyes scanning the room until he spotted Scully, 
sitting on one of the tall stools at the long table that took up a 
majority of the room.  His gaze next landed on Doggett, who had dropped 
the paper and moved to stand just to her left, leaning on said table.  
Skinner nodded a greeting, raising one eyebrow in silent inquiry.  
Scully responded with a slight shrug and a lift of her eyebrow, 
indicating she did not yet know what was going on, nor the need for 
urgency.

Byers came out of one of the other rooms, impeccably dressed as always, 
nodded at Skinner and greeted her softly before he walked around the 
table.  He sat beside Scully, to her right, in front of one of the many 
computer monitors.  Frohike, after bringing Scully her water, had sat 
in front of another monitor, which was to Byers' right.

Behind Skinner, Langly re-engaged all the locks and then moved past the 
AD to stand behind Frohike.  Both Byers and Frohike began tapping at 
their respective keyboards.

Byers turned his head to look at Scully, but his words were to 
everyone.  "As you know, we have been intercepting data about UFO 
activity ever since Mulder disappeared. One of us has been monitoring 
this data at all times.  Early yesterday morning, around six am Eastern 
Standard Time, or three am Pacific Standard Time, the systems we've 
hacked into went haywire, with most of the activity being centered in 
the Pacific Northwest, or more specifically, Oregon."

Scully's heart immediately started to race when she heard the word 
Oregon, and she left her stool to lean over Byers' shoulder and stare 
at his monitor, although she could make little sense of what was 
displayed there.  Her voice only wobbled slightly as she asked, 
"Bellefleur?"  At his affirming nod, she continued in a somewhat harsh 
tone, "Why didn't you contact me yesterday?"

Frohike broke in to comment, "We didn't have anything to tell you 
yesterday.  Once we realized where we were looking at, we started doing 
what Mul...doing what Mulder called some funky poaching.  Turns out 
there were several John Does and one Jane Doe admitted to the local 
hospital this morning."

Byers took over again, eyes and tone somber.  "The description of one 
of the John Does closely matches Mulder's."

***

Bellefleur Hospital
Bellefleur, OR
January 15, 2001
11:00 am (PST)


The flight had been interminable.  Naturally they had flown into a 
storm front, which had caused major turbulence, and the need to wear 
their seatbelts.  Never a good flyer to begin with, Scully had white-
knuckled the armrest, her teeth clenched for most of the flight.  Her 
thoughts however had been entirely on Mulder and the news received from 
the Gunmen the day before.  The drive from the Portland Airport to the 
Bellefleur Hospital that had followed their flight had been passed in 
tense silence.  

Despite her urgent and desperate need to get to Bellefleur and see if 
the John Doe was indeed Mulder, there had still been arrangements to be 
made.  Scully had wanted to depart immediately for Dulles Airport to 
find any flight that would get her to her destination.  To Mulder.  
Ever since Byers had said that one of the John Does looked like Mulder, 
she had become convinced it was him.

Skinner had been the voice of reason.  Taking her arm and leading her 
gently aside, he had convinced her to go home and pack, while he phoned 
Kimberley to make arrangements for flights to Oregon for the three of 
them.  She had thanked the Gunmen and left him to it, Doggett dropping 
her off at her place to get her things together while he did the same.

Kimberley had tried to use their FBI status to get them on a flight, 
but still the earliest had been the next day, departing at 7:00 am.  
After learning that bit of news, Scully had spent a nearly sleepless 
night, waiting for the dawn, with her packed suitcase ready by the 
door.

And now here they were, so close to Mulder, and hampered by another 
delay.  This time it was a hospital bureaucrat who had insisted on 
verifying their FBI credentials before allowing them to see any of the 
Doe patients.

Scully barely refrained from snarling at the officious little man, who 
in her opinion vastly overrated his own importance.  Again it was 
Skinner who took charge, flicking a look at Doggett, who gently led her 
away to calm down.

If she weren't so damn anxious to see Mulder, she would probably be 
offended.  Right now though, she couldn't find the energy.  She nodded 
at Doggett, to show him she was fine, and consoled herself by pacing up 
and down a small patch of hospital corridor, her low-heeled pumps 
making a rhythmically hypnotic clicking sound.

So hypnotic in fact, that she was unaware when Skinner first called her 
name.  It was not until Doggett touched her arm that she came out of 
her fugue, and looked up to see Skinner walking towards her, concern on 
his face.  She managed to smile faintly to show that she was all right, 
tugging the sides of her blazer straight, ready to face what was in 
store.  She was nervous however, and a little afraid that her hopes 
would be brutally dashed.  As if sensing her unease, the baby kicked, 
jabbing her painfully in the kidney.  She rubbed at her side, hoping 
neither man would notice.

"Everything is settled," Skinner said, joining her and Doggett. "We 
apparently 'check out'," he added with no small measure of sarcasm.  He 
grasped her elbow lightly and began to steer her down the hallway, 
towards the elevator.  "We need to go to the third floor."

Once they were on the elevator, Skinner spoke again. "There were three 
men and one women found comatose in the woods outside Bellefleur," he 
explained.  "Several people had reported strange lights, and due to…due 
to all that's happened recently, the police were sent out to check."  

The elevator binged as it reached its destination, and when the doors 
opened, both Doggett and Skinner gestured for her to exit first.  She 
did so, with Skinner quickly moving to walk at her side.  He continued 
speaking.  "None of the patients have regained consciousness yet, and 
each have been subjected to a battery of tests."

Scully opened her mouth, but was forestalled by Skinner, who answered 
her unspoken question.  "They will have the results made available to 
you as soon as possible, as well as the reports on their conditions 
when they were first brought in to the emergency department."

A few moments later they were at the nurse's station.  Skinner had 
removed his ID wallet as they approached, and now held it out to the 
nurse manning the station.  "Walter Skinner, with the FBI," he 
introduced himself.  "This is Special Agent Dana Scully," he said, with 
a nod at her, "and Special Agent John Doggett," and another nod at 
Doggett.  "We're here to see the three John Does and Jane Doe."

The nurse, a pretty blonde who wore an enamel angel pin with the name 
Kris written on it, had given his badge only a cursory glance.  She 
rose from her seat and came around from behind the station, saying, 
"Yes, sir.  I have been advised you are to have full access to the four 
patients, as well as all medical records pertaining to each patient.  
If you'll follow me," she continued and headed to the left down the 
hallway.

