Marriage (19): "Not This Time" by Juliettt@aol.com (completed March 5, 1996) I began this one back in early December but didn't find what I needed to complete it until three months later while listening to a Sting song (the man is *very* inspiring). This is another Marriage story, somewhat more angst-filled than most of the others. I have often thought that the Marriage series offers a somewhat idealistic portrayal of the Mulders' married life, which isn't necessarily what I want it to be, but then, I have written mostly about the very early days of their marriage and have not gotten much further than the first year (except for a couple of select stories set further along which demanded to be written out of sequence). In this series of stories, although I will be dealing with work issues and X-files, I am more concerned with showing two very intense people loving and living with one another. Make no mistake, however: this *is* Scully and Mulder (or so I hope); I have just chosen to write about them in a setting that Chris Carter will probably never allow us to see. More's the pity. I have tried very hard, however, to keep their personalities consistent with the series, imagining how they would react in the given circumstances. Disagree with me? Tell me so -- and why. Constructive criticism (as well as constructive praise) are always welcome. I *want* to write better, and if you can help me do that I will be most appreciative. Dana Scully (Mulder), Fox Mulder and the mentioned but not seen Margaret Scully, as well as the premise of _The X-Files_, all belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, FOX Broadcasting, and Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, and Sheila Larken. The universe of the Marriage series and all of the circumstances and original characters contained within are mine, as is this story. Please ask me before using them -- or this. As always, a chronological list of the stories in the Marriage series follows the end of this installment. Please also note that I have added the preface "Marriage:" and a parenthetical number to the title, which will be the format from now on. This number refers to the posting order rather than the chronological order, and includes all stories in the Marriage series (both Engagement and Marriage stories). I have made this alteration after receiving mail from readers wanting to know which list of stories is accurate; I update the list with each new story posting, so hopefully this will allow those of you finding them out of order to find the most current list. ******************************** Marriage: "Not This Time" by Juliettt@aol.com ******************************** Fox Mulder set the bags of groceries down on the counter with a sigh of relief and shucked out of his jacket, draping it over the back of the sofa. "Scully?" he called. No answer. Must be in the back part of the house, as he had guessed when she did not appear at the door to help him with the groceries. He had just stepped out for a brief trip to the grocery store to pick up a few items they needed; Scully had not been feeling well and so he had convinced her to stay at home. He put the milk and eggs in the fridge along with the bottle of cider and arranged the fresh fruit in the large wooden bowl kept for that purpose. Bread and cereal in the pantry, along with the box of microwave popcorn that would go well with the cider that night. The other items he had bought he left on the counter. He folded the bags and stashed them in the cabinet, then stood in the kitchen with his hands on his hips and a frown creasing his forehead. Still no Scully. He was getting concerned -- perhaps she was more ill than she had let on and had lain down after he had left. He left the kitchen and headed back toward the bedroom. As he approached he could hear soft sounds emanating from their room. It sounded like Scully was crying. Filled with concern, he hurried down the hallway and looked in. She was curled up on the bed with the phone at her ear, tears streaming down her face. "Dana?" he asked worriedly. Had something happened to one of their family? Their friends? She looked at him and offered a weak smile that left his heart in his throat. She held out a hand to him and he took it, sinking to the edge of the bed beside her. "I have to go now, Mom -- Mulder's home," she said quietly. "All right. I'll talk to you later." She hung up and looked at him. His eyes were so filled with love and concern and fear that she lost her resolve and her face crumpled. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "Dana -- love, it's okay," he whispered into her hair. "It's okay." his heart screamed. "What is it, love?" he asked gently, willing himself to remain strong. "I'm not pregnant," she mumbled hoarsely into his chest. "Or not anymore. Maybe I never was. I don't know." His heart sank. They had both been so excited when she had skipped her last period, had both been so sure that they had succeeded, after several months of trying, in conceiving the baby they both wanted so badly. It had only been a few weeks, and they had not even had a chance to tell anyone about it yet. She hadn't been to the doctor -- she had made an appointment for next week. No need now, although he wondered if she would want to go in and find out for certain whether she had lost a baby or if it had just been an irregularity. It was common, they both knew, for pregnancies to terminate during the first trimester; one out of three pregnancies ended that way. But that it should happen to them, when they wanted this so badly. . . . She was still young, of course, and they had not been trying for very long. But he knew that deep down she still retained the vestiges of fear that something unspeakable had been done to her during her abduction that would come back to haunt her -- to haunt them. Every aspect of her life was now his concern, as every part of his was hers. He remembered the MUFON women who had assured Scully, several years ago now, that she would die as Betsy Hagopian was dying. Of course, as she and Mulder had later discussed, Scully had been returned with traces of branched DNA where the other women had not, which led them to believe that those who had taken her had performed different experiments altogether on her. Experiments even more frightening, perhaps, but different. They really had no idea what effect those procedures would have upon her. She could be sterile, or their child could be abnormal, or. . . . He held her tightly and rocked gently, feeling her body tremble in his arms. Tears filled his own eyes. They had both wanted this -- he had always wanted to have babies with Scully, had been ecstatic when it appeared that they had been successful in conceiving. Her arms wrapped around him and she sniffled a little. He buried his face in her hair, whispering words of love and comfort, speaking as much for himself as for her. Finally she pulled away a little and wiped her eyes. "Mulder -- I'm -- sorry I called Mom first. I just. . . ." He shook his head. "It's okay." He imagined her shock and sorrow and then dismay that he wasn't there, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Fox." He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was gazing at him with a look of fondness and sorrow. "It's not your fault you weren't here." He opened his mouth to respond but she shook her head and placed her fingers over his lips to silence him. "I told you to go on without me -- we needed the groceries. Look, it could have been worse. I could have been at the store when. . . ." She closed her eyes and tears trickled down her face. "Oh, Dana," he whispered, stroking her face. "I'm so sorry." He swallowed hard and when he spoke again the tears he was trying to hold back were audible. "You know I wanted this as much as you did. . . ." "I know," she mouthed, her eyes still closed. How could she explain what she was feeling? It had been his baby, too -- if there had been a baby. But it had been in *her* body, and the loss she felt was physical as well as emotional. She felt as though her own body had betrayed her -- betrayed them. And that was another thing. She felt somehow -- responsible. Her mind raced, searching for something -- *anything* she might have done differently to prevent this. But there was nothing. It had been too soon to go to the doctor yet, and too soon for them to do anything for her, anyway. She had always been careful about her diet and fitness. She and Mulder ran together on the weekends, took jogs in the mornings when they could. She had cut out all caffeine and alcohol as soon as she thought she might be pregnant, hadn't smoked in years, since that one horrible night during a case when some bizarre force had compelled her to smoke most of a pack of cigarettes, the first time she had smoked since she had tried it in high school, and with much the same result; she had been sick for days afterwards and had had to have her suit cleaned three times before the lingering odor of smoke had been entirely obliterated. As for stress, she wasn't far enough along that the rigors of the FBI should have made much difference. Then again, she was assuming that she had been pregnant. Perhaps she hadn't been. It might just have been another irregular period, although she hadn't had one of those in years since she began taking the Pill to control them. She had stopped taking it when they had decided to try to get pregnant, but she had been regular as clockwork for the few months since then. She didn't know whether it was worse that something might have been wrong with the baby and she had lost it or that she might not have conceived. Both possibilities had ramifications that terrified her. She took a deep, sobbing breath. "Dana?" he whispered against her hair. She tried to smile at him. "I'll be okay, I think -- I'm just so tired." He nodded and reached over to pull the covers back and helped her climb beneath them. When he stood up she reached for him. "Fox? Please don't leave." He smiled gently at her. "I wouldn't dream of it. Just taking off my shoes." He slipped them off and then slid in next to her. She held her arms out to him like a child, and for a moment his heart caught in his throat and he could hardly breathe. "Mulder?" He opened his mouth to speak but discovered he couldn't, and instead pulled her into his arms, cradling her close, enfolding her body with his. She pressed her hands against his chest and allowed herself to be cocooned in his warmth, surrounded and comforted by his scent, his heat, his love. Soon he felt her relax against him and her head lolled against his chest. He himself was drawn under by the heavy weight of mental and emotional exhaustion until he, too, slept. ****** He awoke first and looked down at the bright red head snuggled beneath his chin, the small body draped across his larger one. Sometime during