#okay but imagine you’re mulder and this is his pov

[vampirewalterskinner]

It’s all about them, actually

[fragilevixenfic]

After Scully calls Mulder in the ep Emily, she asks him to bring her some things from home. Her journal falls to the floor and Mulder sees some things written about him that she has never allowed him to know.

Alright, ma’am...I have had far too long to stew in this...I really don’t know how this panned out but here it goes.

----

Title: Brick

Category: During “Emily”/Angst/Mulder’s POV/Minor Canon-Divergence/URT

Prompt: After Scully calls Mulder in the ep Emily, she asks him to bring her some things from home. Her journal falls to the floor and Mulder sees some things written about him that she has never allowed him to know.

Summary: His eyes focused, not wanting to read but it burned through him as the words illuminated and etched into his consciousness with a vividness. “…of the fear that you would have to watch me wither away, leaving nothing more than ashes behind and the memory of what I once was…”

  Six a.m. day after Christmas

I throw some clothes on in the dark

The smell of cold

Car seat is freezing

The world is sleeping

I am numb

-Benjamin Folds/Darren Jesse

  December 30th, 1997

11:00 PM

Washington DC

                 “Will you get a few things and be here on the next flight? I know it’s a lot to ask…”

              The words echoed in Mulder’s head as he pulled along the sidewalk to Scully’s apartment complex, scraping the rims along the concrete in the process. He muttered a few choice cuss words as he threw the shift into park and turned the engine off, sitting in the chilly cabin of the Ford sedan. He would never have refused her and the lack of hesitation in his sleepy voice as he cradled the phone close to his ear spoke volumes. It was anything but that as he nearly ate ice ascending the stairs while he plunged his hand into his pocket to get her spare key, rattling it across the tender skin of his palm until he could feel his teeth chatter in the nip of the night air.

              “Anything.”

              Anything for her. It had been like that since her cancer went into remission, even if everything had been largely unspoken for far too long.

              “Pilfering through Scully’s drawers in the dark has me uncomfortable and I haven’t even started yet,” Mulder was having that conversation with himself as he heard the click of the deadbolt release, allowing him inside of her oddly welcoming space. “Frohike just got the chills somewhere…Spidey sense on full alert.”

              Focus, you’re running out of precious time.

              Mulder swallowed and inhaled a breath as he snatched the leather overnight bag from the edge of the dresser, checking off each item in his mind as he pulled a drawer open. It was clinical, much like Scully would approach gathering up his stuff, he imagined, as he reached for each requested piece of clothing. He went to the nightstand and deposited a collection of notes into the bag followed by a compact manicure kit that he knew she had mentioned. As he turned with the bag, the bottom notches snagged a softbound journal partially concealed beneath the alarm clock came tumbling down onto the floor, flipping open to a set of well worn, written pages.

              “Dammit,” Mulder knelt, gathering the faded edge between his fingers as he dragged it toward his lap, the spine along his index as the pages fluttered and caught light.

              His eyes focused, not wanting to read but it burned through him as the words illuminated and etched into his consciousness with a vividness. “…of the fear that you would have to watch me wither away, leaving nothing more than ashes behind and the memory of what I once was…” Mulder knew in the pit of his stomach that it was so invasive of him to delve into her private thoughts but the tattered edges of his heartfelt a tug as the waves crashed into the shore. He glanced at the clock, noted the slipping away of precious seconds before his red-eye would take off but curiosity was burning as he couldn’t help but see his name scrawled along the same section, muddled by little splotches.

              Kissed by tears.

              ‘I’ve reflected, long and countlessly, on a moment of emptiness as it expanded while I stood at the ledge of life and death; ready to let go. I counted minutes with preciousness in spite of holding a certain amount of deniability in it. Denial of fate, denial of need, denial of hope…but there you were, Mulder, with your hand extended like you knew exactly when I was ready to break to release necessary chaos into the air all over again.

              Fight.

              Push.

              Try.

              Even as tears fall, there will come a day that you’ll know the truth of it. I was not afraid of staring at death as he waited in the doorway. I feared so much more than that. It was the reality of the fear that you would have to watch me wither away, leaving nothing more than ashes behind and the memory of what I once was. The shell of a woman who couldn’t carry on a piece of herself—a woman who had made the choice of exactly whom she’d want to leave a legacy behind with. One day…one day you’ll know.’

