#MULDER was wearing t shirts tucked into blue jeans

[silo1013]

the fucking nerve of mulder to imply that krycek circa season two didn’t know how to dress that shit is like literally top five mulder hypocrisy moments

[frogsmulder]

The Ring

Sometime after Mulder and Scully Meet The Weremonster, they both get a little handsy and are embarrassed that they have worn their wedding rings as a necklace the entire time they have been separated; 1.3k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic

Part 1: The Ring

The ring is a symbol of unity, eternity, constancy, and hope. They had always had that in excess, there was no doubt, or at least Mulder had thought. He considers each of these things as he thumbs the gold band Scully had placed on his fourth finger almost a decade ago. The wedding ring, once placed, shouldn’t be removed, not for poverty, not for sickness, not even in death. It should have tied them together forever. The cold overhead office lights catch and glimmer on the ring as Mulder twists it between his fingers and swivels in his chair. He still considers himself a married man, even through his failings. It has been over for a while between them, but hope is a hard thing to kill, especially when he again gets to see her smile everyday.

The distinctive click of Scully’s heels gets louder as she walks towards the office door. An involuntary grin, pulls at the corners of his mouth. Quickly, he drops the ring behind his shirt, where it hangs out of sight on a chain he wears around his neck. She saunters in with two steaming coffee cups in her hands and a new file tucked under her arm. “Skinner has sent us another case–one to get your paranormal juices flowing.” 

Seeing Scully in good form, beautiful as always, his grin turns coy as his heart beats allegro presto. He stands and swoops around her, taking his coffee and talking closely in her ear, “Paranormal juices?” he delights in her smirk– “Is that a quote from Skinner or have you got more creative juice in that coffee than you are letting on?”

He may have pushed her away, she may have moved out–called the end to their relationship–but he is still a married man and hope is a hard thing to kill.

Part 2: The Unity

...Some time later...

Mulder pauses for a moment, appreciating the beauty sitting in his lap before him, how she seems to grow finer with each passing year, like a wine he can’t afford to taste, but can’t help thirsting for. The lights of the lamps in the living room are dim, giving Scully an ethereal glow as he brushes his fingers through her hair. It falls like the red curtain at the end of the final act around her face, tasting him with a hunger that reminds him that the story is never over. She had been off the menu for so long and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her desire again but he doesn’t question it as her tongue seeks his, falling to her will so comfortably. 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he remembers that she took him up on his open invitation for dinner at their once shared home; she was the one that suggested a film when the case reports got too tiring; she snuggled up to him on the old familiar couch, thighs touching side by side and then a head resting on his shoulder. He had embraced her brazen physical contact like catching an individual cherry blossom falling from the sky: admiring its wonder and cautious of its fragility. Scully had taken the worry of that blossom and thrown it aside the moment she had turned her lips against the pulse point of his neck.

Her tongue drags along that point now, drawing out an appreciative groan from him. His hands settle on her hips and rock her closer, appreciating how her body, still strong, has softened with the years. 

He keeps his eyes open, afraid that this is a cruel dream, that if he blinks she will drift away like smoke as she did many years ago. He watches as her perfect blue eyes roll back and her eyelashes flutter when she grinds herself against the bulge in his jeans. It’s a vision he’s witnessed many times but never tires of. His thumb trails up her body to rest on her chin, gently coaxing her lips apart, replacing her need for air with his own lips. He can feel her smile against them.

He’s afraid to ask but he has to know, so on a shallow breath he murmurs, “What are we doing?”

“Reconnecting.” Scully lets her forehead rest against his. “Is this okay?”

“God, yes, I just…”

It’s her turn to run her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

With a wicked grin, she starts slowly rolling against him again and he lets her play this slow dance, basking in the waves of pleasure she creates. Her fingers wander down from playing with the fuzzy hair at the nape of his neck to laying her palms flat against his chest, mooring herself at his harbour. 

Mulder stiffens and his blood heats, his heart beating erratically against the walls of his chest. Under his shirt, between the frame of her hands, lies a chain that’s tied him for so long, its presence had become a second skin. It wasn’t a secret, but it was hidden out of sight: a symbol of unity and eternity he could not part with even when Scully had parted with him.

“Mulder?” Her sweet voice cuts through his embarrassment, her worry bringing him back to the moment.

“I’m alright. I just…” He sighs. There shouldn’t be shame in carrying that part of her close to his chest in a gold band. He couldn’t have let her see it on his finger–their marriage through, or so he had thought–but he couldn’t part with it either. Despite his failings and her forced distance, he still considered himself a married man. He couldn’t let her know he had never kept his promise of letting her go. Gently, he moves her hands away from his chest. He couldn’t let her feel the ring.

“Mulder…” Her bright blue eyes pierce his soul as she searches for an answer to his hesitation. “Talk to me.”

He chews his lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Crestfallen, she whispers, “What do you mean?”

“We were doing so well, keeping on friendly terms, not complicating this relationship… I–” The gold burns into his chest. Hanging his head, he mumbles, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not over a stupid mistake.”

He can hear the slight tremble in her voice and can picture the tears unspilled in the corner of her eyes. “Do you think this is a mistake?”

“No! That’s what I mean. I–”

Scully interrupts him this time, bringing his hand to lie flat over her chest. He can feel the thrumming of her heart so lively directly beneath his palm. Curious, he looks up to her.

She closes her hand over his, sealing a sacred truth. “You never lost me.”

Something cold tickles thumb just underneath her shirt. He tries to move his hand to find the source of it, suspicious that she has kept him close by too all this time, yet her grip tightens around his, holding him in place. Her face is painted with the same shock and instinctive worry that he had felt earlier. Slowly, trusting, she loosens her grip.

Mulder places a chaste kiss to her cheek, not reaching for her shirt but instead unbuttoning his own. “You never lost me,” he repeats almost with a chuckle. Reaching beneath his shirt he pulls out his wedding ring and places it in her upturned hand, watching the chain spool in her palm. “I was afraid that you would uh think… less of me if you saw this.”

With his index finger, he caresses down the opening of her shirt, tickling her flushed skin. He smiles when she pushes her chest into him despite herself. Hooking his finger around the second hidden chain, he pulls out her wedding ring, the cool diamond he had felt earlier glistening in the light.

She dips her head to hide her laugh like she used to in her youth. “I guess I should have seen this coming.”

He drops her ring into her hand and wraps his arms around her, chuckling as he kisses her, “We both should have.”

Between their bodies, Scully clutches her fist, holding their rings together, unified at last.

[misslilli]

Whelp, with yesterday we're back at school. Teaching first grade is hard, man 😂 Thank you guys, again, for going on this adventure with me :)

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 17 - The Mulder Boys's Birthday Bash

[ DS ]

The Saturday of the Mulder Boys’s Birthday Bash, I find myself standing in front of my closet with the girls, frowning at my selection of dresses. “What about this one?” Holly fingers a yellow sundress.

“Nah, it’s pretty but she looks like she’s going to church in that one.” Sarah tugs on a dress with a daisy print on it.

“Are you joking? That one’s even more Virgin Mary than the yellow one!”

Alex reaches into my closet and pulls out a navy two-piece dress I bought on a whim a few years back, but have never worn since then. “How about this one?”

“A, that’s perfect! It’s classy, yet sexy, just what we’re going for!” Sarah shoves me towards my bathroom. “Go try it on, D! And wear those nude heels with it.” I take the dress out of Alex’s arms and the shoes from Sarah and change into the outfit quickly. The straps drape across my arms just below my shoulders and it’s low cut just enough for my comfort. My cross necklace gleams against my skin and I decide to keep it on for tonight. Since it’s a two-piece, there’s just a sliver of skin visible between the top and the skirt, which flares out and swishes around my knees.

Slipping on my heels I step outside and the girls gasp in unison. “Yes, that’s the one! How does it feel D?” Holly pulls me over and I twirl in front of the full-length mirror, smiling as the skirt billows out around my legs.

“It’s beautiful, I love it. Thanks, girls!”

“The Mulder boys won’t know what hit ‘em when you show up wearing that!” Sarah winks at me suggestively and I roll my eyes at her.

“You know exactly that that’s not why I’m wearing it!”

Now it’s Sarah’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah sure, just keep telling yourself that…”

“Come on guys, we’re already unfashionably late. I’ll just call us a cab, are you ready?”

I grab a shawl against the cold and my purse before we make our way downstairs to wait for the cab. When we arrive at the house, we can already hear faint party noises from the backyard and my heart’s beating hard against my chest when we walk up the front walkway to ring the doorbell. My gaze wanders around the front of the house, the glass veranda on the right catching my eye. It’s completely different from our beach house, but it’s beautiful all the same.

The door opens to reveal Principal Skinner with a glass of whiskey in his hand and he holds the door open for us. “Hello ladies, come on in! You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight! Follow me, the party’s out back in the yard.”

He leads us through the house and I notice that it’s got polished hardwood floors and is furnished with antiques, giving it a cozy feel. We walk past the glass veranda which houses the dining room on the right and the living room with a massive couch to the left, which opens into the kitchen. The wooden staircase to the first floor is tucked away in the back. Skinner points us to the bathroom as we walk past it before we step outside onto the back porch and my breath catches in my chest.

They really went all out on this party, there’s string lights twinkling all around the hedge and in the trees, catered food and a bar in one corner, round tables in the middle and a massive dancefloor with a DJ in the other corner. Holly whistles through her teeth. “Man, they sure know how to live it up. Why are our parties never this nice? Jesus, I think they invited half the town for this.”

“Well, that’s on me I guess, they don’t know many people around here yet so I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to make new acquaintances,” Principal Skinner admits but I’m only half listening because my eyes are too busy scanning the crowd. Sarah nudges my hip and tilts her head over to the bar and I’m embarrassed that she knows exactly who I was looking for. There he is, deep in conversation with Skinner’s wife, laughing at something she said.

He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt and a crimson tie and while the sight of him in a plain t-shirt with jeans are enough to make my heart skip a beat, him in that suit is going to give me a heart attack.

“Would you look at that D, you color coordinated, matchsiiiesss.” Holly whispers in my ear and I give her a pointed look.

“Shut up, Holly!” I hiss at her.

Just then, he looks over at us standing on the elevated porch and I can practically feel the slight burn his eyes leave as they travel up and down my body, giving me the once over. I hope he has a defibrillator. He flashes us a smile and raises his hand in a small wave, then continues his conversation with Arlene Skinner.

“Come on, girls, let’s put the presents on the gift table and get something to eat and drink.” ‘Eat, drink and be merry for today you may die.’

At the bar we sidestep the wine for now, since we haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want to embarrass myself by getting tipsy and stumbling over my heels. With my luck, I’ll just faceplant at a certain someone’s feet. ‘Huh, maybe he’ll catch me in those strong arms of his, though, if you’re really lucky…‘

When he spots our little circle, Felix comes over to us wearing a boy version of his dad’s suit, only with short dress pants and sneakers better suited for running around with the other kids. He’s tugging a tall woman along, with wavy brown hair and a kind face that seems somewhat familiar, but I’m not sure where to place her. His face is flushed and he beams at us happily.

“You came!”

“Of course we came, happy birthday Felix!” Sarah raises her glass to him and we all chime in with our Happy birthdays. The woman he came over with also raises her glass and ruffles his hair affectionately.

“This is my teacher Miss Anderson, and Miss Carter and Miss Spencer and Miss Scully,” he introduces us while the woman takes her turn shaking our hands. She regards me curiously and her lips curve into a smile.

“I’m Sam, Fox’s sister and Felix’s favorite aunt!” His sister, that’s why her face seemed so familiar. “So you’re the enigmatic Miss Scully I’ve heard so much about. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She notices the surprised look on my face. “Only good things, I promise. Felix won’t shut up about you when we talk on the phone.” I laugh, mostly because of the exasperated look Felix gives his aunt at revealing his secret.

“Glad to hear it, we’re having a lot of fun with him during recess! Nice to meet you, Sam. I really like your dress, did you get it around here?”

“Thanks, but no, I got it back in LA, I’m only visiting for a couple of days, I just couldn’t miss my two handsome boys’s birthday bash!”

“Handsome, huh? You spoil me sis!” Her brother has snuck up behind her, throwing his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Hi ladies, thanks for coming, you look very lovely today!” We raise our glasses to him as well, wishing him a happy birthday and my drink spills over a little in my shaky hand. I pray that no one notices.

“Sam I’m so sorry to drag you away, but can you help me out and check if everything’s alright with the caterers?” They excuse themselves and we decide it’s time for us to check out what said caterers have prepared, our stomachs already rumbling. Hopefully, the butterflies in my stomach will make room.

----------

[ Sam ]

After checking with the caterers inside, I return to the party, standing on the back porch to watch everyone have a good time and I’m secretly a little proud of myself. Planning the party from all the way across the country had been stressful to say the least, but it turned out great. My gaze wanders around the tables and it catches on the tiny red-head and her three friends, who seem to be having a great time, laughing and chatting at their table.

I’ve heard many stories from Felix over the last few weeks but what surprised me the most was the way my brother looks at her. When I saw the way his whole face lit up when she walked in, I realized that Felix was not the only one taken with Miss Scully. She’s not his usual type - not that she’s not pretty, she is, very much so - but she’s actually nice. A vast improvement from the piece of work that’s his ex-wife, let me tell you. I wonder if he’s thought about asking her out yet.

----------

[ DS ]

After dinner, we’re treated to another visit from the little Mulder, who’s breathless from the game of tag with his friends. “Hey Felix! Are you having a good time?” He nods enthusiastically, trying hard to catch his breath.

“Yeah, auntie Sam did a really good job! I can’t wait for my cake, she said it’s really huuuge! And the DJ is playing aaaall my favorite songs, too!”

