Part 9 of 12

~*~*~

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
April 27, 2001
10:30 am


As they made their way down the hallway to Scully's apartment, 
Mulder was struck with a sense of dιjΰ vu.  Only that time, it 
had been he who had just been released from the hospital.  He 
remembered that he had been stubborn and determined to be 
independent, walking alone and unassisted, with Scully hovering 
nearby.

Although she wasn't as stubborn as he, she had not protested 
when his hand had cupped her right elbow after they had exited 
the car.  It had remained there the entire journey, and he had 
been, and was, ready to catch her at any sign of weakness or 
trouble.

She walked slowly and carefully, head downward to watch the 
ground before her, placing her feet with deliberation.  If they 
hadn't just had the scare of their lives approximately 36 hours 
ago, it would have been cute.

At her door, Mulder hustled to open it, keys already in hand.  
Flipping quickly through the small bunch, he found hers and 
pushed it into the lock.  One quick, sharp twist of his wrist, 
and he was pushing the door wide open.  He reached for her elbow
once more, lightly tossing her overnight bag to one side, and 
assisted her inside.  

Shutting the door and relocking it, he nudged the bag further 
out of the way with his foot and tossed the keys onto the little 
decorative table to the left of the door.  He quickly toed his 
shoes off and helped her remove her coat, his hands gentle.  
Shrugging out of his, he hung them both on the coat rack and 
turned back to her.  

This time he took hold of her hand instead of her elbow, curling 
his fingers around hers and squeezing gently.  He automatically 
turned in the direction of her bedroom, and met with resistance.  
Scully was heading towards the couch.

"Hey," he said softly.  "Bed rest, remember?"

"Modified bed rest," she corrected him.  "I can put my feet up
and lie down on the couch just as well as I can in bed."

"Scuhleee –"

"Mulder, it's all right," she interrupted, deftly turning their 
hands so that it was her fingers squeezing his.  "You were there 
when Dr. Newall explained about the bed rest – it's not complete 
bed rest, I can get up for small periods of time and to stretch 
my legs.  As long as I am not exerting myself and am able to 
recline comfortably, it's fine."

That was almost word for word what the doctor had said, but 
still, to him, bed rest was done in a bed.  With him as her 
ever-faithful, attentive servant.  

In shifts shared with her mother, of course.  

Once Maggie Scully had learned what had happened, she had been 
bound and determined to take care of the two of them.  Scully 
had tactfully told her mother that it was not necessary for her 
to stay with them 24 hours a day, while also gracefully conveying 
her gratitude for the offer.  Negotiations had begun, and a 
schedule of sorts had been agreed upon.

He had the afternoon and night shifts, and Mrs. Scully had the 
day shift.  Since he had called her after Scully had been 
discharged this morning, he knew she would be arriving soon.

"Okay," he said at last, and moved to guide her over to the 
couch and help her sit.  "But promise me if you're not comfortable 
you'll go lie down on the bed?"  

With his hands supporting her calves, they lifted her legs up 
onto the cushions.  

"Oh, believe me, I'll let you know, don't you worry!" she said, 
as she laboriously wiggled into a better position.  "I'll start 
by asking for some pillows, please."

He could not help the mental comparison that popped to mind as 
he watched her distended belly while she shifted about – visions 
of a Nature program he once saw where environmentalists struggled 
to aid beached whales back to sea.  Oh, she would kill him for 
that, cheerfully and without regret.  

"Coming right up," he told her, his voice slightly strangled, 
and saw that she was regarding him suspiciously, obviously having 
noted his bemused...or was that amused...regard of her stomach.  
He swooped down to plant a kiss on her cheek in apology for his 
thoughts before heading to her bedroom.  He detoured briefly to 
retrieve her overnight bag, and carted it with him, dropping it 
on the floor by her closet.  He raided her pillow nest, grabbing 
three, and trekked back to the living room.

Scully had kicked off her white canvas Keds and peeled off her 
white cotton socks and was lying partially on her side with her 
spine pressed against the back of the couch.  

Mulder came to a stop in front of the couch, sliding down onto 
his knees, both of them going off like firecrackers.  They winced 
in unison, and then grinned as one because of their identical 
reactions.  "Lift your head up," he said then, and slid his hand 
under her neck, cradling her skull as she did so.  He tucked one 
of the pillows beneath before lowering her head back down to the 
downy, Scully-scented softness.  "Where else?"

"Behind my back," she replied, gesturing vaguely with one hand at 
her lower back, "and one under my knee."  

Mulder straightened, still on his knees, and eased another pillow 
in between her body and the couch.  Next, he gently lifted her bent 
right leg to slide the last pillow lengthwise so that it supported 
her knee and calf.  "Okay?" he asked, sinking back down so that his 
butt rested on his sock-clad heels.

"Perfect," she returned with a smile, reaching out one hand to cup 
his face.  She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb for a moment, 
and then slid her hand behind his head, applying gentle pressure.  
Pulling him towards her, her head lifting from the pillow.

He leaned forward, following the unvoiced command, and their lips 
met in a sweet, lazy kiss.  Mulder realized suddenly that this was 
the closest they had been since Scully had collapsed just a few feet 
from where they were right then.  He was not counting the bedside 
handholding and pecks on the cheek, or his vigil by the bed, those 
were a given.

This kiss was heaven.  It was reassurance and reaffirmation.  It 
was longing and love and lust.  It was togetherness and understanding 
and need.  It was them.

There was even a bit of tongue.  

But all too soon it was over.  Scully pulled away with a regretful 
sigh, and let her head sink back down onto her pillow, her eyes 
dreamy, her smile wide.  Meanwhile his protesting thighs and knees 
gave up the ghost, and he ended up on his butt, also smiling.  
Goofily, he knew, but he didn't care.

A precise knock at the door came then, so he struggled to his feet, 
brushing another kiss on Scully's cheek just because, and went to 
answer the door.  Out of habit, he peered through the peephole.

