He drank. It was the only thing he could think to do.

He drank until he forgot her, forgot the times they spent together, forgot how much she meant to him. He drank until the liquor filled the hole that seemed to have opened up in his soul, drowning away every emotion, along with his sanity. Than he drank until it overflowed.

He was stone drunk two hours before the bar closed, but he left the bar with a six pack of beer and a fifth of cheap whiskey at closing. His car was parked at the back of the lot, in the shadows under a large tree. He sat in the car and drank until oblivion finally came for him.

When he finally woke up the next morning the sun was high in the sky and bright and the inside of the car was uncomfortably hot even in the shade of the tree. There were birds singing cheerfully, and he could hear kids screaming with laughter somewhere down the block. None of these things did anything to help the pounding in his skull. He shifted in his seat, and pain jolted through his stiff back.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for him to remember what he had been drinking to forget. Fresh pain seared through his heart as he remembered the night before. Grief and guilt rose up in a wave and washed over and through him. Reaching for one of the unopened beer cans, he noticed the light on his cell phone was blinking. He paused, started to ignore it, than reached out and picked up the phone anyway. Two missed calls were from Skinner, one was from his own Mother, and four were from her Mother.

He started to put the phone down, not really caring to hear what any of them had to say, but thought better of it. Her Mother had called. He owed it to her, at least, to listen to her messages. He listened through the messages with little care or attention. His pounding head and hangover were making it difficult to concentrate. Finally, after what seemed like a year on the phone, he came to Maggie Scully's last voice message.

"Fox? This is Maggie again. I'm very worried about you. Please, call me back. They need to speak with you at the hospital, too, so call them as soon as you can. They need to talk to you about the baby, and they need your permission to perform a few procedures. You should come and meet her. She needs her Father now, and I think maybe you need her. Stay safe, Fox."

His eyes widened and he was instantaneously sober, his hangover forgotten. The baby? The baby had survived, it was alive? He played the message back and listened to it again, than again another time. The baby was alive, and it was a girl. A daughter. They had a daughter.

He sat in the front seat for a few moments, trying to collect his thoughts but unable to. They kept returning back to the same thing. They had a daughter, and she was alive. His movement was sudden, and fluid. He swept the half bottle of whiskey and the beer cans, both empty and unopened, out of the passenger side door. He left them on the ground in the parking lot, underneath the tree at the back of the lot. He peeled rubber exiting the lot and heading back to the hospital.

His disheveled appearance and the sour stink of alcohol coming through his pores turned some heads as he walked through the hospital lobby. He ignored them, and took the stairs instead of the elevator to the NICU on the third floor. But before he went up, he stopped and bought a pack of mint chewing gum. He approached the receptionist to ask where he could find the baby when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Fox! You got my messages, are you alright?" The concern in Maggie Scully's voice sent shards of guilt through him again. He froze for a second before turning to her. His eyes were hopeful.

"The baby, you said the baby, is alive?" he asked her softly. His eyes searched hers, desperately. "Is she still alive?"

In spite of everything that had happened, that was happening, Maggie Scully smiled at him. "Yes, she's alive. The baby is going to be fine Fox, just fine. She's a bit premature and her lungs are a little underdeveloped, but she's going to live. She'll be able to come home from the hospital in a week or two."

In spite of everything, he felt a very small smile twitch across his lips. "Can I see her?"

He stood outside of the nursery window next to Maggie Scully, looking into the room eagerly. There were five babies inside of incubators in the room, three were coded with pale blue, and two were coded with pale pink. Maggie Scully pointed to the farther pink incubator. "There she is, Fox."

He watched as a nurse wheeled the incubator out to them. The name on the tag that was taped to the incubator read 'Baby Girl Mulder'. The nurse took the baby out of the incubator and placed her very carefully in Mulder's arms. She was tiny, but not extremely so. Mulder nodded absently as the nurse told him he could only hold her for a few minutes before she needed to go back in the incubator. He couldn't take his eyes off of the baby. The newborn squirmed in his arms a bit and fussed slightly, and he gently and soothingly shushed her, bouncing slightly. The baby opened her eyes, eyes that were shaped just like her Mother's, and gazed up at her Father. They were a newborn's steely blue-gray. He fell in love. Still, a question nagged at him, a question he didn't dare to ask, and he pushed it away.

"She's beautiful. She looks just like her Mother." he said to Maggie, still not able to look away from the little girl in his arms. "What's her name?"

"She doesn't have a name yet. You have to pick one for her." Maggie responded softly, looking down at the baby as well. "I know you and Dana had a few in mind, but hadn't narrowed it down completely for the girl names."

At the mention of her name, he felt pain stab through him. He handed the baby gently over to Maggie. "Are you going to take her?" he asked quietly.

Maggie Scully looked up from the baby. "Excuse me?"

"The baby." He couldn't bring himself to look at her Mother. "I, can't keep her. I don't know anything about raising a baby. You'll take her, won't you?" He didn't dare ask if she'd let him see the baby. It didn't seem right to ask her for anything.

