5 weeks later

The flu. Of all the times I picked to get it, I got the flu. Between fighting achiness
and nausea, I was ready to go home and do nothing but get into my bed. Mulder and I
were no longer on the outs. We never discussed what happened out in Ohio, in fact for
the first couple of weeks, we hardly spoke at all. Then slowly we made conversation,
always avoiding the one subject we probably should have been talking about. Buried it in fact.

We went back to working cases and the thing I thought would never happen did.
Strangely we seemed to go back to normal, well normal for us. As long as we never
discussed that night, we were fine. We were ok.

Okay, we weren’t _okay_, but I was just grateful that we were talking. And a few
short weeks Mulder hadn’t drudged an x-file out of Spender’s garbage, though I was sure he was close to doing it. To Mulder what we were doing was pointless, he missed his basement office without a view. As we slowly went back to way we had always been, he slowly grew more and more bored with his new assignments. Instead of during work he would sit at his computer and e-mail the Gunmen or cruise the internet and join in on their games. He was so happy when he reached the twelfth level of Doom™, and I just stared at him wondering why just over a month ago I risked ruining a friendship like this. A friendship that never grew tired or old. The thought made me laugh.

Today I came into work ready to hurl. I found Mulder, like the many others,
working at his computer, except what he was doing, as usual, wasn’t classified as "work." He turned his chair at my footsteps and smiled.

"Level 13, today, Scully. I can feel it. Langly’s gonna owe me twenty bucks," he
said as I draped my coat across the back of my chair. His expression changed as he
looked at my face. "You look like hell, Scully."

So much for the use of subtlety, Mulder. "Just a touch of the flu," I reply as I look
through the papers already on my desk.

Mulder has now completely turned his chair around. "The flu, Scully? Shouldn’t
you be home in bed?" He has a look of concern on his face and I almost want to laugh.
This seems like a role reversal of so many other times.

"I will, Mulder. I promise," I assure him. "I’m going to do some light paperwork,
then I’m heading home, happy?"

Mulder nods and looks as if he wants to say something more but turns back to his
desk. I sit at my own and look down at my work, but find my mind wandering, as it has
been for the five weeks, and 1 day if I want to be exact. Yes, I’m exact. That’s how long it’s been since the incident. And Mulder and I are back to normal. We sleep together and then we go back to our "normal." Well, the Bureau was wrong. Spooky and the Ice Queen do not have a romantic relationship. We’re friends, as we always have been. Good friends, the best in the world. Always there for me, we have an unspoken friendship "love." But somehow my daily speech didn’t sound as convincing as it usually did. Did I want something more? Today I was too sick to think about it. Truth was I had no idea.

I was true to my word and left a message for Kersh saying I was heading home early due to illness. I hadn’t even eaten anything this morning, except for coffee, which after a mad dash to the ladies room, I realized I couldn’t keep down. I left for my car in a dash, leaving a worried Mulder back in the office, still sitting at his glaring computer
screen.

The first thing I did when I got home was collapse on my bed, taking my shoes off.
I didn’t even bother to get changed. I fell asleep kicking myself for getting sick now.
When I awoke next, it was dusk and there was a pounding at my door. I got up,
feeling tired but better, even hungry, and stumbled toward the door.

"Who’s there?" I mumbled sleepily, and unlatched the door.

I opened the door to find Mulder, his key out, smiling sheepishly at me. He held
take-out bags in the other hand.

"I got nervous when you didn’t answer the phone, so I decided to come check on
you and see if you were feeling better. I brought food." He held up the bags as proof.
I found myself smiling at the simple caring gesture. He was worried about me. It
seemed a caring, loving……wait a second, loving?

"If you are up to eating," he gestured toward my apartment, interrupting my
thoughts and I realized he was still in the hallway. I let him in, and actually grew hungry
as I smelled the scent of Chinese food as Mulder carried it into the ktichen. Chinese food and a night with Mulder. I realized how "normal" that sounded. That was us, and I
hoped it would never change.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as I rumaged through my cabinets for some
plates.

"Much better," I admitted, "Guess I just needed some sleep." Mulder nodded and smiled and we sat to eat. I smiled and just enjoyed his companionship, though it was just friendship tonight. Friendship was the way I wanted it to be tonight. The idea of something more was pushed aside in my head, for the time being and I enjoyed this. The one night that reminded me why Mulder and I were such good friends. We knew how each other thought. And that made me smile.


