Title: For Magic, For Life
Author: Ana Hawkman
Rating: PG-13
Category: S, MSR (my first full-length story!)
Archiving: anywhere, just drop a line.
Spoilers: Per Manum
Feedback: PLEASE. anahawkman@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully
belong to Fox and 1013 Productions as well as the actors 
who portray each. 

Notes: Thank you Meg McScully, Rina, Roo, Heather, 
Shannon, Aimee, etc... just for being there :)


I awake to warmth. 

Not to a blaring alarm and cool sheets, but rather a 
different sensation-- a warm hand softly stroking my cheek, 
blankets tucked snugly around me. A familiar voice. Safety 
and happiness rather than annoyance when faced with 
waking for the day.

My eyes flutter, yet I cannot bring myself to open them just 
yet. I want to stay in this wonderful state of cozy half-
waking with Mulder's voice penetrating a thin layer of sleep 
forever. In his presence I feel safe and happy... a perfect 
combination for sleeping. A sweet kiss to my forehead.

"...Come on, Scully... wake up... wake uuuup..." He 
nuzzles my face, brings his mouth to my ear. "We're 
gonna make a baby today," he whispers to me, and I 
smile, my eyes fluttering open. 

He pulls back, sensing that I've opened my eyes. We're 
both smiling, his last words put so beautifully that a veil of 
tears blurs my vision. I love this man so much... more than 
life itself. I run a hand lazily through his hair, pull his lips to 
mine. Our mouths meet and caress familiarly, lovingly, in 
greeting.

This intimacy is new to us. New and a bit scary, yet not at 
all awkward. It's beautiful, actually... the way we fit 
together so well. At first, I felt extremely uncomfortable, 
selfish at asking him to help me conceive... but he agreed 
with such vigor, such passion as I'd seen before in him, I 
realized that he truly wanted it. He wanted *us.* I was 
blown away.

His lips worry over my clavicle, and I close my eyes 
contentedly. I wish I could fall back asleep. As if sensing 
this, he pulls away, putting his palms flat under me on my 
back, hugging me to his chest, pulling me up gently. I rest 
my head on his shoulder, snuggling against him lazily. I 
can feel him smile against my neck, and I feel as if I never, 
ever want to move.

~

When I get out of the shower, I towel my hair dry on my 
way out to the kitchen. I can smell all sorts of things 
cooking, and I figure Mulder must have bought one of those 
boxes of frozen sausage biscuits. When I enter the room, 
however, I am met with a sight that takes me completely 
by surprise.

Pots and pans sizzling left and right... fresh fruit, toast, 
jelly, butter, pancakes, cereal, milk, juice, sausage, 
bacon, eggs... just about every breakfast food I have ever 
seen.  Mulder is in the middle of the scene, flipping Mickey 
Mouse-shaped hotcakes, grinning broadly at my 
dumbfounded expression.

"Mulder..." I begin a protest, but he cuts me off abruptly.

"You need a good breakfast, Scully, it's a big day today." 
He continues smiling, shovels pancakes onto a large 
platter on the table. Again, I find tears filling my eyes at his 
thoughtfulness. I cross the room, touch his hand lightly.

"You didn't need to do this." My voice is low, almost sad, 
and he bends down to kiss my ear.

"I think I do," he whispers, capturing my hand with his. I 
wrap my arms around his neck, taking deep breaths that 
shake with emotion. "Calm down," he murmurs, hugging 
me tightly. I close my eyes and *feel* him, willing myself to 
relax. 

We eat quietly, although I eat more than he does. Actually, 
I get the feeling he's already had breakfast-- that he's just 
doing this for me. I smile quietly through the entire meal. 

Heading out the door, we're running about ten minutes 
behind. He, as usual, equalizes my stress with a 
calmness that is neither nonchalant nor stoic, but rather a 
soothing sort of self-assuredness. As I place my hand on 
the doorknob, his fingers cover my own. 

"Scully..." his voice is a half whisper, and I detect a hint of 
apprehension. 

"Yeah?" I ask carefully, turning to look at him. His hand 
continues to caress mine as he takes it from the doorknob, 
bringing it back to my side. 

"Before anything happens... I need to make sure you know 
why I'm doing this." I encourage him on silently. "Scully, 
I..." He starts off, yet cannot bring himself to finish. I 
become a bit nervous, wondering what he is about to say 
that is so hard for him to vocalize. "I love you so much..." 
with these words, he closes his eyes, turning his head 
downwards. There is nothing more to say.

I don't trust my voice. Brushing my fingers across his face, 
I convey that I've never loved him more than I do at this 
moment. The fact that he would do anything for me 
completely blows me away. Besides that, I never believed 
this would happen. Hell, I can't believe it is, even in the 
moment. My brilliant, obsessed, wonderful, tender 
partner... finally... 

"I know," I finally whisper, touching him in a way that he 
might know I feel the same intense passion as he. He 
breathes shakily for a moment, his hand lingering over the 
small of my back-- his spot-- holding me against his chest.

~

The room is white. Sterile. It is, in a way, comforting to 
know that this procedure will be performed in a clean 
environment... but at the same time, I crave something 
cozier. 

I'm sitting on an examination table, Mulder settled into a 
chair next to it. We don't touch as I thought we might, but 
his presence is enough. He's biting his already non-
existent fingernails, and I smile down at his fuzzy, boyish 
hair. Every ounce of his being radiates safety and 
contentedness... for these brief moments, he is at peace. 
A nervous, scared peace, but in a way that is normal and 
not paranoid. 

He's wearing a thick black sweater and a white t-shirt 
under it... dark jeans. Clothes which make me want to 
snuggle up to his chest and never move. Clothes which 
make him look *damn* sexy. I love the fact that he's 
unaware of how attractive he is.

