#Are they /sure/ it was their sperm and egg? because there’s an infamous lack of oversight. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flutteringphalanges · 7 years ago

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From Seed to Bloom

Summary: The infamous book, "What to Expect When Expecting", does not contain any chapters on becoming pregnant with the literal child of Satan. Nor what to do. Together, Lucifer and Chloe learn the ropes of pregnancy and the joys, stress, excitement, and fears on impending parenthood. [FFN] and [AO3]

So I wanted to just work on a short, three part fic (broken into trimesters) to get my creative juices flowing. It's been months since I wrote anything, so yeah. I hope you enjoy. If you could take a moment to leave a review/comment. It would mean the world. Onward! *Oh, I can't decide whether to keep this a T-rating or switch it to an M. Please let me know because what you choose will affect the next chapter.

First Trimester (Weeks Four to Thirteen)

Poppy Seed: Four Weeks

For the second time in her life, Chloe Decker found herself sitting alone in her bathroom gripping the all too familiar plastic object she had used those many years ago. Well, of course it was a brand new test, but that was beside the point. Her ear drums vibrated from the violent, relentless pounding of her heart. It took the rusty taste of blood on her tongue for her to realize she had been chewing mercilessly on her inner cheek. But that wasn't what was important at the moment. No, far from that. It was the small, simple symbol clearly displayed on that dreaded, white stick.

Positive.

Butterflies from her stomach were beaten from each leap of her heart. She felt numb. Nauseated. And a whole slew of other things. Back then, with Trixie, it had been a moment of triumph. Joy bound to excitement. She and Dan had been trying for almost a year when she had finally fell pregnant. But that was years ago. Back when she was married and actually focusing on the task of starting a family. This wasn't planned. This wasn't with Dan. No, this was with someone else. Someone else who only made her heart pound harder thinking about their reaction to this unexpected news. The paternal half of the little thing nestled without permission in her womb.

Lucifer Morningstar.

Sesame Seed: Five Weeks

She hadn't told him. An entire week had passed and she still hadn't mustered up the courage to confront him with the news of his newly sprung, unexpected parenthood. Part of her currently resented him for this. Blamed his stupid, supernatural sperm for penetrating her unexpected egg. But the deeper part of her mind knew that this anger was just a form of fear. A terrible worry of what his reaction would be. Lucifer wasn't exactly that in tune with the understandings and interactions of children. Christ, why her?

"So, are you going to enlighten me why you've been acting so odd around me," Lucifer's question breaking Chloe from her trance of thoughts. "Or have you banished me to your detective-y version of purgatory?"

At that moment, Chloe desired nothing more than to punch the unsuspecting devil in his perfectly, pearly white smile. But she doesn't. Instead, she took a very deep breath and looked out the cruiser window. Thankfully, Lucifer took the hint and refrained from trying to poke and prod at her recent behavior change. Of course, as usual, that didn't last long.

"Detective," his flirtatious tone invading her ears as she crouched over the charred remains of some poor, hopefully undeserving victim. "Sometimes I feel that I need to be dead to get that much attention from you." Now she wished it was Lucifer.

"If you aren't going to help, then you can go away." She said through clenched teeth, trying not to meet his assured, taken aback gaze. "Go see if Ella needs something. I have to...you know...just go."

"But…" he was cut off by the flick of Chloe's hand. "Alright, fine. Have it your way then."

They finished the crime scene without much interaction after that. And when they head back to the car, Chloe can see the visible shock in her partner's eyes that she actually chose to ride with him back to the bureau. The lack of conversation is uncomfortable. The tension so thick, not even a butter knife could make a dent. Her fingers drum on her seat, a poor attempt of trying to cut through this.

"You know what," Chloe finally interrupted, breaking the silence. "Just drop me at my place. I'm not feeling too well."

"Detect-" Lucifer stopped himself, his usual playful features morphing into an expression of concern. "You've been acting weird all week. What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Nothing," but her tone betrayed her. "I'm just overwhelmed is all. Take me home, okay? I just need to think about a lot of things."

Lucifer's stare remained on her almost to the point that she feared they'd crash if he didn't pay attention to the road. She didn't say anything, her head swarming with thoughts and pent up emotions as they pulled up to her house. But before she could escape, the door's lock clicked down.

"Lucifer, what…"

"Can you at least tell me what I did?" His voice wavered between a plea and frustration. "Is this about our detective-with-benefits relationship? I mean…" He swallowed at her glower. "I meant to say dating. I know it hasn't been that long but really, do you want to give up on it so soon?"

"Lucifer," Chloe began. "It's…"

"I know I'm not the best candidate, but give me the benefit of doubt that I've only been on, well…" he motioned around him. "Here for five years. This is new to me. You can teach me...You…"

"Lucifer, I'm pregnant."

The weight is both lifted and smashing on her chest as she watched Lucifer carefully. He seemed frozen. Expressionless. As if he had stared Medusa right in the face. She began to feel queasy and at this point, she wasn't sure if it was from the pregnancy or the stress of this situation. It felt like a lifetime, sitting there, staring at the stone faced Devil. Then, he took a deep inhale.

"Is…" he ventured, unsure of his words. "Is it mine?"

Fury overtook fear as Chloe finally managed to unlock the car door. The fact that his first reaction was doubting her loyalty to their relationship is what hurt the most. Tears began to brim in her eyes, threatening to trickle down her cheeks at any moment. With a final, furious glare, she spat one last response before slamming the door.

"What the hell do you think?"

Lentil: Six Weeks

Lucifer didn't contact her again that day. Nor the next. Nor did he show up for work by the third. Chloe wasn't sure how she felt at this point. Except that her heart ached. Even when Maze tried to locate him after learning about Chloe's current state-the detective insisting that it wasn't worth it for her to go in complete, bounty hunter mode-there was no answer. He wasn't at Lux. He wasn't answering his phone. And secretly, thought she did her damn best to hide it, wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up under her covers, and cry.

