#any strange pair that i see outside i’m like that’s mulder and scully. it just is

[ouroboroscully]

not to be all richard siken about it but: mulder and scully are like two weird little ducks gliding together in a river. they’re like two telephone poles on opposite side of the street communicating parallel. they’re two strange fungi in the woods. they’re a gate and a latch. they’re a tree trunk split into two. they’re barnacles and boat hulls. they’re a sea siren and a light house. they’re a closed door and yellow light streaming from beneath. they’re two ships in the night. they’re each other and not-each other. they’re themselves and not-themselves. they’re the last matches in the box. they might be poisonous. they miss each other. they don’t have the words to say it.

#any strange pair that i see outside i’m like that’s mulder and scully. it just is #msr #txf #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 18

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy...yep, one second.”

Trudy shoves her rolling chair across the tiled floor, delivering the cordless phone to Scully with a flourish.

“It’s your man candy,” she says with a smirk, and Scully suppresses an eye-roll as she takes the phone.

“Hi, what’s up?” she greets. Now that he has his own office and more privacy (save for Monica, who’s a friend) he’s taken to calling her more often at work.

“Hey honey, you studied German, right?”

“Yes,” she answers, an expectant lilt to her voice.

“What does ‘unruhe’ mean? U-n-r-u-h-e.”

“Mulder...is this a work call or a personal call?” she questions in a lecturing voice.

“Work, it’s for a case we’re looking at,” he answers plainly.

She sighs, moving the phone to her other ear and turning away so Trudy can’t hear her.

“Mulder, we’ve discussed this. I don’t mind you calling me for help on cases, I don’t even mind looking over medical files for you. But if you’re calling me as a colleague, then I need you to address me as one.”

“Shit, sorry, let’s start over,” he says, and she hears the squeak of him shifting in his chair. She imagines him sitting up straighter, putting forth a professional image, and it makes her smile.

“Hi, what’s up?” she repeats.

“Hello, Dr. Scully, I was wondering if I could ask you to translate some German phrases that appear in a case Agent Reyes and I are investigating, if you have time to spare,” he says in his most distinguished, Special Agent voice.

“Of course, Agent Mulder, I’d be happy to help.”

———

The elevator dings, the doors opening to a quiet and nondescript hallway with a few lonely shelves lining one wall. She steps out, suddenly regretting her insistence that she could find her way to Mulder’s basement office without escort. She makes her way down the hall past a set of bathrooms, and finally arrives outside a closed door.

Fox Mulder

Monica Reyes

Only the names of the occupants, not their division, department nor area of expertise are included, presumably because anyone who ends up down here is already aware of what they are walking in to. She knocks three times and waits, smiling in relief when Monica appears on the other side.

“Hi, Dana, you found us!” she muses, then steps aside so Scully can enter.

It’s an odd office, in so many ways. Oddly shaped, with daylight basement windows and a glass-encased annex, the space is long and narrow which makes it feel big and crowded at the same time. The decor is odd; newspaper clippings and kitschy knick knacks on the walls and every available surface. She smiles at the sight of the house-warming gift she’d purchased for Mulder; a full sized poster of a UFO hovering over evergreen trees with “I Want To Believe” emblazoned across the bottom. Mulder had told her about one just like it he’d had in “the good old days,” and she spent the better part of a week tracking one down after they’d gotten word that the files would be reopened. Though they’ve only inhabited this space for a few weeks, it already looks very lived-in.

Mulder is sitting on the corner of his desk, remote in hand and a slide projector cart situated in front of him. On the wall across from it is a blown up image of a severed head, the eyes partially closed and the lips hanging open. Scully smiles at Mulder and then glances at the screen, frowning at the image but otherwise unaffected.

“Well look at you,” she says with pride in her voice, crossing the room to stand before him where he touches her waist and places a kiss on her cheek. “And who’s this?” she asks, turning again to the screen.

“This,” Mulder says, standing and moving closer to the image, “is Leonard Betts. Or it was, anyway.”

“What’s so special about Mr. Betts that he’s found himself in an X file?” Scully asks.

“Would you believe me if I told you that after Mr. Betts was decapitated, his headless body got up and walked right out of the morgue?” Mulder asks with a cheeky grin, and she glances at Monica, who just shrugs.

“No, I wouldn’t, I’m afraid,” she answers.

“Well, since seeing is believing, Reyes and I will be heading up to Pittsburgh for a few days to have a look for ourselves,” Mulder says as he turns off the projector and wheels the cart into a corner.

Scully’s heart sinks just a little. Mulder had set the expectation that there was quite a bit of travel involved with being assigned to the X files, but this is the first time he’s actually needed to be away overnight for work. Wanting to be supportive, she keeps her expression neutral, betraying nothing.

He approaches her, standing close so that their conversation feels private, even with Monica seated a few feet away.

“Tell Missy and Byers I’m sorry to cancel our dinner plans tomorrow,” he says with a sympathetic frown.

“Will you be home by the weekend?” she asks quietly, “I was hoping to celebrate your birthday on Sunday.”

He smiles sadly at her. The topic of his approaching birthday has been one they’ve both grappled with for slightly different reasons. He proclaims to have never cared much about his birthday, but knowing that it will mark one year since she walked down the aisle with Ethan makes her want to do something special, to reset the date, in a way. She wants it to be Mulder’s birthday, not the anniversary of the worst decision she ever made.

“Probably, but I can’t make any promises. I’ll do my best, okay?”

She nods, and he leans down to kiss her softly in the middle of her forehead.

“I’ll need to swing by the apartment to pack before we leave this evening, so I’ll see you in a bit,” he continues.

She bids Monica farewell and good luck, then rides the elevator back up to a world where headless bodies don’t roam the streets.

———

Mulder flies home Saturday afternoon, giving her just enough time to throw together a small birthday celebration at the Gunmen’s the following night. Sunday evening she’s sifting through her closet, deciding whether to dress up a little for his benefit. Mulder is lying behind her on the bed fully dressed, pretending he’s on standby to offer fashion advice but in reality he’s just staring at her as she walks from the closet to her dresser in her bra and panties. He has confirmed no fewer than six times that birthday sex is a tradition that she believes in, then suggested that it might be applicable on both the day of his birthday party as well as his actual birthday, which is tomorrow. He seems to be looking forward to that more than getting together with his friends.

“What do you want me to wear, Mulder? It’s your birthday, you pick,” she says in a defeated tone, feeling uninspired by everything she owns.

“What you’re wearing is great, just go with that,” he retorts matter-of-factly, and she looks down at her underwear before giving him a sarcastic sneer.

“I’m sure Frohike would love that,” she says, and he makes a face.

“Maybe just jeans and a T-shirt then. I honestly don’t care, honey, wear whatever you want. I’m just going to take it off later anyway.”

As he finishes speaking, there’s a knock at the door and he stands to answer it, stopping to give her a quick kiss on the crown of her head as he leaves the room.

She pulls out a pair of dark wash jeans and tugs them on, listening as Mulder opens the door and has a muted conversation with someone. It’s a little bit late in the day for solicitors, but they don’t seem to have any boundaries these days. She’s slipping her arms through the sleeves of a blue sweater when Mulder reappears in the doorway.

“Hey Scully?,” he says, his tone strange and unreadable.

“Hm?” she responds, slipping pearl studs into her ears.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

She gives him a quizzical look. “Who?” she asks, and he purses his lips in response.

With a mix of curiosity and trepidation she walks out to the front door, which is slightly ajar. She pulls it open and finds Ethan standing on the other side. Her stomach drops, a flush of adrenaline running from head to toe as ringing sounds off in her ears. She gapes at him, unable to take any kind of action.

“Hi, Dana,” he finally says, somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry to drop by like this, I just, um...I found a spare key to the apartment,” he says, holding up a single key between his thumb and forefinger. “I figured I should return it.”

“Oh,” she replies, then holds out her hand.

He places the key in the center of her palm and she closes her fist around it, then drops her arm to her side. They stand there awkwardly, an expectant feeling hanging between them. Though she’d momentarily forgotten Mulder was there, he suddenly appears by her side.

“I need to go run to the store for something, I’ll be right back, okay?” he says, locking eyes with her on the ‘okay.’ She understands it to be him asking if they need privacy, and if she’s comfortable being left alone with Ethan. She nods with a grateful smile.

After Mulder has retreated down the hallway, she stands to the side and gestures for Ethan to come in. He enters the apartment cautiously, looking around. She closes the door but stays near it.

“Looks different in here,” he remarks, standing behind one of the dining room chairs and resting his palms on it.

She nods and shrugs.

“Was that, uh...is that your boyfriend?” he asks, hitching his thumb towards the door.

Her shoulders drop, a pained expression falling over her face. “Ethan...” she begins, ready to ask him if he came here just to guilt trip her.

“Sorry, forget I asked,” he interjects, shaking his head. “I didn’t come here to give you a hard time, Dana, I promise. I just…” he looks around again, pulling in a deep breath. “You know it will be a year tomorrow, since...and I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. For what happened, and also how things ended.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “What do you have to be sorry for?” she asks.

“I might have said the same thing earlier this year,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I’ve done a lot of reflecting since we split and I realized that I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the signals you were sending me. In retrospect, it was pretty obvious that you were having doubts, and I just kind of crossed my fingers and soldiered on. And then after the wedding, you were so unhappy. I just chose not to see it, I guess. And that was wrong of me.”

She feels tears welling in her eyes and her throat becomes tight. She doesn’t trust herself to speak so she just nods.

“I recently started seeing someone,” Ethan continues, “and it’s pretty new, but it’s really made it clear to me that you and I just weren’t a good match. Not because anything was wrong, but...it wasn’t right either, you know?”

She nods again, crossing her arms over her chest as a tear spills over and runs down to her chin.

“So, anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time. I just think a lot about how things ended the last time we saw each other, and how angry I was, and I wanted you to know that I get it now. I understand why you did what you did. And I’m glad that you didn’t spend twenty years suffering through it just to prove a point. We both deserve better than what we had.”

Her face is now contorted into a grimace as she tries to keep from falling apart entirely, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, and this opportunity to atone. Ethan moves to the door, pulling it open. As he steps into the hall, she clears her throat and forces out the only words she can muster.

“Thank you,” she squeaks, and he turns to look back at her.

With all the anger and resentment faded away, the grief and the guilt washed clean, she sees again the man she once loved very much, who was a good partner to her, even if he wasn’t “the one.”

She moves towards him and he opens his arms, enveloping her in a tight hug. When he loosens his grip, she steps back so she’s just inside the apartment, sniffing and wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

“Goodbye, Dana,” he says with a sad smile.

“Bye,” she says, and closes the door.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

[frangipanidownunder]

Still with me, Scully?: fic

A bad case, a snowstorm, a grumpy Scully, a sorry Mulder in a one-bed tropefest story for your entertainment.

The outside looks promising enough. The neon light blinks Vacancy. A low-slung roof over a festively decorated door, wreath shimmering with silver tinsel and tiny jewel lights twinkling. He chances a look over his shoulder. She’s round-shouldered, down-in-the-mouth, pale like the frost just starting to crackle over the motel windows.

“Still with me Scully?”

She stuffs her hands deep into her pockets and he imagines those fine fingers squeezing the life out of him, her cold eyes glinting as he gasps her name, an apology and a declaration of love all wrapped up one final exhalation. It’s been a bad case. Really bad. Silent treatment for the hours lost on the road. Face turned to the grimy roadside all the way; surely, she has a cricked neck and yet another excuse to beat him up, down and sideways.

The door creaks open and the smell of pine, sawdust and years of lost souls hits him. “Looks all right,” he says, mustering some cheer that isn’t exactly Christmassy but definitely holds a note of the hopefulness that comes at this time of year. The end of something, the beginning of something. A chance to reset. She doesn’t respond, merely checks out the tree in the corner with its bright decorations. He follows her gaze and his eyes rest on a golden bauble in the shape of a teardrop. Of course.

The clerk flumps open a dusty ledger and peruses the listing, umming and ahing ostentatiously. Any minute she’ll explode; he can see the blast brooding in her flaring nostrils and her half-rolled lips. The eyebrow is shooting up and up. Ladies and gentlemen, we have lift off.

“Only one room left,” the clerk declares. “It’s out round back.” He turns and unhooks a loop of keys and gives them to Mulder. “You and the missus’ll be nice and cosy, though. There’s a bucket of firewood in each room. Matches are on the sideboard. TV don’t work but I’m sure you’ve got other ways to keep yourselves occupied. Storm’s coming.”

Yes, it is, Mulder thinks as the keys feel like stone in his hand. He turns to face his partner and swallows. “Um. You still with me, Scully?”

The teardrop on the Christmas tree wobbles and falls to the floor as she lets the door slam behind her.

The room is…cosy. But not in the rich timber panelling, mellow lighting, roaring fireplace, fleecy quilted bed linen and luxurious drapes at the windows kind of way. More the six foot by six foot, dingy broom cupboard way. A single, square window the size of a postage stamp is opaque with dust not frost. The curtains hang limply from a bent pelmet. The sideboard is more like a child’s school desk. He guesses the tv hasn’t worked since colour came in. The fireplace is the only saving grace. Mulder gets to work straightaway, striking each flimsy match from the small book as a penance prayer. Finally, the penultimate redhead catches and he protects the small orange flame of hope with his cupped hands.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” he says to her. She’s on the bed. Or in it, perhaps, because it’s folded up around her making her look like a young orphan fresh off the train at Miss O’Leary’s Home for Young Innocents. She grunts at him and sighs forever.

The fire take hold and he lets himself smile at the small victory. “Ta-da,” he declares with jazz hands that he hopes are conciliatory, but from the raised eyebrow and averted gaze are probably more fuel for her inner fire. How can one be simultaneously icy and fiery? Scully is the enigma of all enigmas.

“I’ll take the…” he looks around for another item of furniture. There is none. “Floor?”

She tuts and rolls the small opal earring around in her right lobe. It catches the reflection of the fire and an amber glow emerges from the pearlescent surround. It’s Scully in an earring, he muses. “It’s okay, Mulder. We’re grown-ups.” She offers him a curt smile, one that says, ‘well at least one of us is’.

“I promise not to play footsie,” he says as the fire licks and spits. “If you promise not to drool on me.”

Between her fingers, she’s made a knot of the coverlet. She drops it, straightens it out and slides him a smile, somewhere between a white flag and a red flag. He can’t quite work out which it is, but the room is warming up and maybe she’s thawing a little too.

The fire burns out some time during the small hours. His feet and the small of his back are exposed and his brain is unhelpfully supplying all the dumb things he’s ever done during their partnership. It’s quite the extensive playlist. He can’t move, because he’ll wake her. But he does lift his head to see her nested in the pillow, face like an angel, a russet halo framing her forehead. The delicacy of her snoring is somewhat comforting, the salve for the burn his mind is meting out.

There’s a weighty silence around them. The profound quiet of a snowfall. Through the slit in the curtain he thinks he can see the rising accumulation on the window sill. The blind face of the tv screen is visible in the strange light. He stares at it like he might on one of his usual insomniac nights. What’s the difference between a blank screen and a movie he’s seen a hundred times? The mind-stultifying effect is what he’s seeking.

She shifts. Turns to him and the tip of her nose brushes his. She blows out a slightly acidic breath and it warms him more than she’d consider medically possible. But Dr Scully doesn’t know everything. They’re both as uneducated when it comes to affairs of the heart. True affairs of the heart, not the hormone or power fuelled relationships they’ve both endured in the past. He loves her. She loves him. It’s as clear as the pure snow that’s undoubtedly settling outside. But it’s easier to plough through life without acknowledging the build-up, without gritting the paths to make their way through safer. No, they’ll be wading through knee-high snow for a while to come.

His sigh is louder than he anticipated and her eyes flicker open. “Sorry, Scully,” he whispers and she twitches her nose, wets her lips. She wriggles her hands between her legs and her knees boop his groin. Now it’s her turn to apologise. Although it’s debatable who’s more embarrassed. “Do you want me to start the fire again?”

“Wazzatime?”

“Too early for coffee, too late for coffee. Want coffee?”

She nods and he gets up, starts the fire first time and fumbles for the kettle and supplies. She’s found an extra pair of woolly socks and slips them on. Her crumpled appearance makes him almost fold in half. She’s a glorious sight to behold. His eyes take her in and he finds his breath again. He realises in that moment he would dearly sell his soul to the devil to wake up with her every morning and make her coffee. He hands her a cup and crawls next to her, so their feet are both flat to the flames, thighs pressed together.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and his heart lights up.

“It’s snowing.”

“Figures.”

“Think you could bear another night here?”

She dips her mouth to the coffee. “Seems to me there won’t be much of a choice if the car’s stuck.” She takes another sip. “Everything is working against us, here.”

“Seems that way. Can’t win a trick.”

“But you do make a good fire, Mulder. So consider that a win.”

He does. He considers it the win of the century. Up there with the Knicks smashing the 76ers in 94.

“So you’re still with me, Scully?”

She rubs his ankle with her fuzzy socks and he lifts his foot so that hers slips under his. “Always,” she whispers and the coffee suddenly tastes like a promise of something better to come.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #msr #tropefest 2020

[spytap]

That Time I Maybe Accidentally Slid Between Universes On The Lower East Side: A Modern Pizza Brigadoon

Okay, we’re trying this again. With the words. Let’s give it a shot.

I was telling this story over the weekend, and it struck me that it’s something I’ve never really written down. But I think it’s worth documenting - you know, for science.

I guess I have to preface this by saying that I’m not the type of person to accept the unexplainable. In the Mulder/Scully matrix of assumptions, I lean much more Scully, assuming that most things have a reasonable explanation once more data is uncovered or known. I say that just so that I can say that one time while on a business trip to New York, I’m pretty sure I drunkenly dropped back and forth between parallel universes Sliders-style while trying to grab a slice.

Right, so let’s set the stage of our merry little fever dream of a play, shall we?

It’s 1:30am and I am drunk.

Wait, let’s be clear: I’m not just “I’m in New York and let’s have some fun” drunk, I’m “we’re at a digital media event and it’s the late oughts” drunk. I think it was the Webbies, but who knows. It could have been social media week or any number of other things. But if you were in the DM scene at the time, you remember (or not…) that any event which brought together the weird crossover between tech, social media, and nascent web video had, at its intersection, going hard in the motherfucking paint, if you get my drift.

The late oughts were where SXSW got its reputation as an epic and riotous shitshow where long term memories went to die. Companies lived and died by the parties they threw way out in the wasteland that was “anywhere off of sixth street.” It set the scene for an arms race of irresponsibility that wouldn’t peter out until about 2012. And New York, being much larger than Austin and with a scrappy underdog of a tech industry, had a reputation to uphold.

So that’s how I find myself at my third after party, in a bar called (I think?) Ford’s, on the lower east side, surrounded by the technorati, glitterati, and all other manner of descriptive terms for young, pretty, newly and soon-to-be rich people, before we discovered that they were called “influencers.”

This bar is a proper dive. Not quite “you could destroy everything in here and you’d be out like fifteen bucks” but still well into “you’re gonna need more than a new paint job once the artisan cheese shops roll into this neighborhood.” Put in 2009 money, we were still getting five dollar beers in Manhattan, so do with that what you will.

Back to the story: right around 1:30AM, I’m thinking three things: 1) I would very much like to slam an inordinate amount of pizza into my mouth, 2) I probably need to use the restroom before I do so, and 3) The four or five people I’m with are probably feeling the same way. So I check in with my crew, tell them I’m gonna hit the head and then we’re gonna hit some pizza. First things first though: I gotta get some crucial info from the bartender.

I saunter up to the bar and ask where I can get a slice. The sole bartender, a man who is both younger and exponentially cooler than me, tells me “New York’s best pizza is two blocks up and one left.”

“New York’s best?” I clarify, because wouldn’t that be a coincidence?

“Yep, New York’s best pizza. Two blocks up, one left.”

Well, I know that everyone thinks they know the best pizza in town, but this dude looks like he’s a perpetual trend setter, so it feels like it has a higher-than-average likelihood of relative goodness. Besides, I’ve assaulted my sense well past the realm of good taste, so as long as it’s not cooked on a literal garbage can, it should serve it’s purpose. I pop the directions into the old memory banks, and wander off through the broken door that indicates relief (and, in retrospect, possibly tetanus.)

True to its dive bar requirements, this restroom is super classy you guys. Just above the pee trough (like an actual six foot long trough that horses would drink out of) (in other circumstances) there’s a mirror where someone has carved “Smoke Beer” - a particular exercise that I contemplate for far too long. Is this a flavor profile of some cheeky new porter? Are they suggesting you replace your bong water with Budweiser? Or is this an actual “get a beaker and some burners and let’s get high in the science lab” situation?

Regardless, my attention turns back to the core mission: Operation Pizza Face Hole Intersection. So I push away the culinary suggestion, zip up, and return to the main room to find…no one.

I don’t mean my friends were gone. I mean that when I left to pee, there was somewhere between 150 and 200 people in this bar, and now there were two. And I was one of them. The other one is a bartender, but very crucially, not the bartender I was just speaking to one or two or five hundred billion minutes ago. This is a new bartender. He’s older. And has a beard. This is very distinctly a different person, but I’m still hung up on the reality that there is no one else in this bar except for him and me.

I look at this new bartender. He looks at me. I look around to see if maybe my friends are hiding behind something, but this place doesn’t even have tables, let alone hiding spaces. I look back. He’s still looking at me. So I do the only logical thing to do in this scenario: I run away.

Outside, I pull out my blackberry (shut up) and call my friends. Voicemail. Every one. No one picks up. I text them “where the fuck are you assholes” but drunkenly, on a keyboard the size of a postage stamp, so they don’t write back, even to clarify whether I just had a stroke.

Something has definitely gone horribly wrong. I am very drunk in a strange part of a strange city. Everyone I know and several dozen complete strangers have been Thanos-snapped into the ether of the universe. I am alone and have no real understanding of how to get home from here. But, you know, I also still really want pizza. So I do the only thing that truly makes sense in this scenario: I start walking towards pizza.

One block up, things start getting weird(er). Now weird in nighttime Manhattan isn’t quite as weird as it used to be, and I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Venice Beach, so my weird meter is a little skewed compared to most people. But it’s as-near-as-matters-2am now and the streets of the lower east side are deserted, except for…

Look, there’s no way to say this without sounding like I’m writing a David Lynch spec, so I’m just gonna say it and you’re gonna have to trust me here.

Directly in front of me there is a group of a dozen or so seven to ten year old girls playing double dutch in the middle of the street. A totally normal sight at 2pm - less so at 2am. There are no adults here. Or anywhere. Except me. And right as I notice them, they notice me. They don’t stop their monotone chanting, they just continue to do so while swiveling their heads to follow me like a leopard follows a [whatever leopards eat - I’m not looking it up on Wikipedia right now.]

So once again: empty streets in the LES, except for me and a gaggle of girls wielding a pair of twin jump ropes. And chanting. I briefly wonder if they’re okay and why they’re out here all along performing what’s starting to sound more and more like some pagan ritual before I keep fucking walking because there’s no scenario in which any good comes from me stopping and hanging around. But I start thinking that I need a witness here.

The blessing of living in California and spending a lot of time in New York is actually time. More specifically, that you can call your girlfriend at what’s almost your 2AM and she’ll still be up and wondering what the absolute fuck you’re talking about when you open with “I hope I didn’t wake you but everyone disappeared and I’m kind of scared because there’s this creepy group of girls playing double dutch but I think it’s going to be alright because I’m walking to get pizza.”

We’d been together for a while at that point, so thankfully I’d build up a reservoir of good graces to pull from in moments like these.

Witness achieved, I told her precisely (ish) where I was, so the police could find my body, and continued my Epic Pizza Quest. Two blocks up, and one block left, where I found…

New York’s Best Pizza. That’s the goddamned name. Motherfucking hipster bartenders.

It’s open, for some reason, and empty for good reason, but after some back and forth that includes “well I don’t have any and I’d have to make a full pizza” and “I understand but I don’t want a full fucking pizza, I just want a slice” I get a couple slices and, for lack of anything better to do, decide to head back to Ford’s.

Now you might be asking yourself, dear reader, why I would march back through a fae revelry towards a crack in the universe, and that’s a very good question. The answer is that I was very drunk at the time.

So back I went.

The children were still there, still playing double dutch. (In my memory of this, they’re doing everything slowly and in a minor key, but it’s likely they were normal speed and tone, and I was just perceiving things slowly for chemical reasons.) My phone comes out again and I subtly (HA) narrate my way through this gauntlet to my girlfriend (and for the police report) and back towards the bar/Tardis.

Which brings us to our climax. See, there’s something even more disconcerting than leaving a restroom to find an erstwhile packed bar with naught but tumbleweeds, and that’s coming back to the deserted bar and finding it full again. Like packed full. Like normal full. Like Digital Media Event after party full. You know, like you remembered it pre-restroom (which is as weird a sentence to type as it is, I imagine, to read.)

I immediately run into my friends, who not only know nothing at all about the empty bar, but proclaim that they’ve been looking for me for “like an hour.” They’ve called and texted me, they say, which is ludicrous because I’ve been using my phone and I would have…

I looked at my phone. I had seven missed calls. A dozen texts. None of which were on my phone when I used it just moments ago, but all of which were timestamped over the past hour-ish.

I call my girlfriend again. Please pick up.

“Did you just talk to me and did I just tell you about everyone disappearing and the bar being totally empty and the weird creepy double dutch girls and getting into an argument with the pizza guy at New York’s Best Pizza?” I shouted into the phone, to the absolute horror of my friends (who were probably wondering what legal obligations they had to return me to my hotel and/or the insane asylum before I hurt myself.)

“Yes…” she responded, probably wondering what obligations she had to guide me to my hotel and/or the insane asylum before I hurt myself.

“Good!” I shouted, and promptly hung up, having proven my sanity, but really testing the depths of that aforementioned reservoir of goodwill. She would later tell me that somehow the second phone call was weirder than the first.

Moving past my friends, I stormed back into the bar. The bartender (the first one, the hipster one, the human one) clocked me coming in, but before he could open his mouth to ask what was probably going to be a very friendly question about whether I found the pizza place, or did I want to close out the tab I’d left open, instead got to be on the receiving end of me shouting “You sent me to a really fucking weird pizza place!” before marching out the door; thus cementing my reputation as a gifter of bizarre and inexplicable social interactions, and the probable punchline to someone else’s very different story.

For the rest of the week, my friends would swear up, down, sideways, sober, and drunk that no, the bar did not empty out; no, this was not a prank; no, they didn’t see me leave; and yes, they were in the very full and active bar the entire time I was gone.

It’s ten years later, and I don’t have an explanation for this event. I wouldn’t say it haunts me, but it’s definitely one of the weirder things that’s ever happened to me. And weirder still, in writing down this modern pizza-driven Brigadoon, I looked up Ford’s and New York’s Best Pizza just to see if I remembered their names right - and I can’t find any trace of either of them.

I’m still with the same girlfriend, and she still remembers the phone calls (vividly), but no one else was actually there, so no one else can verify the very weird set of events and circumstances that happened late that night, and into the early morning, across a series of overlapping universes.

Somewhere, out there in the ether of the multiverse, I imagine one version of me is still wondering where everyone went and yearning for a slice of New York’s Best Pizza.

#Personal

[bigfootwrites]

Danse Macabre: Adventures of Mr Mulder and Dr Scully (3/ )

AO3 link because I no longer have the Tumblr links. 

This is dark (as a fic) so it might not be everyone’s cup of tea which is cool. Also, if you’re not Mulder and Scully I’m going to have creative freedom with you.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface let me know if you want to be tagged.

- - - 

WHY CHILDREN? 

“I want access to Duane Barry!”

Skinner’s head lifts to the door, an interviewee spins in his chair.

An interview is taking place. An interview Mulder has seemed to have interrupted.

But Mulder does not care. He challenges Skinner, silently demanding his access to the man be granted.

“Excuse us,” Skinner says to his interviewee. A hand his placed on Mulder’s arm, forcefully leading him out of the office.

“Why have I been denied access to Duane Barry?” Mulder asks.

Skinner shakes his head. “An order was sent down from the top,” the other man says. “It was out of my control.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Mulder blazes. “I was just meant to find out when I got there.” His voice rises, catching the attention of a few other detectives close by.

Skinner quietens his voice when he speaks.

“I intended on telling you earlier but then I got stuck with this.” He gestures towards his office to where the interviewee sits inside.

Mulder looks that way, seeming to understand that Skinner wasn’t the one to be angry with here and nods.

“Is there anything you can do about it?” He asks. “You asked me on this case, after all.”

Skinner shakes his head.

“I heard they wanted to keep this to police business.”

Police business, Mulder thinks. Keep it to police business so they can wrap it up and chuck it away.

Skinner sighs and Mulder knows his time is up yet before they go their separate ways, Skinner calls to him.

“I’ll see if I can fix this, Mulder.”

Mulder nods, though he doesn’t get his hopes up.

.:.:.:.:.:.

A body beneath the sheets. Medical instruments perfectly laid out in a line on a tray. Mulder eyes the knife-looking one, picks it up, plays with it, cuts his finger, and drops it onto the floor in response.

He sucks his finger into his mouth.

What made him come here, he is unsure.

“Do you not have work to do, Mr Mulder?” She’s asking upon seeing him sitting there.

As she nears, he notices the cut she was sporting on her lip a few days ago has all but healed. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look like it hurts to smile anymore.

“That would depend upon your definition of what my work is,” he says. “I’ve been denied access to Duane Barry so I can’t do that.” One of her eyebrows quirks up in question but he doesn’t answer it. “If you mean my other work…Yes, I love walking around a mental institution stopping little children from bashing their heads against a wall because Mommy dearest didn’t tell them they loved them when they went to bed every night.”

It’s cynical to say that of a place he should be proud of. He helps children get better, bloom into functioning adults who learned how to hide their flaws. Yes, he should be very proud of himself.

It’s the anger, he tells himself. He’s just angry.

Scully doesn’t comment on his little outburst, she just looks down towards his finger that was still in pain and now aching.

“You’re bleeding,” she says.

Yes, he is, thank you for noticing.

Mulder holds his bloodied and dripping finger up.

“Do you have anything?” he asks.

Scully spies the cause of his wound on the floor.

After picking it up, she walks to a cupboard taking out some pieces of cloth. She returns, reaching for his hand and bringing it towards her.

“Did your mother never tell you not to play with sharp objects?” she asks as she applies pressure to the wound.

Mulder watches his finger.

“My mother never told me she loved me,” he answers with too much blasé. “I might have been referencing myself earlier on.”

A flit of a smile appears across her face. She moves onto wrapping his finger up.

“You are very strange, Mr Mulder.”

Mulder smiles, looking up at her as she finally ties the cloth securely around his finger. He likes her. He likes her a lot.

“Can I take you to lunch, Dr Scully?”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s dressed in black even on such a hot day as this, like she’s always in mourning.

And Mulder supposes somebody who cuts into people for a living would be.

Her auburn hair is tied back into a bun, a hat sits nicely atop her head. She sits with her back up straight, eats daintily from the food on her plate, acts very much like a woman of high standing.

Acts.

Mulder knows that’s not the case.

Middle class is too high for her. Slums? No, that was too low. Slightly higher up. If she ran around bare foot it was of her own choosing.

Her grandfather was Irish, maybe even her father if her accent was anything to go by but she was very much born in New York. Not the city, outside of it. The smaller towns. With guidance, she was killing chickens at the ripe age of seven. By nine she was Chief Chicken Killer, ringing their necks and cutting them up herself. Later, she would do this for a living- the cutting at least. To feed her family. To help serve justice. All for the greater good.

And she’s beaten at home for it.

Mulder didn’t need a gift to know that.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m not doing anything,” he answers calmly with a sip of his tea.

“Stop it,” she demands.

“Stop what?” he asks.

A sigh.

“Ask me.”

He is confused.

“Ask you?”

“Ask me the question you’ve been dying to ask me.”

She’s lost him.

“I don’t know what that question is,” he says placing down his tea. Truly.

Another sigh. She looks out of the window. If it were dark, she would see her own reflection. She frowns, a shadow passing across her face.

“You pity me,” she says.

“I certainly do not,” Mulder says with a shake of his head. “You are more than capable.”

She looks at him, trying to suss him out.

“So why did you ask me for lunch?”

He shrugs.

“I think you’re an interesting person.”

“You don’t know me.”

Mulder grins.

“Let’s see…You’re name is Dana Katherine Scully. You trained as a doctor and you are a pathologist for the New York City Police Department. You talk to dead bodies like they’re still alive and then proceed to cut into them. I would say that makes you interesting.”

That eyebrow rises again. This time, curious.

“Is that all?” she asks as if she’s waiting for something else.

“What do you mean?”

She laughs as if he’s playing, quietly, so people don’t hear her.

“You’re not as unknown as you think you are, Mr Mulder.”

Mulder swallows, feeling nervous.

.:.:.:.:.:.

This part of ‘lunch’ was completely spontaneous.

Neither of them have any important matters to attend to and besides, Mulder was enjoying her company.

It turns out she isn’t so unknown either. People seem to look at them as they walk through the street, gawking and muttering to whoever is closest to them. Gossiping, Mulder remembers it’s called. He wants to get inside their heads, find out what’s so interesting about the pair.

Scully walks with her head held high, uncaring for the stares, it’s almost like she doesn’t notice them.

They catch a cab the rest of the way, shielding them from any more whispers or stares.

Mulder keeps their destination a secret for reasons unknown to even himself until the tall, iron gates appear before them, words written: Golden Heights Psychiatric Hospital for Children.

“Your asylum?” Scully asks, both intrigued and confused as to why she’s been brought here.

“The best children’s asylum in the country, I’ve heard.”

It earns him a smile from her and he helps her from the carriage.

“So why have you brought me here?” Scully asks as Mulder unlocks the gate.

“I don’t really know myself.” The gate unlocks and he allows her to enter first, holding it open so she can walk through, closing and locking it behind him. “It’s been a while. I wanted to check if things were still running smoothly.”

Scully nods and they make their way up the path towards the hospital. Four storeys tall it stands. It was wide, too, the end unseeable from their vantage point currently.

It was one of the biggest hospitals in the city, a house that once belonged to some fancy man who’s name Mulder doesn’t care to remember. It’s his now. For better or for worse.

As they near the building, it’s residents begin to appear. All children as the establishment would suggest, all of different ages. Mulder takes in children from the ages of five to seventeen. They leave, soon after they turn eighteen and rarely does Mulder ever hear from them again.

They play. Running around after a ball, playing with skipping ropes or hopscotch. They look normal. Mulder wants them to feel normal.

“Live patients,” Scully is saying, looking at the children as they pass.

“Makes a change to dead ones?”

She looks at him.

“You can’t cut their brains open and peer inside.”

Mulder shakes his head. “No, you cannot.”

He spies a staff member exiting out into the yard. He can get what he came for and they can go again.

“Excuse me,” he says to Scully and wanders over to his employee.

Dana is left in the yard. She glances around at all the children who play, unsure what to do with herself.

As her eyes scan the area, she sees a little girl about seven sat on her own. She’s playing with something, a boardgame maybe.

“Hello,” Dana says to the girl. Why she wandered over to this one, she’s not sure. There was something about her, her short strawberry blonde hair or the way she sat alone, playing by herself whilst the other children played with each other.

“I’m Dana,” Dana continues. “What are you playing?” She wonders around to stand in front of the girl.

Before her is a checkerboard. The little girl moves a red piece, there’s nobody around to move the black.

Dana finds herself kneeling before the girl.

“Do you need someone to play with?” she asks.

The girl shakes her head. “I have someone to play with,” she proclaims.

“Who?”

The little girl’s eyes move towards an empty space next to Dana, before moving back to lock onto Dana again.

“Elizabeth,” says the girl.

Dana smiles. “Do you play with Elizabeth a lot?”

But the little girl is frowning.

“She doesn’t like it when you say her name.”

An uneasiness overcomes Dana, her smile falters, and she shifts her legs beneath her.

“Right. Sorry.” The smile is back. “Do you and your friend play together often?”

But the girl isn’t listening. She’s looking to where ‘Elizabeth’ is sitting, her face looking conflicted.

Wanting to help the child, Dana asks, “What’s wrong?”

The girl swallows and licks her lips, her eyes drifting over to Dana’s.

“Elizabeth said I have to hurt you.”

Dana’s blood goes cold.

.:.:.:.:.:.

A few patients causing trouble here and there but, for the most part, the hospital was functioning well.

Mulder thanks the staff member and his eyes drift over to where he left Scully. She’s gone from the place they were standing but not too far. He finds her sitting on the grass, talking to a girl.

His blood goes cold when he realises who that girl is.

Keeping his cool, Mulder strides towards them, his stomach coiling and heart beating fast.

He reaches the pair in no time, just in time, a gently taps the small girl on her shoulder.

“Emily,” Mulder says and the girl turns towards him. “I think it’s time you should go in now.”

Emily nods, picking up her checkerboard. She’s about to run inside when Mulder stops her.

“Take Elizabeth with you.”

“Come on, Elizabeth,” says Emily before disappearing off.

Mulder looks to Scully still sitting on the ground, looking shaken. He holds out his hand, helping her up.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She smooths the grass stains from her skirt.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

Mulder shakes his head. “No, Emily is very deceiving.”

He guides them over to a nearby bench and they sit, watching the other children play.

“Before Emily was brought here,” Mulder begins. “She had been found as the only surviving member of her family. They had all been killed except her.” He hears Scully suck in a breath. “They never told me the specifics but when Emily was asked to tell the police what had happened, she told them that her friend Elizabeth had killed them all.” He glances a look at Scully, she’s listening intently, her fingers laced together and fidgeting. “It was realised quickly that ‘Elizabeth’ didn’t exist. Emily had killed them. And so Emily was brought to me.”

There’s no sound from Scully and Mulder has to physically check she is still there.

“How…” Scully starts. “How old was she?”

“She was five.”

A breath is released. “Poor girl,” says Scully.

It surprised Mulder but perhaps it shouldn’t have.

“You’re the first to have that reaction.” He reaches over and squeezes her hand before looking back out to the yard. “Not all the children are like Emily. Most are brought to me because they have behavioural problems or they begin acting out sexual tendencies too early. Some cry too often or don’t cry at all. It depends on the parent.” He looks back at her to find she’s still listening. He shrugs. “Not every child is an Emily yet some people seem to think they are.”

Sometimes it made Mulder sad to think of all the children who had been brought to him, that if they just had different parents, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Why children?” Scully is asking. “Why do you specialise in children?”

He smiles. “For the same reason I believe in aliens and UFOs.”

Scully, rightly, is confused.

But that was a story for another time.

Mulder stands, holding out his hand again.

“Let me take you home,” he says and Scully is reaching for his hand immediately.

“Please.”

Together, they walk back towards the gate, as the whistle sounds, and all the children run back inside.

#danse macabre #danse macabre 3 #dark shit #i write

[baronessblixen]

Crazy request for Sharing a Bed prompts (feel free to ignore) Can you write something using all of them??!!

Anon, I did it. I used all the prompts. I know it’s been a few days since the list went around, but they’re all in here. 

Mulder and Scully are forced to share one bed while in quarantine. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

Four Days of Me And You

“What do you mean we have to stay here?” Scully stares at him, her eyes narrowed. Her half-packed suitcase sits on the bed and she drops a pair of socks into it. “This is a joke, right? You’re joking?” Her eyes are pleading with him.

When they checked in last night, neither of them paid much mind to the receptionist with the small, red eyes and the hoarse voice. It was late, both of them exhausted and in need of a shower. They were happy to find a motel at all, after hours of driving. There was one room left and they took it grudgingly. Well, Scully did. Mulder was smirking. He couldn’t have known that the floor was so rancid that Scully would invite him into the advertised Queen-sized bed that was barely a double.

“Not joking,” Mulder says, pushing a cup of coffee at Scully. “We’re under quarantine.”

“For what?” Her voice is unusually squeaky.

Mulder shrugs, biting into a croissant. “You go talk to them.”

“To whom? Mulder, if this is a joke and you’re-“

“I’m not joking.” He touches her shoulder and gently leads her to the window. The glass is dirty, shows a fine greasy film and several fingerprints. “Look.” Outside, Scully watches a team of hazmat-suits sealing off the premises. She swallows hard, her heart pounding.

“How long?” She asks, taking a step back from the window and bumping into Mulder’s large frame.

“Four days.”

“Why are you so calm about this? Aren’t you worried at all?”

He shrugs. “You’re here,” is all he says and it renders her speechless.

*

She doesn’t know how they make it through the first day, but they do. Despite his earlier displays of indifference, Mulder, much like his namesake, turns restless once the sun sets.

“Stop pacing,” Scully says, looking up from the novel she’s reading. She hasn’t read a novel – a romance of all things – in ages. “Go read a book. Watch some TV.”

“No,” he says, “do you think it’s safe to walk the hallways?”

“Better stay inside.”

He grins at her. “Want to keep me to yourself, Scully?”

“I want to keep the outside contact as minimal as possible,” she answers matter-of-factly. “I have to sleep with you after all.”

“You do?” The grin widens.

“In the same bed, Mulder. Not as in…” she clears her throat, pretends to be engrossed in her reading material. She hears Mulder chuckle he continues his strange exercise regime, walking up and down the small room.

How are they going to survive four days together trapped in this room? And, she dares a look at Mulder again, his back turned to her, three nights in the same bed. In that small, tiny bed. Together. Last night, she was asleep before her head even hit the pillow. Tonight, though, if Mulder’s current behavior is any indication, she won’t be so lucky.

Mulder, with a dramatic sigh, plops down on the bed, taking up most of the space, and turns on the TV. He zaps through the channels, never dwelling long until he settles on a game show. For the next hour, he mumbles the answers whenever the candidates are clueless. Scully sighs, relieved that Mulder, at least for the moment, is occupied, and she can return to the fictional love story that’s grabbed her attention.

The next time she looks up from her book, the game show has ended and has made room for a sitcom with canned laughter. She checks on Mulder and is surprised to find him asleep, sprawled across the bed with his head on one pillow, his arms around the other. She closes the book and tiptoes over.

“Mulder?” She ruffles his soft hair, hoping it will wake him up, but he doesn’t stir. “Hey, Mulder,” she tries again, her hand brushing his sleep-warm cheek. He makes a noise that’s half a grumble and half a sigh. “You’re using my favorite pillow,” she says to him, trying to pry it from his arms. His hold tightens.

“Mine,” he mumbles, sounding half-asleep.

“I need one, too,” she reminds him. When he refuses to let go of the pillow, she decides to take more drastic steps. She grabs the pillow from under his head and tugs at it. Hard. Mulder’s eyes shoot open and he stares at her.

“What?” He blinks at her tiredly.

“Scoot over,” she says with a not so gentle shove. Mulder’s movements are sluggish, but he obeys. “Why do you take up so much space?” She complains as she crawls into bed beside him, wrestling for the comforter.

He is still, no snarky answer from his side of the bed, and his breathing even. Scully puts her head on her hard-earned pillow that smells like sleep, but even more so like Mulder. She watches him sleep, observes how his mouth goes slack and his lashes curl against his cheekbones. There’s an imprint of the pillow on his cheek that’s tempting her. She doesn’t touch him, but watches him until she, too, falls asleep.

*

“You know, Scully,” Mulder says before she’s even opened her eyes, “sharing the same bed doesn’t mean sharing the same pillow too.”

“What?” She asks, a whiff of morning breath hitting her and she has no idea if it’s her own or Mulder’s. “What are you talking about?”

“Your head,” he says, tipping a finger against her temple, “is on my pillow.”

“Oh?” She yawns, her mind slow to catch up. The bed is warm, so is the pillow, so is Mulder. Her eyes drift close again as a smile breaks out on her face.

“Scully,” Mulder nags, “your head, my pillow. Stay on your side unless you actually want to cuddle.” Her eyes are still closed so she can’t see him, but she hears the lightness in his voice.

“It’s only fair,” she mumbles into the surprisingly soft pillow, “you were hogging both pillows last night.”

“I was not.”

“You were.”

“Fine, keep the pillow. But I’m using it too.” She blames it on it being early morning, on just waking up. When Mulder lays down again, his head so close to hers that their hair touches and their noses bump, she doesn’t move. Her eyes are open now and grow wide, but she doesn’t move away.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Morning breath,” Scully replies. She doesn’t mind it at all, revels in their intimacy. But Mulder doesn’t need to know that. Being this close to him, sharing his warmth, feeling his chest expand against hers as he breathes, feels good. Most of all, it feels right. It’s as if they’ve been waking up like this for years.

“If you want me to move, you have to pay with a kiss.” He closes his eyes and puckers up. She considers it for a second or two. It would be so easy. Just to see his reaction if, for once, she were to play his game of innuendo. He peaks at her through a half-lidded eye and the moment is gone.

Without a word, she rolls away from him and gets up. His eyes bore into her as she makes her way over to the bathroom. She looks at her face, her slightly pink cheeks and her ruffled hair. Her lips are full, throbbing with the desire to be kissed. She touches them and wonders what it would have felt like had she closed the small distance between them.

*

“Reading a book this late?” Mulder is standing behind her chair, his head almost level with hers. A few droplets of water drip from his still wet hair onto her neck. She shudders and turns to him, an angry glare in her eyes.

“Mulder!”

His sheepish smile is disarming. “You looked pretty,” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “pretty busy.”

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Just curious what’s got you so engrossed. I’ve never seen you read anything with this much passion unless it was a medical journal.”

“It’s called a novel, Mulder.”

“What’s it about?”

“Are you aware that your hair is wet?”

“I am. What’s the novel about?”

“You can read it once I’m done with it.” She wishes she could send him to his own motel room. Or downstairs. Just… away. But he’s here. He’s staring at her, pouting and waiting, claiming her personal space. It’s only their second day and it’s not him losing his nerves, it’s her.

“I don’t want to read it,” he says, “hey Scully, why don’t you read it to me?”

“No,” she says quickly, staring at the letters in front of her, knowing exactly where the man and in the woman in the story are heading.

“Then I’ll do it.” Mulder has snatched the paperback from her hands before she can react. “Let’s see… ‘come on, Nick, this is crazy’”, Mulder chuckles, looking at her. Scully bites her lip, having already read that part. She knows what comes next. She knows exactly what Mulder is going to say any moment. Her whole body grows taut in anticipation.

“’He walks to where I am, the intensity of his eyes making it impossible for me to move away. You just looked me in the eyes, Sarah, and told me sex is all you want from me, so let’s do it. Fuck me until all your urges are satisfied. Fuck me until you can’t think straight anymore. Let’s just fuck, Sarah, and then, if that’s what you want, I’ll disappear from your life forever.’”

The room falls quiet and Scully is afraid to look at Mulder. She feels warm, uncomfortably so. Her hands grip the armrest, needing to hold on to something.

“Um,” Mulder says, clearing his throat, “Is that the kind of… literature you like, Scully?”

“No,” she answers too quickly. It’s none of his business that she used to borrow her mother’s romance novels whenever she came home from college. “There’s not much to do here, as you very well know.”

“Hmmm.” He nods, handing back her novel. “I probably should have waited taking a shower.” He winks at her.

“Shower,” she says as if it were a salvation. “I haven’t taken one today.” She throws the book at Mulder and he catches it, looking dumbfounded. For the second time that day, Scully flees into the bathroom.

Get a grip, she says to her reflection. Maybe it’s her who needs a cold shower.

When she returns, Mulder is in bed already. Who knew that all it took to regulate Mulder’s sleeping hours was a good, old quarantine. His eyes are closed, but she knows he isn’t sleeping. She brushes her damp hair and slips into bed.

“Hey, your feet are freezing!” Mulder sits up in bed, glancing at her.

“Sorry,” she says, unable to hide her smile. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Your cold feet can wake dead people, Scully. Get under the covers.” His voice turns soft and she feels warmer already.

“You smell good,” he says. She can smell him, too. They’re too damn close here in their motel room and this tiny, tiny bed.

“I smell exactly the same way you do.” They’ve been issued shampoo and shower gel, along with three meals every day. Mulder’s already displaying Pavlovian behavior, jumping up from whatever surface he’s currently on as soon as they hear the now familiar knocks at their door.

She reminds herself that this is not a vacation. They’re here because they might have caught a serious disease. So far neither she nor Mulder show any symptoms.

“What are you thinking about?” Mulder asks her. “Your sexy novel?”

“This quarantine.”

“You think we might have caught this virus?”

“No, I just- I don’t think so, no. I know it’s just a precaution. I know I washed my hands thoroughly.” She glares at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I took a shower after we got to our room.”

“About 69 % of men don’t wash their hands after using the bathroom.”

“69, huh?” She slaps him playfully and he laughs. “I promise you that I’m in the 31 % tile. What would- if one of us had it, what would happen?”

“I honestly don’t know, Mulder.”

“I wouldn’t leave you here.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were infected and I wasn’t, I wouldn’t leave.”

“That’s ridiculous.” But his words make her heart pound.

“We’re in Idaho, Scully. I’m not gonna leave you here all alone.”

“You could get infected, too.”

“So be it. I’ve got my doctor with me.” He nudges her side. She loses herself in his gaze, in its intensity. What were the lines from the novel? The intensity of his eyes making it impossible to move away. She knows what that’s like. They stare at each other, blink in tandem, breathe in sync.

