Disclaimer: You mean to tell me Mulder and Scully aren't public
domain?  In that case.... Much as I'd love it, Fox and Dana aren't
mine, please don't sue me, I'm poor all the time.  Lucky Chris is the
creator, 1013 is the scoop, please don't interrupt my poverty loop.

Summary: Scully thinking about life.

Feedback graciously accepted or Flames quickly deleted at:
tgriff@accesstoledo.com

Accolades and my first-born go to: T Bishop for her dear friendship,
incredible beta and relentless hounding...I mean encouragement <g>.
 
 

FAITH (1/1)

At times I had such little faith.  Small and innocuous, my virtues
seemed to fade like the setting sun.  And, just when I felt like
Persephone, a maiden persecuted to the abyss of darkness, I was
reminded of impending motherhood and once again granted a renewed
hope.
 

That one day would start like any other since Mulder's
disappearance.  After a night filled with fitful sleep, I'd awake to
his absence and start the morning ritual of throwing up.  Myth number
one: Whoever said that women were at their most beautiful when
pregnant was obviously a cloistered monk.

I'd weigh the choices of my current circumstances, fitful sleep or
vomiting, and then decide water and Bremmer wafers were my only real
option. Even this did not go down well.

Rationally, I knew this Godforsaken, miserable feeling was caused by
hormones and should have passed weeks ago.  After all, I was four and
a half months pregnant.  Myth number two: Throwing up is not just for
the first trimester anymore.  For I was one of the lucky few
continually reminded of her state of pregnitude by an almost constant
condition of nausea; as if the rapidly diminishing options of
designer clothing weren't enough.  Disappointment number 438: The
Watermelon Seed does not carry Donna Karan or black business suites.
What's wrong with these people?

I could have started a daily documenting of vomit, I mused during
another mad dash to the toilet while having dinner at my moms.  We
could place it in canning jars and Mom could boil them to a perfect
airtight seal.  Along side would be the burial archive of former
lingerie, entitled 'gone, but not forgotten.'  Far be it for me to
deny Mulder the privilege of sharing every glorious detail of this
event when he eventually returned.

My mother didn't think this was a very good idea and claimed this
was St. Gerrard's way of reminding me of my blessings and my miracle.
Lest I ever forget the disparity I felt when I learned I was
infertile.  Although I never asked her, she is a sly one and I
imagine she and her friends have long been sending prayers and
novenas on behalf of my former infertile self.

When I questioned her wisdom on the holiest of topics, my query
pursued 'who' would be the patron saint of an FBI agent abducted by
aliens?  "Why Dana," she replied, "I thought you knew?"  Responding
to the quizzical look on my face, which seemed to have said, 'Is
there really a patron saint for this?' she gently touched my cheek
with the unconditional love and knowing invested in a mother's
intuition.  "You are dear."

Oh God, help me.  Mulder didn't have an ice cubes chance in hell of
being found.  I was not worthy of the honor my mom attributed to my
character; but, considering everything, I appreciated it nonetheless.
She was an endless source of strength; and reminded me that Mulder
and I have a bond and the respect of friendship that crosses all time
and barriers.  "In a way," she stated matter-of-factly, "faith is
maintaining our innocence.  Don't become so jaded, Dana, that you're
no longer able to see the signs along the way."

By listening carefully and keeping my eyes open, I too, would know
that all is well in the world and my faith would be rewarded.

If I didn't share her features and my father's coloring, I would
have bet my last dollar I was adopted.  My assurance in the world has
always been based in fact and as I grew, also in science.  Taking
leaps of faith has never been easy for me; and at a time when I
needed this undying belief, I struggled to maintain its existence in
my life.  I also needed to throw up again.
 

The tears began to well in my eyes at my ridiculous thoughts, but
mostly for my loss.  And my nosedive into another brief depression
had just won me a perfect score of ten.  As I was unable to see as I
drove, I pulled into a church parking lot to sob my heart out.  When
my display of emotions seemed to have exhausted the resource from
which they sprang, I wiped the wetness from my face, searched the car
for a tissue or napkin so I could blow my nose and then took notice
of the Church's marquis, 'Do You Want To Believe?'  "Yes," I replied
through a quivering breath.  "Yes."

So, maybe it was a good thing Skinner had sent me to a seminar that
day.  Anything to keep my rapidly changing form from overly curious
and peering FB- eyes with nothing better to do than gossip about Mrs.
Spooky sans Mr. Spooky. Annoyance number 1,013: Don't these people
have lives?

