Title: Promises to Keep

Author: prufrock's love

Rating: NC-17  

Keywords: Novel, MSR, Everybody/other, Angst, Post-
ep:Requiem, Minor character death  

Spoilers: through season 7

Summary: What happens to a marriage of convenience 
when it becomes inconvenient?  A seriously fractured, 
quasi-Jewish fairytale. 
 
Distribution: link to:
http://www.geocities.com/prufrocks_love/index.html
 
Disclaimer: Not mine; don't sue.

Author's notes: For A. - can buy another car, can't 
buy another you. 


Promises to Keep
by prufrock's love

                                    *******

Gentle Reader, contrary to the scribbles of 
idealistic sixteen-year-olds trying to write the 
next great American fairy tale, sex is seldom 
perfect.  Sex is sweaty, messy, awkward, and 
sometimes hurtful as hell.  A release, a 
punishment, a right, or an obligation.  It can be 
funny, it can be functional, and it can serve many 
purposes – very few of them about love.  Thoughtless, 
isolating, joining, dominating, submissive, selfless 
and selfish; all in fifteen minutes from first button 
to last thrust.

If I could have looked away, I'm sure I would have 
seen Stephen King, or Danielle Steele, or The 
Brothers Grimm squatting in the dim corner of my 
bedroom and scribbling away - taking notes for a 
future classic. But I was busy watching her drift 
off to sleep beside me, beads of salty sweat 
forming miniature rivers down her face. They passed 
the inner corner of her eye like tears, and then 
down her cheek as the fan blew them back, denying 
them her lips.  But she didn't deny me: not her 
mind, not her soul, not her body.  Not that night.  
That night was the first miracle.

It wasn't perfect.  The first time should have been 
slower - as if seven years weren't slow enough.  
After the second time, I'm sure Scully was sore the 
next day and there were a few uncomfortable moments 
when we awoke in the same bed, wishing for coffee 
and eloquence and youth.  We laid there silently, 
both pretending to sleep while we figured out what 
to say to the other, since we were adults and could 
handle things like that.  

It seemed easier to just make love again.

By dawn, I must have told her I loved her a 
thousand times, before, after, and during - making 
up for lost time, I suppose.  I tried to put into 
words and flesh what I was feeling and I failed 
miserably, but at least I tried.  

All my secrets; I laid them out on white cotton 
sheets for Scully to either cherish or dissect with 
one of her sharp scalpels.  I loved her.  Not this 
sweet friendly shit we'd been playing at for years; 
I loved her the way a man should love a woman.  And 
I did - until the heart was as sated as the flesh 
allowed.  And then I watched her afterward for a 
long time, an unknowing witness to a second miracle 
as she slept.

Then she left.

And so did I.  But I promised I'd come back.  She 
made me promise I'd come back, and I keep my 
promises.

From that night on, our lives were never the same - 
we weren't just partners and friends anymore.  We 
were something else, Scully and I.  I didn't know 
what just then, but she'd spent the evening musing 
about choices until she finally passed out on my 
couch.  Then I looked up from my lonely bed and saw 
her standing in the doorway - and nothing from that 
moment on was a choice.  

This is our fairy tale.  Our happily ever after.  
It just got seriously fractured and fucked up along 
the way, but you never really expected any 
different from us, did you? 
                   
                   *******

January 4, 2004
 
"Iska ba twat, Dada!"  

The conquering hero must have returned to tend his 
crumpled kingdom. 

I feel the bed shift slightly as Skinner retrieves 
Hairball from my feet, muttering something about a 
"useless goddamn hunk of fur."  There's more 
cursing as I hear him stalking back down the hall 
to deposit the unfortunate kitten in David's crib.

"Cat, Bubby, not twat," he tells the boy for the 
thousandth time.  

"Twat, Dada.  Ia up, Dada?"

"I geo nite-nite, Bubby," his sister tells him from 
her crib across the room.  Bossy woman, just like 
her mother.

"Yeah - I geo nite-nite, whatever that is, David.  
Go back to sleep."

Sure, that will work, Skinner.  All preschoolers 
automatically go back to sleep at your command.  
You couldn't even get Mulder to behave, and you 
expect obedience out of his progeny?  I might as 
well get up.

I try to move and decide against it.  Dada woke 
them up, Dada can deal with them.

Skinner's an optimist - he's actually going to 
bother coming to bed.  I hear him tiredly pulling 
off his clothes and the soft sound of his holster 
and weapon being locked safely away, willing to let 
someone else wage the war for a few hours.  Even 
the strongest of men get weary, although few of us 
are allowed to know that – that might make our 
heroes seem human.  I scoot over carefully to make 
room for a tired hero in the sanctuary of designer 
sheets.

He stands beside the bed in the darkness, watching 
me.  He still seems a little surprised each time he 
comes home in the wee hours, strips for bed, and 
finds me waiting for him.  Skinner always paused a 
few seconds, making sure there wasn't some mistake.  
He's a cautious man, and given my history, I can't 
blame him.

I reach a hand out for him, pushing down the covers 
to make a place for him to sleep.  Sleep, dear.  It 
doesn't matter that you've been gone a week, dear; 
those children aren't going to go back to sleep and 
I feel like someone smashed me with a steamroller.  
Missed you, too, Skinner, but I think the flesh is 
a little weak this morning.  Just make love to me 
in spirit and I'll make it up to you later.

I expected to feel guilty, to feel like I was 
betraying Mulder the first time we made love, but I 
didn't.  It wasn't the same at all.  Accepting 
pleasure from a man's body is entirely different 
than communing with his soul - and much, much less 
dangerous.

I expected to be afraid - Skinner may have been my 
friend, but he was also still my uncompromising, 
unknowable AD.  But I wasn't; a little nervous 
maybe, but not afraid.  He was an experienced 
leader and I just followed where he gently led.  
                         
I expected to feel odd - being so intimate with my 
distant, decisive boss, but I already knew the side 
of his soul he kept shielded with well-tailored 
armor.  I'd caught glimpses.  There is Skinner the 
persona and Skinner the man and all I did was allow 
myself to enjoy the passionate man who enjoyed me.  
Adored me.     

I've never shared the secret part of myself 
reserved for Mulder with another.  My heart is 
still his - he's just never came back to claim it.  
I never close my eyes and imagine someone else when 
we make love.  I never say the wrong name.  Never 
say 'sir' instead of 'dear,' because Skinner is 
dear to me.  And I never lie to Skinner and say
words I don't feel.  Neither does he.
 
A light bulb intrudes into dawn's early light and 
I'm losing the covers.  Warm, still-novel hands 
push up my silk pajama top, gently examining the 
vivid purple and blue bruises under my left arm.

"God, Scully - are you okay?"

"I'm okay - just a little dented.  Did you see the 
car yet?"  

We had married a whole two months before I wrapped 
Skinner's new toy around a telephone pole 
yesterday.  Literally, around.  Had anyone been in 
the passenger seat - like I usually was - they 
would have been crushed.  And had I been driving 
anything but Skinner's big BMW, we all would have 
been killed.  I wasn't sure where he'd go first 
when my mother called him to come home - to the ER 
to see me and the kids or to the dealership to 
visit his other baby.

"The hospital said you have broken ribs.  And that 
David's arm is broken.  Is Sissy okay?"

"She's fine - nothing got near her.  And Bubby just 
has a hairline fracture and some scrapes - they put 
his arm in a brace and an Ace bandage for a few 
weeks."

"And you?"  The mattress moves again as he sits 
beside me, pushing my hair back so he can see the 
scrapes on my face.

"Tylenol 3's.  Give me one and I'll be a happy 
woman again."

