Begin: Then Spoke the Thunder (5/5)

I'm about to read a dead woman's diary to get out of toilet training 
our son.  

Mulder and I thought we had the potty battle won three months ago, but 
we discovered, on Will's first day of preschool, that he won't pee 
anywhere but at home.  He had refused to go all morning until he'd 
finally wet his pants.

Since I lack the necessary equipment, the job of teaching Will that 
real men can pee on anything they want to, has been designated to my 
husband.  They've been happily running around the neighborhood all 
morning, pissing in every bathroom, and on every tree they can find.  
Mulder's going to have to be more discrete or he's going to get 
arrested.  They are pretty cute, though, my husband and my adopted son 
standing side-by-side in their winter coats, peeing into the bushes 
in our backyard.

Adopted.

I forget that Will is not my biological child.  A child of my heart, 
not of my body. Except for seven months or so, I have raised him as his 
mother since he was born. Born to another woman when Mulder's wife was 
not me.  A dead woman.

Mulder and I always told Will the truth about who his birth mother was, 
but he was too young to understand.  Besides, Elizabeth and I looked so 
much alike, it confused Mulder - I couldn't expect Will to keep all the 
mommies straight.  Recently, he'd started asking questions about her 
and I looked to Mulder for answers.  

He hadn't had them.  

I was shocked at how little he knew about Elizabeth.  She floated in 
and out of his life, remaining a gossamer mystery.  He didn't know her 
maiden name for a bank account we opened for Will - we had to use mine, 
which is no great mystery, since it is the same as my married name.  

My Mulder is a different man than he was four years ago.  Before the 
great divide.  This Mulder is calmer, more steady.  More at peace with 
the world.  He's still a believer, still driven, still brilliant, but 
not rash.  He's a grown-up now and I love him.

But some days I miss my old Mulder.  I loved him, too.

The thoughtless, impulsive imp that charged off at a moment's notice to 
do battle with the unknown.  The self-centered ass that ditched me in 
morgues all over the country.  The myopic flirt that slept with a woman 
he didn't know, and then dumped me because she was pregnant.  

It doesn't sting like it used to.  In fact, it barely smarts at all 
now.  I was always Mulder's best friend - the only one he trusted.  I 
was his partner in life, and a few times, in death.  I was the one he 
imagined when he made love to Elizabeth.  I was the one who laid beside 
him at night now and got the privilege of helping raise his son. His 
son, our child.

I hate to think of Elizabeth as being just a means to produce the child 
that I love, because I liked her.  She was, by far, the nicest woman I 
have ever met.  It made me sad to see the impact of her short life 
summarized into a few pages.

But now our child wants to know about his birth mother.  I found the 
boxes Mulder had packed after she died when Will was born - some of her 
clothes, her books, her pictures, her music.  I couldn't resist trying 
on her wedding band in the solitude of the attic - just once to see how 
it felt to be her.  She's worn it for less than a month.  Mulder's old 
ring was there too, symbols of a union that never really formed.  

Hollow.  It felt very hollow to be her.  I was content to be me these 
days.  Being Dana Scully was very full.

At the bottom of the box was her journal.  I had brought it to Mulder 
this morning, assuming he would read it.  I really didn't think about 
what that would entail.

He refused.  Not because it was an invasion of her privacy, but because 
it held answers that he didn't want to know.  Who she was, why she 
never loved him.  What awful things THEY must have done to her.  What 
she knew.  Why she didn't want Will.  

Mulder had faced many of the demons that had stalked him for so long 
and this was the last.  The last mystery.  How his son came to be.  It 
took me back to a time years ago, when I would always bear the cold 
truth myself before sharing it with Mulder, because he couldn't face 
its full force.  

"Just read it and tell me about it, Scully," he had said, and led Will 
off to begin marking the neighborhood like two stray dogs.  

"Just read it."  Half of me is salivating with curiosity and the other 
half is sickened.  Mulder and I had picked up the pieces of our lives 
separately and then forged a stronger bond together.  We didn't 
apologize and we didn't look back.  

I got a fresh cup of coffee, sat on the swing in our sun room with the 
brown journal on my lap, watched Mulder and Will and remembered.

**********

I knew Fox Mulder had potential the first time I laid eyes on him.  
That brilliant mind combined with those smoldering eyes behind his 
glasses.  I'd shrugged it off as a case of hormones, but any other man 
I dated or slept with got compared to Mulder, unfavorably.  I had no 
intention of becoming a number to him - another faceless, fluffy woman.  
I pressed those forbidden thoughts down to a dark place deep inside me.  
Mulder was a great friend, but he was not relationship material. Too 
arrogant, too self-centered.  Too haunted, too self-destructive.  I 
wasn't about to let him destroy me as he destroyed himself.  I built my 
wall high, but occasionally I permitted myself to peek through a crack 
in the mortar - just to check on his progress.  Usually when he was 
suffering, and Mulder suffered better than any man alive.  

