constant, touchstone

the divine’s plan is perfection, chapter 2 - PilotInTheStars

rating: teen | word count: 2.2k | @today-in-fic

link on ao3

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Mulder didn’t remember much about when his parents had brought Samantha home from the hospital. 

He remembered Samantha’s bassinet because there were little ducks lined up on the edge and her hair stuck straight up if it wasn’t brushed. 

He remembered a distant relative bouncing her on his knee and asking their mother if she wanted one more. Teena had awkwardly laughed and said, “My hands are full.”

He remembered when Samantha was a toddler, one of his friends had made fun of her on the playground for carrying around her doll, and he’d jumped to her defense immediately. It didn’t matter that he’d held Barbie above her head to taste her the day before because she kept leaving her in their treehouse.

His grandmother told him during the summer of 1974, when his parents were finalizing their divorce and he had been sent there for a month, that when he first saw Samantha, he cried for three whole minutes, until Bill had said, sternly, “Only babies cry.” He had stopped immediately and stoically accepted his role of big brother from that point forward.

Mulder leaned down to look at his fish. He needed to clean the tank this weekend and keep an eye on one of his mollies. There was a hole in Paul the Fish’s tail and he swam slowly, always one of the last to reach the flakes that had just been poured in. He dreaded the day he found Paul upside down.

Here he was, an almost 37-year-old man, feeding his fish on a Friday night, while his FBI partner sat in her apartment, likely heating her progesterone shot before relaxing with a mug of tea. And part of him wanted to be there. Not that he’d be of much help. He was at his most useful in a well-lit room at the fertility specialist, with a few magazines and a clear plastic cup. 

A few hours ago, he’d driven Scully and himself back to the office. The rest of their afternoon had been slow and they’d both occupied themselves with paperwork until the clock struck five. 

“Have a good weekend, Mulder,” Scully said with a smile, before leaving the office. The door clicked behind her. It was like nothing unusual had happened that day. Something about that didn’t sit right with him.

With a sigh, he went to his stove, throwing a towel over his shoulder. He turned on a burner, only to remember that his stove hadn’t been functional since Tuesday. He needed to call the landlord again.

He walked back into the other room and dialed Scully’s number. In two short rings, she answered. 

“Mulder?”

“Hi, Scully.” 

The other end of the line crackled as he fiddled with the phone line. 

“Is everything alright?” she continued.

“I just wanted to check-in. You didn’t talk much when we got back from lunch.” 

“Oh, well, I’m alright. I had to run an errand for my mother, but I’m home now. I was just having a rough day emotionally.” She laughed to herself. He could imagine her smile in his head.

“You know how my landlord is terrible?”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well, I have bad news.” He could imagine her raising a brow. “My stove is broken even after I’ve called him twice. And I was kind of hoping that you would be open to me ordering a pizza and splitting it with me.”

“Hmm,” she said, pondering. “Would you be willing to come over here? I have to take care of some things this evening.”

He’d be willing to do anything, really. “Of course. I can be there in 20.”

Within a half hour, the pizza had been ordered to Scully’s Georgetown apartment and Mulder knocked on the door. With a click of the lock, Scully opened it. She had traded her suit from earlier for a maroon sweater and a pair of soft pants. There was little need for a greeting - she’d been expecting him.

“I’m honestly grateful you called,” she said as he trailed behind her. “I didn’t want to cook tonight and there’s nothing in my fridge anyway.”

As if on cue, someone else knocked on the door. 

“Oh, thank god.”

Scully had put out two plates for them but they ate it straight out of the box. They’d been on the road long enough he knew her pizza order and she seemed grateful for it. Sitting like this every Friday night would be a gift.

“You know, I did rent a horror movie while I was out. If you’d like to stay and watch. I know it’s not your thing…”

“I can make do.” He’d make do with anything, really.

She sighed. “But before we put it on, I need to administer my shot, and I…” she trailed off. “Would you be willing to help? It’s just the angle that’s an issue, I can get everything set up.”

Mulder’s heart or stomach or kidneys (he wasn’t sure) did a gymnastics move. “Yeah… I can help with that. If you want me to.”

“Thank you… I appreciate it.” She paused. “I have to get it set up.”

Scully stood up and walked to her room, before pausing and turning around to see if he would follow her. He did, like a lost puppy, into Dana Scully’s bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed, like a teenager being let into his girlfriend’s bedroom for the first time. 

“Whoa Scully, you know they still make heating pads, right?” he said as she pulled it out of her drawer. The cord was an inch away from fraying. “I think the dinosaurs used that one.” 

