TITLE:                         The Way Things Are

AUTHOR:                   Sukie Tawdry

EMAIL:                       [email protected] <mailto:[email protected]>

RATING:                     NC-17

SPOILERS:               Season 1

CATEGORY:             Guess you could call it AU. Diverges

from canon some time during season 1.

KEYWORDS:            Story, M/S (some elements of M/other)

DISCLAIMER:           None of the characters belong to me. Sniff

SUMMARY:               One night and their whole lives were changed

forever.

FEEDBACK:             Good or not so good--go ahead. I can

take it. I'm a big girl.

ARCHIVE:                  Again, go ahead.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks go to Sybils for wonderful beta and support.

And a big thank you to Foxymulderluver for giving this

story a home on her website:

<http://www.geocities.com/foxymulderluver>

 

Part 11 - Off-balance

 

"You have a headache because you're experiencing caffeine

withdrawal. You can have real coffee, Mulder. I won't be

upset."

 

"As long as you have to drink this swill, I do too," Mulder said.

He tossed two aspirin back and washed it down with a gulp of

lukewarm decaf.

 

Two weeks had come and gone, and Mulder showed no signs of packing

up. She hadn't the heart to bring up the deadline, maybe because

she enjoyed the company. It was nice to see him across the

breakfast table, spooning up his sugar-frosted cocoa puffs.

 

Scully did her best to put the abduction behind her, but the

impact of the experience came through in ways she couldn't control.

She woke screaming many nights, rousing Mulder from his makeshift

bed on her sofa. He'd stumble into the bedroom, hair on end, and

eyes at half-mast. Though frustrated that she wouldn't share her

fears with him, he never denied her the comfort of his embrace.

 

He also didn't call her on the odd little habits that had cropped

up. He'd eye her long-sleeves and layers of clothing in midsummer,

but never broached the subject. And if he wondered why she checked

the doors several times a day, unlocking and locking them again, but

he never questioned her on it.

 

They certainly were a pair, she thought, as she took a bite of

cantaloupe and watched Mulder grimace over his coffee. His

behavior confused her. Though he despised it, he drank decaf

coffee in solidarity with her. But when Paula sent her for a

repeat ultrasound a few days ago, he politely declined her

invitation to come in and stayed in the waiting room.

 

Had he been afraid seeing the image of his daughter would bond

him to her? Maybe Scully had hit on the truth weeks ago--Mulder

thought he would become distracted by this child and abandon his

search for Samantha.

 

So Mulder kept up his careful resistance against anything

that might tie him emotionally to the baby, with odd moments of

utter devotion. Between Mulder and her increasing girth, she

couldn't tell what kept her more off-balance.

 

"We're going to be late, Scully." Mulder stood, stretching

his arms out, the crisp white of his shirt dazzling in the

morning light. He carried his mug and cereal bowl to the sink.

 

Having Mulder around was proving to be a huge distraction.

Late at night, she would shuffle past his boxer-clad form on

her way to the kitchen for a glass of milk. The sight of him,

half-naked and stretched out on her sofa was almost more than

she could handle.

 

Her bathroom smelled of his soap and aftershave. Her hall

closet carried the scent of his leather jacket; she found

herself occasionally running her hand over its suppleness.

The smooth wool of his suits, the fresh cotton of his

shirts--she was in Mulder sensory overload.

 

She should have sent him packing--should have thanked him

for his support and protection and waved goodbye. It hadn't

been easy, but she'd come to grips with her feelings for him

weeks before. Loving someone who felt only fondness and

responsibility for her was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

 

And yet, there were times when she caught Mulder watching her

with an intensity that stopped her in her tracks. He never

commented when she lounged around in her soft cotton pajamas

or left the shower with damp hair and dewy skin. But she

wondered if perhaps she was having much the same effect on

Mulder as he was having on her.

 

"Let's go," she said, rising and smoothing the fabric of her

jacket down. She'd finally broken down and bought a few

maternity suits, but they were still baggy on her. Her mother

had found some loose-fitting cotton knit separates that looked

professional, and they had become her daily uniform.

 

Her changing figure was definitely generating stares, as she

knew it would. Arriving at work each morning with Mulder and

leaving with him each evening was certainly providing fodder

for the water cooler speculation society.

