DREAMING ABOUT BABIES (Sequel to "Make a Little Love")
By Char Chaffin
Spoilers:  Season Seven, post-Existence and pre-Season Nine
MSR, a touch of humor, some angst, a bit of MT
Rating:  Strong PG-13

Dedication:  To Sallie, with love and prayers -

NOTE:  I was asked by a fellow Phile-friend to continue what has now
(apparently!) become another series, of sorts - beginning with my fic
"Date Bait", and then into "Make a Little Love", she said I couldn't
let it end just yet.  So I gave it some thought - as I promised her -
and this is what I came up with.  Hope you enjoy it!

THANKS:  To Carol and Robin, for quick-read and thumbs-up!  And to
Tess and Shelba, for their unending enthusiasm and support -

Summary:  Ah, the power of dreams...

"Dreaming About Babies"

The baby kicked him in the back the other night.  In the morning he
has to write it down, record the day.  He doesn't want to forget.

She loves to sleep pressed into the curve of his spine; her rounded
tummy fits very nicely there.  He anticipates some serious action
from their unborn child and he looks forward to sleepless nights, for
a change.  She still sleeps naked; he likes that most of all.  Not a
drop of modesty, as she blossoms in her pregnancy; it never ceases to
amaze him.  They've both come so far.

************
Eyes closed, he's smiling.  He smiles a lot, when his eyes are
closed...
************

Her beauty is staggering, he thinks, as he faces her on the pillow,
brushes red silk away from her cheek.  She glows all over, her skin
has this wonderful translucent look, and her eyes are bright as they
stare into his.  Full of love, brimming with contentment - happy.
She's happy, and so is he.  It's been years since he's felt this way -
hell, did he ever feel like this? It's been eons since anyone has
given him a reason to be happy.  All because of her - all because of
her love.  He doesn't deserve it, but it's his.  Enough to make a man
humble... and it does.

He goes to sleep happy and he awakens happy.  There's a spring in
his step that wasn't there before, a smile on his face almost all of
the time, these days.  Funny, but he never thought impending
fatherhood would have this effect on him; never imagined he'd ever be
a father, for that matter.  In fact, he never thought a woman would
come along who would want to love him, much less become pregnant by
him.

Not until Scully.  Not until this miracle occurred, and now that
same miracle finds them just a few months shy of delivering offspring
that will hopefully resemble the woman he loves.

It's the way a romance should evolve, this he knows for truth.  Man
meets woman, falls in love early on, tells her he's fallen in love -
very important detail that should never be left out of the evolution -
and commits to her.  Then they make a baby and raise him/her
together, grow old together and live out their twilight years rocking
on the porch of the family homestead, surrounded by boisterous
grandchildren.  Of course, marriage should figure into the mix
somewhere as well, but right now for them it's more important that
they've even been capable of said evolution.  It only took them how
long?  Seven or so years?  Well... some folks are late bloomers,
others are emotionally stunted.  He thinks they fall somewhere
between those two poles.

Better late than never.  He reaches behind him and strokes a gentle
hand over her sleek flank, dozing in and out, enjoying her cool skin
and the occasional bump of a tiny foot in his lower back.

**************
The room is dim but even in the shadows his smile is evident, as he
sleeps on...
**************

She sees a Baby Burlington store and digs her heels in, takes his
hand, pulls him through the doors.  Uh-oh, a Little-Person-Shop...
chock-full of more cuteness than he's probably ever seen in his life.
He'd been wanting that plasma TV he'd spotted at Costco; now it
becomes a secondary memory behind his dazzled eyes, as he takes in
the pure wonder of the world of a child.

Life-sized teddy bears.  Cribs painted in all colors of the rainbow.
Matching daddy/son shirts and mommy/daughter jumpers.  Baby bottles
shaped like giraffes and designer infant gear... he stands in the
middle of the floor in front of 'Newborns', and slowly circles
around, then flings his arms wide and shouts, "I want it ALL!"

Five seconds later a pink-cheeked Scully is dragging him down the
bassinet aisle, mumbling, "Mulder, don't do that again!  I may have
to shop in here more than once!"

