Title: Baby :Year Three: Chapter One Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@harding.edu< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. see Year One for other ~~@~~@~~ B A B Y ~~@~~@~~ Year Three ~~@~~@~~ Chapter One ~~@~~@~~ She had a dream: there was the light the brightness that began first with lightning in her eyes then ended with a dull throb of white pain. There was the silent stare of doctors towering over her, poking her on the table, their fingers and intruments too cold. She shivered. Her stomach was swollen, grotesquely. A dizzying pain spiralled through her, accompanied by the white of bright bright light. She turned her head, shocked by fear. There was Mulder: silent, grim, staring at her from the farthest corner. His eyes took her in and his hand stretched across the space to clench tightly to hers. She gasped and shot up as spikes of hurting-light pain tore through every fiber of her body: it ripped: it cut jagged pieces of her and left her very core aching, bleeding raw with the intensity. She blinked and. . . pushed. She came back to herself then. The single breath-held moment where life disassociates from creator and there, then it came. In a fluid rush of slick after-life, a baby. Silence. No scream, no cry, no wailing heart-crushing sound to announce such a presence, no movement from the weak, limp limbs. Life . . . .Lifeless. She turned her head, aching, aching. Mulder was there, suddenly covering her weakness with his frame, cradling her as if she were the newborn. There was too much light, even still. Her new life was dead. Mulder pulled her into blessed darkness. ~~~~ ~~@~~@~~ Chapter Two ~~@~~@~~ "You stood there counting crows, one for sorrow, two for joy." --English Poem ~~~~~ She woke and found herself twsited on her back, arms clenched at her sides, legs tensed. She laid there, catching her breath, finding the right heart rate again, whispering to the darkness that she was over this. She was fine. She licked her lips and pushed the hair away from her sweaty forehead, letting her arm fall back to the bed in exhaustion. She jerked when the alarm rang and pushed herself out of the doubtful comfort of sleep. She felt even worse than when she had gone to bed, after a long unfruitful stakeout. She glanced to the bedside clock to affirm that it really was indeed time for her to get up, then padded wearily to the bathroom. ~~~~~ Mulder shook the night from him as he stepped out into the hallway, only then sharpening his focus, defining his priorities for the day. He had not slept. There had been too many nightmares lying in wait for him. And beside that, there was the odd lack of tension between him and Scully. None of the usual tightness about her, none of his own hedging, just the simple work, day to day, almost as if they had nothing at all between them. Sighing, Mulder started his car, pulling from the parking lot with a squeal of frustrated tires. Things were just stuck. Everything in his life was stuck. ~~~~~ He was in a bad mood. From the way his head tilted and his suit jacket was placed neatly over the back of his chair showed her that. He payed very careful attention to detail when he was angry, and unconscious effort to not miss anything simply because of his anger. She wondered if that would make him pay more attention to him. Whatever they had, whatever that attraction was that sparked them to find comfort in each other, that had led them to kiss that weekend so long ago, was now dim, flickering, maybe even dead. It made her restless, frustrated, sad. She wanted to take him by his shoulders and shake some kind of feeling back in him. Whether he lashed out or suddenly woke up, she wasn't even sure. It was Baby. She knew it, she saw it in him with every look he gave her, but she could do nothing about it. As she walked in him again. "Mulder." He nodded but his eyes were dull. "Mulder." "Scully?" "Is . . . there anything going on?" His face grew strange, blocked off somehow, as if he were shutting down on her and didn't want to. "I . . . I miss her Scully," he said finally. She sank into the chair in front of his desk, placed there just in case, even with her own work area right across from him. He buried his head in shaking hands, struggling to control the sudden rush of feeling cresting him like a tidal wave. "We can go this weekend, Mulder. Or . . . or right now. We finished the case, it's over. And this would be a perfect time to go, with the case not going to court for another few weeks, and --" "No. No. I can't just do that Scully. I'm living my life in halves. I . . . Nothing is real anymore." She shook inside, mentally rejecting his words even though they were true for her too. "Nothing?" she whispered. He looked straight into her hurt and gouged it deeper, with full knowledge of his power: "Nothing." She stood slowly, taking her coat around her shoulders tightly, closing off, escaping again. But even the tense tight feeling she usually had when he made her hurt was gone. She wavered for a moment, then put away her hesitancy to walk boldly over to him. "Mulder . . . we just have to rejoin the halves. Put them back together somehow." He shook his head. "I can't operate . . . can't function as myself with this going back and forth. When I'm here, I want to be with Baby, and when I'm with Baby, I keep thinking about the X-Files." She shivered. "When you're with me, do you wish to be with the X-Files?" she said suddenly. "With you . . . You are the X-Files." She stilled, her hand