JUST A FAN of FAN ART & FANFIC, XFiles

Scully was pacing, and though he tried his best to keep his weary gaze ahead, it kept drifting to the sharp snap of her heels. She was making him nervous, and each time his eyes darted to meet Skinner’s, he worried that the man would see it.

‘Agent Mulder, I understand you’re probably anxious to be at the hospital,’ he said evenly, his attention pulled briefly to the twisted fists in his lap.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m just feeling a little distracted,’ he shot Scully another look, begging her to stand still.

‘More than understandable, Mulder,' Skinner said with a calm authority. ‘I just wanted to touch base with you, to get any updates on agent Scully’s condition, and on when you may feel ready to return to work.’

‘And to make sure that I haven’t gone after the shit-for-brains agent that did this to her?’ Mulder said, only half-joking.

Skinner huffed, and stared down at the pencil between his thumb and finger. ‘And that,’ he agreed with a nearly-concealed smirk. ‘It wouldn’t help anyone right now.’

‘I know that, sir,’ Mulder said evenly, avoiding Scully’s stare that he could feel burning into his temple. ‘I can be patient.’

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, agent.’

‘Mulder!’ Scully cut in, anger flaring in her veins. ‘Don’t even joke about that.’

‘So.. how is she?’ Skinner asked cautiously, all humour draining from his face.

Mulder wanted to reach out and slide his arm around her hips, pull her flush to his body as proof. Sometimes she felt so real that other people not noticing her made him anxious. He swallowed tightly and looked up to her.

Her expression faltered as she looked down at him, suddenly seeming so small beneath her. His eyes were wide and wore the weight of an unbearable sadness.

‘Not much change,’ he said simply.

‘Give me something here, Mulder,’ Skinner said seriously.

Scully watched, suddenly feeling like she was intruding. She saw the raw emotion on her ex-boss’s face, and she knew it wasn’t meant for her eyes. The whole thing made her feel sick, staring at the expressions of people who thought they were never going to see her again.

Secretly watching the pity, the concern, the pain, the regret, the fear. And she had to watch it all silently, clawing at the universe to let her be real. She sniffled and felt Mulder’s attention snap to her.

Not here, she thought fiercely. Even though skinner couldn’t see or hear her, she still wouldn’t let herself crumble in this office. She hurried from the room, slipping through the door and tightening her jaw as she turned sharply in the hall and headed instinctively down to the safety of their basement office.

*

‘Scully?’ He whispered as he softly pushed the door open, knowing exactly where he’d find her.

It was thankfully empty, and he watched her carefully as he stepped inside. Her arms were crossed tightly in front of her body and her shoulders were so stiff that he could almost feel the waves of stress coming from them across the room.

‘Hey,’ she replied, turning finally to look at him.

‘Are you ok? You ran out of there pretty fast. Well, you kinda ran through a door, Scully, it was badass.’

She scoffed, a tired laugh struggled from her throat. He stepped towards her with a boyish glint in his eye, and here, surrounded by these four familiar walls, it was like stepping back in time.

‘It was not “badass.”’

‘Do you know how hard it was not to say something with Skinner staring right at me? You ran through a door, Scully. I..’ He shook his head, grinning.

‘I… I just can’t stand it, Mulder. It’s like watching people talk about me like I’m already gone.’

‘Scully, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine-‘

‘-And you! With your childish jokes about going after Ritter. You think that makes me feel any better?’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘No, I don’t imagine it makes you feel any better at all.’

‘So, just stop it, alright?’

‘Ok, you’ve got enough to worry about right now, I understand.’

‘It’s not even that, Mulder, it’s just.. god, you wouldn’t do something that reckless and… vengeful. It’s not.. I can’t…’ Her voice was climbing, tense with worry and anger.

She looked around at the remnants of the life they’d shared down here, now changed and shifted and claimed, and sighed.

‘While we’re down here, I’m gonna look through the files, just skim them for anything that sounds helpful, alright?’

He was still so handsome even in death. She didn’t have enough photographs of him to last the lifetime she was now condemned to living without him. She wondered if the baby would take after him or after her. She couldn’t decide whether or not the idea that she would spend her rest of her life searching for crumbs of Fox Mulder in the countenance of their child was heaven or hell.

She picked up his hand, heavy, cold and stiff and rested it against the swell of her stomach. The baby kicked and Scully could almost spy on Mulder’s face the ghost of a smile.

Rictus sardonicas, perhaps.

She had wanted for so long— they had wanted for so long— to reach this moment together and here they were, the three of them, one entering the world, one just having left it, and her, the thin frayed living thread joining the two.

She thought briefly of laying down on the slab next to him, like it was the other half of his bed and letting herself die of despair. It wouldn’t even take the drama of a suicide— so great was her despair that it threatened to engulf her if she would only get still enough to allow it.

She nudged him over on his slab and sat next to him, the baby weight threatening to send the three of them sprawling onto the ground. His head lolled to the side and his mouth fell open as though some half formed jape was about to tumble out. Scully adjusted his head and jaw to give him an element of dignity once more. Her fingers lingered on his stubble, which was exactly as she remembered it had been the morning of his abduction. Whatever had happened to him, it had involved a replication of his shave.

She cautiously removed his sheet and made a more thorough study of him. They had forgone the autopsy Montana state authorities had demanded before allowing the body that had once been Fox Mulder across state lines. It paid to know people that could spare his corpse that indignity. She ran her finger down the scar tissue on his chest. It was thick. Evidently he had lived through what must have been vivisection long enough to heal only to die from something else altogether. She wondered how the months had been for him. If death was sudden or if he had known he was going to die. If he had been dreading it or if it was a welcome relief.

The funeral home would be coming for in the morning but tonight he was still hers, so tonight she washed him as tenderly as she would their baby in just a few months, drying him carefully, swaddling him for his final rest.

There was only one place on earth better equipped for this situation than his own apartment, and so here they stood, outside of a heavy, quadruple-locked door in the drizzling rain, staring up at a little red blinking light.

Mulder waved impatiently and listened to the sounds of the speakers crackle and buzz to life as the door gradually unlocked itself.

‘Hey dude, where’s that pretty little partner of yours? You know we prefer speaking to her than you anyway.’

‘Knock it off..’ Mulder said with an apologetic glance to his side as they both stepped inside of the labyrinth and heard the heavy door rattle shut behind them.

‘Oh, Scully..! Why don’t you love me, Scully?!’ A dramatic chant came over the speakers and Scully flushed.

Mulder grunted in frustration, shaking his head to clear the thoughts that threatened to spill out too soon. He trailed through the first hallway and met the three stooges around a large, lit table.

He held his hand out in front of her and then pulled it back to his side when he realised how useless it must look. He pulled up a seat and crashed onto it, feeling the weight of the last few days crash with him. Scully drew in a deep breath and he felt compelled to pull her into his arms, but he just tightened his fists in his lap instead of reaching for her.

‘You look like shit,’ Langly muttered as he watched Mulder push hair back from his tired face.

‘Seriously, Mulder, what’s up? You’re not fighting with the missus again?’ Frohike called out as he came to claim the seat at his left hand side, where Scully had been about to sit.

