Work Text:
WASHINGTON, D.C.
MARCH 1949
For the inhabitants of the cozy apartment above the Cafe Pequod, a whole evening off is a rare thing.
Running a popular restaurant is a full-time job all by itself. When one owner is also working as a doctor, and another is in the process of re-obtaining his license to practice psychology, free time is even more difficult to come by. Add in a lively five-year-old daughter, and the very concept of a night off, for Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, is a completely foreign one.
Tonight, however, Maggie Scully has put her foot down.
“The two of you have done nothing but work for months,” she tells her daughter and son-in-law. “You and Fox brought on more people to help you run the cafe, didn’t you?” Scully crosses her arms in front of herself, hesitant.
“Yes, Maman, but-”
“Then please, let them help you run it! You do not have to do absolutely everything yourself, Dana. You interviewed these people yourself, you hired them, you trained them, and they’ve all been working for you for at least six months. Do you not trust them?”
“I do, Maman, but Saturday is the busiest night of the week! I can’t just-”
“Yes, Darling, you can,” says Maggie firmly. “You’re both exhausted. You’re doing too much. You need a nice evening out, just the two of you.”
“What about Claire?” argues Scully. Across the room, a head of vibrant red curls pops up from between the coffee table and the sofa, which has sacrificed all of its cushions for the construction of a very serious pillow fort. Satisfied she’s not going to be told off for making a mess (this time), Claire Mulder giggles and sinks back down into her sanctuary.
“Claire is going to stay the night upstairs with me,” says Maggie. “We’re going to have a nice dinner in the cafe, and tomorrow morning, she can come to mass with me.” Scully frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Dana, you and Fox need some time for yourselves, you know you do. And in a few months,” she says, with a pointed look at her daughter’s stomach, “you’re going to have even less time and energy than you already do. Take advantage of this while you can.” Scully’s eyes go wide, and she whirls on Mulder, who has, wisely, been staying out of the argument.
“You told her?” she exclaims, hands on hips. “We agreed we weren’t going to tell anyone, not until we were certain everything was all right!”
“I didn’t, I promise!” says Mulder. “I haven’t said a thing!”
“Then how-”
“It’s not that difficult to figure out, Darling,” says Maggie, smiling gently. “You’ve been excusing yourself and running to the bathroom at odd moments for a week now, and yesterday, you asked me to let out three of your skirts.” Scully closes her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“Fine,” she huffs at last, with the air of someone who’s been coerced into doing something extremely unpleasant, rather than been presented with the opportunity for a pleasant evening out with her husband. Mulder knows Scully well enough not to be offended: the Cafe Pequod is her baby, probably second in importance only to her husband and daughter, and she has a difficult time turning any part of its management over to others. Mulder suspects that if Scully were presented with the choice between her well-paying position as an obstetrician and working as a dishwasher in her the cafe, the cafe would win. She’s spent the better part of today dressed, not in the professional garb of a respected doctor, but in the same loose, worn style of skirt and blouse she’d been wearing when Mulder first met and fell in love with her, nearly six years ago. She even has a dirty handkerchief tied over her hair.
An hour later, however, when Scully emerges from the bedroom, the idea of such a heavenly creature doing something as mundane as washing dishes is laughable. Her bobbed red hair lies in a shining wave on her head, and she’s wearing a deep green dress that shows just enough skin at the shoulders to make Maggie Scully narrow her eyes in disapproval, though she says nothing. She and Mulder kiss Claire goodbye, and Scully takes Mulder’s arm as they leave the apartment. Out in the hallway, however, Scully leads him, not to the front stairs that lead to the separate entrance to the apartments, but to the back staircase that goes down into the kitchen of the cafe below.
“I just want to make sure everything’s all right before we go,” she says, and Mulder rolls his eyes, but humors her. He knows by now that trying to convince her to just go would be a waste of time and a waste of breath. When Dana Scully decides she’s going to do something, she doesn’t get talked out of it.
