Her silence was heavy. Her back to him as she sat on the edge of the bed, she barely seemed to react when he said her name.
"I was looking for you," he murmured.
"Looking for me? When?" she sighed, a soft chuckle somewhere underneath.
"Today, I went to your apartment. You weren't there, no-one would tell me where you were."
She still hadn't turned, she'd barely raised her head. She stared down at the great swell of her belly, her patient hands on either side of her legs, holding steady to the edge of the thin mattress.
"Then how did you find me?"
"I remembered what you said once, about coming here to clear your head, that your grandmother's house was the only place you felt safe."
He started toward her and saw her shoulder blades draw together. He stopped.
"Scully, I don't know what to say." He wasn't forlorn, he wasn't conciliatory. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"I don't want you to say anything," she barely whispered. "I want you to go."
She could hear him shift his weight. He didn't come any closer.
"Scully, you don't even have a phone here. What if something happens?" he reasoned.
"Then something happens, or nothing happens. What does it matter?" She drew her chin up looking out the window and stared out at the starless sky.
"You can't mean that, Scully." He was moving again, narrowing the space between them.
"I can't?" she said, still staring.
She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, slowly leaning back and resting her palms flat on the bed behind her. He was in front of her now, standing between her and the cool breeze of the open window. Her belly jutted up from her thin frame, almost making no sense juxtaposed against her slight arms and legs. Her nightgown fell just below her knees, white cotton fabric swaying as she breathed in and out, in and out. Her chin dropped to her chest and she as sighed again, heavier now.
"Scully..."
He took her in from top to bottom. Her hair loosely piled atop her head,her little toes barely skimming the hardwood floor and her eyes, empty and tired.
"Just go," she puffed out, like blowing out a candle.
"I'm not going anywhere," he replied, his brow knitted. He reached for her, his fingers grazing her hairline.
She opened her eyes and straightened her back. "You will," she said sadly. "Maybe not right now, but you'll leave, eventually."
"That's not fair." His hand dropped uselessly at his side.
She sucked in a deep breath and heaved herself up from the bed. "Nothing about this has been fair. To have you gone and then dead and to know that there was no hope of this child knowing it's father," she said as she wrapped her hands her hands around her belly, "and then to have you back and realizing that there's still no hope."
He caught her eyes, finally, and saw the tears that her steady voice did not betray. She stared, for just a brief moment and then pushed past him, heading for the doorway.
"Scully, wait, I'm..."
"You're what?" she cut him off, "happy for me?" she called as she walked away.
Hearing his words thrown back him made his chest burn.
"I was worried about you, I am worried about you," he clarified.
She stopped in the hallway and leaned a shoulder against the wall, tipping her head to one side. Her hand worked at her lower back. "Worried?" It came out like a whisper. "You haven't been worried, I've been here for two weeks. You just realized it today."
Her words came in quiet, staccato puffs. He couldn't tell if she was fighting the urge to cry or scream, maybe both.
"You didn't return my calls, I thought you needed some space or something," he said, moving toward her again. "Why do you think there's no hope? Why would you think that?"
Her shoulders slumped. "I can't do this right now. I can't," drawing in a long deep breath.
He was behind her, his breath on her neck. "When? The baby will be here any day."
"If that's the only reason you're here, you need to go, right now," she puffed.
"Why do you think there's no hope? Why?" His fingers glanced her neck, walking to her collarbone. He hadn't touched her, not once since he'd come back. She stiffened against him and drew in a sharp breath.
"Because, you still haven't come back to me." Her voice hitched, "I don't know if you ever will. I don't know if you can."
"Oh Scully," his long fingers draping over her shoulder.
"Why did you come here?" she whimpered.
"I told you, I'm worried." His thumb smoothed back and forth, catching on the thin strap of her nightgown.
"That's not enough, I can't keep doing this."
"Can't keep doing what?"
Her chin was on her chest again, her breathing slow and rhythmic. He waited while she seemed to be mulling her response.
"I can't keep letting you in and then letting you go...I can't have you half here and half gone. I'm so tired of not being enough, we can never be enough for you."
She started to sob, her words tumbling out between strangled breaths. His arms encircled her, wrapping across her chest and over her shoulders.
"I've made so many mistakes," he whispered into her hair. "But the biggest, the biggest of my life was leaving you behind. I'll never do it again." His hand drifted, tentatively reaching for her belly. He pressed his palm against the side and followed the gentle curve down, cupping it in his hand.
