Title: A Silence Full of Sounds (1 of 2)
Author: Emma Brightman
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions,
and Fox.
Classification: SRA, MSR
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through Season 8
Archival: Please ask permission.
Summary: There is little in the universe he
treasures more than the truth, and she hates
that in leaving, he made her a liar.
Feedback: Oui, s'il vous plait.
emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com
Author's Notes at the end
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A Silence Full of Sounds (1 of 2)
by Emma Brightman
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Smooth hands glide over sweat-slicked skin.
She shivers in the fan's cool breeze and he
wraps his long limbs around her.
-- "What are you doing New Year's Eve?"
His murmuring lips against her shoulder blade
are soft and gentle, and his sleepy words
rumble through her body.
-- "Are you going to sing to me, Mulder? Issn't
that a song?"
She sighs and nestles back into the warmth of
his chest as his large hand covers her breast,
strays down to rest on the curve of her belly.
-- "Yes. It's also a question."
Surprised at the serious tone of his voice, she
turns to face him, sliding a silky leg between
his, pressing her hand to his heart.
-- "It's only May. Not even summer yet."
His eyes search hers, and he smoothes the
worried crease between her brows with his index
finger.
-- "Just promise me we'll be together."
Not just New Year's Eve, but always. Forever.
--"I promise, Mulder."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
There is little in the universe he treasures
more than the truth, and she hates that in
leaving, he made her a liar.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As much as she longed to spend Christmas at
home alone, away from the sad, compassionate
eyes of her family, Scully knew that her mother
would never have stood for it. So the
afternoon of Christmas Eve found her standing
over a bowl of soupy bread and spices in her
mother's kitchen, stirring the mess Maggie
swore would become The Greatest Dressing Ever
Made. Shriveled black raisins swimming in
crumby, yellow broth brought to mind visions of
beetles sucked from Mulder's burdened lungs.
She barely made it to the bathroom in time to
lose the soup and salad she had eaten for
lunch.
Maggie followed, and stood behind Scully as she
knelt on the hard tile in front of the toilet,
holding her daughter's hair back with one hand,
supporting her forehead with the other. Scully
felt like a little girl with the flu again.
Like a dying woman, with useless chemicals
surging through a body overtaken by cancerous
cells. Her retching quickly turned to stifled
sobs, and Maggie helped her up and gathered her
in her arms, rocking, and murmuring hushed
noises of quiet and love. She dampened a
washcloth and gently pressed it to Scully's
pale face.
"I'm sorry, Dana, I shouldn't have asked you to
help with the cooking. All those different
smells, and in your condition*" she said,
rubbing Scully's back in slow, soothing
circles.
Embarrassed by her loss of composure, Scully
pulled away from her mother's embrace and
flushed the toilet. "It's okay, Mom. It just
hits me sometimes. Seems to be worst in the
afternoon and evening, though, more than in the
morning."
Maggie carefully folded the washcloth into a
perfect square, slowly running her finger up
and down its satin trim several times, as she
watched Scully rinsing her mouth out at the
sink. She seemed hesitant to upset her
daughter, but concern finally forced the words
from her lips. "Shouldn't you be past the
morning sickness stage by now? Have you talked
to your doctor about this?"
Scully took the washcloth from Maggie's hand
and wet it under the faucet. "I'm fine,
really. Every woman's pregnancy is different,
you know that," she said, grateful to have the
excuse of washing her face to keep her mother
from seeing her expression. She was never a
very good liar, and Maggie could always read
her like a book.
She didn't want to tell Maggie that the nausea
had less to do with morning sickness than with
her relentless anxiety about Mulder and the
baby. Her mother knew nothing about her three
hospital stays in the past few months, or about
just how "different" her pregnancy was turning
out to be.
How many women could say they had been hurled
into a wall by an alien bounty hunter, or had a
giant slug sliced out of their backs and lived
to tell the tale? It all sounded so outrageous
she could hardly believe it herself, and she
shuddered to imagine her mother's horrified
reaction. Mulder would have understood and
believed her, but Mulder wasn't there, so she
kept her secrets to herself.
After all these years she was good at keeping
secrets.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Bill, Tara, and Matthew arrived early that
evening in a rented minivan full of luggage and
presents. Scully stood huddled next to her
mother at the open front door, shivering as
gusts of wind blew snowflakes into her face and
hair.
Bill and Tara waved gloved and mittened hands
as they climbed from the van, Tara moving to
slide the side door open to help Matthew out of
his carseat, while Bill began unloading
suitcases and packages. Scully's welcoming
smile dissolved into a frown as she saw Bill
pulling a wooden cradle from the back of the
van.
"Mom, that's*isn't that our cradle? The one
Grandpa Scully made for Daddy?" she asked,
pulling the long sleeves of her sweater down
over her hands and wrapping her arms around
herself. She remembered rocking her dolls to
sleep, in the days before she became a tomboy.
"Yes, it is," Maggie said. "I asked Bill to
bring it with him. Matty's too big for it now,
of course, and it doesn't look like Bill and
Tara will be having another baby any time soon.
