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One day, you'll ask me to speak of a truth - of the miracle of your birth. To explain what is unexplained. And if I falter or fail on this day, know there is an answer, my child, a sacred imperishable truth, but one you may never hope to find alone. Chance meeting your perfect other, your perfect opposite - your protector and endangeror. Chance embarking with this other on the greatest of journeys - a search for truths fugitive and imponderable. If one day this chance may befall you, my son, do not fail or falter to seize it. The truths are out there. And if one day you should behold a miracle, as I have in you, you will learn the truth is not found in science, or on some unseen plane, but by looking into your own heart. And in that moment you will be blessed - and stricken. For the truest truths are what hold us together, or keep us painfully, desperately apart. - Dana Scully “Trust No 1”
Her daughter was dead. A child, her child, that was, as Mulder said, ‘never meant to be.’ She could never really wrap her head around it. She didn’t feel like a mother, and that was perhaps the most distressing part of it. Losing her before she ever got to hold her, rock her, read her bedtime stories, kiss her tears away after a bad dream, love her. She did love her, though. In a distant, cerebral way. She told herself she loved her, but she never quite felt it.
Hallucinating her dead daughter during an autopsy was the last straw. Emily, with her wet blue eyes, whispering, “Mommy, please.” It made her recognize that there was an ache inside her for something more, something her career couldn’t fulfill. There was a small, baby-shaped hole in her heart, and in the days, weeks, months after Emily’s death, it had grown bigger and needier, and achier. Emily had never called her Mommy, and never would, but she wasn’t ready to give up on the idea that no one ever would.
She began researching adoptions, both domestic and foreign, but the cards were stacked against her. Single. Dangerous profession. Long hours away from home. Only months into remission from a life-threatening illness. Even she wouldn’t take a second glance at her application.
There were far less restrictions on fertility treatments. In fact, the only qualification seemed to be a willing and able body, which she currently lacked, but that was the whole point of treatment. She made an appointment with a specialist and was so distracted with her own life at that point that she never even noticed that Mulder was deep undercover without her until it was almost too late.
Fortunately, Mulder came out of his assignment relatively unscathed if you didn’t count the broken finger, but the news from her doctor wasn’t good. She needed more tests, but Mulder had gone and got himself committed and it had to wait. The news was even less promising from her doctor after the second round. She went for a walk after she got the news, just to clear her head and ran into Mulder in the elevator.
“There you are,” he said. “I've been looking all over for you.”
She moved to the side to make room for him in the elevator. “Hi,” she answered, eyes slightly downcast. “I'm sorry. I had a doctor's appointment and...I don't know, I guess time just got away from me.”
“Is anything the matter?”
“Nothing. No, I just...I went for a walk.”
He did that thing he does when he wants her to look at him and bent his neck towards her. “Then what's wrong?” he asked.
She sighed and contemplated her shoes with crossed arms. “I'm...I'm sorry I haven't told you. I don't know why I haven't. I mean, you were always there for me during my illness but…”
“Don't make me guess,” he said, softly, leaning close to her so that his arm grazed hers.
She straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms just a little tighter. “I was left unable to conceive with whatever tests that they did on me,” she said, defiantly. “And I am not ready to accept that I will never have children.”
The elevator dinged just then as they arrived in the basement and Mulder walked out slowly. He turned and shoved one hand in his pocket, the other nervously stroking his chin. She could immediately sense that there was something he hadn’t told her. Something big.
“Scully,” he said. “There’s...there's something I haven't told you either and I hope you forgive me and understand why I would have kept it from you.”
“What?” She watched him swallow and chew on his bottom lip and it made her eyes burn and her stomach drop.
“During my investigation into your illness I found out the reason why you were left barren. Your ova were taken from you and stored in a government lab.”
“What?”
The elevator doors started to slide shut and she slammed her hand against one to stop it. Mulder looked away for a moment and shifted his stance.
“You found them?” she asked.
He stammered a bit and nodded. “I took them directly to a specialist who would tell me if they were okay.”
“I don't believe this.”
“Scully, you were deathly ill, and I...I couldn't bear to give you another piece of bad news.”
She felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her. “Is that what it was?” she asked, a little weakly. “It was bad news?”
“The doctor said that the ova weren't viable.”
Blinding anger washed over her. Not so much at Mulder, but at the situation. She pulled her hand away from the door and stepped back against the wall. “I want a second opinion,” she said, jaw tight with tension. Her thumb jabbed the button for the parking garage just as Mulder reached out to stop the doors from closing again. He looked as helpless as she’d been feeling for the past few months, but in that moment, she was too angry to care. He finally moved back and the doors closed on his hangdog face.
The Gunmen had her ova. None of them looked her in the eye when she showed up to their lair that night. Byers handed over a cold-storage case to her and though she didn’t ask, she wondered if it had been sitting in the freezer amongst leftover chimichangas and ice cream for the last year. It was a mortifying thought.
Dr. Parenti took less than a week to analyze the vial she’d turned over and this time, he had positive news to report. Her chest swelled when he smiled as he led her into his office. “Got a good chance of getting you pregnant,” he said. “I don't want to lay odds but it's not out of the realm of possibility if we start soon.”
“We can start right away?” she asked.
“Well, you need a father, of course. I can get you genetic counseling on finding an anonymous donor if that's what you want...unless you already have someone in mind.”
“Yeah, I…” She hadn’t thought that part through very well. She’d been so concerned with getting pregnant, she actually forgot it would take more than just a willing and able body, it would actually take two. “I just have to figure out how to ask him.”
She called Mulder on her way home. She had left the office early for her appointment, but she knew he’d still be there. He answered on the first ring as though he’d been waiting for her to call. The sound of his voice made her hesitate. Could she really ask him to be the father of her child? She sat silently in her car, listening to him breathe while she fought for words.
