The X-Files Bloopers: Fight The Future (1998) | S08E13 (Per Manum) | S06E03 (Triangle) | GIF Request: Gillian Anderson sneezing instead of saying her lines
Walking down the hallway outside her hospital room, he feels in part as if a weight has been lifted. The truth is out, she knows that he knows, and hopefully now they will be able to just move past it and get back to normal. (Or as close to “normal” as it’s ever been, working on the X-Files.)
He shouldn’t be surprised that it all comes back to Mulder. All the secrecy, all the lies, all of it because she was afraid of losing access. Of losing the ability to keep looking for Mulder. He still thinks it’s nuts that she thought just telling him would put all that in jeopardy, like he couldn’t keep a secret or the “powers that be” would just magically find out, but he gets it. Fear can make you think all kinds of crazy things, and there’s no question that Agent Scully is more than a little bit afraid of never finding Fox Mulder.
It’s just that he told her he wasn’t gonna let that happen.
To be fair, despite the promises he’s made, he hasn’t really done a bang-up job so far of actually tracking the guy down. His only recent lead turned out to be a complete dead end. (Literally.) Without the full authority of an official FBI manhunt, there’s only so much he can do.
They need a break in this case so bad. Doggett’s not exactly the praying type -- he pretty much gave up on all of that after what happened with Luke -- but if he were, he’d be on his knees asking for anything at all to get them on the right track for solving this thing.
***
In her hospital bed, one hand on her abdomen, Scully closes her eyes and prays.
She gives thanks that her baby is safe. That their baby is safe. She asks forgiveness for putting Mary Hendershot in danger. Even though she thought she was doing the right thing, her instincts turned out to be all wrong this time, and it almost cost an innocent woman her life.
She pleads for Mulder’s return.
She has tried so hard to be strong, to have faith that he will come back to her. Though his lies about his health have left the residual sting of betrayal in the pit of her stomach, she has worked through her anger, and all that remains is longing. Keeping that longing contained, keeping it from eating her alive, has grown exhausting. And now, after everything she’s just been through, her reserves of strength are nearly depleted. She needs him back. Please, God, she needs him back.
She cannot fathom how she is going to cope if he never returns. Despite logic and reason telling her that she will find a way, in this moment she feels wholly incapable. How is she supposed to exist in a world that doesn’t have Mulder in it? She may have known how, once -- and even then he still existed, just outside her sphere -- but that knowledge has been lost to time, worn away by the years spent in his orbit.
Months ago, he held her and told her to never give up on a miracle. That very miracle now rests beneath her palm, and she wants more than anything to be able to show him he was right. He believed, even when she lost hope, that this could some day come to be, and against all odds he was right. Now she needs to find the strength of his beliefs and apply that faith to another miracle, that of his return.
Please bring him back to me. I’m so tired. I need him back. We need him. Please.
Quick A/N: I have 3 in-between scenes planned for this episode, but I trust you won’t mind if I post them as I finish them, instead of waiting for all 3 to be done. ;) Also, these will all be from the “present day” parts of this episode. I wrote ficlets for two of the flashback scenes and set them in Season 7. You can find them here and here. :)
“I wasn’t exactly clear on what you wanted to do about this guy Haskell. About his wife’s story.”
“There’s nothing to do.”
He stands there for a moment staring at the elevator doors. Nothing to do? When she’s running out of here like a spooked animal, not five minutes after arriving for the day, and carrying evidence off with her, to boot?
It just doesn’t make a damned bit of sense.
In all the time they’ve worked together, he’s never known Scully to be outright dismissive of a case. Analytical, yes. Varying degrees of skeptical, sure. But dismissive? This is a first, and it’s setting off all kinds of alarm bells in his head.
Hasn’t she been the one, since the beginning, always telling him to keep an open mind? Meanwhile she shut right down the moment Duffy Haskell mentioned doctors and pulled out that ultrasound photo, sending him away with what amounted to a “don’t call us, we’ll call you.” He’s never seen anything like it, not from her. It’s unsettling, to say the least.
