Blood of Abraham - Chapter Three

by Mik

Despite all laws of physics, calendars and Hallmark, there were six hundred forty seven hours in that first night and day Bram and I spent together. I know because there was a 'fun' little memory for each one.

The first came less than an hour after Scully abandoned us. The whole feeding process went fairly smooth once I'd gotten a bottle constructed to Scully's standards. In fact, it was kind of fun. The kid seemed pretty engaged in the procedure with me, his eyes fixing on me in fascination (or maybe it was sadistic amusement), making soft, inoffensive sounds.

When he'd emptied the bottle, he let an artful drip of the mixture dribble onto his chin, and started wriggling. Relieved to discover how simple it was, I felt expansive and complimented him on a job well done. I wiped his mouth of extraneous liquid, carried him back to the living room and put him back in his basket.

Deciding the purchases could wait on the kitchen floor 'til morning, I went into my bedroom to change.

And was back in the living room thirty seconds later, when the kid let out a howl that would make firemen wince. "What? What?" I demanded, reaching into the basket in search of spikes, swords or some other heinous instrument of torture, because that was the only logical explanation for the level of anguish he was expressing. I tried patting and using a soothing voice but the kid just wasn't having any of it. So, I picked him up. He wasn't too impressed with that plan, either. I resorted to covering his mouth lightly with my hand, just to deaden the sound and keep the neighbors from reporting another murder in my apartment.

"Scully said I could look things up on the internet," I told him, trying to convey some assurance that I was in control. I looked at my computer, shut down for the night. I looked at my phone. I juggled the kid enough that I could pick up my phone and press one on my speed dial.

It only rang once. "Fifty three minutes," she drawled.

"And hello to you," I answered over the squalling.

"Good grief, Mulder, what are you doing to him?"

"Nothing. He started this all on his own." I shifted him so he wouldn't be screaming in my ear. "Help me, Scully. I can't find his off button."

"Mulder, babies cry to communicate. He's trying to tell you he needs something."

"I respond better to memos," I complained, trying to bounce him, since it had been effective for Scully.

"You fed him, right?"

"You saw me."

"Then what did you do?"

"We shared a little wine, some cable porn and a bag of sunflower seeds. What do you think I did? I put him back in his basket."

"You didn't change him or burp him?"

"Burp? They don't do that themselves?"

Her voice was very dry. "No, Mulder. It's very important you burp him after every feeding. Put him against your shoulder - you know, the way I was holding him earlier - and pat his back gently. Oh, and Mulder -"

"Just a second, Scully. I think I've got it." I put the phone down and twisted the kid around again. I patted his back as instructed. In a moment or two I heard a tremendous belch, and then felt something unpleasantly warm on my back. "Oh, shiiiiooooot." I pulled him away from me. "What did you do that for?"

But he had stopped crying.

"Scully." I wedged the phone against my shoulder. "He just grked down my back," I complained, putting him back in his basket and unbuttoning my shirt. "My brand new eighty-five dollar linen shirt with my initials on the cuffs."

She struck me as wholly unsympathetic. "Well, if you hadn't been so quick to prove you had things under control, you would have heard me tell you to put a towel over your shoulder first."

"My new shirt," I repeated, stripping it off.

"Add it to the dry cleaning, with my dress," she responded. "Now, I'm going to hang up, and put my phone on message only. You're on your own from here on out, Unca' Mulder."

"Scully, wait, I -" But it was too late. I looked down into the basket. "This," I announced, shaking the soiled shirt at him, "is coming out of your college fund."

He seemed unconcerned.

However, after that he did stay quiet long enough for me to shower, get into sweats and make myself a sandwich. Just as I was settling down to watch cable porn, he started making impatient sounds. "Oh, what now? Are you a right wing fundamentalist as well?" I draped the blanket over his basket, in case it was sound or light that was bothering him. That didn't seem to appease him.

I lifted the blanket and looked at him. "What do you want? More food? Another burp? What?"

He was squirming all over and getting pretty red in the face, like he was working himself up to a full on rant. I started to reach for him, thinking he needed to release more toxic material, and pulled my hands back. "Uh uh. Not going to get me twice. Don't move." I got up, ran into the bathroom and grabbed the towel I liked least and came back, spreading it over my shoulder like a Roman Retiarius's shoulder shield, before lifting him from the basket. As I lifted him, I got a whiff of something a lot more toxic than baby grk.