Water runs in the bathroom while I again consider 
the options regarding sitting up.  I don't think 
that's going to happen.  How am I going to chase 
two children all day if I can't even sit up?

God-bless my husband - he found a straw.  I can 
swallow laying down.  Living with a Marine has its 
drawbacks, but combine thoughtfulness and 
resourcefulness with an early-riser and I was 
usually a happy girl.

All these warm fuzzies over a stupid straw - that 
pill must be fast acting.

"You send Mom home?"  That's not a hint, Skinner - 
just a question.  Okay, maybe it's a hint, but you 
have to wait until this pill kicks in.  I feel some 
warm fuzzies coming.

Coming.  Giggle.

Skinner's giving me his patented 'I'm a busy man 
and you're not the only agent I supervise - get to 
the point' look.  Just like old times, except now 
he's wearing sweat pants and crawling stiffly into 
bed with me. 

"She was dead on her feet.  I'll get the kids today 
- the FBI bureaucracy will keep grindinng away if I 
take a week off."

A whole week - you only took three days off for our 
honeymoon and you brought your cell phone.  The BMW 
must merit a week.

"How did you get here so quick?  Weren't you in 
Chicago?"  

"Chartered a plane.  I approve the expense 
reports."  He lays down beside me, draping a 
careful arm across my hips and resting his smooth 
head against the small of my waist.  "You scared 
me, Scully."

That was about as close to baring his soul as this 
man ever got.  He didn't have the gift that Mulder 
had - that ability to reach his mind right into my 
heart and soul and put those feelings into words.  
Skinner is distant, often stubborn and dominating, 
and he has a hell of a temper, but he'd kill to 
keep me or my children safe, and that was why I 
married him.  Not the same passion I felt for 
Mulder, but I was content.

Maybe passion isn't all it's cracked up to be.

"We're all fine.  I'm just sorry about the car."  

"I can buy another car."

Ahhh.  How sweet.  That pain pill is definitely 
kicking in, because I'm thinking he looks 
absolutely adorable curled up beside me.  Adorable 
isn't usually a word I used to describe my new 
husband.

"Dada!  Twat!" comes a little boy's voice as the 
orange cat streaks for the safety of our bed.  

"You wake those kids up on purpose?" I ask.

"Wanted to check on them."  

Ahhh.  That means you can get up with them.  And 
try not to jiggle me.

"Dada!  Ia geo los tees."

"Dada - Bubby tees."  Sissy feels the need to 
translate everything her brother says - for 
clarity, such as it is.  

"All yours, lover.  He who wakes them gets potty 
duty."  

I get an unhappy grunt as he tries to get his body 
back in motion.  I doubt he's slept since my mother 
called him yesterday morning.  "Nina coming?"

"Mom called her - she was visiting her family, so 
you'll have to meet her plane at the airport this 
evening.  And Mom promised we'd pay her double this 
week if she'd come back early."

"Which flight?"

"Probably the one from Panama."  Go get that child 
before it's too late.

"Dada - Bubby geos los tees."

Too late.  

"Call Mom to come back."  

"I'm not calling your mother and telling her I 
can't take care of my own children."

Whatever - not my problem.  And one day we're going 
to have to tell them they aren't your biological 
children, Skinner.  That another 'Dada' was Mama's 
partner and friend who vanished almost four years 
ago and left her alone and pregnant with twins.  
That her boss was there for her every awful step of 
the way until she didn't know what she'd do without 
him, so she didn't.     
  
Not this morning, though.  This morning I was busy 
floating off the bed.

"Skinner - bring me another pill about half an hour 
before you put your heathens down for their nap."

I'm sure he's smiling as he kisses my scraped 
forehead.  There's an unhappy pussycat sound as 
Skinner removes Hairball from our bed, giving the 
animal another chance at flight, which he again 
fails.

"Dada - twat?"

"Cat, Bubby.  Not twat," he says as he pulls a 
shirt on, picks up the discontented kitten, and 
prepares to start the day.

                   *******

I felt - like hell.  That step-into-the-light plan 
proved to be a bad idea.  Bad, bad idea, Mulder.

My first conscious thought was; Why don't I ever 
get to go on the UFOs?  Did I smell bad or 
something?  Everybody else got to go except me - it 
was like the summer I was thirteen and broke my 
arm; the other kids got to go to swim camp while I 
stayed home.  Well, that actually turned out pretty 
good.  Jennifer Lynn Douglas was terrified of 
water, but -really- curious about boys.  I 
discovered several of the possibilities in life 
that summer courtesy of Jenni Lynn.  My wrist still 
aches when it rains, but I can French kiss around 
braces like a pro - not that it comes in handy in 
later life. 

Scully didn't have braces.  Maybe she'd be 
interested in my hickey-giving ability.  We'd kinda 
missed the necking on the couch stage of 
relationships and gone straight to the main course 
- not that I was complaining.

They must have been giving me some seriously good 
shit in that IV. 

Maybe I -did- finally manage to get abducted.  
Maybe I'd been used as a sex slave by hordes of 
panting, moaning Scully-clones.  Damn - I wish I 
remembered a thing about it.  Actually, and, more 
likely, I've just been anally probed by an alien 
that looked almost exactly, but completely unlike 
Jessie Ventura.  I clench - nope - didn't detect 
any anal probing.  Good; I was saving myself for 
when Scully felt better, although I hoped she 
wasn't overly interested in that area. 

I'd been wondering what was wrong with her - it 
wasn't like her to swoon like something from a 
novel.  I'd passed out more times during our 
partnership that she had, and no one made me cut up 
dead people.  We'd have to get her checked out when 
we got back.

For that matter, what was wrong with me?  Why was I 
in an ambulance?  Scully was the one that had been 
sick.  Please, please, God, don't let it be cancer.  
How could you have given us so much just to laugh 
and take it all away?  To take her away from me?    

Georgetown University ER - well, home again, home 
again.  Hi, ladies - miss me?  Been at least a 
month since I was here.  Beetles last time, right?  
Yuck.  You know the routine - call Dr. Scully and 
let her know I was only mostly dead again.  

Wait - wasn't I in Oregon?  
 
                   *******

January 4, 2004

Unfortunately, I decide to stretch when I wake up, 
and marvel at the exquisite pain a few broken ribs 
can cause.  

"Iska koop ake, Mama?"

There's grape Kool-aid being poured into my nose.  
Koop ake - whatever.  There's a child sitting on my 
pelvis and another beside me, offering me a drink.  
A rough tongue scrapes against my cheek as "Twat" 
licks up the purple stickiness before it hits the 
pillow.  

Four years ago, this would have annoyed me.  Today, 
it doesn't even surprise me.  PBJ's in the VCR, 
Lego's in the freezer, kitty litter in my shoes - 
this is fairly mild.  I just want to know who gave 
them that crap to drink, but I have a pretty good 
idea.

"Skinner!"  Oh, that hurt.  Everyone will be 
delighted - no more yelling for a few weeks.  "The 
Kool-aid fairies come?" 

"They asked for it.  Gra-ju - isn't that grape 
Kool-aid?" he asks, appearing in the doorway with a 
huge basket of laundry.

"Koop ake is Kool-aid.  Gra-ju is white grape 
juice.  The Kool-aid is Nina's and they know it.  
You just got suckered."

He starts to take it away and I tell him 'no'.  
Might as well let them have it at this point.  How 
many agents is it that you supervise, dear?  
Sucker!  You probably took them through McDonald's 
too. I sniff David - yep, McNugget breath.  

