#Manila Wedding Photographer

[belledinglasa]

Guest Photog @ Dex and Ja's Wedding <3

[hereticpriest]

Sriracha

Relationship: Dirk Brûlée x Reader

Warnings: Loss of parents, single mom reader raising her younger brother, rough sex, sex toys, sybian, vaginal fingering, oral sex, barely-there handjob, bad flirting, bad puns.

Once upon a time, if someone told you you would be going to a taping of Everything At Once, you would have laughed at them. A variety-talk show hybrid aimed at children wasn't something you ever thought you would be interested in. Once upon a time, you had your whole life together and spread out in front of you, ripe for the taking. You were enrolled in university, living in a decent apartment, with a stable boyfriend and a steady side job to support you. You spoke with your parents every few days, and had just attended your mother's wedding to your stepfather, with whom you had a decent relationship. She had you as a teenager, and the split with your father broke her heart, but your stepfather was a nice guy who brought some stability to her life. She gave birth to your new little brother shortly into your first year at university, and you loved to visit him whenever you could.

Now, you were a single mother to your younger brother, struggling to balance your responsibilities as a mother, father and sister with duties at work. Thankfully, you had a decent job as a PA for an art gallery owner who was also letting you intern with his art curator whenever you finished your work. Having an educated PA was a bonus that he wasn't about to let go of, and he paid well because you were loyal, and reliable, and probably at least a little bit because he pitied you. But you weren't above pity money - you needed it to take care of your little monster.

Your boss was also the only reason you managed to get these tickets and secure your place as 'best mom ever'. Being called mom wasn’t what you expected from the birth of your little brother, however, your parents passed away in a tragic accident when your brother was only four, and he barely remembered them. You were Mom more than you were his sister, and you’d learned to accept that over the last three years. Sean was a rambunctious seven year old, and like many kids his age, he was absolutely obsessed with Everything At Once. Your boss had connections with some of the crew of the show, and he was able to secure you tickets as a birthday gift.

"Not a good birthday gift for you, I suppose, but I know Sean is your world so hopefully it will suit." He’d said as he handed the tickets to you.

He knew you so well.

Which led you here, standing in the back of the studio with the other parents while Sean was led up into the audience by a friendly-looking young PA. Your baby was vibrating out of his light-up sneakers, and you couldn't stop smiling, happy to see him so excited. He'd insisted on dressing up like his idol, so he was wearing his most colourful clothes - a highlighter pink shirt and lavender pants, paired with his trusty light-up shoes. He had his Dirk Brûlée shirt stuffed into your purse so that he could see if he could get it signed after the taping, and a rather stunning photograph of the talk show host that you’d printed on expensive photo paper protected within a manila envelope. You had to promise to frame it in order for Sean to let you hold onto it during the taping.

Unlike your brother, you chose to wear a baby blue midi sundress with corset boning in the bodice, puffy sleeves, a tulle skirt, and a lovely neckline that enhanced your chest. It’s all very appropriate despite the attractive bodice, and paired with cute wedge sandals, it gives you a youthful and charming look. Despite not being on TV, you put on makeup and styled your hair to make sure you would look good since you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of anyone. You wanted to dress your age, while still looking like an adult, and you never got to wear this kind of clothing at work since they had a strict business casual-adjacent dress code at the gallery. This dress would never fly without a blazer, and a blazer would be uncomfortable with the sleeves.

"God, she's young isn't she?"

"Gotta be a teen mom. She looks like she's barely out of high school. If she even graduated.”

You frown. You'd think by now you would be used to how catty other parents could be, but somehow, you still let it get to you. The judgement. As if they knew anything about you. A deep, centering breath brings you back to the present - Sean is happy, and their words don't matter. Instead, you focus on your sweet little brother, the most important (and only) man in your life. The hype guy is riling up the kids, bouncing around with an excitement you wish you could muster but have been struggling to manage with the extra hours you've been taking on. By the time you go to bed every night, you’re exhausted, passing out in bed the minute your head hits the pillow.

Thank god for your friends, all of whom act as amazing aunts and uncles for Sean. Your oldest friend, Nadia, has a son only a year younger than Sean, and they're thicker than thieves so they hang out often. Nadia picks the boys up from school every night, and watches Sean until you get home from work just after 5. After work, you make dinner nearly every night, then take a shower while Sean finishes his homework that he started at Nadia’s. Together, you watch the newest episode of Everything At Once on the PVR since Nadia doesn’t believe in letting the kiddos watch TV, and it’s a nice little hour of cuddle time that forces you to relax on the couch. Once that’s done, you both clean up - Sean cleans the living room and his bedroom while you clean the kitchen and whatever else needs to be tidied. Cleaning up throughout the week gives you the chance to spend weekends with Sean, with only very rare Saturday evenings reserved for gallery events.

You’ve committed to driving him to school every day on your way to work, and you’ve never missed a day except when you’re sick as a dog. You give Sean every moment of your time that you can, leaving very little for yourself, and you’re starting to feel the burn out. You haven’t had a real break since the death of your parents, and at this point, you couldn’t afford one any time soon either. Your friends would take Sean if you needed them to, but you feel guilty not spending time with him when you have it. Perhaps sometime soon, it wouldn’t feel like a failure to take more than a night or two to yourself. Even tonight, you have your friend Garrett and his wife Kimmie picking Sean up from the studio to go to their house for the weekend for their son’s birthday celebration, giving you a weekend to yourself for the first time in ages, and you feel guilty.

A PA informs the parents that Dirk is about to come out, and you snap out of the deep well of your thoughts, brightening up at the sight of Sean’s excited little foot taps. The theme music kicks in, and Dirk Brûlée swings out through the glitzy, colourful streamers to the raucous applause of the kids. You smile fondly as he passes out high-fives and fist bumps, and you can see the brilliant smile that spreads across Sean’s face as he gets one of his own. Your heart melts, and everything you’ve ever missed out on for him is worth it just to see him this happy.

Dirk greets a couple more kids, then ruffles Sean’s hair as he passes him towards his chair, and the show begins. The first guests are always there for an experimental, goofy skit-like interview - today being the stars of a popular children’s show that you vaguely recognize as something Sean watched when he was younger. The interview plays into the stars’ characters, with humorous nods towards the adults in the crowd with vague jokes that would go over a child’s head. This is followed by Dirk’s typical dance break, in which he introduces the musical guest, then hypes the kids up and dances with them to the musical guest’s set. You laugh as Sean gets his turn, and spins Dirk the way he normally would spin you when you two dance together, and you can’t help but feel some warm bubblies towards Dirk for the way he goes along with it seamlessly. It’s sweet that he seems to genuinely enjoy the children - there’s a sparkle in his eye that you recognize as sincerity. It’s such a rare thing to see, and despite hearing rumours that Dirk is a giant diva, you decide that you like him just for the way he interacts with the kids.

Once the dance break is over, Dirk welcomes the musical guest on stage for an interview, and you’re impressed that he was able to get a popular up-and-coming boyband. His accent is softer after years spent away from his home country, but you can hear it in his ‘r’s and the way he pronounces words with ‘th’ sounds. You don’t know much about Dirk, but you know his mother is a famous French actress and his father was a Hollywood director. Maybe growing up in the industry is what made him such a natural interviewer. The conversation flows easily, with Dirk asking surprisingly poignant questions for a show with a primarily child audience. He strikes an easy balance between fun and serious, keeping the kids engaged while also managing to keep his guests entertained as well. After the musical guest, the last guest is introduced with a scene from an upcoming kids’ movie, and you smile as Dirk begins a rambunctious interview with an actor you think you know, but can’t quite place from where. The show ends with another little dance party, after which Dirk promises to meet all the kids and answer questions after a quick break.

Sean nearly knocks you off your feet when he runs to you, and you lift him up into your arms as you watch Dirk walk backstage over his shoulder. The moms who were talking shit earlier greet their kids - a blond little girl with a very cute bow and seemingly endless pout, and a dark-haired boy who looks like he fell out of a bland ‘aesthetic’ home magazine photo. The poor kid looks uncomfortable in his khakis and polo shirt - Sean would scream if you tried to put him in an outfit like that. The judgemental stares don’t bother you too much now that you’ve got Sean to distract you. So long as he doesn’t notice, you couldn’t care less what they think of you. You pause to chat with a couple while Sean shows their daughter his robot book (which he refuses to leave home without), then spend the last couple minutes of the break fending off a (hopefully?) single dad who doesn’t seem to understand that you’re not interested. Finally, Dirk emerges from the back area looking refreshed, and an assistant corrals the kids and their parents into a line for the meet and greet. You end up at the back of the line due to Sean having one of his shoes untied which you make him fix, but you remind the pouting kiddo that Dirk promised he would meet every kid, so it doesn’t matter where in the line he is.

Sean has never been quite good at being patient, but he dutifully tries his best, clinging to your hand while you wait. You smile as one of the dads seems to flirt with Dirk, indiscreetly giving him his phone number, his daughter oblivious as she clings to her father’s pant leg. Dirk handles it pretty smoothly, waiting until the man is out of view before giving the phone number to a PA to get rid of it. Another PA leads those who’ve finished their meet-and-greet towards the door to leave, and you watch absently as the room slowly empties as you get closer to the end of the line.

Sean rocks on his heels as you get closer to the end of the line, and you feel a little bad for Dirk as one of the moms from earlier tries to flirt with him while he does his best to distance himself while still being kind about it. It reminds you of all the men who flirt with you at the gallery, as if your job requiring you to be nice to them means that you’ll somehow be more inclined to let them take you out. You wonder for a moment how often this happens to him, and if he ever takes anyone up on it. He’s a handsome man - you don’t blame anyone for being interested in him. Even his obnoxious moustache doesn’t take away from his gorgeous face. He’s probably nearly double your age, but you wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers, as they say. Not that you needed the complication of a relationship on top of your seemingly endless pile of responsibilities.

Dirk’s in it for the kids, you realise as you watch him interact with them. He’s polite enough to the adults, but he lights up when he speaks with the children, genuinely interested in what they have to say. It isn’t in a creepy way either - it reminds you more of that feeling of meeting someone who you instantly connect and have something in common with. You wonder if perhaps the honesty of children resonates with him like it does for you. They hold nothing back, and when you treat them with respect and listen to what they have to say, they really blossom into something special. You can’t believe the amount of personality Sean has, and he’s only seven.

The line dwindles, and you begin to worry as you notice how long it’s taking. Perhaps, by the time it gets to Sean, Dirk might be tired of meet-and-greets and might rush things. Maybe you should’ve let him tie his shoes in line? You end up panicking for nothing - as the family before you departs, Dirk offers Sean a wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle charmingly.

“Hey! Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” Dirk asks, and Sean introduces himself eagerly.

“I’m Sean, and this is my mom- uh, sister. You can call her Mom - I do.” He informs Dirk with a blinding grin. Your cheeks get hot, and you pet Sean’s hair back out of his face.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You murmur, giving him your name and letting him know that he very much does not need to call you Mom. You direct it at Sean just as much as Dirk, and the older man grins, taking your offered hand to kiss your knuckles instead of shake it. You swear his gaze runs quickly up and down your body, but the second you notice it, he looks away. He immediately directs his attention back to Sean, and you listen happily as your brother yaks the poor man’s ear off, telling him all about his robot book, how he picked his outfit especially to look like Dirk, and how he watched the show every day with you. The talk show host compliments his outfit and light-up sneakers, flipping through his book and commenting on a couple things, and you can see the way Sean thrives under the attention of the older man. Part of you laments the fact that you can’t give that same energy to him that he clearly craves.

Dirk offers to sign autographs and take photos, and you take several pictures of the two together before Dirk asks his PA to take a photo of the three of you. “Since you’re a fan too.” he claims, winking at you over Sean’s head as you approach. Your cheeks burn as he slides an arm around your waist even though it remains entirely appropriate. As you step away from him, you can still feel his heat against your side, and you wonder how he isn’t sweating his ass off in that leather jacket. Sean hands over his photo and shirt for Dirk to sign, which he does with a wide smile, his signature big and dramatic for the kids, and in a cherry red marker. You’re impressed with how quick he is while still keeping it legible.

“Vic, can you take Sean here to the prize room? Let him pick something special out, since he’s my last kiddo of the day.” Dirk instructs his PA, who seems surprised but happy enough to comply. Sean practically bounces out of his shoes as he grabs the young PA’s hand and follows her out of the room.

“Thank you for that. He… he really looks up to you.” You say as you’re left alone with the talk show host since security waits outside the room for the kids’ comfort. You don’t feel nervous being alone with him, even though normally you don’t particularly enjoy being alone with men.

“He looked like he needed it. So do you.” Dirk replies simply, shrugging and offering you a wry smile, “He’s a good kid.”

“He is. I never expected him, but he’s my entire world.”

“Unplanned pregnancy?” Dirk asks, but you can see from the look on his face that he’s only asking to coax the truth out of you - he doesn’t think Sean is yours. He didn’t miss the slip in your introduction. From the expression on his face, he’s not even trying to be subtle about it really.

“No, no, he’s my little half-brother. Our mom and his dad passed away in an accident when he was four. I was just out of uni, so I got custody of him. He doesn’t really remember them, so he calls me mom.” You reply, giving him the truth since he obviously wanted it, and not feeling guilty for putting that stricken look of sympathy on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Dirk murmurs earnestly, and you shrug your shoulders, managing a gentle smile.

“It’s okay. We’re doing okay. But this - today - really helps. He adores you. You give him a lot of confidence in his self-expression, and… I mean, I’m not naive, I know people talk about us. I know he knows, and I know he hears it sometimes. But you give him the confidence to brush it off most of the time, you know? I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Dirk takes a breath, shocked and touched, and you nearly jump out of your skin as he puts a hand on your arm.

“I think you’re discounting your own role in that.” He says gently, “it must be hard, becoming a mom right out of university. You’re only, what, 25 or 26?”

“Twenty-five.” You agree, and he nods. You watch his gaze trail over you again quickly, and you raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem as uncomfortable as he did with the other parents, though you’ve no idea why. You have no idea why he’s still talking to you. You expected him to maybe say hi and then go off to his dressing room or trailer. He was here for the kids, not the parents. He wasn’t here for you.

“Hey, gimme your phone for a sec.” Dirk instructs without room for negotiation, and you do it without thinking. He holds it up to you for Face ID to unlock it, then taps away while you try to scoot closer and peer at it.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending myself the photos we took today.” Dirk replies airily, smiling in a way that almost looks like he’s posing, then going back to typing.

“Oh… I can delete your number afterwards, don’t worry.” You reassure him.

“I’m not worried. Text me. I’d like to see you again.”

That makes you freeze, and you tilt your head, surprised.

“Sean, you mean?”

“No, you. It’s unfortunate that you’ve got the kid right now. I would’ve loved to make you my weekend plans.” Dirk muses with a hint of a pout, shameless as can be, while you stare at him in shock. He raises an eyebrow at your expression, a smug smile spreading across his lips as you do your best to catch up. Do you want to sleep with Dirk Brûlée? That’s what he’s asking for, right? He wants to fuck you, and he gave you his number (and took yours in return) to get a chance at something in the future. Are you really going to sleep with a talk show host who is likely nearly double your age and has a reputation as a diva? Then again, he doesn’t have a reputation for fucking around - not since he went to rehab some five or so years ago after a string of ill-advised flings and bad publicity.

“Sean is getting picked up from the studio to go to his friend’s house for their birthday sleepover.” You reply in a rush of breath, then blink in astonishment as if you hadn’t realised what you were saying. Dirk steps closer to you, skimming his hand up over your arm, his eyes darkening as he cups your cheek with his other hand.

“Come over to my place tonight. Stay the night. I’ll make you breakfast.” he demands, tipping your head back a little, his thumb stroking over your lips and down your throat. You choke on your own spit, eyes wide with shock at the way he’s touching you.

“I don’t have any clothes with me except what I’m wearing.”

“I’ll loan you something, pretty girl. How long has it been since you’ve had a break?” Dirk asks, and that makes you pause. He’s a high profile - it’s not like he’s going to kill you, probably. People saw you here, and you’ve got your location shared with Nadia at all times just in case. And honestly, you’ve got pretty good danger sense by now and you don’t get any bad vibes from the talk show host currently rubbing your hands in a tease of a massage, his thumbs skillfully digging into the meat of your palm in a way that makes you shiver. There’s a sincerity in his eyes. A desire that makes you think he might need this nearly as badly as you do.

“I drove here.” You inform him, and he hums, unworried.

“I assumed. Drive to my place. There’s plenty of room to park, and you’ll have the freedom to leave whenever you want. Have you eaten anything today? I can make dinner.” Dirk ends his stream of consciousness with an almost shy smile, and you feel your cheeks get hot at the intensity of his stare.

“Okay.” You finally reply, hesitantly lifting your hands to cup his cheeks, a twinge of heat licking up your spine when he leans into it, “Kiss me first.”

Surprisingly strong hands pull you in close, and you let yourself be drawn in, sliding your hands back in his hair and down over his shoulders as he leans in to press his lips against yours. He does not lure you into it - he doesn’t start sweet and gentle, or chaste and dry. Instead, he devours you, biting your lip and using your gasp to lick his way into your mouth. You thought his moustache would be ticklish, or at least feel unpleasant, but it doesn’t. He clearly grooms it well, and it isn’t scratchy against your skin. He moans into the kiss, adjusting to nip at you gently, sucking your lower lip into his mouth to scrape his teeth across it before kissing you properly again.

You hear footsteps approaching, gentle clicks of heels that make you gasp and pull away from Dirk with wide eyes. He grins as you hurry to wipe away the remnants of your lipstick from his face, then fix his hair to look less like you’ve been combing your fingers through it while he kisses you good enough to forget your own name. He rubs away a spot of smeared lipstick from your chin, then steps away a comfortable distance to flick through his phone as the PA from earlier, Vic, opens the door with Sean at her side blabbering away. He beams at the sight of you, holding a poster and a copy of the children’s book that Dirk wrote earlier this year. The man in question dutifully signs both for Sean, ruffling his hair while you try to collect yourself and thank Vic for taking care of your little monster.

Your phone buzzes, and you let out a soft sigh of relief, “Garrett and Kimmie are here, buddy, c’mon.”

Sean cheers, then shyly asks Dirk for a hug before he goes. You can’t help but melt a little as Dirk gives Sean a squeeze, then tells him to be good at the party. He catches your eyes, winking, then pats Sean on the shoulder as he says goodbye and departs for his dressing room. Vic leads you both out of the building, and you ask Sean if he wants to keep his merch to show his friend, or for you to take it home. The mental debate takes a while, but eventually, he gives it all to you to put in your car, just in case.

“You promised to frame stuff.” He reminds you, and you laugh.

“I did. I’ll get it done soon, I promise.”

Garrett and Kimmie meet you out front, and you help Sean into the car, putting his backpack at his feet so you can give him a couple of kisses and hugs. CJ, the birthday boy, complains until you walk around the car precariously close to the busy street to give him a hug as well, and then they’re off, leaving you alone. Once upon a time, you were very used to being alone, but now? Now, it felt empty. Maybe it was a good thing you’ve been picked up by the wild tv show host. You’re sure you’d go mad on your own all weekend.

You head to your car in the small parking area for audience members, putting Sean’s things into the back seat. As you settle into the driver’s seat and examine yourself in the mirror, you realise that your lipstick is basically gone, and you hope Sean was too excited about the day to notice. Your phone buzzes, and you find Dirk’s face looking back at you in his contact photo.

Address attached. Txt me when u get here n I’ll open the gate.

A pause, and then another message comes through.

The pool n hot tub r nice today. I’ll give u sumthin to swim in. If u want? Can u swim? R u allergic 2 anything? Do u like Thai food?

Well, he texts pretty much exactly how you figured he would. Somehow, it isn’t the turn off you thought it might be.

I can swim. It might be nice since it’s hot out today. Maybe I should go home first and get clothes? Are you even going to be there if I leave right away? I don’t have any allergies, and I like pretty much everything.

Already omw home. Driver. Up to u but I wanna see u in my clothes.

Okay, see you soon.

The drive to Dirk’s house isn’t too terrible, even with a bit of traffic. You start to get excited on the drive, as nervous as you are, to finally relax a little and do something for yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the chance to let loose. You haven’t been on a date since your parents passed away, and you’ve only had a single one night stand since then. The most romantic relationship you’ve had has been with your vibrator. Based on the kisses he gave you earlier, you’re fairly sure Dirk will be able to give you a good night. If he doesn’t, at least you’ll get to lounge in his hot tub, sleep in what you imagine is a lavish bed, and maybe he’ll even feed you. Worst case scenario, you’re plenty good at getting yourself off.

Dirk Brûlée’s house is stunning. You’re not necessarily surprised - his vibrant aesthetic wasn’t necessarily what was popular these days, but it was something you saw often in the art community, and it worked for him. The house is an off-white brick with flowers and vines painted across it. The door is a large, old wooden thing that reminds you of a castle, as do the stained glass windows. The path up to the door is made of painted stones, and vibrant flowers line the flowerbeds along the sides of the path and the side of the house. You can’t wait to see the inside.

Your house is beautiful. I’m outside.

You pop a stick of gum into your mouth just to make sure your breath is fresh despite the fact that you’ve already made out with Dirk less than an hour ago. You grin when the gate begins to open, and you pull into the driveway to park. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at it as you turn your car off, your cheeks getting hot as you see the message.

Can’t wait 2 c u. I wanna take care of u n make u feel good, mon chou.

As you’re getting out of the car, you hear the front door open and nearly trip over your own feet when you see Dirk. He’s changed since he got home. He’s replaced his vibrant outfit with a pair of jeans that look painted on and a colourful apron with ‘Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo Mike Echo’ on the front. You snicker despite how cheesy it is, though you’re distracted when you realise he isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. As soon as you’re close enough, he pulls you into a kiss that has you clinging to the straps of his apron and trying to tuck your gum into your cheek. He leads you inside despite your distracted state, relieving you of your purse and setting it on the table in the front entrance. Your arms slip around his neck, trusting him to hold your weight while you carefully toe off your heels and tuck them out of the way. You only break the kiss when you smell what he’s cooking, and he mouths along your jaw and neck as you breathe in.

“God, what is that?”

“Mm, I’m making Thai lettuce wraps and fish tacos. Shouldn’t be long before it’s done.” He replies against your throat, the depth of his voice vibrating through you.

“God, that sounds delicious.” You murmur, tangling your fingers in his hair and hissing as Dirk sinks his teeth into the meat of your breast, “Ow! If you’re that hungry, I have something else you can eat, baby.”

Dirk laughs at your cheesy come-on and playfully sultry tone, nipping your chin, then kissing you properly while he backs you through the house towards the kitchen. You’d love to get a good view of Dirk's gorgeous home, but you’re far too distracted by the way this stupidly hot older man is licking his way into your pliant mouth while his hands smooth down your back to grab handfuls of your ass. When you part for breath, Dirk grins as he starts to chew, and that's when you realise that he stole your gum. With any other guy, it would probably be not just weird, but gross. You know it’s gross. And yet, something about it makes your cunt throb, and you tug on his hair as punishment for his thievery.

“Sugar, if you wanted gum, you could’ve asked.” You croon at him, and he laughs then blows a bubble. You bite it to pop it, taking the gum from him and dropping it in the garbage can at the end of the island in Dirk’s stupidly pretty kitchen. You finally get a good look at the interior of the house, and you’re not surprised to find it colourful, but you’re impressed by how cohesive it is. The blend of complementary colours in the open concept kitchen, dining room and living room make each room’s most impressive features pop. In the kitchen, vintage appliances in mint green and hand-painted tiles. In the living room, a mismatch of comfortable furniture including a royal purple chaise lounge and a phthalo green cabriole sofa. Last but certainly not least, in the dining room, a china cabinet full of what looks like uranium glass pieces that you definitely want to get a closer look at.

“Ma déesse.” Dirk murmurs against your ear, and you hum inquisitively, not understanding him but recognizing at least that ‘ma’ is a possessive and that means he’s probably talking to or about you. He nibbles at your ear, then finally breaks away from you, “Je dois finir de cuisiner.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, honey, but you can keep talking all you like.” You reply simply, drawing another chuckle from Dirk as he finally gets back to cooking. You leave him to it, venturing into the dining room to peer at his uranium glass collection. It’s all well-maintained and unscratched, so you think it’s probably safe to be around, especially behind the thick glass of the china cabinet. It truly doesn’t take much longer for dinner to be ready, and you hum with excitement when Dirk calls for you, practically prancing up behind him and putting your arms around his waist. He sighs blissfully as you nuzzle your cheek against his back, stopping in place to enjoy the feeling, and you feel a twinge in your heart as you realise that despite being a tv show host and a relatively high profile person, he doesn’t have a lot of contact that he wants. You think back to today when that one mom kept touching his arm, and how you’d sympathised with him due to your own experiences with being harassed by overeager buyers at the gallery. Breathing in the scent of his cologne, you nip at the bare curve of his shoulder blade, sliding your hands under the apron to stroke his stomach.

“Mmm, thanks for cooking, handsome. How can I possibly repay you?” You coo teasingly, playing with his treasure trail, and he practically purrs as he leans into your touch.

“Plus-tard, tu peux sucer ma bite. Nous devons d'abord manger.” He murmurs, twisting in your arms and gripping the back of your neck, tilting your head back for a proper kiss.

“Mmm, uh huh, whatever you say.” You reply against his lips between kisses, draping your arms around his neck and laughing as he blows a raspberry against your mouth. You slap at his chest in an attempt at getting away from the strong grasp he has on you. He turns you around and slaps you on the ass, then turns back to keep plating your meal.

“Go sit down. Island or dining room, whatever tickles your fancy. What do you want to drink? I have pomegranate juice, orange juice, Sprite, Dr. Pepper and… I think I have Coke? Somewhere?” Dirk bends to peer into his fridge, and you watch with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, examining the plentiful curve of his ass.

“Oh, you should definitely keep looking for that Coke.” You reply playfully, and Dirk snorts, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Should I? Is that what you want to drink?”

“Mhmm, yeah, haven’t had a Coke in like six years but it is DEFINITELY what I want to drink today if it keeps you bent over.”

That earns you a genuine laugh, the pleasantly baffled sort that says he’s not quite sure how he got you to himself. You giggle as he bends over a little further, back arched dramatically just for the laughs it earns him. He gives a loud ‘Aha!’ as he straightens up with a bottle of Coke in hand, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Now you’ve gotta drink it.”

“Ohh, woe is me.”

“Find a seat, ma chérie, or you’ll never get what you’re so clearly gagging for.” Dirk retorts, and you feel your cheeks get hot even as you pull one of the low-backed stools at the island out. He sets a plate in front of you, followed by the bottle of Coke, then pecks your cheek as he rounds the island to take his own seat.

“God, this looks so good. If you want me to make you breakfast in return, I definitely can.” You offer, but Dirk shrugs, reaching across to squeeze your thigh under the skirt of your dress. You moan around a bite of a Thai lettuce wrap, eyes rolling back in your head at the savoury bite of the peanut sauce.

“I like taking care of you.” He replies simply, then folds the little soft shell tortilla of his fish taco and takes a massive bite. You snicker, reaching across to wipe sauce off of the corner of his mouth and laughing as he licks it off your fingertips. Dinner is a relaxing affair, with you both mostly just devouring your food and occasionally feeding each other. Which generally ends in giggling and having to clean each other up when you accidentally smush sauce on each other’s faces, but you don’t mind. The food is delicious, and you’re fairly sure that even if he sucks in bed, you’d probably stick around for a round 2 just to get more food and the chance to keep giggling with him. You haven’t had this good of a time in years.

Once you’re done with eating, you collect your plates and bring them over to put them in the dishwasher as instructed. You yelp as Dirk steps up behind you, slipping his arms around you to cup just under your breasts, lifting them so he can cup them in his palms. He bites gently along the curve of your neck, pressing his hips into your butt so you can feel his growing erection. A grin stretches across your lips, and you bend at the waist so you can put the dishes into the dishwasher, laughing at the soft groan Dirk lets out as he strokes his hands up and down the curve of your back.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Dirk mutters, and you give a little wiggle of your hips, then straighten up and lean back into his chest.

“You’re so fucking easy.” You retort, and he snorts, sliding his hands around to squeeze your tits again.

“For you? Hell yeah, baby.” He retorts, kissing along your shoulder as he gently squeezes and massages your chest. A breathy moan escapes your lips, and you lean back into his chest firmly, letting him hold your weight as he rolls his thumbs over your nipples through the fabric of your dress and bra. Dirk whispers in french against your ear, but you can barely pick up the words, far too keyed up to focus on anything but the feeling of his big hands squeezing your chest. You reach behind you to clutch at his hair and Dirk groans softly against your ear, peppering kisses across your cheek. He spins you in his arms, laughing as you instantly pull the neck of the apron over his head, tossing it to the side so you can get your hands on his bare skin.

"Have you stretched today?" Dirk asks while stroking your sides, grabbing handfuls of your hips and squeezing. You moan quietly, running your open hands over his chest so you can feel the tickle of his chest hair against your palms.

"Uh..." Your cheeks grow hot, and you feel stupid, but can't help yourself but ask, "Do you mean my-"

Dirk interrupts you with a laugh, kissing you softly as he nuzzles his nose against yours in a surprisingly affectionate manner, "No, mon trésor, your pretty body. These incredible legs."

You gasp as he pulls one of your legs up to his hip, squeezing your thigh hard enough to almost hurt in a delicious way that sends sparks up your spine. You're already wet and he's barely even touched you.

"Uhm, I did yoga during my lunch break." You mumble, "for like, fifteen minutes."

Another laugh, and Dirk kisses you again, hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting you up onto his hips. You cling to his back as he carries you further into his house. You pass a simple bathroom that seems to have mosaics in tile across the floors and walls in the brief glance you get, then a series of photographs and accolades in the stairwell up to the second floor. Dirk pauses by a dark room that seems to be relatively empty, before humming to himself in a way that you read as ‘maybe later’ before he continues on past another bathroom and what looks like two guest bedrooms. An office is next, and then he’s kicking open the door to the master bedroom. This room seems to be the most normal in the house, though it is no less artistic. There’s a huge stained glass window and door that leads to a balcony with gold leafing on the metal. The California king-sized bed is pushed into an arch-shaped alcove in the wall, piled high with blankets, and resting on a plush carpet that you’re sure would feel like silk under your toes. The walls are aegean blue and covered with large, extremely intricate gold mandalas that you can’t help but stare at even as Dirk works a lovebite into the delicate skin of your throat.

“Your bedroom is beautiful.” You mumble, and he hums what may have been a thank you as you stroke his hair. There’s a large walnut vanity against the opposite wall of the bed, though the spot across from the end of the bed is taken up by what absolutely must be a custom mirror considering the size of it and the intricacy of the gold-leafed frame. There’s a door next to the vanity that leads to what looks like a massive bathroom, and the closet has double doors, so you assume it’s a walk-in. Dirk carries you over to the bed and lays you back on his navy sheets, crawling over you as he kisses down the centre of your chest.

“Can I take your dress off?” He asks, and you groan softly, trying to remember what underwear you wore today. A lick to the top of your breast wipes that thought from your mind, and you nod quickly, breath stuttering in your throat. Dirk loosens the corset bodice with clever fingers, nuzzling his nose and tickly moustache against the skin between your breasts. You lift your hips as he pulls the dress up to your waist, then let him support the arch of your back as he tugs it over your head, and your cheeks get hot as you realise what you’re wearing underneath. Dirk freezes, licking his lips, and you groan softly with embarrassment.

Large hands skillfully unclip your cow-print bra, and you let out a ragged gasp as Dirk bites the curve of your breast as he removes it. You almost think he’s going to let you get away with it until he rolls his tongue over your nipple, gives it a quick suck, then pouts up at you as he rests his chin against your chest.

“Aww, I thought I’d get a little milk for my efforts.” he teases, and you bat at him.

“It’s my laundry day! You try having a fucking seven year old!” You complain, cheeks on fire.

“Non, non, ne vous méprenez pas. J'aime votre lingerie.” Dirk insists, and you scowl at him until he realises his use of his native tongue, “Don’t misunderstand me. I love your underwear, my sweet girl. Especially these.”

You gasp as he tugs on the front of the novelty thong you’re wearing, a white strip of a thing with ‘I love cock sauce’ written on the front. His grin makes you want to slap him, but you refrain, just barely. You’re tempted to make excuses and tell him that it was novelty underwear that came in a box of extra hot hot sauce, but you decide against it.

“And here I thought you’d be more interested in what’s beneath it.” You purr, pushing him back a little so he can watch as you pull your thong aside, rub your fingers through the wet mess of your cunt, then slide one finger inside of yourself. Dirk groans lowly, stroking your thighs as he watches, his pupils blown with desire. You smirk at him as you add a second finger on your next thrust, and finally, Dirk snaps out of his awed surveillance. He leans down to kiss along your stomach, using his knees to spread your legs wider while slapping your hand away, then cupping your cunt in his palm.

“How much do you care for that thong?” Dirk asks quietly, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t.”

“Fantastique.” He replies, gripping the fabric in one hand and ripping it off of you, “I’ll give you some of mine instead.”

You stare at him with an open mouth, not your most attractive look, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He cups you again, leaning down to trail his lips across your chest, swirling his tongue around your nipples as he sucks first one, and then the other into his mouth.

“Your moustache tickles.” You mumble and he laughs quietly against your skin, “S’kinda nice.”

“I’m glad you like it, chérie. Let me know how it feels on your pretty cunt, oui?” He coos playfully, kissing his way down your stomach. He leans up for a moment to say ‘Alexa, play red playlist’ before dipping back down to swirl his tongue in your belly button in a way that makes you yelp and laugh. Music fills the room at just the right volume, and you run your fingers through Dirk’s caramel hair as the low instrumentals fill the room. You’re surprised to find the vibes just right - not too serious, not the bassy kind of shit that acts more as a pace-guide than anything else, and nothing loud enough to take you out of the moment. It takes Dirk a second to get settled between your legs, and you feel your cunt throb as you just barely hear him mumbling to himself over the music.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m introducing myself to your pretty little pussy, ma déesse. Telling her how pretty she is. How much I’m going to love on her.” Dirk replies, “I’ll make you feel so good, princesse. Tu me rends fou - fuck, so fucking stunning.”