His only answer is an impudent Mulder-tongue thrust at her and an
unrepentant, "Party-pooper", flung out after.

One of them grabs a shopping cart.  One of them attacks a mound of
folded-up receiving blankets and little terrycloth rompers with
carousel ponies cavorting all over them.  One of them heaves a large
stuffed Pooh into the cart and the other pushes it aside to make
enough room for an ever-growing pile of 0-to-6-month sized clothes.
Someone finds the world's smallest pair of saddle oxfords; someone
else finds socks to match.  And both of them are having the time of
their lives, impulse buying for their unborn child.

They stay in the store until it closes.  It takes three trips to the
car to carry everything out, and they arrange to have the crib,
bassinet, high chair, changing table and rocking chair delivered.
They celebrate the huge dent in their wallet by having dinner in the
fanciest restaurant still open in the mall at that time of night...
Orange Julius.  Hot dog on a stick and frothy orange drinks - who
could ask for anything more?

*************
He sighs in his sleep, one single replete, satisfied sigh...
*************

The first time she goes shopping for maternity clothes, he insists
on accompanying her.  After debating the wisdom of letting him loose
in a mom-to-be shop, she relents but cautions him sternly.  "Behave
yourself, Mulder - or I swear I'll really hurt you."

His low-voiced, eager, "I'm holding you to that promise, baby," has
her groaning as they approach the plaza.

He makes a beeline for Victoria's Secret and darts through the
doors, declaring, "You'll need nursing bras, Scully."  

Spoken loud enough for three or four women to turn and regard him
with much amusement, all Scully can do is grin bravely and murmur in
their general vicinity, "He doesn't get out of the sanitarium very
much."

Several frilly, lacy and completely inappropriate brassieres are
clutched in his hands by the time she can reach his side and hiss to
him, "Mulder!  Put them down!  Those aren't nursing bras!  This store
doesn't even carry nursing bras!"

His retort is rife with affront.  "Well, I know that!  These are for
after."

"After what?  Mulder, I'll never be able to wear anything that
minuscule ever again, once I've nursed a child!  Come to think of it,
I've NEVER worn anything this skimpy! I'll need something, um,
larger.  These so-called 'bras' won't even cover half of me."  Her
tone is exasperated.

He merely grins at her, "Once again, I know that.  Of course, they
won't cover all of you... but they WILL cover the most important
area, Scully."

"Which is?"

"Your nipples," is his lofty retort.  A nearby salesclerk overhears
and laughs in startled delight; Scully drops her flushed cheeks into
her hands.

"God. I had to ask, didn't I?  You'd think I'd know better by now."

**************
In his sleep he actually chuckles aloud...
**************

It seems the time flies past; it feels as though he fights a losing
battle to hang onto these magical days.  Days where her feet and
ankles are swollen and his gentle foot massages are worth their
weight in gold.  Days spent finding a larger apartment, finally
buying a condo and putting together a bright, cheery nursery in
primary colors.  Wallpaper and paint.  Murals of Dr. Suess characters
on the ceiling and a standing shelf full of little cloth-bound books.
A comfy crib and a rocker at the ready.  A thick area rug on the
hardwood floor.  Warmth and bright promise, a place of safety and of
true happiness.  It makes them smile when they walk in and view the
results of their labor.  

She finds herself rocking in the chair late at night when she
awakens with indigestion and can't fall back asleep.  Wrapped in the
multicolored throw always folded over the arm of the rocker, she lets
her body and mind glide, keeping motion with a bare foot while she
rubs at her distended stomach, and thinks of the weeks to come.  
Sometimes he'll come looking for her, missing the warmth of her next
to him - he'll meander in and bend over the chair, kissing her
gently.  Kneeling in front of her, more kisses dropped wherever he
can sprinkle them.  Opening the soft wool throw, his eyes wander all
over her, finding almost more loveliness than his mind can
assimilate, before kissing her tummy directly over their slumbering
infant lying protected by her body...

Picking her up out of the chair, he carries her back to bed, to lay
her down in warm sheets and rain his adoration over her, endlessly.
Until she clutches his hair, moans into the darkness, comes in his
mouth, sinks down bonelessly onto the mattress, falls asleep with a
small half-smile on her lips and a sleepy promise to return the favor
in the morning.

