Title: When the Sharks Aren't Biting
Author: phoenix99 (coming temporarily out of retirement)
Rating: R for some objection words.
Category: Well, H maybe. MA, SA and DA I guess, and
DPOV and MPOV
Spoilers: Everything up to (and including) Three Words
Feedback: Yes, please, I have a horrible feedback
deficiency and need donor feedback to live. Please send it
to: xphoenix99@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: Well, I don't usually write this kind of
story, but I thought, what the hell, a lot of people seem
fairly pissed about the way the past few episode have
turned out, so here is a break for you.

As always, a big thank you to jemirah for paving over all 
grammar pots holes and warning me about flying cheese.
I salute you!

X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X


I really have no idea why I took it. I mean, I could have
waited for the other agents to come across it when they did
their search of Agent Mulder's apartment. I wasn't
especially fond of Agent Scully at the time and I didn't
know Agent Mulder at all, so I wasn't trying to do them a
favor. It was before the official search began that I found it.
I had gone through most of the drawers and shelves and
miscellaneous boxes full of crap throughout his apartment
before I let out a frustrated sigh and sat on the edge of
Mulder's bed. I hadn't found anything that might have led
me to Agent Mulder or even pointed me in the right
direction, but had discovered more than I wanted to know 
about his extensive 'special interest' video collection.

I was about to leave so I wouldn't have to watch the
dissection of Mulder's home (or worse--get cornered here
by Agent Scully), when I thought of one last place I should
look. It was a stupid cliched place and, when I lifted the
side of the mattress I had been sitting on, I found nothing.
Maybe that was too obvious a spot for someone as
paranoid as Mulder. I used to hide things from my older
brother all the time in the lining of my bottom mattress. So
I ran my hand underneath the bed and, to my surprise, I
felt the familiar rip in the fabric. I bent down and looked
underneath where I found boxes of who knows what
squeezed into the small space. The bed itself seemed fairly 
new and the fabric seemed to have been cut with scissors. I 
wasn't sure what to expect and when I reached into the 
mattress I pulled out an old yellow manila folder that had 
obviously been handled often, making the paper soft like 
fabric. I glanced inside to see a some books, an envelope 
and a few other things of little interest. The lameness of 
it kind of killed my excitement.

I was on my way to my car, intending on snooping
through the folder when I got home, when I got the call to
go to Arizona. I must have tossed the folder in my trunk
and forgotten about IT, because it was several months later
before I picked it up and looked inside. I panicked as I 
realized I had forgotten to check any of the items inside 
and that I would be up to my neck in shit if it revealed 
what had happened to Mulder.

By the time I was home, I had convinced myself that
whatever it was wouldn't be much help now. Mulder had
been missing for months, so there wasn't any rush. I sat
down on my couch with a beer and began to pull the items
out one by one and set them down in a neat little row.
There were two small books, a bulging envelope, a very
worn, dog-eared essay called 'Einstein's Twin Paradox: A
New Interpretation' and a small, black velvet box. Sure, it
wasn't a note saying where he had gone with a map draw
on the back, but it was something. I was suddenly hit by an
unfamiliar pang of guilty about having stolen his things--
probably personal things--from Agent Mulder's apartment,
even though he wasn't really missing them at the moment.
I was telling myself that I only wanted to get the
investigation moving forward, that my curiosity was only
professional; but, when I look back at it now, my reasons
seem skewed. I brushed off the feeling and plowed on.
Like a giddy school girl who's found their crush's diary, I
began to delve into Mulder's life.

After several hours, I'd read through the small books,
which had turned out to be journals. Very private journals
which recorded Mulder's partnership with Scully
beginning around four or five years earlier. I found them
to be hard to understand because of the cryptic way they
had been written. I spent twenty minutes trying to
understand the first entry and decided to just skim the rest
of it. Some of the entries had dates, some had strange
codes written at the top of the page, all of them contained
short forms for words, names, and places. It was like
reading mandarin, backwards, underwater and while high.
It was as if he knew that one day, someone would try to
read them and he had prepared for it from the beginning.
Still, from what I did understand, Mulder and Scully were
much closer than I had suspected. The journal entries were
almost poetic in places when he referred to his partner,
though the way they were worded, and all of the short
forms made it hard for me to really understand how close.

