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, MSR
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 Sybil 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
Part 16 - Meet the Mulders
"What did your mother say when you told her?"
"Just that she wanted to meet you. I'm not sure the news really
registered."
Mulder's eyes were fixed on the road before them. His jaw clenched
and unclenched, a sure sign he was feeling tense. The knuckles
on his hands were white as he gripped the steering wheel.
They'd decided to visit his mother before Scully got too big to
make the five hour drive between DC and
as the bruises on Mulder's face healed enough to no longer be
frightening, they made arrangements for a weekend trip.
Scully adjusted the seatbelt, smoothing her hands over her belly.
The baby was moving, one foot making a persistent arc across the
crest of her belly. Maybe the child could sense the tension in
her at the prospect of meeting Mulder's parents.
Bill Mulder was traveling down from
odd reunion at his ex-wife's home in
Her partner had seemed both surprised and troubled at the idea
of seeing his long estranged father. Mulder had gone for a long
run after hearing news of his father's visit. He'd returned several
hours later, pale and shaking from exertion, his eyes haunted.
"Do you want to take a break?" he asked. "There's a rest stop in
about five miles."
"No, I'm fine." She shifted in the seat, trying to find a more
comfortable position, but such a thing did not appear to exist
during the final six weeks of pregnancy. The five hour drive had
actually taken closer to seven, with numerous stops along the way.
"We'll be there in about forty-five minutes, anyway." Mulder
didn't sound enthusiastic about this. Scully tried to enjoy
the
on this early November afternoon, a riot of gold, red and orange.
They didn't speak for the rest of the journey; after a few
minutes, she found her eyes drifting shut. The deceleration of
the car ended her doze as Mulder pulled into the driveway of a
well-kept white colonial home. The sun had begun to set, leaving
the front lawn in deep shadow.
Getting out of the car was becoming more and more difficult. In
another week or so, she'd need Mulder to pry her out, but today
she was able to dislodge herself from the passenger seat. Mulder
came around to meet her, their bags slung over his shoulder.
"Fox! I was getting worried." A tall, austere woman stood at
the front door, the autumn breeze stirring her short, gray hair.
"I thought you'd be here earlier."
"Sorry, Mom," Mulder said, as they climbed the steps to the
front door. "We stopped a few times along the way." His hand
was at Scully's waist, fingers pressing into her flesh as if to
reassure himself that she was there. As they entered the foyer,
Mulder kissed his mother on the cheek.
"Mom, this is Dana Scully." He didn't elaborate or define their
relationship. Maybe he felt that the obvious pregnancy and his
arm around her were explanation enough. Mrs. Mulder's smile
seemed forced and frozen as her son's statement hung in the air.
"I'm glad to finally meet you, Miss Scully. Fox has talked
about you often."
Considering how infrequently Mulder seemed to speak with his
mother, 'often' was probably a relative term.
"I'm so happy to meet you, Mrs. Mulder. Please call me Dana."
Mrs. Mulder led them into the quietly elegant living room, the
soft light of antique brass lamps keeping out the afternoon gloom.
"Fox, I'm sure Dana would like a little rest before dinner. Why
don't you take her up to the guest bedroom? Your old room is ready
too."
"Sure Mom," he said, hiding a smile. Scully was puzzled as she
followed him up the stairs. As they reached the top of the
steps, she poked him in the side, causing him to wince even as
he chuckled. Scully remembered that his ribs were probably
still a little sore.
"What's so funny?" she whispered.
"My mother," he replied, his voice low and throaty with laughter.
"Putting her son and his very pregnant lover in separate rooms."
Scully hid her smile as Mulder led her into a large bedroom,
placing her suitcase on the hope chest at the foot of the bed.
He put his arms around her, their baby between them.
"I think Mom is right--you should lie down and rest. I'm going
to see if my mother needs help with dinner." He pressed a kiss
to the top of her head and left the room.
Scully stood by the bed and yawned. She hated being treated like
a child, but she really was tired. Pregnancy brought so many
irritations. Swollen ankles, heartburn, backache, stuffy nose--
all were annoying, but she managed to tolerate them.