And then there was the way she got upset that he knew her history. It’s not like he went up to HR and got her personnel file or anything. He told her almost from day one that he’s read just about every case file in the office. Only thing he can figure is that maybe she didn’t realize that was one of the ones that was restored after the fire, didn’t know he would have been able to read it at all. Still, even supposing all of that, it stings a little that she reacted the way she did. He knows they’re not best friends or anything, but he thought she at least…
He shakes his head and turns around to go back to the office. Even if she weren’t acting all squirrely, he wouldn’t feel right about just dropping this case without so much as a background check on Haskell. And because she is, well… a background check might be just the beginning.
***
It’s like someone turned down the volume on the world. Or maybe it’s like she’s moving through water. Either way, she can hardly hear anything over the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
Anyone with a trained eye can see that is a bizarre pregnancy.
The elevator doors open, and she moves on autopilot through the lobby to the second bank of elevators, which will take her down to the parking garage, all the while turning the last several minutes over and over in her mind. Keeping the panic at bay is a struggle. It’s not until she has unlocked her car and sat down behind the wheel that she takes several deep, full breaths. She fumbles for the dome light and pulls the ultrasound photo out of its envelope with barely-steady fingers.
Scully is no layperson, but neither does she have specialized training in reading ultrasonography. If she had been handed this image and told it was of her own baby, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it. So what is she missing? What about this is so egregiously irregular as to be classified “bizarre?” Is there really a chance she’s looking at a picture of an alien fetus? And if she is, how can she possibly know for sure that she’s not carrying something similar? Her pregnancy is feeling a lot less miraculous and a lot more terrifying with each passing moment.
God, I wish Mulder were here.
You and me both, he pipes up from a corner of her mind, and she takes another steadying breath.
Closing her eyes, she lets herself fall into the illusion, just for a minute. It’s already hard enough doing this without you and now… now I’m afraid, and I don’t know what to do or where to turn.
But you do know. You have to follow the evidence. Even if you’re afraid of where it might lead.
Zeus Genetics. As much as it terrifies her, it is absolutely true that the only logical course of action is to follow up there.
It could still turn out to be nothing. Duffy Haskell could just be a grieving widower who’s invented a story to help himself cope. The claim rings hollow even to her, but she needs something, anything, to hold on to right now.
Only one way to find out.
She opens her eyes again and looks at the address on the envelope. Germantown. Setting the envelope on the seat, she reaches across to grab the Thomas guide out of the passenger side door. It’s probably because her brain is already primed with thoughts of him, but the smell of the paper and ink in the guide catapults her into a memory of sitting in her car in the freezing cold Pentagon City Mall parking garage, thumbing through this very book to figure out how she was going to get to the place Mulder asked to meet her in Upper Marlsboro. She still doesn’t know what exactly happened that night they went ghost hunting, but she does know she would give just about anything to be doing that instead of whatever she’s about to embark on right now.
Amazing what you miss, huh?
I miss everything about you.
It doesn’t take long to find the location of Zeus Genetics and sort out her route. Setting the still-open guide beside her, she shuts off the dome light and starts the car.
“Who’s that? In Agent Scully’s car.”
“That I don’t know, Agent Doggett.”
He has had just about enough of this.
He’s not an idiot; he can put two and two together. She tells him Parenti’s her doctor, and she expects him to believe she just happened to run out of the office, first thing in the morning, because she, what, had an appointment she forgot about? And neglected to mention? No, either she’s lying about not investigating the Haskells, or she’s got more than a passing personal connection to this case.
And now he’s supposed to take this unscheduled leave of absence at face value? No way.
This case is all about pregnant women -- alleged former abductees, to boot -- whose lives are in danger. Agent Scully has been acting cagey since the word “go” on this, and now she’s as much as told him she’s going into hiding. How can he possibly draw any conclusion but the (admittedly unexpected) one that Agent Scully is herself pregnant?