Her lips upturned into the slightest smile, the one she did when she was amused and didn’t want to admit it. “It works just fine. It got me through college, it’ll get me through now.”

She stepped into her bathroom to find her material and he watched her reflection in the mirror as she prepared the syringe, making it look easy. She returned, placing it on top of the heating pad and untucking her maroon sweater. He seemed to have interrupted what had been her ritual and there was a high chance he’d fuck this up. 

He watched her pace back and forth, massaging the area. 

“I drew out the spaces where it needs to be. My mother helped me on Tuesday but she can’t be here every night. I can work it out with a mirror where it needs to be but it’s still difficult and hurts like hell.”

She lifted her sweater higher and he saw that she had carefully marked up her lower back in Sharpie. The eye of her tattoo stared at him ominously. 

Her finger pointed to one spot on her back. “I figure here today would work.” She looked back at him. He hoped he didn’t look scared out of his mind. “I usually take turns.”

Dr. Scully was teaching him how to be a nurse. This had to be the weirdest roleplay ever. But he felt honored she entrusted him at all, explaining all of these steps to him in detail.

She picked up her syringe from the heating pad and showed him how to place his fingers on it to push the needle down. “I’ll lay down and deal with everything there.”

Mulder held the syringe in his hand, looking at the oil within it. 

Someone knocked on his door, loud enough that he could hear it over the rain.

Mulder opened it to find Scully, wrapped up in her red silk robe, her hair frizzy and undone. 

“I want you to look at something,” she said, her voice wobbling at the end. He was worried, how could he not be? For the two days he’d known her she’d been the stoic voice of reason.

In the light of his measly little candle, she untied her robe and draped it to cover as much of herself as she could. He knew what she was implying, as her eyes darted down to indicate her lower back, right above the line of her underwear.

“What are they?” she asked, panicked. 

He moved to look closer, and she asked again. “Mulder, what are they?”

“Mosquito bites.” He looked up at her and stood back up. She had trusted him and it made him feel something powerful stirring within him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I got eaten alive out there.” Scully wrapped her robe around herself and without asking threw herself into him. He was shocked, for a moment, but carefully put his arm around her. 

Why she trusted him, he didn’t know. Throwing yourself into your new partner’s room half-naked seemed a dangerous go of things (not that Mulder had ever been that kind of guy). He wouldn’t forget the way she turned to him to comfort herself, not even for a moment, or the way she shook because she was frightened. 

He let her sit on his bed and he looked up at her yet again, like she was an idol in a church. The light from the parking lot bathed her in its blue glow. Her hair had dried into a copper halo and the red of her robe matched her lips. She was more beautiful than any lost truth.

It was done. And nothing had gone horribly wrong.

He tentatively placed a hand on her arm as she moved her hand to massage the spot, sitting up gently. “I should probably go wash the dishes.”

“Let me help.”

Mulder took to washing the dishes while Scully dried, taking breaks to lap around the apartment. It was to keep the area less sore, to an extent, she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she returned for a fourth time. 

“Why?” She set another glass in her cabinet. 

“Just… the process. I got out of it easy.” A silence hung in the air. 

“Well, hopefully, it will be worth it in the end.” She smiled at him and shut the cabinet before they retired to her living room.

Scully had rented a horror movie, and despite the fact he was an agent that most would call seasoned, some scenes made his stomach turn. But they were sharing a blanket, even though they were on opposite ends of the couch, and he couldn’t complain.

“Mulder, you’re turning green.”

He looked at her. “I don’t do autopsies regularly, Scully.” To that, she laughed, before it broke into a yawn.

“It might be time for me to go to bed.” She paused the movie and turned to him. “Are you okay to drive back?”

“It’s not too far,” he said, knowing his cue to go. He gathered his keys and wallet, putting them into his pockets as she folded up the blanket. He didn’t know if the silence was comfortable or awkward. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” she said. 

“And you’ll let me know if anything happens? Or if you need something?” He tried to not sound too imploring.

Scully nodded and gave an acknowledging smile. “I will.”

He wanted to curl up with her under the crocheted blanket on the foot of her bed. She’d doze off quickly, and it might take him a while but her bed was much comfier than his own. They’d wake up and get bagels before going grocery shopping.

But he said goodnight and left anyway.

Mulder put his keys into the ignition to start the car and began to make his way home to Alexandria, to the water bed he still wasn’t used to and his broken stove. If Scully wanted him there she would have said, and he was too much of a coward to ask.

As he was crossing the bridge a thought crossed his mind. Would he tell his mother about the baby?

His hands clenched the steering wheel and he almost missed his exit. A car behind him honked.

