The Naked Kitties, Part I: Must Have Sharp RazorsTitle: The Naked Kitties, Part I: Must Have Sharp Razors

Headers and Notes with Prologue and can be found where ever fic 
is posted.

<><><><><><>

On the way home, I stopped at the drug store and bought nine 
pregnancy tests - one of each brand they had.  The teenaged 
cashier's eye widened and she momentarily ceased her gum-popping.  
I wrote a check for them and was pealing out of the parking lot 
before she had time to string together an intelligent question.

I tried Mulder's cell phone over and over - as soon as I'd hang 
up, I'd place the next call.  After approximately four hundred 
rings, I decided to call Skinner's and see what he had to say.

Only Skinner didn't answer.  An obviously young, probably blond 
and perky, woman did.  "Hello?"

I actually pulled the phone away from my ear, stared at it, and 
ran off the road for a few seconds.  "I'm sorry, I'm trying to 
reach Walter Skinner."

"And you are?"

"Who are you?"  I snap.

"I'm Jennifer Lynn, a nurse at Bellefleure Memorial Medical 
Center.  Are you family of Mr. Skinner?"

Oh, God, a nurse?  Shit, shit, shit.  "No, I work with him.  Is 
he all right?"  And more importantly, is there a man with him?  
Tall, big nose, pretends to be afraid of needles to get your 
breasts' attention?

"He was brought in last night with some first and second degree 
burns to the face, hands, and arms.  He should be fine, but he's 
resting, so I'll have him call you when we wakes up, Ms..."

"Scully.  Special Agent Scully."

"Special Agent Scully," she repeats back to me, sounding 
intimidated at the title.

"Is there a man with him?"  I venture, feeling that I already 
know the answer.  Missy would be so proud of me.

"A man?  No.  Mr. Skinner was brought in by a Sheriff's Deputy 
this morning.  They didn't find anyone with him."

I close my eyes, hot tears sliding out from under my too-thin 
eyelids and down my cheek to drip off my chin.  Opening them 
again, I get back in my lane and press the accelerator closer to 
the floorboard.  "Thank you.  I'll be catching a flight out there 
soon, so just tell him I'm on my way, please."

"I will," she says softly, obviously distracted, before she hangs 
up.

Mulder could be out in the woods somewhere or, or someone 
could've abducted him or, or, or, or...

...something.  It really doesn't matter, though.  I have to go 
find him.  Spotting a gas station up ahead, I pull quickly into 
the parking lot, flip a U, and speed off in the opposite 
direction towards Dulles, dialing Delta's number.

<><><><><><>

There must be some kind of IQ test that these ticket accountant's 
have to fail in order to get this job.

"You listen to me.  I am an Agent with the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation.  It is imperative that I be on that flight, do you 
understand me?"

The guy looks at me like, imperative?  What?  Who is this woman 
and what kind of obsession does she have with my nose hairs?

"Did you hear what I said to you?  I said HOLD THAT FLIGHT, 
GODDAMN IT!!!"

Suddenly, he snaps to attention, seeming to comprehend swearing.  
Before I can murmur a sarcastic thank you, I'm overcome with a 
strong wave of dizziness.  The collection of pregnancy tests is 
rattling around in my tiny "overnight" bag, calling me to put an 
end to this charade.

"Uh, if you can get to gate fourteen in five minutes, they'll let 
you on the flight," he stammers out, not looking at me.  I'm 
already gone anyway.

And these airplane bathrooms?  Just how can people actually have 
sex in here?  I can't even maneuver my arm so that I can pee on 
the stick.  Of course, it would help if my stomach weren't 
threatening to have me vomit all over the floor and I didn't see 
spots when I tried to bend over.

After all this, Mulder better hope he's laying unconscious in the 
woods somewhere and not, well, I don't want to finish that 
thought.  He probably got separated from Skinner when whatever 
burned Skinner happened - Mulder would run ten miles away at the 
sight of fire and not even realize he was moving until he ran 
into a tree - and the Deputy simply didn't see him.  And 
Skinner...wasn't lucid enough for the Deputy to take seriously 
when he claimed there was another man out there.  By now, 
Mulder's probably made it back out to some country road where 
some kind soul picked him up and took him to a hotel or 
something.  He's probably found Skinner and may be at the 
hospital with him, both biding their time until their flight.

Wouldn't that be something?  If I got there only to find that 
they're in Washington?  What a pain in the ass.

God, please let me have the pain in the ass.

Five minutes later, I have a pink, two lines, three blues, and 
three different colored pluses.  Which all mean positive.

I give in to my stomach and dry heave over the sink.  Half the 
prophecy is fulfilled; I'm finally starting to believe that the 
black lunged son of a bitch may be telling the truth.

<><><><><><>

I must look like an escaped mental patient, running into the 
hospital lobby and holding my badge up for all the world to see - 
not that I care.  As long as someone answers my questions, 
everything will be fine.

"Where is Walter Skinner's room?  What floor is he on?  And what 
about Fox Mulder, is he here?  Where is he?"  The woman behind 
the counter just stares at me, wide eyed, hand hovering over the 
phone receiver.

"Agent Scully?"  I hear from behind me and turn around, a tall, 
green-clad man coming towards me with his hat in his hands.  "I'm 
Sheriff Harris."

"Is my partner here?"  I ask him, ignoring his non-hat-holding 
hand that he extends.

"No, ma'am.  Just the Assistant Director -"

After "no," I turn towards the nearest elevator and leave him 
behind me.  "Where is he?  I need to talk to him."

"He's upstairs.  They had to give him some pain medication; 
knocked him out last night.  After the nurse told us about your 
call this morning, I sent some Deputies out into the woods where 
we found Mr. Skinner to look for the other man you mentioned."  
His voice tells me - and the other people in the elevator 
pretending not to listen  - what I already don't want to realize.

"Did you find him?"

"No ma'am, we didn't.  Deputies are still looking, though.  If 
he's out there, we'll find him, don't worry."

I'm worried he's not out there, though.

When the elevator dings, I follow the Sheriff down the hall to 
what I assume is Skinner's room.  Before I can reach out to open 
the door, his big arm comes out to block me.  "Agent Scully, I 
don't know that you'll be able to get anything out of him.  He 
was...upset last night and along with that pain killer, they had 
to give him a sedative."  I give him a look that tells him he's 
wasting my time.  "Just so you know," he finishes, reddening 
slightly.  "I'll get his doctor for you."

I don't thank him, just push open the door.

Skinner's lying there, pale except for the red and white blisters 
covering one side of his face.  His corresponding hand and 
forearm match, like he tried to shield himself from whatever 
burned him.  As the door softly clicks closed, he turns his head 
towards the door, opening his eyes slightly.  "Scully?"  He 
whispers, and I walk over to him, sitting down gently on the bed 
and resisting the urge to take his hand.

"Yeah.  How are you feeling?"

"Groggy."

"That'll go away," I tell him, little beads of sweat starting to 
dot his forehead.

"Did they tell you?  About Mulder?"

