From: Emma Brightman <emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com>
Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2001 16:02:52 -0800 (PST)
Subject: A Silence Full of Sounds by Emma Brightman
Source: direct

Title:  A Silence Full of Sounds
Author:  Emma Brightman
Disclaimer:  These characters are not mine.  
They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, 
and Fox.
Classification:  SRA, MSR
Rating:  PG-13
Spoilers:  Through Season 8
Archival:  Please ask permission.
Summary:  There is little in the universe he 
treasures more than the truth, and she hates 
that in leaving, he made her a liar.

Feedback:  Oui, s'il vous plait.  
emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com

Author's Notes at the end

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A Silence Full of Sounds
by Emma Brightman

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Smooth hands glide over sweat-slicked skin.  
She shivers in the fan's cool breeze and he 
wraps his long limbs around her.

-- "What are you doing New Year's Eve?"  

His murmuring lips against her shoulder blade 
are soft and gentle, and his sleepy words 
rumble through her body.

-- "Are you going to sing to me, Mulder?  Isn't 
that a song?"

She sighs and nestles back into the warmth of 
his chest as his large hand covers her breast, 
strays down to rest on the curve of her belly.

-- "Yes.  It's also a question."

Surprised at the serious tone of his voice, she 
turns to face him, sliding a silky leg between 
his, pressing her hand to his heart.

-- "It's only May.  Not even summer yet."

His eyes search hers, and he smoothes the 
worried crease between her brows with his index 
finger.

-- "Just promise me we'll be together."

Not just New Year's Eve, but always.  Forever.

--"I promise, Mulder."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There is little in the universe he treasures 
more than the truth, and she hates that in 
leaving, he made her a liar.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As much as she longed to spend Christmas at 
home alone, away from the sad, compassionate 
eyes of her family, Scully knew that her mother 
would never have stood for it.  So the 
afternoon of Christmas Eve found her standing 
over a bowl of soupy bread and spices in her 
mother's kitchen, stirring the mess Maggie 
swore would become The Greatest Dressing Ever 
Made.  Shriveled black raisins swimming in 
crumby, yellow broth brought to mind visions of 
beetles sucked from Mulder's burdened lungs.  
She barely made it to the bathroom in time to 
lose the soup and salad she had eaten for 
lunch.  

Maggie followed, and stood behind Scully as she 
knelt on the hard tile in front of the toilet, 
holding her daughter's hair back with one hand, 
supporting her forehead with the other.  Scully 
felt like a little girl with the flu again.  
Like a dying woman, with useless chemicals 
surging through a body overtaken by cancerous 
cells.  Her retching quickly turned to stifled 
sobs, and Maggie helped her up and gathered her 
in her arms, rocking, and murmuring hushed 
noises of quiet and love.  She dampened a 
washcloth and gently pressed it to Scully's 
pale face.

"I'm sorry, Dana, I shouldn't have asked you to 
help with the cooking.  All those different 
smells, and in your condition..." she said, 
rubbing Scully's back in slow, soothing 
circles.

Embarrassed by her loss of composure, Scully 
pulled away from her mother's embrace and 
flushed the toilet.  "It's okay, Mom.  It just 
hits me sometimes.  Seems to be worst in the 
afternoon and evening, though, more than in the 
morning."  

Maggie carefully folded the washcloth into a 
perfect square, slowly running her finger up 
and down its satin trim several times, as she 
watched Scully rinsing her mouth out at the 
sink.  She seemed hesitant to upset her 
daughter, but concern finally forced the words 
from her lips.  "Shouldn't you be past the 
morning sickness stage by now?  Have you talked 
to your doctor about this?"

Scully took the washcloth from Maggie's hand 
and wet it under the faucet.  "I'm fine, 
really.  Every woman's pregnancy is different, 
you know that," she said, grateful to have the 
excuse of washing her face to keep her mother 
from seeing her expression.  She was never a 
very good liar, and Maggie could always read 
her like a book.

She didn't want to tell Maggie that the nausea 
had less to do with morning sickness than with 
her relentless anxiety about Mulder and the 
baby.  Her mother knew nothing about her three 
hospital stays in the past few months, or about 
just how "different" her pregnancy was turning 
out to be.  

How many women could say they had been hurled 
into a wall by an alien bounty hunter, or had a 
giant slug sliced out of their backs and lived 
to tell the tale?  It all sounded so outrageous 
she could hardly believe it herself, and she 
shuddered to imagine her mother's horrified 
reaction.  Mulder would have understood and 
believed her, but Mulder wasn't there, so she 
kept her secrets to herself.

After all these years she was good at keeping 
secrets.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bill, Tara, and Matthew arrived early that 
evening in a rented minivan full of luggage and 
presents.  Scully stood huddled next to her 
mother at the open front door, shivering as 
gusts of wind blew snowflakes into her face and 
hair.  

Bill and Tara waved gloved and mittened hands 
as they climbed from the van, Tara moving to 
slide the side door open to help Matthew out of 
his carseat, while Bill began unloading 
suitcases and packages.  Scully's welcoming 
smile dissolved into a frown as she saw Bill 
pulling a wooden cradle from the back of the 
van.

"Mom, that's...isn't that our cradle?  The one 
Grandpa Scully made for Daddy?" she asked, 
pulling the long sleeves of her sweater down 
over her hands and wrapping her arms around 
herself.  She remembered rocking her dolls to 
sleep, in the days before she became a tomboy.