"No, Fox, I can't take the baby. I won't." Maggie replied incredulously. He looked up at her, surprised. "I'm older now, Fox, and I already raised my children. I don't have it in me to raise a child anymore, certainly not an infant. She'll be going home with you."

"But, I can't, I can't raise a child, a daughter. I don't know the first thing about newborns, or raising little girls, or children..." Especially not on my own…

Maggie Scully smiled at him, gentle but set. "Fox, no parent knows those things when they first become parents. It's all about learning." She purposely caught his eye and held it. "I understand this is going to be very difficult for you, maybe more than you even do. When my children were small, my husband was constantly away for work, sometimes for months at a time. When little Bill was born his Father was away. He didn't meet Bill until he was 6 weeks old. By the time Dana was born, I was all alone, in a strange country, most of the time with just a three year old, a two year old, and a newborn."

He was visibly pained at the mention of her name and started to pull away, that particular noisome question welling up in his mind again, but Maggie plunged on ahead and turned his attention back to her. "I know it isn't exactly the same. My husband was still alive, I wasn't grieving, and by the time Dana was two he had a job with the Navy that didn't have him away from us so often. But, I do know what it's like to be on your own with a young child and no idea what you're doing."

He looked at Maggie, than down at the baby, and collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. "How am I supposed to do this… How am I supposed to do this on my own?" There was that question again, nagging at him, but he didn't want to ask it. He was too afraid of the answer, and he didn't want to ask her Mother. He just couldn't.

Maggie Scully held the baby against her and patted his shoulder. "I know it seems impossible now, but you'll make it through, Fox. You'll learn, and before you know it she'll be walking and talking." Maggie Scully paused a moment. "And you won't be raising her entirely on your own, either. I said I won't raise her, I didn't say I wouldn't be there to help you whenever I can."

He looked up, feeling shock and intense gratitude. Maggie smiled at him. "My daughter may be gone, but this little one is still my grandchild, and I will always consider you a part of the family." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and he felt tears begin to prickle behind his eyes.

After they took the baby and put her back in the nursery Maggie left to go home and get some sleep, promising to come back first thing in the morning. She suggested he do the same, but he told her he wanted to stay at the hospital with the baby a little longer. He waited about half an hour, than returned his Mother's phone call from that morning.

"Mom? Yeah, it's me. Yes, I know you did. I know. I'm sorry. Listen, Mom, I just wanted to know if you wanted to come down to the hospital and meet your granddaughter? Yeah. She's doing alright, she's in the NICU now in an incubator, but she'll be able to come home in a few weeks. Yeah, with me. Yes, Mom, I know that. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Alright Mom, I'll see you when you get here."

He stood in front of the glass and watched the baby in the incubator. Although he was afraid, and so full of grief it was devastating, there was an overflowing sensation of pure love flowing through him as well. He couldn't take his eyes from her, not only because she mesmerized him, but because if he looked to his left or right he knew that he would feel, even see perhaps, the ghost of her Mother's memory standing beside him. And again the question he couldn't bring himself to ask forced its way to the front of his brain. Did she get to hold the baby before she passed away? Did she ever get to meet her daughter, this child she had wanted more than anything in the world? Did she at least get a chance to see her?

He was so engrossed in his thoughts and watching the baby that he didn't hear his own Mother walk up behind him. He jumped when she put her hand on his shoulder and spoke his name. He spun quickly, saw his Mother, and smiled slightly. "Mom!"

Teena Mulder didn't return the smile. There was a certain, distance, between her and her only son. It had begun after her daughter had disappeared, as though she felt she could no longer trust herself with her only remaining child. It had worsened into a near non-relationship after he had confronted her about the true identity of their biological Father. Her bearing was regal and aristocratic and distant. "Well. Which one is yours?" she asked him, looking into the nursery.

He pointed to the incubator in the back. "She's right there, back center." He looked away from the nursery, attempting to locate a nurse. "Hang on, let me find someone to bring her out."

"Oh, that really isn't necessary, Fox. I can see her another time." Teena told him, turning away from the window. She seemed not to notice her son falter uncertainly. "I came out here to see if you were alright more than I came to meet the baby, really, anyway." She paused for a moment. "I was very sorry to hear about what happened. It's very unfortunate."

He nodded, brushing the condolences aside, not wanting to face the reality of it. He hadn't even begun to think about what it would be like to attend her funeral, hadn't even faced the fact that there would even be such a thing. "Are you sure you don't want to meet your granddaughter, Mom?" he asked, barely able to comprehend. He had thought she would be excited, especially since the baby was a girl.

Teena Mulder glanced at her son sidelong. "I would like to meet her before you send her off, yes, I suppose."

"What do you mean, 'send her off'?" he asked. A twist of anger in the pit of his stomach suggested he already had a feeling of what she was referring to.

Teena looked at her son like he was a fool. "Well, before she's adopted, of course." When her son didn't respond she continued. "Fox, you can't possibly be seriously considering keeping that child."