I was grateful for the winter season.  Hiding my ballooning shape
under a long coat - even in my drafty basement office where I felt
like I was burning in hell - gave some peace of mind.  But I would
not be able to attribute my abdominal distention and frequent
bathroom breaks to eating too many peanut M'n'M's and drinking
copious amounts of water for much longer.  Doggett had to know,
didn't he?  He never said a word but Christ, he couldn't be that
stupid, could he?

I imagined hearing Mulder commenting on my shape, "Come on Scully,
get those little feet and that duck waddle moving."  Of course this
is Mulder and he would later apologize and beg for mercy, on his
knees - especially when I had my gun trained on his thoughtless self.
And I would forgive him, after he flew to Toledo and brought me back
a Tony Packo's chilidog.  It was entirely his fault I was craving the
ultimate in food and indigestion.

It all started with a useless trip to Detroit when Mulder insisted
that the death of one Javier Rodriguez was directly related to the
possible cause of an alleged alien abduction....

"Mulder, you've got to be kidding?  Mr. Rodriguez, as unfortunate as
it is, died from injuries he received in an auto accident."  I
responded to him in my most rational and medically persuasive voice
as I lightly tossed the file onto his desk.

Looking at me as though I were dumb, blind and stupid, he quickly
noted what was not obvious to me.  "That's what they want you to
believe, Scully."

"That's what 'who' wants me to believe, Mulder?"

"The government, the Consortium.  It's a well-documented fact that
Javier Rodriguez was a multiple abductee, and the injuries he
sustained in the auto accident were not serious enough to bring about
death."

"That's an interesting observation, Dr. Mulder.  Thank you.  But
don't you think we should wait for the autopsy results before we go
traipsing off to the Great Lakes?"

"Well, we could."  He looked at me sheepishly in only the way Mulder
could, and added, "But you're doing the autopsy. Times a wasting
Scully and our flight leaves in two hours."  He quickly left the
office before I could persuade him further.

Twelve hours and one autopsy later, I discovered that while Mr.
Rodriguez did die needlessly, it was not from alien intervention.
Having been a former blood transfusion patient, of which St. Joseph's
Medical Center was not aware, Mr. Rodriguez received another
transfusion as a result of his accident.  As the later blood was not
leukocyte reduced, he developed what's known as a febrile reaction,
alloimmunization.  And while this is rarely a deadly condition, it
does sometimes occur.  Mulder was crushed, and I was too exhausted to
say 'I told you so.'

Just when I thought it was safe to leave for Detroit Metro, Mulder
announced his grand plan. "Come on Scully, I'm taking you to Toledo
to make this up to you."

"Gee Mulder, how thoughtful.  But really, it's unnecessary; I've
been to Toledo...once."  Not trying to wound his already disappointed
feelings, but also trying not to subject myself to any further
anguish, I attempted, once again, to dissuade him from this noble
deed.

"Really, it's not a problem at all; Toledo is only an hour drive.
Besides, there's someplace special I want to take you."  A coy Mulder
is a hard to resist Mulder.

"Let me guess, the Mud Hen stadium?"

He looked aghast.  "Scully, have you been holding out on me? I
didn't realize you followed baseball farm teams or..." he paused
moving his body close to mine, "are you possibly hoping for another
private baseball lesson?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Mulder. I told you I was in Toledo once.
We have a field office there, remember."

"Yes, I do remember," He replied, attempting to hide his
disenchantment at my rebuttal.  "But this has nothing to do with
baseball, unless you've changed your mind on that private lesson."

The private baseball interlude never happened - well at least not on
that trip.  But two hours later we were sitting in the quaint
restaurant known as Tony Packo's on Toledo's east side eating the
best hotdogs I've ever had in my life.  Jamie Farr's Klinger wasn't
kidding about these. Afterward, we went to International Park and
watched the full moon glow on the river.  Mulder then delivered a
romantic geography lesson about the Nile and the Maumee River's being
twin sisters as they both flowed north.  He certainly has a way with
words and trivia sometimes.

I really wished I had one of those hotdogs as I thought about that
moment.
 
 

My ability to drive eventually returned; and I left the asphalt
sanctuary for my medical seminar - although my sense of navigation
seemed to remain in the church parking lot.  I took every wrong turn
possible and found myself in yet another parking lot of an all year
Christmas store.
 