I suck in a deep, sharp breath.  "They said they couldn't find 
him."

"There was a light...a bright light, and then he was gone.  It 
sounded almost like a helicopter, but a helicopter wouldn't have 
done this to me."

"No.  It wouldn't," I agree softly.  Suddenly, I want nothing 
more than to curl up into a ball and sob.  That son of a bitch 
was right: They took Mulder.  Bastards.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  You trusted me and I let you down."

"It wouldn't have made a difference, sir.  If They wanted him 
that badly, They would've found a way to take him regardless of 
what you did."  He looks at me, bewildered.  I wish I could tell 
him what I'd been told, but that bastard told me that it was "our 
little secret," so I just look away, wiping the tears off my 
cheeks and hoping he didn't see them.

The door opens, then, and an older-looking woman steps in with a 
chart in her hand.  "Are you Special Agent Scully?"  She asks me.

"Yes," I say, trying to regain a little composure.

"I'm Dr. Robinson.  Would you step into the hall with me, 
please?"

Following her outside, Sheriff Harris, who had probably been 
pacing the hall, thinking about how much trouble he's about to be 
in when the FBI finds out that one of their agents has 
disappeared and one was injured in his jurisdiction, starts a 
long circuit down to the other end of the hall, away from us.

"How is he?"  I ask the doctor.

"He'll be fine.  We'll probably release him tomorrow.  I was told 
that you were expecting to find another man with him."

"Yes, my partner," I say softly.

"Do you have any idea what may have happened to this man?"

I think he was burned by a space craft, I don't say.  "Some," I 
answer instead, ignoring her look that asks me to continue.  "You 
haven't given him another sedative today, have you?"

"No, the Sheriff's been wanting to talk to him."  She pauses, 
then says in a low, secret voice.  "Are you all right, Agent 
Scully?  You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," I tell her, giving her a tight smile.  "Excuse me, I 
need to use the phone."

Much to the Sheriff's dismay, I duck into the stairwell, pulling 
out my cell phone and dialing the Gunmen's number, waiting until 
I'm outside the building to hit "send."

Langly answers quickly.  "Lone Gunmen."

"It's me, turn off the tape."

After few clicks - one to turn off the tape, one to put me on 
speaker phone - Frohike starts asking questions.  "How you 
feelin'?"

"Fine.  I'm in Oregon."  I hear the collective gasp and someone's 
mouth open to protest me not following Mulder's orders, but I cut 
them off.  "Listen, I can't give you much over the phone, but I 
need you to find more of those satellite transmissions with the 
microburst activity.  We've got to find this ship."

"What's up?"  Byers asks.

"Just find the data.  This is important, boys, I need this as 
soon as possible."

"Uh, wasn't Mulder supposed to be looking for that ship, Scully?"  
Frohike says, obviously confused.  "We gave him the latest data 
we had."

"Yes, he was.  He found it, too.  Call me on my cell when you get 
it."  I hang up before they can figure out what happened and ask 
more questions.  Mulder always warned me about how unsecured cell 
phones were - They could be listening.  They probably don't know 
that I know Their plan, either, and I don't want to think of what 
the consequences would be for Mulder if They found out.

As I walk back into the lobby, I pass the cafeteria and my 
stomach growls loudly: I haven't eaten all day.  Maybe that's why 
I'm so dizzy and weak.  Tentatively, I place my hand over my 
stomach, wondering if the baby's hungry, too, then jerk it away, 
scolding myself.

I need to try and talk to Skinner again, see if he can tell me 
anything else, I tell myself as I pass the cafeteria without a 
second glance.

<><><><><><>

Skinner was incoherent from whatever sedative they gave him last 
night - it must've been strong enough for wild animals - so 
Sheriff Harris led me to the Station to wait for his Deputies to 
return.  The polite thing to do would've been to tell him that it 
was a waste of time, but with the recent disappearances of two of 
his Deputies, Theresa's husband and Billy, I couldn't blame him 
for wanting to find who or whatever was responsible for this.  I 
let him feel productive and thanked him for all his help, 
checking my cell phone every five minutes to make sure I hadn't 
missed the Gunmen's call.

With nothing for me to do at the Station, after Harris went about 
whatever he was doing in his office, I snuck out and headed for 
the woods.  Not like it'll really do me any good - I know what 
happened to Mulder and, if I really believe what the Smoking Man 
told me, no amount of evidence I find will help me get Mulder 
back.  I'll just have to assume that everyone will keep up there 
end of the deal and bide my time for the next six and a half 
months.  

God, six and a half months without Mulder...I haven't gone two 
days without talking to him in all the years we've been partners.  
I already miss him terribly, and it's barely been over twenty-
four hours.  Of course, it could just be psychosomatic - me 
missing him more because I know that I won't see him for months.  
It doesn't ease my mind any knowing that I was promised he'd be 
returned.  The Smoking Man didn't even specify if he'd be alive, 
injured, or dead and there's no telling what those Bounty Hunters 
are doing to him.  Shit, I have to try and find him.  If I was 
the one missing - again - nothing would stop him from trying to 
find me, regardless of the promises or deals that were made.

And it could all be a lie.  The Smoking Man may have made up that 
elaborate story just so I wouldn't look for Mulder; he may have 
no intentions of ever returning him.  But how would that explain 
me being pregnant?

It wouldn't.  I don't know what to believe.  I wish Mulder were 
here, he'd help me figure this out.

My phone rings then, snapping me out of my self-pity and despair.  
"Scully?"

"It's us," Byers says, sounding worried and afraid of something.  
"We, uh, found some data."

"Great.  Where is it?"

"Gone," Langly says sadly.  "We can't find any more microburst 
activity anywhere in the world.  The thing just vanished."

"And took Mulder with it," Frohike finishes.  "Is that what you 
were trying to tell us earlier?"

I take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose against the 
tears trying to form.  "Yes," I say softly, hearing muffled 
curses around the speaker.

"How long are you staying out there?  Do you want us to come?"  
Frohike asks.

I hadn't actually thought about it - how long I would look for 
him out here.  He's not here anyway, so it really doesn't matter, 
I guess.  I can't just go home and not look, though.  If it is a 
lie, if They did abduct him for no other reason than to do all 
Their tests on him, They're torturing him, mutilating him.  He'd 
be expecting me to find him.  He'd be screaming for me when They 
started the drills.  He'd wait for me...

I sniff a little too loudly into the phone.  "Agent Scully, are 
you all right?"  Byers asks in his soft, concerned voice.

No, I'm confused and tired and thirsty and I want my partner 
back!  "Yes, thank you.  I don't know how long I'll be staying, 
but I need you on that end looking for more data."

"Okay.  Anything you need, let us know."

"I will."

A tense silence dotted by static takes over until I finally hang 
up, not wanting to worry them anymore.  If I asked, they'd be out 
here to help me comb the woods.  If I told them the truth, they'd 
sit me down and tell me how much Mulder would want me to do 
everything in my power to keep this baby and let him go, then 
take me out to buy pink and blue onesies.

