Title: Jordan, Just for the Summer
Author: EstreyaStar
Summary: Who is this girl, why have I never seen her before, and why
is she calling my partner of six years by his first name?
Keywords: MSR

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jordan Walks In

A/N: Just a random little story I churned out one night. I might make
it longer, but for now it’s a OneShot, which seems to be all I write.
Jordan has pieces of me in her – I have her shoes, I have an evil
piano teacher, and my Physics professor is from Moscow.

I’m assuming that either Mulder’s mom or dad had siblings. They
probably didn’t in the show, but they do for now. And, this story may
not fit exactly in the timeline – the summer would suggest that it’s
during the whole “Biogenesis” thing, but I really didn’t feel like
working that in, so just know this. Mulder never had a brain disease.
Everything up to “Field Trip” has happened, and that’s where this
takes place.

Disclaimer: Don’t own nothing except Jordan, the words, and the order
they’re in.

Spoilers: Minor Emily, Two Fathers/One Son


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It is the middle of June. I’m sitting in our office, waiting for
Mulder to come back from some errand he’s gone off to run. I think
that, this time, it has something to do with the air conditioning (or
lack thereof) in the office. I’ve been waiting for about fifteen
minutes, and I’m starting to think that Mulder got swallowed by the
copy machine or something.

It has been a little over three months since the whole Diana Fowley
fiasco. Three months full of tension and strain and a widening rift
between Mulder and myself. It has been pure hell. I’ve hated every
minute of it. I think Mulder has, too. Our partnership has always
been based on trust. Always. And to have that trust violated like it
has been during recent events has shaken the foundations of my life.

And I hate it when my life-foundations are shaken. It’s very
unsettling.

The knock on the mostly-closed door startles me. It can’t be Mulder –
the day he knocks is the day I find an alien in my kitchen – so I sit
up straighter and tell whoever it is to come in.

It’s a dark haired woman, standing at least three inches taller than
me. For a brief, irrational moment I am struck by the fear that
perhaps Diana has returned. But a closer look at her face proves her
to be merely a girl of sixteen or seventeen, dressed casually in
jeans and a few layered tank tops. She looks a little uncomfortable
when she sees me, and steps back out of the office to take a look at
the nameplate on the door.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

She smiles sheepishly, pushing the door open a little wider. “I’m
sorry to bother you,” she says in a melodic voice. “I’m looking for
Fox. Is he here? I kind of need to talk to him. Actually, scratch the
‘kind of’.”

Fox? Who is this girl, why have I never seen her before, and why is
she calling my partner of six years by his first name?

“I’m Dana Scully, his partner. He’s off talking to a janitor about
the air conditioning. He should be back any minute. You can wait in
here, if you like.”

She takes a few tentative steps in, and then halts, eyeing the mess
that is our office. She smiles knowingly.

“Let me guess. That’s Fox’s desk, right?” She points to the block of
wood buried beneath layers and layers of paper, and I nod.

“He’s not one for neatness,” I answer, hoping to God she’s not one of
his phone girls. I wouldn’t be able to withstand the embarrassment.
“Who are you?” I ask, trying hard not to sound rude.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she laughs, “I forgot.” She walks towards me and we
shake hands lightly. “I’m Jordan, Fox’s cousin.”

“You’re Mulder’s cousin?” I ask, incredulous. She’s in her teens!

“Yeah,” she replies, moving around Mulder’s desk to sit in his chair.
“I know the age thing is totally messed up. Fox was in college when I
was born. I’m my parents’ midlife crisis.”

I chuckle at her wry, self-deprecating smile. She’s just his cousin.
Not an X-file. Not some long lost daughter. Just a cousin. I exhale,
feeling myself relax. She’s safe. I’m starting to like her.

“So you’re Scully,” she says, tilting her head and looking me over.
For some odd reason, I feel the need for acceptance from this girl.

“I’m Scully,” I confirm.

“Fox has told me a lot about you.”

I am struck suddenly with a burning desire to know exactly what
Jordan has been told. I am worried, and not because he might have
said bad things about me – I know Mulder better than that. Instead I
am worried that Mulder has described me as the rest of the FBI sees
me. Professional. Icy. Distant.

“Oh?” I reply, trying not to sound too anxious, but the gleam in her
eyes tells me my feigned nonchalance is all for naught.

“Yeah,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t worry. Good
things. He’s always talking about how you make his life brighter, how
you put up with all his crazy ideas. He says you’re brilliant, you
know. He goes on and on about you. Sometimes he won’t shut up.”

My cheeks are flaming, I just know it. I feel an unnatural glow start
in the area near my heart.

“You guys talk a lot?” I ask, curious. I didn’t know that Mulder had
any real connections to his family.

“Yeah. Fox calls me at least once a week. Sometimes more, depending
on what’s been going on. His usual time is around two in the
morning.”

“He calls you at two in the morning? Every week?” Sure, Mulder calls
me early sometimes, but not on a weekly basis.

“Yeah. I let him know when he’s getting too extreme, or when he’s
being too hard on himself. I’m his lifestyle guru,” she jokes, but I
can tell that she is a major calming influence on the craziness that
is Mulder.

“Do you think you could cure him of his sunflower seed habit?” I ask
hopefully.

“I’ve tried,” she informs me sadly. “Didn’t work. Fox can be
extremely stubborn.”

“Yes, I can,” comes a voice from the doorway.

Both Jordan and I turn quickly, freezing when we see that the subject
of our discussion is standing not four feet away with two cups of
coffee in his hands.

“Fox!” Jordan shrieks, leaping from Mulder’s chair and bounding
towards him. Mulder somehow manages to place the coffee cups on a
table before Jordan reaches him. Jordan’s arms are thrown around his
neck and Mulder is smiling more widely than I’ve seen in weeks.

“Hey kid, what are you doing here?” he asks as they release each
other. He keeps an arm around her waist in a protective manner, a
fatherly gleam in his eyes. I imagine that this is how he would act
with Samantha, were she still with him.

“Oh, you know, Mom and Dad got sick of me and decided that they
should send me off to my responsible cousin in DC,” she says, waving
it off with a dismissive gesture.

“So this is the modern-day equivalent of shipping the miscreant off
to the Americas?” Mulder asks teasingly, and Jordan laughs.

“Something like that,” she responds.

Turning to me, he picks up a cup of coffee and hands it to me. “Here
you go, Scully. Nice and black, just the way you like it.” He picks
up his own cup and takes a sip. “So, I see you two have met. It’s
interesting to hear the way you talk about me when I’m not around,
Scully.”

“He calls you Dana, you know, when he talks about you,” Jordan cuts
in, and I look over at her, surprised.

“Dana?” I repeat skeptically. Mulder is suddenly very interested in
the floor.

“Yeah,” Jordan continues, smiling with satisfaction, “and he has also
informed me that his secret, ultra-confidential wish is for you to
call him Fox.”

Mulder makes a strangled noise as I nearly choke on my coffee.
Mulder, Mr. I-Even-Made-My-Parents-Call-Me-Mulder wants me to call
him Fox? Right. Sure. And I’m a giant panda.

But my partner’s expression suggests that Jordan might actually be
telling the truth. Because, hidden behind the humiliation that
currently masks his face, there is a spark of hope. That maybe I will
take something from this little conversation and being integrating
his first name into our everyday conversations.

Mulder and I are in the midst of a staring contest, and out of the
corner of my eye I can see Jordan looking back and forth between the
two of us with a pleased expression on her face.

“Oh, was that confidential?” she asks innocently, and we tear our
gazes away from each other. “My bad.”

Mulder just shakes his head and laughs. At the moment, he seems more
like her brother than a paternal figure. Jordan heads back to his
desk and sits down in his chair, propping her feet up on the one
uncluttered corner of her cousin’s desk. As a result of her
intelligent conversation, I have momentarily forgotten her age, but a
glimpse of her shoes – purple low-top converse – reminds me that she
is merely a teen.

