Notes: This story contains absolutely no spoilers. It's a piece I put
together from odds and ends of my own life and my husband's. It's
dedicated to parenthood and with father's day just a little while
away, it seemed as good a time as any to post it. It doesn't fit in
with any other of my stories, except Brad and Angela are
mentioned in 'Aftermath'.

Never posted anywhere else. MSR--married. Rate PG-13 for some
adult discussion but all the really 'racy' stuff happened before the
story starts ; )

Disclaimer: Read it and weep, Carter. This is what it could be like
if you ever woke up and smelled the coffee! I won't profit from it,
you own the stuff, and I know that. I'm just having fun playing in
your universe. You can come visit mine, if you want.

Comments always welcomed. vmoseley@fgi.net See, Michelle,
you finally talked me into it. Dedicated to Brian Moseley, my own
personal Fox Mulder. Happy Father's Day, sweetheart.

Passages
by Vickie Moseley

Month Number One

Dana Scully Mulder leaned her head against the door of the
bathroom and frowned. It was going to be a very long nine
months.

"Fox, are you all right?" she asked anxiously. The response was
the sound of a toilet flushing and water running in the sink. Finally,
the door opened and her husband emerged, looking a very lovely
shade of pale green.

"How long does this last?" he asked weakly, drying his face off
with a towel which he promptly draped on the doorknob. Dana
scowled at the offending practice, but didn't say anything. He was
sick, she wasn't going to scold a sick man.

"I want you to go to the doctor," she said evenly. "You've
thrown up every morning for the past week and I think you need to
see the doctor, _today_!"

"I'm looking at my doctor," he smiled weakly and walked into
the bedroom to get dressed. "Besides, you know what it is, and a
doctor isn't going to help."

Dana followed him into the bedroom and quickly switched the
vibrant red, fractal print tie he was holding with a subdued paisley
one. "Sweetheart, I really think you're degree is in psychology, not
medicine. Of course, we could always go look it up on your
transcripts," she teased.

He looked at her and feigned a laugh. "Well, Mrs. Smartypants,
I've read all the pertinent journal articles. If there's documented
proof of sympathy 'labor pains', why can't there be sympathy
'morning sickness' as well?"

"But Mulder, _I_ am not having morning sickness. Only you
are. I feel great. You're a mess. Now, is there something wrong
with this picture?" she asked.

He sat down on the bed and tied his shoes. "You can think what
you want, Dana Katherine, but I know how my stomach feels. And
since the morning you came bounding in to announce that the little
stick was blue. . ."

"The little stick was *pink*, sweetheart."

"Pick, pick, pick! The little stick was *pink* and that we were
pregnant, I've gotten sick every morning! I've read all the 'Father to
Be' books. I know what's morning sickness and what isn't." He
returned his concentration to his shoestrings.

Dana rolled her eyes and conceded defeat. "OK, OK, but at
least *consider* seeing a doctor. It could be something serious,
like an ulcer, you know. You don't have a low stress job, by any
means." She sat down next to him on the bed and rubbed his
shoulders. "I'm just worried about you. You look big and capable,
but I know better!"

Later that morning

"Mulder, wanna see something?" Langly asked excitedly the
minute the agent had walked into the offices of the Lone Gunman.

"Sure, Langly, what is it?" Mulder replied innocently.

Langly proudly displayed a petri dish growing an assortment of
multi-colored mold spores. There were many impressive shades,
ranging from bright pink to a deep indigo. "We scraped a sample
off a hersey bar and this is what grew!" he explained, with all the
joyous elation of a child at Christmas.

"Uggh!" remarked Mulder, with a quickly added, "Where's the
bathroom?" He quickly rushed toward the door and just made it.
A few minutes later, he rejoined the three conspirators.

"When did you find out?" Byers asked cryptically.

Mulder sighed. "Last Thursday."

"Is it every morning, or just when you come across something
really gross and disgusting?" Byers continued the line of cross
examination.

"Every morning *and* when I come across anything really gross
and disgusting!" Mulder lamented.

"Makes sense, knowing you," Byers concluded, shaking his
head. "But don't sweat it. It goes away on it's own. Some where
around the beginning of the second trimester."