“We should try to get some sleep,” she says quietly, breaking the spell.

“The voice of reason,” Mulder says, his voice low.

“One of us has to be.”

“Good night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

*

The next morning, Scully wakes with sunbeams on her nose and Sunday on her mind. She smiles without opening her eyes and yawns. She thinks of making pancakes, of lounging on her couch, reading a book. Enjoying the quietness and the coziness her home provides. She stretches languidly until her feet encounter an obstacle.

“Eeep! Get those feet away from my back!” Reality grabs her and she turns quickly, staring at a wild-haired, crazy-eyed Mulder. “Why are your feet still so damn cold?”

“You ruined the blankets last night,” she says, pointing at the crumpled mess at the foot of the bed. “That’s why.”

“Yeah well, one more night and you’re rid of me.” His back is to her so he can’t see the hurt on her face. Up until now, they’ve gotten along so well. She thinks back to last night, their shared moment, their closeness.

“Mulder?” He ignores her. She reaches out a hand and touches his shirt-clad back. She feels the tension under her fingertips. She strokes his back in gentle circles as if to soothe him. Or maybe it’s to soothe herself. “Are you okay?” She asks. What she really wants to ask him if they’re okay.

“I didn’t sleep well,” he says to the wall. “I just need a moment.”

She gives him a moment. Actually, she gives him hundreds of moments throughout the day. They give each other space, always stay a few feet away from each other, waiting for the other’s next move, like two fencers.

Scully curls up in the chair and leaves the rest of the room to Mulder. He does sit-ups, he curses, eats and showers. She tries to read her novel, get lost again, and finds herself reading the same passages over and over. He hasn’t said the words, but she knows Mulder had a nightmare last night. The covers were her first hint. Trapped in here, he hasn’t been able to let off steam, to run it off or deal with it in his own, Mulderish way.

The first whole sentence he speaks to her comes in the evening and his voice sounds loud in her ears. “Turn off the light, I can’t sleep.”

“It’s only 8 pm.”

“So?” Grumpy Mulder is insufferable.

“I’m not tired. I want to finish my book.”

“I know how it ends.”

“Great, I don’t.”

“Scully, I really want to sleep.”

“And I really want to finish this book. You don’t have any problem sleeping with the TV on. Why is this such a big deal?”

“Are they having sex yet?”

“Excuse me?”

“The people from your book. Are they having sex yet?”

“You said you know how it ends.”

“I do,” he says, propping his head on his elbow. “What’s happening right now?”

“Not tired anymore?”

“I need a bedtime story.”

“I don’t-“

“Just read a few lines.” Now it’s her who wishes the lights were out. How does Mulder do this? How does he know exactly which moments to choose?

“Fine,” she says, licking her lips. “’He pushes his hand under my shirt and it brushes against…” she stops, her cheeks burning up.

“Against?” Mulder presses. His body does, too. When did he get so close to her? She should have stayed in her chair, at a safe distance from him.

“’against the curve of my breast’”.

“Hmmm. Do you… do you like that, Scully?”

“Do I like what?”

He doesn’t answer, not with words anyway. Today, it seems, they don’t have words. Don’t need them. His hand sneaks under her pajama top while his eyes remain on hers. She only has to say a word and he will stop.

“Go on,” he says and his eyes join in, ask silently.

“’His hand closes around my breast,’” she continues and pants, her body awaiting his next move. As Mulder’s hand, warm, rough and yet so tender, closes around her own breast, brushing her nipple, she moans. The book falls from her hand and she touches him, needing to feel his skin.

“Hey, what about your novel?” He asks, his eyes piercing her.

“I know how it ends.”

“You do?”

“They make love.” Mulder’s thumb is gently stroking her breast, waiting.

“Do they?” His question is soft, laced with a hint of uncertainty. “Is that… is that what you want?”

She nods, not trusting her voice. “But Mulder… I need to know something.” He waits for her to go on. “This morning, you – this whole day you just… I want to know if you’re only doing this because you had a bad night and don’t know how else to deal with it.”

“Bad night – Scully, why do you think I was cranky all day? Because of a nightmare?” She nods slowly, doubts creeping into her mind. “No. It was the opposite.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare, Scully. I had a good dream. A very good dream.” That intense stare is back and then she gets it.

“You had a-“

“Sex dream about you? Yes. So no, I’m not doing this because I had a nightmare. I’m not doing it because I’m horny either, if that was your next question. All day, all I wanted was to talk to you, hold you, kiss you. I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.”

“Why did you wait so long?” She asks with a hoarse voice.

“It’s not too late yet, is it?”

“We still have about 13 hours in this motel room. Is that going to be enough time for you?”

“No,” he says, his face drawing closer, “but it’s a start.” He kisses her, devouring her mouth as if he was starving. She kisses him back in the same fashion. The hand around her breast tightens and she moans against his lips. Mulder starts moving against her and her body follows suit. They’ve always been a good team. When his erection comes into contact with her own sex, she presses up against him. Their desire overwhelms them, transforms from gentle to desperate in mere seconds. Mulder’s hand slips between them and under the waistband of her pajama pants.

“Did you ever think,” she pants against his mouth, “it would happen like this?”

“In quarantine?” He asks, sounding as if he’s been sprinting. “Or in a seedy motel?”

His fingers find her wetness and she forgets what she asked him, forgets how to answer. She only knows the rush of sensation, of knowing that Mulder is touching her this way. Nothing matters but Mulder’s weight on her. She wills herself to concentrate and open her eyes. Mulder’s expression is something she’s never seen before. His face is open and vulnerable as if pleading with her not to hurt him. She kisses him, needing to feel the sweep of his tongue again.

“Naked,” she says, “need you naked.”

They undress each other, their eyes exploring new territory with every piece of clothing discarded. Neither of them can keep their hands to themselves. They take their time, learn each other’s bodies in detail and without rush. Until Scully can’t take it anymore. She reaches into his boxers and palms his penis, gently stroking his length.

“Scully,” he moans into her mouth. “This is very – nice, but,” he ends with another moan, one that almost sounds painful.

“Nice?” She asks, staring at him and falling in love with him a million times over. The expression on his face is one of pure ecstasy. She did this to him. With a simple touch. “Enjoying yourself, Mulder?” she asks when he moves against her, thrusting slowly into her hand.

“I want to be inside you or this is going to be very embarrassing very soon.”

Together, they yank off his boxers and her panties. Mulder stops, drinks in her sight, and sighs. If she thought she saw love on his face before, she must admit that she was wrong. This is love. The expression on his face is full of wonder, as if he were asking her how he got here, why he of all people deserves it. She wants him to know that he does deserve this, her. Without taking her eyes off him she opens her legs for him.

“Scully,” his voice drips with arousal, “I just…” he doesn’t finish his thought and sinks between her legs, his mouth moving across her.

“God, Mulder.” She grips his hair, not caring if she’s causing him any pain. Pleasure shoots through her whole body, culminating where Mulder’s mouth licks and sucks expertly. The tell-tale tingle of her orgasm makes her pull Mulder up by his hair. He stares at her, his lips glistening. He licks her off him, beaming.

“Get up here.”

“I was enjoying myself,” he complains but climbs up, settling his weight on her.

“Are you sure about this, Scully?” His cock throbs against her thigh, hot and heavy. She’s never been so sure about anything. Never been this ready. Before Mulder can have second thoughts, because she doesn’t have a single one, she reaches between them. Mulder sinks into her slowly, his mouth hanging open. Their eyes lock as he fills her, inch by delicious inch. Awe flashes over Mulder’s face and she wonders if hers reflects the same.

“Hi,” he says, sounding out of breath.

“Hi,” she repeats.

“Nice to meet you.” He thrusts once and she moans.

“Likewise.”

“I never thought- fuck, Scully. I knew we’d be, but – this is… this is…” She touches his face as he continues to move inside her, increasing the pace. “This is-“ he tries again, panting.

“Tell me later,” she moans, kissing him. And he nods, thrusting harder and faster until they both scream out; Scully flies first and her eyes close as wave after wave hits her. Mulder follows soon after and she watches as he falls apart in her arms.

*

“Mulder?” Scully asks groggily, her body slow and reluctant to wake up. She’s sore, pleasantly so, but feels sticky. It doesn’t surprise her considering that Mulder is wrapped around her like vine.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” He kisses her neck and nibbles on her skin. “Happy end of quarantine day.”

“Oh, is that today?” she jokes, trying to turn in his arms. “Mulder, I need to breathe.”

“Come on, we haven’t cuddled in days,” his kisses move south, pass by her clavicle and set path towards her breasts. “I need affection and you can’t avoid me if we share the same bed.”

“You think I’m going to avoid you when we’re no longer forced to share a room?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you if you wanted to spend a night or two without me. After all this. Don’t you?”

“What I want, Mulder, is to sleep with you in my own bed.”

“Sleep,” he asks, kissing his way back up and grinning. “Or sleep?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Sleep,” she says, kissing the corner of his mouth, “and sleep.”

“Who knew quarantine could be so much fun, huh?”

“Don’t get any ideas, Mulder,” she warns.

“Who? Me? The only idea I have in my head is to kiss you.”

“Well, that’s a good idea.”

#this took me all day #writing sex takes time apparently #qurantine and one bed fic! #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic #Anonymous

[atths--twice]

Fighting for the Future

We have all wondered how Scully and Mulder got home from Antarctica. Many people have written stories with their interpretations of what could have happened.

Here is mine. I hope you like it.

It was bitingly cold. The wind felt like a million knives cutting into her flesh, her wet hair a frozen headpiece. She held him close, her cheek to his forehead, absolutely certain this was where they would die. White all around, no chance to escape the wide expanse before them.

Scully closed her eyes, the thought of how they got there unknown to her, in fact she did not even know where there was. Raising her head, she looked down at Mulder, his eyes still shut, as a shiver went through her. She needed to get up, get them away from where they were, but he was out cold and she did not have the strength to help him.

“Mmmm.” She heard him moan and no sound had ever sounded sweeter.

“Mulder,” she said, her teeth chattering. “Mm-ul-der.” She touched his face and he opened his eyes, shock on his face.

“Scully!” He sat up and held her face in his hands, staring into her eyes. “You’re… oh God.” He looked to the skies and then back to her. Standing up quickly, he walked to the edge of the giant crater beside them. “Holy shit, we need to get out of here.”

He came over to her and helped her stand. Putting an arm around her waist and holding hers around his neck, he nodded at her. “You can do this. I have a vehicle just over those rocks, okay? If you need to stop, we will. Let’s go.” She nodded, her feet tingling from the cold as they began to move.

Twice they had to stop, her body unable to keep moving, too tired to walk quickly. Setting her in the snow, he held her close, keeping her warm as she panted out her exhaustion.

“We’re close,” he said into her freezing hair. “Almost there, Scully. Over the rocks and then it’s just on the other side. You’re doing great.” She closed her eyes, certain what little ground they had covered, could hardly be considered as great.

“I’m tired, Mulder. I’m cold,” she mumbled, wanting to fall asleep, surrender to the feelings weighing her down.

“You can sleep when we get to the vehicle, I promise. We need to keep going. If the sun goes down, we’re done for. Come on, you can do this.”

He pulled her up again, leading her up the rocks and to the crest. Standing and looking down, the vehicle could have been a mile or a hundred, it felt the same to her.

“Mulder… I can’t,” she whispered, staring at him, her feet freezing.

“Yeah, you can,” he said, and he held her upright as they made their way down the hill, stopping at the bottom. She dropped to her knees, then her stomach, her face in the snow. “Two minutes, Scully.” He fell beside her, lifting her head and laying it in his lap, brushing at her hair, keeping her close.

“Okay, once more and we should be there.” He pulled her up again and she breathed hard, shaking her head and leaning heavily into him. It was so close, so very close, but she simply could not do it.

“I can’t. Mulder, I’m so tired. I can’t.” She started to slip and he lifted her into his arms, her own going loosely around his neck. She could hear him breathing heavily and hated that he was suffering under her weight.

“Almost there. We’re almost there, Scully,” he panted out, his breathing harder with each step. She gripped his clothing, trying to do what she could to alleviate any heaviness.

Finally, he stopped. Turning her head, she saw they were by the vehicle. Setting her down gently, he took great deep breaths, his hand against the tracks of the snow vehicle.

“Okay, we need to get inside.” He helped her up onto the tracks, then climbed up and stood beside her. He opened the back door and helped her inside.

It was warmer in the cab, but not by much. As she fell onto the bench seat in the back, she felt him trying to remove her socks as he closed the door.

“I’ve got supplies under this bench. Clothes, socks, sleeping bags, blankets, flashlights, food, water… Scoot up a little and I can get them.”

She did as he asked, too tired to speak. She heard bags being placed around her, but she kept her eyes closed, not caring if she lived or died.

So cold, she thought, almost asleep, when she felt him shaking her.

“Open your eyes, Scully! Look at me!” She had a hard time focusing on him, but he pulled her up roughly, cursing as he did. “Don’t you fall asleep! Not yet. We need to get you changed into warmer clothes.” She nodded, his face becoming less blurry as she stared at him.

“Come on, here we go,” he said, unzipping her jacket and taking it off. She shivered violently, her hands coming up to cover her naked body. “Okay.” He put something over her head and then helped her put her arms inside and pulled it down. “Good. Next one.” Again something went over her head and her arms were placed inside. She raised her eyes to his and he nodded. “Now a vest. Then the jacket.” He put them on, pulling her hair out from inside and looking around.

Taking a rubber band from somewhere, he gathered her hair into a ponytail and clumsily tied it up. She smiled slightly, nodding her thanks. Already she was feeling warmer, her top half at least.

“Socks and pants now,” he said, reaching for the buttons of the pants. “Maybe if you lay down… I could do this easier.”

He helped her to lie down and she felt him taking off her pants, the cab cold once again as her bare flesh was exposed to the elements. She had no time to worry that he was seeing her completely nude, as her legs began to shake from the cold.

Following his quiet instructions, he had some pants on her quickly, then another pair, two pairs of socks, and then the pants she had been wearing.

“Mulder, these are your pants and your jacket. You’ll be cold,” she said, her eyes closing, the exhaustion washing over her, as he buttoned up her pants.

“I’m okay, Scully. I have boots for you, but I think they might be too big. But for now let’s get you in the sleeping bag. Come on, stand up.” He pulled on her jacket and brought her to a standing position.

Holding onto the seat in front of her, she leaned against it as he laid out the sleeping bag. She heard it unzip and then he guided her down, helping her to get inside comfortably. Closing her eyes, he covered her, shaking her shoulder as he did.

“Wait. You need some water.”

“Mulder, I just want to sleep. Please.”

“No, you’re dehydrated I’m sure. Here. Sit up a little. That’s it, just a few sips. Good. Okay, let me…” He pulled her hood up, closing it around her head and gently laid her down. She felt a blanket being laid on top of her and she sighed, her feet still slightly cold, but relatively warm everywhere else.

She heard him moving around, but she faded in and out. Voices she did not recognize, static, and Mulder’s worried voice, all presented themselves to her as she lay there. Opening her eyes, she saw him in front of her, his face blurry again.

“Are you warm enough? Do you need another blanket?” His voice was worried as he touched her, closing the sleeping bag tighter around her.

“I’m okay. Okay.” She tried to reassure him, but then she was asleep again.

Loud voices woke her and she opened her eyes, finding it nearly dark. Mulder was asleep, very close beside her, in a sleeping bag of his own. Hearing the voices again and seeing lights flashing, she panicked.

“Mulder. Mulder!” She brought her hand out and touched his face. “Mulder!!” His eyes flew open and he stared at her with wild eyes. “Someone is here. I can hear them.” He frowned and sat up, looking out the window, with a sigh.

“Oh, thank Christ. They made it. Stay put. They’re filling up the gas tank, and we needed it. The one extra tank I had ran out and the engine cut off over an hour ago,” he said, waving at someone outside. Looking back at her, he shivered and leaned in close. “Are you warm enough? Your feet, hands?” She nodded and he nodded curtly, getting out of his bag and laying it on top of her. He put his boots on and shivering again, he went outside without his coat.

She heard him speaking to someone but was unable to stay awake as she lay there. Fading out, she only awoke when she felt the vehicle moving, the engine extremely loud. Mulder was not at the wheel and not seeing him beside her, she sat up, fearful something had happened.

“I think your partner’s awake,” the driver chuckled and Mulder’s anxious face appeared around the passenger seat. He moved and came back to her, telling her to lie down and stay inside the sleeping bag.

“What’s going on? Where are we going? Who is that?” she asked, as he knelt beside her, covering her and then staring at her, the moon bright around them.

“His name is Cassy. Strangely enough, or perhaps not, he’s a friend of Langly’s. We’re heading back to his research base, and we should be there soon. About an hour and a half or so,” he said touching her face, his eyes soft and concerned. It was then that she noticed the bloody spot on his forehead.

“Mulder, what happened to you?!” She exclaimed, reaching to touch his face.

“Tis but a scratch,” he joked, and she stared at him. He shook his head and gave her a small smile. “Got into a little tussle with an ambulance driver. Nothing to worry about.” She softly touched his wound and he closed his eyes.

“What happened? I don’t remember,” she whispered, causing him to lean in close to hear her. “Where are we?”

“Antarctica.”

“Ant… Antarctica?! What?”

“I know. And I’ve yet to see a penguin anywhere.” He smiled and she failed to see the humor. “Scully, I will tell you everything, but let’s get back first okay?” He held her eyes and she searched his face, finding only truth and worry. She nodded and he did the same, covering her again.

“We’ll be there soon. Sit… lay tight okay?” She smiled as she closed her eyes. He chuckled lightly and then kissed her forehead, moving away and leaving her alone.

The sound of doors slamming woke her again. Mulder’s voice yelling out to someone, caused her to open her eyes. It was bright, wherever they were; every available light must be on at this hour. Men’s voices carried to her ears, but the thought of sitting up was exhausting.

The door opened by her feet and she looked to see Mulder, once again without a coat, climbing in from outside.

“Mulder, you don’t have a coat,” she said and he laughed softly as he shut the door.

“I’m okay, Scully,” he said and knelt down in front of her. “We’re gonna get you out of here, but I don’t want you to get out of the sleeping bag. They’re bringing out a stretcher and then they’ll put you on it and carry you inside.”

“Mulder…”

“A stretcher, Scully. I won’t argue with you on this,” he stated with finality, his eyes serious. She nodded, knowing if she tried to stand up, she would most likely crumble to the ground. “Good. Now, just stay put, okay?” He touched her cheek and disappeared out the door.

The door shut and she closed her eyes, trying to recall the last thing she remembered. Skinner’s face as she handed him her letter of resignation; no chance would she be transferring to Utah. No chance would she leave Mulder that way.

Even if they were shut down, if they no longer worked together… she needed him and he needed her. She could get a job elsewhere, allowing them the ability to still see one another. Would he want that? To continue on at the bureau without her? Could he integrate with fellow agents and work in a different area? Perhaps teach? Would he even want to see her still, after giving up and quitting?

But you saved me! As difficult and frustrating as it’s been sometimes, your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times. You kept me honest. You made me a whole person. I owe you everything, Scully and you owe me nothing.

Oh…

I don’t know if I wanna do this alone. I don’t even know if I can… and if I quit now, they win.

The words he fairly yelled: his anger, fear, and worry… the honesty they possessed, made her ache, and pulled her back to him. She remembered the sadness in his eyes and then the feel of his arms around her.

And then…

Oh…

The door opened again and then there were two men she did not know, preparing a stretcher, then gently laying her upon it and strapping her down. They carried her out carefully and when the night wind hit her, she was grateful for remaining in the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag.

As they began to walk, Mulder appeared beside her and smiled as he fell in step with them. Beyond the doors they entered, it was much warmer and she breathed a sigh of relief as they continued further inside. She wanted to sink into a warm tub and stay in there, possibly forever.

“We have to go to the medical bay. Get you checked out,” Mulder said in a low voice and she knew they would, but she simply wanted a bath and to sleep uninterrupted for hours and hours.

She was placed on a table and unstrapped from the stretcher. She was lifted and the stretcher slid from underneath her in one fluid motion. The sleeping bag was unzipped completely and taken off of her, when a female doctor walked over to the table. Scully felt incredibly happy to see her, knowing she would soon be undressed and examined.

The men were told to leave and Mulder came close to her, touching her shoulder before he followed them from the room.

“Thank you,” Scully said quietly and the doctor nodded.

“Can you sit up? Stand?” the doctor asked her kindly.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind helping me.”

The doctor helped her to a sitting position, then off the table, holding her steady as she gained her balance, breathing hard at the small exertion.

“Okay, we need to get you undressed. I’m Doctor Turk, Emilia Turk…”

“Agent Dana Scully.”

“I’d say pleasure to meet you, but this won’t be very pleasurable,” Doctor Turk said and smiled softly.

“No, I don’t imagine it will be. I’m also a doctor and I’ve been through many quarantines. I know the drill.” The doctor smiled and nodded, helping her to undress.

Laying back on the table, she was covered with a warm blanket, the doctor checking for external injuries. Aside from some bruising, she was miraculously unscathed. No frostbitten fingers or toes, thanks to Mulder’s care, but she could feel where the cold wind had cut at her face. Blood was taken and Scully closed her eyes as it was, still cold and dreaming of a warm bath.

“I’m going to take samples from your hair and under your fingernails and then we’ll get you warmed up. I’m sure you’re cold and wanting to get dressed. I’m sorry this needs to happen, but you’re an old pro at this it sounds like,” the doctor said quietly with a squeeze to her shoulder and Scully nodded.

Scully felt her hair being released from its ponytail and a piece of it being cut from underneath. Her fingernails were scraped and then Doctor Turk told her to wait and she would be back, placing another blanket over her. Scully nodded and waited, feeling exhausted.

A few minutes later, Doctor Turk returned, lightly touching Scully’s arm and smiling as she opened her eyes. “I have a bath ready for you. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but I don’t think you’ll mind.” Scully laughed and sat up with the doctor's help. “It’s not too far down the hall. We’ll just wrap the blanket around you.” Nodding, she stood still as the doctor wrapped the blanket around her and led her out the door, slowly walking with her down the hall.

Walking into a large bathroom, she saw the tub, the steam rising from within, and could not wait to get in and warm her cold body. The doctor led her to a shower stall and Scully looked at her in confusion.

“Whatever you were exposed to, I don’t think you’ll want to soak in it. Let’s get you rinsed off first,” the doctor said and turned on the shower, letting it warm up before removing Scully’s blankets and guiding her into the stall.

The warm water hit her skin, causing goosebumps to rise immediately. She seethed and stepped forward.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it too hot?”

“No, not at all. It’s perfect,” Scully said, stepping back and standing under the spray, rinsing her hair.

“Okay. I think that will be sufficient. Let’s get you into the tub; that will be best for you.” The doctor shut the water off and reached for Scully’s arm, bringing her to the tub and letting her lean on her as she stepped inside.

Scully moaned as the doctor helped her to sit down and lean back against the tub. The water was the perfect temperature as she slid down, covering as much of her body as she could. Closing her eyes, she sighed heavily, her mind racing with questions, but needing this moment to regroup.

“I’m going to find your partner. Would you like me to tell him to come back here, or wait until you’re finished?” Doctor Turk asked, and Scully opened her eyes. She looked at the doctor and saw understanding on her face.

“You can tell him to wait outside the room and that I’m okay. Thank you,” she said and the doctor nodded.

“I’ll get a towel and some clothes. You take as long as you need,” the doctor said, nodding her head and leaving.

Scully closed her eyes and let the warmth of the water seep into her cold and aching bones. Now that she had been moving around, she felt how sore she was and how tired. She wanted to sleep, but the bath felt amazing. Sliding under the water, she held her breath as she covered every inch of her body.

Coming back up, she laid back and kept her eyes closed as the door opened and the doctor told her she was leaving her a towel, washcloth, toiletries, and some clothes. Scully nodded and thanked her, sighing as the door closed.

Dunking under the water again, she floated, her body light as she did. Coming back up, she sat up and added more hot water to the tub. As she shut it off, she heard a loud knock on the door and leaned back.

“Come in.”

The door opened but no one entered. Instead, she heard Mulder’s voice call her name as he stayed outside of the room, just as she had asked.

“Scully?”

“I’m okay, Mulder. Cold, but okay.” He was quiet and then she heard him sigh. “I’ll be out soon-”

“No… no take as long as you need. I’ll be here. Maybe I can find someone to ask about finding those penguins.” She smiled as she swirled the water around and heard the door close, knowing he would find a chair and wait outside the room until she emerged.

Sliding under a few more times, adding more hot water, she finally reached for the shampoo and washed her hair twice. Washing her body, she leaned back again, ready to get out, but not sure if she had the strength to do it.

“Mulder?” she called, closing her eyes. The door creaked open, but still he did not enter.

“Scully? You okay?”

“Can you come here and help me?” she asked, hating that she needed to do it, but knowing she would not be able to stand on her own, let alone get out and then dress.  

“Um, do you want me to get the doctor instead?”

“It’s not as though it’s something you haven’t seen already,” she said with a bitter laugh.

“Scully… it’s not the same.”

“Mulder, please. Please come in here and help me.”

The door opened and he sighed, his footsteps coming closer. Opening her eyes, she saw he was picking up the towel and holding it open, keeping his eyes averted. Appreciating his effort, nonetheless she knew she would need him more than he had believed she did.

“I need you to help me up, Mulder. I just can’t do it.” He flicked his eyes to hers and she saw the panic in them. Smiling slightly, she nodded. “I’m so tired. I need your help.” He nodded and placed the towel over his shoulder and then reached for her hand, keeping his eyes on hers. “I think it might be easier if I sat forward and you lifted me from behind.”

“Okay,” he agreed quietly, moving around her as she sat forward, letting him slip his arms under hers and lift her gently, holding her against him as she gained her balance, soaking his clothes as she did. “Let me get the towel, Scully.” She nodded and he got it ready again, taking her hand and holding it as she stepped out. Wrapping her with the towel, he kept his eyes on her face, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she whispered and he nodded. “There are clothes there, but I think I’ll need your help with those as well, unless you would rather I call the doctor.”

“I can do it,” he nodded. “As long as… if you’re okay with it, Scully.” She exhaled a laugh and shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

No, she was not okay with it, but she trusted him and he knew she did.

“I can dry myself,” she said and he nodded, turning around as she did, giving her at least some semblance of privacy.

Drying her body and then her hair somewhat, she decided to put on the offered pants first. There was a pair of long underwear, a long sleeved shirt, and also a pair of scrubs. The long underwear had most likely come from the bags Mulder had with him. She picked up the pants and sighed, debating trying to do it on her own and possibly falling, or doing what she called him in for, and accepting his help.

A knock sounded at the door and she looked up to see the doctor coming in, glancing at Mulder as she walked closer.

“Out of the tub I see. Feeling better?” she asked, stepping closer and taking the pants from Scully’s hands and setting them down, exchanging them for the long sleeved top. She helped her slide it over her head and down her body.

“Agent Mulder, Cassy asked for you as I was walking over here. I think he had some questions for you.” Scully saw him nod and leave the room hurriedly, without glancing back. The doctor smiled at Scully and she nodded her thanks.

“Thank you, Doctor Turk. We… it’s…” Scully said, attempting to explain their relationship, and the doctor smiled again.

“Emilia. I understand, Agent Scully. Sometimes it’s easier with a woman and also a fellow doctor. I know it’s still not ideal of course, but…” she said with a smile and a shrug as Scully nodded. Emilia next helped her with the pants and then the scrubs.

“There, that’s better, right?” Scully nodded and Emilia helped her sit on the bench, where she gently towel dried her hair and then bent down to put on some blue skid proof socks. Standing up, she helped Scully to her feet and led her out of the room and down the hall.

“I’m going to get you hooked up to an IV and give you some fluids, I’m sure you’re dehydrated. I’d also recommend something to help you sleep and get some rest.”

“Normally, I would say no, I don’t usually like taking anything. But, I think under the circumstances, it would be a good idea,” Scully laughed softly, her body screaming at her with every step, almost begging for sleep.

“Let’s get you settled then,” Emilia said quietly, pushing the door open and helping Scully into the bed.

Laying down against the pillows, Scully sighed deeply, her eyes closed. She heard Emilia moving around, felt the prick of the needle and the warmth of the IV fluid being pushed in, and then she heard and felt nothing further.

___________________

Swallowing, her throat feeling like sandpaper, Scully opened her eyes and immediately shut them again, the sun too bright. She licked her lips and tried to clear her throat, but it hurt. Slowly opening her eyes again, she saw Mulder asleep in a chair beside her.

“Mmm. Mmulder…” she groaned, but he did not stir. Reaching out, she squeezed his hand which was lying on her bed. Squeezing again, he finally began to move and then his eyes flew open, as he leaned forward to look at her.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gravelly. She shook her head and touched her throat. “Thirsty? I’ll get you some water.” He stood up quickly and she closed her eyes, already imagining the feel of the cool liquid in her mouth.

“Here, Scully.”

She opened her eyes and saw Mulder kneeling in front of her with a cup and a straw. He held the straw for her and she drank it slowly, moaning in relief as it soothed her dry throat.

“Thank you,” she whispered when she finished, licking her lips and closing her eyes, leaning back on the pillows.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmmm,” she said with a nod.

“Do you need the doctor?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Shaking her head, she reached for his hand, squeezing it when he laid it in hers.

“I’m okay. My throat is a little sore and I’m definitely feeling every bump and bruise, but considering everything else, I’m doing okay.” She smiled at him, his own expression serious as he stared at her. “I’m really okay, Mulder.”

He nodded and squeezed her hand before leaning back and standing up. He set the cup down and sat back in his chair. Taking a deep breath, he looked at her, clasping his hands together. She sighed and moved to a sitting position with a groan.

The door opened and Doctor Turk walked in with a smile. “Good morning, Agents. How are you feeling?” She stepped closer to the bed and Scully smiled.

“Feel okay. Just needed a good night's sleep.”

“Good to hear. Your preliminary test results have come back and you weren’t exposed to anything that would be considered a threat or a cause to place you under quarantine. In fact, everything was… to keep it rather simple, organic in nature. And while it was not something completely recognizable, it was also not something that raises an alarm. It sounds baffling, I know, but there we are.” She looked at each of them and sighed. “You’ve told us your version of events Agent Mulder and Cassy went out today to inspect the area you claim was ground zero.” Scully looked at him with a frown as he shifted in his seat with a sigh.

“Doctor Turk… I know your testing was thorough, but there has to be something. I know what I saw and I know what Agent Scully was exposed to,” he said forcefully, glancing at Scully. “It’s not a simple explanation. It has to be something other than “organic.” It was an alien virus that would have killed her if I hadn’t had a vaccine for it.”

“Agent Mulder,” Doctor Turk sighed quietly.

“I know what I saw and what I was told,” he said, just as quietly. “Please conduct more tests. If there is proof of an alien virus, we… we can figure out a stronger vaccine… or even a cure.”

“Agent Mulder,” she said, harsher than before, causing them both to look at her. She sighed and shook her head as she crossed her arms.

“We are a research base, we don’t have access to the highest of technologies here,” she began again, her tone softer. “I’m limited as to the tests I can run, and an alien virus… it’s just not something I am equipped to handle. As I stated, there was nothing within the testing that would point toward an unknown virus. If there was, we would be in a lock down quarantine” She looked at him and he shook his head. Turning to Scully, she smiled almost apologetically.

“Maybe with more better equipment, you will find more answers, but for now, all I can offer you is what I have found. Honestly…” She sighed and looked back at Mulder. “I don’t believe in an alien virus, not the way you’ve described it, Agent Mulder. It sounds like science fiction.” She stared at him with a look Scully had seen many times and even given him herself.

Disbelief and denial.

“Agent Scully, I am sorry for what happened to you. I know there was something done, but I simply cannot confirm it was of alien nature,” she said quietly, looking back at Scully. “I can give you all of the samples, and my findings, but I cannot sign off on the idea that an alien race has come to take over the earth.” Scully looked quickly at Mulder as he stared at the doctor, who shook her head.

“When you’re ready to travel, Agent Scully, we will see to your accommodations.” She nodded at them with a sad smile, and walked out of the room, leaving them in silence.

“This is bullshit,” Mulder said, standing up and pacing the room. “I know what I saw and you saw it too.” He stopped and looked at her as she stared blankly back at him. “Scully?”

“Mulder… I… I don’t know...” she trailed off, snippets of her memory returning.

So cold. The wide expanse of… something some place. Pulling themselves up. Crawling through snow. Running. Running so fast.

“You remember.”

She looked at him, opening and closing her mouth, not knowing what to say.

“Scully… you have to remember.” He sounded so defeated, she wished she could tell him she did, wished her answer was what he wanted to hear.

“Mulder…” she sighed and he scrubbed a hand down his face and began pacing again. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I… Mulder, I don’t know what happened. I have no idea how we got here, I don’t know why we’re here. My memories are not exactly reliable.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he demanded and she sighed, looking down at her hands.

Honesty. She had to be honest, no matter how much they both avoided it at times.

“I remember coming to your apartment after my meeting with OPR,” she said quietly. “I… remember leaving and you following me out. I remember…” She looked up and stared at him, his eyes intense. “I remember… your words…” He stared at her as she began to breathe hard, the memory of his face coming closer to hers, his warm breath ghosting across her lips, and then…

“I remember being stung. The feeling in my chest.” She closed her eyes and placed her hand on her chest, feeling that stabbing pain again. “I… don’t remember much until you were there and I was so cold. So very cold.” She opened her eyes and moved her hand to her lap, looking at him again.

“You… you don’t remember anything else?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t say that.” She shook her head with a small smile. “But, my memories will not be accurate or helpful the way you may want them to be. I know you will want me to corroborate your story, but Mulder…”

“I don’t want you to agree simply to agree. I’ve never wanted that, Scully.”

“I know.”

They fell silent and he sighed, looking down and shaking his head. She felt she should apologize, but remained quiet, watching him as he stood there.

“Are you hungry? I can get you something,” he said, looking up and attempting to smile, though it did not reach his eyes.

“I’d like that,” she smiled. “Anything will be fine. But first, could I have more water?” He nodded and left to get some for her, leaving her alone.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the pillows. Her throat hurt and her body ached, though she would not tell him to what extent, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

The door opened and she opened her eyes, watching him bring over a plastic pitcher of water. He moved the table closer to her, filled her cup and set down the pitcher. Handing her the cup, he nodded and left the room again.

Drinking down the cool liquid, she closed her eyes, wondering why her throat was sore. She knew when he brought back their food, they would need to have a discussion.

She just was not looking forward to it.

_______________

She shook her head, the tale he told her almost too impossible to believe. She looked at him and he stared back.

“It’s the truth, Scully.”

“Mulder.” She sighed and pushed the table away, the smell of the food now turning her stomach.

“Scully, we’re in Antarctica. I don’t know what else to say about why we would be here, other than the reason I gave you. You were infected with the virus and brought here to be used, just as the vast amount of people I saw. Scully, if I hadn’t gotten there when I did, if I wasn’t told where to find you…” He shook his head and stared at her.

“But, why would he have told you? Why now?”

“He saw what was happening; it’s surpassing their ability to control it.”

“Mulder, a virus doesn’t do that. It does not… mutate into a creature-”

“Scully-”

“No, Mulder. I will not accept that.”

“Scully, you saw that virus, what it did and what it can do.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Then how can you question-”

“Because I did not see a creature. I did not see an alien gestating in those bodies.”

“Maybe they hadn’t reached that stage yet. Maybe… maybe it hadn’t evolved and those bodies… they were what could have been: the beginning stages of it attempting to gestate.” He shrugged and she shook her head.

“There is no proof of what you’re claiming.”

“I saw it with my own eyes.” He stared at her and she sighed heavily as she shook her head again.

“Mulder-”

“Scully.” He shook his head and paced the room in front of her, sighing loudly. “I saw the effects of that virus. Saw how it changed those people.” He stopped and stared at her and she held her breath.

“He told me how to find you,” he said softly. “He gave me the vaccine that I needed. Whatever he did in the past… it’s … it’s not forgiven, but he knew his life was at risk, and yet he gave me the information I needed to save you.”

“Mulder,” she said, shaking her head. “These men… they don’t give a shit about anyone, so long as they can save their own asses. I find it hard to believe he did anything to help me.”

“His had his reasons-”

“His reasons!” she nearly shouted, her throat hurting and causing her to reach for her water and take a drink.

“He wanted to protect his family-”

“And what about the families whose lives they’ve ruined? All those years and the people they have hurt and taken… your sister…” She knew it was a low blow, especially when he stared at her with pained eyes. “Mulder, he only cared when the threat grew too close and came to his own family. Where was the care for my mother, my family, for y… for you.”

He stared at her and he shook his head. She looked down and sighed, staring into her cup of water. Closing her eyes, she shook her head, and sighed again.

“He told me how to find you,” he said again. “He wanted me to see, to have the proof I needed. He knew what that vaccine would do. As soon as I gave it to you, the thing that was connecting you, like some kind of… an umbilical cord, the virus was pulled out of you and it… it woke those things. Whatever was in that vaccine, it foiled their plans.”

“Foiled, Mulder?” she whispered, with another shake of her head. “You saw what he wanted you to see, but you have no more proof than when you left. You say it was a spaceship flying away… with hundreds, if not thousands, of people that you say you saw… Mulder, they are still missing and it’s unknown exactly what will happen to them. How exactly were their plans foiled?” She sighed sadly and he shook his head, as he stepped back.

“Because you’re still here, Scully. You were  all that I cared about,” he said quietly, holding her gaze, before he left the room, saying nothing further.

Closing her eyes with a heavy sigh at his words, she dropped her head back onto the pillows. His story was not so unbelievable, not after all she had seen over the years, but she could not willingly subscribe to a story if she was not completely sure it happened.

Over the years, despite working on the same case, their stories often conflicted with one another. The difference in those cases though, was that she had been there with him, and had her own factual experience of what she saw.

In this instance, her memories were fuzzy, and the tangible or scientific proof she needed was simply not there.

She sighed and tried to think back to what she remembered…

The excruciating pain in her chest, was the last memory she had. She recalled the feeling as it began and when she stumbled forward, Mulder’s arms had caught her, lowering her down gently to the tiled floor of his hallway. The feeling of her painful gasping breaths, her chest hurting more than any pain she had ever felt, as she heard him, his voice echoing, calling for the ambulance.

She remembered him running back to her, and the sound of his heavy footfall pounding in her ears.

His face had swam before her, fuzzy and too large. But then she had heard his voice and for a second she felt that it would all be fine.

“Scully,” he had whispered, close to her ear. “The ambulance is coming. You’re going to be okay. Scully, you’re okay…”

Her eyes had slid shut and it was the last thing she remembered— his voice and his hand desperately squeezing her own.

Then there was coldness, confusion, and fear as he carried, pulled, and guided her out of wherever he had found her. She had no knowledge of where they were, but even with his story and what he claimed he saw, she was not ready to agree and call it a spaceship.

She knew what he was telling her was the truth that he believed. The fact that they were there, in Antarctica, had to be proof of something, but she could not put the puzzle together, if she did not have all of the pieces.

Opening her eyes, she shook her head and took a few deep breaths as she laid her hand on her chest, feeling again the phantom pain.

Setting the cup down and pushing the covers back, she stood to her feet. Gaining her balance, she pushed the IV pole with her into the bathroom.

Washing her hands after she used the toilet, she stared at herself in the mirror. There were scratches and signs of frostbite on her face, and she was very pale.

Sighing again, she shook her head and left the bathroom. Mulder was not back in the room, though she had not really expected him to be. She knew he was angry and hurt and they both needed some time to themselves.

She adjusted her blankets and changed the bed from a sitting position. Laying her head on the pillow, she pulled the covers tightly around her, still feeling chilled. She closed her eyes and attempted to quiet her mind, even as she once again tried to figure out what the hell had happened to her.

____________________

On the airplane the next evening, she sighed as she shifted, bruises she had not known were there, were now making themselves known. Judging by the ache in her back and her ass, it was going to be a long ride home.

“You need anything?” Mulder asked, and she looked up at him, shaking her head.

“Oh, actually, a bl…” she started to say, not wanting to chance being cold, but he was already handing her a blanket and pillow. Smiling, she took them from him as he closed the overhead compartment and sat down with his own pillow and blanket.

“You’re sure those samples will be okay up there?” he asked, looking above them, and she nodded; the samples and information Doctor Turk had given her, stored in a securely packed transport bag.

“They will. I’ll get them to the lab when we get back and run more tests. We’ll see if anything comes up with access to more sophisticated equipment.” She covered herself with the blanket, as she looked out the window with a shiver.

“I know you’re hesitant to believe it, Scully,” he said quietly and she closed her eyes with a sigh. “But I know what I saw. What we saw in Texas. You were stung, I saw what happened to you. They took you away because they knew. They knew, Scully.”

“Or they wanted you to stop looking,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “They shot you, Mulder. They were intent on killing you. If they had…” She shook her head as she looked at the small bandage Doctor Turk had placed on his wound. “I understand what this means to you, but how much are you willing to pay?”

“Are you asking me to quit?”

“No, I would never ask that, I just…” She reached for his hand and sighed as he squeezed gently. “The truth is worth nothing, if you’re dead.” He stared at her and she gave him a small smile.

“I don’t want that either,” he said with a bitter chuckle, as she closed her eyes, and exhaled a deep breath. He squeezed her hand and she opened her eyes. “I just can’t let them win, Scully. I can’t.” She nodded, squeezing his hand and then releasing it.

“I’m tired,” she said apologetically, knowing he wanted to discuss it more, not having finished their conversation yesterday, instead tiptoeing around each other as they made their plans to leave.

She knew they needed to talk, but her eyes were becoming heavy, her body demanding sleep. He nodded with a smile and covered himself with his blanket.

“I just need to sleep for a little bit, Mulder,” she said with a yawn. “We’ll talk more about it soon. Because you’re right… they can’t win.”

He looked at her and nodded again, as she closed her eyes, and put her head on his shoulder, as his hand gently covered hers.

“No, Scully,” he said quietly, his head resting on hers, as he let out a deep breath, and she sighed with him. “No they can’t.”

#XF Fanfic #MSR #how did they get home from Antarctica? #snow #cold #worry #hurt and comfort #Fight the Future #Leaving Antarctica

[admiralty-xfd]

This is chapter three, to read chapters one and two on Tumblr click here. To read on A03 click here. 

Scully woke up in his arms.

For a moment, she experienced the brief confusion of a person who hadn’t been held in years; not like this, at least. That confusion melted into contentment when she saw Mulder, breathing gently next to her.

She watched him sleeping, studying his face. It was drawn up into a slightly thoughtful look, as if he were in the middle of a dream; his eyelids fluttering, his lips slightly parted. There was a tiny pi symbol indented into the skin between his eyebrows giving him that look he had on days when he was particularly exasperated with her.

He really was beautiful. It wasn’t that she hadn’t properly acknowledged it before; she’d just never felt like she had the right to. Any pretense they’d maintained over the past few years that they were strictly friendly, strictly professional, all of that had flown out the window last night. She was happy to look, to admire. Surely she’d earned it.

Vivid flashbacks coursed through her mind: the way he’d clung to her desperately when she threw her head back and moaned, his plump lips pressed against her breasts, catching her sweat. How he’d brought her to climax more skillfully and diligently than she’d ever imagined he could (twice). How he’d cried out her name when he came inside her.

How much she’d needed all of it.

It was still dark outside, but from the look of the clock on his nightstand it wouldn’t be for long. He hadn’t stirred, and she had an overwhelming desire for coffee, so she slipped out of his arms and crept into his kitchen.

The last time she’d stayed overnight at his place was only a few nights ago, after his mother had died. The coffee mug she’d used that morning was still sitting on the counter, a half inch of cold coffee and its own developing ecosystem inside, right next to Mulder’s. Typically she’d be annoyed with herself for leaving it, but they’d left in a hurry that morning, for obvious reasons.

She prepared the coffee and as she waited for it to perk, she washed and dried the mugs. Mulder had no creamer, or milk, even, at least none that hadn't expired. She had no idea where he kept the sugar and was afraid poking around his kitchen would wake him, so she drank it black.

It was bitter, and as it went down her throat, for the first time since she’d awakened a terrifying thought entered her mind.

What have we done?

***

“Hey,” came Scully’s voice as she gently nudged him. “I’m sorry to wake you, but… I have to go home.”

Mulder blinked as the world came into focus. He felt foggy, untethered. He didn’t think he’d slept so hard in his entire life and he was pretty sure finally getting laid by Dana Scully was the primary culprit.

She was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, fully clothed. He was naked beneath his sheet and felt a bit vulnerable.

“Um.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Okay.”

“I made coffee,” she offered, setting his mug down on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” he said gently. Why was she leaving? Something felt wrong. “Is everything… all right?”

She smiled. “Everything is fine, I just have to go home. I have some stuff to do this weekend.”

He looked her in the eye and knew this was a classic Scully retreat. She always threw in the towel too early, before things could get real, before things could shake her. She was a master at it, and apparently even life-altering sex was no match for her skills.

He wanted to say something, to make her stay, to figure out a way to talk about all of this, but he couldn’t think of how.

“Okay.” It seemed to be the only word his mouth could form lately.

She smiled and looked down at him tenderly. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “Last night was…” he searched for a word that could properly encapsulate how transcendent last night had been for him. That word didn’t exist, so he couldn’t say it.

“Propitious?” she offered.

“I was going to say something more along the lines of... hot as fuck,” he laughed. She blushed, blushed, for god’s sake, he’d been buried inside her a few hours ago, and when she leaned down to kiss him goodbye he knew he was done for.

This was it, him and Scully, it had finally happened. He’d known for years there could never be another, not for him, which is precisely why he’d avoided this very scenario for so long. It had to be her decision, her push forward, and when she’d finally made it last night he felt as if his life had begun anew. Their timing had finally, finally been perfect.

So why did she have to go?

She pulled back and ruffled his hair in that way she did, only now instead of a friendly gesture on her part, he could almost pretend it was love.

“Can I call you later?” he asked, feeling stupid. He never asked to call Scully, he called whenever he wanted to, day or night. And she always answered. Everything felt different now.

“Yes, of course you can.”

She still sounded a bit off, a bit awkward. He felt resigned: of course things would be awkward. Of course this wouldn’t just magically be perfect. They’d been friends for so long and now this seismic event had occurred. Their worlds would be forever different, no matter how they decided to move forward.

She got up and began to exit his bedroom, and he knew this was one of the times he should definitely not follow her. But he didn’t want her to leave on an uncertain note.

“Hey Scully.”

She turned. “Yeah?”

He smiled, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “I’m really happy you came over last night.”

She fingered the door frame in a nervous way, but her smile was the same Scully smile that made his heart melt every time. A sense of relief, however small, settled upon him.

“I am too, Mulder.” She walked out of his view and he heard the door open and close.

He believed her. He had to.

***

Mulder didn’t call that day, nor did he the day after.

Scully wasn’t surprised. It was their usual method of dealing with things, and although her ability to waltz around a heated moment with grace and come out of it unscathed was unmatched, Mulder certainly gave her a run for her money. Together, they were quite the pair.

The sex had been amazing, dare she say perfect? It all felt so right, almost fated. She didn’t regret what had happened, not at all. But she did feel like she’d been careless, perhaps, even irresponsible. Mulder had just been through such a trauma and maybe she’d taken advantage. It hadn’t occurred to her in the moment, even when she realized she finally wanted to do this: the possible ramifications of their actions and the effect it might have on his state of mind.

He’d seemed content enough when she’d left that morning, but her concern for him was real. It was strange that he hadn’t called her all weekend. She could only hope that things wouldn’t be terribly awkward when they saw each other again.

On Monday she showed up at work earlier than usual, anticipating seeing him but dreading it at the same time. She wanted to be there first, but she had absolutely no plan for what to do when he showed up. For all the times she’d imagined moving forward with him romantically, she’d never really anticipated how they would move forward as partners afterwards.

Could they, even? Had they started something that would put an end to the X-Files as they knew it?

She heard the elevator arriving, dinging, his familiar steps echoing closer. Everything felt like it was moving in slow-motion. She’d left the door open, perhaps a subconscious signal that she intended to let him decide what their next move would be.

He appeared in the doorway holding a cup of coffee and a sheepish grin. “I come in peace,” he said, with a high-pitched alien affect.

She smiled, wanting to put him at ease. Taking the coffee from him with a thanks, she sipped it. It was prepared perfectly, exactly the way she liked it.

They just stared at each other for several seconds, and it was hard to look at his mouth and not want to kiss it.

“So,” she said, setting the coffee on the desk behind her.

“So.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” he admitted.

She looked at him from beneath hooded eyelids. “I wanted you to.”

The sexual tension in the air around them had always existed, but it was even worse now because it was rife with expectation. They’d done it before. They could do it again. And again.

Suddenly he was charging forward, and his lips were on hers once again, a hand in her hair, the other on her waist. It wasn’t a soft kiss, or a sweet one; it was insatiable hunger, and she felt it, too. She opened her mouth to let him in and he pressed her back into his desk as they devoured each other.

Well, she thought, I guess this is how it’s going to be now.  

