The Christopher Scully Series
                             stories 1-5

Title: Christopher Scully I: One of my Own 
by Jori 
Category: SRA
Keywords: MSR, Family fic
e-mail: damienma@netroenterprises.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Set in the future, Mulder and Scully discover they are going to
be parents after one sexual encounter. Will it bring them together or
pull them apart?
archive: Yes. If you already have it archived and you want to replace
with this one, go ahead
Disclaimer: Not mine. This is never going to happen because they aren't.
They still belong to CC, 1013 and FOX.
Author's notes: I didn't rewrite the whole thing so Mulder and Scully
run off and get married at the Elvis Chapel in Vegas. Just tweaked it
here and there, and made if flow smoother. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 13, 2000
St. Louis, Missouri

"Taco Bell? Again?" I ask her, as she points out the window at the Taco
Bell we just drove by.

"Yes, Mulder. Taco Bell. And maybe a strawberry milkshake from
McDonald's," she responds, as she notices the Golden Arches just down
the street from the bell.

"Okay. Whatever makes you happy," I say as I go to make a U-turn to make
our run for the border.

We've had Taco Bell for lunch or dinner everyday for two weeks now.
Doesn't matter if we are in DC or on the road. At least the milkshake
idea is new. I've had my fill of Burrito Supremes and I honestly don't
know how she could possibly eat another Seven Layer Burrito. Really, I
don't. But she's been so cranky lately I'll do anything to please her.

"Scully, are you feeling all right?" I ask as we pull out of the Taco
Bell drive-thru.

"I'm fine," she mumbles through a mouth full of burrito. Of course she
is fine. She could be dying and she would say she was fine. She has
guacamole on her chin. I wipe it off with my thumb, and then head back
out into rush hour traffic.

"Don't forget my milkshake," she reminds me.

By the time we get back to the Mark Twain Motor Lodge, she is done with
her dinner and is slurping away at the remains of her milkshake. We go
our separate ways, like usual, at the motel. I flip on the TV to
discover a constant barrage of static while I finish my 'dinner.' I
discard my tie and loosen the collar around my shirt before knocking on
the adjoining door. There is no answer. Her side of the door open, so I
enter.

She is fast asleep, curled up on the double bed. She is still wearing
her suit, including her shoes. It is only 7:15 p.m. and the case we've
been working on hasn't been that strenuous, but she is out cold.

I sit down on the hard vinyl chair next to her bed to watch her sleep. I
reach over and turn off the room lights with a click. The only light in
the room is filtering through the open curtains. Passing headlights play
shadow games across the walls, while nearby, someone fills an ice bucket
and slams a door. Still she sleeps.

I have never seen her as tired as she has been over the last month or
two. She sleeps on all our flights and while I drive. I even found her
nodding off at her desk last week. I find myself praying to that God of
hers that she is not sick again. Not now. Not ever.

I want to go lie down next to her, to hold her tight. She doesn't want
that. Not again. It only happened once. In the middle of the night in
some backwater Louisiana town. It's been slightly over two months ago
now and it still feels like yesterday to me. They say everything
changes, and they are right, but I wouldn't have traded that occasion
for the world.

We only talked about it once the old, cliched morning after broke the
spell of the stormy night. I woke up naked in her motel room bed, and
she wasn't there beside me. The wind had subsided, taking with it
whatever she might have felt over night. She was up and dressed and
sitting in a chair, not looking at me. She looked like she could
desperately use a cigarette. Or a drink. From the expression on her
face, I knew what was coming next.

I wasn't thinking straight, Mulder. This is not right, Mulder. This
wasn't a good idea, Mulder. It will cloud our judgment, Mulder. It can't
happen again, Mulder. I heard them all in a matter of minutes.

I remember standing up and walking over to her, naked as the day I was
born. I remember telling her I was glad it happened, that I would never
change it. I told her I loved her and I always will. Then I left her
sitting alone in that darkened room, to think about it. I needed to
escape the hurt look on her face, the undeniable look of regret. I
wanted to flee to my room and get out of that place as soon as I could.

That night hasn't been mentioned since. I play it over and over in my
mind approximately every 12 minutes and 4.7 seconds, but I never say
anything to her. We sit silently together on long car trips with it
hanging between us, but neither of us has the nerve to say a word about
it.

She leaves her adjoining door open all the time now. I don't know why. I
don't even know if she knows I watch her sleep. Maybe it is all she can
give me now, her silent concession to me. I wait for the day she will
come back to me. And I put up with a constant diet of burritos.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

December 28, 2000
Washington, DC
FBI Headquarters

I wake up to discover I had fallen asleep in a bathroom stall. My head
is resting against the wall. I am so tired, I can't help but to doze
off.

Mulder is going to think I fell in.

Mulder. I don't think I have ever hurt any man more. It's for the best,
I keep telling myself. If I had more energy, I'd explain myself better
to him. I'm just so tired. I wanted to be with him, but it was wrong. It
will never work. My heart is saying one thing, and my head is saying
another. We have a job to do, and no time for this now. Especially now
that I can't even keep my eyes open.

It has gotten so bad I'm now sleeping in the office bathroom. I'm sure
Mulder really wouldn't care if I took an afternoon power nap at my desk,
but I'm too embarrassed. And I'm too scared to admit that something
might be wrong.

I *know* there is something wrong with me. I know I should check in with
my oncologist again soon, but I don't want to hear what they have to
say. I don't want to go through it all again. At least I'm not losing
any weight. I would be really scared if that were happening again.

I hear the main door open and I hear footsteps. They don't sound like a
woman's.

"Scully?" he calls for me.

I knew he would come looking for me, like he always does.

"I'll be out in a minute, Mulder," I answer back, hoping he doesn't
notice that I don't have to adjust my clothing or flush, considering I
didn't actually use the facilities. Well, this time at least. The
bathroom is becoming my second favorite place in this building.

I exit the stall to find him leaning against the wall, waiting for me.
His arms are crossed in front of him, and his eyes meet mine briefly,
conveying more than I want to see. I have to look away.

"Are you okay, Scully?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.

"I'm fine," I answer curtly, as I wash my hands in the sink.

"Usually, I would accept that answer, but you have not been fine
recently. You look exhausted. You fall asleep everywhere. And this taco
thing has to stop," he says, moving from the wall and coming towards me.

"I'm sorry. I just haven't been myself lately. Should we get out of the
women's room now?" I ask, not wanting to be caught in here having a
conversation with my male partner. The damn rumors have been flying for
years, and now that there is something behind them, I don't want to add
fuel to the fire.

"No. I want you to go to your doctor. Scully, I don't want anything to
be wrong with you," he says, his voice soft and pleading.

He reaches out for me and pulls me to him. I don't resist. I'm too tired
to resist. I let his arms fold around me and cradle me against him. I
could sleep here against his body, listening to his heart. But I can't.
I don't want to get that close again. Not if there is something wrong.

"I will make an appointment with my family practitioner, Mulder. I
promise," I tell him, and he releases me from his embrace.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

January 4, 2001
Georgetown, Maryland

She has been in with her doctor for over an hour now. She asked me to
come with. Of course I would go anywhere with her. She should know that
by now. I alternately flip through a two year old copy of Redbook and
pace the floor. I'm sure the inhabitants of the large fish tank are
tired of seeing me go by when someone calls my name. I turn around to
find a nurse standing a few feet away from me.

"Mr. Mulder, Dana would like you to come back to the exam room," she
says, as she turns to lead me back there.

"What's wrong? Is she okay?" I ask, following her, my mind filled with
questions.

"I'll have to let her discuss that with you," she says, as she takes me
to a closed door and knocks on it.

I find Scully sitting fully dressed in the corner of the exam room. Her
doctor is writing notes on her chart and discussing referrals.

"Scully? Are you okay? What's going on?" I ask, needing to know the bad
news, so I can assimilate it and figure out where to go next.

"Ah, Agent Mulder. Nice to see you again," the doctor says to me,
reaching out his hand. I recognize the man as one of the many doctors
who came to see Scully while she was fighting her cancer. I shake the
man's hand and return my focus to Scully.

"What is it? Will somebody tell me, please?" I demand.

"Mulder..." Scully says, looking away from me and towards the floor.
Shit. It isn't good. Please, don't let it be the cancer again. Please.

"Agent Mulder, maybe you need to sit down for this. I will leave you two
alone for a couple of minutes," the doctor says as he slips out the door
quietly.

I roll his chair in front of Scully and sit down. I put my hands over
hers. She doesn't pull away. Please, oh, please, don't let this be
serious.

"Scully...Dana...are you okay?" I ask, not knowing what to call her
right now.

"Mulder...Fox...yes I am," she jokes, as a little smile tugs at the
corners of her mouth.

"What's wrong, Scully?" I ask again.

"I'm pregnant."

I think two hours go by before I say something. Or maybe it is just half
a minute.

"You can't be. You are infertile. The doctors said..." I start to argue.

"I know," she says, tilting her head to the side and watching me. I'm
sure I look plenty amazed and stunned.

"Then how? I mean, not how, but how?" I ask. Something had to have
happened. This is something that she was told she could never have.

"I don't know," is all she says.

"And I'm ..." I ask, not really doubting that it could be anyone else.
I wouldn't be the man sitting here if it was.

"Who else would it be?" she asks, as she places her hand on my cheek.

"I don't believe it," I say. "I can't believe this can be happening."

"Finally! There is something you don't believe!" she says with a smile.

"Are they sure?" I ask, afraid her hopes will be dashed by some error in
the lab.

"They did the test three times now," Scully reassures.

"Do you know what this means?" I ask, my mind not even able to
comprehend everything yet.

"We are going to be parents," she says, her voice sounding so sure.

"We? I'm going to be a part of this?" I ask. After the last two months I
was doubting whether she even wanted me as a partner.

"This baby is yours, too. Of course you'll be a part of this," she says.
I get to be part of the baby's life.

"Do I also get to be a part of your life?" I ask. I don't think I can
handle just having half of it. The child but not the mother.

She looks away from me.

"We will work on it. It will take some time, but in reality, you already
are a part of my life," she says softly, and it is the most I could ask
for right now.

I pull her close to me and hold her tight. The doctor knocks on the door
and comes back in. I stand up and return his chair to him.

"Do you have any questions, Agent Mulder?" he asks me. He is smiling. I
suppose this is great news for him, too. One of his patients is
receiving astounding news.

"Yes. How?" I ask, still dumbfounded.

"Well, I think you'd know that by now," he says with a smile. Usually,
I'd make some witty comment, but my brain is numb.

"Everyone said she'd never be able to conceive a child. How did this
happen?" I ask. Everyone said it. All of her doctors said she was
infertile. All her ova were gone, taken from her. Where in the hell did
this one come from?

"Dana, did you actually ever try to conceive a child?" he asks her.

"No," she answers while looking at me. I didn't think she was out there
trying to make babies on her spare time.

"Well, these things happen. One of the fastest ways to get a woman
pregnant is tell her she can't. I know lots of couples who would die to
be in your shoes. Don't question it. Consider it a gift," the doctor
tells us.

I have to question everything, including the gifts. No, especially the
gifts. I hope this isn't another plot of those men always hiding in the
shadows. If it is, I will hunt each one of them down myself and finally
kill every last one.

"This does explain the Taco Bell," Dana says. The doctor laughs.

"I know this kind of falls under the category of an old wives' tale, but
I've heard that craving Taco Bell means you are going to have a boy," he
says as he finishes up some notes.

I am hoping for a girl, another child as beautiful as Emily. I want this
for Scully. A boy would also be fine, as long as he is healthy.

"Dana, I want you to go to a high-risk OB/GYN as soon as possible. They
are probably going to run every test imaginable on you, due to your
history. I'm sure that everything will be just fine, though. Let me
know, please?" he asks. He is truly concerned about her.

"I will," she says as he leaves us alone again.

"Scully, I'm shocked. Shocked, but happy," I say, pulling her close to
me again.

"Trust me, no one is more shocked than I am," she says. I hope she never
regrets this, that it is mine.

"When are you due?" I ask, needing to know how much time I have to make
everything work. To convince her that she needs me in her life.

"July," she says.

"We have a lot to talk about," I whisper into her ear.

"I know."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

January 5, 2001
Washington DC
FBI Headquarters

I am utterly embarrassed. I am a doctor. I am a woman. I should have
known. I had it so ingrained into my head that there would never be a
child of my own borne from my body. There are probably children out
there of my own genetic structure. I only know of one, but I am sure
there are more.

But a baby of my own? I didn't dare to dream such a possibility for
awhile now. I never imagined having one of my own.

Mulder is sitting in his chair, across our office, smiling at me. I
heard that men get this way. Like their sperm have a large S on their
tiny chests and wear little capes. Of course, I had nothing to do with
this new life we created. We created. That will take some time to get
used to.

One time. One damn time in eight years of knowing him. I still don't
even know what possessed me. Must have been the wind or the rain. I
cannot explain myself.

Now what? There are so many people to tell. My mother should be the
first. Then Skinner, eventually. That should be a treat. I'll make
Mulder do it.

"Mulder, stop grinning at me," I demand from across the room.

"I can't help it," he says, still smiling.

"Stop."

He gets up from his chair and walks over to me. I have no idea what is
coming next. He leans in close to me. He's always worried about the
people that are listening.

"Should we get married?" he asks me.

"I don't think that is necessary just yet," I say, realizing what
marriage would mean. He and I would be together, not just as parents but
committed to each other for life. Why does that scare me? Aren't we
already committed by being parents. Or else we will be committed when we
try to raise this child of ours.

"Should we pick out names?" he asks.

"We have nearly seven months to worry about that," I counter.

"Do you want me to be the one to tell Skinner?" he asks, as if he has
been reading my mind.

"Yes. And you are coming with to tell my mother."

"No...not the mom! Skinner I can handle, but your mother..."

"You are coming with," I state. I think she will need to see the both of
us.

"Okay. Is she going to expect us to get married?" he asks.

"She already expects that. I don't think this will change it. Just be
glad my brother Bill isn't in town," I say. That would be disastrous.

He makes his way back to his side of the office. I want to go to sleep
again, but not before I go pee. This is getting annoying.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

January 7, 2001
Margaret Scully's home

If I could melt into the wall, I would at this moment. We are at her
mother's house. I feel like I did when I was seventeen and got caught
with Karen Russell doing everything but. If I could have melted into the
wall then, I would at least have had the practice to do it now. I could
be Mothman Mulder.

Scully is in the kitchen talking to her mom. I'm lurking around, trying
desperately to avoid them. I don't know why I am embarrassed or scared.
Scully is grown woman. Still, I got this woman's unmarried daughter
pregnant. I feel like the bad guy. I want to listen in, to get the gist
of the situation.

"It was only one time," Scully tells her mother.

She sounds like a teenager. Honest, Mom. It only happened once. We
didn't mean for this to happen.

"I don't care if it was a million times, Dana. This is the greatest
thing imaginable! I mean, I would have preferred it if you were married
and settled down first, but after the news about your infertility, I'm
just happy for you," her mother gushes.

"I was hoping you would be happy. I'm happy," Scully says. She hasn't
told me she is happy very often.

"And Fox?" Mrs. Scully asks.

"I'm happy," I reply as I come through the door.

"And you're getting married?" she asks, looking from me to Scully and
back to me.

"See, Mulder. I told you that is what she would say. Mom, we haven't
thought that far ahead yet," Scully says quickly.

"I asked her," I make sure to add.

"And you told him no? Dana, what's the matter with you?" her mother
asked, jokingly.

"I'm not ready for that yet. Let me get used to this whole situation
first. Besides, I don't want the kid to think we had to get married,"
Scully tells her mother. I'm sure there would be more she would tell her
if I was somewhere else.

"I see you two have a lot to discuss," Mrs. Scully says, still looking
at me.

"We know," I say to the grandmother of my child.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

January 25, 2001
Fairfax Hospital
Woman's Care Center

Mulder insists on going to the OB/GYN with me. I don't know why. He's
getting into this parent thing too easily. The doctor confirms what I
already know. I am pregnant. It is a miracle. I should be happy.

I would be happier if I wasn't so nauseous all the time. Actually, it is
not all the time. Just from 6 a.m. to 7 a.m., and then from 8 p.m. to 10
p.m. Whoever named it morning sickness didn't know what they were
talking about.