Mulder regarded the man intently. "Byers, you sound like you
speak from experience," he said suspiciously.

Byers got up from his desk chair and moved over to stand next
to Mulder. He ceremoniously removed his wallet and displayed a
picture of two angelic looking little girls, probably 5 and 3 years old
respectively. "Mulder, I *have* a life! I just don't go around
making a big deal about it."

By this time, both Frohike and Langly were eyeing the two with
ever growing curiosity. "OK, Mulder, what gives? How come
you're looking so green over a petri dish?" Langly demanded.

Byers smiled. "There's been a death in the Mulder household,"
he said happily.

Both Frohike and Langly gasped. "Who! My God, not Scully!
What are you talking about?"

Byers held up his hand to quiet his associates. "The *rabbit*
died, guys! And Mulder here is dealing with the consequences."

Handshakes, hugs and pats on the back were exchanged. "Geez,
Mulder," Langly whined. "You could have just said it was morning
sickness!"

Month Number Three

Assistant Director Walter Skinner was thoroughly enjoying a
brief moment of quiet. Already that morning, he had come within
inches of demoting an agent, had one hell of a phone call in which
the Director of the Bureau personally accused him of every
violation in the book and his wife had informed him that the dryer
*was* beyond repair and that a new one had to be purchased,
*tonight*. For a Thursday, it sure seemed like a Monday.

His quiet interlude was not meant to last, however. Ms.
Hendricks, his secretary, knocked on the door once and let herself
in. "Agent Mulder is here to see you, sir," she announced.

"Mulder? What the hell does he want?" Skinner growled.
Probably another liver-eating mutant running around and he needs
to fly to Timbuktu in pursuit, he thought glumly.

"Wrong Agent Mulder, sir," Ms. Hendricks said gently. "Agent
*Dana* Mulder is out in the waiting area. She said it won't take
long."

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The Bureau
was getting too damn confusing for him. He had known all along
that one day Mulder and Scully would look at each other and
realize what everyone else had seen for years. But did they have to
go and get married? Why couldn't they just *sleep* together, like
everyone else did? It had taken an Act of God, *and* an Act of
Congress to allow them to continue working together. Of course,
he had suspected that there were some people who wanted them
together, for ulterior motives. It was easier to watch them
together, than separately.

"Send her in, Denise," he barked. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
Skinner really liked Scully, always had. She was a good, capable
agent. And if anybody could keep Mulder in line, it was her. She
couldn't always keep him out of trouble, but she managed to keep
him in line. And even Skinner had to admit that their marriage had
not adversely affected their performance in the line of duty.
Actually, now that Mulder's insomnia had been cured, their ratings
had even improved. For that, he would be eternally grateful to
Scully. . .or Mulder. . .or whatever she was calling herself these
days.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Sir,"
Scully/Mulder said as she sat primly in the silently offered chair.

"What's on your mind, Agent Scu. . .ah, Mulder?" Skinner
asked, looking her directly in the eye.

"Sir, I need to inform you of a change in my medical condition
that might affect my future assignments," Dana said, trying to make
the jargon sound intelligible. Whenever she was around Skinner, all
knowledge of spoken English seemed to flee from her mind.

"Are you ill, Agent?" Skinner asked, and real concern was in his
expression

"Not exactly ill, Sir. I'm pregnant." She smiled and waited for
the tidal wave.

"Excuse me, Agent," Skinner said after a full minute of staring
open mouthed at her. "Did you just say you are *pregnant*!" He
was doing everything he could not to stand up and scream at her.
How the hell could Mulder, the male, do this? How could he take
one of Skinner's best agents and put her out to pasture, just to
satisfy his own selfish need to. . .procreate? God, not another Fox
Mulder. That would be too much!

"Yes sir. I'm about ten weeks along, give or take a week or
two. It's not really an exact science, determining due dates, that is,"
she was rambling, but the look of absolute rage in Skinner's eyes
was making her shake all over.

"And what, exactly, do you intend to do about it, Agent?"
Skinner seethed through clenched teeth.