His hand drifted to the bottom of her blouse, and he slowly began to untuck it from her skirt. His fingers spread across the soft skin of her stomach, up to her ribcage. She felt a familiar heat between her thighs that meant this was leading somewhere it couldn’t, not here or now, so she put her hands on his chest and gently broke their kiss. His eyes were full of lust, and she knew they had to stop but by God, she wanted nothing more than to find a supply closet or a bathroom stall to continue scratching their seven year itch. Every minute of every day was going to feel like this, now. The professional, ambitious part of her hated that.

“Not here, okay?” she told him, shaking her head with a smile.

He physically took a step backwards from her, appearing almost dizzy. She was in charge here, and they both knew it. He nodded his acquiescence. “Okay.”

“Look,” she said, knowing she’d probably confused him the other day. “I’m sorry I bailed on you like that the other morning.”

His eyes widened, perhaps in utter shock she would actually address what happened. Maybe they really were turning over a new leaf. “Yeah... I wondered what that was about.”

“It was just… a lot to take in.”

He nodded proudly. “Thank you,” he said, not missing a beat.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said with a playful glint in her eye. “You know what I mean.”

“I do know,” he said, laughing, and he stepped forward, taking her by the upper arms, rubbing them a bit. “And you’re right, it is a lot. But I think we can handle it.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“We’ve handled a lot before, Scully,” he reasoned. “This should be a piece of cake.”

She nodded and gave him a small peck on the lips. She then moved around his desk and sat in his chair, folding her arms on the desk in front of her. He stepped back and leaned against the doorframe, shifting a bit, trying to adjust himself. She looked at the bulge in his pants, the bulge she’d naturally noticed many times before, but this time he was showing a bit more than was work-appropriate.

He saw her staring. “Just give me a minute, okay?” he said, putting a hand up.

She looked away, grinning, shuffling through the files on his desk. She pulled one out, read it over. “What’s this?” She held it up. “A werewolf, Mulder? Really?”

He stepped up to the desk, leaning forward in a melodramatic show of reading what he’d surely written himself. “Oh yeah,” he said playfully. “Skinner approved that one much quicker than I thought he would.”

“Six sightings of an unidentified assailant in the past sixty days,” she read. “And you think it’s a werewolf?”

“Each sighting occurred on a night where there was a full moon, and every victim that survived was unable to give an accurate description of their attacker,” Mulder explained.

“Well, then, I apologize. Of course it’s a werewolf.”

“...Until this most recent victim,” Mulder finished, tapping his finger against the file in emphasis. “He described a tall creature covered in fur with glowing red eyes. Which is exactly what we’re going to be looking for.”

Scully looked at him, of course, skeptically. “Skinner approved this? Travel expenses to Los Angeles? For a werewolf?”

“Stop saying ‘werewolf’ like that, Scully,” he said. “You’re going to give me a complex.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. She sighed and put her hand to her temple. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he grinned. “You don’t want to go werewolf hunting with me? Sneak around in the dark? Maybe make out a little under the full moon?”

She narrowed her eyes and sighed, shaking her head. Her feelings for werewolves were certainly lukewarm, but her feelings for him were getting stronger by the hour. Besides, it might be nice to chase something that didn't involve Mulder's demons.

"Okay. But not while we're working, Mulder," she warned him. He put his hands up in resignation and gave her that look, the one that meant he was listening to her, but not really. The one that meant he might run off to the Bermuda Triangle or jump onto a moving train in spite of her protestations.

"I am at your disposal, Agent Scully," he grinned. And she knew he was. She only hoped she could exercise the restraint she'd been miraculously brandishing for seven years.

Maybe he was right. It could be fun. "All right," she agreed. "Let's go catch a werewolf."

A couple of hours later, they were headed to Los Angeles.

to be continued...

#txf fic #msr #my fic #admiralty #up in your arms #thanks for reading

[winchesterbrotherstan]

SPN- The Usual Suspects (2.07)

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: A case goes side-ways, Dean is left cornered, and it’s up to Sam and Olive to get him out of the mess. Olive falls fatally ill, and Sam must team up with a law enforcement officer.

Warnings: lots of coughing, blood, mentions of drug use, gun threats, uh ghosts and like... the usual??

Word Count: 8547

Baltimore, Maryland

Outside a motel room, a SWAT team gears up. It’s dark, and the few people outside have scattered. Someone stays closeby, but only their face is hidden. They’ve got their hood pulled up, one hand is in their pocket, and their other arm is in a makeshift sling. They’ve got a dog on a leash, and they do their best to stay in the shadows.

In a police station across the city, a sheriff enters an interrogation room and sits down.

“Well, first I thought you were just stepping up your game. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, and this one…” he looks over the file with a sigh, “puzzled me. Grave desecration. But still, these are a long way from murder. Then we get a fax from St. Louis. Where you’re suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman. However, no one could prove anything, of course, because you died there. But I gotta tell you something. You look pretty healthy to me.”

The detective moves, sits on the table. “Now we know. Karen Giles isn’t the first person you’ve killed. But I guarantee you she’s the last.”

At the motel, the SWAT team stands outside a second floor room, ready. They knock the door down with a battering ram, and the person inside immediately puts their hands up. One of the detectives steps forward, keeping her gun on the person.

“Going somewhere, Sam?” She asks.

There’s a rifle ready to shoot the middle Winchester through the heart, and he swallows hard, eyes set in disgust as he looks at the woman.

In the police station, the detective shoots the prisoner a dirty look before getting up and walking out. The prisoner is Dean.

The person standing in the motel parking lot pulls their hood back, watching as Sam is dragged from the room. It’s Olive. She pulls the hood back up, turns on her heel, and walks off.

                                                               ***

The detective that cornered Sam enters his interrogation room. She places a coffee cup on the table, and Sam glances over, but continues to pace by the window.

“Thought you might be thirsty.”

“Okay, so you’re the good cop.” Sam assesses. “Where’s the bad cop?”

“Oh, he’s with your brother.”

“Okay. And you’re holding us why?”

“Well he’s being held on suspicion of murder.” The woman adjusts her sleeves and a look of shock washes over Sam’s face. “And you? Well, we’ll see.”

“Murder?” Sam repeats, leaning onto the table.

“You sound genuinely surprised. Or are you that good of an actor?” The woman smiles.

“Who is he supposed to have murdered?” Sam squints.

“We’ll get around to that.”

“Well, you can’t just hold us here without formal charges!” Sam is growing more and more upset.

“Well, actually, we can. For forty eight hours, but you, being a pre-law student, would know that. You see, I know all about you, Sam.” She picks up a file folder and opens it. “You’re twenty three years old. No job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby, your father’s whereabouts are unknown. And then there’s the case of your brother, Dean. Whose demise was, well, just a bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like.”

Sam leans against the wall and folds his arms over his chest.

“Shy?” She teases. “No problem. I’ll keep going. Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight-A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride.”

Sam says nothing. They haven’t mentioned Olive, and he’s not sure whether he should be relieved or worried. His mind spins. There’s got to be a record of her somewhere out there. Sure, she wasn’t born in a hospital, and she almost never went to the doctor, and she went to school under fake names, but there’s gotta be something.

The woman closes the file. “Then about a year ago, there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore, your girlfriend. After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything.”

Sam says nothing, but he looks up through his eyelashes. “I needed some time off. To deal. So I’m taking a road trip with my brother.”

“And your little sister.”

Sam’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t think we forgot about little old Olive.” She smiles. “Such a strange name.”

His nose twitches in anger. He picked that name. She smiles again, wider this time.

“Where is she? We didn’t find her in the motel room. The bathroom window was open, but she couldn’t have jumped. Two stories is too high, don’t you agree?”

Sam says nothing.

“Where is she, Sam?”

He leans further into the wall.

“How’s that road trip going for you guys?”

“Great.” Sam shrugs softly, then takes the chance to derail her. “I mean…” A smile grows on his face. “We saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental US. It was awesome.” He pulls up a chair and straddles it.

“We ran Dean’s fingerprints through AFIS.” The detective comes to the end of the table.

“Okay.”

“Got over a dozen possible hits.”

“Possible hits.” Sam repeats. “Which makes them worthless.”

“But it makes you wonder. What are we gonna find when we run your prints?”

“Well.” Sam smiles and pounds his fist on the table, every movement dripping with sarcasm. “You be sure to let me know.” He points at the cup. “May I?”

She nods. “Please.”

“Great.” He takes the cup, smells it, and then takes a sip.

She leans over him, eyes intent.

“Sam. You seem like a good kid. It’s not your fault Dean’s your brother. We can’t pick our family. Right now, detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They’re trying to figure out how your brother faked his own death.”

There’s a scream from outside, and against all common sense, on instinct, Sam’s head snaps up. It’s Olive’s scream.

“Get off of me!” She screams, squirming.

She’s dropped Jinx off at a safe place. The Richmonds will pick her up and take care of her until this is over. Olive is being dragged through the police station, kicking and screaming. She’s managed to nail two men in the crotch, and has sent a mug full of pens to the floor.

Back in the interrogation room, Sam’s face is pale. The detective turns back to him with a smile.

“Is that baby sister Olive?”

He glares.

“She’s sixteen, isn’t she? Has been for a little less than a month now. She can be tried as an adult. Look, Dean’s a bad guy. His life is over. Yours doesn’t have to be, and neither does Olive’s.”

Sam turns with a glare. “You want us to turn against our own brother?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’ve already caught him cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces.”

“Why would I do that?” Olive spits from her seat in a third interrogation room.

They’ve cuffed her down, and she knows she could break them, but that would lead to another issue they couldn’t solve without making an even bigger mess.

“Because we can talk to the DA for you, kid.” The detective who had talked to Dean sits across from her. “Dean’s gone. You don’t have to be.”

She grits her teeth, composes herself, and then spits in his face.

“Go to hell.”

The man wipes the spit from his face angrily and stands.

“Fine. Just remember, I tried to help you.”

Sam begins to talk, voice quiet. “My dad and Tony Giles were old friends. They were in the service together. We’ve known him since we were kids, you know? So we came as soon as we heard about his death.”

Cafe, Before

“Here.” Sam placed three coffee cups down and slid into his chair.

Dean handed him the newspaper he had been reading. “Anthony Giles.”

“Who’s Anthony Giles?” Sam squinted.

“Baltimore lawyer. Working late in his office, check it out.” Olive pointed at the article she and Dean found.

Sam scanned over it, mumbling out loud. “Throat slit, room was clean. Huh. No DNA, no prints.”

“Keep reading.” Olive grinned. “It gets better.”

“Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant.” He scoffed.

“So we’re thinking either somebody messed with the tapes-”

“Or we’ve got an invisible killer on our hands.”

“My favorite kind.” Dean smiles. “What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?”

Sam scoffed, and Olive snorted.

“I’m not Scully, you’re Scully.”

“No, I’m Mulder.” Dean fought back. “You’re a red-headed woman.”

“Hey!” Olive whined. “Can I be Scully? I’m a girl.”

Dean and Sam shared a look, and each broke out into a smile. Dean patted her head and Sam gave her hand a squeeze.

“You’re too little to be either, bug.”

She rolled her eyes with a huff. “Fine, fine. Let’s go check this out.”

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Would’ve been kind of hard for Dean to kill Tony, considering we weren’t in town at the time.” Sam is still straddling the chair, hands in his lap.

“So tell me what happened next.”

“Okay, uh, that when we went to see Karen.” Sam sighs. “She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her. You know?”

Giles House, Before

Karen sat on the couch, on the verge of tears. She flipped through the forms the siblings had handed her and sighed shakily.

“Insurance. I totally forgot about the insurance.”

“We’ve very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand.” Sam smiled sympathetically.

“Sure.” Karen nodded, pushing her glasses back up.

“Okay. Um, if you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died.”

“Um… Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles, and that… that he had to work late.” She sniffled again. “That was it.”

“Do you have any idea who could’ve done this to him?” Olive’s voice was sympathetic.

“No.” Karen shook her head. “No, it’s like I told the police, I… I have no idea.”

“Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?” Dean asked.

“Unusual…” Karen trailed off.

“Yeah, like strange.”

“Strange?” She repeated.

“You know, weird. Weird noises, uh, visions, anything like that?”

Sam cleared his throat and glared at Dean, and Olive sent him a similar look.

Could you be any less subtle?

Karen turned to glance at Sam and Olive, who immediately switched back to the looks of concern and pity. She looked down again, and the two younger siblings shot him a look again.

“He had a nightmare the day before he died.” Karen shrugged.

“What kind of nightmare?”

“Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed. He blinked and she was gone, I mean… it was just a nightmare.”

“Did he say what she looked like?”

“What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?” Karen spat.

Dean squirmed, and Olive leaned forward, voice gentle.

“Our company is just very thorough. I understand this is an upsetting process, but we just need to ask a few more questions, and we’ll be on our way.”

Karen nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry. He said she was pale, and that she… she had dark red eyes.”

The siblings nodded as they each made a note.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“So I gave Karen a hug, told her to call me if she needed anything, and that was it… end of story.” Sam shrugs.

“Sam, I am trying to help you here.” The detective hisses. “But you have got to be honest with me. Now, we have an eyewitness. Someone who saw two men and a young woman fitting you and your siblings’s descriptions breaking into Gile’s office.”

“Okay.” Sam sighs. “Look, Karen called us later, said that there was some stuff that she wanted from Tony’s office. But the police weren’t letting her in. Like, a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene, but she gave us the key!” Sam puts his hands up in protest.

Giles’ Office, Before

Dean picked the lock, and he ducked in first. Olive followed, and Sam went last, shutting the door behind themselves. Each ducked under the police tape with ease. Sam shone his flashlight on a pool of blood on the floor.

“Hey. Giles’ body was found right about here.”

He rummaged through his jacket pockets and pulled out the newspaper from earlier. “Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “What do you guys think? Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?” He emphasized.

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, he did see that woman at the foot of his bed.”

Dean picked a paper off the desk. “Look at this.”

Olive took the paper and held it where Sam could see it too. danashulps was written all over it, in small print.

“Dana Shulps. Name?” Sam suggested.

Dean picked another paper off the desk. “I dunno, but it’s all over the place.” A grin broke out on his face. “Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Sam shone his flashlight over the glass table and paused. Olive looked up at him.

“What is it, Sams?”

“Do me a favor, breathe onto the table.”

She eyed him, but did as he asked, pulling away when she realized that danashulps was written all over it.

“What the fuck?”

“Well, I’d say we’ve officially crossed over into weird.

“Maybe Giles knew her.” Dean suggested.

“Or!” Olive perked up. “Maybe it’s the name of our pale, red-eyed mystery girl.”

“Alright, let’s just see what we can find.”

                                                              ***

Dean let out a loud groan, and Olive sighed from her spot on the couch. Sam was at the desktop computer, typing away.

“There’s not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There’s not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of fucking Shulps.” Dean complained.

“Great.” Olive huffed. “I can’t find anything either. Sams, what about you?”

“Nothing. No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least.”

“So what now?”

“Well, I think I’m pretty close to cracking Giles’ password. Maybe there’s something in his personal files, you know?”

“By close, you mean?”

Sam shrugged. “Thirty minutes, maybe?”

Dean glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Awesome, so I guess I just get to uh… hang out.” He sighed, then grumbled something under his breath.

Olive got up from the couch and sat in the other red chair, watching as Sam worked. Dean began to click his tongue, and both younger siblings turned with similar looks of annoyance.

He paused, and once they both looked away, he started to make fart noises with his mouth. Olive stifled a giggle, and Sam sighed.

“Dude, seriously!”

“Alright, I’m gonna go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?”

“Great.” Sam huffed.

“Be careful.” Olive smiled at Dean as he stood.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead, then shone his flashlight at Sam. “Keep going, Sparky.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Then Dean went back to Karen’s place to check up on her. I mean, you know, she had obviously been upset earlier.” Olive huffs.

“So why didn’t you and Sam go with him?” The one from before, who Olive’s figured out is named Sheridan, asks.

Olive half shrugs. “I had to take care of some lady things. Sam came with me to the motel.” She pauses. “How did you know he was there, by the way?”

“We found the motel matchbook on Dean when he arrested him. Now-”

“How’d you know where to find me?” She questions.

“Let’s quit dicking around. Now you two were with Dean the whole time you were in Baltimore. Why separate now? Because your brother left you. To go kill Karen.”

“He didn’t kill anyone!” Olive shouts.

The anxiety is ramping, and it’s making her fractured arm hurt.

“I heard the 911 call!” Sheridan slams his fist on the table. “Karen was terrified! She said someone was in the house!”

Giles House, Before

Karen was on the couch in her pajamas, crying. The TV was on, but low. She wasn’t watching. She blew her nose, and heard something as she did. She took her glasses off to rub her eyes before quickly putting them back on. She noticed a figure in the mirror across the room.

She let out a frightened yelp and stood, turning the lights on. There was nobody there, but she turned into the bedroom and shut the door. She dialed 911 and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, emergency services.”

“Hello? I think I saw someone in my house.”

“What’s your address?”

“It’s 421 Clinton Avenue. Please, can you-”

A click, and the call was disconnected.

“Hello?”

The printer on her desk flicked on and began to rapid-print sheets with the same thing from Tony’s office.

danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps

Karen fumbled around for a flashlight, and finally turned. She turned to be face-to-face with the ghost. She screamed.

                                                              ***

Giles House, Before

Dean knocked on the door. “Karen, you in there?”

He got no answer. He looked around before bending to pick the lock. He opened the door and tried the light in the entryway. It didn’t work. He shut the door behind himself and ventured further into the house. He went up the stairs and turned into the bedroom. He pushed the door open to see Karen lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He turned and noticed the printer pages.

“Seriously, what the hell?” He grumbled.

He knelt by Karen’s body, noticing bruises on her wrists. He slowly picked up one of her hands.

“Freeze.”

Dean cursed to himself. Behind him, two cops had their guns trained on his head.

“Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. Now!”

He complied.

First Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sheridan sits in an observation room, where he can see Dean, who is handcuffed to a table. The detective that had been with Sam, Ballard, enters.

“You getting anywhere with him?”

“No. Just a lot of wise-ass remarks.” He grumbles.

“What about the girl?”

Sheridan rolls his eyes. “Nothing. Her story matches his down to the last detail. You?”

“Same with Sam’s.”

“Hmm. Yeah, well, these guys are good. I’ll give them that.” Sheridan crosses his arms over his chest.

Ballard sighs. “If we don’t get Sam or Olive to flip, we have nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

“Hey. We’ve got Dean at the crime scene with blood on his hands. And we caught Olive trying to steal a car. Juries have convicted for less.”

“Yeah, but…” Ballard sighs. “I mean, where’s the murder weapon? What’s the motive? You talk about reasonable doubt.”

“Diana.” Sheridan leans in and touches her face. “Do you have reasonable doubt? We keep leaning on these three, one of them will tumble. And don’t forget about St. Louis. I’m telling you. This Dean guy is our guy.”

Ballard sighs. “I know Tony Giles was a friend of yours.”

“Yeah.” Sheridan nods. “He was, he was a good friend.”

“Look, and I know you just want to clean this mess up quick, but some on. Tony knew a lot of criminal types, I mean… maybe we’re just-”

“Criminal types?” Sheridan cuts her off with a snarl. “He was a defense lawyer, for fuck’s sake. Of course he knew criminal types.”

“Alright.” Ballard sighs. “Let’s get back at them.”

“No, you know what? Let em stew in their juices for a bit.” Sheridan glances around to make sure nobody is nearby. “Come here.”

He pulls her into a kiss.

In the interrogation room, Dean huffs.

“Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps. Dana- Dana Shulps.” He mumbles to himself, eyes closed.

He’s stiff cuffed to the table, and he’s got his hands laced together as he thinks.

Sam, hands free, pulls a pad of paper and a pen to himself. He writes Dana Shulps in print, frowning as he thinks.

Olive is still cuffed to the table in her interrogation room. Her wrists are beginning to hurt, and her leg is bouncing up and down, shaking the entire table. She mutters curses as she looks around, in thought.

“It’s not a name, it’s not a name, it’s not a name.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

Sam huffed as he got to work. “Anagram, maybe?”

Dean continues to mumble to himself, looking up when there’s a knock on the door.

“Mr. Winchester?” A middle aged man pokes his head in.

“Yeah.” Dean grumbles.

“Hi, I’m Jeffrey Kraus.” The man walks in. “I’m with the public defender’s office. I’m your lawyer.”

Dean deadpans. “Oh. Thank god. I’m saved.”

Kraus sits, and Dean leans forward. “Hey, could I uh, steal a pen from you? Maybe some paper?”

“Sure.” Kraus hands the items over to Dean, who goes to town. “Uh, well, the police haven’t found a weapon yet. So that’s good. But uh, they got your prints. And well,” the man chuckles, “literally blood on your hands. And with your police record, uh…” he trails off when he notices that Dean isn’t paying attention.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s an anagram.” Dean grunts.

“A what?”

“Same letters, different words.” Dean explains as he continues to scribble.

The paper now reads:

dna shulps

dan shulpas

land pushas

supash land

push landas

plush danas

He pushes it over to Kraus. “Uh, do me a favor? See if you recognize any of these words. You know, local names, places, anything like that?”

“Do you understand how serious these charges are?”

“I’m handcuffed to a table.” Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I get it. Humor me. Take a quick look.”

Kraus sighs and pulls the pad of paper over to him. “Well, I don’t know about s-u-p, but Ashland is a street name. Not far from here.”

“A street.” Dean repeats.

He takes the pad back, tears the paper off, and begins to scribble again.

“Let’s start with where you were the night Anthony Giles died.”

“Can you get in to see my brother and sister?” Dean looks up quickly.

“Mr. Winchester, you could be facing the death penalty here.”

“Hey, thanks for the law review, Matlock. But, if you wanna help me.” Dean holds up the two scraps of paper he’s written on. “I need you to see my brother and sister.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

Olive unfurls the note and snorts.

Lil,

Ashland Street

Call richies if you’re alone

-Phil

“I hope that means something. He was adamant I get that to you.” Kraus sits across from her.

Olive rolls her neck. “Yeah, thanks. How far exactly is Ashland Street from here?” She crumbles up the note and looks up, expectantly.

“Uh, maybe a ten minute drive. Miss Winchester, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to-”

“No.” Olive shakes her head. “I don’t need a lawyer to talk me through this. They think Dean’s a killer, they found me stealing a car, and they’re gonna pin Sam and I as accessories. They’re gonna bring up everything we’ve ever done, gonna bring up the fact that our dad is gone, gonna say Dean had blood on his hands, and that’s gonna be the end of it.”

Kraus sighs. “You’re sixteen-”

“They’re gonna try me as an adult, I know.” She nods again. “Look, Matlock, why don’t you go talk to Sam? He’s prelaw, full ride to Stanford. I’m sure he can help you work out a strategy for us.” She smiles a sickly sweet smile, but it’s full of anger and poison.

Krau sighs a third time before getting up and exiting the room.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sam reads over the note Dean sent.

Hilts-

It’s a street

Ashland

-McQueen

Kraus sighs. “I hope that’s meaningful. But I’d like to discuss your case now.”

Sam gestures to the chair in front of him. “Sure thing, Matlock.”

Kraus sighs again. “You three really are siblings, aren’t you?” He sits. “Now, as you know, the DA might be interested in-”

A knock on the door, and then Ballard barges in.

“We need you.” She looks at Kraus. “With the other one.”

Sam stares at the door after they close it. He huffs. Several people have crowded outside Dean’s interrogation room, watching as the digital camera is set up across from him.

“Counselor?” Sheridan grins. “Your boy decided to confess.”

“Mr. Winchester?” Kraus warns. “I’d strongly advise against that.”

“Talk directly into the camera, first stating your name for the record.”

Dean clears his throat and sits up. He leans forward and looks into the camera. “My name is Dean Michael Winchester. I’m an Aquarius.” A smile begins to creep onto his face. He knows that if Sam and Olive were to see this, they would roll their eyes and break into a cackle, respectively. “I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone.” His smile drops. “But I know who did. Or rather, what, did. Of course, it can’t be for sure because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?” Ballard spits.

“You know,” Dean shrugs. “Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?”

People in the observation room begin to laugh.

“Tony Giles saw it. I’ll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it’s trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain’t easy.” Dean shakes his head. “You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember redrum. Same concept. You know, it’s uh, word fragments, sometimes it’s anagrams. See, at first we thought it was a name. Dana Shulps. But now we think it’s a street. Ashland. Whatever’s going on, I’ll bet you it started there.”

Dean spreads his hands and smiles. His part is done.

“You arrogant bastard!” Sheridan shouts. “Tony and Karen were good people, and you’re making jokes!”

“I’m not joking, Ponch.” Dean’s lip curls up.

“You murdered them in cold blood! Just like that girl in St. Louis!”

“Oh, yeah…” Dean sucks in air through his teeth. “That wasn’t me either. That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me.”

He smiles at the camera again, and Sheridan snaps. He picks Dean up by the collar, which is no easy task, as he’s 6’ 2” and about 170 pounds. He slams him against the wall, and although Dean is uncomfortable, he doesn’t flinch. He keeps his cold front.

“Pete, that is enough!” Ballard pulls him off.

“You asked for the truth.” Dean speaks calmly.

“Lock his ass up.” Sheridan spits, dropping Dean to his feet.

Another cop takes over and shoves Dean face-first against the wall, cuffing him. Dean grunts, but a sense of calm washes over him. He did what needed to be done. Sam and Olive would fix it from here.

Sheridan storms into Olive’s interrogation room, only to find her gone. He lets out a frustrated scream and throws a chair across the room. A breeze blows through the window, and he sticks his head out. It’s a five story drop, and the fire escape is at least six feet away. There’s no way she could’ve reached it.

“Where is she!” He shouts.

Ballard comes running. “Sam’s gone!”

She blinks, noticing that Sheridan is the only one in the room. “What?”

“What did they do? The fire escapes way over there! For both of them!”

“These fuckers.” Ballard hisses, showing Sheridan the note left on Sam’s table.

“Hilts and McQueen? Lil and Phil?” Sheridan spits.

“Hilts is Steve McQueen’s character in the Great Escape.” Ballard sighs. “And Lil and Phil are from the Rugrats.”

Sheridan lets out another scream.

                                                              ***

Dean is cuffed once more, in a smaller room. Ballard enters, looking around, nervous. Dean huffs.

“Can we make this quick? I’m a little tired, it’s been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all.”

“I want to know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier.”

Dean hums. “Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up.”

She circles around to stand in front of him. “Let’s pretend, for the moment, you’re not entirely insane.”

Dean hums again. “What would one of these things be doing here?”

“A vengeful spirit?”

Ballard nods, and Dean pouts as he thinks.

“Well, they’re created by violet deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt em.”

“And, uh, these things… they’re capable of killing people?” She asks, rubbing her neck.

Dean smiles, lining up his next smart-ass response, when he notices deep, dark bruises on her wrists, the same he had seen on Karen’s.

“Where’d you get those?”

Ballard sighs and pulls up her sleeves, seeing the bruises for the first time.

“I don’t know. It… it wasn’t there before.”

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? The spirit?”

“How’d you know?”

“Cause Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. And I’m willing to bet that if you look at Giles’ autopsy photos, he’s got em too. It’s got something to do with this spirit, I… I just don’t know what.”

Ballard turns away, looking into the mirror.

“I know. You think you’re going crazy. But let’s skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? Died, pretty soon after. You hear me?”

She turns back to him, face drained of color. “You think I’m going to die.”

Dean sighs. “You need to go to Sam and Olive. They’ll help.”

Ballard’s shoulders fall. “You’re giving them up.”

Dean sighs again, looking away. “Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford and Angel Martin. It’s how we find each other when we’re all separated. Now, you can arrest them if you want.” He looks up at her. “Or you can let them save your life.”

Motel Room, Present Day

Sam sits at a desk, rifling through files. Somebody knows on the door, and his head perks up. The person knocks again, and this time Sam gets up. He tucks a handgun into the back of his jeans and looks through the peephole.

He throws the door open with a sigh of relief. Olive tumbles into his arms, shaking. He holds her, then realizes that her legs have given out, and she’s relying entirely on him. He picks her up by the waist and puts her down on the bed, kicking the door shut.

“Bug, what happened?”

She coughs, and a few specks of blood fly out. “I had to jump. I wasn’t gonna make it to the fire escape, so I just went straight down.” She groans. “I landed in a dumpster, my leg broke, and my lungs hurt. I’m mostly healed now, but… it still hurts.” She leans back onto the wall with a heavy sigh.

“Fuck.” Sam mumbles under his breath.

He sees the fear in Olive’s eyes and sits next to her, pulling her to rest in his lap. “Okay. Once we get all of this fixed, I promise we’ll go straight to Bobby. Okay?” He runs a hand through her hair.

She coughs again. “We’ve gotta get Dean.”

The door opens, and Sam whips the gun out, his other hand holding Olive protectively. It’s Ballard. She eyes the gun, and Sam hesitates. She gives a soft smile, and Sam puts the gun down. Olive doesn’t move. She’s scared she’ll cough up a lung, and she’s barely breathing as is. Sam notices Ballard’s eyes on her.

“You’ll have to sit here.” He gestures to the bed.

She does so. “I saw it.”

“What?” Olive speaks, then coughs again, ending with a groan.

Ballard eyes Olive again, then shows Sam her wrists. He takes her hands in his and winces as he looks over the pink skin.

“These showed up after you saw it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ballard sighs.

“Alright. You’re gonna have to tell me exactly what you saw.”

Ballard hesitates. “You know, I must be losing my mind. You’re both fugitives. I should be arresting you.”

“You can arrest us later.” Olive rasps. “After we get through this.”

“She’s right.” Sam sighs. “Right now you’ve gotta talk to me.”

Ballard nods.

“Okay. The spirit, what did it look like?”

“She was… um, really pale. Her throat was cut, and her eyes… they were like, this deep dark red. It appeared like she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn’t. It was just… a lot of blood.”

“Okay. There.” Sam points to the desk, and she rises, going to it. “I’ve been researching every girl that’s ever died or gone missing from Ashland street.”

“How’d you get these?” Ballard flips through the photos. “These are from crime scenes, and booking photos.”

“You have your job, we have ours. Look through them, tell me if you recognize anyone.”

She sits down and begins to look through papers. Sam turns back to Olive and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Okay, bug?”

Olive mumbles an agreement and lets Sam move her out of his lap. He goes to the bathroom, wets a towel, and brings it back, placing it on her forehead. He’s seen her sick like this before, but it’s never been this bad. Panic begins to grow in his chest as he fills a glass with water. He doesn’t know what to do. He needs Dean.

“This is her. I’m sure of it.”

Sam places the cup of water down on the nightstand and goes to stand at the desk with Ballard.

“Claire Becker. Twenty eight years old, disappeared about nine months ago.”

“But I don’t even know her. I mean, why would she come after me?” Ballard’s growing exasperated.

“Well, before her death, she was arrested twice. For dealing heroin. You ever work narcotics?” Sam suggests.

“Yeah, Pete and I did. Before homicide.”

“You ever bust her?”

Ballard shakes her head. “Not that I remember.”

“It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn’t find anything. Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body.”

“What?” Ballard squints.

“Salt and burn em. It’s the only way to put her spirit to rest.” Olive speaks, eyes closed and voice thin and scratchy.

The panic flares in Sam’s chest once more. He needs Dean. She needs Dean.

Ballard sighs. “Of course it is.”

“Sammy, I wanna come with you. I wanna help.” She starts to sit up.

“No, no, no, Ollie. I can’t let you.” Sam rushes to her side, pushing her back down. “No, baby girl. You’re too weak, you’ve gotta stay here.”

“But I wanna help save Dean.” She whines.

“I know, babes, I know. But I need you safe, and that means you have to stay here.”

“She should be in a hospital right now.” Ballard states.

“No!” Olive jumps, then proceeds to cough, spitting blood into the crook of her elbow.

Sam rubs her back and shakes his head. “No hospitals. She can’t do hospitals.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Family issue.”

Olive groans, then rolls onto her side, looking up at Sam with puppy eyes. He sighs again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” She whispers.

Healing large injuries drains her more than turning itself does. A broken leg is no small feat, and she’s definitely injured her lungs. But she had to get out of there, so she forced herself to begin to heal. Once she’s started, she can’t turn the healing process back off. It’s killing her.

She doesn’t want to be alone when she dies.

They both know it.

He helps her sit up, and they both ignore the grunt of pain that escapes her lips. He holds her tightly, but gently.

“Okay.”

2911 Ashland Street, Present Day

Sam leads them down into a creepy warehouse. Olive has her finger hooked in his belt loop, and her feet are dragging. She’s getting worse by the minute, but she refuses to let her mind slip away, not until she sees Dean.

“So what exactly are we looking for?”

“I’ll let you know when we find it.” Sam whispers.

They split up. Sam and Olive start up a flight of stairs as Ballard continues on the lower level. She turns around a corner, and sees Claire, standing by a window. She gasps, and Claire moves towards her, trying to speak.

“Sam? Sam!”

Sam and Olive share a look. Olive lets go of his belt loop and nods, and he runs back down the stairs, toward Ballard. Claire disappears.

“Hey! Hey, I’m here. What is it, what happened?” Sam looks her up and down, noticing that she’s unscatched.

“Claire…”

“Where?” Olive croaks, making her way down the stairs.

“Here. She was here.”

“Did she attack you?” Sam asks.

Ballard shakes her head. “No,” she hesitates, “No, she was just like… reaching out to me. She was over there by the window.” She points.

Sam and Olive share a look before Sam moves the shelves away from the window. Olive squints as the words printed on the glass become clear.

Ashland Supplies

She snorts. “That’s the word.”

“Well, yeah, now the extra letters make sense.” Sam fishes an EMF reader from his pocket and slowly makes his way to the wall, where the words are perfectly shadowed.

“What is that?”

Olive stumbles to follow her brother as she clears her throat. “Spirits and certain remains give off electromagnetic frequencies.”

“So, if Clarie’s body were here, it would tell you?”

“Yeah, that’s the theory.” Sam mumbles.

The EMF meter begins to purr, and Sam turns back around to a brick wall. He sighs and looks around. Olive spots a rusted crowbar and drags it behind her as she follows Sam. He plucks it from her hand and begins to break through the wall. Olive coughs as dust and debris fly through the air. She slumps down against the staircase, coughing every so often. Her head falls back when she’s not struggling to breathe, and her eyes are beginning to roll into the back of her head.

“There’s definitely something in there.” Sam grunts as he continues to break through the wall. “You know? This is bothering me.”

“Well, you are digging up a corpse.” Ballard shrugs.

“No, no, uh…” Sam chuckles. “That’s pretty par for the course, actually.”

“Then what?”

“I mean, it’s just… no vengeful spirit we’ve ever dealt with wanted to be wasted… so why the hell would Claire lead us to her own remains?”

Olive lets out another cough, this one sounding loud and wet. Sam pauses and stares at her. Her head is back against the wall, her mouth is open and bloody, and her eyes are closed. She’s pale, sweaty, and barely breathing.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Ballard shakes her head, snapping Sam back into reality.

He shakes his head, again glancing over his shoulder at the teenager sprawled on the ground.

“Here, gimme a hand.”

Together, they pull out a body that is wrapped in shrouds of cloth, and place it on the ground. Sam fishes out a pocket knife and cuts the ropes off, revealing the body. He sighs, looking back at Olive. Her eyes are shut, and her head is falling off to the side. Her chest heaves with each breath, and Sam can hear her wheezing. Ballard puts her wrists out, above Claire’s.

“Her wrists, yeah.” Sam turns back. “They’d be bruised just like yours.”

Ballard reaches out with a shaky hand, cautiously touching a necklace on the body. Sam perks up.

“That necklace mean anything to you?”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s rare. It was custom made over on Carson street.” Ballard’s hand goes back to her own neck. “I have one just like it.” She looks up at Sam. “Pete gave it to me.”

He huffs. “Now this makes sense.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s a death omen, not a vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Claire’s not killing people.” Sam sighs. “She’s trying to warn them. You see, sometimes, spirits, they don't want revenge. They want justice.” He nods to himself. “Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is.” He pauses, and it clicks in his head. “Detective, how much do you know about your partner?”

“Oh my god.” Ballards face falls.

“About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously, it was a cop. We never found out who did it, but whoever it was would need someone to fence their product.”

Sam snorts. “Someone like a heroin dealer. Somebody like Claire.”

Olive stumbles to her feet. Her lips are dry and her skin is devoid of color. Her fangs are peeking out of her mouth, and her eyes are watery.

“Dean’s in danger.”

Armored Van on a Highway, Present Day

“So I’m being extradited to St. Louis, huh?”

Dean gets no answer, so he tries again.

“And you just decided to transfer me yourself, eight hundred miles at two in the morning?”

Again, nothing. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck begin to rise.

“This can’t be good.”

Baltimore, Present Day

“Okay. Thanks.” Ballard snaps her phone shut.

“What is it?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

He’s in the backseat with Olive. She’s in and out of it, and she looks worse every time they pass under a street light.

“Pete just left the precinct. With Dean.”

“What?” Olive forces her eyes open as she sits up, grunting.

“He said the prisoner had to be transfered, and he just took him. Dispatch has been calling but he won’t answer the radio.”

“Radio?” Sam repeats. “He took a county vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then they should have a lo-jack. We’ve just gotta get it turned on.”

Empty stretch of road, Present Day

The van pulls off onto the side of the road. Dean pushes the rising anxiety and leans forward.

“Pee break? So soon?” He taunts. “Might wanna get your prostate checked.”

Sheridan says nothing before he gets out. Dean listens as the footsteps circle around to the back of the van.

“Son of a bitch.” He groans to himself.

Sheridan yanks the backdoors open, and Dean inches away.

“Hey, man. I’m cool in the van. You go do what you gotta do.”

Sheridan grabs him by the jacket and hauls him out of the van, throwing him onto the wet ground. Dean lands with a grunt, squirming to sit up.

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch.” Sheridan spits. “You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that shit you’re peddling?”

Dean makes it to his knees and pants, staring at Sheridan.

“Here’s the thing. You’re not gonna make it to St. Louis. You’re gonna die trying to escape.”

Dean blinks, and Sheridan’s gun is out, pointed between his eyes.

“Wait!” Dean pleads. “Wait, let’s talk about this. I mean, you don’t wanna do something that you’re gonna regret later.”

Sheridan only cocks the gun.

“Or maybe you do.”

Olive growls from low in her throat, holding back a cough and the load of blood in her mouth. Sheridan turns at the noise, and Ballard puts her gun up. Sam tucks Olive into his side, shielding her from the gun. She’s shaking, and Dean’s eyes are glued to her.

His stomach drops. She’s dying. He knows it.

“Pete! Put the gun down.”

“Diana? How’d you find me?” The gun goes back to Dean’s head, and Olive feels bile rise in her throat.

Sam hugs her tighter.

“I know about Claire.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sheridan shakes his head, gun still up.

“Put the gun down!” She shouts.

Sheridan drops the act, and a smirk grows on his face. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re fast. I’m pretty sure I’m faster.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I didn’t do anything, Diana.” Sheridan shakes his head.

“It’s a little late for that.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” Sheridan scoots closer to Dean, and another growl rips through Olive’s throat.

She swallows what she can and spits blood onto the grass.

“Claire was trying to turn me in! I had no choice.”

“And Tony? Karen?”

Sheridan shakes his head again. “Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I’m sure he told Karen everything.”

Dean’s eyes go back to his younger siblings. Sam’s holding the entirety of Olive’s weight, and he’s looking at Dean with big eyes. Dean shakes his head, and Sam looks about ready to cry. Olive lets out a weak cough.

“It was a mess. I had to clean it up. I just panicked.” Sheridan shook his head.

“How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?”

“There’s a way out.” Sheridan looks back at Dean. “This Dean kid’s a freaking gift. We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just… just one more dead scumbag.”

“Hey.” Dean fronts.

Sheridan puts the gun closer, and Dean backs off, shoulders falling.

“No one will question it. Diana, please.” Sheridan begs. “I still love you.”

Ballard puts the gun down with a sigh. Dean’s eyes fill with tears as Sheridan’s gun connects with his head. A loud growl tears through the trees, and Sheridan is tackled to the ground. Dean rolls out of the way, and Sam pulls him up. Ballard tries to get a shot, but she can’t.

There’s another loud growl, and the tangle of limbs stops moving. Sheridan is down, and Olive falls to her knees, coughing loudly and violently. Blood sprays everywhere, and the second she stops coughing she begins to throw up. Sam rushes over, holding her hair back. Diana unlocks Dean’s handcuffs, and he joins his brother, watching as Olive fights to breathe.

Blood continues to drip from her mouth as she wheezes, chest heaving. Dean pulls her into his chest, and she begins to shake.

“So now what, officer?” Dean asks, cradling Olive like a baby.

“Pete did confess to me. He screwed up all your cases. Royally. I’d say there’s a good chance that we could get them dismissed.”

“You’d take care of that for us?” Sam looks up.

“Yeah. But the St. Louis murder charges? That’s another story. I can’t help you. Unless…” Ballard sighs. “I just happened to turn my back, and you walked away. I could just tell them that the suspects escaped.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, she’s sure, Sam.” Dean hissed.

“No, it’s just… I mean, you could lose your job over something like that.”

She shakes her head. “Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I’ll sleep better at night.”

Olive lets out another strangled cough, and Dean pushes her hair from her face.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Ballard asks.

“I don’t know.” Sam whispers, in shock.

“Where’s my car?” Dean calls.

“It’s at the impound yard down on Robertson.”

Dean groans, shooting Sam a look. “We need Dad’s journal, it could have answers.”

Ballard shakes her head. “Don’t even think about taking the car. You guys have to get out of here. I have to radio this in.”

The boys nod and Dean hoists Olive up. Coughs continue to rack her body, and she’s spitting blood everywhere. Sam takes her from him and they start down the muddy road.

“Dean, what do we do?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her like this before.” Dean hisses back.

“We’re miles away from Dad’s journal. We’ll never make it in time.”

Olive wheezes, then coughs again, choking on her blood and spit. Dean stops, panting. He shakes his head at Sam, who is staring back with wide eyes.

“Sam, we can’t do anything.”

Olive’s stomach heaves again, and blood is the only thing to come out. Sam sighs as he stops. The brothers kneel down, and Sam places Olive between them.

She stares between the two with tears in her eyes.

I’m sorry.

Dean pushes her hair out of her face with a soft smile. “We love you.”

Sam is trembling, enraged. He picks her back up and shakes his head. Dean follows, shouting Sam’s name.

“We have to be able to do something, Dean. I’m not gonna watch her die.”

“We don’t have Dad’s journal!”

“Then we call Bobby!”

“Sam, we don’t even know if Bobby knows.”

“We have to try!”

Dean swallows the bad taste in his mouth as he yanks out his phone and dial’s Bobby’s number. Olive coughs.

He puts it on speaker. “Hello.”

“Bobby!” Sam shouts.

“What’s wrong, kids?”

“Olive’s dying, we don’t know what to do!”

“What?”

“Bobby, we’ve gotta tell you something important.”

“You sister’s part Okami. I know. What happened?”

The boys blink at each other, but a groan from Olive snaps them back into reality.

“The healing process is killing her. What do we do?”

There’s a long sigh, and Dean watches the little color left in Olive’s face drain. Her chest heaves once more, and then she stops breathing. He drops the phone, snatching Olive from Sam’s hold.

“Olive!”

“Bobby!” Sam grabs the phone, in tears.

“Blood.”

“What?”

“She needs blood. Once a day, every day. It’ll make her stronger, she won’t get sick again.”

“Bobby, we’re not-”

“Gimme your knife.” Dean interrupts.

“What?” Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Give me your fucking knife!”

Sam doesn’t move, and Dean forces Olive’s mouth open. He slices his palm against her fang and groans as blood trickles out.

It falls in droplets, staining her teeth and her tongue. The phone call is long forgotten, and Sam is on his knees by their side. Olive’s eyes begin to twitch behind her eyelids, and Dean gasps. He squeezes his hand, bleeding harder.

A second passes, and Sam stares at Dean. Dean doesn’t look up from Olive.

Her fangs begin to recede, and Dean watches, shaking. A small cough moves her body, and then she begins to wheeze. Sam drops his head to her chest. He hears her heart and he lets out a loud sigh, resting his head against her.

“Boys?”

Her voice is soft and unharmed. She sounds like she just woke up from a nap. Dean pulls her up and hugs her. She sniffs, reaching up to rub her eyes.

“How?”

Sam lets out a weak laugh and brushes her hair back. “Dean saved you.”

She leans into her oldest brother and looks up with a soft smile.

“Thanks, De.”

He laughs and kisses the top of her head before pulling her back into a second hug. “Anything for you, baby girl. Anything for you.”

Previous Ep: No Exit (2.06)

Next Ep: Crossroad Blues (2.08)

taglist:

@i67​

#supernatural season two #supernatural oc #supernatural sister #supernatural fic #winchester!oc #winchester!reader #bobby singer #supernatural cast #the usual suspects #supernatural #olive winchester #my posts #dean and sam #sam and dean #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader #sam x sister!oc #sam winchester x sister!oc #dean x sister!oc #dean winchester x sister!oc #john winchester #john winchester x daughter!reader #john winchester x daughter!oc #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #jeffery dean morgan #winchester sister #micwrites

[lokisgame]

Wild Wild West [2]

[part 1]

They were so used to leaving in a hurry, that it wasn't an issue anymore. Only problem was, that she didn't pack any real holiday clothes. "We need to do some shopping." She said, walking through the parking lot. "What for?" "I don't know about you, but I." She began, but a heavy sigh cut her off mid-sentence. "Will you stop saying that?" Mulder said, slightly annoyed. "What?" "That 'but I' thing, I'm here too, with you." Scully glanced over her shoulder, expecting a scowl, but found a smile instead. “Just say what you wanna say." "I need clothes." "Okay," he grinned wider, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing, which it was, really. "We'll go get some clothes." "Nothing fancy." She said, trying to stop the chagrin from spreading. "Of course not." "Some t-shirts, pair of shorts." "Whatever you need." "And you?" "What about me?"

"You're not spending two weeks in this suit." She turned again and saw Mulder looking at himself, dumbfounded. "Mulder!" "What's wrong with my suit?" "You look like a…" He arched one eyebrow in challenge. "Like what?" "Like an FBI agent!" She said and they both laughed. "I get that a lot." Mulder said. "I couldn't help myself," she hiccuped, "sorry." They found their rental car and Scully popped the trunk. "Was that a subtle hint I should change my style, Agent Scully?" "Maybe," she smiled, letting him handle her bag. "For the next two weeks at least." "I didn't know I'd be vacationing with the fashion police." Mulder said and slammed the lid, turning to her, hand reached out, palm up. "You wasted your chance to boss me on picking the car. I'm driving." "You wish," she grinned, taking a step back, hiding the keys behind her back. "Should I remind you of the statistics?" "Only if you wanna walk." Scully pushed a button on the small remote and the roof of their navy blue convertible, folded neatly into a small compartment, hidden behind the back seat. "Get in the car g-man." She said, and he noticed her smile grow three sizes.

They didn't exactly follow each other around the store, but Mulder kept a close eye at Scully, her head surfacing in strange places, as if she was diving. He picked light cargo pants, pair of grey sneakers, couple of 2-dollar t-shirts, nothing fancy as promised, and went to find her, since she went under again.

Thumbing through rows of hangers, Scully tried to turn the volume down on her inner critic. If she had time, she wouldn't shop at Target at all, she would look and try on and compare, visiting at least four stores in the process. Not because she was picky, she simply liked to have options. This felt like hit and run, if the colour caught her eye and she found her size, it landed in the cart, t-shirts, shorts, flip-flops. Only thing that made her pause was the dress. She wanted something simple, something she could throw over herself and be ready to go. She scanned through the rack, crossing out one model after another; too long, too short, neckline too high, too… lace. The lace made her pause. She found her size and looked at the dress closer. Chantilly lace it was not, but it made her smile, and made her other choice easier. Ten minutes later Mulder's voice found her, while she was examining herself in the dressing room mirror. By reflex, she caught the dress to cover herself up, but then the absurdity of the gesture washed through her, making her chuckle. "Have you seen a slim redhead come in here?" He asked someone, sounding closer. A young, female voice replied, sugary sweet. "Sorry, no, but maybe I can help you with something?" "No, thanks." Mulder said cooly, just outside. "I'm with someone." "In here!" Scully called out, sticking one hand above the door. The girl looking at her from the mirror blushed, all the way from her cheeks to the edge off the bikini top, then she smiled, slowly letting the dress drop. A light thump bounced the door and his voice came even closer, little over her shoulder. "You okay in there?" "Mhmm." Scully glanced at herself, practically naked, and tried to imagine him seeing her through the mirror. Cancer took the few extra pounds, but she looked healthy again, slim but toned, if a little pale. She liked what she saw, and oddly enough, she liked the thought of him, watching her. "I think I've got everything so," he said, pausing before he teased quietly, "need any help?" "I'm good, thanks." She chuckled, decision made, and tugged at the string that kept the bikini top around her neck. "You could find us beach towels thought." "Okay," Mulder chuckled, "any colour preference?" "Surprise me."

