By Alcott
alcott@chillylegumes.com

Rating: There's a few bad words.
Distribution: probably, just let me know.
Classification:  MSR, Angst. Serious angst. You've been warned.
Disclaimer, spoiler warning, author's note all wrapped into one tidy
sentence: "If I were Chris Carter, and I am not, this is how I would end
Season 8, based on how Season 7 ended." I am in Doggett Denial, and
therefore, he was conveniently left out of this story.
Feedback: makes me giddy. alcott@chillylegumes.com
 
 
 

*****
Monday, 11:26 p.m.
Undetermined location
 

Lying face down, breathing in dirt and flecks of grass with every
inhale, Mulder tried to make sense of the words being spoken. Whoever
was speaking wasn't using the language he'd learned in past months, and
although this language was familiar, he couldn't quite understand it.

He was certain that whoever was speaking meant him harm. Mulder kept his
eyes closed, his body unmoving. He had learned that playing dead
sometimes meant they would leave him alone.

"This is Alpha, over. We've found him. I repeat. We have found him.
Over."

"Is he alive?" The inquiry was faded with static.

"I don't think so."

"Find out. He holds the answers to our every question."

The man standing over Mulder grumbled, "I don't see why we care. Weren't
we going to dispose of him, anyway? He's grown too powerful. He knows
too much."

"First," said the crackling voice, "We have to learn what he knows.
Then, that knowledge will accompany him to the grave."

"All right," muttered the man, and Mulder heard the man's knees pop as
he knelt over him. The flashlight that burned red beneath his closed
eyelids grew brighter, and inwardly, he cringed.

Then, he heard commotion above him, and he couldn't contain the urge to
throw his arms over his head. He pressed his cheek against the ground
and whimpered.

People were talking again in breathless voices, but now he understood
the language. And the voices speaking to him now were familiar.

"Just hang on, Mulder."

"Langly?" he mumbled.

He felt arms snaking beneath his armpits, and felt other hands grasp
around his knees. He felt himself float and knew he was being carried
through the darkness.

"Those idiots actually think two-way radios are only two-way," Langly
scoffed. "They were easier to track than I thought they would be."

Mulder kept his eyes tightly closed, fighting vertigo that threatened to
overwhelm his senses. He heard a car door open, and heard another
familiar voice-Frohike's-utter a string of obscenities.

"What the fuck happened to him?"

"I don't know, but one of the Consortium goons was standing over him
when we crashed the party."

Mulder felt himself being jostled as they arranged him in the backseat.
He moaned, wishing they would just leave him be.

"He needs medical attention." The voice was Byers, calm and urgent at
the same time.

"We can't take him to a hospital!" Langly protested. "They'll find him."

"We'll take him home," Frohike said firmly. And, slamming the car doors
shut and sliding into the driver's seat, Frohike ended the argument.
Mulder, his head resting against Byer's knee, cracked his eyes open just
the tiniest bit and whispered, "Scully?"

The Gunmen exchanged glances, and Frohike stomped on the gas pedal.
 

*****
Headquarters of the Lone Gunmen
Thursday, 3:06 a.m.

His eyes popped open, and he shot upright, tangling the blanket around
him in his panic.
The ringing telephone upstairs had broken the quiet in the small room,
waking him from restless, nightmarish sleep. It took long moments before
he realized it was a phone, not a drill, that he had heard. He was in
the Gunmen's bomb shelter, not in the hands of the aliens.

Here, his friends kept it quiet and dark. The smallest of noises roared
in his ears, the tiniest spark of light shot fire through his eyes.

It had been three nights since they'd found him. Where they'd found him,
or even how they'd found him, he couldn't remember. But they had brought
him back here, to their headquarters, had freshened a bunk in the bomb
shelter beneath the building, and had been nursing him with weak broth
and tea.

During it all, they answered his whispered questions about Scully.

They didn't want to; he could hear them arguing upstairs about it. It
couldn't be good for him, in his weakened condition. He'd go crazy if he
knew.

But Byers didn't want to keep the news from him. He wanted to give
Mulder a reason to  recover. So Langly and Frohike had volunteered Byers
to be the one to break the news.
Byers had told him, gently, about Scully, about the baby, and about how
she had looked for him relentlessly, until exhaustion had won out and
her doctor had confined her to bedrest.

She was doing fine, Byers explained. Someone-he, Langly, Frohike or
Skinner- were always standing by if she needed them.

His reaction to news of her pregnancy hadn't been what his friends had
expected. They'd stood, baffled, when he curled into himself and sobbed,
mourning the fact he hadn't laid his hands on her stomach and felt the
baby kick, hadn't been there to buy her ice cream at three in the
morning. He hadn't seen the ultrasound, hadn't been in the doctor's
office the first time she'd heard the swish of the heartbeat.

Every time a new regret occurred to him, he would keen and sob. Here, in
the dank, dreary shelter, he cried for hours, for the time he'd already
lost. He had cried because he had gone willingly, had stepped over the
threshold and turned his back on her, seeking answers he still didn't
have. He cried because they had put needles in him, had sent shockwaves
through his body, had forced beams of light through his dilated pupils.
They had shown no mercy; and now, he knew how she had felt when she
slipped out of his grasp so many years before.

He wept for hours, ceasing only when he was too exhausted to continue.
And then, he begged them to never let her be alone when she was in the
hospital. He worried about the unborn child, whose birthrite would be a
lifetime of looking over their shoulder.
Through it all-the flashbacks, the terrified screams, the mournful sobs-
his friends stayed with him, eventually taking turns watching over him
as the others took naps or ate hurried meals.

Only when he had finally fallen asleep, did they creep upstairs and
leave him alone.
Above him now, the phone rang again, and Mulder heard Byers' quiet
voice. A tiny click as the phone hung up, and then Byers whispered
something. Whatever he had said, brought the others to their feet, and
Mulder heard them as they walked over his head, murmuring amongst
themselves.

"Who's going first?" Langly asked.

"I will," Frohike volunteered. "I've gotten the most sleep tonight."

"We'll break it into four hour shifts," said Byers. "I'll come at 7."

"I'll relieve you at 11," Langly said. "You've got the gun?"

"For heaven's sake, put that away," Byers admonished. "That is for
emergency purposes only. Quit trying to be John Wayne."

"Okay, I'm outta here." Frohike's shoes pounded across the floor, then
stopped. "Wait a minute." He lowered his voice, asking a question.

"I will," Byers said, and even before the door opened, letting in the
slightest light, Mulder knew.

Byers stepped quietly, afraid to disturb the man. His voice was barely a
whisper. "Mulder?" He didn't expect an answer, nor did he receive one;
so he stepped closer to his friend and cleared his throat. "Scully has
been having contractions for awhile now. Her water just broke, and she's
going to the hospital."

Again, there was no reaction, and Byers turned on his heel. "Anyway, I
just thought you'd want to know." Quietly, he ascended the steps, and
closed the door behind him.
 
 

*****
Georgetown University Medical Center
4:35 a.m.

Scully was already in her room by the time Frohike arrived. She looked
small, despite the huge swell of her stomach, and her face, although
calm in expression, was pale.

He gazed around the room, whistling. The place was decorated in mauves
and blues, and, if it weren't for the oxygen equipment mounted on the
wall and the bassinet in the corner, the place would pass for a suite at
a fancy hotel. "Boy, this is the way to go," he muttered.

The nurse sitting beside Scully glanced in his direction, then turned
back to her patient and said, "I think that's all the information I
need."

The nurse with the big face and no personality scribbled some notes on
her chart and blandly told Scully, "We'll check on you in a few hours."
Then, she walked away, having already forgotten the nervous patient
behind her.

"That nurse looks like Mr. Ed," Frohike announced.

Scully shot him a warning gaze, withered by the wince that crossed her
face as her stomach tightened. She took a deep breath through her nose,
held it, and glanced at the clock above the door.

Six. . . Seven. . . Eight. . . Nine. . . Ten. . .

