The Barbecue Series 14: Labor of Love
By Susan Proto  (STPteach@aol.com)

Disclaimers in Part 1

Part 2/2

Miracles of miracles, I didn't break anything.  I'm not bleeding profusely 
(well nothing that a couple of butterflies can't handle) and I don't even 
have a concussion.  I've been here in the emergency room for a few hours 
under observation.  I've gotten away lucky, or so the doctors and nurses keep 
telling me.

My lower back, however, is bruised something fierce and in total spasm.  I 
can't remember the last time I was so damned uncomfortable.  But, they're not 
making me stay, since my own personal physician vouches she'll carefully 
observe me for any unusual symptoms and promises to make me take it easy.

I hear Walter Skinner's voice and realize I hadn't even seen him back at the 
house yet to razz him about his new title of 'Grandma's Walter'.  I let it 
slide because I hear him asking questions of the doctor regarding sick leave, 
and the doctor recommends a few days at home to get the kinks out of my back 
and then a week or two of desk duty.  After that, he recommends a day by day 
approach.

Well, that's good I guess.  I can live with that, until I feel my back go 
into a humdinger of a spasm and I cry out in pain.  It's analogous to 
toothache pain; hurts like hell and there's no way to comfort yourself and 
relieve it.  

"Well, Mr. Mulder, I suppose this is your little way of asking for a muscle 
relaxant?" asks the doctor who appears behind curtain number one.

"Make it stop," I gasp.  I am not a happy camper.

"Okay, this shouldn't take very long to start working," he says.  "I'm 
administering a nice little cocktail of Flexeril and Darvocet.  This should 
keep you comfortable for a little while."

Well, the man knows from whence he speaks, because I'll be damned, but the 
stuff takes the edge off almost immediately.  Oh yeah, this is the good 
stuff.  Really good stuff.

"Scully?"  I ask for my beloved in my most cryptic shorthand. I guess the doc 
speaks cryptic shorthand, because he says he'll get her for me.

Moments later, I hear her footsteps by the curtain.  "Hey, G-Man, how ya 
feeling?"

Well at the moment, I feel no pain whatsoever; did I mention I'm on the 
really good stuff?  "Okay, Scully."

"I'm just signing some forms and then we're going to get you out of here.  
Mom wants you to come back to her place.  I think she feels guilty that you 
got hurt in front of her house."

"No guilty, Mom," I mumble.  I did mention I was on the really good stuff, 
didn't I?  But all of a sudden I feel awful.  Not awful physically, but awful 
in terms of being sad.  I think I start crying, but I'm not sure.

"What's wrong?" she asks anxiously, since one minute I'm obviously flying 
higher than a kite and the next I'm in the throes of depression.

"I can't do this anymore," I mutter.

"Can't do what, sweetheart?"

I don't know how to explain it, but I know this guilt trip Bill Scully gets 
his rocks off on putting me through every time he sees me has got to stop.  I 
can't do it anymore.  I won't do it anymore.

"I won't do it anymore, Dana."

She looks at me with a bit of a start, and I know why, of course.  I called 
her, Dana.  I so rarely use her given name, that when I do, she knows I'm 
really, really serious.  However, before she can take this conversation to 
the next level, the nurse walks in with a wheel chair and the AD is right 
behind her.  

"Are you sure you don't want to spend the night, Mulder?" asks Skinner.  I 
guess he doesn't realize I'm on the good stuff.

"No, I'm okay.  I don't want to stay here," I say though I think I'm gritting 
my teeth as I do.

"Fine," he says tersely against his better judgment.  He moves to help the 
nurse lift me into the wheelchair.  Whoa.  Good stuff or not, the thought 
pops into my that maybe an overnight at the ol' med center wouldn't be such a 
bad idea.

"Skinner says, "We're bringing you back to Maggie's house.  The kids need to 
see you're okay."

"The kids?  Oh, God, is Matty okay?"  When Scully nods her head, I realize 
she's a little confused.  "He ran into the street.  I caught him and threw 
him onto the grass.  Did I hurt him?" I ask anxiously.

"You threw him onto the grass?" Skinner echoes me.  "I didn't know that," he 
says angrily.  "Bill didn't say that."

"Don't give a damn about Bill," I mumble under my breath.  I don't say it 
right out loud; I can't.  He's an asshole, but he's also Scully's brother, 
and I can't willfully tear him down in front of him.  Besides, she does a 
good enough job of berating him on her own.

And then Skinner takes note of the worried look on my face and tells me what 
I need to hear.  "No, Mulder.  You didn't hurt Matty.  He's perfectly okay."

I breathe a huge sigh of relief and then, only because I am on incredibly 
effective muscle relaxants, I melt like liquid metal into the wheelchair and 
leave the hospital for Mom's place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am stretched out on the couch with my head on Scully's lap.  She's running 
her fingers in my hair, and I am just about ready to fall asleep.  

