DISCLAIMER: The characters herein are the property of Fox Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. The situations into which I have placed them are of my own creation. CATEGORY: S, MSR. Heavy angst. RATING: PG-13 ARCHIVAL: My site only. Please feel free to link to it at http://alanna.net/fanfic/occluded.html SPOILERS: Season 8 through "Via Negativa". SUMMARY: This was supposed to be the happiest time of my life. This is a sequel to "Forecast of Rain", which is available at my website. You do not need to have read that story to understand this one. This is for Diana, whose support means more to me than words can say. Additional notes are at the end of the story. Feedback would be wonderful ? wisteria@smyrnacable.net +++++ OCCLUDED by alanna +++++ fingers trace the plane of her forehead his nails are a shive too long, scratching at her skin cells underneath rise at his beckoning -- i almost lost you once -- you never lost me, mulder but he almost did by cells dividing and growing in their own fetal meiosis he can never lose her again not like that +++++ She has known great pain in her life, more so than any woman should be forced to bear. Cancer cells replicated in her nasopharyngeal cavity, bringing her to within a few short breaths of death. And now she has two sets of cells replicating within her. One is in her abdomen, slowly becoming her child. The other is once again between her eyes. The doctor came to her a few hours earlier, a look on his face that she had never seen on a doctor before. Earlier that day, he had entered her room with a smile, telling her that she was pregnant. The second time, he appeared as Skinner was making moves to leave. "I'll leave you alone with your doctor," her assistant director said, chivalry in his words. Scully stilled him, asking him to stay. And then, the same doctor who had borne news of her pregnancy now opened and closed his mouth, speechless. She knew what he would say before he could find a way to say it. "Your remission seems to have ended, Dr. Scully." +++++ -- do you know you're everywhere, scully? glancing over at him, unfocused eyes splitting his image into a thousand pinpricks of light he has been poetic before in their years together but tonight, standing in this parking lot in the middle of nowhere she sees the poet inside him -- am i inside you? -- yes and you are inside me too, mulder. +++++ "Yes, it is possible to undergo chemotherapy treatments while pregnant," Dr. Zuckerman tells her as she sits on the edge of an exam table. Barely a week has passed since she received the initial diagnosis, confirmed by a second opinion the following day. She has flown to Arizona and back, has thought she found Mulder and then lost him, has lived on a thin edge of hope and madness. She had thought she would have time to think about what the cancer would mean for her and this child, but she has not. Now, she is forced to think and finds she cannot. "Do you think the chip failed?" She speaks the words before remembering his dismissal three years earlier of Mulder's theory that a tiny piece of metal could cause remission. Dr. Zuckerman rocks back on his heels. "Dr. Scully, you should know by now that medical science can't support a claim like that, or even that it worked in the first place." She hates his condescension but doesn't want an argument right now. Scully has seen and experienced things medical science cannot begin to explain. So she brings her focus back to the present issue. "Won't the drugs cause damage to the fetus?" She tries to keep her voice calm but fears she is transparent. This would not be a bad thing; Dr. Zuckerman has likely seen worse reactions. "Not if we proceed very carefully." The condescension gone, his eyes dart over to the diploma on the wall, as if reassuring her of his credentials. "A surprising number of women have done this and had healthy babies." She glances down at her hands, balling her fists to keep from touching her belly. "I'm not sure I'm ready to take that risk." "Well, here are your options, Dana: you can begin chemotherapy treatments, though I recommend waiting until the second trimester to minimize fetal risk. You've told me that your OB/GYN has placed you at four weeks. That would mean we'd have to wait another two months before we could begin treatment, and although your tumor is small and showing signs of very slow growth, that might be too long to wait." "What are the other options?" She knows what he will say, but she still has to ask. "You could continue the pregnancy without the cancer treatment, and risk your own life. Or, you could terminate." She closes her eyes. This is not her choice to make alone. She needs Mulder, and he is gone. +++++ fingers move from her head to her shoulder -- you'll never get sick again she stares at him, wanting so badly to agree -- how do you know? -- i just do, i have to face pressed into her shoulder -- if i don't believe that, i'll go mad +++++ She carries on, not knowing how to do anything else. Mulder is an elephant in a tiara. Whenever she realizes she hasn't thought of him in a few hours, he will tiptoe into her mind until he fills the front, back, and sides of her brain. He is everywhere within her, twirling with her DNA like a fifth, undiscovered nucleotide. He fills her nasopharyngeal cavity, pushing against the cancer cells beginning to reawaken. He fills her womb. The task force searching for him has disbanded. She is supposed to be focusing on investigations right now. Kersh has told her, his voice as point-blank as a gunshot wound, that if she continues to neglect her duties, she will be fired, and she knows she must keep the job in order to have the resources to search for Mulder in private. She has other reasons now, too: she has to keep her health insurance to pay the bills for her pregnancy and the cancer treatments. More than that, she feels like she can't quit until she not only has Mulder safe and sound but also solves the grand mystery-slash-conspiracy that has taken over her life. Her child deserves a world safe from the conspiracy's threat. If Mulder is an elephant in a tiara, the truth is the woman walking a high wire a hundred feet without a net. The search propels her forward, keeps her breathing and focused. Keeps her from losing herself. She focuses on her job, on building a solid working relationship with Doggett, on writing perfunctory case reports. That is, until her fingers brush against her ankle the way Mulder's used to do, a joke overheard in passing reminds her of one he once told her, or she finds herself walking down the baby food aisle of the grocery store. Like a bejeweled pachyderm, memories of him force her to think of nothing else. Not the child creating life within her body. Not the cancer trying to take it away. +++++ "Sir, explain to me once again just what the Bureau is doing to find Mulder." Hard heels pressing into even harder carpet, Scully stands in front of Skinner's desk, frustration making her knees lock and fists clench. He sits at his desk, his backbone ramrod-straight, the circles around his eyes from the Bounty Hunter's virus having faded. She thrills at staring him down, feeling the power of looking down at him instead of vice-versa. "Agent Scully, I can't answer that que--" "Why?" she interrupts, the force of her voice scraping her throat. "Don't give me the standard excuse that Kersh has forbidden our involvement in the task force. You're an assistant director. If you wanted to get involved, you could very easily do so, even behind Kersh's back. And what would he do to you, anyway, if you did get involved? Fire you? He doesn't have that power. You're too high up on the proverbial totem pole." He sighs, sounding both impatient and pathetic. "Ask yourself this question, Agent Scully: just how much are you willing to risk to find him? How much can you achieve by fighting Kersh on this? You know exactly what would happen to you if you challenged him or tried to push your way onto the task force." How dare you ask me how much I'm willing to risk, Skinner? "You shouldn't even have to ask that question, Sir." "I am very serious, Agent. Let's say you go downstairs and demand to see the day-to-day accounts of the task force. Kersh wouldn't even give you enough time to clean out your desk before you were gone. And what exactly could you accomplish by being fired?" "How dare you question my competency," she interrupts with a snarl. Their relationship has long since evolved beyond standard Bureau interpersonal protocol. "I'm not questioning you, and you know that," Skinner retorts. "Your hacker friends are damned good at analyzing even the most minute piece of evidence, but they're not going to get you a meeting with a rural county sheriff's office wherever the latest lead turns up. You need a badge to do that. Not to mention you need the financial resources to get out there, and your own savings can't possibly measure up to whatever you could put on an FBI expense account. I know how much you make." His eyes glitter behind his glasses. She glares at him. Before she can form her own rebuttal, he continues, his voice softer now. "And let's set aside the professional aspects for a moment. You think you're strong enough to move mountains right now -- and Agent Scully, I want badly to believe that's true -- but you are not healthy." He