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Title: Post-Modern Miracles Summary: A look into the future of Mulder and Scully They break apart reluctantly, each with a funny grin quirking the corners of their mouths. The child between them, though half asleep, has begun to stir, fusing a bit for the attention his parents are giving each other. The couple turn their smiles down upon the tiny child in the man's arms, their respective faces growing warm with pride and love for the perfect little human. "You know, Mulder, if I didn't know better, I'd say he was jealous," the woman comments, relieving her partner of his precious burden. She bounces the boy slightly in her arms, whispering incoherently at him. The simply steps back as she does this, surveying his family with a look of disbelief in his eye, as she lays the boy in his frilly bassinet, still cooing softly. He creeps up behind he, wrapping both arms tight around her newly regained waist-line, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder. "He's perfect, Scully," he mutters, lips grazing her ear. She pauses, trying to accept this statement, but the scientist in her will not allow it. "I wonder . . ." her voice cracks. "Don't," he shushes her. "Will is perfect, and that's all the truth we need." "It doesn't mean I won't worry." She lowers her arms over the mans, grasping them to her for support, eyes still fixed on the infant. "If you didn't, that would make you inhuman. You wouldn't be the mother of this miracle. Our miracle." She closes her eyes, leaning back heavily against him. "Our Miracle," she repeats, whispering. "Our Miracle." A toddler races naked across the living room, a trail of toilet paper and destruction in his wake. Giggles, high pitched and squealing erupt from his throat. A few steps behind him follows a man, tall and dark haired in stark contrast to his son, whose own locks are and unruly mass of vibrant red. Laughter, how ever much deeper, comes from the man as well. "Will, come on honey," he implores the boy between breaths. "We have to get you asleep and this cleaned up before your mommy gets home." He eventually catches the boy up in his arms, tucking him under one arm as he runs a cursory glance over the room. Clothing is strewn all over, haphazardly slung across chairs and tables. A pair of shorts here, a sock there, and a tiny, child-sized Knicks jersey hangs atop the lamp shade. He just sighs, shaking his head slightly at the mess. Knowing that a few years ago, he never imagined things like this. Or the incredible satisfaction it called into being. He is pressing a kiss to the now sleeping child when he hears the door open. Quickly, so as to not wake his son, he tiptoes from the room, pulling the door almost shut behind him. He greets a woman tenderly in the foyer. She falls into his arms readily, meeting his kiss with her own. "Hello." She smiles, blushing up at his as they part. "Hello." He takes her coat, revealing her stomach, swelling ever so slightly beneath her deep green sweater. He places a hand on that stomach, giving the unborn child his own greeting. "How's the little one?" he asks of the woman. She smiles again. "The 'little one' is doing just fine, Spooky. How's Will?" "Asleep, finally." He guides her into the kitchen, avoiding the disaster area that is the living room. He helps her to a seat, then makes his way to the oven, pulling an italian-smelling tray from inside. "If there's pizza on that tray, it could be love," she says teasingly, waiting for him to catch the reference. He does, with a roll of his eyes. He lays the pan on the table top, following it summarily with paper plates and a handful of napkins. She gasps as she surveys the pie; slices of tomato, onion, and green pepper arranged artistically on it. A distinct rumble can be heard emanating from her stomach. It elicits a chuckle from her lover as he doles out a thin slice for her. "Guess the little miracle needed a snack," he quips. "Our Miracle." A girl, tall for her age and gawky, prances across the heavily lit stage in a cloud of pink taffeta and tights. Her arms raise almost gracefully above her head, in what a cynic would refer to as a mockery of the classic ballerina. To the couple seated in the very middle of the crowded auditorium, she is more graceful and beautiful than the most famous dancer to ever walk the planet. Their hands, showing the first signs of aging, are clasped together in the woman's lap, a position that seems to be a well practiced habit between the two. The man turns in his seat to the teenaged boy beside him whom, at the moment, is squirming in his chair. "Hey, Will, you wanna settle down. Your mother and I are trying to watch your sister," he whispers at the boy. "The boy crosses his arms in a huff. "This is stupid," he complains a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of those nearby. "Just watch, Will." He nudges the boy, moving closer so the woman beside him can't hear. "Remember our deal? You're good tonight, there just might be basketball tickets in your near future." The boy doesn't move a muscle for the rest of the show. The scene changes, the family is now in an aged diner. The girl and her