Author: Emily Todd Carter
Title: Sacrifice
Category: Post-Ep for Existence, MSR
Spoilers: Existence
Rating: PG
Summary: Our eyes met for only a moment before he
turned. He didn't speak as he crossed the
apartment to the door. With a final glance in my
direction, he reached for the handle.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I don't own much of
anything, so suing me won't do you much good
Feedback: starbuck23_ds@hotmail.com I live for
feedback of any sort! Be honest!

~**~

"Shhhhh," I murmured gently into the ear of my
crying infant. His incessant wails pierced the
silent stillness of the bedroom. "Shhhhh, don't
cry. It's alright, it's okay. Shhhhh. Mommy's
here."

I tenderly patted his back as I paced from my bed
to his crib, clutching him tightly to my chest.
His cries continued, despite my relentless efforts
to soothe him. William had refused feeding, sleep,
and a number of other comforts. My exhausted body
yearned for the luxury of my feather mattress, but
I couldn't bear to wake Mulder again.

He had finally dozed off after staying up to help
with William for the past thirty-six odd hours.
Both of us drugged with cup upon cup of expresso,
we had soon discovered exactly how draining the
act of caring for a child could be. I smiled,
recalling Mulder's final words before he had
drifted to sleep:

"I can't remember if I've ever been so exhausted
and so happy at the same time. It's almost… almost
like I don't want this moment to end, Scully. Wake
me…wake me up…in ten minutes. Don't…don't let me
sleep…"

Of course, I had denied him his request. Mulder
hadn't slept in days, always watching William as I
rested, fixing my meals, catering to my every
need. He had refused to sit down, much less sleep,
and I had practically threatened him into taking a
nap. The alarm clock resting on my bedside table
flashed 4:20 A.M. William had not stopped crying.

His diaper was clean. His stomach was full. The
room was warm and he wasn't sweating. I had sung.
I had kissed and cooed and fed and cleaned and I
was on the verge of calling my mother yet again
for another solution to attempt.

But, reflecting Mulder's emotions, I couldn't
recall a time in which I had ever felt so content
in all my life.

I had never been so completely in love.

With my son in my arms and his father breathing
softly from the nearby bed, I found myself willing
to give my life for this single moment, for these
last few days. Life as I knew it had never
achieved such a state of perfection.

Yet, somehow, I knew. It was a realization
suppressed in the depths of my mind, but I knew.
This day wouldn't last forever. My happiness was
fleeting, my satisfaction only temporary.

It seemed almost --too perfect--.

The simple fact that Mulder was sleeping astounded
me. Insomnia had consumed him since his return,
situating him in a form of sleepless daze,
emptiness in his gaze in place of its previous
intensity. His complexion was drained, revealing
the scars adorning his face.

I feared those scars, those symmetrically arranged
abrasions upon his pale cheeks, had instigated his
insomnia. They served as a constant reminder of
the emptiness I knew he suffered each time he
glanced at a passing mirror. Emptiness derived
from too many unanswered questions to even begin
to ask.

A sudden rise in the decibels of William's wailing
stirred Mulder from his slumber. Slowly rolling
over on his side to face me, he yawned and
complained over the noise, "Scully, you were
supposed to wake me."

I smiled and nodded, gently cooing into my son's
ear.

"Go back to sleep, Mulder."

"I'm not tired," he lied.

I glared at him with my notorious piercing stare,
challenging him to argue further. He avoided my
eyes and swung his lengthy legs over the bed to
meet the cream-colored carpet. Slowly rising, he
smoothed his wrinkled gray t-shirt and ran his
fingers through his copper hair with another yawn.

Mulder approached me and, extending his open arms,
accepted the crying child. A little awkwardly, he
eventually had William situated with comfort in
his embrace, gently beginning to sway and wrapping
him snugly in his blue cotton blanket.

"Shhh, come on, now. Shhh, no more crying. Come
on, Will, let's stop crying for your mom, here,
okay?"

William refused.

"Shhh. Hey, you don't want me to have to sing, do
you? Awww, come on, Will, don't make me sing."

Mulder glanced up from the baby, inviting a
suggestion. I smiled, crossing my arms and
awaiting the inevitable.

"Well, I guess I have no choice now, buddy. If
only your mother would bless us with a gift of
song?"

I hastily refused with a slight shake of my head.
I smiled again, encouraging him to continue.
Mulder resumed his gentle swaying and rocking of
the infant, gazing into his tiny half-open eyes as
if his mind was elsewhere.

After several further moments of silence, Mulder's
deep voice softly began to fill the air, with
clear tones almost in tune. His song was barely
audible, yet I distinctly heard it across the
stillness of the bedroom.

And, eventually, William's cries subsided to a
quiet yawn. His flailing arms fell sleepily to his
sides and his eyes gently closed, welcoming the
reward of peaceful slumber. Mulder glanced in my
direction before padding across the width of the
room to the crib. He lifted the sleeping infant
slowly, as not to wake him, over the railing and
carefully laid him inside.

