Title- Vignettes in Repose

Author- Rubine Goslay

Rating- R for occasional naughty language

Category- DSF, DSR

Spoilers- For all of season eight

Summary- A complete rewrite of all episodes of season eight as shown through the points 
of view of the characters. POV shifts sometimes, but I will notify you as to avoid 
confusion.

Disclaimer- The only thing I own is my passion for DSR.




I. Within/Without

Scully POV


I don't know him.

He entered my life as an unknown, unwelcome entity, another mysterious half-friend, 
half-enemy whose origins and motives are undeclared.

Another pawn on the already overcrowded quagmire of a chess game my existence has 
become.

I don't trust him.  The first time we spoke he attempted to deceive me, and I met his 
affront with a cup of water to the face.

He followed Skinner and me out to the desert.  I knew there was no way this agent, who 
knew nothing of the X-Files, or of Mulder or his quest could be of any assistance.  
Despite his seemingly honest intentions, I knew he could only be a hindrance to finding 
him.  He would choke our search with red tape and bullshit reports.  I did everything I 
could to deflect him, but he was a force unto himself, surprisingly as dedicated to 
weeding out the truth as to finding Mulder.

I didn't have time to play fill-in-the blanks.  I was irritable, unwilling to waste time 
schooling this man on the supernatural while my partner was missing, possibly in severe 
danger.

I was right in thinking he would interfere, and he led the alien bounty hunter straight to 
Gibson Praise.  I struggled with him, shaped as Skinner, and managed to kill him after he 
forcibly threw me into a wall.  Slumped onto the floor, I watched him disinigrate, and I 
too fell apart.

Mulder's disappearance, my unexplainable pregnancy which might now be lost, every 
fear and sorrow I somehow manage to always keep at bay came washing over me and I 
felt my throat tighten painfully as he came bursting through the door.  I couldn't believe 
that I was losing control right in front of him.

"An agent needs help!"  He exclaimed, weapon drawn, surveying the room.  

He stepped through alien slime to get to me.

And he did get to me. 

These past seven years I've been exploring other worldly phenomenon, I almost forgot 
what it was like for someone to be so...human.

And John Doggett did what any decent, caring human would do when encountering a 
broken person.  He bent down and scooped me up, cradled me.  That show of affection, 
contrasted by how sharply I dismissed him previously, undid me completely, and I 
sobbed in his arms while he looked around, baffled, and bellowed over his shoulder,

"AN AGENT NEEDS HELP!"


Recuperating in a hospital bed, I sigh with relief, I haven't lost my baby.

Resting, I open my eyes at the feeling of paper on my hand and find Agent Doggett 
placing a "Get Well Soon" card there.  This surprises me.  Seven years in and out of 
hospitals, spending time recuperating after answering the never silent call of duty, and 
this is the first card I ever received from someone outside my family.  

I don't know why, but it can't be kindness...it has to reflect some alterior motive.  Maybe 
it's to soften the blow.  
He's my new partner.




II. Patience

Scully POV


I still don't trust him.  I put Mulder's name plate on the desk as a reminder for both of us.  
I repel him constantly while he defends and aids me in every way he can.  It is 
infuriating, but he is earning my trust against my will.  I'm learning that while he might 
not believe in my theories, he believes in me.

After nine hours together on stakeout, I start to get used to his gravelly yet even voice, 
and his spiced earth musk.  I grow accustom to his presence in my life and wonder why I 
fight it so irrationally.  He chuckles softly at an off-hand joke I tell and I find myself 
smiling for what seems like the first time in years, those muscles so atrophied it feels 
stiff, but I could get used to it.
I could get used to him.

At the cabin, the creature we have been seeking descends upon us.  I fire round after 
round into the ceiling.  Doggett stumbles in, bloody and wet, and asks me if I'm alright.  
If I am alright.  He is bleeding and asks me if I'm alright.  Can he truly be that selfless?

He starts to fall and I try to catch him, but his weight is too great and I am merely able to 
guide him to the floor.  It's now my turn to help him.  I take off his shirt with care and 
apply pressure to his wounds, reaching for my cell to call for back-up, my hand never 
leaving his shoulder.

Back at the FBI basement, I can't help but start to compare the two.  Mulder and Doggett.  
Mulder, with his undeniable, unquenchable quest for truth, on which I became ensnared 
in, earning many bumps and scrapes after being dragged down that endless road again 
and again.

I tried to tell him so many times.  But he wouldn't listen.

"Don't you ever want to stop the car, Mulder?  Get out and live a normal life?"

Apparently not.  Not even for me.  Nothing supersedes "The Quest".  Not even...family.  
What could have been our family.  What could still be, but is not right now.

I gingerly place Mulder's name plate in his desk drawer when he walks in.

Doggett.

He's starting to remind me a little of my brother Bill.  The anti-Mulder, the family man.

I promise him a desk.  The one I never had.

It's not right for me to want him here, not right for me to need him.  I feel like a betrayer.  

I need to prove that I don't need him.  A case crops up and I head out to Utah on my own.  
I don't need him.  




III. Roadrunners

Doggett POV


She is as stubborn as a dixie mule and more beautiful than anything I ever seen.

Yeah, I feel a bit hurt that she chose to leave me out of this case.  Maybe she ain't up to 
grooming the newbie, or whatever is goin' through that crazy red head of hers.  Still, I 
been keepin' tabs on her, seein' what she's up too, makin' sure she not in trouble.

I call the local sheriffs office and find out she hasn't shown up.  I feel my pulse clamp 
down in my wrists and jump into action.

Now this, this is the boonies right here.  More rural than I can believe, just a small cluster 
of houses.  I talk to some people.  I know she's here, I can feel it, cop's instincts.  I park 
my car a half mile back and call for back up.  I know I should wait for them but I can't, 
not while I know my partner's in danger.

I creep into the house and sucker-punch her guard.  I fight the feelings of shock at seein' 
her like that, tied, bound, and bleedin'.  I cut her free and move to pick her up, wrappin' 
my arm around her tiny waist, placin' my hand over her stomach.  She puts her hand over 
mine and I start feelin' things I know I ain't got no right to feel.

I carry her to the bus.  Then things start gettin' weird, like they always seem to do when 
she's around.

I start to hot wire the bus but she calls me.  I can't ignore her.  It seems crazy, but she 
starts screamin', demandin' I cut this thing out of her.  I see it crawin' under her skin, and 
she's screamin' like I never heard no one scream.  Like I said, it seems crazy, but so far 
this lady's never been wrong.  She screams my name.  My first name.  Orderin' me.  I 
gotta help her.

It kills me to do this to her, but I cut her open like a fish.  I pull that thing outta her and 
slam it on the bus floor, firing rounds into it while the mob that's been clamorin' outside 
the bus falls silent.

I take my jacket and pull it around her and do what I've been dyin'ta do.  I carry her outta 
there.

I walk towards the approaching cavalry feelin' like a one man army.

Scully's passed out in my arms.  She's so brave, takin' that much pain.  I hate myself for 
cutin' her, even it saved her from that ugly slug.  I can't help but wonder how many 
stitches it'll take to close up the damage I just did.

I stay in Utah a whole week just to make sure she's alright.  And I wanted to be there to 
take her home.  I go to pick her up.

She apologizes for leaving me out of the case.  I'm hard on her, feelin' upset that my 
partner had to spend another week in the hospital because she wouldn't let me help her, 
wouldn't let me do my job and be her partner.  

I tell her she screwed up.  It's not the first time I admonished her, but it is the first time 
she backed down, I could see it in her eyes.  She yeilded, just a little bit, because she 
knew I was right.  For the first time, she accepted my criticism, however poorly timed.

Her gorgeous eyes are downcast.  Guilt starts writnin' in my gut.  She's hurt, and she 
apologized, and I shouldn't have yelled at her.

She moves to throw a bag over her shoulder and I reach out to take it.  She shouldn't be 
carrin' nothin'.  She still hurt.  Like I'd let her carry anthin' even if she wasn't.

I move my mouth to say "I got it" but speech fails.  I feel too guilty.  She seems to know, 
we don't need words.

I got ya, Agent Scully.

Dana...




IV. Invocation

Narrator POV


He watches her intently as she examines little Billy.  She is so sweet with him.  He 
watches her, crouched to the child's line of vision, examining his eyes, speaking quietly 
to him so he won't be afraid.

He thinks she'd make a damn good mother, and remembers with a bitter pang the X-File 
he read about her, what they did to her.

She can't have kids.

She's barren.


Scully becomes aware of how infrequently his piercing gaze leaves her. She observes his 
granite work ethic and dedication to resolving the case, even if he has to cross a line or 
two to get the job done.  This surprises her.  She's usually the one flouting orders.  Could 
there be a little rebel in him yet?


She also notes how Doggett insists on going ahead of her when entering a situation that 
bears even the tiniest trace of danger.

In the end, Billy's body was found.

Discouragement ripped through Doggett and he refused to believe the boy they found 
was a ghost, his skeleton found buried in the woods.

He couldn't take another failure.  It was too close, too similar to how it felt when he lost 
his only son.  Emotions swirled uncomfortably as he watched the parents grieve.

And Scully came to comfort him.

To tell him he had succeeded, because he caught the guy and he'd never be able hurt 
anyone again.

Her words cleansed and dressed his wound, but the pain was still there.

The pain would always be there, he thought as he thumbed Luke's photograph.




V. Redrum

Narrator POV


A second chance.

The husband and wife held each other and sobbed.

They had been given a second chance.

Didn't everyone deserve one?

Doggett and Scully exchanged looks.

Doggett couldn't stop the thought of a second chance at a wife and a family.  What 
wouldn't he give for that?

A second chance.  Like maybe finding someone who would stick around and not lose 
himself to lights in the sky while his partner grew his baby inside of her.  No, that was 
too cruel a judgment.

She can't help but start to admire him after watching him save day after day, charging the 
scene, weapon drawn and ready to fight evil in any and all forms.  She can't help but start 
to think of him as a hero.

He shot the bad guy, after all.  How many times had Mulder's quest lead to such a 
satisfactory conclusion?  Never.  His quests for the truth too often created more lose ends, 
more bodies, more...heartache.




VI. Via Negativa

Doggett POV


I don't mind the phone wakin' me up as long as it's you on the other end.  I'll take your 
call anytime, any place, I want you to know that.  