She breathed out, felt the contraction begin to loosen its hold, and
gazed up to see Frohike standing over her, his face strained.

He looked worse than she did.

"Hey," she said gently. "Why don't you go home? My mother will be here
soon."

He shook his head. "I can't do that, Scully. We promised we'd stay with
you."

His features froze, and he knew he'd said too much. Her eyes were
narrowing, and she was just about to ask, "Promised who?" when Dr. Megan
Grant strolled in, rescuing Frohike from a response. "Hey, there," she
said cheerfully. "My God, Dana, I hope you don't mind me telling you
this, but. . . you've gained weight since I saw you last!"

"Har, har," Scully waved to Frohike. "Frohike, this is Megan. Meg, this
is. . . a friend."

Megan waved. "Hey, there," she said cheerily. "I'm Dana's med school
roommate."

Frohike raised an eyebrow, obviously envisioning Scully and the pretty,
curly-haired doctor changing clothes in the same dorm room.

"I'm going to do an exam, so I'm kicking you out," Megan said. "But
before I do that. . . Did Dana ever tell you about the time in med
school that she decided to sing on the top of a mountain, naked?"

"Meg, have a heart," Scully protested. "I'm in labor here."

Her doctor snorted and waved her hand. "Yeah, but it's light labor.

"So, we had just finished up our finals," she continued. "We're down at
Woolley's, throwing back a couple shots, and I mean, look at this woman,
she weighs like. . . what, 10 pounds?. . .so it doesn't take much to get
her totally sloshed. . ."

Scully held her pillow over her face. Megan grinned and continued. "So,
this one gets it into her head that she could probably learn to yodel if
a mountaintop presented itself. . . but it was the end of the year, you
know, really hot outside? So what does she do? She starts taking off her
shirt. . . On the top of the Annapolis Rocks, with this billion-foot
drop. . . and she's yodeling. . ."

"All right, all right!" Scully pleaded. "Do the exam!"

Megan rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

Reluctantly, Frohike rose to his feet. But as he passed her, he stood on
his tiptoes-Megan was at least a half foot taller than he was- and
whispered, "You'll tell me the rest of the story later, won't you?"

"Absolutely," Megan grinned, and satisfied, Frohike disappeared into the
hallway.
Still smiling, the doctor parted Scully's legs and reached between them.
"How are you feeling?"

"Besides embarrassed?"

Meg's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Yes, besides that, how do you feel?"

"Like I have menstrual cramps."

"You strike me as the strong and silent type," Megan said. "I take it
you don't want to take meds until you have to, right?"

Scully nodded, burying her desires deep within her. Truthfully, she
would have welcomed something to dull this pain as it grew worse; for
months, she had dealt with an entirely different pain, from which there
was no relief.  But relinquishing control now, after holding it together
for so long, was not what she wanted.

Megan withdrew her hand, pulling her gloves off with a snap. "Good news
is, you're about 70 percent effaced. Bad news? You're only about two
centimeters dilated. You've got a way to go, so if you change your mind
about the drugs, give me a holler, okay?"

Scully nodded. "Sure."

"And you know, you're not confined to that bed. And you don't have to be
flat on your back, either. Get up, walk around. Harrass the nurses.

"As much as I'd like to stay and embarrass you further, I'm going to go
run and catch up on some paperwork," Megan said. "Until I see you again,
I leave you in the good hands of your nurse.

"We call her Mr. Ed," she added, a twinkle in her eye. "The resemblance
is uncanny."
 
 

*****
The Lone Gunmen Headquarters
6:30 a.m.

Byers hadn't slept.

It hadn't been for lack of trying. After Frohike left for the hospital,
and Langly had gone to bed, Byers tried to do the same. He put on his
neat, striped pajamas, brushed his teeth, and lay down in his bed. But
sleep wouldn't come. His muscles refused to release their tension. So
finally, he got out of bed and dressed. Having finished his breakfast,
he was sipping a second glass of orange juice when he heard the
thumping.

His mind went back to the Halloween tales of his childhood. . . some
nonsense about "bloody fingers on the first step, bloody fingers on the
second step." But the sound was slow, and heavy, and it was coming from
the bomb shelter.

He was about to turn the knob on the shelter door, but the door flew
open and Mulder staggered into the kitchen. Immediately, the fluorescent
light blinded him, and he fell to his knees, covering his eyes with both
hands and moaning.

Byers swore beneath his breath and knelt down beside his friend.
"Mulder? What are you doing up here?"

Mulder was curling into a fetal position before Byers' eyes, burned by
the overhead lights, retreating into himself. "I want to see her."

Byers held out a tentative hand, then placed it gently over Mulder's
shoulder. The man didn't jump, as Byers had expected. Surely, that was a
good sign.

"She's at the hospital," Byers said quietly. "She's there with Frohike."

Mulder spread his fingers, eyed him warily. "Frohike?"

"Well, and her mother is there by now, I'm sure."

"Why didn't you go?"

"I am going. I'm going soon."

Mulder lowered his hands, although it obviously pained him to do so.
"Take me with you," he pleaded.

"I can't, Mulder. You know I can't do that."

"I'm fine," Mulder growled, and Byers nodded, accepting the lie. "I know
you are, but you're not supposed to be here. You can't just walk into
the hospital. Don't you think they're watching her? Expecting you to
show up?"

Mulder shook his head, defeated. Byers sighed and rubbed his arm a
little. "Tell you what. Frohike will be home soon and he'll tell you how
she's doing. And then I'll be home before noon and I'll tell you how she
is, too. Okay?"

Mulder was in tears now, wrapping his arms tightly around his body,
retreating deeper.

Byers rubbed his arm a little harder, trying to bring him back. "Mulder?
Is that okay?"

There was no response.

"Listen to me," Byers said, with more firmness than he felt. "Are you
listening? If you want to see her, you have to get better first. Do you
understand?"

Byers was desperate; he had no idea how he'd arrange him to see her. But
the spark in Mulder's dead eyes seemed to make the deception worth it.

"I can see her?" Mulder whispered.

"When you're stronger," Byers said firmly. "First, you have to get
stronger."

He glanced around the kitchen, and found his juice glass on the counter,
where he'd set it, forgotten, when Mulder had come upstairs. He reached
for it then, and offered it to Mulder. "Let's start with some vitamin
C," he said.

Mulder silently took the glass, and with his hopeful, teary eyes fixed
on his friend, he drained the juice in one swallow.

END 1/5
 

EXIT by Alcott, 2/5
See part one for disclaimers, etc.

*****
Georgetown University Medical Center
Noon

"Hey, baby, what's your sign?"

The nurse, a pretty redhead who had just started her shift, ignored
Langly as she settled the lunch tray in front of Scully. Without a word
to any of them, the nurse strode back out of the room.

Maggie Scully rose from her chair and reached for the cover on the lunch
tray. "I thought you weren't supposed to eat anything?"

She lifted the cover, revealing a plate full of chicken Alfredo,
brussels sprouts and chocolate pudding. The foods, having been jostled
on their way up from the kitchen, were beginning to seep into each
other.

One peek at the food was all Scully needed. Her stomach had been rolling
for hours, and now she gagged and reached for the emesis bowl with
shaking hands.

Her mother shoved the tray away and held her daughter's hair back,
whispering, "It's okay, honey. It's okay. It'll all be over soon."

Megan chose that moment to walk into the room, and the smart-ass
greeting died on her lips when she saw her friend.

Megan came to the bedside, and rubbed Scully's back. "You okay, honey?"

Scully didn't speak, just leaned over the bowl and gagged again.

Her doctor pointed to the tray. "That's not what I think it is, is it?"

"Chicken Alfredo and brussels sprouts?" Langly volunteered.

"Oh, God!" Megan wrinkled her nose and thrust the tray into his hands
and said, "Will you take that to the nurse's desk, please? And will you
ask them to come in here and tell me what their definition of 'nothing
by mouth' is?"

