I arrived home to my quiet apartment and went about my usual routine. Keys in the bowl, gun on the end table. I slipped my shoes off as I headed for my bedroom and sighed heavily at the sight of my still unmade bed. It's the little things that I used to keep myself sane through the absolute insanity of our cases, the terror of uncovering conspiracies, and the feelings of loss and regret that threatened to overwhelm me in times of loneliness. If my bed was made, my dishes were washed and the place was dusted, I could pretend to live a normal life. None of these things were done at the moment.
After I changed into my favorite cream silk pajamas, I began the task of ordering my surroundings. Perhaps that would order my mind as well. As I dried the last dish and set it clinking with its fellows in the cupboard, I had the feeling of satisfaction that comes with a task completed. I had so little control over my life that I actually got a sense of accomplishment from washing dishes. I glanced wistfully at my full wine rack. The muzzy head that came from a glass or two of Merlot would have been a balm to my senses and emotions. I dropped my still damp hand to rest just below my naval and smiled to myself.
In the next instant, I jerked my hand away and stared down at myself. When the hell had that happened? The contours of my body seemed to have changed overnight. I was getting used to the tightness in my button up shirts, but this was very new. I put my hand back to my belly and smoothed the silk up and down, feeling the roundness that now characterized my lower abdomen. I headed for my full length mirror in the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised at what I saw. I never really thought of myself as being beautiful, but I had a lovely, soft blush to my face and an inviting fullness to my breasts. I lifted the loose hem of my night shirt and gazed at my rounded belly. I don't think anyone else would have noticed, but it was obvious to me. I did some quick calculating in my head. Twelve weeks? Maybe a bit ore? Too early to actually "show," but my skin was thinner and tight and if I pushed down just at my naval, I could feel the grapefruit size hardness below.
I thought for second about snatching up my phone and calling my mother. But, a glance at the clock told me it had to wait until tomorrow. She was worried enough already. A phone call at one o'clock in the morning may send her over the edge. Then I thought about Mulder and the tightness in my chest that had momentarily ceased with the revelations of my new body returned. I wanted so badly to share these things with him, but the Mulder who would have taken me in his arms and made crude jokes about the new size of my breasts wasn't the Mulder I had left this evening.
With my phone still in my hand, I walked back into the living room and began switching lights off. I nearly dropped the phone when it began ringing in my hand. I took a deep breath and steadied myself after the sudden rush of adrenaline that comes from being startled like a rabbit and answered.
"Hello?" I knew I sounded a little breathless, but couldn't help it.
"Ah, Dana? Did I wake you up? I'm really sorry, but I had a dream and…" he trailed off.
"Mulder? You didn't wake me. Tell me about your dream." My God, it was as if thinking of him had prompted him to call.
"Well, you shot me. I know that doesn't make any sense at all, but it was a really vivid dream and it, well it disturbed me a bit," he finished weakly.
"That's good, Mulder! You remember! Did you dream anything else?" I was exstatic. It wasn't my first preference of a memory to return to him, but…
"Remember? I was dreaming, Dana… Oh… you shot me?! Why?!"
For what seemed the thousandth time that long, long day, I blushed again.
"It's a long story, suffice to say I had to and it's a damn good thing I did!" I was feeling defensive. I had never really forgiven myself for letting that situation go as far as did. I should have known sooner that there were forces at work using Mulder like a pawn.
"Wow," he sounded a bit exasperated and I contemplated telling him the whole story about that horrible time when his father was killed, but he spoke again before I could start my diatribe.
"Either I'm a very, very forgiving person or you're extremely good in bed."
I nearly dropped the phone again and had to do some deep breathing to keep my cool. He seemed to have taken my silence, and possibly my huffing for anger.
"I'm sorry, Dana, I shouldn't have said that. But, we do, you know, do that right?" After his nearly stuttering question, he rushed to add, "You know your way around my place pretty well and there are two toothbrushes and some other stuff in the bathroom that I'm certain I have no use for and you're the only woman who's been around and…" I had to interrupt him before he burst a blood vessel.
"It's okay," I said in soothing voice. But, it had done me in. The emotion and physical stress of the whole experience seemed to crash down on me all me at once. I sank down on my unmade bed and took one more deep breath. "It's alright, Mulder. But, can we talk about all this tomorrow? I'm… I'm exhausted." For one instant of insanity I considered telling him that I was pregnant. I was glad I opted out; fatherhood wasn't something he should have to contemplate tonight.
"Sure, Dana, no problem, we'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow." He sounded disappointed, but I could tell he understood.
"Good night again, Mulder."
….