The day shift had arrived.  And she was bearing food.

Mulder opened the door happily, his stomach rumbling and his smile 
wide.

***

11:50 am
	

It was so wonderful to watch and hear her mother and Mulder interact 
together, Scully thought sleepily, still comfortably arranged on the 
couch.  The gentle and very reassuring movements of the baby had 
awoken her moments ago, and she had lifted her head from her pillow 
to see that the room was empty.  But Mulder and her mother's voices 
had caught her attention, as had their kitchen sounds. 

Their affection for each other was obvious – Mulder no longer finding 
it necessary to hide his feelings.  He was like another son to Maggie 
Scully, and doubly important for his relationship with her baby 
daughter.  And as the father of her next grandchild.

They had always gotten along, but when her health, and now that of 
the baby's, was in question, they were two peas in a pod.  Concern, 
and caring, that she appreciated and loved, except when it bordered 
on hovering. 

Right now they were in the kitchen, and it sounded like they were 
making lunch.  Their conversation was muted - for they most likely 
believed she was still asleep - with occasional bursts of shared 
laughter punctuating the air.  Laughter that was then shushed by the 
other, which in turn brought about more.

Scully felt slightly guilty for having dozed off so soon after her 
mother's arrival, but she knew Mulder and her mother would understand.  
Nor would they begrudge her the rest time.  In fact, they encouraged 
it.  If she wasn't so tired and still somewhat worried about the baby, 
it might have irritated her to be told to have a nap like a child.

Mulder's head peeked around the corner then, and his eyes lit up when 
he saw her.  He smiled and then ducked back into the kitchen.  Scully 
heard him say, "Sleeping Beauty's awake."

The nickname made her smile.  She came up on her elbow and called out, 
"But where's my kiss, Prince Charming?"

His snort was very audible, even from several feet away.  "You're sh...
Um, you're out of luck there, Scully," he called out.  This time the 
rest of his body followed his head as he left the kitchen to come over 
and drop to his knees again before her.  "It's just me," he said very 
softly.

"Well, 'Just you', lay it on me," she told him, bringing her free hand 
up to cup his cheek, just inches from her face.

"With pleasure," he whispered, and slowly closed the tiny distance.  

Scully held her eyes open as long as possible, watching his drift shut, 
admiring his long, thick lashes – lashes many a woman would kill for, 
or spend a fortune trying to achieve – and the blissful expression on 
his face, before she let them flutter closed.

His lips were soft, and warm, and he kept the pressure light yet firm 
at the same time.  He was an incredible kisser.  She was sure she could 
spend hours in this very pursuit.

"Honey, are you ready to eat...Oh!  Um, I'll just go back..."

That had been her mother's very embarrassed-sounding voice, diminishing 
in volume as she apparently retreated back into the safety of the kitchen.

She and Mulder broke apart with identical silly smiles and reddened 
cheeks.  A long-ago memory resurfaced in her mind – of catching Melissa 
and her latest in a long line of boyfriends in a lip lock on the front 
porch – and her smile deepened.  

She herself had been caught by her mother once, and was so ashamed, and 
yet thrilled at the same time.  And extremely thankful it had not been 
Ahab or brother Bill who had been the one to find her and...she couldn't 
remember the boy's name.  That would have been an unbearable humiliation.  
Her mother had coughed loudly to interrupt the kiss and then gone back 
inside.  Later, she had given Scully the birds and the bees' lecture.  
Again. 

She felt that same little nearly illicit thrill now, although these 
days she was equipped and secure with the knowledge that her mother 
was pleased, not scandalized.

"Caught in the act again," he quipped, waggling his eyebrows up and down 
at her comically.

"Hmmmm," she agreed.  Then flashed him a grin and said,  "Well, I guess 
we should be thankful it's only my mom.  If it were Bill, he'd be getting 
the shotgun."

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, pantomiming receiving a grievous body shot and 
falling to the floor, narrowly missing cracking his skull on the corner 
of the coffee table in the process.

He made quite a bit of noise, which brought her mother out once more, 
the expression on her face quite comical.  Scully interpreted it to 
mean she had expected to find them in some clinch on the floor.  She 
watched as the expression changed to tenderness and amusement.  "Oh, 
Fox," her mom exclaimed.  "You're such a clown."

Mulder looked sheepish as he lifted himself from the floor.  He then 
patted his stomach.  "Is lunch ready, Mrs. Scully?  I'm starved."

"All set," she replied.  "Dana's tray is ready, if you'd carry it out, 
please."

"Yes, ma'am," he remarked, throwing her a smart salute and heading 
off to the kitchen.

"He's a handful, that one," her mother told Scully, her eyes twinkling, 
and a faint blush on her cheeks.  She then returned to the kitchen.

Scully's own cheeks were a tad red.  Handful was very apt.  In more 
than one way.  She pushed the thought about Mulder's generous attributes 
aside with a rather gusty sigh.  Her stomach let out a little grumble 
then, which was followed by a kick from the baby, and she realized she 
was actually very hungry herself.  She sat up further, waiting in 
anticipation to see what they had cooked up.

***


Three Weeks, One Day Later

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
May 12, 2001
6:40 am


D-Day plus 3.

That was the first thought that popped into Mulder's head when he 
awoke and rolled over to peer blurrily past Scully's slumbering 
form at her alarm clock.

D-Day as in Delivery Day or Due-Date.  Plus 3 as in she was three 
days past her due date.

And Scully was not handling being overdue well.

To be perfectly honest, none of them were really, Mulder admitted 
to himself as he slowly stretched his body beneath the covers, 
careful not to jostle the bed and wake her.  He felt useless – 
unable to ease her discomfort or provide a suitable distraction, 
although he tried his best.  

