June 14th, 1996
Mulder and Scully barely have had time to put their things down when Kimberly calls and tells them that the ad wants to see them immediately. They exchange a look as they head for the door, both wondering if they've done something to annoy their boss.
"Good. You're finally in." Skinner's gruff tone increases their apprehension, especially Mulder's. ::I don't remember doing anything dumb last time around.::
"I need you to pack when you get home this evening and to arrange for childcare. You're going to be catching a flight to New Orleans on Sunday night and will be returning on Saturday afternoon."
"What's the case?" Scully asks.
"No case."
"I don't understand."
Skinner steeples his hands. "I'm sure it's not something that you're aware of, but the ADs have a monthly poker game. We had a game last week, and I won a trip to New Orleans airfare and hotel for two included - which is why I'm sending you."
"But sir, why wouldn't you take the trip yourself?"
"I'm not a leisure travel type of person...I saw enough exotic locales in the service to last a lifetime. The two of you are good agents, but other than maternity leave, it's been years since either of you took any time off. Even good agents get burned out, and I can't afford for that to happen in this office, so consider this vacation to be mandatory."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"Go and have a good time. That's an order." Skinner's voice is still gruff, but there's a glint of humor in his eyes.
As they head back to the basement, Mulder casts a sidelong glance at his wife. He expects that as soon as they get behind closed doors she spout out a list of reasons why they can't leave for a week: Sammy is teething, the evil little dog needs to get his shots, she doesn't want to impose on her mother-
"Skinner is a nice man," she tells him instead with a dreamy look as soon as the door clicks shut.
"Huh?"
"It was so nice of him to think of sending us on a romantic getaway."
Mulder smirks. "I doubt that he had romance in mind. He was probably hoping that this will keep us from snapping and shooting up the Hoover building someday. "
"Even so, it's still really nice. This trip is going to be great."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Even if you insist that we go looking for famous ghosts."
"Nope, I will only do what you want. I get my fill of ghosts at home."
"Funny, I hope that's not the only of your wants completely fulfilled at home," Scully says archly.
"You tease." Mulder's eyes widen in appreciation. "You know that the answer to that is a resounding yes."
"I do know, but it's nice to hear you say it."
Mulder gives her a hopeful look. "Do you suppose we could stop on the way home and shop for some sexy swimwear?"
"Okay, but if you want to pick out my suit, I get to pick out yours."
Mulder hesitates for a moment, visions of revealing Speedos in his head. "You drive a hard bargain, but you've got a deal." Smiling to himself, he wonders what adventures this unexpected trip will bring.
June 17th, 1996
"What's the matter, Scully?" Mulder asks. It's been a perfect day, hell, it's been a perfect everything so far in New Orleans. After waking up well rested from an overnight flight, they decided to do the tourist thing on this gorgeous day, first visiting the colorful French Quarters, now walking down a loud but not too crowded Bourbon Street, and working up an appetite for some seriously unhealthy crawdads and po'boys. On such a pleasant, balmy day, he can't understand why the love of his life has such a pensive expression on her face.
"You're going to think it's silly," she says, and it's apparent she thinks so.
"No, I won't," he argues, "you know I'll believe anything."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she shoots back, then sighs, stopping on the sidewalk. "I miss our kids. I miss working. I," she smiles a little, "I even miss our haunted house."
He blinks, then frowns, and checks her temperature by placing the back of his hand on her forehead. She swats it away, and he chuckles. "Hey, I feel a little weird leaving everyone behind, too. But it's either take a sanity break now, or the Bureau will force us away from chasing little green men."
"Gray," she corrects him, and he grins. Pouting, she says, "You made me do that."
He kisses her forehead and holds her hand. "I know. But remember, the kids are hanging out with your mom and brother Charlie's family, so they're in good hands. The bills have all been paid for and the ghosts are guarding the house. Heck, even the cases have slowed to a trickle that I can't even find anything worthwhile in the tabloids." He smiles as she shakes her head. "Consider this a well deserved vacation, G-woman."
