#universal gate

It’s funny to see Scully with wine. He hasn’t seen her with an alcoholic beverage for months because of the medications she was on. Mulder can’t help but grin to see her with wine in her hand.

She can drink now, he thinks proudly of how far she’s come after her illness. He will drink to that.

He always has this flooding pride when it comes to Scully. Always.

The last time he saw her with wine, it was when Eddie Van Blundht showed up at her doorstep, impersonating him; good thing he had made it in time. Whenever he thinks about that incident, Mulder wants to travel to Maryland and pay a little visit to that bastard at the Cumberland Reformatory. But that wouldn’t do any good, would it? It’s not like he could sign Eddie out just to beat him up again. Plus, he’s heard that Van Blundht gets beat up quite a lot over there, because even with the muscle relaxant, he can still do impressions of people pretty well, and prison inmates typically don’t like being mocked, not even for comedy.

He nearly broke Eddie’s nose that night. If Scully hadn’t stopped him, he might have kicked and beaten Eddie to a pulp. Scully was pleading for him to stop, because she fully understood the consequences if he had really whupped Eddie’s ass.

No wonder the Maryland PD thought it was a love triangle when they arrived at Scully’s apartment.

It’s strange how levelheaded Scully remained after nearly a whole bottle of red. Eddie claimed to have drunk only one glass of the wine, and when Scully blushed, Mulder knew there was some truth to that.

That junior-size bottle of white on the silver tray would do nothing at all for her.

Scully has picked up a piece of cheese and is nibbling on it; her right eyebrow is challenging him like a teenager, looking as if she’s asking permission to borrow the car this weekend so she can go hang out with her friends at the mall.

“I’m not...” he quips, “I’m just going to check on the Asekoffs. You know where I’m going; it’s not ditching if you know my destination.”

“Mulder,” She sits down on his bed. “You invited me to come over and hang.”

“Yes, I did, that’s why my door was unlocked. Stonecypher and Kinsley could barge in any minute while I was waiting for you to show up. I was afraid that they’d come in and suggest a singing contest which would end with all of us singing ‘Kumbaya’ together while holding hands.”

“Well, it took me a while to prepare these.” She glances at the plate of refreshments.

“I’d have gone to the vending machines.” He tosses his jacket on the mattress and walks over to her.

“I thought you were heading out?”

“Well.” He sits on the mattress and pats the spot next to him. “You went to all this trouble already.”

Mulder recalls some months ago, when he was in the bargaining stage of his grief, that he had vowed he would do better. Of course, he had also bargained for a lot of other things, too. But as he thinks of the promise he’s made to himself, be a better Mulder is definitely something he can do.

And a Better Mulder would stay and drink and be ready to have a good time right now. A Better Mulder might even get a kiss by the end of the evening. A Better Mulder would remain gentlemanly and keep it chaste and sweet.

He is determined to be the Better Mulder, because whoever on the other side has certainly kept their promise. Scully is alive and well now; she is even able to drink wine now.

And if this doesn’t call for a celebration, Mulder doesn’t know what does.

“Here, Scully,” he picks up his wineglass carefully. “Cheers.”

She stands up and gives him a good glance from head to toe.

“You have two choices, Mulder.” She parks one of her arms on her hip, and Mulder is once again reminded of how much he’s longed to see Bossy Scully. How he loves this bossy, petite redhead who sometimes looks like she could fit in his pocket like Tinkerbell.

“One, you go check on the Asekoffs and come back ASAP.”

His eyebrows do a surprised dance.

“Two, I drive you to the Asekoffs, and on the way back, we can pick up something you like. Something bubbly.”

She knows that he doesn’t care for wine.

“You know what I like,” he grins. “After you, M’Lady.”

The Better Mulder will always, always listen to Scully, bossy or otherwise.

UNIVERSE DET, 1997

“That wasn’t so bad.”

If he wasn’t hurt, she would consider hurting him.

“You a Three Dog Night fan?”

Scully lowers her head so that her nose is touching him. Having sung that song, that particular song, she suddenly feels very embarrassed. She wants to either crawl under a rock or hit Mulder with the said rock for making her sing.

A few moments pass by in silence between the agents, but the forest noises are very much present. Bugs chirping. Birds calling. Stomachs growling.

She should really begin packing energy bars in her coat pocket or something. This jacket comes with a lot of pockets for some reason.

“What about another one?” Mulder suggests.

“Don’t push your luck, Mulder.”

“C’mon.”

He whines, and she doesn’t have to see it to know that he’s pulling the puppy-dog eyes right now.

“I wanna sing too.” He snuggles closer to her. Mulder reminds her of a big dog. Like Leo the Golden Retriever her family had when she was seven. Archie the Mutt who was lost for two whole weeks and came home on his own. Queequeg the Pomeranian who was not big in size but a giant in personality.

Holding Mulder in her lap feels just like that. A big dog that you want to pet his head while cooing nonsense about what a good boy he is and feeling giddy.

“One song.” Mulder promises. Pleads.

This man can always get her to give in to his way. Maybe she’ll make a New Year’s resolution about that.

“Fine.”

Scully is about to roll her eyes before remembering that he can’t see her face in this position. She adjusts her grip on him, just a little, even though there’s really no way for Mulder to fall off her lap.

Exuberantly, he jumps right in:

“Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase!” “Hakuna Matata! Ain’t no passing craze.”

Scully is dumbfounded for a second. A very short second. She knows this song. She knows this song because she’s seen the Lion King. With Mulder. After he cluelessly gave her a snow globe with Simba and Nala inside when they came back from being a hundred years old on the Norwegian Sea.

“Mmm?”

Mulder makes a small sound, checking in with her. She knows she has to sing this with him.

She begins, “It means no worries—”

Mulder joins in: “—for the rest of your daaaays”

“It’s our problem-free phi-lo-so-phy”

“Hakuna Matata!”

She doesn’t have to look to know Mulder’s grinning like an idiot now. Fox Mulder, the boy wonder, can sing even when he's in shock, how about that.

Feeling pretty enamored herself, Scully lowers her head again and rests it on him; their breathing has become one. Maybe their hearts are beating in sync, too.

UNIVERSE CA, 1998

She leans against the door of her motel room, not sure if she wants to hide her smile.

“What took you so long?”

Mulder’s mouth hangs open—he did not expect that to be the first words out of her mouth—he had expected annoyance, feigned annoyance, shock, and anger... mostly not-so-positive emotions, which was precisely why he waited so long to come up.

It’s not that long, Mulder wants to say, but instead, he says, “Well, can I go in, or what?”

Scully steps aside and lets him, once again, become the plus-one of her vacation. No matter how mini this is, to her, it is still a vacation. A weekend getaway. One she tried but couldn’t come up with the courage to invite Mulder, because she knows he’d taken too many vacation days for her already when she was dying and recovering from cancer...

Mulder marches in and sits directly on her bed—the only bed—and takes a slow look around the room. She steps closer to the armchair by the table, suddenly feeling a little shy, though she doesn’t know why. Mulder’s seen her in a bathrobe before—in fact, he’d seen her out of a bathrobe before he’d known her for 48 hours—but somehow, this feels different.

Mulder’s also been in her hotel room on every out-of-town case, slept in the same bed with her numerous times, held her in his arms, and kissed her a little too close to her lips to be considered friendly, but why the hell does it feel so...

Why is her heart pounding like she’s nine years old and is about to give a presentation in front of her entire third-grade class?

“So,” he begins, “how’s your case? What’d I miss?”

“It’s not my case, Mulder.”

“Yes, it is,” he says, like a seven-year-old arguing my dad’s better than your dad. “Tell me one place you’ve seen since you got here yesterday.”

“.…..”

“What touristy thing did you do? Any local delicacy you have sampled?” Mulder says as he pumps his eyebrows, “Did you get me a souvenir?”

Scully opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

Mulder smiles like the cat that just ate a canary.

“As a matter of fact... Mulder,” she says his name like it’s still foreign to her tongue and not something she’s said multiple times a day for nearly five years. “I did get you a souvenir, but I’m not sure if I should give it to you now, seeing how you’ve invited yourself to crash my vacation... Maybe I should just give your souvenir to Bill...”

His eyes grow wide—perhaps at the mention of her brother, perhaps at the prospect of losing his gift—and Scully laughs.

“And I did visit the harbor with Captain Bonsaint, where we sampled some local delicacies. He ordered this—”

Mulder interrupts, “What’s on the itinerary for today, Dana?”

His use of her first name startles her a little, and she looks at his eyes, trying to read him, trying to see if she’s reading him wrong.

If she doesn’t know better, this is Fox Mulder, jealous.

“Are you here to help him solve the case?”

“No,” he denies quickly, “I’m here to… vacation.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as you’re going to be here. We’ll see Maine! I’ve always wanted to see Maine!” Mulder feigns enthusiasm. “What’ve we got?”

“Mulder...” Now his moniker is said in the same, old, familiar tone. “If you’re here to help Jack solve the case, or to even see the talking doll yourself, you can just say so. I won’t say you’re ruining my vacation.”

“Ruining your vacation…” He mumbles as he repeats her words, “No, Scully. I want to do stupid touristy things with you. Really, I do. We’ll take a historical tour. See a magnificent lighthouse.”

She looks at him like he’s claiming the talking doll was stolen from the British Museum before it was taken from the gravesite of a medieval princess named Isabella.

“C’mon, Mulder. You can be honest. Isn’t that why you came up here? To make my choices seem ridiculous?”

“Wait, what exactly do you think I came up here to do?”

“You’re jealous.” Scully asserts, “I go on vacation and stumble upon an X-File with a talking doll. And there you were, bored out of your mind and missing all the action in our basement?”

Mulder snickers. “No.”

“No what?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then tell me, Mulder, why are you here?”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest. She should really change out of her bathrobe. It’s getting a little warm in here.

Scully knows Mulder is jealous, but, truth be told, she isn’t very familiar with jealous Mulder. Jealous Mulder goes between whiny and pushy; he’s a kicked puppy or he’s an alpha dog pissing in a circle with her in the center of it. She hasn’t figured out Jealous Mulder yet. She won’t be surprised if she never does.

Mulder sighs in frustration.

“Jack. Vacation...” Mulder looks as if he isn’t sure what he wants to say. “Look, Scully, history was my least favorite subject in school because it seemed so stupid that humanity never learns, so why study it? Humans have this inability to act before it’s too late, and I hate to jinx myself, but…”

He pauses for a second. “For fuck’s sake, he’s a captain, Scully! You’re on vacation, and you met a captain, and his name is Jack? And I just...want to be here. With you.”

Scully smirks. She suddenly gets it.

“Mulder, he’s not that kind of captain...”

He shrugs. Didn’t matter, his body language argues.

“Just so you know...” She says good-humoredly, “Bambi’s a boy’s name.”

Mulder looks at her, clearly confused. “Why’re you telling me that?”

“Cockroaches?”

“In your hotel room?”

Mulder’s slightly panicking and looking on the walls around him.

“Never mind.” She shakes her head. For someone with an eidetic memory, Mulder certainly chooses what to remember and what to forget.

She stands up and goes to sit next to him on the bed. The mattress is very soft and she’s nearly half sitting on his lap, but she doesn’t care.

“I think Captain Bonsaint could really use our help.” She picks up his hand, and he responds to it immediately by squeezing it. “And since you’re here, we can have Bonsaint issue an official request to Skinner about us being consultants for a case here. We’ll solve the case, move back our flight, and actually have ourselves a little vacation in Maine?

He looks at her with eyes full of childlike hope, like he’s just been told that if he behaves, he’ll get a remote-control car for Christmas. Scully sandwiches his hand with hers and smiles encouragingly at him.

“And since you’re crashing my vacation, I think you need to know that there’s only one bed here, and it’s a very popular time to visit Maine.”

He grins and inches closer to her. Just when their noses are about to touch, the hotel phone starts ringing.

Mulder groans, and she giggles, trying to stand up.

“Nope, not yet,” he says quickly, and presses his lips on hers for a chaste kiss. “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

Scully snickers and returns a quick peck on his lips. “What took you so long?”

The kiss turns into something more. Captain Bonsaint will just have to call again later.

—–

UNIVERSE T, 1974

“No Boys Allowed!” Samantha pushes him out of her bedroom. “Fox! You promised!”

Fox knows that he promised. But he also wants to know what the girls are doing. He’s curious—he can hear them down the hall, in his room, even with his door closed. He doesn’t like to invite friends over to play; they like to play at the ballpark or shoot hoops in front of the garage. But his sister is different. Maybe girls are different; that’s what Fox has decided.

Little girls are curious creatures, some are more fascinating than others, and this is something he has realized at 13 years old.

“What do you want?” Samantha crosses her arms in front of her chest and frowns.

“I, I, I was, I want to know if you and your friends want to watch a scary movie on TV. My buddy Johnny was talking about it today. He says it’s real scary.”

“A scary movie?” Dana's best friend, Samantha, pops out from behind the door. “What’s it called?”

“Dani!” Samantha stands between her friend and her big brother. “Don’t mind him, he’s just on his way!”

“It’s called, um, it’s called…” Fox suddenly forgets the name of the movie. “It’s a story about a painting that comes to life and the wife of a sea captain.”

“A painting that comes to life?” Dana repeats.

“Yeah, I’m gonna watch it and thought maybe you girls would be interested.”

He watches the red-headed girl looking up at his sister. This Dana, she’s a cutie, alright.

Samantha rolls her eyes. “Fox, don’t you have any friends?”

“Sammy!” Dana grabs Samantha’s elbow. “That’s not nice. He’s your brother.”

“Yes, and Fox is as big a pest as Charlie, bossier than Billy, and noisier than Missy!”

Dana is now looking at him with big, wide eyes.

Fox feels like he should defend himself, but he doesn’t want to bicker in front of Sam’s friends within earshot.

“Plus, Susie and Patti and Beth might not want to watch a scary movie.” Samantha adds.

“What did you have in mind, Sammy?” Dana asks.

“Cards. And my daddy got me new nail polish; we can do that, too.”

Dana smirks, and Samantha sighs.

“Fine, Dani. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the only one who wants to watch a scary movie with my big butt brother.”

“Hey!” Fox finally finds his voice of defense, but it doesn’t seem to do any good anyway.

Samantha is right in predicting that none of her other friends want to watch a scary movie, which works out well in the end, as the four girls can play card games like switch or hell or Knock Out Whist without someone having to sit out at each round.

The movie turns out to be scarier than he thought, and they are the jumpy kind of scary. Within 20 minutes, Dana’s sitting next to him on the couch with her hands over her eyes as she peeks through her fingers. If he were watching this alone, Fox would have changed the channel already.

At the third commercial break, he feels Dana physically relax into a puddle on the couch.

Fox looks at her sympathetically. “You okay?”

Dana pulls her knees up; she nods her head to answer.

“You don’t need to watch the whole thing.”

Dana looks at him as if that’s not an option.

“I think it’s really scary too,” he confesses. “And if you give up, we can give up together.”

Clearly the girl does not like that.

“If we give up, we give up together.” She says as if correcting him. “Do you want to give up? We can watch something else. Sam and the other girls don’t need to know.”

