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Title: A Silence Full of Sounds Summary: There is little in the universe he treasures more than the truth, and she hates that in leaving, he made her a liar. Feedback: Oui, s'il vous plait. emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com Author's Notes at the end Smooth hands glide over sweat-slicked skin. She shivers in the fan's cool breeze and he wraps his long limbs around her. -- "What are you doing New Year's Eve?" His murmuring lips against her shoulder blade are soft and gentle, and his sleepy words rumble through her body. -- "Are you going to sing to me, Mulder? Isn't that a song?" She sighs and nestles back into the warmth of his chest as his large hand covers her breast, strays down to rest on the curve of her belly. -- "Yes. It's also a question." Surprised at the serious tone of his voice, she turns to face him, sliding a silky leg between his, pressing her hand to his heart. -- "It's only May. Not even Summer yet." His eyes search hers, and he smooths the worried crease between her brows with his index finger. -- "Just promise me we'll be together." Not just New Year's Eve, but always. Forever. --"I promise, Mulder." There is little in the universe he treasures more than the truth, and she hates that in leaving, he made her a liar. As much as she longed to spend Christmas at home alone, away from the sad, compassionate eyes of her family, Scully knew that her mother would never have stood for it. So the afternoon of Christmas Eve found her standing over a bowl of soupy bread and spices in her mother's kitchen, stirring the mess Maggie swore would become The Greatest Dressing Ever Made. Shriveled black raisins swimming in crumby, yellow broth brought to mind visions of beetles sucked from Mulder's burdened lungs. She barely made it to the bathroom in time to lose the soup and salad she had eaten for lunch. Maggie followed, and stood behind Scully as she knelt on the hard tile in front of the toilet, holding her daughter's hair back with one hand, supporting her forehead with the other. Scully felt like a little girl with the flu again. Like a dying woman, with useless chemicals surging through a body overtaken by cancerous cells. Her retching quickly turned to stifled sobs, and Maggie helped her up and gathered her in her arms, rocking, and murmuring hushed noises of quiet and love. She dampened a washcloth and gently pressed it to Scully's pale face. "I'm sorry, Dana, I shouldn't have asked you to help with the cooking. All those different smells, and in your condition..." she said, rubbing Scully's back in slow, soothing circles. Embarrassed by her loss of composure, Scully pulled away from her mother's embrace and flushed the toilet. "It's okay, Mom. It just hits me sometimes. Seems to be worst in the afternoon and evening, though, more than in the morning." Maggie carefully folded the washcloth into a perfect square, slowly running her finger up and down its satin trim several times, as she watched Scully rinsing her mouth out at the sink. She seemed hesitant to upset her daughter, but concern finally forced the words from her lips. "Shouldn't you be past the morning sickness stage by now? Have you talked to your doctor about this?" Scully took the washcloth from Maggie's hand and wet it under the faucet. "I'm fine, really. Every woman's pregnancy is different, you know that," she said, grateful to have the excuse of washing her face to keep her mother from seeing her expression. She was never a very good liar, and Maggie could always read her like a book. She didn't want to tell Maggie that the nausea had less to do with morning sickness than with her relentless anxiety about Mulder and the baby. Her mother knew nothing about her three hospital stays in the past few months, or about just how "different" her pregnancy was turning out to be. How many women could say they had been hurled into a wall by an alien bounty hunter, or had a giant slug sliced out of their backs and lived to tell the tale? It all sounded so outrageous she could hardly believe it herself, and she shuddered to imagine her mother's horrified reaction. Mulder would have understood and believed her, but Mulder wasn't there, so she kept her secrets to herself. After all these years she was good at keeping secrets. Bill, Tara, and Matthew arrived early that evening in a rented minivan full of luggage and presents. Scully stood huddled next to her mother at the open front door, shivering as gusts of wind blew snowflakes into her face and hair. Bill and Tara waved gloved and mittened hands as they climbed from the van, Tara moving to slide the side door open to help Matthew out of his carseat, while Bill began unloading suitcases and packages. Scully's welcoming smile dissolved into a frown as she saw Bill pulling a wooden cradle from the back of the van. "Mom, that's...isn't that our cradle? The one Grandpa Scully made for Daddy?" she asked, pulling the long sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and wrapping her arms around herself. She remembered rocking her dolls to sleep, in the days before she became a tomboy. "Yes, it is," Maggie said. "I asked Bill to bring it with him. Matty's too big for it now, of course, and it doesn't look like Bill and Tara will be having another baby any time soon. I thought you'd like to have it." Maggie smiled and squeezed Scully's shoulders before running outside to hug her son and daughter-in-law, and to scoop Matthew into her