September 27, 2008
Wellington Women's and Children's Hospital

Almost nineteen years earlier Samantha had dragged poor Scott to the hospital twice thinking she was in labor before Adrianna was finally born. Everything she had read since said that many first-time mothers didn't know what to expect and mistook Braxton Hicks contractions for the real thing. It's hard to know with your first, though.

That in mind, she had expected that she and Adrianna would soon be sent home again when the girl told her that they needed to go to the hospital. It came as quite a surprise when they were not turned away this time after Adrianna was examined.

Things were confusing and somewhat upsetting because of this, and it took a little bit of phone tag to sort everything out to make sure that Scott could come, and that Ariel would look after her two younger siblings for the night. Her middle daughter had reluctantly agreed to this, and tersely said that she would make sure that she and her siblings got to school the next morning too.

Thinking about her conversation with Ariel makes Samantha want to bite somebody's head off. Apparently this school year is not going much better for Ariel than the end of the last one did, and she lays the blame for this entirely at her sister's feet. Samantha hadn't understood what her issue with Adrianna was until Alyssa came to her and told her that Ariel was getting a lot of harassment at school for being the sister of a girl who had managed not to make it to graduation without getting pregnant. At first Samantha had thought that Ariel was just overreacting, but then Alyssa had said that boys had been asking them both if they were as easy as Adrianna.

It was hard not to be mad at Adrianna for putting the idea into people's heads, but she had to be as supportive as she possibly could be especially when the girl was so scared and not tolerating labor very well. This shouldn't come as a surprise considering of all four of her children Adrianna is the one that would cry the hardest over skin knees and other minor injuries throughout their childhoods.

As it is, after four hours it's getting more and more difficult to be sympathetic. You can't really tell somebody in labor that she should just buck up and walk it off, so Samantha is trying desperately to find a way to make Adrianna feel less scared, if not better. And at the back of her mind, she's relieved that Scott should be there shortly. Maybe he can give her a break and take over sympathy duties.

Adrianna's contractions are getting stronger, and she's getting even more whiner. Samantha hopes that she wasn't such a wimp the first time she gave birth. But of course, that's something she can never voice out loud.

"Mom, it's early, isn't it?" Adrianna asks suddenly, looking worried. "My due date's not for three more days!"

"Three days is nothing," Samantha tells her. "We learned all about this, remember? You know that a baby's considered full-term at 37 weeks, and that was almost 3 weeks ago."

Lamaze class had been an extremely uncomfortable experience as far as Samantha was concerned, and it had to have been even worse from Adrianna's point of view. Samantha had been reminded acutely of the last time she'd taken the class with Scott, and felt extremely badly for her daughter because she was one of only two women in the class without the baby's father there. She'd thought that the other pair of women there were sisters... until she'd seen them kissing in the parking lot and realized that the expectant mother in that couple had probably never even met the father-to-be.

"I know, but..." Adrianna still looks worried. "I thought I might've done something wrong wishing it'd been over with the last time we were here."

"Well, you didn't. No one can wish for labor to start. If they could, no one would have a baby two weeks late like my mom did with Fox."

"Then it's okay to wish this was over? Because I really wish it was over!" Adrianna cries.

"It's almost over," Samantha says in a way that she hopes comforts her oldest daughter. "I know it feels like it'll never stop right now, but it's almost over."

"No, it's not."

"Adrianna-"

"It's not going to be over because Luke is keeping him," Adrianna groans. Her fingers grasp the sheets, and Samantha wonders if she's even aware of that. "It'll never be over, not really."

"I know this isn't what you wanted, but it will be okay. You don't even have to hold the baby if you don't want to. We can give him to Luke's father without you ever having to look at the baby."

Samantha is aware that the hospital will insist that the baby be kept in the hospital for a couple of days before being released, just like Adrianna, but the staff knows very well that the baby is not going home with her so there should be no attempts to encourage her to see him. Samantha will make sure no one 'mistakenly' brings the baby to her room if she has to stand guard herself.

"But what if I see them?" Adrianna cries. "Later on. Accidentally."

"Luke will be in Boston," her mother soothes. "And you'll be away at college come January."

"But they won't always be in Boston," Adrianna insists. She grimaces as another contraction wracks her. "They'll come home for holidays. They could be at Uncle Mulder's house at the same time as we are."

"Then you'll deal with it," Samantha says quietly. "You'll be able to handle it."

"How do you know?!"

I should have told you all along that you're stronger than you think, Samantha says silently. Maybe this would all be ending differently if I had. "I just know."

"But-"

"Hey!" a voice says from the doorway and Samantha feels a wave of relief.

