By xangel
redargangel@yahoo.ca
 

April 20/04
Rating: R
Classification: MSR
Warning: They tell me it's high angst
This is part one - there are 4 parts
three are done, the fourth is well
on it's way. I won't leave you hanging

Special thanks to: Tali, Foxcat, and Scullymegs
for awesome beta/encouragement
Disclaimer: still don't own them

Feedback: redargangel@yahoo.ca

Convergence Part 1
 
 

"Scully?"

She heard the door close behind him and the sure sound of his
footfalls brought him to her bedside in a few long strides.
She was curled tightly into herself, facing away from him,
away from everybody.

"Scully? Nobody will tell me anything. What's going on?"

Her lips quivered, unnoticed, and she bit down to keep
silent; she was so far from okay. She didn't answer,
just pulled her legs up tighter, hugging them to her body
with a fierce grip.

He reached out a tentative hand to touch her shoulder and felt her
recoil and stiffen even more if it were possible. "Scully,
please tell me what's wrong."

Her voice was choked with tears, rough, hoarse. "Go away."

"I can't leave unless I know what's wrong with you.
It's not - it isn't - oh Scully, your cancer isn't
back, is it? "He had seen the wadded up Kleenexes, specks
of red dotting them, hidden at the bottom of the trash-can.
How long now? Days? Weeks? He had been tracking their frequency
and amount. Since her cancer days he had become ever observant,
knowing she wouldn't part with information easily. He knew she
had not been feeling well for the past few weeks,
attempting to hide the dark circles under her eyes
with make up, struggling with constant fatigue, blaming her
frequent bathroom breaks on drinking ungodly amounts of water
because of a new dieting regimen.

She gave a quiet laugh, eerily flat, hollow. In some ways, cancer
would be preferable to this. This made her feel empty, bereft,
cheated. A single foolish choice could only have ended like
this for her, for them. What were the odds that a barren
woman would end up pregnant, her heart's desire answered
with such cruelty, the result of her bad judgment, of
trusting when she knew better not to. She could
not, would not tell him. He would never understand. It would
hurt him terribly to learn that this was the end result of her
foolishness. It was a betrayal of sorts. They did not have any
spoken agreement, just this undefined thing that swelled and
shrunk between them, never spoken of, but always present.
What would she tell him anyway? At least 12 hours were
unaccounted for in her memory. She heard his footsteps retreating,
although she knew with certainty that he had not yet given up.
He would next harass the nurses, already frazzled
with too many patients and not enough time, and if his
charms didn't elicit information there, she knew he would
move on to the doctors. Perhaps he would flash his badge,
certainly he would bend the truth, but he would not get
far this time. This time she had made sure things
would be kept private. Her stupidity would be
hers and hers alone to bear.

"I need to know what's going on Scully." So lost
in her own thoughts, she had missed his re-entry to the room.

"Go home Mulder. It's not the cancer." She could give him that much.

"What then? What is going on Scully? No one will tell me anything."

"I'm tired, Mulder." She turned then to face the blank hospital room
wall, hoping to soothe the anger she heard starting, hoping he heard
the finality in her voice, hoping he would leave her to nurse her
wounds in private.  She felt him adjust her covers, his hand
stopping, momentarily, at the small of her back.

"Okay Scully, I'll go. Call if you need me." Resigned, his voice
softer, the anger expelled with his sigh.

She almost turned. He sounded so sad, so small. She took a deep
breath; steeled herself, telling herself this was for the best.
Chin up, Starbuck.  Don't answer, don't move, no noise, no noise,
certainly don't let him hear the tears.

She felt his hand drop away and listened as his footsteps faded. She
listened until she couldn't hear him anymore, pulled the covers over
her head, and gave her tears to the pillow.
 

****
He smelled the smoke before he saw the smoker. "Didn't your mother
teach you to knock?"

"Now, now, Mr. Mulder. I should think my concern would be
appreciated after all this time." A cloud of gray smog hovered
between them.

"Your concern isn't needed. Get the fuck out of my apartment,
Spender, and put that damn cigarette out."

 "No need to be rude. I was only coming by to extend my
condolences. To you, and Miss Scully, of course. It's too bad things
worked out as they did. You are aware of the reasons for her hospital
stay, I presume?"

"Which part of 'get the fuck out' didn't you get, you piece
of shit?"  He stood, stock still, fists clenched, aching to
strike out, to at least grab for his gun and threaten the
bastard, but realizing that doing so would only force him
to play the game on Spender's terms. His tightly
held control was his only hold over the slimy bastard. No need to
reveal his ignorance to him, no need to give him the upper hand.

"Obviously I'm not welcome here. I just wanted you to know that
what happened wasn't part of the plan, but," Spender walked slowly
across the room, stopping closer to Mulder, realization
dawning in his dark eyes. "She hasn't told you, has she?
I suppose I'm not surprised. The two of you are not the
best communicators." He took another long drag of his
Morley, and then crushed it under shiny patent leather.
"I'll just see myself out then."  He shut the door
quietly behind, a trail of gray smoke following him.

Last night's empty Fosters bottle was the closest item within reach.
It broke with a satisfying crash as he hurled it against the door. He
grabbed his phone, hesitating a moment, holding it in front of him,
fingers poised over the buttons. It was another mini war within
where Scully was concerned. Finally, giving in, he punched in the
numbers he knew as well as his own.

"Turn off the machine Frohike."

"Hello to you too Mulder."

"I need a favor."

"Of course you do. What is it?"

"I need you to hack into Georgetown Memorial and pull up Scully's
records. I need to know what's wrong."  He could hear the other two
gunmen in the back arguing, could hear Scully's name mentioned.

"Hold on a sec, Mulder." In the background, he heard them arguing,
overheard mentions of his partner's name. It was odd, unless - unless
they already knew something. He had no patience for any of it. As
loudly as he could, he called for Frohike to 'get back on the damn
line'.

