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Title: An Advanced Case of Like Summary: Post season 8. A Mulder family evening I duck my head and stuff another biteful of mashed potatoes in my mouth, trying really, *really* hard to control my grin. It isn't working. There is no way in hell I am going to be able to hide my 'I told you so' look much longer. And she knows it. Scully slaps her hands on the table and pushes away, rising to go to the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels. Milk still drips down the side of the table onto the floor. She and I have both been thankful many times over we insisted on a vinyl floor for the breakfast nook, at least for now. This is exactly the reason we made our choice so many months ago. This and the messes which invariably land here from one sick child or pet or whatever ... and the dripping newspapers on a rainy morning when the paperboy can't for the life of him figure out why the distributor gave him two hundred plastic bags to begin with ...and the upturned pots of fingerpaint ... and the cut fingers, just to name a few. My son looks at me with the wide-eyed wonder gaze, knowing something is wrong -- probably even knowing he did something wrong -- but just not sure how much trouble he is in at this point. My smirk, no longer contained, is now mirrored on his chubby face as he breaks into a wide grin and claps together those two appendages which just sprouted spinach, causing said green organic material to fly a little farther around the room. He shrieks in joy. "Mulder!" Scully is exasperated, but she knows I had nothing, *nothing* to do with this, whatsoever. My eyes reflect my son's innocent gaze as I look up at her approaching with the wad of paper towels clutched in her fist. She forgets the milk for a moment as she wipes off our little boy's hands and moves his dinner farther away from him ... for now. On the other side of the table from said young child, is my daughter, two years older but questionably wiser. She's laughing. She's figured this scene out, it having been played before. She knows to cover her mouth as she breaks into a fit of giggles, only because she thinks this extra coverage will disguise her interest in the events occurring before her. And she's not in trouble ... this time. Scully bends and wipes up the mess on the floor, then off the table. She stands back with her hands on her hips just looking at her family. Twitters are escaping each of us. That's it! We can't hold this any longer. I break out into uproarious laughter at her expression, my voice deep and resonating. My daughter and son join in with their peels of delight. Luckily so does Scully. I reach out and pull her to me roughly, and find myself hugged with handfuls of wet paper towel and breasts -- my favorite part of Scully, well, sort of -- and her head resting briefly on mine. She leans down and plants a wet and sloppy kiss on my mouth. I refuse to let her get away with so little, pulling her into my lap and repeating the kiss. We've decided it's good for the kids to see our affection for each other, at least in this measure. They have to know, have to learn just how much their mother and I love each other. My childhood was never this happy, and I doubt I *ever* saw my father kissing my mother. I know Scully's family life was considerably better, and it is with her sense of closeness and affection we have determined to raise our own children. After a moment she pushes off me and stands, rebuking me gently with her eyes. The kids are still giggling. Scully resumes her seat, moving closer to Sammy so she can feed him instead of leaving the task to our thirteen-month-old son. "Enough," she chastises in good humor. "Finish your dinner." She smiles tolerantly at Shannon. Scully's eyes still twinkle when she looks up at me, still grinning at the fun we had at her expense. Dinners are meant to be like this. I know we only have a few years of this family harmony, before the kids refuse to eat with their stick-in-the-mud parents or have to be away at soccer meets or dance lessons and our family breaks apart to go their separate ways. Scully reminds me it will happen in the blink of an eye. But until that time, she insists on family dinners every night. Everyone at the table at the same time. Everyone eating the same food. No short order cooking. No television. No reading at the table. No discussion of current cases. And when I'm out on the road in some podunk town or other investigating yet another alien sighting or mutant phenomenon, I really miss these meals with her and the kids. Shannon looks up at me with wide eyes. She still believes I am the white knight who swept the fairy queen -- her mom -- off her feet. In Shannon's eyes I can do no wrong. There have been times I wish her mother was similarly disposed, but Scully knows me too well. Besides, she has at least nine years on Shannon in the Knowing Mulder department. Ooh, the dirt she could dish on me. Thankfully she's happily married, I believe, and not looking to shame me in the eyes of my offspring. The kiss brought that romantic awe to Shannon's gaze. It always does. At three she still believes in all the fairy tales, and prefers to dress up like a princess herself when she can get into some of Maggie Scully's or Dana's old clothes. Tonight we are privy to see the red robe, worn regally around Shannon's shoulders, clipped with a faux pearl string, rhinestone tiara perched on top