Chapter 1: Embers

1.
Washington Hospital Center
October 18, 11:45 P.M.

"John Byers was found in a service stairwell, unconscious, with multiple
gunshot wounds, including a serious injury to the head.

He is also suffering from smoke inhalation and burns. He remains
unconscious at this time, unable to make a statement. It appears
he was assaulted in the apartment of a Richard Starkey, but
somehow escaped as fire engulfed it." Tiff paused to check the
face of A.D. Skinner. His brows were rising above the frames of
his glasses.

She plunged onward. "The neighbors report hearing multiple
gunshots coming from the apartment right before an explosion that
appears to be the source of the fire. A. . ." She checked her
notes. "Arthur Foseman, in apartment 38, actually went to the
door of the Starkey apartment when he initially heard gunfire. He
says he hammered on the door and threatened to call the police."

Skinner pushed his cheek out with his tongue in disbelief. Tiff
nodded in agreement. "I know. Old fool is going to get killed
with this attitude. He says he heard nothing and then a single
shot, coming from somewhere close to the door. Frightened, the
crazy fucker finally scampered back to his place and made the 911
call. At that point we'd already gotten four other calls and
personnel were converging on the address. A man emptying his
garbage at the back of the building reports seeing a man answering
the general description of Alex Krycek coming through the back
door. He seemed agitated."

With a grim grin of satisfaction, she said, "This area of the
building wasn't heavily damaged and we were able to find blood
stains. It looks as though Byers hit him."

Skinner finally broke in. "John Byers was armed?"

She checked her notes again. "According to Melvin Frohike, the
residents of the Starkey apartment were armed in the capacity of
protecting Agent Scully."

Skinner crossed his arms and as his biceps expanded, the fabric of
his suit groaned in protest. "What's going on, Tiff?" His words
were deceptively casual.

She paused before answering. She was suddenly confused. She felt
a flash of fear and she didn't know why. Mulder had obviously
decided not to tell Skinner about Dana Scully's pregnancy or any
more than sketchy details about Kenneth Bond.

Tiff had been spending her lonely evenings going through the
backlog of reports that dealt with Fox Mulder and his career
within the department, but had gained little insight into the
situation.

The X-files themselves seemed oddly sparse. There were few case
files dating from before 1998, yet she knew for a fact the
division had been in existence since '91. At last she'd found the
small notation reporting the destruction of their office and its
contents in an arson fire.

One thing she had been able to surmise from the data she
collected: Skinner often reprimanded Mulder and Scully. They had
even been removed from duty on occasion. And for some reason they
didn't completely trust him now.

She needed reassurance, but when she tried to look into his eyes,
the light struck his glasses in such a way that they were
obscured. All she could see was the reflection of her own
concerned face. Schooling her features to blankness, she heard
her voice carefully saying, "I wouldn't know, sir. I'm just
reporting the findings from today's investigation."

He let out a slow breath and dipped his head. Now she saw his
eyes were filled with pain and betrayal. "Please continue, Agent
Davis."

She hurried on. "I confiscated the weapons of this Frohike and
one Ringo Langly. Frohike told me Byers was carrying a Colt .45
automatic, which seems to be what we found as a melted lump in
what was the living room of the apartment. We were unable to
determine if this is where Byers was shot because of the extensive
damage, but neighbors' reports would suggest he and this Krycek
engaged in a gun battle within the apartment."

Flipping the page of her notebook, she took a deep breath, and
resolved not to look into Skinner's eyes again. "Byers has three
gunshot injuries, including one to the thigh, shattering the
femur. This would have knocked him down. I'm going to suggest
this Krycek went in for the kill shot, but the neighbor's pounding
surprised him and caused him to miss slightly. Byers has a deep
temple graze. Lots of blood, but didn't pierce the skull. And it
doesn't look as though Krycek took the time to check if he'd
actually killed him. The arson squad found the remains of an
incendiary device. I think he set that off and split."

"Any ideas why Krycek decided to do this?" Skinner asked coolly.

"At this time, Mr. Frohike and Mr. Langly have refused to
cooperate," she said with a sigh, " and I've been unable to
interview Agents Mulder and Scully."

"Where are they?"

She realized she had to get to them first and find out what was
going on once and for all. "I wouldn't know, sir."

As he looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was
watching, Skinner reached out and ran a fingertip down her
forearm. "Find out. Okay?" His voice had a gentle stillness to
it, and her blood ran cold again.

Watching his bulky form stride away down the hall, she waited
until he got into the elevator. Only then did she start her
search.

2.

She spotted Mulder's tousled hair and slumping shoulders hurrying

down the end of a hall off of the ICU unit. She didn't want to
shout out, so she followed as quickly as she could walk. She had
almost caught up to him when he ducked into a doorway. Without
checking the sign on the door, she pushed it open.

Mulder had stopped right on the other side of the door and was
staring at a small form slumped in the pews. Tiff quickly checked
the door. 'Chapel'.

Scully had fallen asleep with her hands resting on the back of the
pew in front of her, still clasped together in a loose prayer. Her
head lay on the cradle of her upper arms and her face was turned
towards them. Tiff could see that her brow was wrinkled with
worry even in slumber.

Tiff said nothing to alert them to her presence. Mulder moved
slowly towards Scully. He slid along the pew to sit next to her
and lift her gently to his lap. He turned and swung his legs up
onto the long seat. She grumbled and stirred slightly, but didn't
wake. Instead, she nestled down into his lap like a swallow into
its tight nest. He rested his head on top of hers and his eyes
met Tiff's for the first time. His gaze was fierce and she
dropped her eyes. Quietly, she stepped back out the door and left
them.

"Mulder?" Scully murmured.

"Hmmm...?" he answered.

"John?" she asked, stirring to try to lift her head.

He lightly pressed it back under his chin and she relented. "He's
the same. I lost you."

"No. I was here."

He scolded gently. "I didn't know where you went."

Logically, she asked, "Then how did you find me?"

"I made a good guess."

She sighed in exasperation, but didn't move to free herself from
his arms. "I was all right."

"No." He was firm. "We need to decide on a plan. Frohike and
Langly have started the wheels in motion. As soon as we're sure
Byers is all right, we'll disappear."

That got her moving. She struggled free from his grip and twisted
her body to look into his eyes. "What!?"

He was insistent. "Scully, we have to protect the baby. They
made him for a reason, and I think they've proved they'll do
anything to get him at this point."

She shook her head. "When Krycek attempted to kill John, they
were trying to stop us from finding out why our baby was created.
We're very close to finding out the truth, I know we are."

"So what? The important thing is to keep them from killing you or
the baby." He pulled her face around so she was forced to look
into his eyes. "Scully?"

She was silent for so long he thought she was in agreement. Then
she spoke. "Mulder, I won't live like that. In the first place,
that might not be the safest way. Cut off from friends and
family, we'll be isolated and vulnerable. Second, even if we're
still alive, and the baby is safe, those bastards have still won.
They hurt us, they hurt others and they just keep doing it. We
disappear. So what? They'll find someone else to do it to. We
have to stop them."

Although fear for her and his child now was beating in time with
his heart, he didn't want to upset her by fighting about it. He
could see the logic in her words, but a primitive past was boiling
up, threatening to engulf him. He wanted to throw her into a cave
and pace at the opening with a club swinging from his hand.

She wiggled free from his loose grasp. "I need to go check on
John again."

3.

When they left the chapel, Tiff was waiting in the hall. She

motioned to Mulder with her head and he nodded. Touching Scully's

back lightly, he said, "Go on ahead, I'll join you after I get a
report from Tiff."

She nodded and continued on down the hall as he turned to Tiff.
"Any new developments?"

She was blunt. "Yeah, A.D. Skinner is chewing my ass. He wants
to know what's going on."

"Individuals with whom Skinner's had experience in the past have
struck again, injuring a dear friend and destroying Agent Scully's
home. That's all he needs to know," was Mulder measured reply.

Tiff shot him a frustrated look. "Damn it, Mulder, that's
bullshit! There's a lot more going on here, and neither of you
feel as though you can fill me in. So I'm caught in the middle,
and I don't like that one bit."

Mulder gave her shoulder a squeeze of reassurance but her hard
muscles tightened under his touch. "Davis, I'm telling you. You
have all the information you need to run this case. You know who
your suspects are and you have the evidence that links them to the
crime--"

She cut in with, "But I don't know why!"

"Evil?" Mulder suggested, only somewhat facetiously.

Tiff was not appeased. "Fine. I can help you. Skinner can help
you. You have to decide if you can handle this on your own. Look
what happened to your friend when you thought you could."

He nodded. "Exactly. And I don't want to see it happen to any
more friends." Leaving her fuming, he went in search of Scully.

4.
Scully quietly entered the room where John Byers lay, his shape
distorted and inhuman under a maze of pale tubes and bright cords.
A drape was tented over his broken leg. His head was swaddled in
a dressing. The right side of his beard had been burned away and
his exposed face was blistered and shining from ointment for his
burn.

Anita sat slumped in a chair at his bedside, her fingers tracing
up and down one of his I.V. lines, as though encouraging the flow
of the medication.

Scully touched her shoulder lightly and she turned her head
slowly, as though moving under water. Her eyes were huge dark
drowning pools in her round face.

"Honey, you should take a break," Scully gently suggested.

Anita shook her head. "No. I can sit here just as easily as
sitting in the waiting room."

"I mean go home, get some rest, eat some good food," Scully
replied.

With an even more furious shake of her head, she said, "No! What
if something happened while I was away?"

Pulling up a chair to join Anita at the bedside, Scully lifted her
hand away from the tubing and rubbed the cold fingers in her
palms.

Before she could say anything more, Anita began to speak in low,
ragged tones. "How do you do it? How do you sit here, powerless?
You've had to do this a time or two with Fox, right?"

Scully gave her a pained smile. "A time or two, yes."

She asked again, "How do you do it? How do you stop the regrets
for everything you haven't said and done?"

Scully spoke slowly. "I always believed Mulder would come back to
me. That's what you need to do now, believe in John."

"What if he doesn't?" Anita whispered. "What would you have felt
if he didn't come back to you?"

She couldn't even comprehend the question so she lifted Byers'
hand from the cool sheet and placed Anita's hand on top of his.
"Give him your strength--he needs you. That's what I do in these
situations. It's all I can do, and first I have to accept that."

She heard Mulder tap lightly on the glass window of the room. She
left Anita with Byers and went out into the hall to join him.

He lifted her hand, cradling it in his light grip, and smiled down
at her. "How's he doing?"

She shrugged, though the effort almost did her in. "No change.
Anita's not doing well either."

He seemed to understand. "It's always hardest the first time."

She found herself grinning through her sadness. "I remember."

He pulled her down the hall out of the ICU ward. "I didn't do it
on purpose."

As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she snuggled under,
reveling in his warmth. "I hope not. I'd hate to think you went
through all the trouble of nearly dying just to get your hand
held."

"And a smile," he added as he kissed the top of her head,
"sometimes you gave me a smile."

She furrowed her brow with concern. In the past, had she been
that remote in her attempt to maintain her boundaries?

He led her into the garage and to his car. "Tiff told me most of
your things were damaged by smoke or destroyed by fire."

Darkly, she said, "Doesn't matter, I'm not going to fit into those
clothes for a long time anyway."

He gave her an inventory. "Your bedroom wasn't destroyed.
Although everything is smoke damaged, most of your shoes are fine
since they were kept in their boxes." He returned her grin of
happiness. "Anything kept in a garment bag also seems fine too,
including this." He unlocked the car doors and reached into the
back seat. He pulled out her green suede coat from the backseat.

She gasped in amazement and her eyes filled with tears. She
realized she was being silly for crying over a jacket, but Mulder
didn't seem to mind. He wrapped the garment around her shoulders,
opened her car door and settled her into her seat.

She cleared the dampness from her eyelashes as he pulled out of
the parking space. She asked, "Most of my furniture was a loss?"

"Yes. But if it helps, I never did like that couch," he answered.

She shot him a withering look. "Yes, we'll have to get a house
full of furniture." Her head whirled at the sensation of being in
some odd time rift. Wasn't this where they were when the
conversation had been cut short by their arrival at her fire-
ravaged apartment building?

"We might as well go ahead and buy a house now. Something tells
me we got on some sort of landlord's blacklist with this latest
incident."

She allowed herself a chuckle. "I'll get my Mom looking. She'll
love that. It'll make her feel like she's doing something. I'll
be busy finding out what Byers was working on that made it
necessary to try to kill him."

He nodded. She looked over and noticed unfamiliar emotions
flicking across his face. Every day new, unknown situations arose
for them to deal with, even things as seemingly innocuous as
deciding on a home.

She continued slowly. "We should find something in a neighborhood
close to the Fed building, but still a detached house with a yard.
I don't like the idea of commuting long distances."

"That'll be expensive." He held up his end of the conversation
with the bland, flat tones of a prepared statement.

She suddenly felt as though she was the mouse sent out to put the
bell on the sleeping cat. She trotted carefully forward. "Yes, I
have some investments I can cash out, about $10,000 in savings--"

He interrupted. "I inherited my father's house in West Tisbury,"
he stumbled. "That is, it was left to Samantha and me. But I'm
sure she wouldn't mind if I sold it."

She stroked his shoulder, suddenly understanding. "We don't have
to do that, we can manage--"

He was firm. "No, but perhaps we should keep the house, subdivide
the lot and sell the land. Then we'd have the cash but also a
vacation home. You know, a place to take the kids in the summer."

She was overwhelmed by the sudden vision of a clear summer day
with the ocean breeze in her face, teaching their son to swim.
"That sounds nice."

He nodded. "Yeah, well, wait until you see the property tax bill
on that place. It hurts to write that check, let me tell you. My
uncle, David, advised me to keep my hands on that property as an
investment, but I don't think he was taking a situation like this
into consideration."

She stared out the window in confusion. The loss of her home hit
her like a sledgehammer. "Where are we going?"

"Home, my home," he said carefully.

"Okay. I guess it's all we have left," she said with a sigh.

5.
The Factory
October 19th, 2:30 A.M.

Krycek found Kenneth sitting ramrod straight on a chair in the

office. He closed the door behind him and Kenneth glanced up,
impassive as always, to meet his furious gaze.

Shaking with a cold anger, Krycek asked, "Okay, boy, what happened
back there at the hospital?"

"I don't know what you mean, sir. I reviewed the plan with the
gentleman, and he instructed me to collect the blood sample from
the DNA test of the fetus. You must been mistaken when you
ordered me to deliver the corrupted DNA reading to Mulder and
Scully."

Taking another step towards the young man and slipping his hand
into his pocket to touch the plam he always carried with him,
Krycek asked, "Did you tell the old bastard that?"

"Of course not, sir. I would hate for a simple misunderstanding
to escalate to a. . .situation," was the cool answer from Kenneth.

"Yes, of course. . ." he replied.

The door to the office swung open and Krycek whirled. The action
pulled at the stitches on his bullet wounds, and he grimaced.

"I'm happy to see you too, Alex," The older man said as he walked
past him to sit behind his desk.

After settling in, he continued. "I'm very pleased with the test
results on the DNA sample that Kenneth collected for us yesterday
afternoon."

Krycek fought to ignore the dull throb of his injuries and forced
himself to concentrate on his nemesis. The old fool seemed almost
giddy, a smile refusing to stay off of his lips. He said, "What
are they?"

"The child is has indeed developed the traits we had hoped. The
portion of the plan left with the agents has progressed
perfectly." He paused to light a cigarette. "Which is good news
considering our failures in the past and those we're currently
experiencing."

Krycek had to cut in. "You never give the experiments time to
develop fully. You always assume failure and push onward. If I
were to be given another chance with my sperm sample, for
example--"

The older man raised his hand to silence him. "You were given a
chance and you failed." The smile returned. "As I would expect.
You obviously have weak, inferior seed."

As he started to lunge towards the desk, Krycek was held fast in
the benign grasp of Kenneth. "You son of a bitch!" He shook
himself loose and spat out, "I guess you would know."

A cold silence was the response to his words. He forced himself
to remain calm as he changed the subject. "I need to go back and
finish the job I started on this John Byers. He must be stopped
from--"

A raised hand stopped him again. "No need."

His fury whipped up again, Krycek snarled, "Let me finish! What
if they find out the reason that we want the baby? They could
keep us from taking possession when the time comes."

After a long, irritating moment taken to suck down more lung-
filling smoke, the man answered. "They are already aware that we
desire the child. That could not be avoided. Our objective is to
secure the child when it's necessary, and I cannot imagine how
they could thwart us. Our original plan is still in place. We
have no need to make any changes at this point. Do you
understand, boy?"

Krycek breathed the single word like fire, "Yes."

"Good," the shadowed man replied. "So I suggest you continue your
surveillance--making sure you don't suffer any more close calls,
of course."

Krycek stormed from the room, driven forward by the malevolent
chuckles rolling from behind the desk.

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

Chapter 2: Arid Pleasure

1.

October 19th, 2:15 A.M.

Mulder and Scully dragged themselves into his apartment. He led

her into the bedroom and nodded towards the bed.

"There you go," he said as he headed into the bathroom.

She glanced around the rarely-seen bedroom and wondered how much
had been Mulder's and what Byers had changed. Everything seemed
too neat and tidy to have been the result of Mulder's touch.

Rummaging through the bottom drawer of the dresser, she found one
of his remaining tee-shirts and quickly slipped into it.

When he re-entered the room, she self-consciously pulled the shirt
down to cover her stomach as his gaze slowly moved over her. He
furrowed his brow before his eyes darted away.

She brushed past him and escaped into the bathroom. When she came
out, he was already under the covers. On his side of the bed, she
was happy to note.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, she could barely crawl into bed. She
noticed the sheets were freshly laundered and felt a pang for
Byers as she drifted off to sleep nestled up to Mulder's warm
back.

The creature was moving under her skin, spreading its green poison
through her bloodstream like tentacles. Its iron grip tightened
until her body was forced to curl up like a bug burnt under a
shard of glass in the sun.

She awoke with a gasp of pain and fear, drenched in sweat but
shaking with cold. She desperately reached out for Mulder but his
side of the bed was empty.

In a panic, she struggled free of the tangled, damp sheets. Where
was he!? She stumbled around the room, unable to find the door in
the dark and her disorientation.

She gripped the doorjamb to the living room, clenching her jaw to
keep her teeth from rattling too loudly. Her eyes adjusted to the
dimness. She realized her gun had been in her apartment. She had
to get another one as soon as possible.

Finally, her gaze found him. He was stretched out on his dark
couch, asleep. She moved in closer to look down at him. Caught
in the illumination from the streetlight streaming into the room,
his relaxed features were as calm as a child's. No worry creased
his brow.

She crouched down beside him and watching him sleep, noting his
peace and comfort. It made sense. His things, and everything
that was familiar to him, surrounded him. He was back at home.

She stroked the warm leather of the cushion. She would have
touched him, but she didn't want to disturb him. He was cradled
and comfortable in the worn palm of his couch.

She pulled herself up off the floor and spun away to hurry back to
the bedroom. Diving under the covers, she pulled the clammy, cold
sheets up under her chin.

She had always liked his apartment, felt comfortable in its
cluttered rooms. But now she saw it as a rival for his
affections.

She could see the threads of their tenuous relationship beginning
to unravel. He would pull away from her under the spell of the
beauty of the dark walls. He would go to bed with her at first,
but slowly would draw away as the days passed, falling asleep
under the mesmerizing blue gaze of its eyes, his television and
his computer monitor.

Despite her quaking body and her struggle against tears and fear,
she was exhausted, and fell asleep as though drugged.

She was awakened in the morning by his attempts at stealth as he
moved around the bedroom. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and
fixed a blurry gaze on him. He gave her a pressed-on smile.

"Get enough sleep?"

She wondered if he was going to act like he'd slept with her the
whole night. "No, but that's okay."

He looked concerned. "Try going back to sleep. You need your
rest."

Determined, she rose from the bed. "No, I need to get going. We
have a lot to do. No more dilly-dallying."

He gave her a surprised look, but trailed after her as she stomped
out of the room. "I got up to pee and I must have gone back to
the couch by mistake."

"It's not a mistake. You usually slept on the couch, right?" She
asked as she slammed through the cupboards, looking for anything
that seemed appetizing for breakfast.

He sat down with a cup of coffee and began talking slowly and
carefully, inflaming her irritation even more. "I think I should
go to Boston as soon as possible, see about getting the land sold
in West Tisbury. It should sell fast, but it is the off season--"

"You're sure you want to do that?" she interrupted.

He looked as though he was struggling to remain calm. "What?"

She sat down across from him and met his gaze, forcing her voice
to remain as cool. "Maybe everything is going too fast for you."

He shook his head. "What do you mean?" He suddenly looked
worried. "We're getting married as soon as possible, right?"

"You tell me," she said as she sipped the orange juice she'd
found, only a week past its expiration date. She knew she could
thank Byers for that.

"Scully, what the hell is going on?"

"I think we just need to decide if we're on the same page. I
mean, what do you want?" she asked.

He was confused. "Huh? I want you and the baby to be safe--"

"I know that, how do you see us in the future? After the baby is
born."

He ran his hand through his hair and it stood on end like a
prickly forest of pines. "I still don't see what you're getting
at."

"You seem to only be looking at what's right in front of you."
She changed the pitch of her voice to a sing-song quality.
"Scully's knocked up. I guess I have to marry Scully."

He exploded. "You're not being fair at all! You know I love you,
first and foremost. Are you worried about the future? Well, I
can't help you with that. I have no idea what's going to happen
in an hour, a day, a week. I don't try to wrestle for control
over those things I know I can't control."

"You're avoiding the question." He gasped in exasperation, but she
pressed on. "What do you see us doing in the future? I mean, we
can't work together any more. That's for sure."

"Scully, you will always have a career in the FBI. In fact,
you'll probably have that distinguished career you would have had
if you hadn't hooked up with me."

She banged her glass down on the table in frustration. "Do you
think I stuck with you and the work on the X-files because I had
some crush on you? Well, I didn't. I did it because I found
someone who felt as passionately about pursuing the truth as I
did. I believe we really helped people. I love field work. I
love being your partner."

As he stared at the top of her bent head, he realized she would
never say "I love you" enough for his taste and he'd have to
accept these scraps of sentiment when he got them.

She was still grumbling. "I can't see sitting behind a desk as
distinguishing myself, but now I guess that's where I'm stuck."

"You can go back in the field after the baby's born. . ." She
shook her head violently. He didn't understand why she was
resisting. "Your father was away a lot, but you knew he still
loved you."

She whispered, "I hated it. I hated him being gone and when he
was home, everything was just too much. We fought for his
attention while he wanted to spend time with Mom. I just don't
want my son to go through that sort of turmoil."

Glancing up at him at last, she asked, "How was it for you with
your father?"

He could only remember slamming doors and long silences. "I hated
it too. I hated when he was away."

She nodded.

Fiercely, he added, "Don't worry, I'll be there for the two of
you."

Bitterly she said, "I hope so. Now that you're going to be a
father, perhaps you'll finally stop looking for one yourself."

He rose from the table with the sudden urge to follow in his
father's footsteps and walk out of the room without looking back.

The phone rang.

He listened to the words coming over the line, but his mind was
cataloguing her movements around the room as she gathering the few
dirty dishes with abrupt jerky movements.

"John has come to. I think we should get down there before Tiff
does," he said to her rigid back.

She tossed down the sponge. "Okay, let's go." She brushed past
him without meeting his eyes.

2.
Washington Medical Center, ICU Unit
10:20 A.M.

Anita entered the room where John was, pushing aside a nurse. A

technician was just finishing extubating him. He was gagging and
sputtering, looking around the room in a panic.

She pressed in among the medical personnel and touched his
shoulder. He turned his head and focused on her, his eyes
unrecognizing. She gave him a smile and he slowly returned it.
She could see that he remembered her.

After everyone left, giving her various warnings she decided she
would ignore, she settled on a chair by his side and began feeding
him ice chips for his sore throat.

"Don't talk--let me do the talking," she ordered him briskly,
fighting back tears.

His soulful eyes blinked once. She took that as an agreement.

"Are you in pain?" She knew the answer to that, but she wanted
him to be able to express his anxiety.

He nodded, his eyes filling with tears of his own.

She nodded back. "It's okay, I'm sure it's a bitch to wake up
feeling like someone's been beating you with a small car."

He choked on a laugh and she grabbed a tissue to wipe his mouth.
"Sorry," she murmured.

He raised a shaking hand to touch his face. She stopped him.
"You don't want to do that. You're burnt."

His eyes filled with panic and he rasped out, "See. Want to see."

"Of course," she said as she rooted around in her purse for a
compact.

Holding the mirror up to his face, she said, "See, it's not bad.
Just--"

"Beard. My beard. . ." he gurgled.

"Yes, honey, I know," she tried to soothe him. The beard had been
burned off the right side of his face, leaving red, angry,
blistered skin. "It protected you. Your burns would've been much
worse." She tried to find a good side in his lopsided appearance.

He put the mirror down and glanced away.

Understanding dawned for her. "You've had that beard a long time,
haven't you?"

He nodded, still looking away.

She began going through the bedside cabinet. "Well, maybe it's a
sign that it's time for you to make a change."

