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Chapter Text

Five

Dana Scully was five when she first had a sense of what “cooking” was. Her mommy was in the kitchen making dinner, and the aroma from the herbs and spices led the little redhead to watch her mother from the doorway. She was entranced by her mother’s swift, but careful movements—the way she moved around, grabbing things from shelves and racks—as if she were dancing.

Maggie felt like she was being watched, and when she looked up from the sauce she was stirring on the pot, lo and behold, she spotted her youngest daughter. Her Dana —the ever so curious among the four, the one who always wanted her little hands to be busy. She smiled and beckoned for the girl—bright blue eyes, cheeky grin, and a head full of red ringlets bounded to her. Maggie turned the heat low and carefully placed the spoon on the side before taking the five-year-old in her arms.

“What are you doing, Mommy?” Little Dana asked.

“I’m cooking dinner, sweetheart.” Maggie replied. Dana looked at her, the gears in her minds turning. Cooking—that immediately became something important in her vocabulary.

“What’s that?” She asked again, this time pointing to the red simmering sauce. It’s smell absolutely tempting for a little taste. Maggie had to carefully grasp her tiny wrist, knowing she’d attempt to dip a finger in.

“It’s sauce, baby,” Maggie said and chuckled when Dana tilted her head with confusion and curiosity. “It’s for your favorite. Spaghetti Bolognese.”

With that, Dana’s eyes widened and sparkled with excitement. Spaghetti Bolognese was her ultimate favorite, she could eat it for days if there were any left.

“Can I help, Mommy?” She asked, her blue eyes begging. She knew she could. She’d seen Missy and sometimes Bill Jr. be with their mama in the kitchen. Maggie sighed, as if she could turn down those baby blues.

“Of course, baby,” Maggie said. “But first, would you like to taste the sauce?” She asked, a glimmer in her eye.

Dana clapped and nodded her head. When she was set down on the floor, she waited for her mom to give her a little taste of the sauce.

Eleven

When she was eleven, there was a bake sale at school. They recently had just moved into the area and Dana wanted to do something for the event where she hoped she could gain some new friends from.

But the problem was that, she forgot to tell her mom about it. She knew her mother made the best chocolate chip cookies in the world, but it was already late and the bake sale was already happening the next morning.

Always the determined one, she sneaked into the kitchen late in the night when the house was already dead asleep to the world. She tiptoed into the kitchen, careful to mind the squeaky floorboards.

Turning on the light, she immediately went to one of the drawers and rummaged through it, and found her mother’s cookie recipe.

This doesn’t look so hard. She thought.

Dana carefully grabbed items from the cupboards and drawers. Various ingredients like eggs, milk, flour, and more. She bit her lip, a habit she did when was either nervous or deep in thought, as she figured out how she’d be able to use the hand mixer without waking the whole house. Not wanting to take the risk, she grabbed the wooden spoon she saw her mother use.

With all determination and perseverance her 11-year-old self had, she began her work. She was so deep into her cookie mission that she didn’t notice her mother watching her from the doorway, a smile gracing her face as she watched her youngest power through something she could’ve done instead.

Maggie had always been a light-sleeper, something that was useful when her kids were still babies and now when her teens would try to sneak out and in of the house. But she wasn’t awoken by either of those, instead it was the sound of cupboards opening and closing. She sighed as she looked up the dark ceiling. She was sure it was Bill Jr. rummaging for a late night snack again. Ready to go back to sleep and let her son be, her eyes opened once again when she heard metal clanging. She carefully got out of bed, not wanting to wake her husband, slipped on her robe and headed down to the kitchen.

There she saw Dana in her pajamas with an apron on her front, arms and hands covered in flour, and mixing ingredients on a metal bowl. She was most definitely not expecting to see her 11-year-old.

At least she has an apron on. She thought and leaned on the doorway, and watched. She watched with keen interest and was impressed by her youngest daughter.

Dana, looking satisfied with her work, decided to taste the cookie dough. She remembered how her mom always said to taste what you were cooking, so she did. She grimaced as soon as the dough hit her tongue. Something wasn’t right and she scanned the recipe once again. Pursing her lips, she wasn’t convinced that she did something wrong.

“What’s wrong, Dana?” A soft voice asked.

Dana almost shrieked and immediately covered her mouth. She flushed red when she saw her mom standing at the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

“I– it’s– it’s not what it looks like, Mom.” She stuttered nervously, this time, a hand wringing her other wrist.