Scully found her steps suddenly dragging.  Her body was vacillating 
between hot and cold, and there was a leaden feeling in the pit of her 
stomach.  She swallowed back a rush of nausea, and had to take several 
deep breaths to slow her suddenly racing heart.  All the way here she 
had been so sure it was Mulder.  She did not think she could handle it 
if it were not. 

Doggett, who had immediately sprung forward after Skinner and the 
nurse, seemed to realize she was not hard on his heels, and turned 
back.  His eyes widened, his jaw tensing, and he hurried back to her, 
hands out as if worried she were going to faint and he would need to 
catch her.

Which was a distinct possibility, Scully thought.  And a degrading one.  
She reached out with one hand and leaned on the pale yellow cement 
wall, bending slightly at the waist.  She took more deep breaths, 
slowly and deliberately, and the feeling faded.

"Dana?" came Doggett's low voice.  "Are you all right?  Is it...is it 
the baby?"  

She could sense his hands hovering at her shoulders, and managed to 
shake her head in the negative.  One last deep breath, and she 
straightened.  "I'm all right," she replied, and was glad her voice 
sounded strong, even if she was not.  "Just felt a little nauseous."  
She was not going to tell him of her fear that it was not Mulder.  
"It's passed.  I'm fine."

He studied her for a moment longer and then backed up a step, allowing 
her some space.  She smiled her thanks, and they walked together 
towards Skinner and the nurse, who had stopped in front of a door about 
twenty feet down the hallway.  Scully could see that Skinner was 
watching her with a frown on his face.

Once they reached Skinner she assured him with a look that all was 
well, and he gave her a tiny nod in return.  The nurse said, "The three 
John Does are in this room here, and Jane Doe is in the room next door.  
I'll get someone to bring you their files."  With that, she smiled 
briefly and headed back to the nurses station.

Skinner reached out and opened the door, holding it for Scully to walk 
through.  She did, feeling the pulse in her neck beating wildly.  She 
kept her composure, and was the calm, collected Agent Scully as she 
surveyed the room.  It was a large, square-shaped room, with four beds, 
three of which were curtained.  The fourth bed, to the right of the 
door, was empty.  

Scully walked over to the first bed just inside the door to the left.  
With a whisking motion, she moved the curtains aside.  The blankets 
were drawn to the man's neck, but she could immediately see it was not 
Mulder.  She did recognize him however. 

It was Billy Miles.

Her sharp intake of breath alerted Skinner and Doggett that something 
was wrong.  They had remained by the door, as if they wanted to let her 
be the one to find Mulder, but both moved quickly to her side at the 
sound.  "What is it, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked tensely.  "Do you 
know this man?"

She nodded jerkily, still staring at the comatose man.  Although she 
had recognized him, he did not look quite the same as the last time she 
had seen him, nearly six months ago.

His face was still boyish, but with sunken cheeks and dark circles 
under his eyes.  There was also a grayish cast to his skin. It was 
apparent he had been through an ordeal.  She wanted to examine him, but 
not until she saw the other two men.  The fact that Billy Miles had 
gone missing at the same time as Mulder, and was believed to be another 
abductee, seemed to be a very good indicator that one of the other men 
might be him.

"Scully?" Skinner questioned, his voice a little louder.

She realized she had not answered his question, and turned away from 
the man lying in the hospital bed.  She met his eyes briefly, nodding, 
and said, "It's Billy Miles."  She did not explain any further; fully 
aware both men had read all the files on Bellefleur.

They exchanged glances, and then looked back at her.  Scully saw what 
looked like hope blooming in Skinner's eyes.  Doggett's face was 
inscrutable.

She brushed past them to move to the next bed, which was along the same 
wall as Billy Miles' bed, beside the window.  She pulled that curtain 
aside as well, and saw a man she recognized only from pictures, having 
never met him.  Ray Hoese, Theresa Hoese's husband. He was also another 
one of the people who had gone missing around the same time as Mulder.

"Ray Hoese," she identified with a nod at the man lying on the bed.  He 
too was pale and gaunt.

The sound of her heels became a loud booming noise in her head as she 
moved to the bed directly across from Ray Hoese's, and time seemed to 
slow.  Her hands were cold again, but did not shake as she grasped the 
material of the curtain in her fist.  Her first tug did not dislodge 
it, and she had to go up on tiptoes to get better leverage.  She 
yanked, the small grunt she gave signifying her effort, and it finally 
slid across the tracks on the ceiling.

She was suddenly afraid to look.  

She started at the foot of the bed, staring at the bump of the man's 
feet under the covers, and slowly moved her eyes up.  Peripherally she 
could see dark chestnut hair.  She forced herself to look at the man's 
face.

Mulder.

Spots danced before her eyes, and her knees started to buckle.  A 
choked sound escaped and she had to grab onto the railing of the bed to 
avoid collapsing to the ground.  

Oh, dear God, it was Mulder.

Skinner was there quick as lightening, gripping her upper arms tightly, 
supporting her weight.  "Easy, I've got you," he said, pulling her into 
a semblance of a hug, her back pressed to his chest.

She leaned gratefully into his warm hardness and tried to steady her 
erratic breathing.  Distantly she heard Doggett asking if he should get 
help, and then Skinner said quietly, "No, she'll be all right.  She's 
just had a big shock."  

Her legs had finally stopped their trembling, so she straightened, 
sliding out of Skinner's embrace.  She glanced at him, seeing the worry 
in his eyes, and felt her cheeks redden.  Despite their closeness over 
the last few months, she was still embarrassed to have reacted that 
way, and had witnesses to it.  "Thank-you," she said quietly, and with 
a deep breath, turned back to Mulder.

Like Billy Miles and Ray Hoese, Mulder's face was grayish-tinged, and 
gaunt looking.  The circles under his eyes were deep and nearly black.  
Although he did not have a beard, he was not quite clean-shaven; 
stubble graced his cheeks and jaw.  She could see no scars at this 
distance, and moved to stand by his head, leaning over to peer more 
closely at him.  Lifting one hand, which was trembling only slightly,  
she touched his cheek.  She had expected his flesh to be cool, and was 
surprised to find it pleasantly warm.  She let her hand rest there for 
a moment before removing it reluctantly and stepping back, wanting 
nothing more than to crawl onto the bed and curl up around his still 
body.  She knew she could not, not now.  She forced herself to look at 
him clinically.