Downstairs, the kitchen is a flurry of activity. Unlike its French predecessor, where Scully was able to man the register, brew the coffee, make the sandwiches, and wash the dishes on her own (with an occasional assist from Mulder, when she allowed him to provide it), the Cafe Pequod in Georgetown is busy enough, especially on a Saturday evening, to keep four employees on their feet all night. Their dishwasher, Ernest, attends college by day and works at the cafe most nights. When he graduates in a few months they’ll have to replace him- he’s the fourth college student who’s held the position since the cafe opened. The cashier, Ella, lives down the street with her mother and four younger siblings and works a few days a week to help her mother out. Rounding out the crew are Ian and Sarah, newlyweds and recent immigrants from Ireland, who prepare and serve the coffee and food. They’ve been working at the cafe for over a year now, and Scully is hoping that, in another year’s time when Mulder is practicing psychology by day, they’ll be able to take over the day-to-day operations entirely.
Mulder could probably point out that, if she wants them to run the place completely on their own, she should probably be comfortable with leaving them alone for one night, but he wisely keeps this thought to himself.
“Everything’s all right?” Scully asks Sarah, who is arranging a tray of pastries to take out to the dining room.
“Just fine,” replies Sarah. She turns and catches sight of Scully. “You look lovely, Mrs. Mulder!” she exclaims, smiling. “Are we to assume you won’t be joining us in the kitchen this evening, then?”
“No, Mulder and I are going out this evening, Sarah,” says Scully. “Will you need anything? If it’s too busy-”
“We’ll be just fine, Mrs. Mulder,” Sarah assures Scully. “You and Mr. Mulder enjoy your evening. We’ll lock up if you’re not back by closing.”
“I’m sure we will be,” says Scully, and Mulder just barely represses a sigh. Scully goes over to the refrigerator and opens it, looking critically at the food within. “There’s not much roast beef left,” she says. “And we could use some more ham.” She looks up at Mulder, worried. “I don’t know if there’s enough here to get us through Sunday lunch. Maybe I should change the menu, just in case-”
“Sarah and Ian will change it, if we run out tonight,” says Mulder firmly, closing the refrigerator and taking Scully’s arm. “We are going to go enjoy a nice evening of dinner and dancing, and not think about roast beef or ham all night unless they happen to be on a plate in front of us.”
“He’s right, Mrs. Mulder,” says Sarah, hoisting up the finished tray of pastries. “Ian will write up a new menu for tomorrow’s lunch if we need it. You two should go and enjoy yourselves. Heaven knows you’ve earned it!” She backs through the swinging door with the tray balanced on her shoulder, and Scully reluctantly follows her into the bustling dining room. They wave to Ian and Ella as they pass, and as hard as Mulder tries to get them out the door quickly, Scully insists on stopping to say hello to several regulars, all of whom compliment her dress and wish them a pleasant evening.
Outside, the March evening is cool and damp, but at least it’s not raining. They set off walking down the block, arm in arm.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to being called Mrs. Mulder,” says Scully, shaking her head. At the clinic, she’s Dr. Scully, and to her family, she’s Dana, but as hard as she’s tried to get her employees and clients to call her Dana, as well, they’ve all settled firmly on Mrs. Mulder instead. The idea of a married woman going by her maiden name certainly raises eyebrows… but not nearly as much as Mulder’s habit of calling her nothing but her maiden name. It drives her brothers (particularly Bill) crazy, but Mulder has no intention of changing his ways. Six years ago, she asked him to call her Scully, and she’s been Scully to him ever since.
They enjoy a delicious dinner at a restaurant a few blocks away, and when they’ve finished eating, Mulder allows Scully to lead him out onto the dance floor. The band plays a medley of hits from the last ten years, Sinatra and Glenn Miller and Billie Holiday, slow songs that keep the couples on the floor swaying in close embraces. It’s a difficult balance for them, dancing to this music. It evokes memories of dancing together in the little apartment above the original Cafe Pequod, memories of first kisses and confessions and making love, and while the memories themselves are sweet, it’s impossible to think back to those days without remembering how it all ended. But if the gentle strains of “The Very Thought of You” provoke both nostalgia and sadness in them, it’s no different for any of the other couples on the dance floor. Nearly everyone has lost someone to the war, whether it be a parent, a child, a spouse, a sibling, or a friend, and so if, from time to time, Scully turns her face closer to Mulder’s chest to hide her tears, or Mulder buries his nose in Scully’s hair long enough to compose himself, they’re certainly not alone.
