Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Scully stares down at the brochure on the desk. One of many, which are half buried underneath a pile of paperwork from their current case. Certain words and phrases are circled in pen, underlined, annotated in the margins in the familiar scrawl she knows almost better than her own.

The word “family” is circled three times.

She swallows with some difficulty, finding—to her dismay—that her hands are shaking. Mulder will be arriving any second, and here she is, frozen like a statue.

How long has he been thinking about this, she wonders. What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.

She’d never have guessed…

“Morning, partner,” his voice calls out, and she jolts in surprise. She hears the door snick shut behind him, but she can’t bring herself to turn around. With deft fingers, she pushes the brochure back under the stack of papers where she found it, only the colorful corner of the page visible.

“Morning, Mulder,” she tries, clearing her throat. It comes out strained, but she hopes he doesn’t notice. She hides her trembling hands in her lap under the desk.

He looks down at her, half amused, half concerned. “You okay? You're not getting that stomach bug that's been going around, are you?”

“I'm fine,” she answers defensively, warning him to back off. She grabs a file off the desk in front of her with a little more force than necessary, plopping it open.

‘Okayyy,’ he mouths exaggeratedly, eyebrows raised. He sits down at his desk and leafs through some papers sitting on top, arranging them into neater stacks. When he uncovers the brochures, his eyes widen and he clears his throat, hurriedly covering them with other papers and trying to act natural.

Scully thinks about letting it go and pretending she doesn’t know what he’s hiding, but she knows she won’t be able to sleep until she finds out what’s been going on in that ridiculous head of his. 

She idly flips to the next page of the file in her hand, displaying a confidence she doesn’t feel in the firm set of her shoulders

“Doing some light reading, Mulder?” she asks, attempting to look disinterested.

His head shoots up, a look of alarm on his face. For a second he thinks she might be talking about something else, that she couldn’t possibly know, but one look at her throws that theory right out the window. He glances back and forth between her and the papers on the desk a few times before dropping his shoulders in defeat.

“I’m sorry, Scully, you weren’t supposed to see those,” he says, shuffling all the brochures into a pile while carefully avoiding eye contact. “I was working here late last night. I must have forgotten to put them away.” As he speaks, he opens the top drawer of his desk and shoves them inside, then takes a seat at his desk. His nose is buried in a file before she can even respond.

She watches him now. He is a curiosity, determinedly feigning concentration on a case she knows he finds disinteresting and a waste of time.

Typical.

“You're really not going to say anything?” she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

That rankles him. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, indignation boiling below the surface.

She looks at him incredulously, the file in front of her all but forgotten.

“You're thinking of adoption? When were you planning to share this with me?”

He sighs and shakes his head, pleading silently with her. “It's too soon, Scully. I didn't think you'd want to hear it yet.”

“But you're looking into it because…”

“It's just been on my mind, that's all.”

She stares at him, brows furrowed.

“Since when?”

Since when… Images flash of a life he didn’t recognize. His sister, alive and grown up. A quiet suburban neighborhood. Cancer Man living just down the street. A wife and kids, but not the right ones. It was wrong, all of it was wrong.

“A hallucinatory trip into an alternate universe tends to make you think,” he answers simply.

He’s looking at her now, deadly serious despite the joking tone. She doesn’t respond. Can’t respond.

“I'm sorry, I didn't want to bring all this up,” he continues. “I know it's a sore spot for you.”

It takes her a moment to conjure words from her mouth, her lips moving but no sound coming out. “I just wasn't expecting…”

“For all I know, this isn't even something you'd want.”

What does she say to that? Is she interested? 

“I– I'm not sure. I've never really considered it before.”

He waits, his eyes assessing her for some hidden meaning, some insight into her state of mind. He gets nothing. She’s totally blank.

“Well… what do you want?” He thought the question was innocuous enough, safer territory than straight up asking her if she wants to adopt, but apparently not.

She shuts her folder, abruptly standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I'm going back to the crime scene,” she declares, changing the subject. “I want to see if there's anything we missed.”

“Scully…” he tries.

“Not now, Mulder.” Without even taking the time to put her coat on, she flees, leaving the door partially open in her rush to get away. Cursing under his breath, Mulder grabs his coat from its hook and hurries after her.

The elevator doors are almost all the way closed by the time he catches up, but in this case, he figures it’s worth the potential loss of a limb. He throws his hand between the closing gap in the metal doors, and it bounces back open to allow him entrance, to the extreme displeasure of one Dana Scully. He wisely stays silent in the elevator, stealing glances at her every few seconds out of the corner of his eye as they ascend. He can feel the frigid air coming off her in waves. It’s been a while since he’s seen her this annoyed with him, this eager to get away.

He won’t let her. Not this time. He’s learned from his mistakes.

In the parking garage, she's walking briskly, heels clicking on the concrete, and he has to pick up the pace to keep up with surprisingly agile little legs.

He didn’t want this confrontation. There was a reason he was keeping his research a secret. This is exactly what he was hoping to avoid, at least until the time was right to carefully drop some hints here and there. But now? There’s no carefully about it. No option to wait and let this blow over. There’s only one way out of this at this point, and unfortunately, that way is through.

He picks up the pace.

“You're the one who brought this up, Scully, I was perfectly happy throwing those brochures in my drawer and not saying a word.” 

His voice echoes in the concrete parking structure, sounding harsh even to his own ears. As frustrated as he is with her, that isn’t his intent. He only wants to know what he can do to help her, how he can help her fulfill her dreams. He lets out a breath, and with it, releases his selfish frustration. She’s still walking away at a breakneck pace, and he doesn’t know how he can get her to stop and face this. 

“If you want to talk about it, let's talk about it,” he says, pleading. “I can't help you if I don't know what you want. You want me to shut up, never mention the subject again?” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air, “Fine, just tell me. What do you want, Scully?”

“I just want to be a mom, okay?” she yells, whirling around to face him. Her words instantly silence him, and he watches stone-faced as tears spring in her eyes. “I see all these other moms out there and think… I could do that too. Why can’t I do that too?”

Well, mission accomplished. The truth is finally out there. Part of him feels bad for pushing her, but the other part knows that it was doing her no good to keep her feelings bottled up inside to deal with by herself. He reaches out a hand, intending to comfort her, his eyes softening in sympathy. 

“You could. Scully, you’d be the best mom.”

She flinches away, stepping out of his reach. “You don’t know that, Mulder. I can’t even—even my body is even telling me no. Over and over.” She resumes her brisk walk to her car, and he thinks he sees her brush angrily at her face, no doubt wiping away the evidence of the stubborn tears that have managed to escape.

He rushes to get in front of her, walking backwards so he can keep her in his sight. 

“When has that ever stopped you?” he asks. “You had cancer, and you kept fighting. You’re alive today because you refused to give up when your body quit on you. What about that?” He stops abruptly, forcing her to come to a halt before she crashes into him.

There’s no way out of this, is there? Her shoulders slump in defeat.

“You saved me, Mulder,” she admits quietly, shaking her head. “You’re the one who didn’t give up. Not me. It was only because you were with me that I survived.”

This time, when she goes to walk away, he stops her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch causes her to freeze, hardly breathing, and when he steps closer, she stays. His hands slide down her shoulders, holding her securely in place to ensure that his next words come through loud and clear.

“I’m gonna be with you here on this too, I promise.” His thumbs brush back and forth on the fabric of her sleeves, for his comfort or hers, she’s not sure. “You can still be a mother, Scully. I’ll help you.”

She shakes her head, her heart feeling like it has been ripped to shreds. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He gives her a little shake for emphasis. She still won’t look at him. “You’ve kept me alive all these years, how much harder could a baby be?”

That gets a breathy chuckle from her, and her head falls to her chest. Groaning with the agony of this burden on her heart, she stops fighting it and leans into him. Without hesitation, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his embrace.

Her hand comes up to find purchase on his suit jacket, relishing in the comfort only he can provide. She’s past caring if anyone sees them like this here. Let them talk. They already do, anyway.

“Well, at least when you wake me up in the middle of the night, you’re not crying,” she speaks into his chest.

She feels him shrug, and can almost see the goofy smile she knows she put on his lips.

“Usually.”

She looks up at him with her chin on his sternum before taking a deep breath and pulling away.

“It's raining,” he says softly, glancing down at her and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “We can go back to the crime scene later.” She nods, unsure what else to say. She allows herself to be led, his ever-present hand brushing against her back as they start toward the basement.

“Adoption,” Scully mutters to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t know, Mulder. This—this is different than IVF. With that, all I was asking for was your…” her eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at him, “genetic material. This is something entirely different.”

He’s pleased she’s at least considering it, but she doesn’t get it at all, if that’s what she thinks.

“How? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, the process of getting a baby is a little different, but in the long run, the result is the same.”

She pauses, looking at him in confusion. “What– what are you saying?”

He runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, suddenly taking a unique interest in his shoes and the floor of the parking structure.

“Yeah, we probably should have talked about this before…”

“Talked about what?”

He sighs and guides her into a stairwell. It’s stuffy and poorly-lit with a flickering lightbulb, but here, there’s less of a chance they’ll be overheard.

“Look, Scully, I don’t know what you had in mind for my involvement beyond contributing to half the baby’s DNA when you first asked me to help you get pregnant,” he starts, fighting hard to meet her eyes instead of shying away. “But, I– I had hoped it would be a little more than ‘Say hi to Uncle Mulder,’ every couple of months.”

She blinks back at him, speechless.

“I’m sorry if that’s overstepping, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with all this, I just—” He takes in a breath. “I guess I got to thinking of what it might be like to have a family again.” His bout of honesty is met with a blank stare, and his nervous smile drops. “I completely misread the situation, didn’t I?” he asks, self-loathing waiting on standby. “Got ahead of myself…”

She stops him by catching his coat sleeve. “No—uh. No, you didn’t.” She collects herself, willing herself to offer him some reassurance. Her fingers release the fabric of his coat, shifting her grasp instead to his hand. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

He glances down at where she holds tightly to him, and his lips curl into some semblance of a smile.

“I guess they might have had a point with all those communication seminars we’ve skipped, huh?”

She chuckles softly.

“I don’t think this is exactly what they had in mind…”

With a gentle tug, Mulder leads her down the stairs, committed to holding her hand as long as she’ll let him. The air is stagnant and silent, only the rhythmic echo of their shoes clicking on the concrete steps as they make their way to the bottom floor.

She’s thinking. What she knows now, it changes everything. 

She had asked him to leave. Hid her grief from him as much as possible after her initial lapse into weakness when she came home with the news. She had almost kissed him, then, unsure of what else she had to live for. She knew she was hurting him by folding inward on herself in the weeks that followed, but that didn’t stop her from doing it. She was in a dark place, hardly able to see what was right in front of her. What she couldn’t see was that his hurt wasn’t just for her, born of some misguided sense of guilt or pity. It was his own, too.

“Mulder, all those months, after it failed—” There’s something like fear in her voice as she utters these words, or maybe regret.

“I was just worried about you.”

She squeezes his hand, feeling tears well in her eyes once more. “No, you were grieving like I was, and I didn’t notice. I pushed you away…”

“Dana…” He turns, a couple steps ahead of her, so for once it’s him who has to look up to meet her eyes. Her lip wobbles as she looks down at him, and he brushes his thumb tenderly over her knuckles. “You had to deal with it on your own, I understood that. I don’t blame you for anything.”

Those eyes. So open and honest and sad. She wonders how anyone could hurt him, could bear to break this man’s heart. How could she?  

Choking back a sob, she falls into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding tight. His arms encircle her back, supporting her weight, and she feels herself being lifted as he goes up a step, closing the distance between them.

His hand climbs up to the back of her head, stroking her hair soothingly.

“I just wanted to be there for you,” he mumbles into her neck.

“You were, Mulder,” she gasps between bouts of tears, finding comfort in the feel of his soft hair between her fingers. “You’ve always been there.”

He pulls back, lifting his hands to cup her face and wiping away the tears he finds there with the pads of his thumbs. 

“You don’t have to give an answer now,” he says, reassuring, “This is… a big commitment, I know, and I don’t want you to say yes just because I suggested it. I just wanted you to know it’s an option, and if you want to have a baby, I’m in. However you want to go about it, I’ll be as involved as you want. Just– let me know, anytime. Okay?”

He’s looking at her now, head ducked so those sad, puppy-dog eyes can get his message across.

She nods, holding tight to the wrists that so tenderly cup her face.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

In the next week, the topic of adoption doesn’t come up again, and she tries to put it out of her mind as much as possible. They wrap up their case, spending several dull hours working on their reports, and wait impatiently for something else to come across their desk, ideally something a little more intellectually stimulating than the last few duds they’ve worked.

The good thing about not having any cases, though, is that no one blinks twice when they take a long lunch here, or leave work a few minutes early at the end of the day there. A spontaneous mid-morning coffee break at their favorite cafe down the street gets them out of the building, enjoying a rare warm day in December.

On the way to the coffee shop, they walk side by side—as always—until Scully stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Oh, Mulder. Look,” she says sadly.

He follows her gaze to the other side of the street, where a little boy no older than four stands with frightened eyes, looking back and forth helplessly while busy businessmen and women in suits pass by without sparing him a glance.

Mulder checks for cars quickly before jogging across the street, giving Scully little warning before taking off. She follows behind, carefully dodging traffic as it approaches.

“Hey, buddy, you lost?” Mulder asks, approaching the boy and kneeling down to his height.

The boy nods, red-faced and eyes brimming with tears.

“That’s okay, we’ll help you get this figured out,” he says consolingly. “Are you here with your mom?”

“Uh huh,” the little boy answers shakily.

Mulder gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile. “Alright, well let’s find her, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“I’m Fox and this is Dana,” he says, nodding up at her. “We work for the FBI, do you know what that is?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Well, we’re kind of like cops.”

He sniffles.

“What’s your name, bud?”

“William.”

The world slows to a halt, and Scully’s eyes widen.

It’s a common name. So common, in fact, that she can name at least six Williams, Wills, or Bills off the top of her head without hesitating. But that’s exactly the problem.

It’s a family name. Both her family, and Mulder’s.

Fox William Mulder.

“William? Hey, that’s my middle name!”

She won’t think about it. She won’t think about the way that she wanted to use that name, if they were lucky enough to succeed at in vitro fertilization. She won’t think of that little boy she pictured, or the man she hoped would stay and be his father.

“Really?” William asks, eyes lighting up for the first time.

Mulder smiles. “Yeah, better than Fox, right?”

She hears a giggle, and remembers Emily. Mulder got her to laugh, too, even under the most harrowing circumstances. She shakes her head, focusing on the situation at hand. She won’t be of any help if she can’t get her head out of the clouds.

Mulder asks, “You know what your mommy’s name is?”

“Um—Susan,” William answers.

“That’s great. Good job, buddy, that helps. Where did you last see her?”

“We goed to get me shoes for playing soccer,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Soccer, huh? I’m partial to baseball myself—”

“Mulder—” Scully stops him, tapping him on the shoulder. When he looks at her, she points to the other side of the road, and he nods his thanks.

“Hey, look, there’s a shoe store across the street,” he says triumphantly, refocusing in on William. “I bet you she’s right over there looking for you!”

He stands, reaching out his hand for William to hold, and they cross the street together with Scully following closely behind. She watches them, and thinks that if she were a passerby, she might think they were father and son, out for a midday stroll.

It’s a side of Mulder she doesn’t often get to see. A side she suspected lay dormant for a long time after Samantha disappeared, but it’s still there, popping up here and there when it is needed.

“Hey, Scully, can you go in and check if there’s a Susan in there?” Mulder asks, looking to her for assistance. “I want to stay out here in case she comes by looking for him.”

She nods, clearing her head once again of the swirling thoughts that had occupied her. “Yeah, of course.”

She goes in and comes back out just as quickly, shaking her head despondently.                                                                               

“The clerk said she and her son left about 10 minutes ago,” she reports.

“Did he say which way they went?”

“To the right.”

Mulder glances in that direction and nods. “10 minutes, well she couldn’t have gotten far. We found him just over there,” he says optimistically. “William, keep an eye out for if you see her.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

They head to the right, Mulder now carrying William on his shoulders up above the crowds. They pass a few stores, finding no luck so far, but then are startled when some pedestrians up in front of them nearly get bowled over by the sudden opening of a shop door. A frantic woman exits, then darts off, apologizing as she goes. 

Mulder starts jogging, knowing that it must be the mother. He dodges other people walking, skirting between them expertly, which leaves Scully behind by a fair few paces. Luckily, she’s used to it. The woman is poised to enter the next shop when he calls out, “Susan?”

She turns.

“I think this little one belongs to you.”

An instant wave of relief washes over the woman’s face, and she runs to reach them. “William!” she gasps.

The boy all but leaps into her arms, curling in close while she strokes the back of his head, comforting them both.

“Where did you find him?” she asks through tears, holding tight to her wayward son.

“Just across the street,” Mulder says with a smile, pointing to where they came from.

Susan sighs in muted frustration. “There’s an ice cream shop over there, I should have known.”

“My sister did the same thing when I was about 9. Gave us all a heart attack,” Mulder chuckles.

The casual mention of his sister causes Scully to look at him in shock, but he’s too preoccupied to notice.

“I can’t thank you enough. I turned my back for one second.”

“No problem, just glad he’s back where he belongs,” Mulder responds.

After waving goodbye to William, he turns around, a content smile on his face. He starts in the direction of the coffee shop, as if the events of the last few minutes had never happened. Expecting Scully to follow, he walks right past her, but she stands frozen in place.

It’s insane. It’s impulsive. She’s going to do it anyway.

“Okay.”

He pauses and glances back at the statue that is Dana Scully. Amusement plays at his lips, though there’s more than a little confusion there too.

“Huh?”

“Okay.”

He laughs, backtracking a few steps so he is closer to her.

“You’re gonna have to say more words, Scully, I don’t know what you’re—”

“I want to adopt a baby.”

His eyes widen, and he looks to his right and left as if someone might overhear their personal conversation and go tell on them to their supervisors.

“You’re bringing this up now?” he asks, a little incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“And– and you’ve thought this through? You’re sure?”

No, not really. To be honest, she’d barely thought through this at all. There are so many reasons why they shouldn’t, why this is a terrible idea. They’re not ordinary people. They have enemies who could use this against them, careers that have proven to be life threatening on multiple occasions.

And yet…

“Mulder, seeing you with that boy…” she says, her eyes trailing off in the direction the mother and son had disappeared. “Yes, I’m sure. Only if the offer still stands, I won’t hold it against you if you’ve changed your—”

He stops her. “No! No, I’m in. Let’s do it. Let’s– We should talk about this.” He grabs her elbow and starts toward the coffee shop with her in tow, and the pace of his step forces her to walk faster to keep up. “Buy you a cup of coffee? Breakfast sandwich?” he asks, scrambling for something to say.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Just the coffee then.”

The bell jingles as they enter. They sit down at a booth and Mulder leans in, his voice low and placating.

“Okay, no need to panic. We’re just talking about it, yeah? Breathe.”

She huffs out a laugh. “How are you so calm about this?”

He smirks. “I’ve been reading about this stuff for months. You only found my stash of brochures last week.”

“Months?” she breathes, voice laced with disbelief. Her head feels like it’s spinning. “It’s just a little… overwhelming, I suppose,” she says.

“I have that effect on people,” he jokes. “It’s not a rush. If we do this, it will take time, we just have to decide if it’s something we want to pursue. There’s an application process, and getting approved, not to mention finding the right placement...”

Scully feels out of her depth. He knows a lot more about this than she does. She almost wants to ask if he has a slide show prepared.

“I want to do it. I do,” she assures him, carefully choosing her words, “I just don’t know where to begin. It sounds like a crazy idea. Is it crazy?”

“Probably,” he says with a shrug and a grin. “Kind of just makes me want to do it more.”

She’d never admit it, but she feels the same way. Maybe Bill’s right. He has rubbed off on her.

“So… where do we start? What do we need to do?” she asks, needing more information before she starts spiraling.

“Why don’t we take it slow? Start with you and me and an actual adult conversation about our priorities, and then maybe this weekend I can stop by with some Chinese and we can look into next steps.”

She takes a deep breath, heart rate slowing back down to normal.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

How do we do this? How do we have this conversation we should have had months ago?

Before they get a chance, a waitress stops by to take their orders, and Scully opts for decaf. As electrified and anxious as she feels right now, she really doesn’t need caffeine to make it even worse. She can feel her knee bouncing relentlessly under the table.

Once the waitress is gone, Mulder gets the ball rolling with the first order of business. 

“I guess to start us off, I need to know how involved you want me to be. I can help you find an agency and be your personal reference on your application, or I could—” he pauses. Breathes. “Like I said, I’ll be as involved as you want. I just need to know what you’re thinking.”

She shakes her head. “Mulder, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I should tell you that the agencies favor couples over single parents,” he adds before she can finish, “It might be more difficult to get approved on your own, but if that’s what you want, I’ll help you.”

She studies him, the nuance of every microexpression on his face. She knows what her heart is wishing for, but what about him? Would she be asking too much of him?

“What do you want?”

He ducks his head, staring at the chipped surface of the table before glancing up at her with an apologetic smile.

“I’m a selfish man.”

She looks at him, needing more of an answer before she dares to respond. If he doesn’t mean what she thinks he means, one wrong word could spell disaster. Upset the delicate balance that is their friendship. She has to hear it straight from his mouth, this is no time for assumptions.

He sits back in his booth, and she braces herself for what he’s about to say.

“I want to coach little league,” he confesses. “I want to drive an ugly minivan, the ugliest one you’ve ever seen. I want to help with math homework, to tell crazy stories at bedtime and go on camping trips together.” 

He looks deep in her eyes, and she shudders, feeling like his words have penetrated her very soul.

“I want it all, Scully. I want a family.”

I want you.

She feels tears pool in her eyes, her throat closing with emotion.

“I want that too,” she chokes out, unable to form any more words.

He reaches out a hand across the table and takes hers. She holds on tight.

“Well, that’s one thing settled,” he says, blinking back the pinpricks of tears in his own eyes.

Chapter Text

That weekend, it is with giddy excitement that Mulder and Scully spend the day at her apartment up to their eyeballs in paperwork, brochures, and Chinese food.

“Next question: where would we live? Together or separate?”

“Together,” she answers, before thinking she should probably soften that affirmative answer with an indifferent, “if that works for you.”

“It more than works for me,” he says with certainty. “I can ask Frohike for the number of the real estate agent who hooked him up with the lair. Or we could live here, either way.”

This is crazy. They’re moving so fast. What they’re thinking of doing doesn’t even make sense. Everyone will think they’ve well and truly lost their minds, and maybe they have!

“This is giving me a headache,” she admits, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

“I’ll flag that as one to revisit later,” he says, jotting something down in a notebook. “This communicating thing is a lot of work, huh, Scully? No wonder we don’t do it more often.” He grins at her, more freely than he has in a long time.

She rubs a hand over her tired eyes. “No, it’s good. It’s good. I’m glad we’re doing this, Mulder.”

“Me too.”

He just looks so happy, she can’t help but smile back at him. The knot of uncertainty she’s been harboring as a result of her overthinking dissolves instantly in the radiance of his boyish enthusiasm. He’s all soft edges today, for once out of his G-man uniform. Instead, he wears that soft knit blue sweater she likes so much, and jeans that hug him in all the right places.

His socked feet rest on her coffee table while he flips through various documents, assembling them into binders with an attention to detail that she’s only ever seen him apply to their files. She’s mesmerized.

This might be her life. If they go through with this… He just said he’d live with her. Weekends spent together flash before her eyes, not having to say goodbye after one of their movie nights, just ‘goodnight.’ Takeout containers morph into home-cooked dinners at the table in her kitchen. Him making coffee in the morning. Driving to and from work together…

As much as the thought appeals to her, there’s one tiny detail missing that could put an end to this entire operation before it even begins.

“Mulder?” she asks, inadvertently cutting off whatever rambling he’s been doing while she wasn’t paying attention.

He glances up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose to keep them from sliding off. The sight almost makes her forget what she was going to ask, as important as it was, but in this case, her concern far outweighs anything else.

“Do you think they’ll buy the co-parenting thing? I mean, I’m not really seeing a precedent for it in any of the literature I’ve looked at. Would they even accept our application?”

He’s quiet for a second. That second stretches into two.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

She swears the entire block goes silent, not even the sound of a car on the street outside or the hum of heat pumping through her apartment. It makes his words feel heavy. Meaningful. Like she’s just dipped into unfamiliar and dangerous territory without knowing it.

“And...?”

He rubs the back of his neck, obviously struggling to verbalize whatever is going on in that beautiful mind of his.

And then he just outright says it.

“We could get married.”

Her eyes go wide. 

Married.  

“Mulder…”

He puts his hands up, halting her speech. “No, I’m serious. You just said we’d be living together. What’s the difference if we also happen to have a piece of paper that makes it official?” 

There’s that look in his eye, the one he gets when he sits her down for one of his slide presentations. Never could she have imagined he’d have the same look when trying to convince her of marriage. It’s overwhelming.

“Unless,” he pauses, “you think you might meet someone sometime in the future, which is a completely valid concern…”

She has to stop him there. “That’s not it at all. I just– What if this doesn’t work out and we don’t get a baby? You’d be stuck with me and have nothing to show for it.” 

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, the saying goes. If this fails, she could lose… everything. Is that a risk worth taking? Would he grow to resent her? Would they have to jump through legal hoops to undo all of this if things don’t go their way?

“And you could meet someone too,” she reminds him, “someone that could give you a real family. What then?”

He ducks his head, shaking it in a poor attempt to hide a wry smile. “What’s a real family, anyway?” he counters with a shrug, then grabs her hand. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck with than you, Scully.”

Her eyes find his, searching them for something to clue her in to his thought process. Is he serious? Has he lost his mind? She finds nothing but bare honesty in his emerald depths. Bare honesty, and that hope she’s been seeing there since this whole idea came up. It’s a different look for him, but oh how she loves it. She wants to do everything in her power to keep it there.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve thought of asking you before?” he asks.

Her brows furrow, and though part of her wants to bolt, to declare this whole evening an error in judgment, she stays, looking at him warily. His thumb runs over her knuckles, soothing, as if he had known her inclination was to flee from this conversation. Stay, his touch says. Stay with me.

She shakes her head, lips quivering in an almost-smile, and says what he always loves to hear her say. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not!” he counters, equally amused and defensive. “When you had cancer, and I had to fight tooth and nail to get to see you in the hospital…”

She swallows at the memory of waking to find him collapsed by the side of her bed, his hand clasping hers like a lifeline.

“Really?”

“Really,” he answers, his smile softening into fondness. “Though I’m pretty sure Bill would have killed me.”

That brings out a laugh, which Scully shyly hides behind her hand as she wipes it across her nose. When had she started tearing up?

“We’ll buy you a helmet and some shoulder pads, then,” she concedes teasingly.

His mouth quirks up in a smile, knowing precisely what is implied by that response.

“Is that a yes?”

She pauses for a moment, eyes locking with his. Is it? Is she about to agree to marry her best friend?

It should be more of a question, but it isn’t. For some reason, this feels like the most logical thing to do.

She nods.

He shifts on the couch, suppressing a smile and squeezing her hand before letting go. “Well alright then…” he says, crossing his arms in front of him for lack of anything better to do with them. “We can go to the courthouse whenever you’re ready. Or, if you want an actual wedding—”

“No,” she says, a little too quickly. “No, the courthouse will be fine.”

“As long as your mom doesn’t pool her money with Bill to order a hit on me,” he jokes.

“She wouldn’t do that,” she says, rolling her eyes. He does bring up an interesting point though, one that fills her with trepidation. “God, we’ll have to tell her, won’t we? And your mom. And Skinner.”

The dread increases with each name listed.

“We’ll figure that out as we go,” he assures her, placing a calming hand on her knee. “For now, this is just between us. Until you decide otherwise.”

“Just between us,” she agrees, letting his words melt her worries away.

 -.-.-

He had lingered for a while in her doorway when the time came for him to go back to his apartment. It was awkward, but not in a way that might cause alarm in light of what they’d just agreed to do. 

No, as crazy as it might sound, this was one decision neither of them could imagine regretting. The gravity of the situation, though, was what led to the uncharacteristic silence and shyness as she bade him farewell with an impulsive, last-minute hug. He had smiled, and walked backwards out the door, maintaining eye contact until she slowly shut the door between them.

She lies awake in her bed hours later, unable to sleep.

This morning, she was a perpetually single federal agent with a pipe dream of being a mother. Now, she’s engaged to her partner, and there’s partially filled out adoption paperwork with both his and her names on them burning a hole through her top desk drawer.

The Dana from seven years ago would tell her she’s lost her mind.

But then, that Dana also wouldn’t know how important her crackpot new partner would end up being in her life. Skeptical as she was, she’d hardly believe it anyway.

Engaged. She’s always thought about this day, how it would feel to have a man ask for her hand in marriage. She can say without a doubt that this is not how she expected it to go, but the disappointment one might expect in her situation is absent. They may not be going about this in the traditional way, but it is nothing less than what she’d expect with Mulder. 

He had long since rewritten her thoughts on what a normal life was supposed to look like. Her eyes had been opened, the possibilities now seemingly endless instead of linear and predictable. Despite the heartache she has endured over the years, it’s worth it to live with a more complete view of the world. Sometimes, it feels like she and Mulder are the only ones who can see it.

Sighing, she rolls over, her gaze settling on her nightstand.

She shouldn’t. He could be sleeping.

All the same, the corded device beckons her. It’s a temptation she’s familiar with, although tonight it is particularly strong and irresistible.

Don’t, Dana. It’s not real. He’s not really your– Give him space.

She picks up the phone anyway.

Before she can even change her mind, she hears the line connect, and she greets him in the way he’s come to expect.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

She can almost hear him smile on the other end of the call, and all thoughts of this being a bad idea fly from her mind. 

“Well if it isn’t the soon-to-be Mrs. Spooky Mulder,” he says jovially, sounding much too awake for her to have interrupted his sleep.

She rolls her eyes, but can’t help the flutter in her chest at his words. At the timbre of his voice, lazy and drawn out at this late hour. He can be endearing when he wants to be. A real sap at times.

“Hey, Scully. We’re engaged.”

“I know,” she speaks into the phone, curling in toward it and holding it with both hands up against her ear. Her pillow welcomes her into its embrace, and she sinks into it, grinning into the covers.

“We’re gonna give poor Skinner a heart attack,” he says with a laugh.

Their poor boss. He must have had no idea what he was getting into when he was assigned to oversee the X-Files. 

“He’ll get over it,” she says dismissively.

She hears Mulder chuckle a little, the breathy sound tickling her ear. She can tell he’s tipping back in his rickety desk chair in his apartment by the rhythmic creak that sounds, and she pictures him with his feet up on the desk, maybe spinning his basketball around idly in his hands.

“I don’t know, this might break his heart, Scully,” he teases.

Scully rolls her eyes. “Oh, would you stop that? He does not have a thing for me.”

“He absolutely does, and so does every guy in the building.”

She almost asks, ‘Every guy?’ but thankfully catches herself before uttering those words. Sometimes she wonders, but then everything with Diana had shaken what she thought she knew about him. They are still working on getting back to where they were before. It’s far too fresh for her to make any suppositions about where they stand now.

They fall into a brief silence, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he finally asks, when it becomes clear she won’t tell him why she called unless prompted.

She sighs. “I can’t sleep.”

He hums softly in amusement, the sound rattling over the phone. “I don’t know if I’m really the expert you want to be talking to on that particular subject, Scully. Just what exactly do you want me to do about it?” he teases.

“Just talk to me,” she says softly, as if speaking quietly will somehow lessen the embarrassment she feels.

“Ah, so you want me to bore you to sleep. Got it,” he says, taking it in stride. “Which cryptid would you like to hear about tonight, Miss Scully?”

She closes her eyes, her lips tightening into a tired smile. “No monsters, Mulder. You know I find those way too fascinating.”

“Ha ha, Scully,” he says, laughing at her obvious joke. “Okay. How about this? There was this kid at my school growing up. Mark. One of twelve siblings in the same family.”

“Twelve?” she asks incredulously.

“Mm-hmm. All of them adopted.”

Her smile widens, and she burrows further into her pillow, tucking her comforter over her shoulders. She loves these little glimpses she gets into his old life, rare as they are. She doesn’t have to ask why he chose to tell her this one tonight of all nights. His motives are as clear as can be.

“They’d go to Disneyland every summer, all twelve of them plus their parents,” he continues. “Sam and I were so jealous. One of the girls was in the same grade as her, so we all hung out a lot. Well, not all of us. With that many siblings, there were bound to be some you just didn’t get along with. We had fun, though.”

“How’d they afford Disneyland with twelve children?” she asks sleepily.

“It was Martha’s Vineyard, Scully,” he answers simply. “They were filthy rich.”

She hums, feeling herself begin to relax at the soothing monotone of his voice. The line falls silent, but she knows he’s still there. She can hear the gentle sound of his breathing. She allows it to lull her into a state of restfulness.

“After Sam disappeared, it didn’t seem fair. He had so many siblings, while I lost the only one I’d ever have. I stayed away from him for a while after that. He was one of the only people at school that didn’t treat me like some criminal or freak after she was abducted, but I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him or his little sister anymore. It was too big a reminder of what I was missing.”

Scully’s heart aches as she listens. This bedtime story doesn’t have a happy ending, she knows. Though her eyes are closed, she feels a tear leak onto her pillow, hurting for the lonely little boy her partner had once been. She wishes, like she has so many times before, that she could have been there for him then like she is now.

His voice returns, crackling over the line. “Eventually I started going over there again,” he continues, “before they moved away. They were kind to me. Treated me like one of their own. It didn’t make up for Sam being gone, of course, but at least I wasn’t completely alone. And it taught me an important lesson, one I think I’m only just beginning to understand.”

“What’s that, Mulder?” Scully slurs, barely keeping awake but wanting to know the answer—this epiphany he’s had. She has to know how he can tell this story without breaking down into tears as she would if it were her own.

“You can choose your family,” he answers finally, as if it were the obvious conclusion to this story. “They might not have been connected by blood, but Mark’s family was connected by something stronger. Love.”  

He breathes, perhaps lost in the memory of his childhood friend. Perhaps he’s contemplating the great mysteries and joys of the universe. Either could be possible for this deeply philosophical man.

“It seemed to work out pretty good for them.”

Scully’s heart blooms with emotion, her eyes filling with tears.

“It’s time I choose my family, Scully,” he says softly, his voice lowering to just above a whisper. “I hope one day I’ll find out what happened to my sister. I– I still need to have some closure, I think. But it feels good to hope for something else too, for a change. Something more than piecing together a family that was never together in the first place. So, thank you. You’re the one who showed me it was possible. I think I owe you more than everything, at this point.”

She smiles softly into her pillow, reminded of the feel of his breath on her lips that day in his hallway. It’s a thought she has come back to innumerable times since it happened, and though there have been some shake ups since then, it still brings her comfort.

She allows the memory to wash over her, covering her with a blanket of warmth and security.

And finally, she succumbs to the pull of sleep. 

-.-.-

It’s quiet. He listens, recognizing the subtle change in her breathing, and he knows she’s fallen asleep. He could hang up, call it a night, but he selfishly isn’t ready to.

There’s still one more thing he wants to say.

“I choose you, Scully,” he whispers into the phone, too cowardly to say it when she might hear him. “You’re my family. And I can’t wait to see how it grows from here.”

Chapter Text

After a bit of a drought of decent cases, their latest, honest to goodness X-File was a welcome distraction. It hadn’t taken too long to wrap up either, which was a double win for Scully, who could only handle so many nights in a dilapidated motel room in a row. With the case now solved, more or less, all that remained for the morning was a bit of paperwork and a drive to the nearest airport to get back home.

“Your mom called me last night,” Mulder says, sitting in the driver’s seat of their rental car.

“Last night?” Scully asks, furrowing her brows. “What for?”

“It was when we got back to the motel, after your phone battery went dead. I told her to give it a few minutes and try again, give you a chance to get it charged.”

Scully doesn’t respond immediately, and when Mulder turns to look at her, he sees a puzzled look on her face, a crease forming between her brows.

“She didn’t call you?” he asks, matching her expression and turning his attention back to the road.

“No,” Scully answers, concern marring her features. “What did she say?”

“I think she was going to ask you something about Christmas, figuring out plans or something,” he says. “I did mention we were on a case, maybe she decided she’ll just call when you get back and aren’t busy.”

“Probably,” Scully says, then sits back in the passenger seat and gazes out the window at the passing scenery.

He steals another glance at her, thinking about the heavy weight that hung over his brief conversation with his future mother-in-law on the phone the night before. It really had been a short talk, with her asking if he knew where Scully (rather, Dana) was, and then how he’s been doing since his unwitting brain surgery. 

He made polite conversation, of course, but keeping such a gigantic secret from a woman like Margaret Scully has a way of making one feel guilty for things they aren’t even guilty of. If the call had gone on much longer, he fears he would have started confessing like a Catholic over the phone, and he couldn’t have that.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “You think we should tell her about us?” then quickly corrects, “I mean– the adoption, eloping…”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet,” she answers.

He shoots her another glance—only for a moment—but to be honest, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. 

“I know you said you don’t want a big wedding or anything, but if you want to tell her, you can. I doubt she’d give you any real trouble for it,” he reasons, having a hard time believing Mrs. Scully would be anything but supportive once everything has been explained to her.

“It’s not that. I just—” she struggles to explain. “With Emily, it was so stressful and confusing for her. I don’t want to put her through more of that unless…”

Ah.

He reaches over and places his hand on top of hers, which rests on her knee.

“Unless you’re absolutely sure this is going to work out,” he finishes, and she nods, grateful she doesn’t have to conjure the words herself.

“There are so many variables at play here, Mulder. Any one of them could go wrong,” she says. He knows she’s mentally making a list, calculating how likely each factor is to throw a wrench in their plans. She’d be here a while if she wanted to plan for every possibility, but that won’t stop her from trying, he knows.

He squeezes her hand once. “I hope you know that whatever happens, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That earns a small smile, and she looks down at her lap in that way that she thinks hides her blush from him. Thankfully, it does no such thing. 

“No, the Mulder variable is one that I have on good authority is fairly constant,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh? And are those findings available in a peer-reviewed journal article, Dr. Scully?” he teases back. “If you don’t cite your sources, I’m afraid your claims may be dismissed as unsubstantiated by the wider scientific community.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she says, “I’m still working on gathering all my evidence. Research takes time, you know.”

“Maybe run some more tests,” he suggests.

She reaches out, running a hand through his hair, gently brushing over the place where his head had been drilled into.

“I’ll try to keep it less invasive than your previous experiences,” she teases, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

He breathes out a laugh, forcing his focus back on the road instead of on the feeling of her nimble fingers tousling his hair.

-.-.-

Their discussion picks up again on the plane, perhaps serving as a distraction for his partner who isn’t all that fond of flying.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” she asks.

He gives her a look, his best impression of the Skeptical Scully Brow.

“Is that a blanket statement? Because in general, no, I think that would be factually incorrect, Scully, that’s kind of our whole thing.”

“I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes, “that we should wait to tell people. At least my family.”

He turns toward her. That she’s bringing this up again shows that it’s something she’s really worried about. If it’s reassurance she needs, he’s happy to give it to her.

“Sure, Scully. You know them best.” Really it isn’t his place to decide this, but if she’s asking, maybe she wants it to be. They will, in a way, be his family too if all this works out.

She takes a deep breath, her usual flying anxiety momentarily forgotten in favor of whatever new kind of anxiety this was. “I just mean– If we even get approved, and if we get matched with someone… there’s always a chance the birth mother changes her mind at the last minute,” she says, talking through the scenario aloud. “This will be hard enough with just you and I to worry about. I don’t want to have to think about protecting my mother from heartbreak on top of everything else.”

He has to suppress a sigh on hearing her pessimistic view of what he’s hoping will be a very joyous process. But then again, this is what he loves about her. She’s the yin to his yang. The day to his night. Together, they cover all their bases, leaving no stone unturned in their search for the truth. Why should this be any different? He won’t get very far on nothing but blind hope. She’s here to ensure they are prepared for everything, come what may. Unfortunately, that means her taking on an extra burden of worry, one he hopes he might help alleviate.

“We can wait to tell them,” he vows, hoping that will put a stop to her spiraling. “I’m with you on this, don’t forget. We’re a team.”

She leans back, her head resting against the back of her seat, a sign he knows means she’s relaxing a little.

Success.

Still, the idea of telling no one at all feels dangerous. They need to have someone in their corner besides each other, for a whole slew of reasons. Character witness, taking time off work, filing necessary paperwork so that everything looks totally above board when they make it official… Really, there’s only one person he feels they have to tell, and that’s—

“What about Skinner?”

She turns her head to look at him, confusion playing on her face. “What about him?”

“I think we should tell him. Sooner than later.”

Maybe he should have planned out his pitch a little better. He can tell she’s not immediately drawn to the idea. He should have made up a list of reasons why it is a good plan, not just blurted out his half-formed thought before it was ready.

“But Mulder, what if they split us up?”

He turns in his seat, his attention intensifying. “That’s why we only tell Skinner. Ask him to keep it quiet in case things don’t work out.” She’s gonna need more than that. Think! Tap into those persuasive skills! "But, Scully, there’s going to be times we might have to take an afternoon off for a meeting or something. It will be easier if he knows.”

His focused gaze implores her to consider it. 

“I won’t let him split us up. It won’t happen.”

He can’t promise that, she knows, but they know Skinner well enough by now, don’t they? Sure, there may have been times when their trust in him wasn’t so strong, but it has been years now. Surely he would keep this to himself if they asked, right?

“Okay. You’re right…” she says tentatively, turning over his proposition in her head. “Just Skinner. No one else?”

His pinkie finger finds its way to hers and nudges it playfully. When she looks up at him, he smiles.

“Just you, me, and our big, bald boss makes three.”

Chapter Text

“Hold on, go back to the IVF,” the follically challenged Assistant Director says, his hands tented in front of him. His brows furrow in concentration, and he breathes deeply through his nose, looking up at the two agents across the desk from him. “In vitro fertilization, right? So you’re saying—”

“Agent Mulder and I attempted to conceive a child through scientific means last year, yes.”

Scully’s answer is straightforward, perhaps hoping it will be like ripping off a band-aid. Judging by his stoic reaction, his pursed lips, the vein popping out of his forehead… her nonchalance does not really soften the blow.

His gruff voice returns after a moment of staring at them, his expression unreadable. “Right. Okay. Just wanted to make sure I was understanding.”

“It was unsuccessful,” Scully offers, continuing. “The ova that were fertilized unfortunately were not viable, probably due to the inconsistent storage conditions in which Mulder found them.”

“Yes, that– that’s where you lost me. The part about your abduction and then the cancer…” He sets a hand on top of one of the files Mulder had brought him, as if any of the words in that folder made a lick of sense to him.

“Believe me, sir, it’s just about as confusing to us as it is to you,” Mulder says.

Skinner clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Well, I’m very sorry about what happened to you, Agent Scully. I suppose that also explains the existence of… well…”

Emily. A story he never had fully explained.

“Yes, Emily was somehow part of all this. She was an experiment, never meant for me to find.”

Skinner balls his hand into a fist, tamping down the rage he feels bubbling up inside. “These men need to pay. What they’ve done to you– to you both…”

“With all due respect, sir,” Mulder breaks in, “we’re not here to talk about revenge. We’re just trying to move forward.”

That’s… a surprisingly healthy outlook, coming from Mulder. What had Scully done to him? Whatever it was, the man owed her a heckuva lot more than whatever her last birthday and Christmas gifts had been. 

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “So, what is it that you were asking for?”

The two basement-dwelling agents glance at each other, words being passed unspoken between them. It’s unnerving, the way they do that. Downright spooky.

Evidently, they come to the decision that it’s Mulder who should say the next part.

“Well, since we’re looking into adoption, sir, we thought it might be easier if we got married.”

Silence fills the room, an inadvertent staredown commencing between all parties.

“Married.”

Mulder nods. “That’s right.”

Scully is sitting bolt upright in her chair, a picture of professionalism on the surface, but in conjunction with the topic of discussion, it feels distinctly forced. Mulder, on the other hand, is bouncing his knee so severely that it’s a wonder he hasn’t worn a hole in the carpet below him yet.

“We just don’t want there to be any issues here on the bureaucratic side of things, if at all possible,” Mulder adds. “In fact, we’d prefer to keep this quiet, at least until we know if this will work.”

Skinner presses his lips together, shifting his gaze between them once again. 

“Well, your personal relationship will have to be disclosed to HR at some point. I can pull some strings—”

“Sir—”

“Although it would have been good to know a little earlier on. Say, around the time you were making some pretty serious medical decisions that may have affected your ability to do your jobs…”

“Sir, I—”

Mulder’s attempts to interrupt go unnoticed. 

“You know, I have to commend you. You’ve really kept up appearances around here. I had my suspicions, of course, but you continued on like normal, I almost wouldn’t have guessed—”

“Sir, we’re not actually… together.” Finally, Mulder is able to get the words out, leaving an awkward hush in their wake.

Skinner leans forward, turning his ear toward the younger man as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “What do you mean?”

A pink tinge blooms on Mulder’s cheeks. “We’re not– Sir, this marriage is a formality, to make the application process easier and hopefully give us better chances of getting approved.”

“A formality,” Skinner repeats.

“Yes. We– We’re just trying to do whatever’s best to improve the odds that this works out.”

One of these days he’s just going to disappear to Cancún. Seriously, he’ll do it. This can’t be good for his health. He suppresses a groan, storing up a massive eye roll for whenever these two idiots leave the room. Only they could think up something like getting married and adopting a child platonically. Not to mention everything else they’d evidently been doing when left to their own devices.

“Right. That’s– Okay, sure. So then, the IVF…”

Scully pipes up. “I asked Mulder, and he agreed to help me.”

“As a friend?” He feels like this bears clarification.

“Is there something against that in the rulebook?” Mulder asks challengingly.

The look he gives them in return is withering. “I don’t think there’s a rulebook for all the insane stuff you two get up to, but I might have to make one, after this.” The two of them have the decency to look chastised at this, though he knows from experience it will do no good in the long run. “You know this is not normal, right?”

“Come on, Skinner, when have I ever been referred to as normal?” Mulder laughs.

“You, I might expect this from,” he says, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s Agent Scully that surprises me. You’ve really done a number on her, haven’t you?”

He takes a little solace in the fact that all this IVF business happened under Kersh’s watch, not his own. Imagine if it had worked…

“Will you help us or not, sir?” Scully asks, impatience beginning to make her uneasy in her seat.

He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. I thought this day might come at some point, but… definitely not like this.” His mind is wandering already, thinking back to any signs he might have missed, things that may have gone wrong in his career to lead him to this exact moment. “You have my blessing, or whatever it is you came to get from me. You need anything, just ask.”

Scully lets out a sigh, and her shoulders visibly relax.

Mulder moves to stand without another moment’s hesitation, bouncing up with far more energy than a man of his age should have. “Thank you, sir. I promise, this is the last time we ask you to cover for us.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent Mulder,” Skinner warns, though his words contain no malice. If anything, he’s resigned.

As much as these two make him tear his hair out (what little he has left), he holds a certain fondness for them that is undeniable. 

“And, hey– I’m happy for you. Seriously. The things I’ve seen you go through over the years, everything you’ve lost… You deserve this. Even if I don’t understand it.”

Mulder holds out a hand for him to shake. “Skinner. Thank you. Really.”