He had spent the last two days walking on eggshells and exchanging 
commiserating looks with Mrs. Scully as she did the same, as well 
as conducting whispered telephone conversations with Skinner, 
Doggett, and various and sundry Gunmen to keep them all up to speed 
on the development of things.  

Or the lack thereof.

Scully was extremely moody, more so than usual, although for the 
most part those moods were silent, incommunicative ones, and she 
had been experiencing mild contractions sporadically over the last 
few days.  She was always tired and very restless.  

The nights seemed to be the worse, and he often woke up to discover 
he was alone in the bed.  Whereupon he too would rise, to find her 
either wandering aimlessly around the dark apartment, or going 
through the baby clothes and items that had been gifts from friends 
and family – folding and refolding the tiny sleepers and undershirts, 
the receiving blankets and quilts.

At Scully's last appointment with Dr. Newall, on her actual due 
date, the doctor had reiterated the long-uttered statement about 
babies taking their own sweet time, and told he and Scully that 
she was not concerned.  After performing an internal exam, to 
check whether Scully's cervix had softened or dilated, and a 
nonstress test to monitor the baby's heart rate, she had stated 
all was well and that she would not induce labor until two weeks 
past the due date, unless necessary.  She did however want to see 
Scully in one week, and advised them to call immediately if Scully 
had any unusual symptoms or if they had any concerns.

Thankfully there had been no further scares such as the cramping 
and spotting, or the partial abruption.  

Mulder moved the corner of the covers back a bit and eased out 
of the bed, sending glances towards Scully as his feet found the 
chilled hardwood floor.  She did not stir, and he was grateful.  
She'd had a particularly rough night, up for most of it, and 
needed her rest.  

He was still a little tired himself, but knew it was unlikely 
he would fall back asleep again.  Rising, he stretched again, 
scratching at his belly, before shuffling across the floor.

Mulder fished a fresh tee shirt and pair of boxers out of the 
appropriate dresser drawers, and grabbed his jeans from the 
chair in the corner.  One last look at Scully to see if she 
had awoke and might need anything, confirming she still 
slumbered on, and then he padded out of the bedroom, shutting 
the door gently behind him.

In minutes he was stripped and in the shower, groaning under 
his breath as the hot needles of water massaged his tense neck 
and shoulder muscles.  He luxuriated with the feeling for long 
moments, rolling his head from side to side to capitalize the 
relief that came, before turning and sticking his face directly 
in the spray.  Tilted his head, he wet his hair completely, and 
then turned again to pick up the bottle of shampoo.  

After pouring a dime-sized amount into the palm of his hand, 
he inhaled deeply with an unsurprising surge of lust – for 
Scully's scent now filled the shower stall.  He was tempted to 
indulge the lust, to slide his hand down his bare, water-slicked 
belly and stroke and tug and find his way towards release and 
gratification, but instead gritted his teeth and ignored the 
flesh below his waist.

It was while he was rinsing the suds from his hair with his eyes 
scrunched tightly shut that he sensed Scully was in the bathroom.  
Couldn't explain it if asked, but he just knew she was there, 
despite the fact that her entry had been soundless, nor had she 
announced herself.  He hurriedly scrubbed a hand over his eyes 
and opened them, blinking from the sting of residual soap, and 
saw her hazy, motionless figure standing there through the fogged 
glass of the shower door.  

"Scully?" he called out.  "Is everything okay?"  He began to rush 
through the rest of his shower, quickly soaping his hands and 
running them over his body.  When she did not answer, he called 
her name again, his worry tinting the sound and raising his voice 
slightly.  "Scully?"

"Mulder," was her only reply.  

He could not identify the tone of her voice.  It was just...
different.  Bewildered, maybe.  Sluicing water over his body 
and giving his head one last rinse, he shut the taps off and 
opened the shower door.  Grabbing his towel from the rack to 
the right, he hurriedly swiped it over his face and head before 
wrapping it around his waist and stepping out of the stall onto 
the mat.  His eyes immediately sought out and found Scully.

She was a mere foot away, wearing her terry-cloth robe, her feet 
bare, and both hands were cupping her belly.  The expression on 
her face could only be described as shell-shocked.

He said her name again, one hand clutching his towel closed at 
his hip, the free one going up to her shoulder to grasp it gently.  
The action dislodged her loosely tied robe, and it gaped open, 
revealing that she was nude beneath it.  "Scully, you're scaring 
me," he said.  "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" she repeated, almost stupidly.  She gave a small shake 
of her head.  "Um, no.  No, nothing's wrong," she finally replied, 
and lifted her head to meet his eyes.  

Her next words stunned him completely and he lost his grip on 
the towel, feeling it fall to the floor.  His mouth hung open 
slackly as he stared at her in shock.

"My water broke."

***

6:45 am


The shifting of the mattress, followed by the semi-quiet sounds 
of Mulder rising, awoke Scully.  But in a vague, distant sort of 
way that she planned to ignore.  

And she actually did ignore it for an all-too brief moment, the 
one eye that had opened closing again as her head burrowed further 
into her pillow.

It was when the pipes in her bathroom started their music for 
Mulder's shower that she felt the most unusual, indescribable 
sensation.  One that urged her to rise.

She did so slowly, reluctantly, gaining her feet with awkward, 
pregnancy-challenged motions, to stand waveringly beside the bed.  
Her left hand came up to smooth through her sleep-mussed hair, 
the right hand going to her belly in her long-habitual gesture 
to stroke over the tight, hard swell.

Another odd feeling overcame her – a clinging, nearly choking 
feelg of restraint.  A feeling of being weighted down, or that 
her skin was being smothered.  It took her a moment to recognize 
it was due to her nightie.  That was easily rectified.  

Lifting both hands, she quickly unbuttoned the row of tiny, 
pearl-like buttons on the bodice of the sleeveless gown, before 
pulling it over her head and tossing it onto the bed.

