#xfiles s8

[randomfoggytiger]

Mulder's Alien Baby Baby Trauma In-Depth (Part IX): An Episode of Mad About You

It's hard to know how soon after Three Words this episode takes place, much less speculate what happened in-between.

The X-Files' timeline has always moved at an incredibly rapid, incredibly unreasonable pace; so we can assume less than a week (if not a day or two) has transpired since Mulder and TLG's break into the DOD. He and Scully must have had a conversation of some sort sometime afterwards (though that conversation might have taken different routes depending on the viewer's discernment, discussed at length here) based purely on their body language during the opening scenes and ensuing events.

Speculation aside, Empedocles is the first time Mulder draws direct lines between himself and the baby (despite the fact he already knew Scully's baby was his, post here.)

Let's go~!

THE MULDER MATING RITUAL

Knock knock, someone’s at the door. 

Scully appears from the right side of her kitchen, walking as fast as she can to the peephole. Not fast enough, apparently, because her visitor knocks, loudly, three more times. (Impatience, thy name is Mulder. At least that hasn’t changed, in spite of your absence and personal crisis.)

 Scully peeks through-- always cautious-- and is surprised to see who's there: her skeptical face reappears quite naturally at this latest, unexpected antic (or in expectation of a new, unexpected antic.) 

She opens the door to a casually relaxed Mulder, who quickly leans against the door frame right as Scully comes into view.

Mulder is here with aplomb, with a theatrical little plan that he intends to act out: the Mulder Mating Ritual, wherein he brings a trinket to the nest then dances around both of their feelings in an attempt to communicate without communicating.

It’s a sign that nature is healing-- more accurately, that Mulder is; and that he wants to reclaim his old life with Scully.

“Mulder…” Scully whines, adorably plaintive as she winds up an excuse not to go off on his latest goose chase. She also isn’t outright saying she can’t go, a sure Scully sign that she can be persuaded. 

Mulder senses that Scully is game-- or willing to be wheedled into one-- and commits fully to the Mulder Mating Ritual (as it shall now be called.) Whipping his head from its side-pivot (where he had indirectly assessed her mood and possible rejection), his eyes snap to hers, comedically wide and oozing with faux innocence. 

“What?” he asks, reeling her in. 

The interaction shows that something has been ironed out between them, whether in full or half-detail, between the conclusion of Three Words and opening of Empedocles. While we’ll never know exactly what was said, something had to have been based on the ease with which they speak to each other (closer to their Season 7 interactions, for example, than any season before it) and their body language throughout this scene.  

Scully-- who is not a fool and knows Mulder code down to a miniscule blink-- looks at him with an equal mix of resignation (for her peaceful pizza and shower moment) and blooming hope (for his return to buoyant Mulder Play.) Still, she tries to mitigate some of the impending disruption to her anticipated ritual, hiding a full smile while tumbling out a perfectly legitimate excuse to not go wandering (read: waddling) off somewhere. 

“I was just about to jump in the shower but I was waiting for the pizza man.” 

Immediately, Mulder sees an opportunity to tease and seizes upon it. 

“You got something going on with the pizza man that I should know about?” he responds, squinting in mock jealousy: a picture of the scorned husband who returned from his travels, bearing gifts and love, only to find his female consorting (and creating babies) with another. A copy of the bantery one he gave in Three Words.

This is incredibly important: Mulder is playing the role of jealous husband because he is secure in Scully’s loyalty, but even more importantly because he is secure in the baby’s paternity. As much as his partner knows him, he knows his partner: that Scully hasn’t betrayed or replaced him (discussed at length in-depth in this, this, this, this, this, and this post.) 

Scully is highly amused-- and charmed-- at this display of put-upon machismo. 

She digests his comeback a second before asking, “The pizza man?”, dipping her head incredulously at the stretches Mulder has always been able to reach. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Mulder continues, full steam ahead, “but you just said you were waiting for the pizza man to jump in the shower.”

He hides the sparkle in his eye with an slightly angry, slightly aghast expression, maintaining it while Scully jumps in with a “No--” 

“--what I mean was, the pizza man is usually late, and so…”

Scully trails off, intuiting that the angle her partner is playing is one of dense relentlessness: no matter how she tries to talk herself out of word traps, Mulder will find another angle and “aha!” his way to the top. Her intuition is confirmed as she examines his face, his second (mock-indignant) squint, and the sparkle in his eyes while he waits for her to verbally trip up. 

