TITLE: The Way Things Are
AUTHOR: Sukie Tawdry
EMAIL: sukie_tawdry@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Season 1
CATEGORY: Guess you could call it AU. Diverges
from canon some time during season 1.
KEYWORDS: Story, M/S (some elements of M/other)
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me. Sniff
SUMMARY: One night and their whole lives were changed
forever.
FEEDBACK: Good or not so good--go ahead. I can
take it. I'm a big girl.
ARCHIVE: Again, go ahead.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks go to Sybils for wonderful beta and support.
And a big thank you to Foxymulderluver for giving
this story a home on her website:
http://www.oocities.org/foxymulderluver
This section is dedicated to Foxmom--my thoughts and
prayers are with you.


Part 15 - As He Is

"Ooooohhh."

Mulder moaned as she slipped into the apartment, pressing the door
into his body. He laid curled on his side, knees drawn up
protectively, arms wrapped around his middle. There were
streaks of blood on his white shirt.

"What happened to you?" she asked, lowering herself to the floor.
Her abdomen bulged as she kneeled over Mulder, gently pulling his
arms away from his midsection. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," he grunted. Her hands were on him, feeling his arms
for broken bones, pulling his eyelids back to check the pupils for
dilation. His clothes were a mess, the shirt filthy and the pants
shredded along one thigh. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, and
he was missing one shoe.

"Did you get hit on the head?" she asked, her fingers feathering
through his hair. Good. No blood or swelling. His hair felt
gritty, though, as if he'd lain on gravel or sand.

"I don't think so," he replied, his words clumsy due to a cut on
his lip. "That's probably the only part that didn't get hit."

He struggled to sit, groaning with the effort. She unbuttoned
his shirt, pressing along his ribs. "You've got a lot of
bruising here," she said as he moaned again. "You might have
a fractured rib or two."

"Somebody seemed to have confused me with a punching bag." He
grunted as she palpated his abdomen, her hand moving beneath
the waistband of his slacks. She waited for the innuendo that
never came as Mulder squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled
slowly.

"Doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding," she said, touching
his face. His eyes opened, and he tried to smile around the
cut on his lip. "You're going to have to take it easy, though."

"I can handle 'easy'."

"Oh God, Mulder. Where have you been?" Her voice sounded harsh
in her ears, anger and worry still present along with the relief
at seeing him.

"I was chasing a lead," he muttered as her hands moved along his
legs checking for bleeding or broken bones. He hissed as her
fingers probed along his right hip, where his pants were frayed.
"Shit, Scully--watch it."

"The skin's completely abraded here, Mulder. Do you remember
how this happened?

"I...ow...I fell from a moving car. That's how I got away."

"Well, you can tell me all about it on the way to the hospital."
Scully pulled the sides of Mulder's shirt together and stood up.

"I don't need to go to the hospital, Scully," Mulder said,
grabbing her hand. "I just need to get some rest."

"Mulder..." He struggled to stand, as if being on his feet
would give him the advantage. He'd have a better chance of
convincing her if he wasn't hunched over in pain.

"I don't have a concussion. I've had broken ribs before and
they didn't even tape them. I don't need to go to the hospital
where they're going poke and prod and run tests that make me
*more* uncomfortable than I already am."

She studied his face, noting the scrapes and bruises. One eye
was swollen, and his full lower lip still oozed blood. In
spite of the damage, she couldn't disagree--he didn't appear
to be seriously hurt.

"Okay. But I reserve the right to haul your ass to the ER if
I think it's necessary."

"Scully, my ass is at your disposal," he said, arms hugging
his bruised midsection. He tried to smile, the grin uneven
from the swelling of his lip. "The rest of me, too, pathetic
as it is."

"I wish..." she sighed, her voice trailing off. She should
be relieved to have him back, safe and reasonably sound. But
what about the next lead, the next phone call, the next time
someone yanked his chain and offered him the answer to all
his questions?

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing." She shook her head. "Come on, you
need to take a shower and wash those cuts and scrapes before
they get infected. And then you're going to tell me exactly
what happened once you left the office."

Mulder nodded, his eyes troubled, as if he wanted to tell her
something but feared it would hurt her. She led him into
the bathroom, her mouth set in a straight little line.

Scully opened the shower door, turning on the water. Mulder
leaned against the sink, appearing a little dazed as she
retrieved towels and a washcloth from the linen closet.

"Strip, Mulder."

"What kind of boy do you think I am?" he asked in mock affront.
She tried not to smile, but the return of Mulder's teasing
was too great a relief.

Mulder tried to slip out of his shirt, groaning in pain with
the effort. Shaking her head, Scully unbuttoned his cuffs,
gently pulling off the shirt. She crouched, belly in the way,
to remove his lone shoe and socks.

Using the edge of the sink as leverage, she pulled herself
up, grunting with the effort. She was only seven months
along--by the time this baby was born, she'd have to be
rolled along like a giant beach ball.

Scully lifted Mulder's hands, studying his arms. Livid bruises
circled his wrists, to her practiced eye a sign of restraint
with handcuffs. His midsection was purple with contusions,
more shocking in the bright light of the bathroom.

