#ooom

-.-.-

His awareness of his surroundings, at the moment—though usually rather fine-tuned—is limited only to the soft lips beneath his own, and the echo of I love you, too in his ears. He almost doesn't hear the crescendoing whimpering sounds coming from out in the hall, but she does.

“I guess we should have known that was coming,” she says with a small smile, brushing his hair from his forehead and settling her hand over his cheek to stop him.

At some point, they had wound up reclined on the bed, her hair fanned out over the pillow behind her. His head falls limply into the crook of her neck in defeat, as if he could hide there for just a moment more before their daughter’s complaining turns into full-blown tears.

“Maybe if we stay quiet, she'll…” He trails off, freezing in place. Scully follows suit, turning her ear to the door that sits ajar. It's silent. They wait, neither daring to make a move as they listen to see if the noises will continue, but they don't. It stays blissfully quiet as they both subconsciously hold their breath. The interruption gives him an idea.

“Hey, Scully,” he whispers after a moment, pressing a tentative kiss to her lips, as if testing to see if one tiny peck on the lips might disturb whatever peace their daughter is currently enjoying in her bouncy chair in the hall. “What do you think of me doing some redecorating in my room?”

He runs his hand up her side in a gentle motion, then back down, repeating this pattern like it’s second nature.

“Mm,” she hums, lost in the sensation of his touch. It's new, but at the same time, it's as old as their trust in each other. It’s been there from the very beginning, from the moment his fingertips grazed her back and declared her markings to be mosquito bites.

“I'm thinking some light pink for the walls,” he continues, looking at her intensely to gauge her response.

This gets her attention. “Pink, Mulder?” she asks, a crease appearing between her brows. He resists the urge to smooth it with his lips, laughter bubbling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, beaming down at her. “And I've heard they make these tiny little beds for babies. Cribs, I think they're called?”

Now, his meaning cannot be mistaken. He watches Scully's face as her brain connects the pieces of the puzzle, and her expression turns to one of surprise. “Mulder—”

“I mean, if you don't have any objections, that is,” he says, walking back his offer just a little. Has he been too forward? Too presumptive? The last thing he wants to do is overwhelm her. If she needs her space—

“Mulder…” she repeats his name again. And then she's pulling him close, her arms wrapped around his neck. He settles on his side on the bed, pulling her with him and not letting go. She buries her face in his chest, and he has an inkling that her motive might be to conceal another round of tears.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, grinning into her flaming red hair.

She springs another kiss on him in answer, and his heart gives a flutter.

This time, the cry from the hall is sharp, and Scully pulls back again, leaving Mulder to chase her lips as she grudgingly separates herself from his embrace. 

“I have a catalog you can look at in the cabinet,” she says as she gets up from the bed, discreetly wiping a tear from her eye as her lips curl up in a smile. “No hot pink. And no Teletubbies.”

She walks backwards slowly through the door, her eyes never leaving his. As soon as she's out of his sight, Madeline’s cries instantly quiet. 

Mama's here, baby girl. 

Mulder flops back onto the bed, an irrepressible smile adorning his face as he stares up at the ceiling. He can still feel the imprint of her lips on his, her hands in his hair, on his cheek. 

He wonders if he should send Bill a thank you card. Scully’s phone still lays where they had left it on top of the bed spread, mercifully silent.

He knows they haven't heard the last from the eldest Scully sibling, but they have at least earned a brief period of peace.

She loves him, and he loves her. And what everyone else thinks? 

Well, he doesn't particularly care.

-.-.-

Stepping out of Scully’s room feels like entering a parallel dimension. Fifteen minutes ago, he was a man desperately in love with his best friend, silently pining for her while coparenting the child they had adopted together. Now, things have changed. He’s seeing everything in a whole new light. There’s a lot still to be defined, yes, but things are different. Noticeably so.

That’s not his best friend over there feeding the baby a bottle. Well, it is, but it’s also his wife, who it turns out also loves him. Go figure.

There’s a photo of their wedding on the mantle. They put it there for when the representative from the adoption agency came to do a home visit, but she’d kept it up. That meant something, now that he knew. Now that the truth behind their fake relationship had been revealed, and it wasn't as fake as he'd thought.

She smiles at him as he comes to sit beside her on the couch, neither of them saying a word. He gets the sense that she’s thinking along the same lines as him, wondering what this will mean for the plans they have made. Nothing has to change, does it? Some part of him had always hoped they would end up here, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Starting something like this with lifelong ramifications is scary enough on its own. To do it while sleep deprived and in the midst of the biggest life change he’s ever experienced is crazy—although it’s no different than the typical Mulder and Scully level of crazy, he supposes. They’ve always done things in their own way. It wouldn’t be them if it wasn’t.

“Are you—?”

“Have you—?”

They both start speaking at the same time, chuckling awkwardly when they realize what they’ve done.

“You go first,” Scully says, her cheeks reddening as she glances down at Maddie to avoid eye contact.

He clears his throat. “Have you thought about calling Charlie?” he asks, forcing the words from his lips. The last call with a Scully hadn’t gone well at all, obviously, but he has higher hopes for the youngest. It’s the right thing to do, and they’ve already waited longer than they should have. They can’t keep putting it off forever.

“I’d be surprised if he hasn’t already gotten an earful from Bill,” Scully answers, a frown appearing on her lips. He drapes an arm over the back of the couch, his fingers coming to rest on her shoulder, massaging there lightly. “Could you burp Maddie?” she asks, starting to pass the baby off to him. “I’ll go get my phone.”

He holds Madeline by the armpits, carefully transferring her to his chest as he watches Scully get up and leave. “You don’t have to do it right this second,” he calls across the room, beginning the steady rhythm of pats on the baby’s back.

“No, you’re right,” she says, breezing back into the living room. “I want to talk to him. Now’s as good a time as any.” Before he can say another word, she’s already dialing his number, curling up with her legs crossed on the cushion beside him.

He feels like an intruder on the upcoming conversation, though he knows he’s almost certainly welcome. And after how the talk with Bill Jr. had gone, he’s not about to leave her to face this by herself again, though he doubts they’ll have a repeat performance of what had happened before.

She sits so close to him, he can feel the warmth of her body. He can hear with perfect clarity when Charlie’s voice comes across the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Charlie.”

“Hi, Dana.”

On his shoulder, Maddie lets out a burst of air, relaxing into his hold. Scully flashes him a small smile.

“So,” Charlie continues, the silence lasting just a little too long.

“I have a feeling you know why I’m calling,” Scully starts, her posture growing tense. “Has Bill spoken to you?”

Her fears are confirmed in the sigh that comes across the line next.

