TITLE: Linger
AUTHOR: Innisfree
E-MAIL: milagro73@excite.com
CLASSIFICATION:  A, MSR
SUMMARY: My take on the missing scene from Per Manum. 
RATING: R (language)
SPOILERS: Up through Theef, and for the upcoming 
episode Per Manum
ARCHIVE: Sure -- just e-mail me.
DISCLAIMERS: Not mine. Not getting any money.  
Couldn't come up with more interesting characters of 
my own on my best day. Sometimes The X-Files is like 
Home Depot. You just have to do it yourself.
_________________

Another Saturday night. Saturday night for me is like 
a weekly version of Valentine's Day. You know what I 
mean. Valentine's Day is the product of a meeting 
between Cupid and the retailers, a day designed to 
force everyone with a significant other to go out and 
spend half a week's pay on some expensive perishable 
item or piece of jewelry while it simultaneously 
reminds everyone who's single that they are alone in 
the world. Saturday night? Same idea, smaller scale.  
Everybody who has somebody is supposed to be 
somewhere out on the town, and everybody who doesn't 
have somebody is supposed to be out looking for the 
somebody whom they can shower with gifts come next 
Valentine's Day. Nobody is supposed to be sitting at 
home alone at 9:30 on a Saturday night, munching on 
cold pizza left over from this afternoon's Knicks 
game and flipping through the Pay Per View choices. 
Unless, of course, you're a loser. Hi there. Fox 
Mulder. Nice to meet you.

Actually, I have a very good reason for spending this 
Saturday night alone. And the last one. And the one 
before that. And... well, you get the idea. I am, in 
fact, technically single. So there's no one around to 
rip me a new one if I tell her I'm too tired to go 
out on the one night of the week that is neither 
preceded nor followed by a day at the office. But 
even though I am technically single, there's no 
reason for me to be trolling around bars and clubs 
looking for that special someone to complete me for a 
night or for the rest of my life. I already know 
where she is. Yeah. It's kind of complicated.

So Pay Per View it is. The only decision left to make 
is whether I'd rather watch Payback or 8mm. Or maybe 
just wait for the good porn to start in a couple of 
hours? I am completely engrossed in the enormity of 
this decision when I hear a knock at my door. My 
reaction: puzzled. I already have the pizza. I don't 
think the Pay Per View people have to come by to flip 
the switch that lets you watch the movie. FedEx 
doesn't deliver this late no matter how much money 
you give them. I sit there, pondering the great 
mystery of this knock at my door when, suddenly, 
another slightly louder knock breaks the daze. I 
suppose I could get up and open the door. It requires 
less analytical work on my part, true, but it might 
just expedite this whole guessing game.

I rise slowly from the couch and lumber over to what 
I like to think of as my foyer. 

"Yeah. Coming." It's no wonder more people don't drop 
by to visit me when this is the kind of enthusiastic 
greeting I offer.

"Mulder, it's me. Are you alright in there?"

I freeze. It didn't even occur to me that it could be 
Scully. She's been kind of distant lately. 
Preoccupied. I'm pretty sure I did something to piss 
her off. Because I often do things that piss her off. 
Then I remembered that she told me once, "Not 
everything is about you, Mulder," and I decided I'd 
give her the space she seemed to need and wait for 
everything to go back to normal, the way it always 
does. We don't talk about things that upset us. We're 
very good at respecting one another's space, Scully 
and I. We give each other so much respect sometimes I 
can't quite take it. But Scully never drops by when 
she's in one of these moods. Which must mean that 
something is wrong. Shit.

I run a nervous hand through my disheveled hair and 
take a quick sniff of the faded blue t-shirt I'm 
wearing. Not too bad for a guy who didn't shower 
today. I straighten up a little and pull the door 
open with a quick movement, trying very hard to 
appear casual and confident and not at all 
embarrassed about being a slob home alone on a 
Saturday night.

"Hey, Scully! Change your mind about going with me to 
the prom?" 

I smile broadly at my own joke. Scully does not 
smile, although I see the very ends of her mouth 
quirk upward ever so slightly. She looks down at the 
floor and lets a labored breath out through pursed 
lips.

