She awoke about an hour later on their living room couch, covered in blankets (undoubtedly Mulder's doing) and feeling warm and drowsy. She lay there for a few minutes, getting her bearings.

After her revelation, Mulder had immediately ushered her into the house and insisted she lie down for a nap. She had resisted, of course, but the cushy leather couch was just much too comfortable and she hadn't realized how absolutely exhausted she'd been. She had fallen asleep in minutes.

She propped herself up a little and leant up against the armrest. Now, after the restorative nap, she was able to contemplate her situation a little more calmly. But it still felt as though it was not real.

She sighed, then tried to disentangle herself from the mass of blankets Mulder had laid on her. As she did this she realized something she had failed to notice due to her distraction. That there were cooking smells in her house. And that they actually smelled good. She looked over through the kitchen door but could not see anyone.

Confused, she wrested the last of the blankets from her and started towards the little room. As she got closer, she noticed that the smells got stronger—pasta maybe or lasagna? She walked in to see Mulder pulling a fully-cooked once-frozen lasagne out of the oven.

"Oh, hey, you're up," he said when he saw her standing there. He indicated the food with a flourish, "Voila!"

She stepped closer, gingerly. "Mulder...you cooked?"

He nodded happily, "Well it's just a frozen lasagne. I found it in the back of the freezer. All you have to do is pull back the plastic a little bit and put it in the oven. It's not rocket science."

Scully smiled at him, still dumbfounded, "Well this is...this is very nice Mulder, thank you. I'll set the table," she said, breaking up their moment, and turned to get the dishes.

Dinner was a subdued affair and the food surprisingly good, if not a little over-cooked. Mulder did not broach the subject of the news she'd told him earlier that day, but instead made small talk about her day and his.

"I have to say, Mulder," she said as they were nearly finished, "you surprised me, here."

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Well, good, because I burned myself like, ten times."

She laughed heartily. Then a thought struck her as she looked out at the back door. "Mulder, what were you doing out there today? You had something to tell me before I..." she trailed off, not wanting to actually think about that subject right now.

"Hmm?" he asked, confused, and downed the rest of his water glass. "Oh, right," he realized once he'd put the glass down on the table, "I was thinking," he stopped, smiling sheepishly, "I was thinking we could get some horses."

"Horses?"

"Yeah, I mean, I cleaned out the old stable and we could put a fence up in the back yard." At Scully's unbelieving smile, he clarified, "I mean I know you used to ride, and I've always wanted to learn. Plus, it might give me something to do, you know?"

Scully was surprised. This was the first time he had shown initiative in doing something that had no affiliation with the X-Files. She laughed again, "But, Mulder, why now? Why all of a sudden?"

He shrugged, smiling. "I don't know, I just thought it was something that we could do together, you know? It could be a stress-reliever for you."

Scully bit her lip at the tenderness in his voice. It was just too much. That he'd been that thoughtful. Her eyes burned and she tried to will them back but the tears came anyways and she bowed her head.

"Scully?" he asked, now suddenly very concerned, "what's wrong?" He got up off his chair quickly and pulled her chair away from the table, crouching down in front of her.

She tried to wipe the tears away, but they just kept on coming when she saw his concerned face looking up at her. "I'm sorry, Mulder, it's just—I'm just," she wiped the tears away again and shook her head. "It was just a very nice thing of you to think of," she managed to say, clearly, and his expression changed to a very happy smile, so happy, in fact that she leaned forward and kissed him directly on the lips.

It was wet; tears were still streaming down her face, and he pulled away quickly to wipe them away from her face. Then he stood, pulling her up with him and into a warm embrace.

"Scully," he said, "about what you told me today, we don't have to talk about it tonight, okay? You're tired. Go sleep. We've got the whole weekend to talk it over."

She looked back up at him. The weekend? Was it Friday? God, she'd been so wrapped up in everything she hadn't even realized. She nodded, tearfully, and Mulder dropped a tender kiss on her forehead.

"I love you," she said breathlessly, "so much, Mulder."

He smiled again, his eyes a little wet now, too. "I know, Scully." He pulled her into a deep hug, and she was sure her tears would leave wet marks on the front of his t-shirt. She pulled away and he kissed her again on the forehead. "Now go to bed, kay? I'll clean up the dishes and everything and I'll be in there later."

She nodded, brushing the last of the tears from her eyes and finally pulled away from him, heading straight for the bedroom.

Half an hour later, at midnight, when Mulder finally finished the dishes, locked all the doors, turned off all the lights and made his way to bed, Scully was dead asleep, the book she'd been reading lying across her chest and her reading lamp still on. He delicately picked up the book and placed it on her bedside table, then turned off her lamp as quietly as possible.

