Sequel to Cheap Thrills.
He needed bookshelves. The ones he owned dipped in the middle, bowed under the weight of the volumes collected in double rows. One had snapped in the middle of the night, throwing him from a sound sleep, confused until he saw the pile of books dumped on the floor.
The day was sunny and bright, with the sky an impossible blue. Sitting in his car made him sweat, as though it was suddenly summer, even though the forecasters were predicting a more likely sleet for Wednesday. He rolled up his sleeves before he started the car and felt the sun burning his winter pale skin. He enjoyed it.
The blue and yellow building lay out in the suburbs. Bookshelves were the only thing to buy at Ikea, really, because they were easy to assemble. The parking lot was half-full even though the store had barely opened. Inside the store it was much like the day outside - sunny and bright under flourescent lights that bounced happily off of gleaming tiled floors and primary colored accents in the roomlets that were so cozy it was hard to believe they were so pristine.
He wandered through them, even though he didn't want to, and wondered why his apartment didn't look that way, even though he already knew.
Buying bookshelves was so easy it was boring. He scrawled the information on the provided notepad with the provided little yellow pencil. One tall bookcase, four shelves. The toughest decision he had to make was whether he wanted the hardware to bolt it to the wall. There weren't a lot of earthquakes in DC, and he didn't have a baby or a cat, but he picked up the packet anyway and carried it with the notepaper.
He was swept along past couches and dressers and chairs.
People-watching was a good activity for Ikea, he thought, looking at the pairs of couples that he assumed were married, all of them making little notes and using tape measures brought from home. It didn't matter if they were white, black, Asian, or pairs of cohabiting men, they were all the same.
Three college girls were giggling like elementary school students, no doubt giddy at leaving home for the first time.
He rounded the corner and came upon her suddenly, frozen instantly in his tracks. He hadn't seen her in three months - hadn't even thought of her in almost that long - and here she was again, just as unexpected.
She was still pregnant - more pregnant - unbelievably so. Her stomach was enormous and she was wearing a thin faded housedress with delicate pink flowers on it. The dress wasn't anything he could imagine her wearing, just as he couldn't have imagined her with her belly sticking out in front of her like a stolen boulder. Her hair was long, past her shoulders, but still fell over her eye when she tilted her head, considering the white baby crib in front of her. His stomach turned over as she tucked the strands behind her ear and let her hand fall gently against her stomach, as though she wasn't even conscious of the movement, of her own touch.
He continued to watch her, content to stand back and hope she wouldn't turn around. What did they have to say to each other? Nothing. The strange yearning he felt in his chest told him he should walk quickly in the other direction, forget the bookshelves and donate some paperbacks to the public library instead.
But he couldn't, because he couldn't stop looking at her, feeling his heart thud stupidly in his ears. Before he'd decided how to approach her, she turned like she'd known he was there. Her eyes met his and he expected her to turn around again as though he was of no consequence at all and return to her study of cribs.
But instead she said, "Hello."
"Hi." He tried to shove his hands in his pockets, but the wall bracket and the note got in the way, making him feel even more awkward. He ambled over to stand next to her, putting his hand on the white railing of the baby bed. "How are you doing?"
"Asking obvious questions," she said and he noticed her eyes were tired though her smile was quirky. Her fingers moved, wrinkling the fabric of her dress as she caressed her belly.
"You look ready to go."
"I was ready to go two weeks ago."
"But you're just looking at cribs now?" His voice was soft and he had to look away, to touch the blankets gathered in the model bed.
"I was just going to stick her in a drawer," Scully told him and he laughed because he knew he was supposed to.
"It suits you."
She rolled her eyes, giving him the most doubtful of looks.
"I mean, you're beautiful."
The doubt never left her expression. Her hair had a wave at the ends and her cheeks were flushed like those of a sun kissed child.
He marvelled that he'd recognized her at all, but he'd know her stubborn expression anywhere. "How were you going to get this home?"
"Taxi."
"Were you going to ask the driver to assemble it for you?" He gave the crib a shake, but it was solid. He looked at her and she looked upset.
