No Such Thing as Happily Ever After Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: PG-13 for language, adult content Classification: SRA Spoilers: Season 8 Keywords: Not provided due to the fact that it might prejudice people against this story before they really know what it's about. Give it a chance, guys. Summary: Trying to make a life for themselves after the X-Files isn't as easy as they might have imagined. Notes: This could be considered a sequel to my stories "Gifts" and "In Darkness, Light". Beware, it is very angsty. You can find the other stories on my web-site, http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/ as well as all my other writings. Feedback is welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com DISCLAIMER: Never have, never will. June, 2001 "...To have and to hold from this day forward, till death do you part?" "I will." Fox Mulder's voice was subdued, his expression solemn as he glanced at his partner and soon-to-be wife. Her own countenance was fretful and anxious. Behind them in the living room, two men and a woman stood as witnesses to the late evening ceremony conducted by Father McCue. It was a somber gathering. Margaret Scully held the sleeping form of her two-day-old grandson in her arms, her gaze intent upon the couple, while Walter Skinner stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw flexing with tension. Agent John Doggett watched expressionlessly beside him. The ceremony was brief, and soon thereafter, the marriage certificate had been signed, witnessed and left in Father McCue's care to be filed appropriately in the parish register. Agent Doggett left soon after signing his name to the document as a witness, shaking Fox and Dana's hands and vowing to see Mulder at work in a couple weeks. Assistant Director Skinner stayed behind for the coffee Margaret served while her daughter excused herself to nurse her child. Maggie, too, was solemn and concerned at this impromptu wedding her new son-in-law had begun planning just a couple days before her daughter went into labor. The haste of the event had set her nerves on edge. Whatever Maggie's reservations about the situation were, for better or worse, Dana's life was intertwined with Fox's. With a child now in the equation, it was only fitting they should be married. Why the ceremony had to happen late in the evening the very day her daughter and newborn grandson left the hospital, however, escaped her, but Fox had been insistent. Perhaps too insistent. That was what worried her. When Dana returned from feeding the baby, carrying him on her shoulder as she jostled him softly and patted his back to help expel any air he might have inhaled, Fox rose and set aside his coffee cup. While he thanked Father McCue and Mr. Skinner, Maggie faced her daughter. "We have to go, Mom. We have to--get the baby to bed." The hesitation in her voice caught her mother's undivided attention and she glanced at her daughter sharply. "You're going right home then?" Margaret asked, staring hard at her daughter. The smallest flicker in Dana's eyes was the only change in her expression, but it was enough. "Yeah," Dana whispered, not meeting her mother's eyes. Her face was gaunt and her eyes dark-ringed, evidence of the ordeal of childbirth and the sleeplessness she'd experienced before and since. Though Maggie had all but demanded Dana stay with her for at least a couple weeks after the baby's birth, both Dana and Fox had been adamant that it wasn't an option. Margaret wasn't able to shake the sense of impending doom all the events of the last five days had instilled in her, and her daughter's unease wasn't reassuring her. "You're sure you'll be all right, Dana? You can still stay here if you need to." "No--I can't. I'm sorry, Mom. We really do have to go." Delicately, trying not to unduly upset the infant in her arms, Dana hugged her mother, her body--still round from her pregnancy--shaking. She looked exhausted and afraid, and Maggie felt a shiver of fear run through her as her daughter whispered in her ear. "We'll be all right, I promise," her voice was choked as she made the vow. She kissed Maggie and pulled away to let her new husband take the baby while she donned her coat against the unseasonable summer rainstorm that had been raging the whole day. While Maggie watched, Dana rose on her toes to kiss her boss on the cheek and bid him farewell also. Mr. Skinner gave her a sad, affectionate smile and shook Fox's hand, and Dana gave her mother a long look, her eyes glassy. "Good-bye, Mom," she murmured. Then Dana and her new husband and child were gone. Mr. Skinner was unable to meet Maggie's gaze the next morning as she sat listening, dry-eyed and resigned, when he appeared at her house to inform her that Fox and Dana's car had just been pulled from the Potomac. Their bodies and that of their son were never recovered. * * * * * Five Days Earlier "I don't think we should do it, Mulder," Scully protested from the hospital bed when he presented her with the marriage application to fill out. "It's important." "It's too dangerous, and it's not necessary. I don't need it, and we really can't take the time to do it." "Maybe *I* need it. If we have nothing else, at least we can do this. Besides, I think maybe it might help your mother." That was the end of that. She filled out the