***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

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A Phone Call
By shannono
shannono@iname.com


Vignette, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST

Rated G

Spoilers through Emily

Summary: A phone call from Scully worries Mulder.

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A Phone Call
By shannono


Pacing, pacing, pacing ... Fox Mulder had never been a very patient man,
and the wait for his partner to reach the basement office had him hanging
by a thread. He crossed and crisscrossed the room, waiting for the sound
of the elevator, a shadow at the door, the click, click of her heels in the
hall outside.

He halted in his travels, crossed to his desk chair, and threw himself down,
leaning back so far that he felt his equilibrium giving way. Staying at that
point, he closed his eyes and exhaled, drumming his long fingers on the
armrests as his toe kept up a restless tap, tap, tap on the hard tile floor.

He leapt from the chair again and resumed his restless pacing, his mind
flying over the past half-hour, starting from the mystical call he'd received
in his car. "Mulder, it's me," she'd said, her standard preface for any
conversation. But what followed was anything but standard for her.

"Scully, what's up," he'd said, as usual.

"Can you meet me in the office?" It was a bad connection, cell phone to
cell phone, but even so he could hear the tremor in her voice.

"Absolutely," he'd said immediately, already turning the car in that
direction. "I can be there in 10 minutes."

"See you then," she'd said, then cut the connection before he could voice
any of the dozens of questions he wanted to ask. He'd made the trip back to
headquarters in record time, taken the stairs down when the elevator was
slow in arriving -- and she wasn't here.

So he paced, sat, paced again. He didn't know quite what it was, but
something in her voice had brought back all his old fears. Was it the
cancer? His heart skipped a beat at the thought. Sure, the doctors --
Scully included -- had said it was in remission. But that was less than a
year ago, and he knew the standard window for a "cure" was five years.

Oh, God, he thought, the words rising as a prayer rather than an oath.
Please, please, don't let it be that.

With an effort, he banished the thoughts from his mind and concentrated
instead on other options. Family problems? Had something happened to
her mother or brother? Or was it work? Had she happened upon another
case that had shaken her as deeply as the deformed baby she'd autopsied
so long ago?

He nearly stumbled as his eyes misted over at the memory, standing so
close to her in the tiny room in the sheriff's office as she pulled back the
towel, her breath a gasp when she saw the tiny child. "I've never seen so
many deformities," she'd said, and the pain in her voice had touched
something deep inside him.

In a flash, he had seen her sitting in an oversized rocking chair, holding a
tiny bundle close to her, surrounded by a glow of joy and love as she fed
her child. His heart had ached at the vision, and at the idea of losing her
to it. For as strongly as he knew she wanted love and marriage and
children someday, he believed he'd never be good enough, that her love
and marriage and children would come with someone else. Not him. And
that belief left a hole in his heart.

His thoughts returned to the office and his pacing. Maybe it was something
he'd done or said -- or not done or said. Had she finally grown tired of his
unexplained absences, far-out theories, constant needling? Or was it just
him? What if she was tired of dealing with his damaged psyche?

As a psychologist himself, he'd known for years he'd be a field day as a
case study. Paranoia, obsessiveness, insomnia ... he'd touched on nearly
every abnormal behavior in the book during his lifetime. His family history
and previous work profiling serial killers didn't help. Fortunately for him,
he'd danced on the razor's blade of a nervous breakdown long enough to know
when it was time to take a step back, so he'd never quite gone over the edge.

But he'd come awfully close, especially when he came close to losing her.
Before she'd walked into his office and life five years ago, he'd been
foundering alone, with only the shaky foundation of his parents supporting
him. But in her, he had a rock to cling to, a lifeline to hold when the rest
of the world seemed to be caving in on him.

He didn't even want to think about what would happen to him if she left.

He paused long enough in his pacing to check his watch; nearly 40 minutes
now since her call. Striding back to his desk, he picked up his cell phone to
call, when he heard the elevator bell and the doors sliding open.

In three quick steps, he was at the office door, pulling it open just as she
reached it. Before she could speak, his arms were around her, drawing
her close and holding her as if they would never let her go.

He felt her tense muscles relax as she allowed herself to lean into him, her
arms sliding under his jacket and around his waist as she rested her head
on his chest. Unbidden, a sigh escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes as
he lowered his cheek to her soft hair.

They had always fit together perfectly.

They remained there, entwined in each others' arms, for what seemed like
days, until she slowly raised her head and looked up at him.

