I Can't Take You Anywhere
by bugs

Email: bugsfic@gmail.com
Rating: a mild R
Word Count: 5,200
Genre: MSR
Spoilers: Post-ep The Truth and general details from IWTB

Author's Note: Haven't written a vignette in years. Need to get these
muscles toned again! Sorry that you all have to be my guinea pigs. 
     
~*~

"Let's go home," said Mulder.

His reply to my question: *what do you want to do, Mulder?.* I'd
meant as a sexy come-on, the response to his morning erection nestled
like the taunt young body of a puppy in the small of my back. 

But as my voice had sounded squeaky and the words tentative, I
could see that he may have misunderstood my intent.

I rolled over to face him. "Where's home, Mulder?"

Another question. As simple as a haiku and complex as a Russian
novel. Our home had too often been soulless motel rooms or the stale
interiors of rental cars, cigarette smell tangling with pine scent for a
swinging paper tree suspended from the rear view mirror. Mulder had
seen his office as his home, more than his apartment, now rented by
another single man who slept on his couch instead of a bed. My
apartment, too often invaded by evil over the years, had been passably
homey until the absence of one piece of furniture, packed off by my
mother, made it a place to which I didn't want to return. 

This Roswell motel room, with its familiar anonymity, was home only
until the 11 AM checkout. The rental SUV was due back by three to
the Albuquerque airport. But where were we to go, a disgraced FBI
agent, and worse, a convicted killer, former agent? 

No homes...No jobs...How could we fight the future if it rang empty? 

I patted Mulder's stubbled cheek. Yes, still there. That was something.
He'd been gazing at me the entire time, not replying to my last
question, but his sleepy eyes babbling on in that way he can do,
especially first thing in the morning while I'm still thinking about coffee.

"It's time for me to follow you," he said. "What do you want, Scully?" 

"This." My hand moved down to rest on his chest.

"Then let's go home," he repeated.

"And that's..."

He settled his head on his bicep and brushed my hair off my forehead.
"There's a place...A house..."

Sensing his tension, I encouraged him to continue. "That sounds
promising." 

"I just don't know if you'll want to live there."

Visualizing a house version of his apartment, I waited for more details. 

"When I was living underground, the Lone Gunmen set up a safe
house, a place we could live--"

Under the covers, I found his roaming hand and laced our fingers.
"They were good friends."

"Yes," he murmured, pain painting the edge of the one word. He
kissed the corner of my quivering mouth. 

I knew Mulder loved me. But a real life, the sort with a lawn to mow
and a grocery list to make out had never been a part of our existence.
We'd managed to make a baby while still calling each other by our last
names. Seeing the uncertainty on his face, I had to push aside my
doubts for him. 

"I don't suppose this place in on a private Caribbean island, is it?" I
asked, hiding in humor. 

"Sorry." He pulled his teeshirt over his head.

"Damn," I muttered, only half-kidding this time. Wriggling free from the
robe that I'd fallen asleep in, I opened my arms to him. After all,
checkout wasn't for another two hours, and we were stuck on nine. 

Not to play a numbers game, but our time apart had given me a
profound clarity in regards to the waste of our past few years. The
rules that we'd lived by had to be tossed away, both those spoken and
those just conveyed by his, "I'll see you tomorrow," at the end of the
workday, or my back turning away from his suggestive smile.

*He's the only man who's ever smiled during sex with me, rather
than the grimace of exertion as though bearing down on some
finish line. Joy, such a rare emotion...*

I'd made excuses for us at the time. I had assumed, and I bet he had
as well, that the sex would be awful and awkward and we'd never be
able to look the other in the eye again. 

Despite that, he had followed me into my bedroom after the news that
the final IVF treatment hadn't taken. It was something inevitable and
necessary at that painful moment. Or perhaps we'd just expected to
plunge the knife in and kill our relationship once and for all. We would
illustrate the simple truth; we couldn't have nice things. My house
plants kept dying, Mulder's bike tires went flat before his next ride and
I couldn't make a baby.

When it had been fantastic and earth-moving and a greater spiritual
connection, we were left with no next move. It was necessary to
retreat and reassess. Until we dared to try again, once more sure that
it would lead to disappointment and disenfranchisement. Continued
great sex left us befuddled. Normal people would have done
something that felt that good more often, but success was not our
credo; noble suffering was. 