Scully looks up at him with those amazing green-blue eyes. "Does that mean, God forbid, that if anything like an X-File rears its ugly head, you'll stay away?"
Mulder blinks. "Well, I don't know. If it had anything to do with supernatural attacks on adult videos stores, that could be a hard sell," and winces as she punches him.
The two of them enjoy a leisurely dinner at one of the many venues promising great edibles and great entertainment. So far, the music is a sassy, easy jazz ensemble providing tasty music that sticks to the diners' ears as the delicious food sticks to their stomachs.
"Mmm, this is nice," Scully sighs, leaning against Mulder in the dim lighting. "No Mardi Gras craziness, no buying voodoo charms," she gives him a sidelong look as the sax player wails onstage, "And no case or kids to keep us up all night."
Mulder smirks, wrapping his arms around her. "You mean we won't be up all night doing something else?"
She returns the smirk. "Only if you behave yourself," she says, "paying the bill would be nice."
He puts a hand to his heart. "You wound me, Scully," he says, mock-hurt, " As a gentleman, of course I'd treat my wife to dinner."
"Would you?" she asks, raising that infamous eyebrow. "Even without sex?"
He smiles, he can't help it. "Well, that's a really good bonus, but I promise," he says, raising his hand like an Indian Scout, "for the rest of this trip, I'm footing the bill."
Likewise, she raises her hand like a Girl Scout. "Then I promise," she says in a sultry voice low enough for only his ears, her hands doing things to him under the table that he'd never dream her capable of doing in public, "to be great in bed for the rest of this trip."
Mulder suddenly raises his head, looking for a waiter. "Check, please!"
Apparently, they're not the only couple infatuated with the sultry surroundings in the sinfully decadent mansion-turned-hotel they're staying in. However, neither FBI agent takes a second look at their hotel, preferring to practically tear each other's clothes off while trying to kiss and fondle the other as best they can. They barely make it to the bed as they continue to strip each other down without falling over, panting eagerly, hungrily for the main course. Scully makes good on her promise, and then some, causing Mulder to forget entirely about a little something called "protection" until after the fact. Groggily, he asks, "Scully?"
"Mm," she says, absently kissing his chest while her hands play over his hip.
God, he really, really hates to ask. "Are you on the pill?"
She stops, and he swallows a sigh. "No." She puts a finger on his lips. "Just because we've had sex doesn't guarantee a kid. Neither does a condom guarantee no kid," she reminds him.
He nods, feeling a slight twinge of guilt in that complicit act. "Well, yeah," he starts, but her finger returns to his lips.
"If it makes you feel any better, I've got some," she says, "unless you want to sleep." Her eyes, her voice, even her wandering hands say she's far from sleep.
Mulder smiles widely, his hands reclaiming her body. "No, these days, a redhead is causing my insomnia," and she giggles as he shows her just how awake he is.
In the morning, Mulder flips on the TV out of boredom, his thumb first hitting "mute" before the "up" button as he goes through channel after channel, not wanting to wake his wife. It does feel weird to be awake and not feeding any little ones, or changing them, or poring over a casefile while keeping evidence out of Page and Sammy's reach. He glances over at the sleeping redhead on the bed. Well, one thing hasn't changed, waking up to a drop-dead gorgeous naked woman in the morning, and grins.
Tossing aside the remote, he decides the morning is too good not to share, even if he may risk the wrath of Scully. Besides, she's looking too damn sexy half-covered under the satin sheets, and there's no kids around to interrupt. Tentatively, he kisses her jaw, then works down her neck, his fingers stroking her silken skin on her favorite spots. As she moans, he gets bolder, and bigger, but waits until she's awake before even approaching the coveted zone.
"Mm, Mulder," she sighs, and smiles, her eyes opening sleepily. "Good morning."
