#she's just!!!! margaret scully's baby girl!!!!!!

[swiftzeldas]

The X-Files 3.23: Wetwired

[monikafilefan]

seven years

This is an answer to a couple different anon prompts from a long time ago mixed together. One with Maggie finding Scully’s journal and seeing what she’d written to Mulder. The other prompt was for Mulder to spend a lot of time at Scully’s place after “all things.”  

tagging @today-in-fic 

*

Margaret Scully considers herself to be a great many things in life. She’s a conservative woman of God who has quietly voted democrat since the day she said “I do.” A loyal navy wife who has worked her slender fingers to the bone as a stay-at-home mother of four; a stickler for rules who occupies her time spent alone with a well-kept home; a grandmother who loves to spoil her grandbabies with cookies before dinner and always reads “just one last story, Grandma” at bedtime.

She also considers herself an excellent judge of character and has learned over the years when not to pry in the private lives of others without invitation. Though she cannot say she has never let curiosity take over and wishes her children would invite her in to visit those hidden recesses of their minds once in a while.

But blind is one thing she is not.

Arriving at Dana’s for a quiet Mother’s Day brunch after church today has only confirmed her long-lasting suspicions of the current relationship status between her daughter and Fox Mulder. One look at Dana’s flushed cheeks and swooning smile as she utters her partner’s name across the kitchen table would have been enough to satisfy Maggie’s curiosity about whether or not her daughter has finally embraced what lay within her heart.

Yet, there is much more to be seen here than a meaningful smile and pink cheeks.

And Maggie sees plenty.

A pair of men’s running shoes - size twelve - sit snugly by her daughter’s size sevens. A large leather jacket that smells of familiar cologne is slung over the coat rack by the door, only partially hidden by the sweater she’d gifted Dana four months ago on her first birthday of the new Millenium. There are two mismatched mugs resting next to the coffee maker, two toothbrushes inside a cup in the bathroom - bristles touching in comfortable ease - and two towels hanging dry over the shower door. The entire bathroom smells of men’s body wash.

A new development seven years in the making.  

Maggie dries her hands at the sink and shuts the bathroom door, smiling warmly as she goes.

“You need help cleaning up, Dana?”

“No.” She shakes her head and turns the water off in the kitchen sink, soap bubbles rising above the dirty plates as she wiggles her rubber-gloved fingers. “I’ve got it, Mom, today’s your day. Why don’t you take a seat in the living room? I’ll make us some tea and we can talk.”

It’s her day, too, Maggie thinks, but will never say. There will always be an ache in her heart at the thought of her child unable to raise one of her own, yet her pain is one she soothes regiously on her knees come Sunday morning.

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m fine.”

Maggie eyes the paired coffee mugs once again and taps each one with her manicured nail, giving her daughter a chance to open up if she so chooses.

“Do these need to be washed, too?” she asks, knowing good and well that they do not.

Dana’s blue eyes widen as they flick to Maggie’s but replies with a casually dismissive, “No. I cleaned them this morning,” before resuming her scrubbing. This time, Dana does so with a renewed flush and a bitten lip.

“That’s good, honey,” Maggie says with a reassuring squeeze to her daughter’s shoulder, but cannot resist adding, “It’s good to spend mornings with those you care about,” as she turns to leave her with her thoughts.

As Dana finishes with the dishes, Maggie allows herself to admire the intimate details of her daughter’s home - now that she knows for certain with whom she’s been sharing so much of it lately. Her slender fingers trail along the bookshelf, scanning the titles of anatomy books, several science journals in which Special Agent Dana K. Scully, MD has been published, and some classic novels she recalls her freckled nose being buried in over the years. All are in alphabetical order. So very Dana.

She chuckles and her eyes catch on a leather book that is not neatly tucked in line with the rest. It’s black with golden letters etched on the cover that simply says “Journal.”

Curious, Maggie holds the journal close and contemplates on whether she should peek, selfishly hoping that more than just the surface-level emotion her daughter allows her to see might reveal itself.

Yet, the thought of betraying Dana’s trust unnerves her. Her daughter trusts so few these days.

As she firmly decides to return such private thoughts to where she found them, she notices a piece of yellow paper slipping out of its back pages. Maggie quickly tries to nab the square bookmark so Dana wouldn’t lose her page due to her mother’s intrusion when the spine flips wide open, fanning out words of heartache her eyes simply cannot unsee.

And every word is intended for someone else.

To whom it may concern,

To my family,

Dear Mulder,

I feel time like a heartbeat, the seconds pumping in my breast like a reckoning. The luminous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage. I feel these words as their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you’ll read it and share my burden, as I have come to trust no other…

“Oh, Dana,” Maggie exhales through her fingertips, hesitantly scanning the pages scrawled in intimacy with watery eyes.

...Mulder, if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was the possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done. And though we’ve traveled far together this last distance must necessarily be traveled alone...

Months spent watching helplessly as the bright light of life burning within her daughter slowly faded more and more each day was the hardest thing she as a mother had borne. Watching and waiting for what many thought was the inevitable is something she would never wish upon anyone. And here she is, sneakingly seeking some sort of deeper understanding of what her baby girl has endured.

...Mulder, I feel you close though I know you are pursuing your own path. For that I am grateful, more than I could ever express. I need to know you’re out there if I am ever to see through this...

Maggie sighs and swipes at a tear hovering along her lashes, hands shaking as she adjusts the book to replace it, when the piece of paper floats to the floor.

Bending down to retrieve it, the journal pages flutter open across her lap to another time in Dana’s life. Maggie’s chin quivers at the words displayed before her.

Dear Mulder,

There was a time in the not so distant past when I told you I was throwing this journal out. That I chose to leave my moments of weakness in the past. But the time has come to admit to myself that losing my only child, my daughter that was never meant to be with you by my side, only confirms that the ache of what lies within my heart is meant for you to bear along with me. That this time, the distance must necessarily be traveled together…

Maggie gasps at the strength and conviction laced within her daughter’s words. The raw heartache Dana must still feel after burying a piece of herself is a familiar one Maggie does not have the strength to re-expose.

But her baby has not experienced it alone; she’s had her partner, and that has been enough.

Her eyes burn and a hot tear rolls down the swell of her cheek, splashing onto the next page before she can stop it. Pinching the tear-stained paper between her thumb and index finger, she waves it through air in hopes of drying the smeared ink before she shuts the book. As she does, Maggie turns the page fully and sees a single sentence hastily written over and over with what she recognizes as fierce emotion pouring from her child’s fingertips.

Dear Mulder,

Personal interest is all that I have. Personal interest is all that I have... Personal interest: it’s something I’ll always have, even if I should not.

“Oh, goodness.” She should not be reading any of this. If Dana wants her to know what secrets lie in her heart, she will tell her.

Maggie picks up the yellow paper next to her feet and immediately realizes it’s more than merely just a bookmark. It’s a note addressed to “Scully” that’s written in fresh ink and time stamped for today’s date.

I never imagined you’d invite me to see your private thoughts you’ve kept so well guarded over the years. I’m truly grateful; for your loyalty, your trust… for you, Scully. More than words can ever express.

Sniffling and riddled with guilt, Maggie slips the note meant for her daughter to read in private back behind the journal’s last written entry. This time, Dana’s greeting to the man she’s clearly been loving from afar for years is a very different one.

To my constant, my touchstone...

Maggie quickly shuts the book and stands, heart racing at her lack of self-control as she places the leather bound memento back on the shelf.

She has known for years that her daughter loves her partner a great deal, and that he loves her just as fiercely in return. She’s not an oblivious woman and never has been.

No, she thinks, as her eyes scan the room once again to land on a lone photo of Dana and Fox standing close together at a crime scene, staring into one another’s eyes, blind she is certainly not.

“Mom, I have tea brewing if…” Dana enters the room and stops a foot away as she takes in the likely overwhelming expression on her mother’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Maggie swallows a lump in her throat and smiles softly at her daughter across the room. Suddenly she sees the tomboy with wild red hair and dirty knees; then the teenage girl with freckles and braces kissing a boy on their front porch. She sees a proud Dana graduating with honors and jumping head first into med school, only to be eagerly recruited by the FBI. She then sees that pride and determination focus on a quest that Maggie will never truly understand, but she doesn’t need to.

No, Fox Mulder is the reason Maggie now sees a real and fulfilled happiness on her daughter’s face for the very first time.

“Nothing, honey. Nothing at all,” Maggie assures, and she means it.

Dana cocks a brow - just like her father used to - and points to the kitchen. “Okay, well I’ve a kettle on the stove if you want some tea.”

The house phone rings before Maggie can respond and Dana stares at it carefully, as if considering whether or not she should pick up. At the fourth ring, she gives in and answers with a breathy, “Yes, Mulder?”

Maggie smirks, silently moving about the living room to gather her things.

“The audit has been moved up? To tomorrow?” Dana huffs with her back turned, tapping her nails along her desk. “Isn’t this a little short notice coming from Skinner?”

Walking into the kitchen with her purse and sweater slung over her arm, Maggie removes the teapot from the burner before it screams for attention. She pours her daughter a cup the way Dana likes it and sets it on the dining room table as she finishes her call.

“Yeah... yes, I can do that,” Dana murmurs, failing to fight off a smile before swiftly hanging up. “I’m sorry, Mom I-”

“Have to go?”

“Mm,” she confirms and darts her gaze out the window. Maggie knows the summer sun is only partially to blame for the glow on her Irish child’s porcelain cheeks. “Something like that.”

“Fox needs you.” A question isn’t needed this time and both Scully women know why.

“Yes,” Dana draws a deep breath and nods. “It looks that way.”

Maggie has seen more than enough today to know that it’s always been that way. And when her daughter finally looks at her again, Maggie is staring at her gleefully.

“What, Mom?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Dana runs her tongue across her upper lip, expectant. “You may as well.”

Maggie shrugs nonchalantly, openly grinning now with a motherly confession perched at the tip of her tongue. 

“I may be near-sighted, Dana, but I’m not blind yet,” she teases, reaching up to cup her daughter’s reddening cheek. “Not blind at all.”

*

side note: Mulder leaving evidence of his weekend sleepovers at Scully’s is a little slice of head canon happiness I like to cling to pre Requiem. I do however believe the evidence shows he moved in with her after he came back in “deadalive,” just not beforehand. 

[mchalowitz]

the woman is the king, part three

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

i’m very excited to finally share this! definitely the most difficult part to write so far and i hope everyone enjoys it!

part 1: melissa / part 2: dana

part 3: emily

read on ao3

@today-in-fic

———

Two years on, sometimes Scully believes she will be able to survive without her other. A forgotten voice travels from immortal nirvana to her brother’s residential line. She wonders if what she tells herself is true. 

1994; the lost year that exists between them. On an evening in March, returning from a field assignment with Mulder, Melissa leaves a message on her answering machine that Scully can still easily recite. 

Things are too hard right now, Dana. I’m safe, I’m with friends in California. I’ll call soon. I love you.

Dana would never have been the golden child. No one surpasses a squid, especially not a fed with some shifty assignment. A shifty fed fares better than a filthy sinner. Charlie wears excommunication with unsweetened pride. And Melissa, the silly new ager, well, she could take no more.

No one thrives at the center of a Scully family scandal. Scully tries to create a rational narrative. It is 1994. Melissa is pregnant; she doesn’t want the baby. She knows plenty of people on the west coast. It was believable. 

Her beloved sister, Dana, is abducted, and in the four weeks she is missing, Melissa gives birth, and the baby is adopted. Dana resurfaces in a hospital; left practically for dead. Her sister returns to stand vigil at her bedside. 

It becomes a question of mindset. Maggie believes Melissa would have told her; Dana disagrees. Subversion of expectations was the ultimate sin for a Scully child as it was a denouncement of the parenting of William and Margaret. She can attest to her mother’s softening on certain expectations since the death of her father. She still disagrees. 

No time for sulking, only pushing through. Working the case through Christmas clearly infuriates Bill. He keeps it to hushed whispers and snide remarks out of Tara’s earshot. Scully often wonders how privy Tara is to anything going on in the Scully family. 

Her infertility stings when she looks at her sister-in-law. With her cancer now in remission, the other medicals horrors Scully faced start coming back to the surface. It is another slap; the thought that her sister gave away such a sweet little girl while she will never carry a child. 

Scully is a mother. She struggles to quantify what Emily is. 

Emily, a living and breathing child, with the face of a Scully, is a violation of her body that someone stole from her, and yet must be fiercely protected. Perhaps Emily is the missing piece. 

Scully hurriedly fills out the application for temporary custody. It consists of the normal, straightforward questions found on any application, until her hand is hovering over that box. Single or married. 

The only thing happening in sunny San Diego is a completely mundane family Christmas, as far as Mulder is aware. Her words froze during her singular phone call. It seems like reaching out now is more of a bombardment than a simple debrief.

Scully is not in a position to presuppose the enigmatic thoughts of Fox Mulder. Yes, it was by his own volition to marry her and she can even believe that Mulder does love her. It is a mutual respect and a fond devotion. It is not spousal love; not a man that loves his wife. 

If she checks the box, Mulder would have to be a father figure to Emily, and it is not her place to make that decision for him. Their marriage was playing house because she was destined to die and Emily does not deserve to be a flour-sack baby in their labyrinthian game. 

Her pen swipes across the paper. Single. 

--

Mulder starts with M. Mmm. Emily tells him so.

Emily leaves the crayons and paper to go to the bookshelf. Mulder is sitting in the chair by the window and she gives him the book. She points to the yellow bird on the cover.

“What’s his name?”

“I think that’s Big Bird,” Mulder tells her. 

Her Daddy only reads her one book at a time, Mulder reads her three. She goes to the bookshelf for more when Dana comes up close to her. “Emily, Mulder and I have to leave now, but we’ll come back tomorrow.” 

Emily looks at Mulder, holding the book, and he says, “I bet you can find a good spot to keep it safe.” 

She nods and sets the book against the bed, fixing it when it slides down. Dana and Mulder leave. A lady makes her pick up her crayons before dinner.

“I’m tired,” she insists, holding the lady’s hand on the way to eat. 

“First dinner, then bed, Emily.”

--

A duality develops in relation to another atrocity to her body. It is a swift punch to the throat; knocking the breath so deeply out of her lungs. It is also as mundane as adding milk to the shopping list; it is only another thing. 

Her brother’s phone line carries mysteries from one location to another. Landline abandoned, traveling well above the speed limit, Mulder drives toward the children’s home. 

“I could have handled it,” she asserts simply. 

“I know.”

Mulder, with his complexity of a hero, and innate ability to act so hoggish. Scully wonders if he really believes that. 

--

Her blanket at home is pink sparkles and has Barbie on the pillows. Emily doesn’t like her new blanket nearly as much. It’s just plain pink.

The lady from dinner tucks her in. “I met Mr. Potato Head,” Emily informs her. 

Emily doesn’t like the other kids in the new place, especially the boy that calls, “That’s not true! Mr. Potato Head isn’t real.” 

“Yes, he is!” she argues. She struggles to sit up with the blanket holding her back. “I met him and he looks like this!” She puffs out her cheeks, making the same face. 

“That must have been very exciting, Emily,” the lady adds softly, tucking her in again. 

The lights turn off. Emily closes her eyes. She feels cold. 

--

In the work Mulder does with Scully, it is often based more on speculation than he would ever like to admit to anyone. It disgusts him to know that if Emily were any other file in his cabinet, it would bring him joy to map out theories and spar with his partner over them. With the empty coffin staring back at them, Mulder can easily assume a thought is something neither of them want to enter their minds ever again. No hypothesizing to be done here. 

Following the funeral, the San Diego bureau fares slightly kinder than their city’s court system. Their California contact, while deeply apologetic for the tragedy that has occurred here, informs them the field office won’t be actively pursuing the case. Aside from following up on a few leads pertaining to the deaths of Roberta and Marshall Sim, it will likely be deemed a cold case. 

“I’m very sorry, Agent Scully,” the agent says, padding his final blow. Emily’s case will not be investigated either. Both Mulder and Scully understand the algorithm that goes into the decision of pursuing an investigation. If the case fell into the FBI mainstream, Emily’s chronic health issues, use of experimental treatments, and her parents’ full cognizance to the risks wouldn’t stand a chance against the process. 

And if there was anything to investigate, it has already been destroyed by powers far outside the reach of some dinky field office anyway. Whatever the reasoning may be, another Scully woman is still failed by the United States government. 

Scully wants the first flight out of San Diego back to Washington and he is more than quick to oblige her. While she very clearly loves the new addition to her family, the sting is just as obvious. 

Two hours down in the air, three more to go, and they have barely said a word to each other since take-off. Scully’s head is turned toward the window when he reaches for her hand. “Scully,” he speaks, very quietly. 