I thought you'd like to have it." Maggie
smiled and squeezed Scully's shoulders before
running outside to hug her son and daughter-in-
law, and to scoop Matthew into her arms.
Scully pushed the front door closed as tears
blurred her vision, quickly fleeing upstairs to
the guestroom before she had to confront Bill's
disapproval and Tara's cloying sweetness. She
sat on the edge of the neatly made bed with her
hands clenched white in her lap, shaking with
anger at her mother, at Bill, at hormones run
amok. On some level she knew that she was
overreacting, and she tried counting to ten and
taking deep breaths to calm herself down. None
of it helped.
Maggie tapped lightly on the bedroom door a few
minutes later, tiptoeing into the room before
Scully had a chance to protest. Flakes of snow
clung to her dark hair, and her cheeks were
still rosy from the bitter wind. "Why did you
disappear like that, Dana? Bill and Tara are a
little hurt that you ran off without saying
hello, and Matthew is asking for you," she
said, rubbing her hands together to warm them.
Scully's eyes widened at her mother's
criticism, and she leapt from the bed, glaring
at Maggie. "Damn it, Mother, you told him! I
specifically asked you not to tell anyone, and
you told Bill! You know Bill hates Mulder,
Mom. And now he knows about the baby before
Mulder does."
Confusion furrowed Maggie's brow for a moment
before realization dawned. "I didn't tell him
the cradle was for you. I just asked him to
bring it for me," she said calmly, in the same
soothing tone she had always used when her
children scraped a knee, or broke a favorite
toy.
"And what exactly is he supposed to think about
that?" Scully said. "Why would you just ask
for it out of the blue? Bill may be a lot of
things, but he's not stupid. He knew I was
going to be here for Christmas, and I'm sure he
and Tara have already done plenty of
speculating about poor, lonely Dana and her
latest pathetic attempt to have a child!" The
sting of Bill's words to her when she had tried
to adopt Emily still hurt, even years later.
"That's not true, Dana. They don't know
anything. I told them I wanted the cradle for
safekeeping, and they brought it. That's all
there is to it," Maggie said, pulling Scully
into her arms.
Scully knew her mother was sincere, but she was
still upset. She shrugged out of Maggie's
grasp and walked to the window, resting her
forehead against the chilled pane. She could
see Bill and Matthew in the driveway again,
unloading more brightly wrapped packages. A
piece of shiny green tissue paper floated out
of a gift bag and Matthew chased after it,
laughing, bundled in his winter wear like a
tiny Michelin man.
"I don't know Mom, it's just*sometimes it feels
like everyone will know before I even get a
chance to tell Mulder. I keep imagining his
reaction*he'll be so happy. But instead of
telling him I tell other people who don't
really care, or who pity me." She absently
traced small stars on the frosty glass. When
she realized she was drawing the rounded top of
a cartoonish spaceship floating among them, she
quickly wiped it all away with the sleeve of
her sweater.
"You know *I'm* happy, don't you?" Maggie
asked, sitting on the bed and patting the patch
of flowery bedspread beside her. Scully
hesitantly sat down next to her. "I'm going to
have another grandchild to love. I thought I'd
never get to share all this with you, and I
thank God every day for this miracle." A tear
rolled down Maggie's cheek, and she wiped it
away with the back of her hand.
"Well I'm glad you're happy, Mom. That makes
one of us, at least," Scully said bitterly.
She picked up a small, square pillow from the
head of the bed, worrying its worn eyelet lace
border between her thumb and forefinger. Her
mother had made one for each of her daughters
when they were children, and now Maggie kept
Melissa's on the guestroom bed. Scully read
the words embroidered on the cushion à- 'To
you, my child, I give two things. One is
roots, the other, wings'. She wondered what
kind of roots and wings she would be able to
give her child if Mulder was never returned.
Maggie sighed, seeming to read her daughter's
thoughts. "Dana, I know you miss Fox, but you
have the baby to consider now. Your emotions
and attitude are affecting him or her every
day. I know it's hard, but you've got to try
to find some joy in this situation. And you've
got to let us in, let your family support you.
I think you should tell Bill. You two may have
had your differences, but he's your big
brother, and he loves you. Have a little faith
in him."
Scully rolled her eyes and reached for the
Kleenex on the bedside table, plucking one out
for herself before handing the box to Maggie.
"I will, Mom. Everyone's going to know soon
enough, anyway. Just let me do it my own way
and in my own time, okay?" she asked, as Maggie
stood to leave.
The sound of Bill's deep, booming voice and
Tara's high, cheerful one invaded the silence
when Maggie opened the door. "I love you,
Dana. Everything's going to be okay, I
promise," she said softly.
Maggie stood waiting for a response, so Scully
nodded, unconvinced. "Thanks, Mom," she said
as Maggie headed back downstairs. She blew her
nose and rubbed her aching temples with icy
fingers.
"Merry Christmas, baby," she whispered into the
silence.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
-- "Who should we tell? Your mother? Frohiike?
Probably not Skinner."
