CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

Room #563
Los Angeles Hospital
June 15, 1985
Saturday

"Mi Amigo!"

Monica's warm greetings met Mulder as he entered her hospital room, carrying on one arm a large basket of stuffed pink animal toys. He removed his Ray-Bans and inserted them in his breast pocket. "Hey mon ami-e! How are you doing?" he returned, striding to the middle of the room.

John was standing beside the hospital bed, holding a bundle of fuzzy pink blankets and flailing little arms. He was cooing gently to his daughter. Monica, surprisingly awake after almost twenty hours of labor, was all smiles and glittery eyes she straightened up on her bed to welcome his presence. Mulder placed the basket of toys near Monica, where she could see it. The large grin on her face told him that his present was very much appreciated.

Leaning over, he kissed the woman on the cheek. "Finally, huh? That little baby's long overdue."

John, who seemed to have snapped momentarily from baby-cloud-nine, took time to notice his best pal. "Lucy finally decided that she's done being shy. Thanks for coming at once, Mulder." John returned to Lucy, who started blindly following John's finger on her cheek. His best pal laughed and kissed his daughter tenderly on the forehead.

"Lucy?" Mulder perked, throwing a dubious glance at Monica. She shrugged.

"I was too tired to argue. You have to admit, it's pretty cute."

"You're mocking me, John." Mulder turned back to John and Lucy. "You're mocking me for naming my own daughter Emily. You just had to go on and name yours Lucy."

Doggett shot eye-daggers at him as he rocked the baby gently in his arms. "Mine's from the TV show."

"Fine. So it IS pretty cute."

Monica giggled, resting a hand on the bulge on her stomach. Despite the obvious fatigue on her face, she was overcoming her exhaustion to be accomodating. Mulder admired that in her.
Despite their sometimes more-than-obvious differences, she was John's pillar of strength. A woman dedicated to her husband and now, new daughter.

That was when Scully entered the room, followed shortly by Walter. The Spunk was still slightly sweating from her practice, but seemed very excited to meet Lucy. Her hair was all tousled, oversized shirt disheveled, and her shoe laces weren't in perfect knots. She spotted him and he left to meet her halfway into the room. She didn't seem up to moving on her own to accost the couple and their newest baby. Her topaz irises were also unsteady. She kept scanning the room over and over again.

Walter went on greeting Monica and John, also taking his turn to gush at the baby. The three adults were laughing when Scully turned to Mulder. She was wiping herself dry with a face towel.

"Have you seen her?"

Mulder shook his head no.

"Will you see her with me?"

He put his hand on the small of her back and led her towards Monica. Before they reached the bedside, he whispered into her ear. "How are you holding up?"
Scully's blue eyes fidgeted for the last time, then relaxed.

"I'm fine. As long as I'm not the patient, I think I'll be fine." Her hands were slightly shaking, though. He could see that she was faking bravado for the situation. It was all for Monica and her new baby - obviously, it meant a lot for the couple to have Spunk there. They had made it clear before that they were very fond of her.

He wanted to hold her hand, lay it on his abdominal muscles, and make her feel the heat of his body to reassure her that he was right beside her; Scully, when unsteady on her the top that she spun uptight for herself, usually needed his physical contact to snap back into her usual "Scully" mode. That would probably explain her endless need of feeling him beside her - nightmare or no nightmare.

He was not going to file any complaint about that fact anytime soon, but holding her hand right now would probably not do their relationship any better to the other people in the room. Monica and John were already suspicious, despite his truthful denial. Walter, well, Walter was Walter. He would only act if the situation arose, then would start pounding him until there was nothing to pound anymore.

Scully bent over, somewhat similar to what he had done minutes ago, to kiss Monica on the cheek. They began to speak in hushed Welsh. At one point, they began to laugh while Scully pointed down at Monica's stomach. Her eyes sparkled as she placed a palm on her friend's stomach, gently pressing as if in wonder. She was in complete wonder on how such a miracle would come about, no matter how much science captivated her; pregnancy and birth are still miracles that have continually been defined and redefined by most religions.
Or, she was missing her sister again.