He frowned, but found he couldn't ask. It said something that she was at Ikea, looking at a crib that cost less than a hundred bucks, that she had to put it together herself rather than order one delivered from a department store.
He was stunned by the tears that started to roll down her cheeks. She put her hands to her face and when he placed his hand on her shoulder, she broke away. He was afraid she would run, but she couldn't, even if she'd wanted to. "It's okay," he said, replacing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently, reassuringly. He realized he'd made her think of Mulder, that the other man should have been here to see her like this, to help her prepare, to meet his own child. "I'm sorry, this keeps happening," she said, rubbing her eyes. Her nose had turned pink. "It's unbearably sad," he said. "You have every right to cry."
Instantly he was sorry he'd spoken because her mouth twisted horribly and she began to cry again earnestly. He'd made it worse. She let him pull her body against his, unfamiliar and awkward, but she managed to bury her face in his shoulder. "It's okay, ssh, it's okay," he mumbled, untrue nonsense. He stroked her hair and felt her arms around his waist, clinging like the world would end.
A couple who happened to walk by stared at them. He didn't care, but then he saw the woman giving him a sympathetic smile. She thought they were together. She thought he was the father. It startled him that other people couldn't see the truth, how very wrong all of this was.
She broke away from him, embarrassed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I have my car," he told her. "Let me give you a ride and help you with this."
"I couldn't."
He just stared at her, looking into her eyes until he could see her giving in. "Okay?" She nodded.
He added the information about the crib to the note about his bookshelves. "Is this the one you wanted?" She nodded again. "Did you need to get anything else?"
"No," she said softly.
"What's wrong?" He couldn't stop touching her, because her skin was so cool and so soft, as though she'd taken on the properties of the baby still inside her.
"You're being so nice to me."
"I could be meaner, if you like," he offered, joking, and she shook her head, serious. He wanted to ask if she was all right, but he couldn't say anything else. His eyes scanned the other cribs standing in a cluster in the area. "I like this one," he told her, agreeing with her choice. It was a classic design, painted white. He slipped his hand around hers and she didn't pull away.
She was slow on the stairs down to the lower level and he waited patiently for her as she took the steps one at a time, her feet meeting on one step before she sought out the next one. Her center of balance was off. She couldn't see the stairs. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like.
They walked in silence through the marketplace level of the store, past dishes and kitchen gadgets and shower curtains with whimsical patterns. "Does it come with bedding?" he asked her, pausing in front of a display of pink and blue gingham sheets.
She shook her head and tugged on his hand. He followed, playing the obedient husband and enjoying the role. His free hand found a stuffed animal as they wound through the children's department. The baby would become a person, who would laugh and play and go to school one day. The realization shocked him. The baby would want to know about her father, and hurt, and miss him. She'd scream at her mother and Scully would scream right back. It would all happen. It was unavoidable.
It was life.
"Toys?" he asked.
She took the stuffed animal out of his hand, not even looking at the purple and green dragon as she dropped it back on the display. "SIDS," she said and he thought his knees would buckle.
"I didn't think -" he tried to apologize.
"There's no reason why you would know." Her voice truly held no negative opinion of his ignorance. "A lot of people don't know."
People with children, she meant. People who would understand what she was going through. They reached the self-serve warehouse and she stood back as he hoisted the flat-packed boxes onto the low cart as though she was afraid he might drop one on her, like she didn't believe he could handle them. He had no trouble and put his hands on the cart.
One of her hands joined his. Not really helping him steer. He glanced at her but her eyes were forward. He wanted her to walk ahead so he could study her unsteady gait, so he could measure the broadened width of her hips with his eyes. It was companionable walking alongside her.
He would probably never see her again. He hadn't expected to, after the last time.
She realized too late that he'd let the cashier ring the items together and handed over his American Express card. "She can re-ring them separately," Scully insisted.
"It's okay," he told the cashier.
"No, I'm serious," she informed him, her eyes flashing at him. "You don't have to pay for me. I can pay for myself." She glared at him and he knew she was remembering. Thinking that he was remembering her desperation that night, that she had been ready to rob a man at gunpoint for a few dollars. He couldn't ask how her finances were now.
