TITLE: Heaven on Earth AUTHOR: Flynn CLASSIFICATION: DAL, MSR, MulderAngst E-MAIL ADDRESS: flyn121@yahoo.com DATE: March 2002 DISTRIBUTION: Leave address and headers, and drop me a line. SPOILER WARNING: Existence. RATING: PG-13 for language FEEDBACK: It's fat-free and very good for your heart. Well, my heart. SUMMARY: Peace can be found in the most unlikely of places. Kudos to Christine, my writing-buddy and fellow escalating 'Shipper. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Heaven On Earth by Flynn ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I think I'm too late. Cars are peeling out and disappearing into the night. I try to stop them. I try to look in every single one, but it's dark and I'm scared. Jesus, I'm too late. Scully's gone, taken or just flat out killed, and her baby .... How the hell did they find her? That motherfucker Crane, that's how. I don't think I've ever been so frightened or so God-damn angry in my life as I am right now. I want to kill him. Fast or slow, it doesn't matter, just so I can see the life in his eyes fade away.... A voice calls out to me, pulling me back from the precipice I'm dancing on. Reyes. She says Scully needs to get to a hospital. Hospital. That means she's alive. Alive. Legs shaking, I follow her into the ramshackle building. What the hell had Doggett been thinking, sending them into the fucking boondocks like this? No power, and nothing for water but a couple of damned buckets. Candles are scattered everywhere, and the air is heavy with the smell of blood. Blood. Jesus, it's everywhere. Towels and sheets are saturated. In a tangle of bedclothes on a rusted bedframe, I see my partner. My life. Her eyes are closed and, shit, she's beyond pale. I can't help but look around at the chaos again. Blood. So much blood. I don't let myself dwell on the possibilities. And I don't need Reyes to tell me how urgent the situation is. I tell her to go signal the pilot to land somewhere close, and then I go to the bed. My partner knows I'm there. I don't know how, but she does. Her eyes open as I crouch down beside her. They're glassy. "Mulder," she whispers, "get me out of here." Shock. Her skin is clammy and her teeth are chattering like there's no tomorrow. If I don't act quickly, there may not be. I whip my jacket off and tuck it carefully around her, rubbing her arm briskly through the leather. Maybe I can grind some of my own heat into her. She winces and shakes her head ever so slightly. "Careful .... the baby ...." Her words stop me cold. Baby. Be careful of the baby. Scully had her baby. Scully *has* her baby. The bastards didn't get it. They didn't get it. They didn't get it! I want to look, but there isn't time. Carefully I slip my arms around her, lifting her and drawing her close. "I need to keep you both warm," I whisper. She doesn't say anything, just gives a little nod. There's a wad of linen bunched up between her legs, but at this point it's too sodden to do much good. I grimace as I scoop her up. It isn't the blood that bothers me right now. As much shit as we've been through, I've seen my share of it. I just don't want to hurt her. She's been through enough. But I have to get her to the damned helicopter. "Hang on, Scully. Just hang on." She nods again, and I feel her arms tighten minutely around the bundle she's clutching to her chest. The helicopter is in the middle of the now deserted street. Dust is absolutely flying around the rotors, and I'm glad the baby's as protected as it is. Reyes sees us coming, me at a full run, Scully all but limp in my arms. I'm scared but I don't let it show. "It's okay," I keep telling her. "Do you hear me? It's okay now." I don't know if she can hear me - I don't even know if she's conscious. Reyes has the door open and helps me into the passenger section directly behind the pilot. No time for farting around with belts; I wave her away just as soon as I have my own precious cargo settled across my legs. "Go! Dammit, just go!" I look down at Scully as the pilot lifts us away from that hellhole of a town. Her head is on my shoulder and her eyes are closed. She's so pale and still, it terrifies me. "Open your eyes." I can barely hear myself over the scream of the engines. "Scully, open your eyes. I need you to look at me." I need you to tell me you're going to be okay .... I need you to live .... It takes a few seconds for her to comply. Her eyes are still glassy and unfocused, but she's in there. Her lips move in a ghost of a smile. Of course she can't shout anymore than she can fly, but I can see her mouth move and form the words, "Breathe, Mulder." I shake my head and kiss her brow. "Hang on. Just hang on. Look at me, all right? Don't look away." I cautiously lift my jacket just a little and touch the lump secreted between us. It already feels warmer. It's still so wet, either with blood or just fluids from the birth .... What if it gets a chill? I don't for one minute put any faith in that bitch nurse's assertions that this is an uberchild. No human frailties? Pardon me if I don't swallow that one hook, line, and sinker. I can hear Reyes calling my name, but with no headphone speakers, that's about all I can hear. She turns and gestures out the side window. I see the bright lights of a landing pad. A red cross, and standing far back under the lights, a small mob of people. Hope and relief suddenly compete with the terror I'm trying not to show. Scully's still looking at me. Her teeth aren't chattering so hard now. That's good, I tell myself almost desperately. It has to be