arms. Scully pushed the front door closed as tears blurred her vision, quickly fleeing upstairs to the guestroom before she had to confront Bill's disapproval and Tara's cloying sweetness. She sat on the edge of the neatly made bed with her hands clenched white in her lap, shaking with anger at her mother, at Bill, at hormones run amok. On some level she knew that she was overreacting, and she tried counting to ten and taking deep breaths to calm herself down. None of it helped. Maggie tapped lightly on the bedroom door a few minutes later, tiptoeing into the room before Scully had a chance to protest. Flakes of snow clung to her dark hair, and her cheeks were still rosy from the bitter wind. "Why did you disappear like that, Dana? Bill and Tara are a little hurt that you ran off without saying hello, and Matthew is asking for you," she said, rubbing her hands together to warm them. Scully's eyes widened at her mother's criticism, and she leapt from the bed, glaring at Maggie. "Damn it, Mother, you told him! I specifically asked you not to tell anyone, and you told Bill! You know Bill hates Mulder, Mom. And now he knows about the baby before Mulder does." Confusion furrowed Maggie's brow for a moment before realization dawned. "I didn't tell him the cradle was for you. I just asked him to bring it for me," she said calmly, in the same soothing tone she had always used when her children scraped a knee, or broke a favorite toy. "And what exactly is he supposed to think about that?" Scully said. "Why would you just ask for it out of the blue? Bill may be a lot of things, but he's not stupid. He knew I was going to be here for Christmas, and I'm sure he and Tara have already done plenty of speculating about poor, lonely Dana and her latest pathetic attempt to have a child!" The sting of Bill's words to her when she had tried to adopt Emily still hurt, even years later. "That's not true, Dana. They don't know anything. I told them I wanted the cradle for safekeeping, and they brought it. That's all there is to it," Maggie said, pulling Scully into her arms. Scully knew her mother was sincere, but she was still upset. She shrugged out of Maggie's grasp and walked to the window, resting her forehead against the chilled pane. She could see Bill and Matthew in the driveway again, unloading more brightly wrapped packages. A piece of shiny green tissue paper floated out of a gift bag and Matthew chased after it, laughing, bundled in his winter wear like a tiny Michelin man. "I don't know Mom, it's just...sometimes it feels like everyone will know before I even get a chance to tell Mulder. I keep imagining his reaction...he'll be so happy. But instead of telling him I tell other people who don't really care, or who pity me." She absently traced small stars on the frosty glass. When she realized she was drawing the rounded top of a cartoonish spaceship floating among them, she quickly wiped it all away with the sleeve of her sweater. "You know *I'm* happy, don't you?" Maggie asked, sitting on the bed and patting the patch of flowery bedspread beside her. Scully hesitantly sat down next to her. "I'm going to have another grandchild to love. I thought I'd never get to share all this with you, and I thank God every day for this miracle." A tear rolled down Maggie's cheek, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Well I'm glad you're happy, Mom. That makes one of us, at least," Scully said bitterly. She picked up a small, square pillow from the head of the bed, worrying its worn eyelet lace border between her thumb and forefinger. Her mother had made one for each of her daughters when they were children, and now Maggie kept Melissa's on the guestroom bed. Scully read the words embroidered on the cushion --- 'To you, my child, I give two things. One is roots, the other, wings'. She wondered what kind of roots and wings she would be able to give her child if Mulder was never returned. Maggie sighed, seeming to read her daughter's thoughts. "Dana, I know you miss Fox, but you have the baby to consider now. Your emotions and attitude are affecting him or her every day. I know it's hard, but you've got to try to find some joy in this situation. And you've got to let us in, let your family support you. I think you should tell Bill. You two may have had your differences, but he's your big brother, and he loves you. Have a little faith in him." Scully rolled her eyes and reached for the Kleenex on the bedside table, plucking one out for herself before handing the box to Maggie. "I will, Mom. Everyone's going to know soon enough, anyway. Just let me do it my own way and in my own time, okay?" she asked, as Maggie stood to leave. The sound of Bill's deep, booming voice and Tara's high, cheerful one invaded the silence when Maggie opened the door. "I love you, Dana. Everything's going to be okay, I promise," she said softly. Maggie stood waiting for a response, so Scully nodded, unconvinced. "Thanks, Mom," she said as Maggie headed back downstairs. She blew her nose and rubbed her aching temples with icy fingers. "Merry Christmas, baby," she whispered into the silence. -- "Who should we tell? Your mother? Frohike? Probably not Skinner." They sit side by side on black leather, bare feet on the table in front of them. Blue TV screen light strobes through the darkened room, bouncing off walls, coloring pale faces. -- "Let's just keep it quiet for a while." She loves their secret, enjoys the romance of a clandestine affair, of having him all to