Title: Interstice: Tuesday (1/4)
Author: Christy
E-Mail: attalanta@aol.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: MSR, Christmas Fic
Additional Headers in Saturday: Part 1

* * * * *

Tuesday, December 25, 2001


"Two amazing secret agents. One diabolical madman. Conditions are dark. The 
forecast is deadly. Tea, anyone?" - The Avengers

"The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved 
for ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves." - Victor Hugo 


* * * * *

DANA


Scully awoke the next morning to a high-pitched scream and the creaking of 
the bedroom door as it swung open. She shot up in bed, her heart pounding 
through her chest. She cleared the contents of the bedstand as she 
reflexively reached for her gun.

Then she realized that she was at her mother's house, and that her gun was 
locked away in the drawer at home... and that their intruder was wearing 
footsie pajamas.

"Merry Christmas! Time for presents," Matthew shrieked, sliding on the 
polished wooden floor of the bedroom. He bounded across the darkened room, 
standing on his tiptoes to peer into Liam's crib. "Wake up, baby, it's 
Christmas!" He fit a finger through the slats of the crib, straining to touch 
his cousin.

Scully smiled, reaching up to run her hand through her sleep-tousled hair. 
She rubbed her hand over her neck, then massaged her shoulders, which had 
grown stiff from sleeping on the converted couch. She chuckled 
half-heartedly, remembering how, not long ago, she had slept more often on a 
hard motel mattress than in her own bed. She was getting spoiled, she thought 
as she became aware of the warmth radiating from Mulder's sleeping form. 

"Knock first, Matthew." Tara's voice came from the hallway, stern in its 
warning but late in coming.

"It's okay," Scully called back, feeling Mulder stir in bed beside her.

Tara appeared at the door, framed by a shaft of light from the hallway lamp 
and an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry about that," she said.

"It's okay," Scully repeated, but Tara just shook her head.

"Matthew, get over here," she said, and her son slinked away from the crib to 
stand at her side. "Now, I told you not to bother them. I know you're 
excited," she said in a softer tone, "but your Christmas presents aren't 
going anywhere."

She hefted Matthew into her arms with a loud "oomph," and the little boy 
giggled. "You're getting too heavy for Mommy to lift, Matty," she said, 
stepping into the hallway. "I'm so sorry, Dana," she apologized again.

"Really," Scully assured her, "it's okay." She nodded over to Mulder. "He's 
still sleeping anyway."

"Did he wake the baby?" Tara asked, letting go of her wriggling son, who 
dropped from her arms and scampered down the hallway.

Scully slid out from under the covers, shivering in the cool air. She grabbed 
her robe, pulled it over her shoulders, and stepped softly over to the crib. 
Liam stared up at her, his blue eyes open and alert. He smiled as she reached 
down and lifted him out of the crib.

"Merry Christmas, sweetie," she said to him, then turned to her 
sister-in-law. "It's okay, Tara. It's--" she paused to check the alarm clock 
still glowing brightly beside their bed. "It's already 6:19," she said with a 
smile, remembering the ungodly hours at which she and her siblings had woken 
their parents on Christmas mornings past. "He let us sleep in."

Tara shook her head. "Matthew!" she called into the hallway. "Don't wake your 
grandma." She shrugged at her sister-in-law, then took off into the hallway, 
shutting the door softly behind her.

"Gramma's already 'wake," came Matthew's voice from down the hall as the door 
closed.

Scully tugged Liam's diaper bag off the desk that was crammed near the foot 
of the fold-out bed. She pushed the covers from her half of the bed, then 
spread a changing mat on the mattress before setting Liam down. He gurgled 
happily, then called out, "Da da da," and grabbed for her hair as she leaned 
over him.

"Okay, kiddo," she whispered conspiratorially as she unsnapped his pajamas. 
"When I'm done changing you, you can wake him up." He smiled up at her, 
finally catching a strand of her hair in his fist. 

She pried it out of his fingers, then snuck his dirty diaper from beneath 
him, wiped him quickly, and slipped on a clean diaper. She held him down with 
one hand on his bare belly while she folded the dirty diaper and dropped it 
into a plastic baggie.

"Go to it, sweetie," she said as she snapped up his pajamas. Scully set him 
onto the bed next to Mulder's face, which was half-covered with the blanket. 
Liam laughed, then reached out for his father's nose.

"Da da da," he called out, pulling back the covers before gently batting at 
Mulder's face. Scully watched as Mulder pried one eye open, then reached out 
for Liam, catching the baby's foot.

"Hey, you," he said as Liam tried to wiggle free. But Mulder scooped him 
against his chest and sat up, then kissed the top of the baby's head before 
smoothing down the red-gold fuzz on his head. "Merry Christmas," he said to 
her, running a hand through his own spiky hair.

She smiled at him. "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

Holding Liam against his bare chest, Mulder stood, then stretched one arm, 
then the other, in the air, before lifting Liam high up. The baby squealed 
gleefully, kicking his legs when Mulder held him aloft.

Scully smiled as she watched them, then leaned over to take Liam while Mulder 
got dressed. She watched Liam as Mulder changed, thinking that, no matter 
what was under the tree with her name on it, she had already gotten her 
Christmas present, seven months early. Then, she thought, gazing at Mulder as 
he hunted through their luggage for his jeans, she had gotten another 
present, one that was perhaps even more unexpected. She smiled, then looked 
back down at Liam.

He was a gift, every day a gift. She couldn't allow herself to forget neither 
the horrors they had seen nor the ones they had imagined for the future. But, 
here in her mother's house, Scully felt safe and warm and full of holiday 
cheer, despite Bill's disapproval, despite Charlie's struggles, even despite 
her worries about Liam.

She couldn't deny that she was concerned for her son. Ever since his birth 
she had been worried, waiting to see if -- when -- he would show a sign that 
something was not normal, was not right. Her fears were there, every day, 
from the moment she woke him in the morning to the moment when she set him 
down at night. Would this be the day things would change?

She knew this attitude was not healthy, but she couldn't help it. She had had 
a particularly difficult time the previous month, at Liam's six-month 
well-baby check-up, when his pediatrician announced that he was ahead of all 
of the six-month milestones. Scully had frozen cold, her stomach dropping to 
her toes.

"What?" she'd asked, feeling the blood drain from her face.

"He's doing great, Dana," the pediatrician had said with a smile. "Well ahead 
of where he should be. He's a very happy baby."

Scully nodded, trying to regain her composure, but the doctor sensed her 
unease. "Dana? You okay? Most parents are glad - overjoyed -- to hear their 
baby is so advanced."

"I'm sorry," Scully said as the pediatrician handed Liam over to her and 
Scully began dressing him. "I am glad," she said unconvincingly. "I'm just... 
he's okay, right? Nothing wrong, nothing... unusual?"

"No," the doctor said, patting her shoulder. "He's fine, Dana. Perfectly 
normal and happy. You have nothing to worry about."

Still, she'd called Mulder from her cell phone as soon as she stepped out of 
the doctor's office building. Skinner had called him in to consult on a case, 
something that looked promising but had ended up not panning out, so he 
hadn't been able to get away for the appointment.

She'd heard the panic in her own voice as she told him what the doctor had 
said. He had been glad, unworried, but he didn't miss her fear. So, instead 
of heading over to her mother's, as she had planned, she met Mulder in the 
lobby of the Hoover Building and together they went for some coffee and a few 
minutes alone.

He had surprised her with his calm, and reiterated the pediatrician's 
message, that Liam was perfectly healthy. Normal. He had reminded her of the 
genetic testing they'd done on him after his birth, how that hadn't shown 
anything unusual. And, eventually, he had calmed her.

Every day she was in awe at how beautiful Liam was, how smart and healthy and 
loving. And how happy. She was perhaps most proud of this last one... heaven 
knows she herself had had the most difficulty with this one, not to mention 
Mulder's struggles.

Mulder buttoned the last button of his shirt, then reached over for Liam. She 
handed him the baby, then turned towards the door.

"Scully, wait," Mulder said as she reached for the doorknob. "Don't go 
downstairs yet..." He sat down on the bed, arranging Liam on his lap. "Come 
here."

She let go of the doorknob and sat beside him on the bed. "What?"

He exhaled a short puff of air and concentrated on a point somewhere above 
her head, near the door. He was nervous, Scully realized. "What is it, 
Mulder?"

"Your gift from me isn't under the tree," he said finally, looking down at 
her. "I thought for a long time about what to get you." He glanced down at 
Liam. "So much has happened this past year," he said. "These past two years, 
really."

Scully nodded, thinking back to the New Year's kiss that had started 
everything, had finally jumpstarted a relationship that had been lying, 
dormant and hopeful, for over six years.

"For a while I thought... maybe an engagement ring." He looked up at her, 
testing the waters, but she held her expression, feeling as though her face 
was burning with the strain of maintaining control.

"I had this fantasy," he said. "Of me proposing and you accepting and us 
going downstairs and telling your family we were legit. Your mother would be 
overjoyed, of course, and Bill would stop sulking." He paused. "Well, maybe."

Scully allowed herself a smile.

"But then, I don't know," he said. "I don't think we need an engagement ring 
to be legit.

"I just don't want to do anything to ruin this," he said, and she studied his 
eyes, surprised at the depth of feeling she saw there. Mulder's emotions had 
always run strong, whether frustration, anger, or joy, but until recently all 
of had them seemed to have been focused on their work. Even when his concern 
was directed at her, it had been as a manifestation of their work, on Dana 
Scully, Partner, never on just plain Dana Scully.

"This is it for me, Scully," he said, again looking down at Liam, who was now 
sucking intently on the hem of his father's t-shirt. His gums were bothering 
him, Scully thought absently. "This is forever. I don't need to be engaged to 
know that."

"I know," she said softly, running a hand over Liam's silky hair. "It seems 
almost... unnecessary."

He nodded, his eyes betraying his relief at her agreement. "But I wanted to 
give you something to let you know that I'm not going anywhere, that this is 
it for me," he repeated. "You are it."

