Part I – Scully, post episode for Rm9sbG93ZXJz

The pain wakes her up, like snakes slithering madly in the pit of her stomach. She lays there frozen, wondering if she's experiencing sleep paralysis again, checks that theory by flexing and pointing her toes. She's relieved she can move, but the pain remains constant and unrelenting; she would have doubled over with it if Mulder hasn't been sleeping so soundly beside her. Only one thought comes to mind – as if that Japanese restaurant hasn't caused them enough trouble already. Her body feels heavy, and alternating chills of hot and cold course through her. A familiar, unmistakable sensation is making its way up her throat. She jolts out of bed and races to the bathroom, somehow making it just in time for the first wave of nausea to tear through her.

She doesn't know how long she's sitting there, retching; she's still mostly asleep, exhausted by the occurrences of the previous night. She has no idea what time it is, how long they've been asleep. She places a shaky finger against the side of her throat, where her pulse is wild, thready. She can feel the cold sweat drying against her skin. Her stomach is still churning. Damned that restaurant and its robots, she thinks yet again, forcing herself to take deep breaths. She's moaning softly into the semi-darkness. She feels miserable, achy all over.

"Scully?"

She opens one eye to find herself on the floor in a fetal position, her cheek pressed against the cold tiles. She doesn't even remember lying down. Mulder, disheveled and sleep still in his eyes, is towering over her, looking down at her with concern. "Are you okay?"

Her dry lips part as if to reply, but bile rushes up her throat once more and she jolts to hover over the toilet. It feels as if nothing has left in her, but the need to get it out is still stronger than her. She feels movement behind her, and before she can push him back he's kneeling next to her, rubbing a soothing hand against her back. Over the years they've seen each other at their very worst, and so she's both embarrassed and reassured by his presence. "I'm fine," she croaks.

"Yeah, I can see that," he chuckles darkly. "Must be that goddamned sushi."

"That's what I've been thinking," she replies weakly, reaching her hand to flush the toilet. She can barely keep her arm up. He notices, and does it for her.

"I still can't get over the audacity, demanding a tip for... well, that."

She wishes she could come up with a snarky comment about how he is getting stingy in old age; she's too drained to think. Instead she asks him, "You're not feeling sick, are you?"

"Nope, which makes sense; I haven't actually eaten anything over there." They exchange a weary smile, the memory of that unfortunate blobfish on his plate still fresh in their minds. She's so glad she's managed to take a picture of it on her phone; she will have fun teasing him about it later. The thought is oddly comforting now. "Wanna go lie down? I'll get you a rag for your face and some tea."

"I need a minute."

"Sure," he says quietly, leaning against the wall. Getting the hint, she crawls closer and places her head in his lap. He threads his fingers in her hair, rubbing her skull gently the way he knows she likes. She doesn't even have the energy to purr in gratitude the way she knows he likes.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly six."

"In the evening?" She's stunned. She can't remember the last time she's slept so much during the daytime.

"It's been a long night," he points out. And we're not as young as we used to be. That he doesn't say, but it's there in his distant expression.

"Yeah, tell me about it," she replies through a yawn. They're way too old for late night chases, should have learned their lesson after the last time, chasing an NSA simulation to Manhattan following a strange phone call from Langly, just a month or so back. "It's official. Worst date ever."

He chuckles. With her ear pressed against his thighs, the sound reverberates nicely through her, leaving goosebumps against her cooling skin. "I don't know about that. The girl has spent the night, or rather the morning, so I like to think I got lucky."

But before she manages a backfire, reality hits her hard and fast. She sighs. "I need to go check on my place. Call my landlord, the insurance company – "

"The only place you're going right now is back to bed, Scully." She glances over her shoulder, her eyebrow raised at his bossiness. He holds her gaze stubbornly, unfazed. "I'm not kidding, you look awful. And after that stint you pulled at the hospital a few months back, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I'm feeling better," she counters, then pulls away from him when she thinks another wave of nausea is about to hit. When nothing happens, she peeks at him sheepishly and he nods, as if that's all the proof he's needed.