Suddenly shy, he shuffles his feet a bit and then, gathering all his courage, he looks up at me and holds out a tiny hand. “Miss Scully, will you dance with me?”

“Of course, birthday boy, come on.”

----------

[ Sam ]

Once I’m finished making another round of checking that everything’s running smoothly, I spot my brother standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the party. Stopping on the last step, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his shoulder. “Great party, huh?”

“Yeah, you did a pretty good job sis. And Skinner’s managed to gather up quite a crowd. Almost everyone’s here tonight!”

“You know what I think? You’d be just as happy if it were only you and one other special guest here tonight.” He turns his head a little, frowning.

“What?” I motion my head to the woman who’s currently talking to Felix at her table. “Aah. Is it that obvious?” I snort derisively

“Are you kidding me, bro? I’ve known you all my life, I can see the hearts in your eyes from a mile down the road. Have you asked her out yet?”

“No… I’m so nervous around her I can barely string more than a few coherent words together. She probably thinks I’m a huge idiot. I asked her if she believes in aliens, Sam!” We watch as Felix holds his hand out to her, asking her to dance with him. He’s so cute I can barely stand it.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You should take a page out of your son’s book though, boy’s got game!” My brother laughs as the somewhat mismatched pair sways on the dancefloor.

I release him from my embrace, an idea popping into my head. “You should go and cut in.” Now he fully turns to me and looks at me like I’m crazy.

“What? No…” He’s making his panic face.

“What yes! Carpe diem, right now!” I give him a gentle shove in the direction of the dancefloor. “Go! I’ll handle the music.”

----------

[ DS ]

Of course, I can’t say no to the little charmer and we make our way to the dancefloor and I sway with Felix in time to the music, twirling him around until he giggles.

“You look really handsome tonight, Felix!”

He smiles shyly and narrowly avoids stepping on my shoes. “Thank you! You look really beautiful too.”

“You’re absolutely right, son. Mind if I cut in?” A tingle shoots up my spine at the sound of his voice and Felix nods, stepping back. His dad holds out his hand to me. “A dance for the other birthday boy?”

“Well technically, it’s not your birthday for a few days.” I tease him, but I slip my hand into his and he spins me against him, wrapping his right arm around my waist, clasping my left hand in his tightly. The DJ fades into a new song and I groan inwardly as Sonny and Cher’s “I got you babe!” starts droning from the speakers. We sway for a few beats before he whips me across the dancefloor in a quick waltz. Over his shoulder I can see countless pairs of eyes following us but for once, tonight, I don’t care because all I can feel is the burn of his fingers resting on the sliver of exposed skin of my waist and the tickle of the hair at the back of his neck against my hand. God, this guy can waltz.

On the last few notes, he twirls me out with a grin on his face, tugging on my hand to bring me back in and then he dips me back for the grand finale. Dips me. The move takes me by surprise and I laugh, breathless when he brings me upright again.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to dip your lady in a waltz!” I realize my Freudian slip a fraction of a second too late. ‘Your lady? What the heck, Dana.’

He just shrugs nonchalantly, still grinning. “If I fancy to dip my lady, I will dip my lady! Thank you for this dance, Miss Scully!” He bows his head and I chuckle, curtsying. “The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Mulder!” ‘Who ARE you?’

We step off the dancefloor and I return to our table, sitting down still a little bit out of breath, only to be met with three incredulous stares. ‘Here we go, 3, 2, 1…’

“What was that, D?” Holly.

“Oh my God, the two of you on the dancefloor!” Sarah.

“That was incredible!” Alex.

I shrug, picking up my glass, but I can’t hide the blush on my face and smile around my straw. “Mr. Mulder can waltz.” I’ll never live this down.

Sometime after the birthday cakes came out, Felix appears at my side again and leans against me heavily. I can tell he’s coming down from his sugar-high. “Miss Scully, remember how I told you about the encyclopedia on butterflies?”

“Yeah I do, what about it?”

“Would you like to see it?” He looks up at me hopefully and I agree, glad to get away from the action for a while.

“Okay, come on!” Together we climb the steps to the back porch and he tugs me inside into the living room where we sit down on the couch. I can finally slip off my heels while Felix runs to get the encyclopedia and after returning, places it on my lap curling up into my side. He opens the heavy book and shows me his favorite butterflies, explaining in great detail what’s so special about it.

His voice gets more and more quiet with each new butterfly until he stops talking altogether and looking down I realize that he fell asleep, completely wiped. Coming off my own sugar high, I scoot down lower into the cushions and lean my head back against the back, closing my eyes. Just for a second.

[leiascully]

The Wong End of the Telescope

By @agirlcalledNarelle: submission for Angst fic exchange in Apr 2020. Prompt was ‘Mulder and Scully on the run angst’! Trigger warning: suicide reference, disordered eating. How did Mulder & Scully end up in the UH?

6,8K words. Here on AO3

Cotton candy pink grazed the tops of the darkened hills. It was the hour of magical thinking, when dreams fuse with reality and imaginary adventures are tethered once more by the earth’s physical laws. Scully pulled up at a trailer park, her eyes on the dirt track in front of her rather on the hills above. The energy of the hour moved around her like the parted Red Sea.  Mulder stirred beside her, stretching his arms over his head, and wiped spittle from the side of his mouth.

‘Where are we?’ His voice was hoarse from sleep. He looked at her in a daze, so boyish and trusting, having slept for the last seven hours. She wanted to reach over and stroke his warm, pink cheek, but instead she sat on her hands and stared outside.

‘Crockett, Texas.’

‘Why?’

‘Sun was coming up,’ she answered tersely. ‘It meets the criteria, and we’ve been on the go for over 12 hours.’

The sky was now a cloudless blue. Dry air promised a hot day ahead. Their last town had been in flat and endless prairie country. Scully had ached to see mountains, the hodgepodge of nature competing for survival, so she subconsciously delivered them to a town surrounded by hills in the neighbouring national park. She used to like arriving. She would enjoy discovering what made each town tick, uncovering their customs and values, until she realised every place was the same in that they would one day leave it behind.

The door to the trailer park reception opened and a dishevelled woman eyed them suspiciously.

‘We don’t open til 7,’ she called, her features distorted with annoyance. ‘Y’all will just have to wait til then.’

Scully looked at her watch: it was 6:55am. Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but Scully got there first.

‘That’s fine, we can wait. Thanks for letting us know.’ She attempted a smile, but it sat foreign on her lips. The woman said nothing and closed the door.

‘It’s only five minutes, Scully,’ Mulder muttered, kicking the gravel. ‘I’m sure she could have sprung us a key.’

‘What’s the point in drawing attention to ourselves?’ Scully replied sharply. ‘We just got here. I don’t want to have to leave before we’ve even had breakfast because you’ve gone and made yourself all memorable. We’re living by your rules, you know.’

Yesterday, she had returned to their trailer to find Mulder urgently packing the car. Gotta move, he had said. The Sheriff had come into the store where Mulder worked stacking shelves, and Mulder didn’t like the way he’d answered the Sheriff’s innocent questions. Felt there was too much room for scrutiny, and he got his feeling. The feeling when someone looked at them for too long or asked too many follow up questions. Before she’d had a chance to shower, they were leaving town.

At precisely 7am, the sign on the door of the lodge switched from Closed to Welcome! We’re open. Scully paid in cash for a week while Mulder sulked by the car. She left him to carry in the bags while she entered the stuffy trailer in search of the bed.

*

She found work a café off a main road which offered all-day breakfasts for the laborers, and milkshakes and relative privacy for the high schoolers. The first time Mulder had been a fugitive, the Lone Gunmen had set up a couple of bank accounts in different names for him to access. Now they were nearing the end of their second year on the run as a pair, and without the Gunmen’s help, they worked to supplement themselves. As Mulder liked to say, their opportunities dried up as quickly as the money in those accounts.

Ed, the manager, had thought Scully would be perfect for front of house. She preferred something along the lines of washing dishes and his expression revealed that it wasn’t the first time he’d received such a request. He’d looked her up and down and nodded slowly. Shift is 6am to 2pm, 6 days a week, Ed said daringly, you think you can handle that?

Scully filled up the sink on her first day when a boy entered, skinny, with mousy brown hair in need of a trim. He slipped an apron over his standard teen uniform of black jeans, band t-shirt and converse. She guessed he was 17, maybe 18 years old. He stopped still at the sight of her.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was both deep and weedy, still adjusting to itself.

‘Denise.’ Another of Mulder’s rules: keep the same initial. Easier to roll off your tongue. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Chet. I’m the morning waiter until 2pm, when Sasha’s in.’ He reached across her to wash his hands. It had been a while since someone other than Mulder has stood in such close proximity. Feeling crowded, she inhaled quickly and concentrated on tying her hair up. ‘You’re different to the last washer.’ Scully didn’t say anything. ‘You new in town? Did you just arrive?’

‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’ Scully busied herself with the pots, and Chet took the hint. They didn’t talk for the rest of the shift.

‘Do you think it will work?’ Mulder asked when she returned 8 hours later, accompanied by the smell of cooking oil. The afternoon was caught under a bell jar, hot and still. Mulder was sprawled on the bed with newspapers spread in front of him, looking for any information that could potentially threaten them. Scully was sure that, should she ever ask him, he wouldn’t be able to articulate exactly what he was looking for.

‘It’s fine.’ She removed her shoes and sat on the end of the bed. Her feet were humming from the day’s work followed by the 3 mile walk back. ‘Same as that place in Burlington.’

‘Kansas?’

‘Sure.’ She crawled fully onto the bed and tucked her hand under the pillow, her back to Mulder.

‘Good. The more anonymous the better.’ Mulder pulled the papers from under her. ‘It looks like there are two local newspapers, but the most popular one here is USA Today.’

‘Well that’s a surprise.’

‘Whatever, Scully. I’m not doing this for fun.’ She felt him lie down next to her. The hairs on her back stood to attention, hoping he wouldn’t touch. The silence between them was a black hole, and Scully jumped right in.

‘I found work at a local motel. They’re renovating for Summer.’ Mulder said quietly after a few minutes.

‘Ok.’ Scully stayed on her side.

‘I stocked up at the store, so we don’t have to go for a little while. Do you want anything to eat?’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes against the daylight.

*

The mirror in the trailer was placed such that she could only see her shoulders up. Mulder had to crouch to see himself, and Scully very nearly had to stand on tiptoes. Before, this would have made her laugh.

Around her 40th birthday, she had gone through a phase of avoiding mirrors altogether, but now she studied her reflection with interest. Her pronounced clavicle snaked around the bottom of her neck like two thin arms buried under the skin threatening to strangle her. Feathery lines sat under her eyes from months of squinting at the road. Her cheekbones slid into shadowed gorges and levelled out to her soft chin, slack and furry with little hair. Freckles splattered like paint on a pale canvas. Grey dominated the natural auburn at her temples so that when she pulled her hair into a ponytail her mother’s face gazed back at her. The first time she saw the likeness she had gasped, remembering her father sitting next to her Christmas tree, little Emily asking to be set free in a wooden church. From then on, her hair was always down unless at work.

Mulder made her wear a baseball cap when she was out. If she dyed her hair, she was allowed to leave the cap at home. The idea of being anything other than a shade of red panicked her: this was her last thing. She was already hollowed out, a tinman pretending to have a heart. If she lost her hair colour, she felt she would finally rust over and be lost forever. What else did she have left?

*

Scully was scrubbing stubborn scrambled eggs from a large frying pan. The effort made her arm ache, and she felt slightly dizzy. Though they had shared fewer than 10 sentences since she started a week ago, she welcomed a break when Chet walked quickly into the kitchen.

‘Trade places with me,’ He said urgently. She looked at him properly for the first time. His head was ducked, chin covered in the duckling fluff of a teen too keen to prove his maturity. He was tall, she realised. She hadn’t realised how tall, given his movements were soft and quick. She wondered what his mother felt when she looked at him.

‘Why?’ She asked suspiciously. ‘I need to stay back here.’

‘Please, would you just do it for me?’ He pleaded. Scully scanned the room to see a table of girls laughing over their menus.

‘You want to avoid those girls?’

‘Something like that,’ Chet mumbled, cheeks flushed. Scully sighed and took the apron out of his hands, her palms sweaty with nerves. She took their order and found she had forgotten how to move her face. Her reactions felt too big, too staged. She tested her limits by taking another order from another girl sat by herself. When she returned to the kitchen, Chet had scrubbed off the remaining egg.

‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully. 

‘I’m not going to do it again,’ she snapped, snatching the brush from his hands. He left, and she leaned against the sink, hating herself for snapping. After almost three years on the run, her ability to make connections was off. She wrapped her right thumb and middle finger around her left wrist, measuring its circumference. Her wrist didn’t touch the fingers, and she was pleased when she could circle her wrist freely their grip. The bubbles in the sink crackled as they burst, slowly revealing a yellow glob of egg.

*

She would wake before Mulder to get to the café on time. He slept soundly, in a way he never could previously, on his back with an arm over his head. The conspiracy hadn’t been enough: he needed to be fully consumed by something, eaten, removed from life as he knew it, before he found peace.

He was enjoying his current line of work. She could tell because he once described the paint brush gliding like a toboggan, or by his swagger as he removed his t-shirt after a day of manual labour. Previously he was all about exposing the designs of others; now he was the creator. He was proud of himself. She had picked a hangnail on her pinkie, dry from constantly being in water, as he told her a tale about some wood and nails. Or it might have been shelves and a spirit level. She hadn’t listened too closely, knowing that whatever he found here would last only as long as he felt safe. Soon the time would come when his house of cards would fall.

