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i.
What else is there to do but stare at him? She just stands there, her legs as heavy as her heart and a million things to say. Yet, not a single one leaves her mouth. She couldn’t even voice the most important three words. They stayed on her lips as she mouthed them.
It’s yours.
He must know. He must… right? She wants to talk about the baby – their child – and what it means. For her, for them. It’s months too late but he was dead and she was depressed. Sometimes life’s a bitch.
She sees him fumble with the picture of Samantha on his desk. The hormones in her start raging; she wants to take him in her arms and never let go. She wants to make him understand that this where he fits in, always has. With her. And now, the baby. Even when she asked him to be her sperm donor, she didn’t expect them to be a normal family. This, however, is not how she expected it. None of it.
Her joy over having Mulder back dulls with every passing second. His silent message is clear: he wants her gone.
“I guess,” she says, trying to swallow the wave of pain that comes with the realization that he doesn’t want her here in his apartment. A place she’s long considered her second home. She’s spent so much time here in this apartment. With and without him. There’s a brush in his bathroom, a new blow hair dryer because his old one kept heating up too hotly. On his bedside table is a book she started reading months ago and hasn’t managed to finish. In the last few months, whenever sadness overwhelmed her and going on without Mulder seemed impossible, she came here and pretended that things hadn’t changed. That Mulder wasn’t missing. That he wasn’t dead.
And now. She’s still staring at Mulder, her sentence still unfinished. Like everything else between them. He, though, is still looking somewhere else. Anywhere but her. They’re so out of sync she’s surprised they haven’t tripped over each other yet. Where they used to walk side by side, one of them is always behind now, one of them too fast or too slow. The baby chooses that moment to kick, and Scully puts her hand on her stomach. She glances at Mulder, but he hasn’t seen it. Yet another moment he’s missing.
“I guess I’ll leave you to it then.” It’s half a question because the truth is that she doesn’t want to leave.
“Oh,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “Sure. I, uhm, I guess I’ll unpack.” He motions at the bag she carried up for him. Before, he would have insisted on carrying it himself. She mentally chastises herself. There’s no more before and after. There’s only now. Mulder is back and that’s all that matters.
“You can call if you...,” Scully says, willing away her tears. Her feet throb; she should have sat down as soon as they walked in. Her feet have nothing on her stomach though as it clenches uncomfortably. It’s not the fact that she’s barely eaten. It’s the man standing in front of her, unreachable like a ghost. She’s never believed in ghosts; a fact that used to simultaneously amuse and enrage Mulder. Now she’s uncertain; who is this Mulder? This ghostly pale man with scars on his face that prove the unspeakable terror he’s endured.
She puts her hand on her hip, hoping to calm the baby inside and herself. This time Mulder notices. Like earlier, his eyes linger a moment on her protruding stomach. The moment to come clear has passed; she should have said something before. Mulder this is your baby, too. The words didn’t come five minutes ago and now they’re sitting inside her throat, like heartburn.
“Yeah,” he replies, nodding and looking away again. Her next breath catches in her throat; any second now she will start to cry. She fumbles with her keys and turns away from Mulder.
“See you soon,” she manages to press out before she leaves his apartment. The tears start as soon as the door is closed behind her. This isn’t the first time she’s finding her way to the elevator through a veil of tears. Only this time the person she’s been missing, has been praying to see again one more time, touch just once again, is inside there. Every step is torture and hot, blinding pain. She’s slow in her waddle and in admitting her feelings. Wait, she thinks, just wait. He’ll open the door and ask you to stay. But she reaches the elevator, hopes that it will take its time. It doesn’t. She waits anyway, dares to turn around one more time. There’s only silence and pain. She gets on the elevator, alone.
ii.
An empty pizza box and ice cream carton are her companions on her couch. Scully licks her lips and tastes salt; either from the pizza or the tears she’s been crying ever since she’s walked out of Mulder’s apartment. She put the phone close to her just in case. But Mulder hasn’t called. It’s been several hours, and her whole body screams for his touch. Her feet haven’t forgiven her yet and her skin is itchy. Her ears ring wanting to hear his voice. For the longest time after Mulder disappeared, she kept his last message on her answering machine. It was a mere, “Hey Scully, it’s me. Call me when you get this.” She doesn’t remember what it was about. Or why she never deleted it. In the months following his abduction and in the harsh light of his death, she was glad she hadn’t. Mulder is no longer dead. Just the thought is so ridiculous that a laugh tickles in her throat. Her mind hasn’t fully caught up yet. It’s what she’s been dreaming about. What she’s been praying for. The reality is nothing at all like she imagined it.