“So, you’re staying with me for how long?” Mulder asks, and Jordan
merely shrugs.

“Just summer vacation. I think. But if Mom decides to move to New
Zealand again, I may have to stay for longer.”

“Your mom moves to New Zealand?” I interrupt. Who just moves to New
Zealand? That’s a nineteen-hour flight from Boston.

“Theoretically,” she explains. “She gets everything together and
ships it to New Zealand. Sometimes she actually flies there.
Sometimes she doesn’t. It’s a difficult time to be living in my
house. And I really have no wish to move to New Zealand right before
senior year.”

I laugh, and Mulder looks surprised. I guess I haven’t been laughing
much in the past few weeks. I haven’t had much reason.

Mulder checks his watch, and I realize that it is close to six,
nearly time to go home. He then glances at me with a wary look, and
it is clear that he has come to a decision that he is not sure I will
like.

“Jordan, you got any stuff with you?” he asks, starting to gather his
things from their various places around the office.

“Yeah, but I dropped it all off at your apartment.” She grins.
“Remember the emergency key you gave me? Turns out, somebody’s
changed his locks since then.” Mulder laughs and smiles guiltily.

“Sorry about that, kid.”

“But I remembered that lecture you gave me about picking locks with a
bobby pin and I put it to good use.”

“My little cousin’s all grown up,” he says, wiping fake tears
dramatically.

I’m feeling happier than I have in a very long time, just from
watching these two together.

“Hey, Scully?” Mulder asks, and I am surprised by his sudden
inclusion of me.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna come with us? Jordan can actually cook, and I’m sure we
can find something edible in my fridge.”

“Mulder, the only thing edible you have is the ice in the freezer,” I
remind him teasingly, and he shrugs.

“So we’ll stop by a grocery store. What do you say, Scully?”

I pause. I am very tempted to say yes. I want nothing more than to
restore the ease and familiarity that was once between my partner and
I, and this is a good way to begin. But I don’t want to intrude on
Mulder and his cousin’s time together.

“I don’t know, Mulder.”

“You got plans or something?” he asks, reminding me of my lack of a
social life.

“Well, no, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“Please come,” Jordan says. “It’ll be fun! And I’ll be with Fox all
summer. You don’t have to worry about intruding.”

“All right,” I agree, and Mulder looks ridiculously pleased.

-----------------------

We arrive at Mulder’s building, each of us carrying a large grocery
bag. As we step out of the elevator and head down the hallway towards
Mulder’s apartment, the woman who lives across the hall from him
looks extremely surprised to see him in the company of other people,
and actually carrying food.

Jordan has kept all three of us amused with tales of her evil piano
teacher and Russian Physics professor. Mulder is managing to keep his
customary hand on my lower back even as he juggles three tubs of ice
cream and a carton of some diet soda, and for some reason, the hole
Emily left doesn’t seem so huge anymore.

Mulder unlocks the door and we make our way inside. Jordan starts
dinner and I help occasionally, while Mulder is exiled to the kitchen
table so as to keep him from setting any of the food on fire. I
carefully pour out three glasses of soda and hand one to Mulder as he
sulks. She really is a good cook, I realize, as I watch her make corn
on the cob, gazpacho, and chicken Caesar salad.

By the time we sit down to dinner, Mulder has burned his hand and
broken a dish, and has not come within a foot of the actual dinner.
We sit around the circular table, and I feel privileged to be part of
this rare occasion. Jordan is imitating an accent and Mulder is
correcting her. I have corn in my teeth and I can feel the whoosh of
carbonation rushing up my nose and I’m laughing, really laughing for
the first time since I was twelve.

Dinner carries on for three hours, and by the end, Jordan is yawning
every other sentence. She has done most of the talking tonight, but
Mulder has communicated volumes with every glance he sends my way,
and I have replied in the same manner. For a moment I worry that the
ease we have resurrected tonight will disappear along with Jordan at
the end of the summer, but the smile he sends me makes me change my
mind.

She is one, just for the summer. We are we, forever and always.

After the food has been finished, Mulder digs some fresh linens out a
closet somewhere in the depths of his apartment, and makes up a bead
for his cousin on the couch. She settles in quickly as I begin
clearing the plates, and after a few minutes of quiet conversation
with Mulder, she quickly falls asleep. She looks about ten years old,
her hand curled child-like under her cheek, her lips parted slightly
as she breathes deeply.

My partner stands over her, and as I watch from the kitchen, he
adjusts the blanket and brushes a kiss across her forehead. I am
struck by a pang of sympathy for this man, this man who only wants to
care for and be cared for. My heart swells in my chest and I feel
tears prick the corners of my eyes.

I cross the dark room quietly and stop next to him, smiling slightly
as he moves so he is standing behind me, his arms draped loosely
around my waist. I feel his lips brush the back of my neck, and then
his chin comes to rest on the top of my head. I lean further into his
embrace and his arms tighten around me.

“This, right here,” he whispers contentedly in my ear, “this is my
family.”

I smile to myself, and lace my fingers through his.

“Glad to be part of it, Fox.”

~*~*~*~*~

Jordan Walks In

A/N: I decided to add a couple chapters, all in Scully’s POV. It’s
basically vignettes, showing the progression of Mulder and Scully’s
relationship from Jordan’s arrival. Well see how it turns out. Again,
I’ve put a lot of me in Jordan, especially this chapter, so if you
must flame, be nice to her. :D

Disclaimer: Don’t own nothing except Jordan, the words, and the order
they’re in.

Spoilers: None, I think

Dedication: This is only the second dedication I’ve ever done, but
I’d like to dedicate this story to the Murrills, the family who gave
me the home I needed at a time when I had no one else. They will
probably never read this, but it’s for them.


----------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------
I knock impatiently on Mulder’s door, checking my watch every few
seconds. It has been three weeks since Jordan’s arrival, three
wonderful weeks in which Mulder and I have become closer than ever.
I’ve even started to call him Fox, on occasion.
But today, we are running late for a meeting with Skinner, and I
don’t care how close we are. He will not make us late today, even if
I have to drag him out of the apartment without any shoes on.

Finally, the door swings open. Jordan stands on the other side, a
knowing smile on her face.

“Sorry for the delay. I had an emergency in the kitchen with the
coffee,” she tells me as she steps aside and lets me in. Once in the
kitchen, I pour myself a cup of coffee as Jordan returns to her
breakfast and her newspaper.

“Is Mulder ready?” I ask anxiously.

“He’s in the bathroom. He’ll be right out,” she says, her mouth
partially full of scrambled eggs. She swallows quickly. “Running late
again, huh?” she asks.

“To be Mulder is to be late,” I reply, and she laughs.

“Eggs?”

“No, thanks.”

“Come on, Dana, you’ve got to eat something. You’re as thin as a
rail,” she tells me, warningly.

She’s taken to calling me Dana, and I must say, it’s a refreshing
reprieve from the world of the FBI, where I am always some version of
Scully.

“What can I say? Fast metabolism.”

“You’re lucky,” she says, sighing wistfully. “I eat one bowl of ice
cream and I carry it around with me for weeks.”

It is at this moment that Mulder comes rushing out of the bathroom,
his shirt half unbuttoned and a tie draped around his neck. He is
clutching his shoes by the laces in one hand, and they swing wildly
as he skids to a halt in the kitchen, grabbing desperately at the cup
of coffee Jordan has nonchalantly held up, never once glancing up
from her newspaper. It is clear that this has become a morning
routine.

He gulps a sip of the brown liquid and nearly chokes, his eyes
widening to an almost comical degree as he tastes the scalding heat
of the coffee. Jordan is biting back a smile, still staring at the
front page of the paper. I just lean back on the counter, watching
the whole thing with a sense of great amusement.