It's the middle of the night, but I'm ready to get out of bed anyway and come get you, but 
you say you can't come.  I ask if you're all right, and you say you're fine, and I know 
you're lying.  Years of marriage have taught me that when a woman says "I'm fine", it 
means anything but.
Too bad I learned that a little too late.

I let the lie slide and try to express my concern by askin' if I'll see you later.

You say as soon as you can.  At least I got that.

I'll be checkin' up on you at any rate.

By chance, I find you in the hospital while we bring in Tipet.  I see you layin' there.  
Acute abdominal pains...what the hell does that mean?  Why won't you trust me with 
this?  Whatever it is, I'll understand.  But I let you take your time.  I want the partnership 
we build to be built right, that won't happen if it's rushed.

This case has got my head all turned 'round.  I never had such horrifying nightmares in 
all my life, but they seem like more than that.  They seem real, like they're from Tipet 
gettin' into my head somehow.

I remember how you said I should trust my instincts, and I do, fearing that this 'dream' 
may have some very real consequences.

I see you sleeping.  God, you're so beautiful.  I raise the ax above my head, but I can't do 
it.  I think for a minute that somethin' is forcing me to kill.  And I can either kill you, or, 
kill me.  I only have to think about it for a moment as I start to swing the ax up to my 
own head...

Then you wake me up.  You save my life like I just saved yours.

I gotta say, you wakin' me up is better when it's in person.

You tell me Tipet is dead and we talk a while about the case.  I get the nerve up to ask 
you to stay for breakfast, and you do, and I think it's the best breakfast I ever had.

You tell me how much you like my pancakes and I swear it's the happiest I've been in 
years.

Your presence, in my house, it's like you light it up.  You make it a home when you're 
here.

I never fell for anyone so fast, so hard...

You're really something incredibly special, Dana.

Um, Agent Scully.




VII. Sure Kill

Scully POV


I'm intrigued, Agent Doggett, by all the little things you do.

You stress that the victim of our latest case was single.  What possible implications does 
that message hold?  Are you relieved that this man left no family of his own to mourn 
him, or do you indicate that there is something tragic in being single, as we both are?

We are close enough now for you to show me outright when you detect ludicracy in my 
hypothesizes.  I suggest our killer might have some sort of x-ray vision, and you lean in 
close to me and whisper something about putting an A.P.B. out on Superman.  Ha.

Despite the slight, my body tingles at your nearness.  I can't help the reaction, the taboo 
thrill of you violating my personal space that I thought I had sufficiently established with 
body language and thick turtlenecks, silently building an invisible fortress around me.

No Trespassers.
Violators will be shot.
This means you.

But you don't buy into it.  You walk right through and get straight to me, and instead of 
being offended, I'm surprised by how welcome I find you.

Later, I play the same little trick on you.  Let's see how you like your own medicine.  I 
see you working on a computer, and I lean over you, just a tiny bit closer than necessary.  
Just a hair.  Just enough for you to notice if you're paying very close attention.

I see you slow down.  The difference is minute, imperceivable except to the most astute 
observer.  Got ya.

Later, I hate myself.  For barely flirting.  I should cultivate more space between us.  
We're getting too close.  Mulder...I need to think of Mulder.  I need to find Mulder.

We find our killer.  This time, he killed his brother to protect the woman he loved.

I tell you, how of all the things he could have seen, he watched her every day.

Sort of like how you watch me every day.

He must have seen something in her that she couldn't even see in herself.

What do you see in me, Agent Doggett?

To you, the case is wrapped up, while I'm still musing.  You tell me you'll be outside.

I like how you do little things like that.  You always drive, you charge the scene, you 
watch my back and you make my wellbeing your top priority.  Those are kind of bigger 
things.  A charmingly overbearing grab at the mantle of responsibility.

But you do the little things too.  Simple things.  Like telling me your whereabouts, your 
intentions, holding the door, actually calling when you say you will, never disappearing 
like puff of smoke into the air.  So I never have to wonder.

I always know where you are, Agent Doggett.

Right by my side.

Where I need you.




VIII. Salvage

Scully POV


I know you are only trying to be my friend.

It doesn't seem to baffle you that I won't let you.

Your eyes, I feel like they can read the naked language of my spirit before I even feel it.

Maybe that's why you allow the distance.

Because you always seem to know just what I need.

You apologize for being late.  I have to admit, that's a novelty, as Mulder doesn't 
apologize for going missing for days, weeks.

How long has it been now?  Months?

I try to show you in more tiny ways how I feel.

I stand by you and your choices when others do not, like you have done for me.

You order the police to get a door open and they hesitate.  I yell at them to open it.

Because I know you would have done the same for me.

That's what partners do, right, back each other up?  I wouldn't know.

I called Mulder my partner but he considered himself my superior while I considered him 
my best friend. 

Because he never wanted to be anything more.




IX. Badlaa

Scully POV


He disbelieves my theories and has again been resorting to teasing to express this.
I tell him to keep an open mind, like Mulder must have told me a hundred times.

We visit Berks and this only seems to pique his annoyances. 
Maybe it's because I call Chuck by his first name and listen to him, like I so often don't 
with Doggett.

He conveys his aggravation easily, but keeps his real anger concealed just below the 
surface.  He's upset that I act on my own beliefs without considering his more earthy, 
sensible ones.  Maybe I should, but I've seen so much.
Clearly, we are not on the same page on this one.  Are we ever?

I shoot a boy.  A child.  A killer, disguised as a child.  My eyes deceive me so I trust not 
my own instincts, but someone else's.  Mulder's.  He would have taken the shot so I did.
Appalled by my actions, however correct, I hand my weapon over to Doggett.  Trusting 
him.  Ready to share a little weight again.

He finds me outside.

I can't face him as the tears unwillingly start to form and he doesn't force me too.  I feel a 
large, gentle hand on my shoulder.  He uses his words to try and soothe me.  But they 
can't.

He say's the case didn't make any sense, but it does for me. 

It's shown me something.  I have learned, I have grown, I have opened my mind to 
extreme possibilities.

I fear...
I am becoming Mulder.




X. The Gift

Doggett POV


I think about you even before I open my eyes in the mornin'.

I know I shouldn't, but what can I do to stop these feelings?
How can you stop a thought?

I think about the promises I made to you, that I intend to keep as I'm driving out to 
investigate this case.
If I can call it that.  The truth was never put to paper.

Couldn't do it.  Couldn't risk you your job.
Because your signature was on the falsified reports.
I can't challenge that.

This case was the last one Mulder was workin' on before he disappeared.
But you didn't know he was out here.
I can't help thinkin' that maybe you really didn't know him as well as you thought.
No disrespect to you, Agent Scully.
I'm just thinkin' Mulder was keepin' a secret or two from ya.  Gotta find out why.
Hope you notice I don't do that.

I'm gonna tell you everything.

I'm gonna feed his fish, do his job, take care of you, and find his sorry ass so we can both 
find out why he neglected all of the above.

Skinner thinks I'm doing this for my career.  Honestly, that's the last thing that's been on 
my mind, and it alarms me that I've never seen it as something so trivial before.
More important things are at work now.

This...creature, this Shaman.  Mulder tried to kill him.  Not as an act of murder, but 
misguided pity.  He wanted to put him out of his misery.  I guess that shows some mad 
glint of nobility, but I can't help question his choice.
If this guy can really do what these people think, why wouldn't he use it to try and cure 
himself?  Mulder was dyin'.

And he had so much to live for.

I find the creature, this Healer, and put him in my car, planning on takin' him outta there.  
Can't say I understand exactly what's goin' on, but it's clear he's being misused.

I don't remember much, I think I was shot.

Then I wake up in some kinda dirt basement.  The Shaman's dead.  Apparently, he died 
saving me.  

Poor bastard.  At least...at least he's free now, and wherever he's gone, I hope he's at 
peace.

I try to write up a report about this, I honestly do.  But I can't.
Because it don't make sense.
And I won't put you in jeopardy.
Ever.




XI. Medusa

Doggett POV


Alright, I admit it.  I give up.
You always seem to be right about these things, so I guess I'm just gonna have to suck it 
up and start trustin' you over my own gut.

Feels weird.

We're in Boston.  Trouble in the subway.  You don't want to come with us into the 
tunnels and although I find this unusual, I don't fight it.  I figure anytime you wanna stay 
outta harms way is fine with me.  Hell, I prefer it.

I'll go down, you stay up here, an' I'll be your eyes, ears, and anything else you might 
need.

I'm fortified when you tell me you got me every step of the way.  Your voice and words 
armor me more than my vest and gun ever could.

You are the authority here.  I tell my crew that.  I take your orders dutifully and when my 
crew questions you, I say the boss says so.

This bioluminescent stuff...it's infected me too.  You tell me to stay put and you'll have a 
hazmat team out to fetch me.  I love the concern in your sweet voice, but I say no way.  
There's still a job to do.  Someone's down here that shouldn't be, spreadin' this thing, 
and I gotta find him.

And I do.

Luckily, a little trip to the hospital and a short but freakin' cold alcohol bath clears it up 
like magic and I'm good as new.

But why, why do you have to come in my room when I got nothin' on but one of them 
dorky hospital gowns?  Don't think you've ever seen me so undignified.  Gotta admit, I 
was embarrassed.  I backed away so the loosely tied gown don't reveal my backside.  
Yeah, I saw you tryin' to sneak a peak.

You say I can go and I'm relieved.  I hate bein' in the hospital.  I duck behind a curtain to 
change, assembling my clothing and my dignity.

You say thanks, and I appreciate it but I don't need it.  I only want to help you, Scully.

You say let's go home.

I stop and think for a minute the implications woven into that beautiful little sentence.

You mean my home.

You might think I'm crazy, but I want to drive, and you argue, but you let me.  You let 
me take control, just like I let you.  

It's an eight hour dive, only about an hour, a little more by plane.
I love flying with you.  I love the looks of envy I get from every guy in a four mile 
radius.

We get Chinese take-out on the way home and eat it back at my place.

We forget the forks and have a go with the chopsticks, and you giggle at the inevitable 
mess. It's a rare and cherished sound to me.  You bring your hand up to cover your smile 
at rice on my knees and all over the side of your plate.   It's a heart meltin' smile, I wish 
you wouldn't try to hide it.  I wish I could make it happen more often.