application, and while she in the hospital under the careful eye of her obstetrician awaiting the birth of their son, he filed it with the state. While her water broke, he was at Saint Joseph's Catholic church, asking the Scully family priest for a favor, using the privacy of the confessional as his shield while he told the aging clergyman his plan. * * * * * February, 2004 "'Night, coach!" a sweaty youth yelled as he disappeared from the gym into the locker room to shower. From the free-throw line, his coach returned the call and then sunk another ball into the basket. Martin Haversham was an attractive 40-something man, by far the favorite guidance counselor among the female student body. His long hair was held in a tail at the nape of his neck, coal black and shot with a couple dramatic streaks of white at the temples. His electric-blue eyes were shocking when viewed up close and personal, and his tall, lean body was remarkably trim for a man in a profession that required so much sitting. Aside from coaching the varsity basketball team, he could often be seen running laps at the school track or swimming in the natatorium. One by one, he waved to his team as the made their way to the showers, making free throws and retrieving the ball. A few of the high school boys stayed on to practice lay-ups on the other basket until Mr. Haversham ordered them to go home and do their homework. There was no discussion of letting poor grades slide on Coach Haversham's team; if any team-member had trouble, the coach would tutor him, or dismiss him from the team if the situation didn't improve. As the last of the boys shuffled into the locker room, a woman entered the gym from the hallway entrance and began crossing the floor. The guidance counselor stopped dribbling as the honey-blonde woman made her way slowly toward him, moderating her steps to keep pace with the strawberry-blond toddler who held her index finger. Schuyler Haversham and their son Joshua were familiar figures at the team's games, and usually came by to pick Martin up in the evenings on her way home from work. She taught lower- level physics at the local community college and one of her classes ended a half-hour before basketball practice at the high school did. It made economic sense for them to share a ride instead of driving separately. It was also safer. Smiling widely, Martin bent to kiss his wife on the cheek, then stooped to lift his son and growl against his neck, tickling the boy, who giggled shrilly in response. Schuyler watched them fondly, her dark green eyes glowing. Hiking Joshua up on his hip, Martin draped an arm over his wife's shoulders and the small family of three left the gym. They would have their weekly dinner at their favorite restaurant before heading home for the night. * * * * * Late March, 2001 "That was weird," Scully commented, pressing her hand to her protruding stomach. "What?" Mulder's eyes were instantly alert and sharp upon her, searching for the slightest sign of distress. His solicitousness since returning and discovering her to be pregnant had become somewhat annoying in the intervening months. "He started kicking when you walked into the room, even before you spoke. Normally he gets a little excited when he hears your voice, but this time, he started jumping the second you came in." "Seriously?" Mulder gave her a silly grin. He knelt in front of her and pressed his ear to her belly, feeling his son push back against the pressure. "Hey, you in there! You're gettin' eager to see your dad, aren't you?" The infant reacted as he always reacted when Mulder spoke to her or the baby, thrashing as though he was practicing judo inside her abdomen. Scully gave an amused shake of her head. It had started just a few weeks ago, that the child she was carrying showed a definite reaction to Mulder's voice. Her mother had told her it wasn't all that unusual. Her older brother Bill had always had a similar reaction to one aunt of her mother's, with whom Maggie had stayed during the latter months of her pregnancy while her husband was overseas, and Dana herself had displayed a preference for her sister Melissa's voice. "More likely he just wants to stretch his legs," Scully remarked dryly. "That's because you're gonna be tall, right? No little Scully- legs for you, big guy. So you can shoot some hoops with your old man." "I'd love to have Bill hear you make a crack about short Scully- legs." "There's an idea. Maybe Bill and I can resolve our differences with a game of HORSE," Mulder remarked distractedly, his attention still focused on her belly. Scully have a long- suffering sigh and pushed past Mulder to make her way to the sofa where she could prop her swollen feet up on the coffee table. Mulder was there beside her instantly, pulling her shoes off and massaging the sore appendages. Okay, so maybe his solicitousness wasn't so annoying after all. "If you don't watch it, I'll have him christened 'Shorty' while you're out of the room. Oomph!" she grunted suddenly as an unexpected bounce from the junior gymnast in her abdomen drove the breath from her. "Hey, calm down, Junior. She's just kidding. Your mom wouldn't be that cruel--not to you, anyway," Mulder murmured to her stomach. The movements of the baby inside stilled. Scully had no idea how he did it, but it wasn't the first time Mulder had