Bubby is pulled off me and resettled on the 
mattress as Skinner sits beside him.  My sweet 
family.  If I'd drawn a picture of 'a family' when 
I was eight years old, it would have looked like 
this – minus the bruises on my rib cage and the 
basket of dirty laundry overflowing in the corner.  

"Did all of you go to therapy this morning?"

"We all did speech therapy and then physical 
therapy for Sissy - she's got a new walker to show 
you.  And I called the vet to make an appointment 
for Hairball to be tutored."  Skinner paused to 
grin - he hates that cat.  "He's going to be a very 
smart pussycat.  And we went to Playgroup, although 
we might not be allowed to come back after David 
told the other kids about his new cat, and we've 
all had lunch."

"Okay, you pass muster as a parent.  Get those kids 
down for a nap and we'll see about other marital 
obligations."   Missed you, dear.

"You do this every day, Scully?"  

I nod at him in the dim room - he's left the drapes 
closed so I can sleep.  "Why do you think I wanted 
to keep working?  Oh God - did you call -"

"I called.  You're taking the week off."

Great - the University should love that.  Two 
months on the job and I'm taking a week off. 

Skinner reaches quickly to grab an aluminum leg 
before Hannah can bang her walker into my face.

"Mama - I geo un aka."

"Talk right, Sissy."

"I. Got.  Waka," she says, carefully enunciating 
every syllable.  She can stop using the jumble of 
twin-speak and Nina's Spanish when she wants to - 
David, so far, almost cannot.

"Good - you got your new walker.  Can you use it?"

"Aya."  

Skinner sets it down for her and then lowers her to 
the floor.  She usually just dives off fearlessly, 
but he doesn't know that.  Skinner still thinks 
Cerebral Palsy means fragile.  Not to my daughter, 
it doesn't.  

She demonstrates a few steps before she sits down 
heavily on her padded butt for a break and we 
applaud appreciatively.  She'd been practicing for 
several months at therapy, but she still tired 
easily.  When she'd first gotten the hang of it, 
I'd borrowed a walker for the night and brought it 
to Skinner's old apartment so he could watch
her take her first wobbly steps at three years of 
age.  I saw a tear that he quickly blinked away, 
and when he asked me to marry him later that night 
I didn't hesitate.  I said "yes" and let him lead 
me to his bedroom for the first time.  That was 
three months ago.

"That's great.  We'll have to call Grandma to come 
see you tonight."  Because Dada is going to drop dead 
from exhaustion, I think, but do not add.  

"I. Cat," purple lips say, showing off two inches 
away from my face.  Sibling rivalry has started 
already.

"You have a cat?  That's very good, David."

I hear Skinner muttering something under his 
breath.  You brought Hairball home for them, dear.  
A woman was giving away kittens outside the 
drugstore and put one in David's arms.  Skinner 
didn't have the heart to make him leave it, so the 
puff-ball of orange fur had ridden home in his 
shirt pocket - that was how we acquired the "twat".

"Nap time," the resident cat-hater announces.  
"Pill for Mama," he says with a gleam in his eye, 
"and beds for the heathens.  Start toward your 
room, Sissy, and I'll catch up."

She heaves herself back up and starts the laborious 
task of navigating the rugs in our bedroom.  I can 
see Skinner thinking about pulling up the carpet and 
putting in a hardwood floor so she can get around 
easier.

What a man.  I don't love Mulder any less than I 
did when he vanished, but I couldn't ask for a 
better man than Skinner.   

I reach out and pull him back to me by his 
shirttail.  "You're doing a good job, Skinner."

We've never said the pretty, hollow phrases about 
love because that's not exactly what we feel.  
We're friends.  We share a common view and we care 
for each other.  He wanted a family in his life and 
I wanted my family to be wanted.  And we both adore 
my babies.

"I'm trying."  He leans down to kiss me, still not 
sure that it's allowed.  Still feeling like he's 
doing some thing he shouldn't.  It's allowed - my 
only regret is losing Mulder, but there aren't any 
others.  When I stood in front of the judge and 
recited those marriage vows, I meant them.  So did 
he.

"Maybe you tired them out enough to take a really 
long nap."

"Hope so - take that pill.  Take two."

I take two.  We are still newlyweds.  

                   *******

Four years.  I'd been gone almost four years.  Not 
four days, not four months, FOUR fuckin' years.  
Four years of my life were just gone.  

I didn't remember anything - I was even wearing the 
same clothes I had been wearing when I went into 
the forest.  My keys were still in my pocket and I 
was still cleanshaven.  Scully's cross was still 
around my neck - a gold promise that I had a reason 
to find my way home safely.  A promise not just 
with her words, but with her eyes.  Promises to 
keep, miles to go before I sleep.  With her.  
Again.  Always.  Not a choice - a promise.  

I was home, Scully.  I got a little lost in the 
woods, but I kept my promise.  I still had the 
cross, Scully.  Why didn't you answer your cell 
phone?  Didn't you know I've been gone four years?

                   *******

I'm drifting again, floating, when I feel hands on 
me and open my eyes.  I still expect to see Mulder 
sometimes, but Skinner's touch is different.  
Mulder had no hesitations about my body once I said 
yes - Mulder knew I wasn't breakable.  Skinner 
isn't so sure.  We're still learning about each 
other; we haven't been married very long and
he's often gone for weeks supervising various 
investigations.  Although we followed FBI protocol 
to the letter about relationships between agents 
and superiors, he'd taken lots of heat about me - 
lots of people offering unsolicited opinions when 
we announced our marriage and my resignation, 
including several from the other Assistant 
Directors and the big man himself.  Skinner acted 
like he didn't care what they thought, but he was 
trying to be Super AD to make up for it, and that 
meant lots of traveling and long hours.  

I can honestly say I miss him when he's gone.

But I still miss Mulder, and he's been gone almost 
four years.

Skinner comes back; Mulder doesn't.  That's the 
difference.

"You sure you're up to this, Scully?"  

"Kiss me.  Very, very gently."  Like I have to tell 
him that.  I keep hoping he'll be a little less 
gentle, but I'm embarrassed to ask.  Maybe even 
occasionally, a lot less gentle.  

My body is different now - my breasts are softer 
and that rock-solid stomach is no more.  Although I 
haven't gained any weight, having and nursing twins 
has made me fuller, rounder.  I used to wonder if 
Mulder would like this body when he came back, but 
those thoughts have almost stopped.  I know Skinner 
likes it.  I know he waits for me when he's away 
instead of masturbating, although he'd never tell 
me that.  I know I wait for him.  For this.  

Of course, he's being careful - keeping his weight 
off me and letting me lay flat on my back while he 
maps my body.  It's a slow process and he seems to 
delight in it; in being able to cause my flesh to 
prepare for his.

I wonder how many times in the last decade that he 
sat through endless meetings with me and thought 
about doing this.  How long he'd wanted me before 
he thought it was safe to ask - to pronounce 
Mulder's death.  Skinner is a confident but 
deliberate man; he wouldn't have offered unless he 
was certain I'd say 'yes'.  That I thought the same 
thing - Mulder was gone.

'Will you marry me, Scully?' 

'Yes.'  

We'd already become close in our quest, but in 
those few words, we each acknowledged the search 
was over.  It was an admission of defeat as much as 
of mutual affection.  A part of me died in that 
moment, but I didn't have time to grieve.

He kissed me as a lover then - very carefully, 
knowing what I was thinking.  I let myself get lost 
in his mouth and arms; I needed to let someone else 
support me, just for a few hours, because life was 
too heavy.  Skinner and I tended to think alike; 
there was a low whisper in my ear:  
 
'Will you stay tonight?'

