"Closet of Eternal Sorrow", part four
Fox Mulder was heavily engrossed in a documentary dealing with the American government appointing leaders in other countries but making it appear as if they were elected by their countrymen. As he watched the program, he kept jotting down names of various key people whom he believed to be such appointees. He gave his note a satisfactory smirk. He knew he was right. Then his elation dissipated as he realized that it didn't really matter as he was powerless and he truly didn't count anymore.
He was about to pause the video when a loud thump made him dart from the chair. His headphones slammed to the ground as they tore off from his head. What the hell?
As he got his bearings, he managed to catch a glimpse of what he realized was a scrub-clad Scully making a dash for the bathroom. She hurried inside and slammed the door behind her.
Mulder's heart was still racing. He shook his head and then stared dumbfounded at the bathroom door.
He checked his watch; she was early. Two days in a row.
Something was wrong.
He thought that yesterday was just a glitch. She could have had a very bad day at work. True, he assumed she probably had many such days but she usually didn't bring her baggage home. He didn't know what had changed yesterday. He didn't ask her and she chose to remain a clamshell. Then her terrified cries at night woke him up. He cringed at the recollection. She was whimpering in her sleep, then she seemed to be gasping for air and her arms were all over the place as if she was fighting an invisible assailant. Before he got the chance to wake her up, though, she did it on her own and as she opened her rattled blue eyes, she caught him gawking at her. So of course, instead of comforting her, he chose to be an ass. He turned around and feigned sleeping, but he didn't sleep and he knew she was wide awake. She kept tossing and turning and sighing. He knew that at some point she did fall back to sleep. The rhythm of her breathing had turned shallow and steady. Only then was he able to dose off.
She seemed to go back to her 'normal' self in the morning. She hardly paid any attention to him as she flew out of the house, mumbling something about some bullshit surgery, so he figured she was probably OK and he moved on with his regular schedule, but now she was home early and once again he could hear muffled gagging sounds coming from their bathroom. Then a crazy thought popped into his head. Could Scully be... pregnant?!
He slapped his face. Oh my god! No. No way! But what if… after all they'd been having sex on a regular basis and it was unprotected sex and they did have a child together, so essentially it was possible. Then he thought to himself that William was a fluke. He shouldn't have happened. Scully was barren. They'd been practicing sex for a few years and so far they'd never produced a brother or a sister to William. But if William came to be, maybe it was possible and since nothing had come out of him having sexual intercourse with her, then maybe he was the problem? Maybe she couldn't have children with him anymore, but possibly she could have them with somebody else? Was Scully having an affair? Maybe that's why she'd become so cold and distant? But this meant she wasn't practicing safe sex with whomever she was romping around the sheets with. Mulder shook his head. Scully would never do that now, would she? Maybe he didn't know her quite as well as he thought he did?
His thought process was on a roll, and with the aid of his paranoid tendencies, he was building an entire theory around Scully's current physical and mental status. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Scully was indeed pregnant. He made a check list in his head:
- She was tired
- She was moody
- She obviously had nausea since she was vomiting
- She had nightmares that also fit in with pregnancy
This was both incredible and terrible at the same time. Mulder was beside himself. But what if this wasn't his child? And anyway, this was all a fantasy right now. He still had no confirmation.
He was so immersed in thought that he was taken aback when the bathroom door opened. He stood there facing a very haggard-looking Scully and unable to move. He blinked at her. He wanted to ask her that big question now hanging in the air, but he was lost for words. He had no idea how to approach the subject.
Scully on the other hand almost bumped into him and when he didn't budge she looked up at him with querying eyes. Mulder now noticed they were bloodshot. So she wasn't only heaving her guts out, she'd also been crying. Again, he added as an afterthought. Without intending to, he found his gaze traveling down her body and ending at her waist line. It was slender as ever. But of course, he was ahead of himself. If she was indeed with a bun in the oven, that bun was still but a tiny speck of dust.
"Mulder?" Scully's hoarseness was all too evident and he thought he heard something else in her voice. He couldn't quite pin-point it.