You cover your face, whining softly as he finally leans in to kiss your clit, gentle as can be. His moustache tickles, and you start to close your legs, but he gives your thigh a sharp slap.

“Open, baby. Let me lick your pretty little pussy. She’s so lonely.” Dirk coos, pouting sympathetically up at you, then running the flat of his tongue across the length of your cunt. You arch off the bed, and he puts an arm over your stomach to hold you still as he laps up the honey dripping from you.

“God, Dirk, Jesus!” You gasp, and he snickers.

“Calling out to all of your deities, princesse?” he teases, closing his lips around your labia and sucking gently to love on all of you. He’s sloppy at first, intentionally so, warming you up with wide laps of the flat of his tongue, then fucking his tongue into your clenching heat while you gasp and yank on his hair. He doesn’t seem bothered at all by how rough you are with him, humming happily as he closes his lips around your clit and you nearly yank his hair out at the roots.

“Fuck, fuck, why’re you so good?” You moan, and Dirk practically purrs, delving in a little more eagerly. He rolls his tongue over your clit, trapping the sensitive bud in his mouth while he presses two thick fingers into your cunt. You nearly kick him in the ribs, gasping for breath at the sudden fullness, since his digits are far thicker than yours and it’s been a while since you’ve had a play time with your vibrator.

“Relax, mon trésor, I’ll take care of you. Je vais te faire sentir si bien. Vous ne voudrez jamais partir.” He coos, and noticing the way you yank on his hair, he glances up to meet your eyes and translate for you, “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby. You’re never going to want to leave.”

Your moans are probably deafening - you can’t tell if you’re being too loud, you’re too lost in sensation as Dirk’s fingers press into the spot inside of you that makes you clench around him tight enough that he chuckles. He strokes that spot as he rolls your clit in his mouth, and you feel your spine stiffen as you get closer to the edge.

“You’re going to strangle my cock.” He teases, and you groan in response, pushing his face back down against your cunt needily.

“Keep your mouth busy, m’so close.”

“Demanding.” he coos, and it sounds like praise as he gets back to work on your dripping pussy.

“Shut the fuck up, oh my god, please, make me cum.” You beg, and Dirk laughs against you, thrusting his fingers faster into you as he sucks your clit with a bit more determination, finally taking your pleasure a little bit more seriously. He moans around you, spreading his fingers a little to stretch you open a bit more. The pressure builds and builds, and you yank on his hair as a hard suck to your clit sends you reeling over the edge of the cliff into oblivion. Your vision goes white, your legs shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, and Dirk strokes them soothingly as he laps up the evidence of your release. He pulls away just as you start to get overly sensitive, and he kisses a trail up your belly as he settles between your legs.

“Fuck.” You pant, staring up at the ceiling as your vision is returned to you, and you blink a couple of times.

“Such a foul mouth.” Dirk teases playfully, kissing you so softly you barely even feel it. His moustache is wet with your essence as he drops his lips to kiss along your neck, letting you catch your breath. He seems so unhurried, but you can feel the throb of his cock through his too-tight jeans. When you look down, you find them undone, likely to give himself some breathing room, and you smile at the sight of the pink head of his cock sticking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Take those stupid jeans off. You’re gonna cut circulation off to your balls with pants that tight.” You mutter, and he laughs but obediently shuffles out of his trousers, shedding his boxers along with them.

“You okay for more, or do you need a break?” Dirk asks, and you roll your eyes at him.

“I’m fine. Don’t get cocky.” You retort, and he shows you his teeth with how wide he grins.

“Okay, Miss ‘Why are you so good?’. I’m just being polite.”

Your cheeks are on fire as you spit in your hand and wrap it around him, stroking him from base to tip. You’re just a little bit mean with the way you squeeze the head, then reach down to cup and roll his balls in your palm. He chokes, then laughs breathily as he arches into your hand, a rumbly groan rising in his chest.

“Okay, okay, point taken. C’mon, chérie, hands and knees.” Dirk ‘helps’ you roll over onto your belly, though it’s more of a hindrance than anything since he keeps grabbing and squeezing your ass. You situate yourself, getting as comfortable as you can, knowing this is going to be a lot but unwilling to stop. Dirk strokes your lower back, adjusting the angle as he rubs the head of his cock against you. You try to relax, but you’re admittedly nervous - he’s the biggest you’ve ever taken, and you know his girth is going to be a bit overwhelming at first.

“Deep breath, baby. Biiiig stretch.” Dirk coos, and you would kick him if he wasn’t pressing the thick head of his cock into you, wiping every thought you’ve ever had from your mind. You grip his sheets tightly, going from your hands to bracing on your forearms with one single thrust. You feel uprooted. Unmoored and awash in riptide by the stretch of too much too fast. It feels like it goes on forever, but eventually, Dirk’s pelvis presses up against your ass, and he pets your lower back adoringly. You can feel his groan vibrating through you despite the fact that he isn’t leaning over your body yet, and you’re surprised to find it as loud as your own cry of his name. He stays still for the moment, letting you catch your breath while you deal with the fact that you can feel him in your lungs - can barely breathe for how deep he is.

“Not compensating.” You mumble under your breath, dizzy with fullness, and Dirk hums inquisitively, but you shake your head.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you reach back one arm to smack him as if he’s doing something wrong by checking in. Luckily, he seems to find it amusing, as he chuckles at you and catches your hand. You shiver as he slides his hand up your forearm.

“Wait, Dirk-” You protest, but you’re not quick enough. He pulls you up by your arm, grabbing the other with his free hand, and you cry out at the change in angle. The pressure inside of you eases as he slowly pulls out, but the relief is short-lived, and you whine as he thrusts back in rather sharply. He sets a measured pace, not too slow, but not quick enough that you don’t take every single inch of him with every rock of his hips. Strong hands hold you by the arms, keeping you somewhat upright as he makes a solid effort at breaking you. Your breasts bounce every time he ruts into you, and if you were capable of conscious thought at the moment, you’d realise how sore you’re going to be later from this position. Eventually, Dirk seems to have pity, releasing his grip on your arms and pushing you down into the mattress instead, panting fervent French as he rocks your world.

You’re drooling. You can feel it under your face, and you’re fairly sure you’re cross-eyed, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. You can feel yourself rocking back into his thrusts, taking as eagerly as he gives it to you, forcing him to be just a little rougher. If you’re going to ache later, you want it to be a bone-deep ache that’s worth the monumental effort. His hand slides up your spine to cup the back of your neck, both of you slick with sweat, and you have no idea how long it is before his other hand slips between your legs and starts to play with your aching clit.

“Come for me, love, come on. Fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous, how the fuck did I get you to come home with me? C’mon baby, lemme make you feel good. Let go for me.” Dirk groans behind you, and you feel dizzy and cockdumb as he finds the right angle to send you screaming over the edge again. A ragged groan rips from your lover’s lips as you clench around him, and his hips stutter, the pace of his thrusts ruined. You cling to the sheets as you feel heat flood your cunt, the last couple of pumps of Dirk’s hips fucking it deeper into you. He doesn’t collapse atop you, instead carefully manuevering the both of you until you’re laying against his bare chest, face nuzzled into his fuzzy pec.

“You okay?” Dirk asks after a few minutes of panting for breath and snuggling. You groan against his skin.

“I think you broke my hips.” You retort, and he laughs, giving you a gentle squeeze on the butt.

“I promise I didn’t, chérie. Relax a little longer, then I’ll clean us up. Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Dirk asks, and you melt at his gentle tone, pouting a little as you consider your options.

“Maybe. Is more off the table?”

“Never, ma déesse.” Dirk replies, and you hum, leaning up to kiss him softly. He pets your hair back out of your face, lips pressing to your eyelids, and then your nose before returning to your wanting mouth.

“Don’t commit to something you can’t keep up with. I know you’re older than me.” You remind him, and he gives a diva-like gasp, though he’s still grinning.

“I’m only forty.” He protests, “Still plenty young enough to rock your world. Clearly.”

You giggle, using every ounce of willpower you have to pull yourself up from your position snuggled up against his side, throwing a leg over his hips so you can sit on top of him.

“So, you’re ready to fuck me again?” You ask, brow raised skeptically. He snorts, holding your hips to keep you steady and pushing his thumbs into the softer skin in the curve of your pelvis.

“Find me a guy older than 20 who can manage that, ma petite femme. But, I can take care of your pretty little cunt until I’m ready.” Dirk promises, sweeping his hands up over your sides, “Wanna meet Crème Brûlée?”

You can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss him again, “Didn’t I already?”

He laughs, rolling you both over so he can get up, then helping you to your feet. Your legs are a little unsteady, so he pointedly raises an eyebrow at you, but helps you from the room.

“I am not juvenile enough to have named my dick.” he insists, and you snort, following him towards the dark room he’d mused over earlier that night.

“Liar. I don’t believe that for a second!”

“Well, I’m certainly not telling you when you’re just going to make fun of me. Calling me old and cocky. Very rude.” He teases as he opens the door fully and flicks on the light. The room is a deep, royal purple, with one wall entirely taken up by mirrors. There’s a large vanity by the window, and racks of outfits that look like they each might’ve cost a thousand dollars minimum. There’s also a massage table tucked into a corner, likely only pulled out when it’s to be used.

“This is where I keep my nicer stuff. Including Crème Brûlée.” Dirk gestures to the centre of the room, where a dark waterproof mat is set out, and upon which rests what you vaguely recognise as a sybian from a little too much time on the Hub. Your eyes go wide as saucers, and Dirk strokes your lower back soothingly, nipping the tip of your ear.

“Is that…?”

“Mhm. No pressure, baby. If you aren’t into it-”

“I am very into it. Very. Gimme a second to take this in.” You cut him off, and he laughs quietly as he slips up behind you instead. His lips trail a path across your shoulder, hands stroking over your bare stomach before one slips between your legs to collect the cum leaking from you and push it back inside, “These are like, several grand.”

Dirk hums his agreement, stroking wet fingers over your clit, “With the attachments? Certainly. Do you wanna try him out?”

You whimper, grabbing and squeezing his forearm gently as you consider it.

“Yeah. But I don’t want you to stop touching me.” You admit, and he sighs dreamily, rewarding you with slow strokes to your clit.

“I won’t. I can sit behind you, play with your pretty body while you ride it. Once I’m ready, I can even fuck you on it. We can see how many times I can make you come before me.” Dirk’s offer is salacious, and you wet your lips, excitement sending heat burning up your spine.

“Yeah… yeah, ruin me.” You request, and you feel Dirk’s groan as much as you hear it. He guides you over to the toy, wiping it down with a body-safe sex toy cleaner just to be extra safe before he guides you to sit atop the grinder pad. He lets you get settled, fetching a bottle of lube that he sets on the corner of the mat within reach, then sits behind you on the machine. You sigh as he warms up some lube in his hand before he generously rubs it into your cunt, coating you in it to protect you from any possible irritation since the grinder pad is big enough to cover most of you. Once you’re settled and comfortable, he rubs the excess over his cock and balls just in case, then reaches for the remote.

“Ready, baby?”

“Ready. I want you to fuck me again as soon as you’re ready. Need to feel you stretch me open again.” You murmur, breathless with excitement, and it’s the last coherent thought you have for quite some time. The vibration starts relatively gentle, but still overwhelming in your post-orgasmic state. You tremble, attempting to lift your hips, but Dirk grabs you and holds you down.

“Ah, ah, ah. Be a good girl.” Dirk commands, and your spine turns to jelly. It’s too easy to make you come this quickly after the last one. As soon as Dirk turns the sybian up a notch, and then two, you’re crying out for mercy as you lean back into his sturdy chest, your hands reaching back to blindly tangle in his hair. One orgasm turns into two as he turns it up even higher, and you can hear yourself sobbing, distantly, almost like it’s someone else. Dirk gently pushes you to lean forwards, and you gasp for air as the blunt head of his cock presses into you mercilessly. He pulls you back to sit on him, positioning you so that your clit is still rubbing against the grinder pad, and you see stars. Lightning flashes behind your eyes as two turns to three.

“Gripping me like a vice.” Dirk growls against your shoulder, and you sob his name, clinging to him like he’ll save you from the torment he’s putting you through, “I’m not going to last if you keep this up.”

Like it’s your fault.

You scream as your fourth orgasm on the sybian rips through you like a bullet, and you’re shaking as Dirk finally pulls you up off of the machine, laying you down beside it with a fresh load of his cum stuffed deep inside you. He turns off the machine, collapsing beside you on the mat and pulling you into his arms, panting for breath. You blink to try and clear the fog from your brain, glancing at his watch to find you’ve been on the sybian for quite a while, even if it’s felt like both five seconds and five hours.

“You okay?” Dirk asks again, and this time, you curl into his arms and nod sleepily.

“So, so beyond okay.”

~

You wake in the morning curled up in Dirk’s lavish bed, naked but clean, your face buried in his chest. His arm is looped around your shoulders, your legs tangled together, and the sound of his heartbeat is so soothing you almost go back to sleep. Instead, you sit up, straddling Dirk’s leg simply because of the position you’d been in when you awoke. He blinks blearily up at you, rubbing one large hand over his face, then yawning.

“Bonjour.” He mumbles, and you smile, leaning down to kiss him closed-mouth to avoid morning breath. He smiles up at you in that dreamy way that makes you melt like warm butter, “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll use the other one. Steal whatever you need, and I’ll get some clothes for you.”

You thank him, slipping out of bed and stretching, bare as the day you were born. It takes you a second to walk properly, but you manage, heading into the bathroom to wash up. By the time you leave, the bedroom is empty save for a shirt and a pair of boxers on the vanity. The shirt is a Dirk Brûlée shirt which makes you snicker, while the boxers have little Sriracha bottles on them and ‘Flaming Hot’ on the ass.

When you enter the kitchen, you find Dirk cooking breakfast in a pair of obnoxious silk boxers while listening to 80s pop music. He smiles at you as you come into view and sit at the island, a hint of something in his eyes that makes your tummy do somersaults. You grab a knife from the block, and an apple from the fruit bowl on his counter, cutting it into slices while you watch him shimmy around the kitchen cooking what looks like far too much food for two. You’re far too fond of him to protest. Instead, you pop a slice of apple into your mouth and stare at the little dimples in his lower back.

“How do you want your eggs, ma petite femme?” Dirk asks, and you gaze dreamily at his stupidly pretty face, chin propped up on your fist.

“Fertilised.” You reply mindlessly, then slip another slice of apple into your mouth. Dirk’s laugh is loud and disbelievingly happy, and he leans across the island to kiss you.

“I can make that happen.”

“Should I throw out my birth control?” You ask playfully, and he snickers.

“Who says I haven’t already?” 

“Usually you don’t tell someone when you’re gonna baby trap them, honey.”

“Is it a trap if you know about it?” Dirk queries, flipping a pancake and grinning at you. You can’t help yourself. You get up from your stool, circling the island to wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his back.

“You can baby trap me any day, sugar.”

~

The weekend passes in a whirlwind of laughter and fun and ridiculously good sex. You try out Dirk’s hot tub, then laze around catching sun in his pool. Overheated, you both lay on the couch to watch a movie with cold juice, cuddling even though you’re both too hot for it to be totally comfortable. Dirk translates his pet names for you, though he refuses to translate ‘ma petite femme’ even though that one seems the most obvious to you. He tells you his future plans for the show, and listens while you tell him all about your job at the gallery.

You both take a good hundred pictures throughout the weekend, though neither of you post any of them. You make lunch, and Dirk orders out for dinner as a little treat. He doesn’t like going out too often since most restaurants have the allure of alcohol, and he’s still recovering. He shows you his five year coin, which he keeps on him at all times. He tells you about his parents, and you tell him about yours, and Sean, and he strokes your hair as you vent a little bit about how hard it’s been raising him on your own.

By Sunday afternoon, you dread the thought of leaving. You’ve always been quite independent, but you don’t want to be away from Dirk. He promises to call you, offers several times to let you stay over with Sean, though you both agree that might be a little weird for the poor kid and decide against it. He kisses you about a thousand times before letting you leave, and you see him watching you from the window as you drive off.

Your home feels cold and lifeless when you get home, and you lament the lack of colour. You’ve never been bold enough to go wild with decorating your condo, knowing you’ll have to pay an arm and a leg to repaint it should you ever want to sell. You’ve been home for twenty minutes and you’re already sick of it. As you sit at your computer, still wearing Dirk’s shirt, boxers and a pair of gym shorts, you google ‘ma petite femme’ on a whim.

The direct translation is ‘my little woman’, but you note that it is used instead to mean ‘my little wife’ in practice.

You change into your own clothes, then head out to get groceries for the week. As you’re on your way home, you stop in at a nearby store where you pretend you’ve never been before as a very upstanding single mother. You walk out with a discreet bag, and head home to put away your groceries. Finally, once you’re done and you’ve sufficiently adulted for the day, you unwrap your purchase. Three hours after you left Dirk’s house, he receives a photo of a vibrant pink cock ring in a ring box, and a simple text message.

You need to rename your sybian. I wanna be Crèmed Brûlée.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 9.18 (after 1920)

1922 – The Kingdom of Hungary is admitted to the League of Nations. 1927 – The Columbia Broadcasting System goes on the air. 1928 – Juan de la Cierva makes the first Autogyro crossing of the English Channel. 1931 – Imperial Japan instigates the Mukden Incident as a pretext to invade and occupy Manchuria. 1934 – The Soviet Union is admitted to the League of Nations. 1939 – World War II: The Polish government of Ignacy Mościcki flees to Romania. 1939 – World War II: The radio show Germany Calling begins transmitting Nazi propaganda. 1943 – World War II: Adolf Hitler orders the deportation of Danish Jews. 1944 – World War II: The British submarine HMS Tradewind torpedoes Jun'yō Maru, killing 5,600, mostly slave labourers and POWs. 1944 – World War II: Operation Market Garden results in the liberation of Eindhoven. 1944 – World War II: The Battle of Arracourt begins. 1945 – General Douglas MacArthur moves his general headquarters from Manila to Tokyo. 1947 – The National Security Act reorganizes the United States government's military and intelligence services. 1948 – Operation Polo is terminated after the Indian Army accepts the surrender of the army of Hyderabad. 1948 – Margaret Chase Smith of Maine becomes the first woman elected to the United States Senate without completing another senator's term. 1954 – Finnish president J. K. Paasikivi becomes the first Western head of state to be awarded the highest honor of the Soviet Union, the Order of Lenin. 1960 – Fidel Castro arrives in New York City as the head of the Cuban delegation to the United Nations. 1961 – U.N. Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjöld dies in an air crash while attempting to negotiate peace in the Katanga region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. 1962 – Burundi, Jamaica, Rwanda and Trinidad and Tobago are admitted to the United Nations. 1962 – Aeroflot Flight 213 crashes into a mountain near Chersky Airport, killing 32 people. 1964 – The wedding of Constantine II of Greece and Princess Anne-Marie of Denmark takes place in Athens. 1973 – The Bahamas, East Germany and West Germany are admitted to the United Nations. 1974 – Hurricane Fifi strikes Honduras with 110 mph winds, killing 5,000 people. 1977 – Voyager I takes the first distant photograph of the Earth and the Moon together. 1980 – Soyuz 38 carries two cosmonauts (including one Cuban) to the Salyut 6 space station. 1981 – The Assemblée Nationale votes to abolish capital punishment in France. 1982 – The Sabra and Shatila massacre in Lebanon comes to an end. 1984 – Joe Kittinger completes the first solo balloon crossing of the Atlantic. 1988 – The 8888 Uprising in Myanmar comes to an end. 1988 – General Henri Namphy, president of Haiti, is ousted from power in a coup d'état led by General Prosper Avril. 1990 – Liechtenstein becomes a member of the United Nations. 1992 – An explosion rocks Giant Mine at the height of a labor dispute, killing nine replacement workers in Yellowknife, Canada. 1997 – United States media magnate Ted Turner donates US$1 billion to the United Nations. 1997 – The Anti-Personnel Mine Ban Convention is adopted. 2001 – First mailing of anthrax letters from Trenton, New Jersey in the 2001 anthrax attacks. 2007 – Buddhist monks join anti-government protesters in Myanmar, starting what some call the Saffron Revolution. 2011 – The 2011 Sikkim earthquake is felt across northeastern India, Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh and southern Tibet. 2012 – Greater Manchester Police officers PC Nicola Hughes and PC Fiona Bone are murdered in a gun and grenade ambush attack in Greater Manchester, England. 2014 – Scotland votes against independence from the United Kingdom, by 55% to 45%. 2015 – Two security personnel, 17 worshippers in a mosque, and 13 militants are killed during a Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan attack on a Pakistan Air Force base on the outskirts of Peshawar. 2016 – The 2016 Uri attack in Jammu and Kashmir, India by terrorist group Jaish-e-Mohammed results in the deaths of nineteen Indian Army soldiers and all four attackers.

[thehungrykat1]

The Peninsula Manila Offers Art in Resonance Afternoon Tea Featuring Benedicto "BenCab" Cabrera

After the very successful Hello Kitty 50th Anniversary Afternoon Tea last month, The Peninsula Manila is giving its guests another great reason to visit The Lobby this month with its BenCab Art in Resonance Afternoon Tea. I have always loved hanging out at the lobby of The Peninsula Manila, whether it be to meet up with friends or to enjoy a fancy merienda, so I was really excited to try out their new art-themed afternoon tea.

As a continuation of Art in Resonance, the Peninsula Hotels' global program celebrating and nurturing contemporary art, The Peninsula Manila is pleased to present a medley of art activities this June, starting with an art exhibit titled Edition of 8. This features eight site-specific tapestries by Philippine National Artist for Visual Arts, Benedicto Cabrera, a.k.a. BenCab, from his acclaimed Larawan and Sabel works which guests can enjoy and appreciate for free at the ground floor of The Peninsula Manila.

The Lobby has been a favorite meeting place for foreign guests and local residents since the hotel opened in 1976, be it for corporate executives in a hurry or for friends on the lookout for a quiet spot and a pick-me-up high tea or cup of coffee while exchanging the latest news. A perennially popular meeting spot for high society, The Lobby's focal point of interest is the glorious 12-metre "Sunburst" created by Philippine National Artist for Sculpture, Napoleon Abueva, which is set against Hong Kong-based artist Paola Dindo's sky-colored silver leaf-lined dome.

Lending additional majesty to The Lobby are two grand staircases that sweep upward to the Makati and Ayala Towers. We had our church wedding reception right here at The Peninsula Manila with its gorgeous backdrops and very elegant interiors. The Lobby is also where the classic Peninsula Afternoon Tea has become Manila's favorite and a beloved attraction for visitors since the hotel opened, offering carefully selected premium teas complemented with appetizing scones, quiches, tea sandwiches and assorted pastries.

The hotel's contemporary art program Art in Resonance has turned the entire ground floor of The Peninsula Manila into an art gallery featuring the works of Benedicto Cabrera. Originally introduced in 2019, Art in Resonance offers Peninsula guests deeply immersive experiences that promote the rich and vibrant cultural aspects of the cities in which they reside. There's no need to go all the way to the BanCab Museum in Benguet since the exhibit will be on display at The Lobby from May 22 to July 21, 2024.

You can find some of BenCab's stunning tapestries right at the front desk reception area, giving its hotel guests a colorful and dazzling welcome.

The tapestries are based on Sabel, Ben Cab's acclaimed solitary figure of a scavenger emerging from a dark landscape, and on his Larawan paintings, inspired by turn-of-the-century Philippine photographs and borne out of his nostalgia for Filipino culture while living in London.

A fruit of the collaborative efforts between BenCab Abitare Internazionale, and Moooi Carpets, some of these tapestries are a recomposition of existing works. With the aid of digital technology and printed with high-definition precision on polyamide acrylic using a Chromojet printer, the colors, textures, volume, and tones of BenCab's work are captured in their most minute detail.

This collection of limited-edition carpets by Abitare Internazionale and Moooi Carpets continue their legacy of innovation and artistry which all guests at The Peninsula Manila can enjoy.

Aside from the exhibit, there are other Art in Resonance-related experiences scheduled for hotel guests this month, including the Art in Resonance Tours for suite guests and the Art in Resonance Talks with BenCab and noted Philippine historian Ambeth Ocampo. This will be held at The Conservatory on June 23, 2024 starting 3:00pm. BenCab will talk about his search for a Filipino identity and the social and cultural context behind his work. This will then be followed by an afternoon tea buffet at 4:00pm at The Upper Lobby.

As for myself, I'm here to enjoy the BenCab Art in Resonance Afternoon Tea which is available daily at The Lobby from 2:30pm to 5:00pm until June 23. This afternoon tea set is priced at P2,888 for two persons.

It comes with your choice of premium teas for two, but you can also upgrade the afternoon tea set to include two flutes of Champagne for P4,388.

Afternoon tea is an elegant pre-evening tête-à-tête popularized in Europe with its own history and traditional ceremonies. In Manila, The Peninsula Manila is one of the best places you can experience an afternoon tea, especially with the hotel's rich history and elegant setting.

Let's start our BenCab Afternoon Tea at the bottom layer which comes with Banana Bread, Homemade Raisin Scones and Plain Scones.

This is served with lemon curd, strawberry jam and clotted cream. Slice your scones in half horizontally and place the cream or jam on top, depending on your preference. You don't have to be intimidated by the history and traditions of the afternoon tea. Feel free to enjoy this dining experience your own way.

The middle tier comes with some savory items such as the Bagnet Sisig Quiche, Grilled Crab Salad and Cheddar on Rye Loaf.

Other sandwiches here include the Smoked Duck Brioche Roll, Pulled Pork Belly with Sriracha Mayo Sandwich, Mini Pan de Sal, and lastly the Egg and Avocado Bagel. These items are quite filling so two guests can easily share these delightful sandwiches.

The top plate consists of heavenly desserts to finish off your BenCab Afternoon Tea adventure. Here you can find the Chocolate Almond Friand, Amaretto Whipped Ganache, Blueberry White Chocolate Cheesecake, Strawberry Opera, Mango Tapioca Pudding, and Coffee Baileys Macarons printed with some of the works of BenCab.

We had such a relaxing time at The Lobby enjoying our delicious afternoon tea set surrounded by BenCab's gorgeous works. The BenCab Art in Resonance Afternoon Tea will be available at The Lobby only until June 23, 2024. Make sure to catch this unique limited-edition afternoon tea experience at The Peninsula Manila by reserving your tables at 8887-2888 or by emailing them at diningpmn@peninsula.com. See you at The Lobby!

BenCab Art in Resonance Afternoon Tea

The Lobby, The Peninsula Manila, Ayala Avenue corner and Makati Avenue, Makati City

8887-2888

www.peninsula.com/manila

www.facebook.com/ThePeninsulaManila

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[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

UC mass wedding of 1,000 couples probed for recruiting prostitutes, nannies

Philippine Daily Inquirer  MANILA by Bobby Timonera 1996

Wedding bells set off the alarm. Did the grooms offer to have and to hold their brides or did they offer them jobs? This is what the Bureau of Immigration is trying to find out after the “mass wedding” held last January 23 between mostly South Korean men and nearly 1,000 Filipino women. The exchange of “I dos,” the bureau suspects, may be an operation to illegally recruit domestic helpers and prostitutes. Immigration Commissioner Leandro I. Verceles Sr. said his office will observe with “extreme caution” in approving the departure of the Filipino brides. He also ordered investigations into the suspicious weddings. “This could be a case of mail-order-bride-in-reverse operation which is illegal under our laws,” the commissioner said. The mass wedding of 984 couples at the Philippine International Convention Center was supposed to be only a religious rite and thus has no legal effect, Verceles pointed out.

Moonies It was under the auspices of the Seoul-based Holy Spirit Association for the Unification of World Christianity whose members are also known as the “Moonies.” They are named after the controversial Rev. Sun Myung Moon of South Korea, leader of the church. The Rev. Chung-hwan Kwak, representing Moon, blessed the couples, which included people from the United States, Taiwan, Thailand, Malaysia, Japan, but mostly South Korea. Verceles said the Koreans probably came over for the wedding ceremony when immigration agents at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport (NAIA) prevented 300 Filipino women from departing last month. They claimed to be members of the same church as the “Moonies”. Verceles dispatched immigration agents to the wedding site to gather the names of the couples. At the same time, he also alerted immigration personnel at the NAIA to prevent the brides from leaving while investigations are being conducted. Citing an intelligence report from the Department of Foreign Affairs, Verceles said that the “Moonies” had previously sponsored the recruitment of a large number of Filipino women to work in Korea. The same report said that late last year, 184 Filipinas were brought to Korea aboard a chartered plane. They were reportedly brought to a training center where they were housed for three days before being deployed as domestic helpers and prostitutes. The Unification church said it had no immediate comment.

Not first time It was the second mass wedding conducted in Manila by the said church. Last year, 1995, about 3,000 Filipinos were married in a basketball gym in Manila as part of a mass wedding performed by Moon via satellite from Seoul. They were among 360,000 couples married worldwide in that ceremony. “Originally, the blessing was available only to adherents of the Unification Church,” a statement from the group said. “Now, however, anyone wanting to (can) participate, regardless of religion, race or nationality.”

Prison term

… Moon, a South Korea native, served 13 months in a U.S. federal prison on charges of tax evasion [and document forgery] before being released in 1985. …

_________________________________

Moonies demanded $2,000 from Koreans who wanted to have Filipinas as “housemaids and sex partners.”

Philippine Daily Inquirer  MANILA by Bobby Timonera 1995 Farmers’ daughters are Moonie targets The Moonies are combing the Philippine countryside in search of farmers’ daughters to lure into their trap. One such innocent, Carlita, who is in her 20s, was lucky to get away. Carlita, her face covered with a towel, occasionally lapsed into tears and silence as she told reporters of her ordeal. This is her story. Sometime in November, the sect’s recruiters arrived at Carlita’s village in Nueva Ecija and asked the women if they would be interested in marrying Koreans. Photographs of Korean men were passed around. “OK, we’ll see if we get to like them,” the women said. They were told to attend a seminar at the sect’s church in Cabanatuan City. It was supposedly about the “ideal family.” Later, they were asked to wear nice clothing, were made up, and photographed. Then they were told that should authorities ask them about their marriage plans, they should answer that they have been writing to and talking with the Korean men over the phone for some time. Of the four women recruited, only three were matched with Koreans. One was apparently dropped. One day the women were invited to go to the church’s office in Manila in the company of Korean men. Along the way, the Koreans embraced them. Suddenly afraid, Carlita and another woman alighted from the vehicle near the Nepa Q-Mart market along Edsa in Quezon City. Carlita being a daughter of one of the peasant leaders of the Demokratikong Kilusang Magbu-bukid ng Pilipinas (DKMP), the other woman rushed to the DKMP office to report the incident. But their friend who was left behind was brought to the Unification Church’s headquarters at 32 Samar Avenue in Quezon City. It was this woman who told peasant leader Jaime Tadeo of the DKMP that a Caucasian, whose nationality she did not know, asked the Koreans to pay him $2,000. It was not known if the amount was payment for the recruitment job. But it jibed with a report from the Philippine Embassy in Seoul that the Moonies usually demand $2,000 from Koreans who wanted to have “housemaids and sex partners.” The transaction appears to be part of the sect’s fund-raising campaign. Tadeo, along with Carlita, went to the Bureau of Immigration office in Intramuros to seek its help in closing the Holy Spirit Association for the Unification of World Christianity in Cabanatuan City.

“We believe they are just using their church as a front for illegal recruitment,” Tadeo said.

_________________________________ Korean UC leaders made lots of money from “selling” hundreds of pure, faithful, Filipino sisters

Morpheus: “I was on a staff that helped organize picture matchmaking in the late 1990s. Rev. Moon would come in and match all these young Filipino sisters to older Korean men who were not even members. I’m not sure Rev. Moon was aware of the wheeling and dealing that would go on behind the scenes. Many of these farmers and land owners would mortgage their farm to be admitted to these picture matchings. The Philippine Government complained. Discovered later that Korean leaders made lots of money this way.” (April 22, 2015)

[catholicartistsnyc]

Meet Vancouver-based Photographer Colleen Umali

COLLEEN UMALI is a Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada-based wedding and portrait photographer.  [website | instagram]

Colleen shared with the Catholic Artist Connection about her work as a wedding photographer and how to thrive spiritually during a pandemic. Read our full interview below! 

Where are you from originally, and what brought you to your current city?

I was born and raised in Manila, Philippines but when I was 7 years old, my parents felt the call to move to Vancouver, Canada. Vancouver is home and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

How do understand your vocation as a Catholic artist? Do you call yourself a Catholic artist? 

In the past, I’ve never thought of myself as a Catholic artist. I just saw myself as another kid on the Internet with a passion for photography while being unashamedly Catholic. I try to be as authentic as I can on social media and sometimes post reflections on God’s goodness.

Photographing weddings has always been my dream. I would do it occasionally for family and friends when they asked, but never seriously considered turning it into a business. But the Lord in His goodness knew these desires of my heart, and in the midst of a global pandemic, He turned this dream into a reality. I began to receive clients out of nowhere. One bride hired me specifically because she saw I had experience in photographing Catholic weddings. This was a huge moment of realization that unintentionally, all the weddings I photographed in the past were all Catholic weddings. 

Today, I do see myself as a Catholic artist. Sure, elopement photos on a mountaintop are beautiful, but I’m not here to show off pretty pictures. My purpose behind launching a wedding photography business (on top of a full time career) is to honor the Lord through the sanctity of marriage. It is so beautiful to witness how He works in people’s lives to bring them together, and I find so much joy in helping couples tell this story. I love getting to know the couples I work with, and there is nothing better than having deep conversations with them about God’s goodness.

Where in Vancouver do you regularly find spiritual fulfillment?