"Great," she says brightly, motioning for Scott to come over, which he immediately does. "I'll let you to talk for a minute, and go get us something to drink." And she slips out of the room before either of them can protest.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she sees a look of think panic on Scott's face, and it's all she can do not to narrow her eyes at him. You deal with this for a while, she thinks. It's only fair.

Of course she intends to return before her little girl actually gives birth, but she needs a few minutes to think. A few minutes of not staring at her oldest child and thinking about how disappointing everything is turning out.

A few minutes of staring at the wall in the cafeteria might give her enough of a break to have her presence actually be of some value in the delivery room, and not just be someone who resents the fact that they have to be there at all.

Two Hours Later

Once it's all over and nurses have whisked away the blue blanket-wrapped baby, Samantha steps out into the hallway with her cell phone. For a second she feels a fresh burst of resentment that the phone number she needs to call is programmed into her phone in the first place.

She dials the number and as soon as someone answers tersely says, "The baby is here. He's healthy and Adrianna is doing as well as can be expected," and then recites the hospital address and room number without giving the person on the other end a chance to respond. Due diligence done, she hangs up without another word.

An hour later, during which time Reyes has talked her partner down from wanting to strangle his not-really-in-law for being so cold on the phone, Doggett calls his oldest son. It rings through a few times, and in his stress and excitement, he's forgotten to factor in time zone differences. Okay, Luke is either still at work or in class, and after a quick recall of Luke's schedule, he figures it's work. "Luke?" he says when his son finally picks up.

"Yeah?" his son says, his voice somewhat soft against the noisy kitchen.

"You're officially the father to a healthy baby boy."

"Really?"

Doggett rolls his eyes. "No, it's a litter of puppies. Of course really!" His grammar's shot by this point, but he doesn't really care.

"Awesome!" There's a pause, and then he hears Luke say distantly, "Hey, guys, it's a boy!" There's cheers, claps, and a few boos here and there, which makes Doggett think there is a betting pool going on. Wow. Nice to know some things haven't changed, he thinks, and hopes that if his son bet on a boy, that he's collecting big time. "Sorry, they're really excited for me," he says.

"Uh-huh," Doggett rolls his eyes again. "How much did you get?"

"If everyone pays up, like Richard," his voice carries clear to the end of the room on that name, "I should have about $500."

Doggett whistles. "Boy, that was some bet." Then his eyes narrow. "You also picked a date and time to up the ante, didn't you?"

"Um, yeah," Luke admits, "this week, before I got off work."

"Oh my God," Doggett sighs, "please tell me you have a normal name for the kid."

"'Course I do," his son sounds briefly insulted, but goes on, "it's Nicholas."

Doggett is about to ask "Why?" but swallows it before it passes his lips. He knows why. "Your favorite uncle," he says.

"Yeah," Luke agrees, his tone more sober. "It's hard to believe he and Mom were related. He was such a great, funny guy."

"Yeah," Doggett echoes his son. Up to when Luke was seven, he wanted to be like his firefighter Uncle Nicky, who took care of him when neither of his parents were available. But it wasn't a fire that took Nicky's life, it was a drunk driver going 90 m.p.h. on the wrong side of the road. The accident also took the lives of the driver's wife and two kids, but in a sick irony, only the drunk driver survived. One of the few things he and Barb ever agreed on after the divorce was making sure that the man was never allowed near another vehicle again, since keeping the idiot away from alcohol was impossible. Doggett had enough friends on the force to keep tabs on the guy, even after all this time. "He really was."

"If I can raise Nicholas to be even half the man his namesake, I think I'll have done a good job," Luke says.

Here, here, Doggett thinks. Aloud, he says, "You just want him to grow up and be a firefighter, huh?"

"Shut up," Luke mumbles, and Doggett can almost feel the embarrassment through the phone.

Doggett smiles. "Kidding, kidding," he says, wishing he could ruffle his son's hair, even his hands twitched unconsciously. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon." Then he cleared his throat and barks, "Now get back to work! You've got diaper money to earn, boy."

"Yes, sir!" his son shouts back after a brief pause. "Thanks, Dad. See ya."

"See ya," Doggett says, then hangs up. Nicholas Doggett. That sounds like a good, strong name for a baby who needs all the strength he can get to be raised by a single dad. He makes a note to himself to look up its meaning, but that can wait after he gets in touch with the hospital.

Luke, on the other hand, is awash in emotion. While on break he brings up Adrianna's number out of reflex, before remembering, well, everything. After having just given birth, she probably wouldn't want to hear from the guy she'd just had a baby for, and he sighs. That, and her parents would probably be listening in, too, and didn't that make his throat close up? Gosh.

