TITLE: Fall from Grace (1/1) by Aurora Vere CATEGORY: VR ARCHIVE: Gossamer and Ephemeral, yes. Spookys, yes. All others, please ask. RATING: PG SPOILERS: Vienen, Empedocles KEYWORDS: Post-ep, MSR SUMMARY: One fall from grace cannot eject a great man from paradise. FEEDBACK: Greatly appreciated at AuroraVer2@aol.com. * * * * Insubordination. Termination. Two words were all I heard in Kersh's office. I couldn't bear to hear the rest. Two words, and it's over. It's all over, and yet it's only just beginning. The torch has been passed. The newest crusader walks out of Kersh's office, right by my side, in a place that does not yet belong to him, has not belonged to him in the few months we've been partnered together. He's the new soldier for someone else's cause, a knight errant on an age-old quest not his own, one he's accepted out of a sense of half-duty. Duty to what, I'll never know. Mulder should not have taken the fall. He had nothing to do with that explosion. He'll be lucky if he ducks charges I'm sure those oil-hungry bastards will heap upon him for trespassing and destruction of private property. If it looks bad, it looks bad for the FBI. Wasn't that what was said to us years ago? What the hell did Mulder do that was so dishonorable? He saved the world, dammit, or at least postponed it from imminent annihilation. I refuse to believe he blew that rig on purpose, and if he did, he had damn good reasons for it. I had a strain of that oil in me before. I certainly wouldn't want any of it getting to anyone else. "You know he didn't do it." A string of words penetrate the hollow of my ear and swirl around for a few seconds before they finally begin to register in a sort of foggy haze. Doggett is talking to me. "Agent Scully? Are you listening?" No, I'm not listening. I can't even recall what he just said to me. "I'm sorry; what did you just say?" "I said, he didn't do it." He didn't do it. Thanks for the eyewitness account. Glad to know you failed to contribute it when Mulder's ass was on the line. "Agent Doggett, why don't you try convincing someone who can do something about the situation?" I find myself saying to him. "You don't have to convince me of anything. I already have my own opinion." "Right. You know he didn't do it." "Be that as it may, it doesn't matter now. Mulder's been fired. He's out of the Bureau. He rang his own death knell, for reasons neither one of us can explain. We can only speculate, and I'm tired of needless speculation. My opinion, just like yours, counts for absolutely nothing." "You know what counts for nothing?" Doggett says, pointing a finger at me. "Your attitude counts for nothing. It's not helping matters any. Your partner is gone and you're just willing to accept it without argument, without protest?" "Agent Doggett, I can't protest something I didn't witness. That was your job. You should've spoken up in that office and you didn't. You could've told them what happened. You could've said that the men sabotaged the rig. You could've told Kersh your theory about the black oil and what those men were infected with. Instead you just kept quiet. The blame lies with you, Agent Doggett, not with me." His face is softening, those ice blue eyes shifting focus. They're not as hard anymore, not as belligerent. They're filled with regret, with compassion, with something I haven't seen in them before when I've referred to Mulder. God help him, the man actually gives a flip about what happened. He actually cares for Mulder. "I wanted to," he says. "I really did. I couldn't. I just couldn't make the leap." I feel my face frowning in disappointment. "After seeing the black oil, after witnessing what it can do, you still can't own up to what you saw? "I can't begin to tell you how disappointed I am, Agent Doggett. Case after case of files you've memorized, researched, and investigated, and yet you still refuse to believe." "Give me something real, Agent Scully," Doggett says. "Give me something I can put in my hands, something I can experience for myself, then I'll believe. I'll at least start to believe." "I think you *have* had something real," I growl at him. "You've had several instances of something real to start you off in the right direction. You know what it is? You're just like me eight years ago. You're scared out of your mind of these cases. You're scared to believe." He's not saying anything to me. Dammit, say something. Say anything to at least tell me your response is registering in that thick-headed skull of yours. Answer me, dammit. "Just make that leap, Agent Doggett. Go back in that office and set things straight. Bring Mulder back, even if that means tarnishing your reputation. Mulder's honorable enough to do it for the good of the Files; you need to do it for him. He's no good to anyone on the outside." "He'll always be on the outside," Doggett says. "Kersh will never put him back in that basement. You can forget about it." "At least have him on the same floor," I find myself retorting with a bitter edge to my voice. Dammit, at least have him in the same building, just so I can keep up some sort of remnant fantasy of the past eight years of my life. Doggett shakes his head, almost in a halfhearted sense of defeat. No, it's not defeat; it's weariness. Fatigue. He's tired of arguing. I don't blame him. I just wish he'd