Fox gives her a smile, which he realizes by her reflection that, his smile was more of a wince.

“You might not believe it, but I do have a reputation to uphold.” He adjusts his smile. “Don’t I?”

Dana shrugs. “Not with me.”

The sharp violin background music picks up, and the movie is about to start again. The commercial break is over. Back to reality.

Fox senses Dana becoming tense again.

“Here,” he gives her his hand, “hold my hand. I’ll squeeze when it gets really scary. And you can do the same.”

Dana extends her hand and grasps his. Her hand is small, even smaller than Samantha’s. Her fingernails are trimmed down perfectly, and Fox thinks that there wouldn’t be much room for nail polish.

They are both squeezing each other’s hand for this segment, both gasping when the sinister bagpipe music plays as the face in the painting begins to speak. Neither of them lets go of the other’s hand during the commercial break.

Will they really get to the end of this movie? Fox thinks and absentmindedly squeezes Dana’s hand.

“We’ll give up when we both give up, Fox.” She says to him.

Sounds like a good deal.

UNIVERSE I, 1981

“I swear, Dana! This is not a setup!”

The tall girl with a pixie cut runs after the petite redhead in a ponytail.

“Julie said this might happen, you know.”

The redhead slows down, trying to calm herself down by… walking it off.

“Julie? Julie Lemon? As if!”

The pixie-cut brunette throws her hands up, papers flying out from her binder. Both of the girls begin to collect the scattered graph paper and lined lab notes on the ground.

Dana gives her friend the stack of paper she has collected and helps her friend stuff it into her backpack.

“Dana, seriously, I’m not setting up you and my brother. And as for Julie, she’s actually called me, hoping Fox would be the one answering the phone! She’s just trying to get you all riled up and against the idea before anything could happen. It’s like… a subliminal message or something!”

“And what idea is that, Sam?”

Dana stands with one hand on her hip, waiting.

“Um, maybe you and my brother will hit it off? You know, it’s like… a girl’s dream come true, having her best friend as a sister-in-law.”

Dana gives a long sigh. Her best friend Sam is the silliest, most romantic-driven person she knows. She has a hard time believing that at first, because Samantha Mulder is actually very intelligent, with an almost-always logical head on her shoulders, and has her future all planned out. She knows what college she wants to go, what majors are suitable for her interests, and she’s even positive about how to make it happen.

“Sam, if what you say is true, which one of my brothers do you like?” Dana snickers, “Bill or Charlie?”

The two girls laugh and playfully shove one another away.

“Oh, Dana, be nice, or he won’t let us borrow his car to go to the beach.”

Dana turns to look at her friend, a little surprised. “I thought Fox was coming, too?”

“Yeah, but I’m driving.” Sam waggles her eyebrows up and down several times, sending both of them into a series of giggles again.

XXXXXXXXX

Mulder can definitely see why Sam has insisted that he come with them on their beach trip. For a while he thought it was because she was nervous about driving with her very new driver’s license—plus, it’ll be easier for their parents to agree on letting the girls go away for a whole day when there’s a chaperone. But after seeing the wink Sam gives him when her friend Dana gets dropped off at their door early this morning, Mulder instantly knows what his little sister has in mind.

Oh, poor Samantha. Poor, silly Samantha, misguided by the works of literature written centuries ago about romantic courtships…

After one year away at college, Mulder has a feeling that he tends to attract the leggy, albeit somewhat flat-chested girls. And sure, he’s kissed a few of them, which he blames on being 19 and living in the dorms and… grabbing life as it comes.

But Mulder also thinks life’s got to be more than finding love and falling in love and all that. Sure, it’s nice to have an engaging social life, but it just…isn’t his cup of tea.

Which is why he’s fine with playing chaperone this weekend. He’ll make sure his little sister and her little friend have a fun time and arrive home safely.

Though, the friend is certainly very cute, with big blue eyes and freckled cheeks and a brilliant smile that could dazzle any other 19-year-old boys.

XXXXXXXXX

“You don’t have your license yet?” Mulder parks one of his elbows on the little compartment between the driver seat and the passenger seat. He thought it wasn’t polite to call shotgun, and did the gentlemanly thing of offering the passenger seat/map-navigator role to Dana.

“Not yet.” Dana says matter-of-factly, “It’s a long story.”

“It’s okay, Dana; your best friend has her license, her big brother’s car, and very good auto insurance. Full coverage!”

“Keep your eyes on the road there, Sam.” Mulder reminds her.

“When I get really good at this,” Samantha begins, “I’ll teach you how to drive.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“You haven’t taken any lessons?” Mulder is surprised.

“Only the ones from school, with an invisible gas pedal and a detached steering wheel.”

Mulder can’t help but laugh. He thinks for a long second before deciding that he won’t regret what he’s about to say.

“I can teach you how to drive if you want.”

Dana rewards him with another dazzling smile, and Mulder feels like he could drive her around for the rest of his life.

They sing along with the radio and stop at the store to grab a few essentials. They arrive at the beach a little before noon, and Samantha sends the two of them to grab lunch. She gives specific instructions on how she likes her sandwich and salad as if her best friend and her brother have no idea of her food preferences.

Mulder and Dana walk, side by side, to the little line of shops across the beach.

“I feel like I should apologize for my sister for pushing me onto you.” Mulder begins; he feels like he might as well address the elephant on the beach. “I’m not the loser she’s painting me out to be.”

“Oh, no, Mulder, not at all.” Dana smiles at him. “If anything, I feel like I need to apologize for my best friend for thinking I’d make a good candidate.”

“You’re not?”

Mulder is surprised at how much he’s interested in this girl. For one, she doesn’t call her Fox just because Sam calls him Fox. Two, she’s so friendly and down-to-earth, and somehow that’s really refreshing from the people he’s met at college, where everyone just seems to be trying to impress everyone else…

Of course, Mulder reminds himself that this might be because Dana has already let down her guard, thinking of him as the harmless big brother of her friend.

Which he is. The big ol' harmless brother.

And third, Mulder does trust his little sister’s taste. And he’s trying very hard to not let that cloud his judgement.

“Do you mean you’re not interested in having a boyfriend, or that you think you’re not a good candidate?”

Mulder puts his hand on Dana’s back as they cross the street, something he’s done with Samantha whenever they cross the street. For whatever reason, he feels protective of this girl.

“I can’t see how I’m your type.”

“Well, am I your type?”

“You seem like you’d be dating girls like my sister. You’re actually her type, too, I think.”

“Well, that’s not the question, is it?” He presses on, “Am I your type?”

Dana licks her lips but does not answer.

“Because, you know, your sister isn’t my sister’s best friend. So, I don’t think Samantha cares if I’m your sister’s type. So that’s that.”

Dana gives him a look that makes him want to spend his entire summer making sure she knows how to drive his car.

They place their lunch order and carry it back to their spot on the beach. Samantha was right about one person not being able to bring back all the sodas and sandwiches alone. And it would be dangerous to send the girls on their own, and it would be rude to leave Dana on her own guarding their umbrella and beach towels. If anything, she’s their guest this weekend.

“Maybe it’s fated that we would meet even without Samantha being in the picture.”

“Oh, of course you would believe in fate,” Dana chuckles. “Just like my sister.”

Mulder looks around the two of them, and Dana follows his sight in checking out their surroundings even though she has no idea what they are looking for.

“I don’t see your sister anywhere.” He lowers his voice as he says to her. “I’m really not the loser Sam pegs me out to be, so stop trying to pass me off to your sister. And I’m not really looking for a summer fling. But I think we can be friends.”

“Yes.” Dana smiles at him, clearly liking the idea. “I think we can be friends, too.”

After an afternoon of splashing in the water, reading under the sun, and pigging out on chips and cookies they got from the store, the evening catches up with them way too fast, and it’s time to head back.

Perhaps catching the chill, perhaps getting a little too much sun, Dana zonks out once they settle into the car.

“Dana, why don’t you go sleep in the backseat?” Samantha offers, and Dana complies.

“Want me to drive, Samantha?”

“Nah.” Sam ducks behind the driver seat. “Let me play chauffeur, Fox. You’ve driven me around for long enough. It’s more comfortable back there, anyway.”

“Sam…” Mulder tries his best warning voice, which has never worked on his little sister.

He lets her drive in peace, with the radio turned down. After shifting around a bit, Mulder finds his sister’s best friend’s head resting against his bicep.

“Here, Dana,” he shifts into a position so she can be more comfortable. Dana stirs, but does not wake up.

“She can sleep anywhere. And sleeps through everything.” Samantha suddenly says, and Mulder freezes for a few seconds.

“I’ve got a good eye, Fox. And Dana’s my best friend. Don’t break her heart. If you want her, you gotta be serious about it. No summer flings.”

“Samantha…”

“I know you, and I know her. Trust me on this.” She gives a small sigh. “She thinks you’re kind and smart.”

Mulder turns to look at the girl in his arm. 17-year-old Dana Scully, with a heart of gold and a smile to have everything she could ask for in his world. He inhales, matching his breathing with hers in slumber, smelling the coconut scent of the sunblock and the saltiness of the sea. She says she wants to study marine biology; she wants to work with animals.

He thinks he can have a very colorful life with her, if he just trusts his little sister on this one. And Samantha’s the Queen of Accurate Gut Feelings.

Suddenly, he hears a gasp, and looks up to see his sister turning her head back toward the road ahead.

“Keep your eyes on the road there, Samantha.”

He’ll teach Dana how to drive. He’ll take his sister and her best friend on a road trip. They’ll celebrate with ice cream at the parlor like when Samantha got her license. He’ll spend countless afternoons with Samantha and Dana, chatting and catching movies and going to the carnival. He wants to win Dana the biggest stuffed whale.

No summer flings. Mulder thinks he can keep that promise.

UNIVERSE N, 1984

Mulder steps out of the bus station and pulls up his collar. He didn’t expect the winter to be so cold down here, too. Glancing around the parking lot, he realizes that his little sister is running late, again.

He’s happy to be home for the holiday season. His parents would be happy, too, to have both their children home for Christmas. In an effort to save a little more money, he hadn’t always gone home during the school breaks. Though, Mulder is very happy to be home with his family for a change—for the past three Christmases, he had spent it volunteering at The Mission, handing out turkey dinners and all the fixings to homeless men, women, and children. As a volunteer, he could either help himself with the donuts before the hot food line starts, or eat with the staff after everyone’s fed, but Mulder always opted out for the meals. He’s just a little shy like that.

People mean well, he knows, but…

“Mulder!” His sister Sam’s voice came at him like an unexpected snowball. “We’re here!”

We? Oh, right, Sam and her best friend. Mulder remembers how excited Sam sounded on the phone when she finally made a real friend in college. Dana Scully, who grew up in Japan and is away from her family for college. Standing next to his 5-foot-7 little sister, this girl looks like a child. A child dressed like a… marshmallow.

Mulder raises up his hand and waves, “Sam!”

It’s best to make the girl feel welcomed. After all, he knows how it is to feel left out and alone during the holiday season.

XXXXXXXXX

“Just call him Mulder.” Sam says as she cranks up the heater. “Mulder, you might want to keep your coat on for a while. Mom hasn’t had time to bring it to the shop.”

“Alright.”

“We’re not that far away from home anyways. Mom told us to come straight home after picking you up.”

Dana turns to look at him, and at Sam, and back at him again. “What’s your first name?”

“Day-na!” Sam says in a playfully warning voice.

“Oh, c’mon, Sam. Your brother can’t be named Mulder Mulder. I’m just curious.” Dana turns around to face him. “May I know your first name?”

Mulder smiles, suddenly feeling all shy. “It’s Fox.”

“And you make your sister call you Mulder?” Dana’s eyes widen. “Do you make your parents to that, too?”

“No.” Mulder laughs, shaking his head as he denies the allegation. “People typically call me Mulder, ever since I was in grade school. There was a kid named Wolfgang, and—”

“And my brother and Wolfgang would howl every time one of their names was called. As a punishment, our teachers started calling him Mulder, and we went to a tiny school, like, less than 100 kids.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you have to call him Mulder,” Dana points out.

“Dana, I look like a crazy girl screaming Fox! in the store. Can you imagine?” Sam chuckles, “If I go Fox! in a crowd, it might result in a stampede.”

“Well, you don’t have to scream,” Dana laughs.

“He has no problem with it, do you, Mulder?” Sam looks at him from the rearview mirror, and Mulder quickly shakes his head no.

“We had a cat named Beetlejuice.” Mulder begins, “And one time, he got out from the house. Sam and I went around the neighborhood going Beetlejuice and that was so embarrassing.”

“Did you find him in the end?” Dana asks, genuinely curious.

Mulder is pleasantly surprised. He’s told this little anecdote many times to his friends, because he liked how silly it was, but this girl is the first one who asks about the fate of little Beetlejuice.

“It took us very long, because we were afraid to accidentally summon some evil bio-exorcist. We went around the neighborhood shaking a plastic bottle of kibbles until we figured it would be okay to say Beetlejuice the Cat.”

He watches as Dana’s face breaks into a big grin; she clearly likes the ending of this story. “But Dana, you can call me Fox if you want.”

She beams at him, and Mulder feels his cheeks burning a little.

“It’s just a name,” he mumbles.

Sam rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and he had a girlfriend named Prometheus.”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend!” Mulder quickly denies.

“And that’s not her real name either,” Sam spits distastefully. “Prometheus, so pretentious.”

Dana watches in amusement as the two siblings bicker back and forth.

“I never liked her.” Sam emphasizes. “Always looking at people like everyone is beneath her, even you, Mulder. I hated the way she treated you, thinking she was some goddess from Greek mythology. Get real!”

Dana chuckles while Mulder tries to figure out what he really wants to say.

“Danes, my brother is a great guy. He’s smart, he’s kind, and he’s funny, but he has the worst luck with girls.”

“Sam!” Mulder finally finds his voice, but isn’t sure what he wants to say.

Sam pulls up the parking brake and turns off the engine as they have finally arrived at their parents’ house.

“Helpless!” Sam says before exiting the car.

“You two seem close.” Dana says to him in something he could only identify as… good envy.

Mulder finally lays his eyes on the freckled-faced redhead in the passenger seat who will be staying with them for the next week.

“Well, welcome to the Mulders.”

XXXXXXXXX

Dana Scully is amazing.

Mulder tells himself that it could just be infatuation. He tells himself that it’s the holiday season and everything is made more lovely by the music and the warm yellow lights and the festive decorations. He tells himself that he’s been lonely and single for a very long time. And Dana is very, very lovely.

He can see why Sam likes her so much. Hell, he likes her very much as well. They sat around playing old board games on the first day because he was pretty beat from the bus ride. On the second day, they rented VHS from Family Video and had microwaved popcorn with freshly baked sugar cookies. They went out that night, and met up with a few old friends who also came home for the holidays. It felt natural to be by Dana’s side, even though she’s really Sam’s guest. Mulder made sure he got to sit next to her at the pizza place and later at the all-night diner.

He’s never felt an urge to touch a girl’s hand this much—not even when he was a teenager with raging hormones. He then came up with the idea to go roller skating, and hoped for one whole sleepless night that Dana Scully does not know how to skate.

