From: "Dream Cole" Date: Thu, 03 Feb 2000 22:52:04 CST Subject: xfc: NEW: Misery (1 of 1), PG, MSR Source: xfc From: "Dream Cole" Title: Misery Author: Dream Cole E-mail: dreamcole@hotmail.com Rating: PGish. Classifications: V, MSR (Okay, MSM), S Spoilers: None. But I'm ignoring any episode that said Scully could not have children. So you can say it didn't happen or there was some miracle between then and now. This is kind of a continuation of the Dream Series, although it is quite obvious what happened. In case you didn't notice, it's now a series. The Dream series (even though there are some where Dream hasn't arrived.) The order in which their lives would go (dates are when written): Serenity- 1st Feb. 2000 Bliss- 2nd Feb. 2000 Misery- 3rd Feb. 2000 Dream- 1st Feb. 2000 Love- 1st Feb. 2000 If you are missing a piece, let me know and I'd be happy to get it to you. Summary: Hmmm... like the title says, Mulder and Scully are miserable. Disclaimer: I don't own em. I'd like to, but I don't. Notes: Like I said in the spoilers, I refuse to admit that Scully can't have kids. I think the rest of this is pretty clear. E-mail me *any* comments, please! Be warned: if you are one of those who complained I explained too much detail, run away! This is all Mulder's thoughts and he notices a lot and says very little. By the way, I call Scully... Scully, among other pet names. I can't see them (Mulder and Scully) suddenly calling each other Fox and Dana. Misery It was so obvious. Even though she tried to hide it. I always knew when she was in pain and needed help; no matter how many times she tried to tell me "I'm fine" I would never believe it. And while it made her all the more attractive (A woman who can defend herself!) it also hurt me that she could never just admit when she was having a problem. And right now she was having a problem- she was miserable. It wasn't the pregnancy, per se. We both were in love with the fact that in one month and counting we would have a child to call our own. And she had finally gotten over the morning sickness and had progressed to all sorts of unusual cravings. Out of nowhere she would declare she wanted something like chocolate-covered bananas or a big package of gummi bears (after eating one she threw the rest away). And of course the pickles and ice cream (which I still don't understand) was a popular choice. But that wasn't her problem. Her problem: she was nearing the last month of her pregnancy. She was getting... fat. Not obese fat, just "I've got a *big* baby inside me" fat. More like chubby. And she hated it. She would turn around and knock something to the floor. And of course she couldn't even see her feet so there was no way for her to even attempt picking it up. I have eyes in the back of my head- I could see her try to kick it under something, as if I wouldn't notice. And of course, there was the heat- being pregnant in July, when D.C. is having a heat wave, is not fun. The only way I could make her happy after a day of stress was to fill the tub with cold water and serve her pickles and ice cream. But she didn't want to admit that she was losing control. She refused to go on maternity leave, preferring to hide her weakness and remain on desk duty. No matter how many times I tried to bring up the issue, she would side step it and completely change the subject. I couldn't blame her, she probably couldn't help herself. She had always enjoyed being right at my side, taking whatever life dished out, and then suddenly she couldn't. She would get tired easily and, of course, being out in the field was out of the question so we were stuck with desk duty. Even though we weren't doing anything exciting or even remotely *interesting*, she refused to surrender. And the fact that she felt she had to pretend made me miserable. I knew things were out of control when Skinner asked me to come speak to him, alone. He told me, basically, that it was about time Scully took her maternity leave and if I was such a good husband I would allow her to do so. As if I were to blame! Effective immediately she was off work for the next couple of months and I was the one to break the news to her. Great. So what did I do? After a heap o' protests from my red-headed beauty, I managed to persuade her to get off work for the rest of the day, "just because I wasn't feeling well". That got us home. Then I set about lighting candles, filling the tub and getting together the pickles and ice cream to relax her. It worked like a charm for awhile, until she figured what I was up to. She questioned me about my motives and, what can I say? I'm getting soft in my old age. I broke down and told her the truth- that she was being placed on maternity leave against her wishes. Way to be subtle, Mulder. She practically freaked out and would have stormed out of our apartment had she not needed my help getting out of the tub. Now my beautiful bride has several weak spots which, luckily, I happen to privy to. And one of them is a massage. Not a quick one, mind you, but a long and relaxing massage. So, whipping out the bottle of baby oil, I got down to work, making her skin smooth and her mind numb. When I could tell she was weakening, I tried again. "I really think it won't hurt if you stay here for a while. It might be better for the baby." Well, that didn't work. She still had some control over her mind and she answered that question in the negative. So I tried another tactic: "If you stay home, then I'll leave work earlier and at the very end I'll even stay home with you." There was silence. And then, in a tiny voice she asked, "Would you bring me ice cream?" "All the flavors in the world," I replied. Because how could I really refuse her? I mean, with her blue eyes shining so brightly and her arms wrapped around her ever-expanding belly. This woman was (in a way) sacrificing her body in order to give us the child we've always wanted. To give *me* the child I always dreamed of. So we made a truce and now, after placing a call into Skinner, we have decided that she will not return for work until she's good and ready (although that might be a bit too soon, but we'll see) and I am leaving work at three in the afternoon every day to take care of my wife. Such small sacrifices to make in order to get the misery out of our lives, wouldn't you say? Author's notes: I just would like to say thanks to all of you who have written in response to this series. I love writing this and I'm glad to know that there are those who love reading them. Any comments and suggestions are still always appreciated, though! Oh, one quick thing: does anyone know how to fix it so that it is posted in lines, and not jagged? does that make sense?