"Huh?"
"Do you mind?"
He finally understood. "Sorry," he apologized as he got out of her way.
He followed her with his gaze, noting how she was dragging herself with disheartened fashion to their bedroom. He tinkered with the idea of following her, then decided against it. It was bad enough that he was once again caught in the act of stalking her; he had a strong suspicion that he'd get shoes hurled at him if he trailed after her at that very moment.
But he didn't know what else to do. She seemed… down. Were pregnant women depressed? He wasn't around during the early stages of Scully's pregnancy the last time, and when he returned from the dead, she was reaching full term and seemed fine to him. But maybe he had so much going on himself, he wasn't paying as much attention as he should have.
Unsure of his next move, Fox Mulder just stood in the middle of the hallway, waiting for Scully to emerge from their bedroom and hoping that once she did that, he would have come up with a plan.
So if it was a plan, he probably had to think it through. Yes. That was a good idea; like he used to do in the old days, back when he actually did something with his life. This meant that he first had to figure out his options. Well, not exactly his options but more the possible scenarios at hand.
Scenario A: Scully was having an affair and was careless enough to get pregnant. He rubbed his forehead as he thought about it and grimaced. Scully stood by him for so long. She did have the eye for other men here and there but in the end, it was Fox William Mulder who won her over. They got along so well. Truly a Ying and Yang relationship, or opposites attract or whatever other cliché' one could pin on their partnership. They just fit in well. Or did they really? Because that was then. What they had now was worse than a couple married with kids. There wasn't much they had in common, aside from sharing a past and a home together, but was that enough to keep a relationship from falling apart?
Maybe once they'd stopped their search for the truth and settled into this… cozy… life of theirs, and everyday mundane routine took over, she'd just lost interest in him. Maybe she just came home every day out of habit and the sex they were having was just pity sex? Did she feel so sorry for him that she wasn't able to tell him that she didn't want to be around him anymore? That notion made him shudder. He wouldn't want her to hang around if she didn't truly want to.
And if she was having somebody else's baby, would he want to help her raise said child? He could barely take care of himself. Why on Earth would he want to take care of the result of Scully's copulation with her disembodied sex partner? And of course it could be worse; she might choose to move out altogether and build a new home for herself with her new lover.
He shook his head. No. No. No. This was all wrong. He refused to believe it. Maybe Scully was pregnant but he couldn't accept her having an affair behind his back, or staying with him out of pity. She was better than that. He had to give her some credit. If she had indeed lost her interest, he trusted her to tell him, and he felt his conviction was just. There were certain things that never changed. Scully was loyal and she wouldn't hurt him like this. Maybe they were having problems. Well, not maybe. They were. There was no doubt there, but it was something else, he was sure of it.
So, he scratched scenario A and moved on to B: Scully was pregnant with his offspring. OK. He could live with that. He just hoped it wouldn't be another mutant baby this time. Or did he really? If he had been around back then, would he have let Scully give William up? He knew he wouldn't. It's not that he resented Scully's actions at the time. She did what she had to do as a mother and only a mother who truly loved her child would be as brave as she was and think about her child's future and not about herself. It was the most amazing selfless act a person could have done, and he knew he would have never been able to do so. He was glad he wasn't around when that decision had to be made. He would have surely prevented it from happening and he had a feeling that this would have cost more than one precious life.
So let's say she is pregnant with another 'special' child. What then? Do they give that second child up for adoption, too? Do they keep it? Scully was constantly feeling the loss of William. Constantly. It had affected her terribly. He didn't know what the best option would be. He guessed Scully would probably know.
But, the question remained: Was Scully actually pregnant? So on to scenario C: Scully isn't pregnant, but something else is wrong. She was moody, tired, nauseous and secretive. It could be any number of things: A problem at work, a mental breakdown or maybe even a health issue? The final thought made him shiver. What if? OK, now he had to figure out what was wrong with her, but how will he get her to play along?
