Fathers Also Dream part five
By Vickie Moseley
Disclaimed
 
     It was dark for a long time until Mulder heard a sound.  Crying. 
Soft, gentle sobs.  Just off in the distance, not that far away.  He
opened his eyes and looked around.  It was night.  He was out on
the soccer field again.  A billion stars twinkled at him from overhead. 
He chanced a look down and saw her.  Huddled, all alone, just a few
feet from him, was a little girl.  As he got closer, he recognized her.

     "Meggie?" he asked tentatively.  "Meggie, honey, what's the
matter?"  He crossed the few feet that separated them and pulled her
to her feet and into a hug.  She cried softer now, but still didn't stop. 
He dropped slowly to the ground and pulled her on his lap, rocking
her gently back and forth.  "Tell Daddy, sweetness.  Tell Daddy
what's wrong."

     "I couldn't find you," came the halting reply in her small child's
voice.  "I looked and looked and I couldn't find you."  The sobs
returned as the words made the feelings a reality.

     He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.  "Aw, baby, I was
here.  I was here.  I'm here, now.  See, you can even pinch me," he
goaded and stuck his arm out for her to see.

     She looked up at him and let a faint smile break through the
tears.  "Don't want to pinch you, Daddy," she said and threw her
arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.  He had never felt so
warm, so secure.  He knew that he would crave that feeling, those
little arms around his neck, until the day he died.  Then, just when he
was sure nothing else could ever feel this good, she murmured in his
ear "I love you, Daddy."  This time, it was Mulder who was crying
and he wasn't ashamed to admit it.  He closed his eyes and just
melted in the warmth of that feeling.

     "Get used to seeing him like that, Sweetheart.  Mommy has,"
Dana chuckled softly.  Mulder opened his eyes and was greeted by
the sight of his wife, nestled in the reclining chair, holding their baby
in her arms.

     As he came around more completely, he noticed that he was the
one laying in the hosptial bed.  But there were two beds in the
birthing suite now, where there had only been one.  Confusion
flashed across his face and Dana didn't miss it.

     "Well, they are called 'family suites'," she chucked again.  "I
convinced them to bend the rules a little.  Since they let daddies stay
in the room as much as they want now, I figured you could recover
here as well as three floors down on the surgical ward.  We'll be
getting out before you, of course, but they'll move you down after
we go home with Mom."

     He took a deep breath and did his own little internal inventory. 
He felt pretty good, all things considered.  A little weak, and that
fuzzy feeling always left over after surgery.  But the pain was
completely gone, replaced by a dull ache on his right side.  "Can I
chance to make a diagnosis, Dr. Scully?" he asked.  She gave him a
smile and waited.  "Appendix?"

     "Ohhh, you're good," she crooned.  "I always knew you were
'hot', Mulder, but I usually applied that term to more than just small
internal organs.  You almost popped right here in the birthing suite. 
They got you in the OR just in time."

     "With Doogie Howser doing the knife-welding, I suppose," he
rasped as he shifted so that he could get a better look at her.

     She laughed out loud this time.  "For your information, Mike Fisk
is 30.  He just has a baby face.  And a string of broken hearts trailing
behind him longer than the Penn Turnpike.  But he says you did fine,
you'll just need complete bed rest for a couple of days, to make sure
no secondary infections creep up.  Oh, and you'll be off work for
three or four weeks."

     "Family leave," he muttered.  He looked over at his tiny daughter
and the feel of her little arms around him haunted him.  "Can I hold
her?" he asked, hesitantly.

     "Just what she's been waiting for," Dana smiled confidently and
handed the baby over to him, helping him position her so that she
didn't rest on his stitches.  "She takes after you, by the way.  She ate
like a horse last night after the birth, and then wouldn't sleep for love
nor money.  We talked for quite a while, mostly about you.  Then,
she ate some more and finally got to sleep.  She's been asleep most
of the morning only waking up long enough to eat, but woke up the
minute they brought you in.  We've been sitting here just watching
you sleep."

     He was only half listening.  He was gazing at the tiny pink face. 
The eyes were blue-green, but he knew that would change.  The
hair, now that it was clean, was the softest honey bronze and a pink
bow had been tied in a length of it.  Her cheeks were chubby and her
chin was nothing more than a bump at the bottom of her little face. 
She opened her mouth and he saw her tiny pink tongue and darker
pink gums as she yawned.  Her little hand flailed softly against his
chest and he caught it in his hand.  Her little hand opened and she
grabbed onto his finger, just as she had the moment after her birth. 
"Hello, my precious," he crooned to her softly.  "Hello, my tiny, tiny
love."

     Dana smiled, watching them.  She knew this would happen, had
known it since he first declared his love.  She knew that someday she
would have to share his affections with another, just as she had
shared a place in his heart with Samantha all this time.  But it didn't
bother her, she felt no jealousy.  She knew Fox Mulder all too well
and was certain that he had more than enough love there in his heart
for all of them.

     "I called your mom and told her all the news.  She should be here
in a couple of hours.  I told her that the baby looks just like you,"
Dana said, not wanting to break the spell, only to join in it.

     "Does not," he declared, still gazing at his daughter.  "She's too
pretty!"

     Dana laughed softly and gingerly pushed herself off the recliner. 
She reached over to the bedside table and picked up the old small
photo album.  "Look for yourself, if you don't believe me," she
directed.  

     He shifted the baby slightly, getting a firmer hold on her before
accepting the book with a look of disdain.  He glanced at the first
picture and then at the baby.  "Oh, Meggie," he sighed.  "I had so
hoped you'd look like your mommy."

