From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 26 May 2001 21:58:46 -0000 Subject: Milk and Cake by Emma Brightman Source: direct Reply To: emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com Milk and Cake by Emma Brightman Disclaimer: Not mine Classification: V, MSR, Scullyfic improv Spoilers: Season 8, through "Existence" Archival: Anywhere, just let me know Website: http://brightman.envy.nu Feedback: Yes, please. emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com Rating: PG Deepest thanks to alanna and Lilydale. I'm so grateful for your kind, helpful beta, and most of all, for your friendship. Thanks also to Scullyfic, for community and encouragement. - - - It's amazing how many videotapes he's accumulated over the years: hastily recorded news reports; Discovery Channel specials on Yetis, the Loch Ness Monster, Area 51; bad '50s sci- fi and even worse '80s comedy. Sitting cross-legged on Mulder's bedroom floor, Scully deftly grabs tapes from the shelves four at a time, quickly scanning the spines before sorting and neatly stacking them in one of three cardboard boxes: Keep, Trash, Donate. Mulder had labeled that last box earlier, scrawling the word in black Sharpie ink with a dramatic, squeaky flourish. She'd rolled her eyes at him, and he'd shrugged. Giving porn tapes worn thin with repeated viewings to the Gunmen is hardly worthy of a charitable deduction on his tax return. Then again, they're three middle-aged men still sleeping in twin beds. She smiles. Maybe in this case the IRS would make an exception. She is happy today, packing up Mulder's belongings for the move from his apartment to hers -- soon to be theirs. She's not quite sure how it happened. They didn't spend hours discussing living arrangements, haven't talked about marriage or cohabitation. Mulder mentioned two weeks ago that his lease was up at the end of the month, and she asked him if he'd miss the place. Mulder smiled and shook his head, and somehow the decision was made. She had always imagined that this moment -- this realization that what was once solely his or hers would now become some amorphous "theirs" -- would terrify her. But she's strangely calm, mulling over the words as if to convince herself they're true: our home, our child, our family, our life. Our box set of "National Lampoon's Vacation" movies. Sighing, Scully hesitates for only a moment before placing the tapes in the Keep box. For some inexplicably masculine reason Mulder loves Chevy Chase movies, and though she'd never admit it to him, there's one in particular she's pretty fond of herself. Getting Mulder's things ready to move has been surprisingly simple. She'd sifted through almost everything after his funeral, organizing his belongings, but never packing things up. Her days of denial are serving her well now that they are on a tight moving schedule, since for once Mulder's apartment is in order, and she knows where everything is. She's blowing dust off a pair of unmarked tapes when the phone rings, and by the time she sits on the bed and picks it up she's sneezing loudly. "Scully? Are you all right?" Muzak filters into her ear, along with the metallic jangling of a grocery cart with a bad wheel, and the occasional baby gurgle. "I'm fine, Mulder. It's just all this dust." Her nose tingles, and she pinches it, even though as a doctor she knows better. It doesn't work anyway, and she sneezes again. "Well, I guess we know where Will gets his remarkably powerful lungs from...don't we?" Mulder starts off in his normal tone, but by the "don't we?" his voice rises at least and octave, and it's obvious he's talking to the baby. "Why do you say that, Mulder? Has he been crying?" When she asked Mulder to go to the grocery store to pick up diapers and something for lunch, he insisted on taking William along. It's the first time the two of them have been out alone together, and though she knows Mulder will take good care of him, she still doesn't like having the baby out of her sight. "He's fine, Scully. We're having some quality time, hombre a hombre." Lately Mulder imagines that he can speak Spanish, tossing out random phrases in a supposed attempt to raise a bilingual child. He's beginning to drive her crazy with his horrible accent. After all, she doesn't inflict her lousy high school German on him. "Well, what's taking so long, hombre? I'm starving." "I...kind of locked my keys in the car when we first got here, and it took a while to get them out." "Mulder-" "You have me so