"For me, too," she said, reaching over to touch his knee. "It's been eight 
years. I know you're not going anywhere, Mulder. I know that." But she could 
see the worry in his eyes. "What?"

"I just need to make sure," he said. "After last year--"

"That wasn't your fault," she insisted. "You didn't choose to leave. I know 
that, Mulder."

He nodded. "I guess I just needed to know that you knew," he admitted. "I 
needed to tell you."

She nodded. "I know."

"So," he said and took her hand. Mulder held it open and leaned down to press 
a gentle kiss on her palm. He balanced Liam against his chest for long enough 
to pull a small velvet box from his jeans pocket. He dropped it into her palm.

Scully looked up at him, a half-smile on her lips, feeling the dense weight 
of the box on her hand. After that intro, she had been expecting, well, maybe 
not Superstars of the Super Bowl Part II, but definitely something along 
those lines. 

He smiled back, then glanced away almost shyly. "Open it," he said, then 
lifted Liam up, standing the baby on his thighs. Liam bent his knees, 
squatting and jumping enthusiastically.

Scully cracked open the lid of the box. It was a ring.

The band was gold and thick, with a dark, deeply set ruby. On either side of 
the stone, also embedded in the band, were two square diamonds.

"It was my mother's," Mulder explained. "It had been in her family for years. 
I think her great-great-great-grandfather brought it from Russia for his 
wife," he said. "Or something like that." He smiled.

"Samantha always loved it. Mom wore it when she and Dad went out someplace 
dressy, and Samantha used to lie on their bed and watch Mom get dressed. When 
Mom put the ring on, Samantha would ask if she could wear it. Mom would let 
her try it on, and Samantha never wanted to take it off. Mom would tell her 
that, one day, it would be hers and she could wear it whenever she wanted."

A glimmer of engraving on the inside of the band caught Scully's eye and she 
removed the ring from its velvet perch. She tilted it until she could see the 
carvings, which she recognized as Hebrew but could not understand.

"What does it say?"

"Beloved," he said softly, his eyes locked into hers.

"Mom left it for me," he continued. "I didn't think... I never thought I'd 
have--"

"Mulder--"

"I had it sized down," he told her. "I--"

"How did you know my ring size?" she asked. *She* didn't even know her ring 
size.

A wicked glint lit his eye. "I have my ways," he said, and she wondered if 
these ways involved the Gunmen; digging around God-knows-where to find out 
her ring size was right up their twisted little alley.

"I want you to have it, Scully," he said, running his thumb over the trio of 
stones. "Not as an engagement ring." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "As 
a promise."

Mulder slipped the ring from her fingers. He reached for her left hand, 
looking up at her, his eyes wide and questioning. Damn your incessant 
self-doubt, Mulder, she thought. Don't you know by now?

She simply smiled at him, nodded. "Yes," she whispered. Yes. It had always 
been yes.

"Yes," he vowed as he slid the ring onto her finger, the metal cold against 
her hand. Reflexively, her thumb rubbed along the back of the ring, testing 
its newness. Mulder slid the pad of one finger over the top of the ring, his 
skin meeting hers in the valley between her spread fingers.

"I can't promise you that normal life you've always talked about," Mulder 
said, and Scully could see doubt and guilt, his constant companions, 
resurface.

She smiled. "That normal life was a dream, Mulder. The reality is more than I 
could have ever hoped for." She thought of her cancer, their abductions, her 
pregnancy, their jobs. "And I can't promise that normal life, either," she 
admitted softly.

Mulder nodded. "Is this--? I hope this is okay," he said, fear again creeping 
over his face. "If an engagement ring -- or a wedding ring -- is what you 
want, I could--"

Scully pulled her hand from his and laid it on the hollow beneath his 
cheekbone, pressing the cool ring into his skin. "No," she said. "*You* are 
what I want."

He sighed, and his gaze deepened. "It's just-- I-- My commitment is to you, 
Scully. And to Liam," he said. "I don't need a church or government to 
sanctify it."

She nodded, slipping her hand up to his temple, and she leaned into him. Her 
lips met his, and she tried to keep it gentle, tender, but she couldn't stop 
her mouth from crushing his, her tongue from pushing past his lips and teeth. 
She snaked an arm around his neck, bringing it up behind his head to run her 
fingers through his hair.

"Ma ma ma ma," Liam called out suddenly, restless at being ignored. Scully 
pulled away from Mulder and reached out for her son.

"What did you say?" she asked, her face lit with a smile as she cradled him 
against her chest.

"He said it," Mulder marveled.

"Ma ma ma," Liam repeated, with a two-toothed smile at the pride and pleasure 
in his parents' voices and on their faces.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Downstairs the living room glowed with a rainbow of Christmas tree lights, 
despite the darkness that was still outside. Scully handed around the mugs of 
coffee she had poured, a special cinnamon Christmas blend that Melissa had 
always loved. She ran her finger over the sprig of mistletoe she had set on 
the tray in an uncharacteristic display of holiday cheer.
    
Scully had chosen these mugs carefully, deliberately. It was the entire set, 
six Christmas mugs. Six, she had thought, as she set down the final mug. Six 
mugs, the six mugs the Scully family had used every Christmas when she was a 
child, all the way until 1994, the first Christmas after her father died.

There had only been four of them that year, the same four that were there 
this year. Not only was their Captain gone, but by that time Melissa had 
taken off, too, not to return for months. It was just the four of them, but 
Scully might as well have been alone. It had been almost a year since her 
husband's death, but, spending her first holiday without him, Margaret Scully 
had been in a fog.

Scully had stayed over her mother's house on Christmas Eve night that year, 
as she did most years, and she remembered waking up early, maybe six o'clock 
in the morning. Scully had gone downstairs to find her mother wandering 
around the house, touching things at random, her eyes unfocused as if 
sleepwalking. She her watched her mother for almost half an hour, caught up 
in her own fog of sadness but knowing that she could not -- guessing that she 
could never -- understand the depth of her mother's grief.

And then there were Bill and Charles. Bill had tried to hide his emotions, 
tried to play the role of Big Brother and Protector. She had never been 
overly fond of Bill in that role, but that year it had made her crazy, her 
brother stepping into their father's place without hesitation, without 
respect. And Charles: Charles, who had never gotten along with their father; 
Charles, who had seemed more distraught at Melissa's disappearance than their 
father's death. 

Scully considered each mug as she lifted it off the tray and passed it over. 
The Santa Claus mug had been her father's, Mrs. Santa her mother's. Both, 
especially her mother's, were well worn, having also been used for morning 
coffee during the month prior to Christmas. Then there was the elf mug that 
was Charlie's, the reindeer that was Bill's, and the angel that had been 
Melissa's. Scully held onto her own mug, tracing the outline of the snowman 
with the nail of her index finger.

Then she settled into an armchair near the tree, and Maggie placed a platter 
with apple and cheese Danish on the end table, and the family swarmed around 
the food and drink.

All but Liam and Matthew. Liam was crouched on the floor beside Mulder, with 
his palms on the ground and his bottom on his heels, rocking back and forth 
as though all he needed was a gentle push and he would take off across the 
floor crawling.

Matthew, however, had already taken off across the floor. He was skipping in 
a circle, coming inches from ricocheting into his father and the Christmas 
tree. "It's Christmas, it's Christmas," he sung loudly, breaking into an 
impromptu tune about presents and Santa Claus and his birthday.

"Here, Matty," Tara called out, patting the space next to her on the couch. 
"Come have some breakfast. Grandma has donuts. Chocolate sprinkles -- your 
favorite," she tempted. Yeah, Scully thought, like this kid needs sugar.

"Not hungry, not hungry," Matthew sang out gleefully, but Tara grabbed the 
waistband of his pajama pants as he streaked past her.

"Matthew William Scully," she said in a low voice, but with a smile that 
betrayed her amusement at her son's unabashed excitement. "Calm down." She 
held him on the couch next to her, but she couldn't control his excitement. 
Matthew kicked his feet against the couch.

"Presents, presents," he called out. "When do we get to open the presents?" 
His eyes were wide and glazed over as he stared at the gifts crammed beneath 
the Christmas tree. Tara let go of his waistband long enough to take a bite 
of donut, and Matthew rocketed off the couch and resumed his path around the 
room.

"Whoa," Mulder called out, scooping Liam off the floor just before Matthew's 
foot landed in the spot where the baby's hand had been.

"Matthew," Bill called, his voice loud enough to give his son pause. "Sit 
down." Matthew ducked his head and slunk over to the far corner of the room, 
next to the Christmas tree. He quieted down, but his eyes surveyed the 
presents, searching, Scully knew by memory, for the tags that bore his name.

"Why don't I play Santa?" she said, scooting off her chair and joining 
Matthew on the floor beside the tree. "Come here, Matty," she said. "I think 
this one has your name on it."

The little boy slid over to her, his eyes bright with excitement. "It says 
'Matthew'?" he asked hopefully. She nodded and pointed out the tag, and her 
nephew took the gift.

"To Matthew," Scully read. "Merry Christmas. Love, Grandma."

Matthew didn't need further prompting. He ripped off the paper and discarded 
the red bow, revealing a box of jumbo Legos. "Legos," he cried out, and 
Maggie nodded.

"I hope I got the right ones," his grandmother said, directing her question 
at Tara, who checked the box, then nodded.

"Legos, Legos," Matthew called out. "I can build a Lego boat now, just like 
yours, Daddy," he said. Matthew tore into the Lego box, his tongue poking out 
the side of his mouth as he concentrated on dismantling the box.

"Say 'thank you,' Matthew," Bill prompted, and Matthew echoed his father's 
thanks.

Scully took advantage of his distraction to choose a long, cylindrical gift 
from beneath the tree. "To Charles. Love, Mom," she read from the attached 
card before passing the present over to her brother, who was still nursing 
his coffee and trying to match the rest of the family's level of wakefulness.

He took the gift and looked quizzically at his mother, who simply smiled. 
"Open the card first," she said. He did, then paused to read it before 
looking up with a smile.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, rising to hug her.

"What is it?" Bill asked.