coming to rest on his neck, every sense heightened into something more. "What do you mean by that?" "If I have you . . . I have everything . . . Scully. Everything." He grabbed her hand and pushed it from his neck, pulling her towards him so that he could look straight into her again. He had a way of shredding every defense she had with that look. "Then why does Baby . . . why does that make you half of you?" she said softly, needing to understand, but afraid to find out. He wanted to say 'that's different' but that was a cheap answer and she deserved better. More. "I don't know. It's like I can't continue over here with her over there. I love her, Scully. I don't know why, or how it happened, or . . . Scully. I . . . it's unconditional. She's going to love me no matter what, and maybe that's selfish, but I don't know." "You think my love is conditional?" He frowned, his eyes troubled, confused. "No. I mean, I just know it's good with you, Scully. No one else has ever offered that. And now I have that in her . . . I want it." "If another woman came along and offered you that, would you leave?" He took her hand. "I"d like to say no. I want, I need, to say no. I will tell you no. But I don't know." She removed her hand from his, sliding back from him. "Does that make you love me less?" She wanted to be strong, to tell him she didn't need his doubtful love. But she shook her head mutely. He nodded. "I can't go, Scully." She watched him curl up inside, his eyes smaller somehow, his hands chilly, body hunkered over into the desk. It didn't matter, right? She couldn't love him less. Unconditional. Stepping over to him again, she slowly wrapped her arms around his upper body, burying his head into her stomach. He made a noise, like a half sob, but stayed still in her arms, eyes closed tightly. She ran her fingers along his forehead, through his hair, hating herself for letting him do this to her, every time making her bend to him, but she couldn't seem to help it. "This isn't healthy Mulder." His head moved, eyes travelling to see her face. "We need to do something about this. Either . . . either move on with this . . . or . . ." "What, Scully? What can we do?" She lapsed into frustrated silence. What *could* they do? ~~~~~ She watched him walk into his apartment, their too forced attempt to make things normal not turning out like it should. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes listless, and he gave her a twitched smile when she frowned at him. He pushed the plate from her hands and grabbed her waist, nestling himself into her body, fitting into her as if he were made to slip into her right there. She sighed and drew him closer, shifting her body to meet him, placing a weary hand on his back, curling her fingers along his neck. "I don't want to have to think about anything Scully." She placed a soft kiss on his cheek, hopeful at the thrill that chased down her fear. Maybe it was back, maybe just deciding to do something had brought it back. "Let's eat first, Mulder." He gave a throaty sigh that triggered heat in her, and then moved away, leaving his fingers to dangle along her waist. She finished setting the table, placing the plates and forks and knives in particular order, her forehead furrowed to put them in just the right spot. She glanced up and saw his smile for her, and the way his eyes were quirking as he watched her. "What?" "Everything has a specific place, huh, Scully?" She lifted her chin and turned from him, indignant. "Yes. Everything." In a sudden rush, he was behind her, circling her waist again with his arms. "Where's my place?" he whispered and she wondered how they'd ever lost this. "Right here," she said fiercely, and grabbed his hands, squeezing them tightly and pressing herself fully into his chest. He bent down, caving into her strength, draping his body along hers and wishing he never had to let go, never had to think of anything else. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" "Once they re-educate Baby, what will happen to her?" He sighed, eyes closing. "Dr. Adams said he was planning on adopting her. He said it would be easy for him and his wife to do." "His wife?" "Amanda, Baby's teacher, remember?" "That's Dr. Adams wife . . ." She sank into the kitchen chair, making him catch himself on the table, then go to his own chair. "Didn't you know that?" "I guess I didn't realize . . . " "Well, she didn't take his last name, so it's understandable." "I'm glad." He was dishing out food onto his plate when she said it, and he stopped, making the chicken slide from his fork and onto the table. "Glad she didn't take his name?" She smiled. "No. That Baby will have a good home to go to." He nodded, but the thoughts stuck in his throat like stones. He twisted in the chair and scooped out some green beans from a dish, then piled on mashed potatoes. She did the same and he watched her for a moment, wondering if she truly felt good about that, or if she wished, like him, to adopt Baby. To never let Baby go again. He sighed and hung his head, staring disconsolately at the soup of mashed potatoes and chicken and green beans. He picked up a untensil and tried to find that good spot again that they had come to. The warm feeling of her body against his. Just as he was about to lift a forkful of chicken, he glanced at Scully. She had her head bowed, and her lips moved in silent prayer. He placed the fork back on his plate, bowed his head and waited. he thought. And he didn't know who he was thanking - God or