My Favorite Word by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: S, some A Rating: PG-13 for language Spoilers: Requiem Disclaimer: I've tried wishing on stars, four- leaf clovers, heads-up pennies - they still don't belong to me. Summary: A connection is made, an awakening realized. First posted July, 2000. Author's notes at end. "Mulder." A voice. Not one in my head, like before. This one I can hear. I try to say something, but nothing comes out. The question is in my head and I think it anyway. "What's a Mulder?" The real voice doesn't say nothing, but my mind hears a thought voice say, "I'm a Mulder." It scares me and I don't say anymore. "I know you're there," it says again. "Do you hear them like I hear them, too?" "Who?" Who are them? Who are you? Who am I? "I'm Mulder." This is so scary. He can hear me even when I don't say nothing. "And the correct phrase is 'don't say anything.'" He sounds like he know what's going on. "'Knows.'" He knows what's going on. I'm happy to hear that. "Who are them?" "*They* are the ones who took us away, the aliens." "Aliens?" "The ones we can hear thinking around us. You can hear them like me, can't you?" "Yes. Do they do things to you like they do to me?" "The tests? Can you see what they're doing?" "No, I can't see anything, but I can hear everything." "Me too," he tells me. "And I can hear your thoughts as well. At first, I thought you were one of them." "Me too," I tell him, so glad to have somebody that knows. "But I don't think we're the only ones here." "Do you hear someone else? Because I can't." "Yes." "Have you tried talking to them?" "Yes, but it don't work." A word - 'doesn't' - comes at me, but he says, "I can't hear them. Who is it? Do you know?" "It's a woman." I don't know how I know that, but I do. "And she talks with her...." The word is not there. "Mouth?" "Yes! Not like we do, you know?" I feel him try, but he can't. I feel him try again, through me, but he can't. He can only hear the faceless people and me. "What is she saying?" "Mulder." "All right, we both know that's my name," he says, not happy. "What is *she* saying?" "'Mulder.' She says 'Mulder.' A lot. I think she knows who you are. Does she know who I am, too?" His mind stops for a bit, then I hear a thought. "Oh my God...." A new word comes at me and I say, "Scully." ********** It doesn't take me long to pick up on the language. Not much else to do here. Sleep, eat, turn over in my nest. Mulder helps me a lot. He tells me how we came to be where we are, how the faceless people took us away. It's a good thing he knows, because I don't know. ********** "I want to talk to you about her." He gets quiet; I don't know if that's good or bad. A stream of new words fills my head and I get quiet, too. I think quiet is good, but I don't know. All I know is it helps me to learn, helps me to make words in my head. "How do you know who she is? How did you know her name?" His words are sharp - his quiet gone. "Are you someone we know?" "I don't know. I don't even know who I am." "But you must remember *something* -" "No! I told you I just don't know!" I'm thinking maybe it wasn't such a good thing to tell him that I could hear her; now that he realizes that he knows her, he won't leave me alone. "Does she know you're eavesdropping? Does she?" "Eaves... what?" "Listening to her! Does she know you're listening to her?" "You're scaring me!" He gets very still; I feel his mind creep into my own. He's looking for something... he thinks I'm not telling him the truth. He's trying to listen to her himself, but he can't. And it's making him... something I don't know yet. "I feel... that you hear her," he says at last. "But that's all. Damn. Why the hell can't I hear her? Why you?" He's making me scared again. "Please leave me alone." "I'm sorry, Buddy, but I need to know -" "I don't care what you want. I don't want to know." "But think about it, Buddy," he says, softer now. "I know you're confused and so am I... but you can hear the voice of someone very close to me. You don't know why, but you know who she is to me. You feel it - or you wouldn't have said anything. Why is that?" It just is. And there's nothing I can say or do to make him see. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I feel myself close in. "Okay, Buddy, okay," he says, "we won't talk about it anymore. Just don't shut me out... please. And don't shut her out, either. I don't... care why you can hear her. Just keep hearing her. For me." I like hearing her. Even if she can't talk back to me, I think she's nice. "Okay, but you have to do something for me." "Anything." "I don't have many words," I tell him. "Give me words." ********** He sighs. Is a sigh good or bad? "Buddy?" "Yes?" I answer, kicking at the too warm blanket-like thing that covers my legs. Blanket. Yes, that's the word. "What's going on where you are?" "What do you mean?" I'm just as much in the dark as he is. "I know you can't see... hell, I can't either, for that matter," he mutters. "Shi -." He stops before he can finish the word, like I would be offended or something. "'Sokay. I hear that a lot." "*Shit?* You hear *shit?*" "What are you doing now, Mulder? It feels different." "That's a smile, Buddy. It's when you show your teeth because you're happy, or you find something funny." He smiles over the words. I've decided I like a smile better than a sigh. "So, you hear 'shit' all the time, do you?" He's still smiling. "Yeah." What's the big deal? "I hear *fuck* too," I add with a smile. Yes, smiling is many good. "That's 'smiling is *very* good', Buddy," he corrects me. "Okay, *very* good." "And you do *not* hear 'fuck' all the time," he adds. "Sure I do, Mulder." He told me that 'Mulder' was his name, that's why she says it a lot. Suits him, you know. He told me that 'Buddy' suited me, so I figure Mulder suits him. "You say it all the time. Even before we'd started talking, I heard you say it. Mostly during the tests." He's silent for a few moments, then, "But she doesn't say it, does she?" Now he's sad. Sure she does. But something tells me to stop the words before they come out. I know he can feel my thoughts, but I've learned a way to keep him out. It's easy; I know he does it to me sometimes and it wasn't hard to learn it from him. I don't think he'd like to hear that she says that word. Instead, I say what I hear her say most often. "No. Her favorite word is 'Iloveyou.'" I must have said something funny, because he starts to smile. "Buddy, 'Iloveyou' is not a word. It's three words." Ha - ha. He thinks he's so smart. But I'm smarter. "Well, then she has four favorite words," I state, turning over in my resting spot. At least I think I turn over; I can't really tell. "Those are just three," he snaps back. "The four one is 'Mulder.'" The quiet is weird. I've gotten so used to him talking, I kind of miss his thought voice. "Mulder?" "Fourth, Buddy. Fourth, not four." "Fourth, then." I don't mind when he corrects me; it's good. "Mulder, does everyone have favorite words?" "I suppose so." His answer is small. "What are your favorite words?" "I only have one." He stops for a little while. "'Scully.'" Her name. That doesn't seem like a favorite word. Words are so fun, why would anyone want to have only one they really like? "Because it's everything to me," he says. "I'm tired, Buddy. I'll talk to you later, okay?" "Okay." I don't mind if he wants to rest. It will give me time to figure out what my favorite word is. Maybe I'll pick 'Scully' too. ********** "Mulder, what is love?" "Whoa, Buddy, you know how to pick 'em, huh?" "Just tell me, okay?" "It's when you care for someone a lot. You want to make them happy. They make *you* happy." "Does Scully make you happy?" Oh, oh! What... I've never felt anything like that... from Mulder... oh my! It's like... "Fireworks?" he asks. Yes, yes... whatever that is... yes! And, and... "Warmth? Joy?" I kick at my blanket; it's getting hot. "Your heart beats faster, your smile gets bigger, your hands want to touch her...." Yes! If this is what love is, I like it! "Does that answer your question, Buddy?" Oh, yes! ********** "Budman!" "Shut up! I don't feel like talking today!" I just want him to leave me alone. Seems like everyone here is shouting at me all day, never even letting me sleep good. "C'mon, sport. Talk to me. I'm lonesome." "Don't call me sport." I'm grouchy and my resting place is getting small all of a sudden. Probably because Mulder told me what 'claustrophobic' was yesterday. Now I wish I'd never heard *that* word before. "What should I call you then?" "How should I know? My name is Buddy. Call me that." Geez, some people are so stupid. "Oooh, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today." Mulder can be such an asshole sometimes. How did she ever put up with him? "Okay then, Mulder," I say finally, knowing that the road to peace and quiet is long and curvy. One that means I have to give in for just a while and let him drive. "Talk. But don't expect me to answer you." He's