Title: "Every Single Day"
Author: Angela C.J. Wettergren
E-mail: starbuck79@hotmail.com
Website: http://www.xfjesouhaite.com/
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Season 8.
Category: S/A/MSR
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance
Summary: "Do you still miss her?" I ask, even though I
          already know the answer to my own question.

          "Every single day."

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. I actually asked Chris 
Carter if I could have 'em, but he said no. Grumpy man, that 
Chris.

Started:  March 30th, 2001
Finished: October 21st, 2001

Notes and Warning: This story is set in the future, and told 
through the eyes of Mulder and Scully's son. A main character 
is dead in this story, but that was pretty much the point of 
it all. You'll understand what I mean once you read it. I 
hope that won't scare you away. I'm not sure where all of 
this came from, but it's something I had to get out of my 
system. It drifts off into it's own little universe sometime 
after "DeadAlive".

Archive: If you want it, I'd be honored. Let me know so I can 
come visit? :o)

Thanks and Dedications: This one's for Denie and Tanja. Not 
only did they both act as my betas, but they were also the 
ones who pushed me into finishing it. Thanks, sweeties, I 
could never have done it without you. *mwah* Also to Joy, who 
haven't read the finished product yet, but told me she loved 
what I had so far. Any mistakes are completely my own.

Feedback: I'd love it. :o) I know a lot of people don't send 
out feedback these days, but I would really love to hear from 
you.



"Every Single Day"
By Angela C.J. Wettergren


~    *    ~


I remember when I at the age of three asked my father why I 
didn't have a mommy like the other kids at day care. He got 
this immense look of pain and grief in his eyes, and I 
immediately regretted asking him, never wanting my daddy to 
look that sad again. I turned away, ready to start playing 
with my Lego again, when my father grabbed that chubby little 
arm of mine and gently pulled me into his arms.

He stood up, supporting my weight on one arm and lovingly 
stroked my cheek with his free hand. He kissed my cheek 
quickly, comfortingly, and then looked into my eyes with a 
searching gaze, as if he were looking for something he'd lost 
in them.

"Your mommy loves you," he told me, his voice thick with 
affection. Or maybe it was from the tears that had begun to 
form in his eyes. "Your mommy loves you very, very much. You 
hear that?" I simply nodded, somehow knowing at my tender age 
that was all he was asking for. "She can't be with you, but 
she's always looking after you. She always will be. I never 
want you to forget that."

And then he said something that has stayed with me ever 
since; something I've held on to all through the years. He 
caressed my hair, running his fingers through the short, red 
strands, and then looked at my face again and smiled.

"You're so much like her."

And I remember thinking that my mommy must be one special 
lady.


~    *    ~


When I was five, my father one afternoon pulled me into his 
lap, and explained to me that I had been born into this world 
under very special circumstances. I thought he was going to 
tell me some really cool story, something I could brag to the 
other kids about at kindergarten. Maybe I'd been born in the 
jungle, and almost been eaten by a tiger! Of course that was 
not the case, but I was a five-year old with a very vivid 
imagination.

I sometimes wonder why he didn't tell me sooner than he did. 
Maybe he felt that I was finally old enough to grasp what he 
was about to tell me, that I was old enough to actually 
understand what had happened during my birth. Or maybe he 
just wasn't ready himself until then.

"Your mommy had such a big heart," he began. "And she was... 
she was the most amazing, wonderful person who ever lived on 
this earth. But her body was really small."

He looked at me to make sure I'd understood what he'd said so 
far, and I thought for awhile and then said, "Miss Schoppe is 
little!" Dad smiled at me. Miss Schoppe was my kindergarten 
teacher at that time, and she was indeed a tiny woman.

"Yes, Miss Schoppe is little," he agreed, "and your mommy was 
even smaller than her." I nodded as I tried to comprehend my 
father's words, and he continued. "When it was time for your 
mommy to have you, to give birth to you, we were too far away 
from the hospital to get there in time. You came early, and 
we... we hadn't expected that."

