"By the Wind Grieved" (9/13 )
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

Notes etc. prior to Chapter 1

***************************************************

Sighing, Dana Scully stood at the dining room window and
ground her fists against the base of her spine.  Her lower back
had been killing her since she had awakened that morning,
throbbing ceaselessly with a dull, deep ache.

It was snowing again, she noted absently, squinting against
the outside glare.  The tiny white flakes drifted lazily on
the other side of the glass, riding the wind like miniature
parachutists.  The sight should have been pleasing.  It was
pretty, after all, peaceful.  Yet, the winter scene did little to
soothe her.  The matters troubling her couldn't be righted by
anything so simple as a turn in the weather.

She supposed part of the problem was she finally had time to
think.  For so long she had focused on other things--Mulder's
disappearance, his return, his lack of memory, the attempt
made on his life.  Now, however, while these distractions had
in no way vanished, they had to some extent been mitigated.
Action had been taken, by her and by others, to protect her
partner.  They were doing all they could to keep him from
harm; he was doing all he could to recover his past.

Yet her part in the proceedings no longer required from her
every waking moment.  They had gotten through the last of
the files days before; she had no particular responsibilities
awaiting her now each day.  Mulder might spend his hours
rereading this case summary or studying that bit of research.
She, on the other hand, was free to leaf through magazines if
she liked or watch one of the two dozen movie channels the
house's satellite dish captured.  She could nap or lounge or
walk halfway to China on the damned treadmill in the basement
if she wanted to, all without suffering a moment's guilt.

Or instead she could rue her lack of preparedness as a mother.
She could stare at the calendar, all too well aware she was a
month away from giving birth, knowing she had no name chosen,
no clothes for the little one, no bottles or pacifiers or rattles to
clutter up his or her non-existent crib.  She could wish she had
someone in whom she could confide her fears, to whom she
could name her longings.  She could miss her mother, her home,
her life.  She could curse for the hundredth time her decision to
keep secret from Mulder the paternity of their child.  She could
say a fervent prayer they would all come out of this unscathed.

In short, she could make herself miserable.

Which was what she had been doing now for days.

"You okay?"

Startling at the gentle query, Scully turned and saw Mulder,
clad as she was in jeans and a sweater, watching her.  He had
been doing a lot of that lately.  She had lost count of the number
of times she had caught him staring at her over the past week
or so, his hazel eyes studying her with what she thought might
be concern.

"I'm fine," she said, leaving off her awkward massage and
mustering for him a smile.  "My back is bothering me.  That's
all."

He hesitated, then offered, "If you want, I could maybe rub
it for you."

"That's all right.  You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to, but I want to.  I mean...I'm willing to
if you think it would help."

Actually, at that moment, Scully could think of nothing that
would help more.  "Thanks, Mulder.  I would...I would really
appreciate that."

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, she took a seat at the
table nearby.  Leaving a space between her chair and the table
itself, she leaned forward and folded her arms atop the polished
oak.  Stretched comfortably in that way, she laid her head on
her crisscrossed limbs and closed her eyes.  As soon as she was
settled, she felt rather than heard Mulder move into position
behind her.

"Tell me if the pressure is too much," he murmured, his
breath teasing her ear.

"I will," she promised, the vow muffled against her sweater.

Seemingly needing no other assurances, Mulder began his
massage, his hands closing carefully around her narrow
shoulders, then releasing once more.  Relaxing into his
touch, Scully took a long, deep breath, resisting the urge
to exhale it with a moan.  The slow, sure kneading of her
aching muscles felt good, that was certain.  But it wasn't
only the physical sensation which brought her pleasure.  It
was the fact that Mulder and she were connecting, even in
so inconsequential a way as this.

Because as closely as they had been working these past few
weeks--poring over the files for hours each day, sleeping
next door to each other each night--a distance had cropped
up between them.  One that had not been of Scully's making.

The separation had developed gradually, deepening as they had
slogged their way through the zip discs.  At first, she had thought
it might be her imagination, that what she had initially believed
was Mulder's detachment from her was, in fact, merely interest
in his recently discovered past.  The wealth of information
regarding their work together had to fascinate him, she reasoned.
With the possible prize for his study his missing memory, he
had been bound to become engrossed in the files.  As hopeful
for that outcome as he, she could hardly blame him for focusing
on work rather than on her.

Besides, it wasn't as if he were being rude or uncaring towards
her.  On the contrary, Mulder had been solicitous to a fault.
The majority of the meals they ate together he cooked.  He
surrendered the living room to her every afternoon for what
had become, much to her chagrin, her regularly scheduled
nap.  She had needed to resort to threats of physical violence
whenever she had wanted to help around the house, even with
simple tasks such as clearing the table or washing and drying
the dishes.

Yet every kindness on Mulder's part, every polite gesture
or caring word, seemed to originate from arm's length away.
He had begun holding back from her.  All the playfulness,
the questions, the ready affection she had come to expect
from the man she loved had been withdrawn as swiftly as it
had once been given.  It was as if she were suddenly rooming
with an exceedingly well-behaved stranger.

Scully didn't think Mulder was angry with her or upset.  She
had asked him numerous times if he was all right, and he
had always answered in the affirmative.  Yet something was
different between them.  She could feel it.  If things were as
they once had been, she would have demanded from him the
truth, kept after him until he confessed.  But, with her own lies
weighing heavy on her heart, she couldn't rouse within herself
the indignation necessary for such an inquisition.  Instead, she
let matters lie, all the while missing him.

Missing him when he was never more than a room or two
away.

He was even closer now, she thought, bending over her as he
worked out the stubborn knots in her back.  She could smell
him, his warm male scent surrounding her.  She could feel the
heat radiating from him, chasing away the chill that seemed
to come from within her rather than from the frosty landscape
out of doors.  She yearned to turn and burrow against him, to
wrap her arms around him and absorb every last bit of that
delicious heat.  She wanted to nestle against him and confess
everything once and for all, to share with him the truth about
their child and the life they had once enjoyed together.

If only she could find the words.

Angry at herself, at the mistakes she had made and all the things
she continued having so much trouble saying, Scully could feel
her emotions begin to get the best of her.  Tears burned suddenly
against her lowered lids.  Oh, damn it, she thought miserably.
Damn it all to hell.  She couldn't cry now, not with Mulder so
near.  She would never be able to hide it from him.  He was too
close...

"Scully?"

Shit.

Sniffing, she hid her face against her arm and said nothing.
Go away, Mulder, she told him silently.  Please go away.

Yet he ignored her voiceless plea.  Instead, his hands stilled
against her back, his palms resting now just below her shoulder
blades.  "Scully," he whispered, trying once more to gain her
attention.  His voice was soft and almost unbearably gentle.
She knew she wouldn't be able to resist its quiet power for
long.  "Scully, what's wrong?"

Surrendering to the inevitable, she raised her head and opened
her eyes.  The moment her lashes lifted, her tears escaped,
running hot and unchecked down her flushed cheeks.
Embarrassed, Scully swiped at them with her fingertips,
spreading them over her skin like lotion.

"It's nothing, Mulder," she murmured, summoning up a wobbly
little smile, but unable to hold his gaze.  "Hormones probably.
I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he asked, coming around to sit in the chair
nearest her.  Reaching out, he covered one of her hands with
his own.  "There's nothing to be sorry for.  I didn't hurt you,
did I?"

"No, no," she assured him swiftly, her eyes darting to his,
then away.  "Nothing like that."

"What's the matter then?" he asked, plainly worried.

"I don't know...I just think my emotions are on overdrive
right now.  You know?" she said, trying to come up with
some kind of explanation for him.  She might not be ready
to broach the matter of their baby, but she could give him
some measure of honesty.  "I'm letting myself get worked
up about things that normally wouldn't bother me."

"What kinds of things?" he asked.

She had hoped he might take her answer at face value, allow
her to hide behind her vague excuse and be done with it.  She
should have known better.  Not even an alien mind wipe had
been able erase Mulder's need for the truth.  Her eyes drawn
time and again to their linked hands, Scully chose her words
with care.  "I've been feeling, well...kind of useless here the
last couple of days."

"Useless?" he echoed with what sounded like amazement.
"Why would you feel useless?"

"Well,...I don't really have anything to do anymore," she
said haltingly, not wanting him to feel guilty, but needing
him to understand at least part of the reason for her malaise.
"We've gone through the all files.  I've answered what
questions I could for you.  Now it's just a waiting game."

"Waiting for what, exactly?" he queried, frowning.  "For me
to get my memory back?"

"Yes, of course.  But not only that."

"What else, then?"

She shrugged again.  "Lots of things.  Our lives have been in
a kind of limbo since we've gotten here."

Gnawing on his lip, Mulder nodded, his expression troubled.

Knowing that look all too well, Scully rushed to reassure him,
to dissolve his sense of blame before it could fully take shape.

"Mulder, don't get me wrong--I want to be here," she said,
taking his hand in hers.  "I told you that before.  I wouldn't
leave this place if I could.  I just don't like feeling as if I'm
sitting around, doing nothing, especially when there are so
many things I should be doing."

"Like what?" he asked.

She thought about it for a moment, considering what she
could and could not say.  "Well...getting ready for the baby,
for one.  It's like I told you before.  I'm not all that far along
with my preparations."

"Couldn't you ask your mom to help you?" he queried.  "We
could probably arrange to get some sort of a message to her,
tell her what you need."

"Normally, I'd say yes," she replied.  "Mom would love to do
all that shopping stuff.  But with me being out of the picture
for Christmas, she's going to be heading out of town soon.
She may even already be gone."

"I thought you said she was going to be home for the holidays."

"That had been the plan.  With the due date getting close, and
my not being able to travel, everyone was going to come to
DC.  Now, however, with my being here instead, it doesn't
make sense for Bill to uproot his family and fly out east,
especially not with two small boys in tow.  When I spoke to
Mom before we left, she said she would probably be heading
out to San Diego after all."

"You don't know you won't be home for Christmas," Mulder
argued without much conviction.

"It's only about a week and a half away," she gently reminded
him.  "With Krycek out there and God only knows who else
might be looking for us, I'd say it's more likely than not we'll
be waking up Christmas morning right here."

His eyes drifting from hers, Mulder looked around the room,
his gaze faintly censorious.  "And this place isn't exactly full
of the holiday spirit, now, is it?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked.  "You know as well
as I do how lucky we are to be staying at a place as nice as
this."

"You're right," he murmured, his attention yet focused
elsewhere, his hand slipping free from hers.  "I do."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean it would probably be a lot easier for you to relax and
get ready for the baby if you were at home with your family
rather than here with me."

Shaking her head, Scully sighed, a fond if exasperated smile
tugging on the corners of her mouth.  "Mulder, that's not
true."

"Scully, we're practically prisoners here," he insisted.

"Stop trying to turn me into a victim!" she urged, her plea
coming out more sharply than she had intended.  Mulder
must have felt its bite.  Frowning, he drew away from her
slightly, the muscle in the corner of his jaw pulsing in alarm.
Seeing his distress, Scully immediately forgot all her own
problems, her need to comfort her partner now her sole
concern.

"Mulder, I think you've got some misconceptions about me
and my family," she began, reaching out to rest her hand
lightly on his arm.  "When we get together, it's not exactly
a scene by Norman Rockwell, you know."

"I thought you were close to your mom," he said, allowing
her touch, yet remaining unmoving beneath it, wary, as if he
feared provoking her again.

"I am," she said.  "But that doesn't mean there aren't tensions
between us, tensions that are only exacerbated when you add
my brother into the mix."

"This is Bill we're talking about, right?  Not the other one."

She nodded.  "Right.  Charlie won't be coming home for
Christmas this year. Bill and his family will be playing host
in San Diego."

"And you two don't get along?"

Lips pursed, Scully shrugged.  "It's not that, really.  Bill's heart
is in the right place.  It's just that he can be a little overbearing
at times.  He thinks he's looking out for me when what he's
really doing is telling me how to run my life."

Mulder looked astonished at the very idea.  "Doesn't he trust
you to do that yourself?"

"Not to his satisfaction," she admitted ruefully.

"Then the man must be an idiot," he muttered.

That surprised a chuckle out of her.  "Are you sure you don't
remember him, Mulder?  Because I have to tell you--your
reaction to my big brother is very much in keeping with the
relationship you two have already established."

"What?  He doesn't approve of me?" Mulder asked.

"He doesn't approve of our work," Scully said, thinking to
explain the reason for Bill's dislike in general terms, not
wanting to again wound Mulder as she unwittingly had before.
"In his eyes, you represent that work."

Nodding slowly, Mulder slid his arm out from under her hand
and, twined with its twin, folded it across his chest.  "What
about the baby?"

Chuffing mirthlessly, she assured him, "Oh, Bill doesn't
approve of that either."

 "Doesn't he want you to settle down and raise a family?"

"That's exactly what he wants," she replied.  "Only that's not
going to happen.  Just because I'm going to have a child doesn't
mean my professional life is over.  I'm not saying there won't
be adjustments to be made, but I'm not leaving the FBI.  And
that's something my brother has had difficulty reconciling."

