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Fic: All Awash With Angels 4/17 (T, MSR)

Cover art by @rosenkranz-does-things (commission them or buy prints of their work!)

Scully and Mulder go undercover as a couple to investigate a rash of mysterious deaths in a remote Alaskan village to which there are no witnesses. (This work is complete; chapters will be posted on Fridays; a smutty epilogue will be posted separately.)

75 k words to be posted in 17 chapters + epilogue; T for flirting, mild blood/gore/violence (canon-typical), and uncoworkerly thoughts; the late Season 1 baby agents undercover married slow burn only-one-bed fic cryptic cryptid monster of the week I always wanted to write (read on AO3)

I heap blessings upon my betas @calimanc and @enoughslices <3

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3

+ + + +

The next day started the same way as the previous one had: Scully woke in the warm circle of Mulder’s arms and stayed there for a few breaths before either of them moved. At least she’d woken before the alarm this time, her body still dealing with the strange way time slipped during cross-continental travel. She could indulge herself for a moment without having to conquer the beeping. It was much easier to believe Mulder was still asleep, unaware that she was loitering.

She roused him reluctantly, sliding out of the bed and stretching in the narrow space between the mattress and the sofa. Then it was outhouse, breakfast, the awkward ritual of dressing in the same small room. There had to be a better way, she thought, putting on her bra under her shirt. She wished she’d brought sports bras instead of underwires, but then they'd be harder to put on. She'd stick to her underwires and her gym class strategies. At least their ill-gotten coffee had been good. Scully sipped at a second cup to fortify herself while Mulder laced up his boots.

It was a cool morning and the air was damp, so Scully put on a Goretex jacket with more zippered pockets than anyone really needed over her sweatshirt. She liked this jacket. From a distance, the sleek black fabric and the styling looked almost like a leather motorcycle jacket. It was edgier than her usual choices, but still practical. It seemed like the kind of thing a wealthy person with little experience of the woods would buy for their first outdoorsy excursion, and it kept the rain off. No one needed to know she’d gotten it on sale.

It would be colder on the water, with the wind whipping past them. The boat was too small to have a real cabin. The windshield would keep the worst of it out of their faces, but it wouldn’t keep the cool air currents from swirling in behind them. Mulder bundled up too, in a green barn jacket with a brown leather collar. It felt deeply casual, old money chic, especially when he slipped on a pair of sunglasses. They were living up to their cover story.

They walked down the boardwalk. The galleries and the little shops and the coffeehouse stood empty, their windows dark. The tide was in, as Scully had predicted. The dock wobbled in the water as they climbed into the boat. Scully took them around the spit that made up most of Halibut Cove and into the waters of Kachemak. The bay was gorgeous in the early light. The sun had been up for hours, but the mountains kept part of the water in shadow. The boat skimmed across the surface, leaving a churn of white wake.

“I bet you can see whales here,” Mulder shouted to her.

“Now I have to watch out for whales?” Scully said, but she slowed the boat, keeping an eye on the surface of the water. She didn’t see any flukes or rounded spines breaching the surface. Hopefully any whales in the vicinity would avoid the boat with its noisy engine. She imagined a quick maneuver to avoid a sudden whale and double-checked to make sure Mulder was wearing his life vest. He grinned at her, the wind whipping his hair, the vest buckled snugly around him. She turned back to the bow.

The half-hour trip across the water was uninterrupted by marine life. Scully maneuvered their boat neatly into the harbor that sheltered the Homer docks and tied it up at the boat shop’s slip.

“Oh,” said Grace when they walked in. “You’re here.” She sounded surprised.

“Came back for a few treats,” Mulder said, smiling that easy smile he rarely showed people.

“And you’re okay?” Grace said.

