~~~ February 23, 2000 ~~~ Scully had just the barest light on as she splashed water on her face in Mulder's bathroom. She really wanted to shower, but that would wake him for sure, and she had already showered twice that day -- once in the morning and once after she had finished slicing up Teena Mulder. She had not wanted to come to Mulder smelling of his dead mother. Water slid down her face like tears as she studied her tired reflection in the mirror. She took the nearest towel and patted her chin, pausing to inhale Mulder's scent in a long, deep breath. She refolded the towel with care and placed it back on the rack before tiptoeing into the bedroom again. The air was cool and she shivered as she passed by Mulder's omnipresent fan. He lay curled under a light blanket, finally asleep, and she lifted the edge to reclaim the spot she had recently occupied. He spoke, startling her before she settled. "Did you get anything to eat?" His voice was still rough from crying. "I'm okay. Why, did you want something?" She was already moving to get out of the bed again. "I can make a sandwich." "No, I'm not hungry." He rolled on his back and looked at the ceiling. "You think she might have waited just another day," he said. "You'd think she might have wanted to talk to me at least one more time." Her heart squeezed in sympathy and she reached to touch his arm under the covers. "She was in pain, Mulder. She wasn't thinking clearly." "She didn't even leave a note." The pillow rustled as he shook his head. "God, I tried so hard to be enough. After Sam was gone, after my dad left, it was just me and her and this empty house. I got straight As, I kept my room neat for the first time, but she still never smiled. So many times, I wanted to tell her..." "What?" He turned and looked at her, his eyes black in the low light. "I knew why she was so sad because I felt the same way. But I thought if I talked about it, I'd just be making it worse." Scully tried to imagine young Mulder, with long limbs and big paws like a puppy, alone in a house with a mother frozen in silent grief. Her own small base house had been cramped, boisterous and loving. "I guess I should be grateful she didn't do this years ago," Mulder said with a sigh. "I bet a lot of people would have, if they went through what she did." "The disease she had was painful and crippling," Scully whispered as she scooted closer. "She may not have seen any other way to deal with it." "I guess." He tucked his arms under his head. "Maybe she finally saw a way to control her fate. I don't think she had much say in the early years." Scully slid an arm across his chest and laid her cheek over his heart. "I'm so sorry, Mulder." "Even if she took the pills herself, they killed her," he said as though she hadn't spoken. "She just took thirty years to die." She wasn't about to argue with him, especially not now, but she couldn't help but think that Teena Mulder must have had other options. She could have taken the children and run. She could have gone to the authorities. She could have done something, surely, to stop the endless family tragedy from unfolding. But Scully held her tongue. It was hard enough to lose your mother, harder still if she had been gone, in some ways, for many years before. The family Mulder so desperately wanted back together was slowly being reunited underground. He was the last one standing and it would be up to him to make his own peace. Mulder shifted so he could stroke her hair. "Thank you for... for taking care of her today. I know it wasn't easy." She had never cut up a relative before, and this was how she thought of Teena Mulder. Although she had barely exchanged one hundred words with the woman, Teena was Mulder's mom and therefore part of Scully's emotional landscape. Having her spread out naked on the stainless steel table felt somewhat like a violation. As much as Mulder wanted the autopsy, she felt sure that Teena would have refused it had she been able to cast her vote. She had struck Scully as an extremely dignified woman, someone who held herself apart from others not out of arrogance but out of self- preservation. Scully was quite sure such a person would not have wanted her internal organs removed one-by-one to be catalogued and analyzed. "When my dad died, she barely said anything," Mulder said. "I think she was surprised he lasted as long as he did. But I went to visit his grave last year and there was a dried bouquet of roses left there. I've always wondered if it was her." Scully rested a hand on his stomach. "What if it was?" "I don't know. Maybe it means she forgave him. Maybe she hoped he'd forgive her." Scully had a hard time forgiving either one of them. "I guess this makes me an orphan, huh? How does that work? Can you be an orphan if you're thirty-eight years old?" "I don't know." She hugged him again. "Somehow I don't think you get to star in your own Dickens novel if you're over thirty. There's no group home with a wizened old woman depriving you of food or ratty clothing from the grab bag." "No, probably not." "She used to make us cupcakes on our birthdays. Chocolate cupcakes with white icing, and she drew red hearts on each one. I tried to help one time and my hearts looked like someone shot the cupcake