The emotional aggravations were far worse for Scully. Virtual
strangers felt they had the right to touch her belly--everyone
from the old man who ran the newsstand to Mrs. Hauer in the next
apartment.
She hated the knowledge that for the next few weeks, she couldn't
be in top form--couldn't protect herself, couldn't watch Mulder's
back. With her short stature, the added weight threw off her
center of gravity, making her clumsy and slow. The vulnerability
was galling.
But the most exasperating thing was feeling like an invalid or a
child. Having to eat things she wasn't hungry for, drink things
she didn't want. Being told to take a nap in the middle of the
day and really needing the rest. This was not easy for a woman
who prided herself on being in control.
"Oh, hell," she muttered, kicking off her shoes and climbing
onto the bed. She was asleep in minutes, the trip having taken
more out of her than she would admit.
Scully woke to the sound of voices and the delicious smell of
cooking. Levering herself off the bed, she walked into the
adjoining bathroom and washed up. Once her hair was neatened
and her teeth brushed, she made her way down to the living room.
"I haven't forgotten my responsibilities, sir." Mulder's voice
drifted up as she descended the staircase.
"I hope that's true, Fox. I sincerely hope that's true."
"Scully! I was just going to wake you." The profound look of
relief on Mulder's face broke her heart. He looked like a
drowning man who'd just been thrown a rope. Her partner left
the sofa, where he had been sitting across from an older man.
With an arm slung around her shoulders, Mulder drew her into the
living room. "Dad, this is my partner, Dana Scully."
Bill Mulder rose to shake Scully's hand, the ice in his scotch
clinking from the motion. His fingers were chilled from holding
his drink, but somehow that seemed appropriate.
"Good to meet you, Ms. Scully."
The older man's eyes seemed to bore into her, as if weighing her
place in his son's life. How often had that gimlet gaze been
directed at her partner? She wondered if the pressure in that
stare was what drove Mulder to take the chances he did.
"Dinner's ready. Oh, Miss Scully, back from your little rest.
What perfect timing." Mrs. Mulder beckoned them into the dining
room, shooting a wary glance at her ex-husband.
"Fox, would you pour the wine," Mrs. Mulder said, as she placed
a large glass of milk at Scully's wineglass-free place. "Bill,
don't you think you've had enough scotch?"
Bill Mulder was certainly steady enough on his feet, as he
took his place at the table. "Teena, you worry too much. You
always did." He smiled indulgently at his ex-wife.
Teena Mulder's china and flatware was as traditional and old-
fashioned as the woman herself. Scully placed her damask napkin
over the rise of her belly, not having had a lap for months. She
watched Mulder pour wine for himself and his mother. Bill Mulder
had shaken his head when Mulder had tried to fill his wine glass.
Bill's hand remained curved protectively around his scotch glass.
"Fox told me that you lost your father recently," Mrs. Mulder said.
"Almost a year ago, he passed away unexpectedly after Christmas."
"That must have been so hard for your mother."
"Yes. Especially with my sister and brothers living out of the
area."
"I'm sure you visit your mother whenever you can. I understand
you and Fox travel quite a bit for work."
Bill Mulder snorted and took a sip of his scotch, his eyes
glittering as he turned to his son. "Chasing after Bigfoot while
you lose sight of your goal."
"Dad," Mulder said, softly.
"You and your partner spend a lot of taxpayer money on wild goose
chases. How do your superiors justify that?" Bill Mulder asked,
voice sharpened to a fine edge.
"We've solved some serious crimes, Mr. Mulder." Scully knew she
should keep out a family dispute but she couldn't bear to hear her
partner's work denigrated.
"So far, our superiors are satisfied with our progress, Dad."
Scully detected an undercurrent of anguish beneath the calm
determination in Mulder's tone. Her partner placed his fork on
his plate, perhaps having lost his appetite.
Was this a typical Mulder meal? Tension hung in the air, as if a
palpable presence. Teena Mulder kept conversation moving,
undoubtedly as she'd been taught to do as a proper hostess.
