A Counter Proposal
by Shoshana

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday morning, summer 1999
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am slowly waking up in a hospital bed, groggy, out of it, and in
very little pain. I must be in recovery, there's too much noise in
here and the smells aren't right for a private room, where flower
arrangements scent the atmosphere.

I keep my eyes closed for a few minutes longer, gaining back
consciousness, curious as to what ultimately happened to my breast.
I know I shouldn't be doing any self-exploration here, there's a
bandage around me and I don't want to spoil anyone's handiwork.

But somehow I can tell that I haven't had a mastectomy, that I
haven't had breast reconstruction at all. I know that I'd be in a
lot more pain after that, I know I'd have different, weightier
swathing around my chest. I exhale, aware that I've been holding my
breath tightly, anxiously, till I convince my addled brain that I've
only had the lumpectomy.

I open my eyes and spot Mulder, slumped in a chair beside me. He
looks exhausted in every sense of the word, as he leans on the back
of his seat, his hand shielding his eyes from the cold light above.

"Hey," I croak, feeling dehydrated.

His body jerks up and he shakes cobwebs out of his brain before
coming over to stand by my side. He's smiling and he leans over to
kiss my forehead with a gentleness I've known for years, a tenderness
I've discovered just recently.

"You're supposed to amuse me, remember?"

"Sorry, Scully. I must have slipped away for a few minutes there."

He tidies my hairline, stroking my cheek fondly.

"Water?" I say, realizing that I'm feeling very thirsty after just
uttering a few sentences.

"Of course," he says, reaching over and getting a small plastic
glass with a straw in it from the table next to my bed.

I gulp it down greedily, admonishing myself to slow my intake,
unable to do so till I've had my fill. I lay back down on the pillow
as Mulder pulls his chair next to the bed and takes my left hand in
his right one.

"How'd you get into recovery? Did you flash your badge or
something?" I ask, realizing that only the closest of relatives would
be here.

"I said I was your next of kin."

"Mulder..."

"Well, you're listed as *my* next of kin..."

"Did you imply you were my husband?"

"I refuse to incriminate myself..." he said, with a sly smile.
"Anyway I'm listed as 'person to notify in event of accident, etc.'
in your wallet. That's almost 'next of kin'."

"Not quite, though."

"Well, maybe we'll have to do something about that," he says,
affection emanating from weary eyes.

I pause, hoping I'd heard that right. It doesn't surprise me,
considering other enigmatic displays of affection he's made toward
me. It figures he'd ask me to marry him in the most cryptic way
possible. I think I'll respond in an equally mysterious manner,
throw him off balance a little, make him work a little harder for me.

"Perhaps," is all I'm able to come up with on the fly.

He raises his eyebrows just a smidgen, telling me that he didn't
expect such resistance. I decide to let him stew over it awhile. He
can't possibly think he doesn't have me hook, line, and sinker by
now. Anyway, a little chase could only make this more intriguing, as
if our lives aren't already fascinating enough.

Not only do we chase down ghosts, goblins, and extraterrestrials,
now we're *involved* with one another in every sense of the word.
I'm completely happy with my decision in that, especially since it
means I can have Mulder around 24/7, particularly at times like these
when I need him the most.

Oh, I know he'd be there in any case, nursing me back to health,
doting on me, treating me like royalty. But at least he doesn't have
to sleep on the couch anymore, a most uncomfortable place to be in
his case.

And at least we're not dancing around our feelings anymore...we've
had some flirty fun, sure...but not always. There've been some
really painful times that I just wanted to drop the pretense, the
professional cloak I wound around myself.

I've been more resistant to his charms, fearful that whatever
romance would be gained, dignity and independence would be lost along
the way. I've always had a hard time establishing relationships with
men.

Either my total dedication to job or school would throw them or my
resistance to marrying for all the wrong reasons. Jack Willis and I
split because of the latter. I don't know how long our relationship
would have survived if he'd never asked me to marry him.