It occurs to me then that I hadn't even considered what Mulder 
would say if he were here.  Would the Gunmen be right?  Would he 
tell me to forget about him and take this one last chance at 
having a child and do everything I could to protect it?  Would he 
die for my baby?

Our last night together in the hotel, he'd told me as much in 
other terms.  He'd wanted me to be happy and he equated children 
with happiness.  I wonder if that's what his happiness would be, 
lots of babies.  Together?

My happiness is with him.  Without him is empty.  It hasn't taken 
me long to realize that.

If I gave up this baby for him, I don't know that he would ever 
forgive me.  He'd be flattered by my choice, though he'd never 
admit it.  He'd finally believe that I really do love him as much 
as I said I do, as much as he loves me.  He'd finally realize the 
extent of my commitment to him.  And he'd hate me for it.

When Mulder is returned - not if, but when.  If I have to kill 
every single one of those shape-shifting motherfuckers myself, I 
will - I just won't tell him about the baby.  It'll probably 
already be gone, anyway.  He never needs to know.

As it starts raining later, steadily getting heavier and heavier 
until I can't wander aimlessly through the woods anymore with 
tears in my eyes and my stomach rolling and gurgling, I check 
back into the same hotel we stayed at two nights ago, curl up in 
the same bed he told me how worried he was about me and how sorry 
he was that I'd never have a baby like Theresa's, and pray that I 
don't dream about him and babies tonight.

<><><><><><>

He sits up in bed as I approached the door, pushing the covers 
off his legs to stand and calling for me in the dark.  "Scully?"

"Yeah," I whisper back to him, thinking that a loud voice was 
inappropriate for night even though there was no one it would 
wake.  "I'm here."

"Where you goin'?"  He asks sleepily, turning on the lamp beside 
his bed and blinking against the brightness.

"Home.  It's late."  He nods, picking his pajama pants up off the 
floor and swinging his legs to the side of the bed, sliding the 
pants on as he stands.  "I'll let myself out.  Go back to sleep."

"No.  You can stay, I'll sleep on the couch."  He's already 
gathering a pillow from the bed and searching for a blanket in 
the closet.

"Mulder, that's ridiculous.  It's not that late."

"You don't want to stay?"  He asks me, giving me his sad, 
forlorn, pitiful look and stepping towards me.  Mmm...he smells 
like sleep and warm.  In truth, I want nothing more than to curl 
up in bed with him until morning.  He looks like he wants the 
same thing.

"No.  I'll stay, but I don't want you sleeping on the couch 
because of me.  I think we can share your bed, what about you?"

"I think so."  He gives me a sad smile.

After changing into one of his t-shirts and arranging ourselves 
in bed, I close my eyes and start to drift easily back to sleep 
when he calls my name again, softer this time.  "Scully?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think that you and Daniel will start seeing each other 
again?"

Opening my eyes, I turn over to face him in the dimness from the 
street lights outside.  "Why?"

He fidgets, arranging and rearranging his hands on top of his 
chest and not looking over at me.  "I just wondered if you'd be 
starting a relationship with him once he's released from the 
hospital."

I think for a moment: it's certainly what Daniel wants.  And 
after he completes the task I assigned him, to take 
responsibility for the pain in his daughter's life and his own, 
he may call me and tell me that he's finished, that we can be 
together again.  "No.  I don't think so," I finally decide.

He hesitates for a few seconds.  "Why not?"

"Because, I'm not the same person that he's been in love with all 
these years.  I don't have room in my life for a relationship and 
I know he'd want me to quit the Bureau...I'm not ready to do 
that.  I'm not ready to make the kind of commitment he'd want."

"You can, you know.  It's okay," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"Quit the Bureau, get on with your life.  I know you never 
intended for this to become a lifetime responsibility, anyway, so 
you can leave if you want to.  I won't stop you."

I inch closer to him, slowly stretching my arm over his stomach 
and feeling him hold his breath.  "Do you want me to?"

"No," he says, exhaling.

I lay my head on his shoulder, my ear over his heart.  It's 
pounding nervously.  "Neither do I."

He tentatively puts his arm around my back, holding me tighter 
against him.  After a few minutes, he speaks again, sounding 
exasperated.  "Scully, I don't know if I can do this anymore."

"What?"

"I don't know if I want to keep our relationship the way it is," 
he says slowly, his heart speeding up a bit.  "This thing with 
Daniel...it scared me.  When you were telling me about him 
earlier, I kept thinking that the next words out of your mouth 
would be that you were leaving me for him.  It terrified me, 
Scully, I couldn't stand that."

I raise my head, pretending that I'm staring deep into his face.  
"What do you mean?"

He turns his head away from me, trying to gather the courage to 
speak.  "Sometimes, it hits me how much I love you and I can't 
believe that we're still just friends after all these years.  
Then sometimes, I'm happy with our relationship the way it is.  
I've never had a friend like you, Scully, and I don't want to 
change it, but I think that I want more, sometimes.  I want you 
to be in my life forever.  I just can't decide what role you'd 
fill."

"What are my choices?"  I ask him.

He sighs, frustrated that he can't just come right out and say 
whatever's on his mind and embarrassed that he's telling me at 
all.  "My best friend, like you are now, or...something...more 
serious."

"Oh," I repeat.

He pulls away from me and rolls to the edge of the bed, burying 
his face in the pillow.  "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't even be so 
presumptuous.  You probably don't want that."

"Mulder," I sigh as I follow him, draping myself across his back, 
"I don't know what makes you think that."

He doesn't respond, but doesn't try and move away from me 
anymore, either.

"I think that I'd like to try something more serious, too.  I 
want to be a part of your life.  I want you to always be a part 
of my life, no matter what happens."

He takes a deep breath under me and I hear his heart slow down a 
little.  "Do you love me?"  He whispers.

"Yes," I whisper back.

He turns over again and we lay face to face, our forehead and 
knees together.  "Are we okay?"

"We're okay," I decide, and our weeks of awkwardness are over.  
"And we'll try this more serious thing."

"Okay."

"Okay," I parrot.

We fall asleep like that.  In the morning, I discover that, in 
our sleep, we'd moved away from each other.  He didn't stir as I 
got up, showered, dressed, and left.

<><><><><><>

I wake up the next morning, seeing his sleeping face behind my 
eyelids and cursing the phone for waking from such a sweet dream.  
"'Lo?"  I say into my palm, figuring out which end I'm supposed 
to talk into a little too late.

"Scully?  It's Frohike, you awake?"

"No."

I hear someone hit someone else and Langly say, "Of course she's 
not awake, moron, it's five a.m. there."

"Did you find something?"  I ask, remembering that I'm in Oregon 
and Mulder's gone and I'm pregnant and oh, God, I think I'm gonna 
be sick...

"No, that's why we're calling.  We haven't been able to find 
anything.  These satellite transmissions were showing activity 
every twenty minutes or so, but nothing since the night Mulder 
was taken."

"Shit," I whisper.

"Yeah, we know," Langly agrees.  "We'll keep checking, though, 
let you know if we find anything."