Not that he can get any confirmation on that. Oh, Skinner knows, but there’s not a chance in hell that he’ll break her confidence, which Doggett can at least respect, even if he hates being kept in the dark. It’s not like he needs to know the details; how it happened, who the father is, that’s all her business. But as it pertains to this case, if she is pregnant, it seems like pretty relevant information to have if he’s going to do his job effectively. After all, partners are supposed to look out for each other, aren’t they? So if there’s a particular reason she might be in more danger than usual here, it’d be nice if he were in the loop.
Instead, all he can do now is watch her walk away again, this time after she’s dragged him out of bed at three in the morning just so she could tell him she was leaving, and that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst part is that she still couldn’t bring herself to trust him enough to admit the truth about why. All this time, and she still doesn’t trust him. After everything they’ve been through together, he has to admit it feels just plain lousy. As pissed as he might be about how her choices are affecting his ability to do his job, on a personal level he’s more hurt than angry. Sure, there’s no denying they got off to a rocky start, all those months ago, but he would’ve thought he’s more than proven by now that he’s on her side.
He comes to a red light and stops, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. She’s made it very clear she doesn’t want him involved on this, and part of him wants to just throw his hands up and let her deal with the consequences. Lord knows he’s sick and tired of the games. The problem is, if she ends up actually getting hurt because he didn’t have her back, he’ll never forgive himself.
So, what now? He’s got no hope of going back to sleep tonight, no partner for who knows how long, and no clue where to even begin if he’s going to try and help her. Officially, the case is as good as closed, though he supposes there’s nothing stopping him from continuing to look into Haskell’s claims from the perspective of earlier case files. See if there’s maybe some connection somewhere. Something, anything. Anything’s better than spinning his wheels being upset.
To the office, then. He’s got a change of clothes there and hours before there’s even a chance of someone coming in to bother him. And coffee. It may be terrible coffee, not half as good as the cup he never got to have at the diner just now, but he has a feeling he’s going to need it.
***
Skinner watches Agent Doggett drive away and shakes his head. He sympathizes with Scully’s caution; of course he does. But enough is enough. He meets her gaze through the windshield, but she looks away quickly. She has to know what a terrible position she’s put him in, having to continue keeping things from Doggett, especially given everything this case has brought to light. They could use his help, damn it. Maybe he should have pushed the issue.
Too late, now.
She pulls a u-turn off the curb, and he watches her tail lights recede into the distance. At least she’s going somewhere safe. It’s one less thing to worry about. (Well, one less thing to worry much about.) Losing Mulder shook him in ways he still hasn’t fully recovered from, made him second-guess his abilities in the field and as a leader. He worries more than he used to, these days. Not that Mulder and Scully didn’t give him plenty to worry about, before, but for the sake of his own sanity he’d had to learn how to… not. That all changed the moment Mulder disappeared on his watch, and it’s only gotten worse with each day Mulder hasn’t returned. With every passing day, the effect of his error in judgment feels more permanent and devastating, and less like something he can make right if only he tries hard enough.
He owes it to Scully not to make things worse than they already are. He just wishes she had a little more faith in Agent Doggett.
Skinner will be the first to admit that he neither liked nor trusted Doggett when he was merely Kersh’s errand boy, but things have changed. Doggett may still not believe the truth about Mulder’s abduction, but he’s clearly learning that nothing is as cut and dried as he once thought, particularly after what he saw and experienced in Pennsylvania. He’s shown himself to be committed to the X-Files, to taking the assignments seriously, no matter what his personal views might be. More than that, he does seem to genuinely care about Scully. The notion that he would betray her is completely absurd.
Then again, Scully wouldn’t even tell him who that woman was. Skinner knows she is pregnant and in danger, and that is all. Scully’s playing everything so close to the vest, it’s hard to know how to help her.
