TITLE: File Under "S"

AUTHOR: Foxie Meg

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.  Although, since Duchovny's
leaving, can I have Mulder now?

SUMMARY: Set during "Three Words" - Mulder muses
about his place in Scully's life after Scully 
brings him home to his apartment.

SPOILERS: "all things," "Per Manum," "Three Words,"
"DeadAlive"

ARCHIVE: Already submitted to Gossamer; anywhere
else, please just keep my name on it and let me
know where it goes.

FEEDBACK: Makes my life worth living! 
megan86@thexfiles.com

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wrote this on a legal pad
while working the late shift at 2 AM in a kitchen 
amidst pizza that was being served to screaming 
kids, so if you don't like it, I'm truly sorry; 
it seemed like a good idea at the time.

For those of you reading my WIP, "Court and Spark,"
more HAS been written on it and is on the way.

***

FILE UNDER "S"

It seemed like such a good idea at the time.  Being
alone, I mean.  Scully's presence was awkward, what 
with the bulk of baby between us.  I'm not the only
one she loves anymore - she has the baby now.

I suppose I should feel like I have the baby to love
as well, but I was and am - all together now, fathers
everywhere - jealous.

I never believed those stories of men resenting the 
child they fathered until now.  And how much worse
does it make it that I'm not completely confident 
that I am, indeed, the father?  Exponentially.  Is
there someone else I should be jealous of?

By sending Scully home, I have left myself alone with
plenty of time to scare myself shitless with these 
thoughts.  

It seemed like such a good idea... The baby, I mean.
Scully wanted a child.  She had the chance.  And instead
of choosing a nameless donor with a perfect medical 
history and an off-the-chart IQ who would never have
to know about the miracle he helped create, she picked
*me*.  And knowing me like she does, this can only mean
that she wanted me to be the child's *father*, not just 
a donor.

I would have been a fool to say no.  So I said yes.

I fully intended to beg her for full rights of fatherhood,
maybe to the point of being lover - if not husband - to
the mother.

But the in vitro didn't take, supposedly, and I didn't
want her to think I was proposing (propositioning?) out
of pity.  So I held off.

I saw my renewed chance when the crop circles showed up
in England.  I admit, I was fully intending to use the
romantic aura and history of the country to my advantage.
I will not, however, confess to fantasies of actually 
having sex with Scully in the middle of a crop circle.
I could practically feel the bullet just considering it
in passing - I didn't dare progress to full-fledged 
fantasy stage.

The point was moot anyway, though, since she decided
she didn't want to come with me - pun not intentional
...at least, I think it's not...

But when I came back (definitely no pun intended that
time), she'd had a revelation of sorts.  After 
unexpectedly encountering an ex-lover, she supposedly
had an epiphany and realized she wouldn't want this 
Dr. Waterston to father her children.  She didn't
want him back.

She wanted me.

Wow.

One lucky son of a bitch speaking.

But when she was gone when I woke up the next 
morning, I had never felt more cursed.  Or lost.

I gave her all day at work to bring it up on her own.
By four o'clock that afternoon, I'd had enough.  I
couldn't stand it another minute.  If I had been
brave enough to breach the subject earlier in the
day, I might have used more tact.

But as it was, I was sulking.

Sure, it had been my first time in quite awhile, but
I couldn't have been *that* bad.  Right?

So as she was dutifully tucking away case files -- 
"Premonitory Dreams and Visions... right next to
Poltergeists" -- I blindsided her.

"So I guess we can file that under 'S'?  For 'Seemed
like a good idea at the time'?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at me as
she thumbed through the tabs in search of "Psychic
Phenomena".

"Last night," I clarified, moodily nibbling on the
eraser of my pencil.

For just a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of
hurt surprise in her expression, but then she nodded,
and it was gone so quickly I figured I must have 
been projecting my own feelings onto her.

We never mentioned it again, and I resigned myself
to the fact that our night of passion was a singular
anomaly never to be repeated.  File under "S".  For
Scully.  Sex.  Sensuality.  Stupid Mulder.

The air cleared between us eventually, as it always
does, and we were friends again.  Then it was 
bye-bye Mulder for six months... three of them
spent six feet under...

And now here I am, alone in my clean apartment,
one mollie poorer than when I left, contemplating
the meaning of life and exactly what to do now that
Scully is in the condition that she is.

And wondering if one day we'll file this - the baby,
I mean - under "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Seriously, I mean, not just jokingly at 2 AM when a
hungry cry awakens us, asking for food and love.

...And just when did she imply that I would be around
at 2 AM to share the awakening?

A knock at the apartment door pulls me out of my 
melancholy musings, and I call out, "It's open!",
since I really don't feel like getting up off
the couch.

Scully pokes her head around the door before she
*coughwaddlescough* through it.

"Hey," she says softly, as if unsure she's allowed
inside.

"Come on in," I wave her in.  "Sit a spell."

She lowers herself to the couch with some difficulty,
giving me a warning look out of the corner of her eye.
Sighing, she rubs soothing circles on her distended belly.

I say nothing, regarding her steadily.  She reaches
into the pocket of her overcoat and pulls out a small
tab of paper.  She holds it gingerly, as if it were a
piece of the Dead Sea Scrolls.  She holds it out towards
me, and I put my hand out, palm up, to catch it as it
flutters from her fingers.

"File under 'S'," she says as I look at the innocuous
square of paper.  It is the tab from a tea bag - the 
same brand of herbal tea we drank that night in my
apartment.

She nods.  "For 'sorry I left,'" she says, so softly
I barely hear her.

I raise my eyes to hers slowly, feeling my heart skip
at the softness of her smile, the tender apology in her
eyes.  "And for 'Still a good idea'."

File me under "S".  For Saved.

***

THE END