His eyes snapped to hers, filled with indignation. He tried to
speak, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"It's going to be months before your skin has healed enough to
grow back the beard. Are you going to walk around with half a
beard until then?" She realized she was sounding like a mother.

He managed to gasp, "I won't be walking anywhere."

It was her turn to laugh. "Okay, whatever you want." She went
for reverse psychology.

He sighed. "Give me the razor," he whispered.

"No. I can do it. Do you trust me?" She realized she was
holding her breath as she looked into his fear-filled wide eyes.

He half-nodded and half-shrugged.

She gently stroked his remaining beard, noticing the flecks of
gray strands mixed into the warm chestnut hair. "Can you remember
a time when you didn't have a beard?"

He shook his head with short, nervous jerks and she couldn't stop
herself from smiling.

She pulled the shaving supplies out the bedside table drawer and
set them in her lap.

First, she found her surgical scissors in her lab-coat pocket and
began to carefully snip away the longer, coarse hairs of his
beard. He looked worried immediately, and she reassured him,
"Don't worry."

Setting aside the scissors, she filled her palm with shaving
lotion, and said briskly, "Remember, I'm a professional.
Although, I do usually leave this part for the nurse. . ." She
smoothed the foam over his left cheek carefully, massaging it into
his neck, making sure she didn't miss any spot. "But when I've
done it, I haven't gotten any complaints."

The wide blue eyes shifted towards her again, but she kept own
eyes firmly on her task. "In the past, I may have left a nick or
two, but I care too much about you to do that." Slowly she
dragged the razor up his neck and under his chin.

To divert him, she asked, "How long have you had it?"

The 'huh?' that burrowed up his throat almost caused her to cut
the tender skin of his Adam's apple.

"The beard?" She kept her eyes innocent.

"I can't remember--" he said.

As she tipped his head to give her access to his cheek, she
commented, "I'm sure this must feel strange. . .you've only done
it yourself before, right?"

"Um-huh--" came out of his tightened lips as the razor slid over
his face, cleaning away the stiff hairs.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," she decided as she
leaned back to examine her handiwork.

When she asked, "Do you want to go all the way?" she thought she'd
lost him. If he hadn't had that broken leg, she was sure he'd
have leapt up from the bed and fled.

Hurriedly she added, "The mustache. Take it or leave it?"

He shrugged with an attempted casual manner. "Might as well.
What the hell."

Wondering if that was the first curse word he'd ever used in the
presence of a woman, she spread the foam on his upper lip with a
fingertip. Leaning in very close, she whispered, "Now, hold
still. This part is tricky."

Somehow, she was able to shave his mustache off while diving deep
in his dreamy blue eyes, taking time out to snuggle down into his
laugh lines for a rest. She decided she did it all by feel.

As she wiped his cheek with a damp towel, she said, "I know it'll
feel odd for a while, then you'll get used to it."

He nodded in agreement, but as she turned away to put the shaving
tools back, she heard him whisper, "I feel so exposed."

She wasn't able to comment on that statement. Mulder was pushing
open the door and Scully was peeking around his arm, looking
concerned and grateful. Pushing away an impatient grimace, Anita
rose to greet them.

Scully moved past Mulder to hurry to John's side. Her eyes quickly
swept over the panel of equipment, seeming to take in all the
readings in a glance. She leaned over to place a peck on his
cheek.

His fresh skin blushed and she gave a little mew of approval.
Anita felt Mulder bristle beside her and wondered if she should be
as concerned as he seemed to be.

"How are you?" Scully asked.

Anita broke in before he could answer. "He should rest."

Scully raised a brow at her.

"What happened?" John had raised a hand to tap Scully's arm.

"You don't remember?" Scully looked concerned.

He creased his brow. Mulder had moved to the foot of the bed, and
leaned over the footboard to give him a searching look.

John said slowly, "No. . .I remember wanting Kung Pao chicken."

Scully gently prompted him. "You went to the apartment in my
building. You had left some papers there. . ."

John cast his eyes down to his lap, looking frustrated. "I can't
remember why I was going there."

Mulder probed. "You don't remember what papers were missing?"

"I know I was working on the results of the various tests. I
remember really wanting to see the results from the latest test--"
His eyes immediately shot up to Scully's face, questioning.

She smiled at him. "Yes. Everything is all right."

He grasped her hand tightly. "I'm so happy for you." He nodded
to Mulder as well. "Both of you."

Scully placed her hand over his. "Thank you. But the important
thing is that you get some rest."

He protested. "I need to remember. . ."

Mulder stopped him. "We'll figure it out--"

As though on cue, the door swung open and Frohike and Langly poked
their heads in.

Croaking, John greeted them. "Gentlemen!"

Anita smiled to herself.

They joined the group, crowding the tight space. Both friends
took turns patting John's uninjured leg, in the awkward way some
men show deep emotion.

Frohike spoke first. "Hey!" That seemed to be all he could think
of to say, and stepped back, blushing under his heavy stubble.

Langly tried next. "Hey!" Then his eyes widened behind the
lenses of his eyeglasses. "Hey man, what happened to your face?"

John put a hand up to his burn, seeming self-conscious. "I was
burnt."

"No, I mean--man, where's your beard?" Langly glanced around the
room as though he would find it lying on the floor.

"I. . .Anita shaved it off," John admitted stiffly.

Both of his friends looked uncomfortable, then Frohike said, "I
like it. It's a good look."

Anita decided to play with the little man. "Perhaps I can do the
same for you sometime." She realized she'd gone too far with
John's delicate ego when he frowned and then grimaced from the
pain of moving the muscles of his face in that expression.

She didn't get a chance to correct her mistake. The door swung
open once again and Mulder's tall partner and a very pissed
looking nurse pushed their way into the room.

The nurse took over. "All of you have to leave. Mr. Byers needs
his rest and this government agent needs to talk to him."

That was that. In a flurry of salutations, the group made their
way out of the room. Agent Davis watched them with a set mouth,
shaking her head at the innocent expressions directed her way.

3.
Anita showed them to a private waiting room and they regrouped.

"Do you think he'll spill anything?" Frohike asked.

Anita shook her head. "He doesn't remember anything to spill."

Scully looked frustrated. "True. Frohike, did he say anything
that day that would give us a clue as to what he was working on?"

As Frohike shook his head, Mulder cut in. "I got up early this
morning and went over everything still in my apartment. I found
this note."

He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. Out loud, he read,
"FWM-DNA sample, childhood."

Scully knit her brow in concentration. "He was working on the
test results. . ." Everyone nodded. "He was needing the baby's
DNA sample to complete his work. Krycek switched those samples
and destroyed John's work."

She suddenly looked exhausted and sat down. Mulder moved to stand
beside her, seeming concerned. She shifted away as his hand
reached down to her shoulder, and he settled it on the back of her
chair.

She continued. "They created this natural child from the two of
us for a reason. The answer could be in our DNA. John wanted a
past sample of your DNA for a reason. Could it have been changed
at some point?"

Mulder shrugged, looking bewildered. "Perhaps that's what the
note means."

Frohike added, "They've had their slimy hands on you from time to
time. Maybe They slipped you the whammy."

Scully looked frightened. "Do you have something that we could
use as a past DNA sample? A baby curl? Baby teeth?"

He shook his head. "No--wait. I remember seeing an envelope with
baby teeth in it. From Samantha and me. I didn't see the point
of keeping them, but my mother can't throw anything away. They're
in a safety deposit box in Boston."

"Can you have your mother send them down?" Langly asked.

A little too quickly, Mulder said, "No, that won't be necessary.
I'm going up to Boston to facilitate the sale of some land. I can
pick them up."

Scully looked startled and then said with stilted casualness, "Are
you going to see your mother while you're up there?"

Mulder tensed his jaw and said tersely, "No."

Anita looked quickly from one to the other. Something had
hardened between them since she'd last seen them. The two Gunmen
looked concerned as well.

Frohike suggested, "I can start to go over Byers' work with you,
Agent Scully. I think I can be up to speed quickly."

"Good idea," she responded. "I want to feel like I'm doing
something."

Turning to Anita, Frohike added, "And you, Dr. Mui. I'm sure
you'd be a great help as well."

Touched by the extended olive branch, Anita nodded. "I want to do
anything I can to help."

The door suddenly flew open and Agent Davis filled the doorway.
"I've interviewed John Byers and he says he doesn't remember a
thing. Any of you want to add to your previous statements?"

They all stared at her blankly, and a look of deep fury settled on
her strong features. "Fine. I'll be going to make my report to
A.D. Skinner now."

The cold wind of the agent's exit blew through the room, sending
everyone fluttering off on their appointed tasks like dry fallen
leaves.

4.

FBI Headquarters
1:40 P.M.

Skinner was loitering outside his office, apparently waiting for Tiff. She felt her backbone stiffen. He ushered her in, his hand heavy on the small of her back.

He moved around his desk and sat down. As she seated herself in a
chair before his desk, she set her face in a blank expression. He
reacted with a frown.

"Agent Davis?" His voice was cool.

"Sir?"

"Your report?"

"I have some preliminary findings. I haven't had time to type up
a report. Sir." She finished on the downbeat.

"And your findings are. . .?" He remained controlled.

She made it short and sweet. "There's nothing. John Byers
remembers nothing. Agents Mulder and Scully have nothing to add
to their statements. Those Frohike and Langly persons have
nothing to say. Nothing."

"But you have something to add to your previous reports?" His
tone was casual, but he was watching her carefully.

Again she felt a sense of danger. She had been avoiding this
confrontation for weeks. She was suddenly overwhelmed with anger.
Her temper had always been her downfall and she'd fought long and
hard to learn to control it. Every now and then it could be
useful as an intimidation tool.

"Sir, are you asking me to choose sides?" she challenged him.

He looked surprised at her bluntness. "I thought we were all on
the same side."

She shook her head. "I want to find out the truth. That's the
side I choose."

His next words hit her like a fist. "Come over tonight."

She worked to control her breathing, to keep her voice from
becoming a growl. She couldn't seem weak to him. She wasn't some
soft cunt, just waiting for him. She had to be as hard as he was.

She kept it simple. "No."

His voice softened. "I want to know the truth, too."

She suddenly wondered what he'd do with it if he had it. Out
loud, she said, "If they wanted you involved in their business
they'd have brought you in by now."

He leaned back in his chair, which groaned in protest. He gripped
the arms of his chair and his pectorals strained against the thin
fabric of his shirt. "Their business is very dangerous."

He leaned forward suddenly while she forced herself to remain
still in her chair. "I've seen individuals lose their lives.
Dammit, I've nearly lost my life!" He rapped his chest with his
knuckles for emphasis.

She remembered the first time she'd run her lips over the tangled
scar on his torso and had asked where'd he'd gotten it. His body
had stiffened and all he'd said was, "I got in the way."

He laid both of his hands on his desk, palms down. "I don't want
to see you hurt," he said flatly.

"I can take care of myself," she protested.

"You don't have to, though."

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally Tiff said, "Will that
be all, sir?"

Skinner ran the tip of his tongue along his stiffened top lip as
he stared at her. After a sigh, he replied, "Yes, Agent Davis.
That will be all."

She could think of nothing else to say. She rose and left his
office without looking back.

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

Chapter 3: Perfect Strangers

1.

Boston, Massachusetts
October 20th, 11:20 A.M.

Mulder felt as though his life up until this point in time was a
house he'd left in a rush, leaving all the lights on and the doors
flung open. Going to Boston was his first step towards locking
that house down tight.

As he hurried down Washington Street, he realized he was watching
for his mother. She didn't come into the city often, but he
wanted to be prepared with a bland explanation if he did run into
her.

Going into his bank, he found himself in the safety deposit vault
opening his box. He'd been paying the fees on this box for twenty
years but this was the first time he'd opened it. He and Samantha
had shared the box when they were children. Canceling it would be
turning off one of the lights he'd left burning.

It was like a time capsule for that period of his life, sealed up
shortly after she was taken away. The card showed that the last
time he had visited it had been with Uncle Isaac on January 16th,
1974.

His wife, Aunt Sis, had died the previous June, and Uncle Isaac
had wanted to put her wedding rings in the box. "For Sammie, Fox.
For when she comes back. You give them to her."

Uncle Isaac had been the only one who spoke of Samantha like she
was going to come back. When he died suddenly of a heart attack
eight months later, Mulder realized he was truly alone. No one
else believed. Gladly, he'd gone away to prep school, to hide in
the company of strangers.

He cracked open the lid of the box and sifted through the contents
until he found the ring box. Looking down at the dim diamonds and
tarnished platinum rings, he wondered what it signified that he
was now getting ready to give them to Scully. Had he given up
hope?

Uncle Isaac had lost his only child, Allan, in the Vietnam War.
Mulder could remember sitting Shiva with him, his small hands
hanging on for dear life to the huge hairy-backed paw of his
uncle. The big hand, usually so comforting, was shaking and weak,
barely able to return the grip of the boy.

The older man had leaned over and rasped in his ear, "A part of me
is missing, Fox. A part's just missing now."

Perhaps that's why he could understand what Mulder had felt when
Samantha disappeared. He understood the loss of completeness that
the younger man would carry with him for years.

He pulled the rings out of the box. They felt warm despite the
fact that they hadn't been on a body for years. He allowed
himself to roll them around in his palm and watched the light
catch on the stones. He was all grown up now. It was time to act
like it.

He shifted around some more things in the box searching for the
envelope holding their baby teeth. He lifted out the flat velvet
box that held Samantha's seed pearl necklace, the one she had
gotten on her eighth birthday and was supposed to wear at her
debut. He had to open the box and stroke the smooth pearls; he
couldn't stop himself.

He asked for a large envelope and emptied all the contents into
it, putting the envelope with their baby teeth in his pocket. He
closed out the account and walked out of the bank without looking
back.

He continued down the street to the shop run by Guy Mayer, the
family's jeweler, to have the rings cleaned. Guy propped up his
tall, thin body with his bony elbows on the counter. Looking over
the rings from under impossibly bushy eyebrows, he sighed. "Ike,
he had good taste in stones--not so good taste in settings."

Mulder looked at the rings again and had to agree. The setting was
old-fashioned, tangled as the climbing rose outside Aunt Sis'
kitchen window had been and as fussy as the cluster of Hummel
figures in her china cabinet. But he also remembered the rings
buried in the fleshy wrinkles of her finger as her hands ruffled
his hair or patted out dough for huge, yummy sugar cookies. Those
were good memories and he wanted to pass on the love represented
in the rings. He just didn't know what they would look like on
Scully's hand.

"Is there anything you can do?" he asked Guy.

"Well, I could pull the stones out, melt down the metal, you could
pick out a new design. What sort of woman are these for?" Guy
asked.

Mulder couldn't stop the small smile that formed on his lips. He
nodded towards the rings lying on a velvet pad on the counter top.
"Not this sort. She's got a simple style. Classic, I guess. .
.She has very small hands. . ." He saw Guy's bushy brows raise and
he heard the unspoken word, 'shiksa'. He shrugged his shoulders in
apology.

Guy grinned, showing all of his big white fake teeth. "I'd like to
meet this girl sometime."

Mulder returned his grin. "I'll bring her by, maybe at Christmas."
Both men chuckled. "Although I doubt she's going to let me shower
her with jewels. As I said, she has very simple tastes."

"Simple? Simple I could do with these stones. Small hands you
say. . ." Guy pulled a pad of paper out and began to sketch
quickly.

The jeweler suggested he cut and arrange the stones in a narrow,
long row to run from knuckle to knuckle. The stones wouldn't
pinch the sides of her fingers when her hand was squeezed. He
would build them up high enough so that the narrow wedding band
could slip under them.

Mulder's only concern was that it might seem too ostentatious to
Scully but perhaps that would slip by her with the set's
simplicity.

Guy nodded, not looking up from his work. "I could make you a
ring too. You'll be needing a ring, right?"

He blinked. A wedding ring. This would mean he was married.
"Yes, make me a ring too."

Guy lifted his shaggy head and grinned again. "Scared, eh?"

Mulder shook his head a little too quickly and Guy roared with
laughter. Then he asked, "Any inscription?"

Mulder was overwhelmed--Too many things to decide. "Uh. . .'I
love you.'"

Guy's eyebrows knitted in confusion over his nose. "That's it?
No poetry? That fancy Oxford education and that's the best you
can do?"

Mulder was determined. "No. That's enough."

As he turned to leave, Guy bellowed after him, "That's what you
think! Wait until you've been married a while!"

Mulder was at the door when Guy added, "And I'll engrave a silver
spoon for you!"

Mulder could only nod at the older man's astuteness as he went
through the door.

2.

Mulder's Apartment
October 20th; 11:30 P.M.

Scully threw down her shopping bags as she pushed Mulder's front

door shut behind her with her foot. After dropping him off at the

airport for his flight to Boston, she'd gone shopping for

replacements for their destroyed clothing.

She'd never been one to spend hours in the mall trying on garments
and now with the pregnancy, she was forced to find a whole new
style of clothing. She was exhausted.

Back in his bedroom, she moved Byers' things out of the bureau and
unloaded her bags. She had to hurry, her mother was arriving any
minute to begin looking at houses.

Ruefully she glanced down at what she was wearing now. She
imagined the expression on the face of the realtor who had to show
a house to a woman dressed in a pair of rolled up men's khakis, an
oversized faded man's shirt with tattered cuffs and pumps. She
stripped them off quickly.

Pausing for a moment, she turned to examine her body in the full-
length wall mirror. In the last two days, it seemed to have
become suddenly aware of its pregnancy.

Gingerly, she touched her breasts. They felt sore and tender as
if she was suffering from endless PMS. It wasn't even noon yet
and she already wanted a nap. Her bones ached.

She moved her hands down to her belly. She could see the swelling
all the time now, not just when she lay on her back. She furrowed
her brow in curiosity as she pressed her palms against the smooth
bulge. She expected it to be soft and pillow-like. Instead it
was hard. When she tensed her abdominal muscles, her uterus
pushed back. It was strong.

It was as though her body had let loose all the sensations and
signs that it had been holding in when she stopped denying her
pregnancy. She was officially a pregnant woman, complete with
sore feet and small bladder. Nude, she wandered into the bathroom
to relieve that pressure.

When she sat on the toilet she looked down at the rounded belly
now resting on her thighs. She ran her hands over it again in
wonder. This was really going to happen.

First she would marry Mulder: they would buy a house and a car,
no--two cars. Then they would have a honeymoon--no, they didn't
really have time for a honeymoon, they needed to stay at work
because she really wanted to use her vacation time for her
maternity leave. They needed furniture and she wasn't able to
find any bras she liked today, her breasts were larger already.
She'd heard they needed to put the baby on the waiting list for a
pre-school now, and there was the little matter of the shadowy
figures waiting to do something with her or the baby, God knows
what. . .

She covered her eyes with her hands to stop the rushing thoughts.
This was all happening too fast. She didn't believe in making
choices in haste and here she was deciding to marry Fox Mulder
just like that, especially when she wasn't so sure he wanted to
marry her.

She thought about his preponderance to jump forward without
looking, his capacity for kindness to the downtrodden,
particularly women and children. Well, she was both in one
package, she thought as she washed her hands and went back into
the bedroom to dress in a sensible corduroy jumper and turtleneck.

Looking at her dumpy ensemble, she moved on to the subject that
she'd been avoiding for weeks now: sex, or lack thereof. It
seemed to her this was just one issue too many for them to handle
right now, especially since he hadn't seemed that gung-ho on the
idea since his initial forays.

She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. She'd seen more
desirable looking nuns, she thought, as she looked disparagingly
at the thick black tights she'd put on. Better to wait. Perhaps
after she'd had the baby and returned to normal dimensions Mulder
would be comfortable with a sexual relationship.

The knocking on his front door caused her to glance at the clock.
Her mother. Right on time.

3.
Six hours later, she barely dragged herself to Mulder's couch to
throw herself down on it, shucking her shoes along the way. Her
mother had nearly killed her.

She could still hear the woman's voice, droning on and on in her
head. "Tyson's Corner will be perfect for the two of you. Libby
Flaxham lives here, and Tracy Collins too. You remember them from
high school? Well, their mothers still play bridge with me and
they say it's wonderful. They're just so happy for you, by the
way. . ."

She'd been staring out her mother's car window, watching the
beautiful, bland houses whip by and tried to make her mind whip
her mother's words by just as fast.

Of course all the old gang had been 'worried' about Dana.
Obsessed with her career. Whispers probably suggested she was
obsessed with her partner. Poor thing, couldn't get him to marry
her. And look now! She found a way to get her man!

She forced herself to respond because she hated the direction that
her thoughts had been taking. "I don't think we should be this
far out, Mom. We're going to be commuting."

Her mother's brow furrowed. "But honey, do you think Fox is going
to stay with the Bureau? I'm sure he could start to practice
psychology, he would have a successful practice. . ."

Scully had to leave this conversation again. She began
considering what her survival chances would be if she flung
herself from a speeding car.

Her mother pulled up to the first house. Too far away, cupid
statuary in the front yard, floral patterned wallpaper throughout.
She heard her voice parroting after her mother to the realtor,
"It's lovely."

4.
Mulder pushed his front door open with a sigh of relief. A long
day, but he was home just in time. He hadn't missed any of the
Flashback to the '80's program on the radio.

He refused to listen to the new stations that had begun to play
80's music all the time. He didn't want to know he was getting
old enough that the music of his youth was now a nostalgic radio
format. Baldness was next for sure.

But he would allow himself to enjoy the guilty pleasure of an
hour's worth of music when he got home in time from work. He
found the remote in the darkened room, flicking the music on.
Blondie's 'Heart of Glass'. Perfect.

As he kicked off his shoes, he allowed himself a twisting, twisted
little dance step. His body remembered all the moves learned as a
teenager. Every Friday afternoon he would make his escape, taking
the train down to New York from his Connecticut prep school. He
had made a few friends in the dance clubs there. He spent the
weekend catching naps at their apartments during the early morning
and dancing the two nights away until it was time to catch the
train back to school, exhausted.

It was more than music to him. It was a potent memory of one of
the few carefree times in his lives.

He did a little shimmy with his hips as he loosened his tie and
just about had a heart attack when Scully rose up from under the
crumpled blanket on his couch.

"Shit! Sorry. I forgot you were here." That was totally the
wrong thing to say, he could see that petulant expression that had
become so familiar this past week spread across her face. Time to
turn on the charm.

He wiggled towards the couch, adding a little heel to toe action.
He extended a hand to her, an offer.

She settled back into the couch, shaking her head. Negative
response or amazement at his bad dancing?

He tried harder, which he'd always found resulted in the dancing
becoming worse.

*A double shot of Blondie, now here's 'Rapture'.*

She smiled. "Your favorite song, I presume?"

He had to grin. "Maybe."

Her gaze scanned up his body. "I can see you now. New Wave Boy.
. ."

He squinted at her as though he was trying to really see her.
"And you. . .you were a Rocker Girl. . ."

She turned her face away and he enjoyed her profile before
continuing. "Yep. In a tight, tight pair of Lee jeans. One of
those little bitty tee shirts with the scoop necks. . ." He had
to pause to reflect on the imagined memory of Scully's young
breasts. "Long hair. . ." He checked to see if she was looking
at him yet, but she was just licking her lips as though to lap up
the giggles before they could escape. Damn. "With those flipped
back bangs all the girls had. And a cherry red pickup your Daddy
bought for you. Roaring down the California freeway with the
stereo blasting. Tom Petty's 'American Girl'? Or one of those
'80's hair bands? Bon Jovi? Winger?"

He had stopped dancing and was standing in front of her. She
finally looked up at him and shook her head one more time.
"Nope."

"Oh?" He goaded.

She rolled her head back onto the cushion and met his gaze. A
challenge lurked under her heavy, sleepy eyelids.

He allowed himself to loom over her, enveloping her in a shadow.
He whispered, "You know, New Wave Boys always had a secret lust
for Rocker Girls--"

"Too bad," she said casually. "Because I was a Punk Girl."

He was overcome. "No way!"

Her lids opened wide and she gave him her eyes, open and
completely honest. "Way."

He could only repeat. "No way!"

She crooked a finger at him. "Come closer. If you look
carefully, you can see the scar where my nose ring was."

He quickly snapped on the table lamp and adjusted the shade to
boldly light the side of her face with a chiaroscuro effect. She
tipped her head to give him a better view, holding her lips tight
to keep from laughing at him.

The tune changed to 'Lips like Sugar.'

He leaned in close. He concentrated on focusing on finding the
scar among the freckles and tried not to notice her warm, sleepy
odor or the light caught in the soft tangle of her hair.

Breathlessly, he said, "You know, New Wave Boys always had a
secret lust for Punk Girls-"

She let the grin loose to play. One small hand gripped his tie,
hanging like a panting dog's tongue between them. The other ran
restlessly through his hair, making it stand on end. "I know."
Regretfully, she added, "But New Wave Boys were such dweebs. Even
if they were awfully cute with their big hair and skinny ties."

She tugged on his tie and he took that as a signal to steal that
smile away. Her mouth tasted like a Pez candy, sweet and tart at
the same time, and gone regrettably fast.

He had to win. "No way."

Her face fell. "Okay. It was for only one summer. Then my
father came home and put a stop to it."

