Chapter Text
If there was some kind of self-help book for coming back from the dead, Mulder was considering buying a copy. Or investing in one. Maybe Billy Miles could help him if he wasn't a dangerous super soldier who had an alien virus that Mulder himself had narrowly escaped. (He was going through a bit of a crisis, to put it mildly.)
Scully hadn't wanted to tell him any details about his ordeal - she'd looked on the verge of crying almost constantly these past few days - so it had been the wiry man who'd shown up at his hotel room, the New Partner, who'd explained everything. Skinner had helped, something of a sheepish, embarrassed look on his face. (Mulder suspected he felt guilty about what had happened in Oregon. He should reassure Skinner that it wasn't his fault.) And Scully had slumped in the chair by his bed, one hand curled around her clearly-pregnant stomach and the other clamped hard around his hand, clutching at his fingers like he might slip away. She stared at her knees the entire time. At one point, Mulder thought he saw a tear hit her nose.
Doggett looked uncomfortable - was he scared of the fact that Mulder was perpetually a zombie or just awkward in social situations? - but he shook Mulder's hand and said it was nice to meet him and he had heard a lot of good things from “Agent Scully”. Mulder nodded awkwardly and wished he'd never gone to Oregon.
“He's a good man,” Scully said in a rush as soon as Skinner and Doggett had left. “He helped me look for you… he saved my life.”
Mulder had been prepared to say nothing or mutter something semi-polite, but he froze a little at her last words. “Saved your life?” he repeated softly, squeezing her fingers. What happened to her?
She looked up, a little surprised; like the idea hadn't occurred to her that he would be worried about her. “Yes,” she said. “But it was nothing. I'm fine.”
Same old Scully, pregnant or not. Except for something, a slight difference. She'd always had a slight tendency to hover after his ordeals, but she'd been different since this. Clingier, more teary. She'd lain with her head on his chest for such a long time that he'd rasped something about how her back would be killing her in the morning against her scalp. And so she'd sat up, brushed her fingers through his hair again, and asked softly if he thought he'd be okay to move over a little bit before helping him scoot over and crawling into the tiny bed beside him. She pressed her face into his neck, right below his chin where his pulse beat against her forehead, and breathed shudderingly into his skin. He wrapped an arm around her and felt her stomach under his hand, felt the baby kick. Scully made a startled sound against his throat and held him tighter. “Scully?” he whispered, mind racing. What, what, what...
“I love you,” she murmured, voice cracking. She'd never said it before.
He wanted to ask her everything all at once (the baby, there was a baby?), but her breathing was slowing to a peaceful lull. She'd looked exhausted, before, when he opened his eyes and saw her looking extraordinarily happy and sad all at once as she reached out to touch him. He was exhausted - it had felt like he hadn't slept in months (which Mulder found plainly ironic at this point, knowing what he did about his ordeal). He moved his arm up to curl lazily around her shoulder and closed his eyes.
And now here he was, some kind of dead-alive anomaly that belonged in the X-Files. It was some kind of karma, he figured, for putting Scully in them.
Scully was still looking at him like he was the sun - stunned and a little blinky and like he was some kind of miracle - and all he could think about was how he wasn't there to save her life. Instead, this Doggett guy was. He cleared his throat and looked away, although he didn't let go of her hand. (He wasn't that mean, and besides that, he was enjoying the contact even if he had no idea what was going on.) “So,” he said. “Do I still have a job?”
When he looked back at Scully, she still looked a little stunned - but for an entirely different reason, he suspected. “I - of course, Mulder,” she said softly. “As soon as you've recovered. Doggett will… need some help, I expect.” She withdrew her hand from his and smoothed her thumb over her index fingernail. They were ragged at the ends like she'd been biting them, with no polish. He hadn't seen them looking like that since after the second time with Pfaster.
“You're not coming back?” he said - stupidly, it was obvious she wasn't. Her hand hadn't left her abdomen the entire time.
She ran her thumbnail over and over her fingernail. “I… don't expect so.”
It was more than obvious, but he couldn't help being something like disappointed. Seven years of partnership. “I… understand,” he tried.