Mulder had hoped that Scully would agree to a stroll around the neighborhood before going home, but she insists on being back at the cafe before it’s locked up for the night. He compensates by walking as slowly as possible, stealing kisses from her at every opportunity, in the dark spaces between streetlights. Her lips are soft and sweet beneath his, warm and inviting, but try as he might, he can’t convince her to linger for long.
“I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Mulder,” she whispers as she pulls away from him yet again. “But consider this: the sooner we get back to the cafe and make sure everything’s locked up for the night, the sooner you get to take me upstairs.” She nuzzles her nose into his neck, making him shiver. “To our empty apartment.” Mulder grins and kisses her one more time.
“Point taken,” he says, and grabbing her hand, he strides briskly down the street, all but dragging a giggling Scully in his wake.
Warm light is spilling out onto the sidewalk from the picture windows along the front of the cafe. The door is opening at regular intervals, the last few customers of the evening leaving to make their way home. Inside, Ella will be locking the register, Ian and Sarah will be gathering up the last empty plates and mugs, and Ernest will be scrubbing them clean as quickly as he can, trying to get back to his dormitory in time to catch his friends before they head out to the bars. Mulder’s expecting the cafe to be just about empty, and he’s surprised to see that one table is still occupied. He’s further surprised- and a little concerned- when he realizes, as he and Scully open the door and enter, that one of the people at the table is Maggie Scully. She’s sitting directly across from a man and a woman whose backs are to the door, and when she catches sight of Mulder and Scully coming in, she stands slowly, looking extremely worried.
“Maman,” says Scully, frowning, “where’s Claire? What are you doing down here so late?” The two people sitting with Maggie turn to look at them, and Mulder’s stomach drops. For a moment, he thinks he’s going to be ill.
The man and woman are his mother and father.
Wilhelm Mueller stands slowly, his expression unreadable. Next to him, Tina covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes filling with tears.
“Fox,” says Mulder’s father, and Mulder feels himself standing up straighter, stiffer, almost against his will.
“Father,” says Mulder, and next to him, Scully gasps and squeezes his hand. Of course, Mulder thinks to himself. Scully wouldn’t know what they look like. Mulder had not had a photograph of them when he had been stationed in Oradour-Sur-Glane, and it wasn’t as though he could have written home for one while they were fugitives, fleeing the Nazis through France, trying to escape to England.
It’s not as though he would have wanted to.
“What are you doing here?” he hears himself demanding. It’s not polite, certainly not the way his father would want to be addressed by his son (or anyone else, really), but Mulder doesn’t particularly care. He had been ready to write off his parents six years ago, when he made the decision to turn his back on family and country and join Scully in the Resistance. Mulder has made no attempt to contact them since then.
“We’ve come to see you, of course,” says Wilhelm. His voice is civil enough, but the look in his eyes says all too clearly what he thinks of his son’s attitude. “It took us quite some time to track you down, Fox.”
“I haven’t been hiding,” says Mulder with a shrug.
“You certainly haven’t been making any effort to get in touch, either,” says his father, his eyes narrowed. Before Mulder can answer, Ian and Sarah come out of the kitchen, Ernest and Ella behind them.
“Mrs. Mulder, we’re all locked up for the night,” says Sarah. She looks anxiously at Wilhelm and Tina, neither of whom look pleased at hearing Scully addressed as such. “I know Ian and I aren’t on the schedule for lunch tomorrow,” she continues, “but it’s no trouble for us to come in and lend a hand, if you think you might be needing… if you think it’s going to be busy.” Scully nods appreciatively.
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” she says. “I’ll see you all at eleven tomorrow morning.” Their four employees bid them goodnight and leave. Maggie Scully clears her throat nervously.
“I think I’ll be going up,” she says. “Fox, Dana, Claire can stay with me as long as you need her to in the morning, all right?”
“Thank you, Maggie,” says Mulder. He notices his parents frowning at one another at the mention of his and Scully’s daughter.