It was Dana's turn to stare, open mouthed. Finally, she decided
she had had enough of this. This was the tone he used with Fox all
the time. And usually, Fox sat and took it. But now he was dealing
with the *other* Mulder, even if she had only been a Mulder for 14
months, and he had better figure that out, real quick! She stood up
and leaned over the desk, staring directly in to Skinner's eyes.

"I *intend* to carry this baby to term, I *intend* to keep
working until my OB says I can't and I *intend* to take a three
month maternity leave, after which time I *intend* to go back to
work. Now, legally, you have the right to restrict my assignments.
And legally, I have the right to refuse any assignment that I feel
might endanger myself and the baby. But beyond that, I am telling
you as a courtesy. Nothing else is going to change. Sir." She was
in her 'wild cat' mode, as Mulder called it. Everyone else that
encountered it usually just called it by the layman's term: 'bitch'.

Skinner had never been on the business end of Scully's wrath
before. He had to admit, it was impressive. He looked at her
calmly and nodded. "Thank you, Agent Mulder. I will notify the
appropriate offices. That will be all." He dismissed her before she
could go after him again.

Dana was a bit shocked at his reaction. Actually, she was more
shocked at her own performance. But since Skinner had not taken
offense, she figured discretion was the better part of valor, and she
beat a hasty retreat. As she reached for the door knob and started
out the door, Skinner spoke again.

"Scully?" Hell, he couldn't help it. That *was* her name, after
all.

She stopped and turned. His voice sounded gentle. Friendly,
almost. "Yes sir?"

"Please accept my congratulations, and convey them to your
husband. You *will* make wonderful parents. I'm sure of it."

Dana smiled one of her precious smiles at him. "Thank you, sir.
Coming from you, that means a lot," she added, and she sincerely
meant it. She left the room and hurried down to the basement.
Mulder would be climbing the walls. She had a lot to tell him.

Skinner sat in his office. It was quiet, again. <Hell,> he thought
to himself. <How bad could it be, having a little Scully-Mulder
running around Washington? The kid will probably make a damn
good agent.> Besides, by the time he or she was old enough to
enter the Academy, Walter Skinner would already be in retirement,
he sighed contentedly.

Month Number 5

Fox Mulder sat behind the wheel of his car and cracked another
sunflower seed with his teeth. Unconsciously, he spit the shell on
the floor, then caught sight of the carpet beneath the seat. Oh,
brother! He'd have to stop by the car wash and vacuum the floor
before he let Dana step foot in the car. As if the mere thought of
her could summon her presense, the cell phone in his pocket rang.
He knew it would be his wife.

"Hi, my love," he said without waiting.

"How did you know it was me," she asked, a bit annoyed.
"What if Skinner was calling to check up on you?"

"Skinner doesn't call me at 4:35 in the morning to check up on
me. He can't yell at me properly when he's sleepy. He needs to be
fully awake to really dress me down," Mulder informed her
casually. "So, what's up? Tummy troubles?"

"I know I should've listened, but the tacos really did taste good
at the time," Dana whined.

"They probably would have tasted just as good without the hot
sauce you poured all over them, my little honeybun," he chided her.
She hated that name, honeybun. It made her sound like a breakfast
roll. He used it whenever he thought she was far enough out of
shooting range.

She ignored him. She was really lonely and didn't want to start
a fight. She missed stakeouts with him. They were usually boring,
tiring, sticky (from all the spilled soda and coffee) and in general,
more fun than a barrel of monkeys. She was still a little angry that
he had pulled rank and taken her off this one. He was really taking
this pregnacy thing too far. But that wasn't why she called.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The mere thought of her, lying in their bed, her hair messed up
from sleep, her eyes a little blurry, the little mound of her stomach
which was their firsborn child, all those images suddenly flooded
Mulder's mind. He wanted very much to drive back home at great
speeds, run into their bedroom and make love to her until morning.
<No, Mulder, that would be bad>, he scolded himself. <That
would be dereliction of duty. That would be leaving poor Nelson
stranded at the gas station where he had gone to use the restroom.
That would be. . .hell, that would be _great_!> But he couldn't do
it.

"Mulder, I said, what are you doing?" she asked insistently.

"Shhh! I'm making love to you in my mind. Must you always
interrupt?" he said with irritation.

