Chapter Text
“Emily? Mulder?” Scully called, opening the door to her apartment. “Sorry I’m late. Autopsy took forever. Did you put in the turkey?”
The apartment was quiet, which was strange; there was never much silence when Mulder was babysitting.
“Hello?” Scully walked into the living room and sighed in amusement.
The room was empty. Emily’s camcorder was set up on a tripod, her face frozen on the little screen, wearing the outfit Scully had dressed her in this morning. Scully walked up to it and hit play.
“Hi, Mom,” Emily’s digital self said. Scully smiled; three years and she still didn’t get tired of hearing that. “We went over to Fox’s. He says he’s going to cook for us here. So put on something comfortable and come on over.”
Scully rubbed her face and sighed again. Her plan for Thanksgiving had been simple: Mulder babysits Emily while Scully finishes up at Quantico, he puts the turkey in the oven, Scully comes home, they eat. Of course, Mulder disregarded all of that, and her daughter was all too happy to comply. They were partners in crime, those two.
“P.S., Fox said you forgot to sew up the turkey's bottom. The stuffing will all fall out.” Emily looked up at someone off-camera mischievously. “But he told me not to say anything because he loves you, and he wants to kiss you” — a pair of arms grabbed her and lifted her into the air— “and he thinks you're the most beautiful woman in the whole world!” She yelled out the last part of her message into the camera, and then the video went black.
Scully rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the little flutter in her heart.
Ever since Scully had adopted Emily that fateful Christmas, Mulder had been incredibly supportive. He was babysitter number one, even above her mother (though mostly due to convenience); he was on the approved list of emergency contacts at her school; he bought her new books and stuffed animals every week; and when Emily had the chicken pox last year, he’d crashed on Scully’s couch and fed Emily mashed potatoes every day. Part of Scully could hardly believe this Fox Mulder was real, but another part of her realized he was still Mulder: all the passionate, inquisitive, and committed aspects of him focused on one little girl. Emily was obsessed with him. It was endearing. No, irresistible.
But Mulder’s love for Emily wasn’t the reason why Mulder and Scully were finally (finally) exploring their romantic relationship. No, that had been a long time coming.
He thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world! In her solitude, Scully allowed herself a full smile at that. She wanted to take it slow, and Mulder had agreed.
Scully turned off the camcorder and picked up her keys again, wondering what disaster she would find in Mulder’s kitchen.
“Alright, here we go,” Mulder said, handing Emily a mug in the shape of Santa’s head. “Five marshmallows. Blow on that, it’s hot.” He sat down on the couch next to her with his own drink, coffee in an old FBI mug.
“You missed the giant basketball balloon,” Emily said.
“Rats.”
Emily had flourished in the last three years under Scully’s care. Though initially very shy and quiet, school had helped her out of her shell, and she was excelling equally in reading and math. Her blonde bob had grown out and now curled at her shoulders, though Scully had kept up her bangs. Mother and daughter were often dressed like a Macy’s catalog: Scully in her neutral wools and cashmere, and Emily in Peter Pan collars, velvet dresses, and white stockings.
“Has Santa Claus come by yet?” Mulder asked.
“He’s always last,” Emily said matter-of-factly.
“True.” Mulder stroked her hair with his free hand. “I’d ask you how you got so smart, but I’ve known your mom long enough.”
Emily stared into her hot chocolate. “Fox?”
“Yeah, Em,” Mulder said.
“I know,” she whispered.
“Know what?”
“The secret,” she said, her voice lower than ever.
Mulder leaned down to her face level. “What secret?”
“Santa Claus.” Emily shrugged. “He’s not real.”
“He’s not?” Mulder straightened. He’d assumed Emily, at her age, still believed. “Says who?”
“My mom.” Emily’s blue eyes never left the parade.
“Sounds like Scully,” he muttered, crossing his arms and leaning back. That woman had probably set up a stakeout at midnight to catch Santa in the act at age four. Why she couldn’t let Emily have a little bit of childhood whimsy in her life, he’d never understand.
“Do you believe in Santa, Fox?” Emily asked.
“I believe in a lot of things, Em,” Mulder says. “Things that your mom would say don’t make a lot of sense, or that we have no explanation for.”
“Santa doesn’t make sense.” Emily sipped her hot chocolate. “Reindeer don’t fly, and nobody can visit every house in the world in one night. Also,” she said, “how can he live in the North Pole? It’s too cold. Colder than Canada.”
“Well, you got me on that one,” Mulder said. “Your mom and I went close to the North Pole one time and I almost froze my you-know-what off... Maybe Santa has a condo in Florida.”
“You’re silly, Fox,” Emily said, with a laugh and an eyeroll that rivaled her mother’s.
“You know, Em, it would make sense if Santa Claus was an alien,” Mulder said. “Explains the invisibility, the polar base, the hyper light travel. Alien technology. He likely makes use of more than four dimensions to travel all around the world. So he’s either a benevolent alien or a time traveler, since we currently have no way of accessing more than four dimensions.”
Emily tilted her head. “What are dimensions?”
