Title: Another Gray Morning
Author: ML
Distribution: Anywhere you like, as long as you let me know
Spoilers: Requiem, minor others Rating: all ages
Classification: A, MSR
Summary: Don’t be put off by the title. Try it, I think you’ll like it.
Disclaimer: All the characters named in this story belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX. I mean no infringement, and I’m not making any money.
For Teresa, because I wrote it on her birthday.
Another Gray Morning
by ML
There is a moment each morning, between dreams and waking, when everything seems normal. The radio murmurs to itself before the alarm goes off, and she tells herself <time to get up, get ready for work, is it your turn to bring the bagels?>
It’s a remembering to a time before everything went to hell. If only she could live in these moments. The anticipation of seeing her partner in an hour or so, the innuendo-laden banter, the thrill of his touch. Even the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not he felt the same way she did, and just hid it well with his flippant comments. If she’d known how things were going to turn out, maybe she would never have given in to her desire. Mulder was even more right than he knew when he said the personal costs were too high.
They have both paid over and over again, though Scully can no longer say she has nothing to show for it. She hears the baby stirring in his crib and gets up to face another day.
After taking care of the baby, she stands at the window with her herb tea, staring out to nothing, thinking about nothing. It’s just another gray morning, a not so good morning.
The weather has been uniformly gray for what seems like months. It suits her mood. She is still recovering from the baby’s birth. She spent the last eight weeks of her pregnancy in bed, and eventually had to have a C-section. She is still sore and has some difficulty moving around. She hates feeling so helpless, it makes her want to cry with frustration. That seems to be the only emotion she’s capable of these days.
Part of her knows that she is probably suffering from post-partum depression, a normal state of affairs for many new mothers. Certainly she deserves to feel depressed under the circumstances.
She’s had her share of anger and grief over the past months. She carried on her own investigation as long as she could, until the doctor told her she was in danger of toxemia if she didn’t have complete bed rest. He recommended that anything that was causing her undue stress should be avoided. It was an impossible situation for her. It was bad enough that she could not actively participate in the hunt for Mulder, but that it should be a subject she avoid entirely was impossible. That would surely cause her more stress.
It’s the not knowing that causes her the most upset. There’s been no news, no word, nothing at all to indicate where Mulder and his fellow abductees have gone. Krycek and Marita had disappeared at about the same time as Mulder, though Scully is pretty sure they were not involved in the actual abduction. CGB Spender had been found dead not long after Mulder’s disappearance, and his nurse named Krycek and Marita as the culprits.
Her mother stayed with her the first week after she came home from the hospital. Maggie Scully had tried to convince her that she should come home with her, but Scully wouldn’t leave her apartment. “It’s the first place he’ll come to,” she insisted, and Mrs. Scully relented. As comforting as it was to have her mother near, she was relieved when she felt able to care for herself and the baby and her mother could content herself with daily calls instead. Not that she lacked for visitors, even after Maggie Scully went home.
The pattern of visits established themselves that first week. Every day, she can expect one of the Gunmen, or Skinner, or sometimes both. No one stays very long, not wanting to tire her out too much, and she tires so easily still. But they tell her what, if anything, they’ve found out. Usually there is nothing to report but they all seem anxious to reassure her that they haven’t given up.
Unlike the FBI. Skinner came personally to break the news to her that the official investigation was closed. Mulder was now officially an unsolved case. She feels sorry for Skinner, always being the bearer of bad news. She knows he is still making inquiries unofficially, and she discovered not long ago that he has been in regular contact with the Gunmen.
Right on schedule, she hears a knock on the door. She guesses it will be Frohike today; it’s his turn. Sure enough, she sees his gnomic face grinning at the peephole.
“Hi, pretty lady,” he says as he saunters in. “How’re you doing today? How’s Junior?”
Scully looks at him with affection. She likes Frohike the best of the three Gunmen, she thinks. He’s the one who seems the most affected by Mulder’s abduction. She remembers when Mulder went missing and was presumed dead in New Mexico, Frohike was the one who came to see her, knowing she needed the company as much as he did.
