#BILL DONT LOOK BEHIND YOU THERE IS A FLAMING PUMPKIN

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EDITOBER: SCARECROW

Day 25: Who else remembers Bill from the Werewolf skit

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Finding a Way: fic part 2 of 2

Read Part One

In response to a prompt from @i-dont-wanna-wrestle asking what would Bill Scully Jr’s reaction be to the news of Scully’s pregnancy? Tagging @today-in-fic

She’d missed the 12 week scan because she hadn’t realised she was pregnant.

           “I’ve been missing periods for years. I didn’t think…the symptoms are similar to menopause. I don’t even know what made me do the test. I saw it on the pharmacy shelf and picked it up.” He held her as she shook against him. Even after all their years together, it was so Scully to do this stuff alone. To find out all the facts before revealing them to him. He thought of her cancer reveal. How she’d learned everything she could before presenting the fait accompli to him in that too-bright room.

           “We can still get the scan, though?”

           “I saw the OB-GYN yesterday.” She cast her eyes down, wouldn’t look at him. The flame of fear burst out of his gut.

           “What did she say? Why didn’t you let me come? I want to be involved, Scully. I need…”

           Her hand on his chest quelled his fear a little. “I’m sorry, Mulder. You’re right. I should have let you come. But you’ve been…”

           “Is there something wrong, Scully? With the...?” His breath got stuck in his throat and a vague pressure built up in his temples. In his mind he was saying sorry again. Over and over.

           There were tears shiny in her eyes, loaded, ready to drop. She shook her head. “Not that we could see in that scan. But they’re not always accurate. The risk of genetic or chromosomal abnormalities in geriatric pregnancies is high. An amniocentesis is the best way to be sure.”

           “But do you want that, Scully? It’s invasive, isn’t it? There’s an inherent risk in the test itself.”

           She pulled away from him, sniffing back those unshed tears. “Don’t you want to know what we’re dealing with here, Mulder?”

She spread her hands over her abdomen. He imagined the baby rolling and turning under them, seeking their heat. This baby, like William, was an unexpected invader. They had made love sporadically over the years they’d lived apart. Neither of them really wanting to draw a final line. But since she’d told him, she’d spent more time at the house and eventually, recently, moved back in. The inquiry into the deaths, into Jackson Van De Kamp’s disappearance, was being dragged out. Kersh had approved their leave with pay but only to save face. It was only a matter of time before everything changed. Before everything changed again.

“I don’t know, Scully. I’m not sure I’ve ever really known what we’re dealing with.”

***

Dinner is at 7pm. It’s too hard to get up. The soft bed pulls him further under, a warm grogginess enveloping him. His brain is mush. He remembers feeling like this for years, it’s why Scully left in the end. He couldn’t get up. Life pulled him under, kept him down for days at a time. While Scully worked, he slept and when he did wake, the fatigue made his limbs leaden and he sat in his study while Scully kept them both going.

           “Mulder,” she says. “It’s time to get up.” There’s a whisper-kiss and the faint aroma of Earl Grey. It’s enough to rouse him but when he sees the curve of life at her waist, guilt pinballs through him again.

           The light over the mirror is harsh. Maggie Scully judges him from a gold frame on the vanity. “Are we doing it tonight?” His hair is sticking out. His chin is sprinkled with peppery whiskers. His clothes are rumpled. Bill will see him as he sees himself – old, unkempt, not fit to be anything, let alone a father.

           “We’ve faced worse, Mulder.”

           He lifts her hand to his rough chin. “But has Bill faced worse than this?”

           She lets out a laugh and it settles around his ears. “He’ll come round.”

           Mulder breathes out, leaning on the basin. “I’m not sure I have yet, Scully.”

           Her face falls serious. Her short hair is pushed back behind her ears, like she used to wear it, but twenty years and a late-life pregnancy makes her face sharper in places. She hides the grey. She uses more foundation to cover not just that fucking mole, but her lines. She’s been  taking multivitamins for years, even though they both know they’re about as useful as bee pollen in yoghurt. She does weight training, Pilates, swimming. She drinks a little alcohol, too much caffeine and indulges in Ben and Jerry’s Salted Caramel more often than she’ll admit. She’s 54. He’s 56. The sum of their years is going to catch up with them at break-neck speed. It’s amplified now but when the baby is born, it’ll be blaring out of every speaker.

           “We can’t have this conversation now, Mulder. We have to go down for dinner.” Her hands are kneading her hips and she’s looking at the polished floorboards.

           “What happens if there’s something wrong with it? How can we look after it?”             

The fear spills out and takes the shape of words. She turns to walk out. He swings round to catch her arm. “I wasn’t there for you and William. And truth be told, Scully, when I came back and he was gone the first thing I felt was relief, because I knew I couldn’t fuck it up. I’m scared, Scully. And I’m sorry.” His hands are around her neck, nails digging into the taut line of muscle across her collarbones. Tears sting his eyes but they won’t fall, just stay there, trapped and useless.

           “We’ll find a way, Mulder.”