The envelope contained a bunch of tapes, each had two
codes written on them in black marker along with a
fraction (all of which had the denominator ten). I assumed
one of the codes was a case number and the other maybe a
date, but the other number was baffling. When I put them
in my stereo they turned out to be Scully's autopsy and
case notes, which I found rather disturbing. Why did
Agent Mulder have Scully's autopsy tapes stashed in his
mattress? I can only try not to understand, in the hopes
that I will never have to explain it.

Next I picked up the essay which, after closer inspection 
and to my surprise, turned out to be Scully's senior 
thesis. It was in just as rough shape as the folder it 
had been stuffed in. The corners were so worn that most 
of them were rounded or torn. The paper was soft to
the touch and turned easily. There were notes in pencil
scribbled throughout it and some parts were circled or
highlighted. The writing matched that in the journals 
so I assumed it was his.

There was only one last thing to be scrutinized and the
previous guilt I'd felt changed back into giddy excitement
as I picked up the soft velvet box and pulled open the lid.

I think my attitude changed after that and I wonder if
everything would have happened as it did if I'd never
come across those things. I had originally told myself I was
only doing it to find Mulder. But when I didn't turn the
things over to the bureau as evidence or give them to
Scully, maybe I was thinking of Mulder and Scully's best
interests and that it was important that neither Scully 
nor the FBI found them. Perhaps it was out of a respect 
for other agents, a loyalty and camaraderie towards the 
people who share my line of work. At least that's what 
I'm telling myself now as I stand here in front of Mulder's 
front door. And it's what I will tell Mulder, if I'm not 
punched unconscious first.

I knock on the door quickly, then stuff my hands in my
pockets to make sure the treasures are still hidden there.
My mind is suddenly reminding me that Mulder is a
psychologist... will he take my quick knocks as
impatience? Maybe fear? Did I knock too loudly? I really
wish Scully was here to keep Mulder under control. It's not
that I'm afraid of the guy, I just don't like having to fight
against someone who just got out of the hospital and can
probably still kick my ass. I don't need anymore bruises or
lacerations. After our last meeting, I'm starting to wonder 
if mail would have been safer.

When the door opens and I'm face to face with the man, I
know I was right. Postage is worth paying to save one's
life.

X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X


I am becoming accustomed to sulking now. Actually, I
think it's something darker than sulking, like maybe
brooding. You sulk when you know that doing it for long 
enough will bring happiness, or maybe a resolution. If 
not those, than at least some hard liquor. But there really 
didn't seem to be any end in sight, and resolutions were 
harder to find than a cure for stupidity. And the hard 
liquor? Well, I have none, am too tired to go get some and 
the doctor said no alcohol. And besides, if Scully caught 
me drinking, she was liable to start crying again, which 
was a lot more than I could handle.

The knock at the door interrupts my self-torture, and
makes me suspicious. It isn't a Scully knock, that hasn't
changed since I've been gone. It most likely wasn't a
Skinner knock either, but I can't be sure. I wait for a second
before pushing myself off the couch and walking up to the
door.

When I open it, I don't know whether to attack the man in
front of me or invite him inside, see what he has to say,
then attack him. It is obvious by the look on John Doggett's
face that he's prepared for both.

"I brought back something that was taken from you when
they searched your apartment... I, uhh...." Doggett
stumbles after a moment of awkward silence, looking
nervously past me for what I guess to be any sign of my
par-... or his... or, well, Scully in general. "I thought you
might want them back."

At that, I feel my heart grow a little bit bigger and the
grinch that I am steps back from the door and motions for
Doggett to enter my cave. He does it cautiously and I
realize that I may have made him as suspicious of me as I
am of him. I walk past him and sink back into the couch,
where I've been sitting for most of the day.

He looks around for a place to sit, but ultimately his
distrust of me keeps him on his feet and at a distance,
despite my obvious acts of civility.

"So, what did the FBI steal from me this time?" I ask in the
cynical, adolescent attitude that must be a side effect of the
alien virus I had been given. Too bad I haven't found the
cure for it yet....

Doggett seems to get uncomfortable with my question, but
instead of answering, he sets the papers he was carrying
on the table in front of me. He then reaches into his pockets
and pulls out my journals and my envelope of Scully
audio, setting them down while carefully gauging my
reaction.

