#Injured but In-Charge Scully

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector's Fic: Injured but In-Charge Scully (Poll Results: 1st)

This list was inspired by this poll, winning by a ~3% margin.

**NOTE**: I have a ton of Scully-In-Charge fics in my other fic list Creepy and Cozy Cabins, which includes the works of @discordantwords, @sarie-fairy, LuvTheBeez’s Snow (a personal favorite), and Karen Rasch’s By the Wind Grieved. Anyway, onward!

Loose chronological order below~

30xf's Young At Heart - Chapter 1

""How's the ribs?" Mulder asks, returning from the door with a large pizza box in his hands and setting it on the coffee table.

"Better," Scully sighs, stretching out and making herself comfortable on his couch. "I can almost take a deep breath without it feeling like someone's stabbing me."

"Well that's progress," he allows before disappearing into the kitchen. He had intended to grab plates and cutlery, but of the three plates he owns, only one was clean. And not having plates makes the cutlery a little useless. After a quick search for napkins turns up nothing, he remembers why they usually eat at Scully's place."" 

Post Young At Heart Scully is recovering and fending off Mulder from further poking her bruised ribs.

@spooky-nerd’s (Ao3) A Minor Inconvenience

""He is afraid to touch her and yet, illogically, touching her is the only thing that will quell the panic that is slowly building inside of him, bubbling up into his throat and making it hard to breathe. His fingers brush the side of her face gently, and her eyes flutter. His heart does a nauseating flip.

"Hey," he says, in case she can hear him, rubbing her cheekbone lightly with his thumb. "Hey, you're okay. You're gonna be okay," he says as much to himself as to her. He hopes she can't feel how hard his hand is shaking.

Her eyebrows draw together, etching painful lines into her forehead. She inhales sharply and cracks an eye open. "Ouch," she rasps.""

AU S3? Mulder realizes he loves Scully after she gets rag-dolled by a psychic. She wakes up, asks if he's okay, then starts listing her symptoms. He drops an "I love you" after that.

Donna’s Without a Trace

"I'll get a rock. I don't think that lock will be too much trouble."

She nodded and stepped onto the porch to look closer. "I think it's already broken," she said over her shoulder and tried the door. The sound of the gun going off paralyzed him for an instant, then he was racing to her as she lay on the weathered wood of the porch.""

AU S3? Mulder and Scully wake up on isolated train tracks with amnesia. They quickly rebuild trust and scavenge for a way back to civilization-- unfortunately, the first shelter they find is very booby-trapped; and Scully has to guide Mulder through a bullet retrieval.

@tatooedlaura-blog/tatooedlaura/Laura Sprys's

Lucky Ones

""Slowly opening her eyes, she searched the room for some kind of clue that she was actually alive. A moment late, she focused in on the body wedged painfully in a chair against the wall.

Choosing that moment to check on Scully, Mulder met her gaze and held it for a moment before sliding out of the chair, trading for a more comfortable spot on the side of the bed. Lowering himself carefully onto the mattress, he spoke softly, "sleeping beauty awakes."

"More like came off the pain medication," she answered back in a hoarse whisper.""

Scully is shot cleanly through the shoulder while protecting a little boy. Miraculously, his head was never hit-- though it should have been.

Your place or mine - Chapter 3

""Did they really have to end the case with a dead kid, a burned out house, a bullet wound and a desperately long de-briefing?

By the time they stumbled up to Scully’s door at half past three in the morning, they hadn't slept in three days and Mulder was so stressed and tense, he threw their bags to the ground and slammed the door shut hard enough to knock the mirror hanging beside it to the floor. The resounding smash left mirror shards strewn from the front door through to the kitchen. Scully would have yelled at him if she hadn’t been wincing at the pain in her upper arm from the through and through gunshot and if she had the energy to care.

She did not.""

Mulder hunkers down with a recovering Scully, continuing their inside joke of "love is--"; and barrels her out of the bed when Maggie drops in unexpectedly.

Foul Ball

""You don’t want to hear the story?”

Wincing when she shifted her shoulders, “first I want out, then you can tell me all about your time in the slammer and why baseball games are fun to go to.""

Dating-- Scully is knocked over by an aggressive baseball fan; and is driven home later by Mulder (after he pummels said fan, gets jailed, then bailed out by Frohike.)

@baronessblixen’s (Ao3)

Unnamed

""Mulder reacts before he even knows what is going on. There against the wall, pinned up high, is Scully. A large, fat hand around her throat keeps her there, strangulates and chokes her. Her feet dangle in the air, try to kick and fight. 

“Let her go!” Mulder’s yell reverberates through the room and the intruder turns to Mulder, bares his dirty, yellow teeth like an animal. His hand opens, lets go of Scully, who slips to the ground. Thump, only once; a sad sounds swallowed by the carpet.""

S5 Mulder is horrified that Scully was attacked and almost killed by a random serial burglar in the motel room right next to his.

Fine (Ao3)

""You’re not carrying me.” The way she says it leaves no room for negotiation.

“Then how are you planning on getting back?”

“I’ll walk,” she says, hopping on one foot.

“Let me help you, please,” he begs her. “Just… let me make sure you don’t break your other ankle, too.”

“It’s not broken, Mulder.”

“Potato, potahto.""

Mulder and Scully are still dating, and Scully still gets another leg injury.

Twisted

""Scully!" She hears the breathless desperation in Mulder's voice and the rustling sound his boots make, running through the leaves surrounding them.

"I'm fine," she yells back, hoping he'll slow down. If they both fall and hurt themselves, then how are they going to get out of here?""

Scully falls down a hole and twists her ankle; and Mulder ditches the search party to carry her back to the car.

"You're okay, I promise" (Ao3)

""It hit her,“ Mulder screeched, “He hit her!“

Scully didn‘t know what ‘it‘ was, or who ‘he‘ was. Maybe ‘it‘ was the thing that was gripping her head violently, squeezing it as if it were an orange.""

Scully, dazed, falls to the ground after being clubbed with a baseball bat; and listens to Mulder make a big racket until he is allowed to run over and provide moral support.

Fictober Day 26 (Ao3)

""I’m too heavy for you. Let me down. I’ll try to walk myself.”

“Scully, you weigh next to nothing,” he assures her. “Good thing I didn’t hurt myself this time, huh? Though you’d probably try to carry me anyway.”

“I would,” she says, smiling softly.""

S6 or S7 Mulder and Scully may be dating, but that won't prevent her from getting a leg break in the forest.

Prove It

""I have a headache,” she says, swallowing her standard ‘I’m fine’.

“Let’s get you back to the motel.”

She should have known he wouldn’t leave her alone once they get back. His hands are on her as soon as she’s out of the car. His concern, while exaggerated, is sweet, and she smiles up at him.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” he mumbles, his own lips curling into a smile."" 

Post Theef Scully lets Mulder care for her.

There's No Place Like Home

""You should get checked out at a hospital. I can drive you.”

“No,” she says, picking up speed to prove her point to him. “Look, I’m fine. I just need to walk it off.” He loves her stubbornness. Once, she told him that she fell in love with him because he was stubborn. Well. That was the pot calling the kettle black. No one is as stubborn as his Scully. Any other day, he finds it cute. When she refuses to budge because she knows how things should be done, he admires it. But when she’s hurt, hobbling away from him, holding her side and grimacing, just so she can appear invincible, he can’t accept it.""

Revival Scully is banged up from her garbage chute tumble; and Mulder is thrilled when she asks him to drive her home. This leads to a discussion about how much they missed each other.

Jodithann827/DrDanaScullyX's How to Save a Life

""It hurts to breathe Mulder. Short. Of Breath.”

“Do you think you can make it to the entrance? I wasn’t kidding about carrying you,” he replies.

“I… Mul…,” is all she’s able to get out before shaking her head, suddenly knowing something is very, very wrong.

“The bullet didn’t penetrate the vest, did it, Scully?” He's already moving his hands back to where the bullet hit the vest. She shakes her head. “No blood,” she replies. Mulder lets out a deep breath for the both of them and looks longingly in the direction they came.

“Mulder, something isn’t right,” she whispers, and Mulder snaps his head towards her."" 

Post Folie a Deux Scully's vest stops a bullet; however, the impact causes air to build and pressurize in her lung. Mulder has to perform an emergency "puncturing" procedure (with her guidance) to save his partner's life.

Vickie Moseley 's Split Seconds

""Why wasn't his door locked? He pushed it open cautiously, his gun already in his hand. He saw movement and the flash of metal. Whoever was here was armed. He saw the movement toward him and the sight of metal being raised. No! He fired two shots as he threw himself to the side. Mulder heard him fall and rose carefully to his feet. He flipped on the light and froze.

"Scully?" A whisper, then he was beside her, frantically searching for her vital signs. "Scully!" This time was a cry as though to call her back to him. No pulse, he ripped her blouse open. Blood, too much blood. ...what had he done? He was performing CPR, nothing. Nothing! "Scully." This one was a sob. She was gone; he'd really killed her time. No dream. He pulled her up against him, but her arms didn't go around him and never would again. Never. Time disappeared as he held her.""

AU-- Post Tithonus Mulder shoots Scully, kills her, and goes crazy. Scully is able to heal anyway and talk him down from madness despite her injury.

Oracle's (TheOtherSide) Deluge (Gossamer)

""She is trembling, shivering, and doesn't speak. He stands quickly and pulls her to her feet, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Scully?"

When she looks up her face tilts towards a streetlight, allowing him to read a bleak horror in her expression.

"Scully," he says, clasping her shoulders, leaning close to her. "Scully, it's okay. I'm okay." He hears a dull, shaky edge to his voice when he speaks, but can't help it.

"I know, Mulder," she replies, seeming calmer, the pain fading from her eyes.""

AUish? Post One Son Mulder almost loses himself in a brutal case, barely being saved from traffic by Scully (who had flown in last minute after recovering from a recent injury.)

@mappingthexfiles/Apostrophic’s Agua Mala

""The infection wasn’t severe, it should only last a few days, but it meant Mulder trailed after her into the kitchen, a shadow she’d acquired with her temporary impairment.

He folded his hands and laid his head atop them, then pointed at her. Had she slept, or would she sleep? One or the other.

“I’m fine,” Scully said, covering all the bases. “And I can still hear you. Mostly.""

Post Agua Mala Scully has a bad cold resulting in hearing loss. Mulder brings a bad movie and jokes to ease her recovery.

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls's

mondays on an endless loop (Ao3)

""She doesn’t speak, but her eyes are surprisingly alert; her leg is moving, off to the side, and he’d like nothing more than to hold her, to try and help her. “Don’t move too much,” he tries, moving a few inches closer, hoping Bernard isn’t watching. “It’s okay.”

Scully grunts, very pointedly, and he sees her leg moving again. He looks down to her foot and sees what she is doing: she’s sliding her gun over towards him with her foot. Bernard forgot to get it.""

Monday-- Mulder and Scully alternate "getting shot" days; when it's her turn, she uses quick thinking for his sake even though she's dying.

bearing north

""She tastes blood in her mouth, maybe from where she fell. She drags herself off of the ground, wincing at the pain in her head. The suspect’s footfalls are far away now, from where she was shoved down into the empty pool. She touches the sore spot where her head smacked the concrete and hisses with pain.

“Scully!” Mulder’s voice, echoing frantically from somewhere above her. His dress shoes pounding the stairs of the pool. “Scully?”

“I’m here,” she croaks, pushing herself into a sitting position. Nausea clogs up her throat and she swallows it back, blinks owlishly in the dark as Mulder approaches her.""

Revival Scully is banged up while pursuing a bad guy. Mulder helps her out of a pool, and takes care of her back at the UH.

Athene's Learning to Share

""Scully inhaled deeply, and then resolutely met his eyes. "I have a low-grade concussion, and a horrible headache." She paused, then went on, voice just slightly rougher. "If it hadn't been for you, Mulder, I think I'd be dead." Forcing back a reflexive dread at disclosing weakness, she kept her gaze on his eyes, and saw a glow begin in his eyes as her answer registered. She reminded herself again that the reward for her unaccustomed emotional transparency was greater intimacy with this man.

Mulder quite obviously reveled in her newly overt trust. He slowly extended his left hand, touching her forehead lightly with his fingertips, and gently swept a few strands of stiff, blood-sodden hair away from the cut.

"That would have made two of us dead," he whispered in an odd, hoarse voice.""

Post Millennium Scully blocks most of a baseball bat weapon, but still has a concussion. She is amused that Mulder is ogled by the patients and nurses in the ER; but her amusement dries up when Maggie nails her on the relationship she shares with her partner.  

@alienbaby-babymama/ABBM515‘s Smart Enough

""It came in threes this month. Not only was Scully down for the count with the flu and a sprained ankle from running after Mulder who was chasing an unknown entity through the dank woods in the early morning hours, but it was also her time of the month.

Dana Scully was miserable."" 

Dating-- Scully has a triple "injury"; and Mulder is both amused and mother-henning her at the same time.

@wexleresque/hllsteeth’s Fictober 2021 - Chapter 16

""Her injury isn’t his fault, per se, but it feels like it is since he’s the one that opened the case that had sent them out into the forest in the first place. Scully had been climbing a tree, ascending higher and higher and wiggling between branches in search of evidence she’s suspected a killer had been hiding at the top.

It might have been her shoes- heels that were admittedly impractical for tree-climbing -or a distraction in the form of an animal making noise in a nearby tree. It might have just been a plain old accident. Regardless, something had caused Scully to miss a branch by just a fraction of an inch, sending her crashing through the canopy of the forest. She’d landed with a crunch and a scream, a sound that has brought bile to the back of Mulder’s throat every time he’s remembered it in the last twenty-four hours.""

Dating-- Scully breaks her leg after a fall from a tree; and Mulder helps care for her cantankerous self, using saran wrap to cover her cast so she can shower.

@jewish-mulder/@anders-hawke/@iwtbscully/BananaChef‘s 

Us

""He rushed into her hotel room with the force of a tornado, per Scully’s words as she relays his mindless pursuit of her beside.

“You could’ve died!” Mulder says, a tortured look on his face.

She rolls her eyes and looks at the stark white ceiling. “I’m fine, Mulder.""

Dating-- Scully's newest injury require forehead stitching. It rattles Mulder more than her.

@scullyphile​‘s (Ao3) Unnamed

""I’m OK, Mulder, really,” she offered in her calmest voice, but her hand was still touching the spot where the ball had struck.

“Josh,” the young male teacher called, “what did I tell you? Go get the ball and apologize to the lady.""

Dating-- Scully gets hit in the head with a tennis ball while on a museum date with Mulder.

Lapsed_Scholar’s Variations - Chapter 3

""If only her body would be so acquiescent. Her nausea was better, but she was starting to feel light-headed again. This ultimately annoyed her. There was nothing wrong with her (there wasn’t), and she expected her body to obey her.

She walked (only a bit unsteadily) over to a chair at the terminal and sat down. Oh, yes, much better. She took deep, calming, surreptitious breaths. She could do this. Just wait for the darkness encroaching in her peripheral vision to pass....

The floor was at an odd angle. She tried to make sense of this, opened her eyes a little more. Oh. Must have passed out. Again. Fantastic. How humiliating.""

AU Requiem Scully INSISTS on going back to Bellefleur with Mulder, ignoring his mandates and silent pleadings. Unfortunately, she embarrasses herself by collapsing in the airport and scaring her partner to death. (This is a comedy; and it is amazing.)

WildwingSuz/Suzanne Feld's Existessence

""I glared over at Mulder, who had set his gun on top of the dresser and was leaning against it. “I don't believe you,” I snapped at him. “You kidnapped this poor woman out of her house?!”

“What was I supposed to do?” he said plaintively. His eyes followed Alma Jackson as she went into the small bathroom then we heard water running, and she returned drying off her hands with one of the cheap white motel towels which she tossed back into the smaller room. “I can't deliver our baby alone, Scully, I was terrified that I'd screw it up and hurt either or both of you.”

“Ya coulda just come told me you needed a midwife, ya didn't need t’shove that gun in m'face,” Alma said succinctly. I found myself liking and trusting her more and more by the minute.""

AU Essence Mulder swipes Scully from her apartment and drives them out to a motel in the middle of nowhere. His next brilliant idea: kidnapping a midwife last minute.

TheAddict4Dramatics's Enough

""I couldn’t stop thinking about this morning.” Scully said suddenly, breaking the gentle silence that Mulder had been enjoying. Her voice was tight now and her eyebrows were drawn low over her eyes. “When he pulled the gun and I thought he was going to shoot... I couldn’t stop thinking about this morning and you and Will waving me off from the doorway.” 

“It’s okay.” He soothed, stroking his fingers over her hand. She’d started crying again and it was breaking him. 

“It’s different now than it was before. I have so much more to lose!"" 

AU S9 Scully is injured while on duty with Doggett; and she sorrowfully recounts the events and her realizations to Mulder (after peeking in on her little baby boy.)

Girlie_girl7’s Day in the Life 39 - Super Bug

""She seems to have developed a blister on her heel."

Mulder frowns behind the mask and looks at the broken blister. "The first time I talked to her she mentioned that she was going to change her shoes.

"NF can enter through a wound or weakened skin. This is no doubt the point of entry." ...

"Will it continue to infect her?" Mulder questions as he looks at Scully's face.

"We hope not but NF does tissue damage at the subcutaneous level and it's hard to judge just how much damage there actually is.""

AU S9 Scully has a big family with Mulder; but tragedy still strikes-- this time in the form of an infectious blister that turns deadly rather quickly.

Nonspecific Timeline

@purrykat/mylifeinshadow’s Prompt #6: "I can't breathe"

""All at once, it comes back to you — the suspected psychic who turned out to be just your garden variety psychopath, the pursuit, your partner’s voice sounding far away as a gun appeared in your peripheral vision, the bulletproof vest you’d had the forethought to strap yourself into. The sigh of relief leaves you sputtering against warm, wet lips. Mulder. His body covers yours as he attempts to resuscitate you needlessly. You’d blacked out; clearly had the wind knocked out of you, and in typical Mulder fashion, he’d panicked.""