Mulder left the changing area with a goofy grin on his face, thinking how his life could turn in one day. That morning he woke up thinking what's next, and not twelve hours later, he was on vacation. A vacation with Scully no less. Not wondering what she was doing, whom she was meeting, what she was wearing, what she was thinking, because the few times they tried that, it almost drove him crazy. Last time she went away on a holiday, she hugged him goodbye and wrote him letters, which kept him sane as he worked a vicious murder case and the last one, a polaroid of her smiling against the sunset, still sat in his wallet, along with the words, 'wish you were here'. (*) The towels weren't that hard to find and as he looked for the largest ones, an image of her flashed through his mind, stretched out on blue cotton, water on her skin, glistening in the sun. They were really doing this! Somewhere out there, she was trying on swimwear, giving him two weeks off her time, out of her own free will. It's been ages since he shared a vacation with anyone; semi-regular quarantine stays didn't count. He had trouble remembering the last time he swam in the ocean, not to mention sunbathed, he preferred hiking to lying idly in the sand, but who said they couldn't do both. Hike and sunbathe that is, not quarantine and vacation. He will not ruin this trip by getting them into some kind of mess, he owed that much to Scully, if nothing else. Strolling through rows off summer clothes, a simple hat caught Mulders' eye, pale straw trimmed with a deep green ribbon. Sun and sand and Scully in a straw hat, he thought smiling to himself again. It was his duty to protect her, and a brim like that, would provide plenty of shade. Who knows, maybe she'd let him hide in it as well.

He found her at the pharmacy, patiently watching a young clerk ring up an impressive pile of medical supplies. "What's all this?" Mulder asked, hand on the small of her back. "You plan on opening an emergency ward?" "With you in tow, I just might." Scully said and turned to the clerk, remembering something else. "You have steri strips?" Mulder sighed and with a hand on her shoulder, made her turn around, then took her face in his hands and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She definitely needed a break. "Scully," he said quietly, resting his forehead against hers, "I know you think I'll run off and do something stupid, but trust me, all we need is sunscreen." He let go and turned to the clerk, embarrassed by his shameless display of affection. "What's the best one you have? Something that could withstand a nuclear blast." "We have this," the girl reached for a simple, white box, "for very sensitive skin, UVA and UVB, SPF120, and it's waterproof." "We'll take it," Mulder smiled and took out his wallet. "The rest of it, too." "And the steri strips?" She asked Scully, making her look away from Mulder, equally embarrassed. "Yes, please." She said. "Better safe than sorry." Mulder shrugged smiling at the girl.

The sunset caught them driving along the waterfront, with wind tugging at Scully's hair, blowing like a red flame. It was hard for Mulder to take his eyes off her, but he did, just in time to see a narrow parking lot cutting into the beach. He gently taped her side with the back of his hand and she looked away from the road, following his nod and pulled over. "What a view," she said when they got out, leaning shoulder to shoulder, against the car. Sun fell slowly into the ocean, painting the sky purple and orange, kissing her skin with blushing peach, softening the lines, elongating shadows for them so that they could hide. She lost the jacket and her hair was a mess, but she never looked more beautiful. "One for the books," he said, putting his arm around her, finally sparing a glance for mother nature. With Scully's arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder, they watched the sunset in comfortable silence. Their motel was less than five miles away.

#wild wild west #x files fanfic #msr fanfic #summer holiday

[poeticsandaliens]

In the morning hour she calls me (post-finale MSR )

This is my take on the post-MS IV canon compliant babyfic. Title is taken from Country Roads (John Denver). Based in part off a post from @foxmulders about Mulder and Scully’s magic teenage son who can explode heads but knows nothing practical about adulting. Tagging @today-in-fic.

Pairing: MSR

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Slowly and strangely, Mulder and Scully reconnect with their son. 

He bought the ring years ago. She saw it tucked away in his underwear drawer, once, during the early days of living with him. Two silver bands twirled around each other in a neverending optical illusion. It had taken her a second to realize what it was, another second to realize what it meant, and a third to remember that no, they weren’t already married. They certainly fucked like newlyweds, on every surface that would hold them and some that wouldn’t. They had cracked every piece of furniture but the coffee table.

She wondered for months if he’d actually do it, drop to one knee and go through the romantic motions. Or if he’d wander into the living room one day, unshaven, hands shoved in his pockets and casually ask her to marry him. The funny thing was, meeting Mulder had solidified her desire never to get married. He was everything she found attractive in a man, and he irritated her endlessly in spite of it (and in hindsight, at least partially because of it). 

He never asked. When she peeled out of the driveway with her life measured in boxes and medical journals, she was glad for it.

They are slurping cheap shaved ice at a roadside shack, indulging the July heat. Scully has one hand wrapped possessively around a cup of mechanical snow and raspberry syrup, the other shoved into her pocket, pressed flat against her stomach in an ongoing attempt to even process the last week’s events. She can still feel her muscles ripple beneath her touch. She wonders what will come first: the vanishing of her taut abdominal muscles or the baby’s fluttering kicks. What will she hear first: a new heartbeat on a sonogram or her son’s heart beating itself back to life on the river bottom, some confirmation he sends her that he is alive and well? She feels it in her gut, but she waits for him to tell her himself.

“Hey Scully,” Mulder’s hand is on her shoulder. “You okay?” 

She nods vacantly. “Thinking,” she replies. About what, she doesn’t have to say. She eyes the grape slush at the bottom of her cup. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah, but first,” he says, almost sheepishly, in his something to say that I want to be a surprise voice that she always indulges. “I was thinking too, about everything that’s happened in the last couple weeks. I mean, Spender’s dead, Monica’s dead, Skinner isn’t out of the woods yet, William…” he trails off. William is—their son is. Mulder rummages around his jeans pocket. “And I realized, why don’t we get married? Not now, exactly, or even at some set date, but sometime.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “Mulder…”

“Scully, will you marry me sometime?”

And there is the ring. The wedding band he saved for over a decade, that Scully had all but forgotten about, in his outstretched palm over the sticky table. His hands have blue syrup on them. Her eyes water. 

“Yees,” she promises. “Sometimes.” She takes his face in her hands and plants one on him, right there between the shake shack and the Taurus. He tastes like blueberries and cheap candy.

That night, between shuddering orgasms and sweet breath and beads of perspiration, they finally break the coffee table. 

                                                 *        *       *       *

Sunrise curls through the window. Her stomach churns at ungodly hours of the morning, so she kneels each dawn before the porcelain god, then compulsively organizes the kitchen. She needs something to do, even more so since Kersh had informed them of their suspension. So she moves the salt shaker three inches to the right to make room for a potted succulent.

Hey, Dana. Nice plant. It’s Willam’s voice. She’s never heard it in person, but God, she’d know it anywhere. That cavalier, undeniably Mulder-ish tone, as if he were a stranger who could waltz into her life without preamble. 

“William…” Her lungs flatten into her ribcage. “Jackson…”

I’m sorry about the whole dying thing, he says carefully. But you understand why I had to do it. They have to believe I’m gone. They have to believe their experiment failed. 

“William—” 

He cuts her off. Do you think you could answer some questions for me?

“William they may claim ownership of you, call you their experiment. But no matter what, you’re still a person. No matter how afraid and bitter I ever sounded. You will always be our son, and you have a place here if you want it.” She sighs through her nose; she hopes he knows what she’s telling him.

Worry about the little one right now. Of course he knows about the baby. For a moment she’s squared up to give him a talking to for being a know-it-all, but he’s such a stranger to her still. She lacks that kind of authority. That thing’s… what, the size of a blueberry? William continues. That’s what you told that Mulder guy. It’s a lot more fragile than I am. I just need to ask you a question. There is an awkward pause. She counts second until finally, William mutters, if I cut the mold off a sandwich, can I still eat it?

She can’t see him, but oh, she sees Mulder’s son. She stifles a weepy laugh. He isn’t making promises, but she chooses to focus on the fact that he hadn’t refused to come home, either. She’ll see him soon—she can feel it written like a prescription in the fiber of her bones.

                                          *       *        *       *

William communicates sporadically, over the next few weeks. She will be swinging on the front porch, as Mulder collects dead branches and hurls them across the property for Daggoo, and William’s voice will slice into her consciousness. Images will flash through her mind, sometimes the mundane and sometimes the extraordinary. One day he asks, What is it called again when you can make an object float? Telepathy or Telekinesis? The next day, can I put this burrito into the microwave with the wrapper on? And so on. What’s an easy way to hide the bullet scar in my head? How do I get coffee stains out of a white t-shirt?

Sometimes, he sticks around in her head long enough for Mulder to notice. He catches that glassy look in her eye, asks her to tell William he loves him, wishes he would come home. She always says the first part, never the second. She understands now, she cannot ask William to simply melt into their family. “He’ll come when he’s ready,” she promises Mulder, curious if William can still hear her.

I don’t feel like a William, he muses one day. That’s what you named me, right? I don’t feel like Jackson either, but I’m not sure if William is what I want to be called forever.

“We can call him Will,” Mulder suggests cautiously, hunched at his desk. He’s taken to inscribing their adventures in brilliant fiction. His reading glasses suit him. 

I’m okay with Will. Like that boy from Pirates of the Caribbean, the one who died and came back. He was pretty cool. Man, I loved those movies as a kid. He’s stopped paying attention to what he relays to her. She enjoys those oblivious moments before their connection is severed. 

                                              *      *      *      *

She lies on their tattered couch, a medical journal propped half-heartedly against her knees. She’d stopped reading awhile ago, when the flopping and fluttering began in her stomach. She’d felt it earlier, tiny jerks of movement from the inside, but nothing like this. This is the most tangible, physical reminder of the impossible baby developing inside her. She has softened, her body less wiry now, but still, she’s hardly showing; only Mulder takes notice, and he’s particularly interested in her breasts. She presses her fingers into the side of her belly and is rewarded with somersaults that make her wonder if the baby that make her think of acrobats in the Cirque de Soleil. She thinks of an old X-file, a town of Floridian sideshow performers. If it seemed odd once, she and her family would fit right into it now.

There’s a knock on the door. Skinner comes first to mind—he is their only contact with the FBI, the only person who knows where they live. She and Mulder aren’t the type to make couple-friends at local restaurants. 

Mulder thumps downstairs to the door. “I’ve got it, Scully. Don’t get up—” his words catch in his throat. 

“Mulder? Who is it?” Scully swings her stiff legs over the couch and moves to join him. She fetches her sidearm from a drawer, just in case. Her heartbeat quickens as infinite possibilities flicker through her head—agents, assassins, aliens, for God’s sake. Even that crosses her mind, if only for a second. 

But oh–there are no thick-coated men in black outside the door but her son. Their son, lanky and shaggy and taller than his father. He wears a denim jacket, ratty black jeans that cling to his legs and a t-shirt with what Scully presumes is a band name plastered across the front in such spectacular lettering she has to squint to make sure they’re letters.  

“Hey, Dana. Mulder. I’m in town for a few days and I thought, maybe I could crash here?” He looks almost guilty, his lower lip sticking out like Mulder’s. She’s struck by his rumpled, rebellious frame and how closely it resembles Mulder in his youth. And if there was ever any doubt who his father his, she can cite the genetic tendency to die dramatically and spring back to life. 

“Of course,” Mulder says and wraps him into a hug, and he lets out a little oof of surprise. He takes it in stride, though, turning to Dana with a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. When she hugs him, her arms fit around his waist and not his shoulders. God, he’s a foot taller than her. 

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “I didn’t want you to.” 

“Come,” Scully says, because she’s not sure what else to say, here on the front porch of their unremarkable house. “Come inside.”

He follows her into the house, glancing around at the creaky furniture, explosions of books and manila folders, and a smile spreads across his face. “This is a cool place.”

“I’ll show you the spare bedroom.” Scully gestures to the stairs. But when she turns around, Will’s eyes are fixed somewhere else. Her breath catches, because there on the desk is the first sonogram of her unborn child. The other physical evidence, paired nicely with the barrage of kicks where her belly pokes almost unnoticeably over her slacks.

“How old is it?” he asks, and there’s an unidentifiable cadence to his voice.

“Thirteen weeks.”

He nods slightly. “You two are cute parents.”

Her heart cracks at the present tense. Are, she thinks, not will be. Are. She remembers that when three days later, he vanishes from their lives once again. 

                                          *        *        *        *

They see him once or twice more in the coming weeks. Scully has learned to recognize the rat-tat-tat of his beater car pulling into the driveway. When he does come back, he often brings some strange, uniquely tourist-y food from wherever he’d last stayed, and they work it into the evening meal. Mulder reminds her that their son has a lot to unpack at his age. 

She gets mental postcards of his life. Breathtaking scenery, shadowy forests backlit by an industrial flashlight, harkening back to her youth. He asks about laundry at first, then about her old cases. Verbally, in immense detail as she’s walking or reading or shopping for a shitty IKEA crib, she gives him the X-files. Every case feels like a pound of weight off her shoulders. She tells them like an epic, passed orally from bard to bard. It is Will’s turn now.

                                            *         *       *        *

Whoever called it a ‘baby bump’ had an extraordinarily easy pregnancy, she muses bitterly. Twenty-three weeks, she was a fuller, freckled, flush-faced painting of herself. A little heavier, probably healthier if she’s not lying. She’d hit twenty-four, like a fucking timer, and done a double take in the bathroom mirror. She looked pregnant—not long gone due-any-day, but undeniably with child, her midsection smooth and rounded out, protruding slightly even beneath her pajama shirt. 

Mulder had looked at her like she’d plucked the sun out of the sky and handed it to him. She had lain in the backyard grass next to him and it felt like they had come out of time. He pressed his hands to the sides of her belly and grinned. He had, in the course of one afternoon, told the baby about Flukeman, Sasquatch, and the Mothmen in vast detail. 

Strolling through the supermarket, she feels exposed, like her life is laid out for the world to see and judge. To line up her crow’s feet with the stretch marks on her stomach. She swears Will wasn’t this big at twenty-four weeks, or perhaps the frame he grew into hadn’t started out as tiny and tightly wound. 

“Did you ever hear the one about the woman who gave birth to a beetle?” the check-out attendant asks her. “When he got older he really bugged her!” The guy belts out a jolly laugh, and if she were anyone else she might take it in stride. 

She purses her lips. It’s not his fault that he hits too close to home. She can’t think about it, or it’ll all consume her again—Pennsylvania fields littered with tiny, mutated bodies, devil-children cremated outside mansions, insects pulled from women’s wombs. Will sliding into the world in some Godforsaken ghost town into the arms of a woman who seventeen years later would inevitably die in vain.

The woman who gave birth to a beetle? He came out of her screaming and wide-eyed and wet, like any other baby but greener than poison. He suckled her breast with pincers. She read it in an X-file, once. 

It’s too much. She presses herself into Mulder later, kisses him hungrily, seeks in him the antithesis to all her anxieties. He takes her from behind because that’s all they can manage now, and she comes so quickly and loudly it’s almost embarrassing. 

                                                    *      *      *       *

Mulder pokes the peak of her belly. A foot pokes back. She indulges him—all smiles and salt-and-pepper stubble, pushing up her t-shirts reverently touching the ponderous curve of her. She remembers his absence seventeen years ago too distinctly. She pretends not to adore the wonder in his eyes. 

The rhythmic puff of a shitty tailpipe rouses them. They know that car. He helps her off the couch in a daze of frantic limbs as they hurry to the door because he’s here, in all of his snarky, ratty adolescent glory. He looks good. He looks genuinely happy, for the first time since they met him. He looks stronger than last they saw.

“Will,” Mulder calls across the driveway because he can’t help himself. Will waves at him with a crooked smile, ambling up to the door. He has a backpack with him, and a box of what appear to be butter croissants. 

“Hi Mulder,” he says as he’s engulfed in a hug. “Hi Dana.” His gaze flicks to her stomach; hi eyebrows shoot up, and does he realize how long he’s been gone? 

She smiles at him. For a brief moment she’s worried she should have more to say, but Will has been a more constant presence in her life than in Mulder’s simply because he can slip in and out of her mind as he pleases. Right now, she’s said enough.

“I need to put these on the table,” he says, holding up the croissants. “They’re to share.”

They sit around the cramped kitchen table. They bustle awkwardly, preparing sandwiches and opening windows to let the evening sunlight in. With it comes a summer warmth, a red glow on the windowsill. “Why don’t we go outside?” Will suggests. Every time he opens his mouth, Scully expects him to tell her how long he’s staying. Or, she expects an apologetic air, to be able to read the conflict in him and know he will leave in a day or two. She hasn’t felt it yet.

Scully nods and moves to get up from the table. Slowly, with a conscious effort she resents. She sways as she stands, her balance off-kilter. It’s been so long since she’s looked like this. It shocks her how unprepared she is for the shift in her center of gravity. These days it feels like her skin his made of leather, her bones of cold ceramic, and before she can reassure her near-grown son, say, “oh this is normal, you know,” Will’s hand shoots out to steady her.

The heartache flares. It should be the other way around. It should be the other way around. She should have been there to hold him up as he tottered. “Dana?” he asks, and his voice is laced with unanswerable questions.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m just not used to this yet.” She smooths her hand over her belly, her palm jumping as the baby’s foot protrudes out one side. She feels Will’s dark eyes on her, suddenly so much younger than the rest of him. Perhaps he thinks of his own birth. She certainly does. She thinks of how Mulder put his hand right there when he kicked, and how painfully long ago it all was.

“Remember,” she tells him, “we can’t be young forever.”

Will looks at the otherworldly shape of its foot, pushing on her like a drumskin. He looks at the sharp lines of her cheekbones undercut by the quiet, tranquil determination in her eyes when she touches the errant limb. He looks at Mulder looking at her, with unadulterated wonder. It slips out of his mouth, clearly unexpected. “Can I feel?” 

Scully is misty-eyed—some combination of hormones and her body awash with history—when she nods. She sways again; it’s all so overwhelming, and Mulder moves behind her, his hand on the small of her back. She takes Will’s callused hand, her eyebrows raised at him to make sure it’s okay, and places it on the hard mound of her belly. 

He grins. “I can feel it move.” A laugh escapes him. She guides him to where the foot pushes out lopsided. He taps it, and it taps back. She flashes back again to Mulder, in the hospital, his palm flat on the skin that enclosed the amoebic creature to become Will.

William is a boy tailed by Death; it clings to his skin like spiderwebs, haunts him wherever he flees to. She hopes Will finds peace here, feeling his sibling move inside her. It is unspeakably weird, all of it, to have the baby she mourned for decades turn up grown before her eyes. In a way, she’d always pictured him outside of time. But neither does he last forever, so here she stands with stubbled spook-writer Mulder, her adult son holding her steady and clinging with one finger to her unborn child. 

She wishes they could hand Will the sun, but all they can hand him is home, whatever that may be.

#the x-files #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #william scully #jackson van de kamp #ms iv #ms iv post-ep #ms iv fanfic #baby fic #msr fanfic #today-in-fic

[mldrgrl]

Not Again: Part 2

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG13 Summary: See Part 1

Part 2: Returned Chapter 1

Chapter 2, Day 2:

The hospital has no reason to keep her, so they release her in the morning.  She’d forced Mulder to leave her bedside overnight, but she has a feeling he didn’t go far.  He was there too early, and wearing the same jeans and sweater he was wearing the day before for her to believe he’d found a hotel.  She’s left to assume he fell asleep in a chair outside her room, but she doesn’t ask.

Every time she’s gotten out of bed, she can’t understand the foreign feeling of her own body.  She feels fine, but she feels like a different person.  She isn’t used to the new weight and girth.  Simple things like leaning over are different and take effort.  Every time the baby moves, it startles her.  The mirror in the tiny hospital bathroom hasn’t given her as much of a chance to inspect the change in her body as she’s wanted and she’s anxious to leave.

First, she has to wait for Mulder to come back and take her away.  She’d asked him to please just find something for her to wear at the nearest mall so she doesn’t have to ride home in borrowed scrubs.  He returns with a sheepish look on his face and a dark-haired woman in tow.

“Scully,” he says.  “This is Agent Reyes.”

“Monica,” she says, smiling warmly and holding her hand out.  “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Mulder had told her about the agents he’d been working with the past six months.  Doggett and Reyes.  She knows Agent Reyes had been consistently working the case when Mulder had been ordered off of it.  She knows she should feel grateful, but she still can’t fully wrap her mind around the fact that she’s been missing for six months, let alone the large gap in her memory.

Scully shakes Agent Reyes’ hand and then gives Mulder an inquisitive look.  He hands her a shopping bag from Wal-Mart.

“I needed some assistance in the whole...figuring out what clothes to buy situation,” Mulder says.

Agent Reyes laughs.  “He was trying to outfit you from the gift section of a gas station down the street.”

Mulder puts his hands up in a guilty as charged expression and smiles.  There’s a clear bond between him and Reyes that gives Scully a pang of jealousy.  She wonders if there’s something going there.  They seem comfortable with each other, and Mulder isn’t one to be comfortable with another person.  She can’t handle another Diana Fowley coming into their lives.

“Thank you, I’ll just…”  Scully says, tipping her head towards the bathroom.

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself and then say goodbye,” Agent Reyes says.

“Good bye,” Scully answers, relieved to be rid of the woman so quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” Mulder says.  He puts his hand at the middle of Reyes’ back and smiles at Scully.  “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Scully is left alone in the room and she stands clutching the shopping bag to her chest for a few moments before she turns to the bathroom.  Inside the bag, there are toiletries and a pair of maternity pants, a tank top, a sweatshirt, underwear, socks, and shoes.  She doesn’t really understand how she feels about a strange woman picking out clothes for her, and doing a perfect job at it as well.  The pants are soft and stretchy.  The tank top is less constricting than a bra, but offers needed support.  It’s all so nice and comfortable that she feels irritated by it.

When she’s ready, she steps out of the room with nothing in her possession save for the sonogram tape.  She keeps the toothbrush, the mouthwash, and the deodorant from Wal-Mart, just in case, not knowing what the state of her things are at home.  

It’s a four hour drive home.  Mulder doesn’t stop talking.  He tells her about cases he was on while she was away.  She gets the feeling that he’s afraid to allow a silence to fall.  He’s never been so talkative on one of the car trips.  She would shut her eyes and pretend she’s tired, but because of the way the baby is positioned, she has to ask Mulder to stop about every half an hour so she can use the bathroom.

When he isn’t telling her about one of his cases, he’s telling her about Agent Doggett or Agent Reyes.  She prefers the stories about the cases.  Annoyance builds up inside her and she feels herself getting churlish.

“You and Agent Reyes seem close,” she says.

“Reyes?  We owe a lot to her.  She kept the investigation going and shared information with me even though she wasn’t supposed to.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She knew how much it meant to me.  And you know, I have to admit, it was nice not being second guessed all the time.”

There’s humor in Mulder’s voice and he reaches over to take her hand, but she moves it away and he pulls back.  It’s the only time the car goes silent until she asks him to pull over at a rest stop a few miles ahead.  He nods and smiles, but it looks forced.

*****

Her apartment doesn’t seem all that different.  Just a few things that she doesn’t recognize: a book on the coffee table with a marker about a quarter of the way through, a sky blue glass vase on the table in front of the window, a school photo on the refrigerator that she’s sure is of her nephew, but he has an unfamiliar haircut and looks more like a young boy than the toddler she last saw him as.

Mulder shows her different stacks of mail that he picked up and sorted.  He paid her bills, he tossed out junk mail, he kept the weekly newsletters from church.  There isn’t anything to eat in her refrigerator and he offers to go shopping for her, but she shakes her head.  There’s a market on the corner and she’s perfectly capable of taking a walk down the street to pick up a few things.

Her bedroom is the most unfamiliar.  She stands in the doorway and stares at new furniture and the spaces where treasured knick knacks were.  The bedclothes are new.  Even the paint is new.

“So, um,” Mulder says behind her.  “I helped you redecorate last year.  Some things got damaged and others you wanted to get rid of.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Do you remember Donnie Pfaster?”

She winces at the sound of that name and nods.  A cold shiver runs up her spine.

“He got out of prison and he came here looking for you.”

Scully blinks and tries to imagine what happened there to make her change her entire room.  When she feared she’d been violated, maybe it was…  She sucks in a deep breath and clutches the door frame.

Mulder is immediately there, his arms around her, a hand on her hip, another on her shoulder.  His chest presses against her back as he leans past her to look at her face.  “Are you okay?” he asks.

“When did this happen?”

“Last March.”

She breathes out in relief.  That’s too early.  “Where’s Donnie Pfaster now?”

“You killed him.”

“Oh.”  She twists herself free from Mulder’s embrace and takes the route through her bathroom to get back to the hall.

“It was ruled as self defense,” Mulder says, following her into the living room.

“I thought I had a plant here.”  She ignores him and touches the top of an empty side table by her wardrobe.

“Yeah, he wasn’t as lucky as you.”

She’d like to change out of these clothes, but she’s pretty sure what she’s wearing right now are the only clothes she has that will fit.  She’d like to take a hot bath.  She’d like to run to the nearest bookstore and grab a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, because she has no idea what’s going on with her right now.  She feels restless and irritable and like she could weep at any moment and like she wants to get Mulder out of her apartment as soon as possible, but also like she wants to cling to him and beg him not to leave because she’s not sure how to be alone right now.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go to the store for you?” Mulder asks.  “It’s no problem.”

“Look, Mulder, I...I’m just not sure how I fit in right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve lost a year of my life between the six months I was missing and the six months I can’t remember.  I don’t know if I have a job.  I don’t know how to suddenly be nearly eight months pregnant, when in my head, I was only told a few weeks ago that I would never have children.  I don’t know how to deal with any of this.”

“We’ll take it day by day.  I’ll help you.”

“I think what I need right now is to be alone.”

Mulder shifts his stance, like he wants to come towards her, but keeps himself back.  He shoves his hands in his pockets and clenches his jaw.  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and then he nods a little.

“I’m a phone call away, Scully.  If you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine.”

The door snicks softly shut behind him when he leaves.  She stands in the silence, listening to the seconds tick by from the clock in the kitchen.  She has no idea what to do now.

*****

After Mulder leaves, after she makes an appointment for a checkup with her doctor, and after she goes to the market to pick up a few things, she stands in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom, unclothed, and looks at the changes in herself.

Her hair is longer, past her shoulders, and lighter.  She twists the ends between her fingers.  It hasn't been this long in some time.  She wonders if she should have it cut before the baby comes, or if she should let it keep growing.  It's different, but she likes it.

Her breasts are larger and heavier and it makes her chest a bit tender to the touch.  She feels a certain relief when she cups her hands under both breasts and lifts them to test their weight.  She releases them slowly and touches her chest gently, easing her fingers across her sternum to avoid the sensitive skin.  

She turns to look at the roundness of her belly in profile.  She feels larger than she looks.  As she caresses the upper swell of her stomach, the baby moves and she stops, unsure if she's done something to cause the movement or if it’s normal.

She’s overwhelmed with sadness that makes her bottom lip tremble, but she bites back the emotion and takes a deep breath.  She wishes she’d been able to witness the subtle transformation of her body with the pregnancy.  She wishes she’d been able to experience it all, good and bad, morning sickness and heartburn and cravings and realizing her pants no longer fit and there’s a noticeable little bump that she’d be inclined to hide.

She’s grateful to be pregnant after all she’s been through, but she hates that something was still taken away from her.

*****

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #msr #season 8 au #here be angst #and sad scully

[frangipanidownunder]

Returning the Past: Part 5

Mulder and Scully are honeymooning in Far North Queensland. Much to Scully’s chagrin, Mulder has delved headlong into a mysterious case of strange lights, Tasmanian tiger sightings and abductions. It’s not long, before they run into trouble…

Read part 1, part 2 part 3 and part 4.

The facility ‘Eddie Romero House’ was ensconced behind a security fence. She frowned at the recurrence of the name. Years of being an investigator made it impossible to think of coincidences and serendipitous happenstance. Years of being an investigator on The X-Files showed her that even the smallest of coincidences was likely to be anything bug.

Sunlight filtered through menacing clouds and pinged off the metal pickets. Mulder buzzed the intercom and itched at the skin on his arms. A security guard walked from the main building to stand outside the gate.

              “We’re looking to talk to somebody in charge,” Mulder said.

              “Do you have an appointment?”

              “It’s urgent we speak to somebody. It could be a matter of life and death.”

              Scully looked at the ground, impacted red dirt crumbling at her footfalls. Mulder’s flair for the dramatic, coupled with this dogged insistence often got them entry into secure facilities but the guard didn’t seem impressed. They had no badges to flash, they had American accents, they had no jurisdiction.

              “Professor Callow is in meetings. He won’t be available until tomorrow.”

              “Callow?” Scully said, looking at Mulder. He did the customary slow blink that told her he was on the same page as her. “We’re friends of his daughter’s. Please tell him it’s urgent that he speak with us.”

              The guard lifted the radio to his mouth and static crackled. She rubbed the back of her neck and Mulder paced. A pair of green and red parrots screeched past. A vehicle reversed from a steel shed to the left of the main facility, stirring up a plume of dust.

              “He says he’ll see you. Follow me.”

 Professor Callow was seated behind a wooden desk bearing all the hallmarks of an office that hadn’t seen a change in twenty years. A Rolodex next to a rotary dial phone, a blotter pad, a stationery holder filled with Biros, pencils, a plastic ruler, Tippex. There was a framed photo of two men, one a younger Callow, rifle propped against his shoulder, standing over the corpse of a large animal that Scully couldn’t make out. She peered at its familiarity, then recalled the crumpled version of the photo on Steph Callow’s living room floor. There were glass cabinets along each wall, containing skeletal remains and stuffed animals with blank eyes and dull fur. Faded posters on the wall depicted a variety of Australian marsupials, and directly behind the Professor’s chair was a map of Queensland.

              “You know my daughter somehow?” he said, his accent clear-cut English.

              “She took us on a walk through the Daintree.” Scully looked at a poster of endangered and extinct animals. Toolache wallaby – bearing similar markings to the kangaroos they’d seen that first morning, broad faced bandicoot, lesser bilby. She checked out the small signs propped up against the stuffed creatures, Eastern hare wallaby, brush-tailed bettong.

              “She was a promising zoologist, she had a knack for research. Stephanie studied hard. It’s a shame.”

There was something tight about the older man, Scully thought. Something closed off. She’d seen the same thing when Mulder was returned. An outward show of vagueness that really just covered up an inability to articulate the heart of the issue. He was scared.

“What’s a shame?” Mulder asked, picking up a jar from a shelf. He held the jar out as he continued to challenge the professor, rattling the brown seed pod inside it so that it drummed with each word he spoke. “That Steph became a tour guide and not a Professor, like you?”

“No, no. It’s…her mother…the family. It was difficult. For all of us, but for Stephanie, a teenager at the time, it was. Well, she struggled.” Callow took the jar from him and set it back on the desk. His hands trembled.

“Your wife, Steph’s mother, what happened to her?” Scully watched the way he sucked in a deep, long breath, chest puffing out. The seed inside the jar, labelled Idiospermum australiense was pale yellow on the outside and a ridged red inside, reminded her of a golden apricot and she kept her eyes on it while Callow sunk back into his chair.

“She disappeared. Just vanished.”  Callow’s voice was shallow, like he’d told the story so many times it was just a rote response.

She looked back at Mulder, pressing her teeth into her lower lip. She wondered if they would ever relate any of their own history like that, without the passion, without the fire needed to continually reach for justice.

“Miriam went out to buy milk and never came back. We…just carried on. You do, don’t you? But Stephanie was never the same. Went to university in Tasmania, as far away from here as she could get. She worked hard but the spark, the passion for it had gone. After she graduated she went on a gap year to South America and when she came back she couldn’t settle. She told me once that being a tour guide was a way of always looking for her mother. As though she might just find her out there in the bush somewhere all these years later,” he smiled sadly. “She likes being outdoors. Just like her mother.”

“Have you heard from her recently, Stephanie?” Scully stepped towards him. “She’s missing, Professor Callow.”

Callow shook his head, an absent expression clouding his eyes. “I’m afraid that Stephanie has often gone ‘walkabout’ as they say in these parts.”

“We were with her when a group of men dragged her into a four-wheel-drive and we haven’t seen her since. The police don’t seem interested. Her house…there was a disturbance there.”

The old man pushed himself up from his desk, knuckles turning white. “She kept some strange company too. Abductees, she called them. She was adamant she’d been abducted too. Told me fantastic tales of being on board UFOs and lights in the forest. Crazy stuff. Nobody believes that kind of thing, do they?” Callow looked at Mulder and Scully lowered her gaze, breathing through the awkward silence.

“What did you make of her company? TasTiger Tours,” Mulder said, not rising to the bait.

“Taking tourists to see thylacines in the Daintree? When she told me what she was doing I told her that people would either see her as a lunatic or a scam artist. But it seems I was wrong. There are plenty of fools…” He stopped and Mulder offered him a accepting grin. “Sorry. You are entitled to spend your dollars any way you see fit, but Tasmanian tigers have been extinct for decades and most certainly did not inhabit tropical rainforest.”

“And yet both Dr Scully and I have seen thylacines in recent days. One was inside your daughter’s home.”

Professor Callow blanched and held on to the edge of the desk. “In Stephanie’s house? That’s impossible.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that this facility was being funded to research thylacine DNA with a view to potentially reviving the species. It’s not much of a stretch to consider that the animals might have escaped and thrived in the wild.”

Callow sighed and shook his head. “You sound like Stephanie. She had a penchant for the arcane. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d faked her own abduction by this group of men, simply to get my attention. I’ve suggested she see someone, you know, a psychiatrist to help her with her troubles, but she wouldn’t be told. She seems to be a lost cause.”

Mulder continued to talk, despite the old man walking past him to the door. “There are precedents where animals have created their own enclaves in non-native regions. The fabled big cat stories around the world can be explained in this way.”

Callow opened the office door. “What you say is true, Mr Mulder. And I may agree, except for the fact that my project never created a single live specimen. The trials all failed.”

Mulder swigged from the water bottle as she drove. The light outside was weak and grey. “What do you think, Scully. Is he involved?”

              “He was frightened, Mulder.  I saw a man cowed not just by the weight of his wife and daughter being missing, but by fear.”

              “He certainly knows more than he was letting on, Scully.”

              She watched him lean his head against the window. “You need to rest, Mulder. You still look like you’re running a fever.”

              “I’m fine. I just need to clear my head to think. Callow’s experiments didn’t yield a live thylacine, according to him. Yet we know they exist. What would be the purpose of recreating extinct animal lines, Scully? Where does that fit in with the abductions, the lights? And why would the police dismiss the case? Even if Steph was well known in these parts as someone with a psychiatric history, why deny she even existed?”

              “I’ve been thinking about that too, Mulder. And did you notice the name of the guard at the front gate?”

              He turned to her, cheeks flaming. “No, what was it?”

              “Galea. Same as the police officer.”

 They drove to the police station. The car park was deserted. Grey clouds pushed low over their heads and Scully scratched at the back of her neck. Mulder was slow to get out of the car. A sheen of sweat sparkled across his brow. She walked up the steps and rapped at the door. No answer.

              “Do you get a weird feeling, Mulder?”

              He didn’t answer but mopped at his forehead with the back of his hand. His chest rose and fell laboriously. She twisted the handle and pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. “If this is a joke, I don’t like the Australian sense of humour. Mulder,” she said, stepping back down to where he was leaning against the car door. “Get back in the car, out of the heat. Drink the water. I’m going around the back.”

              She knew he was sick when he complied without complaint. There were garden beds either side of the building, leaf litter piled high. Tall palms swayed on the increasing breeze and a pair of bird of paradise plants pecked at the empty air with their resplendent bronze beaks. The windows of the house were covered in cobwebs and the side door was locked. How had they not noticed the state of the place when they spoke with Officer Galea? Who were the other people in the building? Were there other people? She peered through the dirty glass of the back door but saw nothing but the marks of a building that hadn’t been inhabited for a while.

A car engine caught her attention and she hurried back round. A small blue SUV swung into the gravelled space next to their hire car and a middle-aged couple got out.

“If you’re looking for the police station, you need to head back that way, to Port Douglas. This one hasn’t been used for a few years now.”

“We were looking for Officer Galea,” Scully said, keeping an eye on Mulder, who was leaning his face against the window.

The woman shrugged. “The last copper here was Sergeant Blythman and she left to have a baby. That baby’s at primary school now. We just tidy up the yard. Len, give me that fertiliser. Those plants need a good feed.”

Scully opened the driver’s side door, but turned back to the couple. “Have you ever seen strange lights in this area? Blue lights?”

“You’re Americans.” Len joined his wife.

“We’re here on our honeymoon,” Scully said, as much to remind herself as to inform the couple. “We came here to report a crime here just the other day. Now it’s empty.”

The couple continued to remove gardening equipment from the back of the car.

“Who is Eddie Romero?” Scully asked. “It’s the name of a local research facility. It’s the name of one of the forest tracks. Our accommodation is Romero Sands.”

“He’s no-one special,” the woman said. “Enjoy your honeymoon. Go swimming. Do some bushwalking, but don’t stray off the tourist tracks. Have a nice time. Go home to your families.”

“Do you know Steph Callow?”

The woman exchanged looks with her husband. “Who are you?”

Mulder got out of the car, his body sagging. “What’s going on in this town? What are you afraid of?”

“We’re not scared,” the woman said, straightening up. “We’re just invisible. Nobody listens to us. They just want people to come here, spend their money. The tourist dollars rule. It’s like that film with the sharks, isn’t it, Len? You know the one, where the mayor of the island won’t shut the beaches down for the long weekend.”

“Jaws,” Scully said, looking over at Mulder. “Have people been hurt here? Killed?”

The woman looked at Len. “They’ve disappeared. But the government people say that they just lost their way, the forest is dangerous if you’re not careful.” She walked up to Scully and took her hand. “You two look like lovely young people. You don’t need anything like that happening to you. It’s the worst thing. People go missing and you never know what’s happened. You live every day like they might just come home and fling their coat across the hall and sit on their favourite chair and ask for a cup of tea, you know? It’s cruel, is what it is. Hope and dreams. It’s just cruel.” She rolled her lips together and took a long, slow breath. “You take care now. Come on, Len. It’s going to rain soon. Let’s spread this stuff and get home.”

 Mulder groaned in his sleep, deep guttural sounds that held fear. She often wondered how he processed all that happened to him. Besides the abject terror of the abduction, he had faced the death penalty. They had spent months on the run, looking over their shoulders, living out of cheap motels and even cheaper cars. He held it in, he held it together, mostly. She knew he thought he had to be strong for her, as she did for him. They both drove for days wearing their stoicism like armour. Back then, she knew the day would come where one of them would crack. She lay odds that it would be her first. That she would flip tables and throw away the hair dye and the Walmart underwear. That she would call her mother and write her brother. That she would tell Mulder she didn’t really love him and that she was leaving. That she would lie to save him. To save them both.

But in a long-forgotten town, in a long forgotten state, she returned with two bags of groceries and found him balled up in the corner of the darkened room, furniture broken around him, sobbing. The bags dropped to the floor and split open spilling the tins and packets in front of her. She let him cry against her chest until his tears soaked her vest. He didn’t talk, didn’t need to. She was grateful for that desolate place, grateful for the onerous skies and the stares of the townsfolk, grateful for the one store and flickering neon motel sign, grateful for the gritty coffee and the faulty ice machine. It drew out his sorrow and suffering and pushed hers down. She would never leave him. She would never lie to him.

 Now, she dabbed his brow with a cool washcloth, then pressed it around the back of her neck, easing the itch there. Wherever Steph Callow had gone, the dark forces in the forest were responsible. But with Mulder tossing fitfully by her side, there was no way they could go forward with any kind of investigation. She’d have to find a doctor’s surgery in the morning. He needed treatment.

“The light was so bright, Scully. It was so bright it felt like my eyes had been sliced open and silver was poured inside.” He pushed himself up and bunched the sheet across his lap. His voice was groggy, his skin tacky to touch. She gave him water. “I dreamt that Steph Callow was there with me, on that ship, Scully. She was trapped too, helpless and that bright light burned her and she burst into flames.”

While Scully made tea, he played with the remote, and a news anchor read out details of a mysterious death locally.

A member of the public called in the discovery of the body. At this stage, the police have not issued any details of the circumstances or the victim but there is a presence at Eddie Romero House.

“It’s Professor Callow,” Mulder said, calling her back to the bedroom. “He’s been killed.”

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #returning the past #aussie casefile #to be continued #getting this thing uploaded so i can forget about it #if the ratio of notes gets any lower it'll be in the negatives #is that a thing? #negative notes #maybe i can be the first writer to go minus notes

[hannah-deserved-better]

Multi Fandom Extravaganza Ch. 1

This multi fandom fic is going to be a little different than my other fics in the past in that it’s not really a plot. It’s more of a collection of one shots. Each chapter will contain a collection of small drabbles which with move the story along. These are all of my favorite characters in all of my favorite fandoms. Here are the timelines from each series.

Supernatural: Season 15, they are battling Chuck. Pairing is Castiel/Hannah/Meg.

The Legends of Drizzt: takes place after the events of the novel Exile by R. A Salvatore. Pairing is going to be Drizzt Do’Urdon/Ellifain Tuuserail

Rurounni Kenshin: Takes place sometime in season one of the anime. No romantic pairings, just a platonic bromance between Kenshin and Sanosuke.

Star Trek: The Next Generation: Takes place in season seven. Pairing is Picard/Crusher

Star Trek Deep Space Nine: Takes place in season six. Pairing is Kira/Odo

Star Trek Voyager: Takes place in season seven. Pairing is Janeway/Chakotay

X-files: takes place some time in season seven. Pairing is Mulder/Scully

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Takes place sometime in season four. Pairing will be Willow Rosenburg/Charlie Bradbury from Supernatural

Hobbit: Takes place during the battle of the five armies pairings will be Fili/Original Gnome character from the Forgotten Realms series, and Kili/Original Hobbit character

Lord of the Rings: Takes place during the battle of Helm’s Deep. No pairings, just Faramir, Legolas, and Aragorn bromancing together. There may be a Faramir/Aragorn thing but we’ll see.

Note: This story is not canon in anyway. It falls somewhere between canon divergence and AU. 

Note Two: I don’t own any of these characters (except Asphodel and Brenna, they come from my novel so they are mine, but I adapted them to fit into the Tolkien and Forgotten Realms verse and changed their backgrounds to fit. Everyone else belongs to their associated creators.

Note 3: No haters. This is a collection of rare-pairs for the most part. If you don’t like them, or their fandoms, then don’t read it.

Note 4: there is no real plot, I’m kinda writing as I go, letting my muse do the writing. I would love to have an idea beta, or two, or three for this so let me know if you are interested.

Warnings: There will be plenty of violence, survival themes, struggles, etc. Some of the characters have trauma, some of them start out as enemies. Some of them have violent backgrounds. 

The first chapter is kinda boring, there are a lot of characters and I wanted to quickly introduce them all.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217501/chapters/66485341

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13729681/1/Around-the-World

Chapter One: Introductions

Part One: On the shores of unknown

When Castiel woke up, his head throbbed with pain. But the sun beat down on him. As he opened his eyes, he found himself on the shores of a strange ocean; its sea-green waves crashed onto the sand as two suns hung in the air. 

“When did Earth get a second sun?” the angel wondered as he got slowly to his feet, glancing around him. As he did, he noticed three other figures lying prone on the beach. Quickly, he hurried to the first one. An agile looking creature with the darkest skin Castiel had ever seen, and his long hair was a stark white color as it spread out on the sand around him. 

Castiel knelt, touching the man, trying to see if he was alive. His touch provoked an immediate response, and the man, or creature, whatever he might be, was suddenly sitting up, brandishing a curved scimitar sword so quickly that Castiel nearly stumbled backward in an attempt to back away and avoid having his arm chopped off.

“Who are you!” the man demanded as he got to his feet. “Where am I?” He blinked as he gazed around at his surroundings, and Castiel was perplexed by his strange purple eyes and his pointed ears. 

“I could ask those same questions,” Castiel told him as he stood in front of the man. “My name is Castiel, but I just woke up here, like you.”

“I’m Drizzt Do’Urdon,” the man stammered, as he put a hand to his head and looked around, trying to get his bearings. 

“I believe we are all in the same predicament,” came another voice. Castiel glanced at the other two men. One appeared to be an Asian man with slightly feminine features. He was short and slim. He wore a burgundy men’s kimono with white hakama pants. His red hair was pulled into a ponytail. 

The other man almost looked artificial. He looked as though his face had been sculpted out of clay. He wore a strange tan and yellow uniform jumpsuit. 

“I gather that we aren’t on Earth,” Castiel surmised as he glanced around at the strange faces. Of course, he was wearing his usual beige trench coat and blue tie, but he doubted any of them suspected he wasn’t human. 

The clueless looks on all of their faces most likely mirrored his own. Castiel wondered if maybe this might be one of Chuck’s other worlds. It concerned him, considering that Chuck was busy destroying all of his worlds one by one. This one didn’t seem to be in any danger at the moment. 

“I believe we should introduce ourselves,” Castiel told his companions. “And then we can try to find out where we came from and how to get back.”

“Where I am makes no difference, I suppose,” The samurai responded. “I’m only a wanderer, after all. I do have friends I would like to get back to, however. You can call me Kenshin.”

“I’m Constable Odo,” said their last companion. Castiel turned his attention to Odo. He glanced at him curiously, and he explained. “I am a shapeshifter. I’m afraid I don’t do faces very well.”

“Shapeshifter,” Castiel pondered that. He had no reason to doubt that these people were who they said they were even if he had no idea what sort of beings they were. They all seemed to be from different worlds, perhaps even other realms altogether. “Well, you should all be aware that I am an angel, although I’m afraid I don’t have my wings.”

“I’m only a samurai,” Kenshin replied. “Just a wandering swordsman.”

“I am a drow,” Drizzt explained as he put his blade away. Castiel noted that Drizzt and Kenshin were both armed with swords. Kenshin wore a long katana on his waist while Drizzt wore two scimitars, one on each side of his belt. 

Drizzt wore his thick white hair long and flowing. As the wind picked up, his hair danced around him. He wore a thick green cloak, high boots, and a unicorn bone carving around his neck.

With the introductions concluded, Castiel looked towards the treeline of what looked like a forest. A small stream appeared to be flowing across the sand towards the waves.

“I think if we follow this stream, we may find some clues,” he suggested.

“I could just fly out and see if I can see anything,” Odo suggested. Castiel nodded, feeling envious. He missed his wings. 

Odo quickly morphed into a bird and took off soaring high above the trees. Castiel glanced at the others as they all waited for Odo to return. He could tell that these two both had stories to tell, and he thought maybe their being here was no coincidence. Perhaps he was connected to them somehow. He hoped he would find out soon.

Part Two: A desolate town

Hannah found herself lying in the middle of what appeared to be some sort of convenience store. It seemed to be abandoned, the rows of paper products and candy had been scattered about the floor, and the glass refrigerating walls containing various beverages were all smashed in. Hannah thought maybe there had been a struggle here, and the eerie quiet kept her on her guard.

She’d spend so long in the endless darkness that was the empty. She had endured the moans and cries of dead angels and demons as they called out into the darkness. Their sorrows, their regrets, she wished they could all be silent. 

But in an instant, she was dropped from the empty and left here on Earth. She had no idea why or how, only that she was an angel again. Glancing around her, she heard what sounded like voices outside. Carefully, she walked through the glass and debris towards the door.

The sun was bright and hot as she stepped out onto what appeared to be the concrete surface, which seemed to be a gas station. It looked so much like the many way-stations she and Castiel had visited that she almost expected to see him standing there, or perhaps leaning on his vehicle.

But he wasn’t there. Instead, Hannah found three women standing in front of the gas pumps, chattering to one another. They all glanced over, and one of them quickly produced what Hannah assumed was a weapon.

“Who are you?” the woman wearing a red jumpsuit and pointing a strange weapon at Hannah demanded. She wore short red hair, and as Hannah came closer, she noticed the strange markings on her nose.

“I’m an angel,” Hannah replied softly, holding her hands up as the three of them walked up to her. One of them appeared to be a child, being of much shorter stature, but as she got closer, Hannah could see she wasn’t a child at all, though she appeared young. She had thick curly red hair, large pointed ears, and she was barefoot. 

“An angel?” the third woman was a petite red-haired woman wearing a business suit and a long dark trench coat. Hannah seemed to fit in the most with her, as she wore her grey blazer, dark blue shirt, and jeans. “Even Mulder wouldn’t believe that.”

Hannah felt confused. “I don’t know who Mulder is, but I assure you, I am telling the truth,” she insisted. “My name is Hannah; I am an angel of the lord.”

“Prove it,” the woman insisted, crossing her arms across her chest and raising a brow. Hannah frowned as she realized her powers were weakened. The return from the empty must have drained her. But she gathered what strength she had and focused on a newspaper stand, and suddenly, it burst into flames.

Hannah was quick to put the fire out, and when she turned to the women, they all looked impressed and bewildered. “Is that enough for your approval?” she asked. The red-haired woman nodded.

“I’m special agent Dana Scully,” the woman introduced herself, coming forward, her eyes wide as she looked Hannah over. “I can’t believe I am meeting an angel.”