So am I ready to marry anyone now? Not yet. But it sure is nice to
hear it expressed, however obliquely, by the man I'm in love with. I
think we have a ways to go before we can exchange wedding bands, no
matter how dearly we may cherish one another. We have so much to
learn; simple stuff, stuff we've never taken the time for.

We've started to do that and I'm very hopeful, but it's still too
early for my mother to send out wedding invitations. I know she'd
love to, and I know she'll be in seventh heaven when I tell her what
happened last night. By the way, where is my mother?

"Where's Mom?"

"She took a break, went to get lunch."

"The doctors tell you anything?"

"Uh, just that things went really well. No sign that the cancer
spread to the lymph nodes. But I guess you could tell that the
minute you woke up and saw how I was looking at you..."

He flashes another radiant smile my way, tabling our discussion of
next of kin issues, perhaps for a very long time. He sensed my
uneasiness before and has wisely decided to drop it, particularly
when I need all my physical and emotional energy to deal with what's
happened to my body in the last twenty-four hours.

Nothing much. I just slept with my partner, declared my undying
love for him (not necessarily in that order), and had yet another
operation for a malignant cancer. As life changing events go, I've
veritably hit the jackpot. I need time to sort out my winnings, grab
all the good and banish the bad.

The nurse comes in to check my vitals and decides to move me up to
my room. Mulder trails along behind us, probably antsy that someone
has found him out by now; that he's not really my husband and he
shouldn't have been in recovery with me. His fears are ill-found,
the medical personnel don't give a damn, as long as there's no more
than one relative per bedside.

Mom finds us shortly thereafter, kisses my forehead, and sits down
on a chair next to my bed. Mulder sits on the other side; he's been
holding my hand ever since he pulled up a seat. I haven't let him
go, even when Mom came in. I saw a flash of insecurity cross his
face; he wasn't sure whether he should be so familiar with me in the
face of mother Scully. I tried to tell him with my eyes that it was
indeed perfectly all right, and would he please relax, for pity's sake.

He finds a way to escape anyway, begging our pardon while he goes
off in search of caffeine. Actually, this gives me a chance to fill
my Mom in on last night, so it's a timely absence. As always, she
beats me to the punch.

"So, what happened last night, honey? He's been hovering over you
as protectively as ever and a little bit more. He's easier to read
than you, my little one, that's for sure."

"Well, you're right Mom. Your comments on Tuesday did affect me. I
gave it a lot of thought and when he stayed over last night..." I
raised both my eyebrows, telegraphing the rest with utter clarity.

"Oh honey, that's good enough. I'm not interested in details, just
results. I'm just so glad to see you happy. And the operation was
a complete success, I'm sure Fox told you that. You're going to have
a long life together, I just know it."

"Yeah, Mom, I finally got it right, you know? And the sweet thing
is, he was pretty resistant to the idea. He thought that I was
giving myself to him as a final gift, a going away present. I
haven't hung around him this long to die now, and certainly not
because of this, this minor tumor. At least, that's the way I choose
to see it. It seems to help me deal with my fear. I hope it helped
you, too."

"Honey, you're as brave as your Daddy was, and it makes me so proud
to say that to you. You've got more smarts and guts than many
ordinary men, or women for that matter. And you did help me. I've
had a lot of friends go through this, but you're mine and it's
different to have your own daughter incapacitated, even for a little
while."

"It won't be long, Mom. The regimen of radiation and chemotherapy
won't debilitate me like it did several years ago. And I can always
take a little more time off work if I need to rest. It's not like
Mulder can go back to work without me, anyway."

"Did I hear my name?" A brighter, cheerier Mulder, java- energized,
came back into my room. "Hi, Mrs. Scully. I thought you might like
one, too," he said, handing her a large container of coffee.

"Thanks, Fox. We were just discussing how long it will be before
Dana goes back to work. What do you think?"

"Me? I think that we both have enough vacation time to cover four
weeks easily. Neither of us have taken an extended break for a year.
And I'm not counting hospital stays. Those were always sick leave."

"Well, then. I think I'll just leave the care of my daughter up to
you. You seem to be doing pretty well up to now..."