literally calmed the child just by speaking softly to him. Just as he reacted when Mulder spoke in his normal voice, so did he subside when Mulder's tone became gentle and soothing. It was almost creepy sometimes how easily he pulled it off. Mulder was enjoying the idea of being a father, that much was certain, Scully observed. He really hadn't had the luxury during their attempts to get pregnant, but things had been very different then. Now, it seemed, most of the crises were over and done with, and life had almost achieved some semblance of normalcy. Fearing the financial burden of maternity leave while trying to maintain the leases on two apartments, and unwilling to let Mulder return only to find his home gone, Scully had sub- let her own apartment a month before Mulder reappeared at Christmas and moved into his. It was really too small for her and the baby, much less the three of them, but she felt closer to Mulder there. Even before his abduction, they'd fallen into the habit of spending most of their nights at his place. Her apartment seemed bright and cold and empty--his was dark and warm and comforting. It would do for the time being. Now, at Mulder's insistence, they were looking for someplace new, probably a town-home or row house they could rent. He just didn't see them having the time to be homeowners on top of being parents and FBI agents. Just having the burden of yard care and maintenance handled by someone else would be a tremendous help. Not long ago, if someone had told her she and Mulder would be looking for apartments together, Scully would have laughed in their face. Such mundane tasks weren't in the cards for them. But everything was different now. They were going to be parents. They were starting a family together. It was incredible and frightening all at once. It had taken years for her to resign herself to the idea that such little luxuries were not for her to enjoy. Mulder had thrown himself into the role of expectant father with all the enthusiasm he'd ever applied to the most outrageous monster- hunt. Things were eerily--normal. Sane, even. Planning a nursery, buying baby furniture and clothes and toys--Scully couldn't help but occasionally look over her shoulder and wonder when the other shoe would drop. Her attention was drawn back to Mulder as he ceased rubbing her feet to unbutton her blouse from just below her breasts to the untucked bottom, spreading it apart to bare the mound of her belly. He pressed his lips to it, a dreamy expression on his face. His breath was warm upon her skin and his eyes liquid as they met hers. "This is unbelievable, Scully," he whispered. "And here I thought you could believe anything, Mulder," she responded, trying for levity to avoid the lump in her throat. The intensity with which he was enamored of her and their child was frightening at times, and heartbreakingly beautiful at others. "Good things don't happen to me," he shrugged, sighing against the taut skin beneath his cheek as he rested his face against her. "Hey, watch it! A woman could take offense." "Sorry. Present company excepted." He gave her a soft grin and closed his eyes. With his index finger, he began tracing circles and patterns upon her belly. Scully closed her eyes as well, letting herself relax and enjoy the moment in a time when far too few moments were comfortable and relaxing. Aside from the back-aches, sore feet, swollen ankles, heartburn, near-constant need to urinate, acne, inability to sleep comfortably and hemorrhoids, she'd been on strict medical leave and orders to rest for weeks now, a few near-scares away from going into premature labor. Since the revelation that her obstetrician had been working under someone else's agenda and that doctor's sudden disappearance shortly thereafter, she hadn't quite been able to accept that she and the baby were safe. It seemed increasingly likely that someone had an interest in her offspring, but nothing had happened since to confirm the fear. She could almost think she was being paranoid but for the unsettling feeling that prickled the back of her neck far too often. She found herself constantly vigilant against anything that might pose a threat to herself and her child. It was exhausting. "Scully," Mulder whispered. "I think you should see this." Wearily, she opened her eyes a crack and watched as he dragged his index and middle finger in a line across her belly. A second later, a small lump appeared from beneath the skin and followed the line Mulder's finger had traced. Mulder repeated, drawing his fingers in another line at another angle, and again the babies foot (or was that a fist?) followed the same exact course. "Have you ever seen such a thing?" he asked, his eyes wide. Once again, he repeated the process and once again, their child copied his motions, this time not waiting until he had finished but following the path his fingers traveled by just an inch or so. Scully's gut clenched. "That's got to be coincidence," she said softly, watching with rapt attention. "A child doesn't develop enough cognitive ability to mimic things for months after birth. They certainly don't do it *in utero*." "Scully, you're seeing it just like I am. You can't deny what you're actually seeing." As if in response to his words, on the next pass of his fingers, the small lump that had been mirroring their