"Yes, it is," Maggie said.  "I asked Bill to 
bring it with him.  Matty's too big for it now, 
of course, and it doesn't look like Bill and 
Tara will be having another baby any time soon.  
I thought you'd like to have it."  Maggie 
smiled and squeezed Scully's shoulders before 
running outside to hug her son and daughter-in-
law, and to scoop Matthew into her arms.

Scully pushed the front door closed as tears 
blurred her vision, quickly fleeing upstairs to 
the guestroom before she had to confront Bill's 
disapproval and Tara's cloying sweetness.  She 
sat on the edge of the neatly made bed with her 
hands clenched white in her lap, shaking with 
anger at her mother, at Bill, at hormones run 
amok.  On some level she knew that she was 
overreacting, and she tried counting to ten and 
taking deep breaths to calm herself down.  None 
of it helped.  

Maggie tapped lightly on the bedroom door a few 
minutes later, tiptoeing into the room before 
Scully had a chance to protest.  Flakes of snow 
clung to her dark hair, and her cheeks were 
still rosy from the bitter wind.  "Why did you 
disappear like that, Dana?  Bill and Tara are a 
little hurt that you ran off without saying 
hello, and Matthew is asking for you," she 
said, rubbing her hands together to warm them.

Scully's eyes widened at her mother's 
criticism, and she leapt from the bed, glaring 
at Maggie.  "Damn it, Mother, you told him!  I 
specifically asked you not to tell anyone, and 
you told Bill!  You know Bill hates Mulder, 
Mom.  And now he knows about the baby before 
Mulder does."

Confusion furrowed Maggie's brow for a moment 
before realization dawned.  "I didn't tell him 
the cradle was for you.  I just asked him to 
bring it for me," she said calmly, in the same 
soothing tone she had always used when her 
children scraped a knee, or broke a favorite 
toy.

"And what exactly is he supposed to think about 
that?" Scully said.  "Why would you just ask 
for it out of the blue?  Bill may be a lot of 
things, but he's not stupid.  He knew I was 
going to be here for Christmas, and I'm sure he 
and Tara have already done plenty of 
speculating about poor, lonely Dana and her 
latest pathetic attempt to have a child!"  The 
sting of Bill's words to her when she had tried 
to adopt Emily still hurt, even years later.

"That's not true, Dana.  They don't know 
anything.  I told them I wanted the cradle for 
safekeeping, and they brought it.  That's all 
there is to it," Maggie said, pulling Scully 
into her arms.

Scully knew her mother was sincere, but she was 
still upset.  She shrugged out of Maggie's 
grasp and walked to the window, resting her 
forehead against the chilled pane.  She could 
see Bill and Matthew in the driveway again, 
unloading more brightly wrapped packages.  A 
piece of shiny green tissue paper floated out 
of a gift bag and Matthew chased after it, 
laughing, bundled in his winter wear like a 
tiny Michelin man.

"I don't know Mom, it's just...sometimes it feels 
like everyone will know before I even get a 
chance to tell Mulder.  I keep imagining his 
reaction...he'll be so happy.  But instead of 
telling him I tell other people who don't 
really care, or who pity me."  She absently 
traced small stars on the frosty glass.  When 
she realized she was drawing the rounded top of 
a cartoonish spaceship floating among them, she 
quickly wiped it all away with the sleeve of 
her sweater.

"You know *I'm* happy, don't you?" Maggie 
asked, sitting on the bed and patting the patch 
of flowery bedspread beside her.  Scully 
hesitantly sat down next to her.  "I'm going to 
have another grandchild to love.  I thought I'd 
never get to share all this with you, and I 
thank God every day for this miracle."  A tear 
rolled down Maggie's cheek, and she wiped it 
away with the back of her hand.

"Well I'm glad you're happy, Mom.  That makes 
one of us, at least," Scully said bitterly.  
She picked up a small, square pillow from the 
head of the bed, worrying its worn eyelet lace 
border between her thumb and forefinger.  Her 
mother had made one for each of her daughters 
when they were children, and now Maggie kept 
Melissa's on the guestroom bed.  Scully read 
the words embroidered on the cushion --- 'To 
you, my child, I give two things.  One is 
roots, the other, wings'.  She wondered what 
kind of roots and wings she would be able to 
give her child if Mulder was never returned.

Maggie sighed, seeming to read her daughter's 
thoughts.  "Dana, I know you miss Fox, but you 
have the baby to consider now.  Your emotions 
and attitude are affecting him or her every 
day.  I know it's hard, but you've got to try 
to find some joy in this situation.  And you've 
got to let us in, let your family support you.  
I think you should tell Bill.  You two may have 
had your differences, but he's your big 
brother, and he loves you.  Have a little faith 
in him."

Scully rolled her eyes and reached for the 
Kleenex on the bedside table, plucking one out 
for herself before handing the box to Maggie.  
"I will, Mom.  Everyone's going to know soon 
enough, anyway.  Just let me do it my own way 
and in my own time, okay?" she asked, as Maggie 
stood to leave.

The sound of Bill's deep, booming voice and 
Tara's high, cheerful one invaded the silence 
when Maggie opened the door.  "I love you, 
Dana.  Everything's going to be okay, I 
promise," she said softly.

Maggie stood waiting for a response, so Scully 
nodded, unconvinced.  "Thanks, Mom," she said 
as Maggie headed back downstairs.  She blew her 
nose and rubbed her aching temples with icy 
fingers.