Think Mulder! He ordered himself. He needed a ploy; something to get Scully comfortable enough so she might divulge her most inner feelings to him. Right Mulder, he chided himself, just smile at her and she will pop open like a corn kernel on a stove. Now he was feeling sorry for himself. Oh fuck it! He had to stop standing there like an idiot. He had to do something. He used to be an all-action kind of man. Now all that was left was this sad sorry act. Well, enough of this. Think! OK, Scully was obviously under the weather and somewhat sick. Right. He could make her something to eat. He hadn't prepared her a meal in… probably never. She usually prepared food for both of them but lately they each had their food on their own. It had been a while since they'd sat down together for a meal and talked. He realized that that was due to the fact that Scully was always the one to initiate those dinners and she had gradually foregone that activity until she ceased altogether. Just another nail added to the coffin of their dying relationship.
Definitely a meal would be the right gesture. He hoped that it would stir some emotion out of her. She will have to notice that he was going out of his way to make contact.
He was no culinary genius, though, so he knew it won't be a grand gesture, but it was a lot more than what he offered her on a regular basis, and besides, she probably couldn't take too much anyway in her current condition. So with that in mind, he rummaged through their kitchen and finally decided on toast with jam and tea. Oh yes, he was a brilliant chef. He grinned sheepishly. Actually doing something was making him feel good about himself. It had been a while since he'd felt this way. Oddly enough, Scully's 'downfall' so to speak, was bringing him up. Ouch. He shouldn't feel this good when she was in such an awful state, but he couldn't help himself. It was probably just temporary anyway.
He popped a couple of slices into the toaster, then filled up the electric kettle and opened the top cupboard to grab Scully's favorite mug. He searched their pantry and found a batch of apple cinnamon tea bags. He snagged the entire pack and tossed it on the counter by the mug.
The toaster released two golden slices of perfect toast. Mulder grabbed them gingerly, quickly plopping them on a plate before his fingers got singed. Now he debated whether he should spread butter prior to the jam. He opted against it, thinking that it might contribute to her already upset stomach. It would have to be just jam and toast. Scully always had naturally preserved jams. This week's flavor was blueberry. He snatched the jar from the refrigerator's right door shelf and was about to land it by the toast when he heard Scully's screaming. The jar crashed to the kitchen floor, splattering purplish goo not only on the floor tiles, but on the surrounding cupboards as well.
Mulder rushed out of the kitchen and came flying into their bedroom, expecting the worst. The room was dark and he squinted, trying to figure out if there was somebody else in there. He could hear Scully crying out. "Stop! No! Stop!" And then a gut-wrenching howl of pure agony.
"Scully!" he called out to her as he absent-mindedly felt his waist in search of his gun, only to be reminded that it had been some time since a gun had been a part of his everyday garb. "Shit!"
He gradually got accustomed to the dark. He looked around. Scully was in their bed and she seemed fast asleep. There didn't seem to be anybody else around. Great. It was another nightmare. This one seemed far worse than the one she had the night before. He got closer and turned the bed-stand light on. He crouched beside her but as he was about to get a grip on her hand, it flew right into his chin and made contact with such great force, he lost his balance and landed on his butt. He blinked and rubbed his now sore jaw. Even in her sleep, Scully could handle a mean punch. Who or what was she fighting within her dreams? He had a vague sense that these nightmares were not the classical run of the mill hallucinations.
He pushed himself back into a crouching position just as Scully bolted upright with such speed, he felt a rush of wind pass by him.
"Oh my god!" she called out, obviously unaware that she was being observed. She sat in her bed, clutching her blanket and clearly trembling before him. She tried to regulate her breathing, but she was unsuccessful, slowly slipping into gasps as a panic attack took her over.
Oh shit! Now it was Mulder's turn to panic. He hefted himself onto the bedside and grabbed Scully's arms. "Scully! Breath!" She bore her anguished eyes into him and he could see his words were not having the desired effect.