Langly hurried out, happy to have something to do besides watching
Scully throw up.
Megan stood beside her patient, taking the basin from Scully's trembling
hands and holding it herself until Scully lay back against her pillows.
A contraction built relentlessly, and she moaned, only once, before she
regained control and tamped the pain down within her.

Megan looked into the basin and nodded. "Wow. I'm impressed." She went
into the bathroom, closed the door, flushed and returned, carrying the
newly rinsed bowl. "I came here to do an exam, Dana, but I think we'll
just spare you that for awhile and let your stomach calm down, all
right?"

Mrs. Scully had gone pale. "Is it normal to vomit like that?"

"A lot of laboring women do it," Megan said. "And I'm sure that
monstrosity of a lunch tray didn't help anything. Let me guess. It was
Carrie who brought it in, right?"

Back from the hallway, Langly piped in. "The redhead? With the big. .
.?"

"That's her," Megan nodded. "She's new, and frankly, she's the dizziest
person I've ever met. You want the good news, Dana?"

Scully licked her dry lips. "Sure. Hit me."

"The vomiting probably helped you dilate. So that idiot nurse with the
big gazoombas probably did you a favor." She cocked her head and gazed
at Scully, who was still breathing hard. "How's the pain?"

"It's fine," was the reply.

Megan turned her attention to the honest member in the family. "Mrs.
Scully, how's her pain?"

"It's getting pretty intense," Maggie replied.

"That's what I thought. Can I give you something, Dana?"

Scully shook her head. "I feel better now."

"Sometimes a good puke is all you need," Megan said. "And sometimes,
when you back that up with a few pain relievers, you feel even better."

Scully shook her head and closed her eyes. "I just want to rest."

"I see you haven't gotten any less stubborn in your old age," Megan
grumbled. She threw her hands up in the air. "All right. Call me if you
need something." The last line was aimed at Mrs. Scully.

"She's nice," Maggie said, after the doctor had made her exit.

Scully nodded sleepily. "Is it warm in here?"

"No, honey, are you warm?" Without waiting for an answer, Maggie
retrieved a cool, damp washcloth from the bathroom and draped it over
her daughter's forehead.

"Thanks," Scully mumbled, as her eyes slid shut. She felt her mother's
comforting touch, stroking her hair, and for just a moment, before the
next contraction could rip her apart, she fell into a brief and
exhausted sleep.
 

*****
4 p.m.
The Lone Gunmen Headquarters

"You told him WHAT?"  Langly hissed.

Byers shushed him, glancing into the living room where Mulder had
collapsed on the couch.
Their house was something of a mystery, even to the few people who knew
them. Beyond their enormous computer lab and printing press, was a
small, three-bedroom apartment, with a utility kitchen and a living room
the size of a walk-in closet. It was small; the average living quarters
of men who sunk every cent they owned into penning paranoid journalism
and hacking the unhackable. But it was home.

After plying Mulder with several glasses of orange juice, Byers had
convinced him to rest. But Mulder had refused to go back into the
shelter, where he was afraid he would miss something. Finally, Byers sat
him on the couch and had handed him the remote control. It was only
moments before Mulder fell asleep, still holding the remote.

"Keep it down," Byers admonished. "He's very easily excitable."

"So are you, apparently," Langly snapped. "Why in the hell did you tell
him he could see her? He can't see her. There's no way. They'll kill us
all if they find out he's been here all this time."

"We'll find a way," Byers said.

"How?"

"I don't know yet!" Byers said, exasperated. "Help me think of
something."

"You know, you're supposed to be the logical one." Langly picked up the
bag he'd been carrying after his shift and dug inside. He withdrew a
cigar, wrapped in paper that said, "Congratulations!" in both pink and
blue lettering. Unwrapping the cigar with a growl, he bit off the tip
and lit it from the stove.

"What are you doing?" Byers asked. "The baby hasn't been born yet."

"I need something to calm my nerves, all right?"

"Is she bad?"

Langly blew a smoke ring. "Oh, yeah. She keeps squinching up her face."
He contorted his face to demonstrate, and then puffed on his cigar. "I
thought she was going to push that kid out right in front of me. But the
nurse said she was only at eight. Do I want to know what that means?"

"No," Byers grimaced. "Suffice it to say, she needs to be at ten before
she can push." He frowned. "She was at eight when I was there, too."

"Is she going to be all right?" Langly blurted. "She looks like she
swallowed a helium balloon, but the rest of her is so damn teeny. Is she
going to be able to. . . you know? Get that baby out?"

"I don't know," Byers said quietly.

"She's in pain," Langly said. "Of course, she won't tell anyone that.
That cute doctor friend of hers is trying to convince her to take some
drugs, but Scully won't do it.

"And," he added, "She barfed."

Byers pondered that. "Maybe I can talk her into taking something during
my shift."

"Good luck," Langly scoffed. "Her mom and I tried all afternoon. She
keeps saying she's fine."

"Then I want to try," said a quiet, hoarse voice. They turned to see
Mulder, unshaven and rumpled and pale, standing in the doorway of the
kitchen.

"She'll listen to me," he said, but his conviction was hampered by the
fact he had to lean against the doorframe. "She thinks she has to be. .
. strong. . .all the time."

Byers approached him slowly. "Why don't you go back and rest, Mulder?"

Mulder took a step back, his eyes wild. "No. I have to see her. She's
not taking care of herself."

"She's fine, Mulder," Langly said, but Mulder turned on him. "You just
said she was bad! You just said she's throwing up!"

He turned away, looking for a way out of the apartment. It wasn't easy;
there were five doors in the kitchen. He knew one led to the shelter
below, but he had no idea what the other doors hid. It was like being in
Wonderland. One of them had to lead outside.  He groped for the door
nearest him, and found himself peering into the neat and orderly bedroom
that could only belong to Byers.

"Mulder, where are you going?" Byers asked.

The next door revealed a room covering in black-light velvet posters and
pictures of naked women.

"Hey, stay out of there!" Langly protested.

Mulder slammed the door shut, cursing, and lunged for the next door.
This one had a half-dozen deadbolt locks on it, and he forced his eyes
to focus as he clawed at the locks.
He wasn't even close to succeeding, but his friends had had enough, and
he felt gentle hands holding his arms.

"Mulder, come on," Byers soothed. "Come sit down. I'll make you
something to eat and we can talk about it."

"I don't want to talk," he growled. "I want Scully."

"Okay, later, all right? Later on."

Langly shot Byers a look of death, and Byers shrugged, glaring back at
him. Langly turned his back to them, reaching into the cupboard for a
bottle of tranquilizers. He couldn't remember who they were prescribed
for, but he broke one into little pieces and stirred them into a glass
of juice. When he turned around, Byers had managed to convince Mulder to
sit down at the table, and was promising to make the man some scrambled
eggs. Mulder, in response, had put his hands over his eyes and was
slumped in his chair.

Langly handed him the juice. "Here, drink this."

"No more," Mulder shook his head.

"It's good for you."

Mulder sighed deeply and took a long drink from the glass. "If you
really want to help me, Langly, you'll unlock that Goddamned door."

"We'll see how you feel later," Langly said. "All right?"

Byers cracked three eggs over a pan, stirring them, adding milk and
cheese. All the while, his mind was struggling to find a way that Scully
and Mulder could see each other. He came up with nothing. Sighing
heavily, he crossed the kitchen for the salt shaker.

He picked up the bottle of tranquilizers, still lying open on the
countertop, and whirled on Langly. "What did you do?" Without waiting
for an answer, he stalked toward the table and snatched the juice glass
from Mulder.

Too late. It was empty, except for the grit at the bottom of the glass.

Byers swore. "Mulder, why don't you go lie down and I'll bring your eggs
when they're done, all right?"

Mulder shrugged. "All right, but then I'm leaving."

"Okay," Byers agreed. "Langly, why don't you get him settled?"

Langly hauled Mulder to his feet and they disappeared into the living
room. The t.v. volume grew, and then Langly returned to the kitchen,
alone. "Don't yell at me," he warned.