“Hey, Scully,” he gasps out, setting the cup and his shoes down on
the counter and grabbing his tie. He starts to wrestle with it, and
after a few moments, gives up. “This is not my morning.”

“Dana, could you help him with his tie?” Jordan asks, finally getting
up from her chair as she clears the table of her breakfast. “I’ll get
Fox’s things together, you just worry about making him presentable
for the office.”

“I’m sorry, Scully. I swear I won’t make us late. I’ll be ready in
two seconds, I promise.” His voice is apologetic, and I smile,
letting him know that I am not mad, and that instead I am amused.

“There,” I tell him, straightening his tie and stepping back to
admire my handiwork. “All done. Now, where’s your coat?”

“On the chair. No, on the door. No, wait a second, it’s… where is
it?” He looks utterly confused. Poor Mulder.

Jordan comes back into the room, Mulder’s briefcase, suit coat, and
trench coat in hand. “Here you go, Fox. I actually hung your coat up.
Next time you lose something, check where it’s supposed to be, okay?”

He grins. “All right, Mom.”

“Hey,” she reprimands, “you’re making me feel old.”

“Oh, yeah? And what does that make me?” he fires back. She laughs.

“Really old. Now, hurry up. You’re going to be late.”

Mulder shrugs into his coat and we head for the door, his hand
already finding it’s customary place on the small of my back. We are
almost out the door, when Jordan calls us back frantically.

“Fox! Your shoes!”

We stop moving as Mulder grabs his shoes from Jordan. He hops around
on one foot, awkwardly putting his shoes on, and then switches feet,
finally completing the process, and we are out the door.

Once we are in the car and I am driving rather haphazardly towards
the Hoover building, I glance over at Mulder and smile.

“What would you do without her, Mulder?”

“Probably the same thing I’d do without you, Scully.”

“Walk around barefoot?” I tease.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth,” he replies, but I know
that he means something more.

-------------------

When we finally leave work, it is nearing 7:00 at night, and we are
both utterly exhausted from a full eleven hours of meetings. I have
to drive fifteen minutes out of my way to drop Mulder off, and I
nearly fall asleep at the wheel a few times. Eventually, Mulder has
me pull over at a gas station, and we switch. I doze off, and when I
wake up, I am sprawled on Mulder’s couch, his Navajo blanket pulled
over me.

I can hear Jordan and Mulder talking quietly in the kitchen, and I
can glimpse the two of the sitting at the table together. Their
voices are soft, so as not to wake me, but the acoustics of the
apartment lets me hear them perfectly.

“I don’t think she’s going to appreciate being carried up the stairs
in a fireman’s hold, Fox,” Jordan says warningly, and Mulder laughs
softly.

“It wasn’t a fireman’s hold. I just picked her up. You know, like a
guys carries his wife over the threshold.”

“Oh, so now you’re her husband?”

There is a pause. The look Mulder is giving Jordan right now is one I
am very familiar with – one of exasperation and amusement.

“You’re going to twist everything I say, aren’t you?” he asks her,
and she giggles, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Of course. That’s what cousins are for.”

The two of them return to their dinner. From what I can see of the
VCR clock it is almost 8:00. There is a small silence, and then I see
Jordan lean forward and I hear her say something very seriously,
something that terrifies me even as it delights me.

“You should do something,” she says. “Buy her flowers. Send her a
card. I don’t care what. But do something, Fox. You’ve been telling
me about her for six years. I think it’s time you stopped talking and
started acting.”

When he speaks, his voice is low and raw, and it makes my heart leap
in my throat. “Don’t you think I want to, kid? But it’s not that
simple.”

“Then make it that simple,” she insists.

“I can’t do that,” he replies, his voice rising slightly.

“Why not? You guys are perfect!”

She sounds desperate, and I have no idea why. But Mulder sighs, his
head in his hands, and I have the distinct feeling that there is more
to this conversation than I know.

“Things aren’t always as perfect as they look, kid” he says, his
voice muffled by his hands. “You, of all people, should know that.”

They are silent, Mulder’s shoulders tense and Jordan with a wild look
about her eyes.

“You told me so much about her,” Jordan says, her voice breaking
slightly. It is clear to me that she is on the verge of tears. “And
she sounded so much like the way I always wanted Mom to be. I just
thought that maybe, if I came here, even just for the summer, things
wouldn’t seem so bad.”

Mulder sits up straight, a sudden fire igniting in his eyes. He looks
angry, angrier than I’ve seen him since that whole mess with Diana.

“That’s still going on?” His voice is nearing a shout. Had I been
asleep, I would have surely been woken up.

Jordan looks horrified, as if she’s let out some big secret. “Fox,
please, keep it down.”

“Keep it down?” he asks, standing up abruptly. “Your parents are
still beating you and I’m supposed to keep it down?”

And suddenly it all makes sense. Jordan’s sudden arrival. Her
attachment to Mulder and her friendliness to me. She’s looking for a
replacement family, I realize. She’s looking for parents who won’t
hurt her. And she trusts that Mulder and myself will give her the
safety she’s never gotten from her own parents. I am flattered, but
at the same time, frightened. What is it, exactly, that she expects
of me?

“Just don’t wake Dana,” she pleads, and at this, he quiets.

“We need to figure something out,” he tells her firmly, pacing back
and forth across the kitchen floor.

“All right,” she says soothingly. “We’ll figure something out. But
not today. Not right now.”

“I can’t leave things like this, Jordan!”

“I’m here with you for the summer, Fox. I’ll be all right until
September. We have plenty of time to work out a plan.”

He calms down, slowing both his pacing and his breathing. “Tomorrow,
then?”

“You have work tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“Tomorrow night,” he revises, and she nods reluctantly.

“Fine.” There is a slight pause. He is staring straight at Jordan,
and she is meeting his gaze with a defiant air that is clearly a
trademark of the Mulder family.

“Shouldn’t you wake Dana?” Jordan asks, and Mulder looks confused for
a second. “It’s late. She must be hungry.”

He nods, and turns towards the living room, where I am. I quickly
close my eyes and breathe deeply, feigning sleep. I hear Mulder
crouch down beside me, and for a moment, nothing happens, but I can
feel Mulder’s eyes tracing the features of my face.

After a few seconds, he touches my shoulder, gently shaking me awake.
I open my eyes with a false grogginess, and allow Mulder to lead me
into the kitchen as I pretend to wipe sleep from my eyes.

Jordan looks up from her chair at the table. Her eyes are slightly
red, as if she has been holding back tears, but I pretend not to
notice.

“Hey, Dana,” she says. “Want some soup? It’s lentil.”

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, and head to the counter to serve myself, with
Mulder right behind me. There is a bowl all set out for me, and I
fill it with a couple ladles worth of soup. Mulder nearly snatches
the ladle from my hands, anxious to have seconds.

I take a seat next to Jordan and lift a spoonful of soup to my mouth.
“Smells good.”

“Tastes good, too,” Mulder interjects, grinning proudly at Jordan. I
eat my spoonful, and for a moment I am in heaven.

“I must say, I concur. That is, without a doubt, the best lentil soup
I have ever eaten,” I add.

Jordan smiles shyly, but I can tell that she is pleased.

When I leave the apartment around 9:30, I have had three or so
helpings of lentil soup, and Jordan’s earlier comment about me being
thin as a rail is not looking quite as true as it did this morning.

I am worried about Jordan. Who wouldn’t be? But I do know that, with
a cousin like Mulder, eventually she will be all right. And I know
that if I have anything to say about it, Jordan will not be going
back to her parents’ house any time soon.

I’m glad that she trusted me enough to want me as a sort of mother
figure. I’m glad she shares my opinion that Mulder and myself are
more than just friends. And I’m glad that she got Mulder to admit
that he thinks so, too, in a place where I could hear him.