brother sit opposite each other in a booth, slurping happily on sundaes the size of their heads. Chocolate sauce drips down the front of the girl's leotard, but she doesn't seem to notice, or care. From their vantage point at the counter, the couple watched their children eat. "Missy was perfect tonight, wasn't she?" the woman rests her hand on the man's. He nods in silent assent, fatherly pride coursing through him. "What I can't figure out, though," she continues, " Is how you got Will to stay still." She turns a questioning eye to her companion. He smiles, a telling look in his eye. "You bribed him with basketball tickets again, didn't you?" There is laughter in her voice, belying the stern expression on her face. "Maybe." "Mulder, have you no shame?" She asks, already knowing the answer. "It's a miracle you got him to shut up." Gratefully acknowledging his victory over the stubborn boy. Changing the reference to fall on their children, and not without a touch of incredulity, he adds; "Our Miracle." Two red haired women are in the room, one sitting whilst the other ministers to her hair, twisting it up and away from her face. "It's a big step in your life." The standing woman brushes more strands back, wrapping it about the pearl encrusted veil band. Thick, white gossamer falls down, distorting whatever was done to the back of her hair. "Should have done it a long time ago." "You'll hear no argument on that point from me!" The younger woman exclaims, sharing a laugh. "You're all done," she announces with a pat. "Ready?" Meeting the clear blue eyes of the other, she replies, "I've been ready my entire life." They walk out into the hall, waiting for the signal for the hair dresser, the Maid of Honor, to start her trek down the aisle. It comes, and she takes the arm of a short, bald little man. Then, deep breaths, the music she has waited an eternity to hear played for her, the music she has dreamt of hearing her entire life sounds its first heavy strains. She steps out into the room, the entire church, sparsely packed as it is, rises as she enters. Two men in the back, both tall. One with a long, thin ponytail, the other, a closely trimmed beard. An older man, long since bald, with round glasses, ambles to his feet with the glint of a tear in his eye. An aged woman, deep wrinkle lines across her beaming face, looks on with motherly pride. A slew of red and tow headed young men and women and a few middle aged ones as well; part of a seemingly never ending clan. And at the front of the aisle, standing up for her as he always has, stands the man she's here for. Smiling at her, more handsome to her than even the day they met so long ago. She takes his arm, forcing herself to look forward and pretend to pay attention to the minister they have hired for her mother's benefit. The minutes fade into the next as he drones on about something inconsequential. They come to the vows. As she recites the words, she does not give attention to them, but rather stares into the eyes of the man who will soon be her husband. The man who, truthfully, has been her husband in every sense of the word, for years. Instead of thoughts of the future that usually accompany such a ceremony, her thoughts are of the past; events which occurred nearly thirty years before. Of a man, bespeckled and hunching over slides in a basement office. The same man, grinning relievedly as she wakes up in yet another hospital. Of a kiss, a New Year's kiss, a Millennium kiss, that started something new between them. Of the same man, sound asleep between tangled sheets. The births of her two children, and the incredulous face this man made when he held his son and daughter for the first time. Memories of a life together. A life intertwined so tightly, a thousand struggles failed to rip it asunder. A life that had led to this single moment in time, a sort of reaffirmation of what everyone already knew. A new start for a love older than the stars itself. " . . . and do you, Dana Katherine Scully, take this man . . ." She barely believes it, after all this time. Can barely get out the words without crying. "I do." She does not remember the priest pronouncing them wed, nor will she in the years to come. Video of this event will puzzle her surreally when she watches it with her grandchildren, some of who will remember it better than herself. All she will remember is the kiss she is wrapped in by the man who should have been her husband thirty years ago. That, and the two word phrase which he utters for her ears alone just as their lips meet. "Our Miracle." The End I swore and swore I wasn't going to do this. I told myself, and others, that I would never succumb to the urge and write a post-Existence fic like everyone else's. I thought I wouldn't do anything this sappy. And then I go and write something as cornball as this. Absolutely no angst, which is a surprise for anyone who's read the rest of my junk, and fluffier than my furball of a cat. Anyway, I would really appreciate your feedback on this one. I would like to know what you think about my first fluff fic, and if I should just get back into the heart wrenching stuff.
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