taps his finger on the desk, punctuating each word. Her glare fades into a dumbfounded stare. Now Skinner is blue fire, its beauty masking the heat within. "You have two huge minuses in your ledger right now: your cancer and your pregnancy. And no," he hastens to add, "I don't believe for one minute that you're not physically capable of working, nor do I consider your pregnancy a detriment. I am very happy for you in that respect. But you need the stability and security of your job right now. In a few months, you'll need the government health insurance. You can't do it on your own." "Yes, I can." She wants her voice to be strong, but it refuses to rise above a hoarse whisper. She hates acknowledging him when his words hold a thread of truth. "No, you can't. Good God, Agent Scully," he stands, and she now has to look up at him. "Do you have a death wish?" She gasps. "I'm serious. I read your report from that case out in Utah. I called Agent Doggett in here so he could tell me what you were obviously hiding in your report. Now, more than ever, you need to take care of yourself, and from what I've seen, you're not doing so." "Don't presume to tell me what I am and am not doing with regards to my well-being." She narrows her eyes, shooting daggers at him even though she knows this is a gut reaction. His words are beginning to sink in, partly because she knows what he says is true. Only once during her week-long hospitalization in Provo did she allow herself to acknowledge that she had been within a heartbeat -- or a slither -- of losing everything. Her life. Her child. She must be alive and well when Mulder returns, not dead because of her own blinded drive to prove her usefulness. "Dana," Skinner continues in a softer voice. "I know you don't want my protection, and I respect that. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to look out for you whether you like it or not. I talked Mulder back from the edge several times when you were abducted, and I'll do the same for you. He respects the hell out of you too, but he would also expect no less of me." He is acting like a father, she thinks, or maybe an older brother, given their age difference. She has seen glimpses of this attitude in him before, but it has never been so explicitly shown. "All I want from you," she says, "is to find Mulder. I want to know that you are doing everything in your power to find him, even if you can't actively participate. Mulder would also expect no less from you in that respect." "And I am doing that," he retorts. "But I'm also wise enough to know that I have to play it safe. The same goes for you. Work with those three hacker friends of yours. Investigate leads on your own -- hell, if you want to exploit an X-file so you'll have a chance to follow a lead, I'll sign off on it. But Agent Scully," he pauses, rocking back on his seat and setting his shoulders in a stance of finality, "don't risk being cast out on the doorstep and left with nothing, just to satisfy your hubris. "Use your head, Agent. Take care of yourself, your career, and your child. That's the only way you can save yourself and Mulder." She turns and walks out of the room, his words ringing in her ears. +++++ -- a dog, a house in the suburbs his voice a galaxy of stars on the ceiling, between the sheets, freckling her skin -- that's not us, mulder -- no? she smiles, presses her hand onto his stomach -- no. we have to be 'us' -- what is 'us'? they are everything in this bed, in this world -- you and me together. here. now. -- forever? a touch -- if possible, yes. +++++ For only the second time since his disappearance, she is in Mulder's apartment. She has avoided it since that first night in his bed, afraid of the memories lurking in the cracked leather and cool porcelain. But this is the first truly free weekend she has had since then, and she knows she cannot avoid the memories any longer. She brought a change of clothing and her computer, and made herself at home. Once upon a time this was my second home, she thinks. In those snatches of conversation about their future, they'd seemed to have an unspoken consensus that they could never live together in a traditional sense. They already practically lived with one another -- and certainly lived for one another -- but they were solitary people. Keeping their own apartments gave them a place to which to retreat when they needed to be alone. They could not spend all their time together and remain sane. Now, looking around his cold apartment, she would give her soul for just one hour with him. Walking over to his desk, she spots the resumes she'd found the day he'd left for Oregon. When she arrived earlier, she checked his messages, steeling herself for another phone call like the one from Boston, asking him to schedule a job interview. There were none. Perhaps Mulder's idle curiosity prompted him to fax the resume; she once again chides herself for not asking him why during that last telephone conversation. Now she may never know if he truly wanted to leave the Bureau. She has avoided his bedroom so far, instead staying in the living room. She closes her eyes to the memory of making love on his sofa and sharing breakfast at his table. Instead, she wipes the dust from the surface of his desk with a damp rag and sets up her new laptop computer. When she sits down, dust motes fly in her face and incite a bout of nausea; she flees to his bathroom, her forehead knocking against white porcelain with each dry heave. She fumbles in the medicine cabinet for the toothbrush she keeps here, but the toothpaste brings on another wave of queasiness. A half-dozen soda crackers quell the sensation, and she returns to the living room. You can find anything on the Internet; isn't that what all the commercials tell her? After logging on and checking her e-mail for the umpteenth time -- once again, no new leads on Mulder's disappearance -- she goes to Lycos. A deep breath filling her lungs, she clicks on the search bar and types, "pregnancy and cancer." The search uncovers 81,000 matches. As she scrolls through the first page of results, she discovers a support group for pregnant women who have cancer. Her fingers tingle as she clicks on the link. She is not alone. For the next hour, she absorbs every bit of advice and information the women offer, hearing her own fears answered in their reassurances, even smiling when she sees photographs of the founding members and their healthy babies. Scully wants to be normal, like them. She wants to beat this, to have a photograph of herself and her child, with Mulder embracing them. She begins to have hope. The group has provided a list of therapists with experience in counseling women in this position. One of them is in the Georgetown area. Scully writes down Lauren Bank's name and phone number, and resolves to call for an appointment on Monday morning. Her mother and doctors have a wealth of reassurances, but Scully knows now to ask for a professional's help when she needs it. Her mantra of "I'm fine" feels as hollow as a dead tree. After another hour of research interspersed with four glasses of water and subsequent trips to the bathroom, she shuts down the computer and surveys the room. She has found support in the fluid world of the Internet, but in Mulder's apartment, she still feels cold and alone. So she slips between the covers of Mulder's bed, and imagines the winter flannel sheets are his arms comforting her and telling her that she is not alone. That no matter where he is right now, he will be with her soon. It lulls her to sleep. +++++ Doggett is a good man. Scully knows this now. It took distrust and tests and her saving his hide and him saving hers for Scully to learn it, but she is slowly realizing he has no agenda. He's here to perform a job. She finds comfort in this knowledge as he does his best to take her needs into consideration. She shouldn't be out in the field but she can't help herself -- she has to work. She hasn't told him about her pregnancy, but he knows; she's returned to her office twice now to find messages from her obstetrician, taken in Doggett's strong scrawl. It remains an unspoken thing between them, something to be shared later when they finally let their guards down, just an inch or two. Only Skinner, her mother and her doctors know about the cancer. Telling her mother was extraordinarily difficult, but Maggie Scully simply embraced her and offered support. She cannot tell Doggett just yet -- it would color their working relationship and she couldn't bear the possibility of his treating her like an invalid. And she is not an invalid yet. She knows something of him now -- that he is slowly beginning to rethink his career objectives, that he can recite the University of Georgia's football win-loss records for the past ten years, that he admires the hope she still holds for finding Mulder. He says that if he were in her position, he might have given up more easily. Today they are sitting in another rental car, waiting in the drive-through of a chicken restaurant in Marietta, Georgia. He grew up in the area, marrying his college sweetheart just before enlisting. His ex-wife and son live here, he told her after she caught him glancing out the window as she drove earlier this morning, a look on his face which she might have called longing on another man. "You could