Again, Mulder nodded, seemingly with more vigor this time.

"So you see, Mulder, even if I were to spend the holidays with
my family, the chances of us having a old-fashioned Christmas
are next to nil," she said, leaning towards him across the table.
"I mean...I would love a big old tree, a fire burning in the fireplace,
carolers at the front door.  But that just isn't who we are, not
who we've been for a long time."

"Do you miss them, though?" he asked quietly, sitting forward
in his seat now as well.  "Your family, I mean."

"I do," she confessed.  "Part of me misses not being able to
see everybody.  But you know...given our track record, it's
probably for the best."

"What do you mean?"

"You've read the files," she said wryly.  "You know the kinds
of things that happen to you and me this time of year.  All in
all, I'd say we're safer here than we would be anywhere else."

"Do you like being safe, Scully?" Mulder queried, his voice
soft, yet somehow suggestive, as if more than one question
were being asked.

Confused by his meaning, Scully feigned a kind of glib
nonchalance.  "Better that than sorry."

Mulder nodded one last time.

Although it looked to her as if he didn't entirely agree.

   *****

He was in love with her.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the idea, not when he
had been sliding down that oh-so slippery slope for weeks
now.  Yet the power of the emotion, the depth and breadth
of it, had blind-sided him nonetheless.

Her kindness had won him over initially, the patience she
had shown him when he had been all but hostile to her, the
loyalty that seemed to bind her to him more firmly than ropes
or chains ever could.

Soon after, she had impressed him with her intelligence, with
her quick mind and discerning eye.

Then, he had come to appreciate her bravery...

...her strength...

...her compassion...

...her integrity...

The list could have stretched for miles.

But it wasn't until he had begun rummaging amongst the files
that Mulder had realized at what cost he enjoyed Scully's
company.  Studying their case histories, he couldn't help but
think how much his reaction to what he read must resemble
that of a motorist driving past an accident scene.  Part of him
had been mesmerized by what he had learned, dazzled by the
danger, the intrigue, the wonder he had discovered recorded
there on the page.  Yet another portion had been appalled at
what his partner had suffered during the course of their
investigations--injury, illness, betrayal, the loss of loved
ones and Scully's own good name.  Her travails had sickened
him even as her ability to persevere had filled him with awe.

He yearned to ask her why--why she stayed with him and the
Bureau, why she didn't just pack her bags and head off into
private practice with her baby and its father.

But rather than raise that unfortunate question, he had asked
another instead.

"Scully, it...um...it says here that as a result of your abduction,
you...uh...you can't have children.  How is this...I mean, did
something...?"

"We don't know what happened, Mulder.  This baby was...
unexpected.  I guess you could call it a miracle."

A miracle.  After all she had been through, Scully still believed
in miracles.

How could he not love her?

Or perhaps, after fully understanding what they had shared
over the past seven years, a better question would have been...

How could he think of loving anyone else?

Not surprisingly, this newfound awareness did little to cheer
him.  He might be profoundly, irrevocably in love with his
partner.  She, on the other hand, had bestowed her affections
elsewhere.  She had said it herself, that very afternoon.  He
was part of her work life.  So much so, that her brother had
taken a dislike to him based on that, and that alone.  Intimacy
with Scully was out of the question.  That side of her was
reserved for another, undoubtedly more deserving man.

That knowledge was a bitter pill to swallow, and for days
Mulder had turned inward to try and come to terms with
the realization.  It hadn't been easy.  He had struggled--with
Scully's constant nearness and his own desire.  At a time
when he would have given anything to hold her in his arms,
he had instead kept his distance.  A plastic smile glued on
his face, he had tried to figure out a solution, a way to erect
safeguards against a woman he now admitted wholeheartedly
he wanted, but couldn't have.

In theory, a terrific idea.  In practice, a notion that made about
as much sense as the whole Florida ballot debacle.

All he had wound up doing was hurting Scully.  Again.  Not
a week after he had confided to A.D. Skinner the fear that he
might indeed do exactly that.  Mulder could see it in her eyes
when he would sequester himself away with his work or
respond to one of her friendly overtures with polite indifference.
Even as it was happening, he had realized just how wrong his
behavior was, but he hadn't known what else to do.  Keeping
her at bay was the only defense he had.  He couldn't escape her,
not when they were virtually under house arrest.  Temptation
was everywhere and his will was eroding daily.

By that morning, it had been washed away completely.  When
he had come upon Scully standing at the window, looking so
alone and forlorn, he had recognized just what a sham the past
several days had been.  Pretending he didn't care hadn't solved
anything.  All the feelings he had for her were still there,
sublimated but alive.  He had accomplished nothing but to
drive a wedge between them.

And he didn't want that.

Judging by her reaction, he suspected Scully didn't either.

So he had reached out to her, offering solace and a sympathetic
ear.  And in so doing, had gotten more than he had bargained
for.

Not her tears.  Although, he had felt terrible about them.

Something else.  Something way, way better.

In the midst of their conversation, Scully had revealed a
certain longing, a longing Mulder thought he might actually
be able to satisfy if he got just a little help from his friends.

He didn't know why he felt compelled to do this thing.  It was
silly, after all, and Scully was just as likely to laugh at him as
to offer him her thanks.  Yet he wanted to, just the same.  He
wanted to give her something no one else could give.  He
wanted to see her smile, either with him or at him.  He didn't
care, just as long as her mood improved from what it had
been that morning.

Scully had said she felt useless, idle.

Well, Mulder had a project in mind for her, for them both.

He dialed the phone the first moment he was able.  When
Scully excused herself to use the washroom, he took the
opportunity, ducked into the study and called the cottage.
Montrose answered.

When Mulder explained what he needed, the big man
responded, "Do I look like one of Santa's elves to you?"

"Oh, come on," Mulder replied, his volume low.  "It's not
that big a deal.  It'll take, at most, ten or fifteen minutes
of your time."

"Ten or fifteen minutes that should be spent ensuring your
and Agent Scully's safety.  This is not a game, Agent Mulder.
There are people out to kill you.  Remember?"

"Yes, I do.  But I don't believe what I'm asking you to do
will in any way jeopardize that safety.  Do it when one of the
other teams comes in on rotation.  That way there will be four
agents in the vicinity of the house.  That should be plenty of
protection."

Montrose remained silent on the other end of the line,
seemingly not yet convinced.

"What do you say?" Mulder cajoled.  "I mean...she's up here,
isolated from her family, weeks away from having a baby.  And
it's nearly Christmas.  Is it really that much to ask that we give
her one nice afternoon?"

With that, Montrose grunted.  "Do you really think she's going
to go for something as hokey as this?"

"I have no idea," Mulder answered honestly.  "But I'm working
with limited resources here."

The other agent made Mulder wait for a second or two more
before verbally giving him the nod.  "All right.  We'll lend you
a hand.  Bartholomew and Pritchard are due in at 2:00.  Look
for us around then."

"Thanks, man," Mulder said.  "I really appreciate this."

Hitting the power button on his phone, Mulder glanced at
his watch.  12:40.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

He had just enough time to make his preparations.

Crossing to the desk, he opened the top right-hand drawer
and began doing just that.

   *****

Scully had a feeling something was up.

She didn't know what exactly that something might be, but
Mulder was acting oddly.  Even for him.

After their conversation that morning, she had thought perhaps
they were back on familiar ground.  Mulder had seemed much
more open to her, much the way he had been before they had
arrived at the house.  They had joked some and talked and,
at Mulder's prompting, even played a cut-throat game of
backgammon.

She had won.

Gracious in victory, she had offered to make them lunch, grilled
cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

"Sounds yummy," Mulder had said, rocking on the balls of his
feet.  "But I'm not all that hungry.  I've got some stuff I've gotta
do."

"What kind of stuff?" she had asked.

"In the basement stuff," he had replied, turning to leave.  "Why
don't you go ahead and eat, though?  I'm going to be downstairs
for awhile."

Brow wrinkled with consternation, Scully had done as he had
suggested, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich taking the place of
soup and grilled cheese.

It wasn't any fun to dirty pans if she was only going to cook for
herself.

Nibbling on her PBJ and flipping idly through an issue of
Newsweek that dated from the summer before, Scully yearned
to stick her head through the basement doorway and see just
what the hell Mulder was doing down there.  She could hear him
moving around, the occasional scrape of metal against metal, the
thump of something hitting the large wooden workbench below.
Could he be building something? she wondered.  Repairing
something?  He had talked about constructing for her a crib.
But that had been just a joke, right?

Scully's musings continued, right through her scarcely tasted
lunch and on to the dish washing that followed.  She was just
about to give in to her curiosity and peek in on Mulder's
mysterious activities, when she heard him bounding up the
stairs.  Marching right past where she stood in the kitchen,
drying her hands, he crossed to the window, looked out, then,
with a glance at his watch, returned to her.  His eyes were bright,
his hair disheveled, and he looked as if he were having trouble
controlling the urge to smile.

She smiled back.  It was just easier that way.

"Mulder, is everything okay?" she asked, studying him, more
bemused by his behavior than she liked to admit.  "Are you
feeling all right?"

"Yeah.  Yeah, of course," he said just a tad too quickly.
"Everything is fine.  The guys didn't call, did they?"

"What?" she queried, setting aside the dishtowel.  "Renfrew
and his gang?  No.  Were you expecting them to?"

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets.  "Not really.
But they usually check-in in the afternoon,...so I thought...
you know...that maybe you would have heard...I don't know--"

His rambling explanation was interrupted by the sound of
footsteps on the front stairs.  Mulder's eyes met hers, wide and
strangely excited.  Then he grinned and headed towards the
entryway.  Intrigued, Scully trailed after him.  Before either
of them could reach the door, however, it opened and Agent
Renfrew entered, looking a trifle sheepish.

"Uh...got a delivery for you here, Agent Scully," he announced.

With that, Agent Montrose came inside, a bushy evergreen in
his arms.  "Where do you want it?" he asked.

"Over there, by the fireplace," Mulder directed.  "Just hang on
to it for a minute though, will you?  I've gotta go get something."

"Mulder, what the--?" Scully began, eyes wide as she looked
first at the tree, then at him, utterly incredulous.

"You said you'd love a big ol' tree," he told her, jogging by
on his way to the basement doorway.  Once there, he bent
down and retrieved some items from the top step.  The first
was an odd-looking contraption made of C-clamps and wires,
the second, a simple metal bucket, inside of which were two
bricks.  These in hand, he trotted back into the living room.
"Since you're not going to be able to tell Santa your wish list
in person this year, I figured maybe I should do a little wish
fulfillment of my own instead.  Assisted, of course, by our
next door neighbors here."

"How did he talk you two into this?" Scully asked, eyebrow
raised.

"Don't look at me," Renfrew said with a shake of his head and
a sideways glance at his partner.  "He took the call."

"Montrose, you want to bring that over here," Mulder said,
setting the bucket on the floor, then kneeling beside it.  "We'll
see if we can't get it anchored down."

"What you got there, man?" Montrose asked, lugging the
tree to the spot Mulder indicated.  "Did you McGyver
something together or what?"

"Yeah, I did," Mulder replied.  "I just hope it works."

"It better," Montrose warned, peering down through the lush
branches.  "We've got to get back out on watch."

"Patience," Mulder murmured, his head bowed over his task.
"Patience."

Stepping closer, Scully watched as Mulder fitted his creation
to the sides of the bucket.

"Okay, now ease it in there," he instructed.

Montrose did as he was told.  As soon as the trunk hit the
bottom of the bucket, Mulder tightened the various clamps.
That secured, he then slid the bricks in along the perimeter
in an effort, Scully assumed, to weigh the whole thing down.

"I've got to admit--not bad," Renfrew said moments later, his
voice warm with approval.

"Is it straight?" Mulder asked, looking up at her.

Scully circled to one side, then another, checking out the
angle.  "I think so."

"Great!" Mulder said, pressing to his feet.  "A little water,
and we should be all set.  Thanks guys."

"Don't mention it," Renfrew murmured, a small smile stretching
his lips.

"Merry Christmas, Agent Scully," Montrose said, heading
towards the door.  His partner followed along at his heels.

"Merry Christmas, Agents," Scully called softly.  "Thanks
for everything...thank you very much."

Renfrew waved his hand at her as if to say "it's nothing" and
pulled the door shut behind him.

Alone again together, Scully turned to regard her partner.  He
stood about ten feet away, his smile still in evidence.  Although
she thought she spied a kind of hesitancy now in his hazel gaze,
one she wanted quickly to dispel.

"Wow," she whispered with a smile of her own.

"You like it?" he asked.

"Yes, I like it," she said.  "Thank you."

"It's not stupid?"

"No."

"Or corny?"

"It's a little corny.  But I don't think that's such a bad thing."

With that, he seemed to relax a bit, and took a step closer to
her.  "Good.  I'm glad."

"Me too," she said, her eyes beginning to mist.