"If you're only renting the place, I'm pretty sure it's your landlord who should be dealing with the insurance company, not you. I'll call him for you first thing in the morning. I'll go over to your place and pack you some stuff. I don't want you alone in that house until we know it's over."

She'll never admit it, but she likes protective Mulder, has grown fond of him over the years. It was sweet of him to take her in without question in the aftermath of the previous night's events, given the strange circumstances of their personal relationship. Despite her trepidation, there was no awkwardness at all as she borrowed some of his clothes to sleep in, and reclaimed what used to be her side of the bed, nor when he crawled into bed beside her. Old habits die hard, she supposes.

She pretends to look around the bathroom, then forces on a tiny grin. "No baby drones. I think it's safe to assume it's over."

"I'm not arguing with you. It's either here or straight to the ER. Pick your poison."

She narrows her eyes at him; he knows just which buttons to push. He beams at her, unabashed. "I thought so. Come on, I'll help you up."

She sways a little as she stands up, holding on to the sink with one hand and his arm with the other. When she's feeling steady she nods at him, and he hovers against the doorway as she washes her face and borrows some of his mouthwash. Then she follows him back into his (their?) bedroom, where they lay side by side. He doesn't try to touch her, which she appreciates. He hasn't tried earlier as well, and she likes that he's so committed to taking things slow, which has been the whole purpose of last night's date to begin with.

And yet when she wakes up hours later, they're a tangle of limbs, his arms around her and their legs intertwined, somehow finding their way to one another even in sleep. His chin fits perfectly in the crook of her neck, his soft breathing warm against her ear. It's pitch dark, and she lets herself drift back to sleep, his scent wraps around her like a mist.

When she wakes again it's morning, and she's alone in bed. There's a post-it on her phone in Mulder's handwriting, telling her he'll be back in a bit and to make herself at home (she can totally picture him gloat as he has scribbled that part). To her enormous relief, she's feeling steadier than the previous evening, but opts for tea over coffee anyway. It's a fancy herbal brand she has once mentioned to him, chamomile and lavender. She smiles at his thoughtfulness. He cannot stand herbal tea, constantly teases her about it, and yet since she has been back to spending so much time at his place, he's made a point of stocking the kitchen with it just for her sake.

She takes her tea mug out to the porch, where the air is still crisp after last night's rain. She used to love sitting there with her coffee before rushing to her shift at the hospital. When things were good, he used to sit with her too, stealing a few more minutes together before she dashed for the day's work. In darker times she sat there by herself and tried hard not to think about the ominous closed door of his study, about him wasting away in that room. She's drinking her tea in tiny sips, thinking how changed everything is, how every corner of this house holds precious memories, and not so precious ones; how it is no longer her home.

This is where Mulder finds her when he returns some time later. Their eyes meet and he waves at her through the windshield before stepping out of the car, hoisting an overnight bag on his shoulder and carrying several bags of groceries. She rises in order to help him, but he raises his arm in protest.

"Don't, I've got it." She waits at the top of the stairs, then takes the grocery bags from him despite the scowl he aims at her. "I wish you weren't so stubborn."

"I've been saying this about you for years," she backfires, then holds his gaze. "I'm better. Honestly."

"I don't care. You shouldn't be doing this, you're my guest." The words sting even though they're true; it's as if they haven't chosen this house together, as if she's never lived there. Something in his demeanor changes ever so slightly, as though he's been hurt by his own words too. They don't address it (well, do they ever), just go inside and head towards the kitchen. As they unload the grocery bags she notices he's picked her favorite yogurt and cream cheese. It shouldn't surprise her that he remembers, but it does; she's touched, but tries not to let it show. They move around the kitchen in perfect sync as they cook breakfast together, and it is the most normal they have been around each other in months. As they sit down to eat, he tells her he's been to her place.

