Six weeks later

She loved watching him sleep. Scully tended to have bouts of insomnia, while Mulder could go out like a light anytime and anywhere in two minutes if he was tired enough. Often, she got up in the night to make some tea and putter around in an attempt to clean—especially when she was in Mulder's apartment. He always told her to wake him when she couldn't sleep, but she would much rather watch him dreaming. Scully propped her head up on the pillow with her arm and lightly traced a finger over his delicate features. His eyelids fluttered lightly; the touch probably entered his dream. Golden streams of streetlight poured in from the open window, creating patterns of light and shadow across his pillow and over his face. He looked incredibly young and innocent with his long eyelashes resting atop the apples of his cheeks and his full lips parted in the steady, rhythmic intake of breath. At that moment, Scully believed she was peeking back in time and seeing him as a little boy.

She kissed his forehead softly and gently climbed out of bed, trying not to disturb him. After quietly crossing the room, she stood nude at the open window, closing her eyes in peaceful relaxation as the warm summer breeze caressed her bare skin.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured.

She jumped from her reverie. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm glad you did."

With an intense expression, he studied the shadows of her face.

"What?" she said

"You seem unusually enigmatic. What are you thinking?"

"I was thinking…that I'm happy. I haven't been truly happy in such a long time, and I don't think…I've never felt this way before. I guess I'm a little afraid, because my experience has taught me that happiness is fleeting. I don't want to lose this. Ever."

"Don't worry, Scully. I'm not going anywhere. Even if you want to get rid of me, I won't let you; you're stuck."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart... C'mere."

He pulled the sheet back for her to climb into bed, and when she did, he curled up behind her, draped an arm over her waist, and lightly kissed the back of her neck.

"I'm sick of keeping this a secret—like it's something to hide. We should tell the Bureau, or at least let Skinner know," he said softly into her ear.

"I wish we could, but there's just too much at risk. Our partnership, the X Files—if we're taken off the X Files, they'll be shut down."

"I don't care."

"You will Mulder. It's your life's work—I won't let you abandon it."

He "Mm-hmmd" sleepily.

"What time is it?" he asked. He couldn't see the clock without his contact lenses.

Scully craned her neck to look over at the nightstand. "Five after four."

"Is it my turn to leave first today?"

"Nope it's mine. I have two and a half hours."

"Are you tired?"

" Not at all. I may as well get up now and make some coffee."

Mulder turned her to face him so that they held each other chest to chest, nudged her legs apart with his knee, and placed her right leg over his hip. Their lips met in a slow, sensual kiss.

"Stay. Let's make the most of our time before dawn." he whispered thickly.

Late May was the perfect time of year in Scully's opinion. The chilliness of rainy April receded, and hints of summer danced like electricity in the air; the weather was warm but not hot. A sweet breeze billowed lightly through her hair and gentle sunlight bathed her face as she strolled down E Street to the deli for the customary lunch order: chicken wrap for Mulder and a Greek salad for herself. Escaping the dark basement office for twenty minutes a day was always quite refreshing.

As she walked, Scully suddenly felt a chill travel the length of her spine, almost as if someone were following closely and she could feel their breath on the back of her neck. She quickly turned her head to examine the thin crowd of pedestrians behind her, but observed nothing out of the ordinary. Convinced Mulder's paranoia was just rubbing off on her, she shrugged and quietly laughed at her irrational unease. However, the odd sensation revisited on her return trip to the Hoover Building. She glanced over her shoulder several times, and as before, there was nothing to see.

After she again dismissed the bizarre instinct, a sudden pressure was placed in the center of her back, and a voice whispered calmly behind her,

"Keep walking straight. Don't say anything; act normal."

Panic rapidly increased her heart rate as she instantly realized that the barrel of a handgun was pressing into her spine. She turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse of the speaker.

"What the hell is it now, Krycek?"

"You're going to take a left into the Starbucks and sit at a table in the back. Then we'll talk. I'll put the gun away if I can trust you not to try anything. Can I trust you?"

"Yes," she said caustically through clenched teeth.

They swung a left nonchalantly into the coffee shop just like any other couple sharing lunch hour and casually weaved through the long line to sit at a table in the very back. Scully crossed her arms indignantly and glared at him with all the disgust she could muster.

"What's the conversation about? Speak," she said coldly.

"You could be a little more grateful Scully. I'm actually doing you a favor. This is a big risk for me—coming to you like this."

"If you're helping me, then why the gun?"

"I knew you wouldn't speak to me if I simply asked. A little force was needed to show you the urgency of the matter."

"OK—what?"

"You're in danger. You and Mulder. The man that shot you is going to find you again. Soon. And this time you won't be so lucky."

"What? That doesn't make any sense. The shooter left the country with members of a drug trafficking group. He only shot at me out of necessity to protect his inner circle, and now that he's escaped, there's no reason for him to come back for me."

"That whole case was a set up. I can't believe you and Mulder fell into the trap so perfectly; I always thought you were pretty clever. There was never a Russian mafia group selling drugs in New Orleans. The case was invented to lure the two of you out there alone."

"Why?"

"All I can say is that you are the target of two different parties. One aims to murder you and the other wants you alive and Mulder dead. Your shooter falls into the first category; his assignment is to kill you."