I'm so glad to have you back here.

I feel like a lucky sonofabitch when you stay for a movie, an old black and white, and we 
watch it on the couch.  I make popcorn.  I watch you relax.  Watch you lean your head 
back and curl up, cuddling an afghan that will later miss the laundry list for sentimental 
reasons.

I know why you're here.  You feel safe here with me.  You know I'm not gonna let you 
down.

Your hair falls over a cushion, blessing it.  

Your presence here again has the same effect as before.  Every room seems brighter, 
warmer.  No matter what season it is outside, you always make it April in here.

You open up somethin' dormant in this house just like you open up somethin' dormant in 
me.

You belong here, Dana.

You belong with me.




XII. Per Manum

Scully POV


Last week I spent some time with Agent Doggett after we wrapped up a case in Boston.  I 
enjoyed myself, for once.  He's distinctly easy to be with, our interactions have grown 
more natural, the stiffness and formalities have ebbed away, erroded by time and 
familiarity.  

Even I get tired of being alone sometimes, and when I'm with Agent Doggett, the murky 
grayness of my life seems to wan, and it becomes frighteningly easy to forget that I am a 
single, 30 something unwed mother-to-be of a fatherless child.  I even forget that I work 
in the basement of the FBI.

But I never forget Mulder.

I remember when I asked him to donate sperm when I had one last opportunity to 
conceive a child.  The things he said to me should have been a red flag, but I was 
overwhelmed, blinded by hope.

He said he didn't want it to come between us.  Children, as a natural production of a 
formed union, can cement the bonds of love that form a family.

But we were not a family.  As he was so fond of putting it, we we're just partners, just 
friends.

I must have been out of my mind.

I loved Mulder, and I know he loved me, at least in a way. I asked him, indirectly yet 
obviously, dozens of times to stop tilting at windmills so we could live a normal, safe life 
for a change.  Then, without the distraction of leech men and Fiji mermaids, maybe 
something could finally happen between us.

But he never stopped tilting.

I did not act with this thought on my mind, but I must have been thinking that once the 
baby came, he'd change.  It sounds insane and reckless, and completely unlike me, but 
when I saw I had that one last chance at a family, I lost rational sense.  Totally.  And 
made one last, desperate grab at normalcy.

Maybe there's still hope.
We can find him.
Never give up on a miracle, right Mulder?


In the morning, waking up alone, but not entirely alone, I dress and go to the mirror to 
examine my little guest.  I'm not really showing yet.  Being pregnant somehow has 
deepened the emptiness of my apartment, knowing with certainty that it will soon fill up 
with a crib and mountains of baby paraphernalia, but the question of if Mulder will ever 
be here again hangs open like a door in winter, allowing cold blasts to penetrate every 
moment of consciousness.

I still call his cell and visit his apartment everyday.

Every time I stupidly expect an answer.

And every time I'm met with nothing.	

Silence.


Loneliness claws visibly at the windowpanes.  

It's so fucking quiet.

It's so fucking hard to do this all with out you.

But I'm not alone.  I've had help, from a source that no one could have predicted.

At the office, it irks me that Doggett's been poking around in my personal files.  I don't 
want him to find out.  Not yet.  It would crush a tiny, confusing, illegal dream I have.  He 
doesn't trust my doctor, finding some link between him and another doctor connected 
with the death of Duffy Haskell's wife and newborn.

Apparently, she gave birth to an alien.
This unnerves me.  Examining my ultrasound only confirms my vibrating urge to panic.

A pregnant woman, Mary Hendershot, comes to me.  Both our babies are in danger and I 
decide its best we go into hiding.

Skinner understands, but insists I tell Doggett.  The one person I can't face.  I have to 
conceal the truth from him.

Skinner escorts me to a coffeehouse, our arranged meeting spot.  Doggett walks in, orders 
a black coffee.

I feel completely indefensible, I can barely stand to look at him for all the guilt I feel.  I 
don't expect him to take this well.  We were just starting to establish a real trust and now 
I must do this.

Skinner tells him I'm taking a leave.  Naturally, Doggett wants to know why.

I trust him, but I can't tell him.  I can hardly bring myself to speak, Skinner does most of 
the talking for me.

Quiet, nocent pangs shutter though me.  Despite my ignominy, I can feel his frustration.  I 
know he deserves better. Even now he disregards his anger and thinks of me.  He asks me 
to keep in touch.  Caring is unconscious to him, unstoppable, as natural as breathing.

"Drop me a line, if you get the chance."

Even now.  I fight back tears and the urge to follow him.  To tell him I do trust him, to 
tell him I'm sorry for what I have to do.

But I fail him, and I hate myself for it.

The hospital, the doctors, it was all a trap.
And he knew it.
He sent someone, Knowle, to rescue us.  While in the back of a speeding van, Mrs. 
Hendershot's contractions become too intense to ignore, and I order the driver to pull 
over.  I start to think I've fallen into yet another trap as Knowle keeps me from Mrs. 
Hendershot, her screams puncturing the night sky.  The last sound I hear before Knowle 
sedates me is the bleating, unearthly cry of an alien baby.

I'm getting used to Doggett being the first person I see when I wake up in a hospital bed.
It's not a bad sight, really.

He tells me I'm fine.  My baby is fine.  He knows.

Oh God, he knows.

He has every right to be furious with me after discovering that I have withheld the truth 
from him all this time.  But he shows no trace of anger, only relief that I am safe.  How 
many hours did he sit in that stiff chair, waiting for me to wake so he could be here with 
me when I did?  He could be outraged, but instead he takes the time to address my 
catalogue of fears, speaking to me in a soft, steady voice, his ice blue eyes warm with 
care.  Mrs. Hendershot is ok.  My ultrasound really is normal.

I am profoundly humbled by his earnest actions.  
His esoteric goodness creates a well of love in me.  Healing love.  I feel so lucky, so 
blessed to have him in my life, which I would have lost many times over if he hadn't 
been there, watching my back.  

It's the last ounce I can bear and I am hit with a hailstorm of epiphanies.

At this moment, I hold an acute knowledge that I can trust this man with anything.  
Everything.  And I could have this whole time.

I am forced by my own quest for internal truth to realize the total weight of his sagacious 
nobility.  The undeniable quality of his very nature.
I didn't think men like John Doggett existed anymore.

And I acknowledge for the first time a truth I have kept dormant, even to myself.  Why I 
didn't tell him I was pregnant.  I didn't want him to know because I wanted to protect 
him from the soggy knot my life has become, that he has been silently, dutifully helping 
me resolve, never asking for any form of remittance.

But it goes deeper than that, much deeper.  I feel like I need a priest to hear this 
confession because I am in a crisis of faith.

I didn't want him to know because it would destroy the prohibited dream I have that we 
could be together.

But we can't.
Because I'm pregnant.
And I don't know how it happened.
And he deserves much better than that.
Much better.


Epilog One

A few days later, at Doggett's house, he makes dinner for her after her first day back at 
work.  Post dinner conversation turns to her baby.  A question burns in Doggett's mind.

"There's somthin' I gotta ask you, Dana.  Somethin' you been hidin' from everyone that 
you got no right to.  Somethin' I need to know.  Who is the father of your child?"

Scully crosses her arms and looks away.  One eyebrow is cocked in annoyance.  Her 
secrets are her own, but she can't deny him.  Because she knows he's right.  But her 
reasons for guarding the truth are valid.  At least, she thought they were.

"Sit down, Agent Doggett.  This might take a while."

"John, Dana.  Call me John.  We're not at the bureau now.  And I think we been through 
enough together now for you to call me by my first name."  He keeps his raspy voice 
quiet and even with her.

She faltered, reprimanded again, and again found he was right.

"Ok.  John."  His name sounded so soft on her lips and she found comfort in it.  "Sit 
down."

He obliged, satisfied, and sunk to his couch, his eyes never leaving her as she paced.

"It's very complicated," she said tensely, fearing he would not believe her.

"Just take it nice and slow.  From the beginning," he said with patient encouragement.

She sighed, arms still crossed.  "As you know from reading the files, my abduction left 
me barren.  Some months ago, I discovered that I had one last chance to conceive a 
child."  She felt a tear threaten to form at the memory and she fought it successfully.  

"All I needed was a donor.  I had the option of choosing from a myriad of DNA samples, 
but I asked Mulder."

"Why?"  He cut in, stopping her.  She turned to him sharply, anger about to rise.  But his 
face was not accusing or damning, it was set in a compassionate, understanding way that 
allowed her to answer without feeling probed.

Doggett had earned her trust and friendship the hard way, and deserved to know 
everything she was about to tell him.  Especially when this part was so simple.

"Because he's my best friend," her eyes meeting his, she spoke, her voice wet with 
emotion.

He didn't question this.  She continued.

"But it didn't work, it didn't take," she said wearily, unfolded her arms and sat tiredly 
next to Doggett, propping her elbows on her knees.

He wanted to reach out to her, put his hand on her back and rub it, take some of the pain 
out, but he waited.  Her trusting him with all this was enough for now.

Suddenly, her fingers flew up to her forehead, and she choked, fighting back kamikaze 
sobs.

This time, Doggett didn't hesitate to reach out.

He pulled her to him, whispering soothing comforts.

She crumbled, and he held her like he did for the first time, so many months ago, on the 
hospital floor, a foot in front of green alien slime.  Again she allowed him to hold her, but 
it was more this time.  She accepted his embrace, held him back, trusting him and melting 
into his solid body.

Her head turned on his shoulder, he heard her try to finish, "So you see, John, I don't 
know why I'm pregnant.  Either," she gasped for air, fighting to be calm, "either the in 
vitro really did take, or there's a," she heaved, "a second possibility.  And I don't know 
what that is.  I don't know what's happed to me, John," she cried over his shoulder, her 
held her and rocked her and stroked her back with large, confident hands.

This is why, he thought.  This is why she tries to be the Ice Queen all the time.  Because 
she's holding back so damn much...




XIII. This Is Not Happening

Scully POV
  

"THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!!!!!" 



I scream to no one, to God, to anyone.

Inside the cult building, I ran here from finding Mulder, dead.

Dead on the ground.

I ran here to find Jeremiah Smith, the healer, the only one who could save Mulder now, 
but he's gone.

Like all my boundless strength, gone.

The energy vanishes from my legs and I fall to the floor but something catches me.