"Hi, Mulder." 

She appears to be speaking to the floor. She appears 
to realize this and lifts her head back to an upright 
position. But her eyes don't quite rise far enough to 
meet mine. 

"Can I come in?"

The manners of a host really fall by the wayside when 
no one ever sets foot in your apartment but you. 

"Of course, come on in." 

I place my right hand lightly on her arm and guide 
her through the door. Any excuse to touch Scully and 
I'm all over it like a cheap suit.

"Hey, sorry about the mess, but House Beautiful isn't 
coming until Tuesday so I figured I'd do the big 
cleanup tomorrow." 

Scully gives me one of her patented looks. To a 
stranger, it would look like a neutral, blank 
expression, but I know it's the face she uses when 
she wants to talk about something serious and I'm 
being a little too glib. This is not Night at the 
Improv. Message received, Scully.

I clear my throat. "Hey, have a seat. Can I get you 
something to drink? Beer maybe?"

"No, I'm fine, Mulder. I just..." 

She stops mid-sentence as if she forgot what she was 
about to say, and walks over to the window. This is 
not good. Conversations that begin like this tend to 
end with announcements about transfers to Salt Lake 
City or inoperable brain tumors. Well, let's just cut 
to the chase here.

"Scully, is something the matter?" 

That comes out a little more sharply than I'd 
intended. That's the second time I've asked her that 
question in the past week. The last time, we were in 
the elevator at work and Scully informed me that she 
couldn't accept the idea that she would never have 
children. Yeah, I'd say something was the matter. 
And, as usual, she has me to thank for it. 

Scully just stares at me. Considering me, I think. 
Maybe looking for something. What she sees in my 
furrowed brows and clenched teeth seems to cause her 
eyes to soften a little, though it's hard to see them 
well from across the room. For just a split second, I 
see something flash across her face that would look a 
lot like tenderness if I didn't know better. Scully 
never shows her hand like that.

"No," she says quietly and with kindness. "No, 
nothing is wrong, Mulder. I didn't mean to worry you 
by showing up here like this. I should have called."

"Awww, Scully, you don't have to call. You know 
you're welcome here anytime. You just look a little 
upset. That's all." 

I shrug my shoulders to punctuate my point. Hidden 
message: I have no idea what this is about but please 
don't hurt me if I say the wrong thing for I am only 
a lonely, self-absorbed man with poor social skills. 
Grunt.

Scully rewards me with a small smile. I feel like the 
sun has just burst into my dark little room. With 
renewed confidence, I move toward the couch and relax 
into it, hoping my casual air will encourage her to 
join me and take some of the edge off the tension I 
feel in the air. But she doesn't move an inch.

"I'm not upset. I have a lot on my mind, I suppose. A 
lot that I've been thinking about for the past week."

A-ha. "Thinking about what we talked about in the 
elevator a few days ago?"

She raises her eyebrows almost imperceptibly. I think 
she's surprised that I've put the pieces together so 
quickly. Or maybe she's surprised that I remember our 
conversation. She doesn't seem to realize that 
everything concerning her is filed away in my mind 
with a bright red sticker marked Priority One.

"In a way, yes. It's all... it's all a lot to take 
in, you know?"

"Scully, I know I already said this, but I want to 
tell you again how sorry I am that I didn't tell you 
about the vials before. I wanted to. But the more 
time passed, the more it seemed like telling you 
would only hurt you."

Scully's chin raises a millimeter higher in the air 
as her arms cross tightly over her chest. Oh, here it 
comes. And I deserve every word of it.

"Mulder." She steels her voice carefully. I imagine 
her making an adjustment to the calmest tone she can 
muster, as if she had an invisible tuning fork. "I'm 
not angry with you. And I understand why you did what 
you did. Your apology is accepted."

The relief must be evident on my face because her 
tone grows sharper again with her next words, as if 
to ensure that she has my full attention. 

"But if you ever keep something like that from me 
again -- something that affects my life and my 
choices -- I will string you up from a yardarm on my 
way to a new assignment at Quantico. Understood?"

I gulp and nod. "Understood. Won't happen again, 
Scully." 