"It will be," he smiles back, and continues to bring her slowly but surely into alertness. It isn't long before she takes control and thrusts her hips against his, demanding that he give her what she wants. "Scully," he groans, :censored:
As he fills her with unimaginable pleasure, Scully isn't thinking of anything except this talented and imaginative wake-up call. "Mulder!" she gasps, :censored:
"Oh!" he breathes :censored:
As their hands begin exploring each other, ready for another tryst, Scully breaks away, hating to do so. "Mulder, look!" she says, pointing at the TV.
Surprised and a little disappointed, he gets off of her and turns around, then hits the "mute" button again. Onscreen, the unseen reporter declares, "Local authorities are baffled by these recent events." Footage of ritualistic symbols in blood are scattered throughout what appears to be the inside of a crack house, and chickens walk over several pale corpses. "Again, we apologize for such graphic images on the morning show, but if anyone has any clues as to who perpetrated such a grisly crime, please call the police or Crimestoppers at-," Mulder clicks the TV off.
"Sounds like an X-File to me," Scully says, resigned.
"Yeah," Mulder says, wondering if he's being disloyal to his wife getting almost as excited over a prospective case as he is in bed with her.
Outside, it looks like a crack house, even if the official story describes it as an abandoned building. The two agents look at each other, their hands briefly on where their weapons are hiding, before walking towards the eye of a small human tornado. A tall, bespectacled man lets them past the crime scene tape, but stops them at the doorway. "I didn't think this place would be crawling with feds," Detective Jeremy Harris says, shaking Mulder's and Scully's hands.
"Crawling?" Mulder repeats, as Scully gives the forensic team ample berth to work in. He can't see anyone else from the FBI, unless they all look like cops.
Well, save one. "Agent Monica Reyes, these are Special Agents Mulder and Scully," Detective Harris says, tapping the shoulder of a tall brunette.
She turns around, and her smile is warm, even in a grisly scene as this. It unnerves Scully, but to Mulder, the familiarity is welcome as they shake her hand. "I didn't realize this would warrant out-of-state attention this quickly." Reyes smiles pleasantly, her large dark eyes sizing them up just as fast.
"We were," Scully starts, but Mulder interrupts, "We specialize in the unexplained."
"Good," Reyes says, and turns her attention back to the crime scene. "What I don't understand is why someone would sacrifice people and not the animals. I mean, these days, everything is very above-board, so much so that a lot of the local churches don't want to jeopardize their nonprofit status in ritualistic sacrifice, much less human."
Mulder is peering at one of the walls with a flashlight. "And these symbols have nothing to do with sacrifice. These are pretty much benign."
Reyes nods, surprised and impressed. "Yeah, everything except this." She points down with her own flashlight to one of the bodies not yet carted away. "It appears the killer or killers were very by-the-book in terms of voudoun symbolism except here." The pentagram carved into the dead man's chest is apparent to the living.
"I'd like to autopsy the bodies," Scully says, already following the bodies out the door.
The tall woman waves her hand. "Be my guest," she says, and smiles back at Mulder. "I'd love to see how specialists in the unexplained handles this."
"Mulder, this is weird," Scully says a couple hours later over the phone.
"Define 'weird'," Mulder says, having just questioned the owners of the roaming chickens and wondering if the X-Files should relocate.
"Well, I was looking for traces of bufotoxin, like that last case of voodoo we dealt with, but there's nothing on the tox screens for anything like it. So, no zombies, no bad voodoo," she says, taking off the wraparound glasses.
"That's good, isn't it?" he asks, getting into his car.
"Kind of. All the wounds on each victim were in the same places, so it appears some kind of ritual was taking place, but that's not what killed them."
"No?" Mulder wonders, intrigued.
"No," she says heavily, "And here's the weird part. Agent Reyes has a theory that whoever killed these men did it by transferring their souls rather than by knifing them." Scully hears nothing for a moment, then says, " Mulder? Are you sure you don't have another sister in New Orleans?"
He laughs. Sounds like Reyes, all right. "Maybe she's right," he says, "but I'm pretty sure I don't have another sister." He pauses. "Unless you think I should call my parents and check."
"No, Mulder," she sighs, "I guess you're not the only agent with crazy theories."