That he would even think to do something like this...

What a wonderful, wonderful man.

"Merry Christmas, Scully," he said, edging nearer to her still.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder," she replied, closing the gap
entirely.

Hands resting lightly on his chest, she stretched up and kissed
him softly on the cheek.  Mulder started ever so slightly, then
held himself very still, as if he believed any movement on his
part might perhaps frighten her away.  Scully lingered there a
bit longer than she probably should have, her mouth pressed
parted against his warm skin.  As she lowered her heels to
the floor and began to move away, their bodies brushed against
each other, throwing her slightly off balance.  Mulder took hold of
her upper arms to steady her.  They both chuckled, awkward
suddenly in their almost embrace.

"So now what do we do?" Scully murmured, her gaze
studying the place where his sweater ended and his jeans
began.

"We decorate it, of course," Mulder answered, the words
rumbling, low and pleasing, inside his chest.

That drew her gaze to his.  "With what exactly?  Did you come
upon a hidden store of Christmas decorations you've been
keeping from me?"

He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear.  "Scully, where's
your imagination?  We don't need tinsel and colored lights.
We have other resources."

"Such as?" she queried lightly.

Mulder took a step away from her and spread his arms wide,
as if inviting her to consider all extreme possibilities.  "Well...
we've got popcorn we can string...if we can find thread."

"There's a travel sewing kit in the linen closet," she said
helpfully.

"Great.  We haven't got any cranberries to string along with
the corn, but I'll bet the blueberries we've got will do."

"Blueberries," Scully said, wrinkling her nose.  "I like
blueberries.  To eat, I mean."

"We won't use all of them," he assured her.  "Just enough to
add some color."

 "Okay.  Well...um...we could use tinfoil for a star," she
suggested, entering into the spirit of things.

"Good idea," he replied.  "We could probably come up with
some kind of ornaments too.  I found a roll of fishing line
downstairs.  We could use that to hang them on the tree."

"Oh!" she said, recalling suddenly a childhood memory.  "When
I was in grade school, we made these ornaments one year out of
dough--just flour, water and...salt, I think.  You shape them like
Play-doh and then bake them.  Seems to me they were pretty
easy.  I could probably figure out the recipe."

"We could give them a try," Mulder said with a nod.

But, even as he agreed, Scully shook her head, recalling belatedly
the latter stage of that long ago arts and crafts project.  "Only
you need to decorate them," she said glumly, "with paint or
something.  Otherwise, they're just these blobby white mounds."

"We have markers," he said, as if such a thing were obvious.

"We do?"

"Yeah.  I found a pack of eight in the desk drawer.  Some
pretty good colors.  Red and green anyway."

"Red and green are good," she said.

"Seems to me the creative juices are finally flowing," Mulder
said with what sounded to Scully like a kind of satisfaction.
"Let's take advantage of it.  Why don't you see if you can pour
some water into the bucket to keep the tree from drying out.
Meanwhile, I'll go gather our supplies and meet you at the
dining room table."

"Deal," she said with a grin.

Not ten minutes later, they rendezvoused, Mulder juggling
markers, scissors, tape, glue, a ruler, the sewing kit, fishing line
and an assortment of pens and pencils.  For her part, Scully had
searched through the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator, and
brought to the table aluminum foil, popcorn, a quart of
blueberries, and an added bonus--a roll of thin red ribbon.

"Look!" she said, drawing his attention to this last item.  "The
drawer in the corner there had wrapping paper in it and this.
We can tie bows on the tree.

"That'd work," he allowed, dumping his supplies alongside
hers.  "Kinda girlie, though, don't you think?"

"Bows aren't girlie," Scully said archly, rising to the bait.
"They're festive."

"Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe," he replied with a smirk.

Wasting little time, they got to work, popping popcorn and
mixing batter.  Before long, they had edible ropes of beige
and blue to loop around their tree and a couple trays of less
than perfectly shaped wreaths and candy canes.

"Can we eat these?" Mulder asked, eyeing one mutant cane
speculatively.

"No, you can't eat them," Scully replied, feeling suddenly
as if she were talking to one of her nephews.  "They're for the
tree.  Now let that pan cool and we can color them."

"Why, though?" he pressed, picking up the little ornament
and bouncing it lightly on his palm.  "They were made with
edible ingredients."

"Edible, yes," she said.  "But not very tasty."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

"How do you know they don't taste good unless you try one?"

"For your information, I have tried one," she said, carefully
filling in a red stripe on the candy cane she was currently
decorating.  "In the third grade.  The memory of the flavor
haunts me to this day."

"Not too good, huh?"

"Nope."

Mulder hooked the curved end of the cane over his little finger
and swung it gently from side to side.  "What did it taste like?"

"Plaster, I guess.  Or maybe papier-mache."

"God, Scully.  Was there anything you =didn't= eat as a kid?"

"Mulder," she growled with mock censure.

The little stick of dough chose that moment to spin off Mulder's
pinkie and crash to the tabletop below, cracking upon impact.

"I told you to let it cool," she murmured sweetly, looking at
him through her lashes.

"Nobody likes an I-told-you-so, Scully," he retorted with
pretend ire.

The afternoon passed quickly.  Scully couldn't remember the
last time she had had so much fun.  It was ridiculous, she
supposed, that a grown woman should get that much enjoyment
out of something so childish as coloring, but she had, she did.
Judging by his enthusiasm and goofy grins, Mulder seemed
to be getting as big a kick out of it all as she.  She couldn't
have been happier.  Not even the slight cramping that had
started low in her abdomen hours earlier could detract from
her pleasure.

Soon, they moved their base of operations to the tree itself.
But before hanging the fruits of their labors on the branches,
Mulder turned to the fireplace and began stacking logs.

"What are you doing?" Scully queried, kneeling at the foot
of the pine and breathing in its fresh, green scent.

"I know you've seen this done before," he teased.  "I'm
building you a fire."

"Is this supposed to be part of my wish list too?" she asked,
realizing all at once what might have been his impetus.

"Absolutely," he said, striking a match against the hearth
stone and catching the rolled up piece of newspaper he held
on fire.  "You said you wanted a tree, a fire, and carolers."

He bent down and shoved the now burning newsprint
beneath his tower of wood.

"I was going to ask Montrose and Renfrew to croon a
few tunes," he added, glancing at her over his shoulder.
"But I was afraid they would hurt me."

She looked over at him and chuckled.  "Probably a very real
possibility."

In no time, the fire was crackling and popping and throwing
luscious warmth.  Working side by side, they began to hang
their homemade decorations on the tree, Mulder stretching
to reach those places near the top of the six-foot pine, Scully
concentrating mainly on the branches below.

She was on her knees, bending low to hook a chubby green
wreath on a branch near the back of the tree.  Mulder was
hidden from her, so when he murmured, "Oops," she had
no idea of the cause.

"Everything okay?" she asked, ducking her head and slipping
out from between the needles.

"Everything is fine," he assured her, the tree still between them.
"In fact, I just discovered something."

She sat back on her heels and looked up.  "What?"

Mulder came around the evergreen and into view, mischief in
his eyes.  "Mistletoe."

In his hand was a twig of pine, one end of which was wrapped
in a ribbon bow.  With the exception of its size and color, it
looked nothing at all like the plant he claimed it was.

"Mulder," she said, smiling, yet aware her heart had all at once
begun to beat double-time.  "That's not mistletoe.  That's a piece
of the tree that no doubt broke off when you tried to tie a bow
around it."

"I didn't break it off," he insisted, moving closer to her.  "It fell
off in my hands.  Like it was meant to be."

"All right," Scully agreed, sliding her tongue over her suddenly
very dry lower lip.  "Perhaps it wasn't you who did the damage.
I'm sure this poor tree got jostled around good when Montrose
dragged it here from wherever he and Renfrew cut it down.
The branch could have gotten cracked then.  The fact remains,
however, that that is not mistletoe.  It's pine."

Kneeling beside her, Mulder shook his head.  "I'm not so sure
that this is the time for facts, though, Scully.  You know?  I
mean...who really cares if this is pine or not?  Who cares what
type of tree this is at all, or how long its branches measure or
even what kind of ornaments are hanging from it?  Sometimes,
that kind of stuff just doesn't matter.  Sometimes you have to
let it all go."

He was very near to her now, their knees almost touching.

"But if you let it all go..." she said, taken aback by how breathy
her voice sounded to her ears, "...then what?"

From where Mulder was positioned, she could see the fire
reflected in his eyes.  But something else was shining in them
too, a longing, and a sadness Scully would have given anything
to banish.

"You pretend," he told her softly.  "You pretend...even if only
for a little while...that everything is exactly the way you want
it to be."

She couldn't swallow; she was surprised she could even still
speak.  "How do you want things to be, Mulder?"

He reached out his hand, the one holding the sprig of green,
and traced the shape of her face with his fingertips.  She could
feel a few of the twig's needles catching, dragging lightly
through her hair like a comb.  "Kiss me, Scully.  Just once.
Let me kiss you."

Her mouth opened, then closed.  She wanted to answer him,
to tell him what a bad idea this was, to beg him to hurry and
fit his mouth to hers.  But nothing would come out.  All she
could do was sit there, trembling now, her eyes wide and moist.

He watched her, his gaze hooded, seemingly trying to gauge
her interest.  Then, at last, with no help at all from her, he
made his decision.  Mulder took her silence for consent.
Lifting his mock mistletoe above her head, he leaned in and
covered her lips gently with his.  Her hands fluttered to his
shoulders.  She gasped.  But she did not stop him.  She
allowed him to kiss her and, what was more, Scully kissed
him back.

She opened her mouth for him, needy as she pressed against
his familiar lips.  It had been so long since they had done this,
she realized, months and months.  She had wondered, at times,
in the depths of her loneliness and despair, whether she would
ever again have the opportunity to breathe Mulder's breath, to
nudge his nose with hers, to feel his eyelashes tickle her cheek.

But now she did and it wonderful, glorious--the taste of him,
the firm, fleshy texture of his lips, the heat of his mouth,
warmer than the fire blazing nearby in the hearth.

She mourned when Mulder began to pull away only to rejoice
when he returned, this time without the counterfeit mistletoe.
His hands reached up to cradle her face, to hold her balanced
on the palms of his hands.  "Scully," he whispered, his eyes
nearly shut, hunger glittering there between the lashes.  Then
he dipped his head again.  This time, not only did their lips
meet, but their tongues tangled as well.

Scully couldn't think, couldn't move save to cling to the man
kissing the life out of her.  All gentleness was gone.  Their
lips ground against each other now, angling this way and
that, as if desperate to find the ideal fit.  His tongue rubbed
roughly over hers, wetly, exploring the confines of her
mouth. Breathless, she followed his lead, grabbing at his
arms for balance, tumbling sideways when he did, to lay
supine on the floor.  Mulder loomed over her, his body
caging hers but taking care not to press against her swollen
middle.

A little light-headed by their sudden change in position,
she stretched up and tunneled her fingers through his hair,
the cool, crisp strands sliding easily between them.  Wrapping
her leg around his, she tried to pour all her yearning, all her
love, all her apologies for the things she had chosen to keep
from him into her kiss.  She had no idea what had prompted
Mulder's actions, but she knew what this moment and this man
meant to her.

I love you, she told him inside her head.  I love you so much.

Please don't hate me when I tell you what I've done.

I didn't say anything because I didn't want to hurt you.  I'm
sorry.  I'm sorry that in the end I've only made it worse.

Almost as if hearing her voiceless plea, Mulder tore his
mouth from hers and, dropping soft, penitent kisses along
her jaw line, mumbled an apology of his own.

"Scully...I'm sorry...I know this is wrong.   But I can't...I
tried--"

"Mulder...no," she said brokenly, her eyes welling, her hands
sliding free from his hair.  "Please...please don't say that."

"I have to," he whispered, lifting his head just long enough
to catch sight of her glistening eyes, then lowering it once
more to hide his gaze against her neck.  "I have to try and
explain."

"No, you don't" she said, pushing on his shoulders in an effort
to try and make him raise his head.  She couldn't take the coward's
way out on this.  She had to look him in the eye when she told
him the truth.  "You don't understand--

So engrossed were they, neither heard the sound of another
moving cautiously up the front stairs and onto the porch.  They
were oblivious to the slow turning of the knob and quiet snick
of the door swinging open.  It wasn't until the intruder spoke
that the two agents realized they were no longer alone.

And that their unwanted guest bore a very familiar face.

"Well, if it isn't the X-Files' own little mommy and daddy to-be,"
Alex Krycek crowed as he stood framed in the doorway, pistol
held steady in his one good hand.  "How nice to see you two
have managed to pick up right where you left off."

* * * * * * * *

Continued in Chapter X

"By the Wind Grieved" (10/13 )
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

Notes way back when, prior to chapter one.

***************************************************

Before he had entered the house, the one-armed man would
have bet Fox Mulder would be the one to gasp his name.  After
all, the X-Files' senior agent had always had a certain gift for
the obvious.  Yet instead, it was his partner who voiced it first,
softly, as she stared up at him, her eyes wide with recognition
and shock.