"Do you want to see Lucy?" Monica asked, this time in English, meaning that he was included in the offer. Scully glanced at him behind her, and he smiled.

She eased her way out of the Monica's bedside, stepping up near Mulder to follow him towards John. The new father, his face still beaming with unaccountable pride, offered Lucy to Scully.

She giggled nervously, "I haven't done this before."

John shrugged. "It's maternal instinct, Dana. Women all know how to handle babies."

"And handle men, too," Walter side-tracked, leaning against the wall by John, an amused smirk on his face. Hearing this, John also smirked.

Mulder tried hard not to take offense. It was a private joke on the men's part, noting how Scully has somewhat "tamed" the drinking/partying animal in Mulder, without even trying at all. He argued that it was more so because of his dedication to directing the movie, but they just shushed him with another subject. It was a topic they think they had covered.

Scully nervously held her arms out, and John placed Lucy in them. The baby molded into her chest, reveling in her flushed warmth. She held the baby close to her, dipping her head low and marveling silently at the little girl's beauty. Mulder drew close, peering at the new human being over her shoulder.

The baby had John's eyes, definitely, but Monica's hair and softer features. She'd be a beautiful lady someday, with pink lips and tanned skin – probably speaking Spanish and turning heads until John's own spun in anger.

"My ... she's so pretty," Scully whispered, gazing up to meet Mulder's eyes. He thought she was tearing up, but she turned head back before he could contemplate on it.

"She's like you, mi dama roja," Monica said, as John sat on the corner of the bed, taking his wife's hand in his. "Just as I have wanted."

Scully blushed, cradling the baby closer to her.

"Eich ycread o cwmwl, Lucy." Her words were so soft that Mulder was the only one who heard it. The other three people were now excitedly talking about something he didn't want to delve into.

Mulder moved closer to her, resting his chin on her shoulder. His breath on her neck almost made the young woman jump, but she relaxed when he casually placed a hand on her hip, feeling tension there for no reason at all.

Making sure that he wasn't imagining what her feelings were, Mulder caught her face in his two fingers and turned it slightly towards him so he could see her eyes, so he could read her eyes. Thank God their backs were turned from the others and they were too busy throwing jokes around that they didn't notice the how close Mulder suddenly was to Scully.

Her eyes were shaky, cloudy, with large dollops of tears forming at the corners. For a moment, he desperately wanted to kiss the tears away; however, that wouldn't do any good. When he offered his care openly, Scully would always melt like quicksand into his arms, Spunk unclasping and Scully-girl launching. He didn't want her to melt right in front of their friends.
Then, he knew that his hand on her hip, a small smile from him, or any other touch he willingly gifted her with seemed to strengthen her. It was complicated, what they had, that was what it was.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he gently probed, curling his fingers around her waist. Scully cooed to the baby, not answering him.

After a heartbeat, she did answer him: "I'm fine, Mulder."

Only, it wasn't much of an answer.

That's Scully officially turning to Spunk-mode.

He stepped back, just in time, as the others launched their searing attention at Scully. She returned the baby to John's arms reluctantly, pressing a soft kiss on Lucy's forehead. Pulling back, she blinked several times.

He was laughing aloud, kicking around his bare feet against the damp green grass, clutching his stomach to stop the laughter. Tears started to stream down his cheeks, and the funniest thing about it was he couldn't even remember the damn joke.

Lifting his head from the shards of grass, he saw Scully hovering over him. Her eyes were brimming with ecstatic happiness; chin length hair swaying around her face, and lips puckered post- giggling. Her beauty was in its rawest form, for she was without her usual face powder and he could clearly see the freckles on her cheeks, and it was enough to send Mulder away. Far away to a place where he could stay forever, a place where he could be left in peace, a place where he could just look at her.

"You are so beautiful," he said aloud. Reaching out to touch her cheek, his other hand went down to cup her spine, drawing her closer to him.

