#(Scully voice) fine. whatever.

[limnsaber]

To explain what I was talking about late late last night but ended up talking around: The X Files wonderfully embodies a spectrum of human emotion, but to me, does none so as well as the way it talks about wonder and love.

On the part of love it says: the truths we look for are in other people. The way we love other people is how we win. Not out of fear but out of love and the bonds we have with each other are the most important truth we can hope to know.

On the part of wonder the X Files says: to look into the unknown is so wonderfully human. To gaze at the stars and wonder at what we find there is human nature. To search for truth -- the truths of the universe, of the unknown, the truths between me and you, is wonderfully, essentially human. It's part of our nature to search for these things and Samantha is the heart of this. Aside from Samantha's disappearance being the inciting event of the show, she is the embodiment of this mystery. To wonder at the stars knowing she's up there, to search for the truth and find greater ones in turn -- Samantha is the key to this.

So to kill her off as an aside just to reach 'closure'; to make her nothing more than a victim rather than the person who invites and embodies for both Mulder and Scully the part that's so achingly unknown seemed like a horrible tragedy to me. Where did it go. Was the truth we found human cruelty??? Was that it the whole time????

In s4-s5 and Fight the Future, it seemed that we inched ever nearer to finding Samantha. It was teased that she was alive: that like the truths we hoped to find, she was still out there, waiting. There was a point at which the extraterrestrial mirrored the human. FTF and these middle seasons almost seemed to say: no, there is no fundamental difference between extraterrestrial and human cruelty. The extraterrestrial forces were in conflict just the same way human forces were. Samantha was sent away embodying the hopes of humanity, however horrible that decision was. Of course, we can't ignore that Samantha was a victim, and the later seasons of the X Files lean into this. Abduction is a violent act, and what Scully, Samantha, and the MUFON women went through was horrible. I really would've loved it if they explored this more, but they didn't, and still there's this contrariness to Samantha's abduction.

It's said in FTF that Bill Mulder held two hopes -- that Mulder would uncover the abuse of the Syndicate and reveal the truth, and that Samantha would be allowed the chance to survive and would be able to give that to the world. There were extraterrestrial rebels fighting against colonization and the Syndicate the same way Mulder and Scully do. This contrariness, this uncertainty, is part of the X Files too.

Samantha's abduction always implied that she would be returned. We were teased that she would be found. Over and over, we are told that she is alive, that she is still out there for Mulder to find. Whether she was a human test subject or off in the stars, the truth was living and breathing, waiting to be found.

The X Files says the truth is out there, that looking to the stars is part of the human experience, that our connections to each other are so fundamental to our worldview and that they enable us to endure anything. The X Files is wonder at the heart, the intersection of the unknown and known, and that the truth is each other. Samantha was Scully and Mulder's first step to that truth. Even with everything that they endured, the wonder and love that is the motivating force of everything that we see is inextinguishable. Samantha is the vessel for these beliefs.

Retconning Samantha Mulder from her place embodying the hopes and dreams of humanity, however horribly that came about, to a child that was abused until she died weakens the sentiments at the heart of The X Files.

yk i’m at the point that i literally don’t accept s7e11 “closure” as canon. it makes me ANGRY now because the more i look at all the past seasons and everything they’ve done with the samantha arc and how important it’s been to mulder’s character, it just defaces and denies all of it. it just- it’s not fair. after all mulder has been through to continue to believe that samantha was abducted just for it to be thrown out the window? for him to accept it finally in a way which was supposed to be meaningful and big but altogether uncharacteristic and hollow? it’s like they tried to abide by paper hearts ideologies but through a seemingly unnessary dark meandering of new paranormalities. it also creates so much more inconsistency along with what we started to see from s5 and beyond in the samantha plot, it doesn’t explain it. for instance, in the colony arc, the samantha-looking clones say “how could we know so much about her” and WHO if not samantha is this woman they were modeled after??? did the clones just grow old from the little samantha’s on that bee farm thing so they knew what she’d age like?? IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!!! IT’S NOT ENOUGH!! CC YOU CANT GET AWAY THAT EASY!!

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 30: When You Know What You Want

Prompt: "I won't let you down"

Mulder and Scully have to babysit baby Matthew Scully. Rating: T, wc: 1,416

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

“Mulder, it’s me.” The clock reads 8.57 a.m. when he answers Scully’s phone call – the same time she usually strolls into their basement office.

“Is everything all right?” He’s trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Whatever is going on, Scully doesn’t need him freaking out.

“More or less,” she says with a sigh and he’s half out of his chair already. “I can’t come into the office today.”

“Are you sick?” He squeezes the phone between his ear and shoulder, opening his email, ready to inform Skinner that neither he nor Scully will be available today.

“No, I’m fine – I mean, I’m not sick.” She sighs again. “My sister-in-law Tara called me half an hour ago, frantic because my brother Bill is running late and she has a job interview. My mom is on a trip with her book club and well, I guess that left me.”

“You didn’t mention your brother was in town.”

“I didn’t know,” she says through gritted teeth. “He didn’t want me to know. It was supposed to be some big surprise. That completely backfired. Either way, I’m watching the baby until Tara comes back and it could be hours.”

“Do you want company?” He doesn’t even need to think about it. He’d much rather babysit Bill Jr. baby son than sit around in the office all day, missing Scully.

“You don’t have to do that, Mulder.”

“What if I want to?” She takes her time thinking about it.

“Only if you want to,” she says, but he’s certain he hears relief in her voice. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part.

“I’ll contact Skinner and then I’m on my way.”

“Oh Mulder, if you’re coming over, could you pick up a few things on the way for me? Just in case.”

“Sure thing. I won’t let you down.”

*

Scully’s “just-in-case” list is longer than any grocery list he’s ever written for himself. He finds everything easily enough and catches several looks from women – mothers, mostly – who gawk at him.

“Your wife is so lucky,” one says in passing and Mulder stares after her, speechless, convinced he’s in a parallel universe. He forgets about it quickly, hurrying to get to Scully and baby Matthew. He met the boy as an infant; his face had been wrinkly and his eyes closed.

Since then, he hasn’t even seen a picture of the boy. He wonders why. Scully has mentioned him here and there, just like she’s mentioned other members of her family. But he doesn’t know what to expect when he knocks at the door, hoping the baby isn’t asleep.

Scully opens the door with the boy on her hip, smiling at Mulder.

“Hi,” he says, overwhelmed all of a sudden. Scully with a baby in her arms is a sight he doesn’t get to see often. He’s surprised how many emotions it unleashes in him.

“This is my friend, Mulder,” Scully explains to Matthew in a soft voice that makes Mulder stare at her in awe. “Do you want to say hi?”

“No.” It’s more spit than letters and the expression reminds Mulder of the baby’s father. He hopes the dislike isn’t genetic.

“That’s his favorite word,” Scully says, running a hand over Matthew’s soft, reddish hair. The Scully genes must be strong.

As he steps inside, he can’t help but wonder what their child would look like; his and Scully’s. Would their child have red hair, too? Would it have Scully’s nose? God, he hopes so.

“Here’s the- here’s everything you asked for.” He hands her the bag, forgetting that she has the child in her arms. The transfer is awkward but they manage.

“Can you hold him for a second? He doesn’t bite.” Scully hands him the baby and for a moment, the two just stare at each other.

“Hello, Matthew. You probably don’t remember me,” Mulder says as Matthew reaches for his nose. They always go for the nose. “I met you when you were born.”

“Guh!” he exclaims, seemingly agreeing with Mulder.

“I work with your aunt, you know. She’s great, isn’t she? She is. You smell like cookies, Matt. I bet she let you have cookies, huh? Remember how cool she is. You can always come to her when your parents – well, when you need a place to stay.” Matthew listens to him carefully, a finger in his otherwise open mouth. He’s quiet and not fussy, surprising Mulder. He’s heard horror stories of toddlers having crying fits when in a stranger’s arms. Not this little Scully.

“I think you might be my new favorite Scully,” Mulder confesses to him, tickling his stomach and making him gurgle with laughter.

“I’m no longer your favorite?” Scully just stands there in the doorway, her arms crossed, a big smile on her face.

“Matt, I think I’m in trouble.” The boy just laughs again. “You’re still my favorite Scully, Scully,” he assures her. “But this one’s quite cute, too.”

“He is,” she agrees and he thinks he sees a flicker of pain cross her face. “You can hand him back now. Unless you want to feed him.”

“Sorry, pal,” Mulder says, handing the toddler back to Scully, “I’m not qualified for that.”

*

“Toddlers are messy,” Mulder remarks a couple of hours later after Tara has come to pick up Matthew. She apologized to Scully – and Mulder – for springing the boy on them, but both assured her that they didn’t mind.

“They are,” Scully agrees, picking up random toys. She didn’t ask him to stay and help her clean up, but he thought it was the least he could do. Especially after his interactive storytelling in which several plush toys were flying around Scully’s living room.

“But they’re also cute.”

“They are that, too.” Her voice is soft; too much so. He thinks about the moment earlier when he thought he saw something in her expression. There’s something in the air and he isn’t sure if he should grasp for it.

“He has that Scully hair.” Scully chuckles, without looking over at Mulder.

“Bill always hated it when he was younger. I hope it will be easier for Matthew.” She’s holding one of the stuffed animals in her hand; a small giraffe. Mulder just watches her, waits.

“Mulder?”

“Yes?” She’s still not even looking at him, making his heart beat faster, knowing she’s going to say something important.

“Have you ever… I know we once talked about- but have you ever seriously considered having children?” He wishes she were looking at him. He wants to see her face when he says this. But he knows this moment is fragile as it is and he’ll take what he can get.

“For the longest time, I didn’t. It just never crossed my mind and my life – the job… it just wasn’t anything I thought about. Then I met Emily and I saw you with her and…”

“Emily?” Scully turns around and her eyes are full of tears. He nods slowly.

“That’s when I started thinking about it.”

“You could meet someone tomorrow and-”

“I have met her already, Scully. I think you know that.” His admission is not a surprise. Scully glares at him for a second before she looks away, nodding to herself.

“That’s… that makes this easier, actually,” she says, laughing uncomfortably.

“Makes what easier?” Suddenly his heart is pounding, his throat dry.

“I got a second opinion on my ova and um, they say there’s a chance. A chance for me to have a baby.”

“Scully, that is wonderful news.”

“I’ve been thinking about it – debating it, actually. Whether it was something I even wanted to explore. Today showed me that I… that I want to at least try. I have to try.” A few tears fall from her eyes and Mulder nods, overwhelmed by emotions, too. A Scully baby. Red hair, blue eyes, and a sweet smile.

Her child.

“When I thought about it, even before I made a decision, the only person I considered asking…,” she trails off. He has a hunch, but right now is not the time to jump ahead. So he waits. He looks at her, proving that he can be patient. He will be there for her, no matter how long it takes.

“I want you to be the other part of the equation.”

And there it is. His heart takes flight and he doesn’t even need to think about it. He grins at her, hoping she understands.

[actual-changeling]

i thought about the end scene of 'beyond the sea' too many times and this is the result. mulder is so soft with her for the entirety of the episode, and it drives me insane.

first ficlet i've ever written for these two, so hopefully i got their voices right.

—

Mulder's hand against her arm is warm and comfortably heavy, a tether keeping her close enough to the ground to not drift away like she's been prone to do for the last few days. When her eyes flutter shut on their own accord, Scully doesn't fight it, all too aware of the hours of sleep she hasn't been getting.

Between fragmented nightmares about her father and the feeling of blood under her fingernails—Mulder's, dried and darkened no matter how hard she scrubbed—the last time she got more than twenty minutes at a time was before she saw her father's ghost in the flickering television light. The regular beeping of the machines echoing through the hospital room calms her somewhat; they're familiar sounds, no matter how far from medical school she might have ended up.

"Maybe you should head home, get some rest," Mulder suggests softly after an extended period of amicable silence, slightly squeezing her shoulder before reclaiming his hand. Her fingers twitch against the sheets as she fights the urge to chase after him, her body suddenly oddly cold. When she opens her eyes again, she catches him staring at her with concern clouding his gaze.

"I'm fine." 

It's a reflexive answer, a lie she keeps telling even though they are both aware she's everything but.

"I know," he replies, smoothing his palm down her arm until he can gently take her hand, and the chill disappears as quickly as it has arrived. "The last couple of days have just been a lot, and you deserve a break."

The noise is out of her mouth before she can stop it—something between a dismissal and a sob, tinged with bone-deep exhaustion. Even if she were to go back to an apartment full of Christmas decorations and unwanted quietude, she wouldn't be able to get any rest at all; not with guilt sitting on the bottom of her lungs and fear poisoning her breaths.

Scully tightens her grasp on his hand and turns to watch his heartbeat weave its way across the monitor. Alive, it whispers, over and over and over. 

Alivealivealive, and no thanks to her. 

She thought about it a few times, only when the darkness seemed entirely ubiquitous and the sleep deprivation spun webs across her ceiling, if maybe her choice to join the FBI, to go against her father's wishes, to put her life on the line while the distance between them grew—if all the stress she caused him somehow made her responsible for his death. 

No matter what she tries to tell herself, her father will still be dead, and Mulder will still be injured because she allowed him to run off alone despite Bogg's warnings. She had known without wanting to that he was going to get hurt, and yet. Always too little, too late.

"…Dana."

A tug on her arm rips her back out of her mind, and the worry carved deep into Mulder's face tells her that he has been trying to get her attention for longer than she can simply shrug off; she attempts to smile anyway and fails miserably.

"Whatever it is you're blaming yourself for, you're wrong."

"Mulder—"

He releases her hand in favour of cupping her cheek exactly as he had days ago in their office, and she relaxes into it without wanting to, the touch warm and comforting.

"If you don't want to go home, at least close your eyes for a little," he smiles for the two of them, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. Whatever protest she was about to utter dies on her tongue, so she simply nods. Mulder pulls back slightly to invitingly lift his arm, and for once, Scully doesn't even pretend to need time to consider it. 

God, she is beyond tired. 

She toes off her shoes and lies down on the scratchy hospital sheets, conscious of his injury as she carefully fits herself against his side. With her cheek resting on his chest and one palm above his heart, Scully closes her eyes and enjoys the comfort of Mulder holding her like she is doing him a favour. 

His fingers trace slow patterns up and down her back, and when she feels him press his lips to her hair, she inches impossibly closer in silent thanks.

The day bleeds from her limbs, and little by little, the tension in her aching muscles dissipates until only exhaustion and a familiar sense of safety remain. For the very first time since waking to see her father's ghost in her living room, sleep comes easily and remains completely dreamless. 

Mulder keeps her wrapped in his embrace and rests easier than he has in years.

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 9/34 - bedhead

[Read on AO3]

She wakes to something poking her in the face, and blinks blearily in confusion. With furrowed brows, she forces her eyes to focus on whatever is in front of her, and comes face to face with Mulder and his index finger, which gives her one final poke in the cheek.

“You that desperate to be the first one downstairs for present time, Scully?” he asks with an amused smile, leaning over her in the La-Z-Boy, which she somehow managed to stay asleep in all night long. He’s far too cheerful for whatever time it must be in the morning, but one whiff of the air tells her why. Coffee.

He waves a cup of the steaming liquid right below her nose, and it snaps her to attention within seconds, which draws a chuckle out of him. He gives her space to sit up and stretch her aching back before pressing the mug into her hands, ensuring that she has a handle on it before letting go.

“Does it count as being first if you’re asleep?” he asks. “Because if not, me and your nephew have you beat for first and second place. Bill’s been down, too.”

She’s too tired to worry about that. Instead she takes a long draw from her coffee cup and scans over to the tree, where countless beautifully wrapped gifts lay in wait for one terror of a two-year-old and the rest of the family to open them.

“You made coffee?” she asks, her voice raspy from disuse. She wonders what a sight she must be, with mussed bedhead and hair that had been allowed to air-dry after her shower the night before.

“Hope your mom doesn’t mind,” he answers. “Figured I’d try to have a peace offering ready in case Bill came down. I think it paid off.”

Just then, her brother enters the room, glancing over at her disapprovingly but saying nothing. Matthew trails after him with enough energy that Scully half wonders if he’d had a taste of the coffee too, and he plops himself in front of the tree, excitedly asking when he can start opening the presents.

Mulder stands and heads back to the couch, sitting on it casually and taking a sip of his own coffee. The quilt and pillow are nowhere to be seen, so he must have been up for a while. His sleep patterns will never make sense to her.

“Something wrong with your room, Dana?” Bill asks, standing up against the wall despite the open space on the couch next to Mulder.

“Couldn't sleep,” she answers, her tone one of warning should he continue this line of questioning. Thankfully, he gets the hint and shuts his mouth.

