From: zapquilt_2000@yahoo.com   
      
         TTILE: Who Knew?   
         AUTHOR:  ElleThom   
   DISCLAIMER: I know. You know.  I know you know.   
   You know I know.  I know you know I know.  You   
   know I know you know I know you know....what was   
   I saying?   
         SUMMARY:  Sometimes it is just easier to go   
   with the flow....   
   ARCHIVE: Hey if you want it you can have it,.   
   Just drop me a note so I can have visitation   
   rights..   
   AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is in response to a   
   challenge on TNF,  this is my first challenge   
   fic, and also my first attempt at first person.   
   So, don't hold back, tear it apart, rip into it.   
   I am a big girl I can take it.   
         FEEDBACK: Call me Audrey II and Feed me.   
         EMAIL: too_spooky_4u@yahoo.com   
      
      
         Who'd a thought?   
   	I know it's a trite term that people throw   
   around on a regular basis, slip it into   
   conversations about anything and everything, from   
   the Pope to baseball.   
         Oh shit, I'm gonna be late for pick up.   
         But, with all that is in my life right now,   
   I still have time to ruminate over all of the   
   changes as I point the Mini Van of death into the   
   direction of the little league field.   
         Yeah, a minivan, you heard me, I didn't   
   stutter, let me say that this in no way affects   
   my otherwise manly reputation.   
         Yeah right.   
         Scully would laugh at me and tell me that   
   my manly reputation was gone a long time ago   
      
         XxX   
      
         J. Edgar Hoover Building   
         Washington D.C.   
         March 19, 2000   
      
         Oh God.   
         Oh no.   
         Not this.   
         Not now.   
         Oh shit.   
          The call came in just as I was skirting   
   out of the office for the day, I had planned on   
   going to check on Scully, home sick with a flu   
   that left her pretty much a mass of leaking   
   running and oozing.  Gotta love her.   
         "Agent Mulder?" the voice sounded far away   
   and crackly, like one of those old recordings   
   played on a Victrola.  I half expected to hear   
   the man break out into Spike Jones' rendition of   
   Cocktails for Two.   
         "Yeah?" I asked frowning, as if a scowl   
   could make the voice either come in clearer or   
   just go away altogether.   
         "Agent Mulder, we seem to have a mutual   
   friend." the man's voice was starting to fade in   
   and out.   
         "Who is this?" I asked, I was used to   
   shadowy underworld figures and shady informants,   
   but something about this phone call made me want   
   to check to see if my health insurance policy   
   would cover lumbar stab wounds.	   
         The scratchy voice cleared its throat,   
   "There is a bench that you and your-partner are   
   fond of," he spoke ominously, "fifteen minutes."   
         Before I could go into my usual 'I'm not   
   going anywhere until I get some answers' spiel,   
   the line was dead.  Didn't matter anyway, that   
   spiel usually only got two responses, a boot to   
   the head, or me running off anyway.   
         Which is exactly what I did.   
         Runners are used to running, it is what we   
   do, heart pounding, feet thudding, I shot through   
   the Hoover building and out to the mall.  The   
   other Agents, used to my brand of insanity,   
   merely stepped out of the way, not wanting to be   
   a victim of a Drive By Mulder.   
         The day could have been sunny, or cloudy, I   
   wasn't sure; I had one single mission, arrive at   
   the spot and make my appointment.   
         The site that greeted me brought my FloJo   
   impression to a grinding halt.  She was seated on   
   the bench, a tiny fragile looking mop, dressed   
   improperly for the weather, shivering and   
   clutching a Hello Kitty backpack.   
         "Emily?"   
         She nodded and slid off of the bench.  I   
   knew looking around was pointless, whoever left   
   her here was long gone and likely to deliver that   
   boot to the head if I discovered them.  Emily   
   grasped my hand in her five year old grip, turned   
   those beautiful blue eyes up to me and gave a sad   
   smile. "Can we go home now?" she asks as if I   
   were picking her up from ballet.   
      
         XxX   
      
         "Mulder, you'd better be packing chicken   
   broth and TheraFlu or so help me I'll-"   
         Yeah, I knew this would shut her up.  She   
   had crept out of her cave when she heard my key   
   in the lock, but as she took in the accessory I   
   was packing, her features changed from sick face   
   to all out astounded.   
         And not let's forget speechless.   
         Emily ran to her mother,  blonde braids and   
   knobby knees and all. "Momma," she squealed as   
   she clutched a still gawking Scully around her   
   waist.  Scully fired off a look to me over the   
   clinging girl and I shot her my best 'I don't   
   know look,' to which she answered with the 'we   
   will talk later face'.   
         Oh man, do we have this communication thing   
   down or what? Team Builders SchmeamBuilders.   
      
         XxX   
      
         "You wanna fill me in on what is going on   
   Mulder?  Or should I wait for the usual and   
   follow the trail of smoke?" She wasn't mad, but   
   after having to wait for three hours to get the   
   story out of me, she was a little antsy.  Neither   
   one of us wanted to talk in front of Emily, and I   
   didn't feel comfortable interrogating Emily-of   
   course that was all subject to change in ten   
   years when I catch her climbing into her bedroom   
   window at 3am.  But I digress.   
         "Strange phone call, shadowy informant,   
   time and location, badda-bing, badda-bang,   
   Emily."   
         "I'm serious Mulder." She huffed. "And I am   
   removing your copy of Goodfellas."   
         I told her all I knew, left nothing out.   
   It was all a one paragraph statement, there was   
   not much more to tell. When I finished Scully   
   fell back onto the couch "So, I take it you are   
   off to see the Wizards?" she intoned finally.   
         "Yeah Dorothy, and I think we need to get   
   her checked out in the morning, make sure she is   
   ok."   
         "Way ahead of you Mulder," she smiled   
   waving a piece of paper in front of my face. "We   
   have a full day tomorrow, she's going to see the   
   pediatrician, and then we are going to get some   
   blood work done."   
         "How are you feeling Scully?" I asked,   
   already cringing ready to hear her stock answer.   
         "Honestly Mulder." She began, holy shit,   
   did she just say honestly?? Are we going to talk   
   real feelings here Scully?  'Casue I gotta tell   
   you, this conversation is going on in my head,   
   but my heart is doing jumping jacks.   
         "Honestly," she repeated as if surprised   
   herself. "I'm a little worried, I don't know if I   
   can go through this again.  Part of me is holding   
   back, not wanting to get hurt again."   
         "I know Scully, I know." My arm finds its   
   way around her shoulder, offering comfort that I   
   now know she will accept.  We have been together   
   for a whole month, and had I known sex with   
   Scully would have eradicated the 'I'm Fine' I   
   would have made the naked pretzel with her a long   
   time ago.   
         "I was so happy to see her Mulder, and she   
   remembers us." Scully scooted closer into me as   
   she spoke. "Its so overwhelming, the joy, and so   
   overwhelming the fear and pain." Man when she   
   opens up she really opens up, Scully has gone   
   from Fort Knox to 7-Eleven in zero to sixty.   
         "Maybe there is no hidden agenda here   
   Scully; maybe someone thinks we should be happy."   
   I realized how Pollyanic I sound and am rewarded   
   with the LOOK.   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)