Title: Not Dumb Animals Author: Alelou Feedback: Positive, negative, whatever, all welcomed at Alelou123@aol.com (please remember the 123!) Rating: PG Category: MSR angst/schmoop Spoilers: Maybe the Gift, S8, if spoilers are correct, but I'm willing to bet my version is different than Chris's. Disclaimer: Not mine, X-Files belongs to CC, 1013 & Fox Distribution: It's all yours, but leave headers intact please. Summary: Scully and Mulder finally have the Talk Notes: I confess I've been on sabbatical from fanfic for a little while, but decided to give this thing a polish and put it out there before CC enrages me with his version. Hope it's not just like the 100 other versions of this scene that have probably been posted already. Thanks to Jamie and Rachel for early beta. It's a sunny, warm day late in the winter, a day when you smell a hint of moist dirt in the air and think that maybe things will start growing soon. I come in to work late because I needed to stop off for a blood test and an ultrasound at the fertility clinic. The testing is proceeding faster than I expected. They're beginning to urge me to set dates, to make decisions. Mulder doesn't know any of this, of course. I told him I had errands to run and would be in late. I've had a hell of a lot of excuses like that lately. On the other hand, I must have about two years of unofficial comp time due me. And it's not like he explains all his absences. He's quiet, working on something. I get myself a cup of coffee (I'm not giving that up until I have to, that's for sure) and check the mail he's set aside for me. There's not all that much and I'm thinking about heading upstairs when he suddenly swivels around and clears his throat. "If you were ill, you'd tell me, right?" he asks. Huh? "You know I would." He stares stonily at me. "I'm perfectly healthy," I insist. "So, what's the deal, then? You just like going to the doctor?" Ah. Somebody has been watching more carefully than I realized. "No," I say. In the unlikely event I had *ever* liked doctor's visits, being poked and probed on a nearly daily basis after waiting around in a room full of hopeful couples would pretty much have killed the joy by now, thank you very much. This isn't exactly the way I planned to have this conversation, but then again if it were up to me we might never get around to it. So I clear my throat nervously. "Actually, I've been exploring my options in terms of having a child." Mulder looks surprised, then relieved and even interested. "Oh." That expression quickly gives way, however, to something bordering on but not quite completely morose. "You want to leave the X-Files." It's actually a fairly mild, resigned lament. Almost as if his heart isn't in it. Intriguing. I offer the requisite denial. "I didn't say that." But I can see he's not buying it. Nor should he, really. "Scully," he says, "In case you haven't noticed, this isn't exactly a mommy-track job." Mmmm, actually, yes, I had noticed. "I know that. I didn't say I was doing it right away. Just exploring my options." "So what do you mean by options? Adoption?" "No, in vitro." His face stills. This is a subject that has been tense between us ever since he revealed he'd come across my ova in a bunch of vials ... and kept the information to himself until circumstances forced him to reveal it. "With donor eggs, I originally thought," I continue. "But my doctors say that with the right hormonal regimen, they might be able to harvest some of a few remaining ova from me. They can't guarantee they'll be viable, of course. But there's at least a slim chance I could actually have a child who is genetically mine." Mulder still looks wary. "You trust these doctors?" he asks. I shrug. "Yes." I ran background checks. I sought them out, not the other way round. Though I admit I'm not 100% confident about anybody these days. "Of course, in either case, that's not the whole story." But now that the moment has arrived I find myself unable to bring up the very issue I really must discuss with him. Mulder connects the dots, bless him. "Because you'd also need a father," he says. I nod, uncomfortably, and can't quite meet his eyes. "Preferably someone other than Frohike," he adds. "That goes without saying," I agree. Our eyes meet and hold. Damn, this is hard. "So are you looking for an anonymous donor?" Mulder asks carefully. "Someone who won't interfere with your life or your child's life?" Is that what he thinks I want? Or is that what he wants? I scowl and duck my head. "Or do you want someone who's likely to be a complete pain in the ass?" I look up, pleasantly surprised, and smile faintly. "Well, now that you mention it...." His mouth drops open. "Seriously?" he asks. "I'm not 100% sure I want to go through with any of this," I tell him. "It's crazy, really. But if I do, I'd like it to be with you." Mulder is unable to completely hide his gratification. Still, he cocks his head at me. "So, Scully, as a responsible, intelligent woman, you've already agonized about this at length and decided it's worth pursuing?" "I've certainly agonized at length, but I don't know how much responsibility and intelligence have to do with it," I confess. "I think it's may be more a matter of biological imperative layered with heavy cultural expectations and a deep-seated fear that time is running out." Mulder smiles. "See, I knew I could count on you to be rational and analytical even about your own primitive instincts." "So what about you, Mulder?" He shrugs. "I've never made any great claims to rationality." "This doesn't scare the hell out of you?" "Hell, yes, it does. Can you imagine the size of this kid's nose?" I smile. He smiles. Are we actually in tune on this one right out of the gate? God knows there are plenty of reasons to think this is a bad idea. To have a child in the world we live in is quite possibly the most irresponsible thing I've ever considered. For Mulder there's also that painful family background to add terror to the prospect. And for me -- hell, for both of us -- there's the never quite absent fear that the chip and the cancer might make their presence known again. Sometimes I envy those teenagers who get pregnant by accident and just plow ahead. At least they have youth and ignorance as an excuse. Other times I go further and wish I were just a dumb animal. Why should I have to waste years of my life agonizing over the simple genetic compulsion to procreate? Why not just do what comes naturally? Of course, your average dumb animal doesn't need IVF to get pregnant. Actually, though, IVF for humans grew out of techniques in animal husbandry. But if I think