Title: Crying Stones -- A Wrapped in the Wind story 
Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is
intended. Poetry belongs to the late Ted Hughes, and Emma's mine,
thanks.

SUMMARY:: Early December 2000 in the Wrapped in the Wind universe. The
mystery of Emma's conception is revealed.

=-=-=-=
Crying Stones
=-=-=-=

Wind

...The house

Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,

Or each other. We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the windows tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.

--Ted Hughes, :Wind:

=-=-=-=

It was a long day without Mulder and without much energy. Emma was
sick with another ear infection and he had wanted to stay home with
her, coddle her. I was secretly relieved to be away from the crying, the
screaming, but I hadn't gotten any sleep the night before and the day
was too forever long. All I could think about was Emma rubbing her poor
ears and that trembling look of pain and frustration on her face. Her
lips would crinkle and her eyes would tear and Mulder and I would hold
our breaths for that scream.

When I walked into the door that late afternoon, reports all filed and
cases noted and help rendered to VCS or pathology, depending, I was
met with silence.

I sighed in the luxury of it and shut the door softly behind me. The
house was positively brimming with the quiet, overflowing full with the
absolute peace. I closed my eyes as I dropped my briefcase to the floor
and toed off my heeled shoes.

"Scully?"

I opened my eyes and moved for the living room of our new apartment,
curling my toes on the hard wood floor. It was dark inside and the
window shades were drawn tightly against the setting sun. I could see
Mulder on the couch, Emma asleep on his shoulder and her body
scrunched tightly to fit on his chest. She looked like she'd been
squirming for attention, relief, some kind of pause from the ear
ache. She looked miserable even in sleep.

I leaned over the back of the couch, that old green leather with its
ratty armrests and smoothed cushions from nights of sitting, sleeping,
even making love. His forehead was wrinkled and tense when I kissed
it and he reached up to snag my collar, tugging.

"Scully. . .Emma's got a fever."

I reached around him and felt our daughter's forehead, using the back
of my hand because my fingertips were cold. Emma's skin felt soft
and malleable, but the heat underneath was high and burning. I let
my fingers brush her back and came to sit down next to them.

"Did you take her temperature?" I asked him, frowning.

"Not yet. I just got her to sleep when I realized it. She didn't have a
fever when you left this morning and I just didn't notice it until a few
minutes ago."

"Well, I'll get a thermometer and we'll check it out. It's probably just
the ear infection."

Mulder nodded and let his hand rest heavy on her back, like a protective
gesture that held a futility I didn't want to explore.

=-=-=-=

"What is it now?" I whispered as he crawled into bed.

"Still hovering right under 100."

I sighed and felt Mulder move Emma between us in the darkness. The
moon was clouded over and the stars were murky and lightless; the
entire night seemed like an omen and I kept expecting to hear the hoot
of an unfriendly owl. I was chilled with the feel of cool air drifting from
the not so tightly sealed window at the foot of our bed.

Emma moved against me, seeking my warmth and love with her baby hands
and her soft murmurs. She liked to sigh words into my cheek, almost as
if she were repeating things said to her hours ago, trying to get them
right.

"She didn't want to take a bath," Mulder said softly and I was startled
at how close he was to me. I could feel his breath drift across my hair
and skirt my forehead, and his hands moved to cradle Emma over my
own.

"Yeah. She's afraid of the water now. . ."

"She used to love baths," Mulder replied, and I could almost see the
frown on his face.

"It's normal. Just a phase. What did the doctor say when you called
earlier?"

He was indulging me again, because I had asked him four or five times
now, and always it was the same. Give her water in a bottle every few
hours, as much as she would take, check on her fever, wait and see.

"If it breaks 100, we take her to the hospital. He's on-call tonight."

I nodded and felt Mulder stroke my fingers with his own, soft and
smooth and gentle. I felt tired despite the sick baby girl between us
and I wanted to fall asleep. Emma was dropping off beside me and
her hot cheek felt unnaturally good against my cool arm and chilled
fingers. Her T-shirt was soft with washing and her legs were pulled
up into her body, making her bottom stick into the air.

"Did she walk anymore today?" I asked softly, trying to stay awake.

Mulder sighed. "No. I just held her all day long. It broke my heart.
She'd just look up at me and whimper and I couldn't do anything about
it. She didn't even try to cry all that much."

I was surprised at how quiet she'd been all night, at how easily she
dropped off, despite the pain in her ears. Maybe it was the antibiotics
finally kicking in, clearing up the infection. But with her fever, I
knew that wasn't the case and it frightened me.

It was amazing how quickly things got depressing when a baby was
sick, when your own baby was sick. Her pitiful noises at night made
me run to hold her and the screams when she just couldn't stand it
anymore were so soul-splitting. Mulder acted like it was killing him,
and I understood. Emma's ear infections had never been this bad
before.

"Look how tired she is," Mulder said and stroked her cheek with a
finger, his arm rubbing mine with the movement. It was drowsy and
intoxicating and I laid there quietly, feeling him close and Emma so
warm and knowing how good I had it. Just how wonderfully good.

I woke again when Emma cried and clutched her immediately closer,
half asleep and half dreaming, Mulder at my elbow. He was pulling
her from my arms and hushing her with his lips to her cheek, his
words caressing her ear.

"Go back to sleep, Scully."

I shook my head and sat up with him, watching him rock Emma back
and forth, looking so much bigger than my memories. She grew so
fast, spurts and shots like she was racing to be a grown-up, and
every time we came home, I expected her to be that small helpless
baby we were told belonged to us.

Mulder leaned against the headboard and I leaned against him, letting
his arm break free from Emma and wrap around me. I kissed Emma's
head as she squirmed restlessly in Mulder's arms, but her movements
were half-hearted and weak.

"She's sick, Mulder."

"I know."

"No. I mean, this has got to be more than an ear ache."

Mulder glanced up to me sharply and his arm tightened around me,
almost a protective, unconscious gesture. I reached over and felt
Emma's cheek, then her forehead, my alarm growing.

"Mulder, check her temperature again."

He knew by my cool voice that she was hotter than before, so he reached
wordlessly for the thermometer. It was one of those ear detectors that
worked better than the regular, glass ones. It had a digital read out
and a neat grip and I had gotten it that very first night Emma had been
sick with the ear ache.

Mulder passed Emma to me and I held her against my chest, soothing her
with my hands. The cold pointed end went into her ear and she squirmed,
crying out and blinking awake.

"No-no," she said pitifully.

"Yes, Emma-girl. It'll be over in a minute."

She whimpered and I could see the tears forming in her eyes, but instead
of bucking and bouncing in my arms like usual, she simply laid there,
too tired, too fevered to move. And that scared me the most.

Mulder and I watched the little black screen for agonizing seconds,
waiting for the red numbers to blink into existence.

102.

We startled, jerking back, away, apart. The numbers were like brands of
a death sentence, loud in their silence and condemning. Emma stirred in
my arms again and she was crying, so softly and gently as if it took too
much energy to move, to really sob.

"We've got to go," Mulder whispered and pushed up, away. He grabbed his
jeans from the corner even as I struggle from the bed, Emma gripped in
my arms.

"How did it shoot up so fast?" I flustered, handing my daughter to her
father so that I could get on my own clothes.

The jeans and sweatshirt came over quick and I ignored the bra and the
ache in my arms from Emma's heat and her absence. Mulder was juggling
his keys in one hand and his daughter in the other, trying to soothe her
with his soft voice.

I took Emma back and cradled her to me, her heat like a furnace and her
fists clenched against the movement.

"No-no," she whimpered painfully and I kissed her head.

"We're going to make you feel better, Emma. I promise, baby."

"Hu. . .huh," she pouted against me and moved her nose into my
collarbone. I grabbed her baby blanket from the end of the bed and
wrapped it tight around her. The December night was cold and brisk with
wind.

Mulder guided me ahead of him with a hand and opened the door for us,
his worry and anxiety like a dark presence within my own.

=-=-=-=

I never knew the Children's Hospital was so far away, never knew that
thirty minutes could seem like God's eternity dripping into us like
water leaking from the taps. I sat in the back, touching Emma's cheek
as she laid still in the carseat, her little body radiating heat. Mulder
drove with his fingers tight on the wheel, white and clutching.

The road passed under us like a smooth river, and just as drab as the
Potomac, dark and thick and flat. The white lines and the occasional
sign only fixed the monotony and I had my eyes on the approaching
blackness that I could feel coming.

Emily was too much in my mind these past few weeks, remembering
the Christmas of her discovery and death, seeing her almost-namesake
growing and Mulder and I still too cowardly to search out the truth about
our daughter's existence.

I knew what I was afraid of. Emma becoming more and more like Emily.
Emma becoming a project, a thing not meant to be, a child of mine more
than she already was. If she could be mine any more than she already
was. And I was afraid she would end up *not* being mine, and I so wanted
her to be mine. Mine and Mulder's. And she was, she was mine. Completely
and without reservation--no matter what the biology of it was.

As I tried to take my mind from Emma's fever, from the pitiful look she
was giving me, I realized that Mulder and I had never once expressed
interest in discovering Emma's true biology. We had never wondered if
she was ours or theirs or only mine. She was Emma and she needed us;
she belonged to us. We loved her.

"Scully?"

At his voice I knew he was thinking like me, thinking about Emily and
green blood and projects and death. About Emma's real parents, whether
that was us or some unknowing abductee.

"Yeah." I said softly, not an answer, but an affirmation.

The darkness was creeping on us now, close and breathing down our
necks, its suffocating presence tainting things already. I looked out
the back window and watched things flash by faster than legal, but
not caring. Not seeing.

"Scully, whatever we find here. . ."

But he stopped and I knew he couldn't bring himself to make me false
promises. I was grateful he didn't try but I needed reassurance in
something. The night was thick and thin at the same time, thick with
fear and worry and thin with promise and understanding. I just wanted us
to be left alone for once, for God to put his protection over us and not
let go.

Just don't let go.

"I love you, Mulder," I blurted out, feeling my face flame even as I
said it. Meaning it wholly.

His eyes snaked up to meet mine in the rear view mirror and they were
sad and sparkling at the same time.

"I love you too," he said back and it was as if he wanted me to remember
those words for all time.

All time.

=-=-=-=

Dr. Curtis had been in and out four times, each moment pausing to give
us updates on tests or simply smile tightly. She was a good doctor and I
trusted her, more so than our regular pediatrician, who was supposed to
have been on-call, but wasn't.

Emma was on the fourth floor of Georgetown Children's Hospital, with her
small body looking frail and tiny on the big, dwarfing bed. She had her
own room; there was no other patient in the next bed. She had fluids
dripping through an IV and antibiotics for her ear infection coursing
through her veins. She had the worst, most pathetic whimper in her
voice. She had me frightened.