In the forest, he tried valiantly to restrain me, to keep me from seeing Mulder splayed on 
the forest floor like a big fallen leaf, and tried to stop me as I fled screaming.

Agent Doggett.  

John.

I feel his arms around me and nothing else.  Not my surroundings, not my own body, I 
feel nothing but shock.

Tears are miles away.  I can only scream.  My throat tears, but it barely registers.  I am 
beyond corporal pain, suspended in an agonizing, foggy realm of disbelief.

I can't really recall how we made it back to the motel.  Did you carry me?  The memory 
is simply not there.

Skinner was at the scene, too.

I think I recall what he said, or at least the gist of it, that he was going to deal with 
Mulder's body and left Doggett in charge of watching me.
I know Skinner trusts him, he's earned it.

I assume we were in the motel room.  I think you put me on the bed.  I was clinging to 
you, the only buoy in a tumultuous grey sea that engulfed my stunned senses in despair.
 
You were the lone sentinel, the only thing sturdy and sane in a delirious landscape of 
torture that whirled unsuppressed around me.

I don't even have to reach for you, you are there.
My post.

I bury my face in your neck, your presence and voice dissolving my state just enough that 
one minute release appears, one small gap, a  tiny valve to let some pain escape my 
throbbing mind.  Finally, the tears come and I sob, shaking, shock turning to hard, 
penetrating grief.

I'm too far gone to know shame, to possess any inhibition.

Your shoulder is damp.  Through it all, I never stop feeling your arms around me, your 
soothing voice is omnipresent, ceaseless in its attempts to reach me, to find me and pull 
me back from the brink, back to the shores of sanity.

I cling to you, the only part of the earth that is not quaking.
You anchor to me.  You are as completely there as my suffering.
In my broken reality, at least I know this.

God, I need you
I think I would have drowned that night if you weren't there.

My tears stream over everything, the inevitability of this does not stop your vigilant 
attempt to stem them.

I sleep that night in your arms, you keep the nightmares just at bay.
I can see them clearly, but you soften their blow.

Like always, you do everything in your power to protect me.

I know I would have drowned that night with out you.

We fly back home, but I am still miles away from reality, myself.

You never leave me, not even for a moment.
I find that I can't bear to be apart from you.
I need you.
You soak up the pain I am so sure I will lose myself in if you leave me too.

Your house.
You brought me there.
Because you know.  You've always known.  

You've known me so short a time, just barely a year yet you know me so well.

You know what I need.  You.  And so selflessly as ever are you ready to give.

In his bedroom, I speak for the first time.

"It's not fair," I whisper.

"I know, honey, it's going to be ok," he mummers.

He thinks I'm talking about Mulder.

"No, yes, I mean it's not fair to you.  I lean on you too hard," my voice thick with 
empathy and sorrow.

"Shhhh," he soothes.  "Listen Dana, any amount you can dish out, I can take.  Whatever 
you got.  I'm gonna be here for you, always."

He guides me to him and tucks my head under his chin.  The last words I hear before 
sleep takes me are his devotions.

"I'm here, Dana, and I'm not going anywhere.  I'm gonna take care of you, always."

He kisses my forehead.

I know he means it and it sends a shudder through me that feels like an answered prayer 
straight from the holy mouth of an archangel.

At least one of them had to be answered.

Tears fall, and I wonder how I can feel so blessed and so cursed at the same time. 

After finding Mulder dead, his funeral, I spend more nights at John's than not.
My apartment feels like it doesn't belong to me anymore.

John's house starts feeling like home.

His hand touches my stomach, my unborn baby.  He cares for it too, an extension of his 
care for me.

When he's not around, at work or running an errand, I cry.

Sometimes for the loss of Mulder, sometimes for the feeling.

That I get from him.

A saved feeling.  A misbegotten, retched creature feeling.

Who would save a wretch like me?

I die at the look in his eyes.  The profound, unquestionable love for me and my unborn 
child that's not his, but who loves just the same as if it was.

He shelters me.  He reminds me to eat and sleep.

All would be lost without him.

All.

Slowly, day by day, I grow stronger under his constant watch.
I return to the office to wrap up my work on the X-Files before I take my maternity leave.
I don't plan to return.
John is up for a promotion to director, and we can leave the X-Files in the capable hands 
of Agent Monica Reyes.

I like her, and I feel comfortable with her in charge.  I know she's going to do good work 
there.  She's a believer, just like Mulder was, and soon I'm sure she'll be paired with 
some naive young skeptic.  I smile wryly at the thought.

When I'm not home with John or at work, I spend time with my Mom and Bill.  They 
remind me of the true purposes of life that I had forgotten the last seven years.  Mom asks 
a few Mom questions about my relationship with John.  I don't know how to explain it to 
her in a way she can understand.

He saved my life, my soul, my spirit.  I love him. He is my greatest friend.

I owe him everything and he asks for nothing.

She doesn't believe that I spent all my time with him and we're in a platonic relationship, 
but it's the truth.

John takes me to all my doctors' appointments.  He sits on a blue plastic chair, leaning 
forward with his elbows on his knees, watching the ultrasound monitor with a glimmer of 
joy that wouldn't seem out of place on a twelve year old.  I grin at his sweetness.

The doctor asks if I want to know the sex of the baby.  I say yes.  

A little baby boy.  The doctor asks if I have any names in mind.  I think of my father, and 
our religion, and the ocean.

I look at John.

"Noah?"

He approves. "Noah's a good name.  A good, strong name."

John smiles and reaches out to hold my hand.




XIV. DeadAlive

Doggett POV


Dana's been through so much in the last coupla' months, more than anyone ever should, 
and I'm grateful she's finally lettin' me take care of her.

After talkin' with Dana, I take the promotion Kersh offered me.  I wanted to make sure it 
was ok with her, that we both leave the X-Files.  She seems ready to put it behind her, 
and I think that's the right move.

She's on maternity leave now.  Gettin' big, too.  And I thought she was beautiful before, 
but pregnancy makes her glow.

My initial infatuation has grown over the months to full blown love.  
I love this woman.

She spends so much of her time at my house that I'm thinkin' of askin' her to move it.
No sense in payin' rent to some place you're not stayin' at. 

I've come with her a few times to be with her mother and brother, I like them a lot.  
Especially Bill, he's a good man.  And I think he likes me, you know, approves of me 
bein' in his sisters life.  I appreciate that.

Kersh promoted me to director of the violent crimes unit, so I'm still at the bureau.  
Every now and again I run into Skinner.  Most of the time, it's pleasant.

Not his time.

He whispers somethin' to me and I follow him.
I don't believe it, what he's got planned.
Appaently, Billy Miles has turned up alive, and somehow that's lead Skinner to go and 
dig up poor Mulder's body.

I can't believe what he's done.  It's so insane, the man is dead!  What is disturbing his 
rest gonna prove?  What's it gonna help?  It won't.  It's only gonna hurt Dana.
I'm against it, but here's not much I can do to stop it.  I can only be here to try and shield 
Dana from it.

I want to do nothin' more than beat the shit out of Skinner for this asinine crap when I see 
Dana march through the hospital doors.

She's hostile with Skinner and I don't fault her.  With me, she's quiet and rational 
because she knows I'll understand her.

She wants to see him.  All hooked up to machines, not really alive or dead.

I say I know, but I wish she wouldn't.

She does, and I don't stop her.  It's what she wants.  I know she still feels a great deal of 
loyalty for him.

They did work together for seven years.  When she was in mournin' for him, she told me 
everything.  Their "relationship".  He must not have known what he had or else he 
whouldna been chasin' lights in the sky like an idiot.

I'm back at the hospital to check on her.  By some outlandish miracle, it seems Mulder is 
going to be ok.

I crack the door and see her.
Sprawled over his chest.

Somethin' says to leave them be, and I do.

Thousands of little tears rip through me, one for every moment we spent together, when I 
thought we could be somethin' more.

I can't really call her mine, but that's what she feels like.  I take care of her, don't I?

I wait for her outside and we drive home in silence.

I sleep in the guest room that I was thinkin' about turning into a nursery.  I been doin' 
that most nights since she's been ok enough to sleep alone, outta respect for her.

But this time it's different.

There's an awful new space between us.  And I'm at a loss as to how to fill it.

She says she needs time.  And I understand, and I don't understand.

The following night she stays at her apartment and I spent hours staring at the ceiling 
until dawn comes.




XV. Three Words

One Word

Mulder POV

All I can remember is being basically stapled to an alien dentist chair while E.T.'s 
crochet hooks gave me an extreme facial and blades serrated me like a tomato on a Ginsu 
infomercial.

How was your summer?  Never mind.

I wake to your shinning face.  Scully.  I've missed you.  I'm ok, but I feel like I've been 
lying out in the sun too long.

I was dead, but apparently I got better.

It's good to see you.  You look so worried, so drawn.  I can see everything I went through 
mirrored in your eyes.

I see you're pregnant, your belly's grown exponentially in my absence, but I can't come 
to terms with it right now.  

I say I'm happy for you, and I am.  I know how much this means to you.

You always wanted a family, and as sorry as I am that I stood in your way, I'm more 
sorry that I can't be there for you now.

There are more questions now than ever, and I can't simply leave them be.  I need to 
know why they took me, why all this has happened.  I feel the answers are so close, I 
can't stop now.

You had a partner while I was gone.  He's allowed Absalom to be killed, he is another 
obstacle to the truth.  How did you put up with him, John Law in a stuffed suit?  How can 
you defend his actions?

You seem to care about him and it concerns me.  I saw you two outside my apartment, I 
saw you put your hand on his arm.  Can't you see him for what he is?  Has he blinded 
you somehow?  He's a liar, Scully, he wants to bury the truth!
You'll see in time.

Frohike gropes me to signal his happiness at my return, and the Lone Gunmen, who 
arrive at my apartment to help me unravel a government cover up, seem preoccupied with 
my involvement in "a certain blessed event."

I can't deal with it now.  I have a more pressing mission.

Scully's put them up to talking me out of it, but it won't work.

I need to find out why this has happened to me so I can stop it.

With the help of the Lone Gunmen, I break into the Federal Statistics Center to crack the 
file there that contains all the pertinent information so I can share it with the world.

But it's just another trap.


Two Words

Doggett POV

I know it's a miracle and I'm glad he's got his life back, I am.