"A mind like Aristotle and a form like mortal sin." Katherine Hepburn 
said that when she played Eleanor of Aquitaine in "The Lion in Winter" 
and it always reminded me of Mulder.  Eleanor and her husband loved so 
fiercely that they devoured each other with their intensity.  I could 
see Mulder and I following the same path into the inferno, so I 
lingered in the safety of Purgatory.  Better to smolder as friends than 
perish as lovers.  Mulder, you think Phoebe is fire?  No, your flames 
are far more dangerous.

I tasted his fire briefly before Elizabeth moved to DC.  It was when I 
found pictures of her in his desk drawer that I knew.  Mulder wanted 
me.  Me, Dana Scully.  Plain, ordinary, Agent Scully. Not only as a 
friend, but as a lover.  Wow.  Even in the black and white photos, 
Elizabeth's resemblance to me was obvious.  Younger, blonder, better 
built, but me.  I knew he loved me - he told me every time he had a 
head injury - but loving me and wanting me were two different things.  
It made me breathless to know for sure.  Mulder's hands on me made me 
even more breathless, but not breathless enough to be stupid.

When I got to know Elizabeth, I understood Mulder better and I didn't 
like what I understood.  She wasn't intimidating, she wasn't 
aggressive.  Elizabeth was an empty vessel shaped like me that Mulder 
could never feel threatened by.  That was who he chose over me.  
Coward.  That knowledge added another layer of bricks to the walls I 
often retreated into.

Mulder had a rough time after Elizabeth died, trying to raise his son 
and cope with her death at the same time.  He was busy rebuilding his 
life, and I didn't know if I was part of that life or not, or what my 
part was. He left me a note, telling me he was coping and he loved me.  
Yea, I knew that.  I was coping and I loved him, too.  Now what?  I 
started calling his machine when he wasn't home just to hear his voice.  
I missed him that much.

Skinner, of all people, set us up.  Ordered me down to the basement 
office late one night on some stupid, trumped-up reason.  I was 
expecting more of his, although I would never confess it to Mulder, 
very welcome advances.  I loved Mulder, but there was still a physical 
void in that dark place deep inside me.  If Mulder wasn't interested, I 
thought I was fine with Skinner being the one to full that void.  
Literally.

I stepped off the elevator and, for the first time in seven months, saw 
Will.  Walking!  Oh my God - walking!  Even better, behind Will was 
Mulder glowing at me.  Skinner disappeared and Mulder and I sank into 
each other.  I was terrified that he would walk away from me again and 
I would do whatever it took to keep him this time.  The only words I 
can use to describe his holding me are "blissful rightness."  In that 
second, embracing my partner, I was finally complete.  Whatever the 
price, I wanted this man.

Will, as he would do many times over the next two years, eventually 
required Mulder's attention and he got it.  It was an important lesson 
for me - Mulder's priorities - he did not slight me for his son, but he 
did not slight his son for me, either.  I liked that.  We finally 
parted, panting, and Mulder's eyes never left me while he saw to his 
child.  Will wanted to know if I was a "mama"- in a heartbeat, provided 
Mulder came with the job. 

Mulder picked up a backpack, rounded up Elizabeth's mentally challenged 
dog, locked the office, and walked out of the building with Will on his 
hip and me in his hand.  We kissed again in the parking garage after 
Will and the dog were secured in his SUV.  

"My God, I can't imagine how I've lived so long without this," he told 
me.  

I just nodded and got in the passenger seat.  Wherever Mulder was 
going, I had no intention of being left behind again. Whither thou 
goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.

My first surprise was that Mulder did not lodgest at Mulder's apartment 
anymore.  Mulder lodgest in a big house with porches and a fenced 
backyard and a two-car garage.  Mulder havest toys in his living room 
floor and laundry sitting folded in a basket at the bottom of the 
stairs.  Mulder hangest up our coats in a closet instead of throwing 
them on the couch.  

Mulder had grown up.

I don't know where I thought he'd been keeping that baby; in his 
apartment kitchen cabinet, I guess.  It frightened me that the part of 
Mulder I loved might have been swallowed up by fatherhood.  I was 
relieved when I found his home office, plastered with pictures of dead 
cattle, fake UFO sightings, and various folk myth monsters.  Mulder 
came up behind me, handing me a glass of wine.

"Were you worried?" he asked me.

I smiled.  Damn right I was worried.  I don't know how I'd expected him 
to change and still not change, but I had.

"I like it when you smile at me, Scully.  I missed that.  Come on, we 
need to talk."

I asked him if he didn't want to put Will to bed first, and he 
shrugged, asking how long I wanted to wait.  I told him I didn't care; 
how long can it take to put one little boy to bed?  Provided Mulder 
promised to rip my clothes off afterwards, I could wait another half-
hour.

Half-hour, my butt.

Mulder and his son shower together.  For some reason, I thought it was 
appropriate to stand in the bathroom doorway and watch them through the 
glass shower door, playing in the water together.  Beautiful.  Mulder 
didn't object, and I made notes on the places I wanted to taste on him 
before the night was over.  

Will required eight stories, four songs, and extensive snuggling in 
order to go to sleep nested in Mulder's arms two hours later.  He 
finally dozed off during the final verse of "Puff the Magic Dragon" and 
I waited for Mulder to put him down to sleep in his own bed, but he 
didn't.  

"I owe you some answers," he said, his fingers trailing through Will's 
dark curls.

I told him that he didn't owe me anything, but I would listen if he 
wanted to talk.  Then I would like to lick him all over - I didn't tell 
him that last part, though.  That was a mistake.  Mulder talked.  He 
friggin talked, and talked, and talked.  How did they ever let him 
become a psychologist when he never shuts the hell up long enough to 
listen to anyone else?  Like I care about why he married Elizabeth.  
Close your mouth, put down that child, take off your pants, and let's 
go, Mulder.  We can discuss whatever you want later.  Much later.

We finally polished off the wine and he wound down, unsure of what to 
do next.  

"So what now, Scully?  Where do we go from here?"

I didn't hesitate, "We go to bed, Mulder."

He found me a t-shirt and boxers to sleep in, and when I came out, 
Mulder was standing at the window in his pajama bottoms, still holding 
his son.  

"I was looking at the north star, Scully.  Thinking about you."

"Your Polaris? Your distant brilliance?" I asked.

"How did you know about that?"

"I found the tape, Mulder."  

"Hum.  I wondered where that went to."  He put his other arm around my 
shoulders and kissed the top of my damp hair.  "I missed you, Scully.  
Glad to see you again."

He was moving entirely too slow for my taste.  Screw being subtle and 
lady-like.

"Mulder, can we go to bed?"

"Sure, Scully, where do you want to sleep?"

I tried to keep my mouth from hanging open.  "With you, Mulder."  Duh!  
Like I haven't waited almost a decade.

"You're welcome, but you may be a little disappointed."

"I can't imagine being disappointed."

Mulder actually blushed.  "That's not what I meant, Scully."

Mulder lets the dog sleep with him.  No problem, I can work around a 
dog.  Will sleeps in Mulder's bed.  Fine, he must have a guest room or 
a couch somewhere, or the floor.  Come on, Mulder!  

Will can't sleep without his Daddy.

Jesus Christ!

Mulder tried to leave him.  He'd cover him up in the middle of his big 
bed and lead me into the next room, silent as mice.  We'd get about to 
second base before Will would wake up, crying for "Dada!  Dada!"

Then the singing and rocking ritual would begin again while I sat on 
the couch feeling stupid.  After two tries, I was a desperate woman and 
Mulder was going to have the worst case of blue balls in history.  

"Mulder, this isn't going to work!"

"You can't say I didn't warn you."

"I can say, this isn't what I imagined," I told him.  That came out 
bitchier than I intended.

"This is my life, Scully."  It sounded like a take-it-or-leave-it 
statement.  Then he grinned and pulled me down in the bed with Will 
between us.  "It's not the way I imagined it either, but given our 
history, I'm not shocked."

Mulder leaned over to kiss me and Will woke up, wide awake again.  
"Dada, Mama?" 

"Not if you don't learn to sleep alone, Will.  Mamas and dadas can't 
become mamas and dadas as long as you insist on sleeping between them."  
 
Will gave Mulder a sleepy, puzzled look and Mulder chuckled.  Then he 
threw back his head and laughed whole-heartedly.  In spite of myself, I 
joined him.  Thwarted at every turn.  So very "us."

Will decided we were both nuts and snuggled against Mulder for a long 
winter's nap.  I curled up on the other side of Will, shoving my feet 
under the warm dog and holding Mulder's hand.  I could see his eyes in 
the dark and I felt at peace. Horny as hell, but at peace.  

"Hey, Scully?  Scully, are you awake?"

"Barely, Mulder.  What did you have in mind?"  A miracle?