"Oh, you do not know beautiful." Her voice was still full of mirth, of unmarred giddiness that was unfamiliar to her, or him. This was a different woman, a different Scully. She was so pure, like an angel. His eyes hurt to look at her, at her purest form. God, what was happening? He couldn't be home - this couldn't be Scully, Spunk, the woman so full of ...

"You think too much, Mulder." Scully closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss on his forehead. This took Mulder by surprise; she had never attempted to kiss him on any living, breathing part of his body. He had kissed her many, many times - but other than occasional hugs, she had never kissed him at all.

Christ.

Mulder's mind raced against the clock.

Why are you doing this to me?

"And why can't I do this with you?" An eyebrow arched, as her hand found the hollow of her clavicle, where her golden cross was settling. Mulder didn't know what to say. It was as if Scully could read his mind - every word, every thought, every image. He didn't know whether he should be scared or amazed.

She bent over once again and rested her head on Mulder's heart, listening intently to the reckoning beats. Inhaling deeply, she caressed the skin under his nape.

Mulder couldn't resist her ... not when she was like this to him, not when it felt as good as heaven.

"Do you know me at all, Mulder?"

He wanted to laugh again, to remember the damn joke that made him laugh like crazy in the first place and laugh like death until the tears stung his eyes. Anything at all … anything to stop himself from answering her question.

Scully's hand lingered on his lips, taking him once again in surprise. She pressed lightly on his mouth, feeling each curve and slope. Mulder closed his eyes, not really wanting to dwell on how she was making him feel.

"You don't," she answered for him, slowly reiterating the words as if she was reading them directly from his mind. "You give me everything and you don't know me at all."

"You don't let me know you," he said back, gently pushing away her hand from his face and resting it on his chest.

"Do you want to know me? To know if I am as beautiful as you think I am?" Her tone of innocence played in Mulder's mind like little gremlins, scaring the shit out of him. How could she say that? Scully was beautiful, and that was speaking small of it.

She giggled, a sound so pleasing to his ears that he craved more of it at once. "I appreciate your admiration, Mulder. I really do."

"Then tell me how could I know you." He picked himself up, ushering her with him as he sat up. Her eyes were wide and mysterious, vast depths of topaz oceans as he pulled her onto his lap. An arm went around his neck, and he nuzzled the flesh underneath her ear, whisking into his lungs that wonderful Scully-scent.

"Tell me how I could ... I want to, Scully. Let me."

She kissed his cheek, probably the only part she could reach in their current position. The wet of her upper lip met his earlobe, almost making him jump yet again. "You already are trying."

"How am I trying? Tell me something, tell me something that'll make sense, please." Mulder pressed himself tighter against her warm body, finding there the real heaven, the real salvation.

How could she feel this good? Was it even legal to feel this good with a woman twice his age? Shit. He needed a sign. Give him a sign and he'd know when to stop. He'd stop and he'd leave her alone, just give him a fucking sign to stop and he would. Because if this started, he wouldn't be able to stop it.

No, he couldn't and wouldn't.

If it was any indication, Scully's soft breasts brushed his chest, taking most of his oxygen supply, and will to not get into a hard-on. That wasn't really much of his choice, actually, but he could try. And she was sitting on his lap. God, he was going to try against trying.

"There's nothing to be said." Scully lifted her hand up once again and pressed it on his heart. For a moment, he was so struck by her suggestion that he could only hear his own heart beat in his ear, as if her hand had transmitted the sound suddenly to his brain.

A single word tore through Mulder's mind.

No.

"We both stood yesterday, on separate stages. There's no one stopping us from dancing together today," she whispered, her mouth dangerously close to his. "You are getting to know me, little by little, you're almost there."

"No, Scully... not you. I can't ... I can't..." Mulder stuttered, drifting away from her tempting mouth and burying himself in her neck. He couldn't do this. Not her, of all people. He couldn't.

"You do not know beautiful. I want you to know beautiful. You are beautiful to me."

"No, please... don't... do this to me..."

"I'm -"

"No, Scully, DON'T," he pushed, almost spitting the words out. He lifted his head from her neck, and gasped.

