By Polly
polly122456@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Welcome and appreciated
Classification: MSR, post-episode
Spoilers: Post "Vienen" (Season 8), and little
references to lots of episodes
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Skinner, the Lone
Gunmen, and Doggett, belong to CC, 1013, DD, GA, et
al. No money is being made - who would pay me for my
writing? No one I know.
Archive: If you want it, it's yours; just let me
know.
Notes: Written for the Haven March Challenge to
"Tell Us a Story"; elements at the end. Couldn't
find a beta, so all errors are mine; I apologize in
advance.
Thanks: Thanks to all those who inspire me to keep
trying, and to Steph for her patience as I put aside
our joint fic project to work on this first. (I
wasn't too mean to Doggett in her honor.)
Summary: Mulder tells Scully a bedtime story.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The humming was the last straw.
The day started badly and went downhill from there.
She had initially been summoned to an early-morning
meeting in Deputy Director Kersh's office, along with
Mulder, Doggett, and Skinner, but that order had been
rescinded by a phone call at 5 a.m. Instead, she was
to report to Quantico to conduct three autopsies, the
first scheduled to begin at 7:30 a.m. *sharp*.
Punishment doled out by Kersh for her insubordination
on the Galplex Petroleum case.
That phone call was followed by one from Skinner 15
minutes later. He was being sent to a marathon
budget meeting at the Justice Department, more of
Kersh's wrath. When Kersh told him Scully was being
sent to Quantico for the day, he had tried to
intervene on her behalf, he told her, citing her
"delicate condition"; but Kersh countered that if she
was healthy enough to conduct unauthorized autopsies,
she was healthy enough to conduct authorized ones.
She had spoken to Mulder briefly when he and Doggett
touched down in Galveston, learning they were both
all right but not much else about what transpired in
the Gulf of Mexico. They couldn't get a flight back
to D.C. until late last nigh, so that was the last
time she talked to him. As she showered and dressed
quickly in order to make it to Quantico on time, she
wondered if Mulder and Doggett were still due in
Kersh's office or if each had been sent on his own
punishment detail.
By the time she returned to the Hoover in the late
afternoon, she wanted nothing more than to find
Mulder to dole out her own brand of punishment.
First, she'd give him a piece of her mind for scaring
her half to death, and then she'd show him just how
glad she was to have him home safe and sound. Both
would be sheer torture, each effective in their own
way. When he finished begging her for mercy, she
wanted to hear every last detail of what happened out
on that oilrig.
She had headed toward the basement office, intent on
propping up her swollen ankles while typing her
preliminary autopsy findings as quickly as possible.
Instead, she was met by a frantic Skinner who quickly
filled her in on the details of Mulder's dismissal
from the Bureau. He explained that after Kersh
happily lowered the boom, Mulder returned to the X-
Files office, spoke briefly with Agent Doggett,
turned in his badge, gun, and cell phone to Skinner's
assistant, and left the building.
Skinner said Doggett had tried to call Scully at
Quantico, but her cell phone was turned off and he
was informed she had left explicit instructions not
to be disturbed.
She had left no such instructions, of course, and she
swore at Kersh under her breath as she listened to
Skinner detail the steps he had taken to locate
Mulder, all to no avail, after returning from the
Justice Department. Skinner was just leaving to
conduct a personal search when he had been called to
an emergency meeting with the Director and the
Attorney General. Now the search would be left up to
her alone.
'Don't worry,' she had told Skinner. 'I'll find him.
I'll keep you posted.' She was sure Mulder was fine,
just laying low, taking some time to feel sorry for
himself and heal his wounded pride before picking
himself up, dusting himself off, and starting all
over again. She was sure he wouldn't do anything
rash or foolish. Would he?
Her first stop had been Casey's Bar. Mulder wasn't
ordinarily a drinking man, but she knew he had
frequented Casey's a time or two when the future of
the X-Files was in jeopardy. As desperate as she was
to find him quickly, she was relieved that no one at
the bar had seen Mulder all day.
Next stop, the Gunmen's office in Takoma Park where
she had hoped they weren't answering the phone at
Mulder's insistence. But she was dismayed to find
them arriving in their parking lot the same time she
did, just returning from an all day conspiratorial
reconnaissance mission. She waited while they
checked voicemail and email, but no messages from
Mulder. As she climbed in the car, Frohike held the
door and told her, 'We'll find him. Don't worry.'