And then my father cried. As his tears spilled onto the top 
of my head, I leaned up and placed a big, wet kiss on his 
cheek. He held me so tight, rocking us back and forth, and I 
hugged him back as far as my short arms could reach, wishing 
I knew what made my daddy so sad.

My mother gave her life for me. She died because I lived. And 
as much as I wish I'd known her; known her touch, her 
voice... I will always be grateful to her, because she 
brought me into this world. I will always love her for that.

When dad had finished telling me, I was at first so confused 
I didn't know what to do. It was a lot for a five-year old to 
take in, to say the least. But then it suddenly dawned on me.

"Mommy's in heaven?"

He smiled at me through the tears. "Yes, son. Mommy's in 
heaven."

"Is mommy an angel?"

"Yes." He hugged me close again. "Yes, she is. The most 
beautiful angel there ever was."

And I thought I was the luckiest boy in the whole wide world 
to have my very own angel.

By the time I started school, I made sure all of my new 
friends knew that I had the best mommy in the world. A mommy 
who loved me more than anything and who always had time for 
me whenever I needed her. And in a way, that was all true. I 
could turn to her at any time of the day, and she'd be there 
for me, even if it was only in my head, in my imagination.

I constantly carried her picture with me. Grandma once gave 
it to me when I was there with dad for a visit. It was a 
small photograph that had been in a tiny, little silver-
frame, standing on the mantelpiece in the living room. I had 
never seen it before, never noticed it was there, but that 
day it seemed like I was meant to look up there. And as I saw 
it, I reached out my hand toward it and pointed with my 
little finger and said, "Mommy."

Dad had shown me photos of her before, and I don't really 
know why this one captured my heart like it did. But she was 
so radiant in it. She practically glowed, and she looked so 
incredibly happy.

As I gazed up at my mother's picture, grandma came up and 
hugged me from behind, holding me close to her. She then 
reached out and grabbed the frame and opened it in the back. 
She took out the photograph inside and gave it to me.

"Your mommy was pregnant with you when I took that picture," 
she whispered in my ear. "And she loved you so much, honey."

"Mommy's an angel," I told her, staring at the photograph I 
held in my hand, and I was so proud. My mommy was the most 
beautiful thing I'd ever seen. 

She was my angel.

She is my angel, and she always will be.


~    *    ~


Whenever dad would go off on a case, I'd stay with Uncle 
Walter. Even as I grew older and thus learned how to take 
care of myself, I'd still jump at the chance to stay at his 
place whenever I got the opportunity. He would tell me 
stories about my parents, stories about my mother. If I had a 
question burning inside me and he knew the answer to it, he 
would always give me that answer. He never hid anything from 
me.

"Your parents made the perfect partners," he told me once.

A look of pride appeared in his eyes as he said this, despite 
the fact that I knew more than well all they ever brought him 
was trouble.

"Perfect partners... Always looking out for each other, even 
to the point where it would drive me insane. But they had a 
devotion to each other as partners that I had never seen 
before, and never seen since then. She was sent to spy on 
him, but ended up becoming his best ally."

A sad smile crossed his lips.

"Mulder never even knew what hit him. He fell in love with 
her, and I don't think he realized it was happening until he 
was already in too deep. But how could he not fall in love 
with her?"

It was a rhetorical question, and I stayed silent, letting 
every word he said sink into my mind.

"It was impossible to know your mother and not fall in love 
with her. She had a strength to her that could be 
intimidating, but she was warm and compassionate..." He 
paused for a second, looking up at me, and I saw something 
flash in his eyes. "She was also completely devoted to your 
father. No one else ever stood a chance."

I didn't have to ask if he was talking about himself. He had 
just said it himself. It was impossible to know her and not 
fall in love with her. But his words held no jealousy, only 
understanding and acceptance. Grandma had told me years 
earlier that my parents had been destined to be together. I 
suspect Uncle Walter believed the same.

It took me years and years until I finally gathered enough 
courage to ask Uncle Walter the question I'd been keeping 
inside of me ever since I was a small child. A question I'd 
never dared ask my father. I had never been given any reason 
to fear it, but I was truly afraid of what the answer would 
be.

"Does he blame me for losing her?"

