The Christopher Scully Series
                     stories 26-30

Title:  Cohesion 
Author: Jori 
Rating: PG
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR baby-fic
Summary: The family begins to come together
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013 and FOX
Spoilers: The Black and The Red
Archive: Yes
Author's Notes: Mojo -- you are great. A big danke goes to both
Rachel and Katharina for the help with the German because I can't do
more than ask directions to McDonald's.
damienma@netroenterprises.com

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

Scully-Mulder Household
August 26,2002
6:45 p.m.

"Hi! What are you doing out here?" I ask Kessie. She is out on the
porch swing reading a book. All I ever see her do is read books.
She's not even interested in television. Mulder already dragged
another two boxes of our college text books out of the attic for her.
She's usually absorbing physics or anatomy or psychology. Right now
she's studying a book on Jung. All I need is a kid who's an expert at
psychology. Wait. I already have one.

"Soprano is upstairs getting Kit bathed and in his pajamas and I am
reading," she says, looking at me briefly before staring back into
her book. Perhaps it is her escape mechanism. An escape from me,
usually. She doesn't read this much when she's with Mulder. And I
hardly ever see her pick up a book when Soprano is around.
Unfortunately, Mulder is in Kansas City, so I get the cold book
treatment.

"Can I sit here?" I ask, pointing down at the other half of the porch
swing seat. She just nods her head and scoots over as far as she can
next to the arm. I put my hands across my ever growing belly and
sigh. It was a long day. I had to consult with the ME in Baltimore on
a difficult case and I feel like I spent most of the day driving
there and back.

I can see Kessie watching me out of the corner of her eye. I don't
think she despises me or thinks of me as some wicked stepmother. She
just isn't comfortable around me. She closes her book and sets it on
her lap. Instead of a stolen glance, she is now staring at my
abdomen.

"What's it like?" she asks, swallowing hard after she asks. I look
down at my belly which is barely showing. Only people who know me
know I'm pregnant. Strangers haven't started asking when I'm due.
Nobody puts there hands there yet, waiting to feel her move.

"Tiring, sometimes. A lot of changes go on in the body ..." I start
to say.

"No. That isn't what I meant. What is it like?" she asks, and I look
at her curiously. It has taken me some time to get used to looking at
her and not seeing her mother staring back at me. Now I look at her
and see Kessie. Occasionally I see Mulder, but most of the time, I
just see a very pretty eleven year old girl. "I know what the books
say. I know all about the boring mechanics of sex and reproduction.
They made sure of that. But I was never around someone who was
pregnant. I've never been around someone who is a ... mom. What's
it like to be a mother?"

"It is like ... my world will never be the same again. All at once
I felt like I had all the answers to everything life is about, yet at
the same time I felt helpless to come up with those answers," I tell
her, and she listens to me with rapt attention. "Christopher was born
and from the first moment I heard him cry and your father showed him
to me, his life was more important than mine. There isn't anything I
wouldn't do for him. Although I love other people a lot, it is
nothing compared to this love."

She waits patiently for me to continue. It isn't easy to describe.
The emotions run so deep that they are hard to tap and bring to the
surface. It is an experience that cannot be expressed in words or
told in a story. It must be lived to be fully understood.

"Did you love Christopher before he was even born?" she asks me and I
wish I could tell her what she really wants to know. If her parents
loved her before she was born.

"I loved Christopher even before I knew he was going to be a
Christopher. Just as I love this baby," I say, rubbing my hand up and
down my stomach. She offers me a sad smile. I know Mulder was upset
when he thought Diana miscarried the baby that is now sitting here
talking to me. But I will not answer for him. She will have to ask
him that herself someday.

"It must be nice to have someone love you that much," she says, and I
can tell she wants to reach out and touch me on the belly. "And it
must be nice to love someone like that."

"It is nice. The sky is bluer. The ocean is bigger. The moon is
brighter. The world is far more amazing. Just because I now am
looking at it all again through the eyes of a child. And I see how
Chris loves his dad just because that is who he is, and it amazes me.
He doesn't know anything about us, yet he loves us more than I
thought possible. And neither of us would think twice about giving up
our lives to save his. Here. Put your hand right there. I have only
felt her move once or twice, but it could happen," I say, taking hold
of her hand.

Kestrel rests her palm low down on my abdomen and concentrates. As if
she can sense someone is waiting for her, the baby flutters just a
little. It is barely even perceptible, but Kessie smiles.

"That is awesome," she says.

"Well, she just knows her big sister is waiting out here for her to
dress her up ribbons and lace and teach her about Jung," I say, and
Kessie laughs while she moves closer to me. She doesn't move her hand
away and I don't care. She grows quiet as she waits to feel the baby
move again.

"Dana, do you think someone will ever love me that much? The way you
and Fox love Chris and the baby?" she asks in a voice that is barely
above a whisper. I think of all the things Mulder has said about her
and how angry he is that Diana could do this to him and to this
child. I think of him risking everything and going back to take
Kessie ... his child ... from that place her mother sent her to.
Then I think of how I look at her and see this amazing child who
absorbs everything around her with the eyes of a infant. I think of
how wonderful she is with Christopher and how beautiful she really
is. I can only answer one thing.

"I think someone already loves you that much," I answer her, pulling
her close to me.

"Thank you," she says, and I know that she is crying.

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

Office of Marcus Gates, Esq.
Barnett, Pfeiffer and Ball, P.A.
Washington, D.C.
August 28, 2002

"Then it is settled. One week of Christmas vacation -- starting the
day after Christmas -- and spring break with me in the city and the
summers with my parents on the Vineyard," Carol Fowley-Osgood says to
the lawyer and I can do nothing but go along with it. Kessie needs to
know her mother's family just as much as she needs to know mine.

"Your parents spend the summer on the Vineyard?" I ask. They never
did before. Of course, Richard Fowley wasn't retired back when Diana
and I were together.

"They bought a place last December," she says. She has no idea that
is where I grew up. Why would she? Not unless Diana told her. Carol
and her sister were close, but not that close.

"Where?" I ask and she looks at me curiously. "I grew up there. I was
just wondering where they bought their house."

The lawyer ignores this conversation and goes about shuffling papers
around. Carol, Richard and Lorraine have come to meet Kestrel a few
times. No one has ever mentioned this summer house thing.

"Chilmark," she answers. She looks nervously at her watch. I know she
has to catch a shuttle back to New York soon so she can get back to
the important world of publishing.

"Do you know where in Chilmark?" I ask, my questions growing more
insistent. I sold the house in Chilmark last December. My father
wanted to sell it years ago but my mother told him to hold on to it,
in case Samantha came back. How would she find us if we sold her
home? My father rented it out instead. Until I sold it to buy our
house. Everything went through agents and lawyers and I only got a
bank check made out to me in the end of the process.

"Fox, why does it matter?" Carol asks me. What am I supposed to say?
I don't want my daughter living in the house my sister was abducted
from? "Listen, I don't really know the address off hand, but I will
ask Dad when I talk to him next time, okay?"

"I want to know before she stays there," I say and the lawyer finally
looks up from the paperwork he was finishing.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, probably counting up the hours in his
head that any problem in this custody case could bring in. I'm amazed
we found anybody to take it at all, considering my guardianship is
tentative at best. All the legal papers are there, but the situation
is not normal

"No problem at all, is there, Fox?" Carol asks, her eyes narrowing at
me.

"No. None at all," I say.

"Well, Mr. Mulder. Ms. Osgood, it was nice meeting you. And Mr.
Mulder, as soon as you and your fiancee are married, we can start on
the adoption process," the lawyer says as he dismisses us with a
smile.

"Are there going to be any problems, Fox?" Carol asks as we walk
toward the elevator. I know they wanted custody of her, and I can't
blame them. She's all they have left of their daughter. But they seem
to be content with this arrangement for now. I imagine Dick and
Lorraine didn't want to give up all those tours they take with the
Sarasota Seniors Club. Children definitely put a crimp in the old
lifestyle. I can't even imagine Carol alone with Kessie. It's only a
few weeks a year. I'm sure Kessie won't impede on Carol's uptown
lifestyle too much.

"I won't create any problems if you don't," I say, and I feel like
I'm divorcing this woman. I already divorced one just like her
before. They are right. It is worse when there are kids involved.

"By the way, I found these tucked away in Diana's things when I
emptied out her apartment. I thought that Kessie might like them,"
Carol says as she digs through her briefcase. She hands me a small
picture album filled with photos of Diana and me.

Damn. Kessie most certainly does look like her mother, especially
when she was that young. I flip quickly through the pages and wonder
how she could have done what she did. What on earth possessed her to
take our child, disappear and then give her away?

"Thank you. I'm sure Kessie will appreciate them," I say, closing the
album and all the memories they invoke.

We ride the elevator down in silence and neither of us says anything
to the other until we reach the street.

"Do you need a ride to the airport?" I ask her. She's looking around
for a cab. We certainly have them here, just not like she's used to.

"That would be great, if you have time," she says, looking at her
watch again.

"Come on. My car's parked over there," I say and she follows me to
what is actually Scully's SUV.

"Goodness, Fox, you have become quite domestic, haven't you?" she
says as she climbs in.

"Good thing we got such a big family car considering that little
surprise your sister dropped onto our laps," I say as I pull out into
early rush hour traffic.

She says nothing. Carol and her parents were just as surprised as I
was about Kestrel's existence. They were also overjoyed that a part
of their deceased daughter lives on. And I'm going to give this child
an opportunity to know all of her family. She's already a part of our
families. Mrs. Scully and my mother treat her like a granddaughter
already. I want my children to have the childhood I lacked.

That isn't entirely fair. It wasn't bad until Samantha was abducted.
And now Kessie's grandparents are going to take my daughter back to
where that all happened. Small world, isn't it?

"Did you find a school for her?" Carol asks. Dick and Lorraine Fowley
agreed to pay any educational costs for their only granddaughter, and
that is good considering she tested well above the twelfth grade
public school level. All those years of her having nothing to do but
read and absorb information did that, I'm sure.

"We are looking at two private schools for the gifted. One has an
exchange program with a local community college, but she will still
be three years younger than her next youngest classmate. That one
focuses on the arts and humanities. The other specializes in children
gifted in math and science. She can go to either one. She just has to
decide. Then when we feel she's emotionally and socially ready for
it, we will look into early enrollment into college," I say as I get
into the lane that leads to the airport.

"How about your other child. Is he just as smart?" she asks. I'm sure
she is hoping her sister's child will be the best and the brightest.
Why wouldn't she want that?

"Chris is only one year old. We have a difficult time getting him to
hold the pencil without chewing on it when he takes the standardized
tests that would let us know exactly how gifted he is," I say, the
sarcasm weighing heavily in my voice.

"Point well taken," she says. She takes her long brown hair and
manages to twist it up and clip it so she is all business again.

"Carol, just because she's Diana and my child and not mine and
Scully's doesn't mean I'm going to love her less. Yes, she was quite
a surprise, but that is not Kessie's fault," I say and Carol stares
out the window as the city passes us by.

"Why did she do it?" Carol asks softly.

"I don't know yet. But I'm trying to find out," I answer.

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

The Office of Dr. Heitz Werber
September 2, 2002

"I want you to relax and think about that Christmas day we talked
about earlier. I want you to go to that day," Dr. Werber says to
Kessie. She is sitting on the couch with her eyes closed. Mulder is
sitting next to her, watching her intently. Not knowing exactly what
part is mine in this, I stand off to the side, just an observer this
time instead of a participant.

"So many presents," Kessie says with the tone of a child. "Mommy has
gotten me so many presents."

I watch Mulder stiffen up at the mention of 'mommy.' I know he hopes
that Kessie was taken from or given up by Diana when she was first
born. Not as a toddler or a child.

"What else? Do you see your mommy here?" Dr. Werber asks her slowly,
his voice soothing and low.

"My mommy's here. There are other people here, too. Some of them talk
funny," she says, wrinkling up her nose and smiling.

"Talk funny how? What do they say to you?" he asks.

"'Froliche Weihnachten, mein Kind.'" Kessie says. German. They spoke
to her in German because she was in Germany.

"Was haben sie sonst zu dir gesagt?" Dr. Werber asks her, not missing
a beat when going from English to German. Mulder looks to me and I
just put my finger over my lips after mouthing 'it's okay' to him.

"Sie sagen 'solch ein hbsches kleines Mdchen.' Sie halten, mein
Haar zu berhren und spielten mit meinen Zpfen.," Kestrel says.
Mulder sits forward in the couch looking at Dr. Werber for answers.

"She said they called her a pretty little girl and played with her
braids," Dr. Werber whispers. He turns back to her and asks her more.
"Wer hat dein Haar geflochten?"

"Meine Tante Samantha hat meine Haare geflochten und hat mir mein
Kleid gekauf," she answers and Mulder nearly comes off the couch.

"What!" Mulder says as he and Dr. Werber stare at each other. Dr.
Werber knows all about Samantha. That is what brought him and Mulder
together.

"She said that her Aunt Samantha did her hair and bought her the
dress she is wearing," Dr. Werber whispers to Mulder.

"Does she know where her Aunt Samantha is?" Mulder asks, hardly able
to contain the excitement in his voice. Dr. Werber faces Samantha
again and speaks to her again in German.

"Weisst du, wo deine Tante Samantha lebt?" he asks. It is a simple
question about where Samantha lives.

"Das ist dumm! Sie lebt in ihrem Haus!" she says, laughing like a
child. Aunt Samantha lives at her own house. What else would the
memory of a small child supply?

"Wo ist Haus der Tante Samantha?" Dr. Werber asks, hoping to get more
specific."In welcher Stadt lebt sie?"

"Sie lebt in einem Haus auf einem Berg," Kessie answers and she
begins to fidget like a small child.

"She says she lives in the house on the big hill. I'm going to talk
to you in English again. And I want you to answer in English, okay?"
he asks her. Her face shows no emotion right now but I can see her
eyes racing back and forth behind her eyelids.

"Okay," she answers, her perfect German accent dropped as quickly as
she picked it up.

"I want you to remember the last time you saw your mother. Do you
remember what happened that day?" he asks her. All at once her
tranquil face scrunches up and her breathing rate picks up
drastically.

"No! No no no no!" she shouts, with the voice of a child again.

"Besides your mother, who else is there?" he asks her.

"That man. The man my mommy is always with. I hate him!" Kessie
shouts. She begins to shake her head back and forth, trying to escape
the images. I know that there is no escape.

"What does that man say to your mom? What does your mom do?" Werber
asks.

"He says her time is up. That she agreed to this a long time ago and
...  and ... now that he has found her, he has to take me," she
says, her face bunching up. She looks like she is on the verge of
tears.

"Do you know this man's name?" Dr. Werber asks her and a puzzled look
crosses her face.

"No. My mommy never says his name. But he's there. He's taking me.
No! He grabs my arm and starts to pull me from my mommy. I want my
mommy!" Kessie cries out in a voice that breaks my heart. Mulder has
moved closer to her and is holding her small hand in his.

"What is your  mother doing?" Dr. Werber asks and her face looks
panicked.

"Mommy is screaming 'don't take my baby!' She keeps screaming. 'Don't
take my baby! Take me! Not my baby!'" Kessie cries and Mulder holds
her hand tighter.

"Where do they take you, Kessie?" Dr. Werber asks.

"My name isn't Kessie," she answers quietly. Of course her name
wasn't Kestrel then. Others gave her that name.

"What is your name?" Werber asks her.

"I'm so cold. Why is it so cold? That man keeps coming in and looking
at me. He doesn't give me a blanket. I keep asking for my blankie but
he just blows smoke at me and walks away. I want my mommy so bad and
no one can hear me," Kessie says and she begins to shiver.

"What is your name?" he asks again. She has to think about it, as if
they wiped that from her memory along with any of the other things
she's just told us. "Do you remember what your name was?"

A smile curls up the corners of her mouth. "Yes I do. Sam is my name.
Just like my aunt. Mommy named me after her."

Mulder releases her hand and sits back against the couch.

"Okay, Sam. Do you know what happened to you in that cold place?"
Werber asks her. The smile vanishes off of her face instantly. She
begins to shiver and tries to warm herself by rubbing her arms.

"Why don't they stop! Oh, please make them stop!" she shrieks. Her
hands fly up as if to protect her face and she shrinks back into the
couch.

"Sam, they can't hurt you now. Who is there with you, Sam?" Werber
asks, and I can tell that the use of that name grates on Mulder
severely.

"They. Won't. Stop."

"Kessie, come out of that cold place now. Come on back to where it is
warm," Werber says, but she doesn't react immediately. Something has
her transfixed. Something in her own mind.

"Daddy, make them stop!" she screams, reaching out for Mulder,
grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward her. She shouldn't know
he's there, but she does. She can't quite escape what she's seeing.

"That's it! That's enough! Bring her out of it. Now!" Mulder shouts
and Dr. Werber tries to calm him down while bringing Kessie back from
that cold place.

It ends with Kessie crying in her father's arms. He stares at me
overtop of her head. I don't even know what to say at this point.

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

"What now?" Scully asks. We are at the park, enjoying the late summer
evening. Kessie has Christopher following her like she is a mother
duck and he squeals with delight as she twists and turns around.

"I don't know," I answer. It is the truth. "I don't even know where
to begin."

I am sitting on the top of a picnic table and Scully is sitting on
the bench in between my knees. She rests back against me and sighs.