"He takes a two-hour nap each afternoon.  Alone, on the couch.  Could I 
interest you in taking a long lunch - love of my life, reason for my 
being?"

"As my senior, are you propositioning me, Agent Mulder?"

"Damn right, Agent Scully."

"Don't ever leave me again, Mulder."

"Not for the rest of my life, " he said.  It was a promise.

********** 

I was stalling.  

Mulder and Will must be empty, because they had zipped up and were 
playing on the swing.  Will was swinging, Mulder was pushing and making 
rocket ship noises. I'd never seen a man that enjoyed being a father as 
much as he did.  Of course, he thought the Lone Gunmen made appropriate 
babysitters and let Will carry around a green alien water bottle with a 
straw in the top.  He explained to Will that aliens were actually gray, 
but the people that made the bottles didn't know that.  

I was still stalling.  

I opened Pandora's diary and read:

'I learned in school that it sometimes helps to keep a journal, but I 
don't know what to write.  He is going to die.  I am so frightened.  
The doctor says he has brain cancer and that Scott is going to die.  
He's asleep in our bed now - he doesn't look like he's dying.  He's 
just had a couple of nose bleeds.  The man that smokes told me I 
couldn't tell anyone.  Tell anyone what? Oh, God, please don't let him 
leave me.'

'My husband says he killed people.  He woke up crying last night and 
told me all these awful things he says he has done.   He says someone 
gave him this cancer.  I don't know whether to believe him or not.  I 
can see him slipping away, becoming more and more confused.  I would 
sell my soul for one more day with him like he used to be.'

'I want to write down the names before I forget them.  Spender, Rouch, 
Cry Check, Mulder, Skinner.  Purity Control.  Gibson.  Paper Clip.  
Anasazi.  Fowley.  Ex-file.  Grudge.  Blue Book.  Area 51.  Crichcow. 
Hybrids.  Skull E.  The other men he worked with are still here - 
outside the house - watching me.  I think Scott is telling me the 
truth.'

'I can't believe he hurt me.  He wanted the car keys and I wouldn't 
give them to him because it's not safe for him to drive and he hurt me.  
I saw in his eyes the coldness that - I don't know how many - must have 
seen when he killed them.  How can I have been with this man for ten 
years and never really known him?  I convinced the ER doctor not to 
tell the police, but he advised me to "be more careful about johns."  
How humiliating.  At least he let me come home.  Why didn't someone 
tell me all the last times that would be coming - the last time we 
danced, the last time we made love, the last time we laughed at a joke 
together?  I would have tried to remember them more clearly.'

'He is much worse.  He doesn't know who I am, sometimes.  Scott gets 
nosebleeds all the time now and he can't see clearly.  He says I have 
to go to someone named Mulder and tell him everything.  What would I 
tell him?  My dying husband thinks aliens are taking over the planet by 
growing in people's chests just like in the movies?  That a mysterious 
group of men are developing a vaccine and trying to create an alien/ 
human hybrid?  That these men kidnap women and take their eggs to 
create babies?  That the government recruits and trains men like Scott 
to kill?'

'I am home from the hospital.  I woke up in the middle of the night 
with Scott hurting me.  I screamed and the men outside came in and 
pulled him off of me.  The same doctor at the ER didn't believe me when 
I told him I fell.  I guess you can't get four broken ribs, a black 
eye, a broken wrist, a split lip, and a concussion by slipping in the 
shower.  I started to bleed and I lost the baby.  It's my fault - I 
should have just been still and he wouldn't have hurt me very badly.  
He's my husband, after all.  They took Scott back to the VA hospital 
and I can see him whenever I want.  It's been two weeks since he 
attacked me - I miss him so much.'

'He is unconscious.  I hold his hand and I tell him I love him but I 
don't know if he hears me.   I want him to know I love him, no matter 
what he has done.  The only man I've ever loved is leaving me - I don't 
think I want to go on without him.  I don't know if I can.'

'He is dead.  There is nothing left remarkable beneath the visiting 
moon.'

I didn't realize I was crying until I saw the ink on the pages start to 
run.   I feel the chip in the back of my neck, the dam holding back the 
same cancer in my own brain.  If not for Mulder, I would have been dead 
for years now.  

My pity party - as Skinner called them - is cut short by the return of 
Mulder, carrying Will over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  Will 
starts to produce things from his pockets, telling me in great detail 
about each item - rocks, feathers, something that used to be a worm.  
Will and the dog finally wander into the house and Mulder sits beside 
me in the swing.

"How's it going?"

"I'm up to her husband dying," I tell him.