I love my church, St. Matthew’s Parish, because the community is so vibrant and filled with many young people striving to follow the Lord. The youth group’s monthly Adoration nights are always so beautiful. I also serve as a leader for University Christian Outreach (UCO) here in the Vancouver chapter. During the pandemic, we couldn’t meet in person with the university students so we began to hold worship nights over Zoom. At one event, students from other chapters joined us. Despite time differences, we were able to worship with students from Israel, LA, Calgary and Michigan! I also find spiritual fulfillment from regularly meeting up (over Zoom) with like-minded women for book studies, Bible studies and heartfelt, Christ centered conversations. 

What is your daily spiritual practice?

No matter how busy I am, I try to start every day in prayer. I find that when I offer up my day to Jesus, the stresses become a little less stressful. I like to read the daily Mass readings and the reflections from Blessed is She. My women’s group is currently doing the Unlocking the Mystery of the Bible Study so I try to read a few chapters a day. I also like to have a mini praise and worship session alone in my car on my drives to work. I’m currently loving Maverick City Music!

How do you financially support yourself as an artist?

I have a full time job doing kidney research for a large Vancouver biotech. I love my career and the opportunity to make a difference through science. Wedding photography is my passion and I don’t see it as a means of steady income but as a creative outlet. I love meeting people and telling their unique stories. I am still doing my best to put myself and my business out there in a competitive market with wedding photographers on every corner. But in keeping photography as a passion, I’m able to do what I love without the pressure of having to earn enough to make ends meet.

What are your top 3 pieces of advice for Catholic artists post-graduation?

1. Surround yourself with people who support, motivate and push you to become the best version of yourself! I wouldn’t be where I am right now if it wasn’t for my best friend saying “you’re launching your website tonight. No excuses.”

2. Believe in yourself! You are worthy and you are good enough. God gave you these talents for a reason. Use them to glorify Him.

3. Let God do the rest. Whether your art remains a passion or becomes a source of income — follow where He leads. Follow His will for your life and you’ll never be disappointed.

(C) Colleen Umali 

[foreverydayphoto-blog]

Wedding Photographer in Manila, Philippines: Everything You Need to Know

[zablife]

Luca Takes Your Photo

Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge.

Request: Taking a photo of them smiling. Requested by a lovely anon.

Warnings: blackmail, language, Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution.

Author's Note: Reader is engaged to Angel Changretta, but previously dated Luca when they were young. Luca is now dating reader's sister.

You closed the door to Luca’s office and carefully approached his desk. The only sound was the wobble of your heels against the polished floor as you tried to control your anxious movements. Clutching the manila envelope to your chest you looked at your future brother-in-law with watery eyes and asked, “Luca, what’s the meaning of this?” 

He smiled, but the emptiness in his eyes frightened you as he replied, "What have you got there?”

You extended the envelope with a shaky hand and he leaned forward cocking his head at you. You wanted to scream at him because he knew very well what was enclosed. He had sent them to your home the night before, intending the salacious photos to find their way into Angel’s hands. Luckily, you had intercepted them just in time. 

He opened the envelope slowly and dumped the contents out, pushing the stark black and white images across the surface of his desk with one finger until they were lined neatly in a row. He leaned back in his chair and studied them before turning his attention back to you. “Tsk, tsk. What would my brother think if he saw these obscene pictures of you? It might make him change his mind about the wedding, don’t you think?” he said, holding your gaze like a challenge to see if he could intimidate you, but you persisted.

“Photos of me? Luca, anyone can see that’s my sister. Angel would never believe-” 

Luca stopped you, interjecting, “Wouldn’t he?” He picked up a single photograph and tilted it against the light. “It’s honestly very hard to tell from the quality. You look so much alike," he pointed out. Then he added threateningly, "To a jealous man like my brother that would be all he would need to throw you out into the street.”

You turned your head away, not wanting to listen to him. Your mind raced suddenly as you imagined Angel confronting you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew Luca was right about his brother. The Changretta men all had the same vicious temper made worse by the violence of their business. 

The only way to get out of this would be to try and appeal to Luca’s sense of humanity. You weren’t sure why he was doing this to your family or who may have put him up to it, but he held a fondness for you once when you were younger and you intended on tugging at his heartstrings. 

“Luca, I don’t understand. I thought you were happy with my sister.  If you cared for me once, why would you do something like this? Why do you hate me so now?” you asked, giving him a look that pleaded for mercy.

Luca shook his head in agitation. “You misunderstand my intentions, amore.”

“Luca, please don’t call me that. We haven’t been a couple for years. It will give Angel the wrong impression,” you begged of him.

Pounding a fist on his desk, he stood to tower over you. “You were mine first! Mine! I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want!” he shouted.

Your whole body flinched at his show of aggression toward you and you took a timid step back toward the door. Luca had turned into someone you didn’t recognize these past few years. He had once been a kind, caring young man who made you laugh. Now his gentle demeanor had been replaced with a brash sense of entitlement and an obsession with power. Everyone in the neighborhood knew he enforced his threats and now you were horribly afraid he would go through with his attempt to blackmail you.

Coming out from behind his desk, Luca crossed to you in two quick strides and captured your arms just above your elbows in a painfully tight grip. Furrowing his brow in confusion he said, “No, I don’t think you do understand. Angel never deserved you, but I do.” You gasped and he took your chin in his hand with such force you worried it might bruise.  Tears welled in your eyes as he instructed in a low voice, “Listen to me carefully, there won't be any need for the photos if you call off your engagement to my brother. Then you'll be free to become my wife.” 

You couldn’t help the tear that slipped down your cheek as you whispered, “What if I say no?”

Luca clenched his jaw in frustration, then huffed out a loud sigh of annoyance at how difficult you were being. Suddenly a knock came at the door and Angel’s voice could be heard on the other side. “Luca?” he called out.

Luca placed a hand over your mouth as he leaned in to whisper, “Do what you want, amore, but remember this, if I can’t have you, no one will.” Then he threw you away harshly with both hands. You stumbled backward, rubbing your jaw as he cleared his desk and called for his brother.

As Angel entered the room, you felt Luca watching you. You wiped your tears in time to greet your fiance, trying to decide what to do as time slipped through your fingers.

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” Angel said, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. “Isn’t she beautiful, Luca?” Angel said turning to his brother. 

Luca looked down at the envelope in his hand, tapping it against the desk like a ticking time bomb as he chuckled darkly. Looking up at you with a menacing smirk he replied, “She is. Pictures really don’t do her justice.”

[riddhiochani]

Best Wedding Photographer in Doha, Manila, Bangalore and Kochi

Weddings is the very important day in life and capturing the moments of this big day along with all those small pre-wedding moments is the best way to remember your special day. These are the precious moments that will be cherished by you and your family in near future.

Why you should hire a wedding photographer?

Everyone wants to choose the best wedding photographers for their special day, to capture every moment. But what they often miss is the other smaller pre-wedding functions like Haldi, Mehendi and so on. Asking someone from your friends and family to capture your special moments with their cameras might seem like a considerable idea instead of hiring a professional wedding photographer but clicking photos from a good quality camera does not give your friends and family the experience in capturing shots that are worth treasuring! Things such as lighting, distance, angle, focus etc. are important to understand. Also, your friends and family members would not have so much patience to capture all the special moments.

Please check our Wedding Photography portfolio here - http://nidh.in/candid-wedding-photography/

[kurtsmyworld96]

written in blood

manila! manjiro sano

     The floor cleared and allowed couples and strangers to fill the floor, swaying to a melodic beat that blasted from the speakers; Calm and attractive, consuming their ears that dully listened to the heartbeat of their significant other, their eyes fluttered closed. But all she did was stand off to the side, swirling around a liquid in a glass, analyzing the contented guests. Her eyes were mystique, containing an intrigue, and they lulled him into a sense of safety and dread together. Suddenly, his heart thumped, an attraction so reminiscent of ones from his past, but this... was sickly. Although aware of the morbid nature of his fascination— his crush—he indulged himself, a mantra of this could last forever playing through his head.

His hands were damp with sweat, head spinning and mind racing, something he couldn't prevent, not in this very moment when she stared at him with such allure and temptation, insisting he ease the burning passion that built in his chest, a pain so very reminiscent of a heart attack. He couldn't ignore it for much longer, so he forced his feet to move, dragging them to the table where she observed everyone. It was difficult trudging through that aura of her's, thick with intentions he couldn't recognize. Nevertheless, his feet carried him to her, and his hand acknowledged her's as he whisked her away to dance after an exchange of names, labels he didn't need to know in order to encourage this ghoulish attraction, certain that this would last despite other attractions not.

His hands crept around her waist, snugly fitting her against him, the motion bringing him a sense of home like his friends once had before he tore them apart, ripping away at the memories, he couldn't resist the darkness's temptations without someone to shine a light and guide him. His eyes trailed to the female pressed into him without resistance— she melted into his touch. Her eyes were so encouraging, a pool of grey that he couldn't help but be enamored by. Could she be the ray of sun he helplessly pleaded for, to no avail? A thought that brung a smile to his sullen features, lovesick. Yes, he was fairly certain they might just work out.

But again, he was reminded— a switch in his mind flipping, turning him over into a possibility he didn't really enjoy— that this could all burst in flames that ate away at another photograph decorated in dots of blood. Happy smiles displayed, but the fire brought out those rotten faces of their's. For now, he would kiss her roughly, his lips crashing onto her own, igniting the passion that burnt beneath him— skipping all of those trivial games people liked to play before succumbing to feelings. He couldn't last a moment longer without her.

All or nothing, it's written in blood.

Weeks of discovering each other wouldn't douse the flame they shared, morbid fascination with one another growing intensely. They quickly recognized that they wouldn't last without each other— or at least Manjiro did, she rarely ever spoke her mind. He was the one to decide that they should be bound together with the vow a ring brought, presenting the shiny jewel to her in a stygian case. And who was she to decline the proposition, she was tempted by the passion, amused even. Men always groveled at her feet, and this one mirrored those foolish men.

Soon after, the two were striding down an aisle, dressed in black as if they were prepared for a funeral, hand in hand. She carried a bouquet of roses, peering through a veil where she could see the empty ceremony with neither having relatives or friends to invite unless Manjiro felt like digging them up. He didn't deem it necessary for them to hire a wedding officiant either, because to him, their love was visible for anyone to notice— they didn't need papers to prove it.

They reached the end of the aisle, propping themselves onto a podium where they stood above the yard of empty seats, hand in hand, the roses put to the side. He drew his hands from her's, tucking back the veil, clearing her vision, granting full access to his pretty, obsessed face, his lips shaped into a smile that he could only muster for her. Mumblings of vows were spoken, he sensed a hesitation from her side, a reluctance he probably created out of that racing mind of his. His hands tightened around her's. This was real, certain, and that was proven to him by the ring around her finger and his distasteful mind.

"Sorry, lover, but you can't look back," He murmurs, stringing her along like she were a doll, carefully helping her into the passenger's seat before he practically leaped behind the steering wheel. His foot toyed with the gas pedal as he drove, eyes wide with that dark craze. The speed picked up with the pressure he put down, and not only could she tell by the meter screaming with numbers, but by the wind erupting through the windows, sweeping through their hair.

She looked at him with those calculating eyes of her's, the ones that had initially lured him into this attraction, one he was convinced would work out. "Slow down, baby, or you're gonna explode," She suggested, unconvincingly, but it was enough for him to release some pressure from the pedal.

The honeymoon had went well, their soft skin slick with perspiration, hairs ruffled and raised as the cold air crept inside with the whispers of the night's exchange. The pair were tired and pulled into one another's embrace, dismissing the disheveled room for now— sheets across the floor, blankets tossed around, items knocked over. An enjoyable night, she might call it. The best of his life, Manjiro would refer to it as.

Her fingers traced circles on his back, eyes twinged with peace like the eyes of those couples she'd once observed on the dance floor. He had brought her amusement and excitement like countless others, and she sensed the phase was coming to a close just as the others had. "Love doesn't last," She told him, her voice being but another drag of the wind, rosy lips forming the words she wouldn't— or perhaps, couldn't— say.

He could hear her favorite song play distantly, something he recalled from one of their conversations. He did tend to remember things she mentioned, and he assumed she must have forgotten all the words he'd murmured to her on vulnerable nights for her to mutter such idiocy.

He turned over, twisting in her embrace that had gone cold like a breeze from the window blanketed him. Instead of hugging one of her hands to his chest as he had when his back faced her, he now loomed above her, his eyes achingly serious and dreadful, a miserable look on him, yet she couldn't tear her eyes from his. But she recognized this as the end of their fun.

"I promise you that this is forever or til' one of us dies," He recalled their wedding vows that made them promise to stay together through thick and thin. He didn't intend to break it.

Those words reverberated through her head for a moment, distracted and knowing of the events to arrive. She lingered, waiting to be delivered that beautiful sensation of pain and death coinciding, to see the red that would become of her beloved, and to emerge. The amusement would travel with her down this dangerous path.

Yet, despite her acceptance, she reeked of tear stains and could-have-beens, but Manjiro found himself lulled into the taste, loving the mess she made of herself. A good train wreck, he thought fleetingly. Her hair was balled up inside his fist, her head cocked back to offer a great view of her neck.

"Don't get too attached," She told him like this was just entertainment. 

But again, this could all go up in flames that burnt through their smiles to reveal rotten faces, and he would take her down in the name of love. He kissed her one last time, hoping to ease the pain of the blade digging into her once supple and unblemished skin.

All or nothing, it's written in blood.

[flyingkiki]

I Secretly Enjoy Trashy Books

Oh, boy, oh boy. Because I promised you a #TimRae 2021 Year of Smut and Steam, here is this hot piece of something.

ENJOY! *fans self*

Raven liked buying trashy books. And she was the least bit embarrassed over her dirty reading choices when Tim Drake-Wayne caught her leaning over a pile of trashy books that simply reeked of trash at an art festival in Star City.

~

Raven wasn’t sure if she spotted Tim Drake-Wayne at the art festival in Star City until she did a double take and watched the man bend over some fancy cutlery embellished with shiny stones and copper wires a couple of stalls down. Casually dressed in a pair of dark grey chino shorts and a white band shirt with a worn Gotham Knights baseball hat, Raven assumed he tried to blend into the summer festival crowd. She watched him push his Rey-Ban’s up his nose and wondered if that was even possible, given how popular the man really was as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. The stall owner talked to Tim with gusto, shoving some sparkly spoons under his nose, and Raven was sure the old man seemed to recognize Tim.

“You gonna buy that lady?”

Raven blinked and turned back to the elderly woman selling old photographs from 1920. “Oh, yeah.” Raven breathed and looked down at the selection of old photos of women dressed in fur and slinky dresses in her hand. She had no particular knowledge in photography, but the old black and white photographs were pretty to look at. Picking two photographs of an attractive couple dressed glamorously for a party, and a mysterious woman in a fur coat, she showed them to the lady with a small smile. “Here,” she said and handed over her money to the woman.

After stuffing the two photographs into a small manila envelope the woman handed to, Raven looked back to the cutlery stall and wondered if Tim Drake was still there, getting sidled into buying forks he may never be able to use. Much as she had expected, Tim was already gone. Probably off inspecting other embellished kitchenware, if that seemed to have become his thing.

“Thanks,” Raven smiled at the woman and ducked out of her tent. She immediately regretted that decision and internally groaned as the blazing summer sun beat down her back. Star City was hot and muggy. It was wrong for her to wear dark blue today – no matter if it was a crop top. The material was accumulating heat and sticking to her back. She could feel her ponytail stick to her neck. Ugh.

Despite the blistering heat, the festival was alive with live music blasting from the center of Star City Central Park. The park was filled with a good number of people, visiting stalls and tents that sold books, paintings, knickknacks, and a wide array of food. While Jump had a similar art festival annually, she discovered a few years back that Star City had a far more well curated festival. There were a couple of painters from whom she’d get buy small paintings from. At night it turns into a music festival, which on occasion Raven would attend.

Heading over to one of the bookstands, Raven idly browsed through some old and beaten copies novels. Raven snorted as the selection seem to lean more on the trashy romance novels as pictures of barely clothed women and men’s hips draped in starchy white blankets looked up at her. She quickly discovered that the selection was largely all about raunchy romance, she mentally shrugged and picked one. A book was a book, no matter how trashy it was. Starfire would love this anyway. The burly man on the book cover, who of course looked like Fabio, had a woman dressed in a windswept lace dress draped over his muscular arm. Raven scrunched her nose in amusement.

“How much for this book?” she held up the image of Fabio to the elderly stall keeper. She wasn’t sure what the book was about, but a trashy sex book was a trashy sex book.

“A dollar,” the man told her and pointed at the sign over their heads.

Raven returned his amused smile and nodded. “Right,” she said and momentarily dropped the book back on the pile that screamed of sex and trash. As she fished through her bag to pull out her wallet, another person came up to the stall. Raven immediately recognized the aura and pointedly ignored the amusement that rolled off of him.

Handing over a dollar to the stall owner, she smiled softly. “Here you go, thanks!”

“I didn’t know you were into these, Rachel,” teased Tim, as he snatched the book from the pile before she could get it back. He led her out of the stall and threw her an amused grin.

“‘Love blossoms in the storm. Young, innocent, Violet is the secret in releasing the kingdom from a decade-long draught. Prince Rolf, the lord of thunder, has every intention to bring Violet to their nuptial bed. Their passion of love and hate releases a storm so violent, that brings life back to the kingdom’,” Tim read aloud and his brows furrowed. “That makes no sense.”

Raven rolled her eyes and snagged her book out of Tim’s hands. She ignored the amused chuckle and that familiar press of emotions and roughly shoved the book into her messenger bag. “When do trashy novels make sense?”

Tim stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I’m just worried over poor Violet. Sounds like the makings of a Stockholm Syndrome,”

Raven made a face as they walked through past stalls. “At the expense of bringing rain back to the kingdom,” she added.

“I wonder how they’ll bring back rain from the nuptial bead,” Tim laughed, as they rounded the corner and entered an area filled with stalls of paintings for sale.

Raven snorted as she idly looked at some of the contemporary paintings on display. “I’ll let you know once Kori and I are done reading it,”

“Don’t hold back on the sordid details,” said Tim, as they bent over a painting of a square orange. Raven threw him an amused look, eyes twinkling. There it was, that familiar press of curious emotions as she watched him grin down at a painting of a shoe. “Sure,” Raven���s lips quirked. “I’ll tell you all of Prince Rolf’s deeds of deflowering young virgins,”

Tim snorted very gracefully. They moved on to the next stall and Raven threw him a curious glance. “What brings you to Star City?”

“I had a meeting at Queen Consolidated this morning. Working on a merger for a biotech project,” Tim explained. He held up a small painting of a sad green unicorn and showed it to Raven. “Thought I’d check this out and forget all the science and money talk for a bit,”

Raven took the painting out of his hands and returned it to the table of other oddly colored animals while shaking her head in amusement. “Don’t you have a report to write or something?”

“I live to inflict pain on myself and write out the report and proposal at the last minute tomorrow morning,” Tim chuckled. He shrugged when Raven sent him an incredulous look. “There’s not much to write about. I sent Bruce and Lucius an email before I got here,” he said while following Raven towards a new stall. “What brings you to Star City?”

Raven eyed an abstract painting curiously. Red, green, and yellow paint splattered all over a black canvas. “I come here every year,” she replied. “Dick knows I take a leave for a couple of days for this. The art festival here is much better than the one we have in Jump,”

“So this is your…”

“Second day,” supplied Raven. “I’m going back to Jump on Sunday. I like the music festival at night. I usually buy one or two paintings here too,”

“And some very raunchy novels,” Tim grinned.

“Hah!” Raven wrinkled her nose in a way that Tim thought was adorable. “Especially those,”

Tim looked around the stalls, trying to find any painting that was interesting. “Is there anything you are particularly looking for?”

Raven shrugged. “Not really,” she replied. Walking up to a stall that sold flower paintings, she spotted a painting of a white calla lily against a black and purple background. Engaging in quick small talk with the stall owner and discovering the young woman painted the work, Raven was set in buying the painting. “I’d like to buy this,”

Tim watched as Raven continued talking to the stall owner, Nora, and proceeded to pay for the painting. As the artist handed over the canvas, he stepped up to Raven and easily took the medium-sized canvas from Nora. “I got it,” he said, throwing a quick smile at Raven.

“Oh, thanks,” Raven thanked Tim. Nodding at the artist, she smiled at the woman and offered her thanks. Walking up to Tim, she quickly shot him a curious look. “I could take that from you if it’s too much of a bother,”

Tim gently tucked the medium-sized canvas under his arm and nodded for them to continue walking. “It’s no big deal,” he waived her off.

They continued walking around the park while idly talking about the festival and teasing each other every so often. As the Teen Titans quickly outgrew their Teen moniker and became the Titans, Raven and the rest of the team had taken on larger missions with the Justice League and other teams. She had worked and met with Tim and the rest of the Bat family on several occasions, Dick and Kori’s wedding most recently. Raven had quickly learned that Tim was quite easy to talk to, extremely smart, and kindhearted. His emotions were tumultuous just as any other of the Bats, but this was something Raven had gotten used to. They easily settled into conversations. She did admit, that his soft press of emotions against her were surprising, something she was unsure of still how to settle with – but she was not complaining. It was nice.

“You know as much as I like going around the festival and checking out weird art, I’m getting really thirsty,” Tim threw her an amused look. “Also very sweaty, Star City’s heat is unforgiving,”

Raven wrinkled her nose, suddenly all too aware of how she felt and looked. Pushing her sweaty black hair away from her neck, she nodded. “There’s a café out of this exit we could get something cold to drink and get out of the heat for a bit,” she said, pointing towards the exit up ahead.

“Lead the way,” Tim followed the small Titan out of the park.

They settled in a small café just around the corner, tucked away from the bustle of festival goers. Sighing loudly in relief as they entered the air conditioned café, they made quick work of ordering drinks.

“WHY are you did you order hot coffee, didn’t you just say that it was too hot outside?!” Raven sent Tim a bewildered look as they settled into one corner of the café. Tim laughed as he gingerly set her painting on a steel chair across of them. He settled down next to her around the small wooden table.

Tim shrugged and tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to circulate some air. “Force of habit,” he said and stretched a bit, muscles still sore from last night’s patrol and work out this morning. After the waitress dropped off their drinks and cake to share, Tim pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed some sweat off his face. “Ugh,”

Raven carefully pressed the large glass of unsweetened cold green tea against her cheek and sighed softly. Tim titled his head towards her and watched her in mild amusement as she leaned over their small table and pressed the cold drink against her cheek. He silently mused how different this Raven was from the 16-year-old he met years ago. His gaze followed the trickle of condensation that slipped down her cheek and neck, before quickly looking back up at her blissful expression. A brief thought crossed his mind before blinking and stowing it away. “Better?”

Raven lazily cracked open her eyes and eyed him mildly. “Much,” she breathed before straightening and taking a sip through her metal straw.

“I didn’t know you were into art,” Tim said and leaning back into his seat, stretching his legs a bit. Settling for some small talk, he eyed the painting before curiously turning to Raven. “Any particular style you like?”

Raven made an absent noise in the back of her throat and shrugged. “I enjoy collecting art from local artists. I like supporting their work, I think it’s important we support local artists in their craft,” she replied. Propping her chin on her right hand, she cast her new painting a quick glance. “I’m not well versed with paintings, but I like modernism and impressionism. Surrealism and expressionism too. I honestly just enjoy the pieces, no matter the style.”

Tim nodded and hummed in acknowledgement. “Bruce has a lot of impressionist paintings back at the manor. Most of them from his parents and grandparents,” he said. “Gotham Museum keeps a big collection of Monet paintings. You should check those out if you haven’t yet,”

There it was again, that pleasant press of emotions that made Raven smile just lightly. She tilted her head in acknowledgement and smiled at him. “Sure. I’ve never been to the Gotham Museum,”

“Let me know when you’re in town. I could take you there,”

Raven snorted playfully. “Aren’t you too busy running Wayne Enterprises?”

“Nah,” Tim waived her off and fiddled with his coffee mug. “I could make time for you.”

There was a soft pause between them and Raven looked up at Tim, tilting her head in slight wonder and taking in his warm emotions. She blinked and the corner of her lips raised into a smile as she caught his gaze. They shared a smile. “Okay then.”

Ignoring the warmth that spread through him, Tim hastily took a sip of his hot coffee to keep himself (and his wandering thoughts) busy. Wincing slightly at the scalding liquid, he nodded towards Raven’s new painting. “Why’d you pick that?”

“Calla Lilies are my favorite flowers,” replied Raven and fiddled with the cold metal straw.

“Oh?”

Raven shrugged in response and absently tapped the crude drawing of a dick on the table. “Yeah. When I was younger, my mother brought some to Azarath once when she went on a quick trip to Earth. I liked them. We did not have calla lilies on Azarath,” she explained.

“They mean purity and innocence, I learned,” continued Raven. She quirked her lips a little at the irony. “And apparently they mean death too.” She hummed absently and shot him an amused glance. “Seems pretty appropriate flower to have as a favorite, all things considering.” She straightened in her seat and titled her head. “And it symbolizes fertility too,”

Tim made an amused sound in the back of his throat and squinted at the painting. “Well, it does look like…”

“A vagina?”

He was going to say a heart. But yeah, she was right. It did look like a vagina. Tim released a breathy laugh and smiled, ignoring the pleasant warm feeling that spread in his chest. Leaning back and catching his breath, he stared at the painting with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He shot Raven a torn look. “I cannot un-see this now.”

Raven shrugged. “Well it’s true,”

She felt Tim’s amused emotions and she offered him a small smile. She was about to continue when soft guitar music filled the air. Their attention shifted to the small stage in the corner of the café and a singer with a guitar appeared on stage. An upbeat guitar song filled the café and everyone’s attention shifted towards the stage. Sharing a brief glance, they both turned their attention the musician.

The café grew just a little dimmer as the upbeat song filled the air, something about happiness and summer heat, and Raven could feel the relaxed emotions of the crowd. Getting comfortable after some relief from the heat, she leaned back into her seat. Stealing a quick glance at Tim, she felt his content aura. They settled into a comfortable silence, listening to the musician up on stage. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Tim relax – a rather rare sight. Dick had previously told her he had been worrying over Tim working himself to the bone with cases and work as CEO at WE. Raven did notice his driven work ethic the times the Titans had to work on cases in Gotham. Tim was a slave-driver on himself.

Midway into the third (or fourth, Raven wasn’t really keeping track) song, a young boy sidled up to their table carrying a bunch of paper flowers. She noticed the boy earlier moving from table to table when they entered the café. “Hey mister!” he called their attention. Tim turned to the boy curiously.

The boy held up a bunch of his colorful paper flowers – roses, carnations, daisies – a few lopsided, but still intricately made. “You want to buy your girlfriend some flowers?”

Raven blinked and colored immediately. She leaned forward and tried to waive her hand in dismissal. “We’re not –”

“Yeah, sure,” Tim smoothly cut her off and leaned towards the boy. Ignoring her bewildered expression, he fished out his wallet from his pocket. “How much are they, buddy?”

“Three bucks each,”

“Great,” Tim pulled out a 20 and handed it to the boy. The boy raised the bunch of flowers towards Tim, who pulled out the lopsided yellow rose, a pink dahlia, and the green daisy. “Keep the change,” he waived off the boy as he tried to fish for change in his pocket.

The boy, who looked around 12 years old, blinked and stared at Tim in awe. “Really mister?” at Tim’s nod, he beamed. “Thank you, mister!” he gasped before scampering away towards another table.

“Here,” Tim handed the three flowers to Raven, who accepted them with a surprised look on her face. “They’re a bit wonky but I figured it’d be better we got these since I doubt others might be interested in buying them from him,”

Of course he had to do something nice. Something warm spread through her chest and Raven fought off a blush. She absently fiddled with a paper leaf. “You didn’t correct him,” she said with an accusing tone.

Tim shrugged his shoulder absently. He gave her an amused grin. “I’m pretty sure he did not recognize me. He’s definitely too young to be a gossip column writer. I doubt he knows what TMZ is,” he teased. He eyed the flowers briefly before looking at her curiously. “Do you like them?”

She felt the familiar warm press of his emotions. Leaning into his space just a little bit, Raven offered a him a small pleased smile. “Thank you, boyfriend.”

Tim laughed, eyes bright and amused at her teasing. Raven enjoyed how his emotions pressed into her. “You’re welcome, girlfriend.”

They stayed at the café for another few hours, enjoying the music and talking about random interests. When the sun was slowly setting and the heat was not as unforgiving as before, they left the market and returned to the fair for another quick look around the place.

Raven ended up buying one more painting, a small scene of pink cherry blossoms, claiming that Kori would like it.

“Where are you staying?” asked Tim after Raven paid for her latest painting and they were mindlessly walking past booths. It was getting dark and he was getting hungry, perhaps it was a good idea to drop off all her things. “Do you want to grab something to eat?”

Raven blinked, mildly aware that she was hungry. But with the paintings they were carrying, it didn’t seem like a good idea to grab anything at the fair. “I’m at the Grand just by the West exit of the park. I can drop the paintings off,” she said and raised her free hand to grab the painting Tim was holding.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you. It’s no big deal,” Tim waived her off and started walking towards the west exit. “I saw a Thai restaurant close by, we could go there after we drop off your humongous shopping haul,”

“Hey,” Raven frowned at Tim. “My shopping is not humongous,”

“You bought two paintings, Rachel,” Tim teased. “I think you were about to buy another too,”

“I was not,”

Tim grinned. “I saw you eyeing that small painting of a teacup,” He eyed her curiously. “How are you even going home with this many paintings?”

“I have my ways,” Raven rolled her eyes.

Tim knew what she meant and just chuckled. They made it to the hotel and politely declined help from hotel staff. Raven stole a curious glance at Tim as they entered the elevator and she swiped her room card on the sensor and pressed her floor number. She silently thought what a surprise this day turned out to be.

They made it to her floor and reached her room with little distractions. Opening the door for them, Raven switched on the lights.

“Come on in,” Raven said, throwing an amused smile at him before depositing the small painting, her paper flowers, and her bag on the large TV console table. Toeing off her shoes, she sighed in relief and padded towards the balcony to open it.

“Fancy hotel,” Tim commented after placing the large calla lily painting on the other end of the table. He idly walked around, taking in the large hotel room with the modern furnishings and the dim lights. He watched Raven pull aside the curtains of the large balcony glass doors and open the doors to allow a comfortable breeze to slip into the room.

“It’s the least I can do to get a good vacation from living with boys for all these years,” replied Raven as she moved onto the balcony and leaned on the railing to look down.

“That bad?” Tim chuckled and joined Raven on the balcony. He stood next to her and his eyes widened at the sprawling sight of the park down below them. “Oh wow, that’s an excellent view,” he commented. “You got a better view than my place,”

Raven blinked, surprised. She imagined he’d have a far better place than hers. “Where are you staying?”

“We have a WE apartment a block away from here,” Tim supplied. He pointed towards the other end of the park. “Right by the business center,” he shrugged his shoulders absently. “I get a good view of the business district, nothing as nice as this. I’ll probably book a stay here the next time I have to come by,”

“Do you always travel for work?” Raven asked curiously. She always wondered how Bruce and Tim balanced their day jobs and vigilante life. Richard was largely hands off from the business and kept most of his time either at the tower or helping out the local police force.

Tim placed his elbows on the railing and leaned forward a bit, enjoying the warm summer breeze they were getting. He stared at the lights and movements pensively down below. “Once in a while. It’s usually for large business acquisitions or other boring stuff,” he shrugged. “CEO work has me more at the office these days,”

“I was always curious how you guys get to balance your work at WE and your,” Raven paused and tried to find the right words. She titled her head and smiled up at him in amusement. “Night job?”

Tim chuckled. “A lot of coffee, no sleep, and painkillers?”

Raven made a face and snorted. “Sounds terrible,”

He shrugged. After years of living this kind of lifestyle and working as CEO since he was a teenager, Tim didn’t really mind as much anymore. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds. There are days off, though rare and in between,”

“Like now?”

She felt that familiar soft press of emotions again as the mood shifted ever so slightly just as a warm breeze settled on them. She watched Tim smile softly as he continued to stare at the people down below. “Yeah,” he said softly. Tilting his head in her direction he offered her a warm smile. “How do you spend your day at the Tower?”

Raven hummed and looked thoughtful. “Nothing really as exciting as business mergers,” she said and she could see Tim out of the corner of her eyes slowly in amusement. She leaned over the balcony railing and watched the busy festival below. “I don’t think there’s a lot going on for Rachel Roth outside of work,” she made a face. “I read most of the time,”

“Raunchy novels?” Tim teased, grinning at her and leaning into her space just a little bit.

Raven chuckled. “Especially those,” her blue eyes danced. “I help Victor with some upgrades on our vehicles. I’ve become very good at fixing rocket boosters and particle beams,” she said. “Also, I can change oil,” she said teasingly. “Let me know if you need your oil changed,”

Tim laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“There’s really nothing else. I go to festivals like these once in a while, or a café,” she said.

“Didn’t you finish college recently?” Tim asked curiously. At her surprised look, he continued. “Dick mentioned you finished a history degree?”

“History and Literature,” supplied Raven, surprised that Tim even knew this. “I finished last year. Took classes at Jump University, but did most of the coursework online, because crime fighting keeps tight schedule,”

“Sounds pretty amazing to me,” Tim said with an impressed note in his voice. “Juggling school and ‘work’ is tough,”

Raven hummed in agreement. Looking down she watched lights blink from the festival and distant music fill the air. “Looks like the music festival is starting,”

Tim looked down briefly before turning to Raven. “Did you want to go back down? You said you liked the music festival,”

Raven ignored how nice it felt that Tim actually paid attention to what she said earlier. Her chest warmed and she nodded. “Sure,” she said. “Maybe grab something at the Thai place first though, I’m hungry,”

Tim laughed and followed her back into the room. He watched her close the balcony door. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m famished,”

They wound up sharing a large order of pad Thai, some tom yum, and sticky rice. Tim discovered Raven had a sweet tooth after ordering a Thai milk tea to go just before they headed to the outdoor music area. The crowd wasn’t all to large but seemed very much alive and into the music from the indie rock band up on stage, with people cheering, dancing, and jumping up and down in time with the music. The two of them shuffled through the crowd, barely hearing each other over the loud bass and guitar riffs. With her free hand, Raven grabbed Tim’s wrist and steered them towards the side of the crowd, close enough to the stage but with some distance from the thick center of the audience.

