From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Thu, 29 Jun 2000 22:07:47 -0500
Subject: The Return by Ozma
Source: direct

Reply To: ozma12@hotmail.com


The Return by Ozma
ozma12@hotmail.com
MSR Vignette
Spoilers: Requiem
Rating:  PG, but barely.  A couple of mild swear words.  
Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Making no profit.  Just hopelessly obsessed.
Summary: I think the title says it all.  
Notes:  I can't stand thinking about Scully being alone for all 
that time, so I wrote a reunion.  
Archive: Just let me know where and it's all yours.
Feedback:  This is my first story, so I'd like to know if you
enjoyed it, hated it, etc.  Please don't flame me, though, 
I'm delicate.
WARNING:  Here there be sap, so watch out!


"Scully."

Scully's head jerked up.  Not believing her ears, she slowly put 
down the scalpel she had just picked up to start the autopsy and
turned around.  She stared, shocked into immobility by the sight
in front of her.  She closed her eyes, tightly, and opened them
again.  Still there.  

"Mulder?"  Scully's voice was barely a whisper.  She was frozen,
unable to move, unable to think.

He moved toward her, eyes locked on her face, her beautiful,
yearned for face.  "Scully . . . "  

As if in a dream, Scully felt herself enveloped in him, his
arms reaching around her.  W-a-a-y around her.

"What . . ."  He jerked away as if stung, and stared glassily at
her new shape.  "Scully, what . . . how . . . ?"  He looked back
into her eyes, which were rapidly filling with tears.

Scully, still in shock, didn't answer.  She just stared up at him.
Her hand crept slowly up to his face and touched him hesitantly,
gently, as if she were afraid he would disappear.  "Mulder," she
whispered raggedly, "Is it really you?  I thought . . ., I 
couldn't find . . . " tears clogged her voice as the reality of
him finally sunk in, and she collapsed into his arms.  All of the
months of worry, of frantic searching, of being strong, caught up
with her, and she lost it.  Clutching desperately at him she 
burrowed her face into his chest, inhaling deeply, soaking up his
warmth, his vitality.  He was alive!   Soaking his shirt with her
tears, she relished his reality.  She, Dana Scully, who rarely let
anyone see her cry, was sobbing like a child in the arms of the man 
she had been so determined to find, to save.  He was back!  He 
was alive! 

Mulder held the trembling woman in his arms, barely able to believe
this was Scully, his Scully.  He had survived on thoughts of her, 
of getting back to her, and now that he was back, she had obviously
moved on.  How the hell had she gotten pregnant?  Who had gotten her
pregnant?  He would track down the sonofabitch and kill him.  She 
was his, dammit.  His.  He gently pulled away from her enough to 
get a good look.  Other than the pregnant belly (he didn't, couldn't,
think about that) she looked pale and thin.  "Scully,  you're 
pregnant.  And you look like hell."  Well, he'd never been 
diplomatic. 

Scully's brain was finally functioning.  She wiped her eyes with 
the back of her hand.  And looked up at him, a beautiful, shy, 
smile lighting her face.  Ignoring the second part of his statement, 
it was true, after all, she took his hand and gently pressed it to 
her stomach.  "No, Mulder.  We're pregnant.  You've been gone six
months.  I'm seven months pregnant.  Sometimes miracles do happen."

It was Mulder's turn to be speechless.  He looked from her damp eyes 
to her hand holding his.  "Scully . . . I thought . . . I . . . 
we're . . ." and very softly " a baby?"  His mind, which had 
been racing in circles of disappointment and betrayal, suddenly 
siezed on the truth, the beautiful truth.  She was pregnant.  He 
was the father.  She loved him, had scoured the earth and the 
heavens looking for him.  He was back and he was loved.  

They stood together, hands clasped over her abdomen, for what seemed
like an eternity.  Then he moved his hands to her face, clasping 
it between his palms, looking deeply into her blue, blue eyes.  
His voice was rough as he said, simply, "Scully."

Scully looked up at him.  How many times had he held her like this 
in the past?  How many times had she cried herself to sleep in the 
last six months, fearing he never would again? "Mulder."

Slowly, their heads moved together.  No forehead kiss, no bees, 
their mouths met in perfect accord, sealing again the pact that 
had been made a thousand times, a thousand ways, in the eight 
years they had been together, been everything to each other.  At 
last their time had come.  He was back.  She was pregnant.  It 
was their time, and no X-file, no conspiracy, no misunderstanding,
would ever separate them again.