On the third morning, Mulder comes down to the breakfast table and sits across from his little sister.

“Where’s Dana?” He tries to ask like nothing’s up.

“In the shower.” Sam looks at him, her eyes shining with a mischievous glint. “Do you need to talk to me?”

Mulder licks his lips nervously. Please be kind, he prays. “Can I date her?”

“Date who?” Sam plays innocent.

If it were any other girl, he might just say fuck it and let it go. They are young, she’s still in school, they live in different states, and those are just a few reasons why he shouldn’t mess up a good friendship.

But Mulder also knows his sister well; if it were any other girl, she wouldn’t make him specify. Sam’s never liked any of his old girlfriends or crushes before; that was the whole ordeal with bringing up Prometheus the other day. Sam’s always had better taste in girls than he does.

“Is it okay with you if I date Dana?” Mulder places his palms together, a gesture he did when he wanted something from his sister back when they were little kids.

“Yes, Mulder. You have my full blessing.” Sam tips her glass of orange juice at him, “Don’t screw it up.”

XXXXXXXXX

They are standing with their shoulders pressed against each other; well, her shoulder, his bicep. There is a huge Christmas tree in the middle of the plaza, decorated with gold and silver balls, trimmed with green and red mini-lightbulbs, and there’s an angel with golden hair on top.

So this is what it’s like to have your sister as a wingman, Mulder thinks. Sam’s practically given him a crash course on Dana Scully, from her favorite foods to her favorite color to her pet peeves and turn-offs, which luckily aren’t anything he does anyways. Of course, it’s a little weird to know that his date is wearing a skirt ensemble and earrings from his little sister, but Mulder knows it’s normal that girls borrow clothes from their best friends.

“Look, Mulder!” Dana points at the tree. “It just changed, the lights. It just changed.”

“I think the orchestra is going to play next, and people will dance around the tree, on the plaza. It’s the biggest spectacle in this little town at this time of the year.”

“It’s so pretty. They never do Christmas like this in Japan.” She looks up and smiles at him. “Did you always come see the Christmas lights with Sam and your parents when you were little?”

“I stopped coming when I was seven…” Mulder contemplates whether to kill the moment with this little revelation. “I’m colorblind. So…”

“Oh, Mulder…” Dana says it like she’s about to cry.

“It’s nothing.”

He hopes that she won’t cry. He feels like his heart will break into a million pieces if she cries.

“I just can’t be a pilot. Or be in law enforcement. Or be an art teacher.” He tries to lighten the mood. “I could be a starving painter, though.”

Dana gives him a tiny smile.

“It’s not bad at all.” Mulder says to her softly, “You wanna know what’s the worst thing about being colorblind?”

Dana arches her eyebrows slightly as she anticipates his answer.

“I have no idea how brilliant your hair color is. But Sam says it’s vibrant and beautiful and… out of this world.”

She presses her lips together and beams at him brilliantly. “You mean you can’t tell your sister dyed my hair green for my big date with you?”

Laughter roars out from both of them.

“Oh, hey, I got you a little something.”

He digs into his pocket, and hopes that she will like his little present. He could have gotten Sam’s opinion on this; hell, he could have gotten Sam to pick something out, but he wanted to find Dana something all on his own.

“Now, it’s not a Christmas present. It’s… something I saw at the store when we went roller skating.” He presents a snow globe on his hand. “Your own little winter wonderland.”

Mulder watches as her eyes light up with joy. “Look at the details. See the little bird on the tree? And the little kitty cat next to the snowman? I like to think that’s Beetlejuice.”

He gazes at her smiling face. “Well, Beetlejuice Jr. And I like the house a lot; it’s unremarkable, but nice nonetheless.”

Standing on tippy toes and grabbing his hand, Dana suddenly kisses him. They come apart briefly to breathe, and kiss again. And again. And again.

It was definitely a good idea to come home this year.

Mulder opens his mouth, slowly. He needs to convince her that they don’t have any business here before the cowboy out there wises up and makes his move.

He wonders if he can pull the senior agent crap on her—maybe not, because Scully hates that kind of stuff; it might drive her in the opposite direction.

“I made a mistake,” he asserts. “This case is not for us. I had to look closer to tell.”

Scully’s mouth hangs open a little.

“Mulder, that’s not... the...” She closes her mouth and tries again, but not before wetting her lips with her pink tongue. Mulder suddenly recalls that in the earlier days, Scully wore lipsticks much redder than she does now.

He finds himself staring at her lips, trying to tell if she reapplied her lipstick after meeting Sheriff Hartwell.

If she does, she’s just being polite.

Right? Right?

Mulder wonders if he can get some confirmation on that. He’s staring at those lips a little too much, he’s gawking at her lips, and they seem to be moving rapidly. Damn, she’s talking to him.

“...and what are you going to say to Skinner? We already took the flight; if we head back, you’d have to pay for the airfare and the rooms...”

“I’ll say what I just said; there’s no case. Inconclusive.”

There, he gives her his Mulder knows best expression.

Who the heck knew the sheriff in a podunk town of northern Texas would be cute? Who the hell knew Scully would suddenly find cowboys cute? Who the fuck knew that Scully actually flirts with someone other than him?????

“We’re leaving.” Mulder announces it as if it is final.

“No, Mulder.”

“Scully!”

She looks at him with completely bewildered eyes. He has resorted to whining now. He has no other reasons to really convince Scully. Though his mother had taught him that saying but Moooom! would never work in her home, he still uses it with Scully from time to time, and it works about 25% of the time.

Because she’s kind.

“You want to tell me why you want to drop this case altogether and go back to DC?” Suddenly, Scully steps closer to him and places her hand on his bicep. She squeezes it once, showing her support.

“I..." He stares down at her. “I...”

Should he tell her the truth? Isn’t that what they’ve always been after all these years? All these four years, 11 months, and ten days.

Mulder can’t believe that she would flirt in front of him; he was standing right there, goddammit.

“I want to go home.” He repeats, suddenly forgetting why they were here at all.

“Mulder, you need to at least give me a why. I didn’t get up early today and fly to Texas of all places just so we could go home. The airline peanuts are really not worth it.”

“You were smiling and…” he mutters, “and I don’t want to talk about it.”

She gives him a dazzling smile, and Mulder is almost jealous at every single sorry SOB who’s ever been on the receiving end of this smile. Hell, he’s feeling jealous of his past self for getting a smile like that. He doesn’t even know what he did to get that one.

With a glint in her eyes, Scully is amused; this, he can tell for sure.

“I was smiling, so you want to go home?”

“You were charmed...by the cowboy sheriff...” Mulder mumbles reluctantly, and before he knows it, he’s already thinking about Scully taking her upcoming weekend getaways in Texas. Next, she’ll be wearing cowgirl boots and those dreamy smiles in their basement office. Hartwell probably has a dog, something dumb and cute and loving and licks Scully’s face the first time they meet and she’ll fall in love with the stupid mutt. They’ll buy a ranch and she’ll hang silly little Christmas lights on the wooden rail fence. They’ll become those people who send out stupid Christmas cards featuring photos of them wearing matching sweaters in front of their gigantic Christmas tree and put their mutt in a Santa hat.

He’ll be the receiver of those Christmas cards and just crawl up to die...

“Mulder...”

He feels her hand on his chin, holding his attention. He blinks and looks at her beautiful eyes.

“We’re going to stay, and solve this case, because vampires don’t exist, and cows and vacationers shouldn’t have to die with puncture wounds on their necks.”

That fucking Christmas card will be the death of him.

“And...” she draws out the last syllable, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. Got that?”

He nods, because Scully is nodding, and she can be simply hypnotic when she wants to be.

She pats his cheek lightly. “C’mon, we got a vampire wannabe to catch. You coming, or am I taking the sheriff with me?”

He notices that she’s smiling at him now. “Maybe let’s grab lunch first?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

XXXXXXXXX

“Well, Skinner took it well.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, “I don’t think he believes in the existence of vampires either. So to him, the case was a total bust...”

Mulder stares at the hickey on Scully’s neck, the result of them necking in the rental at the cemetery like horny teenagers. They had their first kiss in a cemetery, old and off the beaten path and spooky as hell, where he sucked her neck like he was the vampire wannabe.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

UNIVERSE RAI, 1998

The two of them stand, shoulder to shoulder—well, shoulder to bicep—and sway left and right with the music. They watch, like zoo-goers, as the blonde woman in red and black kisses the powerful meteorologist. A song from an old film begins to play; Judy Garland’s sweet and innocent voice doles out the words:

Somewhere… over the rainbow… way up high...

Light sparks. People wow. All the couples on the dance floor begin kissing.

Mulder lowers his head and whispers softly, “May I have this dance?”

Scully recalls, about a year ago, maybe a little more or a little less, they danced at a live performance of “Walking in Memphis.” The Cher on stage was wonderful and the whole thing was pretty magical. Mulder didn’t ask that time; he just took her hand and swung her to her feet. She hadn’t danced in forever.

She thinks about the irony of the past year; a lot goes on, but nothing happens.

Scully places her hand on Mulder’s waiting one, and he grasps it immediately, as if he’s making sure she won’t change her mind.

They dance.

Closer than the Memphis time, this time.

They’re dancing like the world is at a fixed, better place.

Why does it feel like that was a century ago? That little town, where everything seemed to be black and white, with kooky townspeople like they had walked out from a comic book. Izzy and his friends, the Great Mutato, being drugged, mad scientists, infertile women, and lonely men.

Love makes people do crazy, crazy things.

“You’re thinking too much, Scully.” Mulder whispers in her ear, his breath hot and moist. “You think we can be honorary graduates of Kroner High School and come here again for their next reunion?”

She laughs, as if she’s never allowed herself to dwell in her partner’s humor before, and he gazes at her in wonder, like he always does.

UNIVERSE KIN, 1998

They are stuck here for at least one more day—there might be a small airplane available for them tomorrow afternoon.  And thanks to Holman, the weather will be great for the flight.

“Mulder,” she sighs his name almost sympathetically, “what’s going on? I’ve asked you three times since last night. The case is over. The weather is beautiful. But you’re...You hardly said five sentences to me last night.”

“Well, you were working on the report. Then we were watching... that movie together, and you seemed like you really wanted to watch it, so I didn’t—"

“Tell me, what movie were we watching together?” She tilts her head sideways, looking coyly.

“Hum, Jack, I think?”

“Mulder, we caught the last 15 minutes of Jack, then we started watching Good Will Hunting.” 

“No wonder it didn’t make sense.” He comments as if he’s talking to himself.

“Actually, Mulder, I was watching the movie. You were watching me and thinking. What’s going on? Tell me.” She was worried.

He sighs and puts his hand through his hair. “Fine,” he begins, “I was just thinking that, the last three kisses I’ve had were all forced.”

“What?!” She yelps.

“And Scully,” he licks his lips nervously, “that shouldn’t have shocked you, really, you were also there, one way or another.”

She stares at him in disbelief. “Three?” she repeats.

“Yes. There’s last night, from Shelia—that’s one—and there’s that one case a few years ago, this detective—”

“Yeah, I remember.” She cuts his sentence off quickly, “But that’s only two. You said three.”

“Yes, those were kisses forced on me. I also forced kissed...a version of you on that ghost ship a few months ago.”

“That was in your dream, Mulder.”

“No, Scully,” he opens his mouth to argue but decides not to continue. “Dreams or not, in my recollection, the last three kisses I’ve had were all forced ones.”

“And?” She encourages him to keep talking.

“And I feel like a loser.” He says frankly. “Scully...”

As if out of habit, he presses his lips together, then chews the inside of his lips.

“You’re not a loser, Mulder.” She pats his shoulder, smiling almost tenderly. “Shelia told me you know how to kiss.”

“It doesn’t mean anything to me coming from her.” He spits out dryly. Looking unhappy, he mutters, “I just want....”

Their faces are inches apart, and he says lightly, “I want to be in a kiss where both parties want it. One that doesn’t leave me feeling humiliated. One that does not end with me being punched in the face. One that I’m not struggling to break free.”

“Maybe one that goes on for a little bit without anyone having to call the ambulance?” She smiles and whispers shyly.

“Scuh-leee...” he calls her name but does not remember what he wants to say.

She moves closer to him, and he bends his head down; she softly plants a kiss on his lips. A breeze comes around them, embracing them, the sun singing, the clouds cheering. They kiss for a few long seconds, and he pulls back. “Scully?”

“Hmm?” Her voice is tiny, as if it were intended for ants.

“Do you think the next time we kiss, you could, um, close your eyes?”

Suddenly, she lets out a giggle, and he does, too. “Mulder, why don’t you try again, and maybe I’ll try that?”

Suddenly the wait to fly home doesn’t seem so long anymore.

-----

He and Scully had promised each other that they were going to keep fighting after coming back from Antarctica. If I quit now, she said, they win. They were going to fight the future together.

Working under Kersh was humiliating, but he bit the bullet and stuck it out for her. Mulder enjoyed making googly eyes at Scully in the bullpen, where everyone knew they were always in their little world. They and their private jokes, they and their long lunches, they and their side trips.

He hated being in the bullpen only because he was supposed to hate it.

Running himself into trouble at the Bermuda Triangle pushed him a little, too. He realized life was too short to keep waiting. He told Scully that he loved her. Their trip to Nevada moved him another foot further. He found out Scully wanted to stop the car and get out—with him; it was comforting to know he wouldn’t leave the FBI empty-handed.

He would leave with the whole world in his arms.

The haunted house with the lover’s pact strengthened his resolve. One day he would take Scully away. Maybe they would live eternally in some haunted place, and Mulder was sure it ain’t going to be their basement office.

Scully got shot in the stomach, and he joked that they had to find a profession where they could do what they do for hundreds of years, forgetting that he wasn’t immortal.

But Mulder had no idea being undercover as a married couple with Scully would finally push him over the edge.

He wanted the real thing now. Of course, he didn’t want the yippie neighbors and the killer garbage-man. He wanted a place where they could keep big, silly Labrador Retrievers, a hot tub in the backyard, basketball hoop in front of the garage. Halloween decorations and loud Christmas lights. Witches, tombstones, glowing Rudolphs and snowmen.

He wanted to play house for the rest of his life with Dana Scully. He wanted what her parents have. He wanted a nice house with a white picket fence, a minivan and a pretty house. He wanted to give Scully what she wants.

Except that wasn’t what she wanted at all.

It was a good thing Mulder had talked to her about it before rushing into anything like making a down payment on a house in West Virginia. Contrary to his belief, convincing Scully that he loved her and wanted to be with her was the easy part. Talking to her about leaving the FBI was the hard part.

She needs no convincing about loving him. That fact had left Mulder grinning like a fool for months afterwards. But moving into a nice little crackerbox with a brand-new minivan in the driveway? She thought he was insane.

“Honey,” she said to him with a voice sweeter than honey, “I don’t want the average life. Not with you. Never with you.”