*

‘What are you doing here, anyway, Ms Denise?’ Chet asked her. He was standing in the doorway, at a loose end. Rain kept the breakfast regulars away. Scully’s wet ponytail was plastered down her back and her soaked t-shirt stuck to her leggings. Her hipbones, sharp and round like pin heads, pressed against the sink as she leaned over, missing the usual padding of a dry t-shirt. They would bruise by the end of the day.

‘What do you mean?’ She asked flatly. With no customers, she kept busy by dismantling and cleaning the fat fryer.  

‘Just that.’ Chet helped her remove one of the baskets. ‘Why did y’all come to Crockett? To work in a café? What’s the story?’

‘No story. Just in need of a job.’

‘No story.’

‘Nope.’

‘You’re here just because you need a job. All on your lonesome.’

‘Yep.’ She popped the ‘p’ sound at the end.

‘My uncle had a friend who just turned up out of nowhere,’ Chet said. ‘Turns out he had two different families over in Louisiana. Weren’t long before he got sprung and had to go back. Now he’s awaiting trial for polygamy.’

‘So what?’ Her forehead suddenly prickled with sweat and she wiped it with her wrist. She met his gaze and held it in a silent threat.

‘Nothing’s never nothing, s’all I’m saying.’ Chet left to serve a customer, and Scully exhaled shakily. The oil mixed with the soap in the sink to create rainbows on the slimy surface. This kid was smart. A liability best kept to herself for now.

*

Scully ate an apple each morning as she meandered down the dirt roads to work, its crunch made louder by the darkness. She emptied her mind and savoured her surroundings, appreciating each ditch in the road, and the way a particular shrub resembled a sheep as she passed the ‘Welcome to Crockett!’ sign. Sporadic streetlights illuminated her solitary figure like the beacon of a lighthouse.

They had started out as crusaders, underdogs who would come out on top having prevented the end of the world. However, it was clear a few weeks in that without FBI resources, and the very real talents of the Gunmen, they were doomed to exist on the fringes of society, chasing wicker men. On their first night running she had told Mulder that she wouldn’t accept defeat if he didn’t, a memory that now makes her prickle with discomfort. That Scully is a high school student scribbling love hearts on her exercise books. That Scully doesn’t realise that unconditional love is actually anguish, pain, boredom, compromise, rage, sacrifice, not just sometimes but all the time until you’re so far in you can’t see where you stop and the other begins.

She used to feel like Mulder was the one holding the other end of the rope. But while they had been distracted buying cheap second-hand cars with high mileage, crossing state lines, eating store-bought sandwiches in the middle of the night, the rope had frayed and snapped. They each still had their end, but their futile attempts to mend it hurt so much that after a while, she just stopped trying.

*

‘Scully?’

My name, she thought idly as she swam from the depths of sleep. Not my never name, though. Not Dana. It’s my sometimes name. She tried to ignore it, but it repeated until she slowly became aware of her dull head, her dry mouth, of Mulder’s voice coaxing her back to him.

‘Mmmh?’ Forcing her eyes open, she saw Mulder sat on the bed. He didn’t touch her, she noted, and her shoulder shivered in the absence of his hand. The space in the trailer compacted with Mulder’s return. The walls closed in as he crossed the threshold and there wasn’t enough room for her.  She could see his mind humming with thoughts, but not knowing what they were, she would feel like an intruder.

‘You’re asleep again.’ He said with a hint of accusation.

‘Mmmh.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. If she was lucky, she could fall back to sleep quickly.

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve brought food.’

‘Oh. I ate at work.’

‘That was 6 hours ago.’ She opened her eyes again. It was 8pm already? ‘You were sleeping when I came home at 6, and it looks like you’ve not moved.’

‘I took a sandwich home with me,’ Scully lied. ‘You woke me when you left again, I ate then.’

He met her eyes and she realised she couldn’t remember the last time they’d properly looked at each other. His face was worn. She spied blue paint by his ear. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Like her, he had flecks of grey around his hairline, and his eyes seemed smaller among the creases of his cheeks. But there was energy coursing behind his irises. He can handle this, she realised enviously. This lifestyle suited him.

She shrank as he studied her in return. He had always been interested in her mind, had always valued her level-headed scientific approach. She knew he had found her beautiful at some point, but his true love affair was with her intellect. She counted on the fact that he wouldn’t ever really see her. She liked feeling invisible. But now he had noticed what she saw when she looked at her reflection.

‘Are you eating enough?’ His question landed heavily in her stomach. She circled her left wrist with her right fingers and twisted, drawing confidence from the gap.

‘Yeah.’ She avoided his eyes.

‘Are you sure, Scully?’

‘I told you, I already ate.’

‘You look thin.’

Scully fluffed her pillows and lay back down again. ‘It’s just from being on my feet all day. And the walk there and back.’

‘Do you need a ride there each day? I can get up earlier. I don’t want you –’

‘I’m fine, Mulder. Please.’ She rolled away from him, not caring that she was still fully clothed. She felt sleep stalking her in the periphery and prostrated herself ready for it to snatch her.

*

The first rule Mulder created was that they avoid being in public together, the net result being a lot of alone time for her when her shift finished. She was to go home straight away. He would pick up their groceries on his way home, comfortable with his own vulnerability, but he resisted her attempts at independence beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Every day the trailer was oppressed by afternoon heat. The air refused to move so it felt like she was wading through blankets. She would sleep the afternoons away, passing out so heavily that she felt drugged when she awoke, limbs heavy, clinging on to unconsciousness as her senses fired up. More than once, she thought she was still in her Georgetown apartment, and it took a few minutes to remember. She would try to wake up before Mulder came home, but recently that was proving more challenging.

Her bones were dragging.

*

‘Can you trade with me again?’ Chet arrived at her elbow. She instinctively took a step back. ‘Please?’

‘I told you the last time,’ Scully replied, ‘no. I need to stay here.’

‘Please. I can’t go out there.’ He sounded so desperate that she sighed and scanned the restaurant for the table of girls.

‘I don’t see those girls here,’ she said.

‘That group of girls? With the headbands and the lettermen?’ Chet scoffed. ‘No, not them.’

‘Then who?’ Curious, Scully couldn’t help but look again. She saw in the corner a small girl with brown hair to her shoulders reading a book. ‘That girl over there?’

Chet backed away, his cheeks blushing

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Amanda Jones.’

‘She seems nice?’ Scully asked, unsure of what to say.

‘She is nice.’ He ran his hands over his hair. ‘She’s super smart, and she really thinks about things. She’s not one of those girls you saw the other day…’

‘Those other girls don’t think?’ Scully bristled at Chet’s casual dismissal.

‘I don’t know if they do or not. But they’re not very nice.’ He paused, looking out at Amanda. ‘Please. I can’t go out there.’

Scully sized him up before holding her hand out for his apron. She remembered how teenage love teetered between affirming and soul destroying. The girl looked up and ordered a coffee with such self-possession that even Scully had to admit she was impressed.

*

Dana pulled up outside her mother’s dark house. It was 7pm and she was expected for dinner, but she was met with silence. Her mother’s purse was on the hall table. Shopping sat on the kitchen counters. There was a sweet, fermented smell of rotting fruit.

Professional instincts kicking in, she drew her weapon and checked downstairs before making her way upstairs.  Her mom was on the bathroom floor, eyes closed and congealed blood at her temple.

‘Mom!’ Dana cried as she kneeled beside her. She patted her mother’s cheek urgently, and Maggie’s eyelids fluttered open. Relief washed over Dana and her arms shook as she moved.

‘Dana….’ Maggie whispered. ‘I fell….’

‘Mom, I’m gonna help you,’ Dana was unable to stop her voice from wavering. She held a damp washcloth against the side of her mother’s head. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Two days ago maybe… or three…I’m not really sure.’ Scully held a second wet, clean cloth to her mom’s lips for her to suck. ‘I couldn’t get to the phone….  I’ve been here for such a long time.’

Maggie closed her eyes and went limp. Dana felt her mother’s pulse weaken, and she screamed.

Scully sat bolt upright, throat wheezing as she desperately sucked in air. She panted, sweat rolling down her back as she held her hands out to orient herself. There was the bedside table. There was the side of the bed. There was Mulder, his strong back to her, snoring. Her mother was back at home, and Scully had to believe she was alive and well.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Mulder, and sat on the steps outside. It was warm enough to sit in her t-shirt. She put her arms around her knees and lit a cigarette. She struggled to sleep past 2am these days.

Some nights she would reach around Mulder to wake him with her hands. She would take him in her mouth, and he would push her head until she gagged. Their bodies grew slippery together, and she would dig her nails into his back to gain traction as she sat on him, feeling him plunge into the cavernous depths of her. She would cry his name – his real name - in her throaty voice, the black night their only witness. It was always quick, vicious, and she rarely had her turn although she didn’t want that. She wanted to be entered, to be filled up. They wouldn’t speak after, but the next day there would be a new charge in the current between them which almost made the situation almost bearable.

Most nights, however, she would simply sit outside and smoke. She savoured her secret cigarettes, this tasty rebellion. The orange glow soared through the air like a grown-up sparkler.

The expanse of the stars made her mind spin as she gazed upwards. She remembered her childhood astronomy, spotting the Big Dipper and the Big Bear. She heard her father’s commentary. In these moments, Scully wondered if she was even really there. She might blow away on the wind’s currents, floating higher and higher until she was as far away as the stars. She felt like she was looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope.

*

The day in May came, around which all others moved, and she dragged herself to the café when all her instincts told her to stay in bed and spend the day remembering his gummy smile and the sound of his cry.

The day before, she had eyed a bottle of whiskey as she replenished her clandestine cigarettes on her way home but had ultimately decided against it. Throughout the years they had both tried to escape this day via alcohol. For her, it resulted shame and hazy memories of tear-soaked grief, Mulder’s clumsy hands holding her hair back as she vomited, raging against his strength as he tried to contain her. On his part, he turned inwards, growing snarky, mean and morose. He channelled his energy towards the cruellest insults which swirled in her head for months after. You call yourself a mother? You give him up and then claim to be a mother? You’re a selfish bitch, Scully, that’s what you are, and you have to live with that for the rest of your life.

At the café, she saw Chet hanging around her sink. Her heart sank when he smiled as she approached. She wasn’t sure she could handle him today.

‘Ms Denise!’ He greeted her enthusiastically. ‘I have news.’

Scully said nothing and turned the tap on. Chet wasn’t put off by her indifference, having worked with her for 7 weeks now and seen little else.

‘I was riding home from work yesterday and I saw Amanda had a puncture,’ his thin, reticulin fingers gesticulated as spoke, ‘so I helped her fix it, and we walked home together and had the best conversation. Turns out she’s reading '1984’, which is my favourite book. We both think it’s so clever, you know, how they reduce thought by altering language. Kinda like what’s going on now, all this war on terror talk. You know what I mean?’ He laughed to himself. ‘Man, I can’t believe she actually spoke to me.’

Scully shook her head slightly to refocus. She was bothered by something he said.

‘You love '1984’?’ She asked, looking directly at him. He had shaved his fluff but kept a small, patchy moustache on his baby face. His hair had greasy roots, and she wanted to tell him to take a shower. He was clean and musty at the same time. ‘How old are you, Chet?’

‘I’m 19. I’ll be 20 in October.’

‘Why aren’t you in college?’ She asked sharply. He raised his eyebrows cynically.

‘College? What college am I going to go to?’ He replied, voice squeaking. ‘You’ve seen this town, there’s no college here.’

‘You’re a smart guy.’ Scully seethed at the waste of his potential. ‘There are colleges nearby, with scholarships –‘

‘No, I’m just gonna work here, get some money behind me,’ Chet interrupted. ‘I’ve been talking to Ed, maybe one day I can take over this place.’

‘Chet, you can have bigger dreams than the local café for the next forty years,’ Scully was desperate to make this boy see the world was bigger than this. ‘You can do whatever you want.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘No, I can’t. I’m not that guy.’

‘Chet….’ She saw his face harden.

‘Anyway, what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘What all are your dreams, why are you lecturing me about mine?’ His voice was raised, and Scully’s heart ticked like a metronome on the highest setting. She stepped back from the sink. This was too much attention. ‘You’re hiding something. You don’t wash your hands like a normal person. I reckon a doctor, or surgeon, someone who has to keep clean. And then there’s that cornfed guy working at the motel on the other side of town. Funny how he pops up same week as you, same accent as you, yet you don’t know nothing about anything. So who are you really, Ms Denise?’

He reeled, surprised at his outburst. Scully blinked back tears, her hands shaking as adrenaline bled through her. He reminded her so much of Mulder: observant, passionate, gentle, and he had her number. Yet this wasn’t her mini-Mulder. He was elsewhere celebrating this day with strangers, and she was in a kitchen in small town Texas. She heard waves crash in her ears.

‘I’m nothing,’ she muttered, and pushed past Chet. ‘Excuse me, I’m not feeling well.’

He called her name as she ran out the back door and threw up beside the bins. It felt good. Chunks of apple, half dissolved by acid, lay at her feet, and her teeth chattered. Chet appeared with a glass of water which she took gratefully. Her stomach churned as the water hit, but it stayed down.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. He stood next to her, unsure of what to do. ‘Today is a hard day.’

‘I can tell Ed you’re not well,’ Chet said awkwardly. ‘You should go… I can handle it today.’

It was mid-morning by the time she turned down the dirt road towards the trailer park. Mulder would have just left for work, and she wanted to crawl in bed and close off the day. She wasn’t sure what four-year olds were even like: she had a vague recollection of Matthew being into trains. She couldn’t imagine his hair colour, what his voice sounded like, whether he could count to twenty, or if he could do puzzles. She had no idea, and her ignorance of rudimentary childhood development made her feel worse.