"Are you going?" she asks me.

"Where?" I ask back. I already know what she thinks I'm going to do.
I watch as Christopher tumbles over into the grass and Kessie picks
him up and they go off on their game of follow the leader again.

"Germany," she says. I won't lie. It has crossed my mind.

"And do what, Scully? Look for the house on the big hill? Germany has
lots of big hills. Where would I begin?" I answer. I run my fingers
through her hair and she sighs again. I cannot believe everything she
puts up with. If I were her, I would have been gone a long time ago.

"There was a time you would have run off and been on the first flight
out of National without even thinking about it," she says, relaxing
back even closer to me.

"And there was a time I didn't have you. And I didn't have
Christopher. And Kessie. And a baby on the way. Besides, look what
happened the last time I ran off. How many more mouths do you think
we can feed?" I ask and she laughs.

"Mulder, are you growing up?" Scully asks, as she takes one of my
hands in hers.

"Growing up and growing old all at the same time, I think. I will
find her, Scully. I will find Samantha. And I will find the people
who took her. And the people who once took you. And Kessie. I have to
find them," I say, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "But now is
not the time."

"Thank you," she whispers.

"For what?" I ask.

"For not running off this time," she says. We've talked about this so
many times before. Nothing pisses her off more.

"Scully, when you are ready, we will both go look for her together,
okay?" I ask. "With two kids, and one on the way, that might not be
for years."

"It won't be that long. It won't be years. We will do it soon," she
says. She knows how much this means to me.

"Thank you, Scully."


The End

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

Title:  Puzzles 
Author: Jori 
Summary: The family is coming together. What about everything else?
Rating: This part, a mild NC-17. Please, if you are underage, read
something else.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to 1013, CC and FOX
Archive: yes
Author's notes: Thank you, Mojo, for not only being a great 'ebert'
but a great friend. And Liz, for not leaving me 'sobbing' and for
other assorted five word goodies. This story was nearly done before
my self-declared vacation. Thought I'd get it out there before I lost
track of what I was doing and Santa-time prevented me from doing
more.

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

FBI Headquarters
October 10, 2002
10:15 a.m.

"A joint effort by the American and Canadian governments has turned
up nothing in the way of any kind of ...  community such as you
described outside of Jasper, Alberta," Skinner says, his eyes moving
from me to Scully and then back again. "Without proof ..."

"Proof? The damn proof is living in my house right now," I snap. How
could they have dismantled that subterranean village they had so
quickly? It would be next to impossible to do.

"You're right, Agent Mulder. That child is all the proof you have
that such a place ever existed. And apparently it is important that
there be no proof," Skinner says, his implications not falling on
deaf ears.

"Would they kill her to cover it up? They would have to kill me, too.
I was there. And Scully knows about it," I say. Scully shifts in the
seat next to mine, trying to get comfortable. We have been sitting
here for over an hour and I'm sure she would love to get up and
stretch but she says nothing.

"Next matter," he says, not answering my question. Of course they
would kill her if it's that important to cover up. She means nothing
to them. Or at least that is what they would like us to believe. "An
investigation into the late Agent Fowley's life in Germany didn't
turn up any indication that she ever had a child. She lived in the
same one bedroom apartment the whole time she was there. The landlord
of fifteen years doesn't recall ever seeing a child with her. Her
counter terrorism associates, including her partner, Agent Ned
Jamison, state that if she had a child, they didn't know about it."

"Well, once again ... the proof is living in my house right now.
The DNA test performed in the lab here indicates that Kestrel is
indeed Agent Fowley and my child," I say, catching Scully turning her
head to look away. We've come to terms with it at home, but it is
still uncomfortable to talk about with others.

Of course, I've considered the fact that every memory she recalled at
Dr. Werber's office could have been manufactured. She might not have
known her mother. She could have been taught certain phrases in
German. It could all be part of the lie.

"No one is denying that she is your child, Agent Mulder. We are just
having a hard time finding any evidence that she existed before you
met her," Skinner says and Scully looks at him.

"How many children do you think are out there? Children like this one
... like my daughter, Emily? They are coming from somewhere and
they deserve a better life," Scully says, her voice betraying her
irritation. "They have parents. Somewhere, they all have parents."

"Who says the parents aren't partially responsible for this? Agent
Mulder's first story was that Agent Fowley willing gave up this child
when she was an infant. Now the assumption is she was taken from her.
Like I said, there is no tangible proof that she ever existed before
the day Agent Mulder found her," Skinner says, glaring at us. I
suppose this is just one more problem we brought to the table.

"That doesn't change the fact that she does exist now. And somewhere,
there are more children just like her. Someone is responsible," I
say, looking at Scully.

"Find the responsible person, Agent Mulder. Then we can do
something," Skinner says. "Until then, I don't know what to tell
you."

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

"I told you not to let him go, Dana," someone says behind me,
startling me. My keys hit the floor in the parking garage and the
clattering sound echoes loudly.

"Everything is fine," I say, turning around to find Dylan standing
about two feet from me. He reaches down and retrieves my keys,
placing them in my outstretched hand.

"Sure. It is fine now. But you can't even imagine what is coming in
the future," he says, a smug look crossing his face.

"Try me," I say, wishing he would tell me something of value just
once. "Just tell me what is coming to get us all."

"I can't."

"Then leave me alone," I say, opening my car door.

I'm tempted to hit the panic button on the key chain and let him know
exactly what happens to someone accosting a pregnant agent in the
parking garage. But he puts his hand over mine before I can give it a
second thought.

"People will die. Simply to prevent anyone from finding out where she
came from. It's that important," he says, cautiously moving his hand
from mine.

"Are you sure that is why? Or is she upsetting your plans?" I say,
resting my hand on my rounded stomach.

He doesn't answer right away, but I can tell from the flicker in his
eyes that I've hit upon something. He once told me that there could
be no other. That *my* children were the only ones that could exist.
Obviously, he was wrong.

"I have no plans of my own, Dana. I only know the plans of others,"
he says. His voice mellows out, trying to soothe me. He is afraid I
will call security.  Afraid I will find out who he is. "Others who
are very powerful."

"Then tell me their plans," I say, but he remains silent. "Fine. I
have better things to do."

I make my move to get in the car and stop when he places his hand on
my shoulder.

"I don't want her to die. I don't want anybody to die. But Agent
Mulder went looking for something he was never supposed to find," he
tells me, his voice still low.

"He went looking? Someone led him there."

"I know all about Alex Krycek. He knew exactly what he was doing when
he took Mulder there. He knows the consequences," Dylan says, looking
disgusted at the mere mention of Krycek.

"Dylan, why don't you just tell me what those consequences are? Until
you do that, there is really nothing I can do but go on with my life.
For years, I have had men tell me what the future is going to bring,
right down to Mulder himself. You want to know something? It doesn't
really matter today, right at this moment. Right now, all that
matters is that my family is happy," I tell him as I finally get into
the car. He holds the door open.

"Dana, I want nothing more than for you to be happy ... but you
don't know what is coming -" he starts to say before I cut him off.

"Maybe I don't want to know. You want to know why? Because nobody
ever gives me what I need to change the future. You want me to march
along like an obedient little soldier, following orders on your
mission. But until you tell me what it is you want me to do to make
your mission complete, I can't help you," I tell him, trying to shut
the door. I just want to get away from him. From this.

"Put the pieces together, Dana. Figure out why that child is going to
destroy everything I've worked so hard -"

"You've worked hard?"

"Everything we've worked so hard to create. Figure out that one
thing, and you will know what you have to do. You can prevent it from
happening," he says, once again not giving me the damn answer.

"Dylan, just tell me," I implore, wishing he'd not hide behind these
half truths.

"It goes back further than you think. More people knew she existed
than you ever imagined. Figure out why it was so damn important to
get rid of her," he says sharply as he turns on his heel and walks
away from me.

"And what will that get me?" I ask. He turns around briefly, his eyes
holding mine, looking desperate. What is it? Why can't he just help
me?

"A way to plan for the future. Dana, you have to figure out how you
want your life to be at the end. It can end good. Or bad. It's all up
to you," he says before he disappears in between a row of cars.

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

"You were right about one thing," Agent Reid says as he comes through
the office door with a pile of folders in his hands.

"That's a surprise," I say, setting the phone down. I can't get a
hold of Scully even though she should have been back to her office by
now.

He puts the files down on my desk and they all slide toward me,
spilling over a cup of coffee as they go.

"Sorry," he says, as he grabs a roll of paper towels and hands it to
me. Great. Just one more mess for me to clean up.

"What was I right about?" I ask, sopping up the mess and throwing it
in the garbage can. Reid sits across from me and leans back.

"Richard and Lorraine Fowley did purchase two properties from you,"
he says. He reaches for a pencil off of my desk and begins to roll it
between his fingers.

"Two?" I ask, shocked. Richard Fowley had a well paying job with a
big name company, but that would be a lot of cash to have lying
around. And I do know they paid cash.

"Yes. Two. One on the Vineyard in ..." he says, fumbling for the
name.

"Chilmark," I supply.

"Chilmark. That's it. And that other one," he says, looking for me to
help him before he even attempts to say it.

"Quonochontaug," I say easily.

"They bought those two, though apparently they turned around and sold
the ..."

"Quonochontaug," I say more slowly this time.

"Sold that one right away, keeping only the Chilmark one," he says.

I did not tell him everything yet. He does not know from where
Samantha disappeared, just that she did. Reid probably thinks that I
have led the most bizarre life as it is. Nothing is ever simple.
Nothing is ever normal. Even these people buying these properties
cannot be a mere coincidence.

"What about the house in West Tisbury? Who bought that one?" I ask. I
sold that one just a short time after the other two.

"A holding company located in Amsterdam from what I can tell. No one
name can be traced to that particular property and it has yet to be
occupied since you sold it," he says, pleased that he found all that
out in an afternoon.

"The money they used to buy those properties came from somewhere. Can
you find out where?" I ask. Since my return, Reid and I have only
been assigned one actual case. We both almost got killed. Nothing was
ever solved. Just like working with Scully. Only not as much fun.

"No problem," he says, but he doesn't make a move. "Can I ask you
something?"

"Maybe," I say, finally finding the folder with the information about
the Dutch company that owns the West Tisbury house.

"Are you sure Agent Fowley even knew?" he asks and I look at him,
wanting him to continue. "Well, from what you told me about Agent
Scully and your sister, maybe they just used her. Maybe she had no
idea ... maybe she was abducted, too."

"I don't know," I say. I only know what I've been told. I don't know
what is a lie and what is the truth anymore.

"It's something to think about," he says, as he walks out the door.

All I need is one more thing to think about.

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

Scully-Mulder Household
October 10, 2002
7:45 p.m.

I turn on the lamp in the living room and it illuminates what I
almost just tripped over. Mulder and Christopher are sleeping on the
floor on top of Chris' play quilt. Mulder has an arm over his son,
holding him tight.

My living room has been turned into a construction zone. There's some
Duplo Block monstrosity that weaves around the coffee table and
almost looks like the Great Wall of China.

And there is a tower, for lack of a better word, on the coffee table.
Just blocks built straight up as high as they can go, supported by
multicolored flying buttresses.

I lower myself down on the couch and put my feet up, trying not to
knock anything over. My ankles are the size of my knees right now.
Too much time spent in places where I couldn't elevate my legs today.

"Are you going to make it another three months?" Mulder asks. How
long has he been watching me?

I'm showing more this pregnancy than I did with the first. Or at
least I think I am. January seems so far away right now and I don't
remember being this large at six months the first time around. Of
course, every pregnancy is different. I haven't even wanted to be
within a mile of potatoes this time.

"Do I have a choice?" I say, rubbing my belly and getting kicked for
my effort.

"Not much of one," he says, yawning and rolling over so he can look
at me.

"I'm beginning to suspect you were an architect in another life,
Mulder," I say, moving the tower over with my foot so I have an
unobstructed view.

"I'm beginning to suspect I should have been an architect in this
life," he says dryly.

Christopher stirs a little but doesn't wake up. It is past his
bedtime and I am glad to see he's in his pajamas and doesn't need to
be roused from his slumber to get ready for bed.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"Trouble at school," he says with a sigh. He rolls on to his side and
looks at Christopher. His hand goes to our son's hair and smooths
over his glossy locks. He hasn't had his first haircut yet and the
auburn ends are starting to curl.

"What kind of trouble?" I ask. Kessie has only been in school for a
month and this isn't the first time there has been a problem.

"The teachers think Kessie is bored. She's way ahead of any of the
other students in the curriculum. I guess she gets irritated when
they cover something she already knows. And she seems very nervous.
Or so that is what the teachers tell me," he says.

"What other options do we have right now? It is the best school in
the area and until we can work on getting a dual enrollment with the
college, I don't know what else to do," I say, looking around for
signs of her. "Where is Kessie?"

"Spending the night with Soprano. They are going shopping tomorrow
for something," he says. Oh, so that is the reason she asked for some
money this morning. Mulder's birthday is in a few days. It is the
first family birthday since she's arrived.

Mulder is still touching Chris' hair. His expression changes so much
when he is watching his son. Years wash away and he softens into a
different person. Some one with less regrets. Less worries.

Yet, I know one of his biggest worries is that little boy sleeping
next to him. And the little one tucked under my heart.

And his daughter.

"So, she gets in trouble at school and then gets to go spend the
night with her best friend," I say, sounding more critical than I
planned.

"Scully, I have no idea what to say to an eleven year old girl. I
hardly know her. Since that episode at Dr. Werber's office, I don't
know what to believe. And I'm learning day by day exactly how hard my
parents had it. So please don't comment on my parenting skills right
now," he says, his eyes betraying exactly how tired he is.

"I'm sorry," I say. I know how hard it is. We are still learning with
Christopher, let alone with this little girl who's life has been
turned upside down.

Luckily she has Soprano.

Soprano is always taking Kessie with her where ever she goes. She is
like a big sister to her. Kessie has even attended some of Soprano's
classes at the University. That was when the troubles with school
started. Kessie got to see what else is out there.

I'm certainly glad that Kessie has found someone to be close to. With
a small child and another on the way, I hardly make the ideal
candidate. I wish I could do more for her. Sometimes I don't think
she wants more. We have our moments here and there, but I think she
is afraid of me.

"Those two seem to be quite fond of each other," I say.

"Yes, they are," he says, rolling back around to look at me. "But not
as fond as I am of you."

*

Her round form presses against me, reminding me just how fused our
lives really are. Yes, it has been years since we could have untied
one life from the other, but now, we are bound forever.

I slip in and out of her body, as we rock against each other slowly.
Side by side, her one hand is resting on my cheek, warm and soft. Her
eyes do not break their contact with mine. They are filled with want
and desire. And love.

We hardly get any time alone now that we have a house full of
children who all sleep at different hours. Or else Scully is scared
Kestrel will hear something. The child knows far too much as it is.
Of course, I remember walking in on my parents when I was young.
After that show, I'm surprised I could ever get it up in my life.

Scully pushes against me, meeting each thrust I make with remarkable
ease. It is hard to believe she is six months pregnant in more ways
than one. The last time, she wouldn't let me touch her in the third
trimester. She was worried she was unattractive. I would like to
believe that after more than a year, she knows she will never be that
to me.

She has changed so much since our first time, and I don't just mean
her body. At some point, she figured out what is really important in
life. I'm still struggling with it, not knowing how to balance what I
want with what I have.

"Please. Yes," she whispers, moving enough to allow me better access
to her. She is more sensitive than ever, especially her breasts. They
are hard to resist, so full and round, but I don't want to hurt her.

Her eyes finally close as I feel her body begin to contract, her
muscles clenching around me. I stop, letting her ride through the
waves of her orgasm. I love to watch her face acquiesce to an
expression of pure pleasure.

"Good?" I ask when she opens her eyes again.

"You always are," she says, smiling.

"So are you," I say, kissing her fervently before I begin sinking
into her again.

She smells of baby powder, a scent so soft it is barely there. It
replaces any of the fragrances she was laced with long ago. No more
perfumes. Not since the first time she was pregnant.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, noticing I'm not fully into
the task at hand.

"I'm thinking about you," I answer, thrusting into her. She pushes
back against me, countering my move.

"That's good, considering where you are," Scully says with a grin.

"Nothing like that," I say, smiling at her. How could she even
imagine I'd be thinking of someone else? "I was just thinking how
beautiful you are. Always have been."

She looks down in between us at her pregnant body and sighs. "Mulder
..."

"And that makes you even more beautiful," I say, silencing her with
the force of my thrusts. Within seconds, I'm coming inside of her, my
mind not able to focus on anything for a moment. When I finally can
open my eyes again, she's watching me with a smirk on her face.

"You're so cute when you come," she says, reaching up to ruffle my
damp hair.

"Oh, that's just what a man wants to hear," I say, sliding out and
placing my hand on her stomach. I feel something slide across. Hand?
Foot? Elbow? "She's glad her parents love each other as much as they
do."

"I think she's also happy that her parents love her as much as they
do even though we have yet to meet her."

"You think so?" I ask, pondering how safe and warm she is in there.
And how frightening and cold it is out here in the world.

"Yes, I do."

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

October 13, 2002

"Happy Birthday, Dad. This is from me and Chris," Kessie says,
handing Mulder his present from her. Without even discussing it, she
decided to call him dad. It happened soon after the incident in
Werber's office,' I'm still Dana. I think it might have something to
do with calling a grown man 'Fox' but I'm not certain.