"Are you INSANE?" Byers yelled.

"It'll buy us some time to figure out what we're going to do," Langly
said. "And it didn't seem like you were coming up with any kind of grand
scheme, so I guess it was up to me."

Byers glared at him, then grabbed his coat, threw the locks on the door,
and disappeared down the hallway. Langly snapped the locks closed behind
him, then peered into the living room. The eggs would have to wait;
Mulder's eyes were already closed.

Langly sank down at the kitchen table, picked up his cigar and drew in
lungfuls of the deep, rich smoke.

*****
Georgetown University Medical Center
7 p.m.

"I need to walk," Scully announced.

Byers raised his eyes from the magazine he'd been reading. Scully's
mother had gone downstairs to grab some dinner before the cafeteria
closed, and Byers had been planning to just sit here, enjoy the quiet
and avert his eyes from the woman gasping in the bed.

But now she was clawing at the blanket and sheet, tearing them away from
her body. He rose to his feet, standing beside her. "Are you supposed to
walk?"

"Walking helps labor progress sometimes," Scully breathed. "And if this
baby doesn't hurry up, I'm going to shoot someone."

He reached for the flimsy hospital robe and held it out for her, keeping
his eyes on the ceiling tiles when she turned toward him, her short,
blue-checkered hospital gown opening slightly in the back.

She grasped his arm with both hands, and together, they inched their way
out of the birthing suite. They shuffled past the nurse's station, and
Byers glanced over, as if beseeching a nurse to tell them to go back to
the room. Somehow, he felt safer having them nearby. But the nurse at
the desk only smiled and returned to her paperwork, and Scully led him,
in tiny steps, down the hallway.

The hallway seemed endless to her, but she was determined to make it to
the nursery at the end of the hall, where visitors could peek at the
newborns, where the walls were decorated in blue and pink pastels and
where the nurses wore smocks covered in teddy bears and balloons.

She wanted to see the nursery, even though she knew her child would
never see it, would never feel the arms of those kind nurses.

With that thought, her eyes welled with tears, and she gazed out the
window, hoping Byers wouldn't notice.

He did, of course, and covered her hands, still clutching his arm, with
his own. "Agent Scully?"

The voice was questioning and quiet, sincere and kind, just as she had
always known Byers to be. She had always admired his gentleness, but now
it just made her mad, because that gentleness, coupled with the pain
that was getting more severe with each passing moment, was going to make
her cry.

He whispered her name, and that was her undoing. She pulled from him,
and turned her attention to the view outside the hospital window, not
really seeing it through her tears. "I'm sorry, Byers," she said, her
voice trembling. "I must just be tired."

His arm awkwardly snaked around her shoulders, and had she looked up,
she would have seen that kind, handsome face peering down at her with
affection and concern. "I miss him, too, Agent Scully," he murmured. "We
all do."

She nodded, trying to be brave, but she couldn't seem to stop the tears.
"I really needed him to be here," she whispered. "It's hard to accept
the fact that he's not. That he won't see this baby come into the world.

"And," she choked. "I don't even know if he's alive. If I knew, I could
hold on to that hope, but. . .I don't know if he's ever coming back."

She grasped her stomach then, and dropped her head to her chest.

"Agent Scully?" Byers hesitated, and glanced up and down the hallway to
make sure no one was within earshot.

Langly and Frohike were going to kill him.

Byers took a deep breath, and then blurted, "There's something I would
very, very much like to tell you. . . We've been trying to keep a
secret, for your safety and for the baby's. . ."

"Uhhhh. . . Byers, hang on a minute." Scully gripped the railings lined
against the wall with both hands and pressed her forehead against the
wallpaper.

He stood dumbly behind her, feeling like an inadequate replacement for
Mulder, and waited for the contraction to pass.

But the contraction held on to her, flushing her skin and causing her
legs to tremble beneath her. After what seemed like forever, he reached
for her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Scully? Are you all
right?"

She shuddered, and he heard a low moan. She raised her head and
whispered, "Oh, my God."
He gazed at her, saw the pain reflecting in her eyes, could feel it
radiating from her body.

"Let's go back to the room, okay?"

She nodded, splaying her fingers across her abdomen, and leaned into him
when he looped his arm around her shoulders again. At the station in
front of them, a nurse raised her eyes and locked with his. She frowned
and came from behind the desk, hurrying toward them.

Thank God, Byers prayed.

"Dana, are you all right?" the nurse asked, grabbing the patient's arm.
"Can you walk?"

Scully nodded tersely, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Together, they
began the agonizing journey back to her room.

END 2/5

EXIT by Alcott, 3/5
See part one for disclaimers, etc.

*****
Georgetown University Medical Center
Doctor's Lounge
7:30 p.m.
 

The phone instantly jolted Megan from sleep. Without turning on the
lights, her fingers deftly sought out the receiver. "This is Dr. Grant."

"Dr. Grant, this is Jessie down on maternity. Dana Scully is having some
problems. Her blood pressure is dropping. Fetal heartbeat is starting to
drop as well."

"How far is she dilated?"

"Still at eight, Doctor."

Megan sat up, groping for the lamp. "Jessie, call Blue Eyes. I'll be
right down."

Down on OB, Megan heard Scully before she even walked through the doors
of the maternity ward.  As the opened the door of suite 32, she heard
Scully scream, "Ohhh, GOD!"

"Dana, breathe-"
Scully cut off her mother's soothing words. "I am breathing, Goddammit!"

Scully's head was thrown back, her hair damp and clinging to her face.
Her eyes were wild. Gone was the woman who had endured the pains with
little more than a grimace and a firm squeeze on her mother's hand.

This woman was desperate. And that desperation was thick in the air,
hovering over the others in the room.

The man-the cute one with the beard that Megan had eyed up during his
last shift-was standing rigidly in the corner looking like he wanted to
throw up. Megan let him off the hook.

"I need to clear the room," she announced. "I'm going to do an exam."

The man nearly sprinted out of the room, followed by Maggie Scully, who
was beginning to show her fatigue in the circles around her eyes.

When the door was closed behind them, Megan patted Scully's knee. "Okay,
honey, let's have a look."

Scully groaned, as if even the parting of her knees caused anguish. She
stared at the ceiling as Megan poked and prodded. "Am I still at eight?"

"Yeah, you are." After a moment, Megan cleared her throat. "I think the
baby's head is caught, Dana."

Scully nodded, staring at the ceiling. She was familiar with the phrase
cephalopelvic disproportion; she'd read about it in her textbooks. Now,
her own body had betrayed her; her pelvis was too small to pass the
baby.

"The baby's pressure is dropping," Megan said after she'd withdrawn her
hand and had helped Scully lower her knees. "You're still not
progressing." She sighed, her face masked in regret. "You know what I'm
going to say, don't you, Dana?"

Scully's eyes sparkled with tears. "Then do it, Megan."

"I've already called the anesthesiologist," Megan told her. "His name is
Michael, and he's gorgeous. We call him Mickey Blue Eyes."

Scully was about to retort, when the contraction began. Her lips rounded
in a silent ohhhhh.

Her friend clutched her hands, not complaining when Scully squeezed for
all she was worth. Instead, Megan whispered about the beautiful
anesthesiologist who would be doing the epidural.

Megan didn't lie.  Michael's eyes were indeed very blue, and his hair
tousled from a recent nap as he swept into the room.  "Hi, Dana," he
greeted, armed with needles and tubing. "I'm Michael, and I'm going to
start your epidural. By the time this epidural's in place, you're going
to feel so good, you're going to want to kiss me full on the lips."

Megan waggled her eyebrows at her patient.

When the anesthesiologist helped her to sit up and lean over, Megan
stood in front, supporting her body.

Megan knew the moment that the needle was injected into Scully's spine;
it was the first time the woman gasped. "Don't move," Megan murmured,
but Scully shuddered, another contraction crashing through her. Amniotic
fluid splashed down the patient's legs, pooling to the floor. Megan was
unfazed, and kept her tight hold around Scully. "Breathe, breathe," she
whispered.