"It looked much worse last night, thankfully. I called Skinner to tell him we wouldn't be coming in today; he promised to look into the insurance issue for you, although he agreed it was probably your landlord's responsibility, not yours. But anyway, he'll tell them something about a smart home device nearly killing off one of his best agents." They exchange a sardonic smile at the mental image. "Apparently someone did manage to call 911 eventually, and the fire department's been over after we left last night. I spoke with your landlord about changing the locks; he'll text you as soon as it's safe for you to return, probably later today."

"I left my phone upstairs," she replies quietly. After the previous night she wants nothing to do with that wretched device. She's overwhelmed by everything he's telling her, but relieved that she's only renting the place. Given the amount of damage the explosion must have caused, she would have freaked out if she has actually owned it.

"You're welcome to stay for as long as you want," he says softly, and their gazes lock. This is your home. You chose to leave, but it doesn't make it less your home. The words he doesn't say hurt, but she's transfixed, unable to look away. Then he clears his throat, and the intensity of the moment wanes. "Are you really better?"

"It was just food poisoning, Mulder, I've had worse."

"I know." There's a pause, but she can tell there's something on his mind. Then he looks up at her pleadingly. "Will you stay anyway? Just for a couple of days," he adds hurriedly when he sees she's about to protest. "Just... for my own peace of mind."

She doesn't want to argue with him; she knows he's only looking out for her, and has the best intentions at heart. Nonetheless, she doesn't want him to get the wrong impression. She has left for a reason. She isn't ready to come home just yet. "Well," she begins slowly, and notices how he sits a little straighter. "If you brought some of my work clothes in that overnight bag, I guess I could stay for a few days."

He tries not to smile, but she can tell it's a struggle. "I did, as it happens."

She nods, then sighs with exasperation for extra emphasis, but that doesn't wipe the smug expression off his face.

"Well, now that this issue is resolved, maybe you could answer something for me, something you left unanswered the other night."

"Okay?" She agrees halfheartedly, already thinking of a proper backfire in case he comes up with another quip about her discarded vibrator.

"How come your house is so much nicer than mine?"


Throughout her stay, they tread that fine line between platonic and romantic, never quite crossing it. It feels strange, but not entirely unpleasant. She's fine most of the time, faint and queasy at intervals, but doesn't share it with him, doesn't want him to worry. When she returns home eventually, her place feels empty and alien, and on the first day she's paranoid, waiting for the next attack, which obviously never comes. Her first night back is restless – she will never admit how much safer she feels with Mulder in bed next to her. The next morning she feels more nauseated than normally, and barely makes it to the bathroom after a mere whiff of her coffee makes her stomach turn.

At this point she gets suspicious. It's been nearly two weeks since their disastrous date – there's absolutely no way this is its aftermath still. She stumbles back into the kitchen on wobbly feet, pours herself a glass of ice-cold water, and sits by the counter to think. She's trying to approach this like a doctor would. She mentally lists her symptoms, checks her memory to pinpoint exactly when it has started. Her mind is filled with dangerous speculations; she's shaking her head as though that will help to send those away. There's no chance of that. She's beginning to see what's going on here, she thinks. She hopes. But it's impossible. More than that, it's improbable.

And yet. There has been an opportunity. The one time they have crossed that fine line, during that case with Chucky and Judy. The time frame is right. She knows the signs. If not as a woman then as a doctor. Unbelievable as it may be, she needs to get this checked out, because if she's right... There's no way she's right. Right...?

For a moment she's baffled as for what her next step should be. She's too embarrassed to simply go into a pharmacy and get a home test kit. She's never given a damn about what other people think, but this is different territory. A woman her age... She could order one online, but she's wary of anything internet-related these days. She still has some connections at the hospital, but any request to access the lab will surely raise questions she isn't sure she can answer yet. She's feeling self-conscious just thinking about it.

The answer comes to her like an epiphany. She grabs her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She bites her lip nervously as she's waiting for an answer on the other end.

"Agent Einstein speaking." Her voice is crisp and curt. She likes this about the younger agent.

"Agent Einstein, good morning, this is Dana Scully."