movements pulled ahead and completed the course of his motion--including the curve he'd made in the line he was drawing, before he did. "He's anticipating me. Look!" Scully felt a flash of intermingled anger and fear and pushed Mulder's hands away irately. "He's not doing any such thing! And if you don't mind, he's pressing against my bladder, so lay off, please!" She rubbed the tight skin of her abdomen as if she could erase what she'd seen. There was no indication of the infant tracking the movements of her own hand. "See? He's not doing it now. It was just a coincidence." "That's because he was reacting to me, Scully. Just like he's done every day for the past couple months. I thought that maybe it was just my imagination that I can feel him sometimes, but now I'm not so sure. He's reacting to me, and I--I sense him. I have for weeks now, but I didn't realize it until just now. Whether you want to believe it or not, you saw it happen." "NO!" Scully pushed herself violently up from the couch and past Mulder, almost tripping over him in the process. She stomped toward the bedroom as Mulder got to his feet, a hand lying protectively over her stomach. Her voice was raspy and desperate as she barked, "He's going to be normal, Mulder! Normal!" She waddled from the room before he could reply, seeking refuge in the bedroom, curled as best she could into a sheltering ball on the bed. Icy cold fingers of fear clutched at her heart each time she considered the implications of what she'd just seen. After all she and Mulder had experienced and been exposed to, what guarantees could they have for their child? Even the most sophisticated tests science could offer weren't designed to detect the sort of abnormalities they might have inflicted upon their child. It was sometime later when a subdued Mulder entered the darkened bedroom and lay beside her on the bed, his eyes sad as he curled against her. "I'm sorry, Scully. If I could promise you there'd be nothing out of the ordinary about him, I would. But we both know it might be out of our control." She didn't reply, but instead blinked back the tears that threatened to escape and clasped his hand tightly. Two days later, only A.D. Skinner's timely arrival to check on her while Mulder was out of town foiled an attempt to kidnap her. By the time Mulder returned, Scully was ready to believe. * * * * * "Did you hear the news today?" Schuyler asked as she sensuously licked rich chocolate mousse off a spoon. Nearby, Joshua had discovered another toddler and was merrily crawling around and under tables pretending to be one of the elephants from the zoo they'd visited in Portland a week ago. Martin carefully watched their son's antics, dividing his attention between the boy and his wife's attentions to the desert she was savoring. "I think I'm experiencing spoon envy," he murmured, casting her an appreciative glance as her tongue darted out to catch a stray bit of chocolate foam on the back of the eating utensil. "Wait till we get man-cub over there to bed and you, too, can have the spoon experience," she replied, dragging her tongue over the entire length of the head of the spoon for emphasis. Martin gave a wide grin and turned his eyes back to watching Joshua play. "What news?" "They caught the guy in Missouri." It was as much his wife's tone as her words which brought Martin's attention back to her. She was grimacing, her earlier merriment as she made love to her mousse in abeyance. Her tone was flat and expressionless, a voice he knew all too well. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain, and she cut him off. "Not here." "Then why bring it up here?" "Because word got out about the mysterious assistance they had catching the guy, and I thought you should know as soon as possible." "Sc--" She shook her head in an abrupt, negative gesture. "No. Later." Martin gave a jerky nod, and looked around for their son. When the toddler was not immediately visible, he rose quickly to his feet, casting his eyes about. In a second, Schuyler, too, was on her feet, calling out: "Josh? Josh!!" A giggle from the booth behind Schuyler reached them and she was immediately on her knees, peering under the table of the booth in question. "Jesus!" she swore in a whisper to herself, then took her son by the arm and pulled him out from under the table. His new friend came crawling out behind him. Hugging him quickly, she turned back to her husband, her face pale and pinched. "Come on, Josh, let's get your coat on. Time to go, pal," she murmured, her mouth set in a tight line. While she prepared their son to leave, Martin hailed the waitress for the check. * * * * * In August of 1995, newlyweds Martin and Schuyler Haversham bought their first house in Valparaiso, Indiana. Twice a week, a yard maintenance company came by to tend to the landscaping. A check of human resource files would reveal them both as being employed at Valparaiso University. A call to the number they provided for employment references, with a Valpo exchange, would be forwarded automatically to a line in Baltimore, Maryland, where any questions about the couple would be answered. Not once in five years did a neighbor or co-worker ever meet the couple. In April of 2001, expecting their first child, the Havershams moved from Valparaiso to Newport, Oregon. Neighbors were witness