loaded down with this huge diaper bag, Scully. I guess I got distracted." Mulder pauses. "One month old," he says politely. "Thanks." "What?" Scully says, frowning. "Mulder, what are you talking about?" "Hold on a second, Scully." Scully hears a thin, high voice in the background, then Mulder speaks again. "His name's William. What's yours?" The voice responds, and Mulder laughs. "Well, I think that's just as nice a name as William. Okay...bye." "Mulder, what's going on?" He chuckles. "Sorry, Scully. I keep getting accosted by people asking questions about the baby." Scully can't help the sudden, irrational rush of panic, the clenching in her abdomen, where William was safe inside her only weeks ago. "What people, Mulder? What do they want with him?" "Scully, no," he says quickly, "They're just your run-of-the- mill baby-loving women. In fact that was a little girl...Cecilia somthing. She seemed relatively harmless for a six-year-old. It's okay." Scully sighs, exasperated with herself. "I'm sorry. I can't help worrying, after Lizzy. I guess I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop." "No one's going to take him away from us, Scully," Mulder says softly. "I promise." "I know, Mulder," she says. "I know." She can hear the baby whimpering, and Mulder rustling around, probably looking for the pacifier. "There, that's better," he says as William quiets, and she's not quite sure which one of them he's talking to. "So," he says brightly, changing the subject with his usual subtlety, "I am at this very moment standing in the cake mix aisle trying to decide which of the literally _hundreds_ of cake varieties I should bake for us today, in what will be both my oven's inauguration and swan song." "Mulder, I thought you were just picking up stuff for sandwiches. What's with the Martha Stewart routine?" "First of all, Scully, I have sandwich stuff right here, don't worry. Second of all, Martha wouldn't be caught dead using cake mix, surely you know that." Scully chuckles. "It's a nice thought, Mulder, but we have so much packing to get done, and have I mentioned that I'm starv-" "Wait, you didn't hear third of all. It's Will's one-month birthday today. We should celebrate, don't you think? A little cake for us, a little milk for him..." For a moment Scully feels as if she's outside herself, watching this surreal moment from a perch high on Mulder's bookshelf, and she shakes her head in disbelief. None of the strange and inexplicable phenomena she has witnessed over the years could have prepared her for this eventuality: a domesticated Mulder, cooing to their fussy son while shopping for baking supplies. "Scully?" he asks when she doesn't respond, sounding a little embarrassed. "It...it's probably a silly idea, isn't it? You're right, we have too much packi-" "Chocolate, Mulder," she interrupts, smiling. "Double chocolate, it doesn't matter what brand. And French vanilla icing." Mulder laughs, and she hears the creaky cart start moving again. "Double chocolate...got it." More creaking, then, "Vanilla icing...got it. Anything else?" "Get some sprinkles, too. And maybe a candle. One of the big candles shaped like the number one." "Ooh, good idea, Scully. Fun and educational." "I love you, Mulder," Scully says quietly. "I love you too. We'll be home soon." - - - The cake is lopsided and crumbly. Mulder may be more domestic lately, but he still has no patience, icing the cake before it cooled, and making a mess in the process. The chocolate's dark and rich, though, and the icing is creamy. They lit the candle and showed the cake to William, who was blinkingly unimpressed, then Mulder somehow convinced her to sing an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday" while he cut the cake. Scully presses her fork to her plate and picks up the last crumbs, not wanting to waste a bit of her son's first birthday cake. She's stuffed and sleepy. Maybe the packing can wait. "Not bad for an amateur, eh Scully?" Mulder gloats. William sits in his carrier on the coffee table in front of them, sleeping after his birthday lunch, and they sit close together, watching him drowsily suck his thumb. "You talking about the cake or the kid?" Scully says, yawning behind her hand. Mulder turns and smiles at her, his eyes bright, as they have been every day since they brought William home. "I think they both turned out pretty well, don't you?" Scully nods and gently kisses his lips, still slick and sweet with frosting. His mouth opens beneath hers and she