Scully. ~~~~ ~~@~~@~~ Chapter Three ~~@~~@~~ "I'm going to open my eyes and see for the first time." --"Can't Cry Hard Enough" Williams Brothers ~~@~~@~~ "I know nothing stays the same." She nodded and twisted the glass in her hand, watching the milk coat the sides and slip through the little whirlpool it made. "But I don't think . . . I mean, Baby needs some semblance of a normal life." She was hardly paying attention anymore, just watching the milk and thinking how funny it was that milk was all that the observation team had now. Milk because it was good for you. "I'm really okay with this, Dr. Adams. You're right," she said, and it was the hardest thing she had ever said. "Good. I'm glad you understand." She nodded again. "I understand. Mulder . . . he thinks the same way." She set the glass back down on the table, glancing over to the observation window with a kind of half absorbed look. "She's not there, Agent Scully." "Oh. I'd rather not have to say good-bye, anyway." "She's gone on a field trip." It was all he said; she didn't know how to gracefully bow out. "I'll leave then." Standing was like pushing a mountain further into the sea, but she did it, and then moved to the door, taking with her as much dignity as she could scramble together after that last conversation. Getting into the car was easier, and driving down the secluded road to the gate didn't make her sick to her stomach this time. Maybe because, this time, she knew she'd never be allowed back. ~~~~ When she slipped in her door, there was Mulder, standing over her desk, a look of abstract worry covering his features. "What happened?" he asked, and she wanted to yell at him to leave her to her sorrow, but she couldn't. She simply sank into the couch with a firm face, her lips and expression revealing absolutely nothing. It felt good to know that she had this power over herself still. He sat in the chair across from her, giving her distance. "Why are you in my apartment?" "I was snooping." His words were blunt, his face daring her to challenge him. He evidently knew he could get away with it this time. "You . . . thought something had happened to me." He nodded softly, wincing as he waited for her words to come. "Oh." He opened his eyes and scooted to the edge of the chair, unconsciously drawing closer to her. "Scully? Where were you?" "I . . . I went to see Baby. But they wouldn't let me." His breath whistled through his lips and he shook his head. "I know." She glanced up at him quickly, needing an outlet for the rawness gaping within her. "You knew what?" "I went a few weekends ago, they told me it was best not to . . ." "Why didn't you tell me? Instead of saying that you felt bad going, instead of convincing me it was easier, why didn't you tell me?" Her words weren't bitter, only soft and sorrowed, lost sounding. He wished she were angry. It would be an easier thing to deal with than this depression. "I couldn't tell you something like that. It had to be your choice, Scully. That's how it is with you, all the time. Everything has to be your choice. Whenever something gets forced on you, your reaction is negative. If I told you we weren't allowed to go back, you'd work against it, you'd fight it and everything else, Scully. I did it to make it easier." His voice had risen in defense of his actions, his body had grown tense and his face tight. But she didn't seem to be fighting it this time. "I have a bad feeling, Mulder." "What?" "Something . . . I don't know. This doesn't sit right with me . . ." "I don't like it either, Scully." She shook her head and slumped back into the couch, ignoring him, trying to focus on the rising sense of danger she felt stirring in her. Then it melted, just as smoothly as it had risen. She opened her eyes and glanced over at him. "Do you . . . I guess this is best for her." He nodded. "I don't want her getting hurt because she's associated with us . . . with the X-Files." "We never even finished the case, Mulder. Do you realize that? We sort of just closed it." "The man was executed, Baby was found deprived of human contact . . . it was the perfect scenario. I know what it was. A project of theirs." She sighed. "I don't know about that Mulder." He leaned back in the chair and smiled. She glanced at him, then let her lips curve into a secret smile, one that made him stand and laugh. "We're back," he said forcefully. She nodded. They *were* back. ~~~~ ~~@~~@~~ Chapter Four ~~@~~@~~ "Say it ain't so. Your love is a life taker." --"Say It Ain't So" Weezer ~~@~~@~~ He searched through the office for her quickly, but she had already left. He ran from the room and raced up the stairs, taking them three at a time, blood pounding in his brain like a river bursting from floods. Where was she? There was the white grey expanse of concrete leading to the parking garage, the too intrusive chime of elevator doors, the blur and oceanic motion of people moving, moving, moving. Sinking against the wall, he held his head in his hands, attempting to stop the motion; the sickness in him wanted to revolt against his stomach. He had to tell her, let her know before she got the stupid message on her machine, before a recording told her that her life was over. Over. Again. He gagged on his lunch, and on the thought, then pushed himself off the wall, heading toward the parking lots, wishing, praying somewhere, that he would find her, he would save her. ~~~~~ There she was, struggling into her car, hands clutching their next case and the small white rose he had given