From: Nicola Simpson Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2000 10:55:33 -0700 (MST) Subject: NEW: The Body's Test (1/1) Source: direct TITLE: The Body's Test (1/1) AUTHOR: Nicola Simpson E-MAIL: nsimpson@ualberta.ca RATING: R (language) KEYWORDS: SA, M/S UST SUMMARY: Of all the things Mulder's lost, he misses his faith the most. ARCHIVING: Ephemeral. I'll send to Gossamer and Spookys. Anyone else wanting to archive any story in this series--please ask. I rarely say no, but a girl still likes to be proposed to. DISCLAIMER: The characters herein are the intellectual property of Chris Carter and Fox Television; no copyright infringement intended. NOTES: Third in a series, after "The Body's Guest" and "The Body's Jest." My effusive thanks to everyone who's e-mailed me to tell me how much they like these stories. You've made coming out of retirement waaaay too easy. And thanks to Leslie, who doesn't believe me when I whine that I can't plot. The Body's Test by Nicola Simpson Love truth, but pardon error. -Voltaire She woke up in my arms, but didn't smile. Typical Scully. I had to look away when she tried to search my eyes, knowing that sure as hell she *wasn't* typical Scully, and sure as hell I couldn't feel my right hand. "Mulder?" She wriggled out from the circle of my arms, and I winced as the pins and needles of warm blood spiked through my fingers. "What are you doing here?" I wasn't sure what to say. The couch had been cold and the bed was warm, but two plus two didn't always equal four, except with Scully. And this wasn't her. "It's my bed," I reminded her. "But I'm in it." Hmmmm. Maybe she *was* Scully. Such investigative skill, such powers of perception, such-- "You'd better have shorts or something on, Mulder." She pulled back the blanket with an audible sigh. I gave her a half-assed leer. "Disappointed?" I decided it wouldn't be in my best interests to remind her that she'd kissed me the night before. Hard. As the memory accompanied hot blood to my lower body, I decided it would be a good time to pull the covers up again. "Want some breakfast?" She rolled her eyes. "Sure. What am I making?" "Whatever you can find." Fairly secure that I could get up without embarrassing myself I rolled out of bed, planting my feet on the floor. I was surprisingly steady, despite this being the eightieth day that Scully was missing. Stretching, I eyed the redhead in my bed carefully. "You know, we should get you to the hospital. And call your mother." "After breakfast," she promised. Sure. We'd shove some Count Chocula in our mouths, hopefully with milk, and be on our way to Mrs. Scully's for a joyful reunion. Shit. Maybe I could call Skinner too, and we'd meet for a fucking picnic at the Washington Memorial. I sighed. "Do you remember any more of what happened to you?" She turned away from me to slip out of bed, tugging my T-shirt down over her hips as she padded towards the bathroom. "Can we talk about this later?" The door shut resolutely and within seconds I heard the hiss of the shower. That's my Scully. I snorted and retrieved my jeans from the laundry pile behind the bedroom door. By the time she emerged, my feet were propped up on the coffee table and a bowl of sugary milk balanced on my groin. "I, uh, didn't have anything to put on," she explained. She must have rooted through my top drawer to find those particular sweats. The bottoms were rolled up, and her breasts almost non-existent under the thick fleece. Hey, I said *almost*. Her hair was still wet, and tucked behind her ears. Shit, she smelled of my shampoo. How much was a man supposed to take? When I spotted the freckles hugging her face, the ones she usually hid from me, the bowl stirred in my lap. Embarrassed, I relocated it to the table and crossed my arms over my stomach. "What's your full name?" She shot me a puzzled look. "Dana Katherine Scully." "Your badge number?" "JTT0331613." I frowned, realizing I was getting nowhere--these were too easy. "What did you write your senior thesis on?" Now her eyes widened. "Einstein's Twin Paradox theory. What the hell are you doing, Mulder?" I searched for things to ask her, things that would prove to me she was really Scully. Or really wasn't. "What kind of sandwich did you bring me the night I staked out Tooms?" Irritation flashed across her face. "Mulder, I don't remem--" "What did we see in Antarctica?" "Nothing." And she looked like she completely, abso-fucking-lutely believed it. Hmmm. She was good. I tried to think of things we'd said to each other over the years--important things, whispered with lighter hearts in darkened rooms when we were alone together. Unfortunately, there were too many to count. A tight pain wrenched in my chest, right under where my arms crossed, as the memories washed over me. Shit, I missed Scully. "What did I say to you," I asked slowly, "after the Queen Anne?" Annoyance gave way to bewilderment. Then I saw it in her eyes. Goddamn it, I *saw* the recognition before it was shuttered. "You said you loved me." Her voice was flat, and she strode into the kitchen. Damn, she *was* good. "You leave any milk for me?" I waited as cereal tumbled into a bowl and snapped when she poured the milk over it. It wasn't until she brought it into the living room and started eating it that my feet fell to the floor and I leaned forward. "Scully, you don't drink two percent milk." Her spoon halted, poised over the bowl. She shook her head. "Guess I'm just hungry." "Not that hungry. You eat yogurt with bee pollen. You eat those disgusting Tofutti rice crap bars." I pointed at her bowl. "And you drink *skim* milk." Her eyes burned into me as she swallowed another mouthful. "Mulder, I'm hungry. I've