"Here," Maze slid a bowl of what looked like lumps of oatmeal in a watery mess towards Chloe. If morning sickness wasn't a good enough reason to avoid the demon's cooking, she didn't know what was. "You need to eat."

"I will when my stomach settles," she muttered, nursing a mug of water. "You don't have to take care of me. I'm fine."

"I might not be used to the complexity of humans yet," she paused. "Beside from knowing which and what kind of pain to inflict. But I can tell if something is bothering you, Decker. It's a recent talent of mine." Chloe gave the smallest of smiles.

"...So," Maze began to venture after a long pause. "What are you going to do?"

"Do?" Chloe questioned before Maze nodded towards her stomach. "Oh. I mean, I'm going to continue on with the pregnancy if that's what you're asking."

"Even without Lucifer," the demon questioned, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm more than capable of taking care of a second child," the detective responded, her tone slightly harsh. "With or without Lucifer." And though she wouldn't admit it aloud, her heart ached at the mention of his name. "I can do this."

Maze shrugged, taking a seat at the table. "Well, I guess that makes me a demon-mother," she smirked, leaning back. "Better phrase than godmother." Chloe snorted quietly as Maze grinned. "Now eat your goop," the demon insisted, pushing it towards the detective again.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. With Trixie staying with Dan for the weekend, Chloe had time to catch up on some chores that had been piling up. It helped some, being preoccupied from everything else going on. Time went by quickly and before she knew it, it was nightfall.

Maze had gone out with Ella and Linda and, while invited, Chloe politely declined. Partly because she was in need of some alone time, and partly because she couldn't drink. She also didn't want a pity party, despite knowing it would've been in good nature. So she settled down, after putting in the last few loads of laundry in the washer, to a microwavable meal and some sappy, made-for-television, romance movie.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, there came a knock at the door. For a moment, there was silence, and then a few more raps. Chloe's brow knitted as she set aside her now empty dinner plate and hit the mute button on the remote. Had Maze locked herself out again? No, her demands to get back inside their house were...well, more demanding. Chloe walked over to the door and pulled it open. There, standing in the entranceway of her home, was none other than Lucifer himself.

Before she could open her mouth, the man shoved something into her hands. "Here," he said, sounding almost sheepish. "I saw this and I thought...well, if you don't like it I have the receipt…"

Chloe looked down at the yellow, slightly crinkled gift bag overstuffed with white tissue paper. Giving Lucifer a wary look, she slowly began to dig through the tissue until her hand hit something soft. Fabric. Carefully, she withdrew a single, black onesie that, when she finally unfolded it, read "Devilishly Handsome". Her eyes flickered from the outfit to Lucifer and then back again.

"Chloe," he began, hesitating with each word. "I was...I mean...I'm sorry…"

But she had thrown her arms around his neck before he could finish. For a moment, he remained still, as if he wasn't sure what her next reaction would be. Then, when he was sure she wasn't going to condemn him to Dad knows where, he returned the gesture. They stood there, in each other's arms, Chloe not even bothering to shut the front door as bugs flew in.

"It's okay," Chloe murmured. "I forgive you."

Blueberry: Seven Weeks

"Stop pacing, you're making me more nervous than I already am."

From her spot on the examination table, Chloe had a front row seat to watching her partner walk around in circles. Already anxious about her first doctor's appointment, Lucifer's repetitive actions only increased things. She almost considered asking him to leave the room. But he wanted to be here, and she wanted him too. Even if he ultimately wore a hole through the hospital floor.

"What's taking them so bloody long," Lucifer exhaled, stopping as Chloe had requested, only to pick up fidgeting. "Don't they realize the importance of this?"

"We aren't the only ones here, Lucifer," she responded. "The ultrasound tech and doctor are probably with someone else." She cut him off before he could even begin to speak. "No, you aren't going to go bribe or threaten them." And he closed his mouth.

A good twenty minutes or so passed by, Lucifer's once more pacing sprees making it seem so much longer. Now she was getting antsy. Waiting to see if the baby was healthy was always the most intense part when considering pregnancy factors. The moment you're about to get an ultrasound and see how things were. Almost stressed enough to tell Lucifer that maybe he could go see what was taking so long, the door finally opened. Chloe's heart quickened when her familiar OBGYN physician entered with a smile.

"Ms. Decker," greeted the attractive, tall, pepper-and salt haired man who looked to be in his mid to late forties. "It's so good to see you again. And with a much more exciting reason than your normal gynecology appointments."

"Dr. Godfrey," the detective gave a genuine smile. "This is my partner, Lucifer," she motioned over to devil who was currently giving the other man a slight look of contempt. Jealousy. Of course. Thankfully the other man didn't seem to notice.

"Nice to meet you, dad," Dr. Godfrey smiled, extending his hand towards the devil.

Lucifer gripped it hard in response, giving him a rough shake. "Pleasure," and he immediately retracted his hand when catching the warning expression plastered on the detective's face.

"Now, I know you've both been waiting and I don't want to keep you doing so much longer," Dr. Godfrey expressed, making his way over to one of the random machines Lucifer couldn't begin to try to decipher. "It's been a few years, but you remember the drill."

Chloe felt herself shaking in anticipation. Nerves, excitement, worry, all twisted together into one. She motioned for Lucifer to join her and, before he could ask, she gripped his hand tightly. When Dr. Godfrey lifted her gown, exposing her still, flat abdomen, she still trembled when the gel was plastered across her skin, even though it wasn't that icy.

"Are you cold," Dr. Godfrey inquired, looking to Chloe with slight concern. When she shook her head, he nodded, taking a hold of the wand. "Let's find this baby, shall we?" And Chloe's grip on Lucifer tightened.