A reaction which is delayed as I suddenly realize that the
things I'd been so afraid to look at once I was home, were
never really here at all.... And that the entire FBI have
heard all about Fox Mulder's private life... and the things
he and Scully had done....

"Sorry, I lost the folder that they were found in," he
apologizes lamely as I see my sanity crumble before me.
Then, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, 
Doggett pulls out the small black box.

The ring! Shit! That must have been why Scully was so
pissed--how could I have been such an asshole? Now
everyone knows everything. I'll never be reinstated.
Someone probably won a lot of money when the word got
around; I heard the pool was pretty high.

And that's when I had to start to cry. Right there in front of
Doggett and my stash of Scully memorabilia, and only
moments after complaining about Scully's own crying
problem, except I don't have the convenient excuse of
hormones. I don't think I'm wailing, but sobbing and
whimpering like a pathetic fool who's seen his only love
and everyone he works with laughing at a nude picture
they found of him on the internet.

"No, no, Agent Mulder, it's not what you think," Doggett
says quickly, afraid to touch me but desperate for me to
stop crying. "They never saw this stuff. Scully never saw
this stuff," he tells me, still unsure if he should shake me
or step back before I freak out.

"What did you say?" I ask in a squeaky voice, my hands
still covering my face.

"I found this stuff before the search began. No one has seen
it but me." He tries to sound hopeful that maybe this will
stop me from crying.

His words are finally starting to sink in and I wipe the
tears from my eyes and look up at him. I really don't know
whether I should hug him or kill him.

"You read my journals? You listened to the tapes?" You
looked at the ring?

"Yeah, I did," he confesses and I feel the anger rise. "But I
couldn't understand your journals at all. I have no idea
what all that crap was," he quickly assures me. "And the
reasons for you keeping those tapes are your own."

Though I am overjoyed to hear that he never let anyone
see these things, I am still pissed that he looked through
everything. I wasn't willing to accept him into the X-Files,
let alone my private life. Makes me wonder why a straight
arrow such as himself would steal evidence in the first
place.

"Why didn't you turn these things into the FBI?" I say, not
wanting to sound ungrateful, but trying to keep him at a 
distance, lest he get the idea that we're now bosom buddies.

"I just didn't see them as important to the investigation," he
says confidently... a bit too confidently for my liking. I
squint at him through my reddened eyes and he frowns.
"Ok, fine, we found better leads and I ended up forgetting
the folder was in the trunk of my car."

I almost laugh. "Well, thank god for that," I say as I stand
up. Doggett is looking at me strangely, probably
wondering what's on deck for my next emotional outburst.
Sadness.... Happiness.... the only possible conclusion is
anger right?

"I'm going to get going. I'm sure you have a lot of things to
do," he says as he walks himself to the door.

He's already making his escape out my door as I call out
my thanks. He nods quickly before the door closes and I
can picture him running down the hall trying to get away
from me. Well, that's how I would react if I were him and
had just given a psycho the items that help him relate to
his fixation. Gee that's a fun way to look at it.

It's been several hours since I started to reintroduce myself
to her. Like a heroine addict who's been five months clean
before giving in again, I feel the familiar bittersweet relief.
It was something I desperately needed. It reminded me
that we may not be who we used to be, but we aren't such
different people and the changes are not so great. I had at
this point reread Scully's senior thesis, listened to my
favorite tapes and reread all the good journal entries
except for the last one. Sure, it was lame that I even
bothered to put everything into quasi-code, but I was still
so paranoid when I started the journal. Then I soon
discovered that I couldn't not write it like that. It was
almost like tradition.

The last line wasn't in code; maybe it was because I
thought Scully would someday read it.... 'Today is my last
chance for a cure.'

I close the book and carefully pick up the black box sitting
next to it. I open the lid and slip the ring onto the end of
my pinkie finger. The small circle of diamonds on the top
glitters as I slide the ring around and around my finger.

I take a deep breath as I lay back against the cushions. I
still feel a bit left out, but not as detached as I had been. 
I think I'm finally starting to deal with how everything has
changed, especially Scully. We haven't discussed anything
in much depth (as is our nature) and I had asked her to
give me some time. She doubtfully agreed and I've been
sitting here all day regretting it. The next worst thing
to not having hard liquor to dull pain is having no one to 
share your woes with.