I didn't think he'd even heard me at first, but then he 
looked up at me, and I will never forget the look of complete 
shock that was written all over his face. Somehow I think 
that was the last thing he'd ever expected me to blurt out 
right in the middle of dinner.

He set down his half-empty glass on the table as he rose from 
his chair and walked over to me, seating himself in the chair 
right next to me instead.

"Has Mulder said anything to make you believe this, son?" he 
asked.

The disbelief was clearly evident in his voice, and for a 
second I started to wonder if maybe I had made a mistake by 
asking him. But I needed to know. I needed to know for 
certain, and this was the one question I could never ask my 
father.

"No..." I said slowly, hesitating for only a short moment 
before I told him of all my doubts and fears. I looked down 
at my folded hands. "No, he hasn't said anything. He's never 
implied in any way that he blames me. But I can't help but 
think that maybe a small part of him does."

I looked up at him again, and a frown had appeared on his 
face. Despite this, the question came out of me again.

"Does he?"

"Will, there's something you need to understand... Mulder 
lost half of his soul when your mother died. To be honest, 
most of us thought he would die with her. But something kept 
him alive. Do you know what that was?"

I was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. I simply stared at 
him.

"You."

I have never been one to cry a lot, but right then tears 
welled up in my eyes, his face becoming a blurry mess of 
colors.

"The night your mother..." He stopped there, unable to finish 
the sentence. He began again. "When your grandmother and I 
arrived at the hospital, we found Mulder sitting out in the 
hallway. He didn't even acknowledge our presence as we 
approached him. To this day, I don't even know if he truly 
realized we were there." Sadness filled his voice. "He just 
kept staring right ahead, silent tears streaming down his 
face. There was blood all over him..."

He paused again, and as I felt his gaze resting on me I 
raised my eyes to meet his.

"I'm okay," I said through my tears. "It's okay..." I had 
heard it before. My father had had blood all over him. My 
mother's blood.

"Both Maggie and I tried to get through to him, but... he 
just sat there. Staring into thin air, whispering the same 
thing over and over again."

"Scully," I said quietly, and he looked up at me in surprise. 
"No," I said, shaking my head for emphasis, "no one's ever 
told me before. But I can picture it in front of me. I can 
see it happening."

"Yes... it was Scully," he repeated, and the word stabbed at 
my heart.

In my mind, I have never thought of my mother as 'Dana'. Many 
people refer to her as 'Dana' still today; she will always be 
'Dana' to grandma and the rest of the family. But to the 
person closest to me, to the one person who loved her more 
than life, who knew her better than anyone... she has always 
been 'Scully'. And in light of that, she had always been 
'Scully' to me. She will always be 'Scully' to me.

The lump in my throat grew as I realized, maybe for the very 
first time, that I would never get to call her that. I would 
never get to jokingly call her Scully, imitating my father's 
loving tone as he spoke her name. I would never get to call 
her 'mom'.

Uncle Walter gently touched my arm, bringing me back to him 
again.

"I lost you there for a sec, son," he said, and I could hear 
the worry in his voice.

"I'm fine," I assured him, but I don't think I sounded as 
certain as I hoped I would, because I could see the doubt 
appear in his eyes. "I'm fine," I said again, and he nodded.

I was anything but fine, we both knew it. But no matter how 
much it pained me to listen to his story, to hear of the day 
my mother died, I needed it. I needed to understand, and it 
had already been too long.

Uncle Walter gently placed his large hand over mine. "Are you 
sure you want to talk about this tonight, Will?" he asked, 
and I simply nodded.

He looked at me for a few seconds, and then nodded back. He 
pulled his hand from mine and picked up his glass of water, 
bringing it up to his mouth, taking a small sip before 
setting it back on the table again.

"We tried to get through to him," he started again. "Maggie 
sat down next to him, placed her hand on his shoulder, trying 
to make him snap out of it somehow. But he just kept staring 
right ahead, repeating your mother's name over and over 
again... Then all of a sudden he stood up and ran over to the 
nurses station, demanding that they let him see Scully."

"He refused to believe that she was dead."