Mulder shifts Christopher so he sitting next to him on the floor
instead of on his lap and opens the package. Inside he finds a new
baseball cap and passes to some local batting cage.

"Thank you," he says, putting the hat on.

"You said, right after we first met, um ... that you'd like to
teach me ... us ... about baseball. I thought we could all go
there," she says, her eyes passing over all of us.

Kessie can be so shy, but then the next moment I'll find the two of
them in animated conversation about some obscure concept an eleven
year old shouldn't know yet. Sometimes, I think she is only this way
around me. As if she feels she's invading my territory. She isn't. He
is her father and that is forever.

Am I forever? I would like to think so. I look down at my left hand
to where my ring usually is. I've been too swollen to wear it lately.
It rests upstairs in the box it came in, tucked safely in a drawer.
All that remains on my hand is a slight red area where the ring
normally is.

Yes. Forever. If there is such a thing.

Mulder and Kessie play a game of peek-a-boo with Chris, hiding behind
their hands and making him squeal with delight. He is still such a
baby. No matter if he walks or is starting to talk. He's my baby.
Always will be. That is one thing that is forever.

I have yet to tell Mulder about that visit I had with Dylan in the
parking garage. His warnings make no sense to me yet. I wish for
once, the truth would just make itself evident and we can get on with
our lives.

A normal life. Is it that hard to obtain? And if we ever obtain it,
could we hold it? I feel the baby move, kicking me gently somewhere
deep inside. I pat her back, recognizing her very precious existence.

"Scully, Kessie wants to order pizza for dinner. Did you have any
other plans?" Mulder asks. I shake myself from my thoughts to
discover three faces with six eyes of nearly the same shade looking
at me. I hope this baby gets my eyes so there's a break in the
pattern.

"Sounds great to me," I say, smiling.

This is as near to normal as we are ever going to get.

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

November 17, 2002
Hamlin, Ohio

The shrill sound of my cell phone makes me jump, breaking my
concentration. I have to answer it even though I'm freezing my ass
off while up to my knees in unexplained leathered corpses. There's
always a chance it could be Scully calling with an emergency.

"Mulder," I answer, signaling for Reid to take over what I was doing.
The reception fades in and out down here in this pit, but I finally
find a spot that works.

"Come get me, Dad."

Kessie. Calling me for the third time this week, asking me to pick
her up at school. At least she isn't crying hysterically this time.

"Kessie, I'm not in DC today. Besides, I can't come pick you up every
time you have a problem," I say, pushing down my latex glove enough
to look at my watch. She only has one hour left until she goes home
anyway.

There's only silence on the other end. Damn, this parenting thing is
harder than I thought it would be. I can't be everywhere at once.
Here I am, standing in someone's secret ritualistic burial ground
with everybody staring at me talking to my kid. I'm sure they are
eager to get out of this cold, stinking hole and I'm now holding them
up with an eleven year old's problems.

"I don't want to be here," she says, pleading with me. She's not as
manipulative as her mother and I hope she doesn't learn how to be. I
know she isn't fond of the school we put her in, but there isn't a
lot we can do about it just yet.

She really doesn't fit in anywhere yet. Too intellectually advanced
for these people, yet too emotionally immature for higher education.
And a parent with no time to deal with it right at the moment.

"You only have one more hour. I'll call Soprano and have her pick you
up so you don't have to ride the bus home. How about that?" I ask.
She doesn't seem to see that there's no way in hell I could be back
there in time anyway.

"I'm not coming back here. You can't make me come back here," she
says, the tears flowing now.

"I'll try to make it home tonight. I can't make any promises, but
I'll call Scu -- Dana and tell her you're upset. I doubt she'll be
home late considering ... well, just considering. And you'll be
with Soprano," I say, offering her all I can at the moment.

"I'm not staying here," she says, trying my patience.

"Kestrel, I'm standing here in a pit ... of things you don't even
want to know about. I do have to work. And until you tell me what the
problem is today at school, I really can't help you," I say, my voice
growing a little too loud considering where I am. When in the hell
did my life turn into this?

She hangs up, leaving me with just silence on the other end. I end
the call before punching the one number that gets me to Scully.

"Scully, it's me. Can you do me a favor?"

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

I pull in front of the Crayton-Eastman Academy and find Kessie
sitting on a park bench, wrapped up in a jacket and waiting. I tried
to get Soprano to come here, but she said Christopher was finally
taking a nap. He's had a cold all week and hasn't been sleeping at
night, so instead of disturbing his rest, I left work early to come
get her. No one says anything these days when I leave early. I'm huge
and look like a dog just about to have puppies. The only thing I
don't do is pace around looking for a place to drop.

Besides that, I have two more months to go. Two long and miserable
months.

She climbs into the car and slams her door, shaking everything.

"Bad day?" I ask.

"I don't want to go here," she says. That's what Mulder said she was
going to say. And this is the conversation we've been having for over
a month.

"Honey, we will find a school better suited for you as soon as it is
winter break. Can you make it until then?" I ask her. She doesn't
look at me. Just focuses on the windshield in front of her. "Can
you?"

"I'll try," she says, her eyes narrowing and her arms going across
her chest.

"Put on your seatbelt," I say, and she begrudgingly tugs it around
her and clicks it in place. My own belt keeps trying to ride up my
abdomen, but I keep shoving it back down to where it is the safest as
we leave the school yard. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I want to talk to my father," she says, giving me the cold shoulder
with that little extra emphasis on 'my father.' Well, I'm not letting
her get away with that. Genetics aside, we are both her parents and
are both equally committed to raising her.

"*Your father* won't be home for a while. He's working on a
complicated case and his presence is required there. So, until he
gets home, I'd like it if you talked to me," I say, trying to let her
know how it is going to be.

She is silent for several miles, only turning her head occasionally
to look out the side window. She never looks my way. Something is
wrong. Something more than attending a school that isn't challenging
enough for her. And this little girl just doesn't feel she's free to
open up to any of us completely yet.

Except the nanny.

Kessie is always talking to her. Maybe she knows the real problem.
I'm sure if it was something serious, Soprano would tell us.

"I'm just don't feel right there. I feel ... as if there is someone
always watching me," she says.

How do I assuage her fears when it very well may be true? From the
moment Mulder took her out of whatever that place was and declared to
the world that she was his child, she became a target for so many
prying eyes. But somehow, we have to go on and try to have some sort
of ordinary life.

"Kessie, I know your life has changed drastically in the past few
months and that everything is different, but we will always keep you
safe," I say, wanting so much to reassure this child with no real
place in the world yet.

"Why?" she asks, and it reminds me of so many mindless questions I
asked my parents when I was growing up. Questions without answers.
"Because you have to?"

"No, Kessie. Because we want to. And if there is anyone on earth that
you can trust with your life ... someone who will never let you
down ...  someone who would ..." I start to say, finding myself
swallowing hard before I can say the next words. "Someone who would
even die to save you ... it is your father."

"I know," is all she says, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
She finally turns to look at me. "But, Dana. He can't be everywhere."

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

"Thanks," I say, as the waitress sets a plate in front of me.

"Do you need anything else?" she asks, her heart not really in it.
She looks like she is about twenty-five years old and it is slowly
dawning on her this is all her life is going to be. The frown isn't
permanent yet, but it won't be long until it is.

"No, this is enough for now," I say. She leaves me alone and sits
behind the counter, filing her fingernails and cracking her gum.

I spread out some papers in front of me, studying the copies of lab
reports that were dropped off at my hotel a few hours ago. It was so
much easier when Scully picked through these things. She always knew
what to look for and what was out of place.

Someone slides into the booth opposite of me, making me jump. I never
heard the door open and close, even though there's a cow bell
dangling from the handle. The waitress starts to come over, but he
waves her off.

It is the same man that tried to stop me at the airport after I had
just found Kestrel. The same man I have vague memories of seeing
elsewhere, but can never quite place where.

"One of these days she is going to call you and when you don't go to
her, the consequences are going to be severe. The child knows
something is wrong. You need to listen to her," he says. He looks
down at my papers, but they don't hold his attention for long. "She
is a liability to a lot of people now."

"Who now? Who is going to come after us now?" I ask, holding his
stare. He is young, but there is something timeless about his
demeanor. And he is most certainly confident.

"Do you ever talk to your wife?" he asks, cocking his head and giving
me some kind of all knowing smile.

"She isn't my wife," I say, correcting his mistake. I gather up all
the papers on the table and shove them into the folder.

"She might as well be. What is a piece of paper after all? You have
the house, the car, the kids ... all that is missing is a dog," he
says, still smiling. "So, does she ever tell you about me? Does she
tell you about anything she and I discuss?"

"No."

"That's too bad. We have really great discussions," he says, grabbing
a french fry off of my plate and eating it.

"I don't know who you are or what you want ..." I start to say, but
he interrupts me.

"My name is Dylan. That's all you need to know for right now. I'm
sorry I didn't introduce myself the last time we met. Of course, you
are Special Agent Fox Mulder. The boy who was going to be 'it' but
never quite made it there," he says, laughing a little.

'It' at what? My career? What my father was involved in?

"That's me. Never quite making it anywhere," I say, taking a bite of
my food.

"All I'm here for is to tell you to take care of that girl. She's not
supposed to be here, living with you and Dana. But beyond that, she's
not even supposed to be at all. Figure out why she's here and half of
your problems will be solved," he says, making it sound so easy.

"What problems would those be?" I ask. It would take one hell of a
big answer for half of my problems to be solved that easily.

"Why she was hidden away in some mountain where she was never to be
heard from again while people run around telling you your son is 'the
one.' You must be curious as to what he is, aren't you?" he asks,
teasing me along and not giving me answers.

"He's a little boy who's stuck in the middle of a lot of shit his
parents were already involved in," I say, not sure if I want to know
more about him. I would like to think that he is just some kind of
unexpected surprise in our lives. That everybody else is lying about
having created him as if he's some damn emerald in a lab.

"He's more than that, and you know it. He's not the issue right now.
Your oldest daughter is. And what she might be able to tell you. But
in order for you to ever find out, you've got to keep her safe.
Remember that the next time she calls," he says, sliding out of the
booth and walking away from me.

"If she's not supposed to be alive, then why do you care?" I call
after him. He turns around, and shoves his hands into the pockets of
his blue jeans. He looks to be no more than your average college kid,
but I have no clue what he really is.

"Because I don't want the future to change anymore than it already
has," he says before walking away.

Well, that certainly shook the jigsaw puzzle up some more. Soon, I'll
never be able to get the pieces together.


The End

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

Title:  Full Term  
Author: Jori 
Rating: PG
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR, family fic
Disclaimers: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013 and FOX
Spoilers: Nothing specific
Archive: Yes
Summary: As the holidays approach, Scully gets a little tired of
being pregnant.

Author's Notes: Thank you, Mojo, for being my best Ebert. And a Happy
Holidays to all!

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

November 19, 2002

"You're home early," I mutter as Mulder climbs into bed. My clock
shows that it is 2:23 a.m. in glowing red numbers, making my
statement sound absurd, but he told me he would be home on Thursday
at the earliest. It is only Tuesday.

"Why didn't you tell me that this Dylan person was still approaching
you?" he asks in a short and succinct manner. He doesn't touch me or
wrap an arm over me like he usually does when he comes home in the
middle of the night.

"I didn't think it mattered," I lie, rather unconvincingly. Actually,
I didn't know how to explain what he was telling me. Didn't know how
to put the pieces together. He seems to be everywhere and know
everything. He knew about Kestrel. He knew about the baby. He just
knows things and I haven't figured out how yet.

"Some strange man follows you around ... knows things about our
life together ... and it doesn't matter?" he asks, his voice not
exactly angry, but not pleased either.

"He talks in riddles and never tells me anything real. He once led me
to the convenience store you and Krycek stopped at, but couldn't lead
me further, even though I'm sure he knew where you were. He tells me
he knows my future ... our future, but won't tell me what it is.
Mulder, what did you want me to tell you?" I ask, my voice just as
sharp as his.

"I want you to trust me with everything."

"Who says I don't?"

"I'm sorry. That isn't what I meant. I just don't want there to be
any secrets. Not anymore," he says, his hand finally reaching out for
me.

"I should have told you, but he seemed so innocuous at first. Just
one more person thrown at us saying he knew what we are and where we
are going," I say.

"What did he tell you?" he asks and I begin to wonder why this is
coming up now, after all this time.

"No, Mulder - what did he tell you?" I ask. Obviously, Dylan must
have approached Mulder where he was working out in Ohio. Why else
would he be back here?

"He told me that I can't ignore Kessie's calls. That she knows
something. Basically, he has just made me a prisoner to the greater
DC area," Mulder says with a heavy sigh.

"I think ... that he is actually looking out for us, Mulder. He
just doesn't know how to right now," I say, turning over his actions
in my mind again. Always there when things are tough. Always filling
in a little bit of information. Just enough but not too much.

"But who is he?" Mulder asks, moving closer to me and putting his arm
around me. His hand rests on my belly and he gets kicked. The baby
always seems to know when he's around and always responds to his
voice and touch. Daddy's little girl already.

"I'm not sure who he is. But you are not a prisoner to the DC area.
We will have to find a school she is comfortable with. I will pick
her up or Soprano will pick her up. You have a job to go to that
takes you away from us. That is just the way it is and she'll have to
learn to live with that," I say, getting sleepy again. I yawn and
realize that there is no way I can fall back to sleep without going
to the bathroom first. "I'll be right back."

I roll out of under his arm and waddle off to the bathroom. By the
time I waddle back, he's already asleep.

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

December 14, 2002

"What is Kessie watching?" I ask, passing through the living room
into the kitchen. Scully is standing there, holding  a rolling pin in
her hand. If it weren't for that, I'd make a comment about how she's
barefoot and pregnant, but I don't want to get clobbered.

She has a dab of flour on her nose and sticky dough on her hands. I
believe she is in the middle of making Christmas cookies. Her
pregnant belly is also covered in flour from leaning against the
counter.

"I believe she is watching 'A Summer Place'," Scully says after
listening to the TV noise coming from the other room. She sets down
the rolling pin and sighs. "Why she is watching that, I don't know."

"'We've been bad, Johnny,'" I say to her, patting her stomach. She
puts her floury hands on her lower back and rubs it until I take
over.

"It is a change from her usual diet of PBS and TLC," Scully says,
adding a little groan when I hit a knotted up, tense spot on her
back. Not a minute after she says it, we hear the channel flip to
some documentary on the Amazon River.

"Old movies portraying teenage sex and angst or big rivers with
killer fish. I'll have to talk to her about what she's supposed to be
watching," I say. Scully leans back against me and my arms go around
her, circling her above her tummy and beneath her breasts.

"We went to visit a school today. They can't take her until next
year, so we will have to suffer through this semester, but she really
seemed to like it. They do a lot more with the local universities and
colleges," Scully says softly.

"Have you thought any more about daycare for Christopher?" I ask, her
body growing stiff in my arms.

"I'm not ready for that. Besides, Soprano ..."

"Soprano is going to busy enough taking care of the baby when you
return to work. Plus she has to watch Kessie after school," I say,
trying to placate her darkest fears.

They are my fears, too. Nothing on earth is as bad as losing a child.
My mother and Scully's mother both know that too well. It is
something I never want her to go through. And with more children, we
just have more to worry about.

"I'll think about it," she says, pushing away from me. She faces me
again, and I try to wipe the dab of flour off her nose.

"Nesting already?" I ask, noticing she has the counters covered with
baked goods.

"I can't help it," she says, as if it is something she should be able
to control.

She finished the nursery in the last few days, making it bright and
cheery without going overboard on 'girl' things. Kessie helped her
pick out a theme consisting of 'duckies' and lambies' and the the two
of them did a great job decorating together. What used to be my 'den'
is now a room covered in fluffy farm animals.

"Did the plane tickets show up yet?" I ask, looking around for the
mail. I don't really want to send Kessie off to her mother's side of
the family, but I know I have to. I'm flying up there with her to
check everything out for myself. I'm sure the Fowleys will love that.

"Yes. I put them on my desk. She's not very excited about going,"
Scully says, wiping her hands off on a dish towel and once again
rubbing her back.

"I'm not very excited about sending her, but a deal is a deal.
Besides, she really needs to get to know Diana's family. Diana was
her mother and that can't be changed," I say, flipping through the
pile of mail until I find the tickets. December 26th at 8:00 a.m. It
will be quiet around here for a few days when I get back, that's for
sure.

"Who says anybody wants to change it?" Scully asks as I bring up the
longest running sore spot of an issue in our relationship.

"I don't know why I said that. I guess if anyone wishes they could
change who her mother is, it would be me," I say honestly.

"No you don't. Then she wouldn't be who she is," Scully says, as she
goes back to rolling out more cookies before pressing them with a
cutter. A whole sheet of snowmen are ready to go into the oven by the
time I give up looking through the mail.

"Yes, you're right. She wouldn't be Kessie. Now we just have to
figure out who Kessie is," I say. Scully begins to decorate a cooled
batch of cookies. I know she loves Christmas, but I really do have to
blame this descent into unbridled domestication on the pregnancy.

She makes a face as she tries to unsuccessfully stifle a sneeze. Must
be all the flour in the air.

"Damn," she says, shifting around a bit. "The true reason for Kegel
exercises is revealed."

