Part 8 - Safe

"Cain' find 'em, no sir."  

Scully forced one eye open to see a wizened dark face inches
from her own.  

"Ah think somebody stole 'em," the old woman said with conviction.  
"Coulda been you.  D'you take my shoes?" 

"Huh?" Scully opened her other eye and looked around.  She was
in a hospital--there was no mistaking that, apparently lying on
a gurney pushed against a corridor wall.   

"Mrs. Kitchings, you need to come back to the exam room, honey." 
A nurse approached the old woman.  "Let the lady sleep, okay?" 

"I think she stole m' shoes."

"Mrs. Kitchings, your shoes are back in the exam room."  

The nurse glanced at Scully.   "This doesn't look like one of our 
blankets," she said, curiosity in her voice.  She checked Scully's 
wrists for a plastic identification band.  "Now, where did you 
come from?" 

"Don't touch me," Scully growled, pulling her hand back, panic
rising within her.  Would Rabbitface find her and put her back in 
the cold white room?   

"Dr. Nasir!" the nurse called out.  "This patient doesn't have
an ID bracelet."

A dark-skinned balding man walked over, shaking his head.  "How 
long has she been here?"

"It's been so busy tonight; we've had them stacked out in the 
hallway.  I didn't notice her until a minute ago," the nurse said.  
She turned to Scully.  "Do you know how you got here?" 

Dazed and frightened, Scully tried to climb off the gurney. She
had to get away--they might be coming to get her, to hurt her
baby.   "Don't come near me," she warned.

"Easy...easy," the doctor said, grabbing her arms.  "We only
want to help you."

The struggle to escape caused the room to spin.  Scully squeezed
her eyes shut trying to ease the dizziness.  "Please don't hurt 
my baby," she mumbled as she passed out.

<><><><>

"Dana! Oh my God, Dana, everyone's been so worried about you."
Paula Sherwood burst into the cubicle, embracing Scully as she
sat on the exam table.   Pulling back a little, Paula looked at
her patient.  "They called up to Obstetrics, asking if we'd lost a 
patient.  As soon as they described the woman, I knew it was you."

The second time she'd come back to consciousness, Scully had been 
coherent enough to identify herself.  She'd held herself together,
making sure the hospital staff bagged the gown and blanket she'd
been left in as evidence.

Dressed in a fresh gown and covered by a new blanket, she tried to
make sense of what had happened to her.  The dizziness was gone, 
but she was left with a dull headache and a knot of fear in her
belly.

"Where were you, Dana?  Are you all right?"

"I don't know...I was kept in a room.  I don't know where." Scully
looked down at her hand, resting on the small bulge in her abdomen.

"Your mother's been frantic," Paula said.  "And your partner...Dana,
I was getting worried about him.  Have you called them?"

"I tried.  One of the nurses brought me a phone.  I talked to my 
mother--I thought she was going to pass out on me.  I wasn't able 
to get hold of Mulder though--I left messages, but he wasn't answering
his phone or his cell.  God, I hope he's all right."

"I think the question is, 'are you all right'?"  Did they hurt you?" 
Concern played across Paula's face.

"Paula," she whispered, her voice shaking.  "I'm not sure what they 
did to me."

"Oh Dana." Paula slipped an arm around Scully's shoulder.  "We'll
find out, okay?"

"Okay," Scully whispered.  Her stomach roiled in fear and uncertainty 
as Paula collected the items she'd need for an exam.  

"Dana...I have to ask you something.  Do you think you were raped?"

"No.  Not sexually."  Scully closed her eyes, willing herself to 
continue.   "They drugged me several times, and I know they 
performed tests.  But, I don't know what they did when I was 
unconscious.  I think they did an amnio.  Oh God, Paula...what if 
they hurt my baby?"

"We're going to find out, I promise.  "Right now, I'd like to draw
blood for some testing.  Are you comfortable with that?"  Paula 
asked.  
Nodding, Scully looked away as Paula worked. It comforted Scully, 
knowing that Paula was saving her patient from one more pair of hands 
touching her.  "All done.  Dana, we're going to get through this.  
I'm going to have you lie down now."

Scully's body wouldn't obey her, her arms and legs felt paralyzed 
with 
fear.  Paula rubbed her shoulders, speaking softly. "I know this is 
hard, Dana.  But it's the only way we can find out what happened."   

Scully nodded, the lump in her throat making speech impossible, and
allowed Paula to help her get into position.  The doctor was gentle 
as always, talking through the entire exam.  Every action was made 
with a quiet notification beforehand.  

"Dana, I think we should treat this as an assault," Paula said, as 
she reached for a rape evidence kit.  

Scully squeezed her eyes shut, nodding.  She tried to control her 
breathing, reminding herself that this necessary and careful exam 
bore no resemblance to the invasion her body had undergone when she 
was unconscious.   But that didn't stop the tears from slipping down.

"All done.  Dana, everything looks fine.  I'm just going to listen
to the heartbeat."  

Paula stripped off her gloves and straightened the hospital gown
over Scully.  She fitted the earpieces in place, and positioned 
the stethoscope over Scully's abdomen.  Her face broke into a 
smile.

"Sounds great.  Nice, strong heartbeat."

"Thank God."  Scully exhaled shakily, covering her face with her 
hands. 

"Listen for yourself." Paula smiled, fitting the earpieces onto 
Scully and moving the stethoscope into place.  Scully gasped with 
joy at the sound of the baby's fast, strong heartbeat.

Paula extended a hand, helping Scully sit up.  Both women turned 
at the sound of shouts and scuffling beyond the door.  

"I need to see Dana Scully!"  Scully's breath caught at the sound 
of Mulder's voice.

"Sir, you have to calm down!  The doctor is in with her now. 
Sir! You can't go in there."

"Scully! Scully!"  The pounding on the door echoed like gunfire.

"For Pete's sake, hold on a minute," Paula muttered, opening the
exam room door.  Mulder burst through, saw Scully and seemed to
sway on his feet.    

He crossed the room in three long strides, enfolding Scully in an
embrace that threatened to fracture her ribs. Burying his
face in the crook of her neck, his body shuddered against her.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he murmured into her hair. 
Her hands moved over his back, feeling the too sharp bones of his
shoulder blades through the limp fabric of his shirt.  

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I think so." She blinked back tears.  For the first time since 
she walked into her apartment, who knew how many days ago, she 
felt safe.  Now, if she could only figure out how to go to work 
every day wrapped around Mulder, she might just make it.

"I'm sorry.  So, so sorry," he whispered against her.

"It's okay.  I'm okay."  She turned her face into the crook of
Mulder's neck, inhaling the scent of pain and sweat.

*cough* "I'm just going to run these blood samples out to the 
desk."   

They continued to cling together long after Paula quietly 
closed the door behind her.  When they separated, finally,
Scully took a good look at Mulder.     

What she saw shocked her, and she understood why Paula had been
so concerned about him.  His face was all angles, his jaw a sharp,
painful edge.  His hair had become overgrown, casting shadows 
where it hung over his eyes.  It was the pain and desperation in 
those eyes that took her breath away.

"When was the last time you slept, Mulder?"

He offered a wry smile and shrugged his shoulders.  "Doesn't 
matter.  Nothing matters now that you're safe."  Hunger radiated 
from his eyes, and he seemed unable to look away.  His hands never 
left her, touching her arms, her face, her hair.  Even a discreet 
knock on the door failed to distract Mulder.

"Dana?  Dana, are you in there?"  

"Come in, Mom," she called out, recognizing her mother's worried 
voice.

"Oh thank God."  Her mother flew across the room, arms outstretched.
Mulder reluctantly stepped back, allowing Margaret Scully to embrace
her daughter.  "Oh, honey, I've been so worried."

"I know, Mom.  I'm so sorry."  

"Hello, Mrs. Scully," Mulder said, shuffling his feet and looking
at the floor.

"Agent Mulder." Her mother's tone was wary as she nodded to him.  
He seemed to fade into the background, perhaps unsure of his place
now that her mother had arrived.  But his eyes never left Scully.

"You're shivering, sweetheart," her mother said, her arm protectively
around Scully's shoulder.  "I brought some clothes as you asked.  
The waistband on the pants is elastic--I think they'll fit."  Maggie
pulled a turquoise jog suit out of a bag, her fingers busily 
smoothing the fabric.

"Thanks, Mom," Scully said as she reached for the suit.  "I
can't wait to put on some real clothes."

"Do you need help, dear?" 

"I'll be fine, Mom.  I just want to get out of here."

"Well, I see good news travels fast," Paula said, returning to
the room.  "It's wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Scully."

"I'm just so happy that Dana is all right," her mother said.  
"She is all right isn't she?"

"I'm fine, Mom," Scully said, hoping to regain some control of 
the situation.  "And as soon as I get dressed, I'm going home."

"Is that wise?" Margaret Scully asked Paula.  "I mean, Dana was
unconscious just a few hours ago."  

"Dana, we probably should keep you for observation," Paula said,
turning to her patient.  Scully was grateful someone was talking 
to her.

"Paula, I want to go home." She glanced around the examining 
room with a shudder.   "I...I don't think I could bear a
night in the hospital."

Paula met her patient's eyes with understanding.  "I'd prefer
you to be here, but I agree--you can't rest if you don't feel
safe.  I do think someone should be with you, though."

"Of course she shouldn't be alone..." Mrs. Scully began.

"She won't be alone."  The three women turned, surprised at the 
intensity of the quiet, deep voice.   "I'm taking you home, 
Scully."      

<><><><>

Part 9 - Mr. Accidental

A fragment of bright yellow crime scene tape still clung to her 
front door.  The plastic was slippery against her fingers as she 
pulled it off.  "Lovely," she muttered, shivering a little despite 
Mulder's jacket worn over the jogging suit.  Mulder stood beside 
her, his hand warm against her back.

"Your bag is still in evidence," he said.  "It was found inside the 
open door of the apartment. You must have dropped it when you were 
grabbed.  Your mother gave me her key at the hospital."

"Why didn't you tell her you already had a key?" she asked.  It had
been months since they had exchanged keys during Mulder's 
recuperation from the wound he'd received in North Carolina.

"Didn't have the guts," he replied, hiding a smile.  "Let's just
say, your mother intimidates me a little."