“Scully?” He called her name three times, the panic increasing each time she didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I need to talk to you. Not over the phone.”
“Where?”
“Your apartment.”
“My apartment?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll leave now. If you beat me there, just let yourself in.”
She hung up the phone and sat in her car a little while longer before she drove to his place. It seemed like the most logical place to go. It wasn’t public. He’d be more comfortable there. She could leave if it got too difficult.
She did beat him there and used her key to let herself in. The evening sun cast an orange glow over his desk. She stood in the glow of it and traced a finger down the sticky remnants of an X on his window before she turned her attention to the fish tank. It occurred to her that in the five years she’d known him, the tank had always clean and she was pretty sure at least one of the mollies had been there for over two of those years. They mostly all looked alike, but one of them had a black mark on its fin that looked like a heart. She could swear she’d noticed it before, years ago.
She heard his keys in the door and she looked up from the tank as he removed his overcoat. “I got here as fast as I could,” he said. “Accident on the beltway. Were you waiting long?”
“Only a few minutes.”
“What do we need to talk about?” He flopped down on leather couch and toed his shoes off.
“How long have you had these fish?”
“Um…” He stretched his neck and peered at the tank for a moment and then glanced up at her. “Seven years? Maybe.”
“Not the same fish.”
“No, they tend to come and go. Pepper and Aphrodite, though, they’ve stuck around?”
“Who?”
“Pepper’s the one with the black speckles. She looks like she’s been sprinkled with pepper. If you look closely, there’s one in there with this black mark on the fin and it-”
“Looks like a heart?”
“Yeah, I call her Aphrodite. They’ve been with me three years at least.”
So what if Mulder could care for and maintain a school of fish, she thought. Could he do the same with a baby?
“You didn’t come over to get the life story of my fish, did you?” he asked.
“I saw my doctor today.”
Mulder moved his legs as she sat down on his coffee table to face him, hands clasped in her lap. He pushed himself up straight and leaned forward so his elbows were on his knees. She could tell by the lift in his chest that he was holding his breath.
“It was good news,” she said, just above a whisper.
He looked up at her and rubbed his lips together, but didn’t say anything.
“He thinks there’s a good chance I can get pregnant,” she continued.
“That’s...that’s great, Scully.” His shoulders relaxed a little and he reached out to cover her hands.
“But, I can’t do it alone.”
“Anything you need, I’m here.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Of course. I’d do anything for you.”
“Would you be willing to be the other half of the equation?”
“The what?”
She can’t say ‘sperm donor,’ it’s too detached and impersonal. She can’t say ‘Father’ either, it’s too intimate.
“I can only provide the eggs and the womb,” she said, looking down at where his hand covered hers. “I need someone else that can provide...the rest. I don’t want to do the anonymous donor thing. I’d like...I would like it to be you.”
Mulder withdrew his hand and sat back. He laced his fingers together behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.
“I don’t want your answer right now,” she said. “But, I will need to know sooner rather than later.”
He blinked up at the ceiling and chewed his bottom lip. She knew she’d made them both uncomfortable, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.
“Do you have any questions for me?” she asked.
“What are the odds like?”
“Roughly, fifty-fifty. They have enough of my eggs that they think are viable for three implantations. So...three shots.”
“Three shots. And what if…”
“It doesn’t take?”
“I was going to ask, what if it does?”
She bit her lip for a moment and looked at the fish. “I think we should cross either of those bridges when we get there.”
Forty-eight agonizing hours later, he knocked on her door. She’d been preparing herself for the worst since she left his apartment. They were friends, but it was asking a lot. It wasn’t like borrowing a cup of sugar. He had every right and reason to say no.
“Come on in,” she said.
“Thanks.”
There was an awkward pause as she shut the door and he shuffled his feet as he lingered in the entryway.
“Can I take your coat?” she asked.
“No, I can't stay,” he said. “I gotta get back to the office for a while.”
She nodded. “Obviously you've had some time to think about my request.”
“Um, it's...it's not something that I get asked to do every day. And I am absolutely flattered.”
Flattered. He was letting her down easy and she was embarrassed by it. She sighed uncomfortably and opened her mouth.
“No, honestly,” he interrupted.
“Okay, if...if you're trying to politely say ‘no,’ it's okay. I understand.” She cast her eyes down and to the side and played with her fingers. A lump grew in her throat and she just wanted him to leave so she could cry in peace.
“See what's weird is...and this sounds really weird, I know, but I just wouldn't want this to come between us.”
She nodded at her feet. “Yeah, I know. I understand. I do.” It didn’t even sound like she was trying to convince herself, let alone him.
Mulder reached out and his finger grazed her chin lightly. She looked up, fighting tears. She had prepared herself for this. She wasn’t supposed to cry.
“Well,” he said. “The answer is yes."
She felt a little overwhelmed in that moment. Her emotions did a complete one-eighty. Sadness was conquered by joy and relief and she reached her arms out to Mulder for an embrace. She felt him smile against her cheek and then they both pulled away a little awkwardly. They didn’t usually display a lot of emotion with each other.
“Um,” she said. “Well, I'll call Dr. Parenti and...I assume that he'll want to meet you and go through the, uh, the donor procedure.”
He chuckled and gave her a brief thumbs up. “At that part, I'm a pro.” He grinned as he left her apartment and she covered her fist with her mouth to stifle a sob of pure hope.
Five days after Mulder had agreed to help her, she was lying back with her feet in a pair of stirrups while a catheter implanted three fertilized embryos into her uterus. Two hours of ‘relaxation’ later, Mulder drove her home. Nine days after that, she found out their first shot had failed.
Right on the heels of the failure, Diana Fowley entered. They couldn’t do the second implantation until she’d gone through another round of progesterone, so she was already irritated and hormonal, but the woman so effectively got under her skin, she almost considered putting off the second implantation. Then, when Agent Fowley was shot, when Gibson Praise went missing, when all their files were lost to them and the X-Files were shut down, she thought it could be a good thing to have something to look forward to.