"Krycek!"

By contrast, Mulder all but ignored him, his attention belonging
solely to the woman lying beside him, the one who looked as if
she had recently been well and thoroughly kissed.

"Agent Scully," Alex Krycek answered pleasantly as he closed
the door behind him, his gun still trained in her direction.  "Nice
to see you looking so well.  You know, it's true what they say.
Pregnant women really do glow."

While his description was accurate--Scully's cheeks were
pink, her eyes big and bright--Krycek knew as well as she
her physical state had little to do with the child she carried.
She was embarrassed.  Plain and simple.  Which to Krycek's
way of thinking was a very good thing.  He may have
currently had the upper hand, but experience had taught
him never to underestimate these two.  Any little anything
that might upset or unbalance either of them could only be
to his advantage.

"What do you want?" Mulder queried, his gruff tone
interrupting Krycek's musings.  While they remained on
the floor near the fire and a shabbily decorated pine, the
agent had helped his partner to a seated position.  Resting
on her hip beside Mulder, Scully's eyes sought out his.
Yet, like a sulking child, he now avoided her gaze.

Interesting.

"Actually, I don't want much of anything from you,"
Krycek said, taking a step closer, intrigued by the pair's
odd behavior.  "At least not now.  My job is simply to
keep you two here and out of trouble.  I wouldn't want
you to get in the way of things."

"What things?" Scully asked.

"You'll know in good time," Krycek replied.

"We've got a small army of agents patrolling this property,
you know," Mulder said, glaring up at him.  "You're
outnumbered."

"Not anymore," Krycek informed him with a smile.  "Four
of your six agents have been taken out of the game already.
The remaining two will be history before the night is out."

"Have you killed them?" Scully asked, some of the color
draining from her face.

He hadn't.  Despite what many might believe of him,
Krycek preferred to do his job with a minimum of bloodshed.
Still he saw no reason to share that bit of information.

Better to let them worry instead.

"Let's just say you shouldn't be expecting any last minute
charge of the cavalry."

"So while you're here, baby-sitting us, what's your partner
doing?" Scully asked, raking her fingers through her tousled
hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

"How do you know about my partner?" Krycek countered,
taking a seat on the arm of the sofa.  Might as well get
comfortable, he thought.  None of them would be going
anywhere for awhile.

"Marita Covarrubias was helpful in that regard," Scully said,
her gaze flickering again towards her partner, then away.
Mulder still wouldn't look at her.  Yet he had shifted on the
floor so he was now positioned between her and the man
with the gun.

Krycek smiled to himself.  It was just like old times.

"Marita is a bitch," he said without rancor.  "She likes to
think she's smarter than me."

"Isn't she?" Mulder queried dryly.  "After all, she's still got
both her arms."

"While I've got you," Krycek said, his gun pointed squarely
at the agent's chest.  "So tell me, Mulder--given the situation,
who would you say is the one with the brains?"

Frowning, Scully put her hand on her partner's shoulder as if
silently urging him to keep his mouth shut.  Mulder ignored
her mute plea.

"That depends," he said instead, "on what you've come here
for.  If you want me, then what are we waiting for?  Let's go.
Leave Scully out of this."

"Mulder!" she cried, tugging on his arm.  "Stop--"

"What makes you think it's you I want?" Krycek asked slyly,
toying with his nemesis just a bit.  Childish though he knew
it was, he enjoyed the way it made Mulder's jaw screw tight,
made his eyes flash with temper and dread.  "Maybe I want
to take Scully away from all this.  Did you ever think of that?
Maybe I want her baby, Mulder, your baby.  Maybe I suddenly
have the urge to start a family of my own."

As he could have predicted, his needling had an immediate
effect.

"You touch her...," Mulder snarled, pushing swiftly to his
feet, his fists clenched and ready.  "You so much as lay your
one remaining hand on her--"

"Mulder, don't!" Scully begged, grabbing hold of his wrist
in an apparent effort to keep him from charging his armed
foe.  "He's taunting you.  Can't you see that?  Goading
you.  It means nothing.  Don't give him the satisfaction."

Smirking, Krycek raised his brow as if to ask, 'Who are you
going to believe, Mulder--Scully or me?  Which do you think
I really want, her or you?'

The trio held their positions for a moment or two more, until
Mulder swiped his lower lip with his tongue and, turning his
back on his former partner, helped his current one to her feet.
Krycek watched the two, their hands joined, their gazes darting
like hummingbirds, flitting this way and that, but never really
lighting on each other.

What the hell had he walked in on?

"Okay," Krycek said, when the crisis had passed and his
captives stood side by side before him.  "Now, seeing as
we're all going to be here awhile...Scully, if you wouldn't
mind bringing me first your phones, then your weapons.
I'll be holding my gun on Mulder, here.  So behave yourself.
And don't take too long."

"All right."

With another quick look at the father of her child, Scully
did as she was told, retrieving her cell phone from the
kitchen countertop and that of Mulder from the side table
at the opposite end of the sofa.

"Great," Krycek said, the muzzle of his gun pointed at an
exceedingly watchful Mulder.  "Now remove the batteries
and throw them outside.  Far.  I don't want to hear them
hitting the porch or the steps."

Again, Scully did as she was bid, holding the door open as
she propelled the batteries far into the early evening black,
their landing silent and, no doubt, snowy.  Finished, she shut
the door once more.

"Now your weapon," Krycek instructed, standing and stepping
behind Mulder so the agent was positioned between Scully
and himself.  Though the chances of Scully firing at all were
slim, Krycek knew they would be nil if Mulder blocked her
intended target.  "I want you to go get it.  When you have it
in hand, remove the magazine and throw it outside with the
rest.  Then bring me the gun itself."

Scully hesitated a moment, then turned to the coat rack on her
right.  Reaching beneath one of the jackets stored on it, she
pulled out a holster that was hanging hidden there.

"Nice and easy now, Scully," Krycek warned from behind
Mulder's shoulder.  "Make sure your hands are where I can
see them."

Nodding slightly, she slipped her gun free and popped out its
clip.  Opening the door, she hurled the magazine as far as she
could, grunting with the effort, then pulled the door closed
again.

"Probably should have left that open," Krycek said.  "You've
got Mulder's ammo to dispose of as well, don't forget."

"Mulder doesn't have a gun," Scully said, crossing towards
him and setting her unloaded automatic on the coffee table.
She paused as she bent to lay the gun down, her body
stiffening as if with a sudden cramp or ache.  Her hair hid
her face from view, so it was impossible to tell from her
expression the severity of the pain or what might have been
its cause.  Regardless, the moment didn't last long.  When she
stood upright again, she moved as if all were well.  Krycek put
the matter out of his head.

He had other things to concern him.  "Since when doesn't
Mulder carry a gun?" he asked, coming around so he could
look both agents in the eye.  This was news to him.

"Since you or whatever monsters you handed him over to
stole his knowledge of how to handle one," Scully said,
unblinking.

While Scully's explanation made a certain amount of sense,
Krycek didn't necessarily believe her.

There were just too many reasons for her to lie.

"That the truth, Mulder?" Krycek asked, adjusting his aim so
that Scully was in his sights rather than the man to whom the
question was addressed.  "Are you now officially unarmed
and considered not very dangerous?"

Mulder swallowed hard, his gaze locked on Krycek's automatic,
but his voice didn't waver.  "That's right.  These days I'd be
more likely to shoot myself in the foot than hit what I was
after."

Eyes narrowed, Krycek considered whether this might be
true.  He supposed it could be possible; Mulder could have
had his weapon taken away.  He had no way of proving it
one way or another, of course, without turning the house
upside down and searching for the damned thing.  Not a
project he particularly wanted to undertake just then...
 
"Don't kid yourself," Krycek finally said, his decision made.
He would believe their story.  For now.  "You would have
been just as likely to do that in the old days, too."

Was it his imagination or did Scully shoot Mulder a furtive
sideways glance?

If she had, Mulder disregarded it.  "Cute," he said instead.
"Real cute.  Scully didn't tell me what a regular laugh riot
you are, Krycek."

"I have my moments," the rogue agent murmured with a smile.

Mulder nodded slowly, his gaze measuring.  "I bet you do."

Ah.  This was familiar too.  The stare-down.  The silent
dare.  The gauntlet one or the other of them invariably threw
whenever their paths crossed.  Amused, Krycek wondered
if Mulder had any memory at all of their many previous
confrontations, if he recalled the attendant rush of adrenaline,
the quickening of breath, the coiling of muscle that signaled
violence was threatening to erupt.

He wondered if Mulder got turned on by any of it.

As Krycek did himself.

"So now what?" Scully demanded when it seemed her two
companions had, for a moment, forgotten she existed.  "You
have our cell phones and you have my gun.  If that was all
you were interested in, you could have gone shopping at
Walmart.  What do you want with us?"

Krycek didn't answer directly.  Rather, he asked, "What
time you got, Scully?"

Sighing with what sounded like frustration, the auburn-haired
agent consulted her watch.  "Twenty till seven."

Picking up her gun and stashing it in his coat pocket, Krycek
nodded.  Everything was running right on schedule.

"Why don't you two have a seat on the couch?" he suggested,
circling as he pointed to the piece of furniture with the muzzle
of his automatic.  "Maybe we'll watch some TV.  I'll bet that
dish of yours gets practically every channel known to man."

"Don't tell me you paid us a visit just because your cable is
out," Mulder muttered darkly as he lowered himself beside
Scully on the sofa.

"No, I didn't," Krycek replied, plopping himself down in the
chair across from the two agents and at last unzipping his
leather jacket.  Time to settle in.  "As you guessed, Mulder,
I came here for you."

"I'm flattered," Mulder murmured, sitting forward so his
elbows balanced atop his thighs, the dying fire casting
shadows on his face.

"You should be," Krycek replied.  "We've been watching this
place for more than a week now, learning the layout and the
schedule your guards keep.  They rotate on four hour shifts.
Did you know that?"

Neither agent answered, though Scully looked Mulder's way
again.  As before, he did not return her gaze.

Krycek continued.  "They do.  There's more to it, of course--
the switching of partners and automobiles, and the opportunity
for them each to get enough sleep.  It's impressive, the intricacy
of it all.  And yet the whole thing goes off like clockwork.
Every day, every time."

He leaned forward now, sitting much like Mulder, the only
difference between them being the weapon clutched tightly
in his hand.

"Which was how we knew there would be a team coming
in at six tonight and one at ten.  We entered the cottage this
afternoon just after five, and took care of the agents that were
there.  They didn't know what hit them.  After that, it was easy.
We just hung out until the next team arrived.  My partner is
waiting for the final pair now."

"They call in, though," Scully said.  "The agents.  They check
with each other.  The ones who are still out there...they'll be
suspicious when no one answers at base."

Smiling, Krycek shook his head.  "No, they won't.  You see...
that's the other thing we spent the last week or so doing.  My
partner is amazingly good with voices.  Really.  The guy
could have a career in Vegas.  We've been intercepting your
guards' calls since we got here.  My man has got their speech
patterns down.  He knows the lingo they're using, the codes.
He could get on the phone right now and pretend to be any
one of them.  Their own mothers wouldn't know the difference."

"So, your guy ambushes our guys at ten," Mulder said flatly,
his brow furrowed, his hands clasped  between his knees.
"Then what?"

Krycek shrugged.  "Then my partner, you and I leave
Agent Scully here behind.  We go somewhere nice and quiet,
someplace we can talk.  I want to know what you've been up
to, Mulder.  I want to hear all about your adventures."

"He doesn't remember anything!" Scully blurted out, her
hand rubbing restlessly over the swell of her belly.

"I know," Krycek said.  "But I think we may be able to do
something about that."

"You can get me my memory back?" Mulder asked.

Krycek cocked a brow.  "We can try."

"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Scully snapped.

"It means we have recently gotten access to the technology
responsible for taking Mulder's memory to begin with," Krycek
said.  "We believe that if we can reverse the process used on
him, his memory should return."

"You believe...," Scully echoed fearfully, realization dawning
on her face.  "But you don't know for sure."

Krycek said nothing.

"You've never tried this sort of thing before, have you?" she
asked, her cheeks darkening with her mood.  "Have you?"

Krycek saw no reason to lie to her.  "No.  No, we haven't.
It's not like the procedure is something we get a big demand
for.  Mulder will be the first."

"The first...," Scully repeated in disbelief, pushing herself
awkwardly to the edge of the sofa cushion, the difficulty
she had in shifting her seat seemingly only adding to her
rage.  "You son of a bitch.  You selfish, superior son of a
bitch."

"Scully," Mulder murmured, looking at her at last, warning
in his gaze.

"Mulder isn't some sort of lab rat you can experiment on
at will," she continued, uncaring of her partner's concern.
"You have no right to do this, no right to do any of this."

"What is it you think I've done?" Krycek asked, impressed
in spite of himself by her ferocity.  "What do you think my
part has been in all this?"

