The pediatrician's office was calm, save for the soft murmurs of parents and the occasional cry of a baby. Mulder and Scully sat side by side, watching nervously as the doctor went through the routine checkup for the triplets. Each of the girls was weighed and measured, their tiny bodies carefully placed on the scale, their lengths recorded with precise movements.
Scully's analytical mind was at war with her emotions. She listened closely to every word the doctor said, her heart pounding with both relief and worry. "They're growing well," the doctor said, and she felt a surge of pride.
Mulder sat rigid, his elbows on his knees, his eyes darting between the girls and Scully. He wanted to make a joke, ease the tension, but even his usual humor felt out of place. These were Scully's daughters. The stakes were too high.
When it was time for the vaccinations, the tension in the room spiked. One by one, the girls were held steady as the doctor prepared the needles.
Beatrice went first, her wide eyes narrowing as the needle pricked her thigh. A wail immediately followed, her tiny fists flailing. Mulder winced visibly, his heart lurching as if it were his own pain.
Sabrina followed, her reaction just as loud, her face scrunching up in betrayal.
Finally, it was Joanna's turn. By then, Mulder felt like he couldn't breathe.
As the doctor approached Joanna, Mulder instinctively reached out for Scully's hand, only to find that she was already grabbing his, her grip tight and trembling. He glanced at her, surprised to see the glimmer of tears in her eyes, though her expression was stoic.
"They're okay," she murmured, more to herself than to him, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions beneath.
Mulder didn't answer, his throat too tight to form words. When Joanna let out her cry, his eyes stung with unshed tears. He looked down at their intertwined hands, grounding himself in her presence.
Once the shots were over, the doctor reassured them that the girls had done wonderfully. "A little crankiness is normal after this," he added with a smile, as if trying to ease their obvious distress.
Scully nodded, her professional demeanor slipping back into place. But as Mulder looked at her, he could see the emotion simmering just below the surface. She wasn't as unaffected as she pretended to be.
Later, as they dressed the girls, Mulder bent down to kiss Beatrice's head. "You're so brave," he murmured, his voice thick. "All of you. Braver than your Uncle Mulder."
Scully caught his words and glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her own hands lingered as she gently stroked Sabrina's hair, her touch filled with silent reassurance.
As they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Mulder squeezed Scully's hand one last time before letting go. "We survived," he said softly, his attempt at levity falling a little flat.
Scully met his gaze, her eyes warmer than usual. "Barely," she replied, but there was a hint of gratitude in her voice. "They won't remember any of this", she then added matter-of-factly.
"Doesn't mean it's not traumatic", Mulder replied before checking if the triplets' hats and blankets were in place.
The afternoon was brisk but pleasant as Mulder and Scully pushed the stroller around the block, the triplets nestled inside, snug and bundled. The fresh air seemed to lighten the tension from the doctor's appointment, but Scully's pensive expression didn't escape Mulder's notice.
"You're quiet," he said, glancing at her as he walked beside her, guiding her to a quiet bench by the park's half-frozen pond.
They parked the stroller beside them. The triplets were bundled snugly, their wide eyes following the waddling ducks near the icy water. Mulder leaned back, stretching his legs out, while Scully sat forward, her arms crossed as if hugging herself against a thought rather than the chill.
"Sometimes," she started softly, "I feel cheated out of the experience."
Mulder glanced at her, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Scully hesitated, then exhaled, her breath forming a faint cloud in the cold air. "The things most women go through—finding out they're pregnant, telling people they love, feeling the baby kick for the first time, giving birth. I know I'm not any less of a mother because I didn't carry the triplets. I really do know that." She paused, her voice quieter. "And I know I wouldn't be any less of a mother to them even if we didn't share DNA. But there's this part of me that feels… disconnected.""
Mulder straightened, his eyes searching hers. "What's bringing this up?"
She shook her head slightly, looking toward the ducks but not really seeing them. "I'm not sure. Maybe it was the doctor's visit earlier. It was… strange."
Mulder frowned. "Strange how?"
Scully pressed her lips together, gathering her thoughts. "He didn't ask any of the routine questions you'd expect. He didn't mention their size, didn't ask about their due dates or corrected birthdates, even though they're small for eight weeks. Most triplets are born prematurely and those are important questions to establish their medical history. It felt like he wasn't curious about how they came into the world or about my recovery—which is standard practice for newborn checkups, even if it's just a formality and in my case not really necessary, but he couldn't know that. I didn't mention any of this when I booked the appointment."