Tim stared at the stage, unable to recognize the music or the group of men with full beards and tie-dye shirts on stage. The music was fun, with a rocky edge to it, though he barely could hear the lyrics over the loud bass. The crowd did not seem to mind as everyone cheered and danced to the music. Awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets, Tim glanced at Raven and grinned as she bobbed her head to the music and lightly swayed to the beat. A smile played on her lips and Tim watched as the lights of the large LED screens reflected on her face and made her eyes sparkle. He ignored how his chest fluttered at the sight.

“Do you even understand what they’re singing?” Tim asked, raising voice over the loud inaudible singing. He had to lean into her, drawing closer just so she could hear him. There was a loud guitar riff and people screamed in delight. Tim watched as Raven laughed and turned her face to him, unfazed at the close proximity, her eyes bright in amusement. Tim felt his breath catch.

“No!” Raven replied and bounced on her heels. Her milk tea sloshed dangerously in her plastic cup and some spilled over her hand. She took a careful sip and looked at him, still swaying to some random song. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah?” Tim laughed, delighted to see this side of her. He watched her glance over his shoulder, taking in the happy crowd close to them. He shuffled closer as some concert goers brushed past him. Tim watched as Raven glanced at him, lips curling into a small smile before turning back to the stage and lightly swaying to the music, her dark hair flying behind her back. Tim released soft chuckle and turned to the stage, silently surprised at Raven’s interest in loud music.

The band shifted to some kind of chanting and clapping, to which the crowd replied in gusto. Tim thought the band was rather eclectic and awkwardly clapping along, lest he looked out of place. Raven stood in front of him, lightly swaying and clumsily slapping her wrist to the beat while juggling her half-empty milk tea cup. Tim thought this was definitely a sight and he grinned, finally getting just a little bit into the music.

They stayed like that, swaying and bouncing to the music. Raven occasionally raised her hands clumsily when the rest of the crowd did too. Tim laughed and joined when she turned to him to do the same. At a particular upbeat song, which again, they barely understood, the crowd went wild and everyone was jumping and dancing.

“C’mon!” she yelled, tugging Tim’s arm and bouncing on her heels. He laughed and quickly joined her. They could figure out the actual lyrics to the songs later.

He glanced at Raven, drinking in her amused face and the bounce in her movements. She caught his gaze and they shared a long smile, both caught in the moment. As the music shifted to another song, Raven squeezed his hand and slowly let go, she kept close this time, gently pressing into Tim’s side and swaying to the music. Instinctively, Tim placed his hand on her shoulder and stole a glance at her, watching as the corners of her lips quirked into another smile. Turning back to the stage, Tim felt that familiar flutter in his chest and smiled.

“Opfh!”

Someone accidently bumped into Raven’s side and they barely registered who it was and what exactly happened. Raven jumped as some of the milk tea spilled out of the cup and slid down her side. “Ugh,” she breathed, and tried to swipe some off he shorts and her crop top.

Tim steadied her, watching her shake off some tea from her hand. “You good?” he asked, keeping close to her ear.

Raven looked up, briefly surprised at the close proximity, before offering him a small smile and nodding. “Yeah, just sticky,” she said.

They stayed at the concert until it ended at a little before midnight. They joined the crowd as they trickled out of the concert arena. Raven laughed as Tim commented that his knees were starting to hurt from all the bouncing around. (“Getting old Mr. Wayne?” Raven teased.)

“Did you like the concert?” Raven asked as they left the concert area. They passed a garbage can and she dropped her empty milk tea cup in it.

Tim leaned in and teasingly grinned at her. “I’m sorry, what was that? The deafening bass guitar busted my hearing,” he said, raising his voice just a little bit.

Raven rolled her eyes and nudged him away with her shoulder. “Okay, I honestly did not understand a thing too,” she said, voice still a little bit raised from the deafening music earlier.

Brushing his sweaty hair out of his face, Tim glanced at her. “It was fun. I honestly cannot remember the last time I ever went to a concert that did not require formalwear,” he said and beamed as Raven laughed. “I didn’t know you liked concerts, let alone bands with terrible sound engineering,”

Raven laughed and rolled her eyes at the jab at the band. They stopped at traffic light as they headed back to her hotel. “Kori loves them. I tag along with some of the girls. I’m honestly surprised that I actually enjoy going to some,” she said. She glanced at the red stoplight before turning to a curious Tim. “After the whole ordeal with my father, it’s nice to indulge in emotions once in a while. Though, it’ll be a while before I’ll ever go to a crowded place again,” she added.

Tim nodded in understanding. This also explained her open emotions. He silently wondered if he could see this side more of her – he would love to see more of this open side of her. The light switched to green. As they approached her hotel, they lightly discussed the band’s songs and blindly tried to guess the lyrics.

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure the song did not go ‘flying turtled ‘yo back,’” Tim laughed as they stopped in front of the hotel’s entrance.

Dark blue eyes danced in delight. “Well, I could be wrong. But it definitely did,” Raven said.

“I’ll make sure to be on the lookout for this song on the radio then,” Tim teased.

They shared a smile, staring at each other momentarily before realizing that they had made it to their stop. Tim inhaled softly, awkwardly wondering if this was already goodbye. He wondered if there would be other chances to see Raven again.

“I had a fun today,” Tim said finally and offered Raven a gentle smile. Shuffling slightly in his spot, Tim thought perhaps they could go see each other again, maybe in Gotham? Or in Jump? The drive to Jump wasn’t all too bad.

“Yeah, me too. I had fun,” Raven breathed, suddenly flustered and just a tiny bit breathless. Her body was still buzzing from the high of a good time spent together, and somewhere in the warmth and high, she enjoyed Tim’s presence. She felt that familiar press of emotions from him, lingering around her. A thrill ran down her spine. Catching his long stare, she smiled. “Thanks for today, Tim,”

Tim returned her smile and nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. Admittedly, Tim did not want this night to end. Because, there were so many discoveries and revelations – and he definitely wanted to know more about her. But perhaps at another time. “Well, good night. I’ll see you again?”

An open invitation. Her stomach fluttered and she nodded. “Yeah,” she breathed. Swallowing, she briefly glanced at the hotel’s entrance before turning back to Tim. She blinked and threw caution in to the window, heart suddenly in her throat and a tingle ran down her spine. “Actually, do you want to come up?”

Tim raised his eyebrows in surprise and watched Raven shift under his gaze, a tentative smile playing on her lips. He blinked and swallowed at the open invitation and what it held. A nervous jolt ran through his body as he thought of the possibilities and he quickly dismissed the images that came to mind. Inhaling softly and ignoring how breathless he felt suddenly, Tim smiled gently down at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

Raven wordlessly nodded, her smile growing just a fraction, before ducking her head and leading the way into the hotel. Tim followed her into the hotel, silently crossing the lobby with her and joining her in the elevator. The elevator ride was filled with a heavy silence and Raven silently wondered if she felt her own nerves and Tim’s as she heard her heart beat loudly in her chest.

Their heavy silence was broken by the loud automatic lock of her hotel room door as it closed behind Tim. At the noise, Raven glanced at Tim, who in turn curiously looked back at her. As the silence settled again over them, Raven’s lips quirked into an amused smile. Funny how an afternoon of long conversations led to this moment of silence. Sensing her amusement over the situation, Tim offered a gentle smile in return.

“Do you want something to drink?” Raven asked, tearing away from Tim’s gaze as she suddenly grew warm again. She blinked and turned towards the mini fridge, wondering if there was anything to drink at all. Not really waiting for a reply, she pulled open the black fridge and grabbed one of the water bottles. Turning around, she noticed that Tim had silently crept up to her and was standing next to her. “Here,” she said and quickly pressed the cold bottle into his hands. Fingers brushed against her hand and she blinked at the contact.

“Thanks,” Tim chuckled and gratefully took the drink, at least it kept him preoccupied for a little bit. After taking a few gulps of water, Tim recapped his water bottle and watched as Raven pulled off her shoes and socks. Leaning against the console table, he watched Raven move around the room.

“So,” Tim breathed after Raven had neatly placed her shoes and socks into one corner of the room. She glanced at him as she walked towards the other end of the console and deposited her phone on the surface. “What are you plans tomorrow?”

Raven shrugged. “There’s supposed to be a pottery station tomorrow, I think I’ll do that tomorrow. Maybe buy a few ceramics for Kori and Jinx,” Her lips quirked teasingly and her eyes danced in the low light of her room. “Preferably something shaped like a dick for Jinx,”

Tim laughed, enjoying her teasing. “Good luck with that,”

“You’re going to miss out on the ceramic dicks,” Raven teased, crossing her arms and leaning into the table to face Tim.

“Ah,” Tim breathed and shook his head in mock disappointment. Moving away from his spot, he shuffled closer to Raven and grinned at her as the tension seemed to lift. “I think I’m good with what I have,” he blinked and immediately backpedaled once his brain caught up with his mouth. “I mean –”

Raven released a bark of laughter she had been holding and Tim felt heat rise to his face. He watched her snort ungracefully and Tim chuckled sheepishly in response. His laughter slowly died down as he watched Raven grin at him in total amusement, her eyes bright, and her nose scrunched up in that familiar way if she found something ridiculous.

“You’re weird, Tim Drake-Wayne,” Raven breathed as her chuckles subsided and she felt her cheeks hurt from all the laughter and smiling she had done today. When was the last time she actually thoroughly enjoyed someone’s company like this? She wondered as something achingly pleasant stirred within her.

“Hah,” Tim released a breathy chuckle. Stealing a quick glance at her, Tim surveyed her room and took in her how neatly she kept everything. His gaze briefly landed on her neatly made bed and he ignored how his heart leaped as he remembered where they were.

Turning back to Raven, he caught her staring at him in an expression he could not quite place. He swallowed thickly. “Could I see you again?” Tim asked tentatively, voice dropping just a little bit at the question. He watched Raven’s eyes widen in response.

“Tomorrow?” she asked a little breathlessly. The moment shifted. She felt it, that low press of flirting and desire, emotions she was not all quite too sure if they were his or her own. She shifted under Tim’s long stare and felt herself take a deep breath, as her body seemed to react all on its own.

Tim hummed and tilted his head to the right light, studying Raven under the pale light of her decorative lamp in the room. “I have a board meeting tomorrow,” he explained. Not one to wait any longer, Tim took a step towards her, and slowly crowded into her space. A thrill ran down his spine as he realized just how tiny Raven was she craned her head to look at him. “I was thinking some other day? For dinner? The museum? Or maybe coffee?” he paused and quirked his lips. “Milk tea?”

Raven was aware of the little space they now shared and she could see his gaze drop to her lips and back to her eyes. “Yeah,” she said and nodded. “I’d like that,”

“Great,” Tim breathed and drank in the pleased expression that crossed her face. “I,” he briefly stumbled and very tentatively touched her hand that rested on the table next to them. He stared into Raven’s blue eyes that seemed to darken under the light. Her fingers twitched as his calloused fingertips ran over the rings on her fingers. “I like you, you’re pretty amazing, Raven,”

“Oh,” Raven breathed and somewhere in the middle of his confession and where his fingers ran over an old scar on the back of her hand, she felt her body react and her breath catch in her throat. His fingers stilled on her wrist and Raven vaguely registered the little space between them and the warm press of his emotions into her. “How long?”

Tim’s finger wrapped around her wrist and she felt his index finger ran along the thin silver bracelets she wore. She watched him shrug absently, his expression turning light. “Since the mission in Peru,” he said, lips tugging in amusement.

“Two years ago?” she asked and she watched him nod. Or was it three? She wasn’t all too sure anymore as her mind slowly refused to work as she grew increasingly distracted by her own warm emotions, desires, and the little ministrations of his fingers against the inside of her wrist. She vaguely remembered the long conversations they shared in briefing rooms, the linger stares, and the stray smiles. Her chest tightened and stared up at Tim as he waited for her reaction.

She wasn’t all too sure what happened next – if she pulled him in or if Tim pulled her in. But she was sure that Tim’s fingers were dangerous as they teasingly slipped up and down the of her arm, sending shivers down her spine and stocking a heat low in her abdomen. She sighed into his lips, as long fingers curled into the nape of her neck and tilted her head in such a way he could better drink the soft whimpers that escaped her lips.

She felt him push her into the table behind her, the sharp edge digging into her back and drawing a soft gasp from her. Tim eagerly chased her soft gasps with long kisses, tongue swiping against her own and teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She could barely hear their heavy breathing and soft whimpers as her heart beat loudly in her ears.

Her fingers sunk into Tim’s shoulders, curling into the soft material of his shirt and pressing into hard muscle. Raven gasped as warm hands pressed into her bare waist, fingertips stroking old scars and pushing under her crop top. His fingers were a confusing mix of feathery and strong as they danced over scars, she faintly wondered what else his talented fingers could do.

Tim released her lips and pressed a soft huff of laughter into her cheek, as his hand pressed into the dip of her waist. “So sticky,” he chuckled into her cheek and Raven became vaguely aware of the sensation of sticky milk tea on her skin.

“Shut up,” Raven mumbled and she felt his lips spread into a languid smile against her cheeks. Clumsily reaching up and pressing herself against Tim’s solid body, her fingers curled around his neck and shifted his face to press their noses together. “Less complaining, more kissing,”

And kiss he did. As Tim greedily drank her whimpers, Raven was sure she was drowning. She felt teeth sink into her bottom lip, drawing out a long gasp from her and her fingertips clumsily slipped from his neck and caught in the collar of his shirt. She felt the low rumble in his chest as Tim groaned and pressed into her.

Unable to bare the sharp edge of the table press into her back anymore, Raven unsteadily tried to lift herself onto the table. Catching her movement, Tim grabbed her hips and pushed her onto the table, promptly filling the space between her legs. Pitching forward, Tim kissed her neck with teeth dragging slowly across her pulse point. Raven groaned in response, body arching into Tim and her fingers slipping into his hair. Tim hummed as she tugged his hair.

In the haze of her mind, she vaguely felt rough hands slip under her crop top and slide over her ribs, dragging the material up with them. Tim pulled away from her neck and Raven felt herself melt under his gaze as his dark eyes started at her, searching for a reaction. She watched his eyes drop briefly to her chest; his hands stopped on the sides of her chest and pooled her shirt with them – the beginnings of her black bra teasingly peeking out below her shirt. Tim swallowed thickly and looked up, gaging her response.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, his breath fanning teasingly over her face. Tim was sure his whole body was on fire, desperately seeking more of Raven. The little gasps and whispers of his name were driving him crazy and he was desperate for more. His fingers teasingly slipped under her bra, waiting for her reply.

Raven took in his hooded gaze and flushed cheeks. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, digging into muscle. Vaguely feeling the heat building inside of her, Raven inhaled sharply and nodded, thighs pressing into his hips. “Yes,” she whimpered.

Tim released an unsteady breath and he felt heat pool low in his abdomen at her breathy response. Pitching forward, he kissed her roughly before pulling away and made quick work on her clothes.

His hands were swift as they worked off her shirt and her bra, and Raven gasped as rough hands dragged agonizingly slow down her chest, slipping over her nipples, and sliding down her stomach. Her back arched, she desperately gasped for a deep breath as she leaned heavily against the wall behind her. Tim’s hands were addicting, fingers longer and gentle, yet rough and powerful at the same time. She whimpered as hands stopped at her waist and fingers dug into hot flesh.

Opening her eyes, Raven watched Tim stare openly at her. She sat there, bare and open and Tim seemed to drink in her nakedness – his gaze greedily drinking in her form. Her back arched as his hands made another slow and agonizing trek up her body. It was like she was on display and Tim took his careful time in cataloguing every bump, ridge and scar under the dim lights of her room. Raven felt deliciously exposed under his gaze as he studied every last inch of her. She hummed as fingers slipped over the swell of her breasts before feathering over perk nipples, and sliding over her collarbones and around her neck.

Raven was addicting, Tim thought. She was everything and more, he realized as he watched transfixed at her heady gaze on his hands as they travelled up her body and slipped over her breasts. He felt his cock ache at her soft whimper and he vowed that her whispers were like music he had been craving for.

Tim pulled her upright and Raven sank into him for another long kiss, groaning as fingers danced down her back and counted ever bump of her spine. Blindly sliding her hands down his sides, Raven slipped her hands under his shirt and made quick work to remove it from his body. Tim drew away from her, breathless as he pulled his shirt over his head and his hands dropped to the tops of her thighs to give them a moment to breathe.

Raven stared transfixed at Tim, drinking in the broad muscle and watching it contract with each movement. God it was a sin to look this beautiful, she thought as her fingers slipped over his sides and she listened to his sharp intake of breath. The old bullet wound scar in his right oblique contracted as her fingers pressed into the defined dips of muscles.

“Raven,” Tim breathed into her neck as she continued her careful ministration of memorizing every scar and muscle. Raven’s fingers left a trail of fire as they danced over his abs. Fuck. Tim breathed into her neck and felt her hips roll into his.

He caught her lips in another delirious kiss and Raven whimpered at the hot contact of hard muscle against her chest. She sank to him, trying desperately to feed the growing hunger within her. She could hear her breathy gasps and moans. His fingers slipped down her ribs and teased her old scars on her waist. As teeth greedily sank into her bottom lip, Raven was sure she was going to explode.

“Bed,” she whimpered, feebly pushing against his shoulders and gasping for breath. “Please,” she whimpered and her hips rocked into his clumsily. She heard Tim growl and pull away from her to allow her to get off the table. Raven stumbled off the table with her feet landing on the floor unsteadily, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders for support. Tim caught her, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek and guiding her towards the large hotel bed.

Raven released a breathy laugh as they tumbled into bed, Tim’s weight pressing deliciously into her. She felt the low rumble of Tim’s chuckle against her chest, and she smiled as she relished the feeling of being wrapped up and held tight. Fingers danced up her ribcage and over the swell of her breast, before slipping under her chin and pressing her face up for another heady kiss. She arched her body into Tim’s, groaning at the needy press of emotions.

After another strong nip to her lower lip, Tim pulled away and stared at her breathless face. Grinning languidly, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her flushed cheeks. “You taste like Thai milk tea,” he mumbled with a soft teasing lilt into her ear.

Raven laughed, chest light and her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Tilting her head to offer better access to her neck, she felt him chuckle and press feathery kisses down her neck. Her breathing hitched as Tim’s lips slowly worked their way down, nibbling at the curve of her neck and slipping down to her collar bone and to the swell of her breasts. Raven gasped and slid her fingers into Tim’s hair as his tongue flicked her nipple before eagerly sucking and nibbling the pebbled peak. After a few sharp breaths, Tim switched to the other breast and Raven felt like her body was burning.

“You’re beautiful, Raven,” breathed Tim as he pulled away and hovered over her, his dark gaze sweeping over her writhing form. Tim was sure the sight of Raven pressed into white bedsheets, black hair flayed, body flushed, and completely on display to him would forever be etched in his memory. He watched her take in a shuddering breath as she looked up at him, blushing in response.

With how on fire her body was, Raven barely felt the heat that rushed to her cheeks. Releasing a soft huff, she watched Tim grin at her. Rolling her eyes playfully, Raven tugged Tim back to her for a languid kiss. She sighed at the welcome press of his weight and she felt his hips press into hers, drawing out a soft moan at the telltale press of his erection against her hip.

Raven shifted her hips against Tim’s, enjoying the hard friction and the whisper of relief that came with it. Tim groaned in response and rolled his hips into hers. Tim’s fingers slid down her stomach and hooked teasingly into the waistband of her shorts. His knuckles pressed into her abdomen and he pressed his thumb against the button of her shorts.

“Is this okay?” he mumbled into the crook of her neck. He pressed a kiss to her neck as he waited for a reply.

Unable to find her voice at this point, Raven whimpered softly and nodded. She released a breathy sigh and closed her eyes as fingers were fast at work on her shorts and underwear and slipping them down her trembling legs. She breathed unsteadily at the cool brush of air against her hot, wet center.

“Ah,” Raven gasped, back arching off the bed as fingers slid over her and her legs obediently spread open. Long nibble fingers stroked and probed her, Tim’s lips brushing gently against her cheek, coaxing long breathy moans from her. She felt his own hum and groan as Tim continued with his thorough ministrations.

The whole world seemed to melt away as Tim greedily drank in her gloriously naked sight. Tim inhaled sharply as he watched her eyes roll back as he spread her wide to him and brushed her clit with his fingers. His cock twitched painfully as she whispered his name with every quick stroke.

Heat pooled low in her abdomen and she rolled her hips into his hand as one finger slowly slipped into her. Raven moaned as she felt his long heated stare over her body, as if memorizing every reaction and storing it to memory. She burned under his gaze. “Tim,” she gasped, thighs spreading wider in invitation. Heat was consuming her.

One finger became two and Raven was sure she was going to burst into flames. She whimpered and her fingers curled into Tim’s shoulder trying to anchor herself. Tim pressed a kiss to her flushed cheeks, murmuring her name into her heated skin.

“Please,” her voice cracked embarrassingly and her right hand blindly reached down, clumsily hooking into the waistband of Tim’s shorts. Her knuckles pressed into hard abdomen and she felt the muscle contract.

She felt the low rumble of a groan in Tim’s chest and they shifted, bodies pressing together in a hurried motion. The material of Tim’s short’s rough against her thigh with every desperate little thrust she tried to make. They kissed once more, rough and languid, and Raven released a shuddering breath into Tim’s lips as she felt his fingers slip out of her. She whimpered as slick fingers pressed into her hips to pin her body down.

His shorts and underwear disappeared soon thereafter. Raven inhaled sharply as she watched Tim kneel in between her spread legs, his form large with muscles glistening and scars prominent as a thin sheen of sweat covered his body. His bright blue eyes roamed her body, eagerly drinking her in.

Tim was burning for release and he was dead set in making it as pleasurable for Raven as it was for him – and more. Tim loomed over her, his left hand dropping to her thigh to anchor himself as his gaze traveled from her dripping core to her face. He gave himself a few strokes as he consumed the sight of her spread legs and writhing hips.

Raven watched Tim give himself a few powerful strokes. Raven’s breath hitched at the movement, tearing her eyes away from his hand and the way his cock pressed into his abdomen to look up at his face. Tim’s lips quirked as he caught her stare.

Tim leaned into her and kissed her long and hard. Raven thought his kissed were that of a thirsty man, as he eagerly drank her breathy sighs and milked her for more with the feathery touch of his fingers dancing over her ribs and waist. She felt the hot press of his erection against her thigh and she instinctively rolled her hips into him, purring at the delicious feel of hot silky cock sliding against her inner thigh. Her legs spread wider for him, accommodating his hips in between her legs and she whispered his name in pleasure as he pressed his body harder into her.

Tim hummed and pressed his hips into her. He pulled his lips away from hers with a shuddering breath as he felt his cock brush against her wet center. Fuck.

“Raven,” Tim released a throaty groan as he felt Raven roll her hips against him again. He heard her whimper in response. He felt a whispered ‘please’ against his cheek and Tim groaned. Leaning back, he took his erection and lined himself up to her center. His body hummed in eager anticipation and he watched Raven writhe below him. He sunk in.

Raven saw blinding hot white wrap around her as her eyes sharply pressed closed and her back arched off the bed. She gasped loudly as Tim stretched her wide in the most delicious way possible. She felt his restrain as he hovered above her, arms on either side of her head quivering, as he slowly sunk deeper into her – stretching her wide and filling her. Her body burned and she moaned loudly as he finally, finally, filled her to the hilt and sunk his hips into her and pressed his face into her neck, groaning loudly into her ear in sheer pleasure. She was so full and hot – Raven was sure she was going to explode.

Tim whispered her name breathlessly into her skin, still delirious at the hot feel of pure Raven around him. His cock throbbed as he sought for more. Dragging his teeth over her pulse point, he slowly pulled out of her, earning a soft gasp from her lips, and sunk back into her. Tim cursed at the delicious friction and prayed that he would last as heat slowly flooded his veins with each stroke of his hips into her.

Raven gasped and her fingers sunk into Tim’s upper back as they found rhythm that stoked the fire that was settling lower and lower into her. She dragged her nails down his back as she released a strangled groan just as Tim filled her to the hilt, hips snapping loudly against hers. Tim cursed loudly into her neck as each push sent another shock of blinding pleasure through him, each press and stroke more powerful and addicting than the last. He could feel her tighten around him, his cock eagerly stroking her hot core.

They picked up their pace and Raven eagerly pushed her body up to meet his every thrust, stoking that burning fire within her. She moaned loudly as Tim adjusted her hips and dragged her right leg over his hips, hitting her just the right way.

“Fuck,” Raven cried and rolled her head back in pleasure as Tim rocked into her at a pace that had her racing towards the edge of a cliff. Her leg tightened around Tim’s hips and she dug her nails into his back as his hips snapped into her.

The sounds Raven was making were driving Tim wild. He hitched her leg higher up his hips, sinking his cock deeper into her and making her sing. He groaned as he felt her flutter around him, and he was stunned at how loud and responsive Raven could be. Tim desperately wanted to hear her more.

Life around them disappeared as the sound of flesh hitting flesh and their breathy moans filled the room. Their thrusts became more frantic as the build of fire burned their nerves. Tim growled and sunk into her, hips snapping into Raven and his fingers quickly sliding between them as she mewled in pleasure. He pressed his thumb against her clit and rubbed the sensitive nub. He watched mesmerized as Raven gasped, her mouth dropping open and her back arching off the bed as she released a loud strangled cry.

Raven cried out his name as she flew off the cliff and into oblivion. The whole world disappeared into a burst of bright light and her body soared. Her thighs quivered around Tim, thrusting frantically into him as his cock continued to stroke her, guiding her through a blinding high. She pressed herself into him, gasping his name like a mantra and her hips snapped wildly into him, as she felt his own release barrel into her. She felt his muscles contract as her fingers slipped over his slick skin and he continued to thrust into her, stroking a delicious hot fire as they rode off the edge. Tim shuddered as hot jolts of pleasure ran down his spine and he sank his teeth into her neck to muffle his groans.

Tim released a shuddering breath and pressed himself into Raven, careful not to crush her. Pressing his face into her neck, he breathed in the scent of lavender and sweat and listened to her unsteady breaths. Raven wrapped her arms around his shoulders, as she felt Tim’s loud heart beat against her own frantically beating heart. Her senses were slowly coming back, as the sweat and smell of the world around them slowly creeped back into her mind.

Raven opened her eyes and turned her head to watch Tim’s face. Catching her gaze, Tim gave her a breathless smile and clumsily pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. He slowly pulled back, pulling himself out of her. Raven shuddered at the sensation and sighed softly at the loss. Tim rolled over onto his back into the space next to her and sighed loudly. He quickly grabbed her and pulled her towards him. Raven immediately curled into his side, legs tangling into his and her arm draping over his chest. Tim tucked her under his arm, pressing her closer and allowing them both to catch their breaths and bask in the aftermath of the moment.

When the world finally fully came back to them, Raven inhaled deeply and tilted her head towards Tim’s face just to catch him staring at her intently. Tim reached out and gently brushed some sweaty strands of hair away from her face, the gentle action made her chest warm and her lips curled into a soft smile.

“Hey,” Tim breathed, his hand sliding down her chin and his thumb feathering over her lower lip.

“Hi,” Raven whispered. Her chest fluttered at the warm emotions that seemed to wrap around them. She knew that they had to talk about what just happened, perhaps once she could think properly. For now, she would enjoy the way Tim’s fingers danced over her shoulder and traced imaginary patterns into her skin. For now, she won’t overthink this and just bask in the moment, relish the confessions spoken earlier, and drink in every minute of tonight and the promise of tomorrow. They would talk, soon.

~

Raven woke up to loud knocking at the hotel room door. She groaned and pulled her face from her pillow as the feeling of tiredness and sore muscles kicked in. She was sleepy and exhausted – they had stayed up most of the night up until dawn before exhaustion finally kicked in and knocked them out. She turned to the empty space next to her, she could still smell hints of cedarwood waft from the pillow and tickle her nose. She faintly remembered rustling of bedsheets and clothes, and the gentle press of a kiss into her bare shoulder blade that morning.

The door knocked again, ‘Room Service!’, and Raven sighed. Ignoring the pang of disappointment of waking up alone, she hauled her naked body out of bed. Her muscles ached, a reminder of everything that happened. She grabbed one of the spare bathrobes from the bathroom and quickly attempted to to fix her hair to hide all evidence of her long night of debauchery.

The door knocked again and Raven frowned at the persistence. “Coming!” she called. Making sure her robe was secure, lest she wanted to flash the poor hotel staff, she marched towards the door and promptly opened the door. She stared in surprise at the hotel staff and the trolley in front of her.

“Good Morning, Ms. Roth. Breakfast time!” chirped the hotel staff, a young woman. Not really waiting for Raven’s response, she pushed the trolley into Raven’s room, set up the trolley next to the balcony, and made a few adjustments on the trolley. “Enjoy!” she said and disappeared out of Raven’s room as quickly as she came. The door locked behind her.

Raven blinked, utterly confused at the sight of a rather lavish breakfast trolley with silver serving covers and large pot of tea. Her gaze settle on the beautiful bouquet of flowers set in the center of the trolley – calla lilies. Her earlier disappointment dissipated and Raven found herself smiling at the bunch of white calla lilies. She felt her stomach flip and chest flutter at the sight of the flowers and she gingerly touched one of the silky petals. Noticing the small white envelope with her name on it. Picking it up, she pulled out a simple white card. Raven smiled.

“See you soon.

- T.”

[mscoyditch]

Davie Caro > Vintage Fashion uncovered

"During the later part of the 1st decade of the 1900s to the early 1910s, Filipinos followed "The Gibson Girl" style brought over by female "Thomasites" (American teachers that came over to the Philippines to teach after the Philippines was given to the USA in 1898).

The "Traje De Mestiza" 's sleeves became inflated, the skirt was cut into the "Serpentina" ( achieved by the attachment of large circular flounces at the bottom of the skirt and is known as "Morning Glory" in the west. Which are then interlined with Abaca).

The "Pañuelo", which was originally used for modesty, became merely an accessory because of the way it was folded to expose more of the neck.

The "Tapis" transformed to the "Sobrefalda" an overskirt usually made with black illusion-tulle.

The look was completed with the hair styled in a Pompadour and a range of accessories, which were the "Abanico"(Fan),"Porta Abanico” (fan holder), "Peineta"(comb), embroidered "Tsinelas or Corchos "(slippers), rosaries, and Scapularios.