“No,” she responds with a shake of her head, her voice tight. 

Another long stretch of silence and Mulder thinks she maybe falls asleep, which would be a welcome cause for silence, because he isn’t convinced she’s slept more than an hour or two in days. He is about to request a blanket when her forehead presses into his shoulder and the contact reveals her body shaking with the exertion of holding everything inside yet again. 

It’s his fierce need to protect her always that causes him to envelope her body with his. Her arms wind tightly around his neck. Her attempts to muffle her sobs in his jacket is only partially successful. 

A flight attendant taps him on the shoulder and asks him, “Is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Mulder blatantly lies. “But maybe we could get a glass of water for my wife.” 

It's a rare euphoria to speak those words; his wife. Dana Scully is his wife. A mostly unmentioned fact that gives him a childishly nervous feeling in his stomach. While it never retreated in his mind, it appears to be returning to the forefront of hers. 

In the winding process of applying for custody, a second application exists. Scully’s final plea to unite her with her own flesh and blood. Another document that states definitively that they are married. Mulder underwent a grilling from the judge; a practical bullying on the semantics of their marriage. 

One’s subconscious works powerfully, in his experience, and when he sat in this same position on Scully’s couch six months ago, the answer came to him so clearly. It wasn’t only for her benefit as a life experience that everyone should have the opportunity to have if they so choose; cancer only sped up the timeline of an inevitably. Mulder has never taken a mightier leap with her and she accepted. A singular score for Fox Mulder. 

It’s treated as though it never even existed; his presence in that way completely reverted. He wishes he had more of a chance to prove himself worthy. He wishes he was a less of pussy to actually do it. He will, he’s going to. If she is ever willing to forgive him for all of his transgressions. 

Mulder carried the knowledge of her ova and of what was likely (and now, very clearly) done with it with a heaviness that rivaled the many other weights he lugs around inside him. Scully’s hope for recovery was dwindling then and it was only another way to hurt her. 

It felt criminal to hijack her happiness when she went into remission and her bliss honestly fed his soul. Now, he only piles onto her pain. And if he was any kind of man, if he was someone deserving of someday being a person she would maybe, eventually, love for real, he would have been a lot fucking better. 

The flight attendant delivers a glass of water and a box of tissues on a plastic tray. He takes both and offers the glass to Scully. She scoots forward to the edge of her seat, her back straightened, and it reminds him of Bellefleur, and of that young agent in her red robe, and the fear of simple bug bites. It was the moment of cosmiticity bursting into existence between them. 

Scully sips water, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. His eyes never leave her for the rest of the flight. He drives her home under the glow of streetlights. 

“I can keep you company, if you want,” he offers after insisting he carry her suitcase inside for her. “Might even be able to catch a replay of the Rose Bowl if we’re lucky.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she replies. One hand holds the door and the other is braced on the frame; a universal sign to get lost told through her body language. “I’m going to take a few days. I already let Skinner know.” 

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Goodnight, Mulder.” 

“Goodnight, Scully.” 

Once the door is shut, he hears the lock click into place. It pains him to walk away. 

Mulder calls Scully in the morning as promised. He calls every morning after. It just rings and rings. 

--

No one is expecting her back in the office until Monday, but by Thursday it becomes increasingly clear that a return to normalcy is what she requires. Scully can only stare at California girls immortalized by ages in threes on her mantel for so long. 

She trades in her bathrobe for a beige skirt with matching jacket and she slugs down the last of a cup of coffee while she packs her briefcase. The landline rings in its cradle next to her hand. Her stockinged feet slide against the kitchen tile as she turns to answer.

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar female voice carries cheerily into her ear. “Hi there, this is Amanda over at Liberty Fertility Center. I’m looking for Fox Mulder?” 

"This is...” Scully starts, and then she pauses, staring up at the ceiling before answering with a restrained sigh. “This is his wife.” 

“I’m following up on a call we received from your husband earlier this week about a sample being stored at our facility and possible ova analysis. He left this as the call back number.” 

Scully clicks her tongue against her teeth, nodding slowly. She barely focuses on the conversation and when it ends, she retrieves the phone book, slamming it down on the table in place of her briefcase. She dials the first promising number in the correct category. 

Heat overtakes her melancholy. Scully is so, so tired of Mulder blanketing his wrongdoings under the guise of protecting her. It has always, ultimately, been her choice to walk alongside him; it was his choice to marry her. He still fills their partnership, their marriage, with secrets. He still withholds. 

She can only imagine what is being done to her ova sitting in some facility.  Mulder didn’t even have the decency to tell her any even remained.

Scully arrives at the office on Friday and Mulder is immersed in a sea of paperwork and photographs. It is only eight in the morning and he already has his jacket slung over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up over his forearms. 

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you until Monday,” he grins with surprised delight. 

Mulder follows her with his eyes as she steps up to his desk. She leans down, kissing him soundly on the mouth, and she observes his dreamy stare when they part.

“I need my ova, Mulder,” she states. Scully pulls a business card out of her pocket; the law firm she called the morning before. “And I want a divorce.” 

[pickingoutchinapatterns]

The Fox’s Den

Random headcanon (I still hate how it all ended, but I’m going to start postpartum training so why not.) followed by a little fluffy ficlet.  Tagging @reasonandfaithinharmony for encouraging me to write it, @frangipanidownunder for the beta and @today-in-fic.  

1. Scully insists that Mulder name their daughter, given that she named William.  Mulder, inspired by two of the women most important to him, keeps the tradition alive and names her Katherine Margaret.

2. Mulder feels guilty voicing it, but he’s jealous of the bonding between mother and daughter when Scully feeds her.  Scully feels guilty voicing how she seems to really be a daddy’s girl, as Mulder has a gift soothing and calming her even after Scully’s tried everything.  These jealous moments are fleeting though, (especially for Scully, who takes extra pleasure mumbling to Mulder in bed that he’s just going to have to get up anyway to calm her down), and they cherish each moment they have.  William is never far from their minds though; the feeling of guilt weighs particularly heavily when Katie is exactly one day older than William was the day Scully gave him up for adoption.

3. Jackson comes home and they are thrilled.  He is very much like Mulder, going off on his own from time to time, brooding, but he begins to feel safe with his birth parents, making the unremarkable house his home base.  They get along well, though he’s closer to Scully than he is to Mulder (possibly due to their innate connection). 

4.  It’s Jackson that first starts calling Katie “Kit” because she’s Fox’s baby girl.  Mulder blushes and Scully loves it, also adopting the nickname.  (Mulder finds he doesn’t mind the use of his first name quite as much.)

5.  She blushes the first time Mulder calls her his Vixen. She is somewhat resistant to the nickname at first…until she sees how much enjoyment Mulder gets out of it, especially in bed.  They feed on each other’s energy and enjoyment, and Mulder starts loving his given name for the first time in his life. 

 The Fox’s Den 

(short and fluffy based on part of the HC -can someone tell me how to put it under a cut bc I’ve forgotten.  Thanks!)

The hot steam floats up from her mug, making the few tendrils of hair slipping out of the loose ponytail start to frizz just a bit.  Their unremarkable house gets drafty at times, but she loves the added excuse to bundle up into a cocoon of warmth.  The fresh snow sparkles in the early morning light, covering the underlying brush and scenery in a lovely insulating blanket.  The sun is low enough to cause the long icicles to scatter rainbows of soft colours through the kitchen window.

Scully hears Kit gurgle softly in the bedroom.  She’ll allow herself just a few more moments of indulgence before checking on her daughter.  Mulder was gracious enough to get up most of the night and she’d like to let him sleep in as much as possible.  Her good intentions don’t last long, hearing the floorboards creak under her partner’s weight.  She takes a sip of her coffee, savouring its rich flavour, as she smiles listening to Mulder coo to their little fox.

She continues to keep her gaze on the scene outside their window, the warm colours of sunrise fading into the cool and crisp blues of morning.  Mulder comes up behind her moments later and exchanges her empty mug for the warm weight of their baby, wrapped up in a fleece blanket.  She kisses the top of Kit’s head, her wispy hair displaying auburn highlights in the early morning light.  Mulder wraps his big body around his family, nuzzling Scully’s hair.

“I made some extra coffee if you want some,” she whispers, leaning back against him, snug in his embrace.  “In a minute,” he murmurs, kissing her cheek. She tilts her head to allow him to hum contentedly in the hollow of her throat just before she gets a vision from Jackson letting her know that he’s safe and heading home.

[admiralty-xfd]

rebirth

Technically, this isn’t new. But I’ve been seeing requests for birth stories going around and since I’ve never posted this here, I want to. It’s from the season finale of the Season 12 project I worked on last year (which if you haven’t read you should!) Enjoy! :)

***

She hadn’t wanted it to, but William’s birth came back to her in bits and pieces, and she could recall with clarity the terror she’d felt in those moments: the fear that had gripped her very soul. Snippets of memories washed over her. She and Monica Reyes completely and utterly alone. Strangers surrounding them.

Please don’t let them take my baby.

Monica had been her rock, as calm and cool and collected as Scully had not been. They had both known full well that if the strangers wanted to take William they could and they would, and there was little either of them could do about it. But she’d locked eyes with Monica and trusted her in those moments that some way, somehow, everything would be okay.

Push, Dana.

She’d pushed with all her might, the fear transcending the pain. And William had suddenly existed: a real person in her world to whom she owed everything. From that moment her life had taken yet another turn, like the many turns that had preceded it.

The turn when she’d met Mulder. The turn when she’d been abducted and implanted. The turn when she’d survived cancer. The turn when she and Mulder had become lovers. The turn when he’d died. And the turn when he’d come back to her.

She’d become a mother. And she had done everything she possibly could to perform that role to the best of her ability.

Including relinquishing that role.

Push, Dana.

Here and now, in this comfortable hospital bed, even though everything was perfectly normal, she wasn’t sure how much further she could be pushed. Her heart had been broken so many times already, this still didn’t feel real.

But at a certain point she stopped hearing Monica’s voice, stopped seeing the flicker of candlelight reflecting in the eyes of dozens of strangers. Stopped smelling the musty abandoned storefront in Democrat Hot Springs. She stopped hearing her own terrified screams, and instead saw Mulder near her now, coming into focus.

Mulder. He’s really here.

She pushed and grasped his hand as they became parents again together, and their daughter came screaming into the world, announcing her arrival like heavenly trumpets. Her face was as red as Scully’s hair as she protested the sudden lack of her mother’s warmth, and Scully could barely process Mulder moving away to cut the umbilical cord.

Soon her daughter was placed in her arms and she felt her curl up against her breast, rooting, finding her very first truth. The baby suckled as Scully watched, amazed at how this new smart-as-a-whip creature picked it up so fast.

Of course she would. She was part Scully, part Mulder... part Dana, part Fox... everything that made them them wrapped up into this tiny person.

Scully’s eyes sought Mulder’s and he couldn’t seem to make up his mind which of his girls he wanted to gaze at. It was, without a doubt, the single most overwhelmingly gratifying moment of her entire life. She closed her eyes, letting it in.

After a few minutes she glanced at the clock. “It’s 12:30, Mulder,” she grinned. “You got your Halloween baby.”

“My spooky little girl,” he chuckled. He reached out to stroke the top of her head. Scully watched him, her smile so big she worried it might split her face in two.

“Well?” he asked, when he could finally avert his eyes from his daughter. “What are we gonna call her?”

Scully smiled. “Lily Margaret Mulder. Just like we said.”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her, and as their lips touched a thousand emotions crossed between them. Theirs were two lives that had been intimately intertwined for so many years, whether together or apart, with countless highs and far too many lows, but as she held their child between them, here and now was all that mattered. She felt tears on her cheeks that she couldn’t identify as his or her own, but when he pulled away his eyes were wet and shone like twin flying saucers.

“I’m so happy to meet her,” Mulder said.

Scully felt the world stop and start anew.

[atths--twice]

Let’s keep on moving... This chapter... I love it so much. 

Chapter Four       4/8

Love and Faith

Maggie and Scully have a much needed conversation about love and faith.

Scully and her mother enjoyed a wonderful lunch as they caught up. Her mother was volunteering at her church, helping with food drives, donations, and whatever else needed to be done. She was proud of the work she was doing and Scully could see the happiness it brought her. Not wanting to bring sadness into that happiness, Scully kept quiet about her recent heartbreak, focusing instead on her mother.

After they ate, her mother suggested strolling around the nearby shops and Scully had agreed, They looked at knickknacks and clothing items, trying on some and getting a laugh out of the others choices. Her mother tried on a huge sun hat and they both collapsed in a fit of giggles when the shop girl insisted the hat was exactly what she needed. At the look of scorn from her, they quickly exited the shop still laughing, their arms linked together.

They each bought a cup of coffee from a nearby stand and Scully suggested sitting on a bench to enjoy it. She knew she needed to tell her about the IVF, and felt the bench was a good place to sit and have that discussion.

They had a view of the pond in the center of the park. People were gathered around the water, meeting up with friends, feeding the ducks, or having a hurried late lunch outside. No one paid them any attention. Scully took a deep breath and turned to her mother.

“Mom, I need to talk to you about something,” she began, her nerves shaking, but her voice steady.

“Hmm? What is it honey?” her mother asked as she smiled, watching a little boy feeding the ducks.

“It’s... it’s something I need to explain and hope you will understand,” Scully said, keeping her eyes on her mother. Hearing the seriousness in her voice, her mother turned toward her, panic on her face.

“It’s not cancer, Mom,” Scully said quickly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tight.

“Oh, thank God!” her mother said as she lowered her head and closed her eyes. She brought Scully’s hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it, tears in her eyes.

“Mom, I’m okay,” Scully said with tears in her own eyes. “It isn’t that, but it’s something else. And I just need you to listen, okay? Just... let me explain before you ask any questions. I know it will be tough, but... I... please?” She stared at her, looking for affirmation, knowing this would be an incredibly hard thing to explain.

“Okay, honey." She let go of Scully’s hand and laced her fingers together, holding her coffee cup in her lap between her legs.

Scully sighed deeply and closed her eyes. “When I was taken and missing, there were some… tests done on me that left me unable to conceive. Some... things happened that I don’t fully understand the how or the why of... I don’t have the answers to questions I know you will have, because I can’t find those answers myself. But... it happened and it’s in the past. It can’t be changed now,” she said, opening her eyes. She was not sure who she was trying to convince, her mother or herself.

“A while back... Mulder... he... he found some of my ova they took, stored in a facility. Mom... please,” she begged at Maggie’s outcry. “Just... I know you have questions, just let me explain as best I can, okay?” She looked at her mother and saw fear, hurt, and anger on her face. She was not sure if it was directed at her or the people who hurt her.

“I didn’t know until recently that he had found them. I was ill, and then it took awhile to get back to myself. Then cases, one of us was always hurt somehow, then he was really ill and... time just... it got away from us,” she said quietly, her eyes looking down at her coffee lid.

“I knew I couldn’t have children, knew from the tests I'd had done, the ones I had told you about..." Her mother nodded and Scully sighed. "Mulder had been ill recently and it caused me to think about my own heath. I decided I wanted a second opinion, just for my own peace of mind, and to be one hundred percent sure. I found a doctor who did a very thorough exam and it was a definite no from her as well. I had known it would be, but it still broke my heart hearing the news,” she said as she looked at a new family feeding the ducks, the baby squealing in delight.

“I went into work after finding out the results and Mulder knew something was on my mind. I told him about the doctor’s appointment and he hesitantly admitted that he had found the ova and had been storing mine at a different facility for almost two years. The doctor there told him they weren’t viable... but he kept them there anyway."

She felt tears spill down her cheeks and she had not even known she was crying. Thinking of him holding onto her eggs. even when he knew they were not viable, made her heart ache. As if he did not want to give up hope that maybe was still an option. Mulder, the forever optimist and keeper of hope.

“I took the ova to a different doctor, a geneticist and had them tested. The doctor I saw was optimistic that some were viable and I could possibly use them.”

“Dana, that’s wonderful!” her mother said, forgetting that she was supposed to wait. “A chance to have a child? I’m so happy for you.” Her eyes were shining and full of hope. But seeing the expression on Scully’s face, her own face fell. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathed, tears filling her eyes.

“I found out two days ago... the implantation didn’t work," she whispered, her face set as she tried not to cry.

One touch of her mother’s hand though, and that dam broke. She dropped her head to her mother’s shoulder and cried out her pain. Her coffee cup slipped out of her hand and fell to the ground, as she clung to her and wept. Her mother’s cries mixed with hers and together they held onto each other.

Scully sat up after a bit and her mother wiped her tears, just as she had when she was a child. She looked into her mother’s eyes and saw the love she always did, but also a sadness.