He clenches his jaw and heads toward his own car. He’s done what he can, for now. He will do what she asked and continue to keep her secrets, but when this is all over, they need to have a serious conversation about bringing Doggett up to speed. She’s put it off long enough. It’s time.
She goes to the transfer appointment alone, telling him she appreciates his support but that this is something she needs to do by herself. He’s waiting at her apartment afterward though, with dinner on the stove and a cheesy sci-fi movie on the counter. They eat spaghetti in front of the TV, and when she falls asleep on the couch, he gently wakes her and gets her tucked in bed. In the morning, she sees that he cleaned up the kitchen before he left.
They both have months of unused leave saved up, so she takes the next week off work. He calls her periodically from the office, somehow intuiting when she needs distraction, and he makes her laugh with his claims that he’s getting so much done without her there.
She’s back at work the next week, and he does an admirable job of pretending nothing is different. He shows his panic face only once, when a case comes across his desk that will undoubtedly require a lengthy trek into the woods. Asking her to sit this one out will disrupt the carefully constructed facade of normalcy they are both trying to maintain, but even she has to agree it's not a great idea for her to be out in the field if she's trying to give the IVF every possible chance for success. She rescues him by saying she's already booked reservations to take her mom out of town for the weekend, and could he maybe handle this one on his own.
The relief on his face only slightly counteracts her guilt over the fact that now this means he's going out alone without backup. What good is she to him as a partner if she can't physically have his back? She reminds herself that if the pregnancy does take, she should be able to get back to a regular workload soon after.
(It's just as well she didn't come along, he tells her after they're both back on Monday; the supposed cryptid sighting just turned out to be a bear with a really bad case of mange.)
***
She leaves for her appointment after work on Monday. He doesn't ask if she wants him to come along, and she doesn't ask if he'll wait at her apartment instead.
He changes his clothes and runs to her place from the office, trying to exorcise his nervous energy with the long uphill slog on Wisconsin Ave. He'll come back for his car and suit later.
He showers quickly, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt and sweater he left here for just such an occasion, and sits down on her couch to wait. He spends the next hour thinking she should be back any minute, but as the light starts to fade outside, so too do his hopes that she will be coming through that door with a smile on her face.
Maybe she just went to Maggie's first, to tell her the good news. He doesn't really believe that, though.
He doesn't mean to fall asleep.
***
“Never give up on a miracle.”
He shoves his disappointment down deep; whatever he’s feeling, his only job right now is support. He won’t add to her devastation by admitting how much he’d started to want this, too.
She sniffles against his chest, and he strokes her back in what he hopes are reassuring circles. He kisses the top of her head and holds her as the sniffles turn to sobs. Nearly two months of cautious hope was dashed in an instant this afternoon, and it pours out of her. No matter how hard she tried to prepare herself -- no matter how hard they both did -- of course it still hurts, and his heart breaks a little for her as she cries herself out.
When she finally pulls back from him, puffy-eyed and red-faced, she excuses herself to go use the restroom, and he goes to the kitchen to put her kettle on for tea. The front of his sweater is damp; he pulls it over his head and hangs it over a chair, letting his hands linger for just a moment to grip the chair back. He’s helpless to take away her pain, though if there were anything he could do, he would of course do it in a heartbeat.
He’s just pouring hot water into a mug by the time she comes back, dressed in flannel pajamas with her face scrubbed clean. He sets the kettle down and picks up two boxes of tea from the counter.
“So, are you feeling camomile or peppermint?”
The smile in her eyes doesn’t make it all the way down to her mouth, but it’s a start. “Peppermint, please.”
“Coming right up.”
She pulls a chair out and sits at the table, tucking her feet up on the seat. He sets the steaming mug in front of her and sits down. She’s still all sort of pulled in on herself, and he watches her for a minute, then sets his hand palm-up on the table, offering. She brings her hand to rest on it, curling her fingers lightly around his.
