By Lil_Gusty
lil_gusty@hotmail.com
 

Classification: SAR
Keywords: MSR, Scully DAL for Mulder
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Requiem
Disclaimer: not my characters, just my idea
Distribution: just let me know
Thanks: realb, Karri, and Liam for beta

Summary: set present day, after Mulder's abduction in Requiem

Note: (partially) based on actual events
 
 

<><><><><><>

It was Mulder's unique version of foreplay - Adam's peanut butter
cup fudge ripple or chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake.
Guaranteed orgasmic or double your money back.  She'd never had to
pursue a refund.

The first time, it was a surprise.  It was just another, normal
lunch at their favorite restaurant.  She'd taken her first bite of
the Adam's and the contractions hadn't stopped for nearly ten
seconds.  She'd hoped she could hide the flush on her neck and
chest, the guilty, wicked smile on her lips, the sparkle in her
eyes, but she couldn't.  Mulder saw, lowered his eyebrows in
question, and leaned across the table.  He'd been concerned.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"  She'd purred unintentionally.

A grin began.  "You okay?"

"Ohhh, yeah."

He'd cleared his throat, taking a sip of his tea.  "Was that what
I think it was?"

Her own guilty smile was back, tinged with embarrassment.  "Yeah."

He must've recognized the look on her face.  His grin widened, and
he'd turned to look over his shoulder, then back at her.  "If it's
the waiter, I can fake a pretty good British accent," he'd teased.

On cue, their flirtatious waiter (from Essex, England) had
appeared to refill their drinks.  As he'd walked away, they'd
burst into giggles that had turned the heads of the tables nearby.

After that, it was a running joke.  "Cheesecake tonight?"  He'd
ask as they walked to their cars.  Will I see you tonight?

"Sounds good," she'd tell him.  Of course; every night.

She pulls a chunk of cookie dough from her slice now, remembering.

"Dana?"

Her eyes snap to her mother's; she'd not been listening.  "What?"

"Are you all right?"

Around them, the restaurant is full of friends sharing appetizers
and gossip, couples leaning intimately towards each other over
their entrees.  The din is loud and the atmosphere is vibrant and
happy.

"Yeah."

Her mother doesn't know that this had been their place, their
ritual, that cheesecake had been an aphrodisiac for them.

"Are you sure?"

You've got to move on, she'd told her after five months.  He
wouldn't want you to stop living your life because of him.  He'd
want you to be happy.  He'd want you to keep working.  He'd want
you to be with people who care about you, not shut away inside
your apartment like a hermit.

"Yes.  I'm just full from dinner."

They'd sat at that table right there, where the pregnant mother
and father sit with their toddler, the last time they'd eaten
here.  She'd convinced him to order wine and they'd drank the
bottle together, exchanging looks that spoke volumes of their
love, their desire, their need for each other.  That night, they'd
gotten their cheesecake to go.  Later, he'd watched her soaking in
her bathtub as her hands moved between her legs underneath the
water, feeding her tiny bites to keep her going.

"You barely ate anything."

If she looks hard, she can see his reflection in the window where
the other man is.  He'd sat there, right there, alive and healthy
and happy and he was in love with her and she was in love with him
and they'd just started this and he said it was forever and she'd
never have to be lonely again he promised he wouldn't leave her he
fucking promised!

"I'm not really hungry."

This is it, Scully.  One last game of UFO tag, then that's it.
I'm quitting.  Some things are more important than little green
men.

I thought they were gray.

He grins against her hair and strokes her back, his hands
smoothing over her thighs then back up to her shoulders.  They can
be yellow with purple stars on their bellies, for all I care.  Not
anymore.  Not where there's so much more to life...

"Dana?"

Would you like to move to the Vineyard?  I've got that big house
up there, right on the ocean.  The people are nice; they keep to
themselves, mostly.  You could work at the hospital there and I
could fish.

You don't know how to fish.

I do, too.  I watched Andy Griffith.

"Dana?"

Do you know how long I've had this ring?  Since your cancer went
into remission.  I always intended to give it to you, but
something was always happening, there was always something else
going on.

That long?

He nods, embarrassed.  I promise, things will be different when I
get back.  I know you don't think they will, but...Scully...  he
shakes his head, his voice tight.

"Dana?"  Her mother grabs her arm, pulling her out of her
memories.  "Are you ready to go?"

You were right, Mulder.  Things are so much different now.  Why
did you break your promise?  I don't think I can't trust you
anymore, not when you broke a promise as important as this one.  I
need you, Mulder.  You're the only person I've ever admitted that
to, and then you went and left me.  Now what do I do?

"Yeah."