I've only thrown up once, though. Mostly it is the dry heaves. If I
don't eat, I get sick. The stomach acids start churning away and I dry
heave. I'm getting tired of having to take saltines with me wherever I
go.

When I was growing up, I always thought I'd love to be pregnant. It's
not horrible, but it isn't that great either. And I've barely
experienced it. There is a delicious anticipation to the whole thing.
Probably because I don't know what I'm getting into. Excuse me, what we
are getting into. I keep forgetting that Mulder isn't exactly running
away from this whole thing.

I am no longer completely dependent on Taco Bell. Potatoes are what
keeps me going now. French fries, potato soup, hash browned potatoes,
country fried potatoes, au gratin potatoes, twice baked potatoes, cheese
potatoes and even the good, old-fashioned baked potato.

I'm only three months pregnant. Six more months to go. I hope the state
of Idaho has stocked up.

I'm not showing at all, which is good, because I don't know what to do
about my job. I know I can't keep running after criminals and unearthly
freaks for much longer, but I am not quite prepared to give it up yet.
Mulder is worried I will get shot, get injured, or get abducted. Mostly
I do paperwork. No one has noticed so far. I am sure when the time
comes, I can go back to Quantico. I don't know what will happen to this
partnership after that. I imagine it will cease to exist. As much as I
am overjoyed by the thought of having a child, the thought of not having
this particular job saddens me. I am hoping that the time constraints of
raising a child will fill the void that the loss of being on the X-files
will inevitably bring.

I find Mulder waiting for me in the lobby. He was there for most of the
exam, but left when it got too personal. I wonder if he knows exactly
how personal child birth can get? He did watch my eyes well up with
tears when we listened to the baby's heartbeat for the very first time,
and I do believe he got a little emotional himself.

"You ready?" I ask him.

"Sure. When do you have to be back for your next visit?" he asks,
looking at the appointment reminder card I have tucked in my hand.

"Next month," I say.

"You know, we do have to deal with work soon," Mulder says.

"I know. Maybe next week," I say, not wanting to deal with it at all.

"Okay. You just let me know," he says, as he leads me to the door.

"Good. Now lets go find some potatoes."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

February 14, 2001
Omaha, Nebraska
The White House Inn

I'm sitting on the cold bathroom floor next to her. She won't get more
than one foot away from the toilet tonight. She has been sick all
evening. I think it is all the potatoes. Scully is trying to set the
record for the most number of potato dishes consumed in nine months.

Scully is also now on a mission to eradicate anything with a scent on
the face of the earth. Right now she is ranting about Springtime Fresh
Toilet Duck Drop-ins.

I can no longer wear cologne. I can no longer use anything with a scent.
Unscented deodorant, unscented shampoo and perfume-free laundry
detergent are all I can use now if I want to be in the same room with
her. She also has gotten rid of all those scented hand cremes she used
to use. She packed everything she had with a scent in a big plastic bag
and dumped them. She tells me it is normal. Pregnant women have a
heightened sense of smell. Actually, they have a heightened sense of
everything. She can hear me from a mile away now.

I'm in the bathroom with her, and I'm not sure why. Guilt? Because I did
this to her? We are stuck in some hotel in Omaha, Nebraska. She found a
restaurant that had the best potato casserole. Unfortunately, after that
we had to go out to the Omaha Stockyards to investigate some strange
cattle deaths. Do you know what one-hundred year old stockyards smell
like, even in February?

A century of cow shit. Not even a foot of snow could kill the stench.
I've never seen my partner look like she did when we stepped out of the
car. She has been heaving up everything since.

I am getting used to it. I've spent most my nights of the last month
camped out on her living room couch. She doesn't tell me to leave, but
she doesn't invite me any closer, either. I guess it is still a wait and
see thing with her. Usually she is vomiting in the bathroom when I get
up in the morning.

I would love to reach over to her now and brush off the hair that is
hanging in her face. I would do it, but she smells really bad.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

March 16, 2001

Mulder is sitting on my couch reading "What To Expect When You're
Expecting." My mom bought it for him. She assumed that all those years
of medical school would have taught me everything there is to know about
pregnancy.

I'm five months along now. Miraculously, I'm still not showing. Well,
I'm getting a little bit of a belly, but it isn't anything I can't hide
under my clothes. Good thing, too, considering we haven't dealt with the
whole issue of work yet. I just hang back in every case we work on, and
do paperwork. I'm getting good at paperwork. Our expense reports have
never been so timely. Sooner or later we will have to face the powers
that be and let them know. It is almost as bad as telling a dad.

The morning sickness has stopped. The cravings haven't, I think as I try
to figure out what to cook for dinner. Cheesy potato soup sounds good.

"Scully, is this true?" Mulder asks me from over the top of the book.

"What's that?" I ask back over a can of soup.

"That women in their second trimester are, um, well, have an increased
libido?" he asks sheepishly.

"I suppose you could say that," I answer, cautiously. It isn't that I
haven't thought about it. I have this man sleeping on my couch every
night. A part of me wants him so bad. And another part keeps telling me
not to go there yet. There are so many other things we have to deal with
now.

"And you?" he asks. He is watching me closely now, and I would guess he
didn't miss the blush that spread across my face.

"I suppose you could say that," I answer again.

"And you aren't going to do anything about it?" he asks, his voice low
and hushed, and I know what he thinks I should do about it.

"What would you like me to do about it? I'm pregnant. It's not like I
could go out and pick up some guy at a bar or anything," I answer. He
looks hurt. I had no intentions of hurting him. Just slowing down this
freight train I feel moving through the living room.

"I guess not ..."

"I'm kidding you, Mulder. Are you suggesting I should do something about
it?" I say, my brain momentarily deciding to let the damn train fly off
the tracks and pick up the pieces later. How else did I ever think this
would work? This is the only way...

"Yes. This," he says to me as he gets up from the couch, picks me up and
carries me into my bedroom. I'm actually giggling for the first time in
months. His gesture is funny and touching all at the same time.

"At least I know I can't get pregnant this time," I say to him as he
puts me down on my bed. He smiles at me, remembering something from
another night. The only other night.

"That's what you said to me the last time, Scully. 'Trust me, Mulder.
There's no way I can pregnant.' I remember it well," he says before he
kisses me for the first time since October of last year.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

March 21, 2001
Washington, DC
The Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner
FBI Headquarters

"Agents, first I want to know why you didn't come to me with this ...
problem sooner? Second, I want to know how much longer you planned on
going on field assignments, Agent Scully?" Skinner asks, his voice low
and rumbling, his tone a little harsher than I imagined.

Scully is holding her own rather well. Better than I am. I'm still
working on that melting into the wall technique. I have yet to get it
perfected. I can barely stop from wiggling in my seat under the
scrutiny.

For the past two hours, we have been questioned about everything, from
conduct to expense reports. I know Skinner is upset, but I still can't
quite put my finger on what upsets him more. We've been in trouble
before, but not this kind of trouble, so to speak. I just can't tell
whether he is more upset by the fact that two of his agents are going to
be parents together, or by the fact that we will now be separated due to
Scully's condition. We were having one hell of a solved rate streak
going. Plus, the paper work has never looked better.

The rumors have been out there for weeks now. Someone saw us together
shopping at Babies R Us. We only have four months to go. Sooner or
later, we had to start buying blankets and bedding and towels. Six of
everything, the book said. How someone under ten pounds can use six of
everything, I don't know. I'm sure I will find out.

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner asks, snapping me back to attention.

"I'm sorry, sir. What did you say?" I ask, not hearing a word that he
said.

"I'm reassigning Agent Scully back to Quantico for the time being. I
will work on getting you another partner in the near future, preferably
a man this time, so we can avoid this again," Skinner says with all
seriousness.

I just look at him. A little smile appears on his face. Scully smiles,
too.

"Agent Scully, I want you to seriously reexamine what direction you want
your career to move in. Being a single parent and in law enforcement can
be tough. I'm not saying you are off the X-files forever, but I'm sure
your capacity will be changed," he says, sounding very concerned. "I
can't have both of this child's parents out in some tight spot risking
their lives. It just isn't going to work that way."

"I have several months to examine all my options, sir. Plus maternity
leave. Teaching again at Quantico will be fine for now," Scully says,
sounding so sure.

Quantico sounds so far away, I think to myself as I look at Scully. She
is starting to look pregnant. She has that slight swelling around her
face and her waist line is starting to expand a little. She is so
beautiful. All of her. Now I get to see all of her, and take part of all
the changes her body is going through. And those breasts. Oh God, those
breasts ...

"Okay, agents, I think that will do it for today. I will be talking to
you both again shortly," Skinner says, dismissing us.

Scully and I get up to leave. We're almost to the door when Skinner
stops us.

"By the way ..." Skinner calls. We both turn to him, not knowing what
to expect. "Congratulations."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

April 27, 2001
Fairfax Hospital
Women's Care Center

The ultrasound gel they are spreading over my belly is cold. I know they
can warm this goo up. It can't be that hard.

I have become huge over the last few weeks, and my doctor is worried. I
went from gaining about four pounds a month to gaining ten in the last
three weeks. Mulder just looked at me in shock when he got back from an
out-of-town assignment and then exclaimed that I was huge. I smacked
him.

This whole ultrasound experience is uncomfortable. My full bladder is
enough to make me break down.

"Think of a stream. Think of a babbling brook. Think of a waterfall,"
Mulder says, teasing me.

"Mulder, if you don't stop it now, I'm going to wet the gurney," I say
and fully meaning it. He is standing next to me holding my hand, while
I'm holding in about a gallon of pee.

"Let's see what we've got in there," the technician says as she starts
pushing at me.

Mulder bends down close to my ear and whispers, "Hopefully, it's
human..."

"I can see one baby. An active one at that. You are going to have your
hands full, Mr. and Mrs. Scully," the technician says.

Mulder is getting used to being called Mr. Scully, considering they are
always looking at my chart and assuming we are married. No one seems to
notice that my title is doctor. I guess in child birth, it doesn't
matter.

"Do you want to know what sex it is, Dad?" she asks Mulder. It is the
first time someone has called Mulder 'Dad.' He doesn't look as surprised
by it as I do.

"Do you?" he asks me, his eyes meeting mine. I think he does want to
know, so something is sure in our lives, and we can plan to go in a
certain direction.

"I guess ... if you know for sure," I say, knowing that many mistakes
have been made with the determination of sex.

"Oh, honey, I know for sure. You are having a boy. See, right there,
that is external plumbing," she says. Mulder and I try to see what she
is pointing at, but the little image keeps moving around.

I wanted a girl, I won't lie. My mother and I have always had a great
relationship on the whole. I was hoping to repeat that with a little
girl of my own. I wanted someone to have girl talk with, to dress up, to
take shopping. I wanted to raise a strong, independent woman and send
her to medical school. Send her wherever she wanted to go.

But a beautiful, healthy son will do just fine.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

June 14, 2001

"Curtis?" I ask her and she wrinkles her nose.

"No," she answers, her nose unwrinkling a little.

"Cuthbert?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Cuthbert? No," she says.

"Damon?"

"No," she says again.

"David?" I ask. That one is a perfectly good name.

"No," she says, wrinkling up her nose again.

"Dawson?"

"No."

"Scully, there must be some names you like," I ask, getting frustrated.

"Keep reading," she says, pointing at the book I bought today.

I am sitting up next to her in her bed, flipping through this baby name
book. Scully is now on bed rest, until her blood pressure drops a
little. So far it has been one day and she is already going crazy.
Everybody keeps telling her to enjoy the rest, because it isn't ever
going to be like this again. I just enjoy being with her and watching
the baby move around in her abdomen, like something from 'Alien.'

"Jesse?" I start again.

"I don't know," she says, looking a little puzzled.

"Kirby?" I ask, adding a goofy accent to it.

"He'll get beat up."

"Then should we name him Rocky?" I ask.

"No."

"Well, we aren't naming him after me," I tell her.

"I wouldn't do that to a child, Mulder. Hey, I got it. We can name him
Mulder. He could be Mulder Scully," she says seriously.

"Scully, that is stupid."

"I wasn't being serious."

"When you were a kid, didn't you think of these things? Don't all girls
have the names of their children picked out by the time they are seven?"
I ask her. I know Samantha planned on having Jennifer and Steven. Little
did we know she would never have any ...

"I wanted to name a boy Christopher," Scully finally says.

"What's wrong with Christopher?" I ask. I like it. It would settle this
easily. It is a little 'Christian' as far as names go, but it sounds
like a real boy's name. Not like Cuthbert.

"It is the second most common boy name in America. He will be one of a
million Christophers," she says, frowning slightly.

"It beats being one of one Fox," I counter.

"Christopher Scully," she says, and so it is decided. Something that
will last his lifetime was decided in moments by two other people.

"Now a middle name ..." I ask, flipping open the book again.

"Christopher Robin Scully," she says, peeking at me from the corner of
her eye.

"Oh, yeah. He won't get beat up with that name. Not at all," I say,
imagining a boy in little black shoes and shorts carrying around his
bear and a balloon.

"Christopher Ryan Scully," she says. I like it.

"Getting better. Actually, that is perfect. We just set forth a course
in his life that he has no control over. Will the name Christopher make
him more popular? Did I become what I am because I have the name Fox?" I
start to ask. She just looks at me.

"Mulder, I'm getting tired of this."

"Picking names or being house-bound?" I ask. I thought the name choosing
was supposed to be fun.

"Both. Mulder, did you tell your mother yet?" she asks. Shit. I've been
avoiding it.

"No."

"When are planning on doing that?" Scully asks, her voice telling me
I'll be doing it tomorrow.

"She'll get a birth announcement," I mumble.

"Mulder ..."

"Okay. I will call her tomorrow. I promise," I say, as I lean over and
kiss her on the forehead.

"I'm due in less than a month. Don't you think she will be a little
upset?" Scully asks.

"Probably. Why don't you rest for awhile. Are you getting hungry?"

"I could use a glass of milk," she says after giving it about one second
of thought.

"I'll be right back."

I head towards her kitchen. I didn't know one could crave milk, but she
does. Protein and calcium. Does the pregnant body good. She is really
feeling awful. When I came 'home' today, I found her crying in bed. She
was looking at a Victoria's Secret catalog and lamenting that her body
would never be the same. Hormones kicking in, I imagine. I told her she
never looked like those 6'2 models with long, blonde hair in the first
place and that she looked just fine. Maybe just a little puffy. I never
seem to be able to say the right thing anymore.

So far everything is going smoothly. Her weight gain slowed down, but
not before her doctor ran a battery of tests for something called
preeclampsia. That's toxemia for those of us who don't know different.
Now we have this blood pressure thing to deal with. Not to mention
indigestion, heartburn, sore feet and a sore back, to name a few. And
that's just me.

We still haven't resolved exactly how we are going to raise this child.
I occasionally bring up living arrangements. I can't imagine telling a
kid that yes, your parents are together but they live in different
suburbs. Oh, and, by the way, your mother won't marry your father for
some unknown reason. I live at her place anyway. I don't know why we
just can't find a bigger place somewhere and set up a nursery. She can
be just a little stubborn sometimes.

Thank goodness we enjoyed the glory days of her second trimester,
because she says she is now too huge for anyone to find her attractive.
I keep telling her that it's my child, and I find her to be quite
beautiful, but she doesn't believe me. Well, I lived without it before.
It won't kill me.

I go to hand her the milk I poured for her and find her fast asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

June 28, 2001
Fairfax Hospital
Community Health Education Center

I am attending my last Lamaze class with my mother. Leave it Mulder to
ditch me when it really counts. At least I'll know how to breathe right
when I yell at him later. Mostly, the class discusses the birth process,
which I already know. I wanted Mulder to experience the classes. My
mother has already been there four times. Maybe I won't even let him in
the delivery room. Maybe I would rather have my mother there instead.
That is what I will do. He'll pay for chasing those UFOs of his. Damn
it all.

I'm discovering that constipation that lasts for two months can make
someone grouchy. Add to that the fact that I have acid reflux so bad I
have to sleep sitting up in a chair, and I have become a virtual bear.
Nine months is simply too long for this whole process.

Now Mulder can't even be here. Bastard. If it weren't for him, I
wouldn't be here in the first place. I know, I was there in that motel
room, too. Hoo boy, was I ever there. It is still his fault. The least
he could do is show up to a Lamaze class. Damned bastard.

