CHAPTER FOUR B

Mulder knocked gently on the steel door, his sweaty knuckles scratching against the rough texture of the metal. He swallowed hard when a nurse, clad in green scrubs, opened.

"Can I see my baby?" he half- whispered, not sure where his voice went. The man before him tilted his head to one side, indicating that he didn't hear Mulder's request.

"I said," the young man made his voice more audible, louder. "Can I see my baby?"

The nurse raised a finger to his face, a silent way of saying that he needed to check first. Mulder was growing impatient. He had his scrubs on during the first hour of Diana's labor, his mask during the third hour, and haphazardly squeezed into full gear when he had heard the baby crying inside the operating room. He was more than ready to barge into the damn room and grab his baby before anyone else did. He wanted to see his son or daughter soon!

If they won't let him see his own baby any time soon, he had a loaded gun in his car's trunk. He'll pay for the extra medical services it would cost afterwards.

When the nurse's face returned, light wrinkles were marred on the sides of his brown eyes. He was smiling. It was a yes! He could go and see his son or daughter now!

Mulder tucked his mask, covering his mouth and nose completely. At least it hid his constant licking of his lips. He was fucking nervous.

The same nurse guided him through the room. He was maneuvered directly to a separate room, where he stole a forlorn glance at his wife as she still being treated by the doctors. They surrounded her like green angels, some wiping her sweat, some soaking the blood-smeared utensils into sterilized water. Mulder felt faint at the sight. They assured him few hours ago that Diana was fine, but they had to do an emergency C-section because the baby's head was too large to exit through the vagina. She would be out cold for a few more hours. The baby, in the meantime, was already out and kicking.

Another nurse, a woman this time, was cooing to a crying infant in her arms. The baby was wrapped in soft pink blankets. Mulder's heart leap to his throat. His baby was a girl. He got a girl. He has a girl. Damn. There went his verb tenses.

The chubby nurse removed the dangling mask from her face, revealing her flamboyant rosy cheeks. "Here's your girl, Mr. Mulder."

Guy nurse patted him squarely on the back. "Congratulations. She's beautiful."

Mulder held his arms out, hoping that they would not give out when he would get to hold his daughter. His whole body felt like jell- o. Maybe holding the baby was not such a good idea right now.

Chubby nurse seemed to read his mind. She smiled at him, reminding him of his Mother's comfort grins - he got them when he screwed up in school. "It's okay. You won't drop her." She outstretched her arms towards him and he could see the moving arms of the infant.

He would not drop her.

Mulder opened his own arms and the nurse placed the baby into them. A surge of pride tore through the edges of Mulder's body as he felt the warm soft living thing with his own flesh. This baby was from him. He was part of this baby. Christ, he would forever be making babies with Diana. This was what he wanted. Babies. Children.

He pushed away the pink fabric from the face of the newborn. He was excited to see who she resembled the most. Mulder crossed imaginary fingers in his mind. He hoped it was him.

"Wake up!" Those words came from somewhere. Mulder snapped his head up, eyes wide, searching for whoever said that. The chubby woman nurse was gazing at his child fondly. The guy nurse was urging him to go on and look at the baby.

Mulder ignored what he heard and continued on. He removed the soft linen from the baby's face.

"Wake up, Mulder!"

THAT came from the baby.

The baby stared back at him with piercing blue eyes, full red lips, and white satin face. Tendrils of crimped red hair also peered at him through the cloth. Mulder really felt faint this time. He tried to return the baby back to the nurse, but everyone around him was gone. He fearfully returned his eyes to the child. This was crazy. This had to be a nightmare. It had to be.

"I said, WAKE UP, Mulder!" The baby clearly said, right before his eyes. This wasn't his daughter - it was...

"Scully?!" he choked out. The baby nodded.

"Of course it's me!"

Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The chubby woman nurse chose that exact moment to reappear, saying with syrupy- sweet voice: "Is that what you want to name your baby?"

