TITLE: Living from the soul
AUTHOR: AnnaRan
E-MAIL: annaran@wi.rr.com
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
SUMMARY: This takes place sometime between Three Words 
and Empedocles.
RATING: PG-13, mild language
ARCHIVE: Yes, just let me know where.
DISCLAIMERS: There not mine et. al.
DEDICATED TO: All the fanfic authors who have so 
humbly given me many hours of quality entertainment. 
To borrow an idea from the movie Finding Forrester, 
the show is my main course, the fanfic--my dessert. 
Also, to MBush 
(http://www.geocities.com/mbush1us/TheMytharcIntro.htm
) who continues to amaze me with her mytharc analyses 
and interpretations. Your thoughtful essays have added 
so much. . .


"The expression soul mate can mean a partnership in 
which the soul is engaged, in which one's own soul 
connects with another's. This is no small thing, and 
it reaches far deeper than the resolution of any 
superficial search for romance. Part of what we long 
for in our wish for a soul mate is intimacy with and 
the expression of our own soul."
Thomas Moore, Original Self

Living from the soul
By AnnaRan

She's awakened by the sound of her own scream. Another 
nightmare. She closes her eyes allowing the back of 
her eyelids to replay the horrible images still burned 
there. It's always the same dream. She's lying on a 
gurney draped with a white sheet. Men surround the 
table, but she can't see their faces because of a 
blinding white light that floods the room. She's 
pushing and pushing until she hears the baby cry, but 
the cry is hoarse and strange. She lifts herself up to 
look and. . .there it is. God, she hates these dreams. 
She finds herself once again ticking off possible 
rational causes. She always has nightmares when she 
sleeps on her back. It's simply not a normal sleep 
position for her. Or, the baby must be pressing on 
something that moves her from deep sleep into a REM 
sleep. Her obgyn told her nightmares were common in 
the last trimester. It was good advice, under normal 
circumstances, but aside from the usual food cravings 
and maternity clothes, she's only deceiving herself to 
think this pregnancy was, or ever will be, ordinary. 
She takes a deep breath and exhales what remains of 
the fear.

"It was probably the pizza," she says aloud. She 
shudders, the dampness of her pajama shirt making her 
feel suddenly cold. She gets up and follows a 
familiar, well-worn path to the bathroom. She can 
usually make this twice a night run without lights and 
half asleep, but not tonight. She flips on all the 
lights, unbuttons her sweaty blue satin shirt and 
tosses it toward the wicker hamper. She misses.

"Shit. Why does everything have to fall on the floor?" 
She stoops to pick it up, straightening herself with a 
hand placed strategically on the small of her back for 
support. She grabs Mulder's t-shirt hanging on a hook 
behind the bathroom door, slips it on and heads back 
to bed. 3 am. The clock's digital red glow illuminates 
her cell phone. Without thinking, she picks it up and 
calls him. He answers after half a ring.

"This it?" he asks groggily into the phone. She can 
picture him simultaneously swinging his legs over the 
side of the bed and grabbing his jeans.

"No, no. I'm sorry, Mulder. It's nothing really." She 
hesitates a bit. "I just had a nightmare."

He doesn't say anything, but she knows he's laid back 
down, his jeans still on but unzipped. "You ok? Want 
me to come over?" He waits a few seconds for her to 
respond before adding, "I can be there in 5 minutes." 
Anticipating her usual negative answer, she can feel 
him already drifting back to sleep.

"Yeah, Mulder, that'd be nice. If you really don't 
mind."

"Nope." He's instantly awake. "Be there in 5."

She flips the phone closed, places it back on the 
table next to her bed and heads to the kitchen to boil 
water for tea.

*   *   *

He lets himself in and finds her pouring boiling water 
into two cups in the kitchen. He takes off his leather 
jacket and tosses it toward the couch. 

"I know you're not crazy about tea," she apologizes, 
"but it's all I seem to have." She motions for him to 
sit down at the table and sits down next to him.

"Nice shirt," he says and instantly regrets it, as she 
looks noticeably embarrassed.

"I. . .ah. . .borrowed it when you went missing and I 
guess I just never bothered to return it." He nods, 
removes the teabag and lays it on the saucer. "It's 
not special or anything, is it?" She lowers her eyes 
to look at the Knicks' logo over the pocket. "Cuz I 
think I've stretched it out some." She smooths her 
hand over her belly and they both laugh. The hot tea 
and laughter begin to warm the chilly kitchen.