*The selfishness of making love was odd and uncomfortable after
so many years. To want, to want, to want...To make him come, to
come myself, to be this way forever and to hell with the rest of the
world and what it needs from us...*

He had said that he didn't want being my sperm donor to change
anything and I interpreted that to mean that our sex life had to remain
in its own little box beside writing up field reports by their due dates
and getting the oil changed in my car regularly. 

*Not stuck on nine anymore *

"Just fine?" Mulder mumbled as he collapsed beside me. 

"What?" I smoothed his cowlick down absent-mindedly. 

"You said something about fine." His fingertip stroked my lower lip,
then traveled slowly down to dance along my collarbone. 

Admitting I was keeping count wasn't appropriate at the moment. And
the days for counting were over. 

"Nu'uh," I insisted and kissed him hard, knowing he could be easily
diverted in bed; so unlike the working Mulder...

When he could finally speak again, he said: "I guess we should have
used a condom." 

I rolled back, bringing a rush of cold air between our still damp
bodies. 

"I mean, if it could happen once, it could happen again." His finger
resumed its journey to circle my navel. 

"I don't think so, Mulder." I rose, swinging my legs off the bed so my
back was to him. "I think we only get one miracle."

2. 
Our car pulled up before a steel gate with a spiked top rail. The rental
had been abandoned in New Mexico. Mulder had visited a bank,
returning with twenty thousand dollars in cash to purchase another
vehicle and pay for our journey to Virginia. He'd explained that the
money came from the account that he'd been living off of during his
time in hiding.

"And where'd that money come from?"

"You'd be surprised what sort of income the LGM's newsletter
generates," he said. 

"Does that mean our new occupation will be as roving reporters?"

"We won't be roving," he had reminded me. "We're going home."

He drove up the a rutted dirt road toward a dilapidated farmhouse,
stark against the cloud-filled sky. Over the years investigating
unexplained phenomenon, we'd approached many a dwelling that
looked just like this, with its dark windows and shadowy porch.

Only this one was our new home.

I forced a smile on. "It's not The Falls at Arcadia, for sure." I chose
not to mention that it actually resembled the Peacocks' house. 

He stopped the car and gazed out the rain-splattered windshield, his
hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. "I know it doesn't look like
much--"

This was important; I could see that.

I tried again. "We'll make it our home."

"It needs some work."

"What else do we have to do?" I pointed out, meaning to sound
practical, but instead, it came out as lost.

x.
Inside, the oak floorboard creaked under our feet. The plaster was
water-stained yellow and the trim painted black. Dark furniture
huddled in the dim room. I headed to the nearest window and yanked
open the dingy curtains. The meager light did little to brighten the
room. 

I squeezed the leather cushion on the couch. "Wait, this is yours," I
said, understanding dawning. I looked around more closely. His empty
fishtank was in a corner...I recognized a bookcase...

"This is all yours."

He closed the front door. "Yep."

"When your apartment turned up empty; this is where everything went?"

"The guys had it moved," he acknowledged.

"They have a moving company too?"

"They were a diversified enterprise."

I shed my coat. "There's a lot of work to be done. We better get started."

We had our new jobs already. 

Mulder had told me that he would take my bag upstairs--all my
wardrobe in the world was in one overnight suitcase--and tidy up the
bedroom and bath.

"You'll want me to clean that toilet," he said and his uneasy expression
gave me concern. He would tell me little about any residual effects of
his abduction, only turning my stonewalling after my own return into his
echo. 

I was running the vacuum when I heard a thumping from the back
staircase, followed by stifled cursing. 

"Mulder, are you okay?" I peered up the dim stairwell.

A muffled, "I got it," came from the landing.

I could see long legs thrashing from under some large, dark piece of
furniture. I turned on the feeble light and came up to him. 

"Be careful," I admonished him, grabbing his foot to still his struggles.
"Let's get this off you--"

It was an oak crib.

His flushed face looked up from under the headboard. "Scully--"

"Off--" I repeated, pushing it with amazing strength, and it hit the wall
with a crack. 

He rolled over to sit on the landing step, catching his breath. I clung to
the bannister, waiting. 

When he didn't say anything, his head hanging, I finally prompted him,
"What is this, Mulder?"