She nods in return as her arms fall back to their 
sides. That particular subject is closed and I am 
forgiven.

"So, uh, how do you feel about watching a movie with 
me? I was trying to pick between Mel Gibson and 
Nicolas Cage when you arrived. They're both so 
dreamy, I can't decide." 

I wink at her, and her eyes tell me that she'd like 
to settle down on the couch with me and get lost in a 
really stupid movie. But again, she doesn't move.

"Mulder, I went to see the specialist who tested my, 
uh, my ova for you three years ago. And he 
recommended another fertility specialist for a second 
opinion on the viability. So I went to see him 
yesterday. Dr. Parenti."

Okaaaaay. Where are we going with this? I want to 
ask, but I choose the safe route and simply nod my 
head to indicate that I'm listening.

"He and several of his partners examined the ova. My 
ova." Scully shifts on her feet, as if I hadn't 
already figured out that this whole topic makes her 
uncomfortable.

"Mulder, Dr. Parenti believes that the specialist you 
saw was wrong. That some of the ova could still be 
viable."

"Scully, that's... that's wonderful." Joy for her 
rises through me like a burst of sweet champagne 
until I can feel myself nearly choke on it. "I'm so 
happy for you." 

I start to rise from the couch, on my way to pull her 
into a hug when I see her hold a hand up to stop me. 
The air she propels toward me with that sharp motion 
of her hand pushes me back down into the soft leather 
cushions. I'm confused.

"Thank you. I'm happy too. I think." She doesn't look 
happy at all.

This time I'm going to try saying what I'm actually 
thinking. Run that flag up the pole and see if it 
flies.

"I'm confused. Why wouldn't you be happy about this?"

"Dr. Parenti is telling me that there's a very good 
chance that I could have a child. But, apparently, 
the window for that possibility is relatively short."

Jesus. This is like some awful kind of torture. What 
the hell is she getting at and why doesn't she just 
say it and put me out of my misery? I see where this 
is going.

"You mean the window is now." 

You know, I always thought Scully had a pretty high 
opinion of my intelligence, but again she seems 
surprised that I'm tracking the direction of the 
conversation this well.

"Well, yes," she stutters. "Essentially, it has to be 
now. Or it's definitely going to be never."

"But that doesn't make sense. If some of the ova have 
somehow remained viable for, what, six years since 
they were taken from you, why is this suddenly a race 
against time?"

"Mulder, it's not the ova. It's me."

Oh. Dumbass. Can you possibly make this a little 
harder for her?

"I'm a woman in my mid-thirties. Even under the best 
of circumstances, even if none of what happened to me 
had happened, I would still be at a period in my life 
cycle when conceiving a child is more complicated 
than it would be for a younger woman." 

The sadness on her face hits me like a rock square in 
the chest.

And suddenly, something else hits me as well. She was 
in her twenties when we met. Young, fresh-faced. 
Fertile. So much time has passed. What she is trying 
to tell me, as delicately as she knows how, is that 
she is getting older. And I realize that, until just 
this moment, I didn't see that she was aging. She has 
always looked as young to me as she did on the day I 
first laid eyes on her, just becoming more beautiful 
as the years went by. But apparently, as she became 
more beautiful to me, her body was becoming older. 

"I see. So if you want to have a child, your chances 
are better the sooner you start trying." 

I knew this day would come sooner rather than later 
too. I knew I couldn't hold her next to me forever. I 
always knew there was a life waiting for her out 
there, somewhere outside of the car and beyond the 
borders of my dark little world. 

"So you came here to tell me that you're leaving The 
X-Files." 

Even I can hear the pouting sulk that has crept into 
my voice. As a huff of exasperation shoots out of her 
mouth, Scully jerks her head to the left, looking 
over her shoulder as if someone will be standing 
there to tell her why she had to get stuck with 
someone as dense and self-involved as me. 

"No, Mulder. I should have known that's the first 
thing you'd think of. I'm not leaving the X-Files, 
and I'm not leaving you. I'm talking about having a 
child. None of these things were mutually exclusive 
the last time I checked."

