Disclaimer: I wish they were mine - I only enjoy to borrow them from time to time.

Just for This Moment

She's slowly falling asleep; her head still rests against my chest. I resist the urge to speak to her, to keep her awake, although every ounce of me wants that more than anything. Nonetheless, I sense her exhaustion. I close my eyes too and just listen. Her breathing is soft, the only sound in the room. Her fragrance overpowers me. Its familiarity embraces me. It's that strawberry shampoo I've come to know so well after seven years of partnership. Funny. I've just come back from the dead, and yet I'm able to pick up on that scent in an instant. I know I'll be able to recognize it anywhere.

What I've found in her eyes bothers me still, but I try not to linger on it now. There will be plenty of time to ponder it, to solve the mystery of the last few months, of the time that was stolen from me. I feel somewhat reassured, knowing she will be there to fill in the gaps. When I first woke up in that strange hospital room and found her, I feared the time I'd been gone would change whatever had started between us, the thing that my forced departure had broken off. I feared she'd forget, that her feelings would change, now that she had enough time to think things through.

I should have known better.

It was all still there, only stronger. I can only imagine what she's undergone in the past few months. I think I have a pretty clear idea. It's like that other time, when she has been taken away from me. If my absence has had half the impact losing her had on me at the time, I don't envy her one bit.

I wrap my arms around her the best I can, and breathe her in. Her even breathing lulls me to sleep, like the sweetest lullaby. My lips curl into a small, content smile as I gradually drift. My memory is vague, but through the thick fog of forgetting, it's her face I see. It's me yearning for her I can feel, the longing to survive whatever I've been subjected to, just so I can be with her once again.

I wake up with a start. It takes me a second to make out my surroundings and catch a glimpse of my last recollection before I've surrendered to slumber. I glance up and see his sleeping face. There's a smile curling at the corner of his lips. He looks peaceful, and very much alive. Slowly, I untangle myself from his gentle grip and straighten up. My muscles tighten in protest. My neck feels sore; so is my back. There's this quiver within me, one which I've come to know so well in a span of a few weeks. This wasn't the best position to fall asleep in, my baby reminds me. I smile to myself. I can almost sense the reproach in the way it's moving inside me. I utter a mental apology as I sink back into the chair. I lay both hands on my stomach and exhale; the kicking slowly subsides.

I eye him carefully, as a doctor as well as a partner. He looks well. It's as if he's constantly getting better. The relief I feel is so tremendous that it's almost painful. After all these months of expectancy and despair and longing, he's really here. I finally got him back. For the first time in months I feel whole again. There's this new hope rekindling within me; it's as if a flame has been renewed. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm going to get through this. We are going to get through. It feels safe to close my eyes, knowing for the first time it won't be a nightmare I'll wake up to.

When I next open my eyes, I'm no longer holding her. For a brief moment, this realization frightens me. Maybe it has all been a dream. Maybe I'm still there, wherever 'there' is. Maybe it has all been a part of a mind game they've been playing with me. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see.

I let my eyes wander around the room, and a sigh of relief escapes me. She's fast asleep in a chair on my bedside. I can read the weariness in her expression. It looks as if it has been a while since she's had a good night sleep. Looking at her now, I realize how much I've truly missed her. Her hair is slightly longer now, and yet as strikingly red as I've remembered. A strand of it softly falls against her closed eyes. I feel this urge to reach out and caress it back so I could study her face better, but I don't budge. The room swims in shadows; I don't even know what time is it. And then I suddenly see it. I squint, but in this darkness, it's hard to tell for sure. Exhaustion aside, there's something off about her. For a moment, I can't quite make it out.

And then, an instant later, I do, and I start.

I've always been a light sleeper, and now his startled gasp shakes me awake. My eyes fly open. My first thought is that he's hurt. "Mulder? What's wrong?" My voice is hoarse and scratchy from sleep.

He doesn't answer. He's staring at me intently. His gaze is distant, but not disoriented. For a moment I'm not even sure he's awake. Is he having a nightmare? I lean a bit forward and try to meet his eyes, but when my hand shifts against my stomach, I suddenly realize what might have caught his attention.

I sit back, and the motion snaps him out of his trance. Slowly, he locks his gaze with mine. He looks astounded. More than that; he looks… amazed. "You're… pregnant," he says. His eyes are wide with awe.

There are million emotions in his stare. I give up the attempt to count them all, but I can't possibly look away. For so long, I've been thinking of this moment. There are dozen imaginary scenarios in my head, dozen different versions of the same truth as I have planned on delivering it to him. And now he's here, and I'm in loss for words. There's this thick lump halfway down my throat, making speech even more impossible. As I nod, I feel a single tear roll down my cheek.

"How?" he whispers as he hoists himself up a little. I know it must be painful for him, but he doesn't give up. Eventually, he manages to prop himself against the pillows. He hasn't removed his eyes from me once in the process.

I shrug. It's the one question I don't have an answer for.

The conversation soon dies out. I'm not sure what to say; I don't seem able to form any question that will make sense. I can't stop staring at her. She's pregnant. My mind doesn't seem to grasp that simple fact even though I have the living proof sitting right in front of me. I look at her, and memories rush back. Her abduction, her cancer and recovery, the tests that left her barren, the hopelessness I felt when I learnt there was nothing to be done about it.

And now she's pregnant.

"When are you due?" I find myself ask. I can't believe it's my own voice.

"In a few weeks," she softly replies.

I'm completely transfixed by the way she absentmindedly caresses her stomach. But as I look at her, something else sinks in… another memory. I look up at her. "You were unwell in Oregon," I say slowly, as the recollection becomes more tangible.

There's surprise in her eyes, as if she didn't expect me to remember. She nods wordlessly.

"So it wasn't the place that was making you so sick." It's half a question, half a statement, but she nods again nonetheless. I'm now completely overtaken by the memory as it's slowly falling into place. We got that case in Oregon just a month or so after our relationship has taken a new turn. Everything is rushing back now: the panic I felt when she showed up in my room, distressed and shivering, how she collapsed in the forest, and then at work. It wasn't the first time I was worried about her, but it was the first time I felt truly anxious for her well-being, because she was more than my partner. Somewhere along the way, she's become the woman I'll give my life for. The woman I loved… and whom I love still.

Something else suddenly dawns on me. It's as if everything clicks into place. I'm so overwhelmed that I'm not sure if I'm supposed to cry for joy or run away screaming. For a moment I think I got it all wrong, but then I look at her, into her, and find the confirmation in her eyes. I'm going to be a father. This idea is equally difficult to stomach. "Oh my God," I whisper, feeling an involuntary smile curl on my lips.

She smiles back, through tears. She doesn't say anything, neither do I. She brings her chair closer to my bedside and reaches for my hand. She laces our fingers together and then slowly rests our joined hands against her stomach. I hold my breath and then, suddenly, I feel it, this soft flutter beneath my hand. I start and look up at her. Her smile grows an inch wider. Her eyes, glimmering with what seems to be tears, speak volumes as they lock with mine.

I know there are dozen of questions that still need to be asked, dozen of queries that need to be made, but just for this moment I want to sit there and share my revelation with her. Just for this night I want to believe that this baby who was never meant to be is a miracle, a beam of sunlight penetrating through the darkness we both have had to endure for so long. Just for this moment I'd like to believe this is our truth, our miracle, the one we both so relentlessly sought. I want to assure myself, and her, that this is a life we've both created, and not someone else. And even if tomorrow morning I have to wake up and find out it has been a cruel illusion, tonight I couldn't care less.