Source : 'Patterns for the Filipino Dress: From the Traje de Mestiza to the Terno (1890s-1960s)'.

~~~~~○○○~~~~~

Photos.

#1. A rare find featuring the back and front views of a "Serpentina" style off the late 1900's to early 1910's. Philippine Traje de Mestiza dress.

The zig zag pattern of the lower portion of the skirt is called "Rio de Pasig" named after the river that traverses Manila and inspired by theEdwardian Era "Morning Glory" skirts. The trend started after the first batch of American teachers, referred to as "Thomasites", brought the fashion to tge Philippine Islands.

#2. Circa 1900. Elderly woman and a young lady. Both wearing the Traje de Mestiza, as they posed for an American Photographer. Collection of the University of Michigan.

#3. By the 1900's, sleeves off the "camisa" were inflated with the use of starch. The "Gibson Girl" was a significant influence on the sleeve proportion and the way hairstyles were done as well. University of Michigan Collection.

#4. >fashionable_filipinas>

1900. Two fashionable women from Laguna, Carmen and Isabel Ordoveza, in the latest "Serpentinas". The checkered garment on the left, with pieces (dich, blouse, skirt) made of one fabric, illustrates the penchant for matching ( which in Filipino, translates to the word "terno"). In Spanish "terno" means a suit of three pieces. Both Ladies wear ladies wear the necklace version of the "Porto abamco" (fan folder) made of pearls. Photo from their grandniece @amaranta318.

#5. By the 1910's, the camisa (blouse), paňuelo (fichu) and says (skirt) were matched. Motifs were carefully replicated on the stiffer camisa and paňuelo. Though there are also examples of entire ensembles created with identical abacus material. Private Collection.

#6. Urbana Kalaw in what seems to be a wedding Terno (given the color of the says and the veil draped on the chair). 1908. She wears transitional, turn of the century silhouette that will become more voluminous in the next few years. From @renzmarion17.

#7. The annual trek to the hills of Antipolo was primarily a religious pilgrimage. But it was also a major social activity, which involved carefully planned wardrobes for numerous Soirées and picnics. We are not 100% certain that this was taken in Antipolo but the dedication behind the postcard photo reads "A 15mi buen amigo el Sr Alfonso T Ongpin dedica cordialamente esta postal M Pad Zamora Antipolo 21/5/09". From the great grandfather of @lisaoperquet Alfonso T Ongpin's Collection".

[thehungrykat1]

Old Manila at The Peninsula Manila Reopens with a New Chef and a New Menu

The Peninsula Manila will always be a place close to my heart because this is where we held our church wedding reception last year after holding out for two years due to the pandemic. During this period, some of its restaurants had to keep closing and reopening because of the various restrictions being imposed. But one restaurant in particular was always on our mind because it remained closed from 2020 to 2022. Thankfully, Old Manila has finally reopened this 2023, showing off a brand new chef with a brand new menu to highlight its rebirth.

Old Manila is located on the ground floor of The Peninsula Manila’s Ayala Tower. This is a more private area within the hotel just past the very popular and busy lobby lounge where most of the Christmas activities are being held. The Hungry Kat was invited last week to rediscover the charm of Old Manila and to taste the wonderful flavors of their new menu.

Accented in art deco-inspired geometric patterns in gray, cream and black, and complemented by large-scale photographs by Filipino-Spanish photographer Francisco Guerrero, the contemporary interiors of Old Manila are the perfect backdrop for its unmatched bistronomy and grill menu and the extensive wine selection inside The Peninsula Manila’s 47-year-old signature restaurant.

Old Manila has served as an exquisite meeting place for the refined dining crowd of Metro Manila. Aside from the main dining hall, they also have semi private areas for small groups and families.

Our lovely dinner that evening was hosted by Mariano Garchitorena, The Peninsula Manila’s Director of Public Relations. We were also having dinner together with the Koppes who are always fun and entertaining companions.

The new chef at the helm of Old Manila is the talented French Chef de Cuisine Gaël Kubler who brings a new culinary flair to this iconic restaurant. He explained how he is learning more about the Filipino palate during his three months in the country and he is continuing to develop new dishes and ideas for Old Manila.

For tonight, Chef Gaël will be bringing out some of the most popular items on Old Manila’s new menu. We started with a choice of breads accompanied by rum raisin butter. This pair alone gave us a tasty preview of what else is to come.

We were also given an amuse bouche consisting of Tartare and Eggplant Caviar. The tartare was a delightful mix of flavors while the eggplant caviar was a surprise with its creamy texture.

Here are a few of the special appetizers on the menu. The Fresh Irish Gallagher Oysters (P1,690) look like they were just plucked from the ocean. These high-quality imported oysters are served with red wine and shallot mignonette.

The colorful Ahi Tuna Carpaccio (P1,490) comes with raw tuna prepared with calamansi gel, pickled mango, ginger oil and coconut dressing. This is a good starter that can be shared with the group.

What really blew me and everyone away was the Jerusalem Artichoke Veloute (P1,290). This is honestly one of the best soups I have ever tasted. The creamy and very fragrant broth is made with guanciale, hazelnut, and truffle. You can taste the truffle flavors balanced with the creamy ingredients which make it such a heavenly bowl.

For the main courses, you can choose something light like the Green Asparagus Risotto (P1,790). This is made with amaretto, roasted pistachio, pancetta, and Parmesan.

Another optoin is the Tasmanian Salmon (P2,690) with cauliflower puree, herb oil, and iodized sauce. This is what Chiara ordered, something simple yet elegant that even kids will enjoy.

There's also the Atlantic Turbot (P2,890) with its delightful combination of prawns, oyster mushroom, bok choi, potato, and ginger beurre blanc,

I ordered the Tournedos Rossini (P3,190) simply because I love anything with steak and foie gras. This has a thick cut of black opal wagyu topped with a luscious duck foie gras on a brioche bun and served with truffle mash on the side. The combination was just perfect with the tender wagyu giving way to the delicate but generous slice of foie gras.

Look at how big these Jumbo Tiger Prawns (P2,890) are! These are three huge pieces of juicy tiger prawns cooked fresh off the grill. You can have a full dinner with just these prawns.

But the highlight of our dinner at Old Manila is definitely the Jack's Creek Wagyu Tomahawk MB5 Steak (P11,990). This is a 1.2 kilogram wagyu steak cooked with its bone gloriously hanging by the side.

The steak was cooked perfectly medium, giving it a juicy and tender texture. The flavors of the beef were highlighted with every bite. All items from the grill come with your choice of sauce including bearnaise, red wine, green peppercorn, and ginger beurre blanc.

It also comes with two side dishes like the Grilled Green Asparagus with dill dijonnaise and fried leeks. You can also choose the Coconut Fried Rice with green curry, calamansi, and red chili.

The Dessert selection at Old Manila (P690 each) is also not to be missed. The Banana and Toffee comes with tuile, crémeux, and rum raisin ice cream.

There’s also the Pear and Hazelnut with spiced moscato, sponge, and salted caramel ice cream. All the dessert items look quite elegant with their presentation.

The Lime, Basil, and Strawberry come with sorbet, berries gel, and lemon crumble. Everyone’s favorite dessert turned out to be the Chocolate and Raspberry with fondant, ganache, and coulis. It was shaped and presented like a tree with soil and branches which makes it quite a popular item for photos.

We would like to thank Mr. Garch and Ms. Grace of The Peninsula Manila for hosting our fantastic dinner at Old Manila. We’re so happy that this dining institution in Makati is finally open once again to give the well-discerned foodies of Manila another venue to explore these culinary offerings. See you at The Pen soon!

Old Manila

Ground Level, The Peninsula Manila, Ayala Avenue corner and Makati Avenue, Makati City

8887-2888

www.peninsula.com/manila

www.facebook.com/ThePeninsulaManila

[shop-korea]

High School Musical 2 | All for one - Music Video - Disney Channel Italia

THIS - IS - LIBERTY - IT's

A - MUSICAL BY DISNEY

THIS - IN - REAL - LIFE

ONLY - HAPPENS - IN THE

PHILIPPINE - ISLANDS

BUT - SINCE - THEY HAVE

AS - MALE - PINOYS

STAB - 2 - DEATH - THE

MOMS - AND - WOMEN

WHO - WERE - GOING 2

SHOP - MANDALUYONG

MALL - REGISTERED AS

TOP 5 - LARGEST MALLS

MALE - PINOYS KILLING

EACH - YEAR - MOPEDS

MOTORCYCLES - MANY

FEMALE - JOURNALISTS

THUS - BANNING MOPEDS

MOTORCYCLES

CLOSING - MANILA

BULLETIN - CLOSING

PHILIPPINE - NEWS

I - FIGURED - JOURNALISTS

WOMEN - KILLED - EA YEAR

LIKE - TST - THESE - NEWS

HAVE - NOT - CLOSED EVER

MORE - JOURNALISTS 2 YES

HIRE - KOREAN - GIRLS,

SOLUTION - PG 7

OVERTHROW - US GOV'T

PHILIPPINE - GOV'T

KOREAN - GOV'T

PHILIPPINES

NAME - DISCONTINUED

MANILA - MANDALUYONG

LOOSES - THEIR - NAMES

NO - MORE - MANILA THE

CAPITAL - ALSO - CITIES

THAT - HAD - MURDER

AND - ROBBERIES THE

CITIES - LOSES NAMES

500 YEARS

NO - NEWS

NO - CHRISTMAS

NO - SANTA CRUZAN

NO - MOTORCYCLES

NO - MOPEDS

NO - RELIGION

TOKYO - MALE SCIENTISTS

PULSE - OF - MURDER AND

ROBBERY - SHOULD - YES

DISAPPEAR - MILLIONS OF

PINOYS - AND - THE MOMS

WHO - COMMANDED THEM

KOREA

2 YR - MILITARY SERVICE

LAST - 2 YRS - HIGH SCHOOL

DIFFERENT - MARRIAGE AGE

INTRODUCTION - LEGAL

PERMIT - CHINESE WEDDING

2 RED - PASSPORT - LIKE

COLOR - PHOTOGRAPHS

BOTH - LOOK - GOOD

TOGETHER - APPROVED

ANY - CLOTHES - THEY

WANT - THEN - LEGALLY

WED - NO - KISSING

BUT - WHEN - DOESN'T

WORK - OUT - THEY'RE

WRONG - ABOUT - EACH

MUST - SIGN

FOR - US - ADOPTING THIS

ONE - SIGNATURE - ONLY

APP - 2ND - FINGER

ABOVE - CURRENT - YES

MARITAL - STATUS

CURRENT - MARRIED

4 - SPOUSES 2 CHECK

IF - STILL - MARRIED

4 - COUPLES - ALWAYS

EACH - THEIR - OWN

THINGS - THEY - JUST

DO - IT - INTIMATE

MARRIAGE - NOT KIDS

MARRIAGE PROSTITUTES

DOING - IT - WHY - THEY

WERE - BORN - BUT ONCE

DONE - WORK - DIFFERENT

PLACES - SHOP SEPARATE

UNTIL - BOTH - FOOLING

WITH - OTHERS

I - LIKE - CHINESE - YES

PASSPORT - LIKE - AS THE

COUPLE - PHOTOGRAPHED

RIGHT - AGE - LOOKS GOOD

LEGALLY - WED

SO - I'M - SLEEPY - NOW

GETTING - ECKEL WATER

THIS - MORNING - MONDAY

HISPANIC - GAVE - US - YES

PUBLIX - SUBS - BUT - HIS

IS - SALAMI - SPINACH

SPANISH - HAVE - AWFUL

TASTE - IN - FOOD

WASN'T - GREAT

SUB - IS - MEATBALLS

SUB - IS - HAM - TRUE

BOTH - WITH - MAYO

BECAME BETTER AND

WATER - SO - EATING

THE - OTHER - HALF 2

DJ - WANTS - 2 KNOW

WHERE - I'M - GOING

BUT - HE LEAVES AT

6A - 6:30A - YET - HE

DOESN'T - SHARE

WHERE - HE - GOES

DON'T - LIKE THESE

PEOPLE - CONTROLLING

OF - WOMEN - THAT - WE

ARE - LIKE - CHICKENS

THEY - KNOW - WHAT 2

DO - WITH - US - AS THE

3 - BLK - MALES - THEY

STARE - AT - ME - LIKE

THEY - CAN'T - WAIT 4

ME - 2 - LEAVE - THEY

THREATENED 2 STEAL

MY - THINGS - WELL

THEY - LOOK BETTER

WITH - WOMEN - YES

CLOTHES - LAST NIGHT

TALL - BLOND FEMALE

SAW - MY - RENT - TENT

PARKED - NEAR THOSE

HISPANIC - MALES AND

SMALL - TENTS

SAW - ME - NEAR TENT

GAVE - HISPANIC MEN

RED - BLANKET - EACH

BLUE - GREEN - TENTS

MINE - RED - DIDN'T

GIVE - ME - RED BLANKET

ON - PURPOSE - THEN ITS

USED - SHOES - SANDALS

GAVE - LISA - THE - BAG

LISA - GRABBED - LEFT

WITH - IT - A - THIEF THEN

SHE - DIDN'T - EVEN - YES

ALLOW - ME - 2 - LOOK

PRUNE - BAGS - SELLING

THESE - WHY - SHE JUST

LEAVES - SELLS - DOESN'T

PAY - TAXES - MARRIED 2 A

BLK - MALE - WHO - SHE

SHE - WAS - ALWAYS

FIGHTING - CAN'T - WAIT

2 - RECEIVE - MONEY TO

BUY - SMALL - PLASTIC

BINS - TIME 2 DECUTTER

THROW - AWAY ALL THAT

I - DON'T - NEED - LESS

THINGS - SMAL PLASTIC

BINS - $4.99 - TOP - $2.49

HAVE - 2 - USE - PLASTIC

ALL - WE - HAVE - RIGHT

NOW - ENJOYING - IKEA

BUYING - COLD - SOFA

MONDAY - ENJOY - ALL

IKEA - I - CAN - BUY THE

PINK - CERAMIC - 4/PCK

4 PACK - SMALL - CUP - 2

REAL - CHEAP - NEED THE

PLASTIC - 2 - PUT - THERE

UNDER - MY - COT - SO ME

CAN - TRANSFER - FOOD

FR - STIROFOAM - SO ITS

SAFER - LIKE - HOT DOGS

IN - ALUMINUM - FOIL

HISPANICS - NOT GREAT

WHAT - IS - HEALTHY TOO

[aloysiavirgata]

Petrichor

Title: Petrichor

Rating: Explicit

Summary: He could tell her that her prefrontal cortex was the revelation to the thief on the cross.

Spoilers: Early S7

Author’s Notes:This is a casefile inspired by many things. The Season 7 timeline is a mess, I don’t know what else to say about that.

Early November in the temperate mountain valleys of southern Appalachia. The ground is carpet-soft with plush moss, and the hidden pools are still riotous with life. Ree needed only a pullover that morning, her doll Cordelia peering out of an old tote-bag stuffed with scraps of bread and feed corn. Her mother sent a lunch for her too, tucked in with her books and binoculars and a thermos of hot chocolate.

Ree in faded jeans and a lavender sweater picking her way over rocks and pine needles and fallen leaves, watching for the birds she can name and trying to mimic their calls. She points them out to Cordelia, who stares solemnly with blue-glass eyes. There are foxes, but they hide still. Ree dreams of befriending them. She can lure some of the deer within twenty feet now, and wishes she were Fern Arable, from Charlotte’s Web.

She takes a right instead of her customary left, wanting to test her new binoculars from a different vantage point. She skips over tree roots and rocks like a mountain goat, scarcely needing to look at the ground to keep her footing. The path curves sharply for a hundred feet before Ree finds herself at the edge of a wide pond, dense with duckweed. It is bordered with stands of ancient pine, with mossy boulders and half-sunken logs furred with algae. The silence is deep, but not frightening. It feels holy, like church. Godlight filters through the evergreens, the color of new peas. Somewhere, not far, falling water.

“Ohhhh,” Ree whispers to Cordelia. The beauty makes her chest hurt a little. She fumbles in the bag for her binoculars, laying Cordelia on a rock. Bread crusts and pencil ends spill from a loose seam. A rattle of deer corn on the stone.

Binoculars in place, Ree spots a heron across the pond, squirrels peeping from between the gold and red leaves of elm and sugarberry. She recognizes a deer she’s seen many times before, with a wide white blaze down her nose. Sudden movement catches her eye - a slim figure with long hair moving among the trees. Ree adjusts her lenses but cannot focus properly; the figure is blurred, always moving among the evergreen boughs.

The heron again. Squirrels. The deer now much closer. Then a pale ankle, a woman’s laugh.

“Helloooooooo,” Ree calls, braver than she feels. “I’m just lookin’ at birds and stuff! I’ll go if you want.”

Silence. 

She chews her lip, uncertain. The woods don’t belong to anybody on paper, but there are chancy folk out here with their own laws. “Cordelia?” she whispers. “What do we do?”

Cordelia offers no opinion. Ree grabs a handful of corn and climbs onto a flat boulder. Just beside it is a little patch of grass, and she hopes the doe will come into it. 

The laugh again and this time it’s much closer, just to her left. Were those fingers at her neck? Ree turns to look but tunnel vision sets in, the binoculars slapping hard against her chest when she drops them. The strap twists at her throat and she gasps, her hands springing open in surprise. She slips on the fallen corn and goes down hard on her spine against the rock. 

The deer steps into the glade, her unusual face cautious but curious. She knows Ree will not make sudden movements like the others do.

Ree, dazed, watched the deer nibble the corn with her velvet lips. She tries to sit up, but it’s like her brain will not connect to her body. Her feet seem very far away. 

Something pulls her hair and she manages a thin cry of pain. She’s freezing suddenly, the world glassy and distorted. Ree opens her mouth to call for help but she can’t; the greenness of the glade is in her throat now, and behind her eyes and inside her blood. The laugh again, so pretty, and then long arms are wrapped around her and Ree thanks Baby Jesus for saving her but oh!

Such teeth.

***

A quick glance in the rearview confirms once more that his hair’s pretty well grown back from the surprise birthday neurosurgery, and at thirty-eight such victories cannot be taken for granted. He tries to peer around the tight curve along the mountain road, but can make out only shadows. The bag of sunflower seeds ran dry twenty minutes ago, but he’s got a couple more in the trunk.

Beside him comes a rustle of paper. Scully’s printed out directions from MapQuest, checking off turns like a shopping list. “Still another three miles before the access road,” she says, not looking up from her trim navy-blue lap. She takes a sip of coffee.

Mulder coughs, says nothing. Things aren’t strained exactly, it’s not that. It’s more a liminal space. Everything’s fine, he tells himself. Everything’s fine.

He  checks his hair again.

***

The town is shabby but proud; the roads are clean and there are no cars propped up on the trimmed lawns. On this block a hardware store, a stone church, a fire station, and a bakery. Despite the Fannie Flagg charm, Mulder expects the local homeowners are dying for a Wal-Mart and a McDonald’s. There’s a billboard advertising a newly opened Cracker Barrel, which must count as progress to some.

The Ross home is a small, weatherbeaten clapboard in a stretch of small, weatherbeaten clapboards. Many of the houses have elaborate neo-classical porticoes taller than the actual roof. At the Rosses’, the mailbox is shaped like a dog, with a moveable tail instead of a flag. There are purple balloons hanging limply from its neck. Mulder noses the Crown Vic up the cracked asphalt of the driveway, engaging the parking brake before turning the engine off. 

Scully gathers their files, straightens the picture of Rhiannon Ross paperclipped to the manila envelope. Her little face is joyful in the school photograph. She wears a sweater with purple hearts and has sun-bronzed skin. Her big hazel eyes are laughing, framed by golden braids. 

“You ready?” he asks Scully.

She sighs. “Are we ever, with kids?” 

“Nope.” Mulder straightens his tie. So strange to do these little rituals again, to convey authority and professionalism through a strip of ornamental fabric. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Scully asks him again, fussing with a Post-It. “You know I still don’t think you should have been cleared for this, Mulder. You’re scarcely three weeks past severe trauma, and you haven’t even been back to the office.” She looks up, concern furrowing her brow.

He could tell her that when the gyre widened and spun out, it was she who held the center for him. He could tell her that the cool silver stream of her unvoiced voice stemmed the hellish tide of thoughts and premonition that threatened to drown his sentient mind. He could tell her that her prefrontal cortex was the revelation to the thief on the cross. 

Instead he crunches on a peppermint LifeSaver, washing it down with the rest of his cold coffee. “I get in the most trouble when I’m left to my own devices. You should be glad for a federally mandated excuse to keep an eye on me.”

She smiles at that. “Fair enough.”

They leave the stale air of the car for the fresh autumn breezes of northeast Alabama, the air so crisp it tastes like spring water. Mulder, a devout New Englander, is wary of the South, but cannot deny this to be a beautiful patch of it.

He puts his jacket on as Scully clips several paces ahead of him, bandbox fresh as always. He joins her on the little porch, and the front door opens before they have a chance to knock. Before them is a lanky blonde woman in worn jeans and a striped blouse. The shadows around her eyes look like bruises, lips papery and dry. For 26 years, these mothers have always been his mother, their homes his house in Chilmark.

“Y’all the FBI people?” she asks. Despite her stretchy vowels, brittle tension suffuses her voice. 

“Yes ma’am,” Scully says. They display their badges for her perusal.

The woman nods, then ushers them in. She gestures to a floral couch, taking the chintz armchair across from it. Mulder settles at one end of the couch while Scully, less leggy,  perches at the edge of the other. She is a slim smudge in the pastel room.

“I’m Iona Ross,” their host begins, rubbing a chewed thumbnail across raw knuckles. “I’m Ree’s mama.” 

Behind her, on the wall, are family photographs. Ree has three older brothers. The largest photograph shows the four children arranged on a park bench, smiling in white shirts and blue jeans. Ree is missing her two front teeth.

A man enters the room, rawboned, with the same wheat colored hair as his wife. He’s got on a gray sweater beneath Carhartt overalls and carries a coffee tray. He has big hands with ropy tendons standing out, and it's clear he’s not used to playing host. His face is haggard.

“This is my husband Wyatt,” Iona says, as he puts the tray on the small table between her and the couch.

Mulder looks at the pristine coffee cups and saucers. He guesses this is their wedding china, only brought out for “best.” That it will be carefully placed back into a breakfront after hand-washing.

Wyatt sits in a blue La-Z-Boy, relieved to be finished with his task. “They told us y’all were the best ones to find Ree,” he says in a choppy voice. He reaches out to grip his wife’s hand. 

Mulder, as he always does, longs for this to be true. “I can promise you there is no one at the FBI who will work harder for you,” he says.

Scully smiles sadly in his peripheral vision. “We have the police report, Mr. and Mrs. Ross. But it’s always better if you can walk us through the events yourself.”

“Iona and Wyatt, please,” Wyatt says. “Anyhow, it was Sunday morning and Ree had just got new binoculars for her birthday on Saturday. She, uh, she’s nine now. Real smart little thing, likes nature and all, really likes birds.” His voice breaks. He scrubs at his face with his hands.

Iona takes over, voice raw but steady. “Well, she packed up her little bag with some bird food you know, and her binoculars and some nature books and all. Her doll Cordelia of course, and I made a lunch. She’ll go out for hours in the woods. And whatever, uh, happened it was before she ate ‘cause all the food was there.”

Mulder glances at his notes, just to look at something other than Iona’s desperate face. “The police report says her doll and her bag were found by a pond with the lunch still inside, but her binoculars were missing. The items were found Monday morning by a search party. That’s correct?”

“Yes sir,” Iona replies. “And there was algae all over Cordelia and the bag and the food, even though it was still wrapped up. It was even in the hot chocolate in the thermos.” She looks eagerly from Mulder to Scully. “Y’all think that means something, the algae being on closed-up food? I never heard of it. Maybe it’s like a, whaddya call it, an MO.”

“Unusual details are always good details,” Scully says in her gentle way. “Unusual facts can certainly help narrow things down, Mis- Iona.” She leans forward now, palms splayed over her sharp knees. “I know this next question is painful, but I do need to ask. It says that the pond was searched and that neither Ree nor any of her clothing have been found. But, from the photographs, it seems like there’s a bit of debris in the pond. Logs and large rocks, mostly, and lots of algae and duckweed. Is there any chance that Ree would have gone into it on her own?”

Wyatt gets to his feet. “She ain’t stupid,” he snaps, pacing. “She didn’t do nothing wrong, and despite what you may think, we’re not backwoods morons too ignorant to raise children.” His pain seeps a dark aura into the air, ink through clear water. “Our other three are still fine, you notice. Police report say that?”

“We don’t doubt you at all, sir,” Mulder says. “No one is trying to blame Ree or your family for her disappearance. Agent Scully and I just have to review all lines of questioning to make sure the police have done everything they can thus far. We want to make sure we’re starting from a helpful place as we take over the investigation.”

Wyatt leans against the wall, looking hollow. “Jenny Greenteeth,” he mutters.

Iona, with shaking hands, pours four cups of coffee. “Wyatt,” she hisses. “Not now.”

“Jenny Greenteeth?” Scully repeats, writing it down. “Is that som-”

“It’s an old story,” Mulder says, surprised. “A nursery bogey.”

He is met by three blank stares.

“A nursery bogey is a story created by adults with the specific goal of making children avoid certain behaviors, or to encourage generally good behavior,” Mulder says. He is intrigued by Wyatt invoking the name. “The Namahage of Japan, the Scottish bodach, Russia’s Baba Yaga - all of these legends are about mythical beings who will in some way harm misbehaving children. Sometimes they get specific. Jenny Greenteeth, like the kappa and bunyip, is said to snatch children who venture to close to dangerous water.”

Wyatt is staring at him. “How’d you know all that?”

Mulder spreads his hands in a vague gesture. “These kinds of stories have always interested me.” He feels it best not to elaborate.

“He’s an internationally recognized expert,” Scully chimes in, rather generously. “Can you tell us why you mentioned this particular legend?”

“Don’t mind him,” Iona says, passing around the coffee. “We’re just both about to fall to pieces.”

Wyatt scowls. “I’m telling you,” he says stubbornly. “It’s her.”

Mulder adds cream to his coffee and takes a sip. It’s worlds better than the gas station dregs he just finished. “I know the story of Jenny Greenteeth comes from the north of England and from Scotland. This area has a big Scots-Irish influence, doesn’t it?”

“Yessir. There’s a big Scottish festival hereabouts, and both our families are Scottish from way back. Ree’s named after my Granny Rhiannon. You think that means something?” Iona’s voice is strained, hungry for any morsel.

Mulder shakes his head. “No, not necessarily. Probably not, and I apologize for getting off topic. Wyatt, tell me more about this, uh, theory you’ve got.” He finishes the coffee in a long gulp.

Wyatt rubs his face. “Well, listen. I know how it sounds to me, and I reckon it sounds even crazier to y’all. But growing up around here, every kid knows about the little pools in these hollers. Real deep ponds will spring up practically overnight, I guess ‘cause the ground is weak from all the mining. In the spring you get these real fast streams from the snow runoff. So kids run wild through the woods but they know to be careful. All the meemaws tell ‘em if they aren’t careful, Jenny Greenteeth’ll grab ‘em at the water. She’s got, you know, long black hair and real long arms and green teeth.” He shrugs, a bit sheepish.

“And you think this, uh, this creature took Rhiannon?” Scully asks, managing to sound both compassionate and deadpan at the same time.

Iona and Wyatt exchange a glance.

“Well, there’s a bit more than that,” Iona says, turning her mug in her hands. “Over the summer a woman moved in out in the woods. She, uh, took over some old hunter’s shack not real far from where Ree went missing. Her name’s Tallulah Church. She’s real tall and skinny, probably at least six feet, and I’ll be damned but she’s got green teeth.”

“Green teeth,” Mulder repeats, intrigued. He glances at Scully, who’s scribbling.

“Pale green like jade,” Wyatt says, warming up to his subject. “The kids are all scared of her, call her Jenny Greenteeth ‘cause they know the story. They say the dogs won’t go around there even.”

“A few hunting dogs have gone missing up that way,” Iona adds, her reluctance clearly fading. “Tallulah comes into town every month or so in her station wagon, gets some supplies, then rattles back up into the mountains. She seems okay I guess, just never really talks to nobody.”

“She gives every kid around here the evil eye,” Wyatt asserts, returning to his recliner. “She’s bad news. There’s things going on with her.”

Iona shoots him a hard look. “I’m sure the FBI isn’t interested in a bunch of mountain superstition.”

Scully pipes up. “When you say there are things going on with her, is there anything specific you can point to? Anything stand out in your memory?” 

A glance between Wyatt and Iona. “Just gives me a bad feeling,” Wyatt says. “You ever meet people like that?”

Mulder is curious as to what they won’t tell him, but decides not to create conflict just yet. These things always out themselves, but for now it’s clear he’s learned all he can. 

He exchanges a quick nod with Scully, who has already closed her notebook. “Wyatt, Iona, we’re going to do our best to find out what happened to Ree. It sounds like talking to Tallulah Church may be a good start. If she lives nearby she may have seen something or someone involved in the disappearance.” 

Wyatt snorts. “The police already talked to her. Doesn’t know a thing, they say. Search parties are still out though, and we’re heading out again when we’re done here.”

Scully gets to her feet, and Mulder follows. “Thank you for talking to us,” Scully says. “We’ll review all of this information and be in touch as we can. We’ll let you get back to the search.”

The Rosses rise, hands are shaken. Iona runs her fingers through her hair before crossing her arms tightly back across her chest. “Please bring her home,” she says. “Even - even if…” She trails off, weeping.

Wyatt draws her close, and Mulder and Scully slip past them, barely noticed.

***

It’s just past six by the time they get to their motel, but the sky is black. The parking lot gravel smatters against the fenders as Mulder parks in front of the little office. He gets out to contemplate a luggage cart when Scully emerges. She promptly turns her ankle on the uneven ground, but Mulder manages to grab her by the upper arm before she falls.

“You okay?”

She stares up at him, her breath quick. 

Scully glances at his hand and he remembers to let go. She looks away, tests her footing on the gravel. “I’m good,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“Scully fine, or regular fine?”

She smooths her jacket. “How’s your cranium?”

Mulder goes to the office at that, and retrieves their room keys from the drowsy clerk. A part of him hopes the reservation got messed up, that there’s only one room. But both are available, a queen en suite for each. They’re on the first floor around back, next door neighbors, the clerk says. Mulder swipes the bureau plastic and heads back out to Scully, who has found safer footing on the sidewalk.

He passes her the key. “You want to get some dinner? I saw a Cracker Barrel back yonder.” He drawls for her amusement.

“Sure. I want to take a shower first though. Give you a call when I’m done?”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.”

He wants to kiss her but won’t. He wants to suggest a joint shower to conserve water, but won’t. Her eyes do a quick scan of his face, perhaps reading these thoughts. It would only be fair if she could, really.

Scully grabs her bag and heads to her room. He waits until her door clicks shut before heading to his own.

***

Mulder thought of Jenny Greenteeth in the shower, of skeletal arms grasping at him through the drain. It made the tops of his feet tingle, and he hurried out to towel off. 

From what he’s read, Rhiannon Ross seems like a steady, responsible child, unlikely to go haring off through dangerous parts of the woods, or testing the limits of a slippery embankment. And the algae troubles him, the presence of it on her belongings. 

Mulder dresses in jeans and a t-shirt, pulling a parka on for warmth. He forgot his hair gel, and his head looks a bit like a startled sea creature. Scully doubtless has something in her portable salon.

She meets him in front of the car, Scully-casual in grey slacks and a black sweater. Her hiking boots put her shoulders about level with his ribs, and he is reminded that the love of his life is built on a songbird’s frame. Mulder recalls the fine velveteen skin at her inner thigh, like the breast of a chickadee.

“Nice hair,” she says. 

“Thanks, I’m trying to channel Lyle Lovett.” He strums an invisible guitar.

She slouches against the rough brick of the building, backlit by neon. At her feet are bunches of plastic flowers jammed into the white quartz around the ragged boxwood hedge. “So. Cracker Barrel, huh?” 

“Sure, I figured we could sit in the rockers and talk about the old days. Those kids with their jazz and soda pop, am I right? Spit some chaw, vote Republican. Besides, it seems to be either that or a dubious establishment called A-1 Panda Kitchen. The diner closes at 7.”

Scully wrinkles her nose. “Cracker Barrel it is.”

***

There’s a MISSING! flier of Ree on the table, dog-eared and slipped into a plastic page protector. It’s sporting the same school photo from their dossiers. Mulder pushes it gently aside, feeling like he should apologize.

Scully frowns at the menu, taps at it with an immaculate fingernail. “I don’t see how anyone eats here regularly and lives long enough to reminisce about the old days in a rocker. Even the salad has fried chicken in it.”

He remembers when she would cheerfully put away a plate of ribs, but now she cares about fiber and antioxidants along with her tailoring. And her stupid bee pollen crap. “Aw, Scully, you’re citified. Surely you’ve got some kin in these parts. Hardy mountain folk descended from fleeing Irish potato farmers. You can hand le these vittles, little lady. It ain’t possum.” He considers the chicken-fried steak with interest. It comes with gravy.

“Stop talking like you’re on Hee-Haw.” She looks thoughtful. “I suppose there probably are distant cousins out this way, but none that I know of.”

He blows a straw wrapper past her shapely nose, which she ignores with practiced dignity.

“Pork tenderloin, that seems all right.” Scully closes her menu with an air of resignation. She does not like being fussy with her ordering.

The waitress comes by and he commits to the fried steak over Scully’s clear distaste. 

“Re-myelinating,” he assures her, handing over the menu.

“That’s not-”

“Shhh.”

They amuse themselves with several rounds of a little peg game, and Mulder decides to purchase one before they leave. 

“Mom was pretty calm there, don’t you think?” Mulder drums his fingers on the table. He doesn’t really suspect the parents, but the sad fact is that they’re most often the perpetrators. It at least bears discussing.

Scully shrugs. “Police don’t seem too concerned. Growing up in a house with four kids, I remember my mom keeping her cool in completely insane situations. Charlie had a compound fracture once, when my dad was away. His femur was poking out the front of his thigh, he was in shock, and mom just handled it like a skinned knee until the ambulance came.” She shakes her head, remembering.

“Must be a dominant trait.”

She squeezes lemon into her water, then picks out an errant seed. “Hardy mountain folk. So there’s no body in the pond, she probably wouldn’t have wandered off without her food and doll, and there’s no ransom demand or strange footprints at the site. So where the hell did she go, Mulder? Where’s Ree?”

“I think she was in the water at some point.”

Scully narrows her eyes, suspicious. She twirls a peg between her fingers. “At some point? Not terminally?”

“You know I hate to speculate, Scully,” he says, in tones of wounded innocence.

She snorts. “At last we come to Jenny Greenteeth.”

“It was Wyatt’s idea,” he reminds her, chewing his straw. He is excited by a new monster to mash with Scully.

“Sure, blame the other kid,” she says, with a kind of weary amusement.

“I’m withholding judgement until we talk to this Tallulah Church tomorrow. I’m interested in those teeth.” 

“It’s always teeth with you,” she says. She captures two pegs, then looks up at him. She is well pleased with herself, smirky and bright-eyed.

He doesn’t want to say anything. He wants to find Ree, dead or alive, and go home. But he feels pretty sure he can’t do that until unburdened. Holman Hart’s repressed emotions may have controlled the weather, but Mulder knows his own can control the fate of this case. He brushes his fingers against her palm. “Scully.”

Her expression tightens, but she doesn’t respond.

“We have to talk this out.” He is concerned with where it may lead, but this particular truth is in her. He no longer doubts her feelings at this juncture, only her willingness to do anything more with them.

Scully sighs. She toys with a sugar packet. It amuses and aggravates him that she can pore over dead infants and handcuff mutants to her bathtub with little discomfiture, but talk about emotions and she squirms like a kid in church. 

“I don’t think there’s much to talk out, really,” she says, terse.

She wouldn’t, of course she wouldn’t, and there are times he could wring her swan-like throat. 

“Well, humor me then,” he says, with exaggerated patience. “Because you woke up in my bed two weeks ago wearing nothing but smudged makeup, and we’ve been avoiding any real mention of that. And now that I’m properly back to work, I’d kind of like to know what the hell we’re doing.”

She looks around, like anyone’s listening to two weary Feds on a Wednesday night. “I really don’t see any reason to have this conversation right now, Mulder.” 

The waitress delivers their food and, sensing tension, scurries away.

In the past few weeks he’s thought back to that hellish summer when a bee had saved Scully from addressing the fact that she’d clearly been willing to jump his bones before skipping town. Well, anaphylaxis wasn’t going to rescue her this time. “Why are you being like this?” he asks, as though she’s ever different.

She leans forward, piqued. “Like what? Not wanting to talk about my… my… personal life in the middle of an Alabama Cracker Barrel while looking for a missing child?” 

Her personal life, Jesus fucking Christ. “You’ve been avoiding me other than some medical check-ins since you left that morning, so I’m trying to figure out what happens now. Come on, Scully. It’s not like I left those underwear on the desk for you before we headed out here.”

She blushes, bless her, and talks to make him shut up. “I can tell you that I don’t regret what happened.” Scully applies herself to the tenderloin with an intensity usually reserved for the mysteriously deceased. 

Mulder knows it’s the best he’s likely to get from her at the moment, that he’s pushing her to give him something he can’t even define. But he remembers with longing the intricate ocean of her thoughts, the fractal beauty of them as they wove into his own. He was still bathing in the quantum entanglement of her when she’d checked his pupils that evening, when he’d kissed her in the certainty that she’d drop both her little flashlight and her guard.