     "She does," Maggie Scully said with a smile as she came in the
door.  She handed a locket over to her son-in-law.  "Sweetheart, you
should be sitting down.  I know you feel fine, but you want to go
home tomorrow," she gently chided her daughter.  Dana shook her
head, but obediently climbed up on her bed next to Mulder's.

     Mulder looked at the little picture in the locket and then at the
baby.  Then he looked at the picture in the album and again at the
baby.  He stared over at his wife in amazement.  "She does.  She
really looks like both of us."

     "Who did you think she'd look like?" Dana asked, arms crossed in
a gesture of defiance.

     "I was hoping she didn't look like AD Skinner, and with all this
hair, I got my wish," he teased and got a light slap in the arm from
Maggie for his comment.

     "Be nice, Mulder," Dana warned.  "He sent us *both* flowers,"
she said and broke into giggles as she pointed to the matching vases
set in the window ledge.

     "How sweet," Mulder said dryly.  He handed the locket back to
Maggie, who set it aside and then came back to take the now
sleeping infant out of his arms.  He resisted at first.  "She's OK," he
assured her, not wanting to let go of his daughter.

     "She's fine, it's _you_ who needs the rest," Maggie chided.   She
turned to Dana.  "Did you want to try walking down the hall,
sweetheart?"

     Dana sighed.  "I guess I have to if I'm gonna get out of here," she
agreed and then shot an apologetic look to her partner in the next
bed.  "Sorry, love, but one of us needs to be healthy for at least a
little while," she added and he chucked softly and nodded in
agreement.  She made her way slowly over to his bedside and kissed
him gently on the lips.  "I love you," she murmured.

     He reached up and squeezed her arm.  "I love you," he said
emphatically.  "More than I could ever tell you."

     She smiled and nodded.  "Get some sleep.  I'll be back in a couple
of minutes."

     After he heard the door click, he snuggled down in the bed.  The
photo album had slipped under the covers and he pulled it out to
place it aside.  As he moved it, a folded sheet of paper slipped out
between one of the photos and the page behind it.  Curiosity got the
better of him and he unfolded the paper and started to read.

     The handwriting was immediately familiar.  It was his father's. 
He felt the twinge of anxiety grow in his heart, but resolutely let his
gaze fall to the top of the page.  It was dated.  October 14, 1961. 
The day after he was born.  Then, as he let his eyes follow the words
down the page, he realized that the letter was addressed to him.

   >>My dearest Fox,

     When you're older I hope I don't regret giving you that name.  It's
your mother's maiden name and an old custom here in the Northeast. 
Please don't ever take it to mean that I think of you as a small red
furry animal who likes to trick others, like I'll tell you about when I
read you from Uncle Reamus.  And I definitely don't mean it to be
that I think you will end up a 'ladies' man'--I certainly never was.  I
was more amazed than anyone when your mother gave me a second
look.  No, son, I mean it to show that you are a Fox, one of your
mother's family.  They are a very proud and determined New English
family and you should be proud to be a part of them.  You are also a
Mulder, and I can only hope that you will find pride in that as well. 
This is your heritage, Fox, and I hope that you will always find
comfort in that.  It is something that no one can ever take away from
you.

     You have to be wondering why I'm telling you this in a letter. 
They keep kicking me out of the nursery, you see.  They have all
these silly rules about fathers visiting hours.  I did get to hold you
and touch your hand before they rushed you off to clean you up and
give you your bottle.  Only the best for my son.  And your mother is
so tired.  You were pretty hard on her.  I'll have to talk to you about
that later, but not now.  Now, I'm just glad that you are here with us
and that everyone is all right. 

     I don't know what kind of Dad I'll be.  You see, my Dad, your
grandfather, well, he was in the Army and always very busy.  He
died before you were born, in a place called Korea.  It was a bad
place, but he was there for a good reason.  He was fighting
Communism, son.  I hope that by the time you're old enough to read
this yourself, we don't have to worry about that particular horror
anymore.  I know he loved me, though.  Just as I love you.  All I can
promise, Fox, is that I'll try.  I'll try my hardest to make you proud of
me.

     I have some work to finish up, so I can't write too much longer. 
Just know that I love you.  You are everything to me, son.  When I
looked in your eyes, I saw all my dreams.  They had all come true.

     Your loving father,

     Bill Mulder<<

     Mulder folded the paper and tucked it back in the pages.  He
swiped angrily at the tears that wouldn't seem to stop coming from
his eyes.  He thought about the journal his father had kept.  He
wondered why he had bothered to leave all that evidence.  Evidence
that Mulder was just beginning to understand.  Evidence that could
only blacken his father's name.  It came to him in a flash.  His father
had left those for him, as a trail for him.  A path, one that his father
undoubtly hoped his son would never follow, one he hoped his boy
would manage to avoid.

     He turned a page on the album and found a picture he hadn't
noticed a few days before.  Next to a picture of his mother, dark
haired, smiling, holding him on her lap was a picture of him and his
father.  His father was wearing an Army uniform.  He was smiling,
something Mulder had only vague memories of from his childhood. 
He had his arms around the tiny boy's body, holding him firmly on
his lap.  The baby, Mulder himself, was laughing for the camera. 
Mulder noticed that the he had his small hand wrapped around his
father's index finger.  He let his finger glide over the plastic covering
the photo.  He smiled, a faint, sad smile.

     "I love you, Daddy," he whispered and clutched the album to his
chest as he slipped back down to sleep.

the end