Mulder's back, and I push the pain away of what that could mean just like you did when 
he disappeared.

I have a little incident with Absalom kidnapping me, brin' me to the Census Building 
only to get himself shot in the head.  They killed him because he knew somethin', and 
Mulder blames me for it.

The first time I meet the man, he shoves me.  I can't help but grin, knowin' I could kick 
his ass six ways from Sunday.  An' I'd enjoy it, after all the crap he put Dana through.

Look, I don't care what happens.  I said I'd always be there for you and I mean it.  I'm 
handed some information I know will help Mulder, but he won't trust it from me, I gotta 
give it to you.

I surprise you outside his apartment building, and honestly, I don't mean to.
I think you've had enough surprises for a lifetime.

You express your worry that I'm freezin' cold.  You got no idea.  You're concerned 
about the cut on my face from the adventure with Absalom, but it's not where the real 
pain is.

The disk I give you is titled with three words.  Not exactly the three I really want to say, 
but poignant enough for now.

Fight the future.

Skinner comes to me.  He tells me you're upset and I kind of stop listening after that.

I find you outside the Federal Statistics Center.  I know you're here because you think 
you owe somethin' to Mulder, but right now you gotta worry about you and little J. 
Edgar.  I reach through the window and start the car, tell you to go.  
No argument accepted.  I'll take care of it.

I run off to pull Mulder's ass outta the fire just like I did for you so many times.

At home, I sit with a bottle of my good pal Jack and wonder why I do all this.

But I know why all too well.

I love you, Dana.

Maybe I have ever since you threw water in my face.  I don't know when it started.  I 
only know that it will never end.
I'm gonna love you 'till I die, babe.
Even if you don't feel the same.

Jack takes some of the sting out, but the truth will always be there.

Lo'n' behold, who's that knockin' at my door?


Three Words

Scully POV

He's back.  Another answered prayer.

But I don't know what this entails, what the caveats of your return includes or excludes. I 
feel like I don't even know who you are anymore.

The pain of losing you doubled the joy of getting you back.

But it's nothing like I imagined it would be.

You behave as if you want nothing to do with me or the baby.
I suppress the hurt and fall back into the role of your helper.

I have reality, and I have my idea of how things should be.  One of them is completely 
wrong.  But I don't know which one.

This can't be how it's supposed to be.  You're back, but you only want to pick up exactly 
where you left off, breaking rules, risking your life and mine.  I know I shouldn't go 
along with it, I should protest, and I do, but you deflect it and throw it right back at me.

It's "help me or hinder me," no in betweens, no exceptions.  So I help you.  It's a well 
formed habit at this point, one that is sickly comforting yet surreal to sink back into.  I 
don't fit in it anymore, Mulder, I'm going to have a baby!  I'm going to be a mother!  
And you.  You could be a father but you can't even seem to acknowledge your 
participation in my present state.

I chose you, Mulder.  But you didn't choose me.  Naturally, I'm invited to keep you 
company on the wild goose chase of the day.

This time, I choose not.  I've thought about you for so long.  I need to think of my baby 
now.  My baby, as you keep putting it, as if the aliens have deleted the word "our" from 
your vocabulary.  It is very possible that I am carrying your child, but you can't seem to 
accept this.

John is still there to watch my back.  My rock.  This must be so hard on him.  He gives 
me information to help you.  I see he is injured, he has a cut on his face.  I reach up to 
touch his cheek.  He's so cold, concern for him explodes in me.  I hate seeing him hurt.  I 
tell him he should keep it covered.  I want nothing more than to go home with him, treat 
his wound, and watch a movie on his couch.

But I can't.  You need my help, and I can't turn my back on you.  Against all logic, I 
agree to be a look-out.  I'm not going inside with you, but I will keep an eye out for 
trouble.  But this is the last time.  I tell you that and you smile smugly, like you know me 
so well.  You did know me so well, but something's changed in me since you've been 
gone.

I've opened myself up to extreme possibilities.

At the Federal Statistics Center, John finds me waiting in a car outside and sends me 
home while he goes to rescue you.

He is a hero.  He never thinks of himself, so I vow to do so for him.

I love him, yet I have loved you.

I don't think I've ever been more confused.

So I act on gut instinct.  I go to John's.  I suspect he's been drinking, but I understand.

We sit on the couch and I tell him everything.



Epilog Two

Back at Falls Church,  Doggett, semi-intoxicated, opens the door to find Scully.

"Evenin' Dana," he slurred slightly, his tall frame hunched over the door like a wounded 
animal.

"John? What's wrong?"  Scully, concerned at his state, maneuvered past him and closed 
the door behind her, familiar with his house now as she was with him.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Just a few."

"What's wrong John?  What's bothering you?"  She reached out to cover his cheek with 
one small hand.

He sobered at the look of worry in her eye and her touch on his stony face, nearly 
dissolving his austere visage.  Like usual, he found no obstacle in shooting straight to the 
point.

"There's somethin' else I gotta know now, Dana."

"What is it?"  She whispered, and melted as his eyes steeled.  

"Do you love him?"

Shock hit her.  He was jealous of Mulder.  "John, I,"  

"It's a simple question, Dana.  Do you love him?"

Scully squeezed her eyes shut.  This question was so much harder to answer than his last 
one.  

"This isn't really a yes or no question, John."

"Oh no?  I think it is."

He was direct, even demanding, but never angry, and he never raised his voice.  She 
respected that, and needed that.  He managed to assume an authority with her without 
ever putting her down, and she responded to that.

"You always seem to ask me questions I can't find an answer to, John."

"Find one, Dana.  I need to know."

"Why?"

"Can't answer a question with a question.  It's not fair."

"Fine.  But I'm going to ask you again later."  She sighed and prepared.  Why did she feel 
like she told him all this already?  Because she had been over it herself so many times, 
examined it and dissected in until it was mush on the autopsy table.

"Mulder and I, it's really complicated," she said, unsure.

He just looked at her patiently, braced for the brunt.  

She didn't want to tell him.  It felt weird.  She wanted a blank slate for them, wouldn't 
this stain that slate?  More so than it already was complicated by the contents of her 
womb?

'Go on', he said with his eyes.

She sighed again and sat down.

"I though I loved him.  I'm sorry, it's another half-answer.  I think I did love him, but it 
just, we just never took off.  It was clear at some point that we had feelings for each 
other, but he never made a move, and I never did either.  You'd think after seven years 
together something would have happened, but it never did."

"You're talkin' about the past, Dana.  What about now?  Do you love him now?"  He 
spoke evenly, successful concealing his inner fears.

Eyebrow cocked, she stared at the wall, not seeing it.  "Lately, I've come to realize that 
Mulder is not," she looked down at her shoe, "who I want to be with.  Long ago, I 
thought I saw something in him.  I thought he was the one I wanted to share my life with 
but he's not.  His life is consumed by a quest that I no longer wish to be involved in.  My 
priorities have changed since I've become pregnant, and I cannot continue my work with 
him.  Tonight was the last time I would help him, and I told him that, and I mean it.  But 
do I love him now?  No.  Not as anything more than a very dear friend."

"Then what about the other day?  I saw you layin' over his chest in the hospital."

"John, my partner had been brought back from the dead.  I was stunned that he was alive, 
grateful that he'd been granted a reprieve."

"Oh."  He said blankly, and the word hung in the air, giving away too much.  That makes 
sense, he thought.  Why didn't I think of that?

"Now why do you ask?"  

"Me?  No reason," he said lightly, with humor.

The tension broken, she grabbed a pillow from the couch and smacked him with it, 
laughing.

"Whoa," he ducked too late, laughing too, taking the brunt of a sudden cushion attack.  

"That's not fair," she giggled.  "You have to answer me."  As quickly as the levity came, 
it vanished, but the tension did not return.

John took her beautiful face with both hands.

"I just needed to know."

That week, John began working secretly on converting the guest room into a nursery.




XVI. Empedocles

Mulder POV


I stop by with a gift because I feel like I should at least do something.  I know the baby 
could be mine.  Or the governments, the aliens, or the pizza man's.

She suddenly folds in pain and I take her to the hospital.

I resent that the nurse asks me with suspicion, then Doggett with hope the same question; 
"Are you the husband?"

I loath the glimmer of flattery in his beady little eyes.  

He talks with the nurses and doctors while I take a call from Agent Reyes.  A new case 
has surfaced that links to Doggett's son, and she wants my help.

Before I leave, I cut off the conversation he was having and ask him how he knew she 
was here.  He said he'd stopped by with a gift and the landlord told him what happened.  
I asked what he brought.  A crib.  I just brought a doll.  Way to upstage me, Doghead.

He's not happy when he finds out what Agent Reyes and I have been dabbling in.  
Enraged, Doggett throws me against the wall.  I know his anger stems from the pain of 
losing his son, and I back down.   I may hate the man, but my animosity does not short 
circuit my humanity.  Me, Scully, we've all lost loved ones, and I understand.

I help Reyes on this case and I submit a reapplication for the X-Files to Kersh that to me 
is the equivalent of a Las Vegas style rim job, but I do it anyway.

Doggett reprimands me like a schoolgirl because I haven't gone to visit Scully in the 
hospital, but I know she's going to be fine.  Scully's tough.

She doesn't need someone checking up on her 24/7, and I imagine Scully's told him off 
by now for being so intrusive.

She's fine.  And I know she hasn't given up on me.

I go to visit her in the hospital.  I see she has a visitor and I wait outside.  I can't help but 
listen. 

It's Doggett.  He was here when I left.  Has he been here all this time?

I stand by the door and listen.  She's waking up.  He say's we've been worried about you, 
and she questions the nature of this "we", as if I don't care.  I do care, it's just that there 
have been better, um, more pressing concerns on my mind.

I hear the slash of water into a plastic cup.  He must have poured it for her.  They talk 
about her condition and when she can go home.  He calls her Dana.

I have to take a look.  I stoop and peer sideways through the wrinkled glass pane.

They're holding hands.

What the fuck?  I ignore it.  It can't be what it seems, nothing ever is.

This is only temporary.  You'll see.




XVII. Vienen

Mulder POV


I'm on an oil rig in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico when a profound thought hits me.  
Something that should have been obvious but didn't hit me until now.

Scully's really left me.
I know she said she was going to, but I thought she was just venting.
She's been with me this whole time, how can she give up now that we're so close?

