TITLE:  Sin of Omission
SPOILER STATEMENT:  Arcadia; Duane Barry/Ascension/One Breath; tiny one
for the Pilot.
RATING:  PG-13, for a bad word or two, because I *refuse* to rate a
story "R" just for the "f" word, even if that's what the MPAA says
you're supposed to do.
CONTENT STATEMENT:  ScullyAngst, both Dana and Maggie.  MulderAngst. 
M/S married, but not typical of the subgenre, I hope.
CLASSIFICATION:  VRA
SUMMARY:   Pre-ep for Arcadia.  Continuation of the "Making It Personal"
storyline.  Set immediately before "Arcadia" and about ten days or so
after the conclusion of "One Son".  It isn't all hearts and flowers for
Mulder and Scully -- but when has it ever been?
THANKS:  To Brynna, Paulette, Robbie, Shannon and Sharon.  Beta stuff,
natch.
 
 

Sin of Omission

by Brandon D. Ray
 

The good news is we've got the X-Files back!

The bad news is -- we've got the X-Files back.

I don't mean to suggest I'm unhappy about this -- and Scully seems
pretty pleased about it, too.  I certainly don't mean to be looking a
gift horse in the mouth.  But the timing could have been a little better.

I mean, it wasn't even a week ago that Scully and I managed to dodge the
metaphorical bullet and save the tattered remnants of our partnership. 
Somehow in the process we wound up married -- I still don't quite
understand how that happened, although again, I'm not going to look a
gift horse in the mouth.  When it comes to Dana Scully, I'll take
whatever I can get.  But the fact remains that we now have a huge number
of issues to work through, both personal and professional, and it would
be nice if we had a little breathing room to do it in.

Trust the universe not to allow that to happen.

Yesterday afternoon we were called into Skinner's office and informed
that we had our old assignments back.  This morning, before we even had
a chance to go down to the old basement office and see what kind of
shape it was in, he called us in again and told us that we're being sent
out to the field.  Immediately.

As in, our flight leaves Washington National tomorrow morning at five,
we have a briefing and other preparations at the San Diego field office
scheduled to begin 30 minutes after we arrive, and then we're supposed
to be on site by mid-afternoon.

Oh yes -- and it's an undercover assignment.  As husband and wife, no
less.  When God decides to play games with our heads, He doesn't fuck
around.

The end result of this is that we spent all of today -- Scully's
birthday, when I had promised to take her out for an extended lunch at a
nice restaurant -- cooped up in a conference room, eating stale
sandwiches and receiving an intensive briefing on a series of mysterious
disappearances at a planned community called the Falls at Arcadia.  This
doesn't really sound like an X-File to me, but what the hell.  Skinner's
got it classified as one, and it sure beats the manure patrol.

God, that briefing was long.  We were told what we will wear, how we
will act, and what we're supposed to look for.  We were even told what
sort of food we're going to eat.  My one contribution was our phony
names:  Rob and Laura Petrie.  Nobody caught it except Scully -- of
course -- who shot me such a glare that it should be no problem making
people believe we're married.  Especially since we are.

Anyway, now we're in her car on the way to Georgetown, where I will
spend the night on her sofa since we have to get up at such a godawful
hour to catch our plane.  We don't even need to pack; clothing and other
personal necessities consistent with our cover identities will be
waiting for us at the other end.

At last we arrive at her apartment building, and I'm just starting to
really look forward to the opportunity to take my shoes and necktie off
and relax -- and suddenly my partner begins swearing.

"Shit!" Scully says as she pulls into her parking spot.  "My mother's
here!  Damn, damn, damn!"

"Scully?"

"I promised I'd let her take me out to dinner for my birthday," she
explains.  "But I got so wrapped up in the briefing I completely
forgot.  I was supposed to be here at six.  Dammit, Mulder, I was
looking forward to it, too!"  She slams her hands on the steering wheel
in apparent frustration, then climbs from the car and heads for the
front door, and I have to hurry to catch up.