All excellent signs: he isn't treating her-- and their relationship-- like glass, instead reverting back to his annoying, endearing ways. 

Giving up, she cuts to the chase-- “Do you want to come in?”-- preferring that to outthinking Mulder’s next mental twister. Some games, she figures, are best fought on a full stomach.

Mulder, true to form, keeps up the mock squint and "Thank you" until he's certain he won that round. Like she suspected.  

As they both turn in, Mulder does a side-shimmy to hide his present while Scully huffs off, indulgently, to the bathroom (it looks like) to turn off the water-- a sure sign she knows her partner will stay a while. 

“I feel like I’m stuck in an episode of Mad About You,” she remarks, poking at this weird style of miscommunication more in-line with an everyday couples' squabbles and misunderstandings than their own particular partnership. In essence, calling Mulder out. 

Not to be outdone-- even while juggling a present and mentally running through places to hide it--  he stalls, “Well, uh, yeah--,” closes the door “--but small technicality--” spots the couch, locks the door, and stuffs the gift behind a pillow “--Mad About You is about a married couple, and we just work together.”

In any other set of circumstances, this would have been an accusation; but here, perversely, it’s a healthy sign of their relationship: Mulder wins an argument because neither of them are married, despite her pregnancy; and Scully grumbles over her defeat instead of his remark, knowing there was no ulterior motive behind his words. A mutual back-and-forth.

“Yeah, well, you know what I’m talking about,” she brushes aside, not wanting to dwell on Mulder's victory. And also bringing up, obliquely, a more domestic-focused conversation-- one that features a certain mad-for-each-other couple now on much better terms.)   

“I do, I do. What I’m, what I’m trying to say is, that, uh,” Mulder says, shifting his weight before putting his hands in his pockets and carefully reordering his thoughts.

His actions reveal Mulder isn’t here just to play around and leave-- he’s put careful thought and planning into this visit, finding a present for the baby (his baby) at his mother's and teasing his way into Scully’s apartment to open (in some manner of form) a more serious (perhaps permanent) conversation between them. 

Mulder’s silent for a few seconds, weighing how he wants to continue their interaction; but ultimately slips back to the comfortable familiarity of banter (although he will segue into more personal gestures: pointing at Scully’s belly, directing her to the gift with his eyes, misconstruing her “package” remarks because of his internal focus, leading them both to a touching exchange over his beautifully wrapped offering, etc.)

“We have no good reliable information on this man--”

Scully re-enters, eating out of his hand until Mulder's tired old trust no one schtick kills her enthralled curiosity. She majestically raises her head in judgment, the very picture of one bored and above-it-all, then tilts it and dons her work eyebrow (the one that tells Mulder she’s trying to figure out if he’s serious or not.)   

Sensing this shift (not a dangerous one, just one further away from his intended goal), Mulder swiftly re-centers the conversation away from conspiracy and back to jealousy. 

Comically raising his eyebrows and jovially pointing at the baby, he continues “--that the pizza man--” then abruptly stops, expression turning gentle as he watches the bump approach.  

“--is not above suspicion,” Mulder softly finishes, eyes still glued to his baby. 

Scully stares down at her bump in turn, unsure what Mulder means.

It would seem by her body language this is the first direct, personal reference he has made to the baby; and she carefully puzzles over his layered meaning before taking it in the spirit he meant it: personal. 

She sighs-- a little embarrassed, a lot relieved. Shyly keeping her head down, she whispers, “I see”; and, again, in any other circumstance, that could have been a dejected or lost or nervous response to a husband’s paternity concerns. Here, however, it’s another sign of health: that she understands Mulder is no longer avoiding the baby-- including it in his Mad About You scenario-- and that she is readjusting herself in this sudden onslaught of information. 

When she’s ready-- two or three seconds later-- Scully looks up with a knowing smile: she caught his meaning, got it, and is letting Mulder know she understood.   

And Mulder, delighted, turns the conversation to her prize, motioning his eyes back and forth from Scully to the couch. (He’s always loved giving gift-loving Scully surprises, after all.) 

She doesn’t understand at first, moving her head in janky segments until she catches sight of the wrapping paper. 

“Is that for me?” 

“Yeah,” Mulder replies, nodding and smirking over her suppressed, though obvious, delight. 

“Nice package,” Scully comments; and misses her partner’s flustered but touched “Thank you” as she bends to retrieve her bounty. “What’s the occasion?”

