TITLE: Almost Home (3/?)
AUTHOR: Shoshana
EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected]
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer, Spookys site, Xemplary,
etc.
SPOILER WARNING: Seventh season episodes through Requiem.
RATING: NC-17 (Most of the story is rated R, NC-17 parts will be
clearly marked)
CONTENT STATEMENT: MSR
CLASSIFICATION: SRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance
SUMMARY: Post ep for Requiem. Mulder comes back... but he's
missing something.
DISCLAIMER: These characters do not belong to me.
NOTE: Thanks to my great beta readers Char, Keleka, Lisa, Paulette,
and Teresa.

Almost Home (3/?)
By Shoshana

February 20th, 2001
Tuesday
Alexandria Hospital
Alexandria, VA

Chaos reigned in the waiting room of the X-Ray department of
Alexandria hospital near Mulder's apartment. It was unusually
crowded today and small children whined in their mothers' arms or
twisted restlessly in their seats.

Scully struggled to speak into her cell phone while simultaneously
filling out numerous forms for Mulder. He hadn't been to this
hospital in a very long time and she was trying to fill in the gaps
in his medical history.

She hadn't been able to reach her mom on the way over and refused to
leave a message on the answering machine concerning Mulder's return.
Now, she'd just gotten through to her mother, and was trying to carry
on a conversation, write, and ignore Mulder's expressions of
astonishment every time she detailed some past medical condition on
paper.

It usually drove her crazy to have people read over her shoulder and
this was no exception. Mulder was *very* interested in all the
mishaps he'd had, making smart ass comments about each one as she
scribbled them down chronologically. He was trying hard not to
interfere with her phone call, but couldn't help himself, repeatedly
observing 'No way!' or 'Unbelievable!' after she described each
incident.

Scully paused in her attempt at legible longhand to send Mulder a
warning glare. She had reached her limit. Her mom was still sobbing
in her ear, children were screeching all around them, and she was
racking her brain to complete the necessary forms.

Mulder obliged her by sitting back in his chair, shutting up, and
pouting. Actually, Scully was thrilled to have him with her. She'd
sat through too many lonely hours in waiting rooms these last few
months, feeling forlorn about not having him around during her
pregnancy.
  
He was a curious ball of nonstop energy today, talking incessantly
on the way over in the car. Now, he was inordinately interested in
all the tests they'd been running on him. He'd never enjoyed
hospitals, and he hated being poked and prodded endlessly, but he was
desperate to find out what had happened to him.

Scully finally said goodbye to her mom, promising they'd try and
come over for dinner Sunday night if they could. She really doubted
whether it was a good idea to subject Mulder to her family just yet.
Especially not Bill. Mulder had no concept how much Bill had
resented him in the past.

Bill had been livid when he found out she was pregnant, rapidly
concluding it must be Mulder's. He knew his sister well enough to
know she wasn't promiscuous, and his mother had been dropping strong
hints they were a couple, apparently trying to prepare him for the
inevitable.

When his mother had told him Mulder was AWOL, Bill was furious,
condemning the agent and begging his sister to find a suitable
husband. Her reaction to his suggestion was swift and predictable.
She hung up on him, then refused to speak to him until their mother
had smoothed things over between them. Bill had calmed down
eventually-- he'd even asked for her forgiveness, offering his
assistance in her search for clues about Mulder.

Still, Scully wasn't ready for Mulder to undergo that particular
familial experience. He needed time to adjust to his mysterious
amnesia. He needed time to get used to fatherhood, though he seemed
to be doing a pretty good job so far.

He was exceptionally solicitous of her, opening doors, even car
doors for her. He'd never been that courteous when they'd first
started working together. Mulder had always liked touching her,
guiding her silently with the palm of his hand. But he recognized
her need for independence from day one, never treating her like a
china doll.

Now, however, it seemed like he felt every minute with her was a
novelty, a chance to be whatever he hadn't been before. It would
have bothered Scully more if she wasn't so happy to have him back.
And she was *very* pregnant; it felt good to be coddled a little.

She glanced over at Mulder, who was slumped in his chair, arms
crossed defensively. He was staring into space, no doubt thinking
about his shifting tides of fortune. She nudged his ankle with the
toe of her shoe to get his attention and beamed at him when she got
it. He returned her smile, sitting straighter in his uncomfortable
plastic seat.

"Wanna call your friends?" she suggested.

"Frohike, et al? I don't know what to say," he fretted.

"Just tell them you're okay. They probably already know, but it
would be nice to hear it from the horse's mouth. They've been
helping me out a lot," she reminded him.