"He didn't believe anyone. He went into denial, didn't even 
trust that Maggie would tell him the truth. They finally let 
him in to see her body... He stayed in there for so long that 
we were beginning to fear for his life." He paused for a 
second and turned to look at me again. "He was so close to 
the edge, Will. Closer than I'd ever seen him before."

I silently wiped the tears from my face with the back of my 
hand, my heart aching for my father.

Uncle Walter told me how they'd finally gone in there. How 
they had found my father standing by my mother's side, 
looming over her. How he'd held one of her hands tightly 
clutched in his own, his face buried in her tousled hair.

It was a sight that had brought tears to Uncle Walter's eyes 
then; now it was a memory that did the same as he spoke of 
it.

It was grandma who had finally stepped up to him and laid her 
hand on his shoulder. He hadn't noticed it at first, but then 
he had raised his head slowly from where it had been resting 
and had expectantly looked at my mother's still face -- 
somehow hoping that it was her hand on his shoulder. Hoping 
that somehow he had been right. That everyone else had been 
wrong.

His face had fallen at the realization that it wasn't my 
mother, and he had turned his gaze to grandma, sadness once 
again washing over his features.

The same sadness appeared on Uncle Walter's face as he 
continued.

"She told him that she too needed some time alone with her 
daughter," he said, "and after awhile it seemed to sink into 
his mind that Scully was gone not only for him... but for 
everyone. For all of us. We had all lost her..."

His voice broke at the last words and he cleared his throat.

"I took him out in the hallway with me and left Maggie alone 
to say goodbye to her daughter. Mulder just... kept staring 
right ahead. He didn't even sit down. He just... stood there. 
But then, as if sent from above, a nurse appeared. She held 
this little bundle in her arms and then reached it out toward 
your father. And then she said the only words that reached 
through to him that day."

I held my breath in anticipation...

"Your son needs his father."

... and released it with a sob.

"Mulder took you in his arms and he held you as if you were 
the most fragile piece of glass. He looked down at you with a 
sudden awe in his eyes, and this time when the tears fell 
from his eyes, I believe it was from something completely 
different than grief."

He looked up at me and once again took my hand in his, 
looking straight into my wet eyes.

"That's when I knew that you would save him."


~    *    ~


A few years later I married Lily -- my High School 
sweetheart. That year we all spent Christmas together at the 
house; everyone came. Grandma, Uncle Walter, the Gunmen and 
my real uncles Bill and Charlie with their respective 
families -- all gathered for the holidays.

Dad had always commented on how before my mother's death, 
Bill had hated him and he had never even met Charlie. I guess 
death changes a lot of things. Though I've been told that 
Uncle Bill's sudden acceptance of my father probably had more 
to do with the fact that I had been brought into this world. 
If he wanted to see his sister's child, he had to get along 
with my father.

I don't really care how it all got resolved between them in 
the end -- I'm just happy it finally did.

We sat at the dinner table, happily stuffing down the 
Christmas turkey grandma and Aunt Tara had prepared for us, 
talking memories. It became even more apparent on days like 
those that the only thing these people really had in common 
was me... and my mother.

I didn't mind it. I loved the holidays when we would all come 
together as a family. I learned so much about my mother 
during those occasions -- all these people in the same room; 
all people who had known her like I'd never gotten to, all 
people who had known different sides of her. To me, they each 
held a piece of the puzzle that was my mother.

"I used to drive her insane, running after her and pulling 
her braids." Uncle Charlie was sharing his story of the 
evening, and everyone laughed -- those who could remember it 
as it happened, and those who could picture a small Dana 
Scully giving her younger brother a good yelling.

"Ah," grandma chimed in, "if I remember correctly, Dana was 
pretty good at getting back at you."

"Oh yes," Charlie smiled, "she sure knew just where to kick 
to really hurt a guy. Guess I should be glad for the fact 
that I can still make my wife a happy woman, eh?"

"Charlie!" Aunt Linda laughed and playfully hit her husband 
on the arm, while Uncle Bill roared with laughter and winked 
at his own wife. Grandma simply pretended like she was 
embarrassed over her sons' behaviors while trying to hide her 
own smile.