We are all sitting on the floor in the dark, relaxing. Well, as relaxed
as a group of extra large women can get. My mother starts to move away
from behind me, where she has been supporting me.

"Mom? What's wrong?" I ask, trying to turn to see what is going on.

"Shh, Dana...I'll see you in a couple of minutes."

A familiar form moves into her spot and pulls me back to rest on him. Of
course he would do this. Just because I thought he was a damned bastard
a second ago. Now I have to feel constipated and guilty.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

July 4, 2001

I am enjoying my day off by assembling baby furniture at Scully's
apartment. I still haven't figured out how a baby swing could come in so
many pieces. After I assemble each item, she goes around and 'tests'
them by pushing down on them and rattling them around a little. I guess
she trusts me with everything but the baby.

Her mother had a baby shower for her. Actually, it was a couples'
shower, which is horribly embarrassing for men. We all stand in the
background while these alien life forms we used to call our wives or
girlfriends "ooh" and "ahh" over little blue clothing.

Now I am working on putting together an oak cradle. She doesn't want a
crib yet, so we picked out a cradle. Then she picked out the bedding.
Classic Pooh is what she said it was. I wanted something bright and
filled with primary colors to stimulate his mind, but I lost in the end.
I even assembled data for her on the advantages of using red and black
when decorating for infants. She says when we get a place that has a
nursery, we can do brighter colors. I take this as a good, although
subtle, sign. It is the first verbal sign she has given in all this time
that we are going to have a future living together.

"What should he wear home from the hospital?" she asks me.

"I don't know. I never really thought about it," I answer, looking up
from the latest piece of baby equipment I'm putting together.

"How about this?" Scully asks. She is holding up this tiny white outfit
that has 'Daddy's Boy' embroidered on the chest along with a row of
little ducks.

"That will be perfect," I tell her. "Unless he's a she."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

July 8, 2001
2:10 p.m.
Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center

"Did you feel that?" he asks me.

Mulder is looking at the monitor that detects contractions. The numbers
are flying way up and I'm gripping the bed rail as hard as I can. So
hard, actually, that the wood stain is coming off on my hands, and he
wants to know if I can damn well feel that.

"Of course I can feel that! I can't believe I'm expected to breathe
through this!" I say, trying as hard as I can to focus and breathe.

"Fox, instead of looking at the monitors, why don't you work on
breathing with your wife," the maternity nurse tells him.

"He's not my husband!" I say through clenched teeth.

"Dana, the anesthesiologist is on his way. We will get you an epidural
within an hour," the nurse says, as she looks at the little screen and
the tape and marks something.

"An hour? An hour!" I nearly shout. Why don't they let me do it myself?

"Back labor can be hard. Would you like to try to see if we can
reposition the baby a little?" she says, as she moves to my side.

"Anything has got to better than this!"

"I need your help," she says to Mulder.

They both help me curl up into a ball on my knees and I can feel that
some of the pressure is released off my lower back.

"That usually does the trick for awhile," the nurse tells me, as she
readjusts the external monitors on my abdomen.

Another nurse enters the room. That makes about twelve people to have
come in here in the last six hours. Half of them say things like 'we
just want to see how far you are along' as they snap on their latex
gloves. There is no modesty in childbirth. Of course, if it would make
this process go any faster, the Pope himself could come in here and
check me. I don't care. Now the doctor is coming in for the second time
since I've been here..

"Dana, how are we doing?" my doctor asks, as he gloves up.

"I've been better," I say. I have gained a new respect for my mother in
the last few hours. I must remember to send a dozen roses next Mother's
Day.

"Well, let's just see how far you are along," he says, saying what
everybody else says.

The doctor and nurse reposition me and he checks. Mulder turns away. I
suppose I would, too.

"Four centimeters. We can break your water. That might speed things
along. Plus, we can put in an internal monitor. It will give us a better
indication of what is going on," the doctor says, as he goes about
gathering equipment up.

"Okay," I say.

After that process is done, Mulder turns back to look at me.

"Good God! No wonder all the furniture in here is vinyl," Mulder says, a
look of distaste moving across his face.

"Childbirth is messy, Mulder. Oh! Hsssss!" comes out of my mouth as
another contraction hits.

"Focus, Scully. Breathe," Mulder says. How stupid is he?

"Damn it! Why don't you breathe!" I say to him a little too sharply. But
the pain is driving me to talk like this.

"I'm not the one having the baby. I'm just here to help," he says. Like
he has no damn responsibility for what is going on.

I grab his hand and squeeze tight. All his knuckles crack. The
anesthesiologist finally enters the room.

"Thank God!" Mulder says, looking more happy to see the man than I am.
"She's trying to break my hand!"

"You wouldn't be the first new father with broken fingers," he says in a
matter of fact tone. He picks up my chart and flips through it.

"Dana, I need you to turn onto your side and have you curl up into a
ball if you can," he says, as he helps me move through the contractions.

I try to comply to the best of my ability. He explains everything he is
doing to me until finally he helps me into my original position.

"That should help in just a little bit. Now, you won't be able to walk
and sometimes labor slows down a little, but usually nothing serious,"
he explains to me. I can feel it helping already.

I am discovering that knowing about childbirth, delivering a baby and
experiencing it first hand are different things entirely. No one on
earth can be entirely prepared for what their body is going to go
through. I can only think in small, focused bits. I have six more
centimeters to go until I can push. One centimeter at a time, Dana, I
tell myself.

Mulder is somewhere being useless. He offers words of encouragement, but
he doesn't really know what this is like. They induced labor with
pitocin at 9 a.m. this morning. The contractions are so strong and the
back labor so bad I finally asked for an epidural. I said I wasn't going
to use one. Mulder just looked at me like I was quitting. Well, he can
have the next kid. I don't care right now. He gets to pace around and
eat cafeteria food and leave the room. I don't. I guess that is why I'm
going to get the esteemed title of Mom.

"Scully? Are you doing okay? You kind of drifted for a minute," Mulder
says to me.

"I'm doing much better now that I can't feel my lower body. Much
better," I say, finally able to bear the pain for the first time in
awhile.

"Want to play canasta?" he asks with a smile.

"I'm not feeling that much better."

My mother peeks her head around the corner.

"Mom, come in," I say, nearly crying out to her.

"Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing?" she asks, taking my hand in hers.
I've been waiting for her to get here. I need her.

"Four centimeters," I say, knowing I have a long way to go.

"And she has an epidural," Mulder adds in an accusatory tone.

"I don't blame you one bit," Mom says, casting a admonishing glance at
Mulder.

My mom is much more comforting right at this moment than Mulder. I need
my mom to mother me while I slip into motherhood myself.

"Listen, I'm going to run to the cafeteria for a coffee. Anybody need
anything?" Mulder asks, sensing that I need my mother right now.

"More ice chips," I tell him.

"Now, that I can do," he says. He kisses my damp brow and leaves the
room.

"It's so nice that the father can be in the room now," my mother
comments.

"He's not much help," I add.

"They never are," she says with a smile.

I can feel the contractions, but they have a dullness to them. They are
not as demanding of my every thought as they were before.

Mulder comes back in few minutes and helps me with some ice chips. He
then retreats to the couch in the corner and reads a pamphlet on infant
formula while my mother stays by my side for awhile.

Hours go by with my mother and Mulder changing positions regularly. The
doctor comes back to check on me. He and the nurse have a hushed
conversation in the corner. I can sense that something isn't going
exactly right.

"Dana," the doctor finally says calmly, taking my hand into his. "You've
been at nine centimeters far too long. The baby isn't going past zero
station as quickly as we would like to see. Pitocin can cause stress on
the baby and we are seeing indications of that stress on the monitor. We
can't up the dosage anymore. It is what we call failure to progress. We
are going to have to seriously consider a c-section."

I'm so tired by this point, I don't care.

"Will the baby be okay?' Mulder asks.

"I'm sure he will be. But we need a healthy mom and a healthy baby.
She's getting worn down," the doctor explains to all of us.

"Go ahead," I say.

"I'll get the surgical team ready. We do c-sections right down the hall
here so you won't even have to leave the maternity ward. You will only
be able to have one person in there with you. You will have to make that
decision," the doctor says, before leaving the room.

I reach out my hand towards the one person who needs to be there. Who I
need most by my side.

"Mulder, stay with me."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

July 8, 2001
11:24 p.m.
Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center

I'm the one wearing scrubs for a change as I wander into the surgical
room. Scully has already been wheeled in there, and the anesthesiologist
is hard at work. All of a sudden it went from two people having a baby
to a team having a baby.

She is shaking as I try to hold her hand.

"The anesthetics do that," a nurse informs me.

Scully looks so much smaller now, in this bright, sterile room.

"This isn't how I wanted this to go," she says to me, speaking in a
shaky voice.

"I don't care how he is born as long as you both are healthy," I tell
her.

The surgical team is busy getting her prepped and the doctor is
explaining to me exactly what to expect.

"You're not squeamish, are you?" the doctor asks me.

"You wouldn't believe what I've seen in my line of work," I say, my mind
suddenly flooding with visions of the pieces and parts I've seen over
the years.

"Nothing compares to the insides of your wife. Or the birth of your own
child. Trust me on that one," he says to me as he goes back to prep
work.

"Scully..." I say, trying to think of the words to express everything
I'm feeling.

"Yeah, Mulder," she says, sounding very tired.

"Thanks."

"For what?" she asks, turning her head to look at me. She has on an
oxygen mask right now, and so many tubes running here and there. It
makes me shudder, as I remember the many times I've seen her lying in a
hospital bed. But this time is a good time.

"Choosing me to be here with you," I say, giving her hand a squeeze.

"You're welcome. Hey, Mulder?" she say, pulling me slightly to her
level.

"What?"

"I love you," she says, her voice so soft and gentle. It is the first
time she has ever said that to me. I hope it isn't just the drugs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

July 9, 2001
12:27 a.m.
Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center

I can hear him crying, but I can't see him.

"It's a boy!" the doctor says, confirming what we already knew.

I start to cry at the sound of my own baby. The nurses take him over to
the corner to warm him up, get his APGAR scores and clean him.

"He's seven pounds, eight ounces and twenty inches long," someone says.

"The time of birth was 12:02 a.m.," another nurse says.

I want to see him. Now. I have waited nine months for this life to make
itself known, and I don't think I can wait much longer.

"Dad, would you like to show him to your wife?" someone asks Mulder
after what feels like forever. He comes back carrying a little package
swaddled in a blue blanket. His arms contain the most beautiful human
being on earth.

Christopher Ryan Scully.

"He's too perfect," I say, as I feel the tears begin to fall.

"The advantage of a section baby is that their heads come out perfect
with very little bruising. He is a cutie," the doctor says as he
continues closing me up.

"Would you like to come with your son to the nursery for his first
bath?" one of the nurses asks Mulder. I never saw Mulder leave a room
faster than he did for that opportunity.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

July 9, 2001
1:24 a.m.
Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center

I have never witnessed a more beautiful sight. Scully is holding
Christopher for the very first time. We are in the recovery room, along
with her mother and a few nurses getting her comfortable after surgery.
They are explaining to her how the morphine would wear off in the
morning but she could enjoy this time with her son without pain. Most
don't know she is a doctor and I guess it doesn't matter now. Scully is
in a world of her own, examining tiny fingers and toes. He was wrapped
up tight when they brought him in, but she has to check him over for
herself.

I take off his little cap so she can see his light auburn hair. Or at
least the little bit that is there.

"Scully, is there a reason he looks like Skinner?" I tease her.

"Mulder, didn't you know? I'm just using you as a cover," she says in
her feisty voice. I see some of the drugs are wearing off.

"Would you like to try feeding him now, Dana?" one of the nurses asks.
"I can bring in the lactation specialist if you would like some help."

"That would be great," she says in a sleepy voice. I yawn loudly. This
has been one hell of a day.

"Get used to it, Fox. You aren't going to get much sleep for the rest of
your life," Mrs. Scully says to me.

The nurse helps Scully position Christopher so he isn't pressing on her
abdomen for his very first feeding. Mother and child struggle a little,
but soon they both catch on. Or latch on, I should say. Scully just
smiles at him. I was wrong before. Now I have never witnessed a more
beautiful sight.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

July 9, 2001
2:06 p.m.
Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center

He is going to be a feisty one, my little Christopher. A few people have
come by to visit and they all say he looks like me. I don't see it.
Except for the hair, he looks like Mulder. I think people say that to
the mother because of all the work she puts into it. The dad will show
up for fifteen minutes nine months before the child is born, and ends up
with a little human that looks like him.

Mulder spent the night curled up on the tiny couch in the room. I told
him to go home, but he didn't want to leave. Now he looks about as bad
as I do. Actually, right now, no one could look as bad as I do.

The nurse in the room earlier was telling me all the advantages she has
noticed by having a c-section. Everything from keeping certain parts of
the female anatomy intact to the baby not having a cone head. I wanted
to tell her that I can't see the advantages, especially not after they
made me get up to take a shower. Doctors make the worst patients, the
old adage says. Especially when they are recovering from major abdominal
surgery and dealing with a newborn. Throw into that mix a new mother
trying to get the knack of breastfeeding without placing the baby on any
sore spots, and you get one cranky doctor.

I wish they would just let me lie in bed and watch my son. He is
magnificent. Now I know that all the things my mother said were true.
There really is no greater love. And it happened so fast. Love at first
sight. That is the only way to describe it.

I am sitting in a chair I'm afraid I'll never get out of and Mulder is
holding Christopher in the crook of his arm when Skinner comes by for a
visit. He sets down a vase of flowers and takes a close look at our
baby.

"Agent Scully, how are you doing?" he asks as Mulder shows him our son.

"I feel like I have been shot in the stomach again and then had a baby
dropped in my lap this time, sir," I say, not trying to sugar coat the
experience at all.

"He looks like you, Agent Scully," Skinner says, looking at me and then
back to the baby.

"That's what everybody keeps telling me," I say, with a weak smile.

"Mulder, I never thought I'd see the day you were carrying around an
infant," Skinner says, looking slightly amused by it all. Fox Mulder the
father.

"It's not bad, sir. If you would like to borrow him sometime, you can.
Hey, we could use him to pick up women..."

"Not my son," I say.

"Well, I don't want to stay long. I just wanted to see ...Christopher.
And to see how you were doing," Skinner says.

"I'll walk you out, sir, if that's all right with you Scully?" Mulder
asks as he carefully places our sleeping baby into his isolette.

"I'll be fine. I'll page one of the nurses if there is any trouble."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

July 9, 2001
2:30 p.m.
Fairfax Hospital Parking Garage

Skinner had barely pulled away when I heard someone coming up behind me.

"Babies are such a special gift, aren't they, Agent Mulder," a familiar
voice says from behind me.

I turn around to find him standing not four feet away from me, lighting
a cigarette.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" I ask, trying to control myself.
I'm tired. I don't want to make a mistake and kill him. Or maybe I do.
It's a shame I don't even have my weapon.

"Seeing the new arrival. He is beautiful. Looks a little like his
mother. A little like his father. And..." he takes a drag on his
cigarette, "he looks a little like his Grandmother Mulder did when
she was younger. So beautiful."

"Listen, you bastard, I don't know what you want..."

"Do you think these gifts come without a price, Agent Mulder? Do you
think babies just materialize out of nowhere?" the bastard asks, still
puffing away on his cigarette.

"What are you talking about?" I ask back.

"The decisions you are going to make for your son's future. His
protection," he says, his words hanging in the air.

"I will protect him myself."

"Did you ever think that is what your father said about you? How is he
protecting you now, Fox? I'm that boy's only insurance policy," he says.

I know what he wants. He wants me to give it all up, to let them win.
Even then it will never be an insurance policy. If they want to make us
bend, they now have the leverage to do it.

"I see by the look on your face, you know I'm speaking the truth. I will
save him, Agent Mulder. I made him, and I will save him," he says, his
voice hissing as if he were really a snake, not just a perfect human
replica of one.

"You made him! I don't remember you there," I say. Fuck. I knew it was
too good to be true. This wasn't just an accident.

"I gave her the means. You took the opportunity. It is all still my
doing. Without me there would be no Christopher Ryan Scully with the
auburn hair," he says, smiling a self congratulatory smile.

"Leave the baby alone," I demand, my voice cold and hard. This is one
thing they can't mess with.

