A Modest Proposal
By Shoshana

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometime, Summer 1999
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The call came through to the office Monday afternoon. Mulder held
his hand over the receiver and whispered sotto voce, "It's for you.
The doctor's office." His face betrayed concern. I had been waiting
for the call all day, and was more than a little jumpy whenever the
phone rang.

"Thanks, I have it now," I heard myself say, an infinitesimal
tremor in my voice. "Hello...uh huh...mmm...hmm...uh huh...and you
think that's the normal, everyday variety?...O.K., I see...speak to
Doreen and she can give me the names of who I have to
see...fine...thank you, doctor." I was transferred over to the
secretary and I wrote fast and furiously as she dictated names and
numbers over the line to me.

When I was done, I hung up the phone and sighed wearily, absorbing
all the details of my conversation. I glanced over at Mulder, who
was nonchalantly staring into space, trying to look disinterested.
His whole body posture, his controlled, but solemn facial expression,
betrayed anxiety and worry . He never sat at attention like that,
not ever, not even in Skinner's presence.

"Mulder..."

He swept his eyes my way, looking more haggard in the last ten
minutes than he had all day. "What, Scully? Is there something
wrong?" His voice cracked slightly, and I decided to tell him
everything at once, and put him out of his misery.

"Yes and no. I'm going to have to take the next couple weeks off,
maybe more. I'm scheduled for surgery on Saturday morning."

He seemed positively panic stricken, so I hastened to add more
details, "Mulder, it's for a lumpectomy."

"Scully..."

"I found the lump myself, several weeks ago, and then I had my first
mammogram in two years last week. I saw a surgeon, they did a biopsy
last Friday, and the results were in today. So you can see that I
wasn't off shopping with my Mom the other day, but I didn't want to
mention it to you, knowing you would worry."

I tried to put on my best game face; I knew that he was imagining
the world's worst possible scenario in that fertile mind of his.

"Is it, is it, related to the tumor in your nasal cavity?"

"No, not at all. Not even close. It's garden variety cancer,
nothing special. They don't think it has metastasized at all, not
from the size and shape of the lump."

He still looked like an actor in a bad melodrama, so I said,
"Mulder, don't worry. This is highly treatable. Over ninety per
cent of women live five years or more after treatment. It's just
luck, you know. Breast cancer is such a common disease among women,
so maybe it's just a coincidence that I got it so soon after the
other tumor. I'm nervous about surgery, but at least I know exactly
what's going to happen to me. I know all the facts and figures, all
the procedures the doctors will use. It's nothing to agonize over."

I tried to give him the bravest smile I could. I really did feel at
peace about this operation. I wasn't overjoyed with the prospect of
lying on a cold, stainless steel operating table and counting back
from one hundred slowly, but at least I was confident about my
survival prospects this time. My herculean task now was convincing
him of that, too.

He strode across the office, pulled a spare chair next to mine, and
took one of my hands into both of his large, surprisingly soft ones.
He looked incredibly serious, eyes thick with distress. I
appreciated, loved his compassionate nature, but I had to make him
understand that this wasn't the end of the world, not by a longshot.

"What can I do to help?" he said, eyes still miserable, despite a
half-hearted attempt at a feeble smile.

"Take me over to the hospital on Saturday. Amuse me after I get out
of recovery. I have to call Mom and she'll be there, but she has to
get up too early to give me a ride there. You might want to stay
over on Friday night because the surgery is at 6:00 a.m. Doctor's
fitting me in."

"O.K."

He hadn't snapped out of it yet, so I decided to add a little more
encouragement, "You know they're running additional tests, Mulder.
They'll be checking out everything I know your all too active mind is
imagining can go wrong. Including all kind of hormone tests, blood
tests. I wish you wouldn't worry."

"O.K., I won't," he said, not much more conviction in his tone.
Mulder had lost all ability to carry on intelligent conversation at
this point, so I leaned over and placed my free hand firmly on his
shoulder.

"Don't. Worry." I said the words, clearly, calmly, still trying to
convince him that all would be well. I squeezed his shoulder warmly,
then leaned over and kissed his forehead. He released my hand, rose
halfway out of his seat, then impulsively bent down and bussed my
cheek, lingering there. He kneaded the back of my neck with long
fingers and my breath caught in my chest at his closeness. He
finally, reluctantly, pulled himself away.

"That's what I'm here for, Scully, to worry for you..." His eyes
glowed, green and gold highlights reflecting the artificial light
above. Those beautiful eyes exhibited some relief, displayed for my
benefit no doubt, but I knew that he would be feeling low the rest of
the day, if not the whole week.

He went back to his desk and I started making phone calls, to my
Mom, to the doctors' offices, to Human Resources.

The next day, Mom and I went to see the plastic surgeon. There was
an outside possibility the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes and
the only foolproof way to calculate the damage was on Saturday
morning, when they operated. Based upon the slim chance that it had
migrated farther than they estimated, a plastic surgeon would be
present, and with my previous consent, they would perform breast
reconstruction after a mastectomy.