Her fingers tightened around each other. “I thought we might…” Scully stopped mid-sentence. “Never mind. Mulder, do you need anything?”
He shook his head. He wanted to ask why she was running his errands when she was the pregnant one here, but it would also contradict his asshole question about if she was coming back. He just wanted her to hold his hand and talk about meaningless stuff so that, for the moment, they could pretend that nothing was wrong. The cadence of her voice - or anyone's, really - made it easy to pretend nothing was wrong. Like he couldn't hear the dirt on the coffin when he closed his eyes. “No, I'm fine.”
She nodded. “They're running some tests. We should know how you're doing in a few hours.”
The room lulled over into an awkward silence. Scully excused herself to use the restroom. Mulder shifted in his bed, leaning into the pillow, and tried not to think about the dark memories flitting at the back of his mind.
(They came back in waves, phantom bursts of hot pain and his throat raw with screaming for help. He held his breath to keep from crying out until Scully came back.)
---
A clean bill of health, Scully told him, looking happier than she had since he'd woken up. No brain disease.
Shit , he realized, she found out . Of course she found out, she probably wouldn't stop digging until she found something. He wondered if she'd made use of his gravestone. Of course she had, it was a morbid but obvious thought. The truly morbid thing was that they had both seen each other's gravestone - he'd seen hers during her abduction. When she'd gotten sick, he'd found out she kept it and had the date changed, and it had made him want to vomit. (Had she always expected to die on the job? Was that why she kept it?)
“That's good,” he said, to make her happy.
She smiled a little, looking down at her shoes. “I was… worried,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to get you back just to lose you again.”
He tried to tease a little - at least that was something he could do. “You know me, Scully, I always come out okay in the end,” he said, reaching out to tuck some hair behind her ear. She didn't say anything or laugh, but she did lean into his fingers. He put his hand against her cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. It seemed like all he could do in the moment was touch her and try not to fall apart.
She put her hand over his, eyes slipping closed. “You can go home tomorrow,” she said softly. Her hand was warmer than his. (Something leftover from death?) “I kept your apartment for you.”
He stared at her with something like astonishment. “Scully…”
“I fed the fish.” She smoothed a thumb over the back of his hand.
He reached out, touching her hip and motioned her closer. She crawled on the bed beside him, leaning into his side, and he put his head on her shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she said to his scalp. “It's just…”
“It's okay,” he whispered, touching her wrist. “Don't leave.”
They scooted down on the bed and Scully pulled the thin blanket over them. Mulder hadn't been able to get warm all night, but with her curled around him he was warmer than he'd been in months.
Her swelled abdomen was pressed against his side and he could feel a tiny foot behind it. He knew that at some point they'd have to talk about the baby, but at the moment all he could come up with was, “The baby's kicking.”
She smiled into the side of his neck. “It's been doing that more lately,” she said. “I think it's you.”
---
Scully tried to carry his suitcase - the bag she'd apparently sent Skinner back to DC to pack for him after he'd woken up - out to the car, but Mulder snatched it back. “Come on, Scully,” he said, motioning to her stomach.
“Mulder, I am still perfectly capable of doing things,” she said, with the first hint of irritation he'd heard since he'd woken up. (He was relieved at least she was getting back to normal; he'd been worried about her. Him on the other hand…)
“Yeah, and so am I,” he replied calmly (or more calmly than he felt, at least), tugging the suitcase out of her hand. She looked irritated but she let him, rounding the car to sit in the driver's side with the keys dangling from her hand. Her car smelled different when he opened it and climbed into the passenger seat. Six months, he thought. Six fucking months, and all he could remember from them was a series of brief snippets of pain and torture and then nothing. She had been here the entire time, had continued living her life and investigated X-Files and been through months of gestation. She had buried him. He swallowed and pressed his hand against the dashboard as the car moved out of the parking space - lurching forward; at least Scully's driving was the same, reckless and heart-pounding. (It was a good reminder that his heart was still beating.) “Scully?” he asked gingerly.
