TITLE:  World Without End, Book Three (5/?)
AUTHOR:  Rachel Anton
E-MAIL:  RAnton1013aol.com

xxxxxx

I'm a compulsive list-maker.  Always have been.  In 
college my dorm room was constantly littered with 
"To-Do" lists, most of which I never referenced after 
creating them- which defeated the purpose entirely, 
but gave me the sense that I was indeed "doing 
something."  When I was deciding whether to go to 
Quantico I must've gone through ten or twenty reams 
of paper creating lists of pros and cons.  Of course, 
if I'd known what I was really signing on for the con 
list would have been considerably longer.  After that 
my life became so complicated that I had to designate 
notebooks for the different kinds of lists I needed 
to maintain.  I think "Lies I've told Mulder" had its 
own binder.

When I sat down to write my masterpiece this 
afternoon, my list of reasons Dana should have this 
baby, I came to it with a lot of experience under my 
belt.  I was prepared to organize my thoughts into a 
coherent, convincing, itemized argument that she'd be 
unable to refute.

I did just that.  It's a long list.  It's a good 
list.  It might have been enough to convince her had 
it not been for what I proceeded to do immediately 
after completing the list.

I hadn't been planning to kill Mulder.  I was just 
hungry.  It was fate that I ended up running into him 
out there.  Fate and odds.  I was bound to see him 
sooner or later.

What I did when I saw him was my own choice, free 
will in action.  No matter how out of control I may 
have felt at the time, I did what I did because I 
wanted to do it.  Because I needed to do it.  Because 
it felt so fucking good.  But now I'm going to have 
to live with the consequences, one of which will 
surely be Dana's refutation of my entire list with 
one simple statement: "You're a psychopath."

So now I'm sitting at our kitchen table, trying to 
figure out how to turn that negative into a positive 
on my stupid list and failing miserably.  If anyone 
touches baby, father will kill them?  Is that a 
positive?

I hear clicking from the door and watch as, one by 
one, all the various locks I've had installed 
recently turn to an unlocked position.  Mommy's home.

I look back down at my list, prepared to ignore her 
for as long as necessary, as long as humanly 
possible.  Surely she knows what happened today.  
Surely she's heard, and the last thing I need right 
now is a lecture from her about personal 
responsibility and keeping control of my emotions in 
public.  Not to mention that whole killing people 
issue.

She's got her damn dog with her, and as soon as she 
lets go of his leash he runs over to me and puts his 
dirty paws on my legs, licks my face and slobbers all 
over me, putting a damper on my cool routine.  I try 
to ignore it, but the damn thing is persistent.

"Say hello to your dog, please," she tells me, 
hanging up her coat and the leash.

"Hello."

I pet the revoltingly affectionate dog's head 
halfheartedly, hoping it'll be enough to placate and 
get rid of him.

"Did you get anything to eat tonight?"  she asks.

"Went to the cafeteria a couple hours ago."

"Oh yeah?  I didn't see you there.  Must've gone 
early, huh?"

"Guess so."

God, this is the most idiotic conversation that ever 
was.  I can't stand this, can't stand any of it.  Now 
she's washing the damn dishes.  I stare at my 
pointless list until the words blur together.  I 
can't really say any of these things to her.

"How's your head?"  She glances over her shoulder at 
me and I find myself reaching my hand up to cover the 
bruise reflexively.

"My head?"

"Yeah your head."

She wipes her hands on her pants and sits down at the 
table.  Her fingers run over mine and pull.

"That's quite a bruise you've got there, Slugger.  
What happened?"

Is she playing dumb or is it real?  Maybe she doesn't 
know.  Maybe I should make something up.  Something 
that would make her feel bad for me.

"Alex....why?"

She touches the side of my face, and I flinch.

"Why what?"

"Alex, I know what happened.  Everyone knows what 
happened."

Dammit.  What the hell is wrong with me anyway?  It's 
not like I couldn't have chosen a more private venue 
for my outburst.

"It's not like you, Alex."

I have to force myself not to laugh at her.  Who the 
hell does she think I am anyway?  Haven't we been 
through this before?  And now she wants to know why.  
How can she ask me why?  Why does she think?