“Dana,” her mother said quietly, holding Scully’s face in her hands. “I don’t fully understand all that you are telling me. I know there are aspects of your job that you have kept hidden, that you must continue to  keep hidden. I realize it’s for safety, I do. As much as I want to understand everything, I know I never will." She shook her head, as tears spilled down her cheeks. “But... Dana.. it’s not right! It’s disgusting if you’re saying they violated your body. I... I’m not... they hurt my little girl and that is not... it breaks my heart. My girl needed help and... I... Fox... we..,” Scully’s eyes filled with tears and her mother held her again, both of them weeping.

“I don’t understand it, Dana. I never will, but I am so sorry for what happened to you. Sorry for what was taken without your knowledge or consent. That you were hurt and alone, and I couldn’t do anything to help. I would have fought every one of them for hurting you,” her mother said as she stroked Scully’s hair.

Scully sat up with a crying laugh. “I know you would have, Mom. I would have liked to have seen that. They would have met their match with Margaret Scully,” she said with tears in her voice and a watery smile.

Answering with one of her own, she wiped Scully’s face again. Closing her eyes, she let her mother take care of her. She was always so strong, but sometimes she wanted to crawl into her mother’s lap and let her worries go; let her mother hold her and take her burdens from her.

Scully shifted and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, reaching for her hand and lacing their fingers together. She took deep breaths. punctuated by occasional sobs. The wind blew and she felt it calm her, loving the peaceful feeling it created in her.

They were quiet for awhile, sitting in the sunshine and feeling the breeze. Finally, her mother quietly spoke up.

“You said the implantation didn’t work? You only had the eggs, the ova. You... you found a donor? Did the doctor you saw provide that or did you have to...” She trailed off, realization apparently dawning. “You asked Fox, didn’t you?”

Scully squirmed against her mother and let go of her hand, sitting forward and putting her head in her hands. Although he had agreed, and the procedure was done, she still felt that stomach ache feeling she had when she had asked him. How she had felt almost dizzy and faint. The pacing she had done around her apartment as she waited for him to come over with his answer. Her stomach jumping at every creak, thinking it was him.

Then, the fear and disappointment she had felt when she thought he was refusing her request. Politely turning her down because he did not want it to change their friendship. How her heart had dropped to her stomach and her stomach had dropped to the floor. She had been frozen, but tried to act as though she was not devastated.

“The answer is “yes.””

Those words still rang in her ears, his shy smile burned into her brain. The relief she felt, the joy, elation, surprise, thankfulness, and oh... the love. She felt such love and hopefulness as he had held her and she had to work at not breaking down in tears. That had come later, when the door had closed and he had left, and she had fallen to the floor and wept.

“I did ask him, Mom,” she said with her head still in her hands. “I was so nervous, certain he would say no and then we would still have to face each other every day. That it would be a... a... thing hanging over us forever and cause a problem.”

“But of course he said yes,” her mother said in a knowing tone. “Did you really doubt he would say no? To you?” She tilted her head and looked at Scully with a kind smile.

Scully stared at her in shock and her mother laughed softly. “Dana." She shook her head, pushing Scully’s hair back and kissing her forehead before looking into her eyes. “He loves you.” Scully pulled back and opened her mouth to tell her mother that it was not like that with them.

“Dana,” Maggie said, looking at her with such love in her eyes. “He loves you. You can take that in whatever context you want, but he does, I’ve seen it. When you were gone...” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “I’ve never seen a person so broken, so empty. He was... lost and suffering. When you came back, he had to be physically dragged out of the hospital room, he was causing such a scene.”

“I know, Mom, you’ve told me that before. That doesn’t mean-“

“Dana,” she said with more force, looking into Scully’s eyes. “You may not want to hear it or accept it, you may not be ready, but it’s the truth. In love? Only Fox could tell you his heart. But if he is or not, it’s still love. And honey, he has loved you for a long time. Dana, can you honestly tell me you don’t feel the same for him?”

Scully stared at her and felt her heart pounding. Of course she cared for him, he was the most important person in her life. Her best friend, her touchstone, her constant. Jesus, he was everything to her. How could she explain their relationship to her mother when she could hardly understand it herself at times?

Her mother held her gaze and smiled. “He came out to California at Christmas years ago when you called him. No hesitation. Came to my house looking for you when you were hallucinating things that were untrue, knowing the state you were in, risking his own life. He could have sent an officer over, anyone else, but he came because he knew you trusted him and he wanted to help you.”

“He’s my partner,” Scully whispered, tears swimming in her eyes.

“Yes, my darling girl, he is. And he loves you and cares for you greatly. I think everyone sees how much, but you,” she said gently as she held Scully’s hand. “I think you feel the same for him, but you’re afraid to tell him or show him, or to even tell yourself. I’m not telling you anything other than to just... just be aware of it. Be aware of the love he has for you. I’m sure he has his flaws, but he is... he is a wonderful man and knowing he is with you helps me sleep better at night. Knowing you are not alone and you have someone who would go to the ends of the earth for you." She held Scully’s face again as she smiled at her. “Literally. The ends of the earth.”

Scully’s face crumbled and her mother held her to her again. She cried out her fears, her anxiety, and then the tears became ones of realization. Of course she loved him. God, she had for a long time. Longer than she wanted to actually admit, but it was there, just below the surface, where it always needed to stay.

But what if it did not have to stay there? What if she told him? What if she had told him when she stood at his apartment doorway and heard his words of love to her? Because, god, it was what they were. Words of love whispered to each other without saying the actual words.

“Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant. My touchstone.”

Those words entered her soul and traveled to her heart. They made her pulse race and her lungs lose their oxygen. She had missed him, had ached for him when he was gone. She had been so scared she would never find him.

“And you are mine.”

Such a mediocre response to the beautiful things he had said and it was all she could think to say without letting her heart out and leaving it in his hands. She had wanted to kiss him so badly. To push him back into his apartment and kiss away both of their pain. To forget how sad and scared she had been in her search for him. To feel his arms around her as they learned the ways of each other’s bodies.

She had to force herself to walk away from him, before she did more than trail her fingers across his lips. To leave before she let him see her truth. How her love for him threatened to choke her sometimes.

So she had left. Leaving behind a piece of her heart in his doorway. One day, she knew, all the pieces she had left or lost because of her fear, would find their way back and she would be able to present her heart to him. Patched up and a bit of a mess, but his, if he would accept it.

Yes. She loved him. And it terrified her.

She pulled back from her mother again and dried her eyes. She leaned back and they sat in silence for a little while. Both thinking of the words the other had said. Her mother began quietly humming a song she used to sing when Scully was younger and it made her smile to hear it. She closed her eyes, rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and breathed deeply.

They sat for a bit longer and then walked back to her mother's car. They hugged goodbye and as she pulled back, she kissed Scully’s cheek and whispered, “Don’t give up on a miracle.”

Scully exhaled and looked at her mother in surprise. “Mulder said almost the same exact thing..”

“Smart man then,” her mother said with a smile.

Scully shook her head. “No, Mom. There will be no miracle this time. There isn’t a chance for one.”

“You have to have faith, Dana,” her mother said looking into her eyes.

“Faith..” Scully said, shaking her head, anger in her eyes. “It’s hard to have faith when shit gets piled on you repeatedly. When your hopes get shot down at every turn.”

“Dana, that’s when you need faith the most. To trust your problems to God. To leave it in His hands and trust that He will do what is right. Even if we don’t think the answer is the right one, we keep faith,” her mother said as she touched Scully’s cross necklace.

Scully nodded, but said nothing. She did not share her mother’s feelings of faith right now, but she respected her words. She pulled her mother in for another hug. She held her tight and tried to absorb some of her positivity and faith by osmosis.

“Thank you, Mom. I’ll try. That’s all I can promise right now- to try. I’m sorry for swearing,” Scully said as she held her mother.

She laughed as she pulled back. “Forgiven." She opened her car door and glanced at her. “I’ll talk to you later, honey. Take care of yourself and give Fox my love.” She got in the car and started it u0 rolled her window down, “I’ll be praying for you, Dana. Both of you.”

“Thank you, Mom. I’ll let you know how Mulder feels about that the next time we talk,” Scully said with a playful smile.

Her mother laughed and reached for her hand. Scully grabbed it and squeezed. “I love you, Dana.”

“Love you too.”

Scully watched her drive away and she sighed. So many emotions swirling around in her head, her heart. She needed to walk for a bit to clear her thoughts.

She stuck to the path around the pond for awhile, then ventured into the park and sat on the grass. She leaned back and then lay all the way down as she looked up at the clouds in the sky. She sighed and then she laughed quietly. She thought of Mulder and how he would want to have a conversation about the clouds, to discuss the shape and what she thought of them as well. She sighed again, wishing he was there to fill the silence right now.

A church bell ringing cut into her thoughts. She sat up and saw it through the trees at the edge of the park. Standing up, she headed toward it, thinking it seemed her mother had already been praying.

She arrived at the small church just as the bells stopped ringing. She pulled the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside, stopping at the font holding the holy water and dipped her fingers in, crossing herself as she walked further inside.

The church was beautiful. Dark wood was used for the pews, rich red carpet adorned the floor, many stained glass windows were up near the altar. Statues of Jesus and the Virgin Mary sat tastefully within the vestibule, and candles were burning off to the side.

Scully immediately felt calmed when she walked down the aisle, kneeled a bow, and entered the pew. She closed her eyes and sat for a few minutes, letting the familiarity of church wash over her. Memories flooded in of countless hours spent at churches just like this one. She always felt the calming presence, no matter which one she visited.

“You aren’t here for the Mass are you?” A voice asked her.

Her eyes flew open and found an older man in a newsboy cap standing next to the pew, bent forward and looking at her intently.

“No,” she said with a small smile and then she glanced around. They were the only two people in the church. “Is there a Mass now?”

“Oh no, not anymore,” he said as he stood up straighter, but kept a hold on the pews. “Aye, there used to be, but not for awhile.”

Scully looked at him. He was dressed quite smartly and carried a cane. She also noticed the Scottish accent she had missed before. The roll of the r’s on his tongue.

“Do you mind if I sit? These old bones don’t get around as well as they used to,” he asked as he looked at her.

She smiled and slid over, allowing him to join her in the pew.

“I thank you, Miss,” he said as he sat down, leaned his cane next to him, took off his cap and slid it through his fingers, round and round the edges. He looked at her and smiled, which she returned.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” he said, his kind smile still in place.

“No. I don’t frequent this church. I don’t live this way, but I was sitting in the park when I heard the bells. It’s beautiful in here. I’m glad I decided to come over,” Scully said, as she looked up and around.

“Aye, it’s beautiful. Had the stained glass added about twenty five years ago. My wife was insistent on it and I’m glad of it now that she’s left us. Makes me feel close to her, as if she’s shining through the windows,” he said, smiling as he looked at the windows.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Did she pass recently?” Scully asked, looking at the windows herself.

“No,” he said with a sigh, looking down at his hat in his hands. “It’s been ten years, but also seems like yesterday. I miss her terribly. She was it for me. The one great love of my life. The one I was fated to love.” He smiled at Scully, his blue eyes twinkling.

Scully smiled back and felt a kinship to him. She could not explain it, but she felt as if she had been drawn to come here to speak to him. “Tell me about her,” she said kindly.

“Oh... my Rosie-Rose she was called. She could light up a room with her smile. Her laugh was infectious and was the first thing I noticed about her,” he said with a far off look in his eyes. “I loved her laugh before I ever even saw her face. When I turned round and saw her, my heart stopped at the sight of her. I knew she was the one for me. Felt it my bones.”

He set his cap on the seat between them and knotted his hands together. “She was bold as brass, walked right up to me, and asked me to buy her a pint. See, we were in a pub. She had come to Scotland with some friends after she’d been all over Europe for a couple months. Scotland was their last stop before they came back home to America. We talked all night in that pub, but I never asked her name or where she was staying.”

Scully laughed quietly and he looked at her with a smile. “I know. I woke up in a sweat when I realized it. I was up at six that morning and went from hotel to hotel looking for her. I only had her description to go on, so everyone had to listen to this crazy man looking for a brunette, about twenty, with flashing blue eyes and the most amazing laugh. Pretty vague description, especially when it didn’t do her justice.”

He sighed and smiled. “I had three more hotels to check when I walked into one and there she was, sitting and waiting. She looked at the clock and then looked at me, telling me I was half an hour late. As if we had made plans the night before and I had missed the time. I smiled and apologized to her. Said I would never keep her waiting again. She smiled and told me to see that I didn’t. I knew then and there, I would marry her. And two weeks later, I did.”

“Two weeks?” Scully said in surprise. “That’s quick.”

“Aye. It was. But I would have married her in two hours or two days. I told her as much later that same day when I asked her to marry me the first time. She said she wanted to get to know me a bit better first. To be absolutely sure and so she needed at least a day. She told me to be sure and ask again the next day. I did and she acted surprised and threw her arms around me as if we had been dating for years and she had been waiting for that moment, and I fell in love with her all over again,” he said with a deep chuckle.

Scully smiled and laughed quietly herself.

“We came back here and started our life together. It wasn’t always perfect, but god bless her, I loved her with all my heart." He looked up to the ceiling and blew a kiss and Scully felt tears in her eyes at the simple gesture. To be loved like that...

“About a year after we were married,” he began again. “We began to talk about having a family. Nothing had happened in a year and we didn’t know why. She went to the doctor and we found out... she was unable to have a child." He paused there, turning to Scully as she gasped and tried to discreetly wipe her tears as she turned her head. His hand came into her view and she saw he was handing her his handkerchief. She took it and wiped her eyes.

“Aye,” he said, letting her compose herself. “She was devastated. We both were. She stayed in bed for a month. Barely eating, hardly moving. I... I didn’t know what to do for my love. I couldn’t change it and I felt helpless to help her. I held her as we both cried. I brought her her favorite foods. I sat with her and tried to make her laugh. But, she needed her time to grieve and... I let her. I had to let her do what she needed to get better, so I waited. Waited for my brassy, headstrong, self assured, tough girl to come back. She was there, the sadness just had a hold on her for a bit.”

Scully was quietly weeping into the handkerchief he gave her. It was as though he was describing exactly what Mulder had done for her. Waiting for her to come back from the doctor, staying with her, holding her, crying with her, leaving her a doughnut and a bagel, bringing lunch over and that delicious chocolate caramel brownie, watching a movie and then staying again. Waiting for her to come back. God... she loved him so much in that moment, it burned inside of her.

“One day, the bedroom door burst open,” he continued. “She was dressed, face made up, hair done. She walked up to me at the table and stood there tall and straight as you please. She said to me, “God’s will for me may be that I am unable to have children of my own, but it won’t shake my faith or stop me from being a mother. I will be one to the community. I will help in any way I can and I want to start now.” I never forgot those words or how I felt that day. My girl had come back to me." he wiped tears from his eyes as Scully tried to calm her own tears.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Scully closed her eyes and let the scent of the church invade her senses. The wood, the candles burning, the Bibles, and the man next to her. He smelled of aftershave and laundry.

“We came to this church and she asked to see the priest. She told him her name and asked him to put her to work. And he did. I never saw a person more involved in everything. She helped with any kind of drive-food, clothing, collecting money. She was amazing. She had food whipped up for people who needed it, in what felt like five minutes. Our cupboards were always full of canned foods to make meals quick and get it where it needed to go,” he said in awe and with a shake of his head.

“We had to move house because there was always someone staying with us and we ran out of room. It might be a man, then a young woman, a whole family sometimes. People sleeping where they could find a spot, but they were together, and that was what mattered,” he said with a smile. “There were people stopping by at all hours. Sometimes it would be too much, but the love she had for them that I saw shining in her eyes, always made it worthwhile.”

He shifted in his seat and sighed. “She started not feeling well, not herself. We were older now, in our seventies, and figured it was the old age getting us, telling us to slow down. Only it wasn’t exactly that. My beautiful girl was diagnosed with the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s,” he dropped his head into his hands and wept. Scully put her hand on his back and ran it up and down, as she cried with him.

The handkerchief he gave her was wet with her tears and she looked around desperately, hoping there was something, when she heard him blow his nose.

He sat back up and wiped his eyes with a different handkerchief. Seeing the look on her face, he smiled tremulously. “I learned long ago to always carry two handkerchiefs. You never know when someone might be in need of one.”

She smiled back and took her hand off his back. He reached for her hand and squeezed it, not letting go and neither did she pull it away. They sat holding hands, in a church, grieving for separate things, but sharing the pain.

“We took a trip back to Scotland before she got too sick. Visited the old pub, renewed our vows, drank, and danced, and saw the greenest hills and the bluest skies you’ll ever see,” he took a deep breath. “I asked her, as we sat on a bench looking out over the sea, if she felt I failed her. With never having a child of our own. We could have adopted, but we didn’t. She said not one day did she regret the life we lived. She had raised twenty seven people, then helped those people raise fifteen more. She had clothed hundreds of people, feed thousands, cared for as many when they were sick or dying. She was a mother, a mother to many. They may not have been from her own body, but they were her family. Not by blood, but by bond. The bond of love.”