herself. He loves the truth, wants to shout his joy and passion from the rooftops. -- "It's no mystery what you mean to me, Scully. Anyone who knows us knows I love you. They can't use that to hurt us anymore." She wraps both arms around his middle and presses her azure cheek to his chest, listening to his heart beat in counterpoint to hers. -- "Let's wait." Zuzu spoke of angels getting their wings, bells tinkled, and George Bailey's family and friends raised their voices in song. Scully sighed and stretched her arms over her head, her gaze traveling from the television to her brother as she stopped the VCR with the remote control. He sat slouched drowsily in an armchair, clutching a pillow to his chest and trying valiantly to stay awake, while she sat curled up on the sofa, her sock-clad feet tucked under her bottom to keep them warm. Bill yawned noisily, and smiled as he caught her eye. "Remember how we used to watch this movie together every year when we were growing up, Dana? Mom and Missy always cried. And you always pretended not to," he said. Scully felt tears prick her eyes at the memory, and wished she still had the knack of pretending not to cry. Lately that well-honed ability seemed to be fading as quickly as her stomach was expanding. "Yeah, I remember," she replied. "Dad always said that no matter where we were stationed, that was one Christmas tradition we could always count on. Even if it was seventy degrees outside, and there was nothing to make it a white Christmas except the sand on the beach, we still had 'It's a Wonderful Life'." "I'm really glad you're here this year, sis," he said, draining the last of the hot chocolate from his mug. "Now, if we just could've gotten Charlie's gang to join us, it would have been the perfect Christmas," he said, yawning again, and standing up. "Well, I'm bushed. Time for me to hit the sack." "Goodnight, Bill," Scully said as he bent to kiss her cheek. The smell of Bill's cologne and the prickle of his stubbly face brushing hers reminded her of her father. When she closed her eyes she could almost imagine it was really Ahab, not her brother, kissing her goodnight. She felt a stab of pain, knowing that her baby would never have a chance to know and love his or her grandfather. Bill straightened up and gazed down at her, sympathy in his eyes. "By the way, Dana...I know we've had our differences where Mulder is concerned, but I want you to know I'm sorry he's missing. It must be hard for you, wondering what happened to him, having to get used to a new partner," he said. Scully could tell it took some effort for him to say the words and suspected that her mother had something to do with them, but they seemed sincere nonetheless. "Thanks, Bill," she said. She took a deep breath and sat up straight, folding her hands in her lap. This was as good a time as any to break the news, and Bill's mentioning Mulder himself seemed like a positive sign. "Sit down again for a minute. I need to tell you something." The couch sagged under Bill's weight as he sat next to her, worriedly searching her face for a clue as to what was coming next. How sad, she thought, that any time she made an announcement, her family automatically expected the worst. "It's not the cancer, is it?" he asked quietly, covering her hands with his. "You're still in remission?" "No, I'm fine, Bill. I'm healthy. This is...well, I'm hoping you'll think it's good news," she said. Watching his expectant expression as his mind ran through the possibilities, she suddenly wasn't so sure he would. "Are you getting married?" he said, his voice rising in excitement. "Dana? I didn't even know you were seeing anyone!" Scully pulled her hands out from under his, pretending she wanted the glass of water on the coffee table, but really needing to escape from the hopeful look in Bill's eyes for a moment. He wanted so much for her to have a normal, settled life. "No Bill," she sighed, sipping some water and returning the glass to its coaster. "I'm not getting married. But I have been seeing someone. In fact I...I'm pregnant." She smiled weakly as Bill's face erupted in delighted grin. "What? Oh my God, Dana, that's wonderful! So that's why Mom wanted the cradle! But how? I thought you couldn't..." he began, pulling into a bear hug, squeezing her so hard she almost lost her breath. Scully squirmed, and gently extricated herself from his arms. "There's more, Bill. The man I've been seeing is...well...it's Mulder. He's the baby's father." She had said those words only a handful of times, and now, as before, they filled her with a terrible mixture of joy and anguish. She felt her throat constrict painfully, and fought back the tears welling in her eyes. For a moment Bill sat stunned and silent, the color draining from his ruddy face. It didn't take long for him to find his voice again, though. "You're kidding, right? That goddamn son of a bitch!" he sputtered, running a hand over his close-cropped hair, his happiness quickly turned to anger. "So he gets you pregnant then just conveniently disappears? That's just perfect!" "Shut up, Bill, you'll wake up the whole house," Scully said wearily. "You make it sound like I'm some naive little fifteen year old girl who got knocked up by the high school rebel. This baby is something I want. Something I never thought I'd have. Can't you just be happy for me?" Bill barked a humorless laugh. "Happy? He ran out on you, Dana! He wasn't around for you when you were sick, and now he's gone again. How can