He nods. “Good luck with everything. And if you need any advice on adoption, my ex-wife’s sister has gone through it before. I can get you in touch, if you want.”

“We’d really appreciate that.”

They’re gone before he knows it, heads bent toward each other in secretive conversation before they’re even out of sight. 

Skinner lets out the eye roll from earlier, leaning back in his desk chair in exhaustion.

They’d figure it out sooner or later, of that he is certain. It’s just taking a little longer than he expected, that’s all.

-.-.-

"I want to get married Christmas Eve."

The proposition comes out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, and Mulder nearly spills his coffee mug all over his desk instead of setting it down gently like he was trying to do.

"Next week?" he sputters, the burning liquid nearly going down the wrong pipe.

She purses her lips. "...That's when Christmas is, yeah Mulder."

"I knew there was a reason that guy on the street corner with the bell was dressed as Santa Claus," he jokes, wiping a few splattered droplets of coffee from his tie.

"Mulder..."

"Okay, okay,” he says, dropping the jokester act. “But don't you want to spend the day with your family?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe.” Her eyes are locked on the desk in front of her, pointedly avoiding his concerned look. “I'll go for a little while, but they don't... understand me like they used to. Maybe it's just me, but when I'm with them for too long, I get this sense that they're... afraid of me. Or somehow uncomfortable around me. Ever since Emily..."

He stops her. "That's their problem, Scully. I'm sure they don't mean it."

"I know, it's just... hard."

He bites down on his bottom lip to hold back the slew of words he'd like to say to Bill Scully, Jr. He knows that's not what Scully needs right now, as much as it would make him feel better to have a go at him.

"Is that why you went ghostbusting with me last Christmas?" he asks, his heart softening at the thought. 

"I don't know, maybe a little,” she shrugs. “It helped get my mind off things." She looks embarrassed to admit such a thing, but it only serves to make his heart twist in his chest. 

"Well, too bad we don't have more time to plan. Could have had a Christmas Eve wedding in a haunted house," he deadpans.

This succeeds in getting her to look at him, and she emits a nervous giggle he doesn't often hear. "Absolutely not.”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his fingers. "Come on, don't you think Maurice and Lyda would like to know we’re getting married? I'm sure they'd have a field day with all our issues from the past year."

"Stop it, that didn't really happen."

"Well even if it didn't, I found it enlightening."

"Good for you. No, the courthouse will be fine."

They fall silent, the jovial atmosphere settling.

"And you don't want to invite your family?” he asks, clarifying. "Since they'll be in town?"

She shakes her head. "No, I think it should be just us."

Just us. He likes the sound of that. But still, one problem remains—

"Alright, so let me get this straight... you want to get married—to me—the one day a year your brother is in town? Are you trying to get me killed?"

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "He won't find out, Mulder."

"You like the danger of it, don't you?” he teases, leaning toward her. “You're a rebel at heart. I knew it. Probably snuck out every night in high school to run around with Johnny from the football team."

She stares at him unwaveringly, not dignifying him with a response. "Is it a yes or a no?" she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

He sobers, meeting her eyes with startling honesty. "I'll marry you any day of the year, Scully,” he says, and it's the truth. It has been the truth for years now. “Just remind me to wear a cup in case he figures it out."

"You're ridiculous."

-.-.-

The next week passes in a blur. Arrangements are made, paperwork acquired, work winds down for the holidays, and for once, Mulder isn't bored out of his mind this time of year.

"I was thinking… for tomorrow..." her voice crackles over the phone.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Mulder asks, his tone light and teasing despite the tinge of genuine concern he tamps down.

"No, of course not,” she assures him. “I was thinking, I'll need an excuse to leave Christmas at my mom's."

"No problem,” he says with a shrug. “I'll give you a call and make up some case we have to work."

He hears her sigh and gets the distinct impression that his suggestion was somehow wrong. "I can't ask you to do that,” she says. “They already blame you for last year."

"Gee, that's reassuring,” he chuckles, leaning back on his leather sofa. He adjusts the phone cradle on his chest, stretching the power cord to its limits.

"Not all of them, but, you know—"

"Bill."

"Yeah."

He waits for a second, but when she offers no further thoughts, he asks, "Then what do you suggest?"

She waits a moment more before responding. 

"Before you say anything, just listen to what I have to say…”

Oh boy.

"Why does that not give me a good feeling?" he muses aloud, his fingers twirling and tangling with the cord on the phone.

"The only way for you to be in the clear is if you're... with me, when we get called away."

"Scully—"

"We can just leave straight from her house, it's closer anyway."

"All excellent points, except for one thing..."

"Skinner can call us in."

Silence. He wants to argue but he can't.

"He already knows what's happening, I'm sure he'd be happy to help us," she reasons.

"I'm not gonna be able to talk myself out of this, am I?" he asks, a wry smile on his face. He's all out of excuses. 

"Mulder, if this works out... Well, there's a chance that by this time next year, we'll be a... family... of some sort, anyway. You might have to get used to it."

The word family sends a thrill right through him. He never thought he'd have one of those again. Never in a million years.

"You're right,” he says regretfully, running a hand over his face. “And it's not that I don't like your family, Scully, it's just I'm not sure they like me back."

"My mom loves you,” she says decisively. “And we'll only be there a few hours anyway. The courthouse closes early for the holiday."

He closes his eyes. He can't believe he's about to agree to this.

"Alright, I'll go. Just so you can get your thrill in doing something wildly irresponsible and rebellious right under your mother's nose."

She protests, "That's not why I—"

"I know you, Scully,” he teases. “You're not as strait-laced as you like to pretend."

After they hang up, Mulder stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought. His stomach flutters with nerves, unrelated to his worries about crashing a family gathering in the morning.

‘I am getting married tomorrow,’ he thinks. To Dana Scully.

It's a Christmas miracle.

Chapter Text

“You talked to Skinner, right?” Mulder asks, nervously turning his hastily-wrapped gift of a bottle of wine in his fidgeting hands. 

It feels dangerous, as he walks up the driveway to Maggie Scully’s house. Scully walks beside him in her usual place. His hand lightly brushes against the small of her back with each forward step, his way of keeping her close when there are threats lurking in the shadows. 

Threats Scully seems to be paying no mind to. Instead, her excitement is palpable. 

He sees where she's coming from; Having a secret of this magnitude just between them is admittedly thrilling. He's just not sure it's worth the risk of ruining Christmas, though, but maybe that's just him.

“Of course I did,” she answers, charging ahead without a lick of apprehension. His brave little fiancée. “He'll call after lunch.”

“Just making sure,” he mumbles. “If he forgets, we’re gonna be stuck here all day.”

“Mulder…” She shoots him a look.

“Right, sorry. Sorry.”

Festive strands of lights, unlit in the daytime, adorn Mrs. Scully's bushes and trees in her front yard, their clear bulbs glinting in the sunlight. It's a sight to behold when the sun goes down, he's sure. Though he's hoping he won't be here long enough to find out.

“Dana!” a voice calls, and they look up to see the front door open slightly, with Mrs. Scully herself peeking out.

Mulder’s hand drops from Scully’s back.

“And Fox! I’m so happy you could make it! I hate the idea of you spending Christmas Eve all alone.”

Truth be told, he enjoys his quiet Christmases. Better than the ones he had before his parents split, in any case. The slight pity in her voice makes him uncomfortable, but he smiles anyway, playing the part he has to play. If this works out (and he's invited back for another Christmas), he takes solace in the fact that there will never again be a secret like this to keep. He might even enjoy himself next time.

“Well aren’t you two all dressed up,” Maggie says as they step over the threshold, taking in their appearances. “The rest of us are barely out of our pajamas!”

Mulder looks around as the entryway opens up into the living space. Bill and his family are seated on the couch, and another red-headed man sits adjacent to him on an overstuffed chair, raising a cup of coffee in welcome.

‘We come in peace,’ Mulder thinks.

He waves in greeting, giving a nod in Bill’s direction. The unflappable stare he receives in response is nothing less than he expected. 

They really are overdressed. Everyone else is in a sweater of questionable taste or casual winter-wear. And here they are dressed like they’re going to court.

Which… they are.

Mulder loosens his collar at that thought, suddenly hyper-aware of the countless pairs of eyes fixed on him, as if he has the words ‘I'M ABOUT TO MARRY YOUR DAUGHTER/SISTER’ tattooed on his forehead.

Is he always this sweaty in this suit?

“Charlie, I didn’t know you were going to be here!” Scully says jovially as she sheds her coat. The red-haired man stands and makes his way over to them, wrapping Scully in a massive bear hug. It's an effective enough distraction to take the heat off Mulder, which he is certainly thankful for.

Up close, he can tell the man takes after Maggie more than Scully’s father in appearance, unlike the eldest Scully son. The red hair though, that's gotta be all Scully. His heart stutters at the thought of a red-headed baby, one they might have had if the IVF had worked. He pushes it back forcefully. He'd thought he was over that by now.

“This is my partner, Mulder,” Scully says, drawing his attention back to the present. She introduces them with a hand resting on her brother’s shoulder, gesturing up at her tall partner with a smile.

“Mulder, this is my younger brother, Charlie.”

Mulder nods and puts on a smile, hoping he might have a chance at getting on one Scully sibling’s good side.

“Heard a lot about you,” Charlie says, shaking Mulder’s outstretched hand. “From Dana, not Bill, don’t worry. She’s the only one I listen to,” he jokingly adds, and Mulder stiffly laughs, the tension easing just a bit.

He wonders what she tells her brother when they get a chance to talk. All good things, he hopes.

“You’re stationed in Japan, right?” Mulder asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s not adept at making polite conversation, but he thinks it’s going okay so far.

“That’s right. Managed to get enough leave time to make the trip finally.”

“How long will you be in town?” Scully asks.

“Just until Tuesday. The Navy can’t be without me for too long or else the entire base falls apart.”

Bill pushes out a forced laugh at that and shakes his head in fond annoyance.

When a lull in the conversation presents itself, Mulder pulls Scully aside, ducking his head so that his whispers won't be overheard. 

“We can postpone our plans,” he says into her ear, "I know you don't get to see your brother very often. I'll call Skinner and let him know.”

“No, Mulder, it's okay,” she says, reaching out and gripping his sleeve. “I'll see him tomorrow. I want to do this.”

His eyes study hers. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Heaven help him. 

“I'm blaming you if this gets me on another brother's bad side,” he warns.

“Charlie’s not like Bill. You'll be fine,” she says. “Talk to him about Japanese cryptids or something, he might actually be interested.”

Mulder laughs nervously. “That feels like a setup, Scully, but I'll take your word for it.”

-.-.-

Mulder has some success hiding in the corner with a freshly-poured cup of coffee while the others mingle, but of course his luck can only hold out for so long. It isn't long before Charlie spots him, tracing an unmistakable path across the room to intercept him before he can escape.

“So, Fox. Or is it Mulder?” he starts.

Mulder turns, accepting his fate. “Mulder’s fine,” he answers with a polite smile. 

“What are you two up to?”

The taste of coffee goes bitter in his mouth, and it takes some effort not to go straight into a coughing fit. “What?” he asks, eyes seeking out Scully already, though she's nowhere to be seen.

“Work,” Charlie clarifies. “What kinds of stuff are you doing at work?”

“Oh, right.” Mulder drops the panic face, his shoulders relaxing. “Well, I'm sure you wouldn't be interested. Boring stuff, mostly.”

“I find that hard to believe based on what my sister’s told me.”

Yeah, but how much does he know? That’s the question.

“Uh. We had a fast food worker a little while ago that ate his victims brains.”

He’ll leave out a few details and let the man believe it was a simple case of cannibalism. He doesn’t exactly feel like talking about proboscises or shark mutants or mentioning the fact that the brains were completely removed from the victim’s skull right before a nice family lunch.

“Eugh,” Charlie makes the appropriate sound of disgust, “How'd you figure that one out?”

“You really don't want to know.”

The youngest Scully sibling seems to accept that answer, to Mulder’s relief.

“You guys certainly live interesting lives, don't you?” he says.

“You could say that,” Mulder says. “I think your brother would prefer if they were less interesting, though.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Don't listen to him, he's just mad Dana's not his helpless baby sister anymore. Which, mind you, she never was. She'd wipe the floor with him shooting targets with our beebee gun growing up.”

Now here’s a subject that really interests Mulder. “I believe that,” he says, smiling at the thought of Bill getting humiliated by a teeny tiny Scully. “Got a scar on my shoulder to prove it.”

“She shot you?” Charlie asks, his voice laced with equal measures of incredulity and fascination.

“Oh yeah. With the precision of a practiced medical professional.” He smiles proudly, which probably isn’t the usual affect of a person describing how a bullet tore through their body, but Mulder wears that scar like a medal of honor. “In her defense, I deserved it,” he continued, “I wasn't in my right mind at the time, and she had no other way to stop me.”

Charlie blows out an impressed breath, brows raised in wonderment. “Well, I'm glad you can laugh about it now,” he comments. “You know, Bill might enjoy that little tidbit. I think he thinks you've trapped her with your roguish handsomeness, or possibly voodoo.”

Mulder laughs, though somewhat uncomfortably. Sometimes he wonders if he’s trapped her too, though he doesn’t think ‘roguish handsomeness’ has anything to do with it.

“No, for reasons beyond my comprehension, she's decided to stick around,” he says awkwardly. “Despite my best efforts to make her see the light.”

Charlie nods, as if that was the response he was expecting. “You and Bill aren't all that different, then,” he says, clapping Mulder on the shoulder. “Only, you know when to give in to that Scully stubbornness and admit defeat. He, unfortunately, doesn't.”

All the better for me, Mulder thinks.

They fall into an awkward silence after that, each taking a sip from their lukewarm coffee. Mulder glances around the room in search of his partner again, hoping she’ll come rescue him from small-talk hell when—

“So what are you actually up to?”

This time he plays it cool, swallowing another sip of coffee as casually as possible before asking, “What do you mean?”

“Come on. When I asked you earlier, you started sweating,” Charlie says, lightly smacking Mulder’s arm with the back of his hand. “Now you've got me thinking you're hiding something.”

Mulder gives his best clueless look, a tactic which only has about a 50% success rate of getting him out of trouble. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure you don't,” Charlie says, entirely unconvinced. He has the same expression as Scully has when he’s pitching her some wild theory at work. It’s almost unsettling to see it now on an unfamiliar face. “My sister's got that ‘sneaking around’ look she used to get when she was doing something our parents wouldn't approve of,” he continues. “I was the youngest sibling, remember? I saw everything.”

Okay, denial’s not working, time to bail. The scrutinizing eyes of Charles Scully are locked onto him, and he gives a knowing smile.

“Well, whatever it is, I'm glad you're doing it. She seems happy.” Mulder lets out a breath, not sure what the approval of his partner’s younger brother means exactly, but grateful for it all the same. “I think making Bill mad gives her a thrill,” the man continues, casting a glance at his big brother.

“I'm afraid you might be right,” Mulder agrees.

Charlie shakes his head. “Well, that's Dana for you. Appearances are never what they seem.”

Mulder couldn’t agree more. 

“Ain't that the truth.”

-.-.-

Lunch is a fairly painless affair, all things considered. Maggie had the good grace to sit Bill and Mulder on opposite ends of the table, and Charlie doesn’t mention their previous conversation again. The last remnants of dessert are being scraped off plates when the phone rings, its shrill tone interrupting conversation.

“Dana, your boss is on the phone for you,” Maggie speaks, popping her head around the corner from the kitchen.

“Oh, brother,” Bill says, instantly looking to Mulder with a nasty glare. So much for being off the hook, Mulder thinks. He wordlessly sends a complaint to Scully about her brother’s behavior, flicking his eyes pointedly toward Bill Jr., and she’s forced to suppress a smile as she hurries into the kitchen. He hears her mumble something into the phone, though it’s far enough away that no one in the dining room can hear.

When she returns, she’s wearing a serious facial expression.

Showtime.

“Mulder, that was Skinner,” she says, her tone regretful. “He's calling us in.”

“Ugh, on Christmas?” he whines, putting a little extra oomph into his indignation for appearance’s sake. Bill doesn’t appear to be buying it.

“He says it should only take a few hours—they just need our input on a case,” Scully explains, just like they’d rehearsed.

“Well, if the Assistant Director says so,” Mulder says with a shrug, and Scully shoots him a look that says he's pushing his luck. He can't help but smirk for a second before carefully masking his face. This was her idea.

“Are you kidding me, Dana? This is a family holiday!” Bill protests, a vein bulging in the side of his head. As if he’s never missed a holiday for work. Yeah, right.

Scully’s composure remains cool and confident, despite her brother’s lack of reason. “Director's orders, Bill. I'm sorry. I promise I'll be here all day tomorrow.”

He scoffs. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

Maggie, to her credit, takes their sudden departure in stride, hugging both her daughter and Mulder before ushering them out the door, promising to see them tomorrow bright and early.

They smile like giddy, rule breaking schoolchildren all the way to the car.

Chapter Text

She looks excited. At least, he thinks she does.

The good news is, she doesn't look like she's about to bolt out the door, and he calls that a win.

They may not be committing themselves to each other in the way a marriage is typically supposed to go, but this is a big commitment all the same. If she changes her mind now, their plans for adoption are as good as gone. The idea of family, as foreign as it has been for the last 26 years of his life.

He’ll admit he’s gotten rather attached to the idea. Perhaps a little too much so, considering how unique their situation is, and how often they've been dealt blow after blow of disappointment.

He looks down at the woman to his left. Any worries he might have had melt away at the sight of her. She's calm, her lips quirked up in a quiet, content smile as they wait to be called into the courtroom. Her shoulder brushes against his arm, and he resists the temptation to touch her, to hold her hand in his, knowing he will have his chance later.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says, having held on to that one all morning. She smiles up at him, looking every bit the blushing bride she is, despite the absence of the big white dress and veil.

"I think Bill was intimidated by how nicely you were dressed," she teases back.

He looks down at his fine-cut suit. "What, this old thing?"

Scully has never been the kind to care how expensive one's clothes were, but even she has to admit that he looks good in Armani. And judging by his smirk, he knows it too.

"Did you have that bow tie stuffed in your pocket all morning, Mulder?" she asks, reaching up to straighten it.

"Had to look nice for our special day," he answers cheesily. "Plus, you told me to ditch the colorful ties. Figured I'd get a head start on the whole 'happy wife, happy life' thing."

Wife. Husband. Those words sound so foreign, and yet, in just a few moments time, they will apply to them.

'Excuse me, table for me and my wife, please.'

'Yes, I'm her husband. That's me.'

The insanity of it all makes him want to laugh.

"Fox Mulder and Dana Scully?" a clerk asks, popping her head out of the courtroom door.

He feels Scully's hand grasp for his, and a thrill runs up his spine. "That's us," she says, stepping forward. He gives her hand a squeeze, following after her like a lost puppy.

Here we go.

Once they’re inside, the judge gestures for them to approach the bench, and they stand side-by-side in the center of the chamber. The dark oak wood is daunting, bringing back memories of not particularly enjoyable times they’ve been in courtrooms.

This time is different, though. The judge is smiling, for one, looking down her thin, half-moon spectacles at them. And, for once, their time in court will serve to unite them, rather than split them apart.

Yes, this would be a very nice change, indeed.

“What a beautiful couple you make,” the older woman speaks, her eyes crinkling in joy. Scully smiles, and Mulder clings a little tighter to her hand. “Are we ready to get started?”

They nod, and Mulder has to focus to keep his knees steady under him. They’re really doing this. He can hardly believe it has come to this point.

“We are gathered here to join Fox and Dana in the blessed union of marriage,” the judge starts, reciting her opening statement to the mostly empty room. One clerk stands by as their witness, a camera in hand to capture their memories of the day, probably with the intent to sell them back to them at an exorbitant price. 

It doesn’t matter. Mulder will pay it anyway, whatever the cost.

“This is not a responsibility to be taken lightly,” she continues. “A marriage ought to be founded on mutual respect, affection, and a desire to see through any challenges that may come your way. If you speak your vows in truth, this union will strengthen your bond, serving as a constant reminder of your unwavering love for one another.”

Mulder swallows, holding fast to the comfortable weight of Scully’s hand in his. The judge’s words only reinforce his belief that this is the right decision, that this is meant to be. Mutual respect, affection, going through life’s challenges… how else would he describe what he and Scully have? What they’ve had for over half a decade?

Unwavering love . He’s got that in spades. He feels it from her too, that fierce loyalty. “Love…” Well, he’d like to think so. At least some form of it.

“Fox,” the judge speaks, calling him to attention. He fumbles for Scully’s other hand, the way he remembers seeing at a friend’s wedding once in Oxford. “Will you take Dana to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Easiest yes in the entire world.

Green eyes meet blue.

“I will,” he says.

“And Dana,” he feels his throat close, choking back a sudden rise of emotion. “Will you take Fox to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, comfort him, honor him, and keep him, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?”

It’s the ‘forsaking all others’ part he feels like Scully shouldn’t be agreeing to, but they’ve talked this over. He still can’t quite believe she picked him. Him! Out of any man she could have.

“I will,” she answers, squeezing his hands once. He nods, and feels—not for the first time—that she’d known exactly what was going through his head. They certainly are spooky like that, sometimes.

“Excellent,” the judge praises. “Now, do you have your own vows, or—”

“The standard is fine,” Scully says, smiling up at Mulder.

“Standard it is,” she says. “Fox, repeat after me. I, Fox, take you Dana.”

“I, Fox, take you, Dana.” He leans in close and adds, for her ears only, “Scully,” with a conspiratorial smile, whispering the name he gave her that first day they met. It’s the only one that feels right coming from his lips, and he needs her to know that this isn’t just for show. This isn’t ‘Fox’ making promises to ‘Dana.’ This is them—Mulder and Scully. It’s real. As real as anything she can prove with her beloved science. 

The judge, oblivious to his unprompted addition, continues. “To be my wife,” she says.

“To be my wife.”

His. He would have a wife, and it would be Scully. His Scully. He runs his thumb over her knuckles in circular strokes, swallowing back emotion. She shudders under the intensity of his gaze.

“To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.”

It feels good to speak these promises aloud. For so long, he’s taken and taken and taken from her, watched her life and her dreams be stolen from her grasp, powerless to stop it. Now he can finally give, starting here and now, with his solemn vow to be there for her in every way the judge described. He hopes she can see the truth in his eyes. How much he means these words, from the bottom of his heart.

Judging by the way her eyes glisten, he’s coming across loud and clear.

Then, it’s her turn, and she looks up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “I, Dana,” she says, smiling coyly in preparation for what they both know comes next. “Take you, Fox.” His name is spoken with a teasing lilt, and it sounds just as unnatural as it always does coming from her mouth. He breathes a laugh, jostling her hands playfully between them. “Mulder,” she whispers, just as he had, and his heart melts. “To be my husband.”

The rest of her vows follow, equal to his, just as they are equal in all things. The weight of what they are promising lands squarely on their shoulders, at once harrowing and freeing. Mulder can hardly believe the ceremony is almost over.

“Now, do you have rings to exchange?”

Scully goes to answer that, no, they don’t, but movement from Mulder stalls her. He fishes something from his pocket, facing her with a shy smile.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he says, dropping a plain silver band in the palm of her hand. She sees his fist clenched around what must be her ring, and tilts her head in fond exasperation, a silent whine of ‘Mulder…’ that he looks forward to hearing every time they exchange gifts. 

The judge waxes poetic (as poetic as city hall can get) about the meaning of rings, their significance in a marriage, symbolism—but Mulder and Scully are barely listening. All they hear is her instruction to place the band on each other’s left ring finger, which they happily do, taking their time to slide it into place. The weight feels heavy, but right, on Mulder’s hand, and Scully’s… Scully’s sparkles just like he’d imagined it would when he picked it out at the jewelry shop.

They won’t be able to wear them in public most of the time—he’d known that from the start—but for now, in this room where everyone is privy to the legal bonds being established between them, they are free to do whatever they wish. 

“Well then,” the judge speaks up, beaming from ear to ear. “Having consented to enter into this union and pledged your vows to each other, by the authority vested in me by the State of Maryland and the circuit courts of Anne Arundel County, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She reaches up and takes off her glasses, setting them down in front of her. “Mr. Mulder, you may kiss your bride.”

Blood rushes to his ears, and for a second all he can hear is the pounding of his heart.

Somehow, in all the weeks they’ve been planning this, he’d never considered this particular part of the ceremony. A startling oversight, considering how thorough he’d been with everything else.

Scully is looking up at him, the only sign of her own internal turmoil being the way she bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He wants to kiss her, oh, does he want to kiss her. But this is where the line between real and fake goes gray. 

‘Is this okay?’ he asks with his eyes, his hands suddenly sweating a fair bit more than they had been before. He gets an almost imperceptible nod in return, and makes up his mind.

It’s chaste, the way his lips first meet hers. His hands land on that place on her back that she thinks of as belonging to him, and he dips down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She turns and catches him with her lips, her hand coming up to lay flat against his chest. It barely lasts more than a few seconds, but it leaves him feeling dizzy nonetheless, breathless. He smiles a lopsided grin.

Of all the ways he imagined their first kiss going, in front of two complete strangers at their wedding was not one of them. 

The air feels awkward when they pull back, not quite able to meet each other’s eyes, but the silence is quickly filled with congratulatory remarks from both the judge and their witness. In an act of boldness, he captures her hand again as they are ushered out of the room, holding tightly to it. As he predicted, their witness-slash-photographer takes Mulder’s money, promising that the prints from their ceremony will be delivered to his address in a month’s time, and he thanks her.

Step one is complete. They have officially started the process that would have them labeled the craziest agents in the FBI.

For once, he doesn’t really mind being the crazy one.

Chapter Text

“So, can I buy my wife some dinner?” Mulder asks. His hands are shoved deep in his coat pockets now as they descend the steps of the courthouse, fighting back against the chill in the air. The tie comes untied practically as soon as they walk out the door, hanging listlessly around his neck.

Scully looks over at him, the word ‘wife’ somehow sounding different coming out of his mouth now that they’re outside in the real world. It does something funny to her heart.

“What do you have in mind?” she asks, maintaining her calm composure.

They’ve eaten together countless times before, in cities and towns all across the United States. On occasion, Mulder would even pick up the check, when he was feeling particularly chivalric. But this feels different. Not overtly so, but just enough to be noticeable.

They eventually settle on walking down by the harbor, where a few vendors are selling food to tourists visiting for the holidays. With a greasy basket of fish and chips each in hand, they continue walking until they hit the end of the pier, claiming for themselves a wooden bench overlooking the water.

“Some day, huh?” Mulder remarks, slathering a fry in ketchup before putting it in his mouth.

He’s a master of understatement, her partner. He would describe almost dying as a “minor injury” if she wasn’t there to give him the unwavering doctor stare. But his wry humor is one of the things she loves most about him. Among other things.

“No turning back now,” she comments, nudging his side with her shoulder. “You regret tying yourself down yet?”

He looks at her at that, his expression one of disbelief. “Never,” he answers. “You?”

“No, Mulder. I– I’m more grateful for this than you can imagine.”

His lips pull back in that easy smile she doesn’t get to see often enough, and he relaxes back against the bench. The wind coming in from the harbor is brisk, occasionally bringing a spray of mist with it. It makes his hair stick up in adorable little spikes, and she just wants to run her hands through it and smooth it down.

They’re the only ones crazy enough to be all the way out here for longer than the time it takes a tourist to snap a quick picture. The temperature is dropping quickly as nightfall approaches, and it wasn’t all that temperate to begin with, it being so close to January. Somehow, Scully still feels perfectly warm.

“So, why did you really want to get married on Christmas?” Mulder asks, after a few minutes more spent contemplating the darkening horizon.

He’s looking at her now, one arm draped casually over the back of the bench, now that he’s finished eating.

“I guess I just liked the idea of having something to remember this holiday for other than bad memories,” Scully answers, thoughts of her father and Emily filling her head. “And…”

“What?”

She pauses, wondering if she should share this somewhat embarrassing, personal detail with him. One look in his eyes and she feels her tongue loosening, and suddenly she wants to share everything with this man.

“Well, I always used to imagine a December wedding when I was a little girl,” she admits, preparing herself for the teasing she’s come to expect from her partner. 

She and Missy had loved cutting pictures out of magazines and putting them in binders, concocting the perfect futures for themselves. Over the years, the specific details of her imaginings changed as her taste did, but one thing remained the same. A winter wedding, maybe with snow. Evergreen branches and little white and red berries adorning the bouquet. Lace sleeves on an elaborate wedding dress, its long train dragging behind her in a beautiful cathedral.

Missy was the complete opposite, filling her book instead with pictures of hot summer weather and wedding dresses that were just a little too revealing. 

It’s been a long time since she’s thought of those binders, maybe still collecting dust somewhere in Maggie Scully’s house.

Mulder’s knee tilts toward hers, knocking against it affectionately. “Sorry it wasn’t quite the majestic fantasy wedding of little Dana Katherine Scully's dreams,” he says, giving that shy, apologetic half-smile she knows so well.

“I don't know…” she shrugs. “It wasn't too far off.”

He shakes his head, breathing a humorless laugh through his nose. “You don't have to lie to make me feel better,” he says.

“No, really,” she starts, turning toward him. “It– Maybe it wasn't in a big cathedral with lots of flowers and people there, but…” She looks into his eyes and then quickly glances away, hiding a blush. “Well, in a way, I married my knight in shining armor, didn’t I?”

She chances another look at him, and he’s smiling a big cheesy smile. Great, she inflated his ego.

“Oh yeah? And what armor would that be?” he asks, laughter in his voice.

She rolls her eyes. “A parka not quite warm enough for Antarctica and two layers of pants,” she answers dryly.

He tosses his head back, looking heavenward for a second and smiles. “Ah, don't forget my valiant steed: the Sno-Cat Model 2000.”

“Valiant,” she agrees, “but not the most dependable.”

As time passes, the sky fades into an inky dark blue. The harbor sparkles with the lights of countless boats, some far out on the horizon. 

It’s funny. Sometimes when she looks out there, she can almost believe her father is on one of those boats, just waiting to come back to shore. She’d always thought Ahab would be there with her on her wedding day, smiling and proud of her and walking her down the aisle. 

Now, she sort of feels like he was.

She looks over at the man next to her, contemplative as he usually is when he has nothing to say. Her father would have liked him, she thinks. Well, eventually. She has to think he would respect Mulder’s drive, and the way he cares for her. Maybe it’s foolish and idealistic, but the alternative, she doesn’t even want to consider. She’s said before that they are alike—devoted entirely to their cause. The important thing is that she’s happy, and their unconventional partnership works for them.

Nobody else’s opinion matters, only theirs. That’s the biggest lesson she’s learned in her time with Mulder.

On the way back to their car, he hands a couple dollars over to a vendor and procures two steaming cups of hot chocolate, citing that the unpleasant memory of the bone-deep chill they experienced in Antarctica was making him cold. When Scully brings the warm liquid to her lips, she catches sight again of the sparkling ring on her finger, and she stops to admire it.

“If you don’t like that one, we can trade it in,” Mulder says, taking a sip of his cocoa and watching her expectantly over the lid of his cup.

“It’s perfect, Mulder,” she says, hopefully putting any worries he might have to rest. “You didn’t have to… Just a simple wedding band would have been fine.”

He shrugs noncommittally, bouncing restlessly in place to keep warm, or maybe out of discomfort with this particular conversation. It’s a nervous tic she’s come to love, unless she’s extremely overtired, in which case it gets on her nerves quick.

“I figured it would be good to have them for interviews and stuff,” he adds, glancing around. “I mean, obviously we can’t wear them all the time, but—”

“Oh,” Scully says. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She can only imagine what the rumor mill at the Hoover building would say, if they waltzed in one day wearing matching rings. Only this time, there’d be some undeniable truth to the claims.

“Not that…I don’t want to wear it, Scully,” Mulder assures her, absentmindedly twisting his own ring with his thumb. “It’s just—”

“Yeah.”

It’s a shame, in all honesty. She likes the weight of it on her finger. It feels right, somehow. And she likes the sight of him with his on, too. It’s a tangible thing, something to remind her that he’s made a commitment to her. 

She can’t help but think that if, God forbid, another Diana ever arose, that ring would provide an assurance that would get her through it without the emotional distress she experienced the first time around. A token that validates the possessiveness she feels, warranted or not.

Mulder shifts his cup of hot chocolate from one hand to the other and digs in his pocket again. “I did pick these up, too,” he says, pulling out two long, silver chains and depositing one in her hand, “if you want to keep it somewhere safe when you’re not wearing it.”

For some reason, the fact that he’d thought of this ahead of time makes her throat clog up and her eyes sting with tears. He’s always been a bit of an odd gift-giver, bestowing her with bizarre little trinkets that either mean nothing or everything, and it's never easy to tell which. But this… It’s hard to picture him standing in a jewelry store, contemplating her taste in jewelry and the practicality of wearing it in their situation. 

How much money had he spent on it? Did he worry he was being presumptive? Had it taken five minutes or five hours to make his decision? These are questions she never thought she’d be asking herself, and it’s just proof of how crazy her life has turned out.

She wonders if he’ll take his ring off now and slide it onto his necklace, but instead he places the chain back in his pocket, a choice that seems heavy with perceived meaning. She follows his lead, tucking hers away for the time being as they continue their walk. 

Later. For now, she can enjoy the way it sparkles when the Christmas lights all around them catch it just right.

“Hey, Scully?” he says, glancing down at her beside him while they wait for the crosswalk to tell them to cross.

She looks up at him, his earnest expression setting off the butterflies in her stomach.

“I’m glad you said yes,” he finishes.

She smiles wistfully, looping her arm into his and leaning against his shoulder.

“Me too,” she agrees.

-.-.-

Bill is waiting up for them when they get back to Maggie Scully’s house well after it has gotten dark. The original plan had been to go their separate ways after their “errand” at the courthouse, but time had gotten away from them. She wasn’t about to send him home at this hour, only for him to have to drive back in the morning, no matter how much he protested that he would be fine.

After a brief confrontation in which Scully has to defend why her partner is still with her (“Mom invited him to Christmas, Bill”), he begrudgingly fetches a spare pillow and quilt and sets them on the couch in the living room, warning him that he’ll need to be up bright and early for present opening. Mulder salutes him sarcastically, earning a look of scorn that fizzles at Scully’s challenging stare.

“How’d the case go? You smell like seawater,” he says gruffly, hanging around far longer than needed or wanted.

“Nothing much we could do to help,” Mulder answers with their pre-prepared response. “They let us off the hook early.”

After a few more questions, which they expertly dodge, Bill disappears up the stairs to the room his family is staying in, and Mulder breathes a sigh of relief.

“Well, you did it, Scully. You successfully snuck back in without your mom finding out,” he says, cracking a smile.

“Didn’t even have to climb through a window or anything,” she adds with a straight face. “I’m kind of disappointed.”

The room falls silent, save for the sound of the heater running to keep the house warm. Somewhere in the kitchen, the ice maker rattles. 

“Will you be okay down here?” Scully asks, looking over his shoulder at the couch and worrying her lip.

He glances behind himself, then turns back to her with a tender smile. “I think he probably found the quilt that smells the most like mothballs, but yeah, I’ll be fine,” he says jokingly.

She frowns. “I can get you a different blanket. There has to be more in the closet upstairs, I’ll just—”

“Scully, Scully, I was kidding,” he says, stopping her retreat by placing a hand on her upper arm. She immediately freezes, her eyes landing on the spot where his hand touches her, seemingly realizing for the first time how close they are standing.

For an instant, he reflexively pulls away as if burned, and she feels the loss like a phantom limb. But then he’s back, this time softer. Hesitant, but purposeful. 

She shifts her gaze up to meet his.

“I’ll be fine,” he reiterates, his voice dropping to a murmur. It’s all she can do to nod, lost in the dim light of the room reflected in his eyes. His eyes scan her face, lingering for a moment on her lips, and then he whispers, “Goodnight, Scully.”

Before she knows what’s happening, he’s lowering his head, and she feels his lips press against her cheek. Although it’s not an altogether unfamiliar gesture, tonight it feels… significant. He pulls back with a soft smile and releases her, not that she could move if she wanted to. It’s like her feet are glued to the floor, and her cheeks burn at the thought of getting stuck in a daze like this from such a simple action.

Fortunately, her brother saves her from further embarrassment. “Dana, you coming?” he calls from upstairs, shaking her from her stupor.

“Yeah, be right up,” she answers distractedly, eyes unable to stray from Mulder’s. She blinks a few times and frees herself from his spell, taking a step back toward the hallway. “Um. There’s towels in the bathroom,” she states, taking another step. “I’ll be in the first room on the left upstairs, if you need anything.”

He nods quietly, smiling at her in that way that makes her stomach flip.

“Goodnight,” she says.

“Night, Mrs. Mulder.”

-.-.-

Sleep proves difficult, which probably shouldn’t surprise her. It’s a combination of things, really. The ceremony, the brief touch of his lips to hers in the courtroom, the kiss on her cheek before bed. ‘Mrs. Mulder,’ which is frankly, ridiculous, but endearing nonetheless. And a whole host of other moments from the day that she wants to commit to memory.

It hits her, as she’s lying in bed after her shower, that this is her wedding night. It’s not at all like she grew up expecting it to be, but given the circumstances, it would be weird if it was. Things are strange enough as it is, and that—well, that would complicate it even further. 

She watches the clock on the nightstand turn to midnight, the blinking display of red numbers ushering in Christmas Day while the other side of her bed lays empty. His presence is felt, though, in the cool press of her ring to her chest, now looped around a chain and hidden beneath her clothes.

She tells herself she’s wearing it still because she doesn’t want anyone else to stumble upon it in the morning, but then she’s always been good at lying to herself. Her hand travels to it unconsciously, clutching it in a fist, reminding herself that it’s real.

She sighs, rolling over. Maybe Mulder’s insomnia is rubbing off on her. With another frustrated exhale, she sits up, lowering her feet to the floor. She gathers the knitted blanket from the foot of the bed and drags it with her, creeping to the door and prying it open slowly.

Maybe he’s still awake. They can stay up and just talk, or sneak some Christmas cookies from her mother’s tupperware. Either one would be preferable to laying awake up here all alone.

When she gets to the foot of the stairs, however, she hears the sound of steady, gentle breathing coming from the direction of the couch.

Figures, this is the one time he actually manages a good night’s rest. 

She rounds the corner into the living room and glances down at the figure on the sofa. Sure enough, his arms are tucked up against his chest, his face relaxed and tranquil. He looks so young, like this. Younger even than the day she met him. 

Oh, she loves him. Of course she does. How could she not?

The way his cheek is pressed up against the pillow makes her want to curl up next to him, but she settles for the worn La-Z-Boy recliner across the room. After draping her blanket over her lap, she tugs it over her shoulders and curls up, the overstuffed chair rocking back and forth with every movement. She watches him, in the dim light from the Christmas tree in the corner. His knees hang over the edge of the too-small couch, and yet he’s as peaceful as ever, his chest rising and falling in measured increments.

Beneath his thin, pale gray t-shirt, she sees a small, circular outline. His ring, resting right over his heart.

She closes her eyes, sending a wish to whoever might be listening that one day, that heart might belong to her, and hers to him.

Chapter Text

She wakes to something poking her in the face, and blinks blearily in confusion. With furrowed brows, she forces her eyes to focus on whatever is in front of her, and comes face to face with Mulder and his index finger, which gives her one final poke in the cheek.

“You that desperate to be the first one downstairs for present time, Scully?” he asks with an amused smile, leaning over her in the La-Z-Boy, which she somehow managed to stay asleep in all night long. He’s far too cheerful for whatever time it must be in the morning, but one whiff of the air tells her why. Coffee.

He waves a cup of the steaming liquid right below her nose, and it snaps her to attention within seconds, which draws a chuckle out of him. He gives her space to sit up and stretch her aching back before pressing the mug into her hands, ensuring that she has a handle on it before letting go.

“Does it count as being first if you’re asleep?” he asks. “Because if not, me and your nephew have you beat for first and second place. Bill’s been down, too.”

She’s too tired to worry about that. Instead she takes a long draw from her coffee cup and scans over to the tree, where countless beautifully wrapped gifts lay in wait for one terror of a two-year-old and the rest of the family to open them.

“You made coffee?” she asks, her voice raspy from disuse. She wonders what a sight she must be, with mussed bedhead and hair that had been allowed to air-dry after her shower the night before.

“Hope your mom doesn’t mind,” he answers. “Figured I’d try to have a peace offering ready in case Bill came down. I think it paid off.”

Just then, her brother enters the room, glancing over at her disapprovingly but saying nothing. Matthew trails after him with enough energy that Scully half wonders if he’d had a taste of the coffee too, and he plops himself in front of the tree, excitedly asking when he can start opening the presents.

Mulder stands and heads back to the couch, sitting on it casually and taking a sip of his own coffee. The quilt and pillow are nowhere to be seen, so he must have been up for a while. His sleep patterns will never make sense to her.

“Something wrong with your room, Dana?” Bill asks, standing up against the wall despite the open space on the couch next to Mulder.

“Couldn't sleep,” she answers, her tone one of warning should he continue this line of questioning. Thankfully, he gets the hint and shuts his mouth.

Once the caffeine starts to kick in, she excuses herself to go freshen up. When she returns, she casts a glance at the recliner that had served as her bed, and instead opts to sit by her partner. She sips from her refilled coffee mug, basking in the comfortable feeling of an early morning with the people she cares about most in the world all under one roof. Mulder is all soft edges this morning, still clad in flannel pajamas with bedhead that he'd done a poor job of straightening out. There seems to be a permanent contented smile on his face, though, as he watches her nephew agonize over not being able to open a present yet. Maybe he’s remembering a time when he had such zeal for the holiday.

Eventually the remaining Scully family makes their appearance, Tara and Maggie making a quick detour to the kitchen for their own daily dose of caffeine with Charlie right behind them.

“Morning, Fox,” Maggie says cheerfully before stooping to press a kiss to Dana’s cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Fine,” he answers truthfully.

If Bill seethes, Mulder takes no notice of it.

“There's the big bad feds,” Charlie teases, coming up behind them and messing their hair with each of his hands. “How was 'work'?”

Scully shoots him a look, effectively silencing him with her big sister sense of authority. He chuckles and takes a seat on the ground by the fireplace. 

With the entire family present and accounted for, Matthew is finally given the go-ahead for tearing into the gift wrapping, exclaiming excitedly with each toy he unwraps from Santa Claus.

“Pass me that green and white one, Matty,” Tara says, pointing to a small box under the tree and relaying it to her mother-in-law. Soon enough, there's a present in every person's hand, Mulder included. He gets some nice tie clips from Maggie and a box of dried meats from Bill and Tara (mostly just Tara, if Scully had to guess). Even Charlie had a package of nice socks to give him, probably a last-minute purchase, but appreciated nonetheless.

Mulder's beaming smile tears at her heart, and she wonders how long it has been since he's had a proper Christmas like this. Surrounded by family, excitement and cheer filling the air. She thinks she knows the answer, and it fills her with sadness. 

“Is there a present for Fox from you under here, Dana?” Maggie asks, now kneeling beside her grandson at the foot of the tree.

“Mulder and I already exchanged gifts, Mom,” she answers.

Exchanged a few other things too, she thinks. Most notably: vows.

Her mother looks up with interest. “Oh? What did he get you?”

Scully blushes. She hadn't been prepared to actually answer this question, though she probably should have been. “Oh, um… Jewelry,” she says, resisting the urge to touch the item in question under her shirt.

“Classic,” Charlie says, reaching out to fist bump Mulder.

“Actually, Scully, there is a little something else under that tree for you,” Mulder cuts in.

After last year's ‘we're not exchanging gifts’ gift exchange, she's not surprised, but she gives him an exasperated look anyway. “I thought you might say that,” she says, standing and grabbing a nicely wrapped package from behind the tree and handing it to him. Maggie finds the one Mulder snuck under there and hands it to her daughter, smiling at the two of them as they begin to tear open the paper.

For Mulder, there's a stack of crossword puzzle booklets and other travel sized games—sudoku, mad libs, a deck of cards, even a magnetic pocket-sized chess and checkerboard set that they can take on trips.

“Hey, no more I Spy and tic tac toe!” he says excitedly, flipping through one of the booklets. 

With as much as they travel—long hours in cars and planes and airports and motels with spotty satellite TV—they've pretty much used up all their options for passing the time. Their only deck of cards is somehow missing eight cards and has an extra two of hearts that they're not sure where it came from. A replacement pack is long overdue.

“I can't wait to wipe the floor with you at chess,” he says. “Thanks, Scully.”

She returns her attention to the box in her lap, free of paper but otherwise still unopened. 

“Go on, open it!” Tara says impatiently, craning her neck to watch as Dana lifts the lid off and peels back the tissue paper inside.

“Oh, Mulder,” she breathes, lifting a heavy book from the box. The front cover is plain, no lettering or images on it, but she can tell what it is in an instant.

A scrapbook.

She opens it to the first page, wondering what he could have possibly put inside. It's sparse—there aren't that many pictures of them together, after all—but he's scrounged up some that must have been taken at crime scenes, and one she vaguely remembers Frohike taking the first day she met the Gunmen. 

But perhaps more telling than the few pages that are filled in are the empty pages at the back, just waiting to be added to. She knows what he means by giving her this, and it causes a lump to form in her throat. 

“You look so serious, Dana,” her mother says, glancing over her shoulder at a photo of her and Mulder in their FBI jackets looking over some evidence. 

“Well, yeah, I'm at work, Mom,” she laughs, thankful for the distraction to keep her from crying in front of everyone.

“That's just the face she makes when she's about to refute my theory with cold hard science,” Mulder jokes, leaning back proudly on the couch. 

She looks at him, blinking away the tears threatening to fall.

“Mulder, this is… I didn't get you enough, your gift is so thoughtful…”

He shakes his head. “Scully, the fact that you even want to spend time with me long enough to play any of the games you got me is enough of a gift,” he says. “Seriously. You've given me a lot more than you think you have, I'm just trying to catch up.”

Charlie makes an exaggerated pouty face at her, which she catches out of the corner of her eye. He's lucky she's being watched by everyone else, otherwise she'd throw a pillow at him.

“Well, thank you,” she says. If they were alone, she'd hug him, but… Well, she's already uncomfortable with the amount of attention she's getting. She doesn't need to make it worse. She hopes he can see how grateful she is in her eyes. For now, she closes the book and sets it aside.

She scoots just that little bit closer to him on the couch while the others continue opening the last few presents, his leg brushing against hers ever so slightly. Thank you, she’s saying. This means the world to me.

-.-.-

“Hey,” Charlie says from behind him, startling Mulder out of a kind of daze.

He tears his eyes away from where Scully is standing on the other side of the room, making polite conversation with some of her mother’s friends after dinner. Charlie is a fair bit shorter than he is, but still taller than his sister, if not by much. 

“I took a look through that scrapbook you got Dana,” he continues. “I hope you don’t mind.”

He kind of does, actually, but he supposes he never made it clear one way or another, so he can’t really blame her family for being curious. It’s just… well, personal. He’s not used to sharing her with others, much less letting others see into the hard-to-understand relationship they have. It makes him feel oddly exposed.

He shrugs in response, not exactly sure what else to say.

Charlie doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Living so far away, I just feel like I miss out on the finer details of her life, you know?” he says. “Sometimes I forget she’s really an FBI agent out there waving a gun around and solving crimes.”

“You disapprove?” Mulder asks, ready to defend her.