"You're a mess," she said, unbuckling his belt and drawing the
pant's zipper down.

"I think this is just an excuse to get into my pants."

"Yeah. That must be it." She pushed his pants and boxers
over his legs, causing him to yelp when she brushed against
the side of his body. She bent to examine him more carefully.

The bruising around the ribs continued downward, almost as far
as his groin. A layer of skin had been literally worn off his
hip, pinpoints of blood beading on his flesh. Sympathy welled
up in her as Mulder seemed to waver on his feet.

"Let's get you cleaned up so you can rest."

She reached into the shower, determining the water to be
warm enough. With a slight push from Scully, Mulder
stepped under the water. She handed him the washcloth and
closed the shower door.

Visible through the pebbled glass, he seemed too weary to
move, bracing himself against the tile and fumbling for
the soap. Scully watched the water beat down on his bowed
head and something broke apart within her.

She kicked off her shoes, pulling the sweater over her head
and tossing it on the floor. Stripping out of her maternity
slacks and hose, she opened the shower door.

Mulder raised his head, obviously surprised at the blast
of cooler air entering the shower stall. Relief seemed to
wash over him as she stepped into the steamy shower.

"Tight squeeze," she said, her belly bumping against him.

"Plenty of room," he assured her. He rested his hands on
her shoulders, smiling at her with hope in his eyes. Hope
that she could accept his tilting at windmills, that she
understood his heart.

"Bend down a little, Mulder. I want to wash the grit out
of your hair."

She poured a little shampoo in her hand and worked it
into his hair. He whimpered a little as she massaged
his scalp, the sound of his pleasure sending warmth
through her body. He sighed audibly when her fingers
stopped their work.

"Rinse," she instructed, and he tilted his head back
to catch the stream of water. She held her breath at
the sight of Mulder, shampoo bubbles running down his
face and over his shoulders and chest.

Scully soaped a washcloth, scrubbing his shoulders and
arms before drawing it in gentle circles over his chest
and abdomen. As the washcloth drifted lower, she found
Mulder growing hard under her hand. "You're incorrigible,
you know that?" she laughed.

"Can't help it. You have that effect on me," he said,
his voice a low growl.

"Nothing more than a physiological reaction to stimulation."

"You're such a romantic, Scully."

Her gentle hand at his arm signaled him to move. Holding
his elbows close, he turned in the close quarters.
The muscles in his back rippled under her hand as she
scrubbed his back. He hummed in pleasure as she drew
the washcloth down over his perfectly formed ass.

"This is mine, huh?" she asked, smoothing a palm over the
smooth wet skin.

"Oh, yeah," he replied, sounding pleased at her comment
and wriggling his backside against her belly. "All yours."

"Well, *my* ass is clean now. Turn a little--I want to
wash that scrape on your hip."

He shifted position as she requested, holding his arm
against his chest to give her room to work. Mulder seemed
to be moving more easily, the warm water perhaps having
relieved some of his discomfort.

Warm water not withstanding, Mulder bellowed as she scrubbed
the raw area as gently as she could. "Sorry," she said.
"You've got half the road stuck to you."

"Felt like I slid for fifty feet after I hit the pavement."

She moved her body, allowing the spray of water to rinse
the soap from his hip. "Can't wait to hear all the details."

Squeezing into the corner of the shower, she crouched to
reach his legs and feet. The gunshot scar on his thigh was
at eyelevel, a neatly healed pucker. She noticed more scrapes
on Mulder's knees and thighs, but none as fierce as the
abrasion on his hip.

Raising her hand above her head, she wiggled her fingers to
signal her need for assistance. Mulder took the cue, pulling
her up and pressing a kiss against her temple as she rose.

"Out with you," she ordered. "You're clean."

He seemed a little shaky as he stepped from the shower and
reached for the towel. Scully quickly washed and rinsed her
body, watching Mulder towel off on the other side of the
glass door.

The air felt cool against her skin as she left the shower and
joined Mulder. Grabbing another towel, she briskly rubbed
herself dry. His eyes followed her movements as if he couldn't
get enough of her. There were still beads of water on Mulder's
arms and chest. Broken and bruised, he was still the most
beautiful sight in the world.

Her towel still in hand, Scully gently patted the moisture from
Mulder's skin, especially careful on the raw places. Looking
into his eyes, she rested her palm against his breastbone.

"I don't know what I would have done if something happened to
you, Mulder."

"I know," he said, his fingers winding into her wet hair as
he looked down at her. "I'm so sorry you were worried."

Scully nodded, a lump in her throat making it impossible to
speak. How could he care so little for his own safety? His
only regret seemed to her worry over him. She shivered despite
the warmth of the steamy bathroom. What was that old saying?
Someone walking on your grave. Or maybe the grave of the
man she loved.

"I'll get my bag and take care of your hip," she said,
reaching for the pajamas hanging on the back of the bathroom
door. Scully followed a naked Mulder into the bedroom,
snagging her medical kit from the closet.

Mulder reached for the edge of the comforter, fumbling with
fingers made clumsy by exhaustion. She touched his arm
briefly, moving past him to flip the bedding down.