              “Oh…fuck,” Mulder had his own emotional epiphany as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, reluctantly pulling his focus away from the journal as he snapped it closed and stood. “I wasn’t ready for all of that…”

              Mulder had already come close, as one could get, to losing his best friend and the buried deep truths that he kept well-guarded within his own, half shattered soul was feeling the reverberations of her written secrets. He held the journal to his chest and closed his eyes, letting the gravity of what he wasn’t supposed to know seep into his bones, plucking the strings loose as he watched another minute tick away. His shoulders sank as he wanted nothing more than to feel her heart beating against his own as the sting of emptiness surrounded him all over again, reminding him of that self-inflicted fate. They’d bestowed it on each other. If Scully had only known that her hidden epitaph was dangerously near a mutual thought, one that had been rolling at the tip of Mulder’s tongue for a long time. His eidetic memory betrayed him again as the words flashed into his consciousness, throttling his psyche as he pictured every note again—almost to the point of being able to see her curled up on her bed, tears falling with every move of her pen.

              As though he were praying for it—the phone in his pocket began to chime, the tones returning his attention to the task at hand as he pulled it free, answering immediately. “Mulder?”

              “Did you find everything okay?” Scully’s voice crushed and elated him in the same breath as he slid the journal into the bag and zipped it up, wiping the last of his stray tears in the process.

              “Yeah, was just getting ready to lock up,” Mulder’s voice involuntarily cracked as he went for the door, the weight of her confessional unbelievably heavy as he held her bag on his shoulder.

              “What time does your flight leave?” Scully could hear the change in his voice but her own, melancholic tone was bleeding through as she sighed into his ear. “You okay?”

              “I’m good, I’m good…I have just enough time to get there and take off,” Mulder locked the door, felt that ache in his body as he shook away heartache for another moment, knowing what lay ahead of him. “I’ll be there soon.”

Tagging @peacenik0 @kyouryokusenshi @poolsidescientist @postmodernpromartheus @baronessblixen @fistful-of-fandom @kikocrystalball @allthingsxfiles @suitablyaggrieved @suilven19 @rationalcashew @admiralty-xfd @gaycrouton

[frangipanidownunder]

Dancing in the Dark: part 5

For an anon prompt: five times M&S danced in the dark. This turned out much longer than I anticipated, so I’ve broken it into five parts, each told from an alternating POV; independent, but with a clear narrative arc.

This section also responds to the @xfficchallenges prompt:  Scully realizes the depth of her feelings for Mulder when she expects him to pick her up at the airport and he doesn’t show.

This is the final part. Thanks for reading! You can catch up here:  Part one  Part two  Part three  Part four

Five: Three of a Kind

The plane banks and lands and she finds herself in the bathroom straightening her hair and rubbing her teeth with her finger. She looks tired, pale, so she pinches her cheeks, finds a lip balm in her bag and stares at her reflection. Has she changed? Does he see her differently now that…now that they’ve kissed. God, even saying it sends a thrill through her. She smothers a smile but it’s still pulling at her cheeks when she walks to the arrivals hall.

There’s a buzz, an atmosphere and she breathes it in, its hopefulness. Airports. Scenes of goodbyes, but also hellos. She hasn’t been welcomed by anyone for years. There’s a pit of excitement in her belly, warm, unfurling fronds of…love? Is that the right word? It feels a little bold, but he told her she was his one in five billion, he kissed her. In the forest. He kissed her, she kissed him. The blush flushes her cheeks and chest and she pulls on a strand of hair as she waits. The smell of coffee, the chatter of people, the ever-changing digits on the arrivals board, bags, cases, newspapers tucked under arms, hugs and cries and queues at the rental counter. Her heart is as busy as the airport, pumping in her chest.

She tries to picture his face as he strides across the floor. She imagines his smile broadening as he walks towards her. Would he bend and kiss her cheek? Would he take her bag and her hand? Walk her to the car? She checks her watch. Parking would be a bitch at this time of the day. She buys a strong black coffee and finds a seat, sipping, wondering about the case, still fuming at being played. But the fact that it has led to a kind of ‘reunion’ for her and Mulder is a positive.

