The Four Corners Cycle GRAVITY Spookey247 Rated: R, no real sex, but still, probably not for young'uns Category: Post-Col, MSR, Angst, laborfic Spoilers: Nada for the XF, but plenty for The Four Corners Cycle. This story should stand on its own OK, but the first one can be found here: http://www.geocities.com/spookey_247/4c_0.html Thanks: To Amanda, for floodwater beta and expert virtual hand-holding. Suggested Listening: Orbital, "Halcyon + On + On." Notes: I wrote this story 'specially for Sybil. Happy Birthday, my dear! I hope you get EVERYTHING your heart desires. May 3, 2037 Somewhere near Winslow, Arizona It is evening. The sky is draped with silk: red, purple, and orange. The sun lingers on the horizon. It's taking its final bow. "Chaparral," Mulder says, in an absent way, reaching out to touch a shrub growing on an embankment. Frowning, he wraps his hand around a branch and trails his fingers over the dark green leaves and spotted stem. "That's chaparral?" Dana lets go of his hand and peers at the yellow flowers. "I've never seen it before." "It doesn't grow at home. We're too high." He breaks off a flower. "It smells good when it's fresh. Here." Squeezing the five petals together to release the perfume, he holds them out for her. She leans toward his hand, then wrinkles her nose and draws back. "Smells like that stinkweed you're always cooking." He smiles, possibly for the first time all day. "You mean Datura? No. Not even related." She returns the smile. "Good." He breaks a twig off the bush and hands it to her. "The smell is really distinctive - helps if you need to identify a young plant, one that's not blooming. Go ahead, give it another try." He's expecting her to take another whiff, of course. Dana sighs. It's beyond her why Mulder has suddenly decided to turn this walk into an herbalogy lesson. It's certainly not why they came out here tonight. "Do I have to?" "Why, are you feeling sick?" "No." "Then go ahead," he says. "You need to learn how to find this. It's good for lots of things." She takes the twig, gives it a sniff. "Yuck. So...we make a tea from this, right?" "Oh, you remember Joe Tanner, huh?" "Of course I do. I diagnosed him. This is the plant we used to treat him." "See what I mean, then? With so much melanoma around, you need to memorize this bush, Dr. Scully." She gives him a half-playful punch in the shoulder. "Oh, so *now* you admit Tanner actually had skin cancer." "Sure. I never said he didn't." "Go on. You told him he was possessed." Amused, she watches him strip a handful of leaves from a branch. Whenever they leave home, Mulder always returns with his bag stuffed full: twigs, roots, leaves, seeds, flowers, bark. He defoliates the landscape like a herd of grazing elephants. No roadside or forest is safe from him. He puts some leaves in his bag, starts breaking off more twigs. "He *was* possessed." "Mulder. Two seconds ago you admitted that the real problem was skin cancer." She squats, resting her weight on her heels and watching him work. The air is cooling off fast, now that the sun is doing its disappearing act, and she pulls her sweater closed around the thermal shirt and thin skirt she's wearing. One hand circles her swollen belly. She waits for her daughter to respond with her usual kick. Mulder claims it's a daughter, anyway. He's been convinced of the baby's gender since the very beginning. Hunkering down next to her, he crams a handful of sticks into his bag. "Like I told you before, cancer and spirit possession aren't necessarily separate conditions." She rolls her eyes. "Here we go." He pushes his specs into place with the tip of his index finger. "Angry spirits have lots of ways to take vengeance on the living." This is a time-honored discussion. It always follows the same circuitous route. "I still don't get it," she says, with a smile, assuming her accustomed role. "How, exactly, could his wife's ghost be responsible for a melanoma that size?" He reaches out and tucks an escaped strand of hair under the edge of her bandanna. "If you'd gone and talked to his wife's ghost like I did, I'm sure you'd understand." "But, Mulder - " This is what it was like, she tells herself, back in the days when we shared an air-conditioned office instead of an old mobile home, when we spent our time investigating and analyzing things, not working to feed ourselves and two boys with nothing but red dust and thin air. She flashes on the picture that used to hang behind his desk. "I Want to Believe," the words had read. She always goes back to the image in times of stress. It reminds her of who they are, where they came from. Lately her memory of the poster has taken on the dreamlike quality of a childhood memory, and that bothers her. She doesn't want to lose the people they used to be. Their new life together