Chapter I
"The end," Mulder said, closing the book and glancing to his right, where Emily was cuddled next to Scully, drifting off to sleep with a fist pulled up near her face. She opened her eyes and stretched a little, yawning, then sunk back into the pillows.
"One more," Emily said, reaching out to tap his arm.
"Nope, no more stories tonight," Scully said, uncurling herself and sliding out of bed, "it's past your bedtime."
Emily nodded in concession, then sat up to give Mulder a small hug. She scooted over to the side of the bed and let Scully pick her up and move her to her hip as they walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to Emily's room. Scully deposited her warm, pliant daughter into the small, low bed and reached to switch a nightlight on, casting a pink glow through the room, staining the blue sheets lilac. Emily was tucking herself in, arranging the covers, snuggling her stuffed bunny into the crook of her arm.
"Dana?"
Scully leaned over her child like a sky, Emily's golden hair halo'd her head like a sleepy sun.
"Can Mulder read Peter Rabbit tomorrow?" she asked.
She nodded. "I'm sure he will, if you ask him."
"'Cuz then I'll bring Bunny to listen, too," she said, squeezing the lavender rabbit.
"That's a good idea. We'll ask him tomorrow, honey." She took Emily's small, chubby hand and ran her fingers over the tiny, soft ones. "But now it's time to go to sleep."
Emily sat up a little for one more hug and kissed Scully's cheek. "'Night."
She hesitated, like always, but she was getting better at saying it each evening in the rose-light. "I love you," she whispered into her daughter's silky hair, planting a kiss near her ear. Emily lay back down and wiped a sloppy hand over her face, yawning again.
"Goodnight," Scully whispered, then stood up from the bed. She left the door half-closed and walked out to the living room.
Mulder was already laying on the couch with a book open in his lap and a glass of water on the floor within easy reach. She wanted to say something, to warn him not to spill it, but then she'd sound like a nagging wife, so instead she stretched a little and covered her own yawn with the back of her hand, announcing her presence. He looked up.
"Was she okay this time?" he asked.
She nodded. "Seemed so. You must have really worn her out at the park. She was melting in my arms."
"You looked tired, too, Scully. You were falling asleep on my favorite fairytale."
She smiled easily. "You have a nice reading voice."
"Mustn't be that nice if you're falling asleep to it," he joked, but she could see he was pleased.
She hummed sleepily. "You want to play Scrabble? I might even let you win tonight. Most of my brain cells are…" She made a 'pft' sound and illustrated a sloppy explosion with her hand.
"How very scientific, Dr. Scully," he remarked, and she raised an eyebrow. "You seem tired. You should get some sleep. I'm gonna read a little."
She nodded, only slightly disappointed. But he was right, she was tired. "Okay. Well, goodnight."
"'Night, Scully," he said, picking up his book again. She turned and shuffled back to her room, climbed into the mussed sheets and pulled the down comforter over her, burrowing inside, then reached a hand out to turn off the lamp. Within moments she was slipping into a dream.
Her sleep schedule was finally settling into a predictable rhythm. She would sleep for approximately three hours before a small voice woke her up and she opened her eyes to see Emily standing beside the bed.
"Emily? What's wrong?" she'd asked on the first night.
"I can't sleep," Emily had said, and Scully led her back to her room, tucked her in again, and read another story. When she looked up from the last page, Emily's eyes had drifted closed.
Some nights, she was greeted a second time by a teary-faced little girl asking for her mother.
"Your Mommy went to heaven, honey. Remember?" she'd ask, sitting up. "We're going to take care of you now."
Emily's lower lip would tremble, and she'd clutch her bunny tighter.
"Do you want to stay in here?" Scully would ask, and Emily would nod, climb up into the big bed, and sleep.
Now, after four months, there were fewer tears, but almost always a midnight REM cycle intermission where she'd follow Emily back to her room, usually suggesting a pit stop in the bathroom, then tuck her in again.
When she got back in bed some nights Mulder was there, managing to stay a river away on the other side of the bed. Sometimes he'd read or watch TV until he was sure she was asleep before slipping into bed next to her. Sometimes he'd just come in to steal a pillow, then crash on the couch. They were still getting used to each other.
