Partial What? (PG-13)

He let himself back into her room and sat quietly in the chair watching her sleep.

She would have called him on his attitude toward Doggett, if she had been awake, but seeing the man standing here in Scully's room, watching her sleep had sent a surge of . . . something he wasn't sure he should identify through his body.  She would not have appreciated him outside her hospital room door, arms folded, standing guard like she were the first lady or something.  Doggett had gotten the message though.  That's what was important.

A partial abruption.  He'd never heard of it before this had happened, and his personal doctor wasn't really available for explanations and reassurances right now.

When she'd stood up beside his bed in the hospital, after he'd woken up from . . . from death, and he'd seen her body, seen exactly how different the world was, his first reaction had been total and utter panic.

He still felt like he was walking on quicksand.  Nothing was the same.  He didn't have the guts to ask the questions he wanted to ask.  Hell, he was even insecure about the damn pizza deliveryman.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that was insane, at least he hoped so, but still it was there.

The first time he'd touched her stomach, felt the baby move - touched her on purpose that is - was here.  Neither of them was accustomed to her girth, and he'd always invaded her space.  He'd inadvertently brushed against her on several occasions.   He tried to stay farther away, but he would forget and . . .

What surprised him the most though, was that he'd felt the same panic when he'd thought she was losing the baby.  Part of it was fear for her, of course.  That horrible pain she'd been in had caused terror, but . . . but the thoughts of something happening to the baby . . .

He hadn't realized he'd become attached to the child, or the idea of the child.  He certainly hadn't meant to or planned to.  He wasn't even sure she wanted him to, and he hadn't had the guts to ask that either.  The question was like a fog around him, infiltrating every aspect of his being.

But with this . . . with her here in the hospital, he felt . . . he felt fatherly.  If it was his, hell even if it wasn't, there was a part of him that felt, suddenly, as if he were going to be a father.

She stirred slightly in the bed and her hand seemed to search for him, as though she sensed his presence.  He didn't hesitate, cradling her hand in his.  She relaxed back into sleep again, and he felt a measure of peace he hadn't realized was missing.  His eyes caressed her body and he got comfortable in his chair.  He would be here, for as long as she allowed him in her life, he would be here for her and for . . .