Dr. Curtis had admitted her after taking her temperature and noting her
foggy medical information. She knew Emma was adopted, knew that we
knew very little about where she had come from. She was being
precautious and I appreciated it. I felt better knowing Emma was being
looked after, was so close to experts who could help her, but I also
wanted to snatch her up and run away from there. I hated seeing her
so still, so pained and listless in the bed.

We had given her two baths to break the fever, and it now hovered around
100, better than before but still not good. Babies were naturally warmer
than adults, but not like this. Dr. Curtis was waiting to see if the
medication did her any good overnight, and then they'd work from there.

I sat with Emma in the bed, stroking her forehead and cramped into the
tight space between the rail and her body. I was trying not to make her
any warmer than she already was, but she curled around me and clutched
at my jeans with small, chubby fingers. She had already lost weight in
the three days she'd had the ear infection and her knuckles showed.

But I reminded myself that Emma had always been thin, small, and her
baby fat had never really gotten that rounded. The thought didn't make
me feel much better.

Through the thick glass windows, I could see Mulder coming down the
hall, his sneakers soft in the large room and his eyes flickering from
bed to bed, maybe overwhelmed at all the sick, hospitalized kids. There
were nine others on this hall with us and five empty beds, but it was
enough to make me despair. Mulder had just finished filling out all
those insurance forms as best he could, and was making his way back to
us.

He pushed open the door and our eyes met in that parents' sorrow and
sharp fear. When he got to Emma's bed, his face kind of crumpled and I
held out my arms to him. With shaking steps he reached us, then buried
his face into my neck, his worry too tight for tears. I held him and
wanted to break down and cry, but I refused to let myself start
doubting.

"Mum-ma?"

I looked over at Emma and pulled from Mulder to stroke her cheek and
smooth away her damp hair. She reached up and batted at my hand, then
gave me a soft soft smile, like she was trying to encourage me.

"It's okay, Emma. You're in the hospital but we're right here."

"No-no," she said and her chin wrinkled with unshed tears.

Mulder reached over and took both her hands, gentle fingers around the
IV line.

"You've just got to stay here for a little bit, Emma. Not long. Just to
get better."

"No-no," she said again and great big tears rolled down her cheeks.

Very carefully I pulled her up into my arms, cradling close and pushing
away the lines and tubes, trying to keep from pulling anything. Mulder
sat down on the bed, putting his palms on my thighs and stroking his
fingers over Emma's shoulder and little leg. He leaned in and kissed her
forehead.

She whimpered, but said nothing more and the tears stopped slipping
down her cheeks. She pushed a thumb into her mouth and turned into
my stomach, burrowing into me. I hummed a bit to her, but gave up on
a lullaby, choosing instead to just breathe her in.

"Are we allowed to do this?" Mulder asked, whispering at me.

I smiled and shrugged. "Probably not."

"How come there aren't any other parents here?"

"It's one in the morning, Mulder," I said, shaking my head. "They
probably have a motel room in town, or go home to sleep."

He glanced through the window, long and filling one wall, and his
surprised eyes came back to me.

"They leave them here?"

I licked my lips and sighed. "Sometimes they're here for a long
time. . ."

"That's so sad."

I glanced down to Emma and she was falling back asleep, her lips
slack around her thumb and her arms loose. The bed shook and I
looked up to see Mulder had stretched out on the bed, his head
propped up on his palm, elbow pressing into the sheets. It made
the mattress slant down into him and I shifted to keep from
crushing Emma.

He pushed his head onto my knee and kissed Emma's little leg,
then nuzzled my jeans until I put my hand to his hair.

"Hey, who's the sick child here?" I whispered, ruffling his sticking-up
bangs.

"Don't knock me. I've been awake since one o'clock yesterday morning.
I'm exhausted."

I bit my lip and smoothed a finger down his nose, then press his lips.

"Yes. . .you're a good daddy."

Emma murmured against me, something about daddy and some
nonsense baby talk that made Mulder smile up at me. It was almost
a soft, wonderful moment, but for the IV in my baby's arm and the
hospital smells. Mulder's mouth dipped and I could tell he was
thinking about Emma's fever.

"She's not going to have to stay here long, right? It's just an ear
infection."

I nodded, but didn't say anything, hoping my eyes wouldn't reveal my
doubt.

But he saw it and he winced.

=-=-=-=

The other parents and siblings and relatives came in at six, usually,
before the children were ever awake, and we noticed they left at
midnight, ever-exhausted and ever-hopeful. They knew we were the
new ones, knew with that certainty of no sleep and long fitful dreams
that comes when a child is sick. The bed next to Emma in this room
was still empty and I felt grateful--I didn't think I could handle coming
inside to see two sick children. It was bad enough to walk down this
small hallway and catch glimpses from the corner of my eyes.

When a child is in the hospital and you are helpless, it is hard to know
what is the right thing to be doing, or what decisions to make. One
mother told me that it was okay for us to leave, to rest, and then come
back. I just stared at her, unbelieving.

I came to understand, in those three days when Dr. Curtis couldn't break
the fever and the antibiotics weren't getting rid of the infection. Her
ears no longer hurt; Emma let us know that, with a bright smile when we
asked. But her immune system was weak and her movement listless.
She was not the happy, bouncy girl we knew, and she had no energy to
speak even in her baby nonsense. She was cranky all morning and then
complacent and far away in the afternoon.

"Da-da," she said, right into my ear and I straightened up.

She was awake and I hoped I hadn't fallen asleep.

"Daddy's getting some sleep, Emma."

"Peas. . ." she whispered and I sucked on my bottom lip, afraid I was
going to cry in front of her.

"Oh, baby, you don't have to say please. But I'd have to leave to get
Daddy."

She looked confused and her eyes strayed around, then landed back
on me. Her hands moved under the white sheets and I reached out
and freed them, letting her grab on to my fingers.

"I have to go get Daddy, Emma. I have to go."

She nodded and her head bounced a bit, more movement than I'd seen
from her in three days.

"Da-da."

"I'll go get him."

I stood and disentangled my fingers from hers, kissing her forehead
and stepping back. She just watched me, unafraid, and I was proud
of her courage. She was stronger than I was.

I fairly ran from the room and straight past the nurses' station and
into the little lobby/waiting room where Mulder was sacked out on the
couch. The nurses had asked that we not use the bed next to Emma
because it needed to remain cleaned. So I'd had four hours on that
same couch only about thirty minutes ago, but I knew Mulder would
want me to get him.

"Mulder," I whispered and brushed my fingers along his forehead.

He was jerked awake instantly and I could hear his heart pounding
fiercely behind his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"No. Nothing. Emma woke up and she asked for you."

His surprise nearly knocked me flat, but he stood on shaky, weary
legs and led the way back to Emma. I was distraught at the huge
black rings under his eyes and the skin hanging from his cheeks
like leather stretched too tight across bone. Being so preoccupied
by Emma, I hadn't noticed the changes in Mulder.

As we walked back to Emma's room, I noticed two other couples
standing outside their children's room, talking to a doctor. Each of
them looked tired and worn-out, but not nearly as bad as Mulder
and I. Maybe that mother had been right. Maybe we were only
hurting ourselves more by sleeping in four hour shifts in the waiting
room. We were denying ourselves of each other:  I hadn't talked to
Mulder in two days.

Emma was still awake though sluggish when Mulder sidled up to
her bed. She held out her arms to be picked up, but he just bent
over and hugged her tight, kissing her.

I winked at Emma and smoothed by fingers along her small arm.

"I brought Daddy for you, Emma."

"Mum-ma, Mum-ma," she said and I leaned over to kiss her too.
"Tanks."

"You're welcome," I said, smiling just a bit.

She began talking baby talk again, random strung together sounds
that seemed to be another language, and which Mulder was convinced
actually meant something. I knew it meant something, but only to her.
He kept telling me the birds on the window ledge cocked their heads
when Emma talked, seemingly listening.

I wished we were at home, with those ugly pigeons on the window ledge
and the glass smeared with baby handprints and Emma's liveliness all
back again. I wanted to cradle her to me and soak the life back into
her, the energy, and take her out of that place.

That was the good day. The only good day. I should have paid better
attention to that day because it was a long time before that day would
come again, a better day, a day with hope.

Emma smiled at us twice and begged hugs and conned us into getting
her a popsicle before she fell asleep at six o'clock that evening, Mulder
and I were so tired we both went to a motel next door to the hospital
and rented a room.

We slept long and deep and almost peacefully.

=-=-=-=
=-=-=-=

I woke up in Mulder's arms, with the silence of his breath and body like
a blanket around me. I wanted to fall back asleep, but I was haunted by
Emma. Craning my neck, the clock spit back three am with its heavy click
and slow grind of the hands. I'd been out for about seven or eight
hours--more rest than I'd had in about three days.

The motel room was small and cheap, with a bed that sagged in the middle
and made Mulder and I roll into each other. His right arm was slung
around my neck, his fingers tangled in my hair. I was close, but not
quite touching his chest, our bodies curved so that my left knee was
between his legs and my calf touching his. 

I reached out with a hand to touch the soft light brown hairs of his
stomach, my fingertips just barely grazing, not wanting to wake him up.
The darkness was enough to make my eyesight just off, so that the room
seemed alive with things:  a shadow became a demon, the low dresser was
a beast, the window a great all-knowing eye watching us.

I couldn't see the skin I touched, but the feel of it was enough to
settle my jumping heart and the panicky taste in my mouth, like metal.
Mulder's hand flexed unconsciously along my neck, dizzying swirls of
heat sizzling through me. I pushed forward gently, moving until my lips
were pressed against his shoulder.

"Mm," he murmured and his fingers teased my skin.

"Mulder?" I whispered.

"'M awake."

"Did I wake you?" I said and kissed his shoulder again.

"Nope. Been awake for awhile, just enjoying it."

I smiled against his skin and stroked my fingers against his stomach.

"Mm, feels like you're enjoying it too," Mulder responded.

His hands moved from their lazy positions and pulled me so close to him
I couldn't breathe. I pushed back a bit and wiggled around until I was
eye level with him, watching him.

All we needed was a look, a soft glance, and we knew. He sighed.

I moved out of his arms and sat up, hearing him sit up behind me, then
moved to my side. His thigh touched mine and he reached for his jeans. I
struggled to not feel disappointed, to not feel soul-sick, but it was
hard. Mulder and I needed some time alone, but we also couldn't bear to
be here while Emma was in the hospital.

I sighed and pulled my jeans back on, shimmying out of the T-shirt I'd
borrowed from Mulder to sleep in. He touched my belly as he slid past,
making goose bumps flash across my skin. I snagged my bra and hooked it
on, then moved after Mulder. Nearly bare from the waist up, the both of
us, we jostled in the small space of bathroom to brush our teeth and
wash our faces. 

He touched the strap of my bra, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"You're pretty funny, Scully."

I shrugged out of his touch and bumped his hip to move him aside,
leaning down to spit out the toothpaste and rinse my mouth. When I
straightened up again, he pressed his lips to mine and smoothed his
fingers down my stomach.