Just then, the subject of my despondency walks into the family room.  I can 
only imagine why he's here.  I guess he needs to get a few more kicks in 
while I'm still down for the count.

"Mulder," he begins, "I just want to __."

"__No."  I cut him off before he says anything else.  I won't play this game 
anymore.  If I've learned anything from going to the therapist, it's I don't 
have to do this anymore.  I've learned through the counseling sessions that 
I've spent too much of my life shouldering the responsibility for the poor 
judgment of others.  Well, no more.  Damn it, no more.

I remain in the same supine position I was in when he entered.  It just hurts 
too damned much to sit up for any length of time. 

"I'm tired of always being the brunt of your tirades, Bill.  You have managed 
to place blame on me for the ills of not only the entire Scully family, but 
for the entire free world as well.  And you know what, Bill?  There was a 
time that I would have agreed with you.

"But damn it, I won't let you do this to me anymore, and I won't do this to 
myself any longer either.  As much as you would like everyone to believe it, 
Billy, I did not pull the trigger on the gun that killed Melissa.  I was 
very, very fond of Melissa, in case you didn't know it.  I mourned her death, 
too.  And I felt guilty for it, but a very wise woman pointed out to me it 
was a very bad man who killed your sister.  Not me.

"Oh, and this crap you tried to sling about me putting your father into an 
early grave__?"

"__Bill! What are you talking about?" Scully interjects.

"Shh, I have to say this, Dana."  She stops immediately.  I used the 'D' word 
again.  "Your sister loves her job.  Your father loved your sister.  I know 
he was proud of her, because he was a good father to all of you.  He died 
because he had a heart attack.  No one gave it to him, least of all me.  His 
heart gave out.  The man's been gone for a few years.  Accept it, Bill."

I look at him and wonder if any of what I'm saying is sinking in.  His 
expression is blank; he's working hard to keep it neutral.  It doesn't matter 
if he finally understands, as long as I get the chance to say all of this 
aloud to him.  I need to get this off of my chest.

"And yes, Dana nearly died of cancer, but thankfully she's in remission.  
We're not sure why.  But all you want to do is dwell on the time she was ill 
with the effects of the cancer.  Why?  So you can keep blaming me, that's 
why.  Well, damn it, Bill, I didn't develop the cancer and give it to her.  
Remember that very wise woman?  She's had to remind me over and over again 
that it's not my fault she became ill.  It was the fault of some very bad men.

"I've always said I want to believe in extreme possibilities.  Well, I'm 
finally learning to believe in something that I once thought was impossible." 
 I turn my face away from Bill and look up at Scully's face.  

"I believe in _us_."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He left a few minutes ago without saying a word.  Typical Bill Scully.  I 
refuse to deal with him ever again.  This is it. No more. Nada.  Zip.  Zilch. 
 Bupkus.  I'm not dealing with his sorry ass excuses for blaming me for his 
unhappiness.

Besides, I'm sick and tired of ending up injured or on the verge of a nervous 
breakdown because of him.  Jeeze, and he accuses me of causing his family 
harm?!  I think it's time to bring out my hospital records and ask him if 
he's ready to own up to being the culprit of most of those admittance's.  

Th-th-that's all, folks.  

I close my eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I open my eyes.  Sweet, blue eyes are staring straight at me.  In fact, there 
are three pairs of sweet blue eyes.  

"Hi Uncle Mulder," says Briana softly.  

"Hi beautiful," I answer.  She blushes.  I don't think I've really 
embarrassed her; I think she likes it.

"How ya feeling, Uncle Mulder?" asks Daniel seriously.

"Well, like a train hit me; I can't believe a Harley caused all of these 
black and blue marks," I say lightheartedly.  

To be honest, I'm hurting at the moment.  The muscle relaxant is effective 
quickly, but not for as long as I'd like it to be.  So, at the moment, I'm 
feeling a little stiff, a little tense, but I don't want to make the children 
feel uncomfortable.  So I try my best to be a good little soldier.  

"Unc-key Mulder gots boo-boos," observed Matty aloud.

"Of course he's got boo-boos, Matthew!  Uncle Mulder got hit by the 
motorcycle," Briana confirms while rolling her eyes at the obviousness of her 
baby cousin's remarks.

"Play catch," says Matty.

"No, Matty.  I wasn't playing catch," I say tiredly.  "I just wanted to get 
it back," I mumble.

"Oh, Oh!" cries out the baby excitedly!  "I gots it!  I gots it!"

"Got what?" asks Daniel curiously.  He's now looking at his baby cousin as if 
the kid is something out of one of our X-Files.  To be honest, I'm a little 
perplexed myself.