good. We can't have come this far for tragedy. Please, God, not this time. It takes forever for the fucking pilot to land. As soon as the skids touch down, Reyes is on her feet, throwing herself out her door and running around to open mine. She's waving impatiently for the trauma team with her free hand. "Okay! Can you get down? What if you hand me the baby - " "NO!" Scully barks with surprising strength. Her arms are locked around the bundle with no sign of faltering. I don't know how she's doing it. If I'd been through what she has the past few hours, I'm pretty sure I'd be unconscious. I shake my head at Reyes, standing there beside me with her arms outstretched. "Better not." I have to shout as loud as I can to be heard over the damned rotor blades. "Listen, I can manage this. Get those people over here." She nods and falls back a step. There's something about her expression .... I get the distinct feeling that something's going on, but I'm too busy at the moment to really think about it. Doesn't matter, I tell myself. Nothing else matters right now but the person - the *people* I'm holding. The next few minutes are a blur. The team appears out of the glaring lights, and Scully is unceremoniously plucked away from me. I have to stay with her, I try to say, but no one's listening. Voices snap out instructions, and I am suddenly bereft. I watch them wheel her away. I feel rather than hear Reyes fall in behind me. I suddenly have a good idea just what she's feeling. Useless. We're useless now, both of us. Then one of the shrouded figures turns back and eyes us both. "Which one of you is Mulder?" he barks. I gesture with a lift my chin. He beckons impatiently. "Get over here. She wants you." I leap after him like someone's goosed me. My partner wants me. I'm not useless. What the hell was I thinking, letting them take her away from me like that? My place is right there beside her, and brother, right now there's not a force on earth that could keep me away from her. Once inside the ER, controlled chaos reigns. People bustle around us, doing things I've pretty much come to know by heart after so many years. BP cuff is strapped to her arm, and one of those irritating oxygen monitors is clamped onto her right index finger. I'm in the way, hovering as I am around the stretcher, but no one tells me to leave. My jacket is whisked off and thrown in a corner, Scully's shirt is quickly cut away, and she's draped with a blanket straight out of the warmer. The bloody wad between her legs is carefully peeled away and replaced with a handful of large sterile bandages. When someone tries to take the baby from her, she growls and resists. I lean close, squeezing her arm as I whisper her name, and she relaxes just a little. "I'll watch them," I tell her. She gives me the slightest of nods and her arms gradually relent. The little lump of towels is taken to a work station across the room with me close behind. More warm blankets are produced; and as the makeshift swaddle is peeled away, I get my first glimpse of .... him. Definitely a him. As I stare at him, I realize my eye are filling with tears. Scully did this, I tell myself. Scully made this with her own body. This is what we fought so hard to keep and protect. This little thing with the tiny feet and nearly invisible hair and balls the size of my fist. He's beautiful. Jesus, he's beautiful. And he's pissed. He starts out with little mewling sounds, almost like a kitten, but before long he's squalling to the heavens. Nice set of pipes, I think with a teary smile. There are three separate sets of hands working on him, sucking out his nose and mouth with a bulb syringe, trimming the long umbilical cord, wiping the gunk off his face and head - and he isn't wild about all the attention. Miniscule hands wave and clutch at the air. Feet kick, and more sounds echo out of his tiny, quivering chest. Those sounds pierce my heart. Suddenly it occurs to me, he's not angry - he's frightened. Yanked away from the warmth of his mother not once but twice now, overwhelmed with sounds and odors and sensations, to say nothing of the bright lights .... Suddenly I want to kick every ass in the room. I want to grab him away from the cloying hands. I want to protect him. I have to. He's frightened. He feels threatened. You can't explain to something this small and this new that you're just doing what needs doing, that he must have his nose cleaned out and his face washed and his little feet rubbed with ink and then plastered on the admission form. But neither can I stop anything from happening. I certainly can't punish anyone doing those things. I stand there helplessly for a minute. Then without even really thinking, I bend over him, right over him so all he has to do is open his eyes. I don't know if he can focus yet. I can't remember what the books that I've read have to say on the subject. It doesn't matter. I lean over him and whisper to him. Suddenly he's quieting. The frantic cries drop off. His eyes open and he looks at me. Jesus, I see his mother's eyes in the tiny, red face. Silver- sapphire ringed with cobalt. I blink as I stare at him. He stares right back. When I touch his hand, the tiny fingers immediately close around one of mine. "Hey there," I whisper. My eyes are tearing up again. He blinks but doesn't look away. Blinks and stares. Blinks and stares. As soon as the neonatal janitors are finished, they swathe him in tiny diapers and another warm blanket and, without even asking, gently plunk him in my arms. I freeze. THIS I'm not ready for. The