“Oh, we’re just loving it,” Scully said. She leaned into Mulder, gazing up at him with what she hoped was adoration in her eyes. He put his arm around her and smiled. It all felt so strange, at once easy and unaccustomed, but she knew that their cover was integral to their investigation, especially in an insular place like this. Small towns were often suspicious of federal agents. “Such a shame no one’s there, of course, but we’re loving the solitude. I’ve never been anywhere like this and it’s so nice not to have to share it with anyone.”

“It’s nice not to have to share you with anyone,” Mulder murmured, just a little too loud to be for her ears only.

Scully put her hand on Mulder’s stomach, making sure her ring was visible. She didn’t think Grace was the type to be impressed by the jewelry, but she’d learned not to miss opportunities to let people incriminate themselves. There might be other eyes watching that she wasn’t aware of. “Sweetie, we’re in public now.”

“Sorry.” Mulder grinned. “I think we said it’s our honeymoon.”

“It’s okay,” Grace said, no expression on her face. Scully had seen that kind of rural reserve before. She wondered if it masked some kind of distaste or disapproval for silly out-of-towners, or something closer to loathing. Maybe Grace just didn’t want to think about what Mulder had implied they were doing all alone in Halibut Cove, in their tiny cottage that was mostly bed. Scully supposed she’d have disdain for anybody who came so far just to stay inside, although the weather was nice enough they could have been enjoying each other al fresco. She cut off that line of thought: that way lay reverie-induced blushing and also unpleasant thoughts of bugs in places bugs ought not be.

“We’ve been hiking around,” Scully said firmly. “Grace, do you know if there’s anything we need to watch out for? Snakes or ticks or things like that? I forgot to buy a guidebook.”

“They’ve got ‘em up at the museum gift shop,” Grace said.

“There’s a museum!” Mulder turned to her. “Honey, did you hear that?”

“I did!” Scully said. “That sounds so cute. Is it far?”

“Nothing’s too far in Homer,” Grace said without humor. “Go on up the Spit Road until you hit Pioneer Avenue. Take a right. Then a left on Bartlett Street and it’s right there. If you get to Seaview, you went too far.”

“Thanks,” Mulder said. “Gosh, you’ve been so helpful. Are you allowed to accept tips?”

“I guess?” Grace said. “Doesn’t happen too often.”

Mulder pulled out his wallet and handed her a $20. “We’ve really appreciated all your help.”

“Haven’t done much,” Grace mumbled, but she accepted the bill, folding it into her pocket.

“Will you be here when we get back?” Scully said. “Do you work all day?”

“Yep,” Grace said. “Mostly just here. I’ll be seeing you.”

They climbed into their Jeep.

“Know where we’re going?” Scully asked.

“Right on Pioneer, left on Bartlett,” Mulder recited. “You coming with me, or did you have a destination in mind?”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the museum,” Scully said. “A little local history. I would like to go to the library after that, though.”

“Not the hospital?”

“Not right now,” she said. “I need more information. Willa Harker isn’t a doctor. Anyway, we should probably stick together. I can’t imagine most people on their honeymoon spend a lot of time apart.”

“Probably not,” Mulder said. “And in a town this small, somebody would notice.”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” she said idly.

“I’ve had worse.” He turned. “Help me look for Bartlett.”

She peered out the windshield. It wasn’t far — Grace was right that nothing was that far away, at least in the central part of town. They parked in the lot in front of the museum, an eclectic building that seemed to be put together from several construction kits that had been mixed together. The bright red siding was cheerful, but a bit at odds with the heavy beams over the porch. Scully imagined it was cozy in the winter.

They climbed the steps, Mulder’s hand at the small of Scully’s back, and entered the museum. Behind the desk was a little old woman of the make and model that Scully had always associated with extreme civic vigor, who were either effusively warm or suspicious until a person proved their worthiness. She had long white hair tied up in a heavy bun and a vest embroidered with the museum logo. Her name tag said “Miss Violet”.

“Visitors,” Miss Violet said in a slightly dismissive tone, which answered Scully’s question.