"Merry Christmas, baby," she whispered into the 
silence.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

-- "Who should we tell?  Your mother?  Frohike?  
Probably not Skinner."

They sit side by side on black leather, bare 
feet on the table in front of them.  Blue TV 
screen light strobes through the darkened room, 
bouncing off walls, coloring pale faces.

-- "Let's just keep it quiet for a while."

She loves their secret, enjoys the romance of a 
clandestine affair, of having him all to 
herself.  He loves the truth, wants to shout 
his joy and passion from the rooftops.

-- "It's no mystery what you mean to me, 
Scully.  Anyone who knows us knows I love you.  
They can't use that to hurt us anymore."

She wraps both arms around his middle and 
presses her azure cheek to his chest, listening 
to his heart beat in counterpoint to hers.

-- "Let's wait."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Zuzu spoke of angels getting their wings, bells 
tinkled, and George Bailey's family and friends 
raised their voices in song.  Scully sighed and 
stretched her arms over her head, her gaze 
traveling from the television to her brother as 
she stopped the VCR with the remote control.  
He sat slouched drowsily in an armchair, 
clutching a pillow to his chest and trying 
valiantly to stay awake, while she sat curled 
up on the sofa, her sock-clad feet tucked under 
her bottom to keep them warm.  Bill yawned 
noisily, and smiled as he caught her eye.

"Remember how we used to watch this movie 
together every year when we were growing up, 
Dana?  Mom and Missy always cried.  And you 
always pretended not to," he said.

Scully felt tears prick her eyes at the memory, 
and wished she still had the knack of 
pretending not to cry.  Lately that well-honed 
ability seemed to be fading as quickly as her 
stomach was expanding.  

"Yeah, I remember," she replied.  "Dad always 
said that no matter where we were stationed, 
that was one Christmas tradition we could 
always count on.  Even if it was seventy 
degrees outside, and there was nothing to make 
it a white Christmas except the sand on the 
beach, we still had 'It's a Wonderful Life'."

"I'm really glad you're here this year, sis," 
he said, draining the last of the hot chocolate 
from his mug.  "Now, if we just could've gotten 
Charlie's gang to join us, it would have been 
the perfect Christmas," he said, yawning again, 
and standing up.  "Well, I'm bushed.  Time for 
me to hit the sack."

"Goodnight, Bill," Scully said as he bent to 
kiss her cheek.  The smell of Bill's cologne 
and the prickle of his stubbly face brushing 
hers reminded her of her father.  When she 
closed her eyes she could almost imagine it was 
really Ahab, not her brother, kissing her 
goodnight.  She felt a stab of pain, knowing 
that her baby would never have a chance to know 
and love his or her grandfather.

Bill straightened up and gazed down at her, 
sympathy in his eyes.  "By the way, Dana...I know 
we've had our differences where Mulder is 
concerned, but I want you to know I'm sorry 
he's missing.  It must be hard for you, 
wondering what happened to him, having to get 
used to a new partner," he said.  Scully could 
tell it took some effort for him to say the 
words and suspected that her mother had 
something to do with them, but they seemed 
sincere nonetheless.

"Thanks, Bill," she said.  She took a deep 
breath and sat up straight, folding her hands 
in her lap.  This was as good a time as any to 
break the news, and Bill's mentioning Mulder 
himself seemed like a positive sign.  "Sit down 
again for a minute.  I need to tell you 
something."

The couch sagged under Bill's weight as he sat 
next to her, worriedly searching her face for a 
clue as to what was coming next.  How sad, she 
thought, that any time she made an 
announcement, her family automatically expected 
the worst.

"It's not the cancer, is it?" he asked quietly, 
covering her hands with his.  "You're still in 
remission?" 

"No, I'm fine, Bill.  I'm healthy.  This 
is...well, I'm hoping you'll think it's good 
news," she said.  Watching his expectant 
expression as his mind ran through the 
possibilities, she suddenly wasn't so sure he 
would.

"Are you getting married?" he said, his voice 
rising in excitement.  "Dana?  I didn't even 
know you were seeing anyone!"

Scully pulled her hands out from under his, 
pretending she wanted the glass of water on the 
coffee table, but really needing to escape from 
the hopeful look in Bill's eyes for a moment.  
He wanted so much for her to have a normal, 
settled life.

"No Bill," she sighed, sipping some water and 
returning the glass to its coaster.  "I'm not 
getting married.  But I have been seeing 
someone.  In fact I...I'm pregnant."  She smiled 
weakly as Bill's face erupted in delighted 
grin.

"What?  Oh my God, Dana, that's wonderful!  So 
that's why Mom wanted the cradle!  But how?  I 
thought you couldn't..." he began, pulling into a 
bear hug, squeezing her so hard she almost lost 
her breath.  

Scully squirmed, and gently extricated herself 
from his arms.  "There's more, Bill.  The man 
I've been seeing is...well...it's Mulder.  He's the 
baby's father." She had said those words only a 
handful of times, and now, as before, they 
filled her with a terrible mixture of joy and 
anguish.  She felt her throat constrict 
painfully, and fought back the tears welling in 
her eyes.

For a moment Bill sat stunned and silent, the 
color draining from his ruddy face.  It didn't 
take long for him to find his voice again, 
though.  "You're kidding, right?  That goddamn 
son of a bitch!" he sputtered, running a hand 
over his close-cropped hair, his happiness 
quickly turned to anger.  "So he gets you 
pregnant then just conveniently disappears?  
That's just perfect!" 