Christmas...How could I forget about this past Christmas?  I was 15
weeks pregnant, and the thought of traveling to San Diego to spend
the holidays with Bill and Tara was out of the question.  Especially
with the nausea I was experiencing.  I told my mom of my decision at
the beginning of December, citing a heavy workload and the ongoing
investigation of Mulder's disappearance.  Mom then decided to remain
in Maryland as well, to be close by should I need her support.  Bill
and Tara, in turn, announced they were flying east to spend the
holidays with us. All I wanted was to be alone, to grieve and feel
ill in the solitude of my apartment, but Mom turned this into the
event of the year.  A large party was planned for December twenty-
third, with every Scully and Harper family member known to man in
attendance, and then just the immediate family on Christmas Day.

No one knew I was pregnant, not even Mom - and I prayed I would make
it through this holiday with no one the wiser.  I really believed
that this one prayer would be fully answered, and it was...almost.

The party on the twenty-third went fine.  There were too many people
and too much activity for anyone to notice that I couldn't eat or how
often I used the bathroom.  Such was not the case for Christmas Day.
Mom wanted me to spend the night Christmas Eve, but I graciously
declined due to a full house with Tara, Bill and Matthew.  At least
when I woke, no one would notice the unnatural sounds emanating from
the guest toilet.

I think I would have been able to make it through the day if Great
Aunt Margaret hadn't stayed with Mom.  I was feeling fine - really I
was - until the smell of the turkey started to attack the precarious
balance of my stomach.  I excused myself for the fifth time since
sitting down to our meal and when I returned I was the focus of my
family's concerned interrogation.

"Dana, are you okay?"  Bill asked.  I would have found his concern
touching if he wasn't such a pathetic nuisance in my life.

Mom, the eternal peacekeeper and moderator of all things, simply
stated that my time at work had been extremely stressful.

"I'm sorry about Agent Mulder," Tara said attempting not to look at
my brother.  "Have you...are you any closer to finding him?"

"Jesus, Tara, even Dana doesn't have the power to requisition a
space shuttle and go looking for him across the Milky Way.  Do you,
Dana?  Mom did say it was suspected he was abducted by his little
green, excuse me - his little 'grey' men - didn't she?"

I wanted to slap the smugness off his face and send it flying to the
Milky Way.

"No, Bill.  Our search and investigation will continue to take place
on a more earthly level."

"Well personally, I don't know why you're all in a huff about this
poor fellow.  What's his name dear?  Agent Mulder?"  My aunt
Margaret's voice startled us all.  I honestly thought she was
beginning to doze at the table she was so quiet.  "I mean I think
it's much easier to believe someone has been kidnapped than Mable
Peterson thinking she saw Elvis at the grocery store last week!  Poor
dear, she hasn't been the same since The King passed away."  She
patted my hand in comfort knowing full well that Bill could be the
biggest and most insensitive jackass around.

Just when I thought the subjects of Mulder and my queasiness had
been forgotten, my elderly aunt spoke again.  "Dana, you know you've
got that look about you.  It's the same look I had when I was
pregnant and the same look your mother had when she was pregnant with
all of you children."  She took a short pause to cross herself in
remembrance of Missy and my father.

My mom's shrill voice broke the shock and horror I felt at being
discovered.  "Aunt Margaret!  Remember we told you that Dana..." she
attempted to choose her words carefully with respect to my presence,
"...she can't have children."

"Oh hush Mary Margaret!  I'm not a senile old biddy that can't
remember what she's been told. But miracles happen everyday as long
as you believe.  Don't they, Dana?"

How could I lie?  I can't lie as long as I believe... "Yes, miracles
do happen..." I spoke softly, looking into my aunt's eyes.

"I'm so happy for you!"  Her whole body smiled at her intuition
being right again.  I should have known; I should have remembered
that Aunt Margaret was better than any obstetrician I know at
predicting pregnancy.  Eighty-seven years old and she didn't miss a
beat.  Giddy with excitement she couldn't wait to ask her next
question.  "How far along are you?"

"Ah...um...fifteen weeks."

She raised her glass of wine to toast my good fortune while Bill
choked on his Christmas dinner.  My mom's face was frozen and Tara
sat in shock.

"Dana?"  That was the only word my mother could get out before Bill
regained his ability to breathe and speak.

"Dana..." Bill's voice was filled with a caution I'd never heard
before.  "Will I want to know who the father is?"

Judging from the tone and cadence of his voice, I highly doubted now
would be a good time to tell him.  "No, Bill. I don't think you will."

