TITLE:  Further to Fly   
AUTHOR: Michelle Kiefer  
E-MAIL ADDRESS: MSK1024@AOL.COM  
DISTRIBUTION: Archive if you like, just tell me where. 
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully belong to 1013,  
Chris Carter, and to the X-Files.  
SPOILER WARNING: Existence 
CONTENT:  Relationship consistent with the episode. 
RATING:   PG-13 
CLASSIFICATION:  
SUMMARY:    There may come a time  
                          When you'll be tired 
                          As tired as a dream that wants to die 
                          And further to fly. 
                                    Further to Fly  -  Paul Simon 
 
COMMENTS:  Please visit my other stories at:  
http://members.aol.com/msrsmut/MichelleKiefer.htm  
Maintained by the wonderful Jennifer. 
 
 
This is a mistake of monumental proportions, he thinks as 
he presses the doorbell. Shifting his weight from foot to 
foot, he tucks the soft body of the teddy bear firmly under  
his arm.   His secretary had generously offered to pick up  
a baby gift on her lunch hour for which he was grateful,  
but he still felt ridiculous carrying a stuffed animal. 
 
He shouldn't have come.  He doesn't belong among normal 
people anymore.  Maybe he never did. Funny to think of 
Mulder and Scully as normal people, doing everyday things 
and living ordinary lives.  It seems wrong somehow, out of  
place, like a penciled mustache on the Mona Lisa.   
 
Yet, he feels drawn here, drawn to the people beyond this 
door as a shivering man to the warmth of a campfire.  He  
doesn't know if he seeks absolution or just understanding.   
Maybe he just doesn't want to be alone with his gun. 
 
As the seconds tick by, he begins to wonder if anyone is home.  
He is tempted to slip away, unknown to the occupants within,  
his pathetic longing undiscovered. His body is tensed, prepared  
to turn and walk away, when the apartment door opens. 
 
"Walter. This is a surprise.  Come in."  Mulder stands before  
him, bare-chested and cradling a squirming infant. The baby  
seems so small and pale, little legs splayed froglike against 
the other man's darker skin.   
 
Mulder cups the infant's diapered bottom with one hand, 
patting a tiny back with the other.  His gentle hands dwarf  
the child.  Humming tunelessly, he leads Skinner into the 
living room. Mulder's expression turns a bit sheepish as  
he notices Skinner watching him. 
 
"Skin to skin contact," he says. "I read in one of Scully's 
baby books that it was soothing." 
 
"Does it work?" Skinner asks as he watches the baby 
struggle to bring a fist to its mouth. 
 
"Not so far.  He seems to have this fussy period every 
afternoon."  As he speaks, Mulder sways slightly in the 
universal baby dance.  Skinner glances around the room, 
now cluttered with assorted baby paraphernalia.  This is  
just too weird, even for Mulder. 
 
"How's Scully?" Skinner asks.  He needs to see her, to hear  
her crushed ice voice.  The power of that need stuns him.  
Yes, this was an enormous mistake.  What was he thinking?  
Was he hoping for comfort or the chance to confess his sins?   
Mulder watches him with worry in his eyes.             
 
"She's fine.  Just taking a nap.  The little guy kept us up last  
night."   
 
"Oh, I … uh, I brought this for the baby," Skinner says,  
setting the bear on the coffee table next to a stack of diapers.  
 
"I'm glad to hear that.  I was getting worried that Mr. Bear  
was yours," Mulder says, his voice dry but concern still in his 
eyes.  "Are you all right, sir?" 
 
Sir. He finds himself almost undone by that.  He wants to 
assure Mulder that, indeed, he's just fine, but the words 
stick in his throat.  If  "all right" is defined as unable to  
hold food down, then he's just dandy.   
 
It's not that he has doubts about his actions.  His has been  
a life defined by necessities, obligations and hard lessons.   
As long as Krycek was alive, Mulder, Scully and that baby  
would never be safe.    
 
He tells himself that he did it to protect them, and he believes  
it most of the time.  But in the middle of the night, the truth  
crawls out of the shadows, bares its teeth and hisses at him.   
"Altruistic, my ass," it whispers. "You wanted to be free." 
 
He can still see Krycek, legs shaking as he stumbles and falls. No 
amount of Scotch seems to eradicate the image of plastic fingers  
scrabbling for the gun or maybe reaching for mercy.  In the silence 
of the night, he hears gunshots echoing in the parking garage. 
 
Well, he isn't exactly a man unfamiliar with ghosts. Join the  
fucking club, Krycek, he thinks.  Plenty of  room among the  
Vietnamese kids, dead soldiers and fallen agents that populate  
his sleepless nights. 
 
"Walter?  Are you okay?" Mulder's voice pulls him back.   
The baby fusses, his fist no longer satisfying him.  His little 
grunts progress to full-fledged crying, despite Mulder's  
jiggling and patting. "Come on, buddy, you're gonna wake 
your mom." 
 
"Too late."  Scully's voice is cool and a little husky as she 
emerges from the hallway. Skinner's breath hitches in his  
chest. Yawning, she crosses the room and reaches for the  
baby. "Hey there, sweetie.  What's the matter?"  
 
He watches as a look passes between her and Mulder as  
they hand off the child: affection mixed with perhaps a little  
concern.  This has always unnerved him, the silent transmission  
always left him feeling more alone than he could have thought  
possible.   
 
She coos to the baby, who has calmed somewhat in her 
arms.  Lucky damn kid. Turning to greet the visitor,  
she smiles over the baby's peach fuzz head. "Sir, it's  
good to see you." 
 
"I just wanted to see how you were doing." The words 
sound hollow in his ears.  "You look good."  
 
In fact, she looks more beautiful than he can ever remember. 
Even rumpled from sleep, her hair mashed down on one side, 
she seems to glow.  Mulder's hand rests idly on her shoulder, 
his message gentle but firm as his gaze meets Skinner's. 
 
The baby whimpers, as if sensing the tension in the air.  His 
cries shatter the awkward silence, freeing the adults from  
their suspended animation.   
 
"I better feed him," Scully says, her hand reaching automatically 
for her pajama buttons.  She catches herself, smiling at both 
men.  "I won't be long." 
 
She carries the baby out of the room and it feels as if all of the 
air followed her out.  He feels unbearably hot in his overcoat, 
torn between relief and loss.  The baby's cries stop suddenly  
like a candle snuffed out.    
 
"I'm going to order a pizza," Mulder says, his voice gentle. 
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" 
 
Something deep inside breaks apart and the pieces 
drift within him.  They twist in his gut and he thinks the 
thing that shattered was a misbegotten dream.  "No, I have 
some work to finish up.  I better get back to the office." 
 
Mulder snatches up the gray t-shirt from the back of the 
sofa.  He doesn't put it on, tossing it over his shoulder 
as he walks Skinner to the door.  His eyes are kind and 
maybe a little sad as he offers his hand.  His grip is warm, 
firm. "Take care of yourself, Sir."  
 
When the door has clicked shut behind him, Skinner can 
still feel the pull.  He wrenches himself away from this 
place where he doesn't belong.    
 
Sometimes, he feels like a great bird flying across the  
ocean.  His wings ache, and his heart thuds in his chest from  
the exertion.  He is weary beyond words, but there is no  
place to rest. 
 
End