“Yeah. Yeah, he has,” he answers.

Scully settles back into the cushions of the couch, her shoulders slumping. “Charlie–”

“I've been wondering since Christmas what you guys were actually up to,” he says, just the barest hint of laughter in his tone of voice. “I feel like I can die happy now finally having an answer.”

She sighs, running a hand over her face in relief that he seems to be joking rather than taking it the way Bill had. “Well, don't do that. Your niece would like to meet you.”

“Niece, huh?” he asks. “Nice. Bill couldn't even tell me her name, if you can believe that.”

Mulder could. Mulder could definitely believe that. His heart broke for Scully. 

“It’s Madeline. Maddie,” she answers.

Mulder wonders what time it is, wherever Charlie is. He sounds tired. But then, so would Mulder if he’d just had an exhausting conversation with Scully’s older brother, so he really couldn’t fault him for that.

“Please tell me you gave her Mulder's last name,” Charlie pleads. “That would really send Bill over the edge.”

Scully bites back a smile, and it sends a thrill right through him. He’d never get tired of hearing her say their daughter’s full name aloud. The honor of her passing on both his sister's name and his last name is one he'll never be able to repay, no matter how much he may try. 

“Madeline Samantha Mulder,” she confirms, suppressing a laugh at the way her brother cheers.

“Yes! Oh, Dana, have I ever told you that you're my favorite?” he says. “Melissa would be so proud of you.”

Mulder watches as her eyes turn wistful, seemingly focused on something thousands of miles away. “Thanks, Charlie,” she says, biting her lip. “I wish—” The next words seem to catch in her throat, but Mulder understands, and he knows Charlie does too. He holds out his hand, delighting in the way she seamlessly slips hers into his palm without even looking. She tries to finish her thought, but it isn’t necessary. “You know, I wish she—”

“I do too.” Charlie speaks softly. 

The line falls silent for a moment, the two siblings lost in the memory of their fallen sister, and Mulder lost in the memory of his. 

“She told me about Mulder once, you know,” Charlie says eventually. “Years ago.”

Mulder shifts, intrigued. 

“She did?” Scully asks.

“Yeah, after you were…” He trails off here and whistles an eerie, spooky-sounding tune rather than finishing his sentence.

Mulder grins, and Scully rolls her eyes. Predictable like the tides in the ocean, both of them are.

“She told me she'd just met our future brother-in-law,” he continues. “I didn't think she was serious. Just another of her wild predictions that doesn't come close to coming true. When I saw you both at Christmas, though…”

“I'm sorry we didn't invite you,” Scully interrupts him.

Mulder can almost see the younger man waving off her apology on the other side of the phone. “Nah, I've been to a fake wedding before,” he says nonchalantly. “You seen one, you've seen 'em all.”

Scully shakes her head, her eyes filled with mirth instead of the sadness that had been there before. For a few moments, they sit in comfortable silence, thankful to Charlie for being his usual, understanding self. 

“Bill was pretty worked up, though,” he adds after a pause, “yelling about a “sham marriage” and all that.”  

Scully sighs—frustrated, but not surprised, by Bill's continued behavior. 

“But it isn't, is it?” Charlie asks knowingly.

Scully’s eyes flick up to meet Mulder’s, and he gives her a small smile and a nod, his fingers reaching for hers on her lap. 

“No. It's not,” she answers breathlessly, swallowing back some emotion. Tears prick at Mulder’s eyes too, and he bows toward her to press a kiss to her forehead. “Turns out we're really bad about lying to ourselves out of some misguided fear of being open with each other,” she adds.

Charlie gives an exaggerated gasp. “No, you?”

Scully closes her eyes and sighs, her lips curled up in a smile. Mulder gives her fingers a squeeze.

“I'm sorry, Charles,” she says.

“Hey, just invite me to your next wedding, ‘kay?”

Now, that's an idea…

-.-.-

The rest of the day is spent looking after Madeline, marveling at her tiny features and trying to catch some sleep whenever she does—a task that Mulder, notorious insomniac, finds impossible. Scully insists he try to rest, though, and only when she puts on some kind of chick-flick period drama as background noise does he have any success. He conks out right on her shoulder before Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy even appears on screen, his jaw hanging open slightly in his sleep.

She watches him for a moment, noting every freckle on his skin, the slope of his nose, the flop of hair hanging over his forehead now that his hair has started to grow back out. Maddie lays tucked away in her pack ‘n play already, swaddled in a pink blanket and snoozing peacefully.

She could sit like this forever, Scully thinks, listening to the even breaths of the two people she loves most in this world; But unfortunately, reason must prevail. She can almost hear the parenting class instructor’s voice in her ear reminding her to sleep when the baby sleeps, so she dutifully reaches for the knit blanket on the cushion beside her, and drapes it over herself and Mulder. 

He won’t mind, she remembers with a smile as she curls into his side, tucking her feet underneath herself. Since this morning, he’d hardly been able to keep his hands off her, personal space apparently a thing of a bygone era. They could live in an apartment half the size of this one, with as close as Mulder had stuck to her all day. His hand was practically glued to her lower back, even when she was just putting away dishes or preparing formula for Maddie.

He seemed to revel in this newly sanctioned element of their relationship, and was taking full advantage of it at every possible opportunity. Not that she was complaining; She was as guilty of it as he was, if not more so. For years, she’d had to resist the temptation to hold him. There had to be a limit to the friendly touches they could bestow, or they would’ve been forced to acknowledge that their feelings were anything but platonic.

But now, they’ve broken free of those limitations. He is hers, and she is his. In every possible way.

She sighs, leaning her cheek against his warm shoulder. The piano music coming from the TV is barely audible, but as her eyes drift shut, it relaxes her. In his sleep, Mulder shifts, nestling deeper into the cushions. His head lolls to the side, landing on top of her head, and she feels him exhale. The picture they must pose is like two pieces of a puzzle, perfectly fitted together. For the first time in her adult life, she feels complete.

She has all she needs right here. 

-.-.-

After dinner, and a sponge bath for Madeline that leaves her less than thrilled, Scully sends Mulder off to take a shower while she puts the baby to bed.

“Let’s get you all warm,” she says to Maddie as she lays her down on the changing table. She grabs an infant-sized diaper and puts it on her with practiced ease, smiling at the sound of water running and Mulder humming on the other side of the wall.

That's her husband.

“Daddy has a nice voice, doesn’t he?” she says conversationally, maneuvering Maddie’s arms and legs into the onesie. “I’ll spare you from mine.”

Before she zips up the pajamas, she bends over and tickles her tummy, pressing a kiss to her baby soft skin.