I pulled back for breath. "Why am I funny?"

"Going around like this every morning. I never imagined."

"What all did you imagine, Agent Mulder?"

He grinned and winked at me, then grabbed his electric razor. I stepped
past him and grabbed my thin sweater from the back of the chair. 

"Oh, don't do that, Scully. I like it. . ."

I pulled the sweater over my head and pushed my hands through the
sleeves, straightening it out. Moving back to him, I poked his side and
wrapped my arms around his stomach, my chin to his back.

"You're lagging behind, Mulder. I'm all ready to go."

He reached around and snagged my belt loop, tugging me out from behind
him. He finished off his shaving and brushed his cheek against mine.

"Very nice," I said against his skin. "Let's go."

=-=-=-=

I felt a tense snake of dread coil around my belly; from the moment we
stepped out of the red and blue painted elevator and into the hallway,
the eyes of everyone turned to us in sympathy, watching. I knew
something was very wrong. There were doctors and nurses shouting at the
end of the hall, running in and out of one of the rooms, a flurry of
activity that caused my heart to trip and fall.

Emma.

Mulder's hand came to squeeze my arm tightly and we jogged forward,
nearly running, my eyes blurring with tears.

When we stepped into the room, a nurse broke away from the huddle around
Emma's bed and tried to stop us, managing to tie Mulder up but letting
me slip past her and to the commotion. I stopped dead still, watching
the heart monitor and hearing the scream of the flatline. Flatline.

My fist pressed to my mouth, smothering a wail of desolation and
shattering fear. I felt Mulder grabbing my arms and pulling me to him,
even as I pushed forward, not knowing what I could possibly do but
needing to touch her.

A doctor was screaming. The heart monitor was screaming. Somewhere in
me, I was screaming.

"Get her out of here. Get them *out* of here."

We were backpedaled away, away, down that long hall, backed out the
door and into the antipersonal waiting room. Mulder crushed me into him
tightly, too tight to breathe, my shoulders up and down with sobs that
wouldn't come out. I heard him keen into my hair and my knees gave out,
dropping both of us to the plastic couch.

Please don't let her die. Please don't let her die.

=-=-=-=

"Mrs. Mulder?"

My head jerked up and a nurse was standing over me, her hands soft on my
shoulder.

"How is she?" I said, pulling up and out of the numb catonic state I'd
plunged myself into. Mulder wasn't in the waiting room anymore and I
didn't know where'd gone. 

"She's in ICU right now, Mrs. Mulder."

"What happened?"

"The doctors aren't sure, but they think she's got a bacterial
infection. It caused shock and some severe breathing problems."

"What?"

I stand up, making moves to see her or find Mulder or something. I
didn't know what I would do, but the nurse grabbed me and gently pushed
me back into the couch.

"Do you know where Mr. Mulder is?" she asked.

I glanced around, feeling confused and disordered.

"No. . ."

"Right now, you can't see her except for a few minutes. The rules of the
ICU ward forbid--"

"I'm a doctor," I said but wasn't able to hear her quite so very well.

"I know, Mrs. Scully. But you're also a mother. And I can't let you go
in there right now. As soon as the doctor speaks to you, she'll let you
in."

I nodded, but my eyes were staring at the door to the waiting room,
wondering when Mulder had walked out.

"Mrs. Mulder?"

It still rattled me when they said that. I was Mrs. Mulder, sort of. . .
but I wasn't. Yet, strange and unreal as it seemed, I was Mrs. Mulder.

"I'm okay."

She nodded and moved out, leaving me to my cotton swabbed world. I was
numb, needing something, shying away from Emma's sickness. How had it
all changed, how had she gotten so bad so quickly?

Pushing up, I moved out into the hallway, haunting the corridors with my
fingers trailing the walls. Where was Mulder? I needed Mulder.

"Scully!'

Spinning around, I saw him jogging down the hall towards me, felt his
arms embrace me deeply.

"She's in the ICU, Scully. They'll make her okay."

I was shaking and pressing my face full into him, trying to get away
from the weight of fear and worry. It was like being in stasis, not
knowing whether or not I could move and still live.

"Mulder. Mulder?"

"Let's go sit down somewhere," he said and pushed me to the waiting
room. There was no one inside and we sat on the couch again.

"Mulder?"

"I'm right here, Scully."

I glanced up at him, worrying my lip in my teeth, fists squeezing
tightly. How to ask this?

"Mulder, pray with me."

He startled and ran a hand down his face, shaking his head.

"Scully, I-"

"I'm not asking you, Mulder."

He stared at me and then stood up, shaking his head.

"Mulder. For Emma."

My voice cracked and I buried my head into shaking hands, pleading with
him silently. After a moment, I felt his hands over mine, his kiss on my
forehead.

"How do I start?"

I glanced up, shaking and feeling a sudden flare of hope. 

"Dear God," I whispered.

He nodded and I could see the tears in his eyes as he kneeled before me,
the panic almost overwhelming the love.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

He leaned in closer and our foreheads touched, resting, needing the
contact. I could feel his breath puffing against my cheek and his lips
so close.

"Dear God."

I gripped his hands and threaded my fingers through his, closing my eyes
and putting my entire force of will, all of my faith, into his words.

"Dear God," he repeated and I could tell he was lost.

"Please. . .please don't take her," he said finally.

I kissed his tears and brushed my fingers along the inside of his
wrists.

"Amen," I whispered.

=-=-=-=

ICU had a fifteen minute time limit, and there was no privacy. The
nurses' station was right in the middle of a circle of beds, and another
cluster further down the hall echoed its frightening austerity. Emma's
bed was across from the door, and I wondered if Dr. Curtis had put her
there so we could press our faces to the glass and just watch her. Watch
without touching, seeing without feeling or hearing.

I didn't know whether to be grateful or feel wounded.

Emma's little body was pale and skinny against the bed, her baby fat had
disappeared in those short three days of hospitalization, and her hair
was limp and flat. She had a breathing tube running into her nose and IV
antibiotics, erythromycin now dripping into her veins. Her ear ache and
cold symptoms had been omens of something much worse than an ear
infection, much more deadly and strange that a cold.

She had something called woolsorters' disease, otherwise known to
soldiers and the Department of Defense as Anthrax. Anthrax in my baby
girl. I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't have if Dr. Curtis hadn't shown
me the slide of her blood under the microscope and the bacterium
crawling through.

Anthrax is not something common in the United States, not even common
among the soldiers that go to other countries, but of course, they've
been immunized. Anthrax is a gas, too, an agent in biological warfare
that can kill.

Inhalation anthrax. Death after the onset of acute symptoms usually
occurs in one to two days. My clinical side was rattling off the
symptoms and side effects, but I was trembling all over, everywhere. I
reminded myself that we had caught it early, and she'd been treated with
penicillin since we had gone to the doctor's for her ear ache. Her shock
and breathing problems had been the acute symptoms, but she had been
treated for days. So she could fight it. We could fight it. 

I just had to keep telling myself that. Emma was a strong, usually
healthy girl. She was active and bright and happy and always smiling. I
couldn't even begin to think she wouldn't make it.

I filled my time with thinking about how this had been done to her. How
my little girl had gotten anthrax, inhalation anthrax no less. It always
came back to one thing, one moment, one sick suspicion.

Mulder voiced it that fourth day, with my head lying on Emma's bed and
her small hand in mine.

"It was them. They've poisoned her."

He was stroking her forehead, smoothing her hair and caressing her skin;
his eyes were dark and fathomless, his face set.

"Yes," I said softly, knowing it to be the only real explanation. Little
babies just did not get inhalation anthrax unless they'd been exposed to
gas.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mulder? Fifteen minutes are up."

We didn't even protest this time, didn't struggle to stay, didn't make a
fuss. We knew the drill, knew the tight rules and the importance of
silence to those in the ICU. But we also knew something else, something
that was driving us forward.

I kissed Emma's forehead and whispered my love. Mulder pressed his cheek
to hers and I wanted to cry, but felt strangely far away. Too far away
to cry.

Mulder took my hand as they shut the doors behind us, our gaze locked on
Emma's small small body and pale pale face. The tightness in my heart
and chest from the unshed tears clutched spasmodically, but I could not
make a sound.

"I think it's time we look for the truth about Emma."

I glanced to Mulder and nodded, my head jerky with the sorrow, the
worry, the absolute fear. I couldn't bear to sit around and do nothing,
sit around waiting to see if she would die or live. We had two days, at
the most, to search for Emma's truth, maybe a cure, and I was not going
to spend those two days just hoping.

I was determined, but I also felt weak, insubstantial. Mulder gripped my
shoulders tightly, just staring at me, his intensity like a heat,
burning me. His arms wrapped me up in a swift move and I was clutching
him to me, so needy, so hurting.

"It's going to be okay, Scully. I'll be back."

I pushed away from him, shaking my head. "No. No, Mulder. Together. We
do this together. I can't stand sitting there--let alone with you."

He wanted to protest, I could see it, but he simply gave me a nod, swift
and sure.

"We'll call my Mom; she'll sit with her."

I felt his hand reach for mine and squeeze it. I sighed and glanced once
more to Emma's still and silent body. Her spirit was not there and I
wondered where it had gone to, whether or not she hovered around,
waiting for us.

Mulder sighed.

"Why now? After all this time, after the trouble of handing her over to
us, why try to kill her now--when I  love her so much?"

=-=-=-=

Our apartment was like a tomb, still and empty and littered with Emma's
toys. Things she would not play with today or tomorrow, maybe forever.
It made me waver for an instant, made me question my loyalty, seeing all
of her things as I passed through the rooms. What was I doing, going off
with Mulder?

I wanted to think Emma needed me, but she was beyond my medical
expertise. There were plenty of surgeons, doctors, nurses, orderlies,
whomever, that were much more qualified than I. When was the last time I
had a real patient, a real trouble, besides Mulder's broken fingers or
gunshot wounds?

I knew nothing about anthrax, except for the lectures given to us every
year by a Department of Defense member, and they included about thirty
other weapons of biological warfare too. Anthrax is usually a thing of
the past, with newer chemical weapons and better biological weapons
being made and tested and used.

Mulder and I had never been vaccinated. Government workers weren't
always required to be, and mostly the vaccine was for military
personnel. I knew Bill was, and Charlie too. But I didn't know what it
was that Charlie did. He's not allowed to tell us.

"Should we even be in here?" Mulder asked, hesitating as I stepped
closer to Emma's room.

"If she was infected here, we'd be infected too," I pointed out.

"So how then? She's with us nearly all the time. . ." Mulder paused.
"Except at day care."

I froze and glanced back at him, feeling my throat tighten.

"Day care in the Hoover Building, Mulder. Daycare that only federal
employees can use or gain access to."

He nodded. I felt sick.

"Finished packing, Scully?"