Also like the other two, he was hooked up to a heart monitor, and she 
listened to the reassuring blips that indicated his heart still beat 
strongly.  As well, there was an IV in one arm, and she could see a 
Foley Catheter bag peeking out at the bottom of the bed.  There were no 
other tubes or wires that she could see.  He smelled of antiseptic and 
hospital, and had obviously been washed upon his arrival.  

The blankets were drawn to his neck too, concealing the rest of his 
body from sight.  Suddenly frightened by what they might be hiding, she 
stepped forward again and pulled the covers down to his waist.  

He was wearing a standard hospital gown, so all she could really see 
was his arms.  She let herself gently stroke the one nearest to her, 
feeling the baby-fine hairs brush against her fingertips.  She could 
locate no lumps or scar tissue, nor she could visibly see any scars, 
but the muscles of his upper arm felt lax when she squeezed them.

Skinner coughed slightly from behind her, and she paused in her 
examination of Mulder to look over her shoulder at him.  When he saw he 
had her attention, he said, "I'll see about getting those records for 
you.  I assume you're going to do a full examination?"  After her nod, 
he turned slightly to Doggett and said, "I think you should contact the 
Bellefleur police, see what you can learn from them.  Maybe suggest 
they search the woods again, and post some sort of watch over the next 
few nights.  There could be more abductees returning."

Scully watched the two of them leave the room, and then grasping the 
edge of the curtain, drew it closed around the bed.  This time she 
lowered the bed rail for better access, and pulled the covers down to 
Mulder's feet, baring them.  Her belly brushed against the mattress as 
she moved, and with wearing lower heels now due to her pregnancy, she 
almost wished for a step stool.

She stared at his long, skinny feet, and for some reason the sight of 
them had tears springing to her eyes.  Swiping impatiently at them, 
she told herself to get a grip.  Leaning forward a little, she studied 
his feet and legs with her eyes as her hands palpated and examined from 
his toes to his groin, brushing the gown aside as she moved upwards.  
Her fingers encountered the bullet scar on his left thigh.  Sagging 
slightly, her eyes drifted shut and she was assailed by a painful 
memory — Mulder lying on the ground, the blood-splattered white cross 
behind him.  Forcing her eyes open, Scully blinked several times and 
took a deep breath, pushing the memory aside.

Skirting his groin, she tugged the gown back down to cover his legs, 
and reaching behind his head, untied the strings holding it closed.  
That done, she pulled at the gown until she had bared his chest and 
stomach.  High on his left shoulder was another bullet scar, from when 
she had shot him to prevent him from shooting Krycek so long ago.  His 
ribs were clearly visible, and there was more evidence of muscle loss 
in his upper body.  As well, she can see the faint lines along one side 
of his ribs from Mulder's encounter with the Beast Lady.  She can see 
no new scarring or bruising anywhere on his body.

She moved a little closer to the head of the bed, stretching so that 
she could run her fingers through his hair.  It was coarser than 
normal, and quite a bit longer than he normally wore it.  Her fingers 
encountered the scars from the unauthorized brain surgery performed on 
him at the Defense Department, and she was unable to tell if there had 
been further surgeries or procedures done there.

Next, she gently thumbed each of his eyelids open, noting that both 
pupils were equal.  She quietly cursed the lack of a flashlight to 
check if they were reactive to light.  She paused for a moment, her 
thumb still holding one lid open, before letting it slip closed. It had 
been odd to look into his hazel eyes and not see the intelligence and 
humor that normally shone there.

As far as she could tell, this was definitely Mulder, as she had 
believed the moment she saw him, and there was no indication of what 
could have caused him to be in such a condition.

With a shuddery sigh, she let her hand return to his hair, stroking 
through it.  "Mulder?" she whispered.  "It's me, I'm here."  She had 
not really expected any response, but could not help the desolation 
that swept through her body when there was none.  Feeling the tears 
rise to her eyes again, she blinked them a few times, not wanting to 
give in to the fear that was rapidly filling her heart.

What if Mulder's condition was permanent?

***

One Week Later

Georgetown University Medical Center
Georgetown, D.C.
January 22, 2001
4:00 pm


Scully sat up slowly in the hard-backed hospital chair in Mulder's new 
hospital room, the ache in her lower back making her groan quietly.  
The small table in front of her was covered with the copies of the 
reports and the results of the tests done on Mulder in the hospital in 
Bellefleur.  She had gotten one of the nurses, Kris she thought the 
blonde woman's name was, to photocopy them once she had finished 
reading his file.  She had also requested and received copies of the 
files for Billy Miles, Ray Hoese, and Theresa Hoese, whom she had later 
identified as the Jane Doe in the room next door, for comparison.

She had read all of their files numerous times, and still nothing 
jumped out at her that would explain the comas. Upon Mulder's and the 
other found abductees arrival, once they had performed the standard 
examination in the ER, the doctor had ordered a CT scan, an EEG, a tox 
screen and a Chem20 blood test.  All four of them had been severely 
dehydrated, as well as showing a heightened white blood cell count, but 
there had been no signs of recent trauma to the head or brain.

It was baffling, and more than a little frightening.  Something had 
caused them to be this way, she just didn't know what.  Or how to find 
out what.

Her gaze flicked to the empty bed, neatly made and awaiting Mulder's 
return from his latest test.  Once he had been admitted at Georgetown 
University Hospital, three days ago, the round of tests she had ordered 
during her consultation with the doctors had begun.  Despite the 
reports from the Bellefleur hospital, she had wanted the tests that had 
been performed there run again.  As well, first thing the following 
morning, Mulder was to be seen by the hospital's top neurologists. 

The baby kicked within her, and she rubbed at the spot almost absent-
mindedly.  An increasing pressure on her bladder indicated the need for 
the washroom, and with a sigh, Scully rose carefully from the seat, her 
back protesting once more.  She felt light-headed for a moment, her 
hands going out to grip the edge of the table for support, eyes closing 
as she rode out the feeling.

With intense shame, she realized her dizzy spell was due to the fact 
that she hadn't been eating very well ever since Mulder had been found.  
All her focus and energy had gone into dealing with getting him 
transferred from Bellefleur back to Washington.  Back home.  And in 
dealing with the shock that he had actually returned.