of her head. She has already bathed and dressed for bed. Shannon giggles at me as she blushes. I wonder if all little girls think their old man is the most handsome guy on earth. I wink at her, causing the blush to deepen all the way to the roots of her red hair. She looks so much like Scully it's uncanny. Shannon turns away in embarrassment, but I catch her surreptitiously glancing back at me from time to time to see if I'm still watching her. One day we will enter the 'I hate my parents' phase, in which these glances will become glares. I can hardly wait. Scully catches me making eyes at Shannon. Yeah, I know. The little girl has her father wrapped around her finger tighter than a band aid on a cut. But, what the hey! That's what fathers are for! Shannon's room -- and now Sammy's too -- is filled with all sorts of memorabilia I've culled from those tourist shops in airport concourses. They're traps for the unsuspecting and weak fathers of this world -- moi's included -- who travel away on business, only to bring the kid back something 'native' from the locale they visit. I've dumped a good two hundred dollars in these snares over the past three years. Scully just rolls her eyes and sighs every time I get home from a jaunt and produce the newest rendition of a stuffed animal or souvenir or magnet from my carryon luggage. I hope Shannon's into collecting magnets; she's got enough of them, all from places she'll probably never go herself. But I live for those squeals of delight as the children grab the offered items and hug me or my legs tightly. There's just nothing in the world better than a happy child, unless it's *your* happy child. And two at the same time ... well let's just say, I've shed a few tears over this scene regardless of how often it's reprised. My beautiful, beautiful wife is sitting at the opposite end of our small kitchen table, hair pulled back in the accustomed ponytail, old sweatshirt and leggings hiding her gorgeous body from sight. There's a rose in her cheeks for which I used to pray so many years ago to return. The gauntness from the cancer and the Emily eras is now gone, filled out with remnants of the pregnancy puffiness all women seem to acquire and most lose post partem. Scully's managed to keep a little more roundness in her cheeks, almost like she was when we first met twelve years ago. There was that period of her life when she looked tired and defeated and weary. The constant battles with the Consortium, the continual personal losses suffered made her look old. That time is gone now, at least in the physical features she sports. Now she looks younger, energized, vital. I love this look on her so much more than the alternative. I guess having two miracle children will do that to her. Scully's the mother she always wanted to be. I think there are times it's hard for her to stay at home, and we've discussed the possibility of her returning to work part-time at the Academy or in the lab, but for now she's decided home is where she wants to be. Home with the children, nurturing, shaping, guiding them as they grow from infants to toddlers to school age. She loves it, and I love her for it. Some women just want to stay home and have babies; some want to work, needing the challenge of the adult world. Scully likes a combination. For now, she's home, but still conducting research and lecturing when called upon by various law enforcement agencies. She'll go to a meeting or seminar or conference, but never out of town and never overnight. She set her parameters and has stuck to them. We're lucky actually. My promotion and the merging of several sections under me has increased my salary sufficiently that, for now, we don't feel the financial pinch of only one income. But Scully and I know there will come a time when she wants to be more actively involved in her former profession of doctor. We just have to find the right placement at the right time. Not yet. Soon. Maybe when Sammy starts pre-school. With the skill which only comes from parenthood, Scully has managed to get at least three-fourths of Sammy's food inside him and not on the table, floor, herself or him. I'm always amazed at this. I can *never* get him to eat that much, but he does so for her readily. She sings to him a little as she shovels one bite in after another, catching him with his mouth open as he starts to laugh or say something new. Scully's a pro. Mom extraordinaire. Shannon slips the last bite of cantaloupe into her mouth via fingers, her eyes drooping and getting that faraway, sleepy haze. She languidly slides off her chair and crawls into my lap. My princess is ready for her white knight to cuddle her in his arms and make her world safe. She grabs my tie for a handhold and rubs her tiny cheek against my dress shirt, sighing in admitted contentment. I'm sure I follow right along with my own sough. She smells of baby shampoo and faintly of Scully's perfume. Guess Mom and daughter played a little dress up before supper. Placing a small kiss on my child's head, I look up to see Scully's eyes taking in the scene of her family at peace. I feel Shannon relax against my arms, her breathing become deep and regular. She has fallen asleep in a matter of seconds, the exhaustion of her child-day catching up to her. Scully just continues to watch us for a few moments longer as I rock Shannon softly in my lap. I too am beginning to feel the fatigue of my day. It started out somewhere near the Missouri