Once the caffeine starts to kick in, she excuses herself to go freshen up. When she returns, she casts a glance at the recliner that had served as her bed, and instead opts to sit by her partner. She sips from her refilled coffee mug, basking in the comfortable feeling of an early morning with the people she cares about most in the world all under one roof. Mulder is all soft edges this morning, still clad in flannel pajamas with bedhead that he'd done a poor job of straightening out. There seems to be a permanent contented smile on his face, though, as he watches her nephew agonize over not being able to open a present yet. Maybe he’s remembering a time when he had such zeal for the holiday.

Eventually the remaining Scully family makes their appearance, Tara and Maggie making a quick detour to the kitchen for their own daily dose of caffeine with Charlie right behind them.

“Morning, Fox,” Maggie says cheerfully before stooping to press a kiss to Dana’s cheek. “Sleep well?”

“Fine,” he answers truthfully.

If Bill seethes, Mulder takes no notice of it.

“There's the big bad feds,” Charlie teases, coming up behind them and messing their hair with each of his hands. “How was 'work'?”

Scully shoots him a look, effectively silencing him with her big sister sense of authority. He chuckles and takes a seat on the ground by the fireplace. 

With the entire family present and accounted for, Matthew is finally given the go-ahead for tearing into the gift wrapping, exclaiming excitedly with each toy he unwraps from Santa Claus.

“Pass me that green and white one, Matty,” Tara says, pointing to a small box under the tree and relaying it to her mother-in-law. Soon enough, there's a present in every person's hand, Mulder included. He gets some nice tie clips from Maggie and a box of dried meats from Bill and Tara (mostly just Tara, if Scully had to guess). Even Charlie had a package of nice socks to give him, probably a last-minute purchase, but appreciated nonetheless.

Mulder's beaming smile tears at her heart, and she wonders how long it has been since he's had a proper Christmas like this. Surrounded by family, excitement and cheer filling the air. She thinks she knows the answer, and it fills her with sadness. 

“Is there a present for Fox from you under here, Dana?” Maggie asks, now kneeling beside her grandson at the foot of the tree.

“Mulder and I already exchanged gifts, Mom,” she answers.

Exchanged a few other things too, she thinks. Most notably: vows.

Her mother looks up with interest. “Oh? What did he get you?”

Scully blushes. She hadn't been prepared to actually answer this question, though she probably should have been. “Oh, um… Jewelry,” she says, resisting the urge to touch the item in question under her shirt.

“Classic,” Charlie says, reaching out to fist bump Mulder.

“Actually, Scully, there is a little something else under that tree for you,” Mulder cuts in.

After last year's ‘we're not exchanging gifts’ gift exchange, she's not surprised, but she gives him an exasperated look anyway. “I thought you might say that,” she says, standing and grabbing a nicely wrapped package from behind the tree and handing it to him. Maggie finds the one Mulder snuck under there and hands it to her daughter, smiling at the two of them as they begin to tear open the paper.

For Mulder, there's a stack of crossword puzzle booklets and other travel sized games—sudoku, mad libs, a deck of cards, even a magnetic pocket-sized chess and checkerboard set that they can take on trips.

“Hey, no more I Spy and tic tac toe!” he says excitedly, flipping through one of the booklets. 

With as much as they travel—long hours in cars and planes and airports and motels with spotty satellite TV—they've pretty much used up all their options for passing the time. Their only deck of cards is somehow missing eight cards and has an extra two of hearts that they're not sure where it came from. A replacement pack is long overdue.

“I can't wait to wipe the floor with you at chess,” he says. “Thanks, Scully.”

She returns her attention to the box in her lap, free of paper but otherwise still unopened. 

“Go on, open it!” Tara says impatiently, craning her neck to watch as Dana lifts the lid off and peels back the tissue paper inside.

“Oh, Mulder,” she breathes, lifting a heavy book from the box. The front cover is plain, no lettering or images on it, but she can tell what it is in an instant.

A scrapbook.

She opens it to the first page, wondering what he could have possibly put inside. It's sparse—there aren't that many pictures of them together, after all—but he's scrounged up some that must have been taken at crime scenes, and one she vaguely remembers Frohike taking the first day she met the Gunmen. 

But perhaps more telling than the few pages that are filled in are the empty pages at the back, just waiting to be added to. She knows what he means by giving her this, and it causes a lump to form in her throat. 

“You look so serious, Dana,” her mother says, glancing over her shoulder at a photo of her and Mulder in their FBI jackets looking over some evidence. 

“Well, yeah, I'm at work, Mom,” she laughs, thankful for the distraction to keep her from crying in front of everyone.

“That's just the face she makes when she's about to refute my theory with cold hard science,” Mulder jokes, leaning back proudly on the couch. 

She looks at him, blinking away the tears threatening to fall.

“Mulder, this is… I didn't get you enough, your gift is so thoughtful…”

He shakes his head. “Scully, the fact that you even want to spend time with me long enough to play any of the games you got me is enough of a gift,” he says. “Seriously. You've given me a lot more than you think you have, I'm just trying to catch up.”

Charlie makes an exaggerated pouty face at her, which she catches out of the corner of her eye. He's lucky she's being watched by everyone else, otherwise she'd throw a pillow at him.

“Well, thank you,” she says. If they were alone, she'd hug him, but… Well, she's already uncomfortable with the amount of attention she's getting. She doesn't need to make it worse. She hopes he can see how grateful she is in her eyes. For now, she closes the book and sets it aside.

She scoots just that little bit closer to him on the couch while the others continue opening the last few presents, his leg brushing against hers ever so slightly. Thank you, she’s saying. This means the world to me.

-.-.-

“Hey,” Charlie says from behind him, startling Mulder out of a kind of daze.

He tears his eyes away from where Scully is standing on the other side of the room, making polite conversation with some of her mother’s friends after dinner. Charlie is a fair bit shorter than he is, but still taller than his sister, if not by much. 

“I took a look through that scrapbook you got Dana,” he continues. “I hope you don’t mind.”

He kind of does, actually, but he supposes he never made it clear one way or another, so he can’t really blame her family for being curious. It’s just… well, personal. He’s not used to sharing her with others, much less letting others see into the hard-to-understand relationship they have. It makes him feel oddly exposed.

He shrugs in response, not exactly sure what else to say.

Charlie doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Living so far away, I just feel like I miss out on the finer details of her life, you know?” he says. “Sometimes I forget she’s really an FBI agent out there waving a gun around and solving crimes.”

“You disapprove?” Mulder asks, ready to defend her.

“Not at all,” Charlie is quick to assure. “I’m glad she has a partner to look out for her, though.”

For all the good that has done, Mulder thinks. Still, it’s nice to hear he’s got one Scully brother on his side, even if it is the one his partner doesn’t get to see that often.

“I saw the picture of that little girl you put in,” the younger man adds, dropping the volume of his voice a few decibels. “Bill tried to explain it to me, once. I don’t think I ever really grasped how much she would look like family.”

Mulder fidgets at the uncomfortable turn in the conversation. It really isn’t his place to talk about it. It’s his sister Charlie should be speaking to. But then, if this prevents Scully from having to face such unpleasant memories during her nice family Christmas, then he’d gladly endure whatever questions her brother might have.

“I don’t think your mother or brother really understood it either,” he says, trying his hardest not to sound accusing. “But in their defense, it really was an unusual situation.”

“Let me guess, Bill completely pretended it wasn’t happening,” Charlie says, casting a glance in his brother’s direction. “Figures. I’m sure he didn’t make it easy on Dana.”

Charlie must have hoarded the entire Scully family’s stockpile of emotional intelligence, that’s the conclusion Mulder is coming to. Finally someone besides him thinks to ask how Scully handled everything.

“What has Scu– What has Dana told you?” he asks, quickly correcting himself. He doesn’t want to be the one to reveal information Scully would rather keep private, so he thinks he ought to check.

“I know she can’t have children, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Charlie says, taking a swig from his bottle of beer. “She never did explain why, but that’s not really what matters, is it?”

“You’re a good brother,” Mulder states. 

No, it shouldn’t matter. And that’s exactly what had bothered him about Bill’s reaction so much. Who cares if you understand why or how things are happening? The important detail is that your loved one is suffering and you need to be there for them. It’s a relief to hear that Charlie seems to understand this, even if his brother doesn’t.

“It’s a long story,” he answers with a sigh, “but she loved Emily. Would have raised her if the courts had let her, and if—” He trails off, letting the words hang in the air.

“You were there, weren’t you?”

Mulder nods. “Flew out and crashed your family’s Christmas as soon as I knew what was going on.”

“What was she like?” he asks next.

“Dana?” Mulder asks, brows furrowed.

“No, Emily.”

Oh.

Mulder bites down on his lip, thinking back two years to the few days he spent with Scully and her mini-me.

“She was quiet,” he answers. Honestly, he barely heard her say a word. But her genetics were unmistakable, and not just in her appearance. “She was a lot like Dana.”

Charlie is silent for a moment, probably digesting all that he had learned in the last few minutes. It’s a heavy topic, and one Mulder himself doesn’t really like thinking about, if he can help it. This Christmas has already been leaps and bounds better in every way possible, and he wants to keep it that way.

“Thanks for being there for her,” Charlie says finally. “Thanks for taking care of her. She needs someone like you around.”

Mulder inexplicably feels himself tearing up at his words, and forces the emotion back down before he can give himself away. 

“We take care of each other,” he corrects, glancing again to his partner across the room. 

His vows from yesterday echo in his ears, and for the first time, he wishes her family had been there to hear them. The marriage may be a legal ploy for practical reasons, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t intend to keep his promises. He meant every word he had spoken, and now part of him wishes her family knew just how much.

-.-.-

Dana had forgotten how draining it could be to be surrounded by friends and family for hours on end. It's hard to believe there was a time when social situations like this invigorated her rather than drained her, but she remembers her university days well. 

Still, the company is pleasant, and it affords her the unique opportunity to see Mulder in a different, more relaxed setting, something she'd scarcely known she was missing all these years.

At the moment, he is crouched down in the hallway beside Matthew, each with a wind up toy car in hand that they've been racing back and forth for the last fifteen minutes or so.

For as much as she believed him when he told her he wanted to be a father, it never really felt real until this very moment.

The way he interacts with Matthew is so natural, despite the fact that the boy is the spawn of one Bill Scully, Jr. He talks to him in hushed, conspiratorial tones, grinning when the two-year-old's car reaches the self-proclaimed finish line before his does. It brings to mind Emily, and the way he had tried to make her laugh when he met her. The way he cradled her in his arms when they had to take her to the hospital, burning up with fever.

Her partner, who chases aliens for a living and has been held hostage in Siberia, gently holding a tiny, sick girl in a patterned nightgown… It sometimes still feels like a dream that it had happened at all, though that dream had quickly turned into a nightmare.

Mulder's eyes shine playfully now and she can see his mouth moving animatedly. He points to the other side of the wood-floored hallway and Matthew quickly crawls over there with his toy car, evidently changing up the parameters of the game they're playing.

“One, two, THREE!” Mulder counts aloud, and he and Matthew both wind up and release their cars at the same time, watching with delight as they crash together in the middle.

He will be a good father. A great one, even. She'd known it when she asked him for help with IVF, and she knows it even more now. Not once has she wondered if his difficult childhood would stand in the way of him and parenthood. If anything, it would make him better. She knows he'll do everything he possibly can to be the father he never had.

She only hopes she can provide him that opportunity, one way or another.

“So, Dana,” her mother’s friend Gloria speaks, coming up beside her to watch. “Any plans to settle down? I know your work keeps you busy these days, but you're not getting any younger, dear.” She finishes with a chuckle, taking a sip from her glass of eggnog, oblivious to how out of touch her question had been.

The words aren't meant with any malice, Dana knows, but still she wonders how these older women come to the conclusion that that's an acceptable question to ask. Even if she wasn't struggling with infertility and extraordinary life circumstances, that kind of inquiry always rubbed her the wrong way.

She forces her eyes away from Mulder and her nephew, focusing instead on Gloria.

“Oh, um,” she starts awkwardly, not exactly sure how to answer. “Not right now,” she says, even though it's becoming more of a lie with each passing day. Uncertain plans are just as good as no plans at all, she thinks in order to justify her omission. After all, if things don't pan out, she'll be back to square one.

Or almost square one, she mentally corrects herself. There's still the matter of being secretly married to her FBI partner.

Besides, they're keeping everything under wraps for now. If she's not telling her own mother, she's certainly not about to tell a woman she's only met a handful of times.

“Well, I know this young man at the YMCA– Brendan,” Gloria continues, heedless of Dana's discomfort. “He's a swim instructor. Veeeery handsome.”

Dana smiles politely, but otherwise is careful not to give any indication that she might be interested. An accidental blind date setup due to miscommunication is the last thing she needs right now, and honestly, the last thing she wants. She's happy with how things are with Mulder, even if they're not actually a couple. They're making plans for a future together, that's all that matters. Though the exact specifics of that future are hazy, one thing is certain: She won't be alone. Not anymore. 

And neither will he.

Looking around at the house full of people, love a palpable force flowing around them, she wonders again why they didn't do this sooner.

-.-.-

“Thanks, Mrs. Scully. This was really great,” Mulder says, carrying a bag loaded with containers of leftover food and desserts. He waves at the little boy behind Maggie, held up in the arms of his father at the door. “Bye Matt, thanks for hanging out with me.” Matthew is suitably worn out from all the excitement and playtime, which Dana is sure her brother can't begrudge Mulder for, but he still waves a tired goodbye. If anything, Bill should be thanking Mulder. The youngest Scully will be out like a light probably before they even leave the neighborhood.

“Bye, Mom,” Dana says, pressing a kiss to her mother's cheek and giving her one last hug goodbye. 

“Bye, sweetheart. I'll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Merry Christmas!”

With a final glance over her shoulder, she and Mulder walk down the driveway to their car, alone for the first time in almost 24 hours.

“Your nephew is pretty cool, Scully. Did you know he thinks aliens have pet dinosaurs?” he says as they reach the vehicle, simultaneously opening the doors and sliding into their respective seats.

“How on earth did that come up, Mulder?” she asks, casting a doubtful glance to her left as she buckles.

“I didn't bring it up, he did!” he replies defensively, his smile only serving to make him seem less credible. “No, seriously!”

“I'd better not get a call from Bill asking what kind of stories you've been filling his son's head with.”

“Every little boy thinks about aliens and dinosaurs, Scully,” he says, laughing. “He offered up that piece of information unprompted, I swear!”

Scully chuckles, his earnest expression combined with his raised right hand somehow striking her as utterly ridiculous.

Our child will have no shortage of imagination with Mulder for a father, she thinks, and the thought causes her heart to clench in her chest.

“Just drive, Mulder,” she says, facing forward to conceal her smile.

He drives.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[sisterspooky1013]

Never, Chapter 2/3

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

This is a continuation of a one shot I wrote a year and a half ago.

“Are you okay, miss?”

Scully straightens up in her seat and wipes the tear tracks off her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she was crying again. Her head is starting to throb as she sobers up, and she wonders if she has enough wine left at her apartment to reclaim her drunkenness and the numbness that comes along with it. She’d do just about anything not to feel the way she feels right now.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, glancing at the reflection of the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror. His bushy black brows are furrowed, and when the cab passes under a streetlight she sees deep concern there as he looks between her face and the nearly deserted road.

“Someone hurt you,” he says, the anger in his voice barely contained.

Her hand reflexively comes up to touch her tender cheekbone. She feels so awful she keeps forgetting that she also looks it.

“No,” she says reflexively, and then corrects herself. “I mean, yes. But I’m okay,” she tells him with a thin smile.

He’s older. Late sixties, maybe. There’s a picture of two smiling boys wearing matching bow ties and patkas taped to the dashboard, their arms slung around one another’s shoulders. Grandchildren, she thinks absently.

“The man who called?” he asks, and even through her devastation she finds that she’s comforted by this stranger’s protectiveness of her.

“No, he would never hurt me,” she says. “The man who hurt me is in jail.”

The cabbie nods, satisfied with this answer, and he is quiet for the rest of the ride.

Mulder would never hurt her. Not physically. Not on purpose. Her view of the darkened Potomac blurs behind fresh tears as she thinks about the way his face fell at the hospital when he got the full story. The way he dropped her hand and took two steps back under the guise of giving her privacy. The way he’s been uncharacteristically mean in the days since. Like he’s disgusted by her.

She’s so confused. By her actions, by his, by her own emotions. When she took Ed up on his offer for a date it felt like the most normal, uncomplicated thing she’d done in years. She thought she knew why she was doing it: she just wanted to be seen. Seen as a woman, as an object of sexual desire, as more than Mulder’s partner or his errand girl. Ed saw her, and she thought that she was getting what she wanted, finally.

It was only when Mulder’s reaction caught her so off guard that she realized she’d been expecting something else, something specific from him. Maybe what she wanted wasn’t just to be seen, but to be seen by him. But whatever he sees when he looks at her now, it’s not what she wanted. And it hurts. It hurts in a way she didn’t even know he could hurt her.