itching to talk to me about something; I can feel him fidget across the void between us. "Buddy, why do you suppose we can talk to one another?" I thought he was going to ask me about hearing her again. I'm glad he didn't. It's a question I've asked myself many times. The others like us, hidden away in cocoons, can't do the same. I've tried to talk to them; so has Mulder. "We're not really talking, Mulder. At least I don't think we are. Your lips move when you talk, don't they?" I know my lips aren't moving. "We may not be physically speaking, Buddy, but we're certainly communicating." Smart-ass. That's another word I've picked up along the journey. "In our minds, we have a connection. You know what I mean." Yes I do, not that I feel much like making the connection today. Things are not right in my world. I don't know what is wrong, but something definitely is. "I don't know why," I tell him, anticipating his next question. Not really wanting to hear it, actually. Wonder if there's a word for that? "Why can you hear her and I can't?" Something flutters in my physical self. Whatever it is, it makes me feel worse, like a hand is squeezing my heart. I knew he would ask me that again. "I don't know. I just do." "But why?" He's beginning to get me all nervous again with his always picking at me. Or whatever you call it. "Maybe for the same reason I didn't know much language until you spoke to me, Mulder," I reply, my brain becoming warmer with the same bad feeling I'd had when he started a little while ago. "Anger, Buddy. It's called anger." Anger. So that's what this upset is. "My stomach hurts." I know I have a stomach, and though it feels like it's miles away, I know it hurts. "It's because you're angry and upset, Buddy." Mulder has calmed down; I can feel his mind filling up with another new thing. "And this is regret. I'm sorry for upsetting you." "Did they make me this way?" The faceless people, the ones who poke at us and run machines over us. Mulder told me they have faces; he tried to describe them to me, but I can't picture them. I wish I could see. To me they will always be faceless. "Make you what way?" "Make me stupid." I know what stupid is, too. Mulder likes to call himself stupid when he thinks I'm not listening. "You're not stupid, Buddy," he replies. "I think they just made you forget. You have to relearn everything." Suddenly, I feel better. My stomach stops hurting and I smile. "There's one thing I can do that you can't, Mulder." "What's that?" He knows already, but he goes along. "I can hear her. That's good, isn't it?" I don't know why I can hear her and he can't, but it makes me feel like I'm worth something. And maybe I shouldn't be bringing it up again, but I realize now it helps him to talk about it. "And I can tell you what she's saying." I'm so proud of myself. I'm not stupid if I can do this. "Yes, Buddy, that's good." His mind voice is soft and sad. "And her name is Scully. Remember that." "Scully." His favorite word. From what I've learned of her, it's a very good favorite word. I'm still giving mine some thought. "I wish I could give Scully messages from you Mulder, but I don't think I can." "That's okay," he sighs, and grows quiet. I've found out that when he gets quiet it means he wants to have a serious discussion. "Is she all right?" With a lurch, my stomach starts hurting again. "What? What is it?" Mulder feels my pain across the blackness. "She was... angry today, Mulder." Now that I know the word, I hate using it. "Did someone hurt her? Did they? Tell me!" His words come faster and faster, a big jumble of anger and panic - yes, panic, another new thing. It gets so I can't understand him. I shut down immediately until he stops yelling. "Buddy? Please tell me what's going on." He sounds so pitiful. "She's not hurt, Mulder. She was angry with someone named Skinner." Silence. It's not what he expected. After a few moments he asks, "Why?" "Because he wants her to have another partner." That's a word I've never heard before today. "What's a partner?" My stomach is on fire. Mulder hasn't replied to my question, but it occurs to me he's answering anyway. His silent answer is my pain. Partner means pain. Go away, go away, I tell the word. "It's okay, Buddy," he says finally. "Partner is a good thing." "It is?" I don't know if I believe that, from the way this feels. "Yeah." He's smiling now, a small, salty smile that drapes across me. "Scully will always be my partner." So *that's* what it means. When you love