"Makes me look sane in comparison, doesn't it?" he asks. There's nothing but silence at the end of the line, and then disconnection. He grins, putting away his cell phone. Who knows, maybe Reyes could join the team earlier and give him and Scully more vacation time. Yeah, right, and aliens will fly out of his butt.
The next morning, Mulder grabs his cell phone, his hand automatically hitting "answer" As he says, half-awake, "Mulder."
"Agent Mulder," Reyes' warm voice says, "hope I didn't wake you."
"What happened?" he asks, sitting up as Scully mumbles in her sleep.
"I think those autopsies were a mistake," she says.
"Why?" His curiosity's piqued now.
"I believe the souls of those bodies, whom we thought were dead, are possessing the chickens."
"What?" He squawks so loudly that Scully mutters herself awake.
"You and your wife had better come down here." She hangs up, and Mulder groans.
"Mulder?" Scully says sleepily. "What's wrong?"
"Better get dressed." He sighs. "It's going to be a long day."
The redhead looks at him with crusty eyes, then nods. She's learned to trust his judgment on this part of their cases, if nothing else.
Mulder watches his wife go to the bathroom by herself, and sighs longingly. So much for their vacation, making sweet sweet love morning, noon and night. Well, he'd like to think so, at least.
"So, what do you think?" The tall brunette asks the husband-and-wife team of agents. They are all standing in the barn, surrounded by poultry, feed, and dirt.
Scully, looking amazingly together despite being awake only half an hour before, is nonplussed. "It looks like chicken scratch."
Reyes' large dark eyes look from one agent to the other. "It doesn't look like something significant?"
Scully's eyebrows go up. "Like what?"
"Like," Reyes leans over and motions with her hand, "writing."
"Chicken scratch, writing, I get it." Mulder smirks.
Reyes straightens up and sighs, as if the brightest student in the class has turned out to be a dimwit. "No, as in writing writing." She smiles encouragingly, as if to help him along.
Mulder squints, then hunkers down to squat among the clucking chickens. "Nope, still don't see it."
"Okay, maybe the angle's wrong," she says, and repositions Mulder and Scully. Then she stands at the far side of the barn, as if to place herself impartially. "See? S. O. S."
They both make faces trying to see what she seems to. "Maybe it's an optical illusion with red and green colored corn," Mulder murmurs, "I'm colorblind in one eye."
Scully frowns up at him. "How did you pass the eye exam?" she asks in an undertone.
He grins down at her. "Slept with the examiner- ow!" Rubbing his arm, smiling innocently at the questioning Reyes, he answers in a low tone, "I made my good eye do double duty, jeez." In a louder voice, he says, "Sorry, we don't see it."
"Are you certain the farmers haven't tried to train their poultry?" Scully folds her arms.
The brunette shakes her head. "They're nice people, if a little nutty."
"They're not the only ones," Scully murmurs, her gaze going from the tall woman to her husband. She still thinks they're related, but perhaps only in a mental institution kind of way.
"They have motive and opportunity," Mulder says, "And their business is poultry."
"You'd think so," Reyes says, "They do better with their cattle." She points outside to another barn and grassy acres beyond.
A stakeout, however, reveals the truth, and even Reyes shakes her head. "I can't believe it," she says, then laughs while the cops lead the farmers away in handcuffs. "That's not something I say very often."
"Sounds familiar," Scully grunts, looking at her husband.
He's still looking at the barn. "They take bird-brain to a whole new level," he says reverently. "To think the chickens were the ones responsible for the farm's success."
"Most people often underestimate animal intelligence," Scully counters, "numerous species have been trained to perform hundreds of tasks, bred for specific traits like hunting, performing, racing. Mulder, the first astronauts were monkeys, and they have communication skills, too." She remembers their case at the zoo a bit sadly.
"Yeah, but those were dogs, horses, four-legged types, and monkeys are even closer to us on the evolutionary scale, Scully," Mulder crows, "but these are chickens! Chickens! Do you know what this means?"
"No," Scully says flatly.