"You can't promise that, and you definitely shouldn't promise right now," she choked out.
He held her close, feeling her breathe and sigh, feeling her belly, their baby surge and thump under his hand.
She went rigid and sucked in a sharp breath. He felt the baby still and her belly tighten and strain under his fingers.
"Scully?"
"I told you, I can't do this right now," she gasped. Her chin dropped, her breathing becoming slow and steady. Her hand found his on her belly and their fingers intertwined.
He knew immediately what was happening. "C'mon," he said gently, "let's get you back to the bedroom."
"Hmmmmmmmm, can't," she gasped, lurching forward slightly. "Just hold me...hold me."
He did as he was told, feeling her relax against him, her chest rising and falling as she drew breath in through her nose and slowly out her mouth. He felt the tension in her belly start to recede, like a dry sponge slowly becoming water-logged.
"How long have you been in labor?" he asked softly.
Her eyes slipped open and she exhaled. "Since this afternoon."
He turned her around and held her face in his hands. "Oh Scully, what are you doing?"
Her chin quivered and her eyes darted everywhere but to his gaze. She squeezed them shut forcing the traitorous tears out.
"I'm trying to let you go!" she nearly shouted. "Don't you see?" her blue eyes meeting his gaze. "You'll be fine for a while, perfectly happy. But one day, you'll get a call or an email and I'll be begging you to stay, begging you to remember your promises and it'll be for nothing because you'll leave, you'll leave us both."
Her tiny hands had balled into fists, pressed firmly against his chest. Her steely reserve seemed to boil up out of her. "I can't chase you into the dark anymore, one of us has to put him first."
"How is this putting him first?" he said, pointing at what he now realized was a makeshift delivery room.
"We're not safe at any hospital, they'll take him or kill me, probably both. If we don't make it here, at least it's on my terms. But I'll be damned if they take him, turn him into another lab rat."
She dropped forward at the waist, the contraction taking her by surprise. Her breath hissed out between clenched teeth as her hand shot out to cling to him, grabbing a handful of his t shirt. His hands were everywhere and nowhere at once, flitting across her back, trying to find a place to be. The top of her head pushed against his sternum and a low, strangled cry climbed out of her.
"Breathe, Scully," he murmured as his fingers combed through her hair. It felt like the right thing to say at that moment. It was really the only coherent thought he could muster.
He began walking backwards, trying to guide her back to the bedroom. He didn't know what the hell he was going to do when he got her there, but he moved, nonetheless.
She shuffled along with him, moaning her protest. "Ican'Ican'tIcan't…." It came out in an endless litany.
"You already are, c'mon, this kid isn't waiting for us," he soothed. The backs of his knees hit the bed and he puffed a sigh of relief.
"It's not stopping," she groaned as he eased her onto her back. She started to shiver, her teeth chattering violently.
"I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said as he bent each of her legs at the knee, setting her feet flat on the mattress.
He looked, unsure of what he was even searching for between her legs. But then, he knew exactly what he was seeing, a thin sliver red hair and purple flesh began to peek out.
"Where is everything?" he asked, his hands on her knees.
She shook so hard that the bed vibrated against the floor. "Underrrrrrrrrr the bbbbbbbbbbbed."
He dropped to his knees and found a large plastic tub full of medical equipment. He knew she'd be ready for this, ready to deliver their baby all on her own. He felt sick at the notion.
He snapped on a pair of gloves and positioned himself between her legs. She breathed raggedly, her head lolling back on the pillow.
"Give a push here, Scully."
She lifted her leg and planted her foot against his shoulder. Her face went crimson as she closed her eyes and bore down. The sliver that was the top of the baby's head became larger, but began to recede as she collapsed backwards with a gush of air.
"Good, good job," he said. "Just rest until the next one."
She nodded, almost imperceptibly, her eyes half closed, shaking uncontrollably. He watched her shallow, quiet breathing, waiting for the next wave to crash into her. It didn't take long, her eyes popped open and then slammed shut as she forced herself up on her elbows.
He counted softly as he watched the top of the baby's head grow larger again and recede once more as she collapsed. Over and over again she lurched forward, pushed and fell back again. Every time, he saw a little more. Every time she seemed to weaken. She was flushed, her hair clinging to the sheen of sweat across her forehead and cheeks.
"You're doing great, Scully," he encouraged. "He's just stubborn, must be the red hair."
"He has red hair?" she huffed at the ceiling.