to the event as the moving truck pulled up and unloaded their belongings, but no one would recall seeing the couple for another three months. At that time, the young, attractive professionals--one a teacher, the other a social worker--and their new infant would be welcomed with open arms into the community. They settled into life in the small coastal town, him working at the high school and she at the community college, living a normal, uneventful life. Back in Washington D.C. that same month, memorial services were held for Fox and Dana Mulder and their newborn son, Jeremiah. Their friends and family were in attendance, grief-stricken over the tragedy. Of the gathering, only four people knew the truth. Three were conspiracy theorists from Baltimore whom had created the Haversham identities for Mulder and Scully after the murder of Bill Mulder and Melissa Scully several year earlier, when it had seemed they might someday need to go on the run. The other was an aging priest who attended the rites but did not perform them. Under the sacrosanct laws of the confessional, he could never reveal what he knew. But neither would he make a mockery of the sacred service by performing it. Two other people might have suspected the truth, but neither Margaret Scully nor Walter Skinner ever breathed a word about their suspicions. Instead, on the day of the memorial, they bid Mulder, Scully, and their child farewell and carried on. * * * * * Sometimes the nightmares went away for weeks, even months at a time, but they always came back. Schuyler knew in the back of her mind as she washed the dishes that had been left in the sink that morning this night would be the one on which they returned. Beside her, Martin dried them in pensive silence, occasionally reaching over her to put something away in the cabinet above her head. They moved in a practiced synchrony that neither remarked upon. The key to their lives was to get into a routine and stay there. That way there were no surprises. "You promised me you weren't going to do it," she said at last, grimacing at the plate in her hands. "Yes," Martin sighed, "I did." He did not, she noted, apologize. It was just as well--he wouldn't have meant it if he had. "We agreed that it was too dangerous--after the last time we did it, we were too close to exposure. So much so that the guys risked sending us a warning to back off for a while!" "He was killing little girls!" The raw, wild look in her husband's eyes said all there needed to be said on that front. "I *know* that! You don't think I wanted to help? But we have other obligations, other priorities--" "I don't need a reminder of what our priorities are, thank you," he replied tersely. His tone was sad and bitter and defeated. She met his unnaturally blue eyes unhappily. "But you're able to disregard it when you think you need to," she murmured. "I understand. Believe me, I do. But we can't justify the risk to Josh. I wish we could. It kills me not to do something sometimes--" Her voice trailed off and she sighed in frustration. "I don't know. Maybe you can't stop. Maybe you're never going to be happy unless you're in the thick of everything." "You know that's not true. I stopped--" "Yes, and you blame me and Josh for that, don't you?" "Of course not! If you remember, I was the one who insisted we get out. If I blamed Josh or felt any resentment toward him, or you, don't you think he'd know?" Schuyler shook her head. "I don't know anymore. I've never had your--connection--with Josh," she said bitterly. To her horror and shame, she occasionally resented her husband for a relationship with their son that she would never know. "I don't know what he picks up on." Silence fell between them, thick and uncomfortable. Just as the nightmares made a regular reappearance, so did this melancholy mood, an all-encompassing sense of futility and frustration that neither of them could entirely shake. "You may not blame us, but you certainly resent where we are now," she said at last. "Don't you?" he asked sharply. "Of course you do. The bottom line is, we sold out. Sure, it was my suggestion, and we may have had all the good reasons in the world, but it's true, and you know it as well as I do. If I'm angry with anyone, it's myself for fooling myself into thinking I could ever let go. Maybe you're right. Maybe I do need to be in the thick of it to feel I'm doing any good. But I couldn't not send the profile. I *know* they would have eventually figured it out on their own- -" he held up a hand to forestall her protest, "but how many more little girls would have died first? I couldn't let it happen." "Even at the expense of our son's safety?" she asked. He didn't respond, and finally she sighed. "You should have at least warned me," she said, resigned. It didn't matter if she was happy about the situation. It was done; now they had to figure out their next move. Her stomach started aching and she thought she might have to take another pill soon for the ulcer that came with living a life where you could never relax your vigil, even for a moment. She wondered briefly how *his* stomach was doing these days. The Haversham medicine cabinet hosted matching his and hers prescription strength Zantac. "At the very least, I could have helped you with it." He didn't reply, and that was fine. There was nothing more to be