Again, eons seemed to pass as the doctor ran the device across Chloe's midsection, pressing down on certain places. Just like she had felt when she learned she was pregnant, the detective could feel the heavy thumps of her heart against her eardrums. But suddenly, that thrum was replaced by another sound. A rhythmic, loud beating that slammed into her with all its wait.

A heartbeat.

Chloe released the breath she didn't know she was holding as she looked over to the screen. There, right where the device's cursor was, was a blip no bigger than a blueberry. Her baby. Tears welded up in her eyes as she looked for reassurance that it was healthy.

"Perfect rhythm, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary…" Dr. Godfrey said, carefully studying the little blob. "Measuring at seven weeks exact." He smiled, looking to the two parents. "Completely healthy."

It was music to Chloe's ears. Perfectly fine. Completely healthy. The tears flowed freely as she turned her head to look at Lucifer. He stood beside her, hand still grasping hers as he stared at the screen. His chest rose and fell heavily, and the detective wondered if he too was getting emotional.

"It's mine."

But this time, the words didn't escape from his mouth as a question. Chloe gave a watery smile in response, giving his hand a good squeeze.

"It's yours."

Kidney Bean: Eight Weeks

"I swear to god, Lucifer, if you bring me another salad…"

Chloe had feared how Lucifer would react to the news of becoming a father. That he wouldn't be ready. That he would run for the hills. Not that he would read every parenting blog. Every magazine about pregnancy. Not that he would search the perfect foods for an expecting mother. When she told him she wanted italian food after he offered to bring her something to work, she didn't expect that he'd bring a damn caesar salad.

"But you said-"

"I wanted something like pizza," she snapped. "Or pasta, or anything that wasn't plucked from the ground." She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I know you're trying to help, and I appreciate it, but a steak sandwich or whatever isn't going to doom our baby into become a forty year old gamer living in my basement."

Lucifer frowned slightly as he looked at the salad, "I suppose you're right." He exhaled, and Chloe could tell he still wasn't keen on the idea of a cheeseburger making its way through her umbilical cord and not a chunk of cabbage. "I have to go to Lux, I'll see you later." But his eyes remained on the salad rather than her.

Feeling triumph, Chloe went about the rest of her day without a second thought about the leafy green encounter. Mostly focusing on filling out case work, when the day finally came to an end, she was much looking forward to returning home. Pulling into the driveway, she fished the house key from her pocket before unlocking the door.

It was the first thing her eyes landed on. The damn container sitting upon her table. Aggravation filled her as she strode to where it sat. There, the salad still in perfect condition, lay a sticky note on top with a simple smiley face.

That son of a bitch.

Chloe grabbed the salad and tossed it with a little too much force into the trash. She was going to find out how the hell he even got into there without a key. At least he wouldn't go dumpster diving for his beloved greens. Hopefully.

Grape: Nine Weeks

"So, Maze tells me that you and Chloe are going to have a baby."

The grin on Linda's face was so wide that if Lucifer didn't know any better, he'd think it hurt like hell. Both figuratively and literally. He leaned slightly forward on the couch, conflicted with whether to brag about his success in creating an heir, or annoyance that Maze couldn't keep her mouth shut when Chloe didn't want anyone to know yet. For obvious reasons. Detective Douche.

"Might I inquire how many others know?" He said, finally deciding to be modest for the time being. "The detective has forbidden me from discussing the baby with anyone. She wants time to figure out how to deliver forth this news."

"Ah," Linda nodded knowingly. "Dan. And Trixie. Oh," she quickly added, seeing his waiting expression. "Maybe Ella, but she was too drunk to remember. Maybe."

He exhaled, feeling some relief. If Ella had known, or remembered for that matter, she would've said or done something by now. He relaxed back in his seat, a sensation of comfort setting in as he no longer had to worry about Chloe having a panic attack over people having that bit of knowledge. He wouldn't share that Linda knew, of course.

"So, how are you feeling?" Linda asked, hands resting on her knees. "About anything really. Well, mostly about the pregnancy." She paused, before venturing. "Do you want to talk about what happened when you first found out she was pregnant? Maze said you went off the grid."

That was the last thing he wanted to talk about. That pause in between Chloe's announcement and returning. It had been a mistake. A moment where he felt that the only option when faced with such news, was to just disappear. Figure things out. Like he normally did. What Chloe hated, as much as he never wanted to hurt her.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to be faced with such a…" he exhaled. "I never thought it was possible. I mean, you know my history," for a brief second, a smile crossed his lips before disappearing. "But then, out of nowhere, the detective tells me I've took part in a devilish conception? What would you do with that news?"

Linda took a moment before nodding her head, "I can see the stress that spurred from that." She hesitated for a second, before speaking. "...Did your thoughts on your father come up?"

Lucifer visibly stiffened, lips pressed into a firm line. There was a long, pregnant pause before the devil's shoulders slouched slightly in defeat.

"Maybe," he muttered, once more falling silent. "But after taking a bit of time, I realized that perhaps I could give things a go, you know?"

Linda tried to object, wanting to focus on his feelings of his father and how that impacted him. Yet, clearly Lucifer was trying to avoid that. It wasn't much use trying to fight him on the subject. It was delicate enough. So she pushed it aside for now, knowing later its importance would be much too great to dismiss.

"I have to go," the devil said suddenly, rising from his seat. "Until next time, Linda!"

"But Lucifer…"

Her words were cut short when the door slammed shut behind him. She exhaled, glancing at the spot where he just had been. This was going to be an interesting time, that much was sure. And the journey of it all was both excitingly and frighteningly unpredictable.

Kumquat: Ten Weeks

"Thank Dad, it's finally growing parts!"