River in ... oh, I don't know ... South Dakota? Dragged on to Chicago and O'Hare Airport, which I am sure is a place sufficient in its own right to exhaust even the most hearty of us frequent travelers. Then finally ended up here just as dinner was beginning. I made it home just in time. My bags are still in the front living room, where most likely they'll stay until tomorrow morning when I finally get up the energy to haul them upstairs and exchanged their used contents for a fresh change of clothes, only once again to stow the luggage in the trunk of my car until the next emergency calls me away from the office. Scully and I have lived out of suitcases for so many years, the thrill of business travel is completely gone. In fact it was gone after about the first six months so many years ago. I'm only glad now, in this new position of mine, I can pretty much pick and choose where I want to go and when, and can actually *decline* an assignment from time to time without stepping on too many toes or getting my ass chewed. A tender smile spreads slowly along my wife's lips, reflecting in her eyes. These are the times we both love so much. It seems so recently our life was not like this, that she and I were running for our lives or chasing the baddies all over kingdom come. How we got here, to this one haven in our frantic world so quickly is a fairy tale in itself, but kind of in reverse. It was not me who rode to her rescue, but she to mine. It was not me who kissed the fair maiden and awoke her from a sound sleep, but her lips which stirred mine. And it certainly was not me who exploded the walls separating us for years -- although I was more than willing to let them crumble to dust -- but rather she and a whole slew of FBI agents salvaging my left-for-dead body from a bottomless pit of forced drugs and abduction nightmares into which I'd been thrown by my all-too-earthly captors. It's a long, long story. I'm not sure I'm up to reliving it tonight, four years after the fact and at the end of a tiring day. Let me think about it .... Scully finishes with Sammy, wiping his face and hands again. It's really almost past their bedtime. I think Scully held dinner a little longer than normal, hoping I'd get back in time. It's time now for negotiations. Sammy needs a bath, but Shannon can be put to bed as is. And the kitchen needs to be cleaned and straightened. Neither job is the greatest, but we trade off. Scooping my arm under Shannon's legs, I stand cradling her to my chest. "Why don't I do Sammy's bath after I put Shan to bed? You could probably use the peace and quiet of the kitchen right now," I suggest in a hoarse whisper so as not to wake my daughter. Scully looks at me gratefully, and nods her head. She picks up Sammy, who emits a loud burp into her shoulder. He too is looking a little tired, but certainly more alert than his sister. The Mulder family trudges for the stairs and up like a circus train. At the head of the stairs Scully breaks left headed for our master bath. It's so much easier to bathe Sammy there than in the smaller tub in the children's bathroom. I head right to Shannon's room. Setting her gently on the bed, I kneel beside her, flicking on the small lamp on her night stand. "C'mon, Princess, let's take your robe off," I urge her gently as I help her out of the arms and slip off her tiara and slippers. I fold the covers over her still sleeping form and kiss her tenderly on the forehead. "Goodnight, my beautiful little girl. Daddy and Mommy love you very much." Before leaving the room, I switch off the lamp and turn on the night light, and bend to scoop up the dirty tee shirt and jeans and panties she discarded from earlier in the day. Looks like it was a day to roll in the dirt outside. How Scully ever gets these things white again, I never know. I pull the door almost closed as I head toward our bedroom and Sammy's bath. My son is vocally protesting his bath time. He's tired and cranky now. Usually I have an easier time with him in this phase than Scully. Must be a male thing. I do my basketball jump shot imitation with Shannon's clothes into the hamper. Yes! Two points! I'm getting my second wind ... well, maybe actually third or fourth wind of the day. "Maybe you should lose the tie and slacks, Mulder," Scully reminds me as I get ready to kneel at the edge of our large tub. She's right, of course. 'Comfortably situated' does not mean we can afford extra dry cleaning bills because of my laziness. The Bureau already has a hard time reconciling my dry cleaning on the road. Scully knows too well the enormity of those charges. I ruffle her hair and head back into the bedroom, quickly discarding the work clothes for a tee shirt and sweat pants, and return to her side in a matter of minutes. "Okay, let's see what my big boy's up to tonight," I say as I reach for him. Scully's only too eager to relinquish her hold and bath time duties. As she straightens up and steps back, Sammy reaches his dripping hands for me, thinking I'll rescue him from the water monster in the tub. "Not quite so fast, buddy. Let's see what we can do about some of this grunge. Don't want a dirty little boy, do we?" Sammy pouts as I set him gently back on his butt, but his whimpering seems to have stopped. I make quick work with the washcloth and shampoo. He's out in eight minutes flat. I hold him on my lap as I towel him off and tug his pajamas around him. I coo at him softly as I tuck him into his