The doctor was younger than I was, right off his residency in
Maryland. He was highly recommended by the oncological surgeon,
despite his youth, and explained in detail to Mom and me every
innovation of the last ten years in the field. I knew the lecture
was mostly for my Mom's benefit; basic surgical technique hadn't
changed that much since I was in medical school. But it seemed to
have a calming effect on Mom; she had been pretty upset when I told
her all about this Monday night.

We left the office, both of us feeling some weight off our
shoulders. My Mom had finally realized how composed I was, based
upon my knowledge of medicine and based upon my belief that I would
be lucky enough not to need the plastic surgeon's services come
Saturday morning. She knew it was a common disease, it just hadn't
dawned on her yet how *very* effective treatment had become in the
last ten years.

So we went to lunch at a deli near the Hoover building and she had a
few choice things to ask me. Boy, was I surprised.

"So, how does Fox feel about this, honey?" she said, with all the
motherly concern she was so very capable of.

"He seemed a little shaky around the edges at first. He doesn't
have the background I do in medicine, so I explained to him how
different this would be from the other cancer, that he wouldn't need
to worry, that I was *really* going to be just fine."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"MOTHER!!!" I yelled, attracting a few stares from fellow diners in
the restaurant.

My mother lowered her voice conspiratorily, "O.K., so maybe I
shouldn't be so blunt about it, but I'm concerned about a man's
reaction to reconstruction. It sounds like this doctor does
excellent work, but there's always some differences in size or shape.
At least that's what I've seen among my girlfriends older than you."

"Mom, believe me, it's not an issue right now. I know I told you
how he feels about me and you've been very good about not letting it
slip to the rest of the family. I don't know what I can say about
this, except that I'm sure it wouldn't make a bit of difference to
him. He seems more concerned about my survival than the contours of
my bustline. And anyway, there is such a small chance of a
mastectomy in this case."

"Still, maybe you should explain all this to him before Saturday.
Maybe he should be aware of what you're going through."

"Mom, knowing him, he jumped on the Internet the minute I was out of
the room and found out every detail about breast cancer available. I
don't have to explain anything to him. I just have to show him how
much I appreciate his constancy, his caring attitude. He's stuck by
me through everything else, right from the beginning of our
partnership and I'm sure it's not the end to our friendship, or
whatever future relationship I thought we might have."

"Well, I just thought I'd mention it. I guess I shouldn't
underestimate Fox's ability to adapt to any circumstances in your
lives. He certainly was a great help to you after you got shot in
New York this year and it just seems like you two have been spending
a lot of time outside of work lately. I wasn't trying to pry, Dana.
But, I *am* your mother. And I was concerned."

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand, smiling that
reassuring Mom smile that I so crave and love.

"I love you, Mom. Don't worry about me. Everything is going to be
just fine."

And with that final reassurance from me, we left the deli and I
returned to work. As though by tacit agreement, Mulder and I didn't
discuss my medical problem all week. I was able to catch up on
paperwork in the office and he delayed all out-of-state trips till
three weeks from Saturday.

On Friday afternoon, he asked me what I'd like for dinner that
night. I told him to surprise me and he arrived at my apartment with
some excellent food from a French takeout place and a sappy movie
that he'd obviously chosen for my enjoyment. He sat through it with
grace, only snickering at a few choice lines.

He didn't resist when I nabbed his hand toward the end of the flick,
and duly encouraged, he put his arm around me the rest of the film
and during the newscast immediately thereafter.

It was only after we muted the sound of the blue-gray box, and sat
in harmonious silence that I decided to tell him what was really on
my mind.

"I want you to make love to me."

He shook his head, obviously disturbed, even exasperated by my
request. "Scully, no final fuck, dying swan routine, O.K.? You're
not going to die, I'm not going to take advantage of any emotional
weakness on your part. I love you, I don't want to lose you, but I'm
not going to indulge this line of reasoning...*ever*."

I sat next to him, our hands still entwined, dumbfounded by his
reaction. I never thought he'd misinterpret me with such out of
whack single-mindedness. Of course I wasn't going to die, my
prognosis was great. And I knew he was the only man I'd ever want or
need, now, or in the future. I wanted to offer myself to him with no
regrets, no reservations, not as a last will and testament! And I
was both amused and enraged at his noble reaction, his confusion
about my motives.

"Mulder! I know goddamn well I'm not going to die! This is not
*me* offering myself to *you* for just one last time or some other
goddamn foolishness!. If there'd been any chance of me ever doing
something as absurd as *that*, I would have done it two years ago,
when I *really* believed I might die. That isn't what this is about.
This is about the inevitable, what I always thought would happen
between the two of us."

"And before my body is altered by surgery or reconstruction, or
both...I just wanted you to enjoy it the way it is. Not that it
would be so different after surgery, not that I think it would make
you feel any less for me than I know you already do."

