7.
Mulder woke before Scully, confused at first as to why she was sleeping next to him until he remembered lying on the bed with her and talking the night before. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, and lifted himself up on one arm to cast a quick eye on the baby still sleeping happily in his brand new crib.
The sun had barely risen, the light still a soft grey as it fought against the shadows. Much too early to wake up, Mulder thought to himself, curling his body back against Scully's. She was so warm and soft. Despite the early hour, he couldn't sleep, and he found himself watching Scully's face as the room slowly lightened.
Lost in sleep, her face was anything but peaceful. He'd seen Scully sleep before on several occasions, and had always marvelled at the innocence she'd projected while slumbering. This time her face looked tired and scared, pale against the sheets.
Her skin was soft against his fingers when he brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, and he followed the line of her cheek tenderly. So soft and smooth, he thought. Her eyelids fluttered at his touch, and he knew she'd wake up soon. Making the most of the opportunity, he pulled her closer.
He watched her wake up, seeing the way she blinked sleepily, and gazed at him completely accepting for a few seconds. He saw the exact second she remembered who they were, where they were, and why they were there.
"Mulder," she murmured, blinking again to chase away the last fingers of sleep.
"Morning," he said softly, reaching again to brush the hair from her face again and tuck it behind her ear. "You warm enough?" he asked.
She nodded, not making any move to get up.
Good, he thought, shifting onto his back and pulling her half across him. Their legs were still tangled together, lazy and warm.
"Is the baby sleeping?" she asked, letting her head rest against his chest.
"Yes," he answered, rubbing her back gently. "Did he wake up during the night?"
"Yes," she murmured. "Twice."
She didn't pull away or discourage him when his hand slipped beneath the thin material of her wrinkled shirt and explored the smooth expanse of her back. "You're warm," he whispered against her temple, nuzzling her hair.
"So are you," she agreed, her eyes closing.
"Warm is good."
"Mmm."
He sighed when she moved her hand against his chest, resting her palm on his sternum while her fingers moved slowly up and down. Mulder closed his eyes and shut the world away, only the feeling of Scully against him following him back into sleep.
"We have to decide what we're going to do," Scully said as she packed the clean plates away into the cupboard.
Mulder nodded as he pulled the plug out of the sink, the water swirling and gurgling as it spiralled down the drain.
"I see us as having two choices," Mulder said calmly. "Either we keep him or we don't."
Scully snorted, but it was a desperate sound. "You make it sound like he's a pet, Mulder, a puppy. This is our son!"
He turned toward her. "I know that, Scully. But I also know the lives we live. The danger we're in. Can we protect this child, if he is in some way involved with the conspiracies we're trying to unravel? And even if we can protect him, Scully, how are we going to explain him? You weren't pregnant. Four month old babies don't just appear unless they've been adopted, and there is no record of you adopting him."
She bit her lip; he was right. He was always right.
"There is a third option," Mulder said quietly, his gaze steady. "If it's what you want, Scully, it's the best option."
"What's the option?"
"We run," he said flatly. "Leave behind everything we worked for, your family, your friends… everything. Go into hiding and hope they never find us."
"What if that is what they want, Mulder? Maybe it is just a way for them to get us to stop, because we were getting too close to the truth."
"You'd give up the truth for this?" he asked.
"What is the truth, Mulder?" she snapped. "Knowing whether there really are aliens? Uncovering all the conspiracies in our government? What, Mulder?"
"Are you saying we've been fighting for nothing?" he demanded. "That everything we've done and sacrificed and found the last six years has been for nothing?"
"No, I'm not saying that," she defended. "I'm asking whether it's worth it now, Mulder, and I don't think it is."
"You don't?"
"No. I've chased the monsters, Mulder. I found the monsters a long time ago. I don't need to prove to the world that they exist, and I'm not naïve enough anymore to believe that we truly can bring them to justice. My priorities have changed, and I want more than just chasing the next monster on the horizon."
"What about the experiments?" Mulder asked. "What about the children being created from the ova of innocent woman, and used as experiments and research subjects? Don't you want to stop them, Scully, or do you just want to take the baby now and make your dreams a reality while you bury your head in the sand?"