Oh. Well, I guess not. Hey, did she just say she 
wasn't leaving me? In a separate clause from saying 
she wasn't leaving the X-Files? Aren't we the same 
thing? Me and the X-Files?

"I came here tonight to tell you that I've decided to 
give this a shot. If this is my only chance, then I 
believe I have to take it. Even if this isn't the 
most convenient time in my life. If there's never 
going to be another time, then I guess convenience 
shouldn't be an issue." Scully sounds like she's more 
interested in convincing herself than she is in 
convincing me.

I consider my next words carefully. Because I'm still 
not sure what we're talking about. I think she just 
said she's going to try to have a baby. Like, now. 
I'm going to go with a completely neutral yet 
affirming response here.

"Scully, you know that I'm behind you in anything you 
do. If this is what you want, then I guess that's all 
I need to hear." 

That was good. Of course the part about this being 
all I need to hear isn't really true, but my heart's 
in the right place. 

"That means a lot to me. A lot."

Well, alrighty then. Who's at bat next in this 
conversation? Because I'm fresh out of supportive 
neutral comments. As I sit there considering my next 
verbal move, Scully walks toward me and takes off her 
three-quarter-length black coat, draping it over the 
arm of the couch before she sits down on the very 
edge of the cushion. She is still very much at 
attention, and as far away from me as she can be 
while still touching the same piece of furniture.

She musters a brave smile. "I guess you probably want 
to know how I'm going to get started with this."

What is it that Scully said to me on our last case, 
when we were pursuing the vengeful Mr. Peattie for 
crimes against a doctor's family and atrociously poor 
spelling? 

"That's one question. I've got many." 

The expression on my face is more than a little 
proud, and I waggle my eyebrows for extra effect. To 
let her know I'm teasing her. To lighten the mood 
just a little. To make her smile again.

Scully recognizes her own words and, like an answer 
to a prayer, her smile expands a little further to 
reveal just a glint of her beautiful but rarely seen 
teeth. 

"You know, sometimes I don't think you listen to me. 
But I guess sometimes you do, don't you?"

"I always listen to you," I say softly, a little hurt 
by the tiny accusation implicit in what she just 
said. "I don't always agree, and I know I don't 
always acknowledge, but I always listen. You don't 
give me enough credit sometimes, Scully."

Scully drops her eyes. When she speaks, her words are 
so soft I have to strain to hear them. "Maybe I 
don't, Mulder. I want to. But it's hard."

This time, I'm stunned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... I guess I mean that sometimes I'm a little 
unclear on where we stand. Sometimes I feel like I'm 
making an important contribution to the work we do, 
and other times I feel like I'm just along for the 
ride or maybe even making things harder than they 
need to be."

Okay, hang on a minute. If I were diagramming that 
statement, it would be a compound thought. I get the 
sense that she was talking about two different things 
there. The work, and... something else.

"I couldn't do what I do without you. And I wouldn't 
want to. I hope you know that by now." I'm tackling 
the work angle. Playing it safe. But why do I have a 
feeling we're not talking about the work at all?

"I feel like we're moving so quickly all the time, 
and what I'm trying to say is that I sometimes lose 
track of where we are. I don't know what I'm trying 
to say. This isn't what I came here to talk to you 
about. I mean, it's part of it, but I..." She trails 
off with a weak sigh.

I now have absolutely no idea what we're really 
talking about. All I know is that we're not talking 
about our work on the X-Files, and I don't think 
we're talking about her desire to have a child. Which 
narrows the list of possible topics to the 
unthinkable. We're talking about us. She and me. The 
two of us. Who we are and what we are together. 
Because that has to be the most vaguely defined and 
confusing topic of all, which means that it fits the 
tone of this conversation to a tee. Huh. This is much 
more interesting than Payback would have been.

"Scully, if you think we're moving quickly, then..."

"Mulder, I came here to ask you if you'd consider 
being the donor if I were to try to conceive a child. 
I mean, the father. Of the child. Oh God. I can't 
even string a complete sentence together." 

She settles her face against her hands, fingertips 
pressed lightly against her temples. Which is just as 
well because she is now unable to see the shock that 
has frozen all of my facial features into a look of 
utter disbelief and confusion.

"Wha...," I blurt out. 