been--damn it, you know where I've been and how long I've been gone." I jumped to my feet, nearly stubbing my toe on the coffee table in my excitement. "No, I don't. Where have you been?" "I don't know! How long was I missing?" Her lower lip was trembling, even with the chocolate milk that still clung to it. "Eighty days." "Really?" Her brows drew together. "No, only seventy-nine. Today's the twelfth, right? February only has twenty-eight days this year, Mulder." Shit. Well, whoever she was, her mind worked as quickly as Scully's. "Guess I must've miscounted," I said dully, staring blindly at the watery spring sunlight piddling on the floor. When I turned back to her, she didn't look as though she completely believed me, but she returned to her breakfast with renewed energy. Me? I just watched her, fighting the slowly growing awareness of the rough rug under my bare feet. The rug that Scully had bled on, and where she clung to me when she discovered her heart still thumping beneath her ribs. The rug that barely cushioned my knees almost every night for the past eighty nights as I rocked back and forth in meaningless prayer. My arms crossed over my chest again, and I walked into the bedroom. "We'll leave when you're ready," I threw over my shoulder, and slammed the door. Shit. I perched on the end of the bed, my head in my hands. The T-shirt she'd worn last night was folded neatly on the pillow. Only Scully would fold a dirty shirt. What the hell was I doing? Was I crazy? This wasn't Scully. I breathed in deeply, then choked as I smelled her between the sheets of my bed. It was a trick, a ghost cluttering up my home and twisting my heart. Well, I'd go to him now. I'd agree to any deal he offered, as long as he led this phantom from my doorstep. *And* did my fucking laundry. I don't know how long I sat there, but my toes were numb when she knocked on the door. "Mulder? I'm ready to go now." I stared at my feet. "I'll be right there," I said, and tugged on some socks. They rasped over my soles, catching on the rough, dry skin of my heels. Once when Scully watched me struggle with my socks in a crappy motel room in Arkansas, she just reached into her travel bag and pulled out a jar of Vaseline. "Use it before you go to bed, Mulder," she'd said and handed it to me, shaking her head at the calluses ridging behind my toes. "What can I say, Scully? I guess I shouldn't run in heels." I tried it, but it left oily stains on my sheets. When I told her a month later, she just rolled her eyes. "Socks, Mulder. Rub the Vaseline on your feet and then put your socks on." I was shocked. I thought I'd heard it all. Hell, I'd *seen* it all. "Socks? In bed?" Shock number two was the laugh tripping from her mouth to the ground at my expense. That was a good day. The knock at the door startled me. "Mulder, you about ready?" Shoving my feet into some sneakers, I pulled on the sweater I'd discarded last night and headed for the door. I was as ready as I'd ever be. *** "Mulder, we're nowhere near my apartment," she pointed out. "I know." Cold perspiration sprung up on my lower back, plastering my T-shirt to me. "Or my mother's. Or work. In fact, the only place we're close to is--" I cranked the steering wheel to the right (which was harder than you'd think with sweaty palms) and pulled into the hospital parking lot. Her curses echoed in the car. Nope, this definitely wasn't Scully. "Mulder, I thought I made myself clear last night. I do not want to be here." Then again, she sure *sounded* like Scully. I simply shrugged and popped her seatbelt free after I took care of mine. "Just a little check-up. Promise." Instead of returning my sheepish smile, she paled. "Forget it. I want to go home, Mulder. Now." Okay, so the unassuming idiot routine wasn't going to work on her. Apparently, neither was the beseeching puppy dog look, and believe me, I only pull that one out in real emergencies. It was time for the big guns. I pulled out my big gun. "Get out of the car," I ordered, pointing the Sig at her. The look she gave me was a totally new one. Finally, an unfamiliar expression on this goddamn familiar face. I nearly wept with relief. "Have you completely lost your mind, Mulder? What are you doing?" "I just want to do a little blood test." "Mulder, it's *me*." I shook my head, but my trigger finger remained steady. "I'm sorry, but I just don't believe you." Her mouth fell open. "But... but you believe *everything*. And get that gun out of my face." Now there was irony for you. The first time in my life I'm swayed by skepticism, and it's not even hers. "I'd like you to get out of the car." She didn't budge. "My name is Dana Scully," she said slowly, as though I was stupid. As though I was crazy. "We've been partners for seven years. Your sister--" "You don't need to tell me all that. I know it. I know you know it, but I don't know how. Just get out of the car, and we'll do a simple little blood test." My eyes narrowed, but I wasn't trying to look menacing--it was just the damn sun coming out from behind a cloud and glaring at me through the windshield. "Don't make me arrest you." Her eyes were cold as they measured me and my suspicion. "Alright," she finally said. "But I'm not sure what you think you'll prove." She pointed at the Sig. "Do you trust me not to run, at least?" she asked acidly. After a moment, I nodded. For some reason I trusted her not to run, but even if she did, I knew it wouldn't take me long to catch up to her. We got out of the car together, and I slung my gun back in my holster. The hand I rested on her back on the way into the ER was firm, controlling, and frankly, it scared the shit out of me. Was that my hand threatening her with a