Title: Simple Arithmetic
Author: Jori

Summary: The results of their journey to New Mexico are still adding up on Mulder and Scully.

June 16, 2002

Scully's hand falters and the bone china cup of Peppermint Soother skitters across the countertop, before spiraling downward and shattering on the tile floor. She jumps back to avoid getting splattered with hot tea, and then stares down as the liquid begins to travel the paths created by the grout, like water filling in dry riverbeds, flowing everywhere.

"You okay?" I ask, setting aside my newspaper. Christopher toddles towards her from the pile of pots he was banging on and I pick him up before he can get into the glass.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all," she answers as she turns to get the broom and the mop from the pantry. "I think I have that bug going around the office."

"Uh huh," I reply, remembering the last time she was this tired for no good reason. Actually the reason was a fantastic one, but we didn't know it at the time. And Scully rarely diagnosis something as 'that bug.' Unless it really is a bug, of the insect nature.

I put Chris in his playpen and begin to pick up the big shards of china and sop up the mess with paper towels. She fills the mop bucket and pulls the garbage can my way. Just another uneventful day at the Scully and Mulder household. Unless you consider the fact that we have already interviewed fifteen potential child caretakers all before 3 p.m. and didn't find a single one. I doubt we ever will. I am amazed at how many people showed up for an interview on a Sunday -- Father's Day nonetheless -- only to be summarily dismissed by Scully for some little reason or another. Of course others were uncomfortable with the additional background checks we wanted to run. I can't blame them. To them it is only a job, to us it is our child's life.

"Do we have anymore interviews lined up for today?" Scully asks as she finishes up the floor and puts Christopher's drum set away in the cabinet where it belongs. She does look tired as she leans up against the counter, rubbing her temples. She changed into her most comfortable clothes after the last interview, and doesn't look like her usual all together self. I feel the floor with my hand to make sure we got even the smallest chip before answering her.

"Yes. Tonight at 7 o'clock. It was the only time she could come," I say, standing up, not remembering the woman's name, only the time. The phone rings right as I am about to pull Christopher out of his playpen. Hopefully, it will be the evening interview canceling or rescheduling so we can enjoy a quiet evening at home. Instead, it is Byers. They have me on a speaker phone and I can hear Frohike and Langly chattering away in the background in an animated fashion. Or perhaps they are bickering with each other like usual. I also hear their recording equipment click on.

"Mulder, can you come down here. I think we found something you would like to see," he tells me in his ever present even tone.

"What is it, Byers? Can't it wait until tomorrow?" I ask, meeting Scully's questioning stare. I just shrug my shoulders at her and listen while Byers yells for Frohike to turn something off.

"I don't think this can wait. I really think this is something you would want to see as soon as possible. We can figure out where to go from there," Byers says, before adding an emphatic, "Please."

"Okay. I'll be there in an hour. This had better be good," I say.

"Oh, yeah. This is good," I hear Frohike say before the connection is broken by Byers.

"I'll be back shortly. I'll take your car and put gas in it," I tell Scully, as I wrap my arms around her. "Will you be okay?"

"I'm fine. I have to run up to the store to pick something up, but I'll use your car," she answers. We now have a car seat in every car, including her mother's. Her arms go around my waist, and she pulls me in closer to her. "Just don't be late."

"Scully ... this time ... I hope you really are fine."

There is something very ignoble about purchasing a pregnancy test, a package of size three diapers, and a small box of condoms just in case all at the same time. Especially when you have your not quite a year old baby in your arms. Some elderly lady is staring at me with her nose turned up as I try to decide whether I want the single pack or the double pack test. I already decided on the three pack of condoms, not wanting to waste all that money on the 'economy' pack if I am pregnant. I can always buy more. Besides, with our schedules lately, three will last half a year.

She is still watching me. Perhaps it is the way I'm dressed right now, in old sweatpants and a faded maroon t-shirt, with my hair pulled up in a loose ponytail and not a speck of make-up, that makes her suspect that I can't decide whether I want to populate the world with my kind or avoid having another mouth to feed. My son just stares right back and smiles. Just like his dad. He doesn't really give a damn what people think of him. I want to tell her I'm a responsible adult and she doesn't need to stare at me. I want to tell her I am a doctor and own a nice house and car. I want to tell her to stop staring, but instead her husband interrupts her gawking and they walk off.

