Of Rubberbands and Paperclips
By Gwinne
gwinne@yahoo.com
Date: Sat, 27 May 2000
Distribution: Yes, but please contact me
Rating: R
Classification: MSR; Scully angst
Spoilers: post-ep for "Requiem"; references to "Chinga,"
"Dreamland," "Never Again," "Monday, "The Unnatural," and
"all things"
Context: This story is set immediately following my "Baby
Steps," though it should stand alone as well
Disclaimer: Non, mais je souhaite...
Feedback: pretty please with sunflower seeds on top! e-mail
me at gwinne@yahoo.com
OF RUBBERBANDS AND PAPERCLIPS
When Scully woke, she could still feel Mulder's mouth on the
gentle curve of her belly, pressing a kiss into the soft
skin right below her navel. "Good morning, sunshine," he
whispered and rubbed his sandpapery cheek against her
abdomen, "Be nice to your mother today." She gasped and let
tears pool for a moment before rushing into the bathroom to
throw up. She hadn't planned on falling asleep on Mulder's
couch at seven o'clock at night. She hadn't planned on not
eating dinner and not working on that report for Skinner and
not returning her mother's latest phone call. She was just
so tired.
She curled up on the floor next to the toilet, wanting
nothing more than Mulder to bring her a glass of water, to
try to forcefeed her saltines or toast, to stroke her hair
until the nausea subsided. But that wasn't going to happen
any time soon, and she had to admit that she resented him
for it--that need of his to be a hero, her hero, to make
everything right in the world which, once again, left her
alone and terrified. Why couldn't he sit still for once?
Why couldn't he be one of those fathers with a desk job who
brought his wife flowers just because and spent weekends
fixing up the house? Because he wouldn't be Mulder, she
thought, and I wouldn't love him.
Everyday since she'd found out she was pregnant had been
like this, mornings of resenting Mulder and missing Mulder;
quiet moments in the afternoon of sheer joy as she rested
her hand on her belly, just waiting to feel the first
stirrings of life; nights aching for him, for the normal
life that was both so close and so far away.
Scully sat up slowly, closing her eyes against the familiar
lurch of dizziness. She almost laughed, remembering how she
literally swooned in the boardroom when Frohike said Mulder
was in danger in Oregon. What a girly, un-Scully-like thing
to do. When her eyes focused, she glanced at the clock on
Mulder's bedside table. 6:13, which meant she had time to
go home and change, since the only suit she had in Mulder's
closet hadn't fit her for nearly a month. Come on, little
one, she murmured, running her knuckles up and down her
belly, let's go home.
* * *
In her sunlit bedroom, Scully went through her morning
ritual of trying on half her wardrobe since nothing,
absolutely nothing, fit; she'd already moved the buttons on
all her pants and skirts and all her blouses strained at the
chest. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she
thought, half-waiting for Mulder's comeback: Necessity is
the mother of invention. She pulled on her light gray suit
pants, which she left unbuttoned but fastened with a
rubberband and safety pin (thank you MacGyver and an online
forum about maternity clothes), a raspberry-colored silk
tank top she'd owned since 1993 (it's July for God's sake)
that fell to her hips and effectively covered the rubberband
contraption, and the matching suit jacket, also unbuttoned.
She'd certainly done worse; Mulder could testify to that.
* * *
It was the longest meeting in FBI history (weren't they
all?) and Scully had stopped pretending to be interested
half an hour ago. While Agent Chesty Short yammered on and
on about the budget and projected expenditures for the
fiscal year, Scully toyed with a paperclip, twisting it and
untwisting it, contemplating Mulder's own fascination with
office supplies, all the yellow Ticonderoga pencils and
Uniball pens cached in the desk drawer. She let a smile
play on her lips, recalling vividly the day she walked into
the office, in the same gray suit she was wearing now, and
pencils rained from the ceiling onto his head. "Oh it's
amazing what I can accomplish when you're not here..." he'd
said, but she knew it was just a front, and she knew how to
rub it in, talking in vague terms about "some guy...Jack"
just to make him jealous. She shifted in her seat--again--
and gasped as the rubberband holding her pants shut snapped
against her skin.
"Agent Scully?" She knew Skinner well enough to hear the
concern underlying his coolly professional demeanor.
"Excuse me for a moment." Hand on her waist, she rushed out
of the room, past Kimberly, and to the women's room across
the hall. Thank God for poorly constructed rubberbands, she
said to herself, and laughed so hard she started to cry.
* * *
It was Friday night and out of some unspoken agreement she
always went to the Gunmen's for pizza and a game, Scrabble
or Trivial Pursuit. She refused to play Dungeons and
Dragons after Langly started calling her Titania, Queen of
the Fairies, and when he dared to suggest Battleship, she
burst into tears; Mulder never did get around to
requisitioning that second desk, and they never played
Battleship or any other game in the office, except for
trading rounds of innuendo and cliches. She wasn't Mulder
and neither were they, but all four could find some
semblance of normalcy in their anti-nuclear family.
Tonight it didn't work. Tonight the guys expected her to
play Snow White to their miserable dwarves: Whiny, Sulky,
and Morose. Finally, she left in a huff after Byers asked
her, "are you supposed to have that?" when she opened their
last can of Coke. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She
was supposed to be watching some wretched movie on Mulder's
couch until she fell asleep with her head in his lap and he
carried her to bed. She drove around aimlessly for a while
until she found herself parked in front of her mother's
house in Baltimore--a homing device stronger than the
implant in her neck.
"Dana?" Concern registered in her mother's voice the moment
she opened the door. "What's wrong, sweetheart? You know
it's not good for you to get so upset..." Margaret Scully
pulled her daughter down to sit on the staircase as her legs
buckled beneath her. "Dana, honey, please talk to me."
"I wanted this so much, Mom, and he knew it. I told him
once I just wanted to settle down and live a normal life--a
house in the suburbs filled with the sounds of children
laughing. I wanted it, Mom, and he sacrificed himself so I
could have it. He wouldn't let me go back to Oregon, said
he couldn't risk losing me, and I wasn't there, Mom, I
wasn't there for him, and now...God, Mom, I just miss him so
much. And I don't know if I can do this alone...I don't
even know if I want to do. I mean, I want this baby more
than anything, but I never for a minute considered being a
single mother." Scully stopped for a moment and wiped her
eyes with back of her hand.
She exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. "I'm going
crazy, Mom...I feel like I'm being held together with
rubberbands and paperclips."
Maggie stroked her daughter's back. She'd learned long ago
that Dana rarely wanted her advice, just her comfort. "It's
late, honey. Why don't you take a bath and stay here
tonight. And tomorrow we can buy you some clothes that
fit."
Scully nodded almost imperceptibly. "Thank you."
* * *
She stayed in the tub until the water started to cool,
submerged in bubbles up to her chin. She ran her fingers
gently over her breasts, learning their new shape and
weight, savoring the sensation on her touch-starved flesh,
imagining it was Mulder's hand not her own. For a long
time, she let her hand linger on the curve below her belly
button, fingering the sparse line of hairs that led to her
genitals. Fully clothed, she still looked like the same
Special Agent Scully she'd been for years (if slightly
unkempt, with her untucked blouses), but nude, she was
unmistakably pregnant. She cherished the secrecy of it; it
was only a matter of time before Cancerman and Krycek found
out.
Pulling the plug with her toe, she stood slowly, waiting for
the headrush that usually came when she changed positions.
Instead, she felt a quick flutter around her navel. Once,
then again. Oh, my God, Mulder, Scully whispered, she's
moving. I have it, Mulder. I finally have it. Proof
undeniable.