"Yoga classes," Charles said. "I mentioned to Mom on the phone once that 
there was this yoga class I wanted to take at the University, but it was too 
expensive." He held up a square of paper from the card. "She's signed me up 
for the next two quarters."

"What's that?" Tara asked, poking at the still-wrapped tube, which gave a 
little under her finger. Charles smiled, then tore the wrapping off.

"A yoga mat," he said, unfurling the spongy plastic mat onto the floor. "This 
is great. Thanks, Mom," he said again. Liam, who still sat in the small 
square created by Mulder's bent legs, scooted himself closer to the mat and 
reached out for it.

"Not for you, buddy," Mulder said, pushing the end of the mat towards 
Charles. "You might want to roll that back up," he said to the younger man, 
who nodded and began curling the mat back into a tight tube.

"Let's see," Scully said, hunting under the tree for a gift addressed to 
Liam, to find something to preoccupy the baby with. "Here you go, sweetie," 
she said, passing a large, square box over to Mulder. "Merry Christmas, Liam. 
From Uncle Charlie."

Mulder offered the gift to the baby, whose blue eyes focused intently on it. 
He grasped a corner of the box and pulled, and the paper tore when Mulder 
held it firm. "That's it, Liam," Mulder said with a smile. "Try again."

But Liam was more interested in the small square of paper he'd ripped off the 
box. He held it up in his fist and was aiming it into his mouth when Mulder 
intercepted it.

"Look," he said to the baby as he pulled off another strip of wrapping paper. 
"Help me." Eventually Mulder and Liam managed to remove the paper from the 
gift, revealing a plain brown box. Mulder lifted off the lid and brushed 
aside a layer of tissue paper to expose several large blocks. He removed one 
and tossed it over to Scully.

She examined the block carefully, running her hand over its smooth, almost 
plastic surface and marveling at its lightness. Each face of the block was 
brightly colored and contained a beautifully painted picture: a star, a 
baseball, a sun.

"I made them," Charles said as Liam lifted a block out of the box and stuffed 
the corner into his mouth. Mulder quickly pulled the block away, but Charles 
smiled. "It's okay," he said. "They're coated with a sealant, sort of like 
decoupage, but it's non-toxic. The guy who sold it to me said he used it to 
coat a plate he made for his daughter."

Mulder shrugged and let Liam go to town, sucking on the block, a satisfied 
smile on his face. "They're beautiful, Charlie," Scully said as Mulder 
removed another block from the box and passed it over to her. "Thank you."

"To Matthew," Scully read as she reached for another gift. "This one's from 
us, Matthew," she said, handing the little boy the box. Her nephew tore into 
the gift, ripping back the paper to reveal a large box, the front panel of 
which showed a group of children playing with puppets.

"Puppets?" the little boy exclaimed.

Scully nodded and smiled. Tara had mentioned on the phone several months ago 
that Matthew had been obsessed with puppets ever since she had taken him to 
see a puppet presentation of Antoine de Saint-Exupery's "The Little Prince" 
put on for the children living on the base by the theater department of the 
local branch of the University of California.

Tara leaned over her son to inspect the box. "Three puppets, plus props and 
two scenery changes. Look at this, Matty," she said, pointing to the children 
on the box. "You can make up your own puppet show."

"Thank you, Aunt Dana," Matthew said, hugging Scully tight.

"You're welcome," she said, then kissed the top of his head. Matthew let her 
go, then, to everyone's surprise, threw his arms around Mulder's neck as 
well. Mulder's eyes shot over to Scully, and she smiled back at him. He 
tentatively patted the little boy's back, then Matthew sprinted away to 
examine the puppet set.

Scully looked up at Tara, who smiled slightly and shrugged, then over to her 
mother, who was grinning broadly. She chanced a glance over at Bill and was 
immediately sorry. He said nothing and, to someone who did not know him well, 
he might look non-committal.

But Scully knew better; she recognized his too-stiff posture and the corner 
of his lip that was crushed under his top teeth as marks of trouble. But it 
was Christmas, and Scully wasn't going to take any crap from Bill. So she 
darted her eyes away, focusing instead on the gifts still beneath the tree.

"Here's another one," Scully said, pulling a heavy rectangular box from 
beneath the tree. "To Charles, from Bill, Tara, and Matthew." She passed the 
gift over to Charles, who slipped the ribbon off, then tore the paper. It was 
a clothing box, and Scully had a pretty good idea what was inside it. Charles 
removed the lid and dug into the box, then held up a navy blue wool v-neck 
sweater that had Bill Scully written all over it.

"Nice," Maggie said, reaching out to finger the cuff of the sweater.

Bill nodded his agreement. "I thought you needed something formal," he told 
Charlie. "Something without paint on it." Charlie gave Bill a half-smile that 
told Scully that the new sweater would be shoved into the back of a drawer 
once Charles got back to Seattle, never to see the light of day again.

Scully reached back under the tree, then noticed a large, flat rectangular 
gift in the back. She slid it out from under the tree, then passed it to her 
mother after reading the tag. "To Mom, from Charles." 

Maggie smiled over at her younger son, then tore the wrapping off 
impatiently, revealing another layer of paper, this one heavy and brown. She 
removed the brown paper and uncovered a beautiful framed painting.

"Oh, Charles," she gasped. "This is beautiful."

The painting was beautiful, Scully agreed when her mother held it up for the 
family to admire. It was unlike most of Charlie's art; it was not abstract or 
excessively cerebral. It depicted steady ocean waves lapping gently at a 
rock-lined beach. In the distance sailed a tiny, barely visible ship that 
Scully recognized as her father's.

Her mother pulled Charles into a hug. "This is very good," she said, and 
Charles smiled back at her, his pride evident in his shining eyes. 

Scully spotted two other similarly shaped gifts also propped against the wall 
and slid them out. One was addressed to Bill and Tara, the other to her and 
Mulder. She passed the first to Bill, and Mulder motioned for her to open 
theirs. She and her brother slid the double layers of paper off their gifts 
to reveal their own paintings. Bill and Tara's also depicted a water scene, 
this one more turbulent, with waves crashing into rocky cliffs beneath a 
clouded-over sky. Another familiar Navy ship was tucked in the corner of the 
canvas.

But Scully and Mulder's painting was different, more like Scully had come to 
expect from her brother after years of viewing his art. It was a large square 
canvas painted in soft hues of blue and green, accented with touches of 
purple. The paint was thick and textured, and reminded Scully of a van Gogh 
exhibit she had gone to see while in college. The painting was more abstract, 
with thick, broad strokes and dark accenting streaks. It was decidedly 
sensual, though Scully couldn't exactly put her finger on what made it so.

And Charles had been surprised and excited at his gift from her and Mulder. 
They had used some of the considerable frequent flier miles they'd 
accumulated to get Charles an open-ended round-trip ticket from Seattle to 
DC. Scully knew that money had long been one of her brother's excuses for not 
coming to visit more often, so this year she had decided to call him on it.

He fussed over the cost, but she kidded with him that someone might as well 
reap the rewards of their extensive work-related travel. She hoped the 
tickets wouldn't go to waste, that Charles would come to see them in DC soon. 
The tickets had actually been Mulder's idea for Charles, and she had been a 
little hesitant, half-worried that her brother wouldn't use them, maybe 
wouldn't even want them.

But now she was glad that they had decided on the tickets. This visit had 
allowed her to remember how much she missed spending time with her younger 
brother, how desperately she wanted him not to be a stranger in her son's 
life.

Finally they were down to the final gift, and she knew who it was for even 
before she checked the tag. She passed it over to Mulder. "To Dana and Fox. 
Love, Mom," he read aloud, his gaze darting over to Maggie, then resting 
uncertainly at Scully. "You should open this, Scully," he said, holding the 
small gift box out to her.

She shook her head. She had opened their gifts from Charles, and Bill and 
Tara. Though they were addressed to both of them -- which, in Bill and Tara's 
case, Scully knew was her sister-in-law's doing -- they were obviously 
directed at her, considering neither of her brothers knew Mulder well enough 
to shop for him. But her mother's gift, that one Mulder could open.

He shrugged, then tore the paper from the box. He lifted the lid to reveal a 
rectangular envelope. Mulder opened the flap and read it carefully, then 
smiled and passed the gift over to Scully. "Thank you," he said to Maggie 
with a grin.

"Voucher for a weekend stay at the Goldengrove Bed and Breakfast on 
Chesapeake Bay," she read. The voucher was open-ended, and her mother had 
included a short handwritten note on a square of stationary, offering her 
services as babysitter.

"Thanks, Mom," she said, rising to hug her mother, who then reached over and 
embraced Mulder.

"I thought you two could use some time to yourselves," she said. "I'll take 
Liam for the weekend, just let me know in advance when."

"Thank you," Scully said again, unable to truly express her gratitude in 
words.

This was the same gift her mother had given Bill and Tara, but, to Scully, it 
meant so much more. It signaled her mother's acceptance, her support, of her 
relationship with Mulder. Scully caught Mulder's eye and smiled. Her grin 
broadened as Mulder tried, unsuccessfully, to mimic her single-eyebrow raise.

* * * * *

MULDER


That afternoon they lay sprawled around the Christmas tree, sluggish and 
sleepy and stuffed from an early Christmas dinner. Mulder lounged on the 
floor near where Liam was playing with his new blocks. He watched as Liam 
stuffed the corner of one large, brightly colored block into his mouth. He 
removed it, revealing painfully red gums, then repositioned it, sucking 
intently.

He needed a teething toy, Mulder thought idly, and had to gather his strength 
for a minute before he was able to rise to his feet. He stretched his arms 
over his head, yawned greatly, then turned to Scully, who was flipping 
through the introductory issue of Parenting magazine that Bill and Tara had 
given them -- her, Mulder corrected halfheartedly -- for Christmas.

Scully's eyes, half glazed over, watched him. Mulder nodded at Liam. 
"Teething toys still in the fridge?" he asked her, and she nodded. "Anyone 
want anything from the kitchen?"