said. She resumed washing the dishes and he went back to drying them. If they were lucky, no one would connect the profile sent to the Missouri State Police--anonymously and through multiple mail forwarding services--to the three other profiles submitted to other places where a serial killer stalked the populace throughout the last two years. If they weren't lucky, well, Marcus and Cheryl Davenport had bought a house in Longview, Washington three years ago that hadn't been lived in yet. She couldn't blame him. It had been her idea to submit the first profile. She'd helped him write the work-ups more than once. She felt the emptiness just as keenly as he did. They were both subject to the occasional bout of brooding or fit of depression. They both felt every day of their lives that they had left something undone. Which, of course, was precisely what they had done. * * * * * June, 2001 "Scully, are you all right?" Mulder charged through the door of the comfortable birthing suite in the women and children's clinic at Georgetown Memorial with a look of panic in his eyes. He'd broken land speed records making the drive across town after he received the call on his cell phone during his meeting with Father McCue. He hadn't suddenly gotten religion, but he knew he could rely on the sacrosanct confidentiality of the confessional, and he needed that to fulfill his plans. He was taking a tremendous risk even forming the plans, much less revealing them to someone else, but he was determined to see them done. When he'd explained to the priest that Scully was in labor, the aging clergyman had promised to drop by later to check on her and pray for her if she needed. Mulder had nodded distractedly and bolted from the church. "I'm fine, Mulder," she murmured, her pale face pinched. A nearby fetal monitor told the tale that their child was doing just fine. "Contractions are still eight minutes apart--we've got a while yet." He stood helplessly beside her bed, wondering what the hell he did now. From her chair on the opposite side of the bed, Margaret Scully gave him a brief glance and turned her attention back to her daughter. "How did the meeting with Father McCue go?" Scully asked after a moment of awkward silence. "It went fine. He said he'd be happy to perform the ceremony, considering the circumstances," Mulder and Scully exchanged a significant glance. For Mrs. Scully's benefit, they would pretend "circumstances" was code for their illegitimate child in the process of being born. A few days ago when Mulder had seized on the idea of getting married, Scully had been reluctant, but he'd been adamant. Plans had been underway for their disappearance for over a month now, and the clock was ticking down. They didn't dare go on the run while Scully was pregnant, particularly with the pregnancy being as high-risk as it was, but they had decided that once she was released from the hospital, they couldn't waste a second getting their son someplace out of harm's way. After leaving D.C., they would, using a series of false ID's provided by the Gunmen, travel first to Florida, then to Mississippi, to Kansas and eventually to northwest Indiana, employing various means of transportation from the bus to the train to cars provided by more associates of their friends. In Valparaiso, they would take a waiting moving van to the Oregon coast, not far from Bellefleur, and there begin their lives as Martin and Schuyler Haversham. The names were new and unfamiliar, but they couldn't run the risk of using any of their previous aliases. It would be a hellish undertaking with a newborn, but they couldn't afford to delay. Hopefully their circuitous route and frequent changes of identity, as well as the pre-existing "lives" that had been constructed for the Havershams years ago, would eliminate any chance of their being tracked. Hopefully. Mulder had found himself becoming increasingly melancholy as the time for their departure drew nearer with the end of Scully's pregnancy. For himself, he had no problems with leaving--the only family he had left were Scully and the baby. But Scully would be cutting all ties to her family and friends, and Margaret Scully would be losing her second daughter in the process. After they went on the run, he and Scully would never have a wedding; for the sake of convenience, their new identities were already married, complete with falsified marriage certificate. It was something they could do for Mrs. Scully, perhaps to soothe the ache of losing her daughter somewhat. They could never tell her the truth, but her final sight of her daughter would be seeing her joined in marriage before God to a many her loved her more than life. Scully, too, believed in God and would never have the chance to be married before a priest if they didn't do it now. She claimed she didn't care, that she had come to terms with their relationship long ago and had never felt the need to formalize it, but he wanted to give her that, at least, for everything she was sacrificing to protect their son. And he wanted, if nothing else, to officially declare his love for her before they left. Some absurd, archaic streak in him reared its head and declared he wanted their son to be legitimate. They deserved that much. "I still don't know why it can't wait," Margaret Scully interjected, shaking her head sternly. "Fox, Dana