So he chickens out and waits until he gets home to email the mother of their, no, his child. It's a short note, congratulating her on giving birth to their healthy baby boy, and telling her he's named their child Nicholas. He chewed on his lower lip, thinking that it's odd he actually has to think about what to write, while back when they were dating, words flowed so easily. "But we're strangers now," he reminds himself aloud, and there's something depressing that he's actually had to do that. Okay. He can do this. To his surprise, none of the questions, none of the recriminations of the past few months, come to mind. Instead, he finishes the brief email by thanking her for being so strong and patient, and apologizing that he wasn't there for her, but he'll do his best by raising Nicholas right.

He types his own name, then hits "Send". Whether or not she replies doesn't matter. He's just relieved that he got through what will probably be their last communication on a positive note, even if it is by email instead of by phone. He's not sure if he could be as positive live, anyways, at least not without having to think about it with plenty of pauses.

Gibson's Apartment

There's a pot of spaghetti sauce merrily bubbling on the stove under Gibson's watchful eye when the phone rings. He looks over his shoulder and sees no one, so he calls loudly, "Katie, could you get that?"

The fact that the call is coming in on the landline rather than his cell phone all but predicts that it's a relative calling. His and Katie's friends probably don't even know the number for the apartment.

Katie appears with the cordless phone in her hand thirty seconds later. "It's your dad."

"Thanks," he says, flashing her a grateful smile when she trades him the phone for the wooden spoon he's been using to stir the sauce.

"Hey, what's up?" Gibson asks, walking out of the kitchen as he speaks into the phone.

"Have you heard from Luke yet?" Doggett's voice asks.

He doesn't sound upset, so Gibson tamps down worry before it really has a chance to spring into being. "Nah. He doesn't get off work for another couple of hours."

"Your nephew has arrived," Doggett informs him. "Luke is naming him Nicholas."

"After his uncle?"

"I didn't know you knew about Nicky," Doggett says, sounding surprised.

"Oh, sure. Luke must have really loved him."

"He really did. When he told me the name I thought it was a good omen."

"You did?" Gibson asks mildly. The fact that their father thinks that the baby needs good omens in his life speaks volumes, and Gibson doesn't even need to be in the room with him to know what he's thinking.

"Yeah. Your brother is going to be hoeing a hard row, he just doesn't know it yet."

"I think he knows it," Gibson says, automatically defending Luke.

"Do you?" Doggett's tone is now sardonic. "Then maybe you don't know how hard it's going to be, either."

"What do you want from me, Dad?" Gibson asks with a sigh. It's obvious that Doggett is working himself up to making a request.

His father sighed. "I wanted to talk to you about this before Monica and I drive up there. Just… keep an eye on him, would you? And give me a call if you think something's up that I need to know about."

"Okay."

"Good. Who knows, maybe this kid will grow up to idolize you like Luke did Nicky."

The thought of being Uncle Gib brings a smile to the young man's face, but it immediately fades. Being a dad is a much bigger job, but being a favorite uncle sounds like a big responsibility too. On the other hand, it's not like he's got much completion for uncle-as-role model: Jon-Jon is tiny and Adrianna's little brother Drew is still a young kid too.

"See you in a few days," Doggett tells him.

"See you then."

By the time Gibson hangs up, Katie has turned off the burner on the stove under the pot of spaghetti sauce. She's in the middle of cutting French bread when she looks up at him. "Everything okay?"

"Congratulate me, I'm an uncle."

"So, did it turn out to be a boy?" Katie asks. The last time she'd been around Luke, Gibson's brother had been fretting out loud about not having been allowed to go to any of the ultrasound appointments after he and Adrianna broke up, and he'd been fixated on Adrianna having told him the tech said "I think it's a boy."

"Yes. Luke is naming him Nicholas."

"Aww, I like that," Katie comments, but then she gives him a concerned look. "What's wrong?"

He shrugs. "I don't like feeling like I'm the only one who thinks that Luke can handle this," he admits. Gibson looks over at her, hoping for a word of agreement, but his girlfriend just shrugs. "You too?" he groans.

"Don't get me wrong, I like Luke," Katie protests. Her glasses slide down her nose and she pushes them back without ever seeming aware of it. He remembers that they both talked about maybe trying contacts this year, but so far neither of them has. He's not entirely sure what her issue is, but he overheard Dana talking to Monica about an autopsy she once did that prominently involved eyes and has been a little weirded out by the thought of touching his own eye ever since. "And I think he'll be a good dad. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"I don't envy him," she admits with another shrug. "I want kids, but not now."

