Work Text:
A spoon clinking makes her tilt her head and turn to see what’s going on. Her brain takes a moment to process because it can’t be. It just can’t be. Her eyes are playing tricks on her. So is her mind. She hasn’t been sleeping much, or well. She’s a new mother, with hormones raging, too little sleep, and too much imagination. That is the only reason. The only explanation. She’s not seeing ghosts. Cause what – who – she’s seeing is a ghost.
Her past.
The woman spins around and Scully gasps. It can’t be. She repeats it like a mantra in her head. Diana Fowley was found murdered this morning. Years and years ago she uttered these words. But right there, by the counter, is the same woman that caused her and Mulder so much grief. Who betrayed them again and again. As if reading Scully’s mind, or feeling her eyes on her, the woman catches her eyes. Scully blinks. Maybe she can wake up her brain that way. It just can’t be Diana Fowley. She is dead. Has been dead for years. Scully is convinced she’s going crazy – it finally happened, Mulder, she thinks – until the woman smirks at her.
It can’t be. It shouldn’t be possible, but Diana Fowley is alive.
Part of her wants to grab William and run off. With her son sucking on his bottle, and the ten thousand things she needs these days just to leave the house, she’d never make it. So all she can do is brace herself and watch as the other woman walks over to her.
“Agent Scully,” she says, in that same exact voice she’s always used, “it’s been a long time.”
“It has,” she manages to reply, her words clinking together like ice cubes. “How are you here? You were dead.” She’s not in the mood to beat around the bush.
“Oh my dear Agent Scully,” Diana says with a stiff chuckle, her eyes wandering over to William, who’s watching with childlike curiosity. “You should know better by now.” Her former foe has barely changed; her hair is shorter and shows some gray here and there. Her face is the exact same, just with a few more wrinkles around her mouth and her eyes.
If only Mulder were here. It hits her as if it's the first time she's remembered that he isn't here. That hasn’t just forgotten something at home and will meet them here. He’s not coming back. He won’t be waiting at home for them. The grief of what they shared for too little a time threatens to overwhelm her. But not in front of Diana. Not her of all people.
“Where have you been all this time?” She doesn’t even care, but she needs to distract herself from her pain.
“Here and there.” Diana waves her hand about. “So this is the child.” She directs her words at William, whose eyes remain on the strange woman. He’s slowly sucking on his pacifier, not blinking. He reminds Scully of Mulder when he’s deep in thought, trying to solve the mysteries of the world. The realization at once calms and wrecks her.
“This is William,” Scully says against the lump in her throat.
“William,” Diana mouths, still staring at the baby. It’s as if she’s searching for something. Instinctively, Scully reaches out to touch her son’s pudgy arm. He turns to her and gives her a sweet, gummy grin that fills her with warmth. The smile on her face is wobbly, but she has to try. For William.
“I thought- having seen pictures of Fox as a baby, well, I thought he’d look cuter.” Bright, hot heat unfurls in her stomach. Her nails – they need a trim, she realizes – dig into the skin of her palms. She takes a deep breath before she lifts her eyes to glare at Diana. Between her dark eyes and the smirk playing on her lips, Scully is reminded of the evil witches from the fairy tales she’s been reading to William. She summons Mulder’s voice inside of her; don’t let her get to you. Don’t let her hurt you again.
“But he’s not what anyone thought he’d be anyway, is he?” Diana goes on, forcing Scully to gather all her strength. As if feeling her turmoil, William spits out his pacifier again, smiling and babbling.
“Here you go, baby.” Her own voice is soft; a stark contrast to what the woman watching this moment is making her feel inside. “He’s perfect,” Scully says to Diana. “He’s everything Mulder and I hoped for.” The other woman just snorts.
“We’d hoped for more.”
“We?” Scully’s voice breaks on the small word. “Who is ‘we’?” Diana doesn’t answer and instead, to Scully’s greatest horror, reaches her hand out toward William. Paralyzed, she watches as Diana puts her hand on the boy’s head. She’s never seen Diana be gentle; even with Mulder, or with Gibson, she had always been reserved, too afraid to appear too soft, too vulnerable. The shadow of a smile flickers over Diana’s face as she pats William’s head clumsily. The boy – bless his heart – gurgles and laughs.
“We had high hopes for your and Mulder’s offspring.”
“Who is ‘we’?” Scully repeats, her voice rising.
“We thought he’d save us, the whole world. But he’s just- he’s just a normal baby.”
“Diana what are you talking about?” Memories swirl in Scully’s mind; William taken from his crib, William kidnapped by the Josepho’s cult, William in danger. Has this woman, the same one who’s caused them so much pain already, put her baby in jeopardy?
“I was angry, you know. When I first found out. About you and- about this pregnancy, about the plans. Mulder never wanted children.” Diana clears her throat, turns her eyes away. The sentence is unfinished; not with her hangs in the air. Mulder hadn’t wanted children with Diana. “I got over it when I realized what it meant. Your and Mulder’s DNA combined seemed like the solution.” How sick she is of hearing it. Of being an endless X-file. She won’t let the same thing happen to William. That’s why Mulder left. This is why they keep losing, why they keep suffering.
“William is a child. He’s a baby.”
“That wouldn’t have mattered. But we should have known. It was too good to be true. He’s an ordinary child. Nothing special about him whatsoever.” William is special – to all those who love him. He’s not an experiment, not something to be studied, or a means to an end.
“Then leave us alone,” Scully says, angry tears filling her eyes. She grabs William’s half-empty bottle and she sees his bottom lip quiver. “I liked you better when I thought you were dead.” She says it quietly, but Diana recoils. She finds her countenance quickly and smiles at her, showing her too white teeth. They’re as fake as everything else about her.
“Oh, I will. You have nothing I want, Agent Scully. You no longer even have your precious Mulder, do you?” Her eyes grow darker, turn cruel. “I made sure of that,” she adds, her words breaking something inside Scully. When she found out that Diana had been murdered, and when she went to tell Mulder, she shed a few tears. She had wondered if she should have made more of an effort. Once – much later – she mentioned it to Mulder while they’d been in bed together. He’d made a joke about how she shouldn’t bring their exes into bed with them, especially this one. Diana faded from her memory, had been buried. Now here she is, revealing it had all been her. All this pain she’s suffered through these last couple of months. All this time that she and Mulder could have been together, making a life, protecting their son.
“Well,” Scully says, her hands on William’s stroller to steady herself. “You’ve got what you wanted then, don’t you?” She leaves the coffee shop without turning around once. She picks up her pace as soon as she and William are outside. Tears are streaming down her face. Pain, shame, and relief flood her system. She doesn’t even wait until she’s home. Her shaky hand finds her cell phone in her pocket. “Sir,” she says when Skinner finally picks up. “I have news. We need to contact Mulder. I think,” she says, stumbling over her emotions and her tears, “I think he can come back home.”