"He does, you'll see for yourself soon," he said a small smile on his face.
A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she nodded a little. She raised up again, sucking in a long breath and bearing down. This time, he could see a face, a nose, a mouth and then a chin popped free.
"The head's out!" he announced triumphantly with a congratulatory chuckle.
She stopped pushing and began pant, "You...you have to... make sure his... airway is clear," she struggled between breaths.
He did as he was told, grabbing a blue bulb syringe from the tub and clearing the baby's mouth and nose. "Okay, he's good," he said. "Let's do this, Scully."
It struck him then how quiet she'd been. He had a notion in his head about what birth would look like and it usually involved a somewhat comical level of protestation on behalf of the mother, cursing, swearing to kill the person who put her in this condition. He should have known Scully better than that. She was very nearly silent, concentrating fully on the task before her. Any sound she did make was to instruct him, barely above a whisper, between labored breaths.
"Turn him...to… the right," she gasped. "Guide...the shoulder...out."
She'd finally stopped shaking, now he was the one who couldn't stop trembling. One shoulder cleared and slowly, so slowly, the other came and then the baby seemed to just fall into his hands with a gush.
"You did it! He's here, it's a boy!" he called, looking up to tell her. She'd fallen back again, eyes closed, but smiling serenely.
"Put the two clamps on the cord and cut in between," she sighed.
Again, he did as he was told. Cutting through the cord was like cutting through a garden hose, which was once again, not what he expected. The baby began to howl and instinct took over. He swept him into his arms and placed him on his mother's chest. He laid a blanket over both of them and wiped the tears away from his face.
"You're gonna have to deliver the placenta. There's a plastic bucket with lid in there, you see it?" she asked.
He rummaged through the tub and found it. "Got it," he said. The growing cloud of crimson on the sheets gave him pause.
"Scully, this is too much blood," he said softly.
"I know," she mumbled. "I know it is."
He looked back in the tub and saw an IV bag and catheter.
"Is this what you need? Pitocin?" he asked, holding up the bag.
Her breath rasped out and she nodded as her hands drifted slowly up and down the baby's back. He grabbed her arm and tied a tourniquet. It took him 3 tries, but he got the line in and began a fast drip of the medicine.
She'd gone ashen, her eyes slowly drifting open and closed. He pressed a hand against her brow and planted a kiss on her temple. "Don't leave me," he whispered, "Please don't leave me."
"I'm here," she breathed out.
The baby had rooted about and found his way to her breast, suckling greedily, little snorts of contentment pushing out of his nose. He smiled.
He could smell the blood now, there was so much of it. He made his way back to the end of the bed and saw that the cloud had enveloped the entire lower half of the bed. This was too much, far too much. The placenta had come out on it's own, sitting unceremoniously between her legs. He made quick work of it and went back to the task at hand. He rubbed at her now flaccid belly, pressing hard and deep. She winced a little, but he kept at it.
"What are we gonna call him, Scully?" he asked as he continued to rub.
"Dunno," she sighed. "I couldn't make up my mind."
"Does that mean I get to choose?" he asked with a somewhat playful smile. She didn't open her eyes, she didn't see it.
"We'll come up with something," she breathed out.
The bleeding seemed to slow, at least he hoped it had. So he pulled off the gloves and made his way to the head of the bed, wrapping himself around the 2 of them.
"You did good, mom," he whispered against her hair. His fingers traced along the crown of the baby's head, his wispy red locks still thick with blood and vernix.
"Hmmmmmm," she responded languidly. The baby had fallen asleep, his tiny jaw still clucking at her breast.
"Just rest, both of you." Her legs lay open, bent at the knees, the soles of her feet almost touching. The blood was everywhere, streaking her pale legs, creeping, fiber by fiber into her white nightgown. But finally, there was no more fresh blood. He found a clean blanket and pulled it over her and the baby.
He mulled over what she'd said as watched them sleep. In that moment, staring at her, at their child, he couldn't fathom leaving them, not ever. But something more picked at his brain. From the moment he woke up, he'd felt like a stranger in his own skin. He saw that the world had gone on without him. He saw her, begging him without words, her eyes weary and pleading for him hold her, love her, hell, even look at her. He couldn't do any of those things, much as wanted to.
But then Skinner told him. He felt as though he'd come out of a dream, a fugue state. Skinner sat across from him and walked him everything she'd been through, how her own health and safety had taken a back seat to one thing: finding him. If the truth had been his white whale, he had been her's.
