Title: Birth: Ocean Author: Jenrose E-Mail address -jenrose@compuserve.com Rating - PG-13 (couple of swear words, graphic description of birth. Nudity. If it were a movie, I'd show it to my 4 year old, but she thinks birth is kewl and runs around with my plastic pelvis model on her head yelling "I'm a baby." I wouldn't read this to her, though, due to the sexual references and the swear words.) Category -V Spoilers -None Keywords - Scully/Mulder married. Birth. Summary - Scully is in labor, gives birth. Mood piece, no history given. The birth is with a midwife and a doula, no other care providers mentioned, and no mention is made of where or when the birth is taking place. Author's note: I'm a doula and childbirth educator. If you don't know what a doula is, you can find out more at It's probably enough for this story to know that a doula gives women in labor emotional and physical support, and there are enough scientific studies out there supporting their use in birth to convince even Scully that this low-tech, high touch approach I show here is one of the safest ways to give birth. Thanks go to all the women who have invited me to share this special time with them, and specific thanks to Harriette Hartigan, who's words "Caves of the soul" fit the look of a newborn's eyes perfectly, and who's view of the sacredness of birth inspires me constantly. Feedback: Sure. Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine. No copyright infringement intended. Suing me would be pointless, anyway. Ocean As each contraction begins, her eyes unfocus. It's the first sign, to those watching her, and they respond to it quickly with soft, low sounds that are halfway between breath and words. The rhythm of her labor has washed over them, and they swim with it, with her, riding the crest and peak of each contraction and resting in the troughs, the quiet seas between the powerful waves. It is all about breath. So easy to forget to breathe, to allow the breaths to come fast and panicked. But that way lies pain. So they watch for the earliest signs of each coming wave, and murmur to her. "Breathe. Slowly Dana... Here it comes... Don't fight it." The closer the waves come, the deeper she goes. Each contraction sinks her, voice low and rich and primal, into a moan that shudders through her belly, vibrating her tissues, a soft but powerful sound that echoes the powerful softening, the stretching, the stirring deep in her pelvis. He watches her, awed by the power moving through her. He has already seen her rocked by orgasm, crying with the pain of injury, strong in body and strong in faith, vulnerable and trusting as a child, angry, joyful. But this, this is more. This is her whole body, her whole being, strong and powerful, weak and vulnerable, sexual and physical, despairing, fighting and surrendering only to find that surrendering is what brings her strength. So strange, to see her relinquish control. He knows this is the greatest struggle for her. She panics at a particularly powerful contraction, and he can only hold her, not knowing what to tell her, afraid of this awesome power himself. But the doula's reassuring words soothe them both, buoying them up to the surface, hushing air and breath into them both. The words blend into the waves of pain and fear, turning them from twisting and agonizing into opening and power. "Good... deep and slow." The words swirl over them, sensual and fundamental, pulling their breath together, lower, calmer, deeper into her opening body. The panic moves away as she finds her balance in the churning ocean of her uterus, finding strength in his arms and comfort in his breath. In the corner, rocking steadily in her chair, the midwife knits, aware of everything, but deliberately pulling back. She guards them, her knitting strangely comforting, telling them that all is well. His breath finds confidence in the softly smiling eyes of the doula and the rhythmic quiet clicking of the midwife's knitting needles. The women have seen this before, know this is how it must be. That certainty sustains them all. ~~~ The midwife tells them that she is progressing well, 4 centimeters dilated, cervix nice and thin, the baby is positioned perfectly. The baby's heartbeat is strong. She is working well with the contractions. She wonders how drowning can be considered "doing well." The midwife returns to knitting when the exam is done, guarding and guiding from a quiet corner of the room. ~~~ She is walking now, the contractions stronger still, each building from a wary tightening in her back, wrapping around to her front into a cresting, driving hardness that lifts her whole belly up and out. She knows she is supported, she is only carrying about half of her weight on her feet, knees buckling with each step. They are almost carrying her, one on each arm, but she continues to move forward through each contraction. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other takes all of her concentration when the contractions come. She tries stopping, but finds herself drowning in pain until her feet move again, one step, another. Strangely, it does not seem to hurt when she moves her feet, walking, slow step by slow step. She rests between, arms around his neck, hanging from him, eyes closed, swaying. He thinks he should be doing something more. The doula knows he's doing exactly what his partner needs by giving her the strength to continue. As she has given him, for so long. The stretching in her pelvis pulls deep moans from her as she walks. Her voice trembles and rumbles from a primitive place, pulled into words that vibrate through her body, loosening everything. "Ohhhhhhhhhh-pen" "Lohhhhhhhhhhhhhw" ~~~~ She cries into his chest, sobbing. Her voice has risen in pitch, but still comes from a deep core in her pelvis. "I can't do this." "Make it stop." "It's too much." She throws up into a bowl. She hears the doula tell her this is good, that it means her body is working, doing what it must. "Make it go away." "I don't want to do this right now." The doula places hands on her cheeks, turning her face up, looking deep into her eyes, forcing eye contact. "Look at me Dana." "You *are* doing this." "It will stop." "You're doing so well." "Your baby is coming soon." The word connects with something in those panicking eyes. "Baby." The doula smiles. "Breathe with me. Mulder is here, holding you." "Let him comfort you. Breathe with us. It's okay to cry. Let your tears open you up. Let your baby come." The doula's breath sets a pace for them all, slow, deliberate, precise. A long, breathy "haaa". A deep inbreath and another, "haaa." And again. Then a long sigh. The pattern providing a structure. He holds her tight, so tight, as if he could take her into himself and take the pain away with the strength of his arms. She resists for a moment, trying, failing, struggling to contain the pain within her as she always has, then relinquishes it, finally. She melts into him and lets his arms carry her through the pain. Her eyes are wide now, deep blue focused on his hazel, hearing the rhythm of his breath following hers, guiding hers, carrying them both through. ~~~~ A contraction comes, and she stops, without knowing why, pulling back from them. Her waters break, splashing onto her feet, soaking her gown, puddling on the floor. Without thinking she simply pulls off the offending clothing, a rush of heat moving through her. Someone asks her if she wants another gown. She ignores them, intent on the sensations in her core. She is flooded with energy, almost euphoric, and for the first time in hours she smiles at her support people. "The baby is coming soon." Someone cleans up the puddle on the floor, she is almost laughing. The next contraction sweeps her off her feet, onto her hands and knees, rocking her pelvis like a lover in the throes of orgasm. The contraction leaves her, body shaking, shivering, hot. Her eyes are bright, feverish in their intensity. She rests, head hanging down, on her hands and knees. He goes to her, offering comfort, touch, but she waves him away, unable to say more than, "too much." The doula explains to him that she's overstimulated, that they must simply let her be for a little while. The doula withdraws, watching from the corner as he stands near his partner, seemingly standing guard over her, not touching her, but wanting to. When the contraction comes, she sways her hips with it, swiveling them, almost dancing on her hands and knees. When it is done, she sits up on her haunches, and looks to her partner, calling him to her with her eyes. She is naked, her breasts full, nipples darker than they've ever been, belly stretched, heavy and round. Little red flames mark the underside of her belly, licking up toward her bellybutton. Her eyes are dilated, sensual bottomless pools of blue. Her hair lies in damp red tendrils around her face. Her lips are dry, but full and relaxed, her breath coming audible, low. "You're beautiful," he tells her in a low voice. She smiles faintly, trying to imagine where he sees beauty. He kisses her dry lips, sending a tingle through her body. His hands stroke her hair, then move down and catch her as the next contraction rocks through. She moans deep into his arms, hanging from his neck. Her breath catches for a moment, and then again. Her body drops deeper, hips spreading as she hangs down heavy from him. The doula hears that telltale catch in the breath. The midwife hears it