And so that night after tucking Emily in again, she'd wandered to the living room where the lights were still on. Mulder wasn't asleep, but he was squinting at the page. She caught the time off the clock above the stove.
"Mulder, it's three in the morning," she'd said, looking at him, at his feet hanging off the end of the couch. "Are you coming to bed?"
"In a bit," he'd said. "Just gonna finish this page."
Sometimes she'd wake up with him gently snoring beside her, or, on one memorable occasion, curled behind her with one arm draped over her hip, his knee nosing the backs of her thighs. That particular morning he'd woken and, thinking she still slept, carefully untangled their limbs, moving away from her, and she'd missed the feel of his scratchy cheek near her neck, the pine smell of him around her.
Folding laundry and organizing clothing into neat stacks on top of the dryer, matching and balling small pastel socks, matching and balling large dark socks, hanging her own pantyhose to air-dry while the warm sound of Mulder's voice carried down the hall, followed by Emily's laughter. Emily's bucket of bath toys, how she liked to dump them in the water all at once. Walking in the bathroom to find Mulder had sculpted Emily's shampoo-lathered hair so that it stood straight up. Emily calling the apartment 'home'. Emily in her arms. Emily's rose-lit bedroom. Emily's bunny. Moments like these wove through her mind now like a braid of dreams.
And now.
She walked into her unlocked apartment with an armful of sheathed dry cleaning, warm May rain clinging to her hair, and heard the sounds of water running from the bathroom sink. She draped the suits over the back of the couch, walked past the three boxes stacked in the hall, and followed the sound.
The door to the second bedroom was ajar, and she went to pull it gently closed, then found Mulder in the bathroom, this door open as well. He splashed his face with some water once, twice, then turned off the tap. She cleared her throat a little to announce herself. He looked over and blinked, then grabbed a handful of an indigo bath towel hanging near the sink and dried his face.
"That was fast," he remarked.
"There wasn't a line," she explained simply. "She fixed that frayed seam on your grey suit and didn't charge extra."
He nodded. "That was nice of her."
"Yeah," Scully said, and stepped aside to let him walk past her, some of his hairline wet. She noticed that his eyes were a little red, and averted her own, only looking up when he walked away in the direction of the living room.
He glanced back at her, then down at the boxes. "I guess we should get going. They probably close at six."
She checked the clock. Almost five. He was already leaning down to pick up the heaviest box, hefting it into his arms and heading out the door.
"I parked right in front," she said, going for her car keys on the table by the door, then bending to pick up another box. The flaps were folded on top of each other, but not taped down, so that she could still smell the sweetness of fabric softener sifting through as she took the staircase and headed to the car.
It was her car but he drove, navigating the streets easily.
"Did I tell you about the case in Montana?" he asked, flicking on the left turn signal and glancing at her for a moment. She shook her head.
"I got an email from a guy," he explained, turning into the parking lot. "He says his wife has been experiencing strange visions lately."
"Visions? Visions of what?" she asked, watching him.
"The past," he continued. "She claims to have seen the moon landing, the JFK assassination-"
"Conspiracy theories," Scully deduced, unimpressed. "What about the man with the power to cure cancer via hypnosis? Where was that one?"
"Georgia."
"Right, Georgia."
Mulder found a spot and parked, taking the key out of the ignition and getting out. They carried the three boxes to the right side of the Goodwill, to an open door marked 'Donations'. An older woman indicated where to place them on a long white table stacked high with other boxes just inside. Her worn hands opened the flaps of their largest one and looked inside.
"All clothing?" she asked.
Scully shook her head, set her box on the table and opened the top. "This one has some toys and books, and the other is more clothing and shoes. I've washed and sanitized everything already."
The woman smiled. "We'll do that, too. Did you need a receipt?"
Scully shook her head no, then paused. "I'm sorry to ask," she started, embarrassed, "but do you throw things away here? If they're not in good condition?"