“Not at all,” Charlie is quick to assure. “I’m glad she has a partner to look out for her, though.”

For all the good that has done, Mulder thinks. Still, it’s nice to hear he’s got one Scully brother on his side, even if it is the one his partner doesn’t get to see that often.

“I saw the picture of that little girl you put in,” the younger man adds, dropping the volume of his voice a few decibels. “Bill tried to explain it to me, once. I don’t think I ever really grasped how much she would look like family.”

Mulder fidgets at the uncomfortable turn in the conversation. It really isn’t his place to talk about it. It’s his sister Charlie should be speaking to. But then, if this prevents Scully from having to face such unpleasant memories during her nice family Christmas, then he’d gladly endure whatever questions her brother might have.

“I don’t think your mother or brother really understood it either,” he says, trying his hardest not to sound accusing. “But in their defense, it really was an unusual situation.”

“Let me guess, Bill completely pretended it wasn’t happening,” Charlie says, casting a glance in his brother’s direction. “Figures. I’m sure he didn’t make it easy on Dana.”

Charlie must have hoarded the entire Scully family’s stockpile of emotional intelligence, that’s the conclusion Mulder is coming to. Finally someone besides him thinks to ask how Scully handled everything.

“What has Scu– What has Dana told you?” he asks, quickly correcting himself. He doesn’t want to be the one to reveal information Scully would rather keep private, so he thinks he ought to check.

“I know she can’t have children, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Charlie says, taking a swig from his bottle of beer. “She never did explain why, but that’s not really what matters, is it?”

“You’re a good brother,” Mulder states. 

No, it shouldn’t matter. And that’s exactly what had bothered him about Bill’s reaction so much. Who cares if you understand why or how things are happening? The important detail is that your loved one is suffering and you need to be there for them. It’s a relief to hear that Charlie seems to understand this, even if his brother doesn’t.

“It’s a long story,” he answers with a sigh, “but she loved Emily. Would have raised her if the courts had let her, and if—” He trails off, letting the words hang in the air.

“You were there, weren’t you?”

Mulder nods. “Flew out and crashed your family’s Christmas as soon as I knew what was going on.”

“What was she like?” he asks next.

“Dana?” Mulder asks, brows furrowed.

“No, Emily.”

Oh.

Mulder bites down on his lip, thinking back two years to the few days he spent with Scully and her mini-me.

“She was quiet,” he answers. Honestly, he barely heard her say a word. But her genetics were unmistakable, and not just in her appearance. “She was a lot like Dana.”

Charlie is silent for a moment, probably digesting all that he had learned in the last few minutes. It’s a heavy topic, and one Mulder himself doesn’t really like thinking about, if he can help it. This Christmas has already been leaps and bounds better in every way possible, and he wants to keep it that way.

“Thanks for being there for her,” Charlie says finally. “Thanks for taking care of her. She needs someone like you around.”

Mulder inexplicably feels himself tearing up at his words, and forces the emotion back down before he can give himself away. 

“We take care of each other,” he corrects, glancing again to his partner across the room. 

His vows from yesterday echo in his ears, and for the first time, he wishes her family had been there to hear them. The marriage may be a legal ploy for practical reasons, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t intend to keep his promises. He meant every word he had spoken, and now part of him wishes her family knew just how much.

-.-.-

Dana had forgotten how draining it could be to be surrounded by friends and family for hours on end. It's hard to believe there was a time when social situations like this invigorated her rather than drained her, but she remembers her university days well. 

Still, the company is pleasant, and it affords her the unique opportunity to see Mulder in a different, more relaxed setting, something she'd scarcely known she was missing all these years.

At the moment, he is crouched down in the hallway beside Matthew, each with a wind up toy car in hand that they've been racing back and forth for the last fifteen minutes or so.

For as much as she believed him when he told her he wanted to be a father, it never really felt real until this very moment.

The way he interacts with Matthew is so natural, despite the fact that the boy is the spawn of one Bill Scully, Jr. He talks to him in hushed, conspiratorial tones, grinning when the two-year-old's car reaches the self-proclaimed finish line before his does. It brings to mind Emily, and the way he had tried to make her laugh when he met her. The way he cradled her in his arms when they had to take her to the hospital, burning up with fever.

Her partner, who chases aliens for a living and has been held hostage in Siberia, gently holding a tiny, sick girl in a patterned nightgown… It sometimes still feels like a dream that it had happened at all, though that dream had quickly turned into a nightmare.

Mulder's eyes shine playfully now and she can see his mouth moving animatedly. He points to the other side of the wood-floored hallway and Matthew quickly crawls over there with his toy car, evidently changing up the parameters of the game they're playing.

“One, two, THREE!” Mulder counts aloud, and he and Matthew both wind up and release their cars at the same time, watching with delight as they crash together in the middle.

He will be a good father. A great one, even. She'd known it when she asked him for help with IVF, and she knows it even more now. Not once has she wondered if his difficult childhood would stand in the way of him and parenthood. If anything, it would make him better. She knows he'll do everything he possibly can to be the father he never had.

She only hopes she can provide him that opportunity, one way or another.

“So, Dana,” her mother’s friend Gloria speaks, coming up beside her to watch. “Any plans to settle down? I know your work keeps you busy these days, but you're not getting any younger, dear.” She finishes with a chuckle, taking a sip from her glass of eggnog, oblivious to how out of touch her question had been.

The words aren't meant with any malice, Dana knows, but still she wonders how these older women come to the conclusion that that's an acceptable question to ask. Even if she wasn't struggling with infertility and extraordinary life circumstances, that kind of inquiry always rubbed her the wrong way.

She forces her eyes away from Mulder and her nephew, focusing instead on Gloria.

“Oh, um,” she starts awkwardly, not exactly sure how to answer. “Not right now,” she says, even though it's becoming more of a lie with each passing day. Uncertain plans are just as good as no plans at all, she thinks in order to justify her omission. After all, if things don't pan out, she'll be back to square one.

Or almost square one, she mentally corrects herself. There's still the matter of being secretly married to her FBI partner.

Besides, they're keeping everything under wraps for now. If she's not telling her own mother, she's certainly not about to tell a woman she's only met a handful of times.

“Well, I know this young man at the YMCA– Brendan,” Gloria continues, heedless of Dana's discomfort. “He's a swim instructor. Veeeery handsome.”

Dana smiles politely, but otherwise is careful not to give any indication that she might be interested. An accidental blind date setup due to miscommunication is the last thing she needs right now, and honestly, the last thing she wants. She's happy with how things are with Mulder, even if they're not actually a couple. They're making plans for a future together, that's all that matters. Though the exact specifics of that future are hazy, one thing is certain: She won't be alone. Not anymore. 

And neither will he.

Looking around at the house full of people, love a palpable force flowing around them, she wonders again why they didn't do this sooner.

-.-.-

“Thanks, Mrs. Scully. This was really great,” Mulder says, carrying a bag loaded with containers of leftover food and desserts. He waves at the little boy behind Maggie, held up in the arms of his father at the door. “Bye Matt, thanks for hanging out with me.” Matthew is suitably worn out from all the excitement and playtime, which Dana is sure her brother can't begrudge Mulder for, but he still waves a tired goodbye. If anything, Bill should be thanking Mulder. The youngest Scully will be out like a light probably before they even leave the neighborhood.

“Bye, Mom,” Dana says, pressing a kiss to her mother's cheek and giving her one last hug goodbye. 

“Bye, sweetheart. I'll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Merry Christmas!”

With a final glance over her shoulder, she and Mulder walk down the driveway to their car, alone for the first time in almost 24 hours.

“Your nephew is pretty cool, Scully. Did you know he thinks aliens have pet dinosaurs?” he says as they reach the vehicle, simultaneously opening the doors and sliding into their respective seats.

“How on earth did that come up, Mulder?” she asks, casting a doubtful glance to her left as she buckles.

“I didn't bring it up, he did!” he replies defensively, his smile only serving to make him seem less credible. “No, seriously!”

“I'd better not get a call from Bill asking what kind of stories you've been filling his son's head with.”

“Every little boy thinks about aliens and dinosaurs, Scully,” he says, laughing. “He offered up that piece of information unprompted, I swear!”

Scully chuckles, his earnest expression combined with his raised right hand somehow striking her as utterly ridiculous.

Our child will have no shortage of imagination with Mulder for a father, she thinks, and the thought causes her heart to clench in her chest.

“Just drive, Mulder,” she says, facing forward to conceal her smile.

He drives.

Chapter Text

After the pleasant, downright normal Christmas they'd had, Mulder wasn't surprised that their New Years Eve was spent being chased by zombies like something out of one of his bad horror flicks.

He did, however, get to spend it with Scully, which was all he really could have asked of the day.

Their first few days back at work had been pretty run-of-the-mill. The traffic in the hallways was a little lighter, with some agents taking additional days off until after the new year. They used their slow days to complete the adoption paperwork and send it in, which allowed them to put it out of their minds so they could finally focus on work.

Aside from Skinner briefly asking in passing if they'd actually done it (trying his hardest to appear only mildly interested), it was easy to forget the monumental step they'd taken over the holidays. Their rings remained safely tucked under their clothes while on the job, but when he was at home, Mulder liked to wear it in its intended place, finding it helped him focus his thoughts when he twisted it idly on his finger.

A mangled arm was a small price to pay for ringing in the new year with his partner by his side, all things considered. A happy ending for all, most especially for Frank Black and his daughter.

Scully watches as the older man wraps the girl in his arms, burying his face in her hair. It's a sweet sight, but something about it makes her grow pensive, her expression darkening.

“What kind of world would we be bringing a child into, Mulder?” she asks quietly, unable to tear her eyes away from the little family as they leave the room hand in hand.

Her words surprise him in their negativity, drawing a halfhearted chuckle from his throat. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Scully, but adoption usually means we’re getting a kid that’s already in the world, doesn’t it?

Her shoulders deflate a little and she casts an unamused glance in his direction, looking far more vulnerable than she typically allows herself to be.

“You know what I mean.”

He does. Of course he does.

“Well, it’s the same world people have been bringing children into for millennia,” he reasons. “And now we’re about to be in a whole new one.”

He nods back at the TV screen, tuned in to Dick Clark's coverage of Times Square. All those people, completely oblivious to the dangers lurking in this world that defy logic and reason. Zombies are the last thing on any of their minds as they count down to the new year. 

“But I believe mankind, in its essence, stays the same,” he finishes.

He'd faced this question months and months ago when Scully had asked him about IVF. Was this a life he could bring a child into? Was he a person worthy of being a father, even if only by genetics? The conclusions he'd come to had not been arrived at lightly.

“We can do this, Scully,” he says, softer. Sure. “We might have to make some changes, but… when it comes down to it, you and I are no different than anyone else wanting to raise a child.”

She gives him a disbelieving look, her eyebrow quirking into the air. He knows what she’s thinking; The reanimated corpses they'd just encountered would like a word.

“No, think about it,” he continues. “What's the one thing all parents—well, the good ones—have in common?” His question is semi-rhetorical, and she doesn't seem inclined to respond, so he answers for her. “They want what's best for their children, and they do all that they can to provide it to them because they love them. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty willing to do just that. And I think you are too, if these are the things you're worried about.”

Scully sighs, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Mulder…”

“I promise to protect you and any children we may acquire from zombies and all other supernatural forces of evil, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” he adds, his joke finally drawing a smile out of her.

“Don't call it 'acquiring,’ Mulder,” she says with a breathy laugh. “That's weird.”

With the mood successfully lightened, he turns his attention back to the TV, where Dick Clark is beginning to count down.

“The world’s a-changing, Scully,” he says as he moves closer, tilting his head up to watch the broadcast. She mirrors him, standing close by his side.

“Thirty seconds, now. Thirty,” Dick Clark announces as the camera hones in on the Times Square ball, lit up in bright colors as it begins its descent. “Hug your friends and loved ones tight. What the heck, whoever that person is next to you. No time like the present!”

Now there's an idea…

“Here we go!” the announcers chant.

Ten!

Mulder looks down to his left. Well, she is standing next to him, after all. Why not?

Nine.

She's smiling. She has a beautiful smile, too. He's always thought so.

Eight… Seven… Six…

New Year's Eve is plausible deniability, right? If this doesn't work? Maybe there's a written rule somewhere he can check…

Five, four.

Well, it’s not like they haven’t done it before…

Three. Two.

Is this a stupid idea?

One.

Without further ado, Dick Clark's voice cheers, “Happy New Year 2000!” and Mulder makes his decision, leaning toward her with purpose. No turning back now.

She catches him at the last second, and by then it's too late to play it off. The only option is to follow through.

And follow through he does.

His eyes flutter closed as his lips make contact with hers, their touch light and tentative as it had been in the courtroom just a week before, only this time, he waits a moment longer to pull back. Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek, and it immediately sends his heart pounding into his throat, and he finds he can't speak. Auld Lang Syne is playing, but the sound fades from his ears.

The only thing his senses can hear, feel, taste, smell, is her.

When he opens his eyes again, she is staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Her hand hasn't moved, and neither does he.

“I—”

“Mulder, I—

Whatever words he was trying to conjure to explain himself die on his lips in an instant, and he can do nothing but gape at her. The air feels charged, and all at once he wishes he'd never done it and that he'd done it years ago.

His eyes flick down to her lips and then back to her eyes, desperate to know what words will come out of them next.

“I– got a call from the adoption agency,” she finishes, and his thoughts come crashing back to the present, his heartbeat pounding at an alarming rate. However he'd thought she might finish that sentence, that wasn't it. 

She's looking at him though, worry flickering in her eyes.

“Th– the adoption agency?” he asks, his good hand slackening its hold on her lower back.

She nods.

“What did they say?”

Suddenly he feels nauseous, like maybe the mixture of zombies, drugs, and potentially life changing news was a little too much for his stomach all in one night.

“They… said that our application looks good, and they want to schedule a preliminary interview.”

At this, even his fingers on his injured arm have to reach out to her, brushing against the fabric of her shirt at her waist and stretching his sling to its limit.

“What?”

She nods again in confirmation, looking equal parts scared and excited.

“Scully that's– that's great news! It's good news, right?”

He doesn't know what he'll do if she gets cold feet now. A crushing blow like that isn't exactly how he'd like to start out this century, much less the millennium. 

Her hand drops to his shoulder and she smiles, holding tight to him.

“It's good,” she confirms, though a trace of doubt still remains in her voice.

He pulls her into a hug, resigning his poor limp arm to be stuck uncomfortably between them, but otherwise holding her tight.

“Mulder, we're actually going through with this?” she asks into his shoulder.

He nods emphatically, a wide grin stretching his face. “Heck yeah, Scully!”

“They could still tell us no.”

His little pessimist. Good thing he's got enough belief for the both of them.

“Not until they've seen us and we've pled our case,” he says, pulling back to look at her. “Call ‘em back and make an appointment!”

Tears begin to pool in her eyes and she nods shakily again. “Okay,” she says, and releases his shoulder to wipe the wetness beneath her eyes. “Okay, I’ll– um… I’ll call them tomorrow.”

He wants to kiss her again. He wants to so bad, but he doesn't. Emotions are understandably high, and this entire situation is so confusing and complicated already, that he's not sure anymore where they stand.

One day, he thinks. One day he'll find the courage.

“Hey, Scully,” he says instead, placing his hand on the back of her neck to capture her attention. 

She looks up at him tearfully. He shrugs and smiles goofily, relief and hope shining in his eyes.

“The world didn't end.”

Chapter Text

The interview with the adoption agency is scheduled for Friday of that week, which Skinner happily approves time off for. That leaves less than six days to prepare, and Scully busies herself with making sure they have everything they could possibly need to maximize their chances.

The night before the big day, Mulder is ordered to come over for a last minute study session (not that he would have been unwilling if she’d asked nicely, but with the stress she’s under, it comes out as more of a command). It feels like Arcadia again, going under cover, making sure they both have their stories straight.

Only this time, their cover is more or less their real life, give or take a few necessary oversimplifications.

“So, we’ve covered employment, medical history, familial relationships…” Scully lists, kneeling beside an array of papers spread out on her coffee table. “Am I leaving anything out?”

She bites the tip of her pen, glancing over her notes with her brows furrowed in thought. Reviewing this stuff could mean the difference between a happily ever after and rejection, that’s the scariest thing. She just wants to be thorough, and Mulder—bless him—has humored her thus far, answering questions, finding solutions to explain their… less than ordinary pasts. 

It takes her a moment to notice when he doesn’t immediately answer, the silence dragging on just a little too long. Her first assumption is that he’s fallen asleep—which she wouldn’t blame him for if he did—but that assumption is quashed the moment she looks up at him on the couch, the serious expression on his face instantly shifting the mood.

“Mulder?” she asks, a worried crease appearing on her forehead.

"You know, we never talked about it," he says quietly, carefully, glancing across the coffee table at her. “Not really.”

"About what?" She’s starting to get anxious.

"The IVF."

And there they are, the three letters that still fill her stomach with dread and immense sadness anytime she hears them.

I. V. F. 

"Mulder..." she starts, but he only leans forward, reaching out across the coffee table for her hand.

"I want to. I really do, Scully. I need to talk about it. It could come up tomorrow."

"I don't really like... thinking about it,” she says softly, wanting desperately to look away from the pleading expression that she knows she can’t say no to.

"I know. But don't you think we should?” he argues. “I mean, we can't brush it away like it never happened, Scully, I won't do that. It was important to me."

She doesn’t want to hear this. Her heart twists painfully, and she slams her eyes shut to lock down the tears beginning to form, shaking her head. Sure, she knows he’d wanted it back then, had hoped it would succeed. But it’s too late. It’s in the past, and she’d like to leave it there, if at all possible. To hear him say, in as many words, exactly how much he’d invested emotionally in those tiny embryos…

She doesn’t think her heart can take it.

"Since when do you like talking about things like this?" she asks, trying once to pull her hand away. “Things that… cause you pain?”

He clings on tighter, rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand with both of his. "I can tell you the exact moment, Scully, and it’s when you knocked on my door in a dingy motel room and asked me what those bumps on your back were."

His earnest words stun her into silence.

Rain on the windows. A story of tragedy and determination. Honest words coming from the lips of a man she’d met only days before.

That trust had been there from the start.

He stands from his place on the couch and circles the coffee table, carefully pushing aside the papers in front of her to make a space for himself to sit. "The past hurts, but somehow—” he continues, “somehow you make it easier to face. To me, at least."

She sighs, turning her head so that she can muster enough strength to answer his heartfelt plea. Articulating something like this is not her strong suit, but for him, she’ll try.

"I– I've never wanted anything more in my life,” she breathes, the admission one she has never spoken aloud. 

It’s the truth, though, and he knows better than anyone how difficult that is for her. Scully is not one for dreaming big, expecting rich blessings from the earth or her life. She, like him, has grown used to being disappointed, to having the things she wants taken away from her. He could make an itemized list, if he wanted to, of all the ways they’d been let down. Even the expectation of a clean, comfortable motel room has been slowly drained from her, and yet she had still allowed herself to hope in this.

“You know, for a minute, I really did think it had worked, that I was—" She pauses, leaving the word pregnant to hang in the air. Instead, she takes a shaky breath and continues. "Do you remember that day I got sick in the car on the way to a crime scene?"

She doesn’t have to specify which one, because it had only ever happened once, that was what was so odd about it.

"I thought that was it,” she says, “I thought that maybe—"

"I thought the same thing," Mulder cuts in.

Of course he had. She’d guessed as much that day, too, between bouts of heaving into a plastic bag in the front seat of their rental car. 

The way he treated her extra carefully, taking turns slower, making a point to turn on the blinker with every lane change on the highway, stopping at a gas station for some ginger ale… She had allowed it all, too—the special treatment—because what if she was? She couldn’t risk it until she knew for sure. If that was her only chance…

Her lower lip trembles and she ducks her head. "I tried to keep my expectations low, but..."

His finger lands on her chin, tipping her gaze back up to face his.

"It would have been pretty cool, huh?” he says, offering her a small smile for comfort. “Can you imagine telling Skinner out of nowhere that we combined our DNA in a petri dish? I think the vein in his head might have actually burst.” He laughs, and is graced with the smallest of smirks for his efforts.

"I'd have these dreams,” she continues. “What our baby might look like, what personality they'd have. Whether they'd… be more like me or like you."

His lips. Her hair. His passion. Her scientific mind.

"Well, hopefully you,” Mulder speaks, smiling at the thought. “I think you've got your hands full already with one of me. There are many who would say you were crazy even to ask me in the first place."

She looks up at him with her head tilted, her eyes softening.

"I knew what I was doing."

She can tell by the way he brushes off the compliment that he doesn’t believe her, so she doubles down.

"I'm serious, Mulder. You're brilliant, imaginative, bold, caring... I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't want my child to share those same qualities."

She loves Mulder. She loves every infuriating little thing about him. She'd have been lucky to have a son or daughter with his kind, gentle personality, his determination to keep fighting when everything in his life is telling him he can't win. Teena Mulder didn't know what she had, with Fox Mulder as a son. He should have been loved, cared for, nurtured, supported all his life. Instead, Scully has the sense that the first and only person he has trusted to give him all that is her, and that is not a responsibility she takes lightly.

"I pictured this little boy,” he says, his lips curled in a sad smile as he speaks. “Dark sandy blond hair with just a hint of your red. Blue eyes just like yours. Jeans absolutely filthy with dirt and grass stains on the knees."

She closes her eyes, allowing the picture to form in her mind. She smiles, but it's pained. Such a beautiful thought, never to be.

"How can I miss someone so much that I don't even know?” she asks, the hurt audible in her voice. “Someone that never existed?"

Mulder presses his lips tightly together in thought, his eyes trailing over the room. 

"They say that grief is the love we have that has nowhere to go, because that person has left us,” he starts, his voice reverent and pensive. “They never talk about how to love a person we never had in the first place, or a dream that’s just out of reach. But still, I think that love feels just as real as any other kind.”

He has a way with words, her Mulder. It has been the bane of their assistant director’s existence on numerous occasions, when such existential ponderings found their way into his reports.

But now… Well, it's just another thing she loves about him. She wonders if he's allowed himself to grieve for Samantha, or if his belief that she's still out there somewhere makes him fall into that second category.

"I just wish I hadn't put us both through that,” she says. “That I dragged you into it..."

"I'm glad you did,” he’s quick to assure. “Scully, that day you asked me was one of the happiest days of my life. The future is such a messy, terrifying thing, sometimes. You showed me that it doesn't have to be that way. That there can be hope. I'd forgotten what that felt like."

She's silent, unsure of what to say in response to that. He has all the right words, and suddenly, she has none of them.

"I don't regret it for one moment, Scully. We gave it a try."

She purses her lips, forcing back tears that are threatening to spill. "I don't think I could have done it without you," she says, shaking her head. 

"Well, obviously,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a cheeky smile.

She gives him a look. "Mulder…"

"I know, I know,” he says, turning serious again. “I'm honored that you let me be a part of it." 

That she would have let him be a part of so much more. A family. Everything, if he had wanted it.

"Well, listen,” he continues, “we ace this interview tomorrow, and we're back on track. Plenty of kids out there that need a home, right? Someone's bound to pick us."

His optimism emboldens her. "I hope so."

"We got this, Scully. They're gonna take one look at you and know for certain that you're meant to be a mother."

She distracts herself from his sweet-sounding words by focusing her attention on his loosened necktie, smoothing it down with one hand. "I'm picking out your tie,” she declares. “No alien decals or wild shapes and colors."

"I think it shows personality," he says in mock defense.

She can’t help the fond smile she flashes at him, glancing up into his eyes. "Not tomorrow, it doesn't."

-.-.-

The agency they ended up going with is out in Annapolis, so on the day of their interview, they drive out together, mostly in silence. Scully fidgets with the folder full of information and other documents they might need, picking at the corner of it while she goes over the important points in her head.

Mulder holds the door open for her when they arrive at the building, and she double checks that her ring is in place on her finger before approaching the front desk to check in. They’re instructed to take a seat in the small waiting area, and Mulder follows and sits down beside her. On the coffee table in front of them are a stack of brochures, the same one she found on Mulder’s desk what feels like forever ago. That had been the catalyst for this entire affair, and now look where they are.

She never could have imagined it.

A few minutes later, a plump older woman appears from behind a door, smiling at them warmly. 

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Mulder?” she says, checking her clipboard.

Scully stands, followed by Mulder. “I, uh– I go by my maiden name. Scully,” she corrects.

“My apologies, Ms. Scully,” the woman says, leading them into her office and taking a seat behind a wooden desk. 

They sit down in a pair of chairs opposite her, taking in their surroundings. There are dozens of thank you cards lined up on the windowsill behind the woman’s desk, presumably from families who have benefitted from the services offered here. It fills her with a cautious hope, though does nothing to quell the restless feeling that has plagued her since she woke up this morning. Mulder has kept his cool, so far, and she wonders how he does it.

“My name's Brenda Koske,” the woman continues, introducing herself. “I’ll be your case manager throughout this process. Should we just get right into it, then?”

They nod, unable to do any more than that at the moment.

“Okay, then,” Brenda says with a beaming smile, opening up a file folder on her desk. “So, tell me about yourselves, what made you look into adoption?”

"Well," Scully says, looking at Mulder for approval. "I– We found out a few years ago that I am unable to have children. We tried in vitro fertilization last year, but... it wasn't successful."

The woman at the desk nods and jots some information down in a notebook. Scully suspects their story, so far, is a familiar one. 

"And how long have you been together?"

Scully's mouth drops open, but she isn't sure what she'll say. Before she has a chance to stammer something out, Mulder answers, "A little over seven years, now." He’s confident. Sure of his answer, despite it being a lie, or at least an egregious stretching of the truth. 

The case manager writes down some more.

"And I see here that Ms. Scully has petitioned for the adoption of a child before. Emily Sim?" she states, checking her notes.

Scully tenses, and Mulder puts a calming hand on her knee.

"It's a long story," he says, answering for her, "but Emily unfortunately passed away from her chronic illness before the adoption proceedings could get very far."

Brenda nods. "I understand that this is a difficult subject, Mr. Mulder, I'm just trying to get all the information I need. From what I see here, this child was the biological child of Ms. Scully. I'm afraid I need more of an explanation."

She knows Ms. Koske doesn’t mean any harm by asking these questions—after all, they’d prepared for them last night. But it’s still hard to hear them come up.

Thankfully, Mulder was paying attention and is more than willing to take the lead.

"My wife was treated for her infertility by a doctor we couldn't trust,” he explains. She still finds it odd to hear him refer to her in that way, but it makes sense that he does it now. He can’t very well call her ‘Scully’ in front of the woman they’re trying to convince to give them a child. 

Now comes the next part of their explanation. 

“Her ova were stolen and used without her knowledge or consent, and Emily was a result of that. It was complete happenstance that we even discovered what happened."

"I'm very sorry you went through that, Ms. Scully," the woman says, looking genuinely sorry for her. "Quite a world we live in."

You have no idea , Scully thinks, and nods in recognition of Ms. Koske’s expression of sorrow.

"And you're married?" she asks next, her pen hovering over a checkbox on the form in their file.

"Yes, just recently,” Scully answers. The box gets checked.

"Congratulations! Why the long wait, if I may ask?" Brenda says.

“I ask myself that every time I look at her,” Mulder says while leveling her with his adoring gaze. He’s dialing up the married man act, which he is definitely within his rights to do, but it still catches her off guard. She hopes he doesn’t overdo it, risking tipping off their case manager.

"It, um– It never really seemed like something necessary for us to do," Scully answers, ignoring his sickly sweet comment and hiding her blush.

Mulder turns back to Brenda and adds, "But we figured, if adoption works out..."

"We'd like to make it as simple and straightforward as possible," Scully finishes.

"It certainly will help," the agent says, nodding as she jots down another note. "Where would the child be living?"

"I– We have an apartment in Georgetown.” Scully’s heart flutters anxiously at the close call, thankful she was able to correct herself before misspeaking.

"An apartment," the woman says as she adds that to her notes. It's impossible to tell if she means it in a good or bad way, and Scully can’t make out her handwriting enough to tell.

"I have money set aside from my father's estate," Mulder cuts in, causing Scully to look at him in confusion. "We'd eventually like to buy a house, if this works out." This wasn’t something they’d talked about in any of their previous discussions, nor has he ever mentioned it before, so she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. When she catches his eye, he gives her a subtle shrug.

They’ll have to talk about this later.

"I'll put down the Georgetown address for now," Brenda says, smiling encouragingly at them. "Just a couple more questions for now, you guys are doing great." Scully exhales in relief, her shoulders relaxing just a little. "I have to ask about your work. Your medical history tells me that your jobs put you in some pretty dangerous situations. What are your plans should a child be placed into your care?"

Mulder nods and squeezes Scully's hand, encouraging her. They'd planned for this, too.

"I plan to take a step back,” she answers, “I've spoken with our boss, and he's assured me that I could return to a teaching position at Quantico while serving part time in my current department as a consultant."

"Mr. Mulder?" Brenda says, turning to him next.

"I will be doing the same."

Scully looks at him incredulously, which the woman thankfully misses. 

"It's time for us to settle down,” he continues, avoiding her questioning stare. “I think we've accomplished most of what we set out to do with our work, and we can't keep doing it forever, especially if we want to start a family. I've talked to our director about seeking out replacements for the both of us. Someone else will take over the department, while we lend our expertise as needed to the new agents."

This is the first she’s hearing about this too, but she wisely keeps her mouth shut, letting him say whatever he needs to say. Starting an argument about this now would not tip things in their favor. 

But he can’t be serious about giving up the X-Files, can he? It hadn’t even crossed her mind to ask. Arguably the main reason he started the unit was to look into the disappearance of his sister, and that case remains unsolved. Would he just walk away? Would he resent her for it eventually, if he did? 

"I'm glad to hear you're making strides in that direction,” Brenda comments, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “I was afraid we wouldn't be able to consider your application on account of your chosen field of work, but it sounds like you’re serious about starting a family.”

She writes some more and it falls silent. Mulder wraps his other hand around Scully's, bringing comfort and reassurance to them both.

"Last thing—and I'm sorry to keep bringing up difficult topics—” Brenda starts again. “Ms. Scully, you were diagnosed with cancer three years ago. Is there any chance it could return? You understand why I have to ask, don't you?"

"Yes– I understand,” Scully nods, swallowing nervously. “Um, no, I've been told there's little reason to think it will ever come back. I've been in remission over two years now."

Brenda nods and makes a final note, her pen leaving the paper with a flourish. "That's great, I'm so happy to hear that." She closes her notebook and file and smiles. "Well, you two, it sure sounds like you're overdue for a happy ending. Hopefully we can do something about that." 

She shakes each of their hands in turn, standing up from the desk to escort them out. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you, we'll be in touch as soon as your application is approved, and then we'll start looking for potential matches."

"Thank you very much, Ms. Koske," Mulder says, the perfect picture of a responsible adult worthy of becoming a parent.

Scully mumbles her own "Thank you," too overwhelmed to manage more words than that.

Mulder places a hand on her back and leads her out of the office and into the hall, standing closer to her than he usually does when they walk this way. His neck bends so he can see her face, and he whispers, "You hear that, Scully? She said when our application gets approved!"

Scully shakes her head, not wanting to get ahead of herself quite yet. 

"She said 'as soon as', not when,” she corrects.

"Same thing,” he argues. “Come on, that went well, don't you think?"

"I hope so," she says.

His stride is confident and energetic. "It did, trust me. We had all the right answers."

"I was so nervous. I knew she would ask about my cancer," she states, shaking her head in disappointment.

"She was just being thorough,” Mulder assures her. “Cheer up, Scully, the part we had to worry about is over! I'm taking you to lunch."

"Mulder, we really should just get back to work—” Scully tries. She’s supposed to be the responsible one, after all. Reining him in. Wasn’t that why she complemented him so well?

"We're celebrating. One step closer to being parents, right Scully?"

It’s time she admits it to herself: she failed at reining him in years ago.

Now, she just goes with the flow. The best surprises are around the corner when she does so. 

She hopes that this time is no different.

Chapter Text

His only thought as he holds her in his arms while they wait for the police to arrive, is just how much he’s failed her as a husband already. Sure, their marriage is mostly for show, but replace “husband” with “partner” and the statement still rings true.

He almost lost her. Again.

He knew something wasn’t right the moment her phone went to voicemail. He had been the one to assure her that things were okay—that the case was over. It was his fault that she let her guard down, and look what it got her.

When Pfaster’s body hit the floor, the first thing he did was take the gun from her hand and pull her away to where she couldn’t see him anymore. She was in shock, that much was obvious, and he scarcely had the time to take in the wreckage of her apartment in his haste to make sure she was okay. He cleaned the blood leaking from her nose (an unpleasant reminder of days past) and applied some cream to the burns on her wrists, and they waited.

The only thing he tells the police when they arrive is that she acted in self defense. If they want anything more than that from him, he has a shiny new ring and some spousal privileges he’s more than willing to wave around and refuse to testify. Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. It seems the police are happy to believe whatever it is that wraps things up as simply as possible—no one will miss that wretched creature of a man.

It’s well into the night by the time the detectives clear them to go, promising to follow up soon. Arrangements have been made to get her apartment back in order in the next few days, and until then…

“Excuse me,” Mulder says, giving a parting nod to the local law enforcement officers. They wave him off, returning to their various duties around the living space, cataloging every shred of evidence.

Evidence that, when he looks at it, shows how Scully had been forced to fight for her life again, all alone and hopeless.

When he turns, she wanders out of the bathroom like a specter, a white knit blanket flowing behind her in an almost ghostly form. The door to her bedroom shuts behind her unceremoniously, and his heart constricts.

Sucking in a deep breath, Mulder glances up at the ceiling, willing the angry tears forming in his eyes to go away. Scully needs him. His wife needs him. Not his self-directed anger and loathing, or thoughts of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.  

He starts toward her room, knocking lightly on the door before opening it.

“Scully?” he says, poking his head in. He finds her sitting on her bed facing the wall on the far side of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He swallows past the lump in his throat and enters. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

She doesn’t react, not that he’d expected her to. He finds an empty suitcase in her closet and splays it open on her bed, tossing in a few items he knows she’ll need. Her comfy slippers. Silk pajamas. A blanket. A few of her medical journals from her to-be-read pile.

Her Bible.

He leaves the shampoo and hair products where they are. She can use his, tonight.

“Scully,” he tries again, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder and bending to meet her eyes. She flinches, but softens at the sight of him, which is an immense relief. “They’re letting you go,” he says. “Can I take you home?”

She nods wordlessly, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. He lets her keep the blanket wrapped around her for comfort, hoisting her now packed bag into one hand while guiding her gently with the other. The officers spare him a glance and a nod as they make their escape, an odd sense of understanding and respect passing from one man to another.

He’s not sure if he’s just that obvious about it, or if it’s some innate caveman sense of duty that has activated in their brains, but either way, he’s thankful for the ability to attend to his partner without judgment or pushback. A few neighbors peek their heads out their doors at them as they pass, and it causes him to pull her closer, shielding her from their wandering stares.

She rides in silence in the passenger seat of his car, kept warm by the blanket she wears. The night is crisp and clear and way too quiet, but he’s used to that by now. Life changing events happen, and the world goes on none the wiser, that’s just how things go. The pinpricks of stars in the sky shine whether you want them to or not. It’s not like the movies (or like Kroner, Kansas). It doesn’t rain just because you’re sad, or storm because you’re upset. Sometimes the night is as beautiful as ever and you just have to face the fact that you’ll never be the same again.

He wishes it didn’t have to be that way.

When they arrive, he unlocks the door to his apartment for her, pushing open the door to number 42. The keys get tossed on the kitchen table, to be dealt with properly another time. Right now, there are more important things to take care of, like the woman standing in the middle of his entryway as if she had never stepped foot in there before.

Recognizing that she’ll need him to take the lead, Mulder guides her further into the space, wordlessly ushering her into the living room where he sits her down on the couch. He disappears into the bathroom to get things ready for her; a clean towel, a brand new toothbrush, a disposable cup for water. He gives the small room a once over to make sure none of it resembles Pfaster’s preparation of her bathtub hours earlier, and nods in approval.

“Dana,” he says tenderly, crouching in front of her at the couch. She looks up at him, and he nods toward the bathroom. “You want to get cleaned up?”

“I– yes,” she agrees, nodding feebly. He offers his hands to help her up and pulls her to her feet. 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says, sending her off on her own while trying not to hover or act too worried about her.

He hears the heavy wooden door shut behind her and lets out an exhausted sigh, his shoulders slumping. He takes a moment to gather himself before trudging into the bedroom, digging some rumpled but clean sheets out of his closet and starting the process of stripping and remaking the bed for her. He leaves a lamp on, just in case she wants it, and sets her suitcase on the bed.

Only then does he notice that there hasn’t been any sound of running water since she went in there.

“Mulder?” he hears, her voice muffled through the closed door. He nearly trips over himself in his haste to get to the bathroom, stopping halfway through shoving a fresh pillowcase on a pillow. He stands outside the doorway, his hand hesitating over the knob.

“I’m here, Scully,” he says, holding his hand up to the door. His forehead almost presses against the wood, and he listens intently for her to speak again, wondering for a moment if she even will.

But then he hears her uncertain voice come through again. 

“Can– can you come in here?”

His hand finds the doorknob and turns, the door creaking open slowly so as not to startle her. She’s wrapped in a towel and standing in front of the shower, but that seems to be as far as she’s made it. Her clothes are neatly folded on top of his sink, splatters of blood still visibly dotting the hem despite her attempt to hide them. Her feet are bare and probably freezing on the cold tile, but that isn’t what’s bothering her.

She stares at the bathtub like she’s seeing a ghost.

“What can I do?” Mulder asks. Not ‘what’s wrong?’ because he knows. That’s plain enough to see.

“Stay– stay in here?” she asks, sounding shy and ashamed, all things she doesn’t have to be. Not around him.

“Of course,” he says, because of course he will. He’ll do anything—whatever he can to make this easier for her.

She gives a shaky nod, not even casting a glance back in his direction, and takes a bold step forward.

Mulder finds a seat on the closed toilet seat lid and closes his eyes, offering her some semblance of privacy despite the circumstances.

“Talk about something,” she says, the sound of the shower coming on audibly marking her progress.

He thinks, frantically filing through a list of safe topics in his brain before finally settling on one.

“I had a dream,” he starts, picturing it in his mind as he speaks. “Skinner was holding up a piñata on a rope, shaped like an alien. And there was this kid, maybe four years old? I knew it was her birthday, and she started yelling about how the alien was the wrong color, except it was supposed to be rainbow colored, not gray. It was completely unrealistic.”

Scully doesn’t respond, but the scent of his body wash wafts through the curtain, so he knows she’s doing okay so far. 

Encouraged by this, he continues. “Suddenly she has a baseball bat—a real Louisville Slugger one, not a cheap one. And she takes this massive swing and lands one straight in Skinner’s– well, you can imagine where.” 

He smirks at this, the memory just as amusing as it had been when he woke up that morning. 

“Skinman obviously drops the rope, and Mr. Alien goes for a dive. It practically explodes on impact, and there are sunflower seeds absolutely everywhere. I’m talking way more than can feasibly fit into a piñata, Scully, not that anyone in their right mind would put seeds into a piñata.” He’s not sure why this detail is important, but it seemed like it at the time. 

In any case, it adds to the absurdity of the dream, which is the whole point of the story. Distract her from her troubles by sharing something utterly stupid and meaningless. 

“And then we all just laid down and made sunflower seed angels on the ground until I woke up.”

He lets his tale trail off there, the bathroom returning to silence save for the constant trickle of water down the drain. He can’t tell if his distraction worked or not, but he listens anyway, hoping for some sign that she’ll be okay.

And then:

“That’s ridiculous, Mulder.”

The tight squeeze of his heart loosens immediately at the sound of her voice. Her voice. Laced with the usual loveable skepticism that he’s come to expect from her. 

He’s never been so happy to be called ridiculous in his life.

“I didn’t say it was a reasonable dream, Scully,” he teases back carefully, smiling in spite of himself.

She doesn’t ask him to speak again for the rest of her shower, but the mood has lightened significantly, and for that he’s grateful.

Eventually, he hears the sound of the curtains getting pulled back, the faucet dripping now that the shower has been turned off. He’s getting tired, if he’s being honest. The sound of the water combined with the darkness of having his eyes closed for the past ten minutes has combined to form the perfect conditions for sleeping, not to mention the bone-deep exhaustion the day had leveled on him. It’s only the responsibility of looking after Scully that keeps him lucid. Otherwise, he might have conked out right there on the toilet seat before she was even done.

She asks for pajamas to borrow, the silk ones he'd packed in her bag too close to what she wore when Pfaster attacked. He gladly hands over some sweatpants and a t-shirt, helping her to roll the hem to fit her much shorter frame. It dwarfs her, but she doesn’t complain in the slightest.

“I, uh– I made up the bed,” he says, hovering awkwardly around his bedroom, fussing needlessly with the sheets. “I'll just be out there,” he adds, pointing to the living room. “If you need me.”

He starts toward the doorway, ready to collapse on his leather couch for what is sure to be a fitful night's sleep. She'll be fine, he tells himself. He'll just throw her clothes into the washer before bed, then leave her be.

“Mulder?”

He turns, worry creasing his brow. 

“I need you.”

She sits on the bed, looking so small and helpless in his oversized clothes. Even during her cancer treatments, she found it hard to admit her need for help. But things have changed since then. 

He sets her bloodied clothes aside and crosses to her, his eyes searching hers, asking what she wants him to do.

She pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed, and suddenly, he understands.

Glancing down at his own bloodied clothing, he sends her an apologetic look. “Give me a few minutes,” he says, his eyes meeting hers intently, as if she might disappear the second she's out of his sight.

Reluctantly, he tears himself away long enough to take a quick shower and slip into some comfortable sleep clothes. He wonders if this is wise, if having a man in bed beside her will trigger some kind of post traumatic stress, but she asked him, so he will gladly do it anyway. He'll just be cautious, let her take the lead. Give her as much or as little space as she needs.

He exits the bathroom, taking his clothes and hers and tossing them in the washer along with the blanket she'd worn on the ride over.

He re-enters the bedroom as quietly as possible, and can tell by the uneven rise and fall of her chest that she's still awake. With a boldness he doesn't quite feel, he slides onto the bed beside her, adjusting the sheets over his chest.

He doesn't want her to think he's uncomfortable with this, because he's not. He just worries that he'll scare her, that the unfamiliar surroundings will be too much, too soon, and she'll panic or run screaming away from him.

He stares listlessly at the ceiling for a few minutes before she speaks.

“Can I ask one more thing of you?” she says, her voice a whisper in the dark.

He turns his head toward her, staring at the back of her hair. Her shoulders are hunched in on themselves, her body stiff and unmoving.

“Anything, Scully,” is his answer. If she asks him to get lost, leave her alone because she changed her mind, he'll do it. But that's not what she does.

Instead, she turns and faces him, her expression defeated. Her request isn't spoken with words, but instead in the way she inches toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

It takes his brain a second to catch up with his body, but when it does, he circles his arms around her, burying his nose in her freshly cleaned hair, potent with the scent of his shampoo.

She doesn’t cry, like he might expect. But she doesn’t pull away, either. He holds her close, reveling in every second of being allowed to comfort her in this way. If this is his only opportunity to hold his wife in his arms, he’ll make the most of it. His fingers tangle in her hair, cradling her tightly to him in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. She’s safe here, he needs her to know that.

They lay there for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sound of a ticking clock and the heater kicking on. He starts to wonder if she’s fallen asleep, but then he feels her hand brush up his chest, palm flat against him. Her fingers pause over the circular object tucked beneath his t-shirt, tracing the outline of it thoughtfully.

Oh, Scully.

Though he’s loath to part with her, he leans back a little, creating some space between them. With one arm, he pulls the chain from around his neck, unclasping it and removing the ring from its hidden place.

His eyes meet hers, heavy with meaning, as she lays back on the pillow looking up at him, and he slides it on his finger, his gaze never wavering.

A single tear slips from her eye, dissolving into the fabric of the pillow.

Tonight, she doesn’t need her partner. She doesn’t need her friend.

Tonight, Dana Scully needs her husband. And that’s exactly what he’ll be.

Without a word, he scoops her back into his arms, this time pulling her so his front is curled around her back, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Her hand finds his left one, her fingers taking a moment to brush over the cool metal band before resting atop it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” he says into her shoulder, his voice straining against the emotion constricting his vocal cords.

“Why did I do it, Mulder?” she speaks, whispered like a dark secret into the night. 

He doesn’t have an answer for her beyond what he’s already said.

“Because you are good, Scully,” he says. “That kind of evil doesn’t belong in this world.”

He knows his words won’t be enough to put her mind at rest. Not yet. But he’ll keep saying them until she believes him. As many times as it takes.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment falling easily from his lips. He presses a kiss to the side of her head and curls in tighter, providing much needed comfort and security to the both of them.

She does, and he follows soon after, drifting off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

-.-.-

He wakes the next morning to the sound of his phone ringing in the living room. It’s cruel, to be forced to leave the warmth of the bed without getting to savor the last few minutes of peace while she sleeps, but he drags himself away anyway, creeping out of the room as quietly as possible. With one last glance back at her, he sees her roll into the divot he’d left in the mattress, wrapping her arm around the pillow he’d vacated.

His heart tugs painfully. Go back to her, it says.

The phone call turns out to be Skinner, asking after Scully and wanting to know how she’s doing. He’s not sure whether the Assistant Director had guessed where she was, or if the police had said something to him, but either way, it doesn’t seem to surprise him that he’d taken her home with him.

Their boss is generous, giving them a few days off to recuperate. Scully needs it, whether she’d admit to it or not. He thanks the man and hangs up the phone, contemplating how best to fill the free time they both suddenly have.

He starts some coffee brewing in the kitchen and moves their laundry into the dryer, then drifts back to the doorway leading into his bedroom, pulled like a magnet back to her side.

He hates to wake her, but it’s been hours since she’s eaten anything. He perches on the edge of the bed and tucks her hand into his, holding it gently as he sits mesmerized by the soft fluttering of her eyelashes.

“Scully,” he says softly, running his thumb over her knuckles. He repeats her name and she shifts slightly, slowly coming to consciousness.

“Mmm—Mulder?” she asks, her brows furrowing, eyes still closed.

He smiles softly. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he says. “How do you feel about breakfast?”

-.-.-

It feels dreadfully normal to be sitting across from her at his kitchen table, the newspaper open to the funny pages while they nibble on slightly rubbery scrambled eggs and steaming coffee. He’s still not used to the clink of his ring against the ceramic mug when he picks it up, but it just adds to the perfect picture of domesticity, one he’d never thought he’d experience again after Diana left him, and that was never so perfect in the first place.

Scully is doing well, this morning, all things considered. He tells her that Skinner called, a gesture he knows she’ll appreciate. Now the question is what to do with the rest of their day, and the days that follow.

He has some ideas about that. The only concern is whether she’ll be receptive to them.

The television is tuned in to a channel playing reruns of I Love Lucy when he approaches her on the couch, setting a stack of flattened cardboard boxes on the floor by the coffee table.

He can’t believe he’s about to suggest what he’s about to suggest, but he can’t deny that it makes sense. Pfaster was the final straw, the one that pushed him over the edge. Bad things happen when they’re apart. If the last seven years with her have taught him anything, it’s that.

He’d told the adoption agent he was planning to take a step back from the X-Files. The events of yesterday merely solidified his belief that it was the right decision. He’s ready if she is.

He sits beside her on the couch.