After 45 minutes, she calls him. No response. She walks to the taxi rank but doubles back. Just fifteen more minutes. Time is a luxury but surely Mulder warrants that luxury. There’s a book store and she browses the titles, trying to recall last time she read a novel. She picks up Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible and takes it to the check-out. A tale of tragic undoing and reconstruction. She huffs gently as she pays.

She grants Mulder another 30 minutes in the end but he doesn’t show and he doesn’t answer his phone. She takes a taxi.

Her apartment is silent. Still. Empty. She takes a shower but even the warm jets don’t soothe away the feelings of…what? Sadness? Humiliation? It’s not quite that heavy, but it stings. She wraps a towel around her and goes through her skin care regime. She looks tired, bruised eyes, dry skin, frown lines nested between her brows. How did she get here? Tragic undoing and now what? A reconstruction? The book sits on the bedside table and she slips under the sheets and opens it.

              The knock is hesitant. Almost inaudible. She reads another paragraph. He knocks again. She knows it’s him. There’s an apology in the rap of his knuckles. There’s probably a pitiful look on his face. Does she want to see it? Does she want to hear his excuse, his reason? She doesn’t put the light on, just wanders to the door with her robe tied tight and her temples tighter.

              He’s holding flowers. She doesn’t take them. His mouth is downturned. She doesn’t smile at him. He waits for her to let him pass. She stands with the door handle in her hand, blocking his entry. He moves to one side. Then the other. Then back. He holds up his hands and the cellophane rustles like a dramatic soundtrack to his solo dance. His sigh is a long, slow wheeze of frustration.

              “I’m so sorry, Scully. I truly am.” His head ducks forward, through the arch of the frame, over the flowers, so that the white petals of the chrysanthemum stroke his chin. “I give you permission to pluck me out and stick me in cold water.”

              It’s impossible to stay mad at him when he’s in this boyish mood. He’s an overgrown child, a six foot kid, but he’s smiling at her, eyes showing her something more than just desperation to come in. There’s a light in them that she is coming to recognise as the light of his heart. He cannot hide it, not even burying his face in a bunch of flowers. This is where the reconstruction begins.

              She swipes them out of his grasp, lets him in. He brushes against her as he passes and she catches the scent of him. This is not a man who has been at home doing his personal grooming.

              “Where were you, Mulder?”

              He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it off the back of a chair. “Not where I should have been.”

              There’s a vase over her sink and she reaches up on tiptoes to finger it. It slips further back. From behind her, Mulder chuckles. The sound and scent of him moves closer and then there’s the rasp of his unshaven chin against the side of her neck. He presses another apology into her skin and reaches up to get the vase. He doesn’t move away, instead places it on the counter, then presses his arms either side of her, resting his hands on her hips and his chin on her shoulder. He’s loose, coming undone.

              “Are you okay?” she asks and all her anger has dissipated. She knows him. Knows he’s a jerk sometimes but also that he gives so much of himself.

              “I’m a jerk,” he says and she laughs.

              “What? You’re not supposed to agree.” He pulls away and she misses his warm weight.

              “Just because we’ve kissed in the forest, doesn’t mean I have to fawn over you.”

              “I’ve just retrieved your finest vase and this is the thanks I get. And may I suggest that you leave it in a more appropriate place next time.”

              She shakes her head as she smiles at him. “And just because we’ve kissed in the forest, doesn’t mean you get to tell me how to order my kitchen cupboards.”

              “I am merely suggesting that you might want your vases to be more readily reachable in future. You are the most logical person I know, Scully. It makes sense to have the items you use the most right at hand, doesn’t it?”

              His hands reach either side of her, supporting him against the edge of the counter. She’s between them, back against the edge. He bends and kisses her lips, softly, apologetically.

              “Why would I need my vase closest to…oh…”

              His smile is silver starbright. She folds her bottom lip under her teeth. “I’ll set up an account at the local florist in the morning, Scully. You deserve so much more than that sad bunch.” They look round at the drooping stems. “But at two in the morning, options are limited.”