"Are you saying they aren't for my sexual satisfaction?" I ask,
lowering my voice so any young ears can't hear.

"No, Mulder. Kegel's are so I don't wet the floor," she says, looking
down as if she might have.

"And here I thought you were thinking of me," I say, as she totters
in the direction of the bathroom.

"Yeah, right. And I'll be thinking about you again when I'm in
labor," she says, her voice already tinged with that hint of ire
women get when they are about ready to give birth.

"Oh, I'm sure you will be."

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

December 20, 2002

"Agent Hammond, I'll get it out to you as soon as I can," I tell the
young field agent over the phone. This is the third time he's called
me today and I don't have any more answers for him now than I did two
hours ago.

Besides that, I don't give a damn right now. All I want to do is go
home and put my feet up. I'm tired and cranky and I can't believe I
have another 26 days to go before I even reach my due date. They
promise to be long and miserable days if how I feel right now is
indicative of what's to come.

He rambles on and on about needing the autopsy reports sent to him as
soon as possible or else his ass will be on the line. Little does he
know he's dealing with a mean spirited pregnant woman in an office
filled with people who have the flu. That leaves me to do most of the
work myself until I come down with it. Probably in time for
Christmas.

"Agent, I told you I'll get them to you as soon as I can. That's the
best I can do and it probably won't be until tomorrow morning," I
say, practically hanging up on the guy.

"Is it safe to come in?" Mulder asks from the doorway. Thank God. I
need a break and there is no one I would rather spend it with.

"Come on in ... but only if you aren't looking for something," I
say, pushing my chair back and putting my feet up on the box I have
hidden under my desk. I look at the clock. Ten minutes to five. I
can't wait until I can head home.

"I'm just looking for you," he says, sitting down in one of the
chairs opposite of me. His hair is damp and so is his trench coat, so
it must be snowing outside. Great. Lately, I live in fear of slipping
on ice in the parking lot and lying there, unable to get up, for
hours.

Then again, I never seem to be alone in parking lots. I probably
wouldn't be there too long.

"So, what brings you here?" I ask, taking off my glasses and rubbing
my eyes.

"I came here to shovel the snow off of your car. I didn't know if you
would be able to reach the middle of the window to scrape the ice,"
he says. He picks up a picture frame off of the corner of my desk and
smiles. It was from one of those rare moments in the past two years
when I wasn't pregnant.

"That bad out there?" I ask, looking at him. He looks tired. He got
home late last night after chasing something around the hills of
Tennessee for two days with Agent Reid.

"I don't want you driving in this. You shouldn't be driving at all .
. ."

"I'm fine, Mulder."

"I don't care. Reid dropped me off here. I'm driving you home," he
orders. I lace my fingers across my belly, taking up the traditional
pose of a pregnant woman who no longer has any place to put her
hands.

Something in me wants to argue with him for suggesting there is
something I can't do. But he looks so horribly concerned. For me and
his child.

"Are you going to pick me up on every snow day until I deliver this
child of yours?" I say, smiling at the thought of Mulder trying to
find a ride here every time a snowflake falls.

"Child of mine? Mine? I'm not the one who can't see my shoes without
a mirror right now," he says, laughing.

"Are you saying she isn't yours?" I ask, joking now about something
that haunted us just a few short months ago.

"I certainly hope she is, Scully. But I hope she looks like you," he
says, his voice low and sexy. It is a shame I'm to big to take him in
that chair right now. I'm pretty much too big to do anything
anywhere.

"Kessie looks like you and she's beautiful," I say, looking at the
picture of Kessie, Christopher and Mulder on my desk. Just a candid
shot from his birthday, but there is no denying they are father and
daughter.

"She looks like her mother," he says with a sigh of disappointment. I
don't think he will ever recover from that betrayal.

"No. She looks like you. Or Samantha ... from the pictures I've
seen," I say, and he narrows his eyes at me, as if he's trying to
picture his sister in his head. He pulls a package of sunflower seeds
out of his pocket and crunches one. He's thinking about something.

"So, what are we going to name this baby girl?" he asks right before
cracking another seed between his teeth.

"I've been thinking about a few names. Christopher was so easy. This
is so much harder. I think names mean more to girls than they do for
boys," I say, thinking about the list of names I have tucked away in
my desk drawer.

"Kestrel had a suggestion. But I don't think you will like it
considering it is the name of her best friend at that place," Mulder
says.

"Robin or Sparrow?" I ask, wondering what bird name she might come up
with.

"Actually, it was a boy and his name was Kite," he says, expecting me
to take it seriously.

"Kessie, Kit and Kite?" I say, annunciating the plethora of Ks
involved.

"I told her it was up to you. I think she took that as no," he says.

"Here," I say, sliding my drawer open and handing him a legal pad. I
have names scribbled everywhere on the top sheet. Most have been
crossed out, but many remain. "Pick one."

Mulder studies the list carefully, but his expression doesn't change.
He grabs a pen off of my desk and circles something before handing it
back to me.

"That one."

"Are you sure?" I ask, knowing this is forever.

"Yes. I'm sure."

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

December 25, 2002
Margaret Scully Residence

"Kessie! Nate! Chip! Get in here!" I shouts out the back door. The
kids are all out throwing snowballs at each other with the assistance
of Scully's baby brother. "You, too, Charlie."

"Aw ... do I have to?" Charlie says, faking a whine. He pops his
head above the evergreen hedges that he has made into his own
personal fort and gets clobbered from all sides with snowballs.

"If any of you want to open your presents ..." is all I have to say
before I'm charged by three kids, fighting to get in first. Charlie
stands there behind his barrier, brushing the snow off of his parka.
This is the first time we have met. The first time he's been in the
country in a long time.

"Everett, the snow Gestapo is here. You better come in, too," Charlie
says, and Everett pops up from behind another row of hedges. The
adults look like they were having more fun than the kids.

I walk outside to join them, enjoying a moment of silence. There are
three kids over the age of nine running around, yelling like banshees
plus two toddlers. Christopher and Charlie's youngest, a three year
old named Ellie. Thank God the baby hasn't been born yet. I don't
think I can take one more voice right now.

"So, Mulder, when are you going to marry my big sister and make an
honorable woman out of her?" Charlie asks lightheartedly. I don't
think he cares as long Scully is happy.

"I don't know ..."

"Bill made me ask. He can be a son of a bitch, can't he?" Charlie
says with a  nod, and I'm not sure whether he is saying that about me
to Everett or whether he's talking about Bill.

"Your brother is a great guy," I say, rather unconvincingly.

"Yeah. Sure he is. Ever wonder why I go to sea while he's tied to a
desk job? So I don't have to hear him bitch," Charlie says. He's the
typical youngest kid. A little wilder than the older kids. A little
more happy go lucky.

I see Scully waddle out the French doors leading to the backyard and
down toward us. She has on no jacket, but that doesn't matter to her.
All she does is complain how hot she is. The only reason she allows
me to turn on the heat at home is because of Chris and Kessie.

"Hey, big sister... and I'm not referring to your size," Charlie
says, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hugging her. "You
know what, Dana?"

"What?" she asks, and I can tell she's expecting a bit of her
brother's wit to come out of his mouth next. We went out to dinner
with Charlie and his wife, Colleen, last night, and he spent the
evening joking around with Scully.

"I don't think I've ever seen you happier," he says, giving me a
wink.

How could two brothers be so different? How come the other one
couldn't be more like this one instead of so damn unforgiving. He
hasn't even come to see Scully since Christopher was born.

"Thank you, Charlie. I have a lot of reasons to look happy right now.
But I'd look happier if this child would just vacate my body," she
says, as she rubs her lower back. "The kids are dying in there ...
Mom must have half a million packages around the tree, and they can't
wait much longer."

"Okay, okay. Wouldn't want a riot to start on Christmas," Charlie
says, as he and Everett head back into the house. "You coming, big
sister?"

"We'll be there in a second," I tell him, wrapping my arms around
Scully the best I can and hugging her tight. I haven't had a moment
alone with her all day.

"No funny business. The neighbors are watching," Charlie says before
he slips into the door.

"Did I tell you how much I love you lately?" I whisper to her. I rock
her in my arms, never wanting to let her go.

"I think it has been at least half an hour, but thank you. I love
you, too," she says, leaning into me. She doesn't sound as
enthusiastic about Christmas as she normally does.

"You okay?" I ask, turning her around to look at her face.

"I'm fine. Just tired. Maybe I'm coming down with something. There's
a bug going around the office... "

"The last time you said you had a bug, you were actually pregnant. We
can rule that out ... well, no we can't," I say, putting my hand on
our baby. "But we can rule out early pregnancy. Are you sure you are
going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Mulder. Come on. Let's get inside before the kids tear
the place apart in a wild frenzy," she says, with a sigh.

She toddles off before me, looking every bit the pregnant woman who
can't take it for one more day.

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

"I have an announcement ... everyone," Everett says, standing up in
the middle of a huge pile of wrapping paper. The kids quiet down,
which is amazing. The noise in here has been astounding since we
started unwrapping presents. Mulder picks up Christopher and puts him
on his lap as we wait for Everett to give some sort of Christmas
toast. I have no idea what he's planning.

All I know is my mom's eyes are all aglow as she watches him. I never
thought I'd see her look that way at someone again, but life does go
on. If something happened to Mulder, would I ever find someone again?
I don't even want to think about it.

"Go ahead, Everett," Charlie says, as he grabs Ellie and hands her to
Colleen.

"Maggie and I would like to announce ... that we are engaged to be
married," Everett says, the smile on his face a mile wide. "Margaret
told me that it is something of a family tradition to give an
engagement ring on Christmas Eve or on Christmas, so I'd like to do
this in front of all of you."

Colleen and I both look down at our hands. She has her ring on. Mine
doesn't fit right now. I didn't know Charlie proposed to her on
Christmas. I was too busy with school way back then. He was so young
and so was Colleen. I only remember my dad complaining about it.

Everett pulls a little velvet box out of his pocket and opens it,
presenting it to Mom. She looks like a girl again, thrilled with what
is presented to her. It is a simple anniversary band, not a
solitaire. That would be far too young. This is so much more
tasteful. So much more like my mother.

I noticed she stopped wearing her wedding band on her left hand a few
months ago. Instead, she wears it on her right. These subtle changes
all start to pile up at once, and I can't help but to weep. I can't
control myself.

"Oh, Dana, honey. It isn't that bad ... I promise not to steal the
wedding show from you and Fox," my mother says, noticing the mood
I've suddenly slipped into.

"No ... Mom. That isn't it," I say. Mulder's eyes are on me now,
wondering what is going on. "I'm happy for you. Both of you. I'm just
a little emotional..."

"I think pregnant is the word," Charlie says, smiling at Colleen. He
must have been here before. It is all so different from when I was
pregnant with Christopher. So much better this time around.

"Congratulations, Mom. Everett. This is a wonderful Christmas gift,"
I say, wiping the tears from my eyes. My mother comes over and hugs
me. She places her hand on my belly, and the baby kicks her.

"No, sweetie ...  *this* is a wonderful Christmas gift."

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

I feel a hand rest on my shoulder, waking me. I fell asleep on the
couch in front a football game, while Charlie snoozes on the
recliner. Too much food. Too many kids. I'm worn out.

"Mulder ..." Scully says, and I try to focus on her. She still
doesn't look well.

"What? Is something wrong," I ask, sitting up and allowing her to sit
down next to me. I have to help her down. Her balance has been
completely off the last few weeks.

"I think I'm ready to go home. I just don't really feel good. And I'm
so tired," she says, closing her eyes briefly.

"I'll get everything packed up into the car. We need to leave anyway.
Kessie and I have to be at the airport at 7 a.m. tomorrow," I say,
standing up and helping her lie down. "Unless you're sick. Then we
won't be going at all."

"Her grandparents are expecting her," Scully says, closing her eyes.

"I'm not sending her there without checking it out first. I have a
feeling I'd live to regret it," I say, brushing a strand of hair off
her face. A face that is more round this pregnancy than it was the
last. She does look swollen and miserable, but she's still beautiful.

"Okay. I'll be fine," she says, quietly. I'm tempted to pull a
blanket over her, but I know she'd just kick it off.

"Hey, Dana? You okay?" Charlie asks from across the room. He rubs his
eyes sleepily and yawns. Upon hearing his voice, his little girl runs
into the room and climbs up into his lap. "You need Mom?"

"No, I'll be okay. Just ready to go home," she says, now yawning
herself.

"Yeah. You look just like Colleen did right before she had Ellie in
the middle of the night," Charlie says, getting up with Ellie in his
arms.

"I'm not due for a few more weeks," she says, running her hands
across her abdomen. My mind tries to figure out the dates involved
with her pregnancy ... the hillside in New Mexico. The hotel. Could
it have been even earlier?

"You need help, Mulder?" Charlie asks, setting Ellie down. She runs
off looking for her mother.

"Sure. I think Mrs. Scully has all our stuff piled up and ready to
go. I'll go wake up Chris and get him in his jacket. Scully, are you
sure you are going to be okay?" I ask, looking down at her.

"Looks like she's more than okay. It looks like she's asleep,"
Charlie says, looking down at his sister.

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

December 26, 2002

"Good morning, Agent Scully," the receptionist says, not finding my
name on the appointment book. "Dr. Morton will be able to squeeze in
a visit with you in about fifteen minutes."

"Thanks," I say, as I waddle over to a row of chairs and stuff myself
into one of them. I leaf through a parenting magazine and laugh
quietly about how many things they get wrong about the first year. It
can only be learned by doing. No book or magazine can possibly cover
it all.

Mulder doesn't even know I'm here. I called after he left early with
Kessie and he won't be home from the Vineyard until tomorrow. That is
if everything goes well. I only made this appointment because I still
feel achy all over. I don't want to feel this way for the next couple
of weeks.

"Dana?" a voice says, and I pry myself loose from the chair and
follow the nurse into the back.

"You'll be in exam room three," she says, opening a door for me. She
hands me the paper 'clothes' that are sitting on the examination
table, unfolding the sheet as she goes. "Put these on. Dr. Morton
will be here in a few minutes."

I undress out of my casual maternity dress, tossing it aside. I'm not
expected into work today, so it doesn't matter if I'm a little
wrinkled. I'm too tired to care right now. I have myself all covered
in pink paper when there's a knock on the door.

"Hi, Dana! Merry Christmas. I wasn't expecting to see you until next
week," Dr. Sarah Morton says, looking at my chart.

"Thank you, Sarah. Merry Christmas to you, too. I changed my
appointment because I'm not feeling very well. My muscles ache. I'm
so tired. I know it is probably nothing beyond the common complaints
of late pregnancy, but I just wanted to make sure. The flu has been
going around the office." I say, rubbing my lower back.

"Hmm ... kind of achy across your lower abdomen? Does it feel like
menstrual cramps?" she asks, as she washes her hands and digs out a
pair of gloves.

"Actually, from what I remember, yes... " I say, and she smiles at
me. It has been so long since I had a period the feminine hygiene
people should just be glad they don't rely on me for their profits.

"Lie back, put your feet here ... scootch your butt this way,"
Sarah says, guiding me into place before she begins prodding me. She
inserts her fingers in my vagina and gets a concerned look on her
face. "When did we decide your due date is?"

"After the last ultrasound, you determined it would be January 15th,"
I say. I'm getting rather uncomfortable and I begin to wiggle around
slightly, so she finally removes her hands.

"And today is the 26th of December. Technically, she could be born
today and not be considered pre-term ..."

"Excuse me?" I ask, wondering what is going on.

"Where is Agent Mulder?" she asks. He's been with for nearly every
visit in the last few months. After missing the important ones in
July, he really put an effort in being here."I was expecting to see
him here."

"He had to take his daughter up to Martha's Vineyard. I don't expect
him back until tomorrow," I say, growing concerned that she would
wonder about his absence. "Sarah, is there a problem?"

"No, not a problem. You might want to call him and have him come home
earlier if he can. I might be jumping the gun here, but it is always
better to be safe than sorry," she says, pulling her gloves off. She
eases my legs down out of the stirrups and helps me sit up.

"Safe?" I ask. I know I've been feeling bad, but this is early. Isn't
it?

We've been told so many things, I'm not even sure when it might have
happened. Oh, God. How could I miss the signs? The cramps. The mucus.
I've been so busy with Christmas. I just had in my mind that it would
be January.

"You don't have the flu, Dana. You are 100% effaced, three
centimeters dilated and that little girl is at zero station. I would
suggest you give him a call and see if he can make it home."


The End

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

Title:  To Begin Again  
Author: Jori 
Rating: PG
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR, family fic, baby fic and all those hideous things
Archive: Yes.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They still belong to CC, 1013, and FOX
Summary: The time has come for the newest member of the Scully-Mulder
family to arrive, but will Mulder arrive in time?

Author's Notes: Thank you, Mojo, for always being there. And to Liz,
for talking me out of doing unspeakable things to the baby I couldn't
come up with a name for. More notes at the end.

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

Chilmark on Martha's Vineyard
11:30 a.m.

I look around the now unfamiliar house, pausing every step or so to
examine the changes more carefully. It has been completely redone
since I sold it last December. Why would it be the same? No one had
touched the interior since sometime in the 1970s. It needed to be
overhauled.

So it no longer looks like it did when I was child. Does that mean my
child really has to stay here?