is so full, though, that there isn't much time left for remembering. It's about to get fuller. Her belly tightens, suddenly and painfully. "I'm having a contraction." He takes her hand. "Don't forget to breathe." She clutches her belly and waits for the spasm to run its weak, ineffectual course. "They're getting closer together," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced. It's been this way for almost two days: the contractions come; they hurt; they don't last. It's starting to get very frustrating. "That one started out strong, but then - " She leans against him, sick with dread, trying hard not to think about the fact that, while she's borne countless children, she's never borne one this way. She doesn't trust her body to be able to do this. He presses his lips against the back of her hand. "This is not abnormal, Scully. As long as the water's intact she can take all week to get here. We're in no hurry." "I know, but - " "No. Stop worrying. Remember that woman in Spring Creek?" How many births have they attended together, over the last year? Well over a dozen, she's sure. She nods against his shoulder. "Four days of labor. I know it can happen." This is different, though, and they both know it. That woman in Spring Creek had never been subjected to tests and implants, never had her genes altered or her womb used like a incubator for poultry stock. Her child's father had never witnessed a radical uterine rupture, never had to watch his wife die a gruesome death while attempting to bear his clones. That woman in Spring Creek was fully human, too. So was her husband. Scully closes her eyes, doing her best to follow Mulder's order about not worrying. "They're all waiting," she complains. "We dragged everyone away from home and now it's taking forever." Mulder slips two callused fingers under her chin, lifts her gaze to his. "I know this is scary." She tries to lose herself in his eyes. Her belly tightens, but it's nothing, just a sort of surge that barely passes for a contraction. She casts her eyes down, disgusted with herself. "Damn it..." She feels heavy as lead, earthbound, trapped. "Scully." His spirit appears inside her like a sunbeam through an open window, touching her mind gently, with love and reverence, asking permission to enter, just as he always does. It's okay, she tells him. Just for today. She feels his soul washing through her. Her heartbeat slows. Her belly relaxes. "Stop thinking," he whispers, dropping a kiss into her hair. "It'll be all right." He helps her up. The light is fading fast. They start across the rocky soil. "Snake root." He points. "You've only seen it dried. There's the actual plant." "Right. Got it." She holds on to his hand, takes a deep breath. They walk. After a moment: "Snake root's sedative. It's good for pain, too." Suddenly her belly starts rising, gradually at first, then hard and fast. She stops, bends, moans. His arms wrap around her, his body holds her steady. "See? They *are* getting closer together." "Oh my god." "Breathe. Good..." She gasps. The pain is much stronger this time. "Are you sure you don't have one of those - what did they call it, back then? Those spinal block things?" "I don't remember, honey." "Epidural. That's it. Are you sure you don't have an epidural hidden in your bag somewhere?" He holds her tight. "You're going to be fine, Scully. We can do this. I promise." ~~~~ This desert is a very safe place, he says. The canyons are like a labyrinth. No one can sneak up on us here. Dana wishes she could let those words reassure her. Lying on her side, she holds her belly - it's drawn up tight. Pain is stealing her breath. "No fear," he whispers, sponging her brow. "Listen, Scully, listen to my voice." The words spring out, ungovernable. "I can't. I can't do this." "Shh. You're doing it." The contraction intensifies. It tears her insides. She's carrion. They've thrown her to the dogs. "Oh...my..." He's at her back. The heel of his hand drives against the base of her spine, fortifying her body against the terrible pressure. "Breathe..." "Oh god it hurts," she growls. "I know. Keep breathing." His voice is like birdsong - yes, that's it, she tells herself, he's like a bird, always flying. She sees herself standing tiptoe on a precipice, reaching out so his spirit can whisk her up and carry her away. "Yes, yes," he sings, "Let me take you, now." "No." It's tempting, but she can't let him soften this experience for her. She has to stay alert. She has to keep watch. There's so much danger, so much evil, so many threats to the life inside her. She shudders as the contraction passes. Outside, there are voices. The fire crackles. Insects sing in the darkness. "That was a good one," he says, rearranging the blanket. "Good one," she grumbles. How can she be so cold and still so