From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Fri, 28 Jul 2000 06:09:11 -0500
Subject: In the Corner by Birdie
Source: direct

Reply To: spookychic1@excite.com


1111111111111111111111111111111

Title: In the Corner
Author: Birdie 
(spookychic1@excite.com)
Disclaimers: I do not own them 
but I love them dearly. Suing 
fans is really bad karma.
Archiving: yes please, tell me 
where so I can gloat.
Notes: I love the song. I love 
this story. It is a sequal of 
sorts to my other story 
'Walk Away' or it can stand 
alone. If you love either or 
both you can let me know at 
spookychic1@excite.com. Please 
write me, I'll love you forever.


'My lover's gone
His boots no longer by my door
He left at dawn
And as I slept I felt him go
Returns no more
I will not watch the ocean 
My lover's gone
No earthly ships will ever 
bring him home again
...bring him home again
My lover's gone
I know that kiss will be my last
No more his song
The tune upon his lips has passed
I sing alone
While I watch the ocean
My lover's gone
No earthly shops will ever 
bring him home again
...bring him home again.'

-Dido, 'My Lover's Gone"

The mellow glow of the flame 
casts jumping shadows on the 
walls and reflects off the 
tears in her eyes. She doesn't 
cry. Her pale hand, frail and 
shaking more than it ever has 
in all her years, veers toward 
the fire. The heat from the 
small combustion burns her, 
and she pulls away- almost 
happy to see that her nerve 
endings are still functioning. 
She was beginning to fear that 
her body had gone numb with the 
rest of her. 

The small fire from this candle 
on her dresser is the only light 
in the entire apartment.  She 
finds comfort in the shadows, 
coming out of their hiding places. 
With the sinking of the sun they 
obscure the harsh reminders of the 
day. In the prevailing darkness 
the crib in the corner is nearly 
forgotten. It's bright-whiteness 
and cheerful decorations gnaw at 
her when bathed in the harsh light 
of day. It makes her heart ache 
more than any prescribed sedative 
could anesthetize.

The soft peach candle rests next 
to a bottle of pills and a brand 
new box of Kleenex. All three stand 
together, illuminated and cast back 
in the mirror on the dresser. 
They are a shrine- a monument to her 
pain, her attempts to numb it, and 
her strength. 

The candle keeps her house in all 
but complete darkness, so that 
she may not be forced to look at 
constant reminders of him and what 
they created. The bottle of pills- 
herbal. She takes one at night to 
help her sleep without the nightmare; 
they don't work, of course. The box 
of Kleenex, as yet unused it waits 
for her to crack at any moment. To 
allow herself to weep and put them 
to good use would only be weak, and 
that is something that she fights 
so hard not to be.
	
With her thinning arms wrapped 
around her abdomen, her crystalline 
blue eyes watch the flame dance. 
She is protective and terrified for 
all three of them- him, her and the 
baby. She's thinking that she 
doesn't know if he's ever coming home, 
she doesn't know if she could live 
if he didn't. And how can she take 
care of their baby if she can hardly 
take care of herself?

Her gaze deserts its resting-place on 
the heart of the candle to examine her 
reflection in the mirror. Her eyes have
a sheen of unshed tears. Thin 
fingers reach to smooth the bruise 
colored skin beneath them. There are 
dark semi-circles there from not 
sleeping. Her beautiful auburn 
hair hangs limply around her face 
in the shimmering candlelight. 

There is no golden cross at the 
hollow of her throat. Of course not, 
it's with him. "Probably orbiting 
Jupiter." she thinks dryly. Suddenly 
she's laughing out loud. And just as 
suddenly as the laughter began, it 
has ended. She's crying now instead. 
Her small frame wracked with sobs 
because it's not fair, and it's not 
normal, and she doesn't deserve this.

She is thin now. Her doctor has told 
her it's normal to lose weight during 
the beginning of the pregnancy, but 
she knows that isn't it. Bony fingers 
and gaunt cheekbones are evidence of 
what she already knows. Being without 
him is making her physically sick. She 
can't eat, even though she knows she 
needs to. She can't sleep without 
hearing him scream for her and seeing 
him hurt or...dead. She can't even turn 
on the damned radio without hearing a 
song that reminds her of him. 

The bed creaks as she slides off of it 
and her feet hit the hardwood floor. 
The floorboards groan as she makes her 
way over to the dresser, and she thinks 
that both the bed and floor need to stop 
moaning and complaining. God knows it 
could be worse- they could be her.