The brakes shriek as the cab pulls up to the curb outside Scully’s apartment, and she fishes a twenty dollar bill out of her jeans pocket. The cabbie unbuckles his seatbelt and twists around to look at her, that same concerned furrow in his brow.

“You make me think of my daughter,” he says, then pauses. “A man who loves you will never hurt you,” he finally says. “There is no excuse.”

Scully pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to still her quivering jaw. His kindness makes her ache for someone to hold her, for someone to be gentle with her body and her heart. She doesn’t want to need that, but she does. She doesn’t want to need it from Mulder, but she does. She doesn’t want to feel devastated that he won’t give it to her, but she is.

“Thank you,” she says, holding out the bill for him to take.

He shakes his head and gives her a sad smile.

“It was my pleasure to drive you home, miss. Please, keep your money.”

Once safely behind her apartment door, she stops trying to hold the tears back. They roll freely and silently down her cheeks as she pours the last of the wine into a water glass and sucks it down with a grimace. It burns her throat and then her belly, and she welcomes the physical discomfort as a distraction from her emotional torment.

She’s so angry with herself for letting him have this much power over her. For caring this much about what he thinks. She feels a flash of mortification when she remembers his comment about being jealous and her resulting admission of loneliness. She’s so stupid. So fucking stupid to think, even momentarily, that he was jealous of Ed. That he was jealous because he wants something from her the same way she wants something from him. She wanted to believe it so badly that she heard what she wanted to hear, and she made an absolute fool of herself.

But he wasn’t jealous of Ed. He was jealous of her for getting laid, so he went out to do the same. She’s always assumed that he indulges in a casual fling of his own here and there, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she doesn’t know him at all.

It’s nearly 3:00 am when she crawls into bed, drunk and lonelier than ever. She wishes she could go back and do things differently, but she’s not sure how far back she’d need to go to undo what she’s done to herself. She’s not sure where she went wrong. All she knows is that she’s deeply unhappy, and she doesn’t know how to fix it. All she knows is that trying to get closer to Mulder isn’t the answer.

The phone rings at 7:00 am, cutting through her hangover like a knife. She scrambles for the handset on her nightstand, knocking her glasses and a bottle of ibuprofen that she set out for herself onto the floor in the process.

“Hello?” she croaks, letting her head fall back to the pillow when the room starts to spin.

“Hi. It’s me.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. The night before feels like a dream, but she knows that it wasn’t. Part of her is comforted by the fact that he followed through on his promise to talk about things in the morning, but another part of her is horrified by the idea of ever speaking of it again.

“Good morning,” she says in a markedly professional tone, if not for the rasp of her sleepworn voice.

“Are you…” he begins, and her belly tightens. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says rotely.

She listens to the sound of his even breathing on the other end of the line and wonders what he thinks of her now. If he’ll ever look at her the same way again. If he’ll treat her like she’s fragile the way he did after Duane Barry.

“I’m really sorry,” he says quietly, and immediately her throat closes up. “For a lot of things. But last night—.”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts, desperate not to relive it, not to be rejected a second time. “To be perfectly honest, I only remember bits and pieces,” she lies.

“Oh,” he says, either surprised or relieved. Maybe both.

“I’m, um, I’m not sure I’ll make it into work today,” she continues. “My head feels like a block of cement.”

“Can I bring you anything?” he asks hopefully. “Gatorade, maybe?”

“Please don’t,” she blurts out, then softens her tone. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine. Sorry if I was…out of line last night.”

There’s a long pause, and she wonders what he’s thinking about. She’s thinking about how good it felt when he wrapped his arms around her, and how much it hurt when she realized he was using it as a means to get her out the door.

“No,” he finally says. “I was the one who was out of line. I’m the one who’s been out of line. You didn’t do anything wrong, Scully.”

He sounds so sad, and she wants to ask him why. She wants to understand him. She wants to be understood by him. The empty space around her feels infinite.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She hangs up and waits for the room to stop spinning before she picks up her glasses and the ibuprofen, though she doesn’t take any. She lets her pounding head and queasy stomach serve as a reminder of her mistake, a mistake she has no intention of repeating.

Mulder is her partner. He cares about her, but not in the way that she only just realized she secretly wants him to. She’s not sure if that secret way is romantic in nature, she just knows she wants more. More than fruitless searches for invisible boogie men and a never ending series of cheap motel rooms. More than banter and inside jokes and a shared distaste for gas station bathrooms. More than this.

She’s brushing her teeth, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror, when she feels a wet tickle in her nostril. A drop of bright red blood falls into the sink basin, splattering over white porcelain like a mini crime scene. She was going to tell him about the nosebleeds. About the MRI appointment she has later this week. She was just waiting for the right time.

Now she can’t help but wonder if she holds secret expectations about how he’ll respond to that news and the type of support he’ll provide. She can’t set herself up for that kind of disappointment. She won’t. Never again.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Various Storms and Saints- Prologue

"You still haven't told me if he's cute or not."

Scully sighed and pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead, cradling the phone in the crook of her neck. Nobody could make her regret bringing up a subject as quickly as her sister when she put her mind to it. "No, Missy, I haven't," she allowed. "Because it's irrelevant. Mulder's good looks aren't the reason I miss working with him."

"So you admit it? He is cute?"

"Missy. Can we please have a serious conversation, for once?"

"Fine, fine," Melissa acquiesced, though her tone made it clear this point would be revisited in the future. "Tell me why you miss working with him, then."

"Well... part of it is the cases we tackled together," Scully said. "The autopsies I'm stuck doing now that the X-Files are shut down seem so boring in comparison to murderous clones and mind-controlling worms in the Arctic."

Melissa whistled. "Yeah, I can see how that might be a little bit of a come down. What's the other part?"

"What other part?"

"You said the cases are part of the reason. So what's the other part?"

Scully closed her eyes. How to define this most indefinable of relationships, especially to Melissa, who so often seemed to think every person in her life fit into a neat box? "I miss the way he spoke to me," she said finally. "He never talked down to me, not even when he was standing so close I practically had to break my neck to meet his eyes. He made me feel like the things I have to say are important... that they carried real weight with him, even when he didn't agree with me." She chuckled ruefully. "Which was most of the time. He's always shown me a respect that I don't get that often, being surrounded by men in positions of authority who all love to hear themselves talk."

"That does sound like it would be tough to leave behind," agreed Melissa. "Couldn't you... I dunno, lobby to be his partner on whatever assignment he's on now, though? Then at least you'd still be working together even if it wasn't in the X-Files."

"He's working with someone else," said Scully darkly. "At least he was on his most recent case. I don't know if they're officially partners or not."

"And you don't like whoever it is," said Melissa knowingly. "I can hear it in your voice." "I don't really know anything about him," Scully admitted. "But... there's something strange about him, you know? He just makes me nervous." There had been something about Alex Krycek's fresh-faced innocence that had seemed less than genuine, even if Scully couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Bad vibes, huh?"

"Maybe." Scully sighed. "For all I know, it's just my jealousy getting in the way because I want to be the one out there with Mulder."

"See, I knew you liked him," crowed Melissa, and Scully groaned, exasperated.

"Melissa. It's not like that."

"Fine, fine, whatever you say," Melissa huffed. "Hang on a sec, okay?" The phone was muffled, as though Melissa had put her hand over the receiver. Someone's voice asked a garbled question, Melissa gave an equally garbled response, and a moment later, she was back. "Hey Danes, I gotta go, okay?"

"Wait, Melissa, what's your--"

"There's a meditation session I'm supposed to lead and they're waiting for me. I'll call you soon, okay?"

"But Melissa, where are--" There was a click, and the line went dead.

Scully dropped her bedroom extension back into its cradle on the nightstand and sank back onto her bed with a sigh, snuggling into the cardigan she'd pulled on over her work clothes when she'd walked into her apartment. She'd come home from work for lunch, having finished her morning teaching session a little early, and had been available purely by chance when Melissa called for the first time in two months. Phone conversations with her older sister, while always welcome, tended to be exhausting these days. She hadn't seen Melissa in years, not since the day after her graduation from medical school. Melissa hadn't made it to the event itself, but she'd shown up at the party her parents had thrown her afterwards. Melissa hadn't understood her sister's disappointment, and Maggie Scully, as she so often did, had defended her elder daughter to her younger.

"You know big ceremonies aren't really your sister's thing, Dana," she'd said, patting Scully's shoulder consolingly. "She barely sat through her own high school graduation. Just be thankful she's here for the celebration, all right?"

Sitting through a graduation ceremony was boring, to be sure, but that hadn't stopped Scully from doing it for all three of her siblings when they'd finished high school, plus for Bill and Charlie when they'd finished college. In her opinion, it had nothing to do with how exciting or boring the ceremony itself was, and everything to do with showing up for the people she loved when their hard work and accomplishments were recognized.

Showing up. That was something Melissa had traditionally had difficulty with, when it came down to it.

They hadn't even had a working phone number for Melissa last Christmas when Ahab had passed. Scully, tasked with handling everything while her mother waded through her initial shock and grief, had called every friend of Melissa's she could think of, trying to locate her sister, and had failed. She'd been reduced to sending a letter to Melissa's last known address in hopes it might get correctly forwarded. But it never got to her, as was evidenced three months later when Melissa had called home, chatted with Maggie cheerfully about her recent travels, and then had asked to speak to her father and had been completely lost when her mother had burst into tears.

"Free-spirited" had always been how the family had described Melissa. But deep down, in her darkest and most shameful thoughts, the word Scully sometimes landed on was "selfish."

Scully's cell phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. She half-expected it to be Mulder, begging her to do another autopsy he couldn't trust with anyone else, but it was Roy Seekamp, a fellow FBI pathologist whose office in the Hoover building was next to Scully's.

"Where are you?" asked Roy. "One of the AD's came looking for you but your office is locked. Skinner, I think his name was?"

"I came home for lunch. What's going on?"

"Something big is going down in Virginia," said Roy. "Some hostage situation with an escaped mental patient."

Scully frowned, confused. "Why would they need me for that?" she asked.

"I don't think they actually need you or anything," said Roy. "The AD was just looking for you to let you know your old partner is there on the scene."

Scully's heart skipped a beat. "Mulder is there?" She got off the bed and raced out of her bedroom, tearing off the cardigan and snatching up her bag. "What's he doing there? He's not a hostage negotiator!"

"No idea," said Roy. "I think AD Skinner just wanted you to hear it from him. You coming back to the office?"

"Yes," Scully said, pulling on her shoes. "Be there soon." She ended the call and stuffed her phone into her bag, then looked down and realized she was still clutching her cardigan. She folded it in half and draped it over the back of her couch on her way out the door.

It stayed there, untouched, for over a month.

[numinousmysteries]

more a headcanon that got out of a hand than a fic. tw: 2020. that whole thing. [on Ao3] @today-in-fic

For years they feared a mass contagion of extraterrestrial origin spread by swarms of bees. Instead, the virus that grounds the world to a halt is an earthbound molecule transmitted invisibly through laughter, kisses, shared spaces, and spoken word.

A pall falls over the house. Banished from campus, William half-heartedly watches lectures on Zoom. Mulder starts the tiger show but turns it off in disgust before the first episode ends. 

Scully is the only moving part, chugging along in sharp contrast to their inertia. She’s long existed in the liminal state between the sick and the well, the living and the dying, but the sheer volume of devastation brought by this virus is wearing her down. Out of desperation, the hospital administration pulls her off her normal caseload and assigns her to the overcrowded ER. 

On a purely scientific level, the work—the once in a lifetime opportunity to chart a course of treatment for a novel virus in real-time—is thrilling. There are no textbooks, decision trees, or best practices; only instinct, trial and error. But this isn't just cells in a microscope—it's a protein expanding and exploding in human bodies. Bodies with children, parents, spouses, loved ones. Bodies that can no longer fit in the hospital morgue and need to be carried out to refrigerated trucks lining the streets outside. She's never felt like more of a failure.

She doesn’t want to talk about the work. She comes home still masked and then locks herself in the guest room in an attempt to protect them from whatever she’s been exposed to during the day. 

“Hey, Will,” Mulder whispers conspiratorially one April afternoon. “Did I ever show you how to pick a lock?”

But their son has all of her practicality and simply shakes his head in resignation. They compromise with a private salute to their personal healthcare hero, clanging pairs of All-Clad pans out the kitchen window to herald her arrival home. Even through her N95, they can tell it makes her smile. 

*****

William watches lectures and does his problem sets, but his heart isn't in it. Staring at the screen all day isn't as engaging as exploring physics in-person with his professors and classmates.

Mulder's got them in the habit of running laps around the property for exercise—or, as Scully says, to prevent bed sores and blood clots in their otherwise sedentary lives—and sometimes they'll do what William calls "prison workouts", push-up, planks, and bodyweight squats until their quads ache. They'll toss a ball in the yard or play one-on-one basketball on the rusted net in the driveway. 

Mulder knows their son is miserable, marooned in this house with his parents, so he's trying his best to keep the kid entertained. Secretly, he enjoys this little stolen time with his son. The kid should be out there, learning about the world and his place in it, but this could also be their last chance to spend every day together like this, and he knows better than to take it for granted. He just wishes Scully could be with them and not on the other side of a locked door.

They FaceTime with her and can hear her in-person voice preceding its echo on the phone by a few milliseconds. Will calls it mom from the future and mom from the past. They both wish she could be here in their present.

"Can we please come in?" Mulder begs quietly to the closed door one night, tracing the grooves of the wood with his fingertips. "We can all wear masks. I just need to see you." His voice cracks with need and desperation.

"I don't know," she says. "I'd never forgive myself if I got either of you sick."

"But you feel fine, right?"

"For now, sure," she concedes. "But I could be incubating the virus. Asymptomatic transmission is real and happening all over the world."

"What if we're outside, appropriately distanced, and wearing masks?"

He can hear her thinking, then sighing, from the other side of the door. "Fine. You two go outside first and sit on one end of the lawn. Then I'll come out in a few minutes and sit several feet away."

"Great!" He leaps to his feet to gather three lawn chairs and tell William the plan.

Muller and William set hers up closer to the house then measure out about six feet further out in the yard before placing two chairs for themselves.

They take their seats, put on their masks, and wait for her to emerge.

His heart breaks a little when he sees her. He watches her go to work and come home every day through the window but he hasn't noticed how thin she looks or gotten close enough to see the dark hollows under her eyes. He knows it's been rough for her. She’s tougher than most but this situation is unbearable. He's tempted to close those six feet between them and take her into his arms, coronavirus be damned.

"Move further back," she says, waving her hand off in the distance when she sees them.

He notices William is about to protest but he brings his hand to the kid's forearm and shakes his head. She's the boss in this situation. They're lucky enough to get to see her, what's a few more feet?

*****

The days drag on. Experts talk about flattening the curve. The curve does not flatten. Experts advise not buying masks, to save them for the healthcare workers who need them most. Experts say to wear cloth masks. Experts say cloth masks are not effective. The president advises drinking bleach. Bodies keep piling up. Scully keeps showing up for work and secluding herself at home. 

"Listen, why don't you quit or take some time off?" he asks her through the door. “We can afford it.” 

"I took an oath," she says solemnly and the conversation ends. He knows better than to fight against her sense of duty. He knows better than to argue she should put her own health first. The only cards he has to play would be himself or William, but she keeps isolating herself to keep them safe.

William itches to go beyond the property on his runs. The dirt road that leads away from the house is typically empty so Mulder doesn't mind if he does a few miles out and back.

"I’ll cross the street if someone is on the same side as me," William says. That's enough for Mulder.

"Should we make sourdough?" William asks one afternoon, briefly looking up from his phone.

Mulder doesn't know where this sudden culinary interest comes from but he's excited to do anything that gets William away from his screens. Especially something they can do together.

They consult with Scully who, of course, knows about starters and mothers, live cultures and pre-fermentation. From the other side of the door, they take notes.

"We'll cut your slices real thin and slide under the door," Mulder says.

The grocery store in town is doing curbside pick up so they order their ingredients online and then drive up to receive their bounty.

They mix the starter together first, watching as the liquid thickens and bubbles in a mason jar. It reminds Mulder of their old kitchen science experiments from William's childhood. Baking soda and vinegar volcanoes. Mentos in soda, although Scully didn't like the cleanup after that one. Just like he was as a kid, William is methodical and delighted by chemical reactions. 

The starter has to rest in the fridge for several hours so they take a break to research recipes. No one has ever made bread in this house, he thinks. Scully's a good cook, but she prioritizes nutrition and efficiency. She's not about to spend hours in the kitchen plodding through the steps of an elaborate recipe. Mulder is even less so. His culinary prowess has expanded from his bachelor days, when boiling water was an occasion, but he still sticks to the basics, evolving as William's tastes grew and matured.

Why had they never done this before?