Hurriedly, he said, "We don't talk much like this, do we?"

She got a strange look on her face, part fear, worry, and a
bittersweet amusement.

"No," she whispered before she pulled him back to her, to kiss him
deeply. He didn't have a problem with that, even if his arms were
aching from balancing over her body so he wouldn't crush her.

The phone rang. Her hand pushed him off, and she ignored his
grumbling protests as she snagged it. He fell down on the couch
beside her, snuggling into the blanket and propping up his head on
her shoulder. This felt much better than tension.

Then he felt the muscle under his cheek tense. Uh-oh.

"Mom? Yes, he's home." Scully pushed her hair behind her free
ear. "Uh, no. Not yet." She grew exasperated. "Because he just
walked in the door." She rose from the couch suddenly and he fell
over in the warm spot left behind. He watched her, now sideways,
start to pace. He noticed for the first time that she was wearing
a fuzzy cute little dress thing. What were they called? All he
knew was they were fun to remove because of the big buttons
holding the straps in place. His fingers flexed in anticipation.

She had found a way to end the conversation and was staring at the
receiver as though she was contemplating hurling it across the
room.

He played his role. "What's wrong?"

She did toss the phone onto the couch beside him. "My mother
wants me to start hounding you to buy some house she found in the
'burbs."

"Is it nice?" he asked.

"If you like that sort of thing." She brushed a hand across tired
looking eyes. "How did things go at the bank today?"

"I got the teeth for the DNA sample. Uncle David seems optimistic
that he can get three hundred thousand, easy, for the land. Of
course, our little house will have some New York nouveau money
building a mansion next door, but that's the deal we make with the
devil." He tried smiling, but she was obviously thinking and
didn't notice.

"How soon does he think it will sell?"

"He said not to worry about that. He worked out some complicated
deal where the bank will use the land as collateral on a loan to
pay the down payment until it's sold. He said buy something as
soon as we find it."

"Don't tell my mother that," she warned.

"Why not?"

"Oh, she's got the perfect place all picked out. With a built-in
Sunday after church neighborhood barbecue."

He had to shudder at her words. He thought for a moment. He felt
so overwhelmed by all this and he was sure Scully was as well.
"Perhaps we should listen to your mother. I mean, she's got
experience with all of this."

The glare she gave him would have knocked him unconscious if it
were a fist. He tried a different approach. "What do you want to
do?"

She fell down onto the couch beside him. Whining, she said, "I
don't know. I just know I don't like being told what I'm supposed
to want."

He nodded. "Maybe we can go out this weekend. Look around for
ourselves." He was obscenely pleased at the sweet reward of a
smile that suggestion earned him.

Her eyelids drooped again and he decided to take her to bed. She
didn't even protest as he lifted her off the couch and carried her
into the bedroom. The buttons were fun to undo, but her fumbling
hands stopped him before he could pull the jumper down.

He backed away from the bed and her eyes thanked him. "Uh--I've
got some work to do."

Her expression solidified to a blank wall. "All right."

He escaped to the living room. What the fuck was going on? He
didn't know what he was doing or should be doing from minute to
minute. He didn't know if he should be making a move. He was
never good at the move. Women always seemed to be the ones making
the move on him, that is until he met Scully.

It had been so simple. Scully must not desire him; she'd never
made a move on him. Well, somehow she'd ended up pregnant, so
there must be some desire in there somewhere.

His mother had always told him, "Ladies like a gentleman, Fox.
Not some animal pawing at them all the time." He was going to be
a fucking gentleman if it killed him.

He pulled a blanket and pillow out from the hall closet and placed
them on the couch for later. He wanted to be sure she had the
space he knew she desperately needed now. He only pushed her when
he believed strongly in his cause. He'd pushed in everything but
his love for her. Until now, only desperation and drugs had ever
made him cross the line.

But he felt as though they were at square one. He had to stop
being so impatient. They were getting married. They had the rest
of their lives. He'd passed his sexual peak a long time ago. She
wasn't going to be missing out on anything. It was only sex after
all. He'd gone--how many years had it been?--without a regular
sexual partner. He could be a big boy now.

He felt very mature as he got on-line to notify Frohike and Langly
that he had the DNA sample. He pushed the little devil off his
shoulder as his gaze avoided the pornography spam that filled his
mailbox if he left it for a day without checking the contents.
The evil devil that claimed he didn't even need to have sex with
her. Damn it, he would be satisfied to see her naked!

He rolled his head back and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.
One step at a time. Get a house. He was sure Scully would feel
more comfortable once they had a place of their own. Prioritize,
that's what she was always telling him. Everything would look
better once they were on the right track.

4.

Pinecrest, Virginia
October 24th

It had seemed so simple. But now Mulder was discovering what it

felt like to have a mother-in-law. A displeased one.

She was standing in the middle of the living room of the house
Scully and he had bought that weekend. The house had everything
they wanted and the price had been right. Mulder hadn't felt
anything but relief as he signed the papers.

Now he was being told he should have a case of buyer's remorse.
Maggie paced and gestured around Scully, who stood with her arms
crossed tightly.

Maggie's voice was rising. "I cannot believe you did this!" She
was gesturing at Scully but her gaze settled on Mulder.

She cut off Scully before she could respond. "Don't tell me you
paid full price!" Gasping, she said the numbers out loud. "Eight
hundred--fifty thousand--dollars."

Mulder protested, "But if we didn't they would have sold the house
to someone else."

Maggie's glance was withering before it swept around the room.
"Did you manage to get a structural evaluation done?"

Mulder stomped his foot on the hardwood floor. "It's very sturdy,
Mrs. Scully--"

"What about the lean on your front porch and the falling
shingles?" she asked.

Scully was red-faced and her mouth gaped open and shut like a
dying fish.

Mulder plowed on. "It's got a big tree in the backyard for a tire
swing--"

Maggie interrupted again. "And crabgrass--"

Determined, he continued, "There's a fireplace in the bedroom--"

"What does it matter if the plaster is cracked and dust is going
to filter into the baby's lungs--"

He was beginning to lose confidence. Mrs. Scully was right. He
hadn't had the house checked for Radon poisoning or the
possibility of carbon monoxide leaks from the furnace. His gaze
wandered around the room, noticing a crack in one of the windows
for the first time. His nest was missing some twigs and mud, that
was for sure.

Scully's voice had joined the fray, low and cool. "Mom, this is
our house. This is the one we wanted."

Now it was Mrs. Scully's turn to gape. Recovering, she said,
"Dana, this is just not like you."

Again, the tough, burning gaze of a protective mother settled on
him. "Not like you at all."

He had to fix things, fast. "Scully, maybe your mother is right-"

Scully shook her head. Mulder was retreating on her again. She
took the moment to look into his confused and worried face. She
couldn't be angry with him, only exasperated. She suddenly
realized he had probably spent as many years looking for a mother
as he'd spent in a search for a father. The weight was heavy on
her heart.

"Can we return a house?" he asked.

Her mother snorted behind her and that pushed her over the edge.
Each word shot out of her mouth. "We're not returning this
house."

She repeated. "This is our home."

Mulder nodded at her. "Okay."

Her mother was relentless. "So when are you getting married?"

Scully closed her eyes, wishing herself anywhere, doing anything
but this.

Mulder was saying, "I'm arranging the wedding, Mrs. Scully."

Her eyes snapped open. He was?

He nodded again and continued. "I thought we could drive down to
North Carolina on a weekend. Something quiet and private, right?"
His brows rose in an unspoken question as he looked at her.

She nodded back, struck speechless.

Her mother didn't give up. "I thought we could have something--"

"No. Mulder's right. I don't want to waste a lot of time and
effort in this. It's just a simple ceremony. There's no need to
make a fuss."

Mulder's face took on the blank quality Scully knew so well. What
did he want from her now? Irritated, she remembered the early
years of their partnership, when she spent hours of her days
trying to figure out how to please him.

She had thought they'd developed an unspoken communication over
the years. She'd fought long and hard to learn to read his every
nuance. It didn't mean she liked everything she heard from him, or
wanted to hear it all time. But it was there.

Now, closer than they'd ever been, she couldn't read him anymore.
She missed understanding him with an ache that unsettled her. She
turned her back on the two of them to block out the expressions
she didn't want to see. His face confused and questioning. Her
mother's face disapproving and fearful.

She looked out the large windows into the backyard. It was deeply
blanketed with multi-hued leaves from their large trees, covering
the pool and lawn. She furrowed her brow. They needed to get a
couple of rakes and a wheelbarrow.

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

Chapter 4: Wedding Day

1.

November 13th
3:30 P.M.

The urban scene had given way, and now the Virginia countryside
was sliding by the car window. Maggie Scully's easy chatter
bobbed around the car interior like rubber duckies in a bathtub.

Scully nodded a lot. Her brain was used to keeping track of
conversations without really listening.

Mulder had been held up on a case again. He was working in
southern Virginia and was going to meet them in North Carolina.
Maggie had actually seemed pleased. As she squeezed Scully's
hand, she had said, "Oh good. We can have some quality time.
Just us girls."

Well, here they were. Scully wanted to ask her mother to stop so
she could buy a cherry pecan log at a Stuckey's, but decided that
wasn't keeping with the theme of discussions of decorating tips
and decisions about breast feeding versus bottle feeding. She
burrowed deeper in her seat, realizing suddenly that Mulder always
stopped to buy her a pecan log. She never even had to ask.

"Well. . ."

Scully shook herself back to attention because she knew that tone
with her mother. The woman was finally going to get down to the
conversation she really wanted to be having.

Maggie said it again, with a brighter tone. "Well." She smiled
over at Scully so her next words wouldn't seem as harsh. "I
certainly never thought you'd be in this position, Dana."

"What position, Mom?" Scully asked carefully, afraid she knew the
answer.

"Pregnant and getting married." Maggie chuckled uncomfortably.
"Or even married and then pregnant." She rushed on. "I'm very
happy for you and Fox, of course."

"Of course," Scully echoed.

Her mother shot her a sharp glance. "Now, Missy. . .I wouldn't
have been surprised if this had happened to her. . ."

Scully felt a stab to her chest. She had an urge to confess.
"Mom. . ."

She forced herself to look over at her mother and was shocked at
what she saw on her face. Resentment and guilt. Her mother had
known about Melissa's abortion all along.

Scully forced her gaze back out the car window. She felt
assaulted on all sides. Not only did she have to re-learn her
relationship with Mulder, but she also realized that her thirty-
five year relationship with her mother had changed in the ten
seconds it had taken her to acknowledge her pregnancy to this
woman.

She hungrily read a road sign as they passed it. Fifty-seven
miles to Edenton. She sneaked a glance at the odometer, marking
the mileage. She knew every mile was going to pass slowly. She
started again. "Mom. . ."

2.
Edenton, North Carolina, The Cupola House Bed and Breakfast

After checking into the bed and breakfast Mulder had selected,

Scully and Maggie sat together in the swing on the front porch,

waiting for him. The crisp fall air felt good on Scully's cheeks.
She counted the seconds ticking away with an unconscious tapping
of her toe. She wasn't sure if she dreaded their forward progress
or if she was impatient to push them along.

Mulder's car pulled up and he leapt out to jump up the stairs of
the porch. Nervously, he asked them, "How are you?"

Scully squinted up at him. The late afternoon sun came over his
shoulder in a sharp beam and hurt her eyes. With a neutral tone,
she answered, "Good. We're good. Is everything ready?"

He nodded quickly. "Shall we go?"

Maggie got up from the swing, straightened her dress and ran a
hand over her hair. She gave Mulder a quick smile. "Of course.
Are you going to drive?"

"Yes. Let's go." He offered his hand to Scully and after a
moment's hesitation, she accepted it. Slowly they climbed down
the stairs towards the car.

As she settled back in the front seat, she wondered if the wedding
was going to be as stilted as these first few moments. She didn't
need to be worried about remembering this day. Everything was
happening so slowly that she felt as though she were viewing one
of Mulder's slide shows.

Mulder drove them out of town and her curiosity was piqued.
Maggie asked first. "Where're we going, Fox?"

He glanced quickly up into the rear view mirror to make eye
contact with her and then at Scully. He looked worried. "I had
made arrangements of with the local justice of the peace. He
usually does the ceremony in his home, but. . ."

He turned off the highway and started driving down a sandy country
road in the direction of the ocean. Through the crack in the
window, Scully smelled the sharp tang of sea air and her heart
gave an automatic leap.

He gave them a strained smile. "I heard about this place and
thought it might be better. . ."

The road ended at a finger of land, all sand dunes and tufts of
thick grass. Strong and stocky, a small, wood-frame white church
sat peacefully slumbering among the dunes.

Mulder started rattling off his spiel. "It was a church used by
fishermen and their families. It's been abandoned. It isn't even
consecrated anymore. But I thought--"

He looked miserable as he turned the car off and silence settled
over the car.

Scully laid a hand on his arm. "It's perfect. Thank you."

Maggie looked less enthusiastic but as soon as she got out of the
car and the breeze caught her dark hair to lift it from her face,
she gave him a warm grin. "Yes, Fox. What a wonderful idea."

He led them to the doorway. "Uh. . .we have to hurry. There
aren't any lights."

The interior was very dim. Some light filtered through the
ventilation slates in the belfry and cast sharp bands of gold
across the dusty floor. There were two simple stained glass
windows behind the altar and a primary colored prism formed a
spotlight for them to approach.

"Ah--Here you are," was the hearty bellow from the shadows at the
front of the church.

"Yes, Mr. Marlowe, we're here." Mulder was helping Scully out of
her coat and nodded down at her, seeming to approve.

She smiled up at him, understanding. The heavy gray velvet dress
she'd chosen matched his rich silver silk tie. It almost looked
as though they planned this day.

The three of them hung back, unsure.

"Well, get on up here," came rolling down from the front again.

They all looked at one another. Maggie seemed to reach a decision
and reached to take each of their hands, leading them down the
sandy aisle, three abreast.

Once they were at the space where the altar would have been,
Scully could make out the stout figure of Mr. Marlowe, the justice
of the peace.

He smiled at her. "Indeed, what a lovely bride."

She supposed she should have blushed to fill the bill, but
instead, she nodded. "Thank you." She hated compliments on her
appearance. She never knew what to say.

She was startled when her mother gave her a quick peck on the
cheek and stepped to the side. A woman stood back behind Mr.
Marlowe and she assumed this would be the other witness.

He had begun and she hadn't been paying attention.

"Dearly beloved. . ."

Vows. She would be making vows. Her hand tensed in Mulder's
light grasp. How had her hand gotten there? She couldn't lie.
Would she be asked to make promises she could not keep?

"To have and to hold. . ." She could do that.

"In sickness and in health. . ." For the first time in her life,
she was able to lie convincingly. For Mulder's safety, she would
lie now, all the while resolved to make sure he was never hurt,
even if it meant she would have to leave him.

"Forsaking all others. . ." Her brow creased. When was the last
time she'd looked at another man with more than a simple
appreciation for his physical appearance? She suddenly felt an
odd sense of resentment towards Mulder for making her love him.

"Until death do you part. . ." The only problem was her concern
that the death would be coming sooner rather than later.

Something cold was slipping onto her finger and she looked down to
see what it was. She had to hold her hand up into the colored
light to see it. He had put two rings on her finger. One was
covered with diamonds, now cast in the garish shades of a neon
sign, the other, a plain band hidden under a crust of stones.
Surprised, she glanced at him.

Mulder looked embarrassed. She suddenly felt an easy smile cross
her face. With her mother murmuring praise in the background, she
agreed. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

Shifting his gaze between Scully's half-lit face and Mrs. Scully's
admiring eyes, Mulder nodded, suddenly relieved. He had to stop
taking these risks. He should have given her the ring the night
before, made sure she approved. He should have shown her the
wedding band, pointed out the inscription.

Although, he was now glad he hadn't. It seemed right that his
pronouncement would remain hidden from view, but kept close to her
skin.

All their vows were hidden in the shadows. Somehow it seemed
appropriate to marry Scully in a shifting half-light.

He couldn't comprehend the words coming out of his mouth, but that
was all right. He didn't need illumination or sound. He only had
to watch the kaleidoscope of emotions cross Scully's face as the
justice of the peace prompted him and he responded. When he said
he would love her forever, the colors whirled in a rainbow.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Her lips were as cool as the ring he'd given her to slip on his
finger.

3.

The light was nearly gone by the time they stepped out of the

church door and headed back to the car. The breeze off the ocean

had become a stiff wind. Scully turned to the others and asked,
embarrassed, "Do you mind? I'd like to look at the ocean."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Mulder asked, although he could
tell the answer already.

"No. I'll be gone just a moment." Without waiting to see if he
agreed, she shucked her shoes, wiggled out of her hose, and padded
between the high dunes with the quickened step of a sea-nymph
answering a call.

Maggie watched her go with a smile on her lips. Her voice wrapped
around Mulder like a soft scarf against the chill of the
encroaching darkness. "Don't worry. She probably wants a moment
with her father."

"I'm sorry." Mulder felt that covered a number of possibilities.

Her hand, warm and dry, found his and grasped on tight. "Thank
you."

He found himself draping his arm around her shoulder. Her tone
kept its soft ascent up to him. "I'll be going back tonight after
dinner."

"What? In the dark? We're not due back until Sunday night."

She was firm. "No. I want to give the two of you some time
alone."

He was suddenly mortified. "That's not. . .I mean. . ."

"I think it's for the best," she said with all her grace. He felt
as though he had just received an assignment.

The moon was rising, large and orange in the navy sky, and as
Scully reappeared between the silver dunes, pushing her now wild
red curls back with an embarrassed laugh, he found himself saying
slowly, "Perhaps you're right."

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

Chapter 5: Cupola

1.

Edenton, North Carolina
Cupola Bed and Breakfast
8:05 P.M.

"What!" Scully screeched. Fighting for control, she tried a more

reasonable tone. "Mom, what did you say to him?"

Maggie continued to pack her suitcase serenely. "I simply told

him I was going home early so the two of you could spend some time
alone together."

Scully heard her ten-year-old self in her voice. "But he'll think
I asked you to go. . .he'll think. . ." The idea mortified her.
The last thing she wanted was Mulder believing she needed her
mother to set up a romantic encounter for her.

Maggie arched a brow at her. "He'll think what? He'll think he's
your husband now? He'll think that a marriage ceremony means he
gets a wedding night?"

"Mom! He gets a wedding night! Do you hear how that sounds? I'm
supposed to do him some favor?" Scully protested.

Maggie sighed and then gave her a no-nonsense look. "Maybe you
should do yourself a favor. In case you decide that's a good
idea, there's a belated wedding shower gift there on the bureau."
With that she snapped her suitcase shut, gave Scully a peck on the
cheek and as she swept from the room, said, "See you when you get
home. Use the time wisely."

Scully couldn't help herself. She went and slowly opened the box.
A satin nightgown lay in gold tissue. She pulled it out and held
it up. It was floor length, with the sheen of amber pearls, tiny
spaghetti straps and an impossibly low cut back. It looked
exactly like something Jean Harlow would be wearing while sipping
a martini.

She held it up to her body and looked in the mirror. Yes, the
high waist would accommodate her rounded belly, even hiding it
somewhat. Had her mother actually asked for a maternity negligee?

Now all she had to do was find the guts to put it on.

2.
In the adjoining room, Mulder paced and strained his ears to try
to hear something in the next room. Had Mrs. Scully left yet?
It would be really embarrassing to walk in ready for seduction
and have her sitting there with Scully in their matching flannel
robes.

He looked down at himself. Did this pass for suave? He hadn't
hoped--he hadn't dreamed--he wasn't prepared. He hadn't brought
anything appropriate for a wedding night. The closest thing he
had were his black silk boxers.

He had shaved extra close, put on the boxers and placed a couple
of bottles of mineral water in an ice bucket. It was the best he
could do.

He paced and listened some more, then glanced at the clock.
Nine o'clock. She had to be gone. He had to act before he
exploded. He knocked on the connecting door. He heard a muffled
'ugh' through the door. It wasn't promising, but he entered her
room anyway.

He had to look around the room to find her. She had turned all
the lights off but the small lamp by the bed. The rest of the
room was illuminated with candles and the air was thick with the
sweet odor of warm beeswax. A fire burned, the reflection of the
flames licking in deep orange tongues up the ivory walls.

Scully was on the purple velvet-covered chaise lounge in front of
the fireplace, looking as though she had been napping. Her hair
was tousled and her lids at half-mast, the blue irises glowing out
from under the sweep of her dark lashes. Her cheeks were pink and
flushed from her nap, like a sweet baby.

She was wearing a nightgown that matched the glow of her skin.
His eyes flitted so rapidly over her body his head hurt. He was
trying to take it all in: the way the material swayed down between
her breasts to reveal the edge of a pink nipple in a deep shadow,
the shimmer as it shifted restlessly over her hips and calves when
she pushed herself upright, and the slow descent of an incredibly
thin strap slipping off a smooth cream shoulder.

He really didn't know if he could do this. He had dreamed and
planned and plotted for so long--yet here he was and he didn't
know what to do first. He just stood there.

"What'cha got there?" she asked.

He looked down at the ice bucket. "Something to drink." He
decided not to try swallowing anything right now--his throat
seemed to be nearly closed.

"Put that down and come over here," she ordered him. Thank god--
she was going to take charge.

As he approached her with measured steps, Scully could feel her
throat closing off just as slowly. At this rate, she would be
unconscious by the time her got to her side.

He finally stopped next to her and she craned her neck back to
look up at him. It reminded her of the first time she'd tipped
her head back to look up at the Empire State building. Her head
spun from the lack of oxygen. He was her own personal skyscraper
and she had the odd image of herself as Faye Raye, scaling the
building's side to join King Kong on the top.

She found her mouth full of cotton, a good muffler to keep the
words running through her mind like the moving letters on the side
of the Goodyear blimp from escaping: 'Mine, Mine, Mine. . .' She
couldn't think of another single thing as her eyes swept over his
body, so familiar and yet now, suddenly, completely foreign
territory.

She reached up to draw him down next to her on the chaise lounge
but couldn't think what to do after that. He sat there by her and
seemed content. Finally she tugged at the waistband of his boxers.
"I like this," she said shyly.

He shrugged in embarrassment. "I left my smoking jacket and silk
pajamas back at my apartment."

"Oh." Boy, she was a font of stimulating conversation. She had to
think of something. . .

He was lightly tracing his finger on her bare shoulder. "You're
pretty," he whispered and that broke the tension for her.

She gave a shaky chuckle. "You sweet talker."

He protested. "I mean it."

Her lips trembled between a smile and laugh. "I know."

"Wanna sit on my lap, little girl?" he suggested.

She nodded shyly and tipped forward so he could slip back into the
corner of the couch, pulling her on top of him. Their silk
garments made their bodies slide over each other in an agreeable
fashion.

She curled up on his lap and he seemed content with this. She
wasn't. She reached up to draw his mouth down to hers but didn't
kiss him quite yet. She'd have time for that later.

She trapped his lower lip between her teeth. She had always
wanted to do that. Not even to kiss him: she hadn't allowed
herself that fantasy. But the overwhelming stimulus of his lip
was like a seeing a chocolate bon-bon through a glass counter that
never failed to make her mouth water.

She suckled on the captured flesh while his open mouth gasped warm
breaths across her flushed face, letting her tongue attack the
plump piece of fruit.

Under her ass, she could feel his arousal and it wasn't merely
trying to find a better angle to his mouth that made her shift
until he groaned.

He finally pulled his lip free and she grumbled in distress. She
had to admit he had a better plan when his mouth slipped down
under her chin to explore all the surfaces it could find.

His hands slid over her satin-sheathed body, never grasping or
pressing, but using the slippery cloth to polish her goose-pimpled
skin.

Her head lolled back on the velvet arm of the couch and she
watched through blurred vision as his large, dark hand slid down
the pale silk covering her shin. When his fingers reached the
edge of the fabric, they danced there for a moment, seemingly
unsure.

For encouragement, she rolled her head over and sucked his earlobe
into her mouth to give it a tug. Finally, she felt the tentative
stroke of his fingertips on her calf. She gave out a gasp of
approval into his ear, and that seemed to spur him onward.

His palm joined his fingers in their journey back up her leg to
where her two thighs were pressed together and squirming on his
lap.

She glanced down to see the rough-hewn hand revealed her white
thigh to his gaze. The edge of her panties appeared as he swept
the negligee up to her waist.

He met her eyes and he seemed to be asking permission to continue.
Feeling exhilaration at fear of the unknown, like being unable to
watch a scary movie, she buried her face in his neck. She
couldn't watch anymore, she wanted to just feel.

He must have understood because she could feel the stealth steps
of the pads of his fingers across the swell of her belly. She
turned into his body again, hoping he wouldn't be able to see how
much her stomach was distended with her pregnancy. She couldn't
imagine a bigger turn-off for a man.

He managed to fit his arm down between their bodies, into the dark
crevice that was made up of his large roving hand, his swollen,
trembling erection under his shorts, her shifting thighs and the
swell of their child's home.

She allowed herself to peek and the sight of his strong, sinewed
forearm disappearing between their bodies made her moan with a
sweet pain. She indulged herself, licking and biting his hard
bicep. The veins bulged and the tendons rippled in his long arm
and she realized she'd never be able to look at his beautiful bare
arms again without becoming wet.