"I think you've used him, you bastard," she growled, her eyes
blazing blue, her posture drawn so tightly she quivered with
the tension.  "You set Mulder up.  You put him through
months of God only knows what kind of torture all because
you wanted information, information you were too much of
a coward to get any other way."

"You're right," Krycek said, pushing to his feet and coming
to stand above them both, his mouth hard, his palm beginning
to sweat around the grip of his weapon.  "I need the information
locked inside Mulder's head.  We all do if this planet is going
to have any chance at all of survival."

"So you plan to take it," she sneered, clearly unforgiving of
his motives.  "Just like you always take whatever it is you
want.  A file, a life--what do you care?  The end justifies the
means, right?"

"That's enough, Scully," Krycek muttered.

"No," she said, unafraid.  "I don't think it is.  I want you to
explain it to me, Krycek.  Make me understand.  Tell me
how you sleep at night, how you get through each day
without putting a gun to your head--"

"Shut the fuck up.  Do you hear me?" Krycek warned,
his automatic pointed at her head, his patience all but gone.
"Just.  Shut.  The fuck.  Up."

Something in his voice must have gotten through to her,
pierced the bubble of reckless courage fueling her tirade.
Perhaps the gun itself had made an impression or maybe
she had just ran out of things to say.  Whatever the reason,
Scully fell silent.  She stared up at him, censure still glittering
in her eyes, yet said no more.

"That's better," Krycek murmured, holding her gaze.  "For
everyone, I think.  After all, too much excitement can't be
good for the baby.  Wouldn't you agree?"

Neither agent replied.

Krycek nodded, satisfied his point had been made.  "All
right.  Enough talk.  Mulder, grab the remote and let's see
what's on TV.  I don't know about you two, but I could go
for a little mindless entertainment.  In my experience,
conversation is highly overrated."

   *****

The day had turned surreal.

It had been strange enough to have FBI agents deliver
a Christmas tree to their door.  But as far as Scully was
concerned that bit of whimsy paled next to watching TBS'
Tom Cruise marathon with Mulder and a pistol-toting Alex
Krycek.

At their captor's insistence, they had tuned in to "Days of
Thunder" and were now an hour into a severely edited for
television version of "Risky Business."

Risky business, indeed.

Mulder and she were being held at gunpoint.  Their fellow
agents were either dead or incapacitated.  Krycek planned
on using her partner's head as his very own science project.

And she was in labor.

Had been, by her calculations, for nearly six hours now.

Physician though she was, Scully hadn't realized it at first,
hadn't recognized the signs.

But they had been there, plain as day.

Her backache had intensified soon after Mulder and she had
begun their tree decorating party.  The cramps had started
not long after that.  Yet, while she had been admittedly
uncomfortable, she hadn't given the symptoms much thought.
She was always being afflicted by little aches and pains these
days.  So what?  She was eight months pregnant; it went with
the territory.  The twinges had been easy enough to ignore.
They had been having such a good time, Mulder and she.
The last thing she had wanted to do was spoil the mood with
complaints.

But as the afternoon had worn on, the severity of the pain
had increased.  Not dramatically, at first.  It had been more
a matter of her considering swallowing a few Tylenol than
of her demanding Mulder drive her to the hospital.

Nothing to worry about.  No need for concern.

However, by the time Krycek had made his appearance,
Scully could no longer deny the truth.  Those little twinges
she had tried to ignore were contractions.  Unlike her usual
assorted aches, they wouldn't go away.  They would come
faster and hurt more until her body could do nothing but
surrender to their demands.  They were the harbingers of
birth.  Her baby was coming.

And Scully was going to fight its impending arrival with
every last molecule of her being.

She couldn't have the baby now.  Could not.  Not when
there was a murderer in the house.  A murderer who could
well decide to try and use the child against her and the man
she loved.

So, as Tom Cruise romanced first a redhead, then a blonde,
Dana Scully sat watching, and tried desperately to will away
her labor pains.

She didn't really believe she would be able to make them
disappear.  She did hope, however, she would be able to
keep the two men with her from finding out her condition.
Now that she knew Krycek's plan, she didn't want him to
change it on her account.

As it stood, Krycek wouldn't link up with his partner
again until after ten o'clock.  Prior to then, he would be
alone and outnumbered.

Granted--outnumbered by a pregnant woman in the midst
of giving birth and a man who couldn't remember how to
throw a punch let alone what taking one might feel like--
still...

If only they could get to Mulder's gun.

It gave Scully some small measure of solace to know her
partner's service automatic was upstairs in his sock drawer.
The problem was retrieving it.  She doubted she could
convince Krycek to let her go upstairs alone for any reason.
For all his faults, the man wasn't stupid.  He wouldn't let
either her or Mulder out of his sight...

...unless he absolutely had to.

Wait a minute.

Maybe they wouldn't need the gun upstairs.  Maybe she
could take Krycek out without it.

A plan began to form inside her head, its shape imperfect
yet simple enough to draw.  Simplicity would have to do.
Time was running out and so was Scully's acting ability.
Her contractions were becoming more and more difficult
to hide.

Even Mulder had noticed the last one.

When it had hit, she had sucked in a quick, harsh breath
between her teeth and held herself very still, waiting for
the pain to pass.

"You all right?" Mulder had whispered in the midst of it,
his mouth inches from her ear.

"Yeah," she had assured him breathlessly, unable at that
moment to say more.

"You sure?  It's seems like you're...I don't know...fidgeting
some."

"Indigestion."

"Do you two mind?" Krycek had said, looking over at them.
"I'm trying to watch the movie."

That had been the longest interchange Mulder and she had
shared since Krycek's ill-timed bombshell.  Scully knew she
had wounded the man she loved.  Yet she had hope all was
not lost.

Because for all Mulder's show of ignoring her, he had still
noticed when she fidgeted.

He had been ready to pounce on Krycek just for suggesting
he might harm her.

He had, without thinking, shielded her from a possible bullet.

In spite of everything, Mulder still cared.

So did she.  Deeply.  More than she could say.

Luckily for them both, actions spoke more loudly than words.

Taking a slow, cleansing breath, Scully put her plan in motion.

"I need to go to the bathroom," she announced.

Tearing his eyes away from a coolly knowing Rebecca
DeMornay, Krycek grumbled, "Can't you hold it?"

"Not these days," she wryly replied.

Sighing, he hesitated, then gestured towards the hallway.
"Well, go on.  And hurry up."

"I'll try."

With a helpful arm up from Mulder, Scully rose to her feet
and padded slowly towards the downstairs powder room.
Closing the door and locking it behind her, she quickly
did her business then got down to the matter at hand.

What was there in that tiny room that she could use as a
weapon?

Bending down, she quietly opened the cabinet beneath the
sink and peered inside.

Damn it.  She had been hoping for an aerosol can or two,
something she could use to blind Krycek, hurt him as she
once had Donny Pfaster.

No such luck.  It seemed their cleaning supplies were kept
elsewhere.  All that was stored below was toilet paper, a
plunger, and a rusting bathroom scale.

Undaunted, Scully checked the vanity.  There, the pickings
were a good deal more promising--a nearly full bottle of
rubbing alcohol and a metal nail file.

Okay, she thought, testing the file's point with her thumb.
This could work.  If she could maneuver near enough to
Krycek to get the alcohol in his face, she could take advantage
of his distraction and use the nail file as a makeshift knife.
She realized it wasn't exactly razor sharp, but it should hurt
like hell if she could get enough force behind the jab.  It was
no match, of course, for Krycek's automatic, but beggars
couldn't be choosers.  She would have to make do with
what she had.

Unscrewing the top off the bottle of alcohol and setting it
aside, Scully waited, knowing that sooner or later her absence
would grate on Krycek's nerves.  Sure enough, she hadn't been
in the bathroom ten minutes, when he knocked on the door.

"Scully, what the hell are you doing in there?"

"Just a second," she said, flushing the toilet and running
water in the sink.  "I...um...I'm not feeling real well."

"That's too bad.  Open the door."

"I will," she assured him, washing and drying her hands
before turning off the faucet once more.  "Just, give me...
I'll be right there."

"Scully...=now=."

"Okay, okay.  Just hang on."

Flipping the lock, she cracked open the door, nail file concealed
in her right hand, the alcohol hidden behind her back.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her head bowed.  "I started feeling
a little dizzy in there."

As she had expected, Krycek was waiting for her in the hall,
his weapon drawn.  "If you're feeling dizzy, go sit--"

Striking as quickly as she was able, Scully pushed the door
open the rest of the way, whipped out the bottle of alcohol
and threw its contents at Krycek's eyes.  The burning liquid
hit its mark.  Screaming, he staggered on his feet, twisting
and turning as if to try and avoid the pain.

"=Shit!=" he cried, rubbing his arm wildly against his face,
his gun still in hand.  "Oh, God!  Shit...shit."

"Scully?" Mulder called anxiously from the living room.

"Mulder, get over here!" she shouted, tossing the empty
bottle away and taking aim with the nail file.  "Get over
here now!"

Unwilling to wait for her partner to join her, Scully edged
nearer to Krycek, trying to get in position to plunge her
weapon into his back.  She was just about to deliver the
blow, her slender file raised and ready for attack, when
Krycek caught her unawares.  Doubled over in agony, he
straightened suddenly, his arms flung wide and fast.  As
close as she stood to him, Scully couldn't dodge in time.
Krycek's gun caught her on the chin, the blow snapping back
her head and sending her careening into the wall, temple first.
Dazed by the impact, she crumpled in a heap.

"SCULLY!"

Barreling past her, Mulder flew at Krycek, murder in his
eyes.

"You sick fuck!" Mulder roared, grabbing hold of Krycek's
jacket and throwing him to the ground.  "You like hitting
pregnant women?  Does it make you feel like more of a
man?"

"Mulder...the gun," Scully said weakly from where she lay
sprawled, bleary-eyed on the floor.  "Be careful of the gun."

She couldn't tell whether Mulder heard her or not.  He didn't
look her way.  Instead, he straddled Krycek and drove his fist
into the one-armed man's jaw.

"Mulder, what the fuck!?" Krycek yelled, bucking beneath
his assailant, his lip split, tears streaking his flushed face.
"She's the one who attacked me!  She practically blinded me!"

"Yeah?" Mulder said mockingly, his forearm pressing against
Krycek's windpipe while his other hand tried to pry the gun
free from his hand.  "Well, excuse me if I'm having trouble
working up the proper level of sympathy."

Head throbbing, Scully struggled to get her legs beneath her.
I have to do something, she thought, watching as the two men
rolled this way and that, wrestling for control of Krycek's
weapon.

His gun.  I need to get Mulder's gun.

Moving slowly, Scully got to her hands and knees in preparation
for rising when a swift, breath-stealing pressure girded her middle.

Oh, God, it hurt.

Teeth clenched, she groaned against the indignity of it all, her
protest sounding long and low.  Sitting back on her heels, her
arms wrapped around her belly, she hung her head and rocked
as she rode out the pain.

"Scully?"

She wanted to answer Mulder.  She could hear him calling
from what sounded like far away, much more distant than
what she knew him to be.  But before she could say anything,
a flood of liquid gushed from between her legs.

"Oh, shit," she moaned, eyes squeezed shut.

"Scully, what is it?" Mulder asked now from right in front
of her, his battle with Krycek seemingly forgotten.  "What's
wrong?"

Lifting her lashes, she looked up into his frightened face.
"Mulder, it's the baby."

"What about the baby?"

"It's coming."

"Now?!"

"Yeah, now.  And I think I'm going to need your help."

* * * * * * * *

Continued in Chapter XI

"By the Wind Grieved" (11/13)
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

As I am an aunt, not a mother, I needed to do some research
for this chapter.  Thankfully, Jen and Maribeth were there to
save me from myself.  Anything I got right is because of them.
Anything I got wrong is my fault alone.  Thanks, you guys.  I
really, really appreciate all the help.

***************************************************

Mulder didn't think; he didn't speak.  He simply swept Scully
up in his arms and ran for the door.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

They had only gotten as far as the living room when Krycek's
voice stopped him.  Breathing hard, Mulder turned around,
fairly certain of what he would see.  Sure enough, Krycek
trailed little more than half a room away, his gun again in
hand and pointed in their direction.

"In case you haven't noticed, Agent Scully has gone into labor,"
Mulder said as evenly as he was able.  "I'm taking her to a
hospital."

"Guess again," Krycek gritted out as he neared them, limping
slightly, his eyes and face red and wet.  "Sorry, Mulder, but
we're all going to stay right here."

"She needs a doctor," Mulder insisted, his voice cracking
with the strain.

"Mulder, no.  It's okay."

Even though he cradled her close, Scully's soft words
startled him.

"What...Scully, what do you mean?" Mulder asked, turning
his back on Krycek, wanting to somehow shield the woman
he held, use his body as a buffer against the danger the other
man posed.