              “Where were you, really, Mulder?”

              He hangs his head. “Going round in circles with the wrong person.”

              “What does that mean?”

              He pushes himself back and upright. Jams one fist into the palm of the other. Sighs. “It means that I learnt, not for the first time, that I’d rather be dancing in the dark with you than anybody else.”

              The moon is streaming through the slats of the blind casting slanted silver beams across his suit. She moves into him, letting the light stripe across her, binding them as they move slowly together.

[minuete-blog]

And...the first story in the Perspective Series is complete!!! Posting the second to last chapter on Tumblr. You can read the entire story on AO3. Tagging @today-in-fic

This lengthy chapter is a Post-Irresistible hurt/comfort scenario recounted by Scully through Karen Kosseff’s POV.

Chapter 9: A Follow-Up Session

“I’m glad you decided to set up another appointment with me,” I say to Dana as I take in her appearance. It has been a week since I literally ran into Agent Mulder. She has some dark circles under her eyes that she tried to cover up, but overall her demeanor seems more relaxed than our last session. “How have you been?”

“I’m fi—“ she pauses, then continues, “I’m doing better.” She fixes a determined gaze on me. “I feel like I had to follow up with you with what happened after our session.”

I wait patiently as she gathers her thoughts, fixating on a piece of lint she sees on her taupe-colored pant suit that her fingers peel away. “I followed your advice, about being vulnerable. Once Mulder found me at the abandoned home, I just broke down in front of him.”

“You had just cause for doing so, Dana. I can’t imagine what you had to go through, and thank God Agent Mulder and the local police got to you in time!” She blanches at my remark. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to relive the moment.”

She shakes her head. “No it’s okay. It was a traumatic experience that needs to be acknowledged. After I was attended to by the paramedics for scrapes and bruises, I told Mulder I wanted to check into a hotel. Without saying a word, he checked us both into a Doubletree Inn, better than our usual accommodations. I must have been in a state of shock because I don’t remember when or how my weekend bag materialized, but he suggested that I get ready for bed.” Her skin flushes and she looks away embarrassed.

“I tugged on his trench coat as he was on his way out and asked if he could stay in my room while I got ready. The way he looked at me…it was full of sympathy and regret and something else, something fierce. Mulder nodded his assent and sat on my bed while I grabbed my bag and headed into the bathroom. I hate to admit this, but I started to hyperventilate being in the bathroom. He must have heard me because the next thing I knew was that I was gathered in his arms crying again. Mulder cupped my face and told me in a measured tone what was going to happen: he was going to run to the store for a few minutes while I sit on the bed and watch TV. Mulder asked me to repeat what he said and led me back into the hotel room, turned on the TV, and handed me the remote control. I don’t remember what I watched while he was gone; I don’t think I even changed the channel but he returned rather quickly from the store with baby wipes and dry shampoo. I honestly wanted to smile at his thoughtful gesture but I could only manage to blankly state at him.”

She starts to chuckle at her next statement, “I do recall Mulder blushing when he awkwardly said that he would wait in the bathroom while I get ready for bed in the room.”

I smile as I imagine Agent Mulder gesturing towards the bathroom door and shyly handing her weekend bag once he was inside. Dana shifts in her seat looking outside my office window with a blush forming on her cheeks. She starts up again, “I asked if he could sit beside my bed until I fall asleep. I wanted him to tell me a story—any story—just to take my mind off of what had transpired.” The last part came out in a strangled tone and she takes her time to recollect herself.

“Did he stay?” Once a few minutes pass.

“He did,” she answers almost wistfully. “He even told me a stupid campfire story of the Jersey Devil.” Her expression darkens and she straightens herself in the seat. “I shouldn’t have requested him to do that.”

“Why is that?”

“Because in the end I’m left with this horrible memory that I have to work through by myself. I can’t ask him to keep me company whenever this surfaces. I figure that I would be fine once we returned to DC. My apartment is my sanctuary, I should feel safe.”

There was a “but” forming in her head, however Dana doesn’t continue freely. I can see her struggling to keep her distress in check as she schools her facial features, but her blue eyes are stormy as she’s caught up in another memory. Another post-traumatic memory.

