The Naked Kitties, Part Four: But What Happens to the Bodies?The Naked Kitties, Part Four: But What Happens to the Bodies? Headers and Notes with Prologue and can be found where ever fic is posted. <><><><><><> When I can think again, I'm surprised to be in a warm bed with soft sheets. It's quiet around me, but there's noise outside, muffled by something - a door? They have me in a room, then. My arms aren't restrained which I find odd - surely They knew I'd regain consciousness and try to get away. Or maybe They're watching me from somewhere, ready to storm in and threaten me - or threaten Mulder - if I try to move. Yes, They're surveilling me right now. They just wanted me to be comfortable while They emotionally torture me. I raise one hand and feel around my abdomen - everything is fuzzy and tingling from my waist down and there's a bandage that runs the length of the area far below my navel. The skin above that, where the baby was, is loose and flabby, kind of; empty. They took it. They really took it - it's gone. Forever. Another child I'll never get to see grow up - No, this is different. It's not like Emily, it's...it's different. I didn't want it. I didn't need it, I couldn't have raised it. I turn my head on the soft pillow, licking my dry lips and wondering if I even want to open my eyes. No, I decide. I'll lay here in blissful ignorance for a while. Soon enough, They'll come in and tell me what They've decided to do with me. I wonder where Mulder is. Surely he's not here - the Smoking Man didn't say anything about taking him, too. Is he still at the hospital, thinking I'm being treated by doctors there? Or is he already a basket case, searching for me, searching for the baby. I wonder, if he had to make a choice between me and the baby, who he would choose. Maybe I don't want to know. God, I'm so exhausted. My whole body aches and it hurts to even think. I just want to sleep...forever would be nice, but I'd settle for eight hours of uninterrupted perfect unconsciousness. There's a soft knock on the door, then someone with squishy- sounding shoes enters, trying to be quiet. They know I'm awake, why are They bothering? "Dana," a gentle voice asks. "Are you awake, honey?" She doesn't sound like one of Them, not that I really remember what They sound like. Maybe she's a decoy, a red-herring. I blink my eyes open slowly, closing them against the bright, harsh sunlight that scorches them. "I saw that," she says teasingly. "You're probably still groggy from the anesthetic, huh?" Laying in this weak, prone position makes me an easy target, I realize, and I try to sit up. I don't get far - not only does a sharp, burning pain slice through my abdomen and my head get light, but the Decoy Nurse pushes on my shoulder, easing me back down. "You can't get up yet, honey. Lay back down and rest." I hear Velcro being torn and she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm, inflating it until my whole body aches from the pressure. "Still a little low," she says more to herself than to me, or maybe it's to the surveillance cameras. "I'm gonna page Dr. Thomas and tell her you're awake; she'll want to talk to you. I know you're tired, honey, but do you think you can stay awake for a few more minutes?" She asks, the cuff hissing as it deflates. I don't answer, but surely she doesn't expect me to. She removes the cuff from my arm and squishes back out of the room, leaving me in the still silence. Dr. Thomas must be the person overseeing the experiment. Hell will thaw before I'll let her touch me. When I try to sit up this time, the lightheadedness returns along with black spots in front of my eyes. The pain in my abdomen settles into a dull throb centered beneath the bandage. I lift the gown They've dressed me in and rip the gauze away, revealing a neat, thin red line, the stitches pulled tight. When I touch it, the immediate area around it is numb while the rest of it radiates fire. Strange; I wonder what They used to make the incision. Clothes, I need clothes. The ones I was wearing have to be here, but I can't remember what Mulder dressed me in during his panicked hurry to get me to the hospital. The tile floor under my feet is like little squares of ice; I can't stand. My legs are too weak and I can't stand up. God, what have They done to me. I grip the edge of the nightstand - an oversight in Their staging: hospital rooms don't have rich, wooden furniture pieces, wallpaper, and curtains - and try to pull myself up, starting to succeed when another surge of dizziness overwhelms me and I collapse onto the bed again, clutching my abdomen, trying to suffocate the flames there. Decoy Nurse and Dr. Thomas, who must've been watching all of this from the monitor, choose that moment to enter, both running to me and making some noise about how I wasn't supposed to try and get up yet. Too weak to fight them, They arrange me in the bed. Dr. Thomas examines my incision, tells Decoy Nurse I haven't pulled any of them out, and to see if she can reach my husband. "Tell him she's