savors him with her tongue: chocolate and vanilla and Mulder swirled together in the best dessert she's ever tasted. The baby stirs and starts to cry, and reluctantly they pull apart, Mulder taking their dishes to the kitchen while Scully lifts William from his seat and carries him with her to the bedroom. The two unmarked videotapes are still on the bed, and Scully scoops them up; she should see if they're really blank before tossing them into one of the boxes. Back in the living room, she pops one into the VCR and settles back onto the couch, William nestled in the crook of one arm, the remote in her other hand. She presses 'play', but instead of the staticky gray of an unused tape, she's surprised to see William and herself, sleeping together in the center of her bed. The date in the corner of the screen says the tape was made on an afternoon almost a month ago, only four days after the baby was born. "Hi, Will," Mulder narrates, whispering. Scully turns up the volume to hear it above the sound of clattering dishes and running water coming from the kitchen. The picture is wobbly at first, but it soon steadies, focusing on the two of them: Scully lying on her side, hair tousled, a string of drool inching its way out of her mouth and down her jaw; William beside her on his back, snugly wrapped in his pale blue blanket. "You're four days old today, Will," Mulder continues, zooming in on the baby's thick, reddish eyelashes, on the tiny pink mouth dreamily sucking away at an imaginary breast. "Oh, this is your dad speaking, by the way." Mulder says it so easily, so comfortably, that Scully finds her eyes filling with tears. It's so sweet she almost forgets how annoyed she is that he videotaped her drooling. The picture then slowly drifts over to focus on her, as if Mulder's studying her with the lens the same way he does with his eyes. "And this," Mulder says, "is your mom. You're so lucky to have her, Will. No one will ever take better care of you. And I say this from years of personal experience." Mulder comes out of the kitchen, his eyes wide at the sight of her quiet tears. "Scully, what's wrong?" he asks, sitting next to her on the couch. He looks at the television flickering in front of them and smiles sheepishly. Scully stops the tape and wipes her eyes, scowling at him. "You taped me drooling, Mulder." "Well, I could hardly tape you sleeping without taping you drooling, now, could I?" he says, smirking. Scully watches him, patiently waiting for him to get past the wisecracks to the truth. "This," he finally says, gesturing at her and the baby. "It all seems so impossible, and, well...I guess I wanted some proof. Something to make it feel a little more real." "Oh," Scully says, raising an eyebrow. "For _this_ you need proof." Mulder smiles, but the expression in his eyes is serious. "It's the one thing I never let myself believe, Scully. That I would have a family again." "I know," Scully murmurs, resting her head on Mulder's chest as he wraps one arm around her, offering the pinky of his other hand to William, who latches onto it with his dimpled fist. Yes, the packing can definitely wait. - - - They're at her apartment now, her two miracles napping on the bed, tired out after an afternoon spent shopping, baking, packing. Boxes are crammed in the room's corners and her closet is bursting with Mulder's clothes. Their home and her heart are full. Early evening light slants through the blinds, covering the pair of them like a golden blanket. The baby rests curled up on Mulder's chest, small fingers tangled in the wiry patch of hair there. William's back is completely covered by Mulder's large, protective hand. Scully tiptoes into the bedroom, video camera held high, zooming in to focus on Mulder, jeans-clad and barefoot, and on the baby's downy red hair, on his tiny body slowly rising and falling as Mulder breaths. Hombre a hombre, she thinks. Father and son. William wriggles and begins to cry, a small, trilling sound in the quiet room. Scully starts toward them, but stops when Mulder hums a little and gently pats the baby's bottom, never opening his eyes. She watches as together they grow still, and sleep. "Feliz cumpleanos, William," she whispers into the silence. end - - - Improv elements: - A videotape that was supposed to be blank but wasn't (Jean Robinson) - Someone locking their keys in their car (Prianka) - Videos. Lots and lots of videos (tua) - A girl named Cecilia, who hates her name (Miggie) - Mulder shopping for a cake mix (Kat)