She let out a shuddering sigh as she felt his fingers slip under
the edge of her panties and burrow through her curls. He was
almost there. She spread her legs a bit to give him access, but
had to turn her face away again. If she looked it might all turn
out to be a dream, and she didn't want to wake herself if that was
the case.

Confined by her underwear, his hand was pressed to her hot labia,
but that was all right. He seemed content to let his fingers
slide through her folds in their first tentative explorations of
this new territory.

She realized she should be doing something. She should be kissing
him, encouraging him, touching him, but all of her thought
processes and energy was tuned to the nerve endings under his
touch at this moment. It was as though she was travelling back
all the months to the moment when her orgasm had died just as it
started. It was back, ready, needy.

He pushed his index finger into her and as it traveled up her
vagina, investigating all the soft nooks and crannies it found
along the way, and she suddenly remembered why having a man was
better than spending a lifetime masturbating: bigger hands, longer
fingers.

Her body was completely liquid, incapable of action. She let her
head fall away from the crook of his neck and onto the arm of the
couch, her body arched back and exposed to him.

When their eyes met, she allowed herself to reveal her arousal to
him in her lazy gaze.

The sight of her face stunned Mulder. Every Scully expression he
had ever seen before had to be wiped away. This was the one he
would remember on his dying day. He was reminded that Bernini had
modeled his statue of St. Teresa in ecstasy after his mistress
during an orgasm. This was what he saw forming on her flushed
face: pure rapture.

She wasn't turned on. That was too base a description. She was
allowing herself to ascend to a spiritual place created from
nerves and muscles and heat. And she was showing it to him.

He withdrew his finger and saw worry cross her smooth features.
He shook his head to reassure her and moved his fingers up to her
clitoris. He squeezed and gently rolled it between his thumb and
second finger and began to stroke the swollen nub he had captured
with his slick index finger.

He watched mesmerized as the flames of the firelight danced with
the flitting emotions on her features. Her mouth was gasping for
air and calling for her deity all at once.

"Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God." was her plea. He saw the
miracle happen, felt its power beneath his hand as she rose to
meet it. At that moment, he shared her belief, he felt saved.

He realized he'd been sitting still for a few minutes watching her
face. It looked like the setting sun, full and bright, then
intense and deep as the rising night when her head sank back
against the pillows.

He gently disentangled himself and stood up on shaken legs. She
gazed up at him with wide, dazed eyes. He smiled and said, "Feel
better now?"

"Uh-huh." Her voice cracked over the few wordless syllables.

"I'm glad." He carefully pushed her hair from her damp brow,
grimacing only slightly at the pain of his own straining erection.

"Umm. . .Mulder?"

"Yeah?" He straightened back up and realized that that didn't
feel any better.

"Do you. . ." She glanced down at the bulge in his boxers.

He sounded very British to his own ears when he replied. "Really.
. .that's all right. . .not necessary. . .I understand perfectly.
. ."

She was touching him. She had reached out and grasped the elastic
waistband of his silk shorts while he was garbling and pulled them
down to his knees. He stepped out of them but then continued to
stand there in front of her, feeling slightly ridiculous. In his
mind, there was nothing sillier than a naked man with an erection
in the presence of a clothed woman. He realized he hadn't even
bothered to take off her underwear as he'd touched her.

She was touching him again. Just one finger was running up and
down the underside of his thrumming cock, and her mouth was pursed
as though she was concentrating on a medical examination. He
expected her to diagnose a varicose vein any moment now.

As she touched him, Scully decided she wanted to get a good, long
look. She'd always been amazed by conversations with other women
where they revealed their disgust at the male sex organ. She
didn't share that view.

She found beauty in the slightly ridiculous appearance of the
penis. The process that resulted in an erection and the effect
that her ministrations could have upon it fascinated her.

This was her penis now. She decided it was a very beautiful penis
at that. She gripped the shaft very lightly, testing the girth.
Her fingertips danced along the smooth skin, discovering all the
ridges and veins. She could hear his panting breaths above her,
and noticed the quiver of his stomach, but she ignored them. She
needed to concentrate. Very lightly, she used just the pads of
her fingers to touch the head of his penis. She slid her thumb
around, spreading the drop of pre-cum that had appeared as though
she could soothe his heat.

"Uh. . .Scully?"

She snatched her hand away and felt her face go beet-red. "I'm
sorry--"

"No, that's okay. . .ummm. . .so. . ." Now he sounded like a camp
counselor to his ears. "Shall we get started?"

She sounded unsure. "Of course." She struggled to get out of the
cushions of the lounge.

He gently pushed her back. "No. Stay here. I've got an idea."

He started gathering up the pillows strewn on the floor and on the
bed. First he supported her back, then piled some under her hips.
After a moment's hesitation, he pulled her panties off carefully,
and although she didn't protest, he decided not to try for the
other garment.

He stood back and surveyed his work. He decided to add another
pillow under her hips just to make sure. He didn't want any of
his weight bearing down on her stomach.

Her voice, amused, whispered in his ear as he bent to his task.
"And when we're finished here, we can build a tower of furniture."

He looked at her uncomprehending for a moment, but then had a
sudden flash to her face that night, and realized as he looked
into her yearning eyes now, that there had been an invitation in
it.

He constrained himself from slapping himself on the brow, and
knelt down between her raised and spread knees. He had more
pressing matters to attend to than his past mistakes. He propped
himself up with one arm over her body, gripping the chaise arm
behind her head. She smiled up at him dreamily and he took that
as encouragement.

With his free hand, he guided his penis, now quivering like a dog
straining on a leash, to her opening, and carefully pressed into
her. She was still warm, loose, and wet from her orgasm and his
entry was easy. In unison, they both gave a long, low sigh of
relief when he was fully enclosed in her heat.

As he settled his weight into his grip on the arms of the chaise,
he decided he had it all planned out. He was going to go slow--
none of that caveman pounding of their first encounter. He would
give her at least two orgasms to make up for last time. It
seemed the least he could do. The slow screw--that was on the
program tonight, he thought as he gazed down at her rapturous,
loose smile and gently kissed her soft lips. He kissed her again
and again, with a half-closed mouth and open eyes gazing down into
her warm pools of tropical blue.

In horror, he realized his hips had another idea. They were
pumping madly into her. He took a deep breath and tried to slow
down.

This worked until her eyes took on a devilish gleam and she pushed
herself off the pillows to worry at one of his nipples with her
tongue. He gritted his teeth and almost survived that, and then
she bit down on the swell of his pectoral until he was forced to
groan. His hips picked up their fast rhythm again.

"Scully. . ." he moaned.

"Hmmm?" was her reply as she began scraping at his chest with her
hard cool fingernails.

"Scully. . ." he couldn't remember the question.

She seemed to be distracted. He felt her press a finger into his
belly button. He frantically concentrated on his breathing to
keep from coming right that moment.

As he looked down into her confident smile, he realized he'd made
a terrible mistake. By giving her an orgasm first, she was
nowhere near the same stage he was. He needed to get her caught
up and fast.

He dared to let go of the arm of the lounge with one hand and
reach down for her clitoris. She stopped his hand with her own
cool fingers.

"Please, Mulder. I'm still sensitive," she said, to his dismay.

"What? Um. . .okay. . .you're sure?" was his pathetic reply.

She settled back into the cushions and looked up at him with a
purring cat's satisfied face. "Uh--huh. . ."

He heard himself whining over the blood pounding in his ears.
"But Scully. . .I can't. . ."

"It's okay. . .I want to watch. . .Show me, Mulder. . ." Her
words were like cool silk running over his hot, straining body.

He shook his head like a bad-tempered little boy. "I can wait. .
."

She giggled and he had to visualize Mrs. Peacock's face to keep
from falling over the edge right then.

The devil grin was back. He had never seen this cruel side of
Scully before. In horror, he watched as her slim arm slid down
between their bodies and he felt her fingers searching. . .

"Scully!" he warned.

She just rolled her head back and grinned up at him. After
sliding her hand up the backside of his straining balls, lifting
the fine hairs to stand on end like startled bystanders, she began
stroking his perineum with her fingertip. He was lost.

"Come on. . .Show me. . .I want to watch. . .I want to see. .
.You're so beautiful. . ." she coaxed.

He couldn't possibly stop the orgasm roaring down like a landslide
to envelop them. He hung onto the arms of the lounge for dear
life to keep from crushing her. He had gotten a good grip on the
cushion with his toes so he lifted her hips off the pillows with
his deep thrusts as he gushed into her.

Her small hands swept over his hypersensitive muscles like lashes
from a whip, encouraging him to wring that last bit of energy from
his surging body.

Dimly, he could hear her laughing and it was a wondrous sound,
almost as rewarding as seeing her come. Almost. He was still a
little touchy about that subject.

As he pulled out, he struggled to keep his balance so he wouldn't
collapse on her. Instead, his trembling legs gave out and he fell
off the couch with an undignified thump.

She rolled over and looked down at him sprawled on the floor
beside the lounge. Pushing her halo of hair back from her eyes,
she asked, concerned, "Are you okay?"

He parroted her favorite words. "I'm fine."

"Did you hit your head?" She didn't seem convinced by his
reassurance.

"No. . .I just need to lie here for a moment, and recover."

She rolled back into the pillows and grinned down at him. "That
was incredible."

He stared up at the ceiling and felt depression cool his tired
muscles. "No. I was not incredible. You didn't come."

"Mulder, this isn't some contest. I had my orgasm earlier. You
had yours. One each. I think we're even," she chided him, poking
him with a foot that had swung off the cushion.

He rolled his head over and looked at the foot. He quickly
grabbed it and caressed it gently. Her toes wiggled like small
fish trying to escape his grip.

The fire had died down to dark ruby coals, crackling and grumbling
with its dying hope. His gaze traveled up her leg and settled on
her exposed genitalia glistening like the center of a cherry pie
in a shadow.

She hadn't pushed her gown back down but as he stared at her, she
reached for it.

His voice hoarse, he asked, "No. Please."

She seemed uncomfortable, but stopped.

His fingers still stroking her foot, he continued to stare into
his. . .nest. . .for lack of a better word.

When he was a little boy, he had always coveted the rose on the
cake. He'd wanted the red rose, not the icky yellow, or sickening
blue. He would lift it off his piece of cake and set it aside for
last.

As he pulled himself up onto his knees and honed in on his
objective, he knew she was going to taste and feel like that rose.
His tongue would drag through the thick, smooth petals, melting
their shape under his saliva. Then he would grip one of the outer
petals between his lips until the sugar melted completely away in
his mouth.

The look on his face made Scully nervous. He looked like he was
going to devour her. Scully heard her voice sounding far away and
schoolmarm-ish. "Really, you don't have to. . .I'm fine. . .I
said I was fine. . ."

As his tongue traveled up the inside of her leg, she decided if
this what he wanted to do, if his fragile male ego needed the
reassurance, she wasn't going to deny him. . .maybe she would fake
it to get this over with. . .

And then his mouth settled onto her and she had to grip the arms
of the chaise to keep from flying away. Maybe she did have
something more to give tonight.

He didn't start slow or tentative, as she had expected. He sucked
her clitoris into his mouth forcefully and began to press on it
rapidly with his tongue. The contrast between the suction and the
stimulation was excruciating--in a wonderful sort of way.

He had to stop or she was going to die. If he did stop, she would
die. She didn't know what to do, so she did nothing.

He had draped her legs over his shoulders and she was still
hanging onto the arms of the sofa, so at least she wasn't worried
about physically falling. Instead, she felt as though she was
wavering at the edge of some pit. Her stomach rose and fell in
fear and anticipation.

She was frantic and fought to keep back tears of frustration.
Someone was asking her a profound question, but the answer was
just out of her reach, hiding somewhere in the folds of her over-
heated brain.

As she tipped over the edge, she realized she could not see the
bottom. This was never going to end. He was keeping her floating
on a pocket of air created by his incredible mouth.

She was free at last. She had no weight, she had no body. Her
worries and fears were left back on the sharp rocks at the edge of
the precipice.

It was as though he had flung open the door to the office and a
strong wind was blowing all her paperwork of the desk. Shattered,
at first she tried to gather up all the scattered papers, running
frantically about the room. Then she sank down, allowing herself
relief at the loss of the burden of her need for control.

Her tears broke away, but she began to cry with gratitude for her
release, great sobs shaken loose with her orgasm from the tight
ball in her stomach.

As the orgasm attacked her brain, rendering it immobile, her last
realization was that every sexual encounter she'd ever had before
was merely going through the motions. Now she had an answer to a
question she never realized she was asking.

She wondered if she lost consciousness or if her brain had just
decided to shut down and not record any events for a while.
Mulder was standing over her, pushing her hair back and wiping the
tears from her face. "Scully?"

Words, he wanted some words. The back-up computer gave the
correct response. "I'm fine."

He shook his head, his mouth thin with worry. "I shouldn't have.
. ."

She almost giggled, but that would take more energy than her
reserves held. Instead she repeated, "You shouldn't have. . ."

Mulder winced at the words coming from her lax mouth. Her eyes
seemed to be having trouble focusing and he almost contemplated
calling the front desk for a doctor.

Instead, he lifted her gently from the cushions and carried her to
the bed. As soon as he slipped her under the covers, she fell
asleep.

He crawled in beside her, suddenly exhausted. But his brain was
still going a mile a minute, processing everything that had just
happened. He had done it again. He had hurt her and upset her.
She had cried, as he had never seen her cry, not even when she
thought he was dying or when she was shot. He must never do that
again. From now on, he would treat her with all the tenderness
and care she deserved.

As he slipped away too, he realized he still had not seen her
nude.

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

Chapter 6: Fete Galante

1.

2630 Hegal Place
Alexandria, Virginia
December 7th, 5:46 P.M.

Mulder glanced both ways as the elevator doors opened on the floor

of his old apartment. Pausing, he momentarily forgot if it was to

the right or left. He shook his head to loosen up his memory and
headed for number 42.

He used his key to open the door. Langly, standing closest, his
back to the door, automatically reached for the weapon he kept
tucked in the back of his pants. Mulder would have laughed
at the bravado if he didn't appreciate the gesture so much. His
gaze found the reason for his concern.

Scully was curled up in the wing-backed chair, glasses perched on
the end of her nose, and an open file propped on her rounded
belly. He moved forward to give her a kiss on top of her bright
hair. Her eyes didn't rise from the paperwork, but a hand
absently rubbed his cheek.

"You need a shave," she murmured.

Frohike gave a snicker and looked over at Byers, reposing on the
sofa, his broken leg elevated, slumbering lightly. Byers woke
with a snort, as though he instinctively he knew he had become the
butt of a joke while asleep. He quickly looked around the room as
he rubbed his still-smooth cheek.

"Mulder, I'm glad to see you here at last. Held up at work?" he
asked as he pushed himself up on his pile of pillows.

"Yes. Again. Scully sounded excited on the phone. What do you
have?" He shed his trench coat, added his suit coat to the wall
hook, and started to roll up his sleeves.

Scully finally closed the file and gave him her full attention.
He could tell she was containing her excitement. She nodded
towards Byers, allowing him to hold court.

Byers began. "We've been piecing together what we have from what
data remains, the new information, and what I can remember. We
believe we've finally brought it all together to construct a
plausible scenario as to the intentions of these forces."

Mulder settled on the arm of Scully's chair. Langly and Frohike
took positions on the arms of the sofa like perching birds.
"And?"

Byers' healing pink cheek flushed red and he motioned towards
Scully. "Dana is the one who really did all the work, perhaps she
should make the presentation."

*Dana?* As he took in the warm gazes of the three men towards the
small form beside him, Mulder dryly thought there was nothing more
seductive to a bachelor than a 'helpless' pregnant woman.

'Dana' demurred. "No, John, you've been doing this work since the
beginning, you can be the most concise."

Mulder lost patience. "Someone!"

Byers gave a start. "We started by searching for a motive--trying
to find out why this fetus was created and to what end."

Attempting to stay focused, Mulder shook his head slightly. Byers
was talking about his child, not 'this fetus'.

Byers proposed, "We'd thought that the threat to human life from
the alien virus had passed with the extermination of the
Consortium at El Rico Air Force Base. And yet it would appear the
two of you are being used in another attempt to create a
resistance for humans against the virus by forces we can only
assume are made up of the remaining members."

"But Cassandra Spender was a successful hybrid. A resistance has
been developed," Mulder suggested.

"And lost," Frohike quickly commented.

Mulder nodded in agreement, but added, "But it's possible to
create the hybrid. Our baby is something new and different."

"A hybrid or clone isn't a human being. They aren't real people,"
Scully broke in.

Mulder shifted away from her warmth and focused on the corner of
the room for a moment, letting the shadows reassemble into his
sister's long braids, to a group of young girls with his sister's
face.

Langly asked, "Can those things even breed? I mean, what's the
point of saving us if we can't reproduce? Are they like mules--
sterile?"

Byers had become impatient. "Exactly. If a human could develop
resistance--"

"They had developed the antidote I used on Scully--"

"But if humans could acquire a natural resistance to infection,
one they could pass on to their children--" Byers pushed on.

Byers had Mulder's attention. He queried, "Does Scully show
resistance? Or did the antidote only cause her body to reject the
organism?"

Regretfully, Byers said, "I believe the antidote only solved the
immediate problem of her infection--"

Scully slapped the pile of folders on her lap in frustration. "In
working to find the pieces to this puzzle, we discovered that most
of the evidence and tests we've collected over the years have
vanished."

Frohike gave Mulder a look of mock surprise. He said, "We have
some information on our hard drives from our participation in your
investigations, but--"

"But it's not much. And it's the evidence that would mean we
could have conclusive results today." Scully finished through
tight lips.

Langly wagged his head. "But wouldn't the stolen evidence only
prove that we're on the right track?"

"True. But it doesn't give us any way to move forward on an
investigation. Being morally right is only doing so much for me,"
Scully muttered as she hauled herself from her chair to begin to
pace. She rubbed her lower back with annoyance.

Mulder motioned her to come close to him and took over the
massage. "Why us? Why a baby? To what purpose now that the
threat of an alien invasion appears to be over? Let's go back to
those questions."

Frohike cut to the chase. "We think the two of you are carrying
recessive genes that have been passed on to the baby. He should
have the gene that could offer resistance to the virus."

Mulder gave him a grin of thanks. "Can we prove this?"

He could tell Scully was frustrated by the way her shoulders
tensed as she said, "No. This is only a theory." Frohike put a
contrite expression on his face and showed it to her. "As I said,
most of our past DNA samples are missing. Even if we had the test
results, we weren't examining them with a powerful enough
microscope to get the results we got this time."

"This time?" Mulder asked.

Langly hopped off the arm of the sofa and rummaged through the
paperwork. "We got access to this bitchin' power machine that
showed every little corner of your strands, man!"

His enthusiasm was infectious. Scully's shoulders wiggled free
from their knots. "Yes. The actual blood sample from the tests
after I returned from my abduction is missing. The results were
with the Gunmen, but those aren't conclusive. I did store a dried
blood sample in my home from the test to determine Emily's
parentage. We used the childhood tooth for your 'before' sample.
Both of those samples show us to be free of a gene that now is
present as a germ-line cell in our DNA."

Mulder let his hand still on her back as he sank into thought.
"Germ-line cells can be passed onto our offspring. But I haven't
heard of any scientific success with this type of gene therapy."

Byers noted, "These individuals have created effective
retroviruses in the past. This particular experiment may very
well be within Their abilities."

"Do we have anything we can use as proof that this is the purpose
of our baby? Do we even know if the DNA changes in Scully and me
are a result of Their machinations?"

Flipping quickly through the papers in his file, Langly said,
"We're assuming the antidote changed Scully's DNA. It could very
well have happened during her abduction, but the branched DNA
proteins present at that time were missing when she had tests done
during her treatment and for the conformation of Emily's
parentage. So we're going with these latest tests. You--"

Scully broke in. "I was never satisfied with the test results we
gathered after you returned from your imprisonment in Siberia."

Mulder shrugged. "I was fine. I felt fine."

She swung around to give him an exasperated glare. Her hands
swirled rhythmically around her belly, and Mulder was reminded of
a witch stirring her brew. "Mulder, you were exposed to the black
oil. And nothing happened. Apparently. That seemed odd to me at
the time, it seems odd now. For one thing, your exposure could
explain why you had such an extreme reaction to the artifact."

Frohike asked, "It was only men being used for the tests, right?"

Mulder said, "Yes, but I was told by the other prisoners that the
tests were to determine the exposure level that humans could
tolerate."

The little man gave a gasp of exasperation. "And they would tell
their guinea pigs the truth?"

Mulder sighed. "You've got a point." He was silent a moment and
then continued. "If the black oil changes DNA, why bother using
me? They have at least one person right in their midst who's been
possessed by the oil. Alex Krycek."

He heard Scully give out a hiss and reached blindly to grasp her
hand.

Frohike commented quickly. "Obviously They wanted the
impregnation to happen naturally--"

Scully's harsh tone cut through his reassurances. "Are we certain
of my impregnation date?"

Byers said, "As certain as we can be."

Mulder hurried back to safe territory. "It looks as though they
realized the altered DNA may create an individual with resistant
genes."

Scully nodded. "It would seem. The new genes we now have are
different from each other. I assume they're recessive and need
the other gene to be effective. Assuming this is the child's
purpose. It could all mean nothing at all," she finished while
letting out a big puff of air.

He protested, "The child has to be for something--"

She plopped back down in the chair. Langly had brought her a
glass of water without her asking and she smiled in thanks.
Mulder mentally chided himself for not thinking of it first.

She spit out, "We only know an unmapped gene with an unknown
function is present in our child. Dammit! If only we had the DNA
codes that we found last year in Gibson, my virus, and the claw
from that creature!"

"Everything's gone?" he asked.

"Everything. The ice core samples from the Yukon. The organism
from Dr. Sacks. The proteins I found in my blood while I had
cancer. Everything that could connect this puzzle together." She
took a deep gulp of her water.

Frohike posed the question, "Does it matter? We know they're up
to something, that's the important part."

"But is our child really healthy?" She gave him a blazing look
and the little man pulled himself up higher on the arm of the
sofa.

Byers tried to calm the scene. "Nothing would lead us to believe
otherwise--"

She was on a roll. "Then why did they want him dead? Didn't he
turn out the way they wanted? Is that a good thing or a bad
thing?"

Byers voice was low and soothing. "If they wanted to collect his
genes, they wouldn't need the child alive. They only needed the
tissue. Apparently they decided to take possession of the fetus
as soon as they could confirm he had the qualities they desired. I
would say they were taking a risk, hoping they could gather the
sample they needed from the fetus. If they had the live baby,
they could perform any number of experiments..." He let his words
die out. Mulder felt the body next to him stiffen.

"Yes," she said coolly. "I'm sure that was the case."

Frohike got to the point. "Whatever. The important thing is, the
kid's got the stuff--Let's assume someone hopes to turn that virus
loose on all of us anyway--that stuff's going to get us out of
harm's way."

Mulder, who had remained silent during the fiery exchange, said
with wonder, "Well, I can see Scully in the role of Mary, but I
don't know about me as Joseph."

Looking down at Scully, he realized he had said the wrong thing.
Her face was very still. She spoke carefully and slowly. "Our
child is not the Savior. He is a baby. He will play and laugh
and be happy."

"Scully..." Mulder began.

"No. I will not have you locking him up somewhere, poking at him
with needles. That would make us no better than Them." She
craned her head back to look at him with flaming eyes. "Your
parents were forced to make this sort of choice and look what
happened to your family!"

The other three men found anywhere else to look in the room but
the quarreling couple. She burned on. "I've been closer to this
sort of situation than any of you! I've been in Their power--I've
been terrified--"

Mulder was frightened to see all this emotion pouring out of her.
He stroked her shoulder ineffectually.

Ignoring him, she went on, calm now. "When he's born, you can
have a tissue sample. Find a scientist you can trust." she nodded
to Byers and he nodded back solemnly. "Do your experiments. Get
the genetic samples you need from that tissue. Leave my baby
alone. If there's a problem duplicating the gene to create a
retrovirus, then we'll talk."

Mulder tried one last time. "Scully--"

Her voice rose again. "No, Mulder! I will not look another child
in the eyes and explain why he's being used as a lab rat."

Mulder gasped in exasperation. "Scully, what if that old bastard
is planning on selling the virus or taking power using it as a
weapon? Our baby is the way to stop this from happening."

She shook her head with impatience. "As always, this is just
another one of your theories with no basis other than your
instincts. I won't have my son a pawn in what has always been
a guessing game. We've been lied to, misled, sent on wild goose
chases every step of the way."

She settled back into the chair with determination. "I say we
stay the course. Let's decide what color to paint the nursery.
Choose a pre-school. See what develops."

The room fell silent. When someone finally spoke it was Frohike,
and his tone was grave. "Agent Scully, I'll respect your wishes
with the baby. But I can't allow you to take unnecessary risks
with yourself at this time."

Mulder didn't understand what the little man was getting at, but
he could tell from Scully's shifting body that she knew where he
was headed.