Mulder shook his head disdainfully. "NO!"

The nurse chuckled. "Okay. Scully it is."

His mouth dropped open. "NO-oooooooooooo!"

"Stop that!" Scully's curt voice snapped. That was the time when Mulder's eyes finally complied with the reflex signals his brain was sending him. He stared, partially unfocused, at the blur of auburn leaves and wooden white bark before him.

"If you had told me that you didn't want to wake up, then I wouldn't have told you to do so," she whispered soothingly. Mulder reached up to touch her - to bring her face close to him so that he couuld focus, but she stopped him with a slap on his bicep.

"Just because I'm officially taking care of you, it doesn't mean that you could go and touch me anytime." Scully brought a hand to his forehead. That gesture made him relax. "You were wailing like a mental patient, for God's sake. The next time you get a nightmare, wake up before you start alarming all the tourists around us."

Mulder tried to move his hand again, and was successful in bringing it up to cup Scully's cheek. However, she pressed it back down on the sheets with her free arm.

"Stop that, I tell you!" she scolded, sharply. "If you don't stop touching me, I promise you Mulder that I'll cut your head open for the second time!"

He widened his eyes, another effort to focus on his surroundings. "What? What cut my head open?"

Scully disappeared from his view and then returned with a wet rag. She positioned the lukewarm towel over his forehead. The feeling was heavenly against his pounding head - something he noticed just the exact moment Scully pressed the rag on him. He could not decipher where the pain came from - from his scotch-related headache, or from the "cut my head open" thing that Scully was talking about.

She ignored his answer while she fixed the wet towel over his forehead. "How does that feel?"

"Great... Excuse me, but what happened to me?"

Spunk was not satisfied with the arrangement of the fabric over his forehead, so she rearranged it again.

"Apparently, when Monica and I went out for our own Vegas excursion," she articulated the Spanish word with careful grace, as if she was afraid that her British accent might ruin the feel of the language. Mulder found the end result ... of a British woman speaking a Spanish word quite fascinating through his dazed self. Cute, even. "... You were already filling yourself to the brink with chilled scotch-"

"And light beer," he supplied, trying to help hurry the narration. Scully smiled a bit, as she tried once again to rearrange the cloth on his forehead. A trickle of water traced onto his eyebrow and he gingerly removed her hand away from his face, silently trying to tell her to stop perfecting the folds of the rag. She did, resting her hands instead on her lap, still gazing at his forehead.

"Yes. When we arrived here in Four Queens, you were already being treated by the local doctor for a slight concussion."

"Concussion?" Mulder repeated. Really? Was that the extreme pain he felt before he blocked out? From what?

As if reading his mind, Scully continued: "From the glass of chilled scotch, Mr. Airhead, that Mr. Doggett lost grip on when you attacked him."

Mulder tried to stand up, but her strong hand was on his bare chest, pushing him back down on his bed. "Wait - what about John? Is he okay?"

She bobbed her head up and down eagerly. "Yes. Save for trauma from accidentally hitting his best friend with scotch, he's okay. They're right across us, waiting for your recovery. I should call them." With that, Scully bounced of the bed, forgetting about his condition. The waves of the mattress caused his head to scrape against the headboard. Another howl rose from his throat.

Scully ran at once towards his side. "Oh Fuck, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" She repeated over and over again, trying to guide Mulder's sore head back onto the pillows.

Mulder chuckled, despite the fact that something was jack hammering his head into bits and pieces. "That must be the first time you told me you're sorry," he remarked

hoarsely, pushing some of the luck that he had lost in the slot machines. It was worth mentioning, even if all he got was an icy glare from the lady.

"It may be the last time, so revel in it." She patted him his cheek to punctuate her words, but all it brought Mulder was more sarcastic happiness. Through the denseness of his view, he could see that he was already tiring this woman. And the ridiculous idea gave him a ridiculous sense of pride. Even if her energy was partly zapped out from tending to him the whole day. He and his undeniable wit would take all the credit, thank you.