They sit side by side on black leather, bare
feet on the table in front of them. Blue TV
screen light strobes through the darkened room,
bouncing off walls, coloring pale faces.
-- "Let's just keep it quiet for a while."
She loves their secret, enjoys the romance of a
clandestine affair, of having him all to
herself. He loves the truth, wants to shout
his joy and passion from the rooftops.
-- "It's no mystery what you mean to me,
Scully. Anyone who knows us knows I love you.
They can't use that to hurt us anymore."
She wraps both arms around his middle and
presses her azure cheek to his chest, listening
to his heart beat in counterpoint to hers.
-- "Let's wait."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Zuzu spoke of angels getting their wings, bells
tinkled, and George Bailey's family and friends
raised their voices in song. Scully sighed and
stretched her arms over her head, her gaze
traveling from the television to her brother as
she stopped the VCR with the remote control.
He sat slouched drowsily in an armchair,
clutching a pillow to his chest and trying
valiantly to stay awake, while she sat curled
up on the sofa, her sock-clad feet tucked under
her bottom to keep them warm. Bill yawned
noisily, and smiled as he caught her eye.
"Remember how we used to watch this movie
together every year when we were growing up,
Dana? Mom and Missy always cried. And you
always pretended not to," he said.
Scully felt tears prick her eyes at the memory,
and wished she still had the knack of
pretending not to cry. Lately that well-honed
ability seemed to be fading as quickly as her
stomach was expanding.
"Yeah, I remember," she replied. "Dad always
said that no matter where we were stationed,
that was one Christmas tradition we could
always count on. Even if it was seventy
degrees outside, and there was nothing to make
it a white Christmas except the sand on the
beach, we still had 'It's a Wonderful Life'."
"I'm really glad you're here this year, sis,"
he said, draining the last of the hot chocolate
from his mug. "Now, if we just could've gotten
Charlie's gang to join us, it would have been
the perfect Christmas," he said, yawning again,
and standing up. "Well, I'm bushed. Time for
me to hit the sack."
"Goodnight, Bill," Scully said as he bent to
kiss her cheek. The smell of Bill's cologne
and the prickle of his stubbly face brushing
hers reminded her of her father. When she
closed her eyes she could almost imagine it was
really Ahab, not her brother, kissing her
goodnight. She felt a stab of pain, knowing
that her baby would never have a chance to know
and love his or her grandfather.
Bill straightened up and gazed down at her,
sympathy in his eyes. "By the way, Dana*I know
we've had our differences where Mulder is
concerned, but I want you to know I'm sorry
he's missing. It must be hard for you,
wondering what happened to him, having to get
used to a new partner," he said. Scully could
tell it took some effort for him to say the
words and suspected that her mother had
something to do with them, but they seemed
sincere nonetheless.
"Thanks, Bill," she said. She took a deep
breath and sat up straight, folding her hands
in her lap. This was as good a time as any to
break the news, and Bill's mentioning Mulder
himself seemed like a positive sign. "Sit down
again for a minute. I need to tell you
something."
The couch sagged under Bill's weight as he sat
next to her, worriedly searching her face for a
clue as to what was coming next. How sad, she
thought, that any time she made an
announcement, her family automatically expected
the worst.
"It's not the cancer, is it?" he asked quietly,
covering her hands with his. "You're still in
remission?"
"No, I'm fine, Bill. I'm healthy. This
is*well, I'm hoping you'll think it's good
news," she said. Watching his expectant
expression as his mind ran through the
possibilities, she suddenly wasn't so sure he
would.
"Are you getting married?" he said, his voice
rising in excitement. "Dana? I didn't even
know you were seeing anyone!"
Scully pulled her hands out from under his,
pretending she wanted the glass of water on the
coffee table, but really needing to escape from
the hopeful look in Bill's eyes for a moment.
He wanted so much for her to have a normal,
settled life.
"No Bill," she sighed, sipping some water and
returning the glass to its coaster. "I'm not
getting married. But I have been seeing
someone. In fact I*I'm pregnant." She smiled
weakly as Bill's face erupted in delighted
grin.
"What? Oh my God, Dana, that's wonderful! So
that's why Mom wanted the cradle! But how? I
thought you couldn't*" he began, pulling into a
bear hug, squeezing her so hard she almost lost
her breath.
Scully squirmed, and gently extricated herself
from his arms. "There's more, Bill. The man
I've been seeing is*well*it's Mulder. He's the
baby's father." She had said those words only a
handful of times, and now, as before, they
filled her with a terrible mixture of joy and
anguish. She felt her throat constrict
painfully, and fought back the tears welling in
her eyes.
For a moment Bill sat stunned and silent, the
color draining from his ruddy face. It didn't
take long for him to find his voice again,
though. "You're kidding, right? That goddamn
son of a bitch!" he sputtered, running a hand
over his close-cropped hair, his happiness
quickly turned to anger. "So he gets you
pregnant then just conveniently disappears?
That's just perfect!"
"Shut up, Bill, you'll wake up the whole
house," Scully said wearily. "You make it
sound like I'm some naive little fifteen year
old girl who got knocked up by the high school
rebel. This baby is something I want.