"You don't have to shout. You're on the speaker, we can all hear you
just fine."

"What the hell is up Frohike? What do you know about Scully?" The
little man's hesitation was all Mulder needed.
"Now Frohike, I need to know now."

"I promised. I won't break my promise to her. Not for you, not for
anybody. She'll tell you in her own time."

Mulder admired his loyalty to Scully. All three of the gunmen cared
for her, would do anything for her. He knew they were still pissed at
him over the Fowley incident, over a year old now. It was fucking
ridiculous.

"Is this some sort of pay back from you guys? I NEED TO KNOW
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON."

"Yelling isn't going to help in this case Mulder." It was Byers, calm
and soothing who answered his tirade. "Whatever is going on
between you two is your business. We wouldn't think of interfering,
but she has asked us not to say anything to anybody, and she
mentioned you in particular. You're going to have to take it up with
her."

He could hear Frohike in the background and knew that Byers'
attempt was as much to soothe him, as it was to calm Mulder down.
Frohike was fiercely loyal to Scully and Mulder knew that if it came
to a choice between the two of them he would be the loser. This was
getting him nowhere. The silence meant Byers was waiting for some
sort of response from him and there didn't seem to be much more he
could say or do to get them to cough up the information he needed.
He slammed the phone down without saying goodbye. Fuck this. He
was calling in the big guns. He was calling Mrs. Scully.
 

****

Scully pulled the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the
bed. Someone had raised it and she ended up nearly losing her balance
when she lowered herself to the floor. Her body ached. She slipped on
the yellow dressing gown left by one of the nurses and slowly made
her way to the desk. She hated not having her own things, her own
soft pajamas, and her own fluffy, white terry robe. There had been no
time when the first pains had come upon her, when it finally dawned
on her what was happening. She gripped the edge of the counter as
another sharp pain moved across her abdomen. The first nurse to look
up was Alison. Scully was glad it was her instead of Marlene. Marlene
was older and asked far too many questions. Alison allowed Scully
her privacy, respecting her right to keep her story to herself.

"Dana; you could've used the call button. There's no need for you to
be up yet." She was soft spoken and Scully appreciated it. The voices
she heard in her own head were loud enough. They kept reminding her
of all she had lost, of how her foolishness was just one more thing
that added to the widening rift between her and Mulder.

"I needed to move. I was just coming to see if Dr. Markle had come in
yet."

Alison grasped her elbow, and with a gentle touch, steered Scully
back towards her room. "Not yet Dana, it's hasn't been 24 hours yet.
How's the pain?"

Scully managed a small smile. "I'm fine. Really." She responded to
the other woman's glance look with her best no nonsense look.

"Don't you know that doctors make the worst patients?" She laughed
at the expression on Scully's face. "You're not any different, Dr.
Dana!"

Scully returned a light laugh as she reached the bed. "Someone thinks
I'm taller than I am."

She chuckled. "Someone just might have thought that keeping it up
this high would dissuade the patient from going for a stroll when she
should be resting." She lowered the bed and helped Scully into it.
"Are you warm enough? Is there anything I can get you? "

"An extra blanket would be great. Thanks. And if you could let me
know when the doctor gets here."

"Sure thing Dana." She straightened the blanket over her.
"You're due for your next meds in about an hour.
If you need anything before then," she held up the
call button, "use this." She raised the side rail
and with a soft pat to the bed left her alone.

As soon as the sound of footsteps in the hall had
faded away, Scully got to work. She twisted, gritting
her teeth as another sharp pain shot through, and
pulled the pillows up higher behind her. She adjusted
the blankets, and carefully leaned back against the
pillows. Next, reaching down, trying to put as little
strain as possible on her tender body, she found the
correct control button and raised the head of the bed up.
If she was going to get herself released, even AMA,
she had to appear to be doing well. Her little jaunt
out to the desk was an attempt to let the staff see
her up and moving in case it needed to be confirmed later.
Dr. Markle didn't know her well enough to know much more
than what she shared with him. Her file from her regular doctor
had not been forwarded to him and she had managed to give him
the information he needed without revealing too much. Being a
doctor herself, even if her experience was limited to only
one live patient, helped. Markle had been chosen because
he was outside of any bureau or personal connections, for
her or Mulder. Hell, she had even checked to make sure
that he didn't know any of the gunmen. He also
knew how to keep his mouth shut. He was a volunteer at
several crisis centers and was used to women with
secrets. She closed her eyes to rest while she waited.

****

There was still no answer at Margaret Scully's home.
He had been trying her number for over two hours.
If he didn't get an answer soon he would have to stop
trying for the night. He didn't want to worry her
unnecessarily, unsure if she was aware of her daughter's
hospital stay. It was a mark of his desperation that
he considered, more than once, calling Bill. It was
the only other place he could think that the elder
Scully would be. That she was just out, perhaps even
visiting her daughter in the hospital did occur to him.
Somehow he knew that she was not aware of where Scully was.
He resumed pacing, stopping every so often to check the
time, and swear at the telephone, which refused to
conjure up the information or person he so desperately
needed.

Screw the gunmen, anyway. Since when did they hold information
about his partner from him? 'Only since you started acting like
such an asshole', came from somewhere inside. He knew it for truth.
He had been distant, accusing, distrustful, since her weekend jaunt
with Spender. Rather than fade, the feelings had only intensified,
become sharper. He looked at her through eyes filtered with hurt
and betrayal, and as time moved on the breach became harder and
harder to traverse.

He knew that Scully had been duped, knew that her motives were
good, pure. He also knew he was the master of the ditch and what she
had done was no less nor more than what he, himself, had done many
times over in the past. But this was Scully. And it was Spender she
trusted. This wasn't even in the same league as far as he was
concerned. At least his ditches were leads, with people who were
more or less on his side. What she had done was to run off with the
devil himself. And despite her assertion that he would have done the
same, he wasn't so sure.