"I don't wanna talk about it."

She removes her hand from my face and slams it onto 
the table, startling me and the stupid dog who's 
still lying at my feet panting and drooling.

"No, of course you don't.  Why should you bother 
talking to me when you can just go and take out all 
your pain on Mulder?  Why talk when you can punch?  
It's much easier that way, isn't it Alex?"

"Go to hell."

I expect the smack, but that doesn't make it hurt any 
less.  At least she slaps the side of my face that 
isn't bruised already.  Now I'll have a matching set.

What I don't expect is for her to stay, to grab my 
cheeks between her fingers and squeeze my face like 
I'm an infant she's scolding.  I don't expect the 
fear in her eyes.

"You listen to me and you listen good, Alex.  I am 
more sorry than I could possibly express that I've 
hurt you, but if you want us to have any sort of 
chance for a future together you'd better get 
yourself together and stop acting like a child.  I'm 
going to have a baby, Alex, and I can't afford to 
have a father who's more immature than his only 
child."

To say that I didn't expect *that* would be the 
grossest understatement possible.

"I'm going to bed.  If you decide you'd like to speak 
to me, feel free."

She stands up and walks away.  It's an embarrassingly 
long time before I manage to follow her.  She's 
already curled up fetally under the covers with the 
lights turned out by the time I make it into the 
bedroom.  I sit down on the side of the bed, trying 
to make sense of what I'm feeling and what I should 
be saying to her.

There's so much I could say.  I could tell her how 
she's made me feel unworthy, how I'm afraid to touch 
her because I won't be able to live up to Mulder's 
memory.  I could tell her how what she's done 
validates every fear I've ever had about us.  I could 
tell her how much hatred I have in my heart, for 
Mulder and in general.  I could tell her about all 
the times I sat back and let Mulder beat me to a pulp 
because it suited my purposes and that maybe he 
enjoyed it and maybe it was time for him to get a 
little of that back.

I could ask her if he kissed her better than I do.  
If she came for him, if he made her cry, if she liked 
having a circumcised dick in her mouth for a change.

I could, but I don't.  Because none of that seems 
important right now.  It all seems, well, a little 
childish.

"What made you change your mind, Dana?"

She uncurls her body and stretches out on her back.  
The moonlight coming through the window provides just 
enough light for me to be able to read her 
expression.  She doesn't really look angry.

"I'm not sure.  A lot of things, I suppose."

"Are you, um, are you happy about it?"

"Yes.  Yes, I am."

"Nervous?"

"Very."

"Are you...are you gonna find out about..."

"Have to wait a month or so for that.  I think it's 
essential that we do an amnio, just to be sure it's 
all right.  Then we can find out.  If we want."

Do we want?  I wonder.  I'd assumed if it came to 
that it would be entirely her decision.  The thought 
of finding out, now that it's a reality, scares the 
living shit out of me.

"What about you, Alex?  Are you happy?"

Happy.  That's a broad term.  It's certainly what I 
wanted.  But is it possible for me to say that I am 
happy right now?

"I...I'm glad.  I'm glad you decided to have it."

"But it doesn't make you happy?"

"No, it-it does."

"Are you afraid you're not going to love it if it's 
his?"

The question knocks the wind out of me almost as much 
as the gentle tone in which it's asked.  How can she 
talk to me like a lover and ask a question like that, 
as if that's all she thinks of me?  I suppose I 
haven't given her reason to think otherwise lately.

"Jesus, Dana.  Of course not.  I...I love her 
already."

She takes a deep breath and is quiet for awhile.  I 
undress completely and climb into bed beside her.

"I'm sorry, Alex."

"I'm sorry, too."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.  Then 
she turns to me and smiles.

"I'm going to have a baby."

She sounds like she can't believe it's real.  I'm not 
sure that it is myself.

"What are you supposed to do with a baby, Dana?"

"Oh, I dunno.  Use it for a burglar alarm or a paper 
weight or something I suppose."

"Oh, a paper weight.  I could use one of those."

She laughs and pats her stomach.

"Hear that, baby?  Now Mister Krycek won't feel the 
need to send you away for not being productive."