Mulder told himself not to feel hurt. Was it because he wasn’t a doctor? Was it because they couldn’t have 2.5 children? Was it because she wanted smaller dogs? A Papillon? Another Pomeranian? Poodles that look freakishly like teddy bears? God, he’d never imagined himself as the owner of lapdogs, but for Scully, he was willing to become a cat dad.

It surprised him that she didn’t want to be a doctor at all. She felt trapped with her career prospects.

“What would you do if money were no issue?” He encouraged her to dream. “You know, what did you want to do when you were like, seven?”

Scully gave him the elusive smile, complete with pink cheeks: “I’ve always loved baking.”

“Baking it is, then.”

Mulder gained 12 pounds from sampling the pies. Scully promised that she would love him even if he were to gain another 20.

She fell in love with Martha’s Vineyard on their first visit, so he rented a little storefront in Tisbury. Queequeg’s Bakery was opened before the summer was over. She made pies and brownies, cupcakes and cookies—everything she’d learned from her mother. He handled the customers and spread on the hospitality—something he’d learned from her mother.

On Scully’s 40th birthday, they purchased a bed and breakfast. Sam’s Home was pet-friendly and smoke-free, cozy and chic; famous for its sweets and the friendly hostess.

Sometimes Mulder felt like he was playing house; running a B&B and the bakery was like playing house to him. He cooked and cleaned for the two of them and their three dogs. He listened to their visitors with fascination and wrote daily. They meditated, they hiked, they walked barefoot on the beach. At Martha’s Vineyard, Mulder felt like he was a kid again, like he got his childhood back again. He told her made-up stories about the constellations and the forest, about the princess who gave up her kingdom for love, and the prince who loved the princess so much that he fought his demons and won.

Years went by, but Mulder never looked back. Scully now had grays in her hair and laugh lines on her face. He knew she was happy; so was he. He sometimes wondered if there was another universe, one where they did stay and kept going. He hoped to the stars that those other two were just as happy.

UNIVERSE U, 1999

All it took was the swinging practice, her baseball lesson.

The whole day, actually, got her thinking about Mulder. Sure, he’d always been playful. He’d always been clingy, and lately, well, maybe not so lately, they had been hanging out a lot more.

Scully tried to think when that started, and she guessed it was around the time her cancer went into remission.

He was moving closer and she was moving closer, too. She went to his hotel with wine and cheese. He held out his hand and solicited a dance from her. His confession of nothing else matters to me now, his claim of her being his one in five billion. Their summer trip to Antarctica played a huge part, and they had been spending so much more time together outside of work. Their little getaway in Nevada. The doofus even took her—tricked her—into visiting some mansion famous for its lovers’ pact. She tried hard not to think about that night, but something rather creepy told her that they could very well have died there. They went to the movies and street fairs, saw art exhibits and ate snow cones at summer music festivals. She didn’t know who they were fooling, because they were doing all the things couples were doing on dates.

Well, except for that final thing—they’d only gone to second base so far.

“What else are you gonna teach me, Mulder?” She asked after they finally sent the po’boy home. Alone at last.

And neither of them was surprised that she would allow him to eat toast in bed at breakfast the next day.

They lounged in bed for the whole morning, doing nothing and doing everything. The way the sun shone on Mulder’s eyelashes made her feel like they were really staying away from the darkness.

“Have you ever…” He started asking silly what ifs and have you evers again. Mulder’s been doing that for the whole morning—when his mouth was free, anyways. “Have you ever thought to eat all 31 flavors of ice cream?”

“You mean in one sitting?”

“Wait, I already know the answer to that. How many dream rice dreamsicles flavors are there?”

“You meant the Tofutti—”

Her words were hushed by his sudden kisses.

“Scully, I’ll kiss you every time you mention that misguided Chinese takeout experiment done by a mad scientist.”

“Those Tofutti ri—” Mulder kissed her again and let out a chuckle while doing so. She slapped his bare chest, and he chuckled some more.

“They come in four different flavors, Mulder.”

“God, Scully, when are you gonna live a little?” He sneered.

“I think we did, last night,” she smirked.

He closed his eyes, looking happy and contented. “You still want to get out of the car?”

“Are you getting out of the car, too?” She responded without really thinking.

“It hurts me that you have to ask, Scully.” He opened one eye to peek at her. “Of course I’m getting out of the car too, if that’s what you’re doing.”

She wanted to say I don’t believe you, Mulder, but a little voice told her that she should. And that was exactly what she did. She believed.

Neither of them knew the car would stop in St. Marks, Florida, and they got out of the car for the wildlife refuge there. They had stumbled upon the area on a detour out of that year’s team-building seminar—it was only the second day, since no other agents wanted to babysit them—and Skinner had asked everybody.

“Tell me that the six-year-old Dana Scully dreamed of becoming a marine biologist,” Mulder said in her ear when they finally got back to the lodge after midnight.

“What would you do, if I said the 16-year-old Dana Scully dreamed of becoming a marine biologist, too?”

“I’d say I’d like to give it a shot.” He grinned in the silver moonlight that came in from the bay windows.

“At being an astronaut, too?” She wondered aloud.

“There’s already a Chris Hadfield,” Mulder said seriously, “and I’d look utterly ridiculous in a mustache.”

Of course, Scully did not become a marine biologist at 36 years old. However, her unique expertise and background provided her to be a valuable member of St. Mark’s conservation team. Mulder would joke about being a wildlife ranger when their friends visited. He loved giving tours to the public more than he would ever admit, and he dug it even more that their son William could spot the bobcats and deer better than anyone; William could name the migratory birds as if they were the family pets.  

Skinner visited them every fall when the FBI held team seminars for its agents. They kicked back on the beach with homemade Kombucha in hand, watching the tidal waves and beginning their sentences with remember that time…

“I never thought you had it in you, Mulder,” Skinner would always say when the stars light up the entire sky and William’s already asleep in his daddy’s arms.

“Well,” Mulder would nudge his wife with his elbow, “this one wanna be a marine biologist, and how can I say no to that?”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully would respond, with cheeks glowing in the color that Mulder couldn’t really see but knew was magnificent, and their old friend would laugh, not afraid to wake up the little tyke or the wildlife.

Years go by, and Mulder would never look back. Scully would get grays in her hair and laugh lines on her face. He knew she was happy; so was he. Mulder sometimes wondered if there was another universe, one where they had stayed and kept going. He hoped to the stars that those other two were just as happy.

UNIVERSE C, 2000

She’d noticed. She had always noticed.

Of course, she didn’t want to face it until she absolutely had to face it.

It wasn’t surprising to her that after Mulder found out what had really happened to his sister, he changed.

He was so happy that night, thinking that he finally had closure. Twenty-seven years and four months, her partner had endured that long, had searched that long, had suffered that long. Mulder seemed to accept whatever he saw and made his peace with it.

But Scully did not expect for his job performance to suffer. His closure had taken a part of him, a crucial part of him. She found it to be puzzling. What happened to her Bigfoot-chasing, UFO-party-crashing, government-conspiracy-debunking monster boy?

He now slipped her love poems, bought her single-stem roses or sunflowers, and sang in the shower. And not songs like “When Doves Cry” or “Love Me Tender”; Mulder sang silly and upbeat songs like “Lovefools” and “Video Kills the Radio Star.”

He made googly eyes at her, in public, and put on the most public PDA she’d ever witnessed—all directed at her. He made up a dozen or so unique pet names to use on her in the office, and even more to use outside of the office.

They went on dates. Scully had no idea how or when it happened, but it did, and it took her a very long time to not sing in the shower, too.

Mulder’s quest was complete, and now he was only in it for her. For Missy and Emily and her abduction and her infertility and frankly, she was tired of it.

It was a dark afternoon when Dana Scully finally admitted to herself that she would rather have a sane and happy Mulder with her, than to consider any other alternative. She had realized that her dark and gloomy boyfriend (yes, boyfriend) was now as sunny as a golden retriever, one that simply did not vibe with the X-Files.

“Mulder,” She called his name as she dropped the large envelope onto his desk, “This is not working.”

Immediately, his eyes darkened like before. “Scully?” She detected fear in his voice. “What’s wrong? Are you leaving me? Did they reassign you? What is going on?”

“I think…It’s time for us to resign.” She breathed out. She didn’t realize this would be so hard to say. “I’m leaving, and I’d like you to come with me. I want to… Take you away from this place. Away from all of this.”

His eyes grew big and wet, sending out emotions she did not know how to name. They probably have a word for them in German, Scully thought.

“You are taking me away?” He repeated like a young child.

“Yes.” She stated with determination. “You’re coming with me, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Scenarios quickly played in her head. What could she do if Mulder didn’t want to come along? She had no real idea of what to do after, and her savings would support them for only a year or two if they were careful. This had to be the most reckless thing she’d done. But she wanted it so badly.

Would she be able to convince him by pouring out her heart like he did before the bee stung her? Would she be able to utilize her feminine wiles like that lonely woman in Los Angeles had suggested a few weeks ago? Would she just pick up and go and have the confidence that he would follow her, no matter what?

Would he follow her? Really? Did she have this much faith in their love—as new as it was—this much?

Scully contemplated the things to say. She knew this man from inside out, but she did not know he would change after he had his closure. Mulder was happier now, and she wanted to keep him like that; she could see as clear as day that the only way is to leave the FBI.

“Dana,” Mulder called her and reached to hold her hand. He called her Dana now, which also took some time for her to get used to. “You know, wherever you want to go, I’ll go. I’ll follow you wherever you go. I am, as they say, my very own man now.”

He winked, and she almost laughed at how silly he looked.

And so, they left. To hell with it all, because so much else mattered. Mulder mattered. Mulder’s sanity mattered, Mulder’s happiness mattered, and she’d given up all that she knew to ensure that, because she knew he would have done the same for her. In letting go, you receive more.

And Mulder certainly was so, so much more.

They settled down in a tiny town, where the weather was warm and the land was cheap. It was something exactly like what Mulder had described to her once, where the only place they had to be on time was home for dinner. Never had to lock their barn nor their doors. Somewhere he could play pickup games all day in the field, ride bikes down to the lake, eat veggie bologna sandwiches with homemade mayonnaise. He took up baking and gardening, planting raspberries in the spring and arugula in the fall. She volunteered at the library and brushed up on her German. Two years into their new life together, they opened a small animal sanctuary, caring for chickens, cows, goats, horses, pigs, turkeys, and sheep. The biggest X-File in their life was which one of their five dogs ate all the doggie biscuits in the porcelain cookie jar on the shelf.

Years went by, and Scully had never looked back. Mulder now had grays in his hair and laugh lines on his face. She knew he was happy; so was she. She sometimes wondered if there was another universe, one where they did stay and kept going. She hoped to the stars that those other two were just as happy.

-----

Japan, the country where her family lived until she was four. Yeah, she can order sushi and use chopsticks and enjoy slimy vegetables from the sea, but after they get out from the airport, her prior experiences feel pretty useless as English stops being useful.

The people are all so nice to them, with shy smiles and kind eyes. But besides using the printouts Mulder had prepared in DC, it’s nearly impossible to carry on any conversation with the taxi driver.

And Mulder is the worst haggler she’s ever seen; it’s a good thing the cab driver’s quote of their trip fare is well within the price range listed on Mulder’s travel guide.

It’s cute how he studies the travel guide like a kid before a big, important test. He must have flipped it through three times on their flights while she tried her best to catch some shut-eye. She is wary of jet lag and is trying her best so that no one will be able to tell that she just recovered from a major illness six months ago.

The taxi driver is a man in his 50s, dressed in a pressed button-down shirt and ironed slacks. He insisted on helping Mulder with their luggage, and refused the tip when Mulder paid.

He seems like a happy man, who clearly thinks that she and Mulder are here on their honeymoon. She can tell because he had hummed the “Wedding March,” on and off, during their 2-hour-and-45-minute drive.

And she is sure that he took the scenic route.

Scully has to suppress the urge of pressing her forehead on the window as she takes in the rice fields, the cute wooden farmhouses, and the bluest sky above. She would have asked to roll down the window if she knew how.

After they’ve checked in at their farmhouse-style resort, Scully is even more certain that this isn’t a real case. The biggest reason being that there is only one room. Well, to be honest, it might be a mix-up due to words being lost in translation, for Mulder looks a bit stunned when the very nice innkeeper, who speaks some English, shows them their room for the next five days.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, dinner is at 6.” The middle-aged lady reminds them for the third time before bowing slightly and making her exit.

Yes, there is enough room that they can have different sleeping quarters and be on different Japanese futons, but they are still essentially in one huge room, without walls or doors to separate them.

Well, at least there is a modern bathroom with a standing shower. The innkeeper kept welcoming them to try the bathhouse on the ground floor. Separate for boys and girls, or together, she added with a modest, reassuring smile.

“Tell me again.” Scully stretches and lies down on the tatami. “Why are we here?”

“Reports of ancient forest creatures have been popping up for the last three years in this area.” Mulder reaches into his backpack and pulls out a folder. He’s gone a long way to make this look like an official case so Scully wouldn’t grow suspicious.

“Ancient forest creatures…” She echoes.

“Yes. Furry forest protectors. They’re called Totoros.”

Mulder lies down next to her and shows her the drawing of the said creatures as the soft afternoon sun shines on their legs.

“What does that mean in Japanese? Totoros?”

“It’s their name. It might mean a giant creature, according to some scholars.”

“Mulder,” she takes a few sheets from him to examine closely, “these are all drawings… There isn’t a photo? Not even a blurry one?”

“Nope. But the nice people in the village have all sworn on their ancestors that they have seen activities of Totoros with their own eyes. And there is also a very large cat, with many legs.”

“Wait, what?” Scully sits up. “Did you say a cat?”

“Un-huh.” Mulder nods while his hands move rapidly to find the drawing he wants. “It’s big like a shuttle bus. His eyes are headlights.”

“Is it a cat or is it a bus?”

God, what is she saying? This is too far-fetched, even for Mulder!

“It’s a Catbus. The cat is a bus.”

“Mulder…” Scully crosses her arms in front of her chest, hugging herself because somehow she’s feeling rather anxious. “Why are we really here?”

She’s noticed that, lately, Mulder’s not so focused on his job. She catches him watching her in the office. He invites himself over with takeout dinners and rental videos. She’s overheard him turning down cases he would have ditched her to go on when they were first partnered together, as well as tips and secret information regarding airbases and other government-restricted areas.

Scully admits that having cancer, and so miraculously recovering from cancer, has changed her. She wouldn’t be surprised that it has changed Mulder, too. But still, it’s unnerving.

She looks at him lying in the golden sunlight coming from their open balcony.

“We’re here to see Totoro and the Cat…bus.”

He answers like that’s the most reasonable and logical thing to say.

“Okay, what have they done?”

“Nothing. They protect the forest.” Mulder pauses for a second, “and I guess provide transportation from time to time? I’m not exactly sure about how that goes. Some accounts claimed that Totoros can fly, and a person can fly with them by holding onto one.”

He gestures like he’s hugging a big, invisible tree.

“Alright, what is there to investigate?”

Now he’s looking at her like she’s the crazy one.

Scully licks her lips, thinking about what she wants to say. “It doesn’t sound like they’re committing any crimes.”

Biting his lip, Mulder remains silent.

