Chapter Text
It’s a Saturday, and the park is teeming with kids. Samantha has been bouncing excitedly in the car the whole way, but as they weave their way through the parking lot towards the playground, her pace begins to drag.
“Hey, what’s up, squirt?”
She shoots Mulder a dark look. “Don’t call me squirt.”
“Sorry.” He was hoping the tease might help her shake off what he’s guessing is nerves, but it has backfired. They reach a low wall at the edge of the parking lot and he pulls them aside, sitting Sam down on the top of the wall. “What’s wrong?” Too many kids all at once? Or is she nervous about meeting Margaret?
She looks embarrassed. “What if they can tell that I’m... you know, different?”
His heart sinks. There’s a gentle squeeze on his bicep: Scully. In bed this morning, limbs lazily entwined, she’d raised this very question, and he’d dismissed it outright, too determined that they were going to have a good day. He had already gone through the arguments in his own mind: kids are inherently self-centred; they won’t even notice if Sam doesn’t know every colloquialism, or can’t relate to their favourite TV show. Surely there won’t exactly be detailed interrogations in this sort of playground environment, anyway?
Turns out Scully was right. As usual. Right, at least, that they should have taken some time to brief Sam first.
“Quick quiz,” he says, hoping his tone is light enough to disguise the slightly ill, anxious feeling that has started to settle in his gut at the thought of his sister being ostracised. The guilt that he should have done more to avoid the possibility. “What’s your name?”
She rolls her eyes at him. She knows what he’s doing. But he just waits, and she grudgingly answers. “Samantha.”
“How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“What’s your favourite colour?”
“Green.”
“Full marks!” He puts an imaginary gold star on her forehead. “You’ll be fine, Sam. Any kid who starts asking for your date of birth and social security number has their own issues.”
She heaves a sigh, but he thinks she looks somewhat mollified as she hops down from the wall.
The playground is extensive, with a large pyramid shaped rope structure reaching up about fifteen feet, numerous connected platforms with bridges and tunnels and slides, and a series of swings and various spinning things. Spotting the climbing pyramid, Sam lets out an excited cry and takes off without hesitation, long arms stretching upwards as she nimbly begins to climb.
Scully’s cell phone trills, and she pulls it from her pocket. “It’s Mom.” She touches Mulder’s sleeve. “You stay here and watch Sam. I’ll meet up with Mom, give everyone a bit of time before we do introductions.”
He nods assent, and she heads towards the parking lot, phone to her ear. “Hey, Mom. Where are you?”
She meets Margaret at her car and they walk toward the play equipment together. She can tell her mother is nervous, from the quick, slightly breathless way she makes polite small talk, asking about their morning, commenting on the traffic on her route. Dana can’t blame her. While she herself has adjusted to having Samantha around, she remains fully aware of how extraordinary the girl’s circumstances are. It’s a lot to expect someone to just accept, even her usually steady-as-a-rock mother.
They find a vacant park bench a ways back from the playground, in the shade, and settle in. Samantha has made it to the top of the pyramid and is waving down at Mulder, looking very pleased with herself. Scully points her out and watches as Margaret’s eyes fix on her.
“She looks... She just looks like an ordinary little girl,” Margaret says softly.
“She is. Whatever happened to her... It hasn’t affected her physically, except in the most obvious way, her age. She’s healthy and strong.”
So different from Emily, she doesn’t need to add, an image of that quiet, pale little girl springing to both their minds.
Margaret’s eyes haven’t left the eight year old. Samantha is seemingly enjoying the view from up there, no hurry to come down. “She’s tall. She has Fox’s build.”
Her mom has always done that. When Dana’s nephews were born, she was so quick to try to spot the resemblances. Who had Charlie’s nose, William Sr’s eyes, Margaret’s mannerisms. In a bittersweet moment she realises she is both happy for Mulder, and sad for herself. Would her own child inherit her fiery hair, her cool blue eyes, her lack of height? It seems unfair that she will never know.
“They’re a lot alike,” she manages finally, voice quiet. “I guess I should have known they were close, given the impact her disappearance had on him, but it’s different to see it for myself.”
What about you, Dana? Margaret had asked her yesterday. Is this what you want?
Involuntarily, her gaze drops to a large sand pit between them and the climbing equipment. A dozen kids play there, studiously digging, but one little boy in particular catches her eye. Maybe a year or eighteen months old, he totters a little unsteadily on the uneven surface, plastic spade in hand. He has curly red hair.
She’d been so worried about what might happen with Sam, here, that in some way the other kids would notice there was something different about her, that she hadn’t stopped to think about this. How the sight of all these other children playing would cause her chest to tighten in wistful longing.