Frohike hopped off of the arm of the sofa. "I've acquired a very
small transmitter. It doesn't have much of a range, but it's all
we can put on your body. We've put transmitters in your vehicles,
but that doesn't do anything for us if you're snatched off the
street."

Realization dawned on Mulder and he watched Scully's face to
see her reaction. Her face showed a moment of fury and then
cleared to a hard mask. She said, "Yes," in a tone that suggested
she wanted to say much more, most of it profanities.

Seeming to choose to ignore the unspoken words, Frohike moved to
the desk to pull open a drawer. "We'll call Dr. Mui to come over
and insert this under your skin." He pulled a medical kit and
small box from the drawer and set them on the top of the desk.

"You can do it right now." Scully had risen from the chair.

Frohike swung around to face her, his bushy brows rising. "Me?"

"You have the basic medical training from the Army Medical Corps--
you can do it," she said briskly.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "But I'll need some local
anesthetic--"

"No," she cut him off as she reached around him and snapped on the
desk lamp. "I don't need anything. Just do it."

"Where should I put it?" he asked as he carefully began setting
out his instruments. Langly and Byers exchanged worried glances,
but Mulder couldn't take his eyes from the pair in the center of
the harsh bright circle of light.

She lifted the curtain of blood-red hair to reveal the white
column of the back of her neck. "Here. Next to the other one."

Frohike nodded solemnly as he wet a pad of cotton with alcohol.
Mulder had to give her credit. She really knew how to make a man
feel like shit when she put her mind to it.

2.

FBI Basement
December 8th, 3:45 P.M.

Tiff had learned to read Mulder's body during the past few months.

After he picked up the ringing phone, she could sense tension grab

his limbs.

"I'll be right there," he said quickly, dropping the phone back
down to its receiver.

"What's up?" She was already grabbing her purse as she rose from
her chair.

He was half way out the door. "In the bullpen. Something's up
with
Scully."

3.
The two came through a doorway to the bullpen abreast, to be
confronted by a room full of agents. A few cried out, "Surprise!"

Others said, "Shush! Not yet!"

As his eyes swept the room, taking the scene in, Mulder muttered
to Tiff, "Find Scully. Stop her from coming here."

Tiff was looking around the room too, first noting the sagging
banner, reading, 'Congratulations! Finally!'. Then she saw the
bouquets of black balloons floating over a large cake with
sickening green frosting and a plastic spaceship rising off of it.
She furrowed her brow and realized the traditional bride and groom
figures had been placed on the ramp ascending to the ship.

Too late. She spotted Scully across the room, being grasped by
agents as she moved towards them. They must have lured her over
from Quantico's teaching labs in a similar fashion.

And Skinner. He had come through another doorway. This day was
suddenly looking like it was becoming extremely complicated.

Mulder had made his way to Scully's side, accepting pats on the
back with half-hearted nods. Their eyes met and they seemed to
make an agreement when they both tipped their heads together,
once.

Skinner was in front of them. Tiff moved closer to hear what he
had to say.

First, he shook Mulder's hand. "Congratulations."

Mulder nodded stiffly. "Thank you, sir."

Then he turned to Scully who was trying to meet his gaze with her
own imploring eyes. He seemed to be concentrating on a spot
somewhere over her left shoulder. "Good luck, Agent Scully."

She said quietly, "Thank you, sir."

He turned away and ran into Tiff's hard gaze. Behind him, Tiff
could see Mulder and Scully being shown some plastic alien dolls,
dressed in diapers, by laughing agents.

"Well." His voice reminded her of being thrown against a solid
brick wall.

"Sir?" She decided to play stupid for a few blissful moments.

Nodding towards the couple, he said, "You didn't think this
information was relevant to the investigation?"

Firmly, she answered, "No. I didn't know they were married myself
until now." For the past month, she'd decided not to wonder about
the ring that she had noticed hanging from a chain, outlined under
Mulder's shirt.

Skinner ground his teeth. "And Agent Scully's pregnancy? Surely
that was the reason for the incident at the hospital."

He had her there. "I didn't think it had a connection with the
investigation. Sir."

He let out a gasp of air, like a suddenly punctured tire. His
reserve was gone. "You're kidding! I'm thinking her pregnancy
has everything to do with the case!"

She shook her head obstinately. "No, Sir. Agent Mulder did not
put it in the reports. I assumed it was a personal matter of
Agent Scully's. And--"

"Yes?" His eyes were still on Mulder and Scully. They had moved
to stand by the cake. Seemingly unconsciously, as she gazed down
at the cake, Scully's hands swept around and around her distended
belly.

Tiff shifted her gaze to them as well. "I would think if they had
wanted you to know, they would have told you."

He was silent for a few moments and she wondered if he was going
to speak at all. Then he tipped his head as though accepting her
winning a point, no matter how low the blow. "True."

Without another word, he melted away into the crowd.

Determined, Tiff wove through the clumps of chattering agents to
Scully's side. Mulder had been cut away from Scully like a calf
from its mother and was trapped in a tight pack of men by the
water cooler.

Scully was in the process of opening packages with automatic
motions. Tiff noticed that the men all seemed jovial, their deep
voices ringing off the walls. The few women present were bunched
around Scully, but rather than being protective they seemed like
buzzards standing by a dying animal, waiting patiently for their
turn to come. Beyond Scully's view, their eyes, sharp and cold,
assessed her body and from the twisting of their lips, found her
lacking.

Scully set aside the fourth bib with 'Little Green Man' emblazoned
across the front with a corresponding illustration and looked up
to greet Tiff.

Tiff glanced around at the women, her own eyes hard. They all
took a step back. With a completely insincere smile, she said,
"Why don't we give Agent Scully a break?"

As she led Scully away, the woman only had time to murmur,
"Thanks," before a booming voice called to them.

"Dana! Wow! I couldn't believe it when I got the call to come to
this party!"

They turned to look at the man approaching. Tiff always found
this sort of guy unattractive. She called them 'white rabbits.'
This was a classic example. His ruddy-skinned forehead was
dangerously high, with his few strands of fair hair arranged
carefully over his developing bald spot. Pale eyes with pink rims
peered out of fat red cheeks. He was burly bordering on bulky.

A hand reached out to grasp at Scully's limp arm. She seemed
barely able to control her reaction of horror.

He continued, unnoticing. "Danes! How did this happen?"

Even Tiff couldn't keep the expression of shock from her face.
Seeing the blank door slam up over Scully's face, she broke in, "I
don't believe we know each other--"

The man glanced over her with only slight interest. "Tom Colton.
Anyway, Danes, I never thought this would be how your career would
be going--"

Elaine from Fraud, whom Tiff privately had dubbed, Easy Lay,
peered around the beefy arm of Colton. Her shrill voice joined
in. "Ain't it the truth? We always wondered what you two were
getting up to down there in that basement, I guess we know now..."
She let her words hang in the air like swamp gas, putrid and
heavy.

That was it. The party was over. Tiff bellowed. "Okay!
Everyone! I think the happy couple has had enough revelry for
today!"

All the agents looked at her in confusion and then realization
swept over their faces.

"So, why don't we start cleaning up so they can go home," she
finished briskly.

As Tiff dumped another piece of half-eaten cake into the garbage
can, Scully came up behind her. "Thanks." She hadn't spent much
time around Dana Scully, but she could tell she was a woman of few
words.

"No problem." Tiff nodded to Mulder, who had joined Scully, his
hand coming to rest at her back. "Go home, you two. Take a long,
hot shower to wash yourselves clean."

Mulder gave her a twisted smile. "Sounds good. See you
tomorrow?"

She was watching them leave the room, making sure they weren't
accosted again, when she felt the pressure of a wide palm on the
small of her back.

"That was nice of you," Skinner murmured in her ear.

She swung to face him and discovered he was just an inch too
close. She tilted her head back to give her some distance. "No
big deal. Now it's your turn to be nice."

He looked surprised. "What?"

"You were a shit. You have to make up for that," she said as she
carefully dumped cups of punch into the trashcan.

"Huh?" Now it was his turn to play dumb.

She let him go with that slide, but she still wanted him to stay
on the spot. "You didn't bring a gift."

He protested, "I didn't know. . ."

Brushing her hands together to clean crumbs off, she gave him a
glare. "That's no excuse. We're going to get a present and go
pay a call."

4.
Tiff found a toy store downtown, one of those expensive places
that doesn't sell anything made of pink or purple plastic.
Skinner had grumbled protests, but his large frame was weaving
through the aisles behind her until she came to a stop at the
stuffed plush animals.

"A bear. You can't go wrong with a bear," she said with
determination.

He looked over the display with thinly disguised horror. Then his
paw reached out and grabbed a stuffed ostrich by its long, skinny
neck. "Okay. Let's go."

Exasperated, she snatched it from him. "Dog! Get serious! We
need a cover. We can't just show up and start questioning them."

Two well-dressed women at the end of the aisle glanced their way,
looking worried.

Skinner didn't seem to notice and was digging through the display.
"Here. This says Mulder and Scully to me."

As he triumphantly held up a toy platypus, or at least what Tiff
assumed was a platypus, the entire display fell from the shelves.

Tiff began snatching the plush toys off the floor, and he joined
her, haphazardly tossing them into bins and slapping the soft
forms onto shelves. She was losing patience. "Dammit, Walter!"
That got his attention. "Get serious! This has to be for a
little baby!"

She picked up a Gund bear, soft and conical in shape. "Here."

He glanced over from his task. "It looks like a breast."

The women at the end of the aisle took that as a last warning
and scurried away.

Dryly, Tiff said, "That's the point, Dog. I need to find it in
brown, white won't work at all."

Holding up a brown bear in triumph, she added, "Okay, let's go."

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

Chapter 7: A Normal Life

1.

Pinecrest, Virginia, 31 Bridle Path Way
December 8th, 6:45 P.M.

As they waited for an answer to the ringing of the front door

bell, Tiff was worried. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.

Skinner's face had taken on the expression of a man who'd ingested
a tart lemon. His gaze was roaming over the clapboard front of
the house.

He commented, "You realize this place cost more money than both of
our fathers--put together--earned in their lifetimes?"

She only had time to nod before Mulder pulled the door open.

He looked surprised, and not pleasantly. "Sir. Tiff.
Did we forget something?"

This was her cue. "No, Mulder. We forgot something. Walter and
I, that is. . ." Oh, great. "Mr. Skinner and I realized we
didn't have a present this afternoon, so we wanted to bring
something by."

As though joining the performance, Mulder mouthed the line, "You
shouldn't have."

Skinner gave him a reason to be leery of their visit when he
observed, "Quite the lean you've got here on this porch, Mulder."

Appearing resigned to his fate, Mulder held the door open wide.
"Yes, Sir. I know, Sir."

Tiff glanced around the foyer as they removed their coats. She
liked the house so far. It had that comfortable but shambled,
please-stay-upright-until-we-can-qualify-for-a-home-improvement-
loan sort of look.

Mulder led them into the front living room.

Scully was stretched out on an overstuffed, dark green couch
before a crackling fire. She seemed to be snoozing.

Mulder gently grasped a sock-covered foot peeking out from under
the afghan draped over her legs. "Scully?"

She woke with the jerk of someone afraid to be asleep. Her hands
restlessly grasped at her waist. Tiff recognized that as the move
for a gun. Instead her fingers explored the expanse of her belly
of a moment. Tiff watched an expression of wonder and confusion
shift through the drowsy blue eyes.

"Dammit," Scully spit out. "I must have fallen asleep again. I
keep doing that," she finished with a slight bit of anger directed
at a bewildered Mulder.

Skinner shifted from foot to foot behind her. Coward.

Tiff gave her a big smile. "That's it, honey. You're sleeping
for two, you know."

As Scully struggled off of the couch, brushing aside Mulder's
offered hand, the woman shot Tiff a sharp-edged glance.

Tiff felt the 'going visiting' smile freeze on her face. Perhaps
her trepidation was well founded.

2.
Skinner watched Mulder add another log to the fire. The 'ladies'
had removed themselves to take a tour of the nursery. He had
decided to give that a pass.

He had a few things he wanted to go over with Mulder. The man was
avoiding his gaze. He didn't blame him. He knew his face was
arranged in a sour expression. He couldn't help himself.

The first words to come out of his mouth were as harsh as he knew
they would be. "How do you expect to protect her sitting out here
in plain sight?"

Mulder still had his back to him. He didn't answer for a moment.
Skinner could feel his face heat to red-hot anger. He was
transported back to the time when he was in Mulder's position,
firmly behind the eight ball with his father. He wouldn't answer
either. He knew silence was the only power he had possessed with
the overbearing man.

Mulder finally faced him and his tone was cool when he spoke.
"This is the way Scully wants it. After some thought, I realized
she might have the right idea."

"You're kidding!" Skinner burst out.

Stiffly, Mulder continued, "No, sir." He swept his arm towards
the long bank of windows along the wall. "On the right we have
old Mrs. Kershaw. She hasn't liked the look of us since we moved
in. No, sir. She keeps a constant eye out her window, because
you gotta be vigilant. When we finally make a move, she's going
to be right there, with her finger hovering over the phone
touch pad, to dial 9-1-1. The only problem with Mrs. Kershaw is
that she goes to bed early."

He pointed toward the front of the house. "But that's all right.
Mrs. Lopps across the street has a terrible time with her knees
and is up every hour in the night to take a walk around. She
likes us, but worries about that pretty Mrs. Mulder. Won't call
her Scully, but we're willing to let that slide because she feels
it's her duty as a good neighbor to take a peek out of her
curtains when she makes the track around her house." He stopped
when he ran out of breath.

Skinner merely twitched his tightly held lips.

Mulder sighed in resignation. "I know it doesn't seem like much,
but it's okay. We are followed all the time. We have tracking
devices everywhere." With a determined tone, he went on. "It's
all going to work out."

Skinner was silent as he remembered the time he had said those
words with as much forced confidence. He had thought joining the
Marines would finally earn him the respect he had yearned for from
his father. After his announcement, his father had only nodded
and had lifted his paper to resume reading the baseball scores. It
was his older brother who had spoken and it was with contempt.
"You're a fucking idiot. Only fucking idiots go to Vietnam.
You're gonna die."

He realized his face had been held in the same expression of
frozen resistance he now saw on Mulder's face.

A low chuckle escaped him. After all these years, he finally
could see where his brother had been coming from. Skinner felt
his brother's fear and concern now as he watched the younger man's
features harden to become obstinate.

"All right," he said. "I'll take your word for it."

Mulder flopped down on the couch and pulled the afghan up onto his
lap. "Thanks."

3.
Tiff paced around the nursery like a caged animal, but her words
were all correct. "I love what you've done for the window
treatment. It's perfect!"

Scully was rearranging the pile of stuffed animals on top of the
bureau to give the bear a place of honor. "Thank you." She
shrugged and glanced at the windows with her brow furrowed as
though she was examining an odd specimen. "Uh...I wanted to keep
the room sunny without worrying about it being too hot."

Tiff nodded stiffly. "Yes, I see." She flayed her arm up towards
the ceiling. "And the borders! I think the stars and moons are
perfect!"

When she turned to face Scully, the woman looked struck with
astonishment, a brow raised. Tiff lifted her wide shoulders in
defeat. "Maybe we're not the right kind of women to pull this
off."

Scully nodded and moved a small lamp on the bureau top a quarter
of an inch to the left. "Yes, I wonder about that question every
day."

When they returned to the living room, the men folk were chatting
semi-amicably about power tool selection.

Scully seemed to be willing to try again at her role. "Would you
like to join us for dinner?"

Mulder nodded and looked at Tiff in expectation. She glanced over
to Skinner and could see from his tight face that he was holding
onto something that might burst if left to fester.

"Oh, I'm sure you both have had enough partying for today. We'll
be going."

Mulder and Scully trailed after them, giving half-hearted protests
as she and Skinner rushed towards the door.

4.
Tiff and Skinner sat in her car. Despite the fact her hand was
resting on the key, she hadn't started the engine yet.

She asked, "So that's a normal life, huh?"

Skinner just nodded. Through the front windows of the house, the
curtains still wide open, they could see Mulder and Scully
beginning to rearrange their furniture.

When he spoke, the question came out of left field. "Did you ever
smoke?"

"No," she answered.

"I did. Started when I went to Vietnam. Stopped a couple of
years ago, cold turkey. But every now and then, I have this
overwhelming urge for a cigarette."

"Now?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Well, come over to my place and I'll make you dinner. Isn't that
what you do when you have an urge? Eat?" Tiff realized her
cheeriness sounded forced and cursed inwardly.

He shrugged. She still didn't start the car.

Through the window, bright now in the falling night, she could see
Mulder pushing the sofa across the room as Scully directed him
from an armchair.

Tiff motioned her head towards the couple. "How did this
happen?"

He shrugged again. "I'm not a good storyteller."

She urged him, "Come on, tell me how they got together."

He turned in his seat and the whisper of his slacks on the
upholstery seemed loud. In the dark interior, the flash of his
teeth was a bright light. "I could show you."

She turned too, and settled into her seat, feeling a coil of
excitement and need begin to unbend slowly in her stomach.

As his finger stroked her forearm, he murmured, "It's my theory it
started with a touch..."

He leaned in close, not to kiss her, but to whisper in her ear,
"And a glance..."

After allowing a shiver to climb up her spine, Tiff gripped her
car key tightly. "I have a meatloaf I can defrost."

Skinner shifted back to the passenger seat. "That would be nice."

As the tires spun the car around, she added, "And a couple of
slices of my mother's pecan pie."

He allowed a chuckle out. "I'm looking forward to it."

5.
Mulder straightened the couch until it was parallel with the wall.
"There."

Scully stood back and surveyed his work. "I don't know..."

He perched on the arm of the sofa. "What?"

She found herself becoming lost in thought. "Scully?"

She shook her head and glanced over at him. "I was thinking."

"Should I move the table too?" he asked.

"No. I mean, no, that wasn't what I was thinking about."

He seemed to be concentrating on the arrangement of the furniture.
"Hmmm?"

She plowed on. "I was wondering...how much confidence do you have
in our theories?"

He blinked at her. "Which ones?"

She controlled her temper, barely. "The baby. Do you completely
believe the baby is...all right?"

He laughed. "Scully! I can't believe you're still chewing this
over!" When she didn't response, his brow furrowed. "Can you
ever just accept something you know to be true in your heart? Why
do you always have to look at every possible awful scenario?"

Her words fell with the brittle quality of shattering ice. "So
you completely believe everything is fine? This baby is ours?
It's healthy?"

"Why wouldn't I? What do you think?" he asked.

She hadn't been able to put her worries in words, and now,
confronted with his challenge, she still couldn't think of what to
say. "I'm sure everything is fine," she muttered.

"Do you *feel* anything different?" he asked as he came to her to
stroke her belly.

"How do I know? I've never been pregnant before!" she burst out.

"Scully, don't worry." He lifted his hand from her belly to
gently caress her neck. His fingers circled her new, healing
scar. He murmured, "I know you love to worry. Don't. I'm not."

She lifted her downward cast eyes to search his. He smiled as he
moved closer and pulled her into a loose embrace. "I have
complete confidence in you. You won't let anything happen to
the baby. Or you. You're my hero, you know that?"

She shook her head and stared down at her feet again. His lips
were on her cheekbone. "Well, you are," he whispered.

He reached over to snap off the floor lamp. "Let's me make
dinner. You're just tired and hungry."

She almost broke. She wanted to tell him all of her nightmares
and visions. But as she watched him close the flume on the
fireplace and pull the drapes closed, she went over what she would
say, and the words sounded foolish. He was right.

6.
The Factory
10:15 P.M.

When he followed the old man, Krycek had developed the habit of

trying to keep in his blind spot. Just in case. He wasn't sure

what the case might be, but he wanted to be prepared.

Unfortunately, the clone had picked up the habit from him, and was
only a light footfall behind him.

He glanced back. Kenneth nodded at him.

All three men entered the laboratory assigned to Dr. Alvin
Kurtzweil. The doctor seemed to be expecting them. He was seated
in a straight-backed chair facing at the doorway. He sat very
still.

The older man didn't seem to notice the doctor's odd behavior.
Lighting a cigarette, he asked, "Doctor? You have a report for
us?"

Kurtzweil blinked, once. His large, lizard-like eyes shifted from
man to man. Finally, he spoke. "Yes."

Krycek lost patience. He realized this man was being kept
medicated so that even the simplest duties were a chore, but he
didn't have time to pull out every word. "What have you found?"

The doctor sighed deeply. He sifted through a stack of files on
the table next to him.

That was all Krycek could take. He jerked his head savagely
towards the doctor. Kenneth nodded and moved towards the seated
man.

Looking alarmed, Kurtzweil leaned forward. "It didn't work!"

One word drifted over to the doctor on a trail of smoke. "Oh?"

"No. We were unable to duplicate the gene from the blood sample."
Looking contrite, he added, "Sorry."

The older man moved closer to the doctor. "I'm sure you are. You
realize how important this work is?"

Like a robot, the man in the chair said, "Yes. It will save the
human race. That is very important."

Krycek had the oddest sensation the clone was holding in a laugh.
He turned to look at him, but Kenneth's face was as passive as
always.

Krycek smirked and said, "So we need the baby."

Kurtzweil looked alarmed, but nodded quickly. "Yes. We do.
Bring Ms. Scully here. I can take care of her. And the baby."

The old man shook his head regretfully. "No. We don't need
Mulder tearing this world apart looking for her. We wait."

Krycek challenged him. "You're sure the plan for recalling her
will work?"

The sagging shoulders lifted to answer the question. "How well
does anything work? It doesn't matter." He shifted his gaze to
Kenneth. "I'm sure you'll succeed if the first plan doesn't."

"Don't hurt her!" admonished the quivering doctor. He still
hadn't gotten up from his chair.

Soothing, the old man assured him, "We won't." He turned to the
other two men and dismissed them. "Dr. Kurtzweil and I have some
business to discuss. I suggest you get back to work."

Kenneth's expression did register some surprise when Krycek merely
nodded and motioned the clone to follow him out of the room.
Krycek pulled the door shut so that it clicked loudly, but then
gave it a slight, quick push back. The latch didn't catch and the
door was left slightly ajar.

He stood off to the side of the door. He could see Kenneth
waiting for him at the end of the hall, but he ignored him.

He listened.

He could hear the old bastard, up to something as usual. He shook
his head in wonder.

"You've confirmed the genetic match?"

The doctor's quaking voice said, "Yes, but--"

Smoothly, he was cut off. "Good. That's all. Get back to work."

Krycek hurried away from the doorway before the his superior could
exit, his mind furiously whipping through all the possibilities as
to what the crazy old man could be up to. He couldn't think of
anything yet, but he knew he had to find some answers soon.

7.
Mulder had decided to shower before getting into bed. He had left
Scully tucked into bed and, he assumed, asleep. But when he
opened the bathroom door into their bedroom, he heard her low
conversation.

In horror, he said, "No! No, Scully!"

Big blue eyes, overflowing with innocence, met his. "What?"

"Don't act ignorant with me!" he chided. "I heard what you said!"

She shrugged and pulled the comforter up higher under her chin.

"No, Scully," he pleaded.

"I was just talking to the baby," she said.

"I heard what you called him. I beg of you, Scully, as a man
who's spent his whole life with the name Fox--"

She stopped playing stupid. "It's just a pet name. A lot of
people give the fetus a pet name. In fact, we haven't discussed a
name." She patted his side of the bed invitingly. "Let's name
the baby tonight and I'll start calling him that right now."

He could tell from her serious, clear expression that she really
believed what she was saying. In one flash of insight, he
suddenly understood marriage. It wasn't being deceived or lied to
that broke a man down. It was his realization of the utter
futility of attempting to gain the upper hand on even one issue.

They would discuss this. They would choose a name. They would
get the silver cup engraved. And when it was all said and done,
his son would go by the name Kit Mulder all his life.

Kit Mulder. Mulder could picture the boy at eighteen. He would
be tall, with windswept blonde-streaked hair. Big, white Kennedy-
esque teeth. He would do a little modeling for Ralph Lauren on
the side. He would be All-American in some obscure WASP sport
like lacrosse. By then, Scully would have aged gracefully,
allowing a few gray hairs to twist in among the red. She would
start wearing twin sets and a strand of pearls.

He on the other hand, would become fussy and musty--good lord, he
would be nearly sixty when Kit finished high school!-- by that
time. He would be frantically trying to keep on top of an ear
hair problem and would have taken to wearing tweedy cardigans. He
wouldn't be surprised if he took up the Kabbalah, studying for
hours in a cluttered office.

This was not a pretty picture. His perfect WASP wife and child
and then--him. All because Scully had it in her head to name
their boy Kit.

But he knew he must play along for marital harmony. He had
promised himself he would never whine in an argument and wasn't
going to start now.

He did allow himself a sigh, and lifted the covers to crawl in
beside her. She curled up next to him, scratching his belly like
a good dog that deserved a reward.

"Is there a family name you like?" she asked.

He chose his next words carefully. "I suppose we could go with
William."

Her hand stilled. Equally carefully, she replied. "I suppose.
If you want--"

"No! I mean, if you want to--" he stumbled out.

"No. That's all right. I just assume Bill and Tara will have
another child someday and I think it would be nice to let them use
the name if they want," she answered sensibly.

He nodded, butting the top of her head. "Yes."