“Oh!” Mulder responds, catching the actual drift of her conversation. 

As a side note: her comment doesn’t seem to have been deliberately made to mess with Mulder: usually, Scully will fully face her partner when teasing him, wanting to see his face register and react to her comment. Here, however, she doesn’t. Further, she is so zeroed-in on the gift that she talks right over his thank you. So, the moment’s comedy seems to stem from karma getting Mulder for his morning games rather than Scully intentionally tripping him up. 

Voice quieting as he transitions to a more serious topic, Mulder explains, “I was going through some stuff, after my mother died, and, um….” 

He stops to bite his lip, and Scully looks down, respectfully giving him the space he needs; but, recovering quickly, he continues, and Scully reestablishes eye contact. 

“...it’s just an old family keepsake; and I wanted you to have it.” Mulder keeps his eyes down-- another sign that he’s serious about this-- and swallows before gazing at Scully again: nervous, obliquely giving away his own intentions. 

Scully catches, gets, and lets him know, again, that she’s caught, got, and understood his motives: “Well, I’m touched.” 

There’s a knock at the door, and Mulder lunges for a lifeline away from his vulnerability: “Little Caesar, I presume?” with another jealous deadpan, yet again. 

Her amusement is tempered: Mulder may want to escape his declaration, but it stays with her, giving her peace. He’s doing his best, given the circumstances; and, though Mulder hasn’t outright laid claims to the baby, they both know he’d considered it his. Moreover, Scully’s happy that not only does he consider it his, but he’s also taking steps to become more involved. He just needs time; and she’s had more than enough to process his abduction, his death, and his resurrection. Giving him some in exchange seems small-- and, really, when has it ever been too large a thing between them? 

Scully waits for him to turn away before smiling to herself: radiant, hopeful, content. 

Mulder, never one to to curb his actions or reactions in front of others, isn’t going to stop now, involving the pizza man in his shenanigans. 

And any sense of shame or embarrassment Scully might have felt being part of these shenanigans is long gone. However, he will not tie her to the mast of his behavior and take her down with him. “Hi. Just, uh, give it to the man with the funny look on his face,” she instructs, sitting down with her gift on her lap. 

An important side note: Scully, it seems, expects Mulder to bring the pizza to her while she opens her gift (which is proven correct by the end of Empedocles)-- a set-up-and-follow-through.  

Pizza boy is unfazed by their interactions. “Yeah, that’s $29.08.”

Cheapskate Mulder is snapped out of his playacting by the stunning reality of pizza over $10. “‘$29.08’? What’d she get on it, a tank of gas?” 

CONCLUSION

And that’s the last bit of fun they have before the next crisis. 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[anders-hawke]

Dana Scully + 🤰

[nemocat-el]

2. Doggett

Color wheel

[booomerangarrow]

TXF S8 is so much more unhinged than I remember it being?? Like despite the fact that they supposedly wrapped up the original mytharc in S6 and have barely referenced it since, suddenly they start resurrecting semi-familiar concepts and visuals... except that now it's different aliens and different super soldiers and also we hired Robert Patrick so obviously they have metal exoskeletons now. And the RETCONNING!! What should have been huge plot points - Mulder dying of a terminal brain disease, he and Scully ACTIVELY TRYING TO HAVE A CHILD TOGETHER - we are told happened at least a season ago via flashbacks. But it's OK because none of that actually impacts the current plot anyway - the brain disease gets cured via one sentence and never spoken of again. The failed IVF attempt leaves the audience with the same questions that we would have already had about the pregnancy given Scully's history, but then the show goes absurdly, hilariously out of its way to never discuss ANY of them until we're right smack dab in the middle of a weird-ass alien Christ child allegory. But just kidding because it was a normal human kid after all. (But also the details of all of this will continue to change multiple times over the next 15 years).

[amplifyme]

Not to bitch about it too awfully much, but I was tuned into the Comet TV channel tonight and caught the beginning of Within. And it dawned on me that TXF became a soap opera the moment Chris Carter decided that Scully needed her own theme song.

I won’t be taking questions at this time. Thank you.

[4749-82]

..

[subway-dove]

watching xfiles s8 and.. man. i love dana "spooky" scully. something something forever changed. eight years in that little basement office. taking up the mantle. never stops being herself, but the strangeness hangs around her like a cloak

[tenderhaunted]

im on s8 of xfiles n i miss david duchovny so much..