Mulder nodded slowly. "Maybe he's just not a good pediatrician."
She gave a faint laugh, though it lacked humor. "He's a good pediatrician. He's the FBI's go-to doctor for staff members' families. That's why I picked him."
Mulder considered that, his brow furrowing. "So, what are you saying? That he already knew everything?"
"I don't know," Scully admitted, her tone laced with uncertainty. "Maybe I'm reading too much into it. But it felt like he already knew enough about their circumstances—or assumed enough—not to bother asking."
Mulder was quiet for a moment, then gestured toward the stroller. "Scully, look at them. They're happy, healthy, and lucky to have you. And as for not carrying them? That doesn't make you any more or less their mom. You're the one waking up in the middle of the night, feeding them, comforting them." He smirked slightly. "You're the one they scream for."
Scully finally looked at him, her expression softening. "I know that. And I know it's silly to even think this way. But after everything… it's hard not to feel like I'm constantly being reminded how unconventional this is. I just don't want anyone—especially them—thinking I'm not their real mother."
Mulder's voice softened. "Scully, no one who sees you with those girls would ever question that. Least of all them."
She let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Maybe I just needed to hear that."
Mulder leaned back again, his gaze shifting to the pond. "Well, I'll say it as many times as you need."
They sat quietly for a moment, the girls babbling softly in the stroller. Scully reached down and adjusted Beatrice's blanket, a small smile tugging at her lips.
After a moment, she straightened and glanced at Mulder. "You know… I'm really aware of how much you and the Gunmen have done for me. For us. And I don't know how I'll ever give any of that back."
Mulder turned to her, his expression soft. "Scully, you don't have to give anything back. That's not how this works."
She shook her head. "Still, I can't help but feel like I'm taking too much. I worry that I'm asking too much of you. You've basically moved in, given up your time, your space… your life. What if you're missing out on something because you're here with us?"
Mulder snorted. "Like what? Scully, I've spent the better part of my life chasing monsters in the dark. Trust me, I'm not missing anything by being here. And I like to think I'm a little more helpful than the diaper pail."
Scully smiled faintly, her tension easing. "Definitely. And you're more fun to watch", Scully then tried to joke.
Mulder smirked. "Well, I do make things interesting."
She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it. "Thanks, Mulder."
"Anytime," he said lightly, shifting his attention to the ducks as the moment settled into a comfortable quiet.
Mulder leaned back, stretching his long legs out as he observed Scully from the corner of his eye. She was trying to maintain her usual poise, but the telltale signs of sleep deprivation were etched on her face—the faint circles under her eyes, the way she blinked a little slower, and her slumped posture that betrayed her fatigue.
He smiled faintly. "How about I grab us something from the coffee cart over there?" he offered, nodding toward the cart a few yards away.
Scully rubbed her temples and let out a small sigh, her voice laced with weariness. "You know, in those baby books, it says parents are supposed to nap when the babies nap." She gave him a pointed look, though it lacked any real heat. "I am so looking forward to the day they all sleep at the same time, just so I can finally get some shut-eye."
Mulder chuckled. "You deserve a medal for surviving on this little sleep, Scully."
"And you don't?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged, his smirk widening. "Years of training."
"Training?" she repeated, skepticism threading her tone.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Late-night stakeouts. Chasing leads that only come out after dark. Obsessively reviewing case files until 3 a.m." He winked. "Turns out, it was all preparation for midnight feedings and diaper changes."
Scully let out a tired laugh, shaking her head. "Guess I missed that memo when I was busy, you know, going to med school."
"Which is why I'm on coffee duty," he replied, standing and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Stay here. Rest. I'll be right back."
As he walked toward the cart, Scully leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes for just a moment, the soft murmur of the park lulling her into a state of near-relaxation. By the time Mulder returned with two steaming cups of coffee, she looked marginally more refreshed, though the weariness hadn't quite disappeared.
"Here you go," he said, handing her a cup.
Scully accepted it gratefully, inhaling the aroma before taking a careful sip. "You're not bad at this whole parenting thing," she murmured, her voice soft but sincere.
Mulder settled beside her, his grin turning boyish. "Don't let word get out, or Skinner will assign me to the daycare division."
Scully smirked, nudging him lightly with her elbow. And for a few quiet moments, they simply sipped their coffee, the park around them peaceful, her daughters' happy coos a reminder of the chaotic but rewarding life she was building for them and with them.