"Re-ring it," he allowed finally, giving in to her but her face remained tough and determined. The cashier sighed, but did as he said.
The shelves to hold his books was more expensive than the bed to hold her baby.
She paid cash.
"You don't have to give me a ride home. I'll be fine," she told him as he'd known she would once they were out in the heat of the fresh air.
She squinted up at him, her eyes burned by the sun. But then she put her hand back on the cart and started pushing it toward the parking area without another word.
An empty protest, he thought. That wasn't like her at all. He looked at her, intrigued, but she was just walking. She glanced sideways at him and looked away quickly. Embarrassed? It stunned him how little he understood her.
"Nice car," she said.
"You don't like SUV's?" He opened the trunk and looked at her, seeing her downturned mouth. Guess not. Their two flat boxes slid into the back of the vehicle easily and he closed the door. "That's why it's a good car."
"Wanna see why it's a bad car?" she asked, catching his sleeve as he turned away from opening the door for her. He watched as she tried to propel herself into the front seat. She could barely raise her foot high enough to reach the booster step. She looked at him over her shoulder.
He nodded, seeing her difficulty. He grabbed her hand to steady her balance. Confident she wouldn't fall, she swung into the front seat.
He joined her after a moment, starting up the car. She could barely fasten the seatbelt around her middle. Not just her body had changed, he thought. Her whole life.
"Georgetown," she said, giving him the address while looking out the window.
"Does this embarrass you?" he asked her. She looked at him, her eyes razor sharp, confirming he was right. "It's okay to need a hand every so often." Her expression didn't change. He felt like he was digging in the dark, with no idea what he was reaching for. "Even if it comes from me." She looked away again. So it was him she objected to. He parked on the street in front of a cute red brick apartment building that looked more like a house. She hurried ahead of him to open the door, her eyes glancing over him as he easily carried the box inside for her.
"Where are you going to want it?" There didn't seem room in the one bedroom apartment, not even for the two of them standing on either side of her blue striped couch.
She sighed and pointed a finger at the bedroom. He nodded and put the box down on the only open bit of floor, between her queen size bed and two tall bookshelves on either side of the door. She lingered in the doorway, her arms hanging loose at her sides uneasily. He watched her notice the bed was unmade. She didn't make a move toward it.
"So why did you want me to come back here with you?" he asked.
"You offered. You're welcome to go." She shifted in the doorway, then walked to the bed and smoothed the covers before she sat down on it, watching him as he consulted the instructions and lay out the pieces.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked.
She didn't say anything. Nothing was ever easy with her, he thought.
She drove him up the wall, even as it made his breath shallow with intrigue. "Hammer?"
"In the kitchen." She moved to the edge of the bed.
"Don't get up." He scrambled to his feet. "Want anything?" He stopped at the doorway and looked back. She hadn't answered. She was rubbing the lower curve of her back like it hurt. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she said but she didn't sound fine. She raised her eyebrows at him and he went into the kitchen, pulling open drawers until he found the one with odds and ends, rubber bands and twist ties, and the hammer. He grabbed it and then filled one of the glasses on the counter with water for her. She was frowning, still rubbing her back futilely. He put the glass into her hands and stood over her. "You look like you've got a cramp.
Standing too long?" She moved her hand away from her body.
"Can I help?" He placed gentle fingers against the spot she'd been kneading, a hollow spot between her hipbone and her spine.
She jumped. "Don't touch me."
"I was only -"
"Don't."
He shrugged and returned to his place on the floor, meeting her eyes. She sipped the water, clutching it with both hands. His stomach ached and he didn't know why. Something was wrong, but he didn't know what. Maybe it's as simple as her unhappiness, he told himself, making quick work of the crib pieces, fitting them together with the nails and pegs provided. She lost her lover, her partner, her only friend. He had no idea what that was like.
She shifted on the bed and he looked at her again.
Frown lines bit deep into her forehead as she slid down onto her back, one hand pressed against her stomach.
"Are you okay?" he asked, getting to his feet. She's having the baby.
The tiny cry of anguish she couldn't hold back confirmed the knowing voice in his mind. She's having it.