her before lunch. Such a stupid, inconsequential thing now. That rose. Meant to be their beginning, their newness. And he had never before *wanted* to give flowers to a woman, and he hadn't really wanted to go overboard either. It was simple, graceful . . . now utterly horrid. He called out to her, but she didn't hear his low moan of guilt and shock and sorrow, merely placed her briefcase on the passenger seat and turned to the driver's door. Sprinting across the garage, he made it to her side moments after she noticed his hurtling form. "Mulder?" "I have . . ." he paused to suck in a breath, running a hand through his perfectly combed hair. She tucked a strand of errant hair behind her ear, then leaned down to place the rose on her dash, waiting for him to catch his breath. "Scully, I need to talk to you." "All right." He shook his head. "Can I ride home with you?" Something in his eyes made her cringe inside. "Why don't you just tell me now?" It was going to be bad. She knew this already, saw the hurt collecting like rain water in the depressions of his face, saw the tense twitching of his fingers along her arm as he guided her into the seat. "At home, Scully." She pulled away from his leading hand and jerked to her feet, pushing him away from her, shivering at the feeling of being trapped. Trapped by Mulder. "Mulder, tell me now. I will not drive all the way home getting more and more worried when I don't even know --" "Scully!" She paused, watched the way his insides were sort of crumbling down in his eyes, the way he seemed to be collapsing in on himself. "It's Baby." She sank against the car, lifted her hand to her mouth, eyes closing. "Baby?" He nodded and stepped back, allowing her the room she needed. Everything was too close, too close to her. She pushed away from the car, rushing to the opposite end as if running from the truth that would come from his mouth. "Baby died this morning, Scully." She shook her head, violently objecting to his words, hand pressed tightly over her mouth, as if afraid of either what she would say, or what she would throw up. "No, no no no," she said, jamming the heels of her palms into her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Wouldn't. They had pushed her away from Baby, told her she couldn't come again. It'd been months, months since she'd seen her, months since she had felt the need to have a little child there, months since the love had been active, growing, moving in her. Not again. Not again. Oh God, please, not again. "Scully?" "Get . . . get away from me." She struck out blindly, pushing him back hard with sorrow induced strength, running for her car. It started as he scrambled up from the concrete floor, wincing at the scrapes lining his elbows, face falling as she drew away from him. She backed out quickly, and he saw her in the driver's seat, shaking her head and finally, finally, lettting her tears flow freely. It was something she could not trust him to see, and he knew this now. She could not trust him completely. Baby was dead and Scully was running from him, running when he needed her the most, and when she needed him the most. He sat on the cold pavement and buried his head into his arms, fighting off sobs. It wasn't ever supposed to happen like this. Things weren't supposed to work out like this. ~~~~ ~~@~~@~~ Chapter Five ~~@~~@~~ "I know what's on your mind, you look like your world has fallen through and landed there upon your shoulders, but you won't say." --"Don't Face the World Alone" Kim Hill ~~@~~@~~ Scully remembered the rose when she dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment, but felt too sick to go back and get it. Baby. Another one. Dead and gone and she hadn't been there this time. Oh, God, Baby. Why Baby? Why her and why children ever . . . why do things have to be so bad all the time . . . Dana collapsed into her couch and curled in around herself, holding her stomach because the feeling of loss and bereavement was so strong, so sickening that she thought she'd throw up, she'd just retch and retch until there was nothing inside her anymore. Why hadn't she known that Baby was gone? Why couldn't she feel her gone before Mulder had told her? She saw the blinking light on her answering machine and had the wild thought that maybe it wasn't true, maybe Mulder had been playing a joke on her and, if so, she would be mad, but she'd forigve him, she'd take him back and tell him it was a very bad thing to do, but, oh, Baby, Baby would be alive! She sprang from her couch and slapped the playback button and waited, her breath stopped, her entire body waiting to get Baby back, to feel that sense of fulfillment again. But it spoke death and no more, and she knocked it from the stand, at once hating the sounds of Dr. Adams voice, at once wishing she had never never grown to love Baby, at once hating Mulder for bringing her to Baby, at once hating herself for not listening when he talked about the death, the improbability of her living much after being found. She felt the rage fall over her easy, like a mantle of snow or fine purple linen and she grasped it about her shoulders and snuggled into it, needing the numbness it provided. She hated Mulder, hated Dr. Adams, hated Baby for leaving her when she had finally allowed herself that emotional attachment, allowed herself to find love in little girls again, and not Emilys. Allowed. There was no submission on her part at all. She had just fallen in love with her and she could do nothing to help it. Nothing. Maybe