Scully buried her face in her doctor's shoulder and huffed, "Shit."

It seemed to take forever as Michael moved the needle beneath her skin,
sending stabs of pain, and then waves of ache, up and down her spine.
Michael jostled the needle, and Scully felt every movement of it,
sending zings of heat through her, until the needle finally settled,
throbbing dully, between her vertebrae.

When everything was in place, he patted Dana's shoulder and together, he
and Megan helped her lie down.

Megan noticed the woman's eyes were glassy. Her face had gone ashen.

It was time.

"Dana, we have to do this now. I'm going to tell your mom what's
happening, and then I'm going to send her back in, okay?"

Scully's eyes slipped closed, and she nodded. She kept her eyes closed
tightly until she heard the soft footsteps retreat, the door closing
softly behind her. When she was finally alone, she turned her face to
the wall, and whispered Mulder's name into the empty room.
 

*****
Georgetown University Medical Center
O.R. #3
8:06 p.m.
 

Mulder was so exhausted, so weak, and yet here he was, dressed in scrubs
with a mask over his face. It had been only twenty minutes since Byers
had made the hasty call, and Langly had splashed water on his face to
wake him while Frohike struggled to get him dressed.
"We've found a loophole," they'd said. "She's having surgery. If we put
you in scrubs and a mask, no one will even know you're there. You have
to go now."

So here he was, standing outside the operating room. For a moment, he
thought he wasn't going to be able to step inside. But from inside the
inner sanctum, the young doctor raised her eyes, and smiled at him. When
he still didn't move, she waved him in.

The room seemed to echo with softly-padded footsteps and the bleat of
machines. No one was paying any notice to him as they prepared the room
for Scully's arrival.

Then the doors swung open and she was there, sweating and frightened,
but a balm to the tremendous ache inside him.
They slid her, blankets and all, onto the cold operating table. They
slipped a cap over her hair, draped blue sheets so that she wouldn't be
able to see below, attached monitors that beeped quietly.

He wanted to go to her, he wanted to hold her hand and kiss her pale,
dewy forehead. Instead, he kept up his charade, scribbling nonsensical
notes on the chart he'd been carrying with him.

His heart jumped when, while gazing around the room, she glanced at him
with interest. Just when he held his breath, when he thought she would
recognize him, her eyes slid away, settling on the ceiling above her.

Her bottom lip began to quiver, and tears slipped past her temples.

The anesthesiologist noticed, and leaned over, blocking Mulder's view.
"Are you okay, Dana?"

She said something softly, brokenly, and he nodded. "Your mom will be
here in a minute, she's just getting suited up."

Mulder's bootied feet inched closer to her. He was drawn to her light,
her beauty, the bravery with which she faced this birth, uncomplaining
and alone.

Her mother came then, stationing herself near Scully's head, whispering
in her ear. Behind the sheet, Megan was picking up a scalpel.

He was suddenly very queasy, and in danger of losing his cover by
throwing up on the spotless floor. He swallowed the bile away and
stepped closer to Scully, blocking his view of the blood bubbling from
the doctor's first cuts into Scully's flesh.

Oblivious to the wound opening deeper across her swollen abdomen, Scully
spoke quietly with her mother.

"Was it like this for you?"

Maggie smiled, her eyes crinkling. "It was with your sister. She gave me
grief from the moment I started labor."

"I just. . ." Scully's voice caught. "I just didn't think it would be
like this, Mom. I thought I'd be in a room with soft lights and
gentleness and. . . and. . ."

He silently supplied the rest of her words. And me, he thought. She
always thought I'd be here.

Megan interrupted Scully's words. "You're going to feel some tugging,
Dana."

Scully smiled tearfully and nodded, unable to speak.

Megan's hands moved, lightning quick, to retrieve the child from its
mother's body. Mulder peeked cautiously at what the doctor was doing,
and his eyes never strayed as he watched the child, red and gooey and
shriveled, surrender into the doctor's gloved hands.

"It's a girl," Megan announced, holding the child up over the curtain.

A wail rose up in the room as the youngest Scully tested her lung power.
She sounds healthy, he thought.

Actually, she sounded a little ticked off.

And through tears he could no longer keep at bay, he thought, "That's my
girl."

"Grandma, would you like to cut the cord?" Megan asked, and Maggie, who
had been planting kiss after kiss on her daughter's wet cheeks,
straightened and disappeared behind the curtain.

Scully was resting then, lying back, the tears unchecked. He was so
proud of her, so happy and in love and overwhelmed, that he couldn't
help himself.

When she raised her eyes to him, her was touching her shoulder, his
tears staining the mask that covered his nose and mouth. She frowned,
not comprehending, not recognizing him. She squinted, trying to see into
his eyes.

Then, he saw the flicker of recognition.

Her eyes widened.

She tried to sit up, and Megan yelped at her. "Dana, lie down! I haven't
sewn you up yet!"

Scully fell back, but her eyes were riveted to his. "Oh. . . my. .
.God," she croaked.

"Nurse? Nurse!"

Megan's voice pulled them out of their trance, and he turned to the
doctor.

"You need to take our little girl to the nursery," Megan said firmly.

"What? Why?" Dana lifted her head again. "Can't I even see her?"

"In awhile, Dana," Megan assured. "We talked about this, right?"

"But wait, no, what about the bonding time?" Scully was crying in
earnest now. "What if she doesn't know me? Don't take her yet. Please."

*Please.* He grimaced at the word. But he walked to the bassinet now,
marveling at the perfect little child, counting her fingers as he waited
for the nurses to finish their work. It was part of the deal; he had to
do this. When the nurses had finished, he took control of the bassinet,
nodded his thanks, and started for the door.

"No!" Scully sobbed. "No!" She reached for him, her arms outstretched as
if she could somehow reach the bassinet. "Please."

Mulder glanced at the doctor, whose forehead crinkled in disapproval.
Then, he picked up the fragile, squirming baby in his arms, and leaned
close to Scully, offering the child for her to see.

Immediately, the child calmed her squirming, and her mother ceased her
sobbing. Both felt the connection between them, the connection that
would always make them whole when they were together.  Scully touched
the baby, running her fingertips over the child's downy cheek. "Hello,
baby," she whispered.

"Dana," Megan said quietly. "Time is of the essence."

It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, to straighten his back, to
pull the infant away from her mother, to turn his back and walk away as
if he was just another nurse carrying just another child.

But behind him, Scully's crying had ceased, making it just a margin
easier to walk out the doors. In the fluorescent-lit hallway, Byers was
waiting, along with a paramedic. He was, Mulder knew, a friend of
Megan's, another person willingly put into danger to protect everything
Mulder had to lose.

The medic reached for the baby, and instinctively, Mulder tightened his
grip. "Wait. Not yet."

"Agent, the sooner we get your baby out of the hospital, the safer
they'll be," said the man. "The ambulance is waiting downstairs in the
loading dock."

Mulder nodded, his eyes unable to focus through the tears. Byers stepped
near, a smile creasing his gentle face. "Beautiful, Mulder."

"It's a girl," he whispered.

Byers nodded, and swept his fingers over the child's tiny forehead. "She
is blessed to have parents like you and Scully." He cleared his throat,
embarrassed. Mulder took no notice; he was too busy staring at her,
trying to memorize the way she looked, felt, smelled.

He lifted her, until his lips were resting on her cheek, and whispered,
"I will see you soon."

The baby's eyes, dark blue and milky from birth, rolled lazily toward
him, as if to meet his gaze, defying the belief a child of that age was
too young to recognize those who loved her the most.

The moment was painfully broken when the paramedic reached for the baby,
this time cuddling the child in his arms. "I promise you, we will take
care of her."

"I know," Mulder rasped. "Just go."

The paramedic glanced between the men; Byers nodded soberly, and the
paramedic turned away.

As soon as the baby left their sight, the inner strength that had kept
Mulder upright drained away, and he sagged against the wall.  Without
seeing, without hearing Byer's shouts of concern, he felt his world go
black, and he fell.