"I didn't want to upset you. I was trying to get it out of here."

"Had you brought it to the house? Before?" The story was coming
together with sickening speed for me.

He nodded.

I could barely stutter: "You were making a home for the three of us?
We could have been together? A family?" My stomach pitched and
rolled. I scrambled down the stairs, he in pursuit, to get to the garbage
can by his old desk before I threw up. 

As I hung onto the desk, waiting to assure that the retching had
stopped, he rubbed my back in slow circles. He tugged off his
sweatshirt and offered it for me to wipe my mouth.

"I"m sorry, Scully--"

*"You're sorry?"* I scrubbed the tears from my eyes with my fists.
"How can you not hate me? How can you even want to be with me?" 

My voice rose to a hoarse shout in the silent house. "I gave our baby
away before you could come for us!"

He sank to the floor beside me, just as weak as I felt. Raising his face,
he told me: "I can't second guess how things happened and what
could've been. I've spent too many years being broken because of a
lost child. I saw it kill my parents after tearing apart their marriage and
our family. I won't--I can't, have that happen to us. If that's what's
going to happen, let me leave now."

I had to grab him, pressing his head to my chest. We could both hear
the thunder of my heart. 

"You've been there with me, Scully. You've seen what it's like. Do you
want to be that way someday?"

I kissed the top of his head. I could barely speak, but I had to. "So are
you telling me to give up? That we can't have our son back?"

"No. I'm just saying that I'll be no good to you, or William, if I allow
myself to be that way. You were there with me for seven years, felt so
much of my pain..."

"Do you think I'll become like you were?"

"That's your choice. I won't even try to tell you not to want him back.
To miss him every day. I would die for our son, Scully, but perhaps
the best thing to do is live for him, and be ready to make that sacrifice
when necessary."

He took one of my cold, shaking hands and put it to his lips. "But if
you want to go get him, just say it. We'll get in the car tonight." 

Twining our fingers, I squeezed until my knuckles turned white. "And
then we will wrought pain onto that family, the sort of agony that we
spent years trying to stop and aleve. We can't--" The two words tore
at my throat. 

He had to support me now; I was sagging against him. "Don't say
can't, or won't," he urged. "Let's just clean out the fridge, cut down the
weeds, and see what the next day brings. For once, I can't look at the
big picture. I just don't have the strength."

I was exhausted. "Is it too early to go to bed?"

"Let's have some dinner first," he said. 

Dinner was a frozen pizza from the top of the stack in the freezer. We
chewed on the cardboard-tough crust, lost in our own thoughts. But
the anguish of the past hour rolled away, like a storm moving onward,
just leaving broken limbs and flood damage in its wake.

He led me up the front staircase, avoiding the narrow kitchen stair with
its emotional blockade on the landing. The old house creaked around
us, making all those odd sounds of wooden farmhouses standing alone
in fields; the flap of shingles, the groan of trusses, the burp of lead pipes.

The bedroom had only one lamp with a low-watt bulb barely lighting
the bed.

"I thought you got rid of that thing after it sprung a leak." Hands on
hips, I stared at the canopied monstrosity in the center of the room. It
even still had the leopard print cover.

"I had it patched and moved into storage. I thought--"

"I'm not sleeping on that."

He eased close, his fingers dancing on my shoulder. "Didn't you ever
wonder--"

"No, Mulder. Never," I said firmly. 

"It's too late to buy a bed tonight," he pointed out slyly.

"There's the couch." 

"Not enough room for two."

"We've managed before."

Tangled together on the cushions, too exhausted to go to his bedroom.
Not wanting to anyway, only wanting to breathe in the scent of warm
leather, his flushed skin and something still new and tantalizing.

I'd counted carefully after the positive pregnancy test, needing the
reassurance of a definite encounter. As part of a couple whose love-
making could be counted on a pair of hands, I was able to pinpoint the
date and verify the data.

Yes. On the couch. After telling Mulder about Daniel. Later in his bed
when the couch became just too uncomfortable, a sleepy half-
completed turn. I chose to decide impregnation happened on Mulder's
faithful old couch. 

He saw the memory in my eyes and came to me. My protests became
half-hearted. 

"Next thing I know, you're going to order a bed with Magic Fingers," I
griped.