“Good morning,” Mulder said in his best company voice. “Is the museum open?”

“Door wasn’t locked,” Miss Violet said. “So.”

Scully laughed brightly. “This town is so sweet,” she said to Mulder. “Don’t you think so?”

“We just love it here,” Mulder confided to Miss Violet. “It’s such a special place. And Grace down at the boat rental told us we couldn’t miss the museum.”

“She’s a good girl,” said Miss Violet, thawing a little.

“Could we get two adults, please?” Scully asked.

“Sixteen dollars,” Miss Violet says.

“I thought I saw five dollars on the sign,” Mulder said.

“That’s for Alaska residents,” Miss Violet said with no change in expression. “Eight dollars for you. Each. Special out of town rate.” Scully passed her a $20 bill. “Sorry, no change.”

“That’s all right,” Scully said and tucked a $10 in the donations box. “It’s such a charming little museum. We’re always happy to support places like this, aren’t we, Jon?”

“Oh, we live for that kind of philanthropy,” Mulder said smoothly.

Miss Violet handed them two tickets. “You can go in any order. Special exhibit’s about whale watching.”

“Thank you so much,” Mulder said. “Ready, honey?”

“So excited,” Scully said, half to Miss Violet.

The museum was charming. Each exhibit was packed with artifacts, each section carefully labeled and described in detail on the various plaques and displays. They wandered through the warren of rooms, taking their time. There were displays of traditional Alaska Native clothing and tools, which Scully found fascinating. How outside all her own experience it was, the way people had endured here, their lives tied to the cycle of the seasons. She admired the carving marks on a handmade canoe, imagining the strength and patience it would take to turn a tree into a graceful craft equipped for the strong and unpredictable currents of the Cook Inlet.

The modern history was somewhat less inspiring: more a tale of commodification than ingenuity, the bays valued for the commercial value of their wildlife rather than their beauty and diversity. The white settlers had gazed at the wild lands and waters and seen dollar signs in the form of gold and timber, oil and salmon. It seemed a shame in a way, but then again, if the history had happened differently, she wouldn’t be standing in this museum learning about the way things had been before.

“Did you know fox farming was one of this area’s important industries?” Scully asked, gazing at a collection of grey pelts. They made her feel a little nauseated. When she’d seen fur before, she’d imagined free animals trapped in the wild, not captives in cages.

“Your husband isn’t worried about that at all,” Mulder said, with a slight emphasis on “your husband”.

“No, he wouldn’t be,” Scully said, amused despite the grim display.

An exhibit about local wildlife caught Mulder’s eye. “Hey, Sc… Willa, take a look at this.”

“Hmm?” She wandered away from a display of plant life. Next to Mulder, a taxidermied grizzly on its hind legs towered over both of them.

“‘The Kenai Peninsula is home to wolves, lynx, and bears’,” Mulder read. “Fortunately it seems like it's mostly black bears, not grizzlies. ‘In addition to these terrestrial predators, the waters of the Cook Inlet support aquatic predators like orcas, whales, and sharks. Occasional reports of mysterious creatures have given rise to a variety of local legends, but none of these reports have ever been substantiated’.”

“The so-called Kachemak Specter,” Scully said, peering into a corner of the exhibit. There was a blurry photograph of trees. There might have been a deeper shadow hidden in the darkness between the trunks, but it was impossible to tell. A helpful sketch beside the photo failed to illuminate the scene or reveal the angular creature depicted. “That doesn’t sound angelic.”

“It might sound demonic.”

She nodded slowly. “If not definitive. Or necessarily real.”

Mulder tilted his head, accepting her caveat. “It’s something, though.”

“It might be.” She brooded on the photograph.

They spent some time in the archives, looking through old documents: more photos, letters, newspapers. It was interesting to see the way the area had developed, but there were no more pictures of anything resembling the Kachemak Specter. Scully did find various news articles detailing the disappearance of various people around the Kenai Peninsula. She nudged Mulder gently. He skimmed each one and nodded.