He glanced around the room. Charles, who was curled up on an armchair in the 
corner of the room, didn't even look up from the thick paperback he was 
reading. Bill and Tara, who sat on the couch together, simply shook their 
heads, and Maggie, who was helping Matthew build something not yet 
identifiable out of Legos, said, "No, thanks, Fox."

So Mulder wandered into the kitchen, pausing to tug his loose-fitting socks 
up from where they had pooled around his ankles.

He had to admit that he was glad to get a break from the sleepy Scully living 
room. Mulder couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something 
small and nagging in the air in that room. An odd undercurrent of tension ran 
through the family, spoiling the warm holiday feeling that otherwise reminded 
him of awaking up on a winter weekend morning to see snow falling out the 
window, to check the clock and see another hour to sleep before your son 
awoke, to pull the down comforter up to your chin and feel Scully's arm 
draped over your chest.

Then again, maybe he was wrong about the tension. After all, it had been so 
long since he had spent any time with a family. Maybe that was how siblings 
were, when they became adults: past, present, and future mingling and 
melding; teasing and fighting and pushing buttons that you not only knew but 
had probably installed. Friends and rivals and strangers at the same time.

Mulder smiled and swung open the refrigerator door and sifted through the 
foil-wrapped leftovers before finding the plastic zippered bag of Liam's 
teethers. Then he spied the half-filled carafe in the coffeemaker. From the 
draining rack in the sink he plucked the Santa mug he had been using that 
morning and filled it with coffee.

Mulder took a sip and smiled. Still warm. Just what he needed, a little jolt 
to wake him up. This was an important day; he didn't want to fall asleep at 
-- he checked his watch -- 4:39 in the afternoon and miss the rest of his 
son's first Christmas.

Mulder pushed past foil-wrapped containers of leftovers, pausing to steal a 
lump of cold mashed potatoes with his thumb, and found the milk. He was 
pouring some in his coffee when he heard a noise behind him.

"I thought I could use some coffee," Mrs. Scully said, smiling at him with 
sleepy, half-lidded eyes. She removed the Mrs. Claus mug from the draining 
rack and Mulder filled it for her. He set the carafe down and turned to face 
her.

"I wanted to thank you, Mrs. Scully," he started, but she waved him off with 
a flick of her wrist.

"You don't have to thank me, Fox," she said.

"No, I do," he said, thinking of the many forgettable Christmases he had 
spent alone in his apartment, watching sappy holiday movies and falling 
asleep to the buzz of an Ab-Roller infomercial. And there were other years, 
worse years, when he had spent holidays in his basement office, paging 
through Samantha's X-File, willing himself to remember something. Anything. 
"For Christmas and for the stocking and for--"

And for a family, he thought, but he couldn't say it. He and Scully had 
created their own family, but Mulder couldn't ignore Maggie's role. Not only 
had she given him Scully, and by extension Liam, but she provided some 
normality for their lives. As frustrating and combative and distant as the 
Scullys could be, and even though he wished he could throttle Bill, a part of 
Mulder treasured this, needed it.

Okay, he would admit it. He didn't just want this normal family for Liam, but 
for himself. Of course he wanted his son to have the happy childhood he had 
never had, but, Mulder also thought, just maybe he could share in that 
happiness. He could reclaim something he had lost with a flash of bright 
light and the rattle of a Stratego board.

"Nonsense," Maggie said, shaking her head. "I'm the one who should be 
thanking you for everything you've done for Dana."

Mulder shook his head. "The stocking, Mrs. Scully," he whispered. "You didn't 
have to--"

She stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. "Of course I did," she said. 
"You're a part of this family now, Fox. I think maybe you have been for a 
while."

"Thanks, Mrs. Scully."

"About that, Fox," she said.

"Maggie," he corrected. For months she had been urging him to use her first 
name. "Sorry."

"No," she said. "Mom?"

Mulder froze. Was Mrs. Scully... Maggie... was she asking him to call her 
'Mom'? "What?" he breathed.

She smiled up at him. "I'll understand if you're not comfortable with it," 
she said, "but if you are comfortable, you're welcome to call me 'Mom.' I'd 
be proud for you to."

Mulder didn't know what to say. To him, Teena Mulder was 'Mom.' Though their 
relationship had been riddled with regret and fraught with awkwardness, she 
was his mother. He loved her, maybe more, he feared, than she had loved him. 
How could he call someone else 'Mom'?

Mom. Mulder remembered the last time he had said it. He had gone to her 
grave, alone, her ruby ring in his pocket. He spoke to her aloud, his voice 
sounding small and scared as he told her about her grandson, as he asked her 
if she was proud now, proud of him.

Then he'd taken the ring box out of his pocket and slipped the ring out. He 
hadn't resized it yet, but it still only fit on his pinkie finger. He'd worn 
it, clenched it in his fist. I want to give it to her, Mom, he'd said. If 
she'll have it, if she'll have me.

And now hearing Maggie say that she would be proud... It was almost more than 
he could hope for. It had been so long since he had felt the pride of a 
parent or the uncomplicated love of a mother who was not plagued by her own 
suffocating guilt.

"Mom." He whispered the word, almost breathed it. He wondered if she had 
heard him.

She had. Maggie smiled slowly, held her arms out to him. He stepped into 
them, wondering what life would have been like with Maggie and Bill Scully 
instead of Teena and Bill Mulder.

Maggie's embrace was warm and secure, demanding nothing from him in return, 
yet it made him want to give her the world. Or at least his love. He leaned 
down awkwardly and set his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair softly, 
and he remembered, as a child, waking in the middle of the night after a bad 
dream, running to his parents' room, turning the doorknob, tiptoeing up to 
their bed, crawling in next to his mother. His father hadn't been there -- 
maybe he was downstairs in the study or still at the office or out of town -- 
but he had clutched at his mother desperately, seeking solace that, even 
then, he knew she could not provide.

* * * * *

DANA


"We could always play a board game," Tara suggested as the family relaxed 
late that night. Liam and Matthew had long since been put to sleep, and the 
rest of them were trying to decide how to spend the remainder of the evening. 

Scully raised an eyebrow at her sister-in-law. Board games? She hadn't played 
a board game with her siblings in decades, not since high school at least. 
Scully looked over at Mulder, who was sitting next to her on the couch. He 
shrugged and gave her a slight smile. Of course he'd be willing; he had never 
gotten in a fight with Bill over hotels on Boardwalk or cheating in 
Battleship.

Sure, Scully thought. Board games with her brothers was exactly how she 
wanted to spend the evening... The evening they had been planning to spend at 
home before the storm that had started on Christmas Eve had sentenced them to 
another night at her mother's house. The evening they had been planning to 
spend alone, with Liam in his crib and the two of them in bed. Their own bed.

Sure, Scully thought. Board games sound great.

"Let me see what I've got," her mother said, then disappeared into the hall.

"I don't know about this," Scully said when her mother was out of earshot. "I 
don't think we ever finished a single game of Monopoly the whole time we were 
kids. Someone always got mad at whoever was the banker for 'accidentally' 
miscounting the money."

"Come on, Dana," Bill said with a grin. "We aren't kids anymore. I think we 
can get through a game or two without shedding blood."

"Okay," Scully said, thinking, Don't say I didn't warn you when the game ends 
with someone crying. God, she thought, I sound just like my mother. 'One of 
you is going to end up crying,' Maggie Scully's stern voice echoed in her 
memory. Too often, she had been right. But not always; sometimes all four of 
them had ended up crying...

"Okay," her mother said as she emerged from the hall, boxes piled so high 
that only her eyes peeked out from over the dusty lids of the games.

They gathered around Maggie as she unstacked the boxes. Tara went into the 
kitchen for a handful of wet paper towels, and they wiped off each box top.

Scully grabbed the Game of Life, which had been so beloved, so often played, 
that the corners of its lid had needed to be reinforced with packaging tape, 
now yellowed and dry. Slowly she wiped off the years of grime and studied the 
illustration on the lid. A cluster of children crowded around the board, the 
tiny plastic cars and pink and blue pegs scattered indifferently along life's 
path.

Scully flipped off the lid and, ignoring the musty, unused odor she had 
released, sifted through the box's contents. She unfolded the game board, 
only to discover that the plastic spinner mounted to the corner of the board 
was mangled, one side chewed off by a puppy the family had once had.

"This one's no good," Charlie said, tossing the Sorry box aside. "The cards 
are all crayoned on."

Bill snorted. "Don't look at me," he said when Charles's glance landed on his 
brother. "You're the youngest... and the artist."

"Yeah," Charles said, "blame the baby."

Their mother laughed. "You're hardly a baby, Charles," she reminded her 
youngest son.

"Well, this one's all here," Tara said. "But the six of us can't exactly play 
checkers." She shoved the box over and Charles piled it atop Sorry.

"Mine's no good either," Scully said, adding the Game of Life to the pile. 
Not that she wanted to play Life anymore. Life was for twelve year olds 
dreaming of elaborate weddings and adventurous careers and decadent 
inheritances; she and Melissa had loved Life, but it wasn't quite the same 
when the marriage and job and children couldn't be shut inside a box and 
stacked back in the darkest corner of your closet when you wanted to play 
something else.

She turned to Mulder, who had been awfully quiet. "What do you have?"

He held the box out to her. "Stratego," he whispered. She gave him a sad 
smile. "It's all there," he added. 

"Only two can play," she said softly, slipping the box from his grasp and 
piling it atop Life.

"Well, what do we have to choose from?" Bill asked, glancing over at the 
teetering pile next to Charles.

"LCR," Maggie said, holding up a plastic cylinder that fit in the palm of her 
hand. She popped off the plug stuck in one end and dumped a scatter of 
plastic chips, three die, and a folded-up instruction booklet onto the end 
table.

"LCR?" Tara asked. "How do you play?"

"It's a game of chance," Maggie told them, piling the chips together. "The 
letters stand for Left, Center, Right. We sit in a circle and everyone gets 
three plastic chips. When it's your turn, you roll the die." She held up a 
dice, each side of which was printed with either an "R," an "L," a "C," or a 
black dot. She passed it over to Charles. 