Maggie only smiled and approached her. She asked her daughter if she could have a taste and wasn’t able to hide her grimace afterwards. Dana cringed at the reaction. So maybe she did do something wrong.

“I think I know what’s wrong.” Maggie said.

“Yeah?”

“You put too much salt, honey.”

Dana blushed and let out a silent ‘oh’. Maggie smiled once again and cupped her daughter’s cheek.

Her own blue eyes looking into Dana’s blue ones, she asked, “What or who were you baking for, sweetheart?”

Dana’s shoulders dropped and she bent her head down. She murmured something and Maggie had to ask her what she was saying.

Sighing, she said, “We have a bake sale at school, and I forgot to tell you so I thought I’d just make them so you wouldn’t have to worry,” she explained. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She finally said, her eyes starting to water.

Maggie’s heart swelled. She always knew her daughter would be independent and strong-willed ever since she took her first steps all those years ago.

“Oh, Dana, you should’ve told me. You don’t have anything to apologize for, sweetheart,” she said. Tipping Dana’s chin, “It’s my job to worry, not yours, okay?”

With tears brimming her eyes, Dana nodded and launched herself into her mother’s arms.

Maggie held her tight and pressed a kiss on the crown of her head, “I’m not mad, sweetheart, I promise.”

When they pulled apart, Maggie took hold of Dana’s shoulders and said, “Why don’t we make a new batch, huh?”

That put a smile on Dana’s face, and this time, she didn’t have to worry about salty cookies.

Eighteen

When Dana was eighteen, in college, and living in a dorm, there were days and nights where she missed her mother’s cooking. She missed the spaghetti bolognese, the pot roast, the cookies, and even her mother’s apple pie. She missed eating home cooked meals and not food from the cafeteria. She even missed helping in the kitchen.

One day, on a rare occurrence, the communal kitchen was empty. Dana took the opportunity and rushed to the nearby grocery store to grab ingredients. Now, she wasn’t really much of cook, but she grabbed ingredients to make chicken parmesan and a simple salad.

Upon returning, she set everything on the kitchen and called Ellen from their room and asked if she wanted to help. Of course, she said yes.

Dana became the head chef while Ellen, her sous. They kept themselves busy—chopping and slicing, stirring and tasting—they owned the kitchen in that very moment.

When they were done, they cleaned everything up before heading to one of the tables. They had sparkling grape juice, courtesy of Ellen, who for some reason had a stash in their room.

“Holy shit, Dana!” Ellen exclaimed after taking her first bite of the chicken. “This is so fucking good!”

Dana blushed, “It’s just chicken, El.”

Ellen rolled her eyes. Her friend, always so humble.

“Just chicken? Dana, please, give yourself some credit. This might be one of the best chicken parm I’ve ever tasted.” She said, taking another bite.

Dana simply tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear. It was a compliment she never really expected, and she felt a sense of pride bloom from within her chest.

“Thanks.” She murmured before taking a sip of her drink.

“You’re welcome,” Ellen replied, “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“Oh, I don’t, well, not really. I just watch my mom and help her out sometimes. In fact this is her recipe.” Dana said, pointing at their chicken breasts.

Ellen’s eyes widened and whispered ‘oh my god’ making Dana laugh.

Later that night, Dana called home and retold her mom the events of the day.

“Oh, Dana,” Maggie said, her voice dripping with love and pride. “I’m so proud of you. You know what, why don’t you bring Ellen over next weekend for dinner.”

That made Dana snicker, “She’d love that, Mom.”

Twenty-nine

When she started joining the FBI, her time in the kitchen lessened. If she could cook even for breakfast, it would’ve been a miracle.

Ethan wasn’t much of a cook either, well, he really wasn’t. So, when she couldn’t be home or had time to cook, they resorted to take-out. Dana was sick of it, she wasn’t going to lie.

When they broke up, instead of going out, Dana baked herself a delectable chocolate cake from scratch and ate it and drank wine that she kept for special occasions. It was good, scrumptious, and sinful. Just how she loves it.

The next day, she brought Mulder two slices of the cake. They ate it as soon as Mulder asked if she wanted to eat some. It wasn’t lost to her the way his eyes widened as soon as the cake and frosting hit his tongue.

“Scully,” he said in awe. “This is amazing!”

She blushed, hard. They finished the rest of it before they began with paperwork. Mulder’s compliment stuck with her throughout the day and decided that one day, she’ll cook for him.