On a whim, she ignored her thirst and walked past the trailer park entrance to the natural bushland at the end of the road, lured by the refreshing shades of green. The ground was covered in grass, with natural tracks running between the trees. Leaves and sticks scraped her ankles as she walked, and she soon found herself deep within the bushland, with only the track behind her for navigation.

She walked until her shin bones ached. Suddenly the path dropped away. The cliff was 40 feet or so and framed by the overhanging branches from the nearby trees. A creek ran through the lush valley at the base of the cliff. It looked so quiet, so unspoiled. She crept closer to the drop and looked down to see rocks directly below her. Standing tall, the breeze blew temptingly across her face and her toes crept over the edge. Then the balls of her feet. Her weight shift to her heels. She knew if she closed her eyes, her balance would falter, and who knew which way she would fall? The risk appealed. She felt dizzy. Reckless. Her hands opened by her side, her fingers stretching downwards to feel the breeze on her palms. She imagined feeling weightless.

A rustle next to her made her jump back, her natural instinct to survive proving to be stronger than her desperation to for everything to stop. She fell as she retreated, landing hard on her coccyx. The pain brought tears to her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she heard herself cry. Her chest heaved twice, three times, as she inhaled to support more sobs. Pain dripped like mercury from her fingers. She gripped her hair by its roots and let out a huge scream which echoed around the valley as her rage tumbled out. It was a relief to finally feel something. A fox squirrel shot out from under the scrubland and stood still, eyeing her as she wept. It tilted its head and ran up a tree trunk. Her right fingers wrapped around her left wrist, and she twisted her wrist in the gap. Tears splashed on the rocks beside her.

*

When she got back to the motel, Scully stayed away from the bedroom. She drank three glasses of cold water and took her towel to lie on the grass outside of the trailer, enjoying the solid ground beneath her shoulder blades. Studying the leaves above her, she realised that she still had choices. She could decide things. She could identify her limits, but it came down to how much she was prepared to fight for herself. She was a hologram of the person she used to be, and she wondered if she even had the strength to stand up. Eventually she was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic lullaby of leaves in the breeze.

She woke when Mulder pulled up. Her sleep had been light, leaving her unusually refreshed. The importance of the day crashed on her chest once more, but she recognised a very, very slight shift in perspective: today could be about more than grief. What should I do with this, she wondered.

‘Scully?’ He approached her with caution, wearing his own memories of this day on his face. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘It’s a nice day.’ She folded her towel and stood. ‘I just wanted to be outside.’

That evening, they sat outside with a beer to toast their son. They talked, though not about William. He was interested in her trip to the bushland. She told him about the sound the trees made, and the squirrel, but not how the whispers of the breeze had dared her to see if she really was immortal.

*

She had grown used to the smell of old cooking oil and grease. It seeped into her skin and her hair. Having been there for two and a half months, it smelled as much like home as anywhere had. Half-way through her shift one Tuesday morning, she asked for a plate of scrambled eggs, which the chef handed to her in surprise. Out back, past the bins, she found Chet on his break, and sat wordlessly beside him.

‘You taking a break today?’ He asked incredulously. ‘You never take a break.’

They had reached a truce after William’s birthday: he chewed her ear off about whatever he wanted, and she offered sparse but pertinent advice. Each day, he brought her some new piece of information about the youth of the town, and she found herself invested in spite of herself.

‘First time for everything,’ she replied, hoping she sounded light, carefree. The fork was awkward in her right hand, plate balanced on her lap. The eggs were yellow and solid; she sliced into them with the side of her fork. They felt like stones clogging her throat. Her mouth salivated as she ate. Scully tried to ignore how heavy the food felt inside her stomach and cleared her throat nervously. ‘Can I eat with you tomorrow too?’

‘Sure thing, Ms Denise.’ Chet balled up the paper from his bacon sandwich. ‘You don’t have to ask.’

She managed half her plate, and fought against the itch in her fingers, the urge to lock herself in the bathroom afterwards.

That afternoon, as she was leaving the Mom and Pop store, Chet and Amanda cycled past. He was in front, and he said something which made her throw her head back in laughter, her hair trailing behind like a mermaid. Scully felt a spark in her chest: a tiny flame, a burst of energy. She drew warmth from its glow.

*

They started to spend the warm evenings outside together, the fog between them slowly dissipating. She told Mulder about the legend of the Ozark Howler, a cat-like creature with horns and glowing eyes. It was said to be found in the Ozarks but there were sightings as far reaching as Texas too. Mulder’s core ignited with new folklore, curling himself towards her in his plastic chair. She presented tidbits of information to him like proud child. They found themselves in a discussion of whether it’s realistic for one cat-like creature to cover so much geography, or if it meant a growing species, and whether that contributed to or undermined its veracity. His eyes narrowed when he learned that Chet had told her about it. Careful Scully, his tone immediately changing, you don’t want to get too close. Keep your distance. She had smiled thinly, ruffled his hair, and walked back inside before he could see her tears because, for just a minute, she had forgotten and they had felt like a normal couple again.

*

‘Mulder?’ Scully approached Mulder as he lay on the couch in the tiny living room reading the papers. Three months in and she could see he was starting to twitch. It wouldn’t be long until he wanted to up sticks, and she wanted to get in first.

‘What’s up, doc?’ He smiled. She sat next to him and pressed her knees together. She had recently bought some dye to patch over her grey hairs. Her cheeks were starting to fill out with her daily plate of eggs, though she still couldn’t consider anything more solid without her palms sweating. She noticed he had started to look at her differently: he had stopped looking through her, and she felt herself take up more space.

‘Mulder…..’ She sighed and looked at the floor. ‘Mulder, I need to go home.’ She glanced up and saw shock, fear, pass over his face.

‘Go home?’ he repeated dumbly. ‘Scully, I can’t…. you know what waits for me there.’

Scully closed her eyes, not wanting to remember Mulder’s sentence: death by lethal injection. The danger had always been real, but somewhere along the way she had lost the sense of it as she had lost herself. With this request, she had to face it once more.

‘There must be a way,’ she said, her voice shaky. ‘Please. It’s… I’m …. I’m not doing well. I’m… vanishing.’

‘I know that Scully,’ he said in his crinkly voice that reached into the dark shadows of her. ‘I see you. I think you’re right, I think you may have reached the end of this road. But what choice do I have?’

‘There must be a way,’ she repeated, the lump in her throat making her voice thin and tight. ‘We can email Skinner. I don’t want to leave you. I hate the thought you being by yourself.’ She paused to compose herself and reached for his hand. ‘You’re good at this life. You know how to duck and weave. The threat gives you energy, purpose, as it always has. I see you too, you know.’

 ‘You’re my gal. You’ve always seen all of me.’ He kissed her knuckles. ‘I know you’re struggling. I don’t know the last time I saw you eat more than a banana. I wake in the night and you’re not there.’ She stiffened but made herself stay in the conversation. It was the first honest talk they’d had in months.  ‘But can you give me some time? Just a little. Please, Scully. Let me get my head around it some more.’

‘Mulder….. There’s Matthew. My Mom.’ She hiccupped the last word, and to her frustration, started to cry, releasing the pressure in her chest. She wiped her eyes. ‘I mean, what is our plan here, exactly? Wait for an apocalypse that we’re powerless to stop? Well, I don’t want to welcome that one without my family. Or maybe it doesn’t happen, and we run for the next 20 years. Or do we draw the line at 30 years? And what happens if you fall from a ladder, or even just get tonsillitis?’

They sat in silence. Mulder had abandoned the newspaper, and Scully circled her wrist. There was still a sizeable gap and her satisfaction at this quickly turned to guilt.   

‘Ok, Scully.’ Mulder said finally, exhaling heavily. ‘Let’s email Skinner. See if there are options.’

*

That Sunday they drove two hours out of town to a random internet café. Mulder set up an email account and then they sent Skinner a cryptic message. Mulder drove three hours in the opposite direction two days later to see his reply, and he didn’t let Scully come. Too conspicuous for both of them to miss a day of work, he’d reasoned. Scully had wanted to throw her coffee mug at the wall in frustration.

They hadn’t spent more than a work shift apart since 2002, and Scully was bereft as she waited. She dropped a stack of plates at work, and spent the afternoon peeking out of the trailer window at the sound of every car rumble. It felt like snakes had taken up residence in her stomach.

She was sat the small table in the kitchen when he returned, a plate of celery, carrots and hummus in front of her. She cried out with relief as she heard the car pull up and ran to hug him as he exited the car. His sweater was soft, and she remembered how solid she felt when her body locked against his.

Once inside, he handed her a printout from the now deleted email account. Scully scanned it, seeing words like pardon, obstruction of justice, requalification, but her mind raced over the email before she could comprehend its meaning. She looked at him expectantly.  

‘It looks like there’s a shot,’ Mulder said nervously, rubbing his palms together. ‘A long shot. Skinner thinks he could get any potential charges against you dropped as long as I continue to lay low. But he thinks there’s a possibility for us both to return.’

‘And we’d be together?’

‘Yes. We could be together.’ He finally slipped a smile. ‘I may not see daylight for the foreseeable future, so I hope you like the anaemic vampiric look.’

Scully covered her face with her hands and pushed all the air out of her lungs. Her fingers were hot, and her head tingled. She laughed, feeling a little light-headed and hysterical. She pictured her Mom’s face and the laugher turned to loud sobs of relief. Mulder kissed her head and held her tightly while she calmed. The energy in his eyes had already been replaced with fear, and she realised the price of the choice he had just made for her. For them.

‘Pack your things Scully,’ He started pulling their bags from the cupboard. ‘We gotta move.’

[crescentmoon223]

Two Worlds Collide Chapter 8

Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully

Stella floated on her back in the pool, kicking lazily. Scully had been right, of course. She hadn’t managed two laps before the searing pain in her chest forced her to stop. The darker part of her mind urged her to keep going, push through the pain to the blissful calm on the other side, but there was Scully sitting like an angel on her shoulder, reminding her she could make her injury worse, give her boss another reason to keep her benched. Above all else, she needed to get back to work.

So, she kicked her way slowly across the pool, arms floating at her sides, watching the reflection of the water ripple across the ceiling, mesmerized by it. Coming here had still been a good idea. The water buoyed both her body and her spirit. The scent of the chlorine was as invigorating as caffeine. Just returning to her local pool for the first time in two months felt like a win, however small.

She’d be back tomorrow.

Knowing she’d regret it if she attempted to haul herself up the ladder, she instead made her way over to the steps in the shallow end and walked out of the pool. After a quick shower, she was on her way home.

But her flat, although it sparkled after yesterday’s fit of cleaning, was still just as empty. And while she felt somewhat calmer after her trip to the pool, her body still buzzed with unspent energy. She stood in the kitchen, fingers tapping restlessly against the countertop as she stared at her phone, debating her options.

She and Scully had already spent most of the last twenty-four hours together. Logically, they needed space, time away from each other. Everything about Scully screamed more than sex. It always had. The strength of the connection between them had scared Stella in her youth, and it scared her now.

She’d made the decision a long time ago to put her career first. Some people simply weren’t suited to relationships, and she was one of them. It was perfectly fine for her to accept this about herself, to take what she needed from her sexual partners without derailing her life or her career.

But a quiet night at home alone wasn’t in the cards tonight, not while she was feeling like this. And since she couldn’t work and couldn’t swim, that left sex. Sure, she could go out, find some random man, and let him fuck her, but the truth was, there was only one person she wanted to see, to touch and be touched by tonight.

And that person, while potentially dangerous, was only in London for two months. How much could really happen between them in that amount of time? Scully had been temporary before, and she was temporary now. Maybe the universe had sent her Stella’s way for a reason, a perfectly timed distraction while she recovered from Belfast.

Once they both got back to work, they’d barely have time to see each other, even if they wanted to. So really, they just had this one week. And even Stella was capable of a relationship lasting a week.

Decision made, she picked up her phone and composed a quick text.

Dinner at my place tonight?

And then she bit down on her lip, waiting for Scully’s response.

Sounds perfect. What can I bring?

Just yourself. Stella followed that with her address and a time, and then she headed to the market, relieved to have something—or more accurately, someone—to occupy her evening. She didn’t often cook. Usually, she didn’t have the time for it, not when she was busy with work. She enjoyed eating out, picking fancy things off a fancy menu and having them brought to her without any further effort on her part.

But tonight, she was looking forward to cooking. Tonight, she needed something to keep both her mind and her hands occupied until Scully arrived. She browsed through several websites touting “easy date night meals” on her phone, swearing under her breath as she tried to find something she could eat. Eventually, she decided on a lemon chicken pasta dish. She’d just leave the chicken off her plate. God, she missed meat. She was so fucking hungry.

She quickly gathered all the ingredients she’d need, paid, and went home. Back in her kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine and put on some music, a relaxing playlist to set the mood. And then she set to work. She was so caught up in cooking, she lost all track of the time, and the next thing she knew, Scully was knocking at her door.

Well, fuck. She’d meant to go upstairs and change before Scully got here, freshen her hair and makeup, but here she was, still wearing Scully’s jeans. At least she’d put on a clean shirt when she showered after her swim. She turned down the heat on the stove before she walked to the door.

Scully stood on her doorstep wearing black jeans and a blue top that highlighted her eyes while perfectly setting off the crimson hues in her hair.

“Blue is your color,” Stella said as she invited her inside. “You look lovely, and I’m a mess. Sorry. The time got away from me.”

“You look perfect,” Scully said, sliding her hands around Stella’s waist to kiss her. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” For a moment, they just stared into each other’s eyes, smiling.

“You smell like chlorine,” Scully said, but her tone was teasing not chastising.