I held him away from me. "Did you do that or did a gazelle crawl in there and die?"

He didn't care for the way he was dangling from my hands and started to kick.

"Hey, hey! Don't do that. Those things could leak." Desperate, I cupped him under my arm and spread the towel down on the floor.

He didn't seem inclined to just lie there and wait for the offending smell to go away. He kicked, waved his arms and twisted from side to side. "Don't move," I kept telling him. But he kept moving.

Fairly confident he couldn't fall off the floor, I left him long enough to run into the kitchen and wrestle open one of the diaper packages. Kneeling in front of him, I tugged my tee shirt up over my mouth and nose, drew a deep breath and considered the diaper encasing his butt. It seemed straightforward, two sticky tabs stretched over the front; just unstick and peel, right?

Nothing about a baby is straightforward. The tape didn't want to unstick. It expected me to wedge my foot against the kid's belly and put my full weight into yanking it free. I didn't do that, but it certainly felt I was going to have to resort to that before things were done. I ended up with shredded padding. Wet, stenchy shredded padding.

When I saw what was inside that padding, I reached for my phone again. "Scully...help. He's got...stuff in his diaper. Yellow, sticky, stinky stuff. Yellow," I reiterated. Surely yellow couldn't be normal or healthy. "And it stinks." At that point, I put the phone down, jumped up and opened both windows. When I got back to the towel, he had both feet in the air and was spreading the mess around with glee.

She called back while I was trying unsuccessfully to keep the mess off my fingers while scraping it off him. I watched the phone ring, loathed to touch it with my babyfied fingers. But I needed her help. So, using the hem of my tee shirt, I lifted the phone with the hand not trying to hold his bottom up out of the morass. "Scully, is yellow poop normal?"

"Mulder ..." she sighed. "Stop calling me, please? I don't know any more about baby poop than you do."

"You're a doctor. You took an oath. Is it supposed to smell this bad?"

"Baby poop is reputed to be pretty foul smelling," she agreed. "Mulder, I'm exhausted. Will you -"

"Scully, this smells worse than the ten day old carcass of a liver eating mutant."

"- please let me get some sleep?" I heard her twisting around in bed. "Mulder, it's all biodegradable. Use lots of soap and water. You will not die. Aren't those baby wipes slightly scented? They should be cutting the smell a little for you."

"Wipes? Is that what those are for?"

"Mulder, I'm going to go back to sleep now, if I can. Don't call anymore."

"Scully, if you loved me at all -"

"Which I don't."

"- you'd help me out here in my hour of need."

She sighed again, with a little growl at the end, for effect. "All right. I will help you. Just a moment." A moment later, she picked up the phone again. "The number to Child Welfare Services is -"

"That's not funny, Scully."

"Neither is the idea of you calling me up every time that baby has a bodily function. Either learn to manage on your own, like any other new parent, or take the child to experts. That's all I'm going to say on the matter." There was a decisive click on her end of the line.

I looked at the kid. "Well, guess who just got scratched from the short list of your godparents, hmm?"

I understood why Skinner said I needed two packages of diapers. I broke the tape on the first one. The second one slid off the minute I picked him up. And the third one, which seemed to fit okay was rendered unusable when he whizzed two seconds after I got it into place. Aunt Scully was right about the wipes, though. I want to nominate the man who invented them for a Nobel Prize. No man should ever be without a jar of those things on hand.

I got him changed, and into that yellow 'onesie', and shoved his new pacifier into his mouth. I put him back in his basket, and tucked the blanket around him. And he stayed there, wide awake, staring at me and sucking on that thing, waiting to see what other entertaining thing I might do.

I considered the pile of diapers and wipes on the floor and thought, screw the smell, I'll clean it all up in the morning, and let myself ease down on the sofa, and closed my eyes.

He lost his sucky thingie, and started to cry.

I rolled over and put it back in his mouth.

He got hiccoughs and started to cry. I patted his stomach for a couple of minutes and he stopped crying and just stayed there, making hiccoughy sounds.

