TITLE: William The Fifth

NAME: Mik

E-MAIL: mikdok@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: MSR

RATING: G as in Gee whiz

SUMMARY: Mik does Daddy Fik.

ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.

FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist...

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: This is an AU, very vague spoilers for multiple episodes, nothing current.

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20^th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I'd rather say that they really are mine, but I've been advised to deny everything.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sigh … I said I wouldn't. I SWORE I wouldn't … but … well, Father's Day came and went and my son's still there and I'm still here and...and...I had to, okay? For all the little boys without daddies.

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

William the Fifth

by Mik

Mulder sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against one of the oak legs of the structure behind him, reading by the soft glow of a Tigger nightlight. The basket of the cradle wriggled against his shoulder. The sounds emanating from within the cradle sounded something like someone chewing on the wrapper of a candy bar, a soft squishy smacking sound. Beyond that was the sound of snoring...nothing loud, not a window rattler, but the heavy breath of a woman deep in slumber, the first real sleep she'd had since the birth.

Mulder's eyes stayed fixed on the page. He wouldn't give in, he wouldn't. The bundle of blankets in that basket was a source of curiosity and dread. He said he'd stay while she slept. But that didn't mean he was giving in. Still, he had to admit it, he hadn't turned a page in over an hour.

With a sigh he unfolded himself and crept carefully to the door, tossing a warning look over his shoulder as if to say, 'You dare make a sound while I'm out of the room and I'll...' He sighed again and went into the kitchen. He opened cupboards restlessly. He knew Scully's kitchen better than his own, but he didn't know what he was looking for. He wanted a beer. No, maybe he wanted something stronger, but he daren't while he was 'on duty', and she didn't have any beer. A glass of wine held absolutely no appeal. So he filled a glass from the tap and came back into the bedroom.

For a while, he merely stayed in the doorway, watching. Scully looked utterly at peace. He wished she'd wake up. He was worried the baby might wake and he might actually have to do something for it. Everyone warned him that spending time around babies was dangerous. Might give him ideas.

Not me, he thought with a snort. I don't have a biological clock, no sir. Still, he flicked a glance at the cradle. The bundle was wriggling and making those smacking sounds again. He turned from the bed and peered over the edge of the cradle. Blue eyes met his...well, sort of. Two-day-old babies still don't track well.

"You look like a grub," he whispered, keeping his hands behind his back. "Why do they bundle you up like that, huh?" The baby's answer was to wriggle even more. "At least you got her blue eyes." He heard the affection in his voice and stifled it. "Scully says all babies have blue eyes, but she has blue eyes so you might." He considered it. "Well, blue eyes are a recessive trait, but still … you don't look as if you buy into all that genetic bullshit, do you? You're going to have blue eyes."

The baby's mouth opened into a perfect little 'o', as if expressing shock at the choice of language.

"Excuse me...bullshit is a little advanced for you. Let's see...genetic...hmm...folderol? Do you like that?" The baby wrinkled its puggie little nose. "No? Okay...how 'bout genetic...garbage? Yeah, garbage is a good word, don't you think?" He sipped water. "No genetic garbage for you, William." He paused and looked down at the baby again. "She named you William. Now...don't go reading too much into that, right? There are a lot of Williams in your history. A lot of them. I don't think she named you for any particular one. Just sort of a generic nod at genealogy. Hey, we're getting quite an alliteration going, aren't we? Genetic garbage and generic genealogy." He emptied his glass and set it aside before kneeling beside the cradle.

William was bouncing in the tight confines of his swaddling. His head was turned slightly as if watching Mulder. His barely visible brows lifted in a fine, inquisitive imitation of his mother.

"What would I have named you? Well...I was thinking Frohike, but she overruled me. And I can see why. I think you have more hair." Mulder laughed to himself. "Well, personally, I think Sam would have been a good name. Very strong, don't you think? You're going to be strong, aren't you? Of course you are. You're probably developing muscle right now, just fighting with these damned blankets. I mean...darn blankets."

