Shifting the car into gear, Mulder continued. "I know that you want her to be able to lead as full a life as possible, Scully, but when are you going to accept that good intentions and wishing aren't going to make my sister any more than she already is? God knows that I'm glad that her accident wasn't fatal, but by this point the possibility of her recovering to any greater degree is long past. Years past. She is who she is. We just have to accept that."

When she didn't say anything, he glanced over at her. "I hate that look."

"What look?"

"The one that chides me for giving up on her. I'm not. You have to know I'm not. I just don't think it's fair to burden her with unrealistic expectations, and that means not actively encouraging her to do things that she's destined to fail at. I just want what's best for my sister."

"I know," Scully replied, turning her head towards the window. It wasn't fair to judge him harshly, not when he'd been dealing with the aftermath of the accident for decades and she'd just appeared on the scene herself.


It was only by the car stopping and Mulder taking off his seatbelt that she knew that they'd arrived at their final destination for the day. Glancing at Mulder she suddenly found herself wishing that she had his poker face because she was finding it very hard not to openly study the building. It was a single family home, not an apartment building, and Mulder had the keys to the place.

As they walked up to the front door she noted that neither of them had thought to put a wreath on the door, unlike most of the neighbors. She found that she approved, but wondered if it was because she was thinking about her mother's insistence that she ought to have decorated for no one.

"Home at last," Mulder intoned as he hung up his coat.

Scully had to bite her tongue to keep from thanking him for the reassurance that her suspicions were right. "Now what?" she asked instead, hoping that he wouldn't realize how pointed a question that was. Her dream theory was beginning to wear thin considering that she'd of thought she would have woken up or have veered off into something else rather than continue to dream along the same timeline.

"Dinner?" Mulder suggested as if he at least thought that what was going on was completely normal.

"Okay," she agreed warily. There was no telling what might be in the house to cook; his apartment had seldom contained anything that couldn't have been stored in case of nuclear war. Still, she never would have expected the old Mulder to have bought a house, so maybe things were different here. Now. Whatever it was.

"I was thinking steak," Mulder continued as he led the way to a kitchen that had granite counters and a surprising amount of steel in it. "I picked up a couple of nice ones earlier this week while you were at the doctor's office."

Involuntarily her hand went to her still nearly flat belly. Was there something wrong with the baby in this dream, and that's why she'd gone to the doctor? Before she could blurt out what she was thinking in a panic she reminded herself that women with textbook perfect pregnancies saw their OBs regularly throughout their pregnancies, so there was nothing to be alarmed about. Probably.

"That sounds good," she told him when she realized that she hadn't replied to his question. Her only concern was wondering if he had the proper cookware somewhere in the house. It seemed like a possibility because there were the usual accoutrements to a home in sight, even a small tastefully decorated tree despite the lack of a wreath, not that she could imagine him ever going to the store and purchasing any of these items. Perhaps she had. The thought made her want to laugh in a manic sort of way, so she tried desperately to keep it in.

"Great. Why don't you go and sit down while I cook them, then?" he asked. Scully stared at him, and his own expression morphed into a frown. "Please don't yell at me again for treating you like an invalid. I'm well aware that you're still a capable woman even pregnant. I just happen to be a better cook than you are."

"That's a matter of opinion," she shot back in a way that nearly felt natural. In this situation in real life, she probably would have said something very similar to him.

"Culinary crimes are hardly an opinion, Scully. Now scoot. I can't cook if you're underfoot."

"Fine." To her satisfaction she found her way back to the living room without an escort.

There was no real reason she had to stay there, though, so she allowed herself to wander down the hall. The first room turned out to be a guest bathroom, and the next the master bedroom. A quick peek in the closet revealed that it was full of his and hers suits, and she was filled with the urge to check the night stands for guns and badges. Until that moment she hadn't entertained the idea that they were still FBI agents even without Samantha's alleged abduction by aliens. Her fingers fell away from the night stand drawer, though, when she decided that it would appear decidedly odd for her to be rummaging though their bedroom if Mulder should come and look for her. Forcing herself away, she left the bedroom entirely.

To distract herself she found herself opening the next door. It only took a moment to find the light switch and flick it on, and when she did she nearly collapsed to her knees. The room was a tastefully decorated nursery, appointed with everything a couple could possible need for their new baby.

And every single thing in the room was white or pink.

Scully backed up to the wall so she could keep her feet. Although she hadn't been to a doctor the day before like Mulder said she had, she had been to her OB within the past week. And when she had, the ultrasound had revealed that the baby she was carrying was a healthy little boy.

But this version of Mulder, and her apparently, had gotten other news about their baby. Clearly they thought that they'd be having a girl.