The second shot failed and a week later they were in Texas looking for a bomb in the wrong building. It seemed like one minute she was chasing tanker trucks through dirt roads, outrunning black helicopters through a cornfield, and arguing with Mulder in his hallway about quitting the FBI, and the next she was waking up in Antarctica half-frozen. The frostbite was a bit of a setback for the third and final try.
For whatever reason, Mulder insisted on being there when she found out the results for the third try. She compromised and told him he could wait for her at home. He was still recovering from his injuries in the Bermuda Triangle, after all. When Dr. Parenti sadly shook his head at her, she wished she had told Mulder to stay home, that she’d call later.
She drove around for awhile, delaying the inevitable. Nothing left to do but face the facts. Emily, the sweet little stranger with tainted blood that drew pictures of potatoes, was to be the only child that would ever be of her flesh.
Mulder was asleep on her couch when she opened the door. She thought she’d pulled it together by the time she got home, but she was wrong.
“Scully?” he asked, rolling off the couch and blinking the sleep from his eyes. “I must have dozed off. I was waiting for you to get back.”
She walked towards him slowly, her mouth tightening along with her throat.
“It didn't take, did it?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly, back and forth. “I guess it was too much to hope for,” she said.
He shook his head as well and opened his arms, pulling her in towards his chest. She sighed and tried to shake the sadness out of her body.
“It was my last chance,” she managed to say before her voice broke and the flood of emotions hit.
Mulder squeezed her tighter and lifted his head to place a kiss on her forehead. She shuddered at the contact and he rested his head against hers. He rubbed her arms and they swayed slightly.
“Never give up on a miracle,” he whispered.
Her chin wobbled and she grabbed onto him to steady herself. Her knees felt weak. She kissed his cheek in gratitude and then let him hold her because up because she was tired of doing it for herself. She fell asleep on the couch with her head against his shoulder and when she woke up in the morning, he was gone and there was a note on the table requesting that she pack a bag - they needed to meet a source of his at Area 51 later that night.
They didn’t speak about the failed attempts until the Weinsider case - what Mulder deemed ‘The Rosemary’s Baby’ file. She didn’t believe in demon babies, but she did believe in birth defects and she felt for Laura Weinsider. She didn’t know how she would feel if the in vitro had been successful, only to have a late-term miscarriage shatter that dream. They spent the night in Roanoke after excavating the bodies of Betsy Weinsider’s murdered infants and Mulder knocked on her door late that evening.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, sitting in one of the scratchy motel chairs across from her bed.
“About what?” she asked.
“What we can do.”
“Do about what?”
“Having a baby.”
She shook her head a little. “That ship has sailed, Mulder.”
“Not necessarily. I’ve been reading a lot about adoption.”
“I can’t adopt. I tried that. I’m not fit in the eyes of the system to be a mother.” Over a year later and the thought of someone deeming her unworthy of adopting her own child still hurt. She drew her knees up to her chest and looped her arms around her legs.
“You didn’t let me finish,” he said, softly, and he got up from the chair and sat down on the bed next to her. “I’ve been reading stories of couples that tried for years to get pregnant, ended up adopting, and then all of a sudden, they get pregnant out of nowhere.”
“What’s your point?”
“The point is, those people were also told they were infertile. And it turned out to be wrong. So, what if we still kept trying, despite what the doctor’s say, because it could happen.”
“I used up all my chances, Mulder. I don’t really want to use a donor egg or a surrogate, I just…”
“I’m not talking about IVF.” He rubbed her knee a little.
“Well, then what are you talking about?”
“What if we just tried good, old-fashioned sex?”
She would have laughed if he didn’t look so serious. He couldn’t be serious. There was not even a hint of his particular Mulder-brand of sarcasm in his voice or his eyes.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean it. Why not? Why not try everything?”
“That’s...that’s just ridiculous.”
“Why is it ridiculous?”
“Because, we can’t just...suddenly have sex.”
“Well, why not?”
She felt so flustered all of a sudden. In her struggle to find a logical argument as to why it was a ridiculously bad idea, Mulder moved up on the bed and sat beside her, propped up on motel pillows against the fake wooden headboard. Their shoulders pressed together and he took one of her hands, lacing their fingers together before settling their joined hands on his thigh.
“In the past, I’ve had sex with people I didn’t even know or like,” he said. “You can’t tell me you haven’t.”
Her cheeks burned with the thought of Philadelphia and Ed Jerse.
“Why can’t you have sex with someone you know and...trust?” he asked.
“You’re a co-worker,” she protested.
“I’m a co-worker ? Ouch, Scully.”
“You know what I mean. We work together.”
“And that makes being a sperm donor okay, but sleeping together not?”
“No, of course not.”
“Look.” He squeezed her hand and then blew out a breath and ran his fingers back through his hair. “I’m not trying to convince you to do something you don’t want to do. I’m offering it to you as an option. If you still want to try, we can try. Set a limit or something. Three months, three shots, same as the IVF. Or six months. Or a year. Twelve chances. Whatever you want.”
“Why would you even want to?”
“Call me crazy, Scully, but I’d like to take the improbable and make it happen for you.”
“I don’t know, Mulder.”
“Just think about it. It’s up to you.”
She did think about it. She thought a lot about it. She even did her own research on these spontaneous pregnancies that had inspired Mulder. Some of the stories made her cry. Women just like her, some having tried for more than five years, exhausting every avenue available to have a child, just suddenly pregnant. She was actually surprised in some cases that Mulder hadn’t opened up an X-File on it and suggested they interview these women. It seemed too good to be true. But, if it could happen, and if it was what she wanted, then she owed it to herself to try.