that was why it hurt so bad. She was powerless to stop it. Powerless to stop loving. Whether that was Baby or Emily, she had no control over it. She could refuse to love Mulder like that, she could refuse herself from letting it happen, but she couldn't refuse a child. Children had no conditions. Mulder had said that and she knew it now. Baby had loved her and so she had loved Baby. She had taken her frail body in her arms and found something missing inside herself and at the same moment she had found the hole, it had been filled. Filled and now blasted through again. Oh God, please, please. Make her come back, make it stop hurting so very much. Dana closed her eyes and let the tears overthrow her control, let the sobs shake her into darkness. ~~~~ Mulder let the picture dangle through his fingers, slid it across the table with slow, slow movements, not really seeing the hand drawn crayon family, with the dog and Mommy and Daddy and Baby. She had made it for him, and presented it to him with such pride that he had wanted to be her, wanted to have that wonderful feeling inside of accomplishing something worthwhile. He had hugged her very tightly and told her how wonderful it was and said all the right and good things that one says to encourage a child to grow, and it had been more soul healing for him than for her. In knowing that his opinion counted to her, he had found a better estimate of himself, seen a good side to him that he rarely saw. Baby had made him see himself in ways that he found he liked much better. A good father even, a good person, a man that had dignity and character and good things in him. Scully gave him that, but only when she wanted to. Only on those rare occassion when he so desperately needed it that he was about to fall over the edge of depression. Only then, and with much stagnant fear and hurt that he could never really be sure, never really feel the wholeness that Baby had effortlessly given him. He was a very selfish man, and he felt this achingly with every moment of time he spent with Scully, pulling her away from family or work or normalcy. But with Baby, he saw that he was also a very giving man, almost too much of one. He saw in himself how much he selflessly sacrificed, and how that could be appreciated. Baby had been a very good thing for him, but it also showed him that maybe Scully wasn't. Scully wasn't. It made him shiver to even think . . . made him want to throw up. Maybe Scully wasn't good for him . . . maybe this bouncing around, never knowing if he was on solid ground with her, maybe . . . it was wrong. Bad. It didn't mean he loved her less, only that maybe she did. Only that maybe it wouldn't ever work like he wanted it to. Baby. He stopped, ashamed at his feelings. Baby was dead, had died that morning, and all he could think was that maybe Baby had shown him the best love he'd ever had. Baby was gone forever. She'd had so much to do, so much to live for, so much beautifulness in her soul. If there was a heaven, if so, she was there. If not . . . he had lost her forever. Forever. ~~~~ ~~@~~@~~ Chapter Six ~~@~~@~~ "What's changed?" "The air and the light." --Fried Green Tomatoes ~~@~~@~~ There was nothing, no feelings in him, no words to find what he needed to say, no thoughts to show what he felt. He felt nothing. That was what it came down to. There was him and the couch and the way the light couldn't quite make it to his eyes. And it was because Scully had run from him, pulled right away from him because she could not stand to let him see her cry, to let him see that she hurt when love was taken from her. But it wasn't even all that. It was losing Baby. Mulder wasn't someone that everyone loved, that anyone loved. He just was. It'd always been that way in his life, a sort of non-entity. There'd been people to be his friends but they'd moved on, and there'd been clubs and activities he did, but when he wasn't there, no one cared. Baby cared. Baby cried when he left her, Baby loved him with innocence and freedom, without seeing him as a broken man, a lost man, or hurting. He hurt though, and hurt bad. Even Scully's view of him was tainted, by his own actions, his own behavior and thoughts and feelings. She saw him as a lost man, he knew that, he thought he could live with that, love her and himself despite it. Baby loved him truly, completely. And she was gone. And with her, his own confidence, his assurance of love. He felt the rising pain clog his chest, make his entire body ache with sorrow. She was gone. Not even that he was selfish and aching for her love, just that she was gone and she hadn't even had a chance. He supposed grieving was always selfish. He should be happy, he should be glad that she was spared having to live in this life. It was getting dark again; he wasn't sure if this was the third or fourth day since the phone call from Dr. Adams and Scully leaving him with this pain. He slipped from the couch with a sigh and stood up by the window, a sort of dazed look glazing his eyes. With another sigh, he fell back into the couch and curled in on himself. He wasn't getting anything done, he wasn't even sure when the funeral was becaue he hadn't been answering his phone. He didn't even care that Scully probably had tried to call; his answering machine was off. He closed his eyes and tried to find sleep again. Sleep let him escape. He wished his father hadn't ingrained in him that it was sissy to cry. He needed to cry. ~~~~ He only woke because someone was drilling a hole