Something I never thought I'd have. Can't you
just be happy for me?"
Bill barked a humorless laugh. "Happy? He ran
out on you, Dana! He wasn't around for you
when you were sick, and now he's gone again.
How can you not see that? I mean*do you
honestly believe he's been abducted by aliens?
Mom told me that's what you think happened to
him. What a load of shit!" Bill launched
himself from the sofa and started pacing in
front of her.
"I believe that he was taken against his will.
He loves me, Bill. He'd be here if he could."
She was trying so hard to remain calm, but she
could feel her blood pressure rising with every
word Bill uttered. She stood to go upstairs to
bed. Her brother's paternalistic bellowing was
more than she could handle so late at night.
Bill stopped pacing and stood towering in front
of her. Scully had the urge to climb up on the
couch so she could look him in the eye without
craning her neck. She hated Bill's ability to
make her feel like a little girl being scolded
by her daddy.
"How did this even happen?" he asked. "Last I
heard you were barren from some damn thing or
other that happened to you when *you* were on
the mother ship. Did Mulder find some miracle
chip to cure that, too?"
Bill stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that he'd
gone too far, but it was too late to take back
the words. Scully recoiled as if from a
physical blow and covered her belly with her
hand, trying to block the sound of Bill's voice
from her baby's ears. "Go to hell," she
whispered. "I won't listen to any more of
this."
She ignored the drone of Bill's halfhearted
apologies as she maneuvered her way around the
discarded toys Matthew had left scattered on
the living room floor, biting back a curse as
she stubbed her toe on a plastic dump truck.
Maggie was halfway down the stairs in her robe
and slippers by the time Scully started
climbing up.
"I'm going home, Mom. I won't stay under the
same roof with someone who has so little
respect for me. And for Mulder. We have
enough enemies in the world without putting up
with one in my own family." Scully's voice was
steely and cold to her own ears, and a chill
ran up her spine. She didn't know if she would
be able to forgive her brother this time.
Her mother walked her to her room with an arm
around her shoulders. "Give him some time,
Dana. He's just worried about you. You know
how he overreacts and then cools down later.
Get some sleep and I'm sure things will be
better in the morning."
"I'm sorry, Mom, but I'm leaving." She
haphazardly began shoving shoes, and sweaters,
and underwear into her overnight bag with
shaking hands. "I'll call you when I get
home."
"It's snowing! You can't drive in this weather.
And what about all your gifts? You'll never
get everything back to your apartment by
yourself. Just wait until the morning, please.
We'll go shopping like we'd planned and I'll
take you home. Okay?"
Scully stopped packing and stood, her hands
still buried in a tangle of clothes in her bag,
looking at her mother's sad face. Too many
Christmases had already been spoiled because of
her problems, so she relented, nodding her
grudging assent.
"Get some rest, honey," Maggie said, kissing
Scully's cheek. "Everything will look better
in the morning, I promise."
Scully waited until the door closed behind her
mother before angrily tossing her overflowing
bag to the floor. She crawled into bed with
her clothes still on, and slept.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
continued in part 2
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Title: A Silence Full of Sounds (2 of 2)
Author: Emma Brightman
E-mail: emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com
Disclaimers and other information in Part 1
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A Silence Full of Sounds (2 of 2)
by Emma Brightman
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
-- "Come on, Scully, open it!"
Presents are rare, even on holidays or
birthdays, so the wrapped and bow-topped box on
her pillow is a surprise.
-- "What's the occasion, Mulder? Wait, I knnow,
I heard it on the radio this morning. Elvis
died twenty-three years ago today*how sad."
He smiles knowingly and kisses her forehead as
she joins him on the bed. It's an old, corny
joke, a piece of history they hang onto, and he
plays along.
-- "Elvis isn't dead, Scully. Just open thee
package."
She tries to keep her hands from trembling as
she unties thick crimson ribbon and rips away
ivory paper, gasping quietly when she sees
what's inside.
-- "It's so beautiful! How did you know I llove
this book?"
A strand of red hair dangles in front of her
eyes as she flips through the pages, and he
gently tucks it behind her ear.
-- "You're much more of a romantic than you
like to let on, you know."
His gaze never leaves her as she opens the book
to the flaky flyleaf, reads the inscription in
his distinctive black scrawl: 'They are afraid
of nothing. Together they would brave Satan
and all his legions.' àM.
-- "Oh, Mulder."
Seeing the emotion on her face, he smiles
sheepishly and begins to fidget, suddenly
embarrassed by his sentimentality.
-- "Um, this edition was printed in 1947*a
hundred years after the original publication
date. See, the engravings are by Fritz Eich-"
His nervous dissertation is cut short when her
smiling lips crush his. He kisses her back and
laughs, happiness and relief transforming his
face.
-- "I guess this means you don't want to seee my
slideshow presentation, Scully."
Carefully, she places the book on the
nightstand, then playfully pushes him back onto
a pile of pillows, her eyebrow raised. A few
downy feathers float in the air around his
head.
-- "Oh, is that what you're calling it thesse
days?"