"It smells good!" Scully shouts from her quarantine.

"At least we all still have our sense of smell," William jokes.

At night, Mulder and Scully sit with their backs to the door and try to inhale the familiar scent of each other. He hasn't touched or held her in weeks. It's the longest they've gone without physical contact since he was dead and buried. And the longest they've gone without sex since the first couple of months after the trauma of William's birth. He'd do anything just to hold her hand, rest his palm on the small of her back, bury his head in her hair. He knows this is harder for her, but it isn't easy for him either.

After William retreats to his room for the night, he knocks softly on her door. "Are you up?" he asks.

He hears her get out of bed and step over to the door.

"I'm up," she says, softly.

"What are you wearing?"

She gives him a hollow pity laugh. "I miss you."

"I'm right here.

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, I know," he says. He knows in the deepest reaches of his being. "I miss you so much."

"Let's go somewhere when this is all over."

"Mmhmm," he agrees. "You and me on a beach. I'd say Will, too, but I'm pretty sure he's sick of us—or at least me."

"How's he doing?"

"He's holding up alright," Mulder says. "It's tough for him but I think he's putting on a brave face for my sake."

"He's a good kid."

"The best."

They're quiet for a minute. He strains to hear her breathing on the other side of the door and imagines her sitting there.

"Are you sure I can't come in?" he asks. "We can wear masks. Sit on opposite sides of the room."

"Mulder, no."

"I really want to see you."

*****

By May, it's warm enough for them to spend most of the evening outside, sitting or walking (at a safe distance) together for hours. Will retreats to his room to do homework or, they suspect, chat online with his friends, but Mulder and Scully like to stay out until after the sun sets, talking or just enjoying each other's company in the silence.

"You haven't gotten sick yet," he says, one night, initiating his latest plea to get her to open the door between them. "And I read case numbers are going down. Don't you think we can relax a little?"

"Trust me, I want to," she says with a sigh. "I miss both of you."

"You have no idea how much I miss you," he says, seriously.

"I think I have some idea," she says, the corner of her lips arching into a smile. 

"Do they know if this thing is sexually transmitted?" he asks. "We can wear masks. That could be kind of hot."

"If we're close enough to do that, I think we're close enough to infect each other," she responds quickly, making him realize she's also thought about it and that makes him smile in turn. 

They're quiet for a while, walking and feeling the air cool down as night settles over them. These chaste days feel like the early years of their partnership. He isn't sure what's worse—never having touched her or not being able to know once he knows how sweet it can be to be. Actually, he's sure the latter is worse. Now he knows what she feels like underneath him, what her skin tastes like, the sound of her little moans. They've had phone sex, quietly, from different ends of the house, after she let him leave her little pink silicone vibrator outside the door one night.

"I wish it were you," she sighed over the phone the first night.

"It can be," he said. "Just let me in."

"You know I can't."

Back on their walk, his dick pulses just thinking about the way she sounded on the phone that night. Husky, breathy, like a storm building and breaking overhead. The first time they were together, the force of her orgasm blew him away. He knew she wasn't putting on a show for him by how embarrassed she seemed afterward. He kissed her gently on her neck, her breasts, her collarbone as she came down, her breathing slowed, and let her know he'd never seen anything sexier in his entire life. Scully screamed when she came. She twisted her tiny features up in a gasp that seemed to straddle the line of pain and pleasure. Her whole body came along for the ride, spasming and pulsing, and he knew he'd spend the rest of his life trying to see that again and again. Fortunately, there were lots more times after that. As William got older, they'd learned to be quieter, which only made it more thrilling when he left for college and she realized she could come with abandon again. Of course, COVID brought him back, and sent her into the guest room, so they hadn't had a chance to be loud in months.

"Call me later," she says. It's a demand, not a request.

"You know I will," he replies. "I'm torn. I want to stay out here and be with you, but I also can't wait to go to bed and talk to you."

"Well, I was hoping we'd do more than talk."

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, I know," she says. "I'm also looking forward to that."

Crickets fill the silence of the balmy spring evening. It's nice, just being with her like this. At this point, he'll take whatever he can get.

"I spoke to Frohike today," he tells her.

"Please don't tell me he's bought into these ridiculous conspiracies about the virus," she rolls her eyes over her mask.

"He has some interesting ideas," Mulder smiles. "But you know he's mostly harmless."

*****

She's among the first at the hospital to get her first vaccine dose that winter. William and Mulder celebrate from their side of the door with whiskey shots of their own.

"I still need the second dose in a couple of weeks, and then it takes two weeks after that to be effective," she says.

"But we're on the right track," Mulder calls out.

"The end is in sight!" William shouts.

“To our hero,” Mulder toasts, clinking his shot glass against the door. He never thought he’d be so intimately familiar with the texture of their guest room door. 

"Where should we go on our vacation?" Mulder asks. “You know, when this is all really over.” 

"I'm going back to school," William says.

"Good!" Scully calls from her side of the door. They both know how much he's missed his friends and his classes. In a few weeks they’ll pack him up with masks and home tests and warnings to avoid superspreader events. It’ll be a mostly virtual semester, but still good for him to get out of the house.

"I guess that leaves me and you, woman," Mulder says to the door. "Where am I whisking you away to?"

"Somewhere warm," she says longingly. "On the ocean."

"That can be arranged," he says. He's dreaming of long afternoons in the sun—well, as much actual sun as Scully will allow—holding on to her as they wade out into the ocean. Full days where they don't leave their hotel room bed. They've earned it. She certainly has.

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | Back to the Beginning | @today-in-fic

Chapter 11: Almost Heaven

Washington, D.C. Scully’s apartment Sunday, November 29th, 1998, 9:05 pm

Scully raised her arm and checked her watch for what must’ve been the tenth time in the last hour. With a sigh, she got up from the couch and turned the TV off. It was no use anyway. She’d tried reading, she’d tried cleaning, and she’d even gone through her closet, finally putting all the summer clothes in a suitcase and storing them in her basement. The movie she hadn’t been paying any attention to was just the last straw. Nothing made her stop thinking about calling Mulder.

Just call him, she thought, exasperated with herself. You dropped a bomb on him in the car earlier. You might as well call him now instead of waiting for your usual bedtime conversation.

She’d tried all day to not succumb to the temptation to pick up the phone. If she wanted to keep being in Mulder’s life, things needed to change. She’d drive herself crazy if she kept up being caught in the middle between her hopes and reality. He was her best friend, the person she wanted to find truths with and uncover lies. But she had to learn how to accept that what she felt wasn’t the way he thought about her. He needed her in his life as his touchstone—and she wanted him as her romantic partner. And if she didn’t want to end up getting hurt, she needed to get back to treating him like a friend and not like a potential lover.

The thought that they would never be what she had hoped for only a few days ago, pierced her heart, and she swallowed. I’m not a lovesick teenager. I’m going to be alright, she assured herself. They’d been friends for years, and she had loved their relationship. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be able to be just as happy if things went back to the way they had been.

She checked her watch again and shook her head at herself. This was getting ridiculous, she was torturing herself for no reason.

With determent steps, Scully walked towards her phone and carried the portable to her living room window, looking outside. The parked cars lining the street were illuminated by the streetlamps, the wet roofs from the earlier November rain reflecting the light like sparkling stars.

For a second, she thought one of the cars looked like Mulder’s and squinted her eyes, trying to check if she could find her partner. You’re losing your mind, Dana, she thought. Stop seeing him everywhere and just call him already. You’re starting to see ghosts!

With a deep sigh, she pressed speed dial 1 and listened to the phone connect. Mulder picked up after the second ring.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice tense. She had been right, Mulder had probably been agonizing all afternoon about their conversation, and she closed her eyes against the sudden realization that she was the cause of his anguish. I should’ve called him right away, she thought guiltily.

“Mulder, it’s me,” she replied quietly, suddenly as anxious as Mulder, even though she didn’t know why.

“Hey, Scully, everything ok?” he asked immediately, and she kept her tone light.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I know this is not our usual time to call. I hope I’m not interrupting whatever you’re doing?”

“No, no, you’re not interrupting. I was just thinking about the case. You were right. The gunmen couldn’t find anything more on the sighting. It turns out Mr. Murphy is kind of known for having seen—,” he trailed off. “Phenomena.” She could hear the defeat in his voice and wished he was sitting in front of her now so she could touch him. With a shake of her head, she ruthlessly squashed that thought. This was exactly what had gotten her into trouble this weekend. He was her friend. Friends didn’t want to stroke each other’s hair, hug and hold each other, kiss, and touch each other’s bodies. With an internal sigh, she admitted to herself that she had still a long way to go before she was truly going to be in a place where she would be ok with just being Mulder’s friend.

She realized she’d been quiet for a while and focused back on Mulder’s breathing coming through the line.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she said seriously. Mulder grunted in acknowledgment, both knowing that there wasn’t much to say about the case anymore.

“So, what have you been up to? Did you have a good rest of the day?” he asked tightly, fishing for any information he could about what she was going to do. She heard a crack through the line and realized that he was eating sunflower seeds.

“Not much, did some chores, did a bit of reading. Pretty uneventful.”

“Did the medical journals have any new interesting mutants?” he joked, and she felt warmth spread through her, happy that he knew her this well.

“Nothing that would be considered an X-File, I’m afraid,” she joked back, feeling the tension slowly dissipate. It was going to be alright, she decided.

The crack of another sunflower seed being snapped open came through the line, and she smiled.

“I made a decision, Mulder,” she said calmly, reminding herself why she had called. “I’m not going to take the job offer.”

Mulder didn’t reply, and she felt the urge to fill the silence with an explanation. “I thought about it and tried to imagine what it would be like. And I realized that I couldn't even imagine it.”

She gripped the phone tighter, feeling her sweaty hand slip on the receiver, uncomfortable to be this open about her feelings. “And I thought about everything we’ve experienced, Mulder. All the things I still want to find, the questions I want answers to.” She took a deep breath and soldiered on. “We’ve got things to get done, Mulder. And I don’t want to do it without you either—not even temporarily,” she finished quietly.

There was a long pause, and finally, she could hear Mulder let out a long breath. “I’m glad, Scully,” he said earnestly, and Scully closed her eyes.

“Well, I’ll let you go then, Mulder,” she breathed, the relief making her nearly dizzy. She waited a moment for his reply, but when it didn’t come, she added a soft ’Good night’ and hung up the phone.

Scully placed the receiver back in its place on the side table and made her way into her bathroom, preparing to get ready for bed. She was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of the last few days.

Scully was just brushing her teeth and pulling the jar with her nighttime cream from her cabinet, a headband holding her hair back when a soft knock sounded on her front door, and she turned in surprise.

She hardly got unexpected visitors. At least not the ones that knocked, she thought wryly. The only one who ever dropped by this late was—Mulder. Of course. But how could that be? She’d been on the phone with him only ten minutes ago. There was no way he could’ve driven over here in that short amount of time.

She hurried over to the door, and after a brief check through her door viewer, she pulled it open. “Mulder?”

Mulder pushed past her without looking at her, and she closed the door behind him, turning around in surprise. “How did you get here so fast? Did something happen?”

“I was sitting in my car when you called, trying to get up the nerve to come up here,” he explained, starting to pace her living room. She leaned back against the doorjamb, watching him, her brow furrowed.

He suddenly stopped and turned to her, his eyes brimming with emotion. “Why, Scully?” he asked. “I don’t understand. Why did you even have to make a choice?” He pushed his hair back with his fingers and shook his head. “I just don’t get it. You’ve been the one who’s told me that we shouldn’t give up. That we would get the X-Files back if we played our cards right. And Skinner makes one job offer, and you’re doubting everything?” He looked at her with wide, questioning eyes, and she turned her own eyes to the floor.

How could she explain to him that it wasn’t just about that? She did believe they’d get the X-Files back, but she had felt like that was no longer enough. Not anymore. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, struggling for the right words. How could she explain that she had tricked herself into believing she could have it all this weekend—that she had wanted what Dana dreamed of when she was sitting alone on her sofa on lonely Saturday nights? But that was completely on her. How could he have known? “I don’t know, Mulder. I guess—I guess I just felt—like I wanted something else.”

Mulder watched her wordlessly for a moment. “I thought I had made it clear. Back in my hallway a few months ago,” he began, and her eyes flew up to his. “Not just your importance to the X-Files—but also to me. Personally.” His eyes didn’t shy away from hers, and she could see his anguish. “I thought you felt it too.”

Scully’s eyes searched his face for what he was talking about. Of course, she remembered the hallway and everything that nearly happened there. How could she forget? “Felt what too?”

“Oh, come on, Scully. If I remember correctly, you wanted that kiss just as much as I did. Because if you didn’t, let me tell you, you were sure sending mixed signals!” He put his hands on his hips, his body language a clear challenge.

“Yes, Mulder. Yes, I wanted to kiss you. But what does that have to do with this? Why are you here?”

“I just want to understand! How can you even think about walking away from this, from us after everything—after what I told you—” His voice trailed off, and for a moment Scully could see the young boy he must’ve been. His eyes were huge and sad, and despite his confrontational words, she could still hear the vulnerability in his voice.

She took a step forward and placed her hand on his chest, looking up at him. “I wanted that kiss very much, Mulder. But I just don’t understand you sometimes.”

He leaned closer, almost as if he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t miss a word of what she was saying, and that gave her the courage to go on. “Why did you invite me to come along to West Virginia this weekend?”

“Because the gunmen had found Mr. Murphy’s message on an internet site and his memories of the Mothman seemed accurate,” he explained slowly, clearly still not getting where she was going with this.

Scully nodded, her thoughts confirmed. He’d never intended anything personal to happen during the weekend.

Mulder was still watching her, his eyes darting between hers. But he kept silent, so she tried a different route to make him understand. “Mulder, why did you brush me off last night, when I came over to your motel room?” She searched his face, trying to see the truth in his reaction. But Mulder looked utterly confused.

“Brush you off? What do you mean?”

“When I came over to your room, Mulder, when I asked you if you wanted to take a break, spend time together, go out to dinner, maybe go to the movies?” She realized her voice had started to get an edge to it and took a deep breath to calm herself down. This was not Mulder’s fault, she reminded herself. Just because she had thought he’d finally made a move to turn their almost kiss into a getaway weekend with hopefully a real kiss or two, didn’t mean that’s what had been on his mind.

Mulder’s eyes softened, and he brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Because I thought we could maybe spend some time together, looking for that Mothman. Reconnect. Remember how much fun we had when we were investigating these cases? How you’d call me crazy—and then go on a boat with me anyway to find Big Blue?” he smiled sadly. “I wanted to see you smile, and have some fun for a change, instead of all the shit details we’re stuck with every day now.” He placed his palm against the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, almost tenderly. “Remember when we were in that cemetery in Bellefleur, Oregon? Our first case? The way you were shaking from the cold and the rain, your lips were blue. And yet you were so excited,” he smiled affectionately at her. “And your laugh. Despite it all, you laughed like you were the happiest person on the planet.” Mulder shook his head and took a deep breath. “Something changed for me that day, Scully. I knew I never wanted to ever do this alone again—and I wanted to have that this weekend. I didn’t want it to end, keep investigating until we were laughing about this case like we did back then.”

He let his arm drop and took a step back. “I guess that’s why I asked you if you wanted to come along. I just wanted to spend the weekend with you. Make you smile, do something exciting together, and maybe even show you a Mothman.”

Scully snorted, and Mulder laughed, reaching over and taking her hand in his. “That’s what I don’t get. You seemed to look forward to the weekend as much as I did. But then something changed. And it seems to be about—,” he paused, looking at her uncertainly, “not being in the mood for pizza?”

Scully just shook her head, squeezed his hand, and pulled him over to her sofa. They sat down together, never letting go of each other’s hands. “It’s not about pizza, Mulder. I guess we didn’t have such different ideas about the weekend after all. I wanted to spend time with you as well. And that Mothman did sound interesting—at least until it started to rain, and I was freezing—in the wrong clothes,” she explained, and Mulder looked chagrined.

“I should’ve told you that you would need hiking gear, shouldn’t I have?” He grimaced, and Scully nodded but didn’t reply. That wasn’t the point she wanted to make, though. “Why didn’t you want me to touch you?” she asked quietly, and Mulder’s brows drew in confusion.

“Didn’t want you—. Scully, what are you talking about?” He grabbed her other hand as well and pulled her closer, their faces only inches apart. “I don’t understand. And I really, really want to. When did I say I did not want you to touch me?”

“When I wanted to see if you’d gotten hurt. You moved away from me so fast, you’d think I’d burned you.” She bent her head down, ashamed of her neediness. She felt like a child, getting rejected over wanting a hug.