Scully had kissed him back like a mermaid with a half-drowned sailor.

He looks at her again, knows that he sees only the surface of her now. “Scully, I’m not asking you to go steady.”

She laughs a little at that, looks up at him with wary interest. “So what do you want, then?”

It’s a damned good question. He has general ideas of lying in bed with her while she declaims on the marvels of the quadrupole ion trap. He would like to map her freckles, like a star chart.

“For now I’m just glad to know you don’t regret it,” he hedges.

She searches the ceiling for inspiration before returning her cool gaze to him. “It was absurd of me to act like nothing happened, to treat you like any other patient since you weren’t back at work. It was easy to ignore what we… what happened. I’m sorry, Mulder.” 

She still can’t say it, he notices. But it’s something. “Your other patients are dead, Scully. So I’m a special case no matter how you look at it.”

There is warmth in her eyes. “You really are,” she says.

***

Scully’s got their peg game in a Cracker Barrel bag on her lap. Mulder had wanted to stockpile cheese blocks and sausages against future car trips, but she had put her foot firmly down. “Do you think we’ll find her, Mulder? Her remains, probably, but still. It would be something for the family.”

He shrugs. It’s hard to separate hopes from expectations sometimes, especially in their line. “I really don’t know. We need to get a better look at the area she went missing, and I’m pretty curious about this Tallulah woman.”

“Children can have green teeth if their mothers took tetracycline during late pregnancy,” she tells him. “It crosses the placenta and binds to the calcium in the fetus’s developing teeth.”

He grins at her. “Only one alternate explanation? You’re slowing down in your old age, Scully.”

Scully bares her little fangs. “Neonatal hyperbilirubinemia.”

“Attagirl.”

***

He parks around back this time, right in front of their dreary rooms. “I figure we’ll head out around 9 or so tomorrow,” he says. “Let the air warm up a bit before we hit the woods.”

Scully nods, yawning. “Pond first, or Tallulah?”

He considers this. “I think it’s best if we have the lay of the land when we talk to her.”

“Okay.”

Mulder turns the car off, but they stay in their seats with the inertia of food and time difference and mental exhaustion. Even the lost children they manage to bring home are haunted afterwards. It’s hard to imagine a good outcome here. 

Scully unbuckles her seatbelt, turns to him with sleepy eyes. She yawns again, then reaches out to muss his hair. “Come by in the morning,” she says. “I’ll help you out.”

She goes to her room then, the bag dangling from her fingertips. She doesn’t look back at him before she shuts the door.

***

He stretches out on the bedspread, mulling over her words at dinner, and annoyed at himself for the distraction from Ree Ross. What could he have expected from this, though? Scully’s not Diana. Scully wouldn’t flaunt their shared bed to other agents, wouldn’t drape herself over his desk while reading grimoires and classified documents. Christ, he could marry her and she’d probably think a wedding band was unprofessional at work, his uptight darling.

It’s strange for Diana to be dead. He’d stopped trusting her in the final hours of her life, but he didn’t want her dead. She was a rare and capable creature, however dangerous. She was solitary and sleek and fast.

He recalls the choices he’d made what she glided back into his life, her ruthless intellect and legs as long as a midwinter night. He recalls Scully’s face when he swore Diana was playing a long game, all for a nobler cause.

He recalls the dusky labyrinth of her mind and what he saw at the center of it; a beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born.

***

Diana slips through his dreams again, but not in bridal white, not with the round belly of Taweret. She is dead, but not the dead of his other visions. She is weeks dead, greying and skeletal. He can see patches of bone through her ragged dress but her eyes, her eyes are vivid and whole and the color of cabochon emeralds. They are luminescent in the nightmare forest of his dream, beckoning him. It is a leafless forest, bleak, with bony-armed trees looming over him. 

He finds her in a blackwater creek, standing in the middle of it as the water surges past her calves. She smiles at him with too many teeth. “Hello, Fox,” she says. She bats her lashes. “I apologize for my appearance, but they didn’t embalm.”

“Do you need help?” he asks her, casting about for a long branch.

She shakes her head, hair still lush and glossy. The water rises up her legs.

“Is this real? I mean, are you a ghost or is this all in my head?”

The water whips around her thighs. “What’s real?” she asks. “Perception is reality. If you believe it to be true, it’s true enough for government work.” Diana laughs at her own joke.

A white deer walks up to him, with softly furred antlers like fresh snow. It looks at him with black-irised eyes, wet and bottomless voids. There may be constellations in them. Mulder reaches out to stroke its muzzle as Diana looks on. The deer opens its mouth and dried corn comes pouring out.

The water swallows Diana then, before receding fully. She lies on the bank as he remembers her, whole and striking. Her dead eyes are their usual smoky blue, her dress no longer decomposed. 

He wakes up when the ground swallows her.

***

Morning, bright and chilly in the mountains with light of a purity that never touches DC. He remembers a dream with Diana, with water and deer and a general sense of Jungian dystopia. It’s nice to see his subconscious branching out from its usual reruns of family fare.

Wary of fungal spores embedded in the matted carpet, he steps into his untied dress shoes and clomps to the bathroom wearing nothing else but his boxers. He brushes his teeth in the tiny sink, then wets his unruly hair. 

There’s a knock at the door and he groans. “Just a minute!” he yells around the toothbrush. He hopes it’s someone with the extra towels he asked for.

Mulder clomps back towards the door and, lacking a peephole, he pops it open a fraction to accept his linens. Instead of the housekeeper he’d been expecting, he finds Scully kitted out for a hike, brandishing a canister of mousse.

Cold air sweeps in with her laugh.

“Good morning to you too,” he grouses, ushering her in. He secures the chain when he closes the door.

“Nice outfit,” she says brightly. “What’s with the shoes? Is this a formal hike? I wasn’t sure because you’re not wearing pants, but…”

He scowls, sitting on the bed. “You’re mighty chipper. I’m trying to avoid athlete’s foot, if you must know, and I couldn’t find my socks.”

Scully rummages through his bag for a pair of thick socks, which she tosses to him. She gestures at the bed. “May I?”

“Not if you’re going to be mean.” He kicks the shoes off and tugs the socks on.

Scully sits beside him, shaking the can of mousse. “Thought I could do your hair before we prank call some boys. French braid?”

Mulder stands to pull his jeans up, and the weight shift makes her bounce a little on the mattress. “Let me have that mousse.”

She gestures for his hand, then sprays a lilac-scented pouf into his cupped palm. 

“Thanks,” he says, and scrunches it into his hair. He styles himself before the dresser mirror while she watches, amused.

“You left before my beauty regimen last time,” he remarks.

In the mirror, Scully shakes her head but doesn’t seem bothered. “I made some calls this morning about Tallulah Church. There’s no phone or plumbing up there, but the sheriff’s office said she’s usually right around her home. And the motel clerk drew me a map of how to get to the pond from the access road, then how to get to Tallulah’s.” She waves several crumpled papers.

He pulls a t-shirt over his head, then a fleece. “Aren’t you a busy little bee? Looks like someone’s getting her cartography badge this week.” Mulder returns to the bed to put his boots on.

“I’ve got evidence vials too,” she says, producing them from her pockets. “We’re going to find out what happened to Ree.” Her eyes are big and solemn.

Scully masquerades her tenderheartedness as honor, but Mulder didn’t need a God Module to know why she took that terrible dog in years ago. The depth of cold Dr. Scully’s compassion would shock their colleagues, and he likes this secret knowledge about her. Even Skinner, who reveres her only just below the Constitution, underestimates the fierceness of her empathy. 

“What?” Scully asks.

Mulder cups her splendid jaw, thumb at her sphenoid bone. He kisses the space between her eyebrows, and she makes a small noise.

“We have to go,” she breathes, and is outside before he can stand.

***

Not a word about it in the car, just miles of silence broken only by Scully giving directions. The drive ends in a flat patch of dirt by the forest’s edge, a scrubby path poking out from the ferns and overhang.

“Our little forays into the forest never end well,” she observes. “But at least tick season is winding down. After you, Mulder.”

He pushes into the woods, holding branches back so Scully doesn’t get smacked in the head. “Been a while, though. We’re tougher now. We’re hardened woodspersons.”

“And I have a lighter,” she adds.

He grins. “Show off. Hey, how far is it?”

Scully consults her map. “Well, we’re coming at it from a different angle than Ree would have probably taken, but this is the most direct. Looks like maybe a hundred yards up ahead before it opens into a clearing.”

The path unfolds as she said, and suddenly a storybook pond is before him. Squirrels frisk in the branches and birds call to each other across the glen. The surface of the water is velvety with duckweed, like a perfectly clipped baseball field. Shafts of sunlight illuminate red and white mushrooms at the bases of oaks, the feathers of golden-green ferns. He sniffs the air, lush and tannic.

“Oh, wow,” Scully says, coming up behind him. “Mulder, this is unreal. It’s like a Waterhouse painting.”

They pick their way down to the edge of the pond, startling several fat bullfrogs and a garter snake. “Imagine being a kid here, Scully.”

She shakes her head, admiring. “It’s a Wonderland. I’d be out here all the time too.” Scully crosses her arms, staring upwards with a rapturous expression. “From what her dad said, Ree’s a lot like I was as a kid. I didn’t have my own binoculars though. Had to steal Bill’s.”

“Fuck Bill,” he says cheerfully. “You deserved them.”

They circle the perimeter, looking for...what? He never quite knows. The pond makes gentle rippling sounds as the local fauna heads for deeper water under his scrutiny.

Scully pauses at a section of churned-up dirt. She squats for a better view, pokes delicately at the earth. “They made a mess of this, Jesus. At least they had enough sense to band their shoes.” In the dirt, distinct tracks marked with horizontal rubber band lines around the soles distinguish the CSI team’s prints.

Mulder crouches bedside her, spots something golden half-buried in the soft ground. “Tweezers, Scully?”

She passes them over and from the ground he plucks a kernel of deer corn, half coated in dried algae. “Mulder, look. There are more of them, maybe twenty, all pushed in or smashed on this rock. And most of them have algae on them.” She frowns. “The footprints on the ground over it, they’re not marked and they’re too small for an adult.”

Sure enough, there’s a mess of kid-sized sneaker tracks all over where the greenish corn is, muddy smears on the rocks adjacent. They’re algae-covered as well, and too far from the water for such a coating. He stares, thinking.

Scully, meanwhile, is labeling tiny evidence jars in pencil, filling them with samples of algae and earth and corn. She finds the cap of a glittery marker. “Who processed this crime scene? Ray Charles?” She seals it up, tags it. 

“No kidding. Hey, look. There’s a gap between those two big boulders over there. If you wanted to watch someone and hide, it would be a good spot. You think they searched it?”

She snorts with derision. 

“Me too. I’m gonna go take a look. You stay here. Sit on that rock there, it’ll put you at about Ree’s height.”

Scully passes him a few vials and a pencil, settles on the rock. “I think this is where she left Cordelia, based on the photos, though they were mostly closeup. I don’t remember any good overviews.” Some algae remains on the rock, and Scully looks sad.

Mulder jogs around the pond as best he can, but the bracken is heavy and he has to climb over a few logs. Is it really so crazy to think Ree tripped and fell out here, slipped quietly into the pond and snagged on a submerged rock or branch? Lots of little nibbling things in the water; it happens.

His mind returns to the algae. But if Ree went in, how did it come out? Who stepped all over that deer corn?

He’s between the boulders now, with a clear view of Scully across the way. He walks a little grid by the boulder, looking for bits of trace evidence. Snagged hair, footprints, forgotten belongings, anxiously chewed nails. But there is nothing. Either he misjudged the hiding spot, or the perpetrator has been very mindful of Locard’s Exchange Principle

.

“SCULLY!” he calls, setting off flurries of birds.

“MULDER?” She scans the area where he’s hidden.

“CAN YOU SEE ME?”

“NO!”

He climbs up one of the rocks, waves to her. She waves back from her perch. From atop the boulder, he scans the ground below. There aren’t any footprints but, squinting, he can see trails of dried algae along the edge of the ferns, where the rocky area begins.

He calls Scully over, and she moves through the forest as lightly as the squirrels. He points at his finding when she arrives. “That’s weird, right?”

She scoops some up in a vial, the holds it to the light. “Maybe she was playing at the edge, got her hands dirty, went to wipe them, and slipped.”

Mulder shakes his head. “That doesn’t explain the algae on the unopened food, Scully.”

“It could have been simple contamination. Her parents say she’s out here all the time. If she uses the same thermos and bag, brings the same books and toys, it’s not exactly far fetched to think some of it remained from last time and grew in the sun. Busy mom with four kids, how thoroughly is she going to scrub everything down for a kid who’s always outside? Algae are extremely tenacious, and it was out here in the sun for about 26 hours.”

He gazes at the duckweed, lets his vision swim until everything is a green blur. “Maybe,” he says. “But I want to talk to Tallulah.”

“Greenteeth was my delight,” Scully sings, appallingly off-key. “Greenteeth was my heart of gold.”

“You’re a riot,” he says dryly. Delightedly.

“Exposure to copper or nickel,” Scully says, clambering over a log. “Septic cholestasis.”

He might marry her after all.

***

Tallulah’s little shack looks old as the mountains, with log walls and a shake roof. There’s a tiny porch tacked on the front, and a wall of firewood being gnawed by two spotted goats. They stare at Mulder with their rectangular-pupiled eyes.

He reaches out to pet them and startles when they bleat loudly at his overture. They scamper off behind the house.

Scully pokes the toe of her boot into a plastic bucket, rights it. “Her car seems to be here,” she observes, indicating a battered old Volvo wagon. 

“A European car, no wonder everyone here hates her.”

Scully smirks.

They walk up to the house, Mulder withdrawing his identification. It generally gets a snappier reaction the further West and South it travels, but Mulder is also wary of a demented libertarian streak that runs through the country at odd intervals. Seams of it appear throughout Appalachia, and federal agents of various stripes have been fired on by feistier residents.

Scully, thankfully, is a quick draw and a dead shot.

They don’t get the chance to knock before a woman who must be Tallulah Church stands before them on the other side of the screen door. She’s close to Mulder’s height, thin to the point of emaciation, and pale enough to make Scully look freshly tanned. She has beautiful black hair to her waist, and eyes the color of ferns. They seem too bright in her gaunt, colorless face. She’s dressed in a Huck Finn ensemble of castoff men’s work clothing. On her hands are faded canvas gardening gloves.

Mulder shows her his badge and introduces them. Scully wordlessly displays her own identification.

Tallulah grins widely, her teeth perfect and straight and pearly green. “Well come on in,” she says, turning back into the house. Her feet clomp loudly in their heavy boots.

Mulder glances at Scully, who still seems taken aback by this gawky apparition. He holds the door open and they follow Tallulah into the house. 

The little shack creaks with every step, and smells of woodsmoke and earth and herbs. The interior walls are the same weathered gray as the outside. The whole thing is just one room, with a bed in one corner and a kitchen consisting of a fireplace, a dry sink, and a table with several mismatched chairs. Tallulah is occupying a black metal one, and her impossibly long, thin limbs make Mulder think of Jack Skellington. He can’t tell if she’s twenty or fifty.

“Sit down, please,” she says. “The table’s not much but I reckon it would be weird to offer you the bed.” She smiles again. Her voice is as drawling as everyone else in town, but there’s something different about it, something strangely polished and almost British. 

They take their seats. “Miss Church,” Scully begins.

“Tallulah, please.”

“Tallulah. Agent Mulder and I are investigating the disappearance of Rhiannon Ross. She went missing on Sunday morning. Given that you live not far from the area where her belongings were found, we wanted to ask you some questions.” Scully opens her file folder, pen poised like a hovering dragonfly.

Tallulah levels her remarkable eyes with Scully’s. “No ma’am. I know who Ree is, it’s a small town and she’s out here a lot, but I didn’t see her that day. Real nice little girl though. She feeds the deer sometimes.”

Mulder perks up. “Yeah? We saw some deer corn out where she went missing. Did you see her feeding them that morning?”

Tallulah sighs. “No, I’m sorry. As I’ve told the police, I didn’t see a bit of her on Sunday. Which is sort of odd itself, because she’d always be out on a day like that. Too shy to come up to the house, but she liked to watch the goats. They’re not even mine, but I leave them food and water, so we’re friends now.”

Behind her, on the dry sink, Mulder notices green smears of moss or mildew. Or algae. 

“I know you’ve spoken to Sherriff McLeod already,” Scully continues. “So we appreciate your patience.”

“It’s a terrible thing for a child to go missing,” Tallulah says, shaking her head. “I wish I did have something to tell, but I just don’t. I’ve seen the search parties around - I guess they searched the pond.”

“You say you knew who Ree was because it’s a small town, but I got the sense you didn’t mingle much with the good townsfolk,” Mulder observes.

Tallulah chuckles at this. “No sir, not much, which suits them and me just fine.” She lifts her hands to eye level and wiggles her bony gloved fingers. “They think I’m spooky.”

Mulder smiles in spite of himself. “I know a little bit about that. So tell me, Tallulah, you from around here?”

She shakes her head. “Not from anywhere, really, but I was raised outside Savannah in a rich ladies’ orphanage. That’s why I sound like Dixie Carter.”

“An orphanage?” Scully repeats.

“Yes ma’am. I was left at the Baptist Ladies’ Home when I was a day or so old. Nothing with me but a plastic laundry basket and a gingham tablecloth. They said I was a frightful looking little thing.” She smiles ruefully, showing them her green teeth again.

Scully, true to form, tackles that bull head on. “Tallulah, I’m also a doctor, and I’m compelled to ask about your teeth. Do you know why they’re green?”

An expansive shrug. “Oh, the doctors that saw us there had all kinds of ideas of what was wrong with me, but I never got anything official. Marfan Syndrome, that was one.” She snorts. “‘Course, the other kids heard Martian and with the green teeth they decided I was an alien.”

“There’s a genetic test for it now,” Scully says. “You could find out for sure.”

Tallulah chuckles again. “Thanks, Doc, but it doesn’t matter much. I feel just fine. Always have, and I don’t plan to have any kids. I’m twenty-six and haven’t had anything worse than a cold.”

Mulder watches the Doc jot this down and he returns to the subject at hand. “So you moved here over the summer. Where’d you live before this?”

“Oh, gosh, just lots of tiny towns like this one. I find these empty little cabins, you know, and stay for a while. Then I move on when I get restless.”

“The Rosses said you come into town every so often to get supplies and gas. May I ask where you get the money for that?” Scully looks up to ask this.

Tallulah looks sly. “I don’t know that I want to discuss that with the FBI,” she says.

Mulder exchanges a glance with his fellow narc, who nods imperceptibly to any eye but his own. “We’re just here to find Rhiannon,” he reassures Tallulah. “Not do the DEA’s job for them. Neither Agent Scully nor I wish to fill out extra paperwork.”

Tallulah considers this, glancing between them. “Well,” she says at last. “I reckon you could say I’m real good with plants; I can coax anything to grow. And in boring little towns there’s, uh, a lot of people who like plants.”

Scully looks unimpressed by this attempt at euphemism. “Plants,” she repeats.

Tallulah shrugs. “I’ve said as much as I’m going to on that subject without a lawyer. But anyhow, what’s that got to do with Ree?”

“Just trying to get to know a bit about you,” Mulder says. “Sometimes we find witnesses have seen things they don’t even realize they’ve seen, and talking generally can help.”

“I know everything I’ve seen,” Tallulah asserts. “You live out here like this, you don’t miss much. It’s not like I have a lot to distract me.”

“What were you doing last Sunday morning, then?” Mulder asks.

She shrugs. “Woke up, ate, got dressed. Went over to the pump for some water.” She gestures at some distant point through the back wall. “Then I went looking for some mushrooms and things to eat. Eggs. Lots of greens out there.”

Scully narrows her eyes. “Ree was in the woods that morning too. You’re certain you didn’t see or hear anything?”

Tallulah scoffs. “The woods are pretty big. Might as well say we were both in Alabama.”

“Wyatt and Iona are under the impression that you don’t like children,” Scully says. “Have there been any particular incidents that would make them feel that way? Any encounters with Ree? It must have been irritating to have her running all over the edge of your property.”

“No, she’s all right and besides, it’s hardly my property. Scared of me like the rest of them, but all right. I like the way she is with animals, real gentle and all. Got a kind heart, that girl, and I wish more were like her. But here’s the plain facts. My mama didn’t want me, none of the parents who came to the Home wanted me, the other kids thought I was an alien, and I learned to just keep mostly to myself because I can take a hint. I go walking outside a lot, do some fishing in the little ponds and all, and that’s how I know who Ree is. You know the kids call me Jenny Greenteeth.”

“We’d heard that, yes,” Mulder says, feeling uncomfortably sorry for Tallulah. He knows empathizing with suspects is his weakness, and that it drives Scully up the wall.

“It’s not the first time, won't be the last. But I know Ree’s daddy thinks I hurt Ree. He’s pretty disapproving of my...plant business and I think he half believes that stupid old fairy tale.” She rolls her eyes.

“I saw you had a whole lot of firewood,” Mulder says, shifting gears. “You staying here all winter?” 

“I never know, but I’d like to. Doubt I will though, with this, uh, situation.” She picks at her gloves. “People can start to get unkind.”

Mulder gestures to the dry sink. “Seems kind of damp. Looks like you have some mold or something growing over there.”

The three of them follow his finger with their eyes, where bright green streaks the wall and sink. Mulder sees that there is far more than he originally noticed, spread over much of the wall all the way to the bed.

“Oh, yeah, these places always are,” Tallulah says. “You can always find these old cabins if you look a little, but it’s hard to keep them snug. Part of why I move so much. They just sort of collapse around you.”

Mulder glances at Scully, and they agree in a blink. 

“Well, I wouldn’t move any time soon, Tallulah,” Scully says in her Bad Cop way. “And I’d take a break from business until the situation - as you called it - is sorted out.”

Tallulah looks uncomfortable, but nods. “Yes ma’am.”

“Thanks for your time,” Mulder says. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

They rise from their rickety chairs and head out the front door. On his way past the bed, Mulder opens an evidence vial and scrapes it along the wall to gather a film of algae. If Tallulah notices, she doesn’t remark.

The sun feels over-bright after the dim cabin and, squinting, they pick their way carefully back to where they parked. One of the goats is on the hood of their rental.

Mulder is delighted by this, if only because he can write “GOAT ATTACK” on the return form. He hopes it will find its way across Kersh’s desk and make him chug Mylanta straight from the bottle.

Scully, far more vexed, begins throwing fallen pine cones at it. 

“Nice arm,” Mulder says. “Try bringing your knee up next time.”

She glares at him, exasperated. “Where’s a chupacabra when you need one?”

***

They’re back at the Cracker Barrel, playing Pegs, with Ree’s flier propped up against the napkin dispenser. Scully is picking at an anemic salmon fillet, and eyeing Mulder’s chicken fried steak with disdain.

“You know you want a bite,” he says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. 

She looks irked. “I didn’t have time for a run this afternoon because I was on the phone with the eponymous Baptist Ladies.”

“I wasn’t going for leisure,” he says with an air of wounded dignity. “Talked to a lot of people while I was out and about. The crotchety old ladies on their porches love me, I’ll have you know. I’m charming, for a Yankee.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “They just thought you looked good in your running shorts.” She pauses, then looks mortified.

“Oh yeah? How about you; you think I look good in them?” She’s so easy to torment sometimes and besides, he’d kind of like to know.

“Your vanity needs no help from me,” she says primly. “So what did you hear?”

“Nothing official, of course, but there are rumors that the oldest Ross siblings, the twin boys, were getting weed from Tallulah, so Wyatt has it in for her.”

“Plants,” Scully corrects. “Geraniums, probably.”

“Doubtless. Some people think Ree stumbled onto Tallulah’s crop and Tallulah killed her, but given the fact that the geranium sales are an open secret, it’s pretty unlikely.”

“Plus I doubt Ree would know it if she saw it,” Scully adds. 

“She might if her brothers are dope hounds with the reefer madness, Scully. Mary Jane. Grass. Wacky tobaccy. It’s ruining good Christian families.” He shakes his head somberly. “Ganja.”

“Devil’s lettuce,” Scully adds and, for whatever reason, this undoes them both and they dissolve into laughter.

This earns them startled glances from nearby patrons who seem to generally disapprove of their dark clothing and clandestine ways.

It feels incredible to laugh. Less than a month ago his head had been cracked open like an oyster while Scully and Diana played Spy vs. Spy. And here he was now in this awful little town, safely away from all major conspiracies, having had carnal knowledge of the enigmatic Dr. Scully, and he had just won at Pegs.

And Scully thinks he looked sexy in his shorts.

She is glaring at the peg board when he asks about her phone calls. “So what’d you learn, other than a tuna casserole recipe and how to tease your hair?”

“Weird stuff, your favorite.”

“Lay it on me, mama.”

Scully settles back in the booth. Delivering information is her comfort zone. “Well, Tallulah’s basic facts were right enough. She was left on the front steps of the Home in a white laundry basket. By the look of the umbilical stump, she wasn’t a hospital delivery. No one was ever able to identify her parents. But about a week before she appeared, a baby girl went missing from the Home. There were no signs of a break-in, and the baby never turned up. Everyone just assumed her parents had taken her back and the whole thing was swept under the rug.”

Some quick math, and Mulder realizes this wasn’t long before Samantha went missing. He frowns, and Scully’s expression makes it clear that she’s done the same calculation.

“It was April,” she offers gently. “In the South.”

“Go on.” 

“The woman I spoke to said Tallulah did have lots of problems with other kids, but not just for her appearance. She did get teased for the teeth, but apparently she was an aggressive kid. Biting, pulling long hair. They went to the Y once a week for swimming lessons, and Tallulah would drag kids under the water under the guise of playing. She was banned from the pool eventually.”

“Jesus,” Mulder says. “Someone needed more time with Mr. Rogers.”

“Oh, is that how they addressed abandonment issues at Oxford, Dr. Mulder?” Scully asks, archly.

He grins. “Hey, the NHS budget isn’t unlimited. So how’d she end up here?”

“Well, apparently when a kid turns 18 they give them some money and set them up with a job in the community, which isn’t a bad situation. But Tallulah took off at 15, said she was sick of handouts. The Baptist Ladies put the word out, but Tallulah was good at hiding and was 19 before anyone found her. And only then by sheer accident - a former employee bumped into her in Macon, Georgia.”

“Were they able to tell you about her movements at all in the intervening decade? Places she’s lived?”

Scully shakes her head. “No, and there’s no records on her at all. No arrests for anything as minor as vagrancy or trespassing, much less dealing. Her fingerprints aren’t in the system. She’s like a ghost. I was going to call the sheriff’s office to ask about the weed, but I thought better of it. I don’t want to walk into anything unprepared.”

He sighs. “I’d like to look at missing child cases in the past ten years, ones where the kid went missing around freshwater. We’ll narrow it to prepubescent girls.”

She nods. “I’ll see what Danny can scrounge on ViCAP. The Baptist Home is supposed to be faxing Tallulah’s medical records, thin as they are, and I want to see what I can pull out. Oh, and here’s another thing. Marjorie - that’s the woman I spoke with - Marjorie said Tallulah was always going out at night to wander in the woods. Her bed and storage cabinet were always covered with green stains and - get this - what appeared to be gold dust. Her hair was wet and had algae in it, like she’d been swimming in a pond or lake. No matter what they did, she’d manage to get out. Eventually they gave up because she kept returning and it seemed to keep her violence down.” 

Mulder considers this. He’s had an idea since yesterday that he’s been hesitant to voice, but what the hell? “I was thinking about her gloves when we visited this morning.”

Scully raises a non-committal eyebrow.

“Hear me out. All of Ree’s stuff was covered with algae, right? And there was algae where it shouldn’t be at the crime scene and all over Tallulah’s wall. She said she’s good with plants too, right? What if algae grows when she touches things? What if that’s why she was wearing gloves when we came by?”

Scully puts her fork down. “She’s an algae witch?”

He sighs. “I’m saying it’s maybe a...like a manifestation of something else. It’s something she can’t control.”

“Let me guess. You think the missing baby was taken by Tallulah’s unearthly mother and that Tallulah is actually a changeling left in her place. She’s from a race of some kind of evil water fairies, and has stolen Rhiannon Ross as her mother stole the other child twenty-six years ago.”

A slow smile spreads across Mulder’s face. “Scully, are you trying to get me back in bed?”

She reddens, rolls her eyes. “Textbooks could be written about your deviance.”

“Oh, no doubt. But details aside, you have to admit there are some weird details there.”

“All our cases have weird details. But the algae is notable. I’d like to take some samples from Tallulah’s cabin and compare it to the algae on Ree’s belongings. I’ll have to see what equipment the sheriff's office has. We’ll need to send some out for DNA testing to be sure, but I could at least do some microscopic analysis. It could place her at the scene.”

Mulder passes her the little vial he’d collected that morning. It’s fuller than he remembered.

“Sneak,” Scully says, approvingly, sipping at her Diet Coke.

“I know you like bad boys. Apropos of which, why do you think the sheriff has left Tallulah alone about this weed thing? I mean, this doesn’t seem like a hip and swinging town, does it?”

“I was wondering that too. And Wyatt never mentioned it either. I’m also wondering why, if we go with your hypothesis, Tallulah would steal a grade schooler rather than a baby. And Mulder, that cabin was one room. There’s nowhere she could have stashed a child. What’s more, shouldn’t some changeling child should have shown up by now? I mean, by your logic.”

Mulder wipes his plate with a roll. “I admit there are complex facets involved here,” he allows. He has ideas percolating, but they need more time to steep. “But whatever the reasons she may have had, there’s no one else who even seems remotely likely. No dubious strangers in town, no evidence of any kind at the crime scene. No one I talked to today indicated there were any grudges with the Rosses.”

Scully curls back into the corner of their booth, looking modish with her dark clothes and sleek hair. “I hate this,” she says. “Autopsies are so clear. Manner and mechanism. You just read the body and it tells a story. Sometimes it’s a challenge, but it’s always there. Missing persons are nightmarish, especially children.”

Mulder, as he is prone to do, thinks of Addie Sparks. “Missing still has hope, I guess.”

She looks chagrined. “I didn’t think, Mulder. I’m sorry.”

He hates that his missing sister has consumed her life too. Hell, Melissa was murdered and Scully’s moved on in a relatively healthy fashion. “No, don’t be. I just mean that there’s cruelty there, in that hope. Schroedinger’s crime, you know. That last heart of Roche’s is the end of someone’s hope, only they’ll never know.”

She reaches across the table to take his hand in hers. “The sense that an answer exists but isn’t knowable is a miserable feeling,” she says. “Especially if it’s an answer that could redefine one’s status quo if only it were revealed.”

He’s pretty sure she’s not talking about the case now, and traces her fingers with his thumb. “So you wanna kill this thing, then? Perform a post-mortem, write it up, and move on?” He doesn’t want this, but at least he’d know.

Scully draws infinite circles on his wrist with her nail, and gooseflesh rises over his body. “Hope doesn’t have to be painful,” she murmurs to the table. She looks up at him with her summer sky eyes in the fading autumn light.

Mulder’s heart squeezes hard, then expands. “It’s kept me going for a long time, even when it is,” he tells her. 

She nods, lets go of him. “The motto of my first  profession is hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae. But I tend to forget the maxim that should drive the second one.”

He has a flashback to scanning the plasma-vivid mind behind that perfect face. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Dum spiro spero,” she says.

“While I breathe, I hope.” He smiles.

They get the check and go to the car.

***

The drive holds the easy silence of a pizza hangover, the kind when they’re wiped out on Scully’s couch with half-eaten slices and paperwork on the coffee table and floor.

Scully has her feet propped up on the dash and her seat reclined. She has a manila folder on her face, her eyes closed.

He thinks, as he sometimes does of late, about what a shit he was to her after Philadelphia. He’s never asked if she knew then that she was dying, but he’s always suspected she must have. 

All he’d known at the time was that she’d blown him off for a good-looking psychopath, let the man brand her like cattle, then poured her herself into his bed. He’d hated Jerse for the bruises on her face and body and psyche, but the man was under guard and therefore beyond his rage. He siphoned some of it onto Scully instead, for daring to need more than him and for seeking it. He wanted it to be about the desk because he could have given her the fucking desk. He could have easily fixed that without having to fix anything else between them. He could have kept going in a straight line instead of trying to make a map.

He thought of her in Jerse’s arms, in Jerse’s bed. Beaten by Jerse’s fists. He imagined the needle biting into the flawless canvas of her back and leaving that turning serpent there. He noticed that it went in a circle and at the time, he’d let that be about him too.

Later, when he understood that she was even more ephemeral than he feared, fits of self-pity left him wondering why she went for Jerse instead of him. Surely she knew he was available for emotionally destructive sex if that’s what she craved before dying. 

But it turned out that sleeping with her had been like losing his virginity all over again. In twenty years or so, if they were still alive, he might find the balls to tell her that.

***

Scully yawns when he parks the car, batting the folder off her face. “I was awake,” she insists.

“Very convincing,” he assures her. 

She swats his arm, straightens her seat. “I’m wondering if she was dealing elsewhere, maybe giving a kickback to LLE. Someone gets wind, she gets kicked out of town and moves along to another friendly hamlet. You know how these networks run.”

“Local law enforcement,” Mulder sighs. “The eternal bane of my existence. It would certainly explain a few things.”

“And if the Ross twins really are buying, you can see why Wyatt wouldn’t mention it to us. He can throw her under the bus without dragging his kids in too.”

Mulder rubs his eyes. “But how does it all come together? I mean let’s say Tallulah slides into these little towns, she deals to make ends meet. Pays some kickbacks. But why risk it on a serious crime like kidnaping or murder? This is the South, Scully. They do not fuck around, and kidnaping’s federal.”

She shakes her head, still frustrated. “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for Danny, I guess. I’ll leave him a message when I get back to my room. The internet connection out here is a nightmare, so maybe he can dig it up while I’m at the lab.”