A bruise had already begun to form near her hairline, marking
the spot where her head had hit the wall.  A matching wound,
smaller in size, darkened her chin.  Otherwise, she appeared
unharmed, her flushed cheeks and glistening brow the only
signs of her condition.

"Krycek isn't going to let us leave this place," Scully said,
her hand gripping his sweater.  "Not until he's certain he'll
be able to take you with him unimpeded."

"To hell with Krycek," he retorted, low so as to try and keep
their conversation private.  "I don't care about him.  You need
to get to a hospital."

"No," she argued just as quietly, shaking her head.  "I don't.
At least not right now.  Mulder, women have babies all the
time without the benefits of modern medicine.  I'll be fine."

As much as he admired it, her calm was threatening to send
him right over the edge.  "Scully, I would wager the majority
of those women have someone with them when they give birth,
someone who knows what the hell they're doing."

"I have you," she murmured, looking up at him.

Oh, no.  No.  He couldn't do that.  "I am not a doctor nor a
midwife," he muttered, the horror engendered by the very
idea suffusing his words.  "You know as well as I do my
knowledge of medicine doesn't extend much past Bactine
and Band-Aids."

Any reply Scully might have made was silenced by her next
contraction.  Stiffening in his embrace, she gasped, then
moaned, her lips pressed tight to muffle the sound.

"Scully?" Mulder whispered, clutching her tighter to him.  Oh,
God.  What were they going to do?  Butterfly McQueen and
he might be worlds apart, but they had just about the same
level of insight when it came to childbirth.

"Come on, Mulder.  Get away from the door.  Now."  Terrific.
Krycek again, waving his gun menacingly.  Mulder had almost
forgotten he was there.

"Take me...upstairs," Scully said suddenly in a hush, her body
slowly relaxing in his hold, her words spoken between pants.

"Upstairs?" Mulder echoed.

"I'm going to have the baby here," she said, her cheek resting
against his collarbone.

"Scully...," Mulder began.

"Mulder, even if by some miracle you were able to convince
Krycek to let us go, we'd still have to deal with the weather,"
she said, her volume rising just a bit.  "Look out the window.
It's snowing harder than it was before.  The wind has picked
up.  To get to the hospital, we would have to drive for miles
down unfamiliar, unlit, unplowed blacktop."

Chewing on the corner of his mouth, Mulder reluctantly
nodded.

"We don't even know for certain the roads are still passable,"
Scully continued, her breath yet labored.  "I realize our current
situation is far from ideal, but the alternative isn't much better.
I don't want to give birth in the back seat of a car.  Please...
let's just go upstairs."

"I think you should listen to her, Mulder," Krycek said with
the faintest suggestion of a smile.  "It's awfully cold out there.
Besides, if you take one step closer to the door, I will fire.  I
swear I will.  If you try and set foot outside this house, I will
put a bullet in one or the other of you.  I can't miss from this
range."

Jaw clenched, Mulder considered Krycek's threat.  Would
the bastard really do it?  He might.  Just from reading through
the files, Mulder knew how utterly unprincipled his former
partner was.  True, Krycek needed the information hidden
away inside his head, but the one-armed man could always
shoot to wound.

Then, of course, there was Scully's safety to consider.
Based on his behavior, it didn't appear as if Krycek was
in any hurry to harm her or her child.  If he was, he would
have killed her when the evening began.  Still, that didn't
make her immune from injury.  If she got in Krycek's way,
he would take her out.  Mulder was certain of it.

He couldn't let that happen.

"All right," he said at last, speaking to both the woman in
his arms and their captor.  "We'll do it your way."

With a wary glance in Krycek's direction, Mulder fulfilled
Scully's request, taking the stairs quickly yet carefully.
Krycek once more followed in their wake, lagging a step
or two behind.

When they reached Scully's room, Mulder crossed to the bed,
intending to set her atop it.

"No, I don't want to lay down" she said, stopping him.  "I
can't.  Not yet.  Just put me on my feet."

Mulder hesitated, the memory of her last contraction making
him question the wisdom of her simple request.  It had hit
her so hard before, like a blow or a vice.  He hated to release
her, to leave her standing there on her own.

Rather than being annoyed by his indecision, Scully seemed
amused by it.  "Mulder, it's okay.  I have to get cleaned up,"
she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.  "And
changed.  I'm wearing pants.  I can't give birth wearing pants."

Oh, yeah.  Pants.

"I'll be all right," she assured him.

Still not entirely convinced, he nonetheless lowered her legs
to the ground.  Yet even as Scully regained her footing, he
held on to her, his hands closed loosely around her arms.
They lingered there, ostensibly to hold her steady, though
Mulder recognized the contact was as much for his benefit
as it was for hers.

"I have a nightgown in the top drawer there," she said,
gesturing to the bureau at the foot of the bed.  "Would
you hand it to me?"

Letting go of her at last, Mulder retrieved the garment.
It was white and short-sleeved, the bodice buttoning down
the front.  He hadn't seen Scully wear it, but he imagined it
would probably fall to just below her knees.

"Thanks," Scully said, taking it from him.  "I'll be right
back."

She started to exit the room, on her way, Mulder assumed,
to the bathroom down the hall, when Krycek stepped into
her path.

"Oh, no," he said, his gun pointed at her chest.  "I don't
think so.  Not again."

"I'm just going to go change clothes," Scully said, glaring
up at him.

Krycek thought about it for a moment before saying, "Mulder,
come over here, would you?"

Curious yet cautious, Mulder did as he was bid.  His face
expressionless, Krycek watched him approach.  As soon
as Mulder drew alongside him, the rogue agent wrapped
his prosthetic arm tightly around the other man's throat
and put the gun to his ear.

"Do what you have to do, Scully," Krycek told her from just
over Mulder's shoulder.  "Do it, and do it quickly.  Just know
that if you make a single false move, I'll kill him.  I don't care
what information Mulder holds inside his head, I'll splatter it
all over the wall here.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said, paling, her nightgown bunched in her hands.

"Go on then."

Once Scully had left the room and the bathroom door had
snicked closed behind her, Mulder mumbled, "That was laid
on rather thick, don't you think?"

"You don't believe I'd kill you, Mulder?" Krycek whispered
in his ear.

"No," Mulder answered softly.  "I don't believe you would."

Krycek chuckled.  "Well, you're feeling awfully self-important
all of a sudden.  Must be impending fatherhood."

"No," Mulder said again, his Adam's apple bobbing against
Krycek's false arm.  "Just common sense.  You and your
partner wouldn't go to all this trouble only to lose what you
came here for in the end.  You need me.  You'd sooner put
a bullet in your own head than in mine."

"What about in Agent Scully's head?  Do you think I'd be
willing to do that?"

Even though he recognized Krycek was once more yanking
his chain, Mulder couldn't help but react.  He was so sick of
this, of being used, being manipulated.  "I swear to God,
Krycek...if you do anything, anything at all--"

"You'll do what, Mulder?" Krycek sneered, huffing as Mulder
pulled and pushed against his hold.  "Be really, really angry
with me?"

"You do anything to hurt her and I promise you, you'll never
get what you want from me."

"Oh yeah?  And just how do you propose to stop me?"
Krycek asked.  "The procedure we have planned for you is
by its very nature involuntary.  We don't need your cooperation
for it to succeed."

Finally having had enough, Mulder twisted abruptly, his action
quick and unexpected enough to wrest him free of Krycek's
hold.  But rather than move away from his captor, Mulder
turned instead to look him in the face.  Krycek's gun hovered
inches from his sternum.  Mulder really couldn't have cared
less.  "For your procedure to work, you need me alive, don't
you?"

Krycek's eyes narrowed.  "What are you saying?"

Mulder smiled, small and sure.  "I'm saying that if you harm
Scully or her child in any way, I will kill myself.  It's as simple
as that."

Though Krycek strove to maintain his usual bravado, Mulder
thought he spied a measure of doubt darkening the other man's
leaf green gaze.  Doubt and fear.  "You want me to believe
you'd actually off yourself?  I don't think so, Mulder."

Mulder's smile broadened.  He had been unsure himself until
he had said it aloud.  Suddenly the idea made perfect sense.
"Think again."

As if confused by Mulder's pronouncement, Krycek wrinkled
his brow.  "That's nuts.  =You're= nuts.  What makes you
think we'd even give you the opportunity?"

"Oh, I'm not saying it would be a walk in the park," Mulder
allowed.  "I'm sure you'd do everything in your power to keep
me good and safe.  Away from high windows and sharp objects.
But you and I both know how hard it would be for you to watch
me every minute of every day.  Sooner or later, you and your
partner would be bound to slip up.  I'd just need to be patient,
pick my moment."

Krycek studied him, seemingly searching for clues as to
Mulder's sincerity.  Mulder met his gaze, unflinching.  Why
not?  He had nothing to hide.

"That moment would come, Krycek," Mulder murmured.
"Moments like that always do.  And when it did, I'd be ready.
Think about it.  Think how easy it would be for me to die if
you were to take away my reason for living."

"Your reason for living?" Krycek scoffed a bit too heartily.
"Now who's laying it on thick?  For God's sake, Mulder,
you have virtually no memory of Scully or her child.  How
much time have you spent with her since you returned?  A
month?  Less?  Think about it, man.  Are you really willing
to die for her, for a woman you barely even know?"

Was he?  Krycek was right, after all.  In so many ways,
Scully remained a mystery to him.  Even with all the hours
he had spent with her, talking, reading up on their shared
history, he still knew so little about who she was, who they
were, together.

Then there was the matter of their child.

Although he still hadn't gotten confirmation from Scully herself,
Mulder believed Krycek's opening jab.  He was the father of
child she carried.  He knew it from the way Scully reacted.  Yet
for some reason, she had felt the need to keep that information
from him.

Why?

She had been good to him, certainly, since he had returned, her
genuine fondness for him impossible for him to misconstrue.
Yet what had prompted that affection and how deep did it
run?  Did her soul long for his, as he had discovered his did
for hers?  Or were her emotions tempered somehow, those
rather of a partner or a friend?  Was the baby in her womb
the result of some ongoing affair, or of an evening neither
of them had planned nor wanted to relive?

So many questions needed answering.  Yet even as Mulder
asked them, voiced the queries aloud inside his head, he
recognized full well any reply he might get would ultimately
be meaningless.  Regardless what Scully might tell him, his
feelings for her would remain unchanged.  It didn't matter if
or how she loved him.  He loved her.  Without reservations
or conditions.  The choice might not be smart or even safe,
but such considerations held no sway when it came to his
heart.  It belonged to Scully now.

Would he die for her?

Mulder didn't even hesitate.  "Yes."

Krycek held his gaze a moment longer before shaking his
head.  "Then God help you both."

"Mulder?"

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Scully framed in the
doorway.  She wore the cotton nightgown and a pair of
sloppy white socks.  The terry cloth robe she kept hanging
on the bathroom door completed her ensemble, its snowy
softness hanging down to brush against the backs of her
calves.

She seemed so small and fragile standing there, he thought,
breakable, with her naked legs and brilliant eyes.  Mulder
was used to Scully being able to take care of herself, to
take care of them both, if he were to be honest.  Only now
her body was conspiring against her, stealing her strength
and demanding her focus turn inward, away from any
outside threat.  In the hours to come, it would be up to
him to protect her, to keep her safe not only from Krycek
but from the danger their own child could potentially pose.

Jesus.

"How you doing?" Mulder asked, turning towards her,
swallowing down all his fears, all his worries over whether
he was ready for such responsibility.  He would have to be
ready, he told himself.  There was no one else.

"Okay," she said, taking a step closer, her eyes darting in
the direction of Krycek's gun, then away.  "I'm doing okay.
I had another contraction in the bathroom just now, but I'm...
I'm all right."

He nodded.  "How far apart are they, would you say?"

She shrugged.  "Five, six minutes maybe."

"What does that mean?" he asked.  "How soon do you think
before...?"

She shook her head.  "I can't be certain.  First births are
notoriously difficult to predict.  Near as I can judge, I've
been in labor for almost seven hours now.  With the rate the
contractions are coming, I'm guessing...I don't know.  Two
or three hours, maybe."

Mulder consulted his watch.  Ten minutes till nine.  Two hours
would put them right around eleven.  Shit.  Even with a speedy
birth, Krycek's partner would be back before the baby arrived.
Great.  Then what?  Did Krycek and his buddy think they
would be able to convince Mulder to take off with them?  Did
they expect he would just leave Scully behind, abandon her to
give birth to their child alone?

If so, they had another thing coming.

"What do you need?" Mulder asked now, crossing to her.
"Can I get you anything?  Do you want to lie down?"

"No," she said, giving him a small smile.  "Not right now.  I
think I want to walk, actually."

"Walk?" Mulder echoed, surprised.  Scully stood there,
shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets, swaying on her feet.
She didn't look like she would be able to remain upright much
longer, let alone pace the halls.

"I've got too much energy," she admitted almost sheepishly,
her eyes meeting his for an instant before flitting to the floor.
"Nerves, I guess.  I...I can't just lie down.  I need to move."