The room was now awash in darkness, but Mulder, used to it, found his way over to his side of the bed and got in, curling up beside her and placing one of his hands over her abdomen. He was asleep five minutes later.

Ω

October 18, 2008

Saturday morning came overcast and dreary, the bluish light casting everything it touched in a dour glow. Scully found herself alone in bed—not a rare occurrence, given Mulder's erratic sleeping habits. She glanced at the digital clock on Mulder's bedside table: 9:07. Jesus, she'd slept for nine straight hours. She couldn't remember the last time that happened. Maybe before they moved in to this place.

She lied there nonetheless, staring out the window that looked out on their back yard and then smiled, remembering Mulder's confession the night before. As a child and a teen, she and her siblings had taken riding lessons at a ranch nearby. It was important to her mother, who had grown up on a farm in upstate New York.

Scully had to agree with Mulder that it could be stress-relieving. In fact, nothing compared to being atop a horse, galloping, the wind in your ears and your eyes watering, your leg muscles holding hard to keep you on.

But as quickly as the thoughts came she had pushed them out of her head and had gotten out of bed, glancing out said window at the low fog that was prevalent this time of year.

She had to pee—she always did. Only now, on discovering the reason for it, did she realize she had been frequenting the bathroom as much as she had in the last few weeks.

The bedroom the two of them shared was on the first floor of the little house, and it was the only bedroom in the house. But stairs in the living room led up to a very unique attic space; low-slung ceilings and hardwood floors, windows at each end and three little windows on a small dormer that rose out of the roof.

They used it now for storage; what little possessions they had managed to hold onto. After the trial and their death-defying escape, Scully was certain that her apartment had been the first place they'd looked, which Skinner had confirmed later. The place had been ransacked; everything still usable was compromised, likely to contain bugs or tracers, so she had written off ever seeing her things again.

But Mulder, as Agent Doggett had discovered soon after Mulder left, had taken everything he'd owned and stored it anonymously. Once they'd settled down here, he'd went and gotten it all back, the waterbed frame, the couch, shelves and fish tank (which had been quickly been repopulated).

They'd bought some other things to furnish this place and had settled down into their relatively normal life. That was three years ago.

Scully, after going to the bathroom and leaving the bedroom, realized that the smell of cooking food was again beginning to perfuse the house. This time, however, it was the welcoming smell of eggs, bacon and coffee.

Scully hadn't been getting morning sickness, but at times, throughout the day, she was struck with a nausea so powerful she had to jet to the bathroom. It had been this way with William, too, but had ended when she was about ten weeks pregnant, which had allowed her, conveniently, to continue work on the X-files.

So right now, as she sauntered into the kitchen to see the former Special Agent Fox Mulder tending to two sizzling frying pans, and their coffee maker gurgling away, she couldn't help but feel grateful for this. She was starving.

She stood, watching him flip the bacon and, of course, be assaulted by flying hot grease. She couldn't help but smile.

"Wow, Mulder," she started, causing him to flinch, as he had not been aware she'd been standing there.

"Jesus, Scully, I'm working with some pretty volatile stuff here," he said, turning to her.

The hand he had rested in the air over the bacon pan was suddenly hit with a very large, very hot ball of oil. "Ow, god DAMNIT!" he hissed, waving his hand in the air. Scully came over and wiped the hot grease off his hand, looking over the affected area.

"It's just a minor burn, Mulder. Probably not even first-degree." She grabbed it and turned on the cold water tap, forcing his hand under it. "You stay here, I'll finish breakfast."

He didn't protest and she went to the stove, flipping the bacon and removing the eggs and eventually preparing two plates. Mulder was still standing with his affected hand under the stream of water, but he then turned it off and dried it and went over to the fridge as she carried the two plates into the next room where the table was.

"Do you want something to drink, Scully? Orange juice?" he asked from the next room.

"Coffee, please," was her response.

"Okay," he answered, and Scully knew he was not willing to argue with an M.D., much less a pregnant M.D., over what she should be eating or drinking.

"So," she said later, as they ate, "Mulder, to what do I owe the pleasure of you cooking two meals in a row for me?"

He shrugged, picking up his last slice of bacon and taking a crunchy bite of it. "I just thought you'd like a nice breakfast for once. And breakfast, is something I can cook. I used to have to do it all the time when we stayed out on Quonaquatag. My parents would be sleeping and me and Samantha would get up and cook for them. I don't know what the hell they were thinking letting a ten-year-old near a stove, but you know, it was a different time."

Scully smiled at his story, as she'd never heard it before. She liked hearing stories from his childhood, for they were rare and often brief, and he spoke with such reverence that she could tell it had been a happy time for him.

They cleaned up the plates, washing and drying the few dishes.

