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Whatever he had pulled out of her throat in that glass incubator had done bad, bad damage to her throat, and she was advised not to speak so the muscles could heal.
And Mulder suffered. He missed hearing her voice, her Mulder, it’s me, and although he could carry on a one-sided conversation for quite a long while, he was desperately wanting to hear Scully speak. Anything, anything would be good.
When Scully was finally discharged from the hospital, he volunteered to be her nursemaid—since Scully wouldn’t speak, she couldn’t protest much, as Mulder practically made her couch his new favorite furniture. Maybe as a gesture of gratitude, she would gift him the couch after he no longer needed to sleep over.
Mulder wasn’t really playing her nursemaid. Scully was able to move around and do most things on her own. Yes, she was weak, and Mrs. Scully babied her two babies like a good mama cat, pampering the two of them with homemade meals, freshly baked desserts, and refreshing beverages she made in big batches for her little baby cats.
Mulder must have put on ten pounds of Maggie Scully’s love.
“Was Charlie chubby?” He asked Scully, and she shook her head. She turned both her hands over and looked at him quizzically, as if saying, why?
“If I ate this well growing up, I’d be so chubby that my nickname would have nothing to do with Fox.” He chuckled, “Maybe that was what should’ve happened, to be made fun of for something that was of my own doing.”
This was when Scully understood why the Spooky nickname never really bothered Fox Mulder.
She looked at him with mischievous eyes and tapped his hand with her index finger.
“Yes?” Mulder gave her his full attention, his eyes trustful as always. He had no idea what was coming his way.
“Fat Fox.” Scully mouthed the words as best as she could. She pointed at him and repeated, “Fat Fox.”
“Fat Fox?” Mulder’s eyes widened, and Scully laughed silently. Her throat hurt, and it made sure that she knew about it, but she thought it was worth it.
They tried not to watch daytime TV. Mulder liked to predict the results of paternity but Scully always felt bad, especially when the men broke down crying or ran to the backstage, unable to accept the bad news. So, they wasted their afternoons on movies or novels. The mid-portion of the day always seemed to fly by between lunch and dinner. It was a vacation to rest, a rest-cation for the two partners; uncertain of their reassignments, they were in no hurry to return to work, to dive into background checks or transcribing, or to be loaned to the horrendous Cybercrime Division.
It was another afternoon where Mrs. Scully came and ate lunch with them. Armed with lemonade and ice cream pops, she had stocked up her daughter’s fridge with goodies for the two of them for days.
“Now you two behave yourselves while I go see Aunt Carol. Fox, make sure Dana eats all her meals. Dana, make sure Fox doesn’t just eat ice cream and cupcakes.”
Maggie kissed both of their cheeks before leaving Scully’s apartment.
“I love your mom.” Mulder grins. “You Scully women are the best.”
He happily sat down next to her on the couch, eyeing the videos Maggie had brought to the house at her daughter’s request.
“Anastasia?” Scully mouthed the words, and Mulder repeated them...
“Anastasia? Sure, let’s watch that. But don’t wake me up if I fall asleep.”
He went to pop the videocassette in her VCR.
“Do you have any videos that we can do a sing-along later? Wizard of Oz? Mary Poppins?” He sneered with a low voice, “Annie?”
She did not hesitate in elbowing him in the ribs, and he gave a hearty laugh.
The animation played, the characters sang, and Scully realized that Mulder was quite engrossed in the story. He could identify with both Anya and Dimitri; they grew up without the love of their parents and embraced loneliness as adults. When the movie neared its end, as the characters danced in a loving embrace, she felt like sobbing, as she knew the real-life story for this princess was not so hopeful and happy as the one depicted in the film.
She turned to see Mulder, who, despite commenting on and making fun of the film, seemed quite lost as the credits rolled. For children, this was a fairy tale, a lost princess returning to the love she once knew with a new love on her arms, but adults knew otherwise. Rarely do adults get this kind of second chance; once a family broke up, it was broken. No matter how hard anyone tried, it’d never be the same.
Scully felt a tenderness for him, akin to that night in that Oregon hotel where he told her about his lost sister. She’d only felt such tenderness and love for Mulder alone.
“Mulder,” she mouthed his name, hand grasping his big one. Making sure she had his attention, she began to mouth the words with a tiny, tiny voice: “Mulder.”
“Mulder.” He repeated, waiting for her to go on.
“I.”
“I. Ice? Do you want some ice cream? Iced tea?” He hurriedly stood up, and she smiled, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. She pulled him back down to the couch.
“I. Love. You.” She tried to say it as slowly as possible, hoping he’d understand what she was saying—what she had mustered up the courage after all these times to finally admit to him.
“I love you?” He asked, and she nodded with a brilliant smile.
“I. Said. It. Back.” She mouthed.
Scully recalled very clearly the look on his face in the perpetual winter of Antarctica, in the backseat of some good Samaritan’s truck, fingers numb, face aching, icicles in their hair, wearing his gigantic socks, so alive that she felt the speed of dying, and how he whispered his iloveyou’s once or twice with those slap-happy eyes, followed by a you-never-say-it-back.
She remembered drifting in and out of sleep for the rest of the ride, and the paranoia in Mulder’s eyes when anyone suggested that he should leave her for a minute.
“Say it back?” His voice pulled her back into her living room. He must have misheard her, because he gave her hand a squeeze and leaned close to kiss her on her face. “I love you, Scully.”
Oh well, she thought. At least he heard me.
“Scully?” Mulder pulled her into an embrace. She couldn’t see his face. He stroked her hair tenderly as if she were a child.
“Hurry the hell up and heal. I can’t wait to hear you say that again.”