I can barely get through on the radio, but they send a chopper to evacuate me.  I was 
right, the black oil containing the alien virus is here.  
Or was, I sort of blew up the oil rig before I left.
No sense in contaminating the whole planet, it might have a few good years still left in it.

Back home I call and confront her, only to have her reiterate everything she already told 
me.

I know she's right; the baby has to be her priority right now.  She can still help me from a 
safe distance, but she refuses.  She's quit on the X-Files, and she quit on me.  Has 
Doggett talked her into this?  Scully is normally so reserved, why is she so trusting of 
some flat-foot that she hasn't even known for a year?  Just what the hell happened while I 
was gone?

I need to talk more about this, find out where her head is.  I stop by her apartment but 
she's never there anymore.

It doesn't take long for me to find out where she has been staying.

Doggett's.

Now this, I can't believe.

Falls Church.  I walk up the front path failing to fight feelings of confrontation.  I'm just 
stopping by.

It's a Saturday afternoon.  She's on the back porch sipping lemon-aid and reading, and he 
was upstairs.  He looked dusty, like he'd been working on some construction project.

Norman Rockwell could have painted this picture, but to me it feels like a Munch.

I feel like an intruder and start to question why I came.

I bullshit that I just came to see how Scully was doing.  I see in her eyes that she doubts 
the sincerity of that statement.

Doggett seems secure enough, even smug at his established territory.  They ask if I want 
to stay for dinner, and I would so love to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Smith, but tragically, I 
have a meeting with the Lone Gunmen, I need to tell them what happened on the oil rig.  
Someone has to keep hunting the truth while you are lost in the clutches of suburbia.

At least Doggett's off the X-Files too.  Ex-marines and flying saucers don't mix.  How 
did he even get that job in the first place?

I catch her alone later, at her apartment, and ask her just what exactly is the nature of her 
relationship with Agent Dogbone.

She say's they're "just friends" in an annoyingly suppressive way that suggests she is not 
concealing the full truth out of fear of what I'll think of it, but out of a need for privacy.

Even the playful smirk on her face obliterates the validity of her last statement while 
saying it's none of my business.

But it is my business Scully, you're my best friend and my touchstone. 

Do you think that this is a game, that I've just been stringing you along all this time?  No.  
I need you.  You are my counterbalance, you keep me honest in my dedication.

I know there's always a million and one crazy things going on, and we don't always tell 
each other everything, but how can you hide this, when the truth is so stupefying normal?

You've fallen in love with this man.
The least you could do is admit it to me.
But I don't even think you've admitted it to yourself.

I spent a long night thinking.
I rewind my mental tape and review things you've said to me over the years, not so subtle 
clues I've pushed into the corners of my mind because I didn't want to think about it.
I didn't want to confront what they meant, that you would leave all this behind someday.

By dawn I realize how unfair I've been to you.
It's my prerogative if I want to dedicate my life to the ultimate truth, but I don't have a 
right to force you to spend yours this way.

I guess I always knew this day was coming but couldn't see it until it set.
It's the fork in the road I've dreaded because it robs me of you, my greatest ally.

You never wanted this life, and I could never give you what you wanted.  All I could give 
you was the seed you've used to sow a new life for yourself.
I hope that's enough.
And I hope you're happy.




XVIII. Alone

Mulder POV


Finally satisfied with groveling that no amount of showers can wash off, Kersh gives me 
the X-Files back.  I'm touched that no one's taken down my "I Want to Believe" poster in 
my absence, even a few of my pencils are still lodged in the ceiling.  Just warms up the 
old cockles, doesn't it?

I am taken aback to find a second desk, complete with a pretty brunette.

My first case with Agent Reyes involves a salamander/human hybrid.  She doesn't 
question my every move like Scully did, but instead of being relieved, I find nostalgia.  I 
miss Scully.  But I think Reyes has the makings of a great partner.

Jehovah's finally sent me a believer.



Epilog Three- Back to Basics

After spending the better part of a decade fighting monsters in the dark, unraveling 
complex government conspiracies, and having her life threatened on a nearly daily basis, 
Dana Scully finally gets to engage in everyday, common place activities that she has been 
dreaming of doing.  She finds joy in what most would find mundane, appreciating the 
novelty of living a safe, normal life that we all too often take for granted.

Her maternity leave is playing out like a vacation, and a prelude to her new life.

She shops for baby clothes with her Mom.  She talks on the phone with her brother Bill.  
She goes to visit her sister's grave to tell her she's going to be an aunt again.

And everything else she does with John. 

She has never known anyone, male or female, who was more loving, trustworthy, and 
dedicated.  She is still permanently humbled by him, this man who saved her life in more 
ways than one.  When they first worked together on the X-Files, her blatant distrust and 
disregard towards him never stopped him from finding and rescuing her when she got in 
over her head.  He stood by her side and tried to help her find Mulder, even delaying 
career advancement so he could stay with her.  When Mulder was found dead, he nursed 
her back to spiritual health, caring for her nonstop.  When Mulder came back, he was 
understanding and gave her the space she needed to make her own choices.

And she chose John.  Everything about him has become dear to her, from his slightly bent 
ears to his stylized NYPD drawl.  His down to earth nature puts her at ease.  She has even 
developed an affinity of her own for polish sausage.

On top of everything, she loves the way he makes her feel.
Feelings she has not enjoyed for some time.
Safe.  Loved.

He hasn't said it out loud, but she feels it from him everyday.

He takes her on brief walks thought the park, the doctors say light exercise is helpful.  
They sit on a park bench and watch ducks quack, swim, and groom each other.  He holds 
her hand.  It's not unexpected, she is familiar with his touch by now, and smiles at him 
for this simple, loving gesture.  In return, she rests her head on his shoulder.  His heart 
swells.

They shop for groceries, he watches her sample grapes and won't let her pick up anything 
heavier than one.  Everyone they encounter regards them as if they were a long 
established couple.

He mows the lawn and she watches him sweat, his muscles work, with distinct female 
admiration.  When he's done, she's ready with a tall glass of lemon-aid and praise.

Doggett works at his desk, opening bills and writing checks.  She comes up behind him 
and her long, small fingers start to work his upper back.  She knows he carries his tension 
there, in his trapezius muscles.  This unrequested affection pleases him, but his mind is 
still tight.  "Hey.  What happened to the electric bill?"

"I paid it."

"Whaddya mean you paid it?"  Her thumbs were doing something to him to prevent him 
from being capable of arguing.

"I paid it, John.  Consider it my contribution."

His tight back became supple as overcooked pasta under her ministrations.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I know."

"Ooh.  Fine.  But I'm gonna take you out for dinner later.  Any place you wanna go."

"The French place?"

"Yes, even the French place.  Anywhere, as long as you keep doing that."


Later, they do laundry.  
His basement serves two purposes.  It is a workout space, complete with mats, weights 
and a punching bag.  In the corner, a washer and dryer sit under a small window.  This is 
where he washes clothes.  Dana's over so often, her clothes are here too.  A mysterious 
nylon mesh sack has appeared that he vaguely recalls seeing back when he was married.  
Dana has identified it as a "lingerie bag".  For "delicates".  He looks at the slinky items 
hanging to dry and tries unsuccessfully not to imagine her in them.  

He pulls one of his shirts from the dryer, one of her favorites.  She's worn it so many 
times, it doesn't smell like him anymore, it smells like her.  She started wearing it shortly 
after they found Mulder dead, and she starting staying at his house.  It's huge, grey, 
slightly worn, bearing a marine logo.  She wears it constantly, sleeping, hanging around 
the house.  Even in her third trimester, she is so petite, it hangs almost to her knees.  It 
was his favorite, and it still is.  He doesn't mind her stealing it because of the feeling he 
enjoys seeing her in it.  The statement it makes.  Her in his shirt, marking herself as his.  
His cotton on her bare skin.  His.  A proud lion roars in his center and he wonders when 
he'll get to be as lucky as his clothes.

Thinking back, he decided it must have been love at first sight.  Nothing like a splash of 
water in the face to catch a man's attention.  She was beautiful, haughty, and 
untouchable.  And he was dying to know her.  True, it was in his nature to be dedicated to 
a partner, but for Dana, he always went the extra mile.  He admired her sharp intelligence 
and neat case work.  The cold way she held herself intrigued him.  She was a fireball 
contained in a thin, brittle and yet unbreakable globe of ice.  He wanted to break through 
and know her and the secrets she held.  He needed to help her.  Slowly she started to let 
him in.  And it only made him love her more.

Despite all she'd been though, she was still a sound, strong, capable woman.  He'd made 
it his goal in life to ensure she stayed that way, to protect her and her unborn child.

Since he first saw her smile, the image froze in his mind and never left.  He thought of 
her all the time, and ruminated on the dream he held that they could be together, a dream 
that grew more solid and plausible with every passing week.

Dinners at his house have become common, yet never fail to be special.

Tonight is turkey with cranberry sauce and green beans.  She started cooking before he 
arrived home from work.  In the kitchen, warm, tasty aromas entice him.  He loosens his 
tie and rolls up his sleeves to help.  She is wearing a silky purple v-neck maternity top 
that skims over all her new curves, which he has not failed to notice or quietly appreciate.  
Her feet are bare on the cool tiles.

He thinks of making a comment about her being pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen, but 
decides he'd rather keep his life, especially now.

"Hey.  How's mama doin'?"  He asks, his course voice soft as it always is when he 
speaks to her.  He rubs her swollen belly.

"We're fine," she grins.  "How was work?"

"The usual.  Blood, guts, and paperwork."  
  
The cranberry sauce simmers in a pot, which she stirs and is about to sample.  She raises 
the spoon to her lips and blows carefully to cool it.  Doggett watches attently.  

Their eyes lock.  She bends her head to taste it, never breaking the gaze.  

"Does is need more sugar?"  He asked absently, preoccupied now with a tiny spot of 
cranberry left on her lip.  He unconsciously licked his.

"Why don't you come see for yourself?" She teased playfully.

He stepped over, and she raised the same spoon that touched her lips to his.  

He tastes.

His ice blue eyes stare at her lips and he feels the tips of his ears heat up. "It's pretty 
damn sweet."

"Are you sure?" She said unsmoothly, trying to ignore the new growing tension between 
them.  