*~*~*~*~*
Scully looked forward to returning to work
after the misery of Christmas, and arrived at
the office by seven-thirty Wednesday morning.
As was quickly becoming the norm, however,
Agent Doggett had beaten her there. He sat
comfortably ensconced at his desk, his sleeves
rolled up as if he had been there for hours,
happily typing up his little notes and
rereading X-Files for the umpteenth time. For
all she knew, he had been.
"Good morning Agent Scully," he said, looking
up from his computer screen with a small smile.
"Agent Doggett," accompanied by a curt nod, was
the most cheerful greeting she could manage
without forbidden caffeine in her system. She
felt unreasonably annoyed that he was there
before she was.
"Have a good Christmas?" he asked, watching her
remove her black coat and walk to her desk. He
always seemed to be observing her closely,
gauging her moods, trying to figure out what
made her tick. He lacked Mulder's subtle
profiling prowess, however, and his good old-
fashioned police work just succeeded in pissing
her off on a regular basis.
"Fine, thanks. You?" she said, each word
clipped and brusque. Some part of her knew she
was acting like Ebenezer Scrooge, but she
couldn't seem to help herself. It took all her
self-control not to shout 'Bah humbug'.
"Can't complain," he replied, eyeing her warily
before turning his attention back to his work.
Uncharitably, she thought that he must have
used his razor-sharp detective skills to deduce
that she wasn't up for small talk this morning.
She settled into her chair and put on her
glasses, digging into the pile of papers
stacked in her inbox.
Every cough, mouse click, and slurping sip of
coffee coming from Doggett's corner of the
office made it impossible for her to
concentrate, had her yearning for the peace and
quiet of an autopsy bay. A corpse, she
thought, my kingdom for a corpse. She smirked,
thinking that Mulder would have appreciated the
joke.
Scully opened the top drawer of the desk and
looked at Mulder's nameplate sitting inside.
She fingered the dark grooves spelling out his
name in cheap faux wood, then shook her head at
her maudlin behavior. As irritating as she had
often found his quirks and habits, she missed
the office sounds that were distinctly Mulder:
the crack of seeds between his teeth, the
creaky groan of his chair as he pushed it back
onto two legs and propped his own on his desk,
the measured rhythm of his typing. Doggett's
sounds were all wrong to her ears.
Although it was early, her feet already hurt
inside her high-heeled shoes, and she toed them
off underneath the desk. But then her feet got
cold, so she slipped them back on. The
waistband of her slim, black skirt dug into her
thickening middle, and she surreptitiously
undid the button and slid the zipper down an
inch. Her mother had tried to buy her
maternity clothes on their post-Christmas
shopping spree, but Scully had refused. She
hated the idea of buying frumpy, tent-like
dresses and stretchy slacks, but she was
beginning to think she'd have to give up her
sleek, all-black wardrobe soon. Her shirts
were already straining at the buttons.
An hour passed in which Scully got absolutely
nothing done, and finally Doggett stood and
picked up his empty USMC 'Semper fi' coffee
mug. She felt like cheering. Hoo-rah. He
paused on his way to the coffee machine and
unceremoniously placed a small, shiny gold box
on her desk, jolting her out of her reverie.
"I forgot about this on Friday, what with the
meeting with A.D. Skinner running so late, but
I got you a little something for Christmas," he
said, inclining his head toward the package in
front of her. If he noticed her unzipped skirt
and bulging middle, he wisely said nothing.
"I, uh*thank you Agent Doggett. I'm sorry, I
don't have anything for you. Agent Mulder and
I were a bit lax in the gift giving
department," she said, nervously wetting her
lips with her tongue. She felt herself
blushing under his scrutiny.
"It's okay, I know we never talked about
presents or anything. I just noticed that you
like chocolate, thought you might like these.
Godiva. Supposed to be good," he said,
transferring his mug from one hand to the other
as he slid into his suit jacket and
straightened his tie.
"I, uh*I do*they are. Thank you," she
stammered. Doggett simply nodded and left to
get his coffee.
Scully sighed and picked up the small box,
pulling off the ribbon and opening it to look
at the candy inside. She felt a little guilty
for taking her frustrations out on Doggett. He
really seemed to be trying, and he was diligent
about watching her back. He'd already saved
her life more than once. But having him in the
office or the field with her every day was a
constant, painful reminder of the man who
should have been there, but wasn't.
Doggett had given her chocolates, though, so he
couldn't be all bad. She peered out the door
and into the hallway to make sure he couldn't
see her, before popping one in her mouth.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
-- "What time, again?"
Water runs in hot rivulets down his body as she
rubs lather onto sleek, golden skin. The
steamy air smells of citrus fruit, and almonds,
and spices, like Christmas.
-- "I meet Skinner there at ten o'clock. Ouur
flight's at eleven-fifteen."
Her fingers comb through dark, wet hair,
massage his neck, shoulders, chest. She turns
him around so he can't see her face, and
caresses his back, his slim hips, his long
legs. Memorizing the feel of muscle under skin
with her hands and mouth.