‘The missus?’ Scully teased quietly in his ear and he swatted her away.

‘No,’ Mulder said tightly, shrugging his shoulder.

‘Then, what?’ Langly asked, his eyebrows dancing with intrigue. ‘To what do we owe this unexpected visit?’

He squeezed his hands together on the table, letting out a harsh breath.

‘Ok, look.. I’m here for some information,’ Mulder said with exasperation, leaning forward. ‘I need help researching-’

‘Uh-uh, nice try. Again, we ask.. why no agent Scully? You know we’re more amenable to her ideas…’ Frohike waggled his eyebrows and Mulder watched as Scully’s eyes widened.

‘Drop it, guys,’ he warned, tensing his jaw, ‘she’s..’

‘-I bet she’s busy tonight, I bet a woman like that has countless offers on a night such as this. Why would she want to waste her time with-?’

‘Frohike, I’m serious.’

‘She probably-’

‘She’s in a fucking coma, knock it off!’ Mulder slammed his hands down onto the metal edge of the table, his anger finally overtaking him.

The three men fell into a shocked silence, swallowing their next jibes regretfully.

‘That’s not funny, man,’ Langly said with a frown.

‘You’re damn right it’s not,’ Mulder replied, his face remaining a stern mask.

Scully stood there, her breath shuddering as she studied their faces, shock and horror registering around the room in a wave of grief she shouldn’t be privy to.

‘A.. coma?’ Frohike repeated the awful word and it rang between them all.

Scully’s skin felt tight, a wave of nausea rippling through her body as the silence stretched into something unbearable. Mulder tapped the seat beside him and scraped the legs towards himself. To the boys, it would appear a nervous pat of a useless hand, but Scully saw his need to have her close and settled wordlessly in the chair. She watched as his body deflated, a tension he’d been holding released through his parted lips.

‘She’s.. she was shot.’ His voice wobbled around the word. She slid her hand around his and felt the cool, numbing tingle of their touch. She squeezed his palm and felt relieved when he squeezed her back.

‘..Shot?’

‘So.. you’re going after the guy? The shooter?’ Byers whispered.

Scully felt her spine stiffen. She’d never heard a single word of violence leave any of their lips, and the sudden sharpness around the table felt dangerous.

‘You know his name? We can-’

‘Unfortunately not. He’s FBI..’ Mulder said with a bitter expression.

‘She was shot by FBI?’

Mulder swallowed, feeling tension in his jaw as his teeth ground together. ‘Yeah.’

‘If she doesn’t pull through…’ Three pairs of eyes shot up to watch Mulder seriously and Scully nearly gasped.

He nodded back at them and she wanted to scoff.

‘Mulder, you cannot be serious,’ she almost laughed. ‘He didn’t mean to..’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he snapped, interrupting her.

The air was thick with confusion and unspoken words, they all moved their heads and darted their eyes as though they were having conversations without her.

‘Mulder!’ she said sharply, but he wouldn’t look in her direction.

‘We’re… you know we’re here for whatever you need,’ Byers said with his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him.

Mulder gripped the edge of the table and drew in a deep breath. Scully grabbed his hand again and felt the ripple of tension there that only intensified.

‘What do I say?’ he muttered quietly for her with his chin on his shoulder.

The entire room froze, and she pulled her hand away like it burned.

The other men cleared their throats and Mulder dropped his head into his hands. He felt his entire world swimming, his mind tipping and tilting inside his skull.

‘W-what do you need from us?’ Frohike asked quietly, but solidly.

‘A-anything. I need cases, reports, articles, fucking fables, anything on…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Anything on bringing people out of comas…’

‘Mulder,’ Langly said with suspicion.

‘What?!’ he snapped.

‘You’re.. this isn’t going to help, don’t you think you should be.. there?’

‘I’ve been there!’ Mulder exclaimed. ‘For two days, I’ve been there, with the doctors and, and with Scully’s brother telling me I should make real nice with my own gun.’

He sighed heavily as his forefinger traced the ring of coffee on his napkin. He felt sick, and Scully’s soft presence at his side was the only thing stopping him from sprinting home.

‘Mrs Scully, you know that Dana and I have been partners for a very long time. We have a relationship that is entirely unique. We trust each other with-’

‘-I know that you’re in love with my daughter,’ Maggie said firmly. ‘And she knows it, too.. She knew it.’

Her expression was sombre, her eyes and nose were red and it broke Mulder’s heart to watch her in so much pain. He wanted to tell her, to motion to his side where her daughter still lived, but he couldn’t.

Her words finally registered as he finished studying her face.

‘I’m in love with her?’ he asked, though they all knew it wasn’t a question.

‘Yes, Fox, it’s been obvious for years. Dana may have kept her feelings close to the chest, but she knew.’

Mulder shot a glance to his side and Scully quickly shook her head with a teasing frown.

‘I’m not so sure that’s true,’ Mulder said with a small shrug.

‘Well, I know it. And Bill knows it too, that’s why he’s so unsettled by you. You mean too much to Dana. She puts all of her trust in you, and your.. quest. She’s changed quite a bit since meeting you.’

Mulder felt a hand softly stroke his knee under the table and he fought against his emotions. He needed to say some things now that would make all three of them very uncomfortable in very different ways.

‘I do love your daughter, Maggie. Very much. That’s why- that’s why I have to tell you something.’

The faint hand on his knee squeezed tighter, panic seizing them both. His eyes held firm with Scully’s for a fraction of a second before he turned to face his mother-in-law.

‘What is it, Fox? Please..’

‘God, Maggie, I’m really sorry that this is how you find this out.’ His chest shuddered, his hands screwed into tight fists, the idea of hurting this woman in such a huge way was despicable.

‘Fox,’ she urged, getting agitated.

‘Dana and I are.. married,’ he uttered the words as though they were sharp and painful in his mouth. 

Her eyes roamed quickly over him, and he wondered if she’d even heard him, then she burst out with a short, harsh laugh that made him flinch.

He couldn’t even bring himself to use more affection wording, he couldn’t tell her something that wasn’t true. We’re in love. I’m her husband. We honeymooned in Paris.

No, none of that was allowed, so he searched his mind for the simplest version of the truth.

We’re married, it’s legal, there’s paperwork. It was a Thursday. She wore a suit and we got pizza afterwards.

His gaze fell, it crumbled down to the table in shame.

‘You and Dana are married?’ she scoffed, eyeing him with suspicion. She had long known that Fox Mulder was a strange man, but she had loved and accepted him because her daughter did. But now…

‘Yes. We have been for two years.’ He sighed, eyes still held down.

‘Yet you live apart? Yet you still work together on the X-Files? You don’t do anything personal or romantic together? You- You expect me to believe this?’ Her voice was high as though she was sick of him wasting her time.

‘We’re married,’ he replied weakly, no other words left on his tongue.

‘So if you are Dana’s husband, why did she accept a date from a single father from my church, not three months ago?’

Mulder froze and drew in a deep, raw breath and turned to look at Scully instinctively.

Her eyes widened in shock, begging him to turn back at her mother and he thought he saw a flush of heat at her cheeks.