go visit Luke before we leave, if you'd like." He glances over at her, then straight ahead as he eases forward in the car queue. "No. I called Sandra before we flew down here. The two of them are down in Macon at a soccer tournament this weekend." She hears an undercurrent of disappointment in his monotone. "He's a great soccer player. Won MVP in the Under-13 league last year, and he was a year younger than everyone else." Scully glances down at her hands in her lap, inches away from her stomach. Will she ever be able to brag on her child, or will the task be left to Mulder when he returns and she is the one gone? I have to stop thinking these thoughts, she admonishes herself. It's not healthy. She's not healthy. They reach the window and she fumbles in her wallet -- this is her turn to pay. He hands her the bag and she rummages through it for her salad. The scent of his own sandwich sends cravings through her belly, but her stomach now equates chicken with nausea, and she is determined not to be sick right now. Mind over matter is the key, both her oncologist and obstetrician have said. They say the same things to her, as if they're working in tandem. She knows they are comparing notes about her treatment, but sometimes she wonders what they say to one another. Do they wonder how on earth they'll be able to save her, or are those her own fears talking? "Do you want to go with me to the crime scene, or should I drop you off at the coroner's office on my way out there?" he asks after finishing his sandwich. She stares at his hands, bemused that he can simultaneously turn the wheel, eat, and navigate streets which are busy even on a Saturday afternoon. Mulder can do the same thing. Staring straight ahead once again, she replies, "I'd prefer the morgue, Agent Doggett. I want to get started on the autopsy while the body is still fairly fresh." After catching him looking over his shoulder as if confused, she says, "Are you sure we're going in the right direction?" He pulls up to a stoplight and turns to her. "I grew up here, Agent Scully. I know what I'm doing." His voice has shifted from pleasant conversation to irritation. She feels an irrational satisfaction that she has gotten on his nerves. Disagreements over a case are one thing; however, his politeness during downtime like this raises her choler. She can respect him, but she does not want to be his friend. "It's right past the...yeah, okay," he mutters to himself, apparently using familiar landmarks to find his way to the sheriff's department. She glances over at the school across the intersection, and remembers what he said when they'd arrived -- that this was a good place to raise kids. "Agent Doggett," she says, voicing a question that has been on her mind, "knowing what you do about the darkness in our society, how do stay optimistic about your son's future?" He is one of the few parents in their line of work she knows well enough to ask such a question. She has wondered what her own child's future will be like, in this world she inhabits. He is quiet for nearly a block, then as he pulls up to the next red light, he says, "I don't get to see him that often, but when I do I just focus on the positives, I guess. I tell him what a great life he's going to have." Scully glances out the window, having no response to offer. Luke Doggett's future might be blindingly bright, but what will happen to her own child, if she's even able to carry it to term? Both she and Mulder have undergone terrible physical and emotional trials; they can't even keep themselves safe from abduction. Their loved ones suffer for her and Mulder's quest. She wants this child more than she can fully express right now, but she can't bear to imagine what might befall it in the future. God, her child might not even have a father. "Any reason you ask?" She hears in his voice an invitation to tell her what he suspects. She does not take the bait. They will not have to deal with what this pregnancy means to her field work if she pretends he does not already know. "No reason." She makes her voice final. No further discussion. For his son's sake, she hopes that the tragedy of her and Mulder's lives don't extend to Agent Doggett. He does have a future, even if she herself may not. As they pull into the county government center's parking lot, she says, "If we're still here on Monday evening, perhaps you can spend some time with Luke." After a moment, he replies, "Thank you. I'd like that." He is a good man. He is a good father. She only hopes she can carry this baby to term, and that she will remain alive long enough to see Mulder be the good father she knows he will be. +++++ -- you bring so much joy to my life he says it, she thinks the same of him mulder is joy, pain, all the elements of the world and some not yet discovered -- show me, mulder make me feel he places one hand on the softness of her belly and the other on her cheek -- here, or here? -- everywhere +++++ The nurse smiles through her pity. She and the other nurses always seem to wear the same expression whenever Scully comes for an obstetrics appointment. The pity is understandable, but it bites at her all the same. Dr. Traminer enters shortly after the nurse has finished taking Scully's vitals, then she slips out of the room, leaving doctor and patient alone. Her mother had offered to come along, but Scully said she'd rather be alone this time, if Maggie could understand. Maggie had responded with the same pity-smile. Scully wondered how many more time she would see that over the next few months. She has never felt so alone. Lying back on the exam table, she closes her eyes and waits for something to happen. Dr. Traminer's disembodied voice says, "The stethoscope will be cold, okay?" She bites back the comment that she already knows this. So she waits for something to happen. Once again she thinks of the chip, which, until recently, had been in the back of her neck. As the paramedics in Utah stitched her up after bathing her in fiery hydrogen peroxide, she frantically asked for the tiny piece of metal. She can still see the look the woman had given her as she handed Scully the chip encased in an amber pill bottle. Call me crazy if you'd like, Scully had thought, but even if it didn't cause my remission in the first place, I'm not about to take my chances. The chip is now back in her neck. She holds onto any thin shred of hope, her fingernails biting into its ribbon. It keeps her sane, though her grip is slipping. Optimism melts into bitterness. Although she feels immense pangs of guilt for doing so, she has begun to resent this child, the cancer, Mulder's absence -- everything. Even three years ago, when she had only the cancer to worry about, she still did not feel this profound depression. If she were not pregnant, she could wholly focus on aggressive treatment of the cancer. If she had not emerged from remission, she would be able to experience the joy of pregnancy. If Mulder were here, his love would help see her through this. But she is caught in this trap, and making the best of it is almost more than she can bear. She lets the ambient noise in the room combine with Dr. Traminer's distracted voice to lull her into forgetting it all, just for a few moments. And then she hears it. Overlapping thuds amplify through tinny speakers and even before her doctor explains, she knows what is happening. "The strong beat -- that's your heart, Dana. The smaller, faster one is your baby." His pause barely registers. "Do you hear it?" Her eyes stinging beneath closed lids, she nods. Yes, she hears her child living inside her. +++++ "I'm taking the afternoon off," she tells Doggett as they sit in the office, eating overstuffed deli sandwiches. He nods and gives her a curious look; he must be dying to ask if she's going to the obstetrician, but says nothing. "I'll take some of the paperwork with me and finish it up tonight." After swallowing his bite of sandwich -- despite his confrontational investigative style, he has impeccable Southern manners -- he says, "Don't worry about it. I'll finish it myself." "I appreciate it," she replies, and takes another bite of her sandwich. Her weight is fluctuating; just when she notices she has gained a few fetus-nourishing pounds, she loses them through nausea. She has not yet begun to experience odd pregnancy cravings. Instead, she craves her health, the arrival of her baby, her peace of mind. Mulder. After she settles the paperwork and finishes her sandwich, she gathers her things and makes to leave the office. As she stands in the door, she looks back at the basement office, empty without Mulder but still filled with his spirit. "Thank you," she tells her new partner. He gives an uncomfortable nod and turns back to the forms he is filling out. Thank you for not asking what is wrong with me. Thank you for letting me do this in my own way. Thank you for not noticing the spots of blood on my blazer last week, and for not asking why I sometimes flee to the bathroom, my hands on my face. But God, I wish you were Mulder. +++++ -- if i were not here, who would you talk to? she sighs, examining the curiosity on his face for flaws, fissures insecurity is their own private beast to tame -- i don't want to talk to anyone else i only want to talk to you his smile leads to a kiss leads to an embrace leads to making