"I wasn't talkin' about the sauce."  His voice was low and rumbling.  Her pink lips part.  

She'd been waiting with sanguine anticipating for something like this, but it still 
surprised her.  

A timer goes off, buzzing loudly, temporarily breaking the spell.

Dinners ready.

Something about tonight is special, they both sense it, as if unseen forces were 
orchestrating something, as if it were timed to happen now, one move, one crucial turn of 
a clog that had been scheduled for this night long ago.

To honor, to act on these unseen yet felt forces, Doggett fetches two long merlot colored 
tapered candles.  Dana's busy finishing up preparing the meal, he knows he has a few 
minutes to set up the dinning room.  He takes an ivory tablecloth from the linen closet 
and spreads it over the table and sets it.  He places the candles in two heavy silver 
holders, lights them and dims the chandelier overhead.  Perfect.  He goes back to the 
kitchen to help her bring the turkey in.

Reentering the dinning room, he tries to act nonchalant.  Her reaction is just what he was 
hoping for, her eyes widen and sparkle, her mouth forms a tiny o.  She absorbs it, but 
says nothing.  She doesn't need to.  Her darkened eyes say it all.

The dinning room and its occupants have been transported, transcended to a new realm of 
formality.  They sit to eat in candlelight.  She finds it hard to keep her eyes off him.  He 
looks so handsome awash in candlelight, his tie loose, even the short spikes of his hair are 
charming to her. He notes the frequency of her eyes on him but thinks it a reaction to his 
own near constant gaze as he ponders how she could possibly be more beautiful. The 
conversation is light, friendly, and unadmitting.  Not entirely.  He does tell her how 
wonderful the turkey came out.

The meal finished and put away, Dana feels warm so they go outside, but the gentle, 
pervading, surreal heat of the house follows them.  Still, the night air is refreshing and 
clearing.

On the back porch, they enjoy goblets full of punch.  Non- alcoholic, naturally.

Not that they need it.  

The expansive inky blue night sky, just the two of them, is intoxication enough.

Light banter, he moves closer to her as they lean on the sturdy wood rails and look 
skyward into eternity.

He can feel the warmth of her body as he draws near.  They sit next to each other on the 
wooden bench.  A sudden cold breeze tousles her hair.  She shivers, but not out of cold, 
more from the electricity she feels from him.  

They've moved from antagonists, to partners, to friends, and they stand on the brink of 
another transformation.

He moves closer, their knees are touching, she looks cold so he puts an arm around her.

"You wanna go inside?"

"No."

"You wanna stay here?"  His voice was a rasp whisper.  The recent events gave him 
courage, reason, precedence to proceed.  He moves in closer, until their faces are 
nanoseconds apart.  He watches her pulse flash in her throat, her eyes, sapphire blue, 
dilate.  Her sweet scent drugs him and renders him addicted.

"Yes." Her voice is barely audible, but to him, it is the only sound in the world.

His broad hand runs up and down her arm and feels goose bumps on her silky skin.

"You cold?"

"A little.  Warm me up?"

"C'mere."  They are so close, there is no need to speak in anything above an undertone.  
He wraps his arms around her, acting as a human blanket.

 She's so close.  He has to tell her something.  He brings one big paw to her face, his 
thumb caresses her velvet cheek and he stares deep into her eyes, finding himself there in 
the blackness.

"Dana.  You are so beautiful," he confesses, awe soaking his gritty voice.

A small noise escapes her lips that is somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp.  

"So are you John," she whispered seriously, drawing in a shaky breath, his sensuous 
natural musk flooding her senses, making her dizzy and yet profoundly aware of their 
corporal state.

He chuckled softly, the sound was like music to her.  She treasured the vibrations it sent 
to her core.

They spend a moment suspended in sempiternity together, knowing this new world 
contains just the two of them.

Their eyes move to each other's lips, hers, bee-stung and waiting, his, thin, pumped, and 
ready.  

He suddenly finds he cannot breathe another moment without her lips.

He moves in, unable to hold back any longer, he makes the bridge, closes the finite gap 
between them and kisses her, slowly, sweetly, intently.  

His soft lips land on hers for the first time and a symphony of emotions surge through 
them.

The juxtaposition of the kiss heat in the cold night air is almost too much to bear.  His 
lips move over hers, claiming them.  Taking in every minute reaction of hers, as always, 
he feels her slowly dissolve into him, like sugar into hot tea, and it's that happiest 
moment of his life so far.  He squeezes her gently and she tilts her head back slightly.

She tastes so sweet.

Her small hands fly into his short, soft hair, desperate to bring him impossibly closer, and 
he more than willingly complies, and deepens the kiss.

And it came to be so naturally, there was no noise, no ringing of bells, no cracking of 
thunder. They fell into place like this was how they were meant to be the whole time.  
There was no fighting, no struggle, it was meant to be.


 
One week later

After a romantic dinner out at the French place, they curl up on the couch to watch a 
movie.

In the dark, they spoon in each others arms.

"Hey, Dana," he whispers into her red hair.

"Yeah?"

"You wanna be my girl?"

"Yeah."  She says slowly as a smile spreads across her face.

 They sit up and they face each other, his eyes hard and serious, betraying the levity 
imposed by his diction. He reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Good.  C'mere."

Doggett leans forward and kisses her sweetly, squeezes her tightly.

Scully is surprised by the feelings that come to her lips, like they've never been kissed 
before, even thought they've been kissed a thousand times this week by him.

"I wanted this for so long," he tells her between long, emulsive kisses.  "So damn long," 
he mutters as his lips burn down her long, graceful neck and his ears swell with the 
sounds of her soft moans.

His lips surround her pulsing jugular, he can feel her heart beating in his mouth, and 
knows it is finally his beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Her trembling fingers dig into his short, spiky hair, his broad shoulders and hard, tapered 
back.

"I'm your John, all yours."




IXX. Essence

Doggett POV


I love her so much that I don't mind the late night runs to fetch peanut butter ice-cream.
I don't even mind the foot rubs, hell, what my old man would say at admittin' this, but I 
actually enjoy it.  It makes her feel better, and it's a chance to touch her.  Even her toes 
are lovely, precious to me.

We're finally official, Dana's my girl and I couldn't be happier, which always seems to 
attract trouble.

Mulder has come to me and made it clear that he thinks Dana's baby is in danger.  
Apparently, Billy Miles has been committing a series of murders on people connected to 
Dana's clinic.  I want to take it with a grain of salt, like I'm always prepared to do 
whenever Mulder opens his mouth, but I can't dismiss anything that might be threat to 
her. Not with all that garbage out there some maniacs believe about her baby been' some 
sorta alien hybrid.  

Obviously, her baby is human.  But if some whacko thinks it isn't and wants to get his 
hands on Noah, he's gonna have to get through me.  Mulder and Reyes have convinced 
Dana that she needs to go into hidin'.  I'm kinda ticked at them for freakin' her out, but 
the element of danger is there.  So I take her some place where I know she'll be safe.  
Where I was born.

Atlanta Georgia. 

We take Agent Reyes along for additional protection.  I worked with her before, on 
Luke's case, and I trust her.  She's our friend.

They wanted her to go someplace remote, and I said no way.  Too many things could go 
wrong that we wouldn't be prepared for.  Dana may be a doctor, but she can't be her own 
patient.  

So we head to the Eastern Atlanta medical center.  I call ahead and make sure security is 
buffed up and alert, incase anyone finds out we're there.

But we don't make it to the hospital.  They insisted on driving, citing that plane tickets 
would be too easy to trace.

It's 2am, and we're driving down a back road about 60 miles outside of the city limits.  

Outta no where, a tire blows out.  Thank God there's no other cars on the road to worry 
about.  The car skids out of control and I throw on the E-brake, I tell everybody to hold 
on.  We're bein' pulled to the right, I push on the brake, not too hard, and push the wheel 
to the left.  Luckily, we slide to a safe stop without smashing into a telephone pole.

There's somethin' I don't get.  I checked the tire pressure myself before we left, and 
everything was fine.  I know I didn't hit anything.  But somethin', or someone, could 
have been aimin' at us.  I make sure Dana and Monica are alright and I keep this thought 
in my mind.

We get outta the car to survey the damage and assess the situation.  The car, apart from 
the tire, seems to be in decent shape.  I pop the trunk to get the spare when I hear a splash 
of liquid on pavement.  I hear them gasp.  In a few steps, I'm by Dana, she's hanging 
onto the car and her shoes are wet.

Her water broke.

I'd love to, but I can't panic now.  I bark at Monica to call for help and I rip the spare 
outta the trunk and try to make believe for a minute that I'm a part of a Nascar pit crew; 
because I have to do the fastest tire change of my life.

Monica say's she senses danger and I have to remind her that she's not Spider Woman.  
We're alone, stranded on a highway in the middle of the night with a woman in labor, 
any one would get those freaked out feelin's.

I want to be next to Dana, but I have to get this car running again, and I know Monica's 
got her.  She's sitting on a blanket by the side of the car.  I hear Monica makin' whale 
noises to try and relax her and remind her to breathe as the contractions come.  I almost 
laugh.

I got the spare out, and the jack, and I'm tryin' to get the lug nuts out of the flat but the 
damn wrench is the wrong size.  A stream of profanities leaves my mouth and I hear 
Dana moanin', and Monica tells her to push.  I scour the trunk to find another tool, but 
there is none.  I try desperately to get those nuts out, bustin' my knuckles up pretty good 
in the process, but it's no use, they just won't budge.  I throw the wrench on the ground 
and in one crazy moment contemplate shootin' the damn thing.

Help is not going to get here in time.

I start to get that freaked out feelin' too.  And I know.  I know before I even look.  
Someone's out here.

I can see a figure out in the distance.  I tell Monica and I switch the safety off my 
weapon.

More black figures appear on the horizon, comin' faster, just like Dana's contractions.  I 
move toward her, and check behind the car.  At least no one's comin' from that direction.  
Dana's groanin' and gruntin', her face is red and sweaty, Monica's yellin' at her to push, 
and she does with all her might.  

This isn't how it was supposed to go.  She's supposed to be safe in a hospital bed with 
doctors and nurses, not stranded by the side of the road, about to give birth on blacktop 
with about two dozen uninvited guests.  I know they know we got company but they kind 
of have their hands full.  I'll deal with them.


