By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
 

Summary:  post Three Words, Mulder and Scully
finally have it out.
Category:  V, A, MSR (eventually)
Rating: general
Disclaimer:  No copyright infringement intended
Author's notes:  I'm still bugged about Season 8.
Since Carter never managed to give us any answers
to some very obvious questions, I let the characters
tell us what really was going on.  They're much
better at it anyway!
Archive:  yes
Feedback: Please  vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Fitting in
by Vickie Moseley

Scully's apartment
1:15 am

She didn't bother to look behind her as she opened
the door and entered, taking off her coat with
exaggerated care and placing it in the closet.  He
stalked over to the sofa and stood next to it, stiff
backed, the anger still evident in his facial features
as it was in his body language.

"Mulder, either sit down or make yourself useful.  I,
for one, could use a cup of tea."

He didn't look in her direction, just paced his way
into the kitchen and as she lowered herself to the
couch cushions, she could hear the sound of water
filling her teakettle.

"There's iced tea in the refrigerator," she called, but
he entered the room with a bottle of beer.  "Oh,
yeah, I forgot that was in there."

"Sam Adams.  What about all those surgeon
general's warnings, Scully?" he bit off with a snide
glance in her direction.

"It's not mine.  It's -- "

"Well, it definitely isn't mine.  Any beer I left here
would be way out of date," he continued to rant,
refusing to look her way.

She was way passed tired and teetering on the verge
of pissed off, not a good combination.  "Mulder, for
God's sake, say what's on your mind," she shot
back.

"It's his, isn't it?  You're 'above reproach' partner?
Well, from where I was sitting tonight, I think you
should reconsider your views on reproachable
actions," he said stiffly, eyeing the small objects
and pictures on her mantel.

"Fine.  I knew this was coming.  Let's have it," she
countered, sitting back further on the sofa and
folding her arms across her chest.

He gave the cap a vicious twist, placed the rim to
his lips and chugged half the bottle, his gaze finally
resting on her, daring her to object.  When she
didn't, a brief look of disappointment flashed in his
eyes, but he leaned his elbow on the mantel and
with one hand on the bottle, the other fingered a
framed picture of her family, taken years before.

"He set me up," Mulder said, his voice a hoarse
whisper.  "And I'm beginning to think in more ways
than one."

"Who?  Doggett?  Mulder -- "

"Not Doggett.  Kersh.  This is just one more piece
in the puzzle.  But I have to admit, Scully, your part
in this little charade really surprises me.  I thought I
knew you better than that."

The teakettle whistled and she glared at him as he
strolled into the kitchen.  Gritting her teeth, she
followed him into the brightly lit room.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she growled as he
poured hot water into her favorite mug.

"Chamomile or Lemon?" he asked, digging through
the little tin where she stored her tea bags.

"Lemon and answer the question," she hissed.  "Just
what are you implying here?"

He handed her the mug and then leaned back
against the counter, draining the last of the beer.
With impeccable aim, he tossed the bottle in the
garbage and gave her a Cheshire cat grin.

"Mulder, you haven't answered me," she said in a
deadly calm voice.

"You let them hand you this guy, this partner, and
he then had complete access to every thing in the
files.  From what I gather, he was even in charge of
finding me.  No wonder you thought I was dead
when you found me, Scully," he said smugly.

"You son of a bitch," she hissed, coming close to
tossing the tea right in his face.  "You act like I just
let Doggett waltz in and take over!"
 
"Didn't you?  I mean, I was gone, what, not even a
week before his name starts showing up in reports
on investigations."

"How did you -- No, never mind.  I don't want to
know," Scully sneered and turned her back on him,
marching back to the sofa.  "You'll believe whatever
you want to believe, you always have!"

"So prove me wrong," Mulder said, following her
this time.

"I didn't think that was possible, Mulder," she said
frostily.  "I thought you were, how did you say it,
'right 99 percent of the time'?  I certainly wouldn't
want to spoil that record now with the facts."  She
sipped her tea, decided it wasn't what she wanted
and set it down on the coffee table, resting her feet
next to it.  When he didn't move from his position
towering over her, she looked up, prepared to do
battle again.  What she saw stopped her heart.