“All clean after your bath, hmm? Doesn’t it feel nice?”

Madeline blinks up at her, apparently deciding whether or not to forgive her for the cold and wet first experience in the baby bathtub. She had been cranky in the last half hour, even before the bath. It’s definitely time for bed.

She fights sleep for as long as possible, draining her bottle quickly and then crying inconsolably until her exhaustion wins out and her eyes close. Scully watches her, her face relaxed in sleep, and can hardly believe this is her life. 

She rocks her for a few more minutes, listening as the shower eventually turns off in the bathroom. A muffled swear sounds through the wall, followed by the clatter of several objects hitting the floor. Her collection of lotions, if she had to guess. Not breakable, at least, but to be fair to Mulder, they were in a spot that was just asking for them to be knocked over.

With one last glance back at Maddie, who is mercifully still asleep, she slowly rises from the rocking chair. Taking extra care not to jostle her in the transfer, she places her in her bassinet, watching as her chest rises and falls evenly with every breath.

A gentle knock on the bedroom door pulls her from her reverie, and she feels her heart give a lurch. She pulls herself away from Maddie’s bassinet, her stomach fluttering with butterflies as she approaches the doorway. Deep breaths, Dana. It’s just Mulder, she reminds herself.

Her hand clasps the doorknob, and she twists it, pulling the door open. At the sight of him, her lips curl into a smile, and she feels all traces of nervousness melt away.

He’s looking at her with that boyish smile of his, his hair all spiky from the shower. Droplets of water bead on the tips of his hair like early morning dew, every so often dripping onto the soft gray t-shirt he wears. Each one leaves a mark where it lands, absorbed into the fabric.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi.”

He has the pillow from his bed tucked under his arm like he’s ready for a sleepover, and he fiddles with the hem of the pillowcase, waiting oh so patiently for her next move.

She makes it.

Grabbing him by the arm, she pulls him inside, walking backwards with him slowly as he grins at her.

He kicks the door shut behind them.

-.-.-

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.”

~~~

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“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.”

~~~

end.

~~~

I have so much to say, and I don't know where to start. Apologies in advance for the long author's note.

To all of you who have read and commented here and on AO3 (I'm still a bit in shock over just how many of you there are), thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your response has meant the world to me, and to know you've looked forward to updates just as I have for stories by authors I look up to… Well, it's humbling.

Since I started writing fanfiction a decade ago, I've always wanted to find the patience and inspiration to write a proper slow burn and have people follow along. Now, this turned out even longer than I expected it to--and at times during the three months it took to write, I felt like I had overestimated my patience to keep writing--but I'm really happy with how it turned out. Checking this one off my bucket list!

To @numinousmysteries: Your help with beta reading and offering suggestions is so appreciated. I've never written anything of this magnitude before, and your encouragement was a much-needed reassurance prior to posting this. I think the story is better off having taken into account your advice, so for that, I am so grateful.

To all X-Philes: I am continuously amazed by how alive this fandom is over 30 years later. You have been so welcoming. I only watched the show for the first time in February 2023, so while I'm still fairly new around here, it doesn't really feel like it.

Now, to answer the question some of you have been asking… Will there be more?

At this time, I don't have anything planned and am not sure when I'll be writing again, but I certainly have some ideas. The way the final two chapters came together obviously skips over what could be some important or at least interesting character moments (Charlie comes to mind, as well as the whole Scully clan). If inspiration strikes, of course I'd love to expand this story into it's own series, probably consisting of mostly one-shots.

I also think it would be fun to take prompts on here for scenes you'd like to see in this universe. No promises on how quickly I'll get to them, but why not--if you have something in mind, feel free to send me an ask and I'll try to get to them as the muse hits. If I do, they'll be posted here and on AO3.

This is turning into a "midwest goodbye" of an author's note, so… Okay, that's it. Yeah. Thanks again for reading. Till next time!

<3

~~~

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“Diaper change,” he informs Scully, lifting Maddie out and taking her over to the changing table next to the dresser. By the time he gets her cleaned and changed, Scully is passed out again on her side, her hair fanning out over the pillow with a bit of drool escaping her lips. He chuckles softly, taking Maddie with him as he goes out to the kitchen to prepare some formula for her.

He returns and takes a seat in the rocking chair, moving Scully’s robe aside so he can sit down in it while he feeds the baby. As much as he usually dislikes being kept awake in the middle of the night, this isn’t so bad. Maybe in a few weeks he’ll be tired of it, but for now, it affords him the opportunity to see Scully in a way he doesn’t often get to. And getting to be a father? Just the cherry on top.

Maddie falls asleep again before she can finish the bottle, which means she’ll almost certainly be up in another hour or so wanting more. Resigned to this fact, Mulder lifts his elbow up and places a kiss on her sweet-smelling forehead. Maybe it’s too early to say, but this little creature can do no wrong in his eyes. Even if she keeps them up all night, he’ll never forget what it took to get here. This is what they’d wanted, him and Scully, and all the highs and lows that come with it.

Careful not to jostle her too much, he settles her back down in the bassinet and puts the cap back on the bottle. It’ll need to go in the fridge until the next feeding, probably. He walks over to the door, placing a hand on the door handle.

“Where are you going?” Scully slurs, her eyes half-lidded beneath furrowed eyebrows. She lifts herself onto her left elbow, a movement that—in her semi-conscious state—takes a lot more effort than usual.

Mulder holds up the half-filled bottle of formula and gives it a little shake. “Putting this away,” he answers in a hushed tone.

“Are you coming back?” she asks.

He stares at her, wondering if she’s even aware of what she’s saying, or if she’s just talking in her sleep. 

“I was going to go back to bed, but I can if you want me to,” he answers; Then, after a pause, “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she breathes, laying back down and adjusting the covers over her shoulders.

His heart pounds in his chest. “Okay,” he says, his voice strained. “I’ll be right back.”

This time when he returns, he opens the door with less hesitation, since theoretically, he has an invitation. He briefly wonders if she’d just wanted him to sit in here and talk or something, but the way she’s pulled back the covers for him clarifies her meaning pretty effectively.

The mattress dips below him as he takes his place on the right side of the bed. He’s not sure she’s even awake anymore, but he reminds himself that she asked for this. It’s not even that unusual these days to share a bed with her, and yet each time, he still feels as nervous as the last.

She hums in appreciation once he gets settled, rolling over to face him.

“I like having you here,” she says sleepily, wrapping her arms around his right arm.

‘What a coincidence,’ he thinks, ‘I like being here.’

