From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Sat, 27 May 2000 09:42:09 -0500 Subject: Of Rubberbands and Paperclips by Gwinne Source: direct Reply To: gwinne@yahoo.com Title: OF RUBBERBANDS AND PAPER CLIPS Author: Gwinne Distribution: Yes, but please contact me Rating: R Classification: MSR; Scully angst Spoilers: post-ep for "Requiem"; references to "Chinga," "Dreamland," "Never Again," "Monday, "The Unnatural," and "all things" Context: This story is set immediately following my "Baby Steps," though it should stand alone as well Disclaimer: Non, mais je souhaite... Feedback: pretty please with sunflower seeds on top! e-mail me at gwinne@yahoo.com OF RUBBERBANDS AND PAPERCLIPS When Scully woke, she could still feel Mulder's mouth on the gentle curve of her belly, pressing a kiss into the soft skin right below her navel. "Good morning, sunshine," he whispered and rubbed his sandpapery cheek against her abdomen, "Be nice to your mother today." She gasped and let tears pool for a moment before rushing into the bathroom to throw up. She hadn't planned on falling asleep on Mulder's couch at seven o'clock at night. She hadn't planned on not eating dinner and not working on that report for Skinner and not returning her mother's latest phone call. She was just so tired. She curled up on the floor next to the toilet, wanting nothing more than Mulder to bring her a glass of water, to try to forcefeed her saltines or toast, to stroke her hair until the nausea subsided. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon, and she had to admit that she resented him for it--that need of his to be a hero, her hero, to make everything right in the world which, once again, left her alone and terrified. Why couldn't he sit still for once? Why couldn't he be one of those fathers with a desk job who brought his wife flowers just because and spent weekends fixing up the house? Because he wouldn't be Mulder, she thought, and I wouldn't love him. Everyday since she'd found out she was pregnant had been like this, mornings of resenting Mulder and missing Mulder; quiet moments in the afternoon of sheer joy as she rested her hand on her belly, just waiting to feel the first stirrings of life; nights aching for him, for the normal life that was both so close and so far away. Scully sat up slowly, closing her eyes against the familiar lurch of dizziness. She almost laughed, remembering how she literally swooned in the boardroom when Frohike said Mulder was in danger in Oregon. What a girly, un-Scully-like thing to do. When her eyes focused, she glanced at the clock on Mulder's bedside table. 6:13, which meant she had time to go home and change, since the only suit she had in Mulder's closet hadn't fit her for nearly a month. Come on, little one, she murmured, running her knuckles up and down her belly, let's go home. * * * In her sunlit bedroom, Scully went through her morning ritual of trying on half her wardrobe since nothing, absolutely nothing, fit; she'd already moved the buttons on all her pants and skirts and all her blouses strained at the chest. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she thought, half-waiting for Mulder's comeback: Necessity is the mother of invention. She pulled on her light gray suit pants, which she left unbuttoned but fastened with a rubberband and safety pin (thank you MacGyver and an online forum about maternity clothes), a raspberry-colored silk tank top she'd owned since 1993 (it's July for God's sake) that fell to her hips and effectively covered the rubberband contraption, and the matching suit jacket, also unbuttoned. She'd certainly done worse; Mulder could testify to that. * * * It was the longest meeting in FBI history (weren't they all?) and Scully had stopped pretending to be interested half an hour ago. While Agent Chesty Short yammered on and on about the budget and projected expenditures for the fiscal year, Scully toyed with a paperclip, twisting it and untwisting it, contemplating Mulder's own fascination with office supplies, all the yellow Ticonderoga pencils and Uniball pens cached in the desk drawer. She let a smile play on her lips, recalling vividly the day she walked into the office, in the same gray suit she was wearing now, and pencils rained from the ceiling onto his head. "Oh it's amazing what I can accomplish when you're not here..." he'd said, but she knew it was just a front, and she knew how to rub it in, talking in vague terms about "some guy...Jack" just to make him jealous. She shifted in her seat--again-- and gasped as the rubberband holding her pants shut snapped against her skin. "Agent Scully?" She knew Skinner well enough to hear the concern underlying his coolly professional demeanor. "Excuse me for a moment." Hand on her waist, she rushed out of the room, past Kimberly, and to the women's room across the hall. Thank God for poorly constructed rubberbands, she said to herself, and laughed so hard she started to cry. * * * It was Friday night and out of some unspoken agreement she always went to the Gunmen's for pizza and a game, Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit. She refused to play Dungeons and Dragons after Langly started calling her Titania, Queen of the Fairies, and when he dared to suggest Battleship, she burst into tears; Mulder never did get around to requisitioning that second desk, and they never played Battleship or any other game in the office, except for trading rounds of innuendo and cliches. She wasn't Mulder and neither were they, but all four could find some semblance of normalcy in their anti-nuclear family. Tonight it didn't work. Tonight the guys expected her to play Snow White to their miserable dwarves: Whiny, Sulky, and Morose. Finally, she left in a huff after Byers asked her, "are you supposed to have that?" when she opened their last can of Coke. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be watching some wretched movie on Mulder's couch until she fell asleep with her head in his lap and he carried her to bed. She drove around aimlessly for a while until she found herself parked in front of her mother's house in Baltimore--a homing device stronger than the implant in her neck. "Dana?" Concern registered in her mother's voice the moment she opened the door. "What's wrong, sweetheart? You know it's not good for you to get so upset..." Margaret Scully pulled her daughter down to sit on the staircase as her legs buckled beneath her. "Dana, honey, please talk to me." "I wanted this so much, Mom, and he knew it. I told him once I just wanted to settle down and live a normal life--a house in the suburbs filled with the sounds of children laughing. I wanted it, Mom, and he sacrificed himself so I could have it. He wouldn't let me go back to Oregon, said he couldn't risk losing me, and I wasn't there, Mom, I wasn't there for him, and now...God, Mom, I just miss him so much. And I don't know if I can do this alone...I don't even know if I want to do. I mean, I want this baby more than anything, but I never for a minute considered being a single mother." Scully stopped for a moment and wiped her eyes with back of her hand. She exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. "I'm going crazy, Mom...I feel like I'm being held together with rubberbands and paperclips." Maggie stroked her daughter's back. She'd learned long ago that Dana rarely wanted her advice, just her comfort. "It's late, honey. Why don't you take a bath and stay here tonight. And tomorrow we can buy you some clothes that fit." Scully nodded almost imperceptibly. "Thank you." * * * She stayed in the tub until the water started to cool, submerged in bubbles up to her chin. She ran her fingers gently over her breasts, learning their new shape and weight, savoring the sensation on her touch-starved flesh, imagining it was Mulder's hand not her own. For a long time, she let her hand linger on the curve below her belly button, fingering the sparse line of hairs that led to her genitals. Fully clothed, she still looked like the same Special Agent Scully she'd been for years (if slightly unkempt, with her untucked blouses), but nude, she was unmistakably pregnant. She cherished the secrecy of it; it was only a matter of time before Cancerman and Krycek found out. Pulling the plug with her toe, she stood slowly, waiting for the headrush that usually came when she changed positions. Instead, she felt a quick flutter around her navel. Once, then again. Oh, my God, Mulder, Scully whispered, she's moving. I have it, Mulder. I finally have it. Proof undeniable.