Against his better judgment, he reached into the cradle and began to unwind the binding cloth around the baby's body. What he found underneath seemed to fill him with both wonder and fear. A tiny human body … chest and belly out of proportion to the delicate arms and legs, and a massive bubble of environmentally unfriendly cotton and plastic encasing his bum. "You look like an alien," Mulder whispered. Yet he couldn't resist stroking one tiny foot softly with a knuckle. "And I mean that only in the nicest way."

He twisted around so that he could sit with one hand still in the cradle, still in contact with soft, miniature limbs. "What are your plans for the future, William? I don't think dot-coms are the way to go, personally. There might be some pressure for you to go into law enforcement of some kind, maybe the military, but I'd resist if I were you."

William's eyes stayed on him as if the soft whisper pleased him. He wriggled and bounced and smacked. Occasionally, a sound something like a dove's coo would come out of that small mouth.

That sound amused and fascinated Mulder. He tried to find ways to make it happen again, petting and rubbing, and whispering nonsensical sounding words, even humming. He'd always prided himself on the fact that he had come this far in his life knowing practically nothing about infants, yet at this moment he wished he understood at least this one.

"Well, how do you feel about religion?" he asked, rubbing William's taut belly.

William answered with a loud and protracted burp.

Mulder sat up, startled. "What did you eat, kid? A bear?" He peered down into the cradle. "A bear with a bullhorn?"

William wriggled and kicked his newly freed legs wildly.

"You know...you might have a future in football," Mulder said, stroking one of those flailing legs. "Yeah. That's it, kid. Football. Get a huge pay or play contract, invest wisely, and then go out on injury." Mulder settled back on the floor, nodding. "That's the way."

William burped again. Not so loud, but smacked his lips as if he considered it a job well done.

Mulder felt something warm stealing over him and he stiffened. No, he thought. I'm not giving in. He pulled his hand out of the cradle and reached for his book.

William made a little sound of protest at the loss of contact. Mulder jerked around and hissed a shushing sound. "You wake your mother, and you're in for it, pal."

William's fussing increased. Mulder put a hand back on his belly. "Shhh. That's enough, now. You've made your point." My hand covers his entire torso, Mulder thought. How in the world do you protect something so small and helpless? He suddenly felt very inadequate. Not that he'd ever felt truly adequate about anything, but this really emphasized his shortcomings. He continued to pat gently, while William's cries stilled and his eyes began to droop. "That's a good idea, William," he urged gently. "Go back to sleep. You'll be much better off if you wait 'til your mother's up to get anything you need."

He settled back on the floor, and picked up his book with one hand, the other remaining awkwardly, over the edge of the cradle, fingertips barely brushing William's stomach. It was hard, sitting there, trying to focus on his book, a study of forensic psychology, while he could feel warm skin and regular breathing beneath his touch. It made him think dangerous thoughts. Thoughts of white picket fences and dogs and happily ever afters. He shook his head sharply. Happily ever afters don't exist. "Don't you buy into that, either, William," he whispered hoarsely.

At the sound of his voice, the baby startled and began to cry. Mulder dropped the book and scrambled up, patting and whispering almost helplessly. "Come on, come on, stop it, will you? You'll wake her." He lifted William awkwardly and rolled him onto his belly, patting his wrinkled little back. "Shhh … you can have all the happily ever afters you want. I promise. Shhh."

William stilled, lowering his head to the Pooh and Tigger covering of his cradle and smacked softly.

Mulder looked down at him, hating himself for knowing that all the faerie tales and commercials in the world would build up dreams and expectations that he could never achieve. The world would tell him what it meant to be a man, and if he wasn't the smartest, the fastest, the richest, the bravest, the something-est, he would be nothing. That's the way it is. And Mulder hated that William would have to find that out, and the hard way.

