Headers and Notes in Part 8

Part 8 of 12


One Week Later

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
March 27, 2001
5:45 pm


They had settled into a routine of sorts over the past week. 

Their evenings were spent quietly... either watching TV or a rented 
movie together, or Scully doing paperwork while Mulder tried to keep 
himself amused and not interfere.  They occasionally went for short 
walks, although Scully tired easily, and usually retired early.  And 
once they were settled amid the soft sheets of her bed, their bodies 
got reacquainted.  Sometimes it was just he giving her a much-needed 
and appreciated massage, and then the two of them drifting off into a 
peaceful slumber with him spooned around her.  Other times it was a 
long, slow mutual worship of each other followed by gentle lovemaking.  
And a couple times, like the previous night, had been like before... 
early on in their relationship when everything had been fresh and new 
and exciting, and they had not been able to contain their frenzied 
passion.

Their days were far different.

While Scully was off being a G-woman, albeit a G-woman on restricted 
duties, he kept himself busy with exercising and visits with the 
Gunmen.  And tidying up after the Gunmen left, and making dinner for he 
and Scully, Mulder added with a small grin.  

Hard to believe, but he was enjoying his role as 'house-husband' for 
lack of a better term.  He only vaguely missed the X-Files right now, 
was still dealing with what he had learned about his missing time, and 
the fact that he was going to be a father.  His plate was full enough.

Speaking of plates, Scully was quite punctual, arriving home... and here 
he had a brief flash of his lonely apartment, where he had gone only 
twice since leaving the hospital... by six o'clock, just in time for 
dinner.  Which gave him...he craned his head to consult the clock on 
the mantle and then rose hastily from his sprawled position on the 
couch.  He had not quite 15 minutes to hide and/or destroy the evidence 
of his late afternoon pizza, and set the water for the pasta on to 
boil.

But he was quick under pressure, always had been, and when Scully's key 
turned in the lock at precisely six, there were no traces of his snack 
or visitors, the table was set, and the spaghetti nearly ready.  He had 
even changed out of his sweat-and-pizza sauce-stained tee shirt and 
slicked his hair into a reasonable facsimile of styled casualness. 

He went to greet her and relieve her of her briefcase and trench coat, 
as was his habit, a smile on his face.  A smile that faded as he took 
in her wan complexion when she entered the apartment.

She surrendered her briefcase with a sigh, and an expression of relief, 
and murmured, "I'm really tired, Mulder."

Upon closer inspection, he saw that her mouth had that pinched look 
seen only when she was hurting or in a very, very bad mood, and her 
eyes were dulled and tired-looking.  "Scully?" he asked softly, 
worriedly.  "You all right?"  

He realized with the sudden clarity that often comes too late to be of 
any use, and a now growing concern, that he had asked that question or 
similar ones frequently in the last couple of days.  That there had 
been a need for him to do so.

Scully had been very tired lately, although she insisted it was normal.  
More so then he thought was to be expected for this stage of her 
pregnancy.  Not that he was any kind of expert, despite the copious 
amounts of on-line research he had done, and the books he had read.  
Nor had he pushed her on the topic.  But perhaps he should.  He wasn't 
even sure of when her next doctor's appointment was scheduled.  Or when 
her last had been.  Or how any of them had gone.

Apparently he was not too aware of many things.  A matter he needed to 
rectify.  Very soon.

Scully had unbuttoned her coat and was struggling to slide an arm out 
of its sleeve in the time he had been standing there worrying.  He 
quickly placed her briefcase aside, out of the way, and stepped behind 
her to offer assistance.  He brought both hands up and grasped the 
shoulders of her trench, pulling down gently.  She twisted and moved 
with him, and then the coat was off and in his hands.  He hung it up as 
she waddled slowly away, heading towards her bedroom.

This too was normal... Scully always changed out of her work clothes and 
into far more comfortable attire as soon as she got home... but she 
seemed remote, closed off.

"Scully?" he called softly, taking a few tentative steps after her.  
"Dinner's almost ready."

Her voice sounded tight when she replied, without stopping or turning 
to look at him, "I'm not hungry, Mulder.  I just want to lie down."

And maybe a little scared.

A hiss from the kitchen reminded him of the pasta boiling away on the 
stove, and of the sauce in another pot.  He hurried to the stove, put 
the lid on the saucepot and turned both burners off, and then quickly 
removed the larger pot of pasta and put it on the other unlit burner.  
He then headed to Scully's bedroom.

She hadn't gotten very far in undressing, only her suit jacket was off, 
and she was sitting on the side of the bed, shoulders slumped and eyes 
closed.  If it were possible, she looked even paler.

Mulder knelt on the floor in front of her and tenderly removed her 
shoes, putting them aside.  Her eyes had popped open when his hand 
touched her calf, and she managed a weak smile for him.  He swallowed 
the thickness in his throat and asked, "Scully, its not just tiredness, 
is it?"

Her face crumpled and she almost fell forward.  Right into the arms he 
had raised at the same instant.  "No," she whispered, her own arms 
coming up to wrap around him as much as she was able with her swollen 
belly between them.

"What is it then?" he whispered back, fear cramping his belly and 
bringing a fine line of sweat to his forehead.

"I've been having a bit of cramping lately," she admitted.  "I thought 
they might have been Braxton-Hicks contractions, but I don't think they 
are anymore."

Braxton-Hicks contractions.  He remembered reading about those.  They 
were very common, and supposedly painless.  According to medical 
definition, anyway.  Some of the personal accounts of childbirth that 
he had read indicated otherwise.  But he did not think cramping was 
good.  It certainly didn't sound good.  The ball in the pit of his 
stomach grew.

"Scully, have you called your doctor?" he asked then.

She nodded her head on his shoulder where she had tucked it.  "She's 
not concerned enough for me to go to the hospital, but I have an 
appointment with her tomorrow morning."