you not see that? I mean...do you honestly believe he's been abducted by aliens? Mom told me that's what you think happened to him. What a load of shit!" Bill launched himself from the sofa and started pacing in front of her. "I believe that he was taken against his will. He loves me, Bill. He'd be here if he could." She was trying so hard to remain calm, but she could feel her blood pressure rising with every word Bill uttered. She stood to go upstairs to bed. Her brother's paternalistic bellowing was more than she could handle so late at night. Bill stopped pacing and stood towering in front of her. Scully had the urge to climb up on the couch so she could look him in the eye without craning her neck. She hated Bill's ability to make her feel like a little girl being scolded by her daddy. "How did this even happen?" he asked. "Last I heard you were barren from some damn thing or other that happened to you when *you* were on the mother ship. Did Mulder find some miracle chip to cure that, too?" Bill stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that he'd gone too far, but it was too late to take back the words. Scully recoiled as if from a physical blow and covered her belly with her hand, trying to block the sound of Bill's voice from her baby's ears. "Go to hell," she whispered. "I won't listen to any more of this." She ignored the drone of Bill's halfhearted apologies as she maneuvered her way around the discarded toys Matthew had left scattered on the living room floor, biting back a curse as she stubbed her toe on a plastic dump truck. Maggie was halfway down the stairs in her robe and slippers by the time Scully started climbing up. "I'm going home, Mom. I won't stay under the same roof with someone who has so little respect for me. And for Mulder. We have enough enemies in the world without putting up with one in my own family." Scully's voice was steely and cold to her own ears, and a chill ran up her spine. She didn't know if she would be able to forgive her brother this time. Her mother walked her to her room with an arm around her shoulders. "Give him some time, Dana. He's just worried about you. You know how he overreacts and then cools down later. Get some sleep and I'm sure things will be better in the morning." "I'm sorry, Mom, but I'm leaving." She haphazardly began shoving shoes, and sweaters, and underwear into her overnight bag with shaking hands. "I'll call you when I get home." "It's snowing! You can't drive in this weather. And what about all your gifts? You'll never get everything back to your apartment by yourself. Just wait until the morning, please. We'll go shopping like we'd planned and I'll take you home. Okay?" Scully stopped packing and stood, her hands still buried in a tangle of clothes in her bag, looking at her mother's sad face. Too many Christmases had already been spoiled because of her problems, so she relented, nodding her grudging assent. "Get some rest, honey," Maggie said, kissing Scully's cheek. "Everything will look better in the morning, I promise." Scully waited until the door closed behind her mother before angrily tossing her overflowing bag to the floor. She crawled into bed with her clothes still on, and slept. -- "Come on, Scully, open it!" Presents are rare, even on holidays or birthdays, so the wrapped and bow-topped box on her pillow is a surprise. -- "What's the occasion, Mulder? Wait, I know, I heard it on the radio this morning. Elvis died twenty-three years ago today...how sad." He smiles knowingly and kisses her forehead as she joins him on the bed. It's an old, corny joke, a piece of history they hang onto, and he plays along. -- "Elvis isn't dead, Scully. Just open the package." She tries to keep her hands from trembling as she unties thick crimson ribbon and rips away ivory paper, gasping quietly when she sees what's inside. -- "It's so beautiful! How did you know I love this book?" A strand of red hair dangles in front of her eyes as she flips through the pages, and he gently tucks it behind her ear. -- "You're much more of a romantic than you like to let on, you know." His gaze never leaves her as she opens the book to the flaky flyleaf, reads the inscription in his distinctive black scrawl: 'They are afraid of nothing. Together they would brave Satan and all his legions.' --M. -- "Oh, Mulder." Seeing the emotion on her face, he smiles sheepishly and begins to fidget, suddenly embarrassed by his sentimentality. -- "Um, this edition was printed in 1947...a hundred years after the original publication date. See, the engravings are by Fritz Eich-" His nervous dissertation is cut short when her smiling lips crush his. He kisses her back and laughs, happiness and relief transforming his face. -- "I guess this means you don't want to see my slideshow presentation, Scully." Carefully, she places the book on the nightstand, then playfully pushes him back onto a pile of pillows, her eyebrow raised. A few downy feathers float in the air around his head. -- "Oh, is that what you're calling it these days?" Scully looked forward to returning to work after the misery of Christmas, and arrived at the office by seven-thirty Wednesday morning. As was quickly becoming the norm, however, Agent Doggett had beaten her there. He sat comfortably ensconced at his desk, his sleeves rolled up as if he had been there for hours, happily typing up his little notes and rereading X-Files for the umpteenth time. For all she knew, he had been. "Good morning Agent Scully," he