On Monday morning, after booting up her computer and checking her email, she asked Mulder if he would take a coffee break with her. It was only 9:15 and she could tell he was bored already and the stack of what he called ‘the manure folders’ wasn’t going anywhere. They bundled up and went outside to the vendor on the corner and then sat on a bench under the winter-bare branches of a Chinese Elm. There was still a bit of snow left on the ground from the weekend dusting.
Scully lifted the lid of her coffee to blow the heat off the top. “I don’t really know how to say this and not make it awkward,” she said, licking her lips once and putting the lid back in place. “I’m ovulating on the ninth. And if your offer still stands, I think I’d like to try.”
Mulder coughed into his coffee and she used one of her napkins to dab at the splatters on his gloves and coat.
“Thanks,” he said. “Um, today is the fourth.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So the ninth is this Saturday.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
“No, I’m just...well, how do you want to do this?”
“What do you mean?”
“My place? Your place? Is it an exact science? Like, do you know down to the minute or something?”
“No, I don’t know down to the minute.” She smiled as she took a sip of her coffee. She never imagined having a conversation like this with Mulder. “I think I’d like to go to a hotel.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“ I’ll look into it. God only knows what you’d find.”
“Virginia Beach is nice this time of year. We could get something on the waterfront.”
She raised her brows in surprise.
“A weekend away is different from finding accommodations on a shoestring government budget,” he said.
“All right then,” she said. “I’ll leave it up to you.”
The week went by excruciatingly slowly. The manure files kept coming and every day was filled with nine to five calls on suspicious amounts of fertilizer. On Thursday, Mulder left a brochure on her desk for a resort hotel on the beach. On the front, in black marker, he’d written ‘Saturday 1/9 3pm check in.’
At ten o’clock on Saturday morning, Mulder picked her up at her apartment for the drive to Virginia Beach. It was less than four hours away, but the roads were still slick with half-melted snow and it would give them time to stop for lunch along the way. They pulled up to the valet stand in front of the hotel at a quarter past three.
At check in, they had a brief, whispered argument about whose credit card would be charged for the room. Mulder finally won by being smart enough to push his card across the counter to the clerk before Scully could even pull hers out of her wallet. She would get him back by paying for dinner later.
The room was cozy. Two queen beds separated by a nightstand on one side and a long dresser with a TV in the middle on the other. They had a balcony with a sixth floor, unobstructed view of the ocean. It was a little overcast and the waves were grey and angry. She could hear the surf pounding softly even with the sliding glass door closed. It was perfect.
“Should I have got two rooms?” Mulder asked.
She turned from the balcony door and glanced at the beds. His overnight bag was on the left, hers was on the right.
“You really didn’t need to get two beds,” she replied
“I didn’t want to be presumptuous. You could change your mind at any time.”
“So could you.”
“I’m not.”
“Neither am I.”
With that settled, an awkward silence fell over the room. Mulder shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and Scully turned back to watch the ocean. She felt him move up behind her and they stood on opposite sides of the glass door, watching the waves.
“It’s still early,” he said. “We could go to the pool. There’s a mall somewhere around here. It was in the brochure.”
“Do you think it’s too cold to walk on the beach?”
“Too cold for the water, not too cold for the beach.”
“Would you like to take a walk with me?”
“Sure.”
Mulder was fine in his sweater and Scully wore a light jacket. It was breezy, but mild. The clouds kept things cool, but every so often, the sun would peek through and brighten the sky for a moment or two. Their walk was briefly interrupted by a pair of eight year old boys arguing over a red plastic pail.
“He’s mine!” The boy in a blue jacket shouted.
“Nu uh, I caught him!” The boy in a black sweatshirt shouted back and then wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“What’d you catch?” Mulder asked, crouching over the pail the two boys argued over. “Hey, looks like you got yourself a hermit crab.”
“I caught him,” both boys said at the same time.
Mulder reached into the pail and gently put a quarter-sized hermit crab on his palm. The crab wiggled his antennae and opened and closed his pinschers. “See this,” Mulder said, pointing at one of his antennae with his pinkie finger. “Right at the top there, those are his eyes. And the stalk right here is actually how he smells.”
“He can smell with his eyes?” Blue jacket asked. “That’s weird.”
“That’s cool.” Black sweatshirt sniffed and wiped his nose again. “I wish I could do that.”
“Hermit crabs don’t like to live alone,” Mulder said, gently putting the crab back in the bucket. “Unless you find another, you should probably put him back in the ocean.”
“Do they like dogs?” Black sweatshirt asked. “I have a dog.”
“I have two dogs,” Blue jacket added.
“They’re a little afraid of dogs,” Mulder said, rising up and brushing a bit of sand off his knees.
“Let’s put him back,” Black sweatshirt said.
“Yeah, he can go find friends.” Blue jacket nodded and the boys both grabbed the handle of the bucket and walked it down closer to the waves together.
“How do you know so much about hermit crabs, Mulder?” Scully asked.
Mulder kept his eye on the boys to make sure they didn’t get too close to the water. “Samantha and I had a pair of them as kids. Herman and Herbie.”
“Cute.”
“They were all over the place on the island. Probably could’ve had a whole colony if we wanted one.”
It was dusk when they made it back to the motel. Scully showered as Mulder watched TV and then Mulder showered while Scully dried her hair. The guidebook in their room recommended a surf and turf restaurant that was within a ten minute walk from the hotel. No reservations required. Scully ordered the salmon and a white wine. Mulder ordered a steak and a beer. They shared crabcakes and light conversation about what life was like growing up on opposite coasts.
When they got back from dinner, it was still relatively early. Mulder suggested they find a movie on cable, but it was hard to focus with the elephant in the room. She didn’t even know what they were watching.
“Mulder,” she said, quietly. “Turn off the TV.”
Mulder pointed the remote at the TV and then he put it on the nightstand. She took a deep breath and swung her legs over the side of the bed and he did the same. They faced each other from across their beds and Scully pushed her hair back over her ear as her heart started racing.