She was prepared (not well) to go on without him. Keep the x-files alive, raise their child. By herself. Those two thoughts kept her head over water whenever she felt like drowning. She knows now that she can live without Mulder. She’s done it. No matter how hard it was, how much she’s cried, how painful it was. She sneaks a glance at the phone. She knows she can live without him, but she also knows that she doesn’t want to ever again.
The phone doesn’t ring so when there’s a knock at her door instead, Scully startles. It takes her longer these days to get to the door – or anywhere. She groans as she gets on tiptoe to peek through the peephole.
Mulder.
Her insides somersault: he’s alive, he’s here. She opens the door, half hiding behind it like a teenager whose crush has come to her house.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” she replies. There’s so much to say and all of it weighs too heavy on them both.
“Can I come in or am I persona non grata?” How she’s missed his bad, boring jokes that still always manage to make her smile.
“Come in.”
“Should I have called? I should have called.” He just stands there, his arms hanging limp at his sides as if he has forgotten what do with them. Yesterday morning when he was still at the hospital, Scully returned from yet another bathroom break (courtesy of the baby playing football with her bladder) and found him examining his arms, turning them touching his skin as if it were his first time feeling it under his fingertips.
“No, it’s okay,” she says. “Are you? Okay, I mean.” They’ve unlearned to talk, the two of them. First, Mulder was missing and she mumbled all her fears and doubts into the shirt he wore the last night she saw him; the shirt that stopped smelling like him after the first few times she cried into it. When they found him and buried him, a part of her died with him. But. A part of him stayed with her, too. It’s tangled in her hair, the very fabric of her soul. In many ways, he was never gone. In her mind, she told him everything. Where does she begin to explain, now?
“You said I’m in perfect health, right?” He grimaces.
“Your body is,” she says quietly and he nods. “I’m sorry, Mulder. I don’t know how to-“
“Please, Scully,” he interrupts her. “That’s not, um… that’s not why I’m here. I don’t think I’m,” his eyes soften as his lips twitch. The scars on his face are healing, fading away. There’s no telling yet how long the shadows of the last few months will remain and follow him.
“I found something after you left.” He pulls a folded, crinkled photo from his pocket and Scully gasps. “I don’t know if you meant to leave it there.” When he offers the sonogram to her, one of the very first, his hand trembles. Their fingers touch briefly as she takes it. Mulder invades her space, moving closer to her. She welcomes it.
“I thought I lost it.” Her whisper gets lost as she smooths one of the edges.
“The date,” Mulder says. “I’m not a math geek, not like you. But this means that…” He trails off, looking expectantly at her.
Her eyes grow wide, but her mouth refuses to speak.
“It’s mine. The baby?”
“Of course, it’s yours,” she says, finding her voice.
“Of course,” he mouths, barely mumbling it. “Did you know?” His pupils are dilated, making her wonder if he had anything to drink. The Mulder she knew doesn’t drink. What if he’s not the Mulder she knew? The thought tightens in a death grip around her throat making it difficult to breathe.
“Did I know?”
“That you were pregnant. The night before I left you weren’t feeling well. You were tired. Did you suspect you were pregnant? Did you know? Did you let me leave even though you-“ He runs his hands through his hair angrily. The hair sticks up, the same way it does in the mornings when he wakes with his face close to hers, never once complaining about morning breath.
“How can you even think that?” Hot tears land on her cheeks and run to her lips where she tastes the saltiness of her disbelief. “I didn’t know, Mulder.”
“Hmm.” He walks into her kitchen and touches random objects. His fingers glide over her table, he touches her toaster and a magnet on her fridge Melissa got her many years ago, on a trip she took with her secret girlfriend. The story bubbles up inside her, a cocktail of nostalgia and desperation to tell Mulder everything she hasn’t told him yet. There are too many things he’s missed. Too many things she’s never mentioned.
Mulder takes another magnet, a generic one, and pins the sonogram he found to the fridge. Her mother did the same in her house. She has a more recent one, nestled in between pictures drawn by Matthew and doctor’s appointments. His fingers remain on the small, grainy picture that shows their child. He follows the line as if trying to learn it that way, to grasp the reality of it.
“You said you were fine. That night, I mean. I asked you and you said you were fine.”
“Mulder, what is this about?”
