TITLE:          The Way Things Are 
AUTHOR:         Sukie Tawdry		 
EMAIL:          sukie_tawdry@hotmail.com		 
RATING:         NC-17		 
SPOLIERS:       Season 1  
CATEGORY:       Guess you could call it AU. Diverges
                from canon some time during season 1.	 
KEYWORDS:       Story, M/S  (some elements of M/other)  	 
DISCLAIMER:     None of the characters belong to me. Sniff
SUMMARY:        One night and their whole lives were changed 
                forever.	 
FEEDBACK:       Good or not so good--go ahead.  I can 
                take it. I'm a big girl.	 
ARCHIVE:        Again, go ahead.	 	 
AUTHOR'S NOTES: At end.


Part 1 - Snow Blindness

It had been a terrible idea, right from the beginning.  What 
on earth had she been thinking--screwing her partner.  She'd
vowed to be smart on this new assignment.  She'd walked into 
that dreary basement office and shook his hand, utterly 
determined that she wouldn't make the same mistake she had 
with Jack and Daniel and all the others.

And how long had it taken her to fall into bed with Mulder?
Not even six months--how pathetic.  Certainly, Mulder was
rather irresistable, beautiful in his loose-limbed grace.
And his brilliance was as blinding as the sun glinting off 
snow.  That was what it had been--snow blindness.  

But she knew from the beginning that Mulder wasn't interested
in a relationship with her or anyone else.  She'd heard rumors 
that Mulder was a "pickup artist", and she'd seen plenty of 
evidence that his reputation was well earned.  She'd taken 
phone messages from more than a few women--rarely the same 
woman twice.  

She'd seen him wear the same clothes to work that he'd
had on the day before, only a little more rumpled.  Damn, 
if he hadn't still looked more gorgeous than anyone had
a right to, even when his suit was creased and his jaw
was stubbly.  If anything, he was more beautiful with that
sleepy-eyed "I've got fucked this morning" look about 
him.  He was a player, and she had sworn off players.

Oh, he flirted with her.  She was pretty sure it was a knee
jerk reaction from him, something he wasn't even aware he was
doing.  He teased and prodded and touched her too often and
stood much too close.  Mulder pushed the limits in general 
and her buttons in particular, and he seemed to enjoy both.  

She'd known better, dammit.  It didn't take a psychologist 
to see that Mulder was a tortured soul, chasing an elusive 
truth and taking wild chances in that pursuit.  She'd had
to bail him out of too many tight situations when he'd 
ditched her to do something dangerous.

And it didn't take a Ph.D. to see that he dulled his pain with 
one night stands.  If she were totally honest with herself, 
she would admit that she felt a tiny bit jealous of those women.  
Maybe that was why she'd behaved so stupidly.

It had been their last night in Kenwood, Tennessee after the
Samuel Hartley case.  Feeling the sting of not solving the case
fast enough to save lives, they'd had a few too many beers 
in the pool hall bar.  Actually, she'd been having the beer.
Mulder had been drinking scotch.  Something had haunted him 
about that case, and she knew it had to do with his sister.

Mulder sat close to her, looked into her eyes a little too often.  
It unnerved and excited her, and she found herself gazing back 
at him.  He had traced a lazy finger along her arm, testing, 
perhaps, to see if she flinched.  She didn't flinch.  

They were both drunk by the time they left the bar. Their 
motel had been down the street, so they'd left the car at the 
pool hall and walked the two blocks.  Their steps had been a 
little unsteady, his arm around her shoulders, hers around 
his waist.  She was sure they looked like a couple of drunken
sailors, up until the part where he stopped in the deserted 
street and kissed her.

It had been a tentative kiss, the kind of kiss that happens
when two people are drunk, and one of them bends over to
say something to the other. Their lips met once, twice--
little nipping kisses until he pulled her close and 
began to devour her mouth.

Not that she'd fought or anything. Far from it.  She'd 
twined her arms around his neck and pushed her tongue into his 
mouth.  He pulled her up against his body, her toes barely 
grazing the pavement as he pressed her against his rock hard
cock.  There had been little question in her alcohol-hazed 
mind as to what was going to happen next.

Her legs felt like jello as they stumbled to the motel.
She had barely gotten her door open before he had his
hand under her blouse, cupping her breast through her
bra.  She was pretty sure she was whimpering by that
point.  He made short work of her front-closure bra.
She wondered how much practice he had.

The kissing and groping went on and on until they'd fallen 
back onto the bed.  Her nipples grew hard in the cool 
motel room air.  He brushed his thumb over the tip, lightly
at first, and then more firmly. 

She had known in some little corner of her mind, that she 
should stop him from hiking her skirt up around her waist.  
When she'd reached out to unzip his pants in order to get 
closer to his cock she recognized it as a bad, bad idea.  
But he was so  hot and hard that she couldn't stop herself 
from reaching into his boxer shorts and closing her hand 
around him.  It made him moan so delightfully.

He tugged her panties down her legs, shredding her 
pantyhose when his nails caught on the sheer material.
And did she try to stop him?  Of course not.  She 
lifted her hips obligingly, turning from side to side as
he worked her underwear off.

Slick from her juices, his fingers found her clit.  
She heard herself making little sounds: mewling, moaning,
totally embarrassing noises as tongue followed fingers.
He lapped at her, chuckling softly at her bucking hips.

She must have looked ridiculous, skirt up around her 
waist, blouse open and breasts bared.  At that moment, 
she couldn't have cared less as his tongue dipped into
her vagina and back up to swirl around her clit.

"C'mere," she mumbled, pulling on his shirt.  He obeyed,
climbing up her body and settling between her thighs.
He pushed into her with one thrust, as she dug her
heels into the firm flesh of his ass.

It was then that reality began to pick at her brain.
She almost pushed it away, so lost in the sensation of
Mulder moving within her.  But that tiny bit of 
responsibility forced her to speak when she wanted
only to moan.

"What are we doing?" she gasped as he put his hands under 
her thighs and pushed back, changing the angle and driving 
deeper into her body.

"I thought that was...obvious," he grunted.

"This is crazy...oh god, that feels good.  We're
not...oh...using any protection."

"We should stop," he muttered, as he drove into her.

"Yeah," she agreed, hooking her ankles behind his
neck.

"Oh, yeah...ohyeahohyeahohyeah." But he didn't stop,
and she didn't want him to.  No, she definitely made
no move to stop him.  Actually, her moans and gasps
and the fact that she couldn't stop thrashing her head
from side to side, probably gave the impression 
that she wanted it to go on forever.

And then her whole body was pulsing, quaking from within.
Her back arched, and she grabbed fistfuls of bedspread
as if that would keep her from flying around the 
room.  

Her orgasm seemed to trigger a chain reaction as he
stiffened over her and grunted out words that weren't
really words.  

She didn't remember anything after that.  The next
morning, she woke up alone--naked and sticky. The bed 
reeked of sex, and her clothes were strewn around the floor.  

She'd sat up too fast and moaned into her hands, trying
hard not to be sick.  The wrongness of the whole thing
hit her with the force of a runaway truck.  

Mulder's clothes were not mingled with hers on the floor.
The only sign that Mulder had been there was the smell
of semen on her skin and the sheets.  That and the ache
between her legs.  It had been a long time between 
sexual partners, and her body complained.

Gingerly, she stood up, and holding her head, walked 
to the window and looked out.  The bright Tennessee
sunshine mocked her--reminding her again of how stupid
she'd been the night before.  

She stooped to pick up her blouse, noting that some of the
buttons had come off.  She gathered the rest of the clothes,
and stuffed them in her dirty laundry bag, unwilling to 
put them back on, even to go searching for Mulder.

Instead, she pulled on a pair the sweatpants and shirt she'd 
worn while lounging around the motel room during the case.  
She fought the desire to pretend this hadn't happened, to 
show up all neatly pressed and sunny for the trip home.
But she worried that if she did that, their partnership 
would be more damaged than it already was. So she went to
find her partner.  

She stood in the morning sunshine, knocking on Mulder's 
door and fighting the urge to run back to DC and hide
under her bed.  Had Mulder done that very thing--left
her and run back to the comfort of his office?  She
walked around the building, hoping to find a coffee
machine.

She spotted him sitting in a dirty white plastic chair
by the motel swimming pool.  Though it was chilly in the
early spring air, his feet were bare and his rumpled
shirt untucked and unbuttoned.  Though he probably heard
her footsteps, his gaze didn't move from the dead leaves
lying on the black plastic pool cover.

"I'm so sorry, Scully," he said as she dropped into a
nearby chair.  "That was a terrible mistake and shouldn't
have happened."

"You're right. It should never have happened, but it was
as much my fault as yours."  

"I want you to know that I'm clean.  What with the hospital
stay when I was shot this year, I've had more blood work  
than a Nevada hooker.  And I...uh...I haven't taken a chance 
like that since I was in high school."

She nodded, unsure of what to say next. She was too 
embarrassed that with her medical background, the health 
issues had not occurred to her until he had brought them up.

"I don't drink often," he went on. "It makes me do stupid 
things.  I...uh...we could have avoided the whole fucking 
mess if I'd stayed out of that bar."

"Quite the sweet-talker, aren't you, Mulder.  Don't 
worry--the secret is safe with me.  Nobody ever has to
know you lowered yourself to screw your partner."