‘It’s not the most conventional marriage, it’s.. regardless of who she wants to date, Maggie..’ He swallowed thickly, jealousy now marring his exhausted face.

‘Dana is legally my wife, and I can therefore make informed medical decisions in her best interest. And I can assure you’- His eyes bore into hers then, serious and steady as he swallowed. -‘her best interest is all that I care about. I won’t let you take her off the life support.’

‘Fox..’ Maggie whispered, her voice broken, ‘Nobody is taking her off the life support yet. But she did sign the DNR. She doesn’t want to live like this. We only want to respect her wishes.’

‘I’m sorry Maggie.’ He forced out. ‘I won’t let you do it.’

‘Fox, Dana is dying.’

‘Not yet,’ he insisted.

‘There’s nothing any of us can do, and if you love her as you’re claiming-’

‘I would gladly die before I let her die.’

Tears burst from Maggie, ugly and wet and loud, making Mulder wince. She sobbed, and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to comfort her. Would his touch be painful, or repulsive?

He was effectively taking control of her daughter’s life, ripping it from her hands and laying claim to it without warning.

A sudden, numb weight pressing on his shoulder made him jump, and he turned to see Scully burying her face against him. He tried not to react, he tried to show Maggie his full attention, but he ached to pull Scully on to his lap and soothe her, to cry with her through the pain.

‘Maggie, when Dana was taken..’ he began with a low, rough voice filled with fear, 'when Dana was taken you wanted to respect her wishes and, and.. you almost gave up. Bought a headstone and everything, remember?’

Maggie’s sigh was wounded and he hated the need to bring this up. 

‘But she came back. She’ll come back to us..’

‘That’s not fair, Fox. You act as though I’m giving up on her,’ Maggie said sternly, wiping a tear from her cheek, ‘I’m only doing what she’s always wanted. She never wanted to live because of machines. The doctors say that her brain activity isn’t improving.’

‘Mulder..’ Scully whispered, her chest physically aching now. ‘Mulder, I’m so sorry about this.’ Her lips were at his ear and he felt the pull of despair, the hallow ache in his chest, too much. 

The times he’d wished to feel Scully’s lips on his skin weren’t like this.

‘I will fight for her until the last second, Maggie. I promise you, as long as there is air in my lungs..’

Maggie nodded fiercely and held up a hand, letting him stop.

‘I know, Fox. I can see that.’

He let out a sharp sigh, tightening his fingers around his knees.

‘I don’t understand your relationship with my daughter. It doesn’t make any sense to me, at all. But it seems to make sense to the two of you. And if you indeed love her this much, who am I to deny you?’ She stood shakily, tears staining her face.

‘Maggie, when she wakes up, we’ll explain everything, ok?’

Maggie nodded with a brittle smile and turned and walked away, the tap of her shoes against the tiled floor, a farewell.

Mulder fell back heavily against the green plastic chair, his mind spinning.

‘I.. need a minute alone,’ he said softly, looking down at his lap. ‘Please.’

Scully stood up, with a hand on his shoulder, and followed her mother from the room.

JANUARY 19TH 1999, WASHINGTON DC 

He was overcome with terror, the kind that claws at your throat and sends waves of nausea through your torso, forcing you to look at the world through a haze of confusion. 

Hospital. Scully. Accident. That was all he knew of now, that was all he had to curl his life around. 

‘We’ll be able to tell you more once you arrive, Mr Mulder.’

They always said shit like that, half-truths and vague descriptions. Just enough to send your pulse skyrocketing, but never enough to actually clue you in on what the fuck you were about to see. He knew there was a reason that they did that, Scully would be able to tell him exactly what it was, but Scully wasn’t here right now and his mind was too full. Hospital. Scully. Accident.

He slammed his hand in desperation against the steering wheel, feeling a stinging band of pain against his palm, wondering why the hell he hadn’t caught a cab. Now he’d have to worry about parking, about lining up his car in one of those little narrow painted bays and remember to take a ticket before he could get to her. 

Hospital. Scully. Accident. He could almost swear he tasted blood, the tang of absolute horror waiting on his tongue. They wouldn’t give any more details because the details would make him erratic, they would make him take risks to get there quicker. Yes, that was the reason, and he could hear Scully’s calm, practical words in his own head now clearly, drowning out his own useless thoughts. 

He pictured her whiter than the gown they’d put her in, blood pouring from some deep, fresh wound he hadn’t been able to protect her from. He pictured things that made his stomach lurch, twisted things that made his palms sweat and threaten to lose his grip on the wheel. He felt dizzy, frantic and terrified. 

Yeah, that’s exactly what Scully needs right now, her emergency contact dying en-route to the hospital because he couldn’t get it together. 

The tip of his bonnet bounced noisily as he swung into the parking lot, skidding past the concrete columns as his wheels screeched and echoed. He slammed his car into the nearest empty bay and couldn’t find himself cognisant or concerned enough to take the little ticket. Let them tow me, he thought bitterly. 

The whole car shook with the force of the door when he closed it, and he nearly tripped as he turned to sprint into the building.

‘Dana Scully! I need to know which room Dana Scully is in. I’m, I-I’m her partner, Fox Mulder, I was called..’ He rushed out the words and hoped they were the right ones, fingers tapping anxiously against the desk. His heartbeat was fast and thunderous, poisoning everything he said or heard.   

As soon as he had a place to aim for, he was sprinting again on hollow legs, cramming himself into the elevator and pressing the button for the fifth floor five times, even though it was already lit up and waiting. The air was stiff as the carriage lifted with a jolt and the seconds stretched taut, as though time was worrying with him. Floor five. Dana Scully. Are you family? 

Family, what the fuck does family have to do with it? I’m… I’m Mulder!  

When the doors finally pinged open, he pulled forward into another sprint, blood pounding in his ears. As he sped around the final corner, the sight of her body through the glass pane of her room stopped him in his tracks, and all the blood finally rushed to his head. He felt like he would faint as the familiar slope of her nose and flame of her hair assured him. Alive. Scully. Her profile through a little window was like a breeze of cooling air, something good that he could fill his lungs with. 

How many times would he rush to a hospital and then feel his knees buckle in tortured relief to find that she had made it? How many more times would her path traverse danger like this?

‘Mr Mulder?’ A tense voice called from behind a cubicle to his right. 

He nodded in the nurse’s blurry direction as she stood carefully, pushing her chair back and starting to approach him. He walked right past her, letting her know that he didn’t intend to stop. 

‘Sir!’ she called after him and he still didn’t slow. She grabbed at his arm and tugged back sharply just before he could reach Scully’s door. 

He was startled, spinning to look at the woman in dismay. 

‘You can’t go in there just yet, sir. A doctor needs to speak with you first,’ the nurse said evenly, watching him like a dangerous animal. 

Outrage flared in his chest. Like hell I’m not going in there.

‘Would you like to take a seat right here and wait for the rest of Dana’s family to arrive? The doctor shouldn’t be much longer.’ 

‘No,’ Mulder said sharply, pulling his arm free from her grasp. ‘I’m her emergency contact, I, I was called,’ he insisted. 