Mulder, what do I do?  What do I do without you?

"Dana," her mother begins quietly in the car.  "It's been over
three years."

"I know," she admits.

"You can't go on like this forever."

We can't go on like this forever, Scully.

"It's too soon."

Her mother shakes her head, winding her way through the parking
lot.  "How long are you going to keep this up?"

"As long as it takes."

"As long as it takes for what?"

"Until he comes back."

Her mother's hands tighten on the wheel.  "Dana, honey...he's not
coming back."

She shakes her head, not able to answer.

<><><><><><>

She's always silently wondered what their reunion would be like.
Nighttime is the worst.

He'd be in a hospital bed, unconscious, and she'd run to him.
She'd rest her head on his chest and listen to his slow heartbeat,
squeeze his hand, kiss his cheeks.  He'd wake up, stirred by her
familiar touch, and gaze up at her with fuzzy hazel eyes.
"Scully?"  He'd ask, just stating a fact, and she'd nod, trying
not to cry happy tears.

He'd be in a police station, confused, and he'd meet her at the
door when she arrived.  She'd wrap her arms around him, breathe
him in, melt their mouths together.  He'd smile down at her,
slightly embarrassed, and make a silly joke to break the silence.
"Scully?"  He'd whisper, asking her without words why he'd been
lost in the Oregon woods so long, and she'd shake her head, not
ready to get into that yet.

Those are the happier nights.

He'd be in a morgue, gray and battered, and she'd approach him
slowly, a shaking hand covering her mouth.  She'd touch his hair,
trace a finger down his wounds, cover him with an extra sheet so
he wouldn't get cold.  He'd just lay there, sleeping without
breathing, breaking her heart.  "Mulder?" she'd mouth painfully,
futilely hoping that he'd open his eyes and wonder what she was so
sad about.  Before she'd leave him, she'd tuck her flashlight into
his hand; he'd always been secretly afraid of the dark.

She knows that is more realistic.

The day of their son's funeral, she'd stood over his tiny grave
and wept quietly, her mother at her arm, Skinner a few paces
behind them.  "What am I going to tell him?"  She'd asked her
mother, guilt and regret washing over her with tides so strong
they tugged at her, bleeding the oxygen from her lungs.  Her
mother had squeezed her arm and led her away from the damp mound
of earth, not answering her question.

She'd lost his child because she was careless.  Because she was
reckless.  Because she didn't realize the reality of what was at
stake until it was too late.  If she hadn't taken that last trip,
if she hadn't gotten on that last plane, if she'd stopped to eat
just one more meal, their son might still be alive and she could
show Mulder how much she'd needed him while he was away.
 

She'd dropped the first sonogram picture into her Mulder Bag,
paper-clipped to a photo of their son in his incubator, nude
except for his cloth diaper and tiny blue cap.  The jaundiced skin
was difficult to see beyond the wires and tubes that had briefly
kept him alive, but he was there.  He had been real.  And now he
wasn't, and she didn't know if Mulder would ever forgive her.

Science, statistics, and rational thought told her she wouldn't
have to worry about it.  Her heart told her otherwise.  Every
passing day was another that proved her heart wrong.

Finally, her heart had stopped feeling.

Sometimes, she swears she hears his voice, ragged from screaming,
calling to her to help him.  She awakens and her own name in a
terrified cry is ringing in her ears.  She hears his skin tearing
as he struggles against the screws and hooks.  She hears the blood
and tissue part as the saw digs into his chest.

She goes to her Mulder Bag and removes one of the videos there.
Late one night, she'd caught the episode of COPS they'd been on
and recorded it.  She winds it to that one spot where he's
convincing that prostitute, what's her name, to cooperate with
them.  His voice is low and pleading, but not desperate.  He knows
what he wants and he knows how to get it.  That's the way she
likes to remember him sounding - at night, when he would sneak
under the covers and spoon behind her, pretending to pretend to
accidentally wake her so they could make love.

She winds some more, to where she tells him that Skinner said the
FBI has nothing to hide.  He's smiling down at her, glad to have
won another battle.  More winding.  A look on his face, solemn and
concerned, as he tries to figure out the puzzle before the sun
comes up.  More winding, more, more, until she's seen the entire
episode out of order and she can't breathe anymore from crying.

Babies need to recognize their parents' voices.  They hear them in
the womb and can associate the voices with the people after birth.
When she was pregnant, she would rationalize her COPS marathon
with that.  She would call his answering machine and press the
phone to her belly so he could hear the message.  Their son needed
to hear his father's voice so that when he was born, he would know
his father from the other men bound to visit.