-- "I could still go with you. Or catch a
later flight."
She can't explain why she's so afraid, why this
feels like goodbye. Premonitions and a
preternatural sixth sense, she's becoming her
mother, her sister. She's becoming Mulder.
-- "It's too dangerous, Scully. I can't losse
you again. I couldn't live without you, not
now."
He turns to face her and pulls her to him, lips
seeking lips in the steam and spray. His hands
stroke her arms, her belly, her breasts, make
her dizzy, breathless, leave her gasping for
air. When he finally moves inside her, he's
like the ocean -- dark, mysterious,
unfathomably deep. She licks the curve of his
seashell ear, tastes the tang of his sea salt
neck, and they tremble together, pleasure
mingled with fear.
-- "I'll miss you, Mulder."
Please don't leave me, she thinks, but doesn't
say.
-- "It's only one day, Scully. Two at the
most. You won't even have time to miss me."
Chill air envelopes her as he turns off the
shower, but when she shivers it's not from the
cold.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Since Mulder's disappearance, every ring of the
telephone has given Scully a moment of hope.
On the good days, when she was well, and could
feel his presence through his work, or through
the child growing inside her, hope lasted for
several rings. On the days she was sick and
lonely, terrified that she would never see him
again, hope disappeared almost before the
ringing began.
Stepping out of the bathtub early Sunday night
to the familiar electronic jingling of her cell
phone, Scully made it to three hopeful rings.
Illogical as it may have been, she couldn't
help imagining that this would be the day
Mulder would come home, that she wouldn't have
to break her promise to him after all. When
she heard Frohike's casual greeting on the
other end of the line, standing wrapped in a
towel and dripping bathwater onto her bedroom
rug, she felt like crying with disappointment.
"Happy New Year's Eve, Agent Scully. It's
Frohike," he said. "Langly, Byers and I have a
proposition for you." His voice sounded far
away, like he was using the speakerphone. She
imagined the three of them huddled together,
listening to her voice for clues about her
emotional and physical well-being.
She smirked and wrapped the towel more tightly
around herself, holding the phone between her
ear and shoulder. "A proposition?" she said
suspiciously. "I don't think I like the sound
of that. The last time I took you guys up on a
proposition I ended up drugged in Las Vegas."
"Our intentions are completely honorable, I
assure you," Frohike replied, feigning injury.
"We just thought we could drop by your place,
maybe bring a pizza. It'll be the first time
Byers and Langly have rung in the New Year with
a beautiful lady since the mid-seventies."
She chuckled as she heard the other Gunmen's
insulted protests echoing in the background.
"I don't know, Frohike. I appreciate the
offer, but*" she said, her voice trailing off
as she remembered last New Year's Eve, and the
sweetness of a first kiss.
"We know it's kind of last minute and you may
have other plans," Frohike said. Scully knew
he didn't really think she had plans, not
without Mulder. He was purposely giving her an
out, in case she did want to be alone. The
Gunmen's overprotectiveness and concern for her
since Mulder's abduction was as touching as it
was annoying.
"If you guys come over you'll have to watch old
movies with me, and I don't know if you're up
to that," she said, dropping her towel and
slipping into her thick, terrycloth robe. If
they wanted to come over and babysit her
tonight, she was going to make them work for
it.
"Are you kidding, we've broken into top secret
government facilities and been to karaoke night
with Mulder. I think we can handle a couple of
chick flicks," he said, full of bravado.
Scully heard Langly's exaggerated moan as he
realized what he could be in for, and her mind
was made up. "Okay, you're on. Eight o'clock.
And get extra cheese and green peppers on the
pizza," she said before pressing the phone's
'off' button.
Suddenly she was very relieved that she
wouldn't be by herself on New Year's Eve, and
absurdly sad to realize that she had never
known about Mulder's karaoke past. There were
still so many things they didn't know about
each other, mysteries and secrets they had
dreamed of spending years laying bare. She
smiled, imagining Mulder, young and cocky,
surrounded by flirting, crooning, half-drunk
women. Perhaps, after all, some secrets were
best left unknown.
She collected the towel from the floor where
she had dropped it, wrapping it in a turban
around her wet head, and walked back into the
bathroom. The mirror was still foggy from the
shower, and she made a bare spot with her hand,
gazing at her reflection in the blurry glass.
Her face was beginning to look a little
rounder, and with her skin freshly scrubbed,
the dusting of freckles that had cropped up
after days in the desert sun stood out against
her milky skin. For a moment, seeing herself
that way, she could almost believe she was the
young, innocent woman she had been over seven
years ago. The girl who had laughed and smiled
so much more easily, who had believed that in
the end everything in her life would work
itself out -- career, husband, children,
future.
During the last few months with Mulder that
girl had begun to reemerge, slowly coaxed back
to life by Mulder's touches and words. She'd
begun to hope again as she hadn't allowed
herself to in years, and she knew he had, too,
sometimes speaking to her of slowing down, of
putting themselves and their lives first for a
change. Scully frowned at the memory of their
conversation in his Bellefleur motel room, and
the illusion of youth abruptly vanished. His
words of endings and personal costs had
frightened her then, but she had believed that
as long as they were together she could face
the future, whatever it held.
