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justawfulxmenart · 2 years ago

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This is a "sneak peek" to my upcoming fic. In it, Scully's pregnancy symptoms make Mulder afraid that her cancer has come out of remission. I hope you enjoy…

Kinnikinnick Lake, Oregon, April 1, 2000

Hey, Scully! Supper's ready!" Mulder calls.

Scully heaves the ax to her shoulder. Perspiration stands out on her forehead. She feels that peculiar catch in her chest. She's been feeling it off and on for the past two weeks alongside sudden bouts of dizziness.

Anemia, was her knee-jerk prognosis. But the cause of it? Along with the nosebleed that woke her up three nights ago? It causes a pit of dread in her stomach.

But the petite redhead turns to put on a smile for her fiance. Mulder is waving to her from the door of their tiny cabin deep in the Oregon back-country. The blue Cascades are beautiful on this fresh Spring day. The air seems tangy and sharp with the first hint of the balmy weather to come. The aspens in the grove circling the cabin whisper intimately to one another with their new coats of silvery-green leaves.

Scully hefts the ax and brings it down on the chopping block. Mulder returns her smile. He teases her about her insistence on doing the wood-chopping chores. And she teases him right back, saying she can't grow too soft, letting him do all the manual labor around their new home. Their banter is in good fun, but Scully notices, with a pleased glow, how her biceps ripple under the sleeves of her t-shirt.

Mulder disappears inside the low door over which are, spanning almost six feet, the impressive antlers of a bull elk, a sort of "housewarming gift" to them from their adult daughter. As Scully passes the mudroom, pulling off her brogans, and enters the kitchen, she smells Abbey's latest kill roasting in the oven of the wood burning stove. Scully inhales deeply: pheasant…

Abbey has a family of her own now, but she never forgets her mom and dad. She's shown her aptitude as a huntress almost since she was a baby and her parents have never been short on fresh meat.

Scully feels a twinge of guilt. She doesn't want to take food from the many hungry mouths in Abbey's pack, but telling the girl to stop dragging game back to her mom and dad is like telling the sky not to rain. Secretly, Scully loves it. Especially now that she has an inexplicable craving for pheasant, something she only had a passing liking for before.

The woman's mouth waters at the tantalizing scent of the roasted bird. Mulder is a self-taught chef. It's a skill born and honed from necessity as a stay-at-home home dad with a demanding toddler with a voracious appetite. Cooking is something Mulder both loves doing and takes great pride in. And, although both of them are competitive with each other, Scully has never felt any rancor over her man being the better chef.

"I saw Old Eli at the hardware store," he says.

His back is turned to her as he stoops down to pull the bird from the oven. Mulder always seems to be stooping here - ducking to walk through the low doorways, struggling to accommodate his tall lanky frame to these rather cramped quarters. The cabin is exactly three rooms, with a privy and a cache out back. It has electricity run from a generator and a hand pump in the kitchen, but no flush toilet or central heating. But it was hard for Scully and Mulder to find a better place in this area on such short notice. Besides, during the past three years they've lived at far more inconvenient places.

"Yeah?" she replies. She's breathing heavily now and struggling not to let it show.

"Old coot said we're 'in for some weather,'" Mulder continues, still facing the oven.

Scully notices appreciatively how his shoulders bunch powerfully beneath his t-shirt, made damp from the heat of the woodstove. She isn't the only one being kept in shape by living rough.

"What does that even mean? Weather happens all the time!" he says. "Weather is happening now; look out the window!"

He turns to her. Mulder's hair is so long now Scully often teases him about his clean-cut style during their days in the FBI. His Grizzly Adams beard is now well past his clavicle. But his greyish-green eyes still spark with the same mischief she fell in love with all those years ago. Fox Mulder's charm is still intact - and his sarcasm too.

Then his grin vanishes as he sees her pale appearance. Shit, Scully curses herself as another fit of lightheadedness takes her. She can't hide it from her lover. She tries to grip the corner of the kitchen table for support, but the room sways and she stumbles sideways.

Her ears buzz loudly and black spots dance in front of her eyes. She, however, falls against Mulder's chest. She takes deep steadying breaths, drinking in the scents of woodsmoke and her partner's own distinctive smell clinging to his sweater. She takes comfort from it.

"...Need to quit that day-drinking, Scully," Mulder says as the buzzing in her ears subsides.

His joking, however, (Scully allows herself one glass of red wine per week) belies the worry shining in his eyes. His forehead furrows into lines as he tucks her sleek auburn head under his chin.