Chloe threw Lucifer a look from where she lay on the examination table. It was her second ultrasound and, just like last time, her fears had been put to rest by the doctor's reassurance everything looked perfect. A comfort that allowed her to gear herself towards her partner's unwanted commentary.

Dr. Godfrey merely smiled. "Here's the head," he motioned with the cursor towards the bigger end of the blob, that was slowly looking more human-like. "And two arms and legs."

"...It's going to grow more proportional right?" Chloe elbowed him hard. "Ouch! I was just making sure our child wouldn't looked malform…" She gave him a harder nudge. "Can I at least say it looks somewhat cute without you jabbing me in the side?"

Dr. Godfrey chuckled to himself, causing both Chloe and Lucifer to remember they were not alone in the room. Pushing herself up by the elbows, she graciously accepted the paper towels offered to her, and began to clean herself off. As she hopped off the table, about to get her clothes, the physician cleared his throat.

"Would you like pictures this week?" He inquired, nodding towards his computer where he had taken various shots for his own records. "We can do this under the table. No charge this time."

Lucifer had already begun to reach for the printing paper before Chloe had a moment to answer. She watched him study each photo so carefully, it was as if he were admiring priceless art. Even as they left the hospital, Chloe had yet to even hold the precious images of the growing being inside of her.

"Are you going to let me see them?" She half joked as they got into the car. "Or am I forbidden?"

"...You're sure these aren't horns…" This time, he just about dodged her aim. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Here," he handed over the collect of pictures.

Chloe's fingers gently traced the tiny baby bright against the dark background. The corners of her lips turned into an upwards smile. How can you love something, someone, you've never even met. It wasn't until Lucifer cleared his throat that she was brought back into reality.

"Can I keep one," he asked hesitantly. "Or more than one?"

Chloe's smile widen as she gave the pictures a final glance before holding them out for Lucifer to take. He nearly snatched them back, giving Chloe a sheepish grin when she eyed him with slight surprise.

At least one of these would go on display at Lux.

Fig: Eleven Weeks

Chloe lay curled up in a ball in the middle of her bed. Her stomach churned mercilessly, the threat of vomiting becoming more and more likely. Morning sickness with Trixie was bad, but not as horrible as it was with this baby. It was at times like this that she desired nothing more than to be put out of her misery. This was hell, and Lucifer brought it upon her.

"You need to drink water," Lucifer said gently, having let himself in the house without her invitation. "You need to keep hydrated."

"Go away," she whispered meekly. "Let me suffer alone."

He wasn't going to leave and she knew that. When he took a seat beside her bed, she didn't argue-mostly because she feared that if she opened her mouth, the contents of her stomach would projectile out of her. Dan had taken Trixie to school after Chloe convinced him that all she had was a bad stomach bug and that she'd be fine. God, she wasn't looking forward to telling him about the pregnancy.

"Who knew something so little would already be so devious," Lucifer commented, nodding towards her stomach. "It's already started to take after me."

"Oh God," she groaned. "Don't say that."

Lucifer pursed his lips, "Why do you have to bring him into this?"

Chloe just glared weakly at Lucifer, too sick to respond to that remark. Instead, she closed her eyes, breathing in and out from her nose. Why wouldn't it just go away? Wasn't eleven weeks enough? Maybe Lucifer was right. Someone help her…

"I'm not going anywhere right now, you know," Lucifer stated firmly, finally breaking the silence. "I came over here to take care of you and that is what I am going to do. Like a good devil," he stood up before she could interject. "Wait until you try my soup!"

Again. Someone help her.

Lime: Twelve Weeks

"I'm not standing up."

Chloe was staring daggers at Lucifer, teeth clenched tightly together at the very confused, somewhat frightened devil. Everything had been fine when she had gone into work. Sure, her pants had been a little tight. What wasn't becoming tight? But it wasn't until she reached her desk. Reached her seat. That the simple motion of sitting down and caused the button on her slacks to shoot off.

"What?" Lucifer asked, concern and confusion filling his tone. "Why won't you…"

"I'm not standing up," she repeated slowly, her voice a low, cold whisper. "It's gone."

"What's gone?"

"My. Button."

"Your...button?"

"The button to my pants broke off," she explained quietly. "My weight...it's...the button…" She felt her eyes begin to tear up. Her flurrying emotions getting the better of her. God, couldn't she just have a break from life? Even a millisecond. Apparently not for Chloe Jane Decker.

Lucifer was still for a moment, almost seeming pensive. Then, without warning, he reached for Chloe's pair of scissors and assaulted his pants. As suddenly as it was there, his own pants button now sat in front of Chloe. She looked to him in surprise as he smiled proudly.

"There," he said confidently. "We both match."

And Chloe couldn't help but laugh.

Pea Pod: Thirteen Weeks

It was becoming noticeable now, the distinct rounding of her stomach. Thankfully, her usual work uniform helped mask it some. But Chloe still felt self conscious, knowing that perhaps the people who did take notice, thought she was putting on extra weight. Not to mention her wardrobe was growing smaller and smaller each day.

"We're going to have to tell people soon," Lucifer said as they walked to the crime scene. "We can't just wait until it's here and be like, 'surprise, we present to you our child'!"

"I know, I know," Chloe sighed. "I just...I just need some time…"

The conversation ended as they approached the lines of yellow tape and flashing police cars. Ella and Dan were already there and Chloe couldn't help but feel paranoid that Dan already knew something was amiss. She tried to ignore this sensation as she joined into the discussion.

"Same calling card as before," Ella exclaimed, shaking her head. "Charred remains, missing back molars, is it too early to consider this possibly being a serial killer?"

"This is the third victim," Dan replied, expression solemn. "It's looking like it." He turned to Chloe and Lucifer-more to Chloe. "Should we call it?"