awake," she orders her. Husband? I don't have a husband. "Dana, I want you to listen to me, okay? My name is Amanda Thomas and I'm your obstetrician. I'm the doctor who delivered your daughter last night, but you probably don't remember that. Are you listening?" Daughter? I don't have a daughter, either. Not one I've given birth to, anyway. What the hell is she talking about? I blink at her a few times, belying my confusion. "This incision is from your c-section. You may remember the ER physician telling you we were going to try and wait to see if you were in false labor last night or if your contractions would stop on their own. Do you remember, Dana?" The last thing I remember is Mulder screaming, terrified, for a nurse and telling me he had to call Skinner. "The baby's heart rate was dropping, as was your blood pressure, and when your water broke a few minutes later, you went into vasogenic shock and we delivered to save both of you. Luckily, it worked." She waits for me to react, but all I can do is stare at her with an open mouth and wide eyes. "Dana," she says, more softly, "your baby is in extremely critical condition in our Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Her lungs are underdeveloped and her blood sugar was very low from the stress of the delivery. I'm not going to make you any promises, but we're doing everything we can to help her. We've got her on a ventilator and some steroids to help her lungs and we're monitoring her around the clock. She's got the best doctors and nurses in all of DC helping her. Right now, you need to worry about yourself first - your blood pressure is still low and you lost a lot of blood from the surgery. There was a tear in your uterus and your husband asked us to try and fix it instead of doing a hysterectomy if we could, and we finally did. You'll be laying here for a little while and the sooner you rest and heal, the sooner you can go see your daughter. Okay?" No, no, no, no, it's not okay. It's not supposed to happen this way - you're supposed to take the baby and return me and let Mulder and me pick up where we left off before this whole thing happened. I'm not supposed to have to watch another child die and not be able to do anything about it. Damn it, notmychild, notmychild, notmychild. It deserves to die, it's a project, an experiment, an abomination. "Your husband was upstairs, but I had Hannah call him and tell him you were awake, so he should be here in a few minutes. We've already discussed this, so he knows everything I've just told you. Do you have any questions?" Who are you? Where am I? Why didn't this work like They told me it would? "It's a lot to be confronted with all at once, I know. I'm sure you'll think of something. Your husband can have me paged if you need me. Just rest and try not to worry too much, okay?" She squeezes my arm once, smiles slightly, then leaves. He lied to me. Mulder did something to make Them leave the baby here with me. He traded himself for it. And what if it dies? Will They let him come back? Or will I be alone? Goddamn you, Mulder, you selfish, arrogant, son of a bitch. Tiny, hot tears slide over my temples and disappear into my hair as a thought occurs to me: this time, there's nothing stopping me from looking for him. That's what I'll do. I'll get Skinner and the Gunmen to help me - or not, I can do this on my own - and we'll find him and bring down Ol' Smokey and the rest of Them. And what about the baby? A little voice inside my head asks. <><><><><><> I'm half-dozing, half-planning when the door to my room squeaks open and someone walks in, stopping two steps from the doorway. I don't have my contacts in, so all I can see is a tall man in a dark suit - it could be anyone. The Smoking Man himself, maybe? Come to collect what's his and chastise me for being so gullible and complacent while he took everything that mattered from me. A few more steps towards me and the man stops again. "Agent Scully?" A deep, gentle voice asks me. Skinner. Is this "my husband?" Did I fall down a rabbit hole somewhere? "Scully, are you awake?" He asks me a little louder. "Yes," I try to answer. It comes out as a dry whisper, but he hears it and approaches the bed, dropping his large hand down to my arm and wrapping his fingers around it, not squeezing, just holding. "How are you feeling?" "Where's Mulder?" He makes a pained face like he knew that question was coming, glances behind him, and lets go of my arm. Pulling the strangely out-of-place wooden rocking chair up, he sits, then simply stares at me, a little nervous. "He made some kind of deal, didn't he? Himself for the baby. Did They take him again or did They just kill him this time?" "Scully," he starts, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose like he's been rehearsing this scene in his head since Mulder called him last night and has just forgotten his lines. "I can't tell you that." "Yes, you can. You have to. This concerns me as much as it does him and I think I have a right to know, dammit. Tell me where he