TITLE: "New Millennium: Scratch Back Fever"
BY: Vickie Moseley
E-MAIL ADDRESS: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: V; Angst; MSR (Married); AU; hints of an X-File
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Mulder reaches a low and very dark point during his
recovery, but help is on hand from several sources.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: "Requiem" and its resolution - our
version of events anyway. This is part of the "New Millennium"
series by Ten and me, which goes into alternate universe after
'Millennium'. We have definitely gone even more alternate universe
in these "Requiem" installments than what was on screen - for
example, in our stories Mulder was only abducted for six weeks and
definitely did not get buried in a coffin for months. 
Reading the others first would probably be a good idea ;)

ARCHIVE INFO: It goes to Gossamer through xff. Can be archived
anywhere as long as our names, addys and disclaimer stay intact.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes referred to, Mulder and
Scully and all other characters from the show belong to Chris
Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are
used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no
profit will be gained. Characters not recognized from the show are
ours.

"New Millennium: Scratch Back Fever"
By Vickie Moseley
Written August/September 2003

xXx

Just when I thought things were beginning to get back to normal,
well, our definition of normal, all hell decided to break loose.

The problem was, I couldn't let on to Scully that all hell was
breaking loose.  It was all internal, all inside me and I couldn't
let it spill out.  It was awful and disgusting and I hated myself
more each day.  But how could I tell my wife, my lover that I
hated the man she married.  I hated myself because I was alive.
She would never understand.  Her fondest wish had become my
greatest nightmare.

I couldn't tell Scully.  No more than she could tell me all those
times she had flashbacks to her own abduction.  There are some
things you just can't place as burdens on the people you love.  My
memories of the ship, my nightmares were something I never wanted
to tell another living soul.  I wanted to bury them so deep they'd
never see the light of day or reason.

I lived and everyone else died.  I remember trying so hard to save
them.  I remember, I remember 'Scratch' and how he/she/it helped
me establish a link with Scully.  I could remember begging
him/her/it to let me go back to my wife and our unborn child.  I
remember the moment when I knew that it was then or never.  Either
I left that ship, or I'd die there, never to see Scully again or
our baby ever.

Did my demand to leave right then cause their deaths?  Maybe if
I'd been a little sooner or maybe if I hadn't forced them along so
quickly, maybe a thousand and one things could have happened
differently and we'd all be alive to tell the tale of the 'great
escape'.

I realized what I was suffering from, I studied it at Oxford.
Survivors guilt, the feeling that one doesn't deserve to live when
so many others died under the same circumstances.  The feeling
that one is unworthy of the incredible gift they were given.

I thought back to the others I knew were on that ship.  Just
before the light took us, just before I saw the bounty hunter and
expected to die, I saw them.  Teresa Hosea and her husband.  Young
people, old people.  Humans, all of us.  They were innocent.  But
me, I knew what was happening, though I definitely got more than I
bargained for.  I'd walked right into it.  I wasn't innocent at
all.  So why was I the only one to come home alive?

It would have been hard enough, keeping my growing depression away
from Scully with our newly discovered nexus.  Then the damned
nightmares started me talking in my sleep.  No need for a rubber
hose on me, I was yelling out my confession every night after we
went to bed.  So I did the only thing I could think to do.  I hid
out on the couch.

It wasn't easy, but then again, every time I did it, it got less
difficult.  I would lie in bed and wait for Scully to drift off.
Sometimes we participated in 'strenuous activities' and she would
fall blissfully asleep almost before the next breath.  Then I
would steal down to the family room and fall asleep on my old
couch.  It was so much like the old days, before we were together,
that some nights I cried myself to sleep.  When morning came,
Scully would be up and find me in the family room.  I'd make some
excuse, I woke up early or some nonsense.  I could tell she was
curious and frustrated that I wouldn't tell her what was going on.
And then, in spite of the fact that I was tired and depressed, I
had to put on a good front so I didn't worry her more.  That was
the last thing I wanted.