their nap Dana's hand had found the front of his shirt and clutched it in a manner that reminded him of that time so many years ago after his return from New Mexico, the first time they had slept in one another's arms. And then last Christmas, too, after that horrible week of separation, they had held one another with similar desperation. She had probably partially awakened earlier -- he knew by now that when she was worried or disturbed she slept fitfully, and it always seemed to comfort her to find him close by. He knew it comforted him to have her near. Now, however, her hand had relaxed enough that he could draw away from her carefully and ease out of bed. He hated to leave her, but there was something he had to do in the kitchen before she awoke. He slid out of bed, pulling the covers back up over her shoulders to ward off the slight February chill. He would have to turn up the heat. Perhaps if she felt better later they could build that fire in the fireplace. He tiptoed across the room and turned in the doorway to look back at her. She shifted slightly, moving into the warmth he had left behind, and curled herself around his pillow, her face faintly flushed from sleep, her soft red hair tousled. At that moment he felt such a surge of sheer protectiveness as he had never known. He loved this woman with everything he was and had dedicated his life to making her happy. That -- coupled with the fact that she had quite obviously made the same commitment to him -- made him happy. He smiled softly, his eyes and heart full, and turned to go down the hallway toward the kitchen. Once there, he looked at the items on the counter and sighed. He had known it was too soon, but he hadn't been able to resist. He'd had to pick up some shampoo anyway, and all that stuff was on the same aisle. . . . He picked up the soft little green fuzzy bunny rabbit toy and gazed down at it, so small in his large hands. He had figured it to be the first of many such purchases, knowing that Scully would shake her head and laugh at him and try to make him promise not to go overboard on toys for their baby. And he would grin sheepishly and make some noncommittal response that would lead her to sigh and shake her head again, but still smiling, knowing full well that he was being evasive (better that than lying, which he would never do to her again) and reflecting aloud that it was a good thing they had that corner room. He would take her to the mall and the baby stores and they would shop for new furniture and he would insist on assembling it himself and she would laugh and remind him of how she and Melissa had had to help him and her brothers assemble their nephew's bicycle last Christmas. The next few months would be spent collecting clothes and toys and moving the bookcases out of the corner library and converting it into the nursery they had apparently both envisioned the day they first looked at the house. How long ago that seemed -- those days when his desire for children with this incredible woman was still a secret, hidden thing. It had all been so new, this freedom they had finally to say all those things they had felt for so long but never expressed in anything more tangible than darting glances and covert gazes. They had talked about children in the abstract at one time, much earlier in their partnership, but never in connection with one another, although he had felt those stirrings even then, in that dark car on stakeout, that made him long for her and for their children. And then the day had come when she had lifted those incredible blue eyes to his and said that magical word: *yes*. *Yes*, I want your children, *yes*, I will stay with you forever and watch them grow -- *yes*, I trust you with this part of me, this hope, shy and half-hidden. His eyes filled slightly. The books could stay where they were now. There would be no trips to the baby stores, no helping Dana choose maternity clothes that were professional enough for work, no more teasing banter with clerks like the one who had grinned at him knowingly when she scanned his purchases at the grocery store earlier that evening. Not now. And maybe never. He bit his lip, hurting for Dana even more than for himself. How must she feel? She had been the one waking every morning to the knowledge -- or at least the belief -- that she was carrying their baby in her body. Her loss was physical as well as emotional -- if it hurt him this badly, how must she feel? He would take care of her -- he always had, even when she protested she didn't need his coddling. It had taken her a long time to realize that he did it not because he considered her weak but because he loved her. He remembered the look of appraisal and sudden understanding she had given him years ago when he had made one of his caring little gestures and she had finally gotten the message. Her eyes had met his and something had clicked and she had never again said anything about his general hovering. They had never spoken of it, but the understanding had been there, an undercurrent they had acknowledged tacitly and then pushed away somewhere with all the other things that they would deal with in the future. He had sworn before God and a churchful of witnesses to love her in good times and in bad. They had had so many good times already, and would again, but this was one of the bad times, and they needed one another more than ever now. Despite his sorrow his heart thrilled to the realization that she needed him -- him, and he could give her what she needed. And maybe somehow, something positive could actually come out of this: he could show her the true measure of himself, that he would be there, that she could count on him even when life was not easy. He would cherish and comfort her and let her know, in words and actions, how much he loved her, and then when it was time, they would try again. He wasn't exactly sure how to accomplish all of this, but he would figure it out, and if they couldn't do it alone he would find someone to help them. For now, however, he believed that loving Dana Scully entailed finding a place to hide the little plush rabbit where she would not see it and be hurt by it. He stiffened slightly when he felt two arms encircle his waist and a small form press itself against his back. ***** "Mulder?" she murmured. "I didn't mean to wake you." "That's okay. I wouldn't sleep tonight." She doubted she would sleep all that well in any case. They hadn't been napping long enough to slip into REM sleep, but she was somewhat anxious about her dreams tonight. It wouldn't do for her to go into work on Monday morning looking as badly as she felt -- she didn't want to have to answer any questions, and if someone suggested. . . . She sighed. Her nap had actually helped a little -- rest always seemed to put things into perspective for her, and nothing ever looked quite so bleak after a few hours' sleep. No, that wasn't entirely true. That awful time years ago after New Mexico she had hated waking up every morning, feeling so empty inside, believing that Fox was dead -- he had just been "Mulder" then -- no, not "just" -- there was no "just" where Mulder was concerned. She had awakened morning after morning, each day taking her farther and farther away from those last days with him and farther and farther from the possibility that he was still alive, that it was all just a horrible mistake, that her cel phone would ring and she would pick it up and hear his beloved voice saying "Hey, Scully," the way he always did. She remembered how it had felt finally to give in to tears of delayed sorrow and newfound relief in his arms that first time after his return, how safe she had felt there now that her world had been restored, safer than she had felt since her childhood years before the world had become such a terrifying and unpredictable place where friends and foes swapped places as frequently as the next administrative change or even the next case. From then on her nights and mornings had never held quite the same terror for her again; even when they were arguing or alienated somehow, even when she feared she might lose him to another job, another partner, another woman -- as long as she knew he was alive and safe, she belonged to herself. Well, not *entirely* to herself. Perhaps, she had finally admitted, she had not for quite some time. But then she had discovered that she owned a piece of him that more than made up the difference. And that knowledge was another unspoken yet tacit understanding that had woven its way through the undercurrents of their relationship for years until it had finally been brought to the surface by Walter Skinner's blessed interference. They had been married nine months now and. . . . Nine months. Had she gotten pregnant on their honeymoon they would have their baby by now. If they could have a baby. Suddenly she noticed the small object in her husband's hand and her mouth went dry. She reached around him for it. His shoulders slumped a little and he uncurled his fingers, allowing her to take it. She felt him turn around to face her as she stared down at the small toy, a faint smile curving her lips even as her eyes filled again. "Dana." His voice was strained and she looked up into hazel eyes so filled with sorrow and love and regret that she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, still clutching the bunny in her hand. "I'm sorry." She knew he wasn't just talking about the baby, and leaned back to meet his gaze. "For what?" "I didn't mean to hurt you." Oh. She shook her head. "Mulder -- this doesn't hurt me." "No?" "No. I mean, I'm sorry that you're disappointed. But I'm glad you're as disappointed as I am." She glanced up almost shyly. "Does that make any sense?" He nodded. "Scully -- I wanted this -- I wanted our baby so much. . . ." He trailed off, swallowing convulsively. "I've been trying to think what we could have done -- what I could have done. . . ." "Shh." She leaned up and kissed him gently. "Me, too. But we won't know anything until I have my appointment on Wednesday." He eyed her seriously. "Are you sure you want to go through with it?" She nodded. "I have to know, Mulder," she whispered. "I have to know if this was just a freak thing or if. . . ." He pulled her close again. "It'll be okay, love. We'll -- try again, whenever you're ready." Her doubts resurfaced again with a little pang of fear. "What if I can't. . . ." He pulled away enough to look down at her and spoke firmly. "*We*. If *we* can't, we'll -- we'll deal with that when, and *if*, it becomes a reality. We're partners in this, Scully, just like we are in everything. I love you. This doesn't change that -- and if we can't have children, that won't change things, either. Or if we *do*, that won't change the fact that I love you. I'll just love you in different ways -- as the mother of our children as well as as my wife, my partner, my