He never demands that she honor that promise - and she always does,
as soon as daylight slips into the room and slants across her face.
She awakens and rolls slowly toward him, eyes smiling into his, small
hands reaching for him, all lips and tongue and eager caresses.  All
love, all the time.  All over him.  All wonderful.  She gives to him
in the early morning and her generosity is so precious to him.

***********
A small groan of remembered heat causes his closed eyelids to
flutter, as he sleeps...
***********

One night he sits on the floor of their nursery and sifts through
everything they've gotten so far.  He'd awoken to use the bathroom
and found he couldn't go back to sleep; unwilling to disturb Scully
who was for once sleeping soundly, he found himself on the floor of
the nursery surrounded by boxes and bags of baby paraphernalia.  Once
upon a time he wouldn't have been caught dead fingering diapers and
booties, now they hold infinite fascination for him.

Resting on his palm is a pair of dainty white knitted hi-top booties
with yellow laces.  They look so tiny and sweet against his large
hand.  Mulder sets them down and picks up an equally-tiny hooded
sweatshirt, pokes at a one-piece sleeper in shades of pale pink and
baby blue plaid.  Everything is dinky, soft, downright cute.  There
are tiny plastic pants and ultra-cottony diapers with diaper pins
shaped like little yellow ducks.  He holds up a tee shirt with the
smallest short sleeves he's ever seen, and the biggest grin in the
world breaks over his face.    

Did he ever wear anything so tiny?  Did Scully?  

Of course they did - once upon a time.  And in the handling of his
future son or daughter's clothing, Mulder finds a yearning that goes
so far beyond anything he's yet experienced, that it just about
knocks him sideways... and it brings home to him like nothing else
the responsibility he faces in just one more short month.

Fatherhood.  Somebody's daddy.  A papa to this miniature version of
him, of Scully.  Helpless and weak, completely dependent upon him for
a roof, food, clothing, an education... love.  Discipline and
instruction, the kind of learning only parents can provide.  This
child will sit next to him someday and shoot questions at him, all
kinds of questions about all manner of subjects.  A flood of absolute
panic soaks through Mulder as he sits on the floor of the nursery
with a velvety-soft blanket in his hand, and contemplates the truly
frightening possibility of having to explain - to his baby - where
babies come from...

"Mulder?  Are you all right?  Why are you sweating?  And I thought I
heard you moaning."  

His head jerks up; Scully is standing over him, a frown of concern
on her sleepy face.  She's wearing one of his oldest, baggiest
sweatshirts and her hair is standing almost on end.  She sways a
little from exhaustion and Mulder hurriedly gets to his feet, slips
his arms around her and leads her over to the rocker, settling her in
carefully, kneeling beside her and placing his head on her thighs.
She ruffles his already mussed hair and queries softly, "Mulder?"

His mumble is almost incoherent, pressed into her skin.  "I can't
tell the kid about sex, Scully!"  He raises eyes filled with renewed
panic, adding, "What the hell do I say?  How should I act?  Our
innocent little baby..."

Scully's relieved chuckle is a delight and an instant comfort.  She
traces a tender palm against his jaw.  "Mulder, for heaven's sake...
you're worried about 'the sex talk' when our child isn't even born
yet?  Only you would think to start a major panic about something a
decent ten years or more into the future!"   

Sheepish, Mulder echoes her chuckle and hugs her legs, rubbing a
bristled chin over her kneecap and causing her to shriek softly at
the tickling sensation.  "Okay.  I'll stop flipping out, for now.
But I was just sitting there on the floor, looking through the baby
loot, and I guess it all hit me.  What being a daddy is really going
to mean to me. I suppose I'm worried that I'm not ready.  I'm scared
I might mess it up."

He stares up at her, eyes showing residual worry.  "Scully, I've
made serious mistakes in my life.  Fucked up more than a few times.
My track record with relationships - romantic or otherwise - has
pretty much blown chunks in the past.  And this is important; it's
the most important thing I've ever done in my life, the most
meaningful... besides loving you.  I want to do everything the right
way.  I want to be a better father than my dad was to me.  More
understanding, stronger and wiser.  More loving.  I want to make you
proud of me, as the other half of the parenting team."