In some other life, that little red-headed boy could be hers. Theirs – hers and Mulder’s. Adorable in his little overalls and chubby cheeks. Warm and soft in her arms when she lifted him up, kissed his silky curls...
An involuntary sigh escapes her. How will she do this? How can she – they – bring Sam places like this, if it will be a constant reminder of what she can’t have? It seems too much to bear.
She tears her focus away from the little boy, directs her back to Samantha. She’s finally picking her way back down towards Mulder who is waiting patiently at the bottom. Anybody else watching would assume they are father and daughter, just an ordinary family at the playground.
He high-fives her when she reaches the bottom, both of them grinning proudly, and at the sight of it Dana forgets the little boy in the sand and smiles too.
“Fearless, like someone else I know,” Margaret comments.
Scully nods. “I told you. She’s so much like him.”
A soft chuckle from her mother. “I meant you, Dana.”
Warmth spreads through her at the comparison. She knows she can’t take any credit for Sam’s athleticism or cleverness or bravery, but somehow it still means something to know they can be alike, too. That people might look at their unconventional little family and see the traits that bind them together, blood relations or not.
“She loves science, too.” The words come almost shyly. “Chemistry, at the moment, but we’ve been talking a little about physics, too...” She finds herself relaxing as the words come, and sinks more comfortably back into the park bench as she relates some of the moments of the last few days.
Samantha has moved onto the fort-like play structure, shimmying up a rock wall with ease and then crossing a wobbly bridge. Mulder doesn’t follow too closely, choosing to stand back where he can track her through the structure. He glances around briefly, as if checking for Scully’s presence, and she and Margaret both raise a hand to catch his attention. He offers a quick grin and a wave of his own in response before turning back, his sharp eyes quickly finding Sam again among the dozens of children.
Scully is sure that her mother has plenty of questions – no doubt about how this will impact their work, what they will do about Samantha’s schooling – but thankfully she doesn’t raise them, keeping their conversation to trivial topics. For that, Scully is thankful. She and Mulder can’t avoid dealing with those questions too much longer – not with Skinner expecting them back at work Monday morning – but she doesn’t want to be thinking about those things right now. She just wants to be here, in this moment.
They’ve been sitting there for about half an hour when Sam and Mulder finally approach. Sam is red-faced with exertion, flyaway hairs coming lose from her braids and sticking to her sweaty face. “Is there a drinking fountain?”
Scully makes a mental note. Water bottle. Sam will need a water bottle, and a lunch box, and maybe some of those stickers she’s seen kids with these days, with their names printed on them... She could use a hat, too. A lot of the other kids out here seem to be wearing hats.
“I brought some drinks.” Margaret starts to dig in the insulated bag at her side, producing a stack of plastic tumblers. “Kids always get thirsty at the park. Water or iced tea?”
Sam opts for water, surprising them all. Margaret pours it out, and Sam quickly chugs it down then empties the refill too, before letting out a sigh. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Margaret’s smile is genuine. She felt awkward and unsure when she arrived, but somehow that has been forgotten in this brief, ordinary moment. She’s switched into what she’s always thought of as Mom-mode, although these days Grandma-mode would be a more appropriate description.
Sam drops down onto the grass in front of them, flopping onto her back with a dramatic sigh. “I’m so tired.”
Mulder drops down on the bench on the other side of Scully, tossing a lazy arm around her shoulders, and gestures to the woman sitting beyond. “This is Dana’s mom, Sam. Mrs Scully.”
“Maggie is fine, Fox,” she says quickly. She offers him a smile. “It’s probably about time you started calling me that, too.”
He nods. “Maggie.” Trying it out for size, pleased by the tacit acceptance in her suggestion. There has always been an unspoken bond between them; the two people who love Dana most in the world, so acutely aware of each other’s importance in her life, yet almost strangers to each other.
Sam looks at Margaret hopefully. “Did you bring any food?”
“Sam!” Mulder looks mortified, but Margaret just laughs.
“Of course I did. Kids always get hungry at the park, too.”
She has a box of store-bought cupcakes in the bag, and Sam at least remembers her manners as she takes one carefully with a polite thank you, before dropping back down on the grass in the most undignified way to eat it.
Margaret catches her daughter’s eye. “Don’t worry. You’ll come prepared next time.”
Dana nods, although it’s subdued. She is annoyed at herself for not thinking of these things. It’s unlike her to be unprepared for anything.
Mulder, oblivious, is making himself useful pouring iced tea into more tumblers. He passes one to Margaret, then offers one to Scully. She flashes back on a conversation they had so many years ago, in a car on stakeout.