I put my son back in the cart and try to convince him he doesn't want to really chew on the red handle in front of him as I put his pacifier back in his mouth. I wander down the cookie aisle, all of a sudden wanting some coconut macaroons. I tell myself that since I'm not living in the Taco Bell drive through, that I can't be pregnant. I can't be anyway, right?

I'm so tempted not to take the test, to put it back on the shelf all because I know I will be heartbroken if I'm not. It would be better not knowing, and simply imagining that there is a child forming there, nestled far under my heart. Once I thought I had come to terms with my infertility. I could live a satisfying life without children. Then came Christopher, like a gift from God. And now I want more gifts. I wonder if I had used my limit of gift certificates when I had him?

In the end, I have to know, so I can figure out how and why. Perhaps my 'new and improved' chip had something to do with it. Maybe the doctor was right the first time. You never know until you try. Or perhaps it was simply the tequila and the moonlight. Or the warm, bubbling bath water. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with Mulder at all. Maybe it was something they did to me in New Mexico.

The baby department beckons me from across the cluttered K-Mart. I can't believe how much one shops at a place like this after they have a kid. No more checking out the local Neiman Marcus when I could sneak away from what ever case we were working on in some strange town, buying another Donna Karan suit to replace the one I probably just got alien goo on the previous day. As always, I stop and look at the little girl clothes. Baby boy clothes is nice, in its ordinary and blue sort of way. But baby girl clothes has something to it that makes you want to stop and look at it, to touch its soft, flowing fabric, to think of dressing up an angel. Even under this bad fluorescent lighting.

"What do you think, Christopher?" I ask him, holding up a tiny dress with small yellow rosebuds covering it. He says something back that only he understands, but he smiles and giggles, shaking his head at the end of his sentence.

"Well, it wasn't for you. What if you had a baby sister?" I ask him, and his eyes light up as if he has some comprehension of what a baby sister is. "Wouldn't it be nice to be a big brother?"

Of course, it could always be another boy. Now I'm getting ahead of myself. Just because I feel crappy doesn't mean I'm pregnant. I better not let my mind wander too far, and start decorating the nursery in shades of pink. But I want to wander there, for there is still hope until that test turns out negative. But maybe negative is the best thing for now. Both will be fine, I try convincing myself.

"Let's go home," I say to my son, as I hang the tiny dress back on the rack. He squeals in agreement.

"This had better be good," I say, as Frohike finally gets the door unlocked.

"Happy Father's Day, dude," he says as I walk by him. Who'd ever have thought I'd hear those words directed at me coming from Frohike's mouth. "Didn't bring the little guy with you this time?"

"Thanks, and no, I didn't. So what is it I'm here for?" I ask as the three of them stare at me, looking me up and down.

"I think you should have a seat, Agent Mulder," Byers says, pointing to the chair in front of their largest computer monitor. Langly types in something from one of the other computers that must be networked to this one, and the screen starts moving through webpages.

"This doesn't have anything to do with your girlfriend?" I ask Langly, knowing how he still feels about Esther Nairn and how he still waits to hear from her.

"No, this has nothing to do with *my* girlfriend," Langly says. Frohike is standing behind me, looking expectantly over my shoulder. Byers grabs him by the arm and pulls him away from me so the two of them are standing behind the monitor. "Ready?"

"I guess," I say, not having a damn clue what these clowns are up to now.

"Okay. Go ahead," Byers says, nodding towards Langly. Langly types in a few commands and a video comes streaming across the screen.

"Oh, fuck," I say, closing my eyes. The noise is fake and obviously added in 'post production' but there is no denying who that couple is grinding away at each other in some hotel room.

"Congratulations, Agent Mulder. Your video was downloaded 3,000 times in the first hour it was out there," Frohike says from his place behind the monitor.

"And how many of those downloads were yours?" I ask.

Frohike blushes just a little. "Just this one, man."

"Now how do I go about getting it off of the world wide web?" I ask, taking a quick look at it before turning my attention the Byers and Frohike. I don't really give a rat's ass as to who sees my genitalia, but Scully ...