"Well, just make sure you don't act on any of those little
fantasies until you get home, got that mister! Where's Nelson?
You didn't say that with him listening, did you?" she asked,
suddenly concerned about office gossip. <Why be concerned>, her
inner voice asked. <You're married, you're pregnant, if everyone in
the office didn't already suspect that you've had sex, there's some
real need for remedial education in the Bureau!>

"Nelson is answering nature's call. I'm alone, and boy, am I
having a great fantasy! Keep talking, just do it quietly, OK?" he
said, seductively.

"Snap out of it loverboy! I don't like listening to fantasies I have
to wait hours to participate in. Who won the ballgame?" She
couldn't care less about the game, but she was getting a bit annoyed
that his fantasy life was intruding on her time.

"Angels. Four to two. Sox just don't have a bench right now.
And their relief pitcher sucks. I am officially rejecting my home
state of Massachusettes in protest until they get a decent manager,"
he intoned.

"Poor baby, I'm sorry. So how's Nelson. Does he pale in
comparison to me on a stakeout?" she teased.

"Well, he's not the greatest kisser. . ."

"Fox Mulder! This is the mother of your child you are talking
to."

"Sorry *mom*. Nah, he isn't too bad. As a matter of fact,
we've been discussing pregnant wives. His youngest is 16 mos. old.
His wife used to call him up and bother him on stakeouts, too."

"So now I'm bothering you, huh, well let me tell you something.
. ."

Mulder couldn't hear the rest of her tirade. Nelson had come
running up and tapped on the window. Mulder rolled the window
down.

"Mulder, I just saw three guys heading around the building and
down the alley. We better move out," Nelson said in a whisper.

Mulder put the phone down and got out of the car, unsnapping
his holster and pulling his gun. He didn't hear Dana calling to him
to get backup. He was too intent on the pursuit to worry about it.

"Damn you, Fox Mulder, get back here and call for backup!" she
screamed into the receiver. He *never* remembered to do that.
She had always been the one to call for backup. She would call
now, but he hadn't hung up yet. The line was still connected.
Thinking fast, she ran to her purse and pulled out her own cell
phone and called in the request. Thank God she knew where they
were located.

It was worse than watching it. All she could do was hear it.
Hear everything. Hear the shots. Hear the other cars arriving,
sirens blaring. Hear the words she was teriffied she would hear:
"Officers down!" But how many? And where was Fox? She could
make out just snatches of voices, they were all shouting at once.

". . .Nelson's gone. . .How's Mulder, will he make it?. .
.Georgetown. . ."

She was dressed and in her car before she realized she had
forgotten to hang up the phone.

They lived in Georgetown, now. Just a few blocks from the
hospital. She was there before the ambulance, waiting. She called
her mom, and waited. She sat outside the OR and waited. She sat
beside him in ICU and waited. Waited. Waited. . .

Fox Mulder slowly came out of the fog. He tried to open his
eyes, but on the first attempt, the lids seemed glued together. He
rested a minute and tried again. This time they came apart. Boy,
he thought to himself, that was *some* bachelor party. But he
focused on his surroundings and moaned. He was in a hosptial
again. Looked like Georgetown, he recognized the decor. <That's
pretty pathetic, Mulder,> he thought, <when you can recognize
hospitals by the decor.> Of course, he had spent enough time in
them, he knew nurses in every major city in the country. Not that
he'd *ever* tell Dana.

He looked over to where he knew she would be sitting. He was
surprised to see, not his wife, but his mother-in-law.

"Mom Scully," he croaked. She had been reading, but she
immediately put down the book when she heard him and leaned
over to take his hand.

"Welcome home, Fox," she smiled.

"Where's Dana?"

Maggie Scully frowned a little and hesitated. Then, seeing the
concern flood his face, she rushed to explain. "Dana's at Agent
Nelson's funeral, Fox. She knew you would want one of you to
attend. She'll be here in an hour or so."

Mulder let that information sink in. "Shit!" he cursed. Nelson
had been a good agent. More than that, he was starting to be a
good friend, as well. Mulder felt his heart drop out from under
him. "He's got three little kids," he murmured, more to himself than
to Maggie. "Damn, I should have turned that corner first!" he
added angrily.