"You think that's what this is about--that I'm ashamed to
have slept with you?"

"Never mind.  You weren't the only one drunk last night,
and you weren't the only one who was horny." She pushed 
herself out of the chair, ready to escape back to her room.
"Listen, I know I'm blowing this all out of proportion. 
I'm hung-over and oversensitive this morning."

"No. I need for you to understand," he said, rising and
gripping her arm.  "You mean a lot to me--too much, really, 
to screw our relationship up with meaningless sex."

She tried not to wince at the word 'meaningless.'  It had
been certainly ill-advised, but it hadn't been meaningless
to her.  

"I don't want to screw things up either.  Maybe it's best
if we just leave this here and forget it ever happened."

Forget it ever happened.  That was the trouble, wasn't it?
He might have been able to forget, but now, two months later, 
she knew she would never be able to forget.

They'd gone home, though, and never spoke about it again.  He 
continued to get phone calls from women, had continued to 
show up at work looking a little the worse for wear--maybe 
more often than ever.  He treated her professionally and they 
continued to forge their partnership.

They proceeded in fits and starts.  She tried not to bristle 
when he teased her over her lack of boyfriends before the little 
trip to the forest that nearly got them both killed.  He showed 
genuine caring and concern, both during the mission and afterward 
when terribly ill, they'd landed in a month long quarantine.   

And only a few weeks ago, he had carefully put her in her place 
when she tried to call him by his first name.  Fair enough.  He
clearly wanted this to be a work relationship and not spill over
into private time.  He was gentle about it--she couldn't fault
him.  But it had stung a bit, nonetheless.

She hadn't been concerned when she missed a period.  Her body 
had undergone a serious trauma when she'd been so badly 
dehydrated by the insects they'd encountered in the forest.  
Surely her cycle would return to normal when her body had a 
chance to recover completely.

But the signs became impossible to ignore when she found herself
vomiting in the ladies room three times in the past week.  It 
didn't take a medical degree to figure this one out.  

Which is how she ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor of
her bathroom, tearing a tissue into confetti as she waited.  
Waited for the little stick to turn pink or blue or whatever
the hell this one was supposed to do.  She'd tried four different
kinds of tests, not wanting to accept the truth as each one
gave it's verdict.

With shaking fingers, she reached for the last in the series
of little white sticks.  She blinked back tears as she looked at
the plus sign.  It was time to talk to Mulder.




Part 2 - Pillar of Salt

"Glad you could make it, Scully."  Mulder was tipped back 
in his chair, his feet crossed on his desk.  "Stuck in 
traffic again?"

She wanted to punch that smirk right off his face.  She'd 
spent the morning crouched by the toilet, alternately being 
sick and checking the cadre of pregnancy tests, each one 
delivering its bad news.

"No, I wasn't stuck in traffic," she said, shooting him
a "don't mess with me" look.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his concern apparent.  "I 
don't mean to pry, but you haven't been yourself lately.  
You look very pale this morning, Scully."

Just when she thought she had him figured out, Mulder would 
surprise her.  When she had decided he was too obsessed with 
his work to notice anything else, he turned gentle and tender.

"I'm fine.  Well, actually, I wasn't feeling that well this 
morning, but I'm better now."  She cleared her throat.  This
wasn't going to be easy.  "Can we go for a walk, Mulder.  I
need to talk to you, and I'd prefer not to do it here."

"Now you're scaring me.  Are you sure you're all right?  
You're not having aftereffects from the insects, are you?"

"No.  Nothing like that.  I just....we need to talk."

"Okay.  Of course," he said, wariness in his voice.  They 
left the building, walking the two blocks to the Mall.  
Each time they had to cross a street, his hand would come 
to rest on her back.  He was like that--gentlemanly and a 
little territorial.   
  
"What did you want to tell me?" he asked, when they reached 
an area away from any tourists.  

She took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to be sick.  
Now, that would be disastrous, throwing up on Mulder's shoes 
in front of dozens of gawking tourists.  On the other hand, 
it would certainly open up the subject at hand.

"I wanted to be absolutely sure before I told you, Mulder.  
I haven't seen a doctor yet, but...I'm pregnant.  At least
that's what four separate home pregnancy tests said."

He didn't speak, and she wondered how long it had been since 
anyone had been truly able to shut him up.  Finally, he 
found his tongue.  "You're sure....you're sure it's..."

"Yours? Yes.  Unless I had sex with someone and developed
amnesia, yes, it's yours."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to insult you."  His gaze seemed 
to be fixated on a street vendor, unable to meet her eye.  

"I'm not insulted.  It was a fair question.  I don't sleep
around, Mulder."  She pinned him with a fierce look.  "There is 
no  chance this is not your child, Mulder.  Look, I'm not any 
happier than you are about this."

"One drunken night.  One stupid, miserable drunken night.  
I can't believe this."

"Are you insinuating this is all my doing?  Because, if you 
are, Mulder, I need to remind you that I was not alone in 
this stupidity."

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.  "You're right.  I didn't 
mean to imply you were the only one at fault. Scully, what 
are you going to do?"

"Gee, I thought talking to you was the logical first step.
What with you being there at the time of conception and all.  
I thought you'd want to be the first to know, but obviously 
I've misjudged the situation."

"Scully, I'm not denying my responsibility, but honestly, 
what happens next is up to you." He stuffed his hands in 
his slack pockets.    
 
"I was hoping you would want to be part of that decision, 
Mulder.  Obviously, you don't."  She turned and began to 
walk back to the office.  She fought the urge to run
as fast and as far as she could.
 
"Wait!  Scully, wait." He caught up to her easily with his 
long legs. His hand gripped her upper arm.  "I...I don't 
mean to be callous.  I'm still in shock, okay."

"I have to go," she said, as she pulled out of his grip.  
Head held high, she walked away, glancing back when she 
reached the corner.  Mulder remained where she had left him
staring after her.

The basement office was blessedly empty when she arrived.  
Mulder was probably still standing on the Mall, a pillar of 
salt, rather like Lot's wife.  She retrieved the file she'd 
been working on the day before and headed up to the forensic 
area where she hoped to camp out in an empty office.

She wasn't sure what she'd envisioned when she told Mulder.  
She'd have hated it if he tried to dictate her next move.  
He was right--there were choices before her--keep the baby, 
give it up or abort-- but ultimately, the decision was hers.

She'd never felt so alone in her life.  Her mother was still 
reeling from Bill Scully Sr's death.  Melissa was hard 
to reach these days, still traveling the West Coast.  Scully 
was too embarrassed to tell her friends.   How utterly 
humiliating--a thirty-year-old physician, FBI agent, independant 
woman--finding herself "in trouble" like some teenager.  

And the father of the baby was no more interested in her than 
a teenager's one-night stand.  She couldn't even be angry 
with Mulder. He'd made it perfectly clear from the very 
beginning that finding out what happened to his sister was all 
he cared about.

"Nothing else matters," was what he had said all those months 
ago as they sat in a darkened motel room on their first case.  
He allowed no distractions or impediments to his quest.  The 
women he slept with were an evening's diversion, a way to scratch 
an itch.  She'd seen him sidestep the morning after phone calls, 
gently and carefully extricating himself from further involvement.

It was no wonder that he was panic-stricken now.  She wasn't a one 
-night stand, a pick up.  They had a partnership, a relationship of 
growing trust, and that was on the line.  She had no doubt that he 
cared for her on some level.  She could see the affection in his
eyes, hear it in his voice.

But Mulder was a terribly isolated man.  He seemed to be somewhat
estranged from his family.  He didn't appear to keep in touch with 
anyone from his ISU days.  He'd acted pleasantly surprised whenever 
they'd come across people from his past.  Mulder traveled light.

She had turned her cell phone off earlier, and checking it now,
she saw a series of messages from Mulder.  She turned it off again.
She wasn't ready to talk to Mulder, not until she sorted 
things out.

Trying to work, she concentrated on the autopsy results from 
their last case.  She reached into her briefcase and pulled out 
a packet of saltine crackers.  They helped the morning sickness 
a little.  She munched a few, only to find herself in the ladies 
room within the hour.

She knelt on the cold tile floor after losing everything she had in 
her stomach. Thank God, the bathroom was deserted.  That was all 
she needed--to set the Hoover building grapevine into motion.  
Hey, did you hear--Agent Scully got knocked up.  Really, wonder 
who she took off her panties for. Well, you never know about those 
frosty types--sometimes they're real sluts.  Bet it was that sexy 
partner of hers--he'd be hard to resist.   Yeah, but how long 'til 
he takes a powder?

She pushed herself up from the floor, her stomach a bit steadier.
Her legs felt shaky as she walked to the sink.  Mulder was right,
she looked like a ghost.  He'd been generous--he hadn't mentioned
the dark circles under her eyes or the hollows under her cheekbones.
Weren't pregnant women supposed to get chubby cheeks? 

She splashed water on her face and rinsed out her mouth.  She was
becoming a little concerned about the vomiting.  She wracked her
brain, but couldn't remember enough from her medical school 
training to know what was normal in early pregnancy.

It was after four thirty when she went back to the basement office.
She had steeled herself to face Mulder, though she wasn't sure
what to say to him.  It turned out to be a moot point--Mulder wasn't
there.  She lifted a post-it note off her computer terminal, 
"Dropping off the prints from the Miller case--see you tomorrow."