"I…"

Chloe was cut short by the shape of the all too familiar paper slipping from Lucifer's pocket. Before she had time to react, the photos fell from the devil's pocket and onto the ground. Right at Dan's feet. Her heart stopped even before he swooped down to grab it. Chloe couldn't watch, already knowing his eyes were scanning the images. Right now, she wanted to wring Lucifer by his stupid, careless neck.

"You're pregnant?!"

Shit.

#Deckerstar #Chloe Decker #Lucifer Morningstar #Lucifer #Lucifer on Fox

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snickerl · 8 years ago

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Elixir Vitae

AU fanfic set around the time of IWTB.

A/N: This chapter got a bit out of hand. I cut the previous chapter in two because I didn’t want it to exceed 4000 words. Now this chapter alone exceeds more than 5000 words because I just couldn’t stop writing.

Find previous chapters here: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III / Chapter IV / Chapter V / Chapter VI

Chapter VII

“Tell me about our son, Fox!”

No! Please, no!

It’s Sunday morning and we’re sitting at the breakfast table. I’m buried in the paper and she’s been leafing through a magazine until now. I noticed her mind was elsewhere, but I had no idea where it was. She’s brutally yanked out of my current state of Sunday morning bliss with her question.

She must feel my reluctance to answer her because she insists, “you once promised me you’d tell me the whole story.” As if she senses my agony, or maybe the fact that my face has turned to stone betrays me.

“I know I promised, but I wished you wouldn’t ask me to keep my promise.”

Look outside, Scully! It’s Sunday morning, the sun is shining, a wonderful day is ahead of us.

I thought I could take her to the little flea market downtown. She loves strolling past the various sales counters searching for a little something to decorate our house with. We could have one of those wonderful homemade ice cream cones from that infamous Italian parlor on Main Street; strawberry cheesecake for her, double chocolate chip for me. We could walk hand in hand through the park. We don’t have to talk, just enjoy each other’s presence.

Please, have mercy on me, Scully! Don’t make me tell you the saddest story of your life. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. Next week? … Ever?

“You said he lived. Why doesn’t he live with us?”

Oh, how I wished he was sitting with us right now, stuffing pancakes into his mouth, babbling about his latest Lego construction or pleading with us for the umpteenth time to get a dog. I wished there was a bike carelessly thrown somewhere in the front yard, neglected by a seven-year-old. I wished the upstairs spare bedroom was furnished for a boy to live in, stuffed with books and toys, all messy, with a bunk bed for his best buddy to sleep over. I wished we had appointments to make with teachers to discuss his scholar merits and with pediatricians to give him flu shots.

To be consciously missing all this hurts so damn badly, she’s got no idea how lucky she is to have no remembrance of what it’s like to have lost a son. I know I’m being unfair. She must feel the hole in her heart, the void William left behind. She just can’t quite explain it, and her scientist’s mind longs for answers. I understand she can’t go on forever without knowing, but does it really have to be today?

“It’s a long story,” I hear myself say.

“I don’t need the whole story, I just want to know more about my son than his name. How old is he?”

I knew my hope that I’d be allowed to leave it at that had been futile. I take a deep breath before I finally answer, each word feeling like a stab in my heart.

“He turned seven not long ago.”

“Why isn’t he living with us? Is it because of me? Because of the amnesia? Do the authorities think I can’t take care of a child because of it?”

“No. Your amnesia has nothing to do with it.”

“Did they take him from us because we were FBI agents, because our jobs were too dangerous for us to be caring for a child?”

“No. He wasn’t taken from us.”

“He wasn’t taken from us? You mean…you mean we gave him up?”

The total disbelief in her voice almost kills me.

Don’t do this to me, Scully, please! Don’t make me tell you what happened to William!

I look into her big, questioning eyes and I see how she longs for answers, but sometimes it’s better not to know the answer to every question.

“Fox! Talk to me! I have a right to know!”

My tongue feels thick and heavy and my mouth is so dry it sticks to my palate. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get a single word out, although she’s absolutely right. She has every right to know, and I’d have to tell her sooner or later anyway, so why not get it over and done with?

My stomach churns because the story has the potential to devastate her. I’m trying desperately to think of a way to break it gently to her, but my brain is not cooperating. I’m coming to the conclusion that the best I can do is to be straightforward and clear, to save her from any misunderstanding. Therefore I supply before my courage deserts me, “you gave him up for adoption before he turned one.”

As was expected, the information knocks her off balance. I can literally see the color disappearing from her face and the air leaving her lungs. Her mouth falls open and her eyes widen in shock.

“What…did I do?” she whispers, although I’m quite sure she understood me very well.

“You had no other choice, Scully,” I’m trying to explain but the words don’t reach her.

“I gave my son up for adoption? I? You didn’t say ‘we’, you said 'you’! What kind of a mother was I to give my child away?”

I have to intervene before she talks herself into something that has nothing to do with the truth. This woman knows nothing about what led her to that terrible moment in her life, of course, she’s jumping to conclusions.

“Scully, listen! Things were very complicated back then. There’s so much I have to explain to you about the circumstances.”

“What’s there to explain? Mothers give their children up for adoption when they can’t…or when they don’t want to care for them. Or when they hadn’t wanted to have them in the first place, when they want to get rid of them.”

“Stop it! Now! None of this applied in William’s case, now shut up and let me explain, will ya?”

But she’s not listening. My harsh words don’t even make her flinch. She buries her face in her hands and starts crying violently. Her shoulders are shaking with every sob that escapes her chest.

This went so awfully wrong! I can’t believe I haven’t thought about how to do this properly, how to spare her those wrong conclusions.