‘You need to wait for the doctor before you go in. If you can’t remain calm, I’m obligated to call for security. And I don’t want to do that,’ she warned, eyes wide with sympathy.  

‘Ca-Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on, then?’ He choked out an incredulous laugh, nerves swirling as his limbs ached to sprint. Adrenaline, fear and now a hefty dose of frustration were pushing him higher. ‘What happened? How did she get here?’ 

‘Please, Mr Mulder, the doctor won’t be long,’ she said with an apologetic touch to his shoulder, and suddenly dread filled him, washing away all of the previous, selfish feelings. 

Why couldn’t he go in? Why was her whole family coming? 

His eyes shot back to the little glimpse of Scully he could see, and now that he was standing still he could take more of the sight in. 

Machines and wires and… strips of cloudy tape on her eyes. A tube in her throat, pushing to fill and empty her chest in a horrifying rhythm.

He froze, ice creeping down his spine as the world began to spin. 

*

‘A.. a coma?’ Maggie Scully’s voice broke in the quiet room, a familiar pain now radiating through everything. Her son, Bill Jr kept his arm around her shoulders, staring down at his sister’s motionless body in the bed, the tension in his frame held them both up like he was made of cement.  

Mulder studied the ground, listening to every sound pulse from the machines as a numb pain settled over him. The edge of the floor tile by his left foot was chipped, and he wanted to cry. He wanted Scully to tell him what to do. 

‘Your daughter lost a tremendous amount of blood. By the time she made it to us, she was already slipping away. The induced coma was an extreme solution to stabilise her condition.’ 

The doctor’s voice was low, a rumbling secret between them all in the room, and Mulder wanted to yell just to cut through the tension. 

‘So, so she’ll come out of the coma when, wh-when..’ Maggie dropped the end of her sentence, feeling the emotions welling up. 

‘Unfortunately, we won’t know how her body is recovering for a few more days. Presently, she’s not responding as we’d hope. We’ll need to see how her body reacts, and how quickly normal brain function will return.’ 

Brain function. The words were sharp, callous, cold. Mulder wanted to vomit, and he let his eyes shut slowly as the manufactured sounds faded in and out like they were moving away. 

‘In the meantime, she has these machines doing the heavy lifting for her, and she’s not in any pain. So, as difficult as this will be for you all, there’s little we can do but wait for Dana for come back to us.’ 

Mulder reached out and let his fingers touch her hand, shocked at the cool feeling of her skin. 

Not cold, like the blood had stopped pumping, but cool, like the life was somehow forced. Blankets and machines and filters decided her temperature now, and the thought made him irrationally, desperately angry.  

He slid his fingers through hers, begging her silently to squeeze him back, to twitch, to react. 

He waited with her cool, still hand in his, waiting, waiting for the moment when she registered his touch and pulled her thumb back to press against his. He waited for her to let him know that she was ok, that even though she was sleeping now, she knew that he was there. He waited. 

His fingers prodded the skin on the back of her hand gently, feeling it glide over her delicate, beautiful bones, and something shattered in his chest. 

He wished it was him, he opened up a pit of desperate bargaining in his soul that had never been there before, and he let himself beg whatever she believed in, to trade places with her. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, a murky, messy tangle of conversations that no one wanted to have. Bill barked demands, Maggie cried softly, Mulder pleaded for information and then straightened up with anger when Skinner arrived. 

‘Where is he?’ Mulder asked with a precise detachment that sent a chill through their former boss. 

‘Agent Mulder, I don’t expect any animosity between yourself and a fellow employee of the bureau. You’ve been involved in more than enough accidents and close calls of your own to point any fingers.’ Skinner’s argument was quiet, weak and pointless, but he was legally obligated to make it. ‘Mistakes happen, and-’ 

‘-Is he here?’ Mulder asked again. 

‘Stay with your partner, Mulder. You won’t help her by losing your badge.’ 

Mulder nodded, not because he agreed, but because he realised Skinner wasn’t going to tell him anything. 

‘If Scully dies, he dies,’ Mulder said flatly, his eyes glazing over as he stared down at her lifeless body, weighed down by blankets, white as a ghost. 

Skinner sighed heavily and skimmed his hand over his head, but didn’t argue. 

#42, 2630 Hegal Place - 11:30PM

Mulder pressed the door shut behind himself, suddenly afraid to be alone with the silence. He was afraid to be in a room that didn’t faithfully beep with signs of her life or the sounds of the machines doing their jobs. He was alone in a room that creaked and sighed with his isolation. 

His breath came quickly as he looked around, refusing to even turn on the lights. He stumbled forward a few paces before leaning against the doorframe with a furious grip and taking stock once again. 

Shallow, even breaths, he tried to force himself to take, tensing his jaw and flaring his nostrils. 

His legs trembled and he let himself slide to the ground where he belonged, feeling a sudden wave of grief crash over him, stealing the air from his lungs. 

‘Mulder?!’ Scully gasped from somewhere in the room. He felt her presence moving, reacting to him as though she were real. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

It stung, it more than stung, it was sharp and dull and heavy and wrong. He wanted to curl deeper into himself and finally give up. He’d spent more than two decades chasing after his sister, but he wasn’t strong enough to take another step without Scully. 

Her fingers set to work, diligent and skilled and nearly comforting as they searched his head for wounds, like the real, living partner he relied on would have. His face screwed up tighter in agony, the delusion too cruel.

Why would his mind do this to him? He pushed her away, groaning with despair, tears wet and heavy on his cheeks and between his fingers and on his shirt and-

‘Mulder, talk to me!’ she demanded, grasping at him again. 

Her skin felt temporary, distant, like her touch was already a memory that held no weight or truth. He couldn’t stand it, the feel of her transparent fingers working on him, reminding him of where she lay.

He choked out a louder, wet sob, covering his face with both of his hands, willing the apparition away. 

‘Mulder, you’re scaring me,’ she said firmly, her voice as strong and real as ever, her impossible hands trying to peel his away from his face but her touch was weak and tingling, ‘talk to me!’ 

A sick swirling panic began to set in then as he wondered if this is what life would be like from now on - haunted by the both of them? Would they come to him at night and demand that he look at them? Would they take it in turns? One night Samantha begs him to help her, screaming out his given name, and the next, Scully kneels by his side and forces him to look into bright blue eyes that no longer open.  

No.

If Scully dies in that bed, he won’t do it. He isn’t strong enough to keep on searching, to keep on trying. He knows it, he’s not blind enough to ignore that he’s nothing without her. 

If Scully dies in that bed, he’ll have no choice but to follow her.

He heard the clatter of her footsteps as she made her way around the apartment with hurried breath. Little taps from her heeled boots, he knew the sound. When she wore her pumps, the sound was sharper. This was the sound of those little brown leather ankle boots she wore when the days were long because the heel was wider and more comfortable. 

His heart seized as he wondered why he let himself know her so well, to study her for years until her shoes became familiar background noise. Why had he learnt her from afar when she had been right there, within reach? 

He could not forgive himself, and the fingers on his face became claws, digging into his temples and eyebrows until there would be marks. 

‘Mulder, if you’re not going to-’

A sudden gasp from her across the room made him finally still and look up at her through trembling hands. 