She was a little surprised at her mother handing Mulder a key to 
anything, much less her daughter's apartment.  Margaret Scully 
had been less than enthusiastic at the idea of Mulder staying 
with her.

"Dana, I want you to come back to my house," she'd said at the
hospital.  

Scully had been adamant; she needed to sleep in her own bed.  If she 
didn't go home that night, she might never be able to face returning 
to the place where she'd been kidnapped.  

The larger hurdle was in persuading her mother that Mulder should
accompany her home.  It had been Mulder who pointed out that as an
armed federal agent, he was better equipped to protect Scully.  
Reluctantly, Margaret agreed to wait until the next day to stop
by with groceries.  Scully was sure her mother would be up all
night, shopping and cooking.

Mulder unlocked the apartment door, pushing it open.  Scully 
swallowed past the lump in her throat, walking into the living
room on legs that felt like rubber.  

"There may be a little fingerprint dust here and there," he said,
walking ahead to turn on a lamp.  "I called Skinner while you were 
getting dressed.  He agreed to hold off on any questions until 
tomorrow."

She slipped out of Mulder's jacket while he busied himself with the
lights.  Surreptitiously, she brought the fabric to her face and
inhaled, breathing in the warm, clean scent of Mulder's aftershave.  
She had come so close to never seeing him again.  Shuddering, she 
remembering how frightened she'd been, how alone.  She dropped the
jacket over the back of the couch.

The room tilted slightly.  As she reached out to steady herself with
a hand on the sofa, Mulder rushed to her side.  "Hey, we need to get 
you to bed."  

If she'd had an ounce of energy, she would have bristled at Mulder's 
"take charge" routine.  Instead, she allowed him to lead her through 
the living room and into her bedroom.  

"Can you hand me a nightgown?" she asked as she sat on the bed.  
"Top drawer of the dresser." 

Mulder looked exceedingly uncomfortable rummaging around in her 
lingerie drawer.  She might have smiled if she wasn't so drained.
The remains of the drugs in her system seemed to press down on her
like an ocean of water.  He finally drew out a blue plaid 
nightshirt, a Christmas gift from her mother several years ago. 
"This one okay?"

"Fine," she answered.  It was certainly appropriate, she thought,
for a high school sleepover.  Maybe she and Mulder could make
brownies and set each other's hair.  

"Can you manage?" he asked.  

He seemed relieved at her nod and left, closing the bedroom door 
behind him.  Slowly, she unzipped the jog suit top and slipped it 
off.  Her hand rested on the gentle bulge of the baby, and she 
wondered when she would start to feel the child move within her.  
Sometimes, it all felt a little unreal--the physical changes, the 
emotional upheaval--as if it were all happening to someone else.

She shrugged into the nightshirt, standing to shake it down
over her hips.  Scully toed off the sneakers her mother had 
brought with the jog suit.  Skimming the slacks down, she kicked 
the them off and dropped back on the bed.  God, she was tired.
The simple act of climbing into bed seemed an insurmountable
task.   

"You okay?" Mulder called through the door, probably having
hovered right outside.   

"Yeah.  Come on in," she answered.  He looked exhausted standing
in the doorway, with eyes slightly glazed over and shoulders 
slumped. How long had it been since he slept for more than an 
hour or two?

"I wondered if you needed any help."  Mulder approached the bed, 
straightening the pillows and drawing the comforter down so she 
could slip underneath.

"I...uh...I do have a favor to ask."  Sitting against the pillows,
she glanced down at the blanket.  "Would you stay with me until I 
fall asleep?"

He nodded, turning out the light.  "Sure," he answered, softly.  
She slid down, turning on her side.  Mulder sat on the end of the 
bed, his back curved in exhaustion.

"Why don't you lie down?" she asked.  He shook his head in token
resistance.  Looking into her eyes, he smiled ruefully before 
pulling off his shoes and stretching out beside her.  It was a 
toss up as to which of them was asleep first.

<><><><>

"Hold her down."

Her arms and legs were held down, gripped by hands like iron
vices as she struggled fiercely.  "Let go!  Leave me alone!"

"Settle down, my dear," Dr. Rabbitface said, her voice honey
sweet.  The woman's eyes glittered like blue ice chips.  "We 
need to do a few more tests."

Rabbitface held a large syringe above Scully's abdomen.  The
long needle glinted in the bright light, its sharp tip moving
closer and closer to the bare skin. 

"Get away from me," Scully shouted.  "Mulder!  Mulder, help
me!"

"I'm here.  I'm here, Scully.  It's okay.  You were dreaming."  

Mulder pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "You're 
safe now."

She realized her face was wet with tears, strands of hair 
plastered to her cheeks.  Mulder brushed the hair back, 
looking into her eyes.  "Can you tell me about the dream?"

She shook her head.  To talk about it would make it too real,
would bring it right into this room.  "Maybe later, okay?"

"Sure," he said, his voice rough with emotion.  "We'll do 
whatever you need.  Do you want some water?"

"No, thank you.  What time is it?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"About four," he said glancing at his watch.  "You need to try 
and sleep some more."

She nodded, sliding down in bed.  Mulder lay spooned behind her, 
his hand tenderly stroking her hair.  "I won't let anything 
happen to you."

His arm snaked around her waist, hand resting on her belly.  
With Mulder's breath stirring her hair, Scully drifted off.

Waking to sunlight streaming between the slats of her blinds,
the dream was almost forgotten in the safe warmth of her bed.
Mulder was gone, but his scent remained, comforting her as his
presence had in the middle of the night.

She stretched, cat-like, luxuriating in the softness of her own
nightgown and sheets.  Rolling onto her side, she peered at 
display on her alarm clock.  She hadn't slept until 10:30 in 
years.  Life always seemed so much easier to face in the morning.

Using the bathroom, she turned the lock with satisfaction, not
because she needed to, but because she could.  Her stomach
growled, and for the first time in days, she she wanted to eat.
These were such small things, but miraculous to her now.  

She heard the murmur of voices drifting from the kitchen as 
she opened the bedroom door.  Wrapped up in her bathrobe, 
she allows hunger and curiosity to draw her to the kitchen.

"Well, Dana was never one to fuss," her mother said.  "She 
fractured her wrist when she was six, rough-housing with her 
brothers. Not once did she complain; we didn't know it was 
broken for two days until I noticed she was favoring it."

"That sounds like Dana.  I didn't know she hadn't told you
about the dehydration."

An uncomfortable silence had settled over the kitchen.  
As she reached the door, Scully saw Mulder standing by
the counter, studying his fingernails with more intensity
than they warranted.  Her mother sat at the kitchen table,
her hands cradling a mug of tea.

"Good morning.  I can't believe how long I slept." Scully
walked into the kitchen.  "Or that I made such interesting 
breakfast conversation," she muttered under her breath.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Are you hungry?  I brought
some groceries."

"Starved.  I'll just get some cereal."

"Nonsense.  Sit down.  Let me get you some juice,"
her mother said, rising from her chair.  "I can whip
up some eggs in a jiffy."

Scully sat, watching Mulder move out of her mother's
way as Margaret bustled between fridge and table and
stove.  His shirt was creased from being slept in, his
jaw covered with stubble. 

A frying pan sat on the range burner, recently used. A 
plate containing the remnants of breakfast and a used
juice glass lay in the kitchen sink.  

"Agent Mulder, would you like more eggs?" her mother asked.

"No thank you, Mrs. Scully." He turned to Scully.  
"Uh...I'm going to hit the shower, if that's all right."

"Sure," Scully said, bemused.  Her mother laid a heaping
plate of scrambled eggs and toast before her.  Scully 
watched Mulder's retreating back over the edge of her
juice glass.    

Could things get any more surreal, she wondered, than her
mother cooking Fox Mulder breakfast.  Only the concept of
Mulder showering in her apartment while mother eyed daughter
with a pensive gaze.

"I take it that's Mr. Accidental?" her mother asked.

Scully choked on a sip of juice.  "Mom..."

"Don't bother to deny it, Dana, because we both know it's
true."  Her mother returned to the table with a refilled tea
mug.  "Eat your eggs before they get cold."

"Mom, there were reasons I couldn't tell you."

"I know, I know.  There are far too many things you can't
tell me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was in the hospital last
month.  I knew you'd worry, and I really was fine."

"Dana, you don't end up in the hospital because you're fine.
I don't want you to keep things from me anymore.  I don't like
having to find things out from a complete stranger." Margaret 
glanced in the direction of the bathroom.  "I will admit, 
though, he was the only one who would give me a straight answer 
when you were missing."

"You must have been so worried."

"We were all worried.  I don't think Agent Mulder ate or slept 
the entire time you were gone.  He'd stop by with whatever news
there was on the investigation...one night I thought he was going 
to collapse on my doorstep.  Dana, I just don't understand."  
Her mother broke off and listened for the sound of the shower.  
"He obviously cares for you.  Why won't he acknowledge this child."

"It's hard to explain, Mom.  Mulder...Mulder was afraid that his
involvement in this pregnancy would bring unwanted attention from 
some men he has been investigating for work."

"And you think that's who kidnapped you?  Dana, what kind of men
is Mulder investigating?  Is it...organized crime?"

"In a manner of speaking.  They're certainly organized."

"Oh, honey...what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Mom.  I just don't know what's going to happen."

The cessation of running water signaled the end of the conversation.
The women listened to the distant sounds of Mulder moving around
the bathroom.

"Scully," he said as he returned to the kitchen.  "I just talked
to Skinner.  He's going to come by after lunch.  He said he wanted
to handle your debriefing himself."

"I'm flattered," Scully said dryly.  "Assistant Director Skinner is
our new boss," she told her mother.

"Uh, Scully.  I'm going to run to my apartment while your mom is 
here.  I need to pick up a few things."

"Mulder, you must have things you need to do.  I'll be all right,"
Scully said.

"Everything I need to do is here, Scully.  I...uh...I'm going to 
move in for a while."

"Funny, but I don't remember advertising for a roommate.  Tell me,
Mulder, how does this fit in with your non-involvement policy?"

"I was wrong about that.  I thought you'd be safer if I kept my
distance.  But that was a mistake--you were in danger anyway.
I won't get in your way," he assured her.   "We'll be roommates--
nothing else, I promise."