“Dana, would you like to come up with me?” asks Maggie. Scully glances at Mulder’s parents, looks up at Mulder, and turns back to her mother, shaking her head, keeping a firm hold on her husband’s hand.
“No, Maman, that’s all right. Mulder and I will be up in a bit.” Wilhelm’s scowl deepens, but he says nothing. Maggie bids them all a hasty goodnight and escapes to the kitchen, clearly relieved to get away from the tension that swarms malevolently through the dining room. Mulder turns back to his parents.
“We might have had an easier time finding you,” says Wilhelm, “if you had been using your proper surname, instead of this ‘Mulder’ nonsense.”
“It’s the same name as 'Mueller,’ just in a different language,” counters Mulder. “And as I’m sure you’ve learned by now, life is significantly less comfortable for those with a German surname these days.” He glares pointedly at his father. “It’s the price you pay when your father’s political party decides to try destroying the world.” Wilhelm clenches his jaw.
“Listen, boy-”
“Boy?” scoffs Scully. Mulder can almost feel the anger radiating off of her. Scully has never met Mulder’s parents, but she’s heard enough to have an informed opinion of them- and it’s not a good one.
“Perhaps we could talk alone, Fox?” interrupts Tina tentatively.
“I don’t see any need for that,” says Mulder. “I can’t think of anything you’d have to tell me that couldn’t be said in front of my wife.”
“Ah yes, your wife,” says Wilhelm. “We’ve heard all about that, about you disobeying your commander and abandoning your unit to run off with a Frenchwoman. And now you’re… what, a cook for your wife’s restaurant? Is that what you do here?”
“Better that than a war criminal,” says Mulder. “Which is exactly what every man who didn’t disobey your good friend Spender is now.” Wilhelm waves his hand dismissively.
“Spender did what he had to do that night,” says Wilhelm. “His orders were to subdue the French by any means necessary, and that’s precisely what he did.”
“What he did,” snarls Scully, “was massacre over six hundred innocent people, more than two-thirds of them women and children!”
“Perhaps if you and your countrymen hadn’t insisted on harboring criminals and blowing up railroads, such measures wouldn’t have been necessary!”
“And perhaps if your precious Hitler had learned as a child not to take things that didn’t belong to him,” shouts Scully, “we never would have needed the Resistance in the first place!” Wilhelm is gaping at Scully, and Mulder can’t help but feel a surge of pride in his wife. Wilhelm Mueller has probably never been challenged by a woman in his life, with perhaps the exception of his late daughter, and it’s clear he has no idea to respond.
“This is solving nothing,” says Tina, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. He shrugs it off. “Darling,” she continues, unperturbed, “just tell Fox what we’ve come here to tell him.” Wilhelm heaves a sigh, then turns back to Mulder.
“Fox,” he says, with what he clearly feels is a conciliatory tone, “your mother and I feel it’s time for you to come home.” Mulder laughs derisively.
“I think I’ve heard this speech before, Father,” he says coldly. “When I finished at Oxford. I did what you asked, I came home, and it was absolutely clear you didn’t actually want me there. Why would I entertain the idea now?”
“I’m not asking you to live in our house, Fox,” says Wilhelm. “If you want to have your own home with your wife and child, that would be fine. In fact, I think that would be best.” He levels a cool look at Scully, who glares unabashedly back at him. “I don’t want you to come home to live with us. I want you to come home and take over the firm.”
“And why would I be interested in doing that?” demands Mulder. “I’m a psychologist, not a lawyer.”
“I would pay for you to study law, in preparation,” says Wilhelm. “I need you to take over, Fox, because I won’t be able to run it much longer.”
“Why not? You’re not nearly old enough to retire.”
“I’m ill, Fox,” says Wilhelm baldly. Next to him, Tina sniffles theatrically, holding a handkerchief to her eyes- which, Mulder notes, are entirely dry. This is an act; any love his parents have ever had for one another was dead long before he was even born. “I have lung cancer, and it’s rather advanced. My doctors think I have perhaps a year. Maybe two, if I’m lucky.” Scully squeezes Mulder’s hand… but the news has a curious effect on Mulder. He feels a twinge in his gut, but he can’t tell: is he actually sad? Or is he feeling guilty, because he should feel sad, and he does not?