"Scully, you know you don't have to do this.  Put that book back in the 
box and stick it back in the attic.  We'll tell Will she was a 
wonderful person and leave it at that."  He must have seen me wiping 
tears as they came up the steps.

"I want you to have your answers."  And, in truth, I wanted some 
answers of my own.

"I don't need answers that bad.  I may not like them when I get them.  
Stop crying over that book and let's go have lunch."

"No, I want to keep reading, Mulder.  I want to know just as much as 
you do."

Mulder nodded and went inside.  He brought me a sandwich before he and 
Will left to run errands.  Abandoned, the dog lowered her standards and 
slept at my feet as I read:

'I haven't written in so long.  Scott is dead, my father is dead - 
probably because I asked him about what Scott told me.  Now, someone 
has taken several of my clients.  My God, when will it end? When will I 
be safe?'

'I met Scott's Agent Mulder today.  He's come to create a profile of 
the kidnapper.  I feel like I know him; I feel safe with him.  Todd got 
too drunk and made a pass at me and I told him no.  Probably because 
I'm terrified.  Of what, exactly, I don't know.  I've been afraid for 
so long, I don't even remember for certain what I started out afraid 
of.'

'Mulder says it's because of me.  That someone is taking the kids 
because of me - to get at me.  Mulder doesn't seem real to me.  He's 
like someone who walked out of Scott's dark world.  Maybe soon I will 
wake up and this will all be a bad dream.'

'So much has happened, I don't know where to begin.  I have killed a 
man - Scott's best friend.  I have slept with Agent Mulder.  I am alone 
again.  I don't think any of it was really me.  I watched it all from 
above, detached.  I couldn't possibly have gone to bed with a 
mysterious stranger.  I couldn't have pulled the trigger that ended 
Beck's life.  He killed a child because he saw me with Mulder. How do I 
live with that?'


I spent about two hours getting dressed on the morning of the day 
Mulder and I first made love.  I had slipped out of his bed early that 
morning while everyone else slept; took a cab back to my apartment and 
realized it wasn't very far away.  I wondered if Mulder moved close to 
me on purpose. 

I showered, shaved my legs carefully, used the expensive conditioner on 
my hair, and then stood in front of the mirror, staring at myself 
judgmentally.  I wasn't Elizabeth, or Diana, or Phoebe.  I wasn't 
voluptuous, I wasn't seductive, I wasn't mysterious.  I was plain old 
Dana Scully, who trudged through cow pastures and cut into dead bodies 
for her partner.   Dana Scully, whose body and mind bore so many scars 
of pain and loss.  

With the light of day, the madness of the previous night had passed and 
I thought clearly.  The fluid naturalness of passion was broken and 
although I still wanted to be with Mulder, now I was nervous and I was 
intimidated.  What if he wasn't ready?  What if I wasn't?  What if he 
was disappointed? What if I did something stupid?  I had some idea of 
how many beautiful women he'd been with compared to my - uh - five men.  
Was that right? No, six - Ed counts.  God, that's pitiful.  There was 
no way in the world Mulder wasn't going to be disappointed.

Just like Mulder talked too much, I thought too much sometimes.

It was just Mulder, for pity's sake.  I knew Mulder.  I knew Mulder 
wanted me.  Wanted to feel my body arching against his. Oh dear, there 
was the fire again.  

I toyed with the idea of digging out my raunchy lingerie, but that 
wasn't really me.  Besides, I wasn't sure where it was.  I settled on a 
gold bra and panties, my only concession to sexy were the thigh-highs 
I'd taken to wearing instead of pantyhose after discovering what 
sixteen hours a day in pantyhose can do to the female anatomy.  I had 
visions of Mulder pushing my skirt up around my hips even as I pulled 
it on.  It was going to be a long morning.  Maybe I should pack a dry 
pair of panties.

I actually packed an overnight bag, which I hid in the trunk of the car 
once I got to work.  If I showed up at Mulder's door with it, that 
would seem forward.  Of course, I was taking half a vacation day so I 
could spend it in bed with him - no, that wasn't forward at all.

My watch must have been broken.  I checked the computer - yep - only 
ten forty-five.  Now the hornies had passed again and I was just 
nervous.  My stomach knotted and if I kept sweating, I was going to 
smell bad.  I was a grown woman, for Pete's sake!  It was Mulder - I've 
gone to bed with complete strangers - okay –a- complete stranger - and 
Mulder makes me a nervous wreck.

The clock finally said noon and I froze.  Nervousness turned into 
terror.  I wanted to run.

Not knowing what else to do, I sat in my car and called Mulder's cell 
phone.  It rang for longer than usual before he answered it.

"Mulder."  He sounded surprised; his phone must not ring much these 
days.