As we wait for the elevator I take a moment to consider the situation. 
Mrs. Scully doesn't know yet that I've married her only remaining
daughter.  In fact, nobody knows, other than a few clerks and one
magistrate at the Fairfax County Courthouse.  Which means I am about to
come face-to-face with a woman who does not yet know she's my
mother-in-law.

Christ.

I'm not quite sure how we came to the decision to keep our marriage a
secret.  Certainly in the long run that's not going to work -- not if
it's going to be a real marriage.  But I have the impression that Scully
isn't quite ready to go public, and that's okay with me.  We both need
some time to adjust to the situation, and it'll probably be easier to do
if we don't have a lot of people watching our every move and
second-guessing us.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

At last the elevator arrives and we get on board and ride up to Scully's
floor.  The walk down the hallway to her door seems to take forever,
making me feel like a condemned prisoner being led to the gallows.  I
like Maggie Scully, and I'm not at all comfortable with the idea of
lying to her, even if it is a sin of omission.  Unfortunately, that's
pretty much what we've been doing for the past week -- and if I feel
this badly about it, it must be ten times worse for Scully.

Just as we reach her door I grab her elbow and turn her to face me.  We
need to talk about this; we need to work out what we're going to do and
say.  We just stood in front of Skinner for the fifth work day in a row
and kept it from him, but this is different.  This is Scully's *mother*.

But before I can even open my mouth to say anything, Scully arches an
eyebrow at me and shakes her head, and I can hear the message as clearly
as if she'd spoken the words:  Shut up, Mulder, and follow my lead.

I acquiesce.  It's her mother, after all.  She studies my face for a few
seconds, then turns and unlocks the door and we both step across the
threshold into the living room.

Which is empty.

I glance at Scully, and she shrugs.  "Probably in the bathroom," she
says.  "Or went for a walk."  She gets that nervous look which says
she's about to kiss me, and then she does.  It's a pretty good kiss,
too.  We got in a fair amount of practice over the weekend, and we're
both finally starting to get comfortable with the touching that goes
with a romantic relationship.  "I'll be back in a minute," she adds
after she finally releases me.  "I want to get out of my work clothes." 
And she disappears down the hall in the direction of her bedroom.

While I'm waiting I wander over to the shelf where Scully -- my wife, I
remind myself -- keeps her family pictures.  I have not yet told her how
touched I was when I came over here the day after we were married and
found that she'd added a photo of me to her collection.  It has been a
very long time since I had any real feelings of belonging or intimacy
with either of my parents, and Scully's simple, quiet act of inclusion
has made me feel warmer and better loved than I am comfortable admitting
to her, at least yet.

I only hope the rest of her family feels the same way when we finally
get around to telling them -- although in the case of her older brother,
at least, I realize that's probably asking a bit much.

"Fox?"

I turn to see Maggie Scully standing in the entrance to the hallway,
apparently having just come from the bathroom.  "Mrs. Scully," I say,
moving forward to greet her.  "Scu -- Dana will be out in just a
minute.  She just went down the hall to change.  I'm surprised you
didn't bump into her."

"I see."  Her manner seems slightly stiff; I guess she must be a little
angry at having been stood up.

"I'm sorry Dana wasn't here when she said she would be," I go on, hoping
to smooth things over.  This *is* my mother-in-law, after all, even if
she doesn't know it yet.  "We just got a new assignment and the briefing
took longer than we'd hoped, and Dana forgot to call."

Mrs. Scully nods in acknowledgement of this information, but it seems to
do nothing to alleviate her annoyance.

I'm forced to remind myself that I really don't know this woman very
well.  We spent a fair amount of time together after Scully was abducted
by Duane Barry, but that was years ago, and a lot has changed since then
-- not all of it for the better.  I am uneasily aware that there is more
than a little justice in Bill Scully's reasons for disliking me, and I
can't help but wonder if some of that dislike hasn't rubbed off on his
mother.  If that turns out to be true, it's going to make it that much
harder when we do finally break the news to her.

Which may well be tonight.

"Mom?"  We both turn to see Scully emerging from the hallway.  She's
changed out of her suit and is now wearing soft gray slacks and a light
blue blouse which sets off her hair and eyes.  She's been dressing in a
more casually feminine style during our non-work time this past week,
and that's one change of which I wholeheartedly approve.