He squeezed Scully’s hand again and she squeezed back.

“She sounds like she was an amazing person. Someone I would have been honored to know. Your pride for her is so beautiful. She must have helped everyone in this community,” Scully said with a smile.

“Oh, aye. They all came to help when she needed it. They were there for her every need,” he said, nodding his head and smiling. “When she passed, there was a bit of a quarrel of pallbearers. Every man wanted to help. And oh.. they did. They formed a line in the walkway of the aisle of this church and out to the waiting car. They went slowly and each had a chance to carry her to her sleep. They had told the priest and me, they wanted the hands that had helped carry them, to now carry her.”

Scully let go of his hand and covered her face, weeping at the beauty of the story. She could picture this church packed with people who had come to say goodbye to a person they loved so much. She could see the men standing in the aisle as they helped to carry her, how truly beautiful it must have been.

She quieted down and blew her nose. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me about your Rosie. You don’t know how much your words have meant to me. To hear of such faith and care that it affected a whole community. I needed to hear that today. It seems like fate seemed to draw you to me.”

“Oh no, it was my Rosie. I don’t always get out and about, but this morning as I was praying and talking to her, I noticed the church program from last week. Then I heard a song we always sang. Rosie was the most beautiful piano player and singer. She played here every Sunday. Then my cane was nowhere to be seen and after I searched all over, I found it hanging on the coat rack with my cap on top. She was telling me I was needed at the church. Hard to argue with that logic now that I’ve met you,” he said with a kind smile.

Scully smiled back though tears still fell down her cheeks. She wiped them with the handkerchief, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

“My name is Dana, by the way,” she said, putting out her hand.

“Dana,” he said, taking her hand gently in both of his. “It is my pleasure to meet you. My name is Thomas. Thomas Reid.” She smiled at him as they shook hands.

“I’m not as good as her at the piano, but would you like to hear the song I heard this morning, the one Rosie and I sang?” He asked her.

Scully nodded and smiled wider than before. She helped him up from the pew and then walked beside him as he made his way to the piano. He kissed his fingers and touched the side where she saw a plaque had been placed. “In memory of Rosie Reid. Voice of an angel, heart of a mother. We love you.” She felt her eyes well up again, but kept them from falling.

Thomas opened the piano cover and sat down on the bench. She sat next to him and waited for him to play.

“Now remember, I’m not as great as my Rosie. But I’ll give it a go,” he said, as he started to play softly.

Scully closed her eyes and listened to him warm up a little and then her eyes flew open. He was playing the same song her mother had been humming earlier, the one from her childhood that always made her feel better. Now, she did let her tears fall as she heard him softly singing along with his playing. She cried for the happiness it brought her, but mostly for the guidance. She still questioned the injustice of her situation, but she felt the peace that her faith brought her.

Perhaps God’s answer was no, but that did not mean she was finished. She had a job she loved, people whom she had helped, family she loved, and a partner who meant everything to her. A man who came into her life running full speed, shouting to the heavens, trying to find the answers he needed. A man who now was an extension of her and someone she could not live without.

She put her head against Thomas’s shoulder and let the piano and his singing soothe her soul. She closed her eyes and thanked her mother for the prayers she had sent up. She thanked Rosie, for being a true mother to all and sending her husband to care for someone, when she could no longer be there to do it herself.

Scully returned home a while later. She hung her coat up and dropped her keys on the table. She took off her shoes and started toward the bedroom when the phone rang. She knew it was Mulder before she answered. They had not spoken all day.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Scully. How was your lunch?” he asked her.

She smiled. So much asked in four words. “It was good, Mulder. We talked about the IVF and she was understandably upset, but she told me the same as you, to not give up on a miracle.”

“Smart woman then,” he said with a chuckle.

“Are you two chatting? She said the same thing about you,” she said laughing herself.

“She’s not... not angry with me is she?” he asked and she heard the worry in his voice.

“Why would she be angry with you, Mulder? None of this is your fault,” she said as she sat on the couch.

He sighed down the phone, and she could picture him on his couch, his head in his hand, rubbing his forehead.

“I... I had the ova and I didn’t tell you. Didn’t find someone that could give you a better answer like Dr, Parenti did. I... I just... I heard they weren’t viable and... I couldn’t... I couldn’t break your heart, Scully. I...” He trailed off and she covered her mouth so he would not hear her cry.

She took a deep breath. “No, Mulder. She doesn’t blame you and neither do I. You... I know why you did it and so does she. She’s not angry. I honestly don’t know if you could make my mother angry.”

He exhaled a laugh that had a bit of a sob attached to it. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if she was angry with me. I don’t think I could recover quite honestly.”

She laughed and got up from the couch, bringing the pillows he used the night before with her.

“Well, you’re safe for now. She’s not angry, with you... yet,” she said teasingly.

“Hmm,” he responded and she closed her eyes: she loved that sound he made.

“Well, Mulder, it's been a long rather emotional day, I think I’m going to head to bed,” she said, putting the pillows down on her bed.

“Okay, Scully. You need anything, you call me okay? I’ll be there,” he told her.

“I will, Mulder. Good night.”

“Wait!” he shouted.

“Yes?”

“Let’s.. let’s go out tomorrow. Get some dinner. Somewhere nice,” he said hopefully.

“Nice?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, more excitedly now. “You get dressed up and I’ll pick you up at say, 6:30? How does that sound?” She thought for a second. It sounded like a date, but she knew he was not thinking that way. He just wanted to do something nice for her.

“Scully?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m here. That sounds good, Mulder. I’ll see you then.”

“Great,” he said. “I’ll see you then. And if you need me, or anything, I’ll be there. Just call.”

“Okay, Mulder. I will. Night.”

“Night, Scully.”

She hung up the phone and set in on her side table. She picked up his pillow and breathed in his scent as she lay back and rolled onto her side. She had no energy to get up and change her clothes. With Mulder’s scent surrounding her she quickly fell asleep.

_____________________________________________________

As she slept, unbeknownst to her, Mulder was wide awake. He told himself he would wait for one hour. If he did not hear from her by then, he would be happy. He would know she was okay on her own tonight. He leaned his head back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. One hour, he thought.

He woke up and the sun was just coming up. She had not called, she had been okay. He stretched and smiled. Good. He was happy, although he really had to pee.

I can make it, he thought as he started his car, pulled out of his parking spot and headed home, glancing up at her place and smiling.

[mldrgrl]

Last First Kiss

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG-13 Summary: This is for all the Ed Jerse Anons sitting in my inbox who all want a variation on the theme of Scully not being satisfied that Ed would be the last man she was with.

The appointments were on the calendar for the third Thursday on the month for six months, not a secret, but they were simply marked “Scully - doctor,” like they were run of the mill check-ups and not aggressive chemotherapy.  Every third Friday was marked “Scully - out of office.”

Mulder did his best not to be too solicitous, wished her well when she packed up her things before lunch, made lame jokes about how much he’d get done without her ripping apart his theories for a day.  He didn’t know how she spent her weekends after those appointments, she could be intensely private about certain aspects of herself, her health being one of them, but it was obvious from the paleness of her cheeks, the shadows under her eyes, and the constant tremor her body seemed to have come Monday, that she suffered.

He wished she wouldn’t push herself so hard, but then again, she was a fighter.  He had to admit he was a bit in awe of her determination not to let such a grim diagnosis stop her from doing anything.  It had certainly stopped him.  Though she didn’t know it, his free time was mostly devoted to finding answers.  He didn’t care who he had to go through to find the men who gave her this disease.  If they knew how to give it to her, they knew how to take it back.

As the months went by though, the nosebleeds only got worse and at a certain point, she’d even stopped demanding that he not look at her when she did her best to clean herself up or given him dirty, ungrateful glares when he brought out the packet of tissues he’d started carrying around in his breast pocket and slipped them into her hand.  She’d stopped locking the connecting doors of their motel rooms or trying to disguise the sound of her retching in the middle of the night by running the sink at full blast.  The last two times, she’d even let him kneel beside her and dab her cheeks and the back of her neck with a cool washcloth as she limply clung to the side of the toilet.  

If he wasn’t scared before, he was now.  He could persevere as long as she was, but the moment she looked up at him with a tired, resigned gaze that told him he was finally allowed to see her like this because it didn’t matter anymore, he knew she had given up.  And now, he was desperate for those answers.

Appointment number five loomed like a thundercloud.  Mulder was tense all week and Scully was quiet.  Time moved like molasses Thursday morning.  He tried to focus on the expense report for their last case, but his mind kept wandering to ways he might offer his services to help her through the weekend.  Even with the minutes dragging by, suddenly she was shutting her computer down and he hadn’t come up with anything better than, “if you need anything, you know you can call me.”

Scully left with a murmured “see you Monday,” and he chickened out on saying anything more than a soft goodbye.  He bit his lip and as soon as he heard the elevator ding and the doors close, he choked on a quiet sob he’d been reigning in.  As quickly as he let his emotions overtake him, he pulled himself back together and pounded a fist against the top of his desk.  Scully was out there bravely fighting a losing battle alone and he wasn’t helping her by crying at his desk.  It was time for his check-in with the Gunmen, who were following up on leads in his stead.

But, the boys had nothing for him.  Nothing new, anyway.  Mulder cursed.  He was pretty sure his best bet was the black-lunged sonofabitch that seemed to pull all the strings from every direction and he’d been trying to lure the old man out of hiding for weeks to no avail.  There had to be something he could do.

He stayed at the office well into the evening, poring over his files for some connection he might have missed.  There was so much there and yet nothing at all.  He was just digging deeper rabbit holes with every file.  He finally went home when he felt like his vision was becoming too blurry to ready anything further, but he was back at it again before the sun even came up.  Strewn across his desk and the floor was Scully’s abduction file, the files on Max Fenig, Duane Barry, the women in Allentown, the personnel file he’d poached on Alex Krycek, and others bearing the slightest hint of alien activity.

Halfway through the day, it dawned on him that maybe he should change his tactic.  He wasn’t a religious man, but Scully was a religious woman, and there were examples of miraculous recoveries all over the world.  He gathered up the mess he’d made and made another printing out reams of research on holy sites and unexplained recoveries from illnesses.  Amongst them all, he found one that appealed.  In fact, it excited him so much that he found himself grabbing he jacket and driving to Scully’s apartment with a hopeful flutter in his chest.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking though, knocking on her door that Friday evening.  He hadn’t even gotten a good look at her before he was asking her if she’d ever heard about the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes.  She answered his knock in a pair of snow-white flannel pajamas that were rolled up at the sleeves and ankles.  Her face was almost as white as her sleepwear, aside from the hollow grey smudges under her eyes.  Her eyes themselves were so thoroughly bloodshot it looked like it might be painful just to keep them open.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, taking her in.  “I didn’t mean to...to…”

She blinked slowly at him, like a sleepwalker still in a dream.  “Our Lady of Lourdes,” she repeated in a quiet slur.  “In France.”

“Yeah.  Yes, France.”

“What about it?”

“Um…”  

“Sorry, I need to sit down.”

“Don’t apologize,” he answered, following her to the couch.  

He glanced around.  There was a blanket waterfalling off the couch, crumbled tissues scattered across the coffee table, and a basin strategically placed on the floor beside the couch, just below the spot where the impression of her head still lingered on a pillow.  Scully pushed the blanket out of the way and folded herself up like a sheet of origami into the empty corner of the couch.

“I should go,” he said.

“Are you going to tell me the story of Saint Bernadette?” she mumbled.

“You know it?”

“Of course I know it, Mulder.”

“Oh.”

“You can tell it to me anyway.  I like your stories.”

“You do?”

“Sit down.”

Tentatively, Mulder took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.  He surreptitiously slid the basin away from his feet and picked up a closed photo album that was wedged beneath the back cushion.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Photo album.”

“Well, yeah.  Are they of you?”

She nodded.

“May I?”

She nodded again.  He opened the book and on the first page was a black and white mugshot of a swaddled newborn with a pinched face.  Next to it was the classic, naked baby on a bearskin rug photo that every parent seemed to think was necessary.  He had one of his own somewhere.  He chuckled to himself.

The next pages were a hodgepodge of Scully family photos.  There was a pensive looking toddler Scully on the lap of her smiling sister, both with loose red curls and matching baby blue dresses.  There was all four Scully children, the boys in sailor suits, the girls in navy blue pinafore dresses standing in front of a docked ship.  There was Scully blowing out eight candles on a birthday cake.  There was a professional photo of Scully from the waist up in a white lace dress and a white veil, looking upwards with gloved hands clasped in prayer.  

He turned to a page of school photos, all eerily similar, the progression of time marked only by the changes in Scully’s face and the length of hair, but the constant being the dark blazer and plaid skirt of a Catholic schoolgirl.  She only smiled in one, which he guessed to be about third grade, the rest a study in concentrated seriousness.

And then there was a photo that made him stop and bring the album closer to his face.  “Scully,” he said, squinting.  “Was your mom a triplet?”

“No,” she said, with a quiet laugh.  “She was the middle of three girls.  All a year apart.”

“I mean, they look...identical.”  And they really did.  He saw three Margaret’s in a line with their arms around each other, same dark curls, same shape of the jaw and brow, same red lipstick, even.

“The one on the right is Aunt Kate, the one on the left is Mary Pat.”

“Kate.  Katherine?  Is that where your middle name cames from?”

“Nope.  Mary Kate, Mary Margaret, Mary Pat.  Only Aunt Mary Pat uses the Mary.”

“Wait, so your mom and her sisters are all named Mary?”

“Technically, sort of.”

“What was your grandmother’s name?  Mary Magdalene?”

“Angela.”

“Oh.”

“Mary Angela.”

Mulder chuckled.

There were a few more pages of family photos and then they changed into pictures of places and people who he assumed were friends from high school or college.  There was a photo of Scully with long wavy hair holding a sleeping baby as a priest touched its little bald head.

“Your godson?” he asked.

“Mmhm.”

He flipped a few more pages.  There was photos of a cabin in the snow, of Scully in cold weather gear holding a string of fish, of a silver Volkswagen Rabbit, and a slew of photos of a beach and a lighthouse.

“Where’s this?” he asked.

“Point Loma.  It was one of my favorite places as a kid.”

“And who is this?”  He turned the photo on the next page towards Scully, of her pressed cheek to cheek with a fair-haired man with freckles across his nose and forehead.

“His name is Ethan.”  She sat up a little reached out to touch the photo with her fingertips for a few moments and then she curled back into the corner and made a small noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

“Ethan was the last relationship I was in.”

“Oh.”

“It didn’t last long.  Three months, I think.  I don’t know, it just occurred to me that...I guess I always thought I’d have more time to…”

“To what?”

“I don’t know.”  She shook her head.  “Nothing.  Ethan will have been the last man to love me, even for a short time.”

A protest formed on Mulder’s tongue, but he held it back and looked at the picture of Scully and her ex-boyfriend again.  Maybe if things had worked out with this Ethan character, they never would’ve even met.  Or with that other guy, that Jack Willis guy from that case a few years ago.  Maybe if it had worked out between them, she wouldn’t be here now, though he can’t imagine Scully and Jack as having ever been very good together.  He really didn’t want to think about it, either.

“And Ed Jerse,” she said.

Mulder snapped to attention at the mention of that name and looked over at her.  “What about Ed Jerse?”

“Ed will be my last first kiss.”  She snorted softly and closed her eyes, brows knitting together slightly.  He took a glance at her mouth, at the dry, cracked lips that bastard had been lucky enough to touch.  It made him sad and angry.

“You do have time, Scully,” he said, emphatically.

“No, I don’t, Mulder.”

“Yes, you-”

“I don’t.”  She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze at him.  “Mulder, I’m dying.  You know it as well as I do, you just don’t want to face the truth.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.  I’m not getting better, I’m getting worse.  The tumor hasn’t changed and the chemo has just made me sick.  There isn’t anything left to do.  I know this is hard for you, but it’s just a matter of time.  And I won’t be making a pilgrimage to France to pray to the Virgin Mary and drink from healing waters, if that was your bright idea.”

“Why not?  Why not try everything we can?”

“I would rather spend the time that I have left doing the things I love.  I love my job and that’s what I want to do for as long as I’m able.”

“I can’t accept that this is the end, Scully.”

“You’re going to have to.”  Her eyes welled with tears, but didn’t spill over.