"Lie down," she instructed. Scully slipped into her pajamas
as Mulder stretched out on his side, facing away. She remembered
his long hospitalization, and how he would avert his eyes from
medical procedures. "Scoot over a little, Mulder."

He shifted over, giving her room to sit behind him. His eyes
were at half mast as his body relaxed. It must have been a long
time since he'd had a chance to lie quietly.

Beads of blood had begun to collect again on Mulder's hip. She
used a gauze pad to carefully blot them away before applying
antibiotic ointment and covering the skin with a dressing. When
she had taped gauze over the dressing, she patted his bottom.

"All done."

"Would you mind terribly if I just slept this way?" he asked.
"I can't bear the thought of putting pajamas over my hip."

"I have absolutely no objections," she said, stroking her hand
along his back. She cleared away her equipment, returning to
the bathroom to wash the ointment off her hands.

Mulder was barely awake as she approached the bed. Scully snapped
off the light and walked around the bed to climb in beside Mulder.
The jostling of the bed roused Mulder who smiled sleepily at her.

"Thank you," he said, yawning. "For patching me up.

"Seems to be in my job description. What happened to you Mulder?
she asked, her voice soft and urgent. "Where did you go?"

"I had a phone call," he said wearily. "A lead that I just
couldn't pass up."

"Samantha," she said. It wasn't a question and she didn't expect
an answer. She watched his face as he seemed caught in some
internal turmoil.

"Doesn't matter, really," he said, finally. "Turned out to be a
fake. I was supposed to meet the contact in the last booth at
O'Neill's Bar. I waited for half an hour, but nobody came. The
phone in the back hall was ringing, so I got up to check it out.
A man came out of the men's room and before I knew it, there
was a gun in my ribs, and I was out in the alley behind the bar."

"Did you recognize the man?" she asked.

"I only got a glimpse at him. There were others in the alley,
but I was pretty busy being a punching bag at that point and
didn't get to take names," he said, embarrassment clear in his
voice. "I'll spare you all the details. Let's just say these
guys didn't have my best interests at heart. I walked right
into that, Scully. God, what a fucking idiot."

His swollen lip was making it a struggle for him to speak.
Leaning forward, she brushed the gentlest of kisses against
less bruised corner of his mouth.

"You're not an idiot. I'm just glad you're safe." She pushed
the hair from his forehead, watching his eyes drift shut.

"Shit," she muttered, remembering Skinner and his unofficial
investigation. Rising from the bed, Scully left the bedroom
and went to call her boss. She dialed Skinner's office, knowing
without a doubt the big man would still be at work, though it
was nearly eight o'clock.

"Mulder's back, sir," she said when he picked up on the second
ring. "A little the worse for wear, but safe."

"And what the hell happened to him?"

"I only got the condensed version, sir. He was chasing a lead
when he was jumped and beaten."

"I'll expect the un-abridged version from Agent Mulder," Skinner
said, relief in his voice. "I want to see both of you in my
office tomorrow morning, that is, if Mulder is up to it."

"He'll be there, sir, if he can get his pants on."

"What?"

"He's got scrapes in some uncomfortable places," she explained.

Skinner seemed happy to get off the phone after that, the
big man apparently disquieted by wondering exactly where the
injuries might be. She hung up the phone, and looked around
the kitchen. Weighing hunger against exhaustion, she decided
that chewing would require too much energy. Sleep would be
delicious.

Scully turned out the lights and checked the locks on the front
door. Entering the bathroom, she barely had enough energy to
pick up the wet towels and hang them over the shower door. She
brushed her teeth, examining her face and noting the lovely
combination of round pregnancy face and dark circles.

She was careful not to wake Mulder as she entered the bedroom,
moving as quietly as possible. Scully smiled as she watched
Mulder's sleeping form. She needn't have worried; he'd probably
sleep through a nuclear blast tonight.

In spite of the damage he was unspeakably gorgeous, lying naked
across her bed. From his long, beautifully formed feet and legs,
to his soft tousled hair, he was a breathing work of art. She
stood by the bed, watching the shallow rise and fall of his
chest and the twitching of his hands as he slept.

Her heart ached within her, as if it was being squeezed by an
unseen hand. How could she live without him? The decision to
raise this child alone had been simple, back when that seemed to
be the only option. But as her love for Mulder deepened, so did
the risk to her heart. She could no longer contemplate a life
that didn't contain this man.

Scully remembered a Christmas long ago when her father was far away.
Bill Scully was always missed when he was at sea, but missing him
was so much harder during the holidays. Ten-year-old Dana had
railed one day, unable to understand how her mother could stand
the loneliness.

"Your father needs to do his job, Dana," her mother had said.
"And I love him, so I have to support that."

"I don't understand, Mom. How can you give your love to
someone who isn't here for you?" Dana had asked. In her pre-teen
idealism, love was permanent and all-encompassing.

"You can't love someone for how you want them to be, Dana.
You have to love them as they are."

Scully carefully pulled the sheet up over Mulder's naked form
and climbed into bed beside him. Though still asleep, he stirred
when he felt her presense one hand blindly reaching for her. She
took his hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. She'd just have to
love him as he was.

<><><><>