 

If Skinner had heard rumors about their living arrangements, he

kept quiet about it. In fact, her only contact with her boss

since the interview in her apartment was one five-minute meeting

where he informed her the blanket and hospital gown had

yielded no usable forensic evidence. The rape kit showed no

evidence of semen or other foreign substances and the blood

work had also proved inconclusive. The sedatives had broken

down completely in her bloodstream.

 

She hadn't been surprised; the people who took her wouldn't

have left a trace.

 

Work had become her refuge. The familiar patterns of analyzing

data, performing autopsies and arguing with Mulder felt safe.

Even the boring aspects of routine paperwork and expense reports

were a source of comfort. She recognized the Mulder she found

in the basement office. The Mulder in her home confused her,

but the partner at the office was someone she understood.

 

In their short but intense partnership, Mulder had been all she

could have asked for in terms of allowing her to carry her

weight. Knowing he trusted her to keep up with him had meant a

great deal to her.

 

Mulder had always been a bit protective, taking the responsibility

of watching her back very seriously. But lately, small changes

had crept into his attitude. They spent far more time in the

office catching up on paperwork and less time out in the field.

And when they were in the field, Mulder seemed glued to her side.

 

A case in point was the investigation they'd been working on for

the last few days. Arthur Davison's DNA was recovered from the

body of a rape/murder victim and his teeth marks were found on

her breasts and stomach. What should have been an open and shut

case was complicated by the fact that Davison had been in jail

at the time, unable to post bail on a sexual assault charge.

 

Davison had been convicted of two other rapes over the last

five years, and had been suspected in a number of others. In

each case, he'd left bite marks on the victims. Sandra

McCaffey had differed from his other victims in only one way--

she was dead.

 

In past investigations, Mulder would suggest splitting up

so they could cover more ground. This trip, she had a tall,

handsome shadow. She was never out of his line of sight whether

she was examining the murder victim or speaking with police

officers.

 

This morning, they were interviewing Arthur Davison at the

jail. Mulder was convinced that Davison had some ability to

be in two places at the same time. They were still debating

that explanation on the drive to the jail.

 

"Bilocation, Scully. Surely a nice, Catholic girl like you

knows about bilocation."

 

"I'm familiar with the term, Mulder. Certain saints and holy

people could be seen in two places at once. Surely, you're

not comparing Arthur Davison with St. Anthony of Padua..."

 

"Arthur Davison was booked at 3:35 on July 25. Sandra McCaffey

time of death couldn't have been earlier than 11:00 on that

night, yet his semen was present in her vagina and his teeth

marks in her tissue. How do you explain it if you eliminate

the possibility of bilocation?"

 

"Mulder, there could be several completely mundane explanations."

 

"Well, you concurred with time of death, if I recall correctly."

 

"Time of death was consistent with the evidence."

 

"And she couldn't have survived for any time after the skull

fracture?"

 

"No. The damage was such that she would have died instantly,

but we have no proof that Davison killed her, only that he raped

her. Someone else could have killed her later."

 

"The blows to McCaffey's head were so violent, pieces of skull

were embedded in the brain tissue. That kind of damage was

inflicted in rage, the kind of rage a sexual assault would

generate. Scully, no one else killed Sandra McCaffey. Arthur

Davison raped and murdered her."

 

The argument was shelved as Mulder pulled into a parking space.

They proceeded to the front desk and checked their weapons.

The agents were shown into the interview room where they waited

for Davison to be brought down.

 

The suspect had waived having counsel present for this interview.

He'd apparently asked for a public defender for the first

questioning after his arrest, but determined the lawyer was a

"stiff," and that he, the suspect, was smarter than his counsel.

 

Mulder and Scully sat on one side of the interview table. They

didn't speak while they waited for the suspect. Mulder flipped

through the file notes, his foot beating a steady tattoo against

the table leg.

 

Davison was brought in, shuffling his feet in ankle restraints.

His swagger was evident, even with his hands in cuffs as he

dropped into his chair. His dark eyes burned with a low flame

of anger.

 

"Hey, a girl cop. Must be my lucky day," Davison said, smirking.

 

"Interview with Arthur Davison. August 11, 1994. Agents present:

Dana Scully and Fox Mulder." Scully spoke into the small tape

recorder and placed it on the table between them.

 

"Mr. Davison, did you know Sandra McCaffey?" Mulder asked.