"Well, when she's not saving my miserable behind, I guess I do O.K.
I really appreciate you saying so, Mrs. Scully, especially in light
of how other members of the family may feel..."

"Only one member, Fox. And he's on probation right now, believe
me." Mom gives him a wink, and he smiles back at her tentatively.

"Could we stop talking about me in the third person and find out
when I can get out of here?"

I was fully awake now, hungry, and covetous of the rich aroma of my
Mom's coffee. Enough with the formalities, I wanted lunch and a nap.
Both Mulder and my Mom were actually starting to irritate me, which
was a sure sign that I needed to rest and have another dose of
medication.

Mom finds out that I'll be released tomorrow morning if everything
goes as expected. She promises to come over tomorrow afternoon with
microwaveable meals for the freezer and some frivolous reading
material to fritter my time away.

So, I am fed, medicated, and then tucked into bed by Mulder, and I
lapse into uninterrupted sleep for the rest of the day.

When I wake up, it's visiting hours and there are a lot more people
and noise up and down the hallway. Mulder isn't in his chair and
when the nurse comes in
for vitals, I ask her if she's seen the tall man who has been by my
bedside all day. She says he's out in the lounge, playing cards with
three men. I know who that is...I ask her to take him a note. It
has the desired effect.

Mulder shuffles in, looking like a mutt who's just about to get a
swat on the behind for bad behavior. I smile warmly and he says,
"'Get your ass in here.' I think I respond well to intimidation in
this case, and this case only, Scully. Hope the nurse didn't peek at
that note."

"Oh, but she did! I showed it to her before I sent her off with it!"

He colors at this, looking a bit perturbed, but advances to my side
anyway, chancing a kiss on my mouth this time. "Would you like to
see the guys? They've been waiting an hour for you to wake up."

"Fine, but not for very long. These drugs are zapping me; I don't
know how much I can take of them."

"O.K., be right back."

Our three friends amble in, bearing various gifts, the inevitable
flower bouquet, the latest issue of their newsletter, a huge box of
chocolates. Their faces reflect a worry that I've seen there before,
and I can't help but smile at their concern.

They don't stay long and I am relieved to be alone, alone with
Mulder that is. He seems determined to stay the night if he can get
away with it.

"Mulder, go home, take a shower, sleep." I am slurring my words
now, ready to go back into my demerol induced haze.

"There's still an hour left of visiting hours. Then I'll go.
Promise. I just want to watch you fall asleep now."

"O.K....You've been awful nice today, Mulder."

"Except for that one lapse in judgment when I dared to leave your
side, huh?"

"Yeah...that one..." I'm now plummeting to sleep, my last conscious
moments consisting of Mulder's warm breath against my cheek, his
voice whispering "I love you, Scully," before I fade out on my
cottony pillowcase.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday morning, summer 1999
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awake the next morning with a plan, one which I can't put into
action till I'm home and near my personal documents again. I can't
wait for Mulder to come and get me. I've already seen my doctor when
he made his morning rounds and he was pleased with the incision. He
doesn't want to keep me here any longer than necessary. He realizes
that I'm a doctor and as long as I have help at home I should be just
fine.

Mulder arrives a little later than I expected him; I am already
packed up, anxious to go. He seems subdued today, lost in one of his
pensive moods that I have always found impenetrable. Well, maybe he
needs some breathing room, this has been as stressful for him as it
has for me. I can't expect our relationship to be rosy all the time,
it wasn't before.

Our professional disagreements will always have a pattern to them,
familiar solutions that can be exercised after we've thrashed out
each side of the argument. It's the personal that we have so little
experience with. Issues of love, sex, jealousy, these can jeopardize
all we have or ever want to be.

Neither of us has been very adept at being honest about these things
before. Mulder still has much to tell me about his past relationship
with Diana. On the other hand, I haven't exactly been forthcoming
about certain incidents in my life, some of them chronicled in the X-
Files. I know I've hurt him by leaving my actions or motives
unexplained, but sometimes it just makes sense to do so.