blood and the mess and the worry - *that* I can handle. That I'm familiar with. This? He makes more little sounds as he looks up at me. I realize I'm making a few of my own. "Uh .... um .... I don't .... maybe this isn't ...." One of the janitors grins at me. Well, her eyes are smiling, which is all I can see of her face. "First one?" she asks. I blink at her, slack-jawed. Someone comes up behind me and secures a paper mask over my nose and mouth, and she pats my arm. "You're doing fine, Dad. You want a chair? You two can get acquainted while we work on Mom." I spin back to the other half of my existence. Terror abruptly claws at my gut. "Is she .... what's ...." "Whoa, hang on, Daddy-o." Her hand on my arm serves to gently restrain me. "It looks worse than it is. She lost some blood, but she's doing fine. They have her stabilized, and they're working now to restore some tone to her uterus." She goes on from there, but I barely hear her. I more or less stopped listening at the phrase "doing fine." Smiling, I clutch the bundle in my arms a little closer. He makes some gentle sounds, almost like he's humming to himself, and I think I feel a little twitch. Asleep at the switch. How like his mother he is. His mother. Still anxious, I try to follow what's happening from a discreet distance. The frenetic urgency has tapered off considerably. There are two IVs running, one in each of her arms, and a heart monitor is up and beeping. The sounds are both steady and reassuring. They have her legs up now, and they're attending to the business of toning her uterus - I don't even want to think about what *that* entails. The nurse beside me is still giving me a running commentary, but I barely hear her. I can't take my eyes off my partner. She's still pale, but she's looking better by the minute. She's watching and listening to the goings-on around her with an expression somewhere between gratitude and irritation. I realize I'm still smiling. Scully always has been a lousy patient. Slowly she turns her head and her eyes find mine - silver- sapphire ringed with cobalt - and I feel our old connection fall neatly into place. I know her heart. She knows mine. I can't say how long I stand there, gently rocking my tiny charge from side to side while his mother and I stare at one another. His mother. I love saying it. Scully is a mother. I am holding her child. It almost seems too good to be true. There's a muffled scrape as the promised chair is pulled up behind me, but I don't care. I'll stand here all night. I'm happy to be here. Too good to be true? It couldn't possibly get any better. And then it does. A pale hand appears from beneath the blanket and slowly beckons to me. God, she must be utterly exhausted, I know she is, but as I step closer I see her smile. It's weak, but it's real. Jesus, I'm tearing up again. I sniffle a little as I bend low and nuzzle her forehead through the paper mask. "Look, Scully," I whisper, holding my bundle up just a little. "You have a son." Her eyes are soft and teary, just like mine. Her voice is hoarse, and I cringe to think what would make her sound like that. "What do you know about that." Her eyes flit over my face, and her smile grows just a little. "By some strange twist of fate, so do you." Emotions clog my throat and prevent any response. We just stare at each other. Her hand sneaks up as if to touch my face then, and I feel her drag the mask down and away. Her intent is clear. Bending just a little more, I kiss her softly on the lips. ~~~~~~~ It's quiet now. The nurses tried a couple hours ago to banish me to the waiting room but Scully vetoed them zealously, using everything from our professional credentials to threats of calling AD Skinner and then the Director himself if they didn't leave me the hell alone. They wisely let the matter drop. I've been sitting here for hours, holding the baby and watching my partner sleep. The thought of what she went through out there still twists my gut in knots. I try not to think about it. Of course I fail miserably. As if sensing my unrest, the baby .... our baby .... stirs and lets out a little whimper. I stroke the fuzzy down on his head with a cupped hand. "Go back to sleep," I whisper, touching his forehead with a feather-light kiss. The miniscule fingers pluck at my shirt, and he grunts very softly as he drifts off. I listen to the sound of his breathing. I listen to his mother's. And I feel it. The shift is so minor, I'm sure no one around me could have felt it. Scully herself might not, were she awake. But something is different. It doesn't take a degree in Psychology to figure it out, either. My priorities are changing. They *have* to change. I am no longer the most important thing in my life. My time in the X-files has come to a close. My work there is done. It's time now to plan. Simple things like college funds. Slightly more complicated issues, like where we're going to live. How I'm going to support my family. How I'm going to *protect* my family. We'll work it out. Scully and I will work it out together. I smile as I look at her, sleeping peacefully for the first time in who knows how long. It's time to think and to make plans for the future. Our future. It's time to live. As I gently stroke her hair, I find myself thanking .... someone. For my child. For this woman. For letting me come back to this, to witness and to be a part. I sit back in my chair again and cradle my son just a little closer. Who knew? Who knew Heaven on earth could be found in a hospital room in northeast Georgia? ~~~~~ end ~~~~~