I blinked, snapping myself from the dusky, frightening thoughts, and
shook my head.

"Not yet."

He looked at me, frowning again, and moved in closer. I realized then
that Mulder and I frowned a lot without Emma, frowned too much.

When he got close enough to me, I shaped his mouth into a smile with my
fingers, wanting to make him laugh, needing to feel the rumble in his
chest. He only sighed and hugged me, dropping his face to my shoulder.

"We need to get going, Scully."

"Where? What do we do first?"

"There's something I need to tell you."

I felt my entire body freeze at his words, at the slivers of guilt
breaking off from his heart and piercing mine.

"What?"

"The day after we signed for Emma, you got a letter."

"From whom? About what?"

"From Krycek. About Emma. . ."

I closed my eyes and would not look at him, trying instead to remind
myself that Mulder was not my enemy, that Mulder had been trying to
protect me, and Emma, and that this was the man I loved, flaws and all.
Right? I loved Mulder, I would continue to love him.

"Scully?"

"Why did you hide it from me, Mulder?"

"Because I didn't want to believe it. Because I was afraid you wouldn't
want. . .wouldn't want Emma, and therefore, you wouldn't want me."

There was something about his words, some small clue, that should have
prepared me for the awfulness of that letter, but I was still too hurt
to see it. To hear the fear in his voice.

"Scully?"

"What does it say?"

"I should let you read it, first. I. . ."

But he stopped and simply led me to the couch, sitting me down in that
possessive way he had most times. As if he wanted to dictate the
settings of our encounters, the places we met for fights, and that would
dictate a better end to them.

When he came back, I was waiting for him, my face steeled against the
hurt of his betrayal, and somehow I had pushed all pain for Emma out of
me. Or at least out of my conscious thinking.

"Scully, before you read it. . .remember that Krycek has lied to us
before. And likes to lie to us. And. . .and that I love you. I love you
and Emma and nothing can change that."

My eyebrows pulled together and I picked up on the fear that time, not
just a 'I've done something I shouldn't have' fear, but a real, honest
fear. Of me. Of what I would do because of this letter.

I reached out and took the letter in one hand, and his still-shaking
fingers with my other, pulling him down to sit next to me.

"I know you do, Mulder. I love you and Emma too."

He nodded but didn't look all that relieved. I wanted to shake this out
of him, this dread.

"Just remember that, Scully. Remember what you feel for Emma."

My eyebrow rose, the only indication of my sudden indignation, my anger.

"Nothing in this letter could make me not love Emma, Mulder. Or you.
Nothing."

He didn't look at me; the letter felt cold and hard and weighty in my
hand right then. Mulder's fingers were hot and nervous in my other hand.

I opened the letter and began to read.

=-=-=-=

My Dear Agent Scully

I have long considered you a rather Shakespearean character in this
little drama. As our roles have unfolded, mine, Mulder's, yours, I
cannot help but admire the elements of comedy and tragedy that play out
in your development. Like any great sidekick, you embody the best of
loyalty, the noblest of desires, and yet the most passionate of anger,
the most intense of desire, the most pathetic of fears. Your place was
destined, preordained by some unfathomable Author that wrote the lines
and rhymes of our lives, penning your triumphs and tragedies for all the
world to see.

You are Falstaff and Hotspur to Mulder's Henry IV, you are Hamlet's
precious Ophelia, or perhaps his ill-fated Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
You define what the main character is not, you provide a foil to the
confused heart, a guide to the lost king. You present yourself
unblemished before the audience but come away stained and tarnished by
the Acts. 

Like any great Shakespearean character, you will die. And in this road
to death, you will discover truths that make your heart recoil, that
sink your soul into hell, that dip your blood in ice. And yet you have
found some semblance of love with your Hamlet; you have refused to throw
yourself headlong into madness and palace pools.

Your truths are waiting though. You have found the flowers of change in
your bouquet, and have sniffed at them disdainfully. Here is your story,
dramatic and tragic and comedic as it is, all within the space of a
letter:

Just as Hamlet was haunted by the unavenged ghost of his father, your
Hamlet is haunted too. But by the ghosts of every dead or alive thing in
his mad mad world. You have become his focus, his poor Yorrick, the
hinge of his universe. What an honorable position, Agent Scully, that
you give reason to an insane and melancholy man.

The faithful one, the innocent, you find yourself barren by a government
project that the one person you want to have children with introduced to
you. Ironic, yes? Shakespeare cannot compare to truth.

These Children are scattered about the world, given to families that
will obey the Project's rules and live by their ordinances. They are the
poor pitiful remnants of a faith and a truth that has never existed.
Your Emilys are scattered, and other abductees' Emilys are scattered as
well. All these Emilys are tests, projects, insurances against stopping
their ultimate plan.

Your Emma is not yours. Perhaps you knew that. Perhaps not. Emma is
another woman's Emily, and while she never knew her own daughter, just
as you did not, she is too late to know, too gone to understand. The
Project keeps all the Children just in case, for the day when inevitable
changes occur and they need a hold over you, over Mulder, over Diana
Fowley.

Emma is not yours. Emma is Diana's.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Agent Scully. . .

Regards,
Alex Krycek

=-=-=-=
=-=-=-=

Very carefully, I set the letter down on the coffee table, primly placing
it on the corner so that the sides were framed by the edges of the
table. It was so innocent looking, almost like a love letter that could
have warmed my heart or made me smile. Instead. . .

I tried not to think, that was the best way. I recognized that it was a
letter, and it held clues within the script. It was from Krycek. It
would save Emma.

"So where are we going?"

"Scully. . .Scully--"

I shook my head. "Where are we going?"

He reached for me but I stood and headed for the bedroom, closing my
eyes just briefly, just a moment, then grabbed the suitcase in the floor
and shoved the rest of my clothes into it. I heard Mulder walk to the
door and watch me, but I continued to pack, waiting for him to tell me
where we were going.

<don't think, don't think>

"The postmark is from San Diego, California. The stamp is the Naval
Training Center, the one that's being turned over to the city."

I nodded, holding the information in my mind, trying to not think about
the rest of that letter. Just the postmark.

"Bill has been talking a lot about it. In 1993, when Congress decided it
would scale back operations, they were worried because he was slated
to head over there."

"Well he's not there now, right?"

"No. He's not."

I didn't offer anything else, visions of Emily and disease and then Emma
flashing through my mind. And then Emma led to the letter and I saw a
flash of Diana Fowley's cold pale body in the morgue and the blood. The
blood.

Emma.

I frowned ferociously to keep away any feeling whatsoever, whether a
reaction to the letter or to my baby in the hospital, breathing with a
tube. But my throat was tight and the tears were choking me so hard,
so trapped that I had to sit down and close my eyes.

"Scully. We really need to talk."

"No. No we don't."

"Scully--"

"Mulder. If we start now, there's no place to stop. And Emma has two
days."

I glanced up at him, jaw set and tears firmly pushed away. I knew
there was probably a haze of emotion slithering over my eyes, but
Mulder could ignore it if he wanted to. And he did.

"All right. We're going to San Diego."

=-=-=-=

There are two in the hallway. Two baby girls lying on the floor. The
walls are beige and blue, the carpet grey and worn. The kind of carpet
the Navy bases always had, cheap and durable. I can see them lying
there, crying, crying, both sounding so sick and needy.

I have to pick them up, hold them. But I know that there's only one,
only one baby girl I can touch and hold and have. If I pick the wrong
one, I can't go to the other.

Which baby? The brown haired, the blonde? Both are beautiful, both
are calling out, both need me.

I glance to my right, the child with healthy pink skin and a swatch of
fine light hair, curling around her ears and falling into her eyes. Such
long hair. How does a baby have such long hair? She is red faced and
squalling, her fists moving and punching the air. Fiesty.

I bite my lip and glance to the other one, the baby so small and tight,
her face pinched with tears, streaking her cheeks and making her eyes
dark and luminous. Her hair is straight and thick, and she is a bit
bigger than the blonde little girl.

Mulder stands behind her, just reaching out, not able to catch hold of
her.

I turn and I see myself standing behind the blonde haired girl, hands
reaching and face so twisted with hurt that I close my eyes, afraid.

Which is right? If I choose the dark haired child, do I get Mulder along
with that? and do I lose my own child, my own baby girl?

I want both. I want both. I'm not choosing. I'm not.

"Scully?"

I glance down the hall again, seeing Mulder calling me and the frown of
fear on his face.

I shake my head. I can't possibly choose.

The dream shifts, and I suddenly know this is a dream and not reality. A
dream. It lets me rest just a bit and I glance around me. I'm not in the
hall now, just two small altars and a large cathedral arching above us.
I see stained glass windows, one of Abraham offering his son Isaac on
God's altar, and one of Jesus dying, bleeding.

I shiver and step to the altar on my right, then see that the blonde
haired child lays there, quiet and serene seeming. But I can hear a baby
crying far off and I turn my head to see. The other altar has the dark
haired girl and as I watch, a spark of fire ignites, burns, engulfs the
child.

"No!"

I push away, running to snatch her up, but my feet are stuck forever
and I can't seem to move away, all I can see is the fire before me, all
consuming. I can hear the scream of the baby, screaming, and my
heart tears and burns and is no more.

"No, no, no. I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to."

I reach for the blonde child, hoping to carry it away, but when I turn,
she's gone. They're both gone. One in fire, one with my neglect.

Oh God, no.

=-=-=-=

"Scully, Scully!"

I jerked awake, finding my hands tightly around Mulder's arm, my face
pushed so tightly into his suit jacket that I couldn't feel my nose.

"Scully?" he said softly.

I relaxed, pushing my hand across my cheeks to brush away any tears
that might have fallen. His hands wrapped around mine, then he kissed
my knuckles, sighing softly.

"Scully. . ."

"I'm okay, Mulder."

"Bad dream?"

I shivered. "Yes."

He stroked my hair and kissed me again, letting me slowly still my
hammering heart and the blood rushing through my ears. I sighed and
the airplane bucked enough to make me jump and latch on to Mulder
again.

He grinned at me and brushed his fingers down my cheek.

"Stop it, Mulder."

He bent over and kissed me. "It's just a bit funny."

"So glad you find me amusing."

"I do."

I looked over and his eyes were watching me intently, that shift from
amusement to sober reflection. I knew what he was thinking about,
and I knew that he wanted very badly to talk, but I just couldn't.

"Scully."

"I know, Mulder. I just can't think right now."

"You. . .uh, you forgive me?"

I bit down on my lip and glanced up at him, shaking my head.

"I forgive you, Mulder. You thought you were protecting me. . .maybe
even Emma. . .did you think that? Did you wonder if I would love her
even then?"

Before my question was even finished, I could see the truth of it in his
eyes.

"You did," I said softly and looked away.

He thought I wouldn't love Emma because she was. . .wasn't mine.
Would it have mattered? I didn't know, I didn't know if it even mattered
now. Emma called *me* mother. Emma reached for me when she was
tired, smiled at me, loved me. I loved her wholly, without regard. I would
always love her. Regardless of her biology.