"Whatever you want," Mulder told her.

"Will you come with me?" she asked.

Mulder stole a peek at Krycek.  He stood, watching the
two agents, seemingly bemused by their interchange.

"Do you mind?" Mulder asked dryly.

"Knock yourself out," Krycek drawled.

"Okay," Mulder said, returning his attention to his partner.
"So...how should we do this?"

After a moment or two of fumbling, they decided upon
an old-fashioned skater's grip.  Standing just behind her,
Mulder took Scully's left hand in his.  He then wrapped
his other arm around her waist, anchoring her to him.
Scully's right hand rested atop his.

"Make sure you stay where I can see you both," Krycek
instructed, his shoulder propped against the bedroom's jamb
as he watched them go.  "I don't want either of you disappearing
on me, Mulder."

"What the hell do you think I'm going to do?" Mulder
muttered as they turned and began shuffling slowly down
the hall.  "Throw her over my shoulder and shimmy down
the drainpipe?"

Scully's hair hid her face from view, but he heard her chuff
softly at his quip.  She was holding on tightly to him, as if
for all her supposed energy, she feared her legs might suddenly
give out.  Mulder didn't know what he could say to reassure
her, so he settled for hugging her closer to him still.  Lost as
she was in her body's demands, he wondered if Scully even
noticed the change in his embrace.

They moved in silence down the shadowy corridor, away
from Krycek and his gun.  Listening to Scully breathe beside
him, each inhale and exhale to follow seemingly a conscious
act of will, Mulder tried to come up with some sort of plan,
a means to deliver them from Krycek's clutches.  Yet, despite
his efforts, nothing was coming easily to mind.  Not for the
first time, he longed to know the things his former self would
have known.  Tactical maneuvers, hand-to-hand combat,
hostage situation strategy.  The old Fox Mulder would have
had that information at his fingertips.  The new one hadn't
even been able to defeat a one-armed man in a fistfight.

These concerns rolling around inside his head, careening
off one another like pinballs in an arcade, he noticed they
had reached the far end of the hall.  Only a doorway or two
remained before they would have to turn around and go back
the way they had come.  He was just about to mention this
to Scully when she spoke.

"Mulder, I want you to listen to me," she whispered, the words
coming out quick and harsh.  "When we get back to the room,
I'm going to ask you to get towels for us to spread on the bed.
I'll keep Krycek busy.  You go get your gun.  It's in your
bedroom, right?"

Well, what do you know?  It seemed he wasn't the only one
who had been trying to come up with a way out of this mess.
"Scully, I am not going to put you in the middle of a gunfight
between Krycek and me."

She squeezed his hand so hard he almost winced in reaction.
"Mulder, it's the only way.  We've got little more than an hour
before Krycek's partner joins us.  We have to strike now."

"You are not in any condition to 'strike'," he reminded her,
peering past Scully's curtain of hair to try and catch a glimpse
of her eyes.  "My God, don't you realize what will happen?
The minute I walk into that room with my automatic, Krycek
is going to use you as, at best, a bartering chip, at worst, a
human shield.  I'm sorry, Scully.  But I can't let that happen."

"Fine," she spat, coming to a halt, her head bowed.  "Then
take the gun and get out of here.  I can keep Krycek occupied,
while you--"

"You expect me to leave you here alone with that lunatic?" he
muttered.  "No way, Scully.  No fucking way."

"He won't hurt me," she began, chin lifted at last and tilted his
way.  "He needs me..."

Only, as before, Scully's argument was cut short by a contraction.
Crying out against the pain, her knees buckled.  Mulder caught
her before she could fall, his mouth at her ear, his lips moving
softly beneath her hair.

"I won't leave you.  Do ask me to.  I can't.  I'm going to stay
here with you till the end.  I'm going to help you deliver our
baby."

"Everything all right?" Krycek asked from the other end of
the hall.

Scully was breathing heavy beside him, her upper body limp
in his arms, her head cushioned against his chest.  Shoving a
trembling hand through her hair, she tucked a fall of it behind
her ear, and bared her face to Mulder's gaze.

"Mulder, I'm sorry," she murmured brokenly, tears glistening
on her lashes.  "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's all right," he assured her quietly and pressed a gentle kiss
to her brow.  "It's okay."

And surprisingly it was.  Any anger Mulder had felt, any hurt
over Scully's deception had vanished somewhere along the
way.  He didn't know where it had gone, and frankly didn't
miss it.  What he felt now, holding her, was so much better.

"What's going on over there?" Krycek called, his voice more
impatient this time than it had been before.

"Nothing," Mulder growled, scowling at him over his shoulder.
"Scully's having a contraction, that's all."

"I think I can walk some more," she mumbled, pushing away
from his embrace to stand on her own again.

"You sure?" Mulder asked, worried, his hands loosening their
hold but not relinquishing it entirely.

Scully sniffed and nodded.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I think so.  Only...
when we pass the bathroom, let's stop and get a drink of
water, okay?  I'm getting thirsty."

"Sure," he said, turning around with her and heading back
towards the bedroom.  "Sure, Scully.  Whatever you want."

And so it went.  Scully led and he followed.  Business as
usual, Mulder mused.  Back and forth.  Up and down.  With
side trips to the bathroom every now and then.

While Mulder didn't have occasion to time them, Scully's
contractions seemed to be coming more frequently and lasting
longer, their increasing force requiring more and more of her
concentration.  She didn't speak except to give him direction.
Although the air between them crackled with tension, he was
thankful for her reticence.  Had she required small talk, he really
didn't know what the hell he would have said.

They walked the hall for another forty minutes or so, when
Scully stopped him.  "Mulder, I need to sit.  Okay?  I need
to sit down."

"All right," he said agreeably, ushering her past Krycek who
stood sentry-like beside her bedroom door, his face impassive.
"In here.  Let's just go in here and get comfortable."

He led her straight to the bed, expecting her to climb gratefully
atop it.  Instead, she hobbled to the end of it and, clinging white-
knuckle tight to the foot board, dropped to a squat.

"Scully...you okay?" he queried.

She looked up at him, her robe pooling around her in a circle,
her hair sticking to her sweaty brow.

"Go get towels for the bed, Mulder," Scully said, her voice
throaty and soft.  Mulder knew what she was really asking
him to do.  The minutes were ticking by.  Krycek's partner
would return soon.  If he were to have any chance at escape
it would have to be now.

Mulder shook his head.

"Mulder, please...," she tried again, her eyes pleading with
him.  "Go.  Get.  Towels."

Smiling, he reached down and cupped her cheek in his
palm.  Her skin was warm and moist to the touch.  "I'll get
towels, Scully," he said.  "I'll get them...and I'll be right
back."

Groaning with frustration, Scully hung her head, seemingly
unable to look at him anymore.  His smile fading, Mulder
turned to leave the room, intent on his task.  Krycek stopped
him.

"Mulder Jr. better be coming along pretty soon now," Krycek
warned, his gun tickling Mulder's ribs.  "It's getting late.  We
have a schedule to keep."

"I'm not leaving her," Mulder said flatly.  "Get used to it."

Brow lifted, Krycek stared at him for a moment or two more
before murmuring, "Go get Scully her damned towels."

Mulder bobbed his head and did just that, grabbing a stack of
terry cloth from the hallway linen closet.

When he returned to the room, he found Scully had discarded
her robe.  Clad now only in the lightweight gown and socks,
she stood beside the bed, bent at the waist, her hands pressed
against the mattress so as to support her weight.

"I thought you wanted to sit down," he said, dumping the
towels near the head of the bed and coming over to stand
next to her.  Not knowing what else to do, he slid his hand
slowly along her back's graceful slope, tracing her spine.

"No, I can't sit," she said wearily, shaking her head from side
to side.  "Not yet.  Not yet.  Oh, God..."

With that, she staggered, caught in the grip of yet another
contraction.  As before, Mulder caught her, hooking his arm
around her middle in an attempt to keep her upright.  Holding
Scully to him, he could feel the muscles in her abdomen ripple,
clench hard, like a prizefighter's fist beneath his grip.

"Jesus," he whispered, awed by the power her small body was
exerting, frightened by it.

Scully said nothing.  She only moaned and turned her head
away, grimacing as if embarrassed by the sound.

"Scully, if you're trying to prove how tough you are, you
can stop right now," Mulder said, legs braced for balance,
his cheek nuzzling at her hair.  "I already know.  Okay?
I'm convinced."

Lured perhaps by the teasing lilt of his voice, Scully glanced
sideways at him, her eyes bleary and very blue.

"If you need to make noise, make noise," he said, reaching
around to smooth a few stray strands of auburn from her
bruised temple, hoping as he did so Scully didn't notice
just how badly his hand shook.  "If you want to yell, yell.
There's no one here to impress.  No one who isn't impressed
already."

Scully looked over at him, a slack bundle in his arms.  She
was flushed and disheveled, her hair a mess, sweat beading
down the side of her battered face.  "It hurts, Mulder," she
confessed.

"I know it does, sweetheart," he said gruffly, the endearment
slipping from his lips without thought.

She watched him a second longer, her gaze searching his,
before assuring him, "But I can do this."

Mulder nodded, his throat clogged all of a sudden, blocking
whatever words he might have spoken instead.

Scully smiled then and Mulder joined her.  Brushing his
cheek with her fingertips, she took a deep breath as if to
gather herself, and got back to business.

"We need to put the towels down," she instructed, easing
herself from his arms, her feet finding firm purchase once
more.  "On the bed."

"All right," he said, taking a step away, giving her room.

"And pillows.  We're going to need pillows."

Again, like a lackey serving his queen, Mulder set off to do
Scully's bidding, pillaging the other bedrooms and closets
and returning to her, his arms loaded with as many pillows
as he could find.  Scully had already begun spreading a layer
of terry cloth in his absence.

"See if you can't sort of pile them there against the headboard,"
she directed, making her way slowly around the mattress.

"You're going to sit?" he queried, tossing the feather cushions
where she wanted them.

"Yeah," she said.  "I think so.  Gravity, you know...it should
help."

"Okay," he said, putting the last pillow in place.  "Okay.  Now...
what else do we need to do?  There's more stuff to do, isn't
there?  I mean...I should be boiling water or something,
shouldn't I?"

Despite her obvious discomfort, Scully chuckled.  "You could,
I guess.  Though fire would do just as well.  We need to
sterilize a knife."

"A knife?" Mulder squeaked, looking at her from across the
bed.

"For cutting the cord," she said, sitting down at last, a few
leftover towels in her lap.  "See if you can't find a steak knife
or something in the kitchen, the sharper the better.  Turn on
a burner and heat the blade.  That should do the trick."

"All right."

"One more thing," she said, handing him the towels that
remained.  "While you're downstairs, toss these in the dryer."

"Why?" he asked, taking them from her.

"For the baby," she explained, scooting back slowly and
carefully to rest against the mound of pillows.  "Once it's
here, we'll need to keep it warm."

Once it's here, Mulder repeated to himself.  It was really
happening.  Their baby was on the way.

"All right," he said, nodding.  "Okay.  I'll be right back.
Do you want to bring you anything?"

"Water, please," Scully said, her head tilted back against the
headboard, her legs splayed, her hand rubbing circles round
her swollen abdomen.  "Big glass, lots of ice.  I think I'm
going to need it."

"Why is that?" he asked, although he had a pretty good idea
what her answer would be.

Closing her eyes, Scully licked her lips and sighed.  "The easy
part is over, Mulder.  This is when the real work begins."

* * * * * * * *

Continued in Chapter XII

(I really tried to have the baby be born in this chapter.  But
it's like Scully said...first births are notoriously difficult to
predict. <g>)
 

"By the Wind Grieved" (12/13 )
by Karen Rasch
kmrasch@hotmail.com

Notes prior to chapter one.  Thanks for hanging in there with
me.
***************************************************

Mulder was still downstairs when Alex Krycek's partner at long
last made his appearance.  Krycek knew the man only as Simon,
which was how he had been introduced to him weeks before.
Krycek guessed Simon was his surname, though he had never
bothered to confirm his suspicion.  A guy in his line of work
learned early not to ask too many questions.

"Are you aware Agent Mulder is downstairs sharpening a
knife?" Simon asked when he had climbed the stairs, opening
the conversation with his customary cool.  He was dressed
much as Krycek was, jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, a trench
coat topping his outfit rather than the jacket Krycek wore.

"Oh, is that what he's doing?" Krycek said, striving for as bland
a tone as his compatriot.  Simon never seemed to get unnerved
by anything.  That, in and of itself, was sometimes enough to
rattle Krycek.  "I'd wondered what was taking him so long."

Simon's eyebrow lifted.  "And this doesn't...concern you in any
way?"

Krycek shook his head.  "Not as long as Scully is up here with
us."

He jerked his head in the direction of the open bedroom door.
The men looked in and saw that the woman in question had
pushed herself away from the nest of pillows where once she
had rested.  She was currently on all fours in the center of the
bed, panting raggedly.  Her head was bowed, her body so
drenched with sweat her nightgown clung, transparent, to her
back.  Her hair veiled her face.