Shortly after Christmas, she decided to invite her parents over. She cooked up a storm. She cooked turkey (even made her own stuffing), made mashed potatoes and green beans, salad, dessert, you name it. She went all in. It’s one of the rare occasions where she could cook for her parents.

Dinner was eventful, but work remained a grey area—a topic no one, even her father, didn’t dare to ask about. And so, she kept it to herself.

“Dinner was delicious, as usual.” Her mother had said, and that made happiness bloom in her.

When her parents left, she made a mental note what to bring for dinner at her parents’. Little did she know, there wouldn’t be a next dinner with her father and it would take a some time for her to find comfort in her kitchen again without thinking of her Ahab.

Chapter Text

Thirty-seven

Pregnant.

It was something she still couldn’t wrap her mind around even when she’s already seven months pregnant. She loved it–the feel of her baby moving, the food she’s able to eat, how overjoyed she sometimes felt–but she also loathed it at times. She hated how swollen her feet would get, how she’d get heartburn just when she’s about to lay down, or the way she sometimes felt so empty when her mind would drift to someone special.

He was supposed to be there, but he wasn’t, and she hated it. She hated him sometimes. He was God knows where and it drove her insane–the not knowing. She missed him like crazy, and as ridiculous as it may sound, it’s not just him, but also his food and everything else.

Contrary to what other people thought, Fox Mulder can cook. He can cook a three-course meal if he wanted to. It was one of those things that attracted Scully so much to him. And he had this one food that she kept on craving for almost the entirety of her pregnancy.

It was a sandwich made on rye with turkey and bacon, lettuce and tomato, whatever cheese was on the fridge, and mayo on the side. The first time he made that for her, they had to leave the state for a case and to make up to her, he made her his mean sandwich that she could eat on the road. The way she was so impressed remains a core memory for Mulder. To make it even better, it became one of Scully’s comfort foods. The first time he actually cooked for her though, was when she had cancer and thought that his grandmother’s matzo ball soup would entice her to eat, and it did. She remembers how good she felt, how her stomach seemed to warm up after a few sips.

His meals were unique, different, as if they had some sort of signature that was just his, that when Scully tried to make them for herself, she ended up in tears because they didn’t taste like his cooking.

When she missed him, she’d call his phone just to hear his voice through the voice-mail. Sometimes, she’d narrate about her day and say, ‘ I miss your cooking’ , while trying not to make her voice hitch.

For the first time in years, her kitchen once again wasn’t a place of comfort.

——

When Mulder came back, things were quite unstable between them the first few days and even weeks, but it was food that became one of the things that brought them back together and slowly mended their relationship.

It started with the sandwich, of course.

Scully woke up one day from a nap, hungry, and when she entered the kitchen, there she found the love of her life preparing the food she craved the most when he was gone. He smiled when he saw her, but then frowned when he saw her tear up.

“Scully, what’s wrong?” he asked, quickly at her side.

“I just– I just missed you and your sandwich so much.” She cried.

“Oh, honey.” He murmured, engulfing her in a hug. He wasn’t going to lie though, he found it endearing that she missed his cooking.

They ate in silence and from then on, Mulder promised to make whatever she and the baby wanted. She was happy, not only because he was back, but also because her kitchen felt right again.

On the run

Life on the run was…something else. It was a constant challenge, from changing their identities to changing their appearance. It was a life Dana Scully never thought she’d live.

She missed home; she missed the comfort of her bed, her own bathroom, her own kitchen. She missed her mother and even Skinner, but above all else, she missed her son.

She won’t deny the fact that when she’d sometimes look at Mulder, all she could see was William–their sweet little boy that took so much after him when he smiled. It never failed to make her heart ache. She longed to see their son and hoped that one day, they’ll be able to reunite with him.

——

They were on the road again, this time to Nebraska. It was an odd choice, but they made it happen. It was almost dark when they reached the state, and while stopping for gas, Mulder spotted a motel just across the street. He told Scully he’d check it out and while he did that, she went to the small shop to pick up some necessities they were running out.

They were in luck. The motel had a room that had a small kitchen, a bit of a spacious living room and bedroom, and a bathroom that had a tub. Mulder knew he had to get it for them, for her. God knows they deserved a little bit of luxury after staying in dingy motel rooms for some time.

He signed his name on the paper as James White and paid in cash. No questions raised, as usual.