Scully unbuckles her seatbelt, but makes no move to leave the car. She plays with the edge of the folder. “I know you said you weren’t looking to go steady, but now that I’ve put out I was hoping I could get your varsity jacket.” 

He feels some of the tightness leave his neck at her willingness to play. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s a pretty sweet jacket. That’s more than a one-nighter. Maybe if you swing by in a cheerleader outfit I’d think about it.”

She looks up, smiling one of her rare smiles that show her teeth. “I think my mom still has my high school uniform in mothballs somewhere.”

He tosses his phone onto her lap. “Call. Now.”

Scully laughs her throaty, chuckly laugh. “Good night, Mulder,” she says, opening her door. “See you tomorrow.” She passes his phone back and slips into the dark.

He grins all the way to his room.

***

Diana comes to him again that night. He finds her at the edge of a meadow on a large rock, a vivid rainbow overhead. She wears a floor length evening gown of shimmering gold fabric, and her flesh is whole. She pats the rock, inviting him to sit.

“Hello, Fox.” 

He scowls, sitting. “As a manifestation of my subconscious, you could have the decency not to call me Fox.”

She laughs. “As an alleged manifestation of your subconscious, maybe you just want to be acknowledged as a fox by a desirable woman. How is Agent Scully this evening?”

“Spare me. Nice dress, Diana.”

She stands up and twirls. The gown flares out from her graceful waist into a narrow bell. Her feet are bare. “It is, isn’t it? It’s cloth of gold. Very Eleanor of Aquitaine, I think.”

“Is it heavy?”

Diana sits back down. “Oh, yes. Terribly heavy. And costly.”

He rubs it between his fingers. The fabric is stiff and itchy, like tweed. “Well, nothing’s too expensive when you’re dead, I guess.”

“Not expensive. Costly,” she corrects.

He furrows his brow. “Okay. What’s the difference?”

She shrugs. “It’s just that the cheapest way to pay is usually money. Some things cost much more than money. Surely you know that by now. But there’s no need to be dour, Fox. It’s beautiful out, and look at the rainbow.” 

He does. “Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers, and me,” he sings softly. Even in his dreams his voice is terrible.

Diana gets to her feet again, spinning in the grass. She starts to twirl faster, her hair whipping out around her. Her skin greys again, her face turning cadaverous, and little crawling things flying from her into the grass.

Mulder scuttles back from her on the rock, repulsed but captivated as she becomes a formless blur. 

Then she stops, stares at him from her cavernous eye sockets. Her bony chest is panting.

“Diana?” he breathes. 

She steps towards him and flickers back to her earlier smooth-skinned appearance.

Step.

Flicker.

Step.

Flicker.

He is transfixed.

“Is it real, or is it Memorex?” she muses.

Step.

Flicker.

He wakes up gasping before she can touch him.

***

He’d hoped this kind of shit would end with his neurosurgery, but apparently his subconscious is tenacious. Unless it’s not his subconscious, in which case he needs to get some tips from Scully, who sees an awful lot of ghosts for someone who doesn’t believe in them.

Yawning, he gets the in-room pot gurgling and clunking with whatever factory sweepings pass for coffee in the sticks. The room fills with an aroma reminiscent of burning tires.

A knock at the door distracts him and he opens it to find Scully holding two styrofoam cups steaming from their plastic lids. “Went for a quick run,” she says, stepping under his arm into the room.

He shuts the door.

“Mulder, prop that door open. It smells like wet asphalt in here.” She sets the cups down and turns the coffee pot off with a look of contempt.

“Ah, Scully,” he says, sipping from the cup marked M.

“You can take the car today,” she says. “Someone from the sheriff’s office is giving me a lift to the lab in Huntsville. It’s about an hour each way, so I doubt I’ll be back before dark. What are your plans?”

“I want to talk to Tallulah again,” he says. 

“Watch out for those goats,” she warns darkly. “I think the little one cost us the deposit.”

“I’ll bring pine cones.”

Scully frowns, steps closer to him. “Mulder, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright? Maybe you should have them bring her into the station for questioning instead.”

He waves her off. “Bed’s not great,” he says. “I’m just tossing and turning some, but the coffee should perk me up.” He takes a large gulp. “Mmmm, perky.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re a liar, but if I try to actually examine you you’re just going to be cranky or perverted. At least make sure your phone’s charged so you can call me if you keel over or something.”

He pouts, preemptively deprived of the opportunity for a predictable playing doctor joke. Damn her. “You suck the fun out of everything,” he informs her, sitting on the bed.

She walks over to him, standing between his knees. She puts her empty coffee cup on the night stand, then grips his t-shirt with both hands.

He swallows.

“As your physician, I ask that you try not to die in a stupid and avoidable fashion,” Scully says. Her mouth is inches away. She shakes his shirt for good measure before leaving.

He goes to the shower and stays there for some time.

***

Mulder stops off at the farm store where Scully obtained the coffee. He selects a raspberry danish, then adds a loaf of fresh bread and some local milk in a quaint glass bottle. 

“Five dollar deposit on the bottle,” the clerk informs him. Fahv dahlah dipawsit.

“What’s it made of, crystal?” he grouses, swiping his card.

“You that FBI guy?” the clerk asks suspiciously. “It’s pasteurized, it’s perfectly legal milk.You can test it.” 

“It seems fine,” Mulder assures her. He’d had no idea that there was a black market in milk. He takes his bag and makes for the door.

“It’s not homogenized though,” she calls after him. 

Mulder takes his unhomogenized, perfectly legal milk up into the mountains.

***

Tallulah’s chopping wood when he pulls up. She has on the same Carhartt overalls Wyatt did, and thick leather gloves this time. There are splinters and sawdust in her long braid. She’s not a bit beautiful, but has an appealing serenity.

“Hey,” Mulder says to the goats, who have come to sniff him. He scratches the big one behind the ears. The little one makes for the car.

Tallulah straightens up, wipes her wrist across her brow. “Mornin’, Agent Mulder. Where’s your partner?”

“She’s the science half of this outfit,” Mulder says. “She’s peering at things through microscopes and running them through unpronounceable equipment.”

“Like that algae you scraped off my wall?” Tallulah sounds amused.

“That would be one of the things, yes.”

She frowns thoughtfully. “You sure that doesn’t violate the Fourth Amendment?”

“California v. Greenwood says I can search your trash,” Mulder informs her. “Besides, you invited us in.”

“Like vampires,” Tallulah observes, and adds the split wood to her growing pile.

Mulder holds out the bag containing the bread and milk. He ate the danish on the way up. “Here,” he says.

She takes his offering and peers in. “What’s this?”

“Call it a belated housewarming gift,” he says. 

Tallulah looks at him for a long moment. “You know, some of the old mountain women believe it’s wise to leave a little offering of such homey treats to the Good Folk. Oh, they go to church of a Sunday and preach the gospel just fine, but come Saturday night, there’s little biscuits and butter at the forest’s edge, wrapped all in leaves.”

“I heard something about that,” Mulder says. “I guess it’s like wearing suspenders and a belt.”

She wipes down her hatchet with a faded bandanna, then puts it in a little storage bin next to the house. “Funny what people believe, isn’t it?”

“Funny.” He doesn’t take his eyes off her, even when the little goat jumps on the hood of his car.

Tallulah opens the milk and takes a deep gulp of it from the bottle. “That’s very good,” she says. “Now your partner would roll her lovely eyes at such a thing as you’ve brought, but she’ll kneel for wafers and wine.”

Mulder doesn’t ask how Tallulah knows this. “There’s a five dollar deposit on the bottle,” he says. “All yours, since you’re out of business at the moment.”

She smiles greenly at him. “Come in, Agent Mulder.”

He follows her up the steps and into the cabin, looking at her round-bellied stove, the faded patchwork quilt on the narrow brass bed. Mulder sees the appeal of this simplicity, a pared down life to strip away all foolish distraction. He recognizes his own romanticization of it, a rich boy with summer homes and an Oxford education wanting to play at Saint Jerome. He also considers that the Unabomber went to Harvard and lived this way too. Minimalism may not be inherently enlightening. 

Tallulah is sprawled in a chair, her steel-toed boots kicked off. Mulder sits at the table across from her, bread and milk between them. A ham and a cleaver are out as well.

“You hungry?” Tallulah asks. “That ham is from Sam Oakley out by the grain elevator. Just delicious.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Can she come back?” he asks, without preamble.

“Agent Scully? Any time she likes, though I’d ask for more of that milk if she does. I’ll pay you the deposit.”

Mulder senses a shift in her demeanor. She’s not the friendly, country orphan any longer. There’s mischief rising in her, something tart and maybe wicked. Her posture is languid rather than awkward now.

“You know what I mean, Tallulah.”

She works on loosening her braid. It’s hard in the thick gloves. “You mean Ree. You still think I know something about that.”

Mulder realizes that she is enjoying herself, remembers that the fay are supposed to love riddles and wordplay. “Well, we can talk about something else. I heard the Ross twins are customers of yours.”

She laughs. “The thing I absolutely love best about people is that they make rules to stop themselves doing everything they long for, then do it anyway while pointing their lying fingers at the next fellow for the same. I don’t really need the money, but I do think it’s funny to watch these fine upstanding people condemn me with one hand and pay me with the other. It’s pleasurable money to spend, and it passes the time.”

Mulder’s anarchic soul cannot deny the schadenfreude. “I notice you used third person instead of first.”

“I don’t make those kinds of rules. I just sell the devil’s lettuce to all comers without judgement. I do like to watch them chase themselves in circles, but I’m not a hypocrite.”

Devil’s lettuce. His neck prickles. “No? What are you then?”

She smiles, and her mouth has too many teeth in it. They seem very thin now. “I’m the apple in the Garden,” she says. “This realm has made nothing but trouble for my folk, and I like to pay back mischief as I can.” 

Tallulah slowly takes her gloves off and balls her hands into fists. She opens them and pieces of gold ore are in them. Closes her fists, opens her fists. She pours the gold onto the table and the pieces are streaked with algae.

He stares, awed. Shaken.

Tallulah holds his gaze. “Do you want some of it, Agent Mulder? Everyone else does, and it only costs a little. Can you offer me a most beloved child? The ring finger of each hand? All the memories of your sister?”

“Where’s Ree?” he chokes out.

Tallulah continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “Maybe there’s something else you want? A love spell?” She winks a green eye. “But you don’t really need it. She wants this as much as you, Mulder. When you kissed her she felt only relief and lust in equal measure. My god, she rode you like it was the Kentucky Derby, skirt around her waist and her breasts tight to your chest.”

Tallulah reaches up to stroke his cheek and he jerks his head away, appalled.

“How do you know all of these things?” His voice is scarcely a whisper and his stomach is lurching.

“A little ghostie tells me,” she says, and mimes an hourglass woman in the air. “Don’t think she realizes she does it though.”

Fingers trembling, Mulder retrieves three iron nails from his pocket. He’d pried them out of the floor at the motel, and now he brandishes them, hoping. Dum spiro spero.

Tallulah looks at them and hisses. “Cold iron!” she shrieks. “It binds my magic!” 

Then she snatches them from his hand and eats them, laughing.

He is too shocked to be frightened.

“Don’t feel bad,” Tallulah says, consolingly. “You’re not the first. Listen, you’ve looked through lots of one-way mirrors, right? Interrogating?”

He nods, not yet trusting himself to speak.

“Okay, well, imagine stacks of it. If you were standing on a tower of it, shiny side down, you could see to the bottom.”

Nods again.

“Attaboy. Now, if you were under that tower, looking up, you couldn’t see through up to the top. Hell, you wouldn’t even know there was a tower. One layer or a hundred would look the same. All you’d see was your own reality reflected back.”

Something is starting to coalesce in his brain. “You… your people are looking, uh, through to us, but we can’t perceive you.”

“Oh, looking down is much more accurate,” Tallulah assures him. “Like how you know ants exist and find them interesting, but they have no understanding that you exist because they’re tiny and stupid.” She looks smug and takes another drink of milk.

“Why are you telling me this?” He hates her, but he still wants her to talk.

She reaches across the table, caresses his hands with gentle fingers before he pulls them back. “Because no one will ever believe you and so it amuses me for you to know,” she says sweetly. “You can see up through the worlds  piecemeal, I think. Bits of the whole, like the Louvre through a keyhole. Your partner will say this was a hallucination brought on by recent brain trauma. Your superiors will laugh at you - at least aliens are masculine and slightly scientifically respectable. But fairies? Oh, dear.”

For a fraction of a fraction of a second, she wears Diana’s skeletal face.

Mulder feels hot bile rise in his throat, but forces it down. “Where’s Ree?” 

“The sheriffs in these silly towns never even remember our bargains, of course. They harass for my little game with the ganja, but then no one can recall why I’ve been picked up, and they apologize and I go. Some like babies, to start fresh, but not me. I like to know what I’m getting. I only take one a year, and they’re good ones. Sweet girls who love the woods and water. I was nineteen before I could make the gold come, so that’s only seven. You’ve seen worse then seven. Remember Roche, Mulder?” She changes her face to remind him.

The bile does come then, and he vomits on her floor.

“Rude,” she says mildly, and water pours from her fingers to wash it away and out the front door.

He fights nausea and dizziness. “Give them back. Give me Ree, Tallulah. Just let me take Ree home.” His hair is soaked with sweat and he’s terrified it will be Goldstein all over again. He pulls his gun anyway. Can she turn it on him like Pusher? Scully will be very angry with him if so.

Tallulah is unconcerned. “I don’t hurt them, you goose. I take them up through the looking-glass, so to speak. It’s beautiful there. It’s safe for them. They deserve better than to live with the people who look the other way for thirty pieces of gold. A bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, really. Or is it a Catch-22? I’m not much of a reader.”

“Ree,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. He puts his finger on the trigger.

Tallulah grabs the cleaver and chops her hand off. There’s no blood. “Shoot me,” she giggles, and he passes out.

***

It’s still light out when he awakens in his car, just past two-thirty by the dashboard clock. There’s a glass of sweet tea and a slab of pound cake on the console. Feel better, reads a note in a fine copperplate. Sorry for the shock. Had to run an errand, but you should eat and drink before you drive or you might crash. Don’t worry - there’s nothing wrong with it. But no need to die in a stupid and avoidable fashion. Thanks again for the gift. I might return the favor.

Mulder eats and drinks. He figures if her food is poisoned or enchanted, he’ll be spared explaining to the Rosses that their daughter was kidnapped through an interdimensional portal as a sacrifice to the greed of public officials and the amusement of a wicked fairy.

The cheapest way to pay is money.

The snack is revitalizing and he sits until he feels his blood sugar level out. He wonders if Tallulah would have killed him if he’d met her empty-handed. He wonders if Ree is really alive somewhere, or if it’s just a game.

A headache has begun pulsing deep in his temple, like the throbbing brain of IT on Camazotz. Mulder fumbles his sunglasses out of the glove box.

He puts them on, filtering out the worst of the light. He breathes through his nose, massages his temples like Scully used to do when her tumor became rowdy. He begins to relax, the nausea and pain subsiding. His eyes slide closed as he digests the morning’s events.

“I’m sorry,” Diana says, her hand on his thigh.

He sits bolt upright and she’s next to him, her long legs cramped in the Scully-configured seat. 

“I’m not asleep,” he insists to both of them, looking wildly around. Tallulah’s house, the mountain, the forest - none of it has the surreality of a dream.

Diana strokes his cheek gently with her cool grey fingers. “I’m going now,” she says. “I thought I was helping, making it up to you after a last betrayal. But it turns out…” she shakes her head.

“Diana, wait. Are we here or am I sleeping? Do you know where Ree is?” He hears his own panic and fights it. “Diana, just help me find her. Don’t leave yet.”

She presses her lips to his temple, murmuring. 

“Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow —

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;”

Agent Diana Fowley fades away then, into the quiet peace of nothingness.

Mulder never feels himself waken, never feels a shift in consciousness. She’s simply vanished and he’s alone to finish the rhyme.

“Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?”

***

His drive back has a frenzied, febrile quality with saturated colors and echoing sounds. He is sweat-soaked and shivering when he gets back to the motel.

Mulder kicks his boots off and crawls into the bed. He draws the covers up under under his chin and falls away into the dark.

***

He wakes to her light fingers smoothing hair from his forehead. The sky outside is dark and starry, but it’s not even seven.

Mulder blinks, confused. “Scully?”

She’s sitting at the edge of the bed, in her dark trousers and a grey top. Her face is serious. “Mulder, I’ve been trying to wake you for an hour. You were burning up, but the fever seems to have broken. Did something happen?”

Everything. “No. I think you were right. I just came back to work too soon.” He gives her what he hopes is an appealing look.

Scully smells a rat but doesn’t push. She presses her fingers to his wrist. “I want you on antibiotics. I’ll call the pharmacy in the morning. They closed at five.”

He nods. “What did you find on the algae?”

She strokes his hair again and he feels like purring. “Nothing much. There were a few different strains at the pond but only one in her house. And a common one at that. It’s no good for linkage, I’m afraid, though I had them run a couple other tests. Nothing in the medical records they sent either - she’s as healthy as she says.”

“Well, did you get anything from Danny on disappearances?” 

She stops petting him to get up and retrieve a piece of folded paper from her jacket pocket. “I found a dozen that look possible, and six that match the details of this case pretty closely.”

He pats the blanket. “Come back and show me some more of that famous bedside manner.”

She snorts, but returns to her perch. “Here, look. I highlighted the six that look best. Called them too, and gave Tallulah’s name and description to LLE. None of them recognized the name or description.”

Of course, Mulder thinks. Of fucking course. “Betcha we’d get a different answer if we asked people who live there.”

Scully frowns. “What does that mean? You really think police departments from 6 towns are all embroiled in an elaborate web to protect a very low level weed dealer? Mulder, come on. I know you love a nice sexy conspiracy, but I think the best answer is that there’s some kind of drifter active in the area. I say we turn the whole thing over to NCMEC and go home. You look awful and there’s nothing else we can do here.”

He presses his hands to his face. Fuck, fuck. He looks back at Scully.  “I mean this lovingly, but please do not say anything condescending until I finish my undoubtedly insane rambling, okay?”

She narrows her eyes. “I should have let you sleep.”

Mulder props himself up against the pillows. He’s still chilly. “Okay, so there’s this concept of something called the Teind. It’s um…shit.” He stares at the bathroom door for a moment.

“Mulder, when you’re hesitant to share a theory, it gives me grave concern.” She scoots higher on the bed, crosses her legs. “But go on. The Teind.”

“So the idea is that there are other worlds - other simultaneous realms - that are layered over this one. Like a multiverse, okay? Like Schrödinger. You love Schrödinger, right? And Brian Greene?”

She purses her lips.

Mulder barrels ahead. “Okay, so. So one of these realms is what is sometimes called Faerie, or Elfhame. And our world, the so-called Christian realm, is constantly encroaching on theirs. Every seven years the Lords of Elfhame must pay a tribute to the Lords of Hell. This tribute ensures that the Christian realm with not destroy Elfhame and that the Lords of Hell will keep the Christian realm in check. I think that’s what these seven girls are - I think they’re tributes, or possible tributes. Maybe there’s a big pool created, I don’t know.”

Scully says nothing and it makes him nervous.

“Scully?”

She flops back beside him on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. “It’s a prettier story than drowning or murder or sex trafficking,” she says. “I mean sure, it’s essentially a complex pagan mafia real estate kidnaping scam, but it’s still better.”

He pulls the blankets up to his chin.

Scully turns, props herself up on her side to look at him. “What in the hell did Tallulah say to you, Mulder? Because I have to say, this is pretty far down the garden path even for you.”

He wonders if it’s even worth it. “She was able to conjure objects, Scully. Gold in her bare hands.” He has enough sense not to mention the cleaver.

Scully scoffs. “My dad could pull a quarter out of my ear.”

“She said that LLE knew she was taking these girls and she gave them gold for looking away. That the weed thing was just for her amusement, stirring the pot. So to speak.” He grins at his own unintentional joke. 

Scully scoots closer. “Mulder, what am I going to do with you? Don’t you think it’s much more likely that this woman is part of a larger drug and prostitution ring, tasked with procuring children for those up the chain? I believe there could be payoffs - small town cops are overworked and underpaid. But payments to the Lords of Hell? Realms? If she did show you gold, she was probably trying buy your silence as well but didn’t realize you’re too incorruptible to even notice, you stupid noble idiot.”

He feels oddly pleased by this assessment. “Well, can we at least agree that she probably is involved?”

Scully runs her finger down the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”

“And that whatever the source of funds, there are payoffs happening?”

She traces his eyes, his brows, his lashes. “Yes.”

“And that 1977’s Elvis in Concert is grievously underrated in terms of both quality and significance?”

She strokes the corner of his mouth. “Absolutely.”

If he does have a brain infection, he couldn’t care less if it means dying in bed like this. “Get under the covers,” he demands. 

She sits up. “I’m afraid not.”

“No, Scully, we were doing great while you kept saying yes to everything I said. Let’s try again and get back in the groove - can we agree that Kate Capshaw in Temple of Doom was a tremendous step down from Karen Allen in Raiders?”

She smiles. “Not even negotiable. But really, I’ve got a fax coming in up at the office and you need to rest. If we get stuck here because you end up with some exotic encephalitis, so help me god.”

He takes her hand as she gets up. “So you’re really ready to hand this off?”

Scully sighs, squeezing his fingers. “Look, the fax I’m waiting on is from Danny. I asked for a ViCAP cross reference on any unsolved sexual assaults or attempted abductions that dovetail with those missing girls. If nothing else, I think there’s a real case there that needs to be put together. It was a good call, Mulder.”

“If I go to sleep like a good boy, will you let me have one more chance with Tallulah?” He bats his lashes at her.

“One More Chance With Tallulah sounds like a Barry Manilow song. I’ll tell you what - I’ll check on you later and if you still haven’t got a fever I’ll allow it.”

He crosses his heart and lets her go.

***

He dreams a memory. 

Two weeks past, and he’s sprawled on his couch while Scully afflicts him with acts of medical science. She’s administering neurological tests, bruising him halfway to gangrene with a pressure cuff, and siphoning off enough blood to keep her bucktoothed sheriff happy.

“Scully,” he laments. “Your healing will be the death of me.” 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she says, with her usual bedside warmth. “You’re a week past a very serious brain trauma, and you refused to stay in the hospital because you’re an idiot. So you’ll put up with me and you’ll like it.”

He does like it. Looping into her mind with that fungus had been nothing like this. Her heart is an open wound that she constantly stitches back together to make it through another day. The amount of fight in her is enormous, and she channels into a broken and thankless world. 

She loves him, and what surprises him is that it isn’t the inevitable pair-bonding of proximity and isolation. Scully thinks about that sticky June day in the hallway too. Finishes the thought, sometimes, pinned to the wall like a butterfly with his fingers in her hair.

Pretty hot, Scully.

She’s bent over him with her tiny flashlight to check his pupils and his tracking, a corner of her lower lip tucked behind her front teeth. She leans forward, her brow furrowed at some minute anomaly. He stares at the arabesque of her collarbones, the two lines that circle her white throat. 

“Mulder, keep your eyes up,” she says in doctorly annoyance.

He does, and he doubts it takes psychic ability to read what’s onhis face

She runs her tongue over her top lip, and it’s like a circuit closes.

His hands are at the back of her neck, her waist, pulling her towards him as he sits up. He kisses her like should have ages ago, reckless and open-mouthed and decisive.

Scully drops the flashlight and kneels next to him on the sofa. She sips at his mouth with her cool little tongue, slides her fingers through his hair. She stops short  at the bandage and pulls away. “Mulder,” she says, ashamed, and moves to get up.

He grabs her upper arm, far harder than he means to. She gasps, and not at all unhappily. He had not seen this in her directly, but he had suspected.

“Let me go,” she whispers. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You’re not well.”

She’s close enough for him to see her hard nipples through the silk, her dilated pupils. He keeps his eyes on hers while uncurling his fingers from her bicep. 

She swallows.

He reaches out to undo the minuscule pearl buttons on her blouse. He’s always loved the high drama of women’s clothing, like a puzzle box.

Scully says his name again.

“Go,” he tells her, as her shirt falls open. He slips his hands under the fabric to plane her back and waist. He’d touched her here in Antarctica, but not like this. He tongues the tight stretch of her navel, breathes in the hot scent of the skin beneath her bra. It’s astringent with her tea-tree soap, sharp with her sweat.

She’s on her knees still, her fingers back at his stubbled jaw, his earlobes. She’s dipping her head to kiss his hair while she makes little animal noises.

“Go,” he repeats, and she doesn’t.

He unhooks her bra, a simple white satin affair, and she lets go of him long enough to pull it off with her shirt. 

It is with difficulty that Mulder sits back to look at her. Her belly is flat and taut, her breasts full above them. They are lightly veined with the blue of her eyes, her nipples the color of late raspberries. Around them is the fine, crepey skin of her areolae, puckered tight. Her head is tipped forward, glorious flame of hair falling around her fine Roman face, full lips parted.

He’s hard to the point of pain.

Scully watches him watch her, reaches behind her back to unfasten her skirt. She laughs.

“What?” 

“It’s stuck, Mulder. The zipper’s stuck.” She tugs more forcefully, her breasts shifting as she moves.

He half assumes this is the ghost of Ahab at work, denying the FBI the last vestige of his daughter. Mulder pulls at the zipper too, but it doesn’t budge.

Scully reaches under the hem of her skirt and works her stockings and underwear down. She tosses them away like snakeskin. 

His cocks twitches in his jeans with seven years of potential energy. No pretending he hasn’t wanted her since she stripped down to her good-girl cotton panties in a panic, but it’s so much more now.

Pulls his shirt off, then tugs her onto his lap. She’s infertile and knows his medical records better than he does, but he asks anyway. “Condom?”

She shakes her head, runs her light hands over his chest. He could come from this alone, the weight of her bare ass on his lap and the sensory overload of breasts and hands and scent.

He groans when she sucks at the tender skin below his ear. “Scully, I’m pushing forty and I think it’s only fair to warn you that-“

She’s opened the fly of his jeans. Mulder raises his hips, Scully still on his lap, to work them down with his boxers. The cool air on his cock is torment.

Time slows, drips like honey, then stalls entirely. Scully’s eyes are wide, focused, as she moves herself over and around him. Her head rolls to the side, then forward. She sighs something blasphemous from flushed lips.

Mulder bites his tongue until it bleeds to ensure he’ll last longer than the average teenager. Perhaps her next thesis can be on the frictionless surface of her own body, the impossibly slick heat of it. He wants to taste her too, but that would require not being inside her and god help him, he hasn’t got the willpower for that right now.

Scully’s head is against his neck, panting humid nonsense into his ear while her breasts are flattened to his chest. He holds her at the hips, letting the sinuous flexion of her spine have its way with them both.

He’s embarrassingly close to ending this, and clenches his nails into his palm. Scully bites at his neck, his earlobe, and there’s no resolve left. He groans something mindless as he clutches her body, shudders and twitches as she squirms around him. Mulder holds her tight to his hips, grinding up into her with the kind of surging napalm pleasure he’d forgotten was possible. Her little bare feet squeeze his thighs, and the universe condenses to her hundred and ten pounds of exquisite physiology. His head falls to her chest and he slips out of her with a groan.

He could sleep for days, but instead reaches between them under her skirt to find her clitoris. She so wet his finger slips at first. Scully squeaks, a little chirp, and finds a rhythm with him that pleases her. 

She arches her back away from him, her hips forward, and he is awed anew. Her hair tumbles between her shoulder blades, her breasts bouncing softly as he strokes her. 

He says her name, sotto voce, and slips two fingers inside her. He shifts his thumb to her clitoris, presses his fingers to the ridged tissue of her g-spot. He writes his name there a dozen times.

She whimpers, and he leans forward to draw the hot little bud of her nipple into his mouth. He sucks at it, grazes it with his teeth. Scully comes with a gasp and falls against him, shuddering. She licks his neck, mouth on his ear and his lips. 

He envelops her with his arms and draws the Navajo blanket around her narrow shoulders. He holds her, listening to her heart and lungs as they slow to normal. He smooths her tumbled hair.

She runs her fingers along his bandage again. “Are you okay?” 

He has literally never felt better in his life. He feels like a lord of creation, like Adam striding through the Garden of Eden to survey his dominion. “I’m fine,” he says, in her snippy voice.

She laughs, burrowing closer. “You have a bed, don’t you?”

Mulder slips an arm under her legs and another behind her neck. He lifts her as he gets to his feet, carrying her like a bride. She’s such a central force in his life, the mass around which he orbits, that it is odd for her to be so light. 

He kicks his bedroom door open and lays her out face-down on the comforter. “Let’s work on that skirt,” he says.

Somehow he’d forgotten about the tattoo. The burning red mouth that marked the beginning of their darkest times together, that portal to her lonely trip north. He pushes aside the memory of what he’d said, the photographic evidence that came home with her. There be dragons, the old maps say.

He kisses it and she flinches. He prays it isn’t shame. Or fear.

With careful maneuvering, he breaches the zipper and tugs the skirt away. She rolls to her back again, her body spilled across his dark blankets like a shaft of  errant starlight. He is pleased to note she has eschewed the recent fashion for shaving oneself utterly bare. 

He gets to his knees, pulls her to the edge of the mattress by her hard little ankles. She starts to speak, but he cannot hear once her thighs are tight against his ears. 

In the morning, she will disappear with the dew.

***

Her cool palm on his cheek wakes him and it takes an unhappy second for the dream to snap away. He’s uncomfortably hard and rolls onto his side for some relief. It’s eight by the bedside clock.

“Hey,” she says, sitting down. “You okay?” 

He clenches his left thigh until there’s pain, and it helps. She looks tired, he notices. Drawn and weary from too much bad coffee and too little proper sleep and feeding. He ought to make her take a vacation where she gets wrapped in seaweed and fed organic mangoes by beautiful castrati.  

But for now, they’ll have to manage on motel moisturizer and takeout. “Do I smell pizza?” 

“Indeed. Just wanted to see if the fever was gone first.” She squints at him. “You look a hell of a lot better. Did you take something? I might be able to hold off on the antibiotics; I know what they do to your stomach.”

He stretches. “Well, just in case, thanks for checking my forehead instead of going rectal,” he says. “Sometimes you have a slight sadistic side.”

“When was your last prostate exam?” she asks sweetly.

Mulder sits up. “I didn’t know that was your scene, but I’m open-minded. Let’s go.” He peels the covers back, feeling like he needs a long run to revive himself from the day. He hates being idle for so long, and his clothes feel stale.

Scully realizes she’s overplayed her hand and wrinkles her nose. “Let’s preserve the magic on that for now. You okay to get up, or should I bring the pizza here?”  

He’s not freezing anymore, and his head isn’t throbbing. “I’ll get up,” he says. “I’m starting to 

feel like one of those consumptive Victorian heroines.”

“Mmmm,” she says. “Maybe I should leech you and give you some cocaine for that.” Scully goes to the little table where the pizza box is sitting. She opens the lid, and hot greasy air wafts out.

Mulder gets up and walks over, scuffing his socks along the drab oatmeal carpet. He zaps her with his finger and she scowls.

“Ugh, go back to bed.”

He can’t help himself when she’s his favorite toy and part of his brain will always be an arrested 12 year old idiot. He flips the chair around to straddle it, resting his elbows across the back. “What’s that, mushroom and pepper?”

“And pepperoni on half for you.” Scully disdains the greasier meats herself, but will treat him on occasion.

Mulder realizes he’s starving and rolls a piece up like a burrito, demolishing it in four bites before Scully’s done blotting the grease off of her own.

“I’m not performing the Heimlich maneuver if you choke on that,” she says, delicately peeling off two slices of pepperoni that have contaminated her mushrooms. She holds them out to him.

Mulder snaps them out of her fingers like a trained seal. He rolls another slice up, gesturing with it. “So I’m cleared to go nose about more tomorrow, right?”

She tweaks his nose with her oily fingertips. “You’re certainly equipped for it.”

“Right for the gut. We can’t all look like we were carved from marble, I’m afraid. You’ll have to deal with my hideous deformity as nature presents it, Roxanne.” He eats half his pizza, then wipes his face.

Scully finishes her slice. “Did she really show you gold this morning, Mulder?”

He nods, swallows. “Yep. And you said that woman you talked to told she’d show up after nights out streaked with algae and gold dust. Maybe she was, I don’t know, developing her powers. You said she was missing for a few years.” 

She considers this. “I think indicates that she herself was being abused or exploited in some way from a young age, Mulder. I mean, if you can access it, unmarked gold is a nearly untraceable currency and good in any market. They start giving her little cuts, get her dealing in her teens to build trust and rapport with kids. It’s a trafficker’s dream.”  

He hates that she’s not wrong, and it’s got nothing to with defending his theory. He’s got a reputation as a bleeding heart in many corners, but would happily support supplying child predators as involuntary organ donors. Punching Roche had been a career highlight. 

“You have to concede that the linkage between fairies and gold goes way back.” Diana’s rainbow suddenly makes sense to him, and he feels stupid. “I mean, leprechauns, of course. And Rumplestiltskin - who wanted a baby in exchange for gold, I might point out. The original story of Cinderella features bewitched golden shoes instead of glass. Jack climbs the beanstalk for a golden harp and a golden harp and golden coins; there are dozens.”

She rolls her eyes. “Mulder, for heaven’s sake. These stories are all about wish fulfillment. And gold was the ultimate wish, it’s a universal currency. Of course if people are going to create stories about strange, powerful beings with the ability to fulfil desires, those desires will be about financial freedom. I’d say those tales represent far more about human longing than fairy powers.”

“I saw her do it,” he says, but doesn’t press the issue. “You hear from Danny?”

“Yeah, nothing. It’s like whomever took the girls vanished along with them. No reported drifters, no unfamiliar cars, no uptick in petty thefts or break-ins.”

Mulder jabs at the table with a finger. “It’s not a drifter, Scully. We agreed on that.”