As well, Skinner had returned to Washington after only two days in 
Bellefleur, in an effort to facilitate the transfer more efficiently, 
and Doggett had spent most of his time in the woods where Mulder had 
been found, or with the Bellefleur police.  So her two conscientious 
baby-sitters were not around to insist or remind her that she eat and 
sleep properly, a duty both had taken very seriously in the last two 
months.  Thus her diet this past week had consisted mostly of takeout 
food eaten on the quick, and a skipped meal or two.

<Damn it, Dana.  You know better than this.  You cannot jeopardize this 
baby or yourself.  You need to be strong and healthy, both for the 
baby, and for Mulder. >   

Scully grimaced as the voice inside her head stated what she already 
knew, and had almost let herself forget.  More shame pounded through 
her. She released the table and opened her eyes, standing still for a 
moment.  The dizziness was gone.  With careful steps she made her way 
to the tiny bathroom that adjoined the room and used the facilities.  

Her face in the small mirror above the sink was pale, and lined, the 
circles beneath her eyes prominent.  Even her hair did not have its 
normal luster, the titian strands appearing almost lank. She grimaced 
again, and after splashing some cold water on her cheeks and patting 
them dry, decided to go to the cafeteria and sit down and eat.  And to 
put everything else aside for a brief time, despite her concern and her 
fear.  She passed the table covered with reports without a second 
glance, and strode with determination down the hall to the elevators.

The elevator seemed to take forever, and she once again was lost in her 
thoughts.  Therefore, when the doors finally opened, she stepped 
forward to enter it without looking, watching her feet as she stepped 
carefully over the lip.   

And walked straight into someone, who grasped her arms and said, 
"Scully?"

She had already begun to apologize, when the voice, and the use of her 
name, registered.  "Frohike?" she asked, raising her head and looking 
in shock at the diminutive man who was clutching a package to his 
chest.  For the longest time the Gunmen had continued to call her Agent 
Scully until she had finally asked them to please call her Dana.  Only 
Byers did, Langly and Frohike had chosen to call her Scully, as Mulder 
had.

She had automatically stopped, and his free hand shot out to stop the 
elevator doors from closing.  She had called the Gunmen from 
Bellefleur, once she had determined they had indeed found Mulder, and 
then twice more since bringing him back to Washington.  This was the 
first time however she had seen any of the three.

"Are you here to see Mulder?" she asked. Before he could reply, she 
continued, "He's not in his room right now, and I was...I was just 
going down to the cafeteria to get something to eat." 

Frohike released the door and took hold of her elbow, drawing her 
further inside.  "I'll join you then, if that's all right with you?" he 
asked.

"Um, yes, that's fine," she replied, smiling faintly at him.

At her affirmation, Frohike reached out and pressed the button for the 
ground floor.  Scully noticed the package he held yet again, and 
wondered what it could be.  Plain brown wrapper, shaped somewhat like a 
videotape cassette...oh, dear.  Had Frohike brought Mulder another one 
of those movies he claimed were not his?  She couldn't bring herself to 
ask him, and resolved to just ignore the package.  For now.

A few seconds later the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors 
opened.  Frohike held the doors open while she exited, and then 
scurried to join her, his hand once again going to her elbow.  She was 
not used to this attentiveness from anyone, other than Mulder, and the 
occasional attempt from Doggett or Skinner, and tensed briefly before 
forcing herself to relax.  Frohike did not seem to notice, and she was 
glad.  She would never intentionally hurt his feelings, and she knew 
her pulling away would have been seen as a sign of rejection.  
Rejection that would have been different than the kind she had made in 
the past to his leers and sexual innuendos.  Which had ceased 
immediately once he had learned she was pregnant.  Oddly enough, she 
actually missed that side of him.

They walked this way through the extensive main lobby, following the 
signs that directed them to the cafeteria.

After making their selections, hers consisting of a tuna fish sandwich 
on whole wheat, a bowl of vegetable soup, and a carton of milk, 
Frohike's consisting of a Pepsi and a hamburger, he insisted on paying.  
She acquiesced without complaint, thanking him softly, which made him 
blush with pleasure, and found them a table by one of the windows.

Frohike carried the tray, the package tucked beneath one arm, and after 
putting the tray down on the table, sat across from her.  The package 
went on the chair beside him and then he immediately dug into his 
hamburger, loaded with the works.

Scully started more slowly, unwrapping her sandwich while waiting for 
her soup to cool a little, for it was still steaming, and opening the 
milk carton.  She saw Frohike almost beam with approval as she drank 
the milk, and tamped down the surge of annoyance that flickered.  His 
concern was sweet, really, she just sometimes felt smothered by all her 
'little mothers'.  She felt a brief pang in her heart as she tried to 
imagine Mulder in the same situation.  Would he hover, or let her lead?  
<Hover> she decided, and had to stifle her sigh of despair.

Their conversation was light as they partook of their meal, but once 
Scully had pushed her almost empty soup bowl aside, Frohike began with, 
"So how is he?"

Scully met his eyes, somber behind the huge lenses of his glasses, and 
said softly, "The same."  Saw him blink rapidly, as if trying to keep 
tears from forming, and looked away to give him a moment.  He cleared 
his throat, and then coughed, and she returned her gaze to him.  
"There's been no change at all.  I've been able to compare the results 
of the tests they have run so far here with those run in Bellefleur, 
and they are identical."

She could think of nothing else to say, and looked down at the table.  
The silence grew awkward, and when she finally raised her head, it was 
to see Frohike watching her sadly.  He blinked, his eyes enormous 
behind the lenses of his glasses, and then jumped to his feet, saying, 
"I'll take care of this," while grabbing for the tray.

Frohike dumped their trash and put the tray with the others waiting to 
be washed and returned to the table.  He hovered as she rose from her 
chair; watching her carefully, seemingly ready to leap forward and save 
her if she were to falter.  A moment later his hand was back at her 
elbow to guide her out of the cafeteria.

When they got back to Mulder's room, he still had not returned. 

Frohike looked at her worriedly.  "Do you think there's something 
wrong?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

Scully had been wondering the same thing herself.  Mulder had been gone 
for quite some time.  But she did not want to further worry the little 
man, and managed to sound calm and unperturbed.  "No, I'm sure 
everything's fine.  They must be really busy, that's all."