said, looking up from his computer screen with a small smile. "Agent Doggett," accompanied by a curt nod, was the most cheerful greeting she could manage without forbidden caffeine in her system. She felt unreasonably annoyed that he was there before she was. "Have a good Christmas?" he asked, watching her remove her black coat and walk to her desk. He always seemed to be observing her closely, gauging her moods, trying to figure out what made her tick. He lacked Mulder's subtle profiling prowess, however, and his good old- fashioned police work just succeeded in pissing her off on a regular basis. "Fine, thanks. You?" she said, each word clipped and brusque. Some part of her knew she was acting like Ebenezer Scrooge, but she couldn't seem to help herself. It took all her self-control not to shout 'Bah humbug'. "Can't complain," he replied, eying her warily before turning his attention back to his work. Uncharitably, she thought that he must have used his razor-sharp detective skills to deduce that she wasn't up for small talk this morning. She settled into her chair and put on her glasses, digging into the pile of papers stacked in her inbox. Every cough, mouse click, and slurping sip of coffee coming from Doggett's corner of the office made it impossible for her to concentrate, had her yearning for the peace and quiet of an autopsy bay. A corpse, she thought, my kingdom for a corpse. She smirked, thinking that Mulder would have appreciated the joke. Scully opened the top drawer of the desk and looked at Mulder's nameplate sitting inside. She fingered the dark grooves spelling out his name in cheap faux wood, then shook her head at her maudlin behavior. As irritating as she had often found his quirks and habits, she missed the office sounds that were distinctly Mulder: the crack of seeds between his teeth, the creaky groan of his chair as he pushed it back onto two legs and propped his own on his desk, the measured rhythm of his typing. Doggett's sounds were all wrong to her ears. Although it was early, her feet already hurt inside her high-heeled shoes, and she toed them off underneath the desk. But then her feet got cold, so she slipped them back on. The waistband of her slim, black skirt dug into her thickening middle, and she surreptitiously undid the button and slid the zipper down an inch. Her mother had tried to buy her maternity clothes on their post-Christmas shopping spree, but Scully had refused. She hated the idea of buying frumpy, tent-like dresses and stretchy slacks, but she was beginning to think she'd have to give up her sleek, all-black wardrobe soon. Her shirts were already straining at the buttons. An hour passed in which Scully got absolutely nothing done, and finally Doggett stood and picked up his empty USMC 'semper fi' coffee mug. She felt like cheering. Hoo-rah. He paused on his way to the coffee machine and unceremoniously placed a small, shiny gold box on her desk, jolting her out of her reverie. "I forgot about this on Friday, what with the meeting with A.D. Skinner running so late, but I got you a little something for Christmas," he said, inclining his head toward the package in front of her. If he noticed her unzipped skirt and bulging middle, he wisely said nothing. "I, uh...thank you Agent Doggett. I'm sorry, I don't have anything for you. Agent Mulder and I were a bit lax in the gift giving department," she said, nervously wetting her lips with her tongue. She felt herself blushing under his scrutiny. "It's okay, I know we never talked about presents or anything. I just noticed that you like chocolate, thought you might like these. Godiva. Supposed to be good," he said, transferring his mug from one hand to the other as he slid into his suit jacket and straightened his tie. "I, uh...I do...they are. Thank you," she stammered. Doggett simply nodded and left to get his coffee. Scully sighed and picked up the small box, pulling off the ribbon and opening it to look at the candy inside. She felt a little guilty for taking her frustrations out on Doggett. He really seemed to be trying, and he was diligent about watching her back. He'd already saved her life more than once. But having him in the office or the field with her every day was a constant, painful reminder of the man who should have been there, but wasn't. Doggett had given her chocolates, though, so he couldn't be all bad. She peered out the door and into the hallway to make sure he couldn't see her, before popping one in her mouth. -- "What time, again?" Water runs in hot rivulets down his body as she rubs lather onto sleek, golden skin. The steamy air smells of citrus fruit, and almonds, and spices, like Christmas. -- "I meet Skinner there at ten o'clock. Our flight's at eleven-fifteen." Her fingers comb through dark, wet hair, massage his neck, shoulders, chest. She turns him around so he can't see her face, and caresses his back, his slim hips, his long legs. Memorizing the feel of muscle under skin with her hands and mouth. -- "I could still go with you. Or catch a later flight." She can't explain why she's so afraid, why this feels like goodbye. Premonitions and a preternatural sixth sense, she's becoming her mother, her sister. She's becoming Mulder. -- "It's too dangerous, Scully. I can't lose you again. I couldn't live without you, not now." He turns to face her and pulls her to him, lips seeking lips in the steam and spray. His hands stroke her arms, her belly, her breasts, make her dizzy, breathless, leave her gasping for air. When