Using the privacy of the deserted office, she phoned her 
gynecologist and made an appointment for the next afternoon.
Gathering her things, she left the office.  Scully couldn't 
remember when she'd felt so exhausted.   

Her apartment looked dusty and neglected when she arrived home.
Lately, she had no energy at the end of the day.  She couldn't 
remember the last time she had straightened up.  The answering 
machine yielded a series of increasingly terse messages from 
Mulder asking her to call him.  She hit the erase button.  Too 
tired to eat, she kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the sofa.
In moments, she was sleeping soundly.

It was dark when she woke.  Blessedly dark, and quiet.  Her
mind felt clear for the first time in days.  Suddenly, she
saw the options before her, and realized that there was only
one true choice.  

She couldn't abort this child.  It was wrong.  Not for anyone
else, perhaps, but for her, for Dana Scully.  She had never
taken the easy way out, and to abort the child because it 
was inconvenient wasn't right for her.  She'd been raised to
a strict code of right and wrong.  You took responsibility for
your actions.  You owned up to the consequences no matter how
uncomfortable.

And she didn't think she could give this child up, no matter
what the impact to her career or her reputation.  She made a
decent living and her skills would ensure her security.  With
Mulder's support or without, she would do what she had to do.

She needed to tell him.  He would, no doubt, be relieved that
he was off the hook.  She thought about calling him, but 
decided he deserved to hear the news in person.  

She felt more energized than she had in days.  It was all 
so clear now, so simple.  She hummed along with the radio as
she drove to Mulder's apartment.  

But the damned morning sickness reared its ugly head, and
she rushed to park the car.  She wondered why the hell it 
was called morning sickness anyway, since she seemed to be
sick morning, noon and night.

She knocked on Mulder's door, frantically swallowing back
the nausea.  In her misery, she barely listened
for movement behind the door.  Desperate, she pulled out
the key she still had to Mulder's apartment, a remnant from
the days when he was freshly home from the hospital with
a bad leg wound.

She pushed the door open, frantic to get to the bathroom
before she vomited in the hall.  The sight that greeted her
stopped her in her tracks.

A naked Mulder sat on his couch.  He wasn't alone.  The 
woman who straddled his lap was naked as well, her short
brown hair swinging as she turned her head to see who had
walked in the door.

"What the hell?" the woman screeched.  What the hell, indeed,
Scully thought.  Mulder was saying something, but Scully 
couldn't take the time to decifer his words. 

"Damn morning sickness," Scully muttered, as she bolted for the
bathroom.


Part 3 - Cornered

"What the hell are you doing here, Scully?" Mulder asked from
the open bathroom doorway.

"I would have thought,"  she moaned, "it was fairly obvious."
Could her life get any more humiliating?  Throwing up in the
midst of Mulder's overactive sex life was an all time low.

"Mulder, do you want to explain this?" The woman had put on
Mulder's shirt, though it didn't cover much.  She stood, 
hands on her curvy hips, perky breasts heaving in anger.   Well,
maybe there were new levels of humiliation to plumb after all.
The woman eyed Scully with something between pity and disgust.

"It's complicated, Cassie.  I..."

"On second thought, don't bother with an explanation.  And, if 
you were thinking of calling me tomorrow--DON'T."  Cassie 
flounced off, with as much dignity as an angry half-naked woman 
could muster.

Scully crouched next to the toilet, listening to the rustle of
clothes from the next room and the slam of the apartment door.
Wave after wave of nausea crashed over her.

"That went well, don't you think?" Mulder asked, sarcastically.

"Would you mind not pointing that thing at me?" Scully asked, 
gesturing at Mulder's still impressive erection.

"Oh, for fucks sake," he muttered, leaving the room.  He returned
a moment later, wearing jeans. 

Her stomach had finally settled, so she flushed the toilet one last
time and sat back against the tile wall, her legs out straight in 
front of her.   

"Sorry about Carrie," she muttered.

"Cassie," he said, wetting a washcloth and handing it to her. "At
least I think it was Cassie.  Or Callie."

"No, I think you were right--Cassie.  Anyway, I'm sorry." The 
washcloth felt deliciously cool against her heated skin.   She
draped it over her face, as if she could shut out the whole
wretched mess.

He slid down to sit beside her, his bare back to the tile wall.  
"No.  I'm sorry.  I was feeling a little...uh...cornered.  I 
stopped into a bar..."

"Doesn't matter.  You don't owe me anything, Mulder.  That's 
what I came here to tell you, but I started to feel so sick."

"Scully..."

"I wanted to tell you that I'm going to keep the baby."

Mulder sighed deeply.  She heard his head clunk against the
tile wall.  Pulling the washcloth from her face, she turned
to look at him.  

"Obviously, that wasn't what you wanted to hear."

"I never said that," he muttered.  His eyes held a look of 
complete misery.

"You didn't have to.  But you don't have to worry--you're off
the hook.  I don't expect anything from you, Mulder, so you 
don't need to feel 'cornered'." 

"I think you should lie down," he said, scrambling onto his feet.
He extended a hand to her.  "I'm worried about you."

She allowed him to help her up.  He kept an arm around her waist
and led her to the living room.   Why the hell did he have to be
so gentle?  And why the hell did she feel such raging, pathetic
jealousy?  Mulder had every right to fuck whomever he chose.

"I'd rather not lie down on that," she said, nodding at the sofa--
scene of Mulder's naked tryst.  Why did she feel like a wronged 
girlfriend?  Mulder obviously considered himself a free agent.

Two months ago, Mulder had turned to Scully in a drunken frenzy.  
She had merely been a warm, willing body when he needed to blot
out the pain.  It clearly meant nothing to him--less than nothing.  
His only concern for her now was for a friend who had gotten herself
in a bad situation.

"Fine," Mulder sighed, leading her to the bedroom.  His bedroom
was a disaster scene, boxes of files, magazines, books everywhere.
It was clear he rarely slept here.  He shoved piles of papers from 
the bed, and she stretched out. He pulled her shoes off.

"I'm fine, really.  I should be leaving."

"You look like hell," he said, sitting on the side of the bed.  He
reached for her hand.  "Your hands are like ice.  Scully, is this 
normal?"

"I don't know.  I've never been pregnant before."

"You're a doctor."  Irritation crept into his voice.

"I'm a pathologist, Mulder.  My OB/GYN rotation was a billion years
ago.  I'm sure it's fine.  I have a doctor appointment tomorrow."

"Look, what I said before about feeling cornered..."

"I understand, Mulder.  You were blindsided.  So was I, frankly.
I had plans for my life.  There were things I wanted to do--things 
I hoped to do on the X-Files, and I'm not sure how having a baby 
fits into all of that.  This isn't exactly what I dreamed of."

She struggled to sit up, and Mulder pushed her down gently. "I 
mean it--lay down.  He stroked her hair, his hand lingering
on her cheek.  "I...I want to help you.   Financially, that is.  
I obviously don't spend money on creature comforts."

Annoyed, she looked around the cluttered bedroom. "I agree with
you there, Mulder, but you don't 'owe' me, okay." 

"I'm not trying to keep this a monetary arrangement, Scully.  It's 
just that...it would be safer for you and for the baby if it's 
not...official."

She pushed his hands away and sat up, scooting to the end of the
bed.  The urge to flee was overpowering as she shoved her feet
back in her shoes. 

"I've got to go."

"Scully, wait.  There are things you don't know.  This could be
dangerous in ways you can't even imagine."

"You've made yourself very clear, Mulder.  Don't worry--like I said,
you're off the hook."

<><><><>

"Try and relax, Dana.  You're a little tense." Paula Sherwood's
hands were gentle, and blessedly small, but Scully grimaced
anyway.  

"It's been a rough day."  Rough day indeed.  She and Mulder had
barely spoken.  There had been no affectionate banter, no 
wisecracks, not even shoptalk.  

"Fundal height is good.  Consistent with ten weeks gestation.
Everything looks great," Paula said, ending the exam.  She
removed her latex gloves and helped Scully to pull her feet from
the stirrups and sit up.  "Why don't you get dressed and we'll 
talk.  Is the baby's father here?"

"No.  He couldn't make it."  

Scully could tell from the little frown on Paula's face, the
obstetrician knew it was an excuse.  Paula smiled and left the
examining room.  

Damn hormones.  She hated being on the verge of tears all the time.
Scully slid off the examining table and reached for her underwear.
The set was lacy and sexy, and no one was going to be seeing it
any time soon.   God that was a depressing thought, as was the
prospect of wearing big 'old lady' panties in a few months. She 
dressed quickly and went in search of Paula's office.  

"Dana, come in.  I'm so excited for you.  I love helping medical 
school friends start their families.  How have you been?"

"Busy.  Work is always interesting."

"Sounds exciting.  Dana, I am a little concerned about a few things.  
I sense that you're under a great deal of stress, and that can 
affect the baby."

"I'll admit that it's been a stressful year.  I'd been teaching up 
until about six months ago, when I started working in the field."

"Is the work you do dangerous, Dana?"

"It can be, I suppose.  But my partner and I don't take 
unnecessary chances and we watch each other's backs."

"Dana, much as I advise women that their lives don't have to change
with pregnancy, there are certain physical limitations.  How will
this affect your partnership?"

