Like a Valentine

Part Seventeen

It's the morning of the wedding and just like every single bride in the known universe, Dana Scully is a mess! She cried over breakfast because her mother looked at her in that motherly sentimental way that reads my daughter, my baby, is getting married today -- and that was just too much. Not to mention, on a whim, Scully decided she'd do her own makeup and hair...and now all of that just seems so much to put on one person- the BRIDE!

Mulder wakes with a toddler nearly stuck to his side. Sometime in the night, Emily must have crawled into bed with him. Carefully, he peels her tiny hot limbs off of his. Why are children always so HOT when they sleep? And though the top is short-sleeved, why is she wearing FLANNEL bottoms? Maybe Scully had packed up all her spring and summer pajamas for the winter.

Maggie muses over a glass of mostly champagne with a splash of orange juice. She calls this her world-famous mimosa, and Scully insists that it's a trainwreck waiting to happen.

"Mom, slow down. You're not the one getting married...and also since when are you a drinker?"

"I'm not a drinker, Dana. I just thought mimosa's on the morning of your wedding would be nice."

"Maybe if you got the proportions right I'd have another. That first already went to my head."

"Well, that's because you have hardly touched your breakfast."

Scully nearly shoves an entire piece of toast into her mouth. Again, she's a mess.

"There. I'm eating."

"Great. Do you want another?"

Maggie lifts her glass, shaking it side to side as if that'd somehow make it that much more appealing.

"ONE," Scully stresses, "You're going to get me drunk."

"I would never."

I guess it's safe to say both of the Scully women are in rare form this morning.

Mulder starts, to the best of his ability, on the eggs. You can't possibly go wrong with eggs. Wrong. The first batch he has to scrape from the pan; all the charred pieces tossed into the trash. Thankfully by the time Emily wakes and stumbles into the kitchen, he's got everything plated and ready to eat.

"Today's the day!"

Emily's quite the sight this morning. Her hair is sticking up in every direction it could possibly go, those flannel pajamas are pasted to her from her night sweats, and her little eyes have crusties in the corners. But still, her voice musters up that same sing-song I'm a morning person tone.

"Today is the day. Are you excited?"

Emily looks down at her plate and frowns.

"Yes and no."

"Why the no?"

Mulder's brow furrows and panic picks at his stomach.

"Because this is not my Scooby-Doo plate."

Oh Dear God!

"I know, right? I didn't get my Princess Jasmine plate either... guess we'll just have to starve."

Mulder tries to remain serious, but the toddler picks up his sarcasm easily.

"You're goofy, dad."

Mulder is in the process of chewing an egg when "you're goofy, dad" smacks him in the face. Needless to say, he chokes and has to recover with his tall glass of orange juice. What can he say, though? He can't tell her not to call him that. Not after their little conversation from last night. Not after ... everything. But he also can't stall any longer because Emily literally hangs on his every word.