“Should have brought the camera,” he murmured. “Maybe one day there will be cameras we can attach to our cell phones.”

“That’s crazy talk,” Scully said indulgently.

They had spent a few hours in the museum when Scully realized she was hungry. She tapped Mulder’s arm. “Lunchtime.”

“Just one more drawer,” he said absently, but she took his hand, twining her fingers through his, and dragged him away. They paused in the museum gift shop to buy a notebook with mountains embossed into it, a museum-branded pen, and a guidebook to the local flora and fauna. Miss Violet rang them up, her frown converted to a warm and inviting flat line.

“We so enjoyed our time here,” Scully said. “What a lovely collection you have.”

“So informative,” Mulder added. “Wow. I learned so much. Just amazing.” He beamed at Miss Violet, hands thrust casually into his jacket pockets like a model in an ad.

The corners of Miss Violet’s mouth turned up a fraction. “We’re proud of our museum. Only one on Kenai.”

“Could you recommend somewhere for lunch?” Scully asked. “Somewhere the locals love.”

“Fish Shack,” Miss Violet said, immediately and firmly. She gave them directions. “Won’t find better. They catch it fresh. Cook it right.”

“Miss Violet,” Mulder said, “we really appreciate all your help today.” He beamed at her. Miss Violet’s mouth twitched up another few degrees. “You might see us again. I just know there’s so much more to discover here.”

“Always is,” Miss Violet allowed. A group of visitors came in — children wearing matching t-shirts emblazoned with the logo of a summer camp and two teenage counselors followed by one harried-looking adult clutching a clipboard like it was her lifeline. Miss Violet turned away to sort through the chaos. Mulder and Scully slipped out the door.

“I’ll drive,” Scully said, and Mulder passed her the keys. He was already slipping the notebook and pen out of the museum gift shop bag, jotting down notes from the newspapers and letters they’d read. His nearly eidetic memory came in handy for the moments they didn’t have cameras. Scully drove to the Fish Shack as he scribbled, occasionally asking her to confirm a detail or to note a link she made between the sources.

“That’s a lot of disappearances,” he said as Scully parked in the gravel lot.

“It’s not an easy place to live for any number of reasons,” Scully said. “Still. There might be something to it.”

The Fish Shack was everything Miss Violet had promised. The fish was fried to perfection and served with hush puppies, the best fries Scully had ever tasted, and a heaping scoop of coleslaw that had just the right amount of mayo. They ate at a shaky table in front of a big window looking out over the bay, which Scully was sure only improved the flavor of the food. For dessert, they had huckleberry pie.

“We pick them right here on the peninsula,” the waitress said proudly. “But you gotta get it with the ice cream.”

“You talked us into it,” Mulder said, taking Scully’s hand. “I mean, we’re on vacation, right, honey?”

“You’re so right,” Scully said.

It was the right choice. They paid for their meal, Mulder adding a jar of mooseberry jam to the tab in exchange for directions to the library. The waitress assured them it was also made from local harvests and they wouldn’t find better anywhere.

“It’s kind of sour,” the waitress said, “but it’s real good. Too bad you're here so early in the summer. You'll miss the huckleberries when they're fresh.”

“I like things that are a little sour,” Mulder said, putting his arm around Scully. “I’ve got enough sweet at home already. It’s all about balance, right? I’m sure we’re gonna enjoy this.”

“Careful,” Scully said as they got back into the Jeep. “She’s going to tell everyone you’re looking for a third.”

“I can’t handle one wife, let alone two,” Mulder said, shifting the seat back and putting the car in gear.

“Fortunately, you don’t have to handle me much,” Scully murmured.

“Only in bed,” Mulder said, not looking at her.

“I was probably cold,” Scully said. She was still holding the jam jar. She put it in the cup holder between the seats.

“Sure,” Mulder said. “Me too.”