someone, they become your partner. This language thing is confusing, but well worth the effort. ********** "Chocolate." "Chocolate." "Bubble baths." "Bubble baths. Oh, that one sounds fun." "It is, Buddy, believe me." "What else?" Tell me more, tell me more, Mulder. "What else does she like? Puppies? Cats? Elephants? Birds?" "Slow down, Buddy," he laughs. "One question at a time." I'm still trying to find my favorite word. I don't think Mulder would like it if I picked Scully, so maybe I can pick something she likes. "She likes you, doesn't she?" He smiles, a very big smile, from the feel of it. "Sometimes, yeah." "Why sometimes? I thought she loved you." Love and like are very similar things, that much I do know. "She does," he replies. "But that doesn't mean that she likes me all the time. It's difficult to explain, Buddy." "Try." He thinks for a minute, then says, "People in love still do things that upset one another. That's when you feel you don't like them very much. You disagree, you fight, you wonder why you ever fell in love with them in the first place. But you still love them." "Give me an example." I'm going to understand this, I will. "Okay," he says, and I sense his sadness trying to surface, but he pushes it back down. "For example, I don't think she likes me very much right now." "Why? What did you do?" "I left her behind. Even though she knew where I was going, she didn't expect me to not come back." "But that's not your fault, Mulder. We both know we don't want to be here. She can't blame you if they won't let you go." "The point is," he sighs, "I never should have left her in the first place." I search my feelings for something I can comfort him with; the best I can do is, "She's not angry with you, Mulder. She was at first, but not anymore. She just wants you to come home." "I know she does. I want to go home, too." Our talking is tiring him out, I can tell. "Rest, Mulder. We'll talk later, okay?" "Okay." Damn. I still didn't pick out my favorite word. "Mulder?" It's too late, he's already asleep. If I remember next time, I'll have to ask him what 'pregnant' means. From the way Scully feels, it must not be a favorite thing of hers. But I really don't know. Sometimes she says the word like she's happy, sometimes not. She gets really unhappy when she pukes, whatever that is. Maybe I'll just keep my mind shut on that subject. ********** Invincibility, that's the word for it. I feel it grow upon me with every conversation I have with Mulder. Conversations that become almost non-stop. We have no reason to eat; apparently nourishment is being provided. There are down times, yes. Periods of sleep or rest when I can't hear him. I suppose he leaves me alone, too, when I drift. We gave up long ago on identifying where we are and who our captors are. It's a futile search for answers and we both know it. All we know is that we're both in some sort of suspended animation, our human selves unfazed by outside stimuli. We still react, but mostly to each other's feelings. It's good that we are not physically affected by the tests. Boredom is a problem. Not for me, for him. He is restless most of the time, constantly talking to me. I talk when I need to, but I'm much better at listening. Instead, I'd rather soak up his knowledge like a sponge. I am amazed at the endless amount of words and feelings that spring from him. We make a perfect pair; Mulder loves to talk and I love to listen. Weeks and months have gone by; I have no conception of time and space, but he remembers and gives it to me. Sunshine and colors. The ticking of a clock. Seconds, minutes and hours of theory and fact. Despite my incapacitation, I am entranced. That is the only word for it. Entranced. We talk of Einstein and Newton, Madonna and Elvis. Explain them to me, I told him. You have millions of words. "What do you look like?" He laughs and I feel silly. "You sure you wanna know?" "Yes. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." I have no idea what I look like, but I have a pretty good idea of the human anatomy. Who cares what I look like? Curiosity blooms within me about the man who makes this imprisonment bearable. "Well, I have brown hair and eyes that change color." "Hazel?" I feel his surprise. "Scully thinks of them as hazel," I explain. At the mention of her name, he becomes subdued, but continues. "She tells me when I'm sad my eyes are brown. When I'm happy, they're green." "Cool." It's the only word to describe my awe. "What else?" "Cool, huh?" he smirks. "Well, my nose isn't so cool. It's big. Very big." "So what's wrong with that?" "Buddy, if you end up having a big nose, you'll see what I mean." "Your features are genetic, aren't they Mulder?" "Yes they are," he replies, the schoolmaster once again. He has told me that we all have a mom and dad, and brothers and sisters. And that families share some of the same features. "My mom and dad must be beautiful then, because I feel beautiful." He doesn't answer. "Mulder, I'm going to see my mom and dad again, won't I?" "Yes you will, Buddy. I promise you." The strength of his voice makes me bold. But before I can come up with my next question, he launches into a light-hearted speech on the joys of a sport called basketball. Even though we don't speak when we rest, I can still feel his dreams. Sometimes I see them, too. The total relaxation of his mind allows me to see pictures from him now and then. I don't want to tell him this because I know he can't do the same with me and I don't want him to be sad because of it. Scully is there a lot in his dream world; so is basketball. I let him go on for a while because I don't have the heart to tell him I already understand the game. After some time passes though, I grow restless. Eager to continue where we left off. "What does she look like?" I ask quietly, interrupting his dissertation on the finer points of a three point shot. I've even seen her in his dreams, but I want to hear him describe her to me. The way he sees things has become very important to me. Because of my vastly improved vocabulary, I've graduated from words like sad and sorrowful to melancholy. The vibes he's giving off now can only be described as melancholy. "I told you she was pretty," he replies with an indulgent sigh. "What more do you need to hear?" "Give me a face to color the voice, Mulder," I plead. "Please." He is uncomfortable with my plea, but I persist. "Let me hold on to her like you do." "You have family, Buddy. I know you do." He is selfish with her face and form. "You'll remember them eventually." He must feel my pout, because I feel his instant capitulation. "She's not very big," he begins. "But I hesitate to describe her as tiny. She really hates that." "I know," I beam, happy that he's giving me what I want. More so, it is making him happy just speaking of her. His smile is rapidly changing from wistful to proud. "She has red hair -" "Like fire or like ketchup?" I interrupt. He hates fire and loves ketchup. I hope it's ketchup. "Neither," he laughs, "more like a sunset. Kind of red-orange. She's very fair, with blue eyes and -" "What color blue?" I am determined to make him be as specific as possible. He catches on immediately. "Blue like a cloudless sky. Blue like the Caribbean Sea. Blue like the North Carolina Tarheels blue," he finishes with a flourish. "Ah. Tarheels blue," I reply, remembering Mulder's dream of last resting period, when he was their starting point guard. He must have been quite an athlete in college. Do people dream of things they've done or things they want to do? I block out those thoughts, though. Someday I'll ask him about it, but not now. I'm on to something better. "I understand. What else?" "Let's see... her smile is infrequent, but brilliant when it makes an appearance. She shows gums." "Big, huh?" I chuckle. "Yeah, big and warm. Makes me wanna -" "Wanna what?" His thought stream muddles for a second with reluctance. "How old are you anyway, Buddy?" Little does he know I've learned more than basketball in his dreams. "Old enough, Mulder," I reply. At least I assume I'm an adult. I feel like one more and more, with every day that passes. "I don't need the lecture on sex, you know." "Good, then you'll understand when I say that those feelings are none of your business." I answer his stern statement with, "Of course, Mulder. I'm sorry if I offended you. Please, go on." He waits a moment and I feel the seriousness grow within him. "You know what I miss most about her, Buddy?" "What?" "The smell of her. The smell of Scully." I can't say anything to that. Whatever they'd taken away, whatever Mulder had given back to me... none of it was the sense of smell. I know I have a sense of smell, but I have no remembrance of it, no knowledge of it. Hearing is easy, mind sight a snap. Even with my limited movements, I can still feel, touch my surroundings. But to be able to discern scent? It must be wonderful. I find myself becoming melancholy. Mulder doesn't sense my sadness and he continues. "She