"Has the weather been good out on the Vineyard, Bill?"
"I understand you're from a Naval family, Dana?"
"Fox, I ran into Louise Morgan in the supermarket last week.
Do you ever hear from her daughter, Elisabeth?"
Finally, the meal was over and conversation was halted in
favor of clearing the table. Bill Mulder left after coffee
and desert, roaring off to New York City to meet a friend.
The man had seemed sober enough as he bade his farewells,
and Scully realized that she'd only seen him drink the one
scotch. Bill kissed his ex-wife on the cheek and shook
Scully's hand.
He turned to his son, stiffly reaching out for a handshake.
The look of sadness on Mulder's face cut through her, and she
longed to touch her partner. Scully wondered what childhood
had been like for Mulder, growing up with this cold, unhappy
man.
Mulder helped his mother wash the dishes while Scully perched
on a stool at the island counter. Teena Mulder had pressed
another glass of milk on her, obviously fearing her grandchild
would develop rickets if Scully was left to her own devices.
The sight of her partner at work in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up
on his strong forearms, never failed to bring a smile to Scully's
face. He moved with such easy grace, as he loaded his mother's
dishwasher.
Teena Mulder washed the wine glasses by hand, carefully setting
each one on the plastic dish drainer. "These belonged to my
grandmother. She brought them from The Netherlands when she
came to this country in the 1920's. Samantha always wanted to
drink her orange juice from them when she was little. She
was quite the little lady."
"When she wasn't digging in the backyard," Mulder chuckled.
"With Grandmother's sterling silver ladle," Teena agreed, smiling.
She sighed, as if all the energy was flowing out of her with
the exhaled breath. "The dishwasher powder is under the sink,
Fox. Would you run the dishwasher? I'm going to head off to bed."
"Sure, Mom. Have a good sleep." Mulder kissed his mother,
his eyes shadowed with sadness. "See you in the morning."
"Good night, Mrs. Mulder."
"Good night, my dear." Teena Mulder patted Scully's knee as
she passed out of the kitchen.
"Well, we've got the house all to ourselves. Wanna stay up
late and watch scary movies?" Mulder snapped on the dishwasher
and walked over to Scully. From her perch on the stool, her
face was level with his.
"Is that what you did when you lived here?" Scully asked,
cupping his cheek.
"A lot of the time. Mom was...still in shock when we moved
here. I mostly took care of both of us. So, 'Shock Terror
Theater' was a nightly ritual."
"That's so sad."
"I don't know. I was the envy of all my friends. I ate
what I wanted and stayed up as late as I chose," he said.
His voice grew soft. "I guess it was a little lonely."
Scully rolled her shoulders, pressing a hand to the small of
her back. "I wish I could stay up, Mulder, but I need a warm
shower to work out the kinks."
"Okay," he said, helping her down. "Don't work out too many,
though. I like you a little kinky."
She was still smiling when she walked into the bedroom.
Scully puzzled over the Mulder family and its secrets as she
prepared to take a shower. She hadn't been able to understand
what Mulder was telling her back in that motel room in Oregon
so long ago. 'The family fell apart,' held no reality for her
before this painful illustration.
Shedding her clothes, Scully stepped into the shower. The hot
water streamed over her, easing the stiffness in her back and
soothing her jangled nerves. With great reluctance, she turned
off the water, unsure of the hot water supply in the older house.
She didn't want to freeze Mulder out.
It took Scully a long time to get comfortable in a strange bed,
made even stranger without her favorite bed partner. She turned
off the light, her eyes too tired to read, and lay awake in
the darkness.
The door opened slowly, creaking just a little. "No scary
movies on tonight," Mulder said, closing the door behind him.
"Just a lot of people talking about nothing."
"Don't you have a room of your own, Mulder? I mean, since we're
under your mother's roof..." Scully said, trying to keep her
voice low. She sat up and switched on the lamp.
"By putting her guests in separate rooms, my mother has satisfied
her strict moral code," he said unbuttoning his jeans and
pushing them down his legs. "Now if said guests wander in the
middle of the night, she's in the clear, morality-wise."