Then he decided to cry just because he liked the sound. That was the only explanation. Patting didn't work, the sucky thingie didn't work. Soft voices and face making didn't work. Threats didn't work. He wasn't wet. Nothing was pinching him. And even when I went into the kitchen and made him a bottle (after forgetting I'd left piles of baby related stuff on the floor, and tripped over everything), he was not mollified.

I was desperate enough at that point to risk losing my entire wardrobe, and I picked him up to burp him again. But before I could get him in the proper position, he reduced the volume on his wailing. He didn't stop crying altogether, but he did get a little less noisy.

I thought I might try out that toy we'd gotten, but as I took a few steps toward the kitchen, he hushed completely.

We developed a routine almost immediately. We'd walk from the living room to my front door and back. He'd remain quiet the entire trip. Then I'd put him in his basket, and he'd cry. Pretty soon he knew the pattern so well, he'd start crying as I bent to put him in the basket. And then he'd cry just as I got to the basket.

Finally, I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I managed to grope around in his basket with one hand, while keeping him jammed against my chest with the other, found the pacifier and the lamb, carried all three into my bedroom, kicked laundry off the bed, and put the kid, the lamb, the pacifier and my weary butt down. If he wanted to cry now, he could go full volume, and I doubt I'd hear it.

But he didn't. When I woke a couple of hours later, he was asleep beside me, the pacifier abandoned on the bed, and a part of my tee shirt clenched in those amazingly tiny fingers.

As tired as I was, I knew I couldn't afford to waste those few minutes that he was sleeping, and I very gingerly removed myself from the bed. I put my pillow on one side of him, and restacked my laundry on the other. That way, if he woke up and started wriggling again, he couldn't wriggle himself off the bed.

My living area was a shock. I'm not the neatest person on the planet, despite all my compulsive behaviors, but I don't believe, short of having my house tossed by uninvited guests searching for illicitly gained information, that it had ever looked that bad. There was baby paraphernalia everywhere. Not to mention a half eaten sandwich, an untouched cup of coffee, an empty baby bottle, and a pile of used diapers and baby wipes.

With a deep breath, I decided to tackle the place in the order of priorities. I went into the kitchen, and started a new pot of coffee. Then I got my phone and pressed speed dial three. "Hey, Frohike, how much do you love me?"

It took me a couple of minutes to stem the tide of his tale of sexual willingness. "Whoa, whoa, what have I told you about too much information? Just tell me if you love me enough to hack into a database for me?"

"I don't even have to like you to do that," he answered, sounding a bit miffed that I'd cut him off mid-regale. "What do you want hacked?"

"Get into the center for Missing and Exploited Children, will you? It's here in Alexandria."

"Mulder, are you planning to exploit a child?" He sounded disappointed. "When you could be exploiting me?"

"It's a long story. Just see if you can get in, and call me back." I'm never sure if he's serious or not. I hung up, went back to the kitchen for rubber gloves and garbage bags, and started cleaning up.

I was dragging trash out to the garbage chute when I heard a door open behind me. "Mr. Mulder."

I flinched. Sighed. Turned around. Forced a smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Holden."

"You've got a baby in your apartment."

There was no point in denying it. Mrs. Holden was the building terrier in housedress and hair rollers. No one got away with anything on her watch. Besides, she'd seen me take the basket inside. "Yes, ma'am. My...um...nephew." I pulled open the door of the chute and dumped the garbage bag inside. "He'll only be here a few days -"

"We have a no children allowed policy, Mr. Mulder." She was shaking an arthritic hand at me.

"I know that, Mrs. Holden, but you see -"

"Where's his mother?"

I didn't have to make up an excuse. I knew this answer deep within me. "She's dead."

Magic words. The woman went as gooey as Scully had done the night before. "The poor little thing."

"Yeah," I agreed, trying to get around her to return to my apartment.

She stayed in step with me. "Do you have everything you need for him?"

I laughed helplessly. "I sure hope I do. I spent a small fortune on things last night."

"Better let me see." She pushed my door open before I could block her. She stepped inside, gave the place a thorough mental inventory and then looked at me. "Is that coffee?"

"Yes, ma'am." I pulled the rubber gloves off and indicated the kitchen. "Would you like some?"

"I wouldn't mind." She followed me in and glanced around at the stacks of things I'd purchased the night before. "What about clothes? He couldn't have had many things in that little basket. Didn't you buy him any clothes?"

