Scully's mother had once told her that she was a heavy sleeper as a child, oblivious to thunderstorms that sent some of her siblings scrambling to their parents' bed. She found that hard to believe, years of government conspiracies and always checking your back making her wake often during the night. And now that William was here, the idea of sleeping completely through the night was a pipe dream.
A soft tread in the hallway made her start, eyes going automatically to the basinette in the corner, situated so that her bed was between her son and the doorway. Scully never picture herself as the over-protective type, but then she'd never seen herself as a mother, either. Yes, she'd wanted a child, wanted his child. But that dream had seemed more like an imagining, a child's game of "what if." The lump of fear in her throat, however, was very real and her fingers brushed the comfort of metal and power in the gun that lay under the pillow beside her.
"Is everything okay?" came a soft voice, hushed in case she had been sleeping, and Scully instantly relaxed.
She must have been very tired to have forgotten that Reyes was here tonight. Lately the days seemed to be blurring together, and she was sure that it was obvious at work, even if she was in the classroom, in forensics and not with the FBI any longer. As soon as her class ended, she collected William immediately, not liking the idea of leaving him in the day care center a moment longer than necessary-- she didn't trust anyone besides Mulder and Reyes, and Mulder was scarce these days. William was usually good enough to nap in her office while she graded and dealt with the relative boredom of academia, but he'd hit seven months and now all of a sudden he didn't seem to adapt to the schedule they had, naps were shifting time and just about the time she would get things done and finally try to slip in a nap of her own, he would be awake and need one thing or another.
Reyes had taken to dropping in during the evenings, trying to keep William placated in the living room while Scully got some extra sleep or tried to do the dozens of things that a baby made difficult. And on some nights, like this one, Reyes simply stayed over, sleeping in the livingroom on the couch. It reminded her horribly of Mulder, but she still slept better on these nights.
"Fine," Scully answered the question, twisting toward the doorway, sheets tangling up around her legs. "I just put him down again. Diaper change."
As if in reply, a soft noise came from the basinette. Both women froze, falling silent and hoping he would settle in his own. All the books had said to try to let him calm himself, that he would drift back to sleep. Apparently tonight the books were wrong, because the little gurgling sounds were giving way to cries. Scully pushed herself up on an elbow, starting to rise before Reyes gave a soft shake of her head.
"I'll get him." She lifted the fussy baby from his little basket and gave Scully a questioning look.
"He ate earlier. I don't know..."
It was all Reyes needed to grab the blanket and lay it on the bed, William on top and then bundled up snugly. It always made Scully want to ask where she'd learned how to do it so well, but she never knew how to phrase the question. As much as she had done for both of them, Reyes was still Reyes and definitely not Monica to her. It was professional distance, but there was something more to it. Though they'd shared some of the most important moments, especially William's birth, there was the unspoken need to keep a distance none the less.
Her touch, it seemed, was magic, for within a few moments of bouncing him lightly, a hand patting his diapered bottom in a steady rhythm, he began to quiet down to just the non-sensical babbles of a sleepy infant. Reyes sank to the other side of the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard, still giving the same little pats as the baby melted against her. She gave Scully what could have almost passed for a smile as she reached carefully to turn off the bedside lamp. "I'm here tonight. Get some sleep."