“If we’re going to do this,” she said. “Then, I think we need to do this now. Or not.”
“What do you want?” he asked, moving from his bed to hers and sitting beside her. He touched her back lightly and she straightened her shoulders because his touch made her hot all over. He moved his hand away.
“I think we’ve already gone to a lot of trouble for this. I don’t want to walk away and not...try.”
He nodded and put his hand on her back again, up high, just below her neck. He reached over and eased the curtain of hair that had fallen across her cheeks back over her ear. She was nervous to look at him, but she took a glance anyway and he gave her a reassuring smile. He leaned closer and she blinked and leaned away in surprise.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
He pulled back. “I was going to kiss you.”
“Why?”
“Uh...that’s usually how things start.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Mulder took her hand and put it on his chest, holding it in place with the press of both hands over hers.
“Your heart is pounding,” she said.
“I’m nervous too. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“I hear it’s like riding a bike,” he said, chuckling at his own joke.
She closed her eyes and chuffed what could have been a laugh. In the quiet that followed, she heard the rasp of movement and felt Mulder’s breath on her face before his lips touched hers. Her hand was still pressed to his chest, trapped between their bodies as he closed the gap between them. Flames rose through her chest, up her neck and to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to take a breath, forgetting for a moment that Mulder was softly caressing her lips with his and he mistook the gesture for an invitation. His tongue swept cautiously over hers and she squeaked in surprise and jumped back, panting heavily.
“I...I...give me a minute,” she said.
“Okay.”
He rubbed her back while she caught her breath. She wasn’t an inexperienced, virginal teenager anymore, but she suddenly felt like one. There was no reason to be so skittish, it was only Mulder for Christs sake. But, maybe that was the problem. It was Mulder for Christs sake. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe her nerves were a sign that they weren’t supposed to do this.
“Hey,” Mulder said. “Let’s just forget about it.”
“I don’t want to forget about it,” she said, and it surprised her that it was the truth. She wanted to try, but it occurred to her she was more afraid of failure than she was of Mulder.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Kiss me again.”
He moved his hand to her neck and ran his thumb over the shell of her ear. She stared at his mouth and the anticipation made her lips quiver. He leaned in, but instead of her mouth, he kissed her cheek, lingering there before moving on to her brow. She shut her eyes and reached up to hold his arm.
“Mulder,” she whispered.
“You can close your eyes and think of Brad Pitt if you want,” he said.
Her lashes fluttered open and shut as he kissed her face. “Brad Pitt is who you think I...fantasize about?” she asked.
“I thought all women did,” he mumbled against her cheek. “Or is that just People Magazine propaganda?”
“Not my type.” She put her hand on the back of his head and tried to redirect his mouth to hers.
He pulled away and his eyes fell to her lips. “What’s your type?” he asked, seriously.
“I don’t have a type.”
“You have to have a celebrity crush. Tell me.”
“If we’re talking celebrity crushes, I’m more of a Clooney girl.”
“Then close your eyes and think of Dr. Ross,” he said, right before he kissed her.
She couldn’t stop the whimper in the back of her throat and she clutched his sweater with one hand and clutched his hair in the other. He kissed her like his tongue was conducting an investigation - slowly, thoroughly, no stone left unturned. She was damp with heat and short of breath when he pulled away. He pressed his forehead to hers. They were both breathing hard.
“Do we stop?” he murmured.
“Do you mind if we turn out the light?”
Mulder reached over and flipped the switch on the lamp, darkening the room. The loss of vision heightened everything else, but her eyes slowly adjusted to the room. She shivered when Mulder touched her arm, despite feeling like she could melt butter on her skin.
“I’m going to take my sweater off,” she said.
“I will too.”
She pulled her sweater off and hesitated before she tossed it over the far side of the bed. Mulder’s bare shoulder and arm glistened in the moonlight that managed to cast a glow around the edges of the venetian blinds across the balcony door. She reached out slowly and touched his chest. His hand went to hers and then slid up her arm to her elbow.
Silently, she lay back, holding on to Mulder’s arm to bring him with her. He had to move blindly over her, feeling his way as she settled on her back and he hovered over her. He stepped on her hair with his hand and she let out a soft yelp.
“Sorry,” he whispered, raising his hand.
“S’okay.” She lifted her neck to roll her arm up the back of her head and move her hair out of the way.
“You smell good,” he said, his nose brushing her neck as her head rose.
“Vanilla body wash.”
“I like it.”
She moved her knees apart and her hands came to rest lightly against his sides. She pulled softly with her fingers to let him know it was okay to come closer. Instead of lowering himself down between her legs, like she thought he would, he moved down onto his side and rolled her towards him.
Mulder moved his leg over her hip and encouraged her knee to move between his thighs with the press of his calf to the back of her leg. They had never had so much skin to skin contact before. Her belly was pressed to his abdomen. His hand cupped the small of her back against her jeans, but his thumb rested on the waistband and occasionally swept up over the arc of her tattoo and then back down.
Just when she felt settled, Mulder kissed her again. It was easier and more relaxing to kiss him this way. He was a good kisser and her body responded to it, like it was supposed to. She was foolish to think there wouldn’t be foreplay involved in this venture. If they were going to have sex, he was going to have to kiss her and touch her and she would need to be open to it.
Feeling emboldened, she reached back and unhooked her bra. They didn’t even have to stop kissing for her to remove it completely and then she pressed her bare breasts against his chest. Mulder groaned into her mouth and pulled away. She took his hand, placed it onto her breast, and then let out a deep breath.
“God, Scully,” he said.
“I want you to,” she whispered.
He gave a cautious squeeze of her breast and passed his thumb lightly over her areola. Her stomach futtered with tiny pangs of arousal and she did her best not to drive them away with her thoughts. She focused on the feel of Mulder’s hand on her breast and the growing, tell-tale tightening of her nipples as he touched her.