He was slightly relieved, and some of the pressure in his stomach 
eased.  "That's good, that she's not concerned, right?"  Scully nodded 
again.  "Okay, then.  We'll just take it easy tonight, and go to the 
doctor's tomorrow."

"Okay," she agreed quietly, and lifted her head, her arms sliding from 
his shoulders.  "I'm still tired too, so I think I'll lie down now."

Mulder released her and leaned back, palms laying flat on his jean-clad 
thighs.  "That's a good idea.  I can always re-heat the spaghetti 
later."  Rising to his feet, he put his hands out to help her up.  
"Let's get you undressed," he said.

He tried a leer, just to make her laugh, and she gave him another faint 
smile.  "No funny stuff, though," he added, encouraged.  "You keep your 
hands to yourself, okay?"

"Mulderrrrr..." she sighed, and then smiled a little bit wider, 
although she had an odd look on her face.

Together they got her undressed and in her pajamas, and then Mulder 
tucked her under the covers, arranged on her nest of pillows.  He 
kissed her cheek and whispered, "Love you," before leaving the room, 
the lamp beside the bed on its lowest setting.

He closed the door most of the way, leaving it open a crack just in 
case, and headed to the kitchen to put the dinner away for now.  He 
hadn't been that hungry because of the pizza, and learning about 
Scully's cramps had chased away the small appetite he'd still had away.

Once that was done, he went and sat down on the couch, flicking the TV 
on and turning the volume down low so as not to disturb Scully.  His 
mind flicked back to that odd look on her face, and he tried to 
decipher it.  They had been, or rather, he had been joking about sex...
could that have been why?

They'd had sex the night before, pretty rambunctious sex, too.  Had 
that caused her cramps?  God, he hoped not.  The thought that he might 
have hurt her or the baby was horrifying, and chilling.

Worried, scared and restless, he rose from the couch and went to 
Scully's computer.  He'd research it on the Internet and see what the 
experts had to say.

And he'd keep an ear cocked for any sounds from Scully's bedroom, in 
case she needed him.

***

8:10 pm


Scully swam up from a deep, sound sleep and opened her eyes, blinking 
slowly, getting her bearings.  Her limbs felt thick and heavy, her mind 
filled with cotton.  She rolled partway onto her back and took a few 
slow, deep breaths, the clouds slowly clearing from her brain.  

She consulted her body, hands cradling the baby within her belly, 
caressing gently.  There was no cramping, none of that tight, tense 
feeling she had experienced on and off over the last couple of days, 
and very strongly on the drive home from work earlier, and she was 
relieved.  Somewhat.

She still moved cautiously though, and carefully stretched out her 
legs, toes pointed downwards.  Her arms she lifted above her head, 
fingers just brushing the headboard of the bed.  No twinges, no sharp 
flare of pain, and the relief grew.

Turning her head on the pillow, Scully looked at the clock on her night 
table, saw the red numbers glowing the time, and realized she had slept 
for just over two hours.  Solidly, for she had not awoken once, nor had 
she dreamed.

Which was quite unusual for her.  Her years with the X-Files had 
provided much fodder for nightmares; she unfortunately suffered from 
them often.  And now that she was in the third trimester of her 
pregnancy, the volume of dreams had increased.  They were extremely 
vivid... she had several times dreamed of leaving the baby unsupervised, 
even of losing it in a busy shopping mall.  She had read that such 
kinds of dreams could be a sign that the dreamer was fearful of the 
demands of motherhood.  That the dreams often reflected fears or 
concerns on either a conscious or subconscious level.  She had to admit 
that was true somewhat; she was apprehensive about becoming a mother, 
and dealing with a newborn.

Scully was thankful that her sleep had been peaceful and undisturbed 
this time; she had needed it.  Exhaustion had taken hold of her shortly 
after the cramps, as she had been making her way into her apartment 
building, and she had practically dragged herself down the hall to her 
door.  Without Mulder's help she doubted she would have undressed 
herself fully, she had been seconds away from just curling up on the 
bed to sleep when he had come in.  

Mulder.  

She was surprised she had not found him in the room, either lying 
spooned around when she awoke, or sitting in the chair in the corner, 
keeping watch over her.  While his insomnia seemed to be gone for the 
most part, he still did not sleep as much, or as long as she did, and 
she would often awake to find him watching her.  At first it had been a 
bit disconcerting, but it had become very comforting.

She missed him, even though he was only a room away, for she knew he 
would not leave.  Missed his lopsided smile and that lock of hair that 
always fell onto his forehead.  Missed the warmth and strength of his 
hands and body.  Missed his very presence.  She finished stretching, 
rolled onto her side and then sat up, eager to go to him. 

A slight blood rush left her momentarily dizzy, and then she was fine.  
She rose to her feet slowly, finding her footing stable, and shuffled 
to the end of her bed, where her robe was laying.  

Which meant Mulder had come in at least once, for she had hung the robe 
in her closet that morning after getting ready for work.  She smiled 
softly, picturing him tiptoeing into the room and standing beside the 
bed, with one of those tiny smiles on his face. 

Slipping her arms into the sleeves of her robe, Scully headed out of 
her bedroom, leaving it unbelted.  She hated constriction of any sort 
on her belly, had since almost the beginning of her pregnancy when it 
was still flat and trim.  As her belly had grown, so had her dislike.  
If it hadn't been for her inherent shyness, she'd probably walk around 
semi-nude quite often.  She knew Mulder certainly wouldn't mind, he was 
very blasé about nudity, his or hers, and was as enamored of her new 
shape as much as he had of her old one.

After a brief stop in the bathroom to relieve her bladder, brush her 
teeth and fix her hair, she made her way down the hall to find Mulder.