"Well, at least I know who the hell they are. Do they look pretty
much the same, Scully? Like three techno-nerds in need of a
makeover?"

Scully laughed, a rich, beautiful laugh Mulder was already addicted
to. He grinned back at her, pleased she thought his description was
apt.

"I guess so! I haven't given it much thought lately. They are who
they are. I haven't noticed any radical changes, if that's what you
mean. Oh, I've been wanting to ask them to be the baby's
godfathers-- if that's all right with you," she asked.

Mulder had a sudden image of Frohike, Langley, and Byers at the
baby's christening, all lined up in their best regalia. She'd
mentioned going to Mass with her mother every Sunday the last five
months. He had no objection deferring to her religious preference.
It was probably better to give their child a spiritual background in
Catholicism rather than giving him nothing at all. The Mulder family
had avoided choosing between two faiths by not choosing at all. And
religion seemed a lot more important to Scully than it would ever be
to him.

"Yeah, that sounds fine. They're good guys." He reached over and
took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her tender knuckles. "They
took good care of you, I know."

Scully felt a little overwhelmed by his simple gesture. They hadn't
held hands or kissed in a public place yet. Ever. Not even after
they became involved last April. They'd continued to act
professionally, only breaking down physical barriers in times of
extreme crisis.

She remembered holding his hand during the tobacco beetle case. Yet
another instance of her playing Florence Nightingale. It was
permissible to touch then; it felt odd to have him touch her now.
She didn't let go of his hand though, at least not until the nurse
called out his name and they headed for the examining room.

Hours later, after dozens of tests were performed and the day slid
into afternoon, they left the hospital for home. His home, her home,
they were the same now. Mulder was surprised how easy this was. He
was assuming a role of husband and father and he'd essentially just
met Scully the previous night.

He knew there was more to it than that. She was anchoring him
through this perplexing ordeal. She'd shown him such patience and
love, and was clearly pleased to have him back. He knew that even if
they hadn't been romantically involved and this had happened she'd
still be traipsing around to hospitals and doctor's appointments with
him.

He was grateful to have someone who knew him so well, who could help
him navigate the treacherous waters ahead. He didn't doubt for one
second there were people who would harm either of them, or their
unborn child, if they knew of his present weakness. He'd been an
agent long enough to know there was a shadow government operating
beneath the surface of America's institutions. He just hadn't yet
gotten around to exposing that seamy underbelly.

He was anxious to get home and read his journal, to find out what
he'd been up to all these years. Scully had seemed embarrassed about
having violated his privacy by reading it. The information might
have proved useful but they had no way of knowing until they snooped
around his hard drive.

Perhaps there would be observations about Scully, he thought. He
wanted to know when he'd first fallen in love with her, when he'd
first told her he loved her. If he asked her these questions, he'd
only be hearing her side of the story, and charming though that may
be, it wouldn't be from his perspective.

Scully was exhausted by the time they arrived at his apartment, more
so after they had prepared and eaten some lunch. She powered up her
laptop and pointed him toward the journal files she had copied off
his home computer. He'd be much more comfortable reading them on the
couch while she retired to the bedroom.

The test results were good so far, no signs of physical scarring, no
signs of abuse. Whatever they'd done to his mind, it had been done
without evident harm. So far as they knew. A few tests were still
pending; she'd call back later this afternoon. She fell asleep in
the bedroom easily, satisfied with the progress they'd made already.

In the living room, Mulder was pouring over his journals, captivated
by the power of his own words. Not because he thought they were so
artful or sound, but because he recognized himself in every page of
the journal. He was an arrogant, cocky son-of-a-bitch too many times
over. Always taking chances, always leaving Scully in the lurch
while he chased after mysterious informants or false leads.

He discovered, to his great consternation, that Scully had indeed
been assigned to debunk his work. However, it seemed like it hadn't
taken long for her to become his closest friend, as well as his
protector. He'd transcribed only her words, 'I wouldn't put myself
on the line for anyone but you, Mulder.' No extraneous commentary
was needed on that simple admission of faith and trust.

When he finished the story of her 'abduction,' he had to stop
reading. There were very few entries during that time. They were
tersely worded. They were infinitely sad. The thought that even her
mother had given up hope, purchasing a headstone before she was
mysteriously returned, tore at his stomach like shards of glass.

He'd deferred to her family's wishes, allowed them to disconnect her
life support. He'd always thought of himself as an atheist before
that day. The day she recovered was the day his world view seemed to
shift. He became an agnostic that day, still not sure whether to
thank God for her recovery, or curse Him for putting her through such
pain.