Mulder let go of her hand and put his fingers under her chin, lifting her face back to his. “Scully look at me.” When her eyes met his, she could feel them fill with tears, and she swallowed, trying not to let them spill over. This whole emotional roller coaster of a weekend was catching up with her at that moment. “There is never any time when I would not want you to touch me. Trust me on that,” Mulder said earnestly. “The reason I moved away was because I did hit my head pretty hard in the forest, and I didn’t want you to make me go to a hospital to get checked for a concussion.” He gave her a crooked smile.

Scully stared at him in disbelief. “Mulder—,” she started, but he put his finger against her lips to silence her and then bent his head down. “Scully, would you mind checking my head? I think I hit it pretty hard yesterday,” he said quietly, but his voice trembled slightly.

Scully stared at him until a slow smile broke out over her face. She placed her hand on his shoulder and kneeled next to him on the sofa, tenderly brushing her fingers through his hair, carefully inspecting the bump. She gave the back of his neck a little scratch while she was at it, and he raised his face to her, only inches away. Scully let her hands glide to his face, cradling it between her palms. “Your head seems to be fine, Mulder. Although—,” she whispered, but before she could finish whatever she had meant to say, he leaned in and softly covered her lips with his.

With a moan, she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Mulder didn’t waste any time and lifted her off the couch and into his lap. She felt her heart thunder in her ears and straddled his legs, gripping his hair with both of her hands. He moaned into her mouth and pressed her hips closer to his, jerking against her. This was what she had been hoping for all weekend. It’s still the weekend, her mind filled in helpfully, and she ruthlessly squashed the thought down, far too busy trying to get another moan like the one before out of Mulder.

She felt his hand sneaking under her sweater, stroking up her back, and a wave of heat coursed through him. Scully pulled back slightly, trying to catch her breath while Mulder reached out to pull her in for another kiss, but she put her hand against his chest, softly stopping him from moving in again.

“That’s why, Mulder. That’s what I thought I could never have.” She gave him a soft kiss on his upper lip and followed it with a nibble on his lower lip. “I wasn’t sure if I could keep going day after day, knowing that you didn’t feel for me what I feel for you.”

Mulder leaned his forehead against Scully’s. “You’ll never have to wonder about that again, Scully. Not as long as I’m alive.” He leaned in for another kiss, and she could feel his smile against her lips. Before he could deepen the kiss again, she got off of his lap and held out her hand to him. “Why don’t we move this to the bedroom, Mulder? I feel like we’ve done enough talking.”

Mulder didn’t need to be told twice.

[is-on-its-way]

Breathe Deep

Episode:  s02e08 One Breath

Part 1, Part 2

·˚ ༘ ༊*·˚·˚ ༘ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟﾟ･༘ ☾･ﾟ⋆･ﾟ:⋆·˚ ༘ ˚·˚·༊ ༘ ˚·⋆:ﾟ･⋆ﾟ･*☾ ༘⋆:ﾟ･⋆ ☾ ༘ ˚·˚·*༊ ༘ ˚·

Maggies POV The answer, watching him now, was just so simple. He was in love with Dana. Fiercely and profoundly. She felt foolish for ever thinking it could be anything else.

·˚ ༘ ༊*·˚·˚ ༘ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟﾟ･༘ ☾･ﾟ⋆･ﾟ:⋆·˚ ༘ ˚·˚·༊ ༘ ˚·⋆:ﾟ･⋆ﾟ･*☾ ༘⋆:ﾟ･⋆ ☾ ༘ ˚·˚·*༊ ༘ ˚·

Maggies heart was breaking and filling with a blood chilling profound fondness at the same time. Her heart broke for this man as he screamed and wailed a bravado that did nothing to mask the sheer terror she knew he was feeling in this moment. She knew because she was feeling the same way. He was acting out the turmoil she felt inside. Despite this she knew she couldn’t quite grasp the depth of his care for her daughter, for his obvious love for her.  

She knew love when she saw it and this was love. She had had her suspicions all throughout Dana’s disappearance. Perhaps even before then, from the little smile that crept across her daughters face whenever she spoke of him. She’d put his self flagellation down to his guilt over losing her. The tortured look in his eyes whenever she showed up to his apartment with a tray of lasagna or soup looking for more details or updates, but mostly a motherly instinct to have him fed. He needed to be alive to find her after all, and she knew he wasn’t feeding himself properly. 

The answer, watching him now, was just so simple. He was in love with her. Fiercely and profoundly. She felt foolish for ever thinking it could be anything else. 

She squeezed Dana’s hand and walked around the curtain into the hallway.

“Stop!” She shouted in a voice remembered from when her children were small, and they did. It always felt like magic when that happened, her children had rarely done so. She walked up to the security guard and Fox. 

“Let go of him, he’ll behave, won’t you Fox?” She looked at him hoping he would calm enough to work with her. “For Dana?” she added, when he still glowered.

“I…” he started angrily and then tossed his arms forward so his jacket was thrown back on his shoulders, collar still askew, from where the security guard had pulled him, discombobulated it.

Maggie reached up and fixed the collar.

“This is my daughters partner.” She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t correct or explain further. “He’s distraught. Can’t you see that?” She stared down the security guard, hoping he was feeling ashamed,

“He can’t behave like this ma’am.”

That’s fine, he just needs to talk to the doctor so he can get the information he needs. He’s with the FBI.”

She waited as both men remained stuck in their poses and egos. 

“Will you let him go? Please?” She asked softly.

The security guard threw his hands up and stepped back. 

“I’m gonna be right over there, you hear me?” He said to Mulder. 

“Yes Sir” mulder saluted at him insolently and turned to Maggie. 

“Lets find a doctor.” She said and he nodded following her to the nurses reception desk.

Maggie asked for the doctor to be called back. He had disappeared for whatever reason and the nurse said she would call them when he was available. 

“Come on, Fox lets sit for now.”

She walked towards the bed where Scully lay and felt him tense next to her and stop.

“I can’t” he whispered as doubled over breathing ragged. 

It was like looking through a terrible looking glass at her own pain. 

“Come here” she said placing a hand on his back and guiding him left to a row of seats against the wall. He let her guide him and when they sat and she looked up at his face she could see tears where running down his cheeks and his fine brow was crinkled. He was on the edge of breaking down completely, she felt it emanating from him in waves, breath shallow and quick.

“Fox?” She said taking his hand. “You need to breathe okay?” He was shaking his head looking up at the ceiling lights.

“Breathe in, i’ll count.”

And she counted slowly to five “and exhale.” She counted again, he had closed his eyes but was listening to her and breathing with her. She patted his hand. “That’s good.”

She kept increasing the count until it got up to ten and then he started doing it automatically. His body relaxing back into the wall. 

“She’s here with us.” She was soothing him as well as herself. “Thats all that matters right now, we got her back. Whatever happens now…” her voice broke “Whatever happens, she’ll be with us. No one can take that away.”

Mulder looked at her, tears trembling in his eyes, more sorrow than she’d ever seen in them before. She wasn’t sure he had taken in what she’d said, he had a hardened look on his face that scared her a little. 

“Do you want to see her? You can hold her hand.” 

“No” he said to forcefully. “No” he repeated softly. “I cant. I have to know what happened and then I have to find the people responsible. I can’t…” he swallowed and then took a deep steadying breath. 

“You’ll stay with her? No matter what? Make sure she doesn’t… Make sure nobody touches her?” 

“Yes and Missy will be here soon and Charlie’s coming when he gets off work.”

He nodded and then said “I’ll put in a call to skinner get some FBI protection to stand by her room.”

He stood and rubbed his face.

“Will you come get me if the doctor comes?”

“Yes, of course.”

And he strode off on his long legs fishing for the cell phone in his jacket pocket. 

@today-in-fic 🙏

[thursdayinspace]

I was going to do a complete season 1 review for the rewatch, but instead I did a close reading of this scene from 1x24 The Erlenmeyer Flask, because I can’t get it out of my head, I love it so much.

Scully: Wait a second. Mulder? I just want to say that I was wrong. Mulder: It's all right, don't worry about it. Scully: No, um, if you'd had listened to me, we wouldn't be here right now. I should know by now to trust your instincts. Mulder: Why? Nobody else does. Scully: You know, I've always held science as sacred. I've always put my trust in the accepted facts. And what I saw last night . . . for the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe. Mulder: Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully, when you walk into that room? Nothing sacred will hold.

This is a big moment for various reasons. It’s a defining moment for their partnership. This is almost a summary of the season.

Possibly the biggest thing for their partnership is her admitting she was wrong and Mulder’s reaction to it. We don’t know this, but from all the context we have of his life at this point, it’s safe to assume that Mulder doesn’t get apologies very often. “I just want to say that I was wrong.” It’s important to her to let him know that. And that alone says something about the way she sees him. He’s generally seen as crazy and paranoid. But not by her. More than that, she sees him as a person with feelings that can be hurt, and she wants to make sure he knows that wasn’t her intention. “I should know by now to trust your instincts,” that is a huge thing to say and has to be something that needs a minute to sink in for him. She trusts him. Which is something he knows already to an extent, but to hear it said that openly after how vehemently they disagreed on this is a different thing.

In that context it’s worth looking at their exchange after visiting Doctor Berube. She tells him: “I mean, this has reached the point of absurdity, Mulder. We're out here on half a hunch off of a cryptic phone call chasing down a clue that's based on nothing but speculation.” She voices her mistrust of Deep Throat and Mulder asks her “You think he does it because he gets off on it?” To which she replies: “No. I think he does it because you do.” And then she walks off, effectively ending that argument, she doesn’t have anything more to say. She’s made her point. And to come back from that the way they do in this scene, that is a real testament to how much respect they have for each other. Yeah, he was right. And yeah, he gets that she has to ask the uncomfortable questions.

Just the fact alone that she thinks he deserves an apology is a lot; she doubted him and she’s sorry for that because she knows he’s not crazy. They’re partners and they work as partners. She’s not there with him right now because he asked her. She’s there because she genuinely wants to be and genuinely believes that his explanations of the facts hold value and that she takes them seriously. And nobody ever takes him seriously. He points that out to her right away.

In fact, his whole interaction with her in this scene shows a vulnerability that needs the context of the rest of the season to be fully understood. He could say all of these things to anybody else, word for word, and it would simply be the equivalent of a shrug and a “fine, let’s move on.” But with everything they have been through and with the way we’ve seen them opening up to each other, this means something very different.“It's alright, don't worry about it.” I mean. Shit. The thing is, it probably is alright on the surface. It is a way to shrug it off. Not being taken seriously has to hurt, but he’s used to it, so really, she shouldn’t worry about it, she’s there now and that’s all that matters. But it’s not all that matters to her.

His reaction to her telling him that she should know to trust his instincts? “Why? Nobody else does.” The way he says this, it doesn’t sound like he’s testing her. It sounds a little bitter, but that bitterness is not directed at her. After years of being at best ignored, more often ridiculed, of course he doesn’t have a more positive reaction to something like this at hand. But I don’t think there can be any doubt that it means something to him. She smiles after he says this, and that also says something: she doesn’t count herself among the people who dismiss him and she gets that he’s not dismissing her. She sees the self-deprecating humor in his response. She also hears the “thank you for not being one of them” in his response. His face stays sincere. He isn’t challenging her, but he needs to know why she’s sticking around. It’s such a loaded response. You can hear a lot of things in it if you want, which makes it such a well-written exchange: he is a little confused as to why she’s sticking around, he’s thanking her for being there, he’s bitter about and/or used to nobody believing him, I mean, hell, it isn’t even impossible to find a flirty note in there. In any case, he’s downplaying her apology not because he doesn’t appreciate it, but because he didn’t see it coming since most likely nobody has ever bothered or seen the need before. At the same time, he’s telling her he trusts her too.

Scully has had her beliefs challenged, and she shows right here and right now how much of a scientist she really is. She is ready to admit that one theory hasn’t worked, so she is prepared to examine a different one that looks more promising. This is one of her core traits: she never clings to her theories out of some sense of vanity. She doesn’t have to be right. She just wants to understand, and she needs facts to do so. Poking holes in things is part of science, to see how well it holds up. It’s about getting as close to the truth as they can. And with the evidence to support Mulder’s arguments, she can be convinced to have a closer look at his theory. She says: “I've always held science as sacred. I've always put my trust in the accepted facts.” And that’s what is being challenged here. This is seriously stretching the boundaries of what she accepted to be fact. But she doesn’t stubbornly cling to what she believes. It’s a process, and she respects that as much as he does. Their arguing is never just for the sake of it.

Scully says: “For the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe.” How big is that? But this is something that reiterates and reinforces something we have seen throughout the season again and again: they trust each other. She isn’t afraid to admit her insecurity to him. They’re faced with something she can’t wrap her head around, when knowing things is kind of her job? She makes herself very vulnerable with this statement. His response picks up on that and tells her she’s right to question everything: “Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully, when you walk into that room? Nothing sacred will hold.” He’s telling her it’s okay, it is all a bit hard to believe. He’s well aware of that. This is not trying to convince somebody to try mayo instead of ketchup with their fries. This is about the fundamentals of her worldview. He does not expect her to be convinced. He is sure she will be impressed. But he accepts her doubt, he always does. “Whatever it is you do believe.” No pressure, but here’s a cool thing that will definitely give you some answers. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen, but that’s a different story.

This little conversation between them is such a pivotal moment. It truly shows who they have become individually and as partners. It wraps up the season very nicely and at the same time cements the foundation of their partnership for season two. Because they can have a conversation like this one and understand what the other one is saying, their pining after each other at the beginning of the next season makes sense. They’ve become very important to each other, they show each other their vulnerable sides, they take care of each other. This little conversation sums that up perfectly.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | How the Ghosts Stole Christmas (6x06)

‘Twas the night before Christmas on Larkspur Lane;

Ev’ry corner held loneliness, sadness and pain.

The house reeked of sorrow beyond all compare.

Indeed, ‘twas a time of dark, dark despair.

For many a moon we stayed dormant and still,

Awaiting some guests to our house on the hill,

For this singular night, yes– the one night all year

We’d be given a chance to spread holiday cheer.

But as the clock ticked further into the eve,

We worried that there might be none to receive;

Maurice in his topcoat and I, pale and gaunt, 

Lamented a Christmas with no one to haunt. 

When, what to our wondering eyes should appear 

But two such lonely souls (also suckers, my dear)!

They searched through the mansion, as their flashlights beamed

For ghosts —but in truth, for each other, it seemed. 

Our grayed, ghoulish faces grew flush with delight

As they crept through the hall —how delicious a sight!  

Foolishly thinking themselves to be brave,

They were perfect, exactly the targets we craved!

The one with red hair, spouting theories a-flurry

Was doing her best to get out in a hurry,

While her partner (so handsome!) wanted not a thing more

Than to keep her nearby for just one more dark floor.

In eighty long years, I’d never quite seen

Two hearts locked at impasse like these two had been;

Denying their feelings, year after year

Out of loneliness, pride, and a good dose of fear.

At eleven o'clock, the grandfather did chime,

Giving we two just an hour of time

To trap these poor souls in their own lovers’ pact —

Like Maurice and me, there’d be no going back.

Maurice took the tall man; I, Lyda, the dame,

As we worked to uncover their secrets and shame.

You see, ghosts can’t do much but mess with the mind,

And these two were a challenge with so little time.

Maurice began prodding him– Mulder, his name —

To help find the answers he couldn’t explain;

Run down his issues, a glum inventory

(All of them paramasturbatory)

I, Lyda, found Scully, the lass of the two,

A bundle of pent-up neuroses, ‘twas true;

Her unconscious yearning, though present, was faint

For her partner, displaying impressive restraint.

I had to give credit, for weakness she lacked;

Resisting that man was a heroic act!

But… in love with a gent who would only see ghosts?

A lovers’ pact? Please. These two had no hope.

We considered retreating back up to our beds

While the agents ran into brick walls in their heads.

But something about them had told us instead

These two star-crossed lovers were better off dead.

(You might fairly ask why a couple of ghosts

Would decide to become such abom’nable hosts,

But ‘ere you judge us for what happened that night,

Remember: they trespassed, thus earning our spite.)

A wee little push, then, was all they would need,

And eventually they’d watch the other one bleed.

We’d need all our tricks, it was well understood,

To get Dana and Fox ‘neath our floorboards for good.

Getting him to believe was a simple first leap,

Then surely she’d follow, like a redheaded sheep;

‘Twas easy as shooting two fish in a barrel

Or singing a well-trodden old Yuletide carol.

With glee we did watch as they squirmed on the floor,

Covered in blood, all trust broken, for sure.

Our events set in motion that one day they’d see

How amazing a true partnership could be!

But then, in a twinkling, we heard Mulder speak

In a voice that grew strong after starting out weak:

“You’re not shot,” he told Scully, to greatest avail,

And they both got up, leaving our fine plan to fail!

Grabbing her hand, they took off like the lark,

Sprinting away, lost to us in the dark.

Maurice was upset, and I, Lyda, distraught;

Our scheme to turn foursome had all been for naught.