will barely be out of the hospital. If you'd done it before now, that would have been fine, but it's too late now to do it before the baby is born, so the least you can do is wait until she's recuperated a little." She gave Mulder a disapproving frown and his shoulders slumped. Scully's mother really ought to hate him for all she had lost, directly or indirectly, because of her daughter's work with him, but she didn't. Neither was she completely happy with him being in her daughter's life, however. She was traditional enough to give up on the idea that Dana would ever leave him now that they were having a child together, but she didn't have to be thrilled about any of it. Nor should she be--she was Scully's mother, and it was only right that she should worry. "No--Mom, it's better that we do this sooner than later. Call it silly," Scully managed a weak, unconvincing smile, "but I really want to be married as soon as possible--for the baby's sake." Mulder grimaced; it was totally untrue. Scully had stated emphatically that she did not feel they had to be married, that she was all right with things the way they were, but she would put on a show for her mother, to present a unified front. She also was trying to take a little of the responsibility for the decision off Mulder's shoulders in her mother's eyes. "Ohh!" Scully's eyes flew open wide and she began to gasp in pain, her hands on her swollen belly. Mulder watched in terror, feeling utterly useless while the contraction lasted. Mrs. Scully grimaced and handed him the cup of ice chips, sighing in resignation. "I think this is your job now," she said softly. "I've got to call the family and let them know what's happening." "Mrs. Scully--" Mulder's hand lingered as he took the cup from her, not releasing her fingers. "Thank you, Mrs. Scully." She nodded, giving him a sad smile. "You're welcome, Fox." * * * * * Martin Haversham looked up at his wife as she rose and sank above him, her eyes closed and an expression of pleasured concentration on her face. He was, as always, astounded by the beauty of her. The shoulder length honey-blond hair was still the same as it had been earlier, but she'd taken out her contacts and now her green eyes were pale, pure blue. After a moment, they met his gaze and she gave him a tiny smile. On a good day, their lovemaking was tender and worshipful, filled with adoration. On a really good day, it was merry and filled with laughter. Then there were the other days, the times when it was dark and desperate as they fucked through the fear and unhappiness that so often threatened to overwhelm them. Then there were rare times like tonight, slow and solemn as they remembered what they had left behind and perhaps even yearned to go back again to before. It would never happen, of course. They had chosen their course and would travel it accordingly. But there was always the "what if" that haunted them. What if they had stayed? Would things have been better, or worse? "Uhh--oh, God, Sc--" She leaned forward and placed a finger upon his lips before he could complete what he was about to say. He sighed unhappily. Slips had happened before, and they just couldn't run the risk. Somewhere inside, he knew she desperately yearned to hear him call her by her name from before, to know she was still the woman she had once been, but they couldn't take that chance. Where once they had used to speak each other's names at every opportunity, they names they alone called one another, now they rarely spoke them at all. The new names just felt wrong on their tongues, and the old names were too dangerous. Even in the privacy of their bedroom, they feared who might be listening. Sometime later, they lay side by side on their backs, perspiration chilling on their skin as hearts and respiration slowed to a normal pace. In a moment, they would get out of bed to complete their evening ablutions, then return to bed to watch the late news, but for now they took the moment to rest. "I got another comment when I picked Josh up from daycare today," Schuyler said, turning to prop herself up on her elbow. She taught one morning physics class on Mondays and Wednesdays, and an afternoon lab on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Their son stayed at the daycare facility on the college campus while she was working. "I swear if I hear that woman call him uncanny again, I may injure someone." "What'd he do?" "He chose a book and staked out a place in the storytelling corner five minutes before she announced story-time," he could hear a chuckle in her voice as related their son's antics. Needless to say, at under three years old, Josh couldn't tell time. Only he and she understood how he could have known. He didn't comment. He knew and dreaded what was coming next. They both accepted the necessity, but they had hoped to avoid it a while longer. "The older he gets, the more apparent it's going to be that something's not--normal," Schuyler sighed at last. "I know," Martin answered unhappily. "I'll, um, turn in my notice for the end of the school year and start home-schooling him this fall." He would hate doing it. Some days, even working at the high school and coaching the varsity basketball team, he felt he'd go out of his mind with boredom. How much worse would it get when he didn't even have those activities to