"Don't give me ideas, Scully," he said as he eased my clothes off.

The first slosh of movement made this all seem like a bad idea again.

"Mulder, did you put enough water in this thing?"

He was still struggling out of his jeans, not his best move while riding
the motion of an under-filled waterbed. "You're a sailor's daughter.
You can handle it," he gasped, flinging aside his pants and wiggling out
of his boxers.

"Okay, I'll lash myself to the mast then."

"I don't know if I'd say a mast," he said, but the smugness was obvious
in his voice. 

Wrapping my leg around his hip to hold fast, I allowed him the
moment of ego. I didn't bother to hold in the long moan I always made
as our bodies came together. If it gave him pleasure, well, that was
one of the objectives, right? 

"Oh God, there's even a mirrored canopy."

Squares holding my bright hair spilling across the pillow, another with
his profile and his mouth on my breast. My nails biting into his
shoulders. The utter whiteness of my shorter leg hooked around his
darker thigh. 

We washed back and forth on the bed's waves. Locking my ankles
behind his back, I couldn't stop giggling. 

"I really don't think this is the way it's done," I noted as I felt around
for some sort of purchase on our ever shifting surface.

He cradled my cheek. "We never could do anything right."

"Oh God," I cried out.

He chuckled manfully, a sound that always made me laugh too.
Perhaps that was my ego moment. I didn't clarify that I'd actually
cracked my skull on the headboard. Making Mulder feel like a sex
machine to all the--to one chick--was no mean feat. 

Then a rogue wave tossed us against the headboard again, we both
banged our heads, and the tenuously balanced stack of Omni
magazines on the shelf above the bed tumbled over atop us.

"This feels good," I gasped when I finally caught my breath.

His head tucked in the crook of my neck, Mulder mumbled, "It's
supposed to."

Combing back his tousled hair, I kissed the whorl of his ear. *"This
feels good,"* I repeated. 

I had the first glimmer of a new life. It flickered through the dim room
like a paper-winged moth, then was gone in the shadows, but tears still
came to my eyes. 

3.
We arranged a meeting with Skinner in Roanoke. He was already in
the cafe when we arrived, facing the door. Mulder and I sat at either
side of his table, watching the other patrons and out the windows. 

"I've got news," Skinner told us as his gaze scanned the crowd.

"What?" asked Mulder but he seemed disinterested.

"The FBI appears to have taken a don't ask, don't tell attitude toward
the disappearance of Fox Mulder."

"What does that mean?" I asked quickly, leaning in.

"No one will look for Mulder, but he just better not show up
anywhere. Not open a bank account, sign up for internet service, try
to get a job--not even as the local dog catcher."

I blinked in shock. "What about me?"

Mulder smiled, his gaze locked with Skinner's. "You didn't murder a
man, Scully. They'll leave you alone."

"That's the impression I've gotten too," Skinner agreed.

"Well, I don't give a damn," I ground out. "They can go to hell--"

Mulder put his hand over my balled fist. "We'll take it," he told Skinner.

I looked from one to the other. "What do you mean, Mulder? Skinner
isn't the one making the offer."

"But they made sure this information filtered down to him and allowed
him to come here."

Skinner nodded. "I'd thought that too."

"How's your career doing, sir?" Mulder asked and I was instantly
ashamed that I hadn't thought about our former supervisor's fate.

"Still got a name plate on my door." He reached behind his chair and
pulled around a poster tube. "Managed to save one thing from your office."

Mulder unrolled a corner and smiled at the sight of a familiar letter E.
"Thanks, Walter."

"And for you, Agent Scully," he said, offering a small bag. "Your
mother has sent a few things that she thought you may want. I told her
that you'd be in touch once you felt it was safe."

"Thank you, sir," I choked out.

"I better go. Even if they allowed me to come here to put this detent in
place, I don't think I should push it." Skinner rose. "So I guess this is goodbye."

He extended his hand. After a long moment, Mulder finally took it. I
dipped my head to cover my expression.

"Agent Scully, no need for that," Skinner said. "Frankly, this is a pretty
good parting, considering the shit that's gone down over the years. A
lot of buddies I've had...Reduced to nothing but an arm in a bucket..."
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, this is pretty good."

I took his hand and shook it as hard as I could. Mulder and I watched
his wide back go out the door. 