She was standing above his desk, staring at her own skin, turning her hand over slowly, curiously. Her cheeks were red with stress, but the rest of her was still pale as porcelain, her eyes wide. 

He was allowed a momentary reprieve from the guilt and fear and horror. 

‘Sc-scully?’ He sniffed, watching her carefully.

With a nervous glance at him, she lowered her hand to his phone in its cradle and slowly slid through it. Through it, her skin disappearing into the plastic with a tremble before reappearing on the other side. 

She was rendered silent, and suddenly the air in the room shifted. Somehow, he knew he was looking at something completely wrong. 

He stood slowly, still watching her, watch her own hand and wiggling her delicate fingers in the air in disbelief. 

His pulse thundered in his ears, threatening to send him crashing to the ground. He stared at her, the familiar but impossible body of his partner, here to taunt him.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to hold her and thank her and beg her and smell her. But she wasn’t real. The real Scully was across town wrapped in wires and hopelessness.

He swallowed, wondering why the hell he was even entertaining this delusion. 

He screwed his eyes shut and counted three breaths. 

Open. She was still there, staring at him with impatient frustration.

Shut. Three breaths and a swimming mind. Had he finally lost it? 

Open. She was closer now, and she looked so real he almost lunged for her.

‘Scully..’

‘Mulder, what the hell is going on?’ Her voice cracked around the question, and her bottom lip trembled.

She looked so frightened and the room seemed to fall off its axis, the floor feeling spongy and unstable. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek in lieu of answering her. 

She ran her hands across her face quickly and turned to pace the room, her fingers pulsing into fists nervously. She reached his bedroom door and then her hand hovered above the handle.

He was frozen, watching the strange scene and feeling numbness creeping into his body.

After a deep breath, she reached forward and her fingers closed around themselves, unable to grasp the metal she seemed to slip through. Nothing was solid or tangible and she felt all of the blood drain from her body. 

A shuddering, panicked breath forced its way from her chest. She turned to face him and the look they shared was heavy with fear. 

He was watching the woman he knew to be in a coma, storm around his room and fail to hold onto anything. There was frustration boiling in her expression, like when his theories rattled on too long in any of their dingy motel rooms, or when he took off sprinting into the darkness and she was forced to follow. 

‘W-wait a second,’ she stuttered, stepping suddenly towards him. Her hand darted out to his wrist and turned his palm up. ‘I can touch you.’ She gasped, her fingers finally brushing against something solid, feeling it tug her towards reality. 

JANUARY 19TH 1999, WASHINGTON DC 

He was overcome with terror, the kind that claws at your throat and sends waves of nausea through your torso, forcing you to look at the world through a haze of confusion. 

Hospital. Scully. Accident. That was all he knew of now, that was all he had to curl his life around. 

‘We’ll be able to tell you more once you arrive, Mr Mulder.’

They always said shit like that, half-truths and vague descriptions. Just enough to send your pulse skyrocketing, but never enough to actually clue you in on what the fuck you were about to see. He knew there was a reason that they did that, Scully would be able to tell him exactly what it was, but Scully wasn’t here right now and his mind was too full. Hospital. Scully. Accident.

He slammed his hand in desperation against the steering wheel, feeling a stinging band of pain against his palm, wondering why the hell he hadn’t caught a cab. Now he’d have to worry about parking, about lining up his car in one of those little narrow painted bays and remember to take a ticket before he could get to her. 

Hospital. Scully. Accident. He could almost swear he tasted blood, the tang of absolute horror waiting on his tongue. They wouldn’t give any more details because the details would make him erratic, they would make him take risks to get there quicker. Yes, that was the reason, and he could hear Scully’s calm, practical words in his own head now clearly, drowning out his own useless thoughts. 

He pictured her whiter than the gown they’d put her in, blood pouring from some deep, fresh wound he hadn’t been able to protect her from. He pictured things that made his stomach lurch, twisted things that made his palms sweat and threaten to lose his grip on the wheel. He felt dizzy, frantic and terrified. 

Yeah, that’s exactly what Scully needs right now, her emergency contact dying en-route to the hospital because he couldn’t get it together. 

The tip of his bonnet bounced noisily as he swung into the parking lot, skidding past the concrete columns as his wheels screeched and echoed. He slammed his car into the nearest empty bay and couldn’t find himself cognisant or concerned enough to take the little ticket. Let them tow me, he thought bitterly. 

The whole car shook with the force of the door when he closed it, and he nearly tripped as he turned to sprint into the building.

‘Dana Scully! I need to know which room Dana Scully is in. I’m, I-I’m her partner, Fox Mulder, I was called..’ He rushed out the words and hoped they were the right ones, fingers tapping anxiously against the desk. His heartbeat was fast and thunderous, poisoning everything he said or heard.   

As soon as he had a place to aim for, he was sprinting again on hollow legs, cramming himself into the elevator and pressing the button for the fifth floor five times, even though it was already lit up and waiting. The air was stiff as the carriage lifted with a jolt and the seconds stretched taut, as though time was worrying with him. Floor five. Dana Scully. Are you family? 

Family, what the fuck does family have to do with it? I’m… I’m Mulder!  

When the doors finally pinged open, he pulled forward into another sprint, blood pounding in his ears. As he sped around the final corner, the sight of her body through the glass pane of her room stopped him in his tracks, and all the blood finally rushed to his head. He felt like he would faint as the familiar slope of her nose and flame of her hair assured him. Alive. Scully. Her profile through a little window was like a breeze of cooling air, something good that he could fill his lungs with. 

How many times would he rush to a hospital and then feel his knees buckle in tortured relief to find that she had made it? How many more times would her path traverse danger like this?

‘Mr Mulder?’ A tense voice called from behind a cubicle to his right. 

He nodded in the nurse’s blurry direction as she stood carefully, pushing her chair back and starting to approach him. He walked right past her, letting her know that he didn’t intend to stop. 

‘Sir!’ she called after him and he still didn’t slow. She grabbed at his arm and tugged back sharply just before he could reach Scully’s door. 

He was startled, spinning to look at the woman in dismay. 

‘You can’t go in there just yet, sir. A doctor needs to speak with you first,’ the nurse said evenly, watching him like a dangerous animal. 

Outrage flared in his chest. Like hell I’m not going in there.

‘Would you like to take a seat right here and wait for the rest of Dana’s family to arrive? The doctor shouldn’t be much longer.’ 

‘No,’ Mulder said sharply, pulling his arm free from her grasp. ‘I’m her emergency contact, I, I was called,’ he insisted. 

‘You need to wait for the doctor before you go in. If you can’t remain calm, I’m obligated to call for security. And I don’t want to do that,’ she warned, eyes wide with sympathy.  

‘Ca-Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on, then?’ He choked out an incredulous laugh, nerves swirling as his limbs ached to sprint. Adrenaline, fear and now a hefty dose of frustration were pushing him higher. ‘What happened? How did she get here?’ 

‘Please, Mr Mulder, the doctor won’t be long,’ she said with an apologetic touch to his shoulder, and suddenly dread filled him, washing away all of the previous, selfish feelings. 

Why couldn’t he go in? Why was her whole family coming? 

