Chapter 9 (Scully)
Knowing that a number of phone calls to England would likely anger my mother, Mulder and I spent the next few weeks corresponding by mail. Unfortunately, this meant that it usually took a few days for my letters to reach him and then another few days for his responses to reach me. I nevertheless wrote him around one letter a day, often spending an hour or so each night simply putting all my thoughts on a piece of paper, often without a coherent order. These letters resembled the often rambling conversations that we had had before, and I knew that however disordered my letters were, he would always understand them simply because he understood me. In the same way, I understood the convoluted letters he sent me.
Of course, corresponding by mail was simply not the same as seeing Mulder every day nor even the same as talking to him on the phone. I missed his voice, his familiar scent, the glint in his kind green eyes, and even the endless ramblings about whatever supernatural phenomenon he happened to read about recently (I received some of these in his letters, but they were not as long or as frequent as the ramblings that had become commonplace over the past seven years. Also, we never had a chance to debate them because of the delay in our communication). I knew he was still searching for his sister and the Syndicate, and he spoke briefly about some of his findings in his letters, but he was still as paranoid as ever and refused to speak at length about anything he had learned.
Melissa continued to quiz me about my relationship with him, and I was forced to tell more lies than I was comfortable with. I detailed them all in my letters to Mulder, hoping his eidetic memory would help us to keep them straight later. School was. . . well, school. I had managed to skate by without expending too much effort the first time around, and I found that it took even less effort now. I tried to follow Mulder's lead and do research on the Syndicate, but without the internet or government clearance, I was unable to get far. I had no idea how he had managed to find as much as he had.
As I prepared for bed one night, I leaned over to the calendar hanging above my nightstand and crossed off another day. I had been crossing days off that calendar since Mulder had left, counting down the days until he returned. If anyone had ever told me that I would one day become one of those girls who defines her entire existence by a man, spending her days thinking of him and counting down the days until she saw him again, I would have sent that person for a CAT scan. I had never been that girl, not until I met Mulder. And then I walked into his basement office and suddenly found my own existence inextricably linked with his, and the perfect little world I had created for me and only me suddenly expanded so that it could include just one other person. I had not made a conscious decision to let him into my exclusive little club; hell, I had tried valiantly to keep him out, to fortify the walls around my heart so that he could not break through them. And yet he had. He had done it slowly, chipping away at the stones piece by piece until I suddenly discovered one day that he had broken through. And by that time, he was already inside, and I had no way to force him out again. Not that I wanted to. We were partners first, and we always would be partners. He was the one person I could trust, the one person I could turn to in the midst of any storm. I did not want him in my little world at first, but now I could not imagine it without him.
As I drew the pen across the glossy page to make the second leg of the X, I paused, glancing at the number in the corner of the box. I had not been paying attention to the date before; the only number that had previously mattered to me was the handwritten number in the center of the calendar which told me the days until Mulder returned. Now, however, my eyes were drawn to the second number which declared that the current date was December 3. Normally, this date would not be particularly alarming. It was perfectly innocuous by itself. What made me pause, however, was the realization that two and a half months had passed since Mulder and I had found ourselves suddenly more than thirty years younger. And in those two and a half months, there was one thing that had been missing, something that I had not even thought about until that very moment. I was late. Very late. Like two and a half months late. And while I was still relatively young and might therefore skip a period from time to time, skipping two was definitely not normal.
Now that I stopped to think about it, I should have noticed the signs before. I had been feeling off for about three weeks now, often waking up nauseous and dizzy. I had been having chills, too, but I had chalked all the symptoms up to the flu or something similar. After all, it was that season. But I should have realized that this was no normal flu. The flu did not make someone sick for only part of the day. I was Dr. Dana Scully, M.D. I should have realized that.
My breathing quickened as I continued to stare at the calendar. How could this have happened? Wait, scratch that, I knew exactly how this had happened. I might not have Mulder's eidetic memory, but I could recall the night in question quite clearly. Or rather, both of the nights, for it was impossible to pinpoint which one had led to my current situation. We had not used protection; we had not even thought about doing so. After all, we did not have to worry about children before. I was barren; the Syndicate had made sure of that. And if by some miracle, I had become pregnant, as I had with William, well, we would both consider it just that—a miracle. We both wanted children. Protection was unnecessary.
Now, however, I was not barren. It would be years before I was taken and left barren. And as much as I wanted a baby, now was not the time to have one. I was sixteen—well, maybe not in mind, but certainly in body. I still had school to worry about; I didn't have time to take care of a baby. And my parents, well, my parents would certainly flip. I was Dana—their angel child. I had worked for most of my childhood to make sure that I did not disappoint them, and now I would be disappointing them in the worst way possible. No parent, especially a devout Catholic parent, wanted to hear that their sixteen-year-old daughter was pregnant.
I suppose I should have also been worried about Mulder's reaction. But I had known Mulder for so long that I was confident that I knew exactly how he would react. He would simply tell me that he would be happy with whatever I decided, and then he would follow through with his promise. I could have told him that I wanted us both to drop out of school, get married, and have five more kids within the next six years, and he probably would have told me I was crazy but nevertheless done exactly what I wanted. I knew he would do anything to make me happy, and he had told me as much multiple times. All I had to do was ask.
Of course, I did not want to drop out of school and get married. Actually, I was not exactly sure what I wanted to do. I will admit that I briefly—very briefly, mind you—considered terminating the pregnancy, but I immediately dismissed this idea. No, I wanted this baby. I had wanted this baby for a long time. And while the circumstances had changed, my longing for motherhood had not. I would not consider giving up this child. Perhaps the baby was a blessing in disguise, a second chance of sorts. Mulder spoke of receiving a second chance to save the world, but perhaps our second chance was a more personal one. Maybe we could do nothing to stop the end of the world, but we could at least be a little happier until that time came.
My musings were interrupted by the opening of the door. I turned to see Missy enter the room, her long hair swinging wildly behind her. "How was your date?" I inquired, swinging my legs off the bed and standing.
"Not bad. How was your evening?"
For a moment, I considered telling her everything I had discovered, but I kept my mouth shut. Mulder should be the first person to know. And I was not going to tell him yet, not until he came home from school in—I quickly checked my calendar—eleven days. This was a conversation we needed to have in person. "Pretty good," I answered. "I finished up most of my homework for the weekend, so I'm free for the next two days which is nice."
"Nerd," Missy coughed. I threw a pillow at her. Laughing, she picked up her own pillow and retaliated. Within a few seconds, we were engaged in a full-scale pillow fight, both laughing so loudly that I was surprised we had not yet attracted the attention of the other members of our family. Not that it mattered to me. These were the moments that I cherished, the memories that would forever be cemented in my brain. I had my second chance, and I was not going to waste it.