Mulder could not help the smirk in his voice, "How long has it been?"

Scully sighed deeply. "1 AM, Mulder. Exactly 4 hours since the doctor sewed your head up."

"What?!" Mulder galloped. "He what my head up?"

A wicked grin found her red lips. "Not really sewed, more like stitched."

She had to be lying. She must be lying. He could not be stitched up and be lying in a hotel room. If that was the real case - he should be in a hospital bed!

A strange laughter pierced his ears. It sounded like a broken record that only featured "Ha"- that sound was Scully's laugh. Her whole laughter was a string of "ha's" that came out of her voice box without stop, in pure excellent succession. It was a weird laughter, so direct, almost too mature for someone her age. It was comparable to hearing someone laugh for the first time in her whole life. However strange, it was beautiful, to hear someone as uptight and curt as Scully amused.

He should be insulted, really, because she was laughing at his frightened expression. But he was not.

"I'm kidding, Mulder. The glass only broke through your skin. It's not serious, as I've mentioned. The pain you are feeling right now probably comes from the hangover you are experiencing. You are penwan, Mulder, crazy," she said through guffaws. Mulder rolled his eyes.

"Fine. So you think that's funny. I'm not complaining." He crossed his arms, then uncrossed it when he realized that he was half- naked. Eyeing Scully suspiciously, he peered under the velvet sheets of the bed. To his dismay, he found out that he was wearing the green- red boxers.

He pulled the sheets up to his abdomen at once. Scully had stopped laughing by that time. She was staring at him like a fox would at a rabbit.

Wait, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?

"If you're thinking, Mulder, that I undressed you," she nuzzled her own hand, briefly closing her eyes before she continued, "you are not that lucky. John tossed those boxers in. I suggested it, though."

If he stabbed this woman right here, right now, would anyone find out? He could pass it off as suicide. He would throw her out of the window after cutting her wrists, and say that it was a case of sad suicide. Fantastic.

But his throbbing headache left him with only one choice: stay in bed and face Scully.

Her bad girl expression shifted slightly to concerned girl. She signaled towards the bed side table. "There are cheese dogs for both of us. I bought some while shopping. Do you want to grab a bite? You haven't eaten lunch or dinner."

Mulder agreed. Her reminder of food made his stomach beat against his flesh like a whacko.

She handed him a plastic bag, and he opened it appreciatively, breathing in the aroma of cold hot dogs. It would do him enough for tonight. Maybe part of the reason for his headache is hunger. He took a big bite of the damn thing before he could even think.

Scully also had her own cheese dog, and she opened the plastic carefully, scrutinizing the food before taking a small bite. She acted prim and proper when she was not ravenous, Mulder noted to himself.

That was when he noticed the dramatic change of her wardrobe ensemble. Her hair was pinned away from her face with a stony barrette that had some rhinestones dangling from them. The blue stone of the pin matched the small sky blue trimmings of her lacy cropped top and the slight blueness of the bra she wore inside it. Underneath all the lace, as far as his view could capture, were perfectly toned muscles. Scully was not incredibly skinny, as most dancers were, but she had enough flesh where there should be. She had breasts, she had an acceptable butt, and small but nicely carved legs. Hell, she could post for Playboy if she really wanted some fame. And those legs were peeking at him from the super- short mini denim skirt she was sporting. She did not appear like a crumpled up teenager anymore. She looked like a proper lady. Monica did a great job. He should drop the pregnant woman a "muchas gracias" tomorrow.

"You look awesome," Mulder complemented and Scully hid the growing flush on her face behind her hotdog's tangled plastic.

"Thank you. Monica helped a lot." She bit into the snack once again, staring at it consciously while chewing. Mulder did the same with his hotdog, but directed his attention at her. He did not expect her to say anything more; however, she continued on with their conversation.

"She reminds me of my sister," Scully said through her full mouth. Mulder raised his eyebrow.

"You have a sister?"