He was slouched on the sofa, one bare foot up on the cushions, the 
other on the floor, his leg bent at the knee.  His head was resting on 
the arm, his eyes closed.  At her approach, which could in no way be 
described as quiet these days, his eyes popped open and he sat up.

"Hey," he said quietly, studying her face intently.  Whatever he saw 
there reassured him, for he smiled then.  "You look better now.  
Rested."  The smile slid away, his teeth biting at his bottom lip for a 
moment before he asked, "No...cramps?"

"I am rested," she told him, coming to a stop in front of him on the 
couch.  "And I feel fine, Mulder.  No cramps."

"Good."  The smile came back, even warmer, and he shifted so that his 
butt was against the arm of the couch, bending his other knee to rest 
on the sofa's back.  He then offered her his hand and when she took it, 
helped her to sit down.  She ended up cradled between his legs, her 
back resting against his chest with her head snuggled under his chin, 
and her legs lying along the cushions.  His arms went around her, with 
his hands cupping her belly, and hers atop them.

It was their favorite way to lie on the couch together.  Sometimes they 
watched TV or a movie, and sometimes they listened to music.  They 
often did absolutely nothing at all but lie there enjoying each other's 
company in perfect silence.  And on a few occasions, it had been the 
start to something that had ended in her bedroom with both of them 
satisfied and pleasure-slaked.

They started with the 'nothing at all' approach, but the serenity was 
ruined by the gurgling of her stomach, followed by Mulder's bark of 
laughter.

"Hungry?" he said, and she heard the smirk in his voice.  He gentled it 
though by sliding his hands over and around her belly.  "How about I 
heat up that spaghetti now?"

The baby kicked, and her stomach rumbled again.

Before she could reply, Mulder quipped, "I'll take that as a yes, from 
you and the peanut gallery."  Sighing theatrically, he added, "My work 
is never done."

Short of comebacks, Scully settled for a quick jab of her elbow, right 
in his belly, making him groan.  His slightly soft belly, she noted 
with interest.  Too much snacking while she wasn't home, despite his 
efforts to hide the fact from her.  "Hmmmm," she said.  "Getting kinda 
soft there, Mulder.  Methinks you need to work a little harder on 
getting in shape for those G-man re-certification tests."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, as he pushed at her to slide forward.  "Nag, 
nag, nag."  He got free and stood, and then bent at the waist to plant 
a smacking kiss on her lips.  "How about we try nude aerobics?  I can 
guarantee I'll be at the top of my form."  He waggled his eyebrows at 
her, adding a little pelvic gyration, and laughed when she rolled her 
eyes at him.

"Spaghetti for three coming up in a minute," he called over his 
shoulder as he headed to the kitchen.

Scully enjoyed the view of his backside for a moment before slowly 
rising from the couch to help him.  

***


Doctor's Office
Georgetown, D.C.
March 28, 2001
9:30 am

He was listening to the heartbeat.  Their baby's heartbeat.
At first the loud, rapid staccato that had burst from the hand-held 
Doppler monitor the doctor was maneuvering over Scully's bared belly 
had alarmed Mulder, and he had asked if that was normal.  Both Scully 
and her doctor had assured him it was, wearing identical slightly 
amused smiles, although Scully's had been fond as well.  Scully had 
also explained what some of the other sounds were, the whooshing that 
was her blood flow, the slower fainter thud that was her own heartbeat.
Then he became fascinated.

"Okay, Dana and Mulder," Dr. Lauren Newall said then, pulling Mulder 
from that fascination.  He watched the doctor remove the Doppler and 
pull Scully's gown back down to cover her belly.  

"Everything sounds fine," the doctor continued.  "I still want an 
ultrasound just to be sure, but I'm confident we'll see a normally 
developing fetus.  You've gained two pounds since your last visit, your 
blood pressure is good, and the measurements of your uterus are right 
on schedule.  Your urinalysis from the last visit was normal, as was 
your hemoglobin, but we'll run the hemoglobin again this time, along 
with the regular urinalysis.  The internal examination showed nothing 
unusual, as I said earlier.  I don't think you should be concerned 
about the cramping, while not common in all pregnancies, it does happen 
to some women."  Her hand had rested on the mound of the baby as she 
talked to them, her eyes going from Scully to Mulder and back again, 
keeping him included in the conversation.  She then slid her hand down 
to pat Scully's hand, lying at her side.  "We'll be ready for the 
ultrasound in about 5 minutes, okay?  I'll be back."

Dr. Newall gave them both a smile and exited the room.  Mulder had 
liked the doctor instantly, she was friendly and warm, and she made 
sure to include him at all times, explaining everything she was doing.  
He could see that Scully was very comfortable with her, which was good.
He flicked a glance at his watch, and was surprised to see so little 
time had gone by.  

Scully's appointment had been the first for the day, and her doctor was 
amazingly punctual, her nurse calling them in at precisely nine 
o'clock.  They had only been waiting in the pastel yellow waiting room 
with its baby motif decor for a few minutes, barely enough time for him 
to flip through any of the Parent&Child magazines on the low, square 
table in the center of the room, or for Scully to grow uncomfortable 
sitting in the same position for too long.  Which happened often now, 
no matter how plush the chair.

The nurse had weighed Scully and then sent her to the washroom to 
provide a urine sample while he had sat nervously in the empty 
examining room, wondering if he should be waiting out in the other 
room, despite the fact that Scully had said she wanted him there.  His 
eyes had kept going to the examining table that seemed to dominate the 
room, sliding uneasily over one particular feature that was tucked 
semi-discreetly down the sides.  The stirrups.  True they weren't as 
scary as the ones he had seen in movies - for instance they weren't 
cold metal, they were softly padded vinyl... thank God for modern 
amenities.  But he had kept picturing some mad scientist hovering 
between Scully's spread-legged knees, her tiny feet on the stirrups, 
cold metal cuffs in place around her ankles, a maniacal grin evident 
even behind the mask the scientist wore.  His over-active imagination 
at its best.