But she *was* worried, more so as the hours passed
with no word on Mulder's whereabouts. In between
calls to his answering machine and hers, she
continued to search.
The secluded park near the Tidal Basin where they had
picnicked and made love only a few weeks before he
was taken.
*Their* bench beside the Reflecting Pool.
The baseball diamond where he'd taught her about the
importance of doing unnecessary things and how to
slap a piece of horsehide with a fine piece of ash.
All devoid of Mulder.
Just like his apartment, where the only signs of life
were his fish gurgling happily in their aquarium and
the frantic blinking of his answering machine.
Nothing to indicate he had been home since leaving
for work that morning. Nothing to indicate where he
might be.
So she had headed for home, a dull headache building
behind her eyes, ready to give up the search and wait
for him to come to her, as she knew he eventually
would. Wouldn't he?
Her resignation quickly turned to relief as she
searched for a parking space and noticed a familiar
car parked outside her building. Her feet barely
touched the ground as she flew toward her apartment
door, making a mental note to modify the torturous
agenda she had planned earlier in the day. First she
would comfort him, cry with him, support him, and
love him. *Then* she'd kill him for breaking his "no
ditching" promise twice in three days.
All day she had feared what his reaction to this
setback would be, but nothing prepared her for the
sight she beheld when she opened the apartment door.
A basket of folded laundry sat on the floor beside
the television set. The kitchen table was set for
two, placemats and linen napkins, a vase of fresh
flowers in the table's center, candles standing in
her grandmother's candlesticks, waiting to be lit.
She took some cautious steps forward and closed the
door behind her, fearful she was in some alternate
universe. She peered into the kitchen and saw her
partner standing in front of the stove, tea towel
tossed over his shoulder, face flushed as steam rose
from the pot he was stirring. Spaghetti sauce was
bubbling on the back burner, its aroma filling the
apartment.
He had looked up as soon as he sensed her presence
and immediately asked where she'd been. He was
getting worried, he said, having called Quantico and
being told she had left hours ago.
"Where have *I* been?" she'd asked incredulously.
"Mulder, where the hell have you been?"
He proceeded to tell her how he'd spent his day, all
the while sipping iced tea and tending to the dinner
he was preparing, stirring the spaghetti, adding
dressing to the salad, and placing the garlic bread
in the oven.
After his meeting with Kersh he had come back to her
apartment, took a nap because he hadn't gotten much
sleep for the past few days, then gone to the grocery
store to pick up the ingredients so he could surprise
her with dinner. In the afternoon he had done three
loads of laundry, and while waiting for the last load
to finish in the dryer, he had organized her storage
area in the basement.
"I figured after the baby comes we're going to have
to move some of your things down there, to make room
for the crib and the cradle and stuff. I just
thought as long as I was down there I'd get it
organized. You really shouldn't just toss stuff in
there, Scully. You'd have a lot more room if you
just stacked it neatly."
Her mouth had been hanging open during his entire
explanation. He had cleaned, and cooked, and done
laundry - concepts as alien to him as any
extraterrestrials; he must be *really* shook. She
was finally able to form words, asking why he hadn't
answered the phone when she and Skinner had called.
He slapped his forehead like a V-8 commercial. He'd
turned the ringer off, he said, so he could take a
quality snooze, and he'd forgotten to turn it back
on. He apologized for worrying her unnecessarily,
checked the garlic bread, and suggested she go
change, as dinner was almost ready.
"I don't want to eat, Mulder, I want to talk about
what happened today," she said, just as her stomach
betrayed her with a loud growl.
"Ah, your lips say 'no-no' but your tummy says 'yes-
yes'," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Go
change, Scully. Food first, conversation later."
She took a few steps and then turned back. "Mulder,
are you *sure* you're all right?" she asked.
"I'm *fine*, Scully," he said, taking hold of her
shoulders and planting a light kiss on her lips.
Then he spun her around and gave her a little shove
toward the bedroom.
This was all a dream, she decided, as she slipped out
of her tailored maternity suit and into her sweats.
She'd probably somehow been exposed to another giant
hallucination-inducing mushroom and this whole day
had never happened. Since Skinner and the Gunmen had
been part of the dream, before returning to the
kitchen she called them to report that Mulder had
been found and seemed no worse for wear. She'd have
a good laugh about this - once she woke up.