"Oh, Mulder..."  Her hands urge him closer and she wraps her arms
around his shoulders.  Mulder buries his face in her neck and counts
her heartbeats, feeling cherished and loved far beyond what he knows
he deserves, as she whispers in his ear.  "You're the love of my
life.  You'll be a wonderful father, the only man I'd ever accept as
father to our child.  You won't make the same mistakes your father
did, any more than I'd do the things Ahab did, when he was raising us
kids.  We're not those people, Mulder.  We have our own identities
and we do things in our own fashion.  The way we work together as
partners, the way we hold onto our friendship and the way we interact
as lovers, soulmates, lifemates.  We'll do it our way, and we'll be
the kind of parents our child needs."

She squirms a bit and he gets to his feet, bending a little and
scooping her out of the rocker, carrying her to bed.  He lays her
gently on the mattress, comes down next to her and cuddles her close,
face to face.  Pulling the covers over both of them, Mulder lets his
soft kisses, adoring caresses and simple words in her ear remind her
of why he worships her, loves her and their child.  And as he falls
asleep he remembers to thank God for the gift of her.

***************
The first hoarse whisper crosses his parched lips as he offers
thanks, still asleep.  Still restrained, impaled, immobilized.  

Still in Hell...
***************
  
She reclines against a mound of pillows, the warm and precious
bundle of sweet life in her arms.  Their son.  He's the truest
miracle of their existence, a child that was never meant to be,
conceived in love against all odds.  He's real.  In her arms, barely
seven pounds, bald but for a downy spattering of very silky red-
blonde hair.  Sweet little face and long, slender fingers and feet.
Pink and cream and sleeping like an angel.

Their angel...

Beside her on the bed, her baby's father watches with rapt attention
as their son tightens his grip on Daddy's index finger.  One arm
around her, holding her so close it's almost as if she's an extension
of his own body.  

Well, in a way, she is.

Mulder never thought he'd get to see this day, although he'd dreamt
of it often.  Never thought any portion of his genetic makeup would
ever go into the creation of another life, never thought he'd be a
daddy.  Never imagined he'd be someone's significant other.

Never dared to hope he'd belong to Dana Scully... but he does.  And
he's a daddy, too.  Miracles really do happen... and dreams come true.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm..."

"Tell me again.  How you managed to stay alive, stay sane.  How you
found your way back to me, how even the grave couldn't keep you from
my side.  Tell me; I want to hear you say it again.  I want to
remember everything you went through and rejoice in your return.  I
want to have that strength to draw on, when you're gone and I'm
trying to maintain my sanity.  Tell me."

"Scully, I already told you the whole story.  You really need to
hear it again?"

"Yes.  I do.  I need to hear it; I need to know what you felt,
anything you can remember.  Because it's a part of you that went
missing for all those months, when I was going crazy trying to find
you, to understand what had been done to you, where you'd been taken -
and why.  I still don't understand so much of it, and I suppose I
should just be grateful that you were returned to me.  And I am, of
course I am!  But I need to hear it again."

"Okay, baby.  I'll tell you again..."

**************

He was conscious once in a while.  Enough to know how wracked with
pain his entire body seemed to be.  He never completely figured out
if he was on a slab or standing up, seated or upside down.  He only
knew he was in restraints, they cut into his flesh and the marks
they'd no doubt leave behind would follow him to whatever grave he
was doomed to inhabit.

His fault.  He'd allowed himself to be taken.  He'd willingly
stepped into the light.  His own selfish reasons, although at the
time he'd found ways to rationalize his decision.  And there was no
rationalizing it, not at all.  That was the pity of it, the
desolation.  He'd voluntarily entered Hell, knowing what goodness he
had in his life, comprehending with pure futility the loss of that
goodness, brought on by his actions, his choices.

Sometimes he slept, if losing consciousness for unknown blocks of
time could even be called sleep.  He sent himself down into some
deep, blankly black oblivion simply by finding a way to dream.