Scully is knocked down on duty; and Mulder almost comedically crushes her trying to help.

@ghostbustermelanieking​/skuls‘s (Alt. Ao3) 

Unnamed 

""Mulder lay on the floor inches away from her, his mouth half-open, gasping on air. His mouth formed the first syllable of her name, soundlessly. Near them, the feet of strangers pounded the carpeted floor, every footfall reverberating through her body like nails on a coffin.""

Scully and Mulder are gravely injured; and she reaches for his hand just before they pass out.  

in another world - Chapter 7 

""A smile spreads involuntarily across her face. “Mulder, you’re an idiot,” she rasps, and he laughs so hard that he cries."" 

Dating?-- Scully shoves Mulder out of harm’s way, taking a bullet for him. During her recovery, she keeps the mood light and teases Mulder out of his guilt.

Lovesfox's Close Call

""The liquid that had dropped on him, and most likely what he had thought was condensation on the rungs, wasn't water or oil.

It was blood.

"Scully?" Mulder gasped out, and stopped in his tracks, clinging to the ladder. The word echoed slightly in the shaft, for he had spoken louder than he had intended to with his shock. He cringed - expecting to hear a barrage of gunfire, or perhaps a voice shouting out detection.

"Scully, you're bleeding," he tried then, in a voice just above a whisper, when nothing happened.

"I know," Scully replied faintly, and sucked in a noisy breath. "Not much...we can do about it right now," she said next. "We've got to...get out of here.""

Mulder and Scully are escaping from a set up-- unfortunately, Scully has been shot in the side. She fades on their journey back through the woods, and Mulder puts his spare medical techniques to use.

@scullysexual/PostApocolypticAlien's

100 days of 100 word - Chapter 31

""Scully is trying to yank her arm out of his grasp.

“Mulder, it is fine,” she is insisting through clenched teeth.

“Just humour me, Scully.""

Mulder makes sure that Scully gets her injured arm tended to by EMTs (despite her protests.)

the_eternal_optimist’s Distraction

""I don’t like them on in the middle of the night,” she told him petulantly, but he knew it was a lie because she usually left a few lamps on in her living room and kitchen. “And I didn’t know you were back in town,” she added slowly. 

He could tell Scully was trying very hard not to fumble over her words. His delight faded at the thought and he reached towards her, beginning to grow concerned. But she took a step back, towards her bedroom. Because he was overtired and prone to dramatics when he’d been away from her for a while, a wave of panic crashed over him. Why was Scully trying to get away from him? Was she mad? Had he overstepped too much this time, showing up in the middle of the night? Had Skinner found out he was MIA and asked Scully to rein him back in?""

Mulder returns from a mandated trip, realizing that Scully hasn't called because she'd been injured on the job. He reiterates her importance in his life.

LuminousPie’s

Five Times Mulder Got Injured and One time Scully Did

""She feels like a rag doll at the moment, all loose-limbed and pulled in too many directions. She was sore too, her skin burning for an ice pack. She knew her hair was matted, coated in blood.... She sniffed it and recoiled. Someone placed a small bandage to the laceration on her chin. It wasn’t big, probably wouldn’t even scar but it was another war wound. One to add to the many she already carried.

She batted away an EMT and an overly fussy Mulder. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate him here, she did. Familiarity oozed out of every pore and she welcomed his comforting aesthetic. But she didn’t need his grief or his worry. She needed to patch up her walls and build them higher.""

While Mulder gets most of the injuries in this fic, Scully gets a small one at the very end. She's more annoyed with the EMTs than concerned about a possible concussion.

trustmescully's Bang Bang

""She's a fighter. Dana will make it. Just as she has always managed. She's not dead yet, Fox. Dana is alive. She lives and fights. Even if their injuries are severe and we can't do anything for them at the moment. You are absolutely not to blame. Don't blame yourself, please."

Images flashed in his head. They were images of horror. Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Scully's blood.""

Scully saves Mulder, getting shot in the process. Maggie comforts Mulder during surgery; and Scully banters the tears away when she wakes.

sixthfinger/spookyanthropologist/shadowkissedsoulmate's

I Think He Knows

""—lly! Scully! Can you hear me? Come on, Scully, wake up. Scully!”

There’s a hand pressed up against the side of her face. 

“Scully! Come on, come on!”

It’s definitely not her hand.

“Please, Scully.”

Oh. Mulder. It’s gotta be Mulder’s hand.""

Mulder and Scully suffer various injuries throughout the years; but in section iii, Scully is attacked in her autopsy bay. Mulder doubles back and helps her out.

Enjoy!

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 3

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

A week passes, and her interaction with Agent Mulder fades into the recesses of her memory. She files it away under “times a cute guy hit on me,” alongside overly friendly waiters and optimistic students.

She and Ethan’s anniversary is coming up next week and she’s been grappling with the best gift to get him; something practical or indulgent? He is a prolifically thoughtful gift-giver and she feels pressure on each special occasion to select the perfect thing to give him, though the pressure comes only from herself. She’s contemplating this as she finishes up an autopsy, replacing the organs in the chest cavity and suturing up the Y-incision.

“Dana,” the pathologist about to come on shift calls out to her, “someone is asking for you.”

“I’ll just be about ten minutes, Trudy. Who is it?” she returns, gently settling the young woman’s liver back into her body.

Trudy shrugs. “Tall guy in a suit, cute, dark hair.”

She feels a flutter in her belly and then immediately chastises herself.

“Tell him I’ll be right there, please.”

She apologizes internally to the decedent as she rushes through the final steps, not taking quite as much care as she typically does.

After scrubbing her hands and fixing her hair, she steps into the hallway to find Agent Mulder sitting on a bench. His back is against the wall, his long legs crossed casually as he studies the art hung opposite him. He looks so composed and confident it unnerves her.

“Agent Mulder, what can I do for you?” she asks, forcing confidence she does not feel into her own voice.

The smile that lights up his face when he turns to look at her makes her flush, and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. Being unable to hide her emotional response behind her fair complexion has always been something she resents.

“Scully, good to see you. I wanted to follow up on the Dugan case, you said you were interested in understanding the motivation behind your autopsy findings,” he says as he stands and walks towards her, his tall frame looming above her such that she has to look up at his face. He stands close enough that she can smell his aftershave and see the stubble coming in on his cheeks.

“Oh, yes, I was curious about that,” she replies, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Why does this man make her so nervous?

“If you’d like, you can meet with the lead behavioral analyst on the case. They can tell you how they drew parallels between the wound pattern you observed and the perpetrator profile,” he offers, a slight tilt to his head as his green eyes jump around her face as though he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“That would be great, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” she replies self-consciously, feeling as though she asked for something she shouldn’t have, even though she’d never requested this.

“Do you have time today?” he asks, lifting his wrist to glance at his watch. She knows it’s just past 4 pm.

“Um, yes, actually, I’m done with classes for the day and that was my last autopsy. I was just going to do paperwork for a bit, but I can defer it until tomorrow.”

A small smirk flashes on his mouth, but quickly disappears.

“Alright, why don’t you meet them at that cafe you mentioned in, say, thirty minutes?” he asks.

“Okay, that should work,” she replies, “what’s their name, so I can find them?” She should have just about enough time to change and get there by 4:30.

His eyebrows lift as though he just realized he forgot something, and he pauses before continuing.

“Uh, Fox. His name is Fox. I’ll describe you to him, he’ll find you.”

“Fox?” she asks dubiously, “is that a real name?”

He purses his lips. “Sadly, yes.”

“Alright, well, thank you, Agent Mulder. It was, um...it was good to see you again.” She extends her hand with her chin held high, trying to portray an air of professionalism and not one of a girl with a crush, which is how he makes her feel.

He takes her hand and smiles at her warmly, a little something coy behind his eyes.

“Likewise. I hope to see you again very soon,” he says confidently, and she feels her belly tumble yet again.

——————————————————————————

He stands in the hallway until Scully disappears into the staff locker room, then books it over to Cafe Adamo to get a quiet table in the corner. He’s not sure exactly what he’s after here; she has a boyfriend after all. He just hasn’t been able to get her out of his head all week. When the lead analyst on the Dugan case had a family emergency and needed to take leave, he jumped at the opportunity to take over the case, getting a little thrill from reading over her report and incorporating it into his profile. It felt as though they were creating something together.

He watches the clock, a pit in his belly as he wonders how she’ll react to learning that he tricked her into having coffee with him. He barely knows her, but gets the sense that she doesn’t take shit from anyone. That is, in fact, what draws him to her. Well, that and those plush pink lips. He hasn’t been this affected by anyone since he and Valerie split.

When the door swings open and she steps through in fitted jeans and a black T-shirt, he feels a wave of nausea. She’s even more beautiful in street clothes than she was in scrubs, her tiny waist curving up into a modest bustline. She scans the room and when her eyes fall on him, she quirks her head to the side and her eyebrows knit in confusion. His heart starts to pound and he stays glued to his seat, watching her traverse the room until she reaches him and gives him an expectant look.

He holds out his hand. “Fox Mulder,” he says with a guilty smile, and she lifts her chin before tucking it to her chest, taking his hand with a pensive expression.

“I see,” she says, her tone skeptical. It’s clear that she is unsure of his intentions.

“I am the lead behavioral analyst on this case, for the record. I am now, anyway,” he offers, and watches her doubt deepen. What the hell did he think was going to happen, catfishing an unavailable woman into a date? “Will you sit?” he asks hopefully, and she does, though he can tell by her posture that she is one wrong move away from fleeing the scene.

Someone comes by and takes their coffee order, and he sets his profile on the table, getting right to the reason he asked her here lest she think he’s completely full of shit.

“You noted that the victim was stabbed repeatedly in the exact same location, giving the appearance of one wound,” he explains, “we’ve seen something similar with the other victims, and at this time my theory is that the perp lost someone close to them in this manner, perhaps a family member or parent. I believe they’re re-creating the injury that killed their loved one, though because these crimes are so rage-fueled they feel compelled to injure the victim more extensively than just the one wound. The repeated stabbing in the same location provides an outlet for that rage while preserving the one-wound injury that is the cause of death.”

She reads over his profile with interest, nodding along as he speaks. “That’s very interesting,” she says, lifting her head to look at him, and he feels a swell of pride at her praise. “You had to trick me into getting coffee with you to tell me that?” she adds flatly, and now it’s him who is blushing.

She smiles victoriously at having made him uncomfortable, a bright, dazzling, toothy smile, and he’s overwhelmed by how attracted he is to her. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again and just shrugs.

Their coffee is delivered and he watches intently as she licks at the foam on her cappuccino. Her blue irises dart up to meet his and he startles at having been caught, picking up his own cup and taking a big gulp that burns the roof of his mouth.

“Your name sounds very familiar,” she begins, “why do I feel like I’ve heard it before?”

“Uh, I had a bit of a reputation at one time,” he says with a regretful tone. “Are you familiar with the X files?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Spooky Mulder,” she says with realization, “that’s where I’ve heard your name.”

He grimaces. “Not my favorite nickname, but yes, guilty as charged.”

“But you’re in the BSU now? Not on the X files anymore? I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around Quantico,” she remarks, and he can see her relaxing a bit.

“No, the X files division was shut down a couple years ago. I was in the BSU before I reopened the X files, and transferred back after I was reassigned. I’m part of a small BSU team that works out of the Hoover building, so I’m not down here all that often these days.”

“Why was the X files division shut down?” she asks before licking more foam from the rim of her mug, and he shifts in his seat.

“Well, how much time do you have?” he asks with a shy smile, “it’s a long story.”

She returns his smile. “Not that much time. So you’re into aliens and all that paranormal stuff?”

“Well, let me ask you this, Scully,” he says, leaning in, “do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

She gives him an incredulous look, but answers. “Logically, I’d have to say no.” He nods and sits back, but she continues. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities…”

“Conventional wisdom,” he interrupts, “I just happen to disagree with it.”

“On what basis?” she asks, curious but not derisive, which is what he’s used to getting in response to his theories.

“If you’d seen what I’ve seen, Scully, you’d understand why I believe in such extreme possibilities.”

She tilts her head expectantly. “Do tell, Agent Mulder. Or should I call you Fox?” she asks with a haughty tone, though a playful one, and he blushes again.

“Please, it’s just Mulder. I even make my parents call me Mulder. I’m sure you can understand why with a first name like Fox.” She makes a face that says she can’t argue with that, and he continues. “I’ve seen things, Scully, things that defy all logic and can’t be explained by the laws of science. Repeat abductees, men who can stretch their bodies and travel through the slats of a heater vent, prehistoric monsters dwelling in the woods.” She’s giving him a doubtful expression, one eyebrow cocked suspiciously. He laughs a little. “I know I sound crazy, but it’s just crazy enough to be true. When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?”

She screws up her mouth, politely suppressing the “you are certifiably nuts” expression that wants to present on her face. He’s used to it, and takes no offense.

“What I find fantastic, Mulder, is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, you just have to know where to look,” she says in a tone that is both playful and sincere.

He smiles at her, sure he looks like a total dope. This conversation is more intellectually stimulating than any he’s had in months.

“You should come see the X files sometime, Scully. Tell me how you make scientific sense of what you see.”

“You have them?” she asks with wide eyes.

He shrugs guiltily. “I may have acquired a few on my way out.”

Her head dips lower in disbelief. “Is that allowed?”

“No, definitely not,” he answers with a chuckle. If only she knew the extent of his flaunting of bureau policy during his time on the X files.

She smiles at him in a way that he can only interpret as openly flirtatious, an acknowledgement that she finds his insubordinate behavior a little bit enticing. As suddenly as the smile appears, it vanishes and she checks her watch.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she says as she stands.

“Right, you’ve got somebody waiting for you,” he says with a regretful tone.

She looks at him guiltily, then thanks him for the coffee and leaves. He sits there for a long while, staring at the door she exited through.

“Shit,” he says aloud to no one.

[lunaserenade]

Haunted

gif by yours truly, from my last trip to DC. (with special appearance by my friend’s fat head)

Masterlist

Part Ten of the Meet Me at Sunrise Series

Previous Chapter: Sick Day

Next Chapter: Entangled

Author’s Note: @violentcosmicsymphony​ and @briefgalaxycat​ <3

Paring: Marcus Pike x FBI Agent!Reader

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Light cursing, violence.

Summary: Stormy nights and ghoulish tales

It was a stormy looking night in Washington as you walked hand in hand with Marcus around Capitol Hill. It had been a long day in the office, Christian Laurent's partner Ioan Pearce had been spotted in town recently and you spent the day reaching out to contacts you made while undercover to see what he was up to. What you found made you uneasy, to say he had taken Laurent's arrest badly and quite personally was an understatement. Word was going around that he was looking for whoever snitched on Laurent and his intentions were ruinous.

To get your mind off it Marcus had taken you to a lovely dinner. Afterwards you insisted on walking around the historic city, he loved seeing you completely in your element sharing the history of the city you adored.

“So apparently it's spotted down in the basement of the Capitol Building. Stories say it shows up before elections and tragedies, some guards have said that it showed up the night before Kennedy and Lincoln's assassinations.”

“... a demon cat.” Marcus said, bemused.

“A demon cat.” You said with a nod. “But to be fair... back then the Capitol Police were notoriously unqualified and liked to drink on patrol.”

“So drunk cops saw a black cat, it spooked them, and thus had to be a ghost?” Marcus laughed.

“Exactly.” You said with a grin “During the Civil War they used the Capitol Building as a hospital for Union soldiers. The ghosts of the soldiers wander the halls to this day. John Quincy Adams appears occasionally too.”

“You love all of this don't you?” Marcus said taking your linked hands and pulling you into his arms.

“I'm a sucker for spooky history. I love learning about a city through its darker stories. Do you believe in ghosts Agent Pike?” You looked up at him through your lashes and gave him a devilish grin.

“You'll have to work a lot harder to make me a believer.”

“Oh, alright Scully, I'll get right on that.” You gave him a quick kiss and continued your own personal ghost tour for Marcus. You rattled on about various haunts as lightning illuminated the sky behind the Capitol Building: Andrew Jackson's ghost in Lafayette Square, The Hay-Adams Hotel that was plagued by 'Clover' Adams who was possibly murdered, and finally as the two of you neared your shared apartment: Ford's Theater.

“We have ghosts next to work?” Marcus queried.

“This town has seen enough bloodshed I'd be surprised if the whole thing weren’t haunted. The Ford's Theater is an obvious one though, there are reports of people hearing plays going on, shadow figures, and cold spots. More than once people have said they heard sounds from a play, a gunshot, followed by Lincoln's ghost up in the booth. Some even say that they see John Wilkes Booth jump down from the booth and limp away.” You couldn't help the enthusiasm you had telling the story; ghosts had always thrilled you.

“Didn't you say Lincoln was at the White House too? Busy ghost.” Marcus joked and you gave him a lighthearted shove with your shoulder.

“Yeah yeah yeah, ghosts aside the building itself is considered cursed by some and I can't blame them. In 1893 the front of the building collapsed and killed twenty-two people and injured almost seventy others. If that doesn't sound like a string of bad events, I'm not sure what is.” You said as Marcus opened the door to your apartment building for you.

“Well, I'm not sure if I'm a believer yet, but I did love the history lesson.” Marcus smirked as the two of you entered the elevator. As soon as the door slid shut Marcus had you pressed against the wall, his hands roaming your body as he crushed his lips against yours. A soft moan escaped your mouth as Marcus' hands skimmed under your shirt and he pressed hot kisses down your throat, stopping to give it a light bite. You were beginning to undo his tie and tug off his jacket when the ding of the elevator shook you both out of your daze, and a slightly startled older woman was standing outside the doors. You both murmured apologies as she entered and Marcus was turning a brilliant shade of pink. Finally reaching your floor, the two of you rushed out laughing like giddy teenagers who couldn't keep their hands off each other.