But the spirit of Christmas, alas, was not lost

As my love took my own hand, whatever the cost;

‘Twas a night to remember, although it was done…

What more’s there to say? Even ghosts should have fun!

Read the Rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@admiralty-xfd

[atths--twice]

Passing the Time

While waiting for labs at the hospital, Scully helps Mulder pass the time.

Fictober day 6. Prompt: That's All? Easy.

For my dear friend Ingrid. 💓

February 7, 2018 George Washington Memorial Hospital 

“How much longer did they say?” Mulder asked Scully as she closed the door and rejoined him in the hospital’s waiting area. 

“Twenty minutes at least,” she replied and he sighed heavily.

“We’ve already been waiting for two hours.” 

“Lab work takes time. You know that.” 

“I do,” he said with a nod. “I also know that we’ve been out of the game for a while. Maybe there were advancements while we were away.” 

“Excuse me?” she asked, picking up a random magazine as she sat down. “We haven’t been away from anything. You have. I worked in a hospital until very recently, remember? I am aware how long labs can take.” 

“You know what I meant,” he said, rolling his eyes and she hummed. Glancing at the pages before her, but not finding much interest in them. “I guess I just forgot about the waiting part.” 

“No, you’ve never been good at waiting,” she said, turning the pages with a sigh. 

“In regard to some things,” he said and she turned her head to look at him. He shrugged and gave her a small smile. 

“Hmm,” she hummed again, her attention back on the magazine. His leg bumped hers as he began to bounce it and she pressed into him, silently telling him to stop. “Don’t you have something you can do on your phone? A game to play or something you can read?” 

“Not really.” 

“You had that one game you were playing. Just do that and the time will go by faster,” she said, feeling as though she was speaking to a large child. 

“But it’s boringgggg,” he said, dragging the word out dramatically while he bumped his leg into hers. 

“Mulder,” she said, huffing out a laugh. “Twenty minutes is hardly any time at all. You’ll be fine.” 

“At least twenty minutes. That’s what you said they said, right? So it could be more.” 

“You wanna find a supply closet and make out?” she asked, turning her head and looking at him as he immediately stilled. 

“You… you’re… seriously?” 

“Of course not,” she said, looking back at the magazine and shaking her head. “We’re working.” 

“If that’s the only hold up, I’ll take a rain check.” 

“Sure,” she said, turning another page and not giving it much thought. 

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” he said, his voice lower and she fought back a smile, enjoying teasing him. 

“With or without clothing?” she asked, her voice also low. 

“Definitely without,” he answered quickly and this time she was unable to hold back her smile. “Or whatever you prefer.” 

She turned her head and held his eyes, seeing the desire within them. Leaning closer, she grazed his cheek with her own as she brought her lips close to his ear. 

“I prefer without as well,” she whispered, brushing a kiss to his cheek as she pulled away. 

He groaned softly and she smiled as her attention turned back to the magazine. 

“Christ, Scully,” he breathed, putting his arm along the back of her chair and looking around the room. 

“You gonna make it?” she teased and he laughed as he shifted in his seat. 

“Honestly? Sometimes I don’t know, Scully.” 

“I do enjoy keeping you on your toes. Or your back.” 

“Fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. 

“Can I offer any help to alleviate any discomfort you’re presently experiencing?”

“Yeah, you can stop talking,” he nearly growled. 

“Or I could offer a distraction.” 

“No, that’s how we ended up here.” 

“A different kind of distraction,” she said with a laugh. 

“I’ll be the judge. Let me hear  it.” 

“You consider yourself an intelligent man,” she stated, looking at the magazine. Pausing on a page, she considered the pair of pants the model was wearing.

“I do indeed, but I’m not sure I’m liking where this is heading.” 

“You have an incredible memory. Some might say it's too incredible.” 

“It’s definitely served me well,” he said, stretching out his legs and crossing the left foot over the right. “In more ways than one.” 

“Hmm,” she said, trying not to let her mind wander too far, knowing how well his memory had served in their sex life. Even from the very beginning, it was as though he had memorized every spot that made her cry out and beg him for more.  

“So what did you have in mind?” he asked and she shook her head, pushing away those thoughts. 

Later, she told herself. Definitely later. 

“Make a list of all fifty states,” she said and he looked at her. 

“A list of all the states? That’s your grand plan to help me pass the time?” he asked, moving his arm and sitting up, his brow furrowed even as he smiled. “List the states? That’s all? Easy.” 

“And the capitals,” she said as he stood up, patting his suit jacket, most likely looking for a pen. 

“What?” he asked, stopping and staring at her. “The capitals too?” 

“You said listing the states was easy. We’ve got time to kill so… capitals too,” she said, turning a page and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Oh… you’re going to regret this. I’ll be done way before the labs are.” 

“So you say,” she said, looking at the magazine. “Yet there you stand, writing nothing down.” 

“Oh, you… you…” He shook his head, waving his finger at her. “I’m gonna find some paper and then… be prepared to be amazed.” 

“I’m all a tingle,” she said with an exaggerated shiver. 

“You… ha ha ha,” he said, walking out of the room to hunt down some paper. 

She smiled as she put the magazine down and reached for another. 

He was back quickly, heading to the small table in the corner of the waiting area, when she stood up and stopped him. 

“Give me your phone.” 

“You don’t trust me?” 

“No,” she laughed. “Not for things like this. Gimme it.” 

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me,” he said, taking his phone from his pocket and handing it to her. “I would never-”

“Dyspareunia,” she said, putting his phone in her pocket. “Thought of that word on your own to build off of your previous word spare?” She raised her eyebrows and he shrugged with his palms up, a guilty smile on his face. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll be holding onto your phone. Go on.” 

“Bossy,” he said, as he continued past her. 

“You love it,” she stated and he nodded, grinning at her. 

“I absolutely do. Especially when-”

“Nope,” she said, pointing at the paper. “Get to writing.” He saluted as he sat down as she shook her head as she also sat down. 

Quiet fell over the room and she was surprised when she realized ten minutes had passed without any interruptions. Looking over at him, she smiled as she saw how focused he was as he wrote. Suddenly feeling sleepy, she set the magazine beside her, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes. 

“Hey,” Mulder said softly and she opened her eyes. “It always amazes me how you can fall asleep anywhere.” 

“Are you done?” she asked, sitting up and looking at the paper in his hand. 

“Why yes, Miss Scully. I got all my homework done,” he said in a southern drawl, handing the paper to her. She took it with a smile, her eyes running over his words. 

“You know,” he said as he sat down. “That was actually harder than I thought it would be.” 

“Hmm,” she hummed. “That’s not surprising.” 

“What are you trying to say?” he asked and she laughed quietly.

“Nothing about you in particular. It’s just not something we think about in our normal day to day life, so it’s not surprising that it proved to be somewhat difficult.” 

“As long as it wasn’t a dig at my intelligence,” he said, sticking out his lower lip. 

“I would never. Did I not call you an intelligent man earlier?” 

“No. You stated that I considered myself an intelligent man.” 

“Did I?” she asked, tapping her finger against the paper as she read. 

Juneau, Alaska. Austin, Texas. Olympia, Washington.    “You did. Find any mistakes?” 

“Not yet,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. 

“You won’t. Because, I have a fantastic memory, as I believe you said.” 

“Ohhh. You were so close,” she said, closing her eyes briefly and shaking her head. “I said you had an incredible memory, but it looks like I was wrong.” 

“Fantastic… incredible. One would say they’re interchangeable,” he said, moving his hands as though weighing the words on a scale. 

“Hmm,” she hummed, nodding in agreement. 

Columbus, Ohio. Montpelier, Vermont. Bismarck, North Dakota. 

“So what’s the word, Teach?” he asked as she folded the paper in half. 

“All correct. One hundred percent,” she said, smiling as she turned her head to look at him. 

“A hundred percent. That should get a gold star,” he stated and she sighed. 

“Unfortunately, I’m all out of gold stars at the moment.” 

“Huh…” he said, rubbing his fingers across his chin. “No gold stars? You got anything else of value? I mean… a perfect paper achieved by my incredibly fantastic memory… it deserves something.” 

Smiling again as she leaned closer to him, she placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him softly. Then again. Then once more, her lips lingering on his. 

“Better than a gold star?” she whispered and he hummed as he kissed her before pulling back slightly. 

“Much better,” he whispered back, bumping his nose gently against hers. 

She pulled back further, smiling at him, her fingers scratching lightly at the stubble upon his cheek. He smiled and she dropped her hand with a sigh just as the door to the waiting area opened and the lab technician stepped inside. 

“Agents, I have the results you’ve been waiting for,” he said and they both stood to their feet and followed the technician down the hall. 

Though her focus was on the case and the new evidence they now had, her mind kept drifting to the softness of Mulder’s lips and how she wanted to feel them on hers again. 

Without clothing this time, she thought. Most assuredly without clothing. 

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 16: The Space Between Words

Prompt: "No, I'm not okay"

A moment in "Per Manum" after Scully breaks the bad news to Mulder. Rating: T, wc: 913

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

“Never give up on a miracle.” His voice sounds loud to his ears, and he hopes – no, prays – that she hears them, understands him. Whatever she wants to do next, whatever she wants to try, he’s by her side. He’s not giving up on this, or her. On them.

They cling to each other like castaways after a shipwreck. Mulder bites back his own tears, wanting to give Scully the chance to grieve. This was her dream long before it became his, too. He holds her as tightly as she lets him, wishing he could take the pain away from her.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into her hair, needing to say the words as much as she needs to hear them. She squeezes his neck, her face pressed against his chest. She takes a deep breath, as if taking him in, and loosens her grip on him. He searches her face, playing it by ear. She sniffles a few times, avoiding his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.” She steps away from him, using her thumbs to wipe away her tears. “It was- well.” Her words are heavy with pain, and he doesn’t just hear it—he feels it. Feels the weight of her disappointment. The anger, too. This has been stolen from her.

“You don’t have to stay,” Scully goes on, and as hurtful as her words are, he chooses to ignore them. He stands there like a prop, watching her pace. There’s nothing she can do. There’s nothing to plan, to execute. There’s just nothing.

When she lost Emily, he watched her channel her emotions into signing forms, arranging the funeral, and everything that came after. After losing her father, he couldn’t stop her from throwing herself into work. He tried, only to realize that all he could do, was extend a hand, hoping that she’d reach for him. All he can do tonight, is do the same. He’ll stay here, waiting. He’ll be here for her when she’s ready.

“Mulder, I’m fine,” she says, the words a needle prick on his skin. He’s heard it before, countless times. He’s come to loathe the word. She mumbled it when she lay dying. Screamed it when he couldn’t stop staring at her, blood dripping from her nose.

“Thank you for waiting, I appreciate it.” Her voice is cool and smooth as steel. A shield she’s put up in front of herself. Like he’s not her friend or her partner. Like he’s not the man she asked to be the other half of the equation. He’s had a part in all of this, too. A piece of his heart is woven into her loss, into her pain.

“I think I’ll just go to bed.” She nods at him as though he were a stranger. “I’m just-” She doesn’t finish the sentence, leaving it hanging just like she leaves him standing there. His eyes follow her to her bedroom and his legs twitch, prepared to follow her. The bedroom door clicks shut behind her and the silence that follows tears the air from his lungs. He bites down hard on his lip, drawing blood. He no longer tries to stop the tears from falling.

*

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when his cell phone lights up, flashing Scully’s name. His head throbbing, he reaches for it and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hi,” he says softly, his tone full of tears and dreamless slumber.

“Hi.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, trying to get comfortable. He may be used to sleeping on a couch, but he’s not used to sleeping on one that’s designed for someone much shorter. His muscles protest as he sits up.

“No,” is all she replies. She’s quiet for so long that he wonders if she’s fallen asleep. It wouldn’t be the first time she falls asleep on him. How often has he told her stories on the phone late at night, only to notice that her reactions become fewer and fewer until all he could hear was her even breathing or even a soft snore.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” he asks.

“No.”

“I have good stories,” he teases, hoping to elicit the smallest of giggles, a reprieve. There’s only silence on the other end. The pain sits too deep, is still too raw.

“I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” he says quickly, trying to keep her on the line. She could hang up any second, and he’d still be here, waiting. “Scully, I know that you- but I need to know, to really know… are you okay?” The silence pressed down like a weight on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The second stretches like a piece of old gum.

“No,” she admits, her voice trembling. “I’m not okay.” He gets up from the couch and tiptoes around the couch, hoping for a sign. “Can you- come back?” And there it is. He’s at her bedroom door in an instant, knocking softly. She opens it, her face tear-streaked and her eyes puffy.

“You didn’t leave?” Every word is soaked in tears.

“I didn’t leave.”

“Can you…” but her voice breaks before she can finish and he understands. He opens his arms wide and waits for her to step in. Once he has her, he starts rocking her gently.

“Thank you for letting me in,” he murmurs into her hair.

[actual-changeling]

This post by the lovely @thursdayinspace violently hit me over the head with a baseball bat, so here we are. Dropping this mid-Pusher ficlet on your porch like a cat presenting a dead mouse. Technically this is canon-compliant if you squint a little.

I also wrote a longer post-episode fic a little while back, which you can find right here.

50% angst, 50% hurt/comfort, 100% yearning, the usual. Unofficial title for this one is "terrified with you".

———

Scully can't remember the last time she was this afraid.

No, not afraid—terrified.

Absolutely and utterly terrified for Mulder's life. She watches as the other agent (a name, he has a name) fits the bullet-proof vest around his chest, a thin wire running underneath it and connecting to what looks quite similar to a headset; one is waiting for her next to the screens.

If it were any other case, the sight of the defensive gear would calm her, maybe even offer an anchor to hold onto, but not this time. Not with Modell. Theoretically, wearing only a vest is often enough because, unless they're dealing with someone who knows how to shoot, the chances of the suspect hitting the body at all, let alone a small, moving part such as the head, are minuscule.

Modell is in no way experienced with a gun, but he doesn't have to be.

Mulder knows how to aim to kill, and nine times out of ten, he will hit what he is aiming at. He can use him, abuse him, force him to shoot whomever he pleases before commanding him to kill himself, and all she will be able to do is sit and watch.

The agent (she tries and fails to recall his name) steps away to respond to an incoming radio call, leaving Mulder half-stuck in the vest and the two of them in silence.

She shifts in her chair and turns her head until cold metal is digging into her cheek, already hearing her own voice list injury after injury, his body laying lifelessly in front of her.

Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the head, self- (she can hear her own breath, too shallow, painful in her lungs) self-inflicted.

Self-inflicted. Suicides. Every single one of them died by their own hand. She really likes his hands.

"Scully."

Mulder's voice is soft, dipping into a tone he rarely uses and only ever with her, and she feels more than she sees him stepping closer. He raises his hand, gently grabbing her jaw and nudging it towards himself. Scully knows if she were to flinch away, he'd let her and not try again, but his fingertips are warm against her skin, a warmth she finds in his eyes, too.

Concern rolls off him in waves, and she presses his palm to her cheek, covering his hand with her own.

"Let me go in with you," she tries, knowing he will fight her on this harder than usual. It's a futile attempt, yet she still has to say it—for her own peace of mind and the small chance that he'll say yes.

"No, Scully," Mulder responds, an edge to his words, "one person putting themselves in danger is enough."

Separating never does them any good, but they keep doing it over and over, searching for the definition of insanity in the distance between their bodies.

"Why does it have to be you?"

It's a question she already knows the answer to, and his thumb brushes along her cheekbones as he shakes his head. A calming gesture, a way of offering comfort without addressing whatever it is that's spinning its net around them.

"You know why. I'll be fine, probably not even gonna have a scratch on me."

Scully hums quietly, evading their conversation in favour of discreetly tugging him closer; not that agent what's-his-name is paying them any attention. She blinks up at him, unsuccessfully suppressing the urge to study his features as if it's the last time she will see them flushed with hot, red blood (she hates that she finds it sticking to her hands in more than just her nightmares).

The curve of his lips and nose, the familiar line of his jaw, the affectionate glint in his eyes. So much left unsaid and yet visible to anyone who looks at him, at them, to the point where Modell could spot it from far away. She tightens her grip on his wrist without really meaning to, but Mulder only smiles.

"I will be fine, Scully." They both know he cannot make any promises, but maybe they can lie to themselves for a little while longer.

The radio crackles, popping their haphazardly created bubble, and she hesitantly lets him go. Mulder runs his thumb down her cheek, lingering on the corner of her mouth before stepping back, and the agent whose name she doesn't care about picks up where he left off.

"You better be," she mumbles, suddenly shivering in the cold of his absence. I need you alive.

[television-overload]

beautiful (X-Files fanfic)

Rating: G

Word Count: 4,985

Summary: Weakened by her latest round of chemotherapy, Scully doesn't feel much like herself. Mulder helps her find the strength to keep fighting.