The evening went on, and one after one, they each shared 
their own special memories; some of them making us all laugh 
so hard we could hardly breathe, some of them quieting us 
down a bit as we all found ourselves lost in our own 
thoughts.

Suddenly dad rose from his chair at the end of the table, 
made a quick excuse, and left the dining room. The laughter 
was brought to an abrupt end as everyone turned their heads 
and looked after him as he walked down the hallway.

Grandma turned back to me with a worried look on her face.

"Is your father okay, dear?"

I felt everyone's eyes on me, and I didn't know what to tell 
them. Instead I pushed my chair back from the table and got 
up, too.

Skinner and the Gunmen all gave me silent knowing looks, and 
as I looked down at Lily, I found the same understanding 
mirrored in her eyes.

"I'll go after him," I said.

I found him sitting on the bed in the bedroom; the bed he and 
my mother had bought together and shared for such a short 
time. Too short.

"Dad, you okay?" I asked, slowly walking up to him.

He looked up at me, his nod almost imperceptible to an 
outside onlooker, but I caught it. He patted the bed next to 
him, and I sat down, the bed shifting underneath my weight.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I knew that if he wanted 
to talk to me, he would. So I waited.

After awhile my attention was drawn to his hands, resting in 
his lap. I noticed he was holding something in them, slowly 
caressing whatever it was with his lean fingers.

I reached out and gently pried his hands apart, and he opened 
them willingly under my touch. In the middle of his right 
palm lay the gold chain and cross I'd seen him wearing for as 
long as I could remember.

"This is one of the few things I still have of her," he said, 
the words coming out in a soft whisper.

I looked up at him. I hadn't known the cross I so strongly 
connected with my father had once belonged to my mother.

"You've never told me it was hers."

I searched his eyes with mine, silently asking for permission 
to hold it between my own fingers, and before I could give 
voice to my request, he had placed the cross in my open hand. 
It was warm against my skin, and I wanted to believe that it 
was the warmth of my mother that had stayed with it all 
through the years rather than merely the warmth it had gained 
from my father's hands. Maybe it was both.

"Your mother gave this to me once."

He covered my hand with his, and palm against palm, we held 
the cross between us. Held my mother between us.

"She gave it to me so she would always be with me." I raised 
my eyes to his face again and waited for him to meet my gaze. 
"She said it would keep me safe," he continued. "When I tried 
to give it back to her, she refused to take it. She told me I 
needed it more than she ever did." He turned to me and his 
eyes met mine. "I never questioned her. She always knew what 
I needed better than I did. She knew me better than I knew 
myself."

"Did you know her just as well?" I asked.

His laugh was soft. If I close my eyes and try hard enough, I 
can hear it yet today.

"Your mother was always something of a mystery to me," he 
admitted. "There were times when I could read her like an 
open book; she could never lie to me. But even after eight 
years together, she still kept me guessing."

A small smile spread over his face at the memories, and I 
couldn't help but to smile with him. I wished I shared those 
memories; I wished that I had been given the chance to try to 
solve the mysteries surrounding her with him.

"She was such an open person, Will," he said. "But at the 
same time, she kept so many of her feelings buried deep 
inside of her."

"Even her feelings for you." It wasn't as much a question as 
a statement. I knew there had to be a reason why it had taken 
them such a long time to finally find each other.

"For a long time she did." His eyes filled with regret. "We 
both made that mistake. We kept our feelings to ourselves for 
such a long time, locked inside... out of fear of..." He 
sighed. "I don't know what we feared."

I nodded, trying to understand. I did understand, part of me 
always had. That was why I had sworn to myself that I would 
never wait as long as my parents had to pursue their feelings 
for each other. When I met Lily, I knew that I wanted to 
spend the rest of my life with her. And I knew better than to 
let my own fears scare me from telling her.

I wish my father had known, too.

"When we finally did admit our feelings, we had too little 
time. We had been lovers for less than a year before I..." He 
paused for a second, and took a deep breath. "Before my 
disappearance."