He had been chatty and cheerful during dinner,
excited about starting the Lamaze classes with her
next week and anxious to go shopping for baby
furniture. He had deftly changed the subject each
time she mentioned Kersh, the Bureau, or the oilrig.
He whistled as he cleared the table, suggesting she
go get ready for bed while he loaded the dishwasher.
If this isn't a dream, he's having a nervous
breakdown, she thought, heading for the bedroom.
So now she sat in bed, propped up by the pillows
behind her back, twiddling her thumbs, waiting while
he brushed his teeth in the bathroom.
Brushing his teeth and humming. Three Dog Night.
'Joy to the World."
It was the last straw.
By the time he snapped off the bathroom light and
paused by the nightstand to remove his wristwatch,
she was loaded for bear. But her resolve to get to
the bottom of his uncharacteristic behavior was
nearly undone by the sight of him. Other than 'au
naturel,' this was surely her favorite vision of
Mulder: hair spiky and damp from his quick shower,
plaid pajama bottoms, gray tee shirt, barefoot,
unshaven.
Nope, she would not - could not - be distracted. She
had to be strong. For his sake as well as hers.
Finally, she spoke. "Mulder, what the hell is wrong
with you?"
"What?" he rubbed his wrist and met her stare. "What
do you mean?"
"Mulder, you were *fired* today. Canned, axed,
sacked, shown the door, handed your walking papers."
"Sounds like crap when you say it." He sat down on
the edge of the bed, keeping his back to her, and
fiddled with the watch he had placed on the night
table.
"It's not funny, Mulder," she said, punching his
pillow and scrunching it in her lap. "When I found
out what happened and I couldn't find you today, I
was terrified. I had a thousand different scenarios
running through my head, and they all ended badly."
"Geez, Scully, is that what you think of me?" He
turned his upper body to face her. "It sounds like
you expected to find me with my head in the oven.
Sorry if I disappointed you."
"Well, *I'm* sorry if this hurts your feelings, but I
was more prepared to find you with your head in the
oven than putting a loaf of garlic bread in one."
She reached out her hand to him, but he turned back
to face the wall. "Mulder, I think this whole foray
into domestic tranquility is your way of not dealing
with your real feelings."
"No, it's not," Mulder said, sliding into bed beside
her. "Just because you didn't come home to find me
in a babbling heap on the floor doesn't mean I'm not
dealing with my real feelings, Scully. I'm dealing
with my feelings just fine."
"Mulder, you're taking this lying down, and I know
you. Those are *not* you real feelings." She
reached for his hand and this time he didn't pull
away. "I'm not saying I expected you to fall to
pieces, but I'll tell you what I did expect. I
expected anguish and distress, followed quickly by
outrage and righteous indignation. I expected
ranting and raving and throwing things and vowing to
make the bastards pay, no matter what. Because you
were right, Mulder. You've been right about this
thing all along. And this is how they repay you for
being right and it sucks."
He laughed out loud and a huge grin plastered across
his face. "Did I hear that correctly? You said I
was right all along?"
"Mulder, I know that you're putting up this brave
front for my sake, and I appreciate it, I really do,
but you don't have to." She pulled his hand between
both of hers and held it tight. "Things are
different now. We're not alone in this anymore.
Skinner and Doggett, they've both seen what we've
seen. We can fight this, Mulder. We can get your
job back."
"I don't want my job back, Scully."
She looked at him as if he'd grown another head.
"What?"
"I don't want my job back. I've been thinking about
this for the last few weeks, since you were in the
hospital." He glanced down, gathering his thoughts,
then looked her straight in the eye. "I didn't tell
you because I wasn't sure before, but now I am.
Kersh did me a favor today, though I'd never let him
know that. Saved me from typing up my resignation.
I just thought I'd let him have his jollies, didn't
want to rain on his parade. My last act of goodwill
as a federal employee."
Scully frowned. "But I don't understand. Why? Why
now? After everything we've ... why?"
"Because of something that happened to me out on that
oilrig. It made things crystal clear."
"Okay, that settles it," Scully pushed herself up
straighter in the bed. "I want to hear exactly what
happened on your little pleasure cruise and I want to
hear it *right* now."
"Not tonight, Scully," Mulder said. "You've been on
your feet all day. You're beat. We'll have plenty
of time to talk about it later."