He didn't pursue his line of questioning; and soon my mother was
commenting about what a truly interesting Christmas this turned out
to be. Of course she also didn't forget to add that we should have a
talk...soon.

The most miraculous event of the day, however, was not my unintended
announcement of pregnancy, but the conversation I had with my brother
later that night.

Mom and Tara were upstairs tucking Matthew into bed and Aunt
Margaret had fallen asleep.  I stood in a peaceful living room, lit
only by candles, a magnificent Christmas tree, and a warm, crackling
blaze in the fireplace.  I felt safe, and for just one moment, happy.
The falling snow was beautiful and the view glistened with an
illumination I rarely took time to notice.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"  Bill placed his hands on my shoulders,
gently massaging my stress away.

"Yes, it is. Beautiful and peaceful," I acknowledged his attempt to
reconcile our sometimes bitter-differences.

"You know, Dana, I-"

"Bill, if you've come to chastise me and the life I've chosen, maybe
we could save this for another day?"  I did not need this now - or
ever; I did not need his recrimination to fuel my own sense of
inadequacies.

"I was saying, that I've been paying attention to the paths we
choose in life.  As a commanding officer, I take for granted the
bravery and courage of the officers and enlisted soldiers in my
charge.  But as your older brother, I didn't want to admit I held a
much different standard for you.  I never understood your choice to
join the FBI, Dana, until one day, I saw over and over again, your
faith, courage and strength reflected in the men and women who serve
under me.  I was never more ashamed of myself as I was at that
moment.  I can't promise that I'll stop my over-protective behavior,
but I'm very sorry for mistrusting what kind of person you are and
how you've chosen to live your life.  I really thought it was my job
to protect you when...it's my job to love you."

His words echoed through my body, but I could barely believe what I
was hearing.  Tears streamed warm down my face and my body trembled
at his confession.

"I believe, Dana, there can be no greater acts of love than trust
and faith.  And I have faith that you know what's best for you and
this baby; and trust that Mulder will be returned."

Holding each other, we stood silently at the window watching the
snowfall with a faith renewed and a hope strengthened.
 
 

I think of those times with a fond remembrance, when the path I
walked gave me strength and echoed Mulder's presence in my life.
 

The hospital is quiet now; and as I feel another contraction
starting, Mulder continues to massage my lower back, humming some
unknown tune intended to provide me with comfort.  I roll over to
grab his hand and begin taking deep, steady breathes.

"That's it, Scully," he coaches, "breathe deep. I'm breathing with
you."  I moan and pant through the discomfort until the contraction
eventually ends.  Mulder offers me some ice chips and gently wipes my
face with a cool cloth.

All too soon the contractions are coming closer together and I feel
my body take on a life of its own.  I'm weepy and nauseous; I can't
stop shaking; and I swear to God the Nubane drip is empty.  "Mulder,
would you please get he nurse?  I think the Nubane is empty."

I am a doctor and at no point have I developed a cavalier attitude
regarding childbirth and pain.  Any birth that does not require an
inhuman act is natural; and I have no compunction requesting pain
reducers at a time like this.

Covering me with another blanket, Mulder carefully places a kiss on
my cheek.  "I've pressed the call button, Scully.  She'll be here in
a minute."

"Well what the hell is taking her so long?  Oh Mulder, I'm having
another one..."

Breathing together like synchronized swimmers, I focus on his eyes
and his words of encouragement,  "You're doing great, Scully, you're
so beautiful."

Nurse Rachette finally arrives; although Mulder informs me she is
neither old nor mean and looks more like one of those nurses on a
soap opera. What the hell does he know?  She turns on a light that
would raise the dead, and in her most patronizing voice, says, "How
are we doing, Dana?"

Mulder doesn't give me an opportunity to respond.  Could he actually
be afraid of what I might say or do? "She says her Nubane is
empty...and...she's shaking and feeling nauseous."  Yes, I actually
think he's afraid.

Gloving her hand, she announces that it's time to check my cervix
again.  Mulder hates this part and his facial expressions vacillate
between pain and gagging.  Come to think of it, I'm not particularly
fond of this myself - especially when I have another contraction
during the middle of her examination.

The intensity of the contractions has changed; and she guides us
through our breathing - which is actually a comfort, because if
Mulder continues to breathe erratically, he'll hyperventilate in no
time.

Removing the glove from her hand, she smiles and states, "It's show
time!  You're fully dilated and effaced.  I'll be right back with Dr.
Bishop."