“I was thinking,” he starts, focusing his eyes on the scene playing out between Lucy and Ricky Ricardo on the screen. “It might be good if I move in before they do a home visit—hypothetically, of course. If we get approved.”

She turns to look at him, surprise—not unpleasant—lacing her features.

“I mean—” he fumbles with his words. “I have a good feeling we will get approved. So, if you want…”

“Yes,” she says simply.

He blinks, astonished that it was that easy.

The home visit ‘deadline’ is just an excuse, and both of them know it. But she still says yes, and once again he feels a thrill at all the drastic life changes they’ve made with comparatively little thought in the last several months.

It’s all worked out well so far, so why shouldn’t this too?

He fights back a grin, nodding calmly in response.

Okay.

“Uh, I figured we could start with the small stuff first,” he says, focusing intently to keep his voice from shaking. “Decide what to donate, what to keep, what to throw away…”

“Sounds fun, Mulder,” she says, a hint of the old Scully finding her way back into her speech.

Oh, yes. This is the right decision. He’s sure of it now.

Armed with packing tape, permanent markers, and bubble wrap, they take to the apartment with gusto, smiling infectiously whenever their eyes meet over the top of cardboard boxes and piles of his belongings, on their way to a new home.

Chapter Text

It’s a little awkward at first, but he gets the sense that she just doesn’t want to be alone after what happened with Pfaster, and he can’t fault her for that. The crime scene cleaners left the place spotless, even had some furniture replaced using some of the insurance money, and he’s thankful that that’s one less thing they need to worry about.

Eventually they fall into a rhythm—commuting to work together, dividing household chores, adding his name to the lease... By the last week of January, he’s almost completely moved in, and things have been good. Really good. It surprises him how little he misses his own apartment and the life he built there. It was never a home.

Scully’s apartment… Well, he can see it becoming one.

He wakes on a Saturday to the sound of knocking on the door, bolting upright, suddenly wide awake. He glances at the time on the clock in the kitchen. Just after 8 a.m.

After the last unwelcome visitor to this address, he's understandably on edge. He briefly wonders if he should have his weapon handy, when the knock sounds again, this time followed by the gentle call of “Dana?”

Maggie. Uh oh.

He rubs his face frantically, smoothing his hair and trying to make himself look like he wasn't asleep just a minute ago. Sure, it might seem like a logical thing to do, to inform his partner’s mother that he now lives with her. But that would mean admitting to a fair few other things that she’s decidedly not ready to tell her, so for now, his mother-in-law remains in the dark.

He hurriedly folds the blanket he was using and throws it and the pillow into the spare bedroom.

He opens the door to Scully's room, hoping she's decent, and whispers loudly, "Scully! Scully, your mom's at the door!"

He gets a muffled, "Huh?" in response before her brain catches up to what he'd said, and she sits up.

It's too early to explain. If they tell her he's moving in, they'll have to tell her about their marriage and the appointment they went to at the adoption agency. They aren't ready for that.

"Should I hide in the other room?" he asks as she stands and puts on her robe.

"Like you're some high school boyfriend I snuck in, Mulder?" she says incredulously as she passes him. "Just go sit on the couch."

He does as she asks, turning on the TV at a low volume and attempting to sit as casually as possible on the couch.

She casts an amused glance at him before opening the door.

"Hi, Mom."

"Dana, did I wake you?"

"Uh, no, I was just getting ready," she lies.

"I would have come later, but I brought breakfast," Maggie says, gesturing with a dish covered in tin foil. "I wanted to see how you're doing. May I come in?"

Scully glances over her shoulder for a second before nodding and stepping aside to allow her mother to enter.

"I brought cinnamon rolls and fruit salad and—” her eyes settle on the unexpected occupant on the couch. “Oh! Hello, Fox!"

He can tell he's caught her off guard.

"Hi Mrs. Scully." He smiles, trying not to cringe at the awkwardness suddenly filling the room.

Mrs. Scully turns to her daughter. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you had company!"

"Mulder came over to help me go through some stuff to donate," Scully lies again, nodding toward the pile of boxes they have yet to unpack from Mulder's apartment. Good thing he doesn't have his personal items scattered all around yet. Score one for procrastination.

"Oh, do you need any help?" Maggie asks, setting her tray down and taking a step in their direction.

"NO!" Scully says a little too loudly, holding out a hand. "No, that's okay. There's not that much left to do."

"Alright..." Maggie says unsurely, returning to her task of readying their breakfast. "Fox, there's plenty of food,” she adds, glancing up at him kindly. “You're welcome to join us."

He's not sure if it would be better or worse to decline politely, but his growling stomach makes the choice for him.

"Sounds great," he says, standing to join them in the kitchen.

Mrs. Scully's eyes travel down to the plaid pajama pants he wears, then back up with an unreadable smile.

"Laundry day," he says as an excuse, as if he would ever leave the house like this for no reason at all.

She nods, then shakes her head in amusement and unwraps the foil from the pan.

"I'm going to warm these in the oven. Fox, would you mind brewing some coffee?"

"Mom, I can—" Scully tries, but Mulder is quicker.

"I got it, Scully." 

While Maggie is turned away, he collects the coffee mugs that are distinctly his from the cabinet and hides them on the top shelf where they won't be visible. Instead, he extracts three matching ones, all cream colored and coordinated as only Scully could be.

Breakfast passes about as awkwardly as the entire morning has, so far. Mulder manages to stuff a pile of adoption documents into a drawer just before Maggie sees them, and Scully thankfully prevents her from insisting on helping to put food away in the fridge, which is a lot more full now that more than one person lives here. Maggie asks Scully how she's doing, if she has any travel plans, and he decides he'll die on the spot if Scully tells her about their upcoming trip to Los Angeles for a movie premiere that ought to take a few years off his life. Thankfully, she remains tight-lipped about that one. He suspects her hopes for the film are about as high as his, which is to say, not high at all.

Eventually, he starts nervously glancing at the clock, watching the time tick closer and closer to when he's supposed to be at his apartment to arrange the transport of his larger furniture with the movers. If Mrs. Scully doesn't leave soon, he'll have to make up some excuse and leave himself, and Scully won't be able to come as she had planned.

"Mom, I hate to push you out the door, but Mulder and I have some stuff to take care of today," Scully comments, and Mulder suppresses a sigh of relief.

Maggie's eyes widen. The last thing she wants is to be a burden. "Of course!” she says. “I'll let you two get to it. Thanks for letting me drop in."

Scully gives a placid smile. "Thank you for breakfast."

She brushes off her thanks, busying herself with gathering up the dishes she’d brought over, then starting toward the door. "Bye, Fox," she directs toward him on her way out, offering a small wave goodbye.

He reciprocates with a nod and a forced smile. "Bye, Mrs. Scully."

His partner walks her mother to the door, whispering softly as they go. He can still hear them talking in low voices while he gets started on washing the dishes, the elder Scully’s words meant for her daughter’s ears only. He slows his movements, listening in over the sound of sloshing water as best as he can, curiosity getting the best of him.

"I'm your mother, Dana, I can tell when you're lying," Maggie says, her tone admonishing.

He can't hear what, if anything, Dana says in response. If she does speak, it's so quiet that it's beyond the capabilities of his hearing, despite his best efforts.

"If I were in your shoes, I'd feel safer if Fox were sleeping on my couch too, honey, you don't need to be embarrassed,” her mother continues. “It's okay to need someone, especially after what you've been through."

Scully sighs. "That's not…” she starts, then gives up and finishes with, “Okay, yeah, thanks Mom."

"You call me if you need anything," Maggie tells her.

Scully smiles. "I will. I love you."

"Love you too, sweetie.” She wraps her daughter in a hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek before pulling away. “Next time I'll call before I stop by, hmm?"

He can tell Scully is blushing just by the sound of her voice.

"I– I think that would be a good idea."

"Have a good day, Dana." Then, louder, "You too, Fox."

He gives one last awkward wave goodbye from the sink, and she leaves.

Scully puts her face in her hands as soon as she's gone, and groans.

"The secret lives to see another day," Mulder announces triumphantly, setting the dish drying towel aside with a wry smile. Scully shoots him a look, and he relents. "If this gets too hard, you can tell her, you know."

"No, it's fine,” she says, waving him off. “She just can't drop by and visit like that anymore. It's not going to work."

He presses his lips together, wondering if maybe they had rushed into things a little. He hopes she doesn’t regret it.

"I'm sorry, Scully,” he apologizes. “Maybe we should have waited."

She shakes her head, which comes as an instant relief to him. "Either way, this would have happened eventually,” she says. “But if this adoption doesn't work out..."

"It will," he says without hesitating.

"What if it doesn't?"

Not an option, he thinks.

"Then I can just get another apartment," he answers with a shrug.

She stares at him incredulously. "After going through all this trouble to get rid of the one you have now?” she asks. “Maybe it's not too late to hold onto it, you can tell them you've changed your mind."

He looks at her. "Is that what you want me to do?" he asks.

Her shoulders deflate. "I just don't want this to be harder than it needs to be if your plans fall through," she admits, concern pinching her eyebrows together.

This is one of those moments, he knows, where they need to be really clear with communication. It doesn’t come easily to either of them, but it matters. He hopes his next question will bring some clarity to the discussion, as much as her potential answer terrifies him.

"So if we don't end up adopting, you'd rather I go?"

Once the words are out, he watches closely for her response, trying to guess what she’s thinking by the look on her face.

Her confusion does nothing to alleviate his unease.

"Why would you stay?" she asks.

That’s easy, he thinks.

"Better company than at my place," he answers with a shrug.

He can see her thinking over his response, assessing him to see if he’s joking or not. It seems she—rightfully—comes to the correct conclusion. He’s dead serious.

"I– I'd want you to stay,” she says finally, her words providing him with the reassurance he needed. “The number of times we've both had our places broken into, I'd feel a lot better if..."

"I couldn't agree more,” he interrupts, smiling wide.

"And we spend almost every day together anyway,” she continues. “And when we travel, one of us always has to drive across town to pick the other up…"

"Logistically, we should have done this years ago," he finishes for her, and oh , how true that is. There’s a lot of things he should have done years ago.

She laughs. "I haven't had a roommate since med school."

"You smell a lot better than the one I had at Oxford," he jokes.

Her answering eye roll is worth every second he had to share a room with Reginald Butts, an aptly named law student. 

"Thanks for that, Mulder. I'm sure that's high praise."

Chapter Text

Skinner gleefully calls their joint adventure to Los Angeles a “honeymoon,” though Scully is sure no one else would consider the movie they'd just been subjected to a worthy use of their time if it had been.

‘Worse than anticipated’ might come close to describing it, actually. 

The trip itself is fine. The insinuation that this is their honeymoon (from their boss, no less) causes them to blush. Skinner knows he's making it weird, which is probably why he keeps teasing them about it every time he sees them. Thankfully, despite the awkward hazing, their boss sets them up with separate rooms.

And apparently has given them free reign of the Bureau credit card for the evening. 

The piece of plastic is burning a hole in her pocket as Scully goes out in search of her partner following the premiere. The studio lot looks much the same as it had when they'd visited before, over a year ago. Even some of the sets are still up, probably from last minute reshoots, and it's here that she finds Mulder, seated amongst the styrofoam gravestones and fake grass.

He'd taken the movie harder than she had, she thinks. After all, it's his life's work they're making a mockery of, not really hers. She's much more bothered by the bizarre love triangle the filmmakers somehow worked in, wondering how on earth they'd come to that conclusion in their short time together.

Mulder had disappeared after a particularly ridiculous scene taking place in a coffin, abandoning her to a sheepish-looking Skinner, who handed over the credit card without a word as soon as the credits rolled.

But now she sees him, and he's not moping like she'd expected after seeing him walk out of the theater in a huff.

Instead, he's staring straight ahead, frozen like one of the statues in the middle of the fake cemetery, seemingly lost in thought.

“Been looking all over for you,” she says, taking a seat beside him on the artificial hill.

“Yeah. Sorry I left. I couldn't take it anymore,” he answers, his blank stare never wavering. 

“That's saying a lot, coming from you,” she jokes, nudging against him with her shoulder. “I'm pretty sure your tolerance for bad sci-fi movies is higher than most.”

He doesn't respond, and it's then that she notices his open cell phone laying in his hand.

“You okay?” she asks. 

He looks down at his own hand as if seeing it for the first time, and snaps the device shut.

“I, uh—” he starts, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “While I was out here, I got a call.”

A knot of anxiety twists in her stomach. That call could be from any number of people, and she can’t tell from his expression what it might have been about. He's shaken, that much is clear.

She suddenly wishes she hadn't eaten a full bowl of popcorn in the theater.

“They tried calling you first,” he continues. “But your phone was on silent during the movie.”

Her eyebrows furrow and she hurries to dig her cell phone out of her purse, checking the display.

2 missed calls.

“Mulder, who—”

“The adoption agency,” he says, cutting her off, and it feels like the floor drops out from beneath her.

She's breathing, but it doesn't feel like she's getting any air. It's impossible to tell if it's good news or bad news yet, but her voice has suddenly stopped working and she can't bring herself to ask.

His hand finds hers, grasping on tightly.

“They approved our application, pending a home visit,” he says, a disbelieving smile beginning to form on his lips.

“They did?” she asks breathlessly, and he nods.

“And there's more.”

What more could there possibly be? She feels like crying, but she doesn't know if she can. The whirlwind of emotions is overwhelming.

“They found someone,” he says. “A possible match.”

That does it. A watery smile pulls at her cheeks, and she can hardly believe it, except she trusts this man with her entire being and he would never lie to her.

“That quick?” she asks.

He nods again. “They said they know it's fast, but the plans for the last placement fell through and they need someone who can be ready in the next four months or so.”

“Four months?”

“A young woman, already five months pregnant.”

She can't help it, she leans forward and wraps him in a crushing hug, throwing her arms over his shoulders and holding on. He holds her just as tight, and she feels his beaming smile in the crook of her neck, matching her own.

“Why didn't you come get me?” she gasps into his ear, absolutely certain she's never been this happy in her entire life.

“I wanted to,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. “My legs stopped working as soon as I heard the words ‘application’ and ‘approved’ and I had to sit down.”

This draws a laugh from deep in her chest, and she pulls him even tighter, cupping her hand over the back of his head and running her fingers through his hair.

When she finally pulls back, she sees his eyes filled with tears of joy, and she knows her own look the same.

“Really?” she asks, needing to clarify. Wanting to hear him say it again. And then maybe again later.

“Yeah, Scully,” he says, gripping her hands in his own. “Really.”

Suddenly, the movie doesn't seem so bad anymore. Who cares, it'll tank anyway. They have better things to worry about.

They're going out to celebrate, and Skinner can pick up the tab. It may not be their honeymoon, but it's a celebration of their relationship nonetheless, a culmination of their time as partners and the beginning of their journey toward becoming parents.

She stands determinedly, pulling Mulder to his feet and interlocking her arm with his, grinning up at him giddily.

“Let's go,” she says, flashing the credit card proudly.

He gladly takes it from her, laughing freely as they begin to stumble out of the graveyard arm in arm.

“Scully,” he says, tossing his cheap plastic Lazarus Bowl behind him as they walk. “Promise me you're not in love with Associate Producer Walter Skinner?”

-.-.-

It's just a week later when a knock on Scully's apartment door signals the arrival of the representative from the adoption agency for the home visit. They'd spent the week frantically getting things in order in their limited time after work, finally integrating the items brought over from Mulder's apartment with her own. Mulder had even gotten one of the pictures from their courthouse wedding framed, and it held a place of honor on top of the fireplace mantle in the living room.

Every time she passes it, she feels her heart skip a beat. There are precious few pictures of the two of them together, and that one is the most special of them all. It makes her feel like she has that “normal” life she'd asked him about, once—though of course there is nothing normal about this arrangement they have. 

“Mulder, she's here. Is everything ready?” she says, feeling slightly queasy.

“Ready, Scully,” he answers, and she shoots him a look.

They'd talked about this at length already, so he should know better. “You can’t call me that, remember?”

He tilts his head downward challengingly, the exaggerated eye contact sending a shiver up her spine, and she knows what's coming before the word leaves his mouth.

“Dana,” he breathes in a low rasp, smirking at her visible reaction to how odd it still feels to hear her given name spoken aloud outside of the most dire circumstances.

Oh boy.

“What exactly will you be calling me? Fox?” he asks next, moving to adjust one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“I seriously don’t think I can,” she answers. “I’ll think of something, but if I have to, I suppose I will.”

“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever listened to me and not called me Fox, I think,” he comments, his eyes tracking her as she approaches the door. “Other than maybe the Gunmen.”

“And now it just sounds completely wrong coming out of my mouth, so I won’t be doing it anytime soon if I can help it,” she says in a clipped tone, knowing the caseworker is waiting right on the other side of the wall.

“I appreciate that.”

She rolls her eyes, which only makes his smile brighten. “Shut up and get over here,” she says, jerking her head toward the doorway. 

He readily obeys, sliding into place beside her with his arm over her shoulders before she opens the door to the woman on the other side.

“Ms. Koske, hi! Come on in,” Scully says, far more cheerily than her usual affect. 

Mulder catches her eyes, and they flash in warning. Cool it down, they say. Be yourself. She'll do her best to take his advice, but it's hard. This is a key moment in their already fraught path to parenthood. She doesn't want to mess it all up with one small mistake. Not after they've come this far.

“Good to see you, Ms. Scully,” Ms. Koske greets her with a smile and a nod as she enters. “Mr. Mulder.”

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?” She needs something to do with her hands, so she shoves them in her pockets, hoping the answer will be yes so she can distract herself from her nerves.

“I’m alright, but thank you,” Brenda says politely. “Maybe after you’ve shown me around a little?”

Thankfully, Mulder takes the reins after that, probably sensing her unease. 

“Of course, right this way, Ms. Koske,” he says, separating himself from her side—a loss which she feels acutely. He leads the woman further into the apartment, winking at Scully behind her back as he goes.

Scully takes a deep breath, collecting herself. She's not sure why she's so nervous. She and Mulder have read every piece of adoption planning literature they could get their hands on, and quadruple checked that they had everything right before today. Still, she'll always be the one to worry that they missed something.

Thankfully, Mulder keeps cool under pressure. At least in situations like this.

“Any pets?” Brenda is asking him by the time Scully catches up to them in the hallway. She can see that the woman already has a half a page full of notes on her clipboard, not that she can make out any of it.

“Just my fish,” Mulder answers easily. “Although, Sc– Dana had a dog a few years ago.”

Scully clears her throat, deciding now is the time to jump in and be an active participant in this visit.

“Maybe we could get another one after we move to a bigger house, hmm?” she asks. Mulder’s unamused expression is exactly what she was hoping for, but he quickly schools it before Ms. Koske can see. 

She's partially teasing about getting a dog—payback for him blindsiding her with the ‘new house’ idea at their previous interview. But it might be nice, someday. 

Besides, he can’t exactly say no right now, can he?

She grins.

“Whatever you want, my love,” he responds, his overly saccharine smile telling her, ‘two can play that game.’

“How long have you been keeping fish, Mr. Mulder?” Brenda asks, oblivious to the subtle unspoken conversation happening right over her head. She stoops to look at the mollies with interest, tilting her head in response to the U.F.O. themed decor.

“Oh, uh, probably over a decade now,” Mulder answers, turning his attention back to their guest and his gleaming fish tank, in its prized new location.

Brenda raises her eyebrows, scratching something on her clipboard. 

“Impressive. They’re more work to take care of than most people think,” she speaks, and Scully hopes that translates to ‘If you can keep a fish alive, you can definitely handle a human child,’ even if the logic there isn't exactly sound.

Off the hallway, next Mulder shows her to the bathroom, which had been meticulously cleaned the day before. Scully doesn't know how someone could make such a mess with toothpaste, but Mulder’s tooth brushing quirks like squeezing the toothpaste tube wrong have been a constant pain in her neck since he started sleeping over. At least that's the worst of her worries. Otherwise, he's been a very agreeable living partner, even putting his shoes away instead of leaving them out after the time she almost tripped on them with an armful of groceries.

Brenda peeks inside cabinets and checks the bathtub, annotating as she goes on her clipboard.

“Are your medicines kept secure and in a child-safe place?” she asks, looking to Scully.

“Yes, I was a doctor before I left to join the FBI,” she answers readily. “I can assure you that I know all the dangers and keep them stored safely.”

Brenda nods, seemingly impressed. 

“A doctor,” she says. “Do you have any experience with children’s medicine?”

Scully shakes her head. “Just a rotation in med school,” she answers honestly. She knows realistically that this won't impact her chances of adopting, but still she wishes she had a better answer. “I, uh… went in a different direction.”

The woman smiles. “Not a problem, I was just curious. It’s good to hear that you have a background in medicine, that will certainly help.” Scully lets out a sigh of relief as Brenda scrawls something down, then turns her attention to her partner. “Mr. Mulder, what did you do before the FBI?”

The question catches Mulder off guard, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Oh, I– I got recruited not long after I completed my degree in psychology.”

“Did you ever practice?” Brenda asks.

“No, I didn’t.”

“But, I’m sure you have a general understanding of children’s psychology from your studies, yes?”

Scully looks to Mulder, curious about his answer herself.

“I do, yeah,” he says. “But, actually, most of my knowledge in that… area… comes from personal experience.”

The caseworker nods in understanding. “I hope you don’t mind my asking… I know this is a little less formal than our last interview, but I’d still like to be thorough.” The implication that he should expound on his answer is clear.

“No, I understand,” he says, nodding. “Uh, when I was twelve, my little sister disappeared. She was never found, and it… tore my family apart. I spent most of my adolescence bouncing between therapists until I went off to college in England.”

Brenda gives a sad shake of her head and makes a note.

“You two have quite a history,” she says, unmistakable traces of pity in her voice. “I can see why you were drawn to each other, and why you’re looking to start a family.”

Scully catches Mulder’s eye, and they share a look. This woman doesn't know the half of it, but she's right. Their bond is rooted deeper than most, deeper even than the average married couple.

All they want now is to move forward with their lives. To have a spot of sunshine after years of darkness and suffering. Somehow, that desire turned into the dream of starting a family, and it's hard to believe how far they've come in a few short months.

“I think I’ve seen enough in here,” Ms. Koske says, breaking the sullen silence that had fallen. “Would you mind showing me your room?”

“Of course,” Scully says, smiling a forced smile as she leads the way. “Our room.”

Because it is their room, as far as Brenda needs to be concerned. She doesn’t need to know that Mulder actually sleeps on the bed that’s in the spare bedroom, now that it’s been moved from his apartment. All it took was moving a few more of his personal belongings into Scully’s room and making his room look like a guest room, and their little white lie was perfected.

“Looks like you’ve got a good variety of reading material, here,” Brenda says, eyes trailing over the bookshelf. “Medical journals, Moby Dick … The Truth About Extraterrestrial Life Forms. That one’s… unique.”

“My husband is a big fan of science fiction,” Scully says, the explanation coming easily to her. She even managed to use the word “husband” without stuttering over it, for once. Easier than saying “Fox,” in all honesty.

When she looks up at said husband, though, he's suppressing an amused smile, and she shakes her head, her cheeks undoubtedly flushing pink.

Brenda nods at her answer, smiling warmly as she stands back up to her full height. “Yes, I can see that. You’ll have to make some space for children’s literature. They’re classics, but I love to recommend Dr. Seuss.”

Scully’s heart twists, and Mulder’s eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly, a meaningful look passing between them in the span of a second.

She doesn't want to get her hopes up yet, but…

“I’ll buy a whole other bookshelf, if I have to,” Mulder says eagerly, chuckling softly, and Scully feels herself fall even deeper in love with him.

Brenda pats him on the arm, an approving smile stretching her cheeks. 

“Now, that’s what I like to hear.”

-.-.-

The rest of the tour goes smoothly, and Brenda takes Scully up on her offer for tea prior to her departure.

The conversation topics are decidedly lighter as they sip on the warm drinks. Mulder regales her with tales of growing up on Martha's Vineyard, keeping things in the safer territory of beach days and riding bikes, rather than touching on his home life. 

Before long, their cups are empty and they get to their feet, moving slowly toward the apartment door.

“Well, everything looks good here,” Brenda says, tucking her clipboard into her bag. “Clean, not too small, good neighborhood, healthy food. Shouldn’t be too difficult to childproof, for however long you plan to stay here. And, your experience in medicine and psychology should certainly work in your favor.” 

Scully reaches a hand out and finds Mulder's, and he must have been searching for hers too, because he's right there, clasping her palm in his. 

“I have no qualms recommending you to our birth mother,” Brenda declares with a beaming smile. “I’m sure we’ll be able to set up a meeting with her soon.”

She grabs Scully’s hand for a cordial handshake, then shakes Mulder's, and all the while Scully can scarcely move or breathe. Had she heard that correctly? They were really going to get a shot at this?

For the first time, she lets herself envision them with a child. Baby toys scattered on the living room carpet. Mushy baby food lining the shelves of her pantry. Mulder as a father, ever the involved parent like he says he wants to be.

That was something she hadn't ever truly allowed herself to imagine. Not even when embryos bearing his DNA had been implanted into her womb, while he waited supportively in the waiting area.

For the first time, it's real, and she can barely hold herself together.

Mulder thanks the woman for them both, smiling broadly as he opens the door for her, but Scully can't hear them over the sound of her heart racing. She manages to mumble a thank you and goodbye before the apartment door closes, unable to muster anything more substantial than that.

And the moment they're alone, tears erupt from her eyes, hot and wet on her cheeks.

Mulder doesn't waste a second pulling her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest. She feels herself being lifted a few inches off the ground, and he buries his face in her shoulder, grasping her securely around the waist. 

She can't speak, can't do anything but cry into his shoulder and picture their life together. Beyond the X-Files, beyond alien abductions and missing sisters. Finally, finally beyond manipulative ex-girlfriends and smoky shadow governments, who now lie in dirt and ashes.

There's a life for them, beyond, and she wants it now more than she ever thought she would.

“One step closer,” Mulder whispers into her neck, his voice choked with emotion.

She can only nod and hold him tighter in response.

Chapter Text

Krista is a lovely young woman. In her second year at Georgetown, with plans to get a Master's and a PhD after her undergraduate studies, having a child really isn't in the cards right now, nor would she be able to financially sustain the situation in a few years time. 

It turns out, the previous couple she'd selected ended up getting pregnant themselves and had to back out, which was just an added stressor for Krista who was trying to focus on her studies, knowing finals season would be approaching sooner than later.

Mulder and Scully are more than willing to step in, and by all accounts, their meeting with her went… well.

Really well, honestly.

Scully had bonded with her over their shared Alma Mater, and even happened to have taken the same introductory physics class as her with an ancient professor who is somehow still teaching after all these years.

Mulder, on the other hand, shares her interest in sports. It seems Krista had been quite the track and field athlete in her high school years, and also won State as the pitcher for her varsity softball team her senior year. 

They left the meeting feeling beyond hopeful, something they were unaccustomed to but were slowly beginning to come to terms with, finally.

“I think she really liked us, Scully!” Mulder says, glancing at her excitedly from the driver's seat of the car on their way home. “Can you imagine? If this works out, in less than six months, we'll be parents!”

“It's a scary thought, isn't it?” Scully asks, unable to suppress her own smile.

Scary, and about a million other things, Mulder thinks.

“The good kind of scary,” he says decidedly, and he delights when she nods in agreement, setting aside her skepticism for a moment.

“Yes.”

The drive back to their apartment goes quickly. The place near campus where they'd met up for lunch isn't far from her building at all, and if it had been a little warmer out, they might have even walked. Mulder puts the car in park and circles the vehicle, holding out his hand for Scully after she closes the passenger door, and her hand slides easily into his.

This is something they do now—holding hands. At some point in this process, the occasional gesture of comfort had turned to a casual, almost everyday thing, and Mulder isn't going to complain.

Maybe it was the need to keep up appearances as a married couple that made them do it. After all, in certain areas of their lives now, it's expected. With the adoption agency, with the birth mother… Their relationship, while close, is not one that fits into the mold of the wider public. It's easier to express it in this way for the benefit of others, rather than their usual way of showing affection.

On the other hand, maybe something between them really had shifted. He wouldn't soon forget how Scully had leaned on him, both literally and figuratively, after Pfaster. A year ago, he's not sure she would have trusted him like that, and in hindsight, she was right not to. He hadn't yet earned her trust back, and he'd regret ever breaking it in the first place for the rest of his life.

But she trusts him now. She lets him hold her and care for her and believe in her—believe for her—like he's always tried to do.

He will always consider standing by her side to be one of his greatest accomplishments in life. More than anything he has gained from his time on the X-Files, he has gained a friend. Someone who truly understands him.

He doesn't know what he could have done to deserve her. 

Maybe he will always battle these feelings of unworthiness, thinking he could never be enough for her, but it's far too late for him to let go now. Losing her would end him. It's why he had been hesitant to accept her proposal to try IVF in the first place. Every curveball life throws at him is just another thing that could potentially rip their relationship apart. He tries his best to keep those “surprises” to a minimum, but every so often, the opportunity presented is too good to pass up.

Sometimes, he has found, it's worth the risk.

He hopes it will be, in this case. They're so close to achieving what she—they— have longed for for so long, but there's still room for error.

The best he can do is keep moving forward. Stay the course, and pray for fair seas up ahead.

He thinks her father might appreciate his sailing analogy, but then again, he probably would have hated him regardless of his use of sea-based figurative language.

In the hallway, an older woman smiles at the two of them, and Mulder forces a polite smile back at her. He knows what her neighbors must think. They've seen him around for years, and he's even met a few of them in passing. But now he lives here, and his name is even on her mailbox next to hers. There's not much he could say to dissuade their gossiping at this point.

Scully opens the door, turning on a few lights as they shed their coats and put them away. The adrenaline that had fueled them before in what was possibly the most important meeting of their lives has left them exhausted, and he happily follows Scully toward the couch in the living room.

A lazy day is just what they need. Things are out of their hands now. After weeks—months —of preparation, they have done all they can. Now, all there is to do is wait.

It's almost routine, at this point, when they share a couch. Scully curls up under a blanket, her head against a throw pillow, while Mulder fishes the TV remote out of whatever crevice he inevitably left it in last time. He has to move her feet a little to sit down, but as soon as he's situated, he lets her rest them up against his leg.

She's somehow always freezing, but he doesn't mind.

He sets a Knicks game on the screen at a low volume and leans back, his head lolling against the backrest.

There’s something about staring at the swirling patterns on the ceiling that lends itself to deep contemplation. The muffled sound of the TV does too, but maybe that's just a him thing. He closes his eyes, thinking through the day's events. Thinking of the future.

“I feel for anyone in her position,” he says, the thought escaping him and breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen. He can sense Scully is still awake though, so he continues. “It can't be easy to give up your own child, especially when the circumstances are out of your hands. But, in this case…” 

He's thought of this a lot, lately. About how one person's misfortune may well be another’s salvation. It's a hard dichotomy to grasp.

“Well, it's a good thing for us, anyway,” he finishes, placing a hand over Scully's ankle. “We might actually get a chance to do this.”

“I hope so,” she murmurs into her pillow.

He opens his eyes, glancing down at her in her restful state.

“We will. I have a good feeling,” he says with all the confidence he can muster. It feels odd, this hope, but it's as real and true to him as the love he carries for his partner. “Wow, it's been a while since I've said those words.”

She breathes out an amused chuckle, curling further into the cushions before she responds.

“For once, I'm inclined to believe you.”

His lips curl in a smile and he playfully tickles her foot. 

“I've never been so happy to hear you say that, Scully.”

He knows he should let her sleep, but there are just too many thoughts running through his head that he can't restrain himself. There's a whole world of possibilities about to open up for them. It's exciting and terrifying all at once, and she knows he’s a compulsive talker in those kinds of situations.

He's thankful that she hasn't grown tired of him already and moved to her bedroom to take a nap instead. If they were really husband and wife, that wouldn't stop him. He'd still be able to talk her ear off all night long if he wanted, or until she kicked him out on the couch.

“I can tell you want to say something,” Scully says knowingly, smirking up at him out the corner of her eye.

She knows him so well.

“You think I could coach little league?” he asks, speaking his thoughts aloud. “I mean, I know the kid’s still like the size of a banana, but in a few years’ time—”

“I think that's a great idea.” She turns slightly, adjusting her position so she can see his face properly, and the ridiculousness of his own question causes his cheeks to redden. But Scully takes him seriously. She always does. That's what makes her different from everybody else.

“We have a lot in common with her, you know,” he says, his fingertips massaging unconsciously into her lower calves. “With Krista. Brainy and athletic, all rolled into one. It'll be like having our own little über Mulder-Scully.”

“Don't make me start a nature versus nurture argument with you,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I'm a psychologist, Scully. I could make a pretty strong case either way.”

She smiles, shaking her head in what he likes to think can be called fond annoyance. They fall silent, eyes locked in a gaze so heavy that he starts to feel a little drunk. The way she mesmerizes him might be worthy of opening an X-File someday. Just to investigate.

“We might have just met our baby, Mulder. Isn't that crazy?” she says, shifting the conversation suddenly in a more serious direction. There's awe in her voice, and he feels it too. “To have been within five feet of this person we'll know and love for the rest of our lives?”

It isn't like Scully to be so optimistic. She's always lived her life believing that to speak your deepest desires aloud is to make yourself vulnerable. Part of him is surprised that she's not being more cautious now with getting her hopes up, but seeing her this way?

He likes it. He likes it a lot.

Maybe he's finally rubbing off on her.

Her arm pops out of her blanket and she reaches for him, drawn to him like a magnet. He happily entwines his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand.

“I can't wait, Scully.”

Chapter Text

Once, when Dana was twelve and already filled with the ferocious independence of a teenager, she tried out for the school play and was cast as the lead role. This, of course, she told absolutely no one.

She was lucky neither of her brothers was at the same school at the time, or her secret wouldn’t have lasted a day. Instead, she claimed to have joined an after-school study group, and simply told her mother to pick her up an hour later, please and thank you.

This went on for about a week, until one night after she’d gone to bed, Maggie went into her room to check on her. Her strong-willed youngest daughter had fallen asleep on top of the open script book, halfway through meticulously highlighting her lines on the page.

The jig was up.

Maggie debated the merits of waking her and dragging the truth out into the open. ‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,’ she might say. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

But then, Dana could never be forced to do something when she wasn’t good and ready to do it. Maggie knew her daughter well enough to know that.

In the end, she left the bedside lamp on, left her daughter untucked on her bed, because even the slightest thing out of place would tip her off—maybe even force a confession out of her. Maggie didn’t want that.

Dana would tell her someday. When she was ready. Until then, she’d continue on as if she were none the wiser, supporting her in whatever way she could from a distance.

She finally came clean the morning of the big play, which was admittedly later than Maggie had expected. Looking back, though, perhaps she should have known. Dana was always a stubborn one. 

“Mom? You know how I said I joined that study group?”

Maggie had acted surprised, but made sure to show her enthusiasm. She had shown up to the play with a bouquet of flowers to give her afterward, hugging and kissing her with all the sincerity and pride a mother ought to have.

Dana had performed brilliantly, and although she decided that acting wasn’t for her, she had at least tried something new. That was a lesson Maggie had always tried to impart on all her children, but it was Dana that seemed to take it to heart, sometimes to the frustration of her parents. 

Strong-willed and independent, that was their Dana. She’d face the unknown, even if it scared her. Only, she’d do it by herself without ever asking for help. That was her way.

Later—years later—she told Maggie that the reason she hadn’t told the truth from the beginning was that she was afraid she wouldn’t be any good, or that people would make fun of her. There’s an inherent insecurity that comes with trying something for the first time, and Dana dealt with that by hiding herself away until she was absolutely certain she could do it. The play was just one example. There were countless others throughout her childhood that she could point to. Even her move from medicine to the FBI was marked by the same pattern.

And now, staring at the mailbox in the lobby of Dana’s apartment building, Maggie gets the distinct impression that she’s in another such situation right now.

She sighs.

‘Dana Scully,’ the mailbox reads. With Fox Mulder’s name tacked on at the bottom.

She’d tried calling first. Really, she had. After the last time, she truly didn’t want to drop by unannounced. But no one had answered, and all she wanted was to bring by an early birthday present before heading out to San Diego for the next month, so here she was.

She’ll have to just mail it. Just like she’d let the highlighter marker dry out, left without a cap on all night long when Dana was twelve, now she would leave her daughter to her secrets, having the faith that she would entrust her with them when the time was right.

There are a number of reasons Fox Mulder could be living at her daughter’s apartment.

Selfishly, Maggie hopes and hopes it’s for the reason she’s always thought it could be, if only her daughter and that partner of hers would finally open their eyes.

-.-.-

“Hi sweetheart. I thought I might stop by, if this afternoon is alright with you. I have your birthday present. I’m leaving to visit Bill and Tara tomorrow, you know, so I just want to make sure you get it. Call me back when you get a chance. Love you!”

The answering machine beeps, and Mulder looks up from his place on the couch to see Scully looking ghostly pale.

“That was from this morning,” she says, worrying her lip between her teeth as she glances out the window at the darkened street outside. “I don’t know why she didn’t call my cell. I hope she didn’t stop by.”

Mulder wonders, sometimes, if this secret keeping thing is worth the anxiety Scully suffers over it. In his opinion, definitely not, but it’s not his decision to make.

“I haven’t seen a gift laying around, so I think we're still in the clear,” he supplies helpfully, hoping that will be enough to appease her for now.

It works, at least a little. She shucks her coat and collapses beside him on the couch, heaving a tired sigh. Working late on a weekend isn’t her favorite perk of the job, Mulder knows, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.

Hence his desire to find replacements for them both. Sure, he might have blindsided her with that part of the plan during their interview, but that’s only because he knew she’d have fought him on it if he had brought it up. No matter how many times he tells her he’s okay with stepping back from the X-Files, she still doesn’t fully believe him. Well, what’s new?

“I should probably call her back,” Scully says unenthusiastically, lifting the phone from its cradle. 

While it rings, he reluctantly gets to his feet, making his way to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers for the both of them.

“Hey, Mom. Just returning your call,” he hears her say a moment later. “No, I was at work. We got called in to help with another unit.”

Mulder tosses a bowl of chicken and rice into the microwave, then gets out all the fixings for a salad.

“You didn’t come by, did you?” Scully asks as evenly as possible.

He can’t hear her mother’s response, but he can tell by the softening of Scully’s posture that her answer had been a favorable one.

“Yes, that's fine. If you want, I can drive you to the airport tomorrow. You can just give it to me then… Are you sure? Well, alright. Say hi to Bill for me. Bye, Mom.”

Mulder sets the salad bowl on the kitchen table, watching her worriedly as she hangs up the phone. “All good?” he asks.

Thankfully, his words seem to snap her out of the tense position she'd been sitting in. “Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “She already scheduled a taxi to pick her up in the morning.” 

That wasn't really what he was asking, but he's treading into dangerous territory if he wants to push her much further. Scully makes her way over to the table and takes a seat, still apparently lost in thought.

The clink of plates and silverware being set out fills the silence that falls between them. He really doesn't want to ruin their evening after a long and somewhat stressful day at work, but he can't stand to just sit and watch her worry. Maybe he can try just one more time to get her to see the light.

“Scully,” he starts carefully, absentmindedly trailing his finger through the condensation on his water glass to avoid her stare. “I really think you should tell your mom.”

If the atmosphere had been tense before, that's nothing compared to how it is in the wake of his words.

Immediately, she freezes, her fork poised above a piece of chicken. He goes back to eating solely to have something to do with himself other than stew in the hot waves of anger he feels radiating toward him. He won't look at her. That will only escalate things.

“I thought you were with me on this, Mulder,” she says after a moment, her tone dangerously low.

Yeah. He had been. In the beginning, before they really started this process. 

But now, things had been moving along pretty smoothly, and even Scully had been uncharacteristically optimistic lately. They've met with a birth mother, for goodness sake, passed through meetings with the agency like seasoned professionals!

He'd been a fool to think that would be enough for her to loosen up a little.

“I know it's not my place to say one way or another what you should do,” he says, chancing a look at her and wincing at the hurt look on her face. “But, Scully, how long can we put this off? We'll be parents in a few months, don't you want her to be a part of this process?”

“You don't know that,” she says loudly, her eyes flashing in alarm. “You have no way of knowing that this will work out. Nothing is set in stone.”

Does she not think he'll wait as long as it takes to make this happen? If Krista doesn't work out, they'll just wait for another birth mother to come along. It isn't the end of the world.

“Then, when?” he asks impatiently, pleading for an honest answer from her lips.

Scully's eyes harden. He can see the effort it takes for her to steady her breathing. Her piercing stare causes a sinking sensation in his stomach, and he knows what's about to happen before it does. 

Her jaw tightens, and she gets to her feet, her chair scraping harshly against the floor, all without breaking eye contact.

“Come on, Scully, wait,” he tries, his shoulders slumping. She stalks off without another word, leaving her half finished meal to grow cold on the table.

The door to her room slams shut behind her.

He tosses his fork onto his plate in frustration, the metal clanking sharply against ceramic. Dinner is over, and his appetite is gone anyway. With his elbows perched on the table, he drops his head into his hands.

He's tried to see this from her perspective, but it's hard to be the driving force of optimism between the two of them all the time. He just wishes she could let herself believe, not only when they get good news, but all the time. There's so much happiness waiting for her if only she'd open her mind a little. He’s waiting for her.

He pushes his chair back, grabbing her plate and glass of water and trudging toward her bedroom door.

“Scully?” he says softly, tapping lightly on the door with the glass. His forehead comes up to rest against the door frame, and he listens carefully for any sign of her. 

Nothing. 

“Scully, I'm sorry,” he tries. “I didn't mean to upset you, I just—” The right words feel just out of reach, and so does she. He closes his eyes, shaking his head regretfully. “I just hate seeing you so anxious. I want to help, but…”

He trails off. Sighing, he sets the plate on the ground outside her door, the glass standing beside it. Half full, he notes.

“I'll leave your dinner out here, for when you’re ready,” he says, loud enough that he knows she can hear. Then, “I'm sorry.” 

That's the last time he ever brings it up.

Chapter Text

The call comes in the midst of a case that already has Mulder torn up and wild with determination. He never did do well with missing persons cases, especially where little girls were involved. It's even worse now that they actually kind of, sort of, might have a baby on the way, and she worries he won't be able to handle it.

She doesn't want him to lose himself in this. She needs him now more than ever, and it scares her when he gets this way. She only hopes Skinner can talk some sense into him.

But she's the one to answer the phone. She's the one who has to tell him the news. She's the one who has to break his heart in its already fragile state, praying he'll come out on the other side of it okay.

So she opens the door to Skinner's office, and meets her partner's eyes from across the room.

“What?” he asks, frustration simmering below the surface. Evidently his talk with the Assistant Director isn't going well, but that hardly matters now.

She shakes her head, wishing he would just come with her so they could talk in private. But he and Skinner are adamant that they need to finish this discussion, completely unaware of the tragic event that has occurred. 

“Mulder…” she says, sorrow dripping from her voice. “It's your mother.”

-.-.-

He's out of the office in a flash before she can even explain what happened. It’s all she can do to keep up with him as he rushes toward the garage, his fear and anger wafting off him in waves.

“Where are you going?” she calls after him.

“My mother's house,” he answers.

She chokes back a sob, willing herself to hold things together for the both of them. To keep a level head. “She's not there, Mulder,” she speaks, her words halting him in his tracks. 

He whirls on her, crossing the distance and stopping a foot in front of her, seething silently with a wild, frantic look in his eye that she never likes seeing.

“Where is she?” he grits out, his voice low.

She tries to grab for one of his hands, but he pulls back, rejecting the proffered comfort.

“The hospital,” she answers, her brows slanted in silent apology. “A neighbor called, concerned about the smell of gas. The paramedics found her. Mulder, your mother overdosed on sleeping pills. She tried to suffocate herself.” His face falls, but he quickly recovers, replacing the dejected expression with one of adamant denial. 

That's another look Scully doesn't like to see. 

“She's alive, but in a coma,” she explains, hoping to put a stop to Mulder’s spiraling before it starts, but it's too late.

“She tried to call me,” he says, starting to pace. “She left a message wanting to talk, but I didn't– I didn’t call her—”

He stops, crouching low to the ground and practically pulling his hair out of his head, fighting back red hot tears in his eyes.

“She wouldn't do this,” he says angrily, shaking his head, and if being loud meant being confident, then she might be convinced. “Th– they got to her! They tried to kill her!”

“No, Mulder.”

“Yes!” he yells, drawing suspicious glances from other agents in the hallway. “She must have had information about the case,” he continues, standing back to his full height and resuming his pacing. “It's all connected, just like I thought. Samantha—”

“Mulder, STOP!” Scully yells, gripping his bicep with her hand and holding him in place by sheer force of will. She slows her breathing, lowering her voice. “She may not ever wake up, but right now your mother is alive and in the hospital,” she says, appealing to his rational mind. “Before you go chasing after shadows, at least go see her.”

She lets her plea hang in the silence of the hallway. It seems their display has effectively scared off everyone within hearing distance, and she counts herself lucky that security hasn't come to escort them out of the building.

She can see him fighting back against his own reason, determinedly keeping his face screwed up in anger so as not to lose hold of the fury that fuels him. But her prolonged stare causes it to melt away, and his face crumples in defeat just before he collapses in her arms.

Sobs shake him, and it takes all her strength to keep him standing. His face buries into the crook of her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around his back, rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades.

She hears Skinner pop his head out of his doorway, and she meets his eyes, beyond caring about the physical display in their place of work. The man merely nods in understanding, giving his stamp of approval for whatever needs to be done.

-.-.-

The hospital is eerily quiet, the sterile white walls echoing with every minute sound.

“Teena Mulder, please,” Scully says to the woman at the desk.

Mulder follows behind her looking lost.

They're shown to a hospital room where his mother lies surrounded by wires and tubes, her heartbeat beeping out slowly but steadily over the monitor.

Mulder goes to her side, grabbing her hand in his.

She hates to see him in agony like this. He falls to his knees beside her bed, murmuring incomprehensible apologies and pleadings between bouts of tears. He clings to her cold, frail hand like a lifeline, and though most times his relationship with his mother seems fraught, it's times like this—she knows—when he's at risk of losing what little he has, that she remembers that he loves his mother, just as any little boy might.

A doctor comes by and tells them what happened. The implications are clear, to someone with a medical background. Today was almost the day Mulder became an orphan. Today he almost became the last Mulder standing.

Eventually he's able to calm down a little, allowing himself to be pushed into a chair by her bedside.

“She might never know, Scully,” he says dejectedly. “She has no idea that she might be a grandmother soon. That she has a daughter-in-law.”

A daughter, for a woman who lost hers so long ago.

The fact that their marriage isn't real doesn't even cross their minds. In this moment, they are husband and wife, and right now this is one of those “for worse” moments they mentioned in their vows. She’s going to uphold that promise come hell or high water.

“You can tell her now,” Scully says, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She might not hear you, but it's still good to talk to her.”

“She always wanted me to get married,” he says. “She said I needed to move on, to have my own family. Stop thinking about the one I lost. I hated her for that. I couldn't understand how she could give up on our family. How she’d think I could replace it, like a worn out pair of sneakers.”

“Mulder…”

“I understand now, Scully. That was never what she was telling me to do. I think– I think she just wanted me to be happy.”

She wipes the wetness from his cheek with her thumb, holding her hand there and cupping his jaw. He looks up at her, eyes gleaming in adoration. Then he stands, leaning over his mother and holding her hand in his. 