"Mom," Scully repeats, moving forward to hug her mother.  "I'm so
sorry.  We had a meeting at work and it ran late, and I --"

"Yes, Fox was just telling me about it," Mrs. Scully replies, cutting
her off -- and if I wasn't sure before, I am now.  This woman is angry
-- more angry than seems reasonable at what appears to me to be a fairly
minor offense.

Mrs. Scully steps out of her daughter's embrace and moves a few steps
away before continuing.  "I suppose if you've got a new assignment that
means you're going to be busy this evening getting ready, so I'd better
be going."  And she starts to walk towards the door.

"Mom?"  Scully's voice is showing the strain; it's obvious she's picked
up on her mother's feelings.  "Mom, what's wrong?"

Mrs. Scully hesitates, her hand on the doorknob.  I can see from the set
of her shoulders that she just wants to keep on going, but she
apparently can't quite bring herself to do it.  Unfortunately, I don't
know her well enough to know whether that's good or bad.  And then she
apparently settles her internal debate and turns to face her daughter
again.

"When were you planning to tell me, Dana?" she snaps.

Oh my god.  She knows.  I don't know how she knows, but she knows.

"T-tell you?" Scully stutters.  "Tell you what?"  From the look on her
face I can see that she's drawn the same conclusion I have, but she
apparently couldn't keep herself from trying to dodge the question.

"Oh, come on, Dana," Mrs. Scully replies, the anger rising in her
voice.  "It's bad enough that you cut me out of this; please don't play
stupid with me as well."  She gestures at Scully's desk, where a small
stack of personal papers sits waiting to be processed or filed.  "You
left your marriage license lying out in plain sight."

Scully's gaze flicks briefly at me, and I can see in her expression that
even now she's considering denying our marriage -- denying *me* -- but
then she looks back at her mother, takes a deep breath, and says, "Mom,
I'm sorry.  I didn't mean for you to find out this way, but it just ...
sort of ... happened."

"'Just sort of happened,' Dana?" Mrs. Scully replies, mimicking her
daughter's tone.  "'Just sort of happened?'  To *you*?"  She shakes her
head and takes a couple of steps towards Scully, who right this minute
is looking pretty damned small and lost and vulnerable.  I wish I could
do something to make this better, but even I have enough sense to
realize that anything I say or do right now will almost certainly just
make matters worse.

"More than any of us," Maggie Scully continues, "you were the one who
always had everything planned out in advance.  A place for everything,
and everything in its place -- including love and marriage.  And you
want me to believe that you just woke up one morning and decided to get
married -- and then you simply forgot to tell me?  I'm sorry, Dana, but
I can't believe that."

I wince at her words, and I want to break in and tell her that's pretty
much exactly what happened, and that she's trivializing the pain and
heartache the two of us went through to get where we are.  But it won't
help, I remind myself, and she's clearly not in a mood to listen even if
it would.  So I remain silent.

"Mom -- "

"Save it," her mother replies.  "Don't even bother to try.  You've been
progressively shutting the family out of your life ever since you joined
the FBI, and I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it's finally come to
this."  And she turns and walks to the door.

"Mom, wait!"  Scully runs after her mother and catches up with her just
as the older woman opens the door to leave.  "Mom, *please* don't go.  I
want to talk -- "

Mrs. Scully hesitates, then turns back to her daughter -- and I'm
relieved to see that her features have softened, just a bit.  "We'll
talk, Dana," she says.  There's still a grim undercurrent to her voice,
but it seems suddenly a little less implacable.  "We'll talk.  Just not
... not right now."  She looks over at me.  "I'm sorry Fox," she adds. 
"I know this should be a happy occasion, but I'm just not up to it right
now."

"I'm sorry too, Mrs. Scully," I say, very softly.  "Neither one of us
wanted it to be like this."

She nods slightly, then looks back at her daughter and her features
soften even further.  "I'm sorry, Dana," she says.  "It's just come as a
bit of a shock.  Call me when you get back from wherever you're going." 
And then she turns and walks out of the apartment, closing the door
quietly behind her.
 
 

Fini