Pouring a drop of moisturizer onto her
fingertips, she rubbed the lotion into her
skin, concentrating on the lines around her
eyes and mouth, wishing the advanced scientific
formula really could erase the signs of time
etched there.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When she heard the Gunmen's noisy bickering
outside her apartment door at precisely eight
o'clock, Scully rolled her eyes and wondered
what she'd let herself in for. Standing on
tiptoe to look out the peephole, she saw the
three of them, their arms loaded with pizza
boxes and grocery bags. Frohike even held a
small Styrofoam cooler in his hand. Evidently
they couldn't decide which of them should ring
the doorbell, each one claiming to be too
burdened down to reach the button. Scully
decided to save them the trouble, and opened
the door before they could disturb her
neighbors.
"What's all this?" she asked, nervously eyeing
them as they came stumbling through the door,
still arguing amongst themselves. "You're not
moving in, are you?"
Frohike smiled and headed straight for the
kitchen as if he dropped by every day, plopping
his paper sack and cooler on the counter with a
thunk. "As much as the idea of living with you
thrills me, the security measures in this
apartment building aren't quite up to our
standards," he said.
"Obviously, if they let you in," Langly sniped,
following close on Frohike's heels. The black
tee shirt all but hidden behind the two greasy
pizza boxes he carried looked freshly
laundered. Scully was touched that he had
dressed up for the occasion.
"Don't mind him, Agent Scully," Byers said.
"He's just a little upset about the thought of
watching a movie that doesn't star Jackie Chan.
He says that girlie movies give him hives."
Byers politely waited for Scully to usher him
into the kitchen, where he plunked his two
heavy bags on the counter next to the rest of
their cache.
"Chick flicks give me hives, Byers, chick
flicks! Not girlie movies!" Langly said,
offended to hear his manliness impugned.
"Yeah, we all know Langly likes girlie movies.
I'm not the only one who stands to inherit
Mulder's video collection," Frohike joked. He
froze, realizing what he'd said, and the other
men shot daggers at him with their eyes.
"Sorry, Scully," Frohike apologized, "I didn't
mean to*"
Scully chuffed a laugh, ignoring the pain she
felt at hearing Mulder and inheritances
mentioned in the same breath, knowing that
Frohike hadn't meant anything by it. "It's
okay, really, I'm quite well aware of Mulder's
viewing habits," she said. "Anyway, Langly,
it's not like you weren't warned about the
movie."
She rummaged through the bags, finding several
kinds of soda, a family size package of
tortilla chips, another of potato chips, a huge
jar of salsa, and a half-gallon of rocky road
ice cream. Either they're stockpiling for the
real new millennium, she thought, or they think
I'm eating for two. She was sure that they
knew, or at least suspected, that she was
pregnant, although she hadn't told them.
"Jesus, guys," she said, feeling like a Price
Club version of Mary Poppins as she pulled more
and more snack foods from a seemingly
bottomless sack. "You must have spent a
fortune!"
"Not really," Langly said, very pleased with
himself. "We have a connection who supplies
all our parties."
Scully raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You
guys have a lot of parties, do you?" she asked.
"That's classified," Frohike said with a wink.
First karaoke, now this. Scully was learning
more about the Gunmen tonight than she had in
all the years she'd known them, and it was a
little disturbing. She covered her mouth with
her hand to keep from laughing, and distracted
herself by opening the cooler. Inside, packed
in ice, she found two bottles of sparkling
grape juice. Now she *knew* they knew she was
pregnant.
"Grape juice? What, don't I rate some real
champagne?" she asked, drying the bottles with
a dishtowel and mockingly examining the labels
for vintages. "Or does your connection not
supply alcohol?"
"We just thought we'd be careful," Byers said.
He studiously avoided eye contact as he took
the bottles from her hands.
"Yeah, we don't want to drink too much and let
any of our secrets slip out," Frohike
continued, as he turned to put the ice cream in
the freezer.
"You never know when a G-woman's apartment
might be bugged," Langly chimed in,
scrutinizing the topping-to-surface ratio of
the pizzas with intense concentration.
"It's the real turn of the millennium after
all, we have to be on top of our game, just in
case something happens," Byers concluded,
finally looking at her and giving her his most
earnest expression.
"Mm hm, right," Scully said as she began
pulling plates and glasses out of the cupboards
and handing them to the Gunmen. "You know, I
tried to convince Mulder of that last year,
about this being the real start of the new
millennium, but he just called me a math geek."
"Well, you are certainly looking very lovely
this evening for a math geek, Agent Scully,"
Frohike said, piling pizza onto his plate.
"And believe me, Mulder has called us a lot
worse than that that over the years," Langly
assured her.
"I'll bet," Scully said dryly, as they all
headed into the living room and settled in
front of the television with their food and
sodas. Byers, Langly, and Frohike sat in a row
on her couch, lined up like patients waiting to
have a tooth pulled. They stared at the black
TV screen in dread of what she was going to put
them through.
