Date: 31 Mar 1998 05:06:01 GMT
From: Ophelia Waterhouse <lowaterhouse@geocities.com>
Subject: Ce n'est pas pour vous. (1/1) A Smoking/Ring Story PG.

Ce n'est pas pour vous

By L.O.Waterhouse

Disclaimer: I claim nothing, it all belongs to Chris Carter, 1013
Productions and Fox Television.

When you read this, this plot will sound familiar. I don't mean to rip it
off, but I know that I have heard it somewhere before. Two places! I
remember! Santa Fe Rules by Stuart Woods. If you've read that book, isn't
it cool? If you haven't go read it. No disrespect Mr. Woods, but it fits
here. Also, the movie Singles.

Maybe he wasn't destined to have a life.

That was what he kept thinking about over and over and over.

He hadn't wanted the baby. He resented the hell out of her for it. He told
her over and over that he didn't want to be a father. He had seen his own
dad, and it wasn't pretty. He knew that he was not the man to head a house,
to be a father.

Just because he didn't want the baby didn't mean he wanted it dead.

Wanted her dead.

He just didn't want it.

Now something that he didn't want was going to be taken away from him.

Maybe.

He sat in the hospital waiting room, his head in his hands.

*

The real trouble between he and his wife Sophie had began seven and a half
months ago. That was when Sophie told him that she was pregnant. Mulder was
furious. Life was just beginning to move in his favor, he was accepted into
the FBI and his marriage up until that point was wonderful. That day had
been a rough day, he was called on the carpet and harassed by his
superiors, like his father used to do, and it bothered him, in fact it down
right pissed him off. He was angry, no one was taking him seriously at
work, he was trying his hardest and no matter what he did, it was wrong.
When his wife of barley a year told him she was pregnant, he was livid.

Sophie was pained by his reaction. She was a beautiful creature, inside and
outside, long brown hair and soft brown eyes. She was about 5'6", and she
has all the curves in all the right places. Not for long.

"I know you had told me that you didn't want children Fox, " she began.
"But I thought you would feel different about it once it happened. I, we
didn't plan for this, but we can make the best of it."

"Make the best of it?" He literally screamed. "Make the best of it? How?
With no money and no place to raise a family. You haven't had a job in six
months, which I haven't had a problem with because of you going to school,
but a baby changes all of that. Starting pay with the FBI isn't exactly
paying me family raising money, you know."

Sophie tried her damnedest not to start crying, but it was pretty damn
hard. She had only seen him this upset one other time, but that seemed pale
in comparison. "What do you want us to do, then?"

"Us? You. Fix it, make it go away." The minute he said it, the minute he
regretted it.

Sophie let her tears roll down her checks, they washed pale makeup away,
they washed her defenses away. "I'm keeping this baby, Fox, I don't care if
I have to beg on the streets for money, this is my child and I will not
make it go away."

He fell to his knees. "Soph, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He closed the distance
between her and him, holding her legs, rubbing his face into her faded blue
jeans. "I'm scared." He said at once. "I don't want to be like my father. I
don't want to loose a child, I don't want to take the chances that could
let anyone hurt me." He started to cry, like a little boy.

Sophie came down to the floor and hugged him. "I'm scared too. Of this, of
your job, of everything. I miss my family and this..." She was crying and
holding him, their faces close, their tears mingling. "I didn't plan this,
but I love you, I love you and this is a part of you."

They had sat there on the floor of their small apartment for an hour,
holding one another.

"I'll, I'll think of something," he had said to her.

"We both will."

*

The nurse came out to him. She was an elderly woman, gray hair, hazel eyes.
"Mr. Mulder," she whispered. He raised his head. He knew that look she had
on her face. It was the pity look.

"Yes," he managed to whisper.

"The baby died. A little girl."

His face slumped back into his hands.

*

Sophie had put school on the back burner for a while and got a job as a
teacher's aide at a nearby daycare. Fox didn't like the idea, but they
needed the money still. He wasn't due for his next raise for ten months,
two months too late for the baby. The needed a better place to live before
then, so they had to save, and he made sure that Sophie ate right. He
didn't know much about pregnancy, but all he knew was that she had to eat
regularly and good foods. So he made it a personal task to keep the kitchen
and refrigerator packed. He was still resentful of the baby as all hell,
but he knew that if she picked up on any of that, it was all over. Was it
his own selfish need? He wasn't sure.

By this point, almost eight months along, Sophie was as big as a house, and
she had to be driven every where. Fox helped her into the car, he had to
help her everywhere. Once I see the baby, he would tell himself, I'll feel
better about this.

Then it happened. They were driving home from school on a rare afternoon
for him Work was starting to look up, he was doing alright for himself,
solved a few high profile cases and making good. It was really because they
needed that raise. He wanted Sophie back in school. He wanted her to have
her journalism career. Then there's the baby, of course. An asshole ran a
red light and smashed into the car. He remembered spinning, and Sophie
tossed around like a rag doll. She had gotten to big for a seatbelt.

The blood. Everywhere. All he could do was look at her. He was sure that he
was fine, but he couldn't move. He couldn't bring himself to help her.

All that blood.

*

It was over. Before it began, before it could end, it was over. The doctor
came out, and told him, and he saw he, and it barley registered. Sophie,
his wife was dead.

Sophie and her baby.

Her baby.  

As he wandered out of the hospital, he began to walk.

Then he began to run.

He ran like nothing he had ever done mattered until this run, through the
streets of the city.

When his chest was heaving, and his face stung with tears and his heart
felt like it was going to explode, he collapsed onto the ground, on the
sidewalk of an alley.

It was quite sometime before he pulled himself up off the ground. He
wandered to the nearest corner store. He was looking for Gatorade or
something, and he saw them. He bought a package of cigarettes. The smoke
burned his aching lungs. It stung like all hell, but it reminded him that
this was his fault. He never wanted the baby and he was being punished for
it. Every choking inhale, was a reminder. The ring on his finger was a
reminder.

Happiness, love...

This is not for you.
(Ce n'est pas pour vous.)