"I'll get back to you, Agent Mulder, to see what you have decided."

He walks back into the shadows. All I can do is fall to my knees and
weep.

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Title: II Storm Warnings
Author: Jori 
e-mail: damienma@netroenterprises.com
Rating: NC-17
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR, AU
Summary : Part II in the CRS series, Mulder recalls the events that led
up to the creation of Christopher Scully and ponders if there was more
to it than what they think.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013, FOX , DD and GA

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

July 12, 2001

Two red flags with black squares in the middle. Most coastal dwellers
and mariners know exactly what this means. Scully surely knew what they 
meant, but yet, she also chose to ignore those flags and all their 
repercussions. We ignored those foreboding flags and stayed where we
were. She says she never noticed those red and black flags until it was
too late. How could one miss them? They are so ominous.

What if we had left? What if we hadn't ignored those storm warnings?

A late season storm was heading towards Louisiana. It was October and it
never occurred to us that this is something we might get caught up in. We 
should have had plenty of time to finish the case, get to New Orleans and 
get the hell out of there. Looking back, Hurricane Lucas was the
best thing that every happened to us. I just pray it won't be the worst.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

October 12, 2000
Lake View Inn
Southern Louisiana

"Mulder, the airport is closed. We are effectively trapped here in...,
damn, I can't even pronounce it like these people do, Louisiana," Scully
says to me as she hangs up the phone, slamming it down in the cradle,
causing the lamp to totter on the table.

"It can't be that bad, Scully," I say as I flip the TV to the Weather
Channel. "I'm sure this one isn't going to blow any strange creatures
in. And see, they say it won't get over a Category Two."

"Right. And earlier this week they said it was going to hit Miami
Beach," she says, looking and sounding agitated.

"Hey, you didn't say anything about leaving, either. You could have
spoken up at anytime. This communication thing is a two way street," I
say, not knowing how this can be all my fault. Sure, we have problems
expressing ourselves to each other, but I am not entirely to blame for
this 'crisis. ' Not this time, anyway.

"We have been chasing that damn 'Bayou Bob' creature so long, I didn't
even think about what those flags meant the hundred times we drove by
that marina," she says. It has been a miserable case. Most days we were
stuck up to our elbows in water, tracking down some mutant killer who
doesn't seem to exist. We are both tired and cranky. I go back to
watching the meteorologist on the TV, hoping she will not say anything
else about it.

"Well, maybe a Category Three. We are inland, Scully. Not too much to
worry about," I tell her after listening to some man ramble on for a few
minutes. It is true. We aren't right on the Gulf, but rather we are west
of Lake Pontchartrain.

"Good. Well, when it gets up to a Category Five, let me know," she says
as she sulks off to her room, mumbling something about half the state
being perfect for a hurricane to travel over.

How was I to know this was going to happen?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

I knock on her adjoining door. I have been talking with some of the
locals trying to get more information on the preparedness of the region.
Most laughed, saying they were just going to ride it out. Others told me
to at least get a bottle of water or two. And fill up he bathtub with
freshwater.

"Scully, open up," I call loudly, hoping she isn't sleeping.

She opens her side of the door. She is dressed in jeans and a T-shirt,
her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She has her glasses on and a
book in her hand. She looks more irritated than worried.

"What do you need, Mulder?" she asks. Scully sounds more than a little
ticked off. This can't all be my fault. No one can control the weather.
Not even me.

"The manager of this fine establishment says they have made it through
many storms. People are actually coming here for shelter," I explain,
trying to make things better.

"Well, that's something," she says, rubbing her neck.

"What's the matter? Don't you feel well?" I ask. I worry about her. A
lot. I never want her to be sick again.

"I'm fine. It's just...well never mind," she says, as her hand stops
moving but remains on her neck.

"He also says we should go find some basic supplies. We already have
flashlights and batteries, but we might need water until we can get out
of here. And food. All the restaurants are closed," I say. I don't want
us to starve here in this crappy motel, relying solely on a vending
machine, one starlight mint from my pocket and the roll of Tums I have
in my bag.

"Let me get my coat. I'll be right back," she says, as she walks into
her room.

She starts rubbing that spot on her neck again. The spot with that piece
of metal in it that for all we know keeps her alive. We have no idea
what else it does.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Bob's Grocery and Bait
Southern Louisiana

The grocery store is a mad house. We can only buy water by the crate
from emergency stock, and all canned foods have long been gone off the
shelves. Even the sardines and kippers.

"What did you come up with?" I ask Scully as she approaches me.

"Two boxes of fat free Pop Tarts, some canned corn that was in the wrong
section, and a bag of caramel flavored rice cakes," she replies, as she
shows me the few items she carries in her arms.

"Ugh. When is the airport opening again?" I ask. Surviving on Pop Tarts
isn't going to cut it for long.

"That depends, Mulder, on whether this blows by fast...or takes its own
sweet time and blows by slow," she says, as she walks by me.

Does she have to say those words that way, allowing them to flow off her
tongue and buzz in my ears, conjuring up all sorts of images? She
doesn't even realize what she does to me.

"Well, I came up with a bag of Real Pit Barbecue Pork Rinds, a box of
graham crackers and a jar of Goober Grape I had to wrestle from a young
mother," I tell her.

"A virtual smorgasbord of good eats," she says, as she turns to me with
a smile on her face.

"Come on Scully, this could be fun," I say, as I follow her.

"Getting stuck in another hurricane? Someday I will have to investigate
further exactly what it is you call fun," she says as she heads to the
one and only cash register. The line is wrapped to the back of the small
store.

"I hope you do."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

October 12, 2000
Lake View Inn
Southern Louisiana

"So, what are they saying now?" Scully asks me as I recline on her bed,
already nibbling on our emergency rations. I hope we aren't going to be
holed up here too long. We might have to resort to the Tums considering
I already ate the mint.

"Well, landfall should occur overnight. Scully, how in the hell did we
miss this thing?" I ask her, already knowing the answer.

"We get overly involved with our work, Mulder," she explains. Being
overly involved with our work keeps us from noticing a lot of things.
Mainly, our lives passing by. Someday we will be dead and realize how
infinitesimal our impact on the earth has been. Unless, of course, we
save it. Maybe they will rename the place after us.

"This thing is huge! Surely, we must have known something about it," I
say, as I point at the rotating image on the TV screen, bearing down
towards the Louisiana coast.

"What's the wind speed now?" Scully asks. She occasionally acts
interested, and takes her nose out of her book.

"I think they said something like 90 miles per hour. They keep changing
all the information. Can't they get it straight!" I exclaim. So far it
has been predicted to make land fall at three different times in four
different places.

"Well, they do get some of their information from the government..."
Scully says, giving me a quick glance.

"Hey, here's good news. FEMA is set up here already."

"I'm sure they won't remember us," she says, even though they probably
do remember us well.

"Want some pork rinds," I offer, turning the bag in her direction.

"I'm not that desperate yet," she says, turning her nose up.

"Your loss. I'm tired and I'm going to go get some rest before this
thing hits. Knock if you need me," I tell her as I go off to my room.

I am wiped out. I wonder if there is some correlation to the drop in the
barometric pressure associated with a hurricane and my sudden feeling of
exhaustion? I already know that it causes women to go into labor. I've
seen that first hand. I get undressed, turn on the local news to find
they have preempted all primetime TV for this event. It doesn't matter.
Soon I am asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *

I can hear a pounding on my door, but I can't react to it. I am too far
away in some dream. She is calling my name and I don't know what is
wrong with me. Maybe it is in my dreams. Scully often calls out to me in
my dreams. Sometimes in pleasure, sometimes in horror. The knocking
stops. I should check on her. I ... should ... check ...on ... Scully
filters through my sleepy brain, but I somehow ignore it. She's okay.

When I finally shake myself out of my deep sleep and get to her room, I
find that it is empty with the door standing open and the rain pouring
in. The carpet is wet near the entry and the curtains are flying in the
wind.

"Oh, shit! Scully! Where are you?" I cry out, panicking. There is no way
she would go out in weather like this. Something must be wrong. Why in
the hell didn't I wake up when I heard the pounding? How long have I
been sleeping anyway? It couldn't have been that long. . .

Scully slips through the open front door and struggles to shut it
against the wind. She is wearing a coat that is rain-slicked and she is
beyond windblown. Her hair is damp and clings in tiny ringlets to her
face while her jeans are soaked up to the knees.

"What were you doing? You scared me," I nearly shout at her as my heart
starts to resume its normal rhythm in my chest.

She is confused, as she looks around the room trying to figure out where
she is.

"I had to, ah, move the car. Someone called here and told me to move it.
I tried to wake you," she says, sliding out of her wet rain gear.

"I'm sorry. I was dead asleep," I say, glad that the reason for her
wandering out into the rain is so simple.

"Apparently," she says, pointing at the only clothing I am wearing.
Boxer shorts. Like I care about anything beyond her being safe. She
grabs some dry clothes and goes into the bathroom to change.

"Hey, I'm starved. Want some crackers?" I ask her when she comes back
into the room.

"Sure. The news says we should get some strong wind and some heavy rain,
but that this area isn't going to blow away or anything," Scully says,
nodding at the TV. The sound is turned so low I can barely hear it.

"I said not to worry," I tell her in a smug fashion.

"You never said that."

"Here. Eat this." I say as I hand her a graham cracker with Goober Grape
spread on it.

"What is this stuff?" she asks. She looks at the concoction closely, as
if it some strange specimen we came across out in the field.

"Peanut butter and grape jelly combined in one jar. Ambrosia for
bachelors, young mothers and college students on a munchie-binge. If
you'd rather have pork rinds, I could go get them out of my room..."

"No, I'll stick with this," she says, putting her hand up to stop me.

Pretty soon half the jar is gone along with half a box of graham
crackers. A few foil Pop Tart wrappers are strewn about, too. It is
amazing how much you can eat when there isn't anything else to do.

We just sit on the beds and watch the news coverage. It becomes
mesmerizing after awhile, the constant changing storm tracking images.
We watch all these different radar pictures showing what is happening in
tiny increments with the storm drawing nearer. We can hear it, can open
the door and experience it, but still are curiously drawn to these
people telling us it is moving closer and closer. I wonder what happens
if they blow away?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

She is fast asleep and I am still watching the TV when the loudest bang
I've ever heard in a motel room occurs outside the door. Then the lights
and TV go out in a flash. There isn't even any light coming in from the
rain covered window. We are enveloped in darkness.

"Mulder?" Scully calls out my name in a sleepy voice.

"Yes?" I answer as I set the useless remote control to the side.

"Did you remember to bring the flashlights in?" she asks. Damn. I knew I
was forgetting something.

"No, did you?" I ask. She was the last person in the car, since she just
moved it.

"No."

"Shit. Well, maybe they will get it fixed soon," I say, wondering how in
the hell we are going to pass the time in the dark with only a limited
amount of junk food and a crate of water. Maybe I should just go to my
room and go to bed. What else is there to do?

"Right, because the electric company is out as we speak in 100 mile per
hour wind fixing transformers," Scully says, her voice just a little
snide.

"No need to get mean, Scully. It's not like there is anything to see
anyway," I respond.

"I was just starting to enjoy watching you in your boxer shorts."

"Ha ha."

Nothing more is said for several minutes. We just sit here in the dark
on the two double beds. The only sound is the wind howling outside and
the rain coming down in sheets against the window.

For no apparent reason we both stand up at the same time, occupying that
little strip of carpet between the two beds. Like the convection of air
that creates storms, we slam into each other, bodies meeting in such a
small area. Hot meets cold, and boom! Energy is released. There is no
going back. All that power has to go somewhere. This storm has been
brewing for eight years now and it had to be released at some point.
Someone should hoist those red and black flags up right here in this
room, because I have a feeling something big is coming our way.

Our impact tumbles us backwards onto the bed she has been resting on. I
am on her. She is under me. That is all it takes. All those years, and
this is all it is coming down to. Two people stumbling over each other
in the dark. I should have turned the lights off years ago.

"Scully?" I say, knowing I should get up, but not wanting to. I love the
way she feels under me, and I try to memorize it quickly. She is so
soft, yet not fragile at all. I don't want this accidental intimacy to
end.

She reaches for me and kisses me hard. My body reacts in a million ways,
some so obvious. It has been so long, this battle of want and desire I
have for her. It can now finally be released. I grow harder from just
her kiss, and the feel of her form under mine. Can this really be
happening? Oh yes, it is. Our tongues probe each other's mouth,
searching for greater depths. She tastes of strawberry ...must be the
Pop Tarts. Why in the hell did I always imagine Scully would taste of
strawberry? Now I have that fantasy fulfilled.

Off come T-shirts, jeans, boxers, bras, panties. Whatever is stopping us
from touching each other completely is cast to the side in abandon. We
are lying naked, arms and legs entwined, as our mouth and lips and
tongues still search for more. I curse the darkness the lack of light,
wanting to see her. I want to see into her eyes and watch her face as we
move past the point of just friendship. I hold her face in my hands,
searching for her eyes. Her hair is still damp from the storm, and it
lies in tangles across her face. I can feel it flowing over my hands. I
want to feel her body flow over and under my hands.

We move nimbly around in the dark, nothing at all like the new lovers we
are. There is a familiarity that has been bred from time shared with
each other. Never like this, though. Oh, God...never like this.
Thousands of fantasies are tangled up in the storm we creating on our
own. Maybe that it why we know each other so well. All those nights
dreaming of this one singular moment.

The wind is whipping around outside in a frenzy that matches our own. I
need her now, and she is there for me. Always there for me, that is
Scully. Come hell or high water, she is there. I move in the darkness,
and find her wet, warm folds. I dip my fingers into her wetness, and she
moans in response to the touch. My thumb finds her clit, and her body
jerks slightly at that first contact, before relaxing against me,
demanding more. I want to please her, make all those years we avoided
this to just vanish. I can feel her eyes on me, as I stay propped up
above her. I can't see her, but I can feel her, and I know she is
watching.

I can feel her body begin to tighten, searching for release, but she
doesn't let herself go over so easily. She moves up the bed and away
from me, as she guides me onto my back. She wraps her hand around my
cock, and begins to stroke with expertise. The firmness of her hand
around me is just right, and now it is my turn to moan. Another person's
hand doing this is so different, so much better. Especially considering
it is her hand grasping me, her fingers deftly stroking the tip with
each motion. This is the hand I wanted there all these years. Her mouth
comes back down upon mine, kissing me before she moves her hand. I want
to protest, but she quickly moves above me, sinking down onto my cock
and rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the rain slamming against
the window. I am in her, and she is as wet as the earth outside. If this
storm blows us away right now, I will die a happy man. Almost.

I can feel every inch of her wrap around me, and I pull her down harder,
wanting to sink further, to depths from which I can no longer come back.
I will drown here and I don't care. She bounces above me, her hands now
on my chest, stroking my nipples as she moves. The cheap headboard
strikes against the wall, gaining momentum right along with us, and that
bang forces the picture to slam right along with it.

She moves off of me and I cry out her name. It hurts to be separated,
even for a short time.

"Like this," she hisses into my ear, her voice rough with desire. Scully
is the one initiating this. I would have never imagined that this is the
scenario that would finally topple us over into this. I never thought
she would be the impetus behind us falling in bed together.

She is on her back and she pulls me to her, guiding me inside her again.
Her legs go around my waist, pulling me closer, and I sink in her warm,
wet body to the hilt. I am in so deep I know I can't last much longer.
It has been too long, so much time wanting her, but closing off those
feelings, respecting what she wanted.

"Scully...I have to...can I...oh, please. Inside you?"

I didn't make much sense, but it is the best I can utter right now.

"Go ahead. Trust me, Mulder, there's no way I can get pregnant. It's
okay," she says, her voice coming out in stacato pants.

"But are you close?"

"Almost," she says as her hand snakes down between her legs. A woman who
takes care of herself. I love her.

A squall line passes over and the rain and shrieking wind drown out my
cries. She is only a few seconds behind me. Her muscles quake, pulling
me in more. I have now drowned, while I lie immersed in Scully.

Now I could die a happy man. I roll off of her, and miss her already.

"Scully, I love you."

She says nothing back. Just lets out a tired sigh. Within minutes we are
both asleep while the storm rages outside.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Something pounds against the wall in the clamorous wind, and I am
completely awake. She isn't. I am overcome by this urge to taste her.
All of her. I want to please her myself this time.