“Right, but if it’s Tallulah, then these girls have to go somewhere. She has to be meeting someone, she can’t just - I don’t know - keep them in her little cabins like a stray dog indefinitely, then drive out of town in her Volvo.”

“Well, on that point I cannot argue. I’m going to talk to her tomorrow, see if there’s anything else she wants to unburden. We need to touch base with the Rosses too, I guess.” He eats her discarded crust.

“I can stop by while you’re charming precious metals out of Elfhame.” She’s looking up at him through her sooty end-of-day lashes, the tip of a pizza slice between her teeth.

His stomach flips. Leave it to Scully to arouse him at the weirdest possible times. “Scully, why’d you leave?” he asks, because he wants to know and because she let him put a chip in her neck, and because she smells like tea tree oil and jasmine, and because he made her drink sardine juice to save her life, and because she shot him once, and because she saved him after having his skull drilled into twice, and because she tastes like saltwater taffy and the sea.

She frowns. “Well, you had a fever, and I wanted to-”

“That morning,” he clarifies. “Why’d you go?”

She sighs. “I suppose I knew this was coming,” she says. “Of course you couldn’t possibly be a gentleman and mind your business about it.”

He’s stung until he sees the smile in her eyes. “I’m only a gentleman in the parlor,” he says. “This is most definitely a bedroom.”

Scully leans back in her chair, crossing her legs. “It’s what I did after Dallas, don’t you remember? It’s what I did to Jack Willis, it’s what I tried to do in Philadelphia that time. My journal to you, when I had cancer, it was just a long Dear John letter, Mulder. When I was in med school, there was this man…” she trails off, staring at the cheap tile ceiling.

Mulder tries to process this. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself, Scully. You weren’t running after Dallas - they transferred you.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “That’s not what you said at the time. You said I was quitting. You said you would too, if I left.”

He winces inwardly at the memory of what he’d said. “Well yeah, but I was trying to guilt you into staying, so you have to cut me some slack.” 

She laughs, throws a wadded-up napkin at him. “Is that all you were trying to do, Mulder? I remember something else, in the moment.”

He doesn’t tell her that he knows exactly how well she remembers. “You’re incredibly good looking,” he says, with an air of confession. “Sue me.”

She smiles, looking down at her hands. “Mulder, I left the way I did the other morning because I didn’t know how else to leave. I didn’t know what it meant, and I still don’t. Was I… were we supposed to eat breakfast in bed and clean our guns together?”

There’s something bitter in her voice that he sets aside for later. He reaches across the table to take her hands. “Scully, why does it have to be anything? We could have had some coffee, tracked down your underwear together. They’re still in my sock drawer, incidentally.”

She blushes and punches his arm for that.

He laughs. “But seriously. What good does it do to worry in advance about how things will go wrong? I mean, look at me. I’m a total fucking disaster by many metrics, but I get by. I wing it most of the time, sure, but I manage.”

Scully laughs, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Truly a ringing endorsement. But I don’t know what you expect me to say, Mulder. I was a physicist before I was a doctor, you know. So I guess I just leave before entropy can fully take over.”

“I know,” he says. “But you can’t fail at this. There’s no checklist. There’s no test to pass or form to fill out.”

She makes a noise of frustration. “Mulder, do you not understand that that’s exactly the part that’s impossible for me to handle? That I can’t ever know, empirically, if I’m doing all the things that...that...I’m supposed to?”

He stares at her in confusion. “That you’re supposed to? I don’t even know what that means. There’s no supposed to. You just do.” He says this with the confidence of a man whose six-month marriage hadn’t fallen apart, of a man who hadn’t had a one-night stand with a blood fetishist, or an extended disaster with a British sociopath. 

Scully shakes her head. “I make lists and five year plans.”

He refrains from asking her how well that’s panned  out. “Take your shirt off,” he says.

She freezes, startled. “Mulder, we’re on a case, I don’t-”

“Trust me,” he says, knowing she considers it the most dangerous phrase in his lexicon. “You’re stressed. You’re exhausted. I was going to rub your back.”

She smirks. “I think my mom fell for that and got pregnant with Charlie.”

“Indian Guide’s honor,” he says. “I’ll get the lotion from the bathroom.”

Scully eyes him suspiciously, but goes to the bed and smooths the blankets out.

He retrieves the little bottle of lotion and reads it. Scully will have to settle for “Alabaster Gardenia,” this evening. It occurs to him that Padgett would have referred to her as an alabaster gardenia and he rolls his eyes. 

When he emerges, Scully is facedown on the bed, head on the pillow. Her smooth back is bare to the waist of her trousers, where the serpent lives, and her sock feet small and dark. Her shirt and bra are folded neatly on the night table, as though he is an actual masseuse.

Mulder straddles her hips, kneeling, and pours the lotion into his hands to warm it. Close up, he sees red marks from her bra straps on her shoulders and decides to start there.

“Wouldn’t this have been a nice morning?” he asks, working the lotion into her skin. “I could have done this for you. And with better lotion - you know I’m knowledgeable on the subject.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles into the pillow. 

He feels deep, hard knots in her back and attacks them with his thumbs, following the muscles down the sides of her spine. He’s not sure it’s effective, but then Scully groans happily into the bedding.

He’s pleased, working back up to the delicate muscles of her neck and base of her ears. “Is this good?”

“Don’t stop.”

He refrains from innuendo, wanting to prove to her that this is about so much more than sex. He kneads the folded wings of her shoulder blades, her handspan waist. There is lotion on her trousers and in her hair, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind.

She’s dozy and pliant now, breathing slowly. He’ll pet her to sleep like this every night if it suits her, like a little feral cat.

“Mulder?”

“Hmmm?” He traces the tattoo again, trying to bond with it and love it because it’s part of her. The work is admittedly beautiful.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you when I left. I don’t know how to be easy with things like you are.” She turns on her side, an arm draped across her breasts.

“Well, one of us has to have a plan,” he says airily. “Poor Walter’s always been afraid of me corrupting you. I never felt like he was angry, you know? Just disappointed. My god, this would kill him.” He thinks Poor Walter might be more than a touch in love with her too, but keeps this to himself.

She turns fully onto her back now and, to his dismay, works herself under the sheets. “Well, Kersh just thinks you’re mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Put it on my tombstone.”

“Of course you’d take that as a compliment. Lord Byron was really awful, but at least we got Ada Lovelace out of him. Mulder, why are you pulling clothes out?”

He hunts for his favorite t-shirt amid the wreckage of his suitcase. “I’m going for a run. I’ll be up all night otherwise.”

Scully frowns disapprovingly. “You really shouldn’t after today, Mulder. Can you make it a casual jog, at least?”

“Brisk trot. Leisurely gallop.”

“It’s AMA,” she warns him, but doesn’t argue further.

Mulder changes quickly while she drowses, limbering himself against the night table where her clothing sits. He opens the door, and the night air is invigorating.

“Hey Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t promise you anything, but I want to try to...you know. This.”

“Okay,” he says, and hopes she’s too sleepy to hear the thickness in his voice.

***

She’s out cold when he gets back, occasional little Scully-snores in the silence. He rinses in the shower, making excessive noise to alert her to his presence.

Mulder dries off and wraps himself in the undersized motel towel, putting his shoes back on against the dubious carpet. He walks over to Scully and strokes her hair.

“Mmmfff,” she says, bleary-eyed. “Am I still here?”

He holds out her shirt. “You’ll want this before you head next door,” he says.

She blinks. “Okay.” Then she promptly falls back asleep.

Mulder is not one to beg. He pulls his boxers on, toes the shoes off, and climbs in next to her. He is delighted to find that she has kicked her socks and trousers off, now clad only in her little grey bikinis.

He strokes the violin curves of her, from her shoulder down the sweep of her waist to her thighs. She sighs in her sleep.

He knows Scully would explain that he’s evolutionarily primed to be attracted to her full breasts and rounded hips. She’d tell him about how pelvic girdle width is an advantageous adaptation for such a melon-headed species.

He’d counter with the Golden Ratio. Sometimes beauty is its own justification.

Mulder snuggles in next to her. If he dreams that night he doesn’t remember. And if she wakes, she doesn’t leave.

***

His alarm goes off at six. Scully is an immovable lump next to him under the bedding, her exposed hair the only sign that she isn’t a heap of pillows or an extra blanket. He strokes the fine vellum of her belly until she stirs. “Time to get up,” he murmurs.

She pokes her head above the comforter and looks at him, confused. “What time is it? Did I spend the night?”

He smoothes her hair back from her brow. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Scully sits up, holding the sheet to her chest with one hand. “Where are my clothes?” She feels around under the blankets with evident agitation. 

Mulder points at the night table. “I put your shirt and bra there, but I don’t know about the pants and socks. You lost those while I was running, but I can give you a hand.”

She puts a hand to her forehead and looks tense. “This is what I was afraid of, Mulder. This… this chaos.”

He rubs her thigh and doesn’t laugh at her idea of chaos. Scully may sometimes think of him as a giant untrained Weimaraner who is either destroying her life or nosing her crotch, but he’s also got a DPhil from Oxford and occasionally he picks up on social cues. He moves the blankets around, keeping her covered, and eventually finds her belongings wadded up between the pillows.

“Here,” he says gently, and hands them to her. 

She nods, biting her lip. “I need to go.”

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t touch her. “I’m going to get in the shower. Come back over when you’re ready?”

Here smile is lukewarm, but present. “I’ll bring some coffee.”

Mulder tosses her the keys. “Get me one of those raspberry danishes too, if you don’t mind.”

He turns his back to give her privacy, then heads into the bathroom. He must have missed it yesterday, but sees that Scully’s left her little can of mousse on the sink for him. When they get home, he’s going to buy some of those velvet hangers she likes, to keep in his closet. He thinks of Ree, holding out dried corn for her deer. 

They’ve spent so long in the dark together it’s daunting to walk into the light.

***

Mulder takes a scalding shower, burning sweat and dead skin directly from the pores. He scours himself like a penitent until the heat becomes nauseating. When he steps out onto the little rug, the air feels nearly Arctic, and it perks him up. He feels purified of something nameless.

Scully’s lilac mousse in his hair, and he’s back in a suit for seeing Tallulah today. He thinks it’s best to remind her that he has a badge and a gun. He tries not to think about her hand, for once hoping he had experienced a hallucination.

He sits on the bed to tie his shoes when Scully comes back in, carrying a paper bag. She’s got on last night’s clothes still, her hair tucked behind her ears.

“They were out of raspberry, but I got you blueberry. Me too, actually. They looked good.” She holds out the bag, fragrant with coffee.

“Keep the change,” he says, taking the bag from her with happy anticipation.

“You should be doing stand-up, really.” She joins him on the bed.

Mulder passes her food to her, wishing he could make a breakfast-in-bed quip without sounding desperate. “So what’s your game plan today, then?” he asks around a mouthful of pastry.

She licks blueberry filling off her thumb. “Back to the lab, then I’ll see after that. We grew some of the algae samples at different temperatures to see if that could explain it being in Ree’s thermos in particular.” She blinks. “Oh! That reminds me! The lady at the store said to tell you not to forget about your bottle deposit.” 

“Thanks,” he says, hoping it doesn’t incite further questioning.

But no such luck with his inquisitive inamorata. “What bottle deposit?” she asks, puzzled.

He shifts, rolls his steaming cup between his palms. “Brought some groceries up with me to Tallulah’s yesterday. I figured it might grease the wheels a little.”

“Hmmm,” Scully says, and sips her coffee. “Well, it does sound like she had a lot to tell you. Anyway, I’ll be in Huntsville for the morning at least if you need me. Then I figured I’d - we’d, depending on your schedule - touch base with the Rosses, see if the search teams have found anything that hasn’t made its way to us.”

“Sounds good.” He brushes crumbs off his lap onto the floor, and supposes the mice will find them sumptuous.

Scully finishes her danish, clearly pondering something.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he offers.

Scully scoffs. “I’ll add it to my tip. I was just thinking; I did a little research while you were asleep yesterday. Apparently the term name Jenny Greenteeth applies not only to the creature in the legend, but has been generalized in some areas as a name for duckweed. In can make a pond surface look like inviting moss to walk on, like we saw down at the pond where Ree disappeared. Why not just...I don’t know. Why not just warn your kids about drowning instead of making up a - what did you call them?”

“Nursery bogey,” he replies. “The prevalent theory is that most kids will overestimate their abilities against natural dangers. They believe they can swim across a pond, or navigate through a forest, or climb a very tall tree. But if the supernatural is introduced, children are less likely to believe they can overcome the danger. So the deterrent is more effective.”

She shudders. “What a grim way to parent. Though I suppose it’s all just a variant on ‘don’t do that or you’ll die.’ And not so different from the Tooth Fairy or Santa, I guess.” Scully drinks her coffee, musing.

He considers this. He always found Santa creepy in a Panopticon way. “But Santa doesn’t provide a specific deterrent from naughtiness, only a reward for good.”

She sets her cup on the night table, presses her hands between her knees. “Well, there’s Krampus.”

Mulder loves the deranged chaotic energy of Krampus. “Krampus is good.”

“When I was taking German we were, you know, learning all the cultural bits of Germany. And Krampus is a companion of Saint Nicholas, which I thought was just terrible. Saint Nick gets all the credit for presents and just has Krampus do his dirty work.” She shakes her head at the treachery of Bavarian Santa.

He grins. “Santa’s that shitty friend who makes him carry out all the bullying so he can keep his hands clean and be teacher’s pet.”

“Ugh, I always hated that kid,” Scully says. She drinks her coffee, looking dark.

Mulder is joyful. Talking with her like this is the brightest spot in any day and he doesn’t want it to end. But there’s still a lost girl to find. “Well,” he says, slapping his thighs, “we’d best be off.”

She nods, serious again. “Depending on how the lab results look, we might be able to bring Tallulah in for questioning.”

He doubts it will do a particle of good, but they all need something to cling to. “Keep me posted.”

Scully reaches over to pat his hair. Heat radiates from her, and the warm cotton smell of her skin. Her coffee-and-danish breath is sweet in his mouth. “You can keep that mousse,” she says.

Mulder clears his throat. “I’m going to,” he assures her. “So much hold, but not sticky or stiff.”

She kisses him, close-mouthed, and flicks his ear before leaving.

***

The car shimmies up the unpaved road, rattling spent sunflower seeds in the empty Quik Mart cup. He grips the wheel against the uneven drive, against his anxiety over facing Tallulah again. Scully had come undone with Pfaster, her hard varnish becoming brittle and crumbling in the cold. Mulder fears Tallulah may leave him similarly disarmed.

He pulls up the last stretch of road to the meadow below the cabin, and stares in confusion. Instead of the weathered shack is a tangle of kudzu, ivy, strangler fig, and splintered planks. Mulder parks and slowly gets out of the car. He pushes his sunglasses up onto his forehead, picking his way up the path in gripless leather-bottomed dress shoes.

He crouches in the waist high grass, looking for...he’s not sure what. The floor of the cabin is utterly destroyed, existing only as a series of foot-long splinters. Large sections of the walls are collapsed inwards, algae-covered and snarled in woody vines. Tallulah’s few possessions, including her bed and kitchen furniture are gone. The big goat wanders over to chew on a section of the door. 

Mulder stands again, circles the wreckage with his hands on his hips. “Son of a bitch,” he says, kicking at it. He puts his sunglasses back on and stares into the woods.

Typical, absolutely fucking typical. He wants somewhere to put his anger, somewhere righteous and useful, but there is nothing. He longs for the congested grittiness if DC, where he can yell at corrupt officials or aggressive drivers or at least a noisome pigeon. But here there is nothing except unspoiled beauty as far as the eye can see. 

Looking back at the wreckage, he sees something glinting in the bright morning sun. He tugs at a swath of thorny vines hanging over the remains of the porch, and the milk bottle rolls out from beneath the greenery.

Mulder picks it up and sees a slip of paper inside. It slides out when he inverts the bottle. I guess we’re even, it reads, in a familiar hand.

He looks at the paper for a long time then, carefully, sets the bottle back on the ground. He begins running towards the tree line.

“Ree!” he calls. “RHIANNON!”

 Birdsong and silence.

He shouts her name again and again, receiving no reply. Mulder stops to take in his surroundings, never once doubting his interpretation of the note. “REE!”  he yells once more, and has only his echo for a reply.

He paces at the edge of the wood, looking, but there is nothing. Then, a hundred yards or so off, he sees a rock, like the one beneath Diana’s rainbow. He races towards it, loosening his tie. 

She’s still when he gets to her, a small bundle wrapped in a quilt that Mulder recognizes instantly from Tallulah’s bed. He crouches beside the girl. Twigs and leaves are snarled in her cornsilk hair, and her face is hollow and dirty.

Mulder reaches out to touch her cheek. “Hey,” he whispers. “Rhiannon?”

She stirs slightly, then opens her eyes. They’re far greener than they looked in her school picture. He tells himself it’s the light

“Mama,” Rhiannon says. She reaches out a thin, filthy hand.

Mulder gathers her up in his arms, head tucked against his neck. She weighs next to nothing, and he wants to run but is afraid of internal injuries or losing his footing. He moves as quickly as he dares back to the car.

Ree whimpers softly the whole time, her dry little fingers clutching at his collar. She calls for her mother and father.

He comes to the ruined shack and wants to show it to the child, to ask her a hundred questions, but he passes it in silence and arrives at the car. Still holding Ree’s little body close, he opens the back door. She begins to cry and clutch at him when he tries to lay her down.

“Please,” she begs, he can feel his heart break anew  when he pries her away, sobbing, onto the seat. Ree curls into the fetal position under the tattered quilt, mumbling to herself. 

He’d have laid rubber if there were any road to lay it on when he peels off towards town. Steering with his knee, he fumbles for his phone to call Scully, but there’s no service. He swears, flooring the gas.

A thin, awful, wail from Ree and he thinks of Emily dying by inches, dragging Scully down with her to the grave again. Emily’s burning body in his arms, staring mutely at him with her mother’s eyes.

He squeals onto the main road, eliciting a chorus of angry horns, when he realizes he has no idea where a hospital is. Scully’s off in Huntsville and he isn’t qualified for anything beyond CPR.

Mulder remembers the fire station from when they first arrived, and runs several red lights to get to it. Someone throws a rock at the car, but it bounces away.

Ree wails again, sitting up to scrabble at the window. Mulder glances at her in the rear view as he swerves onto MacNeill Street. She is thinner than he realized, and very pale. He didn’t think to check her gums and wonders if she’s in shock.

He calls back a flurry of reassuring nonsense to her, but she seems not to hear him. “I’m with the FBI,” he repeats. “You’re safe, Ree.”

She claws at the glass, whimpering.

Mulder finally sees the fire station up ahead on the left. He swerves across oncoming traffic and pulls halfway into the engine bay, narrowly missing four guys cooking hotdogs on a flimsy portable grill. They rise, yelling and waving their arms.

He’s waving his badge when he gets out, shouting Ree’s name over their indignant bellowing. 

“What the fuck do y-“

He opens the back door, catches Ree before she hits the ground. That’s all the conversation they need. The EMTs are yelling to one another, getting Ree in the ambulance, telling Mulder he’s a goddamn hero but he’d better get his fucking car out of the fucking way.

He backs out along the curb as the sirens scream. The ambulance howls past him, lights flashing, and disappears from view.

Mulder sits in his car for a moment, feeling strangely deflated. Then he gets his phone to call the sheriff with the good news.

***

Scully calls him from the hospital. She met the ambulance and the family there, figuring it was the easiest way to get the details for their report. Mulder is sprawled across the sagging expanse of his motel bed, propped up on one elbow. He is playing solitaire on his laptop as Scully fills him in.

“So anyway, she’d dehydrated and malnourished and had some bad bruises and scrapes, but nothing serious, which is impressive. They’re keeping her overnight at least for observation, but she seems fine, Mulder.”

He drags a queen of hearts across the screen. “Mmm. So is she talking yet?”

“Not much,” Scully says. “She’s still pretty freaked out. From the few things she has said, it sounds like she followed a deer into the woods and got lost. That’s why she didn’t have any of her things.” 

In the background are the beeps and echoes of hospital noises. Mulder finds them strangely soothing. “Okay, so where’d her clothes go? Where’d she get that quilt?”

A frustrated noise from Scully. “Mulder, they’re doing their best to get her story, but she’s very traumatized right now; you should know that. Maybe she found the cabin all collapsed and dragged the blanket out. Maybe it’s a different blanket entirely - this one was pretty beaten up. There’s no sign of sexual or other physical trauma, that’s the main thing.”

He knows it’s the main thing, but still. Still. “Scully, you listed a bunch of conditions that would make your teeth green. Anything that does it to the eyes?”

“Mulder,” she says warningly. “Why?”

 He rolls onto his back, abandoning the  game. “When I found her, I noticed that -”

“No,” Scully says. “Absolutely not.” Her voice is hard.

Mulder closes his eyes. “Is it real, or is it Memorex?” he asks.

“Don’t you dare,” Scully says, her voice a hiss. “Mulder, go for a run or take a shower or make use of the lotion or whatever it is you need to get this out of your system, but I know what you’re thinking and I absolutely forbid you to say a solitary word on the subject.”

He can envision her pacing furiously, black and white and red against the soft hospital neutrals. He imagines holy rage on her Botticelli face. “I won’t say anything,” he promises her.

“Good,” she replies, mollified. “The family wants to thank you in person, if you’re game to head over. I’m hanging out for about another half hour to look at some test results.”

He really, really isn’t game to head over, because he’s afraid he will fail to keep his mouth shut. “Tell them I was recently diagnosed with cranial rectal inversion, and I’m afraid of exposing them to a flare-up,” he says.

“Hilarious. I’ll tell them you turned your ankle during your daring rescue and you’ve got it up on ice.”

Mulder knows the fib is for the family’s sake rather than his, but he’s still grateful. “How many Hail Marys is that lie gonna cost, Dana Katherine?”

“I got a special dispensation from the Holy See for matters involving you,” she says. “It’s like EZ Pass. I go into the confessional, show my badge, and the priest just tells me not to worry about it.”

He’s grinning. “Yeah? You think the Pope’ll write a note to Kersh for me?”

“Even the Holy Father has no oversight over Alvin Kersh. Mulder, I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back at the motel within two hours. Call around for a flight, would you? I really don’t want to spend another night at the motel. Everything feels sticky.”

He turns to his side and pulls his laptop over. “I’m on it,” he tells her. 

She hangs up

“True enough for government work,” he says to no one.

***

Mulder goes for the run she suggested. His feet pound mindlessly against the pavement, past tidy lawns and mom-and-pop stores. He remembers the Samantha clones, the hive of identical girls who were in the world but not of it, and how he wanted to save just one of them. Scully would tell him that good works alone are not enough for salvation, that grace is required first. She might make a Catholic of him after all - he could use a little grace.

He glances through the window of the farm store and resists the urge to stop in. Past the church (CHRISTMAS BAZAAR BOOTHS STILL OPEN!) and two giggly teen girls. He’s coming up on the fire station when a hand claps him on the shoulder. He whirls around, reaches for the gun he didn’t bring.

“Whoa, hey, sorry,” says the guy who told him to move his fucking car earlier that day. “Just wanted to say thanks again.” The man’s about his age, more heavily muscled, and sporting a scruffy beard. His shirt reads VOLUNTEER FIREFIGHTER across the front.

Mulder holds his hands up in apology. “All good. I’m glad she’s home.”

“Owen Cylburn,” the man says, holding out a hand. 

Mulder shakes it. “Mulder,” he says. “Agent Scully’s still at the hospital.”

Owen hooks his thumbs through his belt loops. “Yeah, I heard she was a doctor. Real nice of her to look in on our girl.”

“You family?”

“Naw, but I live a few houses down and she plays with my son Simon sometimes. It’s a small town, you know? Anyway, I heard she’s doing fine.” Owen looks like there’s more he wants to say.

“Anything else on your mind, Mr. Cylburn?” Mulder asks.

He looks sheepish. “Oh, uh. Well, I guess I heard some talk, you know, about whatsername up in that old shack? You don’t really think she was involved, do you? I mean, I checked in on her a couple times and all, made sure the stove was safe. She seems nice. Just sort of strange.”

Mulder considers this for a moment. “Even if she were, clearing her house of fire hazards doesn’t mean you were aiding and abetting, you know. You do anything else while you were up there?”

Owen’s face darkens. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’m a happily marr-”

“Not what I meant. Sorry.”

“Oh,” Owen says, looking confused. “No, just the stove.”

Mulder tries again. “What I’m asking is, well, I heard some rumors too. That Tallulah was selling a little weed to supplement her income. Now listen, I’m not looking to hassle anybody. I’m a legalize it man myself, just trying to see if people were heading up there with any frequency to, uh, go shopping. And if they might have seen anything while they were there.”

“Ohhhh,” is the reply. “No, not my thing but I think I’m in the minority. I reckon she could blackmail half the upstanding members of the town if she wanted to, one way or another. Them or their spouses or their kids.” He shrugs. “It’s a dry town, so…”

Mulder nods. “I get it. Like I said, just trying to see if anyone might have been around, might have seen anything. But not trying to make a federal case of it.”

“Mighty decent of you. But anyhow, all’s well that ends well, I guess. My sister’s a nurse up at the hospital, she says Ree looks pretty good, all things considered.”

“Yeah, that’s what my partner said too. She’s a real pretty little girl, isn’t she? Golden hair, and those big green eyes.”

Owen frowns. “All the Rosses have that hair, but I don’t think she has green eyes.”

“My mistake,” Mulder says. “Anyhow, you have a good one.” 

He jogs off, thinking.

***

Scully’s getting out of a patrol car when he returns. There’s a German Shepherd in the back seat, muzzle against the grating.

“This is K9 Officer Jangles,” Scully says, introducing Mulder to the dog. “She’s new.”

Officer Jangles sticks her head out of the open rear window. Her tail is wagging and her ridiculous ears are tilted against one another.

“Brought Jangles up to see Ree,” says the cop. “She’s my niece. Ree, I mean. My brother’s girl.” He has the blonde hair of his clan.

“How is she?”

“Pretty good,” Officer Ross says. “Starting to talk a little more.”

Mulder is genuinely glad to hear this and says so. “It’ll be nice to have your green-eyed lassie home, I’m sure.”

Scully kicks him hard in the shin with her deadly shoes. “Officer Ross, thanks for the lift. Agent Mulder and I have a lot of paperwork to take care of, so I hope you’ll excuse us.”

The officer nods. “I can’t thank you enough, none of us ever could. Can we call your boss for like, uh, a commendation or something?”

Scully smiles. “That’s very kind, sir, but we’re really just doing our job.”

“Alvin Kersh,” Mulder calls, as Scully hauls him into her room. “Extension 44-”

The door slams shut.

***

She punches him in the arm. “What is wrong with you?” she demands. 

Mulder sits on her bed, which is identical to his. Her room smells nicer though, distinctly Scully-ish. “I’m sorry,” he says. He genuinely wishes he were different.

Scully sighs, rubbing her temples. She sits next to him. “I am covered in dog hair, I have listened to hours of conservative talk radio, and now you are in direct violation of the one thing I asked you not to do.” She leans over to sniff him. “And you smell like a stable.”

“I’m trying to keep my ass shapely,” he says. “I want to look sexy in my running shorts for you.”

She punches him again. “Go...go take a shower. I’ll call around for flights. Maybe we can get out of here tonight.”

“Done,” he says. “There aren’t any until tomorrow evening.”

Scully groans. “Please don’t tell me that. I need to get out of here. The water smells like pencil shavings, did you notice? Go shower though.”

Mulder turns and takes her hands. “I know that I am sweaty and disgusting but I think you’re going to want to hear me out before I go shower.”

“It better be good, Mulder, because you’re competing with Jangles right now.”

“So there’s a hotel near the airport with a day spa. It’s not exactly the Four Seasons, but the website looked pretty good. I thought we’d let Alvin spring for another night here, and we’ll luxuriate in Dead Sea mud.”

She laughs, crossing her arms. “Mulder, you can’t be serious.”

“I'm extremely serious. My treat. You know my policy on my father’s money.”

Scully rolls her eyes, mimes a little hand puppet with a talking mouth. “My paychecks are for living expenses, my inheritance is for my side projects.” She does a credible impression of his monotone.

“I’m glad at least some of what I say stuck with you. Seriously though, Scully. Let me do something nice for you.”

She considers this. “Mulder, your ‘side projects’ generally refer to subverting the government in some way or another. Are you trying to get me in bed again just to lob a stone in the eye of the government?” 

“Yes,” he says. “You are my ultimate middle finger to The Man. That is literally my only motivation here. Come on, Scully. You once told Congress to go fuck itself - surely you’ve got room in your arsenal for a moisturizing salt scrub and Swedish massage.”

“We’re like Bonnie and Clyde,” she says, and bumps her shoulder against his. She’s right about the dog fur, he notes.

“Whaddya say?” he asks. It feels silly to have his heart in his throat over this, to worry that she’ll turn him down like a long-shot prom date. “Two empty hotel rooms in Hooterville on the federal dime while we sneak off to live it up on room service. You know you want to, Bonnie.”

Scully drops her chin for a second, then looks up at him, resigned. “What the hell, Clyde.”

He kisses her hair. “Attagirl. I’ll have you fully corrupted in no time. Soon you’ll be stealing office supplies and blowing off mandatory training seminars of your own volition”

She shakes her head, grinning. “Is this where you remind me that a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step?”

He shakes his head. “No, this is where I point out that a journey of a thousand miles is pretty intimidating, so maybe starting with smaller day spa trips is more manageable. Hell, Scully. Even The Pretenders broke it into two five-hundred-mile walks.”

“Go take a shower,” she says.

***

When he comes out of the bathroom she’s sitting in his room with her luggage, looking like a waif at a train station.

“Jesus,” he says, flustered. “Glad I still had a few clean towels.” He rifles through his bag, looking for underwear. He wasn’t expecting an audience.

Scully looks politely away as he tugs them on. “I changed out of that be-dogged suit and figured I’d just pack up and we’d head out when you were ready. I already turned in my key.”

He notices now that she’s in a pair of leggings and a black sweater. Somehow she still looks chic. “You’re in quite a hurry to leave this charming hamlet,” he observes. “Or is it just the lure of the forbidden?”

“Mmmm, maybe both. Mostly it’s the lure of the sauna.”

“Fair.” He sniffs his jeans and, dismayed, pulls them on anyway. Fuck it, he’s a rich man. He’ll take them both shopping. Scully is an indulgence he’ll happily spend his father’s ill-gotten gains on. He’s long suspected some distant connection between his parents’ money and her chip; it would be poetic justice to spoil her.

She curls onto her side in the middle of the bed, watching him dress. “Mulder.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

When she’s ready, he knows. When she’s ready. Mulder ties his shoes, then retrieves her mousse from the bathroom. He styles his hair in the mirror above the dresser, waiting.

“Mulder.”

“Hmm?”

“When I was a kid, my Aunt Olive would tell us stories about this farm she grew up on outside Killarney. She lived with her grandparents, pretty staunch Catholics you know, but they believed in a lot of the old stories too.”

He’s listening attentively now, but she has a tendency to be skittish when discussing the intangible. He pulls a pair of tweezers out and plucks at imaginary stray hairs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. After milking, Aunt Olive knew to leave a bowl of milk out for the Tuatha de Dannan. And a slice of bread from the new loaves.” She pauses, thinking. “I mean, I don’t know that they actually believed it, but you know how these things are.”

“Belt and suspenders,” he says.

She chuckles. “Something like that, yeah. Anyway, Mulder, I was thinking about that milk bottle. And then I started thinking about my Aunt Olive’s stories. And I wondered if maybe you bought Tallulah some new milk and fresh bread.”

Mulder puts the tweezers down. He joins her on the bed, sitting in the curve made by her body. He pets her side, her shiny hair, and savors the sheer pleasure of touching her. “It wasn’t super new,” he says. “It was pasteurized.”

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully says. She rubs his thigh.

He stretches out onto the bed, facing her. She has aged with obscene grace. Distilled more than aged, really, he thinks. Refined to a more essential Scully-ness. “Sometimes all that people need is to be seen,” he says. “I figured even if she’s just some weird transient hillbilly who sells weed and tells horrifying lies, she might appreciate a snack.” 

Scully smiles and scoots closer to him. She strokes the bridge of his nose. “Fox Mulder, you big softie.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Should I take that as a personal indictment?”

“You’re a riot.”

He strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I don’t know, when I was a kid I read To Kill A Mockingbird for school, and the part where Atticus said you had to walk around in someone’s skin to know them really resonated with me. I guess I wish I had been extended that courtesy.” 

Scully smiles. “Mmm, I used to think about how I would have made Boo Radley come out.”

Mulder laughs, imagining a tiny, serious Scully laying artful traps. “Like Bugs Bunny?”

She laughs too. “Something like that, yeah. I guess I just connected with the idea of the unknown being concretely knowable if only the right methodology were applied.”

“Nerd,” he says.

“Always. You would have snuck into the house and said, ‘Hello, Mr. Radley. I’m Fox Mulder.’ No tricks for you.” 

He probably would have, at that. “Yeah, but then comes my usual trouble. No evidence, no witnesses.”

She kisses him softly, bumping his nose with hers. “Maybe I need to walk around in your skin more. You say you got to walk around in my head.”

“I didn’t peek anywhere untoward,” he says, and wraps his arms around her.

She regards him seriously. “I trust you. But I do wonder what you saw. I’m not an angel, Mulder.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be.” He runs his thumb over her lips, and she nips at it. “You’re incandescent, Scully. Like a lighthouse at the edge of a vast, nighttime sea.”

She looks pleased and shy. “Well,” is all she says. “Well.” She tucks her head beneath his chin.

He holds her there, in this bland little room in the heart of nowhere. Her body is warm and compact and trusting, her fingers soft on his neck. She doesn’t always believe in his ideas, he knows, but she believes in him, and it’s more than enough.

Eventually he rouses her, the promise of more luxurious accommodations his only motivator for breaking this gentle peace. They gather their belongings and head to the car. The sky is purple and orange around them and ahead, an infinite sea of stars. He drives west, towards the setting sun. Scully takes his hand and smiles; a flame in the dark.