Mulder looked away and closed the photo album.  Scully slumped against the couch and shivered.  She hugged her arms across her chest and curled up even tighter.  If she got any smaller, she’d disappear.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder whispered, slipping off the couch to his knees.  He shuffled over to Scully’s side of the couch and put a hand on her arm, leaning close.  “It’s not over until it’s over.  Ethan isn’t the last man to love you, I am.  Maybe you don’t think it’s the same, but I do.”

“Mulder…”  She unraveled enough to put a hand on his cheek.  “You don’t have to.”

“I love you.”

“I know.  I...I know.”

He leaned into the palm of her hand for a moment and then reached up to cup her face with both hands.  “You’re not dying,” he whispered, just before bringing his lips to hers.  “There’s time,” he said, pulling back before moving in again.  “Don’t give up.”

The three kisses he pressed to her mouth were soft and chaste, but they’re the most heartfelt and tender kisses he’s ever shared with anyone.  He felt her tears running down between the webbing of his fingers and he brushed them away with his thumbs.  She held his wrists as he placed whispersoft kisses against her closed eyes and wet cheeks.

“I’m going to do everything I can for you,” he said.  “Everything.”

“I know.”

“Fight.”

She nodded.  He stroked the back of her head once and kissed her temple before rising.  As much as he wanted to stay, he had work to do and he needed to get to it as quickly as possible.  Maybe he could get her to hold on a little longer, but in his heart he knew he was running out of time.

The End

[its-flicked-switch]

Just Because

Mulder surprises Scully with an early morning breakfast.

Rating: Teen and Up

This short, early morning drabble is a gift to @kikocrystalball and @kyouryokusenshi, who have both been huge supporters of my work and also happen to be huge fans of Mulder/Scully family/baby fics. Ladies, this is your ‘just because’ appreciation story. 

Set early January following the birth of baby girl Mulder. Enjoy.

When he hears the first whimper, Mulder rolls and reaches for the monitor, stilling himself on his side and breathing out a soft sigh of relief when the warm body nestled behind him remains unmoved.

Thankful that he had been able to reach the monitor in time, he gets out of bed as stealthy as possible, careful not disturb the sheets or comforter beyond what is necessary to exit. Experience has taught him that there is only a short window of time following the initial whimper. His daughter is a lot of things, but patience, thus far, has not been her virtue. Grabbing a pair of sweat pants from the floor, he tip-toes across their room and closes the door lightly behind him before making his way into the nursery.

Pulling on his sweatpants, he silently celebrates his impeccable timing when the beginnings of a soon-to-be cry face immediately shift into an opened-mouthed grin as he reaches the side of her crib.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispers to her.

Returning her smile, he picks her up and cradles her onto his bare chest, placing kisses along the beginnings of her fine, strawberry blonde hair as he takes in her scent. The fresh smell of clean baby still clings to her skin from her bath the night before, but he also smells Scully, who had bathed and fed her before putting her down for the night.

Her happy coos and early morning babbles fill Mulder with a sense of happiness and contentment that he has never experienced before. Rocking her gently on his chest, he carries her over to the changing table and lays her down. Every time he looks at her, his heart threatens to burst. The fact that she's here and that she's theirs still shocks him in the best possible way.

Before Scully, there had always been layers of protection to ensure that a pregnancy was not possible. As traumatic as his own childhood had been, the prospect of having a child of his own had terrified him to no end. It wasn't until he fell in love with Scully that he came to understand the desire to procreate. His love for her had filled him with an unquenchable thirst that he had never experienced before. The desire to please her and fulfill her desires had negated all of his preconceived notions and fears regarding family. All these years later, Mulder has many regrets, but combining his DNA with Dana Scully's has never been one of them.

In the years that followed William's adoption, he and Scully had done little to prevent additional pregnancies. Though they had never spoken about it in the traditional sense, he was not naive to Scully's desires or intentions. The hormones he found in their medicine cabinet in combination with the subtle, almost indistinguishable dots and lines in her planner had required no translation.

She wanted to be a mother. She wanted to try again.

In his own way, Mulder had prayed for another miracle just as she had. The silence that followed had only served to solidify to him that there was nobody up there who was listening. Until, of course, the day that there was.

The little bundle in front of him had changed everything. Scully had taught him what love was, but even his love for her hadn't prepared him for the love he felt for his daughter. Katherine Margaret Mulder's entrance into their lives had been a shock. Being in their fifties, a baby had been the furthest thing from either of their minds, but now, neither of them can image their lives without her. She is Scully made over but with his goofy disposition and sense of wonder.

"Not too loud, Kit-Kat," he says softly, in an attempt to keep her coos quiet. "We don't want to wake Mommy — again."

She looks up at him with an expression of pure delight, smiling up at him as if he has told her the funniest the story she's ever heard as he seals her new diaper and puts her tiny little feet back into her footed pajamas.

"That's Daddy's girl," he says, lifting her to his lips and kissing her little nose and forehead before bringing her back to rest against his chest.

Taking extra care to avoid the creaky spots on the stairs, Mulder carries her downstairs and retrieves one of her pre-made bottles out of the refrigerator to warm. Keeping her cradled securely in against his chest, he turns on the burner beneath the tea kettle and begins to gather the ingredients he had hidden the night before. Warming the bottle just as Scully had shown him, he shakes it and then tests it on his forearm before offering it to her.

"Now, I know this isn't the same as Mommy. But Daddy needs Mommy to sleep a little while longer, so I'm going to need you to be a team player this morning and take this bottle like a champ, okay?"

When he brings the bottle up to her lips, she fusses a bit, but with some gentle rocking and soothing whispers, he's able to get to her settle enough to take it. The first time he tried this, she had outright refused, her Scully temper flaring at being denied the comfort of her mother's breast. But with Scully working again, she has gotten a lot better at taking a bottle in her mother's absence.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he lowers his head to kiss her little head, stilling his movement when her tiny hand comes into contact with the morning stubbles on his chin. When he looks down at her again, she stops suckling with an audible pop and smiles up at him. Tears threaten the edges of his eyes as he runs his thumb across her cheek and nestles her deeper into his embrace in a way that encourages her to continue to suckle.

"You know, there was a time in my life that I didn't believe in miracles," he whispers to her softly. "I've always wanted to believe, but deep down, I didn't. Not really. The power of belief … I didn't have that until I met your mother. I was broken, damaged, and flawed beyond measure, but she loved me anyway. Her love was my miracle. It's what gave me the courage to believe."

The room is silent as he continues to rock her and watch her feed.

"When I look at you, I see her … which is why daddy keeps buying guns."

"Ah, so that's why," a voice from behind says softly.

Her voice is raspy from sleep, but there's underlying emotion to it that brings a soft smile to his lips. He doesn't have to turn to know that he's made his wife cry.

"How long have you been standing there, Scully?"

"Long enough."

Having heard her voice, their daughter begins to squirm and turn her head away from the bottle.

"Well, now that you're here, this just won't do. Though I can't say that I blame her. Daddy prefers the real thing too."

He turns around to find Scully leaning against framing of the entryway to kitchen clad in a robe and fuzzy house slippers that help to explain her silent entry. He starts to rise from the chair, but the nod she gives him as she begins to move across the room, stills his movement.

When she reaches him, she bends forward and gives him a lingering kiss as she takes their daughter from him.

"Good morning," he says to her as their lips part.

"Good morning."

Bringing the squirming infant to her chest, Scully settles in the chair next to him.

"Patience, Katie …. patience," she says, chuckling at the impatience their daughter is displaying as she undoes the sash on her robe.

The sounds of her impatient fuss are quickly quieted and replaced with the sound of suckling as she latches on and settles in her mother's arms. Watching their daughter feed is something Mulder will never tire of, but his love for his daughter doesn't overshadow the fact that he is still very much a man.

It had taken several months for Scully's body to recover from Katie's delivery, but last week she had surprised him in the shower and announced her body was ready, coaxing him into pinning her up against the shower wall and having his way with her. He has had trouble keeping his hands off of her ever since then. Last night had been no exception.

Looking at her now as she feeds their daughter, it's quite apparent that she's wearing nothing aside from her robe, slippers, and a smile.

What's all of this?" she asks, nodding her head towards the various packages on the countertop.

The light in her eyes as she speaks only makes him want her more.

"Just a little something," he replies with meaning.

"Hmmm … just a little something?" she asks, raising her brow.

"The plan was breakfast in bed, but I guess me and Kit-Kat weren't quiet enough, huh little one?" he asks, standing and raising his hand to brush across his daughter's cheek as she continues to feed.

"It was actually the quiet that woke me. That and the cool sheets behind me," she says with a smile. "You should have woken me."

"You've been working long hours, and I kept you up late last night."

"That you did … but I didn't mind."

Chuckling, his mind drifts back to the night before. After putting Katie to bed, Scully had put in a movie and joined him on the couch. If he were to be asked at gunpoint what movie she put in, he wouldn't be able to answer to save his life.

"You could refrain from looking so pleased with yourself," she says, her eyes following him as walks over to the countertop and begins to organize the ingredients he has pulled out for breakfast.

"I could."

Her hearty laughter diverts his attention back to her. With her sash untied and their daughter cuddled up against her breasts, she is a vision. In the comfort of their own home, there is no need for modesty, but comfort isn't her only motivation. Scully knows damn well what she's doing. If she weren't feeding their daughter, he'd lay her out on the kitchen table and wipe that teasing smirk right off of her face, but there are certain things little eyes don't need to see, even if she is only two and half months old and unlikely to remember.

"What's the occasion?" she asks, eyeing the pancake mix and fresh fruit out on the countertop.

"Occasion?"

"Breakfast in bed?"

"Does there have to be an occasion?"

"No," she replies, her voice dropping an octave as she questions me with her eyes.

Before she can question him further, Katie becomes restless, wiggling in Scully's arms and demanding her attention as she unlatches and begins to fuss. Shifting her in her arms, Scully raises her onto her shoulder to burp, which only serves the intensify the level of fuss.

Knowing she will quiet when Scully repositions her, Mulder continues to gather ingredients without offering assistance, pulling out a few eggs, fresh strawberries, and a package of bacon from the refrigerator. Pans, utensils, measuring cups, and a mixing bowl follow. By the time he's gotten everything organized and the first few pieces of bacon in the skillet, Katie has quieted and is contently feeding.

"I could get used to this. You, shirtless … making me breakfast," she says.

To this, he can only smirk. He's frying bacon with no shirt. He fears nothing, and she has made him this way.

"You could, but then it wouldn't be a ‘just because’ breakfast anymore. It would just be breakfast."

"So that's what this is? A ‘just because’ breakfast?"

Yes, he thinks. That is precisely what this is.

Giving her knowing smile, he doesn't answer with words. Instead, he cracks eggs, flips bacon, cuts strawberries, and mixes pancake batter. Surprising her in bed would have been fun, but he is by no means disappointed in the view he has as he works. If the smile that adorns her face now is any indication, Scully is perfectly content to let him keep her guessing, which is good, because he has significant plans for the whipped cream hidden in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator.

[flexiblefish]

Source:[X]

by Gavanndra Hodge 12 JANUARY 2019

Gillian Anderson is hard to pin down. Is she American or English? (Her accent slips between the two, depending on who she is talking to.) Guarded or warm? (She can be either, based on her mood.) Tough or vulnerable? (Or both?)

'‘Because my parents were American and we lived here in the UK, there was always a sense of not quite fitting in. Because of that I’ve always felt a bit of an outsider. I have perpetuated that because that is what feels familiar to me, it is what feels comfortable,’ she explains. When we meet Anderson is English and warm, talking about the birthday parties she has to organise (she has three children, Piper, 24, Oscar, 12, and Felix, 10); and although she is very petite, wearing white patent stiletto boots and slender black trousers, she exudes the commanding charisma that makes her perfect for her imminent roles. Rumour has it that she will be playing Margaret Thatcher in an upcoming series of The Crown, the Netflix series created and co-written by her partner, Peter Morgan. No one is confirming this, but no one is denying it either. Meanwhile, this month she stars in a new Netflix series, Sex Education, in which she plays a sex therapist who lives with her teenage son (Asa Butterfield). And in February Anderson has another plum role: Margo Channing in Belgian theatre director Ivo van Hove’s much-anticipated adaptation of All About Eve, also starring Lily James as Eve, with music by PJ Harvey. The play – a modern reinterpretation of the 1950 film, which starred Bette Davis as Channing, a blazing Broadway star who is gradually supplanted by a younger rival – is about ambition and betrayal, femininity and anger, stardom and personal sacrifice. Anderson’s is a bravura role, one that requires not just the cool intensity that we have come to expect from her, but also humour. Channing is deliciously droll, delivering endlessly quotable lines with comic precision (‘I’ll admit I may have seen better days, but I’m still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut’). ‘A couple of years ago my boyfriend Pete said to me, “You know what would be a great role for you? Margo Channing,”’ Anderson says. ‘So I rewatched the film and I thought, “Oh my God, how much fun would that be!”’ Anderson, not one to wait for opportunity, discovered that theatre producer Sonia Friedman had the rights to the script and was working on it with van Hove – Cate Blanchett was set to be Channing. ‘So I thought, “Ah OK, I’ll just slink into the background.” Then my agents got a call to say that she [Blanchett] had backed out due to scheduling conflicts, and there was interest, and was I interested? So I was like, “Yes! When’s the meeting? Now?”’ Van Hove, on the phone from New York, is equally excited to be working with Anderson. ‘Margo needs someone who understands what the theatre is all about, someone who can carry a play, who can occupy the whole stage, and Gillian can do that; she is a fabulous theatre actress. Although, of course, she became iconic for me in the 1990s when she was in The X-Files.’ There is something a little surprising about Ivo van Hove, an avant-garde director celebrated for his reinterpretations of plays and operas such as Hedda Gabler, Antigone and Lulu, professing fandom for a mid-’90s sci-fi series; but that is to forget the huge cultural impact of The X-Files, its quality and its ingenuity. The series was about two FBI agents, played by Anderson and David Duchovny, who attempt to unravel various natural and supernatural mysteries. No one expected it to become such a success, least of all Anderson, who was 24 when she was cast in the show. It was her first major role and it made her a star. She won multiple awards for her portrayal of the sceptical Dr Dana Scully, including an Emmy and a Golden Globe. But such stardom often involves sacrifice and Anderson was suffering. The production schedule for The X-Files was brutal, involving 16-hour days for nine months of the year. Furthermore, in 1994, aged 25, Anderson married Clyde Klotz, assistant art director on the series, and nine months later she gave birth to their daughter, Piper. After three years she and Klotz divorced. It was while she was pregnant that Anderson started having severe panic attacks. ‘I was having them daily,’ she explains, experiencing palpitations, numbness, ‘hallucinations, all of it’. Things didn’t get better once Piper was born. ‘I was a young mother, and shortly after that we were separating, and I was working these crazy hours. I remember periods of time when I was just crying, my make-up was being done over and over again and I was not able to stop crying.’ Anderson sought solace in meditation. ‘I went to somebody and there was a meditation we did together. We went to some quite dark places and I got to see that I could still survive those dark places, I was stronger than they were, and after that the panic attacks stopped.’ Anderson had been having panic attacks, on and off, ‘since high school’. As a teenager she was a daydreamer and a troublemaker who felt different from her peers in Michigan because of her childhood in Harringay, having left the ‘incy-bincy flat with a bathroom outside’ that she and her parents lived in when she was 11 years old, when her family moved back to the US. ‘I started falling in with groups and trying to fit in, until it got to the point when it was like, “I don’t f—ing want to fit in. I want to look completely different to all of you, and stop staring at me because I have a mohawk.” I’d shave the sides of my head with a razor blade and dye my hair different colours.’ Anderson’s parents, Rosemary and Ed, were living in Chicago and were both just 26 when she was born. Soon afterwards the family moved to London so Ed could attend film school, while Rosemary worked as a computer programmer. ‘My parents were working very hard and would often work late. I have lots of memories of playing by myself in the back garden and searching for friends in the neighbourhood because I didn’t have siblings.’ After moving back to America, Rosemary and Ed had two more children, a son and a daughter. Anderson admits that her adolescent waywardness might have been related to the arrival of two new babies in the house. ‘I made trouble and I got attention that way.’ Acting is another way to get attention, something Anderson learnt early on. ‘I remember being in a play when I was in primary school. I was meant to be a Chelsea fan. I started chewing gum on stage and blowing bubbles and got all the attention. I thought, “This is all right, everybody is watching me!”’ But when she reached 16 and started doing more professional productions in America, performing became fundamentally important to her. ‘I enjoyed the connection between performer and audience, the control. And I remember thinking, “I can do this. They are showing me I can do this.” 'It changed everything in my life, knowing I could do something. Prior to that there hadn’t been that moment yet when I found purpose and direction.’ Anderson decided that she wanted to pursue acting as a career and was accepted at The Theatre School at DePaul University in Chicago. ‘From the very start of school I didn’t go into the dorms, instead I found an apartment with a roommate in a funky neighbourhood. I was the only one who was living out of school. That is my pattern, carving my own thing. 'All through [theatre] school I dressed like I was a member of The Cure. That was how I was in the world, grungy, not considered, not mature. I was forthright and gutsy – I drove myself to Chicago in my dad’s VW van – but slightly falling apart.’ She always knew she would return to England. ‘My childhood here, the smell of north London, it has such a massive tug on me. I really felt, when we moved to the States, that I would eventually have a life back here.’ She and Piper moved to the city after The X-Files ended its original run, and she went on to have two more children, Oscar and Felix, with her now ex-boyfriend, businessman Mark Griffiths (there was also a marriage to British documentary maker Julian Ozanne, which lasted for two years, with the couple separating in 2006).