"Fox, nothing is going to happen to her," Richard Fowley says as he
stands in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. I just
give him a sideways glance and he retreats to where he came.

They own a house in Florida, yet this is where they choose to spend
Christmas. It has been bitterly cold for the last few days, yet they
spurned the sunshine to stay in this house. Luckily, the weather was
nice enough today to allow us to get here at all.

*The* house.

"Which room was yours?" Kessie asks as she comes down the hallway.

"The one you'll be staying in," I say, nodding toward the room Dick
dropped her bags off in.

"Cool. You ever hide anything under the floorboards or in the back of
the closet when you were a kid? Something no one was ever supposed to
find?" she asks curiously.

I go to answer honestly but decide against it. I don't want to have
to pay the Fowleys to repair any walls. Besides, I'm sure the crew
who remodeled this place took care of anything a nine year old boy
might have hidden away. Even though they'd be collector's items by
now.

"No, I never did such things," I say with a smile.

"Oh, I'm sure," she says as she plops down on the couch and picks up
the TV remote control. She flips through channel after channel of
nothing before turning it off. If there isn't something educational
on, she doesn't watch.

"Would I lie to you?" I say, just in time for Carol to walk through
the door. I just like to drive the point home that Diana only lied.
And lied so well about something so important.

"Nice to see you again, Fox. Does the place meet your approval?"
Carol asks, ignoring what I had just said. "Any remnants of your
boyhood tragedy that we didn't wipe clean?"

"I'd never recognize the place," I say, sitting next to Kessie. She
shifts over a little but we still look like we are huddling against
the opposing Fowley team. "Of course, I'm still confused as to why
your parents would chose to stay here in the dead of winter instead
of ... where is it?"

"Osprey."

"Yes. Seems like it would be so much warmer there," I say,
absentmindedly putting my arm around Kessie's shoulders and pulling
her closer to me.

"Dad says the Vineyard brings back such fond memories of vacationing
with friends. Perhaps you met him before you ever ... met him,"
Carol says with an artificial smile. I know they aren't pleased that
I had to come here with Kessie and they are upset that I find it
necessary to spend the night here.

Tough.

"My parents had many 'friends.' Perhaps you're right," I say, trying
to recall all those picnics they had. Those men my father worked
with. All the faces blur into one with time. They all seemed old then
and now they really are. Or dead.

"Kessie, do you like what Grandma Lorraine did to your room?" Carol
asks and Kessie just shrugs in that 'I don't give a shit' way kids
her age have. "I'm sure you will enjoy your stay here with us. I know
your dad is worried, but he doesn't have to be."

"That's one of my jobs as a parent. I get to worry about everything.
You wouldn't know that though, would you?" I ask Carol, standing
there in front of me impeccably dressed in a suit that probably costs
more than all of Scully's maternity outfits combined.

"I understand well enough that you are obsessed with whatever it is
that happened here years ago and that is affecting how you are
raising your daughter, if not all your children. Speaking of
children, did you leave the pregnant 'wife' alone?" she asks.

I try to be friendly to this woman, but she is just a less honest,
more successful version of Diana. I loved Diana once and won't deny
it. But had she been more like this woman, I don't see how I could
have.

"Scully is quite fine. She has a few more weeks to go," I say,
ignoring the whole wife thing.

Kessie wiggles out of under my arm, but not away from me. Somehow, we
have slowly fallen into an unmistakable father-daughter relationship
where I feel like I need to keep her safe from everything and she
lets me know when it is time for her to pull away. I never thought
I'd be like this. I can only imagine what I will be like with my
newborn little girl. I will probably panic every time she bumps into
anything in her life.

"Kessie, would you like to go to the grocery store with us?" Lorraine
Fowley asks, entering the room. She has on her jacket and gloves
already, and Kessie's coat is over her arm.

"No. I want to stay here with my dad," Kessie says, sinking back into
the couch again as if she can hide.

"Come on, sweetheart. Your daddy can only stay so long before he has
to get back to his ... girlfriend ... and job. We would really
love it if you came with us," she says, her voice a precise
combination of both of her daughters' voices. I can tell she really
wants this to work out right. That she wants this child to bond to
her instantly because she is her grandmother. This child didn't even
bond to me instantly, and I'm her father.

"Can my dad come with?" Kessie says, not yet ready to trust these
strangers completely. I can see the frustration creep into every line
on Lorraine Fowley's face. This is not their idea of a perfect time
with their only grandchild.

"Sure. Whatever. Dick, are you ready?" she asks with a wave of her
hand before tromping out of the living room in annoyance. Carol
quickly follows her.

"Kess, they're right. I'm going to have to leave soon. You'll be fine
here," I say, turning her so she's facing me. Her eyes focus
somewhere past me, though, as if I'm saying something she doesn't
want to hear.

"I want to be at home. What if Dana has the baby? I want to see
Soprano ... I want to be in my own room ... "

"If Dana has the baby, you can come home. Soprano will still be there
when you get back. And your room is probably better here than what
you have at home. But most of all, you'll be safe here," I say,
trying to convince her of everything I'm not thoroughly convinced of
myself.

"You'll still come with, though?" she asks, her eyes pleading with me
not to leave her now.

"Yes. I won't leave you yet."



Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center
12:25 p.m.

"Did you find him yet?" I ask Charlie as he sits down on my bedside.
He gently takes my hand in his, avoiding the IV they put in already.

"Actually, his partner found him. He said he now has a lot of
experience tracking Mulder down and this was the easiest time yet.
Mulder is out right now, but should be back shortly. I believe
someone named Carol took the message," Charlie says, his fingers
rubbing over mine gently.

"I know who she is. I'm sure they are anxious to get rid of him and
won't forget to tell him," I say, smiling to myself. I'm sure his
paranoia about that house has put them on edge by now. Actually, they
are probably regretting the day they ever bought it.

"Colleen is here, too. She said she'd sit with you if you don't want
your little brother watching you give birth. And Mom will be here as
soon as Everett shows up to watch Chris and the kids," he says,
watching the monitor I'm hooked up to register a slight contraction.

"Mulder will be here," I say, licking my dry lips. "But until he does
get here, can you get me some ice chips?"

"Sure thing," he says, rising gently off the bed. "And I'll send
Colleen in."

Before I can protest, he's out the door. A few moments later, his
wife knocks gently before entering.

"How are you doing, Dana?" she asks, her eyes showing clearly her
knowledge of everything I'm going through right now. She's done it
three times already.

"It isn't bad. Yet," I say, as another contraction sweeps through my
lower body, seeming to take hold of my lower back and not letting up.
I know it is going to get worse than this. I've already been through
worse once.

"Are you going to have an epidural?" she asks, her hand holding on to
mine as the contraction subsides.

"I don't want to," I say, not wanting to do anything I did the first
time around. I want to deliver VBAC. I never want to have another
c-section again. "But I will if this damn back pain doesn't go away."

The maternity nurse comes through the door wearing a smile that any
woman in labor would find annoying and scrubs with teddy bears and
dolls on them.

"Hi, Dana," she says, flipping through my chart. "My name is Mary
Beth. I see we are a little early but not early enough to stop it.
The amnio from earlier today shows surfactant is present, so the
little guy should be able to breathe."

"Girl," Colleen and I both say at the same time.

"Okay. Your little girl should be able to breathe," she says. She
sets the chart down and looks at the strip coming from the monitor.
"You've got a long way to go, darling."

"Thank you," I say and Colleen rolls her eyes.

"Is this your 'partner?'" she asks, looking at Colleen carefully.

"This is my sister-in-law. My 'partner' will be here shortly," I say,
leaving the rest to her imagination.

"Okay, sister-in-law, would you like to take Dana for a stroll around
the halls to see if we can get things moving?" she asks, maneuvering
my IV cart so I can roll it with me. She then takes the monitoring
equipment off of me, leaving the belts holding it in place on the
bed.

"I'd be glad you help," Colleen says, assisting me in rotating off
the bed and on to my feet.

"Dr. Morton said she should be here within the hour, so don't go too
far," the nurse says and I assume she must be kidding. How far does
she think I can make it?

"Just think. Her shift will be over in twelve hours and then you can
get a new nurse," Colleen says as soon as we are out of the door.

"Twelve hours. I was hoping I'd be out of here in twelve hours," I
say, placing one hand on my now much lower rounded tummy, urging this
child on. "That is if Mulder makes it here by then."

"He'll make it. I'm sure of it."

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

Chilmark on Martha's Vineyard
1:02 p.m.

I hand one bag of groceries to Kessie and take two in my arms,
heading toward the house. They didn't do much to the exterior yet,
leaving it to look like all the other houses around it. I don't know
the building codes around here anymore. Maybe they couldn't get a
permit to redo the whole structure just yet.

Or maybe they just like to torture me.

If I get a chance, I'll drive by my dad's other house in West
Tisbury. That is if the weather stays this pleasant. Or pleasant as
far as the Vineyard in the winter is concerned.

"Fox!" Carol calls from the front door. Her voice shakes me out of my
thoughts, reminding me of how many times I heard that name shouted
from that very same door in the past. "Your partner called here
looking for you. An Agent Reid I believe. He said that your ...
Scully ... is in labor."

"What!" I exclaim, damn near dropping the bags in my arms. Instead,
Dick takes them from my arms as I rush toward the house. "When did he
call? How far along is she?"

I can tell by her expression she doesn't have answers for any of
these questions. Why wouldn't she at least ask?

"She's at Fairfax Hospital, at the family something or other," she
says as I come inside. Carol hands me the scrap of paper she
scribbled a few notes on.

Kessie trails in behind me, her eyes wide with expectation and
excitement. She has been waiting anxiously for this baby to come and
now it looks like we both might miss it.

Scully is at the same place where we had Christopher and I grab the
phone and dial the number on the note. The maternity nurse answers,
informing me her name is Mary something.

"Yeah. This is Fox Mulder. Is Dana Scully there?" I ask, just wanting
to talk to her as soon as I can.

"Who is this?" she asks and I can hear her talking to someone else in
the room at the same time.

"Fox Mulder. Dana Scully's ... fiance," I tell her. Damn. We really
need to get married to avoid all this crap. It would be so much
easier if I could just say 'husband.'

"And I'm assuming you are the father of the baby?" she asks, sounding
amused.

"Yes. Is she there, please?" I say, not knowing how much longer I'm
going to be able to stand this woman.

"Actually, Miss Scully is out walking around, trying to get things
moving along. Would you like me to have her call you when she gets
in?" she asks. God damn it. I just want to talk to her.

"No. I want you to find her. I am on Martha's Vineyard and I need to
know how much time I have to get home," I say, hearing her set the
phone down on something hard. She's back in a few moments.

"I don't see her, but you have some time. I'll pass your message
along," she says, before hanging up the phone with a clunk.

"Damn! I can't believe that!" I say, slamming my receiver down, too.
"I've got to get home immediately. Do you have the number to Cape
Air?"

Carol hands me a phone book and I flip through it quickly, looking
for the airlines information.

"Dad, am I coming with you?" a small voice asks from behind me. By
now, both Dick and Lorraine are standing here, watching me closely.
Is this really my decision to make at this point no matter what the
lawyers said? Do I want to make this decision?

"Kessie, we will talk about it in a minute," I say just as someone at
Cape Air answers the phone.

"That means no," Kessie cries, turning and running off to her
bedroom. Damn it. I'm going to have to leave her here and she's not
going to be happy. I'm not going to be happy. The only people who
will be happy are her grandparents.

"Yes. My name is Special Agent Fox Mulder. I just flew in this
morning and I need to be on your next flight out to Boston. It's an
emergency," I say and I hear the person on the other end of the phone
line start clacking away on a computer. She lets me know when to get
there and I realize I don't have much time. "Thank you."

"I have to be to the airport in an hour," I say, looking at my watch.
But first things first. I have to make sure Kessie's okay.

I close my eyes as I walk into my old room, just like I used to do so
many years ago, hoping that when I open them, Samantha will be there.
I walk through the door and look, drawing in a sharp breath. There
sitting on the bed is a little girl who looks more like my sister
than I ever noticed or cared to realize. For a second, I can almost
let my mind trick itself into believing. But only for a second.

This is my daughter. Not my sister.

"Kess, you know I want ..." I start to say before she interrupts.

"Oh, just go home to your real family," she says, her voice as icy as
it could possibly get.

"You are my real family and you know it," I tell her, regretting the
days I pulled this bullshit on my parents. All those times I screamed
'I didn't ask to be born!' are now going to haunt me. I'm sure of it.

"Then why are you leaving me here?" she asks, turning to face me and
not the window she's been staring out. Tears are beginning to flow
down her cheeks and fatherhood slams down upon me faster than it has
in a long time.

"Kessie, you will be okay here. They will take good care of you and
you can come home soon. But Dana and I won't even be home for the
next few days. Chris will be with Grandma Scully. And after that, it
won't be much fun for a while. Trust me. Lots of crying in the middle
of the night, and not just me. The baby, too," I say, and she smiles
a little before going back to looking like a sad little girl. I sit
on the edge of her bed and she doesn't move away.

"But I want to see her. She's my sister and I want to see her,"
Kessie says. I wrap my arms around her and hold her close.

"You will. I will have them put you on a plane as soon as we get her
home, okay? Until then, make them take you shopping. Buy you lots of
things. Grandparents are supposed to be good for that. Or so I've
heard," I say, letting her go. She leans back from me and shakes her
head in mock disgust.

"Dad! You don't want me coming home spoiled, do you?" she says, a
little smile creeping onto her face.

"You deserve to be spoiled for a few days. But don't expect it when
you get home, do you hear me, young lady?" I say, and she hugs me
tight.

"Tell Dana and Christopher I miss them already, okay?" she says, her
voice sounding like that of a small child. She has only had a home
for a few months now and I know she's not ready for this. But what am
I supposed to do?

"I will. And I'm sure they are going to miss you, too," I say,
holding on to her just as tightly. "But not as much as I'm going to
miss you."

For the first time ever, she kisses me on the cheek before letting
go. She moves away from me, resigned to the fact that I have to go.
More so to the idea that she has to stay here.

"Bye, Daddy," she says, looking down at the floor and swallowing
hard.

"Bye, Kessie."

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

Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center

"He called and you didn't come find me?" I damn near shout at the
nurse. "That is unbelievable! I was right down the hall!"

You don't mess with a woman in labor. This nurse should know that.

"I looked for you, Dana, and did not see you anywhere. I figured you
went off the ward," she says apologetically. But she doesn't sound
sorry enough.

"Did he say anything?" Colleen asks as she helps me sit down in a
rocking chair and moves the IV stand beside me. I don't see why I
need the damn thing yet. And the pain in my lower back is intense.
More intense than with Christopher, but I want to make it through
this without drugs.

"Not really," the nurse says, flipping through my chart. "Just to
tell you he called."

"I can't believe this," I say, as I breathe through a contraction
that travels through my whole body, forcing my fingers to clench
around the arm of the rocker, my nails digging in.

"Dana, you're going to be fine. Just breathe," Colleen says, kneeling
and looking me in the eye.

"He's got to be here, Coll. This is *our* baby and he has got to be
here," I say after the contraction subsides.

"Dana?" my mother asks, poking her head in the door.

"Hi, Mom," I say, knowing I look as miserable as I feel.

"Oh, honey, I should have guessed by the way you looked yesterday
that this is what was going on. Both you and Charlie were a little
early. Not a lot, but you certainly beat your due dates. I was just
so busy with the kids," Mom says, taking Colleen's place in front of
me.

"I'm going to go hunt down Charlie. Do either of you need anything?"
she asks.

"An epidural," I say and she just shakes her head at me.

"Can't get those in the cafeteria. I'll be back in a few," she says,
leaving us alone with the 'nurse.'

"Well, Dana, you complained that Fox wasn't much help when you had
Christopher. I guess this time you don't have to worry about it," my
mother says, stroking my hair off of my face.

"There is still time. He'll make it here yet," I say, looking into
her eyes. She is so comforting. She doesn't have to say anything. She
is just my mom and that is a comfort in itself.

"I hope so. He missed his first daughter's birth ... and most of
her life. I don't want him to miss this one," she says, taking my
hands in hers, careful of the IV.

"I know. I never expected this, but he had to go with her," I say.
Family obligations have now taken a hold of our lives. Everything is
so different than it was just a few short years ago. He had no
family. Now he does and he respects everything that it means more
than I thought he would. Mulder is like this because he doesn't want
his children to lead the life he did as a child.

"You just hold on there, little girl, until Daddy can make it home,"
Mom says, putting her hand on my abdomen.

"Where's Christopher?" I ask.

"Everett is taking care of all the kids. I hope he's still alive when
I get home and not tied up in the basement while the kids have run of
the house," she says, laughing. "Soprano said she'd try to get over
to help as soon as she can."

A moan escapes from my throat as another contraction moves across my
mid-section. I squeeze Mom's hand as tight as I can and she doesn't
say anything.

"He better hurry," I say and she just nods.

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

Logan International Airport
Boston, Massachusetts
6:02 p.m.

"Agent Mulder, the best I can do is stand-by," the ticket agent tells
me once more, her fingers moving quickly over the keyboard.

"I have got to get home. My wife is having a baby. And she's having
it now," I say and she looks down at my left hand. Damn it. Does she
think I'm making it up because I'm lacking a ring? I never have this
much trouble flying anywhere when it is official FBI business. The
person who arranges this stuff in the travel department must have
some great connections.