"Listen guys," she said, taking a sip of ginger
ale. "I know you know, so we might as well cut
the crap." She turned the television and VCR
on with the remote control and pushed 'play'.
"Know? Know what?" Frohike said. He busied
himself removing his fingerless gloves before
reaching for his glass and taking a long, noisy
gulp of Dr. Pepper.
"Yeah, we don't know what you're talking
about," Langly feebly protested around a bite
of pepperoni pizza.
Byers, being even worse at lying than the other
two, just fingered his tie and read the FBI
warning on the screen with rapt attention.
"I'm sure you figured this out when I called
from the hospital to ask you to help Doggett,
if not before then. It's not like you haven't
hacked into my medical records before," she
said.
"What? We would never*" Frohike began, as Vic
Damone's warbling wafted from the television.
"Save it, Frohike, I know the truth. Mulder
told me all about your rather questionable ways
of helping me out over the years, and I'm not
bringing it up because I'm angry. Although I
probably should be," she said, picking at a
crust of her pizza.
"I just think you guys should know that I'm
pregnant. I was hoping to keep it to myself
until I could tell Mulder, but apparently that
isn't going to be possible."
Scully was surprised at the steadiness of her
voice. She had been afraid of breaking down in
front of them, but after the nightmare of
telling Bill it seemed nothing could phase her.
"You mean you and Mulder were*are*" Langly
stammered, somehow sounding surprised. For
someone so knowledgeable about government
conspiracies and covert operations, he was
really quite naive.
"That lucky bastard," Frohike muttered
affectionately. "Does this mean I get to be
Uncle Melvin?"
Scully paused and cocked her head, taking the
idea under consideration. "I think you'll have
to discuss that with Mulder," she finally
responded, glad to be able to leave at least
that decision to him. "Anyway, I'd appreciate
it if you'd keep this to yourselves. The only
other people who know right now are my family
and Assistant Director Skinner. I'd like to
keep it that way as long as possible."
The three men nodded and were silent for a
moment. Deborah Kerr returned Cary Grant's
cigarette case, and his verbal volleys, before
Byers finally spoke. "Congratulations, Agent
Scully. You're going to be a wonderful
mother," he said quietly.
"Yeah, anyone who could keep Mulder in line all
these years*" Langly said vaguely. He still
seemed a little stunned.
Frohike reached across the gap between the
couch and Scully's chair and clasped her hand
in his. "We're going to find him, Scully, I
swear. He'll be home before the baby's born."
Don't make promises you can't keep Frohike, she
wanted to warn him; you'll be sorry you did.
Instead she simply smiled and nodded, touched
by the suspicious glistening in his eyes. "I
hope so," she whispered. She squeezed his hand
briefly before releasing it, turning away as
tears slid down her cheeks. Her heart was
suddenly full of affection for these strange
men who loved Mulder almost as much as she did.
They would never give up hoping that he would
be returned, or working to find him, and
knowing that gave her a measure of peace.
Scully sighed softly, remembering the promise
she had made so easily. She had been dreading
New Year's Eve for weeks, hating the feeling
that she had somehow betrayed Mulder, even
while knowing that he would never blame her
himself. There was no way either of them could
have imagined how their lives would change just
a few short months from that warm May night.
Perhaps she had absorbed his capacity for
misplaced guilt, taking it into her soul as
surely has she had taken him into her body.
Strangely, though, watching the Gunmen as they
rolled their eyes and made snide comments to
each other about the movie, she felt close to
Mulder, closer than she had since the last time
she had held him, standing in her bedroom,
trying not to cling too long. Maybe she didn't
break her promise after all, she thought,
absently placing her hand on her belly as she
felt an almost imperceptible fluttering inside
her. Mulder was always present in her mind and
heart, and for a moment that was enough.
END
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
In case you were wondering...
*The story's title comes from the song "Man
>From Mars" from Joni Mitchell's Taming the
Tiger album:
I call and call
The silence is so full of sounds
You're in them all
I hear you in the water
And the wiring in the walls
Man from Mars
This time you went too far
*The song Scully mentions in the opening scene
is "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" by
Frank Loesser. I'm partial to the Harry
Connick, Jr. version, though Mel Torme's ain't
half bad, either.
*The book Mulder gives Scully is a 1940s
edition of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte,
with engravings by Fritz Eichenberg. Mulder's
inscription is from the last chapter. Although
Mr. Lockwood says the words rather snidely of
Hareton and Catherine, I've always thought they
were a beautiful description of the power of
love.
*The movie Scully tortures the Gunmen with is
the 1957 three-hankie classic "An Affair to
Remember".
To my three wonderful beta readers:
Bonnie -- thanks for holding my hand throughout
the whole process. In the immortal words of
Chicago, you're the inspiration.
Amanda -- thanks for your infectious
enthusiasm, and especially for helping me get
past that pesky writer's block.
Marie -- thank you for your kind and honest
opinions, and for helping put the final polish
on this story.
To everyone else, thanks for reading. Please
drop me a line at emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
__________________________________________________
(
geocities.com/xmas_files)