Things for her are bad right now. But they will get better. I’ll make
sure of it.

~*~

Pencils in the ceiling.

There are currently thirty-four pencils stuck in the ceiling.

And the Mulder family is responsible for all of them.

Oh, except for that one over in the corner of the floor. That one’s
mine. It got about halfway to the ceiling, but then it kind of lost
its momentum and just dropped to the floor.

Jordan decided to come into the office today. She’s nice to have
around – quiet, doesn’t interrupt me, and cleans up after herself. In
short, she is nothing like her older cousin, something I greatly
appreciate.

It’s been four days since I fell asleep on Mulder’s couch and heard
their conversation. I’ve been very careful not mention what I heard,
or act any differently, but it’s hard.

First off, I now know that Mulder wishes he could do something about
us. And, being that I feel the same way, it is incredibly difficult
to refrain from just walking over, sitting on his lap, and kissing
him.

But that wouldn’t very much like me.

Now, minus the sitting in his lap?

That would be like me.

Second of all, I now know the real reason that Jordan came to visit
Mulder. And I’m finding it very hard to not mother her all the time.
She hasn’t told me yet – she will when she wants me to know. So I
won’t say anything.

Instead of openly mothering her, I’ve been slipping in the occasional
‘honey’ here and there. Mulder calls her ‘kid’ nearly all the time,
and I think she appreciates the easy familiarity that comes with
these nicknames.

But it’s really hard.

I am jolted out of my thoughts when one of Mulder’s pencils comes
streaking down from the ceiling to land directly on the top of my
head.

“Ow!” I cry, my hands reflexively shielding my face. “Mulder!”

“Not my fault, Scully,” he says, his face the picture of innocence.
“She did it!” He points over at Jordan, who has long since finished
her pencil-throwing days and is now obliviously reading the
Washington Medical Journal.

“Yeah, right,” I grumble, carefully moving my chair so that it is
under a piece of ceiling tile still intact.

“I swear it was her,” Mulder insists, and I roll my eyes.

“It was me, all right,” Jordan says absently, and it is clear that
she has absolutely no idea what she is admitting to. I have a feeling
that I could tell her that she just broke into a bank, and she would
just nod her head.

“Mulder, leave her alone. She’s just sitting innocently in the
corner.”

“So am I, Scully!”

“You’re in the middle of the room, Fox. That is in no way a corner,”
Jordan interjects. Maybe she’s been paying attention after all.

“She’s smart, Mulder. Logical, actually” I tell him approvingly. “She
must have gotten that from the other side of the family.”

He chooses not to respond to my comment, instead smiling wryly and
leaning back in his chair. It seems he has progressed from pencils,
and is now about to hurl an engraved ballpoint pen at the foam tiles
above his head.

“Fox?” Jordan asks casually, her eyes never leaving her page.
“What’cha doin’?”

“Nothing,” he tells her just as indifferently.

“Put the pen down, Fox.”

“No.”

“Put the pen down.”

They exchange a look, and Mulder sighs. He drops the pen onto his
desk and frowns.

“You’re no fun, you know that?”

Jordan chuckles under her breath. “Yeah, I know that,” she answers.

For a few more minutes, nobody says anything. The silence is
interrupted occasionally by the turn of a page, or the soft thwack of
graphite meeting ceiling tiles. I am trying to focus on the file in
front of me, but it is to no avail. I keep sending Mulder evil
glares, and I think he catches on, because he stands up suddenly,
snatching up his coffee mug with the look of a man on a mission.

“I am going to go get some coffee,” he declares. “Anybody want
anything?”

“Some water, if you don’t mind,” I say, and he nods.

“Kid? Anything?”

“No, thanks,” is her quiet answer. I have known her long enough to
realize that she is thinking about something. She is very similar to
Mulder that way – they both get this blank look on their face that
either means ‘I’m panicking’ or ‘I’m thinking about something’.
Sometimes it means a mix of both.

“Hey, Jordan?” I ask, and her head jerks up. She looks startled, and
I smile. “You okay? You look a little worried over there.”

“I’m fine,” she replies vaguely. “I just was thinking about
something. Look, I was wondering… could I talk to you about
something?”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk and trying my best to
look surprised. This is it. She’s going to tell me. I just know it.

“You and Fox,” she says decisively. “I wanted to talk to you about
you and Fox.”

Okay, so she’s not going to tell me. At least, not yet. But this is
similar to the path she followed when she talked to Mulder that
night.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “What about me and Mulder?”

“What’s up with you two?” she asks bluntly. So she’s not going to
beat around the bush.

“What do you mean?” I’m stalling. I know it. And she knows it, too.

“Are you friends, or what?”

“We’re friends,” I reply quickly. “We’re best friends.”

“Oh, come on, Dana. You don’t expect me to believe that. I’ve been
living with Fox for three weeks. I’ve seen the pictures of you he’s
got on his nightstand.”

Wait a second. Stop everything. Rewind. Pictures? Of me? On his
nightstand? I feel my heart stop for a second, and then I realize
that Jordan is looking at me worriedly and I force myself to start
breathing again.

“Pictures?” I ask, my voice shaky and shy.

“Yeah. Of you guys on cases together. Haven’t you seen them?”

“I don’t exactly go in Mulder’s bedroom a lot, Jordan.”

“Neither do I, if I can help it. But he does keep all his fresh
towels in there.” She pauses for a second, but then her face turns
grave. “I’m serious, Dana. You mean a lot to him.”

“He means a lot to me, too,” I tell her softly.

She smiles, something between a grin and a smirk and it lights up her
face with a kind of genuine joy that is not very common in the Mulder
family.

“You know,” she says quietly, her gaze focused on my desk, “there’s a
lot Fox hasn’t told you. About me. About why I’m here.”

“I figured as much.”

“When I was twelve,” she begins, her voice rough with controlled
emotion, “my grandfather contracted cancer. It was really hard on my
dad. I guess he felt like he was losing control or something. I don’t
know. But he ended up taking it all out on me.”

She gets up, pacing the office rapidly, fiddling with the magazine
clutched in her hands.

“He started hitting me,” she continues. “At first it wasn’t a lot,
and it wasn’t very hard. Just a few times, here and there. My friends
told me it was abuse, but I wouldn’t listen. I loved my dad,” she
says, her voice breaking, and I feel my heart breaking for her along
with it. “So I stuck it out. But it kept getting worse. And then my
mom decided to cash in on the deal.”

She is using the classic Mulder technique – humor to deflect emotion.
But she is slightly less practiced, and I am finding it much easier
to see through her façade than I find it to see through Mulder’s.

“Jordan, do you want to sit down or-”

“Sorry, Dana, but I think it’s just better if I get this out.” I nod,
and she takes a deep breath. “I dealt with it for four years. Four
whole years. And then I finally worked up the guts. And I told my
teacher at school. And for about a month it looked like things would
get better. But it just started up again.”

“Didn’t you do anything?”

“It was the beginning of my junior year. I figured that if I could go
stay at a couple friends’ houses, or just visit Fox a lot, then I
would be home too much. And I only had two more years. But then my
dad progressed from just hitting me to actually hitting me with
objects. His favorite was the shaft of a hockey stick.”

I wince involuntarily. This poor girl. Why is it that her family
seems so destined to suffer?

“A hockey stick?” I ask, still incredulous that a father could be so
brutal.

“My dad played hockey when he was my age,” she explains. “Anyway,
that was that. I decided to come here to Fox’s for the summer. And
when I get home, I’ll have just my senior year to worry about.”

“Jordan, honey, you can’t go home. You can’t go back to that place,”
I insist, getting up and crossing to her.

“That’s what Fox keeps saying,” she replies. “But I don’t see where
else I’m going to go.”

“Here,” I say firmly. “You’re going to stay here.”

“But Fox-”

“Mulder will agree to anything I ask him to. And he doesn’t want you
going back there either.”