She went back to the topic at hand. "What's another family name?"

"You should choose--"

"Mulder, please don't tell me you're going to be one of those, 'I
don't know, what do you want?' men."

He furrowed his brow. "No. I was being polite."

She pinched his arm. "Well, stop it. A family name."

"Okay. Isaac." He lifted her hand and rubbed the rings he'd
given her. "He was my uncle."

"He's dead?"

"Yes. A long time ago."

"All right. Then it's proper," she said. He wondered when she
was going to ask where his Jewish heritage was going to fit into
their married life. She hadn't mentioned putting up a Christmas
tree yet. Well, he'd just outwait her on this topic.

"A middle name. Your turn," he prompted.

She wiggled into the crook of his hip, her round belly surrounding
his hard hipbone in a pleasing manner. "My turn? Okay, okay..."

He suggested, "A saint. What's your favorite saint?"

"An inter-faith name?" He could feel her lips brush his bare
chest as she grinned. "Uh...Patrick."

"You're sure? Brought Christianity to the dark northern pagans?
Ran the snakes out of Ireland? That guy?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yes. Isaac Patrick Mulder."

Her lips pulled together, but not to kiss him. To frown. "That
bumps along--"

He reached over her to snap off the bedside light. "Then it's
perfect. It matches this marriage."

Small, sharp teeth bit him gently. "Ike. I like that. A good,
clean, masculine sounding name. Ike Mulder."

He could tell she was falling asleep. Her body was becoming
looser and spreading out over his like melted butter. He felt he
could safely whisper, "Kit Mulder."

8.
Scully was flat on her back. She was cold, but she was powerless
to find some way to cover herself. Her limbs weren't responding
to her commands.

She blinked. Bright light was shining in her eyes. But she
didn't want to close them. She was afraid of the dark.

A shadow fell across her face. A puff of cold breath swept over
her cheek. She could smell leather and cloying cologne. Cool
lips touched her skin. She couldn't turn away, but repulsion
shook her body.

A voice, low and husky, whispered in her ear. "See you later,
love. When you come to me."

She could scream. She knew she could scream. She opened her
mouth as wide as possible and felt triumph as her vocal cords
tore with the sound that she made.

"Scully! Scully!" The man was holding her tightly.

She fought him with all her strength. He pinned her to the bed
nonetheless. She gasped with terror and unshed tears. The lips
were on her temple. This time they were warm.

"Honey, it's okay. It's just a dream," the low voice reassured
her.

She nodded, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
She forced her eyes open.

Shadows on the wall. The moon was full. The blinds created bands
of light and dark like bars on a cell. The sheets were soft and
whispered wordless comfort as she writhed.

Mulder was still holding her tightly. She reassured him with a
shaking whisper from her sore throat. "I'm fine, Mulder. You can
let go now."

He loosened his grasp and she struggled out of the bedding. She
had to use the bathroom.

He called after her, his voice heavy with concern. "Scully?"

"Everything's all right," she called back over her shoulder,
forcing strength into her hollow tone.

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

Chapter 8: Parallax

1.

Washington D.C.
December 17th, 11:30 A.M.

Scully awkwardly wiggled out of her trench coat. Turning towards
the manicurist's station, she ignored the shocked gasps of the
other patrons. She stole a glance into the mirror and frowned at
her image. There was nothing more ridiculous looking than a
pistol-packing pregnant woman.

Unsnapping her shoulder holster, she slipped it off and carefully
set the pistol on the nearest chair as she settled in front of the
manicure equipment. She smoothed her warm brown chenille tunic
over her belly and placed her hand in the manicurist's.

She gave a distracted small smile to the young, vacant-looking
blonde, and began flipping through a glossy woman's magazine as
the woman worked. One of those magazines she wouldn't be caught
dead bringing into her home and averted her eyes from in the
supermarket line. For some reason, they always seemed like
completely appropriate reading material while at the beauty salon.

*How to Get Your Man to Be Your Love Slave!*

She flipped past that page with a furious twist of her wrist. If
her man became any more of a slave she'd expect to hear the
clanking of his chains in the dark of their bedroom.

The blonde gave a small sound that she took to be an attempt at
the beginning of a conversation. She ignored her.

*How To Get Your Man To Give You An Orgasm Every Time!*

She lingered on the page despite the fact she didn't need this
advice. No problem there. Quite obviously, her pleasure was
completely at the center of Mulder's motivations in bed.

And therein lay the problem. How could she possibly complain when
her husband seemed completely focused on her sexual needs? Or at
least what he'd decided were her needs and how to satisfy them.

He approached her body with all the care and planning of a bomb
defusing expert. He came to her only at night, slowly making love
to her in complete darkness.

She had a horrible suspicion he didn't want to see her nude. Every
time she started to undress, he quickly looked away. He never
took her nightgown off as he made love to her. If she came to bed
in a snowsuit, she was sure he'd continue with business as usual.

Like a faithful pack mule, he carried her carefully to the top of
the peak, his swaying gate lulling her into a hypnotic state,
wheezing to a halt to allow her to take in the breathtaking view.

He touched her only where and when was necessary for a response.
He made love to her, but never touched her deeply. Each step
seemed to be carried out with the sole intent of giving her
pleasure, taking nothing for himself.

*How to Get Your Man to Read Your Mind!*

That was it. Right on the head. She carefully unfurled the fist
that was grasping the page and smoothed the crumpled paper. In
the past, there were times that she swore he could read her mind.
Many times she had felt she knew his thoughts.

Why the hell couldn't he figure out what she wanted now? She
wanted it back. That moment. After just one hit of the
possibilities of that man's mouth and her own body, she was
officially an addict. And like an addict, she was afraid she was
going to resort to sudden violence to get it.

She took a deep, calming breath. The manicurist was trying to get
her attention to work on her other set of fingernails. As she
changed hands, she changed magazines. The last one was too
depressing.

*How to Tell Your Man Your Every Desire!* The words screamed off
the dark red cover next to an impossibly thin model.

After skimming the article, she slapped the page. She shouldn't
have to tell him anything! He should just know! She'd be damned
before she sat Mulder down and went through her shopping list of
sexual needs.

After all, it was only sex. Penetration, stimulation, release.
What was she expecting? Had there been some deep, hidden fantasy
of Fox Mulder as a fantastic lover?

Aimee, her hairdresser, was motioning her towards the shampoo
area. As she rose from the chair, Scully gave her body another
once-over in the huge, wall-covering mirrors. If he wasn't as
desirous for her as she would hope, she didn't want to know. She
didn't want to have that conversation at this point in her
pregnancy. She was having enough problems keeping her self-
confidence.

She wanted him to lurk behind the door, grab her, throw her across
the bed. . .tear her clothes off. . .bite her until welts formed
all over her skin. . .She had to shake her head furiously. She
quickly shifted her gaze from her shape. She suspiciously
resembled a round little hazelnut. She didn't blame his
trepidation. After all, she was always doing a double take when
she saw herself in the mirror. Who was that?

But he was treating her as though she might break and she didn't
like it one bit. Was she no longer Scully? Was she just a woman?

Holding the arms to support her weight, she lowered herself into
the low chair. She might take the initiative herself if she
didn't feel so out of form. She didn't know this body. She felt
like she was trying to play tennis with a pair of handcuffs on
when she was in bed with Mulder. She couldn't get her center of
balance or a handle on the big, quick moving body shifting over
her in that damned, pitch-black room--

"Dana? Dana!?" Aimee was bellowing in her ear.

"Huh?" Scully pulled herself back to the matter at hand.

Aimee ran her fingers through Scully's hair and met her gaze in
the mirror on the far wall. "It's been a long time--"

Feeling the guilt that only a hairdresser could bring down on her
head, Scully muttered, "Yes, I know. I'm sorry I had to cancel
our last appointment. Something came up--"

"Obviously!" Aimee pointedly looked down at Scully's belly. "So,
you have news?" She picked up Scully's hand to peer at her rings.
"Nice. Very nice."

Scully pulled her hand slowly into her lap as she leaned back in
the chair for her hair to be washed. "Yes. I got married."

Aimee seemed to be ignoring Scully's awkwardness. "I didn't even
realize you were dating someone."

Scully opened her mouth to try to explain her relationship with
Mulder and then closed it again. "It all happened very fast."

Aimee looked down and smiled at her. "I can tell. I always say,
*watch out for the quiet ones.*"

Scully grinned. "Yeah." She sobered and said, "Aimee?"

"Yes, honey?" Aimee swirled the shampoo through her hair.

"If I come in, and I'm not pregnant anymore, but I don't pull out
a baby picture to show you--don't ask, okay?"

A wet, soapy hand briefly patted her shoulder. "Of course,
honey."

Aimee forcibly turned the conversation to Capitol Hill gossip and
Scully was grateful.

2.
Scully was rummaging through her purse for a pen when she heard
Aimee, standing behind her, say, "Hello, may I help you?" Those
were the words at least. The suggestions and meanings in those
words were much more.

Without looking up, Scully said, "Mulder, what are you doing
here?"

His palm was at her back, rubbing the sore vertebrae at the base.
"I had some time. I thought I'd join you and your mother for
lunch."

"Get me my coat, will you?" she asked as she gave up the search in
her purse.

As he bumbled off to the coat rack, Aimee sidled up beside her.
"Nice. Very nice."

She had to practice. "Yes. He's my. . .husband." When would she
stop putting that pause in the statement?

She watched him coming back with her trench, or rather, watched
the other women watch him come back to her. Taking a grim
satisfaction, she pulled his cheek down to give it a thank you
kiss, feeling the rough cheek warm under her lips.

A search of the pockets of her coat revealed only a lone latex
glove, long forgotten. Giving a sigh, she tugged at the glove,
just to hear the rewarding snap.

"Here." She thought Mulder was offering her a pen, but he was
handing Aimee cash for her services. With a generous tip. Scully
stood still for a moment, stunned. Her husband had just paid for
her haircut.

"Scully, come on. Your Mom is waiting." Mulder was holding the
door open for her. She gave a mental shrug and joined him.

3.
Mulder had excused himself to return to work, winding his way
through the maze of tables. Scully was in no hurry to go back to
Quantico, and her mother seemed to want to continue chatting.

Scully watched his back disappear through the door. "Dana?
Dana!?" Her mother was talking to her. She really had to find a
way to concentrate better.

"Yes?" She turned back to her mother with a vacant smile.

"How are things going, dear?" Maggie was smiling back, but it was
smile filled with intent and purpose.

Scully felt her heart freeze in mid-beat, like a deer paralyzed
under the beams of an oncoming semi tractor-trailer.

"Everything's fine, Mom. Just fine." To anyone who didn't know
her as well as her mother, her tone would have sounded normal.
But it was just a smidgen too high.

Her mother's smile warmed to a smothering blanket. She motioned
to the waiter to refill her coffee cup and turned her gaze back to
Scully. Maggie protested, "I didn't say it wasn't."

Scully let out a long, shattered sigh. She wasn't going to be
getting back to work anytime soon.

4.
Pinecrest, Virginia, 31 Bridle Path Way
5:45 P.M.

Mulder was mixing tomatoes, chopped green peppers, and mushrooms

in a large bowl. The heating oven was warming the kitchen to a

homey temperature. Checking the clock again, he pushed down

concern.

Scully wasn't late. He had to stop being so protective.
Sometimes he got the distinct impression Scully was plotting his
murder for his hovering.

Still, his heart settled down to comfortable rhythm when he heard
the front door open. He called out, "I'm in here, Scully.
Preparing a feast fit for a queen."

It wasn't Scully. Maggie was standing in the doorway, holding a
covered pie plate.

He wiped his damp hands on a dishcloth. "Mrs. Scully, I'm sorry.
I thought you were Scully. She's not home yet."

"She isn't?" Maggie set the pie down on the counter and moved
forward to give him a kiss. Before his heart took off on a mad
gallop, she put his mind at rest. "Oh, yes. She said she had to
stop at Graham's to pick up some presents before the sale ends
tomorrow. I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

He turned his attention to the pie. "Pumpkin. My favorite.
Thank you, Mrs. Scully."

Her hand was warm and dry on his bare forearm. "Fox, dear.
Please, call me Mom."

Slowly he said, "All right."

Her face became contrite. "I'm sorry, if you're uncomfortable--"

Quickly, he covered his embarrassment. "Oh, no! It'll just take
some getting used to--"

She patted his arm again as she leaned against the counter and
peered into his bowl. "Yes. Marriage brings so many changes to
your life. And the two of you have had so many things to get used
to--"

He went back to chopping garlic. "Yes. . .Mom. But I think it'll
be worth it."

That earned him a smile and he decided Maggie Scully's smiles were
at least as beautiful as Scully's. "Good. Very reassuring for a
mother to hear. But I must warn you that marriage never stops
being a challenge, no matter how long you're together."

He nodded. This was very pleasant. In the kitchen of his lovely
home in the suburbs, chatting with his mother-in-law while making
lasagna, pie for dessert. . .

She was chattering in the background. "I remember the first time
Bill introduced me as the mother of his children. Of course I
loved being his wife and adored my children, but--"

Mulder furrowed his brow and tried to follow where this
conversation was going. "I went home and cried for two hours
straight. I wasn't his girl anymore. Now I was a mother in his
eyes. A woman wants to feel desired. . .sexually, not just
revered. Do you understand, Fox?"

Mulder felt a small smile fix on his face as his heart ground to a
halt in his chest. He understood perfectly. Scully had told her
mother he was a shitty lay. And he was about to get some sex tips
from his mother-in-law.

5.
Scully shed her shoes as she staggered into the entryway of their
house. "Mulder?" she called out.

Nothing. Concern prickled at the back of her neck.

She set down the package containing the lamp on the console table
and followed the wonderful smell of pasta towards the kitchen.

Mulder was sitting at the kitchen table, making a show of reading
the newspaper. He didn't lift eyes to meet her questioning gaze.
Something in the set of his shoulders and his bent head made her
not give him a kiss as she walked past him.

Fine. Let him have his mysterious little pout. She wasn't going
to play guessing games in her marriage. When he was ready to say
what was bothering him, she'd be ready to hear it. She pulled the
refrigerator door open to get a drink.

"Where did this pie come from?" she asked, puzzled.

"Your mother brought it by," was his cool response from behind
her.

"What was she doing here? She didn't say anything about coming
over while we were at lunch." She was trying to balance the milk
carton in the crook of her elbow while rummaging for the cranberry
juice.

"She suddenly decided we needed. . .pie," his words were measured
out for her.

Scully didn't want to turn around. She wanted to stay in the open
doorway of the refrigerator until she froze solid. She was
already halfway there. All her blood had stopped in her veins.

6.
As it turned out, she didn't need to spend the evening in the
refrigerator. A night in bed next to Mulder had the same effect.

She was sure he'd spend the night on his old couch in the den, but
his stiff body lying beside her was a more suitable punishment for
her transgression of revealing marital confidences.

As she snapped the light off, he said coolly, "I have an early
meeting tomorrow. I won't be here when you wake up."

She stifled a few choice words and nodded, the sound of her hair
moving on the pillow oddly loud in the icy silence of the bedroom.

7.
True to his word, he was gone in the morning. Scully flipped the
coverlet back and struggled out of bed. Fine. She could outwait
him on this childish. . .disagreement.

Shedding her flannel nightgown, she wandered into the bathroom
nude. She scrubbed her body until it glowed red under a torrent
of hot water, all the while muttering various replies to his
phantom accusations.

Finally, she had to turn the water off and slammed open the glass
shower door. As she groped for a towel, her hand came back empty.
Cursing, she looked around the steam-filled room. All the towels
were gone. The bastard must have picked this morning to do some
housework. Too bad he hadn't replaced the towels after taking
them to the laundry room.

"Dammit," she grumbled as she stalked out of the bathroom, nude,
and now dripping. And stopped short.

Mulder was sitting in the over-stuffed armchair, apparently
waiting for her. Probably wanted to have a mature discussion.
Well, he wasn't going to get it.

It was his expression that pissed her off the most. He was out
and out staring at her nude, round form. His eyes were completely
blank as they shifted over her shape, continually coming back to
her swollen breasts.

Fuck him, she thought furiously. She was pregnant and this is
what pregnant women looked like, not some fashion model. "What
are you doing here?" she sputtered, refusing to feel embarrassed
or try to cover herself.

He gasped out, "Uh. . .the meeting was cancelled."

"You took all the towels," she accused him.

"Oh," he said as his eyes continued to fixate on her body.

That was it. He was so horrified he was paralyzed. She was going
to have to get her own damn towel. She turned on her heel to get
her robe from the closet when his voice stopped her. "Where's
your tattoo?"

"What?" She hadn't realized she was that close to him. One
graceful finger was extended on the end of an impossibly long arm,
stroking her bare back. She craned her neck around to look at
him. Now his face was covered with puzzlement.

"Your tattoo," he whispered. "It's gone."

"I had it removed. When they were lasering off the scars from my
gunshot wound I had them go ahead and take it off too."

"Why?"

"It'd served its purpose."

Something in the way Scully said those words sounded like a slap.
He'd had fantasies about that tattoo and now it was gone. He'd had
plans for that tattoo.

He couldn't stop his finger from tracing a circle on her bare,
white back, imagining he could see the remnants of the brilliant
red ink.

She made an odd, long sound. Like a hiss. Or was it a moan? The
room seemed very still and quiet. There was his labored
breathing. Her breathing sounded rapid and shallow.

He wanted the tattoo back so he could eat it off. That's right.
That was his fantasy. He heard the cracking sound of his knees
making contact with the floor.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back against his mouth. His
teeth sank into her skin and when he pulled away, a satisfying red
mark remained. He was immediately flooded with regret. He'd hurt
her.

There was that sound again. It was definitely a moan. And her
soft little ass was being shoved back in his face. A sweet smell
was wafting up to his nostrils as he frantically licked his mark,
hoping to clean it away.

The odor was one part lime body wash, another part vanilla
shampoo, another, a perfume that had no name.

Mulder decided not to think. He decided thinking would be a
mistake at this point. He couldn't figure out why he was furious
at her one minute, she was furious at him the next, and this
minute she was grinding her ass in his face while he bit at it.
While he made satisfied, snuffing noises, his nose stroked her
soft skin. His tongue and teeth found nature's markings to bite
and lick, her collection of moles and freckles becoming landmarks
for his mouth to map.

Fumbling, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants,
frantically shoving his boxers under his half-erect penis. Dimly,
he realized he needed some sort of plan, even if he didn't give it
deep thought.

Hobbled slightly by his half-mast pants, he got back into the
chair. From this position, he could reach forward and sweep his
palms over those amazingly plump breasts, warming them while the
nipples hardened under the pads of his trembling fingers.

Her back arched in response and the moans lowered in pitch. He
liked that sound a lot. She hadn't made this much noise since
their wedding night. True, she hadn't said a word yet, but he was
going to take these sounds as a sign of her approval.

The little ass was now twitching in his face and seemed to be
searching for his full and throbbing dick like a lap-seeking cat.

Yes, there was an idea. He pulled her down, his fingers reaching
between her spread legs to open her hot, soft and slick folds for
his waiting cock. As soon as she settled on him, he realized he'd
made a fatal error. There was nowhere to go from here. The moans
turned to grumbles as she saw her feet couldn't touch the ground
to get any leverage and he was unable to thrust because the chair
was too low.

Good going, he cursed himself as he tried to keep a hold of the
wiggling little round beetle on his lap.

Time for action! He never could figure out how he did it, but
somehow he hauled himself out of the chair, kept a hold of her,
pulled out, turned and set her down in the chair on her knees,
bottom up.

He really had just intended to get his clothes the hell off and
get a better grip to carry her to the bed. Then that back arched
and that white ass twitched again.

She had draped her arms over the back of the chair and her bright
lips, glistening between her spread thighs, looked so
inviting. . .

Her hair was drying in a mass of curls and she had to sweep it

aside to glance back over her shoulder at him. Her eyes narrowed
and her mouth went slack, panting hot breaths. What did she want?
He was going to have to guess right.

Suddenly, she spoke. "Get me a pillow."

He frantically looked around the room. Must find a pillow.
Scully wanted a pillow. Why did Scully want a pillow? Must not
think. Get pillow.

Clutching his lowered pants with one hand, he scrambled to the
bed, snatched a pillow off the end and hustled back to her.

He handed it to her and she gave him the gracious nod of a queen
to her favorite subject. His fingers lost their grip on his pants
as she pushed the pillow under her belly as support and settled
her weight on it, raising her inviting ass up to him again.

Sidling up to her, he tentatively grasped her hips and pulled
himself closer to her. The back dipped and then raised the hips
to rub against his bobbing wet cock. Okay, maybe he was reading
her signals correctly. . .

He guided his dick to her lips again. He had to bend his knees
slightly for the angled entry but as he slid into her vagina, they
both gasped out in amazement. He felt like he'd fallen down some
deep, dark well and it was closing up behind him.

Scully leaned on her crossed arms, panting lightly, biting her own
forearm. Was that a good sign?

She pushed back against him, taking him in that extra notch he'd
always been terrified to go. Her slick thighs were now snugly
pressed to his and he swore the pores of the skin on his balls
were sending him detailed descriptions of the texture of her
labia.

He realized he hadn't moved yet until she started chanting,
"Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme. . ."

Her words poured over him like honey from a silken comb. Words
that sounded trashy coming from another woman were a holy command
from her lips.

He could only respond by nodding madly. The most intelligent word
he could manage to form was, "Uh-huh."

Bending his knees again, he began to thrust into her. He took
long, deep strokes, taking in a great gulp of air and then
expelling it as he pressed into her, like free diving in the
ocean.

His fingers traced the flush of arousal that washed like a red
tide over her freckled skin, rippling over her shoulder blades,
trickling down her spine as he tried to catch the wave.

She quickly picked up his rhythm and contracted her vaginal
muscles around his cock when he was fully enclosed within her. As
he pulled back they both moaned with the relief of the deep mutual
caress.

She was whispering now, "YeahMulderyeahMulderyeahMulderyeahMulder.
. ."

He could hear the hum and pop as a light bulb went off over his
head. She liked this. She liked it this way.

He stuck with tried and true. "Uh-huh, Uh-huh, Uh-huh. . ."

She bowed her back to rub her nipples against the fabric of the
chair, causing her pelvic bone to press down on his cock. He was
certain it would look as flat and red as a tongue when he pulled
back. She must have heard his squeak of pain because she gasped
out, "Does that hurt?"

He moaned, "Yes. No."

She just nodded and began swiveling her hips back against his
thighs. They seemed to have made an unspoken agreement to make
this last as long as possible.

His gaze roamed the room to distract the fitful little boy hopping
up and down in his brain, wanting to come, and come now! His
attention was caught by the image of two other people across the
room. They were fucking too.

He lost his rhythm and Scully immediately noticed. "Whaa?" she
asked, her mouth muffled on her upper arm where her head had come
to rest.

"Look," he gasped.

They were caught in the mirrors on the sliding closet doors. A
woman's tight little shape, crouched on her knees in an armchair,
completely nude. A man, still dressed, madly fucking the woman.
Only it was them. And he could watch.

"Nice, huh?" He was knocked off rhythm again. She probably
wouldn't find watching very erotic.

She rolled her head over to be able to see them. He watched a
slow, dirty smile spread over the woman's lush lips. "Oh, yeah,"
moaned out from the lips.

As she ground back into him again, encouraging him to pick up his
thrusts, she groaned, "Mr. Mulder, quick, give me those insurance
estimates. My husband is going to be home any minute."

"You tramp!" he grunted, trying to stifle a laugh. This was sex.
He needed to be serious. None of his usual bullshit.

And then she giggled. "You want me to give it to you?" he asked
breathlessly.

"Yeah." She was bracing her hands on the back of the chair in
anticipation.

He grabbed her hips firmly. He felt free for the first time. He
wasn't worried about hurting her or the baby.

He slipped a shaking hand under the crease of her hip. Collecting
some lubrication from their joining, he found her clit and began
rolling it vigorously. Immediately, she began the shake like a
little russet terrier with a rag in its sharp teeth.

His strokes were sloppy and frantic now, but she didn't seem to
mind. The chair creaked alarmingly but neither cared. He felt as
though he was stretching for the finish line of a race and turned
to check the mirror. Sure enough, he was leaned over her, gasping
and thrusting, going for the gold.

She was encouraging him,
"Rightthererightthererightthererightthere. . ."

He wasn't sure what he had right because quite frankly, he
believed he'd lost complete track of any consciousness. Every
thought and every ounce of energy was draining out of him as he
came. He was just eternally grateful that she appeared to be
enjoying her own orgasm, moaning endlessly now, words gone,
leaving gibberish in its place as she thrashed beneath him.

When they both finally stilled, he pulled out and fell back to his
knees. Rolling over in the chair to face him, she reached out and
grabbed his tie to pull him in for a deep, probing kiss.

She pushed him back playfully. "Thanks, Mulder."

"Anytime," he gurgled.

Cocking an eyebrow at him, she said, "You sure you want to make
promises--"

He didn't answer in words. He let his gaze, roaming over her
expanse of white skin, peaked like meringue with goose pimples as
her flesh cooled, speak for him. She was his own Paleolithic
Venus, a fertility goddess whose exaggerated rounded shape was to
be worshipped.

