Chapter Text
The little tyke was turning four now and had a birthday wishlist twice as long as she was tall. At the very top of said list was a fancy dress party, which Lily had thoughtfully picked out all the costumes for.
Mulder sat on the couch, rubbing his brow: the late evening and lack of sleep getting to him. "Did you tell her to write this?"
"What's that?"
"This birthday wish list thing."
Scully walked into the living room, wrapping her robe around her and retrying the knot tighter. The soft glow of the standing lamp made the silk of gown shimmer like a river under moonlight. Her hair, a shade of strawberry-blonde in twilight years, flowed over her shoulders, ending in little tousled kinks. A glance over his shoulder told him this. Mulder couldn't help being caught in rapture because, even in so simple a moment, she was a work of art, the beauty of which no Renaissance painter could ever hope to capture.
"Oh," she said in recognition. "I thought it would be a good idea to understand what she wants now that she is old enough. You know, a bit like Christmas lists."
She stopped behind the couch, resting her hands on his shoulders and her chin on his head, gazing over him as he had done on numerous occasions; their height difference always a great source of amusement- to him. Mulder sighed and put the paper down, rubbing the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.
"It's... Very long... And detailed."
She hummed. "Well, we can't say she doesn't know her own mind."
He looked up at her, trying to discern Scully's perspective on the limitations of a three-year-old's imagination. However he couldn't really gauge her expression, instead met with the underside of her pretty nose.
"Are you seriously considering all of this? Aren't we spoiling her?"
Scully straightened up, considering his concern. She nodded slowly, answering, "As the strict parent in this partnership–" she ruffled his hair, pecked his cheek and then looked at him dead in the eye– "I am definitely saying we shouldn't get her everything."
He laughed. "Scully, if there is one thing you are not, it is a strict parent. I have seen the way you dote on her."
She feigned offence with a frown, pushing at his shoulder with disapproval. "You're not exactly strict either."
"That's because she's my baby girl." He patted the seat next to him for Scully to join. She walked around and slumped easily into the seat.
He discreetly inhaled the fresh smelling lavender bath oils she had just soaked in. She smelt like comfort and home and years of blissful familiarity. His hand automatically came to her head, fingers curling through her soft hair, the towel-dried tresses still slightly damp at the roots.
Picking up the piece of paper he had discarded, she eyed it with interest, eyebrows on guard as she snuggled against his chest. His arm casually wrapped around her, drawing her closer in. His fingers danced lightly across the smooth skin of the back of her hand, just as soft and comforting as her scent.
Scully looked over the paper, sighing tiredly. It was fairly long... and detailed, but she was pleased to see there was nothing too extortionate, besides perhaps a bounce house and a swimming pool. It all seemed so normal and happy, a world away from their haunted pasts, even the trouble of her pregnancy only four years ago. There was nothing extraordinary about Lily's list; every toddler wanted a toy tractor, a bracelet making kit and a ghillie suit for their birthday.
"I gather you said you would take her sasquatching." She nuzzled against his chest with a small chortle. No child of theirs was ever going to be truly normal.
"I might have mentioned it."
"Only, she's written 'dig fut biskize' and I assume that means big foot disguise."
"Oh, that's what that says." He readjusted his glasses and squinted to where it was haphazardly written at the bottom of the page. "At least it's one of the more plausible suggestions."
Confused, Scully asked, "really?"
"Scully, there is no way we can, and just to pick a few, have a swimming pool–"
"Aww, but she loves swimming," she interjected. "And anyway, I was thinking about getting a small paddling pool."
He gave her an eye of skepticism, continuing, "have lots of chocolate Easter eggs–"
"Maybe just some chocolate?" She was looking up earnestly at him even if she wasn't being entirely serious.
"It's not even Easter!" he exclaimed with exasperation.
"Well, it is stupid to have Easter eggs only at Easter if you ask me." She said it with a deliberate matter-of-fact tone. They both knew she was only winding him up, but Mulder gave into it anyway.
"Sc– uh! You're supposed to be on my side! How are we meant to get–" he jabbed his finger at the list in emphasis– "a pet frog?"
She chuckled, rolling her eyes.
"You were the one that told her that if she kisses enough, one of them will turn into a handsome, young prince." She looked up at him, eyes glistening so pure with the kind of truth that brought a smirk to her lips.