There are tears in her eyes, and they are threatening to spill onto
her cheeks. Her lower lip is trembling slightly, and I feel every
motherly instinct in me take over.

“Come here, honey,” I tell her, and she collapses into my embrace.
She is sobbing openly, and my heart wrenches in two all over again.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Dana,” she chokes out. “I so tired
of knowing what to do.”

“It’s going to be okay, Jordan. I promise you, it’s all going to be
okay.”

“Is it?” she asks, her voice utterly defeated.

“Yes, it is,” I tell her confidently. “You have me. And you have
Mulder. Mulder wants you to be safe. And Mulder gets what he wants.”

I look over her head and notice Mulder standing in the doorway. It is
clear that he has been here for a while, and his face is an
indescribably mix of joy and sorrow.

Mulder and I exchange glances, and his silent response to my words
resonates in my head.

Not always, Scully. Not always.

It’s time to change that.

~*~*

“Fox? The remote?” 
Silence.

“Fox?”

More silence.

“Fox!” Jordan yells.

There is a startled cry, then a crash. Then even more silence.

I glance up from my magazine to find Mulder flat on his back on the
floor, still in a sitting position, the chair overturned. The
contents of the file that had been on his lap before are spread out
all over the floor. From what I can tell, he has fallen over
backwards in his chair out of surprise. The look on his face is
priceless, a mixture of amusement at his own situation and annoyance
that he has traded in his dignity for humiliation.

“Jordan,” he asks in a quietly, “is there a reason that I am
currently lying flat on my back on the floor?”

“You fell over,” she informs him, tucking her feet up under her on
the couch.

“I can see that,” he responds sarcastically, getting up slowly. “I’m
wondering if you had a reason for yelling at me?”

“You’re closer to the remote than I am. I was going to ask you to
hand it to me.”

“So just ask me. You don’t have to yell.”

“I did. You didn’t hear me. Still lost in autopsy reports?” she asks,
teasing him.

“These medical examiners take forever to get to the point,” he
complains.

“Mulder!” I cry, offended. I am very concise, thank you very much.

“Oh, not you, Scully,” he reassures. “You’re very succinct. You make
my life easier.” He turns to Jordan and grimaces. “You, on the other
hand, make it infinitely harder.”

She laughs. “All in a day’s work, Fox.”

“Speaking of a day’s work,” I ask, “what did you do today, Jordan?
Surely you’ve seen all the museums and monuments by now.”

“I went back to the Museum of American History,” she tells me. “I
just can’t get over the fact that they have Judy Garland’s real ruby
slippers!”

It is times like these that I am reminded of what she has gone
through. She acts twice her age, most of the time, but there are
moments when she becomes a child, all innocent excitement and
naiveté. I would have thought that there would be no innocence left
in her, and it amazes me that she has gone through so much and still
retained the purity that she seems to have.

The three of us are silent for a few more minutes. Jordan has lost
any interest in the TV remote and has begun reading another one of my
medical journals. She has started taking them back to Mulder’s
apartment from the office. My reading material is scattered through
every room.

Mulder is piecing his file back together, crawling around on the
floor to collect the various papers. When he finishes with the file,
he pauses for a second, but then shrugs and stretches out on his
stomach on the floor to finish perusing the file.

Suddenly, Jordan slaps the medical journal shut and sits up. Both
Mulder and I look over at her, surprised.

“You know what?” she says, “I know what we need to do.”

Mulder and I exchange glances. We are both familiar with Jordan’s
ideas. They are both brilliant and well thought through, or they are
impulsive and not likely to work. This one looks like it’s going to
be one of the latter.

“What do we need to do?” I ask warily. She grins.

“Tomorrow, you two are taking the day off and coming with me to the
Museum of American History!”

“No, kid, no way,” Mulder says vehemently, right away, but I am not
so sure my response will be the same as his.

“Oh, come on, Fox, please?”

“We have to work tomorrow,” is his firm response.

“You do not,” Jordan contradicts. “You guys have nothing going on –
you’re sitting here in the apartment reading old case files.”

“She’s right,” I say, just to annoy Mulder, and he makes a face in my
direction.

“Great, Scully. Take her side. Now she’ll never leave me alone until
we go.”

“Then we should go,” I reason, and he sighs. It is clear that he will
not give in without a fight. Jordan and I exchange glances. At the
same time, we look over at Mulder and give him our best smiles.

“Please?” we plead in unison, and I widen my eyes for effect. It
takes him a few seconds, but our combined wiles win him over.

“Fine,” he grumbles, and Jordan and I trade satisfied looks. It is
true. With wide eyes and a smile, Jordan and I can get anything we
want from Mulder.

“Tomorrow, then,” Jordan says, nodding happily, and I smile.

--------

It is tomorrow. And I have never been so excited in my life.

Is it weird, for a person my age to be excited about going to a
museum?

No. Because I’m going to a museum with my best friend, who happens to
be the man I love, and his cousin, someone who I am starting to look
on as something of a daughter to me.

Jordan is driving, being just old enough to drive people other than
her immediate family. When we left, we decided not to let Mulder
drive, just in case he changed his mind and didn’t drive to the
museum.

We also made Mulder sit in the back seat.

So while Jordan navigates easily through the morning traffic, Mulder
mutters to himself in the backseat. I catch a few words here and
there. Something about ‘women’, ‘not driving’, and ‘both of them’. I
smile to myself, trying to conceal my amusement. Mulder would not
appreciate my finding humor in his situation.

By the time we reach the museum, park, and make our way inside, I
have given Mulder a stick of gum and it has kept him busy. Now,
instead, all I can hear is the soft smacking sound the gum makes as
he chews it.

Note to self: never give Mulder gum again.

We halt inside the lobby, looking from left to right, not sure where
we should go now.

“Lead the way, Jordan,” I tell her and she smiles. She starts
walking, and Mulder and I follow.

We are headed for the real ruby slippers.

“Mulder,” I say quietly so as not to disturb the other visitors,
“spit that gum out or I swear to God, I will shoot you.”

“Scully,” he says just as quietly, “you gave me the gum, remember?”

“I remember. Now I want you to spit it out, because it’s driving me
crazy.”

“You want me to sacrifice my gum? God, what more do you want?” he
teases. He walks over to the nearest trashcan and makes a show of
spitting out his gum. “How’s that for devotion, Scully?”

“Very nice, Mulder. Now, hurry up, Jordan’s way ahead of us.”

We move quickly, catching up with Jordan at the entrance to the
exhibit housing the slippers. She is waiting, impatiently shifting
from foot to foot.

“Will you two hurry up? You are taking forever!”

“Relax, kid. We’re coming.”

When we reach her, she all but drags us inside, passing numerous
exhibits until we come to a halt in front of what she’s been telling
us about all day.

There they are.

The ruby slippers.

Mulder and I look at each other, baffled, as Jordan walks to within
an inch of the glass, staring rapturously at the shoes.

Okay. So we’re here. I’m looking at the shoes.

Now what?

“Come here, guys,” Jordan whispers, waving her hand at us. We step
closer. “Look at them. Just look at them.”

Mulder and I lean closer. My nose is almost pressed to the glass. I’m
not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing.

“These are what brought her home,” Jordan says softly in awe. “These
are what brought her where she belonged.”

I see what I’m supposed to be seeing in the slippers. I see hope. I
see Jordan’s hope for home.

We are all silent for a moment, but then Jordan stands up straight
and steps away from the glass.

“Well, I’m going to go… somewhere. I’ll be back in a few minutes.
Talk amongst yourselves,” she says casually, but as she walks past
me, I see her wink at me, and I realize what she is going. That
matchmaking little fiend!

Not that I don’t appreciate it. I do. It’s just that I wish she could
have let me know first. I’m not wearing anything pretty.