“Is it okay if I don’t really want to talk about it?” Her voice sounds so small, and his heart breaks for her all over again.
“Of course it’s okay.” He strokes her palm with one fingertip, unsure if silence is any better. He knows all too well that not being ready to talk about something doesn’t mean your brain will shut up and play along.
Still, he’ll follow her lead for the time being. If she wants to sit quietly and doesn’t seem to be suffering for it, he is absolutely fine with that. Whatever she needs.
She releases his hand to pick up her mug, blowing gently across the top before taking a careful sip. She closes her eyes, breathing in the steam and letting her breath out in a long sigh.
“We should follow up on that missing persons case in Charlotte tomorrow.”
Her comment seems completely out of left field, until he recognizes what she’s doing. This morning she’d scoffed and told him it was obvious the pair of 19 year-olds had run off together, that there was absolutely nothing suggesting alien involvement. He’d even more or less agreed with her, this time; both kids’ parents had been pretty vocal in their disapproval of the relationship, and it didn’t take a genius to see the “abduction” was almost certainly staged. However, unless they find something new to investigate tomorrow, it’s the only thing currently pending.
And Dana Scully doesn’t do idleness in the face of tragedy very well.
“We, uh, we can do that, sure.” Realizing that doesn’t sound especially convincing, he fumbles a bit for something to add, resorting (as ever) to deadpan humor. “It’s been a few weeks since we had a road trip. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to play you my new ‘Musicians Who Might Secretly Be Aliens’ mix CD. Moby features heavily. As does Bowie.”
Her crinkly-eyed smile might have been a laugh under other circumstances, but he’ll take it.
***
He's been lingering, not wanting to leave her, but it's nearing midnight, and he can see she's fighting to stay awake.
“It’s getting late. I should let you get some rest.”
He moves to stand, but she reaches out quickly to touch his arm. “Mulder, could you… would you stay with me tonight? Please?” When she looks up at him, there’s a fear in her eyes he hasn’t seen since the encounter with Donnie Pfaster. “I’m not ready to be alone.”
He nods, swallowing hard around the sudden lump in his throat. That Scully loves him deeply, he has no doubt, but she is so fiercely independent that it’s not often he feels like she needs him. At least, not like he needs her. He takes both her hands in his and stands, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, and she nods against his chest.
We’re going to be okay, he wants to tell her. Maybe they’ll find another way to become parents someday, and maybe they won’t. But no matter what, they will have each other. That much hasn’t changed.
***
He’s wrapped around her in the darkness, his protective warmth against her back as she tries desperately to quiet her mind enough to fall asleep. Every time she feels herself start to spin out of control again, his arm tightens around her, and he presses a kiss to her shoulder. She doesn’t know if he’s responding to a change in her breathing or tension in her body or what, but he seems to know exactly when she needs pulling back from the edge, each and every time.
After the fifth time, though, she rolls over to face him, needing more. Her brain apparently has no intention of settling down on its own. She presses forward to kiss him, and the aching tenderness with which he kisses her back nearly brings tears to her eyes. He’s been so careful all night not to suffocate her with pity, to simply be there, for and with her, which she recognized and appreciated. And there’s no pity in this moment either, but there is such a sense of love, unconditional and boundless, and it seems to be spilling out of him as if he’s been trying to keep it in check as well, to keep it from overwhelming her. Maybe himself, too.
She lets herself get lost in the slide of his mouth against hers, in the way his thumb strokes her cheek and traces her earlobe. She lets her day, and her disappointment, fade into the background, eclipsed by this moment, this mutual declaration of adoration. She kisses him knowing that if they did this for an hour, he wouldn’t ask more of her, that his only aim is to give whatever comfort she needs, without expecting any escalation.
Eventually, she is the one who wants more. She is the one who brings his hand to her chest and hers between his legs. When she asks for more, he gives without taking, showing without words exactly what he feels for her, exactly what she is worth to him. He brings her to the heights of pleasure again and again, with his fingers, with his mouth, and finally gasping out his own release against her shoulder, her legs wrapped tight around his hips.
