Quonochontaug. The place of happy childhood memories and… secrets. Secrets that he would probably never uncover, though they would keep hunting him for the rest of his life.
Mulder felt trapped. He felt like the only way out was ending his life, but whenever he came up with a way to do it, something stopped him.
Someone stopped him. Someone whose name he wanted to know and who he didn't want to grow up knowing his… (what? father?) … committed suicide.
Mulder's grandfather killed himself. His mother too. Death wish was his family legacy he didn't want to pass on, as tempting as it sounded, especially now.
He wanted to be killed instead, just like his father, who wasn't really his father, just like Mulder wasn't really a father to Scully's baby. A donor. He was merely an unanonimous donor.
Nothing was as it was supposed to be.
Nights were the worst. If Mulder slept at all, it was during the day, when his demons got tired from hunting him and retrieved for a quick break.
The problem was, demons would get rested way faster than Mulder. He just wasn't getting any break at all. Between crying curled up on the floor, punching stuff in pure rage, and planning the most effective ways to leave this world, Mulder didn't find strength to take a shower, eat or, ocassionaly, breathe.
But that kick he felt in Scully's belly, that baby boy he helped to create, the last beam of hope in a cruel world, somehow managed to pull him through the worst days.
Mulder dreamed about building a sand castle with him, flying rockets or watching movies, but most of those dreams ended with the kid being taken away in the same way Mulder remembered Samantha's abduction.
Falsely remembered.
Despite that, those were the good dreams. Those were the dreams without consortium, without unspeakable perversions, without unbearable suffering.
Mulder used to think he would never experience worse nightmares than witnessing Samantha being taken away. As it turned out, he was very wrong.
Who knew making up a story in your mind about your sister's abduction by aliens was actually improvement of the truth!
Who knew you could make a baby without ever…
Wrong. Everything was wrong.
He used up all the mandatory vacation, then took unpaid leave. He wasn't ready to go back to work, not without Scully, and not with a chance to run into her on her way from Quantico, or wherever her new assignment was going to be.
He needed her just as much as he needed to stay away from her. He kept picking up the phone, then putting it back down. Then picking it up again and throwing it into the wall. He wanted to go to her, but leaving the house caused him unbearable anxiety. He wasn't ready to face the world again, the world that almost destroyed him, more times than he could count.
Yet Scully was a part of that same world. Pregnant. And alone.
She worried about him, but didn't know where he went. He wasn't answering the phone, and his apartment was empty. Scully spent a few nights there, searching for a clue about his whereabouts and waiting for him, but Mulder wasn't showing up.
The pregnancy was taking toll on her and Mulder's absence made it all harder. Soon, she was placed on a bed rest, and Scully wasn't known for resting when under stress. Her mind roamed wild, examining all the places that she couldn't go to, calling for his name, summoning him in her dreams…
But he wasn't coming back. He didn't hear her.
Yet, he was back when she needed him the most. He just knew when the time came, even if he didn't know that he knew. There wasn't any thought put into it, he just picked up his sorry ass and returned home.
His apartment had a citrus smell. It was cleaned and his fish were alive. Only seeing them swim happily made him remember he even had fish.
Everything in it screamed Scully. She was all over his place. All over his life.
And he wouldn't have it any other way. He just didn't know where, and if, he fit in hers.
One phone call a few hours later gave him all the answers he needed.
"Fox," the shaky voice greeted him. "It's Margaret Scully."
"Mrs. Scully," Mulder was instantly alarmed. "What's wrong?"
"It's Dana. She… I need you to come to the hospital."
"What's wrong?" Mulder repeated, more urgently this time. He was already getting his jacket and looking for his shoes.
"She's in labor," Mrs. Scully said with a complete lack of cheerfulness for getting a grandson. "There's been… complications."
"I'll be right there!"
And he was. All the demons in the world couldn't stop him from being there for Scully if she needed him.