"Oh god," he said, his palms slick with panic.
He started for the door but she grabbed his hand, crushing the bones together with a force he would never guess she possessed.
"I'll be okay," she said.
"In a couple of hours, I'm sure," he told her. "How long?"
"Since this morning."
"So you thought it'd be a good idea to go shopping?"
"First children take days," she informed him. "I've got time."
"Doesn't look like it." He regretted his words as she closed her eyes and squeezed his hand again, like she'd slipped deep into something he barely understood and she couldn't control.
"I've got to have a place to put her when I bring her home," she said, her face pale and vulnerable when the worry lines had faded. "She'll feel unwanted if she doesn't even have a bed."
He wondered if she knew it would be a girl or if she was hoping.
"Please," she said and he didn't know what she was asking for. He didn't think she knew, either.
"Your doctor's number is by the phone?" He had to be calm. Force her to face the reality of the situation. He didn't know much but he knew she didn't have days.
"Wait, I -" This time she gripped his hand with both of hers, clinging to him, breathing hard. He wasn't sure he could watch this if it the pain was going to get worse. "Okay," she sighed, releasing him.
It wouldn't be long before the next contraction. He didn't want her to be alone. He dialed the number by the telephone and carried the portable receiver with him, sitting on the bed next to her. She moved to rest her cheek against his thigh, closing her eyes. What's she thinking? he asked himself as he explained the situation to the doctor.
"He wants us to meet him at the hospital," he told her.
"I don't - I can't -" she protested.
"You can," he told her. "You're strong, you can do this."
She shook her head, scared and cranky.
"Don't you want to meet her?" he whispered, staring into her eyes.
"I'm so scared," she whispered.
He nodded. "That's okay," he told her, wondering where inside he was pulling this from. He touched her cheek and helped her up from the bed. "Do you have a suitcase?" Wasn't there always a packed suitcase by the door, required by the ancient, secret law of TV sitcoms? She shook her head. "Should I call an ambulance?"
"There's time," she told him. "I want you to drive me. I mean -"
He didn't let her take the words back. "It's okay." Another thought occurred to him. "Is there someone I should call?" Weren't there partners and breathing exercises, like in the movies? She shook her head. What was she doing all alone? Depending on him?
He grabbed his keys and hers and escorted her out to his car parked on the street. "Do you want to lie down?" he asked, opening the door to the back seat.
"No," she told him. "I'm okay."
He looked at her and decided he had to be overreacting. She knew better than he did. He helped her into the front seat and asked for directions, struggling not to speed, run red lights, or panic.
The nurses at the hospital were unconcerned. They saw babies born every day. They put Scully into a wheelchair and took her to a bed where he looked at the floor as they felt her wrist for her pulse and checked other, more private places. The nurse in her pink cotton outfit barely glanced at him as she bustled out, chart in hand.
"Maybe I should -" he offered.
"Stay," she ordered, then softened the demand with, "Please?"
He nodded. She seemed better, less afraid and her skin less pale. His panic started to ease until the nurse came in with a tall, handsome doctor in tow who greeted Scully by name.
"Her heart rate's way up there," the nurse said to the doctor.
He stood back, feeling useless, as the doctor took over his role and performed it better. He stroked back Scully's hair on the way to taking the pulse in her neck. "You need to relax."
"Wouldn't you be excited?" she mumbled, a distraction. He knew it wasn't true, but the doctor didn't know her as well. He waited to see, wondering how to jump in.
"Not that excited," the doctor said, slipping his stethscope under the neckline of the pink dress. "You're going to wear yourself out. When were the first pains?" He was timing her pulse again calmly, this time from her wrist, holding her hand as he spoke to her.
"Last night," she said.
She'd lied to him.
The doctor dropped her hand and turned to the nurse. "I want her on a heart monitor."
"Wait -" Scully protested, but neither of the healthcare professionals listened to her. She leaned back against the pillow with an air of defeat and he moved in again, taking her hand, stroking her palm with his fingers. It was the only thing he could think to do to calm her.