"Shut up, Bill, you'll wake up the whole 
house," Scully said wearily.  "You make it 
sound like I'm some naive little fifteen year 
old girl who got knocked up by the high school 
rebel.  This baby is something I want.  
Something I never thought I'd have.  Can't you 
just be happy for me?"

Bill barked a humorless laugh.  "Happy?  He ran 
out on you, Dana!  He wasn't around for you 
when you were sick, and now he's gone again.  
How can you not see that?  I mean...do you 
honestly believe he's been abducted by aliens?  
Mom told me that's what you think happened to 
him.  What a load of shit!"  Bill launched 
himself from the sofa and started pacing in 
front of her.

"I believe that he was taken against his will.  
He loves me, Bill.  He'd be here if he could."  
She was trying so hard to remain calm, but she 
could feel her blood pressure rising with every 
word Bill uttered.  She stood to go upstairs to 
bed.  Her brother's paternalistic bellowing was 
more than she could handle so late at night.

Bill stopped pacing and stood towering in front 
of her.  Scully had the urge to climb up on the 
couch so she could look him in the eye without 
craning her neck.  She hated Bill's ability to 
make her feel like a little girl being scolded 
by her daddy.  

"How did this even happen?" he asked.  "Last I 
heard you were barren from some damn thing or 
other that happened to you when *you* were on 
the mother ship.  Did Mulder find some miracle 
chip to cure that, too?"  

Bill stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that he'd 
gone too far, but it was too late to take back 
the words.  Scully recoiled as if from a 
physical blow and covered her belly with her 
hand, trying to block the sound of Bill's voice 
from her baby's ears.  "Go to hell," she 
whispered.  "I won't listen to any more of 
this."

She ignored the drone of Bill's halfhearted 
apologies as she maneuvered her way around the 
discarded toys Matthew had left scattered on 
the living room floor, biting back a curse as 
she stubbed her toe on a plastic dump truck.  
Maggie was halfway down the stairs in her robe 
and slippers by the time Scully started 
climbing up.  

"I'm going home, Mom.  I won't stay under the 
same roof with someone who has so little 
respect for me.  And for Mulder.  We have 
enough enemies in the world without putting up 
with one in my own family."  Scully's voice was 
steely and cold to her own ears, and a chill 
ran up her spine.  She didn't know if she would 
be able to forgive her brother this time.

Her mother walked her to her room with an arm 
around her shoulders.  "Give him some time, 
Dana.  He's just worried about you.  You know 
how he overreacts and then cools down later.  
Get some sleep and I'm sure things will be 
better in the morning."

"I'm sorry, Mom, but I'm leaving."  She 
haphazardly began shoving shoes, and sweaters, 
and underwear into her overnight bag with 
shaking hands.  "I'll call you when I get 
home."

"It's snowing! You can't drive in this weather.  
And what about all your gifts?  You'll never 
get everything back to your apartment by 
yourself.  Just wait until the morning, please. 
We'll go shopping like we'd planned and I'll 
take you home.  Okay?"

Scully stopped packing and stood, her hands 
still buried in a tangle of clothes in her bag, 
looking at her mother's sad face.  Too many 
Christmases had already been spoiled because of 
her problems, so she relented, nodding her 
grudging assent.

"Get some rest, honey," Maggie said, kissing 
Scully's cheek.  "Everything will look better 
in the morning, I promise."  

Scully waited until the door closed behind her 
mother before angrily tossing her overflowing 
bag to the floor.  She crawled into bed with 
her clothes still on, and slept.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

-- "Come on, Scully, open it!"

Presents are rare, even on holidays or 
birthdays, so the wrapped and bow-topped box on 
her pillow is a surprise.

-- "What's the occasion, Mulder?  Wait, I know, 
I heard it on the radio this morning.  Elvis 
died twenty-three years ago today...how sad."

He smiles knowingly and kisses her forehead as 
she joins him on the bed.  It's an old, corny 
joke, a piece of history they hang onto, and he 
plays along.

-- "Elvis isn't dead, Scully.  Just open the 
package."

She tries to keep her hands from trembling as 
she unties thick crimson ribbon and rips away 
ivory paper, gasping quietly when she sees 
what's inside.

-- "It's so beautiful!  How did you know I love 
this book?"

A strand of red hair dangles in front of her 
eyes as she flips through the pages, and he 
gently tucks it behind her ear.

-- "You're much more of a romantic than you 
like to let on, you know."

His gaze never leaves her as she opens the book 
to the flaky flyleaf, reads the inscription in 
his distinctive black scrawl:  'They are afraid 
of nothing.  Together they would brave Satan 
and all his legions.' --M.

-- "Oh, Mulder."

Seeing the emotion on her face, he smiles 
sheepishly and begins to fidget, suddenly 
embarrassed by his sentimentality.

-- "Um, this edition was printed in 1947...a 
hundred years after the original publication 
date.  See, the engravings are by Fritz Eich-"

His nervous dissertation is cut short when her 
smiling lips crush his.  He kisses her back and 
laughs, happiness and relief transforming his 
face.

-- "I guess this means you don't want to see my 
slideshow presentation, Scully."

Carefully, she places the book on the 
nightstand, then playfully pushes him back onto 
a pile of pillows, her eyebrow raised.  A few 
downy feathers float in the air around his 
head.

--  "Oh, is that what you're calling it these 
days?"