Maggie suddenly grabbed his arm with both hands. He looked
at her and saw. . .rage. The same rage that had occasionally been
directed at him by his wife, reserved for times when she was
convinced he had suicidal tendancies. "You listen to me, Fox
Mulder," Maggie seethed, in a voice that sounded frighteningly like
his wife when angry. "You *never* ever feel that the world would
be better off if you traded yourself for someone who has died!
*You* have a child now, too and you better start thinking about
that. I'm sorry for your friend. It's a tragedy and his family is
devastated. But Fox, there are people here and now who would be
just as devastated if anything happened to you, and one of them is
my *daughter*." She calmed her voice a little when she saw the
terrified look come to his eyes. "And one of them is me," she
whispered.

"I'm sorry, mom," he mumbled, but didn't attempt to hide the
tears of grief that were starting down his face.

"It's OK. It'll be all right. You just rest. You need to rest,"
Maggie murmured and stroked his forehead until he drifted off to
sleep.

end of part one>

Passages (2/2)
by Vickie Moseley

disclaimed in part one

Month Number Seven

Dana sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. In the moonlight,
her sleeping husband looked more like a little boy than a thirty
something man who captured serial killers and flukemen for a
living. She almost didn't have the heart to wake him. Almost.

"Fox. Fox," she murmured in his ear, shaking his shoulder
gently. This was insane. Just a little over two years ago, she would
have been the one sound asleep and he would have been wandering
the midnight hours, searching for answers to questions he should
never have asked. Ah, well, it was partly his fault. She didn't get
pregnant by herself. "Fox, wake up," she said more insistently.

"Hmmm. . .I'm awake, I'm awake," he insisted, sleepily. He
opened his eyes and noted how dark it still was. Instantly, he came
fully awake. "Are you OK? Is it the baby? What, Dana, what!"

She patted his shoulder reassuringly. "No, it's not the baby. It's
not anything, really. I just. . .I couldn't sleep, that's all. I wanted to
talk to you," she added, slightly embarrassed.

He rubbed his eyes and turned on the light on the nightstand.
"OK, what do you want to talk about?"

She bit her lip. Somehow, with the light on, and looking at his
sleep heavy eyes, the whole thing seemed so ridiculous. But she
knew that the minute the lights were off and he was snoring softly
beside her, all the terror she had felt before would come rushing
back. No, she had better fess up. "I was thinking. . ."

"What's the number for UPI, I'll alert the media," he teased,
pulling her close to him.

She pushed away, not too roughly, and sat up again. "I'm
serious. I had this really scary thought. I'm really worried. Now
listen, OK?"

He really looked contrite. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. What's
bothering you? Is it the baby?"

Why did he always do that? Everytime she sighed, he assumed
it was the baby. Everytime she got upset, he assumed it was the
baby. Hell, everytime she got mad at him, he assumed it was the
baby! She was ready to jump down his throat, but caught herself
just in time. This time, maybe. . .

"I was thinking about Boris Yeltsen!" she exclaimed.

"Well, that is a pretty frightening thought, but I think *we're*
fairly safe. He can't run for President of the United States, Dana,
he's not a natural born citizen," he reasonably pointed out.

"That's not what I meant," she countered, the exasperation
dripping from her words. "I mean, he's selling all that nuclear stuff
to the Iranians." There, she had said it. Surely he would make the
connection. He always made these kind of connections.

"You are awake at 4:47 in the morning thinking of Russian
foreign policy? No more 'Hunt for the Red October' before bedtime
for you, young lady," he declared forcefully.

"Mulder, would you *shut up* and listen! It's about that, and
the baby. And that song by Sting." Now she was sure he could
make the connection. <My God, has he always been this dense?>

"OK. It's about Boris Yeltsen, *our* soon to be born baby, and
a song by Sting. Isn't this the premise for a new techno thriller
drama on FOX?" he asked. Then he saw her clench her fist and
caught it just before she slammed it into his exposed arm. "Sorry,
couldn't help myself. Dana, you spent the first year of our marriage
curing me of insomnia, and the second year keeping me up all night.
A guy gets defensive, y'know!" he moaned.