"No, ma'am...I ..." I shrugged. "I wouldn't know what to buy." I put the coffee in front of her. "My partner just gave me a list, and I went by that."

"The little redhead?" She sniffed the cup.

I nodded and filled a cup for myself.

"She's a woman, she should know better."

"That's what I said," I muttered. "Mrs. Holden, did you see who left him here? I want to get in touch with whoever's been caring for him since his mother died."

She shook her head. "I just heard him crying out in the hall, right before you got home."

I could see I was losing the gooey factor, which might render her less compassionate about having an unauthorized baby on the premises. "Well, could you...would you mind giving me some advice about what else I need for him?"

She patted my hand. "I might be able to do better than that. My daughter's youngest is four now, I'm sure she's got some things you can borrow."

"Well, that's very nice, I'm sure, but your daughter might -"

"Where is he?"

I gave up. The woman was going to have her way. "In there. On the bed." The price I was going to pay for her compassion, I guess.

"You left him alone, on a bed?" She was rising like a fury. "Babies roll over, they fall off things. Never ever leave him unattended ..." she paused at the bedroom door. "Well, that's certainly the most original solution I've ever seen." She crept in quietly.

I followed.

She looked at him a long time, then looked up at me. "You did the right thing keeping your son."

I shook my head. "Oh, no, he's not -"

She patted my hand again, no, this was more like a slap. "I don't believe in premarital sex," she stated. "We didn't do it in my day, and it's not right now, but here he is, so the least you can do is claim him. Be a man about it."

"I ..." There wasn't going to be any explaining to her, I could see that. I gave up. "I didn't know about him 'til yesterday."

She peered over my laundry at him again. "And his mother's dead?"

I nodded. This whole conversation was making me ache. Fatherhood, even by proxy, was just not in the cards for me. I'd be a terrible father, I had already proved it five times in twelve hours.

"Well, poor little thing. He's got nothing to worry about, has he?" she cooed. "Daddy's here for the little man." She tugged at my arm. "Let's let him sleep."

Back in the kitchen, she picked up her coffee. "I'll go call my daughter, see what she has for you. I'll bring the cup back later."

I wanted to stop her, but there was no gracious way to do it. It looked like Mrs. Holden was about to become a fixture in my life. "Great," I muttered, "just what I needed." Then I made myself smile and follow her to the door. "You're very kind, Mrs. Holden," I said, with almost an appreciable amount of sincerity. "You're too kind. Really. Too kind."

She looked as if she was about to launch into a conversation that might involve premarital sex, her daughter or little men, so I was grateful when she cocked her ear and said, "Oh, there's my phone. Might be my daughter, now."

I rolled my eyes Heavenward as she disappeared behind her own door. "Thank you, daughter."

I got as far as my kitchen, and reached for my own coffee, when my phone rang. It was Scully. "Good morning, Unca' Mulder." She was snickering to herself. "How did it go last night?"

"Oh, just splendidly. I now understand what the expression 'slept like a baby' means."

She laughed outright. Then she sobered slightly. "Are you ready to call in the proper authorities?"

"No."

She was quiet for a moment. "Okay. Look, I need to get back upstairs, Kersh is riding me like a slow pony today because you called out sick. But I didn't want to make this call on a company phone."

"Thank you for that," I muttered.

"Are you really okay?"

"So far. I've got Frohike doing a little research for me while I play Daddy of the Year."

"Daddy?" I could hear her brows go up. "When did you promote yourself to Daddy?"

"Oh, pff ..." I waved it off. "My neighbor Mrs. Holden has decided I need to be a man and admit he's my son."

"Mulder ..." her voice was soft, and thoughtful.

"No, Scully. He's not mine. Do I need to break into a rousing chorus of Billie Jean?"

"Oh, God, no! Just to prevent that very thing, I'm willing to stipulate he's not yours."

"Oh, thank you, Miss DanaScully Was a Bullfrog."

"You swore you'd never mention that again."

I chuckled meanly. "I lied."

"Is this retribution for hanging up on you last night?"

"Yes."

"Well, you still owe me." She hung up.

And the kid started crying.

And it was only eight thirty in the morning.

End Chapter Three

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