Mulder and I are left standing in front of the shoes. It is early, so
we are the only ones here.

“Do you have any idea why these fascinate her so much?” he asks.

I do. And it’s starting to fascinate me, too.

“I think,” I start carefully, “that these shoes, the way they brought
Dorothy back to her home, they mean something to important to
Jordan.”

“What?”

He has no idea, does he?

“I think you’re her ruby slippers, Mulder.”

He looks over at me, but I am staring fixedly at my own, not quite
ruby shoes.

“You think?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think,” I answer, still looking straight ahead.

I feel his arm slip around my waist, and I smile slightly, leaning
into him a little.

“You know, Scully, this may not be the most romantic thing I’ve ever
said to you, but you’re my ruby slippers.”

That’s nice to know, Mulder. Because you’re my ruby slippers, too.

~*~*~*~*

I am here to give Mulder a ride to work. His car broke down – again –
and he is too lazy to have someone tow it to the shop. I am early, of
course, and for once Mulder is early, too. We have about half an hour
to kill, and with our light course work, neither one of us wants to
head into the office for longer than we have to. Jordan has tamed the
workaholic in Mulder.

“Oh my God!” Jordan shrieks.

I look up, startled. She is standing there, holding an open envelope
and a letter in her hands with a joyous expression. For a second, I
think it is an acceptance letter from a college, but then I remember
that she is not yet a senior in high school, and I wonder what she
could possibly so excited about.

Mulder comes careening out of the living room, gun in hand, a wild
look on his face.

“What’s wrong? Who broke in?” he shouts, and I laugh. Jordan runs at
him and leaps into his arms, the letter still clutched tightly in her
hands.

“Thank you,” she murmurs over and over again. “Thank you so much,
Fox.”

It is clear that Mulder has no idea what this is about, but he hugs
her back and smiles bewilderedly at me over her shoulder.

When she finally releases him and steps back, Mulder puts his gun
down on the counter and moves into the kitchen to get coffee, still
looking utterly confused.

“What’s this all about, kid?” he asks, and she grins, coming to stand
in front of him.

“This came in the mail today,” she says, and shoves it at him. He
takes it from her, and after a glance at it, blushes furiously. Eager
to know what could possibly make Mulder blush, I lean forward and
grab the letter from Mulder. And I smile so widely that I think my
face might crack in two.

It is a letter from an adoption agency, concerning the adoption of
one Jordan Mulder by one Fox Mulder.

“Mulder?” I ask. “When did you decide this?”

“A few weeks ago,” he explains, pouring himself a cup of coffee and
taking a seat at the kitchen table. “And it’s nothing final. That’s
just the application. I’ll fill it out and send it back in, and then
they’ll finalize it.”

“Congratulations, guys,” I say, and Jordan gives me a quick hug.

“Thank you, Dana,” she replies.

Jordan and I sit down at the table, one on each side of Mulder. I
look at both of them and I think of Jordan’s first night with us, and
I remember Mulder’s words.

This, right here, this is my family.

Mulder, I couldn’t agree with you more.

I mean, I know that Mulder will be the one legally adopting Jordan,
but in my heart, I know that, really, it’ll be Mulder and me.

-------------

Mulder is crying.

Not gut-wrenching sobs or anything. Just silent, steady tears.

I don’t think he knows I am here. It is late, and I have stopped by
to drop off autopsy reports. I knocked, but when Mulder didn’t
answer, I used my key. I stopped short in the doorway to his kitchen.
I’ve been standing here for around two minutes, and I still can’t
figure out if I should say something.

Something is terribly wrong.

I can count on one hand the times I have seen him shed tears, and
each time has been a case of death or disappearance, or has involved
his sister. And as far as I know, nothing like that has happened
lately.

I decide that it is time to make myself known. I walk across the room
quietly. He does not look up, but I can tell from the change in his
position that he is aware of my presence. I pull up a chair, slide it
close to him and sit down. I look down at the kitchen table to see
what holds his attention.

What I see stops my heart for a few seconds.

Denied. Mulder has been denied.

He is not going to be allowed to adopt Jordan. She is going to have
to go back to her parents. She is going to have to leave.

All I can think of is that I promised her.

I promised her that everything would be okay. I promised her that she
could stay here. And now this. I can’t help but feel that this is
partly my fault.

“Mulder,” I whisper, trying not to let him hear in my voice the tears
that are threatening to choke me. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong, Scully,” he says hoarsly. “I filled
everything out. I signed in all the right places. But they won’t let
me keep her.”

I am looking at a broken man. A man I have no idea how to fix.

But I can try.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and draw him down into a hug. He
turns his face into my neck and he crys, sobs wracking his shoulders.
He winds his arms around my waist and holds me tightly, and I stroke
his hair lightly, attempting to soothe him.

“You did nothing wrong,” I tell him. “This is not your fault.”

His only answer is to lean away from me, disentangling his arms from
mine as he reaches for the papers on the table.

“No, Scully. Look. It really is my fault.” He slides the papers over
on the table and points to a section that he has circled in red pen.
I read it over, and I understand why he thinks it is his fault.

The words ‘unmarried status’ and ‘extremely dangerous job’ jump off
the page at me. They won’t let Mulder adopt Jordan because he is not
married and because he is an FBI agent.

“Oh, God, Mulder. I can’t believe this.”

“I could do it, Scully. You know I could!”

“Of course I do. You take care of her, Mulder. She loves you so
much.”

“Does she?” Mulder’s voice is insecure. “Maybe she talked to them.
Maybe she doesn’t want to live with me.”

I lean my head on his shoulder and place one of my hands reassuringly
on his knee. “She loves you, Mulder. That’s why she came to you when
she needed help.”

He nods. But then I feel his shoulder tense under my cheek.

“What if they don’t know, Scully?” he asks softly, and I slide closer
to him.

“Don’t know what?” I reply.

“What if they don’t know how much I love her?”

His voice is so vulnerable. My heart breaks for him.

“They know, Fox,” I whisper, and I feel him kiss the top of my head.

“I just can’t let her go back,” he says.

“We’ll figure something out. There has to be something we can do.”

“I don’t know, Scully. I think this time, we might have finally hit
the wall.”

No. No, no, no. I will not let this happen. Mulder cannot give up.
There is something I can do. I just haven’t thought of it, yet.

“Never, Fox.”

We have never hit a wall before, and I refuse to start now.

------------

A week has passed since Mulder’s application was denied. During that
time, Mulder has neither smiled nor laughed, and Jordan has been
sullen and jumpy. Summer is more than half over, and I can tell that
she is getting nervous about returning to her parents’ house.

It is around six on the seventh day, and I am currently standing in
front of Mulder’s apartment, a manilla file folder clutched in my
hands. I am about to knock on the door when it swings open, revealing
a disheveled Mulder.

“You planning on standing outsdie all night, Scully?” he asks, and
his lack of sleep is making his voice gravelly.

“No, I was just.… thinking.”

“Outside my apartment?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, knowing how stupid I sound. “Uh, can I come in?”

“Sure.”

He swings it open and I step in, pushing it shut after me.

“So what’s up, Scully?”

“I have something I want to show you,” I tell him, and lead him into
the kitchen. “But first, where’s Jordan?”

“She’s out,” he replies, “picking up pizza. You want anything? I can
call her and tell her to change the order.”

“No, thanks, Mulder. I won’t be here long. Sit, sit,” I say, taking
my seat and beckoning for him to do the same. He does, and I place
the manilla file folder on the table, sliding it over for him to look
at.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking baffled.

“It’s something I want you to have.”

He opens the folder and looks at the first page, and his expression
changes from neutral to ecstatic in an instant.

“Accepted? Scully,” he breathes, “how?”

“Turn to page four,” I tell him, and he does. When he sees what I
have done, he looks over at me and smiles in amazement.