“My powers are weakened,” Hannah explained, and she glanced at the others. “I assume you all have names as well?”

The taller of the two nodded. “Kira Nerys,” Kira introduced. “I’m a Bajoran. I don’t exactly have any powers.”

“And I’m Asphodel Breeswillow. I’m a Hobbit of the shire,” said the short young woman. “This world is so strange. I knew I shouldn’t have wandered too far from home.”

“We will find our way back to where we belong,” Hannah assured her. “If we work together.” Hannah wasn’t sure of her own words. She didn’t know where they were or where they had all come from. And she wasn’t all that familiar with Earth anyway. But she sensed all these women were reasonable, and maybe with their help, they would all be able to find familiarity. 

Part three: Cave of Wonders

Beverly Crusher had thought she had gone to bed in her own quarters on the Enterprise last night, but when she woke up, she was anywhere but.

It didn’t take her long to learn that she was in a cave and that her companions were as lost as she was. Faramir, captain of Gondor, Meg, a demon, and Ellifain, a pretty black-haired elf, had all been close by when she opened her eyes. 

The mouth of the cave they were in was wide, and it provided adequate shelter for the insufferable heat. But as the four of them ventured outside into the vast grassy plains, which seemed to stretch on forever, they had little protection. The suns above them were relentless. 

“This seems to be a binary system,” Beverly commented as she walked through the tall grass. “Whoever transported us must be nearby.”

“I will be returned to the Moonwoods so I can complete my quest,” Ellifain demanded as she gripped her longbow. 

“What kind of quest are you on, Milady?” Faramir asked as they all walked close to one another. They were all strangers, but every Starfleet survival training course she’d ever taken had always emphasized the importance of working with others.

And in her travels, Beverly had encountered so many different species; these beings and their diverse cultures didn’t feel too strange to her. Though given Faramir and Ellifain’s clothing and attire, Beverly worried that she had stumbled upon a pre-warp society. 

“I’m on a quest for vengeance,” Ellifain explained angrily. “I was hunting him before I was brought him; I must find his trail again.”

“Ooh vengeance, eh?” Meg, the demon lifted a brow. “Sounds sexy. Do tell more.”

“It is not anyone’s concern but my own,” Ellifain retorted as she stormed ahead of them. “And I do not need anyone’s help.”

“I don’t think we should go too far from the cave,” Beverly spoke up as she came to a stop in the grass and turned back towards the direction they had come. A line of towering mountains loomed before them in that direction; the cave had been carved into the rock. “We might need the shelter. The heat can be dangerous.”

“I think she is correct, Milady,” Faramir said politely as he reached out and brushed a hand on Ellifain’s shoulder. The intense glare told Beverly that the elf didn’t approve of the touch. “We don’t know where we are. You may have to put your vengeance on hold for now.”

Ellifain seemed to think about that for a moment and then reluctantly agreed. Beverly was relieved. The cave was much cooler.

Part Four: Forest brook

Kathryn Janeway found the babbling of the brook comforting as she and her three companions sat on its banks, trying to decide on their course of actions.

It didn’t take long for them to understand that they weren’t where they ended up. They all seemed to have similar stories. They were minding their own business, going about their lives, when they’d all woken up here on this strange planet. Their only belongings had been what had been on them at the time.

Janeway was in her uniform, but as she had been off duty at the time and in her quarters, she was unarmed, and she wished she had a tricorder. She did have her communicator, but it seemed to have been damaged.

As she sat on a rock, trying to fix her communicator, the women around her tried to figure out their next course of action. 

“My phone isn’t getting any reception,” Charlie Bradbury said as she turned the device over in her hand, flipping her red hair over her shoulder. Willow Rosenberg, who had claimed she was a college student from California, sat beside her, trying to operate her own phone. The two of them seemed to be from the same world- or same time perhaps, as their sense of fashion seemed similar. They both wore jeans and t-shirts. They had also revealed something significant. That they were from Earth… but not the Earth Janeway had been hoping for. 300 years ago.

The fourth woman had been a very short-statured young woman with a brazen attitude. Brenna was a gnome from the north, at least that is what she had told them all. But she was quick to bark orders at everyone; her sharp tongue seemed to make up for her short stature tenfold.

“If we follow the river, it might lead us to a village,” she explained as she perched on a rock and put her hands in her lap. “They could at least tell us where we are.”

“If there are other people on this planet, we don’t want to startle them,” Janeway explained calmly. “And some of my crew may have ended up here; I want to get my communicator fixed. They’d at least be able to pick up my signal. 

“I don’t care for strange human devices,” Brenna sneered. “I was about to lead my people on a caribou hunt; I must return.”

“Oh, poor Rudolph,” Willow commented quickly as she glanced up from her phone. “Caribou are so cute.”

Brenna shrugged. “My people have lived off of them for as long as we have lived in the north,” she replied. And Janeway noted that she was wearing thick animal hides and furs, no doubt to keep her warm in the cold climate which she had described. 

It was then that as Janeway used a long hair clip to manipulate the controls in her communicator, everyone heard the familiar chirp. Eagerly, Janeway opened the comm, knowing it was a long shot.

“This is Captain Kathryn Janeway to anyone who is in range,” she spoke into the communicator as Willow and Charlie watcher her curiously. “Does anyone read my signal?”

“Kathryn?” came a familiar voice through the communicator. Janeway smiled with relief at the sound of Chakotay’s voice.

“Chakotay, where are you?” she asked, “I don’t know how I ended up on this planet, but I’m not alone.”

“Neither am I, Captain,” came Chakotay’s static-filled answer. “We’re in some sort of farmhouse in the middle of a pasture. We all just woke up here.”

Janeway frowned. Did Chakotay end up stranded on this planet too? They had to find each other. “I’m in a forest, near a stream,” she reported. “Stay where you are; we’ll try to make it out of here and try to find you. You must not be far.”

“We’ll do what we can, Chakotay out.” The comm disconnected, but Janeway felt a whole lot better knowing there was at least someone she was familiar with on this planet, and the comm signal told her that they weren’t too far away.

“How are you even getting service?” Charlie asked as she held her phone in her hand. “I’m not getting anything.”

Janeway didn’t know how to explain. The archaic-looking device looked primitive compared to her comm. “Futuristic technology,” she explained as she got to her feet. “Come on, we have to find Chakotay, and with any luck, we will be able to find Voyager.”

With that, the four of them headed along the river. None of them knew where they were going, and Janeway hoped that they were heading in the right direction and not further away from Chakotay.

Part Five: Desolate plains

Fili was glad that when he had woken up, his brother had been there—seeing Kili there beside him looking as confused and lost as he had made him feel better about their situation, precarious though it was.

But now, they were in real trouble. The two of them and their two companions- a human named Fox Mulder and a human named Sagara Sanosuke- had found themselves in the middle of a prairie, and it seemed to go on forever.

The suns were becoming dangerous. Fili was so thirsty, and beads of sweat trickled down his face as he pressed on. They had to keep going, he told himself. There had to be relief for them somewhere. 

“Brother,” Kili groaned as he stumbled along. “I… I can’t.” Fili turned and grabbed him before he fell. Kili gasped as he gazed up at his brother.

“Come on, brother, we have to keep going,” Fili insisted as Mulder and Sanosuke turned toward them. “We’ll find something soon.”

“Hey, I think I see something,” Sanosuke spoke up as he turned to gaze out towards the horizon. “It might be a town.”

Fili groaned. “It’s probably a mirage,” he suggested as he pulled Kili to his feet, and the four of them started walking again. “I am sure this prairie must go on forever.”

“We should head in that direction anyway,” Mulder said as he draped his trenchcoat over his head, shielding his head from the relentless suns.

Fili let out a breath as he complied. His legs felt like lead as he concentrated on stumbling along as Kili followed him. He worried about the battle that the two of them had left behind. 

“Do you think Uncle held the mountain against Azog?” Kili stammered, voicing Fili’s thoughts. Fili couldn’t be sure. And he wasn’t even sure this wasn’t the afterlife. He remembered Azog grabbing him; he remembered the fiery pain as he felt the orc’s blade enter his body. He was prepared to die; he thought he was going to die.

And then… he woke up here in the middle of this field with Kili and two strangers who were dressed very strangely. 

“I don’t know, Kili,” Fili said after a pause. “I hope so.”

All Fili knew is that no matter what happened, he had to look after his brother. He didn’t know if he could trust Sanosuke with his strange spikey hair or Mulder with his strange black coat, but they seemed as lost as the dwarves were and Fili felt compelled to follow them towards the horizon.

Part Six: desolate farm

Chakotay finished inspecting the farmhouse he had woken up in. It felt as though it had been there for ages. There were no signs of life except for the three he had woken up close to—two men from Middle Earth, and Captain Jean-Luc Picard whom Chakotay only knew by reputation.

“We found human remains,” Chakotay glanced up from his communicator after he ended his conversation with Janeway. He felt so relieved to hear Kathryn’s voice, and to know that she was here somewhere on this planet made him feel a lot better. 

But when he turned to see Picard, he focused on the tasks at hand. “Remains?” he repeated as he followed the captain along. He found Legolas and Aragorn out behind the house in the rocky pasture field; they seemed to be examining the bodies. 

“They have been dead for far too long,” the blonde-haired elf explained as Chakotay looked at the skeletons lying in the dirt. “Perhaps years.”

“They must have been the previous inhabitants of this place,” Chakotay surmised as he turned to look at the farmhouse. They had examined the interior already. It was a large house in an advanced state of decay. The wood was rotting, the furniture inside and the rugs had all turned to mold and dust. The glass windows were broken in. The wood had been in such bad shape that none of them would risk venturing upstairs to inspect the rooms. At the ground level, they had found an old antique kitchen with a wood-burning stove and furnishing that looked as though they belonged in the 19th century.

Chakotay was curious to explore this place, being that he enjoyed archaeology. He had learned quickly that Picard shared that particular interest with him, and the two had set about trying to determine what kind of people these long-gone inhabitants were and how they lived.

“They may have died of old age,” Chakotay suggested. Legolas and Aragorn knew one another from whatever world they had come from; they claimed they had been in a battle before they arrived here. And their simple hide leather outfits seemed to fit the part.

“I got ahold of Captain Janeway,” Chakotay reported to Picard. “She’s on this planet, in a forest somewhere. I suggest we wait here for her.”

“There seemed to be little else to do in any case,” Picard agreed. “Except look for more clues about the people who lived here.” As Chakotay watched, Picard pulled out his tricorder, scanning for any clue to where they are. Chakotay felt relieved that at least one of them had been equipped with a tricorder before being brought here.

“I am reading other life forms,” Picard explained. “More than a dozen humanoid life signs within a 10-mile radius. It’s hard to get a clear reading here, and I am picking up a faint federation signature coming from north of here; it's heading in our direction.”

“That has to be Captain Janeway,” Chakotay said. He didn’t know who these other life forms could be; they were all too far away for anyone to see. But many of them were heading in their direction, so Chakotay could only hope that they will be friendly.

#multifandom #fan fiction #supernatural #Castiel #castiel/hannah/meg #Hanstiel #star trek: tng #star trek: deep space 9 #star trek: voyager #Kira/Odo #janeway/chakotay #Beverly/Picard #X-files #mulder/scully #legend of drizzt #drizzt do'urden #ellifain tuuserail #lord of the rings #faramir #Aragorn #Legolas #the hobbit #Fili/OC #Kili/OC #rurouni kenshin #kenshin himura #sanosuke sagara #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #willow/charlie

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

X-Files Fic: What Was Taken, What Was Lost- Chapter Five

Previous chapters: One | Two | Three | Four

A/N:  This is the end!!!  I honestly thought it would have more chapters, but the entire story that I wanted to tell fit naturally into five, so five chapters it is!  Thanks for reading!!

As much as he wants to stay awake with Scully and make a plan for tonight, Mulder is still not recovered from his ordeal in the blizzard, and as a consequence, he sleeps for much of the day.  Scully is there every time he wakes, reading in the chair by his bed, studying case notes, nibbling on a plate of fruit from downstairs, napping by his side.  At seven o'clock, she pulls him out of bed and makes him get dressed.

"We need to get you moving before you grow roots in that bed," she tells him, quelling his grumbling protests.  "Let's go and have dinner downstairs tonight."

"We can just as easily order it up to our room," Mulder argues, but Scully remains firm.

"There's no telling what will happen tonight," she says.  "For all we know, you and I could end up running through the snow in the middle of the night again.  That's going to be much harder to do if you're stiff and sore because you haven't used your legs all day."  He's about to continue fighting her, but the cramps that shoot up his thighs the moment he stands silence him, while she stands there, looking smug.  "Get dressed," she says, handing him a pair of clean boxers from his suitcase.  His legs continue to protest as he raises them, one at a time, to pull his shorts on.  Looking up, he sees her grinning mischievously at him as she offers him a fresh pair of jeans.

"What?" he demands, taking the clothing from her.

"Do you need help?" she asks.  Glaring, he shoves his legs into his jeans with unnecessary force and winces, which only makes her smile wider.

"No, I do not need help getting dressed," he growls, crossing the room (suppressing another grimace as his stiff joints protest- he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction) and pulling a long-sleeved sweater from his suitcase.

"You seem a little stiff, is all," Scully says.

"You didn't mind me being stiff this morning," he shoots back, leering at her, and she rolls her eyes, chuckling.

"Come on, Mr. Foster," she says, taking his arm and leading him from the room.  "Let's go get some food in you."

Downstairs, dinner is in full swing, and it takes a moment for the hostess to locate an open table for them.  Their server is a young woman they haven't had before, and she's much too busy to talk to them, beyond taking their orders.  At Scully's urging, Mulder bypasses the richer options on the menu, in case he's not recovered enough to handle them.

As they're finishing their main course, Mr. Pekarcik rushes up to their table, his wide blue eyes full of concern behind his wire-rimmed spectacles.

"Mr. Foster!" he exclaims.

"Please, call me Eric," says Mulder.

"Eric, then," says Mr. Pekarcik, coming to a stop beside them.  "I'm so glad to see you up and about.  How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but otherwise, no more the worse for wear," says Mulder.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am," says Mr. Pekarcik, and he looks it.  "I've arranged for two of my employees to patrol the first floor tonight.  Another snowstorm will be blowing through at around midnight, and I would hate to have a repeat of what happened to you... and I'd certainly like to avoid any more accidents like the ones we've had in the past."  From his breast pocket, he withdraws a business card and gives it to them.  "I'm making sure that all of the guests have my private phone extension.  If you have any problems, if you see anything strange or suspicious, please, don't hesitate to call me."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Pekarcik," says Scully sincerely.  The hotel owner gives them a cordial bow and moves on to the next table.  Scully turns back to Mulder.  "I feel terrible for him," she says softly.  "He's really doing the best he can with this place... and aside from all of these unexplained deaths, it's a lovely resort."

"Well... with any luck, we'll be able to help him out," says Mulder.  Scully looks skeptical.

"Even if it is a ghost that's responsible for all of this, how are we going to be able to help?  How are you planning on making her leave?  Asking nicely?"

"She wants something, Scully," Mulder says confidently.  "If we can get her to stop trying to kill me long enough to get her to talk to us, maybe we can figure out how to help her find peace."  Scully sits back, arms crossed over her chest.

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"Easy," says Mulder, grinning.  "I'm going to try to get her to talk to you."

Upstairs, after dinner, they sit on the bed and play cards to try and stay awake, but when Mulder notices Scully trying to conceal a yawn for the fifth time, he puts his cards down.

"Why don't you go ahead and take a nap, Scully?" he asks.  "You must be exhausted, you were up half the night with me."

"Will you be able to stay awake?" she asks.

"No problem," says Mulder, waving his hand dismissively.  "I slept most of the day.  I've got hours left in me."  Scully doesn't look entirely convinced.  Mulder reaches out and takes the cards out of Scully's hand, shuffling them back into the stack and putting them in the box.  Standing, he turns the bed down, and with a hand on Scully’s back, coaxes her to lie down amid her half-hearted protests.  He tucks the covers securely around her, bending to kiss her.  She squints up at him.

“You’ll wake me?” she asks.  “If you start feeling sleepy?”

“The moment my eyelids get heavy,” he promises.  She nods, closes her eyes, and dozes off within minutes.

And within an hour, so does he.

——————————

Unlike that first night, when the cold had been responsible for waking him up, this time, it’s the noise… though, since the noise comes from the balcony doors blowing violently open, the cold isn’t far behind.

At the loud THWACK of the left-hand door striking the wall, Mulder starts awake, the scrapbook that had been open on his lap sliding to the floor.  Next to him, Scully sits bolt upright in bed, seeking out her gun on instinct, her eyes scanning the room for any possible threat.  When her gaze catches on the open doors and the falling snow blowing through them, she looks up at Mulder, eyebrows raised.

“Were you getting too warm, Mulder?” she asks.

“I didn’t do that,” he says, climbing out of bed and crossing to the balcony to close the doors, firmly securing the latch.  Outside, the blizzard has swept in again, as promised, and the grounds are lost in a blinding haze of white.  He turns back to Scully, who’s frowning at him.  “This is exactly what happened the first night we were here,” he tells her.  “I woke up and found the doors open, and right after that, I heard the thumping in the hallway… and then….”  He turns to the full-length mirror just in time to see the same dark shadow flitting across it… but before he can call out to Scully, he hears a sharp gasp from behind him and turns.

Scully is backed against the wall next to the bed, her blue eyes wide and terrified.  Her gun, clutched in her shaking hands, is pointed directly in front of her (he almost wants to laugh- does she really think shooting a ghost is going to work?), at the dark and shifting figure hovering before her.

Though Mulder can only see her from the back, he knows, somehow, that the face Scully is seeing is not the nightmare visage that had backed him into the mirror that first night and charged him in the graveyard on the second night.  He’s almost certain that the face she is seeing is the one he had only seen in profile, the face that had worn a sad, gentle expression as the spirit had huddled over Scully, watching her sleep.

The woman’s head is cocked to one side, as though she’s considering the shaking, frightened woman in front of her, and Mulder thinks that this is probably the best chance they’ll have.  He senses no rage, no malevolence coming from the spirit.  And perhaps, now that they know her name, she’ll be more willing to communicate without trying to force Mulder to harm himself.  He decides to give it a try.

“Olivia?” he says softly, calmly.  “Olivia Westphal?”  The ghost turns to face him… and Mulder knows, immediately, that he’s made a terrible miscalculation.

Olivia Westphal’s face transforms instantly, fine features melting into a flat, black mask with a gaping hole for a mouth.  She advances on him with a gibbering shriek, red eyes flaming, and Mulder feels himself pushed backwards as though by a hurricane-force wind until his back meets the wall.

“Mulder!”  Scully calls out to him in alarm, and she says something else, asks him something, tells him something, but he can’t make out what it is, because suddenly, Olivia is speaking over her, and her snarling voice is all Mulder can hear.

”You’ve caused her enough pain, don’t you think?”  Scully doesn’t react to this at all, and Mulder quickly realizes: the ghost isn’t speaking out loud.  This is all in his head.

“Olivia,” Mulder tries again, “can’t you tell us how to help you?  Tell us what you want, please.”  She moves even closer, and Mulder finds that he can smell her now, smell her rank stench of death and decay.

”You can’t give me what I want,” she tells him.  ”But I can give her what she needs.”

“And what’s that, Olivia?”  Mulder clings to a faint hope that using her name as many times as possible will encourage something, some connection, that will make her back off.

But it’s in vain.

”The same thing I’ve been trying to give her since the day you both arrived,” Olivia sneers.  ”The same thing they all need.  You, gone.”

“I’m not-“  But Mulder’s protests die in his throat, as if by force.  He feels his mouth moving, but it’s out of his control, and the words he speaks, though they’re in his voice, are not his own.

“Scully,” he hears himself saying, “give me your gun.”  Scully stares at him, wide-eyed.

“What?” she says.  “Why?”

“You won’t need it,” Olivia says, through him.  “She doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“She wants to hurt you,” Scully protests.

“Please, Scully.  It’s the only way.”  And suddenly, Olivia’s plan becomes clear to him.  He tries to tell Scully with his eyes that it’s not him saying these words, but he feels as though the muscles of his face are frozen.  “Give it to me, Scully.  We can put a stop to this once and for all.”  Still watching him warily, Scully lowers her weapon and begins to approach him.  Mulder’s legs move of their own accord and he meets her halfway, taking the gun from her reluctant hand.  He returns to his place against the wall and turns to face Olivia.

In one swift, unhesitating motion, he places the muzzle of the gun against his temple.

”NO!”  Scully tries to run to him, to stop him, but Olivia holds out one arm without turning, and Scully’s forward motion is abruptly stopped.  She’s pushed- gently, it seems- back across the room until she’s at the opposite wall.  “Mulder, don’t do this!” she begs.  “Whatever she’s telling you, don’t listen!  Fight her!”

And he tries.  He flashes back, suddenly, to a day almost two years ago, to a situation that had been almost identical to this one: Mulder, his control taken from him, a gun against his head, Scully nearby, begging him to fight back.  Then, he had pulled the trigger on himself without hesitation… but this time, he does as Scully asks.  He fights.

”Just do it,” Olivia croons.  ”It will be over so fast.  You won’t feel a thing.”

But she will, he thinks, and god, the idea would drive him to his knees, if he weren’t being held forcibly upright.  The pain she’ll be in, the guilt she’ll never be able to shake at not being able to save him.  She’s screaming his name over and over, trying to free herself, trying to get to him.

”She may be upset at first,” Olivia says, ”but she’ll get over it… and after, she’ll be better off.”  Mulder still doesn’t disagree, but again, this isn’t the way.  He gathers himself, trying valiantly to throw off Olivia’s control, but she only sneers and moves closer.  It’s nearly impossible to resist.  He has to give in.

I’m sorry, Scully, he thinks desperately, wishing he could tell her out loud.  I don’t know if there’s anything after this… but if there is, I’ll take care of Emily for you until you’re ready to join us.

And suddenly, the pressure on his arm is gone, as quickly as though a switch has been flicked, and he’s able to lower the gun, to move again.  Olivia falls back, shrinking away from him.  As Mulder watches, the red eyes disappear, her features re-emerge from the black mask, and her face, her human face, is fully visible to him for the first time.  She looks horrified, ashamed, as though she’s suddenly become aware of the awfulness of what she’s been trying to force Mulder to do.

Her concerned, frightened expression is suddenly very familiar to Mulder, and he’s struck with the realization that whoever the father of Olivia Westphal’s baby had been, he had left no mark of resemblance on their child.

Before he can speak, Olivia all but dissolves before them, her form collapsing into a vague grey cloud that blows out of the room as though caught up in a strong wind.

Scully rushes at Mulder, snatching her gun away and taking out the clip for good measure before tossing the weapon onto the bed.  She throws her arms around him, and he shakily returns the embrace.

“What happened?” she murmurs into his chest.  “What made her stop?”  He shakes his head, mystified.

“I don’t know,” he says.  “I was begging her in my head the whole time, trying to convince her that it was wrong, that you would be hurt by losing me like this, that if she didn’t mean you any harm, she wouldn’t make me do it.”

“What’s the last thing you remember thinking before she let you go?” Scully asks.  

“I thought….”  Mulder bites his lip, unsure of whether he wants to tell her or not.  Any mention of the topic has, for the past month, shut her down in seconds.  “I thought of Emily,” he admits.  “I thought of how I would take care of her for you, if it turns out you’re right and there really is something beyond this plane of existence.”  Scully looks up at him, her eyes swimming in tears.

“You thought of her?” she whispers, and he nods.

“Yeah, I did,” he says.  “I guess I just… I was looking for any way I could possibly make it easier to let go, and hoping that she might be waiting for me, that I could tell her all about you and how much you loved her….”  He shrugs.  “Getting to see her again was the only possible good I could find in the face of so much loss.”  Scully’s eyes widen suddenly, and she steps back, raising a hand to her mouth.

“Loss,” she says.  “That’s the common thread.”  Mulder frowns.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“The Farleys,” she says.  “And the Menendezes.  Two couples who saw Olivia, but weren’t harmed by her.”  She looks up at Mulder.  “Two couples who had lost children.  The Farleys lost two children in a car crash, and the Menendezes lost their daughter to sudden infant death syndrome.”  Mulder sees what Scully is getting at, and now, it’s so obvious that he could kick himself for not having figured it out before.

“Just like Olivia Westphal lost her child,” he says.  He reaches out and takes Scully’s hand.  “And just like you lost Emily.  Olivia saw that in you, somehow: that sadness, that sense of loss, that she sympathized with.  For all her malevolence in death, she doesn’t want to hurt anyone who’s suffered the same loss that she did.”

“Including you,” Scully whispers, her eyes filling with tears.  “She sensed it in you, as well.”  She releases his hand long enough to reach up and cup his cheek.  “Because you loved her, too.”

“Of course I did, Scully,” he says, covering her hand with his own.  “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, but you haven’t wanted to hear it.  I loved her because she was a part of you.”  The tears in Scully’s eyes spill over, and finally, finally, she begins to cry, to truly cry, to sob the way Mulder knows she’s needed to since the moment she’d walked out of Emily’s hospital room for the last time.  He pulls her to himself, cradling her head against his chest, stroking her hair as he waits it out.

“Do you have that card Gregory Pekarcik gave us?” Mulder asks, when Scully seems to have decided that she’s indulged herself enough, and is wiping the last of her tears from her cheeks.  “The one with his private extension on it?”

“Yeah, I think so,” says Scully, turning to look through her purse, clearly glad for something to move on to.  She takes out the card and hands it to Mulder.  “What for?”

“I might have figured it out sooner if I’d ever really gotten the chance to see Olivia’s face,” he says, crossing to the phone on the nightstand and picking it up.  “Let’s just hope she can see it a little more quickly.”

When Mr. Pekarcik arrives in their room, fifteen minutes later, he’s wearing a thick, plaid robe and an expression of polite confusion.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Foster?” he asks, as Mulder lets him into their room.  “Is everything all right?”

“I think it might be, soon,” says Mulder, shutting the door.  “But we’re going to have to ask you to please just… uh… keep an open mind.”

“An open mind?”  Mr. Pekarcik is looking positively mystified now.

“Yeah,” says Mulder.  “We think we might have figured out the cause of your problems… and maybe a way to solve them.”

“Mul… Eric,” says Scully, catching herself, “what makes you so sure that you can summon her?  And how do we know it’s safe?  We know she doesn’t want to hurt you anymore, but what about Mr. Pekarcik?”

“Who wanted to hurt you?” Mr. Pekarcik asks.  “And what are you talking about?  Who are you summoning?  Is it another guest?”

“In a manner of speaking,” says Mulder.  “Though, she was a guest here long before the building was ever a hotel.”  He steps away from the other two and speaks loudly and clearly.  “Olivia Westphal,” he calls, “show yourself.”

“Mrs. Foster,” says Mr. Pekarcik nervously, “is he all right?  I know that last night must have been hard on him, and-“

“Olivia Westphal, we have what you want,” Mulder continues.  “We have what was taken from you.”

“Mr. Foster, I really dont-“  He gasps suddenly as a dark flash crosses the mirror.  “What was that?”

Before either Mulder or Scully can answer, she’s there, hovering in front of the balcony doors, watching all three of them warily.  She glances at Scully, then at Mulder… and then her eyes fall on Gregory Pekarcik.  Mulder holds his breath.  If he’s wrong, the hotel owner is likely to be in grave danger, and he’s fairly certain that he and Scully won’t be able to protect him.  Those red eyes will re-emerge and will be the last thing that this man ever sees.

But he’s not wrong.

Olivia crosses the room until she’s directly in front of Mr. Pekarcik, who is frozen in place, unable to move, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“She… she looks just like me,” he breathes.  The ghost reaches out a trembling, ethereal hand, holding it inches from Mr. Pekarcik’s cheek.  She lets out a single, choking sob, and draws back, looking at Mulder and Scully.

“Thank you,” she tells them, and moments later, she’s gone, in a swirl of light and fog, leaving behind a faint scent of roses.

Mr. Pekarcik turns to Mulder and Scully, his eyes practically bugging out of his head.

“What on earth was that?” he demands.

“That,” says Scully, “was most likely the cause of all the terrible things that have happened here.  I think you’ll find that all of that’s going to stop now.”

“You’re telling me my hotel was haunted?”

“‘Was’ being the operative word here,” says Mulder.  Mr. Pekarcik shakes his head in amazement.

“I think I need to sit down,” he says, collapsing heavily onto the edge of the bed.  He looks up at Mulder and Scully.  “Who was she?”  Mulder smiles.

“Someone who’s been looking for you for your entire life.”

————————-

“So they took me away from her and told her that I had died?”

They’re seated at a table in the empty dining room.  Mr. Pekarcik has his hands wrapped around a mug of tea that Scully had insisted on brewing for them, but he’s still too much in shock to lift the cup from the saucer without shaking so much that the tea spills everywhere.

“It’s all right there in Michael Westphal’s letter,” says Mulder, gesturing to the scrapbook that lies open on the table between them.

“I read it when I pasted it in there, of course,” says Mr. Pekarcik.  “I just… it never even occurred to me that  I was the child in question.”  He shakes his head.  “I guess maybe now I know why I felt such a pull towards this place.”

“It was a different time,” says Scully quietly.  “Nowadays, a single mother might get some raised eyebrows and more than a few whispers, but it’s not nearly as much of a stigma as it was then.  I’m not saying it excuses what he did at all, but I do think that he was genuinely concerned with his daughter’s future.”

“You’re being much kinder to him than I could ever be,” grumbles Mulder.

“Like I said, it doesn’t excuse the deception,” says Scully.  “And I’m sure that he learned his lesson in the most brutal way possible when he lost his daughter to suicide.”  The three sit in silence, and Mulder wonders: how would Scully have fared, in such a situation?  Losing Emily had been difficult enough for her, and that had been with both his support and her mother’s, not to mention a demanding and time-consuming career that she could bury herself in whenever she needed a distraction.

But Olivia Westphal had been alone, far from her parents, in a place that Mulder strongly suspects had not been the most welcoming or supportive of environments.  She had found happiness in the arrival of her son… only to have him snatched away.  Would it have been better if she’d known that he had been destined for a loving home?  Or would it not have made a difference?

“And you’re really FBI agents?” Mr. Pekarcik asks for the third time in the past half hour.  He had asked to see their badges twice, and both times had stared at them in uncomprehending amazement.”

“We really are,” Scully assures him.  “We’re sorry that we couldn’t tell you before we’d figured out what was going on.

“Because you thought I might have been responsible for the deaths that have happened here?”

“Because we thought there might be a chance that someone working at the resort might have been responsible,” says Scully gently.  “Not necessarily you.”

“And instead, you get to go home and tell your boss that a ghost was behind the whole thing,” chuckles Mr. Pekarcik.  “It’s like a bad episode of Scooby Doo.  What’s he going to say?”

“Oh, our boss is used to us turning in reports just like this one’s going to be,” says Mulder.  “Our unit is primarily concerned with cases just like this one.”

“What, ghosts?  The FBI investigates haunted houses?”  Mr. Pekarcik’s eyebrows are raised in disbelief, but at least he’s calmed to the point where he can finally start drinking his tea.

“Not necessarily ghosts,” says Scully.  “We specialize in cases that other agents haven’t been able to solve, usually because some details remain unexplainable.  And sometimes….”  She gives Mulder a pointed look.  “Sometimes there’s a paranormal element.”

“Sometimes?” Mulder scoffs.

“And sometimes it turns out there’s a perfectly logical scientific explanation,” Scully insists.

“But not this time,” says Mulder, barely able to suppress the gleeful I-told-you-so tone of his voice.

“No, not this time,” Scully sighs.

Mr. Pekarcik finally gives up on his tea, pushing it away.  “I think I need to go to bed,” he says wearily.  “I’ve had more than enough excitement for one night.”  He stands, and Mulder and Scully rise as well.  The hotel owner reaches out and shakes Mulder’s hand, then Scully’s.  “I can’t thank you enough for this,” he says sincerely.  “I honestly thought my dream of owning a hotel was over and done with.  Anytime either of you want to come up here and stay for a real vacation, please, let me know.  You’ll have my best room, free of charge.”

“That’s very generous, Mr. Pekarcik,” says Scully.  “I think we just might take you up on that.  We have more than a little vacation time store up, both of us.”  Mr. Pekarcik beams widely.

“Excellent,” he says.  “Please feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” he tells them, waving his arm towards the double doors leading out of the dining room.  “Otherwise, I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning.”

“We’ll probably be heading out very early,” says Scully.  “We’ll need to get back to Washington.”  Mr. Pekarcik chuckles, shaking his head ruefully.

“You won’t be going anywhere tomorrow,” he tells them.  “Not unless the FBI sent you here on a snowplow.  Or a dogsled.  That storm out there is nowhere near over, and until it is, the plows won’t be making their way out here.  But please, tell the FBI that the rest of your visit is on me, all right?”  And with a bow, he leaves the restaurant, as dignified as anyone in a plaid bathrobe can possibly be.  Mulder turns back to Scully, grinning.

“So… we’re stuck here,” he says.  “For a couple more days, at least.”  Scully answers his smile.

“Snowbound in a romantic resort getaway,” she says, stepping closer and sliding her arms around his waist.  “What will we do to pass the time?”  Mulder looks thoughtful.

“We could get a jump start on our report,” he suggests.  “I’m sure you’d like to have it done by the time we fly home.”

“Mulder,” says Scully, warning in her voice.

“Skinner would be really impressed with us,” he continues earnestly.  “Solving the case in three days?  Getting the owner to foot the bill for the rest of the time we’re here?  Showing up with a finished report?”  He grins.  “Come on, Scully, let’s get back up to our room and get started.”  Scully takes his hand, tugging him towards the lobby.

“Oh, we’re going back to our room, all right,” she says, as they start out of the restaurant together.  “But if you keep on insisting that we’re spending the rest of our stay writing our report….”  She shakes her head at him.

“You’re always bugging me to be more responsible, Scully,” he says.  “Well, this is my chance to take your advice.  You take the events of the first day, and I’ll-“

“Mulder.”  She gives his hand a sharp yank.  “You keep this up, and Gregory Pekarcik is going to have an entirely new ghost haunting his halls.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t stay here,” says Mulder.  “If I’m going to haunt anything, it’s not going to be a place; it’s going to be a person.”

“You’re saying you would haunt me?” asks Scully.

“Yup,” he says cheerfully.  “Let’s face it, Scully.  You’re never getting rid of me.”  Scully smiles warmly up at him, slipping her arm around his waist.

“Good.”

#x-files fanfic #my fic #What Was Taken What Was Lost #THE END

[mldrgrl]

Not Again: Part 2

by: mldrgrl Rating: R Summary: A rewrite of season 8 from an anon request for Scully to have been the one to have been abducted instead of Mulder.

Part 1 here

****This is not new, I only realized I was remiss in posting part 2 in full and I’m working to update my master list.

Part 2: Returned

Chapter 1, Day 1:

Scully floats into consciousness, first becoming aware of sound and then opening her eyes to white light.  She hears the noise of machines, beeps and ticks and compressed air.  It smells sterile, like rubbing alcohol and bandages.  She blinks away the haze of sleep and tries to move, but she feels too heavy.

“Easy,” she hears Mulder’s voice tell her.  “Just relax.”

“Mm.”  She closes her eyes and nods.  She’s not sure why, but she’s pretty sure now that she’s in a hospital.  And as much as that concerns her, she feels too lethargic to fight it.  His hand is under hers and he’s stroking the side of her thumb.

Scully opens her eyes again and slowly turns her head to look at Mulder.  He’s got the rumpled, disheveled look he gets when he hasn’t slept in awhile.  But, just the slightest look from her makes his eyes light up and he smiles brightly.

“Must be bad,” she murmurs, closing her eyes again and breathing deeply.  She’s definitely been drugged, but she doesn’t remember suffering any injuries.

Mulder chuckles and she lets her eyes drift open again as he lowers his head, bringing her hand up to his cheek, pressing a kiss to her palm.  She hums again and blinks slowly.

“What happened?” she asks.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

She closes her eyes to think about it.  “Driving back from Pittsfield.  You dropping me at home.”

“Pittsfield?”

“Mm, the high schoolers on PCP.”

“Scully, that was…”

“Was what?”

“They weren’t on PCP, it was the cave giving those kids super speed.”

“Impossible.”  Scully smiles a little, but it fades when she sees Mulder’s panic face.

Mulder gets up from his chair and slides onto the bed beside her hip.  He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back.  His behavior is suspicious and scaring her a little.

“I need to tell you something and I don’t want you to freak out,” he says.

“Okay.”

“That Pittsfield case was over a year ago.”

“What?”

“We were in Bellefleur, Oregon last September and you were taken.”

“Taken?”  Scully feels her pulse begin to race a bit and the blips on the heart monitor next to her bed move a little faster.

“Abducted.  You’ve been gone for six months.”

“I’ve been…”

“Scully, I know you don’t remember anything.  None of the others do either.”

“Others?”

“And please, just try to stay calm, alright?  It’s important you stay calm.”

Scully stares at Mulder with disbelief.  He has to be playing some hoax on her, but he doesn’t joke like this.  And the torment she sees in his eyes tells a different story.  What he’s telling her is very real.  Mulder suddenly takes her hand and moves it down to her belly.  She feels him press her hand into her abdomen, but it feels different, swollen and firm, but also like something presses back that she can feel from the inside.

“What…?”  She looks down at the swell of her belly under the hospital sheets.

“They estimate you to be at about thirty-one weeks,” Mulder says.  “The baby’s fine.  They ran all sorts of tests when you got here.  Everything’s fine.”

Scully does the quick math in her head.  That's just  over seven and a half months, but Mulder said she'd been gone for six months.  She was pregnant at the time of her abduction?  Did she know?  

Even more frightening, she can't remember how she came to be pregnant.  Did she try the in vitro again?  Was she seeing someone?  Was she...violated?  She has no idea, and the thought of asking Mulder if he knows who the father of her baby is brings a stain of embarrassment to her cheeks.

“It's a lot,” Mulder says.  “I know.  The important thing is, you're safe now and you're both okay.”

“I want to see my chart.”

“Okay.”  

Mulder untangles his fingers from hers and slips off the bed.  He brings her the chart from the file holder on the back of the door and sits beside her as she glances through it.

She remembers that the Pittsfield case was right before her birthday and after the ‘millennium.’  Her chart is dated April 2, 2001.  She looks for the results of her amniocentesis and her measurements.  Everything looks normal as far as she can tell.  She's having a boy.  They list her approximate due date as June 5.  

“There's a video of the sonogram,” Mulder says.  “It's here if you want to watch it.”

“Yeah,” she says, dazedly.  “Yes, I want to watch it.”

Mulder takes the chart from her and puts it back before he grabs the remote for the TV.  Apparently the tape is already in the VCR because it starts right up and there on the screen is the black and white, grainy image of her baby.  The quick, hollow thump of his heartbeat brings tears to her eyes.  Mulder looks over at her from where he stands beside the bed and bites into the grin on his face.

“I'm sure it's in the chart,” he says.  “But, you know...you know it's…”

“A boy?”

Mulder nods and she looks back up at the screen just as the baby's foot gives the flutter of a kick and she covers her face with both hands as she starts to cry.  

*****

Chapter 2, Day 2:

The hospital has no reason to keep her, so they release her in the morning.  She’d forced Mulder to leave her bedside overnight, but she has a feeling he didn’t go far.  He was there too early, and wearing the same jeans and sweater he was wearing the day before for her to believe he’d found a hotel.  She’s left to assume he fell asleep in a chair outside her room, but she doesn’t ask.

Every time she’s gotten out of bed, she can’t understand the foreign feeling of her own body.  She feels fine, but she feels like a different person.  She isn’t used to the new weight and girth.  Simple things like leaning over are different and take effort.  Every time the baby moves, it startles her.  The mirror in the tiny hospital bathroom hasn’t given her as much of a chance to inspect the change in her body as she’s wanted and she’s anxious to leave.

First, she has to wait for Mulder to come back and take her away.  She’d asked him to please just find something for her to wear at the nearest mall so she doesn’t have to ride home in borrowed scrubs.  He returns with a sheepish look on his face and a dark-haired woman in tow.

“Scully,” he says.  “This is Agent Reyes.”

“Monica,” she says, smiling warmly and holding her hand out.  “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Mulder had told her about the agents he’d been working with the past six months.  Doggett and Reyes.  She knows Agent Reyes had been consistently working the case when Mulder had been ordered off of it.  She knows she should feel grateful, but she still can’t fully wrap her mind around the fact that she’s been missing for six months, let alone the large gap in her memory.

Scully shakes Agent Reyes’ hand and then gives Mulder an inquisitive look.  He hands her a shopping bag from Wal-Mart.

“I needed some assistance in the whole...figuring out what clothes to buy situation,” Mulder says.

Agent Reyes laughs.  “He was trying to outfit you from the gift section of a gas station down the street.”

Mulder puts his hands up in a guilty as charged expression and smiles.  There’s a clear bond between him and Reyes that gives Scully a pang of jealousy.  She wonders if there’s something going there.  They seem comfortable with each other, and Mulder isn’t one to be comfortable with another person.  She can’t handle another Diana Fowley coming into their lives.

“Thank you, I’ll just…”  Scully says, tipping her head towards the bathroom.

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself and then say goodbye,” Agent Reyes says.

“Good bye,” Scully answers, relieved to be rid of the woman so quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” Mulder says.  He puts his hand at the middle of Reyes’ back and smiles at Scully.  “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Scully is left alone in the room and she stands clutching the shopping bag to her chest for a few moments before she turns to the bathroom.  Inside the bag, there are toiletries and a pair of maternity pants, a tank top, a sweatshirt, underwear, socks, and shoes.  She doesn’t really understand how she feels about a strange woman picking out clothes for her, and doing a perfect job at it as well.  The pants are soft and stretchy.  The tank top is less constricting than a bra, but offers needed support.  It’s all so nice and comfortable that she feels irritated by it.

When she’s ready, she steps out of the room with nothing in her possession save for the sonogram tape.  She keeps the toothbrush, the mouthwash, and the deodorant from Wal-Mart, just in case, not knowing what the state of her things are at home.  

It’s a four hour drive home.  Mulder doesn’t stop talking.  He tells her about cases he was on while she was away.  She gets the feeling that he’s afraid to allow a silence to fall.  He’s never been so talkative on one of the car trips.  She would shut her eyes and pretend she’s tired, but because of the way the baby is positioned, she has to ask Mulder to stop about every half an hour so she can use the bathroom.

When he isn’t telling her about one of his cases, he’s telling her about Agent Doggett or Agent Reyes.  She prefers the stories about the cases.  Annoyance builds up inside her and she feels herself getting churlish.

“You and Agent Reyes seem close,” she says.

“Reyes?  We owe a lot to her.  She kept the investigation going and shared information with me even though she wasn’t supposed to.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She knew how much it meant to me.  And you know, I have to admit, it was nice not being second guessed all the time.”

There’s humor in Mulder’s voice and he reaches over to take her hand, but she moves it away and he pulls back.  It’s the only time the car goes silent until she asks him to pull over at a rest stop a few miles ahead.  He nods and smiles, but it looks forced.

*****

Her apartment doesn’t seem all that different.  Just a few things that she doesn’t recognize: a book on the coffee table with a marker about a quarter of the way through, a sky blue glass vase on the table in front of the window, a school photo on the refrigerator that she’s sure is of her nephew, but he has an unfamiliar haircut and looks more like a young boy than the toddler she last saw him as.

Mulder shows her different stacks of mail that he picked up and sorted.  He paid her bills, he tossed out junk mail, he kept the weekly newsletters from church.  There isn’t anything to eat in her refrigerator and he offers to go shopping for her, but she shakes her head.  There’s a market on the corner and she’s perfectly capable of taking a walk down the street to pick up a few things.

Her bedroom is the most unfamiliar.  She stands in the doorway and stares at new furniture and the spaces where treasured knick knacks were.  The bedclothes are new.  Even the paint is new.

“So, um,” Mulder says behind her.  “I helped you redecorate last year.  Some things got damaged and others you wanted to get rid of.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Do you remember Donnie Pfaster?”

She winces at the sound of that name and nods.  A cold shiver runs up her spine.

“He got out of prison and he came here looking for you.”

Scully blinks and tries to imagine what happened there to make her change her entire room.  When she feared she’d been violated, maybe it was…  She sucks in a deep breath and clutches the door frame.

Mulder is immediately there, his arms around her, a hand on her hip, another on her shoulder.  His chest presses against her back as he leans past her to look at her face.  “Are you okay?” he asks.

“When did this happen?”

“Last March.”

She breathes out in relief.  That’s too early.  “Where’s Donnie Pfaster now?”

“You killed him.”

“Oh.”  She twists herself free from Mulder’s embrace and takes the route through her bathroom to get back to the hall.

“It was ruled as self defense,” Mulder says, following her into the living room.

“I thought I had a plant here.”  She ignores him and touches the top of an empty side table by her wardrobe.

“Yeah, he wasn’t as lucky as you.”

She’d like to change out of these clothes, but she’s pretty sure what she’s wearing right now are the only clothes she has that will fit.  She’d like to take a hot bath.  She’d like to run to the nearest bookstore and grab a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, because she has no idea what’s going on with her right now.  She feels restless and irritable and like she could weep at any moment and like she wants to get Mulder out of her apartment as soon as possible, but also like she wants to cling to him and beg him not to leave because she’s not sure how to be alone right now.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go to the store for you?” Mulder asks.  “It’s no problem.”

“Look, Mulder, I...I’m just not sure how I fit in right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve lost a year of my life between the six months I was missing and the six months I can’t remember.  I don’t know if I have a job.  I don’t know how to suddenly be nearly eight months pregnant, when in my head, I was only told a few weeks ago that I would never have children.  I don’t know how to deal with any of this.”

“We’ll take it day by day.  I’ll help you.”

“I think what I need right now is to be alone.”

Mulder shifts his stance, like he wants to come towards her, but keeps himself back.  He shoves his hands in his pockets and clenches his jaw.  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and then he nods a little.

“I’m a phone call away, Scully.  If you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine.”

The door snicks softly shut behind him when he leaves.  She stands in the silence, listening to the seconds tick by from the clock in the kitchen.  She has no idea what to do now.

*****

After Mulder leaves, after she makes an appointment for a checkup with her doctor, and after she goes to the market to pick up a few things, she stands in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom, unclothed, and looks at the changes in herself.

Her hair is longer, past her shoulders, and lighter.  She twists the ends between her fingers.  It hasn't been this long in some time.  She wonders if she should have it cut before the baby comes, or if she should let it keep growing.  It's different, but she likes it.

Her breasts are larger and heavier and it makes her chest a bit tender to the touch.  She feels a certain relief when she cups her hands under both breasts and lifts them to test their weight.  She releases them slowly and touches her chest gently, easing her fingers across her sternum to avoid the sensitive skin.  

She turns to look at the roundness of her belly in profile.  She feels larger than she looks.  As she caresses the upper swell of her stomach, the baby moves and she stops, unsure if she's done something to cause the movement or if it’s normal.

She’s overwhelmed with sadness that makes her bottom lip tremble, but she bites back the emotion and takes a deep breath.  She wishes she’d been able to witness the subtle transformation of her body with the pregnancy.  She wishes she’d been able to experience it all, good and bad, morning sickness and heartburn and cravings and realizing her pants no longer fit and there’s a noticeable little bump that she’d be inclined to hide.

She’s grateful to be pregnant after all she’s been through, but she hates that something was still taken away from her.

*****

Chapter 3, Day 3:

Scully starts the day determined to get back to something resembling her normal life.  She gets up early and drives herself to the mall to go shopping.  She ignores a call from Mulder as she tries on maternity clothes.  There is an agonizingly embarrassing moment at the cash registers when she discovers her credit cards have been frozen due to lack of use.  She has to bite the bullet and call Mulder.

“I appreciate this very much,” Scully says as Mulder pushes his credit card across the counter to the saleslady.  “I’ll pay you back, of course.  And for the rent.  Just as soon as…”

“It’s not a problem, Scully.  I told you, anything you need.”  He swipes his hand back and forth across the top of her back as the receipt prints.

“I want to go to work.  I want to talk to Skinner.

”You don’t want to take a couple days?”

“I need to get back to normal, Mulder.”

Mulder signs the receipt and hands it back to the cashier.  She gives him the shopping bag and he carries it as he guides Scully away with a hand at the small of her back.  She wants to ask him to press a little harder.  She’s had an ache just above her tailbone all morning.

“I get it, Scully, I do.  I just think maybe you should take a few days to adjust.”

“Sitting at home isn’t going to help me adjust.”

“I’m not trying to talk you out of it, I just want to make sure it’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

“Okay.”  Mulder hands her the shopping bag as they exit the store.  “Come find me in the office after you talk to Skinner.”

“Thank you.”

*****

Dressed in a pair of maternity slacks, a silk top, and a blazer a size up from what she normally wears, she steps into the waiting room of Skinner’s office.  Skinner’s secretary looks wide-eyed up at her and fumbles for the phone to announce her arrival.  Skinner opens the door only seconds later, before she even has a chance to sit down, and invites her into his office.

“Mulder told me I should be expecting you,” Skinner says, taking a seat behind his desk.