Still, Diana Fowley. . .a part of her lived on in my child.

Maybe that was my problem. That after the pain of it all, after my deep
insecurities, of which I was still ashamed, I had to now. . .what? It
almost felt as if Diana Fowley was getting back at me even after her
death.

"I wondered. It wasn't the main reason, Scully. I was sort of afraid to
admit that Emma wasn't ours."

"Ours?"

"Well. . ."

Mulder trailed off, looking at me from the corner of his vision, as if
he wasn't sure I knew what was going on.

"Mulder. She's ours, no matter what. No matter who's she is
biologically."

He tilted his head and looked at me thoughtfully, taking my hand.

"That's what I've always thought."

I squeezed his hand back and we just sat there for a moment, reaffirming
the bond.

=-=-=-=

We were in the motel room, sitting side by side, when I realized I
didn't want to do this. I just didn't want to do this.

It struck me as odd, as frightening almost, because I had thought I was
running off to California to help my daughter, but I was really running
away from her. Running from the pain and the potential sorrow. I didn't
want to watch her waste away; I didn't want to have to see her in pain.

"Mulder?"

He glanced back at me, his face tight with concern or maybe just the
realization that I had come to.

"What exactly are we hoping to find here?"

"Answers."

"To what question?" I asked and worried my bottom lip with my teeth.

He looked stunned, but he had no ready answer for me, no easy flow of
importance.

"Is there something we could possibly find that would save Emma? Besides
the medicine and prayers that we've already tried?"

He looked down at his hands, carefully avoiding me, and I knew there was
more to all of this than the off chance that we'd find something that
could help Emma.

"When Emily was sick, and I went to the nursing home. . .with all those
elderly women that they were putting into so-called beauty sleep. . .do
you remember that?"

I nodded, still silent. That was the place where Mulder thought they
were impregnating older women to give birth to the Emilys of the world.
To the Children, as Krycek named them, the Emilys of every abducted
woman.

"I found a lot of things, a lot of horrible things."

He was silent for a long time and I wondered what he wanted from me.
Acceptance? An okay to go on with his story? Maybe he was afraid I would
hate him, or not forgive him.

"Mulder. Whatever you saw, whatever was there that you didn't tell me. .
.it can't be worse."

He glanced up, giving me an ironic, self-abasing smile that cut me to
the quick. It really couldn't be worse, could it?

"Maybe it is. I don't know. I told you about the. . .fetus I saw. The
cold storage room and all. . ."

"Right."

"Uh, well, I found this vial, all these vials that matched up with. . .I
forget now why I thought this would work, or why this was the thing
Emily would need, but--"

"Emily would need?"

"I asked you, outside her room, I asked you what you would do if you
could save her. And you echoed my words, that she wasn't meant to be."

I stared at him for a long moment, feeling my mouth drop, my entire soul
sink down at his words.

"What are you telling me Mulder? That you had a cure for her? That. .
.that you could have saved Emily?"

He looked liked he was going to sob, but he didn't, merely nodded
softly.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I couldn't change her purpose, I couldn't protect her forever.
And you said she wasn't meant to be."

"But I didn't know that. . .that you could have made her better!"

"No, Scully. It wouldn't have made her better. It would have saved her
life for awhile, and maybe your heart, but it wouldn't have changed
anything. And you know that."

I blinked and looked away from him, needing the blessed blankness
of the wall and the motel carpet. It demanded nothing from me, I could
give it nothing. The soulless feel of my eyes would not alarm the bare
walls, the ratty floor.

"Scully?"

I shook my head, fighting back tears. "I'd just. . .just like to be
silent for a little bit, Mulder."

I could hear him nod, and I prayed that he wouldn't leave, that he would
understand me totally and completely.

I relaxed when his arms shifted around my waist and snagged me;
maybe he did understand, maybe I would be okay. I let myself lean
back against him, breathing in his cologne and strength and apology.
But I still couldn't understand it all.

"I want to go home, Mulder."

"Why?"

"Because I'm just running away, that's all. Emma needs me. She needs
us--"

"What if this isn't just anthrax, Scully? What if it's masking something
else entirely? I can't sit by and do nothing--"

"Why wouldn't it be just anthrax, what else would it be?"

"Something they did. Maybe it's like a reaction to something, like with
Emily not getting those shots. Or maybe if we go to this place and we
find the answers, maybe that will give us some kind of edge over it. .
.maybe it would protect her forever."

I sighed with the nobility of his answer, with the futility of it. What
could be done?

"Just give it a day, Scully. Just a day. Then we'll go back."

"You think we can get something in a day?" I asked and looked up at
him.

He was crying.

"Mulder. . ."

I turned in his arms and hugged him tightly, pushing his head to my
shoulder, feeling ashamed of my careless words and cold body
language. I did this too much, this kind of separation from him, this
severing of ties between him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whispered and stroked my fingers through his
hair.

"God, I don't want her to die."

I choked on a sob of my own and pushed my face into Mulder's shoulder.
His hands spread on my back and rubbed, up and down in a kind of
incantation. Shivers waved through me and I felt my tears slip away from
me, soft and slow and delicate.

Kissing my jawline, working his fingers through my shirt, Mulder pressed
me back to the bed, heavy and warm and hard against my body.

"Love me, Scully, love me."

I nodded and took his face tenderly in my hands, lifting my head to kiss
him.

=-=-=-=

"Hello?"

"How's she doing?" I said, twisting the cord in my hands.

"Still the same, Dana."

I sighed into the phone and heard my mother's faint laugh.

"It's good to know she's on your mind."

I froze.

"Emma asks for you and Fox every day, Dana."

"Mom, please."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back onto the headboard, trying
to repress the guilt.

"Dana, you do not need to be searching San Diego for something you
have right at home, right here."

"Mom, I. . ."

I couldn't find anything to say to that, couldn't even justify or
rationalize our actions to myself. That first night, the only adults in
the entire wing and hovering over Emma, we had condemned the
parents who weren't at their child's bedside. Mulder and I had looked
at their absence, even at that early in the morning, as a disgrace.

We were no better.

"Dana. As a doctor, you knew this was the wrong choice. As a
mother, it should have been glaringly obvious. What are you doing
in San Diego?"

"I might be able to save her," I whispered and closed my eyes.

I could hear my mother's silent rebuke even over the miles, and I
wondered again why we were here, wasting time on fleeting chances.
I was running away, Mulder was running away, and it wasn't fair to
Emma. She was the one suffering.

But the chance. . .the hope of saving her. . .

"Oh, baby. You have no place being in San Diego when Emma is here."

I blinked and the tears coursed down my cheeks, hot and straight and
condemning.

"I know."

"Make Fox come back with you," she said then.

And I knew that she had somehow knocked sense into me, had pushed
me past the abstracts and the conspiracies and back to the place where
I was a mother and a woman and this thing I was doing, this thing was
deplorable.

But the chance. . .the chance to find something to save her. To find
that miracle Mulder had brought with him for Emily, to find an answer
for all of this. Could we really hinge Emma's life on betting that her
past wouldn't affect her future? Could I pretend that our history with
the X-Files had no relevance to this child?

"I'll. . .I'll be coming back, Mom. Tell Emma I love her, that I'll be
there soon."

"All right, Dana. I'll see you later."

"Love you, Mom."

"You're doing the right thing, Dana."

I hung up the phone and looked down the bed to Mulder's sleeping form,
his breath coming slowly and evenly in and out. I wanted to apologize
for my words, for my thoughts, but I knew my Mom was right. It was
wrong for Emma to be in the hospital and me to be here.

Partner or mother. . .

I closed my eyes and hugged myself, trying to erase the chill from my
bones and remember the warmth of Mulder's touch. If I woke him up, he
would try to talk me out of it, would make me think of all the things we
might lose here. Of how we might lose Emma.

I shook my head and pulled myself out of Mulder's slack embrace, pushing
my feet into the threadbare carpet and standing up. My clothes were
piled at the foot of the bed and I gathered them up, then tiptoed to the
bathroom.

Once behind its false wooden door, I pulled my cellular from the pocket
of my coat, then thumbed it on. Information gave me a connection to the
airlines and I got a ticket for Dulles. For just myself, flying back
alone to Emma.

The call ended, I sat down on the edge of the bathtub, breathing hard
and shallow. Blinking back tears, I pushed my head into my hands and
tried to shut down the thoughts, the feelings, the everything that
wanted to spill out onto me.

First, a shower, softly as possible. Then I needed to write Mulder a
note so he didn't chase after me. Mulder had to stay here, find out
whatever he could, and I had to stay with Emma. Forget all those women's
lib propaganda, the equality of the sexes, whatever else. My place was
with my daughter--I could not be a part of this journey.

Mulder could take care of himself. How many times had he gone off on his
own and made it back without me? Plenty. Plenty.

There were other times, my partner-self whispered condenscendingly to
me. There were plenty of other times where he almost died. . .

I closed my eyes and I prayed.

=-=-=-=

Mulder,

I had to leave. Emma is still the same, but I have to be there. She
asked for us. She misses us. I can't *not* be there. Please understand.
You can carry on here, discover the answers.

There's not much to say, if you don't understand my reasons. I need for
you to continue this, Emma needs for you to continue this search.
Something in San Diego can tell us all about her, about what happened,
what *is* happening, but this is not my place. Some truths are not for
me, some places I should not be. I need to help Emma in the ways I can,
namely through science and love, and I have to be by her side to make
those decisions that will come up. She deserves my presence, my love,
and I won't step away from that.

But you. You have to help her in the ways you can, through your
relentless pursuit of truth and answers and understanding. I don't doubt
that there is something in San Diego that can save Emma, not one bit to
I doubt that, and neither do I doubt you. That is why you need to remain
here, to discover these important truths.

I know we have to talk about Diana at some point. I don't really want
to, but maybe this will give me some time to decide what I think, what I
feel, what will happen.

All I know is. . .I love you. I love Emma. Nothing changes.

Scully

Please, please, please stay safe!

=-=-=-=

I was only five minutes in the air when I began to cry again, the tears
so swift and sudden I could do nothing but press my face into the chair
and turn towards the window, feigning sleep. I didn't sob or weep or
tremble, but the sorrow just leaked out of me, right on out.

My cheeks were still tearstained when the seatbelt sign chimed off, and
I rubbed my face quickly, glad I had not put on any make-up after the
shower. I knew my eyes would be raw and red for a while, but I didn't
care. No one on this plane knew me, no one would ever see this weakness
again.

I hated myself for leaving Emma, I hated myself for leaving Mulder. Did
it mean I loved one more, that I would choose to leave Emma, or to leave
Mulder? They were very different kinds of love, my contentment in them
both were extreme and amazing and joyful. However, Mulder was an adult,
and Emma a frightened baby. My frightened baby.