love they are here together and they talk without words +++++ "I heard my baby's heartbeat for the first time yesterday." Scully finally allows her hand to rest on her stomach, as if the heartbeat can still be felt against her palm. Lauren Bank, her therapist, smiles. "How did it make you feel?" "Real. It finally felt real -- that I was actually going to have a baby." She pauses. "Well, that I might have a baby, if..." Her voice trails away. Lauren leans forward. "Do you remember what I said last week about having a positive outlook?" "I'm trying," Scully responds. For the third time in as many days, tears burn her eyes, and she is beginning to loathe the mood swings characteristic of pregnancy. They sit in silence for several minutes. Scully knows she is supposed to be the one talking, but she needs to be coerced into sharing. Lauren must sense it, as she finally says, "Let's forget about the cancer for a moment, okay? Pretend that this is a perfectly normal pregnancy and that you are a healthy woman." Scully chuffs, the burst of laughter sardonic and unpleasant. Lauren ignores it and continues, "Do you want this child, Dana?" "Yes." "Why?" She scrutinizes her hands, resting so close to her belly, her baby. The toe of her shoe digs into the pile carpeting; at this moment, she reminds herself of a scolded, scared child. "Because I do," she answers, her voice small. "That's not an answer, Dana," her therapist chides. "I know." Exasperated, her head tilts back onto the hard edge of the top of the sofa. The ceiling swirls in splotches of cream-painted plaster. Morning sickness passed last month, but the plaster stars make her stomach turn nonetheless. "Sometimes I think I like the idea of a child more than the reality of it," she begins. "For several years I was certain I could never become pregnant, so the abstract was all I had. "Mulder and I became lovers early this spring. We discussed children a few times, usually after..." She stops herself, not wanting to reveal too much. "But we both knew better than to take such conversations seriously. Then suddenly he was gone and I was pregnant, plus I had the cancer to deal with." She stops, remembering that Lauren had asked her to discuss this without taking the cancer into consideration. She stares at the other woman, whose intent gaze makes Scully uncomfortable. Instead of squirming, she watches Lauren twirl a pen in her fingers. Mulder has the same habit, but in him it charms her. "So, in answer to your question, I want this child, but even though I heard the fetus' heartbeat yesterday, it just doesn't feel real yet. I hope it will soon." Lauren makes a note on her steno pad, and Scully sits up straighter, as if she can look over the wire spiral and eavesdrop. "Let's think about what your life will be like in another seven months, Dana. Best case scenario: Mulder has returned. You are once again in remission. You have a child -- let's say, a daughter. You're on maternity leave, able to devote all your time to your child and your lover. You can focus wholly on life instead of all these external stressors you have right now. What will you be feeling then?" Scully fights the urge to glance at her watch. She could be out searching for Mulder right now, instead of having to deal with issues she doesn't feel the emotional fortitude at present to confront. She realizes the oxymoron of her life at this moment in time: therapy is pain realized. Drawing oxygen so deep into her lungs that she imagines she feels the baby breathing it in, she replies, "Happy, I think. Safe, again -- emotionally, at least. Relieved." The words bring a smile to her face. "I am anxious to see what my baby looks like. Will it have my hair or Mulder's? Whose eyes? His are so beautiful. God, he is just a beautiful man." "You're thinking about your baby as a person now, Dana. That's good." Scully is a third grader again, basking in a teacher's praise. "It feels good." A dull throb pushes at the thin bone between her eyes. How utterly perfect, she thinks. This goddamned cancer won't leave me alone to be happy. "Are you okay?" Lauren's voice beats in time with the throb. Closing her eyes and wincing, Scully replies, "I have a headache." "Dana," Lauren orders. "Look at me. Focus your attention on me, not on the pain." Scully does, and the pain melts into a simple beat that slithers down her body, through her throat and breast. Down to her child. If she concentrates hard enough, she can hear the throbbing in her eardrums. She tells herself it is her baby, a much more welcome mass of cells than the one between her eyes. Those eyes focus on the woman sitting opposite her. For a brief moment, Lauren has become a miracle worker. Breathe in, breathe out. She can do this. Each breath is for her baby, and each one is another moment she is alive. "Do you feel better, Dana?" "Yes," she replies, her body suddenly light and airy. "I'm trying." +++++ -- 'spike', if it's a boy -- you're kidding, mulder -- why not? i've always wanted a son named spike mulder laughing at him, knowing he isn't serious loving him more for wanting 'spike' pretending this could really happen someday instead of being a conversation of what ifs neither admitting they will never have a spike or an elizabeth or decorate in blues or pinks easier to pretend and love than to admit and weep +++++ If they had known this could happen, she and Mulder would have protected themselves, waiting for a more suitable point in their lives to have a child. And she would not have this. But they had assumed pregnancy was not a possibility, so they made love without contraception. And now his child grows within her. He has disappeared God only knows where, but he remains in her world, an elemental part of her soul and body. Considering the possibility of an end to her remission had been too painful to confront full-on, so they tiptoed around the issue, asking if the other would leave, as if it were a matter of walking away instead of being taken, like he has been, or dying, as she might be. She shifts on the exam table, losing herself in memories of past conversations and fears of her future as she waits for Dr. Zuckerman to appear. The paper gown is useless; when she had tried to pull it closed, it tore, unwilling to yield to her slowly-expanding belly. The elastic of her underwear bites at her stomach, but she continues to eschew more comfortable bikini -- feeling the tug of the elastic is a constant reminder that this is real, that a part of Mulder is still growing inside her. The one thing she has not considered since that first morning of his disappearance is what his future plans had indeed been. She cannot ask him why he'd chosen to begin searching for a new job. It creates questions she has neither the patience nor the strength to explore. Scully has too much on her mind these days -- and one very important thing pressing into her mind. The tumor is growing, albeit very slowly, as if uncertain of just what it wants to do. It and her fetus exist wholly independently of one another; this is her salvation. Drs. Zuckerman and Traminer have assured her that aside from the dueling strains on her body and the combination of nausea and infrequent nosebleeds, the fetus is unaffected by the tumor. She thinks perhaps God is finally saying "yes" to her prayers. A short knock at the door is followed by Dr. Zuckerman's entrance. His smile always looks pained, as if even he doesn't believe this is a cause for happiness. She understands his hesitation. This should be the happiest time of her life, but she feels only pain. After he inquires about which symptoms she is experiencing, he asks, "Are you ready to begin, Dana?" She nods. "As I've already explained, we are going to begin with a very small dosage this time of the same medication we used a few years ago, since we already know what effect it has on your body. Once we've judged its effect this time, we'll begin a more aggressive round of treatment. You'll have to check into the hospital when that time comes." Scully nods again. "Well," he says, a statement in itself. The nurse enters and Scully lies back on the table. Rebecca -- as her name badge states -- begins to arrange the equipment, swabbing for an IV then inserting the needle. She then begins to attach sensors to Scully's stomach, so they can monitor the baby's heartbeat. "Would you like for your mother to be with you?" Rebecca asks, her voice holding the well-worn kindness of one who has had this conversation many times before. "Yes," Scully whispers. Rebecca smiles and says she will ask another nurse to find Margaret Scully and bring her in. Scully closes her eyes and awaits what is to come. +++++ -- i love you curiosity on his face the small space between his brows a question mark -- i just thought it was important that you know that -- i knew +++++ She holds the crumpled paper towels under the faucet and dampens them, then begins to wipe away the blood staining her upper lip. Once the water stops running, she hears Doggett's voice outside, talking to the sheriff and the abducted boy's parents. "Agent Scully will be out in a minute," he says. "Everything's fine." No, it's not. For the past week since her first chemotherapy treatment she has been able to hold her own against the lingering effects on her body -- she is stronger than the nausea and headaches -- but this she cannot control. She begins to look something like normal after wiping away the blood, but her face looks gaunt and tired. She once again sees her collarbone jutting out above the scoop of her neckline. The only sign of her pregnancy is the now- noticeable swell of her belly. Last weekend she pulled some old shift-style dresses from her closet; those dresses paired with a blazer make a marginal attempt to conceal. If she is feeling up to it, she will accept her mother's invitation to finally go shopping for maternity clothing this weekend. This particular truth can no longer be denied. Nor can the nosebleeds. Squaring her shoulders, she opens the door of the women's washroom, prepared to face Doggett, who lurks outside. "What the hell is going on?" His voice is poised on the blade of a knife. "You scared me." She brushes past him, knowing he will follow. She ignores the others' stares as they bore holes in her back. "Agent Scully," he calls out. Entering the interrogation room they'd used to talk to Billy, she draws the blinds and gestures to the chair opposite the one where she takes a seat. After a deep breath, she says, "Please listen carefully, because I can only say this once." He does so, his face pale and his eyes dark. "I'm sure you have concluded by now that I am pregnant. I am eleven weeks along. This, in itself, does not impact my abilities to carry out my duties as a field agent, and I would appreciate that you remember that." "That's not what I'm seeing, Agent Scully," he interjects. "Please, let me finish." Tears burn her throat. She does not want to have this discussion at all, but she has to be pragmatic. "You have read the case files concerning my abduction six years ago, I'm sure, along with my personnel record, yes?" He nods. She takes a deep breath, trying to draw in enough air to quiet her nerves and her baby. "The same day I learned I was pregnant, I was told that my remission from cancer has ended." She ignores his sharp intake of breath. "I began initial chemotherapy treatments last week. I will begin more intensive treatments in the coming weeks, and at that time I will need to take approximately three to four days off. "Before you say anything, please know that I successfully worked in the field for several months during my previous bout with cancer, and at that time I was undergoing more aggressive treatment than I am now. As of right now, this will not impact my effectiveness in the field. I will complete our investigation of this case, Agent Doggett. You do not need to worry about me." She feels deflated and tired. After holding her gaze for a long minute, he says, "I'm very sorry to hear that, Agent Scully." She murmurs, "Thank you." "What is your prognosis?" He continues to hold her gaze. She wants to squirm, but stands firm. "My doctors believe that I will successfully beat this, though we are having to take a less aggressive approach than ideal because of my pregnancy." I'm scared and I'm worried and I am so alone, she continues without words. "Will it harm the baby?" Doggett face shows genuine concern. Ever the scientist, she replies, "Research has shown that the approach we have chosen will not harm the fetus." She can't say 'baby' to this man, not yet. "The baby is Agent Mulder's, isn't it?" Scully does not respond. This is another thing she cannot share with him now -- that knowledge belongs only to her loved ones and to Mulder, when he returns. But she cannot deny it, and she knows her silence only confirms his question. It is a catch-22 of the most uncomfortable kind. Her hands on each arm of the chair, she pushes herself up and stands, looking down at him. "The detectives are waiting for us, Agent Doggett. I will keep you updated on any new information you will need to know about my work status." He does not rise immediately, instead staring at her with an intensity so reminiscent of Mulder that she has to look away. She turns toward the door, willing herself to forget the expression on Doggett's face; she cannot let herself make any more connections between these two men. "Dana?" She bristles at his use of her first name but does not correct him. She already has too much tension coursing through her body. "If I can do anything to help, please let me know." Scully reluctantly rewards his compassion with a small nod, then leaves the interrogation room. A few moments later, she hears his answering footsteps. They have work to do. This might be her last case before she has to check into the hospital for the chemotherapy, and she is bound and determined to make it a success. Mulder would expect nothing less of her. She expects nothing less of herself. +++++ -- how do i say this without sounding sappy? she rewards his honesty with a smile he loves her even more -- try, mulder he breathes in the scent of her hair -- you are my hero a kiss and another smile and i love you more than my inadequate words can ever express, scully you know that, don't you? +++++ Her predictions were misplaced. Instead of the abduction case in Oklahoma being the last before she checks into the hospital, she finds herself in the stairwell of a Baltimore apartment building, the dank, dark walls contrasting with the opulence outside. Doggett is outside, tidying up loose ends with Martin Wells and assorted Baltimore P.D. officers. Scully made only a brief appearance before hastily retreating to the stairwell, seeking privacy as she catches her breath and waits for her heartbeat to return to normal. The time for her to step down has come. After rushing in to find Doggett in shooting stance and Wells clutching his wife for dear life, she crouched down to examine the scene, then froze. When she tried to stand, she had to do so in increments lest she faint. She let herself get lost in the swirl of police, slipping out of the apartment to take refuge in the stairwell. Aside from a spot of blood on her upper lip, the cancer's effects have remained internal. She takes one deep breath after another, trying to force her body back to normal. Her body is no longer normal, and she is finally beginning to realize it might never again be that way. She looks at her watch and notices only about five minutes have passed. After another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and draws her body up to its full height. Glancing down, she notices her stomach is beginning to obscure her view of her feet, and for the first time, this makes her proud. She wears it well. The door refuses to budge and she pulls on it a second time, finally feeling it give way. The chaotic noises of investigation hit her ears and she gravitates toward them, ready to throw herself back into forensics for perhaps the last time for a while. Doggett meets her at the door. "Everything okay, Agent Scully?" The tinge of pity in his eyes melts her resolve. She cannot face his concern or his doubts of her capability and quickly covers her tracks. "I thought I heard footsteps in the stairwell." Without a second's hesitation, he nods and turns back to the police officer with whom he'd been speaking. She feels a twinge of irritation; Mulder would have caught her white lie and pestered her until she admitted what was bothering her. But, as she has finally begun to accept, Doggett is not Mulder. And just when she and Doggett have achieved the professional comfort level to make him take her words at face value, she will have to step away. She can no longer rush to a crime scene in the middle of the night when her partner summons her help, nor can she run through hallways, her gun drawn and senses alert. They have succeeded in this impromptu case, but her body is beginning to fail her. She will call Dr. Zuckerman tomorrow and make arrangements to be hospitalized for the intensive chemotherapy treatments. As frightening as the chemo might be, the knowledge that her body can no longer live up to her expectations is worse. This cancer will not take over her life. +++++ Her obstetrician telephones a week before she is scheduled to begin the intensive chemotherapy treatments. That he calls her personally instead of delegating to a nurse amuses her, but she knows this is because her case is so unusual. She doesn't mind being labeled a high-risk pregnancy, but she loathes her doctor considering her fragile and in need of coddling. After the grating initial pleasantries, Dr. Traminer says, "At this point, you're far enough along in your pregnancy for an ultrasound. Would you like to schedule one before you go into the hospital?" Slowly, Scully lowers herself to the chair, closing her eyes. "I'd prefer to wait until afterward." "Are you sure?" he urges. "By conducting them both before and after the chemotherapy, we can evaluate any potential effect on the fetus." She is slowly beginning to find threads of joy in this pregnancy, even as overwhelmed as she is by everything else happening in her life right now. But she also has kept some strange sense of emotional distance between herself and her child. She can't truly be relieved and optimistic until the chemo has passed and the worst appears to be over. Seeing her baby on a video monitor would begin to close the distance, and she cannot want that now -- not while Mulder is gone and while her life is so dark. But one thing has been drummed into her head by her mother, her doctors, and the few others