Scully is still getting used to sitting herself down.  It takes her a moment to feel for the arms of the chair and ease into position.  The distribution of her weight and keeping her balance is so different.

“I’d like to be reinstated, Sir,” Scully says without any preamble.

“I gathered that.  Under the circumstances, I’m not sure it’s the wisest thing to do.”

“You don’t want to put me in the field, I understand, but I can run background checks.  I can work in the labs.  I can consult from the office.”

Skinner removes his glasses and sets them down on his desk.  He clasps his hands together and leans forward on his arms.  She’s about to be turned down and she braces herself for it, sets her jaw and levels her gaze.

“Maternity leave isn’t that far off for you,” Skinner says.

“A month, at least,” she replies.

“It would be impossible for me to do more than put on you desk duty.”

“I understand.”

“You’ll be in organized crime.”

“Wire-tapping duty?”

“Currently, the x-files unit is full.  Take it or leave it, Agent Scully.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Start tomorrow.  Report to SAC Connors.  You’ll be in the bullpen.”

“Thank you.”  With as much grace as she can find, Scully pushes herself up out of the chair as Skinner puts his glasses back on and keeps his head down.  The unit is less than ideal, as is the location of her desk, but it’s better than nothing and it will keep her occupied.

“It’s good to have you back, Agent Scully,” Skinner says when she reaches his door.

“Thank you, Sir.”

It takes a few minutes for the elevator to arrive.  As she waits, she sees the furtive glances of the other agents as they pass her by.  She knows she’s a curiosity right now, but it still irks her.  She punches the button for the basement and breathes a sigh of relief when she steps into an empty elevator.

Nothing about the basement has changed.  She touches the wall as she steps off the elevator and breathes in the familiar scent of dusty files.  For her, it was only a few days ago she was down here, but knowing that it’s been so long and things are the same also makes her feel nostalgic.

The office door is open, but she knocks anyway and then stops abruptly.  There’s a man she doesn’t recognize standing at the open file cabinet.  He’s wearing a suit, but he’s got a military haircut and she bristles at the invasion, ready to demand to see his credentials and to know who authorized him to be there.

“You must be Agent Scully,” he says, closing the file cabinet.  “Boy, is it good to meet you.  I’m Agent Doggett.”

Her shoulders relax a little and she steps further into the room.  Agent Doggett comes around to greet her with a file in his hand.  He pulls out a chair for her that’s been crammed up against the side of the desk.  She does a slightly better job of easing herself down this time.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks.  “Water?”

“No, thank you.  I came to see Mulder.”

“He should be back any minute.  He went to submit our travel req.”

“You're headed somewhere?”

“Oil rig off the Gulf of Mexico.  Body of one of the worker’s washed up on a Texas beach with radiation exposure.”

“From an oil rig?”

“Oil company insists it was from an accidental explosion.  Agent Mulder insists it's got somethin’ to do with an alien virus.”

“Of course he does.”

“Well you know, he puts on a good slideshow.”

Scully raises her left eyebrow.  “What do you think it is?”

“Negligence, probably.  The execs at the oil company got good and bent out of shape when Mulder started poking around.  Leads me to believe they got something to cover up.”

“Does Agent Mulder know that?”

“He doesn't care much what I think except getting my signature on the req.”

“Your signature?”

“He didn't tell you?  Kersh made me the senior agent down here.”

“You must've done something pretty egregious for that kind of punishment.”

“Yeah, I wouldn't arrest your partner and charge him with your murder.”

Scully isn't surprised that there are some details Mulder left out of his recanting of what's happened while she was away.  But, then again, small details like that aren't necessarily important to him.

“Tell Agent Mulder I stopped by,” she says, pushing herself out of the chair.  “I don't want to hold you up.”

“He should be right back.”

“That's okay.  I'll speak with him later.”

“It was nice to meet you, Agent Scully,” he calls after her.

“You as well, Agent Doggett.”

Scully holds her breath as the elevator doors open, but they're empty.  She punches the button for the parking garage and then leans against the wall and closes her eyes.

*****

She’s not more than five minutes from the Hoover building when Mulder calls.  She knows she probably shouldn’t answer, but she does anyway.

“Scully,” she says.

“You didn’t wait,” Mulder replies.

She can’t tell him that she didn’t want to see him with a new partner.  Didn’t want to hear about their case together.  Didn’t want to think about it at all.

“I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon,” she says.  “And it seems you’ve got your hands full with the oil company.”

“A doctor’s appointment?”

“With my own doctor.”

“Everything’s okay then?”

“It’s fine.”

“Where did Skinner place you?”

“Organized crime.”

“Ouch.  Wire taps?”

“That would be affirmative.”

“Damn.  He couldn’t at least put you in the labs?”

“Not at this time.”

“It’s not for long.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Look, we’re not leaving until tonight.  If you want, I could stop by before I go.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  To see how your appointment went.  To make sure you have everything you need.”

“I have to go.  I’m on my way home right now to sort out my credit cards and insurance.  I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Promise?”

“Have fun on the oil rig.”

*****

Scully has the last appointment for the day at Dr. Parenti’s office.  It’s not absolutely necessary, but she’d like to take precautions and have a doctor she trusts look at her results.  She flips through a parenting magazine as she waits and then closes it, a little overwhelmed by page after page of advice on things like sleep schedules, making your own baby food, and how to deal with temper tantrums in public.

She sits on the examination table in a paper gown and fuzzy socks, fidgeting nervously.  For the first time, she’s going to have to explain her abduction and the reason she hasn’t seen a doctor during her pregnancy and she doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Dana,” Dr. Parenti says when he enters the room.  “I hear congratulations are in order.  I’m so pleased.”

“Thank you.”

“Felicia says you’ve been away.  Who were you seeing in the meantime?  We’ll get your records transferred.”

“Well, I...the thing is I was not away by my own...it was a work related absence.  I didn’t have access to a doctor.”

“I see.”

“I was seen yesterday at a hospital in Roanoke.  I requested those records to be sent over before my appointment.”

“Let’s take some measurements then and go from there, okay?”

An hour later, Scully is dressed and in Dr. Parenti’s office waiting for her results.  He makes a few notes in her file before he looks up and smiles.

“Well, based on your measurements and a review of the sonogram, I’m in agreement with the hospital’s assessment.  And in absence of the last date of your period or intercourse, the first week of June sounds reasonable for a due date.”

“So, it wasn’t…”  She trails off.  She’d been hoping Dr. Parenti would confirm another round of in vitro had worked, but if he was estimating dates, that didn’t seem likely.  Unless she saw another specialist, and that didn’t seem likely either.

“Wasn’t what?”

“Nevermind, I was overthinking.”

“I don’t see anything here that’s cause for concern.  I’m going to leave you with a few pamphlets.  Make an appointment next week with Felicia so we can keep an eye on things.”

“Alright.”

The visit to Dr. Parenti does little to allay her concerns.  With the confirmation that she is not pregnant by in vitro, she’s left to assume she might be dealing with an unplanned pregnancy by an unknown father.  She doesn’t know what she’s going to tell her family.  They aren’t on the best of terms right now.  Or are they?  At the very least, she will have to figure out a few things before she calls her mother, that’s for sure.  

*****

Chapter 4, Day 4:

Scully can’t sleep.  For one thing, she’s uncomfortable, but for another, she can’t turn her mind off.  She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s worried about Mulder.  She doesn’t like the thought of him in the middle of the ocean on an oil rig with a partner she’s not sure she can trust to watch his back.

Two o’clock rolls around and she hasn’t been able to keep her eyes closed more than a minute or two, so she gets up and logs into her work email to get a head start on things that might be waiting for her.  There’s an email from Mulder in there, time-stamped at 6:43 p.m.

Scully -

If you get bored tomorrow and need something less mindless to do, I thought you might want to take a look at the photos of the body that washed up in Texas.  Does it look like death from explosion to you?  This has black oil written all over it, Scully, I can feel it.

They’re sending the body to Quantico sometime tonight.  Maybe you can make a call and get the autopsy report.

Good luck either way.  I wish I could be with you.

-Mulder

She opens up a series of attached photos and scrolls through them.  She can’t tell from the photos alone what may have caused the angry, red lesions covering the body.  Her ID still works for the Quantico database, so she checks the log to see when the body arrived and when the autopsy will be performed, and by who.  Her suspicions are raised when the file indicates that the body is not to be autopsied, but transported to Mexico first thing in the morning.  The serial number for the cold storage locker is at the top of the intake sheet and she memorizes it before she shuts down her computer.

Without stopping to talk herself out of it, she gets dressed and heads to Quantico.  It’s not even three in the morning when she flashes her ID to the night guard and makes her way down to the morgue and scrubs in.

*****

It’s seven a.m. when she calls Skinner, only after trying to reach Mulder for an hour.  She doesn’t think she can speak freely over the phone, so she asks him to meet her at Quantico as soon as possible.  Twenty minutes later, and clearly annoyed, he comes through the door.

“Close the door,” she says to him.  “Lock it.”

“What’s going on?” he asks, doing as she says.  “What are you even doing here, Scully?  You’re due to report to SA-”

“I realize that, Sir, but Mulder emailed me photos of the body of the man killed on the oil rig last night, and I couldn’t let it go.”

“Let what go?”

“His belief that the black oil had something to do with this.”  She gestures to the body on the table next to her and Skinner grimaces.  “Now, I can’t reach Mulder, and I don’t know who to talk to about this.”

“About what?”

“What I found in the autopsy.”

“How did you even get access to the body, it’s my understanding the situation has become political and this man was supposed to be sent back to Mexico untouched.”

She ignores Skinner, takes up a pair of long tweezers and walks around to the top of the table.  “I found it by accident in the third ventricle of his brain,” she says, inserting the tweezers into the area in question.  

As soon as Scully puts slight pressure into the area, black liquid oozes out of the brain and pools at the back of the head.  Skinner looks alarmed and tries to pull her away from the body, but she lifts her elbow out of his grip.

“No,” she says.  “It’s okay.  It’s alright.”

“What do you mean?  I was under the impression that this stuff could literally jump into a man's body.”

“It can, and I've seen that happen, but that’s the thing.  This man was clearly infected by the alien virus.  It entered his system and it was massing in the pineal gland, but now it's dead.”

“I don’t understand.  What killed it?”

“Well intuitively, you would say the same thing that killed him, which would be exposure to high levels of radiation.  Yet it makes no sense because the virus itself has radioactive properties.”

“Then we need to get in touch with Mulder and Doggett.  They need to know what they’re dealing with.”

“Actually I was hoping you could convince Kersh to order a controlled evacuation of that rig as soon as possible.”

“I can’t go to Kersh with this.  It’s not evidence you can even explain or that he’ll understand.”

“If the virus gets loose, Mulder’s life is in danger.  Everyone on that rig is in danger.”

“We don't know that for sure.  There are nearly two dozen men on that rig and not one other case.  Why?”

Scully shakes her head and has to swallow the lump in her throat that comes on quickly.  Damn these pregnancy hormones.  “I don’t know,” she whispers.  If she can’t convince Skinner that Mulder is in danger, there’s no way she’ll convince Kersh.

*****

Against Skinner’s orders, Scully does not report to SAC Connors.  Instead, she heads to the basement and into the back room to hook up Mulder’s radio transmitter.  She tries to reach the oil rig all morning.  A blister blooms on the side of her finger from depressing the button on the microphone continuously, but she doesn’t give up.  Finally, something like a voice cuts through the static.

“This is Orpheus,” a faint voice replies to her signal.  “Go ahead.”

“Orpheus, I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” she says.  “This is Special Agent Dana Scully.  I need to speak with one of the agents you have on board, either Mulder or Doggett.”

“I can take your message, Agent Scully.”

“No, I need to speak with Mulder or Doggett directly.”

“Agent Doggett’s fishing, Agent Scully,” a different, instantly recognizable voice answers.  “You’ll have to settle for me.”

“This isn’t a joke, Mulder.”

“You found something, didn’t you?  Is it the virus?”

“Yes, I did.  And it’s dead.”

“Dead?  What killed it?”

“Possibly radiation.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I know,” she says, holding a hand to her head in frustration.  “I know, and this could be an isolated event, but that he's infected at all means that everybody out there could be at risk.  And that includes you and Agent Doggett.”

“We’ve got to quarantine the rig.”

“No,” she says, emphatically.  “Mulder, you have got to get off the rig.  Agent Doggett can give the order.  We can quarantine you and the crew when you get back.”

“Scully, if these men are infected the last place we want to be is onshore where they can infect other people.  You're sitting on the answer right there, Scully.   It’s in the body.  You need to find out for sure what killed it.”

“What if I can’t?”

There’s a beat of silence and Scully thinks the transmission may have gone dead.  “Tell the kid I went down swinging,” Mulder finally says.

“Mulder?”

There’s no answer.  Scully throws the microphone down and puts her head in her hands.

*****

Biting the bullet, Scully goes to Kersh herself, bringing him her autopsy report and photos of the body.  She breezes past his secretary and knocks on the door before she lets herself in.  Kersh looks surprised to see her.  It’s the most emotion she’s ever seen him display.

“Sir, I’m sorry to come unannounced,” she says.  “I wouldn’t be here unless it was an emergency.”

“What kind of an emergency crops up in wiretapping?” he asks, disdain in his voice.

“This is my autopsy report on Simon de la Cruz.”  She places a file on his desk and then steps back.

The disdain in Kersh’s voice turns to full on anger.  “Who authorized you to conduct an autopsy on this man?”

“No one, Sir.”

“Agent Scully, this is an insubordinate stunt the likes of which I would expect from Agent Mulder.”

“I don’t have time for reprimands, I need you to look at this report and I need you to order an immediate evacuation of the oil rig that Agents Mulder and Doggett are on.”

Kersh flips open the file with thinly veiled disgust.  “What am I looking at?”

“This man was exposed to a virus.”

“And?”

“And the entire crew of that ship may be infected as we speak.”

“You want me to order a multi-billion dollar company to shut down their operations because you suspect their crew might have a virus.”

“This isn’t a suspicion.  This is-”

She’s cut off by the ringing of Kersh’s phone, which he promptly answers.  He stares at her with contempt as he listens to the caller.  She turns to give him the semblance of privacy as he mmhms and I sees his way through the call.  Eventually, he hangs up, and Scully faces him again.

“I see I’m not the first one you went to to plead your case.”

“Sir?”

“That was the president of Galpex-Orpheus expressing his dismay that AD Skinner ordered an evacuation of his rig when I expressly assured him his business would not be affected by the investigation.”

“How could you even promise such a thing?  Especially when the company could have very well been negligent.  Who exactly do you work for?”

“As of now, Agent Scully, you are suspended until further notice.”

“Sir, if you just-”

“Effective immediately, Agent Scully.  Turn your badge over to AD Skinner on your way out of the building.”

Trembling with rage, Scully turns and exits Kersh’s office.  She has to fight the urge to slam the door on her way out.  On the elevator down to Skinner’s office, she curses the man for being such a hard-headed bastard.

She feels rather defeated as Skinner ushers her through his door and she places her badge on his desk.  He looks perplexed.

“I’ve been ordered to turn in my badge,” she says, holding her head high, but feeling like she’s on the verge of tears.

“You went to Kersh?”

“I felt I had no choice.”

“I want you to explain something to me.”  Skinner hands her an open folder.  “I had Agent Navarro copy me on the blood tests you ordered on de la Cruz.”

Scully browses the report Skinner hands her and then stops to read more carefully.  She knits her brow and studies the first page, and then the next.

“This indicates that his T-cell count is impossibly high,” she says.  “To put it in layman’s terms, it would mean he’s a virus-fighting machine.”

“What would explain that?”

She thinks for a moment.  “Well,” she says.  There are isolated cultures, in northern Italy for one, where people are immune to certain diseases.  Heart disease in that case, through a genetic mutation.”

“So this man had what?  A kind of genetic immunity to the alien virus?”

“His employment records listed him as mixed Mexican ancestry, when in fact he is Waicha Indian. The Waicha are an indigenous Mexican culture that has a rare undiluted gene pool.  Maybe these genes may have an innate immunity to infection.”

“Alright, he’s immune.  But, he died from being burned.”

She shakes her head, forming an explanation.  “No, not burned,” she murmurs, shaking her head and thinking out loud.  “Irradiated.  Because the virus had no effect on him.  The crew members who were affected by the virus couldn't control him, so they killed him, by irradiating him.”

“So why not kill Mulder?  Or Agent Doggett?  Why kill only this man?”

“All I can think is that he must have been a threat.  Possibly because of something he knew.”

“Even if we did know, and were able to give word to them, would it be something that would put Mulder and Agent Doggett in danger as well?”

“I don’t know.”

Under the pretense of escorting Scully to retrieve her things, Skinner walks her down to the basement and she turns the transmitter back on.  Both of them attempt to contact the oil rig in separate shifts.  She paces while he sends out the signal.  Agent Doggett is the one to respond this time.

“AD Skinner?”

“Agent Doggett?”

“What is that noise?” Scully asks, moving around Skinner to listen more closely to the speaker.  “It sounded like banging.”

“Agent Doggett?” Skinner asks again.

“Yeah, right here,” he shouts.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“What is that noise?”

“Banging.”

Scully takes the microphone from Skinner.  “Agent Doggett, I think I know what killed de la Cruz.”

“Right now we got bigger problems.  We’re gonna need a chopper.”

“Tell him there’s a chopper on the way,” Skinner says.

“There’s a chopper on the way,” she tells Agent Doggett.

“Agent Scully, listen.  There are three men on board here that are not infected.  Me, Mulder and a man named Diego Garza who may be mentally unstable.  Could be why he tried to wreck this radio room, just like his friend Simon de la Cruz.  He may resist rescue attempt because he believes there are men in flying saucers who are coming to get him.  Agent Scully, do you-”

The transmission begins to break up on their end and Scully tries to answer Doggett back, but the feed goes completely silent.  Skinner flips off the radio and she slumps against the table for a few moments.

“I guess I better walk out now before Kersh has me thrown out,” she says.

“I’ll deal with Kersh.  Go home and try not to think about it.  I’ll have Mulder call you when they land.”

“Do you think they’ll make it?”

“Of course.”

She nods, but she can tell Skinner isn’t too sure.  She picks up the attache she dropped off in the office when she came in and heads out, with her boss behind her.

“You wouldn’t have enjoyed wiretapping anyway,” Skinner says.

“Probably not,” she returns.  “But, I needed something to take my mind off the fact that I have no idea where I’ve been for six months, no idea how this baby came to be, and no idea what I’m going to do.”

Skinner looks mildly shocked and puts a hand on her back.  “Would you like to speak with Karen Kosseff about this?”

“I don’t think therapy’s going to help this time.”

They ride the elevator together in awkward silence until the doors open to the parking garage.  She can tell Skinner wants to say more to her, but she walks out and doesn’t look back.

*****

Her cell phone rings just a few minutes after she walks through her door.  She can barely hear him, but it’s Mulder.

“Are you alright?” she asks, holding a hand over her ear to try to hear him better.

“Doggett and I are the only survivors,” he answers.

“I’m sorry, are you saying everyone on that rig is dead?”

“Blown to smithereens.”

Scully sucks in a breath.  She has no idea what that means in terms of containing the virus.  It isn’t good news.

“Where are they quarantining you?” she asks.

“They’re not.”

“Mulder…”

“Doggett and I are fine.  You can check me out yourself when I get back.”

“I will.”

“Look, I’ve got to go.”

“Stay vigilant, Mulder.  Be aware of any signs of-“

“I know the drill, Scully.  Lo-uh...I’ll see you later.”

There’s a click on Mulder’s end and then silence.  Scully hangs up the phone with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach.  The baby kicks and she rubs her hand over her belly.  She’s no less worried now, having spoken to Mulder, than she was before.  She needs to see him and look into his eyes herself to make sure he’s okay.

Suddenly, she feels a small jab of pain in her side and she sucks in a breath and presses her hand to her ribs.  Some flash of a memory comes to her in the moment, but it lacks specificity.  She only remembers being annoyed with Mulder for wanting her to explore crop circles with him on a Saturday.

The baby shifts within her.  The pain lasted only a second and doesn’t come back.

*****

Scully is abruptly pulled from sleep by a noise she registers as knocking only after jerking awake and flailing an arm out for the phone on her nightstand and realizing she’s on her couch and her phone didn’t ring.  She struggles to get up and pushes the hair out of her face as she makes her way to the door.  Before she even checks the peephole, she suspects Mulder is on the other side.  He looks relieved when she opens it for him.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says in lieu of a greeting.  “I just wanted to check to make sure everything was okay.”

“Yeah, I...I guess I fell asleep.  What time is it?”

“Not even ten.”

“Come in.  You’re back already?”

“Landed about an hour ago.”

She can tell she startles him when she grabs his face and holds his head steady as she looks in his eyes.  He looks nothing but concerned.  No black clouds in the whites of his eyes, just a little bloodshot which tells her he’s tired.  She releases him and finally feels the relief she’d wanted when she spoke with him earlier.

“Am I clear?” he asks.

“All clear.”

“Skinner told me what happened.  I’m sorry, Scully.  I didn’t mean for you to-”

“I know you didn’t.  It’s okay.”  Even as the words leave her mouth, she feels her shoulders begin to shake and she drops her head.  Once again, she’s unable to keep her motions in check and she knows it must be an aspect of the pregnancy because she can usually keep her frustration under control a lot better.

“Oh, Scully.”  

Mulder puts his arms around her and she lets her head fall against his chest.  There have only been a handful of times she’s allowed him to hold her like this, times of distress and heartache.  It’s always been comforting, but never more so than now.  She feels the urge to cling to him and release her pent up fear into his chest.  It’s like she’s realizing for the first time how strong he is and how weak she is.

“It’s not okay,” she whispers.  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now.”

“You need time to adjust.”

“I can’t sit at home all day alone, I’ll go insane.”

Mulder moves one hand in a broad circle over her back and then he reaches up to push her hair over her ear.  She closes her eyes and sighs.  If she could stay like this for awhile, maybe she could absorb some of his strength.

“There’s something else you should know,” he says.

“What?”

“Kersh has been sanctioned and his office is under investigation.”

Scully gasps a little and pulls back to look at Mulder’s face.  “What?”

“Your suspension has been removed from your record, but Skinner doesn’t think it’s a very good idea for you to come back just yet.”

“Did Skinner file a complaint against him?”

“Yes, but he’s not the only one.  Kersh was suspected of accepting bribes in other matters and has been under surveillance for some time.  You might have to testify to what you heard in his office today.”

“When can I come back?”

Mulder pulls her back into a hug.  “Give it a week at least.”  

“What am I going to do with a week?”

“What if we went away?”

“Away?”

“Yeah, like a vacation.  What if I took you somewhere?”

“Where?”

“How about some place tropical?”

“Are you just saying that because you have a hot tip on the whereabouts of the Fiji mermaid?”

Mulder pulls back and chuckles.  He puts his hands on her face and swipes at her tears with his thumbs.  “You see,” he says.  “You’re still the skeptical Scully I know and love.”

Her heart jumps in her chest a little.  It hits her that part of the reason she hasn’t felt much like herself is that she definitely feels different around Mulder.  Not a bad kind of different, just different.  Like she needs something from him, but she doesn’t know what that is.

“Running away never solved anything,” she says.

“It’s not running, it’s just a vacation.”

“I’ll think about it.”  She pauses and studies his face for a moment.  “Mulder, in the months I can’t remember, did you ever ask me to go look at crop circles with you?”

“You turned me down cold.”  He cocks his head and purses his lips.  “Are you...did you remember something?”

“Being annoyed with you.”

“That certainly narrows it down.”  He smiles at her and she closes her eyes for a moment.

“Did you go without me?”

“To find the crop circles?”  He sighs when she nods her head.  “Yeah, but I came up empty handed.  You on the other hand, had an epiphany.”

“What?”

“Apparently you and God had a little tet-e-tet in a buddhist temple.”

“Clearly I was pulling your leg.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“I was just as surprised as you are.  Listen, I’ve got tomorrow off.  Think about where you want to go and call me.  Skinner will be thrilled he doesn’t have to force time off on me this year.”

“What about Agent Doggett?”

“He’s a big boy.  I’ll promise to send him a postcard.”  

Mulder brushes his thumbs over her cheeks again and smiles.  His eyes move over her face and there’s a fleeting look of sadness there when he lets go of her.  She walks him to the door.

“Night, Scully.”

*****

Chapter 5, Day 5:

Scully wakes occasionally through the night, the need to relieve her bladder the main culprit of her restlessness.  She sleeps later than usual, having shut off her alarm before she went to bed the night before.  She lies in bed and thinks about where she might want to go on the little getaway Mulder’s offered her.  The beach sounds nice.  Even if she won’t be wearing a suit and she has little tolerance for the sun, it would be nice to smell the salty air and feel an ocean breeze.

It hits her though, as she’s getting dressed, that she is completely unprepared to bring a baby home to this apartment.  She has nothing.  No onesies, no receiving blankets, no bottles, bibs, crib, nothing.  Things like that take time and planning.  That’s probably why pregnancy lasted nine months, to give women time to prepare a nursery.

She doesn’t call Mulder ahead of time, she just shows up, knocking on his door at 9am.  Not surprisingly, he’s in sweats and a t-shirt when he answers.  His hair is spiked up in the back and his eyes are sleepy.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “I woke you.”

He yawns and rubs the back of his head.  She ducks under his arm to enter his apartment, looking around to see if everything is as she remembers it to be.

“You thought about where you want to go?” he asks.

“Nowhere,” she answers.  “I realized that I have nothing for this baby.  None of the things I should have.  I need to get a crib and...and all the other things.”

“Okay.”  He nods and scrubs his face with his hands.  “Okay, we’ll go to one of those baby stores and get stuff.”

“I have to get the spare room cleaned out first and paint.”

“You have a spare room?”

“Yeah, across from the bathroom.”

“I always thought that was a closet.”

“No, it’s a spare room.  Mostly it’s old textbooks and kind of like a place to store things.”

“Okay, so, paint store first, then baby store.”

“Except I might have to order things and then who knows if they’ll come in time.”

Mulder yawns and scratches the back of his head again.  “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m gonna get dressed and get bagels.”

“And cream cheese?”

“Extra cream cheese with cream cheese on the side,” he says, still scratching the back of his head as he walks away and closes the door to his room.

Only a few minutes later, Mulder emerges in jeans and another t-shirt.  He grabs his keys and wallet from the table.

“Stay here, relax, and think about what color paint you want,” he says.  “I’ll be back.”

Scully sits back on the couch and closes her eyes.  She breathes deeply for a moment.  It’s not long before the need to use the bathroom sneaks up on her.  She sighs and pushes up from the couch.

Mulder’s bathroom is as cluttered as usual.  He’s got a leaky faucet that drips like a metronome.  He’s got new towels though, softer than his old ones.  She can see that he’s also switched brands of toothpaste and uses the same one she does.  Still squeezes from the middle though.

There are file boxes on the floor of Mulder’s bedroom.  Probably cases Agent Doggett wouldn’t let him look into.  She opens one of them and then drops the lid on the floor when she sees her name on outside of the file.

The cover page is all identifying information.  There’s a photo clipped inside that she doesn’t recognize of herself.  It looks like a candid.  She’s smiling and though it’s a close up of her face, she can make out what looks like a carnival of some sorts in the background past her shoulder.

She flips the page and reads Mulder’s written statement, dated the day after her abduction and witnessed by AD Skinner.  He talks about the investigation, mostly, and what they were in the woods in Bellefleur looking for.  His handwriting gets a little unsteady when he recounts the moment he witnessed the group disappear.

The next page is the results of a pregnancy test that she ordered and signed for.  It’s dated the morning of her abduction.  So, she must have known, going out to Bellefleur, that she was pregnant.  Her automatic reaction is to touch her stomach apologetically.  She’s absolutely sure she didn’t feel there was a danger in going out to Oregon.  She never would have put the baby at risk like that.

There’s a memo on Skinner’s letterhead to the HR department requesting that Margaret Scully be removed as emergency contact on her file.  She furrows her brow over that, but behind it is a handwritten call log from Skinner’s secretary that indicates the request came from her mother in response to being notified of her disappearance.

The next page is a transcript of an interrogation done by Agent Reyes of Mulder.  Her breath catches in her throat as she reads it.

AGENT REYES: You and Agent Scully were close?

AGENT MULDER: Yes, we are close.

AGENT REYES: Right.

AGENT MULDER: To pick up where Agent Doggett left off, yes, we’re more than just partners, though that's been a more recent development in our relationship.

AGENT REYES: How recent?

AGENT MULDER: About four months recent.

AGENT REYES: Why?”

AGENT MULDER: Why what?

AGENT REYES: Why did you decide to become intimate with your partner?

AGENT MULDER: It wasn't so much of a decision as...it just happened.

Her hands are shaking as she closes the file.  She holds it to her chest as she gets up and goes back out to the living room.  She’s standing in the middle of the room when Mulder comes back with the bagels and as he raises the bag at her with a smile, she holds up the file in her hand.

“You lied to me,” she says.

Mulder glances from the file in her hand to her face.  “Scully, I...I didn’t lie.”

“You made me believe something that wasn’t the truth.  A lie by omission.”

“No, I never...you didn’t ask.  If you had asked me-”

“How the hell am I supposed to ask if you’re the father of my baby?”

“I thought, at the very least, you would know that.”

“Well, I didn’t.  I didn’t know anything.  And you know everything and you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to.  God, Scully, I wanted to tell you so badly.”

The jabbing pain Scully felt the night before returns, only a little sharper and more intense.  She winces and grabs her side, hunching slightly.  Her mind flashes onto another moment in time, of waking up on Mulder’s couch, covered with his Navajo blanket.  She’d let it slip to the floor and walked into his bedroom.

“Scully, are you okay?”

Mulder’s arms go around her and he hunches with her, supporting her.  She pushes him away and straightens with a small groan.

“Why did you keep it from me?” she asks.  “Were you hoping I’d never find out?  Do you not want this baby?”

“Jesus, of course I want this baby!” he shouts.  “I was hoping you’d remember us on your own.  Don’t forget, I know you, Scully.  You can’t be told something, you have to see it for yourself.  It wouldn’t have been enough for me to tell you about the four months we were together, you’d need proof.”

“I do need proof.”

“And forgive me,” he continues.  “But, I didn’t know what to think.  Every other abductee that’s come back is only missing a day of memory at most.  Whatever process you went through is intended to erase the painful memories, I think.  And you lost the entire time we were together.  What’s that tell me?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

The pain gripping her side becomes too intense to bear any longer and she cries out.  It brings her to her knees, but Mulder is there, holding her up.  He gathers her close and eases her onto the couch, touching her cautiously.

“Call an ambulance,” she whispers.  Her chin has begun to tremble, an indication to her that her blood pressure has risen.  Her vision starts to swim and she blacks out.

*****

For the second time in a week, Scully wakes up in a hospital.  It’s evening, judging by the low light coming through the window, and her room is dim with only the soft light above her bed on.  She has a vague recollection of being loaded into an ambulance and being admitted and of Mulder shouting at people.

She’s groggy and knows she doesn’t have all her wits about her, but she feels the baby stir inside her and she thinks that must mean he’s okay.  She places her hands on her belly and breathes deeply.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Scully turns her eyes to the door and sees Mulder enter.  He rushes over to her side and puts a hand on her shoulder to keep her down when she tries to sit up.  “Don’t strain,” he says.

“Thirsty,” she answers, licking her parched lips.

He pours a cup of water for her and adjusts the bendable straw to her mouth.  She drinks what she needs and then tips her head away.

“What happened?” she asks.

“The doctor said it’s a partial abruption,” he answers, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed.  “He wants you to rest and he says he’s going to keep you here for a few days to monitor you and the baby.”

She caresses her belly lightly.  “He’s okay?”

“You’re both fine.”

“I’m sorry that I-”

“No, I’m sorry,” he interrupts.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“And I should have told you from the beginning, but I just didn’t know how.”

“Quite honestly, Mulder, if the situation was reversed, I don’t know that I would know how either.”

Mulder’s cell phone rings and he fishes it out of his pocket, looks at the display, silences it, and then puts it back in his pocket.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Reyes,” he answers, shaking his head a little.

Her mood changes with the mention of Agent Reyes.  Whatever was there between them before her abduction, six months is a long time to wait, and he never gave any indication they’d made promises to each other.  If he has feelings for Agent Reyes, she will have to understand.

Scully moves her hands lower on her abdomen and looks up at the ceiling.  “Shouldn’t you answer her?”

“She wanted me to take a look at a case she’s working on.  We got cut off earlier when I was in the hall.  It’s not urgent.”

“You can go.”

He shakes his head.

“Seriously, Mulder, you don’t have to worry about me if that’s what’s stopping you.”

“Of course I’m worried about you.  Both of you.”

“I’ll just be resting.”

“I’d rather be here.”

“To do what?”

He purses his lips and cocks his head slightly.  “Be here,” he states, like he doesn’t understand the question.

“Take the call.  Work the case.  I don’t need you.”

The instant the words are out of her mouth, she sees the hurt on his face, but she doesn’t want him there out of a sense of obligation.  He’s hesitant to get up, looking at her incredulously, but finally he stands.  His arm swings up like he’s going to touch her, but then he curls his hand into a loose fist and drops his arm.

“Call me if you need anything,” he says.

She watches him go and then tips her head back, releasing the tears that had threatened to come just a few minutes ago.  They roll down her temples and into her hair.

*****

Chapter 6, Day 6:

Mulder doesn’t visit her the next morning, but she isn’t surprised.  There isn’t much to do on her forced bed rest except watch TV.  It’s unfathomable the amount of game shows are on in a two hour span of time.  

The monotony of her day is broken up by the arrival of her mother.  She’s not just surprised, she’s stunned.  She shuts the TV off and shifts into a more comfortable position, unsure of what she’s supposed to say.

“I wanted to see that you were alright,” her mother says.

“How did you know I was here?” Scully asks.

“Fox called me.”

Of course he did.  She didn’t even think about it, but in her mind, Christmas was only two months ago.  Obviously, though, even with the change in their relationship, she never told him what happened and she wonders why.

Her mother looks around the room, clearly uncomfortable.  She has the same look on her face she used to when Melissa invited her boyfriend du jour over for dinner.  Scully wishes she could remember if they’d spoken between February and September.  She only knows they haven’t spoken from Christmas to her birthday.

“You can sit down,” Scully says.

“I only wanted to see for myself that you were alright.”

“I’m fine.”

There are a few furtive glances at the swell of Scully’s stomach, hidden under the thin hospital blankets, but then her mother finally sits down.  Her gaze falls more steadily on her daughter’s abdomen to the point of staring.

“It’s a boy,” Scully says.  “In case you were wondering.”

“You found out?”

“It couldn’t really be helped.  They had to make sure everything was okay under the circumstances.”

“Yes, I would imagine they would.”

There comes an awkward silence and Scully thinks about what it would mean to apologize for things she wasn’t sorry for saying.  She would do it though, if it made it easier for her mother to want to be a part of her life and part of her grandchild’s life.  She doesn’t like the rift that exists between them and didn’t imagine it would last so long.

“I know we haven’t seen eye to eye in the past,” her mother says suddenly.  “But, surely this latest incident has persuaded you to see my point.”

Scully blinks and the possibility of a reconciliation vanishes.  “No, Mother, it does not,” she says.  “It only reinforces my point.”

“Dana, you have a child to consider now.”

“I am considering him.  And I don’t want to have this argument with you again.”

“I will never understand you.”

“You don’t have to understand me, you just have to respect my choices.”

“Your father wou-”

“Don’t,” she says, her voice dropping an octave into the range of cold.  “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Her mother stands and moves towards the door with an exhausted, fretful look on her face.  Scully would feel badly about it if not for the things that were said and done last Christmas and if not for the memo she found in her file about wanting to be removed as her emergency contact.  She’s glad she didn’t apologize, but there is something more she wants to say.

“Mom,” Scully says.  “I am sorry that I’m not the daughter you want me to be, but I will not apologize for being the person I am.  Let me ask you something, do you give Bill the same speech you give to me each time he ships out?  That he has a son and a wife at home to consider.  If you got the Navy housecall that he was lost at sea, would you ask to be removed as his emergency contact?”

Her mother’s lips twitch and her head jerks slightly in the negative.  “What Bill does is dangerous, but it’s important.”

“So is what I do.  We are both working to make this world a safer place and now, even more than ever, I am determined to see that through.”

“Once you become a mother, you’ll understand.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“You push everyone away, Dana, you’ll end up alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Scully answers, placing her hand over her belly both protectively and defiantly.  It isn’t just the baby she’s thinking of though.

Her mother leaves with a weary backwards glance.

*****

Scully spends the rest of the day in and out of sleep and contemplating calling Mulder.  She knows nothing about the case he’s working on and it worries her.  She also feels guilty for sending him away like she did.  She shouldn’t have told him she didn’t need him.

It’s after visiting hours, so of course that’s when Mulder slips into her room.  She’s still awake, but barely.  Her defenses are down enough to smile when she sees him.

“Hey,” he says.  “You’re awake.”

“Mostly.”

He’s dressed in a suit, not casual clothes, which piques her guilt again.  He wasn’t supposed to be working today, but she told him to, even when she knows he works too much.

She gestures for him to come closer and he does, slipping his hand into hers as he sits beside her on the bed.  He touches the hair that’s fallen across her forehead and tucks it back over her ear with a smile.  Forgiving and forgetting come so easy to him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Druggy,” she answers.  “How’s your case?”

“It’s not really my case, I’m just helping out.  Scully, let me ask you something.”

“Mmhm.”

“How did you manage to remain so skeptical after all these years?”

She chuckles, unprepared for that kind of question, especially when he looks so sincere.  “Why do you ask?”

“It’s strange being on the flip side of things.”

“How so?”

“Reyes called me on this case because she believes in visions that she’s had, in the past and present, and she thinks a case she worked a long time ago is connected to this one because of it.  She thought I might be more open to her theory.”

“It’s probably just a coincidence.”

“That's what I said.”

Scully raises her brows with a bit of amusement.

“It’s hard being the voice of reason,” he says, while squeezing her hand.

“What are the visions she’s had?”

Mulder sighs and sits back a little.  “So, I didn’t tell you this, but Reyes and Doggett go way back?”

“They do?”

“Yeah, I think there might even be a thing between them, I don’t know.”

“A thing?”

“You know.  A thing.”

“I thought…”

Mulder tips his head in question.  She closes her eyes and breathes out, feeling foolish.  With a shake of her head, she opens her eyes again.

“Nothing,” she says.  “Go on.”

“They met on a case eight years ago, before Doggett was FBI.  He used to be NYPD.”

“Don’t tell me there was a turf war over a case.”

“No.  Doggett’s seven-year-old son was kidnapped and murdered.”

“My God.”  Her free hand unconsciously moves to her belly.

“Reyes claims that when they found Luke Doggett, she had a vision of the body as ashes.  She also claims Doggett later told her had it too, but he denies it.”

“You know that could have been the power of suggestion.  He must’ve been distraught at the time.”

Mulder nods in agreement.  “She saw the same thing when she encountered a body a few days ago, and it turns out that man was someone they questioned about Luke’s murder but could never arrest.”

“Was that before or after she knew who he was?”

“Before.”

“I don’t think there’s anything there.”

“Uh oh.”

“Why uh oh?”

“Something has to be wrong if we agree.”

Scully smiles a little.  There’s a lull in the conversation and Mulder reaches out and places his hand above hers on her stomach.  He splays his fingers and smiles, an awestruck and reverent look coming over his face.  The baby kicks and Mulder looks at her before he chuckles.  

“Did he just…?” Mulder asks.  She nods just as the baby gives another strong kick, right at the center of Mulder’s hand.  He looks at her and laughs, like she planned it or had something to do with it.  She’s never seen him look so happy and she feels her eyes well with tears.  It should have been so obvious to her, the way he feels about her.  It isn’t just because of the baby, either.  It’s how he looks at her.  She wonders again how they got to this place and how that line was crossed.  

Their gazes hold on each other and there’s a beat, then two, then three.  Mulder’s lips part and his eyes bounce down to her mouth and then back.  He wants to kiss her, she can tell and if he does, she knows she’ll let him.  He doesn’t though, he just ends up shyly dropping his head and biting his lip.  She wishes she could remember just one of his kisses, to know what they’re like.  New Year’s Eve doesn’t count.

“You know when they’re letting you go yet?” Mulder suddenly asks.

“Not yet.”

“Do you still want my help with getting the room ready?”

“I do.”

“Because I can get started on that for you, you know.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay.”

He moves his hand off her belly, but she grabs onto his wrist, not wanting him to leave.

“You called my mother,” she says.

“Yeah.  She um...”

“I know she removed herself from my contact list.”

“She didn’t deal with your disappearance very well.”

“That’s not the reason.  I never told you?”

“No, you didn’t tell me anything.”

Scully nods.  “You know I went to San Diego over Christmas.”

“Yeah.”

“I came back early, and not to go zombie hunting with you either.”

“I thought you flew in the morning of New Year’s Eve.”

“No, I left Christmas Eve, actually.”

Mulder looks shocked.  “Scully, why?”

“My mother and Bill thought it was an appropriate time to sit me down and lecture me about my life choices and to demand that I quit the FBI or risk being cut off from the family.”

“What?”

“Bill basically told me my career was unimportant and that I had something wrong with me, a death wish, actually, is what he said.  He also said I was selfish, reckless, and thoughtless, among other things.”

“Jesus, what brought this on?”

“I think maybe missing Thanksgiving because I was in Africa.”

Mulder closes his eyes and sweeps a hand down his face.  He presses his fingers into his temples and shakes his head.  “Scully, I’m sorry.”

“No.”  She grabs his hand from his face and squeezes it hard.  “I’m assuming I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think this was your fault.”

“You wouldn’t have been in Africa if not for me.”

“I was in Africa because that’s where I needed to be.  Our work is important.  Neither my mother or my brother are willing to admit or accept that what I do is just as meaningful as what he does.  It’s me that’s no longer tolerant of their attitude about it.”

“They’re your family.”

“You’re my family,” she whispers, resting their joined hands on her stomach.

She can tell Mulder is moved.  His lips move in that way that tells her he is trying to think of something to say, but failing.  She doesn’t really want him to say anything though.

“I don’t know how we got here,” she says.  “I need you to help me remember.”

The door opens just then and a night nurse comes in, white shoes squeaking as she marches over with a dinner tray.  Her arms are thin, but strong.  Her grey hair is in a loose bun, like she was trying to give the impression of being severe, but didn’t quite pull it off.  She looks at them both with vague disapproval as she sets the tray down on the table next to Scully’s bed.  

“Sir, you can’t be in here,” she says.  “It’s after hours.”

“He’s the father,” Scully answers.

“Congratulations, that doesn’t mean rules don’t apply.”

Mulder carries Scully’s hand up to his mouth and kisses her knuckles.  “I’ll come back in the morning,” he says.

Scully pulls on his hand until he leans closer and she puts her hand on his face.  He smiles and kisses the corner of her mouth.  His five o’clock shadow rasps against her fingertips as he moves away.  Her eyes follow him out the door and she aches for him to return.  She thinks the shift inside herself had already taken place last February, but she hadn’t yet recognized it.

*****

Chapter 7, Day 10:

She can finally go home.  Finally.  She’s getting pretty tired of all the relaxing she’s had to do, but her doctor has given her the all clear to resume her life with the caveat that she take it easy for the next few weeks.

Mulder had been at the hospital every day, taking her orders on what she’d like done to her spare room to get it prepared.  The most he’s done, as far as she knows, is clear it out and get it painted.  She spent over two hours looking at paint samples he brought her and finally decided on a very pale shade of mint green, until she looked at the wallpaper and border samples and changed her mind entirely.  Mulder finally took both books from her and said he’d handle things.

She’s anxious to see the room, but she’s sick of being cooped up inside and in bed.  She wants to be out in the world.  When Mulder picks her up, she demands he take her shopping.  There’s a Pottery Barn Kids exactly eight blocks away from the hospital.  She knows because she scoured the Yellow Pages in her room, looking for the nearest baby store.

“There’s a whole Pottery Barn for kids?” Mulder asks, incredulously.  “Exclusively for kids.  Like, adult Pottery Barn on one side of the street, and baby Pottery Barn on the other?  They can’t just have one integrated Pottery Barn?”

As he wheels her out the door and walks with her to the car, drives to the store and parks outside, he comes up with a whole variety of Pottery Barn exclusives that has her rolling her eyes, but laughing.

“Pottery Barn Geriatrics,” he says.  “Pottery Barn Pets.  Pottery Barn Yuppies.  Pottery Barn Sailors.  Pottery Barnyard Animals.”

“We’re in public,” she tells him outside the store.  “Try and behave.”

“Do they have a Pottery Barn jail too?” he whispers in her ear as he holds the door open for her.  “Or, Pottery Barn Juvenile Delinquent Detention Center, I should say?”

There’s an overwhelming amount of furniture on display in the store.  Every few feet the model of a nursery is set up with completely different styles of decor and bedroom sets.  Mulder follows her through the maze of nurseries, thumping mattresses and yanking on the bars of cribs like he’s kicking the tires on a new car.

“Behave,” Scully whispers to him.

“We need to get one of the ones with the round edges.  Look at this corner, it’ll put someone’s eye out.”

“I’ll look the cribs, you go look at the sheets.”

Mulder separates from her and she continues her wandering, sliding her hands over bedrails to feel the wood and leaning over to check the depth inside.  The price tag on the first couple she’s interested in make her shy away, but she finds one she likes that seems reasonable.  It’s natural oak, rounded edges so Mulder shouldn’t object, and it converts to a toddler bed.  The matching changing table doubles as a dresser.  The tag says assembly is quick and easy and it has a ten year warranty.  She’s sold.

Her back has started to ache a little, so she sits down in a nearby chair.  Not only is it the most comfortable chair she’s ever sat in, the way it moves is a lot smoother than a rocker.  She looks at the tag.  It’s called a glider, and it’s expensive.  Too expensive to give it another thought, but she closes her eyes to enjoy it anyway.

“Don’t you look cozy,” Mulder says, bringing her back from the light doze she was starting to drift into.  He’s got a shopping cart with him full of God only knows what.

“I am quite comfortable, yes.  What is all of that?”

“Check it out.”  He pulls out a set of crib sheets and holds it out to her.  She gives a small huff of amusement.  The print is cartoon baby monkeys piloting a variety of rocket ships and spacecrafts.

Mulder has an expectant look on his face like he’s waiting for her approval and permission.  They’re only sheets and they are cute.  She shrugs to give him her nonchalant agreement and he grins.

“What else is in there?” she asks.

“Stuff.  Did you find a crib?”

“That one.”  She points to the set in the faux nursery across the aisle and Mulder leaves the cart to inspect it.

“Looks good,” he says when he comes back.

“There’s a matching changing station.”

“That’s the one you want?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go get it.  You stay here and keep enjoying your chair.”

“Mulder, no.”  She slides forward to push herself out of the chair, but Mulder leans down and holds the arms of the chair, blocking her from getting up.  The chair glides back and she leans with it, rolling back a little.

“It’s...he’s mine too, isn’t he?” he asks.

“What do you mean?  Of course he’s…”

“The responsibility.”  He ducks his head suddenly like he’s embarrassed and she puts her hand over his arm and holds his elbow.  “We never talked about it.”

“I know.”

“Even when we were trying to do this, we never talked about it.  I wanted to ask what kind of role you wanted me to play, but this is different, Scully.  Science didn’t make this baby.  We did.”

“I hope our child has the strength of your beliefs,” she whispers to him and he leans even closer to rest his forehead against hers.  “You’re the one that told me not to give up on a miracle.”

They’re both quiet for a few moments and then Mulder pulls back.  “I’m gonna go get that crib,” he says.

Scully sits back and watches him push his cart to the registers.  He consults with a saleswoman, pointing out the items to her and then they walk over and she inspects the tags.  He looks over to make sure he’s got it right and she nods at him.  It takes a little time to make the order and she rocks in the chair, watching him take care of things.

“We’re all set,” he says, coming back to her with a load of shopping bags.  “It’s going to be delivered today between four and seven.”

“That soon?”

“We’re lucky they had it in stock.  Let’s get you home.”

*****

They stop for lunch on the way home and as Scully devours most the footlong meatball sub they were meant to share, she suddenly finds herself on the verge of sleep.  Another side effect of the pregnancy, she thinks.  Either that or she’s returned a narcoleptic.  One minute she’s licking tomato sauce off her fingers and the next she feels as though she can’t keep her eyes open.

She manages to stay awake in the car, but yawns compulsively.  The thought of inspecting what Mulder has done to her spare room keeps her from falling asleep.  Part of her feels badly about not offering to help him carry some of the shopping bags up to apartment, but she she’s so tired.  Minutes later, she’ll blame her tears on the fatigue and the hormones when she finally sees the room.

“Mulder,” she murmurs, her eyes instantly spilling over with fat tears that roll down her cheeks.

“That bad?”

She shakes her head and passes her hand over the empty wall across from the door.  The room has been painted in a delicate, very light shade of blue, but that single wall has been stenciled with puffy clouds.

“You did this yourself?” she asks.