Things had changed between the two of them. The feelings that they
had both kept tightly controlled had been leaking through the gaps.
He didn't just love her; he was in love with her. He just wasn't
sure the feelings were returned. He knew she loved him, but how
she loved him was still a mystery. She kept so many things hidden,
and her strength often made him feel as though he was not needed,
not like he seemed to need her. Her weekend with Spender felt like
a betrayal on so many different levels. He wondered, not for the
first time, why Spender had wanted her. He wasn't convinced that
the entire Cobra incident was the whole of it. He had required
Scully for something. Mulder just hadn't been able to figure out
yet what it was.

Then there was the behavior of the gunmen. He knew his three friends
were still upset with him, even after all this time. They had never
quite forgiven him for his abysmal treatment of Scully when Diana was
around. Frohike, in particular, was quick to remind him what a jerk
he'd been whenever he felt Mulder wasn't on his best behavior with
Scully. It was infuriating. Diana had been dead and gone for well
over a year, her duplicity duly noted. Mulder was glad to have them
care for and look after Scully. It was reassuring to know that if
something ever did happen to him, they would look after her, keep
her safe, but this was ridiculous.  He kicked the table, sending
it and the contents on the surface flying across the room.
It felt good.  He lifted the receiver to dial again when
there was a soft knock on his door.

****
Scully slowly drifted towards consciousness. A small smile graced her
face. Low voices and quiet laughter added to the hazy picture playing
through her mind, a dreamlike quality coloring it. She was aware of a
soft rustling somewhere around her head, and felt movement
underneath her. For a moment she remained, suspended between sleep
and wakefulness. Her eyelids felt heavy and it took several tries to
force them open, a few moments more for her to remember where she
was, to recall that she had been waiting for the doctor to show up.
She made a move to sit up and was painfully reminded of why she was
there. With a groan she lay back.

"Hey there, Dana." It was Alison. "I just lowered your bed so you
could sleep better, and I just topped up your I.V. with some pain
meds. You should feel a little better in a few moments."

"Did I miss Dr. Markle?" It didn't come out as firm as she wanted, a
fresh sliver of pain choosing just that moment to cut across her
abdomen.

"He had a quick look in. You were pretty out of it.
I was able to give him a fairly good update on how much
you were doing. He left orders for more pain relief if
you need it and said he'd be back in the morning. Dana?"

She struggled to hold back her tears. Alison was sweet and kind but
she wasn't what or who Scully needed right now. The person she did
need she couldn't allow herself to need, nor have, not right now.
All she wanted was to get out of here, go home to her own bed, be
surrounded by her own things, and be allowed to nurse her grief in
private.

"What time is it?"

"It's just after seven. Are you okay Dana? Are you in pain?"

"I'm okay. I just need to get out of here. I just wish I hadn't
missed Dr. Markle." Scully fumbled around for the control
switch for the bed. "Could you help me get up?"

The young nurse gave Scully a rather bewildered look. "Dana?"

"It's okay. I'm a doctor. If you could just go and get the
paperwork for me, I'll just sign myself out."

"I don't know if that's such a great idea. It's only been 24 hours."
She smoothed the blanket over Scully's legs.
"You really shouldn't be up."

"I know what I'm doing. No offense, but I can't rest here. It will
be a lot better for me to be home. My mom will be there and if
anything goes wrong she'll be able to take care of it."
She averted her eyes. No sense inviting questions, having
the young nurse query the glaring absence of a mother through
the procedure. She was pretty sure Mulder made enough of
a splash to get the nurses at the desk talking.

"Dana, you can hardly get up on your own. I think you'd better let me
call your doctor." The young woman turned to her task, leaving Scully
still struggling to pull herself out of the bed.

****

Mulder pulled open his door to find Byers standing on the other
side. Impeccably dressed, as always, tie knotted perfectly, he
held Mulder's gaze for a moment. He made an audible sigh,
and then John Byers spoke. "I need to talk to you."
Mulder stood back and gestured, indicating Byers should come in.

"Been redecorating some Agent Mulder?" The gunman's eyes raked
over the broken glass, beer stains still decorating the wall.

Oh, so it was _Agent_ Mulder. "Yeah, I'll give you his name. He
works cheap." Mulder righted the coffee table but left the papers
and books where they were scattered. "You have something for me
Byers? Or is this just a social call?" He couldn't quite keep
the sarcasm out of his voice. Shit on the guys for fucking with
him where Scully was concerned.

"I'm not here to fight with you Mulder, and I wouldn't be here at all
unless I thought it was necessary. What we all said still stands.
We all promised her we would keep quiet, but Frohike just got a
piece of information and we're a little concerned."

"What's up Byers?"

"Scully checked herself out AMA earlier tonight. We don't think
she's well enough yet to be on her own, and her mother's in San Diego
right now. We debated just going over ourselves and playing
nursemaid but we decided she probably wouldn't be all that
comfortable. She trusts us Mulder, but even we know where the line
is."

"What's going on, Byers? Are you going to tell me or just keep
beating around it?" He was impatient, his comments clipped. He was
trying, really. He knew Byers had been chosen because Mulder was
less likely to beat the crap out of him. Sending Frohike would've
been like waving a red flag in front of a bull, and Langly
never knew when to shut up.

Byers smoothed his tie down and cleared his throat. "I can't tell
you Mulder. We gave her our word and I won't back down on that. We
just wanted someone to know that she was going to be at home, by
herself when she really should still be in the hospital."

"How is that going to help me Byers? How? If I don't know what's
wrong with her how will I know how to help her? How will I know if
she needs help? Or what to do?" His voice grew steadily louder, his
frustration evident. His teeth were clenched, his hands fisted by his
sides. "She doesn't want my help."

"You know Mulder, for someone with your brains, you're awfully
dense sometimes."

"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You take off without letting her know -"

Mulder loudly interrupted. "I haven't done that in a long time."