Cool morning air caressed her nearly nude body, raising a rash 
of goosebumps that sent a tiny shiver throughout her.  It was 
better without her nightgown, but not good enough.  Hooking her 
thumbs into the waistband of her bikini panties, she shimmied 
them down her legs as far as she could without over-exerting 
herself, and then placed one palm on the mattress for balance 
to remove them completely.

A flash of color- glistening, pale pink – on the white crotch 
of her panties caught her eye, and she looked down at the scrap 
of material on the floor.  It was as she was staring stupidly 
at the evidence that her cervix had thinned and begun to dilate 
that her belly tightened suddenly.  She lifted her hands to 
clutch at the unbelievable force, and an enormous gush from within 
stunned her.

Warm, wet rivulets of amniotic fluid ran down her legs to puddle 
about her feet, and that little voice in the back of her mind 
absently noted that her bag of waters had ruptured.  Blinking 
slowly, she realized she couldn't just stand there, she needed 
to...needed to...to do what?

Get Mulder, the voice supplied.

Oh.  Mulder.  She needed to tell Mulder.  Scully opened her 
mouth to call him, and remembered he was in the shower.  She'd 
have to go get him out of there.  

But she was naked, and all wet.  That wasn't good.  Her eyes 
scanned the room, not spying any towels.  Of course there weren't 
any, she thought with a frown, she kept them in her 
tiny linen closet in the hall.  Her eyes lit next upon the 
messed surface of her bed.  But there was no way she was using 
the comforter, God knew if amniotic fluid stained or not.

Grabbing her discarded nightie, uncaring as to whether it got 
stained or not, she took two steps back from the puddle of her 
water, and used the cloth to swipe at her legs and feet, huffing 
as she had to bend over to do so.  She couldn't just leave the 
mess there like that, so she dropped the gown onto the floor and 
used one foot to move it around to soak the water up as best it 
could.

That done, she started across the room to go to Mulder, and the 
breeze she felt then reminded her that she was naked, and a 
little chilled now.  Her robe was at the foot of the bed, so 
she scooped it up and slid her arms into the sleeves.  The belt 
was strangling her belly after she tied it, so she loosened it 
until it only barely held the robe closed, and left her room.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and it moved silently when 
she pushed it open all the way.  She entered into a warm, fragrant, 
steamy atmosphere, and the sight of Mulder's nude body behind the 
faceted glass of the shower door.  The combination stopped her 
in her tracks.

"Scully?" came Mulder's voice then, and it startled her.  "Is 
everything okay?"

Scully blinked.  Without word or sound, he had known she was 
there.  She forgot to reply as she mused about their undeniable 
bond, this incredible connection between them, and watched his 
hands move quickly over his body through the shower door.  Her 
hands lifted of their own accord, moving to cup her belly once 
more.

He called her name again, and the worry it contained knocked 
her mind free from whatever hold was upon it.  Mostly.  "Mulder," 
she said finally, and drew a blank, unable to find the words to 
tell him that her labor had begun.

In moments Mulder had the water off and was stepping out of the 
shower, his towel around his waist.  "Scully?" he asked again, 
and came to her, his hand coming up to squeeze her shoulder.  

Her hands fell away, and her robe, which had been on tenaciously 
at best, slipped free of its loose tethers and parted.  

"Scully, you're scaring me," he said then.  "Is something wrong?"

Scully knew she was frightening him, but her mind felt full of 
cotton.  The tiny droplets of water that beaded his chest 
fascinated her, and she could only stare at them, and repeat his 
last word.  "Wrong?"  Her brain sluggishly tried to kick into gear, 
and she shook her head slightly to help clear the residual fog, 
and managed to say, "Um, no.  No, nothing's wrong."

She lifted her head to look into his eyes at last.  The concern 
and caring – the fear – in the hazel orbs freed the last of her
mind.  "My water broke," she told him.

Mulder gaped at her, his jaw slack with his obvious shock, and 
his towel fell to the floor with a soft plop.

Scully's eyes followed it down, then traveled slowly back up 
along his damp, nude body.  A silly giggle slipped from her 
mouth at the picture the two of them had to be presenting.  
Mulder's hair wetly spiked in every direction, naked as a jaybird, 
and her in a ratty robe that gaped open to reveal her own nude
body with its distended belly.

Which suddenly tightened and made her gasp.  "Oh!" she exclaimed, 
and clutched at the swell again, fighting the urge to groan.  
Loudly.  Gritting her teeth very tightly seemed to help.  Sort 
of.

"Was...was that a contraction?" Mulder asked, his face blanched 
white.  "You're in labor?" he asked next, before she could reply 
to his first question.  His hand came up, wavering slightly, and 
hovered in the air just above her belly.

"Uhhhhh...huh," she got out between her teeth, bending slightly 
at the waist to try and ease the pressure within her womb.

"Shit!" he exclaimed and she felt his hand come to rest lightly 
on the curve of her spine.  "Do you need...can I help?" he asked, 
and as he bent over, his head knocked into hers.  "Ouch!"

"Ow!" she cried and took one hand off her belly to rub at her 
head instead.  The contraction released her from its grip then, 
so she straightened.  Unfortunately Mulder had not pulled away 
when their heads bumped, and they bumped again.

Their cries of pain mingled together, and then his hands were all 
over her, touching her head, her face, her back, flitting over her 
belly.  "Sorry, Scully, sorry, sorry," he was muttering.

She couldn't help it; she had the urge to giggle again.  She did, 
and saw his head come up to stare at her in baffled shock, his 
eyes wide, barely blinking.  "Mulder, it's okay," she told him.  
"Just a bump.  Besides, I think we have more important things to 
worry about."  Her hand gestured towards her belly with that last 
sentence,and got another comical reaction from him.

Mulder's gulp was very audible, and she swore he paled even 
further.  His Adam's apple bobbed as he attempted to speak, 
managing to sputter out, "Shit!"  He straightened, his hands 
going up to rake through his hair, and looked rather wildly 
around the bathroom.