Scully looked out the window, pretending to be interested in the town. There wasn’t that much to see, but she looked hard anyway. Mercifully, the drive to the library wasn’t long. It was a charming building: green and glass, low and modern. Mulder charmed one of the librarians into showing them the back issues of The Homer News (“My wife Willa here, she just loves reading all the human interest stuff. Everywhere we go, she wants to see what people’s lives are like.”). The librarian smiled indulgently and left them alone.

They settled into a rhythm, Scully checking the obituaries while Mulder scoured the smaller news articles. Neither of them figured they’d find the Kachemak Specter on the front page. Mulder had brought in the notebook. He wrote down anything that either of them found interesting, on the theory that it was better to have too much information.

“More obituaries in the winter,” Scully said. “And missing persons.”

“Nocturnal predators?” Mulder suggested, his voice heavy with meaning.

“Or people getting tired of the cold and dark,” Scully said. “I can’t imagine a town this small has that much by way of mental health services, for one. Most of the major industries have a high accident rate. It’s easy to make a mistake if your response times are slowed by torpor.”

“I know mine are,” Mulder said.

She ignored him, flipping through the old papers. When they got to the archives that had been preserved on microfiche, Mulder left her to it, browsing around the rest of the library. He came back with a slim book with a big sticker proclaiming it to be by a local author.

“Can you believe it, Willa? They’ve got a book about folktales of the Kenai Peninsula. I love this stuff.” He pulled a chair over next to her. “Oooh, Sasquatch.”

“Yes, dear,” she said. “Maybe if you ask nicely, Bigfoot will come home with us.”

“Now that would be a honeymoon to remember,” he said. “Do you think he likes mooseberry jam?”

They passed the notebook back and forth between them, Scully recording the details of some of the more interesting obituaries and Mulder occasionally borrowing it to add something from his own reading. It was peaceful, a little like being back in the office. After three decades of old newspapers, Scully stopped and stretched.

“I think that’s enough for today,” she said. “I have enough data to look for some patterns. Besides, that's the end of the Homer News. Anything else will be from less-local sources.”

“Hit the grocery store, dinner, and back to the cottage?” Mulder suggested.

“Sounds good,” Scully said.

They limited themselves at the store, only picking up the things they’d previously discussed and a box of granola bars. For dinner, they found a restaurant where not every option was fried, although Scully thought longingly of the options she’d passed up at lunch. There was still seafood, though, served with pasta and a satisfyingly crunchy salad. Afterward, they went back to the boat rental. Grace was still there.

“Hey,” she said, her face still mostly expressionless, but Scully was beginning to be able to read the angle of Grace’s eyebrows. Grace was worried.

“It’s us!” Mulder said cheerfully. “Headed back to our cozy little getaway.” He was carrying a paper bag of groceries in each arm.

“Grace, do you know if there are whales in the bay?” Scully asked.

“Yeah,” Grace said. “Be careful out there. Lighthouse is a good place to see them, if you’ve been there.”

“Oh yeah,” Mulder said. “It wasn’t too far, maybe a fifteen minute walk? Should we go in the morning?”

Grace shrugged. “Any time, really. Whales don’t keep a schedule.”

“You’re so helpful,” Mulder marveled. “I wish we could hire you as a guide. We were hoping to do some hiking in the next few days, maybe to the other edge of the village? Seems like it’s kind of out in the woods. We’re not exactly experienced hikers.”

“Huh,” Grace said. “Maybe Logan could go. I’ll ask him.”

“That’s great!” Scully said. “Can he just meet us there tomorrow? Maybe around ten a.m.? We’ve been getting a late start.” She batted her eyes at Mulder. The look he gave her in return made her stomach flutter.

“Sure,” Grace said. “If he doesn’t show up, he isn’t coming.”

“Makes sense,” Mulder nodded. “But let him know we’re happy to pay him. A hundred bucks a day sound fair? We wouldn’t want to go too far.”