No couple tells each other everything, and we will be no exception
to that rule. It's just harder to hide the past when it won't stay
tucked down neatly between the pages of an alphabetical file folder,
e.g. Jerse, Ed. Or for that matter Fowley, Diana. Wherever the hell
she is.

So if Mulder is lost in a mood, I will use the time well,
contemplate my future and do what I always do when I feel the least
bit adrift...plan, organize, make some sense of my life at home.
Make some kind of timetable, some ultimatum to myself that includes
quitting field work, changing jobs, raising a family.

I am loath to discuss any of these things with him now. But a time
will come when I can, I know it will. He's already hinted at
marriage, he's not so stupid to think I wouldn't want to adopt. It's
just too soon to tackle major issues like that, even though we've
been friends for seven years now.

When we arrive home, I make myself comfortable on the couch and
Mulder spreads the Sunday papers out on the floor, drapes wide open,
sunlight streaming in the window. It's clear that some things
haven't changed between us. After hundreds of cross country car
trips, with no company but ourselves, we have mastered the fine art
of not conversing. It serves us well today, for I am dead tired. I
fall asleep on the couch till the sun changes position in the sky, no
longer glaring through my windows.

Mulder is making coffee in the kitchen and I grab my opportunity
while I can. I find my wallet and a few things from my desk, then go
into the bathroom and lock the door. I have ten or fifteen minutes
before he starts to worry whether I've passed out in here or not.
So, I work with haste, rectifying something I should have done years
ago.

It only takes Mulder eight minutes to notice my absence and the
tentative knock at the door is respectful, but uneasy. I conceal my
project for now and unlock the door to show him I'm fine. We have
coffee out on the couch and I feel good enough to sit up and watch
some television while he gently cradles me in his arms. He must feel
that I am made of glass today. He handles me so carefully, so
tenderly, but I can hardly complain about such china doll treatment
when I'm home recuperating from surgery.

I find another excuse to go to the bathroom and retrieve my
handiwork. He's changing clothes now, just to go down to the store
for a few items we need. So I leave the evidence of my brainstorm
where he can see it, next to his car keys. Then, I go wait on the
couch, as nonchalantly as a cat watching a canary.

He stops dead in his tracks, scrutinizing my wallet. I've left it
open to those medical emergency cards we are in so frequent need of
and I hear a little sound somewhere between a 'huh' and a gasp.

"What's this, Scully?"

"What's what?"

"You know," he says, almost sternly.

"Oh, that. That's my wallet."

"I can see that. I can also see that you've changed your designated
next of kin. To me. Won't that hurt your mother's feelings?"

"I doubt it. She's the one who suggested it," I say casually.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Oh, you know, Mulder. You're just trying to get me to say it out
loud. I won't. You figure it out on your own."

He crosses the room and sits down next to me on the couch. Solemn-
faced, he says, "Is this because of what I said yesterday morning?
Because you know I'm still serious about that. I may have been a bit
vague in my meaning, but I thought you'd understand."

I look into his eyes, locking them to mine, and say, "I do. It's
just something, something I should have done a long time ago. You've
been the closest person to me for years now, closer even than my Mom
at times. I'm sure you know I told her about us. She said I should
change it, so there would be no more pretending, so you'd always be
able to take care of me the way you want to, even if we don't get
married for a while..."

"So you'd like to get married..." His whole countenance changes
before me as I watch in wonder.

"Yes, what would make you think otherwise?"

"'Perhaps'..." he says, drawing the word out like I had the other day.

"I was just being coy, Mulder. I wanted to make you squirm a
little..." I smile at his pursed lips and shaking head. He's
already plotting revenge. Too bad I'm incapacitated...

"If you weren't swaddled in bandages and sore from the hospital, I
would definitely have to take you over my knee..."

"Oh goodness, Mulder. What could you be proposing?" I say, in a
falsely demure voice.

He shakes his head again, smiling wistfully, then rises from the
couch and leans over to kiss me a chaste goodbye on the lips.

"See ya later, bride-to-be," he says, without missing a beat, as he
glances back at my stupefied face on his way out the door.

fin

Please send feedback to: [email protected]