“There is no right or wrong way to feel, Dana.” She worries her bottom lip.

“I didn’t allow Mulder to accompany me to my apartment. I told him I was fine. I was home. I just needed to decompress. But for the next couple of days I couldn’t bring myself to take a shower let alone a bath. I knew I needed to, I felt so disgusting and dirty. I wanted to wash off the grime and scrub myself raw hoping to wipe away my ordeal. Instead, I just sponge bathed myself in the kitchen with almost scalding hot water from the tea kettle.”

I try to keep my expression impassive, but I feel a frown forming, my brows furrowing. Dana sees this and looks away ashamed. I shake my head not wanting her to misunderstand my reaction. “Dana, you were reacting the way most survivors would react if the traumatic event occurred in a bathroom. I’m upset that all this happened to you.”

She looks up at me, her eyes bright from unshed tears. “Okay.”

“Do you still want to continue?” She nods as she swallows hard.

“The sponge bathing continued for the next couple of days. Mulder would call to check in on me, and I would tell him that I’m fine. He didn’t seem convinced though. He suggested that I stayed home and get some rest. Rest from what? My mind? I listened to him though, I stayed home and kept myself busy catching up on errands and house chores. I avoided my broom closet, my bath tub, and my shower stall.”

She takes in a breath before sighing exasperatedly. “Mulder would usually leave me alone when I tell him I’m fine, so I don’t know what made him decide to barge into my home in the middle of the day last week! He mentioned to me that A.D. Skinner was out of town so he was playing hooky.”

I bite my tongue from spilling the beans about running into her partner last week as I listen to her recount the story of how Agent Mulder caught her staring into her bathroom from her apartment hallway. How he took in her appearance with her limp hair, and how he saw a makeshift wash basin on her kitchen table. She doesn’t forget the details as she calmly tells me how he wordlessly walked into her bathroom to gather all the bath oils and salts she had beside her free-standing tub while leaving behind the essentials for her to bathe, and he unceremoniously dumped her bath collection into the kitchen trashcan. He then walked up to her and gave her a tight hug.

“You’re not alone in this, Scully,” he’d murmured. He held her hand tightly while she drew herself a bath.

“He blasted some Chopin on the living room stereo for me, and sat by the bathroom door telling me a story of his time in Oxford,” Dana said with a small smile, “He befriended a talented pianist who had him appreciate classical music.”

“Were you able to bathe in your bathroom successfully?”

“Yes. I didn’t spend any more time than necessary. All the while Mulder’s voice drawled on behind the closed bathroom door. I’ll never tell him this, but his voice is soothing, almost hypnotic. He repeated this ritual for the rest of the week until a couple of evenings ago when I told him over the phone that I drew myself a bath.” She looked down at her clasped hands on her lap. “Mulder helped me through this even though I didn’t ask for his help. He didn’t pass judgement nor rationalized my fear. He was just...” she trails off trying to search for the word to best describe. Her voice drops low, “He was my beacon, and I suppose he will remain that way as long as we’re partners.”

[campaignofmisinformation]

Fic: The Evolution of Fox

Title: The Evolution of Fox Author: @campaignofmisinformation Rating: PG POV: Third Person: Mulder Timeline: Post Season 9 AU, Canon Divergent after Scary Monsters Summary: Four times William calls Mulder Fox and one time he doesn’t. Author’s Notes: @noamchimpsky‘s head canon about Maggie being the reason William calls Mulder Fox, along with Toddler actor William and Gillian’s Daddy/Fox exchange inspired whatever this is. And of course, @tofutti-rice-dreamsicle is bae as beta. Even though we completely devolved into horrifyingly terrible alternate endings there at the end.

i.

The thump of his tattered bag on the floor makes him wince. He feels like an invader in this place that used to feel more like home than his own. What was once an immaculate living room is now cluttered with colorful toys and toddler paraphernalia. So much has changed, more than he had imagined during long, lonely nights spent far away from here. From them.

“Mulder?”

He hears her calling from the guestroom, the one he’d slept in during late night cases and post parental deaths, and tries to find his voice.