“Probably,” Grace said. “I think he’d do it for fifty.” She thought to herself, then snorted. “Start with fifty. He’d just get himself in trouble with more.”

“Thank you so much, Grace,” Scully said. “We appreciate all your help.”

“Yeah, our time here so far has been so special,” Mulder said, giving her a melting look. “I don’t know how we would have gotten out there without you. Though it would be nice to be able to get a cup of coffee — do you think folks are coming back soon?”

“Dunno,” Grace said, not meeting their eyes. “Could be any time.”

“I guess you never know with volcanos and things like that,” Scully said, tittering. The laugh sounded fake to her, but apparently it soothed Grace a little. She could almost see the thought behind Grace’s eyes: she and Mulder were out-of-towners, foolish but harmless, silly enough to avoid trouble just because they couldn’t imagine there being trouble.

Scully hoped that was true.

“Guess we ought to get back,” Mulder said, shifting his burdens in his arms. “We’ll look for Logan at ten tomorrow by the coffee shop, okay?”

“He’ll be there,” Grace said.

They went out to the boat. The dock in Homer also floated, attached to the boardwalk by a ramp that rose and fell with the tide. How interesting it must be to work at the boat rental, feeling the building shift with the water. Scully climbed into the boat and took the groceries from Mulder. He wobbled a little as the boat shifted and she offered him her hand to steady him. He clasped her wrist, stepping into the boat.

“Thanks,” he said.

“We all need a little help sometimes,” she said. He was still holding her hand, his thumb moving slowly over the skin of her wrist where her jacket cuff had pulled up. “Should we go?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Back to our cozy little cottage.”

They pulled their life vests out of the storage bin and put them on. Scully navigated out of the harbor and into the bay. They idled over the water, making slow progress. Mulder dug out their guidebook and paged through it.

“Definitely whale season,” he said. He leaned toward the side windshield, peering out into the bay. Clouds were scudding across the sky, their tops golden in the evening sun. The water of the bay was dark.

“This place is so beautiful,” Scully said, sounding a little wistful to herself.

“Everywhere you turn,” Mulder agreed. “It’s awesome, in the sense of kindling awe.” He sighed. “Doesn’t it make you believe we could live here?”

“What,” Scully said, “throw it all away? Move to Alaska?”

“You could be a country doctor,” Mulder said. “I could… do something.”

Scully laughed. “I’m not sure either of us is really cut out for small-town life. You still pull late hours as a country doctor. If I wrapped up at the hospital at midnight and couldn’t get takeout after, I don’t think I’d last long.”

“I’d have a hot dinner waiting for you,” Mulder said. “And a martini. The martini wouldn’t be hot, if you were confused by the antecedent.”

“But would you be wearing the frilly apron?” Scully teased.

“Of course,” Mulder said. “It’s de rigeur.”

“Good to know you’re keeping up the standards, even out here,” Scully said. They were joking, she knew, but it was sweet to think about being here together. The two of them, in this incredible place, holding on to each other as the familiar: it was a pretty dream, somehow. But Mulder was right. Her skills would translate more easily than his. She couldn’t see him back in law enforcement on the small-town beat. A bachelor’s degree in psychology didn’t qualify him to practice. In a place like this, even his skill at researching would be less useful, without the institutional access they had in DC.

But still, for a moment, she indulged herself: thoughts of long summer days picking huckleberries, thoughts of long winter nights curled up by the fire. If there were anyone she’d go to the ends of the earth with, it was probably Mulder. Her sister would scold her about it, but Melissa hadn’t met Mulder yet. She didn’t understand the way that Mulder had already reshaped Scully’s world. She’d been so many places before she’d met him, and yet, he’d shown her things she never would have imagined. She knew it would be the same here.

But this was a case. Willa and Jon Harker were fictions, crafted for purpose. Their relationship was a soap bubble. Whatever intimacies they invented wouldn’t survive contact with the real world. Back at the Bureau, Mulder would still put his hand at the small of her back to usher her into a room, but just because he’d been raised with a particular set of manners.