soaked in sweat? "Yeah, right." Mulder is half-naked despite the chill: nothing but a pair of shorts separates his flesh from hers. "You're getting there." He snuggles against her. His body is like a furnace. "Yumi's going to be impressed with your progress when she comes back." Yumi? Oh yes, the midwife who Ben brought from Winslow. An old friend of his mentor's. Tough as a brick and only half as compassionate. Dana mutters that she'd rather just do this by herself than let that old bat between her legs again. But Yumi's the best, Mulder says. She's caught hundreds of babies. She's seen it all. Mulder told her he was sending for a midwife on their journey to the desert yesterday morning, saying he wanted to be able to focus on her well-being and let Yumi handle the mechanics of the birth. Dana knows he meant those words to sound cheerful and reassuring, but there was an edge in his voice that made the real truth painfully clear. Yumi's here because Mulder doubts his own skill. Dana knows he can't quit thinking about the way his first wife died. He's been having nightmares about that night for months. He rises from the bed, comes back with some water. "Time to drink." He holds a cup to her mouth. She pushes it away. "I don't want any." "Drink anyway." "Don't you have any of that snake root tea left?" "Yumi says no sedative. It'll slow your body down, and you're too tired for that now." "Yumi is a bitch." But she drinks. She doesn't have the strength to argue anymore. What Mulder had called a cabin before they left home has turned out to be more of a shack, just an adobe square with four walls, a roof, and a pallet inside. He's told her that this is an old family place, used as camp in the spring and fall, when it's time to gather herbs and make medicine. He comes here twice a year, for the very same reason. He says there's nowhere in the world he feels more protected. Dana wishes she could trust the place the way he does. Instead, it makes her nervous. It feels so lonely. Squatting down next to her, Mulder leans over and smoothes her hair. Then he puts his mouth on hers, urging her lips apart with his tongue and delving inside. "Ahhhhh..." A new contraction begins. The kiss grows deeper. Her womb answers by opening, wide, and still wider... "Good, honey, good. It's working. It's working." Yumi says what made the baby will bring the baby. Mulder reaches under the blanket, strokes Dana's naked skin, massages her belly during the spasm. His hands circle higher, she gasps. He squeezes her breasts, she moans, cries out, nipples stiff under his fingertips. "Mulder, ahhhhh..." A jolt runs through her, her thighs quiver, then shake. What feels like an iron fist is bearing down between them. There are tears in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you." She shudders, heaves, groans. Tries to twist away from the pain. Then: "love you, love you," still holding her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and "keep breathing, Scully, keep breathing, keep breathing..." Dana hears herself howling, now. She sounds just like a coyote in a trap. The contraction roars to a climax, dissipates. "That one was almost two minutes long," he says, out of breath himself, but clearly trying to calm his voice for her benefit. He wets the cloth and sponges her face again. "Felt like two weeks..." "I know, I know." They've been doing this for hours. They're under strict instructions not to stop until Dana's ready to start pushing. She feels so small. "Are we almost there?" He tries to smile. "Yeah, she's coming. You'll be holding her soon." Don't think of the evil, Dana tells herself. Don't think of what's out there waiting for her when she comes. "What are we going to name her, Mulder?" The cold cloth strokes her face. "It doesn't matter." "You keep saying that." She grimaces. The next contraction is already building. "I still don't understand." Mulder always says that the child will find her own name; that it will change many times over the course of her life. "It's not important what we call her." She takes his hand, bracing herself. "She has to have a name, Mulder." "I suppose." "What's that you always call her when you sing to her?" "Yamka. It means 'blossom'. That's all the name she needs, for now." "Oh, hell, here it comes..." "Breathe." He sits on the edge of the bed. "Let's get up again. Gravity helps, remember?" She feels hot tears running down her cheeks. "I hate gravity." "Quit doing this to yourself, Scully. Quit fighting and let her come." "I'm not fighting," she moans. "I want this over as much as - " A shadow plays over the curtained door. "What's that? Is someone here?" "It's nothing. Kaya put some wood on the fire, that's all." "He's coming. He's here, Mulder." There's so much evil lurking beyond the door. "He's not here, Scully. Listen to me..." The contraction rolls in like a wave. She tries to push it back. "Oh god it hurts." "I know. Hold my hands." She's being twisted in two. She's so afraid. "He wants to take her," she wails. "Honey, hang on. You're safe." The wave crests, crashes, fades. "Now breathe," he commands. "Slowly." One long, slow breath. Then two. "Who's up on the rim of the canyon?" he asks. "Tell me." "Ben and...oh..." "Breathe. Ben and Sam, right. And who's on the other side?" "Dru. Matt." Another breath. And another. And another. Armed like a bunch of bandits, he tells her. Listening to the darkness. Hearing everything that moves. "We're safe, honey. Safe. Say it with me. 