Scully couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to answer that 
question.  She cast her eyes down and swallowed hard.  Paula 
sighed, apparently gleaning all the information she needed 
from her patient's reaction.

"I see.  Dana, I can't tell you to change occupations, or what 
choices to make in your private life, but I can tell you that 
I see the toll this is taking on you. You're two pounds lighter 
than at your last checkup six months ago.  I would expect 
some weight gain by ten weeks gestation.  You need to take the 
time to eat."

"Paula, I try to eat but I just haven't been able to keep anything 
down.  The morning sickness is just awful.  I can't believe how
whiny that sounds, but, honestly, I can't believe my mother 
did this four times."

"Well, every pregnancy is different.  I have some pamphlets here 
that should help.  I'd like you to try some of the suggestions
in them--small, frequent meals, saltine crackers, ginger ale.  If
you're still having trouble keeping food down, we'll try some 
vitamin therapy," Paula said, handing her the materials.  "It may
be miserable and inconvenient, but morning sickness is rarely 
dangerous.  Just watch out for dehydration.  I know you're well
aware of the signs.

"And I want you to try to slow down.  You have a difficult job, 
but you need to get enough rest.  Dana...is the father going 
to be able to support you in this pregnancy?"

Scully stared at the sheaf of booklets in her hands, willing 
herself not to cry at the gentle concern in Paula's voice. 

"He isn't able to be involved right now."  God that sounded
like he was married.  In a way, he was married--to his work, 
to the search for his sister.  "It's fine, really.  I can
manage.  The FBI is quite "family friendly" these days."

<><><><> 

"What did the doctor say?"  

"Mulder, I don't understand you."  She looked up from her 
decaf tea, shaking her head.  He hadn't called after the
doctor appointment the afternoon before, but she hadn't 
expected him to.   

"It was a straightforward question, wasn't it?"  Mulder 
shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously uneasy under 
her cool stare.

"Oh, it was simple enough.  I just can't figure out where
this concern fits in with your "unofficial" status."

"Come on, Scully.  You know I care about you.  
Please...what did the doctor say?"

She sighed, eyes focused on the cloudy surface of her tea.
"She said I'm fine.  Everything looks fine."

"I'm glad to hear that.  I was worried."

She nodded.  So worried he needed to pick up the next available
woman.  She pushed that ugly thought down, reminding herself 
again that she had no right to feel possessive.

"I know you were.  But I'm okay, don't give it another thought."  
Her voice sounded harsh in her ears.  

"What did she say about the morning sickness?"   Why the hell
did he have that tender sound in his voice?  His kindness 
grated on her skin and felt like pity.   

"She said it's perfectly normal.  Really, let's drop it, all
right?"

"Sure.  Forget I asked."  The wounded look was one he did
well.  She turned away, suddenly fascinated by a Yeti
clipping on Mulder's bulletin board.

"You can't have it both ways, Mulder.  You can't behave like 
the concerned father-to-be and the innocent bystander at the
same time.  It isn't fair, and it's too confusing.  So just
go back to ignoring me, okay?"

<><><><>


Part 4 - Pitched Battle

"Dana, sweetheart, come in.  You look tired; are you
feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, Mom."  Dear God, this was going to be hard.  The 
memory of every time she had ever disappointed her parents 
flashed before her, from the first "C" on a test to her choice 
to join the FBI.  Her mother took her jacket and hung it in 
the hall closet.

"It's just that you were in the hospital not too long 
ago."  Scully glanced away, uncomfortable under her 
mother's scrutiny.  Margaret Scully missed nothing.

"That was over a month ago, Mom, and I really am fine."

"Well, I'm just glad you're here.  Dinner is almost
ready."

"You shouldn't have gone to a lot of trouble," 
Scully said, hugging her mother.  "I'm here for the 
company, Mom."  Scully tried to keep her voice light 
as the two women entered the kitchen.

"It's no trouble at all.  I hardly ever get to see you, 
sweetheart.  Let me fuss a little."

The scent of baking chicken filled the air, and Scully 
reflected that a smell she would have found appetizing a 
month ago was rapidly causing her to become nauseous.

"Uh, Mom, can dinner wait for a little bit?"

"Dana, honey, is something wrong?  You just got very pale."   
There was a tiny vertical worry line between her mothers eyes 
that Scully couldn't remember seeing before tonight.  

"Can we go into the living room, Mom?  I want to talk to you."
She couldn't stay in the kitchen a minute longer, and giving her
mother a visual demonstration of early pregnancy was not her
idea of how to open up a dialogue.

"Of course.  Let me turn down the oven and I'll be right in."

Scully moved through the living room, hands clenched at her
sides.  She pictured her father in this room, looking up from
his book the night she told him about the FBI.  What would he say 
if he could see the profound mess she'd made of her life?  

She glanced at the display of family photos: scrubbed faces in 
school pictures, snapshots in front of the Christmas tree.  
She picked up a small silver frame, studying the photo of 
seven-year-old Dana and Ahab as they exchanged mock salutes.

Swallowing hard, she tried to force down the nausea.   
She listened to the sounds of pans clanking and the oven door 
being opened and closed.  Picture in hand, Scully drifted 
over to the sofa.  She turned at the sound of her mother 
entering the living room.

"All done.  Dinner will hold as long as it needs to.  If there
is one thing I learned with four children, it was how to hold
dinner."  Margaret Scully anxiously dried her hands on a dishtowel.

"Sit down, Mom," Scully said, patting the sofa.  Her mother tended 
to rattle on when she got nervous and Scully didn't think she could 
stand to wait a moment longer to deliver her news.  

"Mom.  I...there's really no easy way to tell you this..." Scully
couldn't look at her mother, staring instead at the silver framed
photo.

"Dana, you're scaring me.  What is it?"  Margaret reached for 
Scully's hand, squeezing a little too tightly.

"I'm pregnant."  There. It was out.  Her mother was silent,
shocked.  

"I didn't even know you were seeing anyone," her mother said, 
finally finding her tongue.  Disappointment was etched on 
Margaret Scully's face.  

"I'm not seeing anyone, Mom.  I...I know Dad would be so
ashamed of me.  It was an accident."  Who was she kidding? 
It had been a train wreck, a cataclysm.  Scully's eyes filled 
with tears. 

"And the father?  Was he an accident too? Where does he fit
in?"

"He won't be involved, Mom."

"Is he married, Dana?" Her mother's mouth was a hard little
line of reproach.  There were rules--things a good person did
and didn't do, and in Margaret Scully's eyes, an affair with 
a married man would be among the worst transgressions.  

"No, nothing like that.  All that matters is he won't be 
participating."

"What kind of man would leave you to handle this alone, Dana?
Do you have any idea how difficult this is going to be?  It was
hard--you have no idea how hard--when you all were babies and 
your father was away.  It's lonely, and you're more tired than 
you ever in your life dreamed of.  Oh, Dana..."

"He's not a monster, Mom.  He's a good person, but he just 
can't be part of this.   I...uh...I'm in this alone."

Her mother didn't speak for awkward seconds, no sound in the
room but their breathing and the tick of the clock.  Slowly,
Margaret Scully reached over and took her daughter's hand.

"You're not alone."

<><><><>

Two days later, she and Mulder went to Dearborn, Michigan
to investigate a case of automatic writing that had turned
up clues in a stalled murder investigation.  Life, after all,
didn't stand still because she was having a crisis.

Mulder had done as she'd asked, keeping his concern to 
himself, and in the process, keeping his distance.  He spoke 
to her only when necessary and kept his comments work related.  
He made no move to carry her luggage and didn't turn around in 
the airport to see if she was following him.  Head held high, 
she refused to ask for help, even when her head pounded and 
her legs felt like lead.
 
It was a pitched battle between the two of them--Mulder's 
studied unconcern, Scully's stubborn pride.  Her independence 
proved almost impossible for her to maintain.  Trips to the 
ladies room became longer and longer as she vomited up every 
morsel she consumed.  

In the campaign to return to business as usual, Mulder seemed to 
find an ally in the lovely detective who had called them in on the 
case.  Pam Clayton was tall and slim and completely professional.  
Scully would have hated her if she could muster up the energy.

The agents spent nearly a week in Dearborn evaluating the actual 
paranormal aspects of the case and assisting with the 
investigation into the clues brought forth.  And perky little 
Meg-Ryanesque Pam Clayton was with them every minute, smiling up at 
Mulder, asking him questions and generally occupying his attention.

The first day, they witnessed an automatic writing session. 
Mulder and Detective Clayton watched with barely concealed
excitement as Marcella Krause, a seventy-year-old legally blind 
retired school teacher, scratched out phrases she couldn't see, 
even with her coke-bottle glasses.  Scully hung back, standing  
near an open window, both to show her skepticism and because the 
stale old-lady smell of the room was making her sick.  

"What do you think, Scully?" Mulder asked, as he walked to the
window.  "I mean, if you were able to form an opinion from over
here."

"I saw all I needed to from here.  Do I think Mrs. Krause 
has tapped into some source of information about the Hartfield 
murder?  No.  I'm not sure how she is doing what she's doing,
but I think we'll find a more conventional reason than 
'transmissions from the great beyond'."

"Well, I'd love to here your theory," Mulder said.  Detective
Clayton moved over to them, resting her hand gently on Mulder's
arm.

