#Mulder and the Two Scully Sisters

[garashir]

this Colony/End Game arc is all over the place

[aloysiavirgata]

A post episode ficlit of Mulder driving Scully (to wherever) after Emily’s funeral (morbid I know- but it’s winter and this season feels endless in NY). 🙏

She had driven to the church with her mother but it is Mulder who takes her home.

Well, away. Not home. Home is very far but away can be anywhere.

Away is where there isn’t little Matthew’s fat pink cheeks or Tara’s full breasts or the helpless gazes of her mother and brother. Away is where she can’t smell incense and baby’s breath and heaps of roses.

They’ve been driving in quiet, aimless loops for over an hour. Scully has her face pressed to the cool glass of the window. Mulder’s jacket is off and his sleeves are rolled up. His forearms are the color of graham crackers.

Mulder exits and re-enters the same highway again. His face is drawn.

Neither of them has consumed much of anything but coffee for days. She can’t let him keep going like this for her.

“Hey,” Scully says, sitting up.

“Hey.” He merges left. They pass the same massive parking garage for the umpteenth time.

“You ever had a fish taco? Kind of like a SoCal lobster roll.” Scully favors him with a smile that she knows to be, at best, watery.

He smiles back. “No, I haven’t.”

If he’s lying he’s good at it, Scully thinks. Scully is white and red and black in the golden SoCal light. Mulder, New England bred and born, is bronze and cinnamon and offshore kelp forest eyes.

She directs him towards a little place she recalls, tin-roofed and fragrant, crammed between the gun shop and the florist.

Mulder turns the car off. Stills. Waits.

She knows what he’s doing because it’s an old interrogation tool and they’re just two magicians doing card tricks for each other but still she gives in. Sometimes it feels so good to let someone else be the adult.

Scully reaches into her pocket, pulls the necklace out. She lets it puddle in her cupped palm.

“How can I believe in a god that would do this,” she asks, shivery and heartsick and afraid. Her own cancer is one thing but little Emily is another. Her cross is gold, like it means anything. 79 protons.

Next to her Mulder closes his eyes for a long breath. Mulder in a shirt crisp and stiff as beaten egg whites. Her shoes are appallingly expensive to her Catholic soul. Her suit is a good merino blend.

Mulder opens his eyes. “God gave us free will, Dana Katherine. He cannot intercede.”

“Mulder, don’t. Please, I -“

“Maybe this is how he saved her. You don’t believe death is the end. Do you?”

He squeezes her shoulder hard, a fraction of a second. She shudders, Dana Katherine. Good second daughter. Misses her father and her sister.

“No,” she whispers. “I don’t.” She stares at her necklace again.

Mulder takes it from her. He reaches around her shoulders, clasping the chain behind her collar. His breath is warm on her neck; he smells like cedar and bergamot.

“Let me curse god for a while,” he says, dropping a kiss on her temple.

Scully nods, not trusting herself to speak. She gets out of the car, follows Mulder into the sun.

[is-on-its-way]

The moment Mulder quits

A point in which Mulder was ready to quit the minute he saw Scully hold a baby in season 7 and its effects in season 8

*this is my headcanon, its not gospel obviously Firstly, two scenes that are very linked in my head

Season 7 Ep 22 Requiem and Season 8 Ep 16 Three Words

Look at that face. That dead serious, at all costs face.

Season 7

Requiem. The culmination of Scully and Mulder's secret yearish? long quest for a baby. They've tried for a baby with IVF already. Mulder has promised her he wont give up on a miracle for her and they're well... trying basically, throughout season 7. Perhaps I would call it "hoping" for a baby. Maybe Mulder is hoping and Scully is characteristically ambivalent? Fully not using any contraceptives and I know there's a fic in there somewhere, anyway

The first scene above is why Ive never watched past the season 8 finale. nothing past them agreeing to be a family makes any sense because of Mulders face here. People knock Duchovny for not showing out when acting, but I will always be a defender of subtle acting. The way he can say an entire monologue of dialogue with the minute expressions on his face is quite breathtaking here.

Hes goes from sorrow at Scully not being able to have a baby, sorrow at her loss, sorrow at not being able to give her that; to regret at what he thinks is all his fault, at dragging her into this life; to pure love and affection for her seeing this baby in her lap and how good she is with him; and then a smile peaks out. A smile of hope that could compete with the Mona Lisa. Hope for their future and the certainty with which he knows what he wants so clearly, maybe for the first time in his life. His own family.