"You haven't found anything, have you, Agent Scully?"  Byers 
asks.

"No, and it rained here last night, so any evidence was probably 
washed away."

"Those bastards," Frohike starts.  "They think They can just get 
away with it."

"I have to go.  I'll call you later," I say just in time to hit 
the end button and lean over the sink.  How I can have anything 
in my stomach to vomit up is beyond me, since I didn't eat 
anything yesterday.

I end up on my knees in front of the toilet for nearly an hour 
before I can manage to stand up without getting dizzy.  Whoever 
called this morning sickness obviously didn't know what they were 
talking about - more like morning torture.  I just hope the 
morning part turns out to be accurate.  That's all I need right 
now: to be vomiting instead of looking for Mulder.

But if it helps to get him back, it's worth it.

By the time I got to the hospital, Skinner was dressed, showered, 
fed, and angry.  He was demanding to participate in the search 
for Mulder and Sheriff Harris was having a difficult time 
containing him.  All the promises of agents from Portland and 
police from three counties did nothing to settle him down.

"Scully, tell them they need more than just manpower out there," 
he pleaded as soon as I walked in his room.

"Sir, Mulder's not out there.  We both know what happened to him 
and that he won't be found.  Now, anyway.  And you know that 
there won't be any evidence, either."

His jaw drops and he looks back and forth between me and the 
Sheriff, wondering what dimension he woke up in.

"We can conduct this investigation from DC, through the X-Files.  
That's our best hope right now," I continue, not believing the 
words that were coming out of my mouth.

He couldn't either.  "Scully...you're just giving up?  Going 
home?"

"No, Sir, not giving up.  Just pursuing this from a different 
angle.  OPR will want your statement immediately anyway and the 
sooner I can get a file open on him the better."  I have a 
feeling that I should tell him the truth, that I'm almost afraid 
to look for Mulder because of what the repercussions might be, 
but he'd just tell me that the Smoking Man can't be trusted and 
not to believe his deals and promises.  He'd also take me off of 
field duty, which is the last thing I need.

"Sir, listen.  With two of my Deputies missing, we're not gonna 
stop this search any time soon.  You go back to Washington, 
settle everything you need to there, and we'll cover everything 
on this end," Harris suggests helpfully.

Skinner finally closes his mouth and looks down at me.  "Can I 
get out of here?"  He asks tersely.

"Yes, you've been released."

"Good," he says, picking up his bag and wincing as his burned 
skin tightens around the handle.  "Scully, get on the phone to 
those friends of yours, see if they can locate this ship."

"I've already tried that, Sir.  They can't.  It's gone."

Harris just looks confused.

"What do you think happened, then?"

"I don't know," I tell him slowly.

He studies me for a second, a peculiar look on his face.  "Book 
us a flight home, then.  I don't know how I'm gonna explain this 
to OPR."

<><><><><><>

Skinner was absolutely silent on the plane; he wouldn't even look 
at me.  We parted at the airport and I drove straight home, 
chanting to myself that I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't cry, I 
wouldn't cry.

Mulder's supposed to be with me.  He's supposed to be asking me 
how much I missed him as we drive to his apartment.  He's 
supposed to ask me to stay for tea once we get there.  We're 
supposed to sit on his couch and talk, then decide that we missed 
each other too much to just sit here talking all night and go to 
bed in the middle of the afternoon.  Or maybe we're just supposed 
to order a pizza and watch movies all night, falling asleep 
spooned together in his bed.

I'm not supposed to be alone, carrying a child that's not even 
completely human, while he floats somewhere in outer space, 
wondering if I'm looking for him and hoping I'm not abducted 
next.

There are two messages on my answering machine when I get home.  
I figure one will be from OPR, but the other, I don't know about.

"Agent Scully, this is your official notification that the Office 
of Professional Review requires your presence tomorrow morning at 
eight a.m."  Yeah, I figured.  I fast forward to the next 
message.

"Hi, this message is for Dana Scully.  This is Mary Anne at 
Doctor Walker's office calling to remind you of your prenatal 
exam this Thursday morning at ten.  If you need to cancel," blah, 
blah, blah.

I didn't make an appointment to have a prenatal exam.

Of course, old Smoky did.  I'm sure he needs the baby to be 
healthy while I gestate it for him.  For Mulder.  This is his 
little way of telling me that I'd better take care of myself.  I 
sigh loudly and punch the delete button harder than necessary, 
then stomp petulantly into the kitchen, vomit into the sink, then 
stomp into the bathroom, run myself a too-hot bath, sink down 
into it, and cry.

It's not supposed to be like this at all.  Having a baby should 
be a happy time, something to celebrate.  It should be the proof 
of two people's love and devotion, not an elaborate blackmailing 
scheme.  My husband, the father, should be going with me to the 
appointments and reminding me to drink lots of orange juice and 
take my vitamins and pick out paint for the nursery.  We should 
curl up in bed together at night and press our hands to my 
stomach wondering when we'll feel it move.  He should suggest 
names for the baby, telling me Elvis would be a great name with a 
straight face.

Goddammit, Mulder, why did you have to leave me now?  And why did 
I have to let you go?

I wonder if it would've mattered, though, if I'd managed to 
convince him to stay.  Would the Bounty Hunters have just 
abducted him from his own apartment?  Or would They have taken me 
to get to him.

Of course, Dana, that's why you're pregnancy was timed to 
coincide with these abductions in Oregon.  They knew that Billy 
Miles would call you and you'd be out there to investigate.  
Then, you'd start having all those dizzy spells and weakness and 
Mulder would figure that, since all of the people that had 
disappeared had a history of abduction, you'd be next.  Maybe 
They even knew of your recently escelated personal relationship 
and decided to use it to Their advantage.  They knew that Mulder 
would take you home, then come back to Oregon to investigate 
further, all the while telling himself he'd done the right thing 
by keeping you same two thousand miles away when, if They really 
wanted you, it'd be no great inconvenience to Them to travel to 
DC.

Those bastards really thought of everything, didn't They?

Now I know how Mulder felt all those times that he blamed himself 
for everything that had happened to me over the years.  It may 
not have been his fault, but indirectly, he was partially 
responsible.  As I am, for Them doing God knows what to him just 
so They can have ensure my cooperation and the health and safety 
of this damn baby.

I just hope I get the chance to tell him how sorry I am.
 
Sufficiently pruned but no cleaner, I get out of the tub and 
crawl into bed wet and naked, knowing I won't sleep at all 
tonight.

<><><><><><>

The sum-total of my meeting with OPR was to inform me that the X-
Files had been shut down and I had been reassigned to Quantico.  
Skinner was on the panel but he didn't make eye contact with me 
the whole time.  When I got up and left after being dismissed, 
there was a shocked look on his face - he expected me to fight 
the decision, to plead with them to let the X-Files remain open, 
and to argue that it was the only way to find Agent Mulder.  The 
only way to find Agent Mulder is to have this baby, but they 
don't have to know that.  I turned off my emotions and went to 
pack up my meager belongings in his office, then drove to 
Quantico and unpacked them all.