and it bled all over itself." She smiled and rubbed her cheek against his T-shirt. "Wait a second." He sat up, forcing her to move aside. "It's two in the morning." She sat up and peered over at his bedside clock, which read two-oh-eight. "So it is. You should try to sleep, Mulder." "It's your birthday. It is, right? It's the twenty-third." "Yes." He left, raising the blanket and sending a rush of cold air under the covers. "Mulder, where are you going?" He didn't answer, so she got up to follow him, hugging herself against the chilly room. She found him in the kitchen, where he was rooting through the bottom cupboard. "What are you doing?" she asked, squinting in the light. His hair stood on end and he wore only his T-shirt and boxers. "I'm making you cupcakes." "Mulder..." She stretched out her arm and touched his shoulder. "That's very sweet of you, but really not necessary. It's the middle of the night. Come back to bed and try to get some rest, hmm?" She stroked his hair but he kept moving around pots and pans. "Here it is," he said, bringing out a cupcake tin. "I knew I had one somewhere." He rubbed off a bit of rust with his thumb. "Just needs a good washing." "Mulder, please. I don't need cupcakes." "Where's the flour? I had it just last week. Don't tell me I have to run out and get some." "No," she said firmly. "You don't need to run anywhere. How about we just have some tea, okay? I'll put water on." "I don't want tea. I'm making cupcakes." He set the tin down with a bang, making her jump. "Okay," she said quietly. "Cupcakes it is. Do you want me to help?" "Do you know where the flour is?" He sounded lost and confused as he searched through his kitchen. "Not offhand. Where did you last see it?" They went through the cabinets until they found the flour, cocoa, sugar, and all the other necessary ingredients. Mulder worked like a mad scientist, barely speaking to her as he mixed the batter. Scully smothered a yawn and leaned against the counter. "I'll make the icing while they're baking," he said. "We could ice them in the morning. It will still be my birthday then." "No." He looked at her and she could see the bags under his eyes. Why wouldn't he sleep? "You go on to bed, Scully. I want to finish this." "I'll stay," she said, heaving herself away from the counter and searching out a new bowl for the icing. The scent of baking cupcakes began to fill the air. Mulder had clearly watched his mother on more than one occasion because he knew the recipe by heart. He paused to lick a bit of icing from his finger and pronounced it done. "We should wait for them to cool before we frost," he said. "I think I'm going to shower." Scully glanced at the clock, which now read past three. "Okay," she agreed. She rubbed her eyes and tested the icing for herself, letting the sugar dissolve across her tongue. When he returned fifteen minutes later he was wearing yet another T-shirt and a new pair of boxers. His wet hair hugged his scalp and his feet were bare. She was sure he'd catch his death from cold in this drafty apartment. "Are they ready yet?" he asked, still obsessed with his confections. "Just about." She produced two knives, figuring the process would go faster if she helped him. They finished in just a few minutes and Mulder surveyed his handiwork. "I don't have anything for the hearts." Scully thought a minute and then used the end of a knife to draw a heart in the icing. This earned her his first real smile all day. "Perfect," he said. "Happy birthday, Scully." "Thank you. Can we go to bed now?" "Yeah, okay," he said, turning solemn again. As they returned to his darkened bedroom, the fan was still running and Scully felt her way across the unfamiliar territory until she reached the bed. "Oh, wait," he said, and her heart sank as she imagined another baking mission. "I'll be right back." She crawled under the thin blanket and put her hands between her legs to warm them. Her eyes closed of their own volition, but she could hear Mulder moving about the apartment. When his footfalls returned to the room, she forced herself to pay attention again. He stood looming over her with something large in his arms. "Here," he said. "I got you this." She struggled to sit up as he sat on the bed by her hip. "What is it?" "It's a down comforter. Supposed to be very warm but also breathes well." She touched the fine covering, and the blanket practically melted under her touch, it was so soft. Already, her legs began to warm. "Thank you, Mulder. It's very nice." "Here try it out," he urged, spreading it over her body. He tucked her in and then went around to the other side of the bed. A moment later he joined her under the comforter. She felt like they had their own secret world. "Good?" he asked. "Mmm." Her eyes were slipping closed again, and she felt him touch her face. "It's for here," he whispered. "So you won't be cold when you stay." She curled closer, folding him into her arms. He tucked his head under her chin and she stroked her hands down his long back. "No," she said. "I won't be cold." ~~~~~ That it from birthday central. Mulder, Scully and I are all partied out. Thanks as always for reading, and if you have comments, they are always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com