'Safe.'" A shadow stretches across the wall behind them. "Mulder!" "Scully, shh." "Panic will stop your body." The old midwife has moved the curtain aside and is standing in the doorway. "You've got to calm down, Dana. Also, the baby can't come if you lie on your back. You have to squat. Now. Come on, get up." Dana rolls onto her side and puts her hands over her face. "I can't." "Come on. Up." "She's really tired," Mulder murmurs. He sounds exhausted and shaky. Dana wishes she could send him away so he could sleep. Instead, she howls as he and the old woman pull her up into a kneeling position. "No no no no no..." The moment she is upright, she is paralyzed. Her body folds, she screams, throat raw, loins burning. Mulder's arms are tight around her and you bastard, she thinks, stop holding me up... "Let me lie down!" "Scully, you can't. Every time you lie down your contractions get weaker." "It's time," the midwife says. She sounds cheerful. It's infuriating. "You'll see your baby soon. Be brave, Dana. Brave!" Like I have a choice, you bitch, Dana thinks. But she doesn't feel brave, not even a little. Her bones are shifting, moving, parting. She can actually feel something pressing against her pelvis... It's agony. "Bastard!" she screams, helpless with sensation. "This is all your fault." Mulder's voice is dull, full of fear. "Scully, please. Breathe, come on." The old woman's fingers snake inside her. "Good, she's open. Feel like pushing, Dana?" "Oh god, yes!" "Push, then." And so she pushes. The night is a blur, then, shredded and shattered. Mulder's voice says hold on, keep trying; the old woman barks push, don't push, push, don't push. Dana wishes she'd make up her mind. Kaya comes in, she sits at Dana's back, she props her up and holds her hand. Mulder is begging stay with me, stay, honey, please please please, then he's down between her legs and he's saying yes yes almost there and oh good, Dana thinks, he's going to catch her when she comes. Then Mulder says there's the head and stop pushing, and... ...burning, burning, burning, burning... His voice is grim. "The cord's caught." The old woman couldn't care less. "Wait. Hand on the head, so. Free the cord, so, and so. Now. Another push, Dana." So she pushes, and... "Oh Dana, it's a girl!" "Wipe her face, clear her mouth..." "I need string. Where's the knife, now?" "Is she all right?" "Here's the blanket, Will. Oh, look, she's beautiful..." "Yamka," he's saying. "Welcome to the world, little blossom." His voice sounds so strange. What's wrong with him? Is their daughter all right? What's the matter? Is she breathing? "Mulder, is she all right?" Where is she, where's her baby, and oh god her body feels so light, so empty, then finally: "She's here, Scully," and he's holding a bundle where she can see and "She's perfect, see? God, look at her." Two wide, wondrous eyes gaze up from the blanket. Ten tiny fingers wave around a wrinkled, bloody face. Kaya squeezes her hands. There's no mistaking the joy and relief in her voice. "Dana, she's so big!" "Don't let her lie down - there's still the afterbirth, wait - " Beyond the curtained doorway, a morning bird chirps. Mulder kneels behind her on the bed, slides his arms around her. She sags gratefully into his embrace. "Where is she? I want to hold her." "Her sister has her," he murmurs. "Let's get this placenta over with. Then you can hold her all you want." Overwhelmed, Dana closes her eyes. The old woman rubs her empty belly with a chilly paw, bringing contractions she can barely feel. "Is she really perfect?" "Way beyond perfect." Then Mulder takes a deep, quivering breath, followed by a long, shuddering exhalation. Dana realizes she hasn't heard him breathe for hours. "I love you," he chokes, holding on like he'll never let go. Dana's spirit leaps from the earth. It climbs skyward, triumphant. She's borne a healthy daughter. There's no demon at the door. She clings to Mulder's arm, cradling her face against his bicep. He lays his cheek against the top of her head and gives a convulsive sob. "You did it, Scully." "We did it," she whispers. Her eyes slip closed. She is free.