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Title: Skylark Author's Note: Hi, it's me. After a long hiatus, I'm back. Miss me? Good. "Skylark" deals with some very sensitive issues--controversial might be the best word to describe it. I am making no judgments on the actions of the characters in this piece. They asked me to write it, and I hope you enjoy it. I had considered using a separate e-mail account to deal with the feedback I'm almost certain this will produce, but I decided, "What the heck?!" and vowed to deal with it on the TrustNo1. Author's Second Note: (a D-Sharp, I believe.) This is my first attempt at Pre-XF fanfic. Now, don't get me wrong--I've been addicted to Pre-XF fanfic for the longest time...but there's always something that's felt *wrong* about it. I mean, really. Does anyone actually think that if Mulder and Scully had met before in the earth-shattering manners that are described in some (albeit well-written) fanfic they wouldn't remember one another later? So, I came up with this little ditty. Author's Third Note: I borrowed The Fowl for this one. Author's Fourth (and Final) Note: And there was much rejoicing o'er the land. No, seriously. There's a gimmick working (well, hopefully working) in the titles to each section. Ten bonus points to anyone who figures it out AND FeedbackS me with the hypothesis. Part 1: Come and Knock on My Door "Fox?" A mumble came from under the covers as one large, slightly tanned hand reached across the bed, only to find it empty. "Fox? Jesus, already. Get up." Special Agent Fox Mulder rolled over, scrubbing at his eyes with balled-up fists. "You're still here?" he asked his wake-up call. "Yeah." Diana hopped about the room on one foot, desperately trying to put her other black high heeled shoe on. Mulder reached out for her. "Since you're here...why don't we call in sick?" he asked, beckoning her back to bed. Diana Fowley looked at him, rolled her eyes and sighed. "I don't think that's a good idea, Fox. Anyway, I have lots of things to do today. And you want to keep your good standing with the guys down in VC. Who knows? You may be ASAC by this time next year." "Yeah, well..." Mulder responded, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I thought the two of us getting married would have been enough to screw me over for a promotion, but I guess it didn't." "There go your hopes for an easy out. 'Fear of success,' I believe the last psychologist called it." He wished she wouldn't bring that up. He had seen the department psychologist at her request--she said that the nightmares were keeping her up at night and, although he didn't believe it, that the dreams were also threatening their marriage. He wanted this to work, he thought as he pulled on his gray pinstripe suit. Nothing else had worked, so wasn't it time for *something* to? Unless you go with the theory that something working out would be an aberration to the pattern. Mulder shook his head and straightened his red paisley tie. "Are you coming?" Diana yelled from the kitchen. "Yeah," he said, searching the closet for his wingtips. "To hell with this," he muttered. Why couldn't he just stay at home? Maybe learn how to cook like Julia Child? "There you are!" he said to the shoes, imitating the French Provincial chef the best he could. "Who are you talking to?" Diana asked from the bedroom door. Mulder raised up quickly, smacking his head on the shelf. "Ow! No one. Ow." He gingerly rubbed the spot on the back of his head. "Come on. Your coffee's getting cold." Or maybe he could stay at home with the kids, Mulder thought to himself. He frowned, thinking on yet another failure in his life. He and Diana had been married for two years and still no pitter-patter of little feet. Not unless you counted that awful cat of hers. Leila. That cat was evil, he was sure of it. And it wasn't like they hadn't been trying. There was no way two people could have had more sex, unless they both gave up their jobs. And eating. And sleeping. Mulder blushed a little at that thought. Didn't seem like such a bad plan to him. "What is your problem this morning?" Diana asked, staring at him. "Nothing. Uh, I was just thinking about what we would do for dinner." "Why don't you make something?" she asked, placating him. He did so seem to enjoy making his fancy little dinners. Whatever makes him happy, she said to herself. At least it kept him off her case for a little while. Honestly, she loved Fox Mulder, but sometimes... Like this whole family thing. Sometimes she just wanted to scream at him. So his parents didn't call; didn't even seem to like him. So? Screw 'em, is what she thought. But noooooo. Her Fox was intent on making up for all the family he didn't have by keeping her barefoot and pregnant all the time. Did he *want* her to get fat? Now he was rambling on about some kind of potato dish, and the fact that you *still* couldn't buy good chives in this city, and how you couldn't really make the potato dish without good chives, and that maybe he would stop by the dairy market on the way back home and pick up some of that ice cream that she really enjoyed and how did that sound? "Fine," she said, grabbing her travel coffee mug and her coat. He took his cue and began to gather his things--the briefcase full of files, his travel coffee mug and his coat. They drove to the Hoover building together and parted in the lobby. "See you tonight," he said, giving her a kiss. Nearby, onlookers were convinced that she pulled away, avoiding his kiss. Part II: Who Can Turn The World On With Her Smile? Fox Mulder was frantic. Diana was over two hours late. She was supposed to have taken the train home, but there was no reason he should have expected this delay. No phone call, no message at the apartment, not even a note at the office saying "Sorry, honey, had to drop off some files at Quantico." Nothing. At a quarter after nine, Mulder began calling the hospitals. He got through County General, University and Bethesda Naval with no luck. He was semi-relieved that his wife wasn't unconscious in a hospital somewhere, but the lack of information didn't mean that she wasn't unconscious in a *ditch* somewhere. Finally, Mulder tried Georgetown Women's Hospital on a hunch. "Is a Diana Mulder registered there?" he asked frantically. "Sir, I am not permitted to give out patient information." Quickly Mulder rattled off his badge number and claimed official FBI business. Diana was in the FBI, wasn't she? That made it FBI business. "We