From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 30 Aug 2002 11:34:46 -0000 Subject: NEW: Three Words 1 of 1 post episode by Vickie Moseley Source: direct Reply To: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Title: Three Words 1 of 1 post ep Author: Vickie Moseley Spoiler: Season 8 up to and including Three Words Category: A MSR Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: I am not infringing on any copyrights. Archive: yes Comments: I swore I wouldn't do it, but I had to fill in a blank here. It doesn't change my opinion of the storyline for this episode, but it just made me sleep better at night. My first contribution to Crystalship. You guys are a crazy mixed up bunch and I already feel at home. Now that's scary! <g> Three Words (I prayed, too) By Vickie Moseley It was getting late. Scully tried to hide her yawn, but a second one snuck up fast on the first and he caught her eye. "I think somebody needs to get some sleep," Mulder said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. They'd finished dinner and had settled on his sofa. Just before she sat down, Scully had dug around in the video cabinet and pulled out a tape, plugging it into the VCR with a mysterious smile on her face. Within minutes, the Star Spangled Banner was being sung at the opening game of the last World Series. The smile Mulder gave her was worth the tears she'd cried all the way through the taping of the games. She curled up next to him and watched his face as he watched the game, each hit, each run, each out coming as a complete surprise to him even though the series had ended nearly 5 months before. But it was almost 11:30 when the last strike was called on the batter. It was just coincidence that her ears decided to equalize their pressure at exactly that same moment. Or maybe it was a pavlovian response. Game over, time for bed. It was a ritual they'd developed over the few short months when she shared his bed in this apartment, before his abduction. "You get the bathroom first," he told her and nodded toward the hallway. She would have leaned over for a kiss, but their conversation, or faux conversation of earlier in the day had left her feeling unsure. He didn't know where he fit in. If he didn't know where he fit in, how the hell was she supposed to know where _she_ fit in? She waddled down the hall to the bathroom. Closing the door, she pulled his Knicks jersey off the hook and pulled off her sweater and slacks. She had the jersey all the way over her head when she remembered. She'd basically co-opted the shirt. He'd loaned it to her once when she'd come over and complained that she was cold. Would he mind if she wore it now? Especially since her bulging girth was stretching the material beyond any hope of reshaping? She stood there a moment in total indecision. Finally, she shook her head and opened the door. He was standing in the hallway, staring at the door to his room. "Mulder, I can sleep on the . . ." She didn't even get to finish the sentence before he shot her an exasperated look. "Scully, there is no way I'm letting you sleep anywhere but in a bed. There's plenty of room. At least, there always was before," he said with a tiny spark of mischief in his eye. "I'm sure we can make room," she said dryly. If he thought twice about the jersey, he made no mention of it. That almost made her worry more, that he might be afraid to comment. She was double, even triple guessing herself now and it was about to drive her crazy. She pulled back the covers on the bed and fluffed the pillows. At least she'd had a day to come back and tidy the place a bit before bringing him home. He would never know that since the funeral she only went to her apartment to get clean clothes once a week. She'd slept in his bed every night for three months, sobbing herself to sleep, in the hopes of at least dreaming of their time together. His return was so much different than anything she'd imagined. A younger version of herself would have scoffed at her prayers. She'd never prayed to God to bring her sister back to life. She'd never even prayed to see her father back from the dead. But with Mulder, it was different. She'd prayed that she would wake up and find out that it was all a horrible mistake. How could she have even known that was exactly what had happened? But it all worked, somehow, and all her prayers were answered. Or were they? She was lying in his bed, waiting for him to come out of the bathroom, turn off the light, crawl under the comforter next to her. And then what? So far, with the exception of a kiss he'd groggily place on the crown of her head the moment he'd awoken, there'd been no physical contact to speak of. He hadn't even touched her arm or her back on the way home. Was he repulsed by her condition? Did he think, mistakenly, that she didn't want to be touched? Was he acting out of some misplaced chivalrous concept of 'courtly love' now that she was with child? He knew full well that the baby was his, that she was 6 weeks pregnant at the time of his abduction. They'd talked about it briefly at the hospital when he was trying to place events in order. What was his problem? Or was it hers? A tiny voice in the back of her mind that sounded very much like her mother asked her what she had done to reach out to him. Had she taken his hand, even if he hadn't volunteered it? Had she snuck her arm around him as they sat, not ten inches apart through an entire 9 innings of World Series play? Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move. "Right now I don't know where I fit in." In the past they had shared the role of 'aggressor' in the relationship. She couldn't even say for certain who had made the first move when they'd finally broken down the walls between them. Who crossed the Rubicon first? She just couldn't remember. But if it was like everything else in their partnership, they probably moved together, as one, as a team. How did you make a team work again after so long apart? She was almost asleep when she felt the mattress dip. "You OK?" she asked sleepily. "Yeah. Getting dressed and undressed is still a little bit of chore," he said with a deep sigh. "I'm fine. Doin' great." He said the words but he sure didn't sound convinced of them. She lay there, right on the edge of sleep but growing more awake because she could feel him so near. She could hear his breath, heard the rustle of the sheets as he moved his legs and stretched to find a comfortable spot. His hair even rasped against the pillowcase as he turned his head toward her. She expected him to say something at any moment, but after a very short while, she realized he'd fallen asleep. With tears drying on her lashes, she drifted off. She didn't even have to look at the clock to know what time it was. 2:36 am. It had been 2:36 am every night for the past three weeks. No matter when she went to bed, no matter how much water she consumed or refrained from consuming, her constricted bladder seemed to know exactly when it was 2:36 and that was when it demanded to be emptied. Sleepily, she rolled herself over and levered herself out of bed. It was becoming a major campaign just to get out of bed at night or out of most chairs during the day. Soon, she mused, she'd need a forklift. She grimly set off for the bathroom, not even bothering with the light. She'd made the trip so many times she could do it in total darkness with no problem. Finished, she tried to be quiet as she rolled herself back into bed. Finding her pillow and placing it between her knees, she attempted to find that sleepy thought she'd had just as she'd awakened. "Scully?" If his mouth had not been so close to her ear, she might have missed his breathless whisper. "Uh huh," she said, her heart skipping a beat. What was coming next, the light at the end of the tunnel or just an oncoming train? She braced herself of his next words. "When I said I didn't know where I fit, I didn't mean . . . at least I hoped . . ." He stopped for a moment and Scully could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest. He was as nervous as she was. She reached down and found his hand. Raising it to her, she pressed it against her chest, just in between her breasts. "You belong right here," she said softly. "Where you've belonged for a very long time." All movement stopped. She was expecting him to pull his hand away. Instead, he held it there, his palm flat against her breastbone, his fingers stiff. Slowly, he relaxed, but he didn't move his hand. "I have no idea what to do, Scully," he said, his voice tight and strained and in the dim light, she could see a gleam on his lashes. He was crying. Her heart broke and she let out a sob. "Mulder, things have happened, yes. Horrible things and wonderful things and we could spend the rest of our lives trying to understand them. But if there is one thing that you've taught me after all these years, it's that sometimes, you just have to accept things as they are and not try to make sense of them." He coughed out a snort. "Can I get that in writing? With witnesses?" "I'll witness it," she said encircling her arm around his shoulder and pulling him toward her. "Scully, the baby," he protested, but she would release him and he had to move or hurt her arm. "The baby is fine. Nothing can hurt the baby. Nothing you could possibly do would hurt the baby," she crooned. She cradled his head against her breast and let his tears soak the thin fabric of his shirt she wore. After a while, he placed a kiss on her chin. "Do tears stain nylon?" he asked in mock seriousness. "I hate to tell you this, Mulder, but unless you gain enough weight to play defensive lineman, you aren't going to be wearing this shirt in public again," she told him as she kissed his forehead. "Maybe, just to be sure, you should take it off before you ruin it," he said and she could see the smoky expression in his eyes. In an instant, they turned a dull brown. "Unless, well, what did you mean that I nothing I could do . . ." "We'll work it out," she told him as she wiggled out of the shirt. "I just get to be on top for a while." He smiled and rolled on his back, pulling her closer. "I like the view better that way, anyway." Several heartbreaking nights shattered in one and finally they lay curled in each other's arms. He'd retrieved the jersey and helped her pull it back on. They were drifting off to sleep again. "Scully?" She smiled this time. Her fear and uncertainty had disappeared with the drying of her tears. He was home. They were together. Her prayers had been answered. "Uh huh," she whispered, letting the yawn overtake her this time, regardless of what he would think. "I prayed, too," he said softly into her hair. "It's good to be home." The end.