Scully remembered all too well the many nights Mulder had insisted Lily's bedtime stories were actually real historical events and her children's books were the documents to prove it. She had always thought that Lily was too tired, all wrapped up in her blankets and teddybears, to pay much attention, but she was now realising that when she kissed Lily's rosy cheek goodnight, visions of frog princesses and princes were hopping through her head.
Mulder pulled off his glasses. "Okay, well, this kid needs to watch Shrek already and learn some lessons."
He pitched the glasses towards the coffee table with a harrumph, smiling only slightly when they landed perfectly in the middle of a pile of old psychology books.
"You know, sometimes you remind me of Donkey: always running around with too much energy," she mused.
He sighed. It settled through him like the wind creaking the trees of the old wood. "I don't feel like that anymore."
Scully reached around to the other side of him, hand clutching the side of his ribs in a brief squeeze. "You might not go jumping on trains as often as you used to, but I don't think anything will be able to extinguish your need for..."
"The truth?" he smiled.
She let go of a heavy breath, his mantra an unpleasant reminder, but she agreed nonetheless. "The need to want to believe in the fantastic. The need to believe in something that will keep you searching for answers. You're a highly religious person in that sense."
He shook his head. "I don't have blind faith, Scully."
"But you have replaced belief in one higher power with another. Whereas I look to God for guidance, you look beyond the heavens for answers."
"And that makes me like Donkey?" He raised his eyes, an accompaniment to his incredulous tone.
She smiled candidly. "You're funny like Donkey. You make me laugh."
Mulder crooked a smile cautiously. "So... does that make you Shrek?"
"Mm. I'm going to ignore that you just compared me to an ogre."
"Scully, you just compared me to a literal ass. I don't think you have any space to talk."
She waved off his indignation. "Take that as you will; I did find you incredibly annoying to begin with. But I think I'm more like an onion."
"Deeply layered?" His fingers began stroking through the tresses of her hair again.
"Cut me and I'll make you cry," she dead-panned.
Mulder chuffed a laugh. "You're nothing like an onion: for starters, I don't have to cook you to eat you." He nudged her with his shoulder, grinning too widely for his own good.
"How very charming," she hid her not-so-subtle leer behind a grimace.
"Would you prefer it if I said I did have to cook you to eat you?"
Scully sat up, a deep frown of serious concern, almost comical, appeared on her face. She searched his eyes, her own flitting focus from one to the other, as if just beyond his optic nerves was the reassurance he wasn't a deranged man. At least not a deranged psychopath with cannibalistic tendencies. "Please don't do your unnerving impression of Hannibal Lecter."
"I have always thought of you a bit like Agent Clarice Starling." He held her gaze, beats of time only measured by their soft breathing and smiles. Mulder abruptly awoke from his reverie, playfully snatching the list off of Scully. "Anyway, according to our daughter, you make the perfect dinosaur." The hint of resentment that crept its way into his voice was not lost on Scully.
She laughed full-heartedly, shaking her head in disbelief.
"What?"
"You're annoyed because she wants you to dress up as a fairy. Look, Lily gets to be a Dalek, I am a dinosaur, and you are a fairy. She's even drawn pictures." Scully pointed to the three of them scrawled like stick figures in their respective costumes.
"Why do I have to be the fairy and not the dinosaur?" he all but whined.
"Oh my God," she laughed again. "You are jealous."
"I am not!" he objected.
"I think you would look quite fetching in a pink tutu." Scully teased. "I'm sure your masculinity could handle it."
Mulder scoffed. "Scully, I do not bend to society's cultural stereotypes of gendered roles."
"Are you sure that you're not the big, macho man? Always playing the hero? That you don't get even a little bit embarrassed when I have to rescue you?"
He looked at her with a wry smile. "Embarrassed is not what I feel when I see you barging in, a gun-toting, balls-blazing picture of bad-ass."
"Oh, so that's why you were always getting into trouble."
He shrugged modestly.
"Well then, handsome fairy," she firmly patted his chest. "I think it is time we found you a pink tutu."
She stood up and wandered back upstairs, turning halfway. Picturing the fairy look, she had to bite back a laugh, resulting in her lip puckering under her teeth. He was gazing after her again, head laid on the back of the couch, his eyes twinkling. She shook her head simperingly. "Don't be long to bed. Oh, and make sure to get her blue birthday balloons. She was quite adamant about that."