"Langly is working on that now. He has traced the video clip to a company called 'Hot Tamale Productions,' and, assuming the two of you did not willing agree to be video taped doing the wild thing, it shouldn't be too hard to get it pulled off the net. You might need a lawyer. Just in case," Frohike says, I can see he is dying to peer around at the monitor. I'm sure he's already watched it at least once if not a hundred times.

I can't believe someone would do this. I can't think of what they would gain by this, except embarrassing us. How did they know we would ever find it anyway? Langly clicks away at his keyboard a little more and the monitor goes blank and the cheap porn music falls silent.

"A lawyer?" I ask.

"You can either get a lawyer and try to get to the bottom of this, or ask for payment from the Tamale people," Langly says. "Of course then it will stay on the web forever, or at least until you no longer get anymore downloads."

Frohike hands me a CD-ROM in a case. "A copy for you. Think of it as a Father's Day gift from us."

"How can I ever thank you?" I say snidely.

"Don't make us destroy our copy?" he says, and I put my hand out. He hands me another CD-ROM, this one in a fancier case than the one he gave me. Like he wrapped a present for himself.

I sit on the toilet lid, the test stick a few feet away from me on the bathroom counter. I am afraid to look at the results. If it says 'yes' I will be slightly disappointed. I would have no idea how it happened. Christopher isn't even a year old. I just got back into the swing of things at work. We aren't even fucking married yet.

But if it says 'no' I will be slightly disappointed. I want another one. I don't care about being married. Work isn't everything. I think I can handle two in diapers at the same time. I've been through worse, haven't I?

I don't know what I want more. The answer to be yes or the answer to be no. Both will be wrong for different reasons. Both will be right for different reasons.

The words Dylan said to me keep flashing through my head. Keep him here. Do anything you can. Is this why I am going through this right now? Maybe I have nothing to do with it, but it is all another part of some grand plan we can't even comprehend. I don't want to use a baby to keep a man around. I'm pretty sure history has taught all women that doesn't work.

I look at my watch, and realize the time is up. I have to check it. I need to have the answer, and I can deal with it whatever it is.

I pick it up off the bathroom counter and look at it quickly. It is a bright blue negative sign. No. The answer is no. I wrap it up in toilet paper and throw the stick in the garbage can, telling myself to take it again in the morning. Sure it says take it anytime, but even people who never went to medical school know that hCG is in the highest concentration in the morning. I will take it again. My mind goes through all the reasons it could be a false-negative. It is far more common than a false-positive. Maybe there isn't enough hCG for the test to detect. Maybe I screwed it up myself. Yeah. I've run intricate lab test thousands of times without error and now I think I got peeing on a stick wrong. I can't tell how long it is after I missed my last period because that was even before I got pregnant with Christopher. I was always irregular, but now it is nearly non-existent.

Maybe it was the drugs they gave me in April. Carbamazepine is the only one I can think of that may cause a false-negative result. I doubt they would have pumped me with any anticonvulsants, let alone enough to make it through until June. User error. That would be the only thing it could be. They say they are 95% accurate, but that is like the effectiveness of condoms. They are only as effective as the person using them.

I will get up in the morning and do it again. I know I'm just fooling myself. But if that one says yes, I will make an appointment with my doctor to find out which one is right. As long as I have another test in the box, there is still hope, right?

No, this is a good thing. There is work. Christopher. A new childcare person. I won't have to deal with vomiting and nausea. I won't have to deal with considerations of another c-section or VBAC. No worry about another bought of post-partum depression. I won't have to worry for months about what effect those drugs might have. I won't be plagued with the questions of how or why. Or even who. All that time I was knocked out in New Mexico. They could have done anything.

Most of all, I'm not putting another human into this crappy world where they will be threatened every day of their life. This is for the best. I should be happy with what I have. I *am* happy with what I have.

If I'm so damn happy with what I have, why do I feel so much like wrapping myself up in a blanket, turning off the lights and crying?

I pull Scully's tank into the driveway next to someone's VW Bug. Not one of those newer ones, but a classic one, a convertible, all bright and shiny. Not a family car, for sure.