"That's not the point, Mulder.  I can take care of myself.  I don't
need a bodyguard or want you here out of some misplaced feeling of 
obligation."

"Scully, I've never doubted you could take care of yourself.  Hell,
you've saved my ass a few times."  Mulder seemed to realize they 
weren't alone in the room, turning to see Margaret Scully watching
them with curiosity.  "But right now, you need someone.  Scully,
I couldn't handle it if something happened to you. I...I need to be 
here, okay?" 

Something in his eyes kept her from arguing further.  "One week,"
she offered. 

"A month," he countered.

"Two weeks," she said.  "And that's final."  

<><><><>

Part 10 - Hunch


"We're all grateful for your safe return, Agent Scully."  

Assistant Director Skinner's large frame dwarfed the easy chair as he
fidgeted with his pad and pencil.  She regarded him from the sofa, 
still a bit surprised that he was conducting the interview himself.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, clutching a mug of hot tea between her
chilled hands.   "I'm glad to be back."

Mulder sprawled at the other end of the sofa, his eyes never leaving 
her.  He'd arrived earlier that afternoon with a duffle bag, two 
suitcases and a large carton of papers--far more than two weeks worth 
of belongings.  She'd half expected to see his fish tank strapped to 
his back.  Now, he was making himself quite comfortable.  Skinner 
eyed him with curiosity.

"The hospital gown and blanket are still being examined, and the 
analysis from your physical exam isn't back yet," Skinner said,
shifting position in his chair.  "Agent Scully, what do you remember?"

"Agent Mulder and I returned from Fredericksburg on..."  She couldn't 
remember what night it had been, which upset her more than she
would admit.  

"Tuesday.  July 10th," Mulder prompted.  He watched her through hooded
eyes.  This was the first time he would hear her story; she'd been too
exhausted to talk on the drive home last night.   He'd seemed 
satisfied 
just to have her beside him, but this afternoon, she had his 
undivided 
attention.

"Yes.  We returned the evening of the 10th.  Mulder dropped me off
around 8:30.  I unlocked my apartment door and walked in.  Someone
grabbed me and placed a cloth over my nose and mouth--possibly 
chloroform or another sweet-smelling anesthetic inhalant; I was 
unconscious almost instantly."   Her mouth was unbearably dry.  
Taking 
a sip of her tea, she forced herself to go on.   She hoped her voice 
was
calm and matter-of-fact, and didn't reflect the turmoil in her mind.
"I woke in what appeared to be a sparsely furnished hospital room.  
I'm 
not sure of the actual location...I was locked in the room the entire 
time, except when I was examined." 

"Examined?  By whom?"  Skinner asked.  He seemed to have gone rather 
pale, sweat glistening on his bald head.  

"I never saw their faces--they wore surgical masks.  There were three
individuals, one woman and two men.  The woman was large and 
powerfully
built, very blonde, almost white hair under a surgical cap, and pale
blue eyes.  The two men were both muscular and dark-haired with dark
eyes.  They overpowered and drugged me."  

She stopped and took a long drink of tea.  Her hands had begun to 
tremble, creating a tiny tidal wave in her mug.  Mulder was no 
longer lounging on the sofa.  He sat forward, hands clasped between
his knees, tension evident in his every fiber.  

"Have you and your doctor been able to determine...what was done to 
you, Agent Scully," Skinner asked, his eyes trained on his pad.  
Mulder had sprung off the couch, pacing the edges of the room.

"As I said, I was sedated throughout the exam.  But I believe 
blood was drawn and a pelvic examination was performed."  Just 
within her line of sight, Mulder froze, his body vibrating like a
tuning fork.  "And an amniocentesis was probably done, though it was
dangerously early for that test to be administered."
  
"Did it hurt the baby?" Mulder asked, his voice choked with emotion.
He returned to the couch, perching on the edge of the seat.

"I don't think so.  My doctor thinks the baby wasn't harmed.   She's 
scheduled me for a full exam and a sonogram, just to be on the safe
side."

"And after the testing, was there any other interaction with your
captors?"  Skinner asked.

"They brought meals, clean linen.  I saw the woman most often.  She
appeared to have a medical background.  She took my temperature and 
blood pressure--superficial testing only.  But there was always this 
element of control."

"Did they hurt you, Scully?" Mulder asked, his words sharp and 
tight.

"No.  Their purpose seemed to be making sure I knew I was vulnerable,
that they could subdue me whenever they chose.  They made it clear
that they didn't want to hurt the baby, so their approach was more
psychological than physical."

"Agent Scully, it's clear the focus of this abduction was your
pregnancy."  Skinner cleared his throat.  "Who knew about the baby?"

"Mulder, my mother, my doctor, and....you, sir."

"And the baby's father?" Skinner asked.

"The father is aware," Scully answered, her voice cool and 
controlled.  
She willed herself not to glance at Mulder.   Skinner's eyes drifted 
from her to Mulder and then back, but he didn't pursue the question.  

"And you told no one else, Agent Scully?  Agent Mulder?"  Mulder 
shook his head.  "What about your mother, Agent Scully?  Did she
tell anyone?"

"I doubt it.  She isn't likely to broadcast the news that her 
daughter is going to be an unwed mother."   

"And the father," Skinner said.  "Would he have told anyone?"

"The father has made it clear he won't be involved.  I doubt he 
would be discussing it with anyone."  She fought back a bitter 
chuckle before leveling her gaze at Skinner.  "Sir, did you tell 
anyone about my pregnancy?"

She couldn't categorize the look that briefly passed over Skinner's
face: guilt, anger, or maybe just surprise that she'd confront him
on this.  It passed almost immediately as Skinner composed himself.

"I haven't...spoken to anyone about your condition," he said, rising
from his chair.  "Agent Scully, you must be exhausted.  I'll
call if I have any further questions."

<><><><>

"You missed a spot," Mulder said, pointing to a smudge of tomato
sauce on the back of a dish.

"Thanks."  She dunked the dinner plate back into the soapy water.  
This was truly bizarre--washing up after dinner like an old married
couple.  If she didn't dwell on the details of an unwilling father,
unwed pregnancy and unpleasant abduction, she and Mulder could be
almost normal.

They'd enjoyed a dinner consisting of her mother's lasagna and garlic 
bread.  Mulder had put away two servings leading Scully to wonder if 
she could afford the grocery bills he'd generate.  But remembering 
how thin he'd felt when he embraced her, she found herself offering 
him a third helping. 

Margaret Scully had surprised her daughter by accepting Mulder's 
houseguest status without argument.  Scully wasn't sure what 
precipitated that agreement.  Perhaps her mother thought a reluctant
father was better than no father at all.  Unfortunately, Mulder 
was concerned with her safety and nothing else.  He had no intention
of being more than a bodyguard.

"What did you mean back there...with Skinner?" Mulder asked as he 
took a wet dish out of her soapy hand.

"I answered his questions.  What do you mean, 'what did I mean back 
there'?"  Scully rinsed the suds from a salad bowl.

"Skinner thinks the baby's father is a deadbeat, Scully."

"What does Skinner's opinion matter?  The less he knows about the
whole thing, the better."

"It sounds as if you suspect him of involvement in your abduction."

Mulder carefully placed the dish on the counter as Scully handed
him the clean bowl.  She looked down at the steaming dishwater. 

"It all seems so coincidental; I meet with Skinner, and in a 
matter of days, I wake up locked in a hospital room.

"That's quite a stretch, Scully.  Do you have anything beyond
coincidence to base this on?"  Mulder lounged against the counter,
waiting for her to finish the next dish.  She scraped fiercely at
a clump of congealed cheese on the surface of a plate.

"No, nothing concrete, but I had the strangest feeling when I left 
his office that day."

"So you're condemning him on a 'hunch'?" he asked, incredulous.

"Mulder, you make leaps every day, and I'm expected to jump along
with you.  Will you give me a little credit here?  There was a 
smoldering cigarette butt in his ashtray, and the place reeked
of smoke.  We both know who hangs around that office.  I don't 
think Skinner scratches his backside without that man knowing
about it."

The dishwater sloshed as she scrubbed the plate, splashing up on
the front of her shirt.   "Damn it," she muttered, wiping at her
belly with a dishtowel. 

"I think you're wrong about Skinner," he said with conviction.

"Oh, and what do you base that on?  A 'hunch'?"

"He was there for me when you were missing.  I was going off
the deep end there, Scully.  I mean, really losing it."  Mulder
seemed embarrassed by his admission.  "Skinner isn't that
good an actor.  He was genuinely worried about you.  And he kept
me from falling apart."

She rinsed the last dish and handed it to Mulder.  Emptying
the dishpan, she turned to face him.  She was moved by his
honesty, but couldn't deny her instincts.     

"Something isn't adding up about him.  I don't know what's
wrong, but he's connected somehow."  She dried her hands on 
a dishtowel and turned to him.  "I'm tired.  I think I'm going 
to take a bath.

Mulder was still leaning against the kitchen counter, lost
in his thoughts, when she left the room.  Entering the
bathroom, Scully closed the drain on the tub and turned the 
taps full throttle. She poured a capful of sandlewood bubblebath 
under the rushing water and checked the temperature of the water.  
Rising from the tub, she caught a glimpse of herself in the 
mirror.

They say pregnant women glow.  This pregnancy had been
anything but easy, but as she looked at her reflection, 
Scully had to admit there was a certain luminescence to her
skin.  Her eyes were brighter, her hair shinier.  How
incredibly ironic.

Scully went into the bedroom to undress, stripping off the 
slacks and long-sleeve top she wore.  Looking down at her
rounded belly, she realized that maternity clothes were 
definitely on the horizon.  She removed her underwear and 
wrapped herself in a white terrycloth robe.

The bathwater continued to rise, filling the air with woodsy 
scent.  Scully shrugged out of the robe, accidentally 
over-turning a metal towel rack when the sleeve got caught 
on it.  The rack toppled with a mighty clatter as it hit the 
tile floor.

She replaced the rack, straightening the towels, when she
heard pounding on the bathroom door.  Before she had a chance
to open her mouth, the door flew open, revealing a worried
Mulder.