She didn't answer him, but uncertainty flashed across her eyes.
"That's what we do, Scully," he reminded her roughly. "That's what we fight for. You wanted to do this, Scully, you were willing to risk your career for a scrap of evidence that proved nothing. You started this, you can't not finish it now."
A strange sound escaped from her lips, a strangled hiccup or giggle, and she turned her back on him, fleeing.
"Scully?" he called, following her into the bedroom.
She was sitting on her knees on the bedroom floor, a large brown envelope in her hands. He watched curiously as she rose to her feet, thrusting the envelope toward him.
"I might not have a choice, Mulder," she whispered, leaving him alone in the room with the envelope in his hands.
It felt like déjà vu, he thought distantly, staring at the black and white image. An almost identical copy to the one she'd shown him two years ago. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly until little flashes of light danced across his vision and explosions of colour threatened to overwhelm his senses.
When he opened his eyes, the image was still there, stark and vivid. Inescapable.
"I went in a few days ago," Scully said from the doorway, watching him. "I… I was worried."
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, ashamed to feel the heat of tears burning his eyes.
"I didn't know for certain until yesterday," she whispered. "I didn't want it to be true, Mulder. I didn't want to tell you," she added.
"Why not?"
She licked her lips nervously; he saw her hands shaking as she laced her fingers together in front of her. "Because I didn't want you to worry," she said. "Because I didn't want you to think I couldn't finish this."
"But you've told me now," he said.
A delicate smile curved her lips, but it was whimsical and Mulder wasn't sure he knew why she was smiling. "I don't know that I can finish this, Mulder," she admitted.
The words scared him; Scully never said things like that. She fought.
"Scully?" he asked uncertainly.
"It's big, Mulder," she said softly. "Too big. They took some blood and are running tests, but they think it's already metastasised."
"How could this happen?" he asked.
She shrugged carelessly. "I don't know, Mulder."
"But the chip-"
"We don't know that it was the chip which caused the remission to begin with, Mulder," she said gently. "For all we know, it was an act of God."
God, Mulder thought viciously, an act of God. He didn't believe in God. He'd stopped believing in God when his sister had disappeared and he'd been shown what the world was really like. There was no God. Anger rolled over him in a red sheet of fire, and he hated Scully for her ability to believe in a lie.
"Mulder," she said uncertainly. "I… I don't know if I can do this."
The anger dissipated, replaced by a bleak and desolate defeat that left him gaping and empty inside. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, burying his face against her neck and feeling the flutter of her pulse against his lips.
"Scully," he murmured, "oh, Scully."
And then came the fear. Wild and consuming, it pulled at him, dragging him down and down and down until he could hardly breathe. His fingers tightened on her, his lips parting so that he could taste her, smell her, have her.
She gasped, her fingers clenching in his hair.
It was wild and frantic, her lips hot and warm and alive against his, his tongue sliding wetly against hers as he fought to devour her, breathe life into her. He backed her up against the wall, fighting for air when he released her lips and found her neck again, her skin soft and warm, her pulse thundering with life.
It wasn't about love, or trust or desire; it was fear. Fear drove him to pull her closer, to hold her tighter, to imprint her on his senses in which ever way he could.
Fear of losing her.
Her fingernails scraped against his back, the stinging sharp and jarring, but it was good. It was real. Vibrant.
She parted her legs when he slipped his hand lower, finding her hot and wet and ready. She moaned into his mouth, pressing greedily against his hand, her teeth tugging and her tongue soothing. She tasted as bitter as coffee and as sweet as nectar, the copper tang of blood mixing with his saliva.
He jerked, breaking away from her.
Thick red blood stained her lips and skin, garish as stage make up.
She pushed him away without a sound, eyes wild, and left him standing with her fear on his fingers and his mouth sticky with her blood.
I apologise for posting this so slowly and inconsistently, but the muse bit me again the other day and decided that the ENTIRE ending has to be changed. I hope you're still enjoying it and will stick around for the rest of the fic.
And I beg shamelessly for feedback.