When he put his mouth over her breast she gasped and clutched his head. Her fingers shook in his hair and she didn’t know if she wanted to pull his head up or hold him in place. It was dark and it was surreal. If she wanted to, she could take his advice and imagine George Clooney was currently tonguing his way across her chest to her other breast, or the cute cafe manager where she had brunch sometimes, or a nameless stranger she picked up in a bar.
But, no, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t close her eyes and erase the fact that Mulder was here with her, in this hotel, trying to get her pregnant. And she was mostly lying passively, letting it happen instead of participating in something that was supposed to be for her in the first place.
There was no reason for this to be so hard. She loved Mulder. She trusted him. He was gentle and attractive. He was her best friend - he was right, co-worker was offensive. It just felt unprecedented and strange.
Scully rolled away from Mulder onto her back. She tugged him with her though, wanting to feel his weight over her, wanting some sort of primal, biological urge to take charge of her body. He hovered over her, his knees on the outside of her hips and his hands pressed outside her shoulders. She ran her hands up over the muscles of his forearms and biceps, across his shoulders, over his pectorals, spread her fingers along the ridges of his abdominals.
Her hands settled into the natural grooves at his hips and she craned her head up to press her face to his chest and breathe him in. He smelled familiar. Familiar, and Mulder, and male. She pulled his hips down and had to drop her head back to the bed when he dipped his pelvis just enough that she could feel the hard length of him against her belly. She shifted her legs in restless anticipation as she grew heavy with wet heat.
Her fingers began to shake again as she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. Mulder lifted his hips out of the way and she shimmied her pants off and kicked them away from her feet. Her panties were still on, but they’d been disheveled by the removal of her pants and one side was pulled low on her hip. Mulder found her bare skin like a moth to a flame. He didn’t do more than brush his knuckles back and forth over her hip, but it was enough to quicken her breathing.
Slowly, tentatively, he traced the lace edge of her panties to her pubic bone and paused. Her lips parted and she swallowed, waiting to see what he’d do. His hand stayed still on her belly, and she realized that from his wrist to the tips of his fingers, he spanned the length of her hips. It made her feel safe in some bizarre way.
Scully lifted her hand and cupped Mulder’s elbow of the arm that was still pressed next to her shoulder. It seemed to break the spell of inertia and that’s when he slipped two fingers inside her panties. She squeezed his elbow and unconsciously pressed her hips against his hand.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” she breathed.
“You’re not quite...what can we do to get you more aroused?”
“Jesus, Mulder.”
“I’ve been reading about it and female orgasm is supposed to aid in increasing the likelihood of pregnancy. We’re not trying for mediocre here, we’re trying for...baby-making sex. So tell me what I can do.”
God, she was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see the heat in her cheeks. She closed her eyes and covered her face anyway. He wasn’t wrong. She was sufficiently aroused, but not enough to reach her full potential if they were to go ahead and just finish this now.
“You could...use your mouth,” she said.
Mulder circled his hand over her stomach once and then his lips touched her solar plexus. He hooked the waistband of her panties under his fingers at her hip. “Can I take these off?” he asked.
She nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes,” she said.
He pushed himself away from her and she tipped her hips up to help him slip her panties free. She felt Mulder kiss the side of her knee and his hair tickled the inside of her thigh. His hands were on her legs, opening her up, loosening muscles that had gone tight with trepidation. And then he was there. Mulder’s sunflower seed-loving mouth was on her and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
Scully clutched the bedspread with tight, sweaty fists. She pulled hard, straining the muscles in her neck as she grit her teeth to stay silent while his tongue performed acrobatic tricks of pure delight. She couldn’t stop the guttural whimper from escaping when he parted her folds with two fingers for better access.
“C...could you,” she stuttered.
“Hm?” he hummed.
“With your thumb again...like that…”
He pressed his thumb against her and rolled it in a tight circle. “You like it?”
“Yes!” she husked, breathing roughly. “Yes...yes…”
A shiver ran through her, starting from her toes and all the way up through her hair. There was heat and everything inside her melted and stayed liquid for a beat, then two, and became solid again. She’d gotten what she needed and it was time for the last step.
“Mulder,” she whispered.
He moved up her body at the call of his name and covered her mouth with his, though how he found her so easily in the dark, she didn’t know. His lips were slick and salty with the taste of her. The mere thought of where he’d just been brought the heavy ache back to her pelvis. She pushed his head up from hers and held his face.
“I’m ready now,” she said.
She heard the sound of his zipper and the rustle of clothes being pulled away. His body heat came down over her before he did and he settled low into the cradle of her thighs. She stroked his shoulders as he rose above her and then paused.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
She could just make out the shake of his head in the dark. “Just had a fleeting thought that I don’t have a condom,” he said.
“That wouldn’t be very helpful in this situation.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” He adjusted the position of his arms and reached down between them to guide himself to her. “I’ll go slow,” he said, nudging into her cautiously.
He was maybe a little girthier than she’d had before, and it was different without protection, but her body was pliant and ready for him, thanks to the wonders of his mouth. He moved slowly anyway, as though he expected to encounter resistance along the way. Her hips did shift a little uncomfortably when he hit the end of the line, as it were, and he stopped to give them both a chance to breathe.
She wrapped an arm around his neck and could feel the strong beat of his heart against her hand at his back. She moved first, tipping her hips down and back just a little in encouragement. He pulled back and thrust softly, working his way up to harder and faster. They fell quickly into a steady rhythm with Scully bracing her feet on the bed and pushing into every thrust. It was quiet, save for the rough panting from exertion and the wet slap of their bodies coming together.