who know about what she is going through: she has to take care of herself and her baby. She cannot let emotions outweigh pragmatism. So she sighs and replies, "When can you schedule me this week?" "Any time you're available to come in." Scully wants to be normal, to have to work her schedule around appointments instead of having Dr. Traminer drop everything when Scully phones. "Tomorrow at four, then," she tells him, and after a few more words, they hang up. She remembers a conversation from three months ago. It was the last time she spoke with Mulder. He asked if she had made an appointment with her oncologist, and she'd told him that it was at four o'clock the next day. He'd replied, "We should be back by then. I'll go with you." She can still feel the sudden chill on her skin, and when she closes her eyes she sees the flash of bright light. They had been so afraid the cancer had returned. Mulder was more of a prophet than he realized. She amends that statement: Mulder is more of a prophet than he realizes. She shivers. Since his abduction she has never thought of him in past-tense. She cannot do that now. She cannot do so many things, like seeing the image of her child on an obstetrician's monitor, or undergo the fevers and pains of chemotherapy without him by her side. But he is not here, and she must do so many things alone. Come back to me, Mulder -- she whispers to the empty room. Hold my hand as we go through this. Be with me. +++++ his smile is a beautiful thing she plays with the windsor knot of his tie adam's apple bobs at the contact of flesh to flesh -- you're beautiful. do you know that? one says it, the other thinks it -- i want to cover you in finery, he murmurs -- just cover me in yourself +++++ They will make a day of it -- lunch, shopping, then her doctor's appointment at four. Margaret arrives at her daughter's house wearing the latest incarnation of her wrinkles, thin etchings on her forehead and around her mouth. Scully notices the crow's feet around her mother's eyes; she hopes they are from smiling. She has had little appetite for the past few days, though she believes that is more psychosomatic than physical. If she is determined, she can easily eat a full meal, but she doesn't want to eat. But she knows she has to, after reading all the relevant dog-eared passages in "What to Expect When You're Expecting," which Margaret gave her months ago and which she is beginning to loathe for its unrealistic standards of perfection. Scully keeps turning the pages, expecting to see a chapter titled "When you're pregnant while you have a terminal disease." Perhaps it's tucked away behind the index, like an afterthought; it certainly was not visible in her own copy. After the carbohydrate-rich lunch, they head to the mall to find her a new wardrobe. If Scully had her way, she would order it all online with overnight shipping, but she indulges her mom's desire to see her model the clothes. She doesn't indulge her mother nearly enough. Please, she mutters to the fluorescent lights overhead, don't ask me again if I can hear the silver bells ringing. Christmas has come full-force to the mall, and she wonders how the holiday season has begun without her noticing. Thanksgiving was so quiet an affair as to nearly be forgotten; she sat down at the table with her mother and the man Margaret had been seeing, and Charlie and his family breezed through for an hour before heading to his in-law's home. Today is December 12. She knows the date because her sonogram appointment is today. These days, she measures the time by medical appointments. They wander over to the maternity section and she glances around her, already feeling out of place. She drifts through the racks, listlessly picking out tops and bottoms in conservative cuts and colors. Her mother holds them up, checking to see if they match, but Scully doesn't care. As long as she'll have something to wear, she is fine with whatever they buy. The sleepwear section offers few options not festooned with hearts or teddy bears. She grabs a set of pajamas in pale grey and proceeds to the counter, fumbling in her purse for her credit cards. Hoping for this to be over soon. Margaret grabs her arm and Scully stops, not turning around. "What?" she says, her voice dead. "You need to improve your attitude, Dana." She turns around. "Excuse me?" "I know you're going through some terrible times right now," she says, her voice softening, "but all this negativity is not healthy for you or the baby." "Mother," she feels like a 13-year-old again, "I have cancer. I'm pregnant and I have no idea where the father is. Explain to me just how I'm supposed to be happy." She notices the sales clerk staring at them, and turns away from her mother's accusing eyes. "We'll talk about this later," she hisses. Later is at a caf? in the mall, over cheesecake and decaf coffee that she chokes down with distaste. She tries to cross her legs but her stomach is an obstacle; her ankle kicks against the paper shopping bags and she gives up. Scully no longer recognizes her body, which has expanded almost overnight. She longs to see her abdominal muscles again, instead of the first stretch mark, which she noticed in the shower this morning. "You're going to get through this," her mother says in a voice that tries and fails to be reassuring. "Mom," she begins, feeling like a child again, but her mother shushes her with a pointed glance. "You have to take care of the baby. You've done nothing to prepare for this -- God, I had to drag you out here today. Look at yourself, Dana. You can't squeeze into your old clothes anymore." Scully glances away instead. Her stomach is the last thing she wants to see right now. "I don't expect you to be happy, but I do expect you to find some way to be optimistic about all this. Heaven knows that therapist you say you've been seeing hasn't seemed to help." A finger on her chin tilts Scully's face up to look at her mother. "This is Mulder's child too. Do you think he'd want you to resent it?" The tears begin to flow despite her furious attempts to blink them away. "That's not fair." "It may not be fair, but it's true." Margaret reaches across the table for her daughter's hand, but Dana does not take it in her own. Ignoring the slight, Margaret whispers, "He would want you to be happy. Wherever he is, if he knows about this I'm sure he's smiling. We both just want you to smile too." "I can't, Mom," she whispers. "You will, honey. But you can't force yourself to not be positive. If you do, you'll only get worse. Remember, mind over matter." Scully nods. "This afternoon we'll see your baby, and it will be beautiful. And when you finish the chemo this week, you'll be healthier. It will work -- I know it will." She pushes a strawberry off the top of the cheesecake, its richness taking away her appetite. Mothers are supposed to understand, but hers does not. "Mom, I've been through too much for the happy ending to work this time." "Don't you think you deserve a happy ending, Dana? And anyway, happy endings are what you make of them. You're certainly not going to achieve one with that attitude." A visibly pregnant woman sits at the table next to theirs. She leans over and wipes chocolate off her son's cheeks. "Joshua," the woman chides, "look at yourself. We're going to have to change your clothes before your father gets back." Scully stares at Margaret. In a voice that cannot be overheard by passersby, she repeats, "I'm not going to have the happy ending this time." "Then make your own happy ending." Her fork clatters to the table. "Look, Mom, I don't want to argue with you." "And I'm not trying to start an argument," Maggie retorts. "I'm just trying to get you to see that you need to change the way you're thinking about this." Scully takes another sip of the tepid coffee, wanting to end the discussion before it gets worse. Straightening up, she says, "I'll try my best, but God, I'm under so much stress right now." "I know," Maggie says, beginning the walk to the counter. "But I love you and I'm here for you, okay? This too shall pass." Yes it will, Scully tells herself. But will it pass before it breaks me? +++++ he is atop her, moving like the tides she polishes his skin with her palms feeling him inside her around her filling the room, the universe -- you make me feel alive he feels her blood in his veins they share the same body healing the scars dotting their shared skin +++++ During a rare moment of relief from pain, she pulls a small photograph from its place on the bedside table. It holds the first image of her child. Her mother has placed it in a frame, and Scully traces the wooden edge and glass, staring at the picture underneath. It looks less like a child than like someone had poured milk into black ink. But it is her child. Yesterday she felt the baby kick for the first time. Her oncologist told her it was most likely a reaction to the drugs in her system, and Scully's joy turned to guilt. "No," Dr. Zuckerman had assured her, "the drugs aren't hurting him, but he doesn't like the vomiting and dehydration. You need to keep drinking water instead of relying on the I.V., Dana." She felt culpability nonetheless. She doesn't like how the default assumption is that the child is a boy. When Dr. Traminer had asked if she wanted to know the sex, Scully had said no. She'd