I get up from my chair, kneel beside her and peel her hands off her face before I appeal, “Scully, please listen to me! Listen carefully! I’m going to need some time to explain everything to you, but there’s one thing I want you to understand right away: you weren’t a bad mother. The complete opposite is true. You were the best mother William could have, and you’re not to blame whatsoever for what happened to him. Would you please take that fact for granted? Can you do that for me?”

“I don’t understand,” she whispers.

“Then let me explain. Let me explain how much you loved that child, what he meant to you, and that giving him up was a selfless sacrifice on your behalf and not a sign of you lacking motherly love.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she sobs, her voice shockingly thin.

“No, I don’t. William was a miracle. God, where am I to begin?”

She looks down at me, and I’m dumbfounded for a moment because I have to look up to meet her eyes. Usually, it’s the other way around. It’s not easy for me to keep my own emotions under control and I curse myself once again for not having made a plan about how to explain this to her. At least, I managed to pull her out of her self-loathing mode. She seems willing to listen to me. She wipes the tears off her face with her hands, straightens her back, tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear, and looks at me expectantly.

I have to stand up because my knees are aching; I’m not in my twenties anymore. I motion for her to join me on the couch. I don’t want to sit opposite her as if in an interrogation. I want to put my arm around her shoulder and hold her when I tell her. I’m glad she follows me willingly. But when we’re seated, she pulls her knees to her chest and embraces them, like to shield herself from what she’s going to hear. I let her, although I’d prefer more physical closeness. She’s not ready for it, apparently.

She picks up my last line, saying somewhat defiantly, “every new life is a miracle of nature.”

“In our case, it was so much more than that.” I brace myself for her reaction before telling her, “you had been diagnosed with POF.”

The doctor in her instantly understands. “Premature Ovarian Failure? At the age of…uh, how old am I?”

“You’re 43 now.”

“So I was 36 when he was born. When was I diagnosed with POF?”

“A few years earlier.”

“Well, that was definitely premature. I take it we resorted to reproductive medicine.”

She’s fully in doctor’s mode now, and somehow I’m glad because it leaves her detached and less emotional. But we’ll get back to the emotional part, I’m quite sure of it.

I nod. “In vitro. But it didn’t take it.”

I’m not going to tell her that we weren’t together at the time, that she’d asked me as a friend to be her sperm donor and not as her spouse to father her child.

“What did we try then? Gestational surrogacy? Which would mean I didn’t give birth to him, but I found some faint stretch marks on my body. I must have been pregnant at least once in my life.”

“We did not try any kind of surrogacy. And two times yes, you carried him and you gave birth to him. He’s our child. We eventually made him the old-fashioned way.”

“The old-fashioned way? How?”

“You’re a doctor, you know how babies are made.”

Stupid, Mulder! You’re so stupid!

This is not the time for a light banter, and sure enough, she narrows her eyes and shoots warning looks at me.

“You aren’t taking this to a joking level, are you?”

“No! No, I’m sorry.”

“I do know how babies are made, and I can imagine we had intercourse as a married couple, but how come I conceived? If I had POF, I was barren. Without a donated and artificially inseminated egg, there was no chance for a pregnancy.”

'No lies,’ I hear Dr. Pratt whisper into my ear. 'Never bend the truth to cover up something, never let her draw conclusions that are at odds with the truth. You have to be absolutely honest when you talk to her about her past. What seems to be a comfortable loophole at a certain moment will come back to you as a wrecking ball to your relationship when she finds out you were untrue. She’ll find it hard to trust you again. She might never be able to. So, no matter how difficult it is for you, no matter how painful it is for her, tell her the truth. Always.’

“We weren’t married.”

I inhale deeply and hold my breath.

“O-kay. That surprises me a bit, but hey, a lot of couples nowadays choose not to marry.”

“We weren’t even a couple. Not in the proper sense of the term.”

“Not in the proper sense of the term? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Goddamnit, Scully, it was so complicated! We…were so complicated. Nothing was ever easy for us. I don’t know how to explain this to you.”

“For heaven’s sake, Fox, try!”

Okay, I guess now is the time to stop beating around the bush. I need to be very clear on this. “I loved you. And you loved me. But we weren’t involved. Physically involved, I mean. We were like…like…platonic lovers.”

“Well, not so platonic after all if I got pregnant the old-fashioned way.” She draws invisible quotation marks in the air and sounds a little annoyed. She grimaces at her own lame joke, her expression freezes the very next second, though. “Are you not the father? Have I-”

“No,” I interrupt her, “you haven’t! Absolutely not! Jesus, why do you get it all wrong?”

“Because you’re only giving me bits and pieces here! Incoherent, contradicting information that doesn’t make a reasonable whole!”

She jolts up from the couch, taking one of the cushions with her and holding it in front of her chest now, subconsciously shielding her heart. Only that a cushion can’t save the heart from emotional pain.

“I’ve had enough of this!” She’s almost yelling at me. “This is so confusing! I don’t know what to make of all of this. I need some time to sort this out.”

“No!” I grab her sleeve to keep her from leaving. “Please, Scully! You’d be making up countless theories in your head and none of it would be even close to the truth because our lives back then were so out of the ordinary. Give me ten minutes to explain. Please. Just ten minutes.”

She’s standing still for a moment, her back turned toward me. I can tell she’s struggling with herself about what to do.

“Ten minutes. That’s all I’m asking for, and I promise you’ll be wiser afterward.”

She turns around slowly and meets my eyes, hers watery. I’m not sure whether because she’s anxious or sad, or maybe just because she’s angry with me for having been so cryptical so far.

“Promise to tell me the truth,” she demands.

“I promise!” I let go of her sleeve and motion for her to sit next to me again.

She inhales deeply, then places herself on the couch, further away from me this time. Her knees are up again, offering her chin a place to rest on. I don’t know why she needs that distance between us, why she can’t look at me as I speak.