It doesn’t matter if they get woken up every couple hours throughout the night—it’s one of the best night's sleep Mulder has ever had. For the first time, he has his family all under one roof. Never mind the roof—they’re all in one room.

When they wake in the morning, Scully’s head is resting on his shoulder, and his hand is tucked snugly around her waist.

He can’t imagine a better place to be.

-.-.-

She leaves Mulder with Maddie in the living room while she puts the laundry away, smiling to herself at the sight of the two of them playing together. Maybe playing is an exaggeration, but Mulder keeps making her kick her legs to the beat of whatever of his CDs is currently playing in the CD player, a game she seems rather indifferent toward. 

She does seem to like being in the bouncy chair, though, even though she hasn’t quite figured out how to reach for the colorful toys dangling above it. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll be shoving anything and everything she can reach into her slobbery mouth, Scully reminds herself. There’s plenty to enjoy about these newborn days, and she vows to make the most of them.

As she’s finishing hanging up one of her work shirts in the closet, her cell phone rings on the nightstand where she’d left it the night before. She hooks the hanger onto the rod and sets the remaining pile of clothes on the bed before picking up the device and checking the caller I.D.

Bill, Jr.

Scully sighs and pushes the door to her bedroom closed, leaving only a small crack in case Mulder needs something. Only then does she feel ready for the conversation that is about to take place.

“Hi, Bill,” she says, feeling dread pool in the pit of her stomach. This was one of the consequences of not telling her family that she’d tried to forget about, initially, but now it had come back to bite her.

“Dana,” he says. “So, I talked to Mom on the phone yesterday.”

Scully sits down on the edge of her bed. It’s either that, or pace around in circles until she wears a hole into the carpet, and she’d really like to not have to replace the carpet in here another time.

“What did she tell you?” she asks, calculating just how upset she needs to be with her mother the next time she sees her.

“Nothing,” he answers. “She couldn’t talk, just said she was very busy and that I should call you.”

Scully suppresses a breath of relief.

“I was actually going to call you today,” she says, which is mostly true. Mulder had been asking her all morning when she’d get around to telling the rest of her family, and she’d promised it would be soon. She knew it was probably making him as anxious as she was. He’s the one who had worried about Bill since the beginning of all this.

“So, what is it?” her brother asks, clearly bracing for some kind of life altering news. “Cancer?” he guesses, muttering the word in hopes of it being wrong.

“No,” she’s quick to assure him. “No, it’s not that. It’s– um…”

How to go about this? She has a couple options here. Which part of the news should she break first?

“Spit it out, Danes,” he says, clearly growing impatient.

“I, um…” 

Good news first, right? Well, not that any of it is bad news, from her perspective, but from Bill’s… 

“I adopted a baby, Bill,” she says, keeping her voice quiet enough that Mulder won’t hear.

“You did what?” he asks, still processing what she’d said. “A baby? Why would you–? Without telling us?”

Scully purses her lips, keeping silent while he comes to terms with this announcement.

“It’s not—” he stammers, searching for the right words. “It’s not like… Emily… right?”

She huffs, despite knowing he means no offense by asking. But somehow, it still hurts to hear the detached way he questions her.

“No, just a regular adoption through an agency,” she says, working hard to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“By yourself?” he asks, emphasizing the words.

And here’s where things could go south very quickly. 

She’ll just say it. Like ripping off a band-aid. 

“With Mulder.”

It would be better, she thinks, if Bill would just jump straight into yelling at her, but instead she has to sit through at least thirty seconds of complete silence, the tension making her want to snap.

“With Mulder,” he finally repeats, the tone of his voice indiscernible.

Scully’s tongue peeks out and runs over her upper lip, a nervous tic she’s thus far been unable to quell. “Is there a problem with that?” she asks, testing him. Daring him to voice his disdain for the man she’s chosen to spend her life with.

Bill Jr. has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“What, are you trading off taking care of it like some class pet, Dana?”

And there’s the predictable moment where he pushes her over the edge. It was only a matter of time before he said something truly hurtful.

“Her name is Madeline, Bill,” she says forcefully, her voice raising an octave. “And actually, Mulder and I are living together. We’re raising her together, as partners.”

“As partners,” he scoffs. “What, he couldn’t at least make an honest woman out of you? I can’t believe Mom is supporting this—”

“If it matters that much to you, I’ll have you know that Mulder and I are, in fact, married,” she says, taking a tone of superiority that she usually reserves for embarrassing sexist law enforcement officers in Podunk, U.S.A. “But before you come flying across the country raring to fight, we only got married to make the process easier. You don’t have to worry about your poor defenseless sister falling to the whims of some quote-unquote ‘dangerous man.’”

“Dana,” Bill says, frustration and disappointment evident in his voice. “I just don’t understand you. You could have any man you want, someone who would give you a real family. Why would you settle for this– this… arrangement you have with your work partner?”

“Why can’t you just be happy for me, Bill? Why do I have to explain myself to you?”

“Is this what you were hiding at Christmas? Is this why he came along?”

Her deafening silence is all the answer he needs.

“I can’t believe this. My baby sister has a sham marriage…” he groans. “How could you let this happen, Dana? What are you going to do when he runs off to go search for aliens and leaves you?”

“Mulder has been the best father a kid could ask for,” Scully speaks angrily into the phone. It’s one thing for Bill to insult her, but the things he’s saying about Mulder are unacceptable.

“I hope that’s true,” he spits. “I hope for your sake, Dana, that you’re right. But I’m telling you right now, I don’t have much confidence in the guy. How can someone like that, with his head constantly in the clouds yelling that the sky is falling, ever be the father he needs to be? I just don’t see it. Why couldn’t you just find someone who loves you and settle down the normal way? Why?”

Scully’s pounding heart shatters, spilling all over the floor in tiny pieces and knocking the wind out of her.

“He does love me,” she gasps through tears, hoping that if she says it with enough conviction, it might be true. “He does.”

She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince now, her brother, or herself. Either way, it’s clear he detects the uncertainty in her voice, that nagging bit of doubt she can’t seem to shake. She imagines on his face the smug look of a slimy defense lawyer about to rest his case, knowing that he’s about to let a guilty man go free. Her stomach twists sickly.

“You sure about that?” Bill asks.

A gentle tap on her shoulder startles her out of her near panic attack, and she looks up to see Mulder standing there, an unreadable expression on his face. How long he’s been listening, she doesn’t know, but with tear-filled eyes, she feels vulnerable and hurt and just wants it to stop. He holds his hand out for the phone, and she releases it from her iron grip, handing it to him without a word.

His thumb immediately finds the end call button, and he tosses it on her bed without a second glance.