His eyes shot back to the little glimpse of Scully he could see, and now that he was standing still he could take more of the sight in. 

Machines and wires and… strips of cloudy tape on her eyes. A tube in her throat, pushing to fill and empty her chest in a horrifying rhythm.

He froze, ice creeping down his spine as the world began to spin. 

*

‘A.. a coma?’ Maggie Scully’s voice broke in the quiet room, a familiar pain now radiating through everything. Her son, Bill Jr kept his arm around her shoulders, staring down at his sister’s motionless body in the bed, the tension in his frame held them both up like he was made of cement.  

Mulder studied the ground, listening to every sound pulse from the machines as a numb pain settled over him. The edge of the floor tile by his left foot was chipped, and he wanted to cry. He wanted Scully to tell him what to do. 

‘Your daughter lost a tremendous amount of blood. By the time she made it to us, she was already slipping away. The induced coma was an extreme solution to stabilise her condition.’ 

The doctor’s voice was low, a rumbling secret between them all in the room, and Mulder wanted to yell just to cut through the tension. 

‘So, so she’ll come out of the coma when, wh-when..’ Maggie dropped the end of her sentence, feeling the emotions welling up. 

‘Unfortunately, we won’t know how her body is recovering for a few more days. Presently, she’s not responding as we’d hope. We’ll need to see how her body reacts, and how quickly normal brain function will return.’ 

Brain function. The words were sharp, callous, cold. Mulder wanted to vomit, and he let his eyes shut slowly as the manufactured sounds faded in and out like they were moving away. 

‘In the meantime, she has these machines doing the heavy lifting for her, and she’s not in any pain. So, as difficult as this will be for you all, there’s little we can do but wait for Dana for come back to us.’ 

Mulder reached out and let his fingers touch her hand, shocked at the cool feeling of her skin. 

Not cold, like the blood had stopped pumping, but cool, like the life was somehow forced. Blankets and machines and filters decided her temperature now, and the thought made him irrationally, desperately angry.  

He slid his fingers through hers, begging her silently to squeeze him back, to twitch, to react. 

He waited with her cool, still hand in his, waiting, waiting for the moment when she registered his touch and pulled her thumb back to press against his. He waited for her to let him know that she was ok, that even though she was sleeping now, she knew that he was there. He waited. 

His fingers prodded the skin on the back of her hand gently, feeling it glide over her delicate, beautiful bones, and something shattered in his chest. 

He wished it was him, he opened up a pit of desperate bargaining in his soul that had never been there before, and he let himself beg whatever she believed in, to trade places with her. 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, a murky, messy tangle of conversations that no one wanted to have. Bill barked demands, Maggie cried softly, Mulder pleaded for information and then straightened up with anger when Skinner arrived. 

‘Where is he?’ Mulder asked with a precise detachment that sent a chill through their former boss. 

‘Agent Mulder, I don’t expect any animosity between yourself and a fellow employee of the bureau. You’ve been involved in more than enough accidents and close calls of your own to point any fingers.’ Skinner’s argument was quiet, weak and pointless, but he was legally obligated to make it. ‘Mistakes happen, and-’ 

‘-Is he here?’ Mulder asked again. 

‘Stay with your partner, Mulder. You won’t help her by losing your badge.’ 

Mulder nodded, not because he agreed, but because he realised Skinner wasn’t going to tell him anything. 

‘If Scully dies, he dies,’ Mulder said flatly, his eyes glazing over as he stared down at her lifeless body, weighed down by blankets, white as a ghost. 

Skinner sighed heavily and skimmed his hand over his head, but didn’t argue. 

#42, 2630 Hegal Place - 11:30PM

Mulder pressed the door shut behind himself, suddenly afraid to be alone with the silence. He was afraid to be in a room that didn’t faithfully beep with signs of her life or the sounds of the machines doing their jobs. He was alone in a room that creaked and sighed with his isolation. 

His breath came quickly as he looked around, refusing to even turn on the lights. He stumbled forward a few paces before leaning against the doorframe with a furious grip and taking stock once again. 

Shallow, even breaths, he tried to force himself to take, tensing his jaw and flaring his nostrils. 

His legs trembled and he let himself slide to the ground where he belonged, feeling a sudden wave of grief crash over him, stealing the air from his lungs. 

‘Mulder?!’ Scully gasped from somewhere in the room. He felt her presence moving, reacting to him as though she were real. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

It stung, it more than stung, it was sharp and dull and heavy and wrong. He wanted to curl deeper into himself and finally give up. He’d spent more than two decades chasing after his sister, but he wasn’t strong enough to take another step without Scully. 

Her fingers set to work, diligent and skilled and nearly comforting as they searched his head for wounds, like the real, living partner he relied on would have. His face screwed up tighter in agony, the delusion too cruel.

Why would his mind do this to him? He pushed her away, groaning with despair, tears wet and heavy on his cheeks and between his fingers and on his shirt and-

‘Mulder, talk to me!’ she demanded, grasping at him again. 

Her skin felt temporary, distant, like her touch was already a memory that held no weight or truth. He couldn’t stand it, the feel of her transparent fingers working on him, reminding him of where she lay.

He choked out a louder, wet sob, covering his face with both of his hands, willing the apparition away. 

‘Mulder, you’re scaring me,’ she said firmly, her voice as strong and real as ever, her impossible hands trying to peel his away from his face but her touch was weak and tingling, ‘talk to me!’ 

A sick swirling panic began to set in then as he wondered if this is what life would be like from now on - haunted by the both of them? Would they come to him at night and demand that he look at them? Would they take it in turns? One night Samantha begs him to help her, screaming out his given name, and the next, Scully kneels by his side and forces him to look into bright blue eyes that no longer open.  

No.

If Scully dies in that bed, he won’t do it. He isn’t strong enough to keep on searching, to keep on trying. He knows it, he’s not blind enough to ignore that he’s nothing without her. 

If Scully dies in that bed, he’ll have no choice but to follow her.

He heard the clatter of her footsteps as she made her way around the apartment with hurried breath. Little taps from her heeled boots, he knew the sound. When she wore her pumps, the sound was sharper. This was the sound of those little brown leather ankle boots she wore when the days were long because the heel was wider and more comfortable. 

His heart seized as he wondered why he let himself know her so well, to study her for years until her shoes became familiar background noise. Why had he learnt her from afar when she had been right there, within reach? 

He could not forgive himself, and the fingers on his face became claws, digging into his temples and eyebrows until there would be marks. 

‘Mulder, if you’re not going to-’

A sudden gasp from her across the room made him finally still and look up at her through trembling hands. 

She was standing above his desk, staring at her own skin, turning her hand over slowly, curiously. Her cheeks were red with stress, but the rest of her was still pale as porcelain, her eyes wide. 

He was allowed a momentary reprieve from the guilt and fear and horror. 

‘Sc-scully?’ He sniffed, watching her carefully.

With a nervous glance at him, she lowered her hand to his phone in its cradle and slowly slid through it. Through it, her skin disappearing into the plastic with a tremble before reappearing on the other side. 

She was rendered silent, and suddenly the air in the room shifted. Somehow, he knew he was looking at something completely wrong. 