I take a deep, calming inhale of breath myself and start telling her about what led her to the point of giving William up for adoption. Of course, it had to be a short version, otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking for ten minutes but ten hours straight, or maybe ten days even.

She shows no reaction, simply takes all the information in, as if she was listening to a lecture at college. She lets me talk, she’s not interrupting me with questions or demanding I clarify things. I’m not even sure she’s really listening. I pause for a moment to incite some kind of reaction; a movement, a sigh, a word. Nothing. So I conclude my narration.

“We’d unmasked a government conspiracy leading directly to the Bureau with some of our direct superiors being involved. We’d exposed ourselves, Scully. We were abducted, misled, threatened, harmed in many ways, but we never gave up. We couldn’t let those sons of bitches get through with their vile intentions. What used to be my quest had become yours too, and you chose not to leave my side although you had the chance. But when William was born, the stakes were too high. You’d become a mother, Scully, and you had to protect your son. The decision you’d once made for yourself, to put your life on the line for me, couldn’t apply to him. For you, there was no way out anymore, but there was one for William. That’s why you gave him up. The adoption was his one-way ticket away from the omnipresent danger our lives would’ve held for him. That’s it.”

That’s it.

I swallow.

She’s still not moving, isn’t saying anything. She just closes her eyes and a tear rolls down her cheek. I’d like to brush it away but I fear to wake her from her trance-like state and startle her. I have no idea what’s going on in her mind. Does it make any sense to her? Does she think this is all too crazy to be true? Does she remember any of it?

She’s still staring straight ahead, avoiding my eyes, when she speaks eventually. “I couldn’t protect my son.”

Although she heard a lot of reasons why she had to do what she did, that her motives had been beyond all blame, she narrows it down to a point where she’s accusing herself. I know that regardless of what I tell her, she’ll feel guilty. I try anyway.

“Nobody could. Not without denying him a normal life, and that’s what you wanted him to have.”

“You never blamed me for what I’d done?”

“Never.”

“Not even a tiny bit? Secretly?”

“No.”

“You promised to tell me the truth,” she reminds me.

“I am telling you the truth.”

She looks at me with her clear blue eyes, her face unreadable. To my complete surprise, she folds her knees away, leans in and places a gentle peck on my cheek, breathing a soft 'thank you’ in my ear.

“You don’t have to thank me. I owed you the truth.”

“I meant for not casting a stone at me.”

“I was in no position to do that. I would’ve wanted to do the same for him, I only doubt I would’ve had the courage and the strength.”

“That’s why I felt my heart was heavy when you first mentioned his name. I sensed there was a sad story behind it although I couldn’t remember it.”

“It was a shattering, life-altering experience for you, Scully. It’s been branded into your soul, even if you don’t have any access to it at the moment.”

“Probably.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good. I need some time to let it all sink in, though.”

“Take as much time as you need. I’ll be right here whenever you have more questions.”

“Do we some pictures of him? Anything that reminds us of him?”

“Yes. Would you like to see them?”

She nods.

I rise from the couch and cast her a smile.

“Why don’t you make us a pot of tea and I go and fetch what we have.”

There’s a box in the attic. It’s shoved into the rearmost corner, so that we don’t stumble over it every time we pick up something from up there, like the deck chairs in the spring or the Christmas decoration in the winter.

It doesn’t take long for me to find it, although it’s just a usual cardboard box like many others up here, unlabeled and hidden behind a pile of spare tires. I know exactly where it is because unlike Scully I’ve had a look at it from time to time. When she was in the hospital on a double shift, for example, or away for the weekend with her mother. At moments like those, when I felt lonely and my mind wasn’t distracted enough, hence it kept wandering around until it made its way up to where that box was located.

When I return to the living room, the teapot sits on a warmer. Instead of mugs, she put two teacups on the table, along with honey and some milk.

I place the box in the middle of the coffee table.

“It’s small,” she notices.

“Yeah, well, I guess keeping more things wouldn’t have made it any easier.”

We sit for a moment side by side staring at the box like deer caught in the headlights, then she pulls it on her lap and opens it.

I don’t have to look in there to know what’s inside. The only things that remain from our son are the blanket he was wrapped in after he was born, a onesie with a baby giraffe on it, a pacifier, a baby rattle, a piece of paper with imprints of his tiny hands and feet in blue ink, a few pictures, eight, to be precise, and a copy of his birth certificate.

It took me a long time to figure out why she made a copy of it. I guess she wasn’t supposed to because of the adoption being a closed one, but she did anyway. She needed proof that all of it had really happened. The span of this baby’s presence in our lives was so short. In mine, it was just for as long as the blink of an eye. One moment, he made a miraculous entrance into my existence, the very next he was gone. Scully, being prone to relying on hard data as a scientist, kept the written document as a piece of evidence. Not so much for the outside world, but for herself. Although I’m not sure she’s ever looked at it after she handed off the original to the social worker at the adoption agency.

I know I’m not mentioned as the father. The space on the certificate where the father’s name is usually put is blank. Scully and I agreed that it was better this way. Safer. Little did we know that this particular safety measure along with all the others wouldn’t protect him enough. Now I wished my name was on that birth certificate, for the same reasons Scully kept the copy.

The first thing she pulls out of William’s commemorative cardboard box is his onesie. It’s the one I sent her through tortuous paths when he was half a year old and I was separated from my family, having to hide to keep them safe. She puts the garment to her cheek.

“It doesn’t smell like him anymore,” I say. I can almost feel the sensation on my own skin for all the times I’d done that, too, hoping to connect with him somehow. But other than the softness of the fabric there is nothing there.

“Has it been washed?” she asks.

“Probably not. I guess the smell has just faded. It’s been more than six years, Scully.”

“Sure,” she sighs.

