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“Is this real?”
Mulder asks the question with quiet reverence as he places a hand on her growing belly.
She places her hand on his, feeling a warm surge spread from her fingers through her whole body. Never before has she felt such a level of peace and contentment.
“I asked myself that question when I first found out, and again when you were in the hospital,” she says. She looks down to where their hands are pressed against her stomach. “I still ask myself that question.” Her words are hardly more than a whisper.
She feels the fingers of his other hand on her chin. He presses gently, raising her head so that their eyes meet. His face still bears the marks of his abduction: triple punctures, like the bite of some macabre insect, frame both sides of his face. Tiny scars ring his hairline. And she knows that underneath his shirt, on his chest, lurks a five inch scar.
When he jokingly referred to himself as Frankenstein’s monster a few days after he had regained consciousness, she’d forced a smile, all the while biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying. She knew Mulder, knew that despite the joke, there was a deep well of pain hidden behind his words. She had seen it in his eyes.
Now, sitting side by side on her couch, she notices something new. His eyes convey that same pain, yes, but something else as well: wonder. Wonder at what they’ve made together.
We’ve both lost so much, she thinks. Parents, siblings, violent transgressions of their minds and bodies. And yet, despite those losses, they’ve gained something wonderful, truly miraculous in the conception of their son. He had happened when they’d lost hope, when the only refuge could be found in each other’s arms. Now, this unexpected miracle has renewed their hope, given them a reason to rejoice in this world and in each other. This is what she sees in his eyes, what she feels coursing through every cell in her body.
He traces the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “Me too,” he says. His eyes are bright and full of tears. Tears of both joy and sorrow.
A sudden jolt from her belly causes them both to jump.
“Did- did he just kick?” Mulder asks. His hand still rests on her stomach.
She nods, smiling. “He must have heard us talking about him.”
Mulder smiles a big grin and his puncture marks briefly disappear. “That was incredible, Scully.”
Her hand tightens over his. She leans forward and kisses him, letting her own tears mingle with his, salt taste on both their lips.
“Yes,” she whispers. “It’s all incredible.”