He dreamed about the things in life that mattered most, the people
he cared for and the woman he adored.  He hypnotized himself into
physical numbness by allowing his imagination full rein, by creating
nine-plus months of living and loving and anticipation.  He dreamed
of babies.

He left Earth knowing they'd tried their very best to get Scully
pregnant.  He left knowing their love for each other was strong and
secure and forever, left with the unspoken vow of commitment between
them.  That knowledge followed him into the agony of being abducted,
stripped of his humanity, tethered to an alien instrument of
torture... made to suffer so deeply that for months he'd cope by
projecting himself into a video of his own imaginings.

Mulder dreamed so vividly and so forcefully that his dreams
overtook the reality of what had actually happened to him.  His
dreams were real; everything else was not.  He lived through things
that no human being should ever have to endure, on the strength of
the world he'd formed in his mind.

Nine months of watching his Scully grow large with child.  Seeing
the way pregnancy made her eyes sparkle and her skin glow.  Loving
her so tenderly every day, teasing her when her belly-button popped
out; kissing her small 'outey' with lips gone damp with need.

The shopping she made him do, the loving grief he loaded upon her in
retaliation and the thrill he got from just one resigned chuckle,
from her.  The nursery they put together.  The baby clothes they
bought and the places they haunted for nursery supplies during those
months while they waited for their child's birth... the worry he
experienced as the 'delivery date' in his fantasy grew near.  All
created in an effort to maintain some semblance of sanity.  

After a while he never had to open his eyes, never had to do
anything except remain unconscious and stay in the realm of his
dreams.  It kept him alive.  Alive as he could possibly be.  He never
felt any more pain.  They could have amputated his arms and legs, cut
open his heart.  He would have lived through it, because all the life
he needed was in the one place they could not reach.

His mind.

***************

"Mulder... you did that, for us.  I still can't believe it."

"I did it for you and for William, Scully... for me.  Because I knew
there had to be a future for us, somewhere.  Because I wanted it so
badly that I was willing to dream endlessly about it, until it came
true.  Maybe not all of it came true, but the best parts of it sure
did."

As he speaks he's looking down at William's tiny face.  The baby is
asleep again; it's very late.  Neither of them have slept at all.
Their time together is so short; they don't want to waste it
sleeping.  

Words are becoming superfluous as well; they have just hours left.
They don't want to waste their mouths forming words, when they could
be kissing.  They don't want to consume food when they could be
consuming each other.  Carefully and gently, for she is still very
tender.  They can't do very much but what they can achieve will be
done with all the love that's in both their hearts.

He lays the baby in the wicker bassinet that's placed near the bed.
Trailing fatherly fingers across his son's downy head, Mulder vows to
come home when it's safe, to rejoin his family as soon as possible.
The smile he turns on his woman makes her tremble, the hands he
places on her body raise goosebumps and shivers.  The lips that kiss
her worship her; the caresses that send her up, and up, send her
flying... are so much of what she needs and everything she's ached
for, ever since the moment she first lost him.

She'll lose him again, but only for a little while.  And she and
William will find a way to keep it together, keep him with them,
while he's away.

Maybe she'll do some dreaming of her own, she thinks.  

The shadows lengthen on the wall as they make the most sweet, gentle
love with each other, mindful of sore muscles and flesh not ready to
accept much more than a comforting palm.  The baby sleeps soundly,
not even awakening for a nourishing meal of Mommy's milk, perhaps
somehow understanding that his parents' time together is so very
short.  The suitcases are stacked by the door; the lights in the
living room are off, the glow of his aquarium the only illumination
available.  

They only have a few hours left... but months and months, to dream.
About babies.  About life.  About love...

Mostly about all three.

End

Additional note:  Just when I think I'm finished with a plotline...
<g>
I would like to thank everyone who has inspired me and cheered me
on, to keep writing.  It can be difficult to keep the X alive, but I
feel the Phile community is doing that with much success, and it's
because of the willingness of the fans to continue reading, that
writers stay focused on the writing.

Thanks so much for reading!  I love hearing from you, any old time!
Email me:  [email protected]

Please visit my web site, again any old time!  http://char.chaffin.com