He could barely stand to meet her gaze, so afraid was he of the pain, the
anger, the hopelessness he might see there. But when he finally did look
into her eyes, what he saw nearly stopped his heart.

The love, the joy he'd seen surrounding her in that long-ago vision of her
as a mother, shone from her own misty eyes. And he realized she knew.
At that moment, he wondered how he could have believed he could keep
his feelings from her. She already knew all his deepest secrets and could
read him like a book.

Had he really thought he could hide his heart?

Before he could consider any longer, though, she extracted herself from
his arms and pulled away, and he took a step back into their office. She
walked through the door, keeping her back to him as she walked to her
chair and placed her purse on the table. He pushed the door shut behind
himself, all the fears of the previous half-hour resurfacing. He stepped
toward her, stopped, then shoved his hands deep into his pockets and
said simply, "Scully, what's wrong?"

She didn't move at first, but then he saw her shoulders sag slightly, then
shake. He was behind her in an instant, his hands on her shoulders as
he realized she was crying. Not loud sobs, but a quiet quaking.

He turned her to face him and she did not resist. She leaned into him
again, her head and hands on his chest, and he held her as she cried,
smoothing her hair and whispering softly.

Finally she took a deep breath and spoke. "Mom called," she said, her
voice still shaky. "She said Bill called her a little while ago and said ...
said Tara's pregnant again."

He looked down at the top of her head, then slid his hands back to her
shoulders and moved her a few inches away so he could look into her
face. When she would not lift her head, he lifted it for her, cupping her
face in his hands, until their eyes met again. Then he spoke.

"It's hard for you, isn't it." It was a statement, not a question, and it
brought new tears to her eyes. She nodded slowly, and he took her
in his arms again, rocking her softly. "Oh, Dana," he said, the emotion
tearing at his voice. "I'm so sorry."

She cried only a short while longer, then extracted herself from his
embrace and sat down at her desk, reaching for a tissue to dry her
eyes. They were silent, he standing in front of her, until she looked
up at him and quirked a half-smile.

"It's crazy," she said. "I love Bill, and Tara, and Matthew, and I really
want to be happy for them. But there's a part of me that can't let me
be happy."

He sank into a squat before her and reached for her hands. She allowed
him to take them, then continued talking. "I haven't told you everything,
you know," she said, watching as the questions crept into his eyes. "I
talked to Mom, at Christmas, but I've never told you."

She inhaled deeply to steady herself, then exhaled. "That was right before
Tara had Matthew, you know. And Mom could tell it was affecting me, but
she didn't know why. That's when I told her I couldn't have kids."

She paused as his eyes softened, then went on. "What I also told her
was that I hadn't realized how much I wanted kids until I knew I couldn't
have them. I thought my career was the most important thing to me, that
I didn't really care if I never had children. But then I found out I couldn't.
And seeing Tara and Bill, seeing how happy they were -- it really affected
me."

She felt rather than saw him withdraw, even before he disentangled his
hands from hers and slowly stood. She looked up at him, but he
wouldn't meet her eyes.

And then she saw the single tear run down his face, and she jumped
up, reaching for his hand again. "No, Mulder," she said, reaching to
pull his face back toward her. "Please," she said, searching his eyes.
"It's not your fault."

He pulled away again. "But it is," he said, his voice faint. "You were
taken because of me. You can't have children, because of me." He
looked at her, and the pain in his eyes tore at her. "And you lost Emily,
because of me."

She reached for him again, resisting his efforts to pull away. "Mulder,"
she said softly. "I have never, ever blamed you for anything that's
happened to me -- at least not when I was myself. I made the
conscious decision to stay with you, with the X-files. I knew it was
dangerous. My family knew it was dangerous. That's why they didn't
want me to join the FBI in the first place."

She reached to brush the tear from his cheek, and he looked back at
her. She cupped his face in her hand. "Fox William Mulder," she said.
"It is not your fault. I don't know how else to convince you."

He continued to look at her, fresh tears welling in his eyes, and finally
he spoke. "How can you say that?" he asked, his voice breaking. "How
can you continue to trust me after everything that's happened?"

She smiled softly. "If you have to ask ..." And she slid her hand to the
back of his neck and lowered his face until their foreheads touched. She
held his gaze, their eyes just inches apart, until he returned her smile,
shakily. She slid her arms around his head, lowering it to her shoulder,
and he wrapped his arms around her waist. And, for the first time in a
long time, they felt complete.

They were all they needed.

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