"Another reason for scientists to mess around with poultry?" Reyes asks. "They're already altering genes to make them healthier for human consumption, I wouldn't be surprised if that kind of tinkering with nature didn't also carry over some added benefits to the chickens themselves."
Mulder is taken aback, as if his own argument has been stolen. Dang, I keep forgetting she graduated with honors from a prestigious college, he thinks, I wonder how many people she's arrested who thought she was a complete flake. Then he nods. "Although usually genetic engineering brings very little positive benefits for those being manipulated."
"Genetic manipulation is one thing," Scully says, "running a farm is another. And," she pauses, as the barn seems to have gone silent, "so is murder. We still haven't figured out who murdered those people in that abandoned house."
Reyes opens her mouth, but her cell phone rings, and she smiles a brief apology as she answers it. She walks off, muttering into the phone and, in the semi-darkness, appears to be talking to herself.
Mulder takes the time to murmur into his wife's ear, "So, do dangling loose ends get you all hot and bothered?"
Scully glances down at the bulge in his pants. "That's a new nickname."
As they share knowing smiles, Agent Reyes joins them. "That was Ben Lee, one of the neighbors of the quote-unquote abandoned house. Apparently, he was getting tired of waiting for the cops to shut down the illegal activities going on next door and took matters into his own hands. He turned himself in not too long ago." She sighs. "I was so close."
"Cheer up," Mulder says, "some of our cases don't have such tidy answers."
Scully looks at him. "I never would've guessed genetically modified chickens, Mulder."
"I was hoping for more alien experimentation on animals, but this is cool, too," he agrees as she rolls her eyes. "And the bad guy turned himself in. If that isn't a happy ending, I don't know what is."
Scully looks at her husband, then at the patient, still-smiling agent. "You know, if you ever get bored, you can always apply for an opening in our division," she says, wondering why she's offering, proffering a hand.
Mulder looks similarly surprised, but smiles as Reyes takes his wife's hand and shakes it firmly. "Is that a hint for me to clean up the office, dear?" He, too, shakes Reyes' hand.
Scully snorts. "I wish. No, it would be nice having more help, we might actually have a real vacation for once."
"Well, thanks for taking the time out on your vacation to help out," Reyes smiles, "And if you ever think of coming over during Mardi Gras, look me up."
"Will do," Scully smiles back, and the two women wave at each other before Reyes walks off. "I like her, Mulder. She's a little weird, but I like her."
"You're a little weird, but I like you, too," Mulder murmurs, chuckling as she makes a face.
"I'm bushed," Scully sighs as they stumble into their room, practically zombies. It's been a long day and a long night, and now, as usual, everything from their unofficial case is hitting her at once. She yawns and stretches, then flops down on the bed.
Mulder flops down on the bed beside her, shaking her and the bed considerably. "You wanna shower first, or should I?" he mumbles.
"You first," she says, "I think I'll drown myself in a bath."
"Okay," he says, stripping off and wandering into the bathroom.
Not ten minutes later, he steps out, feeling somewhat more awake in his sweatpants and t-shirt, only to see his wife is sprawled on the bed, her eyes fluttering on the edges of sleep. "That's not fair," he grumbles, as she manages to take most of the space on the bed, despite her small size. Feeling more than a little selfish, he nudges his wife. "Scoot over, Scully," he says, "come on."
Jostled back into wakefulness, she blinks. "Is it my turn?" She yawns, tugging off her blouse.
"Uh, yeah," he says, following her to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns the water taps on, then pours in some of that bubbly stuff she seems to like. When the tub is reasonably filled with water and bubbles, he turns to his wife, who is now very, very naked. "Are you awake, Scully?" he asks, half-hoping she says no.
"I'm fine," she smiles, stepping into the tub, "thanks."
He drinks in the sight of his partner and wife, smiling as a blush creeps up her face. "I know you are," he says, stripping off his clothes.
"Mulder?" she asks, her quickening heartbeat telling her the answer, even as she sinks into the concealing bubbles.
"I'm wide awake, too," he says, joining her in the tub as the water sloshes over the sides.