[ghostpunkrock]

it’s such a shame how completely boring xfiles s8 when scully is still so beautiful

[mulderscully]

about that best xfiles poll - isn't it so funny no one (so far) has voted for s8/9?

listen i'm a proud s8 apologist bc i love temporary death trope but no way in hell would i choose it as my favorite 😂😭

[randomfoggytiger]

Mitch Pileggi, Nic Lea, and Kim Manners Were Happy about Krycek's Death Scene

On a merry drive down Season 8 Interview Lane (boy, does that trip deserve a dedicated post all its own), I came across this:

According to director Kim Manners, the most difficult scene to shoot was in the elevator with Mitch Pileggi and Nicholas Lea. Conversely, Manners' favorite scene was the one in which Skinner kills Krycek. Manners himself proposed the uniqueness of the shot, which features a CGI bullet going straight through Krycek's head. Extra money was budgeted for Krycek's death.[6] Mitch Pileggi was very happy when he was told he would be killing Krycek; he explained, "when they came to me and told me that I was the one that was going to kill Krycek, I was elated. Not because I wanted Nick to go away or anything, it was just from a character stand-point; Skinner just wanted to kill Krycek so bad."[6] Manners later called it one of his "favorite scenes [he'd] ever directed" and one of the "best scenes [he's] seen in a long time on television."[3]

Reportedly, Lea had become tired of the role and was growing weary of the ambiguous nature of the character. When Lea learned that his character was to be killed off in "Existence", he reportedly welcomed the news. The night the episode aired, Lea wrote on his personal website: "I felt that [Krycek] wasn't getting a fair shake anyway. [...] I wanted more in-depth ideas about the character and it never came to pass. It kind of stopped being fun to play."[4]

-Existence, Wikipedia

[anders-hawke]

Dana Scully in “Medusa”

[vagueforms]

Got tagged by @killdear4 !! Thanks for the tag

Rules: tag 10 people you want to know better

relationship status: single

favorite color: dark green or black

song stuck in my head: leather daddy by microwave

last song I listened to: scaring me by cleopatrick

three favorite foods: poke, mangoes, lemon rice soup

last thing I googled: xfiles s8 e1

dream trip: idk maybe like Italy or something

anything I want rn: decent coffee

I’m not tagging 10 ppl lol but @zigmentality @cliffburton @unmarrow if you guys want to

[ruscha]

the thing abt xfiles season 7 is the plot is so meanderingly bad, so unfocused and desperately grasping at any relevant remaining threads, and of the only 2 genuinely interesting things that happen— mulder’s abduction & scully’s pregnancy announcement— one of those was pretty much out of the showrunners’ control and the other was probably written in to help fill duchovny’s absence. so by virtue of this season being so devoid of even a passable xfiles plot, i can already tell s8 has a chance of feeling better by comparison and that’s crazy

[ms31x129]

Little Boy Blue

Summary:            

“Son, you look like you’re going through some hard times. And every once in a while you gotta accept a little help.”

XFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXFXF

It was almost time. He could feel it.

He walks to the end of the room and pulls back the ugly brown drape.

Yes, it would be soon.

He knows it, can almost physically sense it, the same way he can feel the cold that is creeping through the edges of the window pane. Frost clings thick to the glass like tiny snow drifts in the corners. Absently he uses his fingernail to carve a heart into the icy landscape.

He remembers once doing the same thing to the soft skin of her back. She’d giggled as he’d traced ‘I Love You’ with a feather-like touch.

His eyes darken when he remembers finding the trace of red the laser had missed.

And just like that he recalls the city he’s lost the most in. His nails dig in, scratching out the ice-etched heart.

He should have known better than to seek refuge in that wretched city of all places.

He left in May and now in December, when most people are celebrating the holidays with family and friends, he’s just getting through each day.

He’s traveled across the country hundreds of times; usually she was by his side. She wasn’t always happy about it, but she was there.

But he’s tired of moving, of running. Tired of being without contact.

When he left, he’d thought maybe he could teach. Access to whatever false ID and credentials he would need was easily remedied. He’d moved every 3 days from May to July. By then his funds had dwindled and needed to be replenished somehow.

* * * * *

A small town with a community college in Arizona needed a Mythology instructor; Professor Kent Searcher accepted. He gathered the text books he needed, read them cover to cover and had his class syllabus prepared in three days. He found it ironic that he was looking forward to using some of the knowledge he’d worked a lifetime to achieve in this capacity.