"Me too, and me either," he says, surprising himself a little to say it out loud. At least the me too part; the me neither isn't that odd at twenty-two.

"He's going to be giving up a lot, even if he hasn't been exactly living a glamorous life up until now here at stately Bucky, but still. I hope he finds it all worth it."

"I do too." Gibson looks away. "Not all parents find raising kids worthwhile."

"Oh, hey," Katie says sympathetically. "This is kind of about your parents for you too, huh?" she asks. "The biological ones, I mean."

"I guess. They didn't give me up for adoption, at least not officially, but they didn't fight it when the powers that be came and told them that I was better off playing chess." He sighs. "Sometimes I think they were even relieved."

"Wow."

He goes on. "When I was playing chess I used to fantasize about making them tell me why they just let me get taken away, but then they got murdered. After that I was sure I was just going to be shuffled from one boarding school to another until I graduated. So meeting someone like my dad came as a really welcomed surprise, you know?"

Katie doesn't take the question as a rhetorical one, which is what he'd meant for it to be. "Yeah, I think so. You think you lucked out big time, and you were worried that the baby wouldn't, so that's why you were happy when Luke decided to keep him."

"No. Wait." He stops in confusion. Is that why that out of all of them, except perhaps Monica and Hannah, he's been the most supportive of Luke's move? Once he got over the shock of it, that is. "I don't know," he finally mumbles.

"It will be okay," Katie assures him. "Probably."

Gibson just shakes his head in mild exasperation over it all.

September 29, 2008
Wellington Women's and Children's Hospital

After he approaches the nurses' station, the man standing there gives Doggett an expectant look. Perhaps because he's a bit out of place on that floor.

"Hi, I'm John Doggett, here to pick up my grandson, Nicholas," he says, almost reaching for his FBI badge. Seriously, how often has he ID himself with a badge? Way too many times, if his instinct is any indication.

"Do you have any identification with you?" the receptionist asks, and he is this close to actually pulling out his badge. Instead, he opens his wallet and retrieved his driver's license. The man behind the desk nods, and hands over a clipboard and pen. "We'll need you to fill this out this form, and return this when you're done," he says. Doggett nods and does so. "Please have a seat, and we'll be with you soon."

After he sits down, Doggett wonders absently if they train all receptionists with those phrases, because he's heard them from military installations in the Middle East to small offices in the Midwest. He also makes a note never to bring it up with Mulder, because the other man would definitely have some nutty theory about it, even if it would be funny.

As he waits, he notices he's one of the few men there, and the only one over thirty. Good God, he sighs to himself, this time I'm not here for myself, but it wasn't that long ago that I was. Damn. But he decided to take the optimist view of things, especially after the sports magazine he picks up is actually recent, and figures he's doing pretty good for a guy his age. Doing pretty good even if he had to pull out his reading glasses to read the damn article on Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

"Mr. Doggett?" a voice interrupts his reading, and he looks up. A heavyset nurse stands in front of him. "Come this way."

Thank God, he thinks, putting away his glasses and following after her. Even though he knows he was one of the later folks to enter the waiting room, a bit of paranoia that he is one of the last to be helped still niggles at him. When they come to a room full of babies, some of whom are wrapped in blue blankets, he grins. "Which one is my grandson?" he asks.

"That one," the nurse, her nametag read Daugherty, points to a baby farther to the left and back. Well, it's a good thing she pointed him out, the nametag on the bassinette is too small to read from the window. "Stay here, I'll get him."

He nods, and watches as she walks in, checking in on the other infants as she crosses the room, and finally picks up his tiny grandbaby. On her way out, she also picks up another clipboard. "Fill this out, please."

Seriously? He gapes at her, but she merely holds out the clipboard implacably. "Fine, okay," he says, grabbing it and trying to write as legibly as possible without tearing a hole through the paper in his haste. "Okay, now can I have my grandson, or do I have to give ten quarts of blood first?"

The nurse snorts. "Here you go," she says, as if she'd heard his complaint before, while holding the baby out to him. Maybe she has.

In his arms the baby is heavier than he looks, and his face is still wrinkled in that confused way most newborns have. He's always felt a little bad for them at that stage because life in full color and stereo has to be a big adjustment. At least Nicholas doesn't immediately burst into tears – Jon-Jon had the very first time Becca held him and she'd soon followed him down the same watery path.

"Good luck." The nurse's sympathetic look suggests that she thinks that his family has taken on a big job without the baby boy's mother in the picture. He agrees with her.

He nods, forcing himself to walk like a normal human being and not shove his beautiful grandbaby in everyone's faces and yell, "Look! Look at him, isn't he great? This is my grandson!" He'll have to save his bragging for his unfortunate family later.