“Plus, we’re in Japan! We have no jurisdiction here! And we don’t speak the language… Where did you even hear about this case? How did you get Skinner to green-light this?”

Scully’s on a roll now.

“You dropped by my apartment, told me to pack a bag and that we’re going to Japan, and now we’re hunting forest creatures?! I don’t even... What is this fascination?”

“Scully…” He begins softly.

She looks at him all wide-eyed, waiting.

“I never said this was a case. I just said, ‘We’re going to Japan,’ and asked you to pack a bag. I asked...” He swallows. “I wanted you to come with me. It’s…”

“Who paid for the tickets? Who’s paying for this?”

She gestures at the rather lovely dwelling with a swirl of her index finger.

“I did. I am. It’s a vacation. Our vacation. It’s on me. I’ve never been to Japan, and I’ve always wanted to… see Japan with you, Scully.”

It takes her a moment to take in his words. She’s sure that Mulder knows her German is much better than her Japanese. It’s hard to believe this is the same man whom the Bureau had to threaten last year about taking a week off by withholding pay.

“Why Japan?”

Mulder takes a deep breath. “I’d like to see the world with you if we have the chance. I don’t want you to miss it, miss what I see. I want you to know exactly what I’m talking about when we’re arguing about catbuses in our 80s.”

She digests his words slowly.

“So, you just want to see them.” Scully relaxes her tone. “Not even aiming to take a photo of them?”

“I just wanna see ‘em, or at least… feel their presence. I just think it’ll be a good vacation to see some magical creatures with you. It’ll be like seeing with our own eyes that unicorns exist. Just you and me and some forest creature that’s a thousand years old.”

Mulder does not tell her the part about seeing Totoro will bring back one’s hope and innocence, the ultimate blessing to be young at heart forever. He wants Scully to have that.

Scully finds that she accepts his reasoning easily, so easily that it surprises her. Maybe it’s because of the crisp, clean air and the wholesome fragrance of the tatami, along with the alluring hot spring and the exotic dinner of local fare that’s in store for them. Fox Mulder in a Yukata, cheeks rosy and hair wet and sleepy bedroom eyes. Trying foods they cannot identify, making fun of him using the chopsticks, and seeing the sparkles in his eyes when he tries some delightful delicacies. If they lay their futons in this exact spot, she bet they could see the sky through the open balcony.

Scully is sensing an excitement she hasn’t felt since she was little, to go on an adventure with her best friend, to experience the unknown—this is what makes the X-Files so attractive to her in the first place.

She looks at the earnest man smiling hopefully at her, bathing in the golden afternoon sunshine.

“Mulder, even if we do see these creatures, it doesn’t prove that unicorns exist.”

He chuckles, happy sounds so full of mirth and joy and youthfulness.

“I just think it’d be nice to witness something magnificent with you,” he adds.

Mulder reaches to grab her hand. Tugging it softly, he gestures for her to lie down next to him again.

“This is Japan,” he laments like a fool. “And it’s nice to be here with you.”

He does not let go of her hand, and she does not let him go.

This is a vacation. Scully tells herself. We’re in Japan. We’re not Mulder and Scully. I’m Dana-chan and he’s Kitsune-kun. Without the FBI, we’re just a pair of best friends enjoying each other’s company and our long-overdue vacation.

She turns to get closer to him, pressing her face into his arm. She’s suddenly feeling the fatigue of their very long flights, their very long taxi ride, and recalling the horrendous airplane meals.

“Dinner is at 6,” she says softly, feeling her eyelids becoming heavier and heavier. Six o’clock seems an awfully long way to go.

Mulder strokes her back gently, like a loving mother to her precious child, lulling her to slumber.

“Think, Scully. We can be the only people who ever witness some magical creatures.”

“It’s us and a bunch of people in the village, right?”

He gives a breathy laugh; his hand does not stop caressing hers.

“Would you have come if I just asked? That I wanted to see a magical creature with you?”

“You should try next time, Mulder.” Scully says before falling asleep, feeling excited and worry-free and serene.

Suddenly, Mulder feels silly about the whole thing. He closes the final distance between him and Scully, and presses a longing kiss on her forehead.

He’s already got his magical creature right here with him.

UNIVERSE Q, 1999

Mulder swears he’s not trying to make his partner late for her family roll call by the Christmas tree. He’s grateful enough that she came to meet with him at 1501 Larkspur Lane, granted that it took a little assistance to get her to stay. And he’ll be smiling until next Christmas because Scully does want to be out there with him.

He doesn’t feel like he’s cheating for opening her gift on Christmas Eve. If Scully doesn’t fall asleep in the next 20 minutes, she will get up from his couch and say her goodbye—after all, Christmas Day isn’t his, and he has made peace with that for years.

He’s glad to have Christmas Eve. He should be.

At least that’s what Mulder has told himself before wrapping his afghan around a sleeping Dana Scully.

XXXXXXXXX

He wakes up with Scully drooling on his shoulder; what a good way to begin Christmas. Though he should really wake her up now, if she doesn’t want to miss that family roll call.

“Hey,” he touches her chin with his thumb, and she stirs. “Do you need to…”

Scully opens her eyes and frowns for a millisecond.

“Something’s… off, Mulder.”

“What’s off?”

“It’s snowing.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthfully. “It’s been snowing since you got here. What, do you think the traffic will be—”

Mulder stops midsentence, for the way Scully’s looking at him is… creeping him out.

“What’s wrong, Scully?”

“Look at what we’re wearing, Mulder.”

He’s not following. “We’re wearing what we’re always wearing.”

Scully shakes her head. “It wouldn’t be snowing if we were…” She stops, and tries again, “I’m not even wearing a sweater, Mulder. It can’t be snowing outside. I’m not dressed right, and neither are you. I didn’t feel cold on my way here. Your neighbors are way too quiet… the world feels too quiet.”

What she says about their outfits makes sense. Somehow he’s never thought of it. It’s December 25, nearing what typically would be the dead of winter in Virginia, yet…”

“Mulder…”

He sees that Scully’s wearing her panic face and tries his best to not put his on. “Maybe we didn’t make it, after all…”

XXXXXXXXX

She looks at him and he wants to cry. He has just spent a good ten minutes convincing Scully that they might both be in a coma due to the gunshot—hers in the stomach, his in the head—and this is a coma dream, the kind one has before waking up, or…dying.

And just as Scully is beginning to look convinced, Mulder’s never wished he were more wrong.

“So, say you’re right.” She begins, “Are we in your coma dream, or mine?”

“The fact that you’ve just agreed with me, I think this is my coma dream.” He deadpans.

“Actually, Mulder, I could make the opposite argument with that same point.”

His eyebrow perks up in surprise.

“Every time we don’t see eye to eye, I am always hoping that you could convince me and change my mind. Whereas wouldn’t it be out of character for me to agree with you if this is your coma dream?”

“Alright,” he nods, “so that’s not a good way to figure this out. Let’s… backtrack. I remember coming out from the door, getting into my car, and getting myself home. I remember watching A Christmas Carol and feeling a bit sorry for myself. You knocked on my door, told me that you did want to be out there with me, and we exchanged gifts. You fell asleep, and now we’re talking.”

“Ditto.”

Scully looks down at her outfit for a long moment, and then at his.

“Everything feels… real.” She starts, “But I’m dressed for—”

“Late spring.” Mulder finishes.

“Yet, it’s really snowing outside.” She responds absentmindedly.

Mulder nods. “Have you always wanted a white Christmas? Maybe this is your coma dream.”

Scully does not say anything; she just looks at him.

“I’m sorry, Scully… I didn’t think… I…” Mulder lets his voice falter, “I just wanted you to see what… I see.”

He finds himself in the arms of his partner and feels like sobbing. Oh, what he would give to go back to last night. Instead of dragging Scully out on a haunted mansion adventure, he would have asked her out to dinner.

And now one of them might be dead, or in a coma, or both of them…

Scully wipes his tears off his cheeks, and Mulder is pretty sure that this is his coma dream. Her hands are on the sides of his neck, her eyes are red, and… they’ve already been here before, haven’t they?

“Scully…” He says as his fingers begin to run through the folds of her collar.

“Hmm?”

“Just checking for African honeybees.” He mumbles and is kissed by his partner.

Mulder smiles and pulls back slightly to see Scully’s warm, giddy face. With her thumb, she rubs his lips and shows him the smudge of lipstick on her fingertip.

“Spider’s more like it,” she chimes, and he moves closer to kiss her again.

Scully giggles, and he thinks that he hears Christmas music playing.

“I’m pretty sure this is my coma dream,” he utters.

“I was just going to say the same thing,” she says as he kisses her fingertips.

XXXXXXXXX

He wraps the two of them in his afghan and finds that the TV is still playing A Christmas Carol. Mulder briefly wonders if he should tell her about his new bedroom set, the Gunmen’s strange humor, for either a late birthday present or an early Christmas gift. Though he isn’t sure about the mirror and the waterbed, he appreciates the sentiment.

“How do you think this works?” Scully’s sleepy voice pulls his attention to her like a magnet. “Do you think if we go to sleep and wake up, it’s going to be Christmas Eve again?”

“Scully, we’re dead; we’re not in Groundhog Day.”

She gives him an adorable little pout.

“So are we going to haunt your apartment?”

He can tell that Scully isn’t too excited about the prospect of being stuck in his apartment for eternity. Maybe this is a good time to mention the new bedroom set.

“It was a time of dark, dark despair. And we’re the star-crossed lovers of 2630 Hegal Place.”

“Apartment 42,” she interjects.

“His name was Mulder. He was a… a crackpot, albeit a brilliant young man beloved of Scully, an otherworldly beauty with intelligence and compassion and patience. Do I need to repeat the part about the angels and the gods?”

Scully giggles, “Shut up, Mulder.”

She tilts her head to one side, and he follows, kissing her cheek. It is at this moment when Mulder realizes that he doesn’t care whether they’re alive or dead or in a coma, that he would continue to not care, as long as he has Scully with him.

And outside, the snow keeps falling.

UNIVERSE H, 2000

Nope, he’s never seen Scully like this before. Smoking cigarettes, staying up till 2am, ordering ice cream sundaes for dinner instead of her usual Caesar or Nicoise salads without tuna. She giggles, she cusses, she wears pigtails and doodles all the time. He’s never known what Dana Scully was like at 16 years old.

And she simply drives. him. crazy.

The memory is still as clear as day: The jinniyah prompts him with his third wish, and he thinks about it long and hard. Then, it just slips out of his mouth before his mind can do anything about it:

I want Scully and I to be young again.

So, here they are. An 18-year-old Fox Mulder and a 16-year-old Dana Scully, and hell has never broken loose like it has now. They are two teenagers, without parents, without guardians, without much of any kind of responsibilities but each other.

He admires Scully’s quick ability to adapt. When his wish comes true entirely without warning, when he discovers himself and Scully to be 20 years younger, he utterly freaks out. He wears his panic face for a day. He apologizes to her profusely. It’s my last wish. I’m so sorry. There’s no going back. Please don’t hate me.

He remembers pleading with her, a very stern and serious-looking Scully. Then he cries, and she kisses him.

They become lovers that night—no, that’s not the right term. They become girlfriend and boyfriend that night. And they have been humping like bunnies ever since. Oh God, he blushes when he thinks about it. How he cannot keep his hands off Scully. How they just spend hours kissing, knowing they can do so much more, and how they stay up the nights doing exactly that.

“Oh Mul-der!”

She calls his name so innocently. Scully, the girl next door, sweet and silly in the summer sun, but she’s the same woman who’s been his partner for seven years. She’s the woman he saved on the ice. She’s the woman who saved him on the ice.

They can’t work for the FBI now. She can’t be Doogie Howser no. 2. He doesn’t give a damn about government conspiracies anymore, and he knows what happened to Samantha; he has closure.

“I’m not going to school again,” a very naked Scully growls in his arms. “I can’t go see my mom like this. No Bill, no Charlie, no Skinner.”

She climbs on top of him and straddles him. “Just you, Fox Mulder. You have reduced my life to this. This. is. all. your. fault.”

She says that, but her eyes are full of love. She is far from being angry and they both know it. His body reacts to her every move and every sound like Pavlov's dog.

To be 18 and in love with Dana Scully. Best. Wish. Ever.

They move to his mother’s house in Greenwich, Connecticut. Their bedroom window has a wide view of the water and a lighthouse far away. He catches Scully watching the waves and the lighthouse with tears in her eyes. He does not ask her why. She wants pets beside his Mollys, so they drive to the animal shelter and adopt two cats and a big silly mutt. She names the gray tabby Alien and the small calico Emily. He names the mutt Queequeg Jr. and she looks at him with gratitude in her eyes.

They are two 30-something-year-olds in teenagers’ bodies, but neither of them complains. They’re just happy to be leading a different life—not that their old ones were bad or unhappy. Their new ones are just—different.

She gets tattoos on her arms, and he traces them with his index finger. She quits smoking but not the ice cream. He writes poetry. She plans to read all the books in the mystery section of the local library. They work on a children’s book together, one about a man who can control the weather with his love.

One day, about four months after he made his wish, she leaves the house in the morning—it is the first morning he wakes up without her in his arms. Their car sits in the driveway. Queequeg Jr. waits dutifully for her by the door. Don’t fret, man. She told you she’s happy.

Images of Scully on his lap kissing him while Caddyshake plays on TV. Images of Scully throwing popcorn at him, making a big mess in the living room. Images of a ticklish Scully under him, squealing and laughing, her voice high and full of glee.

Scully says she’s happy. Scully says she’s happy. He repeats that like a mantra.

He hears the front door open and close, her greeting to the dog and cooing at the cats. Another door closes. Do I just sit here and wait for her to come back to bed? Come back to bed come back to bed come back to me...

stay stay stay stay stay stay stay stay stay.....Am I not enough?

He closes his eyes and contemplates.

“Mulder,” she touches his hair and jumps into his lap. He opens his eyes to look at her, holding her close. She kisses him, and he eagerly returns her kisses.

“Wait.” She says, stopping his busy hands from roaming on her body. “You know how we talked about the old be careful of what you wish for when we worked on that case in Missouri?”

“Uh-huh?” He nods, wondering when he can pin her under him and have her kiss him silly.

“Guess what,” she flashes him a silly grin, “You knocked up your 16-year-old girlfriend.”

Mulder has never been so dumbfounded in his life. He gulps and, in his excitement, knocks her down on the bed and she giggles. “I’m going to be a Dad! Oh, Scully!”

He cannot stop the tears suddenly rushing to his eyes. Her kisses come down to his face and his neck, fierce and plentiful, like raindrops in April.

“God, Scully!” He grins. “Baby, I want my own basketball team. Oh, I love you, I love you, I just so fucking love you.”

How one teenage boy’s nightmare can be another teenage boy’s blissful dream.

——-

Everyone at the academy had heard about Agent Mulder at one point or another. Agent Spooky, D. W. “Billie” Mulder in the basement, Billie Mulder who lost her big brother, snatched by little green men. Billie Mulder, who’s just as good as one of the guys, if not better.

Billie Mulder, who’s sexy and leggy and played hard-to-get.

