Title: Confessions of a Prying Mother
Author: aka "Jake"
Rating: G 
Classification: V, AU, What If, "Caught In the Act" Fic
Spoilers: None, but takes place sometime after "all things" but before Scully becomes (obviously) pregnant.  

Summary: Maggie Scully inadvertently interrupts an intimate moment between her daughter and Fox Mulder.

Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement intended. Fun, yes. Profit, no.

Confessions of a Prying Mother
By aka "Jake"  

I have always tried to respect my children's privacy. Like most mothers, I've occasionally stumbled upon a secret or two while putting away laundry or making the bed. A Playboy magazine tucked beneath the mattress, a pack of cigarettes hidden in the sock drawer. But I've never gone so far as to read my girls' diaries or my boys' love letters.

Not that I didn't want to.

But I didn't. I didn't pry into their personal affairs when they were children. And I certainly don't do it now that they're grown. It's a matter of trust. I trust them to know the difference between right and wrong, to make reasonable, appropriate choices, to act in moral ways. Their father and I taught them these things.

Or, at least, I thought we had. 

"Let me fix you some eggs." I set a cup of coffee in front of Fox. It smells bitter and dark. He stops rubbing sleep from his eyes to blink at the steaming cup. Sitting at Dana's kitchen table, he is wearing nothing but a pair of wrinkled, cotton undershorts.

Dana is in the shower, giving us "a moment alone," at Fox's request.

Pale morning sun floods the apartment and paints a silvery halo around Fox's dark, rumpled hair. It's an illusion. Looking as uncomfortable as I feel, he is no angel. "You don't have to cook for me," he says, softly, politely. 

Yes, I do. Otherwise I'll pour this entire pot of hot coffee in your lap. 

A quick search of Dana's cupboards yields a fry pan and spatula. Keeping my back to Fox's undershorts, I light a burner on the stove and set the pan on it to warm.  

Butter...butter...where does Dana keep the damn butter? I peer into her refrigerator, checking the dairy shelf, which is empty. 

"Behind the OJ," Fox says, sounding contrite.

As well he should after what he's done...Dana's done...they've done together.

The butter is exactly where he said it would be. I try to glean some small satisfaction from that. It implies he visits Dana often enough to be as familiar with her refrigerator as he is with her bed. At least last night's sleepover was not aone-night-stand. Knowing this, however, offers little consolation. There is no ring on my daughter's finger and sex before marriage is a sin. When I turn to glare at him, his ears flush bright pink.

He clears his throat and hides behind his cup of coffee.

I take a butter knife from the drawer and slice a couple of tablespoons from the stick. They sizzle when they hit the pan.

Imagine my shock when I walked into Dana's bedroom a few minutes ago, intending to hang her dry cleaning and water her plants, only to discover she was no longer in Cincinnati, working on her case. She was in bed with Fox Mulder. Her FBI partner. They were naked as newborns.

One look at Fox Mulder's bare backside and I dropped both the watering can and the laundry, then ran for the kitchen. Yes, I ran, I literally ran.

"Shit," I heard Fox hiss as I was bolting down the hall. 

My heart was pounding and my face was on fire. It still is, damn it. 

While the butter melts, I locate a mixing bowl, wire whisk, the eggs, and milk. 

I've seen my fair share of naked men, so it wasn't Fox's nudity that upset me. And I'm not so old fashioned as to think this sort of thing never happens. I do sometimes watch General Hospital, after all. It's just...I had no idea Dana and Fox were...involved.

"Fox, I'm sorry I walked in--"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Mrs. Scully."

Maybe not, but I plan to anyway, which is exactly what you should be doing, too, young man...to me and to Dana. 

"I was returning Dana's dry cleaning," I try to explain. "She asked me to pick it up while she was away."

He nods.

I break eggs into the bowl, cast their crumpled shells into the trash. Fragments cling to my hands. It's a mess. I wipe my palms on a towel and then begin to beat the eggs. The whisk clatters frantically against the glass bowl. The butter smells like it's burning. "I didn't expect her to be home until tomorrow."

"We finished early...uh...the case, we finished the case early."

"I just thought it would be tidier to hang the clothes in the closet."

"We caught the killer, so we came back."

"What was I supposed to do, drape them over a chair, let them get all wrinkled?"

"We don't always do that, you know."

I stop my furious beating. "Don't always do what?"

"Catch the bad guys."

Oh. "Well...I'm glad things worked out this time."

He scratches his bristly jaw and offers me a nervous smile. 