about the whole species breeding concept too much, I get paranoid. Why did they want my ova in the first place? What if I can't trust these doctors after all? What if there's another agenda at work here? Better not to go there. Just be the dumb animal for once in your life, I tell myself. It has also occurred to me, however, that maybe all I really need is to have Mulder agree to this, so that I can then forget about it because it's such a very bad idea. At least then I'll know that it was my choice to forget about it. No doubt I should be discussing at least some of this with Mulder. He sits there watching me and the silence stretches out between us. I lick my lips. "So, Scully, what's the deal you're looking for here?" he asks, careful again. "Would I get to play Daddy, or would I just be old Uncle Mulder?" Inquiring minds want to know. God knows I'd like to know. "Every child needs a father," I say. He looks searchingly at me. "Well, there are fathers and then there are fathers. What does that mean in terms of you and me?" "What do you mean?" It's like chess, the way we talk. I figured out the rules a long time ago. Give away as little as possible. I'm a grandmaster, and so is he. "Do we move in together? Get married? Buy a house? Lease a sport utility vehicle with a built-in car seat?" I'm stunned. What did he just do, tip over his king? Or is this just a brilliant strategic move? "Married?" I squeak. "Right. Do we get married?" Mulder asks again, neutrally, as if he's questioning a suspect. I'd think he's remarkably calm if it weren't for the thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead. So was that some kind of proposal? I lick my dry lips again. "I hadn't really thought about that. I didn't particularly think it was an option." "Yet you think having a child with me is an option?" How does he always manage to put me on the defensive? "You are my closest friend," I tell him. "There is no one else in my life I would even consider." Apparently that's not what he wanted to hear. Mulder's face darkens and he gets up and walks away to the far corner of the room. "What?" I ask him. He stands quietly with his back to me for a long minute. "Is that all there is to it?" he finally asks, not turning around. "Friendship?" Oh God. Why did he have to pick today of all days to throw away the chessboard? "I've wondered, you know," he says, turning back, when I don't say anything. He looks pale. "It's okay, Scully. You don't have to answer. I know ... these things make you uncomfortable. It doesn't change anything." "Mulder, you don't understand...." "No, I do," he says, nodding too quickly. "No, you don't!" I insist. "Then explain it to me," he says, darkly. "I guess I wasn't really ready for this conversation." Now he looks like he wants to kill me. "Look," I say, desperately. "I wasn't even prepared to talk about the in vitro. Then all of a sudden you're bringing up marriage. And meanwhile we've never had anything even approaching this conversation before, Mulder. Nothing. Nada. Zip. What do you expect me to say?" "You claim you want to have a child with me. I think it's reasonable to ask, at this juncture, whether there's more to this than sperm donation," Mulder asks tightly. "I mean, I think I have the right to know whether you're just making due with the material at hand, or whether you're motivated in even the slightest way by something else." My eyes fill with tears. "Of course I am!" He scowls. "Well, thank you, that clears everything up." I take a deep, cleansing breath. It's a good thing that he's upset at the idea I don't love him, right? My stomach flutters as the obvious conclusion hits home. "Do you mean to tell me you'd actually consider getting married?" He gives me his most frustrated look. "Okay," I say. "Clearly, you would. But what if you're just doing it as a favor to me because I want to have a kid and you feel guilty about that whole thing. Or maybe because the right person hasn't come along yet. What if you married me, and then you met somebody you really liked...." I've trailed off, because Mulder looks appalled. "Scully, I think I've made it clear on innumerable occasions that you're it. I can't believe you have any doubts on that score." "Excuse me?" I ask. "Clear on innumerable occasions?" Hello? I don't attempt to hide my outraged disbelief. "On the contrary," he continues, ignoring me. "I'm the one who's completely in the dark about whether you see me as just a good friend, or something more than that." Okay, I'm not going to attempt to protest my innocence on this one, and my face probably admits as much. "I don't know if it even matters that much anymore," he adds with some bitterness. "So, what will it be?" he asks. "You tell me. Marriage, or what?" Goodness, how romantic. Nothing like starting a life together on the basis of poorly-hidden hostility. "Well, gee, Mulder, what girl could resist a proposal like that?" I ask, deflated. Please God, I think, let me come back as a dumb animal next time. And not one of those sorry creatures that mate for life, either. "Look, I can do better," Mulder says, now looking a little contrite. "But you've got to give me a clue here. If I get you a nice expensive ring and get down on my knees in a fancy restaurant and ask you to please marry me, are you going to gently and kindly tell me that you just don't feel that way?" "Of course not!" Fear of rejection. That's really all we've got here? How can two tough, alien-fighting, zombie-wrestling FBI agents be such pathetic weenies? "Then what, will you say yes?" The fluttery feelings are suddenly all gone. "Yes, Mulder, I'll say yes." His face clears. "Really?" "Yes." I try to give him a stern stare, but it's difficult to maintain. He smiles. "And it's because you love me?" he can't help but ask, clearly requiring a bit of confirmation here. "Yes, it's because I love you." During our argument he has already thoroughly invaded my space; now he leans his head on mine and places his large hands possessively on my hips. In his huskiest voice, he croons, "Well, Scully, do I really have to go through all that getting on my knees stuff, seeing as how you pretty much said yes just now?" I really didn't come to work this morning expecting to get engaged. I look down at the surreal picture of his huge black shoes up against my tiny black heels on the FBI linoleum and wonder vaguely if I'm hyperventilating. "Scully?" "Okay, Mulder," I say, still feeling short of breath. "No, you don't. But I think you ought to at least buy me dinner." "Deal," he says. And then he lifts up my face and kisses me thoroughly. Oh my. Here we go. THE END