too. They look at each other and smile, knowing. ~~~~ The midwife has put down the knitting. Scully is aware of them vaguely. Mulder holds her with each contraction, her arms around his neck. She hangs down from him, knees relaxed, letting him support her weight, heavy in his arms. Her breath comes in grunting pulses as she feels her core move downward. The doula tells her the baby is descending, coming, will be in her arms soon, and for the first time, she believes it. The midwife smiles as she tells Scully that she's completely dilated, that the baby is moving down with each contraction. ~~~~ It is so warm in the room. Sweat covers them all, but no one notices. She is resting on the bed between contractions, head lolling back against him. He laughs, because she's actually snoring. She is totally relaxed, leaning against him. His hands rest on her naked belly, and when he feels it begin to tighten, he helps her forward, into a squat. She uses his knees as a brace, squatting between his legs, buttocks resting against his thighs. A breath, two breaths, and she is pushing. Her breath escapes her for a moment, but the urge is overwhelming and she feels her whole being concentrating into one effort. "DOWN". The doula's voice echoes the strength of the push, focusing deep, opening. She gasps as the head stretches her, then moves back. Another surge, the stretching, and the contraction leaves. Many hands helping her back into her nest in her husband's arms, urging her to stop pushing when the contraction is gone. The doula whispers to her, "I saw a little bit of the head that time. Do you want to touch your baby on the next contraction?" Confusion in her eyes. "How?.." The doula smiles. "I'll help you." She rests. With the next contraction, she curls around her huge belly, pushing, straining. The doula's gloved hand gently brings her fingers down to her swollen opening. Beneath the stickiness and the hair and the soft skin is something different. Her fingers search, finding a wrinkled scalp, hard bone, and she surges harder, pushing, her fingers feeling that hardness move strongly into them. That feeling overwhelms her and her whole body strains, she feels the head, her baby's head moving into her fingers, and she pushes until it burns. "Baby!" "It burns! I.... I... OH SHIT!" She stops pushing, frantic, stretched to her limit, gasping, fingers still resting on her baby's head, which this time has not pulled back. The doula brings Mulder's hand around, and he feels his child for the first time, still inside her, but there, real... surrounded by her. The midwife's hands are there, too, guarding the soft, tight, stretched skin below the opening. They rest there, all, treasuring the moment, touching the baby's head. The midwife smiles and tells them that the baby has red hair. Mulder gazes down over Scully's shoulder, seeing where his hand rests on the roundness bulging out of her. Her head is back, her eyes closed, fingers searching, feeling every bit of their baby's head in wonder. She touches the head that stretches her, and marvels aloud that it is so pointed, so wrinkled. She feels the contraction build, and pauses a moment, hand still on her baby's head. The midwife urges her, "Push your baby out now." A deep breath, and she PPPUSSHES, crying out, the stretching, burning, surging overwhelming her as the rest of her baby's head emerges into the many waiting hands. She gasps, breathing hard, as the baby rotates first one way, then another. She feels its forehead, it's nose, her fingers searching. another surge crying out screaming "GOD" a rapid slipping, the stretching gone no pain the baby, the baby into their waiting hands guided up onto her belly wet, birth-cry screaming, covered with goo He is crying, sobbing like he didn't know he could, tears of joy as he holds them, looking down into his arms filled with her, filled with the baby, filled with love like he never dreamed. The midwife's hands have been moving quickly, as she helps turn the baby around so they can see... her. A little girl-baby. Glistening with amniotic fluid, creamy with vernix, moments ago she'd been deep in her mother's womb. The glistening gone as the midwife's towels move rapidly, keeping the babe from cooling too fast on her mother's belly. crying stopped bright little eyes open, caves of soul baby's eyes searching her mother's, her father's voices cooing around her "We love you." tears falling unknown They turn to each other and kiss, both crying, laughing, overwhelmed. Gazing down at the wonder in their arms, this blending of them both, perfect. The midwife and doula have drawn back just enough that the only thing in the world is the baby, her mother, her father. Ashore at last. THE END --