"Prove me wrong, Scully," he pleaded.  His eyes
were so desolate, his shoulders slumped.  She'd
never seen him look so totally defeated.  "Please,
prove me wrong," he said again in a whisper.

Suddenly, it all fell into place.  She understood his
words to her just days before.  'I have no idea where
I fit in'.  How could she have been so foolish to
ignore what he was trying to say?

Silently, she stood up and took his hand.  She
tugged and he started to follow, but when he
realized where she was headed, he balked.  "Scully,
I didn't mean -- "  She stopped his words with a well
manicured finger to his lips.  She tugged again and
this time he followed willingly.

When they arrived at her bedroom, he looked
around, uncomfortable.  He was nervous, chewing
on his bottom lip.  Without words, he scanned the
room, looking for changes from the last time he'd
been there.  His gaze finally rested on a framed
photograph on the bedside dresser.  She smiled as
she handed it to him.

"I found it in one of the old files.  I think I was
testing the camera for film," she explained.  It was a
black and white photo of him, standing at a crime
scene.  He couldn't tell by the background what case
it had been, there had been so many over the years.
On this particular day, the trees were bare and his
black trench coat whipped in the wind about his
legs.  He was staring out into the distance, thinking.
His face was in profile.  He probably hadn't even
been aware she'd taken the picture.

"Not my best side," he noted, trying to hide his
sudden embarrassment.

"Well, I disagree completely," she teased and took
the picture to place it back next to her phone.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her pillow and
pulled out some blue fabric.  With trembling hand,
she offered it to him.

Curiosity warred with concern on his features.  He
took the offered fabric and shook it out, examining
it.  Recognition was immediate.  It was his blue
oxford dress shirt.  "Scully, I admit to trying that
trick once, but it only sets in the wrinkles," he said
lightly, but his eyes told a different story.

"I'm sorry.  I should have taken it to the cleaners
before you were released from the hospital.  To tell
you the truth, it's been under my pillow for so long,
I forgot it was there.  When you were first missing,"
she stopped, her voice cracking.  He sat down on
the edge of the bed and pulled her next to him.

"Scully, don't.  I'm sorry.  I'm a bastard.  You don't
have to do this," he said in soothing tones, pulling
her to him and stroking her hair.

She pushed him away, not with force, but with a
steady hand.  "No.  You need to know.  You
deserve to know.  Mulder, when Skinner returned
and told me . . . that you had been taken . . . I was so
scared.  I was in the hospital and I'd just found out
about this," she patted her bulging stomach.  She
smiled up at him.  "My first thought after the doctor
confirmed the tests was that I couldn't wait to tell
you.  To tell you that I hadn't given up on that
miracle you promised me."

Tenderly, she took his hand and placed it on top of
hers as it rested on her stomach.  "Yes, Kersh did
put Doggett in charge of the team investigating your
disappearance.  But in the same way they made
assumptions about me when I was first assigned to
the X files, I feel they made assumptions about him.
I don't believe he's part of the conspiracy, Mulder.
You taught me enough paranoia that I don't fall for
someone's act so easily.  But I do believe they
assumed he would act in a certain manner, ignore
certain facts, and that if you were found, well, let's
just say that was at best a long shot."

He nodded and closed his eyes.  She placed her
palm against his cheek and he opened his eyes again
to look at her.  "I never stopped looking, Mulder.
You have to believe that."

"You had other things on your mind," he said, but it
was a weak attempt to counter her argument.

"No.  My pregnancy was a constant reminder that I
needed to find you.  How could I be happy about
this if you weren't there to share it with me?" she
asked, tears again filling her eyes.  One finally
streaked down her cheek, hanging on her chin for a
second before plunging down to land on the shirt.

"So, this white residue on my shirt?" he queried
with a corner of his mouth upturned.

"I told you I'll get it dry cleaned," she answered,
side-stepping his question.  "That shirt, silly as it
might sound, made me feel like you were here just
for a little while.  After a while, I couldn't even
smell your aftershave on it anymore.  Then it was
just the feel of the cotton against my face.  I
couldn't fall asleep without it.  After the funeral -- "
Finally, she broke down into tears.

This time when he pulled her to him, she didn't push
away.  She wrapped her arms around him and clung
to him as if her very life depended on it.  His arms
encircled her and he placed soft kisses on the crown
of her head.