Dana’s heard plenty of stories about Mulder. She preferred to go by Mulder and got her personal files so classified that even her first name was a mystery. There was always something intriguing about Agent Mulder, and Dana really looked forward to working with her.

Upon their first meeting in the basement, Mulder had set the tone of their relationship. She got a little defensive, which Dana had anticipated to some degree. After all, Mulder believed she was being spied on-- and who could blame her?

Everyone knew that Mulder’s previous partner had mysteriously disappeared two years ago. Agent Diana Fowley’s body was discovered in Brno early last year; many versions of what happened circulated in the Bureau.

On their first case together, Mulder told Dana all about her big brother. How she saw a light in the sky, how Samuel screamed Billie, stay in the closet until I say you can come out. How the incident broke up her family, how her father became estranged, and her mother’s frequent nervous breakdowns. She seemed embarrassed to be baring her stories to someone who was a stranger just a day ago.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as strong as you. Dana told Mulder and got a chuckle as a response.

The life—and death—of Agent Fowley remained an unspoken topic between the two of them. Dana just believed the time wasn’t right to be asking yet.

In their first year together, they investigated a beast woman in the forest, heart-eating mutants, witchcraft, UFO sightings, and faith healers. Dana was proud to call Billie Mulder a partner; they were perfect together. They saw things so differently, and both appreciated that about the other person.

In the following year, Dana was abducted and went missing for three months. Mulder lost 20 pounds; all her curves were gone. When Dana woke up in the hospital, Mulder was nearly unrecognizable.

I thought I’d lost you. That was the only thing she said, repeated over and over, until Dana reached out and held her in a tight embrace.

Never again, Billie. Never again.

Things were different between them afterwards. Mulder smiled a lot more. Mulder flirted with her, often, and Dana never knew how to react.

I think I’m falling in love with her.

One evening after they’d wrapped up a case, Mulder went to Dana’s apartment.

“You know,” Mulder broke the ice that neither of them knew was present. “It was the same. Diana went missing, and months later, I received a phone call telling me that her body was found.”

“So you thought that the same would happen to me?”

Mulder nodded, her hazel eyes full of tears ready to roll down her cheeks.

“Oh, Billie. I know you miss her. She must’ve been a good partner.”

“She was a good friend. A best friend.” Mulder’s voice was full of pain, and Dana just wanted to hold her.

“Mulder, you’re my best friend. I’ve always... Your friendship with Diana was admirable. People never knew a division run by two women could work so well before the two of you...”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard... Diana never disagreed with me.”

“Unlike me.” Dana let out a small smile.

“Unlike you, Dana Scully.” Mulder grasps her hand. “You’re my best friend too, Scully.”

Suddenly, Dana grew nervous; her lips were dry, and she realized for the first time in 33 years that she was not in control of what was about to take place.

“Have you finally figured out...my relationship with Diana?” Mulder asked, her voice sincere and certain. “What we were to each other?”

“I...guess.”

Something finally clicked, and Dana licked her lips nervously. Mulder inched closer until their foreheads were touching. She kissed her, and Dana closed her eyes.

“I’ve never been with a girl before.” Dana confessed.

“No?” Mulder’s eyes twinkled. “I thought everyone did in college.”

“No.” Dana shook her head. “I was...shy.”

“Relax. Just relax.”

Dana sucked on Mulder’s lips, her very soft and full, kissable lips.

“It’s like a dance; just follow my lead.”

They kissed, and kissed, and Dana felt like she was losing herself to her partner; she didn’t even know her first name.

“Mulder, Billie...”

“Hmm?” She replied between kisses.

“What does D. W. stand for?”

Mulder chuckled, her eyes heavy and hooded, “Dorcas Williamina Mulder.”

Dana opened her mouth but found nothing to say, so she said nothing at all.

“So, Dana, it’s still Mulder for you.”

“Right, Mulder.” Dana heard herself saying, “It’s always Mulder for me.”

UNIVERSE MGC01

When Mulder came back from the dead, it had been nearly a year since he went missing on that eventful spring day. He couldn’t imagine how Scully kept herself alive and well all those months. If the table were turned—as he had a taste of it himself many years ago—he would simply not be there to welcome Scully back in his arms like she did for him.

Really, compared to those three months he had lived without Scully, Mulder could not fathom what it was like for her to live without him for four times that. In those three months he lost 15 pounds, which he quickly regained by pigging out with Scully after her return. He fed her sweet tooth like there was no tomorrow.

Without Scully, there was no tomorrow; he’d known that by then.

His Scully was resilient. His Scully was strong. His Scully had a loving mother that knew who he was and tried to understand what her daughter was going through. Maggie Scully never pushed Scully to get over him like many others had. Like any mother, she brought food to her daughter and gave her support both spiritually and emotionally. Maggie continued to do so for the two of them after Mulder’s return, periodically dropping by their place with Tupperware of home-cooked meals and decadent desserts. Maggie had taken Mulder under her wings like he was one of her chickadees.

“Does that make Bill my brother now?” He asked Scully one night and got a jab in the stomach. “Guess not.”

It was tough at first. It actually took him two days to notice that his skin was hard like tree bark. They were the color of ash and so abrasive; sometimes they scraped Scully’s arms and legs. He told her not to hold him, but she wouldn’t quit.

Of course you wouldn’t, he thought gladly. I’d attach myself to you and never let go if I were you. 

They no longer worked for the FBI. They joked about buying a small zoo, a petting zoo where she could keep animals like goats and alpaca and horses. Donkeys, he suggested, but she said they were too noisy when they brayed. She told him that in the zoo she’d frequented as a child, she’d made friends with an Arabian camel named Smokey Rain, who was abandoned immediately after birth. Zookeepers raised her and homed her in the petting zoo instead.

“I don’t think she ever knew she was a camel.” Scully whispered, as if she was telling him a secret.

“What did she think she was?” Mulder said.

It wasn’t really a question, so Scully did not reply. All she said was, “I like Smokey Rain, Mulder. She’s a darling.”

They talked of other possibilities, too. Opening a bakery, maybe, and selling a variety of sweets like guava and cream cheese Danishes and melonpans, iced Dalmatian-shaped sugar cookies that looked better than their taste, delicate-looking Taiyakis and blueberry turnovers. They’d sell candied apples in the fall and king cakes after January.

“When I get fat, Scully, will you still love me?”

He smiled when her answer was a punch to his chest.

They spoke of some things and ignored the rest. She told him his skin was fine and slept in his arm every night with her head on his heart. He mentioned to Skinner that one of them suffered from PTSD and the other suffered from PTSD by proxy; he didn’t specify who suffered from what, as if he was her and she was him.

Maybe it had been that way for a long time, as everyone saw it and no one was surprised by it. And the days went by slowly, just the way they liked it.

One night they got ready to sleep, and Scully dived into his arms. He gently rubbed the top of her head and played with strands of her hair. She slept soundly in his embrace, drooling on him like always.

This was the night when Mulder noticed the skin around his chest had been regenerated. No longer rough and blackened, they were of a lighter complexion, not as pale as Scully’s, but much lighter than his original skin color. He touched his own body with his finger, and saw that it all started from where his heart sat underneath. His new skin looked healthy and alive; all it would take was time. The skin on his head was also beginning to be renewed, it seemed; he was not surprised.

Of course he was not surprised. Dana Scully had loved Fox Mulder back to life like he had always suspected. Now he saw the proof, as the two places where Scully loved him the most were his heart and his mind.

Maybe she’d want to write an article about this, he thought, or maybe she’d want to just roll with me on the grass in the backyard under the sun. 

Mulder kissed her with a smile on his face; he couldn’t wait to wake up.

Ch. 11: Could Be an X-File III

UNIVERSE XFS-94

Sometimes, Fox Mulder thinks it’s funny that he's been living here for almost 4 years now. Residents never having to lock his door—no modems, no faxes, no cell phones. Most of the residents have no internet at home, and frequent the town library for the World Wide Web every once in a while. He's got a landline and a fax machine, and his house is one of the two in this town with internet at home.

People are friendly here, caring, but not nosy, and Mulder really cherishes that. In a town where the population is only a few hundred, they have really, really accepted him and his family with open arms. The town mayor, a retired firefighter in his 50s, invites him to fish with his sons every once in a while—he's the other household with internet. Their children play together despite the age differences; his younger boys are quite the little gentlemen to his girls.

His girls. How Mulder loves saying that. Yes, I have girls, my three babies, precious babies that I'd do anything and everything to keep in my life, to protect and love.

He’s been working as a private consultant for paranormal cases with police forces across the East Coast. He tries not to take overnight trips and passes up anything more than 3 hours away by flight. At first, it surprises him how well-adapted he is to his current lifestyle. After all, Mulder had lived as a bachelor and a loner long before Scully came into his life, so when he abandoned the two roles, many called it a sacrifice.

Indeed, he's made a deal with that smoking bastard in exchange for what he has now. After they had held a service for Scully with an empty casket and a mocking tombstone, after he had turned in his resignation to Skinner, They approached him. They revealed to him that Scully was still alive and would be returned one evening on Skyland Mountain, so he rented a place up there and waited. Mulder trekked everywhere, surveyed every possible landing spot, imagined, fantasized about stumbling upon her in the woods one day. The thought of reuniting with Scully one day was the only thing that kept him sane, despite countless others already being convinced that he was mad.

He knew he wasn't. He just decided to believe that good things come to those who wait.

Mulder still remembers that fateful day. He was walking around one of the campgrounds when he heard people speaking, and his stomach dropped like it weighed a thousand pounds. He began frantically running toward the voices, and saw the rewards he had been waiting for: one Dana Scully dressed in a white nightgown that oddly reminds him of a bridal dress, holding a baby in her arms, and a little girl with big brown eyes and long brown hair clutching Scully’s right elbow.

As he approached them, the girl wailed, and Scully was so frightened that she lowered herself to the ground, holding and shielding the girl and the baby with her small frame.

“Scully, it’s me.” That’s the only thing he remembered saying.

Mulder did the only thing he could think of. He went to them, gathered them in his arms, and rocked them until all four of them calmed down.

“Do you remember me?” He heard himself asking. Who was he asking, really?

“Oh Mulder,” in his arms, Scully moved her head up and down ever so rapidly. “I do, but I’m afraid... I’m afraid that your sister...doesn’t.”

The words impacted him so much less than he thought they would. After all, how could Samantha recognize him as an adult? His mind was just busily thinking about the best way to get all four of them back to his cabin.

In the end, they walked. They took several stops, and he alternated carrying the baby and the girl. The short 20-minute walk for him took nearly an hour, but Mulder enjoyed every second.

While Scully showered, he held the baby in his arms and studied the girl. She looked exactly like how he remembered Samantha as an eight-year-old. She called Scully Dana, and Scully called her Sweetie. The baby was less than a year old, with light reddish hair and Scully’s nose. While the girl showered, Scully placed the baby on the bed and walked toward him.

She simply called his name. That was the only word she said, and she must have said it over a hundred times that afternoon.

They had given her the baby five months ago, telling her it was hers. Three months ago, they gave her Samantha, and she took the girl in as her own. Scully heard that they were going to return her, and was so afraid to lose the two children under her care.

And this morning, she woke up in the forest, just the three of them and nothing else but the clothes on their backs, but she was grateful nonetheless.

“What have you been calling the baby?” Mulder whispered to her as the two children slept on his bed. The cabin was small and there was no room for a couch, nor friends to sit on it.

“I’ve been calling her...Fox.” Scully said sheepishly.

“Oh! But it’s a girl.” He blurted out, not able to hide his surprise.

“She is. I just needed to have something to remember you by.” Her confession was brief, but it told him all that he needed to know. He leaned close to her, and like magnets, their mouths were caught in a sweet kiss.

They stopped to catch their breath, and softly her question came: “What are you thinking about, Mulder?”

“Oh, about how we need to go to town and buy some things like clothes and formula and diapers.” He captured her lips once again, and said between kisses. “And how I need to find a bigger place for the four of us.”

That was almost four years ago.

He asked the Gunmen to find a town like this, purchased a nice little house with a swing and a big backyard that grew wildflowers which he could not name. He and Scully got married very soon after moving there.

They have learned to give a little laugh when the townspeople say, you two must’ve been high school sweethearts to have a 13-year-old now! Vanessa looks just like her daddy, doesn’t she!

They also smile to the equally common remark: Vivian’s Dana’s mini-me, isn’t she?!

The two sisters, though not related by blood, are just two peas in a pod. Vanessa is the perfect big sister, and Vivian wants to be just like her. Mulder sometimes finds himself staring at the photo of him with the three loves of his life, and feels amazed at how everything screams that they are a family.

“Hi Daddy!”

Vivian comes into his study and places on his desk flowers she has picked from the backyard. “Are you working?”

“Does it look like I’m working, Baby No.3?”

Vivian climbs on his lap with a pout that looks more like his than his wife’s. “Why am I number 3?”

“Because Mommy is my baby no. 1, and Nessa is baby no. 2, so you’re my most precious baby no. 3!" Mulder says as he places a kiss on the top of his baby’s head.

“What’s Mommy doing?”

“Workin’ in the garden.” She points at the flowers on the desk. “I got your flowers, Daddy.”

“Thank you, Vivi.”

Mulder sits and listens to his five-year-old babble on about things she’s discovered in the garden with Scully. Pretty soon, this little one will be starting kindergarten. He recalls how his mother did not believe his sister had returned while insisting that he must find out the paternity of Vivian.

Why doesn’t matter, Mom? She’s someone’s sister, and that someone is me. Vivian is Scully’s baby, so that makes her mine. The two girls and Scully, they’re my family.

You’re making a big sacrifice, Fox. His mother muttered, shaking her head with disapproval.

“Vivi, are you bothering Daddy?” Scully walks to him, intending to fetch the child away, but he swivels his big armchair around and pulls her into his lap next to their daughter. Mulder puckers up his lips, and Scully leans closer to kiss him.

How can it be a sacrifice when I’ve gained so much in return? He wonders, with the full bounty in his arms.

-----

“Why were they chasing you?”

The memory of those men chasing her down the alley is still vivid.

“I took something from them.”

“You mean you stole from them?” He is amused.

She presses her lips to a thin smile, one that is so familiar to him, one that he’s seen a few hundred times, maybe. But this Dana Scully is not the Dana Scully he knows. No, this one has short hair and wears army boots. This one dresses and looks like a boy. Acts and walks and runs like a boy. This Dana Scully has disguised herself as a boy.

He quickly does the math in his head. This Dana Scully is only 15, 16 years old. Short and skinny, even more so than the Scully he knows. God, he thinks, she looks like she’s 12. A baby Scully.

But not his... This trip back in time would only be for 36 hours, and he has set it up like so in the machine. He can’t stay too long. And every time he goes to a different universe, he spends a little time looking them up. He always manages to spot them. It’s his little game, fun on the mission.

This boyish-looking Dana has tough, feral-looking eyes.

“You with your family?” He asks.

She shakes her head. “Things weren’t good,” she simply says.

He looks at his watch and sees that he still has a little over 6 hours before time’s up.