Mulder only made it through the first year and a half of the details
of their partnership and he already felt like a lucky guy. He got
up, walked over to the bedroom and spied on her for several minutes,
just revelling in the sight of her. Watching her sleep peacefully
revived his resolve, and he headed back to the couch to resume his
study.

The next major stumbling block came hours later. In the fourth year
of their partnership, Scully developed cancer, like the other MUFON
abductees. He'd managed to read through accounts of his father's and
her sister's deaths without falling apart. But when he got to
Scully's struggle to remain at work, to discover who'd done these
things to her... he felt lost.

He could deal with monsters, both human and fantastical ones. He'd
seen plenty of strange things during his years with the BSU. It was
all just a different variation on a theme.

But her illness was different somehow. He was clearly in love with
her by then. He didn't articulate it in so many words, but the
affection he felt for Scully was imbued in every word he wrote.

And he'd outlined what he planned to do if she died. He intended to
take the Smoking Man and as many of his cronies out at once. A
suicide mission, so he wouldn't have to pull the trigger himself.
He'd been very clear on this-- he wasn't planning on staying alive
very long after her funeral.

He didn't finish reading all the details. Intellectually, his
curiosity wanted him to press further, to find out what had cured her
cancer. Emotionally, he was too drained to continue.

How could he deal with the guilt of putting her through all this?
How *had* he dealt with it? And she'd stayed with him, even after
her recovery. Had she loved him as much as he'd loved her?

The diary never speculated on whether she loved him, but his
devotion to her was obvious, especially after she'd become so ill.
He'd admitted he couldn't live without her, that he'd rather die than
continue on.

But he'd never written down the words 'I love her.' He wondered if
he'd ever told her he loved her in the past year. He'd never taken
that declaration lightly, only saying it to Phoebe and Diana. Both
failed relationships, both lessons learned.

He didn't have the guts to ask her if he'd ever said those words.
He didn't know if he could tell her he loved her now. It would be
disingenous on his part to say so, even if he knew he'd loved her in
the past, and thought he wanted to love her in the future.

He laid down on the couch, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun
with his forearm. Just a nap, just until she woke up and called the
hospital back. The verdict was still out on his physical health, so
he might as well work on regaining some of his elusive mental health,
too.

An hour later, he woke to the sound of her subdued voice speaking on
the phone in the next room. He opened his eyes and checked the
clock: four o'clock. Stretching his arms and shaking out aches and
pains he couldn't remember acquiring over the years, Mulder sat up
and turned on the news with the sound off.

He hadn't even attempted to catch up with world and national events.
He was having enough trouble keeping up with major developments in
his own life, much less on a grander scale. And anyhow, it was more
of the same. No matter who was in power, the same deceitful game
played continually behind the scenes.

He was just getting up to make coffee when Scully walked in, rubbing
her eye with one hand and carrying her cell phone with the other.
She motioned him back to the couch and sat beside him there. Her
expression was quite serious and he steadied himself, expecting bad
news.

She noticed his uncertainty and smiled once, then grasped his hand,
twining their fingers together.

"Hey," she said softly. "Did you nap? You look like you just woke
up."

"Yeah, I read as long as I could and dozed off around three."

"How far did you get in the diary?" she asked, a trace of concern in
her eyes.

He half-smiled, then lowered his eyes to their hands. "1997."

"That's pretty far," she said, repressing her desire to ask him
exactly how far he'd gotten in the narrative.

"I was highly motivated. I had a lot to catch up on. And now...
now I know why I have something to return to you," he said
mysteriously, retrieving his wallet from the coffee table.

She waited patiently for him to dig in the depths of his wallet. He
pulled out her small gold cross, still attached to its chain. She'd
noticed it wasn't on him minutes after he'd arrived last night, but
she couldn't bring herself to mention its loss at the time.

If he truly had amnesia, he would have had no memory of the
necklace, no idea how much it had meant to them over the years.
She'd decided to wait until he'd read through the diary, quite
certain he'd connect all the dots and either tell her he'd lost it or
return it to her.

"This is yours, I believe," he smiled. He gestured with his
forefinger for her to turn away from him so he could secure it around
her neck, where it belonged.

"You held on to it," she said, smiling back at him. "I'm not
surprised."

"I didn't know why I was wearing it when I woke up Monday in Oregon.
I had no clue who'd given it to me, but I felt compelled to tuck it
away some place safe. A strong feeling it belonged to someone
important to me. And then today, I read about finding it in Duane
Barry's car, after you were abducted. Then I knew what made me hold
on to it so carefully."

Covering her hands with his own, he closed the distance between them
so he could brush her lips with one chaste kiss. He pulled back to
admire the cross around her neck, satisfied he'd returned it to its
rightful owner.

