Fox slips the whimpering baby from her prison. He plants a kiss on her forehead, and quietly situates himself in a rocking chair. He gently glides as she sucks down a bottle. In the low light from the lamp he tries to memorize her every expression. She seems to change with each passing day.
"What are we going to do with your mom? Huh? She's really struggling to adjust. I'm not going to tell her about our chats. Whatever you say is in total confidence."
The baby makes a noise. Mulder nods in understanding, "I totally agree. I think the big foot waffles might help her feel better too. I mean they definitely improve my mood. I have been meaning to talk to you about your schedule. I was thinking that maybe I could do your six a.m. feeding, and we could let your mom sleep in a little. What do you think?"
Charlotte wraps her hand around his pinky. "Shh! We're not going to tell your mom. We both know you're daddy's girl. She's feeling vulnerable right now. Her body is still recovering, and her mind… well it's really tangled up. She was so traumatized by the past twenty or so years I don't think she knows what to think. She thinks that you're awesome, and she's totally enamored by you."
Several days later Scully finds herself in the solace of a hotel room away from her family. She's spent much of the day feigning happiness, and joy whilst selling herself… or a version of herself at least. She sits on the end of the bed in a bathrobe in total silence. There is no sign of Mulder talking her head off about baby excrement. Her wet hair hangs freely as she lies back on the bed in defeat. There is no tiny offspring demanding her undivided attention with precious little cries.
As she stares up at the ceiling, feeling relieved there aren't any mirrors the guilt sneaks into her head again. Her life feels foreign to her. There are no cases to be solved. There are no sick patients to help. Her head is spinning. Her agent, who seems to be named Stephanie, has suggested a book tour. In an instant her mind shifts to the face of a tiny little girl. For a moment it's almost as if she can hear her. She groans as she vacates the sanctity of her bed for her luggage. She digs out her breast pump, and dials home.
"Did you make it in safely?"
"Yes," she yawns.
"I've got our little lady bathed, fed, and tucked in."
"Did you read her…"
"I read her three stories. She blew out her diaper during the last one, and we had to change her clothes, and mine."
"Mulder?"
He interrupts. "Are you pumping?"
"What else would I be doing with my time?"
"Enjoying yourself, perhaps? Having a drink and ordering pay per view."
"I am fairly certain all those concepts are from the past."
"Speak for yourself. I am enjoying myself watching a little show on the baby monitor."
"What kind of a show?"
"Our precious offspring has succeeded at getting her hand out of the swaddle. She keeps touching her face, and then furrowing her brow."
"Riveting."
"How was the book signing?"
"Exhausting. The agent was yammering on about a book tour. I don't want to go on tour."
"That is totally up to you. Aren't you a little relieved to be out of the house?"
"I don't know what to do with myself."
"You're miserable, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"All of the time?"
"I'm not sure this is a conversation to have over the phone," Scully answers.
"I can make an appointment for you to see doctor Singh. You could take the medication she offered."
"No."
"You cannot spend the rest of your existence miserable."
"This should pass," she insists.
"The scientist in you knows that, but your body may not be agreeable."
"My old, boring scientist self is going to head to bed now."
"Love you."
She disconnects with no response. Tossing the phone on the bed behind her she screams in frustration. Vacating her seat on the bed she heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth. In the mirror she catches her reflection before she can make it to the toothbrush. Her hair has only been towel dried, and so it clings to the neck of her bathrobe. Warm water and copious amounts of facial cleanser have wiped the days expectations from her face. She sighs in frustration, realizing the breast pump is still attached to her.
"What is wrong with you?" she grits her teeth at her own reflection. "You have everything that you ever wanted, and you can't even be happy. Why can't you just be happy?" Heavy condensation trails down her cheeks betraying the depths of her soul. She disconnects the breast pump, and haphazardly secures the milk in the mini fridge. When she returns to her bed she finds her suitcase lying open on the bed. In a zippered pocket beneath her make up is a small black case.
Without a second thought her recently manicured fingers are teasing the case from its home in the mesh pocket. She stares at the black metal nestled in the center of the case. Her fingers graze the object. Quickly she recoils, and makes a hasty exit to the bathroom. She lowers herself to the floor in front of the bathtub in an effort to derail the train to hyperventilation town.
The following morning she slips inside her home three hours ahead of schedule. Mulder is lying on the couch with Charlotte asleep on his chest. The tale of two Scully's wages war inside her head. Half of her wants to race up the stairs, collapse into bed, and avoid him altogether. The other half finds itself propelling her closer to him. The sound of someone clearing their throat immediately interrupts his state of slumber.
He looks up to find Scully standing next to the couch holding out a plastic case in utter silence. Disoriented he glances at the watch on his wrist.
"You're not due home for hours."
"I caught an earlier flight. I need you to trade me."
With great caution he rises from the couch, and slips their daughter into her arms. He takes the case from Scully's grasp as she lowers herself onto the couch.
"Did you take this with you?" He queries in a gentle tone.
"Yes," she nods.
"Were you on an undercover assignment?"
"No."
"Why did you feel the need to take this with you?"
"To feel safe," she answers brusquely.
"Safe from whom?"
Her forehead wrinkles, and she breaks eye contact, "Myself, apparently."
"Dana…" he pauses in uncertainty.
"I need you to secure that weapon, and all of the ones like it somewhere outside of our home at this time."
"What are you saying?"
"I am not to be trusted. I cannot even trust myself right now."
"I think we should unpack that."
"I need you to take care of the physical needs first, please."
He nods in understanding.