A nurse enters the room, handing me a medical gown and 
eyeing Mulder. I can see her glance quickly to our fingers, 
taking in the absence of rings. Her perpetual smile is fake, 
plastic, and I force some sort of response from my own 
lips.

"Um, sir, you might want to leave now... Dana needs to get 
changed, and the doctor should be in very shortly--"

"He's staying." I cut her off rudely, only hoping that Mulder 
is comfortable with my strong suggestion. The nurse 
shrugs, leaving us alone. I can only look at the blue-ish 
smock in my lap, fighting tears of embarrassment and fear. 

Gentle, trembling fingers brush a strand of hair behind my 
ear. They turn my face to my partner's, and I choke to hold 
the tears in when I meet his eyes. Beautiful eyes. He 
kisses me with a passion and a seriousness that he rarely 
uses, and whispers reassurances against my lips. 

I pray to God that he will crack a smile. That he will stuff in 
a joke at the most inappropriate moment, making me 
giggle. He doesn't, though, nuzzling his nose behind my 
ear for a moment which doesn't last long enough. 

I bring my own hands to the delicate buttons of my shirt, 
wishing I'd worn something I could just pull over my head. 
When the last button comes undone, Mulder's warm hands 
help me from the comfort of my own clothes into the 
clinical scratchiness of cheap cotton.

He doesn't touch me again. Sitting back down in his chair, 
I marvel at how, when he *does* dare to touch me, he is so 
careful of each move. He makes sure that each brush of 
skin against skin, soul against soul, is meaningful.

I don't move to touch him, either. It is an unspoken thing 
between us, when or when not to touch. We each know 
when it is right; to touch now would be expected. It 
wouldn't be for a specific reason or feeling, it would be 
simply because we were expected to touch, cuddle, calm 
each other at this moment. It would be a physical cliche at 
this specific moment, and neither of us move. 

The doctor enters, wearing a small (and albeit annoying) 
smile. Again, I try to be polite, but the responding turn of 
my lips is too shaky to hold; I'm more nervous than I'd like 
to admit.

My thoughts and perception become hazy... all I can seem 
to be aware of is Mulder's presence. He slips his fingers 
through mine, easing me back on the table.

My vision blurs and I become lethargic with the general 
anesthetics, feeling only the quiet, methodical brushing of 
his thumb against my hand.  

~

Nearly twelve hours later, I fully recover my conscious mind 
in the safety of my apartment. The soft sounds of the tv 
filter in from the living room, and I'm ridiculously glad to 
know that Mulder has stayed. 

Rolling over in the bed, I'm vaguely aware that he's 
undressed me, slipping me into on of his soft, familiar-
smelling t-shirts. I'm embarrassed for a moment, wondering 
what ran through his mind as he undressed my sleeping 
form. 

I think that one of the amazing things about us is that 
we've only been together like this for two weeks... and yet 
we are expertly comfortable with everything about it. I feel 
safe with him-- like both of us will make an equal effort to 
keep this brilliant flame alive. I can feel what we have is 
completely unique and special; a connection few people 
have ever or will ever have.

I waddle into the living room, and Mulder's eyes break from 
the television to my face. I rub my eyes like tired child, and 
he jumps up, coming to me. 

"Scully... Scully, you have to get back to bed! Here..." He 
scoops me into his arms, and I am too exhausted to 
struggle. I curl against the warmth of his chest, and he 
carries me back to my room.

"Why? Why's it so important that--" 

"The doctor said it could disrupt the IVF process... we have 
to be very careful." He tucks me into the bed, turning on a 
warm light on the nightstand. He sits at my hip, stroking 
my hair, reassuring me that everything will be all right; I 
close my eyes and lean into his gentle touch.

"Lay with me," I whisper, my eyes still closed. A long, 
silent moment passes and I open them again, meeting his 
watery gaze. 

"You sure?" He asks incredulously. I nod, holding out my 
hand, and he looks down to it with tears in his eyes. I'm 
not quite sure why this moment touches him so-- but his 
strong, graceful, long fingers close around my own. He lies 
on his side next to me, reaching out a tentative hand to my 
abdomen. Twining my fingers with his, I move his palm 
downward slowly until it rests above the place where our 
baby is being conjured up.

Like a potion.

Like magic.

A long moment passes.

"Do you want... some... some warm milk? How about that, 
huh? And some cookies?" His voice is a desperate 
whisper... I smile at the breathless reaction my body elicits 
from him-- it is more amazing than anything I could ever 
imagine... than anything I could possibly ask for.

He's so worried about me... I can feel it radiating off his 
form, which has softened around my own in a fierce 
protection. We are not touching, but the strength and 
passion present lingers through the down 
comforter between us. 

He's stroking my face, touching it with the pad of one 
finger, tracing from my cheekbone to my clavicle, softly, 
over and over. I shake my head to his request, whispering 
back my own simple proposition. 

"Relax," I begin soothingly, trying to make my voice balmy 
and comforting. I can feel him relax to a degree and I 
continue. "Just um... hold me?" I remain casual, forcing 
tears down my own throat, though not choking on them. 

Taking the invitation for all it's worth, Mulder strips to his 
boxers and undershirt, slipping between the cool sheets 
and curling against me. His hand burrows cautiously under 
the hem of my (his) shirt, only to rest of the softness of my 
stomach. Reaching up to turn out the light, he kisses my 
shoulder tenderly, rests his head against it. 

I take a deep breath, and say a prayer.

For Mulder. For myself. For magic. For Life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
feedback: cheesecake. please. anahawkman@hotmail.com