"Mulder, it's me." Me and my amazing verbal skills.

"Where are you, Scully?"

"Pulling out of the parking garage now."

"Are you coming over?"

"I'm trying, Mulder."   I didn't know what else to say, and there was a 
pause before he asked,

"Are you nervous too?"  

"I've brushed my teeth three times between nine and noon."  Really.  

"I've gone through four different shirts, vacuumed under all the 
furniture, and cleaned out the refrigerator.  I'm not sure how I think 
having a clean fridge will help, but you can look if you want."  I 
could hear him smiling over the phone and I breathed easier.

"How much time did you spend on your underwear choices, Mulder?"  
Sometimes old friends make the best lovers.

"Minimal - clean and reasonably new.  I did change the sheets on my bed 
to ones without graham cracker crumbs.  How long did your hair take 
this morning?"

He knew me too well.  "Forty minutes.  I had to start over half-way 
through.  How far did you run this morning?"  I knew him too.

"Seven miles.  I woke up really frustrated for some reason."  

My tension was melting away at the sound of his voice.  Mulder's 
melodic voice always meant safety to me.

"Hey, Scully?  We are really sad, you know that?"

"Pitiful.  Keep talking to me, Mulder."

"What do you want me to say?  You get your choice between how much I 
love you, how much I love Will, or what I think the government is doing 
to the drinking water."

"You're always my Mulder.  Just talk to me."  Like some people with 
brain damage, I only moved to the music of his baritone voice.

He did.  He told me he loved me in a way that was independent of space 
and time. That as he searched the face of this planet in the last 
decade, there was only one city that he longed to return to.  That in 
that city was one building, and in that building, one room, and in that 
room, one bed.  And in that bed was one crimson-haired woman who was 
his center.  His constant.  His equal.  His familiar.  That we were two 
stars in orbit around each other - each complete in its self, but 
together, somehow more rare and spectacular.  That in science, there is 
only life and death and the in-between, and I was one of the things 
that was meant to complete his in-between.  That I was beautiful.  A 
warrior's soul wrapped in the silky white skin of a woman.  That he 
could lose himself in my arms and my eyes for eternity.  That he could 
still taste my lips on his - like the last sweet drops of Muscato wine.  
That he could still smell me on his skin - the warm, soft scent he 
wanted to wake up with every morning for the rest of his life.  That he 
wanted his last conscious thought to be that I was happy.  Seduction by 
cell phone.  By the time I pulled into his driveway, I was a limp 
form blindly operating a Ford.

Mulder met me on the porch.  He wrapped his arms around me and I waited 
for him to pick me up and swing me in circles, as I had seen him do 
with Elizabeth.   He just sheltered me in his strong arms and rocked me 
back and forth.  

This was where I belonged.

I felt a familiar hand on my back as he guided me into the house.  If 
it wasn't for the high chair in his kitchen, I would have believed the 
last year and a half had never happened.  

"Where's Will?"  If he was farther than eight feet from his father, he 
must already be asleep.  I'd been kind of hoping to be part of the nap 
time routine.  I missed playing mommy.

"With the Gunmen.  With orders not to let him play on the Internet 
again."

I didn't ask.  Will wouldn't turn one year old until next week.  
Langly, I bet.

"Dog?"

"Also with the Gunmen.  Frohike thinks she attracts women."

"She attracts lawsuits, Mulder.  That dog is not normal.  Did you ever 
think she might have been one of Elizabeth's research projects?"

Shit, now I'd done it.  I'd said HER name.  I waited for psycho Mulder 
to emerge, shattering the careful tranquility we were cultivating.

"The correct term is socially challenged.  We put in a high fence, hide 
our shoes, carry lots of homeowners insurance, and love her the way she 
is.  I have considered doggy Prozac, though, Scully."

The tranquil waters were intact, so I waded deeper.

"Skinner said she ate all his shoes, too."  Might as well get it all 
out in the open.

Yep, that name got a reaction, but he wasn't going to ask.  I answered 
his unspoken question.

"Not a thing, Mulder.  He kissed me and then he walked away.  I have no 
idea why, because..."

How honest did I really want to be?

"Because you would have?" he asked.

"Yes, I would have.  I felt lonely and abandoned and I wanted someone 
to want me."

"You don't think I wanted you?"

"I don't know, Mulder.  Everything was so upside down.  You had just 
taken Will back and I felt like someone was taking my children all over 
again.  You wanted your son but you didn't want me.  I was confused."

Mulder didn't bother to defend himself.  "And now?"