"Someone ought to tell you the truth about things," he said sadly, stroking the silky hair at the back of William's head. "Someone ought to tell you that faerie tales don't come true, and the American Dream is a lie, and there is no pie in the sky by and by." He sighed heavily and reached for the windup musical Tigger in the corner of the cradle. "Someone. But not me." He wound the key and put the garish orange and black thing back in the cradle and let it tinkle out the Winnie the Pooh song.

"Oh, shit. You aren't supposed to sleep on your stomach are you? SIDS is associated with sleeping on the stomach." An involuntary shudder raked through him as he gingerly lifted the baby and turned him back onto his back. "Sorry, kid. It's the rules."

William expressed his opinion of 'the rules' with a sharp little wail.

Mulder shot a look at Scully. "Will you stop that?" he implored. "Come on...give her a few more minutes, will you?" Helplessly, he scooped William up and rested him against his chest. ""Shh...no more of that noise, huh?"

William answered by making those squishy, smacking sounds in his ear.

Balancing the baby against him with one hand, he knelt and collected his book, and carried both to the big chair out in the living room. "I'll make a deal with you, William," he said, settling back, his hand against the baby's back. "You sleep, I'll read." He opened the book, and turned pages.

Yet, from somewhere deep inside him, words came, words that dribbled out of him in a faint, should have been forgotten tune. Without meaning to, without realizing that he was, he began to sing to the baby, a song he hadn't heard in years.

Sleep my child, and peace attend thee

All through the night

Guardian angels, God will send thee

All through the night

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping

Hill and vale slumber sleeping

God his loving vigil keeping

All through the night

While the moon her watch is keeping

All through the night

While the weary world is sleeping

All through the night

Through your dreams you're softly stealing

Visions of delight revealing

Christmas time is so appealing

All through the night

You, my God, a babe of wonder

All through the night

Dreams you dream can't break from thunder

All through the night

Children's dreams cannot be broken

Life is but a lovely token

All through the night

"Mulder, that's beautiful."

He turned, with a start, toward the bedroom door. Scully, in beautiful dishabille, leaned in the doorway, smiling at him. "Sorry." He closed the book. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Oh, no." She made a faint gesture toward her breast. "He did. Time to feed him, or pump since he's asleep."

Mulder felt his face burn and he looked away. "I guess I'd better go then." He tossed the book on the table and held the baby close to him as he stood.

"You could stay," she chided softly. "I could fix something for you, as well."

"No." He took the baby back into the bedroom. "I need to get back to Walter. He's having a hard time right now."

"Walter." Her eyes darkened.

"Scully, I told you how it was going to be. William doesn't change that."

"I know." She lowered her eyes. She sighed and pulled her robe tighter around her. "I know."

Mulder bit down on his lip, looking from the baby to Scully. Yes, everyone was right. Babies were dangerous. "Well, I'd better go. He needs me."

She nodded jerkily and stood back to let him pass her in the doorway.

"Mulder...?"

He paused as he reached for his jacket. "Yeah?"

"That was a beautiful song. I'd never heard you sing before."

He smiled bashfully and shrugged into his jacket. "Just something I'd heard years ago."

"Did your mother sing it to you?" she asked, almost hopefully.

He shook his head. "No. I dated a girl while I was at Oxford. She..." he paused, feeling his throat constrict. "… she had a baby. And she sang that to him. It's an old Welsh lullaby."

Scully glanced over her shoulder. "Hear that, William? Your first lullaby was an old Welsh lullaby."

"His first?"

She nodded. "You've heard me sing. I wouldn't do that to him."

He snickered. Then sobered and crossed to her, taking her hands. "He needs lots of lullabies, Scully. And dreams. And faerie tales. Make sure he gets them." He pressed a kiss to her cheek and almost marched to the front door. "Oh, yeah. And remind him about football. We have it all worked out." He gave her a little wave and he left.

- END -