he finally moves inside her, he's like the ocean -- dark, mysterious, unfathomably deep. She licks the curve of his seashell ear, tastes the tang of his sea salt neck, and they tremble together, pleasure mingled with fear. -- "I'll miss you, Mulder." Please don't leave me, she thinks, but doesn't say. -- "It's only one day, Scully. Two at the most. You won't even have time to miss me." Chill air envelopes her as he turns off the shower, but when she shivers it's not from the cold. Since Mulder's disappearance, every ring of the telephone has given Scully a moment of hope. On the good days, when she was well, and could feel his presence through his work, or through the child growing inside her, hope lasted for several rings. On the days she was sick and lonely, terrified that she would never see him again, hope disappeared almost before the ringing began. Stepping out of the bathtub early Sunday night to the familiar electronic jingling of her cell phone, Scully made it to three hopeful rings. Illogical as it may have been, she couldn't help imagining that this would be the day Mulder would come home, that she wouldn't have to break her promise to him after all. When she heard Frohike's casual greeting on the other end of the line, standing wrapped in a towel and dripping bathwater onto her bedroom rug, she felt like crying with disappointment. "Happy New Year's Eve, Agent Scully. It's Frohike," he said. "Langly, Byers and I have a proposition for you." His voice sounded far away, like he was using the speakerphone. She imagined the three of them huddled together, listening to her voice for clues about her emotional and physical well-being. She smirked and wrapped the towel more tightly around herself, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder. "A proposition?" she said suspiciously. "I don't think I like the sound of that. The last time I took you guys up on a proposition I ended up drugged in Las Vegas." "Our intentions are completely honorable, I assure you," Frohike replied, feigning injury. "We just thought we could drop by your place, maybe bring a pizza. It'll be the first time Byers and Langly have rung in the New Year with a beautiful lady since the mid-seventies." She chuckled as she heard the other Gunmen's insulted protests echoing in the background. "I don't know, Frohike. I appreciate the offer, but..." she said, her voice trailing off as she remembered last New Year's Eve, and the sweetness of a first kiss. "We know it's kind of last minute and you may have other plans," Frohike said. Scully knew he didn't really think she had plans, not without Mulder. He was purposely giving her an out, in case she did want to be alone. The Gunmen's overprotectiveness and concern for her since Mulder's abduction was as touching as it was annoying. "If you guys come over you'll have to watch old movies with me, and I don't know if you're up to that," she said, dropping her towel and slipping into her thick, terrycloth robe. If they wanted to come over and babysit her tonight, she was going to make them work for it. "Are you kidding, we've broken into top secret government facilities and been to karaoke night with Mulder. I think we can handle a couple of chick flicks," he said, full of bravado. Scully heard Langly's exaggerated moan as he realized what he could be in for, and her mind was made up. "Okay, you're on. Eight o'clock. And get extra cheese and green peppers on the pizza," she said before pressing the phone's 'off' button. Suddenly she was very relieved that she wouldn't be by herself on New Year's Eve, and absurdly sad to realize that she had never known about Mulder's karaoke past. There were still so many things they didn't know about each other, mysteries and secrets they had dreamed of spending years laying bare. She smiled, imagining Mulder, young and cocky, surrounded by flirting, crooning, half-drunk women. Perhaps, after all, some secrets were best left unknown. She collected the towel from the floor where she had dropped it, wrapping it in a turban around her wet head, and walked back into the bathroom. The mirror was still foggy from the shower, and she made a bare spot with her hand, gazing at her reflection in the blurry glass. Her face was beginning to look a little rounder, and with her skin freshly scrubbed, the dusting of freckles that had cropped up after days in the desert sun stood out against her milky skin. For a moment, seeing herself that way, she could almost believe she was the young, innocent woman she had been over seven years ago. The girl who had laughed and smiled so much more easily, who had believed that in the end everything in her life would work itself out -- career, husband, children, future. During the last few months with Mulder that girl had begun to reemerge, slowly coaxed back to life by Mulder's touches and words. She'd begun to hope again as she hadn't allowed herself to in years, and she knew he had, too, sometimes speaking to her of slowing down, of putting themselves and their lives first for a change. Scully frowned at the memory of their conversation in his Bellefleur motel room, and the illusion of youth abruptly vanished. His words of endings and personal costs had frightened her then, but she had believed that as long as they were together she could face the future, whatever it held. Pouring a drop of moisturizer onto her fingertips, she rubbed the lotion into her skin, concentrating on the lines around her eyes and mouth, wishing the advanced