Crouching down to her level, he holds her gently in place by placing his hands on her arms, locking his eyes with hers with an intensity she’s rarely ever seen.

“I do love you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Don’t listen to him. I love you.”

His thumb brushes soothingly over the smooth underside of her elbow, and she finds she can’t look away. She’s too overwhelmed now to contain her tears, and she doesn’t have the strength to do so even if she tried. They spill forth like a river, and she holds fast to his words, afraid that if she lets go, she’ll be pulled under by the current.

“You do?” she asks, trembling under his grip as she searches his eyes for the truth.

He nods simply, his brows furrowed in worry at the state of her.

Desperately, and without a second thought, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly. The position can’t be good for his knees, but he responds in kind, encircling her waist in the security of his arms.

“I love you too,” she gasps, hardly able to get the words out through the tightness constricting her throat, but she has to. He needs to know what she should have told him long ago.

His shoulders drop in relief, and she feels him bury his face in her neck and clutch her tighter, his hand moving up her back to entangle with the hair at the base of her neck.

“You’ve given me everything,” he murmurs into her skin, his voice breaking with honesty. “This family, Scully… I’ve wanted this with you for so long.”

She lets out a sob, grabbing at his shirt for purchase and refusing to let go. His Adam’s apple bobs against her shoulder, and she knows him well enough by now to know that he, too, is overcome with emotion. 

He pulls back suddenly and his eyes meet hers, watery and clear, a direct window into the depths of his soul. For the first time, everything he feels is laid bare at her feet, and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that he loves her. Every bit of her, just as she does him. And for the first time, she allows herself to believe it. 

Under the weight of his undisguised adoration, she almost forgets how to breathe.

She has just enough time to draw one last shaky breath before he surges forward and kisses her, covering her mouth with his like a desperate man that has been dying of thirst in the desert. His lips are salty with tears—either hers or his, she can’t tell, but what’s the difference? He drops his knees to the ground, allowing him a little extra height and better stability so he doesn’t have to rely on her for balance quite as much. 

They cling desperately to each other, here in this small bedroom in their apartment in Georgetown, and she realizes all at once that she has everything she could possibly want. His hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against her jaw as his lips move firmly and smoothly over hers.

This is it, the thing she’s scarcely allowed herself to hope for. Mulder—all of him. As a friend. As a partner. As a husband. Now, a lover. 

Her family.

“Your brother’s an idiot,” he says into her mouth, startling a huff of a laugh out of her before he devotes himself entirely to the kiss, giving his utmost care and attention to the fullness of her bottom lip.

She smiles and pulls back just long enough to look at him, his shining, tear-filled eyes and radiant grin making her stomach do somersaults.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she says, cupping his face between her hands.

His fingers brush her tears away, leaving only happiness in their wake.

And she kisses him again.

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~~~

AHHH that's the end (except the epilogue) 🥲 I can hardly believe it. I'll have a longer author's note tomorrow with the last chapter, but for now, here's a drawing I spent WAY too long on (not an artist, but I tried)

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."

~~~

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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.

~~~

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“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.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

It takes all his strength to drag himself away from her, but he wants to get a head start on the day while Maddie is still asleep, so he carefully extracts his arm and presses one more tender kiss to her head before heaving himself off the bed. The shirt he’d discarded the night before had been claimed by Scully the first time Maddie woke them, so instead, he heads to his room, digging around in his drawers for a suitable alternative.

In the mirror in the bathroom, he catches sight of his own reflection, and he stops for a minute to inspect it. For the first time, he’s actually seeing himself as a father, as the man that Scully loves. It's somehow revelatory, a groundbreaking discovery. True happiness visibly changes a person, and he sees it in himself, for probably the first time in his adult life. He likes it.

Before heading into the kitchen, he pokes his head back into Scully’s room to check that both his girls are still asleep. Scully has rolled into the divot he left on his side of the bed, and his pillow serves as his stand-in, wrapped tightly in her arms. His heart squeezes with affection. Despite every inclination telling him to go back and claim his space next to her, he shuts the door with a soft click, making his way to the kitchen.

The fridge, filled to the brim thanks to Margaret Scully and her church friends, contains plenty of food to get him started on breakfast. Bacon and eggs is easy enough, and since being domesticated by Scully several months ago, he's picked up a thing or two. He might even be able to put together a nice mixture of fruit for them to enjoy, something healthy she might appreciate. He has no delusions that the energy to make such an effort in the mornings will continue in the coming days, but today he is ready and willing.

After all, there's something else he really wants to do today.

Just as he's putting the final touches on their meal, he hears the whimpers of their daughter, and the sound of Scully stirring in the bedroom. Perfect timing. He sets the skillet aside, turning off the burner before making his way over there. He knocks lightly on the door before pushing it open.

“Morning!” he says, smiling to himself at the sight of her messy hair.

“I wondered where you went,” she replies, in the process of lifting Maddie from her bassinet and carrying her to the changing table. She sniffs once in the air, her eyes meeting his with curiosity. “Did you make breakfast?” she asks.

“I did, it’s all ready when you are,” he answers, drawing a beautiful smile from her. “I can get her changed if you want to go on out there.

Her brows furrow. “Are you sure? You've already–”

“Hey,” he stops her. “I can do it. You get ready for the day and I'll meet you out there, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, smiling softly.

He walks toward her to collect Maddie, pausing to give her a quick kiss before taking the baby into his arms. 

“I love you,” he says, the relief at being able to freely say those words feeling like a weight lifted off his shoulders.

And to his delight, she says it back. “I love you too.”

-.-.-

He feels ridiculous, asking his own wife out on a date, but he loves her so much, he does it anyway. It's going to sound silly no matter what he does, he thinks, so he decides to really commit to it, and writes out:

Will u go out with me?  □ yes / □ no

on a scrap of paper, and slips it to her across the table at breakfast.

A grin lights up her face, which she attempts to conceal with her hand, and she shifts Madeline into her other arm so she can pick up the pen and check the box for “yes.”

Mulder feels a burst of giddiness from his head to his toes.

Tomorrow?

he writes, passing the paper back to her again. He watches as she scrawls in her neat little handwriting:

Where?

-.-.-

When Maggie arrives the following night, it’s to find them both dressed to the nines, her daughter putting the finishing touches on her hair while Mulder takes care of Madeline’s diaper in the other room.

She had been delighted to receive their call. After the unpleasant conversation she'd had on the phone with her eldest son, she had worried about them, wanting to check up on them, but unsure if Dana would appreciate the prying. She decided to give it a few days, and maybe stop by to offer her services however she may be useful if there are no objections.

To her surprise, her services are requested before she can even offer. Babysitting. Just for a few hours, they say. She hardly dares to consider the possibilities.