END 3/5

Exit by Alcott, 4/5
 

*****
Wells Funeral Home
Monday, 12:45 p.m.

Krycek wore his best suit for the occasion.
Impeccably dressed, hair slicked back, his stride was confident as he
entered the funeral home and followed the signs that read, "F. Mulder,
visitation 1-1:30, service to follow."
He glanced at his watch. 12:45. He was early. He hoped Mulder wouldn't
mind.

Stepping through the open double doors of the parlor, the scent of a
dozen flower arrangements assaulted him. The place looked like a goddamn
florist.

Except, in the center of this florist was a gray coffin.

Scully stood beside it, fussing with the arrangement of flowers that
nearly covered the lid. She was nervous, he perceived. Her hands were
shaking, but her spine was straight and her eyes were dry.
Her family stood behind her, in a show of support that was both
figurative and literal. Even her brother was there, the one who hated
Mulder.

Krycek could relate.

The big lug of a man stood beside his pretty wife, who was keeping an
eye on her preschool-aged son while holding a tiny baby in her arms. A
son, by the looks of his blue jumper and powder blue blanket. The kid
couldn't be more than a week old. Krycek smirked at the satisfaction of
the pain the child surely caused Dana Scully.

Still wearing the smirk, he walked up to the casket.

She swallowed the brave half-smile she'd been wearing, clearly stunned
that he, a bastard above all bastards, would come to the funeral.

He smiled to her and rapped his knuckle against the coffin. "Come out,
come out, Mulder."

She shoved his hand away, and he saw the fire in her eyes. "Don't."

Her warning only made him smile again. "Oh, come on, Agent Scully. You
don't really think we're going to believe this whole funeral thing?"

"There's nothing to believe," she said, and reading the pain in her
eyes, he almost believed her. Almost.

"Seeing is believing," he said smoothly, and before she could react, he
had pried open the lid, sending the flowers askew. She reached for the
lid, but he held it open, out of her reach. Scully struggled for it, but
the fresh incision caused her to double over and she sagged, ceasing to
struggle, and just stared at him in disbelief.

He tilted his head thoughtfully, peering down at the body lying nestled
in gray satin. Mulder's body was still, his eyes not fluttering beneath
his closed eyelids, his body soulless, his features smoothed with what
looked like putty and foundation.

Krycek leaned in and puffed air directly into Mulder's face. The man in
the coffin did not flinch, did not react in any way.

Krycek dropped the coffin lid with a thunk, and with a small cry, Scully
struggled to rearrange the flowers. That's it, Scully, he mused. All you
can do now is make sure the roses don't wilt before the body's buried.

He watched her frantic movements with little interest, then pulled a
notebook from his pocket and flipped the cover. On the first page was a
"To Do" list. Pulling a black pen from the spiral binding of the
notebook, Krycek read the first item on his list. "Make sure Mulder is
dead." He put a black X next to the item and raised his face to grin at
her. "Check," he said.

She lunged, but Bill reached and caught her arms. He shook her slightly.
"No, Dana," he said.

But there was no stopping Skinner. Krycek had not noticed the man's
approach; suddenly, Skinner was there, in Krycek's face, grabbing him by
the collar, despite of where they were.

Skinner dragged the smaller man past the trickle of mourners headed into
the mortuary. Once outside in the cold rain, Skinner rounded a corner.
Away from the people gathering, he slammed Krycek into a wall, making
his head bounce against the bricks, and grasped him by the tight collar
of his expensive shirt.

"Where is she?" Skinner hissed.

"Who?"

Skinner responded by tightening his hold on the man's collar. "Don't try
it, Krycek. Where is that baby?"

Krycek barked with strangled laughter. "I don't know what you're talking
about."

His airway was blocked when Skinner again tightened his grip, leaning
close, his eyes gleaming beneath his glasses. "I don't believe that this
was a random act of maternity ward baby-snatching."

"I never laid eyes on that baby," Krycek sneered. "It wasn't me. Mulder
was my concern."

"And Scully," Skinner hissed. "She was your concern, too. And you've
broken her now. There will be no way back from this one. She's already
quit the Bureau. Are you satisfied now?"

"I'm just doing my job," Krycek croaked, his face reddening from the
lack of oxygen.

Skinner loosened his hold. "Is your job finished now?"

Krycek wiggled free, straightened his shoulders and his jacket. "Yeah,"
he said haughtily. "Almost."

"Almost?" Skinner repeated, his lips turning up in a triumphant smile.
"You mean me, don't you? When you kill me, it'll be finished, right?"

Krycek opened his mouth to speak, and found himself slammed against the
wall, his windpipe crushing together once again.

"For years, we have done your organization's bidding," Skinner hissed.
"We have feared the consequences if we didn't do as you say. But we're
not afraid anymore."

He let the man go suddenly, watched grimly as Krycek fell to his knees,
clutching his bruised throat.

"Go ahead and turn the switch and kill me," Skinner said. "But I
guarantee that every time you move a finger, every time you speak a
single sentence, we will be watching you. So watch your back, Krycek.
You played a fatal card; you've ruined everything that I cared about.
Now, the only thing we care about is seeing you destroyed."

Skinner toed the man with his shoe, as if he were nothing more than a
discarded grocery bag.

Then he turned away, straightened his suitcoat, and walked calmly back
into the funeral parlor.

Inside, Scully was gone. Byers approached, answering his questioning
gaze. "She's gone into the family room, and she's locked the door."
He nodded and descended the steps, meeting the hard, oak door marked,
"Family only". He knocked on the door. "Agent Scully, are you in there?"

When there was no response, he knocked again. This time, he heard the
door bolt shift and the door opened. He slipped inside, locking it
behind him, and turned around.
The room was large, with a fireplace and a table set up with pots of
coffee and tea. Boxes of tissues lined every coffee table, and every
couch looked like the kind that would cause someone to sink into its
depths.

She was trembling, and he was about to suggest she sit down when she did
it herself, sinking into the corner of one of the couches, looking
fragile and small, alone in the room.

She was somewhat composed, but he imagined her, curling her arms around
her head and rocking back and forth in sorrow. Tears were streaking her
face faster than she could wipe them away. He came to her and knelt
down. "Scully."

"I'm fine," she whispered. "I just didn't expect him to look like that."

She lifted her head, and her eyes were so anguished that his heart
cracked in his chest.

"I want my baby," she whispered. And then she did begin to rock, her
arms around her waist, where the incision was still tender. "I want
Mulder to just open his eyes and. . ." She sobbed, her face crumbling.
". . . I want him to just look at me."

She was shaking her head. "I can't do it, sir. I'm sorry. It's too much
for one person."

"Yes, you can." He grasped her chin and forced her to raise her face.
"Listen to me," he said tenderly. "You are already doing this, Agent
Scully. You're the strongest person I know. It's going to be fine."

"But he was so still . . ." And her face crumbled again.

Skinner sat beside her and pulled her awkwardly into his arms. "He came
back to you, Scully. He promised he would, and he kept that promise.
Don't forget that."

She nodded, pulling out of his embrace and covering her hands with her
eyes. She gasped in deep breaths, and when she lowered her hands, her
tears had ceased. He plucked several tissues from the box beside the
couch and handed them to her without words.

The mourners turned to watch as Agent Scully reappeared from below. Her
eyes avoided the casket, rather traveling to her family, who were
watching her warily. She went to them, standing beside her mother, who
silently took her hand.

For the next half-hour, she shook the hands of those who had come to pay
their final respects. Through all the handshakes and awkward embraces,
she smiled tiredly and nodded acknowledgements as her co-workers and
friends did their best to convey their condolences.

Just when Scully thought she wouldn't be able to hold out any longer,
the pastor cleared his throat and said to those gathered, "If everyone
would like to find a seat, we're just about ready to begin."

While everyone else sought out folding chairs, Skinner set his hand at
the small of Scully's back and led her to a comfortable loveseat that
sat, facing the coffin, reserved for immediate family. She sat down
gratefully, and briefly, took his hand and squeezed it.