The woman started to speak, but Mulder was already reaching into the third box. "These rain boots were only worn a few times. There's not a speck of mud on them," he assured, then pointed to the first box of clothing. "There's a swimsuit in there that still has the tag on it, and the batteries are brand new in the-"
"Of course, we can't take everything, but we do try," the woman said. "All of this looks to be in excellent condition. I'm sure someone will find them useful."
Scully let out a breath. "Thank you."
Mulder put one of the rubber boots back in its box and looked down when she brushed her fingers over the back of his hand.
"Come on, let's go," Scully said quietly, then squeezed his hand, still holding it as she led him back to the car.
"I think there's some of my Mom's lasagna left in the fridge," Scully said, pulling out her keys to unlock the apartment door when they got back. Inside it was hot and muggy.
"How long does it take in the microwave?" he asked, slipping his shoes off and heading toward the kitchen while she went to open the windows, letting cool evening air inside. The curtains moved as a breeze sighed through the screens.
"Two minutes, maybe a little longer," she called over her shoulder. The sound of the fridge opening, of tin foil being pulled back.
"You want some?"
Scully went to the kitchen and watched him already taking out two plates. "A small piece," she said. "I'm going to go get changed. I'll be back in a minute."
She put on her favorite pajamas, washed and moisturized her face, then rejoined him. They ate quietly, making plans for the next week, whether they'd go to Montana or Georgia, or somewhere else entirely. Washing her face had warmed her skin, so that now the fresh spring air felt cold on her cheeks. She peeled and ate a clementine for dessert, and he watched her lips each time she took a new translucent section between them. Too tired to do much more than help with the dishes, she took the dry cleaning, still over the back of the couch, to hang in the bedroom closet, while he stayed back to read.
"Don't read too late," she said quietly. "Tomorrow's a work day."
He nodded. "I won't."
Her internal clock woke her a little after one in the morning and she squinted in the darkness, but Emily wasn't standing at the side of the bed in her new spring pajamas. Scully slowly slid from the bed and shuffled out of her room and down the hall to the other bedroom, listening carefully before easing the door open.
There he was, sitting in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the little bed, blue sheets and blankets gone, staring silently at the opposite wall where the periwinkle curtains still hung over the venetian blinds. In his left hand was Emily's small stuffed rabbit.
Scully slipped into the room and went to him, holding out her hand and moving her fingers as if through a brook, beckoning. He turned his face up to her, eyes like coins at the bottom of a fountain, shiny and full of tears, but didn't move.
"Mulder," she said, voice corked with sleep, moving her fingers again, and he stood up from the bed and followed her out, going to her bedroom while she pulled the door carefully closed again.
She brought his head to her shoulder in the dark, letting him hold her close in the bed that felt like a lifeboat carrying two lone survivors after a tragedy at sea. Anointed his brow and temples with slow kisses pressed there like blessings while the crook of her neck became a shelf for his tears. She closed her eyes at the feel of his fingertips weaving into the hair at the base of her neck, not able to look at him, even in the darkness, as his own lips brushed over her right eye, the cheekbone below, her jaw.
She exhaled calmly, then turned away from him, but kept his arm close, pulled over and around her. Her eyes opened again, and she brought his hand holding the rabbit up to her face for a moment, breathing in the swiftly-fading scent of Emily's baby shampoo mixed with her own perfume before she let his hand relax again, draped over her hip. She saw the band of his ring, and her own, on her fourth finger, resting on top of it, glinting like light off a moonlit lake.
Married on a rainy Tuesday in a San Diego courthouse, parents not even two months later to a little fair-haired girl with eyes the color of an August sky. Four months of knowing her, of loving her.
And now.
A shadow of melancholy crossed over her face, as a passing cloud dims a waving field of golden grain. She squeezed her eyes shut against the vision of her daughter's round face and tried to focus on something else. She called upon a memory of clear water, diving in and relishing the weightlessness it offered.
Mulder was still awake; she could feel the tenseness in the way he held her now. What would he do, she wondered, if she brought his hand to her face again and kissed his knuckles, or turned in his arms and pressed herself closer? How like an icicle it all seemed, so tapering and cold, the past five months frozen inside. She was terrified of her life melting, sliding to the ground. If this was all to shatter now she was sure terrible, sharp-edged things would break out.
A/N: Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!