I slowly lick a line from the curve of her neck downwards, stopping at
all the places I've always wanted to lick. My tongue is swirling on the
inside of her thigh before she reacts.

"Mulder?" she says, as she tries to sit up to see what is going on.

"Shh. Enjoy this," I tell her as my tongue finds the spot that makes her
moan. I can make Scully moan. Again. Her hands go into my hair and pulls
me even closer, as her hips react to my touch, bucking slightly. Her
movements start out as barely noticeable, more like someone shifting to
get comfortable. Soon, they become demanding and I can only comply to
what she wants.

Some men hate this act, and find it an obligation, a means to get to
better places. I say pack a picnic lunch and move on in. I already
drowned here tonight. Now I'm returning to the sea for more.

She tastes of her, of me, of everything I ever imagined. She is
thrashing about underneath me in a matter of minutes, her hands gripping
the sheets around her. I can hear her nails scratch at the cool, white
sheets as she tries to hold herself down. The sound, the scent and the
taste of her make me come again, too. Without any contact. That's the
power she has over me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

October 13, 2000
Lake View Inn
Southern Louisiana


In the morning, I find myself alone in the bed. A light radiates from
the bathroom, indicating that they restored out power. I wanted to see
her sleeping, but she is gone already.

"Scully?" I call out into the semi-darkness. I see movement to the side
of the room, as she crosses and uncrosses her arms in front of the her.

She is sitting at the table by the window. Early morning light filters
through the curtains, and we have survived the night. And how. She is
dressed neatly but she looks miserable. Her face looks puzzled and I can
make out that tiny crease in her brow. I made her feel like this? My
heart sinks, unable to find its place in my chest. This is not how the
ending was to go. I wanted to wake up with her wrapped up in my arms and
make love to her again. I didn't want her to run, even if it is just to
the other side of the room.

"What's wrong, Scully?" I ask, as I sit up.

"Mulder, that wasn't supposed to happen. It's just not a good idea. It
will cloud our judgment..." she begins, her eyes avoiding me.

"Damn it, Scully! What brought this on?" I demand. "Please, don't do
this to me Scully. Don't send us backwards now that we've made this one
big step forwards."

"The storm passed, Mulder," she says, her voice devoid of emotion.

"So?" I ask. "We have survived other storms. Why should this be
different?"

"The storm...I don't know. I wasn't thinking straight," she says, her
eyes still moving around the room to anything but me.

"Can't you ever just enjoy something in your life?"

"One could say the same thing about you," she says.

"I enjoyed you. Every inch of you," I say to her, my voice low and
becoming angry. I won't let this get me angry. That won't help.

She turns her head in embarrassment. This can't be happening. I can't
lose her this fast. The Scully I was with last night couldn't have blown
away with the last of the wind.

I jump out of the bed and stand naked before her, my hands on her
shoulders, wanting to pull her to me. She resists and moves back away
from me. She tries hard not to look at any of me, not even my face.

"Scully, I love you. I always will. I love how brilliant you are. I love
the way you taste, and the scent of you. I love the way you say things
like 'Mulder, are you suggesting that little green men made you do it?'
I love you. Remember that. Forget this ever happened, but remember that
one thing," I say. Then I leave that storm-ravaged room and slam the
door behind me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

I spend over an hour on the phone trying to get a flight out of here.
Finally, we get can out if we drive to Baton Rouge and take some puddle
jumper to Atlanta. Fucking Happy Birthday, Fox Mulder, I think to
myself. You got every damn thing you ever wanted and had it all taken
away on the same day. I call her room.

"Scully," she answers.

"It's me. I got us a flight out of here. Be at the car in fifteen
minutes..." I say. Then I hang up on her before she can utter a word.
I'm not ready to hear her voice just yet. I will be soon. I slam my few
items into my bag, leaving behind anything we bought to survive the
storm. We apparently didn't make it through to the other side undamaged.

I check out and find the car exactly where I left it last evening. This
isn't where it is supposed to be. She said she moved it. Why else would
she be out in the rain and the wind? Trees are down all over, but I
guess the roads are passable. I will move the damn things myself if I
have to.

She walks to the car and throws her bag in the open trunk. I watch her
slam it so hard the car shakes, causing twigs and leaves to go flying
off of the wet surface.

"I thought you said you had to move the car last night? What in the hell
were you doing out here if you didn't move the car?" I demand of her. I
want to know what in the hell is going on. I want to know why she keeps
changing so fast.

"I, um...I don't remember," she says, as she touches the back of her
neck again. "I thought I moved it. That's what I came out here for. I
just don't know . . ."

She looks around the parking lot like she is suddenly lost.

"Maybe I didn't park it here. I could have sworn I did," I tell her.

"I don't know, Mulder. Let's just get out of here."

We drive away, silently ignoring everything that transpired here under
tempestuous skies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

July 12, 2001

Nine months after the storm and Scully and I now have Christopher
because of it. I never thought of her out in that storm again until that
bastard Cancer Man showed up at the hospital on Christopher's birthday.
Did he draw her out there? Did he make it so this baby could be created?
How? More unanswered questions in my life. He knows the answers. Damn
it. He always does.

I watch Scully sleep with our baby on her chest, holding him tight. It's
our first night home. I don't care where he came from. He's ours. Nobody
is going to hurt this family. He was created in a storm, and he will
survive whatever they throw our way.

I haven't told her about that visit in the garage. I haven't told her of
the decisions I need to make. Right now, I'm just glad we missed those
storm warnings.

The end

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

TITLE: III Sunshine and Shadows 
AUTHOR: Jori damienma@netroenterprises.com
CATEGORY: SRHA
KEYWORDS: MSR (Nope, no sex. The baby is only a month old.)
RATING: a mild R
ARCHIVE: Sure
DISCLAIMER: They belong to CC, 1013, and FOX. I own nothing. I make no
money. I could only give you my firstborn son. You'd bring him back. I
invented Christopher. Isn't he cute?
SUMMARY: Continuing story for my One of my Own Series. If you want to
read it and it isn't still posted here, e-mail me and I will send it to
you. Basically, M&S have a baby now, but are still working on a relationship.
The syndicate seems to be behind the baby, but no one knows how.
In this story, Mulder struggles with his first time alone with
Christopher and with Scully's emotions, while Scully struggles with
Postpartum Depression, a crisis in faith and loss of control over the
fate of her son.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: No, having babies isn't all rosy. Postpartum depression
isn't fun and new babies require a lot of time and patience. Don't let
all the angst scare you away. It gets better. I pwomise!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

August 10, 2001
6:17 p.m.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."
"Waaaah! Waaahh! WAAAHH!"
"You make me happy when skies are gray..."
"Wah! Wahh! Waaah!"
"You'll never know dear, how much I love you..."
"Waaahh! WAAAAAH!"
"Please don't take my sunshine away."

Unless you can get him to stop crying. No, I don't mean that. I would
never want someone to take him away. Even if he's slightly colicky.

"Ok, so that song isn't doing it for you, is it pumpkin. Come on,
sweetie. Pwease, pwease, pwease stop crying. Mommy will be home in a
little bit. I pwomise."

Christopher started crying the second Scully left the apartment and
hasn't stopped yet. I've been dancing around this tiny apartment with
him and singing everything imaginable from 'In-a-gadda-da-vida' to 'As
Time Goes By', but nothing is working.

"Mommy said she'd be right back."

Good God! How long has she been gone? Two hours now? I know she
desperately needs to get out and away from us, but for this long?

"Ok. Let's try this one. It worked for your grandma the other day," I
say to my son as I hold him tight and slow dance around the living room
some more. Most nights this works. Of course, most nights he has his mom
or grandma dancing and singing with him.

"Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you...
And the way you look tonight."

Even if that is all red and bunched up.

"Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft,
There is nothing for me but to love you,
And the way you look tonight."

No, you don't smile much yet, but you are still beautiful.

"Waaaaahhh! Waaaah!"

That one isn't working either.

"So, you don't like the oldies, do you? I'm getting tired, buddy boy.
You want to sit and rock a little?"

I sit down in the rocker and put him down on his tummy on a receiving
blanket over my knees and rub his back. Some nights this does the trick.
Other nights, nothing helps.

I know Scully had to get out to clear her head. I appreciate how hard it
has been for her to move into motherhood. I appreciate how unexpected it
was.

One week ago I told her about the little visit I had with our smoking
friend. She has not been the same since. I don't know what I'm going to
do yet. I don't know if I can give it all up for this tiny soul. Will
this person finally be the leverage they need?

I want both my life's work and my son.

I also want my son's mother to come home and make him happy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

August 10, 2001
6:17 p.m.

I had to get away and think. I'm so tired. I've only been gone a mere
twenty minutes now. I've got to do this. I have got to get my thoughts
out of the shadows, even if only for an hour.

I am making that first trip alone most new mothers make. I'm driving to
the grocery store by myself.

I don't know what is wrong with me. My head is cloudy form the lack of
sleep. Although I feel this overwhelming love for Christopher, I feel
nothing for anybody else.

I have been exhausted before. Medical school, for one. There were many
cases with Mulder where there was no time to sleep. Then there was
Antarctica. I thought I could never be as exhausted as I was when we got
home. I know better now. Sleep was at least an option then.

I have no choice but to nurse my ever-hungry son every two hours and
attend his every need. This is the best for him, I tell myself, but what
about me? I've lost me. Mulder has left for hours at a time to go into
the office, even though he is on leave. I feel as if I have no where to
go anymore.

Now Mulder brings that damn Cancer Man into the picture, with his evil
threats. I am doubting Mulder's ability to protect Christopher and
still work on the X-files. I have the right to ask him to quit to
protect my son. Should I even have to ask him? I am losing control of it
all. Mulder's future is so easy, or at least it appears that way to me.
He knows what he wants. For me, the future is getting steep. The
responsibilities of parenthood are overwhelming. I need to protect this
child. That is all I know.

 Who can save my son from his future if his father won't?

It always goes back to Mulder. It is a damned Catch-22. Without Mulder,
I might be living a normal life with a husband and children who aren't
threatened. With Mulder, I do have a son who's very existence makes his
parents pawns in some elaborate chess match. Without Mulder, there would
be no Christopher. With Mulder, there is a Christopher.

I can't live without Christopher now that I have him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

August 10, 2001
6:28 p.m.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word..."
"Waahh! Wahh!"
"Papa's going to buy you a mockingbird."
"Waaahhh!"
"If that mockingbird don't sing..."
"Papa's going to buy you a...a..."

 A what? Bell to ring? No, that's not right. How could I not know this
song? I can remember Sinatra, but not this lullaby? Oh, yeah. I know...

"A diamond ring."
"Waaaah! Wahh!"
"You know, kiddo, I'd buy your mommy a diamond ring, but I'm beginning
to believe she really doesn't want to ever marry me."
"Waaaah! WAAAAAH!"
"That's how feel about it, too. Ok, if that diamond ring..."

What can a diamond ring do? I've heard Scully sing this to him. I should
have paid some attention to her, I guess. Now I remember...

"Turns to brass, papa's going to buy you a..."

A kilo of grass? It rhymes, and maybe some papas would, but I'm in law
enforcement. A papal mass? No, that would be your mother. Come on,
Mulder, think...

"A looking glass."
"Waaaahhh!"

"This isn't working, either, is it, pookie? Do you need your diaper
changed? Well, we can handle that, can't we, Christopher? Then we will
call our mommy and see when she will be back."

I get all the diapering essentials together and peel off his wet diaper.

"Oh, shoot!"

I forgot about keeping parts of a baby boy's anatomy covered until the
other diaper is in place. Time for T-shirt change number twelve for the
day.

"We just won't tell mommy about that one, will we, Christopher?"

I wash him, finish with his new diaper and get him dressed in dry
pajamas.
At least all the activity has slowed his crying down from a steady wail
to an occasional wail.

After changing my clothes, I pick him up off the bed and place him on
the my shoulder again. I talk to him, hoping my voice will keep him
quiet.

"You know what we are going to do some day, Christopher? We are going to
go to a pro basketball game. I'm not talking the Washington Wizards. I'm
talking about the Knicks. Then during the summers, we will go see the
Mets a few times. I know the Orioles are closer, but we're talking about
the Mets. Now, for football, we can just go see the Redskins. Does that
sound good? No ice skating, though, ok? Not even if mommy begs. You just
say no. Hey, should we call mommy now?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

August 10, 2001
6:39 p.m.

I'm standing in the cookie aisle when my phone rings. I should have left
it at home.

"Scully," I answer.

"Scully, it's us."

"Us?" Well, that is new.

"Yeah. You, me, baby makes three. That's an us," he says.

"What did you need? Is Christopher ok?" I ask as I pick up a package of
Vienna Fingers and examine them for God only knows what reason.
"He's fine. Well, actually, he won't stop crying."

"Did you feed him? I left a bottle of milk for him in the fridge."

"No....no...I didn't feed him yet."

I can hear him rattling around in the refrigerator.

"Try that."

"Scully, are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I tell him, trying to sound as sincere as I can.

"You don't sound fine. Scully, you sound...flat."

"I'm just tired. Did you get him his bottle yet?"

"I'm working on it. I think you have postpartum depression."

"Is that your professional opinion?" I ask, knowing he's right and
hating him for it.

"Yes, it is."

"Give Christopher his bottle. I'll be home in an hour or so."

"Let me guess. You are at the grocery store standing in the cookie
aisle."

"No, I'm not," I lie.

"Yes, you are. Because there's a lot of choices on that particular
aisle. More importantly, you are in control of those choices. They
aren't difficult or life altering choices. It won't matter if you bring
home Oreo's or Vienna Fingers. You feel like you've lost control of
everything else in your life right now. You are trying to find something
you can control."

"And that would be cookies? Mulder, why are you profiling me?"

"I'm not. I know how you feel. I've been alone with Chris for two hours
now..."

"Actually, It's only been about forty-five minutes," I tell him.

"Whatever. He's very demanding. Our lives have changed and now you feel
out of control."

"Why don't you save it for when you go back to work next week."

"Is that what this is about? That I'm going to go back.? That I'm not
giving it up?"

I don't say anything.

"Scully, I'm in this just as far as you are. I love him just as much as
you do. I'm not going to let anyone hurt him."

"Maybe that's the problem. You think you in as far as I am but you don't
have to be. You still have control of your life. You can still walk
away. You can still go back to work and risk it all," I tell him.

"But I'm not going to risk it all. I'm not going to walk away. I just
have to figure it all out. We are not only responsible for ourselves and
each other now, but also for this person we created. Like I said, I will
protect him "

I want to sit down and cry in the cookie aisle. I don't want to argue
over any of this. I want it all to be normal. I want the big house and
the picket fences. I want a family. Dad, mom and baby. I don't want my
baby used to control us. I don't want strangers saying they had a part
in creating him.

"I love Christopher, but maybe I just wasn't ready for this. It's not
like I planned on having a baby with you, Mulder. Now we have crossed a
line we can't go back over."

"That's what you get for making whoopee, Scully. We crossed that line
about ten months ago. You should have thought of it then."

"I did. Remember?"

"So, I'm not the man you planned on spending your life with? Is that it?
You missed out on the big, fluffy white wedding? The honeymoon? You
think I stole those things from you?"

I am crying now. I don't know how I feel about him right now.

"We never had a relationship before we had a baby," I tell him.

"Like hell we didn't! Our relationship was better than that of half of
the married people out there."

"And now it's gone."

"Now it can only get better. Why don't we talk about this when you get
home?"

"No, it's easier for me to tell you this way."

I can hear him take in a deep breath. I can also hear Christopher
complaining in the background. It makes my breasts tingle, and I have to
put one arm across them.

"You want me to move back to my place?"

I don't know what to say. I don't honestly care if he stays or goes
right now. That is how tired I am.

"Maybe. I think so. Yes," I finally answer.

There is no sound from the other end except a small cry from my son.
Maybe it was Mulder.

"Ok. I'll get my stuff together and I'll leave when you get back."

The phone disconnects. Well, that was taking control of something, now
wasn't it, Dana? 

This cloud in my brain has got to clear.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

August 10, 2001
6:49 p.m.