hear me for a change. "Go home, Agent Scully. Get some rest. We'll talk about it tomorrow." * * * * The baby moved again. I felt it kicking just a minute ago, keeping some sort of rhythm to the music playing through the headphones stretched over my belly. It likes music. It's always responded to music, to the sounds of voices, even my off-key humming, which I wouldn't wish on the dregs of humanity. Maybe she'll be a cello player in the New York Philharmonic. Maybe he'll be a frontman for some angsty, cutting-edge rock band, something different from Mommy. God, please let it be different from Mommy. "Is it dancing yet?" Mulder's voice nearly startles me as he emerges from the kitchen, his face beaming with a smug satisfaction. "It's trying," I say, making room again for Mulder and the full- to-the-brim glasses of chocolate milk he's poured for both of us. Correction -- all *three* of us. "Next week it should be breakdancing in the womb." Mulder plops down beside me, nearly spilling the milk on my lap. "I'd pay good money to see that ultrasound." That grin is so infectious, so charming, that I can't help but grin right back. He's been so concerned about me, so protective of this baby since he's returned, that I can't help but wonder what he's thinking, what he's feeling about it. So far he hasn't said anything specific. I wish he'd just come out and ask me. I can see the Question brewing in his eyes every five minutes. I know he wants to ask; why can't he just ask it and be done with it? For a man who just lost his job, he looks like he couldn't be prouder of this moment. For some reason, it comforts me. It gives me hope. Things may have changed, but who says the best of these eight years can't be salvaged, transformed into something better? We were almost at that point, right before he left. We were almost there -- "Catch." Mulder throws something at me, and somehow I manage to catch it without dropping it. A penny. "For your thoughts," he murmurs. My flesh is warm somehow, much warmer than usual. My motherly glow is now a full-fledged blush as I watch him stare at me, his eyes like velvet, brushing into me, penetrating me with a tender look. I stammer, not sure what to say, hoping that by the end of my sentence, something coherent will slip past my lips. "I -- I was -- um, just -- " "Thinking." "Yes." Mulder interrupted my thoughts. He likes it. Sometimes I wonder if he can still read minds by the way he finishes my sentences. "So what were you thinking?" he asks me. "Nothing." I give the penny back to him as he grins again. "Scully, your eyes lit up like Christmas just a minute ago. You looked really happy. Would you mind sharing?" I stare right back at him, unflinching. "Mulder, you're distracting me." "From what?" "From the subject at hand." "I thought we'd already exhausted the subject at hand," he replies. "Kersh fired me. It's over. I'm not crying over it." "You don't seem too upset." Mulder nods just a fraction of an inch, enough to show me his agreement. "Actually, to tell you the truth, I'm relieved." I can feel myself frowning, my forehead crinkling as I lean toward him. "Why?" Mulder shrugs. "A lot of reasons. There's nothing there for me anymore." "Mulder, what are you talking about?" "I've been on an alien ship for several months, Scully," he says to me. "Even the X-Files pales in comparison." "Explain." Mulder smiles slightly, the corner of his mouth turning upward in a semi-smirk. "You know those books? 'Everything I needed to know I learned in...'?" "Yes, I know them." "Well, consider Fox Mulder's newest addition to the series. 'Everything I needed to know I learned aboard a mother ship.'" If this is Mulder's attempt at humor, it's not funny. I'm not following him at all. What did he learn on the ship? What happened to him? He hasn't spoken about it since we found him. He's resisted, for some reason, which can't be a good thing. Mulder never conceals happiness. "What did you learn, Mulder?" "Too much and not enough. That's the only way I can describe it." Mulder is sipping his milk between sentences, giving himself an adorable little milk mustache just above that upper lip which is growing thicker by the minute. "So what you're saying," I say, trying to fill in the gaping holes in his story, "is that I can't understand what you're trying to describe to me?" Mulder nods. Dammit, this is confusing. Why the hell won't he *talk* to me? It's not like I'm some complete stranger off the street. He's worked with me for eight years, dammit. I feel I deserve an explanation. "There's so much to tell, Scully. I can't just condense it all into one nice neat little sentence and expect you to understand or even identify with me. As far as I'm concerned, you'll be on maternity leave soon and me, well -- I've got nothing but time on my hands now. We've got plenty of time to catch up." Really? I assumed, based on the urgency of destroying the black oil on that rig, that time was of the essence. "Mulder, what on Earth are you going to do with yourself?" I find myself smiling. "Well, for the first week, I thought I'd just stay home and watch the NBA playoffs, eat a few pizzas and get fat." "Mulder, be serious." Mulder grins. "I am being serious." I swat him with a throw pillow. "Mulder, really. What are you going to do, now that you don't have Bureau