wears this perfume... I don't know the name of it, but it's just... her. And it's not just the perfume, either. I know her hair smells clean, her clothes smell like fresh- washed linen. Her breath is minty and her skin... warm and natural, a mixture of scents that's just... Scully." For all my new found learning, it doesn't take me long to regress. "Mulder, my stomach hurts. Can we stop now?" "Sure, Buddy," he says. "My throat kind of hurts, too. It's okay. It's a good kind of hurt." "I don't know about that, Mulder. How can hurt be good?" "This is not hurt, Buddy. This is love." So love doesn't always feel like fireworks. ********** This hurt is *not* love. It tears through me, scaring me into immobility. What is happening? The tests have become so routine, I've managed to rest through most of them, although they are more frequent now. Mulder has been spared in the past few days and spends his time talking me through them. Soothing me and talking to me about Scully. But he isn't talking now. He's screaming. It isn't my pain I'm feeling, it's his. His panic and fright take hold of me, paralyzing me. "No!" he keeps yelling, not at me but at them. They're moving him, taking him away from where he's been for so long. "Mulder!" I scream his name, trying in vain to free myself from my unwanted stillness. It's no use; my arms and legs won't move. I keep talking, trying to calm him like he's done for me so many times. "Mulder, it's okay. I'm here. Tell me what they're doing to you." "I don't know," he replies, not as frantic as he'd been moments ago. He is reacting to my attempt to relax him and in turn, I find myself becoming more at peace. We need to keep ourselves in control; he'd taught me that long ago. A level head rules in any situation. "I think they're moving you, Mulder," I tell him, sensing his need for the truth. "I don't think they'll hurt you." "I'm scared, Buddy." It is the first time he's ever said that to me. The first time I've even felt it coming from him. "I can feel you slipping away from me." Actually, when he says it, I finally realize what that feeling is. Dread. I've never felt dread before, not even for the tests. Now I know that our time together is coming to an end. Wherever they are taking him, we won't be able to speak to each other anymore. But I refuse to give in to my panic. Strength that I've gained from him over the months comes to the forefront. "Maybe they're taking you home, Mulder." "I don't know," he says, his voice becoming more distant. "I can't feel what they're thinking anymore. I think they're erasing... sweeping my mind... I don't want to forget Scully. I don't want to forget you." "You'll see Scully again, Mulder. I promise you. And you'll see me... I promise you that I'll know you when I see you. Even if you don't remember me, I'll remember you." My words seem to bring him peace. "Mulder?" No answer. I try again. "Mulder?" He's gone. For the first time since I've been here, I know what it is to cry. ********** The days pass with agonizing slowness. To keep myself occupied, I go over everything Mulder has taught me. Especially the things he's told me about himself and Scully. I can still hear her, though her words are mostly indistinct now. I think Mulder's presence had something to do with the connection between Scully and me. Without him, it isn't as strong. He would have been pleased to know this. He would smile. Sometimes, I worry that it's not her and that scares me. But then I hear his name and I know it's her. Just the tone of her voice when she says it tells me. A sad, plaintive note of longing that I know I'll never forget as long as I live. Mulder didn't go home. Scully's voice tells me so. He's in some place called Akohma. At least I think that's how it's spelled. It must not be very far from Scully, because she can see him now and touch him. But it makes her sad, because he can't do the same. I wonder sometimes if they took him away because they knew we had a connection. Why didn't they take me away instead? I never got the chance to tell him I'd picked out my favorite word. He probably would have laughed when I told him it was 'Mulder.' My life is not happy now. I'm losing words every day. My thoughts are mostly pictures, things I don't want to let go of. I play basketball in my head; I try to picture Mulder playing with me. We play for the Tarheels blue. I hold Scully's hand in my own and she smiles at me, gums and all. I dream of seeing my mom and dad and my brothers and sisters. All I can