She'd stayed with her mother for weeks after the funeral and, late
one night, her mother had caught the end of the marathon.  She'd
told her everything, of how the Gunmen had had to make her another
video because she'd worn her original out, of how she'd tried to
be a good mother but she just couldn't do anything right.

No, you did this just right, honey, she'd whispered to her.
They're both in Heaven now, and he knows his father because of
you.

At the time, that was a comforting sentiment, but the next
morning, she'd remembered that Mulder wasn't in Heaven yet, and
she had to start looking for him again.

What did I do, God?  Why do you do this to me?  I've tried to be a
good person, a good Christian, even when I didn't go to church.
I've always believed in you, I've always revered and respected
you.  Why are you doing this?  Just tell me what I did and I'll
fix it.  I'll do whatever it takes, just tell me...tell me how to
fix this.  Tell me how to get him back.  I can't live without him.
I thought I could, but I can't.  Just tell me.  Just tell me.

And then the sun rises and her tears disappear and she goes to
work and goes home and goes to bed and cries and prays and begs
and nothing ever happens.  And then the sun rises again...and
nothing ever changes.

<><><><><><>

She's replayed that last morning in her head so many times she has
it perfected.

He gets up before her and is packing before he takes a shower.  He
brushes his teeth, he shaves, he showers, he dresses, he makes
coffee.  He wakes her up.  He kisses her and tells her how warm
she is and buries his face in her neck.  Her arms go around him
and she asks him why he bothered to get dressed.  He says he
doesn't know and takes off his clothes.  They make love.

He tells her he has to go and she says no.  She tells him she
thinks she's pregnant and puts his hand on her stomach and asks
him if it isn't a little rounder than it was last week.  He looks
at her deeply, shifting his jaw from side to side, and asks her,
really?  And she says yes.  He closes his eyes and asks, the dizzy
spells?  And she says maybe.  She says she needs to take one of
those home tests and he says okay.  She asks him if he can get a
later flight and he says yes.  While he calls Skinner, she dresses
and runs to the drugstore on the corner.

When she gets back, he hovers outside as she takes the test, then
she opens the door and tells him, five minutes.  He sets his
watch.  He follows her back into the bathroom and she sits on the
counter and he moves between her legs.  They cling to each other.
They cry.  They are hopeful.

His watch beeps and she turns her head and says she's afraid to
look.  Afraid if will be positive or afraid it will be negative,
he asks.  She kisses him and tastes salt on his lips.  He nods.
He looks at the test and reads the back of the box.  What are we
gonna do with a baby, Scully, he asks breathlessly.  She laughs
and looks at the test.  They kiss.  He carries her to the bed and
they make love.  Afterwards he calls Skinner and tells him to
cancel their flights to Oregon.

They talk about a boy versus a girl.  They talk about names.  They
talk about getting married.  They talk about moving into that big
house on the Vineyard.  He rubs her stomach in amazement and asks
her how it happened.  The birds and the bees and the monkey
babies, Mulder.

He isn't abducted.  He doesn't disappear.  Their son is full term.
He has red-blond hair and blue eyes and her nose.  They name him
William.  They get married and move into that big house on the
Vineyard.  She works at the hospital and he fishes.  Their
refrigerator always has plenty of cheesecake in it.  They plan for
a daughter next fall who'll have brown, curly hair and dark brown
eyes and olive skin.

And she's happy.  She lives.

<><><><><><>

Tell me about the rods, she says.

He smirks.  Rods?  As in, the inter-dimensional organisms that
have reportedly been caught by amateur photographers?

Yeah.

That's about all there is to tell.  Not much is known about them.
No one's ever caught a live one and studied it.  Why?

I saw a show on TLC about them.  I'd never heard of them.

Was Trading Spaces not on?

She smiles.

There was an article about them in Omni a while ago.  It's not a
particularly well documented phenomenon; probably just normal
video interference.

You don't believe in them?

No...I don't believe in everything.

Do you believe you'll come back one day?

He takes a deep breath, hedging.  Do you?

Yes.

I want to believe, Scully, but it's so hard.  Sometimes, I just
want to fall asleep and never wake up.  It feels so good to be
asleep...

But I need you here, Mulder.  Please come back.

I'm trying, Scully.  I promise you I'm trying.

You promised you wouldn't leave me and you did.  Why did you lie
to me, Mulder?  Mulder?
 
 

Mulder don't go...no, please, don't leave again.  Mulder, come
back.  Mulder, please...come back...Mulder!  Mulder!  MULDER!
 
 

"Mulder?"  She asks her empty apartment.  There is no answer.

<><><>End<><><>

Dedicated to Dri and Myra: see what happens when you give me a
challenge?

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lil_gusty@hotmail.com