Title: Fitting in Author: Vickie Moseley Summary: post Three Words, Mulder and Scully finally have it out. Category: V, A, MSR (eventually) Rating: general Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended Author's notes: I'm still bugged about Season 8. Since Carter never managed to give us any answers to some very obvious questions, I let the characters tell us what really was going on. They're much better at it anyway! Archive: yes Feedback: Please vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Fitting in by Vickie Moseley Scully's apartment 1:15 am She didn't bother to look behind her as she opened the door and entered, taking off her coat with exaggerated care and placing it in the closet. He stalked over to the sofa and stood next to it, stiff backed, the anger still evident in his facial features as it was in his body language. "Mulder, either sit down or make yourself useful. I, for one, could use a cup of tea." He didn't look in her direction, just paced his way into the kitchen and as she lowered herself to the couch cushions, she could hear the sound of water filling her teakettle. "There's iced tea in the refrigerator," she called, but he entered the room with a bottle of beer. "Oh, yeah, I forgot that was in there." "Sam Adams. What about all those surgeon general's warnings, Scully?" he bit off with a snide glance in her direction. "It's not mine. It's -- " "Well, it definitely isn't mine. Any beer I left here would be way out of date," he continued to rant, refusing to look her way. She was way passed tired and teetering on the verge of pissed off, not a good combination. "Mulder, for God's sake, say what's on your mind," she shot back. "It's his, isn't it? You're 'above reproach' partner? Well, from where I was sitting tonight, I think you should reconsider your views on reproachable actions," he said stiffly, eyeing the small objects and pictures on her mantel. "Fine. I knew this was coming. Let's have it," she countered, sitting back further on the sofa and folding her arms across her chest. He gave the cap a vicious twist, placed the rim to his lips and chugged half the bottle, his gaze finally resting on her, daring her to object. When she didn't, a brief look of disappointment flashed in his eyes, but he leaned his elbow on the mantel and with one hand on the bottle, the other fingered a framed picture of her family, taken years before. "He set me up," Mulder said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "And I'm beginning to think in more ways than one." "Who? Doggett? Mulder -- " "Not Doggett. Kersh. This is just one more piece in the puzzle. But I have to admit, Scully, your part in this little charade really surprises me. I thought I knew you better than that." The teakettle whistled and she glared at him as he strolled into the kitchen. Gritting her teeth, she followed him into the brightly lit room. "What is that supposed to mean?" she growled as he poured hot water into her favorite mug. "Chamomile or Lemon?" he asked, digging through the little tin where she stored her tea bags. "Lemon and answer the question," she hissed. "Just what are you implying here?" He handed her the mug and then leaned back against the counter, draining the last of the beer. With impeccable aim, he tossed the bottle in the garbage and gave her a Cheshire cat grin. "Mulder, you haven't answered me," she said in a deadly calm voice. "You let them hand you this guy, this partner, and he then had complete access to every thing in the files. From what I gather, he was even in charge of finding me. No wonder you thought I was dead when you found me, Scully," he said smugly. "You son of a bitch," she hissed, coming close to tossing the tea right in his face. "You act like I just let Doggett waltz in and take over!" "Didn't you? I mean, I was gone, what, not even a week before his name starts showing up in reports on investigations." "How did you -- No, never mind. I don't want to know," Scully sneered and turned her back on him, marching back to the sofa. "You'll believe whatever you want to believe, you always have!" "So prove me wrong," Mulder said, following her this time. "I didn't think that was possible, Mulder," she said frostily. "I thought you were, how did you say it, 'right 99 percent of the time'? I certainly wouldn't want to spoil that record now with the facts." She sipped her tea, decided it wasn't what she wanted and set it down on the coffee table, resting her feet next to it. When he didn't move from his position towering over her, she looked up, prepared to do battle again. What she saw stopped her heart. "Prove me wrong, Scully," he pleaded. His eyes were so desolate, his shoulders slumped. She'd never seen him look so totally defeated. "Please, prove me wrong," he said again in a whisper. Suddenly, it all fell into place. She understood his words to her just days before. 'I have no idea where I fit in'. How could she have been so foolish to ignore what he was trying to say? Silently, she stood up and took his hand. She tugged and he started to follow, but when he realized where she was headed, he balked. "Scully, I didn't mean -- " She stopped his words with a well manicured finger to his lips. She tugged again and this time he followed willingly. When they arrived at her bedroom, he looked around, uncomfortable. He was nervous, chewing on his bottom lip. Without words, he scanned the room, looking for changes from the last time he'd been there. His gaze finally rested on a framed photograph on the bedside dresser. She smiled as she handed it to him. "I found it in one of the old files. I think I was testing the camera for film," she explained. It was a black and white photo of him, standing at a crime scene. He couldn't tell by the background what case it had been, there had been so many over the years. On this particular day, the trees were bare and his black trench coat whipped in the wind about his legs. He was staring out into the distance, thinking. His face was in profile. He probably hadn't even been aware she'd taken the picture. "Not my best side," he noted, trying to hide his sudden embarrassment. "Well, I disagree completely," she teased and took the picture to place it back next to her phone. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her pillow and pulled out some blue fabric. With trembling hand, she offered it to him. Curiosity warred with concern on his features. He took the offered fabric and shook it out, examining it. Recognition was immediate. It was his blue oxford dress shirt. "Scully, I admit to trying that trick once, but it only sets in the wrinkles," he said lightly, but his eyes told a different story. "I'm sorry. I should have taken it to the cleaners before you were released from the hospital. To tell you the truth, it's been under my pillow for so long, I forgot it was there. When you were first missing," she stopped, her voice cracking. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her next to him. "Scully, don't. I'm sorry. I'm a bastard. You don't have to do this," he said in soothing tones, pulling her to him and stroking her hair. She pushed him away, not with force, but with a steady hand. "No. You need to know. You deserve to know. Mulder, when Skinner returned and told me . . . that you had been taken . . . I was so scared. I was in the hospital and I'd just found out about this," she patted her bulging stomach. She smiled up at him. "My first thought after the doctor confirmed the tests was that I couldn't wait to tell you. To tell you that I hadn't given up on that miracle you promised me." Tenderly, she took his hand and placed it on top of hers as it rested on her stomach. "Yes, Kersh did put Doggett in charge of the team investigating your disappearance. But in the same way they made assumptions about me when I was first assigned to the X files, I feel they made assumptions about him. I don't believe he's part of the conspiracy, Mulder. You taught me enough paranoia that I don't fall for someone's act so easily. But I do believe they assumed he would act in a certain manner, ignore certain facts, and that if you were found, well, let's just say that was at best a long shot." He nodded and closed his eyes. She placed her palm against his cheek and he opened his eyes again to look at her. "I never stopped looking, Mulder. You have to believe that." "You had other things on your mind," he said, but it was a weak attempt to counter her argument. "No. My pregnancy was a constant reminder that I needed to find you. How could I be happy about this if you weren't there to share it with me?" she asked, tears again filling her eyes. One finally streaked down her cheek, hanging on her chin for a second before plunging down to land on the shirt. "So, this white residue on my shirt?" he queried with a corner of his mouth upturned. "I told you I'll get it dry cleaned," she answered, side-stepping his question. "That shirt, silly as it might sound, made me feel like you were here just for a little while. After a while, I couldn't even smell your aftershave on it anymore. Then it was just the feel of the cotton against my face. I couldn't fall asleep without it. After the funeral -- " Finally, she broke down into tears. This time when he pulled her to him, she didn't push away. She wrapped her arms around him and clung to him as if her very life depended on it. His arms encircled her and he placed soft kisses on the crown of her head. "When I woke up, I didn't know where I was. I think for a moment I thought I'd finally died," he said, his voice muffled by her hair. "I just wanted to be home so badly," he continued, a hitch in his voice that caused her heart to ache. "Mulder, don't ever think that Doggett . . . took your place. Not in the office, and certainly not in my heart," she whispered, turning her face up to place soft kisses on the fading scars on his cheek. "Skinner, the Gunmen and I never stopped looking. And then, when we found you . . ." She broke down again, sobbing openly this time. "My God, I never would have buried you if I thought -- " "Guess you needed me to counter that argument, huh?" he quipped, trying for some levity. "Mulder, I can't -- how can I live with that?" she cried in anguish. "Knowing that I put you in the ground -- " "Scully, I think -- look at the facts, Scully. You knew something. You had to, even though all the evidence pointed to my being dead. Why didn't you allow an autopsy? Why wasn't I embalmed? Hell, for that matter, what stopped you from having me cremated like Mom?" He said none of this with accusation or retribution, just gentle curiosity. Her throat was clogged with tears when she answered. "I couldn't let them touch you. And . . . and I told Skinner that you wanted a Jewish burial. I don't know, Mulder. I just -- the thought of an autopsy just terrified me." "Funny thought for a pathologist," he said with a tender smile and a raised eyebrow. "No, I mean, I just . . . I don't know why," she finished, exasperated at her own inability to put her thoughts into words. "But you saved me, Scully. If you had agreed to an autopsy, I wouldn't be sitting here. If you had let them embalm me, it would have been over." She turned her head, not wanting to dwell on the obvious, but he touched her cheek with one finger and brought her back to look at him. "For what ever reason, and it certainly wasn't some request of mine that I receive a traditional burial, you didn't let them hurt me. And you have no idea how much that means to me." She started laughing and he realized what he'd just said. "OK, beyond the obvious," he said before joining her in her laughter. It was the release they both needed. He pulled her to him again and hugged her tightly. "We're both punch drunk. You need sleep. I need to go." "Go? Where are you going?" she asked. "Back to my place. Right now, you still have a part to play. Let's let Kersh think he's won part of the battle. If I were to move in here now, whatever he has in store for me would come down on you, too. And we can't afford that," he said, rubbing her stomach with a brief smile. "Mulder -- " "Hey, I'm a phone call away. You know that. But we have to keep up appearances. Just until I can figure out what Kersh has up his sleeve. I suspect it's something big." "I will not lose you again," she said through gritted teeth. "Not possible," he replied, kissing her forehead. "You're stuck with me. Like gum on your shoe." She was not appeased, but didn't object when he pulled her to her feet and pushed her gently into the bathroom. She changed and when she returned he had the bed turned down and the lights were off in the living room and kitchen. "Hop in." "Are you going to tell me a story?" she asked with one raised eyebrow. "Did that part already. I'll get you a drink of water if you need it," he offered. "No, I just had a glass in the bathroom. I'm fine." She crawled into bed and he sat down next to her on the edge and took her hand. "We're both fine. We're all fine," he amended, rubbing her side through the blankets. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "Mulder, I know you won't really listen when I say this, but I have to say it anyway -- be careful." He smiled sadly. "I know you won't believe me when I say this, but I will be careful. I promise." He kissed her again on the cheek and rose to leave. "Hey, Mulder," she called just as he'd reached the doorway. He turned, waiting. "If I can't have you, can I at least have your shirt?" With a chuckle he stepped back to the bed and handed her the shirt. She folded it a couple of times and tucked it under her cheek, closed her eyes and smiled. He stood watching as her breathing evened out and sleep overtook her. For the first time since he'd awakened, he finally felt he was home. the end