"I guess we should get back home," said Mulder after about ten
minutes of sitting in silence. 

4. 
I began to garden at our new house. Spring was here and I needed to
start if I hoped to get everything in the ground. I hadn't worked in a
garden since I'd helped my mother as a child. No matter where we
lived, she needed to put down roots, literally. It gave her the illusion of
permanence. 

Gardening also stopped me from hovering over Mulder as he knocked
out the barely functioning upstairs bathroom for a remodel. He knew
that I was only a howl of pain away for medical assistance. 

"Lefty loosey, righty tighty," I reminded him before going out into our
large yard. His puzzled expression worried me, but I had my own
plans for the day.

The first strong inhale of loamy soil as my spade turned over the earth.
The exhale of stale air from the bottom of my lungs, pushing out
formaldehyde, ash and swamp gas. I would be clean again, and
strong. My hands ended up black, my nails chipped and clogged with
dirt. and I hadn't felt this cleansed in years.

Mulder came out to watch me harrow the little patch of cleared earth. 

"How's it going in the bathroom?" I asked.

"Fine," he said with studied casualness. "You've got a good start here."

Needing a break, I sat on an overturned bucket. "I'm going to plant
my potatoes tonight." 

He smiled. "Of course. Is it a full moon?"

I forced myself to smile back. "Yes."

Changing the subject, I asked him, "So what does it mean; that the
authorities are going to ignore you? Can you leave this place?"

"Or am I to remain here behind our fortifications, like a fairytale
character trapped by a spell?" he suggested lightly. 

That made me smile for real. "I love you, Mulder, but you're no Prince
Charming."

Then I became serious again. "Really? How are we to live?"

"There's plenty of money. Accounts were set up, there's the Gunmen's
income, there's funds from my legacies--"

"I don't mean that. I mean..." I waved my hand. "We never remained
in one place for more than a week at a time. Always on the road;
more hours in motels then in our homes. You'll be fine without work?
Without a purpose?"

He snagged my dangling hand, and his thumb stroked the back of my
hand. "I think you'll keep me busy."

"I'm serious, Mulder."

His smile was sweet but his eyes shadowed. "I am too."

I didn't believe him for a minute. "Mulder--" 

When I got no answer, I stood. "Guess I'll cut up the seed potatoes.
Unless you need help in the bathroom."

His eyes shifted. "No, I'm doing okay. Just use the downstair bath for now."

x.
Alone while Mulder slept, I planted potatoes on the night of our son's
birthday, at the hour of his birth, the tubers' eyes gazing up to the sky.
I chose not to find any symbolism in the act.

5. 
Two days after I planted my potatoes, my morning tour of the garden
revealed the earth dug up and most of the seed tubers gone.

"Son of a bitch!" I was ranting over and over when Mulder found me. 

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Something's gotten my potatoes!"

He bent down, carefully checking for signs. "I don't see any tracks."

"This could be part of a dog's print," I said, pointing to a depression in
the soft ground. 

"But have you seen or heard any dogs or coyotes?" he asked. "The
entire property is fenced."

I sensed something familiar coming. I folded my arms. "There could be
a hole in the fence, or something could dig under it."

Kneeling down, I found one untouched piece of potato, its pale eye
protruding from the scarred flesh. 

"I've been doing some research about this area, Scully. The Powhatan
tribe would pay homage to a god, Okeus, before planting, or else he
would ruin their crops--"

"No, Mulder!" Even I was surprised by the vehemence in my voice.
"No. We've stopped the car. We've gotten out. There's no more
chasing after potato-stealing mythical creatures!"

He blinked. "Scully--"

I felt a level of dissatisfaction that can only come from having just what
you always thought that you wanted. 

"I'll just get more potatoes and cover them with chicken wire." I
stormed away before he could say anything more.

After I'd finished and came in for dinner, we had stiff conversation
over our meal. With forced casualness, after he'd dried the dishes that
I washed, Mulder said, "I think I'll go run a stakeout over your tater patch."

"That's not necessary, Mulder. It'll be fine with the wire."

"Hey, what can it hurt?" He was leaving the kitchen before I could
answer. 

Leaning on the sink, I fought back anger, having that internal
conversation to finish the one that we'd started. It hurt because he
would find a X-file in anything, even a few lost potatoes. It hurt
because he seemed to need this more than he needed the peace that
he claimed he wanted. 