The next day at my prenatal exam, the doctor, who was probably a 
part of this scheme, told me that everything looked healthy and 
normal, but that I was anemic and would need to go on iron 
supplements as well as to start taking prenatal vitamins.  I made 
an appointment to see him the same time next month, like he 
suggested, and went back to work afterwards.

I've made some decisions about this whole catastrophe since then.  
One, that part of this deal is for me to accept the Smoking Man's 
"gift" without question, to be thankful for the opportunity, and 
to be willing to give up my child when They ask if I want Mulder 
returned, so I can't start to think of this child as mine - I'm 
only a temporary caretaker.  I don't need to be picking out 
maternity clothes or wondering if I want a boy or a girl.  I need 
to be focused on the tedium of the next few months, counting the 
days until Mulder will be back and trusting that he'll be healthy 
and whole and that he won't remember any of what's happened and 
that he'll never find out about the deal I made.

Two, that as part of my trusting the Smoking Man, I have to act 
like I do.  That means no looking for Mulder - through the 
Bureau, anyway.  The Gunmen may pick up reports of UFO sightings 
somewhere and I can just decide to take a few days off to visit 
that place - a coincidence.  No documented travel expenses and no 
official case reports.  Nothing that would indicate I'm looking 
in case They decide not to honor their end of the deal.

Three, that when Mulder comes back, we both quit the Bureau and 
move up to northern Canada, where there's nothing but snow and 
the people speak French.

Two weeks goes by fast, but Skinner continuously calls me, just 
to check on me, he says.  I can't decide whether it's annoying or 
endearing, but I give him the general "I'm fine," and make polite 
conversation.  When he comes to see me, however, I find it more 
difficult to brush him off.

Thinking it's one of my students or perhaps a lost coworker, I 
tell the owner of the hand that knocks to come in, not looking up 
from my desk.  "Scully?"  The slightly soft but strong at the 
same time voice asks cautiously.

"Sir?"  I mimic his tone, starting to stand and then remembering 
not to.

"I didn't want to talk about this over the phone, but this might 
not be the best place to discuss it, either," he says, looking 
around the room like he's trying to imagine all the places They 
could hide a listening device.

I just stare at him, my right eyebrow increasing its elevation.

"I wanted to know what you've found," he continues, suddenly 
terse.

"Found?"

"Yes.  About Agent Mulder."

I gape, then recover.  "I haven't found anything, sir."

He manages to cover his shock well, steeling his gaze on me and 
making me look away - he always knows when I'm lying.  "You 
haven't found anything?"  He repeats neutrally.

"To be honest, sir, I haven't been looking," I admit softly, 
finding my desk blotter to be unexplainably interesting.

"Well, I have.  Do you care to know what I've found?"

I snap my eyes back to his.  "N-no, sir."

"No?  Agent Scully, is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, sir."

"Then why are you suddenly apathetic about the whereabouts of 
your partner?"

I fold my hands in my lap, tightening my fingers' grips around 
each other.  "I'm not, sir, I just...I have a job to do.  Here, 
away from the X-Files, which is what this case is."

"The X-Files have been closed, Agent Scully, and you and I both 
know that those agents out in Oregon aren't going to find 
anything.  It's up to us."

No, actually it's up to some shape-shifting aliens and a man who 
claims to be Mulder's father, I don't say.

He takes his glasses off, sitting down heavily in the chair in 
front of my desk and pinching the bridge of his nose, looking 
exhausted.  "I have to say I'm disappointed in you, Scully."

Me, too, sir.

"When you were taken years ago, Mulder was..." he trails off, 
looking through me.  "...beside himself with worry.  He wasn't 
eating, sleeping.  Nothing mattered except for you, finding you.  
I was afraid he was going to snap, to be honest.  When he came to 
me, telling me to offer Cancer Man anything he wanted if he would 
just return you...Mulder offered me his job, the X-Files - his 
life, Scully, all for you."

I look down again, blinking back tears.

"I never really understood a bond that strong after only two and 
a half years together.  Part of me just thought it was Mulder 
being Mulder, but another part of me understood that he really 
cared for you, even back then.  Over the years, that's only grown 
more and more apparent to me.  You and he have one of the 
strongest partnerships I've ever seen.  And now you just...give 
him up, like he doesn't matter.  I expected more from you, 
Scully, and I know Mulder would, too," he finishes softly, 
putting his glasses back on and standing.  In an instant, the 
stoic, terse Assistant Director is back, the softer side of him 
hidden again.  "I'm going to do everything in my power to see 
that he's returned, including contacting my unofficial channels."  
His eyes dare me to try and stop him.

"Sir, if They knew something, if They were responsible for this, 
don't you think we would've known?  They would have given us some 
sort of evidence, proof.  They'd want us to know that They were 
responsible," I say, not believing a word of it.  If Skinner 
tries to interfere, They may hurt Mulder, They may kill him, as 
punishment.  I wish I could tell him that.  He may be able to 
help me trick Them or beat Them at Their own game.

"You handle this the way you want to, Scully, and I'll handle it 
the way I want to," he tells me, not liking the pale, drawn look 
on my face as he turns and walks out my door, closing it quietly 
behind him.

<><><><><><>

The time passes quicker than I'd imagined, during the day, 
anyway.  At night, though, the hours linger longer than they 
should and the dark teases me with nightmares about what They're 
doing to Mulder.  I don't sleep much anymore after the sun goes 
down.  A quick nap right after work and I'm up again by nine - I 
have work to do.  I have to look for him, if only to make the 
slowly ticking nighttime hours go by faster.

Working at Quantico allows me to put in forty hour weeks, eight 
to five, Monday to Friday, no weekends, no evenings.  Those are 
spent at home, combing UFO newsgroups and chatrooms, satellite 
photos and reported sightings, quietly searching for the ship.  
So far, I've found nothing promising, but I will.  It has to come 
back some time and I intend to be there when it does, following 
it around like Hippies following The Dead if necessary.

Some early mornings, while the rest of the time zone is happily, 
safely, normally asleep, as I lay alone in my bed with my hands 
on my stomach, feeling the slight bump there, I cry.  No, I sob.  
I moan miserably, desperate for Mulder to come and soothe me, to 
kiss me and make it better, to bring me ice cream and tell me I'm 
not gaining enough weight, to put his head against my stomach and 
talk to the baby.  At those times, I feel like I'm the only 
person left in the world, wondering why God chose to spare me and 
not someone more worthy of life, growth, happiness, miracles.  At 
those times, I'm certain that this time, They've won and that 
I'll never see Mulder again.

Some early mornings, I think of all the different ways I know to 
do a simple abortion in my bathroom - They'd never have to know.  
If this is the only way I can deny Them what They need to succeed 
in Their work, I'll do it without hesitation.  At those times, 
I'm certain that They'll never win, but neither will I.  I won't 
let it be a draw, though.  I'll just have to find another way to 
get Mulder back and keep us safe - my own life be damned.  He 
deserves better than a life of running away from the Bounty 
Hunters because of me.