I could not give it a day, I could not give it even a second thought. I
was made for this. Made for loving Emma and loving Mulder. I didn't
understand how it had ever happened, or how it had come to be so all
consuming a thing, but I knew it was the truth.

Sighing, I leaned against the side of the plane, trying very hard to
ignore the jostles of turbulence, but not quite succeeding. The jolts
reminded me of the jolt to my perfect life, and the shock that had come
later, learning Emma was sick and learning Emma was Diana's.

And learning that Mulder was afraid my love for Emma would be affected
by her genetics.

I had the sickening thought that maybe it would have been, maybe I would
have closed myself off to it, had I known from the beginning, when Emma
was still just a baby given to Mulder. I didn't like thinking this, but
as long as I wasn't denying the truth, it was there.

I rubbed my eyes and tried not to think. Just to be completely free of
everything. That was the only good thing about airplanes, how removed
from the world you became once you were up there. Things could explode
around you, but the plane was away from it.

Mulder and the truths disappeared, Emma faded, my own guilt washed down
the drain of isolation and I closed my eyes, welcoming it.

I found a nightmared sleep instead.

=-=-=-=
=-=-=-=

<I am a crying stone come to whisper my secrets into your hands>

The angel speaks to me in my dreams and I shiver with the words, 
trying to remember what stones are, what whispers and secrets 
mean.

<Even if man did not praise God, the very rocks would cry out, Holy is
the Lord>

Please, please, stop whispering to me.

<The wind is high against you, declares the Lord, its current brings
trouble and tears>

No. Please. Emma is going to be okay, you're going to make Emma better.
Promise me. Promise me.

<I cry out, Holy is the Lord, the wind is against you, Holy is the Lord>

=-=-=-=

When I woke finally, pushing myself from the dreams, I felt the shiver
of the wind and the secrets, and the angel that looked like a lion
speaking to me. I wanted to call Mulder, but the plane was still high
and flying and I was too confused to speak.

I worried my fingers together and thought about Emma and stones crying
and I thought maybe they were weeping for my daughter. Mourning for my
daughter, praising for my God.

I didn't want to think about weeping, or dying, or angels, so I tried to
stare out the window and forget. The clouds were testimonies to angels,
the darkness a witness to the despair building within me. I twisted in
the seat to simply watch people, but the aisle was tight and filled with
the crankiness of business men and high-finance women.

I sat for an hour staring into my hands, refusing to pray and refusing
to think. I kept Emma's face out of my head and placed Mulder's there
instead. Mulder would understand and yet be terribly confused. I could
rely on his brand of misunderstanding, I could hold to that steadfast
rock of a man.

God was shaking me up. I just wanted to be still.

=-=-=-=

"Scully?"

I breathed a sigh of regret/relief and listened to his frustration mount
along the line. But my own frustration uncurled from my belly and struck
my heart, deep and biting and poisonous.

"I'm stuck."

"Scully? Where are you?"

"I'm stuck in Chicago, Mulder," I said and his name came off like a
wail.

"How are you stuck?"

"Snowed in. Everywhere. Like God's tears are frozen."

"God seems a bit cold to me about now, too."

I sniffed back despair and looked past the crowds milling at the
airport, past the columns of ornamentation, past the steel and chrome
and plaster. The windows were wide and bright with white snow, filling
my view, filling the land, stopping me from reaching Emma.

"Oh, Scully."

"I just couldn't stay away Mulder. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I thought I was doing the right thing for Emma, for you. But I'm stuck
here, not helping either one of you."

He didn't say anything, merely let the silence stretch, let me
understand my own words.

"Why is God doing this to me, to us?" I whispered.

"God's just being himself, Scully. No better, no worse."

I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from crying. I didn't believe
that.

"Don't hang up on me, Scully."

I let out a bitter laugh, knowing how well he knew me. How right he
could be and yet how misguided.

"I won't."

"Maybe we could pray?" he asked.

Stunned, I just blindly watched the people ebb and flow around me,
waiting for planes or the phone or loved ones.

"Right now?" I said, feeling flustered.

"Oh-Okay. Does that work, praying together but not being together?"

"We're together."

"All right. Then pray with me, Scully."

"I don't even think I know how to pray anymore."

There was a dark silence and we breathed together, just being. I wanted
to take back my words, to reassure him that I knew, that I always knew,
and that we would be okay, Emma would be okay--it would not snow.

"Why did you leave without telling me good-bye?" he asked.

"I don't know. I was afraid you'd convince me to stay."

"I wouldn't have argued with you, Scully. We'd already talked about it."

"That's why I left."

"That's why I wouldn't have stopped you."

I coiled the cord around my finger and leaned my forehead against the
partition.

"I'm sorry--I seem to be messing everything up."

"No. You're not."

"What else is there for me to do, Mulder? I'm stuck here."

"It seems to me that if your God is as powerful and controlling as you
seem to think he is, then prayer is the only way to change things."

I stopped, my breath hitching painfully, and stared at the black numbers
of the phone, trying to comprehend the spirituality of my partner,
husband, friend. Mulder.

"Pray for me, Mulder."

I said it before I thought and I didn't know whether I meant for him to
pray because I couldn't, or if I really thought he was somehow more
holy, more pure than I. Maybe I did think that. Mulder the saint. 

"Dear God, if you really care. . .Make Scully understand. Put her where
she belongs. Amen."

I laughed and felt better for it.

"Thank you Mulder."

"No problem. I was being honest."

"I suppose that's all He needs."

I heard Mulder sigh then, and knew he was in that motel room, probably
waiting for it to get just a bit darker before he tried storming the
Naval Training Center. I knew he would be coiled and tensed and ready,
and I wished I were there, wished I were anywhere but in Chicago.

"You're an amazing woman, Scully. Some days I think there must be 
a living, breathing God if you could believe in him. Believe in him
exclusively and without restraint. Even when things go wrong, you don't
deny him, you blame him. That's amazing to me."

I smiled and felt his warmth through the conversation and the
forgiveness of my betrayal, felt the arms of him wrapping me tight.

"Thanks, Mulder."

"Well, I have to leave now. Perhaps you should pray for me, too."

"Mulder. . .please don't take stupid risks."

"No problem. I'll just take the smart ones."

I groaned and heard him smack his lips into the phone.

"Kiss for luck?" he whispered.

"Kiss," I whispered back.

"A kiss for you too, Scully. Good night."

"Good night."

I hung up the phone and realized I had just spent four dollars in
quarters and dimes trying to prolong that call. I was out of cash and
hungry, but sated in a deep spiritual way. I pushed through the line and
out of the people clustered around the phone booths, searching for a
quiet spot.

I made it to some uncomfortable benches and sank down into one
gratefully, closing my eyes.

Maybe I needed to pray.

=-=-=-=

I managed to wait in the long line at the ATM, my hands curling and
uncurling, my frustration probably evident to every person there, in
line with me. The airport was filled and more people seemed to be 
coming in as I stood there. I knew, intellectually, that no one else 
could possibly be flying in, but it just seemed. . .

Sighing, I wadded the fifty dollars into my jeans pocket and shoved my
card back into my wallet, excusing myself between the cramped people 
and shoving back out to the main concourse. There were lines everywhere--
to the airlines, to the Taco Bell and Wendys, to the ATM, and to the
windows, where little children tugged on their parent's hand and pointed
to the swirling snow.

I wished Emma were there with me, then decided no, I was glad she
wasn't. She needed to be in the hospital. But if she were well, I would
wish it. 

I stood in line for the Wendys, needing a salad and some tea to make it
through the solitude of snow. If I closed my eyes, standing here with
people pressed around me, I could imagine that it was Mulder dwarfing
me, his hands itching to claim my waist, but remaining aloof. Emma's
little hand on my shoulder as I held her, the smell of her baby shampoo
in my nose, the comfortable weight of her in my arms.

"Move up, lady!"

My eyes flew open and I slid the three feet that gaped between myself
and the woman in front of me. I glanced back to apologize, but the eyes
just stared at me, fuming somewhat. I decided to shut up and sighed 
and moved forward, closer than before. 

The man behind me tapped my shoulder and I looked back.

"Are you okay?" he said and I blinked.

"What?"

"You looked like you were about to faint, ma'am."

He was about twenty-three and had thick dark blonde hair, curling up
tightly. His face was lean and whiskered with blonde stubble. A backpack
was slung over one shoulder and his clothes looked ratty but clean. He
was watching me intently.

Calling me ma'am.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm just hungry and tired."

"Do you want to sit down? I can order for you and come find you?"

I smiled suddenly as his charity and shook my head. "Thanks, but I'll be
okay."

"Are you sure?"

I should have been annoyed, but I enjoyed his attention, was glad for it
even. I needed to be reassured in humanity again, after everything. 

"Yeah. I appreciate your concern."

"S'okay. I'm Jared."

"Dana." I said, having to consciously remind myself that no one else in
the real world called themselves by their last name.

"Hey, Dana. Nice to meet you. What brings you here, stuck in Chicago?"

I sighed. "Rather complicated. I'm trying to get home, from San Diego,
to DC. What about you?"

"My friends and I just got back from a semester in Greece. We're stuck
here too. We hope to make it back for Christmas, but maybe not."

"Christmas? But that's--"

"Only a week off."

I gaped, looking quickly at my watch and noting the day, for the first
time in a week, recognizing what time of the year it was.

"Christmas. Oh no."

"Did you forget Christmas?"

I sighed and nodded, and I realized my face must have looked awful, 
must have had my shredded soul in my eyes.

"Hey, that's not so bad. We nearly forgot too."

"It's just that my daughter. . .she's in the hospital in DC. . .I didn't
want her to be in there on Christmas."

"Oh," Jared said, with such heartfelt sorrow that I looked up at him,
questioning.

"My sister had cancer, I understand. We spent three Christmases on the
children's wing."

"Oh. Is she okay now?"

"Yeah. She's in heaven."

I bit down hard on my lip and slid forward in the line, feeling Jared
behind me, almost herding me forward. Like Mulder did. I missed Mulder.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He nodded, and I realized there wasn't much more I could say to him. I
didn't even know what to say to Mulder when he talked about Samantha,
let alone could I think of something to say to a complete stranger who's
sister had died.

"So why is your daughter in the hospital?"

"She's. . .sick. An infection. . .it makes it hard for her to breathe."

"Does she live with you?" Jared asked, pushing me forward again as we
crept closer to the Wendys counter. His eyes were sad and his beautiful
childlike innocence was crumbling. I wanted to hate myself for being the
one to disillusion him, but I couldn't. Perhaps he had built it back
after his sister's death and now I was crushing it again. . .

"Oh, yes. We were trying to. . .to find some experimental treatment in
San Diego. . .but I couldn't stay there. I had to come back."

He sighed. "And now you're stuck."