Surprisingly enough, the wedding plans actually took my mind off
some of my problems.  As silly as it sounds, I found some
excitement in just thinking about the party we were hosting for
ourselves.  At moments, the dark clouds of gloom would threaten to
engulf me, but I fought them back with everything I had.  I
noticed on those days I was more tired and listless.  My newly
gained strength was experiencing wide swings, he-man one minute,
scrawny 98 pound weakling the next.  It was enough to send anyone
into a tailspin.

Scully wasn't about to give up in her search to find out what was
wrong.  She even brought out the big guns, enlisting Maggie in her
'investigation'.  Maggie was still giving us a hand, though I was
finally able to start pulling my weight around the house.  For
some reason, Maggie seemed to think I was too weak still to carry
laundry, so she would come twice a week and help do a few loads in
the machines, fold and put them away.  I was feeling seriously
spoiled until the day she cornered me.

Scully was at work, she'd gone in after lunch that day.  Maggie
was in the family room, folding a load and watching a rugby game
with me.  I was shocked to learn that my mother-in-law not only
knew of the sport, but had a favorite team!  We sat in comfortable
silence until a commercial break, when Maggie looked over at me.

"You know, there were some things I could never tell Captain
Scully."

I must have looked terrified, or maybe just trapped.  She shook
her head.  "Nothing that he wouldn't have understood, mind you.
Just things that I knew would hurt him, so I kept them to myself."
She was quiet for a moment.  "Dana wasn't my third child, Fox."

She lost me on that one.  Bill, Melissa, Dana, Charlie.  Four
Scullys.  I knew how to count.  Maggie continued.

"Bill was out at sea.  I found out I was pregnant exactly one
month after the ship left port.  That was back in the old days,
before the internet.  We could only correspond by mail back then.
I was so excited when I found out we were expecting again.  But
his birthday was coming in another month and I decided to wait and
surprise him with the news.    Two weeks later, I miscarried."

Before Scully and I were married, before we'd tried to conceive a
child, I couldn't quite grasp how horrible it must be to lose a
child before its birth.  But now, having fallen asleep next to my
wife's growing belly, having picked out names and wall paper
borders and cribs and changing tables and little sleepers with
snaps down the side-my throat closed up and I thought surely I
would start to cry for this lost brother- or sister-in-law that
I'd never met.  Maggie just kept talking, each word an obvious
effort for her.

"I was devastated, but I had the two children to take care of.
And I couldn't help but feel that it was something I'd done, that
I was responsible for the miscarriage.  I had been so busy taking
care of Billy and Missy, I'd let myself get run down.  So I blamed
myself.  I told no one.  Not even my mother.  Not even Bill.  I
just swept it all aside.  That's what you did in those days.
There wasn't 'grief counseling' or support groups.  I think it was
one of the darkest times of my life."

I couldn't breathe at that moment, but I knew it wasn't a heart
attack or even a panic attack.  It was a moment of recognition.  I
saw myself in Maggie's eyes.

"I can't . . ." I started, but she stopped me.

"I don't expect you to, dear.  I just want you to know that
sometimes silence can wound more effectively than all the dark and
dangerous thoughts spoken aloud in the world."

I almost expected Scully to come bursting through the door, I was
certain she'd felt my fear that Maggie could read my thoughts.
But as it was, she came home on time and we sat down to the dinner
Maggie had made for us before she left.  When Scully asked about
my day, I side stepped the question.  But I knew I'd have to tell
her sooner or later.  Maggie was right, sometimes silence was
worse.  I just didn't know what to say.

That night, I was back on the couch.  It was just a little past
midnight and I was watching something on the history channel about
the history of modern plumbing.  I felt a rush of a breeze and
looked over my shoulder to see if Scully had gotten up to find me.
Imagine my fear when I saw none other than old Scratch.