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says stiffly. “Is there anything that can be done?”
“No, there’s not,” says Wilhelm. “Which is why I need you home. It’s time for you to take my place.”
“You don’t have any junior partners who can do it?” Mulder asks. “There’s not one person who works for you that you’d trust to take over?”
“It’s a family firm,” says Wilhelm. “It’s been run by the Mueller family for four generations. It needs to stay in the family, and you’re the last Mueller left.”
“Except that I’m not, not anymore,” says Mulder. “I made my decision when I left France with my wife.” He lets go of Scully’s hand long enough to put his arm around her waist and pull her to himself. “This is my family, and my home is here.”
“Fox,” says Tina, “we understand that you might have felt a sense of responsibility if… if something happened, when you were in France. We raised you to do the right thing, of course. But that doesn’t mean you have to throw away all of your potential, and your… obligations… are certainly not more important than the duty you owe your family.” Mulder’s eyes narrow.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, though he suspects he knows what his mother is insinuating.
“It’s very honorable, wanting to marry your child’s mother. It’s remarkable, really, given how few other soldiers made any sort of provisions for the bastards they left behind.” Mulder feels Scully swelling with indignation next to him, and he’s suddenly terrified for his mother’s life.
“I married Scully because I love her,” says Mulder coldly, before Scully can respond. “And Claire is not an 'obligation;’ she’s our daughter. Your granddaughter, as well, though neither of you seem to like that idea.”
“Of course we do, Fox,” insists Tina. “That’s part of why we want you to come back to Berlin, isn’t it, Wilhelm?” Mulder’s father says nothing, but the set of his jaw makes his feelings plain enough. “I’m sure your daughter is a lovely little girl, and we’d like to be close enough to spend time with her.” Mulder doesn’t buy this for a minute, and he can tell from Scully’s face that neither does she.
“Whatever your reasons,” Mulder says, “the answer is still no. I have a life here.” He tightens his arm around Scully. “We have a life here. Scully’s medical practice is here, our cafe is here, and soon, I’ll be practicing psychology here. I have no desire to practice law, no desire to take over your business, and certainly no desire to go back to Berlin, ever again.” Wilhelm shakes his head slowly. He glares at his wife.
“I told you this would be a waste of time,” he says. “He’s every bit as stubborn as he’s always been.” He turns back to Mulder. “If you can sleep at night knowing you let you great-great-grandfather’s business be left in the hands of strangers, then I have nothing more to say to you.” He strides towards the door. As he reaches it, he realizes his wife has not followed, and he turns back. “Tina, let’s go,” he says.
“I’ll be there in just a moment, Darling,” Tina promises. Wilhelm shakes his head and steps out onto the sidewalk. Through the front windows, Mulder can see him standing on the curb, his hands in his pockets. Tina turns back to her son.
“Fox,” says Tina, her voice taking on a pleading tone, “please just think about it. Things are different now. This could be a fresh start, for all of us.”
“He’s not interested in a fresh start,” says Mulder, jerking his chin in his father’s direction. “All he’s interested in is having me back under his thumb, to order around and criticize as he sees fit. He’s the same as he ever was.” Tina shakes her head sadly.
“No, Fox, he’s not,” she says. “I know it doesn’t seem like it… but you’ve been on his mind constantly since the war ended. When his doctor gave him the news, the very first thing he said was that we had to find you.”
“To take over the family business, that’s all,” says Mulder dismissively, but Tina shakes her head again.
“I think it had very little to do with wanting you to take over the firm, Fox. Your father is very aware that he spent years blaming you for things that were not your fault, and now, suddenly, he only has a short time to try and make it right. Having you come and run the firm is just an excuse.”
“Then why are you the one who’s saying all of this, and not him?”
“You know your father, Fox. He’s a very proud man. He couldn’t just come tell you that he’s sorry, that he misses you, that he wants to spend time with you and get to know your family before he dies. But that’s what he wants, Fox. I promise you.” She reaches out and takes Mulder’s hand, the one not holding onto Scully for dear life. He just barely resists pulling it back. “We’ll be in town for a few more days. Just think about it, Fox. Please.”