told him she wanted it to remain a surprise, but it was more for Mulder's sake. She wanted it to be a surprise for them. Scully glances around the room, wishing the drapes could be opened although she can't handle the daylight. In this darkened room, she feels too cut off from the outside world. In the past, people have sent her brightly-colored hospital flowers, the primary colors designed to cheer her up. The flowers on her windowsill today are pink, blue, and yellow -- baby colors. Byers, Langly, and Frohike brought by a huge teddy bear, with a note saying, "For Junior," and with threats of a baby shower next month. She'd rolled her eyes and said no child of hers would touch a keyboard until the age of five, but they only gave her knowing smiles. She wishes she had their optimism. Skinner came by this morning to see if she was okay; Doggett followed a few hours later, bearing a spray of nosegays and carnations and the file on the case he's currently investigating. It is something about a cult; she will read the file later when she can better process it. Doing so makes her feel like Nora Charles, but only Mulder can be her Nick. Doggett -- as competent a temporary partner as he might be -- will never take that role. Margaret has been with her for most of the three days she's been in the hospital thus far, and as welcome as the support has been, she's glad to be alone now. Her mother has been invaluable, holding the emesis pan and pressing a cool washcloth to her daughter's face. She has brought magazines to read and a VCR and videos, doing her best to keep her daughter entertained. But most of the time has been spent wracked with pain and exhaustion. Scully welcomes this peace. It does not last. Dr. Zuckerman knocks then enters. He hands her some printouts and photographs; Scully appreciates that he treats her like a fellow medical professional instead of as a simple patient. "We have the results back from your MRI this morning." "Yes?" she replies, trying and failing to make sense of the data before her. The chemotherapy has occluded her mind. "I've noticed some cellular activity which has me optimistic," he says. "The size of the tumor appears to have diminished somewhat since your initial scans." After a pause punctuated by the quickening of her heartbeat, he continues, "It's too early to consider this conclusive evidence of our success, but it does make me think that if we continue with one or two more heavy chemo pushes, we might be able to bring you to a point where the tumor will begin to shrink on its own. If not, we can stabilize the growth and begin more aggressive treatment after you give birth." He does not mention the chip in the back of her neck. Of course, it seems to have failed. She wonders why she continues to hold on to hope that it will keep her well. Before she can rest, she has to ask, "What were the results of the fetal ultrasound?" "Everything looks fine, Dana. The heartbeat is normal and other than the drugs making him cranky, your baby doesn't seem to have been significantly affected at all." She blinks back tears, thinking this is better than any solitude. "Thank you," she murmurs. "We'll do the next round of chemo tomorrow morning at eight. Get your rest tonight, Dana, because it will be tough." She nods, and he leaves her with the test results, which she begins to read. She will finally have good news to share with her mother. +++++ If she tries hard enough, perhaps she can become Mulder. She wants to remain her skeptical self, but his absence has changed her entire cellular makeup, down to her brain. If Doggett persists in playing the skeptic, she will play the believer. But is she honoring Mulder's memory by doing so, or compromising her own deeply-entrenched beliefs? This afternoon she and Doggett sat in Skinner's office, going over the case report for the Ibogan cult investigation. Scully knew her presence was required by default, but she was still physically weak from the chemo and barely even knew about the case beyond what Doggett had told her. He'd suggested perhaps she should stay home instead, saying, "I can handle it, Agent Scully," but that had only raised her hackles. Nothing in his words had suggested he was coddling her, but she still felt determined to show the world she was still a fully- functioning field agent -- or, at least, give the pretense of being one. Only three days out of the hospital, she ignored Agent Doggett when he asked her if she was okay when she had to grip the back of the chair to keep from wavering on her feet. She ignored the thinly-veiled pity she saw in Skinner's eyes. She would show them how strong she was, even if she still felt weak. Rush-hour traffic has always been a necessary evil; tonight it is a demon. She circles her building twice before giving up and parking three blocks away. Though she has resisted all concessions normally given to pregnant women - - and certainly those given to cancer patients -- she wants to push those cars aside and scream at their owners, "I deserve this space more than you do!" But she walks and endures. New Arrivals Baby Boutique is still open after dark, hoping to catch some of the Christmas shopping frenzy. Scully did most of her own shopping online from her hospital bed; the UPS parcels piled inside her apartment manager's office in between course after course of chemo. She has bought for her mother, her brothers and nephews, and even impersonal, polite gifts for colleagues. But she has neglected one recipient in particular. Scully stops outside the small shop. It is empty of customers, and she feels a surge of compassion for the owner, who is probably in the back, checking the books and hoping to break even. Taking a deep breath, Scully steps inside, cringing at the electric chime of "Rock a bye baby" as the door opens. The single clerk hurries to greet her. "Can I help you?" the young woman eagerly asks, and Scully is heartened to see a salesperson so eager for companionship in the midst of all the other employees she has encountered, lackadaisical from job security in a booming economy. Good help is hard to find, and Scully wonders if protocol allows her to leave this woman a tip just for giving a customer a warm welcome. Scully returns the smile and says, "I'm just browsing, thank you," and begins to wander around the store. "When are you due?" Glancing down, she realizes she has forgotten that her pregnancy is beginning to show. She has been too focused on another growth in her body. "April," she replies, and the clerk once again smiles. "What a coincidence! My name is April," the saleswoman says, and Scully can't help but join in the laugh. "It's nice to meet you." The holidays bring out the best in people, and Scully hopes they bring out the best in her body. She walks over to a display of christening gowns, but does not pause. Margaret has already dry-cleaned the one all her children wore for their baptisms. Scully wonders if Mulder will allow for a baptism when he returns, but then negates the thought, knowing he will respect her religion. She moves on to a selection of clothes for newborns, and April follows right behind her. "You know, you can never have enough onesies," she says, gesturing toward several racks of the tiny jumpers. Scully picks up one embroidered with a tiny flying saucer and the words, "Take Me to My Mommy." It is corny, and impossibly cute. Though her tastes run more toward pastels and simple prints, she rolls her eyes, knowing Mulder will get a kick out of it. This strange new maternal instinct makes her feel indulgent. A few minutes later, April wraps it in tissue paper and places it in a small shopping bag, then hands Scully her change. "Aliens, huh?" "Something like that," Scully responds. Aliens are only the beginning. "Well, trust me, this is only the first of many. Have you had a shower yet?" Scully shakes her head. "By the time the baby is born, onesies will be running out of your ears." "I'll take your word for it," Scully replies, smiling again, then leaves the shop with a "thank you." The load on her shoulders lighter, she easily walks the final two blocks to her apartment. I can do this, she thinks. God, I miss Mulder, but I can do this. As she enters her building, she begins to see herself as a mother. She is glad to live on the first floor so she won't have to carry the baby upstairs. She will ask Margaret to buy her more onesies for Christmas, and to begin planning the baby shower she'd mentioned while Scully was in the hospital. She will plan for the possibility of a future as a single mother, in case Mulder is never found. She will let herself be happy that she is going to become a mother, instead of being afraid with each symptom of her cancer that it will all slip away. She will still miss Mulder and fear for her health, but she will allow herself to be happy. +++++ -- no matter what people may try to do to us, we're going to live forever she closes her eyes -- do you think so, mulder? -- i know so +++++ Scully walks around her apartment on Saturday night, tidying up after having neglected cleaning for too long. She is making herself at home again after a week that lasted far too long. Her body is still weak from the chemo. She is still prone to vomiting. When she brushed her hair earlier, too many strands settled in the bristles. But she feels healthier