“Hmm?” she said absently, flipping on her turn signal. Her hair fell across her cheeks as she leaned forward to look back and forth; it had gotten longer while he was gone.
“Where was I buried?”
She flinched violently, turning onto the road sharply enough that his side hit the armrest hard. Her hands clutched the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles turned white. “North Carolina,” she said. “Raleigh. With your family.”
He swallowed again, against the burn of nausea in his throat. His fingers drummed nervously against the dashboard. He was going to be buried, he'd known that when he found out he was dying, but the concept of coming back from it was something entirely different. He'd tried not to picture Scully at his funeral, and now it was all he could see. He was trying not to hear the thunks of the dirt above his head, or feel the rough, splintery wood under him, but it was practically surrounding him, choking him. Dirt in his throat and nose and under his fingernails. He was alive, then dead. Now what was he?
“I want to go there,” he said.
Scully blinked, squeezing the wheel tighter. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he said in a rush. He'd always been one to look for answers, his entire life, and now he needed more. He needed to understand what had happened to him, look it in the face. She'd had the same need after her abduction, she'd understand. “I need to see it,” he tried to explain. “I need to understand.”
“Understand what?” Scully bit out. “You died, and now you're back. It's a miracle. I know you believe in miracles.”
Never give up on a miracle, he'd told her when the IVF failed. And she hadn't, and she hadn't given up on him either. He was more than grateful for that. He hated letting her down, but this was something he needed to do. “I just need to go there,” he said, his tone soaked with apology. “I'm sorry, Scully. I'll call you from the road, okay?”
She bit her lip. Hard. “No,” she said firmly. “I'm coming with you.” He opened his mouth to say something - either you don't have to or thank you - but she cut him off. “I am your doctor, and you were in a fucking hospital bed a few hours ago. You are not going alone.”
“Oh, you're my doctor . Are we not partners anymore?” he said before he could stop himself. Goddamnit, he was a horrible person. He didn't deserve to have a second chance, especially with someone like Scully.
She clenched the wheel harder. “You're always going to be my partner, Mulder.” She said it in a furious sort of rush, like it should be obvious. “So I'm coming with you to North Carolina. It's been six goddamn months.” She swallowed the end of her sentence, like she didn't want to finish it. The walls were coming back up, for both of them.
“You're pregnant.” Stating the fucking obvious.
“I am perfectly aware.” She merged easily onto the interstate, jaw clenched. At least his ability to piss her off hadn't faded.
He watched her silently, her face frozen in something like anger. He wanted to grab her hand. He wanted to go back to the hospital bed and hold her again. No, he wanted to go back to six months ago, to that night she'd spent in his apartment before he'd decided to leave, when she'd been sick and fallen asleep on his couch, cheek plastered to the leather, and he'd sat beside her on the floor with the file balanced on his knees and kissed her forehead and thought, I'm not losing her again. Never again. But he had anyway; despite his best efforts, they'd lost each other. He had looked for her in the dark and she wasn't there and he wanted her to hold his hand.
They drove for almost twenty minutes before he said a tentative, “Thank you.” She turned her head towards him, so he added, “I'm glad I'm not alone.” He hadn't been able to do anything without her for eight years, now.
“Of course, Mulder,” she said quietly, her face softening. “Of course.”
---
He was driving. Except for the fact that he couldn't remember why or for how long and he didn't know where they were. No, wait, he could remember the why: they'd stopped in a gas station in Virginia and Scully had gone into the little store and come back yawning and he'd insisted on driving. The last thing he could remember was seeing was Scully curled up in the seat, seat belt stretched around her. And then nothing. All black and yellow-white dots like stars.
Mulder blinked furiously, pulling off on the side of the road. Where the hell were they and how long had they been driving? He glanced at the car clock: 9:27. They'd left the hospital in the early afternoon; they should've been in Raleigh hours ago. By the pressure in his ears, he guessed that they were in the mountains.
“Fuck,” he muttered, letting down the window. An almost unnaturally cold wind blew over him. “ Fuck .” He turned to see Scully, still asleep with her hair falling over her face. He reached out to touch her and was relieved when her pulse was still there and steady; she wasn't drugged or something. “Scully,” he said softly, nudging her. “Scully, wake up.”