I knew if I didn't, if I allowed myself time to get 
nervous and over think it, I would ruin it for both 
of us - no matter how good a lover he was.  My 
children were asleep on the couch, I had three 
glasses of wine in me, and this man cared more for 
me than any other man alive - on the planet.  

And, honestly, I wanted to stay.  'Yes.'
 
When he brings his face up to meet mine again, I 
whisper to him.  "Not that gentle.  Sometimes I 
want to forget we're friends and pretend we're 
lovers."

That's the drugs talking, but his lips and hands 
are a little rougher and he gets a response from 
his proper wife that probably surprises him.  This 
was how Mulder touched me - as an equal, not as a 
Goddess, and it's what I want.

A slight orgasm later and Skinner has decided I'm 
ready.  More will follow, I know, but we'd had some 
size problems at first and he wanted to make sure 
he wasn't hurting me again.  I think sometimes 
that's his goal in life - just not to hurt me.   

"Roll over - easy."  He helps me turn onto my 
stomach and then eases my legs up, pushing my knees 
apart.  Would you believe I've actually never done 
this before, Skinner?  For Miss make-love-with-the-
lights-off-in-the-missionary-position with her new 
husband, this is kinky.  And a little scary.  

Skinner must sense that, because he pauses, 
stroking my hips and waiting for me to relax.  
"It's okay - I just don't want to put any pressure 
on your chest.  You want me to stop?"

He would stop.  I know he would.

"No," I answer him, laying my forehead against the 
pillow and waiting.  There are warm lips against my 
tattoo - he thinks it's sexy as hell - and then I 
feel a slight pressure.  As much as I'm trying to 
relax, I hate that I can't see what he's doing and 
I tense.  I know that will make it worse.  Fingers 
- just fingers moving slowly in and outt of my 
vagina.  I hear his deep voice telling me to trust 
him, that I will like this.  I already like this, 
I'm just embarrassed.   I arch my back like a cat 
in heat in spite of myself, my legs parting further 
and fingers leave me suddenly.  The male animal 
reacts to a primal signal and I get my wish for 
less gentle.  I can almost hear the low,
primitive growl between us.  I try to breathe 
slowly as he penetrates, his hands holding my hips 
firmly so I can't pull away - there is brief pain, 
and then only pleasure. 

I turn my head to the side and relax into the soft 
pillowcases, closing my eyes and forgetting one of 
my promises.  But I forget so often these days.

                    ******

I was so angry.  Sure - go get the staff 
psychiatrist - I told him I was angry, too.  

Hey, Shrink - I was angry.  100, 93, 86, 79, 72, 
65, 58 - could I go home, Freud?  'The early bird 
catches the worm', means the person in the correct 
role at the correct time can seize the opportunity 
while others are away - like me.  I'd been away.  
Could I go home?  No, I don't really believe I was 
abducted by aliens.  Sure, I believed that ten 
minutes ago, but if I said I'm feeling much better 
now, could I go home?  
                                        
I just wanted to go HOME.  I'd missed enough of my 
life.  No, not missed - not like a flight at the 
airport.  Stolen.  Someone stole four years from me 
and it made me ANGRY!

Scully's phone had been disconnected and her cell 
phone didn't answer, so I thought maybe she'd 
moved.  There was another man's voice on our office 
voice mail, so I guessed she had a new partner.  I 
told them to try Skinner's home number; ask him how 
to reach Scully.  I had to talk to her.  

I'd missed turning forty.  And forty-one and forty-
two.  Missed New Year's - it was four years since I 
kissed Scully for the first time and it seemed like 
about six months to me.  Almost four years since 
our one and only night together; a month and a half 
to me.  For me, Scully slept in my arms a few 
nights ago and the fractured world was finally 
beginning to heal.

I remember sitting at the nurses' station fiddling 
with her cross while the doctor dialed.

                   *******

January 4, 2004

"Dada - iska tela."  

David has figured out how to climb out of his crib.  
I dimly hear his sister protesting at being left 
behind.  

"Is it work?" Skinner asks, like a three-year-old 
would know that.

"Iska tela."  Yes, we've already established that 
it's the phone.  We let all the telemarketers talk 
to David until they decide to hang up, so he thinks 
he's supposed to answer it when it rings.

"Iska Dada joba?"  Skinner asks, because he's not 
budging if it's not.

Don't do that, Skinner - he'll never stop the twin-
speak of you use it when you talk to him.  At 
least, we're still hoping it's twin-speak.

"No unna - Mama."

"Give me the phone, David."  It had better not be 
AT&T again.  I hold the portable phone to my ear as 
Skinner unwillingly grabs a pair of pants and goes 
to free Sissy from her prison.  I hear David crying 
- she must have whacked him for going ooff and 
leaving her.  I understand.  It sucks to be 
ditched.

"'Lo," I manage.

"Dr. Dana Skinner?"

"Speaking."  I'm trying my best to learn to respond 
to that name.  Skinner is not a 'progressive woman' 
kind of man. 

"This is Dr. Lopez at the Georgetown University 
Hospital Emergency Room again.  I met you last night.  
Anyway, we've got a patient here with you listed as 
next of kin and he's having a tough time tracking 
you down.

Mom.  She must have had a car wreck on the way 
home.

"Okay, I'll be right there.  How fast do I need to 
drive?"  I know they can't tell me her condition, 
but sometimes the doctors will urge loved ones to 
hurry if it's really bad.

"He's just weak and a little disoriented.  We're 
getting some food and fluids into him and he'll be 
ready to go home in a few hours.  You can just pick 
him up in the morning if you want – although we'll 
gladly give him to you tonight."

He?  Bill? Charles?

"Who is the patient?"  I can't even hope.  It can't 
be.

"Mr. Mulder.  Do you want to talk to him?  He's 
right here annoying all the nurses.  He's -"

"Hi, partner - miss me?"

Skinner must have heard the phone hit the floor, 
because he comes to check on me.  When I don't 
answer, he picks up the phone.

"Who is this?  What did you say to my wife?"

I don't know if Mulder said anything else, but 
after a few seconds, Skinner hits the button to 
sever the connection, not uttering another word.

I just sit, each frantic breath making my ribs 
scream.  This isn't happening.  This isn't 
happening.  An hour ago, I was having amazing sex 
with my husband, content to spend the rest of my 
life with him, and now Mulder is back - my one in 
five billion and the other father of my children.  

"Easy, Scully.  Breathe slowly.  Slow, easy 
breaths.  It's gonna be okay."  

How is this going to be okay?  You got a plan for 
this, Skinner?  What to do with my husband and the 
only father my children know when my lover rises 
from the dead?

"Where is he?  At the hospital?"  

I manage a nod.  "Georgetown."

"Scully, get in the shower and I'll call the 
hospital back.  I'll even talk to Mulder if he'll 
talk to me.  Then I'll drop you off and go meet 
Nina's flight."

"What am I going to do?"  I know I look to Skinner 
as a father figure, but it usually works for us.  

"You're going to do whatever's best.  Go clean up."

I stand up, cursing the stupid drunk that ran me 
off the road yesterday.  "You're my husband."

"Yes.  And you're my wife."

That's not an answer, Skinner.

He has the kids clean and already strapped in when 
I emerge from the bathroom.  In fact, he's packed 
me an overnight bag, given the kids a snack, and 
has the hood up tinkering and muttering by the time 
I emerge.  I spent an extra ten minutes and most of 
the hot water crying.

                   *******

Bastard.  Mother-fucking bastard!

No, no, not mother-fucking.  Scully-fuc-

Oh, God - I was going to throw up.  Hell, no, I 
didn't want to talk to the son-of-a-bitch!  

It couldn't be real.  It was a sick joke or a blow 
to the head or maybe I'd gone psychotic again.  
Should have called that shrink to come back - I 
thought my partner was married to my A.D.