One after the other, she takes the other items out of the box. She smiles at the hand and footprints, unfolds the baby blanket, and furrows her brows at the birth certificate. She looks at the pacifier and the rattle, maybe trying to picture herself calming a baby boy with them. She sets all the things on the coffee table next to the teapot without a word. She then retrieves the envelope containing the pictures we have of our son, all eight of them.

I don’t know why there are only so few. Maybe she didn’t take so many, maybe she threw them away in agony after he was gone, but most likely she deliberately chose the few she kept, each one marking a special moment.

There’s the one of us three, the only one of us three, a few days after he was born. Frohike took it in Scully’s apartment. William had just been nursed and fallen asleep in his mother’s arms. I’m sitting next to Scully in that picture, my arm around her shoulder. She’s beaming into the camera and I’m flashing a somewhat goofy grin. There’s an inscription on the back in Scully’s hand. It says, 'We’re parents!’

Without looking at the back, she holds the picture out to me. “We look happy.”

“We were happy, Scully. Very happy,” I answer and my voice almost deserts me.

There’s a photograph of William in his crib, the crib Scully and her siblings had spent their first months in, showing a toothless smile. On the back she’d written, 'our baby in the family crib’.

There’s one she took of me while I was sleeping on the couch with William resting on my chest, looking at Scully as if he wanted to say, 'look, mommy, daddy passed out’. When I’d first read what’s on the back, 'my two men’, my heart bled even more than when I was looking at the picture itself. The words still have that effect on me.

There’s a picture with just the word 'grandma�� on the back. It shows a smiling Margaret with William on her lap, feeding him a bottle.

“How did my mother take it?”

“She needed some time to get over it,” I tell her. Scully had never told me about the many discussions she had with her mother, arguments even, but Maggie had. “You should talk to her about it one day. When you’re ready. She can tell you much more about him than I can. She babysat him quite a lot.”

The remaining four pictures are only of him.

William sitting on a blanket on the floor with the rattle in his mouth. The back reads, 'bothered by his first tooth’. William in his high chair, carrot mash smeared all over his face. The back reads, 'having fun with the first solid food’. William on all fours, crawling towards the photographer, his face beaming. The back reads, 'getting ready to conquer the world’.

And then there’s the last one. It shows William in a jacket and a funny hat, buckled up in his car seat. It’s slightly out of focus as if taken in a rush. It’s the only one without anything written on the back. Even without any explanation, I have an idea of what I see in this picture.

Scully’s eyes are glued to it now. Then she looks at the others again, one by one. It must strike her how different that one is. Eventually, she speaks out loud what I never dared to ask her about.

“This is the last picture we have of him.”

I only nod.

“We don’t know what he looks like today, where he lives, who his parents are.”

These are no questions, just findings from her assessing everything she’s heard about William’s adoption from me today.

“Is there any chance for us to get in touch with him?”

I shake my head no.

“To find out his whereabouts or how he’s doing?”

Again, I have to shake my head.

“Can he get in touch with us? If he wants to, maybe when he’s a teenager? In puberty, adoptive children often develop a longing to learn everything about their biological roots.”

“No,” I answer, “it’s been a closed adoption. All information is sealed. It had to be done this way to keep him safe.”

I’m not telling her that there is a person who knows. Skinner. He knows the name of the couple who adopted William and he knows where they live. Our former boss keeps an eye on our son, just to make sure the forces Scully tried to protect him from haven’t tracked him down after all. It’s calming for me to know Skinner’s looking out for him, but it’s also a constant temptation to pry the secret information out of him. I wonder if I will ever hold him at gunpoint, yelling at him to tell me where William is.

“So we will never see our son again.” Scully sighs heavily. “We know nothing about him and never will.”

There’s nothing further for me to say.

We sit in silence for a long time and sip our tea. She looks okay, a bit exhausted maybe, but not devastated or broken.

“Thank you for telling me everything.”

“I promised.”

“Yes, you promised, but still, it must have been difficult for you. He’s your son, too, and you lost him. I understand now why you wanted to keep it from me when I first asked you about him. I hadn’t been stable enough at the time to deal with it. Thank you for taking such good care of me, Fox.”

Despite her frequent use of my first name in the past months, I’m simply not getting used to it. It has, and it will continue doing so, a weird ring.

Scully, it’s me, Mulder!

“You’ve always been my favorite patient, Scully,” I say and make her laugh.

She places the box on her lap and puts the William memorabilia back in, piece by piece, very carefully and gently. She sets the box on the coffee table and puts the lid back on.

“What do you say we keep it down here from now on instead of hiding it in the attic? Maybe not here in the living room, but how about our bedroom closet?”

“I like the idea.”

I really like the idea. I love it actually. Maybe we’ve just taken a huge step toward dealing together with the loss of William. Maybe it’s going to be one good thing this damn amnesia brings along in its wake. If we stop trying to cope with it separately, if we start sharing our grief and our guilt feeling, maybe then we’ll be able to halt the downward spiral we’d definitely been on before Scully was taken. We’d been drifting away from each other, slowly but gradually, each of us alone in trying to come to terms with the emptiness our son left behind. I felt it but I couldn’t do anything against it. If this is meant to be the onset of a new way for us, then I swear to God I’ll never curse that fucking amnesia again.

“You know what?” she says and rises from the sofa, “I’d like us to go for a walk. Do you know that Italian ice cream parlor on Main Street? Francesco’s Gelato? Their ice cream is heavenly. Have your ever tried Bacio? It means 'kiss’ in Italian. It’s a delicious mixture of hazelnut and chocolate. I’m in the mood for one of their cones. What about you?”

I’m definitely in the mood for a kiss!

“My treat,” I say.

to be continued

#xf fanfiction #msr #William #eight pictures #Bacio

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