scientific formula really could erase the signs of time etched there. When she heard the Gunmen's noisy bickering outside her apartment door at precisely eight o'clock, Scully rolled her eyes and wondered what she'd let herself in for. Standing on tiptoe to look out the peephole, she saw the three of them, their arms loaded with pizza boxes and grocery bags. Frohike even held a small Styrofoam cooler in his hand. Evidently they couldn't decide which of them should ring the doorbell, each one claiming to be too burdened down to reach the button. Scully decided to save them the trouble, and opened the door before they could disturb her neighbors. "What's all this?" she asked, nervously eying them as they came stumbling through the door, still arguing amongst themselves. "You're not moving in, are you?" Frohike smiled and headed straight for the kitchen as if he dropped by every day, plopping his paper sack and cooler on the counter with a thunk. "As much as the idea of living with you thrills me, the security measures in this apartment building aren't quite up to our standards," he said. "Obviously, if they let you in," Langly sniped, following close on Frohike's heels. The black tee shirt all but hidden behind the two greasy pizza boxes he carried looked freshly laundered. Scully was touched that he had dressed up for the occasion. "Don't mind him, Agent Scully," Byers said. "He's just a little upset about the thought of watching a movie that doesn't star Jackie Chan. He says that girlie movies give him hives." Byers politely waited for Scully to usher him into the kitchen, where he plunked his two heavy bags on the counter next to the rest of their cache. "Chick flicks give me hives, Byers, chick flicks! Not girlie movies!" Langly said, offended to hear his manliness impugned. "Yeah, we all know Langly likes girlie movies. I'm not the only one who stands to inherit Mulder's video collection," Frohike joked. He froze, realizing what he'd said, and the other men shot daggers at him with their eyes. "Sorry, Scully," Frohike apologized, "I didn't mean to..." Scully chuffed a laugh, ignoring the pain she felt at hearing Mulder and inheritances mentioned in the same breath, knowing that Frohike hadn't meant anything by it. "It's okay, really, I'm quite well aware of Mulder's viewing habits," she said. "Anyway, Langly, it's not like you weren't warned about the movie." She rummaged through the bags, finding several kinds of soda, a family size package of tortilla chips, another of potato chips, a huge jar of salsa, and a half-gallon of rocky road ice cream. Either they're stockpiling for the real new millennium, she thought, or they think I'm eating for two. She was sure that they knew, or at least suspected, that she was pregnant, although she hadn't told them. "Jesus, guys," she said, feeling like a Price Club version of Mary Poppins as she pulled more and more snack foods from a seemingly bottomless sack. "You must have spent a fortune!" "Not really," Langly said, very pleased with himself. "We have a connection who supplies all our parties." Scully raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You guys have a lot of parties, do you?" she asked. "That's classified," Frohike said with a wink. First karaoke, now this. Scully was learning more about the Gunmen tonight than she had in all the years she'd known them, and it was a little disturbing. She covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing, and distracted herself by opening the cooler. Inside, packed in ice, she found two bottles of sparkling grape juice. Now she *knew* they knew she was pregnant. "Grape juice? What, don't I rate some real champagne?" she asked, drying the bottles with a dishtowel and mockingly examining the labels for vintages. "Or does your connection not supply alcohol?" "We just thought we'd be careful," Byers said. He studiously avoided eye contact as he took the bottles from her hands. "Yeah, we don't want to drink too much and let any of our secrets slip out," Frohike continued, as he turned to put the ice cream in the freezer. "You never know when a G-woman's apartment might be bugged," Langly chimed in, scrutinizing the topping-to-surface ratio of the pizzas with intense concentration. "It's the real turn of the millennium after all, we have to be on top of our game, just in case something happens," Byers concluded, finally looking at her and giving her his most earnest expression. "Mm hm, right," Scully said as she began pulling plates and glasses out of the cupboards and handing them to the Gunmen. "You know, I tried to convince Mulder of that last year, about this being the real start of the new millennium, but he just called me a math geek." "Well, you are certainly looking very lovely this evening for a math geek, Agent Scully," Frohike said, piling pizza onto his plate. "And believe me, Mulder has called us a lot worse than that that over the years," Langly assured her. "I'll bet," Scully said dryly, as they all headed into the living room and settled in front of the television with their food and sodas. Byers, Langly, and Frohike sat in a row on her couch, lined up like patients waiting to have a tooth pulled. They stared at the black TV screen in dread of what she was going to put them through. "Listen guys," she said, taking a sip of ginger ale. "I know you know, so we might as well cut the crap." She turned the television and VCR on with the remote control and pushed 'play'. "Know? Know what?" Frohike said. He busied