"No way, Mulder. We're going to talk about it now.
I'm not that tired. And besides, I couldn't sleep
now even if I wanted to." She rubbed her hands across
her belly and winced slightly. "The baby has decided
to play kickball from one side of my uterus to the
other."
"Not kickball. Basketball," Mulder said, spreading
his fingers over her stomach. "He knows that the
Knicks are playing the Lakers later tonight and
Daddy's gonna get up and watch. I'd invite you and
Junior to join me, but you need your rest, Scully.
You're sleeping for two, now."
She flashed a mocking smile. "I think it's more
likely that 'Junior' is reacting to the three pieces
of garlic bread I had for dinner, thank you very
much, Martha Stewart."
"Hey, I don't remember holding a gun to your head,"
Mulder began drawing small circles on her tummy with
his fingertip. "Besides, I don't have one any more."
"Seriously, Mulder, let's hear it."
He stopped the stomach massage and slid down in the
bed, opening his arms to invite her in. She complied
willingly, spooning up against him with a small sigh
as he pulled the covers over them. "Not sleepy, huh?
Well, then I think I should tell you a little bedtime
story."
"Mulder, I don't want to hear a bedtime story. I
want to hear what happened out there."
He squeezed her tighter and whispered in her ear.
"Well, if you sit back, relax, and listen carefully,
Scully, you might get lucky and get two for the price
of one."
She raised an eyebrow just slightly and settled back
against his chest, the steady beat of his heart
thumping softly in her ear. Hard to believe only a
few short months ago she thought she'd never hear
that heartbeat again.
"Okay, Father Goose. I'm all ears."
He chuckled a bit and began the story.
"Once upon a time there was a brave and gallant
knight, Sir Mulder of Hooverland. He was known as
Mulder the Fox because he was not only sly and
cunning, but astoundingly handsome and charming as
well."
"And modest."
"Shh ... no interrupting. Yes, he was incredibly
modest. The modest-est in the land. The good people
of Hooverland knew him as the Tireless Crusader,
Champion of Lost Causes, Friend to the Friendless,
Seeker of the Truth."
"Are you sure his name wasn't Sir Mulder of Hubris-
land?"
"If you keep interrupting, you won't hear the story,"
he said in a singsong voice.
"Okay, okay," she apologized. "Proceed."
"Let's see ... where was I ... oh yeah. It was a
dark and dismal time in Hooverland. The kingdom was
under the rule of the evil dictator Alvin the Awful,
a despicable man who governed with an iron fist and
who made it his personal mission to thwart Sir Mulder
and his theories and beliefs at every turn. Now,
because of his incredible intellect and highly
developed intuitive senses, Sir Mulder suspected that
danger was lurking nearby ..."
He ignored the snort from the woman filling his arms.
"... and he prepared to depart straightaway to
investigate and gather more evidence in his search
for the truth."
"But King Alvin took great pleasure in denying Sir
Mulder this opportunity. Ordinarily, Sir Mulder
would have taken this decision in stride because the
investigation would have been in the good hands of
his beautiful partner, the one he loved the most in
all the world and the one who completed him and made
him a whole person."
He paused for a moment to kiss Scully's hair.
"Her name was Lady Starbuck St. Scully. She was as
ravishing as she was brilliant, sagacious yet
enigmatic, and she had a dazzling smile that she
saved only for her beloved Sir Mulder. The day that
she joined Sir Mulder's quest was the best day of his
life; and even though he sometimes led her into
danger, or worse yet, made the mistake of leaving her
behind without a word, she remained steadfastly by
his side. And sometimes when he'd been beaten and
battered, or when he came crawling back from one of
the adventures he undertook without her, or when he
just wanted to quit, it was her faith and her smile
that kept him going. And he should have told her
that more often."
She sniffled. "Mulder ..."
"But this time, Lady Starbuck could not pick up the
gauntlet for the love of her life as she was heavy
with child, the product of their perfect union,
preparing to bear the fruit of his loins ..."
Scully brushed away a tear and laughed. "I thought
bedtime stories were supposed to be 'G' rated."
"Whoever told you that?" Mulder purred, pulling her
tighter. "I'll try to keep this one PG-13, but if
you keep wiggling over certain *areas* like that, I'm
not making any promises."