But when his fingers started to creep toward her forearm, she snatched her hand away. "I don't need you worrying about me too," she snapped.
He looked away, not knowing what else to do. That was when the nurse returned with the monitor, setting it up beside the bed. "You need to get into a gown. Do you need assistance?"
He bristled at her no-nonsense approach, but Scully didn't seem to mind.
"I can do it." She reached to pull the dress up over her head and he turned away quickly. He listened to the papery fabric of the hospital gown rustle as she put it on and the nurse hooked her up to the heart monitor. "This isn't necessary," she protested. The nurse didn't say anything, just bumped him as she hurried out.
He turned around to find Scully reaching behind her. "She didn't tie the straps," she complained.
"Here." He touched her shoulder, turning her gently away from him. Her back was bare and after a moment the urge to touch her was too strong. He closed his eyes for a second, then tied the gown closed with bows. Her skin puckered with goosebumps when he accidentally brushed her with his hand. "Cold?"
She nodded and he rubbed her arms lightly, glancing at the mysterious lines on the monitor. "Your heart's racing," he told her.
"I can't help it," she said.
"Don't be afraid," he said encouragingly and she closed her eyes. Her face remained tense as her breathing became slow and even, no doubt the focus of her concentration.
He traced her eyebrows with his fingers.
"It wasn't real until today," she said, suddenly breathing heavily.
She didn't open her eyes. "It's real enough now."
He nodded. There weren't any words. He stroked back her hair and ran out of places to touch. She made a little noise when their skin separated. "Get the doctor," she told him in such a quiet tone it made him panic all over again.
He stepped out into the hallway and raised his hand, trying to signal to the nurse he'd seen. "Can we get a doctor in here?" His voice wobbled like a boy's.
"Oh god," Scully was repeating when he walked back into the room. He went to her because she had both hands on her belly like she could hold the pain outside, her body rigid with a tension that never fully subsided. He went to her because it was the only thing he could do.
He'd never seen such agony and it shook him.
The doctor strolled back in. Two nurses followed.
He'd never seen a baby being born before. Was it supposed to happen this fast? Then, there was a moment of rare, perfect silence. The doctor held up a red, squirming baby. Scully wasn't screaming anymore. A baby.
It seemed like he'd stared for hours when he said, "She's beautiful."
She nodded and fell back tiredly, having seen the product of her work.
The nurse lay the baby across Scully's stomach which alternately heaved and trembled. The lines on the heart monitor hadn't slowed a bit. He watched as her small, perfect hand touched the even smaller child ever so gently, conveying all of the awe he was feeling. Then, amazingly, she raised her eyes to his, grasped his hand with hers. "Yours was the first voice she heard. In her whole life," she said.
He shook his head, but he couldn't say anything because there was a knot the size of a basketball in his throat. He really didn't want to cry, but he already was. It should have been Mulder there with her. He would have had something wise to say about the birth of his daughter.
She looked away, touching her child again, then nodded to the nurse, who whisked the baby out of the room. She closed her eyes and turned her cheek to touch the pillow. There was so much he didn't understand. He watched her sleep, wishing there was something else he could do.
He couldn't stay forever. She wouldn't want him to. He knew this, and when the right time came, he leaned over her body and kissed her forehead. He'd come back, he promised himself. She wouldn't miss him now that the baby was here.
He couldn't go home. The sun had set at some point; the streets were dark. He found his way back to her apartment in his car that smelled like her and her front door lock was flimsy. It took him half the night to finish assembling the crib and his thumb was smashed and bloody when the sun rose, but it stood proudly in the corner near her bed. The baby would have a place to sleep when she came home. She wouldn't feel unwanted, as Scully had worried.
He wanted to order flowers, but something inside wouldn't let him.
Just as his tight hands around the steering wheel wouldn't let him drive back to the hospital, not to see her again, not even to smile through the glass into the nursery. He didn't want to see her unhappy because he'd returned. He didn't want to remind her of other, more desperate times in her life. He knew he was an intruder.
Besides, he thought as he made the turn toward his house and listened to his forgotten bookcase shift and slide against the back of the car, he'd run into her again. If she needed him. Someday.