Well, that was profound and articulate, Mulder. Care 
to try again for something with multiple syllables 
that demonstrates a grasp of English?

"Mulder, I don't expect you to give me an answer 
tonight." 

Good. She's talking again. More time for me to form a 
coherent thought. 

"And I'm so sorry to spring this on you with no 
warning. I didn't know how else to ask you, and I 
thought I probably shouldn't ask you at work because 
this is personal and I realize that it's a very big 
thing to ask..."

I think Scully is still talking but I can only see 
her lips moving. I can't hear what she's saying. My 
brain has stopped processing language as the full 
import of what she just said lands on my mind, 
bringing a temporary halt to the receipt and 
interpretation of any information from the outside 
world. I can hear every wheel in my head come to a 
screeching stop. She just asked me to be the father 
of the child she intends to have. Whoa. Fucking whoa. 
Me. Father. Scully. Mother. Child. Together. I need 
air.

Just as I become convinced that I have returned to 
the catatonic state from which Scully rescued me last 
fall, I hear the words that knock me back into 
reality.

"I don't want you to feel like you'll have to be 
responsible for this child, if the in vitro procedure 
is successful. I realize that this is my choice and 
if I could do it myself I would, but I..."

"Wait. Hold on a minute! Just hang on for one goddamn 
minute!" 

I have somehow lifted myself off the couch and am 
standing with one hand in my hair and the other 
clutching in vain at the heart beating rapidly in my 
chest. Scully, for her part, looks like a deer in 
headlights. I take a deep, shuddering breath.

"I need for you to slow down. Please. Just don't say 
anything more for a minute." I really need air. Where 
did all the air go?

I feel the anger and the adrenaline flowing out of 
me, and with them goes my energy for standing. I 
slump against the arm of the couch, my own arms 
involuntarily moving to wrap themselves around me. It 
is a defensive posture, adopted out of some instinct 
rather than by choice.

Two or three minutes pass as I try to slow my 
breathing. Or maybe it was an hour. I have no idea. 
Finally, I feel like I am sufficiently in control of 
my body to turn and look at Scully. I don't even 
realize my body is shaking until Scully leaps up to 
plant a hand on my forehead.

"Mulder, you look like you're going to collapse!," 
she announces with genuine fear and concern. 

She feels my forehead, rubbing it with her practiced 
touch. One of the few touches I receive from Scully 
on a regular basis. No wonder I throw myself in the 
path of danger so often. Her voice trembles as she 
tries to check the pulse in my neck.

"Scully!" I close one hand firmly around the wrist 
attached to the hand pressing against my neck, and I 
anchor the other against her shoulder. "Scully, what 
did you mean when you said I wouldn't have to be 
responsible for the child?" My voice sounds small to 
me, but not as small as she seems to become when she 
shrinks back down to the couch below me. 

"I meant that you wouldn't have to take on the 
responsibilities of being a father. I know how 
important our work is to you. I'm not trying to tie 
you down to something."

"You're not trying to tie me down to something?" I 
can't believe I'm hearing what I think I'm hearing. 
The anger slides right back in from where it was 
sitting on the couch, biding its time. "Do you really 
think I would just jack off into a cup and say, hey, 
Scully, best of luck with the kid and everything. See 
you at the office. Do you think I would do that?"

The vulgarity of my words causes her to wince and 
look away, embarrassed or offended. I can't tell 
which. But the pained look on her face doesn't stop 
me. I'm about to go on a roll.

"I don't know what to say, Scully. I'm flattered that 
you would want me of all people to be the man who 
fathers your child, but if all you're looking for is 
a gender-determinative chromosome, why the fuck 
wouldn't you just go to a sperm bank?" 

Okay, that might have been over the line. Scully's 
face tells me I have a few seconds to take that back 
before she's out the door.

"Scully," I say, my voice softening. "You're my best 
friend. I..." 

I love you more than life itself and would rather 
pull out my own intestines than see you raising 
another man's child. Too much? Yeah. 

"I care about you more than anyone else in the world. 
And obviously I want you to be happy. But I can't 
understand how you could think I would agree to 
father a child and not want to be part of his life."