Suddenly, Mulder changed positions and sat up a little taller, spreading his knees apart. He pushed one of Scully’s legs up towards her chest and held on to the back of her thigh. His other arm slipped under her back and pressed her hips up just a little. The change of angle was exquisite. She moaned softly in spite of herself and hooked her other leg over his hip. Her heel bounced softly against his ass with every thrust.
The angle, the pressure, the friction, all combined to build a coil of pleasure within her once more. Mulder was panting now and he was moving more heavily against her. He had to be close, but so was she. He leaned into her on one of his final thrusts and suddenly she was there, body shaking under his and he was there too, with a hoarse groan and rough pull at her hips.
He pulled out of her slowly and collapsed at her side. She eased her trembling legs down to the bed and pulled her arms up into her chest. It was cold without his heat. The bed jiggled with movement and she felt tugging behind her and then Mulder’s hand under her back.
“What’re you doing?” she murmured drowsily.
“I read that if you elevate your hips, it helps,” he answered, wiggling a pillow underneath her.
She almost laughed at all his strange little bits of information that were, at best, old wive’s tales, but lifted her hips anyway to appease him.
“Should’ve turned the bed down first,” she said. “I’m cold.”
“You want to get in my bed?”
“I just want to lay here.” She could feel their combined fluids trickling out of her and she clenched her thighs and shifted her hips up to stop it.
Mulder got off of the bed and came back with a blanket which he draped over her. “Better?” he asked.
“You can stay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Stay.”
He crawled in next to her and lay down beside her, facing her, his head close to hers. She stayed on her back, but tipped her head towards his and closed her eyes. When she woke up the next morning, the pillow under her hips was gone and she was the the little spoon to Mulder’s big spoon behind her. Her back was pressed to his chest and her head was under his chin. Her arms were drawn into her chest and his arm was over hers, holding her tight. His morning erection pressed hotly against her thigh. She lay still and listened to the quiet surf outside until Mulder stirred.
“Morning,” she rasped.
“Mm,” he answered, stretching and sliding against her like a waking cat. He nuzzled the back of her head and breathed deeply as though he were still asleep.
She probably should’ve gotten up, showered, got dressed, and let him do the same. There was a continental breakfast until ten. Checkout was at noon. They could’ve been on the road and back home by mid-afternoon. But, Mulder’s hips nudged her backside and his hand rubbed her belly.
“You wanna increase the odds?” he murmured.
“Yeah.”
She closed her eyes as Mulder touched her, exhaling softly through pursed lips as he did the thing with his thumb that seemed to work like magic. He sucked at a spot on her shoulder as she moved her hips in time with his hand.
“Mulder,” she groaned in frustration as he took his hand away and lifted her leg slightly by pulling on the inside of her thigh.
He pressed his hips firmly into her and pushed up inside her in one fluid motion. They moaned in unison and he rocked against her at a leisurely pace. She throbbed where he’d abandoned her with his touch, but his hand was now busy at her breast. Slowly, as not to call attention to herself, she let her hand wander down between her thighs and she rolled her throbbing flesh between her fingers.
Mulder pressed his teeth into her shoulder and groaned. She glanced back at him and could see him watching her in her periphery. His fingers pulled a little more roughly at her pebbled nipple and his hips pumped a little harder against hers. She turned her face away and pressed it into the bed, brows pulled together in concentration.
It took her quietly and less intensely than the night before, but still, she went over the edge with a swift intake of breath and a light shiver through her chest. Mulder circled his hips through her climax and minutes later, followed through with his own. After he fell back into a semi-conscious doze, she quietly got out of bed and brought her bag into the bathroom to get ready for the day.
They didn’t talk much on the drive home, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Sometimes, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and tried to imagine what his face had looked like in the dark when he was inside of her. Her cheeks would turn red and she would have to look out the window to cover her embarrassment. They’d managed to have sex twice that weekend and not even see each other naked.
A week later, they were in Kroner, Kansas, and she was feeling bloated, crampy, and premenstrually irritable. She started her period shortly after they got back and had to tell him it didn’t work. They tried again a second time, just before she got called up to New York on the Fellig case. It was less awkward the next time around, and they were at her place, in her bed, and he didn’t stay the night. Even if by some miracle she’d been pregnant, a gunshot wound to the abdomen three days later didn’t put the odds in her favor.
Their third try was by far the most brutal. She almost didn’t go through with it, she was still so angry with him about Cassandra Spender and Agent Fowley. He’d embarrassed her in front of The Gunmen and it had destroyed a lot of the trust in their relationship. If he hadn’t reminded her of the date, she wouldn’t have gone to him at all, but a little piece of her was adamant about not letting his stupidity stand in the way of her goals.
He had her against the bathroom door in his bedroom, her skirt hiked up around her hips and her panties still on. His mouth felt like an attack on her, not the loving, skilled way she’d known before. And still, it worked. Faster and harder than any of the other two times, it worked. She pulled his hair in her frustration because she didn’t want to like it so much.
She poured her anger out on him in the slam of her hips against his. His pants were still on and her shirt was still buttoned and he didn’t look at her. She watched herself rake her nails down his back in the mirror over his bed to get his attention and he pulled out of her to flip her over. She waited on hands and knees until he slid back into her to glance over her shoulder.
“Do you think about her when you’re fucking me?” she asked.
He pushed her away so fast that the disconnection was painful. The door to his bathroom slammed so hard the framed landscape painting above his dresser fell off the wall. She put her heels back on, left her torn panties on the floor, and walked out. Needless to say, she did not get pregnant that night.
She was still angry with him when they went undercover in Arcadia Falls, but it had waned into general annoyance. She didn’t like the case and she didn’t like the situation, but they had the X-Files back, and he was her partner again. They owed each other apologies that would never come. That’s probably why Mulder turned to someone like Karin Berquist. She wanted those days back where they could tell each other everything.