I can never be sure of the exact words whispered
then. Perhaps my mind has simply created this
memory, perceived its existence for the sole
benefit of having an image to help me survive
these subsequent lonely nights. But, as Mulder
leaned over the railing of the crib that night, I
almost distinctly heard the whispered words

"I love you."

Acceptance. True, pure, simple and complete
acceptance. I realized at that moment, that had
Mulder not, in fact, accepted this enormous change
in the both of our lives that his acceptance had
finally come. With that simple expression, he had
received William as as much a significant part of
his life as I had come to be.

And, at that moment, as I watched the two of them,
my perspective began to transform. Mulder wasn't
standing over --my-- son, subconsciously matching
the rhythm of his deep breaths with that of
William's tiny ones. He wasn't gazing intently,
oblivious to everything around him, at --my--
baby, Scully's miracle child that only God in all
of his endless mercy could have provided. William
was his son as well, if not conceptually, then at
least in our perception. Was it simply that I
hadn't realized it before? Mulder had accepted
fatherhood.

He broke his gaze and turned his head in my
direction, slightly jerking it as an invitation
for me to join him. I consented and silently
crossed the expanse between us. Approaching the
crib, I rested my forearms on the railing. The
silence was mutual, an unspoken understanding, as
we watched William sleep.

Mulder shifted his weight uncomfortably. I
registered the signal as his trademark display of
indecisiveness, his natural way of expressing that
something important was weighing on his mind. I
continued not to speak, allowing him the time
necessary to address the issue at hand.

He breathed sharply, as if intending to speak, and
paused. I felt him search the darkness for my
hand, eventually finding and grasping it with his
own. He spun his head gradually to meet my eyes.
His expression was empty, entirely devoid of
emotion, a look to which I had grown accustomed
but had come to fear. He glanced across the
bedroom towards the doorway and I nodded,
understanding.

I reached into the crib and pulled the blanket to
touch William's chin, triggering a tiny yawn. I
watched Mulder smile and matched his grin as he
led me slowly away from the crib and around my
bed, into the light of my den. I quietly closed
the door behind us as my eyes adjusted to the
brightness.

The room appeared to have experienced a virtual
tornado, with coffee mugs, diapers, and "It's a
Boy!" balloons scattered everywhere, bathed in a
blizzard of baby powder. Shower gifts, reminders
of the yet-to-be written thank-you notes, and
flowers adorned the kitchen table. Evidence of
Mulder's take-out Chinese and pizza boxes lined
the counters.

The lamp beside the couch cast a subtle glow upon
the carpet. Mulder left my side and took a seat
upon the cushions, resting his elbows on his knees
and his face in his hands. He slowly massaged his
temples, inhaling deeply.

I crossed the room and stood above him, unsure of
the next approach to make. Should I remain silent,
inviting him to convey his thoughts? Or, should I
instigate the conversation, allowing him to arrive
at the object of his rumination? I decided quickly
upon the latter, commencing with the classic
inquiry:

"What's wrong, Mulder?"

His head turned, hands remaining in place, eyes
meeting mine, lips curving upward into a smile. He
remained silent for a brief moment, his expression
almost one of amusement. Finally, he spoke:

"Scully, we both know I can't stay here."

I didn't reply, yet held my gaze. The statement
had, of course, been all but consuming our
thoughts for the months since his return, but had
remained unspoken in a silent pact. Why address
the issue when it hadn't seemed entirely
necessary? Why approach the problem when letting
it quietly assume its place in the depths of our
minds was a much simpler solution? But, despite
our neglect to verbally recognize the fact, it was
true.

And, as we had addressed so many issues of
importance in the past, we allowed the silence
between us to continue. Words were unnecessary; we
both already knew what the other would say should
conversation arise.

So I sat down beside him, like so many times
before, assuming a similar position to his and
concentrating on the fibers of the carpet. This
perfect moment. These last perfect days. Like a
dream from which I was then awakening, they were
vanishing before my eyes, soon to become a hazy
memory in the back of my mind.

"Scully, I know you need answers just as much as I
do," he started, shattering the stillness of the
room with a voice quavering and unsure. I locked
eyes with him once again, offering support and
encouragement to continue. "All these years we've
spent searching for answers. Answers to questions
we --haven't-- been afraid to ask. But, it's
different now, Scully. Things have changed. I-I've
got so many questions now that I'm afraid to ask
simply because I have a feeling that their answers
will only take me away from you…and William."

He paused.

"I don't ever want to hurt you like that again."

I drew a breath sharply, closing my eyes as his
words sank in.

"I know this doesn't make sense now, Scully, but I
hope someday you'll understand."

He paused again, inviting a reply. I offered
nothing of the sort, untrusting of my capability
to maintain my composure. I mentally fought my
heart, fought the tears threatening to fall by
keeping closed eyes.

I felt the couch rise beside me as he stood,
dwelling nearby as I sensed his eyes resting on
me.

