Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights reserved to Chris Carter and Fox.
Small Author Note: I'm really unsure about the end of this. It came to me in the middle of the night and I just started writing with no real direction. Not even sure I like it. It could change or be extended some time in the future.
It was nights like this that she missed him the most. Nights when William kept her up well into the wee hours of the morning. She would settle into her sofa cushions, unable to drag herself to bed, and imagine him sitting there telling her some amazing story about where he had been. About traveling across continents she had never seen, darkness she couldn't understand, people she wouldn't want to know or meet. He would look over at her during a particularly exciting moment and pause. Their eyes would lock and it would all be conveyed, 'I love you, I missed you, you're everything'. He would kiss her then. With her eyes closed she could almost feel it. If she concentrated hard enough she would feel his fingers touching her face, hear him breathing as he hovered, about to kiss her again. If she were lucky enough to find that place between sleeping and awake, that twilight sleep, she could relive their night together. How his hands felt on her body, the press of his body over her, the soft sheets at her back. That was rare and cherished.
Nights like tonight when sleep eluded her even in her exhausted state ... these nights were the worst. She could think these nights. Think about what might have been. If Daniel had never walked back into her life would she have William? If she had never felt so overwhelmingly alone would she have given in to her want? If Mulder had not been in danger and been able to stay ... these thoughts were dangerous. He was in danger. He wasn't here. Plain and simple. He would come back. She knew it. Deep down somewhere she could never explain she knew that he was alright. An email every few months wasn't enough to prove that he was okay. Her gut told her that he was. Some unseeable force between them kept her sane, kept her from worrying herself sick. William was her world now. Their son. Mulder's son.
She thought of the night that he was born often. How terrified she was that he would be plucked from her grasp before she even saw his face. How Monica had done everything she could to mask her own terror. The pain was the one thing she could never remember. Some switch in her brain had made it fade to a dull ache. She remembered the first contractions, her water breaking, but the rest was a blur of faces, a voice telling her to push and the pound of blood in her ears as she birthed her son into a world she feared. When he had been placed in her arms with a whispered promise of 'they're leaving' the tears came. Relief, joy, some residual hormonal reaction ... she wasn't sure. It all compounded on her at that moment and the flood gates simply opened. Williams sweet face twisted in newborn cries had already begun to both break her heart and yet make it whole.
A soft coo came from the baby monitor drawing her attention. She held her breath waiting to see if he would cry for her or sooth himself back to sleep. Silence flowed through the monitor and she relaxed. Her head lolled to the side and a vision of Mulder standing in her living room, accepting their son into his arms, accepting his existence and creation, formed before her. 'I think what we feared were the possibilities. The truth we both know.' 'Which is what?' she had asked him, still denying, still keeping secrets. Even with William between them it took Mulder's belief, Mulder's unfailing desire for the truth, for her to admit that, yes, she loved him. Yes, they had created a life, a son, and he was perfect and alive and theirs.
Her smile is replaced with forehead wrinkles and her lip between her teeth. Visions of him in some dank motel, or worse, a cave in Russia or Afghanistan, chasing some crazy lead in the heart of Africa, flood her mind. No. No. She reminds herself to trust her gut. Her gut tells her that he is safe. The sudden urge to hold her son, inhale his scent and remember that his father is alive, comes over her. She just got him to sleep and now she wants to potentially wake him just because she feels disconnected from his father? Insane. She hauls herself out of the sofa cushions and to her feet. She'll look in on him and then get into bed.
The room is quiet, dark except for the street lights filtering through the blinds. She looks over the side of the crib and tilts her head as she looks at her son's face relaxed in sleep. His little mouth hangs open and his eyes move beneath their lids. She finds herself wondering what he dreams about. Is it her? Is it his father? Or does his young mind already create fantasies? She reaches down and brushes her thumb across his forehead and down his cheek. He sighs and smacks his lips, but continues to sleep. The ridge of his nose and protrusion of his forehead is so much like his father. Her eyes roam to the rocking chair near the window. Mulder's face as he stared down at their son in wonder appears before her. It was like he had never seen a baby before. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he was theirs, that they had made him one night when they both didn't want to be alone any longer. Maybe it was that he hadn't been taken from them. Whatever the reason, Mulder's soft smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle slightly at the edges, was burned into her memory like a brand. He was happy.
She closes her eyes and lets out a long breath. Work in the morning will be hell if she doesn't get some rest. With one last lingering glance at William, she makes herself leave. Snagging the baby monitor off the table in the living room, she shuffles to her bedroom, a yawn escaping as she hits the threshold. She blinks as her exhaustion rolls over her. Her hand rubs at her neck as she forces one heavy foot after the other to get her to her bed. The baby monitor hits the bedside table with a thump as she crawls on top of her covers, robe still on over the pajamas she managed to slip into after bathing William. She collapses onto her pillows, another yawn escaping with enough force to leave her breathless. She rolls onto her back, her arm tucked beneath her pillow and turns her heavy-lidded eyes to the windows of her bedroom. Something about starlight crosses through her mind.
The fog begins to descend and her sleep-deprived brain can't find the meaning. Starlight? Seeing something in the starlight. Her eyebrow quirks as she remembers. Seeing your passed loved ones in the starlight. She knew it was one of those nice thoughts to hang on to when your loved one had passed, but ... If Mulder believed it, perhaps he would come to her in the starlight. Not tonight. Not any time soon. But he would let her know. He would find her and let her know that he was alright, safe.
As sleep begins to take her, the feint feel of a body next to her on the bed draws her to turn on her side, searching for the warmth she doesn't find. Her hand rests on the cool covers next her, a soft brush of fingers against hers and the whispered words 'trust no one' fight against the fog of sleep. She sighs as the darkness descends, the soft sounds of her apartment fade away and the deep abyss of sleep takes her. Trust no one.