"I can't help it," she replied, placing a hand on her
stomach. "This bedtime story is having no effect on
settling down the 'fruit of your loins'."
Mulder placed his hand over hers. "Hey, kid, chill.
The story's just getting interesting."
Scully and Mulder smiled in unison as the flutter
under their fingers stopped abruptly. Scully
entwined her hand with his and he brought it to his
lips, grazing her knuckles with a feather light kiss.
"I think that's your cue to continue, Sir Mulder."
Mulder picked up the story with renewed vigor. "King
Alvin was obligated to dispatch someone to quell the
tempest that had been stirred by Sir Mulder, and he
wanted it done as quickly and quietly as possible.
So he decided to send Sir Mulder's apprentice, Squire
Doggett, to do the deed. Now Squire Doggett was a
trustworthy and capable knight in training, but he
was close-minded and suffered from a disturbing lack
of imagination. He was known throughout Hooverland
for his stubbornness and taciturn ways - and for his
oddly gigantic ears."
"Mulder ..." Scully interrupted again. "Stop picking
on Agent Doggett's ears. It's not very nice ... and
besides, that's significant how?"
"I was just trying to be thorough," he quipped, "and
besides, it's important later in the story."
"Well, he wouldn't make fun of your nose," she said.
"You know what they say about the size of a man's
nose, Scully. And his feet." He rubbed one foot
along her bare leg as if to illustrate the point. "I
don't believe I've ever heard that same comparison
made about the size of a man's ears ..."
"PG-13, Mulder."
"Right." He shook his head sadly. "Pity. Anyway,
armed with his assignment, Squire Doggett set out
from the land of Hoover not knowing that Sir Mulder
was already en route to their destination. And at
that point, little did anyone dream that it would be
the beginning of the end."
"Time out. Intermission. Hold that thought," Scully
said, tossing the covers back and scooting her
cumbersome form out of bed.
"What's wrong?"
"Bathroom," she explained. "The 'fruit of your
loins' has stopped playing basketball but is now
sitting on my bladder. I'll be right back."
When she returned, he was flat on his back, arms
outstretched, and she was afraid he had fallen
asleep. But as soon as the bed dipped from her
weight he opened his eyes and smiled, propped himself
on one elbow, and waited for her to spoon up against
him again, then tucked the covers around them.
"Comfy?"
"Very," she said. "I feel much better. You were
saying ... 'the beginning of the end' ..."
Mulder stroked the back of her hands as he talked.
"After their journey, Sir Mulder and Squire Doggett
found themselves face to face with their nemesis: A
great white whale known as Galplex Orpheus. Sir
Mulder suspected that the great whale had been
infected with a virus, placing all of mankind at risk
if the whale were to come ashore. But Squire Doggett
refused to believe, preferring to spend his time
initiating pissing contests with Sir Mulder to prove
he was in charge rather than uncovering the truth."
Scully smiled, picturing these two alpha males
posturing and preening, each trying to establish
dominance. But Mulder's voice quickly brought her
back to the story.
"Thanks to the tireless efforts of Lady Starbuck,
working behind the scenes at great personal risk to
herself and her reputation, Sir Mulder's theories
about the great white whale were proved correct. So
Lady Starbuck set out to find a way to slay the whale
without sacrificing Sir Mulder and Squire Doggett in
the process."
Scully's smile turned to a frown, remembering
Mulder's comment to 'tell the kid he went down
swinging.' How close had she really come to losing
him again? She didn't want to think about it.
"Meanwhile," Mulder continued, "Squire Doggett
finally opened his mind to extreme possibilities when
he was nearly infected by the black oil."
"What?" She leaned forward and turned her head to
look at him over her shoulder. "Why didn't you
mention that before?"
"Relax, he's all right," Mulder said, pulling her
back against him. "Thanks to the quick thinking and
fast action of Sir Mulder, that is. Now, it was
about this same time that Sir Mulder figured out
exactly what was going on aboard the Galplex Orpheus,
and realized that the great white whale was about to
be destroyed - taking himself and Squire Doggett
along with it."
"But thanks to Lady Starbuck, a rescue effort was
underway and Sir Mulder and Squire Doggett were
saved," Scully interjected.
"Who's telling this story?" Mulder asked, planting a
kiss on her temple. "True, a rescue effort was
afoot, but Sir Mulder couldn't be sure that help
would arrive in time. And as the great white whale
started to disintegrate under his feet, he had but a
single thought."