When I heard the front door close, it just plain hurt. 

x.
"I brought you some coffee."

He shushed me and I considered tossing the thermos in the weeds and
heading back into the house. Instead, I sat on the log beside him and
poured myself a cup. He put out his hand, unseeing, as though he
expected me to give him the coffee. I drained the plastic lid with four
deep gulps.

I resurrected my low stakeout voice. "Anything yet?" 

He shook his head. I refilled the cup and passed it to him. He started
to sip his coffee.

I looked up to the stars. The night sky is so much more intense in the
country. I would have to spend more time on our porch after dark.
My hand found Mulder's to squeeze his long fingers. 

"Hey, I'm working here," he said.

I pinched his thumb with my fingernails. 

His low chuckle was cut off when there was a rustle in the bushes. 

"Here it is," he said with the old excitement.

I stayed on the log and watched him leap forward. A black and white
dog yelped with fear as the large man came crashing at him. Mulder
landed facedown in the dirt as the dog tucked his tail between his legs
and took off into the darkness.

"You okay, Mulder?" I put the lid back on the thermos.

"Yeah," he grumbled, scrambling to his feet and brushing off the mud.

"I guess you can come to bed now." 

But when I looked over my shoulder, he was staring off into the darkness.

"It could still be the Okeus," he insisted.

"Mulder, tomorrow I'll put up a fence around the potato patch. You
can even add a low volt wire. That should do it."

He finally noticed my outstretched hand and took it. "It is late," he admitted.

6. 
"I think you should look for a job," Mulder announced from under the
bathroom sink cabinet that he was trying to remove. He held the pea-
trap in place as he tried to loosen the connection. 

"Why?" I asked. "I thought you said there was enough money."

"Have you ever worked for money?" he said, fumbling with his free
hand for another wrench.

I rooted around in the toolbox until I found the proper one. "Of course
not. But--"

"Don't tell me you're feeling fulfilled by checking your garden every
day for the progress of the seedlings." He accepted the second wrench
and returned to his task. "And cooking gourmet meals every day?
What next, you'll take up scrapbooking?"

I continued as though he hadn't spoken: "But you've always been my
partner. What, I'm going to walk into the local PD office and offer
myself up as a rookie recruit? Oh, and here's my friend Marty who I
take with me everywhere."

He peeked at me from under the cabinet. "You could be a doctor.
Remember that diploma hanging on your wall?"

I backed up to sit on the toilet. "Mulder, I--"

"Yes, Scully?"

"I don't want to leave you here alone."

With a mighty grunt, he got the pipe loose. "I'll be okay," he said just
as a flood of dirty water waved down on his face and chest.

Handing him a towel, I said, "I know you will," trying to sound
confident. 

"Just make some calls. You don't have to accept any position, but just
see what you feel when they offer you one."

"I'm sure a medical practice would jump at the chance to add a
physician who's never had live patients...But does have experience
removing unholy parasitic lifeforms, performing CPR while zombies
are attacking and stopping traumatic bleeding--Just what's needed in a
rural community doctor's office."

"There's hospitals." He sat up and crossed his long legs while he wiped
his face dry. 

I folded my arms. "Yes, there are. Which would mean even more time
away. Twelve, fourteen hour shifts--"

"Just an idea."

"I'm happy, Mulder." I hated the way there were tears in my voice and
balancing on my eyelashes. 

"I am too." He returned the wrenches to the toolbox. "Let's turn the
water back on and see what happens."

x.
Mulder was chipping peeling paint from the porch railing when I drove
up. I turned the car off, but stayed behind the wheel. Putting down his
scraper, he came over to the driver's side. I rolled down the window.

"How'd it go?" He leaned in, arms braced on the window frame.

"I think it went all right," I said slowly.

"You told the interview panel you were Catholic?"

"It wasn't a requirement on the posting."

"It can't hurt."

I smiled up at him. "I told them that I was looking for an opportunity to
distinguish myself." 

"You've got it then," he said. "Welcome home, Doctor Scully."

He leaned in to kiss the tears from my cheek, and I held his face close,
to breathe his breath, to feel the comforting thud of his pulse before
bringing his lips with mine. We had found the future.

~end~