crib and set the mobile spinning lazily above his head, its lullaby effective immediately. "Goodnight, sweet little boy. Y'know, I love you more than the earth and sky and all the stars above? Shannon too. Should we say your prayers, Sammy?" His eyes are already closed, Mam-Mam held tightly in his little lips. I know he has no comprehension of what I am saying to him right now. Scully says it's good to start the children early with prayers, although I don't quite see it. I mean, my prayers were never answered. Well, that's not quite true. They weren't answered about Sam's disappearance or my broken family, but some omnipotent being really threw me for a loop when he gave me Scully and allowed her to worm her way into my heart. And to top it off, I'm blessed with two beautiful children now. Somebody somewhere heard my silent prayers. So maybe Scully's right. I start again with Sammy's prayers. "Dear God, please bless Sammy and Shannon. Make them happy and strong. K-keep them s-safe." My voice breaks as tears fill my eyes. Oh god, yes! Please keep my babies safe. I'm not sure I'm powerful enough to protect them as much as they really need. I struggle to continue, "Please bless Mommy. Enfold her in your love, as she has enfolded all of us. Keep her happy. Fill her home with joy and laughter always. Help her know just how much Daddy loves her," I say this for Scully's sake, knowing she's down in the kitchen listening through the baby monitor. "And help fight off all of Daddy's demons. And may the New York Yankees win the pennant. Amen." I turn the bedside lamp off after making sure the night light is on. "Mommy and I love you so very, very much, Sammy. Sweet dreams," I whisper, lightly running my hand over his back. Some nights I just can't tear myself away from my children's beds, especially after I've been out in the field for a few days and absent from their lives. I brush the tears out of my eyes and head back to the master bath. It's now quiet in the house, the time of day everything is serene and peace reigns. I quickly clean up after my son's bath, then run warm water again in the tub. I think it's time for Scully and me to reconnect a little. I light the few candles she keeps around the whirlpool tub, and add bubble bath to the water. With the jets on, a little goes a long way. The scent of jasmine fills the air. Time to retrieve my wife. I head quickly downstairs, going first to my luggage in the front room. I have a surprise for Scully. It's not our anniversary or her birthday or any special holiday. It's just because. It's ... time. I find her in the kitchen wiping down the counters. I don't know how she does it. The kitchen -- the heart of our home -- always looks immaculate, despite the fact the kids leave their toys and projects all around. Scully has devised a place for every thing, relegating all the trinkets and toys to their assigned spaces for the night. Tomorrow the kitchen will again look "lived in," until once again Scully scoops up the toys and crayons and crumbs and mess, wipes down the table and counters, and pronounces everything "done". Her eyes seem tired. I reach my arms around her waist and pull her back against my chest, resting my chin on her shoulder, breathing heavily in her ear. "Hey. C'mon, hon. I've got a bath for us upstairs ... and a surprise." Scully quirks her eyebrow, replacing the sponge on the drain board and turning in my embrace. Her eyes lock on mine and so much is said between us without words. She still can look all the way down into my soul, searing it with her intensity. She snakes her hands up around my neck. "The pennant, huh?" She smiles at my words to Sammy. "Of course! They've got to win. They're far better than the Mets." It's lame but I'm tired too. I walk backward with her in my embrace, heading for the stairs. As we walk out of the kitchen, Scully drops one arm from my neck and punches the code into the alarm pad, flicking off the lights in the kitchen and den on her hand's return. I turn, taking her hand in mine and tug her upstairs to the bath. Scully knows me well and I have few secrets left. I can't surprise her much with a candlelit bath; we've had them often. Nor is she impressed with cologne or clean sheets any longer. I think she appreciates the fact I do my share of the chores around the house, negating any notion of "woman's work." There's too much housework for one person to do it all and I help out as much as I can. My days of being a couch potato, flipping channels with the remote, are long gone. I make a concerted effort not to relax at night until Scully does. Our teamwork shortens the jobs, and it's a blessing to be able to work along side her in making this place our home. Returning to the bath, I turn off the taps and turn on the jets. Bubbles spring into action, obscuring the bottom of the tub. I reach for my wife and pull off her sweatshirt and pants. She's braless tonight; this too is nothing new to me, but I still marvel at her slim figure after bearing and nursing two children. Scully exercises daily, I'm sure, although we seldom have the opportunity to go for a joint run or bike ride. Maybe when the children are a little older... Scully lets me tug off her panties -- nothing super special, just white cotton. It's okay. Every now and then, when she's feeling frisky and the children haven't exhausted her too much, I'll find black lace undergarments. I even was granted crotchless panties some birthday ago. Those