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. vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com 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. he thought to himself. 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. , he scolded himself. 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. , her inner voice asked. "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. he thought, 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. 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. "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 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. she groaned inwardly. She glanced at the wall clock on the other side of her lab. 9:45. 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. , 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. 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