"And now I know I love you and I can't help that.  Whatever happens 
between us, I always will.  I can go on living without you, but I'll 
never feel the same way about anyone else.  You're my one in five 
billion."

"And you are mine."  

I closed my eyes and I exhaled.


The dog was barking madly.  Someone was walking on her sidewalk or 
driving on her street again.  I must have dozed off.  I'd been doing 
that occasionally these days.  I'd missed my period and Mulder and I 
held our breath for a miracle.  Or for the news that my cancer had 
returned.  No news either way, so far.  Test results will be back 
Monday, Ms. Scully.  Get more rest, Ms. Scully.  Take better care of 
yourself, Ms. Scully.

I didn't tell the pubescent doctor that I had been abducted as an 
unwilling egg donor, infected with a bizarre virus, shipped to the 
South Pole, tattooed with drugged ink, implanted and reimplanted with a 
mysterious chip in my neck and all the other hazards that came with 
spending eleven years with Fox Mulder.  I don't think that vitamin C 
and catnaps are going to help at this point.

The journal was open on my lap, so I started to read again:

'I am pregnant.  There, it looks real now that I wrote it.  Scott and I 
tried for so long and now, with a man I barely know...  I don't know 
how to tell Mulder - he's so in love with his partner.  I was just a 
distraction.  A substitute for her.  Lucky woman.  Maybe I shouldn't 
even have this baby.  A child died because of this baby, because of 
me.'

'The smoking man came today.  He looks sick - I hope the bastard's 
lungs collapse.  He says if I don't have the baby, I will die.  I know 
he just wants something he can control Mulder with.  He says I don't 
have to tell Mulder, so I won't.  I'll let him live his life and be 
happy for now.  Someone deserves to be happy.'

'Mulder found out.  He says he loves me.  He says he wants me and the 
baby.  If Mulder ever loves me half as much as he loves her, it would 
be enough.  I will be safe again.  I am moving to Washington, DC.  I'll 
have to get out a map and see where that is.'

'I think it will be okay.  Mulder is wonderful and I like my new job.  
I worry about Scully, though.  I saw her last week when I got to DC and 
she is so pretty.  So poised and professional and sure of herself.  How 
do I ever compare to that?  Just because I was careless enough to get 
pregnant, I deserve Mulder?'

'I don't know what has happened.  We had dinner with some of Mulder's 
friends from work and I got to talk to Scully.  I like her so much.  
Then I got all embarrassed and made a fool of myself.  Mulder wanted to 
go home, so I didn't apologize to her like I should have.  Sex is 
different with Mulder when he's drunk - he's more rough, more like 
Scott.  I was getting dressed when Scully knocked on the door.  She 
just stood there and stared at me.  I thought she was still mad, but 
she was looking at my stomach.  Probably sickened at how fat I am 
getting.  I woke up Mulder and they had a fight - he won't say about 
what.  I saw Scully outside with a man from the restaurant - the one 
who likes her.  She was crying. She must hate me.'


I slammed the journal shut.  That was it, I had enough answers for 
Mulder.  I didn't have to read any further.  I felt like a horrible 
person as it was.  

I remembered that night when I found out she was pregnant.  When I 
figured out why Mulder had stopped pursuing me and suddenly dedicated 
himself to her.  Skinner had driven me home because I couldn't stop 
shaking.  I almost walked out of Mulder's life without ever seeing him 
again.

I knew, more or less, how she got pregnant.  I knew why she kept the 
baby, and I thought I understood why she moved to DC.  I knew why she 
was so nice to me and why she tolerated Mulder's drinking.      

I officially resigned from diary-reading duty.

Mulder and his progeny had returned, juggling a bag of groceries, the 
dry cleaning, and ice cream cones.  It's March, Mulder.  It's forty-six 
degrees, Mulder.  Only you would take Will for ice cream.

I love him because he buys his son ice cream cones in March.  Because 
he insists on getting a shot himself every time he takes Will to get 
vaccinated and he always comes home complaining far more than Will 
does.  Because he wakes me up in the morning with his tongue between my 
legs.  Because his hands span my waist perfectly.  Because he smells 
like sandalwood soap, libraries, and leather jackets.  Because he has 
banned milk with bovine growth hormone in it from the house because he 
thinks it's some sort of government plot.

I wonder if he brought me any ice cream?

My own private pint of Ben & Jerry's.  The man knows what I like.  

I was roaming around the house, eating my ice cream out of the 
container, when I heard blues music and Will's voice coming from 
Mulder's office.  I went to check, since we didn't allow Will in the 
office - Mulder often brought home pictures from case files that Will 
didn't need to be seeing.  I never had the same problem with bringing 
home dead bodies, but then again, I didn't get my own home office, 
either.