I nodded and turned around to place my order, feeling just a tad bit of
relief to counter the overwhelming frustration. Emma was now fresh on my
mind and I wanted to be with her more than ever, like a sharp digging
pain for her.

=-=-=-=

"Mom?"

"Dana, where are you?"

"I'm stuck in Chicago--a snow and icestorm is keeping all the planes
in."

"It's snowing here too."

I sighed and blinked back tears, chewing on my lip. 

"How's Em?"

"Not very good, Dana." Her words were as soft and gentle as she could
make them but they were like punches anyway, and I slumped into the 
side of the phone booth, pushing another ten cents into the box.

"What's going on?"

"She's on a respirator. She's doesn't wake anymore. I talk to her all
day long, hoping she'll just open her eyes. . ."

"Oh God. . ."

"But she hasn't gotten worse, Dana. The doctors said they're surprised
at how good she's holding up under all this stress. They said something
about the lining of her lungs--"

"It's still intact?"

"Oh, yeah, that was it. Intact. They told me that the anthrax usually
ate away the lining of the lungs or something like that, when it was
very advanced, but they thought the antibiotics might be helping her."

"Oh good. Good. That's the important thing. Are you there with her now?"

"No, baby. They won't let me stay long in ICU. I'm on the phone in the
nurses' station."

"Thank you so much, Momma."

"You just get back here as soon as you can."

"Okay."

"I love you, Dana. You remember all that you've got, okay? You still
have your family."

"I know, Mom. I know. I love you too."

The phone clicked off before I could feed another dime and I sighed,
letting the receiver drop into the cradle. I hung on the cord for a
moment, then moved away, feeling heavy and out of place. The benches I'd
staked out before were overrun with two families, so I moved past them,
gathering my things and trying not to glare at them.

There was a small spot of floor next to the window, about thirty feet
away, so I sat down there, leaning against the cool glass. The snow
outside was thick but it had slowed to a handful of white coming down. I
pressed my finger to the pane and breathed in its chill, gathering my
coat around me.

Dear God please. Please.

I didn't know what else to pray.

=-=-=-=

My flight was called at ten that morning and I was wide awake. I wanted
to be out of there. The ticket was crisp and new and it slit my thumb as
it passed from my hand to the stewardess' open palm. I took the stub
with a smile and lugged my carryon onto the ramp, sucking at the cut.

Jared was behind me in line and he winked, making me smile just a little
bit and wave. The flight was to Memphis, where he would take one on to
Little Rock and I would take another to National. Hopefully, by that
time the snow in DC would be gone and I could fly there. Otherwise I'd
be stuck in Memphis next. There were no flights to DC from Chicago
because of that snowstorm--it had moved on.

The flight seemed quick and it also seemed agonizingly slow, but I
fidgeted and looked out the window and ate the inflight meal, gagging 
on burritos that tasted like tissue paper and damp cardboard. The little
cookies were good and filled with sugar, so I stocked up on those. 
They didn't offer peanuts and I felt somehow cheated.

I tried calling Mulder in Memphis, looking out at a blank concrete
vastness, filled with the occasional parking lot or car or bus, but
nothing remarkable at all. The airport was nice but not large and I got
a real, better-tasting lunch at McDonalds. If McDonalds could be
considered real. Mulder wasn't at the motel and he didn't answer his
cellular. 

I tried not to be nervous and called the nurses' station again for my
mother. She came and said Emma was the same and not to worry. I 
worried anyway, about my husband and my daughter. And it felt strange 
to feel myself calling Mulder my husband, strange that *our* daughter 
was even a word in my vocabulary.

The flight to National was even faster and I jumped into a taxi waiting
outside and we were driving to Georgetown fast and furious. I leaned
against the back of the seat and felt grateful to be home, felt grateful
to be getting closer and closer to my Emma.

When I pulled my suitcase from the backseat and paid the taxi driver, he
sped off, seeking a new fare. I dragged the carryon behind me and walked
up the wheelchair entrance to the hospital's doors, feeling ridiculously
exhausted. I wanted to sleep for a year.

I got on the elevator and prayed Emma would wake up for me, enough so
she could see that was I there, that I had not abandoned her at all.
When I stepped out onto the ICU, I smelled the smoke and sleeplessness
on my clothes against the crisp sterilization of the hospital. I wheeled
my bag into the waiting room and pulled out new clothes, then went to
the bathroom to change.

Just in case.

=-=-=-=

My mother was slumped over in a chair by Emma's bed and I wondered for a
brief moment if Emma'd had a bad night, and my mother hadn't gotten any
sleep. Mom's cheeks looked sunken and her hands old, and I covered them
with my own, waking her softly.

"Dana!"

I hugged her tightly, almost afraid to look at Emma now that I was here.

"Hey, Mom. How's Emma?"

"Doing better, actually. Dr. Curtis came by at eight and checked in on
her. She said that the antibiotics were kicking in and fighting it."

I looked over my shoulder and tears pushed from my eyes and dribbled
down my cheeks.

"She's so small," I whispered and fell from my mother's arms and to
Emma's bedside.

She was rail thin and shrunken seeming against the bed, her lips pale
and her eyes rimmed with bruises from the bacteria in her blood. She 
was breathing loudly with the respirator, but they were good breath 
sounds, I knew. Her temperature was closer to normal and someone 
had washed her hair recently. She looked like a slightly twisted 
Sleeping Beauty.

I kissed her forehead and my tears dropped to her cheeks.

"Hey my baby girl. It's momma. I love you, honey. You're going to be
okay. Momma's here."

I sat on the side of her bed and picked up her hand and kissed it
softly, gently, trying not to hurt her at all. I ran my hand down her
chest to her belly, as if I could heal her with a touch, and pressed my
lips together to keep from sobbing.

She looked bad. She looked very bad. I wanted to curl into myself and
hold her close to me and just cry.

I looked back and my mother was crying at the pain in my every movement.

"How could I have doubted?" she whispered and I knew she had doubted 
me.
That I'd come back.

I bit my lip and blinked tears.

"I don't know where Mulder is," I whispered and laid down alongside my
baby girl.

=-=-=-=
=-=-=-=

She was no better after two days of silence and my company and I was
afraid for her and for Mulder. Emma's breathing was still dependent on
the ventilator, but it wasn't getting worse for her. Which was a small
miracle in and of itself. I thanked God for it but felt bitter that He
did not just heal her completely.

My mother went home that second day and got some sleep; it was rest
she badly needed and deserved. She came back today and sat with
Emma while I tried to call Mulder again. Once more, there was no
service for his cellular phone and the motel manager said he had
checked out the day after I had left. It made me suspicious but I
didn't know what to think, really.

I was sitting on Emma's bed, reading 'If You Give A Mouse a Cookie'
to her and tickling her toes, trying anything for a reaction. She was
breathing in and out and in and out with the machine, and it was loud.
But I heard my mother gasp.

I looked up and Mulder was striding down the hall, a split lip and a
bruised eye, but otherwise okay. He was still in the black jeans and
black T-shirt I'd left him in the night I had left, and he was grinning
at me.

Behind him was a boy.

"Mulder?"

I stood and he jogged the last four feet to my side, wrapping me into a
tight tight hug that crushed the breath from me and left the book
dangling from my fingertips. I gave up and buried my face into his
shoulder, breathing him in and letting the Mouse book drop to the floor.
I snaked my hands around his waist and pulled him even tighter against
me.

"Where were you?"

"I found someone, Scully."

I peered from around Mulder to the teenaged boy standing behind him.
He was thin and lanky and had dark hair falling over his eyes. He looked
about eighteen, maybe sixteen at the youngest and he had disturbingly
familiar eyes.

I stepped out of Mulder and glanced at him, frowning.

"This is. . .Diana's son, Jeremy."

"Her son?"

I sneaked a quick glance back at Emma and then to my mother, my mind
racing and fumbling in its haste to catch up.

"A lot has happened, Scully. But he's here to help."

"Help? How can he help?"

"He. . .like Jeremiah Smith, Scully. He's got that. . .power."

Jeremy stepped up at that moment and flashed me a soft smile, hesitant
and frightened. His hands were clenched around a photograph and he held
it out to me, a peace offering.

"My mom," he said and I looked at the picture.

Diana Fowley with a three year old boy, looking young and bright in her
light blue tank top and jeans. The boy was squinting into the camera and
holding up a toy, maybe a Matchbox car or something equally small. He
had those eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said softly and looked up at Jeremy.

"She didn't come back after that day. I don't really remember her. But I
remember my sister."

He stepped around me and to Emma's side, not touching her or even
really getting that close. Mulder laid his hand on Jeremy's shoulder and
squeezed softly.

"I knew all of them. She wasn't. . .she was special. I knew she was my
sister; I think someone there told me on accident. I looked out for her.
And then about eight months ago, dad took her."

"Your father?" I said, my voice coming out rough and unequal. CancerMan
had given us Emma.

"And hers," Mulder murmured in my ear.

I felt sick and sat down on the empty chair, my knees giving out. Emma
was still breathing in and out, in and out, regular and right. The
equipment looked like it was crowding her, especially with Mulder and
Jeremy and my mother and I all clustered around.

"You're gonna have to take her off this stuff," Jeremy said.

"Off? No. Not a chance," I said, standing again.

"I can't. . .If I do it, she'll have to breathe on her own. Not with all
this stuff. The IV's okay, but not this. . .tube down her throat."

"Mulder? What is he talking about?" I said, spinning around to face
him.

"He can heal her, Scully."

CancerMan's daughter. My Emma. Jeremy's little sister. Diana's baby
girl. Mulder. . .

I blinked my eyes and pushed back the tears, pressing my fists into my
sockets to cause flashes of light to explode. I took in a deep breath
and shook my head.

"What if he can't?"

"He can. I had much worse than a black eye, Scully."

I glanced back up at him, so afraid that the fear was tight and tasted
like bitter metal in my mouth.

"What happened?"

"I questioned a few of the researchers about anthrax bacteria, how
children could get it. They must have sent someone to follow me around.
I got beaten up pretty good and thrown out. I found Jeremy trying to run
away for the ninth time."

"Nine? You've been trying to run away?" I asked him, turning back to
face him.

He nodded. "Since I was six. But when they put J-uh, Emma, in with me,
I couldn't do it. I tried taking her once, but--"

He shivered and his shoulder blades rose against the memory. I frowned
and he licked his lips nervously. I was making him afraid but I didn't
care.

"So when dad took her, I tried to leave. I wanted to find her first, in
case she was on the grounds somewhere. But I kept getting caught.
And I found Mulder here first. I kept worrying that I really had left her
back there, but this is. . .this is my sister. . .she's so big."

I chewed on my lip with all of that, trying to understand it in my head
before I could let him even touch Emma.

"What did you almost call her?" I asked, needing to know.

"Uh," Jeremy muttered, glancing quickly to Mulder. "Uh, Jay. She didn't. .
.
we didn't have names really. I'm J1, and she's J4. My mother called
me Jeremy when she wrote letters to me, and when she came that day,
so that's what I called myself. And I couldn't stand calling her J4--so I
call her Jay."