"You roll one dice for each chip you have. If the dice lands on the 'R,' you 
pass the chip to your left and the 'L,' to your right. If it lands on the 'C' 
you put the chip in the pile in the middle of the circle, and that removes it 
from play. If you land on the black dot, you get to keep the chip," she 
explained.

"So the chips get passed around the circle, and chips are lost when you add 
them to the pile in the center. Whoever's holding the final chip is the 
winner. Does that make sense?"

"I think we can handle that," Charlie said as he dealt each of them three 
chips.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Three hours later they had moved the game into the kitchen after discovering 
that the die didn't roll well on the carpeted floor of the family room. They 
had also discovered that the game was exponentially more entertaining when 
accompanied by a beer or two... or four.

Two hours ago Charlie had suggested playing not with chips but with quarters, 
which they had dug into their purses and wallets to find. Maggie had 
discovered a stash in her bedroom, which she had graciously shared with the 
rest of the family before retiring to bed about an hour ago. The plastic 
chips that had come with the game had long ago been scattered to the corners 
of the kitchen island, forgotten.

Scully laughed lightly as she watched Mulder and Charlie battle for the money 
piled in the center of the island countertop. She ran her fingers through her 
hair, then hunted through her mother's junk drawer for a rubber band. Despite 
the wintery storm blustering outside, the kitchen was pleasantly warm, made 
so most likely by the alcohol they had been consuming.

Instead of a rubber band Scully discovered a stray hair elastic and snapped 
it around an impromptu ponytail. She resumed her place at the island next to 
Mulder, smiling when he, after winning the last round, tweaked her ponytail, 
sending it swaying from side to side.

Twenty minutes ago they had replaced their quarters with dollar bills, and 
Charlie, who had been on a roll for the past half-hour despite his recent 
loss to Mulder, was starting to hint at upping the stakes. Rather loudly, 
Scully noted as she took a sip of her beer. Tara, who had been trying to 
dampen their boisterous cheering and booing all night, set her hand on his 
shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

"Sshh, Charles," she urged. "Your mom looked exhausted when she went 
upstairs. We don't want to wake her, or Matthew and Liam," she said.

But Charles was not to be dissuaded. "Come on, Bill," he urged, collecting 
quarters and stray dollar bills into a pile next to his bottle of Guinness.

"No thanks," Bill said, pushing back from the table, his chair screeching on 
the floor. "Too rich for my blood."

"You're kidding me," Charles scoffed, smiling up at his brother. "'Too rich'? 
Come on, you must make twice the salary I do. At least."

But Bill just shook his head, then took a swig from his beer bottle. "You may 
be right, Charles, but I also have responsibilities."

"Yeah, well," Charles said, glancing around the table at Tara, Scully, and 
Mulder. Tara took a sip of her tea, then closed her eyes and wearily rubbed 
her brow. "So does everyone else here."

Bill barked out a cough. "Yeah," he said, shaking his head. "Right."

"Oh, I forgot," Charles said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You have 
responsibilities, but Dana and Mulder don't?"

"Charlie, forget it," Scully said softly, her beer-induced fog starting to 
clear at the hint of an argument between her brothers. And please don't bring 
Mulder and me into this, she thought.

"No, Dana," Charles said, his voice raising. "I can't forget it. I'm sick of 
this holier-than-thou attitude he's been parading around all week. What is it 
you're getting at, Bill?"

"Charlie, please," Scully pleaded.

"Bill?" Charles pressed.

Bill set his beer bottle on the counter with slightly more force than 
necessary, and the glass smacked against the tile. "All I'm saying is that 
it's different."

Scully could feel Mulder tense beside her, and she prayed that he would just 
let it go. Bill was baiting him, baiting both him and Charles. Bill had been 
sulking all week, and now he was looking for a fight, looking to reestablish 
his familial dominance. She knew better than to think that Charles might 
resist Bill's provocation, but she prayed that Mulder would let it go.

"Different how?" Mulder asked. Scully slid her hand under the table and set 
it on Mulder's knee, squeezing gently. Please, she thought, please don't.

"Let's be honest here," Bill said, snapping the cap of his beer onto the 
counter. "Your responsibilities and mine aren't exactly comparable."

"Bill," Tara warned, shooting him a stern gaze.

But Bill was not to be dissuaded. "I have a responsibility to my family. To 
my son and to my wife," he continued, emphasizing this last word by training 
his gaze on Mulder.

"So that's what this is about," Mulder said, sitting back in his chair.

"This isn't about anything," Bill barked, "except to tell my brother that he 
can't compare my situation with yours."

"I don't know, Bill," Charles said, "from where I'm sitting, I think you can."

"Maybe you should keep your mouth shut about things you don't understand, 
Charles," Bill said.

"Bill, would you please--?" Tara urged.

"Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em, big brother," Charles said with a 
challenging smile. "It's you who--"

"It's me who what?" Bill asked. "All I'm doing is pointing out what's 
painfully obvious to all of us, that some people have responsibilities and 
commitments..." He shot another glance at Mulder. "And others don't. It's 
easy when you can come and go as you please, and take off when the family 
thing gets old.

"Not that I expect any of you to understand," Bill continued, then turned to 
his brother. "Obviously not you, Charles.

"I forget," he said bitingly. "How long has it been since we've seen each 
other? Five years? Six? Damnit, Charlie, Matthew is almost four and you've 
never even bothered to meet him. How do you think that makes me feel?"

He paused for effect, and Scully braced herself. "Forget about us, though. 
You seem to do that pretty easily anyway. But how long's it been since you've 
seen Mom?"

Charles bristled, and Scully could feel him switching roles from aggressor to 
victim, the shift in his mood so sudden that she almost a cold wind blow 
through the room. She tightened her grip on Mulder's knee, this time more to 
anchor herself than him.

Charles looked down, refusing to meet his brother's accusatorial stare. He 
bit his lip until it began to bleed, a line of red appearing on the pink of 
his lower lip. He ran his tongue over it, wiping the blood clean, only to 
have it reappear a second later.

"Bill," Scully said softly. "Bill, please--"

"Damnit, Dana," he said. "Charlie's a big boy. He can certainly pick his own 
fights, and he doesn't need you to defend him. We aren't kids anymore."

"No," Tara said with a pointed glance at her husband. "We aren't."

But Bill ignored her. "So what about it, little brother?" he continued. "You 
want to talk about family responsibilities, bring it on. But make sure you're 
up to finishing what you start instead of letting Mom or Dana fight your 
battles for you."

Finally Charles met Bill's stare. "You don't know anything about me, Bill," 
he hissed.

Bill choked off a laugh. "Damn right I don't. And whose fault is that? I'm 
not the one who ran off. Just disappeared. How do you think Mom feels about 
that, Charles? She only has three children left; don't you thinks she'd like 
to see us together sometime?"

Low blow, Scully thought. But she wasn't surprised. Even as a little kid, 
Bill had always fought dirty. She had the scars to prove it, and she knew 
that Charles had at least as many as she did.

"I know she only has three children left," Charles said in a strangled voice. 
"God, don't you think I know that?"

"I wouldn't know," Bill said with an affectedly casual shrug.

"This isn't about me," Charlie said. "And it isn't about Melissa."

But Scully wondered if maybe it was, if maybe this all was about their father 
and Melissa. They had been there when she and Mulder arrived with their son, 
when Tara announced that she was pregnant and Bill announced that they was 
moving back East, when the family slid into the pew at church and when they 
opened their Christmas gifts.

And now, Scully thought, her eyes roaming the kitchen as if in search of her 
father and sister; Dad and Missy were there now, as they took up the battle 
lines that had been drawn so many years ago.

Bill shook his head. "I think it is. I think it's about Melissa, and I think 
it's about Dad. It's about how no one but me shows this family any respect 
anymore. You don't even show for your own father's funeral, Charles. Or your 
sister's, though you've done a hell of a job playing up the role of bereaved 
brother for the past six years."

"Bill," Scully started again, but wasn't sure what to say. She knew that Bill 
didn't understand Charlie, that he had never understood their brother. He was 
just like their father that way. And she also knew that he wasn't going to be 
able to start now.

"So don't you go lecturing me about responsibility, little brother," Bill 
finished. "Because you sure as hell don't know what you're talking about." He 
turned to Scully, then to Mulder. "None of you."

"Bill," Scully said again, immediately regretting having spoken.

But it wasn't his sister that Bill was aiming at this time. Or maybe it was, 
she thought as her brother focused on Mulder. "Certainly not you. You breeze 
in and out of this family whenever it suits you, and you leave my sister to 
pick up after your messes. Talk about irresponsible," he said with a crisp, 
forced laugh.

"I'm not blind, Mulder," Bill continued. "I can see through you, and 
apparently I'm the only one here who can. Apparently my mother can't; God 
only knows what she sees in you. And certainly my sister can't either, my 
only sister," he said in a purposeful tone.

Scully slid her hand up Mulder's knee and onto his thigh. She could feel the 
quick tense of muscle, could almost feel the wave of guilt wash over him. His 
misplaced guilt over her sister's death and over Scully's own health problems 
was strong enough on its own; it didn't need to be fed by Bill. Damn you, 
Bill, she thought. You know how to hit right where it hurts, don't you? First 
with Charles and now with her...

"Bill," Tara pleaded. "Bill, please."

"It's easy for you, isn't it? Destroying our family? Does it make you feel 
better now that you're not the only one who lost a sister? Coming and going 
as you please, using your work and now using a baby to keep her in your life, 
at least as long as you're planning on sticking around? But I doubt it'll be 
so easy for that baby when he gets old enough to ask where his father is..."

Bill narrowed his eyes at Mulder. "...*who* his father is."

The room was so silent, Scully thought she could hear Mulder's heart pounding 
through his chest, then breaking. Bill had found Mulder's bruise, and he was 
pressing on it with the greatest force. Scully clutched desperately at 
Mulder's thigh, feeling her anger burn through her blood. Her anger, Mulder's 
hurt.