I almost winced at his words. I had seen the scars on his 
chest, and I didn't even want to imagine what it must have 
been like for him, both then and after he had been returned. 
The scars stayed with him -- both on the outside as well as 
on the inside, and it was something he spoke of rarely. I 
never pressed him about it.

"When I got back she was already almost seven months 
pregnant. With you."

The love he felt for me was evident in his voice as he said 
this, and I once again thanked my lucky stars that he was my 
father. I promised myself I would tell him that.

"I was in so much pain then and she helped me through it. She 
wouldn't let me close off to her, and without forcing me to 
do anything, she helped me return to my old self again."

He smiled at me suddenly, and I raised an eyebrow at his 
expression.

"I remember the first time I felt you kick against the palm 
of my hand, Will," he said, explaining his smile. "Your kick 
was so strong, so powerful. And that's when I knew you'd grow 
up to be just like your mother."

He looked down, and I didn't understand at what until he 
spoke again.

"We had bought this bed that afternoon, and I moved in with 
her that day." His eyes lingered on it, as if he could see 
her there then. "She was lying on her side and I was spooning 
up against her back. She reached out for my hand and I didn't 
realize what she wanted until she laid my hand on her rounded 
stomach, placing her hand over mine. And that's when I felt 
it... That's when I felt you." He turned back to me again. 
"It was such an amazing feeling. After that I did it as often 
as I could. And your mother loved it. She told me she loved 
feeling both of her two men."

"You knew you were going to have a boy?" Grandma had told me 
once how secretive my mother had been and I had always 
wondered if she had known.

"We knew," he smiled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

For some reason that made me feel even closer to her. She had 
known before I was born that she was going to have me. It 
gave me a warm feeling inside.

"Do you still miss her as much?" I asked, even though I 
already knew the answer to my own question.

"Every single day." A single tear fell from his eyes, making 
its path down his cheek. "Sometimes so much I forget how to 
breathe."

I nodded in understanding, feeling the tears spring up in my 
own eyes. I looked down at the cross in my hand before they 
spilled over.

"Why have you kept so little of her things?"

He once again took my hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

"Because I already have the biggest part of her," he said, 
his voice warm and steady. "I have you."


~    *    ~


I sometimes imagine I can remember what it felt like growing 
inside of her; that I can remember feeling her hands 
soothingly caress me through the stretched skin. I believe 
she would to sing to me. I once asked dad about it, but he 
told me she'd only ever sung once while he was present. He 
told me she didn't like her singing voice. I still think she 
sang to me, though. And I know I loved it when she did.

When Lily got pregnant, we sang to the baby together. I'd sit 
next to her on the couch or in bed and then I would lay my 
head against her rounded belly, and I'd sing the songs I've 
always imagined my mother sang to me. Lily would soon join 
in, and somehow we always ended up singing the silliest 
songs.

Lily gave birth today, safely at Memorial Hospital, and we 
were all there. While I was inside the delivery room with 
her, dad, Lily's parents, grandma, Uncle Walter, Uncle John 
and the Three Stooges were all outside in the waiting room. I 
don't think I've ever seen nine people look so happy as they 
did when I stepped out of the room and told them it was a 
girl.

I have daughter.

Grandma is starting to get really old, but she's still 
hanging in there, and she's as alert as ever. But as she came 
in to join dad and me by Lily's hospital bed, and looked down 
at our little bundle of joy sleeping in Lily's arms... she 
became more vivacious and ecstatic than I've seen her in 
years.

She walked up right next to Lily and touched the baby's tiny 
little head, and then gently stroked her cheek with her 
thumb. She simply looked at her for minutes, and then she 
turned to dad and me with a beautiful smile gracing her lips.

"She'll grow up to look just like her grandmother," she said.

Dad and I both smiled at her words. All newborn babies look 
almost exactly the same, and there is no way of telling what 
they'll grow up to look like. But I decided to humor her.

"Why do you think that, grandma?" I asked.

"I don't think," she smiled enigmatically. She turned back to 
Lily and the baby again. "I know."

And as I looked at my daughter, I couldn't help but hope that 
my grandmother was right.