do not have a Diana Mulder registered. But we do have a Diana Fowley-Mulder." "Thank you," Mulder said, hanging up. He grabbed his jacket and car keys and headed out the door. Part III: Good Morning, Angels "Diana Mulder, can you tell me where she is?" Mulder demanded of the desk clerk. "Room 1281," the clerk said without looking up from her copy of "Good Housekeeping." Mulder skidded down the hall, coming to a standstill in front of Diana's room. Through the glass door, she appeared to be sleeping. He paused, not wanting to disturb her, and looked around for a sign of what to do. Fortunately, a young woman in blue scrubs and a white lab coat walked toward him down the hallway. When it didn't appear that she would stop, Mulder reached out and touched her arm. The red-haired doctor looked up. And up and up. Until he was standing right next to her, he hadn't realized how short she was. Oh well. No matter. " Dr. Scully," Mulder began, reading her nametag. "I need your help. You see, my wife was brought in here...and I don't know why." Dana Scully looked at the perplexed man, wondering why he didn't just ask his wife himself. "Well, let's find out, shall we?" she asked efficiently, pulling the chart out of the plastic box on the patient's door. "Diana Mulder..." she muttered. "D & C." "I'm sorry...a 'D & C'?" "Dilation and Cuttilage. It's used when patients miscarry," she said softly. She hoped her tone was gentle. "Oh God," he said. "What happened? Do you know? Did she fall? Was she in an accident?" "It doesn't appear so on the chart. Sometimes...these things happen." Oh God, he thought to himself. Their baby. *His* baby. Had she even known she was pregnant? Mulder went to the waiting room to sit, to sort out his thoughts. Dr. Scully hoped that the man and his wife would be all right. This was why she liked pathology, she mused. Much easier dealing with patients who couldn't hear, couldn't speak, couldn't be afraid. She was just helping a friend out with lab work and surplus patients, and look what she had gotten herself into! She took a deep breath and picked up Mrs. Mulder's medication tray. " Mrs. Mulder?" Scully said softly. "I have to administer your medication. It will help with the cramps that will come later." She handed the dark haired woman a paper cup with two large blue pills in it, and another paper cup with water. "Everything appears to be fine, considering," Scully said, annotating the time on the patient's chart. "You might want to check with your primary physician, but I see no reason why you couldn't try again." "Why would I want to try again?" Mrs. Mulder asked, staring out the window. "That's why I had the abortion in the first place." For a moment, Dr. Scully was speechless. She felt the blood rise up in her face and stared at the patient's chart, willing herself not to ask the woman why she would do such a thing. Judging by her husband's reaction, this was not a mutually planned surgical procedure. Perhaps the child was not her husband's? "Oh," was all that Scully could say in response to Diana Fowley's revelation before she left the room. On her way out, she passed Mr. Mulder. "How is she?" he asked, voice tight with emotion. "Lucid and awake." She brushed past him, heading for the nurses' station. Mulder entered his wife's room slowly, not sure of what to do. "I didn't know they would keep me overnight," Diana said when she heard him enter the room. "Well, your body's been under a great deal of stress," he said, tears glistening in his eyes. She shifted in her bed. "What happened?" he began. "Did...Did you fall?" "No," she said. "Were you injured? Did you...Did you know you were pregnant?" "Of course I did, Fox! That's why I had an abortion." Mulder felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "You...what?" "Although I still can't understand how I got pregnant. I've been so careful. I took the Pill every day, I used my diaphragm, I even used that awful sticky spermicidal stuff," she said matter-of-factly. "But--But I thought we agreed that we would start a family as soon as we got married." "No, Fox," she said firmly, looking at him directly for the first time that night. "*You* agreed." "So you just..." "I made an appointment with the doctor and got it done over my lunch hour. I just didn't know they'd want to observe me for six hours. I thought I'd go home and we'd have dinner together, just like we always do." Mulder stared at his shoes, lost for words. "Was it...the baby...was he mine?" Diana looked at him, rolling her eyes. "Of course it was yours." She made a grab for his hand. "Don't you see, Fox, what I did was for the best. You can't become the Director of the FBI with a family!" "The current Director has three children." "I know you, Fox. You would have wanted to quit the FBI, to stay at home with the family and write a book or something ridiculous. Your star is on the rise, Fox Mulder! All this," she said, gesturing to her abdomen, "...it would have just gotten in the way." "So that's it?" he asked. "You just made the decision for me? Maybe I don't want to be the Director of the FBI. Maybe I don't want to be an ASAC. Maybe I don't even want to be an agent any more. And maybe," he said, dropping her hand, "I don't want to be married to you any more." Mulder left the room and returned to the blue, gray and pink waiting room. As he buried his face in his hands, he heard a nurse sing along with the Muzak. He recognized the song as a Johnny Mercer tune his neighbor at Oxford used to play as he seduced unknowing co-eds. Skylark, Have you anything to say to me? Won't you tell me where my love can be? Is there a meadow in the mist, Where someone's waiting to be kissed? "Well, I guess that's it," he said to no one in particular. He crushed the empty coffee cup in one hand and flung it into the trash can, barely missing the young red-haired doctor. "Are you going to be okay?" the doctor asked. "I just think I might be," Mulder responded. "I...I'm sorry. What did you say your name was?" "Dana." She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Fox. Nice to meet you." "Nice to meet you, too. I guess." She laughed a bit. "Maybe we'll meet under better circumstances next time." "Maybe." Skylark, I don't know if you can find these things, But my heart is traveling on your wings. So if you see him anywhere, Won't you lead me there? Well, there you have it. Like it, love it, hate it, e-mail me. USSTrustNo1@hotmail.com
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