I glance at his underwear. Good God, this can't be happening. I've never been so embarrassed -- or angry -- in my life. Bill Jr. was right. Fox Mulder is nothing but trouble. I dump the eggs into the hot pan, where they blister and sizzle.

"How do you like your eggs?" I ask.

"Uh...didn't you scramble them?"

Yes, that's right, I did. "Dry or wet?" I ask, hoping he thinks it's the heat from the stove that's making me blush. 

Lord All Mighty, I walked in on them! This is a nightmare. 

"Wet would be fine," he says. I look over my shoulder at him. His hands are trembling. "Or dry; however you like them," he says.

I'm scaring him.
	
Good. 

That makes us even. 

"Toast?" I ask, squinting meanly at him.

"Please don't go to any trouble, Mrs. Scully."

"Where's the toaster?"

"Second cupboard on the left. Middle shelf." He pushes back his chair and begins to stand. "Let me help--"

"I can manage." I wave him back into his seat, having already seen enough of his bare skin. I shut off the flame beneath the pan and give the eggs a final stir before letting them sit while I toast bread. I find the breakfast plates and locate an almost untouched jar of marmalade. 

"Juice?" I ask.

"No, thank you. Coffee's fine."

The toast is ready. Dana's shower is still running. I dish up two plates of eggs. When everything is on the table I slide into the chair opposite this practically naked man who has been sleeping with my unmarried daughter for who knows how long. Shaking too much pepper onto my eggs, I turn them black.

"Fox, I want to know your intentions." There. I said it. Call it prying, I don't care. Dana is my baby girl and I have a right to know. 

He shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth and then grimaces.

"Piece of shell?" I ask.

He swallows hard. "No...they're fine." He looks straight at me. Serious, sad-eyed, and honest. To my chagrin, I find myself not hating him. "I'd marry Dana in a heartbeat," he says, "if she'd have me."

My eyes begin to water. Must be the pepper. "Have you asked her?"

"Yes. Twice."

This surprises me. Dana never mentioned a proposal. Then again, she hasn't told me much at all about her private life.

Obviously.

"She didn't say yes, did she?" I ask, overstepping the bounds of Dana's privacy. This is her personal business, not mine. I feel like I am unlocking her diary.

He shakes his head, looking even more forlorn, if that's possible. "No." 

More than anything I want to ask why. But that would be going too far. I've already wandered into a gray area somewhere between finding my cigarettes in Dana's sock drawer and actually reading her diary. 

"I haven't given up yet, though," Fox adds, lips curving into a tiny smile. "I'll wear her down eventually. That's the way we do things."

"The way...?" What sort of odd relationship is this? "I don't understand." 

"I present my ideas, she refutes them, then I hound her until she admits I'm right. It works for us. Really." He finishes the last of his eggs and then takes a big bite of toast. I watch him chew and swallow. Finally he says, "I never intended to take advantage of her, Mrs. Scully. I love her. I've loved her for a very long time." He washes down his declaration with the last of his cooling coffee. Setting the empty cup quietly, carefully on the table, he says, "Dana... She needs to do things her own way, in her own time. You know?"

He stops staring at the table to look me in the eye. His gaze is serious, pleading. 

Fox Mulder is asking me to trust him, to understand their unconventional relationship and not interfere, to be okay with the way things are between them.

Now it's my turn to stare at my plate. I spot a shard of broken shell embedded in my eggs. I pick it out with my fork and set it to one side. 

Dana emerges from the hall. She is dressed in her bathrobe, hair wrapped in a towel. Pink and still damp from her shower, worry peaks her brows, but she is beautiful just the same. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Fox is gazing up at her and his love is obvious.  

I rise from my chair to refill his coffee cup.  

"Everything okay here?" Dana asks. 

"Let me make you some breakfast, sweetheart," I say, avoiding her question. 

In the kitchen, I reach for another egg, but hesitate before breaking it into the pan. Cradling it in my palm, it occurs to me that trust is a lot like this eggshell, fragile and easily crushed. Once broken, it's impossible to repair.

"Mom?" Dana sounds worried.

Sex before marriage. Not the best way to begin a relationship. But then, I suppose, it's not the worst either. 

I smile at her. There is no reason to pry further; I trust my daughter to decide what's best for her. I trust them both.

Dana returns my smile, then places a gentle kiss on Fox's cheek. His eyes shine with affection. 

Not quite ready to let him off the hook, however, I clear my throat and demand, "Fox, put on some clothes."

"Yes, ma'am." He winks at Dana. 

I can see he is an honorable and patient man. He loves Dana and I believe he will eventually convince her to marry him. 

In the meantime, I'll scramble this egg and try harder to stay out of their business.


THE END