"Are you all right?" he gasped.  His expression changed from 
worried to embarrassed in the space of a heartbeat as he 
realized she was naked.  "I'm sorry.  I called out, but you 
didn't answer.  I was afraid you'd fallen."

His gaze never left her, eyes glued to her changing body. 
Embarrassment changed to something else, as a look of
amazement overtook Mulder's face.  He seemed transfixed,
staggered by the changes in her body.

"I knocked over the rack.  I didn't hear you over the running 
water," she said.  Indeed, the noise almost drowned out the 
sound of her heart thudding in her chest.  The water needed 
to be shut off, but she couldn't make her body move.  She was 
barely able to breathe.  

His hands twitched as his side, almost as if he were fighting
not to reach out and touch her.  She glanced down, noting the
roundness of her enlarged breasts, the nipples hardening even
in the warm air of the bathroom.  She rested her hand on the
gentle curve of her belly.  "I think I'm getting clumsy."

"I think this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he
whispered and shook his head, as if to clear it.   "I should
let you take your bath."

His embarrassment seemed to return as he slipped out of the
room.  She watched the door close behind him, trying to 
figure out what had just happened.  As she slipped into the
still warm water, she smiled at the sound of Mulder gently
banging his head against the wall.

<><><><>  
                
Part 11 - Off-balance

"You have a headache because you're experiencing caffeine 
withdrawal.  You can have real coffee, Mulder.  I won't be 
upset."

"As long as you have to drink this swill, I do too," Mulder said.  
He tossed two aspirin back and washed it down with a gulp of 
lukewarm decaf.  

Two weeks had come and gone, and Mulder showed no signs of packing
up.  She hadn't the heart to bring up the deadline, maybe because 
she enjoyed the company.  It was nice to see him across the
breakfast table, spooning up his sugar-frosted cocoa puffs.

Scully did her best to put the abduction behind her, but the 
impact of the experience came through in ways she couldn't control. 
She woke screaming many nights, rousing Mulder from his makeshift 
bed on her sofa.  He'd stumble into the bedroom, hair on end, and 
eyes at half-mast.  Though frustrated that she wouldn't share her 
fears with him, he never denied her the comfort of his embrace.

He also didn't call her on the odd little habits that had cropped 
up.  He'd eye her long-sleeves and layers of clothing in midsummer, 
but never broached the subject.  And if he wondered why she checked 
the doors several times a day, unlocking and locking them again, but 
he never questioned her on it.  

They certainly were a pair, she thought, as she took a bite of 
cantaloupe and watched Mulder grimace over his coffee.  His 
behavior confused her.  Though he despised it, he drank decaf 
coffee in solidarity with her.  But when Paula sent her for a 
repeat ultrasound a few days ago, he politely declined her 
invitation to come in and stayed in the waiting room.

Had he been afraid seeing the image of his daughter would bond
him to her?  Maybe Scully had hit on the truth weeks ago--Mulder 
thought he would become distracted by this child and abandon his 
search for Samantha.   

So Mulder kept up his careful resistance against anything
that might tie him emotionally to the baby, with odd moments of 
utter devotion.  Between Mulder and her increasing girth, she 
couldn't tell what kept her more off-balance.

"We're going to be late, Scully."  Mulder stood, stretching
his arms out, the crisp white of his shirt dazzling in the 
morning light.  He carried his mug and cereal bowl to the sink.

Having Mulder around was proving to be a huge distraction. 
Late at night, she would shuffle past his boxer-clad form on 
her way to the kitchen for a glass of milk. The sight of him, 
half-naked and stretched out on her sofa was almost more than 
she could handle.

Her bathroom smelled of his soap and aftershave.  Her hall 
closet carried the scent of his leather jacket; she found
herself occasionally running her hand over its suppleness.  
The smooth wool of his suits, the fresh cotton of his 
shirts--she was in Mulder sensory overload.

She should have sent him packing--should have thanked him
for his support and protection and waved goodbye.  It hadn't
been easy, but she'd come to grips with her feelings for him 
weeks before.  Loving someone who felt only fondness and 
responsibility for her was the hardest thing she'd ever done. 

And yet, there were times when she caught Mulder watching her
with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks.  He never
commented when she lounged around in her soft cotton pajamas
or left the shower with damp hair and dewy skin.  But she
wondered if perhaps she was having much the same effect on
Mulder as he was having on her.

"Let's go," she said, rising and smoothing the fabric of her
jacket down.  She'd finally broken down and bought a few 
maternity suits, but they were still baggy on her.  Her mother 
had found some loose-fitting cotton knit separates that looked 
professional, and they had become her daily uniform.

Her changing figure was definitely generating stares, as she
knew it would.  Arriving at work each morning with Mulder and 
leaving with him each evening was certainly providing fodder 
for the water cooler speculation society.

If Skinner had heard rumors about their living arrangements, he 
kept quiet about it.  In fact, her only contact with her boss 
since the interview in her apartment was one five-minute meeting 
where he informed her the blanket and hospital gown had 
yielded no usable forensic evidence.  The rape kit showed no 
evidence of semen or other foreign substances and the blood 
work had also proved inconclusive.  The sedatives had broken 
down completely in her bloodstream.

She hadn't been surprised; the people who took her wouldn't 
have left a trace. 
  
Work had become her refuge.  The familiar patterns of analyzing 
data, performing autopsies and arguing with Mulder felt safe.
Even the boring aspects of routine paperwork and expense reports
were a source of comfort.  She recognized the Mulder she found 
in the basement office.  The Mulder in her home confused her, 
but the partner at the office was someone she understood.

In their short but intense partnership, Mulder had been all she
could have asked for in terms of allowing her to carry her 
weight.  Knowing he trusted her to keep up with him had meant a 
great deal to her.  

Mulder had always been a bit protective, taking the responsibility 
of watching her back very seriously.  But lately, small changes
had crept into his attitude.  They spent far more time in the
office catching up on paperwork and less time out in the field.
And when they were in the field, Mulder seemed glued to her side.

A case in point was the investigation they'd been working on for
the last few days.   Arthur Davison's DNA was recovered from the
body of a rape/murder victim and his teeth marks were found on
her breasts and stomach.  What should have been an open and shut
case was complicated by the fact that Davison had been in jail 
at the time, unable to post bail on a sexual assault charge.

Davison had been convicted of two other rapes over the last
five years, and had been suspected in a number of others.  In
each case, he'd left bite marks on the victims.  Sandra 
McCaffey had differed from his other victims in only one way--
she was dead.

In past investigations, Mulder would suggest splitting up
so they could cover more ground.  This trip, she had a tall, 
handsome shadow.  She was never out of his line of sight whether
she was examining the murder victim or speaking with police
officers.  

This morning, they were interviewing Arthur Davison at the 
jail.  Mulder was convinced that Davison had some ability to
be in two places at the same time.  They were still debating
that explanation on the drive to the jail.

"Bilocation, Scully.  Surely a nice, Catholic girl like you 
knows about bilocation."

"I'm familiar with the term, Mulder.  Certain saints and holy
people could be seen in two places at once.  Surely, you're 
not comparing Arthur Davison with St. Anthony of Padua..."

"Arthur Davison was booked at 3:35 on July 25.  Sandra McCaffey
time of death couldn't have been earlier than 11:00 on that
night, yet his semen was present in her vagina and his teeth
marks in her tissue.  How do you explain it if you eliminate
the possibility of bilocation?"

"Mulder, there could be several completely mundane explanations."

"Well, you concurred with time of death, if I recall correctly."

"Time of death was consistent with the evidence."

"And she couldn't have survived for any time after the skull 
fracture?"

"No.  The damage was such that she would have died instantly,
but we have no proof that Davison killed her, only that he raped 
her.  Someone else could have killed her later."

"The blows to McCaffey's head were so violent, pieces of skull 
were embedded in the brain tissue.  That kind of damage was 
inflicted in rage, the kind of rage a sexual assault would 
generate.  Scully, no one else killed Sandra McCaffey.  Arthur 
Davison raped and murdered her."

The argument was shelved as Mulder pulled into a parking space.
They proceeded to the front desk and checked their weapons.  
The agents were shown into the interview room where they waited 
for Davison to be brought down.

The suspect had waived having counsel present for this interview.
He'd apparently asked for a public defender for the first 
questioning after his arrest, but determined the lawyer was a 
"stiff," and that he, the suspect, was smarter than his counsel.  

Mulder and Scully sat on one side of the interview table.  They
didn't speak while they waited for the suspect.  Mulder flipped 
through the file notes, his foot beating a steady tattoo against
the table leg. 

Davison was brought in, shuffling his feet in ankle restraints.  
His swagger was evident, even with his hands in cuffs as he 
dropped into his chair.  His dark eyes burned with a low flame
of anger.

"Hey, a girl cop.  Must be my lucky day," Davison said, smirking.

"Interview with Arthur Davison.   August 11, 1994.  Agents present:
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder."  Scully spoke into the small tape
recorder and placed it on the table between them.

"Mr. Davison, did you know Sandra McCaffey?" Mulder asked.

"I know a lot of people," Davison answered.  "Some, I'd like to 
know a little better."  The suspect leered at Scully, rattling
his handcuffs as he gestured in her direction.

"When did you have sex with Sandra?"  Mulder sat forward, the 
authority in his voice intended to engage Davison's attention.  

"I don't even remember the bitch."

"Well, if she were still alive, I'm sure she would remember you.
Your teeth marks would remind her.   So tell me, how did you do 
it?"  

"How did I do what?   Oh, wait...I got it.  I stuck my dick
through the bars.  Yeah, that's it.  I fucked her right through 
the jailhouse bars."  Davison snorted with laughter.  "I 
was here by suppertime.  You got nothing on me." 

"Is it that you hate women so much that you're able to rape and
kill them without even being present?"  Mulder leaned forward,
his arms folded on the table.

"You're fucking nuts.  You know that?  You're crazy."

"We know you raped her, Arthur.  The evidence doesn't lie. And
when you were finished, you killed her." 

"I didn't kill nobody."  Davison turned to Scully.  "I'm just 
a sex machine," he sang "and I won't work for nobody but you."

"So you only rape them," Scully said, sharply.  "You only beat 
them and sink your teeth into them.  Does that make you feel 
powerful?"