Mulder was a grown man; he could take care of himself. But the image of their 
son sleeping helpless and defenseless in the crib upstairs...

"You aren't the only one with responsibilities, Bill," Scully said.

"Yes," Bill agreed. "You have the responsibility of a child... thanks to 
him," he said with a nod in Mulder's direction. "Apparently."

"Yes. Thanks to Mulder, I have Liam. I'll be thanking Mulder for that for the 
rest of my life," she told Bill. "And I would hope that anyone who cared at 
all about me would, too."

"Dana--"

"No," Scully said. "Before *you* talk about something you know nothing about, 
you should know that *I* wanted to get pregnant. Me," she said. 

"Not that it's any of your business, Bill, but my pregnancy was not a 
mistake; Liam was not a mistake. And there isn't one thing I regret about 
having him."

She opened her mouth, knowing that she would later regret what she was about 
to say but unable to sit back and let Bill attack her son. Or his father. It 
was on the tip of her tongue, almost slipping out, she knew it would confuse 
the hell out of Bill, it would probably hurt him, it would shut him up...

We tried in vitro fertilization...

But the creak in the floor stopped her from saying a word. They all turned 
towards the doorway to see Margaret Scully, who stood in the dark of the 
hall, framed by the doorway. She was almost invisible, just the white of her 
robe glowing like a ghost in the darkness.

"What is going on down here?" Maggie asked in a low, even tone.

The room was silent, and Scully watched her mother's gaze drift slowly over 
her family. She and Mulder and Charles still sat at the table, piles of 
plastic chips and various coins strewn around them. Bill stood, stick 
straight, near the refrigerator, his back inches from the countertop, not 
touching it. Tara stood next to him, her shoulders sagging and a look of 
powerlessness on her face.

"I can hear you from upstairs," Maggie said finally. "All of you. And if I 
can hear you, I'm sure Matthew and Liam can, too."

"Is he awake? Is he crying?" Scully asked.

Her mother stepped behind her and set a hand on her shoulder. "He was fine 
when I checked on him," she said.

But Scully had to get out, and, with only a niggling of guilt, she used her 
son as an excuse. She dashed upstairs without a word.

She was able to hold back her tears until she reached the study, until she 
saw Liam lying there, sleeping peacefully, his knees tucked beneath his 
chest. His tiny mouth was open, barely, and she watched the gentle rise and 
fall of his back.

Ignoring the part of her that said not to wake him, she scooped her son out 
of the crib and held him to her chest. He was tiny and warm against her body, 
and he smelled sweet and clean after the bath she and her mother had given 
him earlier that night. Tears rolled down her cheeks and wet his flannel 
pajamas, and Scully cupped his head with her hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, my baby boy."

Keeping your child safe was the job of every mother, every parent, but Scully 
had known ever since she discovered she was pregnant that this would be a 
more formidable task for her, whether or not Mulder ever returned. She had 
had nightmares about Liam being hurt, being taken away from her. Or worse. 
But she had never imagined that she would need to protect her son from his 
own uncle.

Scully heard a sound and spun around to face the door. She exhaled, relieved, 
when she saw Mulder standing there alone.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said softly, and she nodded, then turned 
away from him, still somehow embarrassed for him to see her cry.

"Hey," he said, crossing the room to join her at Liam's crib. "Scully, it's 
okay. It'll be okay."

She shook her head, and he reached out, turning her to face him. He dried her 
tears with his thumb, which just made her cry even harder. "Please don't, 
Scully," he said, then pulled her and Liam into his arms.

She laid her head on Mulder's chest, feeling Liam stir. "I can't do this," 
she said in a whisper. "I've been fighting -- we've been fighting -- for so 
long, mutants and monsters and alien hybrids who wanted us dead, all three of 
us," she said. "I can't do this with my own brother." 

He pulled away slightly and held out his arms for Liam, who was, by now, 
awake and beginning to make soft, confused noises. Scully shook her head, and 
thankfully Mulder didn't press her. His arms went around her again, and he 
rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked. "Maybe the storm's cleared. I can check."

She nodded. "Please," she said in a small voice.

He stepped away from them, kissing both her and Liam on the tops of their 
heads before returning downstairs. Scully sat on the edge of the bed, holding 
Liam tight and gently rocking him back and forth.

"Sshh," she said softly, rubbing his back. "Go back to sleep. It's okay. 
It'll be okay," she said, the sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach 
reminding her that she could make no such promises.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting there when she heard the swell 
of voices downstairs. Not angry voices, but loud. She tensed, unsure of what 
to do. Liam was on the brink of sleep, not far enough gone that he would not 
awake if she set him down in the crib. She considered for a moment: stay up 
here with her son or take him downstairs with her?

"It's okay," she whispered again, standing and walking slowly out of the room 
and downstairs.

Everyone was in the living room. Mulder was at the door, his coat hanging off 
one shoulder, and her mother stood beside him, peering out the tiny window in 
the door. Bill and Tara and Charles were clinging to the edges of the room, 
none of them speaking or even standing near enough to touch. They all turned 
to face her as she descended the stairs.

"It's all iced over," Mulder told her. "The streets are a mess."

"Are you sure?" she asked desperately, unable to face sleeping another night 
in this house, waking another morning and knowing she would have to face 
Bill. "We could--"

"Dana, please," her mother said. "Come look outside." She held her arm out to 
her daughter, and Scully approached them slowly, pressing Liam tight against 
her chest. Her mother and Mulder parted, making room for her to see out the 
window.

They were right. They had received just a few inches of snow and it was only 
falling lightly from the sky. But her mother's street glistened with a thick 
layer of ice, and Scully watched the crystallized branches of the trees in 
the front yard sway in the wind. The cars in the driveway supported a light 
dusting of snow sealed over by a considerable layer of ice. Scully held her 
breath as a snow-thickened car crept down the street, then fishtailed and 
barely missed a telephone pole. There was no way they were going anywhere 
tonight.

"Fine," she said curtly, turning on her heel to head back upstairs.

"Dana, wait."

She stopped cold but did not turn around when she heard Bill's voice. "What?" 
she asked, but didn't turn to face her brother. She snaked her arm up from 
Liam's back and cupped his head against her shoulder.

"Dana, I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. "You know that. I--"

Finally she turned to face her brother. "I don't know anything, Bill," she 
said, tired and defeated.

She didn't care anymore. All she wanted to do was take her son upstairs and 
get into bed and forget this whole day had ever happened. She felt her ring 
turn around her finger as Liam wriggled against her arms. Damn you, Bill, she 
thought. Damn you for ruining what had started out as such a beautiful, 
hopeful day.

"I'm going to bed," she told them all before returning upstairs.

She could hear their voices as she walked slowly up the stairs and down the 
hall: Bill's frustrated grunt, Tara's soothing tone, her mother's offer to 
come upstairs and talk to her.

"No," Mulder said. "Let me."

* * * * *

* * * * *

MULDER


Maggie nodded, and Mulder took the stairs two at a time as he followed 
Scully. He had no idea what he was going to say to her, or even if he should 
say anything. All he knew was that his previous attempt to comfort her had 
been unsuccessful.

Stupid to tell her not to cry, he castigated himself. Why shouldn't she cry? 
Hell, he'd cry, too, if a member of his family had said the things Bill had 
said, if Bill were...

Mulder stopped, froze. Bill *was* part of his family. Well, sort of... wasn't 
he? What's mine is yours, he thought. They had never taken any formal vows, 
but hadn't Scully been fighting his family demons for the past nine years?

Mulder pushed the door to the bedroom open slowly and saw Scully sitting on 
the bed, Liam held tightly in her arms. Wordlessly he closed the door behind 
him, bathing the room in darkness. He crossed the room to sit beside her on 
the bed and was surprised when she immediately scooted against him. She 
burrowed into his chest, and they moved together until she was tucked in his 
embrace, sitting on his left leg with her folded knees fitting on his lap.

She was no longer crying, but she said nothing as he held her. So he remained 
quiet, unwilling to break this spell of calm, not wanting her to start crying 
again. He sat there and rubbed her back and her hair until her breathing grew 
slow and steady. After several minutes he pulled back slightly and saw that 
both she and Liam had fallen asleep.

Mulder gave a smile of gratitude and considered his options. He would love 
nothing more than to sit there holding her all night, but with the way she 
was sitting against him, his leg was starting to tingle uncomfortably. He 
shifted slightly and checked on her, but Scully remained asleep. So he slid 
them to the edge of the bed, then scooped both her and Liam into his arms. 
Mulder stifled a grunt as his biceps twitched under their combined weight, 
then he kicked back the covers with one foot, returning them gently to the 
bed.

He reached through her arms and carefully extracted Liam from her embrace. 
With some stroke of uncharacteristic luck, neither of them awoke during his 
maneuver, and he walked the baby over to the crib. Before setting his son 
down, however, Mulder watched him for a minute, trying to quell the 
helplessness he was feeling. I won't let them hurt you, he thought. He 
glanced over at Scully. We won't let them. He placed a soft kiss on Liam's 
head before setting the baby in the crib.

Mulder stood and glanced around the room, from Scully asleep on the bed to 
their son asleep in the crib. After pausing to cover Scully with the sheet 
and blanket, he quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. 
He went downstairs, not certain where he was going or whom, if anyone, he was 
looking for. But once he got downstairs, Mulder knew he had to get out.

He could still feel it, Bill's anger flooding the room, choking him. Mulder 
grabbed his coat from the closet and slipped out the front door. He didn't 
want to go anywhere -- not that he could if he wanted to; he was likely to 
break his neck simply walking on the iced-over front walk -- but he just had 
to get out.

But someone was already on the front porch, perched on the edge of the wooden 
swing, which was rocking back and forth with a rhythmic squeak.

"Sorry, Charles," Mulder said as the younger man turned at the squeak of the 
screen door. Mulder turned to go back inside; Charlie looked like he wanted 
to be left alone.

"No, stay," Charles said, patting the spot next to him on the wooden swing. 
"Unless this bothers you," Charles said, raising his left hand, which cradled 
a burning cigarette.