is." "I can't." We argue silently with our eyes for a few seconds before he blinks and looks down at his hands, helpless. "Then I guess I'll have to find him without you," I say flippantly, pushing the covers off and secretly dreading trying to stand again. "Scully, stop. Lay down. You just had surgery -" I arch my right eyebrow at him and beg him to tell me why I should continue to stay here instead of look for my partner/friend/lover/possible fiance. "I promised Mulder I wouldn't tell you where he went or what he was doing. I won't break that promise." "He could be in danger...sir," I add icily. He clenches his teeth, narrows his eyes, and says in a deep, stern voice. "Let me assure you, Agent, that I wouldn't let him endanger himself without adequate support and backup." "So he is with Them, then? What did you do, send the entire VCS with him for backup?" "That's enough, Scully!" The dizziness comes back from my anger and he must notice it because his eyes soften. He looks away while I lay back down, grateful to put my head against the pillow again. "He asked me to tell you not to worry about him, just to worry about yourself and your daughter," he finally says, putting his glasses back on and gripping the bedrail tightly. "Did he also tell you to pretend to be my husband so you could have access to us?" I ask, a little weaker and breathier than I'd intended. He snaps his eyes to me, deciding not to answer and further implicate himself. "Agent Mulder knows what he's doing, Scully, we both know that. Trust him." "I do trust him, sir. I just don't trust Them." He sighs helplessly. "He asked me to stay here with you until he gets back," he admits. "He didn't specify how long that would be, but he made it plain it could be a while." On either side of my hips, I clench the blankets tightly in my fists. "Those friends of yours are taking turns watching the baby - just to make sure no one tries to bother her and that she's getting the attention and care she needs. Mulder arranged that, too. The doctors ran some blood tests on her as soon as she was born, just as they do on all infants, and found no abnormalities, genetic or otherwise. Other than being a little too early and a little too tiny, she's normal and healthy." I look away from him, tears starting to come again. "Congratulations, Scully," he says softly. "I'll be outside if you need me." <><><><><><> I remember when Matthew was born. Tara was falling asleep every five minutes, waking up when someone came in the room and yelling at them to leave her alone, that she was tired. Bill was beside himself with his perfect little baby boy. Mom smiled a lot and nudged me to do the same. I was numb. Down the hall, my daughter was dying and there was nothing I could do to help her or ease her pain. Mom had come to me the night they brought Tara in and told me to come join the family. "I am with my family," I told her sadly, looking past her and at Mulder, who was standing outside Emily's room, pale and helpless and sorry and exhausted. Mom turned to look, too, then stood up a little straighter, not knowing what to say as she walked back to the maternity ward. After she finally died that night, while I was laying beside her, counting her breaths and feeling her pulse, I told Mulder I was going to see how Tara was doing. He asked if I wanted him to come with me and, when I didn't answer right away, he put his hand on my back and steered us towards the elevator. I didn't realize how much time had passed, but the sun was just beginning to rise over the tops of the buildings outside. Matthew was curled up in his bassinette on display for the world, healthy and normal. No one else was there looking, just me and Mulder. "He's beautiful," I whispered to the glass window. Mulder nodded, his hand still pressed against my back. "I don't know why I tried to adopt her. My life isn't conducive to a child and certainly not one as sick as she was. I guess I just thought she deserved to be loved just like any other child. I thought I could give that to her." Shaking my head and looking away, I said softly to myself, "I don't know what I was thinking." "She did deserve to be loved, Scully, and you could've given it to her. You did give it to her," he whispered close to my ear. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes against the tears I felt forming there, and exhaled slowly. "I couldn't have done it alone, though. She wouldn't have deserved that." After a moment, he spoke again. "You wouldn't have been alone." Inside the nursery, a baby started to cry and a nurse picked it up, murmuring comforting words. "We created a child, Scully. It may not have been the romantically approved way, but we both had a hand in her conception. I would've done anything I could to help you." "Did I make the right decision? To let her die instead of treating her?" I asked, placing my palm against the cool glass and touching my nephew. "Yes," he told me. Later, he stood outside Tara's room waiting to take me back to their house for the night. The nurses