The knock on the door almost woke me up, but I was too exhausted after my son's birthday party. I fell asleep on my couch while trying to relax with some adult video. Kids take up so much energy! My son was only one year old but he already had more friends than I had in my whole life!

I heard the lock on the door, but still refused to wake up. In my dreams it was Scully coming inside and that dream I didn't want to end.

"Mulder…"

It was her voice. It sounded too real for a dream. It sounded too real to be real…

I opened my eyes, and she was really standing there, soaking wet from the rain, holding some dish in her hands, one year older, one year sadder, one year more beautiful…

"Can I see him?" she whispered, looking terrified, as if her life depends on my answer.

"He's in the bedroom," I said as I got up and approached her, taking the dish from her.

"I made him a cake," she explained with an awkward smile.

"Go to him, Scully," I nodded: "I'll put this away." But I didn't. I stood there and watched as she disappeared through my bedroom door. Was she really here? Or was I finally losing my mind?

The wet spot on my floor was real. I stared at it, whishing it would never dry. Scully's Oh-my-god-s and unhappy noises from a woken child were real too. I wanted to go inside and hug them both and never let them go. I didn't. This was her moment. She waited for it long enough.

I noticed that my hands started to shake so I held the cake tighter. I didn't trust my legs to take me to the kitchen where I could put it down. I didn't dare to move as if it would break the magic. She was in my bedroom! My son's mother was finally holding him! My birthday wish for him came true.

I don't know how long I stood there before she emerged from the bedroom. I didn't dare to look at her.

"How did you call him?" she asked me.

"Ahab," I said: "After your father."

"Ahab? Mulder, my father's name was William."

"I know, but my father had the same name. I never called him Ahab, though."

"Mulder! You've got to be kidding me!"

"I'm not. Ahab William Mulder Scully," I recited and she chuckled.

"I have a son Ahab," she repeated it as if she wanted to see how it sounds.

"The papers you signed," I told her: "I never did. They are not valid. He's yours."

"I won't take him from you," she shook her head, with eyes full of tears, but none leaking to her cheeks: "I just want to be a part of his life. And… yours… If you'll have me…"

I couldn't say another word. My tears didn't stay in my eyes and she came closer, and reached her hand to wipe them from my cheek, all the while looking deep into my eyes as if she's searching for something important.

"Are you really back?" she whispered.

"I don't know," I admitted, soaking her palm even more: "I don't know who I am."

"But I do," she whispered.

"Why don't you hate me then?"

"I can't. I tried, but I can't."

"I'm sorry Scully. It's all my fault."

"No, Mulder. It took two of us to mess things up. You had your death to blame and I… I guess I could blame hormones, but Mulder… Blaming ourselves or each other will take us nowhere. We have to at least try to work it out, together. For Ahab."

With her hand still on one of my cheeks, she pressed her lips to the other one and kissed away my tears. I wanted to hug her, but I was still holding her cake, which stubbornly stood between us.

There's always something between us…

I told her what I could, crying the entire time. I told her about my inability to feel and emptiness that followed, about the rule of rage and the fall of it, and the latest one, rule of tears, which she was witnessing. I didn't tell her it started with her accident, I didn't want her to know it took her and our child almost dying to bring me back to my senses. I didn't tell her how I cried in Skinner's arms for hours while she was in surgery, and how he held me protectively, not allowing doctors to sedate me, not allowing anybody else to touch me. I didn't tell her about the weeks I spent holding Ahab's hand in the incubator to keep myself grounded, to give me strength. Doctors and nurses thought I was being there for him, but the truth is he was being there for me.

She told me about her recovery, the wheelchairs and physical therapies, nightmares and survivor guilt, how she wanted me to find her but at the same time did everything she could to prevent it from happening. We talked for a long time, still standing in my living room, I still holding the cake and she still wet as hell.

"You need to change those clothes," I finally noticed, also remembering that my coffee table is right behind me, perfectly capable of holding her cake. I wasn't keen on trusting the table with something she made, but I had to get her dried before she caught pneumonia or something.

"I still have your spare clothes somewhere," I said, regretfully putting the cake down. She followed me to the bedroom where I pretended to search for them, not wanting to creep her by pulling them straight out, as if it's been only I yesterday that I put them in my closet.

As I finally turned back to her I was horrified to notice that she already took off most of her wet clothes and stood there only in her underwear.

"I… um… I'm sorry," I mumbled embarrassed, not knowing where to look.

"Here," I placed her clothes on the cabinet and tried to walk out of the bedroom, but she stopped me.

"Stay," she said simply: "My hands are shaking. I need your help."

"Scully…"

"It's ok, Mulder. You can do this."

And I did. All I could think about as I unhooked her bra and slid her panties down her legs was how I should have been doing that the whole time. I should have been there to hold her hand when she was hurting, to carry her when her legs didn't work, to bathe her when she couldn't do it herself. I should have been doing for her all that I've been doing for her son.

I was in tears again by the time I finished undressing her and stood up awkwardly again in front of her.

"It's ok. You can look," she smiled.

"Can I touch?" I said it as a joke, but she nodded, seriously.

So I did. I looked, where I most wanted to look: her eyes. I took her hands in mine and they were really shaking, but so were mine. She was so cold.

"Do you want to take a shower?" I asked her: "Or a hot bath? You need to warm up."

"You once told me the best way to keep warm is to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with someone who is already naked."

"Too bad I don't have a sleeping bag, Scully."

"Can you improvise, then?"

That I could.

That I did.