It had puzzled him when he'd found it around his neck in the woods
of the Pacific Northwest. He didn't like to wear jewelry, and had
never worn a religious symbol of any kind. It was so delicate, it
seemed more appropriate for a woman. He'd wondered if he'd met
someone the night before, someone he couldn't remember.

After he'd hitchhiked to the airport and discovered that it was
2001, not 1993, the origin of the pendant became the least of his
worries. He was so anxious to get back to DC and discover whether he
still had an apartment or not, the item had slipped his mind. The
journal had jogged his memory that afternoon, and he planned on
returning it to Scully as soon as possible.

She beamed back at him, then lowered her eyes down to the cross,
bringing her hand up to finger it.

"It brought you back to me, Mulder," she asserted, lifting his hand
to cover her own on the charm. "I know it."

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed it softly, then
gently lowered it to his side. She smiled briefly, then hesitated,
as if she had something unpleasant to say.

"Well, I talked to the hospital just now. And I have good news and
bad news. The good news is you're in perfectly good health, if a
little underweight. The bad news is... you're in perfect health and
they can't find a damn thing wrong with you."

He chuckled, then slouched down low in the couch cushions.

"Damn," he swore.

"If you were taken, Mulder... if you were on an alien ship... their
technology must be so advanced. They could have done some kind of
mind swipe without leaving a trace," she said solemnly.

"Jesus, Scully! What happened to my skeptical partner from 1993?
Alien technology... mind swipes... you sound like one of the Lone
Gunmen!"

She giggled at his emphatic reaction, and leaned back into the
cushions next to him.

"I don't know, Mulder. It got awfully hard to deny these sorts of
things after a while."

"When I asked you if you believed in the existence of
extraterrestrials at our first meeting, you said, 'No... given the
distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy
requirements would exceed a spacecraft's capabilities.' I can only
guess if I quoted you correctly on that. That's what was in my
journal."

"Oh, you were absolutely right. You remembered every word I said.
Mulder, I've read most of those files. You've always had an amazing
memory for our arguments."

She smiled and put both her hands on top of her tummy, a contented
look on her face.

"May I?" he asked, raising his hand above hers.

"Sure."

He placed his hand next to hers, idly stroking his thumb against the
fabric of her maternity blouse.

"Scully..."

"Yeah?" she said, her eyes closed, relaxing into his touch.

"Does your family hate my guts?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes flew open, and she clasped his hand within both of hers,
pressing them to the living symbol of their love for one another.

Her eyes were determined and fiery as she said, "No, Mulder. They
don't and they never will. You're my family now, and don't you
forget it! Nobody can change the past. Things happen. I could have
been partnered with someone else and been a dead woman by now. I was
afraid you'd see things that way after reading your own words. But,
we need you. Both of us."

She was crying in spite of herself, and she used one hand to brush
tears from her eyes. He was speechless, distressed that he'd made
her cry. He moved closer to her and brought his hand to her right
cheek, catching tears with his fingertips.

She leaned into his hand and kissed his palm, a warm, wet kiss that
sent electricity through his whole body.

"Please, don't cry, Scully. I seem to have a knack for asking
things the wrong way. Scully, I haven't had a family for so long,
just pieces of one. I don't know what it's like to have a happy
family."

"Well, you better learn fast," she warned, smiling softly as she
continued to hold his hand to her cheek. "We're going to have our
own soon."

"I just can't believe you've stuck with me all these years. What
have I done for you except give you misery?"

He was shedding tears also, and she reached up to swipe them off his
cheek.

"That's not true!" she assured him. "You have to believe that's not
true. You've made me very happy. I've had a wonderful life with
you. I would never have seen or done so many things without you.
You deserve a family. You deserve a good life. *We* deserve it.
Don't even try to argue that point with me."

She opened her arms, beckoning him closer. He wrapped his long arms
around her, holding her tight to his chest as their mutual tears
gradually dissipated.

"Scully?" he rasped out against the silk of her hair.

"Yeah?"

"Did I ever tell you I loved you?"

She emitted a small shocked gasp, then took both of her hands and
framed his face so that he had no choice but to look at her.

She grinned at him keenly, then said, "The first time, I didn't
believe you. You were in the hospital on Demerol. But, last year,
after we first made love--"

He smiled sheepishly, then said, "Would you believe me now? If I
told you I think I may be falling in love with you again?"

She couldn't think of a thing to say in response. Instead, she
pulled him close, lavishing kisses over his face, in his hair, down
the side of his neck.

"I love you, Mulder," she whispered into his ear. She slid her head
to his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

"I think I can't help but love you," he whispered back.

fin

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