"Thanks for coming, Mulder," she says apologetically. 
I don't know if it's hormones or what, but I keep 
having these nightmares. . ."

"About alien babies?" he finishes. He shifts his 
position to sit sideways in the chair, his left arm 
draped over its back, his right hand grabbing the 
ankle of one long leg crossed over the thigh of the 
other.

"You know I've had all the pre-natal tests there are 
to be had," she continues circling the rim of the cup 
with her forefinger." She glances at him. "I've even 
had them redone by more than one doctor. Medically. . 
.logically. . .I have no doubts, but unconsciously I 
must be harboring these fears. . .," her voice trails 
off. "I'm fine during the day. It's the nights that 
bring out the demons. . .so to speak."

"Or aliens, in your case," he gives her a wry smile. 
"You told me you trusted your doctor, Scully."

"I do, Mulder. It's just. . .you know as well as I 
that these men are clever. Tests can be manipulated. I 
can't run them totally alone. There's always a point 
when I have to trust someone. I'm using their 
reagents, their equipment, and I guess that's the crux 
of the problem. I don't trust them. . .or anyone for 
that matter." She looks at him. "Present company 
excluded," she smiles weakly.

He doesn't return the smile but continues to stare 
blankly at something past the floor. "Scully, let's go 
through this again. Logically," he uses the word for 
her benefit. "Ok?" She nods. He uncrosses his leg, 
rests his forearms on his thighs and drops his hands 
between his legs, fingers locked. 

"Dr. Parenti told you the invitro failed. Do you still 
believe that?" He looks up for her answer.

"Mulder, we've been through this."

"Just answer the questions." He smiles slightly to 
soften his tone.

"Yes," she sighs. "I saw the results of the tests." 
Mulder shoots her the "and-you-believed-them?" look. 
"Well," she hesitates a little remembering the chain 
of events. "Of course I believed him at the time, but 
I went out. . .for whatever reason. . . and don't ask 
me for one, Mulder," she eyes her best don't-go-there 
warning, "and bought a home pregnancy test."

He respects that look. "And. . .?"

"It was negative," she smiles a little at how happy 
that makes her now, but how devastated she felt at the 
time.

"So, we can safely conclude you didn't get pregnant 
from the invitro procedure." He raises his eyebrows 
waiting for her reply.

"Well, pretty much, but you know, Mulder, those at 
home pregnancy tests aren't always 100% accurate." 
Mulder rolls his eyes.

"Ok, ok. I get the point. Invitro was probably a 
failure." He gives her his worst scowl. "Was a 
failure," she corrects.

"So, that leaves. .  .?" he presses with a stupid grin 
on his face, but she interrupts him before he can 
finish.

She turns fully in her chair to face him and takes his 
hands in hers. Her hands are warm from holding the 
teacup. "Mulder, in my heart I know you're the father 
of this baby. And that belief carried me through the 
first six months. It was my only strength and comfort 
after your death. But here," she points to her head, 
"as a scientist, and recent believer in the existence 
of extraterrestrials," she adds with a tinge of humor, 
"I know unexpected outside variables can change a 
perceived outcome."

Mulder nods. "Scully, I've thought about variables 
too. I've wondered more times than I care to admit 
what cancer man did to you." He takes a deep breath 
searching for the right words, "The time you found 
yourself undressed and in his bed."

"Mulder, I was dressed." She looks down embarrassed by 
the memory. "Just not by my own hand." Mulder's 
fingers tense slightly and he grimaces at the image of 
cancer man undressing Scully. 

"Mulder, I know you don't like to hear this, but I 
told you I looked into his eyes. I have no doubt he 
was sincere about his regrets. I don't believe he 
intended to harm me then. And there are times, and I 
know you'll never accept this, when I think he 
actually wanted to help me. Us."

He pulls his hands from Scully's grasp and stands 
unexpectedly. He hesitates a moment before walking 
towards the sink, the dripping faucet marking the 
seconds of a tense silence. He turns to face her. 
"You're right. I can't or won't ever believe that."

"Mulder," Scully pushes herself up using the table as 
leverage and takes a few steps toward him. "There's 
something else too. Something maybe even more 
plausible than undetectable alien implants. And 
probably more likely." She can tell by the way he 
angles his head slightly that she has his interest 
again. She steps closer and puts her arms around his 
waist, her head against his chest. 

"Mulder, what if these nightmares are some kind of 
premonition? A warning from God that things aren't 
right with the baby." There she's said it. Tears well 
up in her eyes and she feels them spill into the black 
softness of his t-shirt. He encircles her waist with 
his arms and draws her close, resting his chin on the 
top of her head, but says nothing. 