This statement provoked a searing blush to my cheeks, realizing that
he'd never really told me how he felt about me, at least not under
normal circumstances. I lowered my eyes with demure embarrassment,
and when I lifted them again, I saw his cheeks sported color to match
mine. Well, well...I guess there's no question how he feels about
me...

I decide to plug onward, "And anyway, we'd have to wait several
weeks for me to heal properly after tomorrow. And I'm ready.
Tonight. Now."

He tightened his grip on my hands, anxiety still creeping along his
features, teary eyes focusing on the floor. All he could force out
of his choked up lungs was "Oh."

I couldn't repress a grin and pulled his chin up with one hand,
forcing him to engage me. It had never occurred to me that he would
be so...so...shy about this. Our mutual avoidance society had been
established so long ago, no wonder we'd never faced up to this
before. I guess it always took some crisis, some near death
experience, to destroy any chasm between us.

"It has nothing to do with my dying last wish, Mulder. I'm not
planning on dying. I'm planning on taking caring of you the rest of
our lives, and Lord knows you need caring for...as your numerous
health claims attest..." I smiled at him, flattening my palm against
his cheek, stroking his overheated skin with my thumb.

He had shaved for me, just before coming over for dinner. It was
such a small, polite thing, something he'd done without the
foreknowledge that I'd invite him into bed, or even grant him a
tentative first kiss. He'd expected nothing and he'd been offered
more than he knew what to do with, at least for the moment. I was
determined to change that. And soon. It was getting late, and I
wanted to be alert enough in the morning to communicate in
multisyllable words with my doctors.

So, I moved closer to him on the couch, and gently used my thumbs to
erase the tears drying on his smooth, handsome face. He captured one
hand, kissing the palm of it, abruptly pulling me into his lap so
that he could lavish my cheeks quietly, with soothing affection only
his soft, sensual mouth could provide.

Our lips met, and my eyes closed reverently, pleased that no words
could intrude upon us now, words that might garner second thoughts,
trepid hesitations. He was mine tonight, and I was his. Tomorrow
morning seemed light years away. All that existed was the here and
now, the man and woman on my suddenly all too small couch. And I was
going to do something about that. Now.

"Mmmmm....Mulder." I was trying to mumble between kisses, as he
reclined backward, pulling me onto his chest. "Let's get more
comfortable...O.K.?"

He laughed, nervously, stroking my hair with one hand, massaging my
lower back with the other. "My, Scully. Aren't you cozy enough like
this?" Our eyes met as I peeked up from his chest, and his
expression was one of amusement, leavened by appealing timidity.

My comically libidinous partner had turned into a shy, well- mannered
sheepdog; patiently waiting for his mistress' next command. Why I
had ever imagined him otherwise, I'll never know...but his deliberate
passiveness was putting all my wildest fantasies to rest. I'd always
imagined that he might sweep me off my feet, carry me into the
bedroom, like so many romantic flicks I knew and loved. It was clear
that he was ignoring that possibility for now, just savoring these
moments for all they were worth. I could live with that. But
sometime before dawn, we were crawling into my large comfortable bed,
timidity be damned.

So I gave him a shamelessly coquettish smile and said, "Actually,
Mulder, I'd like to change into something more comfortable, and watch
TV in the bedroom. And I'd like your company and you're sure as hell
not leaving those street clothes on. So...you can either follow me
now...or follow me later...that's where I'm off to."

He held on tight, laughing, not letting me go. "Not so fast, we're
not done here..."

"What?" I squeaked out, genuinely surprised.

"I have something to say to you before you lure me to your love
nest..."

"I'm losing patience here..." I teased, feigning exasperation.

"I just wanted to say, Scully...no one will ever give me a greater
gift than you have tonight. Ever. Just knowing that you care about
me this much, that you don't want to leave me, that you want to offer
yourself to me...even if we never left this couch and walked the few
feet to the bedroom, even if I just slept out here tonight, I would
feel like the luckiest guy in the world. I just wanted you to know
that. *Before* we went in there."

"I love you, Scully. I just want everything to be perfect for you
the first time. I don't want pressure from anything else to
interfere, not an operation, or a case, or any misgiving on your
part. That's why I haven't tossed you over my shoulder already and
taken you into bed. Can you understand that?"

He looked at me expectantly, a bit worried that he had talked me out
of it by now, logic outweighing spontaneity. Ha! He didn't know
this part of me well at all. I answered with a devilish smile, my
lips embarking on a very long, passionate cruise down and around his
neck, while grinding my lower body against his growing need.

Message received. He gently pulled me up and into his arms,
grinning widely as I giggled and fussed all the way to the bedroom.
We made sweet, easy love that night, till we fell into an exhausted,
contented sleep.

And when the alarm buzzed through my dream-soaked consciousness, I
had no doubt everything was going to go well for me that day, with my
love, my Mulder, beside me.

fin

Please send feedback to: [email protected]