"But you used to. A lot. And she would drop whatever was going on
in her own life to find you. She would do whatever it took to make
sure you got home safe. And the one time she decides to do the same
thing _stop_ right there, Mulder. I know who it was, but you've made
some deals with some pretty shady characters yourself. This wasn't
all that different. She came back. At least she didn't drill a hole
in her head and hold a gun on you. Sorry. But you can be a real ass
sometimes. You've been holding it against her for over two months
now. When are you going to let go of it? She can't share what's going
on with you because you've shut her out. You need to get over there
Mulder. Do it as a favor for us if not for her."
Delivered with Byers' soft tone, absent of hysteria,
the words sent a chill down his spine.

*****

Scully held onto the back of her couch as a wave of nausea rolled
over her. This was not her brightest move in the last twenty-four
hours. She closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping her
breathing steady. The pain radiating through her abdomen subsided
and her breathing became easier. That she made it safely back to her
apartment was due in no part to her own actions. If it wasn't for the
concern of the quiet, Hispanic man who had been behind the wheel of
the taxi, she knew would still be stuck downstairs, trying to figure
out how to manage both the door and her small bag. The walk to her
bedroom was painfully slow. She found herself needing to stop every
two steps, and despite using the wall as her support, she was still
teetering back and forth. When she finally reached her bed, she
collapsed onto it.

For a moment she enjoyed a mind numbing satisfaction that she had
managed to get home on her own. She hated hospitals, hated feeling
weak and dependent. It was one thing to be indisposed when she took
a bullet as part of her work, another thing altogether to suffer at
the hand of her own foolishness.  She rolled over, kicking her
shoes off. Her skin was hospital dry and flaky. She was thirsty
and in desperate need of a shower. A quick sponge bath would have
to do. It brought her back to the last time she'd had to suffer
through separation from her tub and her bubbles. She traced a
finger over the area where the scar sat, now hidden by her
sweat pants. The mark from that time was still visible as
an angry, red reminder. This time the scars were all
inside and somehow that made it worse.

She rolled herself onto her side, careful to not jostle or jab the
tender area. It took several minutes and some deep breaths before she
managed to get herself perched on the edge of the bed. She dropped
the jacket from her shoulders and measured how thirsty she was
against the time and discomfort she would endure to get to the sink.
She would need to get up at some point anyway, to fetch water to
swallow the pills she had left with. Better to do it now so she could
enjoy some rest

She stood on shaky legs, gripping her side table. Maybe she should
do all the things she needed to be vertical for in one shot. Then
she could allow herself to fall into the oblivion of good pain pills.
She took halting steps to her dresser and from underneath the
colorful assortment of silk pajamas pulled out a well-worn pair
of flannels. They were the same pair that kept her company when
Ritter's shot confined her to bed rest. Tossing them over her
shoulder she made her way to the bathroom and it was a dry humorless
chuckle that left her when she saw herself in the mirror.
Not only was she walking like an old woman, the face staring back
at her seemed to have aged ten years. She sighed, opened the
envelope Alison had pushed into her hand and swallowed two pills.

She moved over to sit on the toilet seat to remove her pants and
looked around the room for the first time. Someone, it must have been
one of the gunmen, had cleaned up in here. Her face colored. She
couldn't imagine them doing that for her. It was intimate,
embarrassing, beyond the call of friendship. She blinked back
tears as she thought of how supportive the trio had been over
the past year, the last few months, the last 12 hours.
Was it supposed to hurt this much still? She managed to get
the sweats off and replaced with her soft flannels.
Now she just needed the drugs to kick in, crawl
into bed and sleep for the next ten years.

Gripping the side of the vanity she pulled herself upright. For a
moment time seemed to stop. The lights flickered garishly and the
water dripping from the tap made a loud echo in the small space.
There was a single sharp pain before she wet her pants.
In the back of her head she grappled with the need to change
her underwear and the dressing while the room itself in all
it's ghastly pallor twisted and turned before her eyes.
It was a split second before she collapsed,
wondering why in the world her urine would be red.

***
 

Part 2
 

Mulder shut the door behind his friend, promising to take care of
things. In reality, he was wondering why he should bother when
Scully had made it clear he wasn't what she wanted.  He paced
keeping time with the basketball bouncing on the wooden floor.
Back and forth, the steady thump broken by an expletive now and
again. He flipped the ball against the front door and caught it as
it rebounded. She had not called him. She wouldn't talk to him.
Instead, Scully had called _his_ friends.

He wanted to go, but the very idea became an argument within.
The partner argued with the petulant little boy, loudly insisting
that she could take care of herself, she hadn't needed him, she
was fine, always _fucking_ fine.

Neither he nor Scully made the ideal hospital patient and
checking out AMA wasn't uncommon. Okay, it was more
common for him. She often had more sense than he did in all
matters medical. Which meant that she probably _was_ fine. She
wouldn't put herself unnecessarily at risk. He threw the ball with
more force than was needed, knocking a lamp as it traveled back
towards him. What the hell was he supposed to do?

She sure didn't think about the risks when she took off with that
cigarette-smoking bastard. Where was her common sense then?
What had she been thinking? And what did Spender know about
what was going on? Everyone, it seemed, knew what was going
on with her except for the one person who should, him. Fuck and
fuck again. He threw the ball back towards his bedroom, grabbing
his keys and his jacket. As pissed as he was with the whole
situation he couldn't refuse. So what if the request came from
Byers. So what if he was going to put his ass out there again only
to have her tell him she was 'fucking fine thank-you very much
Mulder'. He turned the lock with more force than necessary and
made his way out to his car.

****
Outside Scully's door, hand raised to knock, he paused. Leaning
in against the door he listened for any sounds coming from the
other side. It was quiet, not unusually so for a single woman,
especially one just home from the hospital. It was also after ten at
night and coupled with her ill state could mean she was sound
asleep. He didn't want to piss her off further by waking her up,
yet Byers had insisted he get over here and take care of her.