"I've looked over the phrases Mrs. Krause wrote, and some of 
them are very promising.  I'd like you to take a look, Agent 
Mulder."

Of course, Mulder had to give Pam his undivided attention.  
To be fair, Detective Clayton had  been warm and friendly to 
Scully, seeking her expertise on the forensic details.  
  
Scully lived on ginger ale and saltine crackers.  One night, 
she treated herself to a 7-Up for a change of pace.  It really 
didn't matter, since she couldn't keep any of it down.  By 
the third day, she began to worry a bit, knowing she would need 
to call Paula as soon as they got back to DC.

Much to Mulder's pleasure, the clues developed into some
excellent leads.  Scully reminded herself it didn't matter
how the information had come about as long as it helped solve 
the crime and led to a conviction.  But it still rankled her 
to see Pam beaming at Mulder.

Detective Clayton invited them both to dinner on the night
before they returned to Washington.  Meals had been a trial
all week, with Scully attempting to avoid Mulder's scrutiny.  
She'd managed to be away from the others at mealtime as often
as she could.    

The prospect of being a third wheel as Mulder charmed the lovely 
Pam was just too much for Scully and she begged off, saying she 
wanted to order room service and have an early night.

She managed six saltine crackers and a half cup of chicken
bouillon but lost all of it within the hour.  She worried that
for every drop of fluid she took in, she lost more with every 
session of vomiting.

She tried to sleep, but her body was restless.  The sheets 
felt rough as her arms and legs thrashed about.  Scully dozed, 
her mind fuzzy and unfocused.  She tried not to listen for
sounds from Mulder's room.  

It was late when she finally heard footsteps in the hall. The 
door to Mulder's room opened and closed.  Voices drifted 
through the wall--Mulder's drone and the higher lilt of a 
woman's voice.  She recognized that light tone as belonging
to Detective Clayton's.   Scully grimaced in the dark. 

The voices murmured in conversation for what seemed like
hours, and Scully found herself straining to see if she could 
detect a shift from the drone of speech toward giggles and 
moans.   

"Oh God," she muttered as she realized what she was doing.  
She didn't need this.  Life was wretched enough without being 
the unwilling witness to Mulder's overactive sex life, she pulled 
a pillow atop her head to block out the sound and tried to sleep.

Exhaustion overtook her eventually, and she fell into a deep
dreamless sleep.  She woke feeling bruised in the morning. Regarding 
her image in the bathroom mirror, she noted her alarming pallor. Her 
eyes seemed  lost in purple shadows.  She gave up trying to cover 
the damage with makeup.   

Her suit seemed to hang on her frame, the button on her skirt a 
little loose.  But she was beginning to detect a hard little bulge 
below the waistline and she knew that soon, her secret would be 
out.  Then the rumors would start, the whispers behind her back.

Her legs felt like rubber as she walked to Mulder's door.
He answered her knock, looking crisp and healthy.  He was in
his stocking feet, his shirt untucked.

"Come on in, Scully.  I'm just about ready," he said, 
buttoning his shirt cuffs.  "I ordered some toast and 
orange juice.  Why don't you help yourself."

In the short time she'd known him, she couldn't remember
Mulder ever ordering toast for breakfast.  She picked up a 
half slice of dry toast, taking a tiny bite. It gave her
something to do that didn't involve looking at the 
unmade bed.

Mulder sat down to tie his shoes, and she couldn't resist
any longer.  The bed was well rumpled, sheets tangled and
pillows thrown about.  Scully turned away and looked out
the window.

"All ready.  Let's go," he said.

She slept most of the flight home, grateful for the 
brief oblivion.  She would open her eyes from time
to time, and Mulder always seemed to be watching her.

It was nearly 2:00 PM when they landed at Dulles.  Mulder
surprised her by not relinquishing her bag when he 
pulled it from the luggage carousel.  She wanted to
protest, but knew she wouldn't have been able to manage
it.  She could hardly put one foot in front of the other
as it was.

They had almost reached the exit when the world tilted
and she stumbled against Mulder.  He dropped the suitcases
and caught her before she fell.  Her last thought as
she fainted dead away was that this was the first time
Mulder had held her since that one insane night.

Part 5 - Beeswax

 
She woke to the sound of a heart monitor and the unmistakable
smell of a hospital room.  Eyes still closed, she was aware 
of two sensations:  the vague pinching of an IV needle on the
back of one hand and the security of a strong grip holding 
her other hand.

She remembered bits and pieces of the last hours--Mulder's
voice, choked with emotion as he called for help in the
airport, the shriek of the ambulance siren, the sting of
blood work being drawn.

She opened her eyes to see Mulder's worried face.  His jaw
was covered with stubble, his eyes dark with fear.   He 
sat in a hospital-issue plastic chair, worrying that incredible
bottom lip with his teeth.

"The baby?" she croaked.

"The baby is fine," he reassured her, squeezing her hand.

"You're going to blow your cover, Mulder, if you hang around
like this," she croaked.  Her head felt like a soap bubble, 
floating through the air.  He smiled and brought her hand to
his lips. 

"I'll take my chances," he mumbled against her fingers. "How
do you feel?"

"A little woozy, I guess.  Pro'ly something in the IV."  She
couldn't get her tongue to work properly.  "I wanna see my
chart.  Find it, okay."

"Are you going to be able to read this?" he asked, lifting
her chart from the holder on the end of the bed.   

"Just give it to me, okay," she said, prickling with annoyance.

He handed her the chart and she held it in front of her face.
The words all bled together, indecipherable in her medicated
state.  Hoping to at least fake it, she made "hmmm" sounds,
flipping the pages briskly.  

Mulder seemed to be fighting a smile.  If she could get out
of bed, she'd smack him.  Taking the chart out of her hands,
he returned it to the end of the bed.

"Your doctor was in earlier.  She said you became severely
dehydrated. They're giving you fluids and something for the 
nausea--said it might make you drowsy.  You've been drifting 
in and out."   

Mulder's recap of her condition seemed to ignite something
inside him. He paced from bed to window to door, as if he 
needed to work off excess energy.  He turned to her and
she could see a flash of anger pass over his features.    

"Scully...I wish you'd told me how sick you were," he said,
his voice tight with control.

"I wish I had, too," she said, forcing her eyes to remain
open.  "But you were busy with Dective...De-tec-tive Clayton."

"Scully, we were working on the case.  That's all."

"Tha's not all, at all...that sounded so funny. God, I'm loopy.  
You shouldn't pay any attention to me...but then, tha's not much 
of a stretch for you, huh?  Anyway, I know she came back to your 
room last night--I could hear you.  It doesn't matter...none of 
my beeswax."  She had the vague feeling that she was saying too
much, but she couldn't seem to stop.  She giggled, the sound 
peculiar in her ear. "That's what my brother used to say -all- 
the time, 'Go 'way squirt--none of your beeswax'."

She giggled again, and remembering that she never giggled, 
tried to make a stern face.  Oh, dear, but she was flying high.  

"She came back to my room after dinner and we talked.  Nothing
more."  Irritation had made his voice loud.  Mulder took a deep 
breath and spoke again, this time in a softer voice.
"Why don't you take a nap?  You can hardly keep your eyes open."

"Don't tell me what to do," she said.  She tried to keep her 
eyes open, but unfortunately, the mere suggestion that she
take a nap proved too much to resist and she fell asleep before
she could ask Mulder why he was always so bossy.

 
Mulder was standing by her bed when she woke again.  This time, 
Dr. Paula Sherwood was with him, speaking in a low voice. 

"Ah ha, Sleeping Beauty awakes!  I was just telling Agent Mulder
about the time we dressed Dr. Spritzer's lecture hall skeleton 
in that Frederick's of Hollywood get up."

"Oh Lord, Paula," Scully groaned.  "I'll never live that down
now."

"Sorry about that." Paula grinned at her.  "Something tells
me you can hold your own."

"Oh, she's more than capable," Mulder said, dryly.  "When she 
isn't passing out on me."

"Yes, when she isn't passing out.  Dana, I've got a bone to 
pick with you.  You were supposed to watch out for dehydration,
remember?  Well, you shot right past morning sickness and ran
headlong into Hyperemesis Gravidarum."

"I know, I know.  We were out of town, and it just got away
from me.  I was going to call you as soon as I got back, 
really."

"How do you feel now?  Any nausea?"

"I feel pretty good, actually.  No nausea at all.   I was 
very groggy before, but I'm more awake now."

"I lowered the dosage on the Phenergan.   I'm going to 
continue the saline drip until your electrolytes stabilize
and you can hold down solid food.  Dana, this was awfully 
close."

"I know it was.  I'll be more careful--I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Dana.  I'm going to let
you get some rest.  I want to get home in time to kiss the 
kids goodnight before bedtime.  I'll stop by tomorrow."

"Good night, Paula."

"Good night, Dr. Sherwood," Mulder said, standing and
offering his hand.  Paula leveled a shrewd look at him
before as she shook his hand.  With a final wave, she left.

"I think she suspects something," he said, looking toward
the open doorway.

"Well, you're pretty transparent, Mulder.  With you 
hanging around looking so worried, she's going to
make assumptions.  I didn't say anything to her."