"That's not what I meant, you know.  I just don't 
know anything about this at all."

"Neither do I, Alex.  We'll be all right, though.  
We'll learn."

Of course we will.  Isn't that what I was planning to 
tell her in the first place?  It was on the damn 
list.  That seemed so hypothetical though.  Never in 
my life did I think I'd really be a father.  The 
thought is actually a little alarming.  God knows I 
didn't have the best role models to learn from.

No, that's not entirely true.  I did have one.

"Have you thought about names?"

"Names?  Alex, it's only been a few days since I  
found out."

"So?  Aren't there names you like?  Don't all women 
have a list of potential baby names?"

She laughs a little bit and turns on her side.  I 
feel her fingers under the covers, touching my chest 
with a feather-light, tentative stroke.  She's asking 
me if this is okay, if we can move forward finally.  
It feels okay.  It feels good.

"I don't really know if they do.  Maybe if there are 
potential babies."

"What do you think of Eve?"

She doesn't answer me right away, but she does 
snuggle a little closer.  I feel like we're on the 
same page again, for the first time in a very long 
time.  Yeah, we're pissed at each other, but God, 
we're gonna have a baby.

"Eve.  Hmm."

"No?"

"I'm not sure.  It's nice.  Seems sort of 
significant."

Oh yeah.  Forgot about the Bible.

"I guess.  Didn't really think of it that way."

"What made you think of it then?"

"It's the English equivalent of my mother's name."

She stiffens against me, and I hear her take a sharp 
breath.  I guess I never did get around to telling 
her anything at all about my family, my childhood.  
It's always seemed so unimportant, so long ago and 
far away as to be almost non-existent.

It's still not all that important to me, but I really 
like the name.

"Your...your mother?"  she whispers.

"Her name was Evelina.  It means life."

"Evelina.  That's beautiful, Alex."

"She was."

I'll never forget the way she looked from the window 
of that tiny cellar, blood and brain matter oozing 
from under her thick, black hair, mixing with the 
snow.

"Tell me about her?"

Okay, this is why I really haven't told her about all 
this.  I don't like talking about it.  I don't like 
remembering, and I don't like telling sob stories 
unless it's for a very specific purpose, especially 
if they're true.  I don't want her pity.  Not for 
this.

"I...I don't remember much else."

"How come?"

"Both my parents died when I was six years old."

"Oh, Alex.  I'm so sorry.  How?"

She rests her head on my chest, looks up at me with 
those clear, trusting, forgiving eyes.  I really hope 
she knows that I'm not telling her this story to make 
her forget what happened today.  I don't know why I'm 
telling her.  I don't know why I even brought it up.

"They were executed.  For spying."

"Executed?  By the government?"

"By my godfather, the man who ended up raising me.  
The man I called father for most of my life."

"Oh my...how-how do you know that?"

"Because I saw it happen.  I saw him shoot the both 
of them in the head."

It's actually easier to say this than I thought it 
would be.  It's not something I've told anyone.  Not 
even my godfather knew that I'd seen it happen, and 
it wasn't something we ever talked about.  He never 
told me that he'd done it, for obvious reasons.  I 
never confronted him because I was scared he'd do the 
same to me.

"You, you were raised by the man who killed your 
parents?"

She makes it sound like the worst thing that could 
ever happen to someone.

"It wasn't so bad.  He was a very powerful man.  Very 
rich.  I was a lot better off than most kids I knew."

"But, Alex...God, how could you live with that?  Live 
with him?"

I don't really have an answer for that.  I just did.  
Didn't have much of a choice really.

She moves her hand up my chest and cups my cheek in 
her palm, turning my face towards hers.  She's 
smiling through a teary-eyed grimace, and she kisses 
me softly.

"That...it explains a lot."

"What do you mean?  What does it explain."

"Just...a lot."

I don't understand what she's talking about, and I 
don't think I want to.  I'm not in the mood to be 
psychoanalyzed.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her naked 
body closer to mine.  This is what I'm in the mood 
for.  Just this.

"Evelina, huh?"  she sighs into my neck.  "I like 
it."

xxxxxx

End Chapter Five