My friend went to bed at night with my boss.

My lover was another man's wife.

Wife?  His wife?  She was never going to be your 
wife, Skinner.  We were married when we covered 
each other's asses from bullets and bureaucrats a 
thousand times.  When we believed each other when 
no one else did - including you.  You didn't know 
her, Skinner.  Scully and I had shared everything 
from childhood secrets to bodily fluids and I knew 
her.  And, vows or not, I knew she'd never be your 
wife.
                    
                    *******
January 4, 2004

"Mulder?"  

I watched him through the window for several 
minutes while I worked up the nerve to go in, 
wishing for IV's and hospital gowns so I could 
switch into doctor mode and at least know my role.  
I've stood like this so many times, quickly 
discussing his condition with his doctors, trying 
to find some way to save his life, to snatch him 
back from death one last time.

Nothing I did brought Mulder back this time, and 
circling in the tiny room, there's no question that 
he's alive.  He's alive enough for both of us 
tonight.

I can feel the energy rolling off Mulder as he 
paces in his makeshift cage - four long strides 
across the suture room, then the turn and back 
again like a restless panther.  One, two, three, 
four, then he has to stop and turn because 
otherwise he'd run into the brick wall.  He seems 
surprised every time he runs out of tiles, like 
someone should expand the floor plan a bit so he 
could take that fifth step.

No fifth step, Mulder.  Not this time.

"Scully."  He wraps his arms around my shoulders as 
soon as I open the door, resting his head primly on 
mine.  I realize he's looking behind me for 
Skinner.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I didn't mean to 
shock you like that.  I keep forgetting I've been 
gone a long time and things change."

"Some things don't change, Mulder." 

"Yes, but some things do."

That's why your arms are still around me - because 
things have changed, Mulder?  

"You need to sit down; your doctors want you to 
rest until the tests come back."  

"Scully, I'm fine.  The last thing I remember is 
the bright lights in the woods, then waking up in 
an ambulance a few hours ago.  I'm not sick, I'm 
not having flashbacks, yet - it's like I've been in 
suspended animation for four years.  I want to go 
home."

I pull back from him.  I remember that feeling - 
like time was supposed to have stopped while I was 
gone.

"No home, huh, Scully?"

I shake my head "no."

"Gunmen?"  

I smile - the boys would be delighted.  "Skinner 
will be back in a few hours.  He's got the car."

Mulder nods this time, backing away from me and 
into the shadows, taking the hint.  I don't know 
how his brain can be absorbing all of this so 
quickly.  I can blame my fog on an extra pain pill, 
but Mulder is managing without better 
living through chemistry.

"I can explain, Mulder-"  

"You don't need to explain anything," he 
interrupts, not meaning a word he's saying. 

I close my eyes for a few seconds, trying to get my 
thoughts in a straight line.  It doesn't work and I 
feel the tears starting.  Christ, I hate to cry, 
but I can't stop.  I used to do this when I was a 
kid – get so mad I'd just cry.

Damn it!  Stop it!  Dry up, Dana!

Mulder pulls me into the shadows with him, those 
familiar arms trying to silence all the voices that 
are jabbering in my brain, those lips kissing the 
top of my head as I cry, pretending brotherly 
concern when they want -  

More, they want more.

So do I.

"I thought you weren't coming back, Mulder.  I'm 
sorry.  We searched - we searched everywhere and 
followed every lead, but you were just gone.  I'm so 
sorry.  I shouldn't have given up, but it had been so 
long and-" I lose the ability for intelligent speech 
and switch to just sobbing that I'm sorry, like a big 
baby.

Fingers caress my cheeks and I look up at him.  
Mulder is crying too, sharing my furious tears.  It 
isn't fair - how could life have cheated us out of 
so much?  The only thing I hate more than crying is 
losing, especially when the game is rigged.

Ten minutes later I would tell myself that I made 
an awful choice.  That I was weak and wanton and a 
bad example for my children.  That I was a horrible 
wife and that I deserved every hurtful thing that 
had ever happened to me.
 
I couldn't tell who moved first.  My best guess is 
a shock wave moved through DC and shoved one of us 
into the other, but the carefully designed woman 
Skinner dropped off a few minutes ago vanishes. 

I feel Mulder's lips on mine and I don't pull away.  
No sweet pretenses, no gentle nuzzling - my mouth 
against his as hard and angry as his against mine.  
Now.  I've waited so long; how dare any gods deny 
us this?  No talking, no thinking - now.  

Through my painkiller fog, I feel his hands set me 
up on something so our faces are even and push my 
legs unceremoniously apart.  I don't even pretend 
to object.  All thoughts of being a mother and a 
wife vanish with the rough onslaught of tongues and 
hands. This isn't what happens when my newly 
revived libido misses my sweet husband for a week.  
This is when my heart and soul are starved for 
completion for years. Sex doesn't even begin to 
describe it.  Fucking comes close.  This is 
animalistic, instinctive, visceral.  This is what I 
need.  This is something more.

The skirt Skinner bought me is hurriedly shoved up 
around my waist and I feel thumbs looping the 
elastic of my panties, hear the fabric tearing.  
"Yes, Scully?" Mulder asks.   If I just say 'no,' 
he'll stop and I can pretend this never happened.  
I can just walk away.  

Not a choice.  The sun will always rise, sparks 
will always fly upward, I will always love this 
man.

"Yes."

He jerks me to the edge of the counter.  With his 
mouth inches from mine, he pauses for a millisecond 
to savor.  He smells like Mulder.  I used to just 
stand in his apartment and close my eyes, swearing 
I wouldn't forget that scent, but I almost had and 
it made me livid.  

I startle as I feel fingers suddenly deep inside 
me; my breaths are coming faster.  Foreplay isn't 
really necessary - I've been ready for this for 
years, and play has nothing to do with it.  The 
harsh whispers start into my lips, into my ears, 
and neck and throat.  Things my polite husband 
wouldn't dream of saying to me.  He loved me 
goddamn it.  I was beautiful.  Strong.  I was his.  
Now.  Always.  Need this.  Tell him I needed this.  
Fuck - tell him I still loved him.  Tell me, 
Scully.  Say it now.  Say you still love me.  Now!

"Love you."

This he's inside me, not being sweet or gentle 
because he knows that's not what I need.  I need 
more.  Hands are rough on my breasts, around my 
hips to keep me from sliding back from the 
onslaught, and his mouth invading mine again to 
keep me quiet.  I dimly register that we're 
somewhere in the suture room, but that doesn't seem 
important right now.  I wrap my legs around his 
waist, letting him thrust deeper, harder, angrier, 
and trying to let him disappear inside me so I'll 
never lose him again.  Lean back, let him conquer 
me briefly, and close my eyes, enjoying the pain-
tinged pleasure.  Pain makes me feel alive again.  
Lips are on my breasts, already knowing which 
places need kissed, which need licked, and which 
need bitten.  Hard.  I feel his hand in my hair, 
jerking my head back so he can leave marks on my 
neck like an animal marking his territory.  His.  I 
am his and I revel in it.  My teeth find his 
shoulder and I taste a tinge of salty blood.  Mine.  
How dare you try to leave me, Mulder?  How dare 
you!

I can't tell which are orgasms and which are sobs 
for either of us, but eventually I feel his body 
leave mine and his arms wrap around me. 

My body is slowing, but my mind still races, trying 
to focus though the drugs.  I wrap my legs tighter 
around his waist, locking my ankles. I can't live 
the rest of my life and never feel this way again.  
This is what it feels like to be a part of life 
instead of just an observer.  My mouth covers his - 
gently this time, still needing to feel our bodies 
blending into one.  As our breathing slows, there 
is a long, leisurely kiss in sharp contrast to the 
frenzied sex of a moment ago.