She continues, but her words are barely audible as if 
voicing these fears will somehow make them reality. 
"Mulder, we've both been infected with the alien 
virus. It's inactive now, I know, but how is it any 
different than any other virus? Say the AIDS virus?" 
She hesitates looking for the right words and opts to 
distance herself by using the scientific.

"I mean 1 in 4 babies born to HIV infected women 
become infected before or during birth." He's always 
amazed at how easily she can rattle off statistics 
from some recent medical study. "Scientists still 
don't know why certain children become infected and 
others do not. And we still don't know when 
transmission occurs. Possibilities include childbirth, 
from exposure to maternal blood or vaginal fluids or 
anything in pregnancy when there may be a mixing of 
blood or. . ."

Mulder cuts her off. "Scully," he shakes his head 
slowly, "you can't trust science here. There's no 
basis for any of this in your science. You were barren 
and you conceived. Call it what you will, but in my 
bible, that's a miracle." He feels her body relax 
against his and instinctively raises his hand to 
smooth her hair.

"After all you've. . .we've. . .been through, you have 
to trust. You have to have faith in something larger 
at work here." His eyes are closed and he's talking 
almost to himself. "It's ironic really. All the time I 
felt lost, I was always being guided toward the right 
path to the truth. . .to you. Us." He opens his eyes 
and even without looking, she feels his smile settling 
around her like a soft blanket. 

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Scully. Scientifically, 
this baby could contract the alien virus and die. Just 
like Emily. I know that's your fear, but. . .and I 
have no basis in fact or science here, I know that 
won't happen. I can't tell you why. I don't have a 
scientific explanation. All I know is that my soul's 
at peace with this." He wedges his hand between them 
and tickles her belly. "I know now I was wrong--He 
doesn't just keep the box scores."

She lifts her head and their eyes meet briefly before 
he looks down to finger the small gold cross around 
her neck. "Scully, you've lost this before and each 
time I've returned it to you. Even though I didn't 
believe, or fully comprehend, what it represented, I 
knew it was important to you and that's all that 
mattered to me at the time. And here I am once again 
returning it, not the object," he replaces the cross 
on her neck, "but what it symbolizes. . .faith. . 
.blind faith. Accept this miracle of life 
unconditionally with your heart and soul--your faith--
not your head."

She reaches up to touch the cross feeling a newfound 
peace seep through her fingertips and deep into her 
soul. He reaches for her hand and draws her closer. 
"Mulder, you never stop amazing me," she whispers into 
his mouth. He kisses her tenderly until she pulls away 
with a playful smile.

"What?" Mulder looks confused.

"Something's happened to us Mulder. After eight years 
together, we've somehow switched roles. Here I am 
talking alien babies and conspiracy and there you are 
talking blind faith," she laughs and grabs his hand. 
"I remember listening to a sociology lecture about 
couples married for many years who do just that."

"Talk about alien babies and faith?" Mulder teases.

She shakes her head knowing all serious conversation 
for the evening is over. "Oh, you know what I mean."

"I thought you said WE couldn't bring the marriage 
subject up until after the baby's born."  He always 
knows how to throw her that curve ball. Her face 
flushes a bit and there's an awkward silence followed 
by the early morning chirping of birds outside the 
kitchen window.

"Come on," she pulls him toward the bedroom. "We need 
a few more practices before we try out for the big 
leagues." 

"Won't he be upset if we wake him up?" Mulder's eyes 
point to Scully's belly. "He? She?" 

"Geez, Mulder, let's not go there. Not now. I'm tired. 
Anyway, don't you like surprises?" She doesn't wait for 
his answer. "You weren't around when I found out I was 
pregnant. I just want to surprise you with this." She 
turns to leave, but he grabs both her arms from behind 
and turns her around to face him.

"I love you, Scully," his voice cracks with emotion.

"I love you too, Mulder."

THE END.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I realized after I wrote this that 
unconsciously I could have been writing about a good 
friend who was diagnosed with ovarian cancer last 
year. After chemo and lots of prayers, her doctor told 
her the cancer was completely gone, but she's having 
trouble accepting this gift. She tells me she doesn't 
believe herself worthy of a miracle. For you Janice. . 
.ALSO, thanks to www.webmd.com for info on AIDS and 
HIV-infected mothers.

I'd love to hear from you. E-mail me at: 
annaran@wi.rr.com