"I gots the pwetty box!" he cries out with excitement.  

"What box?" asks Daniel with a hint of 'big cousin' attitude.

"The pwetty box!  Gween box!" the baby is practically shouting.

I suddenly understand what this child is saying.  Now if I could only see 
proof  in his hand, I would be so, incredibly happy.

"Where is it, Matty?  Where's the pretty, green box?" I ask with a little 
trepidation.  I mean, the kid is only two and a half years old.

"I go!" he screeches as he runs out of the room.

"Wait!" I cry out as I attempt to sit up, but when I do, I yell out in pain.  
Which in turn sends everyone and their mother (literally, in my case) into 
the family room to see what is wrong.  Damn medication has definitely worn 
out, and my attempts at rising off the couch do not help the cause at all.

Scully reaches me first, of course, but Mom and Walter, as well as Tara, 
Charlie, and Karen have rushed in too.  I think I even see Bill by the 
doorway.  The two older kids remain at my side.  Everyone is asking me all at 
once if I'm okay, and I simply mumble I'll be fine once I get another dose of 
the magic pills.

Unfortunately, I'm not due for another dose for another ninety minutes.  
Sonofabitch if Scully won't give in to me a little earlier.
Then, I suddenly hear the patter of little feet running. Matty is chattering 
away, though admittedly I don't understand ninety per cent of what he says.

But I do understand this, "P'wetty g'ween box, Unc-key Mulder!  I gots your 
pwetty gween box!"
 
And he offers it to me in both of his beautiful, pudgy, toddler hands.  All I 
want to do is pick this child up and hug him for dear life, however I think 
if I even think of doing something like this, I will probably have to be on 
the good stuff morning, noon, and night for the rest of my life.

I lift my arm up, reach for the box, and grasp it in my hand.  I waggle my 
finger at this beautiful child, wonder for about a second and a half where he 
found the jewelry box from, and kiss the cheek he has so generously offered 
me.  He giggles and gives me wonderfully wet smooch right back.

"Thank you, Matty, for finding my box."

"Is okay, Unc-key Mulder.  Daddy gots-ed it from the little trees," he 
explains.

So the pain in the ass went and weeded through the bushes to find it.   Damn 
him, just when I'm ready to write the idiot off, he goes and shows he can 
actually act human.  

"Tell Daddy thank you for me, okay, Matty?" 

He nods his head up and down enthusiastically and then cries out, "Open the 
pwetty box, Unc-key Mulder!  Wanna see the pwesent!"

I chuckle out loud and realize that my greatest fear is now going to come 
true.  I am going to ask the woman I love for her hand in marriage in front 
of her entire family.  Oh joy.  Where's the good stuff when I really need it?

"Yeah, Mulder, I wanna see the 'pwesent' too," says a now very flushed Scully 
with a hint of trepidation.

"You sure of that, G-Woman?" I ask, surer than I've ever been at how much I 
want to share the rest of my life with this woman.

"Yes, Mulder, I'm sure," she says softly, tenderly.  You can now hear a pin 
drop in the room.  There are almost a dozen people in this room, but it's so 
quiet, I think they can hear my heart beating.  I know I can.

"Scully __.  Dana __."  I want to say something profound.  I want to wax 
poetic and ask her in a way that will be uniquely us and she'll remember it 
for the rest of her life.  Of course what comes out of my mouth is, "I love 
you.  Marry me?"

Well, not exactly the most original proposal, but it seems to be effective, 
though I'm not sure if it's with the intended receiver.

"Oh, Fox!  Oh, Fox!" cries out Maggie.

"I'll be damned!  It's about time," mumbles Skinner.  I swear the man says 
something about an office pool that's been going on for something like six 
years; don't know if he won it though.

Amid the caphony of voices that congratulate us is, finally, the one voice I 
long to hear.

"I love you, too, Mulder.  Yes."

She said yes.  I wonder if anyone else heard her 'cause I really could use a 
witness or two so someone can prove I heard her correctly.  She's said yes!

I place the ring on her finger and see that she is happily surprised.  Do I 
know my Scully or what?  Everyone oohs and ahhs as she admires the emerald 
shaped stone on her finger, while I quietly admire her. 

I look around at what has now become a small mob scene until my eyes meet 
his.  They're not exactly sad, but they are resigned.  I'm sorry about this; 
I'm not a bad person, and I really do adore Bill's wife and son.  I wish the 
man would give me just cause to like him.
 
As he leaves the room, I see him look once more at Scully who suddenly picks 
her head up and catches her older brother's attention.  I see her mouthing 
something, but she's facing away from me, so I'm not sure what it is.

He mouths back, 'You're welcome.'

Well, he did find the 'pwetty gween box' now, didn't he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End of 2/2

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