They reached Halibut Cove while Scully was still deep in thought.

“You’re quiet,” Mulder said as they tied up the boat. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not worth it.” She climbed onto the dock and he passed the groceries up to her before climbing out and retrieving them. They walked back to the cottage. It felt achingly domestic to unlock the door to the little space that was cluttered with their things, to put the food away together. They squeezed onto the bench together, poring over the notebook. After a while, Scully let Mulder have it to himself and moved to the sofa with the guidebook they’d bought. She curled up with her feet tucked under her and flipped through the book.

“I’ve seen a lot of these around,” she said, pointing at a glossy photo of small white flowers. “They’re planted in front of some of the houses. Sitka valerian.”

“Hmm,” Mulder said. “Native?”

“Yeah,” Scully said. “So maybe they’re not planted. Maybe they just grow.”

“A useful distinction,” Mulder said, his attention clearly on their notes. “Potentially.”

“Maybe so,” Scully said. She found entries for huckleberries and mooseberries, which turned out to be similar to blueberries and cranberries, respectively. Her fingertips smoothed the page with a fondness. She was going to taste that huckleberry pie every time she thought about this case, the richness of the flavors lingering on her tongue as Mulder smiled at her and sunshine sparkled on the bay.

She caught herself yawning after a while. She looked up to find Mulder’s eyes on her.

“Shower time?” he asked.

She nodded and gathered her things. They walked to the gallery. Scully noticed clusters of Sitka valerian here and there, white blossoms bright in the soft evening light. They showered in the empty gallery. Scully thought of all the abandoned buildings on the spit: the houses, the coffee shop, the other gallery, the restaurant. They should have made a map of the places they’d found the Dust. There had to be some pattern. She couldn’t see it yet, but she knew she would, if she could look at it right.

She found Mulder in the main space, dressed in his pajamas. He was stroking his chin, which was shaded with a day’s accumulation of stubble.

“I was thinking of growing a vacation beard,” he said. “What do you think?”

“Willa feels okay about it,” Scully said. “Fortunately, she won’t have to experience any scratchiness.”

“That would be a concern, huh,” Mulder said.

Scully shrugged. “Theoretically. Based on our cover story.”

“I’ll give it a couple of days,” Mulder decided. “It’s character work.”

“Whatever you say,” she told him.

They walked back. Scully broke off a sprig of valerian and sniffed it. The flowers smelled sweet. Mulder ducked his head and she held the spray of blossoms to his nose.

“Is that the valerian?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Scully said. “Apparently the root is quite pungent, but the flowers smell nice.”

Mulder took the flowers from her and tucked them over her ear. “There.”

“So I smell better?” Scully asked.

“You always smell good,” he said. “They look nice in your hair.”

Scully wasn’t sure she wasn’t blushing. “Thanks.”

They finished getting ready for bed, the routines of brushing their teeth and pulling the blinds feeling familiar already. Scully put her valerian in a mug of water. Mulder built a fire in the stove, turning the logs and closing the flue down so they’d burn all night. They climbed into bed and read for a little while to make sure the fire was burning right.

“Should one of us stay up?” Scully asked.

“We haven’t seen anything yet that would necessitate that,” Mulder said, slipping off his reading glasses. “Do you want to?”

“I think at this point, we’re both light sleepers,” Scully said. “Let’s get some rest. If we need to keep watch tomorrow, we can plan better.”

“Sounds good.” Mulder turned out the lights. “Good night, Willa.”

“Night, Jon.” She cuddled down under the covers. It was warmer already in the small space of the cottage. She wouldn’t need to snuggle into Mulder in the middle of the night.

She tried not to feel a little wistful about that.

#my fic #leiascully fic #all awash with angels fic #msr fanfic #the xfiles fanfic

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