had brought Matthew into visit and Bill and Mom were passing him around, assuring an exasperated Tara he was the cutest baby they'd ever seen and arguing over who he looked like. When my turn came, Mom held him out to me and I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself and looking down at the floor. The conversation ceased and everyone stared at me, wondering why I didn't want to hold him. I didn't tell them Emily had died earlier. They wouldn't have cared. "I'm going home," I told them, walking out the door. I had a funeral to plan, after all. Later, I overheard Mom and Bill talking about me. Bill accused me of being selfish and unable to be happy for anyone who has something I want. Mom defended me weakly, saying he could never understand what it was like to be denied your role as a woman: to procreate, reproduce, to leave something behind for the world after you're gone. I'd never understood that, either. How children can come to define who you are and how you impact the world. In a way, working on the X-Files - making the world a safer place - had become my gift to the world. I had contented myself to that, pushing all thoughts of motherhood and babies who looked like me (or Mulder) to the back of my mind. I wasn't lying to Mulder when I told him I didn't want this baby. There's no sense in wanting something you can never have, after all. And then to have it and lose it again? Would God be so cruel? I picture Mulder in the NICU, standing beside our baby, his finger ringed by four tiny ones, praying she lives while I pray that she doesn't, just so I don't have to learn to love her only to have her taken away. Maybe Bill was right. Maybe I am selfish. <><><><><><> Nurses bustled in a few hours after Skinner left, smiling and asking me if I was ready to try and walk. I didn't say anything but, apparently, I didn't have much of a choice. They helped me stand, told me to take some deep breaths and slow down when I almost fell back onto the bed as the first slice of fire ripped through my abdomen, and steadied me as I shuffled down the hall and back to my room again. Skinner stood back, watching, a sad look on his face. After I was back in bed, one of the nurses promised me that, after I rested a little, I could go see my daughter. I shook my head at her, looking away. "What's the matter?" She asked. "I don't want to see her," I said in a steady, deep voice. She blinked at me, then told me to rest and she'd be back later. "I'm sure you'll change your mind," she added on her way out. If she only knew. The maternity ward of a hospital is a depressing place to be for those who can't look forward to going home with a healthy child. All the mothers, exhausted and excited, hold their babies out so their husbands can see, exchanging wonder and marvel and disbelief. And I lay here, listening, wondering where my Mulder is and what kind of havoc the hybrid child will create for us in the future. I understand why Tara was so angry when we wouldn't leave her alone, though. All I want to do is sleep and be warm and without pain. And not alone. The sun sets and the nurse who promised me I'd change my mind never comes back. After a shift change, a different nurse's weak attempts to get me to eat some dinner, and a brief visit from Dr. Hammond, I turn onto my side as much as I can, then close my eyes, willing my heart to slow down so the dull throbbing in my abdomen will as well. There's a quiet sound of a door opening, then muffled footsteps across the tile to the bed. A hush of denim on cotton as someone sits down in the rocking chair beside me. Warm fingers reaching for my cold ones underneath the blankets, finding, then soft lips pressed against each of my knuckles. "Hey," he whispers, smiling, as I open my eyes. I don't know whether the tears are in anger or happiness, but they're abundant and scalding. "Where were you?" I manage to get out without sounding too pathetic or desperate. He leans closer to me, pressing his lips against each of my eyebrows, then the bridge of my nose. "I had some things to take care of. How are you feeling?" I lean into his warmth, not answering. "I brought you something." He turns on the bedside lamp and reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, holding a Polaroid picture out to me. "This is her," he says slowly, his face awash with awe. There's a mass of tubes and wires that meet in the center of a plastic-covered bed - a tiny, red splotch with a white diaper at one end and a plastic knit cap at the other. "The nurses said you hadn't been able to go see her. She's beautiful, Scully. She's...she's so small. She can fit in my palm. Her doctor says she's strong, though. I told him it runs in the family." He leans down for another kiss on my cheek, licking his lips where my tears were. I place my finger on the smooth plastic of the picture, my mouth agape, as if I could touch her through it. "We need a name. Do you have any ideas?" My hand comes up, shaking, to dry my cheeks. "What about Katherine. That's pretty, don't you