“I was careful.”

“Good.” She pulled Stella in for another kiss, this time adding enough tongue to make Stella forget all her well-laid dinner plans. “Because I need you limber enough for other activities later tonight.”

���Won’t be a problem,” she murmured against Scully’s lips as a delicious ache spread between her thighs. Then they were kissing again, bodies pressed together. With Stella in bare feet, Scully had a slight height advantage, and she put it to good use, hands roaming everywhere.

“I know I just saw you, but…I missed you.” She smiled against Stella’s lips, hands on Stella’s ass, pressing their hips together so tightly Stella was considering throwing out the chicken in favor of taking Scully directly upstairs to bed. Fuck that, she could take her right here in the foyer.

She drew in a shallow breath, mindful of her ribs, and blew it out. “You’ve hardly had a chance to miss me,” she deflected, as if she didn’t feel the same way.

“I know.” Scully released her, tucking a wayward strand of red hair behind her ear. “Whatever you’re cooking smells really good.”

“Lemon chicken pasta.” Stella led the way to the kitchen and poured Scully a glass of wine.

“Thank you,” Scully said as she accepted the glass. “Will you be able to eat that?”

“I can eat the pasta.” Stella adjusted the heat on the pan and stirred the sauce.

Scully settled herself on a stool. “Can I help with anything?”

She shook her head. “It’s just about ready.”

“If you’d told me when I landed in London yesterday that I’d be sitting here tonight watching you cook dinner for me, I’d probably have laughed.”

“Any other week, it would have been a laughable idea.” Stella checked the pasta, tamping down her discomfort over the domestic scene she’d inadvertently created here tonight.

“Well, I’m extremely sorry you’re facing an inquiry at work,” Scully said, her expression sobering. “But it’s an awfully lucky coincidence that I’m here and also not working this week. I think we can sufficiently distract each other so we don’t get bored.”

A smile tugged at Stella’s lips as relief tingled in her veins. Yes, Scully’s timing was impeccable. In fact, Stella wasn’t sure how she’d have made it through the week without her. She took plates out of the cupboard and dished up two servings, one with and one without chicken. She’d never tried this recipe before, but it smelled good, and the sauce had thickened the way it looked on the recipe page, which she took for a good sign.

“If it tastes like shit, we’ll have to improvise,” she said with a meaningful lift of her eyebrows.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Scully took her plate and her wineglass and followed Stella to the table. They sat across from each other, beginning to eat in a comfortable lull in the conversation. The playlist Stella had started earlier was still going, and it set a nice ambiance to the meal. “It’s delicious,” Scully said.

Stella couldn’t argue with her. She was by no means a chef, but the meal had turned out nicely, and having Scully here with her was a definite plus. They chatted casually as they ate, and Stella had refilled both of their wineglasses by the time their plates were clear.

Scully looked up, eyes glossy in the lamplit kitchen. “Thank you. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I enjoyed a meal like this with someone. I forgot how nice it could be.”

“You’re welcome.” Stella lifted her wineglass and sipped. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shared a homecooked meal with a romantic partner either, but she’d also never lived with anyone. Scully had spent over a decade with Mulder. What had it been like, if they never shared a quiet meal together?

They walked to the kitchen together. Scully insisted on rinsing their plates while Stella cleaned up the leftovers from the stovetop. She’d just finished scooping the chicken into a container when Scully’s arms slid around her waist from behind, her chin landing on Stella’s shoulder. For a moment, they stood like that, just breathing in the closeness between them before Stella spun in her arms.

She pressed forward, capturing Scully’s mouth with her own, walking her backward into the countertop so she could better leverage her position. She slid one of her thighs between Scully’s, and Scully angled her hips against Stella’s, fitting them together perfectly. And then they kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

They kissed until Stella had forgotten everything but the feel of Scully’s lips on hers, the swipe of her tongue, and the scrape of her teeth. Their hips moved together until Stella thought she might combust from the friction building between them.

“Upstairs,” she whispered, disentangling herself to lead the way. They were quiet as they climbed the stairs, both of them breathing heavily. As soon as they’d crossed the threshold into Stella’s bedroom, they were on each other again, hands groping at clothing, fumbling buttons and pushing down zippers. And then Stella was flat on her back in bed with Scully straddling her, jeans still dangling from one ankle.

“Time for me to thank you properly for dinner,” she said as she dipped her head, sucking at Stella’s nipple through the fabric of her shirt.

“Is that so?” she managed, squeezing her eyes shut against the onslaught of pleasure coursing through her veins.

“Mm hmm.” Scully pushed the shirt up to her breasts, and Stella raised off the mattress to help her pull it over her head, grimacing as pain knifed through her chest, stealing her breath. Wordlessly, Scully pushed her against the sheets, pressing a hand over Stella’s ribs in a way that reduced the blinding fire in her chest to mere embers. “Just breathe,” she whispered, and Stella did, exhaling shallow breaths against Scully’s palm until the worst of it had passed.

“You’re good at that,” she whispered.

“There are benefits to having a doctor in your bed,” Scully told her, gently tugging the shirt over Stella’s head without further aggravating her ribs. Stella shook her foot, and the jeans fell to the floor, leaving her in only her bra and underwear. “You’re so beautiful,” Scully said, running her hands down Stella’s body in a reverential sort of way.

Stella shivered beneath her touch, uncomfortable with her words but too turned on to really care. Scully quickly stripped to her own underwear, further distracting Stella with the sight of all that smooth, creamy skin contained beneath black lace.

“Did you wear that just for me?” she asked, reaching up to grip Scully’s ass, guiding her back to Stella’s hips.

Scully grinned as she settled herself against Stella. “A wise woman once told me I should buy pretty lingerie just for myself, and I took her advice.”

“Good advice,” Stella quipped, biting her lip as Scully rolled her hips directly over her clit.

“It was.” Scully flattened herself against Stella, kissing her fiercely as her fingers worked the clasp on Stella’s bra. She freed Stella’s breasts, lavishing them with the full attention of her mouth and fingers while Stella arched beneath her, seeking more, needing more, even as Scully bit down on her nipple, making her gasp with pleasure.

Scully transferred her mouth to Stella’s other breast as one of her hands hooked beneath the lace band at Stella’s hip, tugging her underwear down her legs. Stella steadied her breathing in anticipation of her touch. She could feel that she was already drenched in her own desire.

“Been a while since I’ve done this,” Scully said as she kissed her way down Stella’s stomach. “Let me know if I’m rusty.”

“I can’t imagine you will be.” Stella’s skin flushed hot, her pussy throbbing as her hands reached for Scully, needing something to hold onto. She gripped Scully’s shoulders as she settled between Stella’s thighs, looking up at her with a smile that melted away any last hesitation she might have harbored about giving herself over to Scully this way.

Scully swept her hair over her shoulders before leaning in to press a wet kiss against Stella’s inner thigh, and she held her breath, nerves tingling, shooting sparks through her veins. Scully placed the flat of her tongue against her, licking slowly from Stella’s entrance to her clit, and she grasped the sheet beneath her, clenching it between her fingers as a breathy moan escaped her lips.

Scully worked magic with her tongue, enveloping Stella in the wet heat of her mouth. Stella pushed one hand into her own hair, pinching her nipple with the other, while Scully jabbed her tongue so far inside her she saw stars. Scully licked and teased, sucking at Stella’s clit until her whole body seemed to pulse with need, hips grinding against Scully’s mouth.

“Fuck me,” she gasped, muscles trembling as she struggled to keep her thighs from clamping around Scully’s head.

“Mm,” Scully responded, the sound vibrating against Stella’s wet skin, and she arched her back, no longer aware of her cracked ribs, no longer aware of anything beyond Scully’s tongue and the orgasm coiling inside her.

Scully pushed a finger inside her. Stella looked down, and their gazes locked. Scully’s eyes seared into hers, embers burning in their blue depths, so fucking sexy she stole the air from Stella’s lungs and the sense from her brain, turning everything inside her liquid hot and thrumming with need.

She wanted to freeze the moment, make it last forever, and then she just wanted to come against Scully’s tongue, wanted it so badly she could hardly breathe. She flung her head back against the pillow, panting as Scully added a second finger, pumping in and out as her tongue swirled over Stella’s clit.

And just like that, she broke, pleasure rippling through her in waves of scorching heat. She exhaled in relief, absorbing every moment as the restlessness that had been fizzing inside her all day evaporated, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction that no one but the redhead currently sprawled between her legs had ever been able to provide.

She’d let other people go down on her in the years since she first met Scully, but it was never this comfortable, this intimate. She’d forgotten the difference, and now she feared nothing else could ever compare.

“Not so rusty after all,” she managed after she’d caught her breath.

Scully crawled up her body to press a lengthy kiss against her lips. “Glad to hear it.”

***

Scully drifted awake slowly, like she’d been skimming along the edge of consciousness for a while. It was dark in Stella’s bedroom, quiet, and she had no idea what time it was. It could be two in the morning or six. Jetlag was a bitch who had completely messed up her internal clock. Two nights in a row of screwing Stella’s brains out hadn’t helped either.

She turned her head, looking for a clock, but instead found herself facing Stella’s blonde curls splayed across the pillow. She lay on her back, one hand pressed against her chest, breathing in shallow pants. Her eyes were closed, but she was definitely not asleep.

“Hey.” Scully touched her shoulder, feeling Stella flinch at the contact. “You okay?”

Stella nodded, turning her face away from Scully.

Clearly not okay. “Stella…”

“Hurts more at night sometimes,” she said quietly.

“Especially after sex and swimming, I bet.” Scully brushed a hand over Stella’s cheek. “What did they give you to take?”

“I can’t remember. I don’t like to take it.”

“Do you have trouble with narcotics?” Scully asked carefully, remembering the scars on Stella’s legs, knowing that one form of self-harm often accompanied another.

“No, but they make me feel spacey. Can’t concentrate.”

“That’s okay in the middle of the night, I think,” Scully said. “Would you like me to bring you one? You should at least take some ibuprofen.”

Stella said nothing, tension radiating off her in the darkness.

“There’s no reason not to—”

“I’m fine.” Stella attempted to roll away, but the breath hissed out of her as she flopped back, her hand again pressed against her ribs.

Scully rested a hand over Stella’s, feeling the shudder that wracked her body with each exhale, wishing there was more she could do to ease her pain.

“Go back to sleep,” Stella whispered, turning her face into the pillow.

“Not a chance,” Scully told her, giving Stella’s fingers a squeeze. “I’m lousy at this too, you know. They say doctors make terrible patients, but I think cops might be worse.”

Stella was quiet for a long moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was hushed. “The prescription bottle is in the cabinet in the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Scully slipped out of bed before Stella could change her mind, padding downstairs to fill a glass of water. Back upstairs, she located the prescription bottle. Based on the number of pills inside, Stella had only taken two or three since she’d been released from the hospital. Scully shook one onto her palm and brought it with her into the bedroom.

She set the pill and glass on the nightstand so she could slide her hands behind Stella’s back and help her sit without further aggravating her cracked ribs. Stella grimaced as she came upright, hands gripping Scully for support. She squeezed Stella’s shoulder in sympathy before handing her the pill and the glass of water. Stella swallowed it quickly and slumped back against the pillow.

“Let me,” Scully said, sliding closer. She pressed her palm against Stella’s chest, wrapping her fingers around the curve of her ribcage, applying compression to the fractures the way she’d done earlier. Gradually, Stella relaxed beneath her touch, breaths evening out. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Her voice was soft, eyes shut.

“Want to talk for a bit, or are you ready to sleep?”

“I don’t sleep well these days,” Stella admitted.

“Been there,” Scully told her. “Med school taught me to sleep whenever and wherever I could, and for years, I carried that with me through the FBI. I could sleep on the plane on the way to a crime scene or in the car while Mulder drove us through some Godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere chasing monsters.”

Stella was quiet, listening, breathing steadily beneath Scully’s palm.

“But it all catches up to you eventually,” Scully whispered. “The ones you didn’t save, the killers who went unpunished, especially if they managed to deliver a few blows before they left.” She paused, measuring her breath to match Stella’s, forcing herself not to tense up, not to back away from what she was about to say, because Stella needed to hear it. She needed to hear it more than Scully needed to protect herself from sharing it. “I shot a man once. I mean, I’ve shot a lot of men. I even shot Mulder once.”

At this, Stella’s breath hitched in surprise. She turned to look at Scully in the near darkness.

“In the shoulder,” she clarified. “He was about to do something really stupid, and it was the only way to stop him. He’s lucky I’m a good shot.” She smiled softly at the memory. “But the man I shot—the one I meant—his name was Donnie Pfaster. A real crazy sonofabitch. He liked to cut off women’s hair and fingers after he killed them and keep them as souvenirs. He kidnapped me, tried to add me to his collection, but Mulder showed up in the nick of time with reinforcements.”

“I’m sorry,” Stella murmured.

“It shook me more than I ever wanted to admit. He went to prison, but he escaped five years later, and he…he came after me again, this time in my apartment.” She paused, allowing the fear, the helplessness to surface inside her for the first time in years. Of all the times she’d fought for her life, this one had perhaps been the most terrifying. “He overpowered me, tied me up in my own fucking closet while he ran a bath. He was going to wash me, wash my hair, paint my nails. That’s what he did. That was his ritual.”

Stella quit breathing for a moment, stiffening beneath Scully’s touch. She’d read that Paul Spector had rituals too with his victim’s hair and nails. Maybe it was what had driven her to tell Stella this story.

“Anyway, I got free. We fought, and I was able to grab my gun. Mulder came busting into my apartment at about the same time.” She swallowed hard, heat crawling over her skin. She’d never admitted this next part to anyone. Only Mulder knew, because he’d been there. “I could have cuffed him. I could have let Mulder cuff him, but I…I shot him. Right there in my living room.”