When she falls asleep a short while later, her head pillowed on his chest and the steady thump of his heart beneath her ear, her mind is calm and quiet.
“Well, you need a father, of course. I can get you genetic counseling on finding an anonymous donor, if that’s what you want… unless you already have someone in mind.”
“Yeah… I, uh… I just have to figure out how to ask him.”
This is all happening so fast.
She’d only wanted to know if it would be possible. Someday. Not necessarily right now. She knew that the abduction and experimentation had left her unable to conceive, and for a long time she’d accepted her fate. But lately, since she and Mulder have become intimate, she can’t help thinking more and more about what-if. It’s led her to question the specifics of her infertility: would her body be capable of carrying a pregnancy to term if she used a donor egg, for example. Simple information gathering.
But then yesterday Mulder dropped the bombshell on her about the ova he stole from the Lombard Research Facility, almost three years ago. Actually, “bombshell” is far too sedate a word. He stole her ova, secretly had them tested, never told her when they were deemed inviable, and then kept them hidden in his freezer anyway.
But despite the odds, Dr. Parenti seems to think there's a chance. And a time window that's rapidly closing. Which means that “someday” just became “now.” And that means she has to figure out how to ask Mulder the question she thought she might have years to plan, if she ever had to ask it at all.
What if he's not ready for that? God, she is barely ready, and she wants it so badly she can hardly breathe. What will she do if he says no?
What if this breaks them?
She can't ask him in person, she realizes. If he turns her down, she won't be able to hide her disappointment, and she doesn't want him to feel guilted into saying yes if he truly doesn't want this. No, he needs time, and privacy, to think it over and make his own decision. She will write him a letter and drop it off at the office.
And now she still has to figure out how in the hell to ask the biggest question of her life.
***
He's been distracted all damned day.
She left for the evaluation hours ago. If she's been gone this long… it has to have been bad news, right? She's taking a walk again, because there is no way those ova are still viable. Why in the hell did he keep them?
(The answer to that one is stupid but also simple: he couldn't bear to just throw away what they symbolized.)
God, the look on her face this morning when he gave her the insulated bag… she could barely meet his eyes. It was like she couldn't decide whether to thank him or say she never wanted to see him again. He's never felt so dirty. To see her faith in him shaken like that, learning that he had kept something so huge hidden from her… well, it's a good thing the brain meds are still helping. With any luck, he can take that secret all the way to the grave, hopefully a good fifty years from now.
He realizes he's been staring at the door again and grimaces, turning back to the article in front of him. He's been trying to get through the first paragraph for the better part of an hour. With a sigh, he pushes his chair back and stands, stretching his back and turning around to look at the wall behind his desk. He raises his arms and interlaces his fingers behind his head, tapping with his thumbs on the back of his neck as the fear he’s been dancing around all day finally reveals itself.
What if being with him is just a constant reminder of what she can never have, of what he kept from her? They’ve been through so much together, but what if this is the one thing she can’t move past?
What if this breaks them?
“Mulder?”
He whips around, and she looks so small, standing in the doorway.
There’s a rushing in his ears, and his vision seems to contract and focus, as if his brain is telling him Pay attention! This. This is one of those moments. Nothing will be the same after this.
She walks forward slowly, hesitantly, one hand in her coat pocket. He wonders if she can hear his heart hammering in his chest from across the room.
“I, uh… I’m going to take the rest of the day off.”
“Everything okay?”
She looks down. “Yeah, I just… well, this will explain.”
She pulls a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and holds it out toward him. It flutters ever so slightly in her hand, and he knows. She’s leaving him. This has all been too much for her, and she can’t even work with him anymore, and that’s why she’s been gone all day, because she was upstairs talking to Skinner about reassignment. His knees threaten to turn to water, and it’s all he can do to stay upright.