Crap! What now? He dug deep into his memories, trying to recall his basic medical training. Panic attack… he needed a… "Bag!" Right! Any bag would do but there weren't any in the bedroom so he dashed manically back to the kitchen and barely avoided the pool of jam still decorating the floor, circling it, he began searching the kitchen drawers. He knew Scully kept a stash of used grocery bags someplace. He just hadn't a clue where exactly. He flung one drawer after the other until he finally found them, all nice and neatly folded, in fully-fledged Scully style. He sank his hand into the drawer and yanked a batch of bags, then he leaped over the jam puddle and sprinted like crazy back to Scully.
By the time he had returned to her she had collapsed back into her pillow and he could see she was on the verge of losing consciousness. He let most of the bags drop to the ground, keeping only one. He wrapped his fist around its rim and then held the remaining opening over Scully's mouth and nose.
"C'mon", he prodded her.
It seemed to take forever, but she gradually came to. When she was more aware she poked at his wrist and tried to force him to remove the bag from her face. He resisted her. "Ah-ah," he shook his head.
She gave him a disgruntled sigh and glared at him.
Mulder smiled. Doctors always made the worst patients and Scully was definitely not exempt from that inclination.
When he was satisfied with her appearance he pulled the bag away and sagged by her side, feeling exhaustion take over.
They sat there in silence. He tried to grab her attention but she was deliberately avoiding his gaze and staring at her hands. Her shoulders were slumped and her entire body stance was sending a message of shame and guilt. Mulder felt sorry for her and he couldn't contain his concern any longer. He tried to touch her hand but she recoiled and pulled it back. Dammit!
"Scully? What's wrong?" Yes, he'd finally asked the question.
She shrugged, still avoiding his eyes. He wanted to cup her chin and force her to look at him but he stayed put.
"Scully?"
Her response to his prying was to lie back in her bed, curl to the opposite side and to pull the covers up all the way to her face.
"Please," why was she so obstinate?
"I'm tired, Mulder," she finally spoke with dejection.
She was giving him the brush-off. Damn her! He was trying. Why couldn't she see that?
He felt drained and upset as he got up and left her. He went about the kitchen, mopping the floor and scrubbing the cupboard panels. The cold toast went flying to the bin and all that was left was her mug. He held it in his hand and he felt a strong urge to hurl it at the wall. Rage was now bubbling through him. He clutched her mug between his hands, trembling, feeling his muscles tighten, his knuckles turned white as his grip hardened.
He drove the mug up and then sent it down with great force but as it was about to make contact with the counter he broke his action and gently placed it back on the flat surface. He grabbed his head between his hands and sank all the way to the floor, warm tears rolling down his cheeks.
He remained on the kitchen floor for a while, unable to pick himself up, until he heard Scully moaning. He groaned and then pushed himself up and trudged over to the bedroom again. She was restless but she wasn't as bad as before. He contemplated getting into bed with her, but he felt there was no way he would be able to fall asleep. Instead, he wandered aimlessly about the house for a while, checking on Scully, making sure she was alright. Gradually he felt he was slowing down and when his legs couldn't carry him anymore, he landed on the living room couch. He turned the TV on and gazed at it, not really taking in whatever was on at that very moment. His mind was miles away, trying to connect the dots.
A gentle clicking sound made him slowly open his eyes. He was confused when he didn't recognize his surroundings at first. This wasn't his bed. He rubbed the cobwebs from his eyes, and lazily pushed himself upright. He looked around. He was in their living room. The sound of a car engine igniting made him jump. The events of the night before flashbacked through his mind, and he scrambled to his feet and darted out of the house, but he was too late.
"Scully!" he hollered as he skipped the short flight of stairs from their porch and tried to dash after her, hoping he'd be able to catch her at the yard's main gate, but he was barefoot and the graveled driveway was causing havoc to his soles as tiny stones pierced through his flesh. He knew it would be pointless to continue, but irrationality won the bet as he limped further until he could see the main gate entrance, already padlocked with no car in sight.
Panting and in terrible pain, he slowly returned home. He made up his mind to corner her tonight. He won't let her off the hook any further. But he had no idea how he was going to force Dana Scully to confide in him.