'Push down and twist.' She follows the 
directions to circumnavigate the 
childproof cap on her pills and downs 
one dry. A little something she had to 
learn while carsick and driving through 
Middle America with Mulder and no liquid.  
She smiles a bit at the memory, but it 
quickly fades and she's bending over to 
blow out the candle. "Mulder..." she 
whispers as the scent of peaches invades 
her senses. 

Quickly she grabs a few of the tissues 
to wipe away any evidence of her earlier 
breakdown.

There's a gentle scraping sound as the 
cotton of her nightclothes rubs against 
the cotton of her bed sheets. She's spent 
the last few months at her mothers and her 
bed still smells like him from the night 
before he left for Oregon. She sticks her 
face as far into the pillow as she can, 
trying to breathe him in. She just lays 
there breathing. The pill begins to kick 
in and her last coherent thought is 
'I'm never gonna wash this pillow...'

The red glowing digits on her alarm clock 
form 5:45 AM just as her phone begins to 
ring. Jarred awake from dreams of cribs 
in corners and lovers who scream, one hand 
blindly reaches for her phone. 
'Ermm...hello?' she whispers into the phone 
with her eyes still closed. 'Agent Scully, 
this is Assistant Director Skinner-.' 
Immediately she sits up and begins to swipe 
at her sleepy eyes. 'Yes, sir?' 'Agent 
Scully, we found him...'

Not much truly catches Patricia Helms 
attention. She's the head nurse. 
She's seen more broken bones, and 
bloody people to fill volumes. 
And for the past eight years or 
so she's been able to sit through 
it all and almost not notice. But 
even she looks up when Scully comes 
running through the double doors 
of the hospital. Her coppery hair 
soaking wet, and plastered to the 
sides of her face, mascara smudged 
from the rain, screaming like a 
madwoman, 'Where is he!? Where's Mulder!?' 

Patricia, as well as just about 
everyone else in the hospital, 
watches as a taller well built 
bald man behind her points down
the hall and says '112.'  
Before the last syllable is 
barely out of his mouth she's 
racing down the hall, a flash 
of red hair and black trench 
coat. The taller man is right 
behind her. It takes a few moments 
for the front hall to recover, 
people just sit there for a second 
wondering who she is and who Mulder 
is before they continue going 
about their business.

The click of her heels on the 
linolium is almost as rythmic 
as it is loud as she runs past 
door after door. 
'112, 112, 112...' It is repeating 
itself over and over again in her 
mind like the best song she's ever 
heard. Finally she stops running 
when she sees the numbers inscribed 
in a small oak plaque outside a 
small hospital room. A room that's 
as comforting as it is depressing 
because it's very much like the 
many they've been in before. 

She looks in the door to see 
him standing in front of the 
window, gazing out to the street 
below. She knows that most likely 
he's thinking about her. 

The ability to move or speak is 
suddenly gone from her body. 
All she can do is stare at the 
most beautiful person she's ever known. 

Absently she thinks that he's 
in great shape, standing and all. 
Much better than what she was 
like after she was returned. 
She medically rationalizes it 
inside her head, 'Well, he was
 only gone 2 months...yeah right
...only.' His frame is illuminated
 by soft morning light. 'Like an 
angel,' she thinks 'so very much
like an angel.' And then she's crying. 

Tears of joy, and weariness are 
running down her face in rivlets. 
Falling onto the front of his 
T-shirt, the one she's been 
wearing for two days. She's 
leaning against the doorframe 
of the room in silent convulsions. 

The exhaustion and pain of the 
last few months has finally caught 
up with her in the door of this 
hospital room and she feels like 
her knees are going to give out at 
any second. She takes a deep breath 
and tries to say something but it 
is then that he realizes she's 
standing there. 

He turns around to see her 
leaning against the doorframe- 
bedraggled and sobbing uncontrollably. 
But before either can even say 
a word he's holding her. Her arms 
twined around his waist, his 
around her shoulders, her tears 
wetting another one of his shirts.

'My God.' Is all she can manage 
to muffle out, as she's pressed 
against him. He breathes her name 
in her ear as he runs his fingers 
through her hair. 
'Scully...Sssh...it's okay.' 

'Is it really, Mulder? Is it?' 
she looks past him to watch an 
ownerless paper bag tumble down 
the street. 'One day you were 
here, and then...then you just 
weren't...what-what hap-...do you 
even know...' her voice trailed off 
to barely a whisper. 'No...no, 
I don't remember anything...except 
this feeling of needing you.'  
'Same here.'
 