Voices in the hallway approaching the room where he sat had pulled him 
from his latest contemplation of the table, and he had turned his head 
to watch the nurse enter, with Scully following a few seconds later.  
"Please change into the gown, and Dr. Newall will be right with you," 
she had instructed cheerily, and exited, pulling the door shut behind 
her.

Scully had waddled over to the table, to where a pale pink gown was 
folded neatly on top of the sheet that covered the exam table, and 
slipped out of her low-heeled shoes.  When her hands had gone to the 
top button of her long shirt, Mulder had cleared his throat and said,  
"Uh, Scully.  Do you want me to wait outside?"  It was well and fine to 
strip in front of each other, even to help each other undress in the 
privacy of Scully's bedroom...or bathroom...or even once the kitchen, 
but there in the cool, sterile office of her doctor, things were 
different.

"Whatever for Mulder?" Scully had asked, turning around to face him, 
one eyebrow quirked.  Meanwhile she had still been undoing her shirt, 
and it had gaped at her chest, offering him a view of her enhanced 
curves and matronly bra.  The one he had teased her about a few days 
ago, mourning the loss of Victoria's Secret lace and silks.  "You've 
seen it all before."

"I know," he had replied.  "But we're," he had gestured with flapping 
hands around him, "in your doctor's office!"

Her shirt totally unbuttoned then, Scully had shrugged it off her 
shoulders, briefly turning back to lay it on the table beside the gown.  
"And were you planning on doing something, Mulder?" she had asked, a 
smirk on her lips and in her voice.

If they hadn't been there because Scully had been cramping, that 
statement might have been intriguing, something he would have liked to 
explore further.  His mind then veered way off-track for a moment, and 
he had wondered if the doctor or nurse had ever caught any of their 
patients and significant others doing the dirty deed, for those 
stirrups had potential other uses.  Then his mind had snapped back to 
the present, and he had blustered, "No!  But...well...I thought you 
might need some privacy or something."

Scully had smiled gently then and said, "Thank-you, Mulder, for 
thinking about my privacy, but I'm fine.  I wanted...I *want* you here.  
I keep thinking of all the firsts you missed, all the things I 
discovered on my own, and if at all possible, I want you to be with me 
for everything else."

That had stopped his bumbling attempts to leave, and he had sat quietly 
and tried not to ogle her as she removed all her clothing except her 
panties.  He had gotten to his feet and assisted her with getting up 
onto the exam table once she had gotten the pink gown on, and sat back 
down to watch her bare feet with their sexily painted toes swing gently 
back and forth. 

They had not waited long for the doctor then, and now, true to her 
word, in five minutes they were starting the ultrasound.

Hearing the heartbeat had been fascinating, amazing, awe-inspiring, but 
now he was actually seeing their baby moving inside Scully's tummy.  He 
had no words to describe how he felt, other than those same ones.  
The baby was awake, and almost seemed to be hamming it up for its 
audience, rolling and kicking and jabbing.  At one point he or she 
seemed to look right at them on the ultrasound monitor, one tiny fist 
at its cheek.

Mulder watched the screen almost dazedly, Dr. Newall's murmurings to 
Scully a pleasant hum in the background.  He was vaguely aware of the 
doctor asking her if they wanted to know the baby's sex, and of 
Scully's reply in the negative.  They had decided as long as they knew 
it was healthy, they were happy.

Which it was.

***

9:45 am

Mulder was wonderstruck.

That was the only word Scully could think of to describe the state of 
the man sitting less than a foot away, his eyes glued to the monitor of 
the ultrasound.  His mouth hung open slightly, the lips curved in a 
smile of awe and amazement.

He looked like a kid who had been given the keys to the candy store, or 
who had won a shopping spree in the world's largest toy store.  Her 
heart swelled with such love to see him so open and free and almost 
child-like, to see his emotions unveiled, naked.  Long a very private 
man, and one who sadly had always seemed to find it necessary to hide 
his emotions, he was at his most open right at that moment.

Now that Dr. Newall had alleviated her fears about the health of the 
baby, she was able to relax and enjoy it.  She was almost more 
interested in watching Mulder than watching the baby.  At the same time 
though, it made her a little sad... thinking again of all the things he 
had missed during her pregnancy.  But he was here now, and he was well, 
and the baby was well.  That was all that mattered.

Dr. Newall said her name, and when Scully shifted her gaze from Mulder 
to her, the doctor had an indulgent smile on her face.  "Dana, do you 
and Mulder want to know the baby's sex?"

A very tiny part of her wanted to nod enthusiastically.  She had to 
admit that even without her mother's continual questions as to whether 
it was a boy or girl, that knowing beforehand might not be such a bad 
thing.  But she and Mulder had talked about it, and decided they did 
not want advance knowledge.  "No, thank-you, Dr. Newall.  We want it to 
be a surprise."

"Okay, then we're all finished," the doctor said next.  "Everything is 
perfectly normal."  She turned to put the ultrasound wand down on the 
little tray next to the monitor, and then picked up a towel.  With 
gentle, efficient movements she wiped the gel off of Scully's belly and 
then covered her with the sheet.  "I don't normally start seeing 
patients weekly until the 36th week, but just to be on the safe side, 
we'll start now even though you're only 34 weeks along.  Tell Janice 
when you set-up your next appointment, okay?"  

Dr. Newall rose then from her rolling stool, pushing it out of the way, 
and moved around the table to stand beside Mulder.  He had already 
risen from his own stool, but was still staring somewhat wistfully at 
the blank monitor.  "It was nice meeting you at last, Mulder," Dr. 
Newall said, and held out her hand.