Frohike alternated between pacing one small stretch of tiled floor and 
standing in the doorway, nervously shuffling his feet for a while 
before finally turning to where she was once again sitting at her 
little table, going through the medical records for yet another time.  
"Um, Scully, I'm going to get going.  Is there anything you need, 
anything I can get you?"

Scully had managed to put the repetitive sounds of his footsteps out of 
her head, and was a little startled when Frohike spoke.  Her head shot 
up, and with pregnancy-related clumsiness, she knocked some of the 
files she had been studying onto the floor with one hand.  "I'm sorry?" 
she almost gasped, her other hand going to rub at the side of her 
belly's bulge, where a tiny foot had jabbed her.  Then his words 
registered, and she sighed, "Oh, Frohike."  She shook her head at the 
mess she had made, and rose from her chair to kneel down to clean it 
up, saying, "Thank-you, Frohike, I'm fine.  I'll give you guys a call 
if I learn anything new, okay?"

He was on his knees as well, across from her, quickly picking up most 
of the papers before she had managed to get more than one.  He took 
that one from her hands and placed the whole pile on the table before 
rising to help her from the floor.  At her smile of thanks, he smiled 
back and gave her an odd, courtly little bow.  "Take care of yourself, 
Scully.  Don't work too hard, okay?  You need your rest too."

"Yes, Doctor Frohike," she returned, still smiling, and watched as he 
grinned and then left the room.  Before she could sit down again he was 
back, holding out the brown paper-wrapped gift, a sheepish expression 
on his face.

"I forgot this," he explained.  "Maybe they'll let you bring a VCR and 
TV in here to play this for him," Frohike said.  "It's a tape of the 
highlights of all the Knicks games since he's been..." His voice 
trailed off, a sad smile replacing his sheepish grin, and then with 
another little bow, he left.

Missing.  Her mind routinely and involuntarily supplied the word, 
having had the same thing occur in most of the conversations involving 
Mulder for so very long now.  She had almost stopped flinching at it 
too.  

With a sigh, she resumed her seat and her reading.  And yet another 
vigil for Mulder.

***

Three Days Later

Georgetown University Medical Center
Georgetown, D.C.
January 25, 2001
2:00 pm


When Mulder finally woke up, Scully was totally unprepared.

After a late and lonely lunch in the hospital cafeteria, she returned 
to his room and stood beside his bed for a few minutes drinking in the 
sight of him.  It was a small pleasure she allowed herself at least 
once an hour whenever she was there.  Sometimes she indulged her need 
to touch him, and let her hands sift gently through his hair, or softly 
stroked her hand up and down the arm that was unencumbered by the IV 
site.  

Only once since he had been transferred to GUMC had she let herself 
climb onto his bed and curl her body as much as she was able around his 
still form.  She hadn't been able to get as close as she would have 
liked, her burgeoning belly had pressed against his arm and hip, making 
it difficult for her to put her arm around him.  But she had managed, 
and had slept with him until the nurse had come in to check his vitals 
and IV.
 
During the months of his absence, her only chance to look at him had 
been via a dog-eared photograph of the two of them on some case God 
knows where that she had found in his desk drawer the morning she had 
put his nameplate away. She had assumed an agent from the Crime Scene 
Unit had taken it, and sent it to Mulder, who had never shown her the 
picture, but had kept it in his desk as a memento.  It had been well 
worn when she found it, but now it was even more tattered, although 
thankfully his features were still clear.  She had even slept with it 
under her pillow for a while, but had finally stopped in fear of 
damaging it beyond repair.

Her eyes competently checked his IV line and ensured the leads to the 
heart monitor had not been dislodged before she settled herself into 
the comfortable recliner-style chair the evening shift nurses had 
presented to her one night, surprising and touching her beyond belief.  
The nurses on all the shifts had started to follow the current trend of 
mothering her once they had learned she was pregnant, and also seen how 
dedicated she was to their patient who lay comatose in his bed. Thus 
they had found her a better chair then the hard, plastic ones present 
in every patient's room in the hospital.

Scully sighed as the muscles in her back slowly released, and draped 
the blanket they had also given her, along with the two pillows which 
were currently wedged behind her to support her back and neck, over her 
lap.  She let her eyes drift shut, although her mind was still busy.

The battery of tests, which included the ones she had ordered and a few 
she had not thought of, had been re-run twice here at GUMC, and still 
nothing out of the ordinary showed up.  The specialists that had seen 
Mulder were completely baffled as to why he remained in a coma, and 
even why he was in one in the first place.  They had no advice or 
suggestions left to offer her, and one had suggested Mulder be placed 
in a chronic care nursing home.

Despite her misgivings about that, Scully was starting to believe it 
would have to become a reality.  Technically he was not ill, the coma 
not withstanding, and the hospital would not keep him indefinitely when 
his bed could be given to someone who was, and she could admit to 
herself that she was incapable of caring for him.  At least not without 
help.

A private nurse was a possibility, but she did not know how she could 
afford to pay for one, as one would be needed 24 hours a day.  She was 
hesitant to inquire as to what kind of coverage the Bureau had in that 
type of situation.  And even though she had full Power of Attorney 
regarding Mulder, she had not yet taken the time to investigate his 
financial status or private insurance coverage.  She told herself it 
was time she did so.

Scully shifted slightly to lie more on her left side and heaved out 
another sigh.  She knew it was a matter that had to be dealt with, and 
soon, but right now she just wanted to lie there and relax, and be glad 
that Mulder had been returned.  Her eyes were heavy, for despite the 
fact that he was back, she still had trouble sleeping, waking up 
several times each night, both to use the washroom due to the increased 
pressure on her bladder, and from nightmares about what had been done 
to him while he was gone.  She let them slip closed, yawning as she 
did, and drifted to sleep.

It was the changed sound of the heart monitor that first intruded into 
her slumber, but she was trapped deep in the arms of Morpheus, and was 
slow to respond, mumbling and shifting on her makeshift bed.  The 
excited tones of two nurses slowly filtered in, and she swam upwards 
into consciousness, blinking blurry eyes and staring in confusion at 
the commotion by Mulder's bedside before she registered that something 
was different.

Scully pushed at the stubborn blanket, clinging to her like a greedy 
lover's embrace, and finally succeeded in shoving it to the floor, 
rising awkwardly with a groan.  On somewhat shaky legs she approached 
the bed, and one of the nurses shifted to the side to make room for 
her.