"No, it's okay," Mulder said, zipping up his jacket and taking a seat next to 
Charles. "I just had to get out of there," he said with a guilty grin.

Charles nodded, then snuck a pack of Morleys out of his jacket pocket. He 
shook the foil pack until the end of a single cigarette slipped loose, then 
offered it to Mulder.

Mulder shook his head. "I don't smoke," he said.

Charles exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Stick around this family long enough 
and you'll start," he said bitterly.

Mulder smiled. "Actually, I used to smoke," he said. "I quit a long time 
ago." Very long, he thought, long before he met Scully. It seemed like 
forever ago. Another time, another life, another man.

"Yeah," Charles said. "So did I." He tapped the ashes at the end of the 
cigarette onto the small metal astray that was balanced on the swing's elbow 
rest.

"You quit?"

Charles nodded. "It's the stress," he said. "I haven't smoked in years, but I 
bought a pack at the first newsstand I passed when I got off the plane." 
Charles took a slow drag from his cigarette, then continued. "I started 
because I thought it would piss off the Captain. But my mom was the one who 
was angry."

"Why's that?" Mulder asked, rubbing his hands together to generate some 
warmth.

"She used to smoke, back when we were kids," Charles said. "And she had a 
hell of a time quitting."

Mulder nodded and interlocked his fingers behind his head. "Do me a favor," 
Mulder said, "and don't tell your sister I used to smoke." It wasn't like he 
had tried to conceal that fact from Scully -- in fact, they had never 
discussed it -- but he remembered her reaction when he'd bought that pack of 
Morleys after she'd treated him with nicotine to kill the tobacco beetles in 
his lungs. She hadn't been pleased.

"Why not?" Charles asked lightly. "Dana used to sneak the occasional smoke 
herself."

"What?!"

Charles nodded. "When she was a teenager. But she never got hooked."

Mulder was speechless; Scully, smoking? It didn't fit with his image of her. 
He was the one with the vices: junk food, the occasional drink, the 
long-ago-kicked smoking habit, the stash of videos he had donated to Frohike.

"She didn't think any of us knew," Charlie said, watching the burning red 
crawl up his cigarette, then snuffed it out in the ashtray. "Dana's always 
underestimated us."

Mulder didn't know what to say. He didn't really know enough about the 
Scullys to know whether Charlie was telling the truth -- or whether he was 
telling what had once been the truth but had since changed. But, from what 
Mulder did know of the situation, it was them -- her father and Bill -- who 
had underestimated her, who could not look past their little girl to see a 
capable woman.

He longed to ask Charlie how, why, he thought Scully underestimated them, but 
the nagging suspicion that this was none of his business was just too strong. 
But Charlie didn't need any prodding.

"She's always kept things to herself," he began, and Mulder had to give him 
that one; it was one of Scully's most annoying traits. 

"Especially relationships," Charlie continued, and Mulder tensed. He and 
Scully had talked, a little, about their past relationships, but he knew 
there had to be things she hadn't told him. Certainly there were things -- 
insignificant things, but things nonetheless -- that he hadn't told her. And 
he didn't particularly want to hear them right then, and certainly not from 
Scully's brother, even if it wasn't Bill.

"When were you born?"

"What?" Mulder asked, lifting his head to look at Charles.

"When were you born? What year?"

"1961," Mulder said. "Why?"

Charlie shrugged. "A little young, but I guess that fits."

"Fits what?"

"I don't know what she's told you," Charles said. "But Dana's always had a... 
thing for older guys."

Mulder nodded; this he knew. He almost supplied Charlie with two names -- the 
only two Scully had shared with him -- but then thought better of it. Jack 
Willis and Daniel Waterston were Scully's past, her stories, not his. She had 
a right to share them or to keep them, even from her family. So he said 
nothing.

"Mom once said that Dana was born old," Charles continued. "Too mature for 
her own good. At the time I thought she was just trying to say that I was 
immature." He gave a strangled laugh. "Talk about immature, huh? Thinking 
that everything is about you." He shook his head. "I think I understand now, 
though, and I think Mom was right. Dana could use a little fun and a little 
less responsibility."

Charlie looked over at Mulder with a quirked eyebrow, and Mulder felt the 
tension coil in his chest. What was this, good cop, bad cop? Or, he amended, 
bad cop, worse cop? Was Charlie playing off Bill's argument, trying to hint 
that it was Mulder's fault that Scully didn't have any fun, that she had too 
many responsibilities? His breath caught in his throat.

"Hey," Charles said, pushing gently on Mulder's shoulder. Mulder jumped, 
half-afraid that Charlie was going to hurt him. Don't be stupid, Mulder told 
himself. This isn't Bill.

"Sorry," Mulder said.

"No, man, I'm sorry," Charlie told him. "I didn't mean that the way it came 
out. You're good for her, I think. Despite Bill's crap, I can't remember the 
last time I saw her smile this much. She's changed since she met you."

Mulder nodded, thinking of the green agent that had walked into his office 
and changed his life. God, he had changed her, but he wasn't sure that change 
was for the best.

Mulder shook his head. "I'd like to take credit," he said. They had been 
through so much together... if there only were a light at the end of their 
long, dark tunnel; if only something good could come from their struggle. 
"But it wasn't me. Liam changed her, I think," he said. "Liam changed both of 
us."

Charlie nodded, dug his toes into the porch floor to push the swing back and 
forth several times. Mulder gripped the armrest, digging his nails into the 
soft wood. He was beginning to feel a bit seasick. He hadn't had all that 
much to drink -- certainly he had has less than Bill and Charlie and maybe 
even Scully -- but he could feel every ounce of it sloshing around in his 
stomach.

"Jack Willis," Charlie offered, digging the toes of his sneakers into the 
snowy floorboards to stop the swing. Mulder's stomach gave one final lurch. 
"You ever meet him?"

"Not exactly," Mulder said, remembering the case Scully had worked with 
Willis, remembering his shock when Scully told him they had been involved 
when he was her instructor at the Academy.

"Me neither. Dana never even mentioned him to me," he said, his voice 
betraying his anger. Or was it hurt? Mulder wondered.

"It was Melissa," he said, answering Mulder's unasked question. "Dana told 
Missy, and she let it slip. Dana's always been secretive, but if she was 
gonna share something, it was with Missy. Only Missy."

They sat there in silence for another minute, accompanied only by the squeak 
of the swing's rusty hinges. This was a side of Scully that Mulder had never 
before seen, and he wanted to know more. He knew her in so many ways, as 
partner, scientist, friend, physician, lover, mother. But he only had a 
limited grasp of her as daughter, and even less as sister.

But he didn't want to push Charles, or to stick his nose where it didn't 
belong, or was not welcome. He needed at least one Scully brother on his 
side. So Mulder said nothing. But he didn't need to.

"Even in high school," he said. "Marcus. You know about him?" Charlie asked, 
giving Mulder an odd glance, a combination of challenge and curiosity. The 
slight raise of his eyebrow unnerved Mulder.

"I've heard a few things," Mulder said.

Charlie nodded. "He was in college when Dane was in high school. Even back 
then it was always older guys she was interested in. And them in her," he 
said. "Bill's friends sometimes. It pissed him off to no end. Especially 
Marcus. He wasn't Bill's friend, but he was a year or two older than Bill, 
and Bill couldn't stand the guy."

So he wasn't the only one; Bill hadn't liked Scully's high school boyfriend 
either, huh? Mulder smiled, feeling a strange affinity for Marcus.

"Even then, Bill had the big brother role down to a tee," Charlie said, 
pausing to light another cigarette. "Not that he had anything to worry about. 
Dana wasn't the big dater; that was Missy. Marcus was Dana's only real 
boyfriend in high school.

"Maybe that's what made Bill so mad," Charles mused. "Dana was picky, and 
she'd picked Marcus. Bill even tried talking to the Captain about it, 'man to 
man,' he said. Bill wanted to get him to forbid Dana from going out with 
Marcus, but the Captain never did."

Interesting, Mulder thought. He had been sure that he knew where this story 
was headed. Bill did his bit and got their father to restrict Scully's 
relationship with Marcus, making Scully want to see the boy even more. She 
would sneak out -- and probably not get caught, Mulder thought almost proudly 
-- and Captain Scully would never be the wiser.

"I think he liked Marcus," Charles said with a grin, "which was the last 
straw for Bill. But I think it was more than liking Marcus. Te Captain 
couldn't deny his baby girl anything," Charlie said bitterly. "Dana could do 
no wrong in his eyes. Of course, she was so good that it was hard to hate 
her, but she was always the Captain's favorite."

"Really?" Mulder asked. He had never gotten that impression from Scully, but 
he also knew that so much of her relationship with her father had been left 
unsettled after her father's death. She had thought that he disapproved of 
her decision to leave medicine, but, from what Charles said...

"Charles?" Mulder asked, and the man turned to face him.

"Hmmm?"

"Scully always said..." He paused. "Your father didn't approve of her 
decision to leave medicine for the FBI, did he?"

Charles smiled and leaned his head back against the cold boards of the swing, 
then nodded. "He gave her a hard time," he said. "He was afraid for her; he 
didn't want his baby girl in danger, getting shot at and chasing after 
criminals." Mulder suppressed a smile, betting that Scully's father would 
roll over in his grave if he knew just what kind of 'criminals' she was 
chasing after... and whom she was chasing them with.

"They argued about it," Charles continued. "He may not have agreed with her 
decision -- and it certainly surprised the hell out of him -- but he couldn't 
deny her anything. He was starting to come around, especially after she 
started teaching at Quantico... although I'm sure he would've been happier 
with her setting broken legs or removing gall bladders."

Mulder nodded. Hell, more than once he had thought Scully would be happier -- 
and surely safer -- doing just that. But it wasn't his decision to make. 
Somewhere along the line his quest for the truth had become hers, and she was 
exactly where she belonged, where she wanted to be.

Their crusade, he thought with a smile. There was something so noble and 
beautiful, he thought, about me and you against the world, and something just 
so lonely, he remembered, about fighting the fight on your own.

