TITLE: Home Ec. AUTHOR: ArtemisX5 EMAIL ADDRESS: artemisx5@hotmail.com CATEGORY: SR, MSR, hopefully H, a sprinkling of A...baby, we got it all. RATING Mostly PG, but sometimes NC-17 SUMMARY: Picking up the pieces after Existence TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING. Post Existence. Some small ones for FPS, Millenium, Je Souhaite, and so on and so on... KEYWORDS: MSR, baby, Existence DISCLAIMER: Bring it on CC. I ain't got nothin' you want. I'm just playing. I'll put them back where I found them. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Shippers up, Noromos down. This story is coming very late in the post-Existence game, but I assure you that I wrote it long before the dreaded/revered season premier. Please be kind to me, I am delicate like a flower. I am also flying solo here. Betas? Editors? What strange language is this you speak? Feedback will be rubbed on my pulse points like perfume. Scully has curly hair. I'm sitting, barefoot and shirtless on Scully's bed with our newborn son sleeping on my chest; I've been to hell and heaven in the last seven days and all I can think about is the fact that I never knew that Scully has curly hair. Really curly. The kind of hair that would have earned her the nickname "moptop" or "Shirley Temple" in her childhood. Eight years I have known this woman. Nearly as many I have loved this woman, and I never knew. I have seen Scully naked, covered in goo, nearly dead, wet, dry, dressed up, dressed down, sleeping, furious, sweaty, happy...every way possible, I had thought. She's moving slowly around the room, getting dressed while her hair twists into ringlets, seemingly oblivious to my stare. I should certainly know better than that by now. "What?" she asks, without turning from her inspection of the closet that ate Manhatten. I remind myself to look for Jimmy Hoffa in there later. "Nothing," I murmur, trying not to wake William. She gives me a patented Scullylook of disbelief over one shoulder before ducking into a sweater. Satisfied, she crawls across the bed until she is close enough to stretch out, eye-level with William. His little mouth parts as we both stare at him in wonder and a little congested sigh escapes from his tiny lungs. Scully smiles at him, then turns to grace me with the same look. My heart swells against my ribcage whenever she does that. Today she looks particularly radiant with her angel-curls framing her smile. I reach out to wind one of the spirals around my finger. Her smile falters, but thankfully, she indulges me. I pull the little piece of hair to its limit and watch it spring back. It bounces off her eyebrow and she strains to see it. The effect is comical and I smile at her. She stretches her face toward William, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. I bite my lip in sheer ecstacy for this unpredictable moment of domestic bliss. How the hell did I get here? What kind of cosmic joke is this dream? I have a moment of total recall: New Year's Eve 1999. Out chasing zombies all night, and suddenly it seemed we would be ringing in the new millenium in yet another hospital. I would absolutely it all again to feel the timid quiver of Scully's lips beneath my own. She only stared at me blankly when we parted and I felt an inane quip escape my lips before I could process what she might be thinking. She drove me home in silence after that, apparently ignorant of the fact that the car was pointed toward Georgetown and not Alexandria. I took her silence as a good sign, because at least it meant I wasn't being provided with a brand-new asshole of my very own. On the other hand, she might have simply been planning the perfect verbal assault, brilliant little general that she is. The car drew to a stop and Scully finally spoke. "Come on." Her voice was impossible to decode. I slid out of the the passenger door, feeling for all the world like a bad dog about to be put down by the vet. She led me upstairs, not speaking once again. In her apartment, she gestured toward the couch absently and disappeared into her bedroom. I sat, not daring to disobey my silent partner. She returned barefoot and sans weapon, I was pleased to note. "How's the shoulder?" she asked in Dr. Scully's voice. "Okay," I answered in a rare moment of brevity. Crossing to her coat, hanging on its orderly little hook by the front door, Scully dug in her pocket for the little packet of pills I had been discharged with. She read the label, slipped them into her pants pocket and disappeared into the kitchen. I listened as she clanked around for a few minutes, anxiety growing by the second. My heart leapt into my throat when she emerged bearing two flutes of champagne. She held one out to me and I took it with noticeably shaking fingers. She cocked her head at me and a little smile pulled the corners of her mouth up. "Lighten up, Mulder. It's New Year's Eve." She clinked her glass against mine before settling onto the couch beside me. We fell into a companionable silence as we sipped out cheap champagne. I don't know what she might have been thinking, but I was certainly ruminating on the folly of finally having made the first move. Perhaps, I pondered, there is a statue of limitations for hitting on one's partner. "Mulder?" Her voice interrupted my self-flagellation. "Mmm?" I turned my head slightly to look at her. She leaned forward with eyes closed and pressed her lips to mine. I made an idiotic grunting noise before relaxing into the unexpected kiss. She pulled back abruptly, looking like the proverbial cat with the canary. "Is this something we do now?" I asked, feeling a smirk tug at my lips. "You did it to me, so I did it to you," she shrugged. "If that's the rule tonight..." I began. She answered with a secret smile. I restrained a groan of pleasure. Scully went on to a story about New Year's Eve when her father was at sea, but I couldn't listen. I was looking at her out of the corner of my eye as she twirled the stem of her champagne flute between two fingers. I wanted to pluck it from her hand, let it drop to the rug at our feet, press Scully down to the couch cushions and devour her. I had finally made the first move, and Scully had made the second. I wondered who was supposed to make the third. Scully sat forward to depose her glass and when she sat back, her hand came to rest on my knee. I pretended not to notice her hand burning my skin like hot coals. Before I knew what was happening, she had turned toward me and climbed halfway into my lap. Her mouth sought mine blindly and soon I was tasting her tongue for the first time. Her knee slid between my own, coming dangerously close to an area not generally fond of knees. I put my hand on her waist, unsure of what might be safe territory. She pressed her belly into my thumb while a puff of warm breath slipped from her mouth to mine. She pulled back, setting onto my knee. The taste of champagne and Scully's lipstick clung to my mouth. She looked flushed and wild-eyed. I tried to speak, cleared my throat and tried again. "What was that for? Presidents' Day is a few weeks away yet." "I wanted to do it before you did," she panted. Oh god. "So I don't get anything for Presidents' Day?" I asked. She considered for a moment and then sucked my lower lip between her own. No groan on earth could be contained. "And um..." I swallowed, hard, "...um, Valentine's Day is after that..." Scully licked my neck and bit down gently on the bundle of muscles there. Sweet Jesus. How long will she play along? "Scully?" I croaked. She raised her head. "Aren't you Irish?" The eyebrow went up in invitation. "I bet you really know how to celebrate St. Patrick's Day." With a quick jerk, her shirt disappeared. Holy fuck. "Mmm, I forgot Martin Luther King Day," I rasped. Scully worked my jacket off. Disappointing holiday. "And um, April Fool's Day?" I suggested. She pulled my shirt over my head, careful to avoid the injured arm. "Easter?" I asked. Her small, skilled hands settled on my belt. With a firm tug, the pick was loose from the hole. She slid the end of the leather from the buckle with agonizing slowness. I sighed with pleasure when her fingertips grazed my exposed abdomen en route to the button of my jeans. She raised her eyes to mine through a curtain of perfect red hair. She licked her lips slowly and cocked that infernal eyebrow at me. "May Day," I supplied immediately. The corner of her mouth quirked, but she unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. I felt my eyes close, and forced them open--don't miss a moment. Scully's fingers slid down my thigh to rest on her own sprawled knees. She looked at me expectantly. I opened my mouth to speak, but she shook her head slightly. "Cinco de Mayo." Each word slithered from her lips letter by letter. Shit, this woman has never been so hot. I reached for the clasp of her pants. She arched her back, letting me drink in her creamy breasts, rising from a smooth expanse of maroon satin. There is a god. "Mother's Day," I whispered, leaning forward to kiss her smooth belly. She hissed in pleasure. "Father's Day," Scully breathed. Her teeth nipped at my earlobe. "Flag Day," I said. Wrapping my good arm around her waist, I pulled her across my lap until her legs were draped over my own. Her pants slipped down in the process and I was only too happy to help them all the way off. Mmm, Flag Day is good. To my absolute delight, Scully was wearing matching panties. "The Fourth of July," she whispered, running her hand down my calf to work the laces of my boots. I toed them off as soon as she had them loose. "Labor Day," I added, yanking my socks off hastily. Scully nodded toward her wiggling toes and I repeated the action for her. "Wait!" she cried suddenly. My heart squeezed tightly in fear. She's backing out, she's backing out. Scully's in her naughties on your lap and she's backing out! She got to her feet, standing before me in all her glory. I wanted to cry for losing the feel of her body on mine. "We forgot Memorial Day." Her honey voice slid into my ears. My heart restarted. She bent forward, grasped my waistband and pulled me to my feet. When Scully eased my jeans off and her breasts grazed my throbbing erection through my boxer shorts, I wanted to sing a song in praise of Memorial Day. "Mmm, Sweetheart's Day," I recalled. Scully smirked at me, and dragged her tongue up my quivering stomach as she rose to her feet. "Secretary's Day," she growled against my sternum. My hands shook when I reached around and unhooked her bra. She clutched it against her breasts and let the straps slip down her shoulders. She bit her lower lip hesitantly. My knees actually shook she looked so fucking sexy in that moment. "And Halloween?" I asked her. Praise God, she let the bra hit the floor, and then reached for the waist band of my boxers. She slid them over my hips then drew one foot up my shin, hooked her toes in the hem of one leg and pulled the fabric to the floor. Holy shit. "Thanksgiving?" she asked, nudging me back toward the couch. I eased her panties down while she arched toward me. True redhead, I thought absently. "And St. Nicholas Day," I suggested. My naked Catholic priestess cocked her head, impressed. She knelt on the couch, straddling me, and took my breath away with another kiss. "And what's for Christmas?" she whispered in my ear, biting the lobe gently. I let my hand trail across her belly, which honestly quivered at my touch. "I don't know. What is for Christmas?" I asked. Our mouths met again and Scully rose up slightly from my lap. Sudden terror clutched my throat when I realized that we weren't playing anymore. Pleasure quickly replaced the terror as Scully took aim and slid onto my waiting erection in one swift motion. "Oh god," I gasped through gritted teeth. I had to grasp her hips to prevent her from moving even one inch and ending the whole thing instantly. When I could see straight again I looked up to find her face contorted with pleasure. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips parted while a flush of color swept up her neck to bloom roses on her cheeks. "You know we forgot some holidays along the way." I told her. "Grandparents' Day." She opened her eyes and leveled me with an intense gaze. "Arbor Day," she offered, rising up and thrusting back down again. I grunted, willing control. "Earth Day." "Veteran's Day." Thrust. "V-E Day." Thrust. "V-J Day." Thrust. "Bank Holiday." Thrust. "Are we British now Mulder?" Thrust. "Sure." Thrust. "Boxing Day." Thrust. "Umm..." Fuck. I was tapped. I twisted, settling Scully on her back, myself over her. "Umm..." I stole a couple of long strokes while I thought. She seemed to like that because suddenly she started rattling off Catholic High Holy Days. "Ash Wednesday, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday...oh, god!...Epiphany, All Saints' Day, Ascension, Immaculate Conception...oh-oh...oh God!" She fell silent with mouth open wide and I slowed to watch her ride the wave of her orgasm. There had never been anything more beautiful in my life. After, she lay panting beneath me and I kissed her face, everywhere. "Come on, let's see if there are any Chaunaka presents in the bedroom," she said, blushing. I wanted nothing more than to stay inside Scully until she called the funeral home to finally take me away, but on the other hand, I was having trouble staying on her couch. Reluctantly, I withdrew. Scully popped up and took me by the hand, leading me slowly toward her bedroom. "Mmm, is this what I get for Chaunnaka?" I asked when she was laid out on the sheets like a dessert buffet. "Did you get me anything?" she asked. I climbed onto the bed beside her, quickly resuming our previous position. We both sighed happily when I slid my still raring-to-go erection into her. "Purim," I chanted as we found our rhythm again. "Rosh Hoshanah, Yom Kippur, Passover..." "Kwaanza!" Scully interrupted suddenly, arching her back and closing her eyes. I wracked my brain, which did not want to cooperate at all. The end was coming quickly, I knew. Scully raised her knees and wrapped her legs around my waist. The change allowed me to penetrate even deeper and it was all going to be over in a few seconds. In the end, I think I became the first man to yell out "Rammadan" during orgasm. I collapsed on Scully, totally exhausted. She found my moth and kissed me until we were both asleep. The next morning, Scully was already awake and dressed when my eyes opened. She was folding laundray at the foot of the bed. "Scully," I whispered. She raised an eyebrow at me. "Awake already?" she teased. "How's your arm?" "I don't know," I answered. "How are you?" "Fine." She turned back to her laundry. It dawned on me that we were going to pretend that nothing had happened. My heart sunk. Shit. I wasn't entirely correct. The Gospel according to Scully contained a whole subset of Commandments. Thou shalt not ever mention having sex with thine partner. Thou shalt not expect to decide when and where sex will occur again; that privlage belongs only to the writer of the Commandments. Thou shall get some again if thou is patient. Thyne partner shall reveal strange sides of herself heretofore unknown to thee. Scully after sex was different than before. She was sometimes playful, even at work. She was funnier than before and she had a tendency to do things I didn't expect. If Scully was anything, she was reliable-almost predictable. Silly Scully was a whole different animal. Silly Scully was just for me though. Mostly, she remained the same. To the outside observer she was still stoic about paperwork, still the consummate professional in the field. But when no one was around, she would leave my head spinning. Once, in a meeting with Skinner, she was standing slightly behind me and she put her hand on my ass. Sheer madness. And in our much-bugged office, she once sat on my desk, knees spread around my own so I had a stunning view up her skirt. She was wearing thigh-highs and I couldn't swear she was wearing panties. I bit my lip and gave her a pleading look. She ignored me. Early in the morning, before one of our endless flights to nowhere, Scully arrived at my apartment while I was still in the shower. Without warning, her face appeared at the edge of the curtain. "Mulder, where do you keep my tea?" she asked, meeting my eyes unselfconsciously. I resisted the urge to cover my morning erection. "You used the last one the other day and I haven't been to the store." "Okay." Her face disappeared. "Sorry," I called over the sound of the spray. "No problem," she called back. The curtain opened again and Scully stepped in, nude. I was lost in my fantasy about naked, wet Scully when real, live Scully pushed herself up on her elbows and kissed me. "My mother is coming to meet William today," she said in a low voice. "Will you be here?" Her eyes told me the correct answer. I nodded. "Good," she pronounced. Finally, I could hold my tongue no longer. "You have curly hair." "Bill's coming too," she announced. I groaned, making a pouty face. "He hates me," I whined. "Maybe he'll like you better now," she suggested, running her fingertip along William's cheek. "Now that I'm unemployed and got his sister pregnant?" I asked. Scully raised a warning eyebrow at me. "Do you really want to expose William to Bill's wrath for his dad at such an early age?" William stirred, dumping a ribbon of drool on my chest. He started taking gasps of air in preparation to cry. Scully squirmed into a sitting position and scooped the squalling infant up. Within seconds, he was attached firmly to her left breast satisfying one of his three needs. Strange to see Scully with large breasts. She catches me looking and tugs her sweater down further. I remain convinced that Scully's breasts once saved my life. When my mother died, she came to me quietly and gently. I spouted my insane theories about the Consortium killing her and Amber-Lynn La Pierre and she only looked at me with her pale blue eyes inscrutable. She knew the truth about my mother, and she led me there delicately. I knew she thought I was seeking Samantha in Amber-Lynn; she was already worried about me. Then I forced her to do the autopsy on my mother even though her face told me I was killing her. She was so angry with me, but that night, she knelt before me on the floor of my dark apartment and let me cry. When the sun had finally set, we remained in total darkness. I clung to my partner like a child, weeping until we were both sweating and exhausted from my exertions. Scully pulled my shirt over my head to cool me and then took off her own, picking out each button with one hand as she stroked my hair with the other. I pressed my cheek against her bared breast, and my tears tracked dark rivers along the pale fabric of her bra. She pulled me to the floor, letting me curl my body around hers, head pillowed on her porcelain chest. I half-expected her to sing to me, but she kept her off-key voice silent. Listening to her heart beat beneath my ear, I began at last to relax. When the tears ran dry, she twisted her head to press kisses against my forehead. I kissed the soft, rounded tops of her breasts in return. It was the only time before my abduction that she let me lead. All the other times we had sex, I had to let her come to me. The next morning she was silent and subdued. When Skinner knocked on the door, I watched her take a quick inventory of both our appearances and sniff the air experimentally. I could practically hear her thoughts: would Skinner know what had conspired the night before? The AD showed no signs that he did. I could never tell if the Big Bald Guy was simply a great diplomat or just an idiot. I still wonder if he was in on the office pool: Are Spooky and the Missus doin' it? Yes, but only when she says so. Scully is humming to William while he feeds. I listen for a second and recognize the tune. "I Got Friends in Low Places, Scully?" I ask. She raises that eyebrow at me again, this time in challenge. "I never knew you were a country fan..." I venture. She starts humming something else. After a while I realize it's a pop diddy by a little blonde thing that I can never tell apart from the other little blonde thing. "You're gonna raise this kid strictly VH1 aren't you?" I ask. "I suppose you'd suggest Elvis?" she asks me in a soothing tone meant to not disturb William. "Will looks like a fan of the King to me," I venture. "It doesn't matter what the song is as long as I don't sing the words," she ignores my previous comment. "I'm sure he'd like Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog," I tease her, expecting the eyebrow and getting it. She switches the baby to her breast with a speed that awes me. I happen to glance at her left hand as she's resituating William. "Scully?" "Yes?" "Does this mean we're going steady?" The burst of tinkling laughter that follows makes me want to die so I can spend eternity with Scully's giggles in my ears. "Mulder, did I say you were the father?" she asks with a smirk. "I knew he looked like Skinner!" I pronounce, rising up to kneel nearer to her. "Look, same hair and everything!" I point to William's head. "That would certainly explain why they didn't want him," Scully muses with a giggle. Pathologists, I have discovered, have revolting senses of humor. I'm not prepared to joke about William's near-abduction yet, and I must look stricken, because she smiles at me with an apology in her eyes. I nod. "Where is the Great and Powerful Bald One?" I ask. "I would certainly have expected him to be here yelling at us for fraternizing with the opposite sex by now." "I think it's a little late for that," she counters. William finishes his after-breakfast-before-mid-morning-snack meal and Scully covers herself again, much to my disappointment. She hands William to me, realizing after the fact that she needs a cloth for her shoulder if she's going to burp him. I look at William suspiciously while she hunts around. He has already spit up on me twice and peed on me once in the past 36 hours. With a screwed up face and a squeaking cry, he looses another glob of white baby vomit on my bare shoulder. "Scully!" I holler. "Hurry up!" She comes back to the room carrying a small cloth. The smile on her face is impossible to miss as she swipes at the baby barf now running down my back at an alarming rate. I pass William off to her to find my shirt and prevent further gastric insult to my bare skin. I've been here for two days now and the grey T-shirt is starting to smell a little ripe. "I need to go back to my place," I inform her, holding up the offending garment. She twists her lips, considering. With a little exasperated sigh, she turns to her dresser and produces one of my favorite T-shirts from a drawer. "I've been looking for that!" I say, pulling it from her outstretched fingers. "How did it get here?" "You were dead, Mulder!" Scully protests. "I wanted some of your things...for William." "What else do you have, Scully?" I ask. "I don't know, Mulder. Things!" She walks out of the room quickly. Clearly, this is a touchy subject. I decide to probe further. Following her into the kitchen I ask, "Did you wear my clothes while I was gone, Scully?" "No," she answers immediately. I look at her, nodding for her to continue. She rolls her eyes, exasperated. "Mulder, shut up." "I didn't say anything, Scully. Must be your guilty conscience talking." She opens her mouth with the same deep breath that always precedes her more lengthy denials, but a knock on the front door robs me of that amusement. "Coming," she mutters and thrusts William at me. With a flick of her wrist, I am dismissed to the living room. She's nervous? "Tell your mom everything's all right," I murmur to William. He just blinks at me. "Okay," I agree. We settle into an armchair while Scully answers the door. "Dana!" Her mother's voice is instantly recognizable. "How are you, dear?" "I'm fine, mom." The words are barely out of Scully's mouth when Maggie interrupts with, "Where is my grandson?" Maggie Scully nearly takes her own daughter down in her rush through the apartment door. I raise my eyebrows at William in warning. He's already dropping back to sleep however, and remains unprepared for hurricane Grandma. "Hello, Fox," she greets me, but her eyes are riveted on the smaller of the room's occupants. "Oh my," she breathes, scooping William out of my arms. "Oh, look at you!" She continues to coo at the baby, but I have reverted my attention to the door where Bill, Jr. is hulking and looking sour as usual. Scully stands on her toes to hug him and he almost looks pleased for a second. "Come in," Scully says, pulling on his wrist. He allows her to lead him toward their mother who is now reduced to wordless gabbling. Bill, Jr. finally spies me and I feel oddly like a mosquito caught in the act. I stand, smiling tightly and holding out my hand. "Bill," I say. Scully is watching us. "Mulder," he replied. We shake hands like Reagan and Gorbachov. "So, did you finally settle on a name?" Maggie interrupts this photo-op. "William," Scully says. Maggie's eyes fill with tears. I watch Scully carefully. I don't think she gets it yet. I was fairly certain she didn't make the connection when she told me William was named after my father. "Oh, Dana, your father would be so honored," Maggie says. Scully draws her brows together in confusion. Bill, Jr. claps his sister on the shoulder. "I guess that makes him the third, huh Starbuck?" Understanding dawns in Scully's eyes. "Oh, um..." "He doesn't have the same middle name," I supply. Scully nods. "What is his middle name?" Maggie asks. She is nuzzling William's downy head. Scully looks at me. Me? I ask with my eyes. She nods almost imperceptibly. My sister's image fills my head. "Sam," I blurt out. "Samuel." "William Samuel," Maggie repeats. "Well, welcome to the family, Billy." "Will," Scully corrects, and I want to kiss her. "Hmm?" Maggie wonders. "We're calling him Will. Not Billy." As soon as 'we're' escapes her lips, Big Brother Bill perks up like a Doberman. His guard dog attention focuses directly on me. "Will?" he asks. "Yeah," I say, walking to Maggie's side. "I think he looks more like a Will." I slip my fingertip into the baby's tiny fist. "I suppose," Maggie agrees. "He's absolutely beautiful." She smiles and Scully responds with a stunning grin of her own. "Bill, are you going to bring in the things you brought for Dana?" "Sure." Bill says. "Wanna give me a hand, Mulder?" Me? Alone with Bill in the vicinity of a tire iron? No, thank you. "I need Fox here for a second, Bill." Maggie says and I want to kiss her too. Bill looks suspicious, but hold his tongue and lumbers out the door. "So, Fox, Dana. Do I get to know the truth now?" Maggie asks. Calgon, take me away. I look at Scully. She won't meet my eyes. I look at Maggie. She raises one eyebrow. Like mother, like daughter. "Dana, I'm a big girl. I can take it." "William is ours," Scully says, gesturing to me. A blush creeps up the back of her neck. "Was this a...natural pregnancy?" Maggie asks. I decide she's in on the office pool too. "Yes," Scully says. "Then why all the secrecy?" Maggie asks. "We weren't sure until he was born," I say. "He might have been...more unnatural. Or the pizza guy's." Scully smacks me in the arm. "But he's not?" Maggie looks confused. "He's just fine," Scully says, taking William from her mother. "He's just our baby." She smiles at me. "Are you going to name him Scully?" What a diplomat. "We're in negotiations," I answer. Scully looks at me in shock. I reach for William and she relinquishes him. "Don't hyphenate his names," Maggie cautions. "Just pick one." She looks at me sternly and I kiss the top of Will's head, feigning naiveté. Scully steps closer to me, and nuzzles the back of William's head. She looks tired. I push her curls away from her forehead. "You okay?" I ask. "Tired," she admits. Not fine-a major admission for my partner. "Sit," I instruct. Maggie smirks. Bill appears in the doorway once again, laden with baby gear. I look at William and wonder how such a small person could ever hope to use all of it. When Maggie and Bill, Jr. finally leave a few hours later, Scully collapses on the couch. "Thank you," she says. "For what?" I lift her feet off one cushion and sit in their place. "For staying. For being civil to Bill." She drapes on hand over her eyes. William is blessedly asleep in his bassinette, so I decide to pamper my other baby. I select one small foot and rub it with both thumbs. She groans her appreciation. "I thought it was very big of Bill not to punch me in the nose," I say. She laughs. "The whole time he was sitting on this couch, I just kept thinking about New Year's Eve last year." I grin. "Me too." The hand comes off her eyes. "Mulder?" "What?" "What are we going to call him?" "Who, Will?" "No, Frohike, Mulder." I start on the other foot. "How about we scrap the whole last name thing? He can be like Cher or Madonna." Scully stares at me. "Well, his first name is for both of our fathers, apparently." She wrinkles her nose. "His middle name is for my sister. How about we make all of his names a tribute and call him William Samuel Skinner?" She laughs. "How about Spender?" I roll my eyes. "We'll go with Kersh." "Hoo boy. I say Krycek." It's my turn to stare. We lapse into silence for a while. "Scully?" "Hmm." Her hand is back over her eyes. I stare at her, suddenly petrified. Surely this can't be happening. I can't possibly be considering this. William is less than a week old, and I can probably count the number of times Scully and I have slept together without even taking my shoes off. Well, maybe without taking her shoes off. Well, maybe without taking a third person's shoes off, but I digress. "Mulder, what?" she raises her hand again. "I was just thinking about the Falls at Arcadia..." "Mulder, we're not calling him Petrie." I grin at her unexpected humor. "No, I know that." "Then what?" "Marry me." She smiles slowly. "No." "No? Why?" "We just started going steady, Mulder, and you haven't even pinned me yet." I lunge at her. She squeals, giggling like a child. I pin her to the couch, and blow on her neck until she is shrieking with laughter and begging me to stop. "Okay! Okay! I give! Uncle!" "Now I've pinned you." I stop torturing her and she shoves me to one side. For such a small person, she really can kick some ass. I remember one night around the time I disappeared when she almost knocked me senseless. We had been working hard lately, and I hadn't seen much of her outside work when we went to California for the Gunmen to investigate the virtual reality murders. Scully, of course, kicked everyone's ass in the game and save me from Ms. Afterglo's digital clone. Humiliating? Yes. But was Scully so fucking hot in that getup that I almost took her in the virtual environment, vixen cowgirls be damned? Yes. Jesus, yes. After Phoebe and the boys rescued us from the loading bay we were left to our own devices at the locker rooms. The boys were more interested in trying to salvage the Game than they were in us. Phoebe ran off to lock her goddess in a more secure part of her computer. Scully and I stood in the hall in our battle gear both splattered with green paint. Her hair was sticking out in crazy directions. "So, didya get your ya-yas out Scully?" I asked. "I just don't get the attraction, Mulder." "Come on, Scully. You're telling me you didn't enjoy kicking some cyber-slut booty even a little?" "Mulder, I don't enjoy kicking anybody's booty. Virtual or otherwise." "Even mine?" I bit my lower lip, hoping to look cute. She leveled me with the look of death and crossed her arms. Suddenly, I felt a swift kick behind the knees and found myself staring up at the ceiling with a throbbing head. Scully's face swam into focus. She was straddling my hips, towering above me with a smirk. "You know, that was almost enjoyable." "What happened to not promoting a culture of violence, Scully?" I rubbed my head. "Must be the testosterone haze." She hunkered down and pulled my head gear off. I grabbed her by the arms and flipped us over. Our plastic breastplates clacked together. My body was pressed along the entire length of hers and she spread her knees wide so my pelvis rocked against her. My heart rate doubled. She licked her lips, nearly touching my chin with the tip of her tongue. I bent my head to kiss her. I felt her hips buck strongly and then she was flipping me. She somersaulted backward, ending up on her hands and knees while I lay groaning on the floor. "Ow." She hadn't hurt me badly, but the shock was injurious to my ego. "Had enough?" Scully panted. "You get your ya-yas out yet, Scully?" I got on my knees. "Not yet." She stood, forcing me to look up at her. She raised her eyebrow. "Get up." I did. "Now go get changed and take me back to the motel." "And will there be ya-yas at the motel?" I asked. Scully only raised her eyebrow and disappeared into the changing room. I ran to my own changing room and pulled my gear off with speed previously unknown to man. Dressing at nearly the same rate, I ran back into the hall and leaned casually against the wall. Scully emerged looking perfectly coifed once again. She tipped her head toward the control room. We fell in step, walking silently. In the control room, I told the guys that we were on our way out. They barely looked up from the screens of code before them. In an office next door, Phoebe was bent over her own keyboard. I told her to make herself available for questioning the next morning. "I'll be here," she said with a shrug. "Thank you, Scully." Scully nodded. "Do good, Phoebe." Phoebe smiled, sheepishly. "'Kay." We left FPS behind and headed for our seedy L.A. motel. It was a particularly slimy one this time and Scully's nose wrinkled when I pulled into the parking lot. I grinned at her. I left her sulking in the car when I checked us in, paying for the rooms with a bureau credit card with no small amount of glee. In the car, Scully was jabbing her finger at the radio's scan button with little enthusiasm. I brandished the key to room 10 at her. She took it like she might accept a wet tennis ball from a dog's mouth. The radio faded from a station identification blurb to a song I recognized from a CD that she sometimes played in the office during late night paper work cram sessions. Her expression brightened and I sent up a prayer of thanks to the radio gods. I circled the whitewashed building while Scully tried to resist her obvious urge to dance in her seat. I pretended not to notice. Scully looked at me soberly when I slid the car into park. I knew she wanted to hear the rest of her song, so I left the car running while I pulled our bags out of the trunk. Our rooms were adjoining, connected by a door-my favorite kind. I used my own key to open room number 9 and carried my bag into its temporary quarters. Seedy. Lovely. At least it didn't smell bad. I stepped out again and set Scully's bag in front of room 10. She was just turning off the car. I waited in the doorway of my own room, playing guard dog to her bag. She walked past me in silence, pausing to figure out how this particular brand of electronic key worked. The door opened, but Scully only used one foot to give her bag a sound shove into the room. Then she closed the door and walked back in my direction. Passing me, she grasped