His arms were empty. She was gone. Just like that. She was gone without a trace; he could only smell her lingering scent and the fading taste of her fingertips on his lips.

Gone.

Screams awakened him, and despite being groggy, his mind made him jump out of his bed and run out the confines of his room.

Once outside, he began to snap into reality. Mulder's ears strained for the muffled painful shouts, and he immediately recognized it. He had been hearing it for two months now, and he could recognize that sound of desperation a hundred miles away from her.

Scully.

Mulder ran down the stairs, almost tripping on his feet as he struggled against the dark. He narrowly missed the priceless Incan vase on his table top when he was pierced by another pained scream from the guest room. It sounded too painful this time. He was frightened, his heart beating what felt like three times a second, and he was dead scared this time for it hadn't been this loud before.

Finally, he reached her room, pushed the door aside, and burst in.

Scully was squirming on her bed, clutching the covers around her painfully. Sweat soaked her from head to toe. Her face was also pale -and as he stood there, taking it all in - he noticed a deceptive trickle of blood. Not from her nose this time, but from her lips. She has been biting into them too hard.

Taking action, Mulder ran to her side, collapsing on his knees. He held her by the shoulders and started shaking her, to rip her out of her nightmare. He honestly didn't know what to do first - wake her up, wipe the blood from her chin, or call 911. This was getting too serious for him to fucking handle.

"Scully!" he shouted, shaking harder when she wasn't responding. "Scully! Wake up! Scully please wake up!" his voice shamelessly begged, seeing that his rattling wasn't doing anything better. She kept thrashing from side to side, within his grasp, in extreme and terrible pain.

Great God, Mulder's confused brain thought, what's happening to her?

He shook her again, this time so hard that her head bounced up and down on the wet pillows, and it snapped her from her dream.

Scully gasped, as if she was unhooked from a respirator. Her eyes scanned the rest of her room with outright fear, finally settling on his form. A moment passed, with terror reigning in her as she studied his outline. Mulder almost panicked, finding no amount of recognition in her.

She didn't seem to know it was him.

"Mul - der?" It was a shaky indication, but enough for him to be assured. He nodded slowly, as if communicating with a one-year old who was learning vocabulary for the first time. Reaching out to wipe a trace of sweat from her chin, he couldn't help shivering. Unabashed dread was seizing his heart.

"Yes, it's me, Scully... you're safe. You're here and you're safe," he conveyed, saying the words as slowly as possible, still unsure whether she could comprehend or not.

"No. mo 'n ddihangol!" she screamed at him. Mulder shook his head this time, taking her head between his hands gently, silent pleading for her to look at him.

"I don't understand you, Scully -"

"Chyfnertha'm, blesio, e s yn cerdded at d ata!" Her voice was rising, taking a steep crescendo that frightened the shit out of Mulder. She was speaking in Welsh - uncomprehending, mundane, demented Welsh.

Unconsciously, he swiped a trickle of blood from her chin.

Mulder racked his brain for some Welsh words that he had learned from her over the past weeks as Scully rambled on and on in sticky syllables, and from the best of his knowledge, he could make out repeating paragraphs.

He had to try, had to try to make her understand him.

Firmly planting her head between his palms, this time, he forced her to stare into his eyes. "No..." he uttered, trying to remember the next word.

Speak was siarad, Mulder's brain shrieked at him.

"Siared..." It was inadequate Welsh, but Scully simmered down, in a weird sense understanding him, finally. Encouraged, he continued, feeling for scattered Welsh phrases in the same dark that surrounded them.

And the last word- Welsh was Cymraeg. "No siared Simraegg," Mulder finished.

She stared back at him as if he had pronounced alien language right out of freaking outer space. Mulder licked his lips, swallowing his emotions that bubbled too close to the surface. "I don't speak Welsh, Scully - Dana, I don't."

She licked her own bloody lips, holding their gazes together in a magnetic pull. "Cadw fi diogel?" A question, goddammitt - Mulder exhaled steadily, keeping himself calm. He had to pry her out of her subconscious mumblings of Welsh to know what was going on, to kno -

"Keep me safe, Mulder?"