How could he even explain it to her? Hi Mom, remember my FBI partner? You’re a grandmother now. No, we’re not together. No, I don’t know if she loves me. I love her, though. And we’re going to have a baby.

But maybe it would go better than that. 

They had been better in the past couple of years about calling each other - at least on major holidays and each other’s birthdays. Their last conversation had even been pleasant, and Teena had ended the call with a “Goodnight, honey.”

There was a chance she’d be happy for him, happy for the both of them.

Maybe he and Scully could take a hesitant trip up to Greenwich, Connecticut and new baby hands would be held by old ones worn by age and grief. Maybe they’d even go to Martha’s Vineyard. Scully could tell the baby about the sea and how the moon caused all the waves. He’d roll up his jeans and hold them up by the armpits, little feet kicking the water. 

But Scully would have to want that too.

Mulder reached his apartment in Alexandria and dragged his feet to his apartment. He opted for the couch and tried to not dream of a tiny form in Scully’s arms and a crib in the other room.

the divine's plan is perfection - PilotInTheStars

rating: teen | word count: 1.8k | @today-in-fic

chapter 1 on ao3

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The embryo transfer was on Monday. Scully had informed Mulder on Friday, before leaving for the weekend, with the same casualness as if she was going to visit her mother for lunch. Mulder had paused, not knowing what to say. He decided on a Good luck and a Call me if you need anything. And it was true. She could call him at two in the morning and he’d be there, ready to bring her what she needed, but she didn’t. 

Scully had somehow still arrived in the office on Monday morning with her hair straightened, blue blazer and skirt ironed, and lunch packed. It was as if the IVF wasn’t happening, and she went about her work as if it was a normal week for her. On Tuesday, she had even gone down for an autopsy, and he stopped by halfway through the afternoon. The smell of formaldehyde always made his stomach churn. She was unphased.

Friday had been the same so far. Scully’s suit was pressed and her hair was straightened and everything was normal until about 11:15. Her manicured nails were tapping her pen absentmindedly as she read through her case report before she twiddled it and wrote something down quickly and neatly. At that minute, she had opened a new one carefully but didn’t pick up her pen. She quickly threw it shut and excused herself from the room hurriedly.

Mulder thought that maybe she’d be back quickly, but it was soon 11:30 and she was nowhere to be found. And he was admittedly worried, especially due to the fact this week had otherwise been entirely normal up until now.

He stood up from his desk and left their office (newly returned to them) to step out into the hallway. Scully was nowhere to be found, and he turned the corner to see their janitor mopping the floor. They locked eyes and Mulder’s question was instantly answered. With a nod from the janitor, he was directed to the one-room bathroom in the basement, its lock showing a red OCCUPIED. 

Taking a deep breath, he clenched his hand into a fist and rested it on the door before knocking twice.

“Scully?” he asked gently. “Are you alright in there?”

There was a large pause. He heard a sniff, and he expected a quiet yet defiant I’m fine, Mulder. Instead, he was greeted with the click of the lock and the red quickly switching to a green VACANT. 

He quietly opened the door, surveying the room to find Scully on the floor with her back to the wall and her knees pulled up against her chest. She was surrounded by a litter of crumpled-up paper towels, a minefield in her vicinity.

Scully looked up at him, her eyes red, her mascara rubbed around her eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he said, locking the door behind him. He pushed a few of the paper towels away with his foot to sit next to her on the floor. 

It would be incredibly stupid to ask if she was okay.

Scully sniffed. “It’s really silly.”

“I doubt it is.”

She wiped at her eyes and he pulled off a new square of paper towel for her to blow her nose.

“Everything about this is terrible.” He didn’t respond, and she looked up at him. “I knew it would be hard. I had to sign a million documents saying that I knew. I did so much research.”

She blew her nose again. “And I’m going about life like it’s normal.”

You don’t have to, he thought to himself, but he held her hand in his because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Did something happen this morning?” he asked softly.

Another tear slipped down her cheek before landing on her pant leg. “My mother called me before I left this morning. I feel bad, I was kind of short with her. I don’t know. I think she’s supportive because… The Church doesn’t accept these things but she understands why I’m doing this. And she’s been praying for me, and she told me I should go and pray too. I could come with her to Mass this weekend.”

“Do you want to?”

Scully ripped her paper towel in half.

“I don’t know. Part of me thinks I should. But why would I ask God to do any more for me?”

Mulder knew Bill Jr. had some choice words about infertility. When her daughter Emily’s died and her nephew Matthew’s was born, he had gone on and on at dinner. Apparently he and Tara had struggled with it too, but faith in God had helped. Their wishes weren’t left ungranted.

What was the point of faith in God if he had nothing to give? Why believe in him if he was relentlessly cruel?