Shit. We had another appointment this evening and I forgot. I stash the CDs into the glove compartment. I will deal with that problem later. Right now I have to go in and find a reason for not hiring this person for the job. I have no clue how we are ever going to find someone. Maybe I should just quit my job and be one of those Mr. Moms. Yes. I can see me doing the vacuuming every afternoon before Scully gets home. I'll get myself a pink apron now.

I walk into the house to find a tall, slender female swinging my son around in the air. There is a Barbie doll dancing around my living room, and my child is drinking it all in. He is giggling with delight and she seems to be thrilled with him, too. A natural with children. Her long, blond hair swings out behind her in waves of gold as she spins around, her skirt twirling around her legs as she dances in bare feet.

"Hi!" she says when she catches me standing in the doorway watching her. She stops whirling around, catches her breath and turns Chris around in her arms so he's facing me. Scully is sitting on the couch looking forlorn. She also looks just a little relieved that someone else is doing the dancing right now. "You must be daddy. See, Kit, your daddy is home."

"Kit?" I ask, wondering how she came up with a nickname for him so fast. We still haven't even taken to calling him Chris all the time. Half the time we refer to him as 'the baby.' Or the superfluous name of Christopher, which is eventually only going to sound good when it is yelled, followed by his middle name, last name and 'get in here, now!'

"My brother's best friend was named Christopher. We all called him Kit. I thought this little guy looked like a Kit, too," she says, with a smile. She appears to be rather confident around children and I can hear a hint of an English accent in her voice. Not as if she grew up there, but perhaps her parents are British.

"My name is Fox Mulder," I say, extending my hand to her. She shifts Christopher-Kit around in her arms and takes my hand, holding on to it for a few moments.

"See, his name should be Kit. A kit is a baby fox," she says with a smile. I look to Scully who just shrugs her shoulders and gives me a half smirk behind the girl's back. I can't tell what she thinks of this young woman.

"And you are?" I ask.

"Soprano Brookbank," she says as she tries to untwist Christopher's fingers from her hair. It is a lot longer than his mother's and he seems fascinated by it.

"Soprano?" I ask, all of a sudden thinking that perhaps Fox isn't so bad.

"My mother was an opera singer. I have sister named Aria and a brother named Tenor," she says, sounding quite happy with her unusual nomenclature. "Most people call me Sophie."

"So what did I miss?" I ask, sitting down next to Scully.

"Sophie is a student at Georgetown, studying early childhood education. She is only available three days a week, but that fits Mom's schedule nicely. She usually attends classes in the afternoon or evening, so if we need her in the morning before my mother can get here, she says she will be available. She also doesn't object to any extra background checks we might want to run," Scully rattles off. I can tell something else is wrong, but am not quite sure what it is. I don't think it has anything to do with this potential new nanny.

"He is wonderful," Sophie says, as she sits down on the carpet and lets Christopher bring her several of his toys to play with. She scoops him up into her arms and plays some sort of tickle monster game with him, singing to him in a voice that sounds like an angel.

I look down at the resume that the service sent over. They have run several background checks, but I will do more. I will not just hire her because she is nice and twirls my son in the air. But he does seem quite taken with her. Scully's face is pinched up just a little, as if she is slightly jealous of this other woman who has her arms wrapped around her son and has captured his heart in just minutes. I can hardly wait until he gets his first girlfriend.

We continue asking her questions until the two of us can't think of anything else. Either she is a part of 'them' or she isn't. How can anybody be certain?

"It was really nice meeting you," she says, as she slips her sandals on and hands Christopher over to me. "And it was nice playing with you, Kit."

"We will let you know," Scully says, as she walks her to the door.

We hear the rumbling sound of her car drive down the street, backfiring a few times. Good thing this neighborhood isn't too fussy. Scully asks me to get 'Kit' ready for bed while she does some work. With that, she walks off into her office space.

"So, what did you think of Mary Poppins?" he asks me. He brought Chris into me so I could give him a goodnight kiss, and then took care of putting him to bed by himself. It is Father's Day, and technically, I should be taking care of the kid while he sits in front of some ball game, but I just don't feel like it.