“You signed the papers with me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re co-adopting Jordan with me.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re okay with all this?”

“I signed, didn’t I?”

Mulder laughs to himself. “Yeah, you did.”

We are quiet for a few moments, both of us staring at the papers with
idiotic grins on our faces. We have been accepted. Jordan is going to
stay here. Jordan is going to be safe.

Thank God.

The whole thing was pretty simple. The adoption agency was concerned
that Mulder’s job was so dangerous, and that he wasn’t married. Well,
I have connections in many different places, and I was able get the
application accepted.

But I’m not sure what this means for Mulder and me.

Because what we both know, what we’re not saying, is that I have
signed the papers as Mulder’s wife.

~*~*~*~*

Today is the day.

Today is the day that Mulder and I tell Jordan about our acceptance.
If Jordan doesn’t mind me being one of her legal guardians, then
she’ll sign the papers, and everything will be resolved.

Finally.

Mulder and I, however, have yet to discuss what the signing of these
papers means for us. And it has been bothering me immensely. So,
today is also the day that Mulder and I have it out.

Again, finally.

Talk about judgment day.

Jordan and I are sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Mulder to
get back from his run. He’s been nervous all day, and I told him to
go burn off some of his anxious energy while Jordan and I made
dinner.

Well, that was three hours ago. Jordan and I have made a four-course
dinner, plus dessert. And Mulder still isn’t home. That fact is
seriously starting to annoy me.

He had better get home soon, and when I say soon, I mean now.

At last, the door swings open and Mulder comes in, looking utterly
exhausted. Normally, under different circumstances, I would allow him
time to shower and clean up, but not today.

“Mulder, sit down,” I tell him firmly, and he sighs.

“Come on, Scully, I’m gross. Can I take a shower first?”

“No,” I reply. “You’ve made us wait three hours, and I refuse to wait
a minute more.”

“You’re so impatient,” Mulder grumbles, but he sits down next to me.
I look over at him, and he nods. “Go ahead, Scully.”

“You don’t want to tell her?”

“Well, I-”

“Tell her, Mulder,” I interrupt, and he raises his hands in a
defensive gesture.

“Okay, okay!” He shifts in his chair to look more directly at Jordan.
“Kid, guess what?”

“I’m not going to guess. I hate guessing games,” Jordan replies, a
slight frown creasing her forehead.

“You know that letter we got from the adoption agency?” Mulder
begins.

“Yeah,” Jordan answers.

“Well, we sent it in, and we’ve officially adopted you.”

Jordan’s frown deepens. I must admit, not quite the reaction I
expected. Maybe a smile. Happy tears. But certainly not a frown.

“Wait a minute,” she says. “You said ‘we’. Who is included in this
‘we’?”

I knew she would catch that. Mulder attempts subtlety very rarely,
and when he does, it does not usually work.

Mulder glances over at me, his panic face firmly in place. Not this
time, Mulder. You’re on your own. I smirk at him and shrug, and he
sighs dejectedly.

“Scully and I are included in ‘we’,” he explains, and Jordan grins so
widely that I fear her face might split in two.

“So, you adopted me together,” she says slowly, and Mulder and I both
nod. Neither one of us is willing to tell her just how together the
adoption people think we are.

“We’ll talk to one of the city high schools tomorrow about
transferring in,” Mulder replies.

“Did my parents have anything to say about this?” Jordan asks.

“They said that they’re going on vacation to New Zealand next week.
We can go and get your stuff then, if that’s okay.”

“That’s great,” she answers him, smiling, but I can see the conflict
in her eyes. She is so glad to be finally out of that house, but
there’s still this part of her that desperately wants her parents to
have some objection.

“Well, now that that’s settled, we should probably start dinner. It
might be a little cold – Mulder’s run took a little longer than
expected,” I say, staring pointedly at Mulder, and he grins
sheepishly.

Jordan and I get up and start to bring the dishes to the table.
Mulder wanders off to wash his hands, and while he is gone, Jordan
sets down the plate she is holding and turns to me.

“Thank you, Dana. Thank you so much,” she tells me.

“For what?” I ask.

“I saw the papers Fox got back a couple weeks ago. I know he was
denied the first time.” I know I should be surprised, but I’m not.
She is a Mulder, after all. “I just wanted to thank you,” she
continues. “You have faith in Fox, and that means a lot to me.”

“I’ve known Mulder for six years,” I reply. “And I’ve never seen him
happier than he has been since you got here. I couldn’t let him lose
that. I also couldn’t let you go back. All I had to do was sign with
Mulder.”

Jordan crosses the kitchen and pulls the file containing the papers
off the top of the refrigerator. Mulder hid them there a few days
ago, even though I had warned him that Jordan would find them. She
puts them down on the table and flips through them until she comes to
page four, the page with the signatures.

“When did you find those?” I ask and she laughs.

“Yesterday.”

“So you knew that we’d been accepted?”

“Fox has been in a good mood for the past couple days. I wanted to
figure out why, so while you were at work, I went through the
apartment and I ended up finding these. So I also know that you
signed the papers as Fox’s wife.”

So, she knows. Now, the question is if she’s okay with that or not.

“It was the only way I could get Mulder’s application accepted,” I
begin to explain, but she cuts me off with a dismissive wave of her
hand.

“It’s totally okay,” she assures me, “in case you’re worried.”

“I’m not worried,” I reply, but I know she can tell I am lying.

Mulder chooses that moment to re-enter the room. He sees Jordan
standing by the table with the file open and sees me looking a little
embarrassed, and I can almost hear his train of thought as he puts
the pieces together. I know the exact moment when he figures it out,
because his ears start to turn red and he starts examining the floor
very closely, refusing to look at either Jordan or me.

“You know what?” Jordan says suddenly. “We don’t have any salt. I’m
going to go buy salt. I’ll be back in around three hours.”

“Jordan!” Mulder admonishes, and she grins wickedly.

“Bye, guys,” she calls as she exits the apartment, grabbing her keys
on the way out.

I hear the door click shut behind her, and I know what has to happen.

Mulder and I have to talk.

That may be the scariest sentence in the world.

------------

“So…” Mulder says, his voice trailing off as the silence grows more
and more awkward.

“So Jordan knows,” I interrupt.

“Knows what?” he asks, and I take a seat by the kitchen table.

“Everything. She knows that you were denied the first time. She knows
that I signed the papers as your wife, something that we need to
discuss, by the way.”

“Right,” Mulder sighs, and sits down next to me. “That.”

“Does it bother you?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“No.”

“It doesn’t bother you that the adoption agency thinks we’re
married,” I state, trying to clarify things, and he nods.

“We were married in Arcadia, weren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, but that was a case, Mulder. This is different.”

“I noticed that. Why are you so worked up about this?”

I lean back in my chair. “I guess I’m just confused. You don’t seem
to be at all panicky about this.”

“I resent the fact that you think I would be panicky,” he teases, but
then his expression turns serious. “Honestly, Scully, I’m really not
bothered by this. I know it’s not official or anything, but it seems
like a natural step for us.”

Woah. Hold on a second. Getting married is a natural step for us? I
mean, I love Mulder, really, I do, but this has me totally and
utterly shocked.

“W-what?” I stammer.

“Scully, come on. Ruby slippers? You didn’t think I was joking, did
you?”

“No, but-”

“I’m not suggesting we get married,” he clarifies. “I mean, someday,
sure, but I think that would be a little weird, even for us.”

“Yeah,” I mumble absently, still trying to understand the situation.

Okay. Things I know: Mulder wants us to get married someday. I am
Mulder’s ruby slippers.

Things I think I know: Mulder loves me.

Yeah, I’m really not comfortable with only thinking I know that.

“Mulder, are you in love with me?” I ask, and he laughs.

“Duh, Scully.”

Someday, when I’m old and gray, I will look back at my life and I
will remember that when I asked Mulder if he loved me, he responded
by saying ‘duh’.