But seeing the two of them, looking as polished as ever, sets her heart ablaze with hope. She drops her purse onto the kitchen table, hurrying across the room to the bathroom where Dana is attempting to set a curl so that it lays just right on her head.

“Dana?” she asks, eyes wide as she tries to silently convey every question that has passed through her mind in the last few minutes.

“Mom! Thank you so much for coming.”

“Anytime, sweetie,” she says. 

She feels restless. Jittery. Her hands, she doesn't know what to do with her hands. It would be imprudent to ask, but she has to know. 

“So… you're all dressed up,” she notes. “Is it a… court date? Something to do with the adoption?”

She doesn't think so. Or rather, she hopes that it's something else.

“A court date?” Dana laughs, looking at her incredulously. “At this time of night? No, it's just a date date.”

Maggie releases a gasp of air, immediately enveloping her daughter in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Oh, thank the Lord!” she cries, grinning from ear to ear, powerless to stop the tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Mom, you’ll wrinkle my dress,” Dana complains half-heartedly, though she smiles on in amusement. 

“Oh…” Maggie says with a sniffle, wiping her eyes and pulling back just a little. “Honey, he'd love you even if you wore a plastic trash bag,” she assures her.

“Yeah, but I just spent fifteen minutes ironing this,” Dana replies, unable to hide her brilliant smile. Not for a minute does she bother to deny that Fox Mulder loves her. Not even for a second. Maggie could collapse in relief, to see her daughter so at ease. So openly in love.

She hugs her again, headless of the carefully ironed dress.

“I’m so happy,” she says, cupping Dana’s cheek with her hand. “So happy for you. Oh, Dana!”

Dana chuckles, taking her mother’s hands and stepping backwards out of the bathroom. “Madeline’s bottles are in the fridge,” she says, her eyes practically shining with elation.

“Right, yes,” Maggie says, soberly remembering why she's here. But it's hard to pull back on the restraints of her pure joy at finding all her prayers finally answered. You can't put a dimmer on that amount of happiness.

“You have mine and Mulder's phone numbers,” Dana adds. “Try to put her to bed at about 8:00, I'm hoping to get her on a schedule.”

“Of course.” She'd expect nothing less from her pragmatic daughter. 

No sooner does Fox step an unsuspecting foot in the living room than he's overrun by his mother-in-law, pulled into her tight embrace. With the baby cradled in his arms, he's powerless against her, looking up at Dana in surprise as he endures the shower of kisses she bestows on his cheek.

“I knew you could do it,” Maggie says, fondly patting him on the cheek and gazing up at him with pride. “You have told her, haven't you?”

“I've actually got Bill to thank for that,” he jokes, and Maggie huffs.

“Oh, that boy. I've given him a piece of my mind. He won't bother you again.”

He had better not. She and Bill Senior had raised him better than that. She was horrified by his appalling behavior.

“Mom,” Dana interrupts, fastening an earring in place as she walks over to give her a parting kiss on the cheek. “We've got to head out. We have reservations.”

“Of course!” Maggie answers. Fox goes to hand her the baby, but she waves him away. “Oh, put her down for a minute and let me take a picture of the two of you! Where is your camera?”

“Mom…” Dana whines, and is that a hint of pink she detects on her cheeks?

Fox, for his part, obeys, chuckling all the while. “Oh, come on, Scully,” he says as he hands the camera to Maggie. “Don't you want a memento of the night the handsome Fox Mulder took you to prom?”

She rolls her eyes, even as she finds herself being wrapped in his arms, her back pulled against his chest.

“We're going out for dinner and drinks, Mulder,” she says, raising a doubtful eyebrow. But when he nuzzles her neck with his nose, she can't help the brilliant smile that blooms on her face, overshadowing any embarrassment she might feel in front of her mother.

Maggie snaps a few photos, grinning like a mad woman at the happy sight before her.

“Okay, really, that's enough,” Dana giggles, turning in Fox’s arms and pushing him away. “Mom, thank you for watching Madeline. You'll call us if you have any trouble?”

“Of course! Though I have raised four children, sweetheart, I think I know what I'm doing.”

“But–”

“Oookay, Scully, let's get out of here,” Fox says, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder before she can argue any further. He grabs her jacket and holds it out to her, helping her into the sleeves. “Thanks again, Margaret,” he says.

“Anytime! I'm happy to be of use!”

Fox lifts Maddie from where he'd laid her down, holding her against his chest and bouncing her gently. She stares up at him with big bright eyes, and he angles his neck down to press a kiss to her fuzzy little head.

“Bye, my sweetheart,” he says. “We’ll see you in a little bit.”

After adjusting her hair to the outside of her collar, Scully joins him and says her own goodbyes. Maggie catches the forlorn look on her face that every mother has when leaving their child for the first time. She remembers the feeling well.

“Get out of here, you two,” Maggie urges good-naturedly, taking the baby into her arms. “Stay out as long as you’d like, we’ll be just fine here.”

With one last doubtful glance backwards, Dana is guided by her partner’s hands on her shoulders out the door as he whispers words of encouragement. Maggie can't help but smile as she watches them. Her daughter is in good hands.

-.-.-

“It's weird, isn't it?” Scully asks, sitting across from Mulder in a candlelit restaurant.

“What, this?” His eyes scan their surroundings. Fancier than their usual digs, sure, but not particularly odd.

He takes a sip of the white wine he’d ordered for them, something far more expensive than his usual tastes, but worth it for the occasion. She's not getting cold feet at this point in their relationship, is she? It's a little too late to back out now. 

“Are you about to break my heart, Scully?” he asks, chuckling to hide the twinge of nervousness.

“No,” she assures him with a small smile, plucking another bite of her breadstick off and popping it into her mouth.  “No, I meant being away from Madeline. It's weird. She hasn't even been with us a week, and it already feels like…”

“Like there's a person missing from our party, yeah,” he finishes for her, knowing exactly what she means. “I guess it is kind of weird. It was just me and you for so long, you'd think it would feel like it always has.”

“I guess a lot has changed.”

He smiles, tapping his foot against hers under the table. “I guess it has.”

But at the same time, there are plenty of things that stay the same. Mulder performs a magic trick, making his spoon disappear from beneath his napkin, to the embarrassment of Scully, who enjoys his antics more than she lets on. When they get bored waiting for their main course to be served, he scoots his chair over to make room on his side of the table so they can whisper outrageous made-up stories about their fellow restaurant-goers to each other. The couple in the corner, she decides, are rival investment bankers for high profile clients. Their love affair would jeopardize both their companies, but they're powerless to stay away. Mulder says their waiter is actually three guinea pigs in a tuxedo, that's why their food is taking so long.