“Thank you for tonight Marcus, I needed that.” You said earnestly, hunting for your key and opening the door to the dark apartment.

“Anything for you.” He replied, pressing a kiss to your cheek and following you in.

“Honey, didn't you leave a light on?” You looked around your shadowy apartment curiously, eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness.

“I thought so, let me just find the damn switch.” You heard Marcus fumbling through the darkness and suddenly heard a sound behind you. A hand went around your throat, quickly silencing any scream you may have had in you, and you felt the cool metal of a blade pressed against your cheek. With a click Marcus turned on the lights in the apartment and his heart stopped. Ioan Pearce had you by the throat on the other side of the room, knife pressed against your cheek so hard a small drop of blood had begun to collect along the blade. Marcus began to reach for his gun but stopped at the choking noise you made as Pearce squeezed your throat tighter.

“I wouldn't recommend that Mr. Ramos... or is it Special Agent?” Ioan Pearce said menacingly. As Marcus raised his hands up in agreeance Pearce slightly relaxed his hold and you could breathe again. “Christian Laurent sends his regards.” Pearce pressed the knife to your cheek harder and you let out a small cry of pain.

“I don't know what you want, but just let her go. She has nothing to do with this.” Marcus' gaze kept flicking back and forth between the two of you, you could see the dread in his eyes.

“Doesn't she though? Isn't she the one who wormed her way in to Christian's inner circle? We don't take kindly to government rats.” Pearce seethed.

Your eyes met Marcus' and you hoped he would think quick as you proceeded to do one of the more ill-advised things you'd ever done in your life. You whipped your head forward and sharply threw it back smashing it into Pearce's, once his grip was loosened you threw back an elbow and scrambled as Marcus charged forward. Marcus tackled him to the ground and struggled for a moment until Pearce wiggled free suddenly and started to flee. Grabbing the loaded Glock from the end table drawer by the door you fired once, catching his arm as he raced out the door. Your heart was racing as Marcus went to sit up and let out a cry of pain. Rushing to him and dropping to your knees you saw the blood seeping through his white dress shirt, Pearce had stabbed Marcus in the abdomen.

“Marcus?! Baby, I need you to look at me.” Your hands shook as you applied pressure to the wound. He reached up, brushed his thumb under the cut on your cheek, his eyes glassy and then he drifted into unconsciousness.

tagged: @diva-1992​, @yespolkadotkitty​, @sarahjkl82-blog​, @seasonschange-butpeopledont​, @mrsparknuts​, @disgruntledspacedad​, @mrschiltoncat​, @giselatropicana​, @sugarontherims​, @ilovetardis, @cynic-spirit​, @supernaturalgirl​, @farfromjustordinary​

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[frangipanidownunder]

Scar Tissue: Final

Read Part One  Part  Two

A/N: High angst. Trigger warning for PTSD/panic attacks.

Part Three

There’s a knock at her door. It’s not Mulder but Diana Fowley, suited, holding a paper bag. A peace offering for lunch? 

“May I come in, Agent Scully?”

Scully watches her as she glances around the apartment, checking out her living and mental state, much as Mulder had done. Fowley opens the bag. Sweet warmth spills out. 

“I’ll get some plates.” Scully reaches up to the cupboard and the skin around her middle tightens. A small moan escapes her lips.

“Let me,” Fowley says, taking the plates from the shelf. “I know how hard it is to recover, Agent Scully.”

“I’m fine. I’ll make you a coffee. The jug’s just boiled.” The raspberry filling on the pastries is dark red, congealing. She presses the back of her fingers to her lips. Swallows down the bitter bile. The coffee mixed with the aroma of Fowley’s Chanel No. 5 is making her nauseous.

“You haven’t been in the office for a few days. Fox…Agent Mulder was concerned.” 

Fowley’s voice is distorted. This whole scene is distorted. Her head is throbbing, her tongue is thick and stuck to the roof of her mouth. “I needed...”

“Take all the time you need,” Fowley says, sipping her coffee. Her eyes never leave Scully’s face. They’re taking everything in. Trained observance. 

Scully feels almost violated. “What does that mean?” She lays her hands on the table but she must have moved faster than she thought because the pastries wobble, one slips off the plate scattering flakes across the surface. All the while, Fowley is watching her. Making mental notes. 

Is this what Mulder felt like in the early days? Scrutinised? Trapped? A twinge of sympathy, guilt, but then she snaps back to reality. This is his doing. He’s chasing her away by using her own demons against her. Not the ones he’s had them chasing for years. No. He’s using a figure from his past, someone she knows nothing about, but who has knowledge of him, to squeeze her out of the equation. Partner? The man wouldn’t know trust and sharing if it dressed up as an alien and abducted him. She sees it all so clearly now that it makes her want to laugh. One of those maniacal, chest-opening laughs. But then Fowley would really deem her mad.

“Why are you here? Why didn’t Mulder come? Does he even know you’re here?” She can feel her voice squeezing through her throat and out into the air, pitchy.

Fowley reaches across, covers Scully’s hand in her own. Her fingers are thin, long, cold. She’s wearing a heavy gold band on the ring finger of her right hand. It’s ugly. Masculine. Scully tries to pull her own hand back but Fowley grips it. “Dana. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. It just takes time.”

Scully wrenches her hand away, stands up, yells, “Get out of my house.” Her coffee and the plate fly through the air and fall onto the tiles with such a sharp crash that Scully gasps and clutches her ears. Her heart lurches, buffeting against her rib cage, painfully. The silence that follows is even louder than the breakage. She looks at the mess: pointed shards of white porcelain, greasy lumps of pastry, fruit smeared into the tiles, brown liquid blooming across the floor. Broken. Everything is broken. And she can’t move. She can’t feel her legs. She wants to scream but there’s no air left inside. 

“I’ll get a cloth,” Fowley says and starts clearing up, moving around with precision. Doing things. “Sit.” It’s a command and Scully obeys. It’s easier somehow, to just let someone else take control. She watches Fowley search for a dustpan, broom, cloths. She couldn’t even tell her where any of those things were, if she tried. 

She’s empty. 

When the mess has gone, Fowley sits back down. At some point she must have got a blanket because Scully has one wrapped around her shoulders and she’s shivering.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Is Mulder coming?”

Fowley half-smiles. “Do you want me to call him?” 

Scully shakes her head. He shouldn’t see her like this. She takes a juddering breath in. Clears her mind, resets. She thinks back to the events preceding, looks back at Diana and whispers, “Thank you.”

The woman shrugs, pulls her hair back and holds it at her nape. “When I was in Europe, we did some dangerous work. Undercover. There was one op that went horribly wrong. I was badly injured. I lost a partner. A good agent. I…felt like it was…my fault. I was the senior agent. I relived it every moment. The nights,” she says, letting her hair fall back around her shoulders and crossing her legs, “the small hours, I would lie there and pick over every detail. I had terrible nightmares, flashbacks, palpitations. It…it made me feel weak. Not just in a physical sense, but in an emotional way.”

Scully can’t look at her while she’s relaying this information. Diana’s words tear at her insides with their visceral honesty. Like Ritter’s bullet. 

“What did you do?” Scully asks.

“I did all the usual things, saw a counsellor, got drunk, took stupid risks, fucked around. I see how all those things numbed the pain for a while, but the pain always came back.” She dips her head, and Scully know she’s trying to get her to lift her own eyes. “It always comes back.”

“I’m not drinking too much. I’m exercising. I’m working.”

“And the nightmares, the flashbacks, the panic attacks? How are you dealing with those?”

Scully flinches. “Honestly, I’m…”

“Fine,” Diana says, but she doesn’t mean it as an extension to Scully’s sentence. It’s a statement. She’s giving up. She came here expecting Scully to be putty in her hands, to bend and mould into the shape that she and Mulder want her to be. Fowley’s face sets. She’s failed and she doesn’t like it. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Scully doesn’t see her out. She listens to Fowley’s footsteps clipping down the hallway. Confident strides. Leaving her. Fatigue fills her limbs like lead. Her temples tighten and tension pulls at her shoulders. She feels nauseous. Bile stings her throat. The apartment is suddenly cavernous, filled with ominous shadows, encroaching on her place in the kitchen. She stands but her legs are like jelly. She’s on the floor before she knows what’s happening. A leftover shard of china digging into her cheek. Tears mix with blood and run into the grout between the tiles. Leaking. Everything is leaching away from her.

It’s a long time before she rouses herself. Her joints are stiff, she’s cold, empty. She calls her mom. Listens to her gentle voice a while. Then she calls Mulder.

She’s still in her robe when he arrives, hair wet, skin stinging. Tears rush out, uncontrollable. He lets her weep. 

“The final stage of wound healing is maturation,” she says, after a while.

He nods.

“It can take two years. The dermal tissue is overhauled, remodelled. The tensile strength is enhanced. Non-functional fibroblasts are replaced with functional ones. It’s a long, complex process.”

“It’s going to okay, Scully. You’re going to be okay.”

“I made an appointment with a counsellor.”

“It’s not a sign of weakness.” She can see the relief in his eyes, but it’s more than that; there’s a deeper emotion at play. He reaches for her hand. God, she’s missed his touch. “It’s a sign of strength.”

“But even after healing, the wound site can remain 20 per cent weaker than the rest of the body.”

He shakes his head, chuffs. “Dana Scully operating at 20 per cent less capacity, is still 100 per cent better than most.”

His arms wrap around her, wet hair sticking to his face. “I’m sorry, Mulder, I’m so sorry.”

“No. No, Scully. I’m sorry. I let you down. I should have stepped in earlier.”

“I wouldn’t have listened. I didn’t listen.” He laughs, a genuine chuckle. She feels instantly lighter. Pulling away, she sees the question hanging. “It was Diana, actually. She made me see…”

“Funny...she told me you didn’t respond to her. She felt she’d wasted her time.”

“That’s not true.” She shakes her head.

Mulder tips her chin towards his face. “Perhaps you were just ready to face it, Scully.”

“It?”

He sighs, snapping from support to irritation. It hurts her, his instant change of attitude, but with her newfound clarity, she sees that her defensiveness has become a weapon, not a shield.

Her eyes fill again and she pats her fingers over her weary eyelids. “You’re right. I am. I am ready to face it, this. The rest of the process. Whatever it takes. And Diana, she really did make me think about moving forward.” 

“You’re the only one who could have made that decision, Scully.” His face softens again and there’s a warm energy running through her veins, positively charged. Something she hasn’t experienced in a while. 

“Thank you for coming, Mulder.” 

“Any time, partner.”

Her hands rest on her abdomen. The scar there is healing. She has to believe that. New cells regenerating, rebuilding, restoring. Her body is doing what it does best. And when Mulder leaves, she runs her hand over the striations and lets sleep take her down.

[ms31x129]

Blind Suspicion

(A Never Again missing scene / AU) Part 3

Mulder had tossed fitfully most of the night. He’d tried Scully’s hotel room 5 or 6 - more like a dozen times with no answer. Where was she? Was she okay? Was she injured? Was she de…? No don’t go there… was she really on a date? Was what happened in the dark corner of the basement meaningless?

He arrived at the office hoping she’d be there and proceeded to putter around the office not accomplishing anything. The phone rang and he rushed to grab it hoping it was Scully, but all he got was a dial tone. He started calling the hotel every 15 minutes and always got the same answer… no answer.

Around 9:30a.m. the phone rang and he grabbed it not wanting to chance missing the call if it was Scully. Finally it was, Thank God.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me.”

“Scully, where have you been I’ve been calling you.”

Scully sighs, “Mulder just listen… I need you to come to Philadelphia and pick up my things from the hotel room - I’m going to be stuck here at the Philly PD for awhile giving my statement.”

“Philly PD! Scully what?....I .. Jesus - Scully…?”

“I don’t feel like talking about it right now, Mulder. Can you please just do this for me no questions asked and meet me here? Please?”

She sounded tired, he wondered if she was hurt - had he put her in danger? Had something happened? “Ok Scully. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Of course before he left he logged into the Philly PD database and searched for her name. A casefile number came up, with very preliminary details. Mulder scanned through the information quickly. Suspected Murder, Blood Types - O & A Suspect - Jerse, Edward? Who the hell was Ed Jerse? Possible sexual assault victim? Dana Scully? Witness? Suspect taken into custody burns on upper arm….

Possible sexual assault the print seemed to grow larger and smaller before his eyes. NO! No no no no… not Scully, not Scully. Please not Scully.

A driver’s license slowly appeared now he had a face to go with the name. Mulder pressed the print button on the keyboard. He felt like sweeping everything off his desk, needing to hear the crash, glass breaking items flying. He wanted to scream with rage, but he didn’t.

Mulder stood so fast his chair went rolling backwards and slammed into the cabinets behind him, he didn’t care. His only thought was of Scully. He stalked to the printer Ed Jerse’s likeness staring mockingly up at him. With the B&W print out fisted in his hand, Mulder grabbed his keys and moved quickly out of the office.

Philadelphia 11:20 am

Mulder was fortunate to be just in time for the 10:00am express flight. The plane had made good time and had landed 10min. early. He’d pre-arranged in flight for a rental and was already on the way to the hotel to check Scully out of her room and get her belongings.

The whole flight and drive those words: Sexual Assault ran through his mind, he could see them; they had weight and substance - it was like a huge glaring Neon light. Sexual Assault.

Flashes of images, sounds circled his thoughts some real, some imagined. Her voice on his answering machine “Mulder! I need your help!” Scully hands tied bruised and battered after being kidnapped by Donnie Pfaster. Scully her small wrists held by a mans larger one, screaming as her blouse is torn open. “I’m fine, Mulder,” her standard reply when he knew she was anything but.

Scully slammed against a wall, head rebounding from the force. Blurry indistinct images of a struggling female body, panties roughly ripped away. A man’s body spreading her legs covering her a quick thrusting motion and screaming, screaming, screaming until a hand muffles the sound. Nothing but whimpers echoing into silence.

Oh Jesus! He’d done that - he’d done that, muffled her screams.

Mulder bolted from the airplane seat barely managing to make it to the cramped planes lavatory before throwing up until there was nothing left in his stomach. Dry heaves continued for several minutes until they finally stopped. He flushed the waste, rinsed his mouth thoroughly and splashed water on his face before feeling steady enough to make it back to his seat.

An observant flight attendant handed him a Ginger Ale and a pack of Saltines. “We’ll be landing soon, Sir. This may help.” He gave her a small nod and thanks, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile.

It didn’t take long to gather Scully’s things from the Hotel room and pay the bill. He put everything in the trunk and got back into the car. Ed Jerse’s face continued to stare at him from the passenger seat. Beating the shit out of the guy wouldn’t be enough for what he’d done to Scully - no not nearly. Somehow Mulder was planning on killing the son of a bitch.

Mulder made it to the precinct at 12:05pm striding purposefully through the doors and up to the front desk - every bit the take charge G-Man he could be - when he needed to - he could command the room. He was a born leader - he just didn’t know it.

“I’m Special Agent Fox Mulder and I’m looking for my partner Special Agent Dana Scully - she told me to meet her here.”

The officer gave a little grunt and motioned back the left hallway. “She’s in Det. Gouveia’s office 3rd door on your right.”

Nodding Mulder made his way down the Hallway he could hear her voice and when he got to the doorway he felt like he was going to collapse. She looked so tiny, cuts and scrapes on her face and hands, it looked like she’d slept in her clothes torn, dirty and wrinkled.

Her FUCKING clothes were torn. Her eyes were so watery… she was looking at him warily. Was she frightened of him? Please don’t be scared, of me Scully - I, I would never… not like… this...

Oh! It suddenly dawned on him, they must not have done a rape kit yet - that must be why.

It was Scully she would want to don her armor in her own clothes after, not a sterile hospital gown.  “Mulder?” Scully gasped and swallowed. “This is my partner Special Agent Fox Mulder. Mulder these are Detectives Gouveia and Smith.”

Mulder stepped into the room and shook hands with the two detectives. “Thank you for coming Mulder… I’ll be right back I need to use the …”

She stood and Mulder reached out to touch her then drew his hand back, “Scully, umm should you do that, I mean… not until…” He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. “What about a rape kit? I know you know any DNA evidence collected - how important it would be for the trial - so the animal that did this to you can be put away and it can never happen to anyone else.”

Mulder said one thing, but had already vowed to take the law into his own hands.

“I wasn’t raped, Mulder...why would you think?” Scully’s eyes widen, she tries to be angry, but she’s just tired, and achy - the tattoo, her skin is burning and her head feels like it’s going to bust open any minute. She knows she would have done the same thing forearmed is forewarned and all that.

Mulder let out the breath he’d been holding she hadn’t been raped.

She hadn’t been raped.

He couldn’t smile, couldn’t ask the hundreds of questions he had - she hadn’t been raped that’s a good thing, a very good thing. Why didn’t that make him feel any better she’d clearly been beaten up. He knew his eyes held all the questions he wanted to ask - she had to see. The most important was, ‘What happened to you, Scully?’

“I’ll be right back.” Scully brushed his hand with hers as she stepped by him.

Both detectives had been silent during Mulder and Scully’s exchange, observing the dynamic of their partnership. Mulder hadn’t schooled his expressions very well and the detectives looked at each other knowing Agents Mulder and Scully had more than a simple partnership going on. Both wondered what Agent Mulder would think when he read the casefile and found out his partner had been at the suspects apartment and the report reflected they interviewed her wearing a man’s dress shirt.

Cheating was the one word that came to both of their minds.

Mulder wouldn’t get to read the report for several more hours. Scully had returned and was in the doorway, she looked even paler than before. “Mulder?” her voice was weak. “Something’s wrong…”

All three men saw it happen her eyes rolled up and she collapsed, Mulder caught her before she hit the ground cradling her in his arms, he swept her up and laid her on the lounge against the wall of the office. His hands flutter around her lighting here and there, checking the pulse at her wrist, she seemed to be breathing fine, he couldn’t really do anything else at the moment.