Hearing her speaking the English language made Mulder cry out in joy, and as an answer to that, he shoved her right into his arms, cradling her closer.

"Yes, that's what I'm here for. I'm going to keep you safe."

That was her ultimate surrender. Without another word, Scully landed right onto his lap, closing in on his neck, pressing her wet forehead under his chin. Mulder gathered her close, slipping one hand under her knees and the other secured around her waist.

"I'm going to bring you upstairs, to my room, Scully. I'll sleep on the couch -"

"No, don't. Keep me safe, please."

There was no sense in arguing this. He very well knew that it meant Scully would be sleeping with him on his bed. That simple course of action, somehow, made her feel safe - from whatever she wanted to be safe from.

Mulder would nurture that need. There was no sense in arguing about that this evening.

He began to whisper some instructions into Scully's ear as he prepared himself to stand up with her weight - telling her as gingerly as possible to wipe her wounded mouth on his shirt, and with that, he stood up. Her added weight, no matter how light she was, still made him stand wobbly and uncertain, but Mulder quickly adjusted. Before the next minute struck, Mulder was carrying Scully up the stairs, mindful of each step in the dark, holding her firmly in his grasp.

"Scully, listen to me, you've soaked your clothes, so I - you have to take 'em off or else you'll get sick. I'll give you one of my t- shirts and -"

Spunk, on his king-sized bed, was now gently collapsing into unconsciousness. Her eyelids fluttered with each word he was saying, her tongue again caressing her broken lip. Mulder tried to somehow wake her up to get her to change clothes, but Scully was fast loosening her grip on reality, and soon she was snoring softly on his blankets.

Studying the situation at hand, there was no other choice but for him to change her clothes himself. With that knowledge, he reminded himself that he had to act like a professional would. This was Scully, for crying out loud. He wasn't supposed to be attracted to her at all.
He didn't give himself time to ponder on that and busied himself by grabbing one of his oversized t-shirts inside the drawers.

He didn't turn on the lights; scared enough that Scully might react violently towards the brightness. Admitting it to himself secretly, he didn't want to see the exact amount of blood she had on her pajama top - or on his own white shirt. He'd have to change attire too before climbing in the bed.

With her.

Mulder bit his lip, not as forceful as Scully did with hers, but enough to stop his overactive brain from neurosis. Goddamn shit, he would go fucking crazy if he thought about this night.

Placing the t-shirt on the foot of the bed, he let himself relax first before turning Scully towards him. His fingers were noticeably shaking as he began to unbutton her pajama top.

When he reached the middle button – atop her stomach - he was surprised to find no underwear covering her breasts.

Blood rushed to Mulder's northern and southern poles at the same time. This couldn't be happening.

She didn't wear a bra. Of all the nights she wouldn't wear a bra - she didn't wear one tonight. Of all the nights...

There went his bullshit grammar.

Willing himself to close his eyes, he proceeded with the task through half-mast eyelids. Still, that was enough for him to see the hard pink nipples that were pushing through the fabric of the thin pajamas. They were porcelain, rounded skin held by coral-tipped womanly bosoms...
Mulder braced himself as gravity slid one part of the fabric downwards, giving him the biggest peek of all - her bare breast right in front of him.

Shit.

His mind raced, stretching out from its nap and slyly grinning at him.

She was twenty and he was pushing forty and he was feeling all the blood in the damn fucking groin and he had to stop this damn thing that he was doing because she was too damn beautiful...

Scully's eyes flew open, and like an awakened feral animal, she scampered away from him and towards the headboard. Fear coated her every movement as she attempted to button her pajama top - with small success.

Surprised by this and sensing the emanating terror within her, he sat down on his bed, keeping distance from her.

"Scully, it's me, Mulder. I'm undressing you because you were out cold. If I didn't change your clothes, you'll have a fever. The air conditioning ..."

"Peidio!" she screamed, huddling into the corner even more, reducing herself to an impossibly small shivering ball.