"It is the holidays. We are booked. But if something comes up, you
will be the first person to go on. National or Dulles. Doesn't
matter, right?" she asks, looking at the computer monitor once more.

"That's right. Thanks," I say, trying to sound polite and
understanding, but missing it by a mile.

I try to be patient. To sit in a molded plastic seat and realize that
these things happen. But I can't. I begin to pace up and down the
terminal, wishing that I could just be at home and not have to deal
with Diana's family and their desire to see Kestrel. I never should
have told them about her.

"Mr. Fox Mulder, please pick up the courtesy phone. Fox Mulder,
please pick up the courtesy phone," rings out overhead through the
terminal.

"Fuck!" I exclaim louder than I intended to, and several old women
turn to look at me.

She had the baby and I didn't make it. That is all this could be.
Scully had our little girl and I was fucking stuck in Logan waiting
for a ticket home.

"Mulder here," I say picking up the phone and expecting the
combination of the worst news combined with the best.

"You're leaving her behind?" a voice asks sharply.

"Who is this?" I ask, looking around, wondering if this was someone's
way to find me in the busy airport.

"We've met before, Agent Mulder. I'm just rather concerned that you
would leave your daughter behind so easily," he says, his voice
unrecognizable to me. Of course, it could be filtered.

"Scully is having our baby. Now. I would like to be there for her.
For that. Kestrel is safe with her grandparents," I say, trying to
sound convincing.

"She'll be safe, but her grandparents will have nothing to do with
that safety. Do you know how many people hoped you never found her .
. ."

"I didn't *find* her. Someone decided to lead me to her. Was it you?"
I ask, remembering the man who ran the whole place up in Canada. Is
he looking out for Kestrel again?

"Agent Mulder, you've been warned," he says, hanging up.

"Warned about what?!" I exclaim into the phone but am only met by
silence. I hang up the receiver and lean my head against the wall.
Shit. Now who is involved in this whole fiasco? Oh, just let it be
someone who's been around for a while and not someone new. I can't
keep track anymore.

"Mr. Fox Mulder, please pick up the courtesy phone. Fox Mulder,
please pick up the courtesy phone," is called out again.

I don't move my head from the wall, but grab the phone.

"What now?" I say, sounding none too pleased.

"Um, Mr. Mulder?" a female voice asks. Probably someone from the
hospital.

"Yes," I reply, shutting my eyes against whatever news they might
have.

"Could you please return to the ticket desk as quickly as possible? I
can get you on a plane to Dulles, but it is leaving in twenty
minutes," she says, and I realize it was the ticket agent I was
dealing with earlier.

"I'll be right there," I say, hanging up the phone and breathing a
sigh of relief.

Please let something go right today.

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

Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center
8:14 p.m.

"Hey, sis," Charlie says, as he sits on the chair beside my bed.
"Want some ice chips?"

I'm sure my glare is nothing short of evil. Ice chips are fine in the
beginning, but are by now they are simply meant to placate us into
forgetting our bodies are being stretched to unreasonable limits.
They don't do that job very well.

"I guess the answer is no," he says, smiling. "Maybe Mulder is lucky.
He doesn't have to face you like this."

"He'll be dead if he doesn't show up," I say, trying to will my body
into believing this isn't that bad. The pain isn't that intense. Dr.
Morton broke my water about two hours ago to 'speed' things along. I
protested. I didn't want to speed things along. And now I have to
feel that wet gush of amniotic fluid every time I have a contraction.

The phone behind Charlie's head rings and he makes a grab for it.

"Dana Scully's room," he answers and makes some goofy expression at
me before handing me the phone. "It's for you."

"Scully ... Dana ... whoever ... here," I say, cradling the
phone up to my ear. They have me on my left side for the good of the
baby and to keep my blood pressure down.

"Scully, it's me," Mulder says, his voice sounding like he just ran
ten miles.

"Where are you, Mulder?" I ask, knowing I can't blame him for this. I
had weeks to go yet. He had to deal with Kessie and her grandparents.
But a part of me wants to scream and not just the part of me pushing
a baby out.

"I'm at Dulles now. I should be there in a bit. How far along are
you?" he asks, and I can hear him try to hail a cab.

"I was at six centimeters an hour ago and it is going faster this
time. Probably because she's our second. But you had better get here
fast," I say, feeling another contraction wrap me in its tight grip
and squeeze.

"I will. I'm trying," he says, and I hear him give the driver
instructions.

"Okay," I say, not able to hold the phone comfortably right at the
moment.

"Hey, Scully ... I love you," is the last thing I hear before he
clicks off.

"Let's just hope he doesn't get stuck in traffic," Charlie says, as
he hangs up the phone.

"Don't ... even say it," I mumble, trying to breath through my
latest contraction. But I know it is probably inevitable.

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

9:15 p.m.

There can't be this much traffic one day after Christmas at this
hour. There just can't be. Everyone should be at home and eating
leftovers and not on the damn road.

"Looks like an accident with trucks," the cab driver says in an some
accent I don't recognize, turning around cautiously to look at me
over his shoulder. "Or maybe something turned over."

 He's listened to my ranting and raving for over a half an hour now
and I'm sure if he could make this thing sprout wings and fly, he
would.

If only I could have gotten a flight into National, I would have had
my own car. I'd be coming from the opposite direction. And I'd
probably still be stuck in traffic.

"Can you see how far up it is?" I say, trying to pick out the
flashing police lights through the many cars in front of us.

"Maybe half a mile. Or more,"  he says. The meter's been running this
whole time and I'll be lucky to have enough cash to hand him if I
wait this out.

"Okay. Well, I'm going to hike up there and see if I can help. Here
you go," I say, handing him the fare.

"You want me to wait here?" he asks, looking confused as I open the
door and get out.

"Where else would you go?" I ask, slamming the door and heading down
the highway.

The cold air is congested with the heavy scent of exhaust and people
keep blaring their horns as if that is going to make them drag
whatever it is off the highway any faster. It looks like a semi jack
knifed across all three lanes of highway and it doesn't look like it
is moving any time soon.

An officer approaches me, shining his flashlight in my face, as I
make my way up the side of the road. "Sir, could you please go back
to your car? There's nothing to see up here."

I pull my ID out of my pocket and show it to him. "I'm Special Agent
Fox Mulder with the FBI and I have an emergency."

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

Fairfax Hospital
The Family Place Birthing Center
December 26, 2002
10:21 p.m.

"Dana, sweetie, you're doing great," I hear my mother say. She's got
a hold of my hand and I know my squeezing has probably drawn blood by
now.

"Is he here yet?" I ask, my voice sounding drained. It's almost over
and Mulder is going to miss it. My mind is trying to will my body
into holding on five more minutes, but my mind is losing.

"No, honey, he isn't. I'm sure he's trying, though. But you've got to
do what your body wants you to do. You know that," Mom says, giving
my hand a squeeze. She's now my coach and Colleen is videotaping the
whole thing for posterity. Or so Mulder can see it whenever he gets
his ass home.

"Dana, I think all we are going to need is two or three more good
pushes and this baby will be here," Dr. Sarah Morton says from the
foot of the bed.

I am operating off of pure adrenaline at this point and I know I have
to push. I want to push. I want this to be over. But dammit, why
can't one thing just work out?

"It's going to be okay, Dana," Mom says, brushing my sweat soaked
hair off of my face. "Your dad was only in port when Bill Jr. was
born. These things happen."

"At the next contraction, your mom is going to support you and you
are going to push with all you've got, okay?" Sarah says, as she
messes around with something on a tray near her. One of the maternity
nurses is standing at my side, helping my mom support me during the
pushing. Mary, the dreadful nurse, is helping at the other end.

"Yeah," I mumble.

Colleen has the camera focused on me and I'm sure someday I'm going
to have a good laugh about how awful I look. But just not today. I
feel the next contraction coming on, and my Mom helps me sit up and
get ready to push.

"Okay. We are going to count to ten," I hear the nurse say and ten
seems like such a long time. Or maybe not long enough. I push with
everything I've got left in me, resigned to the fact that this is
going to happen without Mulder. "One. Two. Three. Push with your
abdomen, not your face. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. And
relax."

My brother comes skidding into the room, sliding halfway across the
floor before coming to a stop. Everybody's eyes are on him now
instead of my crotch. "He's here! I was watching out the window and
the cops just dropped him off. Dana, Mulder's here."

"Cops?" I say, not even able to imagine what he got himself into this
time.

"Charlie, don't just stand there! Go meet him at the elevator so he
knows where he's going. Hurry!" Mom shouts, and Charlie goes skidding
around the corner on his way out the door.

"Dana, you're crowning. The next push and we should be there," Sarah
says, and the pain is searing as I feel like I'm being stretched in
every which way. But it will be over soon. And Mulder is almost here.
He made it this far.

"No. He's got to be here," I say, feeling the next contraction coming
on. No, no, no I tell my body. Just a minute more. He'll be here in
just a minute.

But I can't fight it. I want to, but I can't.

"We are going to count to ten again, okay?" the nurse says and I feel
the tears begin to well in my eyes.

"Okay," I say, and my mom wraps her arm around my back to support me
through the last few minutes.

"Dana, push," Sarah says, and I obey.

"One. Two. Three ... hold on. Okay. Go ahead. Four ..."

At the four count, out of the corner of my eye, I see two men come
sliding into the room this time, both bumping into each other as they
come to a stop.

"Congratulations, Agent Mulder, you just made it in time to see the
birth of your baby," Sarah says. The nurse presses against my
abdomen, and starts to count again. "Five ... six ..."

He's at my side without me even being aware of him walking over,
supporting me just like my mother.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. I can't say anything. All I can do is push
and get this person out of me.

"One more push and we will have the shoulders," Sarah says, and then
I feel her slide all the way out. I fall backwards and the nurse
hurries and puts a receiving blanket on my stomach."Well, well, well.
Who do we have here? Dana, Fox ... meet your daughter."

She holds her up for us to see and she is beautiful. Slimy and cone
headed, but beautiful. The nurse deals with suctioning out her mouth
and taking care of the Apgar score and I can't wait to hold her.

I know I'm sobbing by the time Sarah offers Mulder the chance to cut
the umbilical cord. They put her on me, and she looks up at me with
those innocent slate blue eyes of a newborn baby.

"I think she has your eyes," Mulder says and I believe this time he
might be right.

"But that's your hair, Fox." Mom says, looking at her new grand
daughter with a head full of dark hair. Charlie and Colleen migrate
to the side of the bed, Colleen still viewing the whole thing through
the lens of the camera.

"She's beautiful, Danes," Charlie says and he's right. I can't take
my eyes off of her and I can't believe how completely and totally in
love I am with her already.

"Hate to break it up, but we've got to get her weighed in and take
her to the nursery," the nurse says, scooping her up and toweling her
off. "You want to come with, Dad?"

Mulder looks at me, his eyes asking my permission

"Go. Someone should be with her. Go be with your baby girl," I say,
and he kisses me.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he says, as he begins to follow the
nurse.

"You can come, too, Grandma," the nurse says, and my mother declines.

"No. That's okay. I'm staying with my baby girl," she says, squeezing
my hand.

"By the way, Dana, what is her name?" Charlie asks. Colleen has
finally stopped video taping the event and everybody turns to look at
me. Including Mulder, even though he knows the answer.

"Samara. Her name is Samara Blythe Mulder."


The End

Samara, a 3-syllable girl's name of Hebrew origin, means: Protected
by God.

Author's Notes: Why the last name Mulder? No real deep meaning behind
it. Just that Kessie's last name is Mulder and I thought it would be
a nice way to include her. Maybe Chris' last name will change. And
Samara Scully just didn't sound right. And the Mulder girls get the
chance to grow up and get married and change the name. And maybe
their parents will even get married someday. Or else on a camping
trip to Tibet, Yeti will come and eat them all. Just kidding ...


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

Title: 'Scattered'  
Author: Jori 
Summary: After the birth of Samara, Mulder and Scully struggle to keep
their family together.
Rating: PG-13
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR, family-fic without the wedding, WIP
Spoilers: Well, I just don't know anymore. Really, I've been thrown
for a loop. But this is my own world now, so I guess up to the end of
season seven would be safe.
Disclaimer: I suppose they still belong to CC, FOX and 1013. Don't sue
me because you've got strange ideas, too.
Archive: Yes. For the wonderful Spooky Award people

Author's Notes with season seven spoilers so skip this if you want to:
Well, I'm slow. But I'm well ahead of my time, apparently. And to
anyone who's ever sent me an e-mail telling me I'm off my rocker for
writing this stuff, what can I say. Well, you know. I don't think I
have to say anything. Mysterious pregnancies seem to be ruling (or
ruining, depending on how you look at it) the day and the baby fiction
will be coming out of the woodwork in a few hours. And to all the
people who have stuck with me through all of this, I thank you! You
are the best! I did have this written before the end of season seven.
Everything but the beta reading. And with that, thank you, MoJo! You
are the best.



December 27, 2002

"Christopher, please stop crying," I say, trying to control the level
of my voice so it doesn't rise too far above his screams. "We have got
to get some things before Mommy and Samara come home, so could you
please just stop. Please?"

He doesn't.

I'm rolling a cart down the middle of a K-Mart trying to reason with
a  17 month old person while every woman who walks by looks at me as
if I'm a pedophile of some sort. No one told me the terrible twos
started long before two. I always assumed the screaming and tantrums
would begin right on their second birthday and not a minute before. I
suppose I'm probably also wrong in assuming the screaming ends the
minute they turn three. I know somewhere in all that psychology I have
under my belt, I learned this. Perhaps I was just hoping it didn't
pertain to my child.

I am exhausted. After spending the night with Scully and Samara, I
picked up Christopher from his grandmother's this morning. I knew we
were in for a grouchy day when he took one look at me and went
screaming in the opposite direction, finding comfort in his Uncle
Charlie's arms.

Chris throws his little body from side to side in the seat of the cart
and occasionally flings his body forward, leaving a wet, snotty trail
down the front of my shirt. If I were smart, I'd step back, but I'm
afraid he'll hit the handle instead and knock out those teeth we
worked so hard at getting.

"Christopher, what do you want?" I ask ... no, plead ... and he
just cries louder every time I talk to him. I am supposed to know. I'm
a fucking failure as a father because I have no clue what it is I did
that upset him so.

His hands flail toward me, reaching for my shirt with the desperation
only understood by children his age. I stop pushing the cart and pull
him to me, hugging him.

"Da ... Da ... I wan ..." he says, huffing out words between
gasps of breath.

I pull him out of the cart, holding him close. He hangs on tight, and
his screams turn into sobs as he buries his head into my chest.

"What is it, Chris?" I ask again, and his sobs begin to turn into
quiet cries.

"Dadda," he mutters and I find myself rocking my little boy, not
caring who might be watching.

In all my life, I never imagined this moment ever happening. I never
imagined that someone would need me ... trust me so much. I never
imagined that in less than two years, I'd have three children. No,
that was never in the plans. Obviously it was in someone's plans but
not mine.

"Dadda, I want momma!" he says, as he begins wailing again.
Christopher hasn't been left alone with me for any extended period of
time in so long that he doesn't understand what is going on. His mommy
just dropped him off at Grandma's house one morning and said she'd be
back in a few hours. He wasn't prepared for this.

"Listen, buddy, Mommy will be home tomorrow with your new baby sister.
And then Kessie will be home in a few days. Everything is going to be
okay," I say, hugging him close and rocking him more. "Now, do you
want to go look at toys or something?"

"Nuh nuh," he says, shaking his little head 'no.' This is a surprise.
Usually every time he goes out shopping with Scully or his
grandmother, he comes home with something, even if it is just a little
book. Tears are still dampening his face and is nose is runny. Well,
until he wipes it off on my shirt again.

"Then what do you want to do, Chris?" I ask. He keeps wiping the back
of his hand across his face, trying to take care of the rest of the .
. . moisture ...  himself. I see a box of tissues on the shelf and
grab it, popping some out and handing them to him. He looks at me with
puzzlement. Right. I have to hold it for him while he blows his nose.
Does that come up in the parenting lessons I missed while I was at
work?

"Dadda, my hungry," Chris says, pulling back from me. I take a quick
glance at my watch to discover it is well past 2 p.m. Shit. I forgot
to feed my own kid. If the number of goldfish I went through in my
life could be used as any  kind of an indicator, I should not be
allowed to take care of children.

I look into his eyes, staring up at me filled with tears and love even
if I nearly starved him. He works his bottom lip into that pout that
gets me every time.

"So, you're hungry? Well, I think it is time you were introduced into
the wonderful world of Happy Meals."



I'm never going to get to sleep again for the rest of my life. I keep
repeating this over and over to myself, hoping the thought will force
me to go to sleep. The CNA took Samara, all bundled in pink, to the
nursery so I could get some rest. And what am I doing? Thinking about
all the sleep I'm never going to get again.

The room is unnaturally quiet, the only sound is the slow ticking of
the wall clock. It is leisurely ticking off the minutes when I could
be sleeping, its hands sweeping toward a time when I will have to get
up every two hours to feed someone.

I can't believe I have two babies. Assuredly, Christopher is not a
newborn, but he is still a baby. And now he has a six pound, two ounce
baby sister. Add to that a preteen step-daughter, and I'd say my life
is full.