Scratch stood at the bottom of the stairs to the kitchen, looking
just as shiny, slimy and silver as the day I left the ship.  My
heart started pounding and I was sure I'd pass out from fear, but
something soft touched my mind and I calmed down immediately.

'Do not disturb her,' Scratch warned, without opening the crevice
I'd come to associate with a mouth.

"I won't go back," I said aloud.

Scratch looked at me, and if I didn't know better, I would say it
felt confused.  Then it reached out its hand.  I flinched back
until I saw what was in its palm.

My ring, and Scully's cross.

I drew in a deep breath and got up from the couch.  It could have
been a trap, bait to draw me closer.  Any minute the beam of light
would cut through the floors and roof of our house and pull me up
into the belly of the ship.  But something inside me was telling
me that it was all right, that I was safe.  Maybe it was Scratch
urging closer, but I didn't care right then. I stepped forward
until I was close enough to touch the alien.  The skin on the hand
was no less annoyingly rough as I remembered.  Gently, I plucked
the ring up and then the delicate gold chain and crucifix.  When I
had them in my hand, Scratch took a step back.

'You had no input into their cessation of existence.'

I blinked.  Cessation of existence?  What a bizarre way to
describe the deaths of so many people.  But I could tell Scratch
meant no harm but its callousness.  It was just how they thought
of us.

"Why am I alive?" I demanded.  "Why did I live when so many others
didn't survive?"

The creature looked at me and I got that same feeling that I'd
just confused the hell out of it.  But Scratch blinked and I felt
another caress of my mind.

'You wanted it and you were different than the rest.  Only you
could survive.'

As that thought sunk in, I closed my eyes.  When I opened them,
Scratch was gone, but in my hand was my wedding ring and Scully's
cross.

You wanted it.  I had to admit, finally, yes, it was what I
wanted.  You were different from the rest.  I always wondered what
repeated exposure to the retrovirus and the black cancer would do
to a person.  Maybe it saved my life.  Maybe I could have done
something to save the others, but what that was, I couldn't tell.
I did the best I could.  I refused to leave without them, I do
remember that clearly.  I did everything in my power to keep all
of us alive, to bring us all back home.  I tried, what more could
be asked of me?  What more could I ask of myself?

For several minutes after Scratch left, I sat on the couch,
thinking.  I knew that there were still going to be times when the
flashbacks would come and I would be engulfed in my fears.  But it
was something I didn't have to face alone.  I heard a sound at the
stairs again and I must have jerked my head up, fearing that
Scratch had changed its mind and returned for me.

It was Scully.  Sleep-tossled, mussed hair, little round mound of
a belly that only I could detect.  She looked more beautiful than
I could ever remember.  And for that one instant, it flooded me.
I remembered exactly how much I wanted to come home to her.

"Mulder, are you OK?" she asked, her hand covering her stomach,
holding our child.

I could only nod as the tears came coursing down my face.
Immediately, she was sitting next to me, taking me in her arms,
shushing me and trying to comfort me.  I wanted to stay there
forever, but there was some things I needed to do.

I pulled away, wiped at my tears with the back of my hand and
before she could finish protesting, I gently fastened her cross
around her neck.  She pulled away with surprise, staring down at
her hand where she grasped the tiny cross.  "Mulder, I thought
this was lost," she murmured.

Then, taking her other hand, I pressed the ring into her palm and
held out my left hand to her.  Her eyes grew wide and she gasped.
"Mulder, your ring?"  Quickly, not asking more, she slid the band
on my finger, then looked up into my face.  "How?"

I smiled down at her and pulled her close to me, covering her
forehead with kisses.  "It's a long story, Scully.  How tired are
you?"

She looked up at me and smiled.  "For you, I'm never tired.  Tell
me a bedtime story, Mulder," she whispered and kissed me.

I drew in a deep breath and settled us back in the depths of the
couch.  "Once upon a time, there was a very foolish man, a space
ship and a silver being named Scratch . . ."