"Agent Scully." There's surprise in the younger agent's voice. "Long time no see. How have you been?"

"Good, thank you. I, uhhh, I was wondering if I could trouble you with something."

"Of course. How can I help?"

"It's, uhhh... It's a private matter, actually. And I'll appreciate your discretion."

"Are you alright, Agent Scully?"

She hesitates for just a second, but knows full well this is her best bet. She takes a deep breath. Nothing to it, really. "I think I may be pregnant."

To her credit, Agent Einstein remains as cool as a cucumber as she lays down her request. She asks a few questions, but sticks to the facts without getting overly nosey. They are to meet at the Quantico labs within an hour. She texts Mulder, fibbing something about being called away on an urgent consultation and promising to be at the office by noon. Then, heart pounding with possibilities (or impossibilities), she goes to get dressed.


"I don't think I need to tell you how utterly impossible this is." Agent Einstein is shaking her head, having now heard the entire tale. She recognizes the skeptical expression on the younger agent's face; she all but invented it. "You're – "

"Too old for this?" She completes bluntly, but her voice remains soft, no higher than a murmur.

"I was going to say unable to conceive, actually," replies Agent Einstein without missing a beat. There's a spark of guilt in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. I realize this is all very personal."

"It's in the X Files. That sort of makes it public domain whether I like it or not, I suppose." She hesitates, then asks, "Do you believe in miracles, Agent Einstein?"

"Do you?"

Her fingers instinctively wrap around her necklace. Agent Einstein's eyes follow the movement of her hand. "During my work on the X Files, I witnessed one or two. You do know I had... I have a son, who wasn't meant to be either." She allows herself a fond smile as she thinks of William, their brief encounter at the gas station. You seem like a nice person. I wish I could know you better.

"Well... It doesn't really matter what I believe. And whether or not this is a miracle, it's science that will eventually give us the answers we need, so..." Agent Einstein reaches for the vial of blood that rests on the desk between them, and hands her the bag from the pharmacy, containing the home test kit which she has purchased on-route. Their gazes lock for just a moment, blue on blue, and then they rise and go their separate ways, each to her own inspection.


Those are the longest five minutes of her life. She forces her gaze away from the stick, not wanting to see the negative result if it appears, because she's now convinced in the opposite, with every fiber of her being. This is real. She has never believed in anything as strongly as she does in this. And then she blinks again and there it is, plain as day, and the sound that escapes her lips is half a gasp, half a sob, although she isn't surprised, not really.

Her fingers are still shaking as she reenters the lab. Agent Einstein is hunched over the microscope; her hair, even in a messy French twist, is like a flame against her pristine white lab coat. She looks up at the sound of opening door, her eyes wide with shock. "I don't believe this," she declares as soon as their eyes meet.

She rushes forward, crossing the room in three strides. "It's positive, isn't it?"

"Yes!"

"So is this one," she says, raising the test stick she's still holding.

"This should not be possible," says Agent Einstein, shaking her head in confusion.

"And yet, somehow it is," she replies softly. She cannot stop smiling. Her head is reeling, but in the best way possible.

"An extreme possibility, if I've ever seen one," murmurs Agent Einstein, her eyes drifting to the microscope once more, then back to her. "I honestly don't know what to say."

"Well... You could start with congratulations."

They share a smile, then just stand there in silence with the intensity of their revelation charging the air between them. In her heart she knows this isn't going to be easy. She knows the risks, the limitations that come with age, but for the moment, she doesn't care. She will cross that bridge when she gets to it. For the time being there are other things to consider, plans to be made. Because this is a sign, the most glaring and blatant one she could have asked for. And even without it, she knows what she has to do, has known it for a while. Although he has pleaded with her many times and in various forms, not necessarily asking her upright, she knows now there's no getting away with it. She has to come home. More than that, she wants to. If she's truly honest with herself, there's nothing she wants more.

But first things first, she tells herself, touching the still invisible bump of her abdomen.

She needs to tell Mulder.