Mulder stole a moment to steady himself. Welsh, she was going to Welsh again. How could he understand her like this?

It became an unbearable dance of dim helplessness. He pleaded repeatedly for her understand while she spurted curt words at him - as if he was another person that she greatly feared and hated at the same time.

"No, I can't speak Welsh - siared..."

"Atal!"

"Scully, Dana, listen to me! I can't speak Welsh! It's me, Fox Mulder!"

"Aros!"

"Snap out of it! You're safe here! I'm not going to hurt you!"

"...Os gwelwch yn dda! Mother ewyllys cosbi chi!"

"No ... no ... I'm not going to hurt you! Are you looking for your Mother? She's not here - I don't know where..."

She abruptly held her small cross necklace with her shaking fingers, eyes wide and teary. He didn't notice that she was wearing it until that moment.

"Chi eisiau hwn?" More frantic motions on the cross, this time almost pulling it from her neck. Alarmed that she could hurt herself, Mulder kneeled on all fours, crawling inch by inch towards her.

He stopped when she closed her eyes and ripped the cross from her neck, the golden chain leaving red scratches on her white skin.

She held it out to him, dropping it on the mattress between them. The broken chain landed near his knees, but he didn't make any motion of retrieving it.

"Gadael!" Another rough word, making Mulder tilt his head back to her face, another shock waiting for him.

It wasn't enough for her mouth to bleed - something else just had to go wrong.

Her nose was bleeding now.

"Christ, Scully, you're bleeding ... your nose ..."

Those words had the desired effect, and with wonder, Scully touched the skin under her patrician nose. Blood colored her fingertips and she lifted her finger to watch the crimson substance gleam in the moonlight.

Mulder remained still, almost forgetting how to breathe. He allowed her to take her time, to get rid of her delusions. He didn't need a PhD in languages to understand through her demeanor that she was in another time, another space - far away from him.
He thanked the heavens when a sense of sanity and recognition filled Scully's eyes as she stared back at him. Tears were mingling with those emotions, but she was fine now. Shaky, teary-eyed, bleeding ... but fine.

"Oh, Mulder ... I'm sorry ..."

He crawled forward to take her back into his arms for the second time that night. He cradled her between his crossed legs, and she fit perfectly, clinging onto him as if he was life and death.

Whispering soothing words, Mulder tilted her head upwards to stop her bleeding. "Don't talk, it's all fine. Relax, relax."

She did as he asked, until the bleeding stopped. When that was taken care of, Mulder surveyed the enormous amounts of splattered blood on her shirt and his. That reality made Mulder nauseous. Maybe he'd ask a doctor tomorrow to come and check on Scully. Someone had to tend to the scratches on her neck and the wound on her lip.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm so sorry."

He kissed the top of her head, the closest part to his lips. "It's okay, Scully. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No... I- I'm sorry."

"Shush, stop saying sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Everything's wrong here." She laughed sadly, almost hauntingly to his ears. She gestured towards her haphazardly buttoned pajama top, to the bloodstains on it, to those on his shirt, on the rumpled sheets, and with a sob, to the broken cross necklace near her feet.

Mulder picked it up for her, holding it in his hand towards her face.

"I'll get it fixed for you tomorrow; first thing on my list in the morning, okay? I want you to rest tonight - get a clear head. I'll call in sick for both of us tomorrow and we'll blame that on Jenny."

Despite everything that had happened, Scully managed to laugh - a genuine string of "ha." Mulder kissed her for the last time on the head, before asking her to change clothes and to put some antiseptics on her neck's red cuts. He needed to change himself and the cross had to be placed in a safe box for tomorrow.

When everything was more or less 'right' for them, Scully slipped under the covers, leaving space for him. He hesitated at first, but she pulled him to the bed with one of her death grips and he had no choice but to sink in.

Scully settled herself in his arms, front to front, one rather undermining position. Her head found a spot on his chest, her legs twining with his. Mulder watched her fit her small body on his larger one with fascination, and that fascination did him in. Within minutes, his breathing slowed down and he entered a limbo that his Scully dream version personally set up for him.

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN