TITLE: First Response

AUTHOR: Gwinne

DISTRIBUTION: Spookys, Gossamer, Xemplary ok; otherwise, 

please ask

KEYWORDS: MSR

RATING: PG-13

SPOILERS: "Requiem"; bitty one for "Paper Hearts"

DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, there wouldn't be so many 

disgruntled fans right now.

FIRST RESPONSE

I bought it on a whim.  

Mulder and I had just gotten back from Oregon, an overly 

bumpy, early morning flight that left us both edgy and 

uneager to go back to work.  I'd spent half of it in the 

cramped restroom fighting off nausea induced by the smell 

of somebody's Egg McMuffin and my partner's coffee.  The 

other half was spent reassuring Mulder that I'd call my 

doctor as soon as we got home.  Needless to say, neither 

one of us was in any hurry to write the report that would 

no doubt put Agent Chesty "Reduce Your Vision" Short over 

edge.  We did, as predicted, waste some money: two rooms 

for three nights, though I'd slept twice in the warmth of 

Mulder's arms.  We'd each taken a cab to the airport, so we 

split at baggage claim, agreeing to meet up in the 

afternoon to talk about the report, to have dinner, to do 

what, well, lovers do.  

Under the influence of the same kind of suggestibility that 

enables my partner to find a buried child in his sleep, I 

ended up in that aisle of the grocery store that provides 

the inevitable but infuriating juxtaposition of Stay Free 

maxipads, Nonoxynyl-9, and jar after jar of Gerber's baby 

food.  I'd gone to the store for orange juice and English 

muffins and found myself standing in front of boxes of home 

pregnancy tests.

The thought had been gnawing at me for almost two days, but 

it was a leap as big as any of Mulder's, allowed only by 

association and irony.  One minute I was holding Teresa 

Hoese's baby and the next Mulder was whispering about 

motherhood and then. . . It's not a particularly difficult 

conclusion for a doctor, or a woman having regularly 

scheduled nights of unprotected sex, to make.  Dizziness, 

nausea, overwhelming fatigue.  So I tossed the "First 

Response" box into the cart, hoping that mine was right and 

knowing I was setting myself up for disappointment.  "I'm 

so sorry," the doctor had said.

* * *

When I got home, Mulder was already in my apartment, feet 

on the coffee table, guzzling yet another grande from 

Starbucks.  I dropped the grocery bag on the table and ran 

into the bathroom to throw up. 

"Scully?"

I curled up on the white tile floor and waited for it to 

stop.  It didn't, but the newfound intimacy of Mulder 

holding back my hair while I puked again made it somewhat 

easier to bear.

"I gotta lie down," I said when the world stopped spinning.

"It'll be okay."  He helped me into bed again, just as he 

did two nights ago in Oregon, shoes off and clothes on.  

"You want some tea or something?"

"Just water."

I could hear Mulder in the kitchen, opening and closing 

cabinets, filling a glass with water, getting distracted by 

the brown bag on the table.  I could hear him setting 

things on the counter, opening and closing the 

refrigerator.  They were the sounds of a family on a quiet 

afternoon.  They worked their way into my stomach and 

settled the thoughts that wouldn't stop churning.

"Scully?" He set the glass of water on the bedside table 

and sat in the crescent-shaped space at my waist.  "Scully, 

what's this for?"  He was holding up the First Response 

box.

"Crazy, huh?"

He tucked a strand of hair back behind my ears and kissed 

that spot he loves just under my left eye.  "Not as crazy 

as most of our cases."  He slid under the blanket and 

pulled me back against him, resting his chin on my 

shoulder.  "You gonna take it?"

"Maybe.  I guess for right now, I'd just like to believe."

"Me too, Scully, me too."

* * *

"I'm so sorry," Mulder said when I finally came out of the 

bathroom, red-eyed and trembling.

"It was a stupid idea.  A fantasy.  It's probably just the 

flu or maybe it's pseudocyesis.  Even chemical pregnancies 

aren't unheard of.  Maybe after everything I've been 

through. . ."  What I wasn't saying hung over our heads 

like a broken umbrella.

He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me into 

his chest.  "This isn't psychosomatic, Scully.  And it 

isn't getting better.  You need to see your doctor."  He 

rubbed my back in slow, delicious circles.

I sighed into the gray cotton of his shirt.  "Tomorrow."

* * *

"Mulder?" I could hear my voice crack with fatigue and 

disbelief when I saw him, standing at ease with Krycek and 

Marita and Skinner.  They looked as comfortable in our 

basement office as Mulder did in my bed.  I'd come to ask 

him to drive me home, to hold my hand when the doctor read 

my CAT scan like an inkblot and sent me home with amber-

colored bottles of pills.  I felt him shifting alliances as 

the ground shifted beneath my wavering feet.  I needed him 

and he was as far away as he'd ever been.

"Give us a minute?" Mulder said to the others, ushering me 

into the office with a hand on my upper arm.  Krycek's eyes 

swept over my body.  I shivered.

"We'll be in the conference room," Skinner said.

"Agent Scully." Marita's eyes were smiling but her mouth 

didn't move.  I wobbled a bit and Mulder's hand tightened 

on my arm.

"Mulder?" I leaned heavily against his desk.

"They have information about the crash in Oregon.  They 

want to help."

"Oh." I stared at my fingernails with the same attention 

I'd give a slide under a microscope.

"Scully, what's going on?"

"I just wanted. . ." I couldn't bring myself to look at 

him, my partner, my lover, my only love.

"What?" His whole body was impatient, clenching and 

unclenching his fists, tightening his jaw.  I felt a chasm 

open beneath us, pulling him down, down.

"Never mind.  It can wait."  I took a deep breath.  "It can 

wait."

He kissed me the way Ahab used to kiss Mom when he got home 

from work.  Then he walked out the door.  I opened my mouth 

to ask him to stay but no sound came out.

* * *

"Well, we've got your test results back."  I'd skipped the 

appointment with my oncologist to look at abductees' 

medical records and wound up in the emergency room, 

courtesy of the guys' Volkswagon van.

I exhaled a breath I didn't know I was holding, slowly, 

slowly.

"The dizziness is probably caused by extremely low blood 

pressure, exacerbated by anemia, so we'll get you started 

on iron pills right away.  Blood sugar was also low; you're 

going to need to stop skipping meals.  Otherwise, you 

should be feeling better in a few weeks, after the first 

trimester."

"Excuse me?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry," she chuckled, "let me back up. 

Congratulations, Dr. Scully, you're pregnant."

"But how?  I mean, I can't."  

"No doubt about it.  We ran the test twice since you told 

the admitting nurse you couldn't be pregnant."  The doctor 

kept talking, saying words like prenatal vitamins and high 

risk OB, but all I could think of was Mulder, spooned up 

behind me with his hand on my belly.  "I have you scheduled 

for an intravaginal ultrasound to make sure everything's ok 

and to check gestational age.  The baby's father is 

welcome; would you like us to call him?"

"No, thanks." I couldn't stop smiling.  "I'd like to tell 

him myself."

When the doctor closed the door behind her, I took a deep 

breath and grabbed my cell phone off the bedside table.  

Only after I hit speed dial #1 did I remember that Mulder 

was unreachable, probably circling over the plausible state 

of Oregon.  "It's me," I said, when his voice mail picked 

up.  "You're not going to believe this."

FIN

Author's note:  This was my attempt to make sense of the 

missing time in "Requiem," as well as Scully's announcement 

to Skinner, before Season Eight begins.  Does this satisfy 

your pre-season cravings?  I'm starving.  Feedback me at 

gwinne@yahoo.com