"He wasn't too pleased when she got assigned to the X-Files," Charles said, 
and Mulder tensed. "It brought back those same fears he had when she started 
at the Academy. But he would've come around. If he knew she was happy there, 
he would've come around. He wanted her to be happy," Charles said again, then 
took a long drag from his cigarette.

Mulder waited patiently, but Charlie said nothing else, just rocked the swing 
back and forth with his toes. Forward, backward, forward, backward. Mulder 
again began to feel slightly seasick, and he stood. He returned Charles's 
half-smile, then opened the door and stepped inside the house. 

* * * * *

The house was dark and quiet, and Mulder cringed as the door shut louder than 
he had intended it to. He stood in the foyer for a minute, hoping he hadn't 
woken anyone. But there were no answering sounds, and he quietly slipped off 
his coat and boots.

The upstairs hallway was lit only by the bathroom nightlight, and Mulder 
crept carefully into the bedroom he and Scully were sharing. That room, too, 
was dark, and Mulder could just make out Scully's outline in bed. Her eyes 
were closed and her breathing soft and measured. She was asleep.

More careful this time, Mulder closed the bedroom door and walked slowly 
across the room, over to Liam's crib. The baby was also sleeping, his mouth 
gapped open, his knees tucked under his stomach, and to tuck the crib sheet 
around his son's tiny frame.

Mulder lowered the blinds and adjusted them to let in just a skinny slant of 
light, enough to bathe the room in a dim grayness. He aimed the light at the 
ceiling, and then he began to undress.

"You smell like cigarette smoke," Scully said, nearly causing Mulder to jump 
out of his skin. "Where were you?"

He paused, his fingers frozen halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. "I was 
outside with Charlie."

That seemed to satisfy Scully, and again she was quiet. Mulder thought that 
she had fallen back to sleep, if she had ever been asleep to begin with. 
After slipping out of his jeans, he heard a small noise. He paused over the 
crib to check on Liam once more, then pulled back the covers on his half of 
the bed.

"If Charlie's smoking again, Mom'll kill him," Scully said, and then rolled 
over in bed to face him. Her eyes were wide and alert, and he knew that she 
had not been sleeping when he came in.

"I don't think he's really started again," Mulder said, his voice low. "I 
think he's regressing. He's back home after all these years, stressed out 
about the holidays and the family, meeting his nephews and me, seeing for the 
first time that his brother and sister have grown up. I think, in trying to 
assimilate all that, he's regressed back to some sulky, rebellious teenage 
phase."

Scully smiled at him. "Is that your expert opinion?"

"Mmm hmm," he murmured. "I'll send you my bill."

She leaned into him. "If we didn't have a roommate..." she whispered, and he 
smiled.

They had grown used to having their own bedroom, after so many weeks with 
Liam's bassinet tucked next to their bed. Neither of them had ever felt 
completely at ease making love with the baby in the room, but now that Liam 
was getting older, they knew that the discomfort was justified. Plus, they 
had been looking forward to spending Christmas night at home, in their own 
apartment, with Liam safe in his own crib, in his own bedroom.

Scully burrowed into his chest, and Mulder set his chin atop her head. Though 
he was now, too, beginning to smell the tang of cigarette smoke that clung to 
his skin, he could also smell Scully's hair, the lemony scent of her shampoo 
still sweet and clean.

In his arms she felt so small and fragile. Deceptively so, he knew, yet he 
hesitated. There was something he wanted to ask her, something that had 
plagued him ever since they arrived at her mother's house on Saturday -- even 
longer, if he was honest with himself -- something she would probably take 
the wrong way... Mulder craned his neck and planted a chaste kiss on Scully's 
temple.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

Mulder made his voice as soft and non-threatening as he knew how. "Scully, 
why didn't you tell your family that I'm Liam's father?"

He felt her tense, but she didn't pull away, and Mulder almost smiled. Even 
as recently as a few months ago, even after Liam was born, Mulder couldn't 
have imagined them together like this, him holding her and still having the 
courage to bring up a subject that could easily become an argument; and her 
allowing herself to be held, not pulling away.

"What do you mean?" Scully asked finally.

He decided to change tactics. "Last Christmas," he said quickly, not allowing 
the thought of her alone to penetrate too deeply into his brain. "When I was 
gone, where did you spend the holiday?" he asked.

"Mulder?"

"Just humor me, okay?"

"I spent it with my mother. Charlie couldn't be here, and Bill, Tara, and 
Matthew spent Christmas with Tara's family. Why?" she asked.

"So you've had a year to tell your family that I'm the father. Longer than a 
year, if you count back to when you found out you were pregnant. But you 
never did, not until Saturday, and even then you didn't really say it. You 
just told them that we'd given him my last name and let them assume the rest, 
knowing full well what they would think," he said. "Why, Scully?"

She lay still, and Mulder could feel the rapid beating of Scully's heart 
against his chest, below his own heart. "At first I was afraid," she 
admitted. "I told Skinner I was pregnant, and then I told my mom. I was 
worried that if they found out--"

"They?" he asked. "Your family?"

"They, the FBI. Whoever took you," she explained. "I was sure that if they 
found out, they would use it against me, to take the X-Files away. They would 
argue that a pregnant agent shouldn't be in the field, and, if they knew the 
baby was yours, I was certain they would reassign me. And then I would never 
be able to find you."

Her voice hitched and she pressed harder into his chest. Mulder tightened his 
grip around her. "I'm not going anywhere, baby," he said in a low voice. He 
found her left hand and rubbed his thumb against her ring.

His voice sounded almost foreign to his own ears. Baby. He had never called 
her that, never really called her anything besides "Scully" and "Dana," the 
latter so infrequently that he could probably count the number of occasions 
on one hand. He waited for her to object, to call him on the name that had 
slipped out unconsciously.

"I know," she said finally. "But I was afraid. I knew Skinner would suspect 
you were the father, so I let him. And my mom... My mom knew I was pregnant 
before I told her. She even knew that the baby was a boy; she said it was 
because of how I was carrying him, but that wasn't it, not completely. She 
guessed the sex before I was showing. So I thought she would know you're his 
father."

Mulder nodded, remembering Maggie Scully's premonition of her daughter's 
abduction. He let his hand move slowly up Scully's back, and he stroked her 
hair slowly.

"And I knew what Bill's reaction would be," she said sadly. "Bill is very 
predictable. I knew he would find out -- I knew Mom would tell him -- so I 
took the chickenshit way out and just let her."

He waited, but she said nothing more. Still... "What about Charles?" he 
asked, remembering the younger man's thinly veiled hurt at being left out of 
his sister's life.

"Charles... I'm honestly not sure," she said. "I never know what to expect 
from him. I love him -- he's my brother, of course I love him -- but 
sometimes he scares me."

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked.

"He's so intense. It's hard to explain; he has these amazing highs when he's 
kind and generous and fun, but then there are the lows... He gets depressed, 
stays in bed for weeks, and won't talk to anyone. He's always been emotional, 
but this... this moodiness didn't start until high school."

Mulder closed his eyes. He was no stranger to obsession and intensity, yet 
what Scully was describing... It sounded more like manic depression. He tried 
to fit Charlie's current behavior into the mood cycles of a bipolar patient, 
but, without truly knowing the man, he couldn't adequately evaluate his 
condition.

"I guess," Scully continued, "I guess I've always tried to go easy on him. As 
a kid I saw how hard our father made it for him, trying to shame him into 
competing with Bill, which of course he couldn't do. Even without the age 
difference, he could never..."

She shook her head. "Even though I've always been closer to Charlie than to 
Bill, I've held back from him. I guess I don't want to give him more than he 
can handle." Mulder smoothed Scully's hair off her face. "Why do you ask?" 
she said.

"Charlie and I talked some outside on the porch just now," he said. "I think 
he senses... something. He knows you're not letting him in. He thinks you 
don't let any of them in."

"My family?" she asked, and Mulder nodded, enough so that she could feel the 
slight pressure of his chin against the top of her head.

She paused, then, "He's right," she said softly. "I think Missy... I was 
closest to her. We were different enough that it was easier somehow. And I 
didn't worry about her the way I do Charles. She frustrated me -- God, she 
frustrated me sometimes -- but she was easy to talk to. She got me to say 
things that I would never have told anyone else, not even admitted to myself.

"And I guess my mom," Scully continued. "I've gotten closer to her since my 
father's death, and since Melissa's."

Yes, Mulder thought, grateful beyond reason for Margaret Scully. Not only had 
she literally saved his life once, stepping between him and a crazed -- and 
armed -- Scully, but she had saved him so many times through Scully. Someday, 
he thought, he would have to thank Maggie for everything she had been to 
Scully, so different from his own mother, protecting her, caring for her, 
providing her with a touch of reality in an existence that was so often 
unreal.

Mulder didn't know how much Maggie understood about his and Scully's jobs or 
what they had been through because of them. He was sure that Scully had 
spared her the most gruesome details, but he guessed that she understood the 
danger they had been in and perhaps, probably, were still in. 

Maybe, Mulder thought, that was why Scully's refusal to acknowledge his 
paternity to her mother felt like such a betrayal, both to him and to her 
mother. Over the years Maggie had always been there for them, as much as, 
though in a different way than, Skinner. She had always been so kind to him, 
so loving, even though he had put her daughter through hell.

"Scully," he whispered, afraid she had fallen asleep.

"Hmmm?"

Her voice was soft and wispy. Not asleep yet, but close. Maybe this wasn't 
the time, he thought. Maybe he should wait until she was more alert, give her 
a chance to disagree with him...

"You want me to tell my mom that Liam's yours."

"It's stupid, I know," he said quickly, almost embarrassed. He was glad that 
she had said it for him. "Self-centered and macho. I'm sorry."

"S'okay," she said, turning her face up to him. Her eyes were foggy with 
sleep, and she smiled ruefully. "I haven't been very fair to you, and I'm 
sorry. She knows -- I'm sure she knows -- but she'll be glad to hear me say 
it," Scully said, settling herself in his arms.

* * * * *

To Be Continued in Interstice: Wednesday