think? What about a middle name?" I look back at him, wondering why he's even bothering. "I knew a girl once whose name was Anice. Katherine Anice Mulder. How does that sound?" He smiles, then looks back at the picture, away from me. "Help me out, Scully," he says, mesmerized by the tiny, red splotch. "It doesn't matter," I whisper to him weakly, swallowing a deep, painful sob. He exhales quickly, then looks back at me, his face hard, angry. "What's it gonna take, Scully? She's here. She's-she'll be fine. They're not gonna take her. What more do you need?" "I need to know what you did. I need you to stop lying to me and pretending we're a happy little family. Mulder, I can't...you promised. I can't lose you again." "You won't," he says firmly. "I didn't lie to you. I didn't do anything." "Then why weren't you here? You send Skinner and the Gunmen to watch us and make sure no one bothers us, you tell me the deal I made is off now, you go out at night and meet with God knows who, promising them God knows what for this...this thing -" "Our daughter, Scully. She's not a thing, she's a baby, a little girl. A normal little girl," he interrupts. "I had genetic tests done: everything's fine. I had a paternity test done and she's mine. She's ours, Scully. Why can't you accept that?" "For how long? How long before They decide They need her and take her again?" "They won't!" "How do you know?" "Because, I -" He stops, swallows, and looks down, focusing on the picture. "If you could just see her," he starts again, softer. "Scully, I know you're afraid, you're afraid to love her and get attached to her, but she needs it. She needs you with her. The more contact preemies have with their parents, the sooner they go home, Scully, it's a statistical fact." I shake my head, looking out at the dark night and the few lights left on in the buildings around the hospital. "Then you can lay here and feel sorry for yourself," he says, standing up angrily. "I'll be upstairs with our daughter when you're ready to grow up and stop acting so damn pitiful and selfish." I notice he left me the picture of her as he walks out the door; I could call him back and give it to him. I don't. <><><><><><> He drug me to bed half way through an MSNBC special on the rising costs of infertility treatments and the various options couples were choosing to try and increase their odds of pregnancy. I think I was still crying but, by that time, I was nearly numb to whatever was going on outside my body. All I remember was him pulling me up and guiding me to his bed, laying me down, then sliding in beside me and pulling me close. I must've started sobbing quietly again because he squeezed me and kissed my temple, repeated the cycle until the whimpers subsided. "Why didn't you tell me, Scully?" He whispered softly into my hair, trying to stop me from shaking. "Tell you what?" "That you wanted...this." "I didn't know. Sometimes it just hits me how much I want something I can't have. Or maybe it's just knowing I can't have it if I did want it." Logically, I know I'm no more able to care for a child now than I was two years ago when I tried to adopt Emily. But still, I'd at least like to have the choice. He just nods silently, sliding his legs over mine and enveloping me completely. "I guess we should've discussed this before we started sleeping together," I finally say, breaking what is for me an awkward silence. "It wouldn't have made a difference." "How can you say that, Mulder? You just told me you wanted it and I can't give it to you. That's unfair to you and selfish of me," I trail off, afraid of what would happen to me if he agreed and ended this new facet of our relationship, pursuing a future with someone who could give him as many children as he wanted. "There are other options," he says slowly, gauging my reaction. "There's adoption, surrogate motherhood -" "It wouldn't be ours." "We could make it ours." I shake my head vigorously, pushing my face further into the pillow. "What do you want me to say, then? That you're right, I shouldn't have gotten involved with you when I knew I wanted kids? That I'm gonna abandon you 'cause you can't give me children? Do you think this is that flippant? Do you not take this seriously?" "How serious is it?" We're silent and still for a few minutes, the only sound the faint rustling of the sheets as we breathe nearly in tandem. After almost ten minutes, he speaks again, his words simply breath with deep tones attached. "I've been thinking a lot about that, Scully. Since they're shutting down the X-Files anyway...what happens next? I know...I think we're both ready for it to end and I think this would be a good time for that to happen." That was the night before he left for Oregon. If we only knew what kind of an ending it really was. "Scully," he whispers, turning me onto my back so he's looming over me in the darkness. "Promise me that whatever happens, you won't end this and say it's for me. You know what I want most; let me keep it." Had I known that was the last time we'd make