"Listen, Bitch," Davison snarled.  "You don't know shit."    

"You raped her, didn't you, Davison.  You bit into her flesh and 
then you killed her."  Scully's voice was scornful. 

"I didn't kill nobody, Bitch.  You better shut the fuck up.  
Maybe we ought to put that pretty mouth of yours to some good 
use," he said, half rising out of his chair.

Mulder was on his feet in a flash, leaning across the table to 
shove Davison back into his chair.  The suspect raised his hands, 
defensively.  "Okay, okay...I get it.  She's your bitch."

Mulder's hands were flat on the table, his body a study in rage. 
Her partner looked as if he could beat Davison bloody without a 
second thought.  

"That's enough," she murmured softly beside Mulder.  He glared
at Davison a moment longer before taking his seat again.

"I got nothing more to say; I was in jail when that bitch was 
killed and you can't touch me on it," Davison said with a smirk.
"First time I was ever glad to be here."

<><><><>

"Do you want to explain what the hell you were doing in there?" 
Her heels click out an angry beat as she stalks across the 
parking lot to the car.

"What was I doing?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, what were you doing?  What the hell was all that male
posturing with Davison?   I was finally getting somewhere 
with him."

"The only thing you were close to getting was a possible assault 
by that guy."

"He was in restraints, Mulder.  I was in no danger and you 
know it.  I knew exactly what I was doing in provoking him.  Hell,
I've seen you do that a dozen times."

"That's different," Mulder said.  He reached the car first, his
long legs allowing him to overtake her.   

"Mulder, why haven't we been out of the office in weeks?" she
asked.

"You're upset because you have cabin fever?  Okay, so we've been in
the office a lot lately."  Mulder's hands were on his hips as he
looked down at his feet.  His voice was soft when he spoke again.
"You needed a break, Scully; a lot has happened to you." 

"Mulder, you have to let me do my job.  You can't wrap me up in 
cotton and lock me away just because I'm pregnant."  

"I also can't stand by and watch a lowlife like Davison 
threaten you."

"Mulder, would you have felt the need to interfere if I were a
guy?" Scully felt the hot flush of anger rise up from her 
collar.   "What about if I hadn't been pregnant?  Would you
have done that?"   

"But you are pregnant," he said, his voice ringing loudly. He
glanced around the parking lot as two police officers looked
at him.  Lowering his voice, he continued.  "You're pregnant
with my baby, so you'll have to forgive me if I feel a little
protective."

"I'm grateful, Mulder.  More grateful than I can say for all the
support you've given me since I was returned."

"It was important to me," he said, ducking his head.  

"It was important to me, too."  She reached out and took his hand.
"But I just wonder what it all means.  You say things like
'you're pregnant with my baby,' but I still don't know where
you really stand and it confuses me."

"I wish I could tell you what you want to know."

Tears stung her eyes as she realized how impossible it all was.
She'd been living in a dream, enjoying Mulder's company and 
support.  But too soon, the pull of the truth would draw him
away from her.  Scully had never been one to hide from reality.
The two of them had been playing house and it was time to get
used to taking care of herself.  She squeezed his hand.


"Mulder," she said, gently.  "I think you need to move back 
home."

<><><><>  


Part 12 - For What It's Worth

"Have you seen my blue shirt?" Mulder asked, cramming jeans and 
underwear in his duffle bag.  

"Maybe it's in the laundry," she offered.  Actually, it was 
tucked at the bottom of her sweater drawer.  God, she was 
pathetic--she'd probably fall asleep clutching it tonight.

"Let me know if it turns up."   

Did he suspect she'd stashed the shirt as a keepsake?  Highly 
unlikely, she thought; he had no idea she was in love with him.  
She was too adept at hiding her feelings and Mulder too wrapped 
up in his quest.

"Sure," she softly replied.

Mulder glanced up at her as he zipped the duffle bag.  His
face was a mask of hurt and confusion. He'd barely spoken to 
her after she suggested he leave.  They'd returned to the office, 
tense and awkward with each other.  Scully had busied herself 
with reviewing Sandra McCaffey's autopsy results.  

She knew that he didn't understand.  He felt obligated and 
guilty and was handling that the only way he knew how: by 
being over-protective.  But no matter how desperately she
might want it, it was never going to be more than that.

"I'd better get going," he said, placing a few files in
a cardboard box.

Why did this hurt so much?  They had agreed on two weeks
and the time long past being up.  It was supposed to be a
temporary thing.  She was sending a houseguest home, not 
getting a divorce.  So why did her heart feel torn within her 
chest?   Turning her head, she blinked back tears. 

"I almost forgot something," he said as he dug into the
side compartment of the duffle bag.  "I meant to give this 
to you when you first came back."

He drew out a small paper bag and handed it to her.  The 
pattern on the paper was familiar, and her hands began to
shake as she reached for it.  Swallowing hard, she opened
the bag and drew out the little yellow sweater.  

"I left this in your car..."  She brought the garment up to her 
cheek, feeling the soft fabric.  Memories of that night flooded 
back to her--Mulder's tenderness and the way his kisses had
tasted.  "So much has happened since that night."

"I could apologize a thousand times, and it wouldn't 
begin to express how sorry I am," he said, his voice soft.

"Sorry for what, Mulder?" she asked.  "If anyone should 
apologize, it's me.  You tried to warn me about the dangers.
I thought you were blowing it out of proportion, that you were 
looking for an excuse to distance yourself.  I vowed if 
I got the chance, I'd apologize for doubting you."

He shook his head, eyes downcast as if afraid to look at her.  
She watched his jaw clench and release.

"You were right," he said, finally raising his eyes.  "I was 
terrified of losing my focus.  Petrified.  So, I pushed you
away and tried to drown myself in meaningless sex.  Scully, if
I could go back and do it all again..."

"Mulder, we didn't plan this.  It happened and we just have to 
deal with the way things are.  And we both made mistakes.  I 
wasn't honest with you about how sick I was.  Don't you think
I wish I could go back and change that?" 

He scraped a fingernail along the duffle bag's zipper, eyes
down as if he was trying to gather his courage.  Finally, he 
raised his eyes and spoke.
  
"Scully, I know I don't any right to say this--after all, it's 
your house.   But...I don't want to leave."

She reached out to touch his arm.  "This," she gestured around the 
apartment, "this has been wonderful, but we both know there are 
things in your life that aren't going to let you stay.  I have to 
get used to being on my own, Mulder. 

"My work...my sister, they're still important to me, but almost 
losing you showed me what really mattered.  I'm not sure of a whole 
lot these days, Scully.  I don't know how to keep you safe, and I 
don't know if this baby would be better off without me. The only 
thing I know for sure is that I need to be with you."

"Mulder..."

"For what it's worth, Scully, I love you."   He looked at her 
with such naked emotion, she felt as if she could look into his 
soul and see the truth of his words.  

She couldn't force words around the lump in her throat.  Sliding 
her hand down his arm to take his hand, she found her voice. 

"It's worth a lot."

His arms circled her, pulling her to him.  Resting her head on 
his chest, she counted the beats of his heart.   His hands drew 
gentle circles on her back as she wrapped her arms around his 
waist. 

Mulder slid his hands up to cradle her cheeks and look into her 
eyes.  Desire was now mixed with the love she'd found there 
moments ago.   Her heart pounded in her breast as he leaned down 
to kiss her.

His lips were warm and soft, as he brushed light kisses over 
her face, finally claiming her mouth.  Her lips parting under 
his onslaught and she slid her hands over his torso and under
his shirt.  His skin was hot to the touch, the muscles firm.      

His tongue teased and explored her mouth.  Someone was humming, 
deep and throaty and she was surprised to find that it was 
her.  He chuckled against her mouth as the vibration tickled 
them both.

"I've dreamt of this," he murmured against her mouth between 
kisses.  "Of holding you, and touching you."

She wanted to wrap herself in him, to fill herself with him.  
His arms were solid around her.  He was her safe place. 

"I want you," he murmured between kisses.  "I don't know how
I managed to wait this long."

"Come on," she replied, taking his hand.  "Let's not wait any 
longer."

She led him to the bedroom, her body thrumming with tension.  
She wanted this, as much as anything she'd ever wanted in her
life.  Switching on the bedside light, she turned to look into 
his eyes again, wondering if doubt had begun to cloud them.

But she found only certainty and love.  He reached for the
buttons on her blouse, slowly unfastening each one.  She 
raised her hands to part the shirt and slip it off her 
shoulders.  

Mulder's fingers traced along the lace edge of her bra. 

"So soft," he whispered.  

She shivered, his touch like an electric current on her skin.  
Her hands slipped under his shirt, skimming over the firm 
muscles of his chest.  He drew the t-shirt over his head, 
carelessly tossing it aside.  His skin glowed golden in the 
lamplight.  She leaned forward to nuzzle the dusting of hair 
at the center of his chest, delighting in his clean scent.  

"I can't believe how nervous I am," he chuckled, his face 
in her hair.  "My hands are shaking."

Indeed, she could feel the trembling against her back as he 
released the clasp on her bra and freed her breasts heavy with 
pregnancy.  His hands cupped them, stroking her nipples with 
his thumbs.  She moaned, warmth spreading through her, 
settling low in her belly.

How different this was from their first time.  That had been 
hot and hungry, clouded by an alcohol haze.  This was slow and 
deliberate, each movement languished over.  Mulder kissed the 
little hollow at the base of her throat, his hands skimming
over her body, palms smooth against her rounded belly.

"Beautiful," he whispered, dropping down onto his knees.  "So 
beautiful.  I love the way your body is changing."

"I'm getting fat," she said, laughing. "Do you even remember 
what my body looked like?  You barely got a look at it before 
the baby."

"Every inch is burned into my memory--the sight of you dropping 
your red robe that night in Oregon, the way you looked the night
we made love. Everything."

Drawing her slacks and panties downward, he danced kisses along
the line of darkened skin that bisected her stomach.   

"I love this little line here." His breath tickled against her 
belly. 

"It's called linea negra," she gasped, trying to calm her racing
heart.  "A common skin condition in pregn..."