In the UK Anderson’s career developed in a way that might not have been expected for the golden girl of ’90s sci-fi. She took juicy roles in big-budget period dramas – Lady Dedlock in Bleak House, Miss Havisham in Great Expectations – and appeared on stage, at the Royal Court and the Donmar Warehouse. But it was her performance in the BBC detective drama The Fall, starting in 2013, that solidified her reputation as the go-to actor for female characters who are charismatic and powerful. Anderson, as DSI Stella Gibson, was imperious in her white silk shirts and high heels, unwavering in her pursuit of the serial killer played by Jamie Dornan. The screenwriter Allan Cubitt created the role of Gibson with Anderson in mind. ‘I wanted Gibson to be an enigmatic figure. Gillian is a riveting actress, but there is an aloofness to her as well. Also I was attempting to reclaim the idea of the powerful femme fatale, without the fatale; someone who is aware that her beauty can be used to help her ends. That she is unafraid of that was radical.’ Anderson was deeply involved in the creation of Gibson’s look, altering the way she thought about herself in the process. ‘What fascinated me about her, and I feel that we were able to find that in the costume design, was that the way she dressed never felt like it was for anyone else but her. I don’t think I have necessarily changed the way I dress since her, but I feel like I am certainly more conscious of what I wear and what it says.’ As a younger woman her style was ‘messy, like a discarded urchin’. She would wear oversized suits and ‘floppy dresses that I had probably stolen from the thrift store’. Whereas now her look is sleek, and she favours brands like Jil Sander, Prada and Dries Van Noten. The Fall was about gender, power and desire; and it was while filming it in Belfast that Anderson began thinking more about the struggles that women face in the 21st century. ‘I was reading all these statistics about young girls being suicidal and having such low self-esteem and I thought, “Surely, given everything that we know, and the fact we are all having these feelings, can we not start a conversation about whether we want this and how to deal with it?”’ This morphed into her writing a book, We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, with her friend, the writer and activist Jennifer Nadel, in 2017. Alternating between pieces by Anderson and Nadel, it details their own personal struggles, and includes practical sections on how to deal with issues such as anxiety and low self-esteem using practices such as meditation, affirmations and gratitude lists. ‘We both know how it feels to be in emotional pain,’ says Nadel. ‘Both of us have felt lost, and found a spiritual way out. Both of us have experienced radical transformation as a result of the things that we wrote about in that book.’ Cubitt and Nadel each say that among the most impressive things about Anderson, as a collaborator, are her focus and drive. ‘I have never met anyone with Gillian’s ability to focus. And she has a certainty about things, she is not mired in indecision,’ says Nadel. What this means is not just an incredibly long CV, but numerous satellite projects. Anderson has a line of smart, grown-up clothes that she has developed with the brand Winser London (‘I didn’t realise I was so opinionated about buttons!’). She also works for numerous charities, focusing especially on women’s rights and environmental issues. ‘Because of my work ethic and also having had such high expectations, both of myself and other people’s of me, at such a young age, I think it became near to impossible for me to relax at all, to do anything that wasn’t work-related, so a lot of my later adult life has been trying to force myself to do that, and I struggle so hard, and sometimes I lose sight of it. So there is a part of me that wonders if I am slightly addicted [to work], I learnt it so young.’ The scant spare time that Anderson allows herself is spent ‘going to the cinema, to the theatre, watching documentaries’. Piper, who has just completed a degree in production and costume design, is now living in her mother’s basement, and the two of them recently went on a trip to Amsterdam to see van Hove’s four-hour stage adaptation of the Hanya Yanagihara novel A Little Life. That might not sound like everyone’s cup of tea, but Anderson loved it. And despite all the seriousness and the self-examination (or perhaps because of it), she is good company, thoughtful and witty. She has, she says, got happier as she has got older, less self-critical, more self-accepting. ‘I am constantly reminded of the fact that I am not normal. But fortunately I have enough abnormal people around me to help me feel that it is actually OK.’

[heresince93]

Full transcript of Gillian’s Telegraph interview

Gillian Anderson is hard to pin down. Is she American or English? (Her accent slips between the two, depending on who she is talking to.) Guarded or warm? (She can be either, based on her mood.) Tough or vulnerable? (Or both?)

'‘Because my parents were American and we lived here in the UK, there was always a sense of not quite fitting in. Because of that I’ve always felt a bit of an outsider. I have perpetuated that because that is what feels familiar to me, it is what feels comfortable,’ she explains.

When we meet Anderson is English and warm, talking about the birthday parties she has to organise (she has three children, Piper, 24, Oscar, 12, and Felix, 10); and although she is very petite, wearing white patent stiletto boots and slender black trousers, she exudes the commanding charisma that makes her perfect for her imminent roles.

Rumour has it that she will be playing Margaret Thatcher in an upcoming series of The Crown, the Netflix series created and co-written by her partner, Peter Morgan. No one is confirming this, but no one is denying it either. 

Meanwhile, this month she stars in a new Netflix series, Sex Education, in which she plays a sex therapist who lives with her teenage son (Asa Butterfield). And in February Anderson has another plum role: Margo Channing in Belgian theatre director Ivo van Hove’s much-anticipated adaptation of All About Eve, also starring Lily James as Eve, with music by PJ Harvey.

The play – a modern reinterpretation of the 1950 film, which starred Bette Davis as Channing, a blazing Broadway star who is gradually supplanted by a younger rival – is about ambition and betrayal, femininity and anger, stardom and personal sacrifice.

Anderson’s is a bravura role, one that requires not just the cool intensity that we have come to expect from her, but also humour. Channing is deliciously droll, delivering endlessly quotable lines with comic precision (‘I’ll admit I may have seen better days, but I’m still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut’).

‘A couple of years ago my boyfriend Pete said to me, “You know what would be a great role for you? Margo Channing,”’ Anderson says. ‘So I rewatched the film and I thought, “Oh my God, how much fun would that be!”’

Anderson, not one to wait for opportunity, discovered that theatre producer Sonia Friedman had the rights to the script and was working on it with van Hove – Cate Blanchett was set to be Channing. ‘So I thought, “Ah OK, I’ll just slink into the background.” Then my agents got a call to say that she [Blanchett] had backed out due to scheduling conflicts, and there was interest, and was I interested? So I was like, “Yes! When’s the meeting? Now?”’

Van Hove, on the phone from New York, is equally excited to be working with Anderson. ‘Margo needs someone who understands what the theatre is all about, someone who can carry a play, who can occupy the whole stage, and Gillian can do that; she is a fabulous theatre actress. Although, of course, she became iconic for me in the 1990s when she was in The X-Files.’

There is something a little surprising about Ivo van Hove, an avant-garde director celebrated for his reinterpretations of plays and operas such as Hedda Gabler, Antigone and Lulu, professing fandom for a mid-’90s sci-fi series; but that is to forget the huge cultural impact of The X-Files, its quality and its ingenuity.

The series was about two FBI agents, played by Anderson and David Duchovny, who attempt to unravel various natural and supernatural mysteries. No one expected it to become such a success, least of all Anderson, who was 24 when she was cast in the show. It was her first major role and it made her a star.

She won multiple awards for her portrayal of the sceptical Dr Dana Scully, including an Emmy and a Golden Globe. But such stardom often involves sacrifice and Anderson was suffering.

The production schedule for The X-Files was brutal, involving 16-hour days for nine months of the year. Furthermore, in 1994, aged 25, Anderson married Clyde Klotz, assistant art director on the series, and nine months later she gave birth to their daughter, Piper. After three years she and Klotz divorced. It was while she was pregnant that Anderson started having severe panic attacks.

‘I was having them daily,’ she explains, experiencing palpitations, numbness, ‘hallucinations, all of it’. Things didn’t get better once Piper was born. ‘I was a young mother, and shortly after that we were separating, and I was working these crazy hours. I remember periods of time when I was just crying, my make-up was being done over and over again and I was not able to stop crying.’

Anderson sought solace in meditation. ‘I went to somebody and there was a meditation we did together. We went to some quite dark places and I got to see that I could still survive those dark places, I was stronger than they were, and after that the panic attacks stopped.’

Anderson had been having panic attacks, on and off, ‘since high school’. As a teenager she was a daydreamer and a troublemaker who felt different from her peers in Michigan because of her childhood in Harringay, having left the ‘incy-bincy flat with a bathroom outside’ that she and her parents lived in when she was 11 years old, when her family moved back to the US.

‘I started falling in with groups and trying to fit in, until it got to the point when it was like, “I don’t f—ing want to fit in. I want to look completely different to all of you, and stop staring at me because I have a mohawk.” I’d shave the sides of my head with a razor blade and dye my hair different colours.’

Anderson’s parents, Rosemary and Ed, were living in Chicago and were both just 26 when she was born. Soon afterwards the family moved to London so Ed could attend film school, while Rosemary worked as a computer programmer.

‘My parents were working very hard and would often work late. I have lots of memories of playing by myself in the back garden and searching for friends in the neighbourhood because I didn’t have siblings.’

After moving back to America, Rosemary and Ed had two more children, a son and a daughter. Anderson admits that her adolescent waywardness might have been related to the arrival of two new babies in the house. ‘I made trouble and I got attention that way.’

Acting is another way to get attention, something Anderson learnt early on. ‘I remember being in a play when I was in primary school. I was meant to be a Chelsea fan. I started chewing gum on stage and blowing bubbles and got all the attention. I thought, “This is all right, everybody is watching me!”’

But when she reached 16 and started doing more professional productions in America, performing became fundamentally important to her. ‘I enjoyed the connection between performer and audience, the control. And I remember thinking, “I can do this. They are showing me I can do this.”

'It changed everything in my life, knowing I could do something. Prior to that there hadn’t been that moment yet when I found purpose and direction.’

Anderson decided that she wanted to pursue acting as a career and was accepted at The Theatre School at DePaul University in Chicago. ‘From the very start of school I didn’t go into the dorms, instead I found an apartment with a roommate in a funky neighbourhood. I was the only one who was living out of school. That is my pattern, carving my own thing.

'All through [theatre] school I dressed like I was a member of The Cure. That was how I was in the world, grungy, not considered, not mature. I was forthright and gutsy – I drove myself to Chicago in my dad’s VW van – but slightly falling apart.’

She always knew she would return to England. ‘My childhood here, the smell of north London, it has such a massive tug on me. I really felt, when we moved to the States, that I would eventually have a life back here.’

She and Piper moved to the city after The X-Files ended its original run, and she went on to have two more children, Oscar and Felix, with her now ex-boyfriend, businessman Mark Griffiths (there was also a marriage to British documentary maker Julian Ozanne, which lasted for two years, with the couple separating in 2006).

In the UK Anderson’s career developed in a way that might not have been expected for the golden girl of ’90s sci-fi. She took juicy roles in big-budget period dramas – Lady Dedlock in Bleak House, Miss Havisham in Great Expectations – and appeared on stage, at the Royal Court and the Donmar Warehouse. But it was her performance in the BBC detective drama The Fall, starting in 2013, that solidified her reputation as the go-to actor for female characters who are charismatic and powerful.

Anderson, as DSI Stella Gibson, was imperious in her white silk shirts and high heels, unwavering in her pursuit of the serial killer played by Jamie Dornan. The screenwriter Allan Cubitt created the role of Gibson with Anderson in mind. ‘I wanted Gibson to be an enigmatic figure. Gillian is a riveting actress, but there is an aloofness to her as well. Also I was attempting to reclaim the idea of the powerful femme fatale, without the fatale; someone who is aware that her beauty can be used to help her ends. That she is unafraid of that was radical.’

Anderson was deeply involved in the creation of Gibson’s look, altering the way she thought about herself in the process. ‘What fascinated me about her, and I feel that we were able to find that in the costume design, was that the way she dressed never felt like it was for anyone else but her. I don’t think I have necessarily changed the way I dress since her, but I feel like I am certainly more conscious of what I wear and what it says.’

As a younger woman her style was ‘messy, like a discarded urchin’. She would wear oversized suits and ‘floppy dresses that I had probably stolen from the thrift store’. Whereas now her look is sleek, and she favours brands like Jil Sander, Prada and Dries Van Noten.

The Fall was about gender, power and desire; and it was while filming it in Belfast that Anderson began thinking more about the struggles that women face in the 21st century. ‘I was reading all these statistics about young girls being suicidal and having such low self-esteem and I thought, “Surely, given everything that we know, and the fact we are all having these feelings, can we not start a conversation about whether we want this and how to deal with it?”’

This morphed into her writing a book, We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, with her friend, the writer and activist Jennifer Nadel, in 2017. Alternating between pieces by Anderson and Nadel, it details their own personal struggles, and includes practical sections on how to deal with issues such as anxiety and low self-esteem using practices such as meditation, affirmations and gratitude lists.

‘We both know how it feels to be in emotional pain,’ says Nadel. ‘Both of us have felt lost, and found a spiritual way out. Both of us have experienced radical transformation as a result of the things that we wrote about in that book.’ 

Cubitt and Nadel each say that among the most impressive things about Anderson, as a collaborator, are her focus and drive.

‘I have never met anyone with Gillian’s ability to focus. And she has a certainty about things, she is not mired in indecision,’ says Nadel. What this means is not just an incredibly long CV, but numerous satellite projects. Anderson has a line of smart, grown-up clothes that she has developed with the brand Winser London (‘I didn’t realise I was so opinionated about buttons!’).

She also works for numerous charities, focusing especially on women’s rights and environmental issues. ‘Because of my work ethic and also having had such high expectations, both of myself and other people’s of me, at such a young age, I think it became near to impossible for me to relax at all, to do anything that wasn’t work-related, so a lot of my later adult life has been trying to force myself to do that, and I struggle so hard, and sometimes I lose sight of it. So there is a part of me that wonders if I am slightly addicted [to work], I learnt it so young.’

The scant spare time that Anderson allows herself is spent ‘going to the cinema, to the theatre, watching documentaries’.

Piper, who has just completed a degree in production and costume design, is now living in her mother’s basement, and the two of them recently went on a trip to Amsterdam to see van Hove’s four-hour stage adaptation of the Hanya Yanagihara novel A Little Life. That might not sound like everyone’s cup of tea, but Anderson loved it.

And despite all the seriousness and the self-examination (or perhaps because of it), she is good company, thoughtful and witty. She has, she says, got happier as she has got older, less self-critical, more self-accepting.

‘I am constantly reminded of the fact that I am not normal. But fortunately I have enough abnormal people around me to help me feel that it is actually OK.’

All About Eve is running at the Noël Coward Theatre from 2 February to 11 May 2019

[baronessblixen]

Not sure if this is the kind of prompt you'd like, but I trust your fluffy genius! Sooo... my prompt is that their now 8 year old daughter comes home from school upset one day. Turns out the other kids in class were making fun of her because her dad is "old". How would 64 year old Mulder handle that one? ;)

Sorry it took me so long! It was extremely hard to write and I’m not sure how it turned out. I hope you like it anyway. Earlier today @frangipanidownunder tackled the same prompt. Everyone go read that one as well! Tagging at @today-in-fic

An angry thumpannounces her arrival. The backpack bangs against the wall and Mulder is up inan instant – she knows she's not supposed to throw it, or anything else, insidethe house. They had to state that rule, as well as every other one, veryspecifically. Because the youngest Mulder knows her way around the rules.

"KatherineMargaret Mulder, you know that-" The full name treatment is what Scullyusually does. Mulder, they all know it, is more or less useless in serioussituations. The girl, just about to storm off, stops and stares at him. She hasher arms crossed and looks like a tiny version of her mother. Except for thedarker, longer hair and his own stubborn chin.

"I have myreasons!" She yells and stomps off into the living room where she plopsdown on the couch. Mulder follows her, quietly amused. Scully tells him thatshe's all him, going off at every chance and at the slightest inconvenience. Ifshe's like this at eight years, what are they in for once she becomes ateenager? He chuckles; he can't wait to find out.