So far, if anyone asked me what my problem was, I'd tell
them it was post traumatic stress or that I was still
adjusting to this new life. But the truth is, I am having
difficulty accepting Scully's pregnancy. Sure, I'm happy for
her, but again, it was bittersweet. To leave someone
normal, then come back months later to find them carrying
a sign that says 'wide load' gives one pause. I want to give
her my support but the grief I feel about it is almost more
than I can bear. Perhaps I'm being a prude or selfish or old
fashioned--so fucking sue me. I've found that the only way
to keep from crying all the time is to be angry, an emotion
which is handy for blocking out everything else.

But now what seemed like such a brilliant plan looks like
a shit-smeared sidewalk.

After a moment, I pull off the ring and shove it back in the
box. I'm starting to cry again, so I quickly gather
everything up and try to think of a new hiding place, but
fail and decide that the mattress will be alright
temporarily. Well, alright for everything but the ring. I
need that to help accentuate my misery for the next few
days.

I return to the couch and take the ring back out, continuing
the twirling I'd been doing with it earlier. My head falls
back and for a while the ceiling becomes such an
interesting part of consciousness.


It must be hours before I awake because it is pitch black
outside. There is someone knocking on my door and I
blindly scramble to answer it. As I stand, I hear the
horrible clatter of the ring as it hits the ground and rolls
away into the abyss of my apartment.

"Shit," I murmur as the knocking quickly turns into
pounding.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice comes clearly through the door.

"I'll be right there!" I call back, my voice sounding
panicked and annoyed much to my own chagrin.

I give up and turn to the door just as she steps in.

"Hey, Scully," I say, looking up at her from the floor. I have
never seen anything more beautiful, yet every time I see
her, it breaks my heart. The woman I see is a far cry from
the woman I knew.

"Mulder," she starts and I wave her down.

"I know, Scully, it's too soon for me to be looking for all the
bugs that have been planted in my absence," I quip. She
does one of her secretly disappointed smiles as if I again
said the wrong line in a play I've never read the script for.

I sigh as I toss myself back onto the couch. The sight of her
has brought back my dark rain cloud.

"How are you feeling?" she asks carefully. Like Doggett,
she doesn't sit down.

"The same, better, worse, I don't know." I reply in a
clipped voice. My irrational anger is starting to take over
my misery.

She looks down just like she used to, except now I'm sure
she can't see her feet for the slope of her stomach.

"I wish you'd tell me what's bothering you--why you can't
except this," she says sadly, her hand waving across her
abdomen.

I want to tell her what I've been telling her this entire time,
that I'm still trying to adjust, that I'm lost and confused.
But after reading through the last five years of our
partnership, I feel the need to tell her the truth. To let her
know how much she has hurt me, but that I'll still be as
supportive as I can.

"I know how much you wanted this, Scully," I begin
slowly. She is watching me from her resigned position
against the wall and I'm afraid I am going to start to cry
again. "And I don't blame you for continuing to try in my
absence... I'm happy that you're happy. I want you to know
that no matter what, I'll be here for you. I just wish...." I
look up at her and see the stark, reserved look on her face.
"I just wish it was my child too."

I look down at my feet, shameful of being so weak, but
wanting so badly to show her that I'm not angry at her for
moving on.

When I look back up at her the sound of her hand against
my face makes a painful noise that rings in my ears.

"It is your child, jackass!" She's practically yelling in my
ear now, but I don't care. Her words repeat in my head as I
stare at her stomach, which bounces in front of me. "I can't
believe you! After everything we've gone through, after
everything we said and did, how could you possibly
assume that I immediately went off to have a baby without
you? What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you think I
would do that to you? Do you have such little faith in me
that you would expect me to turn my back on what we had
as soon as you run off?!"

As Scully goes off the deep end, all I can do is stare. The
beautiful, perhaps hysterical and hormone-intoxicated
woman in front of me is truly the woman I left behind. My
fears that she'd changed were of my own creation and self-
doubt.

Suddenly my mind clears, the moment seems right and the
dusty unused light bulb in my head turns on. Well, the
moment might have been right if Scully wasn't running for
the door, curses and sobs all she plans to leave with me
tonight.