"Which was?" Scully asked when he paused.
He held her tighter and buried his head in her
shoulder. "He thought he would never get to see his
child and his child's mother again."
"Oh, Mulder ..." She turned her head slightly and
raised her hand to cup his cheek.
His voice was now soft and intimate. "You see, as
the flames and explosions surrounded him, Sir Mulder
realized that for the first time in his life he
wasn't thinking about losing the evidence that he had
worked so hard to find. He wasn't thinking about
government conspiracies or the annihilation of the
human race. He was thinking that he'd never get the
chance to look into his child's eyes. That he'd
never get the chance to kiss Lady Starbuck one more
time and tell her how much he loved her."
He bent forward to place his lips on hers, lightly
but sweetly, and he lingered there a long time before
breaking the contact.
"And at that moment, Sir Mulder made a promise to
himself that if he escaped the inferno, he would lay
down his sword and shield, strip off his suit of
armor, and devote the rest of his life to his
family."
Scully smiled and blinked back tears, taking his hand
in hers. "Is that the end?"
"Not quite," Mulder said, pulling her back to rest
against his chest again. "So Sir Mulder and Squire
Doggett slew the white whale, in a manner of
speaking, and they did escape unscathed, even though
Sir Mulder was still hoping to get that peg leg that
he'd longed for since childhood. And as they made
their way home, Sir Mulder conceded that Squire
Doggett had proven himself to be a worthy if somewhat
skeptical successor to the quest for the truth. But
Sir Mulder remembered an important lesson that Lady
Starbuck had taught him: sometimes even *skeptical*
people are worth the effort."
Scully smiled a satisfied smile and nodded.
"Not to mention the fact that Sir Mulder was
astounded by Squire Doggett's resourcefulness, as he
fashioned his humongous ears into giant sails to
catch a tailwind and help them return to Hooverland
that much sooner."
"Mulder ..."
"Hey, I *told* you the ears were important," he
laughed. "So the vanquished heroes returned to the
Land of Hoover where Sir Mulder had his armor
stripped for him and had his sword and shield, not to
mention his cell phone, taken away. But he left with
his head held high, shaking the hand of the heir
apparent, reminding *Sir* Doggett that the truth was
still out there and it was now his job to find it.
Now would you like to know the moral of the story?"
"Oh, there's a moral?" Scully asked.
"Of course," Mulder replied. "Every great tale has a
moral. The moral of this story is that sometimes you
can spend your whole life looking for something.
Your journey may take you far and wide - to the ends
of the earth even. But one day you'll wake up to
discover that the thing you've been looking for has
been right in your own backyard the whole time."
He was whispering in her ear again. "You see,
Scully, out there on that rig, I found something I
thought I'd lost ..."
Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered those
words he had spoken to her such a long time ago; it
seemed like a lifetime. In many ways, it *was* a
lifetime.
"... My way. I found my way, Scully. Remember when
I first came back I told you that I didn't know where
I fit in? Well, now I know. It's right here. I
finally experienced firsthand what Arthur Dales tried
to tell me. That at some point it's no longer
important to unlock the heart of the mystery. It's
important to unlock the mystery of the heart. That's
what I learned out on that rig and that's why I had
decided to quit if Kersh hadn't beaten me to the
punch. I want to spend the rest of my life following
my heart, Scully. I want to spend the rest of my
life with you, if you'll have me."
She kissed his fingertips. "That's what I want too,
Mulder."
"Are you sure? I'm out of work now, you know. A
bum."
"But a lovable bum," she countered. "Maybe you could
be a kept man."
"Oooh, I like the sound of that." He arched his
eyebrows and gave her a lascivious smile.
"I mean, who knew that you had such a talent for
cooking and cleaning? It might be kind of nice to
get home from work and have dinner on the table every
night ..." She giggled at his crestfallen
expression. "And of course, I can think of lots of
other 'chores' to keep you occupied, primarily in the
bedroom."
He laughed lustfully. "Heh, heh, heh. In that case,
I might be willing to put in lots of overtime," he
said. "But I don't do windows."
"I think that's a deal I can live with," she replied,
and turned slightly to look up at him. "I know it's
a little soon, but have you thought at all about what
you want to do?"