“Mom, I am happy,” he says. “I'm so happy. I just want you to be here to see it. To meet Scully again and our child, someday when we have one. Please…”

He bows his head, another wave of fresh tears filling his eyes.

“I still don't understand,” he says. “why she would do this…”

“I looked at her chart earlier,” Scully says. “Your mother is suffering from a disease known as Paget's Carcinoma. It's a horribly painful and disfiguring disease, Mulder. She didn't want to live.”

“But she has to!” he says, insistent. “She has to, at least for a little longer… I want to talk to her.”

“I know you do,” she says. “But there's nothing we can do until she wakes. 

“She was going to tell me something. What did she want to tell me, Scully?” he looks to her, his eyes pleading. She wishes she knew, so she could take away his burden. But she doesn't, so she just holds him as he sobs into her shoulder, and comforts him.

-.-.-

She's roused from her uncomfortable sleep in the hospital chair by none other than Walter Skinner. Mulder is fast asleep still in his own chair, his face pressed against the scratchy blankets of his mother's hospital bed.

“The case is heating up,” Skinner says, whispering so as not to wake Mulder. “The LaPierres are asking for him. I know it's probably not a good time, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” she says, surprising even herself by agreeing with him. “He needs to get away. From what I'm told, she's stable but not likely to wake anytime soon. The drugs are still making their way out of her system. Can you book us both a ticket?”

“Of course. I'll be coming as well, the Bureau needs this one wrapped up,” Skinner says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Should I get you one room or two at the motel?”

At first, Scully isn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “...Sir?” she asks. “You know we're not…”

“I know,” he says. “I just wasn't sure if you'd want to… keep an eye on him.”

It’s nice of him to ask, she supposes. The answer is yes, she would like to keep an eye on him, actually. But even this isn’t enough for her to forsake the appearances they’ve worked so hard to keep up these last few months.

“Two is fine,” she says with finality.

Skinner nods, and disappears the way he came.

-.-.-

She feels sick, standing in a field littered with tiny graves.

What makes her even more sick is seeing how desperately Mulder hopes to find his sister in each one they dig up. It's written plainly on his face, and she sees him sink deeper into himself with each one that doesn't match her description.

He just wants this to be over. He wants to move on, and she can't blame him. 

But after all this time, she really does wish there could be a happier ending. The one he'd hoped for for so long, where he rides off into the sunset with his sister in tow. Somewhere along the way, she'd begun to hope for that too.

And somewhere along the way, he'd stopped.

She tries to get him to come back to Washington with her and Skinner, but her efforts are in vain. He stays, swindled by some self-proclaimed police psychic who claims he can help find Amber Lynn LaPierre, who also was never identified amongst the other victims.

She leaves him, promising to check in on his mother and let him know how she's doing. But of course, her worry for him won't let sleeping dogs lie.

She pokes around, digging into his regression hypnosis recordings. She even visits Mrs. Mulder's home, looking for what? She isn't sure.

But she finds it.

Burnt documents putting an end to the search for Samantha in 1973. 

And the initials C.G.B.S.

Chapter Text

“I love what you've done with the place,” a voice speaks as soon as the apartment door closes behind her. She looks up at the darkened shadow in the corner, only partially illuminated by the dim light of Mulder's fish tank. His face lights up with an orange flash as he flicks his lighter on, bringing the flame to the tip of his cigarette. It reflects off the hard edges of his face, giving him the monstrous appearance of a gargoyle for the briefest of moments before fading into black once more.

“What do you want?” Scully asks, no patience for beating around the bush with this man. At least he appears to be incapable of harming anyone. The man looks like he already has one foot in the grave, and she'd love to give him that last little push he needs.

“I want you to stop looking,” he answers simply.

“You've wanted that since 1973, when you ordered an end to the search for Mulder's sister,” she says, unmoved. “Your initials are on the document, I've seen it.”

If he’s surprised that she’s figured that much out on her own, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, I signed that order because I knew then what I know now: No one's going to find her.”

“Why not?”

“Because I believe she's dead.” The words deal a crushing blow, as does the cold, unfeeling way he speaks them. “No reason to believe otherwise,” he says offhandedly, gesturing vaguely with his cigarette.

“You're a liar,” Scully says softly, her hatred of the man simmering just below the surface. “If you knew that she was dead, why didn't you say something earlier? Why now?”

“There was so much to protect before,” he says with a shrug. “It's all gone now.” The Syndicate, reduced to ashes. Their leader obviously barely hanging on by a thread.

“So you just let Mulder believe that she was alive for all these years?” she asks, furious, if that’s the case. It makes her sick, the way he toys with Mulder like a puppet. 

“Out of kindness, Agent Scully,” he says. “Allow him his ignorance. It's what gives him hope.”

Scully rears back in disgust. How dare he talk about hope? How could he dangle the false promise of everything Mulder has ever wanted in front of him, and ask her to do the same?

Never.

“That isn't what gives him hope,” she says, glaring at the very embodiment of evil standing in her living room.

He gives a low chuckle, its sound chilling. 

“No, I suppose you're right. He has much better things to hope for now, doesn't he?” The insinuation that he knows what they’re up to terrifies her, but she won’t let it show. “I suppose I ought to thank you for that, Agent Scully,” he continues. “I never could have predicted how sending you to him would turn out, but you're good for him. Despite what you may think, it delights me to see my son so happy. And in the end, I succeeded in my purpose of sending him to you after all.”

“Which was what?” she spits.

“To distract him,” he says calmly. “To get him to quit.”

Well, tough luck, you black-lunged creep. “It didn't work out that way.”

“No, it didn't,” he concedes with a nod. “In fact, he became even more focused with you in the picture. A miscalculation, on my part. But I don't see how that's worth dwelling on now. Everything I built is gone.”

“I want you to leave us alone,” Scully demands. She wants nothing more than to get as far away from this man as possible, but she holds her ground. She won’t give him the satisfaction of spooking her.

“I will, so long as the two of you stay away from my business,” he says, taking another puff of his cigarette. “I trust that won’t be a problem?”

“You don’t know us at all, do you?”

He chuckles again. “Unfortunately, I do.” The shadows on his face shift as he takes a step in her direction. “In any case, I offer my heartfelt congratulations on your future together.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” she says coldly, not even giving him an inch as he moves past her to the doorway.

He drops his cigarette onto the hardwood floor and steps on it to put it out. Its stench burns at her nostrils, and she isn’t sure even her strongest cleaning chemicals will be enough to remove it. “Your snark is noted, Agent Scully,” he says with a sickening half-smile and a nod. 

He opens the door and steps into the hall, then looks back at her one final time.

“Best of luck in your endeavors,” he says.

By the time she goes to shut the door behind him, he’s gone.

-.-.-

Mulder’s ramblings about his sister are nearly incoherent the next time she speaks to him. That, combined with her own experiences since returning to Washington, means she’s booking another ticket back out to California, a move that will certainly have the Bureau accounting people staring her down for the next month or so.

But it proves to be the right decision, because Mulder has found something. The most significant something that’s come his way since all this began.

She doesn’t know what it means.

She’s with him when he finds Samantha’s diary. Drawn there by some otherworldly force, or so he says. She can’t argue with the results, though. Hidden in this house, on an abandoned military base, is the diary of a fourteen year old Samantha Mulder.

Her heart aches for the girl, and for her big brother who drinks in every word scrawled on the page in blue ink.

The diary leads them to a police report. Which leads them to a hospital. Which leads them to the home of a retired nurse.

Which leads to the truth.

Finally.

The nurse tells a tale of a nameless girl, strange injuries, the fear in her eyes. Mysterious men who came looking for her in a cloud of cigarette smoke, and how she vanished from a locked room before they could get to her.

It almost raises more questions than answers, but Scully hopes it’s enough. Enough to satisfy her dearest friend, so that he can truly begin to live.

He disappears off on his own in the short time she’s away, talking to the nurse on her doorstep of her home. But she feels something too, like he had when they first arrived here.

This is where it ends. This is where the rest of their life together truly begins.

-.-.-

He’s not sure what it is exactly that pulls him further into the woods. But, the second he catches sight of the little boy again, translucent in the moonlight, he knows with a sinking feeling what he will find.

It’s overwhelming.

With each step he takes, he becomes more and more certain. Like the puzzle pieces are all sliding into place, forming the picture of their own accord. The lack of effort required by him, after all this time, leaves him feeling hollow and empty.

He's letting go. He has no choice but to do so now, faced with the facts before him. The place inside him where the mystery of his lost sister festered for so long has become a gaping hole, and he feels lost without it already. Uncertain where to go next, now that his guiding force is gone.

His first glimpse of her stills him, and even though deep down, he'd expected to find her, the actuality of it shakes him. It feels both unbelievable and startlingly real at the same time, and he doesn't know what to do. Does he cry? Close his eyes and reject the reality in front of him? Should he leave, satisfied with this conclusion to his life's mission despite it being not what he expected or hoped for?

In the end, he does none of those things. Her name drips from his lips, an answer to a question that has haunted him for decades. Simple, but unimaginably profound.

“Samantha...”

His feet carry him toward her in a trance. Her movement is not so restrained. Her beaming smile practically lights up the forest as she dashes to him, her dark waves bouncing over her shoulders.

She's taller than he's ever seen her, and yet, his own height makes her smaller by comparison. He enfolds her in his arms, not expecting much of anything, but he feels her.

There's no breath in her lungs, but she has a solid form. She's surprisingly warm, not like a living body would be, but—he supposes—like light. Electricity buzzes under the surface when her hand lands on his cheek, and though she's different, at heart she's the same.

He can practically hear her voice in his head as she grins happily up at him, her brother.

“Fox!” her eyes say, his name conveyed in the shine of recognition he sees there.

He swallows back the lump in his throat and crouches to his knees, inspecting the changes on her face with the gentle brush of his fingers.

This is what she'd looked like in the end. While he was off in England, beginning his studies at Oxford, this girl was still here, suffering at the hands of her captors, unable to recall anything more than his face.

He'd never forgotten her. Sometimes he'd hoped he might find her, to see her grown up and happy, freed from whoever it was that had abducted her.

Other times, he'd been certain he would never see her again. He convinced himself it would be a mercy if she'd been dead all this time.

Now, he supposes both were right. She was gone, granted the mercy of a peaceful exit from this life by the mysterious inner workings of the universe. But also…

He gets to see her. For what will be the last time, he knows.

And she is happy, he can tell. At peace. Really, that's all he can ask for.

“There's so much I wish I could tell you,” he says, blinking through tear filled eyes to keep her in his vision. 

He thinks of all that has happened to him since she disappeared. In some ways, he’s the same person he was all those years ago. In other ways, he is completely changed. He wants her to know him as he is. To know who her big brother has become.

“I'm going to be a father.”

The words leave his mouth unrestrained, but she seems to understand his need to say them. She smiles softly, tilting her head in what could either be a teasing or truly genuine response.

“I know,” he says with a chuckle. “You think I'll be any good?”

Her answer comes in the featherlight touch of her hand against his, and it feels sincere. He sees flashes of her memories of them together, playing games, walking together to her piano lessons after school, him setting out a TV dinner for her on the nights neither of their parents were home to feed them… He knows what she's trying to say, and it warms his heart, even if he can't hear her reassurance with his own ears.

Her fingers brush over the back of his hand, and he follows their path with his eyes until she lands on his bare ring finger. When he looks up at her, he finds an inquisitive look on her face that almost makes him laugh.

It's strange, to be with his baby sister as an adult. Marriage was the furthest thing from his mind when he'd last seen her. Back then, his only thought was what could happen on the next episode of Star Trek or whether he could convince his father to let him go to summer camp on the mainland that summer. But now, he's all grown up, and in a way, so is she.

“Yeah,” he says, responding to her unspoken question. Smiling quietly to himself, he pulls out the chain that holds his ring from beneath his shirt and dangles it out in front of her. Her eyes instantly light up, and she brings her forefinger up to his chest to touch the cool metal. Gently, like it might shock her.

“Dana,” he says boldly. He's not sure why, but he feels the need to tell her everything. She’s a ghost, or something very like it. The things of this world should no longer concern her. But she should know the name of her sister-in-law. That, at least, he can tell her. “Her name is Dana.”

Samantha looks happy. Relieved, even, which he thinks is strange. If anything, he's the one who should feel relieved, having found her after so long. But maybe she has cause for it, too. Maybe she's spent these years worried about him, just as he has worried for her.

Her small hand splays on his upper chest in a purposeful motion, near his collar bone on the left. He looks down at her hand and then back at her, trying to discern what question she may be asking now.

The scar there tingles, and for the first time, he feels a little guilty that he hasn't taken a little better care of himself. Standing in front of her now, he knows that's not what she would have wanted.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he says, chuckling softly. “She's the one who shot me. But I’m okay now.”

The corners of Samantha’s lips turn up in a small smile, but she shakes her head. No, that's not what she was wondering.

His brows furrow, and he's about to tell her that he doesn't understand when her fingers start to tap rhythmically against his chest.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

The question mark at the end of the sentence is written on her face, and he finally makes the connection.

‘Do you love her?’ she's asking.

He grabs her hand, cupping it between his own much larger ones, and stares deep into her eyes. He won't lie, not to her.

“More than anything.”

Samantha gives a satisfied nod, a content smile on her face. He knows they don't have much time left, but there's still so much more he wishes he could say.

“I'm sorry I couldn't protect you,” he speaks, finally releasing the apology he's had stored up for over twenty years. “I'm sorry I couldn't save you.”

‘It's okay. I'm okay, now,’ her peaceful expression says. He feels her forgiveness as if it had been spoken aloud, and it's like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

‘You’ll be okay, too?’ she asks him next, the words voiced in the expectant tilt of her head.

He glances heavenward, willing the tears to subside for a few more minutes so he can get through this, but manages to smile and nod in response.

“Yeah. I think I'll be okay.”

-.-.-

She's just about to go looking for him when she sees his figure wandering back toward them. What he'd been doing in the woods, she can't begin to guess, but as he approaches, she levels him with a worried gaze.

His necklace is visible, resting atop his clothes instead of under them for once. It glints in the moonlight, and Scully briefly worries that someone will see, but there is no one here who would care.

“Mulder?” she asks. It takes all that is in her to resist the urge to touch him, to check him for physical injuries or other external signs of damage. He seems fine, but it's what goes on inside his head that really concerns her.

“It's over,” he answers in a calm voice. 

His response doesn't do much to reassure her. Calm on the outside certainly doesn't mean calm on the inside, as she well knows, and she still worries he'll shut her out.

He should know by now that his search for the truth is as much hers as it is his.

“Are you okay?” she asks, prodding deeper in hopes he won't shut down. 

He smiles at that, something about her words amusing him, and that offers her a little relief. The feeling only grows stronger as he pulls her into his arms, resting his head atop hers and swaying slightly on his feet.

“I'm okay,” he assures her, in a quiet voice meant only for her. “I'm free.” 

She feels his arms tighten around her, and his voice drops even further, hardly more than a breath into the still night air when he speaks again, insistent.

“We're free.”

-.-.-

She's laying half asleep on top of the scratchy motel room quilt when his voice penetrates the comfortable silence. Despite what she'd told Skinner, she's not keen on letting him out of her sight. Not after what he'd gone through. He lays beside her, curled up under the covers and facing the wall, only the hum of the clunky air conditioner perched in the window to fill the quiet.

“I told her about you,” he reveals.

She stills. He'd mentioned seeing Samantha in the forest, of course. Talked about ethereal children playing in the clearing, the echoing sounds of their laughter and squeals of delight the only sounds he could hear.

Whether she believes him or not, she's relieved that it brought him closure.

The idea that they'd talked about her, however, has her hoping and praying that it’s true. She wishes she could have been there with him. Could have seen her with her own eyes, this girl who has so completely shaped both Mulder's life and hers.

“What did you say?” she asks calmly, staring fixedly up at the ceiling. Her curiosity in this matter makes her feel vulnerable, and the ensuing silence does nothing to ease her nerves.

With the rustle of sheets, though, he turns over, his knees bumping against her legs under the covers. She fights the compulsion to look at him, knowing that if she did, she’d be faced with the full intensity of the stare she feels prickling the side of her face.

He inches closer, the movements jostling the springy mattress, and he maneuvers his head until it's practically on her pillow. She feels his breath on her neck, the spiky ends of his hair brushing against her cheek, commanding the totality of her attention.

“Someday I'll tell you, Scully,” he whispers, curling deeper into the bed. His forehead nuzzles against her shoulder and her eyes fall shut, lost entirely to the sensation of him beside her. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

He's quiet on the flight home from California. For once, though, his silence doesn't feel dark and brooding. It feels… peaceful. Pensive.

He carries that mood with him as they pull up to the hospital where his mother is staying. Scully can tell the nurses are wary of him, expecting the volatile man they'd encountered before, but he stays out of their way. He waits patiently while they check her vitals and doesn't demand answers or anything from them. He sits down in the chair beside her bed and quietly grabs his mother's hand, a sentinel at her side. The heart monitor beeps slowly but steadily, a sound they're unfortunately more than familiar with. Right now, it's reassuring, even as her condition stays the same.

At the ringing of her cell phone, Mulder perks up, as if woken from a trance. He glances at Scully with a questioning look, and she shakes her head. It's probably just Skinner checking in, she can take care of it on her own. 

She decides to give them some privacy and take the call out in the hallway where she won’t be disturbing anyone. With one last glance at the two of them, she steps out of the room, pressing the button to answer the call the moment she’s alone.

-.-.-

She hears him join her in the hall a few minutes later, the soft click of the door behind her signaling his presence. He says nothing, but his mere proximity is loud and distracting by itself. Out of necessity, she tunes him out, covering her other ear so she can focus instead on the conversation over the phone.

“I’m– We’re so happy to hear that, you have no idea,” she says. Unable to resist the pull of his stare, she flicks her eyes up to his briefly before forcing them back to the boring patch of wall she'd chosen in the distance. “We were really in need of some good news, and this is the best I can imagine. Thank you,” she finishes.

The answer on the other end is muffled, but she knows it's loud enough that Mulder will be able to overhear.

“Congratulations, Dana. You and Fox best start making some preparations.”

His sharp intake of breath nearly does her in, but she manages to end the call calmly and politely before turning to him. This is awful timing. As much as they’d needed this good news, she can’t help but feel that with everything going on, it’s just too much at once. How much can a person, or even two, handle before they just can’t do it anymore?

“Was that—” he starts, and she finds herself already with tears in her eyes, unable to do anything about it.

Nodding, she says, “She picked us,” her chin wobbling slightly against her will. His eyes flash in recognition. “They said, um—” she shakes her head as if that will help loosen her thoughts. “They said that Krista really liked us, and she wants us to be her baby's parents.”

Mulder stands frozen in shock and disbelief while Scully sniffles, wiping her cheeks quickly as if that could hide the fact that she's crying. Eventually, he snaps out of it enough to step airily toward her, and as soon as he's within arm’s reach, she buries her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his middle.

It takes a moment for him to reciprocate, but she feels his hands land delicately on her back. The contact, as minimal as it is, must bring him to his senses, because his tentative hold on her quickly grows stronger. His cheek presses insistently against the top of her head, his eyes squeezing shut as he fights his own oncoming wave of emotion. She pulls him tighter just as he does the same, and it's overwhelming in every way possible.

“Oh, Scully,” he says, choking the words out past a lump in his throat. His lips press against her hair, and it's only by sheer force of will that she doesn't break down into shoulder-shaking sobs right here in this hospital hallway. His hand rubs comforting circles on her shoulder blade. “You're gonna be a mom,” he says.

His words strike her, as if this were the first time she's realizing it. Just this once, she gives herself permission to believe it, to imagine motherhood as her future. She pushes away any negative thoughts, deciding to live in the moment. The possibility that the birth mother will change her mind isn't something she wants to consider for even a second. She’s happy. Actually, really happy, and she wants to soak it all in.

She pulls back to look at her partner, and finds him with a look of utter awe on his face. She doesn't bother to conceal her tears anymore. She can see them mirrored in his eyes, so why should she even try?

For one wild moment, she thinks of kissing him. Her eyes flick to his pouty bottom lip, and it seems unfathomable to not celebrate this victory with such a gesture. She sighs, feeling herself start to give in as she leans toward him, drifting imperceptibly closer.

The sudden blaring of an alarm inside Teena Mulder’s hospital room puts a swift end to anything that might have been about to happen. She freezes, every muscle in her body tensing at once as her head snaps in the direction of the sound. The smile leaves Mulder’s face in an instant, and she follows right on his heels as he throws open the door to the room in a panic.

“What's happening?” he asks, looking every bit the frightened and worried son he is. Scully rushes to Teena's side, examining her with her doctor's eyes. It only takes a moment for her to come to a conclusion.

Her shoulders relax.

“She’s waking up,” she announces, just as the nurses run into the room. They make quick work of removing the invasive tubes, clearing the way for the doctor to come check on her. Her eyelids twitch rapidly, and Scully grips Mulder’s hand tightly to keep him from interfering with the doctor’s work.

“Mrs. Mulder? Can you hear me, Mrs. Mulder?” the doctor says. Teena groans, and when Scully chances a look at Mulder, he’s biting his lip, showing remarkable restraint, all things considered. The doctor throws a look over his shoulder and Scully takes that as their cue. Squeezing Mulder’s hand once, she pushes him forward, granting him the permission he needs with a steady nod.

He makes his way to the opposite side of the bed as the doctor and scoops his mother’s hand up in his.

“Mom?” he says, his voice small and hopeful. Her thumb gives a jolt, but her eyes still don’t open.

“Keep talking to her,” the doctor advises. “Let her hear your voice.”

“Mom, I found her,” he speaks. “I found Samantha.”

Teena groans again, her head lolling a bit to the left, toward Mulder. “Ss’mantha,” she mumbles, and Mulder’s lips pull back in a wobbly smile. 

“Yeah, Samantha,” he says. “I know what happened to her. Where she is now, she’s okay. She’s not in pain. She’s happy.”

The doctor takes a step back, his involvement, for now, not needed.

“Fox…” Teena says, a frown forming on her face. Her brows furrow as she forces her eyelids open, just enough to see him in front of her. “How?” she asks.

He places a hand on her cheek, drawing her eyes to his. Scully can see the relief painted on his face plain as day. He lets out a breath at the sight of her, as she grows more alert with every passing second. “I know you wanted me to stop looking, but I needed to know. The case I was working… there was a link to it after all.”

There’s a spark in Teena Mulder’s eyes, just a flash, but unmistakable. Scully would know the look anywhere, she’s seen it enough times on Mulder’s face.

Determination.

“Tell me,” she says, her voice weak. 

Mulder opens his mouth to answer her, but before he can, Scully rushes forward and grabs his shirt sleeve. “Mulder—” she says in warning.

He looks up at her, a question in his eyes.

She shakes her head. There’s no telling what this news will do to Teena in this state. It could trigger a panic attack or even cardiac arrest. She tells him as much. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to—”

“Tell…me…” Teena orders, forcing out the words between labored breaths. For the first time in years, her eyes meet Scully’s, and she sees the disdain for her interference on the woman’s face.

Taking her cue, she releases her hold on Mulder and steps back, lowering her head. Mulder turns his attention back to his mother, holding tight to her frail hand.

“The smoking man had her,” he begins softly. Teena closes her eyes and mutters a curse. “He kept her on a remote military base and subjected her to testing. She couldn’t remember us or much of her life before, but… she missed us. She—” He pauses to collect himself, and Teena’s hand weakly lifts his chin, urging him to continue. “She ran away—she escaped—when she was fourteen. She ended up in a hospital, couldn’t even tell them her name. The men who had her would have taken her again, but she disappeared, just like Amber Lynn LaPierre.” He takes a deep breath, an infinitesimal smile pulling at his lips. “The universe spared her,” he says with finality. “She left this life peacefully. She’s free.”

Teena absorbs this information solemnly for a moment, and then with some effort, inclines her head in a jolted nod. The tension in her shoulders slowly and visibly lessens, and she squeezes Mulder’s hand once before letting go.

“I’m sorry, Fox,” she says, looking up at him sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” he says. “It’s over. It’s behind us.”

She nods again, a small, stiff smile forming.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he continues. “You scared me.”

“I’m s—”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, stopping her. “I know.”

She looks at him appraisingly, searching for something, then allows her eyes to fall shut, apparently satisfied with whatever she’d seen. She grows tired quickly, but that’s to be expected. Mulder stands up from his chair and leans over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and brushing away strands of her nearly white hair.

“I… I love you, Mom. Please don’t go anywhere. Not yet. I’m not ready to be—” he chokes, his final words getting lost somewhere in his throat. “We’ll figure this out. Just please, don’t go.”

Teena breathes a sigh.

“Okay.”

-.-.-

Scully is silent on the drive home. He watches her as she drives, taking the rare opportunity to really observe her from the passenger seat. Her reflection is visible in the window, lit up by the colorful lights of the display on the dashboard. He suspects she’s holding back, wary of upsetting him or overwhelming him, but in truth, he’s fine. Far more ‘fine’ than he’s been in a long time, in fact.

He hasn’t forgotten the call she’d received in the hallway at the hospital. And he very much doubts that she has, either. He can practically hear her thoughts running haywire in that beautiful brain of hers, even if she’s keeping quiet out of some misguided sense of worry for him.

It’ll have to be him to bring it up, then.

“So, how about that phone call, huh?” he starts, aiming for casual and probably failing miserably.

Smooth, Mulder.

Her arched eyebrow and sideways glance confirm his suspicions, but he catches the smile quirking at her lips nonetheless. He loves when she smiles at him like that.

“How about it?” she asks, turning the question right back on him, which he should have seen coming.

“It’s, uh– pretty cool, yeah?”

Scully chuckles softly, shaking her head. “That’s all you have to say?” she asks.

“You gotta give me something, Scully. I’m trying here.”

She rolls her eyes, her smile widening in spite of her efforts to mute it.

“It’s great, Mulder. It’s everything we were hoping for.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He can’t help but notice that there seems to be a silent ‘but’ at the end of her sentence though. Knowing this, he prompts her to continue. “But…”

She sighs, perhaps a little bothered that he can read her so easily. “But… I can’t help but wonder if this is… bad timing. I mean, with your mother… Samantha… Are– are we ready for this, Mulder?”

‘Are you ready for this?’ he hears.

He glances serenely at the mostly open road ahead. It forms a straight line as far as the eye can see, pointing them in the direction of D.C. He brings his fingers up to rescue hers from their white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, intertwining them with his on top of the center console.

“It’s time,” he says resolutely. “It’s time to get out of the car, Scully. I’m ready to be a father.”

She doesn’t look at him, and he wonders for a moment if he’s said the wrong thing, done something to mess all of this up without meaning to. But then he catches the glint of tears pooling in her eyes, and he understands. He presses his lips together, waiting patiently as she pulls the car to the side of the road, the tires rumbling over the strip as it slows to a stop.

Only when she turns to face him does he dare to speak again.

“I’m ready,” he says again. “I really am.”

Her eyes search his purposefully, shining brilliantly even in the low light. His smile comes easily along with this new wave of contentment he’s riding. If only he could convince her that it’s true, that he really does mean what he’s saying.

“Even if it means stepping back from the X-Files?” she asks, her mouth slightly downturned in a frown. “I know what you said before, but Mulder—”

“Even then,” he affirms, not even allowing her to finish her thought. “I’m serious, let’s get out of the car. Figuratively and literally.”

He grins, his hand abruptly letting go of hers and landing on the clasp of his seatbelt. He clicks it open, and before she has time to react, he’s flinging open the passenger side door, feeling ridiculously giddy. They still have a ways to go before they’re home. What’s a few minutes to stretch their legs and look at the stars?

Her head appears over the top of their vehicle, and once again, he marvels at the fact that she’ll follow him anywhere, even when he’s doing something completely nonsensical.

“Mulder, what are you doing?” she asks, giving him precisely the reaction he was expecting and hoping for. Her predictability is somehow a comfort to him. It’s just one of the many reasons he adores her.

As she approaches, he draws her in, catching her off guard with an arm around her waist, the other gathering her hand in his.

“I’m dancing with the future mother of my child, that’s what I’m doing,” he says nonchalantly as he begins to sway to the music of night insects and the distant hum of traffic. “What about you?”

Her gaze locks on his, studying him intently in a way that makes him feel like she knows his every secret. Maybe even the secret, the one that would probably be really good to tell her one of these days.

“I guess I’m… wondering how I ever got so lucky,” she says finally, swaying with him by the dim light of the moon and the headlights of their 1993 Chevy Impala.

His heart feels liable to pound its way out of his chest at the dreamlike way she says those words. ‘Lucky’ isn’t the first word he’d expect her to apply to the serendipitous intertwining of their respective lives, but it’s certainly the one he would choose, if asked.

“I’d say we should open an X-File,” he says, spinning her once before pulling her back in, “but that won’t be our job for much longer.”

He’ll miss it—of course he will—and he knows Scully is feeling the same way as him. But this is the right step forward. He’s never been so certain of something in his life.

“Might be a worthwhile case to start the new guys out with,” she says. “Although I think it’s one that will have to remain unsolved.”

“I don’t know,” he says, his eyes trailing down to her lips. “I think someday, the answer might come to us.”

Chapter Text

The early springtime sun streams through the skylight in the basement office, the illumination causing dust particles to shimmer in the air. It feels hopeful, in that way the first breath of spring usually does. A promise of warmer days ahead, the freshness of new growth and life in the world.

It's a beautiful day. The temperature is nearing 70, and the few clouds that are in the sky are fluffy and bright, a welcome change from the week's worth of rain the city had endured the previous week.

It had been fitting, though. The dismal weather of late winter had matched the mood Mulder had been in since the scare with his mother and learning what happened to Samantha. They’d had a small memorial for her, finally giving the poor girl a gravestone in the cemetery next to her father with the correct date to mark her departure from this world.

Bill Mulder doesn’t deserve to rest beside the daughter he had abandoned, but Mulder takes comfort in the fact that there was no body to bury in the plot. His father is six feet under, his body already beginning the slow process of decomposition, while his sister is starlight. Or so he has come to believe.

There are good days and there are bad, but that’s to be expected after what he has been through. His mother had refused his help getting back home after being released from the hospital, which only served to upset him further, though he tries not to let it show.

Scully knows it isn’t a wound that will heal overnight, or just because they received good news from the adoption agency. It will take time for him to adjust. Arguably his entire purpose for being these last twenty-odd years is suddenly gone, no longer the cornerstone of his life. A drastic change like that, never mind two or three at once, would leave anyone feeling ragged.

But as winter turns to spring, the rain washes the dirt and grime of the streets away, cleansing the asphalt and concrete just as his battered soul is being cleansed.

New life. Regeneration. Starting over.

That's what water symbolizes, they say, an analogy for baptism so ingrained in the public psyche that no one actually thinks twice about it. Scully wonders if he feels like a new man, now that he's been set free from the pain that has driven him all these years. She hopes he does, or that he will soon. He has suffered long enough.

Maybe getting him out of the office would do him a little good. The sunlight beckons her, a tantalizing temptation as viewed from their stuffy, underground office. It almost doesn't seem fair that they are stuck inside on a day like today.

Closing the notebook in front of her, she stands and circles the desk, lifting her face to the skylight and letting the rays of sunshine warm her skin. Mulder watches her with interest, looking up from his files for the first time all day, and she takes that as a win already. It only serves to encourage her further, regardless of what their higher ups might think.

"Let's get out of here," she suggests with a mischievous smile. She walks over to him, placing a hand on top of his and closing the file. He looks up at her, curious but not unwilling. Her fingers wrap around his palm, and her grip tightens as she begins to encourage him up out of his chair.

His cheek twitches with the beginnings of a smirk, and he allows himself to be pulled to standing.

"Where are we going?" he asks, and he expects her to let go of him, but she doesn't, instead wrapping her arm around his, leading him out of the office and flipping the light switch off as they go.

"Out," she says simply, feeling light as a feather. Her chest bubbles with girlish giggles that she barely suppresses, a side effect of the gorgeous weather, as well as the deliberate rule breaking, she supposes, like they're teenagers cutting class and narrowly avoiding detention.

When they get to the parking garage, she drives for a change, hopping into the driver's seat and immediately rolling down the windows to let the air in. They take off, the radio playing loud enough to be heard over the sound of the wind. When she looks at him, he's smiling, glancing out the window at some people with a dog passing by. He looks content, in a way he never really has before. After all this time, he's healing, and it's a beautiful sight.

They stop first at a falafel truck, parking downtown and deciding to walk from there to make the most of the fresh air. He smiles more, and she can't help but think, as she watches him take a gigantic bite of pita and vegetables, that this is her husband. Today, it really feels like he is, and she allows herself to indulge in it for as long as that feeling lasts. Once they've finished, she takes his hand once more, walking down the sidewalk like any other couple might.

"In here," she says as they come to their destination. When he reads the sign, he grins.

She pushes open the door, the bell above jingling to announce their presence.

Inside is an array of baby clothes and supplies, ranging from cribs and car seats to high chairs and baby swings, with a corner dedicated entirely to toys and books designed for infants.

"It all feels so real when you look in here, doesn't it?" she says, marveling at everything the store has to offer. She's frozen in place, not sure where to go first. It's overwhelming in all the best ways, and she can hardly believe this is her life. That this time, she's not purchasing a gift for a baby shower, but for herself, for a child that she and her best friend have decided to raise together.

“I can't believe someone chose us,” he says, echoing her thoughts. “That somewhere not too far from here, there's a baby growing that's gonna be ours.”

She swallows heavily, his words bringing her dangerously close to crying all over the tiny pink and blue onesies.

Sensing her response to his words, he wraps an arm around her, placing a kiss on the top of her head and holding her tightly. With a deep breath, she reins herself in, not quite willing to break down sobbing in a public space just yet. That's supposed to be a benefit of adopting, not dealing with the hormones as an expectant mother. Looks like she was wrong on that count, at least if Mulder keeps saying things like that out of the blue.

With one last deep breath, she pulls back from him, patting him once on the chest in thanks before stepping out of his arms.

"What do you want to look at first?" she asks, moving on to business.

His eyes shine with happiness and excitement, like a kid in a candy store. "My heart says go look at the clothes, but I think there's a non-zero chance that I'd be reduced to a blubbering mess if we get started there, so we’d better go check out car seats to be safe."

She chuckles, brushing her shoulder against his and hiding her smile behind her hair. He really does want this, doesn't he?

"Car seats it is," she says, and they start off in that direction.

After a few minutes spent staring at their choices, however, she begins to wonder if they should have started with something a little easier. It seems Mulder has been doing some reading, though. He rattles off technical terms and safety standards with ease, inspecting each of their options thoroughly.

They eventually find one that’s up to both of their standards, with all the proper safety certifications listed. It has embroidered Winnie the Pooh details, and the image comes to her unbidden of Mulder sitting in a rocking chair, reading the books to their son or daughter by the soft lamplight. Her knees suddenly feel weak, so she casually suggests they look for a rocking chair next, giving her a chance to sit down.

He grabs the car seat off the shelf, looking immensely proud of their purchase.

As much as they both enjoy searching through case files in the basement, tossing out theories over lukewarm noodles from the place down the street, it’s hard to deny: 

This is a much better use of their time.

-.-.-

It’s so unbearably domestic, the two of them getting things ready around the apartment. Well, unbearable might not be the right word, Mulder thinks. In fact, it’s surprisingly bearable, until he catches Scully in the living room folding laundry while some melodramatic soap opera plays on the television.

Despite their best efforts, they came home from their shopping spree with a bag full of onesies and footie pajamas, blankets and rags (will they really need that many?), and the smallest pairs of socks Mulder has ever seen (yes, he had teared up in the middle of the clothing section. It was an involuntary reaction to seeing something so tiny, he said).

Scully insists that all of it must be washed—with a special laundry detergent, no less—before any of it touches a baby’s sensitive skin, and Mulder leaves her to it, tasked with his own job of putting the bassinet together and finding a place for it in Scully’s bedroom. It’s not until he ventures out into the kitchen for some snacks that he realizes she’s doing their laundry, too.

His laundry.

The thought, at first, warms his heart. How many years has he been doing his own laundry? Long before he even left his parents’ house, that’s for sure. It’s nice, to be looked after in this way. He never would have thought about how intimate it is, to have his clothes and hers swirling about in soapy water together, but for some reason it strikes a chord. And she’s doing it without a second thought!

But then she holds out a pair of his boxers in front of her, sparing them a fleeting glance before turning her attention back to the TV and folding them, setting them in a basket beside her like it’s something she does every day.

And he nearly keels over and dies on the spot from embarrassment.

Just as she picks up another pair to fold, he practically trips over himself to get to the living room, making a grab for the ones in her hands.

“You don’t have to do that, Scully,” he says, his voice involuntarily pitched higher than normal. He can feel the heat on his cheeks and he knows he must be red in the face, but now he’s clutching a pair of boxers in his hands nervously in front of him, and she’s looking at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Jeez, Mulder,” she says. Clearly his sudden appearance and interruption of her quiet time has startled her, but once her brain catches up to what’s going on, she raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? What’s the problem?”

“I can– You already do so much, you don’t have to—”

“Underwear?” she says, and she’s laughing at him, he can feel it. “You get weird about underwear, Mulder? I’ve seen you naked before.”

“Yeah, but that– I’m perfectly capable of…”

“So am I,” she says, challenging. She reaches for another pair from the pile, and he makes a grab for it, only to have it yanked out of his reach before he can catch it. He makes a halfhearted second attempt, but she’s too quick, casting an amused glance at him and his repeated failures to secure his own undergarments from her.

“Scully,” he whines, and she can’t help but chuckle at him, shooing him off with her free hand.

“I’m doing the laundry, Mulder,” she says, pushing him back with a hand to his chest. “You finish the bassinet.”

“You can just leave the—” WHY is he suddenly unable to say the word ‘underwear’?! “—I’ll do them later.”

She looks at him again, and he can tell she’s not taking him seriously.

“I grew up in a family of six,” she says, rolling her eyes at him. “Do you really think my mother did all our laundry by herself?”

He supposes not, but still, it feels weird. His family was the complete opposite, extremely conservative about things like that for some reason. The warmth of shared household chores was not really a thing he experienced. For as long as he could remember, his mother handled most of the work, with him pitching in to mow the lawn once or twice a month and sometimes changing a lightbulb.

His father wasn’t really around enough to help out beyond occasionally yelling at Fox telling him how precisely he was supposed to be cleaning out the gutters (while doing none of it himself).

“I want to do it, Mulder,” Scully says, her voice softening. 

It’s such a stupid thing to feel uncomfortable about. They live together now, after all. He should have seen this coming. What did he think would happen, they’d each run separate loads of laundry for the rest of eternity? Would he continue to pretend Scully's undergarments don’t exist, and if he accidentally caught a glimpse of one, immediately put it out of his mind?

It wasn’t realistic. So he’d better get to work on coming to terms with this being something she wants to do for him. And maybe he’ll feel comfortable doing the same for her, someday.

When the baby comes, they’ll both be busy. Best to get used to it now, before things change again.

He leans his head tiredly against her knee for a moment before getting to his feet, embarrassed now by both the original scenario and his reaction to it.

She holds out a hand, an expectant look on her face, until he relents and hands her the pair of boxers he’d managed to snag. She nods once in approval, looking pleased with herself for winning this… argument? Disagreement? He’s not sure what exactly it was, but he knows he’s definitely going to spend the rest of the day hiding in her bedroom if at all possible, completing the manly task of assembling furniture.

Yeah. Sure.

She smiles, pointedly folding them and adding them to the pile without breaking eye contact. He shakes his head and chuckles.

“We can take turns, then,” he says as he walks away, as if this is all some compromise he came up with in the first place. He’s pretty sure it’s too late to save face at this point, but that won’t stop him, fool that he is, from trying.

“Sure, Mulder,” she says sweetly, forcing a serious expression on her face. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter Text

It’s strange, staying with Sheriff Adderly and his wife Ellen during this case in Vermont. If he had his way, he’d be checked into a motel instead of infringing on their hospitality, but he’d been given no choice. They even refused reimbursement for their troubles, which did nothing to lessen the feeling—however true or untrue it was—of him being a burden to them.

Ellen Adderly had pulled out all the stops for their guest, preparing decadent meals on fine china for every meal, claiming she’d have done it whether he was there or not. He has a hard time believing that. He can’t imagine living in such a way every day of his life. He and Scully barely manage to set out real plates to eat on when they order takeout at home, and he certainly doesn’t expect her to have a three course meal set out when he gets back from work. Besides the fact that she’s always at work with him, it’s just not something he thinks is necessary. Is that something she’d want to do? He doesn’t think so. 

The routine they have works for them, that’s all that matters.

But after getting a taste of his own personal brand of domesticity, it’s… odd… to see how others do it. He’d never have thought there were so many different ways to balance home life, much less enough that he’d start to form an opinion on them. His parents had been one way—not a particularly healthy relationship—and he and Scully are… well, they’re not really anything besides roommates, but that still counts, in his book.

Whatever they are, he likes it. Far better than this constant fussing, at least.

Mrs. Adderly must notice his discomfort, because at breakfast as she masterfully puts the finishing touches on his eggs benedict, she says “I get the feeling you're not used to anyone taking care of you,” and for some reason, that assumption grates on his nerves.

He takes a measured draw from his cup of steaming coffee, swallowing back his immediate retort.

“What makes you say that?” he asks instead. She probably hadn’t meant anything by it, but it still comes off as rude. He has someone to take care of him, thanks very much. Just not exactly in the same way as Mrs. Adderly insists on taking care of her husband… and apparently Mulder too.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen says, realizing her statement had come out somewhat offensive. “I just mean… I didn’t see a wedding band.”

She nods at his left hand sitting atop the table, and he follows her gaze to the bare ring finger.

“Do you have a significant other, Agent Mulder?” she asks.

Significant? Yes. Very. Other? That’s a good descriptor. Single, married, other. Yeah, he’d select other, if this were a multiple choice question. Although he’s pretty sure that’s not what she meant.

“I’ve– um…” he starts, wondering how best to describe his situation to this woman. “I’ve got a wife, actually.” He pulls out the ring on its chain to show her. “It can be dangerous in my line of work to have it on display,” he explains lamely before tucking it back into his shirt.

Ellen smiles. “Ah, well that’s good. Don't miss out on home and family, Mr. Mulder. I imagine with all the things you see, you need that refuge more than most.”

Her words hang in the air, a bit of sage advice from a woman he otherwise has very little in common with. But before he really has a chance to think about what she’s said, Sheriff Adderly makes an appearance, and it’s back to business. Ellen excuses herself to go check on their daughter, leaving the two of them alone to discuss the case.

Mulder remains seated at the table, staring down the sheriff with a knowing look. He’d begun to suspect—and now his suspicions are all but confirmed—that the man had been unfaithful to his wife, and it makes him feel sick. Here this man has it all; a loving wife, a sweet baby that they didn’t have to jump through a million hoops to get, and yet he’s willing to throw it all away for some cheap thrills.

He’ll never understand it.

The man is no more forthcoming about his knowledge of the case than he had been before, so Mulder lets it slide for now. The last thing he wants to do is show all his cards too early and spook him. He gives him just enough to leave him rattled. To let him know that he knows. 

He lets the unspoken threat hang between them until the sheriff folds, squirming away to take a shower, or so he says. 

He’s still seething in bitter disgust when Ellen returns, carrying her sleepy baby in her arms. It’s a well-practiced juggling act, Mulder can tell, as she goes about fixing herself a plate of her now lukewarm breakfast. With only one arm, she clearly struggles to transfer strips of bacon out of the pan, and Mulder gets to his feet.

“Here, let me help,” he says, joining her in the kitchen. What he’d meant was that he could help assemble her plate, but as he goes to reach for the spatula, he instead finds himself being handed a baby, and his eyes widen comically. “Oh, right,” he says, then plasters a forced smile on his face. Sure, this was what he’d meant to do all along. 

The little girl is heavier than he’d expected. Like a sack of flour, though with limbs jutting out everywhere. It takes him a moment to adjust, his hands holding her awkwardly beneath the armpits. 

“Hi,” he says conversationally, looking down at her like she’s a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. The baby just blinks at him, a blank stare on her face. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, lifting her to his hip and returning to the table. He makes every effort to not look like this isn’t the first time he’s held a baby in—well, basically forever, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

Ellen smiles across the table at him and digs into her meal.

“Do you have children, Agent Mulder?” she asks, “You and your wife?”

It still makes his heart flutter to hear someone refer to Scully as such, but he supposes that to Ellen, it really is that simple. Scully is his wife, that’s all she knows.

He’d always thought conversations like this to be so dull. ‘So, Dave, how’s the ol’ ball and chain? Kids staying out of trouble?’  But, now… 

Well, it’s different now that he actually has something to contribute to the discussion.

“Yeah, actually, one on the way,” he says, giving a self-conscious little smile. 

He’s never told anybody about this other than Skinner, but he supposes there’s no harm in telling this random woman in Vermont. It almost makes him feel… normal. Like he can relate to other people over the simple fact of his impending fatherhood. A shared human experience. A milestone in his life that doesn’t involve aliens, ghosts, ghouls, or any manner of cryptozoological entity.

“We’re adopting,” he further explains. “Only a couple months left till the birth mother’s due date.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ellen exclaims, smiling up at him over her bowl of fresh fruit. “You must be so excited!”

“Very,” he says, looking down at the drooling baby on his lap. “We never really thought it was possible. That we’d ever—” 

He pauses, the shrill tone of his cell phone breaking into their conversation.

“Speaking of my wife,” he says, flipping open the device. “Hey, Scully. How’s the stakeout going?”

Her voice crackles over the other side of the line, drawing a genuine smile out of him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that, Mulder, so that I can give you the good news I just received.”

His stomach does a flip. “Good news?”

He pictures her nodding, sitting in that grimy, cold room surrounded by surveillance equipment, somehow brightening it with her smile. “Krista called and we had a little chat.”

Mulder looks up at Ellen from across the table, where she’s watching him with a knowing smile. “Oh?” he says.

“Mm-hmm. And you know what she told me?”

Scully is extra cheeky this morning, huh? He misses her horribly. This is the last time he’s letting Skinner split them up for a case. After this, no more. He’s putting his foot down. What are they going to do, fire him?

“What did she tell you?” he asks, turning to instead stare at the floorboards, giving himself the illusion of privacy despite the constant watch of Mrs. Adderly.

“She told me the sex of the baby. Would you like to know?”

His heart thumps in his chest suddenly, its rhythm erratic. This, he hadn’t expected first thing in the morning. He hasn’t even finished his first cup of coffee yet.

“She finally found out?”

“Yeah, Krista said she was a lot more cooperative at this appointment than the last one,” Scully explains.

Mulder freezes.

“She?” he says, his voice raspy with awe. “It’s a girl?”

He hears Scully release a shuddering breath before her voice comes back, with all the telltale signs of happy tears that he’s come to recognize in the last few months.

“It’s a girl,” she confirms.

It’s a girl. He’s gonna have a baby girl.

“That’s– that’s amazing, Scully! That’s… wow!”

“I know,” she says. “I’m– You’re not disappointed, are you?”

“Disappointed?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “Why would I be disappointed?” 

Disappointed is the absolute last thing he’d be feeling right now. Elated is a better word. Maybe a little scared, but he’ll get over it.