"When I woke up, I didn't know where I was.  I
think for a moment I thought I'd finally died," he
said, his voice muffled by her hair.  "I just wanted
to be home so badly," he continued, a hitch in his
voice that caused her heart to ache.

"Mulder, don't ever think that Doggett . . . took your
place.  Not in the office, and certainly not in my
heart," she whispered, turning her face up to place
soft kisses on the fading scars on his cheek.
"Skinner, the Gunmen and I never stopped looking.
And then, when we found you . . ."  She broke
down again, sobbing openly this time.  "My God, I
never would have buried you if I thought -- "

"Guess you needed me to counter that argument,
huh?" he quipped, trying for some levity.

"Mulder, I can't -- how can I live with that?" she
cried in anguish.  "Knowing that I put you in the
ground -- "

"Scully, I think -- look at the facts, Scully.  You
knew something.  You had to, even though all the
evidence pointed to my being dead.  Why didn't you
allow an autopsy?  Why wasn't I embalmed?  Hell,
for that matter, what stopped you from having me
cremated like Mom?"  He said none of this with
accusation or retribution, just gentle curiosity.

Her throat was clogged with tears when she
answered.  "I couldn't let them touch you.  And . . .
and I told Skinner that you wanted a Jewish burial.
I don't know, Mulder.  I just -- the thought of an
autopsy just terrified me."

"Funny thought for a pathologist," he said with a
tender smile and a raised eyebrow.

"No, I mean, I just . . . I don't know why," she
finished, exasperated at her own inability to put her
thoughts into words.

"But you saved me, Scully.  If you had agreed to an
autopsy, I wouldn't be sitting here.  If you had let
them embalm me, it would have been over."  She
turned her head, not wanting to dwell on the
obvious, but he touched her cheek with one finger
and brought her back to look at him.  "For what
ever reason, and it certainly wasn't some request of
mine that I receive a traditional burial, you didn't let
them hurt me.  And you have no idea how much
that means to me."

She started laughing and he realized what he'd just
said.  "OK, beyond the obvious," he said before
joining her in her laughter.  It was the release they
both needed.

He pulled her to him again and hugged her tightly.
"We're both punch drunk.  You need sleep.  I need
to go."

"Go?  Where are you going?" she asked.

"Back to my place.  Right now, you still have a part
to play.  Let's let Kersh think he's won part of the
battle.  If I were to move in here now, whatever he
has in store for me would come down on you, too.
And we can't afford that," he said, rubbing her
stomach with a brief smile.

"Mulder -- "

"Hey, I'm a phone call away.  You know that.  But
we have to keep up appearances.  Just until I can
figure out what Kersh has up his sleeve.  I suspect
it's something big."

"I will not lose you again," she said through gritted
teeth.

"Not possible," he replied, kissing her forehead.
"You're stuck with me.  Like gum on your shoe."

She was not appeased, but didn't object when he
pulled her to her feet and pushed her gently into the
bathroom.  She changed and when she returned he
had the bed turned down and the lights were off in
the living room and kitchen.  "Hop in."

"Are you going to tell me a story?" she asked with
one raised eyebrow.

"Did that part already.  I'll get you a drink of water
if you need it," he offered.

"No, I just had a glass in the bathroom.  I'm fine."
She crawled into bed and he sat down next to her on
the edge and took her hand.

"We're both fine.  We're all fine," he amended,
rubbing her side through the blankets.  "Get some
sleep.  I'll see you in the morning."  He leaned over
and kissed her on the lips.

"Mulder, I know you won't really listen when I say
this, but I have to say it anyway -- be careful."

He smiled sadly.  "I know you won't believe me
when I say this, but I will be careful.  I promise."
He kissed her again on the cheek and rose to leave.

"Hey, Mulder," she called just as he'd reached the
doorway.  He turned, waiting.  "If I can't have you,
can I at least have your shirt?"

With a chuckle he stepped back to the bed and
handed her the shirt.  She folded it a couple of times
and tucked it under her cheek, closed her eyes and
smiled.

He stood watching as her breathing evened out and
sleep overtook her.  For the first time since he'd
awakened, he finally felt he was home.

the end