“I’m just trying to catch up with my life,” he says, leaning against the counter and staring at her. His eyes are so dark that she can’t make out his pupils. “My life doesn’t care much that I’m back.”
“Is that what you think?” She hugs herself, shivering from Mulder’s frosty gaze. He just shrugs at her.
“I found your hair on my pillow. Half my closet are your clothes. Work clothes and maternity clothes.” He swallows hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. “There’s a toothbrush. I- it’s my apartment and somehow… it’s not.” He clenches and unclenches his fist, staring at them. Scully watches, too, trying to regulate her breathing.
“I missed you so much,” she says.
“Did you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you miss me? Seems to me like you were living a rather good life without me. Why did it take you so long to find me, Scully? What were you doing?” In all the years she’s known Mulder he has never been cruel to her. He’s been thoughtless and reckless (and she’s loved him through it all, sometimes defiantly so), but never this. The pain turns him into a person she doesn’t recognize. In a way she’s still looking for Mulder. For the man she lost. For the man, she fears, he lost, too. He’s in there somewhere, hidden underneath the debris.
All the things she wants him to know and all the things she wants him to be a part of, all of them fade away in a moment of quiet fury. How dare he. She knows he’s hurting; the pain rolls off him in waves. When she opens her mouth, when the words she never thought she’d say to him leave her tongue, they taste bitter and almost make her gag.
“I think you should leave.”
He does so without saying a single word, his hand brushing hers as he walks out. The contact is so brief that it does not seem real. He leaves, like a ghost who was never there.
iii.
When Mulder went missing, Scully put all her energy into finding him. After they found him dead, she spent her time grieving him and what could have been. She always knew just what to do. Now, an hour after she’s thrown him out of her apartment – something she never even considered in all the years she’s known him – she is at a loss. It’s not just Mulder who’s changed; she has, too. She had to adapt and now it’s his turn. They need to find common ground, find a way to fit their lives back together. The same way her key fits into his door. It’s staring back at her, dangling slightly. She leaves the key in and knocks instead; she no longer has the right to walk right in. Maybe she never had. She hears him shuffle in his apartment and the movement makes her heat beat faster.
“Scully?” His confusion is soon replaced by a soft smile. That’s her Mulder; happy to see her, no grudges held. Her own smile doesn’t make it to her lips, too fresh are the wounds he inflicted on her.
“Why is there- you could have just come in.” He takes the key out of the lock, observes it, and hands it back to her. The metal is cold and she shivers. Despite his accusations, she longs to bury herself in his chest, soak up his warmth. She’s barely touched him since his resurrection, and she is showing signs of withdrawal.
He just opens the door wider for her but doesn’t step away. She walks under his arm, glaring at him. The door falls shut with a soft click and Mulder leans against it. He either doesn’t want her to leave again, or he doesn’t want to invite her into the living room because he doesn’t expect her to stay.
“I wanted to call you,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “I- when I said I don’t know where I fit in, I- this isn’t easy. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“No,” she agrees, “you shouldn’t have. But I understand that you’re feeling left out, Mulder.”
“Do you?” Defensiveness creeps back into his voice.
“Don’t you remember? I was abducted, too, Mulder.”
“I know you were. Shit, Scully, I’m doing this all wrong.” He takes two long strides and stands in front of her. His arms open and then fall at his side, useless. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed either. Especially after what happened in her kitchen.
“It’s okay,” she says, swallowing tears. “I didn’t die.”
“Your family thought you had. I refused to give up.” His voice cracks. “I don’t know what I would have done. If they’d found you like they- I was feeling so sorry for myself. I didn’t mean it, Scully. I know you did everything you could.”
“I didn’t give up on you, Mulder. I never did. You were- there was no-“ No heartbeat. His skin cold, almost icy. She had stared at his chest, had willed it to move. Had willed him to make a joke, for his lips to crack a smile. For his eyes to open. They never did.
“I know,” he says, whispering. “I know you didn’t. I’m just so angry. I missed so much. So much of- this.” He points at her stomach. “It’s difficult to wrap my head around. I really am happy, Scully. I hope you know that.” Her head is heavy as she nods. “I just need time to catch up.”
“I understand, Mulder. But I need-”
“I can’t promise you anything, not tonight. I don’t want to cause you even more pain.”
Her heart cracks hearing his words. She wipes away the fresh tears and sees the hurt mirrored in his own eyes. It’s too much, and way too soon. He needs time. To heal, to understand. They both do.
