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Impossible Choices 1 CLASSIFICATION - MSR, Mythology, character
angst. "Georgetown Memorial. Go there now Agent Scully." I blink eyes in response to the cold, hard voice that rings menacingly in my ear through the telephone handset I have fumbled for in the dark just seconds earlier. "Who is this?" I demand. I don't expect an explanation. I'm just asking out of habit more than anything else. Falling back on my years of investigative training, unconsciously slipping in to the mode of an Agent of the FBI. "Georgetown Memorial Agent Scully. He's waiting for you." A click as the connection is severed, leaving me half leaning out of the bed as if bringing myself closer to the phone will make the mystery caller miraculously reappear. He doesn't though, and after a few seconds, the sound of the dialling tone is replaced with a high pitched whine that urges me to replace the handset. I can't seem to move though. It's as though those four words have turned me to stone. I understand their hidden meaning immediately. I've been waiting to hear them, every second of every minute of every day for over seven months now. I've heard them in my dreams so many times. Been forced from the arms of sleep by the sound of Mulder's voice in my head, only to be confronted by an empty room that is darkened by the shadows of night. Darkened by the fact that he isn't here. I have found myself living my day to day existence hidden behind a wall of steel. Allowing no one to see or understand my innermost feelings. It's been hard enough just coping with the whispers that follow me along the halls of the Hoover building. Head held high, I have retreated within myself. But it has hurt so much. Special Agent Dana Scully MD. Pregnant with Spooky Mulder's baby. The fact that he is missing has made little impact on my peers. If anything it has become a great source of amusing speculation for them. With Mulder gone I have finally slipped effortlessly in to the role of Mrs Spooky. A name Tom Colton christened me with so long ago, but one which hadn't really stuck. Until now that is. I am aware, as I always have been, that I work within a man's world and a heavily pregnant female Agent is obviously a little hard for the members of the boy's club to swallow. Of course I'm not on field work now. I haven't been for some months. Skinner allowed me to stay within the Bureau in a strictly supervisory role. My new *partner* - even now the word sticks in my throat - does the leg work for me. Reporting back to me, keeping constant contact through cell phone and e-mail as I sit at Mulder's desk, in Mulder's chair, in Mulder's office. His nameplate still graces the thick hardwood door. His handwriting still categorises the filing cabinets. I have changed very little in the layout of the office. It's an office I have, these past months, shared with a ghost. The ghost of the man I refused to mourn. So sure was I that he would return. I never stopped believing. And now, as I stare dumbly at the phone, I realise with a start, that it is finally over. <He's waiting for you> It's enough to galvanise me in to action. The extra weight of the baby inside me makes moving quickly difficult at best, but for the first time in weeks, I manage to swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet in one fluid movement. My back protests just for a second but the pain is quickly forgotten as I grab my robe from the hook at the back of the door and exit the bedroom. Heedless of the lateness of the hour, I hurry over to the sofa where my Mother sleeps, wrapped in a heavy quilt to protect her against the chill winter air. I don't notice the cold though. Because he's waiting for me. "Mom?" She awakens before I have even closed my mouth. Instantly alert as she struggles in to a sitting position. "What is it honey? Is it the baby?" I realise my mistake as her eyes widen in anticipation. She has been here in the apartment with me for almost a week now. Insisting that, as I grew nearer to my due date, that I shouldn't be alone. Not once did she suggest that I should be the one to move in with her. I didn't need to explain my motives for remaining here for as long as possible. She just knew. She immediately understood that I needed to be here for when Mulder returned and I loved her for it. Seeking to reassure her that I am indeed okay I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently. "No, Mom, I'm fine. But I need you to drive me to the hospital. I........I got a call......and...." I feel the tears rush to my eyes as I stumble over words that stick in my throat like glue. I've waited for this for so long, and now the moment's here, I can't bear to acknowledge it. I can't bear to tempt fate by speaking his name aloud. Because I'm afraid that if I do, I will wake up and realise that this is all a cruel trick of my mind. But she understands immediately, grasping