He stood slowly, still watching her, watch her own hand and wiggling her delicate fingers in the air in disbelief. 

His pulse thundered in his ears, threatening to send him crashing to the ground. He stared at her, the familiar but impossible body of his partner, here to taunt him.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to hold her and thank her and beg her and smell her. But she wasn’t real. The real Scully was across town wrapped in wires and hopelessness.

He swallowed, wondering why the hell he was even entertaining this delusion. 

He screwed his eyes shut and counted three breaths. 

Open. She was still there, staring at him with impatient frustration.

Shut. Three breaths and a swimming mind. Had he finally lost it? 

Open. She was closer now, and she looked so real he almost lunged for her.

‘Scully..’

‘Mulder, what the hell is going on?’ Her voice cracked around the question, and her bottom lip trembled.

She looked so frightened and the room seemed to fall off its axis, the floor feeling spongy and unstable. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek in lieu of answering her. 

She ran her hands across her face quickly and turned to pace the room, her fingers pulsing into fists nervously. She reached his bedroom door and then her hand hovered above the handle.

He was frozen, watching the strange scene and feeling numbness creeping into his body.

After a deep breath, she reached forward and her fingers closed around themselves, unable to grasp the metal she seemed to slip through. Nothing was solid or tangible and she felt all of the blood drain from her body. 

A shuddering, panicked breath forced its way from her chest. She turned to face him and the look they shared was heavy with fear. 

He was watching the woman he knew to be in a coma, storm around his room and fail to hold onto anything. There was frustration boiling in her expression, like when his theories rattled on too long in any of their dingy motel rooms, or when he took off sprinting into the darkness and she was forced to follow. 

‘W-wait a second,’ she stuttered, stepping suddenly towards him. Her hand darted out to his wrist and turned his palm up. ‘I can touch you.’ She gasped, her fingers finally brushing against something solid, feeling it tug her towards reality. 

After all, Mulder wrote poetry when he was young; it didn’t seem fitting to be writing songs, but he did, and they were all about Scully. Scully, not his only muse, but clearly the best one.

Mulder liked it better when he wrote poetry, so he wasn’t sure why he kept writing songs. Lyrics, not song, his little girl would correct him. That’s what he gets for having a baby girl with Scully, at an age more likely to become grandparents than parents.

His precious little smarty-pants know-it-all, Mulder didn’t know how he could have lived without the first one in his life, and now there were two.

Plus the boy who came home when he was almost not a boy anymore, who came home because he had decided that he wanted to be with them, who changed his name because he had decided that he wanted to be a Mulder.

A Scully-Mulder. Rebellious and hardheaded and desiring to carry on his loved ones’ pain, Mulder didn’t know how he could have created something so wonderfully flawed, another creature that was all him and all Scully. And now there were three.

He had insisted on keeping Daggoo when Scully showed him the mutt. Of all the past years when he suggested to her to get a dog, she had always refused, citing the stupidest reasons.

Mulder had always suspected it was because he had said you and not we.

He did not want to jinx her. Laelaps, his first and only dog, ran away on a rainy spring day, and he had never really lived it down. When her beloved Queequeg got eaten by an alligator, he felt so responsible that he couldn’t process that the dog actually died. For the whole time afterwards, he had imagined they had kept the reddish squirrel-tail in the motel room while they were out, until Scully gave the pet carrier to the owner at the lodge.

Sitting on the plane looking at her looking at the pet collar, Mulder felt like his stomach was slowly being eaten away by a lake monster. So, he was afraid to get another dog, but she could; that’s why he kept suggesting it.

Scully kept crazy hours at the hospital. It would have been fun to have a pet with him while he waited for her to come home. They could go running. Maybe he’d teach it to play fetch and sit and play dead. Maybe he would get one of those really smart ones and train it and...

Daggoo was a mutt. Something that loved Scully and fought with him for her attention. But, with a name like Daggoo, she was surely keeping it. Scully certainly believed in fate that time.

William loved Daggoo. During that first summer, when he attended summer school and went by Jackson and had a curfew—which was pointless, he had no friends and no cars and nowhere to go—Mulder understood why every boy should have a dog as his best friend.

Mulder pondered if he would have turned out more likeable as a person had he gotten another dog like his father suggested after they were sure Laelaps would probably never come home. But Mulder liked how his life turned out. He liked learning to become a pet owner again as an adult, with a son who’d also never had a dog in his life.

Jackson had a betta. A very beautiful orange and blue boy betta, who surprisingly lived for a whopping 5 and a half years.

When Scully mentioned it might not have been the same betta, the teen frowned, something he did a lot more when he was still Jackson.

“I doubt it.” It took him almost two days to revisit this topic with his mother. “It’s not so easy finding one with the same colors and patterns as Aurora.”

“You named it Aurora?” Mulder commented.

The irony was not lost.

“I didn’t know it was a boy, okay?” His son defended.

Mulder debated whether he would ever choose to replace the pet when bad things happened to them. As a rule of thumb, he always aimed to do the opposite of what his parents did, but for this, he thought he would be honest.

When Kuiper fell in love with Daggoo at the tender age of 10 months, Mulder made a pact with the scruffy mutt. “Try your best and live a little longer for the princess, okay? Let’s shake on it.”

Daggoo Mulder. And now there were four.

A few years later they get Tashtego from a neighbor. The smallest one of the litter, even Scully worried that she wouldn’t make it. But she did, and grew to be bigger than Dag, barked louder, ate so much that it made Mulder frown, and was the silliest goofball he’d ever come to know.

And of course she was a Mulder. Tashtego Mulder, who once broke her tail from wagging too hard, who howled when people sang, who loved carrots and broccoli and was the best-looking princess a four-legged creature could ever be.

And now there were five.

Mulder would begin writing songs about his family when he got older. He learned to play the guitar and did a little drums. He wished he had done more of that during his inactive years. He wrote about his sorrows and regrets, his happiness and gratitude.

“How’s the writing coming?” His wife asked, waltzing into his office like she did that very first time. He felt it every time.

Mulder scoffed. “Did you ever think we’d get here?”

She looked at him in that way, like she knew exactly what he was talking about, but she was going to make him elaborate anyway.

“More importantly, how did you get here, Scully?”

Mulder picked up her hand and kissed it.

“Each universe can only have one possible outcome,” she smiled. That was her final answer these days, whenever he doubted.

“I should write a song about that.”

She brought their clasped hands closer, and kissed it. “Yes, Mulder. You do that.” Ah yes, he’s the original one—sometimes he almost forgets.

And now there were six.

457.

(MUSIC: “tiC taC” — CAPSULE)

“William, do you think you can manage dinner for you and your sister tomorrow night?” Mulder asks his son, eyes somewhat glued to his smartphone. “You can invite your little friend over too. You guys can have a pizza party or something.”

“Sure, I’ll text Millie.” William begins typing on his phone, “Where are you two going tomorrow?”

William tries, but he cannot wipe the smirk off his face, so he keeps his face down and away from his father’s gaze in case he’s looking at him.

“I’m looking at the reviews for this new Greek restaurant not far from the movies.” Mulder does not look up from his phone. “They have a pretty standard Greek spread, just perfect for me and my waifu.”