For what, she did not know.  She was pretty sure he'd also forgotten 
he was naked.  Remembering she was too, she shook her head and 
gathered the sides of her robe together, holding them closed with 
one hand.  The other went to support her back, which was starting 
to ache, and she turned to leave the bathroom.  Seeing him so 
scrambled and uncertain had been just what her brain had needed to 
finally get into gear.

"Scully!" Mulder cried.  "What...where are you going?"  He moved – 
to help her through the door, she thought – and ended up squeezing 
her into the doorjamb as he pushed past her.  He then planted himself 
firmly in front of her, blocking her way to the bedroom, his body 
almost vibrating with his tension.

"To get my things for my shower," she answered calmly.  "I don't 
know about you, but I'm not going to the hospital like this."  
Although it certainly was a nice view, she added silently, quickly 
eyeing the expanse of bare flesh he was flashing her.  

"Huh?" he said, and then looked down at himself.  The tips of his 
ears turned adorably red, and he made a strangled noise, "Garghhhh," 
and then he was bolting into her bedroom, once again treating her 
eyes to another fine view – that of the flexing muscles of his 
beautiful ass.

Scully waddled along behind him and entered her room to see him 
hopping about on one foot, struggling to pull a sock on.  With each 
hop he took, a certain part of his anatomy bobbed in an entirely 
amusing way.  She hid her smile and moved over to the dresser to 
get clean underwear and a comfortable, loose, stretched tee shirt 
to take back to the bathroom.  

She hoped the heat and the water would help with her backache.  
She also hoped her labor was going to be a quick one, but was 
realistic enough to know it could be a very long day.

***

7:30 am


Mulder could not understand how Scully could be so damn calm.  She 
was actually in the bathroom blow-drying her hair, for Frohike's 
sake!  After dropping her little bombshell about being in labor, 
she had proceeded to take a shower – a long shower, he might add 
– and then take her sweet time getting dressed.  The debate over 
which pair of maternity tights would be most comfortable had 
confounded him, as had her announcement that she had to do her 
hair and make-up.

What the hell did she need make-up for?  He had asked her precisely 
that, and received one of her patented 'Mulder don't be an ass' 
looks she excelled at, and said, "Mulder, just because I'm in labor 
does not mean I have to look like I just rolled out of bed."

He still wasn't sure if her reply had been a dig at his own 
appearance, freshly showered or not.  But he had gone back to the 
bathroom anyway, to tame his hair and retrieve his jeans.  After 
pausing to watch Scully, musing that she had appropriated one of his 
tee shirts and stretched it all to hell, as she smoothed cream on her 
face and neck, he returned to her bedroom.  

The track pants he was wearing, complete with obligatory hole in the
knee, were exchanged for the jeans and then returned to the pile of 
his dirty laundry in the corner.  Which was where he had grabbed them 
from in his haste to get dressed and get Scully to the hospital.

Remembering that haste, Mulder lifted his left arm to glance at his 
watch, and found it missing.  Not surprisingly, considering the state 
of his mind since said bombshell had been dropped, he found it strapped 
on his right wrist instead.  He didn't bother to switch it to the 
correct arm, merely resumed the pacing he had started when the sound 
of the blow dryer had reached his ears, his feet quickly navigating 
the small stretch of hardwood floor in Scully's bedroom.

Shouldn't they get going?  What if the baby decided to come now?  

There was no way he could deliver it by himself, not even with the fact 
that Scully had gone over emergency procedures with him, just in case 
she had said with complete faith that it would not be so, and that he 
would be able to handle it, several times over the last week.

Just as he was about to go check on her again, Scully walked into the 
room.  Her hair was neatly arranged in its usual style, and as far as 
he could tell, her face was still unadorned.  In particular, the beauty 
mark above her lip – long a favored spot of his – was uncovered, and he 
was glad.  He had never understood why she felt it necessary to disguise 
it, though he had never asked her the reason.

Scully caught his gaze and smiled slightly, easily discerning his 
thoughts.  "You were expecting war paint, Mulder?" she asked.

Before he could reply with a question of his own – what had she meant 
by make-up, for it seemed she wore none – her smile turned to a frown, 
her eyebrows knitting in concentration.  Or pain.  He swallowed the sudden 
lump in his throat and watched as she bent at the waist and brought her 
hands up to clutch at her belly.  

"Ooooh," she moaned out.

His entire body went cold.  He moved to her side, unsure of what to do, 
or whether his touch would be welcomed or repelled.  Hesitantly he 
settled his hand on her lower back, and he interpreted the sound she made 
then to be one of relief.  Feeling bold, and now not quite as useless as 
a green Quantico graduate sent on his first case, he tentatively began to
rub her back in the tiny circles he had learned soothed her best, hearing 
her faintly huffing, "Hee, hee, hoo," as she breathed through her 
contraction.

The sound reminded him of their brief attempt at attending Pre-Natal 
classes together.  He could still hear the rest of the class, nine couples 
in all including he and Scully, 'hee-hee-hooing' in unison while Scully 
tried to ignore his snorting, muffled laughter and concentrate on the 
exercise.  

That first class together had also been the last.  

Fortunately there had only been two remaining after Scully had decided they 
would not attend any longer, and she hadn't seemed overly disturbed about 
missing them.  He had apologized profusely all the way home; until Scully 
had surprised him by suddenly bursting out laughing before telling him how 
ridiculous she had felt there.

Her breathing got a little louder, and it pulled him away from his thoughts.  
"Uh, Scully.  This is your second contraction, right?  Shouldn't we be going 
to the hospital now?"  he asked quietly.  The sounds she made were rather 
hypnotic, and Mulder found himself breathing softly along with her, "Hee hee 
hoo.  Hee hee hoo."

"Fourth," Scully huffed out, managing to sound faintly amused even with the 
rather undignified response, and then she exhaled noisily.  Straightening up,
she continued with, "That was my fourth contraction.  They're about 10 minutes 
apart, and lasting about 45 seconds to one minute.  And it's a bit too soon 
to go to the hospital, Mulder."

Mulder felt like smacking himself in the forehead.  Scully had told him that 
when her labor started, they would need to keep track of the frequency and 
duration of each contraction.  Thank goodness Scully was on the ball, he 
didn't seem to be of much help as of yet.  Other than maybe being around for 
comedic purposes, he thought with an internal self-depreciating groan, recalling 
his naked sock dance of not too long ago.  Though he supposed if he could make 
her smile, or take away her back pain, it was a job well done.

The second part of her reply registered.  "Well when do we go to the hospital 
then?" he asked.  Since hearing the 'L' word, his mind had one focus, and one 
focus only.  Get Scully to the hospital.  At least he had that part of his 
'job' straight.  As long as he didn't crash the car or anything on the way, 
that is.

"When the contractions are 5 minutes apart," she told him.  

Ah.  That told him to next to nothing.  "So, any idea when that will be?" 
he queried next, trying to pin down some sort of definitive answer.

"After me, you'll be the first to know," was her smart-ass reply, although 
she did punctuate it with a nice little pat on his derriere and a smile as 
she turned to leave the bedroom.

Still not much help.  Shoulders slumping, he hastened after her, calling, 
"So what do we do now?"  Hoping he didn't sound as whiny as he thought he 
did.

He had to love her reply.  Really, he did have to love it.  She was the 
mother of his child.

"We wait."

***


Mulder's Car
Enroute to Hospital
Georgetown, D.C.
May 12, 2001
9:20 am


Scully could feel Mulder's eyes on her as she breathed through her latest 
contraction, but she had no time to spare him a glance, or offer reassurance.  
She was too busy concentrating on the license plate of the car in front of 
them, which was her current focal point, and trying to hold back the grunt 
that was fighting to escape her lungs.

He wisely held his tongue.  It had taken him quite a while, but he had 
finally recognized and understood her need for silence and peace as she 
had walked through each contraction, slowly and methodically traversing 
her entire apartment.  With him right at her heels at first, of course.  
Until there had been one too many instances where they had bumped into 
each other and he had gotten the hint that he was more of a hindrance 
than help.

And now that they were in his car, heading to the hospital on her doctor's 
instructions, she was unable to move about, and needed to be undisturbed, 
as much as was possible anyway, more than ever.

The contraction released her from its grasp, and Scully exhaled heavily 
in relief, sagging slightly.  The hand that had been gripping the shoulder 
strap of her seatbelt relaxed, and she felt the blood rush into her fingers, 
making them ache.  Her other hand remained steady on her belly, rubbing in 
tiny circles.

A muttered curse from Mulder had her looking outside the front windshield, 
seeing their surroundings for the first time in a long minute.

Traffic. 

Bumper-to-bumper, with no escape.

A horrifying vision formed in her mind – she in the back seat of the car, 
legs sprawled wide open, panting and heaving with the effort to expel the 
baby from her body, while Mulder looked on with panicked eyes.

She scrunched her own eyes shut.  Nononononono.  That was not going to 
happen.  This baby was going to be born in the hospital, with her in a 
proper birthing room on a proper bed, with Dr. Newall attending and nurses 
aplenty, and soft music playing in the background, and a calm, rational 
Mulder at her side.  Involuntarily she also squeezed her legs tightly 
shut, as if to ensure the baby would not attempt to leave right there and 
then.  Wincing at the discomfort that caused, she forced herself to relax 
and open her eyes again.  And to take slow, deep, even breaths.  Calming 
breaths.

Okay, that was better.  She glanced over at Mulder and frowned.  He was 
still mumbling curses under his breath, his hands clenching and unclenching 
on the steering wheel.  So much for calm and rational.  But there was 
always her mother.  

Her mother.  Oh, God.  Did they call her mother?  The memory of her 
mother's voice, excited and thrilled and happy through the telephone 
line, settled her heartbeat, which had accelerated in alarm.  Yes, 
they had called her mother.  And Skinner.  And Doggett.  And the Gunmen.  
And they had her bag, in the trunk.  

God, she had to stop doing this to herself.  She needed to stay calm and 
focused.  Getting worked up about something beyond their control would 
not help matters.  Besides, her contractions were still only about seven 
minutes apart.  More deep, slow breaths, similar to the breathing technique 
she had been utilizing during her contractions.  They actually worked.

"Mulder," she said then, reaching out to touch his upper arm, feeling the 
muscles tightly bunched beneath her fingers.  "Relax.  We have plenty of 
time."

His head whipped to the side, his eyes boring into hers.  They were wild 
and dark.  "But Dr. Newall wants you there for observation."

"Dr. Newall's just being precautionary, Mulder.  Everything's fine.  This 
labor could go on for hours and hours."  God, I hope not, she added silently.

"I could call an ambulance on my cell," he offered then, still studying her.

She smiled at him, and watched as he visibly relaxed, his hands falling from 
the wheel to land in his lap.  "We're fine, Mulder.  All three of us."

"We're fine," he echoed, and exhaled heavily.  "Okay, we're fine.  That's 
good."  He scanned the road ahead of the car, straightening up and craning 
his neck for a moment, before slumping back into his seat.  "And apparently 
not going anywhere for some time," he added, with a touch of sarcasm.

"Well then, you'll just have to keep me entertained, won't you?" she teased, 
reaching out again to touch his arm, stroking her hand up and down the warm, 
bare flesh.

"Here, Scully?  Now?" he said in a falsetto, bringing his free hand up to his 
chest in mock surprise.  "You hussy, you!"

She merely shook her head at him.  "Not like that, Mulder, thank-you very much.  
Talk to me."

He grinned at her, and then sobered up.  "What do you want to talk about, 
Scully?"

"I don’t know, Mulder," she said.  "Anything."  She pursed her lips and then 
slowly added,  "An interesting case story.  A good memory from your childhood.  
What sex you think the baby is."

He had made a face when she mentioned a case story, and another one when she 
had said a childhood memory.  But his eyes and mouth had gone soft when she 
had said the word 'baby'.  His voice was low, and slightly hesitant when he 
replied.  "I've had dreams of us with both a baby boy and a baby girl, and 
they both feel right."  He turned his hand when hers made its next pass along 
his wrist, until they were clasped together.  "A little girl with your eyes 
and light brown hair with hints of red.  Your nose.  My curiosity and our 
determination."

She saw the little girl as he described her; only her eyes were his beautiful 
hazel.  And hard on their daughter's heels was a dark-haired, hazel-eyed boy 
chasing after her with that determination Mulder had mentioned.  She cleared 
her throat, which had become clogged with unshed tears, and husked, "I see a 
dark-haired boy, a little Mulder, chasing after that little girl."

"Ugh," he said, grimacing and putting on an exaggerated shudder.  "Don't spoil 
it with an image of a little mini-Mulder, please."

Although the words were seemingly said jokingly, she heard the truth behind 
them.  "Mulder," she said, shocked.  "How can you say that?"

"I -," he started to say, then stopped.  He sighed, shrugging his shoulders.  
"I don't know.  I guess because I wasn't...I wasn't the greatest of kids, 
Scully."

Her mind suddenly flashed back to a day not so long ago at the Bakersfield 
Chronic Care Home.  To a moment by the window in Fox's room as the two of 
them flipped through the pages of a book.  The Best Book of Spaceships.  She 
had that book, and the others she had bought him, tucked away in her closet.  
Maybe one day she and Mulder would read it to their son.  Or daughter. Or maybe 
even one of each.

Somehow, with all the excitement of his recovery, and her return to work, and 
then her near scare with the baby, she and Mulder had never talked about what 
had happened after he had first awoken from his coma.  Was now the appropriate 
time to bring it up?

She cleared her throat again.  "You've forgotten, Mulder, that I've met you 
as a little boy."  

***


9:25 am


Shit, Mulder thought, barely managing to contain the expletive.

Traffic.

Lots and lots of traffic.

He couldn't even get Scully to the hospital without incident.  Just like he 
had pessimistically predicted.  Even if a major traffic jam was beyond his 
control.  Although, he had to admit, traffic was infinitely preferable to a 
car accident.

Unless one considered the fact that he was in no way prepared to deliver 
their child in the back seat of the car.  Or any seat for that matter.  He 
thanked whichever deity was looking over his shoulder at the moment and 
keeping Scully's contractions fairly far apart.  He hoped they had no 
intention of speeding up any time soon.  Though with his luck, she'd start 
crowning, or whatever the hell they called it, right there and then.

The thought sent a shudder throughout his body.  This time his curse 
leaked out, though it was muttered quietly under his breath.

Mulder had been feeling extremely superfluous back at Scully's apartment.  
Nervous, worried, and excited, he knew he had been continually in Scully's 
way.  But he had been unable to help himself.  A momentous occasion was 
happening, and he wanted to be a very big part of it.

Finally on their way to the hospital as per instruction from Dr. Newall, 
he had instead started to feel important, needed - necessary.  He had a 
purpose.  Carrying her overnight bag and ensuring she made it safely out 
to the car, and then being her chauffeur, true.  But purpose nonetheless.

And here they were.  Stuck.  And here he was – purposeless.  Helpless.  
Hopeless.

His hands squeezed the steering wheel as he imagined revving the engine 
of their fully loaded, brand spanking new 4X4 – totally equipped with 
monster truck tires – and driving it up and over the other cars, clearing 
their way to the hospital.  Unfortunately, the 4X4 was just that, part of 
his imagination, a pipe dream.

The traffic was not a dream.  It was a horrible, horrible reality.  And 
it was not budging.  Their car had not even moved an inch in the last 
couple of minutes. 

Oh, this was so not good.  The 'what ifs' were starting to set up camp in 
his mind, and they seemed like they were mighty comfortable there.  What 
if the baby came now, as in the very next minutes?  What if something was 
wrong with the baby?  What if something happened to Scully? 

It was not until Scully's fingers touched his arm did he realize he had 
been muttering an almost continual string of curses beneath his breath.  
His arm flexed involuntarily at the contact, and when she told him to relax, 
that they had plenty of time, his head turned so fast it actually made him 
slightly dizzy.  Despite her calm tone, the desperation was obvious in his 
voice. "But Dr. Newall wants you there for observation."

She continued her attempt at soothing him, and he had to marvel at that – 
the pregnant woman stuck in traffic while in labor was calming him, instead 
of vice versa.  Scully was an incredible woman.

At the same time, the words 'hours and hours' had him wondering which aspect
was more frightening – a long labor, or delivering the baby in the car.

Mulder tried some levity – offering to call an ambulance on his cell phone.  
Only half-jokingly too, he was ready to do it if she said the word.

She did not however, merely smiled instead, and said, "We're fine, Mulder.  
All three of us."

Her smile calmed him at last, and he released his stranglehold on the steering 
wheel, letting his hands drop to his lap.  He repeated her, "We're fine.  Okay, 
we're fine.  That's good."  Still, he couldn't help trying to get a look ahead, 
hoping to see the cars in front of them actually moving again.  No such luck.  
His sarcastic side shone through then.  "And apparently not going anywhere for 
some time," he remarked.  He shifted the car into park, moving his foot from 
the brakes.

Scully ran her hand up and down his arm, and the contact felt good.  Her next 
comment, about him keeping her entertained, increased the feeling, and he 
couldn’t resist teasing her, calling her a hussy.

She did not get angry, but she did not laugh either.  She asked him to talk to 
her, with emphasis on the word 'talk'.

He matched her sober tone when he asked, "What do you want to talk about, 
Scully?"  He couldn't help the frown that twisted his lips when she mentioned 
a case story, or the next one at the mention of a childhood memory.  But when 
she asked what sex he thought the baby was, it left him with a warm, tender 
feeling.  He'd tried to picture what their child might look like so many times, 
had poured over Mulder and Scully family albums for hours, had even dreamed of 
little girls that looked exactly like Scully, and even of boys that resembled 
her.

But he'd had no feelings of intuition.  No sort of 'spooky' sixth sense.  And 
it didn't matter; because of course he would love it no matter its sex.  He 
spoke slowly, finding his words as he tried to explain his train of thought.  
"I've had dreams of us with both a baby boy and a baby girl, and they both feel 
right."  

Her hand had continued to stroke his arm, and when she moved along his wrist, 
he turned his hand until their fingers were entwined.  He rambled on, his voice 
still low, "A little girl with your eyes and light brown hair with hints of red.  
Your nose."  He wouldn't wish his nose on any child.  "My curiosity and our 
determination."  A trait he had recognized and come to admire in himself, and one 
he had admired in both of them.

Scully sounded a little water-logged when she said, "I see a dark-haired boy, a 
little Mulder, chasing after that little girl."

For some reason, a replica of himself did not appeal to him.  He'd much rather 
see a carbon copy of Scully - for he loved her every feature - or maybe a child 
with the best of both their features.  Again he was semi- serious when he said, 
"Ugh.  Don’t spoil it with an image of a little mini-Mulder, please."

He could hear the shock in Scully's response, asking him how he could say that.  
It was something he wasn't sure he could explain.  There were deep-rooted fears 
inside him, regarding some of his less than admirable traits, and those of his 
father.  Fears that he was not yet ready to face.  "I -" he began, and wasn't 
sure of what to say.  He exhaled heavily, lifting his shoulders in a gesture that 
bespoke of his confusion and difficulty, and said, "I don't know.  I guess because 
I wasn't...I wasn't the greatest of kids, Scully."

He hadn't been looking at her, but now he turned his head slightly, still ducked 
down, to peer at her from beneath his brows.  She had been facing him, twisted a 
little in her seat, but her eyes now seemed to look inward.  She seemed melancholy, 
lost in her thoughts, and he wasn't sure if they were good ones or bad ones.

After a moment or two, Scully cleared her throat and said, "You've forgotten, 
Mulder, that I've met you as a little boy."

It was totally unexpected.  Way out from left field, and nearly beyond his 
comprehension.  Baffling.  His head snapped up, and he gaped at her.  "What?" 
he blurted out.  

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks.  She was talking about when he had awakened 
from his coma.  He remembered her words with a sudden chill.  'Mentally, you were 
a child'.  

Before he could say anything else, Scully spoke again.  "When you came out of your 
coma, a couple weeks after you were found, I was there with you at the hospital.  
The first thing you asked me was if I was your mother."

Her voice was hoarse, and low, and her fingers were restless in his grasp.  He 
squeezed them, both offering and drawing comfort from the contact.  It was also 
a wordless plea for her to continue.  In the back of his mind, he was trying to 
imagine how she must have felt to hear those words coming from him, but yet not 
really him, and could not.  In a way he was glad when she didn't go into much 
detail about her reactions and feelings then.  He sensed that she couldn't.  
Maybe someday they would both be able to discuss it further.

"After my initial shock, and several days had passed and it became apparent your
...condition might be permanent, I had to make some difficult decisions regarding 
your health care.  Physically you were very weak, with muscle deterioration from 
your abduction, and the hospital wasn't really equipped to deal with all your needs.  
So I found a chronic care home for you.  I visited as much as I could, and had the 
Gunmen and Walter and my mother come as well.  You were getting better physically, 
but your mental condition did not change."

Hearing her relate the story was quite painful.  He imagined living it must have 
been hell.  His neck was tight, as was his jaw, from holding himself so stiffly.  
He couldn't help it.  He knew too that his face was probably a blank mask, the one 
he hid behind when he was forced to deal with difficult things.

Scully made an odd sound then, kind of choked and angry, and he looked at her 
again, having apparently looked away at some point, although he could not recall 
doing so.  She was blinking rapidly, her eyes wet, and her face was sad.  "When I 
said that, about having met you as a child, I hadn't...I didn't mean to bring us 
both down like this.  I was trying to tell you about what you were like as the boy 
I met.  Fox."  She brought her free hand up to scrub at her eyes, sniffling.  "Even 
while my heart was breaking because I had lost you, I had this incredible little boy 
in your man's body.  You were funny and endearing and sweet, and all I could do was 
think about whether our baby would be a boy, and if he would be like you." 

Her eyes closed then, scrunched tight, and her head dropped.  The hand that had 
wiped her eyes moved to cover part of her face, and she tugged at the one in his 
hold, obviously intending to bring it to her face as well. A futile tug, for he 
would not release it, would not let her hide behind her hands.  "Scully," he said.  
Then could think of nothing more.  He swallowed the lump in his throat and finally 
said, "It's okay, Scully.  Come here."  

It was his turn to tug at her hand.  With his superior strength, plus some careful
maneuvering of his own body, he managed to pull her into his arms, in an awkward 
hug.

Mulder rocked her, hearing her sniffle again, and feeling her body fight her tears.  
He felt a little emotional himself.

A sudden loud blasting of a car horn had them both jolting.  They separated slowly, 
Scully shifting more fully onto her own seat. 

Mulder looked out the front windshield and saw that the traffic jam had cleared.

Another honk came from behind him, so he hurriedly straightened in his seat, shifted 
the car into drive, and tapped the gas pedal.

Beside him, Scully began to breathe through another contraction.

***
 
End Part 9