She lost all coherency as he pressed his nose and mouth into the 
nest of curls between her legs.   Her knees trembled as he 
lowered her onto the bed and dragged the clothes off her legs.  

Mulder spread her legs, kissing the tender skin at the inside of 
her thighs.  Her back arched as his lips grazed her clitoris.
She moaned as his tongue explored her folds, a small fish darting 
in and out of the shallows.

He seemed to have a knack for hitting the right spot.  Her hips 
bucked as he swirled his tongue around that perfect place.  His 
hands stroked her thighs, holding her open to him.  Little
breathy gasps slipped from her mouth, becoming louder with each 
flick from Mulder.

Scully had never been a noisy lover.  Oh, she'd enjoyed herself, 
quite a bit in fact, but she always maintained a certain reserve.  
So it came as quite a surprise that under Mulder's talented 
mouth, she was a screamer.  

She was still gasping as Mulder laid his head on her belly.  "I 
didn't get to do that last time," he said.  "I love listening to 
you, knowing you're making those sounds because of me.  I want 
to do that a million times."

"I could live with that," she quipped.  

One tug on his arm and he was beside her.  Scully rose up on one 
elbow, stroking her fingers along his golden skin.  His abdomen
quaked with silent laughter under her tickling touch.  He was no 
longer chuckling when her hand strayed under the waistband of his 
jeans to caress the heated skin of his stomach.

"You're overdressed," she said, leaning over to kiss him.  He 
tasted of her, and that made her unspeakably happy.

"I'll have to do something about that," he replied, unbuttoning 
his jeans.  She assisted him, drawing the zipper down and tugging 
his jeans and boxers down his legs.

He was magnificent.  She'd never had the opportunity to enjoy the 
sight of a fully aroused naked Mulder.  Their one coupling was 
too crazed for them to even remove their clothes.   And she'd been
much too nauseous and humiliated to appreciate the view when she 
had stumbled in on him and Cassie/Carrie/Callie.  

Mulder hardly seemed to breath, lying so still and beautiful.
She skimmed her hands over his body, the hair on his chest and 
arms tickling her palms.  Kisses followed hands, sprinkled on his 
skin wherever she pleased.  Collarbone, nipples ribcage, navel, 
ending with a long brush of lips down to his hot, hard cock.  

He gasped when her mouth closed over him, his hips rising off
the bed.  Sliding her lips down, she sucked gently, then a 
little harder.  Mulder groaned, his hands tangling in her hair.  

Scully took special delight in the moans she drew from Mulder with 
each lick drawn from base to the tip of his cock.  Swirling her 
tongue around the head seemed to elicit the most remarkable 
reaction.

"I'm so close," he mumbled, caressing her face.  "I want to make
love to you."

She raised her head, smiling at him.  Swinging a leg over Mulder's
body, she straddled him, her hot core resting against his cock.  
His hands reached for her tender breasts, tweaking her 
nipples into aching hardness.    

They both gasped when she wriggled into position and slid down 
onto him.  Mulder's hands drifted along her ribcage to rest on 
her hips as she began to rock forward and back.  

She remembered how good it felt to have him inside her, but the 
memory of that entire night was blurred with the frenzy of lust.
Now, she took a moment to absorb the sensation of fullness, the 
delicious friction and the look of pure joy on Mulder's face.

"Oh God, I've missed this," she gasped.

His eyes were open, fixed on her face and radiating love.   She
arched her back, loving how the position accentuated the roundness
of her belly.  

"Amazing.  Just amazing," he said, placing his hands over her 
abdomen.

Heat built in her, infusing her.  She reached forward to brace
herself against the mattress, her hands on either side of 
Mulder's shoulders, her body moving faster and faster.   His 
hips rocked under her as he, too, neared climax.   

She squealed, the sound strange in her ears, as a wave after 
wave of pleasure washed over her.  Mulder's grunts signaled 
his own release, his face contorted into an almost comical mask.

Poised over him, she allowed the physical sensations to work 
their way through her.  She cataloged the pulsing here and the 
winding down there until something she'd never felt before 
whispered through her abdomen.

"Oh my God," she gasped.  Her hands flew to her belly.

"What?  Are you all right?" Mulder asked, concerned.  

"Better than all right," she replied, grinning.  Scully moved 
his hand over her stomach to find the right place.  "Feel that?  
The baby is moving!"
 
<><><><> 

Part 13 - Complicated

"I'm gone a few months and 'Little Miss Goody-two-shoes' takes a
walk on the wild side."

"Melissa!" Scully said, as she embraced her sister, inhaling the 
scent of patchouli.  "I think it's been more than a few months.
When did you get back?" 

"Last night.  Sorry to barge in so early on a Sunday morning, 
but I couldn't wait another minute to see this for myself."  
Melissa's eyes flashed with amusement.  A dozen bracelets clinked
on her wrists as she unwrapped her shawl.

"Mom's been in touch, I take it."  Scully straightened her bathrobe,
tying the belt a bit more securely over her belly.  Still in her 
pajamas and slippers, hair in a ponytail, she felt muted next to
Melissa's exotic vibrancy.

"I finally caught up with my mail in Taos.  I had a stack of 
letters from Mom telling me that you were: a) pregnant, b) missing,
c) returned and d) had a complicated relationship with the baby's 
father."  Melissa grinned widely as she smoothed a hand over 
Scully's abdomen.  "Dana, I can't believe it."

"I'm trying to get used to it, myself."  

She was getting used to a lot of things.  Six weeks of waking up 
next to Mulder, having breakfast with him, arguing with him at 
work, eating dinner and falling asleep in his arms.  Oh, and 
making love.  A lot of that.  

"Come in, I'll pour you some coffee," Scully said, leading the way
into the kitchen.  "Hope decaf is okay--it's all I have."

"Decaf is fine."  Melissa watched Scully reach for two mugs and 
fill them with fragrant coffee.  "Day, look at you with a belly.  
How far along are you?"

"Six and a half months."  Scully rested her hand on the rise of
her abdomen.  "There's no mistaking this for 'putting on a few 
pounds' anymore."

By now, the entire population of the Hoover Building was aware 
of her condition.  In the vernacular of pregnancy, Scully had 
"popped."  She hadn't developed a waddle yet, but three inch 
heels were a thing of the past.

"Does Billy know?" Melissa asked, frowning.  

"Mom told him.   Thank God, he's still at sea.  I'm hoping he 
calms down before he gets back.  Charlie called me.  He was so
funny--wanted to make sure I named the baby after him."

"Where is Charlie these days?"

"Still in Japan.  He's been there for a year and a half."

"I never thought little Charlie would run farther than I did,"
Melissa said, wistfully.  "So, tell me about this 'complicated
relationship' you have with the father-to-be?  Mom said you work 
with him."

"He's my partner."

The conversation paused at the sound of a key in the front door, 
followed by shuffling noises and a thump or two. 

"Scully?  You up?   Hey, do I detect the scent of swill?"

Mulder burst into the room, drenched with sweat from his run, the 
bulky bundle of Sunday newspaper under his arm.  Soaked sweatshirt
clinging to his athletic frame, he took her breath away.  The paper 
landed on the counter with a slap.

"I didn't know you had company," Mulder said, mopping his face 
with a dish towel.    

"Mulder, your sneakers are muddy," Scully said, trying to hide
her pleasure at the sight of her dripping partner.   "This is 
my sister, Melissa.  Melissa, this is my partner, Fox Mulder."

"The prodigal daughter?" Mulder asked, toeing off his sneakers.  
Drying his hand against his pant leg, he leaned over the table 
to shake Melissa's hand.  "It's good to meet you."

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world." Melissa studied 
Mulder's face with fascination.  "I just had to meet the man 
who knocked up my baby sister."

"Melissa..."  Scully sighed.  Her sister never minced words.

"Sorry," Melissa said, blatantly unapologetic.  "I'm still in a 
state of shock."

"Tell me about it."  Mulder blushed under Melissa's scrutiny, 
dropping his gaze as he moved to the coffeemaker and poured 
himself a cup.  Scully hid her smile as he took a long drink 
and came up grimacing.  Two months after moving in, and Mulder 
still made faces when he drank his decaf.

"Mmmm mmm.  Bad to the last drop," Mulder quipped.  He sniffed 
the air in his immediate vicinity, crossing his eyes.  "I'm 
pretty ripe, here.  Think I better grab a shower."

Mulder emptied the rest of his coffee into the sink and rinsed 
out the mug.  As he passed Scully, he tenderly cupped the back 
of her neck with one coffee-warmed hand.  The women were silent 
as they watched him retreat from the room.

"Well, Dana," Melissa said with an observant smile.  "I think 
there's a lot that Mom didn't tell me."

<><><><>

Margaret Scully had certainly been accurate in her assessment of 
the current situation.  How could life with Fox Mulder be anything 
but complicated?  The man was a walking contradiction--egocentric 
and selfless, visionary and blinded, somber and passionate.

He was relentless when he focused on something, and he seemed
to have fixated on her.  Specifically, Mulder had become
obsessed with pregnancy.  He never tired of touching her body,
gauging the changes to her breasts, her abdomen, her skin or
any other part of her. 

She would find Mulder reading pregnancy books in bed, lamplight
gleaming on his bare chest, glasses perched on his nose.   He 
had a thousand questions.

Could she tell if her pelvic bones had begun to shift yet?  

No.

Had she thought about giving birth in a tub of water?   

Maybe.

Did she know that they could have sex almost up to the time
of birth?
 
Yes.  If they were very lucky.

She was pretty sure he hadn't told his parents about the
impending grandparenthood.  He didn't seem to have much 
contact with them at all.  As far as she knew, the last
time Mulder had spoken to his father was from the hospital
in Raleigh when he was laid up with a leg wound.   

Mulder had spoken to his mother only once since he moved into 
Scully's apartment, a painfully stilted birthday greeting.  
The misery on his face when he hung up kept her from asking 
him about his reticence.   

She would have worried about his inability to be honest with
his parents if he hadn't been so genuinely enthusiastic.  He
came along on her doctor visits--all the way into the exam 
room.  There was no mistaking the look of amazement and joy 
on his face when he listened to the baby's heartbeat for the 
first time. 