keep him occupied? But it made sense for him to be the one to stay home with their son. His wife could mix in with a crowd a little easier than he could, and he was, after all, the one who shared a very unique bond with the toddler. "I know," she said sympathetically to his unspoken reluctance. "I don't want to have to do it, either. It's bad enough the way things are. I hate to deny him the opportunity to socialize with other kids as well." *But we can't take the chance*. The conclusion hung unuttered between them. They had once been a day when they took chances without thinking twice. There had once been a time when they lived life on the edge. But she was right; their priorities were different now. * * * * * Scully screamed, overwhelmed for a moment by the pain in the instant her son's head emerged for her body. Only a moment later, another contraction broke over her and then he was born. In short order, he was placed in her arms and she stared at him in wonderment. "Jeremiah," Mulder had suggested three months earlier when they had discussed what they would name him. Scully gave him an exasperated look. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" "The one and only time you ever serenaded me? Never!" Mulder declared, wiggling his eyebrows with a playful smile. She felt a current of desire arc through her body, grounding between her legs. In her last trimester, she found herself absurdly horny far too often. It didn't take much to set her off; only the physical encumbrance of her pregnancy prevented them acting upon it as often as she thought about it. "Jeremiah," she murmured, not at all opposed to the name. In fact, she rather liked it. It had been sometime later that they realized what they would need to do to protect their son. By then they had already announced to others what they would name their son. That was when they realized they would need to change his name as well as their own. They couldn't even keep the name they had chosen for their son. If anyone saw the new parents' tears that early morning in the delivery room, it was attributed to joy. No one knew how bittersweet the moment truly was. Late that night, after friends and family all left, Father McCue came to fulfill the first half of Mulder's request. Their son was christened Jeremiah William Mulder. It was the name engraved upon the stone at their memorial when the search for their bodies was finally called off. * * * * * Sometimes the nightmares almost go away. But not forever. When Scully awakens in the middle of the night, Mulder isn't in bed beside her, and she feels a moment of panic. Had it finally happened? Had he finally gone back? And if he has, will she follow him and face the source of their fears head-on, or will she keep running to protect their son? Then she sees him by the window, looking out upon the rain slashing through the sky, his shoulders slumped as though they carry the weight of the world. And perhaps they do. "You think about it sometimes, don't you?" she asks in the darkness. He doesn't turn to look back. "You think about leaving, about going back." "Don't you?" he replies. Perhaps she does. In fact, it's true. For just a moment every now and again, she wonders if she shouldn't leave them and return to carry on the work. But she knows she'll never do it. Perhaps it's sexist ideology that makes her think her husband might be more likely to do so than she herself would ever be. For a mother to leave her child is more unthinkable than for a father to do the same. "There's nothing for me back there," he says at last. "You and Josh, you're all I have." That's true also. She has family who have missed her and grieved for her, family to whom she never got to say good-bye. But Mulder has no one. No one but her and their son. Besides, she thinks, if either of them ever resurfaced, it might lead the wrong people to think that if one of them survived, perhaps they all did. And perhaps they could use that logic to find the partner and child left behind. And that was unacceptable. "I don't know what I expected," he sighs. "There seemed a moment, after I came back, when I thought maybe everything would be all right. Maybe even *we*, of all people, could live happily ever after." Happily ever after. As in a house in the suburbs and jobs that didn't run the danger of leaving either spouse widowed. Children. A pet. Living the dream. They had the house, purchased with money deposited long before their departure into untraceable accounts by three conspiracy theorists in Baltimore, Maryland. The money was a loan, which was repaid when those three were designated as beneficiaries of the inheritance Mulder had received from his own parents when he "died." They had the child. They had the jobs, and they'd even talked about getting the pets. Sometimes, perhaps even most of the time, they were happy. But always in a wary, unsettled way. Always aware that it was all an illusion. "I don't think there's any such thing," she says at last. Without waiting for his response, she lay back down and snuggles under the covers. He will join her soon, when he's done brooding. They understand that about each other. He will come back to her, and sleep by her side, and they will carry on as before. They have no other choice. THE END Feedback to kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com