Five days later

Damn this flu. It wasn’t going away. I was sick as a dog in the morning and
seemed to eat like a pig in the evening, only to have everything revisit me again in the
morning. All I wanted to do was sleep. Mulder was worried about me I know, and I
responded to his concerns by blowing up at him, in the hallway of the FBI. Yes, I
definitely was not myself. Damn flu.

I had already called in sick twice, and enough was enough. I decided, like it or
not, I needed to make an appointment with my doctor. Every time I make an appointment with my doctor, I always dread it. Well, maybe ‘dread’ isn’t the word. More like maybe the tiniest bit of fear. Fear that it’s coming back. The cancer. I try to tell myself it’s gone, but I always have to add that ‘for now’ sentence after it. For me it would never be truly gone.

So I called into work, and told them I would be late. Mulder had stopped by last
night and brought food with him again, so he would figure I was still sick and of course I
still was. It was just the flu.

Then why am I sitting in the waiting room of my doctor’s office ready to tear the
magazine in my hands to shreds?

I’m overreacting, I know. But overreacting is all I have been doing lately. My
emotions have been on an up and down cycle, like PMS decided to sneak up and attack me all month. I wish the PMS would go away and bring my ‘friend’ and then I could go back to work and devour chocolate with a legitimate reason.

I’m a little late this month. Nothing major. Ever since the cancer, I haven’t
exactly been like an alarm clock, if you know what I mean. I’m a week late. No big deal, I’ve been later. And I know I’m not pregnant.

Pregnant. I repeat that word in my mind. The symptoms would add up, and I did
have that night……..

Dana, you’re nuts! It’s the flu. You know you’re infertile. I can’t have children.
Can’t produce a family. Suddenly the memory of Emily seems all to fresh in my mind.

I put the magazine in my hand back on the table before it becomes tiny little paper
pieces on the floor. Somewhere in the next five minutes the nurse calls my name and I get up and follow her into an exam room. I don’t want to admit it, but I think my hands are shaking, ever so slightly. I squeeze my hands into gentle fists to steady them. I’m in control, I have to be in control.

The nurse takes my temp and blood pressure, and gives me a gown to change into,
along with my favorite part of the exam, a cup. I now understand why people would
grimace at that when I did my internship. Rotating into many departments, the only
similar thing was that everyone hated tests and hated being sick. I could identify with
that, a little more than I’d like to.

The doctor comes in and we go through the usual exam. I wait for her to
diagnosis the flu, but she steps out for a minute, to check something. The butterflies in my stomach come back full force.

She’s only gone a second, and when she returns she asks a question that shocks
the hell out of me.

"Dana, when was the date of your last period?"

I’m shocked. I weakly reply that it was…… I have to pause and think about it.

"It was six weeks ago," I reply in a voice that doesn’t sound like the voice I’m
used to hearing.

She nods, and tells me to brace myself. Then she tells me the words I thought I
would never hear.

"You’re pregnant."

I’m what!?

"What?" I reply, weakly, the room wanting to close around me.

"You’re pregnant, Dana. Of course, I’d like to do an ultrasound to be sure, and
then I’ll give you the name of-"

"I can’t be," I say stubbornly, interrupting her. "I can’t have children."

She lays down her chart and looks at me. "If I told you how many women I end
up recommending to an OB who said they couldn’t bear children, you’d be amazed." She paused. "I’ve read your history, Dana. Most people call this a gift from God. I know I would."

I nod mutely as she continues.

"Like I said, I would like to do an ultrasound to be sure. Then I’ll give you the
name of an excellent OB, Dr. Rebecca Johnson. She works with high-risk pregnancies,
and although your pregnancy may not be high risk, the factor of your cancer could make it high risk."

I nod again. Things go by fast after that. Next thing I know I’m walking out of
the office with an ultrasound picture in my purse and a business card in my hand. Then it hits me: I’m pregnant. With Mulder’s baby. I have a black and white photo of our baby in my purse. The baby I’m carrying. The one thing in the world I thought I would never be able to have, God gave to me. Why?

"Don’t question God, Dana. Only thank him," my mom used to tell me when I
was a kid. So as I walked out into the parking lot of the doctor’s office, I looked up
toward the sky. I had no idea what to do, what to tell my family and most importantly,
what would happen to Mulder and I. I had no idea what to do. But I looked up at the
sky, and forced a smile upon my face.

"Thank you," I whispered into the faint sun. "Thank you for my gift."

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