Read on AO3

“I wish you weren’t seeing me like this, Mulder,” she says out of the blue, drawing his attention away from the magazine he was idly flipping through at her bedside. Immediately, he sets it aside, dropping his feet to the ground from where they were perched up on the hospital bed.

“What do you mean?” he asks, grabbing her closest hand and running his thumb over her knuckles.

Scully sighs. “Don’t make me say it,” she responds. The answer looms over them both, and she’s right. He doesn’t like hearing it spoken aloud.

Dana Scully is wasting away, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

This latest round of chemotherapy has hit her harder than the first, and he’s starting to see the physical changes. She’s thinner, paler. There are dark circles under her eyes. The doctors have noticed it too, recommending that she stay in the hospital for a few days or even a week rather than recover at home.

Of course, she had refused on principle until Mulder told her he was being forced to take a few days’ leave anyway to use up some vacation time, which wasn’t exactly true, and she probably knew it.

But either way, she had let him accompany her to her appointment, which was more than he could say for her previous round of treatment.

“I look like the night of the living dead,” Scully mumbles, fiddling with the scratchy blankets on her lap.

Mulder tries not to show a physical reaction to her choice of wording. “Don’t say that,” he pleads, shaking his head. “Please don’t say that.”

Scully smiles wryly. He’s as predictable as ever.

“I just mean, I don’t look like myself. I don’t feel like myself.” She says this with such an unaffected voice, that anyone less familiar with her tells would think this was just some passing annoyance, but Mulder knows. He can see the way this has grated at her, and he just wishes he could take this all pain away from her. “I can’t even do my makeup,” she adds, throwing a breathy laugh in for good measure at the end of her sentence, as if to say, ‘but why should I care about that?’

Mulder tugs on her hand, and she follows his unspoken cue and meets his gaze. “I like you just fine without makeup,” he says, his eyes communicating the sincerity of his words. “Besides, who is there to impress anyway?” he asks, gesturing at the empty room over his shoulder to emphasize his point.

Scully gives a tired smile. “You’re a guy, Mulder, you wouldn’t understand.” Squeezing his hand once, she adds, “But thank you,” and he gives her a smile back. He wishes he could do something to help her.

She hasn’t had the strength for much, ever since they began the treatment two days ago. She’s having a better reaction to it than she could be, but he knows the fatigue is frustrating her. She’s told him a thousand times that he doesn’t have to stay here with her, but he does anyway, even when she’s sleeping for hours on end. When she’s awake, he reads to her, or they watch something on TV, whatever she’s feeling up to. If it weren’t for the harrowing circumstances, he might even be really enjoying this time spent together outside work.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Scully speaks, drawing his attention back to her. “But you’re not looking so great yourself.” Her teasing tone is softened by her genuine concern for him, but he can’t help but play along.

His eyes narrow at her in mock offense. “Just what every man likes to hear,” he says sarcastically. “Scully, you wound me.”

This earns a patented Scully Eye Roll.

“Go home and take a shower at least,” she amends, looking at him fondly. “You could use one.”

He simply stares at her, challenging her to more of this banter.

“Are you gonna just keep insulting me until I finally leave?” he asks.

“If that’s what it takes,” she answers. “I could touch on your poor posture next, if you want.”

Mulder laughs, waving a hand dismissively as he stands. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He looks back at her, pauses, and pointedly straightens his posture before grabbing his bag and taking a step toward the door. “You’ll be okay while I’m gone?” he asks, unable to help himself.

Her gaze softens, her playfulness turning back to seriousness. “Yes, Mulder, I’ll be fine. I probably won’t stay awake for much longer anyway.”

He nods, shifting to take another step, but on looking at her again, changes his mind. He turns back, crossing the floor to her bed and leaning down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. The hand that isn’t busy holding his briefcase gives her left shoulder a squeeze before he pulls away.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, tucking her blankets back up to her chin.

She smiles, her eyelids already growing heavy. “I know you will.”

-.-.-

True to his word, Mulder makes a stop at his apartment to shower and change, trading out the books they’d already finished with new ones that she will probably roll her eyes at. He has to admit, he feels like a new person as he steps out of the shower. He needed that more than he thought he did. There was something to what Scully had said earlier, about feeling like yourself. It gave him an idea.

As much as he wants to get back to her, Mulder knows she’ll be out like a light for at least a few hours. He decides to make another stop before heading back to the hospital.

It’s still fairly early in the day when he knocks on the door and waits for a minute. He hears the shuffling sound of someone approaching on the other side before the door creaks open.

“Fox?”

“Hi Mrs. Scully,” he says, giving her an awkward half smile, his hands jammed deep into his front pockets.

“What are you doing here? Is it Dana?” The woman is understandably worried; it’s not like Mulder to show up out of the blue like this unless there’s some kind of terrible news to convey.

He is quick to reassure her. “No, no, nothing like that. I just had something I—I wanted to ask you, if it’s no trouble.”

Maggie’s brows pinch together in that distinctly Scully way as she pulls him into her home, shutting the door behind him.

“What is it?”

Sheepishly, Mulder rubs a hand over the back of his neck, feeling less and less certain of what he came here to ask.

“Well, it’s just—Dana mentioned something earlier about wishing she had her makeup on, and I wondered… You know, her strength isn’t what it usually is, so I thought maybe I could—”

Maggie’s hands wrap around his forearm, halting his rambling speech. He looks up to see tears glistening in her eyes, and she nods in understanding.

“That’s very sweet, Fox.”

He nods, hoping his cheeks aren’t turning pink. He doesn’t do well with motherly praise.

“So, are you wanting me to show you how?”

He lets out a breath, relieved that he doesn’t have to find the words himself. “That would be great, actually.”

Mrs. Scully smiles, jerking her head toward the stairs so that he would follow her. “Come with me, I’ve got some stuff we can use.”

He dutifully follows after her as she leads him up the stairs. This is the furthest he’s been inside Maggie Scully’s house. He wonders how much of her belongings are mementos from Scully’s childhood, whether a certain painting hanging on the wall appears in her family Christmas photos or if it was bought recently.

In his perusal of the house itself, he nearly collides with someone he knows by name only. “Mom, who was that at the door?” the man is asking, and the moment their eyes meet, the air in the room thickens. “What’s he doing here?” he demands, looking to Maggie for answers.

Maggie is quick to come to Mulder’s aid. “It’s none of your business, young man,” she says, shooing him toward the stairs they had just come up. Despite his protestations, she continues, “Why don’t you go to the drugstore and pick up some eyelash straightening cream for Dana, we can bring it to her when we go visit later this afternoon.”

“But—”

She swats him on the arm. “No buts. Dana would really appreciate it if we brought it.”

He grumbles all the way down the stairs, but does as she told him. As soon as he’s grabbed his jacket from the coat closet, he’s out the door and starting up the car.

“What was that for?” Mulder asks, breaking the silence that had settled after the front door shut.

Maggie gives a pleased little smile. “There’s no such thing as eyelash straightening cream. Bill will be there for thirty minutes at least. As I’m sure you can imagine, knowing my daughter as you do, he doesn’t like asking for assistance if he can help it.”

Mulder lets out a surprised laugh. This woman runs a tight ship, and he has to respect her for it.

“Alright, now sit right here, Fox,” Mrs. Scully orders, pulling out a small stool from the vanity in her bathroom. She quickly leaves and returns with another chair from the bedroom, placing it across from him. She hums quietly as she rummages through her drawers, extracting several mystifying objects and setting them on the counter. “Now, let’s start with the foundation. I’ll show you how, and then you can do the other side of my face, sound good?”

Mulder nods, sitting up straighter to watch as she blends the creamy substance onto her skin. She’s narrating as she goes, and Mulder commits her words to memory, hoping his ability to replicate them will be as good as his ability to remember her instructions.

“Here, now you try,” Mrs. Scully says next, handing the brush to Mulder. He pushes aside any lingering feelings of awkwardness or embarrassment and sets in on applying the makeup. Maggie’s lips curl in a smile as she watches him, tapping ever so gently on her face as if he might break her. She wonders if he’s done this before. “You’re a natural,” she praises, “Are you sure this is your first time?”

He lets out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “I’m no expert,” he answers. He’s silent for a moment, not breaking concentration, and then adds in a quiet voice, “My sister had this play makeup set, real cheap quality stuff. She’d sometimes force me to be her test subject.” His eyes grow distant as he remembers.

It wasn’t all that long before her abduction, he thinks, the last time they did this. It always went the same way. He’d sit patiently—or as patiently as an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy could—while she clumsily dabbed colorful eyeshadow onto his eyelids. He’d learned early on that it was better to just go along with it, having suffered the wrath of Samantha Mulder once before for refusing to be her dress-up doll. The makeup rarely stayed on for more than a minute after she declared him done, scrubbed off like some kind of deadly germ in the sink, but it was enough to appease her.

When she was finished, she’d beg him to help her with her makeup, putting that pouty lip out that she knew he couldn’t say no to.

“Stop blinking, Sam,” he’d say, focusing intently on brushing on the mascara she’d stolen from her mom’s makeup bag. “You’re gonna mess it up.”

He remembers these times fondly, of rare moments where he managed to be a good big brother, instead of pretending to be annoyed by her like he often did. He’d give anything to be teased by his peers for spending time with his kid sister, if it meant having her back.

With the utmost care, Mrs. Scully walks him through the remaining steps, patting him gently on the cheek once he’s put on the finishing touches.

“You’re a good man, Fox,” she says, her fondness for him evident in her smile. “Dana is lucky to have you.”

Once again, Mulder shrugs, uncomfortable with the compliments, no matter how sincere they are. “I’m the lucky one, Mrs. Scully.” He thinks he’s never meant something more in his life. “But I appreciate you saying so. Thanks again for showing me everything.”

She pulls him into a hug. “Of course, you call me if you ever need anything. We’ll be by sometime this afternoon.”

He nods, and is thankfully out the door with time to spare before Bill can get home.

After a brief visit to Scully’s apartment to grab some of her things, he drives back to the hospital. When he arrives, Scully is awake in her bed, her upper body elevated so she can look out the window. She greets him with a warm smile, and he can’t help but grin back.

“Sorry I took so long,” he says in apology, “Had to make a quick pit stop.”

This catches Scully’s attention, and she watches as he produces a bag from behind his back, setting it on the tray table in front of her and starting to take items out. She recognizes it immediately, and looks up at him in wonder.

“Mulder,” she says, her tone jokingly admonishing. “You didn’t have to bring me this.” She’s smiling still as she starts to sit up, reaching out to grab a tube of lipstick, but he stops her.

“No, no,” he says, gently lowering her hand back down to the table and urging her to sit back and relax. “You take it easy, I’ll take care of this.”

She gives him a look with a furrowed brow, but eases back, watching him suspiciously as he selects a bottle of liquid foundation and a brush.

He sits sideways on her hospital bed so that he is facing her. With the limited space, his thigh brushes up against her blanket-covered one, but it barely even registers. This kind of closeness is nothing particularly unusual for them. If nothing else, it is an added comfort to them both.

“You ready?” he asks, makeup brush poised to start.

Scully searches his eyes for a moment and, deciding she trusts him, gives a nod. “Okay.”

With a pleased little smile, Mulder begins applying a light layer of foundation, leaning in closer to reach as he gently blends it into her skin.

Scully can only watch him, his brows drawn together in focus as he works to meticulously apply the makeup. Her eyes wander over his face, over the sharp lines of his nose and the roundness of his lips. Occasionally his tongue peeks out in concentration, and she can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

She didn’t ask him to do this. If he thought her needless grousing earlier was a request, she felt terrible. He isn’t her servant. He doesn’t exist to make sure she has all the niceties of her normal life in this cold, sterile place. The last thing she wants is to be a burden, especially to him. He’s had enough to deal with in his life without having to look after his terminally ill coworker.

But that isn’t all they are, is it? They’re friends—the closest of friends. This isn’t the first time he’s gone out of his way to do something nice for her, and she suspects it won’t be the last, no matter how little time she has left. For some reason, he’s taken it upon himself to be with her throughout this whole ordeal, even when it means holding back her hair as she heaves into a trash can or when she can’t adjust the covers over her cold feet.

The words jump into her mind unbidden: “In sickness and in health.”

It’s funny, in a distinctly unfunny way. She supposes she should be thankful that someone cares enough for her in that way, even if they are nothing more than friends and coworkers. In some ways, their partnership is more of a marriage than many people will experience in their lifetimes, and for that she is exceedingly glad. She couldn’t have asked for a better person to have in her life than Mulder.

He’s moved on now to powdering her skin with translucent powder, beginning with her forehead. As he brings the soft brush down between her eyebrows, she scrunches her nose up, hiding a smirk from him. His sloping green eyes soften from their earlier focus and he lets out a chuckle, playfully tickling her nose with the brush.

“You’re not gonna sneeze on me, are ya?” he asks, getting back to work on her cheeks and chin.

Her only answer is a quiet, affectionate smile.

After a careful application of blush on the apples of her cheeks, it’s time for her eyes. She watches him open her eyeshadow palette and rub a brush over one of the colors, and she quirks an eyebrow in concern. As he brings the small brush closer to her face, she draws back and looks at him doubtfully.

“Don’t put too much on,” she says, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Mulder rolls his eyes. “Relax, Scully, I got you.” He starts in again, shifting a few times to find the best angle before gently brushing over her eyelids in an arc.

“I like the brown color,” Scully informs him, her eyes fluttering in an effort to stay closed.

“I know,” Mulder answers. He pulls back just long enough to show her the tip of the brush, which is covered in a tasteful brown, exactly the right shade.

Before she has time to process that he knows what color eyeshadow she likes, she’s being told to close her eyes again and she complies, soaking in the feeling of being taken care of in such an intimate way.

“How did you know what eyeshadow I wear, Mulder?” she asks during a moment’s respite, while he returns the brush to the palette to pick up more of the colorful powder.

Now it’s his turn to glance at her disbelievingly. “I look at you every day,” he answers, as if it were obvious.

She takes in a breath, willing her heart to start beating normally again. The look on his face makes it clear that he’s laughing at her, amused by her lack of self-awareness in this respect.

“And…” he adds amusedly, “this one has clearly been used more than the others.”

Of course, she laughs to herself. There’s no way he was looking at her close enough to guess what shade of eyeshadow she wears. Although his perception of the finer details is greater than that of the average man. He has his Oxford education and eidetic memory to thank for that.

“Who knew a background in profiling could come in handy as a makeup artist?” she says as he finishes blending out the color.

“It was actually one of the main selling points when the FBI recruited me,” he deadpans, enjoying the banter. He could almost forget why she wasn’t able to do her own makeup.

The mascara comes out next, and it requires Mulder to encroach on her personal space even further, to the point where she can feel his breath on her face. He smells of peppermint toothpaste and hazelnut coffee, and she even catches the scent of his shower gel, like fresh rain water. All of this she counts as a marked improvement to the antiseptic smell of the hospital. It smells like their office. It smells like home.

When he’s done all he can to her eyelashes with her eyes closed, he asks her to open them so he can give them the finishing touches. Her eyes flutter open, and she is mildly startled to find him hovering only inches away.

“Do you have to be that close to my face, Mulder?” she asks, carefully hiding her nervousness behind a laugh.

Mulder chuckles and goes back to work, gingerly running the brush over her lashes. “That depends, do you want to be poked in the eye, Scully?”

Resigned to their positioning, she fights the urge cup his elbow with her hand, steadying him as he completes arguably the most delicate part of this routine.

“There,” he says, leaning back at last. “I think that about does it. Except—”

He pauses, reaching onto the tray table to grab the lipstick she’d picked up earlier.

“I knew I was forgetting something.” Before she can prepare herself, he’s removing the lid from the tube and drawing closer again, his hand finding its way to the back of her head to hold her still. She hardly dares to breathe, feeling his fingers threading through her hair as he carefully runs the tip of the lipstick over her lips, depositing the bright color on their surface.

She looks more alive than she has in a while, even if it is a false image.

She wants to avoid eye contact, being this close, with him doing this thing for her, but she can’t. Her eyes are locked on his as they focus intently on keeping the color within the lines of her plump lips. A few times, his eyes flick up to hers, and she catches the way the corners of his mouth quirk up when they do. She wonders what he’s thinking.

In no time at all, it’s done. Every last detail has been tended to, and he pulls back to survey his work. The hand that was resting on the back of her head drags forward along her jawline, and ever so lightly, his thumb comes to rest over her newly-painted bottom lip.

“There’s my Scully,” he says quietly. Proudly.

She feels the tears pooling in her eyes, but there’s nothing she can do about it. He, thankfully, doesn’t mention it.

“Can I see?” she asks, her voice managing not to waver too badly.

He smiles and nods, reaching for a handheld mirror and holding it out to her.

She’s not sure what she was expecting—clown makeup, maybe—but that’s not what she sees at all.