than she has felt in months. And she feels happy. This happiness brings her to the verge of tears. She welcomes the mood swings now, letting them wash over her. They remind her of her pregnancy and that it is progressing with a blessed normalcy. Christmas was Monday. New Year's Eve is tomorrow. The holiday passed with hope rather than pain, her mother and brothers offering their own strange brand of support. The Gunmen threw her an impromptu baby shower the day after Christmas, and she unwrapped gifts while they performed the now-daily scouring of hospital admittance records and local police reports. Byers gave her a tiny catcher's mitt, and Langly quipped, "If Mulder's not back by the time the kid's old enough, you can learn how to throw a baseball." The others had glared at him, but Scully had smiled and said, "I already know how to bat, at least." Turning to the men, she murmured. "It's okay. Really. I have to plan for the future, right?" They nodded after an uncomfortable silence, then turned back to the search. Mulder is still gone. Her involvement in his search abated while she underwent the chemotherapy, but the Gunmen held the oriflamme high, keeping her informed on a daily basis. They only asked her once how her treatment was progressing; their respect for her at this time has meant a great deal to her. The Bureau is already beginning to treat Mulder as a lost cause, or lost agent, as the case may be. But she refuses to let his absence become a threnody -- while he lives inside her in heart and child, she will not say his elegy. The final tests before she left the hospital showed that the tumor was holding steady -- no growth, but the chemo's effects were still negligible. She holds onto this moiety of hope, letting it sustain her. Later, she is asleep in bed, having eschewed her new sleepwear for Mulder's baggy pajama pants and one of his t- shirts. She knows his scent has faded, but she imagines it is still there. She drifts in an oneiric haze, dreaming of her baby. In her dreams, she is holding the child, a bright-eyed baby girl who stares at her with a solemn expression. Mulder stands beside them, a smile on his face. Then he fades away and she is alone again. The ring of the telephone startles her awake. She fumbles for it on the bedside table, feeling a sharp pain in her forehead that she sleepily attributes to a head-rush rather than cancer. Perhaps it is dread; late- night phone calls mean terrible things, in her experience. "Hello," she mumbles into the receiver. "Scully?" Skinner's voice says, a worrisome note in it. She quickly tries to sit upright, but her belly forbids her to do so. "What is it?" Her boss takes a deep breath, then says, "Mulder is back." +++++ EPILOGUE +++++ her body and his heart are full he gazes up at her from his hospital bed, back in the world of the living without memories of the experience, but with her and that is enough -- tell me everything, mulder -- no, you first she looks away, then down at her belly he fears for their child and what she is not telling him -- i wasn't well -- there were problems with the baby? a pause -- no but then she takes his hand -- you're back now, and i'm well again +++++ "And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?" David Byrne trumpets from the stereo as Mulder finishes washing the dishes, asking himself the same question. He walks around the apartment, turning on lights as afternoon slowly shifts into evening. The winter chill seeps through the window; he considers starting a fire but notices they have no wood. These are the moments he has awaited for so many months, years. Scully is in the guest bedroom, autopsying some long-neglected boxes as they transform the room into a nursery. They have a date tomorrow to shop for baby furniture, but he will stay here tonight. Since his return, he has only spent a handful of nights at his old apartment, and those were only because they needed space to readjust to this life together. He holds onto the old place, though, keeping it as a safety net in case the bottom falls out of this new thing they've created. He is confident of her love, but old insecurities refuse to slip away. "Everything okay?" She glances up at the sound of his footfalls. He nods, and she turns back to the box, stretching duct tape across the top flaps. Tucking her hands under the edges of the box, she pauses. This is his cue: she will not ask him to lift it, so he reads her hands like a scattering of tea leaves on the bottom of a cup. The box fits snugly on the top shelf of the closet. They'll remove the boxes in a few years, when they need the space for sweaters sized 3T and to hide brightly-wrapped Christmas presents from a set of inquisitive young eyes. He grasps the knobs of the sliding doors, wondering if a padlock will keep out a curious child. "We're going to need a new place, you know," he begins, and she stares at him for a moment before turning away. "I know we've discussed this before, Scully, but I'm serious. There's a For Sale sign on one of those townhouses a few blocks from here." "This is my home, Mulder. There will be other townhouses later." Case closed. She pushes herself up from the bed, the flannel pajama pants she has appropriated from him slipping just enough for him to see the curve of her lower back in the space between the flannel and the gray t-shirt that stretches over her belly in the front. This outfit always amuses him; though she still stands nearly a foot shorter than him, she has grown into his clothing. Each of her slow steps measures the tension between them. This is not their first disagreement. Since he returned a month ago, they've bickered over issues both grand and small. Last week she railed at him for his absence as she underwent the cancer treatments, and though he'd flinched with misplaced guilt at her words, he knew he was simply a scapegoat for her own fears. Their future is too uncertain now, especially in light of the tests she underwent at the doctor's office this morning. But they've also made up. He nearly cried when she told him of her cancer. He sobbed when they sat in the obstetrician's office, listening to the baby's heartbeat. She gave him a copy of the sonogram photo, and he carries it in his breast pocket, close to his heart as he sits across from his psychiatrist or undergoes his physical therapy. His daughter already has magical powers -- her image heals the three-inch scar bisecting his chest. The shrill ringing of the telephone makes him flinch. "That's probably the test results," Scully says with deceptive calm. Each of the hours since they left the doctor's office has been torture; he has never been more afraid of the telephone than he is right now. She glances over her shoulder at him, then walks into the bedroom and picks up the phone. He stands in the doorway, watching her. "Hello? Yes, okay." She picks up a notepad from the bedside table. "Okay...I understand...yes...right," she murmurs, urging the other party along as she makes some notes. "Thank you," she finally says, and hangs up the phone. He examines her voice for any emotional cues, and finds none. 'Well?' rests on the tip of his tongue; he says nothing. "Come here," she says, and he walks over to sit next to her on the bed. Her voice is quiet. He is terrified. Has her skin always been this pale, her face this drawn? "It's okay, Scully," he begins to babble. "We'll get through this. We'll get the best medical advice--" She cuts him off. "The amniocentesis results are normal. Dr. Traminer found some possible genetic issues which he'll want to investigate when the baby is born, but otherwise he believes she has been unaffected by the chemotherapy." He closes his eyes, boneless but alive. "And you're still in remission, right?" "Mulder, remember?" she says, but her voice does not chide. "We got those results last week." He remembers, but has not yet succumbed to that optimism. Now that they know the baby is okay, maybe he can begin to believe. He bends over and pushes her shirt up, feeling the gray cotton stretching and resisting, then rests his head on her stomach. He feels the thud of a tiny foot kicking. "Everything's fine," she murmurs, and tousles his hair. She smells like cookies and baby oil, already becoming a mother. She has never been more beautiful or desirable. "I'm so lucky to have you." Her words vibrate against his cheek. No, I'm the one who's lucky, Scully. The kick melts away his disbelief, and Mulder sends four words to Heaven: 'We're fine. Thank you.' +++++ END, "Occluded" Several weeks ago, I received "Forecast" feedback from melymbrosia, asking if Scully did actually have cancer at the end of the story, in addition to her pregnancy. Although that scenario was not my intention, as we say down here in the South, that got me to thinkin' . Thanks, m., for the indirect inspiration. My deepest thanks go to my betas: Diana, Shannon, and JET. They each brought something unique to the story, for which I am very grateful. And thank you to Annie for the cheerleading . Story soundtrack: "The Drugs Don't Work", by The Verve, and "Better Be Home Soon", by Crowded House. Better yet, try the medley of the two by Neil Finn. MP3s of all three songs are available on my website. Thank you for reading. I would love to hear from you! alanna@alanna.net cheers, alanna December 16, 2000.