*~*~*~*~*

Scully looked forward to returning to work 
after the misery of Christmas, and arrived at 
the office by seven-thirty Wednesday morning.  
As was quickly becoming the norm, however, 
Agent Doggett had beaten her there.  He sat 
comfortably ensconced at his desk, his sleeves 
rolled up as if he had been there for hours, 
happily typing up his little notes and 
rereading X-Files for the umpteenth time.  For 
all she knew, he had been.

"Good morning Agent Scully," he said, looking 
up from his computer screen with a small smile.

"Agent Doggett," accompanied by a curt nod, was 
the most cheerful greeting she could manage 
without forbidden caffeine in her system.  She 
felt unreasonably annoyed that he was there 
before she was.

"Have a good Christmas?" he asked, watching her 
remove her black coat and walk to her desk.  He 
always seemed to be observing her closely, 
gauging her moods, trying to figure out what 
made her tick.  He lacked Mulder's subtle 
profiling prowess, however, and his good old-
fashioned police work just succeeded in pissing 
her off on a regular basis.

"Fine, thanks.  You?" she said, each word 
clipped and brusque.  Some part of her knew she 
was acting like Ebenezer Scrooge, but she 
couldn't seem to help herself.  It took all her 
self-control not to shout 'Bah humbug'.

"Can't complain," he replied, eyeing her warily 
before turning his attention back to his work.

Uncharitably, she thought that he must have 
used his razor-sharp detective skills to deduce 
that she wasn't up for small talk this morning.  
She settled into her chair and put on her 
glasses, digging into the pile of papers 
stacked in her inbox.  

Every cough, mouse click, and slurping sip of 
coffee coming from Doggett's corner of the 
office made it impossible for her to 
concentrate, had her yearning for the peace and 
quiet of an autopsy bay.  A corpse, she 
thought, my kingdom for a corpse.  She smirked, 
thinking that Mulder would have appreciated the 
joke.  

Scully opened the top drawer of the desk and 
looked at Mulder's nameplate sitting inside.  
She fingered the dark grooves spelling out his 
name in cheap faux wood, then shook her head at 
her maudlin behavior.  As irritating as she had 
often found his quirks and habits, she missed 
the office sounds that were distinctly Mulder:  
the crack of seeds between his teeth, the 
creaky groan of his chair as he pushed it back 
onto two legs and propped his own on his desk, 
the measured rhythm of his typing.  Doggett's 
sounds were all wrong to her ears.

Although it was early, her feet already hurt 
inside her high-heeled shoes, and she toed them 
off underneath the desk.  But then her feet got 
cold, so she slipped them back on.  The 
waistband of her slim, black skirt dug into her 
thickening middle, and she surreptitiously 
undid the button and slid the zipper down an 
inch.  Her mother had tried to buy her 
maternity clothes on their post-Christmas 
shopping spree, but Scully had refused.  She 
hated the idea of buying frumpy, tent-like 
dresses and stretchy slacks, but she was 
beginning to think she'd have to give up her 
sleek, all-black wardrobe soon.  Her shirts 
were already straining at the buttons.

An hour passed in which Scully got absolutely 
nothing done, and finally Doggett stood and 
picked up his empty USMC 'Semper fi' coffee 
mug.  She felt like cheering.  Hoo-rah.  He 
paused on his way to the coffee machine and 
unceremoniously placed a small, shiny gold box 
on her desk, jolting her out of her reverie. 

"I forgot about this on Friday, what with the 
meeting with A.D. Skinner running so late, but 
I got you a little something for Christmas," he 
said, inclining his head toward the package in 
front of her.  If he noticed her unzipped skirt 
and bulging middle, he wisely said nothing.

"I, uh...thank you Agent Doggett.  I'm sorry, I 
don't have anything for you.  Agent Mulder and 
I were a bit lax in the gift giving 
department," she said, nervously wetting her 
lips with her tongue.  She felt herself 
blushing under his scrutiny.

"It's okay, I know we never talked about 
presents or anything.  I just noticed that you 
like chocolate, thought you might like these.  
Godiva.  Supposed to be good," he said, 
transferring his mug from one hand to the other 
as he slid into his suit jacket and 
straightened his tie.

"I, uh...I do...they are.  Thank you," she 
stammered.  Doggett simply nodded and left to 
get his coffee.  

Scully sighed and picked up the small box, 
pulling off the ribbon and opening it to look 
at the candy inside.  She felt a little guilty 
for taking her frustrations out on Doggett.  He 
really seemed to be trying, and he was diligent 
about watching her back.  He'd already saved 
her life more than once.  But having him in the 
office or the field with her every day was a 
constant, painful reminder of the man who 
should have been there, but wasn't. 

Doggett had given her chocolates, though, so he 
couldn't be all bad.  She peered out the door 
and into the hallway to make sure he couldn't 
see her, before popping one in her mouth.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

-- "What time, again?"

Water runs in hot rivulets down his body as she 
rubs lather onto sleek, golden skin.  The 
steamy air smells of citrus fruit, and almonds, 
and spices, like Christmas.

-- "I meet Skinner there at ten o'clock.  Our 
flight's at eleven-fifteen."

Her fingers comb through dark, wet hair, 
massage his neck, shoulders, chest.  She turns 
him around so he can't see her face, and 
caresses his back, his slim hips, his long 
legs.  Memorizing the feel of muscle under skin 
with her hands and mouth.

