The early afternoon sun struggled to break through the winter clouds as Dana Scully sat in the passenger seat of Assistant Director Walter Skinner's car. Her hands rested on the curve of her belly, fingers splayed protectively over the life growing within her. The rhythmic hum of the engine filled the silence between them, a steady backdrop to her swirling thoughts.
"Thanks for doing this, sir," she said softly, turning her head to glance at him. "I could've managed on my own."
Skinner kept his eyes on the road. "You don't need to manage everything alone, Scully. And I don't mind." His voice was steady, gruff but sincere, the kind of reassurance she hadn't realized she needed.
Scully let a faint smile curve her lips. He had stepped up in ways she hadn't expected these past few months, ever since Mulder's abduction and subsequent return. Mulder's return had been a miracle, but not the one she had envisioned. He had come back changed—distant, quieter, haunted. And while he hadn't withdrawn from her completely, he had retreated to his own space, his own world. They lived their lives parallel to each other, close enough to touch but never fully intersecting.
"You doing okay?" Skinner asked, breaking into her thoughts.
She blinked and nodded. "I'm fine," she said quickly, though her voice lacked conviction. "Just... trying to stay ahead of things."
Skinner didn't press her. He wasn't one to push when she wasn't ready to talk, and she appreciated that about him.
When they arrived at the birthing center, Skinner parked and walked her inside, his hand hovering near her back in case she needed support. Scully rolled her eyes but allowed it. The birthing center was warm and welcoming, with calming colors and soft lighting that contrasted with the cold, gray world outside.
A familiar face lit up when Scully entered one of the private consultation rooms.
"Dana!" Lisa Matthews, her midwife, greeted her warmly, stepping forward with open arms. "Look at you—you're radiant."
Scully smiled as she hugged Lisa. "Lisa. It's good to see you."
Lisa had been a friend since Scully's med school days, a connection that had felt serendipitous when Scully had stumbled across her name while researching birthing options. Reuniting with her had been an unexpected comfort—one of the few things about this pregnancy that had gone as planned.
Skinner excused himself to the waiting area, and Lisa guided Scully to a plush chair. "So," Lisa began, pulling out a folder, "are you still feeling good about the plan we worked on?"
"Yes," Scully said, nodding. "I've gone over everything. It feels... right."
Lisa grinned. "I'd expect nothing less. You've always been the most thorough person I know. But if you have any second thoughts or changes in mind, now's the time to let me know."
Scully shook her head, resting her hands on her belly. "No changes. I'd like to stick to the original birthing plan. No interventions unless absolutely necessary."
Lisa studied her closely for a moment, then nodded. "You've got this, Dana. And if anything doesn't feel right, we adapt. Remember, this is your experience—you're in charge."
Scully offered a small, grateful smile. The reassurance Lisa gave her wasn't patronizing; it was rooted in years of mutual respect and friendship.
As Lisa continued reviewing the plan, they shared stories and laughed, the conversation slipping into a rhythm that felt comforting and familiar. It almost made Scully forget the aching weight of everything else.
By the time the checkup ended, Lisa saw her off with a warm hug and a quiet, "You're going to be an amazing mom, Dana."
Skinner met her in the waiting area, standing up the moment he saw her. "Everything good?" he asked.
"Everything's good," Scully confirmed, pulling her coat tighter around her as they stepped out into the chilly afternoon.
The ride home was quiet but companionable. Skinner walked her to her apartment door, ensuring she got inside safely before leaving.
Scully's apartment was exactly how she'd left it: neat, orderly, and quiet—so quiet it felt oppressive. She set her bag down by the door and let out a sigh, her hand instinctively moving to her belly.
She wasn't expecting anyone to be here. Despite the intimacy they had shared, Mulder had never stayed at her place, and in the months since his return, he had kept his distance, both physically and emotionally. It was a stark reminder of how different things had become.
After locking the door behind her, she moved into the living room and sank into the couch. The apartment felt colder than usual, and she wrapped a blanket around herself, willing the warmth to settle into her bones. As she rubbed her belly absentmindedly, she thought about the afternoon, about Lisa's encouragement, about Skinner's quiet support—and about Mulder's absence.
Scully closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability in the solitude of her empty home. A part of her ached for what she had imagined this moment in her life would look like—imagined that Mulder would be here, that they'd share the weight and joy of what was to come together.
But instead, she was alone, and she had no choice but to keep moving forward.
She rested her head against the back of the couch, whispering softly to her unborn child, "It's just you and me, little one. But we're going to be okay. We're strong."
Her voice trembled on the last word, but she didn't let the tears fall. Instead, she focused on the tiny kicks within her, a quiet reassurance that she wasn't entirely alone.