"Are you sure you want to do this, Scully?"

"No turning back now, Mulder."

If it had been six years ago, I would have believed Mulder was completely
paranoid and completely nuts about me having this baby as soon as possible. Of course, it wasn’t six years ago and I wanted to go back to my apartment.

I also wanted to be able to get out of a sitting position without any difficulty.

The moment I had calmed down about my pregnancy, I had read every piece of
literature ever written on the subject. One interesting piece of text was one I’d heard
about but never truly looked into. It was the ‘natural’ ways to induce labor. I had
thought they were a load of crap.

And nine hours later, I’ve decided that while they may work for some women, they
did _crap_ for me. All I gained was embarrassment and comments from the peanut galley of Fox Mulder.

So, now here I was, sitting up against about five pillows, in the room Mulder and I
were staying in. I had a fetal monitor up, an IV in, and an angry OB, against a Pitocin-
induced labor for no medical reason.

I then learned just how persuasive Mulder’s seeming paranoid mind can be when it
comes to crisis. Mark was still against it, but seems to be looking over his shoulder every five minutes.

As if someone would come into plain site.

What am I saying? Do I think someone is going to take this baby from me?

Whoah, I better not answer that one.

I wasn’t all together happy about the prospect of inducing labor, myself. I had
wanted to have this baby the natural way. I’d go into labor, Mulder would freak out,
we’d go to the hospital and hours later (I wasn’t even thinking about labor pains) we’d
have a little baby.

What was I high on when I thought that concept up?

I was most definitely not looking forward to labor at this point. Despite the fact
that Pitocin can take hours to work (or not even work at all - I am not going to think
about that situation), the contractions are more rapid on onset (quoting a textbook there, Dana?) and can be more intense. Not to mention the greater chance of needing a C-Section.

I was most definitely _not_ going to think about that.

Yes, right now I am going to think about the end result - a little baby, soft and
sweet. And I don’t even care if it’s a boy or girl.

Okay, maybe I care a little.


11 hours later.

Okay, now I definitely don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl.

I just want it _out_.

Since I was having this labor induced I had decided that I wouldn’t use any drugs,
hence make this birth somewhat ‘natural’.

Once again, _what_ was I thinking??

It’s wasn’t so bad at first. Then one contraction hit and well, without an x-ray, no
one can prove I broken Mulder’s hand. Surprisingly, though, he’s still here, coaching me, nursing an ice pack over very swollen knuckles.

Yet, I still want to use every curse word known to man. Ironic world, huh?

The contractions are getting closer together and I can’t wait for this whole thing to
be over. I suddenly have this urge to call for my mother (who, by the way, is going to be
_pissed_ when she finds out I had this baby without her presence nearby) and have her
kiss it better.

"Is it too late to say that I’ve changed my mind?" Shit, did I just say that sentence
out loud?

I hear Mark. "I think so, Dana."

I did say it out loud. Score one for weakness, Dana.

"Are you sure you don’t want anything? Pretty soon you’ll be at the point of no
return. It’s just full speed ahead from there, Dana."

"I know." Breathe. Think back to the Lamaze classes. I get a mental picture of
Mulder’s shock at the childbirth video we had to watch. Geez, after everything we’ve
seen, I would have never guessed childbirth would make Mulder jumpy. "And no." I look
at Mulder, who is trying to hide the pain from his hand from me. He smiles.

"Hey, just hold out a little longer. You’re doing great."

His words, though sincere, don’t mean a crock of shit to me at this moment.

"Easy for you to say."

I should be more compassionate, perhaps, as I think back an hour to Mulder
declining painkillers himself, but hell, I’m in labor. And it hurts.

I had asked my mother about the actual labor. She was in labor for 36 hours with
Bill, and by the time she got to Charlie she was down to an 8 hour labor. Well, 8 hours
passed for me, and I am praying it’s not going to be 36.

Another contraction hits me, and I look for something to grab onto. I closed my
eyes, and was ready to gab air when I feel a familiar hand latch onto mine. I open my eyes and was surprised to see Mulder’s good hand holding onto mine.

I was never more in love with him as at this moment.

The contraction eased and his eyes look into mine.

"Scully?"

"What?" I’m sweaty, unattractive, in pain, and not the most happy camper at this
point.

"Marry me."

"What?" I stare at him for a couple of minutes. "Mulder, I -"

Of course, another contraction interrupts me. I hear Mulder’s voice through it,
though and as the pain eases once again, I try to think about what he’s just asked me.

Mulder asked me to marry him.

What am I going to say?

He’s still looking at me, and I know he wants an answer. Then before the next
contraction hits, I smile at him.

"If I get to pick the name."

"No way!" he murmurs and goes to kiss me.

A contraction interrupts him, however, and it’s more intense this time.

"Beth is the perfect, name, Scully."

"So . . ." Breathe. "sure . . . it’s . . . going . . . to . . . be . . . a girl?" After all this,
it better be a girl.

"I have a theory on this, Scully. The Gunmen are running 2 - to - 1 odds on it."

"Don’t make me laugh, Mulder."

"I’m not." I can picture the pout as I close my eyes against another contraction.
They are coming closer.

Hopefully it won’t be much longer.

17 hours into labor.

Not much longer, my _ass._

Mulder’s words stopping being comforting and staring becoming annoying about
four hours ago. That was when, Mark had told me "looking great, the way you’re
dilating, it shouldn’t be much longer."

Then my dilation slowed.

Now it’s stopped and has been that way for the last hour.

My medical mind is worried. The baby is going nowhere. I’m not dilated enough
for this baby to be delivered. I can’t have a C-section in the middle of a cabin - this is not a hospital.

I am getting scared.

After another exam, I could see Mark getting worried.

Great, just what I need. The OB freaking.

"It’s just 2 more centimeters, Mark. Give it a little time. Maybe the baby will
drop." Another contraction hit and I wanted to push.

"You can’t push. According to the sonogram, the baby’s head is never going to fit
even if he or she dropped. There’s no choice but C-Section."

Shit. I glance out the window. The slightly overcast September sky has turned
dark, as if predicting the turn of events. Mulder has turned to talk to the doctor himself,
asking questions like ‘how the hell are we going to do this’ and I think back to why we’re
having this baby now in the first place.

What if ‘they’ catch up? I still am unsure about who ‘they’ is. As I look at the
stormy sky, it seems like a trail of smoke has inhabited the clouds, turning their usual
white gray. Smoke . . .

Another contraction comes. This baby wants out and it’s not going to happen the
natural way.

I want my mommy.

I glance back out at the sky. I need everything to be okay.
I need ‘Beth’ to be okay.

Did I just say ‘Beth’? Mulder’s name has attached itself to my brain. But hell if
I’ll name a little boy ‘Andrew.’

I hear rain start to fall against the window panes.

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