“Oh, Mulder…” She’s finding it very difficult to withhold the tears that are trying to escape. “You—you did a great job.”

Aside from perhaps just a little too much blush, everything is as it should be. She looks healthier, more confident. Her makeup is a mask. It is comforting to her, makes her feel like she can face whatever it is that lies before her. Mulder has always been able to see past that mask, and if it were anyone else, it might bother her. But not him.

“You didn’t cover my mole,” she says, reaching up to touch the offending spot beneath her nose.

Mulder takes her hand and pulls it away from her face. “Cause it’s cute,” he answers simply, smiling at her almost reverently.

She’s surely blushing now.

“How do you feel?” he asks. What a loaded question that is.

She tilts her head, surveying the surface of her face from every angle in an effort to stall long enough to regain her composure. It’s a placebo, she knows, but she feels reinvigorated. Ready to fight another day.

“It’s been a while since I’ve felt like myself,” she answers, her voice thick with emotion. “I… I look beautiful.”

He nods, an unnamable look in his eye, and she swears she hears a mumbled, “You’re always…” before he trails off, dropping his gaze to his lap. He subconsciously squeezes her hand once before letting it go, instead occupying his hands with putting everything away.

“You really did do a good job, Mulder,” Scully speaks after the somewhat awkward silence had persisted long enough. “Have you done this before?”

With a zip of her makeup bag, Mulder looks up at her with squinted, suspicious eyes and jokes back, “What me and the Lone Gunmen do on our boy’s nights is none of your business.”

Scully laughs, amused by the imagery that conjures. Never one to be thrown off, however, she persists. “Well, someone must have taught you,” she declares, raising an eyebrow in his direction. “Who was it?”

She gets a devious look in return. “I’ll never tell.”

-.-.-

As Bill pulls into the driveway after his wild-goose-chase trip to the drugstore (“You made me look like a fool, Mom!”), Margaret Scully greets him, sliding into the passenger seat with a bag full of goodies for her daughter.

He seems to finally be getting over his mother’s betrayal by the time they arrive at the hospital. They walk in, accepting visitor’s badges which they stick on their shirts before taking the elevator up to the oncology ward.

Bill’s admonishing tirade, which had persisted throughout most of the car ride, lingers on between intervening silences as they make their way down the hall. Once they approach Dana’s room, however, Maggie shushes him, holding out an arm to stop him.

Through the window, she sees Mulder setting a tube of mascara aside and exchanging it for lipstick. Bill’s curiosity gets the best of him, and he leans over his mother’s head to see for himself what it was that made his mother pause.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” she says, putting a guiding hand on her oldest son’s arm.

Inside the room, Mulder pulls back, and Bill can see even from this angle how his cheeks widen in a smile. His sister looks like herself again, and he doesn’t miss the shine of tears in her eyes, or the wobbling smile on her lips. Since they were children, he has kept a careful eye on her, monitoring her emotions, the protective big brother that he is.

And that’s why now, he understands. He hadn’t realized before, his own fault for not wanting to believe it.

His sister isn’t being dragged through hell by a sadistic partner, bent on destroying her life and everything she holds dear in one fell swoop. No. The truth is that she does it willingly, walks by his side through even the darkest shadows.

Because Dana is in love with her partner.

And he is undeniably in love with her.

The pieces slowly come together in his mind, everything he knows about Fox Mulder. His mother must have seen it long ago, hence her willingness to help him this morning. And he would have stood in the way.

The thought fills him with shame.

Mulder’s love for Dana goes so far beyond what Bill himself knows about love, that he had almost missed it entirely. What a blessing it is for his sister to experience it, for however brief a time.

With one final glance into the hospital room, Bill allows himself to be pulled away and toward the cafeteria.

“You see now, don’t you, Bill?” his mother asks as they walk, her eyes looking to him hopefully.

He nods, feeling his throat close up with unexpected emotion.

“Yes,” he answers. “I do.”

-.-.-

An hour into Mulder’s in-depth explanation (and diagramming) of the anatomy of dinanthropoides magnipus, otherwise known as “sasquatch” or Bigfoot, someone gently taps on the door.

“Come in!” Scully calls out, thankful for the reprieve.

“I hope we’re not interrupting…” Margaret Scully says as she enters, followed closely behind by Scully’s brother.

Mulder scoots back in his chair, shuffling the papers he’d strewn about and trying his best to fade into the background to provide them some privacy.

“Not at all,” Scully says, and she’s sounding better already than she has since they’d gotten here. “I’m glad you came by. Bill, I didn’t know you were in town.”

Bill clears his throat and steps forward, looking a little uncomfortable but otherwise happy to see his sister.

“I had a few days’ leave. Tara and I decided to make a weekend of it.”

Scully nods and looks between her brother and Mulder, realizing they’d never actually been properly introduced. She hopes they’ll both behave. Lord knows she’s told Mulder enough about Bill over the years, and she’s very familiar with her brother’s opinions about her partner.

She coughs. “Oh, uh, Mulder, this is my brother, Bill. Bill, this is Mulder.”

The two exchange an odd look before Mulder stands, and Bill meets him in the middle with a firm yet friendly handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Mulder,” Bill says with a pointed look, not at all unfriendly.

Mulder nods with a funny half smile. “Likewise.”

There’s another look exchanged briefly before they let go, returning to their respective awkward stances.

“We wanted to bring you some new magazines,” Maggie speaks, carrying a tote bag over to Scully’s bedside. “And Tara sent us with some crayons and coloring pages, in case either of you gets bored.”

Scully smiles, her fingers dragging the corner of Mulder’s silly sasquatch diagram out from its hiding place under a stack of other papers.

“I’m sure Mulder will appreciate being able to enlighten me on the specific coloring of Bigfoot’s spleen,” she says teasingly, and Mulder briefly wishes he could disappear, fearing the look on Bill’s face.

When he looks up though, both son and mother are smiling in amusement, not a hint of malice on Bill’s face.

Maggie leans in to place a kiss on Scully’s cheek, holding her daughter’s hand in hers.

“You’re looking like you feel a bit better,” she says as she pulls away, brushing her fingers over her brow and pushing back a lock of hair. “Lovely makeup, too.”

 With these last words, she looks to Mulder and—discretely—winks.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, Fox?” Maggie asks, goading him knowingly.

He rises to the challenge, his eyes finding Scully’s and holding.

“Beautiful as always.”

-.-.-

The TikTok video that inspired this made me sob uncontrollably, so I hope I captured some of those same emotions here. I beg you to go watch the video too, but have tissues at the ready. It seriously hasn't left my mind since I saw it the other day. I hope we all have the chance to find a love like that in this lifetime.

Tagging some people: @today-in-fic @teenie-xf @cutemothman @queenlovett @tygertygerfoggybright @baronessblixen

If you ever don't want to be tagged by me, just let me know! You won't hurt my feelings. Alternatively, if you want to be tagged if/when I write more X-Files fics, let me know and I'll make a list!

[phillippadgettwrites]

I love jealousy stories! Can you give us some good jealous Scully? Maybe it’s been stewing a long time or maybe Mulder got tired of her turning him down for dates and starts stating someone else. Just make her seethe with jealousy please???

One for The Road

Rated X / 3429 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Scully dials the number for the house phone from memory, then takes a big gulp of her wine. She listens to it ring once, twice, three times, four. She knows the machine will pick up after the fifth ring, and she prepares to hang up before she hears the outgoing message. Either she’ll hear her own voice, which will make her sad because he still hasn’t changed it, or she’ll hear his voice, which will make her sad because he has. She’s halfway through the fifth ring, about to pull the phone away from her ear, when he finally answers. 

“Hello?” he says breathlessly, like he was running for the phone.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out right away. She closes her eyes and forces herself to speak before either he hangs up, or she loses her nerve completely. “Mulder, it’s me.”

There’s a pause that’s a bit too long for her liking. Longer than a “shocked but happy to hear from you” pause. More of a “shocked and wondering why I’m hearing from you” pause. 

“Scully,” he finally says, her name leaving his mouth on a blustering breath. “It’s been a while. Are you okay?”

A little pang of something painful and beautiful spikes in her chest. He still cares about her. At least there’s that. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she reassures him. “How are you doing?”

She closes her eyes as she waits for his answer, unsure how explicit it might be. She wants to know, but she also vehemently doesn’t. If only there were some way to have both at once. Shroedinger’s knowledge of your ex’s love life. 

“I’m good,” he says, a polite non-answer. The kind you give to the checker at the grocery store or the coworker you don’t really like. The kind you give to your former partner who cut contact with you months ago to preserve her own sanity. 

“That’s good,” she says, disgusted by their milquetoast small talk. They used to talk about everything, and now they don’t talk at all. She takes another gulp of her wine.

He waits for her to explain why she called, and she waits for him to ask. 

“Did you need something?” he says when the silence becomes unbearable. 

I need you to wait patiently for me forever, she thinks. I need you to never, ever love anyone else. 

“I found some things of yours,” she says tightly, then clears her throat. “I must have accidentally packed them. I thought maybe you’d like to come by and get them.”

She already hates herself for being so petty. So immature. It’s really not like her, but then again she’s never loved anyone in her life the way she loves him. She’s never lost someone it hurts this much to lose. 

Mulder makes a little curious sound, and she feels hopeful that her plan will work. 

“What things?” he asks. 

“Um, some knick knacks,” she says, glancing at the pile of junk she managed to assemble. “A couple things you used to keep on your desk at the Hoover. Odds and ends. Sentimental things.”

Mulder has become increasingly sentimental with age. Year over year she continued to find little treasures tucked away around the house that looked to her like trash, but that he begged her not to throw out. She wasn’t sure whether to be touched or horrified when she found out he’d stashed the panties she was wearing the first time they had sex in a shoebox next to a set of tickets from a Knicks game he took her to—their first “real” date. 

“I hadn’t noticed they were missing, so I guess I don’t really need them,” he says, and she can picture him running his hand over the back of his neck as he’s prone to doing when he’s debating something. “You can keep them or throw them out, whatever you want.”

Her heart sinks. She was fairly certain he’d take the bait. Things he kept on his desk at the Hoover. That should have been irresistible.  

“Will you please come get them?” she says in a low, melancholy voice. “I don’t think I can bring myself to throw them out, but having them here is…It’s still difficult, Mulder.”

She’s not really putting on an act as much as she’s dropping it, but the impact is the same. He hears the hurt in her voice, the acknowledgement that she misses him and mourns their ruined relationship, and even if he’s no longer moved by her ten year old panties, he’s moved by her. 

He’s quiet for a few beats, and when he says, “Yeah, okay,” she has to suppress a victorious whoop. “Can I come by now? I can be there in half an hour.”

“Okay,” she says quickly, “Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as she hangs up, she drains her glass and pours another, then hurries to her bedroom to get dressed. She needs something sexy, but casual enough that it won’t look like she’s trying too hard. And she needs her water bra. 

This is all very much beneath her, she’s marginally aware of that. It’s quite pathetic, actually, and she should probably be ashamed of herself, but she’s not. She just has a very deeply held conviction that Mulder belongs with her, and thus any other woman who weasels her way into his life is encroaching on Scully’s territory. She doesn’t think this consciously—that would be far too catty and anti-feminist. But clearly that’s how she feels, given the way she’s responding to the news that Mulder has a girlfriend. 

She hasn’t spoken to him in months, not since the night that she tearfully told him she’s afraid she’ll spend the rest of her life mourning the loss of him if she doesn’t get some space from it. And space he has given her: complete radio silence. She was starting to think she was doing much better, maybe even truly moving on, but then she ran into Debra Kaufman at the Shop N Save and nearly dropped an entire carton of eggs on the floor when Debra asked her if she’d, “Met Fox’s new thing.”

“I’m sorry?” she’d said stupidly, open carton of eggs in hand, waiting to be examined for cracks. 

“Oh, I figured you’d have met her since I see you over there all the time. You still drive the gray Explorer?” Debra had asked, one hand on her rounded hip. 

Scully felt heat rise to her cheeks at the realization that her Wednesday night drive-bys weren’t as covert as she’d thought they were. 

“Yes, but I haven’t had the pleasure,” she said blandly. “How long has he…” she started, then caught herself. Gossiping in the grocery aisle is hardly her style. 

Debra layed a sympathetic hand on Scully’s forearm and smiled at her sadly, which made Scully’s eyes immediately well with tears. 

“A couple months,” Debra said gently. “She’s a nice gal, but not nearly as pretty as you.”

Scully stands in her walk-in closet, wine in hand, and flips through skirts and dresses, slim-fitting slacks and casual sweaters. She’s not totally sure what her goal is, she just knows that if Mulder is dating, he must be doing much better. And if he’s doing that much better, maybe when he looks at her there will be something behind his eyes again. And maybe if he sees her, and if he feels that thing he forgot how to feel, and if she sees him feeling it, then maybe there’s still hope. 

She picks up something she bought on a whim but has never worn: a black velour jumpsuit with a deep neckline and three-quarter sleeves. When she tried it on in the fitting room she felt bold and sexy, but outside of her fantasies she rarely has occasion for either boldness or sexiness these days. When she imagines Mulder seeing her in it she feels excited, and so the choice is made. 

She puts on heels and his favorite perfume, and decides that if he comments on her appearance she’ll tell him she’s going out tonight. Maybe she’ll let him think she has a date, depending how things go. She’s examining herself in the full length mirror, admiring the way the jumpsuit hugs her ass, when she hears the doorbell. She pulls the door open prepared to put on an air of sexy aloofness, but the second she lays eyes on him her unaffected facade crumbles. 

He looks good. Really good. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a fitted white T-shirt, and his face is clean-shaven. She can already smell his cologne, the one he used to wear before William, and between the reaction from her heart and her cunt she’s disoriented and lovesick. 

Realizing that she’s staring, she snaps her eyes up to his face to find him taking similar stock of her body, his eyes lingering on the deep V of her jumpsuit where she’s pushed as much of her cleavage as possible to center stage. She pulls in a deep breath and he clears his throat, averting his eyes to the door jam and then back to her face. 

“Hey,” he says with a bob of his head, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. 

“Hi,” she says back, trying to regain composure. “Please, come in.”

He hesitates, giving her a quick head-to-toe glance before he steps through the threshold. Scully walks down the hall toward the living room and he follows behind her, so she makes a point of switching her hips. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” she calls over her shoulder, then bends down to pick up a small box full of the items she used to lure him here. 

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” he says haltingly. She looks over her shoulder and catches him staring at her ass. “I have somewhere to be.”

She stands up and turns around, propping the box on her hip. She hadn’t planned to ask about her, but it just comes out. 

“Plans with your girlfriend?” she says tartly, and she gets some satisfaction from the panicked look on his face. He doesn’t want her to know, which she takes to mean something. 

But then the panic fades into irritation. His jaw shifts and eyes harden a little. 

“You’re the one who wanted out, Scully,” he says, indignant, “not me.”

It hits her like a slap in the face. She never wanted out. In her experience, it was him who left her, mentally and emotionally if not physically. 

“Well,” she says tightly, handing him the box, “it seems like you’re doing much better than you were before.”

“I am,” he says. “But I seem to recall some stipulation about sticking around for better or for worse. I don’t think you’re supposed to pick and choose.”

Her throat is becoming too tight, warning her of impending tears. He’s being uncharacteristically mean, and she doesn’t understand why. 

“I tried, Mulder,” she squeaks, then swallows against the lump in her throat. “I held on as long as I could.”

His shoulders drop and his face falls. He shifts the box to his other arm, and she can tell that he’s debating hugging her. 

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry.” He looks at his watch and clucks his tongue. “I have to get going. Sorry I can’t stay longer.”

She nods and follows him back to the door, and then out into the driveway. He unlocks his car and then leans across the driver’s seat to set the box on the passenger side, and Scully takes the opportunity to both admire his ass and scan the interior of the car for any feminine looking items. Mulder rights himself and turns around, leaning against the open door frame. 

“It was good to see you,” he says earnestly. His eyes flash over her body so quickly she could have blinked and missed it. “You look good,” he adds. 

Scully looks down at her own outfit, smoothing her hands over her hips. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You do, too.”

“I’ve been running again,” he says. “I’m training for a half-marathon, actually.”

This makes her smile. 

“That’s good, Mulder,” she says. “I’m really glad that you’re doing well.”

He smiles back, nods. There’s a little beat of hesitation before he steps forward and opens his arms, and she falls against his chest with a heavy sigh. Her arms wind around his rib cage and she squeezes him tight. He smells like home, feels like safety. She doesn’t ever want to let go.  But she feels him loosen his grip on her, so she does the same, leaning away a little until she can see his face. He looks right into her eyes, really sees her, for the first time in a long time, and she’s missed him so, so terribly much. She remembers his girlfriend, some nameless, faceless woman who wasn’t there for all the hard parts, but is getting the best version of him now, and it makes her angry. It’s not fair. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to get better and come back to her.

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