He knocked softly, waited a moment, and rapped harder. When
there was no answer to a third and louder knock he found the key
on his ring and let himself in. At first glance the apartment
seemed dark, uninhabited. It took just a moment for him to realize
that there was a light on somewhere down the hallway. Calling
her name quietly he was moving towards her bedroom when he
noticed light spilling from underneath the bathroom door. Great,
he was in her apartment and about to interrupt her tub time. Shit,
if there was one thing he knew about his partner, it was that she
didn't like to be disturbed when she was soaking in her bubbles.
He just hoped she didn't have her gun in there.

"Scully? It's me."  He called quietly, waited a moment and called
again when there was no response. "Scully? Are you in there?"
There was a heavy, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The
doorknob turned easily in his hand, "I'm coming in Scully." Pale
and red met horrified shock at seeing her crumpled on the floor.

He knelt, trying not to move her, she had at least taught him that
much, calling softly. Her pajama bottoms were stained red and
moving hair out of her face revealed an angry mark, probably
caused by hitting the sink on her way down. He hoped that was
the explanation for her lack of response. God, don't let it be
anything else. A concussion was fixable, cancer was not.

He pulled his cell phone out and hit the emergency button, asking
for transport back to Georgetown, explaining her status as a
patient there earlier that day. What was she doing leaving the
hospital in this condition? He tamped down his anger, his fear,
and carefully pulled her into his arms. He needed to apply
pressure, to check the source of the bleeding. For a moment he
was glad she wasn't awake, then felt sick that he should be glad
of her condition under any circumstance.

He moved to the living room, grabbing for the towels sitting on
the counter on his way out. He covered the couch and carefully
laid her down, pulling her pajamas down to discover the source of
the blood. There was a pad, soaked through, bright red blood
staining her legs. He knew enough to know that this wasn't some
screwed up period. This looked like some other kind of woman's
problem. Did she have anything removed? He hoped he would
know more when the paramedics got here. No way were they
keeping him in the dark this time.

It was only a few minutes; it seemed like hours, her eyelids
fluttered in an attempt to open them. "Come on Scully. Open your
eyes."

"Mulder?" Her attempt to sit up was halted by a hand on her
chest. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

"I think you passed out." He pushed her hair back soothing her.
"You're bleeding."

She sank back into the couch. "How much?" She was aware of a
thickness between her legs.

"Probably not as bad as it seems to me. I called an ambulance."

"Mulder. You didn't."

It was hard to keep the anger from his voice. "Fuck Scully. What
do you expect me to do? I don't have a clue what's going on, and
I find you on the floor, bleeding and passed out."

She watched him run his hands through his hair, making it all
stick up funny. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark. She knew
he was angry. She didn't have the energy to be worried about it
right now. "I need to get cleaned up."

"I, uh, I kind of had a look. I stuck a towel in."

That explained the bulk between her legs. "I need to get cleaned
up." She moved to push herself up.

"Should you move?"

"I'm not dying." She batted his hand out of the way.

"How would I know that? How would I know anything?" A small
voice reminded him that now was not the time. Later, maybe, they
would talk. "Would you just fucking let me help you? God
Scully." His left arm snaked around, pulling her towards him.

"I need clean pajamas." A knock on the door interrupted them.
 

****

"Mr. Scully?"

Mulder realized the doctor had been trying to get his attention for
some time. "I'm sorry. What did you say?" He didn't bother to
correct him.

"You're wife, was it her first one?"

"First one?" Mulder was puzzled. They had loaded Scully in and
taken off quickly. Scully had either fallen asleep or was using the
situation to avoid talking to him. At the ER they had whisked her
into an examining room, leaving him to fill out the forms.

"Was it her first pregnancy?"

"Pregnancy?" He was glad the doctor mistook his shock for
distress over his 'wife's' condition, not the pure horror of the
man's words and what they implied.

"Sir, your wife will be fine. We don't think the bleeding is due to
an incomplete abortion, but we'll check her out and make sure
nothing was missed. I'm still waiting for her charts to be sent
down but I'm guessing was a case of postural hypotension. Her
head injury isn't serious; it looks like a mild concussion. It was
probably not the best thing for her to be out of the hospital so
soon."

Mulder read the faint accusation in the man's voice, wanted to
respond with a smart-ass quip, knew that would not serve his
agenda. 'She's a doctor."  As if it was all the explanation needed.
_Pregnant_. She had been pregnant. How could that be? Was she
seeing someone? Was she sleeping with this elusive someone?
Did she have an abortion when she discovered herself pregnant?
Oh god, not Spender. Suddenly the man's cryptic comments came
back to him. Was it Spender's child? Did he take advantage of
Scully? Even worse, was she a willing participant? And what the
hell is -- "postural hypotension?"

"She stood up too quickly. She may be a little anemic, and it is
rather soon after the procedure for her to be up and about too
much. Her activity has created a little more bleeding than we
would normally see at this time. We'll check her for anemia as
well, if it hasn't been already done. You can go on back and see
your wife now, she's in number 4."

He was going to be sick. He frantically motioned, holding his
stomach, afraid to open his mouth. He gave the doctor credit
when he accurately read his silent moans and grabbed for a bowl.

****

Although she couldn't claim to always know the sound of his
footsteps, there was no mistaking them in this setting, this and the
hallway outside the basement office. In every hospital she had
been a patient in he always seemed to enter the room in the same
halting, hesitant manner, as if he was treading on eggshells.  His
approach to the curtain was almost silent but she knew the minute
he was beside the bed. Did she open her eyes and meet the anger
and hurt she knew would be there or did she take the coward's
way out and feign sleep?

"I know you're awake Scully. I won't go until we talk."

Well, that took care of that choice. She opened her eyes. "Not
right now."

"Scully, you were pregnant?" His voice caught on the last word.
He pulled in a deep breath in an effort to remain calm, to say what
he needed to. "Is there someone I should call?" He was taken
aback at her bitter, harsh laugh. Shocked to see tears spilling
down her pale cheeks.