my hand even as she rises to her feet before me, enveloping me in an awkward hug that calms me immediately. "It's Fox isn't it?" I can only nod shakily against her shoulder as the tears begin to flow. So much sorrow, so much hope, so much disappointment. I'm not sure I can bear anymore. Not sure I can bear it if this turns out to be a hoax of some kind. But her touch calms me marginally. "It's okay sweetie. I'll get dressed." *************** Georgetown Memorial Hospital 3:41a.m. I head through the automatic doors in to the foyer of this vast building. It's a building I know all too well. Too many visits over the last few years have made it as familiar to me as my own apartment and I skirt around the edges of the humanity which are milling around within it's confines in an attempt to get to the admissions desk with as much haste as possible. It's Sunday morning and the aftermath of Saturday night is still pressing down heavily on the hospital's resources but despite this, the desk, when I finally reach it, is clear of people. The nurse behind it raises his eye brows questioningly as I stand before him, his gaze flickering over my burgeoning belly. The fact though that I am seemingly alone, fully dressed and exhibiting all the calm I can muster reassures him immediately that I am not in labor. That my business here is unconnected with the tiny new life I am growing within me. "Can I help you Ma'am?" I feel a hand rest gently on the small of my back as my Mother finally caches up with me. With typical practicality, she has been parking the car in the designated long-stay parking area. Like me, she is already sure that one way or the other, this will be a long night. Her presence gives me the courage to open my mouth. Flipping my little used FBI identification out of the pocket of the long, black jacket I wear I hold it in front of him. "My name is Dana Scully. I have reason to believe that my partner may have been brought in here at sometime during the night." The nurse is obviously more in awe of female government Agents than my own work colleagues are because he immediately snaps in to action, tapping a few words in to the computer terminal beside him. "Okay Agent Scully. I have admissions up now. Can I take the name of your partner please?" I close my eyes, praying silently to myself even as I feel my baby kick impatiently inside me, almost as though he is urging me to make haste. To take him finally to his father. "His name is Fox Mulder..........but he may not have been in a condition to give his name. He..........he has been missing for a long time......" The nurse shakes his head, cutting me off abruptly. "I'm sorry Agent Scully. No one of that name has been admitted tonight.......it's been a crazy night though.....I could check descriptions of any John Does though if you wanted...." I manage to flash him a grateful smile despite the worry that is gnawing away at me. <Please God, don't let this be another hoax.> "Yes, please if you would." His fingers fly across the keys once again and out of the peripherals of my vision I see a list of figures flash up on the screen in answer to his query. He doesn't look up at me as he quickly asks me for basic descriptions. Age, height, approximate weight, hair color possible nature of injury. I answer quickly, stumbling over his final question and I have to admit to him that I have no idea. Injury could be as insignificant as a cut finger, as mind numbing as a fatality with every possible scenario in between. Finally, he looks up at me, smiling reassuringly, no doubt in response to both my condition and the fact that I am now gripping the edge of the admissions desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles. No doubt my face is similarly devoid of color. "Okay Agent Scully. I have four males who have been admitted to the ER in the past twenty-four hours. Two suffering from gunshot wounds.......I'm sorry, but they were pronounced dead shortly after arrival. The other two - both IC one males in their late thirties/early forties, approximately six feet tall are still in the hospital. One suffering from minor concussion and apparent memory loss is unable to furnish us with his personal details at this time. The other.........." He frowns suddenly as he skims his eyes over the details on the screen. "The other was admitted three hours ago. But there must be a glitch in the system somewhere. It says here that he was discovered on a gurney. Unconscious and apparently physically unharmed. No admitting information aside from that..........I'm sorry, if you hold here for a minute I'll try...." I raise my hand slightly to cut him off. <Mulder> "That's him." I insist ignoring the way his eyes widen in response to my tone and I realise how it must sound. Of course he has no way of knowing that I have more insight in to this than they can ever imagine in their worst nightmares. "Could you please