-- "I could still go with you.  Or catch a 
later flight."

She can't explain why she's so afraid, why this 
feels like goodbye.  Premonitions and a 
preternatural sixth sense, she's becoming her 
mother, her sister.  She's becoming Mulder.

-- "It's too dangerous, Scully.  I can't lose 
you again.  I couldn't live without you, not 
now."

He turns to face her and pulls her to him, lips 
seeking lips in the steam and spray.  His hands 
stroke her arms, her belly, her breasts, make 
her dizzy, breathless, leave her gasping for 
air.  When he finally moves inside her, he's 
like the ocean -- dark, mysterious, 
unfathomably deep.  She licks the curve of his 
seashell ear, tastes the tang of his sea salt 
neck, and they tremble together, pleasure 
mingled with fear.

-- "I'll miss you, Mulder."

Please don't leave me, she thinks, but doesn't 
say.

-- "It's only one day, Scully.  Two at the 
most.  You won't even have time to miss me."

Chill air envelopes her as he turns off the 
shower, but when she shivers it's not from the 
cold.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Since Mulder's disappearance, every ring of the 
telephone has given Scully a moment of hope.  
On the good days, when she was well, and could 
feel his presence through his work, or through 
the child growing inside her, hope lasted for 
several rings.  On the days she was sick and 
lonely, terrified that she would never see him 
again, hope disappeared almost before the 
ringing began.

Stepping out of the bathtub early Sunday night 
to the familiar electronic jingling of her cell 
phone, Scully made it to three hopeful rings.  
Illogical as it may have been, she couldn't 
help imagining that this would be the day 
Mulder would come home, that she wouldn't have 
to break her promise to him after all.  When 
she heard Frohike's casual greeting on the 
other end of the line, standing wrapped in a 
towel and dripping bathwater onto her bedroom 
rug, she felt like crying with disappointment.

"Happy New Year's Eve, Agent Scully.  It's 
Frohike," he said.  "Langly, Byers and I have a 
proposition for you."  His voice sounded far 
away, like he was using the speakerphone.  She 
imagined the three of them huddled together, 
listening to her voice for clues about her 
emotional and physical well-being.

She smirked and wrapped the towel more tightly 
around herself, holding the phone between her 
ear and shoulder.  "A proposition?" she said 
suspiciously.  "I don't think I like the sound 
of that.  The last time I took you guys up on a 
proposition I ended up drugged in Las Vegas."

"Our intentions are completely honorable, I 
assure you," Frohike replied, feigning injury.  
"We just thought we could drop by your place, 
maybe bring a pizza. It'll be the first time 
Byers and Langly have rung in the New Year with 
a beautiful lady since the mid-seventies."

She chuckled as she heard the other Gunmen's 
insulted protests echoing in the background.  
"I don't know, Frohike.  I appreciate the 
offer, but..." she said, her voice trailing off 
as she remembered last New Year's Eve, and the 
sweetness of a first kiss.

"We know it's kind of last minute and you may 
have other plans," Frohike said.  Scully knew 
he didn't really think she had plans, not 
without Mulder.  He was purposely giving her an 
out, in case she did want to be alone.  The 
Gunmen's overprotectiveness and concern for her 
since Mulder's abduction was as touching as it 
was annoying.  

"If you guys come over you'll have to watch old 
movies with me, and I don't know if you're up 
to that," she said, dropping her towel and 
slipping into her thick, terrycloth robe.  If 
they wanted to come over and babysit her 
tonight, she was going to make them work for 
it.

"Are you kidding, we've broken into top secret 
government facilities and been to karaoke night 
with Mulder.  I think we can handle a couple of 
chick flicks," he said, full of bravado.  

Scully heard Langly's exaggerated moan as he 
realized what he could be in for, and her mind 
was made up.  "Okay, you're on.  Eight o'clock.  
And get extra cheese and green peppers on the 
pizza," she said before pressing the phone's 
'off' button.

Suddenly she was very relieved that she 
wouldn't be by herself on New Year's Eve, and 
absurdly sad to realize that she had never 
known about Mulder's karaoke past.  There were 
still so many things they didn't know about 
each other, mysteries and secrets they had 
dreamed of spending years laying bare.  She 
smiled, imagining Mulder, young and cocky, 
surrounded by flirting, crooning, half-drunk 
women.  Perhaps, after all, some secrets were 
best left unknown.

She collected the towel from the floor where 
she had dropped it, wrapping it in a turban 
around her wet head, and walked back into the 
bathroom.  The mirror was still foggy from the 
shower, and she made a bare spot with her hand, 
gazing at her reflection in the blurry glass.  
Her face was beginning to look a little 
rounder, and with her skin freshly scrubbed, 
the dusting of freckles that had cropped up 
after days in the desert sun stood out against 
her milky skin.  For a moment, seeing herself 
that way, she could almost believe she was the 
young, innocent woman she had been over seven 
years ago.  The girl who had laughed and smiled 
so much more easily, who had believed that in 
the end everything in her life would work 
itself out -- career, husband, children, 
future.  

During the last few months with Mulder that 
girl had begun to reemerge, slowly coaxed back 
to life by Mulder's touches and words.  She'd 
begun to hope again as she hadn't allowed 
herself to in years, and she knew he had, too, 
sometimes speaking to her of slowing down, of 
putting themselves and their lives first for a 
change.  Scully frowned at the memory of their 
conversation in his Bellefleur motel room, and 
the illusion of youth abruptly vanished.  His 
words of endings and personal costs had 
frightened her then, but she had believed that 
as long as they were together she could face 
the future, whatever it held.  