"Love you.  Never stopped loving you," I tell him.

He rolls his head back, closing his eyes and 
letting me taste the salty sweat, letting me smell 
the scent of my skin on his.  His throat moves as 
he swallows, exhaling sharply at the rough sand of 
my tongue and savoring the last few spasms.  He 
moves to kiss me again, lips parted and dark eyes 
open and searching into mine, begging me not to 
leave him. 

Never leave you, Mulder.  What in heaven or hell do 
you think could make me ever leave you?

I put my hands on either side of that beautiful 
face and see my new wedding band with its expensive 
platinum and diamonds as I smile at him.  Skinner 
went a little overboard buying a ring for a hand as 
tiny as mine, but it's beautiful, just like my 
Mulder.

Then I realize what's happened and pull away as 
though this man were fire, as though I can rewrite 
the last few minutes if I deny myself this kiss.  
The sweat is cooling on my hot skin and there's 
still a throbbing between my legs as a painful 
reminder that what's done is done.  I can't take it 
back now.

Oh, God.

I shove Mulder away as I slide down from the 
counter, returning to reality as I jerk down my 
ugly skirt.  He won't meet my eyes and he's still 
breathing quickly.  The entire room smells like sex 
– the clock says not more than ten minutes have 
passed, but the planet has just tilted sharply to 
the left.

The tears have started again.  Oh, God - what did I 
just do?  What was I thinking?

Mulder doesn't know where to put his hands.  He's 
trying to reconcile the idea of his Scully being 
another man's wife.  He's trying to conceive that 
what we've just done is wrong as he hurriedly 
redresses.  

So am I.  I just stand there and try to reconcile 
for a long time.  Conceive and shake and cry, while 
I lean against the counter, not strong enough to 
stand alone.  You shouldn't have left me, Skinner.  
I'm not strong enough to stand alone. 

Finally, he pulls the front of my bra together, 
fastening the latch, and then starts to button up 
the blouse which I don't remember him even 
unbuttoning in the fray.

"Scully?  What's this?"  Mulder is looking at the 
bruises on my ribs and shoulder.  He runs his 
fingers over them and I flinch.  His face hardens 
as he finds the marks on my forehead.  "Did Skinner 
do that?  Did he hit you?"

I'm sure he wants to think Skinner did.  That 
Mulder had come back to rescue me from some kind of 
monster, climbing the tower to save me and then 
carrying me off to happily-ever-after.  Nothing 
could be further from the truth.  In theory, I 
already lived in happily-ever-after.  At least, I 
lived in the same zip code.
 
"God - no, Mulder.  He's wonderful to me and the 
kids.  We had a wreck yesterday.  I ran his new car 
into a telephone pole."

I realize I've said "the kids."  So does Mulder.  
He smiles, his face still flushed.  He wanted that 
so much for me. The afterglow of illicit sex and 
its implications are temporarily forgotten as he 
wipes away my tears.

"You have kids, Scully?  How old?"

"Twins.  They turned three in November.  A boy and 
a girl."  

He's not a stupid man.  I had to have been pregnant 
when he was abducted.  I see the question in his 
eyes and I nod "yes."  

His arms go around me again, very carefully, and he 
rests his damp forehead against me for a long, long 
time as the tears start to flow again.
                  
                   *******

I remember my prayer:

God - if you're up there - thank you.  Thank you 
for those two children.   Thank you for giving them 
to Scully.  And to me.  Thank you for the miracles; 
thank you for letting me love my Scully - even if 
it never happens again, for letting her conceive, 
for keeping her safe while I was away, and for 
letting me come home.  

Four miracles - I shouldn't expect another.

Guess expecting to get to come home to Scully would 
be too much for you, eh, God?  Getting to be a 
father to my children - couldn't quite manage that, 
now could you?  How about keeping her out of my 
boss' bed?  No, huh?  One more night with Scully in 
my arms - not even sex - just getting to hold her 
and know that it's right instead of what I've just 
done.  Too much of a miracle for you, isn't it, Big 
Guy?  

I guess I get only four, because as soon as I can 
get myself to stop holding her, I'm never going to 
get to do it again.  She's going to pull away from 
me, jump in that river in Egypt, and I'll never 
touch her again because it's somehow become 
legislated into a sin.

Better have heard that prayer, God, because I'm 
never speaking to you again as long as I live.

Amen.  Shalom.  Fuck you.  Whatever. 

                  *******

January 4, 2004

"Tell me about them - what they're like."

Mulder is slumping down in the chair so I can lie 
in the bed, waiting for my latest pain pill to kick 
in and putting as much distance as possible between 
us.  I actually took three when Mulder wasn't 
looking - far more than I'm supposed to, but I'm 
going to need to be a lot more numb to face my 
trusting husband when he gets here.

"They're wonderful.  Where do you want me to 
start?"

"How did you get pregnant, Scully?"

"When we had sex, Mulder."  Such a silly question.  
How did he think I got pregnant?

"You're stoned.  Do you at least have any pictures 
I can look at?"

I point to my overnight bag - my wallet should be 
in it.  I'm not stoned, Mulder - I'm floating.  You 
won't tell my husband we just had sex, will you, 
Mulder?  He doesn't like it when I have sex with 
other men, Mulder, especially you.

I watch Mulder's face lazily as he flips through 
the pictures - Skinner and I right after we were 
married, one of me with my mother and my brothers, 
one of Skinner and me with the kids, and one of 
Mulder.  My life summarized in four photographs.
 
He looks at the one of all of us at a kids' picnic 
at the club for a long time, trying to understand 
that this is real.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  I'm sorry, I left you alone - 
I had no idea."

I want to tell him I was fine, but that's not true 
and I'm too sleepy.  I'll tell him later.
                       
                   *******

Hannah and David.  It was written on the back of 
the picture.  Walter and Dana Skinner and David and 
Hannah Mulder.  Not Scully, not Skinner - Mulder.  
She gave them my name.  She took Skinner's name but 
my children had mine.

I had children.

I had a daughter with a head full of light red hair 
and blue eyes named Hannah.  A good name.  She 
looked like Scully - except she hadn't learned to 
hide that mischief yet.  Beautiful bedroom eyes and 
Scully's lips.  She looked like a fairy vixen, up 
to something rotten.  My daughter.

And I had a son.  David.  I could see my face in 
his.  Those droopy eyes, those floppy lips.  I 
don't even need to question that they were mine - 
that boy proved it.  He was an intense little guy, 
watching his mother like a hawk.  My son.   

I looked at the photo from every angle while Scully 
slept, trying to see something new.  Some clue as 
to what my children were like.  I went out to the 
nurses' station and held it up to the light where 
they read the x-rays, but there was still nothing.  
No secrets.  No answers.

All I saw was Scully wearing a pretty summer dress.  
Her hair is pulled back from her face and there's 
one hand on Skinner's chest as she kisses his 
cheek.  He's holding the boy on his shoulder and 
the girl on his lap, but he's looking down 
adoringly at Hannah.  Scully had a gentle hand on 
David's shoulder, and he was looking over at his 
mother.  

Scully's eyes are closed as her lips touch Skinner.  
They were open when she kissed me half an hour ago.

It wasn't a stiffly posed K-Mart $24.99 photo 
package with everyone wearing their Sunday best.  
These were people affluent enough to have their 
picture taken often and casually.  Life just 
handed them all these nice things and they had 
look up in their Dockers and Lizwear as the 
photographer strolled by at the country club.