“That’s, ahem, that’s not a ‘Dear John’ letter, is it?” He’s aiming for flippant, but it comes out cracked and shaky. He is rapidly coming to grips with the very real possibility that he is going to throw up.
She snaps her eyes back up to his, and the genuine confusion in them is the last thing he expected. “What?! No. God no, Mulder, what-- Why on Earth would you think that?”
“I… I thought you…” He’s so thrown, he can’t even get the words out. “You’re not leaving?”
“I’m taking the rest of the day. That’s all. I wanted to give you some space because--”
He doesn’t even let her finish, walking around the desk to wrap her in his arms, to hell with the open door. The relief flooding through him brings tears to his eyes, and he blinks them back before they can fall and embarrass him any more than he’s already managed to embarrass himself.
“Mulder, you’re shaking. What’s wrong?”
“Too much time spent in my own head today, I guess,” he mumbles. He takes a deep breath, then releases her, stepping backward to lean against the desk. “I was sure I’d screwed everything up.”
“No. No, you haven’t screwed anything up. If anything, I’m the one--” She bites off the rest of the sentence, shaking her head. She looks down again at the paper still in her hands, turning it over a few times. His heart is back in his throat, but instead of being certain of what’s coming next, now he has no earthly clue. “There’s something I need to ask you, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to say yes if you’re not comfortable with it. So I, I wrote it down, and… and I’ll let you have some time to think about it.”
She holds the paper toward him once more, steadier this time. He takes it from her slowly, then starts to unfold it.
“No, don’t… Don’t read it yet. Please. That’s… that’s sort of the whole reason I wrote it down, so I wouldn’t be here when you--”
“Okay.” He sets it down on the desk behind himself, then puts his hands in his pockets. His curiosity is tempered by dread. What in the hell could possibly be so bad that she can only ask him in writing? That she can’t even be here when he reads it? His mind is already off to the races again, and he searches her face for any sort of a clue as to what this is all about.
“Thank you. I, um… I’ll get out of your way, and… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
He nods, trying to interpret the combination of fear and hope in her voice and posture. He wants to go to her, to hug her again and tell her that whatever she’s afraid of, it’s going to be okay. That he can’t conceive of anything he wouldn’t do for her. But she’s already on her way out the door, and he’s also desperate to read whatever this is that she’s given him.
She pulls the door shut behind her as she leaves, ostensibly to give him privacy, but it feels like she’s cut herself off from him, and he can hardly stand it. Heaving a sigh to steady himself, he goes back around to his chair and sits. When he unfolds the paper, her handwriting covers the entire page.
Dear Mulder,
It’s hard to know where to begin. We go through life thinking we can plan things, thinking we have control. And to some extent, I suppose that’s true, but then there are the things that blindside us. Events and circumstances we never saw coming, which alter the courses we thought we’d set for ourselves.
When I was first told I would never have children, I grieved. It’s strange; even though having a family is never guaranteed anyway, to have even the possibility of it taken out of my hands completely, it shook me in a way I didn’t anticipate. It took some time to make peace with it, but I eventually did. I accepted my new reality and tried to move forward.
And then things changed again.
Things changed with us, and I found myself longing once more for what could never be. Only this time, idle daydreams began to take on even more concrete forms. A little girl with my hair and your eyes. A little boy with my freckles and your smile. Emily, whole and healthy and untouched by whatever terrible design was in her making.
And even if that could never be, if my half of the genetic equation were missing, I couldn’t help thinking about what might be possible with a donor egg, if the circumstances of my infertility might not be as all-encompassing as they first seemed.
I know that it was probably a mistake to begin quietly investigating this without talking to you about it. I just thought, if it turned out that it was still impossible, then there would have been no reason to discuss it at all. Instead, much to my surprise, here we are.
