SCULLY'S APARTMENT
BETHESDA, MD
APRIL 23rd 2001
6:21 PM
"Hey, Scully," Mulder leans back in the kitchen chair, ignoring ominous creaking noises of the wood against the linoleum kitchen floor. "Do you think we should get married?"
"What?" Scully turned sharply, one hand grabbing the counter for balance and the other finding its place on her pregnant stomach.
"You know, you in a white dress, me in a tux, an Elvis impersonator asking for our vows…"
"Every day, Mulder," Scully deadpanned.
"No seriously, Scully," Mulder let the chair settle back on the floor and picked up the butter dish to put it back in the refrigerator. "You never did answer my question."
"Are you referring to the extremely unhelpful proposal when I was in Maine three years ago or my opinion on matrimony?"
"Scully, you wound me," he sighed, grabbing the dish towel off the counter and drying the plates Scully had already washed.
"No, Mulder. I don't think we should get married," Scully sighed in return, pouring more soap in the sink.
"Why? You're Catholic. Your whole family is Catholic. And you're pregnant – several months pregnant. Isn't that what people do?"
"We're not people Mulder."
"Did you hear that, baby? I believe your mom just admitted that we're aliens," Mulder whispered conspiratorially in the direction of Scully's stomach.
"Mulder!" Scully flicked soapy water at him. "I meant that we are not most people. Yes, I am Catholic and pregnant – very astute observations by the way, you've known me for how many years? – but that doesn't mean we have to run off to Vegas."
"I was thinking more of a small church ceremony. Invite your mother and the gunmen. Maybe Skinner."
Scully snorted at the mental image of Langley in a tuxedo. "No. We're not the marrying type, Mulder."
"And here I was worrying that your greatest dream was to get married with a white picket fence and another dog – and this time it's got to be at least twenty pounds bigger than Queequeg."
"Sure, if you asked me five years ago, maybe that was my dream. But this? Us, right now? It seems trite."
Mulder opened the cabinets and started stacking the dishes neatly; just the way Scully liked them. "There's nothing trite about us, Scully," he said seriously.
"No," she agreed, her hand rubbing soothing circles against her shirt, unconsciously. "But there's something trite about us getting married because I'm pregnant and you're back from the dead. It's not necessary. I don't need a ring or a certificate to prove anything. We've defied enough by standing here anyway."
"Okay," Mulder nodded.
"Okay?"
"Yeah, I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to resent me in twenty years because I never asked you seriously if you wanted get married."
"I would never resent you, Mulder."
"Good. Because I don't think I could handle listening to Frohike give a best man's speech," Mulder smirked. "I'd need copious amounts of alcohol. And I think your brother hates me, so a black-eyed groom really screws up the wedding photographs."
Scully laughed. "I heard Caddyshack II was playing on channel four tonight. Want to watch it?"
"Definitely," Mulder grinned. "That sounds great."