tell me where he is?" He shakes his head apologetically. "I'm sorry Agent Scully. It's standard procedure in cases like these to first ascertain some kind of connection between the John Doe and the relative.......I'm sorry, but you don't fall in to the criteria of relative......now if you could perhaps furnish us with the details of his next of kin so that a proper identif......" I can't believe I'm hearing this. Seven months of waiting. Seven months of heart wrenching uncertainty only to be now held up by bureaucratic red tape. But I have a final card hidden deep within my sleeve, one which this eager young man couldn't possibly have imagined. FBI Agents or not, we have a connection that will slice effortlessly through the bureaucracy. "If you would care to check Agent Mulder's past medical records you will see that as from January 1997 *I* am listed as his next of kin." His expression hovers somewhere between a new kind of respect and out and out disbelief. I'm sure he's heard the same proclamation a hundred times in the past from desperate individuals searching for their loved ones. "That might take a couple of minutes to check up on Agent Scully. If you'd like to take a seat for a few minutes, I'll have someone come down and speak to you." I follow the direction in which he waves, seeing row upon row of hard, uncomfortable leather backed chairs. No doubt I would be more comfortable standing, especially now that the baby weighs so heavily on my frame, but I don't want to make waves so I acquiesce and allow my Mother to lead me away from the admissions area. We sit, not speaking. I'm not sure that I could at this point. Anticipation has stolen my voice from me. My mouth is dry, my head beginning to throb with the suppressed tension that has been threatening to burst free ever since my telephone rang, tearing me from sleep. It was less than an hour ago. It feels like centuries. But I'm okay. I can get through this. I have to. For Mulder I will remain calm. To start shouting now would only delay what needs to be done in order to see him. Out of a desperate need to do something with my hands, I begin to gently trace circles over my belly with my palms, feeling the solid, reassuring presence of my baby's tiny rump through my taut skin. Like magic, my breathing slowly returns to normal. I have waited for so long. I can wait another few minutes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my Mother's hand reaching across for mine, but instead of grasping it, she simply covers it with hers, smiling gently at me as she too feels the tiny boy who lays, protected within. Not once in the last seven months has she allowed herself to voice the fears she must surly hold. Fears for what might happen if my stubborn assurances that Mulder would indeed return should prove fruitless. Not once has she berated me for not admitting to the intimate relationship Mulder and I shared in those last weeks before he was taken. Not once has she questioned my choices. Not once. She is of course, in the minority. My eyes are still locked on to the vision of our two hands caressing my baby when the voice cuts in to my thoughts. "Doctor Scully?" I get to my feet immediately finding myself face to face with a man that I recognise from so long ago. "Doctor Daley?" my voice must be bordering on incredulous, because he smiles reassuringly at me. Extending his hand which I grasp briefly. "It's good to see you Dana,,,,,I was about to ask how you were.....but I see you are indeed blooming. Literally." "Thank you. Doctor Daley........Can you tell me? Is my partner here?" He releases my hand. Becoming all business once again. But his expression is troubled. I see it clearly in his eyes. "I'm not sure Dana. When I received the call a few minutes ago telling me you were here, asking after him, it immediately fell in to place. There had been something bothering me about the way we found him, no admission paperwork, no notes on how he came to be there. Just like you were found....but I confess, I never really thought to make the connection. Five years is a long time in a busy hospital Dana.......it's been a crazy night and....." I shake my head. Waving away his apologies. "It's okay. I understand, really I do. But I need to see him. Please. Can you take me to him?" I am holding on to my composure by just a thread now and I know that if he refuses, I will simply push past him and search this damn hospital until I find what I am looking for. The potential consequences of those actions mean nothing to me. Maybe he sees that, because he nods carefully. But there is caution in his tone as he grasps my arm. "I'll take you there Dana. But understand that it might *not* be your partner." I swallow heavily. Chasing away the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corners of my eyes. "It's him." I whisper. "It has to be." |
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