 

"I know a lot of people," Davison answered. "Some, I'd like to

know a little better." The suspect leered at Scully, rattling

his handcuffs as he gestured in her direction.

 

"When did you have sex with Sandra?" Mulder sat forward, the

authority in his voice intended to engage Davison's attention.

 

"I don't even remember the bitch."

 

"Well, if she were still alive, I'm sure she would remember you.

Your teeth marks would remind her. So tell me, how did you do

it?"

 

"How did I do what? Oh, wait...I got it. I stuck my dick

through the bars. Yeah, that's it. I fucked her right through

the jailhouse bars." Davison snorted with laughter. "I

was here by suppertime. You got nothing on me."

 

"Is it that you hate women so much that you're able to rape and

kill them without even being present?" Mulder leaned forward,

his arms folded on the table.

 

"You're fucking nuts. You know that? You're crazy."

 

"We know you raped her, Arthur. The evidence doesn't lie. And

when you were finished, you killed her."

 

"I didn't kill nobody." Davison turned to Scully. "I'm just

a sex machine," he sang "and I won't work for nobody but you."

 

"So you only rape them," Scully said, sharply. "You only beat

them and sink your teeth into them. Does that make you feel

powerful?"

 

"Listen, Bitch," Davison snarled. "You don't know shit."

 

"You raped her, didn't you, Davison. You bit into her flesh and

then you killed her." Scully's voice was scornful.

 

"I didn't kill nobody, Bitch. You better shut the fuck up.

Maybe we ought to put that pretty mouth of yours to some good

use," he said, half rising out of his chair.

 

Mulder was on his feet in a flash, leaning across the table to

shove Davison back into his chair. The suspect raised his hands,

defensively. "Okay, okay...I get it. She's your bitch."

 

Mulder's hands were flat on the table, his body a study in rage.

Her partner looked as if he could beat Davison bloody without a

second thought.

 

"That's enough," she murmured softly beside Mulder. He glared

at Davison a moment longer before taking his seat again.

 

"I got nothing more to say; I was in jail when that bitch was

killed and you can't touch me on it," Davison said with a smirk.

"First time I was ever glad to be here."

 

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"Do you want to explain what the hell you were doing in there?"

Her heels click out an angry beat as she stalks across the

parking lot to the car.

 

"What was I doing?" he asked, confused.

 

"Yes, what were you doing? What the hell was all that male

posturing with Davison? I was finally getting somewhere

with him."

 

"The only thing you were close to getting was a possible assault

by that guy."

 

"He was in restraints, Mulder. I was in no danger and you

know it. I knew exactly what I was doing in provoking him. Hell,

I've seen you do that a dozen times."

 

"That's different," Mulder said. He reached the car first, his

long legs allowing him to overtake her.

 

"Mulder, why haven't we been out of the office in weeks?" she

asked.

 

"You're upset because you have cabin fever? Okay, so we've been in

the office a lot lately." Mulder's hands were on his hips as he

looked down at his feet. His voice was soft when he spoke again.

"You needed a break, Scully; a lot has happened to you."

 

"Mulder, you have to let me do my job. You can't wrap me up in

cotton and lock me away just because I'm pregnant."

 

"I also can't stand by and watch a lowlife like Davison

threaten you."

 

"Mulder, would you have felt the need to interfere if I were a

guy?" Scully felt the hot flush of anger rise up from her

collar. "What about if I hadn't been pregnant? Would you

have done that?"

 

"But you are pregnant," he said, his voice ringing loudly. He

glanced around the parking lot as two police officers looked

at him. Lowering his voice, he continued. "You're pregnant

with my baby, so you'll have to forgive me if I feel a little

protective."

 

"I'm grateful, Mulder. More grateful than I can say for all the

support you've given me since I was returned."

 

"It was important to me," he said, ducking his head.

 

"It was important to me, too." She reached out and took his hand.

"But I just wonder what it all means. You say things like

'you're pregnant with my baby,' but I still don't know where

you really stand and it confuses me."

 

"I wish I could tell you what you want to know."

 

Tears stung her eyes as she realized how impossible it all was.

She'd been living in a dream, enjoying Mulder's company and

support. But too soon, the pull of the truth would draw him

away from her. Scully had never been one to hide from reality.

The two of them had been playing house and it was time to get

used to taking care of herself. She squeezed his hand.

 

 

"Mulder," she said, gently. "I think you need to move back

home."

 

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