As they pulled up in front of Scully's apartment building, Mulder barely put the car in park before he was already unbuckling his seatbelt. He moved with purpose, opening the back passenger door first and offering his hand to Scully. She took it, stepping carefully onto the sidewalk, her movements still slow from recovery.
Mulder didn't let go immediately, his hand hovering near her elbow as if ready to catch her at any moment.
"I'm fine, Mulder," she murmured, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Humor me," he said, echoing the words he'd used the night before.
She shook her head but let it slide, watching as he turned back to the car to retrieve the baby carrier. He unhooked it with slow, deliberate movements, as if handling something far more delicate than a high-tech, safety-certified piece of plastic.
Once he had it secured in his grip, Scully glanced up at him with an amused expression. "See? It all worked fine... even though you might be the very first person in D.C. to get a fine for not speeding."
Mulder huffed, looking away like he hadn't been hyperaware of every stoplight, every turn, every possible pothole on the road home. He couldn't explain what was happening to him—this constant, gnawing sense of responsibility that went beyond his usual protectiveness over Scully. It was something deeper, more primal, like an instinct he hadn't known he had until now.
"I just wanted to make sure he got here in one piece," Mulder muttered, shifting the carrier slightly as he glanced down at the sleeping baby.
Scully softened, reading between the lines.
Mulder cleared his throat, his grip on the carrier tightening. "It's cold. Let's get inside."
She nodded, unlocking the door and stepping in first. Mulder followed close behind, feeling, for the first time, the weight of what it meant to bring his son home.