do to keep sane, I do. Until the day they come for me. I knew they would eventually. ********** "No!" I remember hearing Mulder scream that word and it bursts from me like it had from him, with pain and panic. "Leave me alone!" But they don't listen. They pull at me, those unseen hands. A roaring fills my head, blocking out all else. I'm losing everything, like Mulder had. They are taking me where they have taken him. Akohma... I hope with all my heart. It becomes the only comforting thought in my mind. I'm going to see Mulder again. Mulder, I keep repeating to myself. See Mulder again. Hear Mulder again. This time, I hope I am able to touch him. Despite the pain, I hang on for a while, trying to listen to the noise around me. Trying to make sense of it. Mulder would have known what was happening. He would have told me the truth. Scully's voice is louder now, but all she says is his name. Over and over. Maybe she can finally hear me and she's telling me I'm going to talk to him again. I'm coming, Scully. Tell Mulder I'm coming. Blinding light fills my head, though I can't open my eyes. The noise suddenly stops with the onset of the light. ********** I'm not where I was anymore. I'm free, though very unsteady. I can move my arms and legs, but I still can't speak. I think I've been in this new place for two weeks or more. But I don't think it's the place called Akohma. It is hard at first, this new world I've been put into. But I learn quickly, especially when I realize I can still hear Scully's voice. I am happy when I also realize I can feel her. She can touch me and I can touch her. It makes me cry a lot. And she smells good, just like Mulder had said. It doesn't take long for me to learn her scent. The only thing wrong is that her words no longer make any sense. They are soothing, yes. But they are still jumbled, like they'd been right before I'd left my resting place. I think something happened to my language; but she stills says Mulder's name and it makes me happy when I hear it. All I know is, I'm happy. Even without Mulder, I'm happy. Scully takes care of me. Actually, lots of people take care of me. There's a woman like her; a woman that sounds a lot like her but isn't her. She's good, like Scully. She touches my hands and holds me like Scully does but she smells different. I like her too, though not as much as Scully. And I'm happy. I still can't say it, my lips don't work so good. But I'm happy. ********** New hands pick me up today. Big, rough hands that smell unlike anything I've ever smelled before. One goes behind my head and the other cradles my rear end. At first I'm scared, then I'm not. Lots of hands have held me in the past two months. I still can't speak, but I know what's going on. The words get stronger when those new hands touch me. I know language will come back to me eventually. It's just a matter of time now. And I can open my eyes, too. Scully looks just like Mulder had said she would. She's beautiful; I try to keep my eyes open all the time so I can look at her. But I sleep a lot, so it is difficult. But today? I don't care if I ever sleep again. I hold my breath as those new hands touch me. It's him. I know it is. "Come on, open your eyes," he says. "You can do it." I'd know that voice anywhere. "Open your eyes for me." So I do. He is beautiful, just like Scully. And his nose is big and his eyes are green. "Hey, Buddy," he says with a smile. "Nice to meet you." I bring my small hand up and touch his face. He is crying but that's okay. So am I. When I get language back, I will tell him that I remember him. And that I've picked out my favorite word. For a long time, I thought it would be 'Mulder.' But it won't. It's going to be 'Dad.' END I'm such a sap - I wrote this damn thing and I still cry every time I read it. Let me know if it made you cry (unless it was tears of agony) - and tell me your favorite word... mine is 'feedback', I think....mish_rose@yahoo.com Author's Notes: I sincerely hope this story hasn't already been done - I searched through the post-Requiem fics and my apologies if I've treaded on familiar ground. It wasn't intentional! Once again, my many thanks to Musea for holding my hand and giving me such lovely shoulders to cry on. You all inspire me and I don't know what I'd do without you. And Aud - I really like the term 'fetusfic' - maybe we've started a whole new genre here, who knows? And to Galia, my mistress of fanfic - hang in there, sweetie... I know I am! For Mom - the Mulder to my Buddy.