Pouring a drop of moisturizer onto her 
fingertips, she rubbed the lotion into her 
skin, concentrating on the lines around her 
eyes and mouth, wishing the advanced scientific 
formula really could erase the signs of time 
etched there.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When she heard the Gunmen's noisy bickering 
outside her apartment door at precisely eight 
o'clock, Scully rolled her eyes and wondered 
what she'd let herself in for.  Standing on 
tiptoe to look out the peephole, she saw the 
three of them, their arms loaded with pizza 
boxes and grocery bags.  Frohike even held a 
small Styrofoam cooler in his hand.  Evidently 
they couldn't decide which of them should ring 
the doorbell, each one claiming to be too 
burdened down to reach the button.  Scully 
decided to save them the trouble, and opened 
the door before they could disturb her 
neighbors.

"What's all this?" she asked, nervously eyeing 
them as they came stumbling through the door, 
still arguing amongst themselves.  "You're not 
moving in, are you?"

Frohike smiled and headed straight for the 
kitchen as if he dropped by every day, plopping 
his paper sack and cooler on the counter with a 
thunk.  "As much as the idea of living with you 
thrills me, the security measures in this 
apartment building aren't quite up to our 
standards," he said. 

"Obviously, if they let you in," Langly sniped, 
following close on Frohike's heels. The black 
tee shirt all but hidden behind the two greasy 
pizza boxes he carried looked freshly 
laundered.  Scully was touched that he had 
dressed up for the occasion.

"Don't mind him, Agent Scully," Byers said.  
"He's just a little upset about the thought of 
watching a movie that doesn't star Jackie Chan.  
He says that girlie movies give him hives."  
Byers politely waited for Scully to usher him 
into the kitchen, where he plunked his two 
heavy bags on the counter next to the rest of 
their cache.  

"Chick flicks give me hives, Byers, chick 
flicks!  Not girlie movies!" Langly said, 
offended to hear his manliness impugned.  

"Yeah, we all know Langly likes girlie movies.  
I'm not the only one who stands to inherit 
Mulder's video collection," Frohike joked.  He 
froze, realizing what he'd said, and the other 
men shot daggers at him with their eyes.  
"Sorry, Scully," Frohike apologized, "I didn't 
mean to..."

Scully chuffed a laugh, ignoring the pain she 
felt at hearing Mulder and inheritances 
mentioned in the same breath, knowing that 
Frohike hadn't meant anything by it.  "It's 
okay, really, I'm quite well aware of Mulder's 
viewing habits," she said.  "Anyway, Langly, 
it's not like you weren't warned about the 
movie."  

She rummaged through the bags, finding several 
kinds of soda, a family size package of 
tortilla chips, another of potato chips, a huge 
jar of salsa, and a half-gallon of rocky road 
ice cream.  Either they're stockpiling for the 
real new millennium, she thought, or they think 
I'm eating for two.  She was sure that they 
knew, or at least suspected, that she was 
pregnant, although she hadn't told them.

"Jesus, guys," she said, feeling like a Price 
Club version of Mary Poppins as she pulled more 
and more snack foods from a seemingly 
bottomless sack.  "You must have spent a 
fortune!"

"Not really," Langly said, very pleased with 
himself.  "We have a connection who supplies 
all our parties."

Scully raised her eyebrows in surprise.  "You 
guys have a lot of parties, do you?" she asked.  

"That's classified," Frohike said with a wink.

First karaoke, now this.  Scully was learning 
more about the Gunmen tonight than she had in 
all the years she'd known them, and it was a 
little disturbing.  She covered her mouth with 
her hand to keep from laughing, and distracted 
herself by opening the cooler.  Inside, packed 
in ice, she found two bottles of sparkling 
grape juice.  Now she *knew* they knew she was 
pregnant.

"Grape juice?  What, don't I rate some real 
champagne?" she asked, drying the bottles with 
a dishtowel and mockingly examining the labels 
for vintages.  "Or does your connection not 
supply alcohol?"

"We just thought we'd be careful," Byers said.  
He studiously avoided eye contact as he took 
the bottles from her hands.

"Yeah, we don't want to drink too much and let 
any of our secrets slip out," Frohike 
continued, as he turned to put the ice cream in 
the freezer.

"You never know when a G-woman's apartment 
might be bugged," Langly chimed in, 
scrutinizing the topping-to-surface ratio of 
the pizzas with intense concentration.

"It's the real turn of the millennium after 
all, we have to be on top of our game, just in 
case something happens," Byers concluded, 
finally looking at her and giving her his most 
earnest expression.

"Mm hm, right," Scully said as she began 
pulling plates and glasses out of the cupboards 
and handing them to the Gunmen.  "You know, I 
tried to convince Mulder of that last year, 
about this being the real start of the new 
millennium, but he just called me a math geek."

"Well, you are certainly looking very lovely 
this evening for a math geek, Agent Scully," 
Frohike said, piling pizza onto his plate.

"And believe me, Mulder has called us a lot 
worse than that that over the years," Langly 
assured her.

"I'll bet," Scully said dryly, as they all 
headed into the living room and settled in 
front of the television with their food and 
sodas.  Byers, Langly, and Frohike sat in a row 
on her couch, lined up like patients waiting to 
have a tooth pulled.  They stared at the black 
TV screen in dread of what she was going to put 
them through.