What she saw had her heart pounding furiously, so hard she thought it 
would burst free of her chest.

Mulder was awake.

Scully said his name soundlessly, staring in shock.  His head was 
moving on the pillow, looking all around him, seemingly taking in the 
machines and equipment that surrounded him, and it was a second or two 
before he turned towards her.

Finally he did though, and Scully felt her knees buckle when his gaze 
met hers.

It was like looking into the eyes of a child.

There was no sign of the intelligent, knowing man who had been her 
partner, and for too short a time, her lover.

The nurse grabbed her and held her steady, softly asking if she was all 
right, but Scully was unable to respond, focused entirely as she was on 
Mulder.  Her breaths were shallow and quick, while her heart still beat 
double-time, and she had a death grip on the bedrail, her knuckles 
white from the strain.

Mulder was regarding her solemnly, blinking slowly, and when he spoke, 
it was his voice, but he sounded younger and so sweet and innocent, and 
she imagined she was hearing the voice of the little boy he had been 
long ago.  

He asked, "Are you my mom?"

Oh dear God.

***

Georgetown University Medical Center
Georgetown, D.C.
January 27, 2001
11:15 am


The soft click of the door closing brought Scully out of her study of 
the dark, polished surface of the large table before her, and she 
glanced about to see that she was the only one still seated.  In fact, 
she and Skinner were the only two occupants of the room.

Scully gave Skinner a small, tight-lipped smile and murmured her thanks 
as he pulled back her chair and offered her his arm for assistance in 
rising.  The smile was merely a polite, automatic response to his 
gentlemanly behavior, with no reflection on her true feelings, which 
were a jumbled mass of confusion at the moment.

Once she was up, she released her grip on his arm and he pushed the 
chair back in for her.  He then lifted her coat and helped her into it 
before shrugging into his own.  Their eyes met briefly, and she saw the 
tenderness and compassion in those brown orbs behind the lenses of his 
glasses.

She realized then that she had never adequately communicated how much 
she appreciated him coming with her today, or even the tremendous 
support he had offered her not just in the days since Mulder had been 
found, but also for the months he had been missing.  She would have to 
rectify that, as soon as was able to do so in more personal 
surroundings.

They were in a small conference room located in the wing of the 
hospital that housed the offices of the non-medical personnel that were 
employed there, as well as those of the Doctors who were on staff.  She 
had asked Skinner to join her for the meeting with the two doctors who 
had spent most of the previous day and a half testing Mulder, not 
wanting to be there alone.

She was immensely glad she had done so, and that he had unhesitatingly 
agreed to accompany her.  She was still reeling from the report by the 
doctors, Dr. Sarah Cross and Dr. Andrew Speers.

Although they had no explanation of why or how, they had concluded 
after rigorous testing that Mulder had the mental capacity somewhat 
similar to that of a child approximately 6 or 7 years old.

Scully flashbacked to that moment when she had realized there was 
something very wrong.  That moment when she had heard him ask her if 
she was his mom. She had stood there and gaped at him, unable to speak, 
until the nurse had said her name in a hushed, worried tone.  The sound 
had brought her out of her fugue, and after clearing her throat, she 
had managed to answer Mulder with a gentle tone, automatically 
adjusting her words as if she were speaking to a child.  "No, sweetie, 
I'm not your mom.  I'm..." Here she had hesitated.  What could she tell 
him?  She had settled on a version of the truth.  "I'm your friend, 
Dana."

"Day-na?" he had repeated, accentuating and over-emphasizing the first 
syllable, just as her nephew Matthew did.  And for a moment she had 
heard Matthew's sweet, baby voice calling for his auntie as he had on 
her last visit to San Diego, back in the summer.

<<Dana? >>

A male voice intruded in her memory, and Scully blinked in startlement, 
slowly focusing on the man before her. Skinner was watching her with 
concerned eyes, and his hand gripped her elbow as if he expected her to 
fall to the floor in a faint.  Which was a distinct possibility she 
realized, for her knees did feel weak.  She opened her mouth to tell 
him she needed to sit down, but her lips only moved soundlessly.

"Dana?" Skinner said again with more urgency.  "Scully, are you all 
right?"  His other hand came up to grasp her shoulder, and he gently 
pushed her backwards until she felt the edge of a chair hitting the 
backs of her knees.  She sank into the chair with relief, and found 
herself clutching Skinner's hands.

"I'm...okay," she said finally, and fought the incredible urge to weep.

"Are you sure?" he asked, now crouching before her.  "Do you need some 
water?"

She shook her head.  "I just want to go home."  Her voice was thick 
with unshed tears, the words faint.  She knew she could not handle 
going to see Mulder, as she had originally planned, not right now.  
Maybe later. 

"I'll take you there," Skinner said soothingly, and helped her from the 
chair.

She let him guide her through the hospital and outside to his car, 
paying very little attention to her surroundings or her companion.  
Skinner even leaned over her as she sat unmoving in the passenger seat 
and efficiently snapped her seatbelt in place.  Her eyes ached with 
unshed tears, so she let them slip shut.

Maybe she dozed, or maybe she just fazed out, she wasn't really sure, 
but the next thing she knew, Skinner was once again saying her name.  
She opened her eyes to see him sitting almost sideways in the driver's 
seat, one arm braced on the steering wheel, the other outstretched 
towards her with his hand resting gently on her leg.  A quick glance 
out the side window showed that they had arrived at her building.  
"Dana?" he said questioningly, and then added unnecessarily, "We're 
here."

Scully almost smiled at the way he continually vacillated between the 
use of her first name and her surname, and nodded at him.  She 
occasionally called him 'Walter' when they were not in the office, but 
it still sounded awkward in her ears.  'Sir' came much more easily to 
her lips.  "Thank-you, sir," she said then, and fumbled at her 
seatbelt.

"Do you...would you like me to come up with you?"

A polite way of asking if she was going to make it up there under her 
own power, she knew, even with the word 'like' in place of 'need'.  
Despite her avowal to thank him in more personal surroundings, and by 
that she did not mean the inside of his car, she did not want company 
at this time. "I'm fine," she said softly, using the two words that had 
often made Mulder grit his teeth in anger.  She grit her own teeth 
then, on the pitiful sigh that almost escaped at the thought of Mulder.  
She was now feeling enormously guilty for not going to see him after 
the meeting with his doctors, and as she took a slow, deep breath, she 
made a mental promise to him to do so later that afternoon.  