And then there was the nursery.  Scully came home late one 
afternoon after lunch and a shopping trip with her mother to 
hear loud voices drifting through her apartment.  

"You missed a spot, nimrod."

"Would you watch what you're doing, Langly.  You're getting 
it all over."  

"Jeez, Byers.  The kid will be in college before you finish 
that wall."

"Will you guys settle down?  I thought you were here to help."

She traced the voices to the spare bedroom, now empty of 
furniture.  Pale yellow paint was everywhere, on the walls,
the dropcloth covered floor, on Mulder and two of the three
other men in the room.  

"Scully!  I thought you'd be out a little longer," Mulder said,
wiping his hands on a rag.  "I wanted to surprise you."

"Oh, I'm surprised all right.  Mulder, what on earth..."  She tried
to ignore the rabid stare of the smallest of Mulder's three
helpers.  

"Do you like the color?  It's called "Baby Chick'.  I remember 
you said you weren't going to paint the room pink on the basis
of an ultrasound, so I thought this was a safe color."

As Mulder rambled, the three men watched him, obviously amused at 
his nervousness.  Where did Mulder meet such an odd assortment of
people?  

"I can see Mulder isn't going to introduce us.  If you'll permit
me, lovely lady, Melvin Frohike at your service," the small man
said, extending a paint covered hand.  "Oops, sorry.  You don't
want to be wearing baby chick yellow."

Frohike wiped most of the paint off and shook Scully's hand, his
eyes never leaving her face.  A theatrical cough got his
attention and he shook his head slightly as if to clear it. 

"The scarecrow here is Richard Langly."  Scully nodded at the 
gawky man, who had held up messy hands and smiled, shaking his
head.  His paint-streaked blond hair hung over his shoulders.     

"John Byers, Ma'am."  She shook the clean, dry hand of the 
soft-spoken man.  Unlike the others, he didn't have a spot of
paint on his neatly pressed khakis and immaculate polo shirt.
"We're friends of Mulder's."

She glanced at Mulder, trying to take in this new aspect of him.
These men seemed genuinely fond of Mulder, enough to help with
the paint job on a sunny Saturday afternoon.  

"Mulder, you are one lucky dog," Frohike said, slapping Mulder
on the back.  "This is one lovely lady.  I gotta tell you, man, 
we were totally floored when you called us.  Mr. 'One Night Stand'
needed us to paint a nursery."

"Hey Scully," Mulder interrupted and attempted to walk her out
of the room, "Being around these fumes can't be good for you."

"Mulder, you're using latex paint," she said, pointing at the
can by Langly's feet.  "I'm perfectly safe, and I'm enjoying
the conversation."

"We have a million stories," Frohike said, obviously amused by
his friend's discomfort.  "There was the time Mulder..."

"Enough, Frohike.   Come on, Scully.  Show me what you bought
while the three stooges here get busy."  Mulder guided her 
from the room, shooting Frohike a pointed look.

The men finished the second coat of paint, and Scully ordered
pizza while they washed up.  Sitting around her kitchen table,
the three men told her how they began working together and how
they met Mulder.  She'd seen their newsletter among the pile 
of papers on Mulder's desk and found its wild claims rather 
amusing.   Looking around the table, she tried to reconcile 
the three completely mismatched people with the wild stories of 
government conspiracy.

Scully found herself relaxing and laughing at their stories.  
Mulder seemed to enjoy himself too.  She realized how rare it
was to see the solitary Mulder interact on a social level. 
These were extraordinary men to be able to draw him out.

She looked from face to face around her table, marveling at
the experience of sharing food and conversation.   It occured
to her this must be what normal couples do on the average 
Saturday night.

<><><><>

Their days were filled with work, and their nights were filled
with each other.  After investigating leads, filling out paperwork, 
researching phenomena and submitting expense reports, they'd 
come home and have each other half stripped before the apartment
door closed.

She and Mulder continued to disagree at work, which she found 
incredibly reassuring.  Mulder still gravitated to the paranormal 
interpretation of every anomaly, and Scully leaned toward the 
scientific explanation.  

The Arthur Davison case was a prime example.  Even after 
another man confessed to finding the raped and beaten Sandra 
McCaffey and killing her, Mulder was still convinced that 
Davison was responsible.

Angel Munoz was a dishwasher at the Poblano Grill, a quiet man 
with no previous arrests, not even a parking ticket.  Munoz 
maintained that he'd found a stunned McCaffey, bleeding in the 
alley behind the restaurant and smashed her skull with a brick.  
Munoz had no idea why he'd killed her; he said it was as if
someone else controlled his body.

People sometimes behave impulsively, Scully argued.  Something 
triggers them to take action that has no precedent.   The facts 
all added up now, neatly and precisely.  Davison's DNA was 
present in McCaffey's vagina and his teeth marks on her body, 
because he *had* raped her earlier that day.  She didn't die 
until after Davison had left her in the alley and been 
arrested elsewhere in the city.  

Munoz found her and killed her, but because he was wearing 
latex gloves for work, he left no fingerprints on the brick.  
His clothes were covered by a plastic apron, leaving his 
clothes free from blood. Understandable evidence, neatly tied 
up with a ribbon.

And utter hogwash, according to Mulder.  The actions of normally
non-violent men have been directed by others--he had two file 
drawers full of similar cases if she cared to read them.  
Davison's hatred of women was so strong, so powerful, it had 
taken on a life of its own.  This festering hatred had waited 
after Davison left the scene and entered a new host: Munoz.  

Munoz, who was on suicide watch now, and who loved his wife
and three small children--was a gentle and stable man according 
to every person they'd interviewed.  The ribbon on Scully's 
bundle of evidence was frayed and tangled.  

She had been called as an expert witness at Munoz' preliminary 
hearing, explaining Sandra McCaffey's autopsy results.  Mulder
hadn't been required to testify.  He'd spent the morning 
sitting with her in the courtroom as she waited to be called.

Scully was still waiting to testify when the midday recess was 
called.  After a quick bite near the courthouse, Mulder 
returned to the Hoover building for a meeting.  He seemed to 
throw caution to the winds, when he turned to her on a busy 
Washington sidewalk and kissed her.  She smiled all the way 
back to court.

Her smile was gone by the time Munoz was brought back into 
court. The man appeared stricken, his eyes filled with fear 
and pain.  Scully wondered if Mulder might not have been right  
all along.  She'd seen other defendants in court, people who 
were defiant, angry, sneering, icy calm, delusional or even 
bored.  None of them had ever looked as devastated as Angel 
Munoz.

She delivered her testimony, acutely aware of Munoz' reaction.  
The man seemed to flinch with each detail of the damage to 
McCaffey's body.  She was completely drained by the time she 
was able to step down from the stand. 

It was nearly four o'clock when she returned to the basement
office.  She stood at the door, listening to the drone of
Mulder's voice.   Engrossed in a phone conversation, he didn't
notice her entrance.

"Why should I believe you?" he asked, his back to her.  "No.
I can't."  Mulder shook his head as if whoever was on the
other end of the phone could see his refusal.  He seemed to
stiffen, perhaps in reaction to what was being said.  "Yes.
Where?  All right."  

He hung up the phone, releasing a ragged breath.  It was only
when she dropped her briefcase that he turned to look at her.

"All done?" he asked.  He fidgeted with the papers on his
desk.

"I hope so.  I don't know how much more I can take of this."

"I...uh, I have to leave for a little while, Scully."  He ran
his fingers through his hair, leaving it in little spikes.
"I have to chase down some evidence."

"Evidence, Mulder?" she asked.  "From which case?"

"Gotta go, Scully," he said as he hurried from the room.
"Back soon."

She tried to keep busy, organizing the notes from the 
McCaffey case.  Davison's trial for the rape and beating 
would be starting early next month.  But she couldn't quite
escape the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

She waited.  She paced, and straightened her desk, and 
dusted some of the assorted oddities on the shelves at 
the back of the office.  Five o'clock came and went, 
followed by six and seven.  

She'd resisted calling him, afraid perhaps of giving in 
to the fear that he wasn't out running errands--that he 
hadn't just lost track of time.   She eyed the items on
his desk, hoping for a clue to his whereabouts.  The urge 
to tear the desk apart was strong, but she fought against
it, chiding herself for her lack of faith in Mulder. 

By eight o'clock, she was irritable, annoyed, hungry
and worried.  The phone in Mulder's apartment rang
and rang, his voice on the answering machine a hollow
substitute for the real thing.  No one picked up at
her place either.  

She tried his cell phone, her hands shaking a bit as
she hit the button for speed dial.  Icy fingers seemed
to trace along her spine as she waited for him to
pick up.

*The cellular customer you are trying to reach is 
unavailable*

<><><><>

Part 14 - Faith

If she ever got her hands on him she was going to kill Mulder.  
What on earth was he thinking?  Or not thinking.  She flashed
back to a motel room in Idaho and Mulder slipping out of a room 
when her back was turned.  That time, he'd ended up dazed and 
unable to recall what happened to him.  What condition would she 
find him in this time?

She'd gone home around 8:30, unable to stay a minute more in the 
empty office.  Mulder was a grown man.  She wasn't even sure he 
was in trouble.  He might be following a perfectly reasonable
lead.  He could take care of himself.  She just had to make 
herself believe it.

She'd be fine, if she could just get that damn alarm to stop 
blaring in her head.  Scully tried to eat some dinner but ended 
up tossing most of the Lean Cuisine meal into the trash.  

By ten o'clock, she couldn't quiet her fears any longer.  She 
called the telecommunication department, luckily getting someone
she knew.  The woman agreed to trace the call put through to 
Mulder's extension around four o'clock that afternoon.  

Fifteen minutes later, her contact called back with the 
information.   The call had originated from a pay phone in 
O'Neill's Irish Pub.  Scully recognized the name of the upscale 
bar near the Hoover Building.

Mulder was probably waiting for a contact that never showed up,
sitting in the bar or standing on a street corner.  She was
sure he was perfectly safe.   She was definitely over-reacting.

Scully couldn't call Skinner, at least not yet.  She had no evidence
that Mulder was in trouble, only her admittedly hormone-laced 
instincts to tell her that something wasn't right.

She shrugged into her coat and grabbed her car keys, checking 
to be sure her weapon was secure at the small of her back.
Locking the door behind her, she drove to the bar.