What a wonderful memory.

Mulder reaches across the table and grasps my right hand in his left.

“Now that everything’s out of the way,” he teases, “I believe we have
three hours.”

“Mulder!” I cry, and snatch my hand away from his,

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Scully,” he laughs. “What I meant
was that three hours gives us plenty of time to watch Caddyshack
before Jordan gets back.”

“Caddyshack, Mulder? Do we have to?”

“What would you prefer? Steel Magnolias?”

“No. I was thinking more along the lines of The Fly.”

“Don’t joke about The Fly, Scully,” he says gravely as we head into
the living room.

We sit down on the cracked leather couch, inches away from each
other. Mulder presses a button on the remote, and as the beginning
images of Caddyshack appear on the screen, I settle deeper into my
seat.

From my right, I hear Mulder yawn loudly and watch out of the corner
of my eye as he stretches exaggeratedly. As he finishes yawning, I
feel his arm come around my shoulder, and I nearly choke on my
laughter.

Did Mulder just pull the move on me?

“Mulder,” I ask quietly, “what are you doing?”

“Pulling the move, Scully,” he responds. “Now sit still, watch the
movie, and pretend you didn’t notice the utter fakeness of my yawn.”

“Okay,” I agree, leaning into him a little.

Things are going to be a little different now. I have a daughter. I
have a Mulder.

I have a life.

*~*~*~*

Today is one of the happiest days of my life.

I am wearing a beautiful dress, and my hair is pulled back elegantly.
I feel perfect, and completely at peace with everything.

Mulder stands across the aisle, his face nearly split in two by his
smile. He glances across at me and his grin, if possible, widens. He
winks at me and I have to choke back a laugh, wavering a bit on my
too-high heels. Mulder is not quite an expert in the art of winking.

He looks good in his tuxedo, almost too good. I had a hand in picking
it out, which is the only reason that his bowtie isn’t striped or
something equally hideous. He made a fuss when he saw the sedate
black tie, but he’s enduring it, for me.

God, I love this man.

The ceremony draws to a close, and a lone tear of joy streaks down my
cheek as Jordan and her new husband share their first kiss as a
married couple. They start to walk slowly back down the aisle, hands
linked tightly together. Mulder and I start in from either side of
the aisle and meet in the middle, following suit as Mulder grasps my
hand securely in his. He smiles appreciatively down at me, letting me
know that my qualms about this dress were misguided.

But Jordan had insisted I wear it, making the point that, as Maid of
Honor, I couldn’t very well wear something totally different from the
other bridesmaids. So here I am, wearing a deep blue satin dress that
is slightly low cut for my tastes.

This church is familiar to us – the very place where we were married
eight years ago. Mulder wasn’t too thrilled about being married in a
church – he would have preferred Roswell or Memphis – but my mother
was adamant that we be married in a church. And Mulder has learned
not to mess with my mom.

We reach the end of the aisle and pass through the open doors of the
church, pausing on the fourth stair of the steps leading up to the
building. We watch proudly as Jordan’s new husband Chris opens the
door of the limo for her and she climbs in gracefully. Eventually,
Chris slides in and the doors slam shut behind them. Slowly, the limo
pulls away, and the disappear around the city corner, heading for the
reception.

Leisurely, the guests walk to their cars and drive away, leaving the
church steps empty, but Mulder and I remain, his arm around my waist,
my head resting on his shoulder. We are silent for a few moments, and
then Mulder speaks.

“We did good, huh?”

I nod, chuckling under my breath. “Yeah. I can’t believe she’s
married,” I whisper.

“Me neither,” he answers, sounding as incredulous as I feel.

“She’s going to be a mother,” I say, nervously. “Oh my God. We’re
going to be grandparents!”

“Don’t put it that way, Scully, you’re making us sound old. And don’t
sound so worried, either. She’s going to be a great mom if she’s half
as good as you are.”

I whap him on the chest lightly and smile into the sleeve of his
tuxedo. He pulls my arm and moves his own so that we are standing in
a sort of hug, my arms looped around his neck loosely. We are a few
inches apart, and Mulder is resting his forehead lightly on mine.

We stay like this for a while, both trying to comprehend the idea
that our daughter has grown up. She has moved on from us. She is her
own person now. And while we are so proud of her, our hearts are
breaking as one.

Mulder leans in and kisses me softly, chastely, and smiles as he
pulls back. I lean into him, hearing his heartbeat beating loudly and
steadily.

“It’s just you and me now, Scully. We got the place all to
ourselves.”

I do not have to be looking at him to see the suggestive face he is
making. I sigh and roll my eyes, and I hear his laugh rumble up from
somewhere deep inside his chest.

“Nothing like that,” he amends, and I tilt my head up to look at him,
thankful for his tactful distraction from the bittersweetness of the
day.

“What did you mean, then?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“I thought maybe we could finally get that wall to wall fish tank
I’ve been talking about.”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, no, no, Mulder. If you can’t keep
your fish alive for more than three weeks, you don’t deserve to have
a fish tank larger than three square feet.”

“Ouch, Scully. You wound me.”

“Don’t be a baby. As far as I know, you have no known psychological
disorder that causes you to revert to a childlike state.”

“Smart girls are mean.”

“Smart is sexy, Mulder.”

He grins down at me and I return the smile, both of us remembering
the instance in which I said those same words years earlier.

“Oh, believe me, Scully, I know.”

That earns him a glare and an eye roll combined. He just leans in and
presses his lips to my forehead.

“I love you,” I tell him, and he reaches up, stroking back a stray
hair from my cheek.

“I love you, too,” he answers, smiling quietly. I have learned over
the years that a small smile from Mulder often expresses more
happiness than a large grin. The smile on his face right now is a
special one, one he directs only at me. I reach up and clasp his hand
in mine.

“We’ve got to go, Mulder, or we’ll be late to the reception.”

“That wouldn’t be very fitting for the bride’s parents, would it?”

“Not fitting at all.”

“Then let’s go,” he says, and leads me down the stairs, careful not
to go too fast in case I fall while wearing my skyscraper-size heels.

We get in the car, Mulder sliding into the driver’s seat. I prefer to
let him drive most of the time. Especially today, seeing as how I’m
something of a nervous wreck today.

We finally arrive at the reception, and Mulder escorts me into the
building with his customary hand to my lower back.

Jordan is there in the middle of the room with Chris, greeting her
guests. She looks beautiful and classic in her white dress, a column
of silk and lace that turns her into a model. Mulder and I approach
her, and when she sees us, her face lights up.

“Mom! Dad!” she cries, managing to hug both Mulder and me at the same
time. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Mulder laughs. “Your mom had a makeup crisis in the car. We had to
wait outside until she made it all perfect again.”

He tells the lie with practiced ease, not wanting to reveal to Jordan
that we are late because we are being the typical, clingy, parents.

Jordan chuckles. “You look great, Mom. I’m so glad you decided to
wear that dress.”

“Jordan, look at you. Honey, you’re beautiful.”

She reaches up and touches the string of pearls circling her neck, a
necklace that used to be mine that I gave her.

“All thanks to you, Mom. The pearls pull the whole thing together.”

We exchange smiles and, after a few more minutes of small talk,
Mulder and I make our way to the table of the wedding party.

When it is time for the father-daughter dance, Mulder and Jordan head
out onto the dance floor, and move slowly back and forth to the
strains of the music the band plays. I smile lovingly at them and
take a sip of my champagne.

This is the end of something. Jordan isn’t my little girl anymore.
She’s grown up. She’s not the girl who sat with me in my office and
cried because she was so tired of being in control. She’s not the
girl who was so fascinated by the ruby slippers. She’s not the girl
who tried to do everything herself. She’s a wife, now.

I am so proud of her.

Of Mulder and me.

Of my family.

The End