Mulder kicked the jeans off his feet and jumped onto the bed.
Scully fought a smile as the bed jostled with the sudden addition
of his weight. "And true to form, Mulder, you're out wandering."
"I'm a seeker, no doubt about it," he said, kissing her neck.
His fingers worked the buttons on her pajamas, parting the fabric
to reach her bare breasts. She was going to have to start wearing
a maternity bra to bed pretty soon, but tonight, she was grateful
to have nothing between her skin and Mulder's hands.
"Have I told you how much I love your breasts?" he asked. She
tugged his t-shirt up and off, exposing his flat stomach, now
decorated with the greenish purple remnants of bruises.
"You've mentioned it," she laughed as he caught a nipple between
his lips. His hands skimmed over her belly to the waistband of
her pajamas, tugging the bottoms down her legs urgently.
His lips were everywhere, his hands touching and stroking.
She slipped a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers
reaching for the silky skin of his cock. "Oh God," he
murmured. "I want you so much."
"Mulder," she whispered. "We have to be very quiet."
"Very thick walls," he breathed into her ear. "Nineteen inches
thick. I swear. C'mon." He kissed her neck, nibbling on
her ear. "You know you want to."
She didn't answer with words, but let her lips speak in other
ways, kissing him deeply, as she eased the boxers over his
straining erection. Mulder looked into her eyes with such
hunger; she was left breathless.
She turned onto her side, allowing him to spoon behind her.
Taking his hand, she guided his fingers to her center, so he
could feel the moisture there, proof of her desire for him.
He raised her leg, moving even more closely behind her.
He entered her, melding himself to her body. Each pump of his
hips was punctuated by his fingers moving over her clit. She
heard him at her shoulder, groaning out his need as he kissed
her skin. He chanted in her ear, wordless primal sounds of
need.
Mulder bore scars that no one could see, deep inside him. Wounds
that had grown scar tissue and could be opened easily with the
right amount of pressure. With every thrust into her, he seemed
to empty out some of that loneliness, a little of the despair.
She welcomed his release, knowing she was part of the healing.
They climaxed together, so quietly, so fiercely. She saw
thousands of hot red stars under her closed eyelids. Whispers
mingled with their moans, giving over to hushed laughter.
"Well, we've enacted one of my geeky teenage fantasies," he
breathed into her ear, kissing her neck. Reaching down, he
pulled the covers over them, molding himself against her.
"I'd be up here in my little room, imagining I was making love
to a beautiful woman. Of course, the beautiful woman wasn't
pregnant, but I didn't know what I was missing."
"We should clean up," she said, her eyes drifting shut.
"Mmmm," he murmured sleepily. "In a minute..."
They woke the next morning stuck together and giggling.
It took several painful tries before they disengaged from
each other. "It's almost nine o'clock, Mulder. We'd better
get moving."
They took turns showering and dressing, listening for sounds
indicating Mrs. Mulder was up and moving around. Mulder stripped
the bed while she put on a bit of makeup. Scully wondered if
the woman had noticed that Mulder's room wasn't slept in.
"My mother is going to be so impressed when I toss the sheets
into the washer. She'll think you've domesticated me."
"I've barely tamed you, much less domesticated you."
"Nonsense. You had me eating out of your hand in record
time," he said, tucking the bundle of sheets under his arm.
They left after breakfast, Mulder embracing his mother on the
front steps. He seemed more relaxed, more at peace than Scully
had seen him since they left DC. Mrs. Mulder waved goodbye
as they backed out of the driveway.
As Mulder pulled onto the highway, Scully's eyes widened with
amazement. She thought back over the entire visit and shook
her head.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing. Everything is fine," she answered, smiling.
There was no reason to point out her little observation to
Mulder. Besides, he undoubtedly would have noticed. Nothing
got past Mulder, but Scully knew he wouldn't bring it up. What
good would it do to mention that despite her welcoming courtesy
and her obvious coddling of Scully, Teena Mulder had never
referred directly to the soon-to-be baby.
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