He finally registered the detectives speaking to him. “Agent Mulder an ambulance is on the way.” Mulder nodded in thanks. He kept looking at Scully and when he heard the sirens he picked her up and carried her out the doors of the precinct to the awaiting ambulance and gently placed her on the gurney.

Some videos and pictures were taken that day the video aired on a local news network. It made many a woman’s heart swoon watching a man so carefully carrying an unconscious woman with red hair down the steps to an ambulance, so strong, manly. Those watching would say it was the way he cradled her looking into her face which rested against his shoulder and neck, he even nuzzled her hair with his cheek - the look of a man in love and anguish -  it was plain to see.

The photos were more covert. Snapping, snapping over and over more ammunition to possibly use one day.

I though there would only be 3 parts to this series and I find myself looking at 4 instead - Part 4 to end it all. Then I don’t have to watch this episode again - ever. Huge shoutout to @cultureisdarkbeer for the speedy once over. To everyone who has followed I hope this section doesn’t disappoint.

@baronessblixen @today-in-fic @skullsmuldon @monikafilefan @patienceaintmystrongsuit @iusedtoknowwhatawishwasfor @skullsmuldon @ficoritdidnthappen @tulpa51 @mtbsuze

[vernonfielding]

Life Writes Its Own Stories

Chapter 15 (of 16!). (Also on AO3.)

Amy squinted into the glittery sunlight that filtered through the trees across the street from where they sat. She could have lifted a hand and shielded her eyes, or turned her body away from the glare, but she was so comfortable for the moment and she didn’t want to move. She blinked lazily instead, letting her eyes water and her vision go slightly blurry.

Jake’s good arm was thrown over her shoulder and he’d pulled her close to his side, almost possessively. His thumb drew distracted circles on her upper arm, and the slow rise and fall of his chest was soothing, even if he hadn’t been the one to stop breathing. She was aware of Jake talking to Commissioner Wuntch, could feel the rumble of his voice from where she was pressed against him, and the journalist in her thought she should be paying attention to what they were saying, but the kidnap-slash-overdose victim really didn’t give a shit.

Waking up after the overdose had been bizarre and confusing but not painful, and there were surprisingly few side effects from either the Jazzy Pants or the Narcan. The narcotic effect had been instantly gone, replaced by a vague sort of panic, like something was wrong but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The paramedics had made her lie on the floor of the penthouse, breathing flat-tasting oxygen through a mask, until they felt confident that she wasn’t going to need another shot of the overdose antidote. Only then had they let her sit up, then stand, and finally walk out of the building with Jake.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been outside now. Someone had led them to a bus-stop bench – Amy had distantly wondered if a bus driver might mistake them for actual riders – and blankets had been draped over their shoulders, because Jake was only wearing a T-shirt and Amy had forgotten her jacket at work and it was December, after all. When Amy had started shaking, from cold or emotion or both, Jake had reached for her without a word, pulling his blanket over both of them and tucking her head under his chin.

Now, she just wanted to stay right here on this bench, with Jake, forever. Or until she had to pee or something.

“Santiago!”

Amy looked up at the familiar voice, and saw Terry waving madly from across the street. He said something to a cop manning the perimeter that had been set up around the penthouse building, and to Amy’s surprise the cop lifted the yellow tape and let Terry duck under it. Amy felt a jolt of annoyance – cops never let reporters beyond the yellow tape at a crime scene. Or they never let her, anyway.

Terry jogged up to their bench, and right away her irritation was replaced by a flood of affection from the way he was looking at her, his brows turned down in concern. He crouched in front of her and peered into her face, and rested one large hand on her knee.

“How’re you doing?” he said, all gentle warmth. Amy’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Hey, don’t do that, it’s okay.”

“I know,” Amy said, sniffling and trying desperately to keep herself together. Jake had stopped talking to Wuntch, who was yelling at someone in the distance, and he squeezed Amy’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” she said, to both of them. “I really am.”

Terry smiled kindly at her, then looked up at Jake and beamed. “Peralta! How are you doing, man?”

“Okay for being kidnapped and stabbed, Sarge.”

“Wait-” Amy sat up straight and looked between the two of them. “No. You two do not know each other too.”

“Sergeant Jeffords was one of my instructors in the academy,” Jake said.

“Oh no no no,” Amy said. “That is impossible. Terry’s a journalist. He’s a newspaper editor.”

“Oh! This is your editor Terry?” Jake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wow, I had no idea you ended up at the Bulletin.”

Amy was shaking her head slowly, her exhausted brain struggling to keep up. She said, “How did that even happen?”

“After my girls were born, there was an incident-” Terry paused, and Amy got the sense he was trying to figure out how to shorten a long, or possibly embarrassing, story. “Basically, I was too scared to do field work anymore. I tried riding the desk but it was too depressing, so I left and got into journalism instead. Terry always did love newspapers.”

“This is insane.” Amy pulled away from Jake a bit, just enough to look him in the face. “Do you literally know everyone I work with?”

Jake shook his head. “Just Gina, Charles and I guess Terry. That’s gotta be it.”

Amy spotted Holt just then, crossing the street. She looked quickly between the two of them as Holt approached, holding her breath until they were face to face. Their eyes met, and they seemed to appraise one another, and then Holt said, “Raymond Holt, editor in chief of the Bulletin. You must be Amy’s detective-friend.” And Amy let out all her breath at once.

“Holt!” Rosa appeared just beyond his shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Wait, Rosa knows Holt?” Amy said to Jake.

“No, she called him last night, when she was looking for us,” Jake said.

“Yeah, and also, I’m dating his niece,” Rosa said.

Jake frowned and stared between them, and Amy was glad that apparently she wasn’t the only one feeling a little sideswiped. “Wait, so-”

“Rosa’s friend Melanie is my sister’s daughter,” Holt said. “An amusing sidenote: Rosa also dated my nephew, Marcus.”

Amy gave up then and sank into Jake’s chest, and he folded the blankets securely around her. She could feel the laughter in his chest as she smiled and closed her eyes. What a strange little family she suddenly had.

+++

Their friends dispersed once the paramedics returned from treating the more seriously injured – the Vulture and Mr. Tall, Amy thought to herself, with a slightly manic chuckle – to transport Amy and Jake to the hospital. Wuntch approached them too, Scully at her heels; he was eating chicken wings out of a bucket, which he was sharing with Hitchcock. Amy watched them dully for a moment before blinking and deciding she might still be high after all.

She looked back at the commissioner instead.

“You did good work, Peralta,” Wuntch said, arms crossed over her chest. “I knew I was right to leave you and Diaz in the Nine-Nine.”

Jake stared blankly at her, and then his eyes widened, almost comically. “Oh my god, it was you. You kept rejecting our transfer requests.”

“Someone had to keep an eye on that jerkwad.” Wuntch nodded at Amy. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Santiago. You’re not a nightmare of a person, for a journalist.”

“You’re welcome?” Amy said, but Wuntch was already stomping away.

The paramedics took them to the hospital in one ambulance, but they were separated as soon as they got to the emergency room. It happened so fast that Amy didn’t realize Jake had been taken away until she turned to ask him if she’d be getting her phone back eventually, and he was gone. Amy paused mid-step, blinking at the spot where she’d expected him to be, until the nurse escorting her to an exam room took her gently by the elbow to lead her on.

She was hooked up to a machine to monitor the oxygen in her blood and her heart rate and blood pressure – it was just a precaution, the nurse assured her – and then told to rest. She fell asleep so fast she didn’t remember the nurse leaving the room.

When she woke up, Charles was standing so close to her bed that she yelped and batted him away, which caused the oxygen clip to fly off her finger, which in turn caused an alarm to go off and a new nurse to come storming in, and it was so chaotic that Amy’s heart rate shot up and set off a different alarm. The nurse offered Amy a sedative to calm her down, but she definitely did not want any more drugs so she said no and worked on breathing deeply in between glaring at Charles.

“I’m sorry,” he said, when the nurse had finally decided Amy wasn’t about to have a heart attack and left them alone. “But Gina wanted me to check if you were awake yet.”

“Gina?” Amy said, vaguely.

“Yeah, she needs a quote.” Amy stared at him some more. “For her story. On the whole Vulture drug ring thing. And, you know, the kidnapping and-” He trailed off, and awkwardly turned his cell phone over in his hands.

“She wants a quote. From me,” Amy said. Charles nodded. “What time is it?”

Charles turned the phone up in his palm and checked the time. “About 15 minutes to deadline.”

“Wait, what? How long have I been asleep?”

“Almost six hours,” Charles said.

Amy flopped back in the bed and stared up at the ceiling. After a moment of Charles twitching in her peripheral vision she held out a hand to him. “Call Gina and give me your phone.”

+++

Not long after she talked to Gina – who told her her quotes were boring, and Amy didn’t disagree but also was too tired and foggy to care – a doctor came by and said she could go home. Charles announced that Jake had instructed him to look out for Amy and make sure she got to her apartment safely, and to stay with her overnight if she felt like she needed company. (Amy thought that Jake probably hadn’t counted on Charles telling her all of that.) She told Charles she’d be fine on her own, but she’d be happy for the ride.

First, though, she wanted to see Jake.

It was getting close to 7 by the time she left the ER and headed into the main hospital, where Jake had been admitted for the night. A uniformed cop stood across from his room on the second floor, and it was after visiting hours, so it looked like Amy wasn’t going to be allowed in. She was just gearing up for a tantrum or a panic attack – she hadn’t committed to either – when Rosa appeared with a cup of coffee in hand and told the cop that Amy would just need a few minutes. Either because Rosa was in charge or just scary, the uniform didn’t argue.

The lights were dim, and Jake’s face was mostly in shadow. He was out cold, and even in the darkness she could tell that he was still too pale, and his eyes were bruised with exhaustion. He’d changed into a hospital gown and his right arm was bound securely to his chest; he had an IV in his left forearm, but it wasn’t attached to anything at the moment.

She carefully picked up his hand and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, then bent over and kissed him on the forehead, just above his eye. His eyelids fluttered and she was afraid, and also hopeful, that he was going to wake up, but he slept on. She stood and watched him for a while, until Rosa came in to tell her it was time to go home.

+++

Amy slept hard that night and woke at dawn. Charles was passed out on her couch when she shuffled into the kitchen; she’d conceded to him staying after she’d seen the police car parked across from her building and remembered there was still one more kidnapper on the loose. On her coffee table was a note in his familiar copy-editor print, instructing Amy to come to the 82nd precinct first thing in the morning to talk to the detectives handling the Pembroke case.

She tried calling Jake at the hospital before she left, but the phone in his room just rang and rang.

Amy figured the Eight-Two was handling the case because the Nine-Nine obviously couldn’t be trusted to investigate its own captain – so she was pleasantly surprised to find Rosa at the precinct when she showed up at 9. When she asked Rosa about it, Rosa just said, “Jake’s my partner,” and led her to a meeting room.

The interview itself was exhaustive and exhausting, and when Amy finally was set free at noon, she was tempted to go home and sleep again. She asked Rosa if Jake was coming in to be interviewed later in the week, and Rosa said he was scheduled for that afternoon.

“So he’s been released from the hospital?” Amy said.

“Yeah. This morning.”

He could have called, Amy thought. But then, she didn’t have her cell phone – the detectives on the case said they were keeping it for evidence. Maybe he already had called. Maybe he was wondering where she was too.

After that, she decided to go into work. She didn’t need to be alone.

+++

“Santiago! What are you doing here – go home!”

Terry’s yell cut through the din of the newsroom as Amy walked toward her desk. She gave him a little wave and sat down across from Gina, who leaned forward and said, in a conspiratorial whisper, “You’re such a nerd.”

“What? Gina, I literally shot a drug dealer in the kneecap yesterday and was given a nearly fatal overdose of a brand-new street drug – that is not nerd behavior.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty dope, but your FOMOW is not.”

“I do not have FOMOW,” Amy said. “What is FOMOW?”

“Whatever you say, nerd.” Gina sat back in her chair and clicked her pen. “Now c’mon, I’m writing the follow-up story today and you’ve got to give me all the deets.”

So Amy spent another hour describing the events of the day before. The detectives at the Eight-Two had asked her not to talk to any reporters, to which Rosa had actually laughed out loud, and Amy had made them no promises. She told Gina almost everything now, except for two or three details that the cops had insisted be kept out of the press, at least until they were further along in their investigation.

After she talked to Gina, Amy called Jake at home again (still no answer) then gave a couple of brief phone interviews to the Bulletin’s competitors – there was something deeply satisfying about telling the New York Times reporter that she had no further comment five minutes into their conversation – and scheduled another appearance on The Brian Lehrer Show for the next day. Her inbox was flooded by the time she found a minute to check her emails, and she clicked out of it after doing a quick search to see if Jake had sent anything.

Charles took her out for a late lunch – everyone else was on deadline, mostly writing about the Vulture takedown – and when they got back to the newsroom, Holt called for her to come to his office. Amy couldn’t resist calling Jake first; she hung up after three rings.

“Close the door,” Holt said, when Amy entered his office. Her gut did a slow roll. He only closed the door for very serious conversations.

When Amy was seated in front of his desk, he asked how she was doing, and Amy said she was tired but otherwise fine. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything that happened,” she said, feeling somewhat shy.

“That’s understandable,” Holt said. He studied her for a moment. “You realize I have to take you off of the police beat now.”

Amy sighed, but strangely, his words actually eased some of her tension. She was disappointed, but she’d expected this, after all. “I do, sir.”

“Santiago.” Holt folded his hands on his desk, and his face softened gradually until he looked almost affectionate. “Amy. This reassignment is not a reflection on your work. You are a most promising reporter. Your attention to detail, your persistence, and your eye for a good story are all remarkable. But what makes you stand out is your commitment to telling the full story – to exploring the gray area between the black and white.”

Amy could feel herself blushing from her forehead to her toes. She was dizzy with pride, her head buzzing from it.

“Thank you, sir. That means-“ She paused and took a deep breath. “It means everything.”

Holt nodded sagely. Then he smiled a bit and said, “Not that it’s any of my business, but I think that is why you and this detective make a good team.”

“How so?” Amy truly had no idea what he was talking about – she wasn’t even sure if she and Jake were a team anymore, romantic or otherwise. Just because they had comforted one another through a terrible ordeal didn’t mean they were together, or back together, or whatever.

“Your pursuit of the truth, and your faith that you’ll get there,” Holt said. “I don’t know your friend Detective Peralta personally, of course. But that he risked his life and his career to take down his own captain shows impressive strength of character.”

“Well, in fairness, Jake really hated Pembroke,” Amy said with a smirk.

“As well he should have.”

But Amy understood what Holt was saying, and she didn’t disagree. She supposed that she and Jake did share more than one or two key values – values that defined them, even, and that they sought and cherished in one another.

She was repeating his words over in her mind (and still basking in his praise) when Holt began tapping a pencil on his desk, snapping her out of a haze.

“Though it’s unfortunate that you got caught up in this whole drug ring boondoggle, I have to admit, it’s given us quite the advantage on this story,” Holt said, as though he were thinking out loud. “Even Wuntch has been grudgingly giving us information. And she’s basically just a skin-suit stuffed with gremlins.”

Amy stared at him, completely at a loss at how to respond to any of that. Finally she said, somewhat faintly, “You know Commissioner Wuntch?”

“She was a source of mine back when I was a reporter,” he said. “Things didn’t end as well for us as they did for you and Detective Peralta.”

Amy nodded vaguely. “I see.”

“Dismissed, Santiago.”

+++

Unfortunately, even Holt’s accolades withered under Amy’s growing anxiety over Jake. As the afternoon faded to evening, she tried to keep herself busy and distracted. She went through all of her emails, and she read every word of news coverage she could find on the Vulture situation. (The Bulletin’s coverage was the best, by a longshot.) She made a list of potential follow-up stories, most of which she wouldn’t be able to do because she was too close to it all.

At the same time, she lost count of the calls to Jake’s home and the many messages left for him at work – at the Nine-Nine and the Eight-Two. She called Rosa enough times that she started sending Amy straight to voicemail. Jake’s cell phone voicemail was full by mid-afternoon, but she kept calling anyway. She sent him multiple emails, and even stole Charles’ phone to send a few texts.

She was trying not to think worst-case scenarios. But it had been a full day since she’d seen him, longer than that since they spoke. It was hard not to worry when she felt like she was  crawling out of her skin with the need to hear from him (and see him and touch him, smell him even) and yet, he hadn’t reached out to her. Her desk phone had been ringing all afternoon, and in fairness, she hadn’t been able to pick up every time, but not once was it Jake’s voice on the other end. The rise and fall of hope each time she answered was making her physically ill.

By 7:30 it was starting to hit her that she was going to have to endure this stress at home, alone, when the new copy desk intern approached her desk, his face flushed and splotchy like he was incredibly nervous. She wanted to take pity on him but she couldn’t call up the energy, so she just looked up at him expectantly.

“Amy Santiago?” His voice cracked – on both names.

“That’s me,” Amy said with a sigh.

“Uh, hi.” Beads of sweat were pearling on the poor kid’s forehead. “I’m such a huge fan, your story on the jail recordings was awesome, and I just know you’re going to write something amazing about, you know, this drug stuff.”

“Well- thanks,” Amy said, genuinely touched.

“Anyway, I- I took down this message for you earlier, and then I forgot-” He held out a slip of paper torn from a reporter’s notebook, and Amy snatched it from his hand so quickly he jumped.

“A message? From today? Why are you just giving it to me now?” But Amy ignored his reply and read the note.

It said, “Meet at the park. 7 p.m.”

Amy grabbed her jacket and her purse and raced for the door. She heard the intern calling after her and thought she should have at least asked his name. But then again he’d sat on a message from Jake for who knew how long, so the kid was basically dead to her.