Mulder yawned and returned to his seat by her bed.  He
looked exhausted.  Waking up to find him with her had 
meant a lot to her, but it was better not to grow too
used to his presence.  

"Mulder, it must be late.  You should go home."

"You probably want to get to sleep," he said.  She thought
there was a hint of regret in his voice.

"I slept all day.  I'll be awake for a while."

"I'm pretty wired.  I'd like to stay a while longer,
if that's all right."

"Suit yourself," she said, shifting to a more comfortable
position on her side.  A vague memory of giggling nagged
at her brain.  "I...uh...I hope I didn't say anything
stupid when I was medicated."

"You were pretty...medicated," he said, smiling at her.  
"Scully, you said you heard Pam Clayton in my room last 
night.  I...uh...I just want you to know that all we did is 
talk.  She left about 11:00 and I watched TV for a while 
and went to sleep."

"Mulder, you don't have to explain." She closed her eyes in
embarrassment.  "I hope I didn't say anything....I mean, it 
really isn't my business what you do on your own time."

"I think maybe it is your business, Scully.  Or maybe it 
should be. Shit, I don't know what I'm saying.  It's not 
that I didn't notice Pam was beautiful, but it felt wrong.  
I...it just felt wrong.  I know you don't have any reason to 
believe me. I've hardly been celibate, but I've always made 
it a rule to keep distance between work and any 
'extracurricular activities'."

"I guess meaningless sex with me was your exception to
the rule," she stated, leveling a look at him.  There was 
a certain satisfaction to see the look of chagrin on Mulder's 
face.

"I...I shouldn't have said that to you the next morning, 
because it wasn't true.  That night was anything but 
meaningless to me."

"It meant so much, you couldn't wait to escape?"

"Do you want to know my first thought when I woke up that
morning?" he asked, taking her hand.  "After the initial
shock of waking up in bed with my partner, I thought...I 
thought I'd never seen anyone look so beautiful that
early in the morning.  I lay there watching you for the
longest time.  Your skin was all creamy white--and
your lips were parted just a tiny bit, so pink and 
perfect..."

He seemed to stop himself, afraid perhaps of having
said too much.   She felt tears slip down her face. Mulder 
brushed them away with his thumb, his hand drifting down to 
cup her cheek. 

"I wanted nothing more than to gather you up in my arms,
kiss you awake and make love to you all over again.  And 
then reality came crashing down."  His fingers withdrew
from her face, and he sat forward with his hands between 
his knees.  

"I realized how high the stakes were, how much was at risk.  
Scully, our partnership means everything to me.  It's been 
a long, long time since anyone had given a damn whether I 
lived or died."  He shot her a sidelong glance.  "Did you 
ever wonder why I never went out with the same woman twice?"

"I have my theories."

"One-night stands don't last long enough to get complicated.
The women want nothing more than a good time with no strings.  
And that's about all I'm capable of providing.  Scully, my last 
real long-term relationship died of neglect.  At the end of the 
day, I'd given every bit of energy over to the work.  I had 
nothing left for her.  Eventually, she wised up and left.  I 
wish I could be the man you deserve.  But I can't give you what 
I don't have."

His voice broke her heart, so full of sorrow and regret.  
She ought to be angry.  She should rail at him--shout that
she needed him, their baby needed him.  But she couldn't.  
Damn him for making her care.  "Go home, Mulder," she said 
gently.  "Get some rest."

He stood and brushed a soft kiss to her forehead.  "I'll see 
you tomorrow."

She switched out the light as he left.  It was a long time 
before she slept.

Part 6 - Armistice

With the blessed end of the first trimester, the nausea had abated. 
Scully gained seven pounds in three weeks, making her doctor very
happy.  The recuperative powers of the human body amazed Scully.
Relationships were a little harder to mend, but she and Mulder 
did their best and settled into a pattern.  They studiously 
ignored her pregnancy.

They continued to work well together, maintaining an enviable 
solve rate.  He made the leaps and she proved him right.  
They achieved an armistice in the painful war they'd fought.

Mulder had been subdued, almost as if he was grieving.  He no 
longer showed up rumpled in the mornings.  He was neatly dressed 
each day, but he looked as if he wasn't sleeping well.  His
face seemed thinner, the cheekbones and jaw in sharper relief.

The phone calls from assorted women had ceased, as far as she 
could tell. No breathlessly generic 'Is Fox there?' queries.  
It had been a long time since she'd overheard Mulder brushing 
last night's date off.    

There was a yearning quality to Mulder these days.  He always
seemed to be on the verge of asking her something.  She would
catch him reaching out to touch her, only to see him force
his hand back to his side.   His eyes always seemed to track 
her movements.

She tried not to read too much into Mulder's silent surveillance.  
After all, he'd always been a little territorial.  So perhaps 
now he carried her suitcase when they were traveling, 
or dropped her off at the door instead of letting her walk 
through the parking lot. Well, nice guys did that
kind of thing.  And Mulder had always been considerate.

And if he called her more often in the evenings, well, friends
talked on the phone.  She reminded herself that it really didn't 
mean anything.  It was confusing, though, this  kindness without 
commitment.

She made an appointment to speak with Skinner.  Mulder offered
to go with her, but she needed to do that alone.  No need to 
engage Skinner's suspicions any more than she had to.  Mulder 
would have fidgeted in his seat, giving off "it's me" rays.

She marched up to the fourth floor and announced herself to the 
AD's assistant.  Straightening her suit, she prayed the changes
to her body weren't too obvious yet.  The skirt's waistband 
was finally getting tight.  Soon, she'd have to start holding it
together with a safety pin.  Thank goodness the jacket to this
suit was long.

Skinner's admin answered her phone, speaking in a low voice.
"The assistant director will see you now," she announced.

"Agent Scully."  Skinner looked up from the stack of paper on
his desk.  His white shirt was perfectly pressed, the creases 
on the sleeves knife sharp.

"Thank you for seeing me, sir," she said, entering the office and
moving to a chair opposite her boss's desk.

"What is this about, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked, as he sat down
and gestured for her to do the same.  "Are you having a problem
with Agent Mulder?"

"No, sir.  This has nothing to do with Agent Mulder.  I do have 
something that I need to tell you, though.  I'm pregnant."

She rather enjoyed watching Skinner's face as she delivered her
news.  In the second before his expression returned to stern and
businesslike, she caught surprise and curiosity.  And he couldn't
legally ask her any of the questions that must be rattling 
around in his head.  His eyes strayed briefly to the chair Mulder 
usually occupied before returning to her face.  

Scully had never trusted this man completely.   He'd never given her 
any reason to doubt him in the short time he'd supervised the X-Files 
team, but there had always been something off kilter.  There always
seemed to be the stink of cigarettes in the office, and she knew the
AD didn't smoke.  She remembered the strange man who had hung 
back in the shadows of the office amidst a cloud of smoke, silently 
observing.  The same man had been present the first time she met with 
Chief Blevins, upon her assignment to the X-Files.  Though she'd 
never heard him speak, the man had always seemed ominous.

Skinner cleared his throat and leveled a careful look at her.
"Have you shared this news with Agent Mulder?"

Scully glanced over at the sofa against the wall.  The heavy glass 
ashtray on the end table contained several cigarette butts, a thin
twist of smoke still drifting up from one.

"Yes, sir.  Agent Mulder is aware of my condition."

"I see," Skinner said, gruffly. "You'll inform me if your doctor 
makes any changes in your work status."  

"Certainly, sir.  I'll let you get back to work," she said as
she left the office.
  
Standing in the hall, she pondered AD Skinner's inscrutable 
connection with the man responsible for the cigarette butts.  
Mulder had talked about obstacles put in the path of his work.  
Was this man the source of those obstacles?

She returned to the basement office to find Mulder standing at the
worktable she used as a desk.  He held the black and white 
ultrasound photo she'd brought back from her appointment the day
before.  There were tears in his eyes and an expression of such 
longing on his face.  She froze in the doorway, unable to look away.  

The ultrasound appointment had been an awkward situation.  Scully 
told Mulder she had to leave the office early, but with all 
pregnancy-related subjects out of bounds, she hadn't told him why.  

So, her mother had gone with her, watching with Scully as the 
image of the baby appeared on the monitor.  It had been a
bittersweet experience, seeing her child for the first time
and realizing how much she wanted to share it with the child's 
father.  

She'd left the picture in plain sight, not as a rebuke or 
tease, but as an opportunity.  Holding the photo with a trembling 
hand, he gasped as if someone had struck him, seeming to crumble 
internally.  Something broke apart in her at the sight of 
Mulder obviously in pain.  

She cleared her throat, and Mulder hurriedly replaced the 
picture on the desk.  "I'm sorry.  I...uh...the picture was
out, and I thought it might be evidence from the Bielman case."    

She smiled at his fib, crossing the room and picking up the 
picture.  "It's all right.  You can look at it," she said,
pointing.  "You can see the head here and the way the arm is
bent--see, she's sucking her thumb."

"She?" 

"That's what the technician thought.  I don't know if I'd be
painting the nursery pink on that evidence alone, but I am 
starting to think of the baby as 'she'."

He looked at her midsection, shaking his head. "Amazing."

"It is pretty amazing.  Seeing her appear on the monitor just
about blew me away.  I guess I hadn't really thought beyond 
the initial shock of being pregnant.  But there is a baby here," 
she said, resting her hand on the small mound of her belly.  
"A whole new little person."