“It’s me,” he whispers. But he isn’t sure who “me” is anymore. He’s lived 10,000 years in the last 367 days.

“William, wait!” Scully yells, two seconds before a toddler appears in the hallway. The boy halts as soon as his eyes catch the stranger in the living room. Mulder can’t breathe. William points at him.

“No! Mama!” the boy yells and Scully scoops him up from behind. He buries his face in her neck.

At the sight of her, Mulder’s lungs resume functioning and he gulps down air. He’s eternally thankful he’d spent the previous day reuniting with her, alone. It’s the only thing dulling the tightness in his chest. His son is afraid of him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Scully soothes, kissing the boy’s head. “He’s not going to hurt you.” She throws Mulder an apologetic look and resumes stroking William’s hair. “Remember Grandma’s pictures?” William nods. “And the stories she tells you about Fox?” “Foss?” William asks and pats Scully’s face. Mulder’s eyes burn.

“Yes, baby. This is Fox. This is your daddy,” she says, voice breaking. William studies Mulder intently.

“No.”

ii.

Lying on the couch with one arm over his eyes, Mulder broods. He’d spent the last year dreaming about his son—holding him, kissing his hair, reading him stories, loving him—but the toddler with the blocks across the room won’t come within five feet of him. Earlier, he’d tried to sit on the floor and play but William had gathered all his toys and put as much space between them as possible.

So, he’d retreated to the couch, the only place in the apartment he feels at home.

There’s a knock at the door and William squeals.

“Gamma!”

Mulder lets his arm fall from his eyes. It stings that to his son he’s a stranger while Mrs. Scully is a treasure but he knows it’s his own doing. For the past year, she’d been filling the hole he left.

Sighing, he stands and stretches while Scully opens the door.

“Hi Mom,” she says and goes in for a hug but William throws himself between them.

“Gamma! Up!” he shouts, arms stretched over his head.

“Hi little one.” Mrs. Scully scoops up her grandson and receives a sloppy kiss as she turns to hug her daughter. “Hi honey.” With a hand on Scully’s shoulder, her eyes begin to scan the room. “Is he here?”

Mulder steps forward, eyes cast down, and clears his throat. “Hi Mrs. Scully.”

“Fox,” she whispers and rushes toward him, William still on her hip. “You’re okay. Dana and I were so worried.” Wrapping an arm around his waist, she pulls Mulder close and rests her cheek on his chest. William simply stares at him, his eyes large and wary, but curious.

“I’m sor-” Mulder starts to respond when she steps out of his embrace and cuts him off.

“None of that, Fox. That’s between you and Dana. I’m just happy you’ve returned to us. For both your-”

“Foss?” William interrupts, pointing at Mulder. “Foss?”

“Yes, honey. Fox. You know all about him, don’t you?” She turns to Mulder. “Dana wrote story after story about you for me to read to William. He loves them.”

Mulder looks to Scully and tears cloud his vision. When he blinks them away, she’s smiling at him. He loves her so much it hurts.

“Foss! Foss!” William squeals, bouncing and clapping his hands.

Mulder turns to his son and smiles. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” William all but shouts and grabs at his nose.

iii.

“Scully, are you sure you want to do this?” Turning toward the mirror, he knots his tie. “We can wait for a night when your mom is available.”

The bathroom door opens and Scully sticks her head out.

“Mulder, for the last time. We. Are. Going. Out. You’ve been back for weeks and hardly left the apartment.” She opens the door, revealing an unzipped, low-cut blue dress and what he refers to as fuck me heels. “Not to mention, I would like a night with you all to myself. To do,” she steps toward him and pulls on his tie, “adult things.”

He swallows. “Believe me Scully, I would like nothing more. But overnight at the Gunmen’s? I cannot picture them changing a diaper.”

She turns her back to him and lifts her hair. “Zip me.” Slowly, he drags the zipper up. His knuckles graze the soft skin of her back, and she leans into him. “They’re very good with William, have watched him countless times with no trouble, and he adores them. Especially Frohike.” She drops her hair, turning to face him. “And Mulder, William is safer there than at my mother’s.” She tugs on his tie again, bringing him down for a kiss, and starts to retreat into the bathroom. “Go get his stuff ready while I finish up, okay?”