***

Scully straddled him and rubbed her wet heat along his length. She was full, ripe above him. Breasts heavy, inviting his gentle touch, hair hanging forward as she rocked, soft thighs bracketing his. She’d been sick but told him she needed to feel him inside her. Her mouth pushed against his and he let go of the fear that had balled up in his stomach like a clenched fist.

           She lifted herself up to slide on, taking her time, easing herself down. She grimaced and he held his breath.

           “It’s okay, Mulder. It’s just been a while.”

           “I don’t want to hurt you. We don’t have to…”

           She let her head drop back and he watched her throat as she swallowed and talked. “I want to. I need to. I want to feel something other than nausea and worry. I want to submit to my baser instincts. Besides, the release of hormones will do me some good.”

Her movements were tantalisingly slow, squeezing him. She felt different, thicker, slicker. He had to stop himself from thrusting up too hard but she was flaming around him and his baser needs were building and building. He clenched his buttocks and pushed into her, holding down her hips as he did so.

A pained cry and she sat higher, lifting off him, not quite clear but enough so the rush of cooler air surrounded him. “It’s okay,” she said, voice husky. “I’m okay.”

Her mouth sought his and her breasts fell against his chest. He ran his fingers up and down her spine. Her skin was cool, goose-bumped. “I’m sorry, Scully. Let me help you…”

But she rolled off and went to the bathroom.

***

Tara has cooked a feast. There are three kinds of roast meats, two types of potato dish, pumpkin, vegetable varieties, crusty bread rolls, salads and various sauces and pickles. There’s barely enough room at the table to breathe. Everywhere there is a jug, a pot, a bowl, all perfectly lined up, poised. Matthew has arrived and sits opposite Mulder, a carbon copy of Bill.

           “It’s good to see you again, Mr Mulder.” The young man’s hand is thrust into his, over the glazed carrots.

           “And you too, Matthew. How’s life treating you?” He’s mentally calculating how old this he would be. Have they missed his twenty-first? He doesn���t remember.

           “I’m majoring in Economics, Sir. There’s a post-grad internship at one of the major banks in the city I’m applying for. How’s your portfolio looking?”

           Bill guffaws and Tara smiles as she serves Mulder pumpkin and pork. “Oh, I didn’t check, you do eat it, don’t you?”

           “For God’s sake, Tara, he’s not a practising Jew.” Bill piles beef and chicken onto his plate. “Any wedding plans, Dana?” he adds, as he mounds potato and peas next to his meat.

           Scully, to her credit, simply smiles as she serves herself some vegetables. Tara holds her breath. Matthew pours red into Mulder’s glass and offers some to Scully. She covers her glass with her hand. “None for me.”

           “Oh, Dana, I was hoping to get silly with you tonight,” Tara says, cheeks already pink.

           “I’m not able to drink at the moment,” she says and Mulder notices the tremble of his hands as he serves himself some broccoli and cauliflower. This is it, he thinks. And he finds himself subconsciously reaching for his weapon. His pocket is empty, of course.

           “Are you sick?” Tara asks. Bill watches his sister closely, eyes slightly narrowed.

           “No, I’m…we’re… it’s unexpected, but Mulder and I…” she reaches across to him to take his hand. Warm and soft. “We’re having a baby.”

           He squeezes, tries to breathe but the blow to his guts from her announcement has winded him. Out loud, here, before her family, hearing their news is like listening to the hundreds of people who confided in them over the years of the X-Files, about poltergeists, presences, ghosts, monster dogs, pixies, doppelgangers, unicorns, Yetis, blood-sucking goats and vampires. He shrinks into himself but at the same time knows he needs to be bigger, stronger, for Scully.

           Tara is already around the table hugging Scully before he can even consider Bill’s response, who is watching his wife, his knife and fork clattering to the table. Bill finishes his mouthful, pushes his chair back.

           “What in the name of God, Dana? What are you saying?”

           Scully wrestles herself free from her sister-in-law. “I’m saying that I’m pregnant, Bill. That I’m having a baby. We’re having a baby.”

           Mulder stands behind Scully, hands on her shoulders. She’s tense but he feels her breathing even out and he breathes too. In and out. The pit of fear solid in his gut but anger at Bill’s attitude making it a good fear, a useful fear. They can do this, they can prove them all wrong. They can give this child a life. A good life. A safe life.

           “How about congratulations, Bill?” Mulder holds out his hand. Bill’s hands clench at his sides, his jaw sets firm, his eyes drilling through Mulder.

           “Yes, honey. This is fantastic news. A surprise, yes, but it’s a miracle. A beautiful miracle,” Tara says, kissing the side of Scully’s face. She rushes to Mulder and hugs him close.

Bill puts down his serviette. It flops open on his food. “What will you do?” It’s not even a question. It’s a statement about their life. Mulder almost nods in agreement. What will they do? They haven’t even begun to work their way through this. There’s too much grieving to do, too much processing to wade through. They haven’t come to terms with the impact of losing William, let alone faced what bringing another child into the world will mean.

“We’ll do what we always do,” Scully says quietly, but with authority, with hope, with the sense of belief that they’ve both been searching for. She loops her arm through Mulder’s, tips her chin up to him and smiles. “We’ll find a way.”