If there’s iced tea in that bag...
She takes the tumbler with a murmur of thanks. Well, it may not have been their fate all that time ago, but they did get there eventually, didn’t they?
She looks up at him as he retakes his seat beside her, and he holds up his tumbler in a silent toast. “To fate,” he mouths, and she smiles despite herself, her irritation forgotten.
Sam finishes the cupcake and jumps to her feet, brushing crumbs messily to the ground. “Fox, can you come push me on the swings?”
Margaret gets to her feet. “How about I do that? Let Fox and Dana have some time?”
Sam hesitates for only the briefest of seconds before shrugging, clearly unbothered who is coming to push her, as long as it’s someone. “Okay.”
They watch from the bench as the pair walk over, Sam half-skipping along beside Margaret, already chatting about something.
“What would you have done, all those years ago, if I’d had iced tea in my bag?” Scully asks suddenly, turning to face her partner. He was so cocky all the time back then, throwing things like that out.
He laughs out loud. “I will be honest, Scully... I really didn’t have a plan.”
She shakes her head in amusement, jostling her arm against his. “You’re terrible.”
Sam and Margaret have reached the swings. It doesn’t take long before Sam is soaring through the air, braids flying.
“Your mom’s got a mean pushing arm.”
“Lots of practice.”
A sudden cry draws their attention to the sand pit in front of them. Scully starts when she realises who it has come from. The little red-headed boy, still playing there, has tripped over someone else’s plastic spade. She’s on her feet and about to launch herself towards him on pure instinct when a woman sitting at the edge of the sand pit quickly hurries forwards and takes the little boy in her arms with soothing sounds.
Spine stiff, Scully stands watching, feeling foolish at her reaction. At the panic that rose in her at the little boy’s cry.
She feels a gentle tug on her arm, pulling her back down onto the bench. “Scully...”
Damn. His voice is gentle, understanding, and that makes it worse. Hot tears spring into her eyes and she quickly shakes her head, squeezes his thigh, needing him to stop. Any words of comfort now will just make it worse.
Silence between them. His hand is on her back, and he draws slow, steady circles. She focuses on her hands, on taking one deep, slow breath, then another, until she is able to blink away the rest of the tears.
“I’m okay.”
“I know.”
“I’m happy Samantha is here, Mulder. You don’t know how happy I am for you. But I’m sad, too, sometimes. I thought I’d have this someday, for myself.” A loose gesture to the scene in front of them.
“I know.”
She hears the pain in his voice, and it just makes it worse, somehow. That he might want this just as badly, and now it’s just as impossible for him as it is for her. With the way they’re bound to each other, she knows he wouldn’t leave her for another woman – a woman who could give him a child – even if she told him to. She takes solace in that knowledge, sometimes; other times, it just grieves her all the more.
“God, I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” Embarrassed by the maudlin thoughts, by tears in such a public place, she shakes her head. “I’m okay, Mulder. Really.”
“You’re allowed to be sad.”
“I know. But I shouldn’t be sad now. We’ve got Sam back. There shouldn’t be room for sadness.”
A gentle smile. “If only it worked that way.”
He’s still drawing those slow, looping circles on her back. She closes her eyes for a moment, forces herself to focus on his touch. Attunes her breathing to his. Lets herself feel calm and steady in his presence.
“We could... talk about it.” His voice is tentative, his hand hesitating for a minute before reaching up to squeezing her collarbone.
A sudden lump in her throat. She doesn’t have to ask about what, she just knows. “Mulder...” A warning. I’m not sure if I’m ready to have the conversation. Not sure if I’m ready to take a risk that can only end in disappointment.
“There are options, Scully.”
“You said the ova... They weren’t viable.” She’s not sure if it’s a question or a statement. She has oh-so resolutely avoided asking that question before now, hasn’t dared raise the topic since he told her quietly, years ago, what he’d found.
She should have insisted there and then on a second opinion. Insisted on knowing, one way or other. Dana Scully, MD, marshal of cold facts, who has always found solace in the certain and irrefutable things in life, who never puts off until tomorrow what she can do today. Instead, she’d shut his revelation into a box and pushed it back down in the recesses of her mind.
It hadn’t stayed there, of course. It had surfaced, every now and then, waking her in the middle of the night with her heart racing, wondering: What if they were wrong? What if they’re viable? What if-?
“They’re still in storage. We could get a second opinion. If you wanted.” Another gentle squeeze.
She swallows with difficulty again. With sudden clarity, she realises this is not a spontaneous suggestion from him. His words are considered, cautious, as if he has chewed them over and over in his mind. For how long, she wonders.
