TITLE: There For The Taking 
AUTHOR: aRcaDIaNFall$ 
FEEDBACK: arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au 
RATING: PG 
SPOILERS: Existence 
CLASSIFICATION: the usual run-of-the-mill post-ep sappy MSR *g* 
SUMMARY: Post-Existence. Missing scene after Mulder 'rescues' Scully
and the baby.  
AUTHORS NOTE: Yet another fic frantically written after the final
credits have rolled. I haven't actually read any other post-Existence
fic yet, but no doubt this was done to death after it aired in the
US... well, I want my turn anyway.  
--> http://www.geocities.com/arcadianfalls/ 
  

There For The Taking 
by aRcaDIaNFall$ 
  

I followed a star. A dusty old house in the middle of nowhere. A baby's
cries. Blood, the first thing I see, but not as much as it first seems.
Only the right amount. And Scully, propped up against the bedrails, a
tiny, wriggling creature in her arms. They're crying, both mother and
son. His tears are confusion and hunger, while hers are relief and joy.
She's safe. She finally holds her child in her arms.  

"Scully?" 

She looks up, smiling at me through her tears, beyond words. I move
closer, bending down to kiss her forehead. Such a calm action following
such panic. But in here the fear is gone. She's revelling in these
precious moments, completely absorbed in her son.  

"He's perfect," she whispers. She's stunned, overwhelmed. After running
and fearing for so long, it's over. They're safe. 

"We should get you to a hospital. I've got a helicopter outside." 

A smile of surprise, an eyebrow raised. "How'd you get a 'copter?" 

"My charm and wit alone." I reach to stroke her hair, wanting so badly
to hold her, to reassure myself that she's here in the flesh, smiling,
safe. "How strong are you feeling?" 

"I can walk." Cradling the baby in one arm, she hesitantly takes hold
of the bedknob, standing. She's shaky and I touch her elbow. Trusting
me to support her, she returns her other arm to the baby, holding him
close. I wonder for a second if I should offer to carry the baby for
her but I hold back. This is her time, her child. She owns this.  

Agent Reyes joins me, standing on Scully's other side, as we help her
down the stairs and out into the night. Scully pauses, looking up from
the baby's face to the night sky. A bright star shines above us. What
does that mean? I can see her wondering. 

I try to shield her as we approach the helicopter, the blades already
spinning, throwing dust in the air, ready for takeoff. Climbing in, she
accepts our help, still holding the baby in her arms. Agent Reyes says
she'll pack their things and get a commercial flight back. Scully nods,
stretching out a hand to thank her. Reyes smiles, closing the door for
us. I yell to the pilot above the roar of the spinning blades to take
us to the nearest hospital, then I turned back to Scully. What can I
say? I wonder. Did I owe her an apology for turning up late? But she's
not angry. She's cradling the baby, bent over it, as if she still can't
believe she has borne him. 

Finally, she lifts her head. She leans against me, surprising me, but I
shift in my seat to make her more comfortable, twisting almost sideways
so that she can lean on my chest. She's exhausted. When was the last
time she slept, I wonder. How long had the labour been? 
  

We touch down on the emergency helipad at some hospital. Emergency and
OB staff are ready to meet us with a guerney and a wheelchair. Scully
picks the wheelchair, not letting go of the baby even as she sinks into
it. Doctors try to take him from her but she insists that he's fine. 
She knows she has to hand him over eventually, she just isn't ready
yet. She's waited so long for this. I know that. 
  

The ninth floor is where OB is. Managing to prise the baby from her
arms, they take him into an exam room, Scully into another. "Stay with
him," she pleads to me, and I obey. Anything for her.  

Six pounds four ounces, they announce. He's cleaned up and they offer
him to me, assuming I'm the father. I smile, but tell them to take him
to his mother, first. I know she misses him already. 
  

I ache to see her, but I know that there's something I must do first. I
call Skinner. "Six pounds four ounces," I report. "Healthy, normal baby
boy. Mom's fine." 
  

Her room is dark, lit only by a lamp by the bed. So many times I've
seen her in a hospital bed. Never has it been such a welcome sight. 

She's nursing him. A nurse beside her, walking her through the process,
smiles at me and excuses herself. Scully's got the hang of it. Or the
baby has.  

I watch, smiling, amazed by the beauty of it. His tiny hands reach as
he sucks, and he gets ahold of her necklace, tugging at it. He loses
the nipple and she guides him back to it, gently strokes his cheek with
the back of her fingers. He's frowning, as if concentrating hard on the
task. His hands are so tiny, wrinkled, his skin soft and pink. He has
her eyes, a beautiful, innocent blue.  

He pulls away, full. She pulls the gown back up over that shoulder. I
ipick up a small blanket, laying it on her shoulder for her. She smiles
in thanks as she lifts the baby up, holding him there, patting his
back. He spits up milk, beginning to cry a little, but with only a few
soothing words from her he quietens.  

"He's sleepy again," she whispers, lowering the baby again, rocking him
as easily as if she's done it a hundred times. He yawns widely, eyes
fluttering closed. Content. They both are. 

I eye the cot beside the bed. "Want to put him down?" 

She shakes her head, giving me a small smile. "I can't. Not yet." 

I nod, understanding. I should be feeling left out with this close new
bond but I don't. She's still my Scully. I just watch, listen, and
smile. 
  

The baby is in the nursery. Scully lays asleep, worn out. What does she
dream, I wonder as I sit by her bed in the dark. Or is she too tired to
dream at all? 

I lean over her, laying a gentle kiss on her cheek as she sleeps, and I
go down the hall to the nursery. My face pressed against the
observation window, I search the tiny cots, finding him in the second
row, on the left, SCULLY written in large letters on a card. He
stretches in his sleep, tiny fists clenched for a second as he yawns,
then he settles again. I smile as I watch him, already imagining
holding him in my arms. The time will come, I know. Fatherhood is there
for the taking, if I only want it. And God knows, I want it. 

Our time with the x-files is over. The certainty is strong as I stand
there, watching. With this new life comes the end of our old one, of
the darkness and the fear and the suffering. Yet it's not a sudden
discovery, a mindblowing moment. It's a quiet acknowledgement, a
feeling almost of relief, of contentment. Our dark days are gone, not
with a bang, but a whimper. 

The warmth of the morning sun washes over me, and I feel a deep calm as
the new day begins, a certainty of my new role, of the truth.  
I stand, I watch, I listen, and I smile. 
  

fin.