“I called the guy that came and painted all by myself.  The gunmen helped me move everything out.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Now you’ve seen it, why don’t you go take a nap and I’ll wait for the delivery guys.”

Scully wipes her cheeks and nods.  He’s done so much for her in the past few days and before she knew about their situation, she might have been inclined to say it was out of guilt, but the joy he seems to be taking in being involved in the preparation for the baby tells her otherwise.

“There’s one more thing I’d like to ask of you,” she says, tracing the shape of one of the clouds on the wall with the tip of her finger so she doesn’t have to look at him.  “Before I was released today, my doctor suggested I attend a birthing class this weekend.  I need a partner.”

“Is it one of those Lamaze things?  Breathe in, breathe out, relax the back, heeheehoooooo, heeheehoooo…”

“What do you know about Lamaze, Mulder?”

“Only what I’ve seen on Oprah.”

She smiles a little and turns to glance up at him.

“For the record, I’m always your partner,” he says.

“I know.”

He brushes his hand down the back of her head as she passes him by on the way to her room and she pauses for a moment to lean into it.

*****

Scully wakes to the sound of voices.  She can hear Mulder speaking with someone outside her door, but the conversation is low and it just sounds like a murmur.  Assuming it’s the delivery, she stretches languidly and takes her time getting up, trusting that Mulder can handle it.

She opens the door to her room just as two men are walking out of the spare room with bundles of plastic wrapping.  One of them nods to her as they pass by.  Mulder follows just a second later and smiles at her.  As he walks them out, she stretches the muscles out in her back and shuffles into the spare room.

There’s a large box containing the crib propped up against the wall of clouds.  Against the left wall is the changing table, already assembled, fortunately.  And then, in front of the closet, is the glider chair she’d spent her time relaxing in at the store.  The only difference between the chair currently in her spare room and the one at the store was the padding on this one was blue and not white.  There’s also a nicely wrapped box placed on the seat.

“You got me the chair,” she says when he returns to lean against the door jamb.

“You looked so peaceful in it, I had to,” he answers.

“You really don’t...you really…”

“Don’t worry about it, Scully.  Sit down.”

“I can’t, there’s a very intriguing box in the way.”

Mulder smiles and comes over to scoop up the box, placing it in her lap when she sits down.  He sits on the floor next to her and she unties the white ribbon around the present and then scratches at the wrapping paper.  She shakes off the top of the box and parts the tissue paper inside to reveal an old, well-loved cloth doll.

“Oh,” she says, lifting the doll from the box.  “Mulder…”

“Back when we first tried...well, I had high hopes.  I wrapped her up after the implantation and she’s been in my closet waiting.”

Scully smoothes her hand down the braids of yarn for the doll’s hair.  “Was she your sister’s?”

“No, she was mine.”

With a chuckle, Scully bops Mulder on the nose with the doll and he scrunches his face at her and smiles, but his eyes are serious.  Her chuckles taper off and she looks from Mulder to the doll.

“Really?” she says.

“Yeah, really.”

“What’s her name?”

This time Mulder does chuckle.  “Dolly,” he answers with a shrug.  “In my defense, I named her when I was two.”

Scully smiles.

“The story is though,” Mulder says.  “My grandmother always ordered Christmas presents to be sent out from a department store.  I got Dolly the same year my cousin Amy received a toy fire truck.  By the time they figured out it was a mix-up in the delivery, I was deeply attached to Dolly and wouldn’t give her up.”

The story doesn’t surprise Scully at all.  What little insight she’s had into Mulder’s childhood, it’s mostly been painful.  This story though, is sweet and so like Mulder.  She immediately cherishes it and craves more of it.  She won’t pry though.

“I love it,” she says.

“Should I get started on the crib?”

“You think you’re up to the task?”

“How hard can it be?”

*****

Easy assembly isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Three hours and a few bandages later, the crib is in place and ready to test the weight of the mattress.  Scully had washed the sheets while Mulder muttered obscenities under his breath about the quality of instructions in the box.  Even she would admit that the diagrams were somewhat useless and not exactly helpful.

The important thing is, the crib is assembled and ready to go.

“Moment of truth,” Mulder says, lowering the mattress down to rest on the supports hooked on the four sides.  He presses a little metal bar below the rails with his foot and miraculously, it lowers easily and locks again when he raises it.  He looks more relieved than proud.

“Nice job, Bob Vila,” she says, and waits for the retort from him about his virility and her appreciation of it, but it doesn’t come.

She’s been slowly coming to the realization that the Mulder she has now is different from the one she’s accustomed to.  It’s small things, like the decrease in sarcasm, that take her by surprise.  He’s somehow softer and a little calmer.  Not even once has he brought up work to her without her asking.  Work used to occupy all of his time, now it seems like he’d rather be anywhere else.  Actually, it seems like he’d just rather be with her.  The truth is, the feeling is mutual.

“So, any more heavy lifting need to be done?” Mulder asks.  He flexes one arm for her and squeezes his own bicep.  “Be honest, Scully, exactly how impressed with me are you right now?”

There he is.  The Mulder that flirts with her relentlessly and playfully, the one that tries to draw her out to play with him.  The one that tries to make her smile.  This is how she likes him the most.  This is how...she loves him.

“I’m unable to put into words how impressed I am,” she tells him.

He chuckles lightly and bumps his arm into hers as they stand in front of the crib.

“You can help me with the sheets,” she says.

Mulder does the tugging and fitting of the sheets into place.  Her belly gets in the way and makes it difficult.  The little space monkeys go perfectly with the wall of clouds.  Unbeknownst to Scully, there is also a little pillow in the shape of a crescent moon in the bag of purchases and he sets that in the corner of the crib with a smile.

Scully puts Dolly in the crib, leaning against the moon.  They both stand and stare into the little bed for a few moments.

“Well,” Mulder says.  “I guess it’s getting late.”

It’s actually not that late.  It’s not even nine.  She wants to ask him to stay, but she’s not sure for what.  There’s nothing to do but relax.  No work to discuss.  No reason to keep him with her, save for the fact she would just like to be with him.

“I guess,” she says, disappointed with her cowardice.  

“I’ll see you Saturday then, unless...you can call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

He leans down to kiss her good night and touches his lips to the corner of her mouth, much like he had when he left her in the hospital.  He lingers there, as though waiting for her to turn her head, to kiss him back, maybe, but she’s rooted to her spot and unable to move.  Her lips twitch and her mouth parts by a millimeter or two, but by then it’s too late and he’s pulled away.

“Night, Scully.”

“Good night.”

*****

Chapter 8, Day 13

Birthing class is not the most uncomfortable thing Scully has ever done, but it’s up there.  Mostly because she looks around the room at expectant couples in various stages of pregnancy, and feels like a sham.  

There’s a young couple in front of her and Mulder who can’t keep their hands off each other in some way.  There’s another couple sitting across from them that can’t keep their hands off her stomach.  Twins, they happily exclaimed at the beginning of class.  There’s another couple, older than both her and Mulder, that clutch each other’s hands with a nervous energy.  

Mulder and Scully sit next to each other, but apart.  The only time they’ve touched is when Mulder gave her his hands to help her sit down on the mats laid out on the floor.  She has trouble concentrating on the video of a live birth that plays on the TV at the front of the room, distracted with her own thoughts.  

Amongst these other women, she should feel a kinship of impending motherhood, but instead she feels more different than before.  None of them were missing a year of their life, she was confident about that.  None of them suddenly woke up thirty-eight weeks pregnant.  None of them couldn’t remember how they got pregnant.  None of them had a partner that felt he had to ask permission before he touched her.

“If you don’t get the epidural, can I?” Mulder whispers to her as the woman on screen begins moaning in pain.

Scully quietly snorts a short laugh.  The baby in the video is crowning, and voices are heard murmuring words of encouragement.  This video is not going to prepare anyone in the room for what’s going to happen.  She’s certain a video didn’t prepare Angela Villareal when she’d had to deliver her baby during a hurricane in Florida.  Seeing it just isn’t the same as experiencing it, she’s well aware.  

The video baby begins to wail with a watery cry when it’s finally pulled gracelessly into the world and placed on its mother’s chest.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor on screen says.

The young couple in front of them start clapping, as if they’ve reached the denouement of a performance.  The instructor stops the video and smiles warmly at the class.  She’s older, blonde once upon a time, now heavily streaked with white.  She’d introduced herself as Midwife Gail, but you can call me Gail.

“So, what did we all think?” Gail asks.

There is some nervous tittering and some of the couples ask silly questions.  She has to remind herself that not everyone has been to med school.

“What about sex?” the woman in front of them asks.

The other couples chuckle nervously, but most look eager for an answer.  Gail smiles benevolently in a way that suggests she’s answered that question a thousand times over.

“Sex is perfectly safe,” Gail says.  “In a normal, low-risk pregnancy, you can have intercourse right up to full term.  Your doctor should advise you if there are any concerns about sexual activity.”

“It won’t hurt the baby then?” asks the man to their left, the one who looks close to his 50s.

“Not at all,” Gail answers.

As Gail goes into more detail about the changes of the body and how it affects arousal or pleasure, Scully tunes out.  She would really like to move away from the topic altogether.  Mulder seems to sense her impatience and he reaches over and rests his hand on her neck, rubbing lightly with his thumb.  She tips her head into his touch and he misunderstands it as a dismissal.  His hand begins to slide away, but she looks over at him and asks him with the slow dip of her lashes not to stop.  He pauses and then squeezes her neck a little more firmly, not unlike a massage.  She rolls her head and forgets about the class.

“...so why don’t we try a few,” Gail’s voice breaks her bubble of serenity some time later.  She doesn’t know how long she’s spaced out for, but pamphlets are being passed out and Mulder takes one for the both of them.

“What are we doing?” Scully whispers to Mulder as everyone begins to stand.

“Exploring labor positions,” he whispers back, taking both her hands and bringing her to her feet.

“As I said earlier,�� Gail says.  “Standing and walking are great ways to get gravity to do most of the work.  And there are many things your support partner can do to help you along.  Let’s look at a few of these.”

Scully inclines her head towards Mulder as he holds the pamphlet towards her.  Pictures of a pregnant woman in various positions with a brief description of each photo comprise the front and back side of the page.  Some of the positions look positively embarrassing and Scully can’t imagine being able to do them without feeling more uncomfortable than she already would be.

“Every labor is different,” Gail says.  “Practicing some of these positions will help you decide what’s going to provide you with the most relief when the time comes.  Now, let’s start with everyone’s favorite.  We usually refer to it as the slow dance.”

Gail instructed the mothers to be to rest their hands on their partner’s shoulders and for the partners to support their weight.  

“Want me to get you a little box to stand on?” Mulder whispers into Scully’s ear as she reaches up to place her hands on his shoulders.

“Now we’re going to sway,” Gail says, moving her arms in a gentle wave.  “Side to side. Nice and slow.”

They had to work to find a rhythm.  Scully felt like she was back in sixth grade again, trying to figure out how to dance with a boy, all stiff-armed and terrified to get too close.

“Partners, this is an opportunity for you to offer a gentle massage of Mommy’s back.”

Mulder’s shoulders dip slightly as he lowers his arms and moves them around her waist.  She has to move closer now that he’s not supporting her arms and rests her cheek against his chest.  Her stomach bumps his pelvis and she withdraws with a murmured apology, but he rubs the center of her back and pulls her closer.

There’s something about it that feels familiar to her, like her mind is searching for a memory that won’t come.  She’s not uncomfortable, but she’s uneasy, not being held by Mulder, but that she should know what it’s like.  

“Have we done this before?” she mumbles against his chest.

“Something like this,” he whispers back.

“Great, let’s try another,” Gail says, moving through the center of the couples.

They run through a few more positions and then there’s a brief talk about birthing plans and another round of questions.  Scully is wholly unfocused on the rest of the lecture and the baby kicks her steadily from the time she leaves Mulder’s arms until the end of the class.

*****

Chapter 9, Day 17:

She doesn’t tell him about the nightmares.  Not at first, not when it’s just disjointed imagery that she only knows make her wake with a sense of unease.  She’s not sure if her dreams are memories or just latent fears of what was done to her.

She dreams of cold metal and the pinch of needles and being blinded by too white walls.  She dreams of not being able to move and of panic.  She dreams of the sound of machines, whirring, hissing, thumping machines.  

The first time she wakes in a cold sweat, she almost calls him, has her hand on the phone, but lays back down to catch her breath and looks at the clock.  She counts the seconds until the red numbers change and it helps calm her enough to fall back to sleep.

When it happens again, when the images seem too real, she’s dialing his number before she can stop herself.  She’s shivering and almost mute, unable to do more than gulp for air after she whispers his name.  He talks nonstop, keeping his voice in her ear as he drives to her.

“I’m crossing the bridge now, Scully,” he says.  “There’s no traffic.  There’s a red light ahead, but I’ll run it if I have to.  I’m coming up on the traffic circle now.  Taking the third turn.  Two blocks away.  I’m parking across the street. I’m using my key downstairs right now.  If I lose you in the eleva-never mind I’ll just take the stairs it’s only one flight.  Can you hear me opening the door?  I’m coming down the hall.  I’m here.”

He takes the phone from her hand and hangs it up before he slides onto the bed behind her and puts his arms around her.  She hasn’t stopped shaking, but she has her breathing under control.  She feels clammy with sweat in her hairline and her chest, the back of her neck and the small of her back.  

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls her arms in towards her chest and presses himself as close as possible like he’s trying to warm her up.  Her body slowly relaxes, and eventually she stops shaking.  

“Did I wake you?” she asks.  Her throat feels dry and raw.

“You know me, Scully,” he answers, and she feels him push himself up and off the bed behind her.  “I’m always awake even if I’m asleep.”

He’s in her bathroom, turning the faucet on.  A few moments later he’s back next to the bed.

“I’m going to turn on the light,” he says.  “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

When she doesn’t answer, he pulls the chain on her lamp.  She squints and blinks and shivers a little.  He moves his hands over her arms and shoulders and pulls her up so she’s propped against him as he sits beside her.  He lifts a glass of water to her lips and she drinks slowly.  

Mulder sets the empty glass down on her table and puts both arms around her again.  He’s got a thin t-shirt on, but it’s soft against her cheek.  She sighs, feeling foolish now that her body has relaxed.

“Bad dream?” Mulder asks.

She’s not sure she wants to tell him, but she can’t keep it to herself either.  It’s hard though, to tell him she believes in something she has no proof of.  She always has proof, never operates on hunches the way he does.  

“What if they did something to the baby?” she whispers.

“All your tests came back okay,” he says, but she hears a touch of uncertainty in the way his voice rises slightly.

“But, what if there’s something we can’t test for.  Something...we wouldn’t even know where to look.  There’s no precedent for this.”

“No precedent for what?”

“I don’t know.  I’m having...I might be remembering what happened to me.”

Mulder rubs his lips together, the way he does when he’s thinking things he doesn’t want to say to her.

“Some of it is vague,” she continues.  “Some of it is more...vivid.”

“What do you remember?”

“Tests.  Just...knowing I’m being tested in some way.  Prodded.  Needles.  Tonight I...I was in a...like a chair, but like an exam table.  There was some kind of fluid.  I couldn’t tell if I was being injected with it or if it was being extracted.  The line was like an umbilical cord.  They were doing something to the baby.”

“Do you want to be regressed?”

She sucks in a breath and holds it.  If there’s more that happened to her, she doesn’t necessarily want to know it.  She can live with not knowing what was done to her in greater detail, but she doesn’t know if she can handle the fear of what may have been done to her baby.

“I don’t think I can.”

Mulder nods and brushes his thumb across her cheek.  “It might not be real.”

“What do you mean?  What might not be real?”

“In all probability, these dreams are just a manifestation of repressed fears, ones you may not even be conscious of.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“We’ll deal with it.  Just like everything else.  We’ll deal with it.”

Scully knows he’s trying to be reassuring, but the fear is still there.  It may not go away either, at least, not until the baby is born.

“Close your eyes,” Mulder says.  “I’ll worry about it for you if you want me to.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Close your eyes anyway.”

Scully sighs and closes her eyes.  Mulder eases her down to the bed and she turns over onto her side to bite her lip.  She hears his shoes thump onto the floor and then he’s sliding under the covers behind her and wrapping himself around her.  She wants to burrow down into the cocoon of his arms and pretend there’s nothing to worry about.  

The baby stirs inside her.  She’s noticed that the baby is more active when Mulder is around, responding to either the sound of his voice or his hands on her.  She can’t settle when the baby is restless.

After some time, she feels Mulder’s breath even out against the back of her neck. His limbs grow heavy over her, but his thumb moves continuously over the back of her hand so she knows he’s still awake.

With great difficulty, she turns over to face him.  When she starts to move, he lifts his arm like he’s anticipated the change and then brings it back down over her with practiced ease, all with his eyes closed.  It speaks of his familiarity with her body and it puts an ache in her chest.  She stares at the relaxed pout of his bottom lip.

“Mulder,” she whispers.

“Hm?”

“Who made the first move?”

His lips curl into a brief smile.  “You and I both know you’re braver than I am.”

“It was me?”

“Mm…”  He moves his hand in a broad circle against her back.

She tries to think about what that might have been like.  Were they in her apartment or his?  On a case?  In the office?  No, she wouldn’t do something like that in the office.

“Tell me,” she says, moving her face close enough to his so that he can feel her whisper against his cheek.

Mulder takes a deep breath and rubs another circle on her back before he opens his eyes.  He stretches his shoulders and blinks at her.

“It was a Saturday,” he says.  “You came over to my place to help me with reconciling an expense report.  We ordered takeout from Wong’s even though it’s farther, because you like the sweet and sour chicken better from there and they have the crab rangoon.”

“Don’t put that all on me, you like the spare ribs.”

“I do like the spare ribs, but House of Hunan has better egg rolls.  Anyway, we finished the report before the food arrived.”

“Really?”

“Miraculously, I had all the receipts this time.  Stop interrupting.”

“Sorry.”

Mulder smiles and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear.  His eyes move over her face like he’s taking a mental picture of the moment.  She tries not to look too expectant.

“I asked if you wanted to watch a movie,” he says.  “I let you pick.  Notorious was on one of those old movie channels, but we missed the first ten minutes or so.”

She starts to relax, as usual, lulled by Mulder’s storytelling.  She tries to imagine them on his couch, eating Chinese and watching a black and white movie.  It’s not unheard of.  They’d been doing more social things together lately.  She closes her eyes to help lose herself in the imagery.

“You got up to put the cartons in the refrigerator, even though I told you to leave them,” he says.  “When you sat back down, you were closer than you were before.  You kind of leaned against me, so I put my arm around you.”

“That sounds like a move to me.”

“It wasn’t a move.  You’re the one that put the moves on me, putting your hand on my thigh like you did.  My upper thigh.

“Maybe it was an accident.”

“It was no accident.  I looked at you and you were looking at my mouth like…”

Scully opens her eyes and can’t seem to bring her gaze any higher than his bottom lip.  “Like what?”

“Like you wanted something from me.  No, like you expected something from me.”

“You lied.”

“I didn’t lie.  I may have kissed you, but you made the first move.”

“You put your arm around me.”

“You sat next to me.”

“I sit next to you all the time.”

“It was a move, Scully.”

“Did we…?”

“A week later.”

“Only a week?”

His lips pucker as he smiles.  “It was a really long week.”

She wonders what that week was like and how they handled it.  Were they in the office, trying to keep their hands off each other?  Were they on a case?  Was it hard to maintain professionalism?  When did they make this baby?  And how?  

“I love you, Scully,” he whispers.  “I know you may not remember it, but I do.  And I think, I hope, you loved me too.”

“I never told you?”

“You keep a lot of things to yourself.”

He says it without malice, but Scully feels cut by it regardless.  “I’m-”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he whispers, quickly cutting her off.  “When you’re ready, you’ll say it.”

His confidence amazes her.  He’s so sure they’ll get back to where they were when all she feels is uncertainty.  She’s uncertain about everything right now.  Her career, the future, her past, the baby.  The one steady thing though, is Mulder.  He’s her lighthouse in the fog.

Very cautiously, Scully reaches up and touches his face, bringing her fingers lightly down his cheek and then touching his bottom lip with her thumb.

“Are you making a move, Scully?”

“Did you have to ask me the last time, Mulder?”

He lifts his head from the pillow they’re sharing and touches his mouth to hers, gently, but not unlike a lover.  He teases her mouth open slowly, unhurried and patient.  She kisses him back and threads her fingers through his soft hair.  After only a few moments, he whispers her name and then she feels the flutter of his lashes against her cheek as he breaks their kiss and dips his head.

“Turn out the light,” she whispers.

Mulder chuckles and touches his forehead to her shoulder.  “You’re nothing if not consistent,” he says. “That’s what you said the first night too.”

“You’ve...seen me before.  It isn’t new for you.”

“Not like this,” he whispers, running his hand down her arm and to her belly.  She feels the urge to apologize again, but Mulder rolls away from her and pulls the switch on the light.  He comes back to her and finds her lips with practiced ease in the dark.  She is warm from his body and warm from his kisses.  Her body responds to his immediately, remembering him in ways her brain can’t.

Her hands pull at his shirt with impatience, first behind his shoulders and then at his hip.  She’s been building a frantic need since the moment he told her about them to experience it for herself.  She has his kisses now, but what she needs is his skin and his touch.  

Maneuvering is difficult.  She wants to roll onto her back and pull him over her, but the pregnancy makes it impossible.  She moves her leg up over his thigh, but can’t get close enough.  She is able to snake her hand up his shirt though and over his chest.  She scratches at the smattering of coarse hair over his sternum.  He grips the back of her thigh and pulls her leg higher over his hip while sliding his leg between hers.

“Is this okay?” he mumbles against her mouth.

There’s already a moan in the back of her throat as a response.  She doesn’t know how he could ask that.  She groans his name.

“Are you sure?” he whispers breathlessly, pressing against her eagerly, but also holding back.  She doesn’t want him to hold back.  She curls her nails into his chest and bites his chin.

“Scully,” he hissess.  “Is it safe?”

She realizes he’s not asking if this is what she wants, he knows it’s what she wants.  Now that she’s here, she doesn’t want to stop either.  She takes a moment to assess the way she feels.  Aside from finding a manageable position, and a higher than usual level of arousal which is always uncomfortable until release is found, there isn’t any pain.  Her chest does feel tender, like the slightest touch might be overstimulating, but it doesn’t concern her.

“I think so,” she finally answers.  

“Should we wait and ask your doctor?”

“I am a doctor.”

“So, it’s safe?  After your abruption?  It’s okay?”

“I...don’t know, actually.”

Slowly, Mulder releases his grip on her.  The frenzy she was feeling begins to wane.  She can still feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat against her palm until she takes her hand out of his shirt and their bodies relax and separate.  There are a few moments of quiet, where it’s just the two of them breathing in the dark.

Fear begins to creep over her again, the reason that brought Mulder here in the first place.  She brings her hand down to the underside of her belly in a protective hold.  She made a promise that she wouldn’t let any harm come to this baby, and that includes from herself.  She has to stop thinking the worst.

“Have you slept over here before?” Scully asks.

“Yeah.”

“Will you stay over now?”

“Of course I will.”

Mulder rolls towards her and she has to take a few moments to find a comfortable position, but she settles on her side at an angle against his chest.  He tucks his head down and kisses her neck lightly as he rubs the side of her hip.  She sighs and slides her hand back to lace her fingers with his and bring his hand down to join hers in the protective hold of the baby, silently acknowledging they will deal with whatever comes together.

*****

Scully is woken by the sound of Mulder’s cell phone, ringing in his pocket.  She opens her eyes just as he’s slipping out of bed and answering the call in a low voice, obviously trying not to wake her.  He steps out into the hall and she closes her eyes and curls into the warm spot he left behind.

When he comes back just a few moments later, she opens her eyes when he touches her cheek.  She leans into the press of his hand and then looks at the clock.  It’s almost eight.

“I need to get to the office,” Mulder says.  “I’m gonna use your shower.”

“Mmkay,” she says sleepily.  “There are towels in-”

“I know where everything is.”  He smiles and then pulls away.

If her life hadn’t been so crazy the past couple weeks, she probably would’ve noticed, but there are several of Mulder’s suits hanging in her closet, on the right side, where she keeps the winter clothes.  She tries not to look shocked as he selects a dress shirt and pants, a tie and a jacket, and then he lays it out on the chair next to her bed.  She sits up as he opens the bottom drawer of her dresser, where she keeps her sweaters, only now it’s full of undershirts and his underwear and socks.  She apparently gave him a drawer and a side of the closet.

Carelessly, Mulder tosses a white t-shirt, a pair of plaid boxers, and brown socks onto the chair with his clothes and then walks into her bathroom.  He leaves the door open, maybe on purpose, maybe out of habit.  She hears his clothes hit the floor and then the shower comes on.

She sits in bed, wondering how often this has happened.  She wonders if she’s ever joined him.  Surely, she must have.  She’s thinking about joining him right now.

And what if she did join him?  She thinks about what he told her last night, that he’s never seen her like this before, so it would be new for both of them.

Before she can find excuses to talk herself out of it, she pushes the bedclothes away and slides out of bed.  She undresses quickly and though she’s self conscious about the changes in her body, she walks into the bathroom and pulls back the shower curtain enough to step into the shower in front of Mulder.

She keeps her eyes down at his feet, no higher than his knees.  He puts his wet hands on her shoulders and turns them so she’s in the spray.  She closes her eyes and tips her head back to let the water run over her face and hair.  His hands slide onto her hips and she wipes the water away from her face as she opens her eyes to look up at him.  His eyes are slowly moving down her body.  In fits and starts, she does the same, looking down, glancing up, looking away, and then finally taking him in.

She starts to reach down to touch him, but he catches her hand and brings it to his chest, rubbing her fingers before kissing her knuckles.

“Both of us, or neither of us,” he says.

“My next appointment is on Wednesday,” she answers, raising her eyes to his.

“We’re experts at waiting things out.”

She can’t help but smile and then she puts her hands on his ribcage.  Their bodies aren’t quite touching, but they’re close.  

“I should let you finish showering,” she says.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’m late from being too busy scrubbing your back.  Or scrubbing your front,” he adds, with a waggle of his brows.

Hopefully it won’t be the last, she thinks.

*****

Mulder calls her later that morning as she’s eating scrambled eggs and reading the newspaper.  Her hair is still wet.  She hasn’t bothered with a blow-dry as she has nothing to do.

“I need to go up to Buffalo on a case,” he says.  “The police think they have a homicide, but not a mark on the body.”

“Why do they think homicide?”

“Victim is an elderly man confined to his wheelchair.  Somehow he ended up in the woods behind his house.  They say there’s slime inside the house.”

“Slime?”

“Their word, not mine.”

“What do you think it is?”

“My hope is that it’s not bile.  We don’t need another liver-eating mutant slinking around.”

“Then your victim would be missing his liver.”

“True.  Aliens do leave a mucus-like residue when they shed their skin you know.”

“That must be it.”

“Feel like doing some slicing and dicing?”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m serious.  The body’s being sent back to DC and Doggett and I are heading up to Buffalo on an eleven-thirty flight.  Skinner approved you for an autopsy, if you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Victim’s name is Arlen Sacks.  He’ll be ready for you in just over an hour.”

“Good luck in Buffalo.”

“Good luck with Mr. Sacks.”

Scully hangs up the phone with a smile.  Who knew the prospect of an autopsy could brighten her day?  She needs to go get ready.

*****

She’s typing up her report when Mulder calls.

“I need to know if you found anything?” he asks as soon as she answers.

“What’s wrong?”

“Agent Doggett is missing.”

“Missing?”

“He was searching the grounds outside and I can’t find him.  Did you finish the autopsy?”

“I did.  I don’t know if what I found will be helpful in locating Agent Doggett or not, but Arlen Sacks was not murdered, Mulder.  He died of heart failure, evidently after he was blinded by a chemical substance of some kind. The eyes have residual traces of a slimy substance known as hydrolytic enzymes.”

“It’s venom.  Produced by reptiles.”

“How do you know that?”

“The Buffalo PD sent samples of the slime they found inside the house out to their labs for analysis.  That’s what they came back with too.”

“I also found a bacteria in the venom that I’ve just ordered a culture on.”

“Keep me posted if you can.  I’m going to find Doggett.”

*****

An hour later, Mulder calls her back.  “Scully, I want you to look up what you can on a biologist named Herman Stites.”

“Why?”

“I want to know more about the man who’s driveway I’m sitting in spitting sunflower seeds out my window.”

“Is he a suspect.”

“Might be.”

“Mulder, the victim had reptile venom in his eyes, are you now saying that it was a man who did this?”

“Are you saying it’s not, Scully?”

“I know this may be hard to believe coming from me but some kind of reptile attack is the only explanation consistent with the scientific evidence.”

“I don't think it’s a monster we are dealing with here, I think it’s a man.”

“Why do you say that?”

“A hunch.”

The lab assistant, Gina, that Scully has been working with to process her samples waves to her through the glass wall separating them.  Scully puts up her finger to tell her she’ll be there in a moment.

“Mulder, I have to go.”  She hangs up before he tests some wild theory on her and goes back into the lab.  The monitor displays the microscopic enlargement of the bacterial culture being analyzed in a like a magenta splatter on the screen.

“What am I looking at?” Scully asks.

“As you asked,” Gina says, zooming in even further on the bacteria than she already has.  “We cultured the bacteria from the hydrolytic enzymes that were sprayed in the old man's eyes.”

“It looks like they're breaking down the tissue.”

“That's exactly what they're doing. The venom blinds its victim, then the bacteria excretes protease and collagenase throughout the victim's body.”

“Digestive enzymes.”

“Muscle, bone, all of it is slowly liquefied for easy digestion while the victim's skin is made hard and brittle forming a sac or shell from which the reptile can drink.”

“So the reptile sprays its victim, then all it has to do is wait.”

“There are precedents for this sort of thing in nature.”

“Yeah, but there are no species that can do all of this. At least not yet.”

“What do you mean?”  

Scully doesn’t have time to explain it to her, she needs to do what Mulder asked her to do and look up Herman Stites and what he does as a biologist.  She goes back to the desk she was using outside the lab and does a background search.  Ten minutes later, she’s dialing Mulder’s number.

“Mulder,” he answers.

“You were right about Herman Stites, Mulder,” she says, still reading the information she’s dug up on her screen.

“What did you find?”

“Well, Stites is a crypto-biologist, specializing in reptile genetics. Listen to this, it says here that he published a monograph last year claiming to be on the verge of creating a new species of reptile.”

“Did he succeed?”

“I don't know. He dropped out of sight and never published a follow-up, but Mulder, the bacteria inside this venom...if Stites is genetically altering reptile breeds it may explain the peculiar properties.”

There's silence on the other end of the line and Scully frowns, pressing the phone a little harder to her ear.  “Mulder, are you listening to me?”

Still nothing, but she can hear him breathing.   “Mulder?  Mulder?”

“I think Mr. Stites may have a lot more than that to explain,” he says, and then she hears the click of disconnection.

She futility calls his name into the phone twice more until she punches the END button and nearly slams the phone to the desk in frustration.

*****

The next time she hears from Mulder, she’s at home and he’s at the hospital where Agent Doggett has been admitted.

“How is he?” she asks, and though she’s genuinely concerned, she’d been far more worried about Mulder than the formerly missing Agent.  

“They’ve got him on an anti-venom right now.  His eyes are bandaged, but they’re confident he’ll make a full recovery.”

“That’s good news.”

“Yeah.”  Mulder pauses long enough that she can hear the sounds of the hospital in the background.

“Is there something else?”

“Stites is dead.”

“So, it was him?”

“What Doggett shot at wasn’t human.  Not completely anyway.”

“Don’t even say it, Mulder.”

“What if Stites was using himself as the guinea pig, or guinea lizard in this example?”

“Stites didn’t turn himself into a reptile, Mulder.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it isn’t possible.  And it’s more plausible that he created a synthetic enzyme that he could spray at his victim.  Agent Doggett’s vision was impaired, he couldn’t know what he shot at.”

“But, I saw it.”

“You saw a lizardman attack Agent Doggett?”

“You know, Scully, I missed this.”

Scully takes a pause.  Arguing with Mulder about logic is almost habit, and for her, practically happened yesterday.  The worry, though, that’s also a habit.  One she dislikes immensely.

“I’ve never missed waiting by the phone, wondering if you’re okay,” she says.

“Sorry, Scully.”

“When will you be back?”

“Tomorrow, probably.  That’s when Doggett is supposed to be released.”

“You’re going to stay with him?”

“You know I feel...I always had you looking out for me.  I don’t know if I ever told you how much I appreciated it, Scully.”

“You looked out for me too, Mulder.”

“Not very well though,” he says with a chuckle.  “Clearly doing a bang up job with Doggett too.”

“You’re not responsible for the world, Mulder, or for anything that’s happened to me either.”

It’s like she can hear his melancholy through the phone.  She hates when he self-flagellates like he does.  He practically makes it an art form.  She wants to shock him out of it before he starts to wallow.

“Except for knocking me up,” she says.  “I hold you responsible for that.”

“Scully…” he breathes and then clears his throat.  “I accept full responsibility for that and I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Count on it.  Night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

Her dreams are pleasant and unmemorable that night.

*****

Chapter 10, Day 19:

Doggett’s eyes don’t heal enough to leave the hospital the next day, so Mulder doesn’t leave either.  He comes home the following morning and calls Scully after he lands, letting her know Skinner has summoned him and Doggett to a meeting and he’ll stop by later.

It’s almost dark when he finally shows up, his suit rumpled and tie askew.  He kisses her rather chastely on the lips when she lets him in, but still it makes her ears and cheeks burn.  She needs time to adjust to Mulder the lover, time to reprogram her brain to accept affection without feeling feverishly nervous about it.  Unaware of the heated state he’s put her in, he flops down on her couch and lays his head back to look up at the ceiling.

“What’s going on?” she asks, easing herself down onto the couch beside him.

“Kersh has been formally indicted,” he answers.  She doesn’t expect him to gloat about it, Mulder doesn’t gloat, but she doesn’t expect such a neutral reaction to the news either.  He’s almost sullen.

“What’s wrong?”

“The units under Kersh are being reassigned, obviously.  The x-files are in jeopardy again.”

Scully reaches over and puts her hand on Mulder’s arm.  “We’ve won that fight before.  We can do it again.”

“When you remembered the crop circles in England, do you remember talking to me about signs and fate when I got back?”

She shakes her head.  “I don’t believe in fate.”

“You did that night.  Anyway, maybe it’s a sign.”

“Of what?”

“Of what's been coming for awhile now.”

“What are you saying?”

Mulder turns his head towards her.  His eyes flicker between her face and her abdomen.  She squeezes his arm.

“Mulder?”

He takes a deep breath.  “I asked Skinner if I could take a leave of absence to figure some things out,” he says on his exhale.  “Doggett asked to remain on the files until their fate is determined.  Reyes is going to fill the vacancy my absence opens.”

Scully never imagined Mulder would voluntarily leave the x-files, and certainly not in the hands of someone else.  She’s stunned into momentary silence and her eyes fill with tears.  She looks away and wipes her knuckle against the corners of her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Mulder asks.

“Are you doing this because you think it’s what I want?”

“Yes.  No.  I know you can’t remember, but we had a conversation about this just days before you left.  It was the last conversation we had, really.”

“About you leaving?”

“About...the future.”

“Mulder, this has been your life.”

“Exactly.”  Mulder nods.  “Exactly.  There is more to life than this.  For me, for you...for us.”

“Are you asking me to leave as well?”

“I think I’m just...I’m asking you to have a conversation about our options going forward.”

“I don’t…”  

Scully shakes her head, at a loss for words.  Mulder has put her in a place that she can’t even remember being in.  She’s not quite sure what he’s asking for or what he means when he says options.  If she could only remember a shred of what it was like to be with him, or what her state of mind was six months ago, it would help immensely.

“Are you telling me this was something I wanted?” she asks.

“I don’t know what you wanted, actually.  We would be finishing a conversation from months ago.”

“One I don’t remember.”

“I know.  I know, but…”

“Are you talking about leaving the x-files or the FBI altogether?”

“Probably the FBI altogether.”

“I don’t understand.  I really don’t.”

“Can you tell me the loss has been worth it?  My sister, your sister, your...daughter.  Countless innocent people spanning decades.  And we’re just two people tilting at windmills.”

Scully looks down at her swollen belly.  She can’t say she would trade the life of her sister for her unborn child, but if she were to erase a piece of her past, she may not have what she has now.  What’s done is done, they can’t go back, they can only go forward.

“Can you live with knowing there is evil in the world and though you’re capable of stopping it, you won’t?” she asks.  “I know you, Mulder.  I know what it would do to you to sit passively while the world falls apart.”

“It would be trading one burden for another, I agree.”  He takes another glance at her middle.  “But, it’s safer.”

She clasps her hands over the swell of her stomach.  “How do you know?  You think if we leave, it’ll end?  We’ve seen too much and we know too much.  The x-files might be our best source of protection one day.”

Mulder turns his head to look back up at the ceiling.  She just had this argument with her mother, she can’t believe she’s having it now with Mulder.  At the very least, he’s not questioning her capabilities.  He sighs deeply and then stands.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.  “I still need to think about things.”

“Mulder?”

“I’ll call you later, okay?”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I...I do my best thinking alone in the dark.”

“I can turn out the light.”

He snorts and lets his hand drop from his face.  His fingers dangle close to her, but then he closes his hand into a loose fist and turns away.  It takes her too long to get up from the couch to stop him.  He’s out the door before she makes it to her feet.

“Damn,” she whispers.

*****

He calls her less than half an hour later, not even enough time for him to get home.  She lets it ring three times before she answers, even though she’s had the phone in her hand since he left, just waiting.

“Don’t say anything,” he says.  “I try to keep telling myself that it’s enough that you’re back, but I don’t want to go back to how we were before we were us.  You may not be able to remember, but I’m unable to forget what it was like to have you for four months and to have been happy.  I think the only thing that’s kept me going for so long is you.  Yes, I want the truth about a lot of things, but now I want what we’ve been fighting for everyone else in this world to have.  Security, happiness, love.  I wanted you to walk away from it when we were in Oregon, but I wanted to walk away with you.  If you say you want to stay, I’ll stay.  I just want you to know that my heart isn’t in the casefiles right now, my heart is with you and with our baby.  That’s all.”

There are hot tears sliding down Scully’s cheeks, which she wipes away with one hand.  She tries to be silent and not to let Mulder hear her crying through the phone.  When he stops speaking, she licks her upper lip and swallows hard.

“You don’t know what it was like,” he says in a near whisper.  “Watching you disappear in front of me, not being able to stop it, finding out you were pregnant, and then spending six months not knowing if I’d ever see you again, let alone the baby.  I resented every single case I had to work on that wasn’t yours.  I hated myself for not being able to spend every waking minute searching for you.”

“Stop,” she murmurs, voice bubbling with a sob.

“And for you to come back and not remember we’ve shared and what’s been the happiest, most treasured and precious relationship I’ve ever had, is probably the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.  When I look at what I’ve lost, I have to include us on that list as well.”

“Stop,” she says again.

“I don’t want to upset you, but I can’t let another conversation go unfinished.”

She takes short, shallow breaths.  Her chest aches and her ribs ache.  The baby kicks her in the side so hard that when she squeezes her eyes shut, she sees stars.  She has a sudden vision of sitting next to Mulder on his couch, slumped towards him while she stares drowsily at her stocking feet, propped up on his coffee table.  His gravelly voice mumbles softly in her ear: I just find it hard to believe.  Her voice slurs a reply: What part?  His tone is amused: The part where I go away for two days and your whole life changes.

“What happened the weekend with the crop circles?” she asks.

“You had a vision of the different roads your life could have taken and decided they all led to exactly where you were.”

“Is that the weekend we…”

“Yeah.”

“I need to think about things too.”

“Good night, Scully.”

“Night, Mulder.”

She hangs up the phone in turmoil.

*****

Chapter 11, Day 23:

Mulder hasn’t called her, but Scully isn’t surprised.  He has essentially left the ball in her court.  She knows though, it’s not about whether or not she stays or leaves, it’s about being a part of the conversation.  He wants her to be a part of a monumental decision he’s about to make, and that says a lot to her about the way things must have been when she left.  Something like that is not just consideration between partners and it goes beyond merely including her in his plans.

When she did call the night before, she got his answering machine.  She left him a brief message reminding him about her doctor’s appointment and gave him the time.  She doesn’t know if he’s coming or not.

She arrives early to the appointment and checks in with the receptionist.  There are two other women in the waiting area, one reading a magazine, the other filling out paperwork on a clipboard.  Just as she sits down in an empty chair on the empty side of the room, Mulder walks in.  He smiles when he sees her and she didn’t know how anxious she actually was that he wouldn’t show up until the relief washes over her.

Before he sits, Mulder takes her hand, bringing her wrist to his mouth as he bends down to invade her space.  He puts his free hand on her stomach just for a moment and then he sits beside her, still holding her hand.  The woman across from them, reading the magazine, takes discreet glances in their direction, an amused smile on her lips.

Slightly embarrassed, Scully turns to look at Mulder.  He raises their hands again and rests his cheek against the inside of her arm.

“I missed you,” he mouths to her.

“Me too,” she mouths back.

They wait fifteen minutes for Scully to be called back to the exam room.  Mulder holds her hand the whole time, and they don’t say anything.  As she changes into the paper gown that’s on the table waiting for her, he studies the charts of fetal growth on the wall.

“It’s really remarkable,” he says.

“What is?”

“Life.”

Scully slides onto the table just as the nurse comes in to check her vitals.  Her temperature is 99.2, blood pressure in the normal range, pulse a little quick, but nothing to worry about.  The doctor will be in shortly.

“Sit by me,” Scully says, glancing at the empty space next to the table, the side that’s free of equipment and monitors.

Mulder squats down on one of the rolling stools in the room and rolls up next to her, swiveling to face her.  “Will we get to hear the heartbeat?” he asks.

“Probably.”

“Will we get to see him?”

“I don’t know.”

“I have something for you.”

“What?”

Mulder digs into his jacket pocket and brings out a onesie that’s been folded into a small square.  He lets it unravel and drapes it over the swell of her stomach over the gown.  She chuckles.  It’s dark blue and in white letters reads: Party at 2am, my crib - bring your own bottle.

“It’s actually from your three fairy godfathers,” he says.  “Frohike would like you to consider Melvin as a middle name.”

“Not a chance,” she says lightly and they smile at each other.

“Have you thought about names?”

“No.”  She folds the onesie back into a tiny square and hands it to Mulder.  She lets her grip linger as he takes it.  “Have you?”

Mulder shrugs and puts the onesie back in his jacket pocket.  “I figured you’d be much better at that than I would.”

A doctor that Scully doesn’t recognize knocks on the door as she enters, Scully’s chart in her hands.  “Dana, my name is Dr. Wilder,” she says.  “Dr. Parenti had a personal matter to attend to and I’m taking his patients for the time being.  How are you feeling today?”

“I’m fine,” she tells her.  

“Good, good.  Taking it easy?”

“I am.”

“Glad to hear it.  Have you had any pain at all?  Headaches, nausea, cramping, or spotting?”

“No, not at all.”

“And how active would you say the baby is at this point?”

“He kicks a lot,” she says, rubbing the spot on her left side the baby had kicked her all morning.  “Mostly in the early morning and…”  She takes a pause to glance at Mulder.  “He’s very responsive to his father’s voice.”

Mulder straightens a little on his stool and his chest expands a little.  She wishes she’d told him that earlier, that the baby seemed to get excited when he was around.

“Let’s take a listen then,” Dr. Wilder says.  “Shall we?”

Scully leans back against the reclining table as Dr. Wilder prepares the fetal doppler.  She turns her head to look at Mulder, who’s watching the doctor squeeze a bit of cold gel onto her stomach.  She keeps her eyes on Mulder’s face as the wand is passed over her abdomen in search of the baby’s heartbeat.  When the quick whir-thump echoes from the speaker, his eyes get larger and a slow smile blooms on his face.

“He takes after me,” Mulder murmurs.

“Why do you say that?” Scully asks.

“Sounds like me when I’m drumming my fingers on the dashboard and you tell me to knock it off.”

Dr. Wilder smiles broadly and Scully rolls her eyes shut on a short laugh.  She keeps them closed and listens to the sound of the baby until the doppler is turned off.  The doctor scribbles a few notes in her chart.

“I’m going to take some measurements now,” Dr. Wilder says.  

Mulder’s phone rings and he fumbles in his pocket, grimacing an apology at both Scully and the doctor.  He quickly silences it after a glance at the screen and then shakes his head at Scully.  The doctor takes her measurements and then jots a few more notes in the chart.

“Everything looks good,” Dr. Wilder says.  “Do you have any concerns or anything else you’d like to talk about today?”

“Um,” Scully says, pushing her hair back over her ears so she can take a discreet glance at Mulder.  “I was wondering about intercourse.”

Mulder’s phone vibrates loudly in his pocket and she sees color rise to his cheeks, but she’s not sure if the embarrassment is from the interruption or the question she just posed.  He silences his phone again with a mumbled apology.

“You can take it if it’s important,” Scully says.

“Not now,” he answers, quickly.

“Well, Dana,” Dr. Wilder says.  “Though your abruption was minor and everything is going well right now, I’d advise against intercourse.”

“Oh,” she says, surprised at the rejection.  At once she feels disappointed, disheartened, embarrassed, lonely, and a little ridiculous.

“I know that’s not what people like to hear, but-”

“We’re not going to take any risks,” Mulder says.  “If it’s not safe, it’s not safe.”

“It doesn’t forbid stimulus altogether,” Dr. Wilder continues.  “Nothing rigorous, of course, but manual or oral stimulation would be permitted.”

“Oh,” Mulder answers.

Scully wants to dissolve into the table.  She can’t believe she’s actually having a conversation about what kind of sex she’s allowed to have with Mulder with a doctor she’s only just met.  It has got to be one of the most mortifying things she’s ever done.

“You can go ahead and get dressed, Dana.  Felicia will schedule your next appointment on the way out.”

“Th..uh, thanks,” she stutters.

Dr. Wilder leaves the room and Scully slips off the table.  Mulder stands up and turns his back to her, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Who was on the phone?” she asks, sorting her clothes to get dressed.

“Looks like the office.”

“Agent Doggett?”

“Probably.  But, I told him not to call me unless it was an emergency.”

“And you didn’t pick up?”

“I was a little busy.”

“Call him.”

“I’m gonna step out in the hall.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Scully dresses as quickly as she can.  When she leaves the room, Mulder is in the hall on his phone, speaking low.  When he sees Scully he nods to her and then ends the call.  His face is grim and anxious.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“We need to go to the office,” he answers.  “Right now.”

*****

Mulder leads Scully into the basement office with a hand to the small of her back.  Agent Doggett is sitting behind the desk and Agent Reyes is standing with her back to the door, an open file in her hand.

“We’re here,” Mulder says.  “Now could you tell us what’s so damn important?”

“Would you like to sit down?” Agent Reyes asks, pulling the chair in front of the desk back and looking at Scully.

“No, thank you,” Scully says.

“Two nights ago, Billy Miles waltzed into a genetics lab in Maryland and murdered a doctor there and set the place on fire,” Agent Doggett says.

“What?” Mulder says.  “Are you sure?”

“We’ve got security footage,” Agent Reyes answers.  “It’s Billy Miles.”

“But, are you sure it’s Billy Miles,” Mulder counters.

“Oh yeah, we’re sure,” Agent Doggett says, standing and smoothing his tie as he picks up a piece of paper from the file on his desk.  “And there’s something else.  This facility, Zeus Genetics, it’s the same place that handled Agent Scully’s fertility treatment.”

“What?” Scully asks, moving forward to take the paper from Agent Doggett, but he doesn’t give it to her.

“According to your records,” he continues, “you had an appointment with a Dr. Parenti two months before your abduction.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Agent Doggett?”

“I’d also like to know what you’re implying,” Mulder says.

“Dr. Parenti is the co-founder of Zeus Genetics,” Doggett answers, finally giving the paper in his hand to Scully.  “Is that your signature there on that page?”

The form is an authorization for the implantation of fertilized eggs.  She’d signed three just like it two years ago.  The page is almost identical to the others, except for the ID of the second party providing genetic material.  She had Mulder’s ID memorized: 774521.  The ID on this form reads: AN804689.  Her signature is at the bottom, dated July 16, 2000.

“It’s my signature,” she confirms, her stomach churning.  “But, I don’t remember signing this.  Nor would I have.”

Mulder takes the paper from her and scans it quickly.  He doesn’t look at her, just passes it back to Agent Doggett.

“What does any of this even mean?” she asks.  “And what does it have to do with Billy Miles.”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Agent Doggett answers.  His tone is almost threatening.  

“John,” Agent Reyes says, calm and quiet, familiar to Scully only in that she’d used that same tone on Mulder many times when trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Where is Billy Miles now? Mulder asks.  “Has he been brought in for questioning?”

“We don’t know,” Agent Reyes answers.  “Right now he’s a suspect at large.”

“Excuse me,” Scully says.  She feels sick and in need of the restroom.  