Dad gave me my mother's journal today. At first I didn't 
realize what it was. It looked like an ordinary notebook; 
black, the edges of it a bit ragged. I turned it around in my 
hands, and then opened it and read the first page.

'Journal of Dana Scully.'

"Your mother wanted you to have this on the day your first 
child was born."

I gently closed it again, and looked up into my father's 
eyes.

"Right before she died in my arms, she looked down at you. 
You were only a couple of minutes old, but she told me you 
were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. The most 
wonderful thing she'd ever known, ever held in her arms."

He smiled at me, but I could tell how difficult it was for 
him. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears, as he relived 
those last moments with my mother inside his head.

"She kissed your forehead... the most gentle kiss. And then 
she looked up at me, and she asked me to give you her journal 
when you had your first child. I never questioned it. I 
simply agreed, and she got this peaceful look on her face. 
Like I'd just given her something she'd wanted more than 
anything."

"You'd given her yourself," I told him, a small tremble in my 
voice. "You'd given her me."

"And she gave me you." He met my eyes with his again, and 
they were so completely filled with love. Love for my mother, 
and love for me.

"Lily and I are naming the baby after mom," I suddenly 
blurted out. We had decided to tell everyone later, kind of 
make a big announcement, but I felt a desperate need to tell 
my father right there and then.

He hugged me so tight it almost hurt, but as my arms found 
their way around his back, I realized I held him back just as 
tightly.

"Thank you," was all he said.

We released each other, and we didn't need more words. Dad 
once told me he and I seemed to share that same bond he had 
shared with my mother; the ability to communicate without 
words. And today, I truly believed we did.

I've spent the past two hours alone in the hospital 
cafeteria, reading my mother's journal, as Lily visited with 
her parents. And as I turned the pages, reading every word 
she had written in her curly handwriting, I felt the love I'd 
thought could never be any stronger grow inside of me.

She wrote to me all through the pregnancy. The entries are 
sporadic, and sometimes only a sentence or two long, but 
every single one wraps itself around my heart, squeezing it 
tighter and tighter until I feel like I can't take it 
anymore.

    'August 22, 2000

    I never knew it was possible to love someone 
    you've never met this strongly, someone you don't 
    even know yet. I've never before known of a love 
    this unconditional, so absolute and pure. But I 
    love you already. I have loved you since the 
    second I learned that you were growing inside of 
    me.

    Your father is missing. He was taken from us 
    before I could tell him about you. I didn't even 
    know myself that there was a 'you'. 

    Mulder is the father of my baby.

    I never thought I would be able to write that and 
    have it being the truth. I can hardly believe it 
    still. But it is the truth, I am more certain of 
    that than anything. Little one, I miss him so 
    much. I miss him with my whole being, with 
    everything that I am. I miss him so intensely I 
    sometimes feel like I am about to split in two 
    from the inside, like I'm about to break into a 
    million pieces with no hope of anyone ever being 
    able to put me back together again.

    You are the one holding me together. I am fully 
    aware of the fact that it's not possible yet, that 
    is only my imagination, but sometimes I swear I 
    can feel you move inside of me. You bring me a 
    comfort no other can.

    I feel Mulder's presence through you. I am 
    carrying a part of him with me every day because 
    of you. And I will find him for both of us. I have 
    to.'

She did find him. But the things she went through before she 
did... I don't know how she did it. How she survived. To say 
that she was a strong woman wouldn't be enough; it would be 
the greatest understatement of all times.

She wrote a few longer entries after that, but it's the 
shortest one that really makes me understand how much she 
relied on me, even though I was not even born.

    'December 12, 2000

    He is dead. He is dead, and I am dying with him.
    Hold me together, little one. I need you now more 
    than ever.'

Uncle Walter and Uncle John have told me what happened during 
the time my father was missing, but sometimes I wonder if 
either of them truly grasped how close to the edge she was. I 
think they did, to some degree, but I have a feeling she kept 
most of it all locked inside.

Even once he was back, the fear was still embedded deeply 
inside of her. I can't help but wonder if it ever completely 
disappeared.