Scully had not told Dr. Newall everything that had happened, and had 
made it seem like Mulder had been out of the country unavoidably. Which 
was true, just not in the manner the doctor had most likely taken it.  
She had also told Dr. Newall that he preferred to be called Mulder 
after she had introduced the two.

Scully saw Mulder jolt just slightly, and then he returned the doctor's 
handshake.  "You too, Dr. Newall," he replied.  "And thank-you."

"You're welcome, Mulder.  And Dana, I'll see you next week, and be sure 
to call me immediately if you have any more cramps or any other unusual 
symptoms, okay?  Even if it's the middle of the night, I'll instruct 
the service to reach me."  Dr. Newall smiled at them both and left the 
room, turning the light on as she did, and pulling the door shut behind 
her.

Scully started to struggle to an upright position, and her huffed 
exhalation jumpstarted Mulder, who turned to her and helped her up.  
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and he nudged the 
footstool into place and held her hand while his other hand went to her 
elbow.  She rose slowly, and stepped carefully down from the stool onto 
the floor, her toes curling in protest of the cold tile.  

They walked back to the examining room, his hand at the small of her 
back, although her waddle... the one she had finally and grudgingly 
admitted to... made his hand shift slightly from side to side.
While she got dressed, Mulder amused himself, and her, by poking around 
the room, looking at the posters on the walls, one of which was a 
diagram of the female reproductive system in great detail.  His head 
tilted to the side, his ear resting on his shoulder, and then to the 
other, as he studied it, his mouth screwed up in concentration or 
dismay, she wasn't sure which.

After slipping her feet into yet another pair of low-heeled pumps that 
she hated, she called softly, "Mulder?"

He was bent at the waist, his back to her, presenting her with a fine 
view of his ass encased in faded denim, studying a model of a uterus.  
The index finger of one hand was just touching part of it, and he 
jolted when she said his name, lurching forward a bit.  The model 
collapsed into pieces.  His muttered, "Shit!" was distinctly annoyed, 
and comical as hell.

Scully could not help laughing, her hand coming up to muffle the sound.  
Mulder straightened and shot her a look, and then bent back to try and 
put the uterus back together.  She could see he had it backwards, but 
said nothing, although she snickered, turning the laugh into a cough.  
A moment later he used both hands to sweep the pieces together into one 
little pile and turned his back on it.  "You ready, Scully?" he said in 
normal, if not slightly higher, tones.

She cleared her throat.  "Ready."  And laughed again.
He hustled her out, and she saw him shoot once last look over his 
shoulder at the model before they turned to go to the reception area.  
Once there she made her appointment for the following week, telling 
Janice the receptionist that Dr. Newall would be seeing her weekly from 
now on.

Mulder convinced her to go to the café across the street for juice and 
a muffin, seeing as she had taken the day off.  It was an easy sell, 
for she and the baby were both hungry.

***

4 Weeks Later
Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
April 25, 2001
6:50 pm

Scully was driving him crazy.  

Mulder knew it was a terrible thing to think about the mother of your 
soon-to-be child, but it was true.  Two weeks before her due date, and 
they were both wishing it were already over.

For different reasons of course.  Scully had announced on several 
occasions that she was quite ready for the baby to get the hell out.  
And at very odd times, he might add... such as at two o'clock in the 
morning after she'd gotten up for a bathroom trip, and had to wake him 
up from a very sound sleep to tell him so.  Such behavior - the wanting 
the baby out and wanting to regain control over her own body, not the 
waking him up part - was normal.  Or so the baby books he consulted 
said.

Now he, he just wanted his Scully back.  Not the one that decided to 
clean her apartment at two in the morning.  And what was with that 
magic hour and Scully anyway?  Not the Scully whose moods were as 
unpredictable as the weather, and who was as likely to fly off the 
handle as she was to kiss him senseless and leave him drooling. 
He had learned fairly quickly not to say the words 'mood swings' in her 
hearing.  

Particularly so after one such occasion where she had been quite 
romantically inclined, or so he had mistakenly thought, and had then 
gotten very angry at him for nibbling on her neck.  Turned out she was 
just hinting around for a back rub.  But when your woman is cozying up 
to you with her hand high on your thigh and whispering sweet nothings 
in your ear, what else is a guy to think?  Especially a guy who hadn't 
been getting any in a while.  

And he was not being an insensitive jerk about the sex part, or lack 
thereof, either.  He had been just as willing to agree when her doctor 
had advised that they cease certain sexual activities after Scully had 
some more cramping and one incident of spotting.  Her health and that 
of the baby was far more important.  And they made up for it with lots 
of snuggling and tender touches.  When she wasn't being a bitch, of 
course.  He didn't say that word out loud either.

As for the cleaning part, or 'nesting' as they called it, that was 
normal too.  Even the hour that she might choose to do it.  

He had been visiting the Gunmen a lot lately; to give them both some 
breaks from each other, and Scully had been spending a lot of time with 
her mother.  Strangely enough her mood swings had brought her even 
closer to Maggie.  Maybe they spent their time commiserating about men, 
who knew?  He just knew that she was usually very relaxed and happy 
after their visits, which made it much more peaceful around her 
apartment.

Their latest disagreement, or argument, or whatever you want to call 
it, had been about how he cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.  Or, in 
her words, how he didn't clean it up.  As try as he might, he could not 
see the dirt she seemed to see.

So Mulder was sitting on the couch, feet carefully on the floor and not 
on the cushions or coffee table, where she had banished him while she 
cleaned up his mess.  Again, her words, not his.  He grabbed the remote 
and aimed it at the TV, turning it down before it had barely flicked 
on, so Scully would not have something else to nag him about.  There 
was nothing really on, so he found CNN and let his head drop to the 
back of the couch.  

He was tired and achy, had overdone it a bit with his afternoon run.  
But he wasn't going to ask for any sympathy right now, she was 
definitely on edge.  Maybe when, and he hoped it was not if, she joined 
him, he'd offer her a back rub, try and help her relax.  So while he 
waited, he closed his eyes and felt his mind begin to drift.