“Mmph,” she grunted. “Mul’ler? Where are we?’
“I don't know,” he said. The headlights shone like the larger version of their flashlight beams on a rickety wooden sign. “Somewhere called Calvert Pass, population 747.”
“What?” She shifted in her seat, rubbing her eyes, and leaned close to the window, nose almost touching it. The air conditioner had been blowing, but it seemed too cold for it now: her breath fogged the glass. Mulder switched it off. “Mulder, where did you take us?”
“I don't know! I don't remember driving us here.”
She turned, eyes widening in fear. “Mulder, are you okay?” she whispered. She leaned over the console to feel his forehead, shirt straining her stomach.
“I'm fine,” he said. “I don't know what happened, though… why I would black out and bring us here . I've never even heard of Calvert Pass.” He had a terrible thought, swallowed back a gag. “Scully, where was I… returned? Where did you find me?” He had a terrifying picture of his crumpled body on this cold and lonely mountain, dirt and dead leaves and Scully leaning over him.
She was just as horrified, and tried to hide it by turning to her purse on the floor of the car. “Montana,” she mumbled. “Not… Calvert Pass, Montana. This doesn't look like Montana anyway.”
“Oh,” he said, and ran his finger over the seam of the consol. “Well, I would say this is connected to my abduction, except my theory about the Brown Mountain Lights and UFOs were proved wrong. Are we near Brown Mountain? I think hallucinogenic mushrooms are the last thing we need.”
Scully was rummaging in her purse. She pulled out a pen light. “What's the last thing you remember?”
“You falling asleep.”
“You don't remember anything about driving here? Anything at all?”
He shook his head.
Scully looked extremely concerned. “I think I should drive for the time being,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Let's find a place to stay in town and we'll take you to the doctor in the morning.”
“Scully, I'm fine. And besides, I don't think they'll have a hotel in a town with a population of 700.”
“You forgot the other 47,” Scully said, opening the door on her side. Mulder took that as a closing to the argument and got out of the car. It was freezing cold outside, like he hadn't really missed the fleeting months of winter. He didn't think the climate was cold this time of year in North Carolina or Virginia or wherever the hell they were. Somewhere in the south, where springs were not usually cold.
As they passed each other in front of the car, Scully reached out and squeezed his arm. He welcomed the warm pressure.
“It's cold outside,” he commented as they climbed into the car. “Strange for this time of year. Maybe we should buy some coats at the local Wal-Mart imitation.”
“How do you feel now? Any dizziness or nausea?” Scully asked as she started the car.
“No dizziness, no nausea, no fatigue, no spotty vision,” he listed, propping his feet up on the dashboard. Scully made a face at him. “I feel fine, seriously. The doctor said I was in perfect health, right?”
She bit down on her lip, and he remembered he hadn't told her about his brain disease. “Yeah,” she said softly. “But a few days ago, you were dead , Mulder.”
It was his turn to wince. He looked out the window at the rocks on the mountainside flitting by as they looped up and down the curving rounds. “And you fixed me, right?” he mumbled.
“Something like that,” she said quietly. “Skinner helped.”
“Good old Skinman,” he said, and was pleasantly surprised with her quiet laugh.
Their headlights swept up the side of the mountain, the only lights for miles. There were almost no lights from the town. It was definitely tiny, almost invisible. There was a convenience store - not a chain either of them recognized - that was the only thing open, its lights strangely muted on the dark street. They stopped to buy coats - Scully was definitely shivering, and there was no way that was good for the baby.
“Is there a hotel in this town?” Mulder asked the only cashier in the store as he rang them up.
The man laughed. “Little too small for that. There are some cabins up for rent just outside of town, though. I can give you directions.”
“Please,” Scully said, a hand ghosting her stomach.
“Why's it so cold up here?” Mulder asked, leaning against the counter as the man scribbled down directions on the back of their receipts. “Some kind of cold front?”