Silence. Scully is still not looking at me. Which 
forces me to begin babbling to fill the painful void 
between us.

"We're partners. I would never leave you alone to 
raise a child. MY child. Scully, when you lost Emily, 
I felt like I'd lost a daughter too." This time she 
shuts her eyes tightly. Shutting out the pain of that 
memory.

"Any child you could have, no matter who the father 
is, would be a son or daughter to me. I would do 
anything for that child just like I would do anything 
for you. If that's being tied down, then tie me up." 

In spite of herself, Scully lets out a low, sad laugh 
at the unintentional double entendre. She lifts her 
head to look at me and there is no more anger there 
in her eyes.

"I know. That's exactly why I'm asking you to do 
this. I just wanted you to know that I don't expect 
anything from you because of it. That if you agree to 
do it, you don't owe me anything. That anything you 
give can and should be given freely." 

Her words are soft, and this time the tenderness in 
them is unmistakable. But there is a sadness behind 
her eyes that I can't place and that I can't seem to 
reach. 

"I told you once that I owe you everything. And I do. 
But everything I give to you, if I give you anything 
at all, is given freely. You're everything."

I close my left hand around her left hand as I kneel 
down to meet her eyes. I am just in time to see a 
tear rolling down the side of her flushed cheek 
before it falls to the couch. 

"Scully." 

I say her name as I always say it. As a prayer, as a 
plea, as a blessing, as a promise. She takes the hand 
I have wrapped tightly around her own hand and lifts 
it to her lips for the sweetest of kisses. A kiss 
that lasts only as long as a tear falling.

Scully pulls her hand gently out of my grasp and 
moves gracefully to the other end of the couch to 
retrieve her coat. With the same dignity with which 
she does everything in life, she slides into the coat 
and brushes a thumb quickly across her face to erase 
the tracks of the one tear that got away from her. 
She is leaving. I think I said too much.

"Scully, please don't go. We could sit here and talk 
awhile. About all of this. About what it means 
for..."

Her beautiful eyes shimmer and cast a light that 
reaches out and into me. The message is clear. Don't. 
Please. I can't. Not now. Not tonight. It's too much.

"About what it means for our partnership," I finish 
half-heartedly only for the sake of completing the 
thought, defeat creeping into my own voice even as my 
eyes tell her that I understand. "Another time," I 
add. For closure. To affirm what I know is understood 
between us. And to remind her that there are things 
that need to be said. Someday.

"Yes," she says with relief. "Another time. Mulder, 
take a few days to think about this. I want you to. 
Even if you think you know your answer. I want you to 
be sure, one way or the other." 

"Okay, Scully." I'm suddenly reminded of the line 
from that movie one of my old girlfriends dragged me 
to. The Princess Bride. As you wish. As you wish, 
Scully.

She walks to my front door, head held high, legs 
moving gracefully, feet falling firmly. The posture 
of pride and strength would be complete if it weren't 
for her sagging shoulders that leave the stance 
unfinished. Unfinished. And suddenly, I don't see the 
pride and the strength she wants so badly to project. 
All I see is a woman I want to hold in my arms until 
all her sadness and all her burdens are gone. I love 
her. I am in love with her. But you already knew that 
by now.

At the door, she turns to face me. She wants to see 
that everything is all right between us. That she 
hasn't just made a terrible mistake and changed the 
fabric of who we are forever. I could give her 
assurances on everything but the last count.

"Sure you don't want to stay for a movie? It can get 
pretty exciting around here on Saturday night when I 
fire up the popcorn machine." This translates in our 
language to: everything is okay with us on my end.

"I'm sure it does. Give me a raincheck, okay?"

"One raincheck is hereby issued to Agent Dana Scully. 
Redeemable at will."

She smiles again, the broadest smile of the evening. 
And as her eyes hold with mine for a whisper of time, 
I see another message there. It's so faint, so 
hesitant. But it is as clear to me as any words she's 
ever spoken. Soon. Soon I'll stay and I won't ever 
leave. Soon.

The door closes before I realize she has taken her 
leave. And I am left standing there in the company of 
her absence with a promise that lingers long after 
she is gone.

END