He tilts her head back and wipes 
away the tears. He brushes kisses 
all over her face and finally 
looks in her eyes, 
'Oh my god do I love you.'
As she buries her face between 
his neck and his shoulder, 
he runs his hand up and down 
her back. He hears her murmur 
against him, 'I love you that 
much times infinity.' 
He laughs and kisses her cheek. 

She can feel the grin on 
his face as she opens her 
eyes and looks out the window. 
She sees a young family, 
a mother and father pushing 
a stroller down the street. 
She grins too, hugs him tighter, 

and says, 'Let's go home.'

'Really, Scully, I haven't
been gone that long, I remember 
what your apartment looks like. 
Ooh! Did you buy me something?
A new T.V? Something big? A big 
screen T.V? Or maybe-.' 'Shut up, 
Mulder, you'll see what it is in 
a few moments. Just keep your 
eyes closed, okay?' She got a 
grumble in response. 

She leads him by the hand to 
her bedroom. As she steps into 
the room she catches a glimpse 
of the candle, the pills and 
the Kleenex and thinks, 
'Won't be needing those anymore.' 
Silly as it sounds she knows 
that it's true, for her, Mulder 
chases the shadows all away when 
he steps through the door.

'Okay, open 'em.' She says after 
she has him facing the corner 
of the room.  He lowers the hand 
from his eyes, and he looks 
completely confused.  He turns 
to her, cocks his head and says, 
'A crib?' She notices that the 
whiteness isn't glaring now, 
and nothing is gnawing at her 
when she looks at it. 'Yeah.' 
She says, placing her hand on 
her stomach and not saying 
anything more. She figures 
he's a smart man, he can make 
the scientific conclusions on 
his own. 

Still bewildered, he looks at 
her, hazel eyes bouncing from 
the crib to the hand at her 
belly and his eyes widen to 
an astonishing level. 
'You're not- we didn't- well 
I mean we did but- how- you 
can't-oh my god- Scully?!'  
Smiling she mock sighs and says 
'Well, I know it's not a big 
screen, but-.' Before she can 
finish poking fun at him he 
sweeps her up off the ground 
and kisses her like she's been 
waiting for for 2 months. 

Suddenly, he loosens his grip 
and lowers her gently to the bed. 
'Don't want to hurt the baby- 
or you.' He says settling down 
next to her. Putting a hand to 
his cheek she says 
'I know you wouldn't, Mulder.' 
	
After he wraps his arms around 
her and intertwines their 
fingers he pauses for a moment. 
'What?' she asks, scooting back 
to look into his eyes. She 
searches the brown and hazel 
depths and finds worry there. 
'You're really thin, Scully.' 
She scoots closer to him, 
tucking her head beneath his 
chin to hide her eyes. 
'Umm...that's normal at first...
with morning sickness and that...' 
Her voice trailing out.
	
He hears the hesitation in 
her voice, and moves so he's 
above her looking into her face. 
'Scully?' Tears are forming 
in her eyes, and she looks 
sideways at the wall to avoid 
his gaze. 

'Scully? You're scaring me.' 
Now the tears are flowing. 
'Damn,' she thinks 'I'm doing 
this an awful lot lately.' 
'Tell me, Scully.' She sits 
up and he pulls her onto his 
lap, rocking her gently. 

'When you were gone...I... I 
just-it was so hard...I didn't 
sleep,' she gestures to the 
pills on the dresser. He glances 
at them and holds her tighter. 
'I kept dreaming that you were 
hurt or...in pain...or...or- 
and I couldn't eat. I hurt all 
over all the time; the thought 
of food made me sick-.' 
'Ssshh...It's okay now. I'm here 
and you can eat for two, hell, 
eat for three- it couldn't hurt. 
I'll have me a big pregnant girl 
barefoot in the kitchen before long.' 

They both laugh as she jostles 
him in the ribs with her elbow. 
'Ha Ha, very funny.' She lies 
back down on the bed, and pulls 
him along with her. They lie down, 
hold each other, and close their 
eyes, grateful and happy just to 
be with each other. 

Eventually, the sun goes down 
and the shadows come out to play, 
but she no longer wants to hide 
from the crib in the corner. 
And there is no mind-numbing 
pill tonight- they will keep 
away each others nightmares.

The end