    'March 23, 2001

    I am afraid that this might be some cruel dream 
    that I will wake from any second. It's been nearly 
    a week since his return, but I still wake at least 
    twice every hour during the nights, finding myself 
    having to check if he's really there. If he is 
    really here with us.

    And he is. Every single time, he's there, alive 
    and breathing, lying next to me.

    He's taken to draping his arm over my stomach when 
    we go to bed, splaying his large hand over the 
    roundness, caressing it with his gentle touch even 
    as he falls asleep. I think he loves you just as 
    much as I do.

    God, I can't believe he's back. I can't believe 
    he's here, I can't believe that I'm allowed to 
    experience this joy, this feeling of contentment 
    and pure bliss.

    Please don't let it all be a dream.'

She had so many hopes for the future, only to have it all 
being taken from her in a heartbeat. For once she allowed 
herself to imagine a happy future for herself, for dad and 
for me. A future she never got to live and experience.

    'April 29, 2001

    I feel so utterly silly, and yet at the same time, 
    I have never been happier. It all feels so unreal. 
    I feel like we're normal people, doing what normal 
    expecting parents do.

    Mulder is taking me to a cabin in the mountains. 
    He says I need to relax a little before you come 
    along, that we both need some time alone together, 
    away from mom and Skinner and everyone else here.

    I wish you could have seen the look on your 
    father's face when he realized that I am carrying 
    you. He looked so overwhelmed I had to laugh at 
    him.

    He's even been with me to Lamaze class, can you 
    believe that? Never in my wildest dreams did I 
    ever imagine that Mulder would be teaching me how 
    to breathe properly. But he is loving every single 
    moment of it. He loves that I am pregnant, that I 
    am having his child. He is going to make such a 
    wonderful father to you.

    I love your father so much. Almost as much as I 
    love you (though don't tell him I said that - let 
    him continue to think he's the center of my 
    universe). He is taking such good care of me, and 
    even if I sometimes feel like this isn't us, like 
    this isn't who we truly are... it feels so right 
    neither of us can find it in us to say something 
    about it. Maybe we're afraid we've been put under 
    a spell, and if we say something, it will be 
    broken.

    For once in our lives, we are taking each day as 
    it comes, and we finally have something to look 
    forward to.

    I love you, little one. We both do. And I can't 
    wait to meet you.'

Those were the last words she wrote to me, and I suddenly 
realize that I am crying. Tears have dropped onto the page, 
smudging the ink just a little, but I can't bring myself to 
close it, as I read those last sentences once again.

"Me, too, mom," I whisper. Me, too.

A hand on my shoulder startles me, and I quickly close the 
journal, and I turn around only to look up into the eyes of 
my father.

"Lily's asking for you," he tells me, and squeezes my 
shoulder.

His eyes are warm and I can't help but stare into them. He 
looks old. Tired. But he looks happy.

I merely look at him for a few seconds, and then rise from 
the chair, wiping the wetness from my cheeks with the back of 
my hand.

"Thank you."

Only two words, but they hold so much meaning.

Thank you for giving me this.

Thank you for being my father, for always being there for me.

Thank you for loving my mother. Thank you for loving me.

And as I meet his gaze again, I know he understands what I 
meant by them. He nods slightly and then smiles. Before I can 
give in to the sudden urge to hug him again, he's turned 
around and started making his way back to grandma and Uncle 
Walter. I watch him as he walks down the hall, and then he 
suddenly turns around and looks back at me.

"I love you, son," he says and then he disappears around the 
corner.

"You, too, dad," I whisper after him.

My mother gave her life for me; my father lived his for me. 
And while I never got to meet my mother, she has been with me 
every day since the day I was born -- through me, through the 
love of my father, and through all those people around me who 
knew and adored her. And now, through her words written to me 
before she'd even held me in her arms.

Most people around me know my mother is no longer with us, 
but what they don't know is that she died giving birth to me.

'Did you ever know her?' they ask.

And my answer is simple.

Yes.

Every single day.


~ The End ~


~    *    ~


Comments? Thoughts? I'd love to hear from you.
starbuck79@hotmail.com

~ Angie