"Mulder, you're splashing," she tries to scold him, " Mulder, come on, oh!" She gasps as her hands come in contact with something that definitely isn't the soap, and she giggles. "Mind if I play with this for a while?"
:censored:
"What?" she asks, smiling.
"Sometimes I keep forgetting you're as horny as me," he says, laughing when she splashes frothy bubbles at him. "Thanks for reminding me."
"As horny as I am," she corrects him primly, even as her body language is less than prim, the bubbles sliding off her glistening skin and revealing creamy perfection. In fact, if he doesn't know any better, she's looking downright predatory, leaning over him as if she might get kinky and bite his neck or something. Whatever she's got planned, he's got a hunch they'll enjoy it, judging by that gleam in her eyes.
And for the next several hours, in and out of the tub, Scully proves his hunch correct.
July 4th, 1996
11:43 a.m.
"Okay, about where in Central Park did your brother say?" Mulder squints haplessly against the bright sunlight. It's a gorgeous summer day in New York, which means that all the vendors are swarming the place like flies, and the humidity combined with heat produces nothing less than brain damage in most people. He can see evidence of this brain damage by the drooping baggy pants the young men are wearing, and the frightening amount of tattoos some young women are sporting on their now-bare skin.
He blinks when someone's snapping their fingers at him. "Mulder," Scully says, carrying Sammy in front, "you're not babe-watching, are you?"
"Heck, no," he says in a very unconvincing fashion, and she sighs. Page, riding piggyback on him, sighs also. "Hey, hey," he says, leaning towards Scully, "I'm a heterosexual male, I'm not blind, but I loooooove my wife and kids." He beams winningly at his redheaded wife, who merely shakes her head, but he does catch a small smile beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth.
"As I was saying," she says, walking ahead of him, "while you were, um, distracted, Charlie said he'd meet us by the tree facing a statue."
"And that narrows it down to maybe fifty spots," Mulder drones, shifting Page a little as he readjusts the diaper bag in one hand and the picnic basket in the other. He still can't believe they have a picnic basket. He also can't believe Scully didn't bean him for teaching Page to say "pic-a-nic basket" like Yogi Bear. "You know, for a guy who works on satellites, you'd think he'd be a bit more specific."
"He probably didn't think it would get this crowded," Scully says defensively, ignoring her husband's snort. "Anyway, I would think that you'd - HEYYY!" It's a good thing Sammy's strapped to her, otherwise she'd accidentally drop her baby in her mad dash to try waving and running at the same time.
Sighing, Mulder tightens his grip on the bag and basket and hauls ass, making sure to keep his daughter from falling off. He's surprised that she can run so fast, given that her legs are shorter, but then again, she's not carrying two bags as well as a child. Huffing, he resolves to go back to doing laps again. He sees Scully enthusiastically throwing her arms around a tall man with hair even more red than her own, and can't help but smile.
As he nears the Scullys, he trips over something and goes down. Hard. And the first thing he thinks is, Page! Is she okay?
Ow, ow, ow, Mulder thinks, his training having spared him nothing more painful than a bruised ego as he quickly sits up and looks around. His daughter is about a foot away, crying, and he rushes over to her. "I'm sorry, baby," he says, "Daddy tripped over something."
"Sorry about that," a man's voice says from behind.
Mulder turns around and is surprised to see Agent Doggett, that is, Detective Doggett, standing in front of him with a sheepish expression. "Mr. Doggett," he says, holding out his hand.
"Agent Moldah," Doggett mangles the name in his inimitable Southern version of a New York accent. "Hey, sorry about that. Me an' Luke were just playin' Frisbee." He holds up the offending object.
"And I guess I slipped on that. Um, you've met my wife," he says, when the curious Scullys have joined them. "And this is her brother Charlie, and," he pauses, unsure what the etiquette is.
Scully smiles, taking up where he left off, as well as looking over her daughter. "And his wife Elaine, and their son Brandon." The Chinese-American woman is about as petite as she is, and their little boy is a handsome mix of Irish and Chinese. "Mr. Doggett, what a surprise."