He looked closely at her and could see how scared she really
was. This was serious. He tried, but could not fathom the
connection. "Which song by Sting? Fields of Gold?" He knew it
was her favorite. They had danced to it at their wedding.

"No! No! NO! The other one! The one on the 'Blue Turtle'
CD!" she shouted in frustration. "Oh, I can't think of the name of
it. It's right on my tongue. It's real haunting," and she hummed a
few lines.

"_The Russians_!" he shouted. He felt wonderful. He had
solved part of the puzzle. Then, slowly, the rest of the pieces fell in
to place. And suddenly he didn't feel so good. His face fell into a
grim scowl. He reached over and pulled her back down to the bed,
holding her close to him. "I know why you're scared," he said so
softly she almost couldn't hear him.

"Then you've thought of it, too?" she asked, but she didn't really
need to. She could see in his eyes that he had.

"Why do you think I threw up every morning for almost three
months? I couldn't think of anything else. Dana, we've seen more
than our share of psychopaths and sociopaths. But I think we both
feel we can handle those. It's the thought that some nutcase in
some far off third world country could get angry at his neighbor
and press the wrong button. . .that's something you just can't come
to terms with. That is real terror." He sighed deeply and then
allowed himself a shiver.

She pulled back enough to look at his face. Oh, damn it. She
had done that. He had been sleeping so peacefully and now he had
a look of such pain on his face.

"I thought of that and a whole lot more," he continued, softly.
"I thought, what if there is another Eugene Tooms out there. Or
what if the Eves ever got out. Or what if. . ." tears were starting to
form in his eyes. "What if some night we left for just an hour or so.
. .and the bright lights. . ." his throat closed up and he couldn't
continue. She put her finger up to stop his murmuring.

"Oh, Fox, I'm so sorry! I never should have waken you," she
said, crying with him.

He wiped his eyes quickly. "No, I'm glad you did. I've wanted
to talk to you for so long. I just didn't want to scare you, too." He
hugged her tightly. The baby, now wedged between them in her
stomach, didn't appreciate the added outside pressure and shifted,
kicking them both.

Fox reached down and rubbed her stomach. "Yeah, little guy,
we know you're here. And you're right. We both need to get a
grip. Can't have basket cases for parents, now, can you?" He
pushed himself up and pulled Dana with him. "Come on," he
ordered.

"Why, where are we going," she asked, wiping the tears from
her eyes.

"We are going down to the family room and listen to the whole
song. If I'm not mistaken, there's another song on that CD called
'The Seventh Wave' and it's pretty hopeful. I think we need that
right now. Besides, I need a good sunrise. Let's go watch one."
They headed into the hallway and down the stairs. "And you can
help me come up with a really good 24 hour illness so I can call in
sick in a few hours."

Month Eight (and counting)

He moaned softly in her ear. "Are you sure you want to do
this?" Mulder was looking at his beautiful wife <and partner> with
love, passion and not just a little hesitation.

"I'm sure. We've put it off too long. If we don't do it now. . ."
Dana trailed off, giving him that Look he had come to know so well
since their marriage. She was dead serious, they were going to do
this, stop talking and get on with it.

He sighed in resignation. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He
loved doing everything with her, for her. He just didn't think in her
present condition, they could. Her pertruding stomach, just barely
concealing their first born child made almost everything they did
together an exercise in strategic planning. But this. . .he shuddered.
He didn't want to think about it.

"Mulder" she crooned in her ear. "Don't you love me?" Shit.
Now she was being coy about it. He hated that. She could push
every button he had, and usually all at the same time. He clenched
his teeth in determination.

"OK, dammit. Slide over here. Now, just lift that a little. . ."

"Oww! Fox, you're hurting me!"

"Sorry! Sorry! Ah, sweetheart, here, just a minute. Lift that
just. . .a. . .little. . .THERE! Ahhhhhhhh!" There was a soft click
and the last crib rail slipped into place and held. He smiled the
smile of complete satisfaction. Good grief, sex was easier! It was
the consequences that caused so much trouble.

'There now, that wasn't so bad, now. Was it?" she purred.