She ran outside and practically jumped in front of the first cab she saw, planting her hands on the hood and then pulling open the passenger door before even checking to see if it was available.

“The park!” Amy called through the glass partition. When the driver just raised an eyebrow at her in the rearview mirror she nearly growled. “Fort Greene. By the way, I shot a man yesterday. Make it fast.”

CHAPTER 16

[xfpornbattle]

Thicker Than Water

The opening chapters of an AU, for the fan fiction contest!

The open ocean was chaotic.   Currents and eddies, tides and storms all competed to push masses of water hither and yon.   But sometimes the forces of nature lined up just so, exerting pressure like the cupped hand of God and sent an extraordinary wave rolling towards shore.   And if you were there when it rose, glassine and swan-necked, holding itself proudly in the air for what seemed both an instant and an eternity too long before ending its voyage by crashing on an empty beach; well, it was as close to perfect as life for a luckless earth-bound fool could get.

…..

Kate didn’t know the first thing about surfing, but she knew beauty when she saw it.   The morning fog kept the air chilly and close to her skin, and she wrapped her sweater tightly around her slight frame.   The surf was breaking hard against the beach, rumours of a storm far out to sea that would not reach land for days yet.    She loved the ocean for its moods, and for its reticence.   You could not tell by looking at it what was going on beneath.  

Because of the violence of the waves, only a handful of surfers were out, and most of those were sitting or standing in small groups along the water line, waiting for a sign that the effort to paddle out would be rewarded with more than a torn leash.   Out towards the horizon, just before the break that signaled the reef that protected Bonares Bay, a figure in a black wetsuit bobbed on the heaving surface like an oversize cormorant.   She wondered if he was in danger, perhaps paddling out into waves he could not handle, but the surfers along the beach seemed unconcerned.

Enjoying the invigorating salt air and the sandy grit between her toes, she was late to notice the change in mood amongst the onlookers.   Those that had been sitting now stood, and those who had been standing craned their necks.   No-one spoke, and she heard the tone of the waves change as though the sea was moving from a major to a minor key.   Following their gaze, she witnessed a wave nearly twice the height of the rest begin its procession into land.  

The lone surfer was in perfect position, and he took full advantage.   As the peak of the wave began to curl, he ducked his head and crouched in the barrel.   Even from where she stood, she could see his right hand caressing the wall of water like it was a living thing.   His speed was remarkable, and it seemed mere moments before the wave carried him closer to the beach.  From that distance she could see the triumphant smile on his face before he sprang off his board, over the top of the dying wave, and headfirst into the water.   The onlookers let out a murmur of approval bordering on the devotional.  

She watched to see if he would paddle back out, but he was already waist-deep, carrying his surfboard towards shore near where she was standing, watching.   He met her gaze then, and his eyes were the exact shade of the water behind him.  He carelessly flicked his sea-soaked hair off his face and gave her a polite nod of acknowledgement.   Her heart stuttered in a truly adolescent fashion.   Angry at herself, she pursed her lips and started to walk in the opposite direction, refusing to look back for several minutes, by which point he was gone.

…..

The antiseptic neutrality of the hospital at UC San Diego exploded into a riotous circus of Mylar balloons and finger-painted wall art as she entered the pediatric ward.  Ignoring the glances of the ward nurses, she strode directly for the cozy doctor’s lounge.

“What’s the meaning of this, Daniel?”  She flourished her work iPad, too quick for him to actually read the damning words on the screen, but he’d know what she was talking about.   As professional colleagues at least they’d never had any difficulty communicating.

“Given your state of moral outrage, I imagine you know exactly what the meaning is.  And hello to you too, Katherine,” he mocked.

“You put me in charge of her care, Daniel.  I explained the course of treatment to her parents.  And then for you to countermand my decision and undermine my authority without so much as a…” she broke off, aware that she was bordering on the hysterical, which her mentor would no doubt call out.

“You never were aggressive enough, Kate.  Miss Sims is an excellent candidate for a more radical approach.  She represents the best chance we have to put my pediatric cardiology unit on the map, and..”

“She’s a little girl!” she interrupted, earning her a dark scowl.  “She’s a little girl, Daniel,” she continued more quietly, “and you are an arrogant man.”   She spun on her heel and strode back down the long hallway, not cheered in the least the tiny handprints and primitive suns in bright primary colours.

…..

Bonares Bay couldn’t really call itself a town, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t busy.  Stretched out over thirty miles of windswept pines, the majority of its inhabitants were members of the local Native American band, interspersed with a motley collection of hippies, hermits, surfers and outcasts.   The social hub of this odd assortment was the band community centre, and it was there that her office was located.   From nine until three on weekdays and anytime outside those hours when an emergency arose, her job was to tend to the medical needs, both mundane and calamitous, of the approximately two thousand people that called Bonares Bay home.  

She hadn’t given much thought to the details when she saw the small job ad at the back of a medical journal she subscribed to.   All she’d seen was a chance to escape an untenable situation, and she’d leapt before she looked in truly uncharacteristic fashion.   Now that she’d been doing the job for a couple weeks, it was clear that her role including everything from amateur psychology to delivering babies that wouldn’t wait for the ninety minute drive to the nearest hospital in Crescent City.   She could hear her father’s voice, bemoaning the waste of her top tier cardiology internship on the people of this forgotten coastline.  But for the first time in a long time, she slept soundly at night, her mocking dreams driven away by the murmur of the endless surf breaking outside her open window.

“Doc!  We’ve got someone here who needs you.”

The voice of Gerry, the social worker cum administrator whose office was adjacent to her own, intruded on her vagrant thoughts.   Looking towards the door, she could see Gerry and another man half-supporting, half-carrying a black-haired adolescent boy with an open gash across his temple.  The boy’s right arm hung oddly from its socket, and she diagnosed his dislocated shoulder before he was seated on her examining table.

“What happened to him?” She directed this at Gerry, who shrugged and looked at the other man, now standing in the door to her office.   Focussing on him for the first time, she realized with a start that he was the surfer she’d been watching the previous morning.  He was dressed in cut-off shorts and a technical t-shirt, his brown hair damp with sweat.   Despite his apparel and the situation, her first impression was that he seemed composed, and possibly even mildly amused.

“Well, I didn’t see the whole thing go down, but as I understand it, Noah here felt that he’d have a better chance of scoring a date to junior prom if he could do a backflip on his dirtbike.  So he was practicing on the BMX course out behind Old Man Stan’s.   I happened to be running by when I heard the crunch of bones meeting metal.”

“How’d you get him from Stan’s to here?” Gerry couldn’t help asking.

“Flagged down a delivery truck on the main road.”

Grunting, Gerry looked over at the teenager, who was now looking embarrassed as well as ashen, and made his way out of the room.   The other man grinned at Noah, and then seemed ready to leave himself.

“Excuse me …” she hesitated, not knowing his name.

“William.”

“Doctor Scully.”  He tipped his head towards the nameplate on her door, and she blushed, feeling unaccountably tongue-tied in his presence.

“What does the K. stand for?”

“Katherine.  Kate.”

“Well, Katherine Kate, I have a run to finish, unless you need me here for anything.  I don’t think there’s any paperwork that needs to be filled out for pubescent stupidity, otherwise Sheriff Long would be snowed under.”  He once again broke out in a lazy smile, and she had a flashback of his wetsuit-clad form leaping into the waves in joy.

“Actually …. I could use your help.   His shoulder is obviously dislocated, and it would be a lot easier to pop it back into joint if you were holding him.”

Noah has been looking anxiously between their two faces, but their conversation flowed around him.   William inserted himself between the patient and the office wall, bracing his back and clasping his right arm across the front of the boy’s chest, trying not to jar his injured shoulder.   Sensing his unease, the older man began to talk, as she prepared to manoeuvre her patient’s arm back into place.

“So, who’s the girl?”

“Huh?”

“Miss I’ll Date You If You Can Do A Backflip?”

“Oh, uh, Daisy.  Daisy George.”   Noah couldn’t concentrate on both William’s inquiries and the doctor’s preparations, and quite frankly, the inquiries were a lot more pleasant.   She shot a look of gratitude before moving purposefully to leverage the boy’s humerus so that it once again nestled against his scapula.   The grinding noise of bone against cartilage, a pop and a few muttered curses later, and the deed was done.

She began testing the reflexes of his right hand, checking for nerve damage.  Besides the heavy pants of the boy trying to stay on top of his pain, the room was silent, but she knew William hadn’t left yet.  She looked up from her iPad once she’d entered in some basic information.

“Thank you again…”

“William,” he reminded her with his perpetually bemused expression.

“Yes, thank you, William.  I’ll make sure Noah here gets a ride home.  You probably want to get back to your run.”

He nodded and made for the door, then turned back to Noah.

“Daisy with the three older brothers and the…” he gestured towards his chest as though he was about to juggle grapefruit.   Noah grinned and nodded.

“Best get used to pain then, son.”   And he left without another word.

…..

The water closed above his diving body like a silken envelope, clasping him in its diffuse embrace.  The air had been cool, but he was bare-skinned except for his trunks and flippers, not even a face mask to distort his view of the cyan world that admitted him without ceremony.

He descended, lungs already starting to burn as he worked against the buoyancy of his body.  He both hated and accepted the battle, understanding the toll it demanded.

The deeper he swam, the greater the call grew to return to the surface, and the more he longed to stay.  It was peaceful, in the womb of the ocean.  A place without noise, but not silent.  Without illumination, and yet not dark.  The birthplace of all things, and the grave of the one thing he held dear.

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Fic Niches and Polls

My favorite niches ranked by the people, all in one place.

Poll Results Fic: 1st Place- Injured but In-Charge Scully

Poll Results Fic: 2nd Place- Cleaning Out the Vineyard House

Poll Results Fic: 3rd Place– Tithonus Mother Hen Mulder

Poll Results Fic: 3rd Place– IVF Successes 

Poll Results Fic: 3rd Place– IVF Success, Addendum

Poll Results Fic: 4th Place– Requiem AUs– No Pregnancy, Finding Out Before Requiem, and Bad Endings

Poll Results Fic: 4th Place– Requiem AUs– Mulder Didn’t Leave

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

Souviens-Toi: A Cafe Pequod Story

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE JULY 16, 1999

Mulder's legs are beginning to feel as though they may give out if he doesn't get to the top of these stairs soon. There's a telltale tremor in his left leg, where the arthritis is worse than it is in the right, and it's a struggle to keep from favoring it as the day wears on.

Scully can't know. The subject of his leaving his cane behind in Washington has already been exhausted, in his opinion.

Still, Mulder needs to do something, and so as they continue along the stairway, he takes Claire's arm, doing his best to hide that he's leaning on her. His daughter looks up at him with one eyebrow cocked, her "I know exactly what you're doing" face a carbon copy of the expression her mother's been giving him for years. Claire doesn't betray his confidence, though; she merely smiles at her father and covers his hand on her arm with his own.

Ahead of them, Scully walks next to William, her stride at eighty nearly as strong and sure as it was at forty. She still wakes up early every morning and walks a mile around the neighborhood before breakfast, and whenever she can, she makes Mulder join her, no matter how much he grumbles that, at eighty-three, he's earned the right to sleep in when he wants to. She still bakes at least some of the pies served in the Cafe Pequod, and their long-time regulars swear they can tell which ones are from her, and which are from their employees in the kitchen, even though it's always the same recipe.

Convincing Scully to leave the cafe long enough to take this trip has not been easy. Officially, Scully has retired, both as a doctor and as a cafe manager; in reality, she has never learned to slow down, and Mulder doesn't expect that she's going to start now. Ian and Sarah's oldest, Declan, took over management of the Cafe Pequod nearly ten years ago when his parents retired (actual retirement, not the Dana Scully version of retirement), and not a week goes by that Mulder isn't thankful that Declan is every bit as patient under scrutiny as his parents always were. Plenty of managers would have been insulted at their employers' reluctance to leave them solely in charge for a week and a half; Declan had barely batted an eye.

So here they are, in France, for the first time in over fifty years. It had been William who had read about the memorial center while it was still in its planning stages, and the family had followed its progress until its completion earlier this year. When Mulder had heard that an inauguration ceremony would be taking place in July, he had immediately suggested to Scully that they should attend. She had agreed, provided Claire and William accompany them, so that they could be on hand, should anything happen. Arrangements were made for Claire's and William's children to stay with other family while their spouses at working, and now, here they are, making their way up the long stairway in front of the Centre de la Mémoire d'Oradour. The long, low, glass-sided building is set into the ground, almost like a bunker, with jagged, reddish-brown panels surrounding the entrance.

As they climb, Mulder glances around at the other people visiting the memorial today. He supposes at least some of today's attendees will be survivors of the massacre, or at least their families. He has to remind himself that this far on, there aren't likely to be many left of the twenty or so villagers who, by some circumstance or another, managed to escape the tenth of June, 1944, with their lives.

Inside, the memorial center is divided into five sections, and the four of them make their way slowly through. The first gives a general history of the war itself: the rise of Hitler, the fall of France, the Vichy government, and the Resistance. The second space details the massacre itself, and Scully, her jaw clenched tightly, examines the exhibits in detail. Mulder reaches for her hand, and she squeezes it tightly, but says nothing. In fifty-five years, neither of them have found the words to truly encompass what they experienced that night, and Mulder doubts they ever will.

Scully unexpectedly balks at the third section of the memorial, a small screening room where visitors can watch a short film about the discovery of what had happened in Oradour-Sur-Glane. "I lived it," she says, her voice flat. "I don't need to watch it." So Mulder waits in silence with her, outside the screening room, while William and Claire watch the twelve-minute narrative.

When they emerge, both of their children have tears in their eyes.

The fourth section details the rebuilding of the village, not on the site of the original, which has been left in ruins as a memorial, but right nearby. Mulder and Scully had lunch there, before coming here. It's a charming place, but to Mulder, it had felt slightly... off. It was as though his mind had been trying to superimpose decades-old memories on top of the present, creating a sense of double vision that had left him feeling distinctly unmoored.

The fifth and final stop is a wide, open room, lit by narrow skylights along the ceiling that give the light a bluish tint. The space is meant for reflection and meditation, for visitors to think on all they've just seen and read about before venturing out to see the place where it actually happened. Mulder and Scully don't stay here long; the final stop on their tour today beckons, and it will take all of their strength to make it through.

Beyond the memorial center lies the village.

It's called the "Martyred Village" now, and it takes Mulder's breath away to remember just how close Scully had come to being one of those martyrs, how close Claire had come to never being born. William, too, for that matter... and their grandchildren... and their first great-grandchild, who is due at Christmas. How many generations had been saved by Walther Skinner's well-placed bullet that night?

How many had been lost to Spender's cruel insanity?

They make their way through what had once been the high street, passing through the burned husks of buildings, crumbling walls of stone. Mulder can remember what it looked like before... the pharmacy on his left, there, where he had procured medicines and bandages, at Scully's request, to treat the injured airmen and refugees who passed through her care on their way to safety... the tavern where the German officers had preferred to spend their evenings, after the cafe had closed for the night... and there, ahead, Mulder recognizes the shape of what was once the Cafe Pequod itself.

His sense of memory is suddenly overwhelming. He can almost see the cafe as it once was, the white, whale-shaped sign swinging on its hinges above the door. He can see Scully in the window, waiting for him on New Year's Eve, her red hair sleek atop her head and her blue eyes full of promise. He can almost feel the snow cutting into his cheeks the way it did so many nights, when he had walked back to camp, warm with the memory of Scully's lips on his. As they continue to approach, Mulder's gaze is drawn to the street in front of the ruins of the cafe.

A man stands there, looking up at the burned building. A most familiar man.

"It's not possible," Scully says softly. "He'd be in his nineties by now." But apparently it's very much possible, because at that moment, the man turns to face them, and Mulder's doubts are immediately washed away. It's true that, in three years under his command, Mulder never saw Walther Skinner smile quite this widely... but even smiling, there's no mistaking him.

Skinner approaches them and clasps Mulder's hand... but within moments, the two men are embracing. When they part, both have tears in their eyes. Skinner turns and embraces Scully, who is also crying.

"I had a strong suspicion you two might turn up here today," Skinner says. "It was enough of a hunch for me to get on a train and see if I was right." He gestures at the ruins of the cafe. "I thought if I waited here long enough, I might get to see you." He looks behind them, to Claire and William, who are whispering to each other, no doubt trying to figure out who their parents are talking to. Mulder waves them forward.

"This is Claire, our daughter," he says, and Skinner smiles widely. "Claire, you remember us telling you about my captain? Walther Skinner?" Claire's eyes grow wide, making her look more like her mother than ever.

"Your captain," she says, reaching out to shake Skinner's hand. "The one who saved you both?" Even all these years later, Skinner is uncomfortable with the recognition.

"They would have gotten themselves out of there somehow, I'm sure," he says modestly. He turns to William. "And this must be your son?" Mulder nods and gestures for William to come closer.

"William Walter," Mulder says, and behind his glasses, Skinner's eyes go wide. He looks from William, to Mulder, to Scully.

"Mulder," he says softly, "I suspect you've blown the part I played that night out of proportion."

"Not at all," insists Scully. "We wouldn't have made it out without your help. We've never forgotten that. You were a hero that night, Walther." Skinner shakes his head.

"No," he insists, "I wasn't." Skinner looks away from them, his eyes brimming. "For years, every night, before I went to sleep, I would repeat a number in my head. The same number, over and over: 642. The number of people who died here that night. I never wanted to let myself forget, not for one day, how great a loss it was. At the time, I told myself I had no choice, that to reveal myself by trying to stop it from happening wasn't an option. But I've had a long time to think about it, Mulder, and now...." He hangs his head. Mulder puts a hand on his former captain's arm.