"Care to tell mewhat happened, peanut?" Mulder sits across from her in one of thearmchairs they bought a few years ago. Jackson pointedly called them 'oldpeople furniture' when he first saw them. That earned him an eyebrow from hismother, but the children still jokingly call them that.

"Daddy, are youold?" Mulder is glad he's sitting down. That's one question he didn'texpect. But their daughter is not one to beat around the bush. She talks a lot,always has, and speaks her mind. Always. Another thing Scully tells him shegets from him.

"Am I old?"He asks just to make sure he's understood her right. Katie nods.  

"The kids atschool say you are. They say you and mommy are old. Like grandparents old. Whatdoes that mean, dad?" He's feared this conversation for years and he'shoped he still had more time. Katie stares at him with her curious eyes. She,unlike him, is not worried; she just wants to understand. A few years backwhile at the store, another mother referred to him as Katie's grandfather. Whenhe corrected her, both of them blushing, he felt old. Never in his life had hefelt as old as that moment. It passed, was forgotten when Katie, still atoddler then, giggled and squealed. But every once in a while, when someonelooks funny at him, when they pause and swallow hard once they find out who heand Scully are, how old they are, he remembers.

In the early days ofthe pregnancy when uncertainty and fear ruled their days and nights, he andScully imagined moments like this one. All the what if's. What if somethinggoes wrong? What if we're too old to do this? What if we can't keep up with ourchild? What if one of us… even now, years later, Mulder doesn't want to thinkabout it. There was another what if, one he doesn't want to think of now as helooks at his daughter. What if we're not going to have the baby? They spokeabout it exactly once. It was a Sunday, sunny and friendly. Scully was sick, sovery sick with morning sickness, and he uttered the words as he rubbed herback. What if, Scully. They looked at each other then, tears and doubts sharedwithout a single word spoken, knowing that it wasn't a possibility, not really,not for them. No matter what the circumstances.    

"Daaaad."Katie's eyes grow big and impatient; she doesn't have the time. She can't wait.Not for dinner, not for her birthday and most of all not for an explanationfrom her old man. There's that word again: old.

"It'scomplicated, Katie." She groans and throws herself against the couchcushion. "It really is." Mulder tells her and puts a hand on herknee. Try again, her eyes seem to say to him, not good enough.

"You do know howold your mother and I are, right?" Katie thinks about it for a moment andhe is certain can see her count in her head, then nods. "Do you know howold Josh's parents are?" The boy is her best friend and Mulder knows thathis parents could almost be his children. Almost. Katie shakes her head."What do you think? Are they as old as I am?" He holds his breath,waiting. Katie furrows her brows, stares him up and down, examines him.

"I don't know. Josh'smom is home a lot like you, but that's because of the baby. Josh's dad is badat baseball and soccer." Mulder suppresses a grin; this is not the momentto make fun. "Is he older than you are, dad?" Katie's question isgenuine, but for the first time he sees the spark of something else in hereyes. Uncertainty, he thinks. He wishes Scully were here. He might be good atbaseball and soccer, but right now he feels useless. He's 64 years old. He cando this.

"No, honey. I'molder than him." Much older, he thinks, but doesn't say it. Confusionwashes over Katie's face and she stares at him, still waiting. As the pregnancyprogressed, Scully would remind him to take it one day at a time because theydidn't know what might happen tomorrow. But with each passing day, Mulder beganto feel more and more thankful. It was a second chance. He watched Scully'sstomach grow and he recorded every little change. He was there for everydoctor's appointment, held her hand through the first sonogram, through thefirst test results – everything. This time he was there for it all. A bittersweetsensation knowing what he'd missed the first time. When Jackson came back intotheir lives Scully was four months pregnant. One night Mulder found their sonin the living room browsing through a baby catalogue. He looked up sheepishlyand Mulder sat next to him, neither of them saying a word for the longest time.'It's too late to buy a crib for you, but there's a bed for you here always. Welove you, Jackson, and you're part of this family.' That was that. In the end,it was a second chance for all of them.

"So you are old?"Katie reminds him not to get lost in his thoughts and memories, but to be herein the now. He nods. He wishes he wasn't. Oh, how he wishes Katie had comealong ten years earlier. Mulder still dreams that Jackson grew up with them,free from pain and terror, and that Katie was born a few years after herbrother. A picture perfect family. He wakes up from that dream, always. Theirlife, their real life, is good; of course it is. He wouldn't trade it foranything in the world, now. He and Scully are, against all odds, healthy. Shemakes him have regular check-ups and if he's reluctant every once in a while,she just gives him a look. She's right. They have plans in check, financial andotherwise. If anything were to happen to them, Jackson would get custody. Allthese things loom above them just like heart attacks, arthritis, dementia. Hedoesn't want to think about it, wants to just live. For Katie's sake he has tothink about all of it. They've been lucky until now. So very, very lucky.

"Does that meanyou can't play baseball with me anymore?" Katie's voice breaks, soundsimpossibly young. Mulder engulfs her in his arms, holds her as tightly as hecan. She sobs into his shoulder and he rubs her back soothingly.

"Don't worry aboutthings like that, Katie. We just played baseball this weekend, didn't we?"She nods against him and wipes her nose on his shirt. "See? I'm not tooold to play." But he remembers falling asleep watching a movie that night.When it happens to Scully, even after all these years, he just smiles. She'sbeen falling on asleep on him for 30 years. He's used to it. His own exhaustion,the little aches and pains, are newer to him, but even they feel familiar now.There will come a day when lifting a bat will cause too much pain. When histhrowing arm will give in. He just hopes that it happens once Katie is grownand no longer interested in playing. He knows he will do everything in hispower to make it so.

"As long as youcan play baseball, dad," Katie wipes her nose again before she looks athim, "you're not too old. I'll tell everyone tomorrow. They got it allwrong." She assures him and he smiles, thanks her with a kiss on her cheek.It should be him taking the fear off her mind, not the other way around. Mulderopens his mouth, ready to say more, when the front door opens. Katie jumps up,accidently kicks his shin, and runs towards her mother.

"Mommy!"Mulder hears as he rubs his throbbing shin. "Daddy and I were just talkingabout how old you two are." He chuckles from his place on the couch. Amoment later, Scully's head pops around the corner and Mulder forgets time andspace looking at her. No matter his age, no matter her age, this has neverchanged; it never will. Right now he doesn't feel like he's 64 – and shedoesn't look like she's 61, ever. When he's with Scully, he doesn't feel old. Helooks at her and sees his whole life.

"Are you allright?" Scully asks him, amusement swinging in her voice. He nods.

"Katie kicked myshin by accident. I will be fine."

"Oh, I was soworried for a moment." Scully says and walks over to him. She leans downto him and kisses his lips softly. "What was that talk all about?"Her voice is softer now, quiet. Katie is in the hall, talking to herself,mumbling about homework. Mulder loves listening to her, but Scully's gaze isinsistent.

"She asked me ifI was old. I tried to explain, but… you know." She nods, seems tounderstand.

"We knew thatmight be an issue one day."

"I thought oneday would be much later. Or never."

"You always wantto believe." He receives another smile, another soft kiss. "How didshe take it?" Before he can answer, Katie strolls back in. She's grinningfrom ear to ear and crawls into Mulder's lap.

"Mommy, guesswhat! Daddy is not too old to play baseball!" She exclaims in a bubblyvoice. Scully gives him a serene look; maybe he hasn't completely screwed this up.She smiles at her daughter, tries to tame a strand of stubborn hair by tuckingit behind her ear.

"That's the mostimportant thing, isn't it?" Mulder decides that it really is, in the end.  

[monikafilefan]

#32 for the drabble prompts

I’m fully admitting to cheating and using my very, very old fic I wrote not long after I started writing for this one because the line fit perfectly. I hope a little angst and lots of fluff okay with you. Not to mention, I was NEW to writing.

“I locked the keys in the car.”

Tagging @today-in-fic and @baronessblixen @kyouryokusenshi @cultureisdarkbeer for the fluff aspect.

——

The freshly fallen autumn leaves crunched under her black leather boots, breaking the silence as she slowed her pace. She knew her way almost without looking. The memories of past visits throughout the last twenty-four years here were ingrained in her mind. The guilt filled, emotional and sorrowful past occasions that brought Dana Scully to visit this place back then were very different now. This was a visit that would never be looked back on with pain attached. This a memory she won’t want to forget.

Scully hadn’t been back to visit this very spot since 2014, when she found herself here on her hands and knees sobbing. She was heartbroken and distraught with guilt and regret after walking out of her home she shared with the only man she will ever love. Leaving to save themselves from the darkness that was eating them both from the inside out, even if it was temporary, was completely devastating. An all consuming pain that she prayed never to feel again. She remembered wishing she could fast-forward time to know if she would return to the home they shared together, if they could let the light back in.

Never would she wish the pain of separating from your soulmate, your other half, on her worst enemy. Seeking comfort and praying that her thoughts would be heard in this quiet place is what she needed at the time. One of the only places she felt closest to the one person that, at a point in the past, had known her best.

Winding through the trees she let the warm gentle breeze blow through her hair while she fingered her gold cross that rested on her chest.

Now—now it was all different.

There was no more darkness to chase away in her life. Pain remained only in the few memories she pushed away for her sanity and his. Her life is amazingly full of happiness now. Even after the events that took place that night out on the cold pier, when they thought Jackson had died and couldn’t even stop it from happening. That was completely devastating. They had thought their son was dead for days after, even though he wasn’t. Yes, their son. Neither of them chose to really believe what Skinner had told her that night about Jackson’s conception.

To live the lie you had to believe it; and neither of them wanted to believe this time.

Soon Scully realized she could feel Jackson again, as soon as she pushed her sorrow down in order for the new life growing in her belly, to continue to grow. She tamped down her all too familiar pain of loss and agony she felt for her son to protect their unborn baby. While doing so, she had unintentionally invited him back into her mind. She felt his presence and life line like her own beating heart.

Another miracle.

Utter relief, incredible love, and unwavering joy are the only emotions she has felt since that day.

Seeing her usual spot where she had always sat, she came to a stop and lowered her body down in the grass and took a cleansing breath. Staring at the familiar words written along the stone, she began to talk about what was on her mind. Just like she always had.

But this time is now; and it’s far different from then.

“Oh Missy, I have so much to tell you. But you already know that don’t you? After all these years of witnessing the paranormal, I’m thinking that you really were clairvoyant.”

Closing her eyes, she thinks back to what Mulder had told her about the time that he and Melissa spent at her hospital bedside together. Her open-minded sister called her partner out on his negative energy and repressed feelings for her made her smile now. Melissa had tracked him down to his apartment to remind him, in her own way, that his best friend needed him by her side in order to come back to him.

She opened her eyes also remembering what Missy told her about Mulder and shook her head. Not so subtly, she told her that her then, platonic partner was bound to her in a cosmic way that could only be shared by mated souls destined to connect.

Smirking, she spoke, “You always were the wise one. The only person who would ever know how much of my emotions I kept to myself. If I did share them, I shared them with you. And so much has happened since I’ve visited last. But I do know Mom is there with you now, watching just as you have been all these years.”

A pang of longing struck her heart with the thought of her mother. For a brief moment she allowed herself to it imagine her mom’s wry smile lighting up her face, as if she were talking to her in person over a cup of coffee.

The thought doesn’t sadden her in a way that it might have back then. Now, she can accept the memories and treasure them.

Scully huffed out a laugh. “I know you’d laugh at me and tell me, ‘Dana you should know by now my spirit is not with my body.’” But you know me, having a tangible place to visit and talk to you brings me comfort when I really need you. And this time, I don’t need my sister to unload my burdens on. This time I want to tell you only good news in person. Today’s a special day.”

She reached out running her finger along each letter, spelling out the word, Melissa.

“You wouldn’t be surprised that Mulder and I are happy together. We’ve been back living in our home again for almost two years now, and of course I know you would have said, ‘I told you so’. And you shouldn’t be surprised that our son William, known as Jackson now, is out there doing remarkable things in this world, surviving. He’s a survivor.” Her last words came out as a whisper.

Looking down while picking a few weeds, a bigger smile graced her face. “I also know that you’d be so excited to find out that you’re an Aunt again. She’s absolutely perfect, Missy. She’s our miracle. And she reminds me so much of Mulder it’s, well… spooky. With the exception of the red Scully hair and fierce temper, of course. She shares that with you and I.

“Did you say spooky?” Scully jerked and swung her head around to look up at Mulder standing near the tree directly behind her.

“Mulder, you sneak! I see the beautiful birthday girl finally awoke from her nap.”

Scully smirked at Mulder bending down at an obscene angle for his daughters tiny hand to wrap around his finger. “Yes, and she woke up happy! The first thing she said was, Mama. So after I gave you some more time alone, we came over to join you.” He looked down with the biggest grin on his face at the little green-eyed, copper-haired one old-year-old with a pouty bottom lip, holding a single pink rose. “You want to put your flower by the big stone, sweetie?”

Mulder gently pulled her hand, watching her toddle over next to Scully where she ended up tossing the flower on the grass. She clapped her little hands together with a big open-mouthed smile showing off her two top teeth. Her tiny, little red pigtails shone in the sun and bounced up and down on the top of her head from her claps, making her parents laugh blissfully.

Scully watched Mulder step over and kneel next to her on the ground while placing a bouquet of pink and white flowers next to the single rose.

Reaching over, he covered her hand with his while pressing a long kiss to her forehead. She leaned back and locked eyes with him while whispering, “Thank you, Mulder. Thank you for it all.” The weight and meaning of it was not just for his presence now, but for his presence in her past and future.

She had cried tears of suffering for what her life had become the last time she spoke to her sister here, but now, tears of joy spilled down her cheeks instead. Mulder kissed her softly and soothingly wiped her tears away. They looked up to find their daughter toddling off after a butterfly in her long sleeved pink romper, showing off the little green alien head design on her bottom that said, “Daddy Believes In Me!”

Scully slowly stood up eyeing the tiny miracle in front of her and said in a sing-song voice, “Margaret Mulder, come on sweetie.”

Mulder gasped and patted his pockets while his panic face washed over him. “I think...”

“You did it again, didn’t you?”

He grimaced. “I locked the keys in the car. Yes, again. Sorry, let me just call—”

Shaking her head, she reached into her pocket and dangled her set in the air. “It’s fine, Mulder. I’ve learned to keep a spare on me.”

”You always keep me guessing.” Mulder smiled and walked up next to Scully, palming her with his hand on her lower back. “Ready to go home now?”

She slowly nodded her head and said, “Yes, now is perfect.”

Scully reached her left hand down and clutched onto Maggie’s small fingers as the sun shone down on the gleaming diamonds wreathed around her ring finger, sending colorful rays into the sky.

“Let’s go eat some of that birthday cake now, Mrs. Spooky.” Mulder winked at her while rubbing his spot on her back.

The three of them started to walk back to the the car when Scully stopped and turned slightly toward her sisters head stone. With a small smile she whispered, “Happy Birthday, Missy.”

——

[msrdrabbles-blog]

2.

A cute pregnancy fic for @mytouchstone

I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it’s what you wanted Very sappy at the end lol

————————————————————————

Mulder woke up on a Saturday morning just before 8 am. His eyes were still closed as the sun streamed in through the curtains of their bedroom, and he blindly reached out next to him searching for Scully. He opened his eyes when he felt the spot next to him empty and cold, the covers thrown back.

Pulling his black t shirt and gray sweats on, he glanced over at Scully’s nightstand; prenatal vitamins and books with titles like, “What to Expect When You’re Expecting Later in Life” and “Everything You Need to Know About Becoming a Mother After 40.” He knew she was nervous. Hell, he was nervous. Not only was he pushing 60, but he missed the first time almost in its entirety, however brief it may have been. Wiping his hands down his face, Mulder made his way into the bathroom.

His morning fog gone, Mulder made his way downstairs, the wooden stair creaking with the weight of his step. Reaching the bottom, he looked around but didn’t see Scully anywhere in sight. Walking farther into the living room, he noticed the Aztec blanket laying on the couch and a mug with a tea bag on the coffee table. An article that had been printed out was beside the cup of tea, the title reading, Giving Birth After 50: Miraculous or Morally Wrong?

Mulder sighed and looked up seeing his office door slightly opened. He listened and heard fast typing and then the printer. He walked in and pushed the door open the rest of the way. Scully sat at his desk, her eyes focused on the screen as they moved from left to right reading. She clicked and the printer started again.

“Morning, Scully,” Mulder greeted her

“Morning,” she replied quickly, not taking her eyes off the screen.

“How long have you been awake?”

She still didn’t look up at him. “Since six. Couldn’t sleep.” Her answers were clipped.