Doggett shrugs as his son joins them. "Soonah or latah, you meet everyone in the City," and grins. "Hey, this is Luke," and he takes a little girl from the boy's arms, "And Hannah."
"Is your wife all right?" Scully asks, concerned.
"Huh? Oh yeah," Doggett says, " She had a business meetin' to go to." He shakes his head. "Don't see why private sector can't have a holiday like the rest of us." It sounds like an oft-told argument, and then he smiles guiltily. "I'm sorry I messed up your picnic."
"Hey, we never got started," Charlie grins. "Now this is starting to look like the kind of family picnics I remember. Lots of kids, lots of food, lots of sun, somebody getting hurt..."
"That wasn't fun," Scully makes a face at him.
"How was I supposed to know about jellyfish?" Charlie argues as they go to their picnic spot, the Doggetts and Mulders in tow. "Or when Bill dared you-"
"Don't," Scully interrupts him, then turns back sweetly to her husband. "If Charlie tells you anything about 'when Dana was little,' hit him."
"That's my older sister," The tall redhead grins, affectionately squeezing her and making her mock grimace.
Doggett chuckles as his son arbitrarily declares himself the leader of the other mobile kids, even as the grownups try and sort out the food and beach blankets. "Reminds me of my family picnics, too," he admits.
Mulder asks Doggett a question he's always wondered since the other man joined the X-Files. "So what brings a Southern gentleman like you up north to NYC?" he says.
Something crosses the man's eyes briefly, but is barely visible to Mulder, perhaps only because he's looking for it. "My wife," he says, "I met her when I first joined the force, and hell, despite what you see on TV, it's a great place to raise a kid."
Mulder nods, still slightly in awe that Luke's alive and now the older brother of a baby sister. "Well, kid plural now," he says, gesturing at Hannah, "I can tell Luke's probably gonna beat up whoever's unlucky enough to ask Hannah out when the time comes."
"Her boyfriends would have ta get through me first," Doggett says, shaking his head. "I don' even wanna think that far ahead."
"Then don't," Scully says, giving her husband a look. "Why don't you try Elaine's spring rolls before the flies eat them up?"
"Sure thing," he says, helping himself as the dark-haired woman beams.
"How long are you going to be in New York?" Scully asks her sister-in-law, even as she bottle-feeds Sammy. It's nice to be able to just hang out with another woman, under the shade of a leafy tree, and relax, she thinks idly.
The Chinese-American woman looks up at her husband, who is jawing with Mulder and Doggett about various sports teams and laughing at one or the other's favorite underdog as they pursue the manly art of barbeque. "The way things look, maybe a year," she says.
There's a slightly wistful tone that Scully recognizes from her mother. "He might as well have joined the military, the way you have to constantly relocate," she sympathizes.
"I've heard you and Fox do quite a bit of traveling yourself," Elaine says, smiling as her son and the tow-headed boy slow down enough to include Page in their games. "I'm surprised you already have two kids."
Scully smiles back. Long ago, she would've freaked out had anyone told her she would be a mother of two on top of being a doctor and FBI agent at this point. But being with Mulder has made her loosen up on some things, both in her personal and professional life, not that she'd ever tell him that. "I'm surprised, too," she admits. "But then again, I never thought I'd be out in the field. I started out teaching at Quantico, and I was sure I'd simply climb the ladder there."
Elaine nods. "Life never seems to go the way you planned, does it?" she says. "I went to med school and ended up an editor's assistant for a big publishing firm, you went through med school and ended up an FBI agent."
The redhead nods. "Well, at least you get to read fiction. It seems like I'm living it," and she grins, knowing her job's reputation even among her family. "By the way, what did you think of the latest Kay Scarpetta?" And they end up peaceably discussing forensic techniques for a good while.
A sudden movement catches their attention, and Elaine turns her head to see her son tumbling around the grass with the other kids. "Pinch me," she says, and Scully looks at her strangely. She chuckles. "That boy's been glued to the TV so long, I thought Charlie would install a satellite dish on his head," and her redheaded sister-in-law laughs. "It's so nice to be with family," she says.