"Scully and I made it out, thanks to you," he says. "Claire and William were born, thanks to you. Claire's an emergency room doctor. She saves lives every day... and she wouldn't be around to do that if it hadn't been for you. William was a soldier who helped save a group of children from a madman not much different from Oberst Spender- and he wouldn't have been there to do it if it hadn't been for you. Those kids have kids of their own by this time. My children have children now. There are generations of families who are alive right now, Walther, all because you took that shot and saved our lives." Skinner leans heavily on his walking stick and doesn't look at any of them, but from the set of his jaw, Mulder can see that he's moved. Finally, he looks up.

"Did my package ever find its way to you?" he asks. Scully smiles.

"It's been sanded down, repainted, and is hanging outside the Cafe Pequod in Georgetown, in Washington, DC," she says. "It's been one of the most popular restaurants in the neighborhood for forty years." Skinner grins.

"And are you still serving your famous cherry pies?" he asks.

"Of course," says Scully, smiling. "There aren't any messages tucked underneath them these days, though." Skinner laughs.

"No, I suppose not," he says. "I'll admit, there were times I thought about contriving some imaginary circumstance or other, something that would mean getting you to pass me information, just so I could enjoy your pie."

"I know the feeling," quips Mulder.

"Dad!" exclaims Claire, and William looks mortified. Skinner, though, chuckles.

"Good to see you haven't changed much," he says. He claps Mulder on the shoulder. "It's good to see you with children of your own to torment you, Mulder. I only hope they've provided you with at least half as many headaches as you gave me." This gets a laugh out of everyone, causing other visitors milling about the village to look at them, frowning. Mulder glances around, then looks at his wife.

"Maybe we should take the conversation elsewhere," he suggests. "What do you think, Scully?" Scully looks up at the remains of her cafe.

"You go on ahead," she says quietly. "I'll meet you back at the memorial center in a moment. Walther, you'll have dinner with us, won't you?"

"I'd love to," he says.

"See you in a minute, Mom," says Claire, and she, William, Skinner, and Mulder start back down the way they came. But after a moment, Mulder stops.

"Listen, I'll meet you there, all right?" he says. They nod and continue on ahead without him, and Mulder doubles back, coming to stand beside Scully, who is still looking up at the ruined walls. Tentatively, he puts his arm around her shoulder, and she leans into him.

"It's funny," she says softly. "I forget, sometimes, that I only lived here for five years. That's how large this place looms in my mind." She wraps an arm around his waist. "And I forget, too, how short a time you and I had together here. The way I fell in love with you... I fell so deeply and completely that I think it feels like it should have taken much longer to happen." Mulder's breath catches in his throat. He can count on both hands the number of times, over the years, that Scully has openly talked about how she felt in those days. "Maman always loved this place so much because it was what she had left of her family," continues Scully. "But me...." She looks up at Mulder. "I think I loved it so much because it was where my family began."

Mulder knows, as he bends to kiss Scully, that he's going to earn the disapproving glances of others visiting the Martyred Village today. He knows they'll think it inappropriate on this, a solemn day of remembrance, to behave this way in public. But they cannot know, not any of them, the number of nightmares that have plagued both of them in the years since the horror that happened here. They cannot know that every June tenth has been, for them, a solemn day of remembrance, that they can never celebrate their daughter's birthday without thinking of how close she came to not being born at all.

Mulder and Scully have told the story of Oradour-Sur-Glane to their children, to their grandchildren, to their nieces and nephews. Their grandchildren will continue to tell the story long after he and Scully are gone. It will never be forgotten.

It's important to remember, to keep the past alive, to keep it real and immediate so that past mistakes might not be repeated. Mulder, full of painful memories of his sister and his family, has always known that better than everyone. But Scully taught him, in those hours together in the Cafe Pequod, that there is much, much more to life.

It's important to remember. But it is just as important to live.

[truthbeetoldmedia]

Brooklyn Nine-Nine 6x08 “He Said, She Said” Review

The detectives of Brooklyn’s 99th precinct have solved plenty of gory murders, drug rings, B&Es, and cases of identity theft, but one area the show has steered clear of — until now — was the subject of sexual assault. And with good reason: how does a comedy find the humour in a situation that is all too distressingly real for the majority of women?

In the wake of the #MeToo movement (it’s worth mentioning that Terry Crews, who plays Terry Jeffords, has been one of the most vocal supporters of the movement since the beginning, sharing his own story of sexual assault), it seemed it would only be a matter of time before Brooklyn Nine-Nine turned its attention to the sensitive subject; and, in the same vein as episodes such as “Moo Moo” and “Game Night”, manages to make its point authentically and succinctly, while still providing laughs.

During the morning briefing, Captain Holt tells the squad about their newest case: Seth Haggerty, who has had his penis broken by a golf club. Jake’s game of guessing how such an injury could possibly occur is ruined when Holt somberly informs them that Seth was attacked by a female coworker who claims he had sexually assaulted her.

Jake is assigned to the case and Amy, who is somehow three weeks ahead in her paperwork, offers to jump on with him. As we learn later, Amy has ulterior motives for wanting to work the case, outside of getting back in the field: it hits close to home for her, as she, like many, has also suffered through workplace harassment.

First, Jake and Amy interrogate Seth, who is wearing a comedic diaper cast. Predictably, he claims that he did nothing wrong. Next, they bring in Keri, who tells her side of the story: Seth had been drinking, he got her alone and tried to take her clothes off, so she took his golf club and hit him in the “cookie monster” with it.

Right away, this episode did something I was impressed by: it would have been easy for Jake or someone else to want to take Seth at his word, to question Keri’s version of events, or to suggest that her response was the wrong one; but no one does. (In fact, the show sends Hitchcock, perhaps the one most likely to make any such comments, home for the week in the cold open, perhaps realizing that such a storyline is one Hitchcock can’t live in genuinely.)

It’s one thing to say the woman needs to be believed; it’s another to show it, and show it without saying that that’s what you’re doing.

After discussing it, Jake and Amy decide that Keri should file charges against Seth for sexual assault. But she refuses, because her company has already offered her a $2.5 million hush money payment and a promotion in exchange for her silence.

It seems like an easy decision to make: $2.5 million to pretend nothing ever happened; or open an investigation which has little chance of finding any damning evidence, relive the assault, and open yourself up to being disbelieved, ostracized, and punished for telling the truth.

Except.

Assaulters don’t deserve to walk free.

This is the crux of Me Too: it takes an inordinate amount of courage to make oneself so vulnerable in order to stop the same thing from happening again, to someone else, when there seems to be so little possibility of success.

After some encouragement from Amy, Keri decides to press charges and an investigation is officially opened, but it doesn’t get off to the most auspicious start: Jake and Amy arrive at Keri’s workplace to conduct interviews with her coworkers, hoping someone else will corroborate her story, but everyone seems intent on toeing the company line and insist that Seth is a “great guy” and the company is a “very professional place.” (This, while some employees are openly drunk.)

Not only do Jake and Amy not get the evidence they need, they find out that Keri has been fired and her settlement retracted because acts of violence won’t be tolerated. Distressed, Amy throws herself into the case, desperate to find evidence so that Keri doesn’t lose her job because of Amy’s advice.

Later, Amy comes clean to Jake about why exactly this case hits so close to home for her: at her first precinct, she was approached by her commanding officer after being promoted to detective, because he seemed to think she owed him something in return for her career. Amy never told anyone about the incident, in which her boss tried to kiss her, because she felt that maybe her promotion hadn’t been earned in the first place and that any future promotions wouldn’t be offered to her. (This particular backstory seems to be lifted right from the Harvey Weinstein scandal that started the whole Me Too movement in the first place.)

Another thing this episode did very well — as it did in the aforementioned “Game Night” episode, also — was let Jake sit back and be a comforting presence and ally rather than an active participant. As “Game Night” was Rosa’s episode, “He Said, She Said” is Amy’s. (Jake himself brings attention to the role of men in this topic while Rosa and Amy are having a back-and-forth about the merits of pursuing a sexual assault charge: should he leave the room, or should he be a part of the conversation? In the end, he decides to be an active listener and stop interjecting, which is exactly the right call.)

Because this is Brooklyn Nine-Nine and, above all, it’s a show that’s meant to make you feel good, Amy and Jake do end up with the evidence they need: one of the employees at the firm comes forward with a text chain in which Seth tells the same story Keri did. However, even with the conviction, Keri still quits her job because she knows she’s being isolated from her other coworkers and that will have ramifications of her career.

Two step forward and one step back. As the show is sure to iterate, doing the right thing isn’t always easy.

It’s not all bittersweet, though; the episode ends with Rosa revealing that another female employee from the same firm has come forward to share her story, which leads to my favourite line of the episode: “Two steps forward and one step back is still one step forward.”

If this plotline does all the heavy lifting of the episode, the B-plot works hard to add in some levity: Captain Holt learns that one of his greatest-ever collars, the Disco Strangler, has died when his transport van flipped and caught on fire. (This is a reference that goes waaaaaay back: the Disco Strangler was mentioned in the show’s pilot episode, when Terry uses the story of his capture to convince Jake that their new captain is the Real Deal.)

Although all evidence — including a charred body and the word of a badly injured van driver — points to his old nemesis actually being dead, Captain Holt refuses to believe it, thinking instead that this is the Disco Strangler’s great escape.

Is this a case of Captain Holt’s detective senses being right despite having no evidence to go on, or is he making up a case because accepting that the Disco Strangler is dead would also mean accepting that his best years are behind him?

Terry and Charles seem to think it’s the latter, and as Holt investigates and the evidence mounts against him, it seems they’re right: Holt’s main clue, a piece of string that he believes belonged to a yo-yo, turns out to be part of the sign the Strangler had to wear that declared him a fall risk, and seeing the van driver badly injured in the hospital makes it seem ridiculous to think that she could be in cahoots with the criminal.

Just as Holt is ready to admit that he’s wrong and he is no longer the young cop he used to be, he receives aerial footage from a helicopter of the Disco Strangler walking along a highway. Holt orders a team be dispatched to pick him up. The thirty-odd intervening years since Holt last caught the Disco Strangler make themselves known though, as Holt’s triumphant moment is somewhat ruined by the fact that the old Strangler is too deaf to hear what he’s saying.

Working off a reduced cast for this episode (as previously mentioned, Hitchcock is sent home in the cold open, Scully only has a minor role to play, and Stephanie Beatriz, who directed the episode, only appears as Rosa a couple of times) works in the show’s favour: the two main plots balance each other nicely, and each is given room to breathe, with especial attention given to Amy’s story in a way that doesn’t feel rushed or overbearing. As usual, the show handles delicate subject matter with deftness and finesse, and I’m grateful for it.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine airs Thursdays on NBC at 9/8c.

Sam’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝.5

[kyouryokusenshi]

Into the Unknown (4/?)

Tagging @today-in-fic

The room was uncomfortably silent at Scully's revelation. Monica and Walter didn’t move, they just watched in shock as Scully struggled to hold back tears. Part of her still couldn't believe the news. After taking another deep breath, she finally spoke up, "I know it's impossible. It's a miracle. I always feared the truth about William’s conception from the moment I found out I was pregnant. But this time things are different. I know with absolute certainty that this child wasn't part of any experiment." Scully thought back to the vision of the ultrasound William shared with her. Thirteen weeks. There was only one possible night she could have conceived. One thing she couldn't explain however, was how she knew this baby was a girl. Maybe that was just maternal instinct. Skinner thought back to the car ride over to Norfolk and felt terrible. He sensed something was up when Scully asked for his help, but back then he didn't think too much of it. She had come to him before when Mulder had taken that case with Father Joe into his own hands. He wasn't sure he would have told Scully about William had he known she was carrying another child. He couldn't even begin to imagine how that knowledge might have affected her current pregnancy. "I assume Mulder knows?" he asked.

Scully nodded.

"Congratulations, Dana. I mean it," Monica said.

"Thank you."

Monica pulled her friend in for a tight hug. She would have known before anyone else if the smoking bastard had laid another hand on her. This was a miracle. "You're right, Dana," Monica said as if to assuage any fears her friend might be holding back.

"It is a miracle. If there was any....intervention, I would have told you,” said Monica.

Scully smiled and nodded. She had planned to keep the baby a secret for a little while longer, but she didn't know when she'd see her friend again. It was comforting to be able to share this knowledge with a trusted friend, especially since she delivered her first child. Just then, the door to Skinner's room was thrown open.

Scully and Reyes startled and turned around to be met face to face with Kersh. To say he looked pissed off was an understatement. "Step outside Agents," he ordered. 

Scully narrowed her eyes before turning back to Skinner who nodded as if to tell her to go along with it. Monica looked over at Scully as they both left the room.

"What is going on here?" Scully demanded.

"What's going on is that an Assistant Director was nearly killed because of your and Mulder's crusade," Kersh spat before turning to Monica, "and another FBI Agent injured."

"Sir," Monica started, "that's not--"

Kersh held his hand up. "You're free to go, Agent Reyes," he said in a tone that indicated he was finished. Monica turned towards Scully and concurred. They had exchanged contact information earlier and had agreed to get in touch once she met up with John. Scully managed a small smile as her friend turned and walked away. Kersh watched the brunette leave before turning back to Scully. "Now I already told Agent Mulder. The X-Files are closed. Even though he is responsible for this, I don't doubt for a minute you were involved in some way. Calls were placed by you from his residence. Not just recently, but on several occasions. Including the incident with Purlieu services."

Scully opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words.

"On top of that, I found something else. A marriage certificate indicating you and Mulder got married in the state of Virginia back in 2002. I don't know how on earth that was overlooked when you returned to the bureau, but the Assistant Director will be facing his own disciplinary action for assisting you both with this ridiculous quest."

Scully began to feel rage boiling through her veins. She knew where Kersh was going with his accusations. She reached into her coat and thrusted her gun and badge at him. "You may be able to keep me from walking the halls of the FBI. But this is MY hospital, you can't keep me from making sure he gets the care he needs," she said icily.

Scully quickly brushed past Kersh. Her emotions were bubbling to the surface. The events of the past 48 hours were catching up to her again. 

As she made her way down the corridor to the front entrance of the hospital, she saw Mulder coming towards her, worry evident in his features. "Scully," he said, relieved to see her. When he saw her face, he knew something was wrong. She said nothing but allowed him to place his arms around her shoulders. Together, they left the hospital. When they arrived at Mulder’s car, Scully checked to see if they were alone, then pulled Mulder close and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her. She liked to maintain a strong public demeanor, but today she allowed herself to crumble in Mulder's arms. His embrace was a great comfort. He was the only person aside from her mother who had seen her true self, including her vulnerable side. They knew the X-Files would be closed because of everything that happened. Their son was the reason they came back to the bureau in the first place. Finding him so they could stop the virus was the only thing that mattered. What was left to search now? They found their son but had to let him go. They had to focus on their new baby.

Mulder and Scully returned home a short while later. She told Mulder that she had a chance to see Monica Reyes before she was discharged and that she would stay in touch with her after she located John Doggett in California.  "Kersh knows about the marriage certificate," Scully sighed. Mulder shrugged. He wasn't entirely surprised. Skinner had pulled a lot of strings to get them back into the bureau. Things were overlooked during that process, including his depression. Technically he shouldn't have even been carrying a gun. Mulder was still slightly on edge, he knew there were cameras in the Purlieu building. It would only be a matter of time until he would likely face murder charges. He didn't want to scare Scully though. It was the last thing she needed right now. "We did what needed to be done, Scully. Unless you don't want to be married to me anymore," he teased, trying to lighten the mood. 

Even though they had been physically separated for a few years, neither of them had the resolve to file for a dissolution of marriage. They had arrived at the decision to get married following Mulder's trial back in 2002 while they were on the run. It would protect Scully from ever having to testify against him again, should it ever come to that. A piece of paper didn't dictate their feelings, however. The feelings they had for one another were more complex and went beyond the widely understood definition of marriage. 

Scully smiled. "Of course, I do, and I don't want to hide it anymore. We're having a child together, Mulder. I want us to be a family officially. But no one is going to call me Mrs. Fox Mulder."

"Understood," he said as he wrapped his arms around her. "No more telling people I'm not your husband though. We both know that's a lie."

"We should probably get rings, huh?" Mulder smiled. The idea of living together officially as a married couple with their baby filled him with overwhelming happiness. 

Scully smiled. "Yeah, but it has to be something fairly practical. We can't always wear rings at the hospital." They hadn't really discussed where they would go with the X-Files being closed, but Mulder imagined Scully would eventually go back to work at the hospital. Mulder nodded. "Okay, we can plan a trip to Kay Jewelers after our trip to IKEA."

"I thought we already made all those repairs after the incident with Purlieu," Scully said. The mere mention of that name made Mulder's blood run cold again.He pushed that thought from his mind. "Well we should probably start getting ready for the baby. You're already more than three months along, we have less than six months to get everything ready!" Mulder reached out and touched the small rounded bump of her abdomen. 

Scully smiled and placed her hand over his. "Oh...you're right. I still can't believe this is happening."

The sound of tires hitting the graveled driveway startled them both and Scully moved towards the kitchen window. "Were you expecting someone?"

Mulder followed closely behind her. "No," he said as a sense of dread settled over him.

Scully pulled back the curtain to see two familiar black SUV's driving up to the front of their house. To her surprise, Mulder pulled her back from the window and placed his hands on her shoulders. Scully was startled by the sudden movement. "Is there something you aren't telling me?" She nearly demanded. Mulder looked away and sighed, overwhelmed with guilt. 

Scully narrowed her eyes. "Mulder, you're scaring me. Why are they here?" Mulder was terrified, for himself, for Scully, and their unborn child. If he had known she was pregnant, maybe he wouldn't have been so stupid and reckless, but he was using whatever means necessary to get to William.

"Do you remember when I told you William wasn't on the plane when I made that trip to Purlieu services?"

Scully looked at him questioningly and opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't speak as she tried to process what he was saying.

"There, may have been a few casualties that involved Mr. Y and others along the way and it wasn't just self defense."