She took his hand in hers, gently placing it where his child
lay within her.  He closed his eyes, gasping slightly before
he drew his hand away.

"I can't.  I...I wish it wasn't like this. Scully, it isn't
safe for me to be involved."

"Is this about your sister?"

Mulder sighed.  "At some point, everything comes back to 
Samantha."

"Are you afraid this baby will be abducted, too?  Or is it
that you'll get distracted?  That you'll stop looking for 
Samantha?  What exactly are you afraid of, Mulder?  I don't 
understand."

"There are things I can't tell you.  It's just too dangerous.
If I had any sense at all, I'd ask Skinner to reassign you."

She stared at him for a long time.  "Well, I certainly appreciate
having decisions taken out of my hands, Mulder," she said 
sarcastically.  "Reassignment.  Is that what you want?"

"No!  Not at all, but it isn't about what I want.  You'd be a lot 
safer if you weren't connected to me in any way.  Both of you."

<><><><>

They were called to consult on a case in Fredericksburg for the 
next few days.  Too close to justify overnight accommodations, they'd
made the hourlong drive each day.  The ghostly visions of Confederate 
soldiers had turned out to be film school students making a very low 
budget horror film.  She and Mulder drove back to DC after wrapping 
up the case.  

"It's almost 6:00," Mulder said.  "We should stop for dinner."

She smiled in the darkened car.  For a man who routinely forgot to 
eat when he was working, Mulder had been vigilant about mealtime on 
this case.  He obviously didn't want a repeat of the Dearborn 
debacle.  "Okay."

They stopped at a Crackerbarrel in Dumphries.  Mulder seemed 
to pick at his food, all the while watching her carefully as 
she ate her dinner.  She could swear he counted each forkful.  

The line for the register was long, so she wandered the gift 
shop while he waited to pay their bill.  She looked at the 
old-time dolls, china tea sets and hand-painted jumpers, 
shaking her head at the inflated prices.  

A display of baby paraphernalia caught her eye.  She knew she 
should stay away, but she found herself holding a sweet, pale
yellow sweater, tenderly embroidered with apples and pears.

"So tiny," Mulder said.  She hadn't heard him approach, and
now he stood at her elbow.

"Yeah," she agreed.  She moved to replace the sweater on the
display shelf, when Mulder took it out of her hand.  He moved
around another shopper, returning to the cashier line.

"You don't have to do that, Mulder," she said, catching up to
him.  

"I want to.  Please, let me do this one admittedly inadequate
little thing."

She nodded, tears in her eyes as he took out his wallet and
paid for his purchase.  How ridiculous, she thought; it was 
only a trinket from a gift shop chain.  But somehow it touched 
her.   Mulder smiled, his fingers brushing hers as he handed her 
the brown paper bag.     

They rode the rest of the way home in silence.  She held the 
brown bag over the rise in her belly, as if to say, "Here baby, 
your daddy bought you something.  He just may never be able to 
let you love him."

He guided the car to a stop in front of her apartment.  He'd 
insisted on picking her up each day for the drive to 
Fredericksburg. As she reached for the door handle, he touched 
her arm.

"I'll call you later," he said.  "I mean, if that's all right." 
Mulder's face was tender in the muted light from a streetlamp.  
She was seized by a wave of attraction, shocked at the power of 
it after all that had happened.

She loved this man.  What had begun as infatuation had deepened 
and transmuted into something she could no longer deny.  It
wasn't sensible; it would only bring her pain. Scully had repeated
the phrases over and over, a mantra of caution and sensibility. 
But in the end, all the words in the world couldn't change one
unmistakable fact: she loved him.  

Scully tried to keep her eyes on the misty street beyond the 
windshield, but her gaze strayed to the man next to her.  
Mulder's eyes were trained on his hands, locked tightly 
on the steering wheel as if he were afraid it might fly away.

As if resisting a powerful force, his gaze drifted around
the car before locking onto her face.  There was a hunger in
his expression, an ache so deep it took her breath away.  

The air between then seemed magnetized. Mulder leaned closer, his 
breath whispering against her face.  She remembered another night
when she'd turned her head to find Mulder this near.  They'd
been propelled that night by lust and intoxication.  Tonight,
there was something much stronger at work.

His lips were warm as they brushed against hers.  Had they
been this soft that night?   She tilted her head slightly and
deepened the kiss.   Her fingers rose to cradle his cheek before
slipping into the silky hair at the back of his head.  He
pulled her into his arms, tenderness becoming passion.  Surely,
he hadn't kissed her like this months ago.  No one had ever 
kissed her with this much emotion.  

He pulled away, gasping for air and visibly shaken.  

She shook her head, hoping to clear it.  Would things ever be 
easy between them?  "I'd better go," she murmured, reaching for 
the door handle.  

Mulder touched her lips with his thumb.  "I...uh...I'll call you 
later," he said, his voice trembling a bit.   

"Good night, Mulder."

She turned as she reached the door of her building, dazed by
what had happened.  She caught Mulder's eye as he watched her
from the car, his expression unreadable.  When was this fucking
rollercoaster going to stop?  Her heart couldn't take any more
sharp corners and sudden dips.

As she arrived at her apartment door, she realized she'd left the 
baby sweater in the car.  Well, she -had- been distracted.  She'd 
ask Mulder to bring it to work when he called her later.

She unlocked her apartment door, and pushed it open.  Her
last conscious thought as hands grabbed her and a strange
smelling cloth was pressed to her mouth, was of the little 
yellow sweater and the man who bought it.

<><><><>
 
Part 7 - Confinement

Her first sensation was needing to go to the bathroom.  Nothing
new there--she was four months pregnant and pretty much always
had to go to the bathroom.  Head throbbing, Scully opened her eyes 
to find herself lying on a hospital bed in a white-painted room.  

The room was nearly featureless--no decoration and no furniture 
beyond the bed and a small bed stand.  She could see a white tile
bathroom, the door of which had been removed.  "So much for 
privacy," she muttered, her mouth dry as cotton.

Her legs were wobbly as she slid off the bed.  She remembered
kissing Mulder, walking to her apartment and then nothing.  Scully's
hand flew to her mouth, suddenly recalling the sweet smelling cloth
that had covered her face and obliterated the world for a while.

Had the smell been chloroform?  Forcing her panic down, she tried 
to recall what chloroform smelled like.  Arms protectively wrapped 
around her belly, she prayed that whatever the hell they'd used on 
her, hadn't hurt the baby.   

A fragment of a song played in her head.  She couldn't remember 
where she'd heard it, but with a hand on her belly, she whispered 
the words,  "Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around."  
Dear God, she was losing her mind--humming show tunes, no less.

"Big talk, huh, baby.  Haven't been so successful in the protection
department, have I."  
 
Her clothes had been replaced by a blue and white patterned hospital 
gown. From the draft on her backside, she determined that she wasn't 
wearing anything underneath.  A stack of identically printed gowns 
sat on the end of the bed, and she slipped one on to act as a 
bathrobe, covering her bare back.

The floor was cold as she walked to the bathroom.  The whole room 
felt chilled, especially with her less than adequate clothing.  A 
wave of dizziness hit as she glanced up at the ceiling, spotting 
several closed-circuit cameras.  She shivered, realizing every move, 
every breath she took was being monitored.

Her desire for privacy was overcome by the pressure on her bladder, 
and she walked into the bathroom.  Physical needs met, she washed 
her hands, glancing around the room.  Lots and lots of white tile 
and not much else.  A commode, sink and open shower were all the 
room contained.  Everything was recessed and out of reach:  light 
fixtures, soap dispenser, even the toilet tank.  There was nothing 
she could use to defend herself or escape.

She tottered back to the main room, trying the handle on the door.  
Of course, it was locked, as she assumed it would be.  There was a 
small window in the door, and she had to stand on tiptoe to see 
through the wire-mess embedded in the glass.  A blank wall was the 
only view available.  She fought the urge to pound on the door in
hysterics.  She jiggled the door handle again, a little more 
desperately this time.

Scully examined the nightstand to find the drawer and cabinet 
section were locked tight.  She climbed onto the bed, wracking her 
mind for anything she could use to her advantage.  Trying to force 
her eyelids to stay open was becoming harder and harder as the 
residual effects of the drugs in her system took their toll.   
She fought to stay awake, but sleep overtook her.

She woke to the sound of the door being unlocked.  Scully climbed 
out of bed as two people entered the room.  Both were in hospital 
scrubs, their heads covered by paper operating room hats and their 
lower faces by sterile masks.  The taller of the two individuals 
was a woman, though her body was bulky.  The man was short but 
extremely muscular, biceps bulging against the short sleeves of 
his scrub top.

"Dr. Scully, I see you've awakened from your afternoon nap.  What
lovely timing.  We're going to take a little trip."  The woman's 
voice was melodious, lilting and quite ominous.

"Don't come near me!" Scully shouted, as the two approached.  "I'm 
a federal agent! Let me go!"   The woman's eyes and broad pink 
forehead were all Scully could see of her face.  The eyes were pale 
blue, the eyelashes so blond they appeared white, giving her a 
strange rabbit-like appearance.   The woman seemed to enjoy Scully's 
protestations, smiling through the mask.