I hold Christopher close to my chest and give him his bottle of breast
milk. I rarely ever get to feed him. I'm not going to claim to be one of
those fathers who say they are envious of the mother's ability to breast
feed. I'm not. But it's moments like this that make all the sleepless
nights worthwhile. I know I lack the heart and soul behind the feeding
that he is used to with his mother, but he seems to be getting pretty
comfortable.

"Christopher, your mommy and daddy are having some problems right now.
They have nothing to do with you. You mean everything to us. I know you
don't understand this, but I want to tell you anyway. Your mom and dad
have been through a lot together. Not all of it is good. I just want you
to know that I love you, and your mommy loves you. No matter what
happens to your parents, we both love you. I also love your mommy. A
lot. Daddy has to make some choices that could effect the rest of your
life."

He's starting to fall asleep. I don't want to let him go, but I have to.

I get up and place him on the bed between some pillows.

I get out my bags and pack up my clothes and toiletries. I also grab the
receiving blanket that's in his cradle. I need something to take with
me.

I know what is wrong with Scully, but I don't know how to help her. I
can't give her back the old life she had. I don't even know if I want
to. I also can't just give up everything I've ever worked for that
easily. I have to at least see some of it through.

I know she loves our child. I just don't know if she loves his father. I
will give her the time she needs. I can do this.

I lie down on the bed and a pull Christopher on to my chest. I need to
hold him. We both are asleep in a matter of minutes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

August 10, 2001
9:04 p.m.

When I get home, I find them asleep in bed. Mulder has Christopher
across his chest and his arms wrapped around him. I notice his bags are
sitting next to the bed. I want to talk to Mulder, but I don't want to
wake Christopher up.

I lie down next to them and turn out the lights.

Two hours later, I wake to Christopher's cries. He is hungry. Mulder
must have put him in his cradle before he left.

I pick up my son and go to the rocking chair in the living room to nurse
him.

He is so restless. He must sense something is wrong with the world. I
don't want to hurt him I want him to have a family, but I want a family
where he is safe. Christopher just watches me with those all too
familiar eyes. His father's eyes. I sing to him as he takes his time
nursing.

"Baby mine, don't you cry, baby mine, dry your eyes.
Rest your head close to my heart, never to part.
Baby, of mine...."

I want him to have a future. I want him to have his father, but do I
want his father? Maybe without his father doing what he does, he doesn't
have a future anyway? I am so lost.

"From your head down to your toes,
you're not much, goodness knows.
But you're so precious to me, sweet as can be.
Baby, of mine."

He is full and back to sleep in thirty minutes. I bring him to bed with
me and hold him close. Sometimes when I look at him, I am paralyzed with
love. The thought of losing him brings tears to my eyes. If something
happened to him now, my heart would be empty. My arms would ache from
the loss of him. There would be no way to fill that emptiness. I wonder
if Mulder feels the same. Would the loss of Christopher just be one more
loss in his life, or would it be different? He has never lost a part of
himself like a child. I have before when I lost Emily. I cannot endure
that again. I just don't know the future of this family. I don't know
how to save it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

August 11, 2001
12:04 p.m.

I can't go back to this. I can't so easily give up the life we have
discovered together.

I am back to sleeping on my couch. The only difference is I'm clutching
a baby blanket scented like my son. And I'm not sleeping. Everything is
different now. This place isn't home.

I turn on the TV to discover I forgot to pay the cable bill. I haven't
really lived here in six months. The me that lived here then would have
put in a video. The me that is staying here now is too tired to move
that far. I finally fall asleep to the sound of static.

The pounding on my door makes me jump. Reflexively, I want the noise to
stop before it wakes the baby up. Then I realize the baby isn't here.

"Hold on a minute," I yell to the person on the other side of the door
as I turn off the TV. I look at my watch. I have just slept for ten
hours. A slight pang of guilt overcomes me.

I open the door to find Scully standing there with Christopher in his
baby carrier.

"Come in," I say, taking the carrier from her.

I have him out of the carrier and back into my arms as quickly as I can
work the buckles.

"I missed you," I tell him as I kiss the top of his head.

"I'm sorry," Scully says.

"For what?"

"Asking you to leave."

I don't know what to say about that. I don't know why she did it in the
first place.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"It isn't early. We've been up for awhile now."

"I'm sorry. I'll watch him if you would like to get some sleep."

"No, I'm fine. I came here because I need to talk to you."

She sits down next to us on the couch. Christopher's eyes are drawn to
the lighted fish tank. Too bad there are no living fish in the thing.

"What is it, Scully?"

"This morning while I was getting Christopher dressed, I was looking at
that lithograph my mother gave me when she first found out I was
pregnant."

"The one with the mother and child? The one hanging over the changing
table?"

"Yes. I've looked at it through hundreds of diaper changes, but have
never paid much attention to the scripture verse on it."

"Jeremiah, isn't it?"

"'For I know the plans I have for you...to give you a future and a
hope.'"

"And?" I ask, now rocking our son in the crook of my arm.

"Mulder, he isn't ours."

"What!"

"We are only borrowing him from God. I know that of all the things you
believe in, God isn't one of them, but hear me out. This is the only way
I can deal with this. He belongs to God and God is letting us raise His
child. Only God knows what the future holds for him. Not you, not me,
not even that bastard who says he gave him to us. God gave him to us. No
matter how much we love him, God loves him more."

I don't know what any of this means to us.

"I'm not in control," she continues, "I have to have faith that God does
have a future and a hope for him. For all of us. He controls it all. I
can't control all the evil in this world. I can't keep him safe from all
harm. What I can give him is faith and a conviction in his beliefs. He
must grow up believing in something. This is what I want it to be. That
God does have a future for him."

"Do you want me to quit?"

"I believe you will do the right thing for yourself, for him, and for
me. I believe in you and I believe that you do love our child more than
anything else in the world. Even more than the truth."

I pull her close to me. I have Christopher in one arm, Scully in the
other. I don't need anything else for right now. The future be damned.
This is now and this is real.

"I phoned Father McCue this morning. We have an appointment with him to
discuss baptism."

"But I'm not...anything," I say to her.

She laughs.

"I'm sure that will come up in the conversation. I still need to do
this. I need to fill his life with faith."

"Scully?"

"What, Mulder?"

"Can I come home?"

"Yes, you can," she says, pulling me close and kissing my forehead,

"Yes, you most certainly can."

The end

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TITLE: IV Autumn Moods 
AUTHOR: Jori damienma@netroenterprises.com
CATEGORY: SRHA
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: Up through Season Five and the movie
KEYWORDS: MSR, A/U, Baby fiction
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013 and Fox. I will let them
change the diapers at 3 a.m.

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully now have a son named Christopher Ryan. Scully
faces going back to work, Mulder faces life without the X-files and a
proposition from someone to take them over. Christopher faces being
three months old and the beginning of teething.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to everybody who has stayed with the story so
far. Thanks also for all the feedback. It is greatly appreciated. I have
tried to make each story somewhat a separate entity on its own. If you
haven't read the previous stories in this series (One Of My Own, Storm
Warnings, and Sunshine and Shadows) and you would like to, let me know,
and I will e-mail them to you. I have no place to archive them, so bear
with me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

October 13, 2001
6:35 a.m.

I stir out of my dreamless sleep to hear Scully with our son in the
other room, happily conspiring together on something. They do this early
in the morning. I've heard many one-sided conversations over the last
few months. This is my favorite time of day. I listen in on chatter and
cooing between mother and son and gain insight into what a wonderful
woman and mother Scully is. Not that I didn't already know what a
wonderful, brilliant woman she is. It's just now I know a whole new
person. The person Scully has become as a mother. A mother to my son, I
might add. I am still amazed by that. I am amazed by her.

I can hear them coming my way. Not wanting them to know I'm in on
whatever plot they have, I bury myself under pillows and blankets.

"Happy Birthday, Daddy!" Scully says, while Christopher coos something.

"Ugh!"

"Come on, Mulder. Get your head out of under those pillows. Christopher
has a present for you."

"I hope it's better than his usual 'presents'."

"Oh, I'm sure you will like this one. Do we have to go in there and
bring you out?"

"I'm not having a birthday this year," I say, it all of a sudden dawning
on me what birthday this is.

"Why? Because you are forty? I didn't know you were so sensitive about
turning forty."

"I'm not," I say with a sigh, while I try to dig my way out of the
tangle of blankets.

"Hurry up, Mulder, or you and Christopher will miss your daily 'Pinky
and the Brain' re-run."

Every morning, Scully gets up early and feeds Christopher. Then I take
him and watch the news or cartoons for a half and hour while she gets
some more rest or gets dressed. Then I get ready for work, such that it
is these days.

"Pinky, are you pondering what I'm pondering?" I say, not expecting her
to really say anything.

"I think so, Brain, but do you really think it will fit in the breast
pump?" she says back.

I laugh. Obviously a few nights of Christopher sleeping from 11 p.m. to
6 a.m. has done her sense of humor a lot of good.

I throw off the rest of the blankets to find her sitting on the edge of
the bed with the baby in her arms. He is nibbling on the edge of a gift
box and getting drool everywhere. I sit up and take him in my arms and
kiss him.

"Good morning, Sunshine. What did you get your old man for his fortieth
birthday?" I ask, gently removing his tiny fingers from the box he is
clutching.

He coos and gurgles at me. Then he spits up some of his breakfast on to
the T-shirt I'm wearing. "Just what I always wanted, buddy!"

"Sorry about that," Scully says, jumping up to get a cloth to clean it
up.

"Don't worry about it. A little partially digested human milk is good in
the morning." I say, grabbing the rag she has brought me.

Scully takes him back and attempts to burp him again over her shoulder
while I dig into the package.

I open the box and hold up a new necktie.

"Thank you, Christopher! I thought I'd have to wait until Father's Day
to get a new tie."

"There's more in the box. Look under the tissue paper."

I find two Redskins tickets for next Sunday's game.

"Wow! Chris, did you get a part-time job I don't know about?"

My three-month-old son just gives me the sweetest, toothless baby smile.

"Isn't he a little young for football, Scully?"

"My mother said she would baby-sit if I wanted her to, that is, if you
are taking me. You can go with anybody you would like to. It doesn't
have to be me."

"An afternoon with just you? A whole afternoon of you and me, alone?"

"Well, me and a few thousand fans, but I guess so."

"I hope the game goes into overtime."

She puts Christopher down between us and, propped on one elbow, watches
me play with his little feet.

"My mother also said she would baby-sit tonight if we wanted to go out."

"That sounds nice. I'll try to get back early."

"Get back? It's Saturday? I didn't know you were working this weekend?"
she asks, as I realize I forgot to tell her I have somewhere to go.

"I just have to fly down to Atlanta to check on something. I will try to
get back early. It shouldn't take too long. It just came up last night
right before I left work and I should have told you."

"Anything important?"

"I do nothing important anymore, Scully. You know that," I say, trying
not to let my real feelings bubble up into my voice.

"I'm sorry," she says. I honestly believe she is.

"Do you remember what happened a year ago today, Scully?"

"You turned thirty-nine?"

"Anything else?"

"Hurricane Lucas blew across Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama
unexpectedly, well, at least to us, and caused 1.1 billion or so dollars
in damage in less than twelve hours?"

"Anything else?"

"Well, it did leave us unscathed."

"Unscathed?"

"Almost unscathed, anyway," she says, holding on to one of Christopher's
hands.

"I'm glad you remember."

"How could I forget."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

October 13, 2001
8:12 p.m.

"The least your daddy could do is call, Christopher. We could have
gotten hot dates for tonight, or at least a pizza but instead we are
waiting for him," I say to my son, who just watches me with his intense,
slate blue eyes. They are slowly making their way to a familiar shade of
hazel.

He could call. It was bad enough he didn't bother to tell me about this
trip until this morning. Now I can't seem to find him anywhere. I used
to be part of that life.

Everybody else has called today. Mulder's mother even called twice. My
mother keeps checking to see if she has to baby-sit. It appears that
I've been ditched for an entirely new purpose. Ditched due to
motherhood.

Now I am at home with my son, pondering a career that's at a standstill.
My extended leave ends a the beginning of November and I am still at a
loss for what my next move will be. I am supposed to meet with Skinner
next week. Mulder doesn't know this yet. Practical reasoning would
suggest I return to Quantico. That would be the best thing. Mulder has
yet to return to his X-files, instead choosing to work on a terrorism
detail for awhile. It was the easiest way to avoid conflict for right
now. He's not happy at work. I am not exactly happy being away from
work.

I pull my son to my breast to nurse him. We discussed the prospect of my
giving it all up to raise our son. As much as I love Christopher, I feel
I would lose too much of myself if I chose that route. Although I have
the utmost respect for the woman who can do that, I need to be more than
mommy.

My mother has agreed to watch Christopher when I return to work.
Eventually, I will adjust to the idea of daycare, but that seems so
impersonal right now. It also invokes a fear inside of me that I cannot
squelch. One unguarded moment and he could be gone.

I look down at my child who is now sleeping while he suckles at my
breast. Just the thought of him takes my breath away. I had never really
believed in love at first sight until I saw him. His father was a long,
slow burn cascading into what we now call love, but this was immediate.

I remove my sleeping baby from my breast, get up and gently place him
into his cradle. I sit down on my bed and watch him. He is getting too
big for his cradle. We need to move to a larger place, where
Christopher can have his own room. The commitment to combine our lives
in such a way looms as large as having a baby together did.

I wish he would call and let me know what's going on. It has moved on
beyond just needing to know if he is fine to needing to tell him about
Christopher's life that day. He's only been gone three times since he
went back to work.

The phone rings and I lunge to answer it before it wakes the baby.

"Hello," I say in a whisper, sneaking out of the bedroom.

"Scully, it's me."

"Where are you, Mulder?"

"I'm stuck in Atlanta. This was messier than I thought."

"Oh? What's up?" I ask, suddenly missing my old life more than I
thought.

"I've been at the CDC all day. There was a threat of biological
terrorism here and it came to a head today."

"At the CDC?"

"Crazy world, isn't it?"

"Is everything ok?"

"So far. Scully, I could have really used you here today."

"Thank you," I say, truly happy my absence has been recognized.

We talk for a few minutes about what details he can tell me about the
case. I tell him about how many times his mother has called. He isn't
impressed with her efforts. He lets me know the number where he is in
case there is an emergency.

"How is Christopher?" He finally asks.

"Oh, he's getting used to his father's strange work habits. He's doing
fine, Mulder. I just hope he sleeps through the night without you here."

"I will be out of here in the morning. Can I take a rain check on
dinner?"

"Sure, if I can arrange a baby sitter. I will see you tomorrow.
Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Scully."

I hang up the phone, get a glass of ice water from the refrigerator and
sit down on my couch. It is almost like my old life. Single and alone on
a Saturday night. I should have appreciated it more, I think, and then
feel guilty for thinking it.

I suppose someday Mulder will want to have sex again. Probably with me.
Not that this is an objectionable proposition, it's just that since I
was seven months pregnant, I haven't felt like it. Even after that
initial 'six week' waiting time, I still am just not inspired. After
being in such intimate contact with Christopher all day, I feel as if I
am in intimacy overload. I just do not want one more person touching
me. Since many couples have more than one child, I imagine this will
change in a year or so. Maybe. I don't know what is wrong with me.

I try to call him back an hour later, just to talk to him, to hear his
voice, but there is no answer in his room. I don't leave a message.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

October 13, 2001
9:17 p.m.
Atlanta, Georgia

After hanging up the phone, I get undressed to take a shower. I can feel
all those biological entities that were discussed today crawling all
over me. I feel like a bastard for not making it back home, but I got
overly involved with this case. I've never been one to do things half
way and this was the first interesting case thrown my way in a long
time.

At least I had the luxury of taking time off after Christopher was born
and I was there when Scully went through the baby blues. Of course, she
had screaming neon baby blues.

I finish my shower, turn off the lights and climb naked into my cold
hotel bed. It is so quiet here. I should appreciate it, but I can't. I
miss him. I miss her. I miss them.

I wonder if Scully will ever want to have sex again. With me, that is.
It has been awhile. Not that I didn't go for years without it, just now
that I've had it, I want more. What has it been? Only five months. That
isn't that long.

I just have to resort to those old fantasies I have of her. The ones
that kept me going for so long before. I have a few favorites...but I'm
too tired to actively participate in any way right now.

I start to drift off to sleep and begin to dream.