Mulder walks quietly down the hall, shoving down feelings of unease at the possibility of erasing the slow, yet steady inroads that have been building between him and his son. For the first time, William had requested that Mulder read his bedtime story. While Mulder sat stunned, his son had crawled into his lap and shoved The Very Hungry Caterpillar in his face.

It feels wrong to leave him tonight, but Mulder knows he’s being irrational. William would be asleep the whole time anyway, he tells himself, as he creaks open the bedroom door.

“Foss!” William is awake and standing in his crib. “Up!” Reaching toward Mulder with one hand, he balls the other and shoves it in his mouth.

“What’re you doing up, little man?” Mulder asks as he lifts his son from the crib. William burrows into his neck and he feels his heart inflate. Rubbing the boy’s back, Mulder sits in the rocker beside the crib. “Are you excited to see Frohike?”

“Hit-ee,” William whispers. Leaning back, he puts his hands on either side of Mulder’s face and smiles. “Hi.”

Mulder smiles back. “Hi buddy.”

iv.

“Fox. Socks. Box. Knox,” Scully reads with William on her lap. Mulder points to himself, the pair of socks on the floor, a box next to the socks and William’s stuffed hippo. “Mulder, you’ve been doing this routine every night for the last month. It’s okay if you want to change it up.” “Foss, Sauce, Boss, Noss!” William squeals and claps.

“No way! He loves it.”

Scully rolls her eyes and smiles. “Your Daddy’s silly, isn’t he?” she whispers in William’s ear, but he just points to the book. “Okay, okay. Knox in box.” Mulder puts the hippo into the box. “Fox in socks.” Sitting on the carpet, Mulder pulls on the socks.

“Foss Sauce!”

“Knox on Fox,” Scully reads, trying mightily to keep William from ripping pages as he flails his arms. The hippo takes his place on Mulder’s head. “In socks in box.” Attempting to step into the box while balancing the stuffed hippo, Mulder’s socks lose traction and he crashes to the floor.

Scully laughs, and William hurls himself out of her lap toward Mulder.

“Foss owie,” William says and places open mouth baby kisses on both Mulder’s knees and then his face. “Aw ettah.” Mulder feels no pain.

v.

William is finger painting in the kitchen when Mulder arrives home from his run. Scully always lets him paint on Saturdays which means the entire area is covered in plastic and William has used himself as a canvas. Mulder kisses his head as he passes on the way to the fridge. Grabbing a water, he pops the top and drains it in three gulps.

“How was your run?” Scully asks, pouring herself a coffee behind him.

“Good,” he replies, striding over to pin her against the counter. “Missed you.” Tucking a hair behind her ear, he kisses her and grabs a coffee mug. “How long has he been at it?”

“Awhile. I’m surprised he hasn’t tired of it yet.” She takes a sip of coffee while Mulder pours himself some and joins his son at the table.

“Whatcha painting bud?” He tries to make out something recognizable but it’s mostly a giant brown blob. “Foss.”

Mulder tries to see any likeness of himself, but it’s the art of a toddler so imagination is important.

“Ohhh, it’s beautiful. It looks just like me!”

William stops painting and stares at him. “No. Is Foss.” “Fox?” Mulder asks, pointing to himself.

“No!” William leaves the table and disappears into his room. Mulder glances at Scully, worried she’s going to freak about a paint covered toddler traipsing around the apartment. She isn’t. She looks wistful, a small smile gracing her lips. William returns with a book and hands it to Mulder.

“Foss sauce.”

Mulder’s confused, he thought he was Fox in socks. Sure, they hadn’t done the routine in a few weeks, but the kid is already replacing him? Sheesh.

He points to himself again.  “Not Fox in socks?”

“No,” William says and climbs in his lap. Brown paint covers his sweats as William points to his chest. “Dada.”

Scully lets out a little sob and Mulder stops breathing.

He points to himself once more. “Dada?”

William grabs his face, gurgles and erupts into a grin. “Dada,” he squeals and burrows into his father’s neck. Mulder smiles, misty eyed, and wraps his arms around his son.

Unnoticed by all, Fox in Socks slips to the floor.