simple touch? Were those my fingers, still cold and clammy from the steel of my gun? If they were, then why was my voice so clear and bright when I spoke to the desk clerk, and why weren't my knees shaking when I told him we were federal agents requiring medical attention? "Agent Scully, if you'll just come with me..." A nurse led us down the hallway and steered us into an exam room. "You can put on a gown and wait for the intern to come in and do your history. If you'd like to wait outside, Agent Mu--" "No." When she closed the door behind her, I was pinned by a five-foot ice drift. She held me still, even from across the room, as she dangled the puke green paper gown from a crooked index finger. "Don't you get it, Mulder? You do this, and you're no better than the men who took me." It didn't matter. It couldn't right now. "Just put the damn gown on, Scu--" I replaced the last syllable with a growl and turned my back on her. I wasn't so far gone that I would deny her privacy. No, just her personal freedom and control over her own body were enough. It wasn't until I heard the telltale crinkle of the paper under her butt that I turned around and saw her bare legs dangling from the gurney. "I trusted you, Mulder," she said in a low voice. "I trusted you to help me, to believe me. I didn't expect you to save me..." But her gaze clouded over, and dropped to her lap. "But I expected you to have faith in me. And in us." Her eyes rose to meet mine, and I wanted to crawl under the tiny sink in the corner. "I guess I was wrong." "I'm sorry." And I was, but I didn't know what else to do. I was an asshole either way. But I didn't know that body in the morgue, and I didn't know the body sitting in front of me. Sure, it had the right hair, the right eyes, the right hands. So far, it was closer than the body in the morgue, at least. But I couldn't forget the fact that this Scully had no snake curling above her ass. Besides, this Scully kissed me. If that wasn't a sign that she was a pod person, I don't know what would be. And her mouth tasted different. Yeah, she definitely tasted different. There had been a metallic tang to her lips. It wasn't the soft saltiness that I remembered from New Year's Eve, like sweat drying on her upper lip. "Agent Scully?" The intern popped his head through the door, his body following shortly thereafter. He couldn't have been more than twelve. "I need to get your history." She sighed. "It's all on my chart. I've been here before." At least this Scully had the same gift for understatement. He flushed. "I'm sorry, I just need a rundown of it. Oh, and Agent Mulder? There's a phone call for you at the nurse's station." I wasn't sure, but she waved her hand. "Go, Mulder. I'm not going anywhere. Yet," she added. Nodding, I slipped out the door and jogged down the hallway, not wanting to be gone longer than absolutely necessary. A nurse handed me the phone once I told her who I was, and I struggled to get my breathing under control. Shit, I was out of shape. "Agent Mulder?" "Yes, sir." My heart sank. "What the hell is going on?" Skinner barked. "I left notification with all the hospitals in the area to contact me if Agent Scully showed up. But you're there with her and you didn't call me to let me know?" "Sir, I'm not entirely sure that this is Agent Scully." "Excuse me?" How the hell was I going to explain this? "I can't talk to you right now, sir. I'll be in touch once I have some answers." And I hung up on his questions. When I returned to the exam room, a phlebotomist was drawing her blood. Her head turned as I walked through the door, her gaze penetrating me. *This is what you're doing to me,* she said silently. I was draining the life from her body and digging into the hollows of her pale cheeks. I was betraying her trust and raping her faith. On the other hand, at least green scum wasn't bubbling from her arm and filling the room with noxious fumes. So I figured I was even. The phlebotomist left us, Scully pressing a cotton ball against her thin arm, and me struggling to keep my balance. I hated watching blood being drawn, even if it wasn't mine. Or Scully's. "Mulder, I don't understand." She concentrated on her arm rather than look at me when she spoke. "What are you looking for? Alien antibodies? Evidence of cloning?" When I didn't laugh, she fidgeted with the cotton ball, apparently satisfied that her arm wouldn't bruise. "Are you so paranoid that you don't believe that I'm me?" "Yes." It was the easiest question I'd been asked all day. But it wasn't enough for her. "You know me," she said. I shook my head. "No, I don't. If I did, do you think we'd be here right now? I may know the way you move, and what you always order in crappy diners off the interstate, but I don't know what makes Scully... Scully. Everything I know about you is swaddled in half-truths and pride and the bare minimum that you'll deign to tell me. I don't know your secrets." Now she looked at me, and the contempt in her eyes left me breathless. "They're not yours to know." She was absolutely right. But it was my life too now. "I asked her once, 'after everything you've seen, after all the evidence, why can't you believe?'" "I remember." I shrugged. "Maybe I'm the one who needs proof this time." "You're afraid." I looked away, my mouth tightening in a grimace. "You're afraid," she repeated. "Of me?" She sounded surprised. My laugh was weak and tired. "Shit, Scully. I'm fucking terrified of you." Before I had the chance to take it back, the nurse rapped on the door. "Agent Scully? Agent Mulder? The doctor will be in shortly with your results." THE END To be continued in "The Body's Best" -- Nicola Simpson E-mail: nicola.simpson@ualberta.ca