“I understand,” she says, voice heavy with sadness. “I do.”
“Thank you. I need to remember who I am before I can be anything else.” He eyes her protruding stomach. “I want to know all about it. The baby. Our baby.”
Scully sucks in a deep breath hearing the words she’s been needing to hear for so long. The hormones take over and she puts her arms around her, hoping it will quench the need to touch him. She doesn’t want to push him.
“Hey,” he says in that voice she knows so well. “Get over here, Scully.” He doesn’t have to say it twice. They both take a step forward at the same time and meet in the middle. Muscle memory takes over as her arms go around him, her face pressed to his shirt-clad chest. His arms engulf her and he breathes her in. Her eyes drift close and she never wants this moment to end. His heart beats steadily, thump-thump, thump-thump. The baby kicks, wanting to be a part of this.
“Hey there, little one,” Mulder whispers into her hair. “None of that.” Scully chuckles into his warm softness, spilling more tears. His own tears tangle in her hair, baptize her with his love.
“Your hair is so much longer,” he mumbles. “So soft.”
“I didn’t have time to cut it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” he whispers into the crown of her head. “Hey, do you think I should change my name to Elvis now?”
She laughs. A real belly laugh that breaks out of her and Mulder grins back at her, a moment of normalcy, of progress. It dies down, slowly, and they’re still holding each other, looking into each other’s eyes. Her feet remind her that she’s been standing too long once again. Her bladder does, too.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she says and blushes just the tiniest bit.
“You know the way.” Mulder lets go off her and she feels his eyes follow her out of the room. When she returns, he is sitting on the couch, a glass of water waiting on the table. The scene is reminiscent of earlier this day; only this time Mulder smiles at her, looking tired.
“You should get some sleep,” she says. “It’s been a long day and you’re still healing.”
“Hmm,” he says. “You should get some sleep too.”
“I will.”
“You could stay,” he says, not looking at her. “If you want.”
“I want to.” Carefully, she lowers herself to the couch under Mulder’s watchful eyes. He scoots closer to her so they’re touching. His head lands on her shoulder and his hand on hers, wandering, mapping her. His fingers travel further up her arm, cup her elbow and then jump over to her stomach.
“Feels funny,” he marvels. He puts his head on her stomach right next to his hand. “I wish I’d-“
“Shhh,” Scully whispers, running her hand through his hair. “You’re here now.”
There’s still a long way to go but tonight, finally, there’s hope.
iv.
All is quiet in the apartment. Well, almost. Silence is a sound she’s come to know well. Except this time, it’s different. It’s not all quiet, not exactly. There’s Mulder in bed with her, flesh and blood, not a dream, and not a hallucination. She’s mesmerized by his twitching muscles, by his fluttering eyelashes. By all of him, even his scars. Especially his scars. They speak of his life’s journey, of what he’s gone through. What he survived. At some point earlier tonight, they stopped talking. He had asked her why she kept his apartment, still stroking her belly. She told him how she wanted their child to know him, the real him. She was going to say more but he lifted his head and looked at her, blinking tiredly, love staring back at her. How could she tell him that she, too, hadn’t been ready to let go? Even after he was gone? It was too heavy, at least for tonight. There’s still so much to discuss, so much to muddle through.
But there’s time for that later.
She no longer wants to talk, wants to watch and touch instead. Finally touch. He invited her here, into his bed. Once again skipping several steps from I need time to process to I need you. She doesn’t complain, didn’t when he held out his hand. That first touch that fueled her touch-starved skin. She hasn’t been able to get her fill yet. They fumbled around, like teenagers in the dark, hands getting reacquainted with skin, like visiting an old familiar place.
“Scully, I-“ that was all he needed to say for her to stop. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, right over a new scar. She loves all his scars and one day she will let him know. He fell asleep silently watching her, holding her hand, but Scully lay awake. Still lies awake now even though Mulder has let go of her hand and has turned around. She misses him. The nerves in her fingers are like fire, needing to touch. So she does, tentatively. How often has she touched his back in the throes of passion, in need of comfort or despair? She lets her fingers travel and there, another muscle twitches under her touch as if saying hello.
She touches his neck, lets his hair tickle her fingers and she hears him sigh in his sleep. Her demonstrations stop but she doesn’t remove her hand. She keeps it there, cupping his neck. It’s an awkward position to be in but it’s the only one that calms her. She hopes it calms it, too, and keeps his nightmare at bay. If not, she will be here for him, every step of the way.