There's no shortage of laughter, despite the prim and proper atmosphere of the restaurant. They get more than a few concerned looks, but they're used to those by now. He does, however, attempt to stifle her giggles after a particularly loud snort erupts from her, holding her face against his shoulder to shush her while carefully steeling his own features. Something she'd said had caused water to spill from his nose, and she'd been laughing at his expense ever since.

“Real mature, Scully,” he says, his fingers tangling in her hair as his shoulder muffles the sound of her laughter. “I think that's enough wine for you.”

After a moment or two more, her shoulders stop shaking and all that's left is the most brilliant smile he's ever seen. She turns her head sideways, resting her cheek on his shoulder and releasing a contented sigh.

The waiter brings them the bill. He doesn't even look at the price total before slipping his credit card into the folder.

Whatever he'd paid for the night was well worth it.

-.-.-

Outside the restaurant, the evening air is cool—a reminder that summer has yet to officially arrive, to keep a few sweaters handy for when a cold front blows through. His hand is warm in hers, though, and there's music playing softly from somewhere down the block. It's a perfect night.

With dinner completed, their next stop is a classy little bar a few streets over that plays the kind of jazz music that Scully likes, and Mulder barely tolerates. But this had been his idea, and she appreciates his willingness to suffer in exchange for her enjoyment. How very Mulder of him.

They come to a stop at a crosswalk, the red “stop” hand telling them to wait. Cars drive leisurely past, the hum of their engines and rumbling of their tires blending in with the whip of the wind that comes to tangle Scully's hair. Mulder beams down at her, brushing the errant strands from her face—a fruitless task until this gust blows through.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, glancing around at the passing cars, at the marquee lights from the theater across the street.

She follows his lead, standing beside him and wondering at the slow pace of life they seem to have dipped their toes into. Not every day has to be like this, of course. They'd both go crazy if it were. But this is what she'd meant by ‘getting out of the car.’ Just sometimes, to be like other people. To slow down and enjoy the world around them, the infinitesimally small moments that would otherwise pass them by. She thinks they deserve that.

The crosswalk beeps at a steady rhythm, as unhurried as they are.

“Scully, would you–” he starts, clearing his throat. He looks down at his feet, his thumb fiddling with the diamond that sits on her finger. “You know, now that your family knows, we could–”

“Aren't you supposed to be down on one knee?” 

Her question leaves him completely dumbstruck, and she wishes she had a camera to capture the look on his face.

“Scully?” he rasps in confusion. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, concealing a smile. “It's just, you forgot last time. You just kind of blurted it out.”

Now he knows she's teasing him. One corner of his mouth quirks upward and she sees playfulness illuminate in his eyes to match hers.

“Do you want me to hire a professional photographer for this too, or will you let me finish?” he says lowly, leaning in close and squeezing her hand.

She looks at him with a smirk, one eyebrow raised, and he kneels, right there on the sidewalk. 

“Scully… my lovely wife,” he starts, gazing up at her with the pale yellow light of the street lights reflecting in his eyes. Her heart skips a few beats. “Would you like to have a big white Catholic wedding with me? Tuxedo, bridesmaids, the whole nine yards?”

She pretends to think for a moment, her eyes drifting to the heavens. Then comes her response.

“Mm—no.”

“No?” He seems appalled. 

And as fun as it is to mess with him, she can’t leave him hanging for long. 

“I would like to have a small wedding, though,” she says. “Just our families and closest friends.”

She can see the relief written on his face plain as day. As if she'd ever say no to marrying him again. Doesn't he know, now, how much she loves him?

She tugs on his hands and helps him to his feet, finding herself suddenly face to face with his infectious smile.

“Easiest guest list in the world,” he says. Then he lowers his lips to hers and kisses her. Across the street, the display on the crosswalk flashes with descending numbers, and they've missed their chance to go. But this side of the street is just fine, thank you very much.

“You know, technically what we're talking about here is just a vow renewal, not a wedding,” she informs him, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye.

He grins. “Oh, I'm well aware. You're already hitched to my wagon, honey.”

That earns him an eye roll. They're back to waiting again, this time without the other pedestrians who have left them behind. One of them probably ought to go press the button again, if they really want to cross.

“I know it was crazy, and probably stupid, looking back, but… I liked our wedding just the way it was,” Scully says. “Just you and me.”

“Me too.”

Thinking back on that day, it still doesn't feel real sometimes. Some days, the sight of the ring on her finger catches her by surprise, and the one on his fills her with a kind of primal possessiveness.

“We really did this all backwards, didn’t we?” she says.

“Definitely. Remind me to thank your brother for giving me the motivation I needed to tell you. He can come to the wedding—”

“Vow renewal.”

“—just for being the one to get our heads out of our—”

She kisses him, stealing his words from his lips. His hands find her waist, then her back, and she can't believe how right this feels. How quickly they've gone from friends to more.

Then again, maybe it wasn't so quick after all.

“Is that how you're gonna shut me up from now on?” he asks, breathing deeply to catch his breath.

She nips at his bottom lip again, then his jaw. If he needs a verbal answer after that, then she has severely overestimated his intellect

But it seems he’s catching on.

“I can live with it.”

-.-.-

In the end, they decide that drinks and jazz music can wait for another day.

“Would you be offended if I said I'd rather just go home?” Scully asks.

He gazes down at her beside him knowingly. “You miss her, don't you?”

Her lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. “Yes.”

“Me too.”

And so, they instead turn around and go straight back to their car, setting course toward home. Mulder can tell without even looking at her that she spends the entire car ride worrying over Madeline’s welfare, despite the fact that Margaret Scully is sure to be a more than adequate babysitter. It’s such a maternal instinct, though, that it fills Mulder with pride. 

Dana Scully is many things—an enigma at times—but on top of all that, she is now a mother. It only makes him love her more.

Back in the hallway of their apartment building, he stops her in front of their door before she can open it. If this is their first real date, then he wants to close it out properly.

“I had a really nice time,” he says, and though it’s a joke, he means it sincerely.

Her doubtful eyebrow arches toward the ceiling, as predictable as Old Faithful. “Really, Mulder?” she asks, looking at him in that way he knows means ‘I think you’re a dork.’

“Did you have a nice time?” He makes it clear he’s expecting an answer, leaning in close to draw it from her.

The corners of her mouth twitch, and thanks to his expert knowledge of Scully’s many microexpressions, he knows she’s amused.

“Yes, I did, Mulder.”

He grins and pokes her in the arm. “Now say the next part.”

