TITLE: Shower Therapy AUTHOR: ArtemisX5 EMAIL ADDRESS: artemisx5@hotmail.com CATEGORY: V RATING: PG if you are not very imaginative. PG-13 if you've got a dirty mind. (Stop picturing it, already!) SUMMARY: Mom, Dad and baby at home and happy. TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING. Post Existence. Season 9 is nothing but an unfortunate nightmare, like on Dallas. KEYWORDS: Mulder POV, MSR, babyfic DISCLAIMER: Any resemblance between CC and myself is purely coincidental. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the real version. My computer freaked out on me and posted the old ending when I submitted last time. Please excuse my incompetence and enjoy this story as the author intended. And special thanks to sallie for noticing this blatant error. This is set in the same universe as my first story "Home Ec" but you shouldn't need to read that to understand this. Please know, however, that I encourage all reading of my fic. I'm not too proud to beg, kiddies. By the way, this story accomplishes nothing. I just couldn't get it out of my head. Super Beta sallie has declared it part of a genre she refers to as 'Comfort fic.' Hope it comforts you. FEEDBACK: Might make up for the glaring hole that the end of "The X-Files" will leave in my life. Might just perk me up for a few minutes. I'll love it, either way. ***************************************************** Scully brushes her teeth in the shower. I have always found this little habit fascinating. She'll actually do almost anything in the shower. If she could figure out how to read in there without getting the book wet, I'm sure she would. She's been trying to figure out a way to take William in the shower with her, but I had to put my foot down. No baby of mine is going to be dropped on his head just because his mother is forever trying to streamline her life. Babies are not to be streamlined. One look at them proves that they are not very aerodynamic. Scully said it would be easier than bathing him, then showering herself. I crossed my arms and gave her my best impression of Skinner when he's pissed. She rolled her eyes at me, but I wasn't giving in. "Scully, have you ever tried to hold onto a greased pig? It can't be that different." "Have you?" she asked, looking sullen. "Babies like baths," I tried. "I don't," she grumbled. She used to. Before Donnie Pfaster entered our lives. Can't say I blame her for her change of heart. She'll still hop into the occasional tub of bubbles when it's not her bathtub, but we're not moving to L.A. just so she can relax and bathe our child. I finally talked her out of her shower idea with a promise of bathtime fun for the whole family. So we are currently engaging in our first session of Recovering Shower Addict Therapy. I am reclined in a tub made frothy with William's baby bubble bath. A gift from Grandma, who assured me that it was manly. Scully is between my knees. She in turn, has her own knees up and William propped against them. He seems a little insecure about the whole situation, but with newborns, I've learned, any expression can be attributed to gas. There is not much room for the amount of leg that I bring to the party, so I have slung one leg along the edge of the tub. "He seems to like it," she says with a tone of wonder. I guess gas-induced expressions are open to interpretation. Will smacks the surface of the water with one foot and gets sprayed in the face. The wide-eyed look of shock he makes causes me to grin. Maybe he is having a good time. Of course, I'm pretty pleased to be watching Scully's little body running with soap and warm water myself. I don't suppose William feels *exactly* the same way. I hope not, anyway. Scully leans forward, straining for the bottle of baby shampoo we stupidly put on the opposite end of the tub. She can't reach so she twists and deposits William in my arms before crawling forward. I can't help watching her hips emerge from the water just a little and have to resist the urge to kiss her ass, which has risen into view. She's only a few weeks past delivering the little wiggling monster in my arms and is not exactly interested in my hormones yet. William Samuel Scully and/or Mulder rears his head back on a shaky neck, then attaches his mouth to my collar bone with a soft plop. "Nothing for you there, Will." I advise him. Scully laughs. She pours a little baby shampoo into her palm and soaps up William's nearly bald head. "Is this really necessary?" I ask her. "Someday I'll wash your bald head too," she assures me. "Scully, you wound me. Mulder men don't lose their hair." She shrugs, as if to say 'We'll see.' When Will is thoroughly slicked with Johnson and Johnson's, she tells me, "Tip him back a little." I do and William gives me his chairman of the board look. Scully eases handfuls of water over his head. "Who's a clean little boy?" Scully asks in a gooey voice, taking William from me. He curls up against her shoulder and she covers his neck with little kisses, smiling. I decide against several smart remarks that her baby-voice inspires in favor of remaining in her good graces. She has not been particularly receptive to teasing since I was dead and buried for three months. Go figure. Scully lifts William high in the steamy air and blows a raspberry on his belly. He screws up his face, unable to smile as yet. I am struck once again by her mom-ishness. Not only that, she's *my* baby's mom. My family is in the bath, I realize. Not only do I have a family, but it is a for real, bonded, the- family-who-bathes-together-stays-together (or ends up in therapy) kind of family. In spite of everything we've been through--world-wide government conspiracies, Cigarette-Smoking Bastards who run our lives like demented puppeteers, flukemen and zombies and every other thing that goes bump in the night trying to kill us, even disease and death--in spite of all that, I--of all people--have a beautiful, perfect little family. Is this the part where I cry or have a cigar? "Hey, Scully, did you hear the one about the psychologist, the pathologist and the baby in the bathtub?" I ask. She smiles and rubs her nose on Will's head. "How many FBI agents does it take to change a diaper?" she asks. I grin. "Well, there's only one here, so let's find out." Her mouth twitches, and her eyes flash 'I'm Not Telling You Something!' as brightly as if she had Vegas hiding behind those baby blues. "What?" I say. "Would you believe nothing?" she asks, biting her lip. "No." "I'm not going back." "Oh." I had sort of expected this. "Okay." "Okay? Mulder, are you feeling all right?" She puts one pruney hand on my forehead. "I'm fine." "What happened to 'no fines allowed'?" "That's just for you," I say, smiling in what I hope she sees as a boyishly cute way. Her steely glare tells me she does not. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm not fine. I'm good. I'm totally happy." I stretch one leg around her and pop the drain open with my toes. Scully stands in the draining tub and hooks William's towel with her free hand. "So, you're not going to beg me to go back? No, 'I need you on the inside, Scully?' No, 'what about the quest?' Not even a derogatory comment about agent Doggett?" She bundles William like baby Jesus and sets him in the waterproof baby carrier on the bathroom floor. Babies really have a lot of stuff. "I can probably work up a few choice words about Agent Doggett if you really want," I offer, climbing out of the tub. She scowls at me as she wraps her robe around her body. I sigh. "Scully, what have we been investigating since I found out the truth about Samantha? Genies, doppelgangers, women with split personalities, men who turn into giant lizards. . . . "I can read the Weekly World News in the grocery check-out line like everyone else." "What about the Consortium and the black oil and killer bees?" she retorts. I am scrubbing myself dry. "What have we done so far to prevent anything they want to do?" I ask. Scully stays silent, combing through her hair and avoiding my eyes in the mirror. "I'm done, Scully. I'm never getting back in. I have the answers I was looking for from the beginning. And I have you and Will now, too. I'm not gonna go out chasing monsters and trying to stop the inevitable without you. And we sure as hell can't risk our lives with the little man waiting here at home." She raises her eyes to mine in the mirror. "Do you think the colonists will ever succeed?" "I hope not. With Spender dead, they certainly lost some ground. And we did fuck 'em up with that vaccine in Antarctica." I grin at her reflection and she smirks a little. "Let's let Doggett and Reyes fight the future for a while." She stares at me with an uncharacteristically unreadable look in her eyes. I hold my breath, waiting for her response. She turns suddenly and throws herself into my arms. A large sigh humidifies my chest. She mumbles something unintelligible. "Hmm?" I ask. She tips her head back, propping her chin on my sternum. "Are you absolutely positive you're not an alien replacement?" Her eyes twinkle and I know it's okay to laugh. "What me to prick my finger and show you the red blood, Scully?" "No, I trust you," she says. Those words are the Holy Grail of our relationship and my heart thumps enthusiastically. "I trust you, too," I say, instead of telling her I love her. She presses her face into my chest again with a happy sigh. She looks tiny in the mirror, tucked under my chin like this. I kiss the top of her wet head. William lets out a squalling cry and Scully escapes my grasp to scoop him up. "Hungry again?" I ask her. She tips her head, not really answering. "You sure eat a lot," I tell the baby, who twists his face into the definition of dissatisfaction. "He's trying to double his weight, Mulder," Scully retorts, carrying William out of the bathroom for diapering and feeding. "How else is he supposed to get as big as Daddy?" This last part is babbled for William's benefit. I roll my eyes. "Maybe he should just aim for as big as Mommy right now," I tease. No reply. I find a pair of pajama pants in the duffle bag I packed yesterday in my hasty trip to the former casa de Mulder. "Not planning on leaving the house today, Mulder?" Scully nods at my attire. "I left yesterday." I tug a T-shirt over my head. William is now making the snuffling sounds that accompany breastfeeding. Scully is reclined on the bed with William's head tucked under one side of her robe. "So what are you going to do now?" I ask. "I thought I'd get dressed and eat breakfast," she says with an arched brow. "I mean without the FBI." "I'm going to become an entomologist and change my name to 'Bambi,'" she suggests. I cross my arms, trying to convey my indignation. "What? I thought you liked that sort of thing." She gives me her wide-as-a-Disney-princess eyes. Scully's displays of territoriality make me want to laugh at her and kiss her simultaneously. "Seriously, Scully." She sighs theatrically and whispers something to Will, who seems unimpressed. "I've had a number of job offers over the years from the local coroners' offices." "Really? Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you would have thought I was leaving you. And I wasn't." "So you can hang out in the morgue full-time now?" I ask, flopping onto the bed beside her. "Yes. And I'm going to tell every one of my patients how happy I am that they died of earthly causes." "Don't be so sure they'll all die of 'earthly causes,'" I grin at her. "Don't even start with that, Mulder." She glares at me from the corner of one eye. I laugh. We both fall silent for a time, watching Will's tiny jaw moving while he makes snorting noises. "He sounds like a pig," I observe. She presses her fingers over his ear. "Hush! He does not!" "Okay, a piglet," I amend. She's trying not to laugh hard enough to dislodge our hungry son but I can see her shoulders shaking anyway. "Don't listen to him, Sweetie," she advises Will, who lets out a particularly resounding snort. I can't help snickering. "Your dad is not very nice sometimes," she continues. I have to shake my head when I realize once again that 'Dad' equals me. I'm still adjusting to my new title. "And what are you going to do with your life now, Mulder?" Scully drags me back to the present. "I'm going to start a newsletter disseminating evidence of government conspiracies to the general public." She can't control her laughter this time. William loses his place and begins to squall. She murmurs hushing words made staccato by her laughter. "Maybe I'll write my memoirs," I suggest, twisting on the bed to rest my head on her lap. My nose is precariously close to William's diaper, but I should be safe for the moment. "You'd be taken away for a thorough mental status check the minute they hit the shelves," she grins. "Maybe I should go with my childhood dream of becoming a cowboy." "Okay, Tex." "It's better than 'Fox.'" "Hey! That's the name of my baby's father!" she protests. "Maybe I'll just stay here all the time," I sigh. "You mean be a stay-at-home dad?" "Sure. 'Mr. Mom and the Mortician.' We could have our own sitcom, Scully." "I'm not a mortician. I'm a pathologist." "Did you hear the one about the pathologist, the stay-at-home father and the baby in the bed?" I ask, winning a dazzling Scully-smile. "No. Tell me," she says. "They lived happily ever after." "That's a terrible joke, Mulder." "I guess it's only funny if you know them." She's quiet, smiling slightly. "But, is it true?" "I hope so, Scully. I really hope so." ***************************************************** fin. Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who compelled me to write more in this universe with happy feedback lovin'. And piles of thanks and virtual treats to Rafferty and sallie, Super betas extraordinaire, grammar gurus and all around fun gals.