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Title: "No, but..." Summary: How did Mulder go from pointing and suspecting the pizza man to gazing rapturously and possessively at Scully's pregnant belly? A new interpretation Author's notes: Does anyone besides me believe that the following exchange from "Empedocles" was cribbed from a fan fic smut biscuit? Scully: "Is that for me? Nice package!" Washington Memorial Hospital, 1:42 p.m. It was the orange dreadlocks, I'm sure of it now. The perfect distraction for an ambush. Stun your enemy, incapacitate, then dispatch. "Who are you? The husband?" Orange hair, she has orange fucking alfalfa dreads. Even with my color blindness, I can tell it's orange. "No," not in the widely understood sense of that term. I should have just lied. What were they going to do? Quiz me on it? I should have lied. Instead, I consider waging a mini-campaign for full and accurate disclosure: "No, but." No, but the truth is, I'm not really sure where I stand anymore. See, I recently came back from the dead and everything's so different. Scully, for instance. The woman on the gurney? She's pregnant, for fuck's sake. She wasn't pregnant before... six months ago. It's not like we didn't try. We did, we did. And, in the style of Martha Graham, we really tried, but no dice. I mean, yeah, I told her never to give up on a miracle but, y'know, not without me, right? I mean, wedding ring or no, not without me. "Then you wait outside." What? Wait outside your own goddamn self. Who are you to tell me to wait? You didn't even know her doctor's gender, you incompetent... Awwwwoooooooooooh! Shit. Doggett. Now my nightmare is truly complete. How the hell did he find out anything? Did they bug Scully's jammies? The nurse returns exasperated. Apparently, it's utterly illogical for a pregnant woman to be admitted to this hospital sans husband. Get in line, Nurse Orange Hair. I'm still wondering who the father is. Compared to that, "no husband" is child's play. Um, I should probably apologize to Scully for that thought. Shit, shit, shit. If we were married, they'd have let me stay with her. Maybe we should get just get married because it would provide others with an easier, more acceptable rationale for our relationship. Not a marriage of convenience, but a marriage for convenience. Yeah, good thought, Mulder, you imbecile. See how that one goes over on bended knee. Now, Nurse O-Hair is asking Doggett if he's "the Husband?" Pathetic. At least he has the decency to sound dumb-founded by the question. Yo, Nurse. Right over here. I'm the not-in-the-widely-understood-sense-of-husband husband. Scully and I have been together for eight years, minus small amounts of missing time, a couple of months off each for alien abductions, oh, and the recent period I've already mentioned in which I was severely life-force impaired. Well, and some estrangement through that whole Diana mess a couple of years ago, but we worked through that. No, honestly. We've been together for better and for worse. I know I'm better for having been with her. I'm not sure she can say the same. For richer, for poorer? If you'd been at our last audit, you'd have seen we've covered both of those. We've seen too much sickness and not enough health, but we can work on that part. We love and we cherish each other more than anyone else I've ever known; we just don't say those things aloud. We do all of this and not even death do us part. How's that for "husband" and "wife"? She's more than that, to me. She's, she's, well, she's Scully. Don't you understand? She is Scully. Scuh. Lee. Crap. Maybe that marriage for convenience sake ain't such a bad idea after all. I wonder what Scully would say to eloping when we get her out of here? Goddamn cell phone. Haven't I lost this one yet? "Mulder." This had better be earth shattering. I don't know anyone named Monica, and I think I'd like to keep it that way. Oh. Special Agent Monica? For just so many reasons, Special Agent, I am not able to listen to you. Wait. This involves Doggett? Ok, you've gotten my attention. Doggett relays the news that there's no need for us to worry? Us? As in me and him? Forget eloping Scully. I'm feeling like I have to make a more open, territorial statement. "Nurse? When are visiting hours?" *Washington Memorial Hospital, 12:45 a.M*. Just my luck. Quarter 'til one in the morning, and Nurse O-Hair is still on duty. Orange hair. Considering all that I've been through, why do I find that so hard to swallow? Come to think of it, orange hair may be as close to red hair as I'll ever truly see. Of all the regrets I have, and I am full of them, one of the top is that I can't appreciate my partner's hair as other people do. Looks like she's not going anywhere. I'll have to try to negotiate with her. Make nice, Mulder. "Visiting hours are long gone, F.B.I." "Look, I'm sorry about before. It's just that I was really concerned about Scully, Nurse, uh, Nurse O'Hara? You've got to be kidding!" "I'm black Irish," she retorts snidely. Good opening foray, Mulder. Insult her. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you or anything." Yeah, right. This is going really well. "My partner's Irish, y'know, Scully," I finish lamely. "That so?" She doesn't even spare me a glance from her paperwork. "Well, I'm not." No shit? "I, look, um," I am really fumbling around, now. "What's the initial "N" stand for? The first "N," I mean." N. O'Hara, R.N. "None, as in 'none of your business,' Feebie." I'm thinking I've reached another dead end with her when, suddenly, she looks up from her paperwork, anger flashing in her eyes. "You feds are all the same, just the letters change. F.B.I., N.S.a., C.I.a. D.I.a. D-O-friggin'-T. Whatever. It doesn't make a difference. One of your own gets hurt playing spy, and you bring them here. But you can't just let us do our jobs, can you? You come through here like bulls in a china shop, ordering us around. Well, let me tell you, cuz. When it comes to sewing all of you back together, we're the professionals, and, here, we say what goes." I can think of nothing to say in reply. I hate the taste of defeat. There's a stack of plastic chairs leaning up against the far wall. As I walk over to pull the top one off of the stack, I notice that the stack is stooped at the "shoulders." I know how it feels. It's been that kind of day. The chair I pull down is orange, just a shade brighter than Nurse O'Hara's hair, I think, although I haven't the energy left to compare. "Nzadi." I look up slowly, not at all certain that the sound I've heard was directed at my ears. When my head finally clicks into its full, upright position, she gives me a small smile. I wonder what I've done to merit it. This may even be an apology for her little rant, deserved or not. "The "n" stands for "Nzadi. And, no, before you ask, Nzadi is not an Irish name." That gets a smile out of me, much to my surprise. I respond without thinking. "That's unusual, pretty." "Thanks," she responds, now only somewhat wary of my motives. I'm too exhausted to have motives, now. We seem to be the only ones on the hall at this hour. The quiet of a hospital night descends over us for some length of time. I know I'm not going to get into see Scully. I just came here because I couldn't sleep and didn't want to be far from her. Finally, it dawns through my sleep-fogged brain that I had a reason, feeble though it may have been, for driving down here. "Nurse? Is there any news yet on the tests they ran on Scully?" She shakes her head no, but with a small, sympathetic smile. Flipping through a thick clipboard full of charts, she comes upon the one she needs, scans it and says, "the results are due back at 8:00 a.m. The doctors are going to discuss the results and will let Miss Scully know by mid-morning. Her prognosis is good, however." I nod gratefully, rubbing my hands over my face. "Feebie? You could've called us for that little bit of news. Why'd you come down here this late at night when you knew she'd be knocked out for the night?" Busted. "I. I couldn't sleep." "Oh, and you just come down to visit your favorite nurses when that happens?" I'm trying to think of a sdiaper comeback, without benefit of a sdiaper brain, when I look up and see her grinning. No sdiaper comeback required. The sheepish grin I feel creeping over me is answer enough. Time for a change of subject. "So, Nzadi O'Hara. Married, or half Irish, half Senegalese?" "Not married, Feebie. But good shot with 'senegalese.' Ghanaian, actually." I nod once. My hands feel like they're drooping toward the linoleum, pulling my arms down behind them like Silly Putty. "What about the O'Hara? Half Irish?" I'm not moving anywhere for the moment, so my limbs tell me. I haven't been this dead on my feet since, well, in a couple of weeks. Our banter is actually proving a pleasant enough diversion from utter exhaustion. "Nope. Full Ghanaian. When my parents emigrated, they took the opportunity to change their surname. Since they were old movie buffs, and especially liked 'Gone with the Wind,' they chose O'Hara." "Oh." If that were all I could muster, I might have been safe. But, I've found the energy to add, "It could have been worse. They could have named you" She glares at me, cutting off my remark. Scully could not have done better. "Nzadi isn't your given name, is it?" I realize belatedly. "Charlotte," she says with the finality of a descending guillotine. Charlotte O'Hara. Christ, and I thought my parents were cruel "Mulder. Fox Mulder." I push myself up to extend a hand of commiseration, which she accepts. "Fox? Huh. Maybe you do understand. Why didn't you change it?" "Too much trouble, I guess. I made everyone call me Mulder instead. Even my parents." "You call your partner by her last name, too. That why?" "I guess." "I know. You're a federal agent, not a psychologist." No, I'm federal agent and a psychologist who just doesn't want to go there. "Something like that." The silence between us is more comfortable now, almost