This time she rolls her eyes at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I was given a script.”

He playfully pinches her sides, pulling her closer. “Oh come on, you know the words…”

She sighs, looking up at him with the smallest of smiles gracing her face. “We should do this again sometime?”

There it is.  

“Yes, we should,” he agrees. Then all there is to do is seal the deal with a kiss. He takes it slow, chuckling a little at how silly it all seems. He hasn’t kissed a girl on her doorstep after a date (with the girl's mother waiting just inside) since he was in high school. What he hadn’t expected was that he would feel the same rush of exhilaration as he did back then.

“Mulder,” she says between kisses.

He hums, his brain only barely capable of comprehending language.

Pouty Scully is back. “I miss my baby.”

Oh. Right.

Behind her back, he manages to slip his keys in the lock, and she shoots him a thankful smile as he turns the doorknob. She breaks from him just in time for him to crack open the door.

“You’re back early,” Maggie comments as they enter, looking up from the book she’d been reading while waiting for them on the couch. In the kitchen, freshly cleaned baby bottles are stacked on a drying rack beside the sink, and the place is spotless. For as little time as they’d been gone, her mother had obviously gotten a lot done, proving once again what a master at her craft she was. They still have a lot to learn.

“Mulder missed Maddie,” Scully says in explanation.

“Hey, so did you!” he defends himself. Maggie merely shakes her head and smiles, clearly entertained by their playful bickering.

Scully sets her purse aside, then starts removing her coat. “Did she do okay?” she asks, her brow furrowed in thinly-veiled worry.

“She was a perfect angel,” Maggie answers. “Only one dirty diaper, and she finished her whole bottle. She did fall asleep a little early, so she might be waking up again soon for another feeding.”

Mulder can see the relief as it eases the tension in Scully’s shoulders. He takes her coat from her, hanging it on the coat rack behind him along with his.

“Okay, that’s great, Mom,” she says. “Thank you so much for watching her.”

“Anytime, dear. She’s just the sweetest baby. If you ever need me to babysit overnight, am I correct in assuming you now have a spare room for guests?”

“Mom!” Scully blushes.

“Actually, we were just talking about turning it into Maddie’s nursery,” Mulder says, wrapping an arm around Scully’s waist and pulling her into his side. To his delight, he succeeds at getting her to turn an even deeper shade of red.

Maggie scoffs in amusement at her daughter’s uncharacteristic bashfulness. “You are married , Dana. I’d be surprised and disappointed if you weren’t—”

Scully hurries to gather her mother’s things, ushering her to the door. “Okay, I think we’ve kept you for long enough, Mom, thanks for coming. You’d better get on home.”

“We’ll call you,” Mulder adds with a cheeky smile, earning him a smack on the shoulder by an indignant Scully.

“You’d better,” Maggie threatens teasingly. “I trust you had a good night? Fox, I must say, that shade of lipstick suits you very nicely.”

Scully groans. “Bye, Mom,” she says insistently, practically shooing Maggie out the door. She’s reached a level of red-in-the-face that Mulder previously thought impossible to attain, and it just makes him want to squish her cheeks and tell her how adorable she is.

“Love you too, Maggie,” Mulder says for them both, his heart almost bursting with joy at really being a part of a family again. This is what he’d been looking for for so long. Who would have guessed he’d find it with his FBI partner and her stalwart Catholic mother?

“Goodnight, Dana. Goodnight, Fox,” Maggie says, stepping out into the hall. “I love you both.

And that sweet girl of yours.”

Scully sighs. “Love you, Mom. Goodnight.”

-.-.-

“I was thinking about what your mom said earlier,” he whispers in the darkness, his arm wrapped around her waist underneath the covers of their bed. She turns her head to glance back at him.

“Mulder, we do not need her to babysit overnight,” she says. “I don't want to be away from Maddie that long.”

He breathes a laugh. “I know. That's not what I was going to say, actually.”

Her brows furrow, and the sheets rustle as she turns over to look at him properly. His hand slides over her silk-clad torso, and he rubs his thumb over her side in soothing circles as she settles. 

“Oh. Then what is it?” she asks. 

He hums thoughtfully. “I was thinking, it would be nice to have space for guests, and a nursery for Madeline.”

Again, he finds confusion written on her face. “Well, there are only two rooms in this apartment, Mulder, so I'm not sure where you think we're gonna—”

“What about a house?”

That silences her.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Come on, what do you say?”

“I–” She's not sure what to say. “I don't know.”

“If we lived somewhere bigger, I'd have less reason to say no to a dog,” he offers temptingly.

Her eyebrows raise. “You want to get a dog?”

“I didn't say that,” he answers, laughing softly. “I said I wouldn't have as much of an argument against it. There's a difference.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Mulder?” she asks jokingly, her own smile pulling at her lips.

“I'm right here, honey,” he says, wagging his eyebrows at her and digging his fingers into her sides. Then, turning serious again, “It's not that I’m against dogs. It was just your yappy cannibal dog, specifically.”

“It's not a cannibal if the thing it eats isn't of its own species,” she corrects. “Dogs are animals. It did what it needed to survive.”

“Stop, stop, you’re gonna give me nightmares,” he says, covering her mouth with his hand. “You're not helping your case, you know.”

She smiles and brushes his hair back. He's noticed she has a thing for his hair. She can't seem to keep her hands off even during idle conversation.

“Hey, you brought it up,” she points out. “A house, though, Mulder? Are you sure?”

“Why not? I've told you before that I'd live away from the city if I could. Wouldn't you?”

She smiles and closes her eyes, humming. “It does sound nice,” she admits.

“Well then, let's look. Let’s just see what's out there.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “I want it to have a porch.”

“Oh, that's a must,” he says, nodding seriously. “And a couple acres of land, at least.”

“What are we going to do with several acres, Mulder?”

“Start a garden, put in a pool? Maybe build an underground bunker for doomsday prepping?”

“Can I veto that last one?” she asks.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

She grumbles even as he pulls her to his chest, snuggling her close. 

While in some ways, the birth and adoption of their daughter felt like an end to their long and fraught journey, he hopes it's clear now that it's just the beginning. Their lives will look a little different from here on out, but there is so much more to come. A house, a real wedding. Maybe even a dog.

Oh, who is he kidding? Of course they're getting a dog.

“Dana?” he murmurs into her hair. Already her body has relaxed in his arms, and he knows she's moments away from falling asleep, his adorable little narcoleptic wife.

“Mm—what?”

“I love you.”

He can feel her smile against his chest, and she snuggles in closer.

“Oh brother.”

He knows that means, ‘I love you too.’

-.-.-