Mulder was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the stereo, holding 
Will on his lap.  

"This was her music, Will.  Isn't it pretty?  She was playing this in 
her car the first night I met her," Mulder was saying.

"Whittle-bit?"

"Un huh.  Elizabeth.  You grew inside her tummy and then came to live 
with Mommy and me."

"Whittle-bit die?"

"Yea, Will, she died.  I know you don't understand what that means, but 
she died when you were born.  She was a teacher, Will, just like at 
your school."

"Wika Miz Bwooks?"

"Yes, like Miss Brooks, except for big people."  His preschool teacher 
last Monday.  Until he wet his pants.  Hopefully, Operation Alien John 
was a success.

I leaned against the door frame and watched them, hesitant to 
interrupt.  The man on the CD changer was singing that all his love was 
in vain.  How fitting.

"Ooh wuv whittle-bit?"  Did you love Elizabeth?  God, give us strength 
to raise a genius child.

"She was wonderful.  I think most people that knew her, loved her.  She 
gave me you, and that was the nicest thing she could have done."

"Ooh wuv mommy?"

"With all my heart, Will."

Will's three-year-old attention span was up, and he and the dog went to 
the kitchen to share the remainder of his soggy ice cream cone.  I 
replaced Will on Mulder's lap, facing him with my legs draped on either 
side of his hips.  I fed him a spoon full of the world's best vanilla 
before setting the carton down.  When he kissed me, there was a 
luscious contrast between the heat of his lips and the cold sweetness 
of his tongue.  

"How are you doing, Scully?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."  He just looked at me.  Yea, that probably won't 
work after this long.

"I took a nap and I feel better now.  Just tired all the time."

He clasped his hands around my back and I leaned against them, closing 
my eyes and letting my head fall back.  His lips found the soft spot at 
the base of my neck and made their way leisurely up my throat in time 
to the music.  I breathed deeply and filled myself with the smell of 
Mulder and Mulder's space.  When I rolled my head up to face him, that 
luscious mouth was inches from mine, waiting for me.  I contemplated 
some Saturday afternoon foreplay in preparation for Saturday night.  
Will slept in his own bed these days and we'd finally given the dog her 
own bedroom.  

Mulder froze.  There was a look on his face I hadn't seen in years.  
Not when Elizabeth died, not when his mother died.  Not since he used 
to brush his own fulcrum lightly to tell me my nose was bleeding.  The 
face of loss.  It was then that I noticed the salty copper taste of 
blood on my upper lip.  I must have given myself a nosebleed swinging 
my head around.  Well, that was going to kill the mood.  

I pinched my nose to stop the bleeding and then let go when I started 
to choke.  Mulder was frantically trying to wipe my face clean, but 
there was too much blood.  He looked scared, but I felt very at peace.  
Everything was starting to look a little brown.  Hold me, Mulder, I'm 
getting cold.  I could still taste the ice cream and his kiss, even 
though I could feel the blood gushing into my mouth.  How odd.  Mulder 
pulled me against his shoulder and rocked me back and forth, back and 
forth.  I saw the blood soaking into his sweatshirt, but I was too 
sleepy to move. That was going to stain; I ruined so many shirts when I 
got nosebleeds before.  Then I realized why my nose was bleeding, but I 
didn't care as long as he held me. 

My head got too heavy to support, so I leaned into his neck, closing my 
eyes.  He cradled my head in his hand, holding me to him.  I was so 
tired; I needed to rest.  I could keenly hear the music on the stereo, 
Mulder's rapid breathing, and Will jabbering at the dog in the kitchen.  
You should go check on Will, Mulder - he and the dog are pouring 
ketchup all over the kitchen floor.  Odd that I could see Will through 
the wall.  

I wondered what Mulder was upset about - I was fine.  I was where I had 
always wanted to be.  The room started to get very bright and Ahab was 
there.  I'm sorry, Mulder, but I have to go now.  Please don't cry.  My 
last conscious memory before I left him was the wet softness of 
Mulder's skin and his shaky voice telling me he loved me as he rocked 
my body back and forth, back and forth.  

Shantih                    Shantih                    Shantih
	**********

Author's notes:
A big thank you to my wonderful beta-reader for knowing the difference 
between effect and affect, hell and Hell, and they're and their.  May 
the monsoons be brief, may the copier never run out of toner, and may 
Mulder be safely returned to Scully's side - and hopefully not all 
smooth in front when he gets back.  May you never be marooned in 
Cleveland, forced to read Dante, or have the Coke machine be out of 
everything but Diet.  Merci beaucoup.

End: Then Spoke the Thunder (5/5)