love for a long while, I'd have been more attentive and present. He tried to coax me into relaxing but settled for me being moderately aroused and clinging to him like I was terrified he'd get away, which I was. The next morning, I was sore from holding him against me so tightly. He was just gone, leaving empty promises and a surplus damp spot on the sheet. <><><><><><> The NICU is softly lit, leaving most of it in darkness. The young nurse who meets me at the door says it's because the babies aren't ready for all the sensations of the world: light, sound, touches, so they try to keep it as dim and quiet as possible. We stop at a sink where she asks me to wash my hands; procedure, to protect against germs, she needlessly explains. Mulder is in the back, sitting on the edge of another wooden rocking chair, his hand in a port door on one of the isolettes. The tiny, red splotch is on the other side of the door, her little chest rising and falling rapidly, a pastel pink blanket draped over one side of the plastic that's covering her. The nurse leaves me standing there, staring at them, murmuring something about being there if I need her. I don't really hear her; I'm not really paying attention. He must know I'm there. He turns around and smiles slightly, withdrawing his hand from the isolette and standing, helping me to sit and watching me carefully as I wince against sore muscles. I know what all these machines are, I know what they do. The tube down her throat to help her breath, the catheter in her umbilical stump to eliminate waste, the IV in her heel for food, the sensors taped to her chest to monitor her heart. It's still scary, though, to see all of them attached to such a tiny, helpless thing. Girl, Dana. It's a girl. Your little girl. Mulder kneels next to me, one hand lightly resting on my back, the other touching the baby again. "She likes it when you touch the insides of her elbows," he whispers so softly, I barely even hear the words. With blurry eyes, I reach through the door, imitating his light strokes with the tip of my finger. Her skin is so soft. He must notice me shaking because the hand on my back starts rubbing gently: soothing. "See how her head's turned towards us? She wants to play." "Is she asleep?" "No. She hasn't opened her eyes yet. I'm hoping for blue." "Most babies have blue eyes when they're born," I tell him, my voice thick and useless. "Hopefully, they'll stay that way. Like yours," he adds. "Your nose and chin and I think I see a few wisps of brown hair under her cap." I shake my head. "How did we do this?" "You're the doctor, you don't remember?" He teases. "She's perfect, though." "Is she?" "She is," he assures me. We sit in silence for a few minutes, both in awe of what we've created until he quietly breaks the silence, still staring at her. "The Gunmen brought the blanket. Langly bet on a boy, so he owes Byers, Frohike, and me cheese steaks." I nod, remembering how worried they were about me when I fainted, before any of this even started. "Scully, I didn't make a deal. I couldn't. Skinner and I couldn't find the Smoking Man - we assume he's dead." I open my mouth to ask questions, but he shakes his head, asking me to let him finish. "I do remember things from when I was abducted, Scully. The Bounty Hunters talking - planning, I guess. They thought I was unconscious, but I guess I wasn't. They were using the Smoking Man, making him think they were working together when really they just wanted him for his access to us. Their plans were to kill him, kill me, and take you and the baby. When I remembered this, I told Skinner. We were going to try and make a deal: your safety - our safety," he amends, "for what I just told you. Saving his life so he could protect ours. Skinner put out feelers, but we never found him. "The staff here tried to contact Dr. Walker and let him know you were in labor, but the number for his office was disconnected and the rooms were empty when I went looking for him. I think They realized she," he nods to our daughter, "wasn't what They thought she was and They tried to take everything away. He was instructed to induce labor assuming she couldn't survive this early. She surprised Them, though." "What about us?" I ask, strangely calm at his revelation. "That I don't know. Most likely, They'll just retreat and lick Their wounds." "Planning the next wave against us?" "I don't know. I think we know too much about Them for Them to simply try and threaten us into submission, though." "They'd just kill us instead." "The last thing we need to do is hide from Them," he says as if he's been thinking about this for a while and has all the details worked out. "We need to be as visible as possible so that if anything happens, people will ask questions." "What about her?" I ask, inhaling deeply for the first time in eight months. He smiles. "We take her home and watch her grow up." I nod, sliding my finger down her arm until it rests in her palm. In response, her fingers curl around it, holding tightly. "That's where I was. I