a fistful of shirt and led me into the room. To quote Scully, "Hoo boy." When the door closed, Scully used my shirt to yank my face down to her level. Her mouth clamped onto mine before I could even comprehend this delightful turn of events. I wrapped my arms around her little body and pulled her onto the bed. Our teeth knocked together on impact and Scully giggled. Then we were in the fight of our lives to get each other's clothes off. I nearly took off Scully's arm trying to free her from her leather jacket and she head-butted me in the chin in the process of pulling my shirt off. Laughing, though. We were laughing. Laughing and kissing each other's injuries and getting tangled up in our own pants and nearly falling on the floor and laughing about that, too. And then we were laughing and rolling together naked and kissing and making love with all the lights on and the curtains maybe not even closed all the way. And we made a terrible mess on the nasty floral motel bedspread and Scully bit me on the shoulder when she came the first time and the whole time I just kept thinking 'Oh god this is so much better than blasting the crap out of something!' and Scully yelled something unintelligible the second time she came, throwing her head back like a wild stallion. The image was too much for a visual guy like me and I followed her down the rabbit hole and we emerged in Wonderland which appeared to be papered in Scully's hair and then it occurred to me that she was probably laying on top of me with her hair in my face. I panted loudly in the silence that followed Scully's yell. When I felt sure that my voice was operable again, I asked, "How are those ya-yas of yours Scully?" "Out," she sighed. "Mulder?" Scully says, interrupting me once again. "Mmm?" "Where is your head today?" "Los Angeles." "What's it doing there?" "Getting it's ya-yas out." I close my eye, smiling at my private reverie. I hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh and open to my eyes to find Scully has once again covered her face with her hands. "What?" I ask. "When do you think it happened?" she asks. "You mean, when do I think you get pregnant?" She nods. "I've been thinking about that all day. I think it was just before we found the genie." "Why then?" "Because the timing's right. And because you didn't let me in before that." "I didn't let you in?" she demands. "Scully, you were just having sex with me before that." "And what was your part in all this?" "I was just letting the little goddess do as she pleased and enjoying every minute of it." "Mulder!" She squirms out from under my draped limbs and sits up, agitated. "I was not doing as I pleased! You were getting just as much out of it as I was. You were just as much a part of everything as I was!" "Scully, it had been up to me, I would have had you in my arms, in my bed...fuck, you'd have sat on my lap at the damn office if I'd been making the decisions that spring!" Her angry face twitches for a moment into her amused, shut-up-Mulder face. I press on. "I just sat on my hands and prayed for you to come back to me each time." "I was not like that," she protests. "And I don't believe for a minute that your hands were under your ass." The eyebrow goes up to emphasize her meaning. "Scully, you ditched me! You actually ditched me! And for Cancer Man!" The old nickname is out before I realize it. We both freeze, staring at one another around the C-word that now hangs between us. That word left our vocabulary the day the chip went back into her neck. She blinks, surprised. "I seem to recall you ditching me once or twice," she whispers. I blink at her, yes. Her eyes look like marbles I had as a kid, I realize. "We've both done some things to hurt each other," I acknowledge. Her eyes narrow. "But then something happened to you while I was in England, and then..." "I let you in," Scully finishes, tension rushing out of her shoulders and leaving her slumped. "Yeah." "And you think that's what let me get pregnant?" "Stranger things have happened, Scully." She inclines her head, mulling over my theory. After a moment, she drops her head into upraised palms. "Always an X-File, Mulder. Everything is an X-File. Why can't any part of my life be normal?" She looks over her shoulder at me. "I thought we'd finally stopped the car." "I'll build you a picket fence right here," I offer, gesturing at the floor. She laughs. "Mulder, we're never gonna get out of the car are we?" I guide her back into my arms and she tucks her legs against mine like spoons. "Scully?" "What?" "X-File or miracle, I think with William we're at least going the speed limit now." I kiss the top of her head. "And now there's a car seat in the back." She snickers. "Mulder?" "What?" "I don't think we're going steady anymore." "We're not?" "I think we're living together." "Really?" "Yeah. But apparently your stuff doesn't know that." Jesus. What a fuckin' day. "Scully?" She turns her head toward me. "Why didn't you ever tell me you have curly hair?" "Shut up, Mulder." Music to my ears. --------- END ---------