"What's going on?" Simon murmured.

"She's in labor," Krycek explained.  "Has been, apparently,
since well before I made my entrance.  That's why Mulder
is downstairs playing with knives.  He needs something to
cut the cord."

"Cut the cord?" Simon echoed.   "What--for when the baby is
actually delivered?  Don't tell me you're considering hanging
around here that long."

Krycek shrugged and motioned for them to step away from
door.  No sense in letting Scully in on their plans.  "With the
way she's been moaning and groaning, it probably won't be
all that long now.  Besides, we may not have a choice.  Mulder
has informed me he has no intention of leaving Scully in this
condition."

"There are ways to remedy that little problem," Simon retorted,
reaching into his breast pocket and pulling from it his automatic.

Krycek placed his hand on the other man's arm.  "Not so fast,"
he warned, his voice pitched low.  "Though I'll admit I've led
Mulder to believe otherwise, I'd rather not kill Scully or her
child unless we absolutely have to.  They may prove valuable."

"To whom?" Simon queried at a similar volume, his gun still
in his grip.

"Any of a number of people," Krycek said.  "You know how
many players are involved in this particular game.  It would
be stupid for us to forfeit her life or the life of the child over
a simple matter of inconvenience.  We may be able to use
them later."

"It'll be more than inconvenient if we don't make our exit soon,"
Simon countered.  "Those agents aren't going to be out of it
forever and the roads are getting worse as we speak.  The
longer we stay here, the more danger we put ourselves in.
Ourselves and the project."

"I agree," Krycek said soothingly.  "I don't want to stay here
any longer than we have to, either.  Unfortunately, Mulder has
decided to make things difficult."

Simon sighed and looked back towards the stairs.  "When
hasn't he?"

Krycek smiled at how put-upon his partner sounded.  "Tell
me about it.  It's bad enough he wants to stay put till Scully
gives birth.  But something tells me once the kid is here, he'll
dig his heels in even harder."

"Not with my Sig pressing against the base of his skull he
won't," Simon muttered.

Krycek shook his head.  "I don't know.  Mulder can be
awfully stubborn.  With or without his memory.  I think
we'll get farther with stealth than with force."

Simon frowned.  "What have you got in mind?"

"Have you got anything left after taking care of those last two
agents?"

"You mean the tranquilizers?" Simon queried, tucking his
automatic in the waistband of his jeans and retrieving from
another inner coat pocket a black leather case.  Tugging on
its zipper, he opened it to reveal a Derringer-sized pistol and
a single, equally dainty, dart.  "Just one.  Why?"

"Give it to me," Krycek directed.  "Load the gun and give it
to me."

"What are you going to do with it?" Simon asked as he did
as Krycek had requested.

"Make certain Mulder leaves with us when the time comes,"
Krycek said, stashing the tranquilizer gun in his jacket
pocket.  "That he not only leaves with us, but leaves without
a fight."

   *****

Scully was hurting.  Big time.

Prior to going into labor, she had tried to ready herself for
what was to come.  Birth was difficult work.  She knew that,
had witnessed it firsthand.  Pain was a factor, yes, but she
firmly believed the outcome would outweigh any discomfort
she might feel along the way.  She had been gut-shot once, for
crying out loud, she should certainly be able to grit her way
through a few hours of contractions.

She could handle it.

Or so she had thought.

What Scully hadn't taken into consideration, however, was the
way labor wore on a woman.  In the past, when she had been
injured, the initial blow or wound had typically been the worst
of it.  A degree of distress had followed, of course, but that had
usually been tempered by medication or escaped from in sleep.

This was different.  While she had been aware her contractions
would intensify as labor progressed, she hadn't been prepared
for the speed with which they had begun to follow each other.
When her water had first broken, she had been able to recover
between each one, relax and breathe just a bit, regain some
small measure of control.  Now, however, just scant hours later,
they seemed to hit practically one right after another.  Endlessly.
They were exhausting her.  Sapping her strength and stealing
her will, just when she needed both so desperately.  God.  She'd
never be able to push the baby out.  Not now.  Not alone.

She needed help.

She needed Mulder.

Mulder...

Where the hell was he?

Admittedly somewhat befuddled by the sensations wracking
her, it felt to Scully as if he had disappeared downstairs a
lifetime ago.  What could he be doing down there when he
should so clearly be upstairs with her?  Didn't he realize their
child was about to be born?

Then, as if he were somehow answering her silent summons,
she heard him pounding up the steps, his feet hitting the
hardwood treads like an angry drummer beating the skins.

Voices.  Two of which she knew well, the other new and
unwelcome.  Questions...

"What have you got there?"

"What does it look like?"

"You planning on carving your initials in me, Mulder?"

"Don't give me any ideas."

Hurry.  Hurry, she urged inside her head.  Stop talking and
hurry to me.

"Scully?  Scully...how you holding up?"

Oh there you are, Mulder...

She tried to answer his simple query.  But when she opened
her mouth, all that came out was a low, wrenching moan, her
body choosing that moment to seize violently yet again.

"Shit."  She had frightened him.  She could hear it in his
voice.  "Oh, God...what can I do?  Tell me what to do."

She was on her hands and knees, where she had been now
for the past ten minutes or more.  The position was comfortable,
but she didn't think she could give birth in it.  Didn't want to.

"Help me," she gasped, her arms giving out, her cheek pressed
against the towels beneath her.  "Help me..."

"I will," Mulder promised shakily, his fingers combing through
her tangled hair.  "Tell me how.  Scully, you have to tell me
how."

"I need...to sit up.  Sit back," she muttered, struggling to regulate
her breathing.  It was becoming increasingly more difficult to
think.  She didn't know how much longer she would be able to
talk Mulder through the process.  "I need to move."

"Okay...okay," he murmured in a comforting tone, his hands
skating along her hunched form, the light touch oddly reassuring.
"Why don't we...um...why don't you roll over to the side, okay?
And then from there I can help you turn."

That sounded like as sensible an idea as any, so Scully let herself
collapse over onto her right side.  She hadn't realized how tired
her arms had become.  It felt good to just rest there for a bit, the
terry cloth cushioning her flushed cheek.  Eyes fluttering shut,
she drew her knees up so her posture mimicked that of the child
she carried, and concentrated on the oxygen entering and exiting
her lungs.

"You ready?" Mulder queried from somewhere above and
behind her.

"In a minute," she mumbled, waving her arm wearily in the air.
"In just a minute."

"It's okay," Mulder said, capturing her flailing hand in his and
giving it a squeeze.  "It's all right.  Take all the time you need."

Take all the time you need, Scully repeated to herself, drifting
for a moment.

Take time...time...

"No," she murmured suddenly, brow creased as she shook her
head.  She couldn't do that.  Not anymore.

Didn't Mulder understand?

Time had run out.

It's just like back in Dallas, she thought.  There is no time.  Not
for them.  Not now.  No time between contractions, no time
until their baby is born, no time before Krycek steals Mulder
away.  Again.  Maybe forever.

But before she could articulate any of that, her body convulsed
once more, her muscles burning and bunching, the pain centered
at her core rushing out to her extremities, flooding her from head
to toe.

"Oh...God...," she whimpered, crushing Mulder's hand in hers.

"Scully...?"

We've wasted so much time, she mourned inside her head, lost
amidst the misery.  We had years and years of it, Mulder, and
what did we do?  Chase lights in the night sky, crawl through
sewers after mutants.  What were we thinking?

"Scully...come on.  Stay with me here.  Breathe...that's right.
Breathe through it.  That's better."

Better, better....Oh, Mulder, I should have known better,
after Duane Barry or even that last trip to Bellefleur.  I should
have realized how precious time was.  Why didn't I realize that?
I had realized I loved you, after all.

"That's right.  Good girl...good girl.  Now relax...that's it.  Shh.
Relax while you can."

Scully heard Mulder, his voice piercing the haze surrounding
her, and recognized that what he said made sense.  Only she
couldn't follow his directive, couldn't relax.  Not just then.  She
had something she had to tell him first.

"I love you," she whispered, her eyes still closed.  "I love you,
Mulder.  I don't know why I didn't tell you before...when you
came back.  I love you."

"Scully...?"

"I love you."

   *****

She loved him.

Sweet God in heaven.

Yet before Mulder could fully wrap his mind around that
particular revelation, another contraction took hold, its grip
terrible and swift.

Wailing, Scully curled in still further on herself, Mulder's
hand yet clutched tightly in hers.  Resting one knee behind
her for balance, he let her draw their tangled fingers to her
breast.  Bending over her in that way, he could feel her heart
beating wildly against his wrist, could sense the heat rolling
off her skin in waves.

Mulder stayed there, caging Scully's body with his, until the
pain had ebbed and her cries diminished.   Then, muttering
a mix of imprecations and comfort, he gathered her in his
arms and deposited her where she had told him she wanted to
be, propped against the headboard, pillows supporting and
surrounding her.

Settled there, legs sprawled, Scully tipped back her head and
lifted her lashes.  Her tired eyes looked out from beneath them,
their usual sparkle dulled.

"Water," she demanded hoarsely, blinking slowly at him.
"Please."

Obedient to the last, Mulder handed her the glass he had
brought from downstairs, then sat facing her, even with her
hip.  The knife he had also fetched lay ready on the night
stand nearby, swaddled in a clean dish towel.

Both hands wrapped tightly around the tumbler, Scully
brought it to her lips.  As she drank, her gaze wandered before
fixing on a point just past Mulder's left shoulder.  Staring,
her brows lifted as if in silent exclamation.

"Get out," she rasped, lowering the glass.  "Get the hell out,
both of you."

Rescuing what remained of the water, Mulder turned his head.
Behind him, he saw Krycek and his associate framed in the
doorway, peering into the bedroom like a pair of armed
Peeping Toms.

"You heard the lady," Mulder muttered, pushing angrily to
his feet.  "Get out of here."

"Sorry, Mulder," Krycek said, his expression perversely
unapologetic.  "But we're staying put."

"Fine," Mulder spat as he crossed to stand before them.
"'Stay put' in the hall."

"Mulder, it...it doesn't matter," Scully said, opting to play
peacemaker.  "Just...just go wash your hands.  Okay?  Hurry."

It did matter, though, Mulder thought.  Scully deserved more
than to give birth with a couple of perverts ogling her.  He
hesitated.

"Go--," she entreated softly, her plea cut short when another
contraction hit.  Grabbing hold of the bedclothes, she bent
her head and groaned, the low, ragged sound raising the hairs
on the back of Mulder's neck.

Swearing beneath his breath, Mulder shouldered past Krycek
and the other man, and dashed to the bathroom.  Once there,
he turned on the water as hot as he could bear.  Pushing up
his sleeves, he lathered all the way to his elbows.  And while
he scrubbed, he thought about all the many ways things could
go wrong.

Scully was small.  What if she wasn't able to push the child
through the birth canal unassisted?

The baby was a month early.  What if it needed an incubator
or some special kind of treatment?

What if it was born breech?

Or with the cord wrapped around its neck?

What if something were to happen to Scully?

What if she hemorrhaged or had a stroke...

...or...or...?

He needed to get back to the room.

Trotting down the hall, arms bent, fingers pointed skyward
like a surgeon, Mulder spied Krycek and his partner
standing slouched against the wall outside Scully's bedroom.

"Stay!" Mulder barked as he jogged past.  To his delight, both
did exactly that.  Feeling cocky now, he turned once he had
crossed the threshold and bumped the door closed with
his hip.  He had no way to lock it, so the gesture lacked a
certain finality, he acknowledged to himself.  Still, given the
circumstances, it was the best he could do to try and ensure
Scully's privacy.

"How you doing?" he asked, coming to her side.

Eyes closed, Scully sat at an angle at the head of the bed,
her back bolstered by pillows.  Her knees were bent, her feet
pressed flat.  Her heels nearly touched the backs of her thighs.
Her gown had ridden up, exposing the length of her legs.  The
hem, however, pooled between them, hiding her crotch from
view.  "Mulder," she murmured, lashes lifting when she heard
him speak.  "I think I need...I need to push."

"Okay...okay," he said agreeably.  "What should I do?"

"Check and see how much I've dilated," she directed, her
voice breathy and high.

"Check and see?" he echoed weakly, sinking down on the
bed, facing her.

She nodded.  "See...see how much space...if you can feel
the head."

Oh dear Lord.

Scully wanted him to look between her legs.

Try though he might, Mulder couldn't help but hear Beavis
and Butthead snickers bouncing around inside his brain.

Get a grip, he told himself with a mental shake of his head.
Be an adult.  It's not like this isn't familiar territory.  You've
been there before.

It's just that somehow you managed to lose your snapshots
of that particular trip.

"Mulder, just do it!" Scully urged through clenched teeth,
her color high, damp bits of hair sticking to her cheeks.

"All right," he said with a quick bob of his chin.  "I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.  Okay."

Edging closer to her on the bed, Mulder slowly lifte