It looked like a family.  A beautiful, complete, 
happy family.  I tried to imagine myself in the 
portrait - where would I be in the picture?  
Sitting on Skinner's lap or standing useless in the 
background – just a backdrop for a pretty picture?  
Or do I just show up occasionally and fuck the lady 
of the house; don't get to be in the family 
portraits?

                   *******
                    
January 5, 2004

Skinner's voice wakes me next - asking me if I want 
to go home.  

"What time is it?"  

"Almost four.  They're ready to discharge Mulder."

I roll up to sitting, trying to look like it 
doesn't hurt.  Not just my ribs are sore.  Good, I 
deserve to be in pain.

"He wants to go to the Gunmen's - can you make sure 
he has money for a cab?"  That's a nice way of saying 
I don't want him staying with us.  "Why do you still 
have the kids?  Where's Nina?"  Sissy is asleep 
against his shoulder and Bubby is laying across the 
bottom of the bed. 

I slip back so easily into our casual formality.  
We each know our roles - all I have to do is play 
my part.  I can feel myself carefully folding and 
storing away who I was last night and putting on 
Mrs. Skinner and Mama.  The woman I was to Mulder 
goes into a drawer in the back corner of my mind - 
someone I didn't want to lose, but not me anymore.  
Only a memory, nothing more.

"Nina drank the water while she was home - she's 
being admitted right now.  Your mother is coming at 
eight to watch the kids - unless you think Mulder 
would like to spend some time with them."

I can see it in his eyes - he's trying so hard to 
handle this like an adult.  So am I. 

"You're going back to work?" I ask, trying to rinse 
my face in the tiny sink.  I can smell Mulder on 
me.  Semen has dried on the inside of my thighs - I 
have the urge to find a bathroom and start washing 
it away as though it was blood on my hands.  

"Long story, but it's not a choice."

"I'd rather you stay with me."  That's a really big 
hint, Skinner.

"Your mom will be there.  I'm trying to avoid 
having to fly back to Chicago this morning.  And 
I'll try to leave early. "

'Early' meant before midnight.  When was the last 
time he slept?  He'd been up for two nights 
straight at the least.  I need him right now - 
screw the FBI.

Jack, Skinner, Mulder - three down, Dana.  Two in 
the last twelve hours, actually.

SHUT UP!

Mulder is stirring at the sound of our voices, and 
I see his eyes open.  "The doctors say you can go - 
you ready, Mulder?"  

He nods, looks curiously at the kids, but he's not 
awake yet.  Mulder goes to find a bathroom as I 
brush out my hair and realize my panties are gone.  

"He looks fine."

"He seems fine - just missing the last four years."

We're tap dancing around the real issue, which 
isn't Mulder's health. "I want to go home, Skinner 
- our home.  With our kids.  Take me hoome."

He nods.  Message received.  Love isn't a promise, 
but commitment is.  Choice made.  

Mulder returns, eating a leftover Christmas cookie 
he probably charmed out of a nurse.  He sits in the 
chair again and just stares at the two sleeping 
children.

"It doesn't seem real, Scully."  

Neither do you, Mulder.  Skinner lays Hannah down 
on the bed beside David to help me with my coat and 
Mulder reaches out to touch her long hair.  

Eyes lock and looks are going back and forth 
between Mulder and Skinner - probably a 
continuation of whatever was said on the phone.  I 
see them both standing up straighter; each 
declaring his territory like my children and I are 
new lands to be conquered.  Didn't we just settle 
this, Skinner?  Mulder?  You can't tell him what 
happened, Mulder.

The alpha males are ignoring me.  Apparently, I 
just have the babies and warm the bed for whoever 
isn't abducted by aliens at the moment.

Fuck you both - fight it out.  I'm taking my babies 
and going home.  I may be a lousy wife, but I'm 
still a good mother.

"Give me the keys," I tell Skinner, holding out my 
hand as I scoop up Hannah with my other arm.  "Wake 
up, Bubby."  David obediently wakes enough to 
follow me to the car.

"You can't carry her, Scully.  And you aren't 
driving with those pain pills.  I'll drive you 
before I go to work."

"I haven't had a pill since last night - I'm fine 
and I'm going home."

"Scully - I'm not sure you're thinking straight," 
Mulder chimes in.  That's quite an understatement, 
partner.

"You have four broken ribs - you're not carrying 
her."  Skinner.  

I'm being tag teamed.  Nice of them to interrupt 
their pissing contest to bully me.

"Give me THE KEYS!  I want to go home and I want to 
go home NOW!"

Oh, Christ, that hurt, but I get the keys.  

"Second level of the garage," Skinner says, holding 
out the keys. "I'll be home by six."  Mulder suddenly 
finds something very interesting to stare at on the 
floor so he can act like he didn't hear that.

Skinner only said it so Mulder could hear it.  To 
remind Mulder he wasn't the one coming to me 
tonight.  The pissing contest was far from over, 
but covert jabs had just replaced chest thumping.

Hannah feels like she weighs a ton against my hip, 
but I make it to the car, get the kids buckled in, 
and turn the key, already anticipating some heat on 
my feet.

Nothing.  

Try again.

Nothing - just clicking noises.

"SHIT!"

I can't leave my kids in a cold car, so that means 
waking them, lugging them back inside the hospital, 
and making Skinner what he considers 'late' for 
work.

All I want is away from these two men until I get a 
chance to think.

Mulder has vanished again, but Skinner spots me as 
soon as I step out of the parking garage and comes 
to take Hannah.  David is dogging at my heels as we 
go back into the ER, escaping the snowstorm.

"The car won't start.  You said you'd put a new 
battery in it."

"Okay - stay here where it's warm and I'll go look 
at it.  If the cab comes, tell Mulder to go on and 
I'll be there in a little bit.  He's going to the 
office with me so we can start the paperwork to get 
him alive again.  I put a new battery in your car a 
few weeks ago, so I think it's the alternator again 
- it was acting up earlier."

"And you were just going to let me and the kids 
drive off without mentioning that?  Why didn't you 
fix it?"  That was too bitchy and I know it.  I'm 
tired and cold and in pain and my dead lover just 
showed up and helped me shatter my marriage vows.

"Well, first I was off trying to arrest mobsters, 
so I put some jumper cables in the trunk and 
planned to fix it when I got back, since you were 
driving my car.  Then my wife wraps MY car around a 
telephone pole with our kids in the back seat, so I 
left the mobsters to come take care of my family.  
Then I spent the day chasing two preschoolers, 
which doesn't allow time for mechanics.  Then 
Mulder comes back from the dead, so I've spent the 
night driving you to the hospital, meeting overdue 
flights from Central America, feeding children, 
changing children, and driving back to the hospital.  
Now I need to get my ass back in the office, since 
the Director called and told me if my wife was well 
enough to be running around the ER, she was well 
enough for me to be at work.  And I have to get your 
old partner undead so I can kill the arrogant son-of-
a-bitch the next time he touches my daughter.  And I 
got to call your mother to come take care of our kids 
like I'm a lousy, workaholic father, so when would 
you LIKE ME TO FIX THE DAMN CAR, SCULLY?"

"Hey!"  Mulder rounds the corner, having heard at 
least some of that.  "Back off - don't yell at 
her."

The look on Skinner's face is priceless - he can't 
decide whether to laugh or not, but he's not angry 
anymore.  If it was anyone else besides Mulder, 
he'd probably laugh.  He settles for the default 
scowl.

"It's okay, Mulder.  Here - take a child so Skinner 
can go look at the car."