And as it so often did, it drifted into the sex zone.

One of his favorite fantasies, actually.  He and Scully, a remote cabin 
in the woods, and very little clothing.  A smile flitted across his 
face.  Okay, no clothes at all.

They were lolling about nude on the big feather bed in the middle of 
the day, with a cool breeze blowing the lacy curtains through the open 
window.  Scully's eyes were bright and filled with laughter and 
mischief as she tried her damnedest to tickle him.  She was persistent, 
and sneaky, but he persevered, subduing his giggling nymph.  He 
straddled her, hands diving in to tickle her unmercifully, and changed 
his method of attack.

To gentle kisses and feather-light caresses that had her melting and 
sighing his name.

<>

His name.  He loved to hear her say his name.

<>

Wait, Scully really was calling his name.  And she didn't sound right.  
Mulder sat up, blinking heavily, one hand coming up to swipe across his 
eyes, and when his hand fell away he saw her standing a few feet away, 
pale as freshly falling snow and clutching her belly.

Dread gathered in the pit of his stomach, and a flush of searing heat 
washed through his body, chased by freezing cold.  He stumbled to his 
feet, and gasped out a question.

"Scully, what's wrong?"

***

6:50 pm

Scully knew she was driving Mulder crazy.

It had become very obvious over the last few days.  And to be perfectly 
honest, she was actually driving herself a little crazy.  The next two 
weeks were going to be the longest she'd ever lived, after the time 
Mulder had been missing.  And God help them both if she went past her 
due-date.

Her mind was as busy as her hands as she scrubbed ruthlessly at the 
kitchen counter with a soapy sponge, cleaning up the mess Mulder had 
made while preparing their dinner.  The one he had supposedly cleaned 
already, she huffed to herself.

Scully felt a twinge low in her belly and paused for a second to rub at 
briefly.  The faint sounds of the TV flickered into her consciousness 
and she bit back a sigh of irritation.  Irritation that nearly overrode 
the discomfort she was feeling... he was watching TV, probably with his 
feet all over the furniture, while she cleaned up his mess.  When the 
pain dissipated, so did her irritation.  She continued with her 
scrubbing.  And her thoughts.

She had never imagined it would be necessary to apply the word 
'skittish' in a description about Mulder, but it fit... his demeanor 
whenever around her lately was jumpy, fidgety.  He frequently wore his 
oft-joked about panic face, or had that 'deer in the headlights' look 
in his eyes, and he had improved his avoidance technique almost to a 
fine art.  He also spent a lot of time out visiting the Gunmen, and 
running, and working out at the FBI gym.  

Understandably, though, she had to admit.  She knew her behavior could 
possibly be termed irrational, or perhaps even erratic as of late.  She 
was moody, suffering from alternating periods of fatigue or excess 
energy, had difficulty sleeping, and was unusually sensitive and 
irritable.  There were physical symptoms as well... a slight swelling in 
her ankles and feet, she often experienced a shortness of breath, and 
occasional feelings of dizziness or faintness.  All of which were 
completely normal, and no cause for alarm.

She was also definitely experiencing the nesting instinct.
Yet while she was aware of this fact, she was helpless to stop it.  She 
could only describe it as being somewhat like a compulsion.  Waking up 
at the oddest time of night, usually two o'clock... a time Mulder had 
crankily called the witching hour, not realizing that she had actually 
been in earshot... and just had to clean something, anything.  One night 
she had scrubbed the entire kitchen, from floor to ceiling, cupboards 
included - inside and out. 

There was also the matter of her memory.  It often felt like it was 
full of holes... she would head off full of purpose, and forget the why 
or the what for before she got to her destination.  At home, and at the 
Bureau.  Fortunately only John had noticed at work, and he was quite 
understanding.  He even managed to hide his amusement fairly well.
Mulder tried too, but she was so attuned to him that she almost knew 
exactly what he was thinking at times, and he was often either amused 
as hell, or bewildered beyond belief.  Her mother didn't even bother to 
hide her amusement; she laughed outright or made comparison comments to 
her own pregnancies.

Another twinge, still low in her belly, had her pausing again.  She 
released the sponge and put her palm flat on the counter to keep her 
balance, her other hand going to rub at the spot once more.  Deep, slow 
breathing seemed to help both the Braxton-Hicks contractions and these 
cramping pains, so she began to breathe in and out, forcing herself to 
relax her tight shoulders.

It faded again after about twenty seconds or so, and for a brief 
instant she had a wild thought/hope it might be a contraction.  A real 
contraction, not a Braxton-Hicks.

But somehow it just didn't feel like she was going into labor.  Not 
that she'd ever experienced it before, nor would all the medical 
knowledge in the world enable her to divine the baby's intentions as to 
the timing of his or her debut... she just thought that she would know 
when it was time.  

Maybe it was indigestion... she had been suffering from that quite often 
lately as well.  With a little moue of distaste, she finished up the 
counter and rinsed the sponge out in the sink, putting it on the 
drainer to dry.  A slow scan of the kitchen showed it was clean at 
last, and she sighed quietly in relief.  She wanted nothing more than 
to sit down and put her feet up.  Preferably with Mulder, so she could 
make amends for her latest...*mood swing*.  As much as it pained her to 
admit it, that's what they were.  After washing her hands and drying 
them off, she moved towards the fridge to get a drink.

When the pain came again, she knew it was not indigestion.  

This time it was sharp and furious, and so very, very wrong, and it 
tore her breath from her lungs.  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she 
stumbled back a few steps into one of the kitchen chairs, the fingers 
of one hand white knuckling its wooden back to keep herself from 
falling to the ground.  Her other hand cupped her belly, and she 
hunched her body in, bending slightly at the waist, trying to ease the 
pain, to ride it out.