“Scully what’s going on? Are you alright?” Mulder asked, walking towards the desk so he could lean against it while she typed furiously to his right. He looked at the screen and found another article about the health risks to a fetus when the mother was over 45. When she didn’t answer him, but clicked again to print yet another article out, he squatted down and turned the chair Scully sat in so that she was facing him.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What’s going through your head?”

Her eyebrows pulled together and a crease of stress formed in the center. “Mulder, do you know how risky this pregnancy is? Not just for me, but for the baby? I mean I knew the risks, I’ve always known the risks, I mean who doesn’t? But I never thought that I would...that we would...I am fifty three years old, Mulder. I can’t-“

“Woah, slow down there Scully,” Mulder jumped in smiling. “Are you sure you’re not sneaking coffee in? Cause you are talking insanely fast right now. I don’t even think you took a breath between any sentences,” he teased her trying to lighten her anxious mood. He took her hands in his and gently squeezed in reassurance.

“Look,” he started, “I know you’re nervous about this. I am too. I have no idea how to take care of a baby. But I’ll figure it out, because I have you. And you’ll be okay, Scully. You’ve been to every doctor appointment, you take all of your vitamins like clock work, you’ve even been meditating for fucks sake,” he said chuckling at the last bit of her new routine. She smiled slightly at him, relaxing just a bit.

“Plus, the baby has a doctor for a mom. It doesn’t get much better than that,” he finished. She sighed and felt the tension in her shoulders disappear. She briefly closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders back before opening her eyes again to look down at a still crouching Mulder.

“Thanks Mulder,” she whispered, gazing right into his sparkling eyes. He might be nervous, but he was also excited. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the slight swell of her pregnant belly. Scully’s soft smile turned into a grin as she watched the sweetly intimate moment of a father already bonding with his unborn child; something she didn’t get to watch the first time.

Mulder stood up and went to the printer, gathering up the bulk of articles Scully frantically printed earlier. He threw them in the wired trash can next to the desk and held out his hand to her. “C’mon, Scully. Let’s go get dressed so we can find out if you’ve got a little girl or boy floatin around in there.”

***

On their way home from Scully’s appointment, they held hands the entire way back. Scully’s grin never faltering as they talked about plans for a nursery.

“Any thoughts on a name?” Scully asked.

Mulder waited a moment before responding. “I was thinking Margaret.” He said and glanced over for Scully’s thoughts.

She gazed at him with love and adoration, not expecting the answer he gave her. “I love it,” she whispered. She looked forward through the windshield again as they pulled up the familiar dirt path to their home. “Margaret Samantha Mulder,” she said.

[kyouryokusenshi]

Micaela Part 1/2

Ok ok, I’m finally getting to posting fics on Tumblr.

Post MSIV. Just a ton of fluff after Scully has the baby. And maybe a little surprise.

Tagging @today-in-fic

Many thanks to my BETA, WildwingSuz!!! :)

Mulder looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms. Their little miracle was fast asleep. She was already worn out from her big day as was her mother. He looked over to see that Scully was fast asleep. "You may not know it yet, but your mother is the most amazing person I know," he whispered as he thought back to how difficult and challenging Scully's pregnancy had been due to her age. He would never be able to thank her enough for making him a father to this tiny being. As if on cue, the baby's eyes slipped open and she mewled. "You are our little miracle," he whispered as he smoothed down the tuft of copper hair and lifted her to kiss her head. "We love you so much."

Mulder looked over to catch Scully gazing at them sleepily. He rewarded her with a wide smile and moved to hand the fussing baby to her. She sat up in the hospital bed as she received the baby. The hospital gown she was in was growing uncomfortable. Tiny arms waved about to indicate her dissatisfaction at being moved from her father's arms. "Hey there, baby girl," she whispered. The infant quieted instantly at the familiar sound of her mother's voice. Mulder and Scully had talked to the baby a lot while Scully was pregnant. She had explained that babies could make the distinction of their parents' voices fairly early while in utero.

"Have you decided on a name?" Mulder asked. Scully gazed down at their daughter who began rooting for the source of her food. Gently, she moved the baby's mouth towards her chest as she exposed one of her breasts and helped her latch on. It was another one of the many ways his partner was amazing. Not only because she was a doctor, but she had done this before. Even if it was many years ago.

"How about Micaela?” Scully asked. “My mom said if she’d had another daughter, she would have named her Michaela, because it means “God’s gift” and well, she is. Sometimes, I still wake up wondering if this is real.”

Mulder nodded. “It’s beautiful, just like her.”

“There are so many ways to spell it nowadays though,” Scully laughed.

“At least it isn’t Fox,” he smiled.

“I was thinking of Micaela, but without the “h”, that way people don’t confuse it with “Mitch”.”

“It’s perfect, Scully.”

Mulder smiled as she watched his daughter suckle hungrily at her mother's breast. He looked up at Scully. Her free hand was stroking the tiny arm that rested against her chest. "You told me you had wanted another child, and then told me in that church that you wanted another chance to start over and make things right. I lit that candle not because I believe in God, but because I believe in you. And then you told me a week later that I was a father," his voice broke. "But you know me, I want to believe, and I believe our daughter is a gift from God," he added with a teary chuckle. "I'd never thought I'd say this, but her existence makes me believe."

Tears welled in Scully's eyes as she looked back down at her daughter. She had beautiful eyes and only time would tell if she would have her or Mulder's eye coloring.

"I just wish my mom was here to see her. She had always wanted a granddaughter," her voice broke and the tears spilled over her cheeks. It was difficult holding back. Technically Emily was her granddaughter, but she died before Scully could be a mother to her.

"I know. She’d love her. She does. The dead aren’t lost to us,” he reminded her.

Scully imagined that her mother would say the baby was a gift from God. Especially since she was infertile and pregnant at fifty four. Her mother had told her about St. Rachel when she was much younger. A saint that was infertile and became pregnant late in life. The name of that motel they stayed in. She couldn’t believe she didn’t realize it sooner.

Mulder leaned down and kissed Scully’s forehead. He reached out and stroked the baby’s tiny cheek as she nursed.

Scully missed the close bond she had shared with her mother. The same bond she’d desperately wanted to have with Emily before she passed. It was the connection only a mother and daughter had. She hoped she would have that same bond with their daughter.

"I want to be able to give her everything that Mom gave us."

Mulder sat down on the bed next to Scully and their daughter. “We will. Age isn’t going to change how much we love her.” The baby had stopped suckling and Scully pulled the top part of her hospital gown back up as she moved to burp the baby with expertise.

"How about Micaela Margaret, after your mother?" Mulder suggested.

Scully pulled the baby back once she finished nursing and gazed down at her. "It's perfect. She's perfect."

"Just like you," Mulder smiled. "You still got it goin' on," he teased.

Scully narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm going to kill you if you say 'scoot in your boot' one more time, Mulder. That's what got us into this situation," she said knowing full well she'd do it all over again.

She’d had mixed feelings when she first found out she was pregnant so late in life, but she loved and wanted this child no matter how impossible it was. She knew Mulder did too.

The newly-named Micaela watched her parents as Mulder moved in to kiss her mother with a fierce passion. She mewled and tiny hands reached towards their faces.

Mulder pulled back a bit and they both stifled their laughter at their daughter's protests. That was when a nurse came into the room to check on Scully.

"I'll be right back, I need to use the boys’ room."

Scully nodded. "Okay, don't be long."

Scully looked down at her daughter, her eyes full of love. "I love you so much, I need you to know that." William had told her that he knew she loved him, although it was when he was disguised as Mulder. She still felt the need to make sure her child knew every day, even if she was never great at verbalizing her feelings. The baby cooed in response. When she first found out she was pregnant, Scully had no idea how she was going to do this again at fifty-four. She was in utter shock, yet she felt an immediate connection to the tiny being growing inside of her. Despite a difficult pregnancy, Scully yearned for this moment. "I'd do it all over again, just for you."

Micaela crooned in agreement.

Mulder returned in less than three minutes. "Hey,"

"That was fast," Scully said.

"Can't stay away from my girls long," he chuckled.

Scully's arms were growing tired. "Could you take her?" She needed to stretch desperately, as much as she didn't want to move her sleeping daughter.

Mulder gently took her into his arms and rocked her. "Hey there," he whispered. . The baby opened her eyes and mewled. It was a scene that melted Scully's heart.

He rocked the baby for a moment and then looked up suddenly as if he forgot something and handed the baby back to Scully, who looked at him curiously.

"I'm going to grab some coffee, I'll be right back.”

Scully nodded and smiled. "You better."

The baby started whimpering once Mulder left. "Hey sweetheart, it's okay. Daddy will be back soon, okay?"

As if on cue, Mulder walked back into the hospital room. Without the coffee.

"No coffee?" Scully asked curiously.

Mulder stopped and looked at her. "No, I'm good. Just had to use the restroom. Why?"

Scully's mouth opened slowly in startling realization.

Mulder grew worried. "What is it, Scully? Was I supposed to get you coffee? I'm sorry--"

Scully looked back at him in shock. "Mulder, he was here!"

"Who?"

"William... Jackson," she said as she gently rocked the baby.

Mulder gave her a puzzled look.

"He was here, Mulder. After you left... you came back and held our daughter and then said you had to go get coffee." She started to get up.

"No, Scully. You can't, he reminded her. Her recovery would take a while longer since she had a C-section.

Before she could protest, he ran into the hallway outside the hospital room and looked around. Even though part of him knew it was futile, he hurried down the corridors, much to the surprise of the staff.

He finally gave up after several minutes of looking.

In the distance, Jackson, while disguised as a nurse, watched as Mulder returned to join Dana in her hospital room. That had been very close. Mulder had nearly run into him, so he had to make the visit with his sister fast. She was beautiful and looked a lot like their mother, and he could see Mulder in her eyes and skin tone.

One thing was clear, they were dead set on finding him. Even now. He had wanted them to believe he was dead so that they could move on, but he still couldn't control all of the visions that he knew connected him with his mother. She knew he was alive.

He assumed that Mulder knew by now that Jackson, or William as they called him, wasn't biologically his child, but that didn't stop the man from chasing after him.

He knew they both loved him, but how much was hard for him to contemplate at times. No one else had cared that much, other than his adoptive parents, the Van De Kamps. They had already died because of him and he was determined that no harm would come to anyone else he loved.

The danger seemed to be over though, at least for now. The man that called himself his creator was dead.

Maybe he could go home to them someday.

END Part 1

[sapphicsongbirdblues]

Headcanon

Mulder and Scully’s baby is a girl and when she’s born Mulder asks “Do you want to name her Margaret, after your mother?” And Scully looks at him and says “I’ve already had a name picked out:

Samantha...”

And mulder smiles and his eyes start to tear up and they just hold each other and it’s pure

[txfsimstyle]

Vacancy Signs Pt. 6

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, & 5

@fictober

poses by @pn7k @la-sims-society @conceptdesign97sims @simsnema and @opheliasim

*Scenes of sim birth that include blood*

Thank you for your patience! 

Previously....

“I was able to get to Margaret Scully before her neighborhood was destroyed! She’s with us in the bunker.” Mulder can’t help but chuckle at the odd group but laid a hand on Skinner’s arm in thanks. “Well, I’ll go get Scully then.” 

They packed quickly as soon as Mulder tells Scully the news. Scully holds back tears. She doesn’t know why the tears were gathering; she's excited to see her mother and friends. Ever since she’d woken up cold, wet, and naked in Mulder’s arms she’d been confused and conflicted. She feels like her head is filled with cotton and she can’t comprehend how much time she missed.  As she packs her baby kicks lightly and she places a hand over the spot. It’s amazing to her that the baby survived their captivity. She wished for an ultrasound or any kind of modern medical equipment that could tell them their baby was healthy.  “You okay?” Mulder asks hovering behind her. Scully nods, “Yeah just adjusting.”  Mulder rubs her shoulders and kisses the top of her head.  He sees movement under the skin of her belly and covers her hands with his, “How much longer do you think?” Scully shrugs, “About a month.” She pauses for a moment and leans back against Mulder, “What are we going to do?”  He sucks in a breath, “Well we will be with your mother. She’s done this a few times and Skinner and the Gunmen aren’t completely useless. At least we won’t be alone.”  Scully nods in agreement but can’t shake her nerves. 

Somewhere right outside D.C 6;45pm

Scully knocks on the heavy door and looks around.  “The Gunmen own this place.” She asks.  “I don’t know about own but they have it. If I were to guess it’s not the only secret bunker they have hidden away.” He says with a grin. Scully sighs and shakes her head.

They hear a loud click and the red light above the door turned green and Scully pushed on the door.  It opened and led them into a dark hallway that eventually led to a landing. From there they could see a small group gathered and waiting for them.  Mulder leaves most of their bags on the landing and Scully moves down the stairs as quickly as she can.  Upon seeing her daughter Maggie Scully begins to cry.  “Dana!” She yelled.  Scully waddles down the stairs as quickly as she can and is in her mother’s arms. 

They hug for some time as Maggie tells her daughter about her escape to the Gunmen’s bunker. Mulder greets Maggie, each of the Gunmen, and Skinner in turn.

Everyone takes time to see how Scully is feeling and asks about the baby. For a few moments they are all able to forget the world outside.

The bunker is naturally well stocked and ready for anything. They show Mulder and Scully to the bedroom.  “Sorry there’s not a lot of privacy down here...” Frohike says nervously, “It’s just temporary, until we’re sure it’s safe. We’re hoping to move some stuff out of our makeshift living room so you guys have a space of your own.”  “Thank you, Melvin.” Scully says and squeezes his arm.  Frohike blushes and leaves them to get settled.  Scully stretches, enjoying the space of a real shelter rather than a tent and changes. The room is filled with cots with one section hidden by a couple dividers that Scully assumes is her mother’s space. She can’t imagine her mother living with the Lone Gunmen and Skinner and the thought gives her a bit of a laugh. She tries not to wonder about her brothers.  Mulder slides his arms around her and pulls her into a kiss. 

“Mulder...” Scully says checking in the direction of the door to make sure they are alone.  “I don’t know when we’ll be alone again Scully!” Mulder murmurs into her neck. Her belly keeps him mostly at bay and they both give a small laugh at the movement that starts within when he gets near her.

“She knows I’m close!” Mulder says excitedly. “Mulder we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl.” Scully glances down hat her belly in concern as she’s reminded of all the unknowns that are coming with this baby.

“Hey, I got a feeling about it.” Mulder kisses her cheek sweetly. “Mulder...” Scully holds his face between her hands, “I think we need to... prepare, for any kind of possibility. We don’t know what was done to me.”  Mulder looks away and she can tell he’s been thinking about the same thing.  Scully tilts her face in her direction and lightly kisses him. The baby kicks again and Mulder feels it on his stomach.

“I know that there’s a possibility that the baby won’t be healthy but she’s pretty active. That’s good news right?”  Scully nods and holds him as tight as her stomach between them will allow. 

Their first weeks are spent clearing out the sitting room to make it a safe delivery room. Most days Skinner and Mulder make supply runs while Maggie and the Gunmen fuss over Scully. She is so happy that they are alive that she lets them.  The contractions start three weeks after they move in Scully can’t help the feeling of panic that sets in. She has been avoiding the reality of giving birth but now it’s real.  The pain wakes her up from a nap and she struggles through it on her own before going to find Mulder. 

For his part, Mulder tries not to panic himself when she tells him it’s started. 

Mulder helps her to change into something more comfortable and stays with her through another contraction before going to find Maggie. 

For eight hours Scully struggles through the contractions with the help of Mulder and her mother. The Gunmen and Skinner all keep a wide berth and wait patiently for news.  When the time finally comes Scully wants to stand. 

Scully’s knees begin to give out right as Maggie calls that she can see the head. Though pregnant, Scully is still small and Mulder holds on to her tightly.  As soon as she hears the baby’s cry Scully sags against Mulder.  “It’s a girl!” Maggie cries.  Mulder gently lowers himself and Scully to the sheet on the ground.  “Let me see her...” Scully insists weakly.  Maggie waits until Scully is settled between Mulder’s legs to hand the baby over.  Scully frantically checks the baby over. The screaming infant doesn’t seem to notice her mother’s tears when she finds that her baby is perfectly fine.  Mulder kisses Scully’s head and helps her cradle the baby’s head. ”Have you thought more about a name?” Mulder asks quietly while Maggie cuts the cord and wraps up the baby.  Maggie is beaming at the child, eyes full of unshed tears. The whole scene causes a lump to form in Scully’s throat. They haven’t talked much about names. She’d thought of it of course and knows right away what name she wants. “I like the name, Audrey.” Scully murmurs as her mother hands over the whimpering bundle. “Audrey meaning strong.” Mulder answers and gazes at the baby. Scully nods and looks up at her mother. Maggie nods, “That’s beautiful Dana.” “Hey Audrey, welcome to the world,” Scully says and kisses her baby.