"I'm not sure, but I did think about it a lot today,"
his voice brightened and he looked hopeful as he
ticked off the possibilities. "I could teach, you
know? Or conduct seminars. Maybe courses in
criminal justice or even in the paranormal as it
relates to law enforcement. Think of all the cases
nowadays that deal with spiritualism, the occult,
that kind of stuff."
She nodded in agreement, pleased with his enthusiasm.
"Or I could write a book, Scully. You'll be my muse.
I could write about us - our experiences on the X-
Files."
"As long as you promise me it'll never be made into a
movie," Scully said. "I can't go through that kind
of embarrassment again."
He laughed. "You know, I could write freelance
articles for magazines or journals. I've done it
before. And if I did that, I could be a stay-at-home
Dad and take care of Junior after you go back to
work."
"Would you really want to do that?" she asked.
"I think I might like that, actually," he nodded.
"I've also been giving some thought to applying for a
part-time job with the National Center for Missing
and Exploited Children. Despite being fired from my
last position, I think I'd have a lot to offer them -
my skills as a profiler and FBI agent, and my
personal experience in that particular area. I
couldn't help Samantha, but maybe I could help other
kids."
"Oh, Mulder, I think that would be wonderful," Scully
said. "And I know Skinner would give you an
excellent recommendation. And I'll support whatever
decision you make 100 percent."
He placed another kiss in her hair. "I think we'll
be all right financially for awhile. It's time for
me to get off my duff and unload those properties
that the folks left me. That'll tide us over until I
can find something. I know this is right, Scully. I
can feel it in my heart."
"You're sure? No regrets?" she asked.
"None."
"Don't you even want to get any of your personal
things out of your office? Your awards, your plaques
..."
He shook his head. "That stuff doesn't matter to
me."
"What about your poster?" she questioned. "Your 'I
Want to Believe' poster? Don't you even want that?"
"I *already* believe," he replied. "I think I should
leave it there to inspire future generations. Maybe
it'll remind Agent Doggett to think outside the box
once in awhile."
"Okay," she said. "But what about your basketball?
Don't you want that?"
"No, I think I should leave that there to inspire
Agent Doggett too. Maybe he'll take up a real
sport."
When she looked at him quizzically, he explained.
"Agent Doggett likes *NASCAR*, can you believe that?
Auto racing - that's not a real sport."
"So it seems you and Agent Doggett bonded while you
were out on that rig, huh?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly," Mulder said
thoughtfully. "Maybe I respect him a little more,
maybe he respects me a little more. We didn't try to
drown each other. I'd say that's progress."
She giggled again and then tried unsuccessfully to
suppress a yawn.
"Aha, I see that my bedtime story has done the
trick!" he exclaimed, reaching over to turn off the
bedside lamp. As he lay down again, Scully managed
to turn her bulk to face him, and rested her head on
his shoulder.
"Better than warm milk, Mulder. Goodnight," she
said, kissing the scar on his chest where she'd shot
him - something else that happened a lifetime ago.
"Wait a minute," Mulder said before she drifted off.
"I forgot the most important part of the bedtime
story."
"What's that?" she asked sleepily, another yawn
escaping.
"And they lived happily ever after."
She smiled and was silent for a time, slipping her
fingers under his tee shirt and running them over the
coarse hair on his chest. Finally she spoke again.
"Do you really think we can, Mulder?"
"Can what?" he asked, on the brink of sleep himself.
"Live happily ever after?"
"I sure want to try, Scully," he replied.
"Goodnight. I love you." He pressed his lips against
her forehead and she snuggled closer.
"I love you too, Mulder," she whispered.
"Goodnight."
He had just closed his eyes again when a sleepy voice
beside him filtered through the darkness.
"And remember, Sir Mulder. You may not have a cell
phone or a peg leg or a job for that matter, but
you'll always be my knight in shining armor."
He sighed contentedly, and a smile formed on his
lips. The woman he loved was in his arms, he could
feel their unborn child moving between them, and he
was preparing to embark on a new chapter in his life.
Trying not to disturb Scully, he reached over and
turned off the alarm he had set on his wristwatch.
There would be other Knicks games. Tonight, he
didn't want this fairytale to end.
Finis
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Haven March Challenge Elements:
Tell us a story - folktale, urban legend, myth,
fairytale - it can be anything or everything
Something or someone getting, being, or becoming
organized
Whales
Torture
A Muse
Hubris
A Heart