They're gettin' closer.  I can see that one of them is Billy Miles.

Monica moves between Dana's legs to deliver the baby.  I stand in front of them, gun 
drawn, and I bark at the crowd, demandin' them to stop or I will be forced to use my 
weapon.

They don't stop.  They keep moving forward at zombie pace.  I hesitate.  I don't want 
anyone to die tonight.  I bellow at them again, and this time it works, they stop just ten 
feet shy.  Behind me Dana screams and Monica tells us she can see the head.  I know I 
should keep my eyes on the crowd, but I can't stop myself, I back up a few paces and 
drop to my knees.  I need to be next to her now.  One hand holds hers, the other arm is 
ramrod, gun still trained on the crowd, but they remain still, just watching.  
They're not going to take her baby, I'll die first.

A few more pushes and Noah's born.  

Monica wraps him in her jacket and hands him to Dana, her face a mix of joy, pain, and 
fear.  I hear the baby cry and I thank God they're both alright.  I half expect them to 
launch forward and try to take the baby, but amazingly, they just start to leave.  Just like 
that, like all they wanted was to see the birth.  It's just one of many things I don't get 
about the X-Files.  But this one is a gift horse, and I don't give it an oral exam.

Minutes later, the help Monica called for arrived, and I go with Dana and Noah in the 
ambulance, off to the hospital at last.  Medics confirm they're both ok and I thank God 
again.  While we're talkin', I pray that this is the last time either of us takes this bus ride.



Epilog Four- Colors

Scully muses at the abundant flowers that grace her hospital room.  Her family came with 
multicolored bouquets, the Lone Gunmen sent similar.

Skinner came to congratulate her with a dozen pink roses, a show of admiration and 
appreciation.

Mulder showed up late with half a dozen yellow roses, to symbolize everlasting 
friendship.  He commented on his gratitude that the baby didn't have his nose.

Doggett took a brief break from his bedside vigil and returned with a dozen long 
stemmed red roses.

Red, red roses.

Dana knew all about flowers and their colors and meanings.  Did John?  She had to ask.

He entered and pulled up a chair next to her bed.  He brought her tea, sweetened to 
perfection.  "How are you feelin'?  They say you can go home tomorrow."

"I'm fine, John.  I'm more worried about Noah, he had his first shots today."

"He's ok, I was just checkin' up on him.  He's tough, just like his Mom," his eyes smiled.

"John," she motioned to his roses.  "Do you know what those mean?"

He chuckled lightly.  "Yeah, I know what it means."  His smile lingered, but his 
expression grew austere.  

"What does it mean?"  She asked softly, blue eyes flickering.

He watched her reactions closely as always and found room for light teasing.

"Why don't you tell me what it means, darlin', 'cause I think you already know."

She faltered, broke her gaze, suddenly unsure, a feeling she loathed.

Everything he did said it.  But he never spoke it.  It wasn't like John to be withholding, 
maybe he didn't really feel what she did.

He moved closer and took her hand, not wanting to play anymore.  He grazed his large 
thumb over her small white knuckles and recaptured her eyes.

He couldn't bear the uncertainty there, and he felt a great stir deep with in him and knew 
it was time.  

"Dana, honey," his other hand stroked her face.  He watched her react.  Like always, she 
relaxed at his touch, and happiness swam behind her eyes.

It was time to tell her.

"How could you not know by now?"  He breathed in, serious, knowing he was about to 
jump.

"I love you, Dana.  I've always loved you."

He felt his heart crawl out of his chest and await judgment.  

"John, my sweet John," she sighed in an ethereal voice he'd never heard her use before, 
and it sent pleasant shivers up his spine.  He watched as her eyes grew shiny and a wide 
smile crackled its way across her face.

"I love you too." Her blue eyes shimmered as relief and new joy engulfed her.  

Exultation swept through him.  He embraced her, kissed her, and stroked her glossy, fiery 
red hair.

"I'm glad to hear that honey, because I got a surprise waitin' for you back home."

Work was done on the new nursery, he'd managed to keep it secret.

"What is it?"

"You'll see," he grinned.


Later, back home at Falls Church, Doggett's house.  He takes the baby and places him 
gently in the crib upstairs.  He makes her keep her hands over her eyes, his hands on her 
hips, he guides her to the door.

"Ok, open 'em."

She gasps.  A beautiful, dreamy blue nursery meets her eyes, her newborn son kicking 
happily in a white crib.

"Oh my God, John, it's wonderful!  When did you do all this?"  She asked, eyebrows 
arched in wonder.

He chuckled at her astonishment.  "While you weren't lookin'," he teased, and wrapped 
his arms around her.  "You like it?"

"I love it!  It's much better than what I set up at my apartment."  She stopped and thought 
of the meager accommodations she'd set up back at her place.  This made so much more 
sense.

"Dana."

"Yeah?"

"I think it's time you stopped payin' rent at that place."

"John?"

"Move in with me, honey.  Let's make it official.  Hell, most of your stuff's here already, 
what do you say?"

"I say yes," a broad smile drew across her face and a fire stoked comfortably in his chest.

"Good."  He bent down and kissed her while Noah cooed happily in his new room.




XX. Existence

Doggett POV


The next Sunday at home, we have some guests over to meet the new kid.  Skinner stops 
by, and the Lone Gunmen and a few other people from work.  Everyone is in awe at how 
cute the little guy is.  I'm not surprised; he looks just like his Mom.  A DNA test 
confirmed that Mulder is the father.  The in vitro fertilization really worked.

Mulder stopped by too.  He's goin' into hiding.  Works for me.

Everyone leaves and I hold little Noah in my arms.  Dana faces us and puts her arms over 
mine, her baby between us.  Her face glows with love.  She kisses her baby and lifts her 
head to mine and kisses me slowly.

We are a family now, the three of us.

I take care of them and they give me purpose.    

After a long moment, I gently place the baby down in the crib.  He's asleep.

Dana and I go to the master bedroom.

Epilog Five- Beginnings

It is the night following Noah's first birthday party, held at Grandma's house.
In pictures, Noah will appear a bright, pink faced babe between his mother and the man 
he will call 'Dada', his second word at 13 months in between 'Mama' and 'no'.

Noah spends the night with Grandma while Dana and John try to relax at home.

But something gnaws at Doggett.  The quiet at home, the night stars, the glow of the 
moon does not soothe him.

They stand on the back porch where they shared their first kiss.  Something's been 
weighing on Doggett all day, and Scully hasn't failed to notice.  His broad back turned to 
her, a chilly wind blows through her and she wraps one arm around herself, the other she 
places gingerly on Doggett's jagged shoulder. 

"John?  What's wrong?"

He hesitated for a moment and turned around, but did not look at her.  "I been doin' a lot 
of thinking lately, about us."

Scully swallowed hard and listened.

"I've done a lot for you, Dana, and I never ask for anything in return.  When we were at 
the FBI, I watched your back while you distrusted me, and kept things from me.  I took 
care of you when Mulder died; I took you into my house.  I adopted your son and I love 
him just the same as if he was my own, because that's what he is in my heart."

His eyes meet her worried stare.  

"I have never, and will never hesitate to share with you everything I got.  I've saved your 
butt more times than I can count, but it doesn't matter, because you save my life 
everyday.  And everyday I work hard to give you everything you could ever want. But 
there's one thing I gotta ask from of you now. There's one more thing I want you to take 
from me."

He drops to one knee.  Opens a small black box.  Her hands fly to her mouth.

He draws a shining ring from the box and presents it to her.

"I want you to take my name.  I want you to be my wife."

She starts to shake visibly.  

"Oh my God, yes, John, yes!!"  Tears spring from her eyes as he places the ring on her 
finger.

He stands and kisses his beautiful fiancé, sweeping her up in his arms.  

"Than its official, honey.  You just made me the luckiest man on earth."

Soon her happy, stunned laughter is drowned by his lips.


Years later…

She dropped Noah off at preschool. 

John went to work.

She was about to head to her teaching position at Quantico when a sudden urge hit her.

She had to throw up.

She pulls over and vomits on the highway.

Drunkenly, she dials her cell phone and calls in sick to work and heads slowly home.

She thinks about calling John when another, larger thought hits her.

When was the last time she had her period?

Instead, she calls Monica and they go to a drug store to buy a pregnancy test.

How can it be, she thinks.  Noah was a miracle.  Could there possibly be a second?

Two thin blue lines say yes.

Monica hugs her and jumps up and down, near maniacal with glee.

Stunned, tears well in her eyes.

Noah's going to have a little brother or sister.

Hours later.

"Knock knock!" John announces, arriving home with Noah in tow.

She's not on the first floor.  He goes upstairs.  She's sitting on the foot of their bed.

"Hey, babe," he says gently, sitting next to her, noting her wooden manner and kissing 
her on the cheek.

"What's wrong?  Monica called to say you were sick.  I tried calling."

He felt her forehead, no fever.  She looked nervous.  Noah was laughing happily 
downstairs at the TV.

"Dana?  Honey, tell me what's wrong?"  His concern was expanding by the minute, but 
she just stared blankly, still stunned.  

Slowly she turned her head to look at him, unshed tears wet in her eyes.

"Honey?  You're scaring me now.  What's the matter?  Are you sick?"

"John," she spoke, one tear rolling free, she took one of his large hands and paced it on 
her belly.

"We're pregnant," she said solidly.  

A moment of stilled silence, his shocked face mirrored hers, then, he leaps up

His ear-splitting hosanna sent birds flying from trees.

Overjoyed, he hugs her tightly and she cries happy tears.

"You're going to be a Dad again, John."

His exuberant joy makes him tell everyone before she's confident enough to make it 
public, but her exultation overrides any feelings of annoyance, but in the end, it doesn't 
matter.

Nine months later, John Luke Doggett enters the world a healthy, bouncing boy, with his 
dad's sandy brown hair, his mom's romanesque nose, and his parent's bright blue eyes.

Years later…

Melissa Catherine Doggett is born, unknowing of the torments and joys two older 
brothers will bring.  One sprig of shinning red hair crowns her head, the last edition to the 
Doggett family for this generation, the last of three miracles.

John and Dana, having survived their past years of loneliness and pain, and having been 
lucky enough to stumble across each other in the random, rocky landscape that is life, 
enjoy decades of family bliss, uninterrupted by sorrow, misfortune, or little green men.

~FIN~