Some early mornings, I silently search the Internet for 
information.  At those times, I know I'll win - that I'll find 
him.  I don't even notice the baby moving around inside me - a 
secondary, temporary object in my life.

I don't take care of myself like I should - I forget to eat, too 
caught up in my search for evidence or my self-pity, I stopped 
taking the vitamins Dr. Walker recommended simply because it 
required too much self discipline.  I've kept going to my 
prenatal appointments, though, out of simple fear of the 
repercussions to Mulder.  I'm sure that Dr. Walker reports my ill 
health to Them anyway.  He says I'm too skinny, that I'm too 
anemic, that I need to rest and stay off my feet.  He wonders why 
I don't want to look at the ultrasound pictures or know the sex 
of my child.  He asks me about names and if I have any concerns 
about the birth.  He doesn't ask about the father, though.

It's not hard to hide my stomach.  I've stayed about the same 
size everywhere except my waist, so adding black, one-size-too-
big, jackets to my wardrobe and staying seated as much as 
possible while I'm around my co-workers isn't a problem.  Not 
that I socialize much with the other doctors, anyway.  I've 
become more reclusive, more private, and less trusting since 
Mulder disappeared.  My office door stays locked and I stay alone 
as much as possible.  No one notices me and, if they notice my 
stomach, they're not asking any questions.

I've withdrawn from my family, too.  My mother and I had been 
growing increasingly distant over the past few years and I no 
longer talked to her like I used to.  Whenever she calls, she 
tells me stories about Bill and Tara, their perfect little 
family, and how excited she is that Tara's expecting again.  A 
girl, this time, they hope.  I never told her about Mulder's 
disappearance or about the baby - she wouldn't understand, 
anyway, and it's easier to remain silent than it is to try and 
explain.  She's leaving in a few weeks to go to Pearl Harbor and 
help Tara out with the baby; she wants to see me before she goes.  
I tell her that I'm busy at work and won't have time.  She's 
disappointed, but used to it.

The Gunmen probably feel that I've betrayed them by not searching 
for Mulder like he searched for me.  If they only knew the truth, 
they might be able to help me, like Skinner.  I can't endanger 
them, though, and I certainly can't endanger Mulder just because 
I need someone to talk to. 

A long time ago, Mulder told me about this ritual that he had 
when he was a kid: before he would walk into his bedroom, he 
would close his eyes, certain that, when he opened them, Samantha 
would be there playing or laying on his bed like she had never 
mysteriously disappeared.  His exact words to me were, "I'm still 
walking into that room...every day of my life."  At the time, I 
couldn't imagine living my life with my eyes closed, anxious to 
open them to see what I'd missed, but afraid that what I'd missed 
would still be missing.  It's a sad way for anyone to live their 
lives; I couldn't imagine doing it for twenty-seven years.

I've found myself doing it more and more lately, though.  Waking 
up in the early morning dusk, my first thought is not to 
immediately open my eyes.  I guess I think that if I concentrate 
hard enough, if I remind myself that Mulder should be beside me 
in bed or, at the very least, asleep on my couch, and if I listen 
hard enough I can hear him breathing, when I finally open my 
eyes, he'll really be there.

When I walk into my office, I close my eyes as I unlock the door, 
for some reason thinking that he'll be on the other side with 
coffee and those deliciously fattening, buttery chicken biscuits 
he knows I love, ready to give me a smile and a "check this out, 
Scully."

At night, when I'm scanning the message boards and newsgroups for 
any UFO sightings, I close my eyes before I look away from the 
computer screen, thinking that he'll be behind me, ready to mock 
me for finally winning me over to his side.

When I can drag myself into bed at the end of another long, 
fruitless day, I close my eyes and crawl between the sheets, 
thinking that, if I reach out far enough, I'll find him curled on 
the other side of the mattress, radiating Mulderheat.

I've become him in many ways and that makes me feel closer to 
him.  I've begun to live my life with my eyes closed, afraid to 
open them for fear of what I'll see when I do, but afraid to keep 
them closed, afraid of what I'll miss.

And much to my disappointment and shame, everyday, I find myself 
opening my eyes a little more.  Maybe I'm just learning to live 
without him; maybe I've made peace with his absence.

Or maybe I'm just becoming numb.

<><><><><><>

The door to my office slams as Skinner stalks in, leaning over my 
desk and directly into my eyes.  "You're in on this, aren't you?"  
He asks angrily.

"What?"

"You helped Them orchestrate this.  That's the reason you didn't 
go with him to Oregon - it would make you look bad if you let him 
be taken, make it look like you'd failed to watch your partner's 
back.  Those dizzy spells were fake, just so he'd be concerned 
about you and make you stay here.  Isn't that what happened, 
Scully?  Mulder was right from the very beginning - you are a 
little spy.  You've been working against him all these years.  
Everything's been leading to this moment and you executed it 
almost perfectly.  You certainly had me fooled."

Standing before I can think about it and leaning over so that I'm 
face to face with him, I try not to shriek "What the hell are you 
talking about?"  at him and probably not succeeding.

"My unofficial channels," he calmly explains, "told me 
everything.  That you knew about this and went along with it."

I start to panic.  "Sir-"

"How far back does it go, Scully?  What about your abduction, 
your cancer, was that all planned, too?"

"Sir, that's not...that's not what happened."

"That's why you're not investigating his disappearance, isn't it?  
You don't want to incriminate yourself?"  He asks rhetorically.

"I'm not -"  Not what, involved?  I guess I am involved.  "I 
didn't help Them plan this, sir.  How could you think I'd betray 
him like that?"

"Then explain it.  He said you had one more secret, so tell me 
Scully.  Make me believe this.  Make me believe you didn't know 
about this and do nothing to stop it."

I take a deep breath, then lean back, away from him, letting 
tears come and thinking they'll help him see my desperation and 
earnestness.  "I had to make a deal."

Skinner nods, listening, but not believing yet.

"He came to me while you and Mulder were gone - I was in the 
hospital because I had fainted. He told me that I was pregnant -"

His jaw twitches and he leans back, softening.

"- That the baby was a hybrid, but that I was the mother and They 
needed it to gestate naturally.  If I had the baby and gave it to 
Them, They'd return Mulder.  That's the reason They took him, so 
that I wouldn't have a choice but to cooperate," I tell him, my 
voice flat and dull.

"Scully..." he whispers.  "How?"

"When I was with him last Spring, I disappeared with him.  He 
drugged me and one of Their doctors did the procedure."

He hesitates for a moment before breaking eye contact and looking 
at my stomach.  "Does Mulder know?"

"No."

Shaking his head, he walks around the desk until he's beside me, 
reaching out silently to unbutton my jacket and pull it away from 
by body.  Realizing what he's doing, I turn slightly to the side 
and he gasps, seeing the barely-there bulge underneath my shirt.

"Jesus, Scully.  Why didn't you tell me?"  He asks in awe, 
wanting to reach out and touch it to make sure it's really there.

"He said it was supposed to be a secret.  I was afraid that if I 
told anyone, he'd do something to Mulder."

"So, you're going along with this?  You're letting Them do this 
to you?"

"Do I have a choice?"  I ask, my voice thick.

We stare at each other for a moment before he looks away, 
dropping his hands from my body and stepping back.  "What do we 
do in the meantime, then?"

"Just wait.  And hope They don't want to renegotiate."

Nodding, he turns to walk out of my office, pausing in the 
doorway.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  If there's anything I can do..."

I shake my head and he walks out, not saying another word.

<><><><><><>

Today was a good day: I only cried for a few minutes in the 
shower this morning and I remembered to drink half a glass of 
orange juice which I immediately regretted.  I know that the 
folic acid is good for the baby, but the overall acidity of the 
drink is just too much for my stomach to handle.  My "morning" 
sickness ended months ago, but the weakness in my stomach when I 
wake up has lingered.  Sometimes, I can't even brush my teeth 
because it makes me gag.

The sacrifices I make for this thing.  I guess that's what 
parenthood is all about, though, making sacrifices for the well-
being of your child.  If only it was mine - completely, 
permanently mine - I might be a little more willing.

The UFO groupies that Mulder would've fit in so well with have 
been increasingly silent the past few weeks.  Either someone is 
redirecting my connection to the sites or there's just nothing 
out there to discuss.  I went to bed earlier than I have in a 
long time, though, remembering to keep my eyes open as I smooth 
the covers out beside me and glance at the clock, making sure I 
set the alarm.

Oh, and the baby moved today.  I guess that's what that was, 
anyway: just a tiny ripple in my stomach.  I was getting ready to 
go to a class and I pressed my hand against it, stopping in the 
middle of the hallway to try and feel it again.  Mulder would 
love to feel this, I thought, our child saying hello.

Our child?  Not our child.

After class, I went back to my office, locked the door, and cried 
so hard, I vomited into the bathroom sink, then came home early 
to stare at the walls.

Maybe not such a good day after all.  Better than some, though.  
Getting better all the time (can't get no worse, as John would 
say).

Later that night, as I wake up from a dream about Mulder and a 
little boy building sand castles together, I feel something 
dripping between my legs.  Sitting up and switching on the lamp, 
I pull back the covers and look at the sheet underneath me.  It's 
red - blood.

Is this it?  Did They abduct me and take it from me already?  I'm 
barely six months along - he said it would be eight months.  Was 
this Their plan all along, to take what They needed and leave me 
to slowly bleed to death in my own bed?

I'm afraid to move.  I have to get to the hospital, though, but 
the slightest movement I make could make this more serious.  How 
long have I been bleeding?  Why didn't I notice it sooner?  Slow, 
insistent cramps begin, then, getting more and more intense as I 
lay there, wondering what I should do.  Maybe I should call 
someone and have them drive me to the hospital, but who?  No one 
knows about this.  An ambulance?  No, that would draw too much 
attention.  I take some deep breaths and another wave of cramps 
hits me, more blood gushing onto the sheets.  No time to rethink 
this, Dana.  I have to go now.  Slowly, slowly I move out of bed, 
dress, and head towards the nearest hospital.

If They didn't take me, then this is a miscarriage and if I lose 
this baby, They'll kill Mulder.  They'll kill him because of me 
and I'll never see him again.  Then, They'll take me and start 
all over with a new ovum, only this time, there'll be no 
incentive for me to let Them have it.

The admitting nurse calmly listens to my frantic sobs about a 
baby, blood, and how I need help, then helps me lay down and 
stays with me until the doctor can get there.  "Is there anyone I 
can call for you," she asks softly.  "The father?"  That just 
makes me cry harder.

The ER doctor easily finds the baby's heart beat, assuring me 
that it's fine for right now, before sending me up to OB.  They 
admit me and start an IV, claiming I'm dehydrated, then push 
something from a syringe into my blood and tell me to sleep.  I 
can't help it; it must have been a sedative, but I fight it, 
thinking of how a sedative isn't good for the baby and that this 
might be Their opportunity to take me ahead of schedule, kill 
Mulder, and keep me as a brood mare, before I finally can't open 
my eyelids again.

When I wake up, I have a visitor.

"I just heard what happened, Agent Scully.  The doctors assure me 
that your baby should be fine," he says calmly.

I just glare at him: Not my baby.

He smiles evilly.  "You haven't been taking care of yourself very 
well according to Dr. Walker.  Surely you knew that it was 
dangerous, or does it not matter that if your baby dies, so does 
Agent Mulder."

"You son of a bitch."

"I've spoken with my associates about this.  Apparently, we 
didn't anticipate the degree of your...connection with him.  We'd 
always assumed that Mulder's loyalty and dedication to you wasn't 
reciprocated."

"What the hell does that mean?"  I snap, not wanting him to 
realize how much his words have stung me.  If They couldn't tell, 
how could I have expected Mulder to?

He gets an almost regretful, far away look on his face as he 
says, "You miss him a great deal, don't you Agent Scully?  And 
you're willing to sacrifice your only chance at motherhood for 
his safety."

"Yes," I answer automatically.  "Not like I ever had a choice 
anyway."

"Oh, you did.  You seemed anxious to make a deal according to the 
original terms.  If you'd been reluctant, we might have allowed 
you to keep this child.  Surely you know there are others like 
you.  This baby can easily be replaced.  Surprisingly, you were 
quite adamant regarding Agent Mulder's eventual return."  He 
stops, assessing my open mouth and wide eyes.  "You can't have 
them both, Agent Scully, and you've already made your decision.  
Unless you'd care to change your mind?"

My voice fails me at first, my jaw moving soundless, before I 
manage a weak, non-committal,  "No."

"Good.  While we've been watching your gradual decline in health, 
we've been discussing what we could do to reverse it.  There's 
only one feasible option that we'd consider, even though it took 
a great deal of convincing on the Alien Bounty Hunter's part - 
beyond taking you to one of our hospitals until the birth."  I 
narrow my eyes at him and he grins, glad to have finally gotten 
me angry.  "I've always tried to protect you and Agent Mulder 
when I've felt it was necessary and this is one of those times.  
To ensure your baby's safety, They're willing to return Agent 
Mulder to you now as insurance."    

"When?  Where?"

"First, you have to assure me that you'll take better care of 
your baby, Agent Scully.  If you don't, we can easily take him 
again and this time, we won't be so...accommodating towards him."

"Tell me he's all right," I say slowly.  "You promise me that 
he's safe."

"He's safe, Agent Scully.  It was my one condition in this whole 
matter, that he stay safe."  For some reason, I believe him.  
Maybe it's because I want to.  Maybe it's because I need to.  "Is 
it a deal?"

"Yes," I say in a much stronger voice than I feel.

Another evil smile.  "Good, good.  I'll let them know."  Then, he 
turns and walks to the door.

"Wait a minute!  What about Mulder?"  I scream, sitting up 
abruptly and immediately regretting it.

"He'll be returned to you soon.  In the meantime, rest and try 
not to worry about him," he says, a much too delighted look on 
his face as he disappears into the hallway.

<><><><><><>

It was one of those nights that you just wanted to light a fire 
in the fireplace - whether it was actually cold enough to or not 
- put on your oldest, most comfortable pajjamas, then fix some hot 
chocolate and curl up on the couch with a good book, movie, or 
partner/friend/recent lover: one of those nights when the rain 
never seemed to end.  Clouds had covered the sky all day and it 
had drizzled off and on, never falling too hard that you'd need 
to turn your windshield wipers to "lo," you could leave them on 
"delay."  Walking across the parking lot to and from work this 
morning, the tiny, cold rain drops had stung my skin in a 
refreshing way, reminding me that, for one more day, at least, I 
was alive and I could feel.  They hit my contacts and made little 
blurry spots that disappeared when I'd close my eyes.  A messy 
day that you didn't want to go out in if you didn't have to and 
certainly not at night.  

Yet, for some reason, I'm not in front of my blazing fireplace in 
my oldest, most comfortable pajamas with some hot chocolate, 
book, movie, or partner/friend/recent lover.  I'm in the middle 
of the woods.

What snapped me out of my zombie-like state was the baby kicking.  
It's been doing that more and more often lately and it must not 
like the cold and wet anymore than I do.  I stop walking and 
stare up at the black, star-less sky, wondering what the hell I'm 
doing here and why.

The wind picks up, then, and the soaked tree branches shake the 
water off of themselves and onto me.  My hair plastered to my 
face, my clothes soaked, my teeth chattering, and my toes and 
fingers numb, I do the only logical thing: I start to cry.

They're small, quiet, choking whimpers at first but quickly 
become long, painful things that reverberate in the open air 
around me, sounding like a dying animal, alone and afraid.

And I am: alone and afraid, that is.  I may as well be dying 
anyway, though, for all the good my life is to anyone right now.  
Somehow, I've become a brood mare for a multi-national 
governmental conspiracy to create successful alien-human hybrids, 
someone whom They'll take anything and everything from to ensure 
that I fulfill that capacity to Their satisfaction, someone whom 
They can call to anywhere They choose at any time for whatever 
sadistic and self-serving reasons They develop.  Someone who has 
no choice over her own future.  Slowly, I sink down to the 
squishy-soft ground against a tree trunk, draw my knees as close 
as possible to my chest, wrap my arms around them, bury my face 
in the little hole I've created, and sob.

Is this just a test to see if They still have this power over me?  
Is this where They're going to abduct me from and take my baby -

No, dammit.  It.  The antithesis of humanity and happiness inside 
me.  THE baby.  Not mine.  Never mine.

Or is this where They're going to kill me because I'm not useful 
anymore?  Or because I know too much and I'm a danger to Them?

They promised me Mulder would be returned and I've been taking 
better care of myself - eating more, gaining weight, resting, 
staying off my feet as much as possible - much to Dr. Walker's 
and Their approval.  I should've known, though.  One day, I'll 
learn not to trust Them, even when They say that Mulder's life 
depends on it.  Trust no one, Deep Throat said.

After my sobs have quieted to a dull, pathetic keening, I hear an 
abbreviated, painful moan from somewhere in the distance and snap 
my head up, waiting and watching.

It's completely dark now.  I don't have a flashlight or my gun.  
For some reason, They didn't think it was important for me to 
have either here.

Again, the sound: a definite moan of pain, the voice slightly 
rough, like it's been overused lately.  Leaves rustling - it's 
just a few feet ahead of me, the moaning just isn't very loud.  I 
stand up quickly, keeping my back against the tree trunk and 
wrapping my arms around it for support, trying not to make a 
sound.

Something that sounds like a deep breath - an exhale of 
exhaustion and frustration.  Nothing after that.

There was supposed to be a full moon tonight.  The clouds had 
obscured it but, occasionally, there would be a break in them or 
a thin spot and it would shine through, barely illuminating the 
night:  a body about fifty feet in front of me.  Fully clothed.  
Lying on its side.  Dark hair.  Blue jeans.  Dark jacket.

"Mulder?  Mulder," I ask desperately, running over and kneeling 
beside him.  His eyes are closed and his breathing is erratic.  
He's shivering, God, he's so cold.  No bruises, no blood.  Just 
cold.  "Mulder, can you hear me?  Wake up.  Mulder, wake up.  
It's me, Mulder.  Please, come on, wake up.  It's Scully."

"Mmmm..." is all I get at first, but I try to turn him over onto 
his back to see if he has any wounds on his chest or if his 
airway's obstructed.

"Mulder...come on, wake up.  You're safe now.  You're with me, 
wake up.  You're okay."

He winces as I touch his throat to feel his pulse and moans 
again, finally forming a syllable.  "Sc..."

"Mulder, open your eyes.  Look at me.  Mulder, please.  It's me."  
I start crying again - he's not responding.  Dammit, he said They 
wouldn't hurt him!

"Sc..." he moans again, turning his head towards me.  "Sc--ee."

"Yes, Mulder, it's me.  Open you eyes and look at me."  I have to 
get him to the car - did I even drive up here?  Where is here?  I 
don't even know where the nearest hospital is.

He's not injured - at least, not that I can see and I don't want 
to undress him in the middle of the cold rain.  I have to get him 
to a hospital and I have to get him to my car - my keys are in my 
pocket, so I must've driven.  I slide my arms underneath his and 
pull, then decide I don't have any leverage from this position 
and stand, trying again.

"No," he whispers faintly, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and 
tensing his body.

"Mulder, it's me.  It's Scully.  I'm not going to hurt you, I 
just need to get you out of here.  I can't lift you, you're going 
to have to stand.  Can you do that?  Can you stand and walk?  I 
can't carry you, you have to try," I encourage him, trying to 
lift again.

"Scully?"  He asks, sounding drunk, and not opening his eyes.

"Yes, Mulder, it's me.  Stand up, we have to get out of here."

Finally, he starts to comply and stiffly wraps his arms around my 
shoulders, trying to pull himself up.  When we're awkwardly 
standing, me holding him up while he sags against me, it occurs 
to me that I have no idea in which direction I came and how to 
get back to the car.

His head lolls and he makes a painful sound again, starting to 
slip back towards the ground.  Deciding it might be easier to 
keep him awake if we're moving, I lead us straight ahead, into 
the darkness.

Half an hour later, after the rain has started coming down harder 
and Mulder is officially unconscious, we reach the parking lot 
and my car.  I maneuver him into the passenger's seat, then slide 
into the drivers, my stomach bumping against the steering wheel 
as I reach over to adjust his vents and turn the heater on high.  
Taking off my jacket and draping it over him, then turning his 
head towards me, I take the time to stroke his too-white cheek 
and push the longer hair back from his face.  "Mulder," I 
whisper, knowing he can't hear me.  "You're safe now.  You're 
safe with me."  I take a deep, watery breath, and kiss his 
forehead before putting the car in reverse and trying to find our 
way home.

<><><>End Part One<><><>

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