Feeling a little steadier, she turned her head to meet Skinner's gaze 
head-on, and said with all sincerity, "I want to thank-you for coming 
with me today.  I don't think I could have handled hearing...hearing 
about Mulder like that by myself."  She looked away briefly, down at 
her clasped hands, and continued, "I realized earlier, after the 
doctors had given their report, that I'm going to have to make some 
decisions, difficult decisions, regarding his future, and the future 
of...of his child."  She unclasped her hands, and let one smooth over 
her rounded belly in small circles, a gesture meant to soothe both 
mother and child.   "I think I knew all along in the back of my mind 
that I might have to, even before Mulder woke up and asked me if I was 
his mother, but it became more tangible hearing their words."  Her 
voice had grown fainter with each word, and at the end was almost a 
whisper.

Skinner patted her leg gently.  "I am here for you if you need anything 
at all, Scully," he intoned, the concern apparent in his voice.  
"Anything."  He paused, and then spoke again, his next words coming 
hesitantly, almost awkwardly.  "Do...do you think he will get better, 
Scully?  From the sounds of it, the doctors hold little hope he will 
ever...I'm not even sure if 'recover' is the right word."

Hope was the only thing she had left.  Hope, and the baby in her womb.

"I don't know, Sir," Scully replied quietly.  And she really didn't 
know.  No one knew. 
 
Could it be a side effect of whatever had been done to him?  If so, was 
it temporary or permanent?  Her heart ached at the thought that it 
could be permanent, and she once again had to fight back the tears that 
rose in her eyes.  She flicked a quick glance at Skinner and whispered, 
"Thank-you again, Sir."

With that, she fumbled the door open and exited the car.  She saw that 
he was watching her sadly as she carefully closed the door, and then 
turned and headed up the path to her building's front door, very 
conscious of his eyes on her back.  Once she had pulled the heavy glass 
doors open and stepped inside, she looked over her shoulder to see the 
car slowly pulling away from the curb.

She checked her mailbox by rote, and with heavy steps, made her way to 
her apartment.

***

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, VA
January 27, 2001
2:30 pm


The elevator door opened with a grinding thud, and Scully stepped out 
as quickly as she was able, looking at it askance.  Shaking her head 
slightly, she continued down the hall towards Mulder's apartment.  Her 
tennis shoes made slight squeaking sounds on the worn, hardwood floor 
as she made the same trip she had made hundreds of times in the last 
seven years.  

After Skinner had taken her home, she had tried to lie down and take a 
nap.  But her mind would not stop thinking, and she had given up on the 
idea of resting.  Instead she had first fixed herself a salad before 
tackling the laundry she had ignored in the turmoil of the last week.  
Once that had been done, she had still felt restless.  So she had 
decided to come to Mulder's apartment.

As she lifted her key to open his door, she mused to herself that once 
upon a time it had rarely seen any use.  Now she used it on a not quite 
daily basis.

Mulder's apartment had become her sanctuary.

The lock turned easily, and within seconds she was inside.  She shut 
and locked the door behind her and made her way to Mulder's fish tank, 
putting the mail she had collected down on the desk to look at after.  
The fish food was where she always left it, on the shelf above the 
tank, and she watched as the fish swam eagerly about in circles 
awaiting the flakes.

Her mind drifted back to that morning where she had awoken disoriented 
and achy, with Mulder's shirt clutched in one hand, to find John 
Doggett regarding her with what she had presumed was amused scorn.  She 
had hid her shame and embarrassment with bluster, attacking him with 
her unproven assumptions that he had bugged her phone line and followed 
her there.  He had remained unflappable, which had pissed her off to no 
end.

For a little while after that awkward encounter, she had only come to 
the apartment to feed the fish and gather Mulder's mail and newspapers, 
wondering if her actions were being observed.  But eventually the stale 
mustiness and the dust got to her, and one late night when she had been 
unable to sleep, she had spent hours cleaning the entire apartment, 
even tackling the science experiments growing in his fridge, and doing 
his considerably large load of laundry.  And had later fallen fast 
asleep on his still unmade bed.

The bed was no longer unmade now, nor were the rooms dusty.  She came 
by not only to immerse herself within her sanctuary, but also to clean 
it on a regular basis.  She washed the sheets weekly, because she slept 
there more often than not, and kept the fridge stocked with juice and 
some of her favorite healthy snacks.

The fish taken care of, Scully looked briefly out the window at the 
street below, scanning for suspicious cars or observers, and then 
smiled ruefully to herself.  Old habits died hard.  Then again, maybe 
she had a right to still be on alert.  Mulder's disappearance, or 
abduction, as she was sure he would term it if he were able, was still 
unexplained, and as much as she hated to think about this fact, so was 
her pregnancy.

Those gloomy thoughts sent a pang through her heart, just as the baby 
chose that moment to give her a particularly sharp kick.  She rubbed 
her hand over the spot and looked down at the rapidly expanding bulge.  
"Hey, in there," she said softly.  "Take it easy on your Mommy, I still 
use all those organs."

The first time she had spoken to the baby, she had felt embarrassed, 
and slightly ridiculous.  Yet there had been a response, like she had 
read about in baby books - a surge of motion in her womb, of vigorous 
kicking and rolling.  

So now she did it all the time.  When she was alone, of course.

Once again the baby indulged her with some creative somersaults, which 
made her smile, a little wistfully.  The only person she had shared 
these movements with was her mother.  She wished she were able to share 
them with Mulder.

Tears came to her so easily now, lately she had started bawling when 
she saw those long-distance commercials on TV, and now was no 
exception.  They blurred in her eyes, and she reached up with one hand 
to swipe them away, sniffling a little.

Desperate for something to do, for something to pull her out of her 
melancholy, Scully picked up Mulder's mail and moved over to sit down 
on his couch.  The familiar sounds of the leather creaking as she made 
herself comfortable caused a small smile to flit across her face.

She divided the mail into two piles - one for discarding, which was 
where the majority of it went, and one to keep, to which she placed the 
two utility bills that had arrived.  After tossing the unnecessary mail 
in the garbage can beneath the kitchen sink, she poured herself a glass 
of orange juice and returned to her seat on the couch.  Her drink went 
on the coffee table, and then she picked the bills up again, running 
one finger absently along the edges, thinking back again to when Mulder 
had been missing for only a few weeks.