"No, Mom, I'm not considering it, seriously or otherwise." he responded softly, no longer meeting her eye. "I am keeping her. I told you she was coming home, with me, in a few weeks. I would never consider giving my child up." Though he spoke softly and with little inflection the dig was clear, and left a feeling like frost in the air between them. He did not mention his earlier imploring to Maggie Scully; he could already hardly believe that he had even considered allowing her to take the baby, let alone asking her to.

They looked at one another without speaking for a moment. Than Teena sighed, and it seemed as though her entire body sighed with her. Her posture relaxed and her shoulder's drooped slightly. "I hope you have some idea of what you're getting into here, Fox."

"No, Mom. I guess I really don't have any idea at all. But she's my, she's our daughter, and no matter what it means, I can't give her up." He paused, not sure he wanted to say the next words. "I was hoping you would help me. You know more than I do about kids."

Teena Mulder looked at her son, taken aback. She had never expected to hear her son asking for parenting advice from her. Similarly, he had never thought in a million years she would be someone he would ever ask that from. "Fox… I don't know how much help I'll be to you. But I'll do what I can."

He nodded and murmured a thanks. They both turned back and looked into the nursery again, not speaking to one another. Teena Mulder glanced over at her son and saw a pain in his eyes that she had not seen there with such magnitude since he was a little boy. This pain was perhaps even more than that one had been. She put her hand on his shoulder gently and he looked down at her. "I am proud of you, Fox. For what you're doing. Many men, if not most, in your position, would walk away and give up, and I hope you do realize that I wasn't trying to tell you that I didn't want you to keep the baby. I, I just can't even begin to imagine how difficult this is going to be for you, raising a child alone and through grief. I'll help you with anything I can, and I mean that."

He nodded, fighting tears building behind his eyes. "Thanks, Mom." he said quietly. The hug he gave her was quick and awkward, but he also realized there was some amends being made here, some healing process being started between them. They stood there for several minutes in silence, just watching the babies. Finally, Teena looked at her son.

"So, Fox, how about finding that nurse? I'd like to meet my granddaughter."

He made it home by about 11. His Mother had left the hospital about an hour before he had. She had seemed disappointed that the baby seemed to take more after Dana's side than the Mulders, but had held her for a good thirty minutes. She had suggested, very strongly, that he should name the baby Samantha, but he had shrugged the suggestion off, mostly. It was the name she had wanted too, and it was this that made it so difficult for him to just forget it.

The emptiness of the house swallowed him when he walked in. He made his way into the kitchen and just stood there, looking around. Everything there was hand picked by her. He walked over to the fridge and felt tears prickling his eyes. There was a whiteboard on the front with a grocery list on it, handwritten in her painfully familiar script:

Milk

Toothpaste

Pears

Baking Soda

Dish Soap

It was the last grocery list she would ever write, and it broke his heart. He opened the fridge on impulse, to get it out of his sight, and instead found himself greeted by the neatly stored and labeled leftovers of the last meals she would ever cook. Tuna Casserole. Chicken and grilled veggies. Broccoli Alfredo.

The tears threatening to fall broke free, along with the flood of painful guilt they were holding back. She was supposed to be on bed rest, but she had been up cooking, that much was clear. Because he had kept himself on the road as much as possible, running from his fears, from his impending family and fatherhood. Her Mother couldn't be there every day, and she had been up, out of bed and on her feet. Cooking, probably cleaning too. Running errands, even.

He groped weakly for a chair and sat down heavily, head in his hands. He pushed his hair back from his forehead as his head slid down his hands before finally gripping the ends of his hair and tugging, first slightly, than harder, trying to chase his mental anguish away with the physical pain, tugging until his face was distorted, the skin around his eyes pulled taut. When he was with other people, he was able to keep the guilt and pain at bay, but once he was alone it crashed down on him like a tsunami wave.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault. I did this. I did this..." he moaned in anguish. "I should have been here. This is my fault. I'm so sorry...". His tears continued to fall, his self-loathing only intensifying with his sobs. He had never wanted to take anything back so much in his entire life, not even his last words spoken to his sister. Finally he stood and went to the cabinet in the center of the hutch in the dinning room. On the shelves on either side of the cabinet dim yellow light called attention to the antique knickknacks she had inherited from her Grandmother. He took the mostly full 1-liter bottle of Wild Turkey Rye 101 out of the cabinet, by-passing the larger bottle of Vodka in front of it and ignoring the random assortment of other liquors behind it. He wasn't in the mood to have his liquor diluted tonight, and he skipped over the shot glass as well. Tonight was a straight from the bottle night.

Sitting at the kitchen table he knocked back several large gulps in quick succession, thankful for the resultant burn in his throat and the subsequent fire in the pit of his stomach. A few more gulps and her ghost seemed to fade from his mind just a bit, just enough to allow his tears to slow.

He took another long swig from the bottle and grimaced. It would be at least half the bottle before he would sleep. He knew he couldn't keep doing this, knew that he had to find another way to find some level of peace, some way to go on, if not for himself than for his child. Their daughter… He couldn't be passed out drunk every night with a child, a newborn, in the house. Their daughter only had him to depend on. But for now, for tonight… Just tonight…

He drank. It was the only thing he could think to do.

Songs Used:

Title: Let Her Go - Passenger