Surprisingly, he was content teaching the students–some of them so willing to believe–who didn’t need solid scientific evidence.

The students sensed it the moment their professor’s mood changed, his animated speech breaking off in mid-sentence.

He cleared his throat and bowed his head, asking them to please study quietly until the end of class. He removed his glasses and sat, thumbs digging into the corners of his eyes.

The motion hadn’t been casual enough that they’d missed his reddened eyes and several wayward tears.

He got word the last week in September. They were coming.

He’d left with 8 bags in May. By October, when Mark Hunter took a job coaching High School Basketball, there were only 4. Two of those remained in the trunk of the car.

Six weeks later he accepted a dinner invitation from the 8th grade English teacher. He was lonely and longed for some one on one adult conversation.

She was attractive, though her beauty paled in comparison to the one he still loved. The one he still dreamed about every night he closed his eyes.

He arrived at 7. She smiled and ushered him into the living room. He made himself comfortable on the couch while she excused herself for a moment. He was shocked when she returned and placed a baby into his arms, “Could you hold him while I check the oven?” He nodded dumbly.

How could he forget she’d told him about her 6 month old son?

She returned to find him openly weeping, even as her son slept on, oblivious. He stood, handed her the baby and left.

* * * * *

Finally a bright spot on the horizon. He was needed.

At home. He was going home.

Danger.

A mad dash.

He was chased between boxcars and engines.

A missed chance.

A petite figure stood on the platform, watching the train with him depart.

He ran to his car, eyes burning, tears clouding his vision. He was somewhere in Ohio when exhaustion overcame him and he drove the car into a ditch.

* * * * *

He was found unconscious and taken to the local clinic.

The mechanic who towed the car offered him a job in exchange for the repairs necessary to get his vehicle back on the road. Mr. Guthrie didn’t even mind that he didn’t have any automotive experience short of putting the key in the ignition. He just said, “Son, you look like you’re going through some hard times. And every once in a while you gotta accept a little help.”

He became a wiz at tire rotation, fixing flats and oil changes. He heard the explosion as he was walking to the garage one day. Guthrie’s Repair Shop was a ball of flames; black smoke clouds floated up from the building. He ran back to the bed and breakfast, threw as much as he could into one bag and left town in the truck Mr. Guthrie had loaned him.

He’d abandoned the truck 2 hours later.

He didn’t know if the man who’d taken a complete stranger under his wing was alive or dead as he boarded a bus headed east.

Just one more thing to weigh heavily on his mind.

As the bus ate the highway miles, he fell into a fitful sleep, realizing; each time They found him was sooner than the last.

* * * * *

Donovan Seeker left the grocery store where he worked as a stock boy… man, went to his dingy efficiency apartment and changed into his jogging gear.

Even the snow of mid-December didn’t slow his pace. His normal route took him within 5 blocks of the Liberty Bell, but this night he travelled a new path.

He ran until he spotted the shop. He turned 180 degrees, saw the bar across the street and made his way in.

Dirty, dark and smoky.

A place for adulterers, drug dealers, prostitutes… and whores. Low-life, scum.

The kind of place she shouldn’t have been in… but had.

Anger lashed through him. He turned, slammed the door open.

Run, run, run. Legs pumping. Heart pounding.

What should have been ancient history wasn’t. It just wasn’t.

He made it back to the apartment, unlocked and opened the door with a forceful bang against the wall. He stripped quickly, climbed into the shower.

Hot, hot water. Scrub, scrub. Harder. Faster. He tried to get rid of the images, the anger.

Finally he shut the water off. Dried off, calmer than before. A car door slammed, he made his way to the window.

They were coming.

He grabbed his jacket, his wallet. Reached into the pocket quickly and felt the softness of his one memento. He heard them coming down the hall. Out of time, he opened the window and crawled out onto the fire escape. The old window slammed, catching his jacket sleeve.

They kicked the door in, searched the room. A leather jacket was hanging from the window. They looked down and saw him disappearing around the corner.

They smiled, knowing they would succeed soon.

* * * * *

He’s left his frosty window.

Reclining on the bed he lets his insecurities and anger reign.

Why is he the one running? Why aren’t they together?

Instead he’s the one alone. He’s the one unemployed and surprised at being depressed over getting laid off from a janitor’s job.