"So?" he asked her as she dried her hands on a dishtowel, surveying the clean kitchen. "What do you want to do today?"

It was so rare she got asked that question that she had no answer right away. She placed the dishtowel over the handle of the stove and turned to him. "Well, Mulder, we were going to talk," her voice had lowered considerably, her tone becoming more serious.

He looked over at her sharply, scanning her face. "And you're sure you want to do that now?"

She heaved a sigh, closing her eyes for a few seconds. "No, I'm not sure, Mulder, but I don't think we can keep avoiding the subject forever. I'm feeling a lot better than I was yesterday, and I promise you I'm ready." And with her final words her expressive face had become resolute.

Mulder nodded slowly, "Okay, then, Scully, we'll talk."

Ω

Fifteen minutes later, the two sat facing each other on their porch swing—a new acquisition they'd gotten after the Father Joe case, in celebration of the fact Mulder could now leave the house with impunity.

It was eleven o'clock and the low clouds had begun to diffuse, burned off by the sun, which was beginning to warm the chilly air.

"Scully," Mulder began, turning to look at her, his words and expression so earnest she felt she might start to cry right there, and then promptly cursed her coursing hormones.

"I...can't even begin to know how you're feeling about this, considering everything, but I want you to know that," at this point, Scully had to look away, her eyes burning with unshed tears, "I will be here with you no matter what you decide, you understand?" He put his hand up to her face, forcing her to look at him.

Wet-eyed and sniffling, she nodded, and leaned into his embrace. His fingers rubbed little circles on her back before she pulled away, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes.

She cleared her throat a few times, and took a deep breath. "Mulder," she spoke slowly, but steadily, but she could not bring herself to look at him right now, "I want this baby," out of the corner of her eye she saw Mulder react and she turned to him to see surprise on his face. "I do, but...what you told me six years ago in that cave in New Mexico, with that cigarette-smoking son of a bitch, if that is true, and I hope to God it's not, but..." she faltered and looked up at him and he looked just as confused as she did.

He sighed. "Scully, I have every reason to believe it's the truth, but you know it doesn't mean anything. I've—we've been lied to before. Even this baby is evidence that they lied. They told us you were barren. That William was the result of a program whose sole purpose was to impregnate women with alien babies. Well, that was a lie, and now you are pregnant again, certainly without any external interference."

Scully felt a chill pass over her and she remembered Alex Krycek's words seven years ago. "But, Mulder, Krycek said that the chips, they were using the chips to make women pregnant. What if that's what happened here?" She looked up to see the ghost of a smile on Mulder's face. "What?"

"What if some unseen force…? Some guy somewhere just flipped a switch and got you pregnant?"

Scully sighed, "Mulder, when Pendrell and I looked at that chip, the first one, that they took out of my neck, it...it was complex technology capable of doing things that we probably still don't believe are possible. Receiving signals, sending signals. It brought my memories back, took my cancer away, what if—"

"Scully," he said sternly, interrupting her, "for all we know, Krycek was lying, lying as he'd done a hundred times before. As for the chip, I have my own theory on that." He leaned forward, engaging her.

"All those women, Penny Northern, Betsy Hagopian, and the others, they couldn't conceive, am I right? They also took their chips out. I was told all your ova were removed, and I believed that, but, what if that was another lie? What if when the new chip was implanted, your fertility was restored? I mean, you're a doctor, you know how nearly impossible it would be to remove every single ovum from a woman?"

Scully was silent for a few seconds, thinking. It was true—they hadn't come across any abductees who'd kept their chips in. The majority had been killed in the fiery holocausts. And there were abductees who had given birth—Theresa Hoese had seemingly gotten pregnant with ease. She sighed.

"I see what you're saying, Mulder, but...I don't want to be scared of what I'm going to see on the ultrasound, what the tests are going to tell me. You weren't there; you don't know how terrifying it was." At this, Mulder reached for her hand and grasped it firmly.

"Scully," he said with conviction, "I...can't begin to understand what you went through, and if I could do it all again, I would have never even thought about going to Oregon."

She shook her head, "Mulder, I'm not blaming-"

"I know, Scully, but the fact is, I'm here now." She looked up at him and managed a small smile. "I will go with you and I will get the answers you want, okay? And if you don't like them, then we'll go somewhere else. We'll...sneak into the hospital and perform the ultrasound ourselves, okay?" His voice was getting stronger as he spoke, and Scully couldn't help but smile at his tenacity. "I promise you that if anything is wrong with this baby, we'll find out, okay? And I'll be here every step of the way."

She was still ill at ease, but Mulder had managed to convince her. They would try. She nodded at him and her insides did a funny little jump when he beamed back at her.

"Okay," she said.