“Fuck,” Stella whispered.

“I didn’t sleep for a long time after that.”

“Sometimes I wish I could have shot Spector,” Stella admitted quietly. “I felt so helpless, lying there on the floor while he kicked me.”

“I know.” She leaned in to kiss Stella’s cheek. “I know.”

“My whole fucking team watching on the closed-circuit television.” Stella’s breath caught, tears glistening in the moonlight. “And I just…lay there. Why didn’t I fight back? He wasn’t a very large man. I should have been able to subdue him.”

“He blindsided you, Stella. You weren’t expecting it.”

“I’m always expecting it,” she whispered.

Scully thought those might have been the truest words she’d ever heard Stella speak. Her armor was always on, always waiting for the next blow to land. “Even the best of us get caught off guard occasionally. You are not weak, or helpless. Spector bruised you, but he didn’t break you.”

Stella swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Sometimes I’m not sure.”

“Well, I am.” Scully pulled her close, holding on to her in the dark, fiercely protective of the woman in her arms.

After a moment, Stella broke free of their embrace, maybe because of her ribs, but probably, she just needed her space. And maybe it was crazy, but as she rolled away, Scully felt closer to her than ever.

[lokisgame]

Ill Communication

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

Jolted out of sleep by a noise so terrible, that the pounding at the door barely registered, Mulder sat upright and shook Scully's shoulder violently. “Scully, wake up!” He jumped out of bed and flicked the overhead light on, looking for his jeans. Covering her eyes, Scully pulled the sheet up over herself. “What’s going on?” They had no time to play nice so grabbing her by the shoulders he sat her up and, a little more gently, took her face in his hands and made her look at him, dead serious. She snapped out of it, “what’s wrong?” Lips at her ear he said loudly, “fire!”

“Oh God!” Instantly awake, Scully wrestled with sheets. He pulled them away and she was up and running, “badge and gun, my purse is in the closet.”

He followed her from the bedroom, catching the t-shirt she found and throwing back her jeans, he picked up. She dressed as he gathered her things, finding a pair of sneakers and his worn hoodie for her to wear, while at it. Shrugging into his jacket, feeling for keys and wallet in the inside pocket, Mulder heard people in the corridor, first whiffs of smoke crawling under the door. Scully grabbed her things and they were out, not running but walking purposefully, hand in hand, down the stairs and out the building following a small crowd.

They were crossing the street when a window shattered, Mulder ducked at the noise, covering Scully’s head without second thought, but they were far enough from the flying glass. One floor above and four windows down from her apartment, smoke rose from a gaping hole in the building's facade.

“Mr. Grant,” Scully said, worried, “he lives alone.”

People in bathrobes and slippers were stumbling out of the building, fathers carrying small children, panicked teenagers minding pets. Sirens howled in the distance, blue and red lights coming in fast.

“There he is,” she pointed to a gray-haired man, coughing and swaying on his feet.

Mulder’s every muscle screamed to keep Scully where he had her safe, but he forced the feeling down, nodding in the direction of the man, she followed.

“Mr Grant? Are you okay?” Taking the dazed elderly man by the arm, he led him to the other side of the street. Scully was on him in seconds.

“How are you feeling? Any chest pain? Dizziness?”

“Oh, Miss Scully, it’s you,” he sighed relived before a fit cut him off.

“She can’t hear you, if you're hurt, show her where,” Mulder said.

“Dizzy, a bit hard to breathe," the man said then coughed again, "there was so much smoke.”

Tapping Scully's shoulder, Mulder patted his chest, made a so-so gesture, then touched his temple and nodded.

“Okay, just sit tight, Mr Grant,” Scully said, understanding, “help is on it’s way.”

A fire truck skidded to a stop in front of the entrance and a man ran to meet the firemen, more and more people gathered on the sidewalk. Mulder jerked his chin in their direction.

"Go, I got this."

“Third floor, end of the hall,” he heard the man say as he approached, “he tried to put it out himself, but the fire extinguishers wouldn't work."

“We have a man who might need medical assistance,” Mulder interjected, the fireman looked at him and followed his outstretched hand, “there, with the redhead in a purple sweatshirt.”

“Curtis!” The chief firefighter called and one of the men unloading the gear came running with a small oxygen tank and a medical kit, slung over one shoulder. “Go with him, make sure paramedics find them, look around, if someone else needs help.”

“Yes, sir.”

Curtis followed Mulder and once Scully noticed them, she made room. He questioned the man just as she did and only when he put an oxygen mask over Mr. Grant's face, Scully finally looked at he scene.

There was a lot of smoke and a faint glow in the burning apartment, shadows played over the walls as people went in an out. Outside, firemen were keeping more curious bystanders from coming too close.

Arm around her made her look away, she let Mulder show her to a free spot on the short wall running along the sidewalk.

"It doesn't look that serious," she noted sitting down and pulling the hoodie closer around herself. Mulder showed her his hand, fingers crossed. "You're right, better not jinx it."

Taking her hand, he laced his fingers through hers and they sat in silence, watching the lights, organized chaos of firemen running around, people sitting or pacing the sidewalk, afraid for their homes. What prized possessions were they fearing for, what family heirlooms left behind, how many of them had no one to turn to for help or shelter. It felt strange to be as helpless as everyone else.

When an ambulance took mr Grant to the hospital, there was no more smoke coming from the apartment. The night was cool and Mulder was about to suggest waiting in the car, when something unidentifiable flew out the window and to the lawn below. Three men were waiting to kill it with fire extinguishers, someone in the crowd cheer. The situation was under control. The firemen gathered their things and people stated to go back to their homes. "Open the windows even if you can't smell smoke," one of the firemen instructed the crowd walking past. Mulder stoped for a second. "What was it?" "Spark from a broken power socket most likely, rags caught fire." "Is it safe now?" He asked, Scully at his side, nodding back at some of the neighbors. "It wasn't anything serious, but leave the windows open tonight." "Thanks." Arm around her, he led her inside. "What did he say?" She asked when the doors closed behind them, unable to stifle a yawn. Mulder pointed to the nearest power socket, then tapped his nose and made a wide circle, indicating the room. "No, I don't smell anything." Fishing out his home keys, he pointed to himself, jiggling them a little. "Your place?" She guessed and looked around, smelling the air again, before realizing carbon monoxide was odorless and it was probably wiser to play it safe. "I think you're right, we should open the windows and come back in the morning." He nodded and she headed for the bedroom. "Let me get a few things."

Less then an hour later, she was under a blanket on Mulder's couch, in silk pj's and his arms. "Mulder?" Hand on her back moved, though his eyes stayed closed. "If you weren't there tonight, I wouldn't have known what's going on." He stroked her back, soothing, the possibilities were spinning in her mind, "if things got worse." He didn't let her finish, cutting her off with a kiss. Weird at first, Mulder scooted down and to his side, nose to nose, enjoying the feeling of her limbs and curves wrapped around him and only satisfied, when she completely relaxed into his warmth. She felt him sigh as he snuggled a little deeper into the pillow and chose to give him that fight. She kissed him briefly and turned away, her back to his front. "Thank you for taking care of me," she said quietly to the room a moment later. Mulder said nothing, just tucked the blanket a little tighter around her.

-------------------

Spring was generous that year. Bright sun peeking into the room woke Scully up. She was alone on the couch, with no Mulder in sight. A mug of steaming coffee waited on the table, a post-it that was supposed to greet her, lying beside it. The glue was no match for the hot cup. "I'll be back before this gets cold. Love, M" She managed to splash some water over her face and was making herself comfortable on the couch again, when she saw Mulder busting in, sweaty from the run, shopping bag in hand. "Hi," she said and he beamed at her. Crossing the room in a few long strides, he leaned over and tipping her head back, kissed her upside down on the mouth. It was ridiculously awkward. “Mulder,” she tried, but his lips shut her up. “Mulder!” She tried again, pushing him away this time, laughing, “go shower! You smell!” He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose, heading for the bathroom, undressing as he went. She could feast her eyes on his toned back and dimples above his ass, he was all hers now. The bag he left on the coffee table held eggs, bagels, cereal, cream cheese, milk and cream for her coffee. Though she didn’t mind taking it black, she knew he thought about her buying that. Mulder knew the little pleasures she indulged in, be it profiler’s habit or mindfulness, she didn’t care. She left her pj’s on the chair with his sweats and followed him to the shower.

Steam fogged the mirror and she could smell his body wash in the hot, humid air. Drawing the curtain away almost made him jump out of his skin. “Now you know how I feel,” she teased stepping in, “can I help?” He grinned and arm around her waist, pushed her under the spray, body hot and slick as she caught his arms for balance. Looking up she let the water wash over her face. It was easy to let go and be herself around Mulder, feel the feelings, free of longing, let them fill her and feed her, each taste making her more ravenous than the last. Water cut off with lips on her forehead. Hands slipping down her shoulders, she could feel his cock twitch against her hip. Smiling wide and following his gaze down, she didn’t hide her awe. She saw him naked, more than once, perks of being a doctor, but this was different, it was him responding to her, man to a woman, safe, sane and consensual. Wrapping one hand around the base, she stroked up, watching him throw his head back, breath held. He grew harder with every inch she traveled and her heart began beating faster. Water ran down his chest, reddened with heat and arousal. Steadying himself, hands on her shoulders, feet a bit wider, she stopped on the edge, teasing the tip with her thumb. “Easy,” she said gently, loosening her grip. He looked forlorn for a moment, but her hands were back on his skin before he could protest, “let me do the rest first.” Mulder watched as she poured a bit of shower gel into her palm, then offered his hand. She gave him some and lathered her hands, he did the same, making her chuckle. They were mirroring each other, her hands on his shoulders, his on hers; sliding down his chest, his palms on her breasts. She circled his nipples, he circled hers; his cock twitched again, she felt herself swell. His happy trail tempted, but she sidetracked gripping his ass, Mulder grinned wickedly and pressed his stiff cock against her slick abdomen. They both tried the tickles on the way back and doubling over fell into each other's arms. Mulder caught her lips as she washed his back, letting the warm water wash over them freely. Few sweet moments of roaming hands and tongues later, he was sliding down and kneeling before her, moving her hand on top of his head, asking for the full package, smiling sheepishly. Who was she to deny him anything. With a drop of shampoo, she lathered his hair, a gentle but firm massage. Mulder closed his eyes, slowly stroking her thighs, hoping she will take her time. Until now, he thought he was happy with her small caresses, the rare brushes of hands. This though, her sure hands all over him, skin on skin, caring for him, he didn’t even know he needed it until she showed him and he didn’t feel anything as deeply, since the day he found out she would live. Burying the need, afraid of drowning in it, he didn't allow himself to look too far into the abyss. It was the one truth he denied, even to himself, that he couldn’t live without her. A stray tear got lost in the shower, but he hid his face anyway, forehead against her abdomen, sitting on his heels before her. Her purposeful strokes softened into cares and she sank to her knees, straddling his lap, arms around him, holding tightly. “Mulder,” she breathed into his ear, ignoring the suds running down them both now, “hey, come back.” She leaned back and let the water wash down his bowed head, fingers combing through hair, over ears and the back of his neck, soothing his shaking breath, and when he finally looked up, she took his face in her hands. She was looking at a new man and she wasn’t afraid, she pressed her lips and whole body to his, offering herself and drawing him in, coaxing him back to attention shamelessly. Mulder gave in and let her in, setting himself free.

The sun was barely touching the couch when Scully leaned against the armrest again, with her bare feet in Mulder's lap, happy to watch him read the sports section and scratch her ankles absently. They spend so much of their lives running around, that they deserved to do this more often, relax and unwind. Was it the silence, that calmed them down? Discussing cases seemed too much trouble right now, with the sun and a warm hand traveling up and down her calf, the light breakfast they had and fresh coffee that was just right. Something caught Mulder's attention and dropping the newspaper, he reached for the phone. She scooted closer and he looked at her, tapping her cross and smiling into the receiver. Scully rolled her eyes. "Give me the phone," she said, hoping it came out as a whisper. Mulder raised one eyebrow, then laughed at something Maggie said on the other side, looking so happy she could almost hear him. Scully reached for the phone and he handed it over, curious and amused. "Hi mom," she said confidently, as if leaving a message on an answering machine, "I just wanted to tell you, that I'm fine and you don't have to worry, I'm with Mulder, and he's taking good care of me." Arm around her shoulders, Mulder kissed her neck, delighted, Scully stifled a giggle. "I’ll come see you on Sunday, okay? I'll give you Mulder now, love you." He was shaking with laughter.