Scully shook her head and he suddenly saw the fear register in her own eyes at the implications. "What are you saying, Mulder?"

[scapegrace74-blog]

Fictober Day 13, 1013 Words

This seemed like such a good idea at the time.  I have a new appreciation for joining words.  And halfway through I went back and took all of the hyphens out of the compound words. I had plans to re-arrange these into something closer to a poem, but you’re going to get them a la stream of consciousness, because it’s been a long day.  Happy birthday, Fox Mulder!  Tagging @fictober @today-in-fic and @txf-prompt-box.

Sloe eyed. Insomniac.  Whippet hipped.   Loyal. Irreverent.  Iconoclast. Ever questing.  Brutish.  Gentle.   Anchored by tragedy.   Incisive.  Blunt.   Trenchcoat wearing.  Squinty. Empathetic.  Bull headed.  Empty handed. Chestnut haired.  Chisel jawed.  Verbose. Mute.  Explosive.  Imploding. Battle weary.  Inquiring.  Patrician. Mythic.  Doomed.  Icarus and Daedalus.  Childless father.  Orphaned son. Wry.  Cleft chinned.  Mole cheeked. Mossy eyed.  Arrogant.  Gentlemanly.   Starry eyed.  Star searching.  Star crossed. Sarcastic.  Sincere.  Sister bereft.  Clotheshorse. Bruno Magli loafer shod.  Lapsed Jew.  Worshipful. Basement hermit.  Porn aficionado.  Supple limbed.  Atlasian. Byronic.  Jungian.  Dual fathered. Single minded.  Absent minded.  Plangent. Notorious.  Slob.  Meticulous. Curious.   Questioning.  Travel weary. Relentless.  Sleepy blink giver.  Dreamer.  Loner.  Divorcee. Masculine.  Donnish.  Recalcitrant. Fleet footed.  Soft handed.  Basketball enthusiast.  Point guard. Cerebral.  Banal.  Distracted. Myopic.  Long lashed.  Plush lipped. Sculpted.  Sartorial.  Pedantic. Open minded.  Seeker of truth.  Myth believer.  Ghost hunter. Monster chaser.  Mutant mirandizer.  Cher dancer.  Downy haired. Bronze skinned.  Outcast.  Alpha male. Intuitive.  Spooky.  Magdalen college attendee.  Boston Brahmin.  Magnanimous. Long boned.  Short fused.  Atheist. Believer.  Defiant.  Well read. Well versed.   Butter fingered.   Cancer defying.  Courtly. Charming.  Crush inducing.  Impervious. Huge hearted.  Vulnerable.  Outreaching. Defensive.  Green eyed.  Blue eyed. Grey eyed.  Hazel eyed.  Alien apostle.  Apostate.  Abductee defender.  Abductee. Apocalypse prognosticator.   Overbite. Sharp tongued.  Promise-keeper.  Victim. Prosecutor.  Wire tapper.  Unexplained light chaser.   Forever to the heavens drawn.  Teena’s favourite.  Bill’s choice.  Skinner’s bane.  Sofa sleeper. Desk jockey.  Pencil launcher.  Driver. Passenger.  Mutineer. Compass true.  Doubt defier.  Expectation defier.  Death defier. Handsome.  Puckish.  Elven eared. Hedgehog haired.  Broad shouldered.  Runners’ knee.  Gunshot scar. Iliac crest.  Vengeance driven.  Forgiving. Kind.  Socially stunted.  Id dominant. Narcissistic.  Scholarly. Prodigal son.  Apollo.  Zarathustra. Agrippa.  Penitent.  Old soul. Grief weary.  Alarm tripper.  Yarn unraveller. Convention abstainer.  Can’t leave well enough alone.  Confidante. Late-night caller.  Ramparts defender.  Wide net caster.  Hither and yon-er.  Navigator. Lost.  Lost Boy.  Persistant. Alarmist.  Defeatist.  Nomad.   Comfort spurner.  Journeyman.  Stargazer.  Holder of the scales of justice.  Libra. Bay Stater.  Island-born.  Civil servant.  Per diem claimer.  Leash yanker. Foolhardy.  Sensual.  Hedonistic. Ascetic.  Self-deprived.  Orpheus in the Underworld.  High browed. Obscure.  Shadowed by tragedy.  Priapic.  Apologist. Burden ridden.  Weighted down by his past.  Future fighting.  Abstinent. Uxorious.  Lean flanked.  Navel gazing. Profiler.  Impatient.  Hospital patient.  Institutionalized.  Committed. Devoted.  Stolen childhood.   Arrested adolescence.  Brave. Gambler.  Betting against the house.  Quixotic. Romantic.  Impulsive.  Guitar riffing.  Pun loving. Filial.  Solitary.  Self-abnegating.  Daring the hounds of hell to bite.  Soulful. Poetic.  Mystic.  Gnostic. Apocryphal.  God denying.  Forsaking. Forsook.  Forward charging.  Backward glancing.  Target sighting.  Co-worker. Colleague.  Muscular.  Intellectual. Reliably unreliable.  Perpetually late.  Up early.  Literate.  Fish caretaker.  Dog disliker. White whale chaser.  Pole star navigating.  Aesthete.   Perpetually injured.  Tall tale teller.  End time foreteller.  Extra-terrestrial stalwart.  Conspiracy theorist.  Led around by his past.  Hopeless quest upholder.  Genie releaser.  Delusional. Visionary.  Oracle of doom.  Occultist. Traditionalist.  Vatic.   Psychologist.  Partner. Lover.  Beloved.  Right-handed. Heavy-handed.  Heart on his sleeve.  Monotone.  Laconic. Faustian.  Equivocal.  Explicit. Dirty-minded.  Bearing a cross. Holding a grudge.  Holding a torch.  Brain surgery survivor.  Pinpoint focussed.  Middle-aged.   Sensualist.  Risk taker.  Undercover agent.  Undercover boyfriend.  Supplicant. Empath.  Crisis survivor.  Depressive. Mr. Potato Head imitator. Childish.  Childlike.  Ageless. Agnostic.  Senior agent.  Prophet.   Fearless.  Soulmate.  Endorphin chaser.  SSRI prescription filler.   Danger magnet.  Brooder. Pouter.  Casual disregard for personal harm.  Hare-chaser.  Reformed skirt-chaser.   Monogamous. Dream analyzer.  Lamaze class partner.  Zombie guardian.  Cautious Millennium celebrator.  Talks a good game.  Trips over his tongue.  Trips over his feet.  White man trash talker.  Anarchist. Calamity inviter.  Gazer. Gazee.  Eye candy.  Ass model. Honourable.  Dutiful.  Playing the long game.  Self-mockery expert.  Suffering no fools.  Garbage can tantrum thrower.  Hallway pacer.  Elevator rider.  Highway voyager.  Co-pilot. Co-conspirator.  Friend.  Protector. Unrequited admirer.  Requited suitor.  Abandoned husband.  Angel and devil all at once.  Elegant. Fit.  UFO pursuer.  Singular pursuit.  Undissuadable.  Barreling forward without thought of ramifications.  Forever weighing the cost of consequences in the aftermath.  Owner of an empty fridge.  Keeper of an empty bed.  Custodian of a gold necklace.  Throwing effort after foolishness.  Noble. Rat trap connoisseur.  Monograph author.  Peering into the abyss.  Walking the tightrope of lunacy.  Masochist. Diffident courter.  Passionate significant other.  Fragile mental health.  Held together by Spackle and faith.  Falling apart in slow motion.  Giver of unsolicited kindness.  Ouster of the Syndicate.  Weekend scruff.  Cellphone addictee.  One-liner fan.  Mutato correspondent.  Compassionate.  Long memoried.  Bombastic. Can read you like a large print book. Disdains self-analysis. Is his own blind spot.  Fanciful. Internet casualty.  Grey t-shirts.  Low-riding pants.  Well-cut suits.  Exile from happiness.  Sacrificial lamb.  Perfectly imperfect.  Freckles over his shoulders.  Heroic quest. Martyr.  Gulag escapee.  Red Speedo. The loneliness of the long distance runner.  Paracelsus. Platonic ideal.  Socratic method.  Sagacity. Auto-erotic asphyxiation.  Sinful.  Black leather couch.  Late model Ford. Sees his sister in starlight.   Full of ruth. Opposer of a living will. Scornful.  Truthful.  Confrontational.  Contemptuous. Fighter against chauvinism, cronyism and reductionism.  Approachable to women, children and oddballs.  Expert in alien abduction lore.  Volunteer for a hopeless war.  Restless sleeper.  Nightmare sufferer.  Super Soldier punching bag.  Accepter of his fate.  Junk food consumer.  Pizza delivery man.  Occupant of Apartment 42.  Fugitive from justice.  Fugitive from romantic entanglement.  Provider of an IVF donation.  Keeping the light on for a miracle.  Speechless entrant into Scully’s bed one lonely night.  Has only one one in five billion.  Comes back from the dead for her sake.  Walks away from her without a second thought to protect their son.  Can’t believe he is someone’s constant or touchstone. Uncooperative.  Audacious.  Smug. Aloof.  Mad swagger.  Can doubtless back it up.  Thoughtful. Weird.  Geeky.  Awkward like a half-grown puppy.  Makes an end run around propriety.  Rankine’s law of potential energy in the flesh.  Gifter of rare smiles and frequent grins.  Has a 40,000 word vocabulary and an Oxford degree.  Still is speechless in the face of his love for Scully and their son.  Holds himself to a higher standard than anyone else.  Has never been disappointed in only one person.  Expected to spend his adult life alone.  Managed to make his expectations come to pass.  Can’t find the strength to stand up and fight without Scully in his corner.  If asked to name the most important moments of his life, would answer Scully, William, Scully, Scully, Scully.  Happy birthday, Fox Mulder.

[womenofcolor15]

Curfews Put In Place After Another Day Of Blazing Protests + Officials Blame ‘Outsiders’ For Violence In Several States

Several cities spring into action putting curfews in place where raging protests over the death of George Floyd grow. There have been peaceful protests and there has been violent protests. Public officials are blaming the violence on “outsiders” traveling state-to-state to wreak havoc. More inside…

Another night of blazing protests swept the nation last night. Buildings were burned, people were shot and thousands were arrested. However, there have been plenty of peaceful protests that have been launched to demand justice for the killing of George Floyd. The Minneapolis man lost his life after a white police officer – Derek Chauvin – pressed his knee into his neck for nearly 9 minutes. George was taken to the hospital via ambulance where he was pronounced dead.

Since then, former police officer Derek Chauvin was arrested and charged with third degree murder and manslaughter. However, those charges do NOT match up to what the former police officer did. Also, the other three former police officers have NOT be charged even though new video shows three officers pinning George (who was already hancuffed) down.

Folks are demanding justice for George Floyd. By any means necessary. Demonstrations happened in more than 75 cities across the nation.

  For some reason the media doesn’t seem interested in showing these parts of the protests.#BlackLivesMatter pic.twitter.com/lVP1Il99dk

— Joshua Potash (@JoshuaPotash) May 31, 2020

  Protesters in Newark, NJ held a peaceful protest:

  The world needs to know about what happened in Newark today. A Black city, with a Black mayor (who marched with us), and many Black owned businesses. 100% peaceful demonstrations. Anger was allowed to be expressed in a healthy way and wasn’t met with force. pic.twitter.com/eyRrO0OIzN

— Brian Scully (@brian_m_scully) May 31, 2020

    New Jersey had one of most peaceful protest. Even the NJ police joined the protesters. Please share this to show how to really protest peacefully and not riot. #BlackLivesMatter #Riot2020 #GeorgeFloydProtests #newjerseyprotest pic.twitter.com/d41YjoeROY

— Christian (@Chris_Parra__) May 31, 2020

  Los Angeles protesters were peaceful (until the cops showed up):

  An endless, peaceful river in LA last night.

This is what protests look like before police show up.#BlackLivesMatter

pic.twitter.com/d5JcHe6yuW

— Joshua Potash (@JoshuaPotash) May 31, 2020

  People in Toronto gathered peacefully:

  Peaceful protests happening in Toronto Canada yesterday! #BlackLivesMatter pic.twitter.com/wAjIkRYjzg

— 5SOS UPDATES! (@5sosworldalerts) May 31, 2020

  Two demonstrations in Detroit unified:

  2 peaceful protests running into each other and merging into one in Detroit pic.twitter.com/0ddI7sJTQp

— Kayla (@CupcakeStoner) May 31, 2020

  Peaceful protests went down in Jacksonville, FL:

  Peaceful protests captured in #Jacksonville, FL yesterday. #GeorgeFloyd #injustice via @bajangrlinasouthernwrld

A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on May 31, 2020 at 6:26am PDT

  Peaceful protests were even held overseas in solidarity:

  peaceful protest today in liverpool. we knelt for 8 minutes and 46 seconds- the time it took derek chauvin to murder george floyd. we will remember him, and the countless other black individuals killed by corrupt cops under systematic racism. #BLACK_LIVES_MATTER pic.twitter.com/J8XftdakpC

— rae (@tpwkrae) May 31, 2020

    today was beautiful, we had a peaceful protest. I had never been surrounded with so much strong energy. this needs to stop, if it takes a thousand protests, so be it. all of us need to come together and use our voices#BLACK_LIVES_MATTER#BlackLivesMatterUK pic.twitter.com/g0uf9aL7uO

—  BLM (@candyyjoon) May 31, 2020

  Unfortunately, all the protests haven’t been peaceful. An NYPD officer snatched the mask off a black man’s face and pepper sprayed him…FOR NO REASON. Check it below:

  I am heartbroken and disgusted to see one of my family members a young black man w/his hands up peacefully protesting and an NYPD officer pulls down his mask and pepper sprays him. @NYCSpeakerCoJo @BPEricAdams @FarahNLouis @JumaaneWilliams @NewYorkStateAG @NYPDShea cc: @EOsyd pic.twitter.com/tGK5XWS0bt

— Ms. Anju J. Rupchandani (@AJRupchandani) May 31, 2020

  Several cities across the nation looked like war zones last night as people protested in the streets over the death of George Floyd:

Sometimes (arguably often times) being peaceful doesn’t work. Citizens being able to peacefully handle situations and use the current system to get the Justice it is there to afford SHOULD be the status quo. More than not, though, it isn’t. Not for everyone, especially not always for those without privilege. Until those in power operate accordingly across the board to ensure justice is served to EVERY person under the law, rage will continue. #georgefloyd #breonnataylor #ahmaudarbery #revolution

A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on May 31, 2020 at 8:51am PDT

MOB MENTALITY via @shaunking Police brutality in America is on full display right now. From coast to coast.

A post shared by TattleTailzz (@tattle_tailzz) on May 31, 2020 at 5:55am PDT

  Columbia, SC man gets arrested during protest for almost getting ran over by Police truck. Make sure this man doesn’t get falsely charged pic.twitter.com/pSqhFXqYTU

— 803Gee (@803Mcfly) May 31, 2020

The National Guard has moved in on Minneapolis and they are shooting people with rubber bullets who don't follow their commands:

Share widely: National guard and MPD sweeping our residential street. Shooting paint canisters at us on our own front porch. Yelling “light em up” #JusticeForGeorgeFloyd #JusticeForGeorge #BlackLivesMatter pic.twitter.com/bW48imyt55

— Tanya Kerssen (@tkerssen) May 31, 2020

It got real in Richmond, Va last night:

Visuals from Richmond Virginia. One of many fires taking place. This one is on east Broad Street (credit: Kaylee Walton) ⁦@NBC12⁩ #GeorgeFloydProtests #RichmondVA pic.twitter.com/4OYhLyR7y1

— Eric Perry (@EricpNBC12) May 31, 2020

Protesters also targeted United Daughters of the Confederacy. You can see damage inside and outside of the building. @NBC12 #richmond pic.twitter.com/5JnAA6Jrq5

— Eric Perry (@EricpNBC12) May 31, 2020

A viewer sent this picture from inside the @WholeFoods on Broad. Several businesses were damaged in the last 48 hours. (sorry but they didn't have to knock this GOODT wine over...) @NBC12 pic.twitter.com/3ONfseK1zm

— Eric Perry (@EricpNBC12) May 31, 2020

One person was shot and is facing life threatening injuries. Two Virginia State Police troopers were also injured:

Big fire on East Broad Street. This is just one of many happening across #RichmondVA Police confirm one person was shot overnight (protest related) (credit: Kaylee Walton) Praying for peace ⁦@NBC12⁩ #GeorgeFloydProtests #GeorgeFloyd pic.twitter.com/ULC0hflDyy

— Eric Perry (@EricpNBC12) May 31, 2020

  Virginia State Police confirm two officers were injured overnight in Prince William County as they were called in to assist. One Trooper was hit in the head with a brick and the other in the leg with a rock. Both suffered minor injuries and is expected to be ok. @NBC12

— Eric Perry (@EricpNBC12) May 31, 2020

In NYC, a police SUV RAMMED into protesters:

NYPD definitely has some explaining to do as at least 1 police SUV rammed into a sea of protestors during yesterday’s protests in Brooklyn.

A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on May 31, 2020 at 6:14am PDT

  THE POLICE ARE RUNNING THE PEOPLE WITH THEIR CARS, THEY ARE THROWING PUMPS, LACRIMOGENOUS GASES AND ARCHES AND ARROWS. LEAVE THE PROTEST NOW #BLACK_LIVES_MATTER pic.twitter.com/OVhpzrD9uF

— Milimilanga (@fllnglouie91s) May 31, 2020

  Several cities have now imposed curfews including, Atlanta, Seattle, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, Columbus, Pittsburgh, Denver, Salt Lake City, Nashville, Minneapolis, and Richmond, VA among others due to the raging protests. Most curfews are starting at 8pm to 6am.