"I have a sister, and two older brothers. I am the youngest."

"What about Monica?" Mulder wanted to clear. Monica was far from Scully's appearance, so he did not understand what was so reminiscent of that woman.

Scully stopped chewing for a moment, "My sister was also pregnant when I left Wales. She also speaks a mean Welsh." She chewed once more, swallowing the food at once. "You must understand, that most Welsh are not fluent in our own language. We speak English as our casual language on the streets. Our family is one of the few who was fortunate enough to learn this language."

Mulder felt his throat run dry. He asked Scully for a drink and she handed him a coke-in-can from the dresser. When he had his fill, he urged her to go on.

Scully also had a sip from her diet Sprite before she resumed. "My great grandparents were really from America. They moved to Wales because they were

enchanted by its quaint beauty." When she said that, there was a visible fondness in her eyes. "It is beautiful. I bet you'll fall in love with it when you go there."

"Me?" Mulder grinned. "Nah. I'm a big city man."

Scully snickered. "My great grandma and grandpa were too, until they saw Wales. They felt a unique love for the country, and even if they themselves were immigrants to Wales, they urged their children to study the Welsh language. They said that the language was music to their own ears."

Mulder swallowed his last piece of hotdog, tossing the plastic towards the bedside table. "You seem to love your own country," he could not help pointing out. She was staring at a spot in the wall behind him as if she was seeing Wales right through the hard concrete.

She snapped back to reality, another stream of flush coating her cheeks. "Yes. I do love Wales. Of course I do."

"Then why come to America? You could've been famous there." He never quit while he was ahead. He was practically hauling a red banner that bore those words when he pointed that thought out. He just had to.

Scully did not look as if his statement insulted her … or at least she did not make herself look insulted. She shrugged nonchalantly. "The Cymraeg - the Welsh will always be first in my heart. However, it is not home and it was not difficult to leave it for America. This is the land of opportunity. You must understand that - you have lived here all of your life."

Mulder nodded. "Scully, if you came here to America without your wonderful dancing talents, opportunity wouldn't have come to you."

She dismissed that fact with a hand to her stomach. It gave him the impression that she didn't want to go any further. Unlike him, she knew when to quit when she thought she was ahead. "It's 2 AM, Mulder, you should rest."

Before he could complain, she stood up from the bedside, throwing all of what remained from their midnight snack into the trash can. Mulder watched as she strutted across the room, picking up pieces of papers, straightening out objects, until FINALLY she returned to his bedside. She removed the towel from his forehead, sank it back to the basin near her, and returned it. This time, her perfectionism did not kick in, and she was done with the whole place in no time.

Dimming the bedside light, she asked him if he wanted it turned on or off. He told her to leave it on, in case of emergency. That's a subtle translation of "leave it open, I might get another concussion from struggling to get to the comfort room before I wet your favorite boxers." Scully appraised his wish without qualms, then paused at his bedside.

She positioned a hand lightly on his chest. "If I didn't come here to America, then you wouldn't get your break, Mr. Mulder."

Break? He never, ever mentioned that he wanted a break to her! He never mentioned that to ANYONE, period!

Scully wore a smug grin that reminded him of Langley's own when he first saw her dance back in Lone Glitter. How could she do that to him? Read him like a first grade school book. Was he really that transparent ? Was he all pictures with big, bold capital letters?

"Good night, Mulder." She leaned in so damn close to his ear that he could feel the invisible hairs of his ear move as her breath tickled the insides. For a tense moment,

when she leaned in to whisper, he thought she was going to kiss him. It was an overwrought and bewildering moment. His heart was pounding bongo drums in his ears, until she pulled and walked away from him, towards the adjoining room. She left the door open, in case he needed anything.

Mulder sank back to his pillows, monitoring his own head so that it would not get scraped again. All he could remember, as he was bordering between sleep and consciousness, was a notion that tip- toed across his mind:

This woman will never, ever stop surprising him. Ever.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR B