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These days, he finds himself at loose ends. With no job to occupy his time, he knocks around the apartment, looking for tasks that need doing. He has painted the nursery, assembled the crib, washed and folded an entire tiny wardrobe of non-gender-specific baby clothing and sanded and stained the rocking chair that they’d found at an estate sale. Scully has repeatedly assured him that he need not earn his keep. This is his home, now, *their* home, and all she wants is for him to settle in and keep her company. Scully’s wings have been clipped for the duration of her pregnancy. In the wake of the partial abruption, her doctor has given her an ultimatum - either slow down and rest at home, or be admitted to the hospital and placed on monitored bed-rest until the baby is born. Obediently, if somewhat petulantly, she complies. She’s not even allowed to help Mulder pack up his things and move out of his apartment. The Gunmen do that.
On their first night of official co-habitation, they share a nice meal that her mother has prepared, drink a non-alcoholic toast to this new phase in their lives, and go to bed early. In the bed that is now theirs, he holds Scully close, his palms spread across the firm, round expanse of her belly, feeling their unborn child moving and stretching beneath her skin. She invites this kind of contact, encourages it and welcomes it. Her skin is warm beneath his hands, and even softer than he remembered. They cannot, of course, make love. The risk to the baby is too great. He wonders, though, if what they shared before his ill-fated trip to the Oregon forest has been irrevocably altered. Not just by the baby, which is certainly a change he’d never expected, but in the easy, casual intimacy that he and Scully had once enjoyed.
Scully as a sexual being had been quite the revelation. She was uninhibited, passionate and completely comfortable in her skin. How he’d loved to enter the bedroom to find her stretched out, naked and reposing in his bed, waiting for him to cover her with his body--to encompass and fill her and be one with her, She had withheld nothing from him, and he had given her all of himself in return.
But, things have definitely changed. Since his return, he’s noticed that she takes great pains to ensure that he does not see her naked. She has not invited him to share a shower with her (one of his favorite Scully-related activities), nor does she dress or undress in front of him. He has caught her peeking around the bathroom door to make sure that he’s left the bedroom before she comes out. He doesn’t force the issue. He may never have practiced psychology, but he’s still pretty shrewd in such matters. Her body is so changed, now, and she’s afraid to let him see her. Too much has happened, and there’s a distance between them that has yet to be bridged. Her new dimensions occurred gradually, of course, but he hadn’t been there to watch the transformation. His introduction to her pregnant form had been sudden and shocking, and she doesn’t know if he’s been able to process everything. He cannot blame her for her doubt and trepidation, for he has certainly not been as forthcoming as he should. He knows this, and is sorry for it. He now has but one job--to reassure her that he’s thrilled (and scared-shitless) at the prospect of becoming a father and to give her his unwavering support. He’s just not sure how to start building the bridge that will bring him back to her.
The opportunity comes quite by accident. He’s heading out to the gym, when he realizes that he’s left his wallet on the nightstand. He tiptoes quietly into the bedroom, expecting Scully to still be sleeping. However, her side of the bed is empty. Before he can call out to her, she enters from the bathroom, bare save for a towel wrapped around her freshly shampooed hair. He freezes, letting his eyes rove over her body. Oh, but she is lovely.
“I’m sorry, Scully, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just came back for my wallet.”
With a squeak of surprise, Scully attempts to dash back into the bathroom. Fortunately, for Mulder, she’s not as swift as she used to be, and, in a couple of long, quick strides, he is able to catch her.
“Mulder, I don’t...I’m not...,” she stammers
“Scully, wait. Okay? Just..wait,” he pleads.
He holds her by her upper arm, firmly but not forcefully, and she yields.
“Come here, Scully. Let me look at you.”
Taking her hands in his, he leads her to the bed. Sitting at the foot, he parts his knees and draws her close to stand in between. She is nervous, but she doesn’t back away. This is a step in the right direction, he surmises, and he reaches out to stroke the skin of her belly with his fingertips. She sighs and relaxes a bit, but does not speak. He won’t ask her why--not for anything, Because he knows. He knows. Instead, he slides his hands down her hips, across her buttocks and up to her breasts. They are a marvel, he thinks--milky pale and blue-veined--heavy and ripe and full. So beautiful. This, he says aloud and her eyes fill with tears. He pulls her closer still, and rests his cheek against her swollen middle, turning to press a soft kiss there. Silvery stretch marks line her belly, and he traces them lightly with the pads of his fingers. He rubs his nose against her protruding navel, eliciting a sound from her that is part sob/part giggle. His touch is gentle, reverent, adoring. This is their unspoken communication--a language crafted over years and miles and shared experience and a love deeper than either of them could ever articulate.
“You-are-beautiful,” he enunciates each word clearly and firmly. “You’re having our baby,” he marvels, “and you are amazing.” “Thank you for letting me see. I wanted to see. I needed to.”
“Seeing is believing,” she smiles.
She shivers a bit, only partly because she’s naked, and he turns her loose.
“Get dressed and I’ll take you and Junior in there to breakfast.”
She steps over to the nightstand and hands him his wallet. “Oh? Then you will definitely not want to forget this!” She smiles, and gives him a little ass-wiggle as she returns to the bathroom. The bridge is officially under construction.