The fourth try was out of town. Pinker Rawls was dead and his son, Trevor, was safe. Even in the Spring, Mississippi was humid. Their motel rooms were connected and she let him inside when he knocked. Neither of them had an air conditioner that worked.
“I know we’re a day late,” he said, and her eyes followed a path of sweat from his temple to his neck. “But, it can’t hurt, can it?”
She left the lamp on and he pulled her into his lap, facing him. She watched his face as she led the rise and fall of her hips above him. He let his head fall back, mouth open, while she ran her hands up and down the sheen of sweat on his chest.
“Open your eyes,” she whispered. It was difficult to hold his gaze, but she wanted him to know it was her.
She knew she wasn’t pregnant before Phillip Padgett wreaked havoc in their lives. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Mulder yet. When she came to on his floor, covered in blood, he told her to lie back and be still, just in case. His hand rested warmly on her belly and he stroked her hair. She shook her head. No baby.
He was curiously quiet when it was time for the fifth try. She didn’t know what he was up to when he asked her to come to the park for a very early, very late birthday present, but it had to be something interesting. He kissed her against the backboard after the kid shagging the baseballs had gone home and all the lights went out.
“I know it’s not until tomorrow,” he said, rubbing his hips against hers. “Let’s start tonight, anyway.”
“Okay.”
He found a loose nail to hang her suede coat. Her pants fell to the ground and her legs went around his waist. She held onto him and he held onto the fence behind her. The night was full of crickets and the rustle of leaves, punctuated by the rattling of the chainlink fence, their restless moans, and whispers of encouragement.
She had high hopes for that fifth time, but it wasn’t meant to be. The sixth time was just before the man-eating fungus case in North Carolina. It was also a failure. She had been thinking of telling Mulder that she didn’t want to try anymore. Each failure was getting too heartbreaking and she thought she might need a break, but that was all put to the wayside when Mulder got himself committed again , and she was forced to make an emergency trip to Africa to save him.
They missed what could have been the seventh try because of Mulder’s brain injury, but still, touchstone or not, she wasn’t going to be able to go through the loss any longer. When he came to her on the night of her next cycle, she had to sit him down.
“I can’t do it anymore,” she said, brushing tears away from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you put it a lot of effort on my behalf-”
“It was never effort,” he said. “It wasn’t effort at all.”
“You know what I mean. I just need to face reality now. It’s not going to happen.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “What if we took away the pressure?” he asked.
“What pressure?”
“Scully, I...I like making love with you. I don’t want to stop just because you didn’t get pregnant. What if we just...kept going because we want to, not for any other reason.”
She pulled away from his embrace and wiped her face, stunned. “You’re talking about...essentially…dating.”
“Yeah. I guess, essentially, I am.”
“We...shouldn’t…”
“Just like we shouldn’t sleep together? Try to have a baby together? Why shouldn’t we, Scully? If we both want to.”
“I need to think about it.”
Why was dating Mulder harder for her to imagine than trying to have a baby with him? She tried to picture it every time he put his hand on her back. She tried to picture it every time he called her late at night and wondered what it would be like to hear him ask her what she was wearing instead of if she uploaded the autopsy report to the database. She tried to picture it on New Year’s eve when he kissed her as the ball dropped, because she knew he could kiss better than that. A lot better.
She almost said yes to him in Chicago when they were investigating the case of Henry Weems, the luckiest man alive. She had it in her mind to actually surprise him, ask him on a date, but Donnie Pfaster derailed her plans on that front and it took her awhile to recover. Unfortunately, Mulder’s mother died shortly after that, and though he had finally been free from the burden of the thirty-year search for Samantha, his grief lingered.
Everything got in the way. Full moons in LA. Virtual reality. Voodoo dolls. Cancerman…
As winter turned into spring, she grew more and more frustrated with herself, and with them. Why couldn’t they have started off like normal people? Maybe met at a bar, or a work seminar, or been introduced by a well-meaning friend at a barbeque? Why did they have to experience abductions, stolen ova, genetically altered embryos, dead children, dead sisters, infertility, awkward sex, bad sex, pain, Agent Fowley, CGB Spender, death fetishists, zombies, werewolves, etc.?
No, she didn’t want to go to England with him. She was done chasing crop circles. Her priorities felt upside down. What if she’d led a different life? Gone down a different road? Married Daniel Waterston?
She remembered looking in Mulder’s eyes as he made love to her and knowing, deep down, that it really didn’t matter if she got pregnant or not as long as he always looked at her like that and loved her like that. She remembered waking up in his arms after their first night together and wanting to feel him inside her again. She remembered walking out on him at The Gunmen’s place after he refused to acknowledge the intel she’d found on Diana and knowing that she couldn’t possibly hate him so goddamn much if she also didn’t love him so goddamn much.
It was quiet when she woke up on his couch and she rolled the kinks out of her neck and let his Navajo blanket fall to the floor. She blinked into the light of the fish tank and moved closer to look inside. The fish were sleeping. Floating aimlessly. She put her fingers against the glass. Pepper was still there, but she couldn’t find Aphrodite. No, there she was, half-hidden behind a rock. Any man who could keep fish alive for more than four years would be a wonderful father. She wished she could’ve made it possible for him, and for them.
She slipped silently into his room and undressed at the foot of his bed in a cold slice of moonlight. She knew he was awake by the sound of his breathing, too quick. He opened the sheets to her and she snuggled up against him.
“From now on, just because we want to,” she said, trailing light fingers across his bare chest.
“Gee, I don’t usually put out on the first date,” he answered, squirming as she tickled his sides.
“I hear it’s just like riding a bike.”
“Let’s find out,” he said, slinking down and pulling the covers up over their heads.
*******
As she lays in her hospital bed, the news of Mulder having gone missing still ringing in her ears, she strokes her hand across her belly under her hospital gown and stares out the window. Come back , she says to the sky with her eyes. Come back so you can see how you made the improbable possible .
The End