Scully is sleeping on my black couch. She is wearing a deep hunter green
strapless dress, which is fitted tightly across her full bust line and
cinches in her waist just perfectly. She is barefoot and the contrast of
her skin against the black leather is amazing. She is the color of
bisque porcelain.

She wakes up and discovers that I am watching her. She stands up, and I
notice the dress is shorter than what she usually wears. There is hardly
a back to it on top, just several crisscrossing straps. She is
beautiful. She slips into a pair of strappy black heels that bring her
slightly closer to my height.

She grabs me and tells me we have to go somewhere. I say I'm not dressed
right, but she tells me I'm fine for where we are going. Next thing I
know we are somewhere smoky and she is playing poker and smoking a
cigar. Latin music fills the air and she is at a table of older men
wearing guayabera shirts and talking in Spanish. She understands them
and carries on a very lively conversation with them. I don't know what
to say to her. She wins every hand dealt her and the old men laugh along
with her. A young waiter comes over to her and she flirts shamelessly
with him, not paying any attention to me. He brings her and the rest of
the men at the table a bottle of tequila. She quickly swallows a shot of
tequila, leaving a drop of it on her lips. I'm dying just to ask for a
taste, but not of the tequila. Of her. She licks her lips and drives me
mad.

I lean in and ask "How did you learn to play? Strip poker in college?"
She laughs and says with a wink, "It wasn't college."

I wake up from my dream with a start. I haven't even asked her about sex
since Christopher was born. Does she think about it? So many years we
went with only touches and glances. Then there was that stormy night in
Louisiana. I don't know if she would have done it if she hadn't had that
mysterious, rainy visit with the Alien Insemination Corporation before
hand. What did happen out there? The child is obviously mine, but how?
She doesn't even know and I will probably never know, either. Just one
more thing I don't have the answers for..

My desire for her is making it impossible to sleep, so I get up and
dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and head downstairs to the hotel bar. One
thing is for sure, this assignment allows for better accommodations.

I sit in the bar and order a club soda, feeling too guilty again to
order alcohol. Scully won't even drink anything with caffeine in it now
that she is nursing Christopher.

"Fox?" a voice asks from behind me.
I turn around to discover Special Agent Diana Fowley standing behind me.

"Diana...how are you?" I ask, surprised to see her here.

"Fine. I'm doing fine. So I hear you are on terrorism again," she says,
sitting down next to me.

"For now. But you are the expert."

"They called me in this afternoon. I've been in Denver for months now
handling the rash of small bombings there. I was quite surprised to
discover who helped clear this thing up by the time I got here."

"Just doing my job."

"So, is it really true?" she asks with a gleam in her brown eyes.

"Is what really true?"

"That you are a daddy? I heard the rumor all the way out west."

"It's not a rumor. His name is Christopher. He's three months old now
and he's the most beautiful person on earth. You want to see pictures?"
I ask, reaching for my wallet to show her the pictures.

"No, that's ok. And his mother is...?"
I laugh. How could this part of the story not make it with the rest?
"Scully."

She just sits back on her barstool and looks away from me.
"Hmm. I didn't think you two were involved."

"We weren't."

"Did you marry the girl, Fox?" she asks, touching my hand that so long
ago had a wedding band on it.

"I asked. She said no."

"So you are still single?"

"No."

Diana says nothing for a minute.

"So, what happened to the X-files?"

"I had to temporarily put them on the back burner. Just until my...our
life settles down. I don't have a partner right now. One hasn't been
assigned to me, yet."

She looks contemplative, and I am certain she wants to ask more, but
doesn't know what I will or will not answer. She stands up without ever
ordering anything.

"Well, I'll be up in D.C. for awhile this week. I'd love to meet your
son," she says to me, placing her hand on my shoulder

"You know where to find me," I say to her, hoping she was leaving.

"That I do," She says as she departs., "And, Fox, Happy Birthday."

I wait a few minutes and head back to my room and my dreams of Scully.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

October 18, 2001
6:40 a.m.

I hang up the phone call from my mother and find Mulder rocking
Christopher in front of the morning news.

"Mulder, I have a meeting with Skinner at 11 a.m. and my mother just
called to say she can't watch Christopher this morning due to an
emergency with one of the neighbors she looks after. Can you take an
early lunch or are you too busy today?"

"Why are you meeting with Skinner today?" he asks me.

He is trying to get Chris back to sleep. The baby was up all night
being fussy and cranky. I think he's coming down with a cold. I hope
that is all it is.

"I am still officially assigned to the X-files with a temporary
reassignment at Quantico. We are going to discuss what is next for me
now that I have joined the mommy track."

"I don't have to be there? I mean, you are still under me, assignment
wise that is."

"I thought I would talk to him alone first. I'm sorry. I should have
told you sooner."

I touch Christopher's forehead. He has cooled down since the middle of
the night. I will take his temperature again when I get him dressed.

"The Tylenol must be working," I say.

"Maybe he's just teething," Mulder adds, slipping a finger into
Christopher's mouth and feeling his lower gum, "Nope, no teethies in
there yet. Lucky mommy."

"Where is his binky?" I ask, trying to get his diaper bag packed for
later.

"I thought we weren't going to encourage any oral fixations."

"He's breast fed, Mulder. He's going to have many fixations."
Christopher giggles a little, as if he understands what I'm talking
about.

"I'll watch him. Bring him on in."

"Meet me in the lobby at quarter to 11. I don't want to drag him through
the whole building."

"What? You don't want everybody talking about Spooky, Jr.?" Mulder says
with a smile.

"I'll bring his stroller and you guys can go for a walk. It should be
warm enough today."

"Well, Christopher Ryan, Daddy has got to get ready to go to his job and
you don't appear to be going back to sleep for me. You want mommy?"
Christopher just gurgles some more.

He hands Christopher to me and heads off to get dressed.

I hold Christopher tight and rock him. I will admit I am worried about
him. He's been so healthy thus far. We had all sorts of tests run on him
at birth. He is genetically fit, and Mulder and I are definitely his
parents. The tests were expensive, but well worth it. The ease of mind
they have brought me is priceless. Although how I became pregnant in the
first place still remains a mystery, this child is well loved and cared
for.

Chris falls asleep in my arms and I carry him back into the bedroom and
gently place him in his cradle. Mulder is getting dressed and I put my
index finger up to my lips to signal to him to keep quiet.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and watch him get ready for work.
Someday, my tiny son will look like this man. Someday, he will have a
woman watching him like I watch Mulder. Perhaps my son will more
perceptive of the eyes on him. A big part of me doesn't even want to
think about it yet.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

October 18, 2001
10:55 a.m.

I rush to the lobby to find Scully waiting there, tapping her foot and
looking at her watch.

"I'm sorry. I was in a meeting with Skinner, so he knows that you are
coming in now."

"Oh? What were you discussing with Skinner?" I ask, handing off the
diaper bag to Mulder. The sight of us almost makes me laugh. Who would
have ever imagined this.

"You know, the end of the world as we know it."

"Ahh-the usual stuff."

" I'll take Christopher out to our usual spot. If you can't find us when
your are done, call me."

I lean in to kiss her before I catch myself. Maybe it is best we aren't
going to work together. You can't be chasing a suspect and kissing your
pretty partner at the same time, no matter what they tell you on TV.

"See you," she says to me with a smile. She leans down and kisses
Christopher's forehead.

He is sleeping peacefully. I put another blanket around him as we go
outside into the cool autumn air. I find a newspaper and sit down on a
park bench by the reflection pool. The city noises cause him to stir a
little, so I bounce the stroller with my foot while I flip through the
news.

"So, it really is true. Would you look at that."
I look up from my paper to discover I've been surprised by Diana Fowley
twice in one week.

"Hello, again."

"I saw Agent Scully come in with him and then I watched you leave, so I
thought I'd come see the new addition up close."

"This is Christopher Ryan Scully," I tell her, as I stop the bouncing.

"Fox, he looks just like you. Except for the lack of hair, that is."

"He had auburn hair when he was born, but the newborn fuzz fell out.
Scully thinks it might grow back in brown, but I'm hoping for auburn
again."

She looks at my son in his stroller and sighs. Thoughts of what could
have been, Diana?

"So, why didn't you give him your last name?"

"I didn't feel the need to pass the name on to one more person."

"Still bitter?" she asks, sitting next to me.

"He is changing that," I tell her, pointing at my son.

An older couple stop by and fuss over him. The woman calls Diana `Mom'
and I cringe. Diana doesn't know what to say, and I just let it go. He
wakes up through all the commotion and I pick him up and put him on my
shoulder.

"You are a natural," Diana says to me.

"He's mine. I've learned a lot in the past three months."

"So this is what you are giving it all up for? Fatherhood?"

"It really goes deeper than that. There is not much I can discuss about
it."

She sits silently for a few minutes while I talk small talk with my son.
She just smiles at me.

"May I hold him?" she asks me.

"Sure. Here, put this over your suit. You don't want any surprises," I
say to her and hand her a receiving blanket.

She does quite well with him , and he has her long, brown hair wrapped
up tight in his grip.

"So, the X-files are officially dead?"

"No, not officially. I just can't work on them right now. There is too
much at stake if I continue."

"I thought there would be too much at stake if you quit?"

I think about that visit with Cancer man. He hasn't been back, yet, but
I'm sure he knows exactly what I'm doing. He always has. I can't risk
Christopher's safety now. He's so helpless and I'm all he has got to
save him. If I thought the truth would save him, I would pursue it with
all the fervor I always have. This time I'm afraid of what could be
lost. They have their well placed bargaining chip. He is wedged into my
heart and soul and doesn't plan on moving anytime soon.

"I could do it, Fox. The X-files."

"What!" I say, shocked at her suggestion.

"I could do it. I could take over the X-files. I'm looking for
reassignment. What better than where I started."

I am stunned. I don't know whether I am being set up or what. I look at
this woman who is cuddling my son and I honestly don't know what to
believe.

"I don't think-"

"What, you don't trust me? I used to be the only one you could trust,
Fox."

"That was a long time ago. Things have changed."

"Yes, you and your partner have a baby to consider now. For some reason,
you seem to be willing to give up your life's work for them. I don't
think it should be given up so easily. I'm willing to step in for you
until you can come back to it."

"You don't understand it all. There is a lot to be considered-.things
you don't even know about."

Scully walks up behind us and I don't even notice.

"Hello," she says to us.

"Scully! How did it go?" I ask her.

"Fine. I'll talk about it later," Scully says to me. She hasn't taken
her eyes off the woman holding her child.

Diana unwraps his little fingers from her hair and hands him back to me.

"Fox told me about him when we were in Atlanta and I couldn't wait to
see him," Diana says to Scully.

Scully's eyebrow shoots up at the mention of Atlanta. Shit. I never
mentioned her being there.

"He's beautiful, Dana. Looks just like his father," Diana says while I
cower.

"Thank you. Are you going to be in Washington for long?" Scully asks
her, the barbed question hitting its target as planned.

"That depends on Fox. Well, I'll let you two-three talk baby talk. I'll
see you later."

She gets up and leaves me with a confused and somewhat angry Scully. She
takes Chris out of my arms and puts him back in his stroller.

"What in the hell was that about, Fox?" Scully asks, as she busily
fusses with Christopher.

"She wants to take over the X-files," I tell her.

"Right. And who is she going to have as a partner? Alex Krycek? Or you?
Or do you have any more ex-lover partners that I should know about?"

"Well, she's not going to work with me, and I think Alex is involved
with another line of work now. And, no, I have no more ex-lover partners
that you should know about, but I want it clear that Alex Krycek doesn't
fall under that ex-lover partner category anyway. Why are you acting
like this?"

She looks at me with those crystal blue eyes. She is struggling to hold
back tears. I stand up and pull her close to me.

"It was just such a shock to see her again."

"Tell me about it."

"Is that where you were in Atlanta-with her?"

"Scully? What are you asking me?"

I am stunned that she would even consider this idea. After everything,
why would she think I would do that to her?

"I tried to call you at your hotel in Atlanta. You didn't answer."

"I went to get a drink. I ran into her at the hotel bar," I say, feeling
Scully's body tighten in my arms, "and I told her all about Christopher
and you and how wonderful everything is, if you ignore my professional
life. Now, why are you worried about her?"

"I don't know. I'm a new mother now. I'm out of shape. I smell like
spoiled milk. I'm not the same in your eyes. I've lost a
certain-appeal."

"Yeah. Right. You can appeal to me at anytime you want," I tell her,
kissing her on the top of her head.

Scully moves away from me and closer to Christopher's stroller.

"Are you going to take her offer seriously?" She asks me.

"I don't know. She knows the work. She believes in the work. But to give
it up-"

"Mulder, do what you have to."

"Even if I go back to it?"

She chews on her bottom lip. The answer to that is still no.

"We can talk about it later," I say to her, "So what did you decide with
Skinner?"

"A few more months of teaching at Quantico, until I get back into the
swing of things. Then we will reevaluate my position. I am no longer
under you, Agent Mulder."

"You could be."

"I better get Chris home. We will discuss it later."
This time I can kiss her as she leaves.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

October 31, 2001
6:25 p.m.

I arrive home to discover Mulder has Christopher dressed as a pumpkin
for Halloween. I laugh at how cute he is. I had to go into work a week
earlier than expected, so Mulder took off the week to be with our son
until my mother can take over the baby-sitting duties.

"Your mother is expecting us, Scully," Mulder tells me, "because she
wants to see her little pumpkin and show him off to the neighbors."

"He is so cute! I forgot all about Halloween. Leave it up to you to
remember."

"Really, I wanted to dress him up as a bee and I was going to dress as
an alien, but I didn't think anyone would get it. Except you, of
course."

"No, that would be quite an inside joke, Mulder. He's so adorable this
way. I like it. What are we going as?"

"Tired, first time parents?"

"I think I have that one hanging in my closet."

"I think you have that one on already," he says, handing me my little
pumpkin baby.

Going back to work has been hard. Christopher still hasn't changed his
hours and since weaning him off his daytime breast feedings, he has gone
back to wanting nighttime feedings. I'm tired.

"Let me change out of these clothes, Mulder, and we will get going," I
say, placing Christopher in his Exer-saucer. He giggles with delight
every time he is in it. He loves his independence.

Mulder walks in on me as I'm undressing. I see his reflection in the
mirror. He stands and watches me with that look in eyes I recognize all
too well. He puts his arms out to me and I shake my head no.

"When?" is all he asks of me.

"Soon," I say to him. It is the first time this subject has been
broached.

"Maybe your mom could baby sit."

"Maybe."

"What are you afraid of?" he asks me, looking out the doorway to where
Christopher is playing happily.

"I don't know."

"I won't hurt you. I never would."

"I know. I just don't know right now if I can-already."

"Ok. Scully, I love you."

"I love you, too," I say to him, as he walks out of the room.
I really do.

The end

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TITLE: V Dry Spells
AUTHOR: Jori damienma@netroenterprises.com
CATEGORY: SRH
KEYWORDS: MSR, Baby-fiction
RATING: NC-17 for several attempts at sex
DISCLAIMER: They are not mine. They belong to CC, 1013 and Fox.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully move forwards with their relationship and
discover one of the true joys of parenthood.

Thank you, Jenna

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 11, 2001
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
2:45 p.m.

I hold the portrait in my hands, trying to comprehend the emotions it
brings to the surface of my soul. This is the first family portrait I
have been in since Samantha's disappearance. After that, it just never
seemed right. Perhaps my mother just didn't want a recorded history of
what went wrong. Maybe she hated the fact that I was the one who would
be in the picture, not Samantha. I never asked her why after that event,
the only formal portraits ever taken were those cheap school pictures of
me that are now losing all their color.

In this picture, I'm standing behind Scully, with my hand on her
shoulder. She is seated and has Christopher in her arms.

We are a family and we are stating this fact with resounding joy to all
the earth in the form of a holiday greeting card, complete with family
picture.

I study the picture, enjoying all its implications and subtleties. My
hand on her shoulder. Her body leaning ever so slightly into mine. It is
an intimacy shared with the world now. The person we created, smiling as
if he couldn't be happier with the world, declares it's true. We are
together. We have been together.

Scully framed the portrait for me in sterling silver. She also framed a
smaller mother and baby photograph that was done so softly they look
like angels.