got so tangled in our eventual effort to get them off, I think we ended up tearing them. Too expensive -- and *totally unnecessary*, as far as I'm concerned. Scully can turn me on with a look or a sigh. I don't need the extra incentive, and hope I never will. Bless her for trying though! She grasps my hand for support as she settles into the tub and leans against the back, closing her eyes in pleasure. I silently set my present on the corner behind her head so she can't see it if she turns, and quickly shed my clothes as well. Slipping in behind her, I pull her back and she rests her head against my shoulder, trapped between my legs. "Mmm," she exhales, her eyes still closed, her hands making small circles on my knees. I kiss my way from her shoulder up her neck, across the back and down the other side. "How was the case?" she asks in a sultry, half-sleepy voice. I'm not sure she really wants to know or if she's just asking to see if I need to get anything off my chest. "Just routine this time," I pronounce quietly, interrupting my kisses to pull a wash cloth into the water. I drag it up her arm and across her back, retracing my kisses path. "Missing teenager. Reports of lights and scorched earth. Turns out she ran off to Fargo with her boyfriend. He ditched her there and she was too embarrassed to call her folks to come get her. She returned this morning. You know the routine." "Mmm," she sighs again. "Shannon made you a finger painting today. Be sure you see it before you leave in the morning. She says it's a picture of your office." I chuckle softly, imagining my little girl's take on the mess on my desk. I'm glad Scully warned me what this art is supposed to depict. I reach around with the washcloth and gently stroke Scully's stomach and breasts. Nothing arousing, just attentive. After soaping and cleaning her arms, I drop the cloth into the bottom of the tub and entwine my fingers with hers, bringing her left hand up to my mouth to kiss it. I do the same with her right hand. Replacing her fingers on her stomach, I reach behind me and extract my gift from the little box. I never did give Scully an engagement ring before we married. She never asked for one, and I've been searching for something special. Finally I gave up and had one made. It exhibits two blue topaz, the color of Scully's and Sammy's eyes, and two citrine, representing Shannon's and my hazel orbs. In the center sits a full carat solitaire diamond. Everything is bezel set and recessed so it won't catch on her gloves if she ever returns to the field. I've had the inside inscribed: You are my truth. Her wedding band is similarly engraved: I do believe. I hope she'll like this. I bring her left hand back up to my mouth, kissing her palm as I slide the ring down her finger. I don't think she notices it as I return her hand to her stomach and clutch her there tightly. "I love you, Scully," I sigh into her ear. She turns in my embrace until she's leaning her side against my chest, her legs curled under her. She cups my face in her hands and blesses me with a deep, evocative kiss. We withdraw only when we need to come up for air. "I love you too, Mulder." She leans her head against my shoulder, her arms around my waist as I hug her tightly. She still hasn't noticed her ring. Neither of us are very aroused tonight; I think we're both too tired from our day. I lean my cheek against her forehead and close my eyes to the pleasure of holding my wife. Scully stays in my embrace until the water goes tepid and the bubbles begin to dissipate. With my toe I raise the stopper and let the water drain slowly out of the tub. "Ummm," Scully stirs. I stand and pull her up with me, reaching for the oversized bath towel and draping it over her shoulders. She lets me dry her quickly as I wrap her in the towel. With a second towel I dry myself as best as I am able with Scully still leaning against me, her left arm still around my waist. When I finish, I step out of the tub and scoop her up in my arms, carrying her to the bed. As I place her in it, she sheds the towel and tosses it off the opposite side. As I go to the wall to flick off the light switch, I hear a gasp. "Mulder!" Scully's staring at the ring on her finger, her eyes wide saucers of disbelief, her mouth hanging open in an "Oh". She looks up at me incredulously as I crawl into bed next to her. In the dark I pull her into my arms and lie back on the pillows. "It's inscribed 'You are my truth'," I inform her. "The topaz are for you and Sammy. They match your eyes. The citrine for me and Shannon. Our family, Scully. And you are the diamond in the middle, my center, my life." She hitches a breath and buries her face in my chest, her arms tightening around me. "Oh, Mulder. You didn't have to do this." I roll her gently on her back. Her eyes are glistening in the light from the street lamps. I brush away a tear escaping its bounds as it heads for her ear. "And you didn't have to marry me. But you did. And that's that. ... I found the truth, Scully. And you are it ... you're all I ever needed. And I do believe that." Scully pulls my face to hers, planting kisses on my lips and cheeks as she struggles to regain her breath. I hold her tightly to me, laying my head on her shoulder, wrapping my body around her. She holds me securely until we fall asleep in each other's embrace. The End I just love happy, sappy endings. (Sniff, sniff)
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