"No, that was _fun_," he replied, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
"I've always enjoyed slicing my hand open with a screwdriver and
trying to follow directions written in _German_ , of all things. As a
matter of fact, what say we dismantle it and wait until you go into
labor to put it together again? I _really_ love working under that
kind of pressure." He was quickly losing that satisfied feeling as the
first waves of injustice and injury crashed over him.

She stifled a laugh and went over to give him as much of a hug
as she could. "I _really_ love you, you know," she sighed.

"I know. That's how we got into this mess," he grumbled. He
was in a bad mood now, and it would take an act of Congress to
change that. Or maybe. . .

"Hey, want to take a nap with me?" The invitation was
obviously for more than a nap.

He considered that offer. "I hurt my hand," he pouted, just a
little longer.

"I can kiss it and make it all better," she grinned and lifted his
injured hand to her mouth. The kiss definitely made the hand feel
better. Sucking on his fingers made _him_ feel better.

"Let's go take that nap!" he laughed.

Month Nine or Ten (it's always hard to keep count at the end)

Dana Scully Mulder tried unsuccessfully to stretch the kink out
of her back. <Mom kept saying the last days were the worst. Did I
believe her--nooooo!> she groaned inwardly. She glanced at the
wall clock on the other side of her lab. 9:45. <Fox will be calling
any time now.> Every fifteen minutes, just to check in. The ring of
the phone didn't even startle her. She reached for it with an amused
smile.

"Labor and delivery," she answered smartly.

"You aren't funny, you know," Mulder replied sourly.

"Yes, I am. How did the meeting go with Brad?" she asked.
She liked Brad and Angela, they were sort of her favorites among
the new section. The expansion of the X Files was one of the best
things that had happened to them.

"He left with all the same orifices he came in with," he answered
with a slight smile.

"Ohhh, you're such a meanie! They should never have let you
reproduce," she teased.

"Speaking of which. . ." he said hopefully.

"Not yet, Daddy. Now, can I try and get some work done
before the next 15 minute update. I work for Attila the Hun, you
know," she said pointedly.

"OK, OK, I get the picture. I'll get off the phone. You *will*
call at the first sign?" It was a question, an order and pleading all in
one sentence.

"No, I thought I would have the baby in secret and just wear a
pillow for another month to drive you crazy," she teased
unmercifully.

"Pregnacy has *not* improved your disposition, Scully! Not
one bit!" he growled. Then, he softened. "Love you," he
whispered.

"Back at you," she whispered in kind. She hung up the phone,
smiling. Life was good. They had their *new* jobs, Fox Mulder
was actually wiggling himself back into the good graces of the
upper management, she was enjoying her role of supervisor, and
mentor. They had a great little place in Georgetown, an easy
commute. Her mother had already agreed to watch the baby when
Dana went back to work. She was taking three months off, but she
would probably sneak in every once in a while, anyway, just to
make sure Fox wasn't getting into trouble again. They had made
the right decision. It was all falling into place.

She walked across the room as Angela brought back some lab
results from Arson. Another case of spontanious human
combustion, like Cecil L'ively. She shook her head. <Fox will be
so happy>, she thought dryly. She felt a slight pinch as she moved,
then a sudden gush of pink liquid rushed down her leg. "Angela,
time to call Agent Mulder," she said calmly.

FBI Headquarters
6th Floor, Violent Crimes Section
July 12, 1997 2:05 pm

Walter Skinner had been grinning ever since he got off the
phone. He held the piece of paper with all the pertinent details in
his hand, but he had already memorized the information. With a
slight bounce to his stride, he walked over to his door that opened
into the *bullpit* and cleared his throat loudly, to get everyones
attention. All activity stopped dead. All eyes were on him.

"I've just received word from Georgetown Medical Center.
*Future* Special Agent Samantha Katherine Mulder was born at
12:02 this afternoon. Ms. Mulder weighed in at 6 lbs. 12 oz., 18
inches in height, is of slight build, red hair and blue eyes. Agent,
and both Division Supervisors, are all doing well. Congratulations
are in order, we have another member of the force." And with that
he retired to his office amid cheers and happy shouts. His
administrative assistant, Jean, was smiling in the doorway.