"Listen guys," she said, taking a sip of ginger 
ale.  "I know you know, so we might as well cut 
the crap."  She turned the television and VCR 
on with the remote control and pushed 'play'.  

"Know?  Know what?" Frohike said.  He busied 
himself removing his fingerless gloves before 
reaching for his glass and taking a long, noisy 
gulp of Dr. Pepper.

"Yeah, we don't know what you're talking 
about," Langly feebly protested around a bite 
of pepperoni pizza.

Byers, being even worse at lying than the other 
two, just fingered his tie and read the FBI 
warning on the screen with rapt attention.

"I'm sure you figured this out when I called 
from the hospital to ask you to help Doggett, 
if not before then.  It's not like you haven't 
hacked into my medical records before," she 
said.

"What?  We would never..." Frohike began, as Vic 
Damone's warbling wafted from the television.

"Save it, Frohike, I know the truth.  Mulder 
told me all about your rather questionable ways 
of helping me out over the years, and I'm not 
bringing it up because I'm angry.  Although I 
probably should be," she said, picking at a 
crust of her pizza. 
"I just think you guys should know that I'm 
pregnant.  I was hoping to keep it to myself 
until I could tell Mulder, but apparently that 
isn't going to be possible."  

Scully was surprised at the steadiness of her 
voice.  She had been afraid of breaking down in 
front of them, but after the nightmare of 
telling Bill it seemed nothing could phase her.

"You mean you and Mulder were...are..." Langly 
stammered, somehow sounding surprised. For 
someone so knowledgeable about government 
conspiracies and covert operations, he was 
really quite naive.

"That lucky bastard," Frohike muttered 
affectionately.  "Does this mean I get to be 
Uncle Melvin?"

Scully paused and cocked her head, taking the 
idea under consideration.  "I think you'll have 
to discuss that with Mulder," she finally 
responded, glad to be able to leave at least 
that decision to him.  "Anyway, I'd appreciate 
it if you'd keep this to yourselves.  The only 
other people who know right now are my family 
and Assistant Director Skinner.  I'd like to 
keep it that way as long as possible."

The three men nodded and were silent for a 
moment.  Deborah Kerr returned Cary Grant's 
cigarette case, and his verbal volleys, before 
Byers finally spoke.  "Congratulations, Agent 
Scully.  You're going to be a wonderful 
mother," he said quietly.

"Yeah, anyone who could keep Mulder in line all 
these years..." Langly said vaguely.  He still 
seemed a little stunned. 

Frohike reached across the gap between the 
couch and Scully's chair and clasped her hand 
in his.  "We're going to find him, Scully, I 
swear.  He'll be home before the baby's born."

Don't make promises you can't keep Frohike, she 
wanted to warn him; you'll be sorry you did.  
Instead she simply smiled and nodded, touched 
by the suspicious glistening in his eyes.  "I 
hope so," she whispered.  She squeezed his hand 
briefly before releasing it, turning away as 
tears slid down her cheeks.  Her heart was 
suddenly full of affection for these strange 
men who loved Mulder almost as much as she did.  
They would never give up hoping that he would 
be returned, or working to find him, and 
knowing that gave her a measure of peace.

Scully sighed softly, remembering the promise 
she had made so easily.  She had been dreading 
New Year's Eve for weeks, hating the feeling 
that she had somehow betrayed Mulder, even 
while knowing that he would never blame her 
himself. There was no way either of them could 
have imagined how their lives would change just 
a few short months from that warm May night.  
Perhaps she had absorbed his capacity for 
misplaced guilt, taking it into her soul as 
surely has she had taken him into her body.

Strangely, though, watching the Gunmen as they 
rolled their eyes and made snide comments to 
each other about the movie, she felt close to 
Mulder, closer than she had since the last time 
she had held him, standing in her bedroom, 
trying not to cling too long. Maybe she didn't 
break her promise after all, she thought, 
absently placing her hand on her belly as she 
felt an almost imperceptible fluttering inside 
her.  Mulder was always present in her mind and 
heart, and for a moment that was enough.

END

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

In case you were wondering...

*The story's title comes from the song "Man 
From Mars" from Joni Mitchell's Taming the 
Tiger album:

I call and call
The silence is so full of sounds
You're in them all
I hear you in the water
And the wiring in the walls
Man from Mars
This time you went too far

*The song Scully mentions in the opening scene 
is "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" by 
Frank Loesser.  I'm partial to the Harry 
Connick, Jr. version, though Mel Torme's ain't 
half bad, either.

*The book Mulder gives Scully is a 1940s 
edition of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, 
with engravings by Fritz Eichenberg.  Mulder's 
inscription is from the last chapter.  Although 
Mr. Lockwood says the words rather snidely of 
Hareton and Catherine, I've always thought they 
were a beautiful description of the power of 
love.

*The movie Scully tortures the Gunmen with is 
the 1957 four-hankie classic "An Affair to 
Remember". 

To my three wonderful beta readers:

Bonnie -- thanks for holding my hand throughout 
the whole process.  In the immortal words of 
Chicago, you're the inspiration.  <g>

Amanda -- thanks for your infectious 
enthusiasm, and especially for helping me get 
past that pesky writer's block.

Marie -- thank you for your kind and honest 
opinions, and for helping put the final polish 
on this story.

To everyone else, thanks for reading.  Drop me 
a line at emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com

*~*~*~*~*~*~*