Scully's mouth fell open, speechless, not sure what to believe. "Who are these 'parties'? And why would they want to hurt us?"

"I told you already—that's all I have to say. My advice is leave D.C. by two weeks from today. It doesn't matter where you go—somewhere relatively far. Travel under another name and change your appearance as much as you can. And most importantly—Mulder can't know. Don't tell him anything; just go. He'll be safe here as long as you're not with him."

"I don't believe you. You've played us several times before. Why help us now?" she said shakily.

Krycek quickly scanned the room before standing.

"Because you can't do this alone."

"Is something wrong Scully?"

"No. Everything's fine, why?" She stabbed at the stuffed chicken breast with her fork and realized that she had rearranged everything on her plate.

"You're so quiet tonight. And you haven't eaten a bite of your dinner. Is my cooking really that bad?"

"No, it's good. I'm just not hungry."

"Your eyes were completely glazed over a second ago—like you were miles away. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing. I'm tired."

"Do you feel OK?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know, maybe I'm coming down with something."

"Did you have another headache today? Maybe you should see the doctor."

"No. I was kind of dizzy earlier, but it's just from fatigue."

"Is the insomnia getting worse?"

"Jesus Mulder! Stop with the fucking twenty questions. I'm fine," she snapped.

He gaped at her in sad surprise with wide hazel eyes like he'd just been slapped. Pangs of sharp guilt stabbed her chest; the last thing she wanted was to hurt him. She was incredibly frustrated at not being able to discuss the Krycek encounter and terrified at the possible danger they were in, as well as the prospect of leaving Mulder. The swirl of fears and conundrums were far too much to deal with in addition to the fact that, truthfully, she didn't feel well. Her ailments over the past few days included a nosebleed due to lightheadedness, which she would most definitely keep from him. If I just get some sleep, everything will be better tomorrow. I'll figure out what to do. Tears began to seep into her vision; and she quickly blinked and looked away, but not before Mulder noticed.

"Scully!" he cried in concern, quickly moving to kneel beside her chair. He took her chin in his hands in an attempt to force her to look at him, but she wouldn't make eye contact. "Whatever it is…please just tell me."

"I'm sorry. Nothing's wrong. I'm just very tired, and I want to go to sleep now," she sobbed.

Mulder sighed heavily. "OK. Tell me what to do. Can I get something for you?"

"No. I'm going to bed."

He trailed after her like a lost puppy as she meandered into his bedroom and collapsed on top of the comforter. He pulled her shoes and socks off, gently placed a light sheet over her, and kissed her forehead, surreptitiously checking for fever.

The beach is beautiful. The sand is bright white, powdery silk and the water is a clear, brilliant aquamarine. Seagulls cry out in the cloudless sky, and the sound of the waves and warmth of the sun make her feel content and sleepy. She looks behind her and she sees Mulder standing in the surf, his eyes glued on the horizon. Why isn't he following me? Her eyes return to the direction in which she's walking, and she sees a tiny figure crouched in the sand. A brown-haired little boy sits with his back toward her, playing with a little shovel and pale. He glances back at her and smiles, but all she can remember of his face is the piercing blue eyes. She is intensely afraid for him, but she doesn't know why; she needs to protect him from an unseen evil. When she turns back to tell Mulder about him, she sees a man dressed all in black, holding a knife to Mulder's throat. NO! HOLD ON MULDER! I'M COMING! I WON"T LET HIM HURT YOU! As she races in his direction, she hears an earth-shattering crash behind her. A gigantic wave taller than the heavens quickly approaches the shore, and the boy, oblivious to danger, continues playing in the sand. She stands frozen, looking back and forth, knowing she can only save one of them. Mulder stares at her with empty eyes as the man in black drags the blade across his throat, spilling his blood. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! She hopes she can still save the boy, so she runs back, but it's too late; the wave crashes onto the shore, swallowing him whole. The water hits her and quickly spills over her head, drowning her in nothingness.

Scully's eyes flew open, and her breath came in choking gasps. The room was spinning faster than she could think, and somehow she managed to fall out of bed and stumble into the bathroom as a wave of nausea overpowered her. When she crouched down on wobbly legs, she heard Mulder's hurried footsteps approaching.

"Scully, are you alright? Can I come in? Answer me."

"S'OK. Fine," she managed unconvincingly. The door flew open and Mulder rushed in to kneel beside her on the tile floor. He smoothed the sweaty, matted hair back from her face and delicately rubbed her neck and shoulders as the heaves shook her body. Afterwards, Scully sighed in relief at the cool washcloth that swiped across her face and neck, and she gratefully accepted the glass of water he offered, sipping tentatively.

"I'm taking you to the emergency room."

"No Mulder. Really, the hospital's not necessary. I probably just have a virus."

"Alright fine, but I'm driving you to the doctor first thing in the morning, and it's not up for debate."

"OK," she agreed shakily, lacking the strength to argue. He easily took her in his arms, gently lifted her from the floor, and carried her back to bed. She raised her arms compliantly as he removed her soiled clothes, replacing them with fresh pajamas. When he climbed into bed beside her, she curled up into a fetal position, and he wrapped his arms around her protectively.

Sleep didn't find her again that night; she frightfully willed it away. As she stared into the shadows, a firm realization came over her, as impossible as it seemed. The boy is my son.