“I don’t know, I just thought… You know, you talked about coaching little league, and I’m sure you want someone to watch basketball with you…”

He laughs. He can’t help but laugh. “Just because you don’t like basketball doesn’t mean other girls don’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “And have you seen girls softball teams, Scully? They’re brutal. You try getting hit by one of those giant neon yellow ostrich eggs at 50 miles an hour. I volunteered to practice with the girls once in high school. Almost lost an eye.”

“But what if she doesn’t like sports at all?” Scully asks, and he’d bet good money that she’s chewing on her lip right now, the way she does when she’s worried. “What if she’s on the chess team or plays the violin or the piano?”

Oh, Scully.

“Then I’ll learn all the names of her concertos and cheer her on at every chess tournament,” he answers simply. “Look, Scully, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you and I are both gigantic nerds. I think we’ll be prepared for whatever she’s interested in when she gets older.”

She. They can finally stop talking about her in abstract terms. A girl. A daughter.

“Your mom’s gonna flip,” he says when she doesn’t respond. Margaret Scully has a grandson, but no granddaughter. He can just see the little plaid dresses, frilly socks, Mary Jane shoes, and giant velvet bows in their future. She’ll be spoiled rotten.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Scully says, sounding wistful. 

“Me too,” he agrees. “When I get back, we’re going out shopping again. I think maybe this time I’ll be able to hold it together in the clothes section.”

That earns him a laugh.

“I’m willing to bet it will go the same way as last time,” she teases back, and she’s probably not wrong. Just picturing this baby, a little girl like the one he’s holding now, has him emotionally on edge.

“I– I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says, glancing up at the clock. “Let the thought of warm baby snuggles keep you from freezing your butt off.”

She sighs, the annoyance of her less than ideal assignment returning. “Thanks for reminding me,” she intones.

They stay on the line a moment more, waiting to see who will be the one to hang up. Eventually he hears a soft click, and he smiles down at the phone in his hand. Goodbyes have never been necessary between them. Maybe that’s just another way they’re weird, but he likes it.

The baby in his lap gurgles, and he sets his phone on the table to turn his attention back to her. He sees her differently now, with the knowledge that he has a little girl on the way too.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Ellen says, eyes shining as she watches him.

Mulder feels his cheeks beginning to burn. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No, really,” she says more insistently. “You seem to care a lot already. And wanting to be involved… Well, that’s everything. Your wife is a very lucky woman.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky,” he says, and he truly believes it.

He’s the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.

Chapter Text

The sound of keyboards clacking fills the dimly-lit room. A greasy bag that once held at least a dozen cheap tacos from the place across town sits atop a stack of empty pizza boxes, not that the inhabitants of this particular abode pay much attention to that kind of thing. 

“Hey, here's something weird,” Langly says, looking up from the computer monitor, the unnatural light of it reflecting off his glasses.

“What? Is it Krycek again?” Frohike asks, crossing the short distance to lean over the other man’s shoulder. “What’s that little rat up to now?”

Langly adjusts the bright, warm-toned desk lamp to minimize the glare on the screen.

“No, just something strange in my sweep of government records,” he says.

“Mention of a virus? Shadow government stuff?”

Langly shakes his head. “It flagged a document mentioning Mulder and Scully's names.”

This bit of information piques Byers’ interest from across the room. “What agency? Homeland? DoD?” he asks, joining the other two at Langly’s computer.

“County court in Annapolis, Maryland,” Langly reads off the screen. “Dated December 24, 1999.”

“Open it!” Frohike demands impatiently.

It takes only a few seconds to hack the database, which is a little alarming. What would the public think if they knew how insecure county records are? But that’s a concern for another day. 

The document slowly appears on screen, and three pairs of eyes take in the information all at once.

“That's… unexpected,” Byers says.

“Married? Since when?” Frohike exclaims.

Langly looks up at him with a condescending glare and smacks the older man in the stomach. “Since Christmas, idiot, haven't you been paying attention?”

“Not that, stupid,” Frohike says, quick to respond with a slap to the back of the blond man’s shaggy head. “Since when are they an item? Did I miss something?”

“You seen a rock on her finger lately? I haven't,” Langly comments.

“Get Mulder on the phone, that little sneak owes us an explanation!” Frohike snaps, pointing a finger at Byers.

The phone rings a few times before it connects, the voice of their friend coming through on speakerphone.

“Now's not a good time, boys,” he says. There's some kind of noise in the background, someone speaking, but they can’t make out who it is. It doesn’t sound like anyone they know. 

“Mulder!” Frohike yells into the phone. “What gives, man?!”

“Yeah, bro, we'd have thrown you a bachelor party if we'd known,” Langly adds.

A sigh crackles through on the other end of the line, and Mulder murmurs something indistinguishable to someone before finding somewhere quieter to talk.

“How'd you find out?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

“Your marriage license record came up in one of our regular sweeps. No other threats, by the way,” Byers answers.

“Except maybe Frohike,” Langly jokes. “He might want to challenge you for her hand.”

Byers snickers.

“Shut up! I'm happy for them,” Frohike says, glaring at his friends.

Langly rolls his eyes. “You never stood a chance.”

“There's an explanation for this, I swear, now's just really not a good time,” Mulder says, insistent.

“What's there to explain?” Frohike asks. “You guys fell in love and got married without telling your best friends. No big deal.”

He’s not genuinely trying to guilt trip Mulder, but it does sting a little that they hadn’t said anything to them. Maybe just a little tiny guilt trip. A guilt excursion, if you will.

“It's not… really that simple,” Mulder says, his words hesitant.

“What do you mean?” Byers asks.

“I know you didn't knock her up, obviously, so what more is there?” Langly says, as delicate as a brick to the face.

“Well,” Mulder says, “I kind of did, in a manner of speaking.”

“Scully's pregnant?” Byers asks. This is shocking news. It should be impossible! “But—”

“No, Scully's not pregnant,” Mulder quickly corrects before the conversation can spiral out of control more than it already has. “But… we are expecting, actually. Hopefully.”

“IVF?” Byers asks.

“Not IVF. We tried that last year though, you're a little late to the party.”

Jeez, what haven’t they missed? Maybe the real conspiracy is whatever the heck is going on with Mulder and Scully.

“Then, what—?”

“We're adopting,” he says, interrupting them. They can almost hear his smile over the phone, all goofy and care-free. “There's a woman that selected us to adopt her baby when she’s born, so… I'm actually at this class for new parents with Scully right now. I should probably be getting back. Don't want the teacher to flunk me.”

“Wait wait wait,” Frohike says. “Adopting? How long have you guys been… you know?”

“Well we only started talking about it back in November. It's honestly moving pretty fast, but we're excited.”

“Not that,” Frohike says, waving his hands in the air. “You and Scully!”

“Oh,” Mulder says awkwardly. “Um, we actually aren't. A couple, I mean. If that's what you're asking.”

Frohike’s jaw drops. “You're kidding.”

“No, I'm not.”

“But you're married!” Langly insists.

“A formality.”

“The IVF!”

“Favor for a friend.”

“Yeah, right!” Frohike says with a laugh, sharing a disbelieving look with the other Gunmen.

“You love her, don't you?” Byers asks, sincerity breaking through his friends’ incredulity.

“If you're just gonna harass me, I'm going to hang up.”

Okay, so he’s done sharing for now. They’ll just have to try to get more out of him later.

“Mulder… what are we going to do with you?” Frohike asks, shaking his head.

“Listen, guys, I've got to go. We're learning how to change a diaper and I'd really like to not make a fool of myself, if at all possible.”

“Wait,” Frohike says. “Tell Scully congrats for us. We're happy for you, Mulder.”

“Yeah, we just think you're a complete idiot too,” Langly adds bluntly.

“Thanks, guys. We're really happy. Sorry I haven't been around, it's been crazy.”

Well, now at least they know why Mulder has been missing their poker nights and D&D lately.

“Don't worry about it, Mulder. Just—maybe tell us what's going on next time?” Byers suggests.

Mulder puffs out a laugh. “Sure, next time I marry my partner with the purpose of adopting a child, I'll let you know.”

Frohike points seriously at the phone, despite the fact that Mulder can’t see it. “Watch it, buddy, you're already on thin ice.”

“I'll talk to you guys soon,” Mulder says. “Oh, and if you're ever looking for me, I'm staying at Scully’s apartment now, by the way. I gave up my apartment.”

“Dude…” Langly says. There's something seriously wrong with those two.

“Alright, I gotta go. I'll tell Scully you say hi.” And with that, he hangs up, leaving the three amigos to take in everything they’d just learned.

“Aren't a couple…” Frohike grumbles, repeating his words. “They're a couple of idiots, I'll tell you that.”

Byers nods his agreement, and Langly shrugs. 

“Lucky kid, though.”

Chapter Text

The water cooler gurgles as he fills a small paper cup and takes a sip. Today had been the day. After weeks of going through personnel files for prospective replacements, they finally met with a few candidates. He meant what he said to Scully; he’s ready to let go of the reins a little. That doesn’t make the actuality of handing over the X-Files any easier.

Force of habit, he thinks, to resist any and all efforts to boot them from the X-Files. He has to keep reminding himself that it was his idea this time, and that they’d still be working on them in a consulting capacity anyway. He isn’t quitting cold turkey. And besides, they’re moving on to bigger and much better things.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice at first when a few other guys gather around, each filling their own cups with water.

“So, Garcia,” the first one says, addressing a man Mulder vaguely recalls works in Organized Crime. “I hear the wife’s about to pop. You ready?”

Agent Garcia smiles, nodding his head. “Oh yeah. We’re going out tonight. One last night on the town before the baby gets here, you know?”

“You gotta do it,” another agent says. Agent Mann, or something silly like that, Mulder thinks. “They call it a ‘babymoon,’ you ever heard of that? My wife and I took a trip down to the Isle of Palms for ours before Michael was born. Great beaches. Now we’re lucky if we make it to the coast without one or all of our kids ingesting sand.”

The men share a hearty laugh, and Mulder feels a little out of place.

“Amy would have killed me if I hadn’t taken her out for a nice dinner before our first,” the first agent says. “It was another two years before we were able to go to a nice restaurant alone, so I wouldn’t have blamed her!”

Is this something people do, Mulder wonders? Is Scully expecting it? Maybe he had missed the memo at some point. Is there a soon-to-be-dad handbook somewhere that tells them how to win points with their wives before they become parents? Should he have come up with a plan to do something special for Scully? Their lives are about to irreversibly change, and he hadn’t even considered, really, that very soon, it won’t be just the two of them anymore. There will be a third person, someone entirely dependent on them just to stay alive.

He fills his paper cup again, feeling sweat begin to form under his collar.

Dinner. He can do dinner, that’s a good idea. He should ask her. One last hoorah as the infamous Mulder-Scully duo for old times’ sake. She’d like that.

With a polite nod and a forced smile at his fellow agents around the water cooler, he heads back toward the elevator, and back to the basement.

-.-.-

“Hey, there you are,” Scully says as he shuts the door behind him. She’s elbow deep in one of the filing cabinet drawers, evidently rooting around at the back for a stray piece of paper that has escaped a folder. “Help me figure out which files to make copies of. I know you’re going to want to keep some of them,” she says.

She knows him so well. He’s already started making a mental list of ones he wants to have in his personal collection. The Bellefleur file, for example. And of course, the ones with his name or Scully’s in it, but those are for much less happy, nostalgic reasons.

Slouching his suit coat off his shoulders, he rolls up his sleeves and approaches the drawer, offering his assistance in reaching the wayward scrap of paper. Her little arms are too short, a fact which he intends to tease her about later. His fingers successfully find the edge of the document, and he extracts it with careful precision.

A familiar picture stares back up at him, giving him a hearty chuckle.

“Remember this one?” he asks, turning his sketch of the Jersey Devil back toward her.

She laughs as she takes it from him, inspecting it. “How could I forget?” she says, “I think this image is forever ingrained in my psyche.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my drawing,” he says. “I want a copy of that file. With my beautiful artwork, please.”

She rolls her eyes, but opens up a folder and slides the paper in its rightful place. He can’t help but notice it was already in the ‘to-be-xeroxed’ pile before he said anything.

The office falls silent as he continues rifling through the cabinets, plucking out a file here and there that he wouldn’t mind keeping. It’s a walk down memory lane, for him. Flukeman, Big Blue, the vampire sheriff in Texas… Who would have thought that seven years later, he’d still have Scully by his side as he prepares to let go of what became his life’s work? Their life’s work. She should have run screaming from here years ago, but she didn’t.

Now look where it’s gotten them.

Glancing up at her from over the top of the overstuffed file drawer and filled with a sudden surge of gratefulness that he doesn’t know what to do with, he blurts, “Let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

She freezes, and he mentally kicks himself for the hasty delivery of his idea. Theoretically, he should have planned a better way to ask her. After a second that feels like an eternity, she turns to him with a skeptical tilt to her brow and a small smile. 

Well, at least he knows he’ll still get to see her make that expression at him even when they’re off the X-Files.

“I mean, we could try that new place in Dupont Circle. The one your mom was telling you about? If you want.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, folding her arms expectantly in front of her chest as she leans back in his office chair.

“You know,” he shrugs, “pretty soon it won’t be just us anymore, and I– I like… spending time with you… So I just thought it would be nice to—”

She smiles shyly. “That sounds great, Mulder,” she says, interrupting his fumbling explanation. “Tonight at seven?”

He grins, ducking his head to hide his goofy expression. “Yeah, seven. I’ll make the reservations.”

-.-.-

In hindsight, this is a crazy idea. The restaurant they’re going to is extravagant. Ostentatious. And he knows Scully knows it, too. The margin of error for plausible deniability here is extremely small, and if she doesn’t have some idea of his feelings for her already, he’s going to have a hard time keeping it that way as they sit in a low-lit room munching on those fancy breadsticks and drinking expensive wine.

What had he been thinking? He asked her out without even sparing it a thought, not realizing how it would sound. To be going out on a date with your best friend who is also technically your wife? Langly and Frohike were right. He is an idiot. What is he supposed to do on this ‘date?’ How is he supposed to act? Does she expect anything from him? Is this his last chance to make a move? What does it mean that this is one of the last nights they’ll spend alone together before someone literally hands them a baby and lets them take it home?

The idea of making a move, after all this time spent explicitly trying not to do exactly that, has him in a spiral. He paces around the floor in his bedroom, trying not to think about what dress Scully might be putting on in her room on the other side of the hall or what she might be doing with her hair.

He can’t upset the status quo like this with the baby due any time in the next few weeks, can he? Bad idea. Bad, bad, idea. But at the same time, when else would he get the chance? He’d heard what the other agents had said… it was years in some cases before new parents got the chance to really be alone. What if he had to spend the next several years silently pining for his own wife in the home they share together, watching her be a mother to the baby they adopted? Maybe there’s a reason people don’t get into arrangements like this with their platonic best friend, after all.

How stupid was he to think he could do this without letting his feelings get in the way? Why on earth didn’t he just tell her months ago, before all this started, instead of getting his hopes up?

The answer, of course, is that he wants this. He wants this family more than anything, even if it's never anything more than friendship and cohabitation with Scully. He would have scared her away if he told her the same day she found those adoption brochures on his desk. It would be too much at once. He knows her, she would have been overwhelmed.

But, man… What if?

He checks his reflection in the mirror one more time, smoothing his hair into place. He hopes he didn’t overdo it on the cologne. Should he be wearing a tie? He puts on one that Scully got him several years ago, complete with a tie clip he’d gotten from her mother at Christmas.

He hesitates over the chain he wears under his shirt. What would Scully think if he took it off and wore it on his finger tonight? He finds that he wants to. Just a normal husband and wife grabbing dinner together. Without giving it much thought, he loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt to free the necklace from its usual place. He knows that if he gives it much more consideration, he’ll talk himself out of it, so he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and slides the band onto his left ring finger.

There. He’s ready.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door to his room, intent on continuing his pacing in the living room if Scully isn’t ready to go yet.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he hears her call from the bathroom as his door creaks open. At a quick glance, he can see the back of an elegant dress he’s never seen before, black with a neckline that swoops down low in the back. She stands at the sink, fastening an earring in place, and it feels like junior prom all over again.

“Oh, I’m in deep trouble,” Mulder mutters to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. Forcing himself to turn away, he walks straight to the kitchen and fills up a glass of water, downing it in record time.

Not five minutes later, he hears her emerge, and he prepares himself for the sight of her.

Sure enough, it knocks the breath out of him, a fact which he makes every attempt to hide. He’s pretty sure she catches it, though, because the corner of her mouth quirks up and her eyes drift to the floor, as if she were somehow self-conscious about her appearance.

Impossible .

He’s suddenly very glad he opted for the tie, if this is what she's wearing to dinner. Although, it’s feeling a little tight, at the moment. 

“You, uh—” he starts, at a loss for words. His mouth is bone dry, despite the water he had just chugged a few minutes ago. “You—”

“Thanks,” she says, mercifully sparing him from further embarrassment. She tucks a gently curled tuft of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to the careful way she’s arranged it. “I figured this might be my last chance to get properly dressed up for a while, so… It’s been… years, I suppose, since I’ve had the occasion to.”

This just confirms it. He’s been an idiot. Years of missed opportunities, chances he’s wasted. He could have been taking this gorgeous, magnificent woman out to fancy dinners all the time, if he’d just been able to pull himself together and see past the end of his own rather distinguished nose. 

If time travel is ever invented, he’s gonna use it to go back in time and kick his own—

“Mulder?” she says, smiling amusedly at him. He gets the sense that that’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention, and he feels his cheeks warm. “I said, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, finding his voice at last. She reaches down to grab her purse, and he coughs to clear his throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She shakes her head at him in mock admonition, but happily accepts his proffered arm as they exit out the front door of the apartment. In the hall, he glances down, taking in the sight of her hands wrapped comfortably around his right bicep.

Her ring. She’s wearing it. He swears his heart might leap out of his chest at the thought. This might just be the thing that does him in. Put it on his death certificate. ‘Cause of death: the woman he loves is wearing his ring.’ What a way to go.

He doesn’t say anything—couldn’t, even if he wanted to—but he can tell that she saw him take notice. How could he not, with the way it sparkles on her finger, like it belongs there? He feels her hold loosen, and it stirs up a mild panic in his chest. She shouldn’t be embarrassed. Please, please don’t be embarrassed.

He lifts his hand to stop her from releasing him, running his thumb over the diamond inset on her finger. It’s okay , he’s saying. Look, I’m wearing mine too.

He sees the moment her eyes fix on his ring, as he rests his left hand over hers on his arm. She avoids his eyes, but he can tell she’s moved. She swallows back her emotion, and her hold on him tightens again, which sends a wave of relief through his body. 

“Come on, we’ll be late for our reservation,” he says, his voice low, just for her ears. 

She nods, and lets him lead the way.

-.-.-

His first mistake was thinking that he could get day-of reservations at one of the trendiest places in all of Washington, D.C. His second mistake was not considering that his straightforward request for a table that evening might somehow be misconstrued to mean that evening a year from now . 

It takes all his self restraint not to raise his voice at the host at the host stand, because really, why would he be asking for something like that? He’d like to give them a little lesson on the use of the English language, but he won’t, only because Scully is there and he doesn’t want to completely ruin the evening.

She’s there watching him as all this takes place, undoubtedly amused as he fights back frustration. After a moment, her hand lands on his arm, her typical method of pulling him back from the brink of a poor decision that she’s perfected over the years, and she shakes her head.

“It’s alright, Mulder,” she says. “We can just go somewhere else.”

Yeah, but where?

“Have a good evening,” the host says dismissively, and his tone is just a little bit too smug for Mulder’s taste. It reminds him of stuffy dinners with his father’s associates or interactions he had with the pompous law students at Oxford. Maybe they don’t want to eat here after all.

Scully feels him tense under her touch, and gently guides him out of the restaurant before he can respond. What would he do without her? He’d probably get beaten up a lot more often, that’s for sure. Or at least kicked out of places, like he would have been tonight.

She leads him outside, and soon enough, they’re standing on the sidewalk by the street, at a loss for what to do next.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he says, mentally kicking himself for screwing this up so badly. “I just wanted to do something special, and now—”

“Mulder,” she stops him. “Seriously. It’s okay. I’m happy with wherever we decide to go tonight. This is about spending time together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let's go,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I have an idea.”

She holds tight to him as she leads them down the sidewalk, passing other couples on the street on this lovely spring evening. He has no idea where she could possibly be taking them, but she’s in a great mood, so he tries not to let the minor setback ruin his night. If she’s happy, then he’s happy.

The sun draws closer to the horizon, casting a golden glow on everything and everyone it touches. It makes her hair shine like fire, and once again he counts his blessings. It feels a little bit like the night of their wedding, and that thought brings a smile to his face.

They walk past several up-scale restaurants, and Scully doesn’t even spare them a glance. Wherever she’s taking them, she must know the way there. After a couple more blocks, she comes to a stop, standing out front of a greasy diner, maybe just a little nicer than the ones they frequent in small-town America. 

“Really?” he asks, looking dubiously up at the neon sign. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere a little fancier, Scully? You got all dressed up.”

Her answering smile is resplendent in the glowing light.

“I want to eat here, Mulder,” she says, stepping toward the entrance. A bell above the door jingles as she pushes it open. “It seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

It does. A wave of nostalgia hits him like a truck when he realizes why she brought them here. Why a diner, of all places, would be the place she chooses for their ceremonial last meal, just the two of them. He can’t count how many formica tabletops just like this one they’ve shared a meal at, over the years. Hundreds of hamburgers with a side of fries, maybe a milkshake they end up splitting when Scully’s ice water loses its appeal. Ripped vinyl booths that Scully thoroughly wipes down with wet wipes she’d started keeping in her bag for that exact purpose.

“Well, don’t you two look nice?” a waitress in uniform says as she approaches their table. Her hair looks like the 80s have come back with a vengeance, all frizzy and permed, and she chews a wad of bubblegum aggressively, smelling like her last smoke break.

In short, it’s perfect.

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

Mulder orders for the both of them, knowing Scully’s usual order by heart. She smiles the way she always does when he remembers to ask for a lemon for her water, and he makes sure to tell the waitress to bring two straws for the milkshake instead of one.

When he looks across the booth at Scully, again, he imagines a little girl sitting next to her, coloring away on a kids menu with two, cheap, plasticky crayons that break in half if you look at them wrong.

It won’t be long, now. That will be their life. Mulder, party of three. Maybe Scully will start to carry a plastic baggy of the good crayons in her bag, for when they go to places like this. He’s absolutely certain she’ll at least double her use of wet wipes and sanitizer. He’ll become a chicken strip connoisseur, knowing all the best places in the city to get the child-favorite delicacy.

“To us,” Mulder toasts once their drinks arrive, lifting his chocolate milkshake in the air between them. “To… endings and new beginnings.”

“To endings and new beginnings,” Scully repeats, clinking her glass against his.

-.-.-

It’s past dark already, barely a hint of color lingering on the horizon, but that doesn’t stop them from prolonging the evening with a walk to the National Mall. The moon is bright, and the streets are lit up for tourists making the most of the warmer spring weather. It’s a pleasant walk. Scully feels drunk, despite the absence of alcohol with their dinner. She wonders if Mulder feels it too.

He guides her with his hand in its usual place, and she feels what can only be described as complete and utter contentment, as each brush of his fingers propels her gently forward. The street leads them straight to the reflecting pool on the National Mall, a favorite spot of theirs, not that they find the time to visit often enough. They’ve missed the cherry blossom blooms by only a couple weeks, but the sweet smell of them persists, unless it’s just her imagination.

Something about being with Mulder like this dials all her senses up to eleven. She has never experienced life like this before. Are the stars always so bright? Does the cool breeze always feel like silk on her skin?

Maybe it's his cologne that has her feeling tipsy. She selfishly hopes the scent of it will linger on her clothes and in her hair even after this night has come to its end.

The Mall is quiet and mostly empty at this hour. The Washington Monument looms in the distance, lit up brightly and casting its imposing reflection on the still waters of the reflecting pool. A family of ducks disturbs the glassy surface, sending ripples radiating outward as they paddle from one side to the other.

Mulder has this peaceful expression on his face, the corners of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he had never been here before, taking in all the sights for the first time. He watches the ducks for a moment, expelling a breath of laughter through his nose as a small duckling falls behind, then swims faster to catch up with the rest of the crew.

His hand drops from her back, but before she has a chance to mourn the loss, he entangles his fingers with hers, clasping their hands tightly together. She follows after him in a daze, her lips pulled back in a self-conscious sort of grin. She can’t help it. He makes her feel like a teenager, and… she doesn’t even know what this is, really, but she likes it. 

They circle the reflecting pool for a bit, wandering aimlessly at a lazy pace, reluctant to put an end to their time together. Eventually, they end up sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the gargantuan statue of the nation’s sixteenth president a silent sentinel behind them.

Scully leans her cheek against Mulder’s bicep. Despite her best efforts to keep them open, her eyes fall shut, her body succumbing to the serenity of their surroundings and the comfort of good company. He offers her his coat, draping it over her shoulders to combat the slight chill. It dwarfs her, the extra fabric at the hem pooling on the ground behind her.

“How about we come here on the weekends?” his voice rumbles, the first words spoken since they left the diner almost half an hour ago.

“Mm?” she hums in question.

He jostles her slightly with his arm, and she forces her eyes open again.

“You know, take the stroller for a spin around the pool,” he says, gesturing ahead of them. “Maybe stop into the Air and Space museum if we feel like it…”

She smiles. She can picture it so easily, the two of them experiencing the wonders of this city through the eyes of their child as she grows. Of course Mulder would want to go to the Air and Space Museum. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dragged her there before.

“Every weekend?” she asks doubtfully, her words slurring slightly.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as he chuckles.

“No, not every weekend,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I’m sure some weekends we’ll want to sleep in. Maybe have a late breakfast and watch movies. I can make pancakes. Chocolate chip.”

“Children need to have healthy breakfasts, Mulder,” she says admonishingly. Something tells her it will be a constant battle to keep Mulder from spoiling their daughter with sugar and empty carbs. But if that’s the worst of their disagreements when it comes to co-parenting, she’ll happily accept the challenge.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Half blueberry, half chocolate chip,” he concedes. She decides to let it slide for now.

Above them, an airplane soars across the sky, lights blinking rhythmically as it passes overhead.

It’s funny. Before Mulder, she never looked twice at things like that. But now, she finds herself checking a second time, her gaze lingering a little longer, just in case it might be something other than an airplane.

What has this man done to her?

Mulder follows the direction of her stare, his chin tilting upward. Against the backdrop of stars, the perfectly normal, human-built aircraft flies out of sight. The hand on Scully’s shoulder drops to the ground, his palms resting against the stone steps as he reclines back a little.

“Thanks for hanging with me all these years, Scully,” he says softly, his eyes never wavering from the heavens. “I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her lips pull back in a smile. “We make a pretty good team, huh?” she says over her shoulder.

His lowers his gaze to meet hers. “I like to think so. You think that will translate to raising a kid?”

She has often wondered that exact thing, but for the life of her now, as she looks into his eyes, she can’t think of even one reason why she questioned it.

She leans back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling shut again.

“Only one way to find out,” she answers sleepily.

He sighs happily. “Any day now.”

-.-.-

What a day. What a night.

Mulder can’t sleep, lying stiffly on his back in bed with his hands clasped on top of his torso. All he can think about is how beautiful she looked in the blinding fluorescent light of the diner, with a bit of ketchup smeared on the corner of her mouth from when she stole one of his fries when she thought he wasn’t looking. How she held his hand, content just to walk in silence beside him in the shadow of some of the nation’s most revered monuments.

What a perfect way to put a cap on their time working on the X-Files together. He couldn’t have planned it better himself (clearly). Who needs expensive wine and stale classical music when you have bottomless milkshakes and a jukebox playing the greatest sock-hop hits of the 1950s?

It wasn’t a real date, he has to remind himself, but it sure was close to one. Usually a first date doesn’t end with both parties going home together, that’s one difference. Or, well, going home to the apartment that they both live in together, he should say. But tonight, as they returned home, they got ready for bed side-by-side at the sink, brushing their teeth and washing their faces, and it felt like they’d been doing this for years. There was no awkwardness there, just a wave of peace and stability he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel in his adult life.

If they ever move somewhere else—somewhere closer to Quantico, maybe—he’ll make sure the bathroom is equipped with a his-and-hers vanity. A sink for each of them, and plenty of counter space for all of Scully’s specialty serums and creams. It’ll be nice, he thinks.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to visions of wraparound porches and matching rocking chairs, and maybe a nice playset in the backyard with a couple of kids running around. Now that’s a dream worth dreaming of.

-.-.-

This is ridiculous. She should just go back to bed, try one more time to actually fall asleep, get a few hours of rest at least. 

But she can’t sleep. Because Mulder had gone and put it in her head that everything is about to change, and it really could happen at any moment. Somehow, when she’s with him, she forgets every apprehension that plagues her, lured into a sense of security and assurance by some mystical power he possesses. Okay, maybe not a mystical power, but it is frightening how easily she casts aside her doubts when he’s within eyesight.

But then it all comes flooding back the moment she’s left to her own thoughts. It’s infuriating. She thought she was ready for it—for this massive life change—but she’s not. It terrifies her.

What if she can’t do it? What if she misses working in the Hoover building with him too much? What if she and Mulder have a disagreement about something trivial and it pulls them apart? What if he meets a nice woman at Quantico and wants out of this arrangement? What if it’s not enough for them to just be friends and raise this baby together? What if her feelings get the best of her, and she scares him away?

Or perhaps worst of all… What if they don’t get to go home with a baby at the end of all this? What if the mother decides to keep it? What then? Would they even have it in their hearts to try again? To wait a little longer, when there are drawers full of onesies and newborn diapers already in their home?

For weeks, the same nightmare has plagued her. Standing in a hospital hallway, their path blocked by people from the adoption agency telling them to turn around. Go home. You do not get a child.

She wakes feeling emptier than ever, and wishes for the millionth time that things could be easier.

There’s so much to think about, and she can’t take it anymore. She’s scared. And there’s only one person she likes to go to when she’s scared, and he’s sleeping peacefully right behind this door.

She sighs, leaning her head up against the door frame in exhaustion. She’ll just poke her head in for a moment. Remind herself that he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. She repeats the words he’s said to her over and over in her head like a mantra, ways he’s reassured her in the past that he’s in this for the long-haul. But for some reason, they’re hard to recall in these moments of doubt. Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe she’s remembering it wrong, applying more meaning to his words than he’d intended.

Her stomach tosses and turns uncomfortably with nerves. She’ll never be able to sleep like this.

As quietly as possible, she eases the door open, a sliver of light from the hallway piercing its way into his room. He looks warm and soft, the way his face lays slack against the pillow. He’s made himself at home here. His knick knacks line the shelves, unpacked from their boxes after the move and scattered about. As she steps carefully inside, she spots a photo of them that once sat on a shelf in their office. He must have moved it here recently, part of the slow transfer of their lives out of the basement of the Hoover building. She can’t help but notice that it sits beside him on his nightstand, right next to his glasses and whatever book he’s been reading lately.

She lets out a breath, allowing the comfort he unknowingly offers to dull her senses. Just a minute longer, then she’ll go back to her room and give sleeping another shot.

Or she would have, if he hadn’t started to stir, slowly waking from his peaceful slumber. It’s almost like he’d sensed her there, some kind of psychological link that told him when she was near, and in distress. She quickly turns back to the door, hand on the door handle to open it and make her exit before he truly notices her presence, when she hears her name spoken in a confused whisper.

“Scully?”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and her hand falls away from the doorknob.

“Sorry,” she says, turning to face him sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He props himself up on an elbow, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes with a fist.

“You okay?” he asks.

Her mouth drops open to reassure him that, yes, she’s fine, but she takes just a second too long to answer, and she knows he sees right through her. It’s not even worth lying to him.

“Come here,” he says, scooting over to make room on the bed beside him. “We can talk, if you want.”

She really shouldn’t, but his offer is tantalizing. She’s too vulnerable to be in this position, right now. Who knows what will slip from her mouth in her exhausted and overwhelmed state? Her feet carry her toward the bed anyway, and she slides into place under the covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he settles on his side facing her on his side of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks knowingly.

She shakes her head, her hair rustling on the pillow.

“Took me a while to get to sleep too,” he admits. “A lot to think about. A lot, a lot.”

At least she’s not alone in this problem, she guesses. She hates feeling like the insecure one in any situation, and that’s how she’s felt more often than not throughout this process so far.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks, gently urging her to open up.

She tries to shrug, but she knows she’ll have to come up with an answer sooner or later. There’s no reason to hide this from him. Sometimes, he knows her better than she knows herself, and that can be a blessing and a curse.

“I’m going to miss working with you, Mulder,” she says honestly, her lips sealed tight to fight back the slight tremble in them. She can’t stop hearing her own words spoken by the reflecting pool a few years ago. ‘If I quit now, they win.’

She feels a hand land on her upper arm, stroking it comfortingly. Her eyes flutter shut. She can lie to herself all she wants, but this is why she really came in here. There’s a type of comfort only Mulder has ever been able to bestow, and she needs it now more than ever.

“We’ll still be in the same building,” he says appeasingly. “We can get lunch together every day, talk about our classes, complain about the new recruits.”

It’s silly, but his words do help. She imagines sitting across from him in his own private office—probably decorated a lot like their current office is—and munching on a salad while listening to him complain about an essay one of his students turned in. It sounds pleasant. Easy. Maybe he can come help decorate her office too. She’s gotten used to his clutter. She isn’t sure she’d be able to work in the sparsely furnished office space like she’s naturally inclined to.

“And besides– We’ll still see each other here,” he adds. “Every night. And the weekends.”

The thought sends a thrill through her. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, what they’re doing. Giving up the X-Files… that’s a tangible thing. But the baby? She’s still an abstract idea, despite the fact that physical reminders of their plans are scattered throughout her apartment. The picture he’d painted earlier of a relaxing day at home together feels out of reach—like a nice idea that isn’t really attainable. Is she that traumatized from all the disappointment in her life?

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her mouth downturned in a frown. “I mean– I know you’ve said before that this is what you want, but I—”

“You’re gonna have to learn to trust me sometime, Scully,” Mulder says, a slight sadness in his voice.

She does. She does trust him—maybe even more than she trusts herself. That’s what the problem is.

“I do,” she says. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just…”

“Freaking out?” he finishes, smiling at her in amusement.

“Just a little,” she says, returning his smile.

He breathes in deeply, his face pensive like it always is when he's mulling over a difficult question.

“I think we’re ready,” he says, projecting confidence into his voice. “I think you’re going to be a rockstar mom, and we’ll wonder why we didn’t do this years ago.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“But what if—”

He shakes his head, putting a stop to her words immediately. “You gotta stop that, Scully,” he says seriously. “This is going to work out.” His fingers find the dainty necklace she wears, his thumb brushing over the cross. “Have faith,” he implores.

She closes her eyes, letting out a breath, and with it, trying to release some of the fear that keeps her up at night. She wants to do what he asks, to let herself go, but it's not as easy as that. Sometimes she can't help but feel like they're trying to cheat destiny, to force things into going their way when they've been repeatedly told “no” at every turn.

His reassurance does help, though. Wasn't that why she'd come here in the first place? 

Mulder settles back, turning his attention back to the ceiling. 

“What did you think of the new agents?” she asks after a moment, changing the subject. It’s hard to believe that it was just this morning that they’d interviewed a few of them, hoping to find some trustworthy hands to leave their work to.

“Reyes seems sharp,” Mulder says. “I think her background in folklore and ritualistic abuse is a good starting point.”

“Mm,” Scully hums her agreement. “And what about Doggett? Too staunch of a skeptic for you?”

Mulder chuckles. “He comes highly recommended by the higher ups, so I don’t know,” he says. “It’s always good to have a variety of opinions around, though, don’t you think?”

She turns her head to the left, her eyes meeting his in the darkened room, lit only by what little moonlight comes through the blinds. 

“I think… we’ll be okay,” she says then, willing the words to be true as she speaks them. Her assertion brings a smile to his face, and he leans back on the pillow, focusing on the patterns on the ceiling like she had been a moment earlier.

“We will,” he agrees. “For once, I think we’ll be better than okay.”

Chapter Text

Today, like most days in the past week, has been absurdly unproductive, and it’s barely eleven in the morning. They’d been up late the night before thanks to an impromptu baby shower thrown by the Lone Gunmen, with Frohike at the helm, and spent the first hour of their day in a meeting with the two new agents they’d selected to take over the X-Files, who it turns out, are old friends. It's like it was meant to be.

Other than that, they’ve just been attempting to revive themselves with caffeine, to varying degrees of success.

The ‘baby shower’ from the night before is a term that should be applied loosely, in this case. Mostly, the three stooges just crashed the apartment at half past nine bearing a puzzling array of gifts and some pungent takeout food that thankfully tasted better than it smelled, but Scully appreciated the thought, nonetheless. She could tell that Mulder had no hand in it, given how surprised he looked when they came knocking on their door. It certainly wasn’t what she’d always envisioned when she thought of her hypothetical future baby shower, but she wouldn’t have expected or wanted anything less in this life she’s made for herself.

How could she have known seven years ago that her new partner’s weird friends would one day be some of her closest friends, too?

Leaned back in his desk chair, Mulder tosses another pencil into the ceiling, shrugging when Scully shoots him an unimpressed look. It’s not like there’s a security deposit on this office that they need to get back. The new agents can just get the ceiling tiles replaced, if it bothers them that much. Maybe they’ll come to realize the genius of it as a form of decoration and mental stimulation. 

Or maybe not, if the look on Scully’s face is anything to go by.

Both of them startle at the shrill tone sounding from Scully’s cell phone, causing Mulder to nearly poke himself in the eye with the next pencil he was planning to use as ammunition.

Scully feels her stomach drop to the floor. Nobody ever calls her cell during work hours…

“Hello?” she breathes into the phone.

“Miss Scully?”

“Yes?”

“This is Wanda with the Connect and Care Adoption Agency.”

Scully’s body goes numb, her hand clutching her mobile device tight so as not to drop it. “Hi, Wanda. How are you?” she says in a shaky voice that she works hard to control. This could either be good news or bad, and she can’t tell which. Mulder watches her with concern but says nothing, merely offering his silent support.

“Well, it’s always a good day when I’ve got good news to share!” Wanda says. “You’ve got a healthy baby girl, 6 pounds, 4 ounces. Born at 10:13 this morning.”

Now, Scully really almost drops the phone.

“She’s here?” she asks, her eyes flicking up to meet Mulder’s, conveying what words, at the moment, cannot.

“Yes ma’am, she is. And she is just beautiful.” Scully draws in a shuddering breath, feeling her heart race furiously in her chest. “Now, there’s a few things to finalize here on our end, but if you’re able to get here in the next hour or so, we’ll get you checked into a room and then you can meet your baby.”

“Mulder,” Scully breathes, reaching out for his hand across the desk. He holds her hand tight, silently promising not to let go. “Um, we’re on our way,” she speaks into the phone, managing to thank Wanda and end the call before bursting into tears. Mulder leaps from his chair and circles the desk, kneeling in front of her and pulling her into his arms without a second thought. She buries her face in his shoulder, squeezing tight.

“She’s here,” are the only words her brain is able to signal to her mouth.

“She’s here,” Mulder agrees, choking back emotion. His hand finds the base of her neck, tangling in the roots of her hair. “Let’s go see her.”

-.-.-

Mulder’s hands shake as he locks up the basement office for what will probably be his last time as the agent in charge of the X-Files. He smiles shyly up at Scully. She looks more nervous than he’s ever seen her before, and they’ve been in some pretty intense situations together, so that’s saying something.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the elevator. She offers a small smile and follows him, sliding her hand into his as they begin the trek down the hallway.

The pace at which they walk through the corridors on their way out of the building turns a few heads. They breeze past other agents without a second glance, missing the way they look at them oddly.

Spookies are up to something again. What’s new?

They’re almost to the entrance when Skinner nearly walks right into them, carrying a batch of manila folders in his hand.

“Oh, hey, I was just on my way down to you,” he says. “There are some files I want you to look over, just some budget stuff—”

“Not now, Skinman,” Mulder says, cutting him off. “Better places to be.”

“Where could you possibly be going at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday?” he asks, looking at them in confusion. Then, his eyes widening, “Oh.”

“The agency called,” Mulder says, a beaming smile spreading across his face. He places a hand on Scully’s shoulder, glancing down at her for a moment before looking back at their boss. “We’re on our way to the hospital right now.”

Skinner sputters, a smile of his own pulling at his lips. “That’s– that’s fantastic news, agents! Forget anything I said about budget documents. It would be more effective to just put them right into the shredder anyway. Besides,” he smiles, reaching a hand out for a handshake, which Mulder reciprocates, “you’ve got much more important things to worry about.” He gives Scully a hug and pulls back, beaming at them. “Well, get out of here! Don’t worry about family leave, I’ll take care of it.”

Mulder nods, grateful for the man’s support in all of this. They’d made the right decision to tell him, all those months ago.

“Oh, and agents—” he adds.

They pause, turning back to face their boss.

“Congratulations.” 

 -.-.-

It’s a delicate balance between driving as fast as he can to get to the hospital, and not wanting to get in a car wreck on the way over. The radio stays off for the duration of the trip to Annapolis. There’s enough going on in their heads that the additional noise is neither welcome nor necessary.

To think: they’d woken up that morning like it was any other day, not knowing that this was the day their lives would be forever changed. They’d danced around each other in the kitchen, grabbing a slice of toast or a bagel for the road, coffee to-go, their typical routine.

Mulder had started the day as little more than a glorified bachelor (notwithstanding the wife he technically has, which makes classifying his relationship status a little iffy), but now he’s a father. That’s what he is, right? Even if he hasn’t met the kid yet, she’s going to be his. His and Scully’s. They just have to fill out a little paperwork, and… voilà! He loves her fiercely already.

“You have the bag, right?” Scully asks, her fingers nervously picking at her cuticles.

“In the back seat,” he answers. It’s in the back seat where it has been for the last two weeks, holding everything they might need for when this call finally came, as she well knows.

“Are you freaking out?”

He chuckles, chancing a quick glance in her direction. “A little bit. You?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nods.

Aw, Scully.

He wants to reassure her that they can handle this, but he’s pretty sure that nothing he says will help until they’re actually holding their baby in their arms. Some things you just can’t be prepared for. You can only face it head on when the time comes.

They follow the signs to the hospital parking lot, and before they know it, they’re standing in front of the automatic doors leading into the building.

This is it. Their time as partners, just the two of them, is over. They’ll enter this building as Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI, and the next time they leave it, they’ll be someone’s mom and dad. A family of three.

Now Mulder knows how Neil Armstrong felt jumping out of that lunar lander.

One giant leap for spooky-kind.

“Ready?” he asks, gazing down at his best friend, his better half. The only person crazy enough to do this with him.

She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Wait—”

His brows furrow, but before he can ask her what they're waiting for, she reaches up to his collar and extracts the chain that holds his ring. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile as he realizes what she's doing, and he reaches out to do the same, pulling the necklace carefully over her head.

She doesn't say a word as she undoes the clasp and removes the simple wedding band. She merely holds out her hand for his, and just like she had done that day at the courthouse, she slides the ring onto his finger.

He looks down at the diamond ring he'd bought for her, holding it in the palm of his hand. It's time for it to take its rightful place, not hidden away any longer. His eyes meet hers, and onto her finger it goes.

Then, with a guiding hand placed on her lower back, Mulder steps forward, hiking the hospital bag up over his shoulder.

They’ve been through so much together, and these rings prove it. They’ll take this final, monumental step together too.

They’re greeted at the front desk by a nice looking nurse, who makes quick work of checking them in. Another worker appears moments later to collect them from the waiting room, and leads them to an elevator that will take them up to the maternity ward. As the doors close, Mulder slips his hand into Scully’s wordlessly, offering his silent support.

Once they arrive at the correct floor, they’re shown to a private room, where they’re given wristbands to wear with “Baby Girl Mulder” written on them along with a corresponding ID number. It’s a family room, complete with a bed, sofa, chair, and large window overlooking the parking lot. This is where they’ll be staying for the next couple of days. He’s stayed in worse hospital rooms, so he can’t complain. This is luxury, by comparison.

The nurse tells them to wait there, and Mulder follows Scully to the couch, taking a seat despite the restlessness he feels right down to his bones. He’d much rather pace the room like a caged animal, but he knows that will only make Scully more anxious. He settles for cataloging everything the room has to offer while they wait. His eyes land on the empty plastic bassinet in the corner lying in wait for their baby to soon occupy it.

It’s all becoming real.

A gentle knock on the door signals someone’s presence, and a cheery middle-aged woman enters, smiling broadly at the two of them.

“Are you Fox Mulder and Dana Scully?” she asks, reading off a clipboard.

They stand to their feet. “That’s us,” Mulder says, finding his voice first.

The woman nods. “I wanted to formally introduce myself, I’m Wanda, the Director at Connect and Care. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

“Of course. Hi,” Scully says, shaking the woman’s hand in greeting.

Wanda removes her glasses, letting the cat-eye shaped frames hang around her neck from a beaded chain. “Brenda, your caseworker, will be here in a few minutes with your baby,” she says, “I just thought I’d check on you first. How are you feeling?”

Scully looks up at him for a moment before answering, a whole conversation passing between them in that short time that only they can understand.

“A little nervous,” she admits, answering for the both of them. “I, um– I thought we’d get a call when she was on her way.”

That brings out a hearty chuckle from Wanda. “We usually try to, but it seems your little girl was anxious to get here! Can’t say I blame her, it’s an exciting day!”

“So, everything went fine, then?” Mulder asks. He’d read enough pregnancy and delivery books between the IVF days and now to have nightmares about some of the worst possible complications.

“Oh yes,” Wanda assures him. “The nurses said it was one of the fastest deliveries they’ve seen this year!”

Mulder feels that last little ball of worry untangle itself in his stomach. Relief passes over him. She’s here. She’s here, and she’s fine.

Only a little longer.

-.-.-

Wanda looks at her watch, then checks her pager.

“Looks like it’s time,” she says, smiling over at them. “Alright, you two, you just wait right there and Brenda will be right in with your baby in just a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Scully says, hoping her voice isn’t as shaky as it feels.

Mulder squeezes her shoulder, the arm he has wrapped around her being the only sign that he feels as nervous as she does. His face is carefully blank, and though he doesn’t outright avoid eye contact, she can tell he’s barely able to focus on their physical surroundings. No, it seems he’s caught up in a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions just as she is. She wonders if he has a matching knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, too.

“This feels unreal,” she whispers, letting out a breathy laugh as he leads her back over to the couch. Once they’re seated, her hand comes to rest on his knee. It grounds her, makes her feel just a little less insane for doing this.

“I know, I can’t believe they’re gonna let us walk out of here with a baby,” he responds.

Opening her mind to extreme possibilities, indeed.

She chuckles and closes her eyes, leaning against him. His hand finds its way to hers, wordlessly intertwining their fingers in a gesture of comfort almost as old as their partnership itself.

“You got the car seat set up, didn’t you?” she asks.

“Car seat, diaper bag, bassinet—everything’s ready, Scully, we got this.”

They’re interrupted by the door squeaking open, and suddenly, Scully’s perception narrows to nothing but Mulder, their case worker, and the bundle of blankets the woman carries in her arms. Everything else fades away.

The pressure on his knee increases as Scully pushes herself to standing, unsure of what to do with her arms. She squeezes his hand once before letting go, and he’s on his feet half a second later, his body practically vibrating with energy at the complete and total awareness of how life-changing this moment is.

Nothing will ever be the same.