His head was still spinning from his release. He was a crazily
blipping satellite, whirling around a white full moon.

He must have said it all out loud. "Oh, Mulder." But she looked
pleased.

Scully watched Mulder fumble with his tie, as though he wasn't
sure if he needed to straighten it or take it off. She would
decide for him.

"Call Tiff and tell her you're going to be late. Then take those
clothes off. We need to shower again," she said.

He looked up at her and narrowed his eyes. "First, I need to give
you a lesson about Hanukah."

"What?"

Struggling to his feet, swooping her up into his arms, he carried
her to the bed and dumped her on it. Stepping back as though to
examine the tableau--Scully sprawled on the crumbled comforter--he
said, "Remind me to take that pie plate back to your mother with a
thank you."

"Don't you dare!" Scully mumbled as she crawled to the edge of the
bed. She gave into an impulse as he bent over to pull his shoes
and pants off.

"Ow! What're you doing?" he protested as he twisted around to
look down at her in confusion.

Settling back to admire her handiwork, a bright red bite mark
square on his left ass cheek, she said, "I've always wanted to do
that." Only she hadn't realize it until this moment.

"You should have. I wouldn't have minded. . ." he was grinning at
her as he shed his shirt.

She ignored him and asked, "Hanukah?"

"Yeah. You get one small gift a day for eight days, much better
than the gluttony of Christmas morning. Better yet, of course, is
celebrating both. Best of both worlds," he added as he gently
pushing her flat onto the mattress before falling to his knees at
the edge of the bed.

When she settled back, her heart began to thud erratically in
anticipation as he draped her legs over his shoulder and pulled
her crotch towards his mouth. Perhaps she was in a holiday mood.
At the moment she felt his hot breath on her aching lips, she felt
a Hallelujah chorus rising within her.

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

Chapter 9: Fire and Ice

1.

Pinecrest, Virginia, 31 Bridle Path Way
February 8th, 2:30 P.M.

Scully lay down for a nap while Mulder was out playing
basketball with Tiff. A spike seemed to be slowly driving itself
into her lower back.

She couldn't sleep. It didn't matter. Now the nightmares came
even when her eyes were open, suddenly seizing her just as she
convinced herself they were gone forever. She didn't bother to
scream anymore. It solved nothing and made her throat sore.

Recently, when they had been shopping at the mall, Mulder had

chuckled as he glanced over at their bodyguard examining the
scented candles at a kiosk.

"I don't even notice we're being watched anymore," he'd commented.

Scully had nodded, but she didn't agree. The eyes watching him
all the time were inside her. The mass within her belly shifted
as Mulder walked beside her, following his movement.

She'd grunted and he'd turned in concern. Weakly, she'd said,
"The baby's active today."

The smile that lit up his face squeezed down on her heart as the
baby pressed up with nearly unbearable force. His long hand
reached out and lightly swept across the orb. His palm settled
where a foot was kicking. "Good boy. Fight," he had said
fiercely.

She sat up in bed, fitfully pushing away the coverlet. Shivering,
she pulled on the red flannel robe Mulder had given her at
Christmas.

Unlike other pregnant women, she was cold all the time. It didn't
matter how high she turned up the heat. Her skin felt warm to the
touch, but the freezing cold radiated from inside her womb.

Shuffling into the bathroom, she cranked on the hot water to take
a shower. It would heat her for a few minutes, relieving her
distress. She turned to the vanity, but avoided looking at her
frightened features in the mirror.

Before she could brush her hair, she had to clean out the red
mesh that filled the bristles of her brush. Her hair was falling
out. Her nails were breaking. Her joints felt loose and achy.
Pressing her shaking hands to her belly, she tried to soothe the
stirring beast.

Climbing into the shower stall, she plunged herself under the
boiling spray. Gradually all her worries were washed away by
the waves of heat and she gave a shaking chuckle. She was just
suffering from anxiety. She had nothing to fear.

2.
Scully was finishing her shower when Mulder entered the bathroom.
He watched her bulbous form, softened by the steam on the glass
door, twist under the spray.

She called out, "How was your game?"

He began to strip off his sweats. "Short. It goes by pretty fast
when I can't hit my three-pointer."

The door opened and her rosy-pink form emerged. He wrapped her in
a large fluffy body towel and she gave him a small, satisfied
smile in reward. "So Tiff beat you."

"Beat is such a final word," he pointed out. "I like to think of
it as just another chapter in an eternal battle for ultimate
domination," he said as he gently rubbed her all over with the
towel. She writhed under his ministrations and kept her grin
under control.

"I'm glad you have an activity to burn some energy," she murmured
as she slipped out of his grasp and snatched her red robe off the
hook on the wall.

Before he could stop her, she escaped the room, and with a rueful
sigh, he turned down the hot water for his shower.

When he finished, Mulder stuck his wet head out of the bathroom.
His comment died in his throat at the sight of Scully delicately
curled up on a low stool in front of the fireplace. He'd built a
fire for her before he went in to shower and it crackled and
snapped.

She had let her robe fall from her shoulders, leaving it gathered
around her waist and he could openly view her heavy breasts
resting on her swollen belly. According to the social norms, this
wasn't supposed to be an erotic sight to him. It was however, and
he wondered what was he going to do when she wasn't pregnant
anymore.

She was carefully combing out her tangled locks, drying them
slowly in the heat of the flames. She lifted her head and looked
at him with concern.

"Mulder? Did you need something?" she asked.

For the life of him he couldn't remember. He watched tides shift
and rise in her eyes.

He just grinned foolishly and her head fell back a little so she
could look up at him from under her golden lashes. She briefly
tugged at her plump lower lip, let it go, and rasped out,
"Come here."

God, he hoped he wasn't turning into one of those men who wanted
to be ordered around and disciplined, but his cock thickened and
the evidence seemed to be to the contrary. Like a shy little boy
he clung to the doorjamb for a moment and then sidled into the
room, looking at his feet and twisting his towel in his hand.

Mulder stopped in front of her and Scully felt her head whirl with
anticipation. Good Lord, she had become wanton in the past couple
of months! She was a bad girl, leaving her vegetables on her
plate, and stuffing her face with treats.

He stood in front of her, unashamedly nude. Narrow streams of
water still ran down the hard planes of his body. She reached up,
captured one of the drops off the bottom of his right pectoral
muscle and licked it slowly from her fingertip.

"You need to dry off," she whispered.

He started to lift the towel but she put a hand over it to still
him. She tugged him a little closer so she could stay crouched
down on the stool and began to lick and suck the water from his
warm skin like a mother cat with her kitten.

There was a dark part of her brain that wanted to keep and record
these memories for the eventuality that she had to leave him. She
wanted to always remember the taste of his flesh, its firmness,
and the texture of his body hair, the spot where it went from fine
and silky to coarse and wild.

Her hands reached around his hips and her fingertips traced long
tracks on the bands of his back muscles before dropping to clench
his strong buttocks. His groan reverberated out of his abdomen
and down her throat as her tongue followed the swirling patterns
of his chest hair to his navel.

His cock filled with blood and lifted from between his thighs,
slipping into the tangle of her drying curls. She raised her eyes
to his face and he was gazing down at her with a mixture of want
and fear. She wet her lips quickly and his look switched entirely
to fear.

She realized with a pang that she hadn't yet been able to enjoy a
long, leisurely oral exploration of her husband's penis. Although
things had improved in their sex life, a combination of her loss
of mobility in bed and his damned noble behavior had kept her
mouth above the navel most of the time.

Everything was so new and she felt a stab of anger at this whole
situation. True, if none of this had happened they probably would
still be sitting across from each other in the basement ordering
pizza for a late night dinner. But it wasn't fair that all these
baby steps in a physical relationship had been jumped over. Would
things ever just be normal for them?

As she reflected, she allowed her gaze to caress his half-erect
penis. It glowed deep orange in the firelight and she liked the
surreal effect. A slow smile formed when she noticed a single
droplet of water clinging to the plump head. She glanced up to
his eyes again and they were begging.

With just the tip of her tongue, she gently lapped it away and he
moaned. Under her hands his ass tensed. She closed her eyelids
briefly and took in a deep breath, gathering the smell and sound
of him.

Keeping her tongue broad and flat, she ran it up the underside of
his cock, urging its engorgement. She liked the moan she got from
that move and couldn't stop herself from smiling again.

Using the tip of her tongue again, she ran it all around the head,
burrowing into the corona as she let one hand wander into the vee
of his ass, pressing the bone where the two hard cheeks met. Her
finger tried to slip between them but his muscles tensed to rock
hard.

"Trust me. I'm a doctor," she murmured.

"Uh--that's okay. I've already had my check-up for the year," he
moaned. She decided to keep that little technique for another
time down the road when he might be more receptive.

She scratched his firm buttocks just hard enough to feel the satin
of his skin ripple under her nails.

His penis, brushing lightly on the softness of her cheek, jerked.
"It's okay," she crooned. She could feel the heat radiating off
his flesh and wanted to soothe him. She turned her head and blew
a gentle cooling breath on his inflamed cock.

Brushing it up against his stomach with her hand, she began to
rain light, sweet kisses, suitably chaste for a rough cheek, on
his warm sac. When he whimpered slightly, she decided she could
go a step further. Her hand was still lightly stroking his cock
like a satin-coated puppy, so she nibbled on the impossibly soft
skin that covered his balls.

"Oh Christ, Scully. Oh. . ." he panted out between lax lips.

Worried, she asked, "Am I hurting you?"

"Uh--" he gurgled, his fingers dancing at the back of her neck.
She took that as encouragement.

She ran her tongue upward again, tracing the tight ligaments that
were holding his now rock-solid cock taut.

His breathing became ragged with desire and she let her head roll
back again and looked at him one last time. Up over the ridges of
his abdominal muscles, slipping over the mounds of his pectorals,
travelling the hard column of his neck, around the ragged edge of
his unshaven jaw, past his moist full lips to rest on his closed
eyes. His lashes fluttered, but he didn't open his eyes to return
her gaze. She had him enthralled.

With that thought, she pulled his cock down to her mouth,
surrounded the head with her lips and then slid down his length,
engulfing as much as she could. This time the long groan came out
through his cock, or at least that's what it felt like. She
chuckled and that earned her a cute little gurgle of a moan.

She ministered to him, using care but perseverance to concentrate
on the sensitive head. She could really get used to hearing the
sound of that constant rumbling moan that came from his diaphragm
above her head. Letting go of his cock, she let her hands wander
over his butt again, finding a squeezing rhythm to match her
sucking. Without her grip on the base, his cock was pressing
against the roof of her mouth and she could tease the underside
with her tongue.

His hands fluttered at her head, at her shoulders. They didn't
seem to know where to light or what to do, but she liked the
sensation of an apparition urging her onward.

His balls were taut and hot when she brought a hand forward to
grasp them. His moans became guttural groans and the hands were
gripping at her shoulders.

She felt as though the fire had spread across her body and settled
between her own legs. Although she had wanted to concentrate on
Mulder's needs, she couldn't stop herself from slipping her hand
over her belly and under its bulk to find her own desire ripe and
aching.

She glanced up at Mulder and his eyes were finally open, watching
her. She almost stopped touching herself until she noticed his
breathing increase. He wanted to watch and she wanted to please
him.

She would have to hurry to catch up with him. She slowed her
rhythm on his length but began stroking herself furiously. The
sweat ran down her belly and lubricated her hand.

He lifted the hair off the back of her neck to cool her skin,
shifting the strands through his shaking fingers, drying it to a
mass of curls.

Then he pulled her body closer to him. "I wanna..." he groaned as
he reached down with his big dark hands. He grasped her breasts
firmly, lifted their weight, and began squeezing them to match the
rhythm of their bodies.

The heat and pain was unbearable. She couldn't take it anymore.
She pressed hard on her clit, finding the right spot. Her orgasm
was a relief and she passed the gift onto him, pulling him over
the edge into her abyss.

He tried to tug her off of his pulsing hips, but she was greedy,
drinking every bit of him she could. She wanted to inhale his
essence and strength.

He couldn't even speak, just making raspy gasps of fulfillment.
She delighted in his complete submission to her. As he fell to
his knees beside her, her emotions whipped around so fast her head
spun and she was his slave, draping her small body over his
prostrate form to soothe him.

Her hands smoothed across his muscles, spreading the sweat that
had pooled on his spine. The only word she could find to say was
his name, over and over in the dim room, lit dark red by the dying
fire, "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder. . . "

3.
February 14th 10:45 A.M.

Scully woke with a start. Silence. It had stopped raining. The

storms of the past two days had passed. The room was glaringly

white. She crawled painfully from the bed to go close the

curtains. She needed to sleep.

But as she gripped the fabric, the scene in the backyard struck
her. A drop in temperature below freezing had followed the rain.
Icicles hung from the bare dark trees like chandeliers. The dead
lawn was tipped with white and the cover on the pool glistened
threateningly like a black hole.

Suddenly she realized she was no longer cold. From within her
belly, she could feel an unbearable heat growing. She felt as
though a glowing red band of steel was slowly tightening around
her abdomen.

She gasped as the sensation of a hand clawing at her belly from
within racked her body. Frantic, she glanced around the room. It
was time to go.

4.
Mulder barely made the sharp turn down his street with. Out of
the corner of his eye, he saw Tiff grip her door handle, but she
said nothing.

The shining black street seemed to buck to try to shake his car
off. He stayed in control and steered into his driveway.

As he leapt from behind the wheel, Tiff called after him, "I'll
take the back."

The call about Scully had found them staking out a possible
location of the clone, Kenneth. He had lost faith in being able
to find the man, but he had felt as though he should look into
every lead.

Now he wondered if it had been a ruse to divert him.

He kept one hand resting on his gun as he passed through his front
door.

Even though he knew she had left the house an hour ago, he called
out, "Scully?"

Byers had made the call, his voice strained. "Scully's dropped
out of sight, Mulder. Her shadow thought she was going shopping,
but she suddenly sped up on the freeway and got out of his range
in heavy traffic."

As he began babbling accusations and recriminations, Byers cut him
off. "We have guys spreading out all over the area with receivers
set to her coordinates. Why don't you go to the house and see if
you can find any clue as to why she would run? We'll be in touch
as soon as we find her."

Byers had sounded so positive. Mulder wasn't as sure. He checked
the living room first. Looking out the large windows into the
backyard, he saw Tiff checking the bushes.

A CD jewel case lay on the coffee table. He returned it to the
wall cabinet. Elvis Costello. He slipped the case in next to
Elvis Presley.

**Scully had wrinkled her nose when he set up the CDs that way.
"They should be alphabetized so we can find them easily."

"They are organized. I'll always know the two Elvi are beside
each other. Strange bedfellows and all that."

Bemused, she'd said, "Strange bedfellows?"

He'd grinned and had pulled her between his legs as he'd settled
to sit on the back of the sofa. "We made them strange. And
bedfellows. The joining of our two Elvi."**

Turning away, he crossed the room to the alcove that held their
computer. He started it up, checking logs to see if she'd
received or sent any messages. Nothing.

The schedule of their Lamaze class was posted on the corkboard
over the desk. They would miss this afternoon's meeting.

**He was convinced everyone in the class thought they were odd and
vocalized that feeling one night as they entered the meeting room.

At the edge of the mat, Scully had settled on her pillow.
"Mulder, get a grip. Stop being so paranoid." She'd quickly
shaken her head before he could respond. "I take that back. It's
an insurmountable obstacle. No, why would they think we're odd?"

"Besides the obvious answer?" He'd asked as he folded his legs
into an origami of a resting crane to sit beside her on the floor.
"We don't fit in. Look at all of them."

She'd glanced around the room. "What?"

"They're all so happy," he'd insisted.

She'd tipped her head to her shoulder to look at him intently.
"And we aren't?"

He realized he'd backed himself into a corner. "It's not that.
We're just different than they are, that's all."

Turning her attention to the instructor who was calling the class
to order, she'd muttered, "We always have been. Why should this
be something new?"**

When he moved to the kitchen, Tiff was coming through the back
door. "Nothing in the yard. The grass is frozen solid. There
would be tracks if anyone had crossed it."

He nodded and she moved through the room to check elsewhere.

He opened the refrigerator. He didn't know what clue he hoped to
find in there. His gaze ran over the neat rows of bottles,
cartons and dishes, all arranged by size and contents. No more
finding something green growing at the back of a shelf while late-
night foraging.

His gaze fell on a package of baloney, only two slices gone,
tucked in the meat drawer.

**Scully had been restless that evening, pacing the living room.

"Honey, do you need something?" he'd asked.

"No," she said defiantly.

"Scully. . ."

"What?"

"What do you want?" He tried again.

Grimacing, she asked, "How can I have an urge for something I've
never eaten?"

He shrugged. "What do you want?"

"I want a baloney sandwich." Her hesitant tone suggested she'd
just confessed to an extramarital affair.

Realizing they had no baloney, he had struggled up from the couch.
"Let me go get you some."

"No! My mother never allowed us to eat processed meat."

He raised a brow at Maggie Scully's extreme attitude towards
baloney.

Scully muttered, "Let's go to bed, I don't need a sandwich."

"I'm going to stay up for a few more minutes, wait for the
ballgame scores on the news," he had told her.

When he'd entered the dark bedroom half an hour later, a voice had
drifted from the bed. "Mulder?"

In the act of pulling off his socks, he had said, "You want me to
go get you some baloney?"

"Please."**

He slammed the refrigerator door shut and loped up the stairs to
join Tiff in the bedroom.

She had the closet door open and was checking the contents. "It
looks like the suitcases are still all here."

His tone suddenly sharp, he asked, "Why wouldn't they be?"

Her answer was as tired as her sad eyes. "You know the drill,
Mulder."

He insisted, "You don't understand us. She would never leave me.
Never."

Tiff blew a breath from puffed-out cheeks. "Dammit, Mulder! I
wasn't born a heartless bitch!" She gave him a small smile. "I
was made this way. I have to follow the procedure."

He turned his back on her to continue searching. Scully's
hairbrush had been abandoned on top of the dresser. She'd been
complaining about her hair falling out. He lightly touched the
thatch of strands caught on the bristles.

He hadn't believed her. She had the thickest hair he'd ever seen
on a woman.

**The first time he'd buried his hands in her hair, he'd been
surprised at the weight, cradling it in his palms. It had always
looked so fine and fragile to him.

He had said that out loud. Her warm sigh was followed by a
chuckle, stifled to a moan when he buried his face in her neck.
"Are you kidding?" she'd whispered in his ear. "I could lift a
car with a strand of my hair."**

"But do you still believe in happy endings?" he threw over his
shoulder to Tiff.

She didn't answer for a moment. Then, "Yes." He heard her open
the bedside table drawer. "Did she keep her gun in here?"

He joined her. "Yes."

"It's gone," she said as she shoved the drawer shut.

He could only nod, numbness beginning to filter into his limbs.

"What was she wearing when she left? Can you figure it out?" Tiff
gently asked him.

He went to the open closet and let his gaze sweep over the hanging
garments before flipping open the dirty clothes hamper. He found
Scully's exercise leotard on top of the dirty laundry. Purple.
She'd called the color eggplant--he'd called it purple.

**"Tinky-Winky," he'd murmured one afternoon as he watched her
stretching and bending around her bowling ball of a belly,
following the instructions on her video.

"What did you call me?" she'd sputtered out between her deep,
fill-your-lungs-feel-the-burn breaths.

"Tinky-Winky," he'd said, settling back on the bed to enjoy the
view of her plump ass rising and falling as she bent over.

"Oh?"

"The Teletubbie." He grinned at the mental vision of her with a
TV screen on her belly.

This had stopped her. "Excuse me?" had been her dangerous words.
Taking the moment to wipe sweat from her brow, she'd asked, "Since
when do you know the names of the Teletubbies?" He'd opened his
mouth, but she cut him off. "Oh, that's right. They're aliens."

He'd shaken his head. "No, it's not that. But I did feel I needed
to research children's programs to be able to make an informed
decision."

Returning her focus to the grinning, happy woman on the screen,
she'd asked, "And?"

Definitely, he'd announced, "They're evil incarnate."

"I could have told you that," she'd said dryly.

He'd rested his head on the pillow. "But you're cute."**

Sliding the closet door shut so hard that it shook in its frame,
he said, "She's probably wearing a blue knit jumper. She usually
wears a turtleneck with it and tights. And she's been very cold.
She'll be wearing her heavy black coat."

Tiff pulled out her phone.

"Who're you calling?" he asked.

"The authorities." Before he could protest, she broke in.
"Mulder, this isn't time for your motley crew of nerds. This is
serious."

"Don't you think I know that?" he hissed.

"What harm will be done putting out an APB?" she pointed out.

They went back down to the living room as Tiff muttered orders
into the phone.

"Is this the most recent photo of Scully?" Tiff asked, holding up
a framed picture.

He forced himself to look at it. He nodded.

In the picture, he was looming behind her, reaching around to
clutch her belly. He'd thought it would feel like petting a
sheep, soft and plush. Instead her stomach felt as smooth and
firm as his favorite old worn-out basketball.

He pushed out the word. "Yes." She nodded and moved to turn on
the scanner and send the image to the police.

5.
He was sitting on the sofa counting the ticks of the clock when he
heard the sound of tires in the driveway. His overjoyed flight to
the front window was pulled up when he saw Skinner step out of his
car.

"Did you call him?" he asked Tiff.

She looked out the window around his shoulder. "Yes I did. Is
that a problem?

He shrugged, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by defeat. "No, I guess
not."

When Skinner joined them in the living room, they gave him what
little information they had.

The blip of the fax machine drew Tiff's attention away. She
grumbled at the reports spitting out of the machine. "Nothing!"
A flashing light pulled her gaze to the computer screen, left on
after Mulder's search. "You've got mail."

Mulder quickly clicked on the icon. No subject line, but it was
from Scully.

"She has e-mail on her cell phone," he told Tiff and Skinner as he
opened the message.

//I love you// were the three words.

"Fuck!" Mulder burst out, the frustration of the situation
overwhelming him. With shaking hands, he grabbed up the phone and
dialed the Lone Gunmen.

Byers picked up halfway through the first ring. "Yes!?"

"Mulder. Scully just sent an e-mail with her cell phone. Are you
monitoring her phone?"

He could hear the painful shuffling sound of Byers dragging his
body across the room. "I've been manning the phones, but we do
have a monitor on her cell."

The wait was endless as he heard Byers muttering and tapping on
computer keys down the phone line.

"Here. She was heading out. . ." He heard Byers take in a breath.

"God dammit, Byers!" Mulder roared down the line.

Byers whispered the information. "Route 211. Towards Blue Ridge
Parkway."

"Skyland Mountain," Mulder gasped.

Byers rushed onward. "I'll get the boys headed up that way, start
sweeping the roads for her signal."

"Do that. We'll be headed up now," Mulder barked before slamming
down the phone.

Skinner grabbed his arm as he started to hurry from the room.
"I'm coming with you."

Mulder paused for only a second to think. "All right. Come on
then, both of you. We've got to find her. Now."

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

Chapter 10: Woman's Work

1.

Blue Ridge Parkway
February 14th, 5:25 P.M.

Screams echoed in the room, so loud that Scully pressed her hands
over her ears. Only then did she realize it was her mouth open,
emitting the sounds. She threw her body against the wall to break
herself out of her terror. She registered nothing but pain
beating out of her abdomen.

Panting like a frenzied animal, she paced the floor. The room was
too small. But she welcomed the darkness. There was so much she
didn't want to see.

She didn't want to see the green ooze that was now splattered on
her thighs. She didn't want to watch her stomach ripple and
expand as the creature moved. She didn't want to see the
reflection of her fear-stained face in the black windows.

She had to remain strong. She had to remain conscious. She had
to find the fortitude, one last time in her tumultuous, too short
life, to fight one last battle.

She needed a weapon. She had her gun, but she didn't trust her
aim at this angle. A knife. A good knife. She knew where she
needed to make the incision. She knew what she had to do. She
knew her duty. She stumbled towards the kitchen to procure the
necessary instrument.

2.

Despite Mulder's long right leg rigid and straight on the

passenger side of the car, Tiff kept her speed careful in the

seemingly innocent light snowfall. Skinner was no better,
gripping the sides of her seat to keep himself pulled forward, his
breath coming in sharp puffs to her ear.

Dusk had fallen and she navigated the slippery curves of Route 211
with trepidation.

Finally, she spotted their objective. Two vehicles pulled off the
road. Scully's car was askew, but not wrecked. A VW Beetle was
snuggled up beside it, and a short, bedraggled man was waving them
down. One of the searchers, this Gunman had called in his find.

Mulder jumped out before she could come to a complete stop. When
she joined him at Scully's car, the Gunman was babbling. "Yeah,
so, Dude! So, I like, caught her sig for just a sec. Got my
bead. And then, like, poof, gone! But I kept at it, and boom, it
was back! But I got here. Nothing! The car, that's all. I was
so stoked. And then I found this."

They gathered around the odd little man to look into his
outstretched palm. The small transmitter that had been planted
under Scully's skin was covered with drying blood. Unnecessarily,
he said, "I don't think they want us to find her."