“You want something to eat?” She nods her head.

He has never seen her this young, never this young. Or this...lost.

He takes her to an eatery nearby and orders them fish and chips. A beer for him, a soda for her. He gets her a chocolate chip cookie like he always does for their daughter.

They start eating, and she grabs his beer. “May I?”

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nope. You’re too young to be drinking.” He says with his father-knows-best voice.

“I’m not drinking. I don’t want the whole thing. I just want a taste.”

“No. That’s my final answer.” He says firmly. But, she acts drunk anyway.

“I miss my dad. I miss Missy and Mom.” He cannot tell if she’s crying. “Oh God,” she whimpers, “I...I want to sleep and not wake up.”

He picks her up and carries her down the street in his arms. He is shocked at how attached she seems to be to him. He checks his watch again and calculates the route in his head; just three, four more blocks to walk.

“You’re going back to your world soon?” She whispers, “Can’t you stay with me?”

“Dana,” he says her name melodically, like it is the lyrics of a song. In his arms, she looks sad and afraid. “You need to find someone named Fox Mulder, and be his friend. That’s your Mulder. You can trust him.”

“Are you sure he also exists in this world?” Her words are spoken like prayers, faithful and full of hope.

“Believe me,” he chuckles, “of every universe I’ve visited, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder always find each other and are always together. Every. Single. One.”

When he reaches back to the machine, he is out of breath. I’m getting old, he thinks as he wipes his glasses clean and sets to operate the machine. Good luck, Dana. You’ll find Mulder, or he’ll find you. It’ll happen like it does in every single universe.

Wait till I tell Mulder and Scully about this when I get back, he smiles affectionately. I met a Dana Scully who’s a teenage boy today.

UNIVERSE LEON-07

It was day 4, and Scully was still 8 years old, napping in the afternoon breeze, as adorable as a baby cat. Her hair had grown so much, but it's not the same for her fingernails—another mystery he hadn't figured out.

Four days ago, they had wrapped up a case—a simple one, non-X-File, solved in less than two days. They returned to the inn, slept, woke up, and Scully was 5 years old. He quickly suspected that it was the water. After all, they were on Anastasia Island; maybe Ponce de León was really onto something when he came here centuries ago. It's got to be something in the water at the small inn. Scully had taken a bath, but he had only showered, which seemed to explain why he woke up a teenager. Disoriented and terrified, little baby Dana cried in his arm, and as she shed her tears, she became older. By the time she stopped crying 45 minutes later, she was two inches taller and felt somewhat heavier in his arms.

Nevertheless, Scully had always been a small child for her age. Even at eight years old, she looked more like she was six. It was also odd that he seemed to remember so much more of their grown-up lives than she did, but maybe that had to do with the amount of water she had come in contact with during her bath. Fortunately, she was picking up memories as time passed.

"Fox?"

"Yes, right here." She happily sat up and moved closer to him, looking out of the window with her head against his shoulder.

Eight years old. He could deal with eight-years-olds. The last little girl he had lived with was eight years old. What are nine-year-olds like? He wondered. But this eight-year-old was not Samantha, he knew, and his love for Scully, as his partner, his best friend, the love of his life—something he'd recently come to admit—had grown. He held this little girl like a big brother, feeling protective and proud. He enjoyed carrying this crybaby in his arms, dressed in clothes that are 2, 3 sizes too big. Thank God for the thrift shop nearby.

There was another thing he had discovered. All his scars had disappeared. He did not really want to think about the implications of that; no, his teenage brain wasn't up for it. But right after she had cried in his arms for the first time, he told her a joke, one that had never failed to make Samantha laugh. This small baby Dana Scully giggled and hiccuped, and with eyes so full of glee and affection, she confessed, "I like you. You're nice, and I want to marry you when I grow up."

You will. He thought, smiling like a fool.

"Fox," she said, still looking outside at the lowering sun, "what if it takes me a long time, like a really long time, to catch up to your age?"

"You won't. You'll grow up before you know it."

Her small hands grabbed his left hand, giant in comparison to hers, and played with his fingers, making a bunny out of his hand.

"And we'll still be together when I grow up?"

"Uh-huh."

He picked her up so she could sit in his lap. My Scully. My sweet, considerate, adorable, trusting, kind, nice, loving Scully.

"We'll always be together," he whispered his promise, "always."

UNIVERSE XFW-2018

“Mom, Dad, there are some people I want you to meet.” William pokes his head into his parents’ bedroom and gives a weak smile. He is feeling ambivalent and afraid; Scully can tell.

“We’ll be out in a few secs, Will.” Mulder says.

Sensing her anxiety, Mulder holds Scully’s hand as they walk into the living room. “Will, who are your friends?” Mulder’s voice booms as he tries to sound welcoming to the youngsters sitting nervously around the room. He quickly scans their faces. Everyone, even Scully, is looking at him intensely, as if waiting for him to say some words of importance.

“William?” Mulder echoes.

“Alright, here goes.” He points at the woman sitting next to him. “Mom. Dad, this is Emily. And that’s Liam by the fireplace. And we have Gabe, who’s in front of the TV, and Clarissa, with the mohawk...”

“It’s not a mohawk,” Clarissa corrects him. “I just wear it short and up.”

“Sure. And here are Becca and Tucker; they’re the little ones.”

“I’m four and eight months.” One of them interjects. Scully isn’t sure which one.

“Finally, we have Kyle, he’s the tall one, and Eli, who kinda looks like me.”

“And they are?” Scully moves to sit on the stool, still holding her husband’s hand. She has a funny feeling about this.

“We are your children.” The blond woman on the sofa announces. “Do you remember me, Dana? and... Mr. Potato Head?”

“Oh my God...” It is Mulder who looks faint. “Emily?”

“Yes, we’re all your children. Becca and Tucker are the last ones, well, within the experiment, that is.”

They all glance at Scully’s stomach.

Becca, the redheaded girl in braids, beams at Scully. William gives her a little push, but she stays and holds William at the waist. 

“Emily grew up on the farm.” Liam explains, “So did Kyle and Eli. Clarissa and I grew up in Singapore. We were adopted as siblings by an American couple there. Gabe grew up in Arecibo. Becca and Tucker had been living with some of the Kurt Crawfords all their lives until about a year ago.”

“How long have you known each other?” Scully hears herself asking.

“About two years,” Liam answers, “three for Em and me. I know this must come as a shock to you. But we really are your children. Every one of us here.”

“With William and the baby, that makes ten.” Mulder, lost in thought, murmurs as he strokes Scully’s belly. “And mine, too?”

“Yes, sir.” Liam nods. “We have lab results, but we’ll understand if you want to do the tests yourselves.”

“Why are you here?” Mulder asks, looking at the two teenage boys who oddly remind him of Samantha.

“They are coming. We all saw it.” Emily says softly.

“Mom, you saw it too.” William adds.

“We know this is a lot to take in,” Gabe, who looks the most like Mulder, chimes in. “But William thought this is the best way for all of us to meet. All at once.”

“My babies,” Scully whispers, reaching to gather the two youngest ones into her arms.

“Mulder,” she calls, “can we keep ‘em?”

UNIVERSE XFE-2018

She was livid. Oh boy, was she livid, and the pregnancy hormones certainly weren’t helping either.

“I cannot believe your father!” She screamed, and William winced, waffle in his mouth, not taking the bite off completely. If I have food in my mouth, I won’t need to talk, he reasoned.

He was not used to angry Scully. Actually, he’s never seen her this way. William suddenly realized where he got his temper. But this was not a time to be feeling amused.

“Did he tell you where he was going yesterday?” Maintaining his silence, he shook his head.

“Always running off...” He heard his mother mutter under her breath. With a queasy feeling in his stomach, he knew changes were coming.

“Mum,” he called out, “Breathe with me. Let’s meditate together.” 

The mother and son sat, cross-legged, breathing in and breathing out in the morning air.

“Dana, we’re home!” He walks, a little awkwardly. Either he is really tired, or she’s heavier than he thinks. How can that be? She’s tiny. Mulder thinks amusingly. Like a little baby cat.

“Mulder,” She reaches up to give him a hug. With his hand, he gestures her to stop and grabs her shoulder instead. He pulls his wife into a side embrace, then reveals to her what he has been carrying, which is still half-covered in his long coat. 

“Believe it, Scully,” he kisses her temple. “I got our baby back.”

Her stomach is too big to carry the sleeping child. She moves to touch the child’s forehead like she has done once, decades ago.

“She looks just like how I remembered.” Scully whispers as if they are in the presence of a fawn that has wandered into their yard, and any noise will send the baby deer off running back to the forest.

“They said she’ll remain this way all her life. She will not age. That’s why they couldn’t let you adopt her, thinking she was a regular child.” He swallows, hard, not sure how she will react. “Scully, it’s been 20 years, and she looks what, 3, 4 years old? Yet, when I went to get her, she seemed like she knew me.”

She is breathing in and out, slowly, and it calms him. He goes on, “There’s something in the alien DNA that... They just don’t age the way humans do... And, Scully?”

“Just tell me, Mulder.” Her eyes are pleading.

“Since we were both taken and experimented on, I was told that we wouldn’t age normally like... other humans. Maybe we’d stop aging at one point. Maybe we’ll age slower than others, I don’t know.”

He licks his lips and checks her reaction. “It certainly explains why you look so young for your age, as well as you being pregnant at 54 years old. Dana, this has been one hell of a trip.”

He closes his eyes and readjusts the sleeping girl in his arms so she does not fall off.

“Welcome home, Daddy.” She stands on her toe and kisses her husband. “Welcome home, sweetie.” She kisses the child.

XX

She will come in later like she always does every morning after she eats. William will fix her breakfast; they will eat cereal or waffles together. Strangely in this household no one will eat grown-up cereal. Does that make me a bad mother? She will ponder that for two minutes.

Emily will climb onto her bed and snuggle with her for a little while. One day her little brother will be older than she is, how will she make sense of that? She will ponder that for another two minutes.

Mulder will dress Emily for school. “I want the pink puffy skirt and the spaceship shirt, Daddy,” she will say, and Mulder will comply like the doting idiot he is. “Daddy, that’s lavender. This one, Daddy.”

Mulder will wear his heart on his sleeve. He will continue to be delighted every time he hears that voice calling him Daddy. Daddy this and Daddy that. Scully will be glad that she gave birth to a boy, so Emily will forever be their little girl.

Every morning, she will count her blessings and say her gratitudes as she meditates.

They will keep changing preschools every two years. She will research and discover the formula that will explain and later predict how the alien DNA affects the aging process for humans. Much, much, much later, colonization will take place; everyone’s records will be lost or erased.

They will go on to have 5 more children, propagating the New World with a negligible senescence species called Homo Scullimuldus.

-----

Scully is working on treating people in a medical facility. He is working on nothing.

The Gunmen takes pity on him and keeps him busy with tasks like editing or fact-checking. Sometimes they even let him man the press. His new place is just right next door to the Boys; it’s a tiny studio apartment that’s not much bigger than his dorm at Oxford. This is not what he had expected, not at all.

He misses Scully even though when she gets to go home, she comes to him.

Mulder doesn’t have his apartment anymore. The spaceships just land wherever the aliens see fit, and before stepping out of their ships, the pilots send out a vibration that topples down buildings. His apartment was gone in the first week. Hers is still standing, although they don’t know for how long.

It brings Mulder a lot of comfort that she chooses to go to him instead of going to her apartment. He knows that is her sanctuary, a familiar place.

I want to be where you are when I don’t have to be anywhere else. Scully tells him on Langly’s beat-up couch while he’s sorting the Gunmen’s newest publication, and Mulder wonders what’s wrong with him if he thinks this is romantic.

He wants to fight; he knows he’s capable, but now, he can only wait.

=====

A lockdown is imposed on the 56th day of the first ship that appeared in North America. Men in Black show up to every house and take a census of residents. People typically stay home if they have no business being out. Many have fallen or run from the city. But you can only fight if you stay, Mulder believes.

Mulder is surprised that the aliens know humans so well.

The streets are empty. Without access to fuel, cars are useless. Most streets are not in walkable condition, and there are officers everywhere. The roads are not suitable for bicycle tires, roller skates, or skateboards.

Mulder feels like they already lost. People are confused; they don’t know what the aliens want. They do not want humans as slaves or breeders, nor are they interested in creating hybrids of any kind. It looks like the aliens think humans will easily die off on their own anyways that they don’t need to waste energy on this species.

It also seems like they are trying to protect and preserve some humans, humans like Scully.

In a creepy way, the invasion almost looks like the aliens are trying to restore nature back to Earth. Mulder heard about trees being planted and oceans being cleaned. They create habitats and reintroduce animals there. Byers tells him that they have heard multiple recordings of conversations between 52-hertz whales happening in the last month in the Pacific Ocean.

And these guys from outer space have only been on Earth for three months.

What the hell.

=====

Today marks the first day of Month No. 4 after the spaceship, and Mulder has a plan in his head. He doesn’t think he wants to wait anymore.

Yes, he is being a little impulsive, granted that he’s talked to Scully many times about this. She always just smiles and says, sure, Mulder, whatever you want, and he’s happy that she wants the same thing as him.

And it just stops here, because he feels like he should be doing more, that he should be fighting, strategizing, that he should be where the action is. He once single-handedly destroyed those pods as well as that base in Antarctica, for crying out loud. Now he’s Jimmy and Scully’s Superman.

He’s not even Lois Lane. How can he really take the steps to marry her?

So, Mulder waits. Like he was waiting for her last night, on the last day of the 3rd month. He doesn’t know if Superman is coming home tonight.

When the clock strikes 11, Frohike pokes his head out from their unit.

“Stop waiting, Mulder,” he barks.

Retreating into his tiny lodging, Mulder thinks he’ll take this as the sign.

=====

“Oh my God, Mulder!” She hurries to him. “Are you okay? What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

“I walked.” He grins, a little bashfully. He was only stopped twice, and it just took him about two hours on foot. He ran a little, too, because he was jittery.

“When’s your break?” He tugs on her sleeve. “I have something to ask you.”

“Sorry I didn’t go home last night. I stayed a little longer because I was hoping to take some time off.”

Scully looks tired, but happy, happy that he is here.

“I think I want to marry you. Today.”

She presses her lips together and suppresses her smile. “You think you want to marry me?”

“No, I know I want to marry you, and I know today is the day.”

She looks at him quizzically. “Why today?”

“I just… don’t wanna wait anymore.”

“And you walked all the way here to ask me this, when you could have just waited until I got back tonight?” She says teasingly, “Couldn’t it wait?”

“No.” He insists. “You know, I’ll do anything to be married to you today.”

Scully gives him her hand, and he kisses it.

“What do people do to be married in this day and age?” She asks.

“Exchange rings. File paperwork to the MIBs. Consummate the marriage.”

Scully wiggles her eyebrows, and he laughs, feeling exactly like he’s young and in love.

“I’m off in 20 minutes.” She offers. “Hey, you wanna get married?”

“And track down some MIB to turn in the paperwork? Yes, very much so.”

Scully replies suggestively, “Well, who says we have to do it in that order?”

