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