straight through his head with very sharp scissors, or something, and they wouldn't stop even when he pushed it away. Squinting his eyes, he let the sunlight filter naturally through until he could make out the dim shape above him, the rounded figure, small and slight against the bright open window. Groaning gave him an excuse to close his eyes and he curled back in on himself, wishing the shadow to leave him alone, just this once. "Mulder, get up. You're going to hate yourself later if you don't go." "Scully . . ." He tried to sound hateful, angry, but it ended up halfway between a keen and a growl. "Mulder . . ." Her voice had grown softer, or maybe it was just that he was falling farther into sleep, farther away from the awaiting nothingness that had been perched like a vulture over Scully's shoulder. But when her hand slapped him hard, he jerked up and grabbed her, partly reflex, partly righteous anger. Her look was cold. "If you had listened to me, if you had picked up your stupid phone, Mulder, you'd know." "Get out of here, Scully. I don't need you babying me --" His words fell off as what he said hit home again, like catching the football and having the entire team tackle him. Baby. Oh God, just make it go away. Just make her leave me alone to cry. He felt his tears fighting through his chest, up to his eyes and he turned his face from her, balling his fists. "Mulder, go ahead and cry. I --" His astonished and mortified expression cut right into her, as did his tight, tight grip. "How the hell would you know, you hypocrite?" He stood in a towering rage of loathing, mostly self hatred, but enough to make him want to throw her from his living room, back to whatever snake house she had been nurtured in, whatever whitewashed tomb she had crawled from. But the quickly pasted over look of shock and utter pain made him stop, made him try to make her see what she was saying to him. "Like I'm going to cry for you when you can't even stick around long enough for me to even see if you're okay, Scully. I . . . I don't know how to *say* this to you, to make you see just how stupid you are to say that to me. Go ahead and cry my f--" "Mulder." "No, no. I'm not listening to you anymore Scully. All you do is tell me that I'm insensitive, that I don't let you in, and then you bail every time you're hurting. You bail on me." She was rising now, unwilling to sit there and take his words. "It's not as if it's *your* problem, Mulder." "This isn't some kind of problem, Scully. Baby is dead. Dead. Not only does it ache like I'll never recover, but it festers knowing this isn't something you feel I'm worthy enough to share with you. No, this has to be entirely *your* misery." "Oh, Mulder. Don't you even talk about that. Not once do you let me help you, not once. I tried in the beginning, I really tried. I wanted to. But you always, always leave me behind. Mulder, the martyr. Why should I even trust you with this?" Her words were more than pain, more than the awful soul-deep feeling that this was never right. They were forever. Forever standing right there, masked in grief and hurt, and waving good-bye. "That's how you feel." "It's how I --" "Fine. You have no reasons to trust me. I have none to trust you. But I do. It's faith, and I always assumed you had more of it than me." He turned toward the door, pulling it open with a measured strength that he barely controlled. She stood there. He did not look at her. "Mulder, get dressed. Baby's funeral is tomorrow and we have a flight to Maine in an hour." She was acting like nothing at all had been said. He could do the same. He would do the same. Just once. For Baby. ~~~~ ~~@~~@~~ Chapter Seven ~~@~~@~~ "you fill up my senses like a night in the forest. . . come fill me again." --John Denver ~~@~~@~~ He was dreaming of her again. Sweet smile just for him, hands reaching out to grasp his chin, pull on his tie. Then her face fell and grew different, longer, no baby fat, hair reddish. And then it was Scully. Lifitng her hands at him from the bottom of a shaft, with icy tendrils of steam curling around her, the blue shiver to her lips almost glowing at him for shame. He reached for her, strained so hard that he could feel every tendon of his arm stretch, could feel his joints separating, could feel his body growing longer -- like Eugene Victor Tooms. She scrambled at the sides, reaching for him and also trying on her own to get out. He could see it coming even before she felt the hot breath curdle her skin of her neck. Slowly, slowly, she turned, face pale in fear and chill, hands coming down to protect her body even as the teeth of the demon alien beast tore her throat from her neck. And he watched, halfway stretched toward her, horror and dementia vying for root in his mind, as he beauty was crushed before him, her very essence and radiance quashed like chaff in the fire. And then it turned. And started up the shaft. But what drained the blood from his body was not the beast coming for him, it was the face of the demon thing looking up at him. It was the face of Baby, fresh Scully blood thickening on her sweet lips. He screamed but there was no sound. ~~~~ When the plane made its last circle before landing at the airport, Scully woke Mulder up with a gentle shake, momentarily forgetting everything that had been said, and everything that hadn't. Her hand on his arm was gentle, but he looked at her with such deep regret that she wondered if things would change, or if they'd separate themselves behind fortresses again. As