I smiled despite the chill in me and felt Mulder's hand grasp my waist.
I wanted to lean against him and shut my eyes to this, but it wasn't
fair to Mulder, to Emma, to Jeremy.

"But I like Emma better," he said suddenly.

I sighed and gave him a real smile, reaching out for his hand. He
snagged it and squeezed and in that rush my muscles unwound and my
headache cleared and I felt more rested than I had in two weeks. Power,
that's what I'd felt. Mulder's hand at my back was warm and gentle and I
nodded at Jeremy.

"Okay. I suppose we should get Dr. Curtis in here. . .take her off the
vent."

But I wasn't that sure. And I wasn't that convinced that this was
actually happening. Maybe I would wake up and this would be a
dream-nightmare and Mulder would still be missing and I would not know
that Emma was CancerMan's and Diana's.

No, Jay was CancerMan's and Diana's. Emma was mine and Mulder's.

=-=-=-=

It took a lot of convincing, but when Jeremy suddenly reached out and
touched Dr. Curtis' hand and she yelped; she was convinced beyond even
my doubts. Dr. Curtis had carpal tunnel and Jeremy said it was gone for
good now. Her wrist didn't even ache she said.

I still held my breath when the machine was turned off and the tube
taken from her throat. I winced when she gagged on it, then squirmed in
Mulder's tight grip as Jeremy sat down beside her and placed his hand on
her chest. She'd made no purposeful movements and continued to stay
perfectly still, not breathing. I wanted to shake Jeremy and make him
hurry.

There was an agonizing moment and then Emma's little baby breath
pushed out, then sucked in, thick and loud sounding, but still breathing.
I closed my eyes at the beautiful sound and wiped tears from my eyes.
Dr. Curtis hovered anxiously behind Jeremy, and Mulder and I stood off
to the side. My mother was on my other side.

Jeremy was sweating now and his hand was spread wide across Emma's
chest; he licked his lips and closed his eyes, concentrating. His own
breath grew thick and labored; I pushed from Mulder and stepped forward,
afraid for him.

Mulder snatched me back and kept one finger hooked in my belt loop the
entire time. I didn't try to break away from him; hopefully he knew what
was going on.

Suddenly Emma cried out and I surged forward--but got Mulder's arm
wrapped around my waist instead. I writhed for a moment, but realized I
couldn't interrupt whatever Jeremy was doing. Who knew--the power of it
might divert to me or drain off him or something--I wasn't sure what was
all in the science of it.

Emma's eyes opened, then fluttered shut again and I chewed a hole in
my cheek trying to keep from moving or saying anything. Jeremy was
trembling and Dr. Curtis had her hands out, ready to touch him or help
Emma. I knew she was just as agonized as I was.

"There, there," Jeremy said suddenly, and it was not of comfort but
words of release.

He slumped forward onto Emma just as her eyes opened.

I pushed from Mulder and pulled at Jeremy, my doctor's instincts taking
over as Dr. Curtis began checking him. We looked at each other and Dr.
Curtis moved to take inventory of Emma, while I checked over Jeremy. I
wanted to see Emma; Jeremy was breathing shallow and needed attention.

I laid him on the floor and pressed my fingers to his neck, searching
for his pulse. It beat steady but slow and somewhat sluggish. I patted
his cheek and listened to his breath; there wasn't much I could do for
him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he looked around, gasping.

"Jeremy?"

"Wh-where. . .I'm not done. Not done. She's--"

"Hold on, Jeremy. I'm not going to let you do this," I said, shaking my
head.

He pushed my hand away and tried to sit up, but collapsed into my arms
coughing, his chest sounding thick and muted. Mulder came and helped me
get him into a chair, struggling to keep him from lunging away from us.

"I have to finish it," he muttered.

"Maybe tomorrow, when you've got some rest," I said. "She's breathing
well on her own. That's better than it has been, Jeremy."

"I don't have tomorrow," he said and shrugged us off. He sat down on the
bed, then gave a sigh, heavy and burdened. I didn't want him to do this,
not after his collapse, but the force of his will was great and Dr.
Curtis moved her hands away.

After a moment, he curled up next to Emma, who was breathing and
breathing and sounding so beautifully alive. Her baby hands patted his
cheeks and he sighed again, then stroked her forehead.

"Sleep, JJ."

Emma's eyes closed and I frowned, but let him stay there. Jeremy's eyes
closed as well and his breath became slow and focused, like a
concentrated effort to breathe.

"Just let me stay here tonight," he said and Dr. Curtis nodded.

Mulder helped my mother into a chair, who was shaken after everything,
talking to her softly. I couldn't hear what they said, but my mother was
nodding and patting Mulder's hand. He rose and came over to me, taking
me up into his arms quickly.

"I need to talk to you, Scully."

"Why did he say he doesn't have tomorrow?" I asked into his embrace.

"Let's go talk, Scully."

Reluctant to leave either Jeremy or Emma, but needing to understand, I
followed Mulder out to the waiting room.

=-=-=-=

He hugged me tightly, his arms pressing bruises into my back with the
force of it. I kissed his jaw, standing on my tiptoes and reveled in the
groan of his body as he dipped his head to mine. We stayed immovable
for a long moment, breathing in the smell of each other, then parted,
smiling.

I felt refreshed. Even hopeful.

Mulder pushed me to the couch where we'd prayed, so many long days
before, and I sat down next to him, his hand on my knee. Feeling
grateful he was even alive, I let him keep it there, even though I
disliked the possessive feel of it. He kissed my neck and settled back
into the plastic cushions.

"After you left, I woke up. Right as the taxi pulled away. I could feel
it. Feel you gone--does that make sense?"

I nodded and bit my lip, choking back excuses and I'm sorrys. They were
simply words and they would not make me forgiven.

"And I was jealous of you."

My mouth opened, shocked, and I turned to speak but he shook his head.

"I was jealous because you could leave. I wanted to be with Emma. I
wanted to be here. But I knew that one of us had to search. . .had to
find out why this was happening and a way to stop it."

"I-"

He pressed his finger to my lips and I stopped.

"Jeremy's 18, Scully. He'll leave after this. He doesn't want to ever go
back. . .I can understand why. He didn't tell me, but I know he won't
stick around."

"What happened out there?"

"I asked too many questions and they knew who I was, that I had Emma.
Was looking for something for her or about her. So they. . .I think they
were going to kill me. Left me for dead in some kind of tunnel thing. I
don't remember much. Jeremy stumbled on me, healed my hip."

"Your hip?"

"It was broken. Badly. There's a scar even. I wouldn't let Jeremy fix it
because I was afraid he wouldn't have enough. . .leftover for Emma. He
wanted to come with me when I told him about her."

I shook my head and pressed a kiss to the bloody lip, sighing against
his mouth.

"When I saw Jeremy. . .I thought he was your son."

"What?" Mulder said, looking at me.

"The face, something about his stance and his mouth. I don't know. It's
the same sort of thing that I see in Emma. That's why. . .why I was
afraid Emma was yours and Diana's. But she's not. I'm not sure if it's
worse this way or. . .or--"

"Scully. . .there's a reason why I look like Emma and Jeremy."

I could feel my blood freeze with his words and I clutched his hand in
mine, breathing slowly. What else could there be worse than this?

"I searched for my sister for many years, until just a month before we
got Emma. Somehow I had wonderful luck, or maybe a kind God, looking
after me. I got you, this family. . .But that night, I found my sister,
found her alive."

I gaped at him. "Your sister? Samantha?"

I could still see the far away glint in his eyes on that night, the
burden of twenty odd years rising from his shoulders and scattering to
the stars. The isolation of him from me on that February night still
made me shiver.

He shook his head. "Not Samantha, Emma."

"Emma. But--"

I stopped, blinking.

"Oh," I whispered.

His jaw was working and he glanced away from me. "Jeremy's my half
brother. Emma my half sister. I wondered, just for a moment, if I should
have stopped searching, if I really should have just let it all go. I
had a brother and sister out there that I didn't know about, but I still
let them down. I gave up ever finding out the truth, Scully. I'm no
better than my. . .my father."

I shook my head and closed my eyes to block tears, pressing into his
side with my body. For a moment neither of us said anything, but I
finally found my voice and cleared it shakily.

"Mulder. You. . .you are an amazingly honest and good man. Despite
genetics, or childhood, or your parents--in spite of all those things.
And I love you."

I kissed him softly, wrapping my hands in his T-shirt and clutching him
to me. He was stiff for a moment, then lowered his head so that I didn't
have to crane my neck so much. His palms were hot and sweaty against my
back and I sighed in the feel of him.

"And Emma?" he whispered.

I shook my head. "Emma is ours, Mulder. She belongs to us."

He licked his lips and smiled. "Yeah."

I caressed his cheeks with my fingertips, enjoying having him back, safe
and with me again.

=-=-=-=

Jeremy was gone when we woke the next morning; he'd hadn't left a note
or any kind of explanation, but there was a photograph on Emma's bed,
one of him and her together, maybe a week before she was given to us.
Mulder kept it in his wallet and we sat down beside our little girl,
holding her hand.

She opened her eyes at noon and we coddled her, Mulder and my mother
and I, all of us holding her and talking to her and smiling. She wasn't as
active as normal, but she managed to knock her head on the railing, so I
knew she was getting well. She asked for the Mouse book and Mulder
and I took turns reading it to her, over and over again until she fell
asleep
at six. Dr. Curtis was telling us she would definitely be out before
Christmas; I was glad.

We went to the hospital cafeteria smiling, holding hands, acting for the
world like nothing was wrong at all. And maybe nothing was anymore. Like
I loved Mulder, despite his genetics, I loved Emma. And nothing could
make me not love her. Not a letter, not Jeremy's claim, not CancerMan.
After all, he had given her to us. She was ours.

We ate cold green beans and some kind of processed meat and milk. I
made Mulder drink the milk even though he was dead tired and needed
caffeine. He needed to be healthy more. For some reason, he hardly
complained.

When we got back, Emma was awake again and crying for us, so we sat with
her and stroked her cheek and played with her hair. She watched us for a
long time, trying to be certain we would stay, then fell asleep again.

I laid down beside her, curling around my baby girl, and closed my eyes.
Mulder sat on a hard plastic chair beside us and our eyes met across
Emma's body, holding very still. He reached out and laced his fingers
through mine for a moment, smiling in that slow and lazy way that made
my heart rush.

There were no words to say, no declaration that we didn't already know.
I felt in me that Mulder was staying, that Emma was growing, that I was
becoming something different and better and perhaps, more holy. In a
way.

I closed my eyes and when I dreamed, I picked up three stones and held
them to my ear and listened.

<holy is the Lord, holy is the Lord>

But they were no longer crying, merely whispering.

=-=-=-=

end all
adios
RM