companionable. "Nurse, how come your parents named you Charlotte, not Scarlett?" I speak before I look up, and find she's gone back to her paperwork and I've interrupted. "Oh. I'm sorry." "No, no problem." She smiles from her eyes this time. "I'm grateful for the company at this time of night, even a Feebie." There is no malice or anger in her voice. "My parents, along with most of my people are French speakers. Scarlett is a whole lot harder for French speakers to say than Charlotte. It was close enough for them." "Geez, I bet that caused twice the trouble that being named directly after the character would have." "You got that right. You sure you're not a psychologist?" She stares at me for a moment, then says, "Agent Scully's mother was here earlier." "Maggie?" "She asked whether 'Fox' had been here with her daughter. She was speaking about you?" "I'd guess." "I thought you even made your parents call you Mulder?" "Uh, yeah, well, Maggie's always called me Fox. You don't order a Navy wife around. And, actually, from her I kind of like it. Just don't tell Scully. Please." "She was rather perplexed that "Fox" wasn't here, although she mentioned you'd been through quite an ordeal recently." "You wouldn't believe." "Oh, I might. I have a couple of friends on the nursing staff over in Annapolis." What the hell? She knows? "A nurse network?" "Better than the Internet." "What, what did," I start, the apprehension tearing at the edges of my voice. "Mrs. Scully only spoke in general terms, feebie. I think having her daughter land here so soon after getting you back must seem like the last straw." "Don't underestimate the strength of a Scully woman's back. It would take a ton of straw to break it." "From the little she said, you and your partner have put that theory to the test." That draws a rueful chuckle from me. "Time and again, I'm afraid." "She said that you'd been kidnapped, gone for months, given up for dead. She said they'd even buried you." Nurse O'Hara is scrutinizing my face for any sort of reaction. What she doesn't know is that the only way I can yet deal with the facts of my "story" is to remove myself from it, pretend as if I'm hearing someone else's tale. "I thought she was speaking metaphorically, of course, even when she whispered that you two had been blessed with two miracles this past year, and your return was one. I asked whether you'd done your recuperation here; She said no, that you'd been at Navy in Annapolis. So, I got on the phone to a friend in Annapolis, and through a friend of a friend of my friend, I heard the wildest tale. And now, here you are in front of me. So, it's true?" "Agent Scully never gave up on me," is my only reply. "I asked Mrs. Scully for help updating some of her daughters medical information sheet. I asked her whether I should fill in this Fox' name next to husband." I'm more interested than I care to admit in what Mrs. Scully had to say in response. "She said, "oh, my dear, he's much more to Dana than just that. And she to him." "I kept trying to press her, but that was the only answer she was going to give me. She grabbed the information sheet from my hands and scanned it for items that needed to be updated. She only found one. I think it might interest you." She pointed to midpage, where the information and a brief record of Scully's neo-natal check-ups were listed. The box for 'father' was circled in red ink, and had been marked "deceased." "Mrs. Scully was fairly beaming when she spotted that inaccuracy. She said, well, you'll have to change that now, won't you?" I think the color must have drained from my face, because Nurse O'Hara rushed around the station to grab me and help me back to my chair. Until she was assured that I wasn't going to faint, she didn't speak. By then, the truth was as obvious to her as it should have been to me all along. "You didn't know, did you?" I just shook my head. "She didn't tell you when you, when you got back?" I look up at her helplessly. "She might have tried," I say. "You've got a lot of talking to do with her, Agent Fox." "Mulder. Please." "Whatever. Just so you get your head around the name "father-to-be." Oh, God. That whole pizza man schtick now tastes like sour milk on my tongue. Father to be? Fuck. Fuck! Holy Christ. Man. And I thought everything had changed. How right and wrong in one instant can a guy be? Shit. I've got stuff to do before visiting hours. I've got to get home and sleep. I'm going to need it. Right now, though, I don't feel sleepy or exhausted any more. "Why don't you get some sleep on the couch over there? You can see her in the morning with a clear head, ready to talk." I bounce to my feet, instead. "Nah, I've got too much to do. I've got to get home." I start jogging down the hall, nearly colliding with an orderly rounding the corner with a cart full of midnight meds. As I skirt the startled man, I turn to wave to Nurse O'Hara. "See you later, F.B.I. " she laughs. Holy shit. Ho-ly shit. -End-
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