The difference? She could let her white whale go, to save herself. He understood then, she didn't believe he could do the same.
The baby began to stir, sniffling softly and blinking past his puffy eyelids.
"You need to get him cleaned up," she whispered. "His things are over there," gesturing weakly at a bassinet against wall.
He nodded and scooped the baby from her chest, cradling him deep in the crook of his arm. Scully's eyes slipped shut again. Her breast hung exposed and smeared with blood; he felt wrong for looking. He pulled the blanket back over her and pressed a kiss against her cool forehead.
Cleaning a newborn proved to be less complicated than he'd anticipated. The baby was quiet and calm as he rinsed his hair. He marveled at his tiny fingers and toes. The baby settled back to sleep after he'd wrapped him snugly in a blanket. He walked carefully and set him in the bassinet.
She was sleeping still, her chest rising and falling under the blanket.
"Hey," he whispered, "let's get you out of these clothes."
"I can't," she breathed out. "I'm too dizzy." Her eyes looked a pair of crescent moons, barely open, barely clinging to consciousness.
"It's okay, I've got you."
He pulled the blanket back and slowly worked the nightgown up and off of her. He left the IV catheter in, but pulled the line.
She lay before him transformed from the woman he knew. Changes that to others, even to her, that would have seemed gradual were sudden and striking to him. Her breasts were heavy and full, her hips soft and round, even her lips seemed changed, thicker maybe. He leaned down and curled his arms under her. He assessed her weight as he slowly lifted her. She winced and he chuffed an apology against the top of her head. She was still so light, as light as he'd ever remembered.
He lowered her into the warm bath, letting her head roll back against the edge of the tub.
"There, just rest, I'm gonna get the bed cleaned up," he said, kissing gently along her cheek. She swallowed thickly and nodded.
He disposed of the mess, alternating checking her and the baby. Neither stirred. He knelt down next to the tub and cupped his hand over her forehead. The water had turned pink, making her porcelain skin seem even whiter.
"Hey, you still with me?" he whispered.
She hummed her response. He smiled a little and kissed her cheek again. He dipped his hands into the water and slowly, reverently lifted her out. He laid her on the bed, which he'd already draped with towels and wrapped her up as she began to shiver.
He dug through the bin again and found the saline bags she'd squirreled away. Had she really planned on doing this alone, he wondered? What would have happened if he'd waited even a few hours to find her? His gut churned at the idea of finding her bled out, his squalling lying between her feet in a pool of her blood. He connected the saline to her IV and tried not to think about it. He helped her into a fresh nightgown, handling her like candy glass as he went. She was limp in his arms, barely able to keep her head up.
"What time is it?" she sighed, opening her eyes slightly.
"A little after midnight," he said as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"What time was he born?" she asked, a little more awake.
"10:13 pm."
She closed her eyes and nodded. "Give him to me, he'll need to nurse soon."
He nodded and acquiesced. The baby stirred and squeaked as he lifted him from the bassinet.
"I counted twice, ten fingers, ten toes," he said as he laid the baby in her arms. "And a head full red hair."
She smiled, really smiled for the first time as she looked down at him. "I was hoping I'd spared him the hair," she said sleepily.
"Can you nurse laying down? I think your blood pressure is still low," he asked.
"Yeah, I think so," she said as she carefully shifted to her side. She hissed softly, gritting her teeth as got herself and the baby situated.
He sat on the floor, resting his head on the edge of the bed, watching them. She stared down at her child, tracing the shell of his tiny ear with her fingertip.
"God, he's so beautiful," she sighed contentedly.
"You're beautiful," he said as he reached out and smoothed his hand along her face. They locked eyes and she smiled again.
"He still needs a name," she said.
"He does... Walter Jr?" he teased.
She chuckled softly and closed her eyes. "You don't know your own nose when you see it?"
"I guess not," he responded with a smile in his eyes.
"William," she whispered, "William Michael."
"William Michael Scully," he confirmed, "that's a good name."
"Mulder," she said.
"What?" he queried, his brow crinkled.
"Not Scully, William Michael Mulder."
He smiled and nodded. "I don't want to leave you," he said. "Not ever again."
"Mulder…" she closed her eyes, a tear snaking down her cheek.
"Do you believe me?" he asked, wiping the tear away.
She opened her eyes, sparkling in the low light of the quiet room. "Mulder, I want to believe."
END.