I turn over, pleased with the fact that I didn't have to have a
c-section this time. Two babies and abdominal surgery was not
something I was ready to face. No, this was certainly not a walk in
the park, but for once, my body did what I wanted it to.

Flowers and balloons line the table by the window, with more
well-wishers than when Christopher was born. Apparently, I acquired
more friends than I thought I did while working at Quantico. Bill even
sent flowers, wishing me and my baby well. No mention of Mulder was
made. Perhaps one of these days we should take a family vacation out
to San Diego to meet Uncle Bill.

I roll over again to find someone standing in the doorway, silently
waiting for me to notice them.

"Soprano! Come in. What are you doing lurking out there?" I call to
her. She walks nervously into the room, her usual happy-go-lucky
demeanor completely gone. Her damp hair clings to her face and she
tries to brush the long strands away. She was out in the snow within
the last few minutes.

"I took a peek at Samara in the nursery. She's beautiful," Soprano
says, but her heart is not in the statement. Something is very wrong.

"What's the matter?" I ask, taking her hand in mine. Her skin is cold,
but that could just be the weather. She doesn't seem to have a jacket
and gloves with her. More snow is expected for later today and I sent
Mulder to the store to get the one thing we forgot we needed with a
winter baby -- a snow bag to bundle her in.

"I need a few days off, Dana. I know this couldn't have come at a
worse time and I promise I will be back as soon as I can ... but it
is an emergency," Soprano says, looking away from me. She fidgets,
shuffling from foot to foot like a small child in need of a bathroom.
She doesn't know where to place her hands and ends up picking at some
lint on her wet yellow sweater.

"What happened? Something with your brother or sister? Your mother?" I
ask. She doesn't answer right away, but continues to concentrate on
anything but me. "Soprano, I'd like to know."

"I shouldn't be bothering you with this now, Dana. I'm sorry. I'll
call you and let you know what is happening," she says, tears
beginning to streak her ashen face. Although Soprano is naturally
fair, I've never seen her quite this pale. She looks frightened and
alone.

"You aren't bothering me ... at all ..." I say, struggling to sit
up. I'm still a little sore but it is nothing like the last time.
Soprano is making me nervous with her secretiveness. "I want to help
you, but you have to tell me what's going on."

"It is best if I don't tell you anything," she whispers, her face
suddenly taking on a serene quality. Her nervous behavior stops. Her
voice is calm. She steps back from my bed, and looks around as if she
is planning to flee. "I've got to go."

With that,  she turns on her heel and is out the door. I grab for the
call button and buzz the nurse, needing to make sure Samara is all
right and this had nothing to do with her.

"Yes?" a happy yet static-filled voice asks me over the intercom.

"Can you bring Samara Mulder to me ... her mother ... I'm in room
..." I ask, my nerves getting the better of me. I try to talk
coherently, but find I can't.

"We will bring her right to you," the nurse says before clicking off
from the intercom, and I begin to calm down. She's okay. They are
going to bring her to me. Soprano's odd behavior has nothing to do
with Samara. She would never hurt any of my children. I know that. I
just wish Mulder would get back so I can ask him if anything happened
this morning with Soprano.

The nurse rolls in the plexiglass isolette and my heart starts
pounding again, fighting to escape my chest cavity. I can tell already
that something is wrong. Just in the quick glance I got of the baby, I
know something is *horribly* wrong.

"That isn't my baby," I say, looking at the infant wrapped in pink. I
can feel the bile rise in my throat as I struggle not to throw up. An
uncontrollable hysteria wraps around me like a wet blanket, thick and
heavy, pulling me down.

"Sure it is ... her identification bands says Samara Blythe Mulder .
. . and it matches your number," the woman says, grabbing my wrist to
look at the ID number that links me to my daughter. As if I wouldn't
recognize my own baby except by some damn numbers. Everything is
electronic. The babies all have the equivalent to those anti-theft
tags on their ankles. No one should be able to get out with them. The
maternity floor is off limits. The babies are supposed to be safe. She
picks up the baby and brings it to me, setting the child on my lap.

"No ... this isn't Samara," I say, looking down at this child with
no hair and eyes that are unfamiliar. No, this isn't right at all . .
.

"Ms. Scully ..."

"This isn't my daughter!" I scream, and the baby I'm holding begins to
cry. I unswaddle the child quickly, looking for any identifying marks.
Samara had several small birthmarks on her back. Just the normal
blotches of infancy, but they would still be there after a day. I get
to the diaper and unfasten the tabs, expecting to show the nurse that
the marks aren't there. Instead, I get to show her a whole lot more.
"This is a boy! I had a girl! Get on the phone to security and do
something about this! Now!"

My voice carries throughout the ward, and other nurses begin to flood
into my room. The nurse who brought me the baby runs out the door to
get security up here.

I can feel my world crashing in around me quickly, and that blanketed
feeling grows heavier, making it impossible to breathe. A nurse takes
the baby boy off of my lap and begins to swaddle him up again and
another one puts an oxygen mask over my face in an attempt to keep me
with them. It isn't working.  Another group of people discuss who the
boy might be and how he got here. No one knows. His screams are louder
than most of the conversations, but it isn't my baby's cry. I
recognize her already, just as this child's mother would recognize
his.

 My heart is gone. In a matter of seconds, someone ripped it from my
chest and stole it. Simply walked out the door with it.

"Dana, we will find her. You can't just get out of this hospital with
the wrong baby," someone says, trying to comfort me. That is easy for
them to say. Unfortunately, they don't know who or what they are
dealing with.

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

December 28, 2002
FBI Headquarters
3:28 a.m.

"From the security tapes, we can see your nanny ...  Soprano
Brookbank ... enter the hospital through the ER entrance at 6:22
p.m. She doesn't show up on any other tapes until she enters the
maternity ward at 6:38 p.m... . here," a technician says, adjusting
the video. He rewinds it a little and sends it forward again. "She is
never seen leaving that ward or the hospital. At least not on tape."

Skinner stops pacing behind me to look at the monitor briefly. The
hospital administrator, a Dr. Anthony Charles, is on one side of me
and their 'damage control' attorney, Harry Rinker, is on the other
side. Both look exhausted, but nothing as compared to how I look.

"These things just don't happen at Fairfax ..." Dr. Charles begins
to say, but Mr. Rinker quiets him down.

"Apparently they do happen at Fairfax Hospital and I want to know
how," Skinner says, and both men turn to look at him. "I want you to
explain how the infant child of two FBI agents can be abducted from a
hospital that supposedly has the best neonatal security in Virginia."

"We ... don't know," Dr. Charles says, only to be hushed by Rinker
again.

"Somebody knows. Your average baby abductor usually gets caught on the
security camera and more often than not is a woman with emotional
problems who can't have a baby of her own. It would have to be an
inside job in order for someone not to get caught on a single damn
camera while carrying a newborn out of a busy hospital," Skinner says,
his voice heavy and harsh, as he looms over them.

He has done most of the talking. I'm afraid of what I might have to
say to these people. I'm afraid I might kill them here in the Hoover
building. The only emotion I'm feeling right now is anger. Under that,
everything else is frozen.

I don't know if there is another tear left to cry. They are as frozen
as my heart is right now. After scouring that hospital from end to end
and top to bottom ... after being told that I would not be in charge
of the search of the immediate vicinity, there was nothing left to do
but cry.

Scully and I held on to each other and could do nothing but cry in
each others arms. Not tears of defeat or even tears shed with the
thought that Samara is ... gone. No, these were tears over the fact
that our lives will never be normal. It gets so goddamn close and then
we have to be reminded that everything we have is not really ours. We
are just some fucking experiment that we don't even understand.

"Sir, we understand that someone on our staff could have possibly been
negligent, but we'd prefer to keep this quiet until ..." Rinker
starts to say but the daggers flying from my eyes must stop him. If
not that then Skinner's sudden uptake of breath stops him cold. I know
he wants to rattle off a lot of legal mumbo jumbo and if he even
starts, I'll floor him.

"Negligence and the news feed going out to all the channels for their
morning news programs is the least of your worries right now, Mr.
Rinker. The Mulder family wants nothing more than to get their child
back and you are going to help us in our investigation in any way, do
you understand?" Skinner says. He stands there, hands on his hips,
looking every bit the intimidating FBI Assistant Director.

"I want to show you the tapes from the other hospital ... the one
where the baby boy came from," the technician says, lining up more
images for us to look at.

"His name is Michael Stephen Rannell. He was born December 27th at
12:03 a.m. in the ER of Bethesda Naval Hospital. His father, Lt. Cmdr.
Douglas Rannell and his mother, Cathy Rannell were involved in an MVA
at approximately 10:50 p.m. on the 26th," Skinner fills in, reading
from a file.

"Samara was born at 10:38 p.m. on the 26th," I say, my voice barely
audible anymore. I rub my eyes, trying to concentrate on the shadowy
video feed before us.

"This is the NICU at Bethesda ... and that there is the 'nurse'
suspected of taking Michael," he says, clicking on several buttons,
trying to bring everything into focus.

"The duty nurse says the woman had all the proper papers to take the
baby down to ultrasound, and since he was involved in a trauma, no one
suspected anything," Skinner says. The two men from Fairfax hospital
look closely at the footage. I'm sure they think that since two
hospitals screwed up in the same way, they are going to get off
somehow.

The only difference is, the Rannells have their baby back. Ours is no
where to be found.

The picture clears up considerably. The other two men shake their
head, not recognizing the nurse as one of their own. I can almost see
the beginning of a smile form across the lawyer's face, but it
disappears as soon as he looks at me.

The tech tweaks it one more time and the face of the woman becomes
crystal clear. Fuck. I shut my eyes, holding back the sudden urge to
vomit. Goddamn her. Never in all my life would I have suspected this.
Never.

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

Fairfax Hospital
10:21 a.m.

I wake up, feeling arms wrapped around me. For a fleeting moment, the
last day has all been a bad dream. I'm sure of it. I'm in bed with
Mulder holding me and it is all okay. I am in his arms and our
children are okay.

But the arms wrapped around me aren't his. They are just as familiar
as his ... more so, maybe. I've cried in these arms for years.

"Dana, honey? Are you okay?" Mom asks. I barely remember her coming to
the hospital let alone her climbing in to the bed with me to console
me. But she is here just like she always has been in the past.

"I  ...  don't know," I say, feeling groggy. I know they didn't give
me anything to make me sleep. I'm just exhausted.

Mom sits up next to me and brushes a few strands of hair from my face.
I can tell she's been crying, too. Her eyes are rimmed in red and no
matter how hard she tries to smile at me, she just can't quite manage
it.

"It's going to be okay, Dana. I know it is," she says, placing her
comforting hand on my cheek. "The doctor said you should be able to
check out of here later today. And they gave us permission to bring
Christopher in. Charlie has him down in the cafeteria. I'm sure he's
had all the Jell-o one little boy can stand."

My breasts hurt ... no, ache ... and I want my baby near. This is
so unexpected. We picked this hospital because of their security
measures. They have even been improved since Christopher was born.
Samara early arrival was a surprise. Mulder had plans to protect her,
but he thought we had more time. This isn't supposed to be happening.
None of this. Yet, it shouldn't be a complete surprise. I always knew
we were never really safe.

"Where's Mulder?" I ask, shifting around. He's not in the room and I
haven't seen him since last night. Mom looks away from me, avoiding my
question. She knows something. I can tell. He knows something and told
her and she wants to protect me. "Mom, where's Mulder?"

"Dana ..." she says, starting to tell me when the door opens. It is
Charlie and he's holding Christopher tight.

"Momma!" my little boy cries, practically leaping from his uncle's
arms to the bed. I can't even control the tears. I've missed him so
much and now with all this, I've been worried about him, too. Charlie
assured me last night on the phone that he wouldn't let him out of his
sight.

Mulder was heading up the search for Samara at one point, but Skinner
pulled him off of it when the investigation went out of the hospital.
I'm sure Skinner was worried he might find her ... I can't even
think it. I *won't* think it.

"Hey, sweetie. I've missed you so much," I say, hugging Christopher
tight. He nestles against me and I wipe my tears off of his face. He
looks so big now that I've held Samara. He is the big brother. Now we
just have to get his little sister back.

At least if something happens, if the unspeakable is true, and we
don't get her back, he won't be haunted by this for life. Only his
parents will be. No one will ever make him feel responsible. The
responsibility rests squarely on our shoulders.

"Mom, where is Mulder?" I ask again as she hands Christopher a
spill-proof cup of juice. I try to hold it for him, but he has to do
it himself. So fiercely independent.

"Fox went back to Martha's Vineyard. He said he would call you when he
has Samara back."




December 28, 2002
Martha's Vineyard
4:15 p.m.

I stand in front of the smoky rubble of what used to be my house.
Rather, my parent's house. Doesn't matter now. The Chilmark fire
department has the area blocked off with a few firetrucks, the lights
still flashing even though the fire has been put out for a while now.
Time for the investigation to begin.

"Fox ... I doubt they were in there," someone says as they place
their hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at the kid I used to know as
'Chippy' but who is now Fire Chief Charles Watson. He told me I could
call him Chip, which I guess is fair if he gets to call me Fox.

I look back toward the house, studying the men still going through the
hot wreckage, knowing what they are looking for. I just hope they
don't find it here.

"Um ... any idea what happened yet, Chip?" I ask, digging my foot
through the gravel left over from what was snow. When I flew in, the
smoke on the horizon made my heart sink. I just knew it. I knew it was
bad.

I know Samara is on the Vineyard, but I'm not sure how they got her
here. No charter flights have a record of a newborn passenger and the
ferries can't remember seeing a baby of any age. I am exhausted and
heartbroken and at my wit's end. And now Kessie ... no one can find
Kessie.

"The neighbors called in the alarm. No one saw anyone coming or going
the whole morning. Usually, at this time of year, we get a few calls
on fires started with space heaters. This house was just remodeled, so
I doubt they needed too many of those around," Chip says, his accent
typical for this region and something I grew out of a long time ago.

"I didn't see any when I was here the other day," I say, unable to
look at him. How am I supposed to explain that I lost two daughters in
24 hours? Everybody still remembers Samantha. How many kids disappear
from the Vineyard every year never to return again?

"They are looking into arson now. Of course, when these things happen,
they always do, so don't get worried about that just yet," Chip
assures me, patting my shoulder again.

"Thanks," I say, still watching as they pick through where I grew up.

One of his men waves him over and he excuses himself to walk over to
the remains of the house. I watch them mark off certain things with
different colored flags and I have no idea what they mean. Of course
it has to be arson. I will not accept that this house just burned down
in the middle of morning with the neighbors watching just because.

"Agent Mulder?" a woman asks as she approaches me. I merely nod. "I'm
Dr. Celia Massey, the ME."

"Yes."

She must be used to a different kind of reception. Maybe more tears or
something. She is certainly looking at me with an expression of
displeasure as she tucks a wayward strand of blond hair behind her ear
with a gloved finger.

"Chip Watson said I should talk to you about my preliminary findings,
Agent Mulder. We are almost certain that the remains found in the
structure were not those of a child ... "

"Almost certain."

"Yes, almost certain. I will be verifying my findings with dental
records later today, but I'm almost ... I'm sure that your child
wasn't in there. I know this isn't easy. And I know that you know this
isn't easy, so bear with me, please," Dr. Massey says, tucking her
hands into the pocket of her wool overcoat.

"No, it isn't easy," I say, just as frustrated with the lack of
answers as these people are, if not more so.

"The remains of three adults were found and have yet to be identified
..."

"Back up there  a minute, please. Three adults?" I ask. Earlier, I
heard two, not three. I figured whichever adult wasn't dead was the
one with Kessie somewhere.

"Yes, Agent Mulder. What we are sure are three adult bodies were found
at the scene and removed for indentification. I really shouldn't be
speculating about anything yet, but with your background, Chip said
you'd be able to understand that these things," she says, looking like
she's beginning to doubt that.

"I'm sorry. Saying today has been from hell would be an
understatement. I understand. My ... my partner is a pathologist. I
understand it well," I say. I put my sunglasses on, hoping to just
hide behind them for a while.

"I understand. These things are never easy, but I will give you any
information I have as soon as I have it, okay?" she says, placing a
sympathetic hand on my arm. I wish people would just stop that. It is
like they all know something I don't.

"Yes, please do," I say and she hands me one of her business cards
before she goes.

I turn back toward the house and silently watch them go about putting
the pieces together. Little do they know, the pieces of that house
will never be put together. Too many people don't want them to be.

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

Scully-Mulder Residence

Somewhere, deep in some shadowed recess of my mind, I could see myself
coming home with empty arms. The same part of my mind sometimes allows
me to imagine them taking Christopher away and can see a day Mulder
might not come back. But, as with most things I've seen over the past
decade, I don't allow these images to take over my life. They are,
after all, just images in my mind.

That is, until I had to step through the front door of our house
without Samara ... and without Mulder. Now I suppose I should have
thought about it more.

"Are you okay with coming home so soon?" Mom asks, setting my bags
down inside the door. Everett has Christopher in his arms and he cries
to be put down as soon as he gets in, running off to play his toys.

"I'm fine," I say, sighing softly as I turn on all the lights in my
wake as I go toward the kitchen.

"You don't have to be fine, Dana. That isn't what I want to hear," she
says, following right behind me. "I mean, I want you to be fine. I
want you to be more than fine, but don't lie to me."

