Title: Birth: Ocean
E-Mail address -firstname.lastname@example.org
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.)
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.
Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine. No copyright
infringement intended. Suing me would be pointless, anyway.
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
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
"Good... deep and slow."
The words swirl over them, sensual and fundamental,
pulling their breath together, lower, calmer, deeper into her
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,
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
"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.
The doula smiles. "Breathe with me. Mulder is here, holding
"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
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
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
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
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
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
Confusion in her eyes. "How?.."
The doula smiles. "I'll help you."
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.
"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
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
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
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.
a rapid slipping, the stretching gone
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.
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.
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