“Ask your mom,” Mulder said. “She’s much smarter than me.”
“That’s right,” a voice said behind them.
“Mom!” Emily ran over to Scully and threw her arms around her knees. Mulder stood automatically, drinking her in: the short curtain of red hair falling over her smile. He got to see that smile often now, but he never got tired of it.
“Hey, sweetheart.” She met Mulder’s eye over Emily’s head. “Sorry, the autopsy took forever.”
Mulder helped Scully out of her long brown coat. “You didn’t change?” he asked, taking in her matching blue slacks and suit jacket. She ignored that.
“How’s the turkey, chef?” she said.
“I promise it’ll be a perfect bird,” Mulder said. “Now that I sewed up his ass —”
“Mulder!” Scully warned, glancing at Emily.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Emily said. She sat back down on the couch just as a Snoopy float came on the TV. “Fox says a lot of bad words, but he explained I’m not allowed to say them.”
Scully shot Mulder a mildly exasperated look, then peeked into the kitchen. “I don’t smell or see any smoke.” She raised her voice slightly, her eyes still on his face. “And it’s not Fox, sweetie. It’s Mulder.”
“He said I could call him Fox!” Emily said.
“Oh really?” Scully unbuttoned her jacket and tossed it aside, revealing a ribbed cream sweater. Mulder smiled and shrugged.
“What can I say, I can’t resist a Scully woman’s demands,” he said. His hand landed on her lower back.
“That’s not my experience,” Scully murmured, and he thought he caught her glancing at his mouth. He leaned in.
“Try me.”
He was inches away when a loud mooing went off in the kitchen. Scully startled and looked to the kitchen.
“Cow timer,” Mulder said.
Scully nodded. “Turkey.” Mulder wanted to think she looked a little regretful.
“You sit down.” Mulder pointed at her as he walked away. “I will call you both when it’s all ready.”
“So I told your mom —”
“It was not me —”
“I tell her, you have to convince them to turn this ship around, or all of history as we know it will just, poof,” Mulder said, mimicking a burst with this hand, “never happen.”
“And then what?” Emily asked. Her forkful of pie was parked an inch from her mouth as she waited for Mulder to finish his tale. Mulder looked at his plate.
“I uh, got a punch in the face.” He glanced at Scully, who narrowed her eyes at him. “Then I jumped overboard.”
“You never told me that part, Mulder.” Scully crossed her arms.
“Well —”
“Did Mom believe you?”
Scully rolled her eyes. “She believed you —”
“She did, or I wouldn’t be here right now.” Mulder spread out his arms. “And then your mom, present day, rescued me from the wreckage.”
Emily grinned. “Wow. Can we go on a boat?”
“If your mom says yes,” Mulder said.
Scully hummed noncommitally. “I have to say, Mulder, I’m impressed. The turkey was incredibly not dry.”
“You sound surprised, Scully. I’m wounded.” Mulder clutched his heart.
She was surprised. Food had never been Mulder’s area of interest, even with his increased domesticity. “I’ve never seen you scramble an egg, much less make a turkey.”
“The pie’s from the store,” Emily piped up. “And Grandma brought the mashed potatoes two days ago.”
“Thanks a lot, Em.” Mulder poked her in the ribs.
“And when did you buy placemats and cloth napkins?” Scully looked at Mulder like he was a body she was analyzing.
Mulder didn’t meet her eye and chewed on another bite of pie before answering. “I’ve always had these.”
“What, in storage?” Scully asked.
“No, always. Like a year.”
Scully scoffed. “Please explain to me your definition of ‘always.’”
“It was after that case with the Lazarus Bowl —”
Emily’s blue eyes bounced between them. “Were you guys always like this?”
“Yes,” Mulder said at the same time that Scully said, “No.” Their gazes met across the table. Emily smiled and slid off her chair.
“Mom, may I go read my book?” she asked.
“Of course, honey.”
“Nerd,” Mulder teased Emily as she ran past him. “Just like your mom!”
Scully smacked him with her folded napkin. “Says the man with an encyclopedic knowledge of…well, everything.”
“Are you flirting with me, Agent Scully?” He leaned in an inch.
“Are you going to tell me why the woman who wasn’t me punched you in the face, Agent Mulder?” Scully said in a low voice. His eyes flicked to her mouth.
“I could, but you wouldn’t believe me.”
“You’re right about one thing, at least.” She narrowed her eyes at him and got up from the table. His green eyes tracked her. “I should clean up.”
“Hey, I’ll do that,” Mulder said, touching her arm. “You relax.”
“You cooked all of this, Mulder.” Scully gestured at the table. “You can let me wash a plate.”
Mulder stood up. “Scully…I have a confession to make.” She tilted her head back to look at him properly, and for a moment, she felt like they were back in the basement, every time Mulder invaded her personal space.
“What’s that?”
Mulder leaned down, and this time, there was no cow timer to interrupt them. “I bought the stuffing, too,” he said against her mouth. She would’ve rolled her eyes, but she was too busy kissing him back.