She tried to call to Mulder for help, but the sound that passed her 
lips just barely qualified as a whisper.  Reluctantly releasing the 
chair, she moved with excruciating slowness towards the living room.  
Her skin felt clammy and cold, and she had to bite her lip to hold back 
a wave of nausea.

Several feet from the couch, Scully came to a swaying halt, both hands 
now cradling her belly.  Mulder lay there, apparently asleep, his head 
resting on the couch back, his mouth slightly open.  "Mulder?" she got 
out.

He did not react.

She panted a few times and managed to say his name louder.  "Mulder?"  
She also managed to stay on her feet, though the ground beckoned.

This time it worked.  He sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes and 
looked at her.  He paled, and then gracelessly got to his feet.  Fear 
and worry were evident in his next words.  "Scully, what's wrong?"
"Hurts," she choked out, and felt her knees buckle.  Her body started 
to slide down, but Mulder was there to catch her.  He lowered them both 
to the ground, where she automatically curled into a ball on her side, 
hands clutching her belly.  

She could feel his hands moving nervously over her body, smoothing her 
hair, her back, fleetingly touching the bulge of the baby, and she 
moaned, low and deep.  Faintly she heard him asking, "Is it the baby?  
Is the baby coming?"

Shaking her head was an effort.  "Nooooo," she got out.  "Call...9-1-
1," she gasped, and then moaned again.  

"Something's wrong."

***

Georgetown University Medical Center
Georgetown, D.C.
April 26, 2001
1:10 am


<"Call 9-1-1...something's wrong.">

Mulder bolted upright and nearly fell off the uncomfortable plastic 
chair he had dozed off in.  Once he righted himself, he stood on shaky 
legs and looked worriedly at the figure in the hospital bed.  She was 
there, she was all right, and it appeared that he had not disturbed her 
much needed rest.  Thankfully.  

Just a dream.  If you put it in general terms, that was all it had 
been.  But there was nothing ordinary or common about the nightmare he 
had actually lived several hours previously, and revisited just minutes 
ago.

His furiously pounding heart finally started to slow as he continued to 
take in her beloved features.  The fresh dread that had been surging 
through his body from the nightmare began to abate.

Scully's face wasn't quite as pale as it had been, but she still looked 
drawn and tired, despite the fact that she was deeply asleep.  Shadows 
lay like purple bruises on the delicate skin beneath her closed lids, 
making him wince.  His eyes then slid down to her belly beneath the 
blankets, where even in her slumber one of her hands was cupped 
protectively over the baby.

His mind flashed back to how she had curled up on the floor after he 
had stopped her from falling, and lain there with her hands holding her 
stomach.  Could suddenly hear again her gasps and moans.

Mulder didn't remember closing his eyes as he stood there, but they 
were closed, squeezed shut actually, and he forced them open, willing 
the painful image and sounds to go away.  As well, he had stepped 
closer to the bed, and his hands had fisted tightly around the top bar 
of the side rail. 

He released the metal, his fingers flexing briefly from the tight grip, 
and brought one hand up to skim feather-light over her hand on her 
belly and then along the swell of the baby.  He wished he was able to 
hold her hand, but was unwilling to remove it from its resting place, 
and the other was lying along the side opposite him, encumbered by an 
IV.  The tentative touches would have to suffice until she awoke again.  
But he could rest closer to her, be in easier reach for if and when 
that should occur.

With the utmost care he lowered the side rail, flicking a glance at 
Scully's face to ensure the noise or the motions had not disturbed her, 
and saw that she still slept on.  Bringing his chair closer was next, 
and then he arranged himself as comfortably as possible, which was not 
really much, given the chair, and pillowed his head upon his bent arms 
on the mattress by her hip.  

His eyes were sore...from the little sleep he'd gotten so far, and from 
the glaring lights of the emergency department where he'd spent lonely, 
frantic hours waiting to hear any news about Scully and the baby.  He 
hadn't thought to call Mrs. Scully at first, nor anyone else, and by 
the time he did, he'd been informed the crisis had passed, and the hour 
was late.  He made a mental note to himself to call her, Skinner, and 
he supposed Doggett as well, in the morning, and let his heavy eyelids 
drop down to ease his tired orbs.

The position was only slightly more comfortable then the last one, but 
he had slept in worst places.  And as long as he was near Scully, it 
didn't matter.  He yawned and felt his shoulders relax somewhat.

He drifted.

And suddenly he was in Scully's apartment again, desperate not to leave 
her side but having to do so, to get up and find a phone to call for an 
ambulance.  Hearing her moans and seeing her curled in pain.  Fingers 
fumbling to dial the number, voice shaking as he half-yelled, half-
cried out his name and Scully's address, and that he needed help.  
Falling to his knees at her side again, afraid to touch her, and afraid 
not to.

Then they were enroute to the hospital in the ambulance, after he had 
fought his way on board over the paramedics' objections.  Staring at 
Scully's waxen face, her eyes scrunched shut with her pain, unable to 
touch her.  Able only to try and reassure her vocally over and over 
again that he was there and that she and the baby would be all right. 
Not knowing if that were true, terrified he could lose them both.  
Listening to the paramedics call out vital signs and symptoms as they 
radioed ahead to the hospital, and gave their ETA.

Time jumped again and they were in the emergency department, and a 
large, white-uniformed man was blocking him entrance to the trauma area 
where they had taken Scully.  He fought anyway, and was forcibly moved 
to another area and threatened with ejection from the hospital.  He 
settled down only because he had to see Scully again, and started his 
solitary and frightened wait, pacing up and down the quiet hallway.