When he went to fetch Scully, he told her about the space, but most especially the kitchen. He knew how much she longed for them to have something that wasn't from take-out boxes. Seeing her eyes light up made him smile. She quickly went back to the store and bought some items that would suffice for a home-cooked meal. Showing him a box of Kraft mac and cheese, a pack of sliced rotisserie chicken, and a salad that looked wilted, she simply shrugged and said, ‘These are good enough’ , with no arguments in store, he pressed a kiss against her temple before driving them to the motel.

Seeing her move within the kitchen reminded Mulder of the times she’d cook for him. He loved watching her move swiftly, the way she was so organized with everything, and how meticulous she was when it came to cooking. But, for a moment, she stopped. Hunched over the kitchen sink, he noticed how her shoulder shook. He immediately knew she was crying.

“Scully?” he asked while cautiously placing a hand on her shoulders. When she looked up to him, she pressed herself against his chest and cried. He held her in silence, listening to her pour out whatever she felt deep down. When she’d stopped crying, he waited for when she was ready to talk.

“It’s William,” she sighed. “I miss him. So, so much.” She whimpered, her eyes watering once more.

He led her to the small dining table and made her sit on the chair. He held her hands as he waited for her to open up. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her to talk.

Sniffling, she began, “One day, he probably got so tired of eating oatmeal, he dumped it on his head. I wanted to be so mad but then he gave me this smile that I just sighed and kissed his forehead,” she told him. “And now, cooking mac and cheese reminded me of that time he ate it for the very first time, and he looked so much like you when he tried to figure out the taste.” Recalling that made Scully sob.

Mulder’s heart constricted; it ached so bad. The guilt crept up to him like it always did.

Taking her into his arms, he held her close and tight. He knew he couldn’t take the pain away this time. He let her cry and he suppressed his own urge to burst into tears. ‘ Not now ’ he thought. He’d do it when he was alone and not in front of her.

Feeling her body go slack against him, he noticed she had fallen asleep. He carefully adjusted her and lifted her up before carrying her to the bedroom. As he laid her down the bed, he heard her murmur, ‘ William…’ and all he could do was press a kiss on her forehead.

Leaving the room, he went back to the kitchen and continued where Scully left off.

Forty-five

It was when she and Mulder had separated that she realized how much over the years she had also relied on him for home-cooked meals. How he’d cook when she couldn’t or when she’d just look at him with those big blue eyes and he’d know what to make for her. It felt like college all over again, but this time, it was Mulder’s cooking that she missed the most than her Mom’s. The feeling of having a part of her missing was yet again present.

——

She’d been staying at her Mom’s for a while now and it was on her fourth week that she realized her mother had been driving out to her and Mulder’s house with food every Sunday. It somehow amused her that her mother didn’t ever suspect that she knew what she had been doing.

One Sunday, Maggie went with her church friends for a day trip and Scully knew that she wouldn't be able to drive out to Mulder. So, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She thought, maybe, this’ll help them both as well.

Rummaging through her mother’s fridge and pantry, she found ingredients she could use for roast beef and mashed potatoes. It would take a while to cook, but if she started early, she'd be able to bring it to Mulder just in time for lunch. It was one of the few dishes that she cooked that she knew he liked. The reminder of him having seconds and thirds everytime she made it made her smile.

Scully cooked with gusto in her mother’s kitchen; she felt at peace while doing so. She sliced, chopped, and diced with finesse. Sautéd and cooked everything to perfection. While she waited for the beef to rest and the mashed potatoes to cool, she couldn’t help but reminisce the times she'd cook for Mulder:

When his mother died and she didn't have the heart to leave him alone, she made him chicken noodle soup. She remembered running to the store around the block to buy the ingredients and some bread that she later smothered in garlic butter—just how he liked it.

“My mom used to make these when my siblings and I weren't feeling well. She said it’s supposed to make you feel better even just on the inside.”

She recalled telling him as they sat on the kitchen table. His sad smile made her heart ache, but it was the way his eyes brightened and his cheeks colored after taking a sip of the soup that made her heart flutter.

That was one of the many moments where she cooked for him.

When they started to live at the Unremarkable House, they used to take turns who would cook for the day or night. They had a little schedule, a little routine, and it worked for them both.

Scully sighed as she started to pack the food into the plastic containers she found in her mother’s cupboards. She missed him. The decision for them to take a break was all hers, and he simply agreed. It was a difficult decision, but she believed it had to be done despite the way it hurt her like a bitch.