      A post shared by (@ancient_future9) on May 31, 2020 at 6:18am PDT

  Many government officials believe there are "outside groups and crisis actors" coming into cities wreaking havoc.

black women tried to deescalate white men from stop inciting unnecessary violence at a protest: “when you do that they dont come after YOU they come after US” and they literally told her that it doesnt matter because “they’re gonna kill you anyways”pic.twitter.com/w6uF1DP6db

— kawira (@versacetaehyung) May 31, 2020

“We have people from across the country who have traveled many states to be here. We know that this is an organized effort,” Chief Will Smith said. “We're committed to try and identify those that are behind it. And we're doing our very level best to arrest those that are perpetrating the violence on our community, our city, and against our citizens.”

The Pittsburgh Post Gazette reports:

As protests over the death of George Floyd grow in cities across the U.S., government officials have been warning of the “outsiders” — groups of organized rioters they say are flooding into major cities not to call for justice but to cause destruction.

But the state and federal officials have offered differing assessments of who the outsiders are. They’ve blamed left-wing extremists, far-right white nationalists and even suggested the involvement of drug cartels. These leaders have offered little evidence to back up those claims, and the chaos of the protests makes verifying identities and motives exceedingly difficult.

Buffalo, NY is on curfew. They too believe there are outsiders coming in to destroy the city. NPR reports:

Mayor Byron Brown said the city was a target of an outside coordinated effort.

“Law enforcement has intelligence and has briefed us that there are people that are in this community from outside the city of Buffalo and outside of Erie County,” said Brown. “[They] are contributing to these problems. In fact, they are the ringleaders of inciting violence.”

The distinction is important.

By the way, former NFL quarterback Colin Kaepernick is establishing a fund to pay legal fees for George Floyd protesters in Minneapolis. Kaepernick's Know Your Rights Camp Legal Defense Initiative is working with top defense lawyers in the Minneapolis, Minnesota, area to help those in need of legal assistance, according to the group's website.

Photos: AP Photo/ Ringo H.W. Chiu/Matt Rourke

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/05/31/curfews-put-in-place-after-another-day-of-blazing-protests-officials-blame-%E2%80%98outsiders%E2%80%99-fo

[frangipanidownunder]

What Happened in Bradshaw, Stays in Bradshaw: Final

This is for the follower on @storybycorey blog who wondered how Mulder injured his arm and how Scully broke her foot. Finally, it’s come to an end...enjoy the silly nonsense! Part one   Part two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part six  Part seven As soon as Pinkerton turned to face the open door the woman let rip with a Banshee cry and charged into him. The weapon clanged to floor and Scully scooted across on her backside, with her broken foot in the air, and the sheet bunched over her, to pick it up. Mulder had pinned his injured arm to his side but had to leap out of the way of the woman and Pinkerton who had now ended up brawling on the floor in front of the bed. He let out a cry of pain as he watched them writhe.

“You bastard, Alan. You fucking, cheating, lying bastard!” The woman smacked Pinkerton with an open fist and his nose spurted fresh blood.

“Get off me Ellen,” he said, but it sounded more like ‘gedovmeeeee’ and he pushed her so she thudded to her back and stared up at the ceiling wailing.

“You know her, Pinkerton?” Mulder yelled over the wailing.

Pinkerton hauled himself up, collected the gun from Scully. “Datsmine.”

Mulder stepped forward, hitching in a breath. “This woman had your service weapon?”

From her sheet nest, Scully looked up at the two men, face to face; Mulder’s a mess of pain and confusion, Pinkerton’s just a bloody mess. Ellen continued to sob uncontrollably and outside a parade of onlookers had gathered.

 Skinner looks over his glasses at her first, then at Mulder. He loosens his collar. The light has caught his shiny head once again and Scully feels nauseous.

“I’ve called you back here because there have been some discrepancies uncovered in the Bradshaw case.”

“Discrepancies, Sir?” Mulder manages to put on a convincing show sometimes.

“Yes, Agent Mulder. There appear to be a number of questions raised over elements of your report and the Chief up there wants someone to attend in person to go through it.”

She watches the light patterns play out on his head as he moves forward. This is it. What happened in Bradshaw will definitely not stay in Bradshaw. She can hear Mulder squirming as he realises the same.

“Clearly, you two are not in a fit state to travel, and given the allegations from Officer Pinkerton, I doubt he would want you anywhere near him or the town,” Skinner says.

Well, I know that, she thinks.

“So, I will be heading up there myself. And I expect you two to make yourselves available by phone 24/7. Do you understand, Agents?”

 Mulder sits on the desk, flexing the wrist on his injured arm. The sling over his shirt looks like a holster and she watches the strap move in rhythm.

“Should we have told him about the swinger’s clubs?” she asks.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll work it out, Scully. As soon as the light goes off and that smell comes back he’ll be all over the place and whoever is in the way…”

“You don’t think Skinner would…”

“Why not?”

She hitches in a breath. Just thinking about Skinner like that makes her flush with second hand embarrassment. “Pinkerton cannot seriously divulge what really happened. He’ll lose his job.”

“He won’t, Scully. He’s just making noises because his wife kicked him out and Ellen won’t have anything to do with him and her husband has too much to lose.”

“Perhaps we should have told Skinner that Ellen is married to the Chief.”

Mulder smirks. “Maybe.”

She smirks back. “You’re terrible, Mulder.”

“Do you think we’ve brought a little bit of Bradshaw back with us, Scully?”

She hops over to him, plants a kiss on his fucking beautiful lips and says, “I fucking hope so, Mulder.”

[allyinthekeyofx]

Fading light -part 1- 4/6

Part one - Chapter one   Chapter two   Chapter three

PART ONE

CHAPTER FOUR

Eight days later

It’s nice to be home. Surrounded by the only things in my life that actually seem to mean something, small items of sentimental value, knick-knacks from happier times, keepsakes of a life I once had and each one as familiar to me as the memories they represent. No one was more surprised than me at how easily I was able to return here after the horrors of my second encounter with Donnie Pfaster because I had wondered whether I would ever feel truly safe here ever again. And for a few days the rooms had seemed as though they still hung on to his presence. Every time I closed my eyes I could see him and the expression of serene acceptance on his face when I had pulled that trigger and ended his life. Almost as if I had behaved exactly as he expected me to.

It took me a considerable length of time to let those images go, to rationalise my actions, to release the guilt that gnawed inside of me.

But, slowly, the ghosts settled, allowing me once again to walk the rooms of my own little fortress and not feel the need to constantly look over my shoulder.

Mulder helped of course. Staying here with me after I had insisted on returning a scant forty eight hours later, when, the forensics team had finally gathered enough evidence from my home to pack up and leave. And despite my protests to the contrary, I had been relieved at his suggestion that I maybe shouldn’t be alone.

I hadn’t needed him here for long though. Two days of me watching him trying in vain to stretch the sofa-induced kinks out of his neck had been enough for me and I had sent him on his way. Back to his own apartment.

Back to his life.

Such as it is.

I kid myself that I am happier being alone. Just another one of those self-imposed defence mechanisms that I have become so adept at hiding behind, and I’ve told myself so many times in the last few years that I actually almost believe it.

Only now, as I listen to the sound of my Mother’s retreating footsteps on the hard wooden floor of the corridor outside, I know for sure that I have been lying to myself all along.

I hate being alone. I think I always have.

Mom didn’t want to leave; can’t understand why I am refusing her help. 

I finally told her about the Cancer three days ago. Without a hint of self pity I spelled out the grim realities of just what the return of the disease meant for me. I didn’t hold anything back, recounting the details with as much detachment as I could muster and it makes me cringe to think about it now because, for all the emotion I showed, I might as well have been transcribing the details of a recently performed autopsy. Even when I saw the look of abject horror on her face as the true meaning of my words sank in I never wavered.

She cried of course. I expected nothing less and I had allowed her to envelop me in her embrace as she clung to me; as though by the strength of her touch alone, she could make me well.

I hated myself afterwards. But then, I’m getting used to that particular feeling so I didn’t waste time dwelling on it.

It’s now nine days since that morning on the pavement. Nine days since Mulder shot and killed a nineteen year old kid who had the audacity to hurt his partner. I know that questions have been asked as to the validity of Mulders actions and he has apparently been questioned at length by OPR regarding the events that took place that day. But, I can’t see why there should be any cause for concern.

Because, while Mulders methods have been questionable in the past, the fact remains that the kid fired two shots, indiscriminately, during a running pursuit through a crowded street. Mulder simply acted in a way any sane law enforcement officer would have done given the circumstances.

He removed the threat.

The fact that eye witnesses have since come forward and implied that Mulder may have acted improperly, that he did not identify himself in the proper manner to allow the kid to release his weapon, have all but been dismissed. And from what I can gather, he has been exonerated of all charges of professional misconduct.

I would like to question him myself on this. Unfortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity since I have neither seen nor heard from him in over a week.

Eight days have passed since he walked out of that hospital room, and temporarily or not, to all intents and purposes, out of my life.

I heard about the OPR hearings through Skinner. He visited once, bearing a bouquet of white carnations that invoked such painful memories in me that I actually felt a physical ache inside my heart that for a few seconds burned and twisted, stealing the very breath from my body.

It was an awkward meeting to say the least. Mulder had obviously brought him up to speed on my condition and he spent the next forty-five minutes trying to say all the right things to me but what he actually managed to say was absolutely nothing at all and after giving me mumbled assurances that I was to take as much time as I needed, he left.

I immediately summoned a nurse and asked her to remove the white flowers from the room. She gave me an odd look but professionalism prevented her from questioning me on it and she did as I requested. She patently didn’t understand. But then I didn’t expect her to.

No one understands except Mulder and he wasn’t there to share my painful memories our boss had unwittingly invoked.

I’ve tried calling him. Several times in fact.

I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m calling out of a need to know that he’s ok, out of concern for him. But in reality I am just answering the selfish need inside myself to hear the sound of his voice again.

I miss him. It’s that simple.

And yes, I’m also slightly worried about him, especially since I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing. I didn’t let it bother me for the first few days. I tempered my worry by telling myself he was just off somewhere nursing his Scully-inflicted wounds, expecting foolishly, for him to return at least one of my messages. When he didn’t, I swallowed my pride and called Frohike to beg for information as to his whereabouts.

Frohike was concerned, courteous, supportive.

And of absolutely no help whatsoever. Either he doesn’t know or he isn’t saying, which of course helps me not one iota. He also succeeded admirably in neither calling me ‘Red’ nor engaging in the playful flirting that has dogged me ever since I met him so many years ago. And that tells me that he is aware of my current state of health; which means he has seen Mulder recently.

All Skinner will tell me is that Mulder is on leave. That after the culmination of the OPR hearing he put in a request for some time off. Time off Skinner apparently approved. He professes to have no idea as to Mulders whereabouts or what he is doing. And that would be ok but for one small detail.

He’s lying.

Skinner isn’t a good liar. He never has been. But for all his inadequacies in that regard, he is highly skilled in the art of protecting the agents under his command. And right now he’s protecting Mulder; or me; maybe even both of us. I don’t know anymore. And right now I am just too tired to think about it. I feel like I have thought of nothing else for the past week and that, together with a headache that has been pretty much constant since the shooting, has left me feeling weak and shaky and totally unlike my usual self.

But at least I’m home and that’s a start I guess.

I finally lift my forehead from where I rested it against the door and survey my surroundings. The place is spotless. Not that I’m a particularly untidy person but, my Mother brings new levels to the art of cleaning house. Every surface gleams like new while vases of freshly cut flowers brighten the room. I love flowers – or at least most flowers - although I rarely take the time to buy them. My work with Mulder dictates that we travel a lot and I have found through painful experience that returning from a gruelling case file to a home full of wilting plant life is depressing to say the least.

Oh yeah. I stopped buying flowers a long time ago.

I’m not as happy to be here as I thought I would be. I’ve thought of little else other than to leave that stuffy, antiseptic room in which I was incarcerated and I think my assurances to my Doctor that I would be able to manage alone went a long way towards him agreeing to discharge me so soon.

But now, as I balance precariously on crutches that I am going to need for quite some time to support my injured leg, I wish fleetingly to be back in that uncomfortably hard bed surrounded by people whose only apparent purpose in life was to get me well again.

Post operative depression my Doctor’s mind supplies helpfully, but I know that isn’t really the truth.

I’m depressed, sure, but not because of the injury. I’m depressed because Mulder isn’t here. And I find myself needing him at this moment more than I have ever done since the day we met.

Why can’t he see that?

Does he really believe that by staying away he will achieve anything?

I shake my head in an effort to just stop torturing myself like this because I promised myself I wasn’t going to think about it anymore.

I’m tired and I need to let myself escape from all this, if only for a few hours. 

Briefly I consider the door that leads to my bedroom because the thought of sinking into my own bed is tempting to say the least. But my leg hurts and the few feet that separate me from its entrance might as well be miles.

So, instead I opt for the couch.

It’s not easy to find a comfortable position, but this is one of the few times in my life when my small stature is a definite advantage and I am finally able to ease my aching leg to rest before me along the full length of the cushioned surface.

It’s not ideal, but it will suffice for now. Hopefully, if I can grab a couple of hours of sleep, I will be able to summon up the energy to eat, or read or watch TV; do something, anything other than wallow in this pit of self-recrimination that I have dug for myself.

My head is pounding and a sudden draught of cold air makes me shiver slightly despite myself. I briefly consider reaching up to grab the soft woollen blanket I leave draped permanently over the back of the couch, but even that small action seems too much like hard work right now. So, instead, I cross my arms against my chest for warmth and close my eyes.

Later though, when I awaken, I am covered in a soft, sweet smelling familiar warmth and I feel the edge of the blanket tickling my chin pleasantly, making me rejoice, because without even opening my eyes I know. No one else covers me with blankets whilst I am sleeping.

He’s here

Continued chapter five

[marvelfanlife]

I’m not to sure if you’ve seen the season 13 premiere but I’ll start from there and do the significant episodes:

13x01, Wheels Up:

We start after the SUV crash and Garcia calls in Matt Simmons who previously worked with the IRT but is now unemployed after its disbandment, its later revealed that he also worked on the Scratch case as Emily wanted an outsider to come in help investigate. Stephen Walker is killed and Emily is kidnapped by scratch, the rest of the team except Luke are injured and it’s up to Luke, Reid, Garcia and Matt to save her. They find and save Emily and Scratch falls to his death. A funeral is done for Stephen and Matt joins the team as a full time member.

13x05, Lucky Strikes:

If you remember the cannibal killer, Floyd Feylinn Ferrell from season 3, he returns as the team have to investigate him again. This brings back trauma for Garcia as she shot when they took Floyd in. It turns out Floyd had an acquaintance but he killed himself the team found him. Morgan comes back to comfort Garcia.

13x09, False Flag:

The team Head to Roswell, New Mexico where two conspiracy theorists are killed in suspicious circumstances that are related to their conspiracy theories. During their profile Doug Downey kills himself in front of the team and everyone in the room. They witnesses are interviewed by the team and Tara interviews one of them who is Melissa Miller, she is also another conspiracy theorist and it turns out she was having a relationship with one of the victims carl and Doug at the same time, Tara believes that Melissa was the one who killed carl and put the gun that killed Doug used to kill himself in Doug's pocket to make it seem like Doug was killer it turns out that Tara was right and Melissa is arrested

13x13, Cure:

JJ gets an email from Assistant Director Barnes who needs to see her but the team later get called into a case in DC where a series of messages are left in the mouths of multiple murder victims. They find out that the unsub is one of the sons of the victim who survives the attack and they arrest him. JJ goes to her meeting with Barnes and is told she is the acting unit chief as Emily is now under investigation

13x14, Miasma:

JJ is the acting unit chief for a case in New Orleans where a mass grave is discovered, Emily is being investigated by Barnes and Emily believe it is about what happened with Reid in Mexico where Emily deleted a recording of Reid that was incriminating against him it turns out it isn't but more about her actions as unit chief and what happened in False Flag. Emily is suspended and the team is put under investigation.

13x15, Annihilator:

After the events of the last episode Emily is suspended and the team is under investigation, Barnes heads with the team to St Louis where four roommates are killed, Reid doesn't go with the team and stays, he tries to convince Emily to stay and not leave and is successful. The unsub who killed the roommates was in love with another one of the roommates who wasn't killed. He later turns out at the airport to get them but is stopped by Tara and Luke. The roommate who is safe with matt, Rossi and JJ who are in a surveillance van is taken by Barnes to the unsub where she thinks that him seeing her will work but doesn't he shoots the roommate but survives and kills himself. Barnes tells the director what happens and she is able to spilt the team up.

13x16, Last Gasp:

With the team spilt up its only, JJ, Matt and Luke who are left in the bau and Barnes is now in charge of what cases go through she also brings in Ned who tries to help but isn't much help to them. Emily is in OPR, Garcia is cyber crimes, Reid is a full time professor, Tara is a counsellor and counsels two agents who look very similar to mulder and scully and Rossi is working on a movie set after being told to retire. A case comes into light but Barnes doesn't want to investigate because of this the team work in secret to investigate the case. They find out who the first victim which was in 2009 who was suspected to have died of an overdose and the case is sealed I think but it turns out Barnes was lead field agent and JJ has to go and get the file but can't and barnes finds out about the whole secret investigation and fires JJ. The team are able to find the unsub and save the fourth victim. It turns out the victim is the senators daughter and is grateful for the bau's help because of this he rehires Emily as unit chief and Emily rehires JJ. It's revealed that the director has told Barnes not to go near the team again. The team get back together and are reunited.

I apologise if this wasn't a good summary I tried to do my best and figure out which were the significant episodes but let me know if you want more

i got bit by the criminal minds bug...again...so i’m writing...another story...again

no one really told me if i should continue my last few fics, so i’m gonna leave those in limbo. 

however i don’t know what’s been going on with season 13 because i’ve been so busy with school. but now my schedule has cleaned up some from school so i’m gonna start writing again and playing catch up. someone help me by explaining what’s been going on with the season lately!