“Come see him.” She leads him into her bedroom, where the crib is. The baby is asleep already after his breakfast. As always, Scully’s heart crinkles up with love and sadness when she looks at him. Already she can see he will have his father’s nose and feet, and Mom said his legs were longer than average for a baby. Who knows whether he will attain his father’s height, but Scully just hopes that he grows up to be taller than she is. And that he will grow up without the pain and sadness that marked his father’s childhood.
“Brought him something,” Frohike says, and holds up a tiny tee shirt. It’s black, and it has the logo for The Magic Bullet on the front. Scully smiles a little and says thanks.
Frohike now follows her out to the kitchen and she makes him some coffee. What she wouldn’t give for a cup, strong and black and laced with cream. But she’s given up caffeine until after the baby is weaned. Decaf doesn’t appeal to her at all; she’d just rather not have any. Still, she enjoys the smell when others have it.
He sits companionably with her, telling her silly stories. Byers and Langly, when it’s their turn, nearly always refuse refreshment, and stay only long enough to see if she needs anything, and to give her the usual no news about Mulder they seem so embarrassed to admit to. She doesn’t blame them, doesn’t blame Skinner; she doesn’t even blame Mulder any more. There was a period of time when she felt very angry toward Mulder, though she knew in her heart it wasn’t his fault either. She believes They wanted him, and if he hadn’t gone to Oregon, They would have found another way to get him.
The phone rings while they sit at the kitchen table. Scully knows it’s probably either Skinner or her mother. No one else calls her any more.
It’s Byers. “Scully, is Frohike still there?” Scully hands the phone over to him.
Frohike listens for a moment. “Are you sure?” he asks. He listens a little longer. “Did you call Skinner? Well, call him now!” He hangs up the phone and looks at Scully for a long moment before he says, “A couple of abductees have turned up in Oregon. We’re not sure who yet, Byers is finding out what he can.” He reaches out to Scully, and takes her hand. It’s very unusual for Frohike to touch Scully; unlike the man he reveres, he’s always been very respectful about her personal space. “Keep your chin up, Scully. You know he’ll find his way back if he can.” He pats her hand and says goodbye.
Skinner calls on his way to the airport. “It’s not Mulder, Scully. But maybe we’ll get some idea of what’s going on from the ones who have come back.”
For the first time in a long time, Scully thinks that maybe there’s still a sun behind those clouds.
xxxxxx
The abductees start coming back in a trickle; there are so many more than could be accounted for from the one incident in Oregon. Most seemed to be returned near the place they were taken. All are interviewed upon their return, with Skinner overseeing the whole operation. God knows what the Department of Justice thought of all this, or what favors Skinner called in to make this happen. He establishes returnee centers at any location where returnees are reported. The Gunmen are in charge of informing him of new developments through their contacts with MUFON and other organizations.
Skinner personally takes charge of interviewing the returnees in Oregon. He calls Scully every day to let her know what’s happening. So far, no one can tell him anything about Mulder’s whereabouts. For most abductees, memories of their time away are vague.
Scully wants to be there in Oregon, interviewing the returnees as well. She trusts Skinner, but what if he overlooks something? She knows she can’t go. She won’t take the baby anywhere eveb remotely dangerous, and she won’t go without him. She’s stuck with the same role she’s had for some time now, waiting and hoping.
Days, then weeks pass. The number of new returnees diminishes. Not everyone is accounted for yet. Mulder is not the only one still missing. She doesn’t want to think about what this might mean, or what the sudden return of so many abductees might mean.
The brief bout of hope has worn her down. Now she gets up in the morning, feeds and changes the baby, holds him and talks to him until he’s ready to sleep again, and goes back to bed. She hasn’t the energy for anything else. The Gunmen are busier now, so she gets phone calls rather than visits from them, except for the occasional Frohike appearance. Her mother offers to come stay with her again, but she declines her offer. She has no energy for anyone but the baby. She hasn’t even energy for herself. She eats and drinks because the baby’s health could be affected otherwise.
xxxxxx
“Scully,” Skinner says. “I have some news for you. I can’t tell you over the phone. I’m coming back to DC, but it’s likely to be late. Do you mind if I come over tonight?”
“It’s fine,” she says. She doesn’t want to hope. It’s hard to believe that what Skinner has to tell her is good news. Wouldn’t he tell her right away if it is? She wanders around her apartment, picking things up at random and putting them down again. She calculates the number of hours before she can expect to see Skinner. She tends the baby, feeds him, bathes him. She holds him for a long time, inspecting his tiny hands and feet, looking into his solemn eyes, shaped so much like Mulder’s. What will he think when he finally meets his son? What will he say? Eventually the baby falls asleep and she takes him back to his crib.
She crawls into bed herself, still clothed in tee shirt and leggings. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep until after she hears what Skinner has to say. No point in getting her hopes up again, she tells herself; she’s been through this too many times before. She slips into a fitful doze.
Some time later, she is aware of a hand holding hers. Where is she? Is she in the hospital again? Is she ill? Has she been wounded? Is she dreaming? She runs over all the possible scenarios in her mind. There have been so many bedside scenes in her life. The slow return to reality, the sound of beeping monitors, the reassuring clasp of a familiar hand, maybe a thumb softly caressing her knuckles. She’s had this dream before. She wants to stay in it a little longer.
Sure enough, as soon as she begins to wake up, the feeling of his hand is gone. But now there’s something else, the rustling of sheets behind her, the dip and sag of the mattress on the empty side of the bed, and the gradual warmth and pressure of a body next to hers.
This is too cruel. She feels the tears start in her eyes again and squeeze out from under her eyelids. Why does her mind have to play such tricks on her? A long, shuddering sob wracks her body.
Incredibly, as if in response to her distress, she feels an arm snake over her waist and pull her back. A familiar whisper ruffles the hair on her neck. “Shhh….it’s okay, Scully, I’m here, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, it’s gonna be okay now.”
It’s the same voice she’s heard in her dreams for months, saying words she’s afraid she’ll never hear again. This can’t be real. It’s not really happening…
She’s really crying now, deep tearing sobs as she huddles into herself, trying to escape the phantom sensation. But it persists. A hand grasps her shoulder, tries to turn her to face what she cannot face.
“Hey Scully, aren’t you going to talk to me ever again? I’m late, I know, I’m really, *really* late, and I’m sorry, but I’m here now.” A soft kiss on the back of her neck. It *feels* like him, it sounds so like him, just the sort of nonsense he would indulge in at such a serious moment. It’s not logical, it makes no sense at all. So maybe it really *is* him after all. Very slowly, still trying to catch her breath from crying, eyes squeezed shut, she allows the hand to pull her over. She opens eyelids sticky with tears, so afraid, yet so hopeful.
It is him. It is him. It is him.
xxxxxx
In the living room, the Gunmen and Skinner sit quietly, not looking at each other. The door to the bedroom is shut. Frohike gets up and makes as if to wander toward it, but Byers grabs his arm.
Skinner stands up. “Gentlemen,” he says in his no-nonsense voice, “I think this may take a while.”
The other three nod solemnly. None of them make a move.
“What I’m saying is, we should make ourselves scarce,” he says with a little more emphasis. “I don’t think Mulder is going anywhere any time soon.” He walks to the front door and opens it, ushering the others out before going out himself and quietly shutting the door.
He stands outside the door for a moment, wiping his hand over his face. He’s beyond tired, but he feels that he has paid a debt long owed by getting Mulder back. He can wait until tomorrow for the answers. Tonight belongs to Scully.
end.
Thanks for reading! So what do you think? I’m thinking there may be more to this story…not sure yet. Do let me know what you think!
August 28, 2000