"I don't think he keeps a regular number."

"Tell me Scully," Soft, pleading, he pulled her hand from where
she was clutching the sheet.

It was her undoing. The effort of keeping things hidden for the
past twelve weeks, the horror of having her regular morning
routine interrupted with pain and then loss, knowing with
certainty that it was all a result of one foolish choice, broke her.
Great, heaving sobs wracked her small frame, muffled as she
turned and buried her face in her pillow.

It was too much for him as well. He pulled the blanket aside and
wrestled her stiff form into his arms, his tears joining hers.
 

****
 

Part 3

It had been three days and Mulder was losing patience.
Except for the time immediately following her
admittance, and he was convinced she must have been
half out of it to have allowed it, she had shut him down,
closed him out. He had respected her wishes and
curtailed the urge to do pry. He didn't point out the fact
that he had spent the night practically sleeping with her
in her hospital bed, had allowed her to pretend it didn't
happen; typical Scully, typical Mulder, la-di-fucking-da.
He gave her the space she requested; only calling twice,
under the guise of needing work information. It was
hard to resist. He found himself picking up and putting
down his phone several times throughout the day. The
office was quiet; too quiet. Skinner hadn't sent anything
new down and the few items he came across didn't
hold his attention at this time. The evenings were the
worst. He tried to keep himself busy. He ended up
pissing off Mr. Lorchuck who got tired of listening to
the constant thumping of his basketball, overdid running
two nights in a row, and was now living with sore leg
muscles. He had not slept more than a few hours and his
appetite had all but disappeared. He felt like he was
persona non-gratis these days.

She surprised him, taking time off, not even working
part days. Work was her way of dealing with life. He
knew she was avoiding him. If he ditched her to keep
her physically safe, Scully's ditches were to keep her
emotionally distant, safe from him. For just the briefest
of moments, she had allowed herself to be vulnerable, to
need him. If she only knew how much he needed her to
need him.

He had seen through the facade of control to the hurting
woman underneath. He knew that he was at fault for
pushing her away, for hiding behind his own hurt.
Perhaps a part of him, if he was honest, understood now
what I felt like to be on the receiving end of a classic
ditch.
 

He still had no other information, other than what he had
learned, quite by accident, at the hospital. He had
respected her too much to dig into this one, not with the
bombshell the doctor had dropped in the ER. Her
comments had implicated the black lunged bastard and
he didn't know how to take that right now. Did she
mean that she had slept with him? He couldn't imagine
Scully doing that voluntarily. Did he rape her? The
thought of him abusing her in that way made his blood
boil, but neither scenario seemed to be right. Analyzing
the last several weeks brought nothing to his mind
except his fear that her cancer had returned. Her actions
were very Scully-like, not the actions of an abused
woman. Would her responses be typical in those cases?
He was too close to this one to trust his own analysis.
Did she know she was pregnant the whole time?

The gunmen were still silent on the subject, but the little
he had overheard let him know that Scully had allowed
them to take samples for testing. He was also aware that
the results had come in earlier that day. He was
determined to talk to her and was planning to approach
her tonight. Now he just had to figure out what whether
he should manufacture an excuse or go for brutal
honesty. The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his
thoughts.

"Mulder."

"It's me."

"Hey Scully. How's it going?"  Good Mulder, go for
casual.

"I, um, I need to, Oh god Mulder."

He heard her desperate grab for control, heard her voice
breaking, the tears held just below the surface. "I'm on
my way." He had hung up before hearing her quiet
thanks.

****

Scully ran her hands over the document one more time.
The logical part of her knew there was no such thing as
magic, but that didn't stop her from desperately wishing
to open her eyes and find the whole thing was a bad
dream. God, how could she have been so stupid. She
had let her anger and frustration with her partner fester
to a point where logic and common sense seemed to
have fled. It was the only explanation for her actions.
She hadn't completely trusted Spender, but at the time it
had seemed like the means to an end. All the precautions
she had taken, the wire she wore, the tapes she made, all
gone like so many other pieces of evidence they
gathered along the way. It was hard for her to see the
results of that weekend as anything more than what she
deserved. The results she held testified to the extent their
enemies had infiltrated their lives, and may well prove
to be the deadliest assault on their partnership yet. She
roughly wiped a tear from her eye, hating herself for
being weak.

The three days had dragged as she had waited for Byers
to call with the results. It had been hard to be patient.
She was well aware of how long the tests would take
and was grateful she could depend on their discretion
and honesty. Even Skinner had asked relatively few
questions when she requested the time off. She couldn't
imagine what she would have told him if he had; she
was a lousy liar. She just wished it hadn't been
necessary for Mulder to be involved. She understood
why the guys had called him instead of coming
themselves and she appreciated their propriety even as it
distressed her to be in that position. It wasn't what he
had seen, Mulder had seen her at her worst and she
knew he would be discreet, it was how helpless she had
been, how dependant upon him. He had never been
anything but supportive when things were bad, and
she'd no reason to expect anything different this time.
The biggest problem was the unfinished business sitting
between them and a conversation that was long overdue.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. She wiped
the tears from her eyes, took a calming breath and rose
to open the door and let him in.

"Hey." It had such a quiet, sad sound to it.

He took in her still too pale face, gray shadows ringing
her eyes, wondering how she was going to play this. The
vulnerability he heard when she called him was still
there, evident to him in how stiffly she held herself. She
hadn't attempted to hide behind immaculately applied
makeup and was still in her well worn sweats, looking
small, defeated. He knew she hated feeling emotionally
fragile. He hated himself for the part he played in her
sorrows.

"Scully?"

He watched her take in a quivering breath, fighting to
keep her composure, knowing the moment it was gone.
His heart broke for her, for all the time wasted this past
year staking out personal territory and building walls,
for time wasted trusting the wrong person, choosing to
believe in a past that was mostly fiction. He opened his
arms, pulling her close to him, her sobs swallowed by
the thick cotton sweater he wore.