The man shrugged. “Maybe because we're in the mountains? I dunno.I don't question it.” He handed them the receipt and their bags. “Y'all have a nice night now.”
“You seem awfully interested in the weather, Mulder. You think it's an X-File?” Scully teased, buttoning the oversized jacket over her. Her hair got caught in her collar, stretched over her cheek. Mulder thought about brushing the strands back.
“You know me, I can't leave well enough alone,” he said instead. Which is why I was abducted in the first place.
“Well, I can assure you it's just some unusual weather. We'll be gone after tomorrow anyway,” Scully said, opening the car door. “And we can head to Raleigh.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, brushing the hair behind her ear. She didn't turn towards him, but he could see her smile. “Seeing as how neither of us are in X-File solving condition.”
“I'll have you know I've solved several X-Files recently,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “My maternity leave started a few days ago.”
He wanted to ask her about them, but something else was bothering him. “Just now ?” he said. “Scully, the job’s dangerous .” Her hospital bills since 1993 were excessive; it was one of the things he hated himself for. And the baby…
She shrugged. “Doggett let me choose the cases, so I shied away from the risky ones. And I… took some time off after… the funeral.” She looked down at the ground, at a murky puddle under their feet. They were both wearing tennis shoes; in his case, it was all they had at the hospital, but in her case, he guessed it had something to do with swollen feet. Of course, he didn't know anything about pregnancies. He was clueless, desperately so. He'd have to work on that.
“Scully?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Her chilled palm slipped into his.
“How far along are you?”
She was still looking at the ground, but she squeezed his fingers. “Eight months,” she said softly.
Eight months. Which meant she'd been pregnant when she'd been sick in Oregon, when she'd crashed to the ground, when she'd held that baby and he'd told her there was more than this. There was so much more, and he should've stayed with her. He wished he'd stayed with her and never left. There was so much more coming. They had a future.
He didn't say anything because he didn't know what to say. But he tugged their joined hands until she was in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, wrapping both arms around him as tightly as she could with the baby. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and lowered the other hand to her stomach. He hesitated, and she grabbed his hand and pressed it into place. The baby kicked under his palm. “The baby knows your voice,” she said into his coat. “I made sure that it would. I wanted it to know you.”
(He had to hold back tears at this. He pressed his nose into her hair and felt his child kick under his hand.)
---
The cabin was a little wooden cottage-type clustered with other little wooden cabins around a river in the woods. The owner of the cabins had been asleep but had gladly rented them the cabins, to Mulder's surprise. Most people in his experience did not like to be woken up, even if it was only ten at night. (Scully tended to get grouchy.) The inside was heated, gratefully, and there was a bedroom off to the side. Scully dropped the bags on the counter, pulling out her cell phone. “Better check in with my mom,” she said. “I told her we would be in Raleigh hours ago, and she's had… a worried tendency. Lately.”
“I can understand,” Mulder said - he'd spent most of their partnership worrying about her. “I'm going to go take a shower, okay?”
“I think that's a good idea,” she said, reaching up to push some hair off of his forehead. “Be careful, okay?”
He nodded before disappearing into the bathroom. He hated being treated like an invalid, especially when he didn't feel like one (blackout sessions be damned), but he secretly had always liked Scully fussing over him.
Inside the shower was completely different. He realized in the moment of standing under the pounding spray of hot water that this was the first he'd been alone since the hospital. He closed his eyes for a second and it was all back - the blades, the ship. Her name in his mouth. He pressed his hand against the tile and tried not to scream. You're safe, he tried to tell himself. Scully is in the next room. She's having your baby. You're safe, you’re safe. The flashing of images got to be too much, so he pressed his mouth into the skin of his upper arm and screamed, the sound muffled by the water.
Scully was waiting for him when he exited the shower, sitting on the bed. “Hey,” she said. “Are you o-”
He halted her mid-sentence, cupping the back of her skull and kissing her desperately, her hair trailing through his fingers. She made a soft sound and tugged him closer, her fingers curling into his shirt. “Mulder…” she mumbled.
“I missed you, Scully,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I really, really missed you.”