At last he was taken to see her, and the doctor, somber-faced and 
quiet, stopped him just inside the room to explain what had happened, 
and that Scully had been placed under 24-hour observation for the time 
being.  The words 'partial abruption' had barely registered, for all 
his attention was focused on the pale woman in the bed... sleeping or 
unconscious, he did not know.

Mulder jerked upright again with a shudder, gaze immediately flying to 
Scully's face.  She seemed reasonably at peace, unlike him... his heart 
was pounding anew, and he was oddly chilled.  With a slight shiver, he 
sat up, resolving he would attempt sleep no more that night.  He did 
not want to relive the terrifying events over and over again, although 
he was sure they would revisit as nightmares for a long time.

His vigil had begun.

***


5:30 am


Slow, rolling movements of the baby within her womb awoke Scully from 
her deep slumber, and she lay still for a moment, enjoying the gentle 
motions.  

Reality intruded... sharply and abruptly.  Smells and sounds that did 
not belong, and she remembered.  The hospital, she was in the hospital, 
and her slumber had not been a natural one.  Just as quickly, a much-
welcomed feeling of relief washed through her mind, chasing away her 
fears and the residual memories of the nightmarish events of the 
previous night.  The baby was all right.

She attempted to bring her hands up to cradle her belly... to touch, to 
reassure herself, to just feel the life within... but found herself 
somewhat restrained.  Prying her heavy eyes open and blinking several 
times to clear her vision, she tried to see exactly what it was that 
had hampered her.  

The pull from an IV site on her left arm was recognizable, and 
understandable, and her eyes followed the line of clear tubing upwards 
to the bag of saline that was being steadily fed into her system.  It 
was standard operating procedure in situations like last night to open 
a venous line in case medication was necessary.    

Her gaze then shifted, and when she took in the rumpled chestnut hair 
and lined, exhausted face of Mulder, she realized that one of his arms 
was extended, fingers clutching those of her right hand.  Tightly, even 
in his sleep.

He was slumped in a chair next to her bed, with his chin touching his 
chest.  Scully studied him further, and could see that his cheeks were 
stubbled and there were dark circles under his eyes, and she knew he 
had sat sentinel all night.  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked 
them away, worried she might disturb him.  He was easily in touching 
distance, and she resisted the temptation to stroke her hand through 
his spiky hair, or to smooth the frown from his brow.  It was obvious 
he had pulled his chair as close as he could possibly get it, and she 
pictured his feet jammed uncomfortably beneath the bed.  Which was 
exactly how she would have sat, and had done so many a time, when it 
was he who was in the hospital bed.

The baby moved again, a soft fluttering, and she needed that contact of 
hand on belly.  As much as she loved the feel of Mulder's hand holding 
hers, she had to pull free of his grasp.  For now.  

When he awoke, she would hold him all he wanted, for she herself wanted 
very much to find the comfort that could always be found within his 
embrace.  The memories of his panicked voice as he called for the 
ambulance and tried to speak words of solace, and of his hands unsure 
of where and how to touch her, were quite vivid.  She had not been able 
to respond to him or try to reassure him, she had been concentrating on 
breathing through the pain and suppressing the horribly frightening 
thoughts that she was losing the baby.

Another flutter, pulling her back to the present.  Moving her hand 
slowly and carefully, Scully slid it out from under Mulder's.  His 
fingers immediately twitched as if he felt the loss, and a second later 
he made a snuffling sound and jerked awake and upright.

His eyes were wild and worried as they met hers, but when she smiled, 
they calmed, and he exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging.  "Scully," he 
said, his voice barely above a croak.  "Is...are you...do you need me 
to get the nurse?"

She shook her head minutely, and finally brought her hand to her belly, 
smoothing gently over the soft, worn cotton of the hospital gown that 
covered the hard, rounded bulge.  "I'm okay, Mulder," she told him, 
holding his gaze.  When the baby moved against her hand, she amended,  
"We're okay."

His next exhale was a harsh, almost shuddery sigh.  "Scully, I was so 
goddamned scared.  I thought...I thought you were losing..." his voice 
broke off in mid-sentence, and he ducked his head down until his 
forehead rested on the mattress, his shoulders shaking.

Scully lifted her hand from her belly and weaved her fingers through 
his hair, stroking softly.  "It's okay, Mulder," she crooned.  "It's 
okay."

They stayed that way for long minutes, the contact of her hand in his 
hair soothing to them both.

Finally his shoulders moved as he heaved out a sigh, and then he lifted 
his head, straightening in his chair.  Her hand fell to the mattress. 
His eyes were red-rimmed and filled with emotion when he met her gaze 
again.  He cleared his throat before speaking.  "You're sure you don't 
need the nurse?"

"I'm sure," she told him, reaching out to grasp his hand, twining their 
fingers together.  "The baby woke me up."  Although she was calm, and 
spoke matter-of-factly, the words held the slight giddiness of her 
relief.

Mulder and she shared another moment, one of mutual relief, before his 
eyes left hers to go to her belly.  He then brought his free hand up to 
gently palm the bottom curve, closing his eyes and smiling when the 
baby's movement greeted him.  

Scully knew that he had felt that same need as she - to confirm, to 
know... that all was well.  And that his need had just been assuaged.

She wondered what time it was, beyond the fact that it was early 
morning, and when the doctor would be coming to see her to discuss 
their options.  With two weeks left until her due-date, she knew she 
was likely to be placed on bed rest.  It was a precaution that made 
sense, and one she would agree to completely.  But she wanted to do so 
at home, for her sake, and for Mulder's.

A rather large yawn surprised her then, and she blinked her suddenly 
heavy eyes.  The way she felt now, it was as if she had been on an 
adrenaline rush that had just ended.

"Rest, Scully," Mulder whispered.  "I'll be right here."

She nodded, her head as weighted as her eyes, and mumbled, "Love you, 
Mulder."

She fell asleep on his return avowal of love.

***

End Part 8 of 12

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