Mulder moved to her car, his face shining a pale gray in the dim
light of dusk. He wrenched the door open and stepped back at the
sight under the sickeningly yellow glow of the interior light.
Tiff and Skinner crowded in. The little Gunman peeked in through
the back window. "Yeah, like, wow, when I saw that! I thought,
shit!"

Tiff gulped and then asked, "What is that?" The driver's seat's
pale beige upholstery was stained dark from some liquid. There
were patches of a dark green mucus-like substance.

Mulder leaned in closer. Straightening up, he said, "Her water's
broken. The green substance is called meconium. To put it
bluntly, the baby's shit. This isn't good. She's in premature
labor and the baby could be hurt by aspirating it."

He looked frantically up and down the road, seeming uncertain as
to where to start. The Gunman said dejectedly, "I know, man.
I've looked for tracks, but the snow has covered everything."

Tiff noticed that Skinner had wandered away. She figured he was
going to take a leak along the tree line. Then she saw him flip
on his flashlight.

He called to them, "Come on! This way."

Mulder motioned to the Gunman to stay behind as he and Tiff
plunged after Skinner into the woods.

As she followed the bobbing beam of his flashlight in the complete
blackness of the forest, she wondered if Skinner was being driven
by a need to look anywhere for anything. Then she saw that he was
sweeping the trees with his light and checking the muddy ground.
A strand of red hair here, on a branch. A heel print there,
crushing a clump of mushrooms.

He was intent and sharp-faced, like one of her Uncle Job's
coonhounds. She recognized his expression. It was the same when
he got carried away on the rare occasion he told her war stories.
He pressed his large frame through the matted tree branches by
slipping first one shoulder forward, then the other.

She followed closely and ignored the panting, stumbling Mulder
behind her. She sensed Skinner's excitement. They must be close
to something.

All three fell out of the close-knit trees into a yard. A small
cottage, dark and boarded up, huddled in the opening.

3.
"Where the fuck is that woman?" growled Krycek.

Kenneth met his angry, inquiring gaze with his usual blank stare
and Krycek had an almost uncontrollable urge to kill the clone.

Like a ship slipping from fog, the old man moved out of his blue
cloud to stand in front of Krycek. "Control yourself. You're
accomplishing absolutely nothing with your outbursts."

Krycek bit back a retort and instead shifted his intensity to
examining his supervisor. He could tell the man was trying to
keep his facade unshaken, but there was a tension under the dried
leaf exterior.

He didn't like that one bit. He needed everyone at optimum
performance for everything to run smoothly.

"Well?" he asked Kenneth.

"Still nothing, sir. There have been no sightings since she
eluded them in Strasburg."

The yellow teeth of the man snapped like an old turtle. "Dammit,
Krycek! She's on her way here!"

Krycek found himself washed over with a gleeful sense of control
in the face of the old fool's anxiety. "But where the fuck is
she. . .sir? She should have been here two hours ago. If I find
out, after all this, that this stupid bitch ran herself off the
road--"

Apparently tired of the sparring, the old man gave new orders.
Turning to the waiting group of men, he said, "Get out on the back
roads. Try not to draw attention to yourselves, but do a house-
to-house search. Find that woman!"

Krycek nodded. Now they were getting somewhere.

4.
Scully could feel the creature moving, pressing its way downward,
out of her body. She pulled her jumper up and tried to focus on
her shining white belly in the dark room. Her fingers carefully
traced where she thought the body was positioned. Could she
strike the heart?

She didn't trust herself to remain conscious when it ripped its
way outward. She remembered the body of that poor bastard in
Phoenix.

Under the swell of her stomach, she swore she could feel the head
in the birth canal. The torso would be right there--She'd found a
butcher knife in the kitchen. Placing the tip between her navel
and the crease of her groin, she sucked in a deep breath. She
would have only one chance.

Just as she was ready to plunge the blade into her abdomen, she
heard movement and voices outside. Someone was there.

She had been unable to fight the urge to return to Skyland
Mountain. Certain that They wanted the creature, she'd decided to
hide in this house. Foolishly, she'd thought she'd outwitted
Them, but now They were here.

She laid down the knife and picked up her gun.

5.
When he saw the cottage, Mulder charged forward. "You guys take
the back!"

He ignored the protests of Skinner and Tiff and leapt up the front
stairs. He quickly checked the shot-off lock on the door before
pulling it open. He dodged to the side and then slipped into the
dark front room.

He could hear someone panting in the blackness, rasping breaths
like a chained dog.

"Scully?" he whispered. He suddenly realized this was probably
the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life.

The hammer went back on a gun, a loud crack in the stillness. He
must be making a beautiful target, silhouetted in the doorway, the
moonlight streaming through the door giving him a deadly halo.

Darting to the left, he fell into a shadow. The first shot ran
out, whining by, burying itself in the doorjamb.

"Scully?" his voice sounded frantic to his ears.

Suddenly there was the sound of a scuffle. He rushed forward,
momentarily blinded by Skinner's powerful flashlight before it
found its target, Tiff wrestling a gun from Scully.

"Help me, you fuckers!" Tiff roared at them.

Startled out of their shock, the two men moved in. Grabbing
limbs, together they managed to pin Scully down. She fought with
an unbelievable strength.

Mulder barely maintained control over his grief. "Scully!
Scully!" he pleaded. He doubted she could hear him, even though
his mouth was against her ear.

He didn't recognize the woman he saw in the wild eyes revealed in
the glow of the flashlight.

"Scully!" he sobbed.

Skinner said, "Mulder, something's wrong with her."

"I can see that!" he spit at his superior, finding his own reason
slipping away.

"Scully! What's wrong?"

She didn't answer, just furiously shook her head and bucked under
their grip.

Her mouth opened and he thought she was going to speak, but
instead, she began to scream. The sound rolled out of her
straining throat, beating at them like a wild surf.

Sounding frightened, Tiff muttered, "Jesus!" Then, more
reverently, "Jesus help this woman."

Skinner seemed to have recovered from his earlier shock. "Call
for help."

Tiff sat on Scully's feet to hold her down and pulled her cell
phone from her pocket. "Damn! I can't get a signal!"

"Someone'll have to go back to the road and try to make the call,"
Skinner said with a business-like tone.

Tiff glanced down at the now silent, writhing Scully in horror.
Before she could protest, Skinner went on, "I'll stay. I've been
present at a birth. You go."

Tiff shook her head. "Dog, watching some Vietnamese woman give
birth in a rice paddy doesn't count for much training--"

He cut in, "Sharon and I had two children. I was there. I took
the classes."

She sputtered, "Walter--"

"Go!" he insisted, turning his attention to Scully.

"Will you be able to control her?" Tiff asked Mulder. He nodded
and she got off of Scully's feet, hurrying to the door without a
backward glance.

** Before her pregnancy, Scully could never remember her
nightmares when she woke shaking and drenched in sweat. She
hadn't ever wanted to remember. Now she recognized the visions
like a face to which she couldn't place the name to until this
blinding moment.

The darkness became the white room of her dream. Men had tied her
down. They had touched her. She didn't want to be touched. They
had exposed her genitalia to the cold air.

Stepping forward from the faceless figures, Alex Krycek had stood
over her, looking down with detached interest like she was a moth
pinned to a board.

A punk. That was the label she'd instantly attached to him when
he'd followed Mulder into her autopsy bay. But she'd
underestimated him.

In the dream, he wore that ridiculous skinny tie, but under his
paperboy's haircut, his callow face held the sneer of a man who
had power over her.

And now They had gotten her again. Inside, she sobbed with anger
and fear. But she wouldn't show these men her emotions.

A heavy pulse was thumping in her belly, an ominous drumbeat to
her execution. She should just face it, let it take her. Then
she could sleep. Finally, sleep without dreams. She felt all her
hope drain from her heart.

Her cracked lips whispered, "Mulder." **

Mulder pushed her hair from her sweat-soaked skin. "Scully?
Honey? Do you hear me?"

He looked at Skinner with frantic hope. "Sir?"

Skinner glanced up from his position at her feet and shook his
head. He had put Mulder at Scully's shoulders, his arms linked
under her armpits to control her arms. He was at her feet,
keeping her knees propped up.

"I don't think she's come out of it, Mulder. Do you have any idea
what this is?"

Mulder pulled her limp form closer and tried to ignore her blank
eyes. "Her fixed expression reminds me of when she was in the
trance with Dr. Werber. But I don't understand. If they got to
her and put her under hypnosis, why did they abandon her
afterwards?"

Skinner was distracted. "Pull her up higher, Mulder. Get her in
a squat position. She's pushing."

"The muscles of the uterus will push the baby out automatically
once the contractions have begun. I just don't want her to be in
any pain," Mulder murmured as he pulled her torso up.

Skinner nodded. "We've got to get her out of this spell. Do you
have any ideas?"

Mulder felt lightheaded with fear. "While she was in a trance
with Dr. Werber, her heart stopped. I'm afraid this is part of
their plan."

Skinner nodded again. He'd pushed her jumper up and had his
flashlight trained on her blood-red vulva. Mulder would have
chuckled at the bizarreness of the scene if it wasn't his Scully.

"Here's another contraction, Mulder," Skinner noted. When Mulder
glanced down again, he noticed her belly had tightened and
hardened. He could only nod and hang onto Scully's dead weight.

6.
Tiff jogged down the long driveway of the cottage towards the main
road. She passed several other houses, equally dark in this cold,
wet off-season. Her breath quickened when she saw a light in a
house further along the road but something made her pull up short.
Black cars were gathered on the roadside and flitting figures
seemed to be searching the underbrush.

She ducked behind a tree and immediately, her arms were pinned to
her sides. As she tried to struggle, a mild voice said in her
ear, "You can't escape me. Don't waste your effort."

She hissed, "Kenneth Bond, I presume."

He didn't answer. She could sense him watching the activity from
over her shoulder. He asked, "You've found Dana Scully?"

She tried to struggle again. He squeezed her arms very slightly
as a warning. "She's not in her right mind?"

She tightened her lips and didn't say a word. Some emotion
finally entered his voice. "While she was in their control, They
put instructions in her subconscious to come up here. If I'd
known, I'd have warned her. You must go back to her."

"How generous of you," she spit out.

"No. I don't want to see Dana Scully hurt. Or her son."

"You work for them!"

His grip tightened again. "I've helped her before. You know.
You trusted me then. Trust me again."

He freed her suddenly. She swung around to peer into his blank
pale eyes in the dimness. She saw no duplicity there, but no
brightness of intellect either.

"I'll call for help. They're working their way down the road. If
she's in that direction, they'll find her soon. You must go
help."

"How do we get her out of the trance?" she asked, not quite
believing that she was going to listen to him.

"The kill switch phrase is, 'I heard them lift a box and creak
across my soul.'" He shrugged at her raised eyebrow.

"Go!" he urged her. "Hurry!"

She felt herself turning her back on him and began to lope back
down the road.

7.
Low, harsh whimpers were coming from Scully's throat. The sounds
appeared to be only a reaction to the pain. There was no other
sign she felt the baby being pushed out of her body.

Mulder asked, "What's happening?"

Skinner peered up at him from his post between Scully's legs.
"It's coming."

Mulder could feel hysteria knocking at his door. "I figured that!
Is everything okay?"

Skinner just shook his head and gave him a withering glare. "As
well as can be expected under the circumstances."

He vowed not to ask that question again. He could feel her warm
blood beginning to seep through his pants where his bony ass was
numbly balanced on the cold floor.

He fumbled for his gun at the sound someone entering the cottage.

"It's me!" Tiff called out hoarsely.

"Did you get through?" Mulder asked.

Hurrying to the window, she was peering out through the drawn
curtains and he felt terror filling his heart.

Tiff glanced back at him and queried, "How is she?"

"She's doing all right. What happened?" he pressed.

"I ran into our friends. And Kenneth Bond."

"What!?"

"They're on the way here. We don't have much time. Can we move
her back to the car?"

Skinner said, "No. Kenneth Bond talked to you?"

"Yes. He's going to make the call. He sent me back here."

Mulder couldn't see Tiff's face in the dark room. "He let you
go?"

She cut him off in his rapidly galloping thoughts. "He helped
before. At the hospital. I believe him."

"Oh?" Skinner was watching her with suspicion in his eyes.

She begged, "This is our only chance! He said this trance was
planted in her psyche. She was supposed to meet them up here.
But something obviously went wrong."

Mulder was cold. "And he suggested a way to get her out of this?"

"Yes!" Tiff was approaching them.

"I can't trust him!" Mulder said. He didn't add that he wondered
if he could trust her. He turned to Skinner. "What do you
think?"

Skinner looked up at Tiff. He shook his head. "I concur."

Tiff looked furious. "What choice do we have!?"

Her head snapped back around at a sound outside the house.
"They're here. Now. We have to do it."

"Tiff--" Skinner tried to stop her.

Loudly, Tiff said, "I heard them lift a box and creak across my
soul."

A strange, low hiss came out of Scully's throat. Mulder pulled
her closer to his chest, fury at Tiff overwhelming him.

Tiff was rushing back to the window, ignoring the sputters of
Skinner and Mulder.

"They're out there." Her voice held doom.

Mulder could feel movement returning to Scully's body. "Scully?
Can you hear me?"

Her eyes fluttered and she seemed to be trying to focus. Her
hands settled on her belly.

Skinner sounded oddly formal. "Agent Scully?"

She began to pant. Mulder hoped she was remembering her Lamaze
training. "Scully?"

Tiff whispered, "Cloak that light."

Skinner moved his body to block the light and supported Scully's
knees as she bore down.

Mulder could see silent shadows moving outside the window and they
all seemed to be holding their breaths. Scully's rapid breathing
sounded loud as gunfire in the small room.

Tiff had pulled out her weapon. In the darkness, Mulder watched
the flicking of the whites of her eyes as she followed the
movements. Her head cocked at the sound of the door being tried.
Muffled voices could be heard.

Skinner's hoarse whisper caught Mulder's attention. "It's
coming!"

He peered over Scully's shoulder to see the baby's head crowning.
"Shit!" he uttered. "Try to help her! She's going to tear!"

Someone was pounding at the door. Skinner looked up from his
duty. "Dammit!" he hissed.

Tiff muttered, "I'm going around behind them. Block the door
after me." Skinner struggled to his feet to follow her as Mulder
pulled Scully's straining body higher so she could push down.

Skinner was back quickly, but took Tiff's duty at the window.
Mulder could only concentrate on the form sliding from Scully's
vagina. There seemed to be so much blood and mucus. He'd always
been squeamish, holding it back as much as he could so Scully
would have some shred of respect for him.

Now that it was Scully's body being torn open he was close to
fainting. Only the fact that these next few minutes would be the
most important in his life kept him conscious.

A gunshot burst into the cold, dark night. A yelp of pain and
then the muffled sound of a body sliding down the wall could be
heard close to the door. Tiff must have taken one out.

There was the sound of running feet and shouts. Skinner strained
to see into the darkness.

Mulder had to help Scully. He finally loosened his grip on her
upper body and moved down to ease the baby's last few movements as
he freed himself from Scully's body.

Scully lay quietly, still panting with exertion. He carefully
lifted the slippery white baby from the puddle between her quaking
thighs.

"Scully, are you okay?"

She didn't answer. He believed she was out of the trance but now
seemed to be under the power of a crushing exhaustion.

The baby was squirming, his mouth gasping soundlessly. Mulder
turned him over, cradling Kit in his palm, and ran a finger up and
down his spine until a little mucous ran out of his mouth and
nose.

Another shot rang out, this one further away. He could tell
Skinner wanted desperately to join Tiff outside.

"How's she doing?" he threw over his shoulder to Mulder.

"The baby's out. Now she needs to pass the placenta." He placed
Kit on his stomach on Scully's belly, the umbilical cord still
attached, shed his own jacket and draped it over the two bodies.

Her eyes seemed to focus for a moment in the dark, latching onto
the bundle on her abdomen. "Yes, Scully. You did it. A
beautiful baby boy."

Another volley of shots made him jump. They were further away.
"She's leading them away from the house." Skinner noted.

"Yes." Mulder pushed Scully's limp legs back up. "Scully, you've
got to push some more."

She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows and seemed to react
automatically, bearing down. Blood gushed out and swirled to
create a sticky puddle on Skinner's jacket. Mulder fought his
nausea again.

She gasped in pain. He encouraged, "Come on, Scully. Almost
there!"

There was the sound of pounding on the door again. Skinner said,
"Shit! They're back!" He leveled his gun at the door as it
quivered on its hinges.

Mulder couldn't give the attack any more attention. He turned
back to Scully. He could see terror in her eyes, and reassured
her. "Don't worry. Just push."

The furrow deepened in her brow and she pushed herself higher to
bear down again. She finally spoke. "Yes."

He couldn't stop a face-splitting smile. "There you are, Scully!
I was worried for a minute."

She just nodded and seemed to be concentrating. Finally he could
see the placenta poking out of her swollen labia.

The door swung open violently and Skinner started firing. A dark
shape dropped away from the opening and then another behind it.
Another shadow darted away. Skinner rumbled forward to slam the
splintered door shut.

Ignoring the commotion as best he could, Mulder had carefully
picked up the placenta and set it aside.

He'd noticed Scully's discarded coat in the corner and quickly
fetched it. Sliding to the floor again, he pulled her and Kit into
his lap. "Look, Scully. Look at our baby." He draped her coat
around her shoulders.

Skinner was at the window again, trying to make something out in
the dark. Gunshots began to shatter the glass panes, sending him
diving for cover. They could hear a single gun trying to pick out
their attackers. Tiff was still out there somewhere.

An arm had come out of the bundle on his lap. "Mulder?"

"Yes, Scully?"

"What's happening?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

"Okay." Her body seemed to dissolve in his grip, becoming light
as a drifting cloud.

He reached down to rub the baby with the jacket, trying to help
his circulation. He was answered by a faint cry. Good. His baby
was a fighter.

Skinner was at the corner of the window, returning the fire that
occasionally whined over their heads. "I'm running out of
bullets," he commented with a distant voice.

Mulder wiggled his gun free from its holster and slid it across
the floor towards him. "There you go."

A figure suddenly rose up in the window and the room filled with
the flashes of ignited gunpowder as the man and Skinner shot it
out.

The shape dropped away, but Mulder was left shaking, clutching
Scully to him as they curled around the baby's body.

Suddenly, he was blinking as bright light flooded the clearing
outside the cottage. A helicopter was dropping down to the scene.
A voice blared from it, "Drop your weapons!"

Shots were the answer and they were returned from the bushes. As
rapidly as the scene unfolded, it fell silent except for the
beating of the helicopter blades.

Skinner raised his head to peer out. "All clear. I think. I'll
check."

He hurried to the door and cracked it open.

"Police! Come out with your hands where I can see them."

Skinner bellowed, "I'm FBI! Who the hell are you?"

The voice sounded surprised. "State troopers!"

Tiff joined in from across the clearing. "It's all right,
Skinner! It's the proper authorities!"

Skinner seemed to relax. "I'll go check on an ambulance."

Mulder nodded. He felt very close to tears. Pushing back the
coat from Scully's drawn face, he stroked her cheek. Her
eyelashes fluttered. "Scully? It's okay. Everything's okay."
He fought down a sob.

She looked up his with hazy eyes. "The baby--"

"He's right here," Mulder told her. He pulled his coat free from
Kit's head to show her the baby but she had drifted off when he
glanced down at her again. He lifted her hand and settled it on
Kit's head. Her fingers flexed in a reflex, cupping the small
skull.

Mulder felt desperately weak and tired. Relief washed over him as
he heard footfalls on the porch.

The room was suddenly filled with light and bodies. Skinner was
ranting into a cell phone, arranging search teams and security.
Tiff was filling in the local troopers as best she could. EMTs
swarmed down on Scully, the baby and him.

He refused to let go of Scully and the baby. They were all he had
in the world, and as the jabbering voices and jostling movements
of the crowded room overwhelmed him, their warm bodies seemed to
be his only anchor on sanity.

Finally, the three of them were loaded into an ambulance for the
long ride back to Washington. They let him have a gun and he
remained huddled beside the gurney holding Scully and Kit,
gripping it with bloodless hands.

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

Chapter 11: Three Fathers

1.
Washington D.C.
February 14th, 10:05 P.M.

Tiff hadn't expected Skinner to accept her offer to come up to her

apartment after he'd driven her home. She felt awkward as they
hovered together in the foyer.

"I could make some coffee," she suggested.

"You probably want to go to sleep," he responded.

"I can make some for you. Are you going back to the hospital?"
She moved towards the kitchen.

He followed her. "Yes. I want to make sure the agents I assigned
are staying focused on their job."

"Can we trust those people?" she wondered out loud as she measured
the coffee into the coffee maker.

"Yes, I've picked them myself." He seemed definite so she nodded.

She still felt uncomfortable. She joined him in the living room.
"It should be ready in a minute--I'm sorry."

His brow creased. "What?"

"I'm sorry. About bringing up the baby thing. You've never
said..." She was starting to stumble. "You never said anything
about having children--"

He broke off her words. "No, I haven't--"

She didn't want him to feel he had to explain. "I mean, it's
certainly your business...after all, we're just fuck buddies."

Now he seemed pissed. "What!?"

She shook her head and for the first time since they'd gotten back
from the Blue Ridge Mountains, she was able to look him in the
eye. "That's what we've always been."

"Maybe to you." Her heart squeezed down to a concentrated form at
his words.

She was stubborn. "Are they with Sharon?"

He fell heavily onto the couch. "No."

She lost her nerve. "You don't have to--"

Removing his glasses to rub his tired eyes, he tossed them onto
the coffee table. "They both died in infancy. Multiple birth
defects. After the last one died we had some tests done." Now it
was his turn to look her in the eye. She sat beside him. "I...I
may have been exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam. My sperm shows
several severe abnormalities." He looked down at his clasped
hands. "Our marriage might have survived the first loss, but we
didn't make it though the second."

All she could garble out was, "Oh..." Even though she was on the
pill, he had always insisted on using condoms, carrying them in
his wallet like a teenaged boy. She'd assumed that meant he had
multiple partners or thought she did. Instead, it looked as
though he was terrified of her becoming pregnant.

Her mouth was babbling on ahead of any thoughts of self-
preservation. "We could adopt. There are lots of biracial and
black babies needing homes..." In horror, she stopped. Somehow,
in this whole mess, she'd just proposed marriage to Walter
Skinner.

If it was possible, the air in the room got heavier, thickening to
the consistency of sludge. When he turned to her, she could
barely
hold her head upright to keep her gaze level with his.

Diplomatically, he said, "That's true."

She let out a shattered breath, molecule by molecule. "What were
their names?"

His jaw clenched down like a trap snapping shut to hold down his
pain. Reaching out, she ran a hand along his tightly muscled jaw
line, trying to free that tension. "Dog?" He didn't answer. She
leaned in to kiss him. Just gentle pecks on each cheek but when
her hand came to rest on his chest, she noted his rapid breathing.

She pressed on. "What were they?"

He shook his head violently as though he was a baby himself. Her
heart was breaking but she had to press on.

But when she leaned in again to kiss him more forcibly, he
suddenly lunged at her, pushing her down into the cushions and
frantically pulling at her slacks.

Unafraid, she joined him, pushing his suit jacket off, ripping his
zipper open, using her strong arms to anchor herself to his body.

His face fell into the crook of her neck and his rasping breaths
pounded at her ear as he fumbled with her underwear, his
underwear. She let him do all the work. She whispered
encouragement as her hands swept over his back.

She wanted him to feel as strong as a brick house, sheltering them
from all their losses. She threw one leg up over the back of the
couch so their two large bodies could fit on it. Her other leg
wrapped around his hip, pulling him towards her weeping vagina.

He was trying to reach his pocket to get a condom. Now she
was firm. "No!"

She grabbed his hand and forced it to her blouse-covered breast.
"No." He paused, but kept his face buried in her neck.

Her strong thigh pushed his hips back between her legs. She asked
again, "What were their names?"

He plunged into her with no gentleness. She gasped through the
brief flash of pain and then groaned slowly. She didn't want him
to be gentle. Not now.

He began to thrust into her, using the arm of the sofa above her
head for leverage. She thought he was grunting but then she
realized the sounds were forming a name. "...Peter..."

She couldn't stop her tears from leaking out of her eyes.
"Yes...yes...yes..."

"And...and...Nicholas. My sons' names were Peter and Nicholas,"
he gasped out.

"Yes, baby. It's okay. It's okay," she heard herself promising.
It wasn't okay though. It was like falling down a crevice and
being crushed as the walls tightened around her. She didn't know
if she could make this feel better.

She realized he was close. She felt the familiar straining of his
neck tendons against her cheek. He was trying to pull out. She
brought her other leg down and clasped her calves together across
the tightened muscles of his ass.

"Tiff...Tiff...Tiff--" His despair was cut off by a deep groan.
He'd never made that sound before and she felt dampness where his
cheek was pressed to her skin, like a passing spring rain shower.
For the first time, she felt herself filled with his seed. He had
touched her everywhere now.

She kept up her empty promises. "It's okay. It's okay--"

He collapsed on her and she finally loosened her grip on his hips.
He quickly disentangled himself and she pulled herself up into a
corner of the sofa. He was pulling his pants back up without
looking at her. "I've got to go to the hospital."