they descended, she realized the one great truth about all of what had happened. They could still work together. None of that was affected, none of that relationship needed the emotional trust that neither one of them could provide. She let out a shaky sigh. Their professional partnership was saved. She desperately needed that in her life, more than anything. More even than his love . . . His arm suddenly snaked through hers for a moment, and he turned to look at her, intent concentration on his face. "Scully . . . I . . . I don't want to do this." Biting her lip, aching to touch his forehead with a kiss, she merely patted his arm and squeezed his fingers. "You can do it, Mulder. We can do this together." He gave her the barest of smiles, then shook his head. "No. I mean this between us. The funeral is going to be hard enough . . . I just want it to be okay with us again." She was looking straight into him, but her blue eyes hooded and veiled against his own gaze. He wished he could see what she was thinking, understand just once what her thoughts about him were. Maybe then he'd know. She looked away from him, snagging her hands on her seatbelt as the plane touched the runway. Her tongue sneaked out over her lips, capturing his mind with its deft movement. He leaned in to her and placed a soft kiss to her mouth, and with it, the promise of more, of better. She glanced quickly at him. "Let's see how it goes, Mulder . . . we . . . I don't think it can just be all good between us. Those were real issues that we brought up, things that were obviously eating at you, thoughts that have been plaguing me." "I trust you, Scully. I really do," he said earnestly, and his face was so eager, so accepting that she wanted to laugh, but didn't dare. "I know you do, Mulder." "Just for now, let's put it on hold. Okay? Just for now." She bit her lip and their eyes locked again; this time neither turned away. "All right. Just for now." Her words were soft, but her lips softer when they gently brushed against his, making him close his eyes and forget to breathe. Suddenly the flight attendant came over the intercom to let them know they could begin to exit the craft. Mulder opened his eyes and glanced to Scully; she gave him a pondering look, then turned to gather her luggage from the overhead bin. ~~~~ The motel room was not the one they had stayed in during the first year of Baby's re-education, and she was glad of this. It was no better though. The gold shag carpet set off the huge paisley print wall paper and fall hunting season oil paintings that covered the broad expanse of wall. They had one room, but separate beds and Scully couldn't quite keep from laughing when she noticed his look. As if he were waiting for her to explode, waiting for the rebuke certain to come. She simply unpacked, letting him know in her silence that his arrangement didn't upset her. He was at the small round table, his laptop spread out beside four files and three newspapers, all of which were tabloids. She shook her head and settled back into the bed, taking in deep breaths as she tried to keep her mind off what they had to do tomorrow. It was surprisingly easy to forget about the things they'd said to each other, and she supposed that was because they usually buried the hurt deeply, kept it from interfering with the partnership. Now it was an agreement to exist, going neither back nor forward, simply to be. She found it unsatisfying. She wanted more from Mulder than this, and she needed some kind of progress, whether backward or not. Mulder was reading, she was lying on the bed, trying not to think too much. She closed her eyes and immediately the tearful face of Emily sprang up, freshly painful, newly stung. Baby was placed in a different spot, but equally, if not more so, painful. Aching. It was a hurt she couldn't speak of, couldn't explain to anyone because no one could understand. Part of her just gone. Gone forever. Lost to pain, lost to death, lost to the marching of an army that swept away the lives of everyone. Unknowingly, she curled into a fetal position, eyes tightly squeezed shut, tryind harder and harder to push it away from her. The harder she pushed, the more came back. She fell into a dream like state, images rushing at her with forceful speed, crashing into her heart like a kaliedoscope of pain. There was Emily on the hospital bed, frowning little mouth suddenly shifting into Baby's beautiful smile, Baby there in her pink bed, listening to Mulder's stories. Emily making Mr. Potato head into a mutant monster and then the toy growing life and morphing into the human skeleton Baby had been when Scully had first seen her. Baby sitting in her lap, leaning against her because she could not sit up by herself yet, Emily's whispered plea to let go, Baby's first smile, Emily's birthday photo, Baby's laugh at the huge cake and presents, Emily, Baby, Emily, Baby . . . and pain. Pain. Pain. Oh God, it's never going to stop. Make it stop, please just let it go away . . . make her come back . . . It was a prayer . . . and she didn't even know which child she wanted back. Neither were hers in the first place. ~~~~ Mulder was reading an article of the internet when he noticed her distress. Scully was writhing on the bed, her face a mask of horror. He jumped up, then froze, unsure of what to do. How far was he allowed into her heart? How much did she want him to see? He sat back down. She wouldn't want him to know about her nightmares. It would embarass her. At her choked