“Here she is!” Brenda cheerfully announces as she makes her way across the room, followed by Wanda. 

Scully’s heartbeat quickens as she comes nearer. She can feel her throat closing with tears, and she covers her mouth to stifle a sob. Mulder’s hand presses reassuringly on her back near her shoulder blade, while the other grips her bicep, all but holding her in an upright position.

“Here you go, mama,” Brenda says, and Scully watches in awe as the most perfect, precious baby is placed into her waiting arms. The weight of her is so little, but so right. That phantom feeling she once felt when looking at other women with their babies is finally alleviated. That emptiness, finally filled. 

Finally, finally, she has a baby of her own, one who will one day look up at her and call her “mom.” One who she’ll read bedtime stories to, comfort on stormy nights when the thunder rattles the house, kiss when she falls down and hurts her knee.

Her heart shatters into a million pieces and rebuilds itself all in the measure of a breath.

“I’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” Scully gasps, unable to stifle the sob that escapes her. She feels Mulder’s hands rubbing in comforting strokes, holding her together.

She turns her head to look up at him. His cheeks are wet with tears of his own, but the smile—she’s never seen one quite like it on his face before. So free and full of gratitude. Maybe the closest she ever saw was when she told him her cancer was in remission. Before today, she might have called that the happiest day of her life. But, now…

She closes her eyes and breathes in the moment, her head dipping forward so it rests against Mulder’s chin. He pulls her tighter against him and presses a kiss to her forehead, then another.

No question about it. This is the happiest she has ever been.

Chapter Text

Below them, the baby starts to fuss, her eyes shut tight against the bright lights as she squirms in Scully’s arms.

“Shh, it’s alright,” she hushes, rocking her back and forth. Mulder’s hand drops from Scully’s arm to cup the baby’s back, rubbing soft comforting circles there. She’s so soft and warm, it’s like touching a warm loaf of bread. Not that he’s about to compare their newborn baby to something as silly as a loaf of bread minutes after meeting her, but that’s where his head’s at.

The baby quiets, settling into the crook of Scully’s arm again. She’s a natural, just like he’d known she’d be.

“Oh, you’re gonna love your mommy, hon,” he coos, marveling at the way she’d instantly calmed her.

“Mulder, look at her!” Scully says in awe, tugging down at the blanket so her face is fully visible for the first time. “She’s so perfect!” The image of their daughter blurs through another bout of tears, and Scully clutches her close. The baby sleeps peacefully, her tiny pink tongue peeking out through her little rosebud lips every so often.

“She’s beautiful,” Mulder says, laughing a little at his own inability to hold it together.

Scully looks up at him again, finally beginning to compose herself.

“Do you want to hold her?” she asks. 

There’s quite literally nothing in the entire world that he would like more, right now.

He reluctantly lets go of Scully, lifting his arms to accept the transfer of the baby. His hand cups the back of her downy-soft head and he pulls her oh so carefully into his chest, laying her in his arms. Something shifts inside him and falls into place.

It takes his breath away.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, dipping his head down to press a kiss to her tufts of wispy dark brown hair. “I’m gonna be your daddy.” Scully hangs on to him, her hands resting on his shoulder so she can keep staring at the precious little face now cradled in his arms. “She’s so small,” he chuckles, glancing at Scully for a second, then back to the baby as a few more tears escape. He’s blinking rapidly in an effort to be able to see her through the sheen of tears, but his efforts are proving fruitless. “I didn’t know anything could be so small.” Ten tiny little fingers. A button nose. Perfect fluttering eyelashes. Rosy red cheeks.

Scully leans her cheek against his bicep. “We have a daughter,” she says in awe, the full weight of those words hitting them for the first time. She rests her arm along Mulder’s, feeling the subtle rise and fall of the baby’s chest under her hand. “Oh, we love you so much already.”

It’s then that he turns to look down at her, and it hits him. He can’t hold back anymore. Not only does it not make sense, but he feels like he genuinely might spontaneously combust if he doesn’t do something.

And there’s only one thing to do, really.

He tilts his head down and pauses. She catches his movement out of the corner of her eye and shifts her gaze up to his, her eyes swimming with joy. He sees nothing to dissuade him.

Resolved, he adjusts his hold on the baby, then ducks his head and presses his lips gently to Scully’s for their second real kiss since their wedding. It’s different than the one they’d shared on New Year’s. Her lips are soft and salty with tears, but she kisses him back, eyes closed and relishing in the moment. When they break, he swallows thickly, feeling more fulfilled than he has in his entire life. He’s reluctant to open his eyes, wanting to live in that moment forever.

He loves her. He is absolutely, undeniably in love with Dana Scully, and by some miracle, she’s gone on this incredible journey with him. He still doesn’t know exactly where she stands. The plan never involved love of this kind. She didn’t sign up for this. But he hopes she might feel the same way—if not now, then someday. He wants to believe.

She’s smiling up at him when they part.

“Congratulations, Fox and Dana,” Brenda says, a beaming smile lighting up her face. “I’ll be back again before you're discharged to finalize some paperwork. Until then, you enjoy getting to know one another. I know you’ll do great.”

-.-.-

The silence in the wake of the ladies from the agency leaving is almost deafening. There’s still a ringing in his ears from when he’d kissed Scully, losing all sense of time in the few moments that their lips touched.

A tiny gurgle escapes the baby’s mouth, and it draws both of their attention back down to her. Mulder chuckles at the sight of her smacking her lips, rooting around for something to satisfy her most basic needs.

“She’s hungry,” he says, proud of himself for being able to recognize her signals already. He had worried that he wouldn’t know what he was doing, or how to take care of her, but it’s true what they say. Instincts kick in pretty quick, and your baby will tell you what they need if you know what to look for. “You want to feed her?” he asks Scully. He knows it would mean a lot to her, even if she can’t do it with milk from her own body.

She nods and gracefully takes the baby from him, settling into a rocking chair. He grabs a pillow from the bed and puts it under her arm for support, handing her a ready-made bottle of formula that one of the nurses had left for them. Then, he crouches down in front of her and just watches. The baby suckles greedily, pausing every so often like she’s falling asleep, before the motion picks back up.

“Mulder?” Scully says after a moment, her eyes not straying from the baby’s face.

“Yeah?”

“I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

His lips curl upward in a smile, and he places a hand on her knee. 

“I’ve had some pretty brilliant ideas over the years, but I think you might be right.”

She’s going to be the best mom, he thinks. It’s such a relief that they were able to make this happen. He doesn’t know what he’d have done if this, too, had failed. She’s had enough heartbreak because of this—her infertility, Emily, the IVF… Then at some point, he’d realized his fate was tied up with hers, and if she was never destined to be a mother, then—well—he’d never be a father either.

To that, he had said, “Never give up on a miracle,” and this might be it. Scully’s God works in mysterious ways, after all.

“We don’t have a name for her,” Scully says, her voice tinged with just the slightest edge of sadness.

He had tried to bring it up to her once before, but he could tell Scully hadn’t been ready for that conversation yet. She may not be a superstitious person, but when it came to their prospective parenthood, it was like she was afraid they’d jinx it if they got too excited too soon.

But they can’t put it off any longer. As much as he likes the sound of “Baby Girl Mulder,” that can’t stay her name forever. 

“Well, are there any you want to rule out?” he asks. “What about your mom or your sister?”

Scully shakes her head, gazing contemplatively at the baby’s face. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Missy… well, she was one of a kind, I don’t think it fits anyone else.”

“Mmm,” Mulder hums in agreement.

“As for my mom,” Scully continues, “she means so much to me. But I want her to have her own name, not just a copy of someone else’s.”

“It could always be a middle name,” Mulder suggests, and Scully blushes, focusing intently on keeping the bottle upright.

“I’ve– um…” she starts. “I’ve actually got a middle name in mind already.”

Mulder’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, do you?”

“Yes, but she needs a first name first.”

He breathes out through his nose, pursing his lips and nodding in thought. 

“I’m assuming small woodland creatures are out?” he says, waiting for the expected eye roll from her, and he’s not disappointed. “Well, how about this? Something that starts with an ‘M’, that way you can honor both your sister and your mom, while still giving her something new.”

He sees her mull over the idea in her head, testing it out probably a hundred different ways in the span of a few seconds.

“I’ve always liked Madeline,” she says thoughtfully. “Maddie.”

“Maddie,” Mulder says, trying it out on his tongue. 

He looks down at the baby in her arms, and tries to imagine that name belonging to her. Her mouth loses suction on the bottle for a second and she coos adorably while flailing her tongue around in search for the nipple. He takes that as a sign.

“I like it. I think it suits her.”

“Maddie,” Scully repeats.

“And the middle name?” Mulder asks, looking curious. She’s got him in suspense now. He has no idea what name might be on her mind.

She bites down on her lip, cocking her head as she observes the tiny infant. “I was thinking… Samantha.”

He sucks in a breath, his eyes flashing up to hers in an instant. She’s serious, of course she is. This isn’t something she’d joke about, like he’d joked about the woodland creatures.

“Really?” he asks.

She nods. “It’s a beautiful name,” she says, forcing her eyes away from him shyly. “But—only if you like it. Only if you think your sister would approve.”

His sister… She’s been on his mind a lot lately, to no one’s surprise. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have known how to answer this question. What would his sister think of all this? He’d been in denial back then, unable to move on with his life and his search for the truth. They couldn’t have used her name, because it would mean admitting to himself what he’d denied all along. He hadn’t been ready to let her go.

But now, he does have an answer. He’s seen her. He thinks back to the way she’d smiled at him in the forest when he told her he was going to be a father—how thrilled she had been to know he's happy and in love.

He knows without a doubt that she’d be honored to have this child carry her name.

“I think she’d like that,” he says, his voice strained by a sudden influx of tears. “She’d like you, too.”

Scully gives a wobbly smile, then ducks her head to compose herself. 

A minute passes before either of them is able to summon up the strength to form coherent language again. Mulder stands to his feet, settling his weight on the side table next to the rocking chair, not wanting to part from them even for the time it would take to pull up another chair.

“Madeline Samantha Scully,” he says aloud, looking down at the little girl who would carry that name.

“Not Scully,” his partner says quickly, glancing up at him seriously. “Mulder.”

For the second time in as many moments, he’s shell shocked by the words that she says.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. This was her dream originally, after all. He's just riding her coattails.

But she nods, her gaze unwavering. “There’s plenty of Scullys already,” she says. “The world needs more Mulders.”

Something blooms like a sunrise somewhere beneath his ribcage, and he suddenly wonders if it’s possible to die from the sheer force of the love you have stored up inside you.

“Scully… this is– this is your baby. You’re the one who’s wanted this for so long…”

“What I want is a Mulder,” she says, smiling sadly at his own self doubt. “I thought with the IVF, that was obvious.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. She couldn’t possibly be saying what he thinks she’s saying. But then again, he recalls a time several years ago when she’d asked him about his genetic makeup.

Well, this child doesn’t share his DNA, nor Scully’s, but she’s theirs in all the ways that matter. Of course, he’ll be happy to give her his name.

“Madeline Samantha Mulder,” he amends, marveling at how it sounds spoken aloud. It’s perfect. And it means more to him than Scully will ever know.

“You know what else starts with ‘M?’” Scully asks, in a lighter tone than before.

He senses she’s about to tease him, so he beats her to the punch. “Mothman?” he guesses sarcastically.

She smiles in fond exasperation. “You, Mulder.”

“Hmm,” he hums happily, then pokes her in the shoulder with his elbow. “You know what else starts with ‘S?’”

“Please don’t say Skunk Ape,” she says, drawing a genuine laugh out of him. Her quickness of wit is one of the things he loves most about her. He doesn’t need to give her the correct answer to his question. They both know his favorite word of all time is ‘Scully.’

“A lovely name for a lovely little girl,” he says, reaching down to play with her tiny socked feet. “Welcome to the world, Maddie.”

Chapter Text

Feeding the baby is slow going, but Mulder thinks they ought to cut her a little slack. It is her first day, after all. Eventually, she takes a longer pause and yawns, her tiny mouth opening wide and showing off her gums.

“That’s a big yawn for such a small person,” Mulder says, watching as Scully sets the bottle aside, lifting Madeline to her shoulder to pat her on the back. It isn’t long before she successfully expels a burp, drawing a chuckle out of Mulder. She’s so good with her already. He can’t wait to see his partner grow and change as a mother. Which reminds him: Mother’s Day is coming up. He’ll have to do something to celebrate.

“It really happened,” Scully says, marveling once more at their situation.

“It did,” he says, then thinks. “Should we tell your mom now?”

She laughs, nodding her head in agreement. Yeah, it’s probably safe to share the news now, isn’t it? “She’s gonna be beside herself.”

“She’s not gonna speak to us for months, for keeping this from her,” Mulder says, the joke an attempt to alleviate the tinge of genuine worry he has.

“I don’t know, I think we’ve got a pretty good Get-out-of-Jail-Free card here,” Scully says, looking down at the baby and bouncing her gently. “She won’t be able to stay away from her first granddaughter.”

Just then, Mulder gets a whiff of something not so pleasant, and he chuckles nervously. “Phew, are you sure? Cause this little stinker certainly knows how to clear a room.”

Scully gives him a thinly-veiled look of amusement, but he can tell she’s put off by the smell too, even with her strong forensic pathologist’s stomach. This will take some getting used to.

“Well, I got to be the one to give her her first bottle,” she says. “You want to do the first diaper change?”

“Somehow, I don’t feel like that’s a fair trade,” Mulder says, laughing. Even so, he doesn’t hesitate to lift the baby from Scully’s arms and carry her over to the changing table, which is outfitted with all the supplies they could possibly need. 

Scully stands by on the opposite side of the table for moral support, watching him with a funny smile on her face. It takes a second for him to find his rhythm—a real live baby with flailing legs is a bit different than an inanimate baby doll, after all—but he vows that in no time, he’ll be a pro. 

“There we go,” he says, tossing the dirty diaper into the trash can from a distance. “A 3-pointer! And the crowd goes wild!”

Scully rolls her eyes, lifting the baby back into her arms and burying her nose in Madeline’s hair.

“How’d I do?” Mulder asks.

Scully smiles up at him from beneath her thick lashes. “Fresh as a daisy,” she says. “I should probably try to get her to sleep. Are you going to call your mom?”

“Yeah,” Mulder says, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, I’ll call her later tonight. She usually plays bridge with some friends Tuesday afternoons. At least, I think she still does.” In truth, he hadn’t talked to her much since her release from the hospital, a fact that he really needs to remedy.

Scully nods.

“Well, could you get my mom on the phone and let her know to come? I’m going to get Maddie cleaned up a little before we have visitors.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea, Scully,” he says. “When I call her from the hospital, it’s usually not good news.”

Scully gives him an encouraging look before laying the baby in her bassinet for a quick sponge bath. “Well, this is the perfect chance to change that up, don’t you think?”

She’s right, of course. He owes Margaret Scully an awful lot. Let this be the first step toward earning the kindness she has so freely bestowed so many times over the years.

He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, pressing the buttons for speed dial 4. It only rings twice before it connects.

“Hello?” her voice projects.

“Hey, Mrs. Scully.”

“Fox? Is there something wrong?”

He sighs. He can almost see the pinched Scully look of concern on the elder woman’s face. That’s what he gets for constantly being the bearer of bad news, he supposes. He glances at his partner and then back at the boring pastel colored painting of a flower on the wall.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mrs. Scully,” he assures her. “Actually, it’s kind of the opposite.”

“I don’t understand—”

“How quickly can you get to the hospital in Annapolis?” he asks. “Bearing in mind that no one’s hurt, there’s been no disaster. For once, it’s good news.”

“The hospital?” she questions, still sounding worried despite his reassurances. “I can leave now, so maybe 45 minutes? You’re sure everything’s alright?”

“Promise,” he says. “Dana would have called you herself, but she’s… busy.”

“If you say so,” Maggie says doubtfully.

Gee, he wonders where Scully got her skepticism from. 

“Room 509 when you get here,” he says into the phone, checking his watch for the time. “See you soon?”

He can hear the rustle of a jacket and car keys on the other end of the line. “Yes– yes, I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.” 

-.-.-

“No, you must have misunderstood me,” Maggie says to the nurse leading the way through the hospital corridors, “I’m looking for Dana Scully in room 509. This is the maternity ward.”

“Yes, ma’am. Room 509.”

“But that can’t be right,” she says, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Maybe Dana is working a case that involves a pregnant woman that required her medical expertise. But why would Fox call her asking her to come?

“You can go on in,” the nurse says as they arrive outside the room.

Thoroughly confused and not knowing what to expect, she pushes open the door. On the far end of the room, Dana sits on a couch, her arm resting against a cart of some kind, while Fox stands, his back to the door, hunched over the same cart. He turns and a smile spreads across his face, and Dana quickly gets to her feet, looking equal parts excited and nervous.

“Mom!” she says.

“Dana? What’s going on?”

She’s not dressed in her doctor garb. She is, however, wearing her usual FBI clothing, though it looks a little rumpled. Her daughter is usually so prim and polished—to gain the respect of her male peers, she supposes—it’s unusual to see her looking anything less than professional on a work day.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she says, walking quickly toward her with only a cursory glance back at Fox. “There was always a chance it wouldn’t work out, but…”

She runs out of words to say, opting instead to grab her mother’s arm and start tugging her to the other side of the room. The beaming smiles on their faces are unlike any Maggie had seen in quite some time.

As they get closer, Maggie sees that the cart she saw earlier is in fact a hospital bassinet, and inside lays a baby, wide awake and blinking as she holds tight to Fox’s finger.

“What– how–?” she begins, stuttering, her hand coming up to clutch her metaphorical pearls. “Dana, is that–?”

“Mom, I’d like you to meet your granddaughter,” Dana says, her voice shaking with emotion. Maggie looks up at her, then back at the baby. Tears pool in Dana’s eyes, and she supports her mother as they step up to the bassinet so she can get a good look.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Dana!” she says, feeling her own eyes begin to water. “But, how? I was with you just a few weeks ago. And, is Fox–?”

“Mulder and I– Well, it’s a long story,” she starts. “Last year, I decided to try in vitro fertilization, and Mulder agreed to… help.” 

Maggie looks up at that, and she doesn’t miss the blush as it spreads across the man’s cheeks. He ducks his head, trying to focus only on the baby.

“It didn’t work, which is why I didn’t tell you,” Dana continues. “I didn’t want to… get your hopes up.”

“Oh, Dana,” Maggie says, looking sad. She wishes her daughter would confide in her more. She stores things up for so long, that when it all finally comes out, it’s hard to be of any help. She has so many questions, and she’s not sure Dana will give her all the answers.

“I thought that was my last chance to be a mother. But then, a few months ago, Mulder said that—” 

It clearly makes her emotional to think of, now, whatever her daughter’s partner had offered to do. 

“He said that if I wanted to try adoption, he’d do it with me.”

Adoption.

“I can’t believe it,” Maggie says, in awe of the tiny baby, and of the man who had made all of it possible. Fox Mulder had changed her daughter’s life forever, and she doesn’t think there’s any way she could possibly repay him.

“I can’t believe it either,” Dana laughs, and she sees Fox nod his agreement. This is a crazy thing that they have done. She'd thought that something was up with the two of them lately, of course, but never in a million years would she have guessed this. 

“Would you like to hold her, Mrs. Scully?” the man asks, gently lifting the baby out of her bassinet.

Overwhelmed and caught off guard by the sight of Fox Mulder holding a child, Maggie can only nod as she accepts the tiny bundle into the cradle of her arms. Tears spring to her eyes.

“Oh…” she sighs, unable to keep the tears at bay. “This is such a… a wonderful surprise. What’s her name?”

“Madeline Samantha Mulder,” Dana says proudly, glancing up at her partner in some form of unspoken communication.

That grabs her interest. 

“Mulder?” she asks curiously. “So you’re…” She gestures between the two of them with her free hand, and catches the glint of a ring on Fox’s left ring finger. Her eyebrows raise.

“We decided we’d raise the baby together. To make the application simpler, we got married,” Dana answers.

Married?!

“When?” she asks, equal parts thrilled and furious that she’d been left out of these plans.

“Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas…” she whispers, thinking back to that day. “That’s why you two had to go rushing off? You were getting married?” she says, aghast.

“Mom—”

“Your entire family was in town, Dana, even Charlie! Don’t you think we would have liked to be there for you on your special day?”

“It isn’t like that,” Dana says, her frustration rising. “It was just a formality. We went to the courthouse. We needed the papers so that we’d be seen as a couple looking to adopt on our applications. Otherwise, we might have been rejected. And you know they’re not the most accepting of single mothers—”

Wait, wait, wait. Back up. 

“I don’t understand,” she says, “You’re married but not… together?”

Fox and Dana look at each other, and Maggie knows the answer before they say it. Her stomach sinks.

“No,” Dana says, a little hint of disappointment in her voice. “Not really.”

Glancing between the two of them, Maggie detects disappointment from both sides, not that either of them can probably tell. They’re so blind to what the other is feeling, that it would be funny if it didn’t make Maggie so sad. All the things they’re missing out on, just because they’re both too stubborn to admit the truth. 

It’s probably only a matter of time anyway, she decides, no use harping on about it for now. If another month goes by with no sign of progress, she'll say something. That's as far as she'll go.

“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” she says curtly, pressing her lips together. “Frustrating.”

“Now you sound like my mother,” Fox jokes, in that self-deprecating tone of voice she wishes he’d stop using.

Maggie sighs, glancing back down at the gurgling baby in her arms. She sure is awfully cute.

“You’re lucky you gave me a granddaughter for all this nonsense I have to put up with,” she says, though not unkindly. She can say this at least about Fox and Dana: this baby will know a kind of love few people in this world get to experience.

They just have to pull themselves together first.

-.-.-

Maddie falls asleep on Mulder’s chest sometime after Mrs. Scully starts talking about breaking the news to Scully’s brothers, and to be honest, he’s glad for the distraction. It does, however, mean he’s kind of trapped there when Scully decides to go ask a nurse about bringing up some lunch for them from the cafeteria, leaving him alone with her mother and the baby.

They sit in silence for a while, neither really knowing what to say. At a certain point, though, Mulder can’t take the quiet anymore.

“You think Scully’s crazy, don’t you,” he says, more of a statement than a question.

“I’m not sure I know what to think,” Maggie answers. “About Dana.”

Mulder winces. He’d have to stop doing that. “Sorry, habit.”

“Ever since she met you, her life has been upside down and backwards from what I always thought it would be,” she continues.

“I know.”

“I don’t blame you, Fox.” Maggie’s hand settles atop his on the armrest of the couch, almost weightless. “She’s happy with you, otherwise she wouldn’t have stayed this long. I may not know much about my daughter these days, but I do know that.”

“I’m happier with her than I have ever been,” he admits. “And now—” he looks down at Madeline. “I didn’t know this much happiness existed.”

Maggie smiles, a little sadly. He’s used to people looking at him like that, the poor kid with the tragic backstory. He just wishes she wouldn’t. 

The room falls silent again. A funny look comes over her face, and he gets the sense that she's holding something back.

“And, where will you live?” she asks, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“We’re going to be looking for a house,” he answers, “but for now I’ve been sleeping in… Dana’s spare bedroom.”

Maggie purses her lips. “No nursery?”

“Not yet,” he says, shaking his head. “We figure she’ll sleep just fine in a bassinet for the first few months.”

“And that will be in Dana’s room?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, will you be helping when she wakes up needing to be fed or changed in the middle of the night?”

What is this, some high-stakes interview for a job? He really hadn’t been prepared for this.

“Of– of course I will,” he answers, perplexed by the fact that she even has to ask. Of course he’ll help take care of the baby, he and Scully are in this together, as they are with everything.

Maggie hums. You could almost hear a pin drop.

“Seems like it would just be easier if you were both in the same room to begin with,” she states, shrugging her shoulders like what she’d said was no big deal. She sips nonchalantly from a styrofoam cup of coffee and doesn’t look at him.

Now, Mulder doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea... “Mrs. Scully—” he starts.

“It’s Maggie, Fox,” she says kindly but firmly, interrupting him. “You’re my son-in-law now, I think you can call me by my first name.”

He sighs, and feels the baby let out a sigh against his chest. You and me both, kid. 

“Maggie…” he corrects. “Look, Scully—Dana—is my best friend. And we’ve agreed to be parents and raise Madeline together, but we’re not—”

“Fox,” she interrupts again. “It’s very sweet that you’ve taken on this role as Madeline’s father, but what about Dana? Doesn’t she deserve a real marriage, with a husband who does more than care for her as the co-parent of their child? Don’t you deserve more?”

The very idea that Scully might not be enough for him offends him deeply, and he’s quick to tell her so. “I couldn’t possibly ask for more than your daughter,” he says. “She’s– she’s all I need. Her and Madeline. As for Dana…”

“She needs you, too.”

“No, but–”

“Don’t take what I’m saying the wrong way,” Maggie says seriously, leaning toward him. “Dana deserves a real husband, who loves and cares for her in all the ways a husband should.” 

She levels a stare at Mulder, and he waits for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’m not saying that shouldn’t be you.”

What?

It’s not like he hasn’t thought of this before—he has—but to be talking about it with her mother? Twenty years from now, if Madeline were to have a friend like Mulder, he’d tell her to run away as fast as she possibly could. But—that isn’t what Margaret is saying, is it?

In fact… it seems like she’s saying the exact opposite.

“You care for her, don’t you?” she asks.

“I do, but—”

“You love her?”

Mulder’s jaw hangs open, his automatic reply dying on his lips. His heart pounds in his chest, and he spares a quick thought toward Maddie and hopes it won’t disturb her somehow. He wants to answer her, but he doesn’t know how. His throat closes up almost completely as tears pool in his eyes, and he doesn’t trust his voice to come out right if he tried. 

He glances down at Maddie, this precious little life he and Scully have vowed to take care of.

“It doesn’t matter if I do,” he says quietly. “She doesn’t… feel the same way.” 

He can’t look at Margaret right now. He’s afraid of what he would see if he did. 

“She deserves better than what I can give her,” he finishes, taking comfort in the warmth of his daughter burrowed into his chest.

Maggie is quiet for a moment. Then, she says, “It looks, to me, like you’ve given her quite a lot.”

True or not, there’s still the matter of everything else his presence in her life has done for her. To her.

“It doesn’t compare to how much has been taken...” he says.

“Which you are not responsible for.” Maggie’s stare is unrelenting, he has no choice but to take every word she speaks to heart. “Ask yourself who else in Dana’s life would have been able to make this possible for her. Who else would make such a life-changing decision, just to make her dream come true?”

“Any guy would have to be stupid not to,” Mulder states the obvious.

“You sell yourself too short, Fox,” Maggie says, shaking her head in either annoyance or disappointment. He doesn’t like either of those directed at him—not from Margaret Scully. “There’s no one she trusts more than you,” she says emphatically. “She wouldn’t have done this with anyone else by her side.”

Maggie sits back, apparently finished dressing him down. The baby squirms and then settles in her sleep, still exhausted from the eventful day she’s had. He can’t help but think about what Maggie had said—that Scully would only ever do this with him, no one else. He wants to push back, to say that isn’t true, but he knows in his heart that it is. 

The question is: what does that mean for him? What does it mean for them?

Maggie gives a tiny smile, watching as he absentmindedly rubs tiny circles on Maddie’s back, lost in thought.

“Dana has told me some of the more unbelievable things you believe in, Fox…” she says quietly. “Aliens, ghosts, monsters… Given that, I would think it would be easier.”

“That what would be easier?” Mulder asks, the drone of his murmur matching the tone she had set.

Maggie smiles at him fondly, her knowing eyes meeting his. 

“For you to believe she loves you.”

Chapter Text

Scully’s mom stays until dinner, and promises to stop by with some meals for their freezer once they’ve settled in at home. As soon as Scully had returned, they’d behaved as if their conversation had never happened, and Mulder tried to put it out of his mind. Whatever Scully may or may not feel for him isn’t the most important thing right now. She needs him to be focused, to help her with the baby. He knows himself—he’s a one-track mind kind of guy. The last thing he wants is for her to think he can’t handle this just because he’s distracted by something else.

Before she leaves, Maggie goes down to the gift shop and purchases a disposable camera and a plush fox with the softest fur Mulder has ever felt. He smiles at her joke, introducing the animal to a wide eyed Madeline who clearly doesn’t know what to make of it.

Grandma Maggie then spends the next thirty minutes or so taking pictures of everything and everyone until the entire roll of film is full. She insists on taking several of all three of them together, in various poses, which she assures them they will thank her for one day. It reminds Mulder of the time they’d had to take pretend pictures for their undercover assignment in California, only this is on another level.

He wonders what the film will reveal when it gets developed. Will the poses be stiff and forced, like they had been in Arcadia? Or would it look real? Would an unknown observer believe them to be a normal family, if they didn’t know any better? 

He finds himself hoping so. He’s tired of pretending. So, so tired.

He walks Maggie down to the entrance of the hospital, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. All things considered, their surprise had gone over fairly well. It remained to be seen how the rest of the Scully clan would react, but at least they had the matron of the family on their side. 

In this way, maybe it was a good thing the IVF hadn’t worked. There would have certainly been a threatening letter headed his way if he’d actually impregnated Scully, however clinically they had accomplished it.

“Drive safe, Mrs. Scully,” he says, the automatic doors sliding open as they approach.

“Maggie,” she reminds him, her eyes crinkling with a smile.

He nods. “Maggie.”

He expects her to go, then, but instead she turns to face him, pulling him into a motherly hug. It surprises him at first, but his mind quickly catches up and he returns the embrace.

“You tell her how you feel,” she says softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze before pulling back. Her hand comes up to cup his cheek, and her eyes shine brightly at him with a fondness that makes his heart feel warm and fuzzy. “Okay? She deserves to hear it.”

He doesn’t want to commit either way, so as not to disappoint her, so instead of responding, he merely presses his lips together and gives a sheepish nod/shrug combo.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve made me today,” she says. “You take care of my girl, alright?”

This, he can agree to without question.

“Always.”

She gives one final nod, then reaches up to press a kiss to his cheek. He smiles, unused to this kind of motherly affection, but glad to receive it.

“Bye, Maggie.”

“Goodbye, Fox. I’ll see you soon.”

-.-.-

By the time he gets back to their room, dinner has been delivered, and Scully is giving Maddie another bottle. He’d feel bad eating without her, so instead he walks to the window, peeking out at the golden hue that the sun is starting to cast on the otherwise boring landscape. He sighs, pulling out his cell phone and hovering his thumb over the keypad. Maggie Scully gave him a lot to think about.

He punches in the number he knows by heart and waits as the tone sounds once, twice, and a third time before the line connects.

“Hello?”

"Hey, Mom," he says. In his periphery, he can see Scully’s head turn toward him, but he tries to ignore her watchful gaze, instead focusing on the people down below in the parking lot.

"Fox?"

"Yeah, how you feeling? You doing okay?" He really does not know how to start this conversation, but he doesn’t want to put it off any longer. Small talk with his mother is among the most uncomfortable things he can imagine, but it’s really all they know how to do these days. Maybe they’ll get better at it with practice. 

"I'm doing fine,” she answers. “What is it?"

"Sorry if I’m interrupting your dinner,” he says, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck. “I can call tomorrow if that's better."

He hears the rejection before she even says it. "I have an appointment tomorrow. What’s this about?"

"Right, um." He pauses, pacing to the right into the darkened corner of the room and then back toward the window. "I just wanted to let you know that, uh– Scully and I decided to adopt a baby. She was born this morning, we're with her now."

"Scully?"

"My partner,” he states. “At the FBI."

"Right, yes. You… adopted a baby?" She sounds understandably confused, probably wondering many of the same things Mrs. Scully had asked about, though without the same level of investment in their answers.

"Yeah, uh, it's kind of been in the works for a while. And—" he pauses again, glancing back at Scully from across the room. "We got married."

The other end of the line is silent and for a moment, he begins to wonder if the connection went dead. But he can just hear the faint ticking of that irritating cuckoo clock in the kitchen that he’d always hated, so she must still be listening.

"To help with the application process, you know," he adds, as if that made their actions any more comprehensible to a rational human being.

"That's– wonderful news, Fox,” she says at last. “I didn't realize that was something you were interested in pursuing."

"Well, with everything going on, there wasn't really a good time to tell you," he says, letting out a sigh of relief now that the secret was out. "But, we're really happy."

"That's– that's good to hear."

He remembers how she’d wanted him to let go of Samantha—to make a life for himself outside of the search for his sister. He hopes she’ll be proud of him now that he’s doing just that. 

Even if she isn’t, and can’t be there for him like he wishes she was, he’ll be happy. He has a family of his own now, and his mother is alive. That’s all he can really ask for. They can work on mending fences in the coming months, even if it’s slow going. The important thing is that he didn’t lose her. Not yet.

"Well, I should let you go,” he says awkwardly, the stale silences between sentences making him increasingly anxious the longer he spends on the phone. “I just thought you should know you have a granddaughter. Madeline is her name."

"Madeline,” his mother repeats. “I'm glad you called. Give my regards to– to–"

"Dana," he fills in.

"Yes, give my regards to Dana."

He goes to hang up the phone, his finger hovering over the end call button, but before he can, he hears a final, "Oh, and Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever decide to make a trip up the coast..."

She trails off, and he senses that she doesn't possess the words to finish that sentence, even if she means them. Reaching out to him has always been hard for her. He has to meet her halfway.

"I'm sure we will soon," he says, a hint of a promise in his words.

"I'd like that," she says, and it really does sound like she means it.

"Bye, Mom."

"Bye, Fox. Congratulations."

With a distinct click, the line disconnects, and he snaps his phone shut, frozen in deep thought.

“How did it go?” Scully asks from behind him.

“She's thrilled,” he answers.

“Really?”

He chuckles. “As thrilled as my mother can be about anything, I think.”

“Ah.”

He looks at the two of them there, Scully and Madeline, and pictures them sitting on the couch in his mother’s living room. It’s not as crazy to imagine as he thought it might have been. Maybe his mom would bake those lemon cookies he and Samantha used to like when they were kids. Maybe Scully could squeeze the recipe out of her, and he could learn to bake them himself.

“Hey– how would you feel about going to visit her someday?” he asks, trying to keep the question casual in case she has no interest in doing any such thing.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, looking at him with a sympathetic eye. “She's your mother. Of course I'd like to go.”

He plays it cool, but her answer warms his heart. None of Scully’s interactions with his mother have been particularly pleasant, even the most recent one, and sometimes he feels that she got the raw end of the deal. While he has gained a loving mother-in-law who is sure to spoil their baby rotten, Scully gets a broken family that has been almost completely eradicated by a shadowy government organization. He wishes he had something better to offer her.

“Not scared of the dreaded mother-in-law?” he asks, hoping it comes across as teasing instead of revealing the insecurity he truly feels.

To his relief, she smiles. “I can handle her,” she says.

Yes. Yes she can.

-.-.-

By 9:00 p.m., the exhaustion of such a long and eventful day had started to catch up to them. It had been a challenge to keep Madeline up for the last hour or so, but Scully insisted that she needed to get started on a sleep schedule as soon as possible, and she had read every recommendation in every book, so he deferred to her expertise.

Now that it has officially been declared bedtime, however, Maddie seems determined to stay up, too busy looking at her surroundings with great interest.

“Here, do you want to try to get her to sleep?” Scully asks, shifting the baby in her arms. “She just keeps staring at me, like she's not even tired.”

Mulder gladly agrees, setting down the book he had been reading on the table he was sitting at. “You know what they say. Those who can't do, teach. And I can never sleep.”

Scully laughs, raising Maddie up as high as she can without standing to make the transfer easier.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Mulder says, reaching for the infant and lifting her into his arms. It takes some adjusting, but once her blankets are all smoothed out, her tiny body relaxes into the cradle of his arms.

Scully was right. Her eyes are wide open, just taking in everything around her.

“You gotta close your eyes if you want to sleep, darlin’,” Mulder coos, bouncing her back and forth in what he hopes is a sleep-inducing motion.

“At least she's not crying,” Scully points out, watching them with a smile on her face.

“Nah, she's happy as a clam. Aren't you, Maddie?” he says.

She sneezes in response.

“Bless you!” Scully says, laughing. “Mulder, make sure the blanket isn't tickling her nose.”

He adjusts it down below her chin, smiling at the confused expression on her little face.

“That was the tiniest sneeze I've ever heard, Scully,” Mulder says in awe, love practically dripping from his voice. He runs a finger over the baby’s warm, rosy cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin.

He can't help it, he cranes his neck down to reach her, pressing his lips to the squishy baby fat of her cheek, dropping near endless kisses there.

“Her cheeks are just so kissable,” he says, laughing at himself.

“You're riling her up, Mulder,” Scully says disapprovingly, though her smile says something else. “Now she's wide awake.”

She stands, taking the few steps over to where he's standing and presses a kiss of her own to Madeline’s cheek.

“You're right, though,” she speaks.

When she looks up at him, he takes a chance, bending to brush his lips against her cheek, dangerously close to her lips.

“Your cheeks are pretty kissable too, Scully,” he says as he pulls back, delighted to see said cheeks turning ever so slightly pink in the dim light.

He can’t tell her, not yet. But that doesn’t mean he can’t show her. Maybe once she’s collected enough evidence, she’ll come to the right conclusion on her own. She is a woman of science, after all.

They look down at the little infant in his arms, and breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief when they see her start to heavy blink. Mulder finds that walking her around in circles helps, so he does a number of laps around the room, checking with each lap to see if he’s been successful yet.

By lap six, her eyes have fallen shut, and a moment later, her soft breaths even out. With all the carefulness of defusing a bomb, he sets her down in her plastic bassinet, and feels immense pride when she doesn’t immediately wake up and ruin all the progress he’d made. She shifts a little, and then settles, a look of pure contentment on her face.

Scully comes up to stand beside him, both peering down at the little girl who will be theirs to love and cherish for the rest of their lives. 

“You know, I always felt like something was missing, but I didn’t know what it was,” Mulder muses, his voice a mere whisper. “Is it crazy if I say it was a baby?”

Scully’s lips pull back in a soft smile, and she leans her head on his bicep, unable to tear her eyes away from the sleeping child. 

“It’s not crazy, Mulder,” she says, intertwining her hand with his. “I think you’re right. This is exactly what we’ve been missing.”

Chapter Text

The scent of cigarette smoke wakes her, burning her nostrils with its offensive odor.

It reminds her of the days before—when he’d come in the night, speaking in hushed tones with her husband and effectively plotting the end of her life and happiness. The downfall of the family she’d worked so hard to hold together.

It had been a long time since family meant more to her than heartache and regret. She’s not about to let him take it away again. Not when she might have just gotten it back.

“Get out of my house,” she says, her voice coming out strong and commanding despite the late hour.

“Teena,” he intones, as if surprised to find her in her own home. “How nice to see you.” 

She flicks the light on above him, depriving him of the precious darkness he likes to hide behind. He’s always been too theatrical for her taste. It used to intimidate her, even scare her. Not anymore.

She grips Bill’s old shotgun in her hands.

“Are you going to shoot me, Teena?” he says, squinting at her and chuckling a bit under his breath. It doesn’t look like she’ll need to, at this rate. He’s already run himself halfway into the ground without her help.

A pity.

She adjusts her hold on the weapon anyway. It’s loaded, of course. She isn’t a fool. 

“What do you want, Spender?” she asks impatiently. “There’s nothing more for you here.”

“Is there not?” he asks coolly, leaning toward the coffee table where he has set out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I thought you might like to celebrate. I heard the good news, of course.”

The hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. Of course he’d heard. He has eyes and ears everywhere. She’d given up long ago trying to keep things from him. It never ended well.

“You stay away from my son and his family,” she spits, raising the barrel of the gun toward him. He doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Don’t you mean our son, Teena?” he asks, smirking up at her. “I think that makes them my family too, if I’m not mistaken.”

She reels back in disgust. “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” she says accusingly. “And you are not his father.”

The smoking man chuckles heartily again, taking a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “Oh, I assure you, I am. I’ve had Fox’s DNA tested on several occasions. The results are quite conclusive.”

“I don’t care what your results say,” she says, a fire burning in her eyes. “DNA doesn’t mean one thing when it comes to family.”

Spender purses his lips, but otherwise doesn’t respond. He knows there’s nothing he can say to that.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he says after a tense silence. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t be convinced. I don’t need to be his father to leave an impression on him, do I?” 

He gets to his feet, approaching her one step at a time, unbothered by the weapon she holds.

She holds her ground.

“I can be very persuasive, if you’ll recall,” he says, reaching up to touch a stray tuft of hair on her head.

Enough.

“You relinquished any hold you may have had on him the day you entrusted him to Agent Scully,” she spits, jabbing the mouth of the gun into his side and pushing him back a few inches. “Now, you can either heed my warning, or face the consequences.”

He tilts his head curiously, the ever-present smirk on his face unwavering.

“Is that so? And what might those be?”

He has no idea, does he, how much damage she could do. Decades of righteous anger stored up inside her, a front row seat to some of the most horrific and evil acts of mankind…

“Do you forget that I was there, Spender?” she asks, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I was there from the beginning. I’ve heard it all—seen everything. Can you really risk letting what I know get out?”

“You seem to think I can’t kill you where you stand,” he says, leveling her with a menacing stare, dropping his earlier unaffected demeanor. “If sleeping pills are your method of choice, that can easily be arranged.”

She scoffs at him.

“You won’t kill me,” she says confidently. “And I will not be intimidated by you.”

For all the times she stayed silent, for all the fear that once controlled her—this is her redemption.

C.G.B. Spender is a stain on humanity, and she will not allow him to meddle in her life any longer.

“There are two ways this can end,” she states, her voice low and serious. “Either you disappear, and never come near my family again—or I watch you bleed out all over my grandmother’s rug. Your choice.”

He lifts his cigarette to his lips. As he exhales, a cloud of smoke envelops her face, but she does not waver.

“I’ll go,” he says evenly. “No need to desecrate such a lovely antique.”

That’s the thing she had never noticed as a younger woman: that this man is nothing but a coward. Everything he does, every action he takes, is to save his own skin and nothing more. Only her son was bold enough to stand up to him. He had shown her the cracks in Spender’s armor.

“You’ll stay away from Fox and Dana,” she states, watching as he turns to leave.

He glances back at her.

“Your threat holds no real power over me,” he says offhandedly, notably not agreeing to her terms. Bending down over the coffee table, he picks up the glass of whiskey he’d poured for himself and takes a sip. “Anything you might reveal of my business would be dismissed as the ravings of a madwoman. And you’re right, I don’t want to kill you. But I will, if you force my hand. Nothing will be revealed that I do not wish to be revealed.”

“Ha,” Teena laughs humorlessly. He thinks so highly of himself, like he’s some kind of all-knowing god, controlling the events of this world like some grandiose puppetmaster.

She’s seen behind the curtain, though, and she knows better. She’s learned how to play his game.

“If you think my death would stop the truth from coming out, you’re more of a fool than I thought,” she says. “How long have I known you, Spender, that I wouldn’t have put in failsafes in the event of my death?”

Oh, is that a flicker of fear, she detects?

“I’ve had the better part of three decades to plan for your downfall,” she continues. “I do not fear death as you do.”

His lips remain tightly closed, his whiskey forgotten.

She leans in close, meeting his cold, unfeeling eyes head on.

“And that is why you will always fail.”

There’s a kind of delirious satisfaction in watching him go. It’s a waste of oxygen, she thinks, that he continues to live, but she will not stoop to his level. Not unless absolutely necessary.

He slinks back into the shadows from whence he came, and she prays that’s the last she will ever see or hear from him again. She’s prepared to follow through with her threats, if it’s not.

The shotgun goes back to its rightful place under her bed, with all her husband’s old things. He had been a good man, before he got swept up in Spender’s world. She tries, now, to remember that side of him, and not the one that came later. Enough of her life has been spent being angry, and she’s tired of it. She’s tired of the sadness and the bitterness.

It’s time for her to move past all that.

She lays back in her bed, the one that had almost been her deathbed, and breathes in deeply. Once upon a time, she had needed copious amounts of sleeping pills just to get through the night. The horrors that awaited her when she closed her eyes were unbearable, so traumatizing that she’d even experience nightmarish hallucinations.

But now?

Well, for the first time in years, Teena Mulder has a peaceful night’s sleep.

Chapter Text

He knows he should be sleeping. Scully is snoozing away on the bed, and has been for quite some time now. Then again, once her head hits a pillow, he knows she’s hard-pressed to stay awake for even five minutes.

Him, however…

He sits up on the ugly upholstered couch, stretching his neck in a futile attempt to straighten out the kinks.

He’s a father.

The thought is almost beyond comprehension. If he’d actually been asleep, he might have thought it had all been a dream. But, no. He’s sitting in a hospital room a mere ten feet away from Scully, and they’re parents.

It feels both sudden, and like it was years in the making.

Casting a quick glance over to his sleeping partner, he rises to his feet and tiptoes to the doorway, pulling the door open as quietly as possible. The brightness of the fluorescent lights in the hallway causes him to squint momentarily until his eyes can adjust. A sign comes into focus in front of him on the wall, pointing him in the direction he wants to go.

A few hours ago, the nurses came by to check on the three of them, ensuring that they had everything they needed for the night. They’d offered to take the baby to the nursery so that the new parents could rest, and though it was tough to see that little cherubic face go, he and Scully both knew that their nights of getting a somewhat acceptable amount of sleep were numbered. They eventually agreed, and like magic, Scully had slipped into her silk pajamas and under the paper-thin hospital sheets before he even knew what happened.

Now, though, he figures he might as well do something useful with his insomnia-induced awake time, so he heads down the hall until he comes to a large glass window. Behind it, the lights are dimmed, but bright enough that he can see the seven or eight babies sleeping peacefully in individual plastic bassinets.

His cheeks twitch with the beginnings of a smile as he takes in the gentle rise and fall of their little bellies, their first soft breaths of this new life.

Each one has a name tacked onto the plastic bin of the bassinet, proudly announcing the date and time each was born. His eyes roam over every one until he spots her. His little girl.

Though he’s already had the better part of a day to get to know her, the sight of her still knocks the breath out of his lungs.

Almost as if she senses she is being watched, she begins to fuss, the hat that was keeping her head warm beginning to fall off. He can see wetness building around her eyes, tears leaking out and drying on her rosy cheeks.

Mulder puts his hand on the glass, wishing there was something he could do.

Thankfully, a nurse comes bustling in, bunching the little pink stocking cap back onto her head and whispering soothing words that he can’t hear.

He taps softly against the glass, not loud enough to disturb the other sleeping infants, but sufficient to get the attention of the nurse. After adjusting the baby’s blankets, she looks up, offering Mulder a small smile.

“Can I see her?” he mouths, pointing at his daughter. He raises his wrist and points to the hospital band that declares him the baby’s father, and the woman’s smile widens. After double-checking that Madeline is back asleep, the nurse comes around to the hallway, clipboard in hand.

“Already on that new parent sleep schedule, I see,” she jokes, eyes scanning down a list of names.

Mulder chuckles. “Been practicing for years,” he says.

“Can I see your band?” she asks, and he presents it to her. She checks the ID number on it against the information on her documentation, and nods. “You wanna take her back to your room?”

He hesitates. “Uh, my… wife’s still sleeping. I don’t want to wake her.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to calling her that…

“Not a problem, Mr. Mulder. We’ve got a room back here you can use, if you like.”

“That would be great.”

The nurse leads him back to a side room at the back of the nursery equipped with a few chairs and all the necessary supplies.