“Or, there are other options. IVF with donor eggs. Or adoption or fostering. There are ways, Scully.”
A sort of numbness spreads through her as she processes his words. He hasn’t just been thinking about it, he’s been researching too.
“Is this what you want, Mulder? I don’t just mean for me... I mean, is it what you want? It’s one thing to have Sam, but to have a baby... Things would have to change.” Work would have to change. The foundation of their relationship. The thing they have fought so hard to keep, time and time again.
“I think it’s time, Scully,” he says softly. His hand slides to caress the back of her neck. “We can’t keep doing what we’re doing forever. Sooner or later, our luck is going to run out. I don’t want to take that chance. And I don’t want us to miss the opportunity... to see what else is out there.”
He has answered her question, albeit indirectly. Not I don’t want you to miss the opportunity. Us. They’re in this together.
She reaches a fumbling hand out, and he quickly takes it in his own. They both grasp tightly. “Yes, please,” she manages, hearing the shakiness in her voice. “I’d like that.”
“Okay.” He exhales the word, relief evident. How long, she wonders again, has he been thinking about this? Not just since Sam came back, surely. But perhaps that’s brought it to the front of his mind, this time they’ve spent trying out these unfamiliar parenting roles. Made him realise that it’s a role he sees himself in, after all. That he sees them embracing this new type of partnership.
He wraps an arm around her shoulder to tug her against his side, drops a kiss on her hair. “Sounds like a plan, then.” A lighter tone, and she smiles although she knows he can’t see it.
“Sounds like a plan,” she echoes.
They’re still sitting close together when Sam returns, Maggie following behind her. “Maggie says that there’s a playground nearby that’s like a water park during the summer. They have all these fountains and water jets and big buckets that dump water all over you. Can we go next summer? Please?”
“If you just want someone to dump a bucket of water all over you, we can do that when we get home,” Mulder teases.
“Fox!!”
He chuckles. “Teasing, Sam. Yeah, we can do that. It sounds fun.”
Margaret sits down and reaches into the insulated cooler bag, producing a wrapped parcel about the size and shape of a video tape. She holds it out to Sam, whose eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really.” Margaret smiles. “I bought these for all my other grandchildren. I thought you might like one, too. It goes on your bedroom door.”
Sam unwraps presents the exact same way as her brother, Scully notes with amusement: with one big rip, and the wrapping paper falls to the ground, forgotten.
It’s a block of light-weight wood painted with the image a puffy blue cloud. Samantha’s name floats in the cloud in rainbow bubble letters. For a brief moment Scully worries that it’s too girly for Sam’s taste, but the little girl’s eyes light up. She lunges at Maggie, wrapping her arms around her in a hug, then pulls back.
“Can I put it on my door at home? Dana?”
“Of course.”
Margaret’s phrasing and the symbolism of the gift isn’t lost on Scully, and she feels warmth suffuse her body. How many times in the last few years has she listened as her mother has fussed over Christmas gifts for her brothers’ offspring, listened patiently to the updates of lost baby teeth and pre-school enrolment dramas and second-hand worries about whether to start speech therapy now or just wait and see. She has been an outsider in those conversations, watching Maggie’s grand-mothering in that same detached, vaguely envious way a double amputee might watch someone try on shoes. But now...
She pictures Maggie’s next phone call with Charlie, imagines her mother talking about how tall Sam is – “just like Fox” - and how clever she is at science – “just like Dana”. Imagines her mother calling her to check what shoe size Sam is because she’s seen those light-up sneakers at the mall and thinks she would love a pair, if Dana and Fox don’t already have plans to buy her some.
Slightly overwhelmed by the moment, by the sudden wholeness she feels, she closes her eyes and leans in close against Mulder, taking a deep, steadying breath.
As a feminist, she knows she doesn’t need to be a mother to live a full and satisfying life. She has seen firsthand that it simply isn’t possible for a woman to ‘have it all’, and she knows that everything she has accomplished so far is only possible because she’s had the time and energy to devote to her study and her work. She knows all this, intellectually.
But when she was a kid, the rough and tumble closeness of family was everything, and no matter how important a place Mulder holds in her life, some small part of her has always quietly longed to recapture that feeling. Knowing you belonged, whether you wanted to or not. Knowing you were part of the family and that was that, thick or thin.
A slow exhale, and she opens her eyes again. Samantha is still admiring her gift. Maggie looks pleased. Mulder, as if reading her – when isn’t he? – drops another kiss on her forehead.
I think it’s time, he said earlier, and she knows he’s right. It feels right.
Time for new opportunities, come what may.