"I'm sorry about her," Mulder said into the somewhat stunned silence, "she's bossy lately." "I can see that," Maggie joked, "if you get tired of her, just bring her to me." "Oh, I don't think it will come to that," Scully's legs were dangling between his knees again, "but I'll make sure she calls you if anything changes." "Thank you Fox, I'll leave you to it then, take care you two." "We will, bye Mrs Scully." He hung up and leaving the phone on the desk, found a pen and wrote on the margin of the newspaper. 'You're mean.' "I am not," she said leaning against his arm, "it's just we have things to do." Change in the set of his shoulders, a little glance down, she read his body as if she wrote the manual. He might as well ask 'like what?' "Groceries, since we're staying at my place." No reaction at that made her look up, smiling sweetly. "Not that the couch isn't comfortable." She kissed his cheek then caught his earlobe whispering, "I just want more room for us, okay?" Her tone made him shiver and like that, his lips were on hers again, hot and urgent as he drew her closer. Feet digging into the couch, she pulled them down, but then yelped suddenly, laughing and falling limp to the couch. Something rattled and Mulder looked over his shoulder, a picture frame fell down. He brought her foot to his thigh, rubbing the red spot where she hit the metal shelf. Though barefoot, she must have slipped, bracing herself on the armrest. “I’m sorry,” she said pouting. Mulder jerked his chin for her to move up and seconds later, their lips were together again. At first, his kiss was deep and hungry, the kind that makes weak at the knees, dizzy and ecstatic, but when she gasped for air, he slowed down, relaxed. His tongue brushed her parted lips, nibbling kisses softer than marshmallow and ripe peach. Hands weren’t idle, he touched, caressed and squeezed, through fabric and under it, she felt him move, subtle roll of his hips, his weight in her arms, real but not crushing. Kissing Mulder was a full body experience, and she loved how he loved it, she felt it in the bulge in his jeans and the arch of his lips. She could make out with him for hours like this, but eventually they broke apart, sharing a pillow facing each other for a while. His eyes looked greener, unfocused as he traced her features with tips of his fingers, the ridge of her nose, cheekbone, curve of her cheek. Covering his palm, she leaned into it. Something caught Mulder’s eye, the toy ring still on her finger. He didn’t read into it, just let the warmth sink in. Leaving the freckles for another time, he kissed the small beauty mark she usually covered up; she let him before claiming his lips. They let the time flow by aimlessly for a long while.

-----------------

Shopping with Scully was a funny experience. She seemed to know exactly what she wants, how much and where to find it. Mulder was starting to believe she could do it all blindfolded and still find the ripest tomatoes, freshest iceberg lettuce and her favorite brand of croutons. Following her around, pushing the shopping cart, he was also amazed how much foods she needed, given how small she was. Naturally, they were shopping for two, but the sheer variety baffled him. He could tell cucumbers from zucchini just fine, but Scully could pass seven types of tomatoes, that to him looked practically identical, to pick her favorite kind for the specific purpose she planed to use them. "Round one's for sandwiches, oblong for tomato sauce," she explained noticing his amusement. Mulder threw in some apples and picking one, she smelled it discretely before nodded her approval. The butcher knew her on sight and she got the best piece of sirloin and the pinkest chicken breasts he could find. In the tea and coffee aisle, he found her brand of coffee while she tried to decide which kind of green tea she felt like trying this time. He caught up to her and she she offered him the boxes, Mulder sniffed. One smelled like mango the other like medicine, so he playfully knocked the fruit one out of her hand and it landed in the basket, making her laugh. Two bags of microwave popcorn, seeds and M&M's, beer for him, tonic water for her. With Scully still on meds, they skipped wine and cheese, saving it for another day. She picked the yoghurt, he picked frozen waffles, sneaking a can of whipped cream while at it, feeling lucky. Cereal for him, granola for her, and since he loved the fresh backed bagels, he picked a box of that as well. Another carton of eggs and 2 packs of bacon; pasta and cans. Almost done, they stopped by the ice cream, teasing each other with long glances. "Which one do you want?" She asked, linking their arms. Mulder found the chocolate ones. "Okay, those are the ones I like, but what do you want?" He looked at her, lost. Mulder liked ice cream, but he wasn't really particular about it, sweet and cold was usually what he was looking for, he liked vanilla as much as chocolate or a fruit sorbet. Sure, he preferred sweet and sour black currant over fairly subtle pear, or mint and dark chocolate chip over milk chocolate and raisin, but he wasn't snobbish about it. "C'mon, let's go see the weird ones." Scully ordered and pulled him to the far end of the aisle. After classic Ben&Jerry's, Häagen-Dazs and other familiar brands, they found the small parlor kinds. "Look, there's vegan, hand made," she pointed out pint sized cartons, "there's even alcohol flavored ice cream." Pretty sure that vegan wasn't his jam at the moment, he looked at the fun brands. Coffee with bourbon, pecans and whiskey, lemon and vodka, all sounded nice, but he felt like trying something sweeter. Scully was quick to pick hers. "Tofu and almond milk, tangerine cheesecake," she said, taking out a small cup and Mulder rolled his eyes behind her back, glad they had the chocolate as backup. Her choice made his an easy one, salty and sweet, that was his favorite flavor since last night. Arm around her, he reached for his box and showed it to her. "Dark chocolate, whiskey and salted caramel?" With one quirked eyebrow and a teasing smile, she looked the way it sounded and without thinking twice, he leaned in and caught her lips, soft and sweet but all too brief. Scully broke free, but licked her lips, her cheeks touched with pink. "You'll share, right?" She asked hopefully but Mulder pursed his lips, head cocked to one side, thinking about it. “Mulder!” She swatted at his chest and he pushed the cart to the checkout line, laughing under his breath.

The girl ringing in their groceries eyed Mulder greedily as he packed the food into paper bags with admirable speed. It always amused Scully to no end, because he never seemed to notice, be it bored clerk at a gas station or a leggy flight attendant with extra crackers or a coke, free of charge. "What are we doing for lunch?" she asked as he pocketed one of the apples before packing the rest in the bag. They were almost done, the girl scanned the ice cream and said something before he could reply. Mulder reached for his wallet. "Let me." Scully moved to his side and he sighed, stopping her hand, ignoring the line behind them. She looked at him, surprised. "What?" He pointed at her then at himself, and miming eating, showed her three fingers. "So?" she answered, shrugging lightly. He smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead; someone in the line behind them groaned. Scully knew, there was no point in arguing, so she surrendered with a muttered, “fine.” Grinning, Mulder handed her her vegan ice cream and paid for their groceries. They shared the apple on their way to the car.

[poeticsandaliens]

In the morning hour she calls me (post-finale MSR )

This is my take on the post-MS IV canon compliant babyfic. Title is taken from Country Roads (John Denver). Based in part off a post from @foxmulders about Mulder and Scully’s magic teenage son who can explode heads but knows nothing practical about adulting. Tagging @today-in-fic.

Pairing: MSR

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Slowly and strangely, Mulder and Scully reconnect with their son. 

He bought the ring years ago. She saw it tucked away in his underwear drawer, once, during the early days of living with him. Two silver bands twirled around each other in a neverending optical illusion. It had taken her a second to realize what it was, another second to realize what it meant, and a third to remember that no, they weren’t already married. They certainly fucked like newlyweds, on every surface that would hold them and some that wouldn’t. They had cracked every piece of furniture but the coffee table.

She wondered for months if he’d actually do it, drop to one knee and go through the romantic motions. Or if he’d wander into the living room one day, unshaven, hands shoved in his pockets and casually ask her to marry him. The funny thing was, meeting Mulder had solidified her desire never to get married. He was everything she found attractive in a man, and he irritated her endlessly in spite of it (and in hindsight, at least partially because of it). 

He never asked. When she peeled out of the driveway with her life measured in boxes and medical journals, she was glad for it.

They are slurping cheap shaved ice at a roadside shack, indulging the July heat. Scully has one hand wrapped possessively around a cup of mechanical snow and raspberry syrup, the other shoved into her pocket, pressed flat against her stomach in an ongoing attempt to even process the last week’s events. She can still feel her muscles ripple beneath her touch. She wonders what will come first: the vanishing of her taut abdominal muscles or the baby’s fluttering kicks. What will she hear first: a new heartbeat on a sonogram or her son’s heart beating itself back to life on the river bottom, some confirmation he sends her that he is alive and well? She feels it in her gut, but she waits for him to tell her himself.

“Hey Scully,” Mulder’s hand is on her shoulder. “You okay?” 

She nods vacantly. “Thinking,” she replies. About what, she doesn’t have to say. She eyes the grape slush at the bottom of her cup. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah, but first,” he says, almost sheepishly, in his something to say that I want to be a surprise voice that she always indulges. “I was thinking too, about everything that’s happened in the last couple weeks. I mean, Spender’s dead, Monica’s dead, Skinner isn’t out of the woods yet, William…” he trails off. William is—their son is. Mulder rummages around his jeans pocket. “And I realized, why don’t we get married? Not now, exactly, or even at some set date, but sometime.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “Mulder…”

“Scully, will you marry me sometime?”

And there is the ring. The wedding band he saved for over a decade, that Scully had all but forgotten about, in his outstretched palm over the sticky table. His hands have blue syrup on them. Her eyes water. 

“Yees,” she promises. “Sometimes.” She takes his face in her hands and plants one on him, right there between the shake shack and the Taurus. He tastes like blueberries and cheap candy.

That night, between shuddering orgasms and sweet breath and beads of perspiration, they finally break the coffee table. 

                                                 *        *       *       *

Sunrise curls through the window. Her stomach churns at ungodly hours of the morning, so she kneels each dawn before the porcelain god, then compulsively organizes the kitchen. She needs something to do, even more so since Kersh had informed them of their suspension. So she moves the salt shaker three inches to the right to make room for a potted succulent.

Hey, Dana. Nice plant. It’s Willam’s voice. She’s never heard it in person, but God, she’d know it anywhere. That cavalier, undeniably Mulder-ish tone, as if he were a stranger who could waltz into her life without preamble. 

“William…” Her lungs flatten into her ribcage. “Jackson…”

I’m sorry about the whole dying thing, he says carefully. But you understand why I had to do it. They have to believe I’m gone. They have to believe their experiment failed. 

“William—” 

He cuts her off. Do you think you could answer some questions for me?

“William they may claim ownership of you, call you their experiment. But no matter what, you’re still a person. No matter how afraid and bitter I ever sounded. You will always be our son, and you have a place here if you want it.” She sighs through her nose; she hopes he knows what she’s telling him.

Worry about the little one right now. Of course he knows about the baby. For a moment she’s squared up to give him a talking to for being a know-it-all, but he’s such a stranger to her still. She lacks that kind of authority. That thing’s… what, the size of a blueberry? William continues. That’s what you told that Mulder guy. It’s a lot more fragile than I am. I just need to ask you a question. There is an awkward pause. She counts second until finally, William mutters, if I cut the mold off a sandwich, can I still eat it?

She can’t see him, but oh, she sees Mulder’s son. She stifles a weepy laugh. He isn’t making promises, but she chooses to focus on the fact that he hadn’t refused to come home, either. She’ll see him soon—she can feel it written like a prescription in the fiber of her bones.

                                          *       *        *       *

William communicates sporadically, over the next few weeks. She will be swinging on the front porch, as Mulder collects dead branches and hurls them across the property for Daggoo, and William’s voice will slice into her consciousness. Images will flash through her mind, sometimes the mundane and sometimes the extraordinary. One day he asks, What is it called again when you can make an object float? Telepathy or Telekinesis? The next day, can I put this burrito into the microwave with the wrapper on? And so on. What’s an easy way to hide the bullet scar in my head? How do I get coffee stains out of a white t-shirt?

Sometimes, he sticks around in her head long enough for Mulder to notice. He catches that glassy look in her eye, asks her to tell William he loves him, wishes he would come home. She always says the first part, never the second. She understands now, she cannot ask William to simply melt into their family. “He’ll come when he’s ready,” she promises Mulder, curious if William can still hear her.

I don’t feel like a William, he muses one day. That’s what you named me, right? I don’t feel like Jackson either, but I’m not sure if William is what I want to be called forever.

“We can call him Will,” Mulder suggests cautiously, hunched at his desk. He’s taken to inscribing their adventures in brilliant fiction. His reading glasses suit him. 

I’m okay with Will. Like that boy from Pirates of the Caribbean, the one who died and came back. He was pretty cool. Man, I loved those movies as a kid. He’s stopped paying attention to what he relays to her. She enjoys those oblivious moments before their connection is severed. 

                                              *      *      *      *

She lies on their tattered couch, a medical journal propped half-heartedly against her knees. She’d stopped reading awhile ago, when the flopping and fluttering began in her stomach. She’d felt it earlier, tiny jerks of movement from the inside, but nothing like this. This is the most tangible, physical reminder of the impossible baby developing inside her. She has softened, her body less wiry now, but still, she’s hardly showing; only Mulder takes notice, and he’s particularly interested in her breasts. She presses her fingers into the side of her belly and is rewarded with somersaults that make her wonder if the baby that make her think of acrobats in the Cirque de Soleil. She thinks of an old X-file, a town of Floridian sideshow performers. If it seemed odd once, she and her family would fit right into it now.

There’s a knock on the door. Skinner comes first to mind—he is their only contact with the FBI, the only person who knows where they live. She and Mulder aren’t the type to make couple-friends at local restaurants. 

Mulder thumps downstairs to the door. “I’ve got it, Scully. Don’t get up—” his words catch in his throat. 

“Mulder? Who is it?” Scully swings her stiff legs over the couch and moves to join him. She fetches her sidearm from a drawer, just in case. Her heartbeat quickens as infinite possibilities flicker through her head—agents, assassins, aliens, for God’s sake. Even that crosses her mind, if only for a second. 

But oh–there are no thick-coated men in black outside the door but her son. Their son, lanky and shaggy and taller than his father. He wears a denim jacket, ratty black jeans that cling to his legs and a t-shirt with what Scully presumes is a band name plastered across the front in such spectacular lettering she has to squint to make sure they’re letters.  

“Hey, Dana. Mulder. I’m in town for a few days and I thought, maybe I could crash here?” He looks almost guilty, his lower lip sticking out like Mulder’s. She’s struck by his rumpled, rebellious frame and how closely it resembles Mulder in his youth. And if there was ever any doubt who his father his, she can cite the genetic tendency to die dramatically and spring back to life. 

“Of course,” Mulder says and wraps him into a hug, and he lets out a little oof of surprise. He takes it in stride, though, turning to Dana with a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. When she hugs him, her arms fit around his waist and not his shoulders. God, he’s a foot taller than her. 

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “I didn’t want you to.” 