"No, wait! Scully!!" I call out to her. I'm instantly on my
knees, my hands sweeping the floor for that ambiguous
gold band I'd dropped minutes before. Once I find it, I'm
on my feet and running for the door, pushing it open and
blindly turning the corner.

"Scully, wait, please! I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I
didn't know!" I can see her stepping into the elevator, her
hand wiping away the tears on her cheeks. Without
warning, Fate decides to play with me once more and the
item in my unsteady hand slips through my fingers and
hits the ground. I'm on my knees again, trying to see where
it went when I notice Scully stepping out of the elevator as
the doors close. To my horror, I see the ring bouncing and
rolling towards her until it comes to a twirling stop a few
feet from her. We both stare at it and I think the confusing
emotions I'm experiencing are about to make me yak.

Before I can give Scully one more reason to leave, she
kneels down (with great difficulty, I might add) and picks
the ring up. I open my mouth to say something, anything
to break the silence, but all I do is gape. She tries not to
look too carefully at it as she walks towards me, but her
wide eyes betray her interest. I'm still sitting on my knees
when she stops in front of me.

"You dropped this," she murmurs to me, her eyes meeting
mine for a moment. The anger that had been there
moments ago is gone is replaced by an unfamiliar glassy
blue gaze.

She presses the ring into my hand before she looks to the
side and begins to turn away. She stops when she feels my
hand on her arm.

"Scully," is all I can say before she looks back at me again
and I realize how much I've hurt her. How much we've
hurt each other.

"Scully, I am so happy. This is the greatest moment of my
life and I don't want you to go. I'm so happy and sorry for
how this happened. I wish I'd been here. I should have
been here." I'm practically clinging to her now, and she is
looking down at me. "I don't want to make excuses,
because it doesn't matter now. Nothing I can say can
change what's happened. But you have to know that this is
the most wonderful thing I could have come home to. I
only wish I had been here."

I'm silent for a while as I begin to understand more clearly
the pain she was talking about. I feel like such an ass, not
to mention I think I'm about to cry again. She lays a small
hand on my head as I begin to finger the ring in my hand.
It took us three years to make it back to this hallway again. 
This time, maybe we can come away with something.

"Let me make it up to you," I say, slowly looking up at her.
"I can't change the past, but I do want to change the future.
Will you let me be the father... the husband I want to be?"

She's smiling and a cross between a sob and a laugh slips
through her lips. A self-conscious hand comes up to her
mouth as the other rubs though my hair.

"Yes, Mulder, of course. Of course," she answers, her
hands moving to my shoulders as we kiss. It's a kiss full of
promises and hope and I know I've finally done something
right.

When our lips part, I'm staring into those same glassy blue
eyes--eyes that are again looking back at me the way I
always imagined. But maybe they always were that way
and only now do I see and appreciate it. I tug on her left
hand and I can feel her watching me as I nervously reveal
the ring and attempt to slip it on her finger. Though it
takes me a couple of tries, I finally succeed and I kiss her
hand with a embarrassed smile. When I look back up at
her she smiles and I wrap my arms around her with my ear
to her stomach.

X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X


When she walks into the office, I can tell something is
different. Sure, maybe I haven't been her partner that long,
but anyone could have noticed it. The way she opens the
door and smiles, her 'good morning' and the way she flips
through the papers in her briefcase all point to something
different; I'm just not sure what.

"You're looking well this morning, Agent Scully," I say, my
own spirits rising a little bit. It's such a change from the
dark atmosphere that used to hang in the air around her.

"Thank you John," she says as she turns on her computer.

While I'm stunned by her use of my first name, it is the
glint of the ring on her finger that makes me stare.

"So, how's Agent Mulder doing?" I ask, my eyes still glued
to the ring I'd returned to Mulder only the day before. I try
not to smile at the mental picture I get of me giving
Mulder a pat on the back and us knocking our beer bottles
together.

She looks up and it occurs to me that perhaps Mulder told
her what I did. She gives me a secret smile before turning
away to one of the filing cabinets. "I think he's feeling a lot
better."


X<>X<>X
Yup, that's the end. I don't know why I wrote it, but I 
hope you enjoyed it. Remember, feedback is good. It is the 
right thing to do. Please send to: xphoenix99@hotmail.com