As she drove to the house, she couldn’t help but feel nervous. She shook off the feeling and tried to calm herself down. A part of her hoped that Mulder wouldn’t be home, but as soon as she saw him step out onto the porch, a feeling of relief washed over her. It was like his presence drove away the nervousness she felt a while ago. He looked good, that she couldn’t deny. The beard was gone and his hair was cut the way she always liked. He had his hands inside his pockets as he watched her park her car and patiently waited for her to step out.

“Hey,” he softly greeted, approaching her as she began to take out the bag she brought with her. “What — what um— what are you doing here?” he asked, the tone in his voice confused, but not insulting.

“Mom went with her friends on a trip and I thought I’d bring you some food.” She said, raising the bag she held.

Mulder gave her smile, the one she knew a teasing remark would follow.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” he asked, his eyes glimmering.

Scully couldn’t help but smile, “No, she doesn’t.” She replied, shaking her head. 

“Oh, Maggie.” With that, they both burst out into laughter. 

They felt light hearing each other laugh, especially Mulder. He always loved hearing and seeing Scully laughing—the way she’d have her gummy smile on and her nose scrunching, and her eyes crinkling. To say he was happy to see her that day was an understatement.

“Would you like to join me?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

“I’d love to.”

Fifty-four

Being back home felt surreal. She never thought she’d really be back living with Mulder again and rebuilding their life together.

It all started right after Mulder had insisted she’d stay with him after her accident. He was scared her seizures would recur. He was afraid to lose her. It felt a bit weird at first—being back—but it also felt so right. He‘d keep his distance at times, but she’d always try to not-so-subtly latch herself to him. He liked it and she most certainly did as well.

During her stay with him (yes, because she insisted she still had her smart house to go “home” to), Mulder pampered her—from cooking her favorites to even drawing her baths—it had been quite some time since someone had taken care of her, and she was immensely grateful. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she loved the way he doted on her. Her first meal? His mean sandwich . Of course, he couldn’t say no to that when she requested it. He loved watching her eat, as weird as that may be, but he truly loved it. He loved seeing her enjoy food, real food, and not the bee pollen and yogurt crap she still ate sometimes. Mulder made it his goal to feed her with everything she loved and wanted, and reassure her that she didn’t have anything to be guilty of.

It all went well and when she went back to her smart house, Mulder would sometimes drive up and bring her some food he cooked. He’d pull up driving his Mustang which she hated so much, but couldn't help but admire how hot he looked whenever he got out. He’d be carrying bags of food and she’d be drooling, literally and figuratively.

But it wasn’t until after the Poundstone case that Scully’s stay at the Unremarkable House became more frequent. She still kept the smart house, but she started to stay there only during the weekends. Since then, domesticity was back in full force. It felt like before they had their fall-out. When they didn’t have any paperwork, they’d watch Netflix and end the night with some wine and chocolate. Or better yet, some really good sex while some documetary played in the background.

——

It was after the disastrous sushi date they had that prompted the both of them to cook together. Right after breakfast, they headed to the grocery store and bought what they needed for lunch. Pasta was in the books and Scully thought homemade pasta would be a good idea. That raised Mulder’s eyebrows but shrugged and continued to push their cart.

Arriving home, Mulder unloaded the bags while Scully began prepping the kitchen. He was her sous chef that day and he was more than happy to help. Watching her knead the dough gave him a lot of thoughts and Scully had to warn him not to have any ideas, but her eyes were glimmering. Instead, he began to chop whatever she needed for the sauce. Safe to say, he was a very good helper. Or was he?

As the sauce began to simmer, Scully grabbed a wooden spoon and scooped a small amount to taste. Mulder took the opportunity to get behind her, wrap an arm around her waist, and plant kisses on her neck. Letting out a soft moan, she almost dropped the spoon.

“Mulder, stop,” she softly warned, wanting him to stop whatever he was doing, but her voice and the way her eyes rolled as his lips went to a sensitive spot on neck said otherwise. “The sauce…”

“Will be fine.” He whispered, his hand taking the spoon from her and setting it on the counter, then reached for the stove knob and turned it off. He continued kissing her neck, her hand reaching up to grab his hair, prompting him to continue. Obviously wanting more, Scully turned around and grabbed his face for more than just an innocent kiss.

“Bedroom?” he asked, his mouth moving from her face to her neck, then to her exposed collarbones.

“Couch.” She stated, her hands already fumbling for his belt.

He carried her to the living room and they made love more than once. Lunch could absolutely wait, the kitchen will not burn down.