"I like her. She is a little younger than what I imagined, but she seems genuinely interested in childcare. Maybe we should just hire her," I say, taking off my glasses and rubbing the bridge of my nose. I'm tired, but I have some work to catch up on. Or maybe I'm just avoiding everything.

"And wait for the day she starts jumping in and out of the artwork and having carousel horse races?" he asks me. I thought he would like her more. She seems weird enough to be his type. And young enough. And most certainly blond enough.

"I will run some more checks tomorrow, but I think she is the one. We might be hiring Sabrina the teenage witch, but she seems really nice. Of course, she can't take him too many places with that car, but we will work around that," I say, not even able to imagine my son cruising around in a convertible, Sophie driving along with her long blond hair streaming out behind her. "So, what did the boys want?"

He looks away from me, and doesn't answer immediately. "Oh, they just wanted to taunt me about Father's Day. That was all. I'm sorry I was late. So, how are you feeling?"

"Much better now, thank you. Like I said, I'm positive it is just a touch of something going around," I tell him, now avoiding his eyes. I changed my clothes and put on make-up after I dragged myself off of the bed. I don't think I look that bad right now. I'm just not ready to tell him. I will wait until morning, until I'm really sure one way or another.

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at me with a slight pout, as if I'm denying him access to my soul. I'm in no mood to give that access to anyone right now.

"I'm really sure," I answer, as I put my glasses back into place and face my monitor again, avoiding him.

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asks, not letting this damn thing go.

"No, Mulder. I'm fine. Why?" I ask, wishing he'd just go away for awhile so I could get something done. Alone.

"No reason. I'm going to bed. Don't stay up all night," he tells me, as he walks to my side of the desk and places a kiss on my cheek. I watch him leave the room, and head towards the stairs. After all this time, why are there some things I still don't want to share with him?

June 17, 2002

She gets up and out of bed before the alarm even goes off. I don't know when she came to bed last night, but it was late. I found the box with one test left in it last night, and I was going to go back downstairs and ask but I would rather have her tell me what is wrong. Or right. Yes or no. Doesn't matter. I couldn't find the used test. I am guessing that the answer is 'no.'

Scully's mom should be here soon. I'm sure she will be thankful to not have to drive here five days a week. Just Tuesdays and Thursdays. I'm sure Everett will be glad to have her for long weekends. The two of them look like kids in love. I wish Scully would look like that once. Sure, she says the words, but that glow isn't there. Maybe my eyes don't exactly sparkle and shine in her presence, either. Too many years of going to hell and back together.

I often wonder what it would have been like had I made any kind of a move back when we first met. She was so much happier then. I know it probably would have fizzled out and died, but what if it hadn't? Would we be married, would my father be alive, would her sister be alive? I roll over and bury myself under the covers. Perhaps that was what would have saved us all. If I only would have jumped her bones back in '93.

I hear Christopher rattling around in his cage, and I do what most parents do but never admit to. I reach out from under the covers and turn the monitor off. I'm sure he can amuse himself for a couple more minutes. The day will come when he won't want to wake up before noon, and I'll have to ride him to get the damn lawn mowed before sundown.

Scully flushes the toilet but I don't hear any movement. I have been here before. It wasn't this way when we found out Scully was pregnant, but it was with Diana. And then there was Phoebe. I think she only did it to play with my mind. I wouldn't have surprised if she would have invented a baby just so I would stay around. Diana really was no better.

The ticking of my watch is clearly audible under all of these covers. I know it is my imagination, but I swear I can hear it counting out five minutes. I read the box last night. Five minutes and either your life is made or ruined, depending on how you look at it. The commercials never show two seventeen year old kids standing there waiting for that stick to come up with a negative, or no line or one line or whatever the hell it is they do these days. They should make one like that. Probably wouldn't sell the product, though.

A little alarm goes off in my head, and I know five minutes have passed. She continues to rattle around in there, and I hear the metal wastebasket clunk against the countertop. I can't take it.

"Scully, you okay?" I ask, poking my head out from under the blankets. She walks out, still in her pajamas, looking at something quizzically. "What is it?"

"Which one would you prefer to believe?" she asks, showing me two different mathematical symbols on two plastic sticks.

the end. cruel, yes.