At least she still has….

While he has nothing, nothing at all.

Maybe she’s moved on, has another man, another lover. Someone to help raise their son.

Their son. HIS son. A son he should be able to see dressed in a little Santa outfit tonight, Christmas Eve. And then after he’s asleep, the naughty elf could come out and play. He could urge mommy to get naked and on her hands and knees in front of the Christmas tree, while they play 'drive the sleigh’.

Maybe it’s Doggett. He’d sure managed to fill in nicely in the work place. Maybe he’s warming the sheets too.

He knows it isn’t him, and hasn’t been since before William. So few times really; when was William conceived? He hopes it was after they’d shared a beer and movie date together. A happy, comfortable moment in their lives. He hates thinking she was already pregnant and feeding liquor to the tiny person growing inside of her.

He remembers the day he left with such clarity.

* * * * *

William was unusually alert and fussy for a newborn. Could he sense he might never see his father again? Scully started crying and he’d taken the baby into the bedroom, stretching out on the bed with him. Still shirtless after his shower, he held his son against his skin. His large hands held his precious package with tenderness and awe.

He began to sing, softly, his voice full of emotion.

Scully came into the room just in time to hear him choke out, 'he learned to walk while I was away’. She stifled a sob and left them alone.

William quieted, listening intently to his father’s voice singing a heartfelt rendition of 'Cat’s in the Cradle’, he’d finally dropped off to sleep.

After placing William safe and sound in his cradle. Mulder finished dressing and went into the living room.  Scully sat on the couch, quiet, subdued. They avoided looking at each other. He picked up his bags and was almost out the door before Scully was in his arms. She wanted to make love, she didn’t care that she’d just given birth. Kissing her lips and brushing her tears away with his thumbs, he gently declined.

Two hours later, on the road to nowhere, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the only thing he had of William’s. He brought it to his nose and inhaled the sweet baby smell, felt the soft yarn tickling his skin. Swearing to himself to never, never lose it.

* * * * *

But he did.

In fucking Philadelphia.

He lost the only physical connection he had to his son. Such an insignificant thing really, just the warming cap he’d worn during his short hospital stay, but it’d meant everything to him to have something that had actually touched his son.

There hadn’t been time for pictures.

He goes to the window again, sees his reflection and the tears streaming down his face. He has nothing to remember his son by, while she has it all.

He wonders how long it takes for love to turn to hate. He wonders how much longer it will be for him….

And if he’ll run the next time They come for him.

The end…

                                 Notes:  

I wrote this years ago. Started it just after the S8 premiere and finished it just after Trust No 1 aired. It’s on Gossamer, but I’m going to update it a tad along with my other fic and migrate the updates here. So below you’ll find original notes.

1. I miss the X Files. 2. I miss Mulder’s passion and wonder. 3. This is dedicated to Jemirah, she makes my wild ramblings not so-well-rambling. *g* Thank you.

[scullysexual]

s8 post-existence fic; morning don't come

[@today-in-fic]

When she wakes, William is gone. As is Mulder, the space beside her cold and empty to the touch. She’s out of bed before she can think, ignoring the protests from her body, her gun cocked and ready between her hands.

Panic grips her, a heavy weight pulsating through her chest, dropping down into her stomach over and over again. Like tailing a suspect, time slows down, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. She listens to the tell-tale signs of feet shuffling across the flooring, peeps through the gap to catch sight of any movement in the shadows. She hears nothing.

Nothing but the faint sound of whispering, Mulder’s voice low and soothing.

Scully relaxes, panic abating. She places the gun on the dresser and pushes the bedroom door open, Mulder’s voice becoming audible.

“…Can you do that for me, Buddy?” he’s asking. “Will you take care of her while I’m gone?”

Gone? Scully freezes. The only place he is going is with them, why did it sound like he was saying otherwise?

Mulder sits on the couch, a blanket wrapped around him for warmth, knees drawn up towards his chest. Scully notes there’s a black shadow that sits between his thighs and chest.

“William,” he mutters, sounding out his name once more. “William, William, William.” His finger strokes the baby’s cheek. “Mine,” he says in awe. “You’re mine.”

Warmth runs through Scully, ridding her completely of any prior panic or worry she had felt before. William was gone from his crib but she needn’t have worried, he was safe here with Mulder.

She must have made a sound for William startles, a brief moan falling from his mouth, and Mulder’s head darts up. Their eyes connect across the room and Scully smiles apologetically for disturbing their moment.