“Let me go get your little girl,” she says, before disappearing through the doorway. She’s back moments later, the baby now blinking awake in her arms.

Mulder mentally kicks himself.

“I shouldn’t have had you disturb her, she needs her sleep,” he says, a tinge of regret causing his shoulders to slump as she rests little Madeline in the cradle of his arms. Parent rule #1, if your baby is sleeping (by some miracle), don’t even breathe in the wrong direction. Just count your blessings.

He’s already messing it up.

His self-chastisement is cut short by the warm chuckle of the night nurse. “She’ll go right back to sleep, don’t you worry. She’s all tuckered out from her busy day!” she assures him.

Mulder relaxes, smiling a grateful smile up at her.

“Let me know when you’re heading back to your room,” she says, taking her leave.

Once she’s gone, Mulder’s attention falls to the wide-eyed little creature staring up at him. Her eyes are baby blue, a different shade than Scully’s, but he’s probably the only person on the planet that could tell you so. The flutter of her eyelashes mesmerizes him.

“Hi,” he breathes, tears involuntarily pooling in his eyes for what must be the millionth time that day. Maddie wriggles in her tightly swaddled blankets, and Mulder tugs on them to make sure they don’t fall loose.

After some effort, one tiny little arm escapes its confines despite his attempt at stopping it. He shakes his head with a breath of laughter, reaching out with his free hand to let her wrap his finger in her miniscule fist. With his thumb, he begins tracing soft circles on her warm, baby soft skin.

Has he ever held a hand so small? Five perfect, pudgy fingers on each hand. The tiniest fingernails he’s ever seen. That cute button nose and chubby cheeks. Rosebud lips and a chin that he’s noticed juts out just a little when she’s about to cry.

She’s perfect, his Madeline. And he vows to protect her from all the harm in this world.

“Sorry for waking you up, baby girl,” he whispers, lifting her fist to his lips and placing a kiss there. “Don’t tell mommy.”

Her wide eyes stare up at him, trusting and content.

“Come here,” he says, and he shifts her so she’s upright, then transfers her to his chest. The second her cheek—still sticky from tears—falls against his chest, her eyes flutter shut. He can feel her every breath, laying like this. From the rise and fall of her chest to the almost imperceptible exhales of air from her nose, there is a living breathing person relying on him now.

What had he ever done to deserve this?

He rubs her back, patting lightly at a steady rhythm that he hopes is comforting and relaxing. The repetitive motion plus the rocking chair ought to be enough to put any person to sleep—even himself.

Her fist curls against the neckline of his worn, gray t-shirt, fastening it in her iron grip. He lets his cheek fall against her head and breathes in deeply. This is a moment he wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he mumbles, his lips brushing against her head before he pulls back.

He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for an answer. He thinks he can hear a clock ticking somewhere in the hallway, and a door somewhere in the distance snicks shut.

He lowers his voice even further, speaking so only his baby can hear.

“I’m in love with your mommy.”

The words are barely audible, but they’re the truth. And a truth spoken softly is better than nothing.

“What do you think of that, huh?”

On his shoulder, Madeline’s face has gone slack, a little bubble peeking out between her lips with each even breath she takes. She’s fast asleep, and in hardly any time at all.

He prays the pattern will continue when they get home.

For a good half hour, he stays planted in that chair, humming softly to every song he can think of that might qualify as a lullaby. Eventually though, after two rounds of Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis, his own eyes begin to droop shut.

He’s loath to part with her, but the nurse stops by again asking if he’d like her to take the baby back to her bassinet, and he agrees. Before long, he’s back in the hall, the phantom weight of Madeline on his shoulder as he carefully opens the door to suite 509.

“Mulder?” he hears her voice, raspy and disoriented. The sliver of light from the hall illuminates her face, and she blocks it out with a raised hand, squinting adorably. “Why are you up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers, making his way back to the couch.

“Were you trying to sleep on that thing?” she asks, looking at the couch in disdain. He wants to laugh at the messiness of her hair sticking up every which way, but instead he feels his heart clench at the sight of her.

I love you, he thinks.

“Mulder…”

He realizes he hasn’t answered her question, so he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Might be a little short, but not bad,” he says.

The furrow of Scully’s eyebrows is visible even just by the light of the moon streaming through the horizontal window blinds.

“I sat there earlier. It’s terrible,” she says, confusion lacing her features.

Mulder shrugs, not sure what else to say.

She purses her lips, the expression on her face one he recognizes to be her puzzle-solving face. He’s seen it plenty of times at crime scenes, but he doesn’t have a clue what it may mean in this context.

“Come over here,” she says.

He looks up, his eyes meeting hers.

She’s serious.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stands from the couch, approaching Scully cautiously lest she change her mind.

But instead of changing her mind, she shuffles backward, making space on the not quite queen-sized bed for Mulder to lay down.

“How is she?” Scully asks knowingly as the bed dips below his weight.

He toes his shoes off, swinging his legs up on the bed and tucking them beneath the covers.

“She’s perfect, Scully.”

She smiles. Her hand reaches out as he’s settling into the mattress, and catches his hand in hers. Their fingers intertwine like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he hopes she can’t feel his heart hammering in his chest.

This somehow feels different than the other times they’ve shared a bed. Unlike those times, there’s no great need for comfort and security, and no cow has flown through the roof of the building.

It’s just two parents trying to catch some shut-eye. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Thanks for being here, Mulder,” Scully mumbles sleepily, her eyes having fallen shut once again. “Thanks for being her dad.”

He squeezes her hand once in acknowledgement. There are too many words he wishes he could say, gratitude he wants to express for allowing him to do this with her, to be a part of it. For giving Maddie his last name. For honoring his sister. He doesn’t even know where to begin, but now isn’t the time anyway. He is rendered functionally mute.

The air conditioner hums in the silence that settles, and he counts the seconds, sure that she must have gone back to sleep.

Just as he begins to feel himself drifting off, he hears her again.

It’s almost inaudible. Spoken like a secret into the night, an accidental admission that wasn’t meant for his ears. Part of him isn’t sure it’s her he hears at all, merely a wishful auditory hallucination experienced on the cusp of a dream.

“I love you.”

And, even if it’s not real, he thinks he hears himself utter back, “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

The next morning over a breakfast of bland oatmeal, some bacon, and orange juice, Scully makes a few calls. Skinner is delighted to hear from them, and promises to stop by in the afternoon, repeating his heartfelt congratulations before ending the call. As for the Lone Gunmen, you’d think they’d just discovered evidence of the lost city of Atlantis, with the way they whoop and cheer over the phone. No one is surprised when, a few hours later, the three unlikely friends make an appearance in the doorway of their hospital room, bearing colorful balloons and stuffed animals that look like they’d been won in a claw machine at an arcade.

The nurse leading the way glances at them with suspicion, but loosens up a little when she sees Scully’s eyes brighten in recognition. She supposes they do make quite a group of misfits, but to them, they’re family. You can never have too many weird uncles, and Madeline’s got it made in that department.

“Let’s see the little stinker!’ Frohike says excitedly in lieu of greeting, setting the balloons onto a table by the entrance. He wastes no time at all in making his way over to them, coming to a stop next to the couch where Mulder has been laying with Maddie resting on his chest, reading the newspaper while she sleeps.

“Hey, fellas,” Mulder says, slowly easing himself up so as not to disturb the slumbering infant. Her face bunches up, her brows furrowing a little as she stirs. Oh well, no harm in her waking up now to greet their visitors.

“Wow,” Byers says, his eyes wide. “You guys really did it.”

“I’m a man of my word,” Mulder deadpans, and Scully can’t help but smile as the three Gunmen crouch down to get a good look at Maddie.

“So, like… you have a daughter,” Langly muses aloud.

Mulder chuckles. “Crazy, huh?”

Frohike reaches out a finger and tickles her chin, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ve got some weird parents, kiddo,” he says. “I wish you luck.”

“Trying to turn her against us already?” Scully asks, her eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Maybe,” he responds. “If I have to.”

“Congratulations, you guys,” Byers says, beaming at them proudly. “She’s a lucky kid.”

Mulder lays Madeline on top of his knees, letting her stretch out and survey the faces hovering above her.

“If Mulder ever needs some sense knocked into him, Scully, you call me,” Frohike says seriously, glancing in her direction. “He’d better pull his weight, or else he’ll have us to answer to.”

Scully wants to laugh at his thinly-veiled threat, but she finds it sweet, not that she’ll ever need to take him up on the offer. Mulder has been a saint ever since they got here—ever since they began this process, really. She couldn’t ask for better.

He had smelled like his usual travel shampoo and that new baby smell last night when he came to bed. It was intoxicating. And this morning, he even made sure to order their breakfast before she woke up, and had the baby brought in so he could feed her without her having to tell him to.

She’s not exactly sure what their routine will look like when they get home, but she’s confident that they’ll find a good balance. She can’t wait.

“Got room for one more?” a voice calls from the door, and in walks Walter Skinner bearing a bouquet of flowers.

“You’re just in time,” Scully says, walking over to him to accept the gift. “She’s just now waking up from her nap.”

Skinner smiles and approaches the gathering crowd around the couch, peering down at the subject of all the attention.

“Wow, look at that,” he says. “How’s it feel, Mulder?”

Mulder picks Madeline up and holds her in front of him, bringing her close enough that he can press tiny kisses to her cheeks before laying her on his shoulder.

“Feels pretty good, Skinman,” he answers. “You wanna hold her?”

“Not so fast,” Frohike says, pushing himself in front of the much taller man. “I called dibs on the way over here.”

Mulder merely chuckles and gets to his feet, transferring the baby to their friend’s arms with all the grace of a seasoned parent.

“Hi there, little miss,” Frohike says, rocking her back and forth. “I’m your uncle Melvin.” Madeline stares up at him in wonder, completely captivated by the silly faces he makes.

After Frohike, Byers gets a turn, and Langly politely declines, opting instead to give her a tiny fist bump. Then it’s their boss’ turn.

“Alright, give her here,” Skinner says, reaching to take her out of Byers’ arms. His posture is a little stiff, but the warmth of his smile is a dead giveaway as she settles in his hold. His pointer finger pulls back the blanket swaddling her so he can get a better look at her. “Well, you guys, looks like your harebrained little scheme worked out, after all,” he says.

Scully chuckles. She’s so thankful that they’ve had the support of Skinner and the Lone Gunmen throughout all this, despite how unconventional their plans were. She’d been so afraid all along that something would come and take away this opportunity from them too, but here they are at the end of one journey and the beginning of another. 

She feels like she can finally let herself be happy.

After another minute or so, Madeline seems to realize that she’s in unfamiliar arms and starts to fuss, her chin jutting out along with her bottom lip.

“I think someone wants her mama,” Skinner says, bending forward to hand her back to Scully. It’s too early for another feeding, so she probably just wants to be held and rocked the specific way she seems to like it.

“What’d you call her?” their boss asks, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

“Madeline,” Scully answers.

“Well, I’m happy for you two. Or three, I guess. Gonna take some getting used to, huh?”

“Don’t pretend you’ll miss having us around,” Mulder jokes.

“You know I will,” Skinner says seriously. “Although I can honestly say that I hope your successors are a little more adept at staying out of trouble, or at least getting out of it without my intervention. I’m pretty sure I’m running low on the Director’s good will.

“I have a good feeling about agents Doggett and Reyes,” Scully says. It will be strange, to not be the ones in the driver’s seat, so-to-speak, but they’ll still get their doses of a good X-File every now and then. It’s not really goodbye.

“We should get out of your hair,” Byers says when the room has fallen silent.

Frohike nods in agreement, taking a step toward the door. “Hey, if you ever need babysitting, you’re looking at the owners of the most secure daycare facility on the eastern seaboard,” he says, jabbing a thumb at himself and the other two Gunmen.

Langly snorts. “Yeah, it’s so exclusive, we only have space for one client. And we’re highly selective. You might not get in.”

“Alright, alright,” Mulder laughs, leading them toward the door by the shoulders. “Thanks for stopping by. It really does mean a lot.”

And after a few more firm handshakes, hugs, and well-wishes, they’re gone.

-.-.-

The door closes behind Byers, and the four men stand in the hall awkwardly, waiting for someone to state the obvious.

“You saw the rings, right?” Langly states, glancing between his compatriots who each nod in turn.

“I don’t know who they think they’re kidding,” Skinner says in exasperation. “That diamond would have had to cost at least three grand, minimum.”

“How long do you think they can keep pretending they’re just friends?” Byers asks. “I mean, realistically?”

A look of horror dawns on Frohike’s face. “This is Mulder and Scully we’re talking about,” he says. “It could be forever, for as stubborn as those two are.”

They mull that one over for a moment, each with a look somewhere between frustration and concern.

“That’s it,” Skinner says suddenly, gritting his teeth as he turns to face the other direction. “I’m taking matters into my own hands.” The Gunmen watch in puzzlement as the bald-headed man approaches the nurses’ station, digging his wallet out of his pocket.

Langly looks at Byers and shrugs. The three of them follow behind and stand beside him at the counter.

“How much for you to put on some cheesy romantic music in that room over there?” Skinner asks the nurse on duty, pulling out a couple $20 bills.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, looking up at him in confusion.

Skinner waves the money in the air and points back in the direction of room 509. “Do you have a radio or something? Maybe the intercom?”

“Can I ask what this is about?” the woman asks, clearly suspicious of such an odd question.

“Our friends are complete idiots and won’t admit that they’re in love with each other,” Langly answers bluntly.

The nurse’s eyes go wide, lighting up in interest. “Those two? With the baby?” she asks. “But I thought they were married.”

“They are,” Frohike says. “The key detail here is that they’re idiots.”

The other three nod, confirming that assessment.

The nurse purses her lips, her eyes traveling to the cash in Skinner’s hand, then back up to each of the four of them in turn.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

-.-.-

Mulder is just finishing up washing his hands in the en suite bathroom when, from somewhere in the hall, he hears the faint sounds of a piano playing. A few seconds later, the whine of a saxophone joins the melody, and he chuckles to himself. He’d never been a huge fan of smooth jazz himself, but he could appreciate the musical stylings of Kenny G every now and then.

He’s about to hurl some lighthearted joke about the song at Scully when the sight of her stops him in his tracks.

There she stands in the middle of the room, right where he left her, except now she’s swaying along with the music, Madeline still in her arms. The soft, easy smile on her face emanates a warm glow on the room, and he’s absolutely in awe of her.

He leans against the door frame of the bathroom, fighting back against the sudden pounding of his heart as he watches her.

She’s so beautiful.

In the space of a few seconds, he makes a decision, stepping carefully toward her.

She spins slowly along with the music, humming softly to Madeline and unaware of his presence until he gently taps her on the shoulder, almost startling her.

“May I cut in?” he asks, his voice hardly more than a low whisper.

There’s that shy smile he so loves to see. She used to smile at him like that a lot, back when he could shamelessly flirt with her in the first few years they worked together. She glances up at him briefly now from underneath thick eyelashes, and he takes that as a yes, wordlessly taking Maddie from her arms and placing her into the nearby bassinet.

She looks content enough there for now. Relaxed, perhaps by the sourceless hypnotic music. Mulder quickly returns to Scully’s side, scooping her hands up in his and guiding her left hand to his shoulder.

“Does this song take you back, Scully?” he asks, pulling her close and swaying along with her.

“Mmm,” she hums softly. “Missy bought me this CD for Christmas back in ‘92.”

He throws his head back in exaggerated exasperation before dipping his head to meet her eyes teasingly. “I knew it,” he says. “I bet you crack open a bottle of wine and sit in the bubble bath while it plays, don’t you, Scully.”

The look she gives him is just proof of why the FBI Behavioral Science Unit used to pay him the big bucks.

“Lucky guess, Mulder,” she says, smirking up at him. 

He pulls her just a little bit closer and feels a chill run up his spine when Scully moves her hand to the nape of his neck, brushing against the short hair there.

“You know, this song is actually called ‘The Wedding Song,’” she states conversationally.

“Oh really?” Mulder spins her out and then back into his arms, keeping pace with the slow rhythm. “You know, we never had a proper first dance. With actual music playing, I mean.”

“No,” she agrees, “we didn’t.”

Their words hang in the air, the implications as clear as they’re going to get for today.

The saxophone croons in dulcet tones, and Mulder feels himself surrendering to its pull. Scully’s hand, the one he holds in his, moves to rest on his shoulder along with the other one, leaving his arm hovering in the air. 

With deft fingers, he pushes back some escaped tendrils of her hair, tucking them neatly behind her ear before bringing his hand down to her waist. She’d opted for a thin sweater this morning, having no use for her professional attire any time soon. Its fabric is soft beneath his fingertips, and he revels in the sensation that being near her evokes.

Over the years, he’s seen enough hospital rooms to last a lifetime. But, he thinks, he could spend the rest of his life here in this one, so long as Scully and their daughter—their daughter—are there with him.

That wouldn’t be so bad.

-.-.- 

“It’s working!” the nurse—Andrea—says excitedly, peeking into the room through the small window in the door.

“What’s happening?” Frohike asks from his place on the ground. He holds the battery operated radio Andrea had provided up against the door, the volume turned up enough that they should be able to hear it through the crack at the bottom.

“They’re dancing!”

Skinner stands away from the group, somehow embarrassed even though this had been his idea to begin with.

“Wait! This might be it!”

Langly’s head joins hers at the window just in time to see Mulder adjust his hold around Scully’s waist, pulling her closer.

“Come on, man! You can do it!” he says in a hopeful cheer. Andrea turns to look at him, then peers back into the darkened room.

They’re gazing at each other now in that way they always do, their swaying starting to slow almost to a halt. It’s nearly imperceptible at first, but they see Scully lean in, tilting her head up toward Mulder in a way that looks very promising.

“Come on…!” Langly repeats, holding his breath. The nurse gasps, grabbing the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Now Mulder is leaning forward too, craning his neck lower and aligning his mouth with Scully’s. The speed at which they move nearly sends Langly into a fit of rage. Even a sloth would be telling them to hurry it up already.

“What are they waiting for?” Andrea asks, her brows furrowed in an accurate representation of the frustration the four men have felt toward this duo for the past several years.

They get closer, and closer, and closer, and finally, just when they think the moment has finally arrived—

The sharp cry of the baby sends all their progress crashing to the ground.

“Ugh!” Langly groans, throwing up his hands in annoyance. “Why?”

“No dice?” Frohike asks from the ground.

Byers shakes his head, and Frohike sighs, switching the radio off in an admittance of defeat.

“They’re like that all the time?” Andrea asks, looking alarmed at the thought.

“Sometimes worse,” Skinner says. He rubs his fingers over his bald head in an attempt to stave off an oncoming migraine.

The nurse lets out an astonished breath of air. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” she says, her hands perched on her hips. “It was sweet of you to try.”

“Eh, they’ll figure it out eventually,” Langly says optimistically, waving a hand through the air. “If they don’t, we’ll just lock them in a room until one of ‘em lets it slip.”

“It was worth a shot,” Byers says in consolation, helping Frohike to his feet. “We almost had them.”

“How hard is it to tell your best friend you love them?” Skinner asks rhetorically. Frohike shrugs and hands the radio back over to the nurse.

Langly spares one last glance at the door to Mulder and Scully’s room. A thought crosses his mind, and he feels his stomach drop. 

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” he asks, suddenly afraid they might have just messed everything up.

“Tell anyone?” she asks, her head cocked in confusion.

“You know… that they might have exaggerated a little on their adoption application?” he bites his lip worriedly, wishing they’d just left the hospital instead of meddling in their friends’ business. “If they find out that we ruined their happy ending, I think they’d kill us,” he says. “That is, if I don’t jump off a bridge myself first.”

Andrea laughs, shaking her head. “Are you kidding? They obviously love each other more than half the couples I see come in here. Of course I won’t say anything!”

Langly lets out a breath of relief, and so do the others.

“Well, thanks again for your help,” he says, offering her an awkward smile.

She shrugs. “Sure beats whatever soap opera they’ve got playing in the break room.”

Sometimes, Langly thinks, it would be nice for Mulder and Scully’s lives to be less like a soap opera. But beggars can’t be choosers.

A silent moment passes, and he shares a look with the other Gunmen. Time to roll out, ideally before they do any more potential damage to their friends’ lives.

He gives a parting nod to the nurse, then turns to start the trek back down the hall. Frohike grumbles something about Mulder’s wasted good looks as they walk, and Skinner just looks tired.

Just before they reach the elevator, they hear Andrea call out, stopping them in their tracks.

“Wait!” she says, jogging to catch up with them, a small smile on her face. “Um…” Taking a pen out of her pocket, she clicks it once and grabs Langly’s arm. “If you ever want to grab dinner or something,” she says, writing down her number while carefully avoiding his eyes.

Langly watches in astonishment as she completes the strand of numbers, punctuating it with a smiley face. With one quick, shy glance up at him, she disappears back to her station, leaving them all completely awestruck for a good few seconds. The elevator comes and goes before they snap out of it, forcing them to wait for it to cycle back to them.

“In a shocking turn of events, Langly might actually have more game than Agent Mulder,” Byers narrates in an amused tone.

“Puh-lease,” Frohike counters, giving Langly a good-natured shove in the arm as they start moving again. “We all know that I’m the real chick magnet around here.”

Chapter Text

Their caseworker stops by in the morning to get their signatures on some paperwork and lays out the timeline for getting the adoption finalized in the coming months. For all intents and purposes, though, Madeline is theirs, and they're free to take her home. The birth mother's signature is there in black ink, signing over her parental rights to them. The sight of it brings tears to their eyes. 

They won't soon forget what that young woman has done for them.

After one last checkup with the doctor, they pack up the room and get ready to leave. Scully dresses Maddie in a bright blue flower-patterned shirt with matching bloomers, a headband, and socks to keep her feet warm.

Once she's snug in her baby carrier, they lay a fuzzy pink blanket over her legs to keep her cozy on the trek out to the car. Mulder proudly lifts the carrier with one arm, and with the other, he reaches for Scully’s hand. There may be three of them now, but he hasn't forgotten who he came in here with. 

Brenda walks out with them, and they bid farewell to the nurses that had looked after them during their stay. After this, they'll be on their own, just the three of them.

Before they reach the exit, Mulder stops suddenly, standing in the middle of the floor and looking down at Maddie. There’s something that has been bugging him, something left undone that just doesn't feel right. He whispers something to Scully, and then asks the caseworker a question.

He knows it wasn't a part of the agreed upon hospital plan, as set out by the birth mother, but can he really just walk out that door without thanking her? Without telling her how much this means to them?

“Is Krista still here?” he asks. “I know she said she'd prefer to keep to herself, but—”

“I believe she’s waiting to be discharged as we speak,” Brenda answers. “I can call and ask if she's open to a visit from you all, if you’d like.”

“Please,” Mulder says, and Scully nods in agreement.

Brenda steps away to make her call, returning a moment later with a smiling face.

“She said she’d be happy to see you,” she announces. “I can show you the way, if you're ready.”

Mulder bites his lip in thought.

“Give me a couple minutes,” he says, handing off the baby carrier to Scully. “I'll be right back.”

-.-.-

The room where Krista has been staying after delivery is in a different hallway than Mulder and Scully had been in. When he returns, bearing a nice bouquet of flowers and some chocolates from the gift shop, Brenda beams at them.

“This feels insufficient,” he says, shrugging self-consciously at his gifts.

The woman puts a comforting hand on his arm, shaking her head. “I'm sure she will appreciate it,” she assures him kindly.

She gives them one last glance to make sure they're ready, and then knocks on the door.

“You can come in,” a voice calls from inside. Without further ado, Brenda pushes the door open and pokes her head through the doorway.

“Got some visitors for you,” she says cheerily, before looking back at them and nodding for them to enter. 

Krista is seated on the edge of her bed, wearing comfortable leggings and a Georgetown sweatshirt. She looks well, if a little nervous.

“Hi,” she says, smiling a little shyly.

“Hi,” Mulder echoes, entering the room with Scully right beside him. “These are for you,” he says, holding out the flowers for her, which she accepts with a smile.

“Oh, thank you,” she says. “You guys didn't have to do that.”

“We're the ones who should be thanking you,” Scully says, tears pricking at her eyes. I can't tell you how happy you've made us. This– This is a debt we'll never be able to repay.”

Mulder nods in agreement, returning to Scully’s side and placing a steadying hand on her lower back.

“We're going to do everything we can to give her the best life possible. I promise,” he says. “I just… wanted you to know that.”

Krista nods, and it's remarkable how at peace she seems, given the circumstances. Mulder can’t imagine being in her position.

“Can I ask—” Scully starts, adjusting her hold on the carrier nervously. “I mean, if you don’t mind sharing, can I ask why you chose us?”

Krista breathes out a laugh, her eyes settling on the tile floor. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she says, amusement lacing her voice.

Mulder fights back a smile, glancing down at Scully with raised eyebrows.

“You might be surprised,” Scully says, turning her attention back to the woman who had given them a daughter.

Krista looks at them, her expression clear and honest and hopeful. She shrugs.

“She’s… meant to be yours,” she states simply, as if it were the most basic truth known to humankind. “I can’t explain it, but I just– I know you were meant to be her parents. I knew it from the moment I met you.”

Beside him, Scully sucks in a breath, and he feels his throat constrict with the swell of emotion.

“I had this feeling, when I found out I was pregnant, that someone else needed her. And… it was you.” She shakes her head, as if she can’t even understand it herself. “Do you believe in that kind of thing, Mr. Mulder? Dana?”

He looks down at the sleeping baby in the car seat, dressed in one of the first outfits they bought for her when they went out shopping.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, settling a hand on Scully’s shoulder. “Yeah, we do.”

Krista nods again and smiles, his words confirming what she had hoped.

They’re interrupted a moment later by a nurse stopping by with the last of the discharge paperwork, and they wait while Krista speaks with her. She’s probably anxious to get home. No one likes sleeping in a hospital several nights in a row.

When they’re alone again, Scully steps forward.

“Did you want to hold her?” she asks boldly, concealing a worried tremor in her voice. It’s the right thing to do, he knows, and he hopes someone would do the same for them if their positions were switched. But with the adoption still not finalized, there’s always that one seed of doubt that tells them she could still change her mind.

“We’ve already said our goodbyes,” Krista says with a bittersweet smile. “Besides, I don’t want to wake her.” Still, she does get up to peek down at her in her car seat, gently running a finger over the back of the baby’s tiny, bunched up hand. “What did you name her?”

Mulder clears his throat, blinking back the tears that have unexpectedly sprung up.

“Madeline,” he answers.

“Hm,” Krista laughs, her cheeks pulling back in amusement as she drinks in the sight of the baby she bore. “That was my grandmother’s name.”

If they needed any other sign that this was meant to be, that was it. It seems Krista feels the same way too.

“Well, I guess this is it,” she says, cupping the top of the baby’s head and softly smoothing over her wisps of dark hair with her thumb.

Scully brushes back an escaped tear from her eye. “Do you have a ride home?” she asks.

Krista stands and makes her way back to her bed, perching on the edge like she had been when they arrived.

“My best friend has been here with me, she’s driving me back,” she answers.

He’s relieved she has someone here with her. Scully had offered her support if she needed it, but Krista is a fiercely independent young woman, not unlike another person he knows. She’d chosen to keep things private, and they were respectful of that choice.

Still, it’s nice to get a moment with her before they part ways.

“If you ever need anything… Anything at all—” Mulder starts.

“You know where to reach us,” Scully finishes.

Krista inclines her head, a grateful smile passing over her lips.

“Thank you,” she says. “You guys will be wonderful parents, I can tell.”

-.-.-

The drive back to D.C. is one of the most stressful of his life. He white-knuckles the wheel like his life depends on it, resisting the urge to check the rear view mirror every few minutes to make sure Maddie is doing okay. Scully sits in the backseat with her just in case she's needed, and though Mulder misses his copilot, he's glad Maddie has someone keeping her company back there.

It's surreal, the walk up to their apartment. This is where their journey into parenthood will really begin. Late night feedings and diaper changes, cuddling on the couch; Eventually, she'll be making messes while eating squishy baby food in the kitchen and maybe even learning to crawl. All of it within these walls that he's thought of as home, in some capacity, for far longer than he's lived here.

His home is wherever Scully is. His home has been a thousand different motels across the United States. His home has been in the middle of the woods while being hunted by mothmen in Florida. His home had been hospital rooms, rental cars, run-down diners, and any number of airport seating areas over the years.

His home has been a dark and dusty basement, feathered with little knick knacks and article clippings that he thought would make him feel fulfilled. In reality, it wasn't until the day she walked in the door that the office ever felt like home. The difference was like night and day.

Now Scully opens the door to their apartment, and they're welcomed not by cheesy posters and doctored images of UFOs, but by a huge welcome home banner strung up on the wall on the far side of the room. Baskets of gifts, apparently from Maggie Scully's church group, sit by the fireplace, and a hand-knit baby blanket drapes across the back cushion of the sofa.

Scully’s eyes fill with tears as she takes in the sight. Mulder brings the baby carrier over to the kitchen table, setting it down so that he can let Madeline out. She stretches her back into an arch, squeezing her eyes shut in protest against being woken up from her nap. He smiles as he lifts her to his shoulder, holding her warm little body close and patting her gently in a comforting rhythm.

“Hey Scully, looks like someone loaded the fridge too,” he says, nodding toward a sticky note that he spies tacked to the refrigerator where it hadn't been before. Sure enough, it’s filled to the brim with ready-made meals for them. Those church ladies work fast. “Good to be home, huh?” he asks, just as Scully turns away from inspecting the freezer.

“I still have a hard time believing this is our life,” she says, finding her voice again. “Does it ever feel like a dream to you? Like you’re watching someone else’s life and not your own?”

He does know what she means. He’s felt it in little moments throughout their partnership, even from the beginning. He’ll never forget the way she’d shown him such loyalty, vowing that she’d only ever put herself on the line for him. He’d never known that level of trust and commitment before, yet she offered it so freely. It had stunned him into momentary silence, to hear it declared so plainly.

She’s his best friend. And—more than that—he is hers. That’s what had been truly unbelievable to him. He was never anyone’s first choice. Not until she came along. And now she has chosen him for something else, too. For a more lasting relationship. A decision that guarantees their lives will be intertwined for the foreseeable future.

He has to pinch himself to remind himself that it’s real. Evidently, she does too.

For once in their seven years together, they have found a truth that asks very little of them. It does not demand penance, or further suffering. Nor does it require some great sacrifice or heartbreak.

All this truth asks is that they let go. Surrender to it. Stop fighting. Stop running.

Because the truth they’ve found is love, and though it may have taken a while to come to terms with it, there’s no question in his mind that that’s what it is. All this time, everything had pointed him toward it, he’d only pushed it away. He has willfully ignored what was right in front of him, believing that it couldn’t possibly be the answer. He wasn’t worthy. She deserved more. There had to be something else, some other truth that would save him, that made all the suffering worth it.

But in the end, it was her. She is the truth that was sent to save him. This life they’ve begun together—that’s what he had been searching for all along. Not a replacement for the family he’d lost, but a chance to have one of his own. To build one quite literally from the ground up.

“This is our life, Scully,” he says to her, standing close to her in the middle of the kitchen. “I want to believe.”

Chapter Text

The day passes in a blur, a steady stream of bottle feedings, diaper changes, and blessed nap times where they actually have a chance to rest. Mulder decides to use one such time to tackle the pile of laundry Scully had been preparing to do the night before they left for the hospital, but with two different containers of detergent on the shelf in the laundry room, he isn’t quite sure which one to use. He pokes his head into Scully’s room to ask her, but as soon as he spots her, the words die on his tongue.

There she lays diagonally on her bed on top of the covers, sound asleep with one hand curled up underneath her chin. The other hand is perched on the edge of the bassinet, where Madeline breathes evenly in a deep slumber. 

He should have expected to find her asleep in here like this. She had been dreaming of getting back to her own bed the entire time they were at the hospital, complaining about the quality of the mattress in the suite they were in. There was something hypnotic about rocking a baby to sleep, too, that probably had something to do with it. He doesn’t blame her for conking out right then and there as soon as the baby was settled.

By the time the two of them emerge from their hibernation, Mulder has already started the first of their freezer meals baking in the oven—some kind of pasta dish—and the laundry is underway. He’s glad he didn’t bother Scully to ask about the detergent; it turns out all he needed to do was actually read the label to figure out which one was meant for sensitive baby skin. He puts away the last of his suit coats in the closet. He won’t be needing those for a while.

Dinner is a quiet but happy affair. Madeline stares up at the ceiling fan in fascination from her place in the baby bouncer, which they decide to place on the floor nearby them while they eat. It’s clear that Scully is still waking up from her nap, her hair beautifully mussed in a way he’d never call attention to, for fear that she’d go and fix it. She apologizes profusely for not being of more help, especially with dinner, but he shuts that down quickly.

He’s happy to do it, he assures her. More than happy. She deserves all the rest she could possibly want. Besides, he’s got practice with getting little to no sleep. He can handle it.

That doesn’t stop them from putting the baby to bed as early as possible, though, just for a little time to themselves before they call it a night. Mulder is delighted to be the one to get her dressed for bedtime this time, selecting a pair of footie pajamas from the dresser drawer and maneuvering her into them. They’re just the slightest bit too big, making Maddie look even tinier in comparison.

She drinks her bottle in perfect contentment, her eyes drooping shut as Scully rocks her slowly to sleep. Eventually, her suckling motions slow until the nipple of the bottle falls away from her lips. It’s then that they pepper little kisses onto her cheeks, softly whispering goodnight before placing her into her bassinet.

With careful footsteps, they tiptoe out of the room, shutting the door behind them as silently as possible. It feels as if they’ve survived their first real day as parents, and Mulder is proud of them. Not that he’d had concerns about their ability to do this, but—well. He’s glad it had been a fairly smooth, easy day. It helps that their baby is as calm as they come. Except for during diaper changes, that is.

“Hey, Scully, you wanna watch some TV before we hit the hay?” he asks. They stand in the middle of the hall between their respective bedrooms, and for some reason it feels like the first time he ever asked a girl out in high school. He fights the urge to fidget with his hands, shoving them in his pockets instead.

To his delight, she says yes, and he makes his way over to the couch, flicking the TV on to whatever channel Scully had last been watching. Reruns of the Dick Van Dyke Show play at a low volume, and he chuckles under his breath. A minute later, Scully joins him with two glasses of wine, handing him one and sitting down beside him with the other in hand.

“To the next eighteen years of our lives,” she says with a soft smile, holding out her glass between them in a toast. The promise of eighteen more years together makes him feel like the luckiest man alive. He lifts his own glass and clinks it against hers before taking a sip.

“Do I hear twenty years? Twenty?” he says, mimicking the tone of an auctioneer. “How about twenty-five? Going once, going twice…?”

Scully giggles, hiding her smile behind the wine glass and sinking further into the couch. Mulder grins unabashedly and lays his arm over the back of the couch, almost encircling her, but still allowing her space.

She doesn’t say anything, but then, he hadn’t been expecting an answer. It’s enough just to make her laugh. 

After taking another sip of the red wine she’d poured, he sets his glass on the coffee table. Before he can pull away, something on the table catches his eye—a gift he must have missed at first glance.

“Something to add to your album,” the sticky note says on the surface.

Scully catches on when he picks up the envelope, removing the sticky note and handing it to her. Her attention shifts from the zany characters on TV to the pile of photographs as he removes them from the package.

“Your mom must have had a busy day yesterday,” he says, thinking once again of how much he needs to thank her for everything she’s done.

He lays out a few of the prints on his lap, images Maggie had captured just the other day in the hospital. There’s one of Scully holding Madeline up for the camera, showing her scrunched up little face swaddled tight in her blanket. In another, Mulder adjusts his hold on the baby as he sits in the rocking chair with her curled up on his chest.

He’d worried that these would look unnatural, even forced, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Maggie must have intentionally taken pictures between poses, capturing candid moments that appear as authentic as any other family’s photographs.

There’s one picture that he instantly picks as his favorite, and that’s the one of the three of them all together. Taken moments before they were ready, before they could smile up at the camera, the photo depicts Mulder with his arm over the back of the sofa, peering down at Madeline in Scully’s arms. There’s something about the way she holds her that is just so motherly, he can’t describe it. They both look so happy, so at ease with one another. After the difficult year—several years, really—that they’ve had, he thinks they’ve earned it.

Mulder scoops up the pictures, shuffling them back into their neat stack with his favorite picture on top. He hands them to Scully while he gets to his feet, crossing the living room to the cabinet where she keeps the photo album he’d given her for Christmas.

“What do you think about putting that one front and center?” he says, opening the book up to the next available empty page. Scully’s lips pull up at the corners in a smile, her hand halfway concealing it. She picks up the picture by the edge and hands it over to him, silently stating her approval. He grins and tucks the picture into the photo corners that hold it. More can be added later. This is just the start.

Once it’s in place, they gaze down at this book of their life together, feeling a kind of satisfaction he’d never known he was missing. He reaches for her hand, lifting it up and placing a kiss on the underside of her wrist before holding it against his heart. When she looks up at him, all he wants to do is kiss her, never let her go again, but he can tell that it’s just too much right now. 

Her finger brushes thoughtfully over a dried patch of spit-up on his t-shirt, and just like that, the moment passes. She smiles softly, and he wonders what she could possibly be thinking in that beautiful brain of hers. She leans her head against his shoulder, and he settles for pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She sighs, soaking in the moment for just a couple seconds more before pushing herself to standing. “We should probably get some sleep,” she says, dumping what little of the wine she didn’t finish into the sink.

He wants to say something—anything—to extend this moment with her a little longer, but he’s at a loss. Instead, he rubs a hand over the back of his head and gets to his feet. The wine has unfortunately done nothing to loosen his lips.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” he says, rinsing his empty glass in the sink next to her. He hopes she’ll stop him as he walks toward his bedroom—tell him that there’s no use in splitting up for the night, but she doesn’t. “I’ll just—uh—be in here,” he says awkwardly, opening his door and taking a step inside.

When he turns back, she nods, opening the door to her own room.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says in a whisper.

And before he can respond, the door between them closes.

-.-.-

Scully closes the door behind her, leaning back against it as soon as it latches shut. Why, oh why does she keep pushing him away? The night had been perfect—red wine, a black-and-white classic on the television, beautiful family pictures in her photo album, and a baby sleeping in the other room…

Why does she insist on holding him at arm's length?

She sighs, walking over to check on Madeline in the bassinet. Her tummy rises and falls steadily with each breath, and it looks like she must be dreaming of feeding time, because her lips suckle on a phantom bottle, every so often making a smacking sound.

This precious little life is the answer to so many of her prayers. She would be a fool to be anything less than content with what she has. She’s finally a mother, and her best friend is lying in bed not twenty feet away. What more can she ask for, really?

Suddenly feeling very tired, she sheds the robe she’d put on earlier and tosses it onto the rocking chair. She had forgotten one thing in all her complaining about the mattress in the hospital, and that was that her bed at home didn’t come with a husband to share it with. He had his own bed in his own room, and in a strange turn of events, she finds herself longing for that closeness they’d shared the previous two nights, even at the expense of a comfortable night’s sleep.

Despite her exhaustion, she lies awake for far longer than usual, unable to stop the constant barrage of thoughts in her mind. For several minutes, she focuses instead on the soft breaths of the baby, until at last, their gentle cadence lulls her into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Greenwich, CT
May 2001

-.-.-

“Smile at the camera, sweetheart!” Mulder calls, holding the camcorder up in front of him and peering through the viewfinder. “You too, beautiful.”

Scully pauses her search for seashells with Madeline, tapping the little girl on the shoulder and showing her where to look. As soon as she spots him, a chubby little finger points in his direction, her face lighting up in a smile, and with his free hand, he waves back.

“Hi Miss Madeline!” he says, zooming in on the two of them as they go back to their search for seashells in the sand. “Are you having fun?” He pans down to the gentle waves as they lap at the shoreline, coming closer and closer and finally tickling at the toes of Maddie and Scully, eliciting a shriek of joy from the now toddling one-year-old.

“Is it cold?” he asks.

“A little cold, still,” Scully answers, leading their daughter by the hand a little further from the ocean. He zooms back out, capturing the full picture of this lovely New England beach as it nears sundown, the warmth starting to fade along with the light.

“How about this one?” a soft, older voice cuts in, walking carefully over the sand toward little Maddie, who holds out her hand in acceptance. Teena Mulder leans down and places a large white seashell in her hand, which little Maddie thoroughly inspects.

“Did Grandma find a big one, baby?” Mulder asks, walking closer to his family to get a better look at the spoils of their seashell hunting trip.

Maddie holds it up for the camera. “Ah!” she answers, tugging at Scully’s hand to bring her closer to her dad.

“Oh, look at that!” he says enthusiastically, widening his eyes comically. She grunts and stretches her arm out as far as it will go—her way of telling him she wants to give him something. He chuckles and holds out his hand, accepting her gift with a wide brimming smile. “Thank you, sweet pea. Should Daddy hold onto that for you?”

Scully’s lips pull back in a smile as she looks up at him. “I think that’s probably a good idea,” she answers for Maddie.

Mulder tucks the shell into his pocket, pressing the record button on the camcorder and checking that there’s still battery left before looping the strap over his shoulder.

“Alright, Daddy’s turn, little stinker,” he says, grabbing Maddie by the hands and lifting her into the air. She squeals in delight, swinging in an arc until he plops her back down in the shallowest bit of water where the sea meets the shore.

“Mulder, you’re gonna get the camera wet!” Scully calls out, her brow slanted in either worry or disapproval.

Maddie stomps around in the water, giggling at the way it splashes up when she does.

“Did you hear that, Maddie?” Mulder asks in mock alarm, addressing his question directly to his daughter, though speaking loud enough for Scully to hear. “Mommy thinks I’m going to drop this expensive camcorder into two inches of water, can you believe it?!”

Madeline gapes up at him, clearly having no clue what he’s talking about, but just happy to be included.

“I did not say you’d drop it,” Scully corrects, pursing her lips and crossing her arms in that way that he’s always thought looked so adorable, especially with how tiny she is.

Mulder walks Maddie back over to the others, silently handing her and the camera off to his mother with a playful glint in his eye.

“You’re worried about getting the camera wet, Scully?” he asks, his voice dangerously low as he approaches her, taking one long, drawn out step at a time.

“Mulder, don’t,” Scully warns, suddenly catching on to this game he’s playing, but she’s too late. She tries to escape, but he grabs her around the middle and lifts her into the air, taking off toward the ocean with laughter on his breath.

He bridal carries her as he wades out into the water, the salty seawater soaking up to his knees. The cold temperature invigorates him—makes him feel alive. Or maybe it’s the pleading screeches of his wife as she yells at him to take her back in between irrepressible fits of giggles.

She clings onto him for dear life, lifting her feet so they don’t dangle into the brisk ocean as he comes to a sudden stop.

“I think this is far enough,” he says thoughtfully, looking around them with a contemplative gaze.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, her jaw dropping open. She can pretend to be aghast by his actions all she wants—she can’t hide that underlying amusement that pulls at the corners of her lips.

“Sorry, honey,” he says, meeting her eyes with a shrug. And with that, he drops her into the water.

She comes up gasping, her mouth open wide in disbelief that he’d really gone through with it.

“Mulder!” she yells, wiping water from her eyes and smoothing her hair back out of her face. He doubles over laughing, unable to restrain himself. “Help me up,” she demands, reaching her hand out for him to grab on to.

He acquiesces, gripping her slippery fingers with both hands, and pulling, but instead of pulling her up, he finds himself being yanked downward, and it’s not long before he, too, has pants full of sand.

“You happy now?” he asks, resigned to his fate.

“No!” she shrieks, her brows raised to her forehead. Water drips down and gets caught in her eyelash, and she wipes it away, fighting back a smile. “I’m all wet, Mulder!” she complains. “We have to drive back to your mom’s house like this!"

“So what?” he says, pulling her toward him by the waist. He presses a firm kiss to her cold lips, warming them with his own for a moment before pulling back. His fingertips tease at her sides, causing her to squirm away.

He remembers the day he found out Scully was ticklish. One of the greatest days of his life, for sure.

“Mulder…” she complains, though this time with a little less fervor. The waves crash against them incessantly, occasionally splattering one of them with a splash of seawater to the eye.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, this time actually helping her to her feet. “I’ll wrap you in a big fuzzy blanket as soon as we get home, I promise.” He gives her one final peck on the lips once they’re upright again, and leads her by hand back to the shore, where his mother watches on in amusement.

“Was that really the best decision, Fox?” she asks, her scrutinizing eyes traveling over their soaked clothing and back up to their reddened faces.

Best decision? No. That honor goes to the day he’d decided to pursue adoption with Scully. This family—one of their own making—that was the best decision he’d ever made. Nothing else would ever come close.

But having a little fun, dumping her in the water and getting absolutely soaked…? Well, he’d never regret anything that made Scully laugh. From the first moment he heard it in the graveyard in Bellefleur, it’s been his life’s mission to hear it again. In the past year, he’s succeeded more times than he can count.

“No regrets,” he declares proudly, pressing a kiss to the back of Scully’s hand, still intertwined with his own.

Teena shakes her head in fond disdain, setting Madeline down on the sand so that she can focus on walking over the uneven terrain back to the car. Maddie reaches up with both of her hands, and Mulder grabs one while Scully grabs the other. 

“Wet!” she says, her little forehead pinching in concern, the word apparently one of the few that she knows.

Mulder shakes his head over top of her, sprinkling her with water droplets from his hair and causing her to shriek. “No!” she squeals. “No, Da-da!”

Scully laughs, her feet slipping a bit in the sand as she walks.

“Come on, now, you two can’t team up on me!” Mulder protests.

“You’re outnumbered, Mulder,” Scully points out, and he heaves an exaggerated sigh.

By the time they get back to Teena Mulder’s house—only a short drive away—the seats of their car are damp with seawater and Scully has informed him that he’ll be the one cleaning it when they get back to their house in Virginia. He responds with, “Yes, dear,” a phrase that never fails to make her roll her eyes.

Madeline falls asleep on the ride home, clutching the seashell that Grandma Mulder had found in her hand like a stuffed animal. As much as they hate to put her in bed still covered in salt and sand from the ocean, they really don’t want to wake her, so they do the best they can to clean her off before setting her down in the travel crib they brought. It’s their last day anyway. The sheets can be cleaned.

Scully gives him first dibs on the shower, biding her time by packing up the little room they’ve shared at his mother’s house for the past week. He re-emerges feeling like a new man, free from that grimy feeling of being covered in salt.

Her shower takes longer than usual. He starts to miss her, not wanting to go to bed without her, but feeling the undeniable call of the down mattress and pillows. 

He knocks on the door, asking her if she’s almost finished.

She opens it slowly, holding a piece of plastic in her hands and looking astonished.

He glances down at it, two blue lines the same color as the paint in his mother’s coastal-themed guest bathroom beaming up at him.

He’s not sure whether he should laugh or cry at first. She looks up at him, uncertainty darkening her face, and he settles for scooping his wife into his arms, rocking her back and forth in complete disbelief.

After he’s taken a moment to absorb this new information, he pulls back, holding her in place and grinning uncontrollably down at her.

“Scully, do you ever get the feeling that the universe is laughing at us?” he asks, chuckling a little as he takes in the glow that he’s just now noticing around her.

“I don’t know if the universe is capable of laughing, Mulder,” she responds in her shaky voice, ever the skeptic. “But someone definitely is.”

“Well, Dana,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead and splaying his hand over her abdomen. “I was just thinking about how much I missed the newborn stage.”