Skinner gives me another 'look' as he shifts a 
sleeping Hannah to Mulder and leaves without a 
word.  I'm going to hear about this later, I'm 
sure.  She may be the apple of your eye, but she's 
still Mulder's DNA, dear.  Live with it.

"You shouldn't have interfered, Mulder," I tell 
him, embarrassed, as David crawls up on my lap to 
get warm.  This is a mild fight.  Put a man as 
dominating as Skinner in the same house with a 
woman as independent and headstrong as me and 
sparks will often fly.  We both know it, we handle 
it, and we make up later, but I hated for Mulder to 
see it.

"He was yelling at you, Scully."

"He's my husband, he hasn't slept in two days, and 
I was being a bitch.  It was none of your business."

Mulder can't conceive that anything about me would 
be none of his business.

"Are you married, married, Scully?" he asks, 
looking at my wedding ring.

I understand what he's asking - is this a marriage 
of convenience?

"We're married, married, Mulder.  Two months, now."  

Great sex, and all, Mulder.  

The wheels are turning behind his eyes - if he'd 
come back two months ago, would this still have 
happened?  I don't know, Mulder, but I know I can't 
imagine not having Skinner to depend on.  All those 
days in the Neonatal ICU when I didn't know if the 
babies were going to live or die, and if they did 
live, what kind of life would they have?  Then 
taking them home with all that equipment - even a 
chart of how long they could each stop breathing.  
Trying to nurse two preemies.  Trying to go back to 
work, even without traveling.  Then trying to pay 
my bills - and the medical bills - on a part-time 
salary.  Then the news that neither child was okay 
- Hannah has Cerebral Palsy and David hhas serious 
speech delays - you weren't there for any of that 
and Skinner was.  It was that simple. 

David wiggles against me.  It's almost time for Mr. 
Early Bird to be getting up.  He and Skinner often 
have breakfast and watch CNN together before he 
goes to work so I can sleep an extra few minutes.

"Mama - Dada?"

"He went to fix the car, Bubby - he'll be back in a 
little bit and we can go home," I answer before I 
think.  Yes, Mulder - your son calls another man 
'Dada'.

He strokes Hannah's face against his chest as she 
sleeps on, oblivious to the world.  She is her 
mother's daughter.    

"You love him, Scully?"

"It doesn't matter, Mulder."

"So that's a 'no'."  

"Mulder - just stop.  I'm too tired and in pain to 
discuss this right now.  I've missed you so much 
and I thank God you're back, but I can't rip my 
family apart to run to your arms.  We're -not- 
going to discuss this, are we, Mulder?" 

Please understand what I'm saying, Mulder.  It's 
not that I don't still love you.

"No, Scully - we aren't discussing it with anyone.  
Sometimes people say things on painkillers that 
they don't mean.  Things that shouldn't be held 
against them."

My secret is safe.  Mulder looks like he's been 
sucker-punched, but my secret is safe.

Silence as David climbs down so he can get into 
trouble.  Skinner had put diapers on him for the 
night, so I'm not worrying about potty patrol - not 
that it's the greatest of my worries at this 
moment.  

"What happened to his arm?" Mulder asks, searching 
for a different topic as we wait.

"The same drunk driver that ran us off the road hit 
David's side of the car.  It's just a hairline 
fracture - it will heal fine."

David hears us talking and comes to tell us his 
side of the story.  This should be interesting.

"Godda geo boom.  Car-car iska by.  Ba woo-woo.  
Twat," he adds with a knowing nod.

Mulder looks at me, eyebrows raised questioningly.  
Sorry, no clue, Mulder.  Hannah is half-awake now 
and translates:

"Got boo-boo.  Car bye-bye.  Am-bu-lance.  Cat." 

"I see," Mulder responds.  He's always been good 
with kids.  I used to imagine how good he would be 
with these two until the doctors started listing 
all their problems.  Then I started noticing how 
good Skinner was with them.  "Hannah - are you 
okay?"

"No boo-boo.  I.  Got.  Waka."  

"She has a new walker at home - she's very proud of 
it."

"That's great, Hannah.  Is it like a scooter?"

"No - waka."  She also has a scooter, which pales 
in comparison to her new walker, silly man.

"Oh, it's a walker.  Okay."  More raised eyebrows 
at me.

"She has CP, Mulder.  They were both born 
prematurely and she uses a walker to walk."

There, I said it.  You didn't get "normal" children 
because I couldn't stay pregnant long enough.  
Because my body was inadequate.  Skinner loves them 
if you don't.

Mulder is quiet for a few seconds.  "His speech - 
is that dysphasia, or echolalia, or is it twin-
speak?  Can he stop?"

"Not for very long.  The doctors can't tell how 
delayed he is because he won't cooperate, but he is 
at least mildly delayed."

"Mildly retarded."

"Don't say that - it's just a speech delay."  I 
couldn't bring myself to believe that a man as 
brilliant as Mulder would have a mentally retarded 
son.  Could love a retarded son.

"Mildly developmentally delayed is a nice way of 
saying 'probably mildly retarded' when kids are 
small and the parents don't want to hear the words 
yet, Scully."

"Stop it - we see enough shrinks.  I don't need 
your professional opinion, too."

"Sorry."  Mulder watches the snow fall through the 
window for a while.  "I'm just trying to sort 
things out."  More snow-watching.   

"I.  Walk."  God bless that child.  If I can find a 
Hasbro product Skinner hasn't already bought for 
her, I'm buying it for those two words.

"She wants to show you how well she can walk, 
Mulder."

Hannah nods.  My children have never met a 
stranger.  "If you'll let her hold your fingers, 
she can do the rest.  You don't have to lift her, 
just keep her balanced and let her support 
herself."  

Mulder follows my directions, playing marionette 
with Hannah in the empty lobby as David tags along 
with commentary about his "twat."  I see Mulder 
turn his head and look back at me and grin like a 
kid with a new toy as Skinner blows in with the 
cold wind.

"I think the car's a hopeless quest, Scully.  
They're bringing us a rental."

I wrap his arms carefully around me and cover his 
frozen hands with mine as we watch Mulder.

"What are we going to do, Skinner?  They're his 
children."

"He's not going to try to take them - he can play 
with them any time he wants, as far as I'm 
concerned.  I doubt children can be loved to death, 
Scully - just like you can't."

Did I say Skinner was bad with words?  It must have 
been the meds.

Screw the FBI - you're taking another day off - 
just in case.

                   *******

Fan Frohike, boys, he was gonna faint.  

Yes, it was really me - you could turn off the 
voice recognition thingy.  If the FBI and the DMV 
said I was alive, then I was alive.  

And I had a few questions I wanted answered.  NOW.

And then I was getting drunk.  Totally, shit-faced 
drunk.  Drunk enough to forget Scully is ashamed 
that she had sex with me.  Told me she still loved 
me, blamed it on pain pills, and then went back to 
Skinner.  Pills will do that to you, Scully - I 
think I even woke up stoned in a hospital once and 
told you I loved you.  You left with Skinner that 
day too, if I recall correctly.
 
Nope, Boys, didn't remember a thing about the ship 
- and that made it even worse.  I had nno home, no 
car, and no Scully.  I had my old job back, since 
my AD felt guilty for marrying the mother of my 
children.  And I had piles of my father's money 
that had been drawing interest; bought all that 
Internet stock during the Y2K panic.  And I had two 
kids that called Skinner 'Dada.'  And I spent five 
hours at the DMV trying to get my driver's license 
renewed, since it had expired three years before I 
was returned.  Ever try to explain alien abduction 
to a State employee?  Don't - just fill out the forms 
and stand in line.

Bring on the booze.  Not only was I drinking until 
I remembered something about the past four years, I 
was drinking until I forgot the past two days.

                    *******