“Come here,” says Mulder gently, a moment later and without a seconds thought she is going over to them.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he says when she sits.

Scully shakes her head, not quite sure what it was that actually woke her. Maybe it was just the absent presence of William in the room.

“Neither of us could sleep so I thought…” He shrugs, looking down at William.

However startled he might have been, he got over it quickly. His eyes shut, mouth slightly open, tiny specs of saliva falling from his mouth. Scully smiles at the sight.

“What were you saying to him before?”

She keeps her gaze on William, remembering what she had heard, knowing she had missed the beginning. Will you take care of her while I’m gone? She didn’t like what it implied.

“I, um…” She hears his stutters and her stomach clenches even more. Whatever he has to say, it isn’t good, like she suspected.

His hand touches her cheek, fingers soothing across the skin like he did earlier with William. The action makes her look up, imploring him.

“I don’t think it’s fair to drag William or you around the country with me,” he says. The air grows stale, his touch on her skin cold. What was he saying?

“He- you both- deserve be surrounded by family. I don’t have family anymore, it’ll be easier for me to disappear.”

Scully shakes her head, not wanting to hear it. “We’re your family, Mulder,” she states, looking down at William then back at him.

He smiles, reaching to grasp her hand. “Yes you are,” he agrees. She can still hear the awe laced in his voice. “And that’s why I’m telling you this. If anything where to happen to you or to Will while we were on the run, I couldn’t live with that, Dana, I couldn’t live with myself.” She can hear what he’s saying but she doesn’t want to believe it. She tries to feel angry over the decision instead, letting it build in her chest, preparing herself to lash out at him.

“I know you see reason Scully,” he’s saying and she shuts her eyes against his words because Yes! Yes, she does see reason. “Don’t let your hurt get in the way of that.”

Her fists clench as she turns away, feeling the tears start to well. Mulder reaches for her hand once more.

“I don’t want our last night to be spent with you hating me, Scully.”

She lets out a breath, her eyes reopening and looks down to William soundly asleep, unaware of the turmoil around him.

“This is why you couldn’t sleep?” she asks.

He nods. “Partly.” At her questioning look he explains. “I don’t want morning to come.”

It dawns on her then. He doesn’t want to leave and why would he want to? If they lived any other life, lived as any other people, this situation wouldn’t have presented itself. They could stay here, a happy family, safe in their home.

But they weren’t safe in their home. Mulder wasn’t safe in this home. His being here now was dangerous, to himself and to them. A man wandering alone was much more conspicuous than a man, a woman, and a baby. Mulder going alone would protect him and them.

If something were to happen to you or Will, I couldn’t live with that, I couldn’t live with myself.

He didn’t want to leave, but necessity forced him too, she knew that now.

Scully stands, wiping at her nose and eyes and reaching her arms out towards the bundle Mulder holds.

“I’m going to put him back to bed,” she says and Mulder nods, passing William to her.

He’s stretched out when she returns, his stare glued on the light from outside the windows. Dawn. Morning was near.

Scully climbs onto the couch, slides herself along his body, head coming to rest on his shoulder. His arms wrap around her, face falling into the top of her head. He’s warm, a furnace constantly turned on, and Scully finds herself succumbing to sleep but like Mulder, she too doesn’t want morning to come.

“When will I see you again?” she whispers into his shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” he replies honestly. “But I’ll try to keep in contact when I can, when it’s safe.” His hand absentmindedly trails up and down her arm and Scully struggles to keep the sleep away. “I won’t forget you, Dana.”

She snuggles into him, eyes closed, breathing in his scent. She won’t forget him, either.

“I’ll try to send you pictures of William growing up, I’ll tell him about you.” She won’t let William forget who Mulder is.

He presses a kiss to her temple, whispers, “Thank you.”

Mulder lets out a deep breath, and sleep is tickling her feet by this point, she’s ready to slip under.

“You should sleep Scully,” he says. “You need it.”

He wasn’t wrong, a harrowing birth such a William’s, her body needed to restore itself. Besides, she’ll be woken up in a few hours by an angry, hungry baby. Yet, there was one more thing she needed to tell him.

“Mulder.”

“Yes?”

“Please be here when I wake up.” There’s a small hesitation but he squeezes her in his arms.

“I will be,” he promises.

Finally, she lets sleep pull her under, warm and content in Mulder's arms.