———-
They are silent as they lie in bed that night, but neither of them are anywhere near sleep. Mulder lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and Scully lies across his chest, her head fitting perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder.
“I can feel you thinking,” he whispers, when the tension is finally too much to bear. “What’s on your mind?”
“A lot of things, really,” Scully says.
“Anything you want to share with me?” he asks. There’s a short silence.
“Doctors are in demand the world over,” she says finally. He frowns, not understanding. “No matter where we go, I could likely find a practice that would employ me.”
“Scully…” he says softly, realizing what she’s suggesting.
“My mother is right about Ian and Sarah being more than capable of running the cafe,” she continues. “My mother would still have final say in everything, of course, but they could easily take over management and hire new servers to replace themselves.”
“Claire-”
“Claire is five years old,” says Scully. “Five, fluent in German, and highly adaptable.”
“It would be a completely foreign culture for you, Scully,” Mulder protests. “A totally different country, different language-”
“Mulder, I speak better German than you do.”
“What are you saying, Scully? That you want to do this?” She rolls onto her stomach, propping her head up on his chest so that she can see his face.
“I’m not necessarily saying that I want to, Mulder. I’m just saying… they’re your parents. They’re coming to you because they want a fresh start, because they want to make things right, and there’s not much time left to do it. And if you wanted to try to make that happen, to try and mend those fences before it’s too late…” She reaches out and strokes his face. “Then I’ll support your decision. I’ll go with you and be there for you, whether it works out or not.” It only takes looking into her impossibly blue eyes for a moment for him to see: she is completely serious. She’s not saying that she doesn’t really want to do it, but will if he insists, even though she’ll possibly resent him for it later. She’s not saying that she’ll do it just because she’s his wife and she’s required to be supportive.
No. Scully is telling him that she understands why Mulder might be tempted to do this, to uproot their family and abandon their beloved Cafe Pequod, all on the very slim chance that he might, finally, win his father’s approval and his mother’s love. She knows the wounds he bears, and if there’s any chance at all that this could heal them, she will stand by him while he tries, because he would do the same for her.
Sometimes, he loves her so much, it takes his breath away.
“Scully,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion, “we don’t have to decide this now.”
“We should,” she counters. “In a few months, it’s going to be difficult for me to travel, Mulder. Remember how hard it was just for us to get to England, when I was carrying Claire? And that was a much shorter journey. If we do this, we need to decide very quickly.”
For one brief moment, Mulder allows himself to think about it. Returning to Berlin, living close to his parents, studying, and eventually practicing, law, making sure the family firm was in good hands… possibly handing it down to his own son one day… and maybe, just maybe, finally being the son his father has always wanted him to be. He imagines his father introducing him to his colleagues, hand on his shoulder, beaming with pride. “This is my son, Fox, who’s taking over the firm for me next year.”
But as quickly as it arrived, the shining image fades, replaced by memories of angry words, cold silences, and a home so empty of affection that Mulder had forgotten, by the time he had reached his twenties, what it felt like to be loved by another human being.
And then he’d met Scully.
“I’ve already decided, Scully,” says Mulder. “If my father truly wants to rebuild things between us, if he really wants to make things right, there can’t be conditions attached. It can’t be if, and only if, I agree to do what he wants me to do.” He strokes Scully’s face, cups her cheek with his hand, and kisses her. “My home is where you are, Scully,” he whispers. “You’re happy here, and so am I. I’m not chancing that happiness on people who have let me down before.” He pulls her up, closer, so he can lie on the pillow beside her, kiss her, lose himself in her sweetness and their complete adoration of one another.
After, he sleeps in her arms, and if there are nightmares, for once he does not remember them.
She is his sanctuary. She has been his sanctuary ever since the night she helped him up to her apartment, stitched up his forehead, and reminded him what it was like to have someone care for him. He will not jeopardize that for a tentative promise of reconciliation with people who have broken that promise more than once before.
Scully is his home, and Scully is at home here, and here is where he will stay.