himself removing his fingerless gloves before reaching for his glass and taking a long, noisy gulp of Dr. Pepper. "Yeah, we don't know what you're talking about," Langly feebly protested around a bite of pepperoni pizza. Byers, being even worse at lying than the other two, just fingered his tie and read the FBI warning on the screen with rapt attention. "I'm sure you figured this out when I called from the hospital to ask you to help Doggett, if not before then. It's not like you haven't hacked into my medical records before," she said. "What? We would never..." Frohike began, as Vic Damone's warbling wafted from the television. "Save it, Frohike, I know the truth. Mulder told me all about your rather questionable ways of helping me out over the years, and I'm not bringing it up because I'm angry. Although I probably should be," she said, picking at a crust of her pizza. "I just think you guys should know that I'm pregnant. I was hoping to keep it to myself until I could tell Mulder, but apparently that isn't going to be possible." Scully was surprised at the steadiness of her voice. She had been afraid of breaking down in front of them, but after the nightmare of telling Bill it seemed nothing could phase her. "You mean you and Mulder were...are..." Langly stammered, somehow sounding surprised. For someone so knowledgeable about government conspiracies and covert operations, he was really quite naive. "That lucky bastard," Frohike muttered affectionately. "Does this mean I get to be Uncle Melvin?" Scully paused and cocked her head, taking the idea under consideration. "I think you'll have to discuss that with Mulder," she finally responded, glad to be able to leave at least that decision to him. "Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourselves. The only other people who know right now are my family and Assistant Director Skinner. I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible." The three men nodded and were silent for a moment. Deborah Kerr returned Cary Grant's cigarette case, and his verbal volleys, before Byers finally spoke. "Congratulations, Agent Scully. You're going to be a wonderful mother," he said quietly. "Yeah, anyone who could keep Mulder in line all these years..." Langly said vaguely. He still seemed a little stunned. Frohike reached across the gap between the couch and Scully's chair and clasped her hand in his. "We're going to find him, Scully, I swear. He'll be home before the baby's born." Don't make promises you can't keep Frohike, she wanted to warn him; you'll be sorry you did. Instead she simply smiled and nodded, touched by the suspicious glistening in his eyes. "I hope so," she whispered. She squeezed his hand briefly before releasing it, turning away as tears slid down her cheeks. Her heart was suddenly full of affection for these strange men who loved Mulder almost as much as she did. They would never give up hoping that he would be returned, or working to find him, and knowing that gave her a measure of peace. Scully sighed softly, remembering the promise she had made so easily. She had been dreading New Year's Eve for weeks, hating the feeling that she had somehow betrayed Mulder, even while knowing that he would never blame her himself. There was no way either of them could have imagined how their lives would change just a few short months from that warm May night. Perhaps she had absorbed his capacity for misplaced guilt, taking it into her soul as surely has she had taken him into her body. Strangely, though, watching the Gunmen as they rolled their eyes and made snide comments to each other about the movie, she felt close to Mulder, closer than she had since the last time she had held him, standing in her bedroom, trying not to cling too long. Maybe she didn't break her promise after all, she thought, absently placing her hand on her belly as she felt an almost imperceptible fluttering inside her. Mulder was always present in her mind and heart, and for a moment that was enough. End Author's Notes: In case you were wondering... *The story's comes from the song "Man From Mars" from Joni Mitchell's Taming the Tiger album: I call and call The silence is so full of sounds You're in them all I hear you in the water And the wiring in the walls Man from Mars This time you went too far *The song Scully mentions in the opening scene is "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" by Frank Loesser. I'm partial to the Harry Connick, Jr. version, though Mel Torme's ain't half bad, either. *The book Mulder gives Scully is a 1940s edition of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, with engravings by Fritz Eichenberg. Mulder's inscription is from the last chapter. Although Mr. Lockwood says the words rather snidely of Hareton and Catherine, I've always thought they were a beautiful description of the power of love. *The movie Scully tortures the Gunmen with is the 1957 four-hankie classic "An Affair to Remember". To my three wonderful beta readers: Bonnie -- thanks for holding my hand throughout the whole process. In the immortal words of Chicago, you're the inspiration. <g> Amanda -- thanks for your infectious enthusiasm, and especially for helping me get past that pesky writer's block. Marie -- thank you for your kind and honest opinions, and for helping put the final polish on this story. To everyone else, thanks for reading. Drop me a line at emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com
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