resources? Surely you have some impetus for what you did, some reason for letting Kersh fire you. What is it?" "To chase the truth," he says, "now that I know what it is. Kersh was going to assign me to some joke of a division somewhere or perhaps even transfer me, God forbid. I couldn't handle that. I need to be chasing after what's important. "I know where to find these aliens. I know their strategy. I know what they're going to do and how they're going to do it. The X-Files are just a small part of the plan. It's too small for me now." "And it's not for me?" Mulder's eyes widen in mock surprise as he pats my distended stomach. "You'll be gone too," he said, "lest I remind you again. Someone needs to hold the fort, someone dependable like Doggett, keeping those files open, just in case we need them as a reference. That's all they are right now, though. A reference. My mind's set on bigger things." "Like saving the world." "If I can, yes. If it's not too late." I reach for his hand. "It's not too late, Mulder. We're all still standing, alive and kicking." "Yeah," he murmurs, "but for how long?" * * * * I think I'm drunk from warm chocolate milk. Must be baby fatigue, or the triptophane seeping into my bloodstream. I'm not sure which it is at this point, but I don't care. I'm not budging. Mulder has me in his arms, twisting my torso so he can wrap himself around me. It's about the only way he can hold me close with a nearly full-term baby kicking like mad in response to my racing pulse. Jesus, I wish this baby wasn't here right at this moment. I think Mulder wishes it too. I can hear it in his sighs, in the slightest of whispers he sends into my ears. "I'm sorry I left you, Scully." My heart swells from his confession. This is the first he's talked of it. "Had I known all this would happen, I would've never let them take me. I hope you understand." I pull him closer, absorbing his warmth. "I understand," I answer him, pressing my lips to his cheek and brushing them there for the briefest of seconds. Jesus, his cheek is incredibly smooth. His slight stubble only adds to the sensation. "I would've let them take you, Mulder," I hear myself murmuring against his ear. "You needed to find the truth, to take the risk on finding that truth. And as long as you've found it, as long as you know it exists, it's all that matters." "Something else matters," he says to me. What? What matters? "You and Baby weigh a little heavier on the scale, and I don't mean literally," Mulder says. "I quit today for you, for the Kid. All else is secondary." "What?" I ask, looking into his eyes. "What about -- ?" "The aliens?" Mulder grins. "Yes, I quit for them too." "Really. Which cause is more important?" "You and the Kid. Duh." Mulder chuckles lightly. Mulder wants to ask the Question again. He's been alluding to the Kid for at least five minutes. He just can't bring himself to ask me. "Whose is it, Scully?" he murmurs, throwing me completely off guard. Jesus, he asked. "I don't mean to pry or anything," he begins to ramble, "but I mean -- if you don't mind telling me -- or maybe at least giving me a hint -- " Jesus, it's eating him up. I can feel his pulse racing just as fast as mine, the once calm reserve of Fox Mulder now completely slave to his overwheming curiosity. " -- I mean, if you don't want to tell me, I understand -- if you don't even KNOW, jeez, I understand. I just need to know something. I just need to know if it was -- " "Yes, it was," I tell him with absolute certainty. "It was?" "Right before you left," I tell him softly, using the reply as an excuse to rub my lips against his stubbled cheek. "I counted back from my due date and timed it to this exact location, right here on this couch." I can feel Mulder swallowing my reply. I can't see his eyes, but I know they're widening, trying like hell to digest this information. "It was no sperm donor, Mulder. It wasn't even the pizza guy." I grin as I stare straight into those velvet eyes, blinking back tears. "It was you and me, the old-fashioned way, right here." Mulder is smiling, his face beaming with sudden happiness as the news hits him full force. The seeds of doubt are gone. He believes. "How -- how do you know?" he whispers. "I mean, how could you -- " "I've done the numbers," I tell him. "It adds up to right here, the night before you left for Oregon. There's no one else, Mulder. There's been no one else this whole time. It was you and me. It was us. It was a miracle." Mulder is laughing, that suddenly slaphappy excuse of a former partner. He's laughing uncontrollably, partly from relief, partly from the sheer joy of the moment. He makes me want to laugh along with him, but as far as I'm concerned, I can't. Someone has to be serious. His head lowers, down to my belly, his ear resting just past the headphones blaring Mozart into my womb. He's embracing all of me now, crooning something softly against my stomach. Whatever he's saying, it doesn't matter. I think it's for the baby. If it can hear music and respond, certainly it can hear a father's words. The baby kicks again. It understands, as I do. Mulder left for me. For us. It wasn't solely for his truth or his quest. It was for something more, something greater than his job could've ever given him. One fall from grace cannot eject a great man from paradise. * *FINIS* *