"I think they returned me, Scully, let me come
home, for him," he said, referring to our sleeping
son in the adjacent room. "I was meant to find you
that night, meant to get you to that hospital.
They let me come home to save him.

So-so that you wouldn't have to be alone."

I forced my eyes to open, restraining my tears,
and stared deeply into his, searching. What was he
getting at? Alone when? What did this mean?

"Scully, they're coming back for me. I can feel
it. I can still hear their voices, still see them
in flashes. It won't be much longer, and there's
nothing you nor I can do to avoid them." He
hesitated briefly, taking a step towards the room
in which William slept. "But I can protect –you--,
Scully. And I can keep them away from –him--."

Mulder then turned decisively towards the spare
room containing his overnight bag and clothes. Too
decisively. If he was determined to leave then,
convincing him otherwise would take heavy
persuasion on my part. I arose and followed him
quickly into the bedroom, swallowing my fear and
mounting anger. There was no possible way I was
going to allow this to happen.

"Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
I cried, not quite loud enough to wake the resting
baby. I stood, blocking the doorway, as he began
to fold his clothes into the large black bag. He
ignored me, continuing to pack.

"Mulder, I don't think you understand. You have --
no idea-- what kind of pain you put me through the
last time you disappeared."

"And you have no idea how much pain I'm putting –
myself-- through at the moment, Scully. Don't
think I don't need you as much as you need me."

I stepped further into the room.

"That's just it, though, Mulder. We've fought
everything else together, why not this?"

He continued to pack without a reply, hustling
into the bathroom and returning with his
toiletries, which he quickly stashed in a side
pocket of the bag.

"Answer me, damnit, Mulder! Why the hell are you
leaving me here alone if I need you? Why the hell
do you think you can just –leave-- me here? I –
need-- you, damnit, Mulder. More than-" I paused
and breathed, choking back the tears.

"More than William? Do you need me more than him,
Scully?" He had stopped packing and was staring at
me across the darkened room, his figure a
silhouette against the wall.

"He's your son, Scully. He's everything you've
ever fought for, --we've-- ever fought for.
Scully, I'd rather die than see him taken from
you."

"What are you getting at, Mulder? No one's taking
William from me."

"But that's just it, Scully. It's what you don't
realize. This is why I've got to leave! If--when--
they come back for me, whoever the hell they are,
it may not be just –me-- they want."

He hefted his bag from the bed and swung it over
his shoulder, crossing the room to approach me at
the doorway. I met his eyes for a brief moment,
searching yet again for answers. I only found his
tears, fresh yet beginning to form tiny rivers as
they flowed over his cheeks.

Mulder hastily cast his head to the side,
concentrating his gaze on the ground. He had
inadvertently displayed weakness as he fought to
remain strong and steadfast to his motives. His
hand drew to his face, attempting to obscure the
light.

I reached out suddenly, grasping his broad
shoulder.

"Mulder, if you claim to be willing to sacrifice
everything for me, for William," I started, my
hand steady, before he interrupted.

"Scully, please—"

"And if I'd rather give my life than live one
without you," I continued.

"Scully, don't do this—"

"Then, why abandon me, leaving me to fight these
battles on my own, Mulder? Can't you see that
they've known all along you'd do this, even
planned it this way? They've tried to separate us
before, Mulder. Please don't let them win this
time."

He remained silent, refusing to reply, and nudged
past me and through the doorway, proceeding to
William's bedroom with his bag.

I didn't follow. It didn't seem necessary.
Mulder's decision had been made, and I was
powerless against a mind so resolute. Any attempts
on my behalf to persuade him to stay were certain
to prove futile.

Mulder was leaving me.

With questions.

Alone.

--Again.--

He exited the room after a brief moment and paused
in the dimly lit doorway, staring at my silent
figure from across the expanse. I returned his
gaze, capturing the image in my mind.

Mulder had adorned his characteristic leather
jacket over his gray t-shirt. His hair was tousled
and his pants were wrinkled, but, above all else,
I can still recall the pain upon his face. His
eyes screamed silently as they took a final scope
of the apartment, as if begging to stay. But, as
he came into the light, I noticed his dry cheeks,
the tears no longer present. He stepped away from
the darkened room, away from his son, away from
his remuneration for our years of struggling and
searching, and stopped.

I was barely able to draw a breath before he had
covered the space between us. He stood before, or
rather above, me, and locked his gaze with mine.
Gently, his hand rose to stroke my cheek, soaked
with the tears I no longer suppressed. He silently
shook his head.

And then, firmly yet tenderly, he drew his lips to
mine. I made no response, although allowing him to
linger there for a moment longer before I pulled
away.

Our eyes met for only a moment before he turned.
He didn't speak as he crossed the apartment to the
door. With a final glance in my direction, he
reached for the handle.

"How will I reach you, Mulder?" I asked, my voice
quivering.

He shook his head slowly and apologetically. I
nodded, understanding.

He turned the brass lock and knob, quietly opening
the door.

"I'll never let them win, Scully."

And, as abruptly as he had arrived, he left once
again.

William began to cry from the bedroom.

FINIS