His landlord had approached her during one of her visits, and informed 
her that Mulder was behind on his rent.  Angered that she had not 
thought about it at all, she had hastily written the man a cheque to 
cover not only the back rent, but the next month as well.  It had been 
a hit to her account, and she'd had to transfer money from her savings 
to cover the funds.  

It had also been a hit to reality.

Mulder's rent and utilities had never occurred to her at all.  But 
fortunately the Gunmen had coincidentally brought up the topic a few 
days later, and informed her of an account Mulder had set-up over a 
year before, in case of emergences.  The Gunmen had unanimously decided 
the upkeep of his apartment qualified as an emergency, and had handed 
over the means for her to access the account, for Mulder had meant it 
as an account for the both of them.

There had been a substantial amount, and it had shocked her, even 
though she had always suspected Mulder might have inherited money from 
both his parents.  It had eased her mind as the months passed, and she 
had used it for only his rent and utilities.

Scully leaned forward and put the envelopes back down on the coffee 
table, exchanging them for her juice, which she downed all at once.  A 
huge yawn that had her jaw cracking escaped, and with a quick glance at 
her watch, she decided a little nap before going to visit Mulder was in 
order.  She toed of her tennis shoes and shifted on the couch, laying 
her head down at one end and swinging her legs up, moving onto her 
side.  One hand cupped the mound of the baby, while the other hand 
groped for and found the Navajo blanket draped over the back of the 
couch.  She threw it over her legs and belly, and closed her eyes.

Moments later she was sound asleep.

***

Georgetown University Medical Center
Georgetown, D.C.
January 27, 2001
4:30 pm


The trip down the hospital hallway was rapidly approaching the 
familiarity of Mulder's apartment building hallway.  Her shoes made the 
same squeaking noises here that they had made there too.  She had not 
bothered to change out of the comfortable loose clothing she had put on 
for the trip to his apartment, he would not care what she was wearing, 
and today, neither did she.

Her nap there had lasted a little longer than she intended, but at 
least she felt rested, and more capable of coping with her visit with 
Mulder.  She was still not over the shock of the doctor's report from 
that morning, but she had had some time to let it sink in.  She had not 
yet figured out what to do though, despite their recommendation of a 
chronic care home.

She sighed softly, that was becoming the most likely option, 
unfortunately.

Scully hesitated outside Mulder's room, smoothing the edges of her 
jacket back over her protruding belly so that they hid it rather than 
emphasized it, and took a deep breath.  She could not explain why, but 
she felt uncomfortable displaying her pregnancy around him.  She wasn't 
even sure if he would understand what it meant, for the doctors had not 
yet determined his level of comprehension.  She was a little hesitant 
about trying to find that out, worried about what she might discover.

With a slight shove, the wooden door opened and she was walking inside.

Mulder...Fox, for he did know his name was Fox William Mulder, and had 
shown no signs of disliking his appellation like his adult self had, 
was awake and watching a cartoon.  It was one she had watched with 
Matthew on a few occasions, so she was able to identify it as Arthur.

He glanced from the TV bolted up on the wall to her, still standing 
just inside the room, and gave her a solemn smile.  "Hello, Day-na," he 
said, and returned his attention to the program.

"Hello, F-Fox," she replied, finding a smile for him.  The name did not 
come easily to her lips, so conditioned was she to calling him 
'Mulder'.  "How are you?" she continued, and moved closer to his bed, 
taking in the fact that his IV had been removed, and the heart monitor 
was no longer present.

"Fine," he replied, this time without looking away from his show.

Scully saw that the chair the nurses had presented to her had been 
pushed in one corner of the small room, and as it was quite heavy, 
decided to use the smaller visitor's chair off to one side.  She 
dragged it over, next to the bed, and sat down, once again smoothing 
her jacket over her belly.  

She scrutinized his features as he continued to watch the cartoon, his 
adorably mussed hair, his larger than normal nose, his full, pouty lip 
- familiar and loved, yet at the same timme, now somewhat of a mystery.  
They were the features of the man she loved, of her work partner of 7 
years, but they no longer housed the brilliant mind that had challenged 
and provoked her.   

He was a child in a man's body.

And he was engrossed in a cartoon in the way he once would have been in 
an X-File.

Which allowed her to continue with her study, without fear of 
interruption or being caught in the act.

His cheeks were no longer stubbled; in fact she could see the faintest 
of razor burns.  She wondered how the nurses had explained the 
necessity of shaving to him, and whether or not he had questioned them 
with child-like curiosity or just accepted it with undisturbed 
calmness.  As he had accepted her reply that she was a friend to his 
question about whether she was his mom.  

A thought struck her, and had her heart rate increasing.  Did he still 
have some of the memories of the Mulder he had been?  She would have to 
pose the question to his doctors.  Maybe they would be able to 
determine if it were so. 
 
She recalled how he had also accepted the introduction of Walter as 
another friend without qualm the day before.  As of yet, she and 
Skinner were the only two people to have seen him since he had awoken 
from his coma.  She had asked the Gunmen to wait a little while, 
because she had hoped Mulder's condition, if it were an actual 
'condition' and not a side effect of whatever had been done to him, was 
only temporary.  She was still holding onto that hope, although it was 
becoming fainter each day.

Mulder...Fox...laughed then, drawing her attention from her thoughts.  
It was a childish giggle, high and almost girlish, and sent a pang 
through her heart.  He looked at her, as if sensing her eyes upon him, 
and tilted his head to the side in a gesture that was so like her 
Mulder, not this boy Fox, that she almost gasped his name, the name she 
had always called him by.

"I like this cartoon, Day-na," he told her, his lips still quirked in a 
smile.  "I've never seen it before, but it's pretty good."

Scully managed to find another smile in reply and said softly, "That's 
good.  I like it too."  

Satisfied with their brief conversation, he resumed watching the TV, 
and she resumed her musings.  She thought about what he had said, that 
he had never seen the cartoon before, and wondered if he had memories 
of the cartoons he had watched as a child, in the early 1960's, and if 
had compared this one to those.  He did not seem troubled, just as he 
had not about anyone or anything else around him.

There were more unanswered questions then there had been before, and 
she was still no closer to knowing what to do about them.

***

End Part 1 of 12