Scully nods. "Yeah, it is," she says, then nudges her sister-in-law with her free elbow towards the menfolk. "Look at them, I wonder if they've spent all this time talking baseball?"
Elaine laughs. "Oh God, Charlie's probably trying to convert them into Red Sox fans."
"Now what are they laughin' about?" Doggett wonders, shifting his baby girl on his hip as he flips another burger.
"Women," Mulder rolls his eyes, "God only knows." And continues munching his hot dog.
The tall redhead swallows the last of his burger before answering. "They've probably been talking about the latest forensic techniques," Charlie muses, then stops when the other two men look at him. "Elaine's a big mystery buff, and Dana's a pathologist," he says.
Mulder grins. "You officially win the award of Farthest-Jumped Conclusion," he says, ignoring the irony that it could easily have gone to him. "I can see how you and Scully are related."
"Why don't you call her by her first name?" Charlie wonders. "Besides, being a Scully myself, it just sounds weird."
Mulder shrugs. "Weird is what I do," he says, and now Doggett chuckles.
"Ya don't say," the Southern transplant says, and Mulder has a feeling of déjà vu. "Barbara would probably ignore me if I called her by her maiden name."
"Is it that bad?" Charlie grins.
Doggett grins back, but shakes his head. "Nah, but it's a guy's name. If I called her 'Patrick,' she wouldn't know I was talkin' to her."
"I see what you mean," Mulder says, picking up his Coke. "Yeah, she'd probably look at you funny."
"I hope you at least have some sickening nicknames for my sister," Charlie says, returning to his question from another angle. "If Elaine called me 'Scully' all the time, I'd at least hope for some variety."
"She calls me 'Mulder'," Mulder shrugs. "It beats 'Fox'."
"But Fox is a cool name," Charlie argues, "well, it kinda sounds Native American." He looks to Doggett for confirmation. The other man shrugs.
"Tell you what," Mulder says, "you tell me what kind of nicknames you gave Scully, I mean, Dana, when she was younger, and I'll call her Dana more often."
An evil grin spreads across the younger man's face. "You sure about that?"
Doggett gives the other man a worried look. "Moldah, maybe some things are bettah left unsaid," he says, "I come from a big family, too, and most of what we called each other ain't fit for mixed company."
Mulder brushes the other's man's worries aside. "Hey, I had a sister, too, and it's just us guys," he says, "how bad can it be?"
"Mulder," Scully frowns at him as they go through the semi-arduous task of buckling everyone in the car, "now can you tell me what you were all laughing about?"
A number of nicknames run through Mulder's excellent memory, and he clamps down on the snigger that's threatening to escape. If there's ever a time to exercise his cool exterior, now would be it. "Nothing," he mumbles quickly, starting the car.
"Mulder?" She tries again, but seeing she'll get nothing out of him for now, she sighs and leans back against the seat. "It was nice seeing Mr. Doggett and his son again," she says casually.
"Yeah, it was," Mulder answers, and the sobering reality of the consequences of his wish frees his mind of any hysterical sobriquets. "John and Charlie made plans to hang out again."
"That's nice," Scully says, hoping that Elaine would get along with the as-yet-unmet Mrs. Barbara Doggett. "We should do this more often."
"Do what?" Mulder asks, thinking she could be referring to anything from being in New York to having a barbeque.
"Leave home without being on a case," the redhead says, glancing at him. His eyes are still on the road, so she goes on. "It's actually relaxing once there's no worries about chasing monsters, interrogating delusional witnesses, or having to write a report about the whole mess."
"So," he says casually, guessing she's forgotten about his earlier evasive maneuver, "what were you and Elaine talking about?"
She's about to give him some inconsequential answer, but seeing as how he was somewhat pigheaded about her small question earlier, she changes her mind. "We were discussing forensic techniques," she says mildly.
Suddenly, Mulder erupts into a fit of laughter so hard, he has to pull to the side of the road.