"Did you hear her, Scully?  We're gonna have the baby now."  He
showers me with affection; I'm not sure I have the heart to tell him
I'm scared to death.

"Mulder, I'm not ready.  I just need a moment to prepare myself.
What if something happens?  What if something's wrong?"  My anxiety
swells and threatens to overtake what little sensibility I have left.

Gathering me into his embrace, he comforts me with his assurance.
"We're gonna be fine Scully.  The baby is going be fine - more than
fine; he or she's going to be perfect."  His voice is so soft, and in
his eyes I see his faith in me and in this process.  How I survived
all these months without him I'll never know.

Dr. Bishop enters my birthing room with her obstetrical team in tow,
and a wave of relief passes over me.  I really admire Tekla Bishop.
She has a never ending supply of energy, wears beautiful clothing
like I used to, and is humming 'Happy Birthday.'  "Ready to have a
baby, Dana?"  She smiles.

Whatever modesty I had remaining is now totally gone.  The lower
part of the birthing bed is removed, stirrups are set in position
with draping and my legs are ever-so-non-gracefully placed in their
hold.  The room is a whirlwind of activity and Mulder...looks lost
and confused.

My doctor, snapping on the latex and taking her place between my
legs, instructs me not to push during this contraction and breathes
with Mulder and I.

"Okay, Dana, on the next contraction I want you to start pushing.
And, Mulder, I need you to count to ten, slow and steady. Got that?"

Mulder nods his head in agreement - still looking dazed and lost.
The next contraction begins all too soon and I push with everything I
have.  I vaguely hear Mulder's voice counting and Dr. Bishop in the
background reminding him to go a little slower.  I want them both to
be quiet.
 
 

We're still at this pushing thing and it has to be hours, if not
days, since we first began. At this point, I don't care about my-
tough-as-nails-FBI-you-can-do-anything-persona.  I announce that I've
had enough and I'm going to take a break for a while.  We can come
back to this later, after I've rested.  I need to sleep; I'm so tired
and my energy is spent.  Dr. Bishop's voice is calm and tells me
"just a few more pushes."  Mulder, again, tells me I'm 'doing fine.'

"Just shut up!" I scream at him.  "Mulder, if you tell me one more
time that I'm fine, I will shove 'fine' up your ass permanently!  I
am NOT fine! This hurts like hell and no one will give me any drugs
and I just want to go home and I can't!"  My sobbing is
uncontrollable and my body is totally drained of all strength while
my limbs respond as though they were jelly.

My ranting is short lived as the force of another contraction takes
over.  I want to yell at this power that has invaded my being, but my
voice is stuck in my throat and I hold my breath.

"Push, Dana, just two more pushes," Dr. Bishop encourages me.  As
hard as I try, there is nothing left to give.

"I can't...I can't do anymore," I sob with frustration.  I reach for
Mulder and bury my face in his chest.

Gently, he sits beside me and brushes back my damp, sweaty hair.
His eyes are bright and I think filled with tears.  He places his
hands along my cheeks and kisses me softly on my dry, chapped lips.
His voice is shaky and, yes, I believe he's about to cry.

"Did I tell you, Scully, how much I missed you when I was gone?
Because if I didn't, I want you to know that just thinking of you and
your strength gave me the will to fight and go on.  Even when there
was no hope in continuing to believe, I would hear your voice and
imagined you with me.  I would see you everywhere, Scully.  Whenever
I closed my eyes, or whenever I was allowed to speak with the others.
Someone would always say one of your lines, a phrase that's just
'you' - and I'd start to believe that maybe there was a God after
all.  That - after everything we've been through - you would be
waiting for me when I returned...just like you've always been there
for me, no matter what.  You're the reason I'm here, Scully.  You're
the reason I'm alive.  Only you...and I love you so much."
 
 

At 4:02 am we delivered a healthy - vocal - baby boy.  Weighing 8
pounds, 9 ounces and twenty-two inches long, he looks like an infant
version of Mulder.  Including a thick crop of brown hair.  We're
safely nestled in our room; both of us cleaned from our mutual labor,
and snuggled in the arms of Mulder.  Never in my wildest imagination
did I think this possible - that Mulder and I would one day be
parents together, and looking forward to a normal life.  Well, as
normal as it can be for us.  All things considered, with a lot of
faith, and a few miracles thrown in for good measure, I finally
learned how to believe...
 
 

~Fini~