sob, he sprang back up, immediately going to her, knowing the emotional strain that nightmares played on the soul. He shook her gently and pulled her hands from her face, watching in dismay as tears coursed down her cheeks. "Scully?" In a sudden jerk, she was awake, breathing erratically and staring up at him as if he had murdered her. "Scully?" She pulled away, shaking herself from the dream. "I'm okay." He nodded, sure that she didn't want to get into all of it right then. "I dreamed about Emily." He snaked a hand over and grabbed her elbow, turning her to him. Her eyes were tearing again. "It's okay, Scully." "It's not okay, Mulder. Children aren't supposed to die, not like that." "They aren't supposed to live like that either." She remembered the treatments Emily was supposed to get regularly, and how taking her off those treatments had invariably caused her death. "No . . . but life . . . life is better than nothing." He obviously felt different, but said nothing. "I dreamed about Baby too," she said in a sudden sigh. He was sighing too, pulling her body into him, rocking her back and forth. "Everything just goes wrong, doesn't it?" he said. She gave a laugh. "You have a wonderful attitude." "Can you blame me?" She sobered and shook her head, then slowly let her arms encircle him, let her eyes close, let her head slip to his chest and rest, for just a little while. A little while, she told herself. She didn't try to say anything, and he waited there, listening for the moment where things would change, where his life would forever be different. Nothing changed. The rare moment passed and she pulled away, he pulled away, and there was nothing more. He stood away from the bed and slipped back into his chair, watching her arrange her clothing, straighten her hair and stand up again. "I'm going to brush my teeth and then go to bed," she said softly. He nodded, bringing his head back to his laptop, but she came over beside him and kissed his forehead. "Thank you, Mulder." ~~~~ ~~@~~@~~ Chapter Eight ~~@~~@~~ "I'm a bad, bad girl. I've been careless with a delicate man." --"Criminal" Fiona Apple ~~@~~@~~ Stepping outside, Scully felt the immediate shiver of death touch her. The wind swept her hair to the side, then to the front, then around her face, a constant shifting force that left her tense. It was the strange sort of storm, where the sky was light, cloudless, the sun picking out the previous rain drops and highlighting them with a kind of ethereal grace. The wind showered water droplets from the trees, and smelled of burning ozone, fresh earth, and rain. Mulder let his hand rest on her lower back, guiding her to the gravesite, palming his keys as he trudged up the gentle incline, skirting thick roots from the ancient trees. Her thin dress gave no protection and its black full skirt billowed up as the wind played through the lane. The entire research group was out to mourn, along with others whom Baby had touched in some small or great way. They filed up the hill slowly, their eyes to the ground, making a procession of sorrow to the casket. Standing now in place, Mulder moved closer to Scully's side to block the more ferocious efforts of the wind, giving her chilled body some respite and body heat. Clouds raced before the sun, throwing strange shadows along the ground, and from one moment to the next, it was hot and muggy or chilly and brisk. At the start of the priest's sermon, the grey banks of cloud blocked any light frm touching them, and Scully hunkered in closer to Mulder, seeking the protection he offered. The wind echoed numbly through the trees, tripped over tombstones, and clambered for the mourners' attention. She wished it were sunny, or a bit more peaceful. Mulder's hand slipped into hers but he did not turn to look at her, giving her the personal space to reflect upon the loss of Baby, and what it was doing to her. It was a Protestant service, marginally shorter, with preacher saying a few words over the casket before it was to be let into the ground, leading them all in prayer. She didn't hear any of it, instead she concentrated on the feel of the wind's hands along her thighs, the shift in pressure when it changed course to run along her spine, and the faint taste of bitter air and rotting trees. She had her head bowed in prayer when the sun struggled through, casting a strange and ineffectual light over everything, making the grass and dirt and black clothes seem strangely adrift in the wet, rainy world. It had ended and she had missed the entire thing. The casket was being lowered before her, the white roses thrown softly, gently, with a graceful arc that captured her mind and caused it to drift down with the flowers, straight to the white coffin and the black-brown dirt. Her own rose was gone from her fingers before she felt it leave and it too was floating downward, a single point of reference, the only flash of color in existence. A white white rose falling to its own decay. Mulder ushered her away as the October wind made its presence felt once again. He clamped one of her chilled hands into his, rubbing her fingers quickly to keep up the blood circulation, then left her at the side of the car, door hanging open and ready to swallow her up. She could do nothing but move, reach forward and grasp the hem of her skirt, tuck her body into the rental car, and watch the sky as they drove away. With Baby's burial, something within her had been buried as well. Something she was afraid of uncovering. ~~@~~@~~ end year three