“Wait what?” William’s face shoots up. “Did you just call Mum your waifu?”

“Ye-huh.” Mulder gives him a determined nod. “Am I not using it right?”

William forgets how to unwiden his eyes. He opens his mouth, trying to say something, but nothing seems to come out.

“Isn’t that just a cute way to call one’s wife?” Mulder comments, looking genuinely convinced.

“Don’t say that word. Like, ever.” William is barely able to blink. “Dad,” he whines, “I’m truly concerned with the stuff you see on the Internet. Do we need to turn on the parental controls again?”

The young man gives Mulder his best Scully impression, complete with the arched eyebrows and the sideways mouth. Mulder cannot help but wonder whether one day his little girl will master that look as well. With her red hair and blue eyes, he might get to see Scully at 29 again.

“No, you punk!” Mulder jokingly punches his son on the shoulder.

“Seriously, Dad, Waifu is for like, a fantasy, sure you like her and all, but it doesn’t mean your actual wife.”

Let me file this under ‘conversations-I-never-thought-I’d have-with-my-father’.

“So, when you say waifu with your online friends, do you mean Millie?” Cricket chimes in without looking up from her coloring pages. Ever the mini-Scully, she even lines up her crayons neatly like Scully does with her autopsy tools.

“Cricket, get out of my mind!” William sneers at his little sister. “Dad! Will you talk to her?”

“Cricket!” Mulder puts on his best father voice, “Do I need to talk to you about the ethics of mind-reading again? Should I repeat the speech your mommy gave me for you?”

“No, Dad-dee, you’ve repeated the Mommy’s Speech of 1999 three times already.” She looks up at her father as she speaks to him and then to her brother: “Sorry, Bullfrog.”

-Apology. accepted. Kiddo-

William communicates that to his sister’s mind. His phone chirps. Pizza Party? I’ll be there with a can of pineapple!!!!!

William smiles and begins to text.

“So, my son,” a teasing voice comes, “is your waifu coming to the pizza party tomorrow night?”

458.

(MUSIC: “FEAR” — BLUE OCTOBER)

It wasn't until that evening when he recalled his daughter's words from a few weeks ago. The memory came out of nowhere, really, as the events of the day bore no reminder to what the child had said on that particular day.

Nevertheless, Mulder recounted the whole conversation in his head as he stood on the balcony Scully loved so much. She had taken the time to nurture an herb garden on this balcony on the second floor of their home, in a room crafted for reading, a small library, really. He imagined this was what Scully wanted when she was a little girl.

When they moved into this house shortly after Cricket's fourth birthday, Scully had insisted on having a reading room. She picked out all the furniture on her own and contracted Henry, a master carpenter they met a few years back, and had him create beautiful bookcases for them. Henry had a portfolio for them to brainstorm, but Scully knew exactly what she wanted and described her dream library to him. The room also had a wide wooden desk as big as a twin-size bed.

William had the habit of working in the living room mainly because back in high school, he brought Millie home almost every day after school, and the rule of the house was that William could not have girls in his bedroom, a rule William claimed was more mocking him than providing guidance for him, yet he followed this house rule anyway. For countless afternoons, he did his homework on the coffee table with Millie and Cricket.

Cricket's the biggest third wheel, as William often joked, but truth be told, he and Millie were best friends. Best friends that went to the prom together, best friends that spent all their weekends together and even took holidays out of state. Best friends that would split a cherry-pomegranate toaster pastry and drink the same cup of milk. Best-friends-and-nothing-more like his parents were for the first six years of their partnership.

Mulder wondered what Scully had envisioned for this room; it was always quiet, truly like a library. This was the place to be when you wanted peace and quiet and some time to yourself. This was the place to be when you wanted solitude, the place to be when you wanted to be away from the adorable chatters between your wife and children, away from the laughter and love.

This was the place Mulder had always avoided coming in by himself.

To him, this was where a little darkness still resides, still lurking somewhere, telling him that he was welcome, that he was always welcome, if he chose to dive in again.

Mulder rubbed an angelica leaf between his thumb and forefinger. It released a strong and pleasant woodsy scent. He was trying to locate some peace within his heart.

"What will you name your kitten, Cricket?" In his mind, he heard his words to the little girl with a calico cat in her lap.

"Sherlock." Cricket whispered. "When we get another one, we'll name it Watson."

"Do you think Sherlock would be lonely without Watson?" He asked, feeling surprised at his daughter's choice of pet name. Of course, this was the daughter of a woman who named her dogs Queequeg, Daggoo, and Tashtego. Scully had appointed the responsibility of naming the pets to the children after they adopted Tashtego some years ago.

"No, because Sherlock didn't grow up with Watson, just like you didn't grow up with Mommy, right?” The child spoke as if she were full of wisdom.

Mulder recalled the many, many conversations he had with Scully about naming their daughter. They had a list of boy names, too, but he had wished to have a girl all along.

"I wonder how Sherlock Holmes liked his name growing up." He looked at his child stroking the cat's paw. "I wonder if he got picked on like you and I did in school."

Cricket never once complained about her name, even when people failed to pronounce it correctly.

"He's not real, Daddy, and I'm sure he was very smart, so that he never let it get to him when people made fun of his name."

There. That was what had struck him. Children had made fun of his name so relentlessly; he remembered the songs about Foxy Loxy in grade school. In high school, a few of the boys would claim that they were calling him when they were caught saying the F-word. In university, someone he no longer cared to remember told him that his initials really stood for Fucking Mess.

That was when he started using pseudonyms. He convinced himself that no one would take a man named Fox seriously, and he had really believed that until he met Scully.

Fox Mulder is such a fucked-up maniac that he wouldn't know happiness even if it hit him in the face. He'll only allow himself to be happy when pigs fly in the sky.

Who said that? Mulder tried to remember while gazing into the moon, and realized that it no longer bothered him when people called him Fox.

He knew that the only person who would occasionally call him Fox did so in those tender moments between them; how she said it with so much love, it was a reward like a corner piece brownie.

Mulder felt two arms slowly encircling his waist, so he turned around. His lovely wife smiled at him, looking at him with a hint of concern.

"Hey darling, what are you looking at?"

He leaned close for a kiss and felt amazed to be still so in love with this woman after three decades.

"Oh, nothing." He flashed her a grin to ease her worries. "Just seeing some pigs in the moon."

"Pigs in the moon, Mulder?" She tilted her head slightly to the left. "Show me."

He pulled her to stand in front of him, his hands resting on her tummy. "I think I see pigs in the sky, Scully. They're dancing in the moon and being serenaded by some old Italian guy singing about a pizza pie."

Her smile right then was worth a billion dollars.

"I don't see any old Italian guy here, do you?" She teased him, her palm stroking his cheek.

"No, he's up there. The only guy here is Fox Mulder, a family man." He kissed her earlobe, and she giggled. "An incredibly happy and lucky family man."

Mulder swayed the two of them, slowly and softly, over the silvery moon, singing ballads he heard in his childhood, humming, mumbling, and making up lyrics along the way. He wondered what power Scully possessed that always made the darkness go away.

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