best friend. The person I trust with everything I am -- all my vulnerabilites and strengths. But I won't love you any less." Her smile was watery but beautiful. "I don't know how I could possibly love you any more than I do right at this moment, Fox Mulder. You're a wonderful husband. You'd make a wonderful father." Something that shone in her eyes made him hesitate. "Dana. . . ." "I need you." She dropped her gaze, suddenly vulnerable. "Unless you don't want. . . ." He swallowed. "But I do," he assured her. Her eyes lifted to his and she smiled, then took his hand and led him back to the bedroom once more. Each loving was different, she reflected as their hands and mouths stroked and caressed in the comforting dark. It varied with their moods -- sometimes wild and hungry, sometimes teasing and playful, at times almost unbearably erotic and slow, and at times, like now, so gentle and tender it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She had discovered in Fox Mulder a man of infinite passion and compassion, and he had shown her within herself a Dana Scully she had never been before. Their lovemaking was invariably satisfying physically, but even greater than the visceral sensations they aroused in one another was the sense of renewed connection and commitment. He not only touched her physically in ways she had never been touched before, made her feel things she had never felt before, but he touched her spiritually in places within her mind and heart she had not even known existed. She closed her eyes, sensing rather than hearing the words of love and desire he whispered against her hair, her face. He had always considered her the strong one, the rational one, in this partnership, but since their marriage she had discovered that she was weak in so many ways. Perhaps that weakness had always been there; it was just that she had never before trusted anyone enough to allow herself to be vulnerable. He gave her his strength in those times, as she lent him hers when he needed it. Together, they were stronger. And with Mulder she could be vulnerable; she didn't have to hide her weakness -- or anything else -- from him . . . as if she could. They had gotten so good at reading one another during their years of partnership, and that awareness had only intensified since their marriage. At times like this they were laid bare -- spiritually as well as physically naked. Vulnerable to hurt. Completely trusting. She felt a heavy warmth creeping through her limbs as the physical and emotional pleasure spread, and smiled against his shoulder. For some reason she found herself remembering the words from a favorite song she had always secretly thought described her relationship with Mulder to a T: Sister moon will be my guide Give me the blue, blue shadows and I would hide All good people asleep tonight I'm all by myself in your silver light I would gaze at your face the whole night through I'd go out of my mind but for you. I'd go out of my mind but for you. Lying in a mother's arms The primal root of a woman's charms I'm a stranger to the sun, my eyes are too weak How cold is the heart when it's warmth that you seek Watch every night -- you don't care what I do I'd go out of my mind but for you. I'd go out of my mind but for you. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun My hunger for her explains everything I've done To howl at the moon the whole night through And they really don't care if I do I'd go out of my mind but for you. He had always claimed that she was his anchor to reality, but in truth, he kept her sane. Except when he was driving her insane. Like now. . . . Afterwards, though, it was he who wept as she held him, comforted and comforting. And she knew, inexplicably, that it would be all right. She believed him when he said that he would not love her any less if this particular dream never came to fruition. She still prayed it would -- that the incredible love they shared would take physical form, that they would have a child -- children -- with whom to share that love. Maybe not this time, but someday. . . . But she didn't know how she could love him any more than she already did. She was full to bursting with her love for him, cradling him now in the still darkness, feeling the damp of his tears against her mouth, his gentle trembling. It would be all right. No, it *was* all right. And that night, despite her expectations to the contrary, she did not even awaken. She had sought warmth and found it in his heart. *END* "Sister Moon" copyright 1987 by Sting and A&M. The Marriage Series: (ENGAGEMENT STORIES) "The Gordian Knot" [*] "Start Spreadin' the News" (1-?) [*] "The Talk" [*] "Rings" [*] "Longing" "Lingerie" [*] -------------------------------------------- (MARRIAGE STORIES) "Epithalamion" "Wonders Wrought" (2 parts) "The Last of the Chambord" "Waking" "On the Road" "Happiness" "Girls' Day Out" "Old Habits Die Hard" "Watching the Storm" "The Madness of an Hour" "A Heart-to-Heart" "Not This Time" "Life Changes" (2 parts) "Mother's Day" [*] "Nursemaid" [*] "Success" "Cherish" "Childhood Lullabies" [*] "Everything I Want for Christmas" [*] "Lullaby For a New Generation" "Lipstick" "Room Service" "A Need For Comfort" [*] [*] These stories are still in the editing process (final titles may be changed when posted); the others may be found on the world wide web and ftp sites. The addy of Vincent's wonderful archive is gossamer.eng.ohio-state.edu. -30-