=====

Knowing they wouldn’t get any car services unless they were really in luck, they begin walking. Of all the ways Mulder has thought about getting married and marrying Scully, walking mile after mile of completely empty streets has never been a possibility. No limos, no classic car with cans tied in the back, no pumpkin carriage from a fairy tale. No big family, no friends and acquaintances, no churches or justices of the peace. No wedding singers, no DJs, no buffets or dance floors. It’s just him and his Scully.

And Mulder can’t think of anything more romantic than that.

UNIVERSE JKS, FUTURE

He sits in the waiting room, sipping his cup of coffee. He’s only been there two, three times, as Pop doesn’t like to mix work and family. That’s so typical of him, keeping the multiple aspects of his life separated from one another; Pop’s so smooth at it.

He still remembers seeing Pop’s daughters from his other family at the city library that one afternoon. Both of them got Pop’s nose, poor things. He reveals this news to Ma, only to find out she’s known all along. You were his ‘I’m sorry’ gift, Jackson, didn’t you know that? Dean Van de Kamp is a very sorry man, and expresses his apologies in the form of gifts. Don’t you remember why you got that telescope in your room?

That’s when he grew distant from both his parents. Well, his Ma—Pop has always been distant to him. 

“Sir, Mr. Van de Kamp will see you now.” His father’s assistant says to him and leads him into the office.

Less than five minutes later, he is pushed into the elevator as his father screams, “Don’t you come near my son! If I see you again, I’ll phone Sheriff Erickson myself! You punk!”

He rides the elevator down, shaking his head. Nope, he’s got to come back at a different time and try again.

=====

He approaches the boy in the Little League uniform. He remembers that Coach Ramirez is never too good at keeping his eyes on the younger players. He’ll just lure the boy away and talk the boy into running away with him.

“Hey, Jackson!” He calls as he conjures up the scenery for the child to see. “Tommy’s dad got ice cream for all the kids! Can you come give me a hand? You get first pick, and I only see two strawberry shortcake bars.”

He’s almost certain that his dumb young self would fall for that. Time traveling makes him a little tired and dulls his ability to make a fantastic setting, but he really only needs to project some boxes of frozen treats and maybe some chips and a tray of bagel bites.

Little Jackson is eager to help. All the parents know the Van de Kamps never come out to see their son play, so they always solicit his help with the snacks and reward him with the extra cupcake or let him have first pickings.

“Jackson,” he feels a little silly addressing the younger version of himself in such a serious tone. At that age, he remembers, everyone calls him Jacky.

He’s never truly cared for his name, anyway.

“Jackson, do you want to meet your real parents?” He whispers to the boy like it’s a secret. “They live in Virginia. Your real mommy is a doctor, and your daddy is really tall.”

He suddenly gets a little teary-eyed. “I bet your real daddy will always come see you play.”

Little Jackson looks at him with his big eyes; he smiles tenderly at the boy in return. Oh Lord, please let this work. He prays silently and offers his hand to the child. “C’mon, let’s—”

“Stranger danger! Stranger danger!” A young voice screeches. Both Jacksons look and say simultaneously, “Ian!”

The blonde boy runs as he screams, “Coach! Daddy! Come quick!”

He starts running, leaving his younger counterpart in the baseball cap stunned and crying.

=====

He is standing outside of the hospital room, looking in through the window. He sees the little body, withering in pain and crying for his Ma. He steps away as one of the nurses, whom he remembers fondly as the Nice Jessie, walks out of the room and sighs to her colleague, “Another night alone for the poor baby.” 

He has purposely chosen this time period for his third time travel. Mr. Bertie at the lab is happy that he is so eager to do these test runs, and Bertie never cares what he will do in the past. Bertie doesn’t even care if he returns or not. The older Jackson gets, the more he believes that birds of a feather flock together, and this is especially true for oddballs like him. He is very grateful to Bertie.

He suspects that Bertie is testing out his own theory on a spin of the chaos theory. At this point, he really cares less about that than anything else; he just wants to set things...right. 

He remembers that Nice Jessie was wrong about this night. Ma will soon arrive, crying for a reason other than her ailing son. Ma only comes to the hospital when she’s already feeling miserable. He doesn’t blame her; at this age, he is a sullen child, an outcast everywhere. He’s been sick for months, and the doctors have no idea what to do about his mysterious illness. This is also the time that Pop has his third child, a boy this time. The hospital runs him like a lab rat, trying all kinds of treatments on him.

Jackson frowns as he remembers this dark period of his life, when he recalls seeing a nun sitting with him, sometimes with tears on her cheeks, more times than the woman who he’s called Ma for as long as he can remember.

He sees Ma exiting the elevator and conjures up the vision so she sees him as the pediatrician in charge of her son, and speaks to her about transferring little Jackson to a facility on the East Coast where his survival chances are higher.

And to his surprised chagrin, she agrees and signs her son over to him with little convincing. Jackson tells himself to focus on the successful scheme, not on the disappointment that aches in his heart.

He holds the child in his arms and knocks on the door. “Mr. Mulder!” He calls and feels tears rolling down his cheeks. Fuck, why am I being so sentimental?

He touches the child’s forehead. Indeed, this is also why he has chosen this time period. Little Jackson will soon recover from his mysterious illness. It’s the perfect time to return him to his birth parents. If this child grows up as William Scully III, he will not end up as him, who conjures up scary monsters as jokes and kills people with his visions.

He keeps knocking, imagining his father, his real father swinging the door open and giving him a hug. Imagining his father accepting them both in his arms, at which point he will explain and leave the child to his second chance at growing up. He will likely not exist anymore, not be able to return to Mr. Bertie, but why would he care about that? As long as a version of himself exists, it would be fine.

He stops knocking when his fist becomes red and the child pats him on the shoulder. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

“No worries,” he says to the boy, or to himself, he isn’t really sure. “We’ll go to Our Lady of Sorrows and just leave you with Mommy.”

He drives as he rehearses the conversation he is about to have with the woman that gave birth to him. He gets lost twice and misses the highway exit because he’s so nervous. It’s so much easier to convince his dad than his mom, and he’s tricked her every time they’ve met.

He also worries that once he sees her, he might not want to leave her. No, that’ll fuck up everything. He chides himself. Just leave the boy. Leave the boy; pin a note on him that says ‘this is your child, William.’ Just drop him and go. You don’t deserve this kind of love. He does. He gets the second chance.

Jackson holds the boy in his arms and walks aimlessly in the hospital wings, searching for the petite redhead. Mom. Mom. Mom. Where are you?

He spots her. She stands in one of the rooms, a small girl lies on the bed. She touches the girl’s forehead and speaks to her, smiling. Clutching his younger self in his arm, he cannot move his feet.

“Hey, maybe we can both be their sons.” The child notices he’s crying and wipes his tears off for him. “Our mommy seems nice, doesn’t she?”

Jackson sits outside the room, feeling lost and alone. Always feeling lost and alone.

=====

He finds himself sitting in front of a huge desk. The boy sits next to him, chewing on a piece of licorice. The fan on the ceiling whirls loudly. He’s so nervous he wants to vomit.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks the man sitting across the desk.

“I believe you’re my son, Jackson.”

“Do you know who he is?” He points at the boy who’s dangling his feet from the chair. “He is also your son. He’s me from 2007.”

Ignoring his father’s dumbfounded look, he carries on: “As you can see, time travel is possible; I know you believe in it. I’ve gone back in time and rescued myself. I was going to return him to you and ... her, before going back to 2019, that is, if I still exist in 2019. I'm aware that I might not. In fact, I wouldn’t be here had I left him with her on that bench in Our Lady of Sorrows, and all our lives would have changed.”

He stares into his father’s hazel eyes; he knows this man believes his words. Ever the believer, his old dad.

“But I’m selfish. I want to be your son too.”

The silence in the room does not stay for long.

“My boy...” His father’s voice trembles. “My boys.”

He feels his father’s embrace, tight and warm; somehow the little one is not forgotten in the hug.

“Boys,” Mulder says, his voice now calm and gentle, “you can’t both be Jackson. Now, which one of you wants to be called William?”

The little boy smiles and raises his hand. “Can I be Fox Jr.?”

UNIVERSE BEE, FUTURE

In the end, neither of them won.

They had no idea if this was an alien invasion or the Apocalypse; it felt like it didn’t matter anyway. Maybe it was neither, maybe it was both. Who was to say the followers of the Flying Spaghetti Monster weren’t wrong?

“Each religion has some version of it,” Mulder told Scully in the manner like he did when they were young and arguing about who was the bigger sucker when neither of them was entirely sure they were right.

“I never thought I’d be present for it, extraterrestrials or not.”

He looked at her as if she were nuts, and Scully got a taste of her own medicine.

“That wasn’t really a vacation at the South Pole, honey,” Mulder said matter-of-factly. “Just because the FBI refused to pay for it doesn’t make it so.”

Scully gave him a chipmunk smile, the one that says she had nothing to say to his arguments. Mulder arched both his eyebrows at her, clearly not expecting her to be speechless, and Scully’s competitive nature rose to the challenge. She just had to say something.

“Well, honey, since you paid for it, and the FBI paid you, it does leave some room for arguments.”

“I’d have picked somewhere warmer. Or at least the North Pole. To see if Santa Claus was real.”

“It’s not. No need for a trip to the North Pole.”

He pouted, and she loved him for it.

Somewhere outside, another blast came from the sky and their window shook, bringing them back to the dreary present. Oh right, the end of the world was here.

Mulder quickly covered her with his body and they waited until the tremor stopped.

“I also never thought I’d be alive to see the Apocalypse,” Mulder sighed. “It felt like humanity was still far from it. That we had room to sink even lower.”

She looked on; the quakes had startled her.

“He was 68 when he died, my father,” he continued. “And Mom was only 58 when she died. I thought I’d die long before… Armageddon.”

“Neither of your parents died of natural causes.”

“My point exactly.”

Scully tenderly patted his face, his cheek, his jaw, her thumb resting at the tip of his chin, comforting him as if the end of the world only ever affected him.

There was nothing on the radio, and Mulder panicked. Scully didn’t care, because she didn’t believe what was broadcasted on the radio anymore; static or not, she knew they couldn’t be the only ones left. It both thrilled and scared him when Scully behaved like the more paranoid one.

Mulder had always hoarded, but where it mattered the most, he was incredibly careless. Growing up in a Navy family, Scully had always stocked up on sales like it was no one’s business. They would have shared their provisions with neighbors, had they had any neighbors left.

Scully grew sprouts from beans and seeds and made Mulder eat them. The sprouts seemed to be the only green thing that still grew, not that either of them went out to check. Mulder felt like he had to put up some form of protest as a way to keep the equilibrium in this godforsaken time.

Scully took off her cross and put it around his neck. The chain was short and it looked ridiculous on him, and Mulder thought about the long gold chain he had gotten and worn as a way of safekeeping her cross during the months when she was gone, back in the day. He was pretty sure that he had stashed it somewhere, and he could find it if he tried, but he wore her cross in the way it was given to him.

They never talked about why.

Maybe Scully really did believe this was the Apocalypse, he thought.

“I love you.”

Scully chuckled. She thought about saying I know, but she answered Mulder’s kiss with, “I love you too, Mulder.”

She decided that she would always say that. A way to make up for all the times she thought to say it, but didn’t.

“What are your regrets?”

She asked, after breakfast.

The sprouts she had harvested this morning had mocked her with their vibrant green leaves and cheery dispositions. How can they look so happy and healthy when everything on this planet was slowly dying?

“I’m sorry?” Mulder fumbled, wondering if he had pushed a little too much in rejecting those mung bean greens at the breakfast table. Of all the sprouts, these ones might be his favorite when blanched and seasoned with a soy sauce-mirin-peanut butter sauce.

“Your regrets.”

Scully repeated. Her eyes were bold and brave and that little line between her eyebrows—the one that bugged her very much when she first discovered it in her late thirties—appeared quite visible.

“I don’t regret,” he pushed so there was no doubt in his voice. “I don’t regret.”

“Pish-posh.”

“Tell me your regrets.”

“I asked you first.”

The smile on his face suddenly reminded Scully of the beaming sprouts this morning. “And I already answered you.”

“I regret Melissa dying. I regret learning about Emily. I regret taking Queequeg with us on that case.”

“More, Scully.”

His encouragement made her jaw drop.

“Those aren’t regrets, Scully. They are things you wished could happen differently.”

Her lips became such a thin line that they almost disappeared.

“And you used to say you wouldn’t change a thing.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Well, I would.”

Mulder wondered if he would ever learn how to communicate kindness with his eyes. Kindness and encouragement and love, sentiments he never truly knew until he met Dana Scully. He wanted to learn, but he feared time was about to run out.

There were plenty of things Mulder would change if he could. He would be a better friend to the Gunmen and eat with them, not just when he was lonely or needed assistance from them. He would be a better son to his mother and visit her more, maybe take her on a trip or at least know her favorite dessert. He would not have waited so long to tell Scully how he felt about her. He would never date Phoebe Green. He would never let anyone come between him and Scully, never let her doubt his love and trust and loyalty.

“Mulder?”

“I’m thinking… how the world would be had I married Phoebe Green like I had wanted to when I finished school.”

Scully’s eyes grew big, but so did her grin.

“Very tall children,” she said kindly.

“Yes, our children would be all legs and no friends and too arrogant to ever go to therapy.”

She gave him a smile that would only be translated as pity.

“Do you wish…” He began.

“No, Mulder.”

Scully did not allow him to finish his question. She wished all her sprouts would continue to thrive, that all the lives she had given would thrive, even in the most unfavorable circumstances.

Coffee ran out, and Scully couldn’t sleep.

She recounted that time, when Mulder’s mind was controlled by a dying madman and he pointed a gun at her head; he would have perished soon after the bullet flew into her head.

The time when she lay dying in the hospital, and his life diminished right in front of her eyes.

The time when she woke, wearing his pants and socks and snow jacket, and wondered if Heaven was made of snow.

The time when they had no safe water to drink and had shriveled up to look like octogenarians.

The time they went to that haunted mansion on Christmas Eve, the lover’s pact, and those… apparitions?

And that time in Los Angeles, with the werewolves and the wasp man and the thing that manifests as one’s fears.

Scully concluded that she was not afraid to die, she never was. She was afraid of what would happen to Mulder after she died. Guess it wouldn’t come to that, now.

She sampled the many, many times Mulder told her that he loved her, and how it always felt like taking the first breath after almost dying.

The sun did not come out anymore. Scully had already ruled out the possibility of aliens. Mulder began to daydream of the afterlife, which was just a fool’s idea of a romanticized reincarnation.

“I will find you,” he said as they cuddled for warmth as well as for love. “The next life, and the next-next life, and in each one after.”

Scully nodded against his chest.

“You know, we’ll be like Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.” Mulder whispered through his smile, “You can always be the doctor.”

She frowned because she was sure he could come up with a more romantic comparison. Of all the years she had known him, Fox Mulder was a romantic if nothing else.

“But you’re no addict.”

Mulder chuckled. His drug dealer was never the wiser.

“I’ll be better next life.”

His promise was drowned out by the sound of the sky falling.

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