"Flowers?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"And one of those balloon things, too. And sign the card,
"Welcome to the FBI, Agent Samantha. Love, Uncle Walter." She
smiled and left to place the order. Skinner smiled to himself the
rest of the afternoon.

Plus Two Months

At first, he was sure the alarm was going off. It was shrill and
loud and right by his ear. In a daze he reached over to hit the
snooze. His hand hit the wooden slats of the crib and he shot
instantly awake. No alarm, just a small red faced squalling infant,
who had obviously been trying to get some attention for some time.
Mulder pulled himself up and made a quick glance over to his
sleeping wife. <Poor kid. She's been up all night again,> he sighed
to himself. Eight weeks and little Samantha still wasn't convinced
that dark meant sleep and light meant wake. The doctor had
assured them with time she would adjust. For now, they had the
joy of living with a baby who was turning out to be exactly like her
father--and needed very little sleep to boot.

He pulled his robe from the foot of the bed and wrapped himself
in it haphazardly before reaching into the crib. Tiny arms reached
for him, even as the squalls subsided at the sight of his face.
"Come here, muffin. It's daddy's turn," he murmured and hefted the
tiny baby into his arms and onto his shoulder with the expertise of a
seasoned pro. Together, they tiptoed out of the bedroom and down
to the family room.

He snuggled down into the recliner. Everytime he sat in the
chair, he had to smile. His father's day present. But he got it
before he was a father. A 'pre'father's day present, Dana had
assured him. It had been a nice surprise and a very thoughtful gift.
He had spent countless nights rocking the little precious bundle in
his arms. The chair was just the right size. Big and roomy and if he
was really lucky, Samantha would finally drift off and he could pull
up the footrest, lean back and catch a few winks himself. He had
never owned a recliner in his bachelor existence. He had never seen
the need. He now understood completely the passages of life. He
considered the recliner as necessary to his existance now as the
microwave and the baby monitor. Passages.

At one time, his search for his sister had all but consumed him.
But he was incomplete, not whole and he suffered greatly for it.
Then, a beautiful red head had entered his life, much to his chagrin,
and changed everything. He was no longer incomplete, he was a
part of a greater whole. He had a life, a real, actual, 'this is what
the human race is all about' life. And he had basked in its glory.
But it was not to remain static. Life is full of changes. Life is
opening doors and stepping through them. And so his life had
changed.

His love for his daughter frightened him at first. He had spent
many months worrying about what type of father he would be. His
own father had been mostly cold and uncaring. He had vague
memories of 'father-son' times, moments in his life when he had felt
some love and understanding, but they had been so brief and
fleeting. He hadn't experienced a role model for a father. How
would *he* react?

Added to this injury was the knowledge that his wife had a
wonderful father. Someone who had loved her unconditionally,
even when he disapproved of her choices. Would Dana think her
husband lacking if he didn't meet the expectations of her own
memories? Could he love his child as much as he loved his wife?
All these thoughts had tormented him even as he had feared for the
baby's very existence. It had been a confusing, torturous time for
him, awaiting the baby's birth.

Then the doctor had handed him the baby in the birthing room.
And he saw her face, her tiny face that even in its redness looked so
familiar. This was someone he knew. This was someone he loved.
It flowed over him as naturally as rain in summer. He loved her.
Unconditionally. And if someday she broke his heart, he would
bear it, bear it gladly, as long as he knew he would never do the
same.

Once, when a few of the other agents had been giving him grief
about his impending fatherhood, Nelson had taken him aside.
"Don't listen to those jerks," Nelson had assured him. "It isn't all
roses and champaign, but it's the best thing I've found, that's for
sure." Mulder smiled at the memory of that talk, that common
bond that linked two men of entirely different backgrounds and
belief systems. And Nelson was so right. It was the best thing he
had found.

"Little one, I want to tell you a story," he said to the infant
chewing contentedly on his finger. He knew instinctively she wasn't
hungry, just bored. "Once there was a very lonely prince, who lived
all alone in very dark castle. He was so sad and lonely that he lived
his whole life in a dungeon. Then, one day, a beautiful fairy
princess came to work with him in the dungeon. Her name was
Dana. . ."

The end
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