"Mom ..." I say, turning to look at her. I'm far too tired to go
into it all again. She doesn't say anything else. "I just want to get
some sleep, okay?"

She's already going to stay with Christopher and me for as long as I
need her, which could be a very long time. I look at the answering
machine. No messages. Mulder hasn't called since he left. Did I think
he would? I'm sure he's only got one thing on his mind and that's
Samara.

I'm staring at the solid red light when the phone rings and we all
jump. I just look at it nervously as my mother moves to answer it.

"Hello?" she says slowly. "Yes, Fox. Yes, she's doing ... fine.
She's right here."

I take the phone into my hand slowly, afraid of what news he might
have.

"Scully, it's me," he says before I can say anything.

"Hi," I say softly, realizing I'm glad to hear his voice again. He
doesn't say anything for too long, though. "Mulder, what's wrong?"

"The house ... my parents' house burned down early this morning," he
says and my heart drops to somewhere lower than it already was. I
didn't think it was possible. I was wrong.

"K-kessie?" I ask, stuttering her name as I try to find somewhere to
sit down for this. My mother takes my arm and leads me to a kitchen
chair.

"They've identified three bodies so far. I should add they only found
three bodies. None of them was Kessie," he says, his voice holding no
emotion. He is as drained as I am and one more thing is going to push
us over the edge.

"Who ..."

"The Fowleys. Richard, Lorraine and Carol. All gone," he says with a
sigh, knowing my next question.

"Then who has Samara?" I ask. I keep trying to convince myself she's
fine. They wouldn't really hurt her. This was just some sick game by a
jealous grandmother because her daughter is dead, but I don't know
anymore.

"I don't know where Samara is. I don't know where Kessie is. Scully, I
don't know what in the hell is going on," he says, and I can tell he's
as close to tears as I am. Mom goes and retrieves Christopher, and
puts him in the kitchen to play. Maybe she thinks this will make me
feel more secure, knowing where he is.

"Someone must know something. You can't just take a baby on a little
commuter plane without anybody seeing it," I say, my voice rising. I
shouldn't yell at him, but I want to yell at someone.

"Scully, I'm going to find both of them. I will, okay?" he says. He
sounds as if he's trying to convince himself. Trying to convince me.

"Yes. Okay," I say and he hangs up without saying anything else.

"Dana, you need to get some rest," Mom says, taking my hand and
pulling me out of the chair. The cordless phone falls from my other
hand and drops to the floor with a loud clatter. Chris scurries over
to retrieve it and pretends to answer it, asking for daddy.

"They are both missing. Kessie and Samara," I say as she leads me to
the stairs. "The Fowleys are dead and Kessie is missing."

"He found her once, he'll find her again," my mother says, trying to
reassure me. Everett takes Chris back to his toys and stands watch
over him, guarding him carefully.

I try not to look into the nursery or Kessie's room as Mom leads me to
my bedroom but I can't help it. They have got to come back. They have
got to be okay. I climb under all the blankets, wrapping myself in the
familiar scent of home. Of Mulder and everything I thought we were
going to be right now. I just need to sleep. Just need to ...

"Get some rest," are the last words I hear.

*

December 28, 2002
Martha's Vineyard
9:38 p.m.

I sit alone in the only restaurant open at this time of night on the
Vineyard during the winter. I remember when I was young, I was never
sure if the kids who didn't live here all year considered me lucky or
unlucky because of my year-round residency. Even with all the people
here now, it can certainly be quiet on a week night when it gets this
cold.

I hardly know anyone on the Vineyard anymore. Most of my friends went
off to college and never looked back at their life on the island. Most
weren't forced to live the events of their lives over and over in the
their own mind for years on end and I hope I never have to come to
this place again. And I certainly don't want to create any more bad
memories now.

"We'll be closing soon but take your time," the waitress tells me as
she pours me more coffee. For some reason, I have the feeling they are
only staying open for me and some elderly man sitting in the corner
reading a book of poems. Maybe he's just a permanent fixture here and
they don't lock the doors until he leaves.

"Thank you," I say, as I pay the check with cash and continue staring
into my cup of coffee. I'm so tired. Too tired to keep doing this. I
wish I could just find them and go home. For all I know, they aren't
even on this island anymore. The police are still looking, but quickly
running out of leads. And time.

I finish up and pull on my jacket, thanking the waitress once more as
I step out the door into the cold night air. We should all be at home.
The baby and Kessie should be warm at home with Scully and Chris.
Instead, who the hell knows what is going on. Or when we will all be
back together.

I'm reaching for the car handle when my heart is nearly stopped by a
small voice behind me.

"Dad," is all she says, and I turn around so fast I slam my hand into
the mirror, knocking it to the side.

"Kessie," I say, looking at my daughter standing there not five feet
from me. My knees are about to give out when my eyes meet the other
person she is with. Soprano. I look right back to Kessie, never
wanting to let her out of my sight again. "What in the hell is going
on here?"

"I can explain ..." Soprano starts to say but I can't even think
right now. I just put up my hand as I try to get my emotions under
control.

"Don't be mad at her. She saved me. They were going to take me away
from you and give me to some people, but Soprano saved me," Kessie
says, stepping in front of the person who is supposed to take care of
her but not quite like this.

"Who were they going to give her to?" I ask Soprano without ever
taking my eyes off of Kessie's face. She looks scared and tired and I
just want to take her home and away from all of this.

"The wrong people."

Another voice answers from behind me before Soprano gets the chance to
say another word. Her eyes stare over my shoulder and I turn around
quickly to discover Dylan standing behind me.

"What are ... what is this?" I ask, looking back at Soprano. I
trapped in the middle and I don't have Kessie back yet.

"Listen to me carefully, Agent Mulder, before this becomes a bigger
mess than it already is. The Fowleys were going to hand over both
Samara and Kessie. Only one exchange was successfully made. Soprano
managed to rescue Kessie in time," he says, stepping closer to me. My
mind can't even comprehend what he's trying to tell me. Too many damn
players in this.

"Where is Samara?" I ask, my fists clenched tight as he gets closer.

"We can get her back," he says. There's something wrong about all of
this. I can feel it.

"Then why haven't you done it already? Why didn't you get her back?" I
ask, shouting at him now. He motions for me to keep my voice down and
it just makes me want to hit him more. I think the temperature has
dropped more since we've been standing here and we are all breathing
out white puffs of air now. My chest is beginning to hurt from the
cold and Kessie coughs. I look back at her and Soprano has her arms
wrapped around Kessie's shoulders.

"They want Kessie. The right people want her."

Kessie steps back further into Soprano's arms but doesn't say
anything. She doesn't need to. Her eyes tell me everything.

"No."

"Maybe you would like to call Agent Scully before you say 'no' so
quickly," he says, stepping around me so he's standing in the middle
now.

"Scully won't say anything different. We will not trade one of our
children ..."

"*Our* children? Maybe you should just call and ask her. She might
surprise you. Besides, someone is presenting her with the same offer
right now," Dylan says. He looks at his watch and then looks at me.
"She should be calling you about it right about now."

No sooner are his words out of his mouth then my phone rings. We all
jump. Everybody but Dylan.

I fumble for it quickly, pulling it out of my pocket and putting it up
to my ear without saying a word.

"Mulder, it's me. You've got to come home. There's something we need
to discuss."



December 28, 2002
Jefferson Memorial Tidal Basin
9:47  p.m.

"I'm glad to see you came out even in this freezing weather, Agent
Scully," a man says behind me. I turn around quickly to find someone I
don't know, standing there with a baby in his arms. My baby. She's
quiet and obviously taken care of, wrapped up in a blankets. Her head
is covered in a knit cap and my knees nearly buckle when she moves a
little. My body has ached for her and now she's so close. I bite my
lip to fight back the tears before I say anything.

"You told me to be here," I say, not able to take my eyes off of
Samara. When I make a move toward her, he steps back.

"Not yet, Agent Scully. We've got to discuss a few things first. You
and I have to discuss what must be traded for her," he says, rocking
my baby in his arms. Whoever he is, he's dressed nicely and looks like
he belongs up on the Hill and not kidnapping babies.

"Traded?" I ask, almost willing to trade anything to get her back in
my arms at this point. Almost. I won't trade Mulder or Christopher or
Kessie but I'll give up everything else on earth.

"Listen carefully. We need to know why certain combinations of parents
create children that will be accepted when colonization occurs and why
certain parents don't. Why one chosen parent can have a child with a
person who isn't chosen and what makes that child unacceptable. We
need to know so we can get around it," he says, sounding as altruistic
as can be.

"Why my children? When will enough be enough with what you have done
to my family?" I ask, stepping forward now, reaching out for Samara.

"Your family has been studied for years, Agent Scully. So has Agent
Mulder's. Even longer than yours. We can figure it all out with one
more piece. We just didn't know where that piece was until Alex Krycek
led Agent Mulder to her."

He opens up the blanket a little to let me see her and she is
definitely Samara. I would know those eyes and features anywhere. She
is my baby but he won't let me touch her no matter how much I reach
for her.

"Kessie isn't just a missing piece that you need in order to solve
some puzzle that I don't even care about right now. She's a little
girl who's been through enough in her life and there's no way this is
going to happen," I say, my arms aching just to hold Samara. I know
better than to deal with these people, though. I will not trade
Mulder's one daughter for the other no matter how much I need to hold
my baby.

"Are you sure?" he asks, bundling up the baby again and hiding her
face from me. "Maybe you want to call Agent Mulder and ask him about
it. Maybe it is a trade he's willing to make."

"It isn't a trade either of us are willing to make. You want to figure
out how to save mankind from something you probably brought on, you do
it without my family or my children," I say, and Samara begins to wake
up. Her baby noises make my breasts ache and I close my eyes for just
a second, trying to figure a way out of all of this.

"Call him, Agent Scully. Now," he says, and I pull my cell phone out
of my pocket and hit Mulder's number.

"Mulder, it's me. You've got to come home. There's something we need
to discuss," I tell him before he can even say hello.

"I can't right now, Scully," he says. He sounds angry but not with me.
"Kessie is right here and ..."

"They want you to make a deal for Samara's return? Samara is right
here and they want me to trade Kessie for her. Mulder, this can't
happen," I say, and Samara begins to cry.

"Is that her?" Mulder asks with a sigh.

"Yes, that's her. Mulder, they can't do this. I've had enough. We . .
. can't do this. It has to end now," I say and I hear someone move
behind me.

"She's right. It has to end. Give her back the baby."

I look over my shoulder to discover Skinner standing there, pointing
his weapon at the man holding my baby.

"It isn't that easy," the man says, shifting Samara so she is in front
of him. I'm between the two men, trying to concentrate on everything,
but failing. It's all going to fast. I called Skinner right after this
man called me, but I didn't expect this. Someone is talking at me and
I can't figure out what I'm going to do.

"What's going on, Scully?" Mulder shouts over the phone after I don't
answer his questions and I hang up on him, not able to focus on him
right now. Just on a man holding my baby in front of himself as a
shield.

"Give the baby back to her. Now," Skinner says, motioning for me to
get out of the way. I don't. I can't.

"You don't know what you are doing," he says, shifting my daughter
around again.

"I'm doing what should have been done years ago. I'm ending this now.
I don't want anyone to touch this family again. Do I make myself
clear?" Skinner asks, but the man merely smiles at him. Samara is
crying louder and I can feel my own tears run down my cheeks.

"This will set us back years. You are going to be responsible for more
deaths than you can imagine just with this. All we need is that little
girl ..."

"Hand Agent Scully her baby now," Skinner says and the man in the suit
steps toward me and places Samara in my arms. He steps back and just
shakes his head in disappointment.

She doesn't stop crying and I'm crying just as hard now, clutching her
to my chest. She's so soft and warm and smells just like she did the
last time I held her. I unbundle her, looking for the hospital
bracelets that I find still fastened around her tiny ankles. I look at
the man who brought her here, and he just walks off slowly, looking
back at us with disgust.

Skinner helps me hold her as I wrap her up again, our eyes meeting
once or twice. I don't even know what to say just yet. This was too
easy. Something is wrong.

"Thank you, sir," I say.

"Call Mulder back. Let him know," Skinner says, taking Samara in his
arms while I make the call. I watch Skinner rock the baby while I
listen to the phone ring. He looks uncomfortable but he's trying.

"Mulder, it's me," I say when he finally answers. "I've got Samara
back."

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

December 28, 2002
Martha's Vineyard
10:02 p.m.

Scully's voice is filled with joy and hope as she says those few words
and I can barely find my voice to say anything to her.

"I call you right back," I say, hanging up the phone. I turn to Dylan
and begin to walk towards him, forcing him to back up into the side of
a car.

"Mulder ..."

"There will be no deal. We have our baby back and you will explain
what in the hell this is all about. Now," I say, and he puts his hands
out in front of him to stop my forward motion toward him.

"They need her, Mulder. They need Kessie in order to figure out how to
deceive the colonists. Your families have been studied and referenced
for years and Kessie wasn't supposed to happen but she did and we can
use her to figure out ..." Dylan says, making this all sound like a
business proposal.

"No. She's been through enough. She's coming home with me," I
interrupt, turning toward her and Soprano. "And I don't know what part
of this you have, but it's over."

"No!" Kessie says, moving in closer to the nanny.

"You don't want to do that, Agent Mulder. Soprano has been assigned to
keep Kestrel safe and if it weren't for her, who knows where she would
be right now," Dylan says, walking from behind me over to where Kessie
and Soprano are standing.

"Assigned?" I ask. "Soprano was hired long before I ever knew about
Kestrel."

"Don't question everything, Agent Mulder. Some things just are," he
says, working his way around a real answer. Damn this. I'm tired of
all the half answers.

"Why did the Fowleys take Samara? And who killed them to get her
back?" I ask, unable to figure out why they all want Kessie after
someone went through all that trouble to get a baby.

"I'm not sure who killed them just yet. But the answer to your other
question is comparative analysis."

"What?"

"Comparative analysis. Certain people want to see why one will be
allowed to live during colonization and the other will have to die,"
he says bluntly, not caring that Kessie is just a few feet away. "Half
siblings are desirable to study this."

"I don't care. I'm taking my daughter and going home. Soprano ...
I'm just not ready to deal with this now. Please ..." I say, unable
to find the words.

"Soprano will return to you in a few days. I just want you to know
they won't give up this easily. That child means a lot to them, Agent
Mulder. You will have to look over your shoulder for the rest of her
life," Dylan says.

"I don't care. Paranoia and I are old friends," I say, reaching my
hand out toward Kessie. She takes it, warily, while looking back at
Soprano.

Dylan takes Soprano's hand in his and I still can't figure out what
they are or what they are doing. I don't care right now. I just want
to get off this damn island and get home.

"Come on, Kessie. It is time to go home," I say, leading her to the
car. Soprano and Dylan are still standing in the parking lot when we
pull away.

*

December 29, 2002
Scully-Mulder Residence
11:42 a.m.

Samara is in my arms, nursing quietly while Christopher plays at my
feet, piling up blocks and knocking them over. Mom and Everett are
cooking lunch and I keep looking at the clock. Mulder should be home
soon. I can't wait until everybody is safe and under this roof.

I hear a car pull up in the driveway, and Christopher toddles over to
the window to look.

"Dadda!" he cries out, looking back at me before pressing his nose to
the window. Samara breaks away from my breast and fusses a little
before I can get her latched on again.

Kessie rushes through the door, her eyes searching the room. They stop
on me before she looks away, embarrassed by what I'm doing.

"Christopher!" she cries out, and he toddles over to her as fast as he
can. She picks up her baby brother in her arms and swings him around.

I look up to find Mulder standing in the doorway, smiling. I remove
Samara from my breast and cover myself back up. Like a seasoned pro,
Mulder walks over to me, takes a cloth to cover his shoulder and then
picks up Samara. He pats her back until a tiny gas bubble escapes from
her tummy. All the time, Kessie is staring at him, curious.

"I assume the two of you have met?" he asks Kessie, and she nods her
head yes. I close my eyes and lean back in my rocking chair, not even
wanting to think about what these girls went through the last few
days.

"But I didn't get to hold her," Kessie says, and I open my eyes again
as I watch Mulder show her how to hold Samara and support her head. He
gets a funny look on his face when his fingers brush over her skin on
Samara's neck and his eyes open wide, startled.

"Scully, did you know ..." he starts to ask, looking closer at the
tiny spot just a little lower than her soft, brown hair.

"I know, Mulder," I say, my smile fading fast. I've had all night to
deal with this revelation and I don't know what to make of it yet.
"She has an implant."

"We aren't ever going to be free, are we?" he asks, watching Kessie
rock the baby slowly while she sings her a lullaby in a foreign
language I don't recognize.

"Not completely, Mulder. We aren't ever going to be free from them,
but for right now, we have a lot. We need to be happy about that," I
say to him, offering up a small smile.

"One of these days ..." he starts to say and I know what he's going
to promise before I cut him off. He's going to tell me that someday,
we will be free. He just has to get to the bottom of everything. But
we both know better. We will never be free and they will never be
safe.

"After this, I think the day has come to remember what is important
and what isn't," I say. Mulder comes over to me and gives me the first
kiss we've had in a few days. "Maybe the answers aren't worth it
anymore."

"I know, Scully. This is what is important."

We both smile at each other before I close my eyes, so tired.
Everything grows quiet around me as I fall asleep.


              The end

More Christopher Scully stories here
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