This morning, my doctor examined the ova that you gave me. He is optimistic that, given the advances in technology even in the past couple of years, they may in fact be viable after all. Or, more specifically, that one of them may be. There is a chance, he says. Maybe not a very big one, but a chance nonetheless. He does, however, suggest that we begin the process right away. I am still coming to grips myself with the speed at which everything has changed yet again.
Which brings me to the question I still find myself afraid to ask. I understand that there have been certain expectations about the circumstances of our relationship. Children were not supposed to be part of the equation. I don’t know if you even want them, and I want to be clear that you are in no way obligated to take this on with me. This is my decision, and I take full responsibility for it.
I cannot, however, provide both halves of a genome myself. My doctor said he will help locate an anonymous donor unless I already had someone in mind, and it would be a lie to claim that there is even a question of which person I would choose, if the choice were mine alone. Even if faced with this decision a year ago, before things changed between us, my answer would have been the same.
But it is not my decision to make alone.
Mulder, I do not want you to feel beholden to me, or sorry for me, or to agree out of guilt or duty or pity. This is why I couldn’t ask you in person. I need you to know, to fully understand, that it is okay for you to say no. It is not going to change anything between us if you are uncomfortable with this. I can only hope that my asking this of you at all will not somehow damage the way you see and feel about me.
Please think about it. Take as much time as you need.
-Dana
He sits back in the chair, realizing as the room spins around him that he barely breathed while reading her letter.
A chance of viability. How is that possible?
The entire world has been flipped on its ear. He knew she was sad about not being able to have kids, but he never really grasped the extent of it. And now to have this chance, one chance, however small…
And she wants him. Or she wants his genes, anyway. What was it he told her once, about the Mulder family more or less passing genetic muster?
The thing of it is, he’s never really seen himself as a father. Bill Mulder was not exactly a shining example of paternal excellence. He likes kids well enough, but… it seems completely impossible that he wouldn’t screw up if he tried to raise one. And how could he live with himself, screwing up this thing that Scully wants more than anything in the world?
On the other hand, how can he say no to her? For all that she claims she would be okay with it, there is no denying it will hurt her terribly if he refuses.
He needs to move. He needs to get out of this office and move around, sort everything out in his head. Pushing back from the desk, he stands, folding the letter and putting it in his pocket. He grabs his coat and keys and heads out for a walk.
***
He is so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice when the sun goes down.
He’s been walking for hours, slowly winding his way north and west without any conscious destination in mind, but when he finally looks up and sees where he is, it’s no great surprise to find himself about six blocks from Scully’s apartment.
What does surprise him is that he thinks he actually has an answer for her. It’s taken a long time to find clarity, and there are still so many things he’s unsure about, but he’s nearly ready to tell her yes. There is only one small thing holding him back.
He doesn’t want to be “just” a donor.
As much as he’s afraid of screwing up, he’s discovered that the idea of being a dad actually appeals to him a lot more than he ever realized. But Scully has made it clear that she is running point on this. What if she doesn’t want him to have such an active role? What if whatever emotional place he has in her life right now is usurped once she has a child?
Some part of him realizes that’s crazy. She loves him. Lots of people have children without it tearing them apart. And if there’s anybody in the whole damned world he would want to try parenthood with, it would be Dana Scully.
He pulls out his phone, his finger hovering over the speed dial. He doesn’t have to give her an answer tonight. He could go home and sleep on it. But he’s right here. And she’s probably half out of her mind wondering what he thinks about all this. And if he lets himself think about it too much, he might get scared and change his mind. No, better to tell her now.
She answers after one ring with a breathless, “Hello?”
“Hey, Scully. It’s me. Is it okay if I swing by your place for a minute?”
“S-sure. Yeah, of course.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
He hangs up, glad he’s still got six blocks to walk off the butterflies that have just started a conga line in his stomach. He’ll make it quick. In and out, grab a cab back to the office, since he left his car there and also has managed to do zero actual work today. They are going to need to have an actual talk about it sometime, but not tonight. Tonight, he’ll just tell her yes.