For several moments they stood, quietly swaying. He
rubbed her back, allowing her the small emotional
release her tears brought, felt the moment Agent Scully
returned, the gradual stiffening of her body as she pulled
away.

She wiped her eyes, attempted to blot his damp sweater
with the arm of her shirt. "I'm sorry. Let me grab you a
- "

"Not this time Scully." He held her hand still, stopped
her from turning and beating a hasty retreat to the
kitchen and pretending everything was fine.. "Not this
time."

He watched the fight almost visibly drain from her. She
seemed beaten down, soul weary. He didn't want to ask
the questions he needed to, afraid having to face the
answers would further erode their relationship. There
were times this past year when he felt the threads of
their link pulled thin, amazed they stretched rather than
broke under the strain. He wondered if his luck had
finally run out.

"Let's sit down." He led her to the sofa, not waiting for,
nor inviting, a response. He pointed to the papers
scattering the table. "Do you want to tell me or should I
try it on my own?" It was a small attempt at humor,
poking fun at his ignorance with medical jargon. He was
rewarded with a quiet laugh, relieving a little of the
tension.

She met his eyes for the first time since she'd let him in,
noticed how tired he appeared. It seemed she wasn't the
only one struggling with sleep, wondered if he had new
nightmares now. She certainly did. During the days she
felt numb, reduced to silently observing herself as she
moved through her day, on autopilot, her arms and legs
moving independently of her mind. There were enough
things to do, to keep her thoughts from drifting too far,
thinking too much. The nights were a different story.

The nights were too quiet and her mind was more than
happy to fill in with a virtual cornucopia of images. She
felt like she was processing a newspaper run as a
succession of nonsensical letter arrangements swirled
behind her closed eyes and images from the past few
weeks haunted her. She embraced it all as payment for
poor choices.

"Mulder, I--I'm not sure where or even how to start."

"Start at the beginning then. Please, tell me what's been
going on. I need to know. I'm sure it'll be good for me.
" His smile was forced.

"Who was Diana Fowley?"

*****
 

Part 4

Confusion was written all over Mulder's face.
She watched him unravel the puzzle her
question was to him, saw the moment he
understood what she needed to know. "Don't
you know, Scully?"

"Mulder, right now my whole world is upside
down. I promise I will tell you what's been
going on, but first," she took a deep breath,
"first I need to you to tell me."

He moved closer to her on the couch, snaked
his arm around her and pulled her stiff and
protesting body close to him.

"Mulder." Scully admonished.

"Shhh. Just sit for a minute." He stroked her
hair back, feeling the moment Dana took
control, pushing Agent Scully aside, as she
slowly relaxed against him. She was simply
too tired and too emotionally strung out to
keep up the pretense of strength. She had
never felt more vulnerable than she did right
then.

"She was the past. I know, you think, I'm
ignoring the facts when I say I believed her,
but I'm not. I know at some point, probably
just before or just after she left, she
became part of someone's agenda, the
consortium, the smoking man, I don't know
which group or faction, but I believe she
thought she was doing the right thing."

"The right thing?"

"In her thinking, yeah."

"Somehow, it went bad for her and she found
herself in bed with the devil."  He paused
for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I
didn't love her, Scully. She was there when I
discovered the X-Files and didn't run away
when I yelled 'alien'."

That garnered a soft chuckle from the warm
body huddled against him. He pulled her in
tighter, amazed to feel her snuggle in even
closer.

"I never ran away."

"No, not physically."  It was too late to
take the words back when he felt her stiffen
against him. *Shit*.

"Just finish the story."

"It's not much of a story. I was so absorbed
with the search for Sam there was little time
to spend working on a relationship. One day
she came into the office and said she was
taking a posting in Europe. I didn't ask too
many questions, and she didn't volunteer any
information."

"You didn't notice she was gone?"

"Well, yeah. But you have to realize, I
wasn't paying attention to much of anything.
Between Samantha and trying to make sense of
my memories, I was pretty distracted. It was
almost a relief when she left." His hand was
tracing a path along her shoulder, down her
arm and back again, and he felt her body lose
some of the stiffness his earlier, careless
words had caused.

"Remember, I knew what was going on in her
head when I was locked in that cell."  I
heard you too, Scully. "When it really
counted she came through. She gave you the
key to get me out."

Scully pulled away. "It was her fault you
were in there in the first place. I just
don't understand how you can make excuses
when her actions almost cost you your life.
You say you trust no one, but the reality is
you trust everyone."

"What does this have to do with anything? You
trusted _Spender_ of all people. You took off
with him."

"I called and said I was fine."

"You are _always_ fine."

He stood up and began pacing, his hands
motioning impatiently, "I was out of my mind
with worry."

"Mulder -- "

"You weren't fine, were you?"  He turned to
face her. "At least with Diana I could hear
what she was thinking. She regretted it, at
the end. She hated what she had become, what
she was doing. I knew she would find a way to
help us. You didn't have the same advantage.
I still can't figure out why you were allowed
to live -- well I could make an educated
guess now."

"That's not fair. I have been left behind
countless times because you deem it too
dangerous or too tenuous a lead to involve
me. The only difference this time was that it
was _me_ doing the ditching. We wouldn't be
having this conversation if it was you."

"In case you've forgotten, you got _pregnant_
Scully. And when were you going to tell me
about that?"

"How dare you." She stood up, her fists
clenched at her sides. If he had been any
further away he would not have heard her.

"Scully."

"Just -- don't."

He grabbed her arm as she made to sidestep
him, pulling her back. "Wait. Please. I'm
sorry, really sorry. I didn't mean for it to
come out like that, but I'm working in the
dark here. I need you to talk to me. Talk to
me, Scully."