Scully finds herself up in his arms. It half-annoys her how easily he can lift her. Now, though there are few things she can stand less than Mulder fussing over her, she feels so drained she hardly cares.

She's been feeling this way more and more - fatigued, long before her day is through, her eyelids fighting sleep, her limbs almost as useless as sticks, her feet struggling to put one in front of the other. At six o'clock in the evening, all she wants to do is sleep. Sleep until her alarm clock goes off at five-thirty. And then she's practically propping her eyes open to stay awake.

Scully feels herself sinking down onto a soft nest of cushions by the fireplace.

"Tell me what's going on," Mulder murmurs as he gently lays her down.

Mulder picks stray locks of fiery hair out of her face. His eyes, as wide, gentle and dark as a collie's, search her face. They are trusting eyes. For all his bluster as a young cocky FBI agent, Scully almost immediately discerned his true gentle nature when she, a headstrong young doctor herself, walked into his basement office seven years ago.

The woman sees plainly the undercurrent of fear in his soft gaze.

"I'm fine," she says.

She hates how raspy, weak and unconvincing her voice sounds. The sounds around her still seem muffled and muted.

"I'm just tired," she adds and gives him one of her quick reassuring smiles.

He nods slowly, but his eyes never leave her face. Scully has known this man in many ways - as a partner, as a friend, as a lover. Three years ago, he agreed to co-parent a child with her, no questions asked. And when she got down on her knees a month ago and asked him to be her husband, his agreement was swift and enthusiastic.

Scully knows there is no fooling him.

A wave of utter exhaustion overtakes her, so great she can barely focus her eyes on his face. Mulder covers her with a heavy quilt. Then he curls his big warm body around her. Her small ass fits as perfectly against the curve of his crotch as a little spoon fits into a larger one. His great sinewy arms wrap around her tiny form. They'd been made strong by the demanding exercise during his years in the FBI. Now their rusticated lifestyle kept them fit and toned.

Perhaps on the surface Scully loathes his fussing, but when she's this exhausted, it's wonderful to feel his body against hers. She turns her head to press it against his chest. His big loving heart beats steadily and strong against her skull. Her last sensation is the warm dry brush of his lips against her cheek…

***

She's trying to hide it from him. But Mulder hears her coughing fits during the wee hours of the morning; he sees the specks of blood on her pillowcase when he goes to change the bedding. And now there's Scully's sudden faintness, her spells of fatigue that take her so suddenly.

She says she's tired … but Scully never gets tired.

She seems to have an inexhaustible amount of energy. In their years as FBI agents, during the three chaotic years of raising their daughter, in times of privation and hardship while they were on the run, Scully served as a protector, a provider, a beacon of strength Mulder rallied around.

Mulder watches her sleep curled in his arms like a cat. Her mussed hair is longer now than it's ever been since he's known her. He secretly loves the kinky curliness of it, the way it spreads across his chest like a red blanket. Scully's mouth hangs slightly open the way it always does when she's fast asleep. With a smile, he sees that she's drooling a little.

She's such a strong, powerful woman. With her alabaster skin, proud curving nose and wide flashing blue eyes, Mulder thinks she has an almost otherworldly goddess-like quality of beauty.

She's always been fighting, fighting for the victims she's advocated for, fighting against the injustice of evil men, fighting for survival itself - survival for her man, her daughter and herself.

It's in moments like these, however, when he realizes just how light she feels in his arms, how delicate and birdlike her bones are. He knows in these quietly terrifying moments how fragile her life truly is. How she could be taken from him in a flash, in just a moment.

Since that horrible fall of 1997, that fear of losing her forever has haunted Mulder. And he hasn't since then, not even for a second, taken his beautiful woman for granted.

That awful time, during the better part of 1997, she acted in the same way she does now: inexplicable coughing, nosebleeds, sudden crushing exhaustion. He'd even awoken in the inky darkness of 2 a.m. this morning to hear her retching as quietly as she could.

Mulder had feigned sleep as she vomited. As he lay there in their bed, the blackness pressing against his eyeballs, Mulder instinctively felt as Scully did … It was as if he and her relied on the same superstition. If they didn't draw attention to her abrupt change in behavior, then they could deny the crippling fear in both their hearts.

This was how it was when Scully was diagnosed with brain cancer four years ago. And Fox Mulder is terrified that his very greatest fear is coming true … that her cancer has come out of remission.

#msr #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #the x files #mulder and scully

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