went to find Dr. Walker and, when I couldn't, I just went back to the house, getting it ready. Her room's all fixed. The rest of the house is empty. As soon as you're ready, we can move in." "What if I'm not ready?" I ask him quietly. "Then we'll wait." "What if I'm never ready?" "You will be," he promises. <><><><><><> I think I'm living in a dream now. The baby - Katherine, I keep reminding myself - was able to come home after six weeks in the NICU. She's still tiny, but her doctor thinks she's healthy and will grow up to have a normal life. So far, she hasn't shown any symptoms of anemia or any other blood or genetic disorders. Her eyes are blue, much to Mulder's delight, and he calls her his Katie Blue. He insists I wear the engagement ring he gave me, saying it's part of the effect of the happy little suburban couple: we need to appear normal for the neighbors, Scully. I know it's really just hopefulness on his part. When I go out, I wear it and the wedding band he bought to match his. As soon as I get back home, I take off both, maintaining it's dishonest. He wears his ring all the time. If I ask him why, he says it's to get used to it. I didn't want to stop working so he didn't force me to. Instead, he stays home with Katherine and, much to my surprise, does all the housework without complaint. They're always waiting at the door to greet me when I get home and I'm always tempted to get back in my car and leave, sure I have the wrong house. Katherine giggles as Mulder kisses her, murmuring that mommy's home and then kisses me, asking me how my day was and frowning when the ring comes off with my watch and shoes. He sleeps beside me at night and insists it's better for Katherine if she sleeps in a bassinet beside our bed. I know it's just so he doesn't have as far to walk when he gets up to check on her twenty times every night. When she cries, he's up immediately and heading down to the kitchen for a bottle or to the nursery for a diaper change. He says it's so I can rest and because I'm the one who has to get up early. It doesn't even feel like my life. Mulder is still Mulder, but he's happy now; content. His romantic notions are obnoxious and his patience and gentleness with the baby are shockingly natural. At night, after she's asleep, he'll tell me about a documentary he saw on the Discovery Channel about Atlantis, saying we should take a vacation one year and see if we can find it. He doesn't mean it, though. The next morning, he'll tell me very seriously he's done with that part of his life now; that we - Katherine and I - are his life. He doesn't know this, but I keep a picture of them together on my desk at work. When people ask me who the baby is, I say automatically that she's my daughter, then wonder why it was so automatic. As I walk to and from my car every day, I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching and waiting to follow me home. I'm still convinced that, any day now, this perfect life Mulder has created for us will shatter and collapse on top of us, crushing us under its weight. So far, though, no one has watched me and no one has followed me. Katherine continues to grow and learn and amaze us with her infant babbling. Mulder continues to assert that she's the most beautiful and intelligent child ever born, whispering to me while I'm rocking her that he loves me and asking me when I'll be ready to get married. I continue to shake my head, kiss Katherine's little palm, and he continues to tell me he'll wait forever, but she won't. "For her, Scully," he repeats like a mantra. I never ask him if we'll have forever. I just nod and refuse to admit she's become my life, that everything I do now is for her. I practice three times a week at the shooting range for her. I keep something we could use as a weapon in every room for her. I sleep only a few hours a night, always on alert, for her. I watch my rear view mirrors as I drive for her. They didn't take her, but sometimes I wonder if I wish They had. It would've been so much easier if They had, I think some nights as Mulder paces up and down the hallways as she cries, colicky. It would've devastated him if They had. It would've numbed me if They had. But They left her here - or maybe They never intended to take her at all. The damage is done, though, regardless of whether or not They decided to take her back or leave her with us. Regardless of whether or not she really is ours, completely and naturally. Regardless of whether or not I can ever convince myself of either. Sometimes, I want to ask Mulder why They did this. If They wanted to break us, to stop us from working and searching and threatening Them, They've won. If They wanted to separate us on a deep, visceral level, so that we'll always wonder who the other's talking to on the phone late one night, They've won. Mulder once told me that there was more than one way to skin a cat - he was right, but the kitties are still suffering long after they've been skinned. <><><>End<><><> Feedback: lil_gusty@hotmail.com Thanks for reading!