The tiny basement bathroom is poorly lit and airless.  It always has been.  Normally it doesn’t bother her, but today she feels claustrophobic.  She coughs up a bit of bile that’s risen in the back of her throat and then splashes some cool water on her face.

When she’s feeling more composed, she comes out of the restroom to find Mulder waiting for her.  They stare at each other for a long time.

“I think you should go home,” he says finally.

“Mulder, I didn’t sign that authorization.”

“We’re gonna dig into Zeus and into Dr. Parenti.  You need to go home.  You’re supposed to be resting anyway.”

“Please tell me you know me better than to think I’d-”

“Do I?” he interrupts.  “Because you didn’t tell me about your mother or your brother.  You knew you were pregnant for a full day and didn’t tell me that either.  How do I know it’s not just something else you withheld?”

Scully digs her nails into her palms and wills herself not to cry.  “There’s got to be an explanation for it.  I wouldn’t have signed that form.”

“I guess we’ll see what turns up in the investigation.  Go home,” he says to her one last time, before turning and heading back to the office.

*****

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Scully says, as soon as her mother opens her front door.  She’s minutes away from breaking down and her chin trembles, her voice grows pinched.  “I just really need you to listen to me right now and not judge me or turn me away.”

“Dana, I would never turn you away,” her mother says, reaching out to usher her inside.

Scully is sobbing before the door even closes behind her.  Her mother embraces her gently, but her hold is secure.  She stays there until she feels like she can speak again, but her face is a mess, eyes itchy and puffy.

“I can’t tell you everything,” Scully says.  “But, there are some things I need to tell you because I’m afraid for this baby and afraid you may have been right.”

“Right about what?”

“I may have pushed too many people away.”

“I have a feeling we both need to sit down right now.”

“That might be a good idea,” she whispers, nodding softly.  Tears still drip slowly down her face, but she’s too tired to brush them away.  Her mother does it for her and then guides her into the den and puts her on the couch.

How long it takes her to pour the story out to her mother, she isn’t sure.  It feels like it takes hours.  She tells her as much as she can about the nature of her job and the ties it’s had to her abduction, her cancer, her daughter, and this pregnancy.  She’s vague where she needs to be, but more open than she has been about what she’s seen and done with anyone than she has been before, aside from Mulder.

When there’s nothing left to tell, she goes quiet.  Her throat is raw and she feels lightheaded and weak.  She tries to excuse herself to get a glass of water, but her mother makes her stay where she is and gets it for her.  She takes the glass when it’s offered a few minutes later and her mother sits down beside her.

“Your father served a combat mission once when I was pregnant with Melissa,” she says.  “His ship was hit and half the crew was lost.”

“Dad never told me that.”

“No, he didn’t like to talk about it.  I received a visit from a Navy official a day after the attack informing me that your father was amongst those listed as missing in action.”

“Mom, that’s horrible.”

“Yes, it was.  He was recovered, thank God, on one of several boats that made it safely to a carrier ship days later.  I got a call after that letting me know he as safe, but I still didn’t hear from him for two more weeks.  And his next leave wasn’t until after Melissa was born.”

“I can imagine how worried you must have been.”

“I’m sure you can.  Your grandmother Scully was extremely helpful at the time, helping me with Billy and later, Melissa.  But, whenever I started to complain about the stress of Bill’s job on me, she told me the only thing to do was keep a stiff upper lip and remind myself that I’d married a Navy man.  Worrying comes with the territory.”

“That doesn’t make it stop.”

“No.  No, it doesn’t.  I didn’t share or understand your father’s passion for the sea, but I loved him regardless.  I don’t understand your commitment to a cause that’s so obviously impacted your life in such horrifying magnitude.  I love you regardless.”

“I know you do,” Scully whispers, staring down into her empty water glass.  

“I do understand that what you’re doing is important to you.  I never imagined I’d have to endure the same fear I used to have for your father’s safety with my own children.”

“I am sorry that it’s been so hard on you.  I don’t want it to be.”

“You are your father’s daughter.”  There’s a far off look in her mother's eye when she states this, and Scully can not tell if it’s meant lovingly or scornfully.

The conversation trails off from there and Scully realizes she’s struggling to stay awake.  She’s emotionally drained and exhausted.  She feels childish and small as she waits for her mother to make up the guest room for her.  Before she falls asleep, she feels the covers being drawn up over her shoulder as her mom tucks her in.

*****

Chapter 12, Day 30:

She stays at her mother’s for nearly a week, and though it doesn’t exactly repair their relationship, it heals some parts of it.  At times they treated each other with the caution of strangers, both fully aware of how brittle the bonds were between them.  They spent time shopping for the baby and reminiscing.  There were moments where Scully had to make an effort to let her mother just be her mother and consciously allow herself to be taken care of.  That had been difficult, but it was a nice feeling to be cared for.

She’s only been home for a day, but she feels the loneliness and quiet more acutely than she has before.  Without work or an agenda, she isn’t sure what to do with herself.  

The one thing that’s truly bothered her the last week is Mulder’s silence.  She’s tried not to let the anxiety of more missing pieces to her life’s puzzle get the best of her, but at night, when she tries to sleep, she’s plagued by the what ifs that may never go answered.  She had thought, at the very least, Mulder would keep her updated on anything he might uncover, but he’s made no attempt at communication with her whatsoever.  

She’s washing dishes from dinner when there’s a knock on the door.  She dries her hands and checks the peephole.  Mulder is in the hall, bouncing on his feet, a gash dripping blood over his right eyebrow.  She throws the door open, concern pulling her brows together.

“Mulder?”

“Scully.”  He bends towards her and wraps his arms around her, holding her tight.  She puts her own arm around him for a few moments and then reaches up to cup the back of his head.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything.”  He pulls away and then kicks a duffel bag inside her door before closing and locking it behind him.  “We don’t have a lot of time though.”

“Time for what?”

“I’ll tell you everything on the way, but you need to trust me now.”

“I do trust you.”

He picks up the duffel bag and holds it out to her.  “Take this and pack whatever you think you can’t pick up along the way.”

She doesn’t know what that means.  Doesn’t know what or for how long she needs to prepare for.  She can tell by his face that he’s serious, but he also looks exhausted, and the gash on his forehead needs tending to.

“Your cut needs to be looked at,” she says.  “Let me clean you up first.”

Mulder sighs and lets her lead him to the kitchen table.  He sits down and she gets her first aid kit.  She douses a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and dabs at his cut, but he hisses and grabs her wrist.

“Easy, Doc,” he says.

In response, she bops his nose with another cotton ball and he chuckles, then releases her to finish cleaning the wound.  

“How was your mother’s place?” he asks.

“How did you know I stayed there?” she answers, frowning slightly.

“You’ve been under protective watch since you left the Hoover Building last week.  Doggett ordered it.”

Scully pauses with the cotton ball poised over Mulder’s brow.  “Protective watch or surveillance?”

“Protective watch.”

“Care to tell me what I’m being protected from?  Does it have anything to do with this cut on your head?”

“It’s gonna take some time to explain, and yes.”

As Scully places the bandage carefully over Mulder’s brow, he wraps his arm around her hip and rests his cheek against her stomach.  She puts her hands on his head and strokes his hair.

“I really need you to pack that bag now,” he says.  “We’ve got to meet Doggett and Reyes.”

“Okay.”

Before she walks away, Mulder grabs her arm and pulls her back to him.  He reaches up and cups her face, bringing her down into a kiss.  It’s sweet and gentle.  She smiles into it and pulls back to rest her forehead against his.

“Now you can go,” he says.

As she walks away, Mulder starts turning out the lights in the apartment.  She takes up the abandoned duffel bag from the foyer and takes it to her room.  It’s already half full with his clothes, but she throws in some of the new maternity clothes she’s bought and grabs the toiletry bag from her bathroom, but doesn’t stop to assess the contents.  

She puts on a light jacket and stops to slip into a pair of shoes.  Mulder takes the duffel bag from her and guides her to the door.  She manages to grab her purse on the way out and then Mulder waits behind her as she locks her door.  His phone rings while they’re in the hall and he yanks it out of his pocket immediately.

“Mulder,” he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder.  He nods towards the stairs and follows behind her a step as she leads them to the lobby.  “I’m leaving with Scully now.  What do you mean he’s gone?”

Scully is suddenly halted by Mulder’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her back before she makes it around the corner.  The phone is no longer at his ear.  He gives her the bag again by swinging it to her front from behind and then he takes his gun out of his holster.

“Keep behind me,” he whispers.  He takes his car keys out of his pocket and hands them to her.  “When we get outside, go to the car, open the driver’s side door and get in.”

Scully takes his car keys and nods.  He raises his brows to ask if she’s ready and she nods again.  As soon as Mulder steps out from behind the corner, gun first, Scully moves behind him, following in his deliberate gait.  She’s between him and the side wall, inching along as he checks the points of entry and exit down the line of the barrel of his gun.

The lobby is clear of whatever threat he’s looking for.  He takes a quick inspection of the front door and then waves her on, placing her in front of him to step down the small flight of stairs to the sidewalk while he covers her from behind.  Without looking back, she speed walks to Mulder’s car and opens the driver’s door.

Mulder is right behind her, climbing in before she’s able to fully scoot across the bench seat to the passenger side.  Too late, she realizes his car is boxed in, and any chance of getting away quickly, as he obviously wants them to do, is unlikely.  There’s also a figure in the middle of the street, standing motionless at the intersection ahead.

“Mulder,” she murmurs.

“Shit,” he says.

The figure moves, heading slowly in their direction.  He passes under the light of a street lamp and Scully gasps and squints.

“Billy Miles?” she wonders aloud.

In the next instant, a black Sedan races through the intersection at high speed, purposefully running straight into and over Billy.  The tires screech mercilessly as the car comes to a stop next to Mulder’s car.  To Scully’s astonishment, Billy Miles is pushing himself up from the asphalt as though nothing had just happened.

The window of the black Sedan lowers.  “Get in,” Agent Reyes shouts.  “Now!”

Mulder wastes no time shoving his door open.  He yanks open the back door of the Sedan and Scully throws the duffel bag to him before she slides across the seat.  He helps her get out of his car and into the other and then he jumps in behind her.  Agent Reyes steps on the gas even before the back door is closed.  Scully turns around to see Billy Miles running behind the car, but he can’t keep up.  They lose him after the first turn Agent Reyes makes, though it’s obvious neither she nor Mulder believe he’s gone by the pathological way they both keep checking behind them.

*****

“It’s Billy Miles, but it isn’t,” Mulder says, once they’ve cleared city limits and are on the highway.  Scully had waited for the tension and fear of being followed to die down before she demanded an explanation.

“Don’t start there,” Scully says.  “I want to know everything that’s happened this past week.  Everything you’ve uncovered.”

“Wouldn’t it be more fun to play the license plate game?” Mulder says, dryly.  

Scully glares at him in return.  She sees Agent Reyes glance at them in the rear-view mirror.

“Whenever you need to stop, Dana, let me know,” Agent Reyes says.

“Thank you, Agent Reyes.”

Scully glances out the window at the highway signs.  They’re on the I-66, but she has no idea where they’re headed.  She sighs and watches a semi merge ahead of them.

“I’ll start with the document Agent Doggett showed you,” Mulder says.  “It was either forged or altered.  You didn’t sign it, and you didn’t have an appointment with Dr. Parenti on July 16, 2000.”

“How do you know that?”

“First and foremost, I pulled our case log.  We were in Kansas City on July 16th.”

“Doing what?”

“Weird doppleganger case.  Don’t even ask.  But, we were there from July 15th to the 18th.  If that’s not enough, Doggett and I went down and had a little talk with Doctor Frankenstein.”

“Who?”

“Parenti.  The man’s got a room full of alien fetuses that he claims are studies of birth defects.”

“What?”  Scully feels the blood drain from her face.  Her hand goes immediately to her belly.

“Relax,” Mulder says, putting his hand over hers.  “He had nothing to do with this baby.”

“How do you know that?”

“There’s an accident up ahead,” Agent Reyes suddenly says, tapping her brakes as they move up on a sea of red tail lights.  

The three occupants of the Sedan are tense and on guard until they pass the fender bender on the highway.  The traffic, though mild, eases up again and evens out.  For those moments of uncertainty, a sudden pain hits Scully low in her back and moves around her body like a slow blooming cramp.  Her belly hardens a bit under her hand and then softens again.  She bites her lip and holds her breath, but says nothing to Mulder or Agent Reyes.  They don’t need to worry about her in addition to everything else.

For some reason, she’s struck with a memory of knocking on the door to a cabin and Mulder pulling her inside.  I was starting to get ready for bed and I started to feel really dizzy.  He’s holding her hands.  I just want to get warm.  He’s spooning up behind her and putting his arm around her.

“I know Parenti has nothing to do with the baby,” Mulder continues, and the memory fades.  “Because when we asked him about you, he was genuinely surprised that you’d gotten pregnant.”

“How do you know he wasn’t lying?” Scully asks.

“You want to know everything, right?”

“Of course.”

“No matter how upsetting it might be?”

“Dammit, Mulder, just tell me!’

“Your fertility treatment was a charade,” he says.  “The embryos you were implanted with weren’t your own.  That was the scam they were running as a facility.  What they were trying to do, what they’ve been doing, is implanting genetically altered embryos into unsuspecting women, preying on their desperate hopes to conceive.  None of them lived, but none were supposed to.  They were only created for their tissue samples and further experimentation.”

At this point, Scully simply feels numb to new information.  She listens stoically to what Mulder relays to her, telling herself that she’s okay, that if Mulder believes she’s fine, and that the baby is unharmed, she can endure anything.

“When your IVF failed,” he says.  “Your file was marked as NSI, Not Suitable for Implantation, but the eggs you gave Parenti were saved for further experimentation.”

“Where are they now?”

“Destroyed.  I’m pretty sure Billy Miles was responsible for that.”

“The Billy Miles that isn’t Billy Miles?”

“I’m getting to that.  That authorization that Doggett uncovered was just one of many that they used to falsify legal records and continue carrying out their experiments.”

“Parenti admitted all this to you?”

“No.  A woman named Lizzie Gill came to us who worked for the program for years.  She filled us in on some of the missing pieces of the puzzle.”

“This woman just comes to you out of the blue?  And you don’t question her credibility?”

“She came to us for protection, when she realized that these facilities have been systematically destroyed, one by one, over the past few weeks.  She wanted to trade information for safety.”

Scully shakes her head and looks out the window again.  They’ve entered a light fog and the windows are misted over, giving the lights they pass by on the highway a blurry halo.

“Reyes can explain more about Billy Miles,” Mulder says.

Agent Reyes takes a quick glance in the rear-view mirror and meets Scully’s weary gaze.  Her eyes shift in Mulder’s direction and then back to the road.

“Why don’t we use this rest stop ahead,” Agent Reyes says.  “I need to let John know you’re safe.”

Safety is an illusion, Scully thinks.  They’re never safe.  Not really.

Agent Reyes pulls the car off the highway into a rest area.  Mulder gets out first and rounds the back of the car to Scully’s door.  He takes her hand to help her out.  Her back aches a little, but she straightens and heads to the restrooms.  

When she comes out, Agent Reyes is on her cell phone, pacing along the front of the car.  Mulder is nowhere to be found.  She gets back into the car and opens up the duffel bag to see if she has any chapstick in her toiletry bag.  Her lips are feeling dry and chapped.

Without the benefit of the dome light, Scully fishes her hand around the bag and comes up with a book of some kind.  She positions it closer to the window and thumbs the pages.  It’s a journal - Mulder’s journal.  The last entry is dated a week ago.

How did this child come to be?  What set its heart beating?  Is it the product of a union, or the work of a divine hand?  An answered prayer?  A true miracle?  Or is it a wonder of technology -  the intervention of other hands?  What do I tell this child about to be born?  What do I tell Scully?  And what do I tell myself?

Quickly, Scully closes the journal and shoves it back in the duffel bag.  Her heart is racing.  She’d been relying on Mulder’s unwavering confidence in her pregnancy, but to read that he feels as unsure as she does makes her even more frightened.  Of course, the entry is a week old and it was before he uncovered all this new information he’s sharing with her now.  She’s got to wonder though if he still harbors any of these doubts.

Agent Reyes gets back into the car before Mulder does.  She takes the front passenger seat though, not the driver’s seat.  Scully assumes Mulder insisted on driving after she left the car.

“I wish I could say something that won’t exacerbate your concerns,” Agent Reyes says.

“I’m afraid it’s about eight years too late for that,” Scully answers, immediately regretting the bitterness in her voice.  “I’m sorry, Agent Reyes, my hostility isn’t directed at you.”

“You can call me Monica.  Agent Reyes is so formal.”

“You might as well call me Dana.  I’m not even sure if I’m an Agent anymore.”

Mulder returns and gets into the driver’s side.  When they’re back on the road, Agent Reyes, Monica, starts giving her the background information on Billy Miles.  She learns about her investigation into a doomsday cult and the prophecies of their leader known as Absalom.  She’s also surprised to learn that Monica has been working closely with the Lone Gunmen recently in tracking Absalom’s whereabouts and activities.

“What I don’t understand is,” Scully says, after the story is told, “why you’re trusting the ravings of a cult leader in the first place.  Does this so called super soldier theory make any sense to you?”

“We got corroboration from another source,” Mulder says.

“Who?”  Scully asks.

Mulder looks in the rear-view mirror at her.  “Alex Krycek.”

“Oh, you have got to be fu…”  Scully shakes her head in disbelief.  “Alex Krycek is a pathological liar.”

“Krycek is an opportunist,” Mulder answers.

“He tells you what you want to hear when he knows it’ll get him something.”

“All that matters to me at this point is that he claims you’re in danger.”

Scully takes a deep breath.  “Because of what this baby is?”

“Because of what it isn’t.  You weren’t supposed to be able to conceive, Scully, but you did.  They’re afraid of you, and what it might mean.”

“What does it mean?”

Mulder meets her eyes in the mirror again.  “Life finds a way.”

Scully lowers her head into one hand and rubs her brow.  “I can’t be the subject of a never ending x-file.  I just can’t.  Not anymore and not now.”

“The baby is a miracle of nature,” Mulder says emphatically.  “Not of science.  Whether alien or otherwise.”

“How do you be so sure of that?” she whispers.

He’s quiet for the next few moments before he simply murmurs, “Caddyshack.”

“What?”

“Trust me.”  His eyes meet hers briefly in the rear-view mirror with an imploring look.

Agent Reyes turns to look over the seat at Scully and gives her a sympathetic smile.  Scully lays her head back on the seat and closes her eyes.

*****

Chapter 13, Day 31:

Scully is fully aware she’s dreaming.  She’s watching herself from across Mulder’s room - watching her and Mulder, actually.  They are laughing, trying to kiss at the same time, but the height difference is hindering them.  Instead of being frustrated by it, they’re laughing, lips missing their target repeatedly.  It doesn’t help that while Mulder is trying to bend his neck towards her, she’s trying to pull his t-shirt off.  Hers is already gone.  She’s barefoot, in dark slacks and a white bra.  

Mulder stumbles back as she yanks his shirt over his head.  He lands in a seated position on his bed, still laughing.  He says something, but she can’t understand his words.  Whatever it is, it makes her laugh and she straddles his lap, one knee down on the bed at a time.  He squeezes her backside and she pushes his shoulders down so that he moves down to his back, staring up at her.  She shimmies backwards and off of him.  He groans and moves up on his elbows.

She unbuttons her pants, smirking at him as she wiggles them off her hips and then steps out of them once they fall.  She pushes his knees apart and steps into the vee of his legs as he flops onto his back again.  She murmurs something that makes him laugh and then she grips the waistline of his jeans, sliding her fingers under the edge.  The backs of her knuckles brush his abdomen.  His muscles clench, but he laughs.

When he starts to grope for her hip, she frees one hand and slaps at his wrist as she unsnaps his pants with her thumb.  The next instant, she’s startled when he makes a grab for her and pulls her up onto the bed and looms over her.  She startles him right back by reaching down and cupping him through his jeans, arching her back up so one of her breasts brushes the side of his arm.

He pins her to the bed with a kiss as she works his zipper down.  She uses her thighs, her knees, and then her feet, to push his jeans over and off his hips.  The whole time she’s stripping him, she doesn’t stop stroking him.  His body moves lower so that he can rub his hips against hers and they both groan softly.

She takes the upper hand again, pushing him up and then onto his back again.  She stands on her knees over his hips, reaching back to unhook her bra.  Quickly, he pushes his boxers down to his thighs.  Her impatience is obvious by how hastily she pulls her panties to one side and then sinks down onto him.

They both sigh and she tips her head back, mouth open.  He rubs the tops of her thighs encouragingly.  Their rhythm isn’t slow, nor is it frantic.  It’s practiced and assured.  Mulder’s hands slowly creep up her thighs to her hips, to her sides, and then to her breasts.  She leans forward into his touch, bracing herself with her hands on his chest.

Scully is no longer a spectator, she’s back in her body, looking down at Mulder from the curtain of her hair as it swings past her cheeks.  He’s looking at her like he’s awestruck, like a child who’s just received everything he wanted at Christmas.  It makes her blush and shiver from head to toe.

She wakes with a small gasp, not from pleasure, but from pain.  It comes over her like it did the night before, from her back to her middle, but with a bit more intensity.  She feels like her insides are being squeezed just below both points of her hips and there’s a sense of pressure bearing down on her.  All at once it abates and she feels like she can breathe again.  She looks at the clock.  It’s not yet six.

Outside, the sky is grey and pink, but they’re driving away from the sunset, headed west.  Agent Reyes is driving.  Mulder is asleep in the passenger seat in front of her.  She shifts, clutching the underside of her belly to help steady herself as she sits more upright.

“Good morning,” Agent Reyes says quietly.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“In Georgia.  About two hours away from where we’re headed.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Democrat Hot Springs.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s the idea.”  Agent Reyes smiles into the rear-view mirror.

Scully rubs top of her belly and watches trees and grass and dirt pass by.  There doesn’t seem to be anything around for miles.  When the pain grips her again, she looks at the clock.  Eight minutes have gone by.  She closes her eyes and tries not to look like she’s so obviously controlling her breathing.

In her mind, she’s back in the dream state, but also back in time.  She’s on the couch with Mulder, carefully maneuvering a beer bottle from one hand to the other as he lowers her back to the cushions.  She laughs as he licks her neck and her shoulders jerk softly.  He reaches down and tickles her sides so that she nearly drops the beer bottle.  He takes it from her hand and kneels over her to rest it on the coffee table next to a bowl of popcorn.

He hunches over, sliding his hands under her white, long sleeved shirt and inching it up her waist as he kisses her.  Her ribs shake with more laughter and she turns her head towards the TV.  They’re watching a golf tournament.  Her shirt comes up over her head and she stretches her arms up so Mulder can peel it off.

His mouth moves over her neck and chest and belly.  She chuckles and brings his face back up to her.  Her lips move - take me to bed.  He slides his arm under her back and pulls her up as he stands.

They both laugh as she trips and hops out of one shoe and then the other.  He’s trying to catch her hips, but she keeps batting him away, twisting to walk backwards into his room, but then spinning around so she’s behind him and he turns to try to catch her again.

“Dana, are you alright?” Agent Reyes asks.

Scully opens her eyes.  She’s no longer in pain, but there are tears leaking out from the corners of her eyes.  In that moment, she realizes something.  Every time she’s been in pain since she’s been back, it pushes a memory to the forefront of her mind.  It wasn’t just an erotic dream she’d been having, it was real.  The moment existed.  And she was happy.

“I’m fine,” Scully says.

She has four minutes to go until the eight minute mark and another contraction might hit her.  She won’t say anything until they make it to Democrat Hot Springs, but she’s fairly certain she’s in labor.  She’s also fairly certain neither Mulder or Agent Reyes have ever delivered a baby.  One of them is going to have to learn.

*****

Before they arrive in Democrat Hot Springs, Scully has lost count of the contractions she’s had.  They’re down to six minutes apart.  She’s also been able to remember a few other moments during that time - moments like Mulder sitting bare chested at her kitchen table while she sat on his lap in his dress shirt and fed him bites of ice cream from a carton, taking more for herself than she gave to him, but when he wasn’t eating the ice cream, he was nuzzling her neck and chest, which she preferred.  

She remembers a tense argument, though she doesn’t know what it was about.  She could see in their expressions that both of them were using harsh words at each other.  She turned her back on him at one point and when she tried to leave he wrapped his arms around her from behind and they stood like that for a long time.

She remembers coming to tell him the results of his mother’s autopsy and how she held him all night.

She remembers letting him treat her cuts and abrasions in the aftermath of Donnie Pfaster’s attack on her, but she doesn’t specifically remember the attack.  She remembers Mulder offering her his arms and his shoulder to cry on and that he’d held her all night.

Her mind keeps returning to the night in Mulder’s bed that started on the couch.  She keeps seeing his face as he looks at her.  Every time the memory becomes more tangible, like she can almost feel his hands on her hips or her breasts.  It helps her block out the pain of the contractions.

She’s two minutes out of a contraction when Agent Reyes turns the car onto a well-hidden lane and slows to compensate for the rocky dirt road that leads straight into an overgrown tangle of trees.  What’s left of the town they stop in is essentially abandoned wooden shacks.

“This is it,” Agent Reyes says, turning the car off.

“Think they have HBO?” Mulder quips.

Agent Reyes gives him a hint of a smile and then gets out of the car.  Mulder follows and opens the back door for Scully.  She’s slow to get out, but both Mulder and Reyes are scoping out the area and don’t notice how she much she uses the door for support.  By her count, she’s only a minute or less away from another contraction.

“What is this place?” Scully asks.

“John grew up nearby,” Reyes answers.  “He was born here actually.  According to him, this is where people used to come for the waters, until the springs dried up and they quit coming.  He thought it would be a safe place to lay low for a bit.”

Mulder is inspecting a water pump that stands in the center of the cluster of shacks.  The handle is stuck, but he works it free and raises and lowers the pump a few times.  Muddy water spills out, but runs clear the more he pumps.

Reyes pushes open the door to one of the shacks, the one that looks the largest of all the structures, and disappears inside.  Scully starts to feel the onset of a contraction and feigns stretching as an excuse to dig her fists into the pain in her back.  As she stands and watches Mulder pump water, she has the flash of another memory of him bent over his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, pointing something out to her in a file, but she can only stare at the way the muscles in his forearms flex.  She remembers being shocked at herself for how tantalizing she found him to be.

“I think we can use the space in here,” Reyes calls, standing in the doorway of the shack she’d entered previously.  “There’s some furniture left behind and drop cloths.”

The pain having subsided a bit, Scully walks slowly towards the shack, keeping her hands at her back.  She has to take a deep breath before she moves up the single step onto the wooden porch and she knows her eyes betray the cool exterior she’s trying to project when she looks at Reyes.

“Dana?”

“I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I’m fairly certain I’m in labor,” Scully says, glancing over her shoulder.  She speaks quietly enough that only Reyes can hear her.  “Please don’t tell Mulder yet.  There isn’t much we can do about it right now.”

Reyes pulls her mouth tightly closed and nods.  It’s obvious she wants to say something, but Mulder is coming up behind them.

“The water seems okay,” he says.  “Maybe not to drink, but at least to wash with.”

“I’m gonna see what I can do to clean up in here,” Reyes says, turning from them both and retreating back into the shack.

“And I’m going to take a walk around the perimeter and check things out,” Mulder says, putting a hand on Scully’s back.  “You’ll be okay here?”

“Fine,” she says.  “Go ahead.”

Mulder kisses her cheek and then he walks away.  She ambles into the shack, mentally preparing herself for another contraction due shortly.

*****

Six contractions later, Mulder comes back.  Scully is standing in the kitchen of the shack, in the midst of a contraction.  She’s bent over the lip of a cracked farmhouse sink filled with cobwebs.  She can’t stand straight and she can’t hide the pain any longer.

“How far apart are they?” Mulder asks.

“Four minutes,” she mutters.

Mulder sighs a little and pulls her hands from the sink, turning her so she is leaning against him.  She grits her teeth and squeezes his arms.  It’s like the slow dance position from birthing class, but it’s different when the pain is real and strong.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mulder asks, rubbing his fist in a circle against her low back.

Scully doesn’t answer right away.  She’s currently inside the memory of washing dishes at her sink and of Mulder whirling her around and shuffling her around the room as she protests that her hands are wet.  Mulder says he doesn’t care and dances her around the table.  His grey t-shirt darkens with her handprints.

“Scully?” he asks.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” she says.

“You have to talk to me Scully.  Let me decide if I should worry or not.”

“The contractions are about four minutes apart now.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means I’m in labor.”

“Should I take you to a hospital?”

“Do you believe what Krycek said?  Am I in danger?  Is the baby in danger?”

“I believe there is a threat.”

“Then you and Agent Reyes are going to need to be prepared to deliver this baby.”

“How long do we have?”

“I don’t know.  Hours, maybe.  Things will probably speed up after my water breaks.”

“I’m gonna trust you to tell me what you need.”

“Okay.”

She closes her eyes for the next few moments and he sways with her, massaging the muscles in her back up and down along her spine.  Even though she’s not currently in a contraction, it still feels good.  It feels good just to be in his arms.

“You danced with me once in my kitchen,” she says.

“You remember that?”

“Mmhm.”

Her belly tightens and a cramp hits her low in her pelvis.  A trickle of warm fluid slides down her leg and then rushes out in a burst.  She groans and Mulder steps back to look at her.

“My water just broke,” she says.

*****

Mulder yells for Reyes.  Agent Reyes appears moments later, gun drawn.  She holsters the weapon when she sees there’s no threat present, but her eyes grow wide all the same.

“Scully’s water broke,” Mulder says.

“Um, okay,” Reyes answers.  “So, what do we do?”

“Mulder, go get the duffel bag,” Scully says.  “I need to...change clothes.  And I need to sit down.”

“I have a place for you,” Reyes says, putting her arm around Scully’s shoulders.  “Come.”

Scully gingerly follows Reyes to the other room and Mulder runs out to the car.  The dark and dusty room that Scully had walked through twenty minutes ago now looks brighter and almost passable as a room.  There is a wrought-iron bed in the corner with fresh sheets.  The drop cloths have been removed from the furniture and the floors and window are scrubbed clean.

“You did all this?” Scully asks, truly surprised at the transformation.

“I found the linen upstairs in a cabinet.  Candles too, if we need them later.  The dirt came off pretty easy.”

Scully takes a grip on the iron rail of the bed and smiles appreciatively.  “Since you seem capable in a crisis,” she says.  “I’m going to probably need to rely on you more than Mulder.”

“I don’t consider the situation a crisis, though it’s certainly not ideal.  Staying calm is the best we can do.  It’s too bad we don’t have any mood music.  Whale song would be perfect.”

“Whale song?”

Mulder comes back into the shack with the duffel bag as Reyes is making low moaning noises through her nose.  He looks at Scully and raises his brows.

“Whale song,” Scully tells him.

“They’ve got recordings of whales talking back and forth to each other,” Reyes says.  “When you listen to it…”  She closes her eyes and smiles.  “It’s almost, I don’t know, metaphysical.”

Reyes makes a few more whale noises as Mulder quietly crosses the room to hand Scully the duffel bag.  He keeps his brows raised and takes a sidelong glance at Reyes as he passes by.  Reyes opens her eyes again.

“You guys are looking at me like I’m some kind of goof,” Reyes says, but she’s smiling.

“No,” Scully answers, taking the bag from Mulder.  “No, I was just thinking that you remind me of someone.  My sister.”

“Oh, I thought you only had brothers.”

“She was killed about five years ago.  She would’ve appreciated the whale song, I’m sure.”

“I’m gonna get some more water,” Reyes says.  “Well probably need it.  Mulder, I was thinking about trying to get that wood burning stove over there a try, but I need wood.”

“I’ll get it,” he says.

“I’ve got a lighter in the car.”

Scully is left on her own to change and to bear the next contraction which is not far off.

*****

By mid-afternoon, there’s been no real change in how Scully feels or in the progression of labor.  Her contractions last just slightly longer and are just slightly stronger, but they’re bearable.  She’s walked the length of the shack countless times.  The walking seems to help.  In the corner, a fire burns quietly inside the stove.  It makes the room a bit stuffy, but they need it to boil water to sanitize some equipment.

When she found out that Mulder had packed her medical bag in the duffel, Scully could have wept for joy.  There are enough instruments and supplies in there to give her more peace of mind when she thinks about what will need to be done in the coming hours.  She’s already used the stethoscope several times to try to listen to baby’s heartbeat and make sure it’s not too quick or too slow.

Scully’s emotions have been all over the board.  She’s had moments of extreme confidence that the delivery will go smoothly and everything will be okay and she’s also had moments where she’s wanted to break down and cry about everything that could go wrong.  She’s been angry and annoyed at Mulder for dragging her out here and she’s also been grateful and appreciative of his willingness to keep her and the baby safe at all costs.  She’s been energetic and tired and weepy and joyful and talkative and sullen, all in the expanse of seven hours.

“Why don’t you try a nap?” Mulder asks.  He’s been pacing with her for the last twenty minutes, letting her lean on him when she has to.

“How can I nap now?” she responds, rolling her eyes a little at the suggestion.

“One of the pregnancy books I was reading said-”

“What pregnancy book?  When were you reading pregnancy books?”

“I’ve read three or four.  Anyway, one of them said you should try napping.  Or at least laying on your left side.  I can massage you.”

“I don’t want a massage.”

“Okay, well why don’t you try at least laying down?”

Scully sighs and turns so she can shuffle over to the bed.  Mulder helps her crawl up and she lays herself down on her left side.  It does alleviate some of the pain from her back, but it feels like there’s still a knot low by her tailbone.  Mulder adjusts one of the sheets over her.

“On second thought,” she says.  “I think a massage might be nice.”

“Where do you want me?” he asks, flexing and wiggling his fingers.

“Low back.”

Mulder maneuvers himself up onto the bed and in a position he can rub her back effectively.  She sighs gratefully and closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry I got you into this, Scully,” he says.

“You didn’t get me into anything,” she murmurs.  

“Except for the whole knocking you up part.”

Scully opens her eyes a crack and gives him a little smile.  Mulder smiles back and reaches up to push her hair back over her ear.  She closes her eyes again and takes a few deep breaths.  

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.  I’m just...every time I’ve had a contraction, I feel like it’s pushing some memories to the surface.”

“Like what?”

“Like dancing with you in my kitchen.  Like waking up on your couch under your blanket and going into your room to tell you I was cold.  Like my hand on your thigh while we watched a movie, most definitely making a move.”

Mulder grins.  “That’s like all our greatest hits right there.”

“What about a time in your apartment watching a golf tournament.”

“A golf tournament?”

“You made me laugh.  I tried not to spill a beer.  We ended up in bed.”

“Oh.”

“My mind keeps coming back to it.  I just keep seeing your face and...and I know how it makes me feel, but I keep thinking I’m missing something.”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Warm.”

Mulder is quiet.  He changes his position slightly and uses his other hand to keep massaging.  She grimaces and internally chastises herself for not being completely honest with him.

“In love,” she whispers.  “I know that I was in love with you in the moment I looked down at you, but your lips are moving and I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I told you I loved you for the first time.”

Scully breathes deeply, in and out, three times and then squeezes her eyes closed a little tighter against the tears she feels building.

“That night was different for other reasons though,” he says.  “It felt different.  It felt like walking into a room and knowing someone’s there, but you can’t see them.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“We weren’t watching a golf tournament, we were watching Caddyshack.  Just about nine months ago.”

“You think that’s when we conceived?”

“I know it.  I felt it.”

He says it so assuredly that it almost takes Scully’s breath away.  “That’s what you believe?” she asks.

“I do.”

“I...would like to believe.”

“How are you feeling, Scully?  Is there anything I can do?”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” she whispers.  She concentrates on her breathing and manages to fall into a light doze.

*****

It’s dark when Scully wakes, pulled from sleep by what sounds like the slam of a door.  Something smells like it’s burning and she sees soft plumes of smoke swirling around the shack in a few places.  The woodburning stove still crackles.

“Stay quiet,” Mulder whispers.  She can’t see him, but he’s somewhere across the room by the sound of his voice.

She wants to ask what’s happening, but if Mulder thinks she needs to be quiet, she’ll be quiet.  She sees Reyes’ silhouette by the window, clutching her gun with both hands, pointed at the floor.

“It’s an officer,” Reyes whispers.  “A woman.  She’s using a flashlight to look inside the car.”

“I’ll go,” Mulder whispers back.

“Mulder,” Scully pleads.  “Don’t do anything rash.”

“No, I’ll go,” Reyes responds.  “I’ll see what she wants and try to keep her away from here.”

“I’m staying right by this door,” Mulder whispers.  “I’ve got your back.”

Reyes holsters her weapon and Scully watches her slowly push open the door, keeping her hands up and visible.  She closes the door behind her.  Scully can’t hear what’s being said, but she finally sees Mulder, crouched low at the side of the door with his back to the wall, head turned so he can have a view out the window.

“What’s happening?” Scully finally whispers.

“Not sure,” he answers.  “Reyes has her back to me.  I can’t see the other woman.”

A contraction, the likes of which Scully hasn’t experienced before in terms of pain, seizes her suddenly and she whimpers, nearly crying out.  She has to bite her lip to endure it and even the burst of the new memory of drawing blood and running her own pregnancy test can’t blot out the intense cramping and pressure she feels in her pelvis.

“Scully?” Mulder whispers.

She can’t answer, she can only whimper and gasp for breath.  All at once, she’s overcome with the urge to push.  She hears Mulder sliding across the floor, staying low to the ground.

“What’s wrong, Scully?”

“I have to push,” she breathes.

“Oh, God.  Okay, okay.”

Scully peels the leggings she’d changed into off her legs and then Mulder helps her to sit up on the bed.  He also helps her scoot back so she can lean against the wall and covers her with the sheet.  She clutches her stomach, breathing swiftly.  Her face grows damp with sweat almost immediately.  The contraction abates, but the effects linger on.

Outside, six shots are fired in quick succession and then silence.  Scully feels like she can barely breathe.  Mulder mutters an obscenity under his breath and lets go of her.  She props herself up with one hand, but her arm feels weak and she whimpers again.

Torn in two, Mulder hesitates, he stretches his head up to try to peer out the window across the room, but then finally goes back to Scully and holds her up again.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out.

“It’s okay,” he says.  “I’ve got you.”

In the next instant, the door bursts open and Reyes stumbles inside, followed by the dark figure of a woman with a shotgun.  Scully growls in pain as the cramping pressure builds again and can’t stop herself from pushing.  Her fingers clutch for purchase of something and she ends up clutching the sleeve of Mulder’s shirt.

“I’m a federal agent,” Mulder yells.  “Put your gun down and don’t come any closer.”

Scully can feel Mulder slowly reaching for his weapon and she digs her nails into his arm.  Agent Reyes already fired six shots and now she’s being pushed to her knees by the woman behind her with the barrel of the shotgun.  With what little light that streams in from the open door, Scully can see that Reyes is bleeding from the side of her head, somewhere along her left temple.  She needs Mulder too much right now for him to do something rash.

“Agent Reyes?” Scully asks through gritted teeth.  “Monica?”

“They’re here,” Reyes pants, each breath sounding like an exertion on her ribs.  “I can’t stop them.”

“Who’s here?” Mulder asks.  “Who are you?”

“What do you want?” Scully moans.

“This baby will be born tonight,” the woman says, voice rough and deep.  “And we will witness it.”

“You’re not witnessing a damn thing!” Mulder screams.  “Get the hell out of here!”

“Oh, God,” Scully moans, drawing her knees up close to her chest and pushing through the pain.  She can feel the baby move down and then recede with the end of a contraction.  

The woman lowers the shotgun to prod Reyes in the shoulder.  “You,” she says.  “Assist.”

“We need to relight the candles,” Reyes murmurs, crawling across the floor.  

Another contraction rolls through Scully’s body and she feels like her insides are being crushed by the amount of pressure she feels.  She groans through a clenched jaw and squeezes her eyes shut.  She can hear Mulder calling her name, but she can’t speak, only bear down and crush his fingers in her hand.

When the contraction ends, she expels a harsh breath and opens her eyes, feeling dizzy.  Another figure has appeared in the doorway, standing beside the woman with the shotgun.  She moans again, this time more out of fear than pain.  The second figure steps into the room and moves aside and another figure follows, then another, and another.  

Reyes has been attempting to light the candles with shaking fingers.  She can’t get the lighter to work and it sparks, but doesn’t catch.  Blood is oozing down her temple and cheek and dripping from her chin.  She looks woozy and unstable.  Finally, she’s able to get the flame to work and she lights two candles close to the bed.

More people, if Scully can call them them, start filling the shack with their grim, stoic faces.  There’s got to be at least twenty of them, edging closer to the bed each time another arrives.  So many bodies pressed together makes the room feel airless and Scully claustrophobic.  Mulder is tense and agitated next to her.  She can feel his need to leap up, to fight, but she keeps him beside her with a bone-crushing grip on his hand even though she can barely breathe.

The last to arrive is Billy Miles, dragging a half-conscious Gibson Praise with him by the neck.  The crowd parts as much as possible, admitting him to the center of the room where he discards the boy like a used rag.

“‘msorry,” Gibson slurs before passing out at the foot of the bed.

“What did you do to him?” Mulder yells.

There is nothing but silence returned from the blank, expressionless faces around them.  Neither do they help when Reyes has to crawl amongst them to retrieve the bowl of sterilized instruments near the stove.  She drags it across the floor as she crawls back towards the bed.

“Please don’t take my baby,” Scully moans, her head falling back and then rolling to the side to look up at Mulder.  “Don’t let them take the baby.”

Mulder shakes his head and blinks back tears.  He swallows heavily.

“I need you,” Scully says.  “I’m telling you now, I need you.  I always have.”

Scully can see the fear in Mulder’s eyes as he leans down and kisses her forehead.  She whimpers when he pulls away and then rests his head against hers for a moment before pushing her forward a little to kneel behind her.  He takes her hands and laces her fingers together and she leans against his chest.  

Reyes wipes the blood from her face by sliding the inside of her arm across her cheek.  She kneels in front of the bed and lifts the sheet up over Scully’s knees.  She weaves slightly and then blinks like she’s trying to keep herself awake.  Tears fill Scully’s eyes.

“Please, don’t let them...” Scully pleads, but the wind is knocked out of her by another contraction before she can finish her sentence and she groans from somewhere deep in her abdomen.

“Push, Dana,” Reyes says.  “You’re doing great.”

“You can do this, Scully,” Mulder murmurs into her ear.  “You can do this.”

The unwelcome spectators in the room are silently staring down at her.  She locks eyes with Billy Miles, but what stares back at her is definitely not human.  It makes her skin crawl.  This is not how this was supposed to happen.  Not what she envisioned when she wanted to have a baby.

“Jesus,” Scully hisses, losing energy and letting her head hang forward.  “I can’t do this.  I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Mulder says, wrapping their arms around her and rocking her back and forth.  “You have to.”

“Push,” Reyes says.

Scully takes a deep breath and pushes with all the strength she has.  She can feel the baby crowning, can feel her body working from the inside out to help get him through, to help this little life fight to break free from her body.  She braces her back against Mulder’s chest and cries out hoarsely until a dizzying wave of relief comes over her and her body slumps against his in exhaustion.

The baby wails from somewhere between her knees.  It’s a shivery, angry cry.  Scully can’t see him, but her own eyes are full of tears and she can barely lift her head from Mulder’s chest.  Reyes wraps the baby in the first thing she manages to grab from the duffel bag, one of Mulder’s soft grey t-shirts, and then puts him in Scully’s arms and Mulder enfolds them both in his, shielding them from the room with his body.

Scully is trembling.  She holds the baby tightly, eyes darting around the room like a caged animal.  She doesn’t know what she’s going to do to protect this baby from these people, but she’ll do it.  She’ll be damned if they lay a finger on him.  One of the spectators turns his head and looks at Billy.  The others do the same.  After a few tense moments, Billy turns and leaves.  One by one, they all follow.  

“Where are they going?” Scully whispers.  “Mulder?”

“I don’t know,” he answers.

Reyes slinks to the floor, succumbing to the injury received from the blow to the head.  She falls next to Gibson’s lifeless body, who hasn’t moved a muscle since he was dropped carelessly by Billy.

The sounds of a helicopter approaching fill the room, and then they’re assaulted by light and wind.  Scully puts her arm over the baby to protect him.  Her limbs feel drained and altogether useless.  There is one more sharp pain in her abdomen and in the next instant, her whole life flashes before her eyes from the moment she shook hands with Mulder in the basement office.  She remembers everything so quickly and forcefully that it tears a scream from her throat.  The sticky feeling of hot blood on her thighs is the last thing she’s able to consciously recall.

*****

Chapter 14, Day 32:

Scully is very tired of waking up in hospitals.  She’s also very tired of the foggy, druggy state of mind associated with waking up in a hospital.  She feels weak, but mostly okay.  Her eyes roll open and shut a few times.  She’s got a band on her wrist for Atlanta Memorial Hospital.  Very faintly, she can hear Mulder murmuring to someone across the room.  When she finally turns her head, she sees that he’s got the baby in his arms and he’s speaking softly to him, rocking him gently and pacing back and forth.

“...and the big, scary Flukeman was never heard from again,” Mulder says.  “The end.”

“Please don’t tell me case files are what you plan on sharing for bedtime stories,” Scully murmurs.

Mulder grins and turns towards the bed.  “Had you big time,” he says.  “I saw you open your eyes.  No, I was just telling Junior here that his Mommy would be awake soon and couldn’t wait to see him.”

“That’s true,” she says, struggling to push herself up in bed.

“Careful,” Mulder says, moving close.  “You lost a lot of blood.”

She feels lightheaded, but otherwise fine.  She reaches for the baby and Mulder places him in her arms.  

“He’s got your coloring and your eyes,” Mulder says, as Scully cups her hand over the baby’s head.  “But, it seems to me he looks suspiciously like Assistant Director Skinner.”

Scully chuckles lightly and stares into the dark and unfocused eyes of her son.  Mulder does the same.  After a few quiet moments, she looks up at Mulder and watches him marvel at the baby.  He finally glances up at her and then they both smile, but quite quickly, Scully’s smile fades and she looks down at the baby again.

“I want you to know,” she says.  “I remember everything.”

“Really?”

“To a degree.  I still don’t remember being taken, though I remember being in the woods with you.  Aside from that though, everything.”

“That’s great.”

She nods, but then it occurs to her that she wasn’t the only one in that shack that needed medical attention.  “Is Gibson alright?” she asks.  “And Reyes?”

“Reyes had a mild concussion,” Mulder answers, his voice strained.  “She’s fine.  Gibson is in stable condition.  He was...he was Absalom’s informant, helping him track and monitor the alien activity.  The super soldiers found out about him, kidnapped him and essentially tortured him to get information.  They needed to keep him alive though.  And then they needed him to find you.”

“I thought they were there to take him from us,” she whispers, glancing up at Mulder.  “I don’t know why they didn’t.”

“I don’t know either.  I guess he wasn’t what they thought he was.  It doesn’t make him any less of a miracle though.”

“When I got the results of the pregnancy test, I was in disbelief.  I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid of...of the how and the why…  I wanted a second opinion when we got back from Oregon and then I was going to tell you.”

“You feared the possibilities.  I know because I was afraid of them too.”

“We both know the truth though.”

“Caddyshack?”

Scully smiles and reaches up to cup Mulder’s cheek.  Between them, the baby makes a little squawking noise and Mulder lowers his gaze to quietly shush him and run a finger along his cheek.

“Hey now,” Mulder whispers.  “None of that.”

“What should we call him?” Scully asks.

Mulder studies the baby’s face and tilts his head a little.  “What about William?” he asks.  “After your father.”

“And yours.”

“Do you know it means strong-willed warrior?”

“I didn’t.”  She looks down at the baby and tries to imagine him as a William, but it almost seems like a burden to put on his little shoulders.  “What about Liam?”

“Liam?  Hm.  And stepping up to the plate, Yankees first baseman, Liam Scully.”

“Liam Mulder,” she corrects.  

Mulder doesn’t say anything, but judging from the look on his face, he’s on the verge of tears.  She can tell he’s having a difficult time swallowing.  

“That night in Bellefleur,” she says.  “When you told me there was more out there than the x-files, you were right.  He’s right here, living proof of that.  If you want to walk away now, I’m with you.  Because, I’m sorry that I never told you before, but I do love you.  I loved you then and I love you now.”

Mulder’s mouth trembles and then he licks his lips.  “Just you and me?”

“Well…”  She pats the baby gently and tips him towards Mulder.  “We’re kind of a package deal now.”

“I’ll take it.”

Scully nods and she drops her eyes to Mulder’s mouth.  Now that her memory is intact, she doesn’t feel as trepidatious as she has of late about kissing him.  She leans in and presses her mouth to his, kissing him tenderly.  He kisses back just as tenderly and then pulls away.  Their son yawns and Mulder takes him from Scully’s arms.

“If you liked the Flukeman story, Liam, wait until you hear about The Great Mutato.”

Scully snorts softly and lays back against the scratchy pillow and closes her eyes.  She won’t mind waking up one more time in a hospital as long as it doesn’t happen again for a very, very long time.

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #msr #season 8 au #mulder #scully