Mulder would travel to the ends of the earth for a lot of things. He’d find God himself if he could get an answer.

“It’s wrong of me to think the way I am,” she admitted. “It’s not that there’s anything wrong with this.” The ova, the needles, the medicine. “Plenty of people have to do it. It’s good that this even exists.” She was ever the doctor, always grateful for scientific advancement.

Two more tears fell from her eyes. “I’ve been through hell, and yet this is the worst.”

It wasn’t the careful making of a baby most couples imagined. Mulder knew it was selfish for him to think about it. Did she imagine him or someone else, someone she knew, or some stranger? 

He didn’t know what to think about any of this. He hadn’t for weeks, not when she first asked him when he had to donate his sperm at the clinic, or even during the transfer. There was something strange and delicate growing between them. A breath could shatter it.

He did know he would do anything to give her what she wanted.

Scully buried her face in her hands. “It’s not fair, Mulder.” She hiccuped. “And my hormones are everywhere. And I get upset over things I shouldn’t. Tara gave me a call the other day, and let Matthew say hello over the phone and I started to sob. I never get to see my nephew, and all he gets is me crying.”

He opened his arms and she went to them instinctively, enveloped by him and his suit jacket. Her shoulders shook and he buried his nose in her hair.

“And I’m afraid it won’t work. It’ll be for nothing.” 

His hand moved to stroke the back of her head.

“You don’t know yet.”

“It’s so hard to trust.”

It was fair. It was hard to trust. It was hard to trust the ova that had been sitting for years, magically brought to the fertility clinic. It was hard to trust that a sperm and an egg in a dish could even work. It was hard to trust that one cycle of treatment would work. 

He had nothing to comfort her. So he held her and hoped to whoever was out there that they could give Scully what she wanted. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed.

“I think you’ll feel better off the floor,” he whispered. 

She moved back, her face puffy and red. “Maybe.”

Hesitant to let her go, he stood up, letting her hand fall into his. He lifted her to her feet, handing her a fresh paper towel for her to dab her eyes. He could maybe tempt her with a milkshake, something sweet to make her feel better, a distraction from the embryo in between them, deciding if it wanted to stick around.

 “I say we take our lunch break. How about the soda shop? My treat.”

Scully nodded and took a deep breath, but went to look at herself in the mirror, wiping at where her makeup had run. 

Her routine continued, and she opened up the compact mirror from her purse to fix her power and mascara, and all the other little things that came with putting on a morning face. He’d already gotten his wallet and his keys and his fingers tapped the desk anxiously.

“How have the progesterone shots been?” he finally asked once they got back to the office and she started packing her purse. 

The words hung in the air ominously and it hit him all at once. She had never talked to him about progesterone shots. He had read it during his research when he had read about IVF until the sun finally broke over the city. In fact, he’d been wanting to ask for about a week now but had been far too cautious too.

She zipped her purse to break the silence. “Not fun.” She smiled at him. “No shots are.”

He opened the door for her as she carefully placed her bag on her shoulder. “I’ve gotten a routine down though, I looked into it. I warm up the syringe on a heating pad.” 

Of course, Dr. Dana Katherine Scully would find the most efficient and painless way of doing it. A dark part of his brain told him it was best he wasn’t there, despite how much he wanted to be. His job had been done already. He wasn’t needed.

They sat in a comfortable silence on the way to the restaurant and while Scully opted for the half-sandwich/cup-of-soup option, he got a strawberry milkshake that she gladly partook in. She seemed in a good mood, and he got her to talk about the dog her neighbors had, who she’d been walking while they’d been at rehearsals for a play, because she really did miss Queequeg, but she didn’t have time for a dog right now. Their spoons took turns scooping from the glass cup until Scully grabbed the last bite right as the bell rang and the door swung open.

A chubby little toddler stumbled into the room, his father close behind, pushing the stroller in. Scully’s back was to the door but she could hear his little babbling. The blood drained from her face and she looked down into her plate. 

He took her hand in his own, but it rested in his palm limply. “I’m going to go pay.” 

She nodded and he walked up to the front counter with a twenty. “Keep the change,” he told them and walked back over to where Scully had hurriedly put her notepad and her lipstick back in her bag. 

“Can we go on a walk?”

He nodded immediately. 

Scully slid out of the booth and kept her hand down, Mulder led her out, his hand on her back. The baby had been placed in a highchair and he turned around to see Mulder walking by. He lifted a hand to wave and smiled with all of his six teeth. Mulder found his other hand raised to give a little wave. 

The height difference between them would not allow him to see if she was crying, but when they finally got into his car he took a peek. Her face was impassive.