Through the brief funeral, he watched Scully. She kept her eyes riveted
on the cross hanging in the front of the chapel. She sang the hymns
along with the others, pausing only once or twice to wipe tears from her
cheeks.

To conclude the ceremony, the pastor stood to read the obituary. Skinner
had instructed him to keep the ceremony brief; the dead man's partner
had not only had a cesarean section several days earlier, but the baby
had been lost. She was exhausted. She needed this to be over.

The pastor spoke quickly.

"Fox William Mulder was born October 13, 1961, in Chilmark. He graduated
from Oxford University with a degree in psychology and later received
his doctorate from Oxford. He joined the FBI in 1986 and was known as an
outstanding and well-respected agent."

Skinner scanned the room, daring anyone to crack even the smallest of
smiles. His agents, the ones who had made "Spooky" jokes behind Mulder's
back, sat, their faces solemn.

"Fox is preceded in death by father William, mother Teena, and sister
Samantha. He is survived by his partner, Dana Scully, an infant
daughter, and many friends and co-workers."

Again, Skinner sent a warning gaze at those around him. But the faces
were somber, their eyes mostly glued on Scully, waiting for her to
break.

She didn't.

The pastor came forward and lay his hands, tenderly, reverently, against
the casket lid. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil..."

But I do, Scully thought. I do fear it.

The pastor lay his hands on Scully's shoulders, and said a final
prayer.  After, he announced that the burial would be private, and that
those gathered were invited to meet in the receiving room for sandwiches
and coffee.

The mourners breathed a collective sigh of relief, as any group does
when they know that, finally, the traditions are completed, and all
that's left for them to do is have lunch, go home and kick off their
shoes.

The people began to disperse. Only Skinner, his secretary and her family
stayed, rock-like, behind her.

The baby gave a little cranky yelp, and Tara smiled, bouncing the baby
in her arms. "He's hungry," she explained.

Scully's body responded with a rush of breast milk, and she crossed her
arms over her chest to staunch any possible flow. "You should go back to
Mom's house and feed him, then," she said quietly. "There's no reason
for you to stay."

"I'll stay," her brother Charlie said quietly.

"No, you had a long flight, too," Scully said. "Go on, all of you. I'll.
. . I'll see you soon."

Charlie gave her the biggest embrace she'd ever received from him. Tara
kissed her cheek, and Bill gave an awkward pat on her shoulder. And
then, they were all gone.

Watching her children leave, Maggie sniffled loudly, then reached for
her daughter's arm.

"Aren't you coming to the house?" Maggie asked.

But Scully shook her head. "No, Mom, I just can't."

"What are you going to do?" Maggie wanted to know.

Her daughter shrugged her shoulders aimlessly. "I think I just need to
rest."

Maggie nodded. She held out her hand to Skinner, and leaned close to
accept a kiss on her cheek. "Good to see you again," she said. Directly
into his ear, she whispered, "Take care of her."

"Count on it," he said gruffly, a moment before he pulled back and
turned away.

Tears then slipped down Maggie's cheeks, and she took hold of her
daughter's shoulders. "Will you be all right?" she asked sternly,
although the sternness only covered her mounting anxiety.

Dana nodded. "It's what I have to do."

Maggie crushed her child near, nearly squeezing the air from Dana's
lungs. "You promise that you'll call when you can."

"It will be awhile, Mom. . ."

"I know!" Maggie hiccupped, and held her daughter at arm's length. "I
know. Just don't forget."

Scully was crying now, too, and Maggie pulled two linen handkerchiefs
from her coat pocket, wiping one beneath her daughter's eyes. "Now,
now," she murmured. "We have to stop this." She straightened her
shoulders, and her daughter threw her own back in response. Maggie
nodded in approval, and turned on her heel before her composure would
crack.

Later, when her family was settled for the night, Maggie Scully would
throw herself across her bed, and weep for all she had lost.

And when, at 3 a.m., the phone rang, her soul withered inside her.

Bill opened the door of her bedroom, shining the hallway light into her
eyes. "Mom?" he whispered.

"I'm awake," she said.

"That was Skinner on the phone," Bill said quietly. He swallowed hard,
and choked, "She's gone, Mom."

Maggie nodded, and rolled away from him, facing the dark wall. A moment
later, he closed the door, leaving her in complete darkness.
 

*****
1:33 a.m.
Location:Undisclosed

Her breasts were huge.

It wasn't something he had wanted to notice, but it was hard not to,
since her bosom was pressing hard against the buttons of her black
sweater.
She hadn't been able-he blushed at the thought- to use the rented breast
pump in hours, and her body was filling with milk intended for a child
whom she had never held.

Skinner had been sneaking gazes at her for the last half-hour, to assure
himself that she was still breathing. She had slept for most of the
drive, her head tilted at an awkward angle against the seat.

He couldn't blame her; the exhaustion burned his own eyelids, and no
wonder. In the past few nights, he had spent damn near every moment with
the Lone Gunmen, formulating a plan that would finally, once and for
all, end Mulder's involvement in the Consortium.

An hour before the funeral, they drugged him with tranquilizers, not
enough to hinder his breathing but enough to make him sleep like the
dead. They sat with him in the mortuary, waiting. Sitting in his best
suit, Mulder had mumbled something about the reports of his death being
greatly exaggerated, and then he slumped over.

When they were certain he was unconscious, the Gunmen and Skinner had
lifted Mulder's body and arranged it in the casket. Taped beneath
Mulder's best shirt was a tiny monitor, configured to set off an alarm
if his heart rate were to drop. The Gunmen, electronic geniuses in their
own right, had configured a pager to beep if this happened.

That pager was on the belt of Dr. Megan Grant. Inside a closet at the
mortuary was an oxygen tank, a crash cart, and several medicines, each
premeasured for Mulder's weight and height.

The night before, Langly had drilled air holes inside the coffin, most
of which were hidden by the large spray of roses adorning the lid.

They couldn't believe their good fortune when Krycek made his appearance
so early in the visitation. All they had to do was shoo him out, close
the doors, and carry Mulder's coffin out of the room. An identical
coffin had been put in its place, and Mulder, coffin and all, had been
taken via hearse to a nearby hospital, where Megan had secured a private
room.

There, Skinner presumed, Mulder had slept off the drugs without
incident.

Reflecting on the last few days, he wondered if this was what it felt
like to be McGyver.
His thoughts were interrupted by their approaching turn-off. He took the
turn, finding himself on a winding, dirt road, headed for a scenic
overlook.

When he finally found their destination, she didn't move when he brought
the vehicle to a stop.

"Agent Scully?" he said quietly. "We're here."

She couldn't be roused. He killed the car lights and opened the door.

The sky was starless, and he could barely make out the truck already
parked near the bluff. Behind him, gravel scattered as a rental car
pulled up beside him, dimming its lights until they barely glowed.

Doors opened around him, but he was watching the truck's passenger door.

The man inside opened that door, and slid to his feet. He grasped the
door for a moment, steadying himself, and then walked slowly toward the
dim circle of headlights.
Skinner swallowed against the lump in his throat as he looked at the man
who had disappeared before his eyes eight months earlier.

For a moment, he wanted to grab Mulder by the shoulders, to make sure he
was real, flesh and bone, before Mulder made his final disappearance.
Instead, Skinner held out his hand and Mulder's unshaven face creased in
a grin as he grasped his superior's hand, clasping it between both of
his.

Mulder parted his lips to speak, but hearing words of gratitude would
have been Skinner's undoing. "We have to hurry," he said gruffly. "She's
asleep in the car."

Mulder nodded solemnly, his eyes flitting to Scully's car. Then he met
his superior's gaze. "Sir, I can't thank you enough for everything
you've done."

Skinner had to clear his throat before he spoke. "I'm doing this for me,
Agent Mulder," he said sternly. "You've been a thorn in my side for
eight years. Now, get the hell out of here before someone finds us."