The most attention is given to the portrait I have of Christopher. He is
dressed in a little navy blue sailor suit, with the big, white collar
that ties in a little knot in front. Scully spent days searching for
just the right outfit for him. His tiny hands are clasped in front of
him, and he has on a grin a mile wide.

He doesn't know yet of all the horrors in the world. He doesn't know
what people would do to him just to get back at me.

The photos are in a prominent place on my desk for all to see. The
mumbling and shady comments have stopped. We are no longer the hot topic
of conversation around the water cooler. Very little is said about Mr.
and Mrs. Spooky, and Spooky, Jr.

Occasionally, I hear a comment about how much money we wasted all those
years on two hotel rooms and that we did it for the sake of appearances.

I certainly wish that were true. All those years without more than a
mere touch and a glance here and there. Even now it has even been seven
months since we made love.

We spend every night together in the same bed and I hold her tight, but
she still says she isn't ready. I think it is me. She said once that we
never really had a relationship in this way before Christopher. Now it
is impossible to go back to that. There will never be a honeymoon period
where we are free to screw on the kitchen table without interruption.
There is definitely something to be said about waiting a while to have
children. Considering he was never expected, how were we to know?
Besides, it was the pregnancy that brought us together. We would be just
partners again had she not gotten pregnant from that first encounter.

The phone rings and startles me out of my daydreams.

"Mulder," I answer.

"Mr. Mulder, this is Jayne Phillips from The Ashgrove Realtors. That
property you were interested in...the four bedroom in Georgetown...I can
show it to you this afternoon."

"That would be great. What time should I meet you there?"

"Will 4 p.m. fit into your schedule?"

"That will work I will meet you there at 4 p.m., Ms. Phillips."

I hang up and try to call Scully. She's busy with a class, an assistant
tells me. When did Scully get an assistant?

I've been looking for a house without her knowing about it. She doesn't
seem to want to move in that direction, so I'm going to force the issue.

She doesn't know I sold my father's house and the house in
Quonochontaug, Rhode Island. I never wanted to sell either before, just
in case Samantha came back. She needed to be able to find her home
again. Now it is more important that I give Christopher a home than it
is for me to hold on to the past. Life moves on. Children teach us that
lesson. Although I cannot fully give up my hopes for someday having her
back, I need to give my child a future.

The houses sold in a matter of days, giving me enough money to buy a
house without a mortgage and put away some money for Christopher's
education. Oxford is expensive, but this should help. Also, the house
will be paid for in case something tragic ever happens to his mother and
me. I want to give him a good start.

I'm also sure I will have enough money to get Scully the Christmas gift
I want to give her. Two months salary, they say. I think we can manage
that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 11, 2001
Georgetown Woman's Health Center
3:45 p.m.

Mulder is not answering his desk phone nor is he answering his cell
phone. I forgot to let him know I have a doctor's appointment.

I've been waiting for the last half an hour. It is my regular
gynecologist, Dr. Sarah Morton, and although I am appreciative of the
care my high risk OB/GYN provided, I'm glad to be back to the doctor
I've gone to for ages now. We knew each other in college and I trust
her.

I need to find out why I am still so tired. Last time I was this tired I
was two months pregnant. At least I know that is an impossibility this
time. I have been back at work now for over a month. Although the
schedule is not easy, it is hardly as grueling as field work. Yet, I'm
exhausted everyday.

"Dana Scully?" a nurse calls.

"Coming," I say, as I gather my cell phone and handbag.

"You will be in exam room three. I'll be there in a minute to take your
blood pressure."

"Thanks you," I say, going into the exam room by myself and sitting down
in the patient chair.

While pregnant with Chris, I swore I had been picked and prodded at
enough to last a lifetime, but here I am again.

The nurse comes back and takes my temperature and blood pressure. She
then instructs me to put on a gown and place the paper blanket across my
lap and she slips out of the room.

I undress, cover myself, and sit up on the table.

Sarah comes in after knocking gently at the door.

"Dana, how are you? How is the little one?"

"I'm just ok. He's doing wonderfully."

"Why are you here? Annual exam?"

"That and I'm so tired still. It's not getting any better with time."

"Well, let's get the exam done with and then we can talk," she says,
calling the nurse back into the room.

She proceeds with the exam and comments on how nice my c-section scar
has healed. I cringe under her gentle prodding, but it doesn't compare
to childbirth.

"Ok, Dana, everything looks fine so far. You can get dressed and I will
be back in a minute," she says as she leaves with the nurse.

I put back on my black suit and Sarah comes back in the room just as I'm
slipping into my shoes. She sits in her rolling chair by her little desk
and I sit across from her.

"You seem to be physically fine, Dana. What else is wrong?"

"I'm just so tired."

"Dana, you have a baby and you have a challenging career. You deserve to
be tired. Can you take some time off? Maybe get away with your...
significant other... for the weekend?"

My head just drops.

She picks up my chart again and flips through it.

"Has intercourse been a problem?" she asks.

"I wouldn't know," I answer truthfully.

"Listen, take your time. Your body has been turned inside out. You are
still breast feeding, I see. Sometimes that can keep the libido pretty
low."

She offers me a small smile.

"Try to take a weekend away. Have a small glass of wine..."
I start to protest, but she stops me.

"It will be ok," she says, "if you pump a lot before hand to give the
baby, or use formula for a few feedings. Take a hot bath. Relax. This
happens to a lot of new parents. Besides, sex does you good. It makes
you feel good about yourself again. You two need to get to know each
other again."

Get to know each other again? We hardly knew each other like this before
Christopher was born. How do we get something back we never had?

"Since you are still breast feeding, I would recommend a barrier form of
birth control and lots of lubricant. Another little trick of breast
feeding... it dries you out," she tell me.

Now I'm the one offering the small smile. Great. That's romantic.

"Besides any of that, get some rest. Have him watch the baby when you
get home so you can take a little nap. It might take you awhile to get
back to normal, but you will get there. It took your body nine months to
have a baby. It isn't going to go back to where it was overnight."

"Thanks for listening," I say to her.

"If things don't get any better, come back again."

"Ok, Sarah. It was nice seeing you again."

"You too, Dana," she says as she leaves the room.

I finish up at the front desk and head home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 11, 2001
Georgetown
4:32 p.m.

I'm standing in front of this large, empty house and the realtor is
telling me how beautiful the trees are in summer. It is a two story
brick house that, with recent work, almost approaches being a Tudor
style.

The house is beautiful and was fully remodeled within the last year.
Everything in it is new. By next week, I'm sure it will be bugged up the
ying yang just because I'm standing here looking at it.

The back yard goes on forever and is completely fenced in, which is
perfect for growing little boys. Plus the multitude of trees are
apparently beautiful in the summer.

Ms. Jayne Phillips is now telling me about property taxes and school
districts.

I look at her and say, "Wrap it up and put a bow on it. I'll take it."
She looks stunned.

"You don't want to confer with your wife on this?"

"I'm not married," I say to her and she beams a big smile back at me.
Whatever it takes to get this process going along faster.

"Well, Mr. Mulder, let's get out of the cold and go back to the office
to take care of the financial side of all of this."

I have yet to tell her I'm paying outright for the house with no
financing. I'm sure they will think I'm an FBI agent on the take instead
of an FBI agent who's father got paid well for doing God knows what to
all of humanity. I'm also sure the source of my unexpected windfall will
be examined closely in the next few weeks. Nothing in my life goes
unnoticed these days.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 11, 2001
6:07 p.m.

I arrive at home to find my mother still there, busy doing something in
the kitchen.

"Hi, Mom," I say, kissing her on the cheek, "Didn't Mulder get home
yet?"

"No, Dana. He just called a few minutes ago and said he was tied up in
some business but would be home soon. How was your doctor's appointment?
Are you ok?'

"It went just fine. I'm fine. I'm just really tired, Mom."

"Why don't you go take a nap, sweetheart. Christopher is still down.
I'll stay here until Fox gets home."

"Thank you, Mom. You are too good to me."

"Anything for my little girl. And for that grandson of mine."

"He is a keeper, isn't he?"

"That he is. Go get some rest before he gets up."

I look at Christopher sleeping like a little angel all snuggled up under
his blankets. I change into more comfortable clothes, lie down on my
bed. and fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

I wake up startled to discover it is dark and I have been asleep for
over two hours. I sit bolt upright in a panic and jump out of bed to
look in the cradle. He's not there.

I rush to the living room to find father and son sitting on the floor on
quilts Mulder put down for them. Christopher is rolling around and
reaching for the toys his dad set out for him.

Mulder looks up at me and smiles.

"Christopher, should we show Mommy what surprise we have for her?"

"Oh? What have you been doing out here? I hope not finger painting?"

"No, not yet. Maybe later. Here, look, Mom!"

Mulder puts the baby in a sitting position and an excited Christopher
holds himself there for about fifteen seconds before slumping over and
laughing.

"That's great!" I say, sitting down cross-legged next to them. The floor
is colder than I expected. Mulder has on jeans and a black turtleneck,
and I notice he put Chris in a blanket sleeper.

"I was going to light a fire, but it always distracts him too much. He
always ends up rolling to the grate like a little moth," Mulder says,
holding Christopher's face to his face and snuggling with him.

"That's ok. He's dressed warm enough."

"Do you feel any better? Your mom told me you went to the doctor."

"I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you. I tried to call you but you didn't
answer."

"I was out Christmas shopping."

"Really?" I ask, surprised.

"Yes, really. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Just burned out. Thanks for letting me nap. You didn't feed
him, did you?" I ask, my breasts getting heavy even as I talk about it.

"I made him a little cereal, most of which I ended up wearing and he
didn't really want the bottle I made him. He wants his mommy."

I look into Mulder's eyes. Actually, I have two sets of the same eyes
starting at me. It is strange sometimes.

"I want his mommy, too," Mulder says to me.

"Well, it would be highly inappropriate for us to do it on the living
room floor in front of the child."

"I'll wait. I don't want to push you. I know you are tired."

"Thanks, Mulder."

"Besides, I have plans for you," he says in what has to be the sexiest
tone I have ever heard him use.

It is actually the first time I've been turned on in months.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"You're getting wet."

I look at him, completely startled by what he is saying.

He then points to my chest with its expanding wetness going across my
shirt, and hands me my son to feed.

I spend the next half an hour nursing my son and getting him bathed and
ready for bed. He is getting sleepy, so I take him out to Mulder to say
goodnight. He is sitting at the kitchen table going over some reports
that I'm sure are late.

"Say goodnight to Daddy," I tell Christopher.

Mulder takes him in his arms and hugs and kisses him.
"Goodnight, buddy. Sweet dreams."

I love to watch them together. I love discovering this side of Mulder.
There are moments when he gets absolutely frustrated with parenting, and
then there are moments where he is so warm and tender, it brings tears
to my eyes. This baby is helping to heal his wounds and teaching him
what a family should be. This is hard to believe, considering how
unconventional our family unit is.

I put Christopher down on his back in his cradle. His bed is getting far
too small for him and I know I need to pick out a crib soon. Mulder
keeps pushing at me to get a bigger place. I just don't know. I'm afraid
to jinx everything, afraid to admit this is a family and we always will
be. I am so scared of being happy, scared I will lose it all because I
was too happy. I know God does not act in this way upon His creations,
but it isn't God I am afraid of anymore.

Before I could take care of myself. I only had to protect myself and
Mulder. Now it is so much more.

I look at my son as he falls asleep. Now that I know his new talents at
sitting and pulling himself around, I'm glad Mulder picked the cradle
with the high sides on it, but it won't be enough in a matter of weeks.

I say my preliminary goodnights to Chris, knowing I will be seeing him
again for a midnight snack.

I shut the door so he can sleep and I go back to Mulder, who is huddled
at the table. He looks a little run down. I know the last case he was on
was miserable and he spent a lot of time on airplanes and in motels. Now
he is hunched over reports, with his glasses on, and his hair tousled
from raking his fingers through it. I used to do most of our paperwork
but that is no longer my job. I have my own reports to file in
triplicate.

I stand behind him and put my arms around him. He leans back into me. I
can do this, I tell myself. I can get back to a deeper level of intimacy
with this person. After all these years of knowing him, this can't be
that hard. I can make love to this person again. I can do it.

I want to laugh at my thoughts. Look at him. I wonder how many women or
even men have wanted him and has he even noticed them? Here I stand
trying to convince myself I can do this, when I'm sure others would be
more than willing. Yet, it is me he wants. It is me he waits for.

"Did you get dinner?" I ask him.

"Mom made dinner before she left."

I laugh. I didn't know he called my mother 'mom' and I wonder if he
calls her that when they are alone together.

"She left something for you if you're hungry."

"No, not for food."

His head springs up reflexively from all that paperwork. He pushes his
chair back and in a split second he pulls me around and I'm straddling
his lap.

His mouth covers mine and we are kissing like two teenagers in the back
of our parent's car. It's been so long and I've forgotten how good he
tastes.

It was so cold in here until a second ago. Now there is a heat spreading
through me and over to him.

I put my hands under his shirt, wanting desperately to touch him and
feel his heartbeat. I look at him and I can see he's slightly
apprehensive about touching my breasts, as if they belong to another
'man'.

Instead of saying anything, I slide off of him onto my knees in front of
him. I undo his button-fly jeans with ease and he lifts his hips a
little while I tug them and his boxers down to his ankles.

"Schullee..." he says in that pleading tone he uses.

I slowly put my mouth near him, breathing ever so gently. My tongue
draws a slow line up one side of his cock and a matching line down the
other side. I dart my tongue around the tip of his penis, which is
already wet. I want to tease him for awhile. I want this to go slow.
Maybe he will be happy with this and we won't have to do more. No, Dana,
stop thinking like that.

I draw him into my mouth and he puts his hands in my hair, but doesn't
pull me in closer like some of my former lovers have done.

Rhythmically, I move my mouth over him and he's moaning my name.
`Scullyscullyscully' is all he says.

I look up at him and he looks like a desperate man; a man so close to
the edge. He is biting his bottom lip and I had forgotten the power I
have over him.

"Waahhh! Waaaaahhhh! Waaaahhh!"

We both stop moving, like deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming
car.

I pull away from him.

"Please, Mulder, say that was you."

"No, you're good, but you haven't made me wail yet- tonight. You want me
to go check on him?"

"With that?" I ask, pointing at his erection, "You will scar him for
life. I'll go check."

I get off of my knees and sneak into the bedroom. He is still fussing,
so I pick him up, rock him in my arms and sing to him. It takes me a
half an hour to get him back to sleep.

I leave the room and find Mulder dressed and working on his reports
again.

"I'm sorry," I say to him, apologetically.

"That's ok. I'll live."

"Want to try again?"

"Only if you want to."

I sit up on the table next to him and take his glasses off of him. He
stands up, knocks the chair over and places himself between my legs and
we kiss again. I wrap my legs around him, all the while his tongue is
exploring my mouth, and then my neck. We are grinding into each other
through our clothes and he goes to unbutton his fly. My hands fumble
around his and we manage to get his jeans and boxers down again. I am
tugging at him with my hand, actually anxious for this to happen. He
reaches for the waistband of the sweat pants I had changed in to, and he
starts to slowly tug them down. Then I remember something important.

"Mulder-we need birth control, I, uh, didn't buy any condoms and I, hold
on a second, don't want to get-"

"Wahhhhhh! Wahhhh! Wahh!" wails from the other room.

"There's our birth control. Oh, fuck!" he says, he says as he trips
backwards over his own pants.

"You wish," I say, as I hop off the edge of the table and head off to
check on my son again.

I think he is conspiring against his parents. Mulder would say it should
be an X-file: how children can tell telepathically that their parents
are trying to have sex.

I pick him up out of his cradle again and sit down on my bed to nurse
him. Another half an hour and he's back to sleep again.

I go back to the living room to find Mulder asleep sitting on the couch.
I wake him up and he reaches for me. I fumble around with his jeans
again and he moans something incoherent.

"Don't you want me to try again...you know?" I ask, tugging at the
waistband of his jeans, "I will if you want me to."

"No, that's ok. The baby needs his sleep."

I don't know whether he is talking about himself or Christopher, but I'm
guessing he is referring to our son. He just holds me for a few minutes
before he gets up and heads towards our bedroom for the night. Well, at
least I tried. I know I can do at least that much.

                           The End

More Christopher Scully stories here
http://www.geocities.com/mulderscreek/fics/christopherscully.html