“Come,” Scully says, because she’s not sure what else to say, here on the front porch of their unremarkable house. “Come inside.”

He follows her into the house, glancing around at the creaky furniture, explosions of books and manila folders, and a smile spreads across his face. “This is a cool place.”

“I’ll show you the spare bedroom.” Scully gestures to the stairs. But when she turns around, Will’s eyes are fixed somewhere else. Her breath catches, because there on the desk is the first sonogram of her unborn child. The other physical evidence, paired nicely with the barrage of kicks where her belly pokes almost unnoticeably over her slacks.

“How old is it?” he asks, and there’s an unidentifiable cadence to his voice.

“Thirteen weeks.”

He nods slightly. “You two are cute parents.”

Her heart cracks at the present tense. Are, she thinks, not will be. Are. She remembers that when three days later, he vanishes from their lives once again. 

                                          *        *        *        *

They see him once or twice more in the coming weeks. Scully has learned to recognize the rat-tat-tat of his beater car pulling into the driveway. When he does come back, he often brings some strange, uniquely tourist-y food from wherever he’d last stayed, and they work it into the evening meal. Mulder reminds her that their son has a lot to unpack at his age. 

She gets mental postcards of his life. Breathtaking scenery, shadowy forests backlit by an industrial flashlight, harkening back to her youth. He asks about laundry at first, then about her old cases. Verbally, in immense detail as she’s walking or reading or shopping for a shitty IKEA crib, she gives him the X-files. Every case feels like a pound of weight off her shoulders. She tells them like an epic, passed orally from bard to bard. It is Will’s turn now.

                                            *         *       *        *

Whoever called it a ‘baby bump’ had an extraordinarily easy pregnancy, she muses bitterly. Twenty-three weeks, she was a fuller, freckled, flush-faced painting of herself. A little heavier, probably healthier if she’s not lying. She’d hit twenty-four, like a fucking timer, and done a double take in the bathroom mirror. She looked pregnant—not long gone due-any-day, but undeniably with child, her midsection smooth and rounded out, protruding slightly even beneath her pajama shirt. 

Mulder had looked at her like she’d plucked the sun out of the sky and handed it to him. She had lain in the backyard grass next to him and it felt like they had come out of time. He pressed his hands to the sides of her belly and grinned. He had, in the course of one afternoon, told the baby about Flukeman, Sasquatch, and the Mothmen in vast detail. 

Strolling through the supermarket, she feels exposed, like her life is laid out for the world to see and judge. To line up her crow’s feet with the stretch marks on her stomach. She swears Will wasn’t this big at twenty-four weeks, or perhaps the frame he grew into hadn’t started out as tiny and tightly wound. 

“Did you ever hear the one about the woman who gave birth to a beetle?” the check-out attendant asks her. “When he got older he really bugged her!” The guy belts out a jolly laugh, and if she were anyone else she might take it in stride. 

She purses her lips. It’s not his fault that he hits too close to home. She can’t think about it, or it’ll all consume her again—Pennsylvania fields littered with tiny, mutated bodies, devil-children cremated outside mansions, insects pulled from women’s wombs. Will sliding into the world in some Godforsaken ghost town into the arms of a woman who seventeen years later would inevitably die in vain.

The woman who gave birth to a beetle? He came out of her screaming and wide-eyed and wet, like any other baby but greener than poison. He suckled her breast with pincers. She read it in an X-file, once. 

It’s too much. She presses herself into Mulder later, kisses him hungrily, seeks in him the antithesis to all her anxieties. He takes her from behind because that’s all they can manage now, and she comes so quickly and loudly it’s almost embarrassing. 

                                                    *      *      *       *

Mulder pokes the peak of her belly. A foot pokes back. She indulges him—all smiles and salt-and-pepper stubble, pushing up her t-shirts reverently touching the ponderous curve of her. She remembers his absence seventeen years ago too distinctly. She pretends not to adore the wonder in his eyes. 

The rhythmic puff of a shitty tailpipe rouses them. They know that car. He helps her off the couch in a daze of frantic limbs as they hurry to the door because he’s here, in all of his snarky, ratty adolescent glory. He looks good. He looks genuinely happy, for the first time since they met him. He looks stronger than last they saw.

“Will,” Mulder calls across the driveway because he can’t help himself. Will waves at him with a crooked smile, ambling up to the door. He has a backpack with him, and a box of what appear to be butter croissants. 

“Hi Mulder,” he says as he’s engulfed in a hug. “Hi Dana.” His gaze flicks to her stomach; hi eyebrows shoot up, and does he realize how long he’s been gone? 

She smiles at him. For a brief moment she’s worried she should have more to say, but Will has been a more constant presence in her life than in Mulder’s simply because he can slip in and out of her mind as he pleases. Right now, she’s said enough.

“I need to put these on the table,” he says, holding up the croissants. “They’re to share.”

They sit around the cramped kitchen table. They bustle awkwardly, preparing sandwiches and opening windows to let the evening sunlight in. With it comes a summer warmth, a red glow on the windowsill. “Why don’t we go outside?” Will suggests. Every time he opens his mouth, Scully expects him to tell her how long he’s staying. Or, she expects an apologetic air, to be able to read the conflict in him and know he will leave in a day or two. She hasn’t felt it yet.

Scully nods and moves to get up from the table. Slowly, with a conscious effort she resents. She sways as she stands, her balance off-kilter. It’s been so long since she’s looked like this. It shocks her how unprepared she is for the shift in her center of gravity. These days it feels like her skin his made of leather, her bones of cold ceramic, and before she can reassure her near-grown son, say, “oh this is normal, you know,” Will’s hand shoots out to steady her.

The heartache flares. It should be the other way around. It should be the other way around. She should have been there to hold him up as he tottered. “Dana?” he asks, and his voice is laced with unanswerable questions.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m just not used to this yet.” She smooths her hand over her belly, her palm jumping as the baby’s foot protrudes out one side. She feels Will’s dark eyes on her, suddenly so much younger than the rest of him. Perhaps he thinks of his own birth. She certainly does. She thinks of how Mulder put his hand right there when he kicked, and how painfully long ago it all was.

“Remember,” she tells him, “we can’t be young forever.”

Will looks at the otherworldly shape of its foot, pushing on her like a drumskin. He looks at the sharp lines of her cheekbones undercut by the quiet, tranquil determination in her eyes when she touches the errant limb. He looks at Mulder looking at her, with unadulterated wonder. It slips out of his mouth, clearly unexpected. “Can I feel?” 

Scully is misty-eyed—some combination of hormones and her body awash with history—when she nods. She sways again; it’s all so overwhelming, and Mulder moves behind her, his hand on the small of her back. She takes Will’s callused hand, her eyebrows raised at him to make sure it’s okay, and places it on the hard mound of her belly. 

He grins. “I can feel it move.” A laugh escapes him. She guides him to where the foot pushes out lopsided. He taps it, and it taps back. She flashes back again to Mulder, in the hospital, his palm flat on the skin that enclosed the amoebic creature to become Will.

William is a boy tailed by Death; it clings to his skin like spiderwebs, haunts him wherever he flees to. She hopes Will finds peace here, feeling his sibling move inside her. It is unspeakably weird, all of it, to have the baby she mourned for decades turn up grown before her eyes. In a way, she’d always pictured him outside of time. But neither does he last forever, so here she stands with stubbled spook-writer Mulder, her adult son holding her steady and clinging with one finger to her unborn child. 

She wishes they could hand Will the sun, but all they can hand him is home, whatever that may be.

[atombooks]

Read chapter one of The X-Files Origins: Agent of Chaos by Kami Garcia

This January, Mulder and Scully are back in the The X- Files: Origins, a new YA book series. Read chapter one of Agent of Chaos, by Kami Garcia, which is out now. 

Chapter 1 

Washington, DC March 30, 1979, 3:32 P.M.

Packs of teenagers, pumped for the official start of spring break, rushed past the black sedan parked across from the high school, unaware they were being watched from behind the car’s tinted windows. Jocks wearing Wilson High jerseys carried pretty cheerleaders on their shoulders, enjoying the chance to finally touch some thigh. Other guys horsed around in the road, showing off for girls in tight jeans who pretended not to notice them.

Most of the teens didn’t give the car a second glance. Black vehicles with tinted windows were as common as pigeons in Washington, DC—home base of the Secret Service, the CIA, and the FBI.

The man in the passenger seat scanned the face of every boy jaywalking across the road, searching for one in particular. “No sign of him yet,” he said, directing his comment at the older man behind the wheel.

“A powerful observation, Reginald,” his boss deadpanned. He sounded like somebody’s grandfather, and next to Reggie, he looked like one.

Reggie’s dark brown skin was as smooth as a newborn baby’s, and the short Afro tucked under his tweed newsboy cap only added to his boyish good looks. His bushy black mustache and sophisticated style—like the fitted white shirt, tan suede blazer, and flared black slacks he had on today—kept him from being mistaken for a college kid.

Even if the boss ditched the starched shirt, wide tie, and conservative side part, he couldn’t hide the lines etched into his pale skin like scars, or the worn look behind his cold eyes.

Reggie turned his attention back to the teens. They were still running on adrenaline and the illusion of freedom that youth offered. He watched them with a pang of envy. “It’s like they think nothing can touch them. Remember how that felt?” 

“No. I was never an idiot.” The boss tapped his thumb against the steering wheel without disturbing the funnel of ash on the end of the cigarette in his hand. “People see what they want to see, which is generally nothing important.”

So much for small talk, Reggie thought as he continued to search the horde of kids. “There’s no way we could’ve missed him.”

“Your powers of deduction never disappoint me.” The boss took a drag from the Morley and exhaled slowly.

The cloud of smoke made Reggie’s eyes water, but he ignored it and focused on the funnel of ash, waiting for it to break off.

“The prodigal son appears.” The boss pointed his cigarette across the street at two boys walking down the sidewalk with backpacks slung over their shoulders.

Fox Mulder was a handsome kid—lean like a swimmer, with a look that was the perfect balance between clean-cut and I-don’tgive-a-crap. His dark brown hair hit just past the collar of his striped shirt, and the front was long enough to cover his eyes a little. Girls ate up that kind of thing. Fox stared into space as he shuffled along, holding a crumpled piece of paper.

The other boy was a different story. He was shorter than Fox by a foot, and the kid’s straight blond hair hung in his face, as if he was growing out a bad bowl haircut. His dirt-brown T-shirt featured a faded image of a scene from Star Wars, and his jeans were so long that the frayed bottoms dragged on the sidewalk.

The kid was talking nonstop, gesturing wildly and buzzing around Fox like a housefly. From the look of it, he could use a strip of duct tape to cover his mouth.

Reggie wasn’t a fan of talkers. They were a liability. “Who’s the kid with Bill Mulder’s son?”

“Are you familiar with the concept of research?” The boss finally tapped the cigarette against the edge of the ashtray, and the ash broke off in one piece, as if on command. He crushed the butt and focused his watery-blue eyes on Reggie. “Let me enlighten you. It’s a practice professionals use to obtain information so we don’t have to rely on assumptions.”

Reggie was tempted to fire back with a smart remark of his own, but the boss would make him regret it later. The organization they worked for was built on the backs of men and women with ice running through their veins—individuals willing to do whatever needed to be done, regardless of the cost—and the smoking man next to him was one of them.

“What’s my assignment?” Reggie wanted to get down to business. “Do you want me to collect Bill’s son?”

Collect sounded more civilized than abduct.

“Taking Samantha Mulder was partly insurance to keep her father from talking.” The boss opened a new pack of cigarettes and flicked his wrist, freeing one from the box. “And we all had to make sacrifices. But it would break Bill if we took his son, too, and right now we need him. The Project is at a critical stage that requires people with specific skills, and Bill Mulder is one of them.”

He lit the Morley and continued talking, with the cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth. “So we have to keep an eye on Bill and his son. Follow the boy around and let me know if he does anything interesting. We’re also assessing Fox for potential recruitment.”

Tailing a teenager during spring break was a crap job, but Reggie wasn’t high enough in the food chain yet to complain about it. Instead he asked, “Who the hell names their kid Fox? His parents must hate him.”

“Bill and Teena are too busy hating each other. They were barely speaking when Bill moved out of the house in the fall.” The boss stared out the window, tracking Fox Mulder’s progress down the street. “The timing was perfect, actually. We stepped in and relocated Bill from Martha’s Vineyard to DC so he could work on the Project full-time. Fox came with him.”

“I’m surprised the kid’s mom let him go,” Reggie said. “My aunt and uncle divorced when I was young, and they butted heads about everything.”

“If I gave you the impression that I want to swap childhood memories, let me clarify. I don’t.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, and a new funnel of ash began to form. “Interestingly enough, sending Fox to live with his dad was Teena’s idea.”

“Doesn’t that seem strange?” Reggie asked, ignoring the insult.

“It does.” The boss exhaled, and a ribbon of smoke curled its way toward Reggie, who finally coughed and reached for the window handle. The boss snapped his fingers and pointed at the glass. “It stays up.”

Reggie ignored the burning sensation in his throat. He refused to appear weak in front of a man who had once referred to weakness as a disease during a debriefing. “Do you think Fox’s mom knows something?”

“The jury is still out. But when the verdict comes in, I’ll deal with Teena Mulder personally.” Another trail of smoke snaked from the boss’s chapped lips. “You focus on Fox. Update me directly—and only me.”

“So no reports?”

“Keep them to a minimum. We don’t want to leave any bread crumbs. So from this point on, you no longer have a name. 

“Sign your reports as ‘X.’”

The X-Files Origins: Agent of Chaos, by Kami Garcia is out now.

The X-Files Origins: Devil’s Advocate, by Jonathan Maberry is also available now.