He watched her shoulders drop as she gave in
to the tears she was fighting to hold back,
pushing him out of the way to reach the
papers littering her table. She grabbed the
pile and thrust them into his chest. " I
guess here's as good a place as any to
start."

"Scully?"

"It's all there."

Mulder nodded and focused his attention on
the papers he held. He gave the rows of
numbers on the first page a cursory glance,
impatiently flipping pages. He stopped when
he reached the third page, taking in blurry
smudges he knew were DNA strands. "You know I
can't make sense of this stuff. You need to
spell it out for me, Scully."

"These here," she pointed to a group of
bands, "are markers. They're what geneticists
use to determine a match."

"I need the Readers Digest Condensed Version
Scully."

 "These bands," she indicated a row, "match
these here. See?" At his nod she continued.
"They show me as the match, confirming that I
am the biological mother."

"And the other bands, Scully?"

"They match the father."

He took a deep breath. "Are you trying to
tell me that _Spender_ got you pregnant?"

"God no. Well, yes. Not exactly."

"Scully, I'm trying really hard here. Exactly
what are you saying?"

"That I don't know what he did to me. That
there are twelve hours I can't account for,
twelve hours when it's anyone's guess what
went on." She sunk back onto the sofa, her
head cradled in her hands, anger dueling with
grief.

"Scully?"

She spoke quietly, sorrow lacing each word.
"According to the profiles, you were the
biological father."

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

The silence seemed to stretch between them.

Ashen faced, Mulder sat back onto the sofa.
Feeling guilty and embarrassed, Scully
retreated to the armchair on the other side
of the room. From their respective corners
they licked their wounds, braving an
occasional glance up, to gage the readiness
of the other to talk.

Despite the shock, for Mulder, it was the
lesser of two evils. He couldn't imagine what
he would have done had she revealed Spender
as the donor. Where and how Spender had
gotten his dirty hands on _his_ genetic
material weighed heavily on his mind, but he
knew he would have no clear answer. Any one
of the situations he had found himself in
over the past few years could have been used
to get what they needed. He wondered how much
of his genetic material they had stolen. He
wondered if there were other children running
around out there, much like Emily, who
carried his DNA. He wondered if Emily too,
had been his.

He chanced another glance at Scully, whose
eyes were focused on her hands, held tightly
in her lap. Even thought he couldn't see it,
he knew she was worrying her bottom lip. Her
hair was limp and tangled. He wondered why he
hadn't noticed until this moment, how
disheveled she appeared, how worn. Her
shoulders were hunched, and he could tell how
stiffly she held herself, how she must be
fighting to control her emotions.

He knew that her body would not yet have
evened out all the hormonal imbalances that
came with pregnancy and miscarriage. When he
added in the 'Spender factor' and thought
about Scully, handling all of it alone, being
sick and pregnant, hiding it from him,
leaving the hospital before she was ready --
oh god, all he could see was her still form,
laying crumpled on the bathroom floor --

At the sound of a sniffle she looked up to
see tears, matching her own, staining her
partners face. "Mulder?"

"That was our baby, Scully." The words were
whispered.

She was nodding her head in confirmation,
worrying the corner of her shirt, and would
not meet his eyes. When she spoke, the words
were quietly spoken. "Can you ever forgive
me?"

"Oh Scully."

She wasn't sure who moved first. From the
center of the room, still gripping each other
tightly, they moved as one back onto the
sofa. She was too exhausted, physically and
emotionally, to waste whatever energy was
left trying to fortify walls or stake out
territory. She allowed Mulder to pull her up
onto his lap where, cradled in safety and
warmth, she gave herself permission to let
go. It seemed like it had been forever since
she had felt safe enough to sleep, and giving
into the exhaustion, she closed her eyes and
did just that.

Mulder looked down at the warm, still body
curled against him. That tiny life had
suddenly become more than just the end result
of an ill thought out choice. Despite the
circumstances surrounding its creation, this
had been their baby. The anger at her
perceived betrayal was gone. What she had
done was nothing less than what he himself
had done countless times over. The
difference, he had to admit to himself, was
the fact that despite the equality of their
relationship, their partnership, she was a
woman and, equal rights aside, more easily
taken advantage of, and he hadn't been there
to protect her.

Oh, he knew she could kick butt with the best
of them. She was a much better shot, and
could hold her own in almost any
circumstance, but Spender had proved her
vulnerability with recent events. He knew she
hated being seen as weak, bristled at his
over protectiveness, but he couldn't help it.
There was something deeply imbedded within
him that yearned to take care of her, to
cherish her, love her.  Yes, he loved her,
was _in_ love with her. He looked down at her
sleeping form, brushed back her hair and laid
a soft kiss on the top of her head. The truth
was, he dreamed of babies with Scully, little
girls with red hair, blue eyes and soft,
sweet smelling baby skin. However normal was
defined for the two of them, he wanted it.
Perhaps she was ready to make that step along
with him, to share their journey on a deeper
level. There would be no physical intimacy
today; she was still healing, physically and
emotionally. But he knew they were finally
both in the same place, at the same time, and
it would be soon.

******
Epilogue

Much later she would look back to this time
as a beginning of sorts. It was a rather
rocky start to the introduction of emotional
honesty but some things didn't change all
that much. She still said 'I'm fine' far too
often, and she still hated it when he tried
to protect her too much. To anyone else their
small, hesitant steps forward along the
relationship trail would seem trivial,
insignificant, but to them, each new intimacy
was a leap of epic proportions.

Propped up in a hospital bed, still dizzy and
nauseous, she was trying to grapple with the
news Frohike had brought her. She recognized
the erratic, conflicting emotions from the
last time her body had experienced this same
condition, only this time, oh god, this time
she had been present and accounted for during
the event. Whatever Spender had done to her,
or to the chip, take a guess at either one,
this _is_ your life, Dana Scully; it was an
indisputable fact that she was pregnant,
again. And just as important and undeniable
was the fact that the father of her baby was
missing.