O'Neill's was dark and noisy though it was past peak for  
weeknight drinking.  Well-dressed if somewhat rumpled patrons 
shouted drunkenly over the blaring music, while the local
news flashed mutely from the overhead TV.  

"Hey, Keesha, another brew." 

Careful of her long nails, the bartender deftly filled a glass 
and delivered it to the waiting customer.   Scully waved her
badge to get the woman's attention 

"When did you come on shift?" Scully asked, shouting to be
heard above the noise.

"Pulled a double--been here since noon.  What's the problem?"

"I'm looking for a man," Scully said, slipping her badge back in 
her pocket.

"Honey, aren't we all!"  The woman's brown eyes crinkled in
amusement.  

"The man I'm looking for is thin, six feet tall, dark hair, 
well dressed."

"Personally, I like mine kind of buff," the bartender laughed.  
"But to each her own, I always say.  Listen, I see a lot of 
people, and I try to forget them as soon as they pay their tab.  
I don't remember anybody looked like that."

Scully sighed, trying to rein in her anxiety.  

"Do you have a pay phone?" Scully asked.  Keesha gestured through 
an arch to a shadowy hallway.  Scully squinted through the smoke, 
her heart sinking; the phone wasn't visible from the bar.  Hell, 
the question had to be asked, no matter how pointless. 

"Did you notice someone making a call around four this afternoon?"

"Lady, you think all I do is look at people?  I don't know..."
Keesha paused in thought.   "Come to think of it...a woman did
ask me where the phone was.  Coulda been around four.  Coulda 
been earlier."

"What did she look like?" Scully asked, fingernails digging into
her palms.  The baby moved within her, and she placed a hand over
that spot as if to comfort her child.

"Tall, blonde.  Good-looking.  It was busy--I barely glanced at 
her."  A look of dawning understanding passed over the woman's 
face.  Keesha's expression softened as she looked at Scully's belly.
  
"Geez,  I'm sorry.  What kind of shit cheats on a pregnant woman?  
You know what?  You deserve better than this.  I'd kick this guy to
the curb, if I was you."

<><><><>

She returned to her apartment, hoping desperately that she'd walk
in to find Mulder watching TV and wondering where she'd gone.  
Disappointment sliced through her as she passed through the empty
apartment to her dark bedroom.

With only the light from the hall, she dropped her coat on the 
chair in her bedroom and kicked off her shoes.   Her lower back 
ached as it did most nights now the baby threw her posture 
off.  Mulder gave her a massage every evening, working the knots 
out with his strong, talented hands.  God, she wished he was 
home.

Still in her work clothes, Scully stretched out on the bed.  She 
needed to weigh her options, but her body was screaming for rest.  
Barely able to keep her eyes open, exhaustion took its toll and 
she fell asleep.

She was cold, so very cold.  Her eyes fluttered open, taking in 
the sterile furnishings.  Oh God, she was back.  Scully had counted 
every one of the ceiling tiles when she was here before and knew 
each inch of the walls.  Groaning in misery and fear, she waited 
for the footsteps in the hall announcing her tormenter's approach.

But there were no sounds beyond the door.  Swinging her legs 
over the side of the bed, she hopped down.  She was glad to 
find they hadn't dressed her in a hospital gown this time--she 
was still  wearing her maternity suit.  The floor was cold 
under her stocking-clad feet.  

She reached the door, and to her surprise, the handle turned 
easily and the door swung open.  Maybe this time she'd be able 
to escape before Rabbitface caught her.  Her shoes were 
nowhere to be found, but at least she was silent as she slipped 
into the brightly lit hall.

There didn't seem to be a stairway or elevator at either end 
of the hall, but instead, a closed door at each end.  Perhaps one 
of them led to an exit.  It seemed to be colder out here than in 
her room.  She hurried to one door, pulling it open.  

She shivered as she peered into an examination room jammed with 
medical equipment.  She couldn't identify any of the machines as 
she squinted at their flashing digital displays.  A tray of 
instruments was laid out next to the exam table.  They gleamed 
brightly and all looked torturous, but like the machines, each
one was foreign to her.  She blinked her eyes, astounded at the
unfamiliarity of everything.  Only the stirrups on the exam table 
were recognizable.  

There was no exit through this room.  She closed the door behind 
her and scurried down the hall to the other door.  As she 
approached, she heard a woman moaning.   Was someone being hurt?  
Her knees felt as if they were made of jelly as her hand grasped 
the doorknob.  She had to find out who was behind the door 
and save her.

The door swung open and she held her breath at the sight before 
her.  The man and woman in the room didn't hear her; they were too
engrossed in fucking to notice.  The woman's moans grew louder as 
the man drove into her, his well-muscled buttocks straining with 
each thrust.  The woman's blonde hair cascaded as she tossed her 
head from side to side.

The man was panting, a fine sheen of sweat on his taut back.  His
dark head was down as he pistoned into the woman.  Suddenly, he 
threw back his head in passion, and Scully saw the man was Mulder.  
Gasping at the shock, she gripped the doorframe to keep from 
falling. The sound at the door finally getting his attention, 
Mulder glanced at her, an expression of mild amusement on his face.

"Well look who's here," he said, smirking.  "Enjoying yourself, 
Scully?" 

She awoke with a jolt, every muscle tensed.  Pushing the hair from
her face, she struggled to sit up.  Scully shook her head, trying
to clear cobwebs that remained from the dream.  Damn that bartender 
for putting the awful image in her mind.

The room was still dark, though the light behind the window shade 
hinted at early morning.   She looked at her clock and saw
that it was just after five in the morning.  Mulder had been 
missing for over twelve hours now.   

Cursing whatever insecurities still dwelled in her, she climbed 
off the bed.  "Fucking hormones," she muttered, making her way 
to the bathroom.  Scully turned on the shower, stripping off her 
suit while the water warmed.  

It all came down to faith.  Did she have faith in Mulder?  Did
she believe he loved her and would never betray her?  She had
only to recall his eyes, the complete truth and honesty when he 
looked at her, and she had the answer to her questions.  All
she had to do was believe.

She stepped under the spray, allowing the hot water to wash away
the remnants of her dream.  Scully's hands lingered over the 
baby within her, drawing soapy circles over her belly as she 
tried to calm her breathing.

Scully finished her shower and dressed quickly.  Standing in 
the kitchen, she watched the sun rise as she ate a bagel that 
seemed to have no flavor at all.  It was barely seven o'clock
when she left her apartment for work.  

She knew most mornings, her boss arrived early, even before his 
assistant.  Scully waited on the bench outside Skinner's office.
Standing, she caught his attention as he strode down the hall.  

"Agent Scully," he said in surprise.  "Is something wrong?" 

"I think so, sir.  Could we go in and talk?" she asked.

Skinner ushered her into his inner office, gesturing for her 
to sit in one of the chairs facing the desk.  She bit her lip
trying not to focus on why the other chair was empty.  Her boss
hung up his overcoat before sitting behind his desk.

"So, Agent Scully, what's the problem?" he asked, his voice not
unkind.   "Does this have to do with Agent Mulder?"

"He's missing, sir."  

"I saw him yesterday afternoon, Scully.  He can't have been missing 
for long."

"Well, no," she conceded.  "He flew out of the office around four
yesterday afternoon.  Said he was chasing down some evidence, but
I honestly can't think of any case that had anything pending."

"Agent Scully, I'm still not sure what the problem is.  Mulder's
been known to tear off on his own."

"He...uh...he didn't come home last night," she said, unable to 
meet Skinner's eye after such a personal detail.  

Her boss seemed to mull this over, perhaps coming to grips with 
the implications.  Finally, he cleared his throat.  "Agent Mulder 
has been a bachelor for a long time, Scully.  Could he...have 
needed some time away?"  

"No, sir.  At least, I don't think so.  I think he might be in
trouble."

Skinner studied the backs of his hands, his expression unreadable.  
He was silent so long; Scully began to wonder if her boss had 
forgotten she was there.  His voice startled her when he finally
spoke. 

"I'll make a few inquiries.  Go back to your office
and see if he left any clues there." 

Mulder trusted this man and deep down, part of her wanted to 
trust him too.  Regardless of Skinner's involvement with the 
cigarette man, she detected an integrity, a desire for honor.  
Scully rose, energized by the prospect of action.  As she 
reached the office door, his voice was gentle as he called 
her name.

"Scully.  I'll call you if I find anything."    

She returned to the basement office and stood in front of 
Mulder's desk, no longer worried about over-reacting.  As she 
picked through the files, tabloid clippings, notes from cases 
they'd worked on, she tried not to think as Mulder's lover, 
but as the investigator she had always been.  

She found no clue in the desk that would tell her where Mulder
had gone.  She found his rather endearing reminder to himself 
to pick up more Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Brownie ice cream.  It 
was her favorite flavor and she hadn't even asked him to get it.  
Probably self-defense; she smiled to herself.  Pregnant women 
were safer to deal with when you had a container of ice cream 
in your hand.

Scully spent the day in the office, jumping each time the phone
rang.  Her heart would pound as she'd pick it up, only to find
that it was Agent Henderson from Fingerprint Analysis, or an 
elderly woman who was sure a gnome was living under her front 
porch and was responsible for the disappearance of her cat, 
Fluffy. 

Skinner came down to the basement office at the end of the 
afternoon, unfortunately without good news.  He'd called in a 
few favors, but hadn't found any information on Mulder's location.  
Scully wondered what it had cost her boss to ask questions of the 
shadowy men he dealt with.  

The big man took a close look at her pale face and sent her home.  
He promised to call her with information as soon as he could.  
She couldn't bring herself to argue.  It wasn't as if she'd been 
able to work, and she was exhausted.  

Worry, fear and seven months worth of pregnancy had sapped any 
energy she had this morning.  Wearily, she snapped off the office 
lights and locked the door behind her.

Scully was distracted as she arrived back at her apartment.  It
was now over twenty-four hours since Mulder had left the office.
So many things could happen to a man in twenty-four hours.  

The key turned in the lock, but the door wouldn't open.  Something
seemed to be blocking it--something that groaned when she gave
the door a shove.

"Oh my God, Mulder!  What happened to you?"

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