"Yes, sir." Choking on emotion, Mulder turned away and walked to the
passenger side of Scully's car.

She did not stir when he opened the door and knelt in the gravel. Her
lips were parted in sleep, and her body was slumped, held in place only
by her seatbelt. He smiled tenderly, reaching to smooth her hair, to
stroke her pale cheek.

She opened her eyes, squinting in the darkness. Then, she smiled and
whispered, "Hi."

"Hi," he whispered back. "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded sleepily. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here, too," he chuckled. "It was a long haul."

Her eyes brimmed with tears suddenly, and his smile faded. "What is it?"

She shook her head, unable to speak, but he knew. In their time apart,
her eyes had grown sad and empty. Now, they held hope; but past that, he
saw the memories and the despair that would take years to erase.

He leaned to kiss her, gently, praying to a God he suddenly believed in
that someday, the sadness would leave her, once and for all.

They heard a car door opening, and then a tiny whimper. The milk flooded
through Scully's breasts in response to the cry.

Megan appeared over them, holding their baby. "Will you please feed this
child?" she asked. "She's been complaining for an hour. If we didn't
find the rendezvous point soon, we were heading for McDonald's."

The child fit in Scully's arms perfectly, although it was the first time
they had touched, and the ache of missing those precious first days
would always haunt Scully.

Suddenly, she realized she had never breastfed her child, and she raised
questioning eyes to Megan.

"First, you unbutton the sweater," Megan grinned. "And then you hold the
baby like this, see? And bring her mouth to your nipple. . ."

Scully unbuttoned her sweater, exposing her breast, and held her
daughter near. The child, who had never nursed before, latched on
immediately, her tiny eyes sliding closed in satisfaction.

Scully held up the child's little hand, rubbing her thumb over the tiny
fingers, marveling at the tugging sensation against her breast. "Am I
doing this right?" she whispered.

"You're doing great," Megan assured.

"You sure are," Mulder whispered breathlessly. Overwhelmed, he leaned
forward, kissing Scully's lips and then planting a gentle kiss on his
daughter's forehead. Gently, he unwrapped her blanket, to reassure
himself that she was whole and fine and undamaged.

"Megan, she's still wearing the boy clothes she had on at the funeral!"
Scully laughed.

Megan put her hands on her hips. "Gee, I'm sorry I didn't have time to
stop at Baby Gap on the way up here. Did I mention how long this drive
is? Did I mention I work in the morning?"

Scully raised her eyes and Megan saw her tears. Mulder, too, was gazing
up at her, in tears.

"Aw, jeez. I am so out of here." Megan leaned over and ruffled Scully's
hair. "Hey, give me a call sometime?"

"I will," Scully replied, although they both knew the chances of that
were very slim. No one could know where the small family was going, and
contact with the outside world would be next to nothing, at least for
now. Someday, the struggle would be over. Someday, they would not be
hunted for who they were and what they knew. But for now, they had to
disappear.

Megan squeezed Scully's shoulders and cleared her throat. "Be good,
Dana."

"You, too," Scully said.

And then, sniffling, Megan turned away and headed back to her rental
car.

The tiny child, warm in her mother's arms, had drifted off to sleep,
falling away from her mother's breast. Mulder chuckled at the sight and
took his daughter in his arms while Scully buttoned her sweater.

"She looks like you," he marveled, tracing his finger over the tiny
features.

"Because, she's beautiful."

He stood, holding his daughter in the crook of his arm, and offered
Scully his hand. With a wince of pain from her incision, she climbed out
of the car, closing the door.

"Are you ready?" Skinner asked, his face still as he kept hold of his
emotions.

She nodded. "Thank you, sir."

He said something that sounded like "humph", but she knew the sorrow
behind it. She knew, because she felt that same sense of loss drumming
through her veins.

"Get out of here, Agents," he muttered, and turned away from them. They,
too, turned away, walking toward the truck that had brought Mulder to
this place.

Inside, the truck was warm, the heater blasting. Mulder set the sleeping
child into her new carseat, fumbling a moment with the locks before
sliding them into place. Then, he helped Scully climb up into the front
seat, and climbed up behind her. As he shut the door, the driver turned
to them, his blue eyes flashing with pleasure.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Scully nodded. "Take us home, Blue Eyes."

Michael grinned and threw his truck into reverse.

Skinner watched as the vehicle disappeared down the highway, perhaps
headed for the airport, or a train station. He didn't know where they
were headed, and for that he was grateful. Somehow, it would be easier
to let them go if he had no way of ever finding them again.

When the truck was out of sight, Skinner reached down to pick up a large
rock from the ground. With a heave of exertion, he pressed it against
the gas pedal, holding it down. He pulled a gas can from the back of
Scully's car and doused the interior with fuel. Then, reaching in, he
threw the car in gear, stepped back.

The car tires squealed in the gravel as the car headed straight for the
cliff, then disappeared into the night. He heard the sounds of crunching
metal as the car fell, and then the night lit up momentarily with the
explosion.

He climbed into the passenger side besides Megan and said, "Let's get
out of here."

She nodded, and asked, "Can we stop at McDonald's on the way home?"

With that, the car pulled onto the road, leaving the burning car for
someone else to find.

END 4/5

**EPILOGUE**

WEDNESDAY, 10:02 p.m.

Scully awoke with a start. She had fallen asleep sitting up in the
recliner, and for a moment, she gazed around the room, disoriented,
wondering where she had put the baby.

Beside her, Mulder was sprawled on the couch, softly snoring. Their
daughter was lying against his chest, her tiny fingers curled around his
collar, her head nestled beneath his chin.

Scully yawned mightily, cracking her jaw. It seemed that the entire
family was awake all night, and yet they fell asleep at the drop of a
hat. She thought they'd been watching the movie of the week on
television; now, she had no idea what the movie had been about and the
nightly news was beginning.

The newscaster was droning about their top story: the mysterious death
of a female FBI agent from Washington DC. Scully rubbed her eyes and
turned up the volume.

There, on the screen, was the burnt, smoldering remnants of her car.

She sighed. She'd loved that car.

"The automobile was traced back to Special Agent Dana Scully, who had
disappeared several days ago. Her partner of eight years, Fox Mulder,
had been kidnapped by unknown perpetrators and had died recently from
injuries sustained during the abduction."
Scully's throat tightened at the image on the screen of her mother, in
tears, hurrying from the county coroner's office, with Skinner's arm
around her shoulders in protection. "The body found inside the car was
identified by Agent Scully's mother and further confirmed by dental
records from the FBI," the reporter said smoothly. "According to
authorities, it is believed that Agent Scully's accident was
intentional."

Then, she was looking at Skinner's serious face as he stood at a podium,
the FBI logo emblazoned on the wall behind him. "Agent Scully was
distraught after the death of her partner and friend," he said. "I have
no doubt in my mind that this was an act of suicide. As far as the
Federal Bureau of Investigation is concerned, we have lost two
outstanding agents, and we will miss them."

Scully gazed at him, trying to memorize his stern face. For all the
times she had wondered if he was friend or foe, in the end he had helped
save them. She whispered a final "thank you", then picked up the remote
and changed the channel.

By the glow of an old "Emergency!" re-run, she gazed at her little
family. Mulder's arms, slung over the baby's back, tightened
reflexively; in response, the child's eyes fluttered open sleepily, then
drifted closed.

How peaceful they looked, Scully mused. How hopeful their lives were
now.

She unfolded an afghan from the back of the couch and draped it gently
over her partner and child. Then, unwilling to leave their sides for
even a moment, she curled into the recliner beside them, staring at
them, committing this moment to memory, until she, too, fell asleep.

**THE END**

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

AUTHOR'S NOTES: What would I do without my betas BoneTree, Eclipse and
the folks at XScenes? You guys really saved me on this one. Thanks
especially to my fellow mommies for all their expertise on labor and
delivery.

This story, for what it's worth, is dedicated to CC and the Speck. I
love you guys.