Scully fought, using her FBI training, bloodying the man's nose to 
her great satisfaction.   She lashed out with her feet, getting in 
some effective kicks, but eventually found herself overpowered. The 
man caught Scully's arms, twisting them behind her back and forcing 
her face down onto the bed.

"NO! Stop this now!" Scully cried out, voice muffled by the blankets.
"I'm pregnant!  Don't hurt my baby--stop!"

"We're well aware of your condition, Dr. Scully.  I had hoped to 
avoid drugging you again, but you leave me little choice." Again, 
the cheerful, terrible voice.  Scully face was pushed into the 
mattress, muffling her screams.  She could feel cold air on her 
backside as her gown was flipped up. "But, you'll be relieved to 
know, this won't hurt your baby at all."

Scully felt the sting and burn of an injection in her hip.  She 
continued to flail under the strong man's hands, but gradually, 
her movements became sluggish.  She was powerless as they easily 
hoisted her onto the bed.

Laying in a drugged stupor, Scully felt herself lifted onto a 
gurney.  She tried to move, but her arms and legs wouldn't obey
her commands.  Even her voice would not work.  She was screaming 
in her head, but no sound escaped her lips.   

She couldn't keep her eyes open against the bright lights as they 
wheeled her out of her room.  Scully knew only the sensations of 
movement and rough handling as the gurney came to a halt.  Her last 
impression before succumbing to complete oblivion was having her 
bare feet placed in cold metal stirrups.

Scully came back to herself with the sensation of cramping.  Her
eyes flew open in alarm, fear sweeping away the tendrils of 
unconsciousness.  She lay curled on her side in the hospital bed,
arms protectively hugging her midsection even in sleep.  

Memories of being overpowered came back--the rabbit-eyed woman and
her muscular helper.  The woman's sing-song voice grated in Scully's
mind, the pleasant words belying the heartless message.  

Scully ran nervous hands over her rounded abdomen.  There seemed to
be a tacky residue on her skin.  Her fingers found a bandaid, high
on her belly.  There was another bandaid at the crook of her
arm, the adhesive pinching her sensitive skin.  She pulled that one 
off, examining the needle mark and bruising on her arm.  

What had happened to her?  She reached between her legs, closing her
eyes in disgust as she detected the slipperiness of lubricant.  
Someone had performed a pelvic exam, and most likely amniocentesis.
Scully felt chills, realizing that her pregnancy was at the very 
early limit for that test.  She bit her lip, imagining the large 
needle used in that test, picturing it piercing her innocent baby.  
God, if they'd hurt this child, she would hunt them down and kill 
them without a second thought.

There was a tray on the bed stand, containing a dish with a metal
cover, a container of milk and a small box of cereal.  She lifted
the cover to find eggs, toast and bacon.  Pushing the tray away,
she lay back on the bed.  Even the innocuous box of corn flakes 
was suspect in this nightmare place.

Mulder had tried to warn her.  She'd discounted his words; assuming
he was simply terrified of fatherhood.  She owed him an apology 
and sincerely hoped she'd get the opportunity to deliver it.   The 
thought that she might never see Mulder again nearly brought tears 
to her eyes, but she refused to let *them* see her cry.  If she 
started to cry, she might never stop.
 
She knew he must have been frantic when she didn't answer the phone
the night he'd dropped her off at her apartment.  He had always
taken his responsibility to her seriously--to watch her back, to
be there for her.  She prayed that he wouldn't do anything foolish
in his anxiety.    

Her family would be terribly worried.  She hated the idea of her 
mother, so recently widowed, trying to deal with the disappearance
of her youngest daughter.  

The sound of the lock turning brought her out of her thoughts. 
The door swung open and Dr. Rabbitface entered the room with 
a fresh tray in her hand.  She placed it atop the untouched tray
from breakfast.

"How are we feeling today?" she asked, her voice slightly 
muffled by the mask on her face.  Holding Scully's wrist,
she took her pulse.  "Any cramping?  Spotting?"

"Go to hell."  Scully pulled her wrist out of the woman's grasp.
 
"If you don't answer my questions, Dr. Scully, the orderlies 
will hold you down while I examine you." Rabbitface's tone was
reasonable and even as she reached into her pocket for a pair
of latex gloves.  

"Some cramping.  No spotting," Scully enunciated carefully.  
Happy now?"

"See how much easier it is when you cooperate?" The woman eyed
the stack of trays.  "You must eat, Dr. Scully," she said, her 
voice dripping with concern.  "It isn't healthy for the baby."

"I'm sure you were terribly concerned about my baby when you 
performed tests on her."

Rabbitface took the untouched breakfast tray.   "The health of 
your child is of paramount importance to me.  I expect you to 
eat your lunch.  You won't like the consequences if you don't 
do as I say."

The door closed after the woman with a chilling finality.  
Scully pulled the blankets around her a bit closer.  She tried
to remember the last meal she'd eaten.  How many days had it been
since dinner on the way back from Fredericksburg?  She ignored 
the hunger pangs, still unwilling to eat anything brought by
Rabbitface.

Why did they keep the room so cold?  Was it to keep her huddled 
in bed?  That tactic was apparently working as she shivered 
and looked around the brightly lit room.

The lights never dimmed here.  She wasn't sure how much time 
had passed with no cues except the meal trays.  For all she 
knew, it had been four in the morning when lunch was delivered.  
Scully dozed on and off, eyes closed against the light.

Scully was awake this time when the door was unlocked.  She 
slid out of bed, not wanting them to find her at a disadvantage.

Dr. Rabbitface entered followed by two orderlies, one of 
whom carried a fresh meal tray.  The woman eyed Scully 
with disappointment, as she examined the untouched luncheon 
tray.  "We can't have this, Dr. Scully.  I would rather not
resort to force feeding.  Hmm...perhaps a little aversion 
therapy is in order."  

The woman turned to the orderlies and nodded in Scully's 
direction.  "Hold her."

Scully fought, but was no match for the two orderlies. She
was quickly restrained her between them. Rabbitface smiled 
sweetly as she untied the strings of Scully's hospital gown, 
snatching it away.  Goosebumps rose on bare skin.

Scully struggled between the two smirking orderlies. Rabbitface 
stripped the sheets from the bed and gathered up the stack of 
hospital gowns. She went into the bathroom and returned with a 
small pile of towels.    

"Perhaps a little exposure will stimulate your appetite,
Dr. Scully.  You'll be happy to know that this won't harm 
your baby at all."  Glancing at the orderly, the woman smiled.
"I imagine surveillance won't be such a chore now."

In a voice laden with reason and sympathy, Rabbitface
continued,  "Now, you needn't worry that the food is drugged.
You've seen how easily we can subdue you.  There is simply no 
reason to add anything to your food.  Now, if you eat your dinner 
and all your meals tomorrow, we'll see about returning your gown.  
Good night, my dear."

They left, carrying every scrap of fabric out of the room.   
Shivering in the cold air, Scully eyed the dinner tray.  

"Fuck them," she muttered, curling up on the bare mattress.

They must have increased the air-conditioning.  The room felt
like a meat locker, and Scully shivered under the bright lights.
She wrapped her arms protectively around her belly, as if she
could protect her child from the evil that permeated the very
air of this place.  

Her mother would tell her to pray to God for protection, but
Scully wasn't sure if God was listening these days.  She'd 
seen so many monsters--all too human creatures, preying on 
those who couldn't fight back.  If God was out there, 
he'd apparently turned a blind eye.

When she had been young, faith was easy and the world had
seemed good and true.  The prayers of her childhood were 
comforting chants, whispered in the darkness of her bedroom.

Purely as meditation, Scully began to recite those prayers now. 
Her doubt in God's interest did not take away any of the comfort 
in repeating the words over and over.  She found the greatest 
succor from the "Hail Mary."  Perhaps she just identified with 
another pregnant woman who found herself in tough times.

Morning came in the form of a fresh breakfast tray delivered
by an orderly.  Scully had spent part of the night shivering
and weighing the danger of possibly drugged food against 
becoming weak from hunger.  She had little doubt that further 
refusal to eat would result in a nasogastric tube or worse.

Ever practical, Scully consumed most of her breakfast.  
She ignored the smug look in her nemesis' pale blue eyes when 
the breakfast tray was traded for a lunch tray.  

After Scully had eaten her dinner, Rabbitface appeared with
hospital gowns, sheets and a blanket.  Her voice throbbed
with satisfaction and triumph.  "It's so much nicer,
isn't it, when we do as we're told."  

Scully resisted the urge to spit at the woman.  Rabbitface
left carrying the empty dinner tray, and Scully reached
for a hospital gown.  

The days seemed to blend together with nothing to distinguish
each one.  Scully tried to keep track of the time by
counting the trays of food that had come into the room.
With the three trays that she hadn't eaten, she counted
two dozen meals.  

It was after the twenty-fourth meal tray that Scully began to
feel dizzy.  She lay in bed, wishing the room would stop
spinning as Rabbitface entered the room.  

"There was somethin' in the food, wasn' there?" Scully
slurred.  She struggled to sit up.  There were now two
rabbitface'd women, smirking at Scully.  One of them
pushed her back on the bed.

"Why Dr. Scully, I'm crushed that you can ask that," the
woman said with mock indignation.  Hands held her down
as she thrashed weakly on the bed.  "You just need a little
nap." 

<><><><>