"I want to be here," he pleaded against her neck, through fresh tears as he added, "...with both of you."
"You are here." She wasn't crying, but he could hear her voice shake with the effort it took not to. "You're here, Mulder."
They sat there in the dark, holding each other in silence for a moment. In a bed that was his. In a room that was his. And none of it felt true. He hated it. For months she had worried, searched, mourned, and yet, still, had to be the strong one now. Guilt bubbled like bile in the back of his throat.
"There is a part of me that feels like I'm not." He whispered, timid, like he was confessing the worst sin. "Like a piece of me is gone, Scully. Like it's never coming back."
"I know..." He could only just make out her words before she pressed her lips against his hair once more.
He moved to look down at her belly. Rarely did he allow himself to really see the miracle it was. It was hard to look beyond the anxiety and fear. Was this little life really theirs? The two of them, together, like they had intended? And if, somehow, the answer was yes...how could he possibly be a father now?
Silence settled in again, more suffocating than ever before. He desperately wished he could figure out how to be Mulder again and think of something to say to ease both their minds. But he couldn't. The fear stacked on top of itself, overpowering everything. Growing, growing, growing, until it was all there was. Tears fell and the world blurred.
He felt Scully lean back and tug him gently with her. He rested his head on her shoulder, hastily wiping his eyes to keep from soaking her night shirt. They looked up at the ceiling fan, methodically turning in circles above them.
"Who's on the starting lineup for the New York Knicks?"
In another life, he would have laughed at the random topic change, but it was not so random to him now. Just one of several Scully chose, during these dark nights when his mind betrayed him. How many constellations can you remember? What are the street names on Oxford's campus?
Questions he could answer. Information still locked up. Safe and secure, meaningless and simple, easy and distracting.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes to let his mind get to work. The gears turned with confidence again, following familiar thoughts and pathways.
"Shandon Anderson. Marcus Camby..."
"What do they do?"
"What do they do?"
"Yeah, what are their positions?"
Mulder wiped at his eyes. This required some thought. Thought he was grateful to want to have.
"Anderson is a shooting guard."
"What's that?"
"A player who's actively trying to steal the ball and score points."
"And what does Marcus do?"
"He's a center."
"So he stays in the center of the court?"
"More like the center of whatever side of the court the ball is at the time. He stays open to help score."
"Okay."
"Scully."
"Sorry, I interrupted. Keep going."
He wanted to stop the game to say thank you, but he still had no idea how. There weren't adequate enough words to express how much Dana Scully meant to him. Instead he pulled her tighter, buried his face against her skin. He felt her fingers curl through the hair at his nape as she returned the embrace, acknowledging words unspoken.
"Who else, Mulder?" It sounded like she might actually want to know. "Tell me."
He pulled away just enough to focus on the blades of the fan again, turning at their slow, predictable pace.
"Howard Eisley, point guard...Othella Harrington, point foward..."
She was the one who suggested watching the Knicks games together, which he was not excited about at first. Scully would always be the best partner he could ever hope to have, but traditionally was not great company when sports was on TV. She never paid attention at the right times and often complained about how long it took for the game to end. The only time she seemed to take note was if a player got injured. She would then spend every slo-mo replay analyzing what kind of fracture, break, or concussion the player might have (and was, of course, almost always correct).
By the end of the first game of the season, however, he realized things were different. Her inquiries continued, no longer just for his benefit, but for hers as well. By the fourth game, she seemed to have the basic mechanics down, and by the 6th he noticed her sitting up closer to the edge of the couch, involuntarily groaning when a player missed an easy shot.
The first time he saw her squeak out a genuine cheer, a feeling caught in his throat, and tears welled up before he could comprehend why they were there.
And then it hit him, sudden and fast, how normal everything felt.
They weren't two traumatized agents on indefinite leave, recovering from too much time locked away in the darkness. They were just Mulder and Scully. Watching a game. Having pizza.
Scully looked over, remnants of her celebration fading with uncertainty. "That was good, right?"
He gazed at her unabashedly now. He could see it in her face, as clear as he had seen the pain so many months before. Happiness. They were here...and they were happy.
"Yeah." Her watched her eyes sparkle with the same realization. "It's really good."