Like for the first time hes really deciding the cost is too much and he chooses her over the mission. He chooses their future over everything. And he's hopeful and perhaps even happy about it. which for someone with his amount of family trauma is a seismic shift. For so long he's chased the past in hope of fixing it, completely discombobulated and reckless in his search for well, his family.

Though, from the beginning of that moment in the rainy graveyard, he has slowly unconsciously coming to regard Scully as his family. In small gestures, a hand on her cheek or voicing out loud how important she is to him; to big gestures, giving up who he believes is his actual sister to save her.

We are lucky here, to be able to witness the moment the sparks of unconscious thought bloom into the flame of certainty. He follows up as well. Tells her she has to stay, that the cost doesn't outweigh the price anymore. Sure he wants to finish out this case, but he doesn't work without her, thats been established. Him telling her to stop, is his resignation as well. (There's a fit there too, with Skinner and him on the plane probably Skinner already knowing he's done.)

Thomas Flight praises subtly in acting better than I could ever articulate here:

Season 8

Mulder was weird and the PTSD was implied, but I choose to see it everywhere. After the moment in three words where Mulder tries to let them go gently because he thinks he's too damaged to be a father (Thanks @randomfoggytiger for the meta on that) (there's a fic here obviously where Scully gives him the space to be broken and also hers) After this though, he's not the Mulder as we've seen, ever. He's not the Mulder who

cares about exposing the government so he can say I told you so

cares about saving the public from the invasion

cares about finding the ultimate truth that has driven him since he found the X files

cares about solving cases and one upping the FBI, trying to force them to admit the truth out loud.

Mulder is fighting the entire season for his family.

he cares about exposing the conspiracy so everyone including his child will be safe.

he cares about saving the earth for his child's future

he cares about his childs and his families safety

he has zero concern about the FBI and what they do anymore.

In the second scene above, he's about had it with the entire conspiracy and he's downright pissed. He wants it all to end he doesn't care how. He wants to protect his child above everything. Sure he's usually reckless but this isn't for him and his self involved cause anymore, it's for his family, his wellbeing be damned at some points along the way. He states his thesis in three words while breaking into FBI files in an astonishing show of recklessness

"Look, Scully, I need to make sense of what happened to me. So that I can stop it. Because if I can't stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you. And who's to say it's going to stop there?"

I always wondered why he was putting Scully through all that, without realising this was the reason. Poor guy. There's nothing else in his purview anymore besides that baby who's in danger, and his family, so much so, when he is ultimately fired from the FBI, he's positively giddy at his newfound freedom.

If he had then gone down a path temporarily where he murdered his way through the remnants of the syndicate to assure the safety of his family John Wick style, I would've absolutely believed it.

It would've been insanely intriguing look at an evolving dynamic between Scully and Mulder. Scully law abiding Mulder reckless as always but with a different motivation. Becoming what he's always feared, to protect the family he has never had. A family he feels like he's only grasping at, as they're slipping through his fingers due to the danger and his recent and past traumas.

There's a reason a lot of the fandom sees Mulder as a happy stay at home dad post wherever they decide to end watching. Thats what he's been searching for his entire life. A happy family with loving parents. When he let go of that dream for himself in Closure, he found he could want that for his future family whatever that looked like (adoption, a miracle, etc.) in Requiem. And I personally don't believe he ever would let that dream go once he realised, I mean we all saw the devotion he had to his sister right?

In other words these are my reasons season 9 onwards make zero sense and I regard them as AU

[slippinmickeys]

Funfetti

Love this series

Quonochontaug family vacation and finding a puppy

The call of a gull, the low rumble of surf, the screen door whacking into weathered shaker siding. It felt like 1973 all over again. If he looked in the loft, Mulder was half-convinced he’d find Samantha up there, twirling her braid in her fingers and reading Charlotte Sometimes. 

“William!” Scully hollered from the deck, hand hovering over her brow to block the glare. “You need sunscreen!”

From closer to the roar of the waves, Mulder heard their son shout something back, and Scully wandered back into the cottage, a sour look on her face. 

Mulder sidled up to her and pulled her in for a low body hug, leaning forward to collect a kiss. 

“He’ll be fine for a little while without it,” he said. 

“He has my complexion,” she replied. “He won’t.”

“Let him get a few ya-yas out first,” Mulder said. “He’s excited. That’ll dim. He’ll be complaining that he’s bored in less than an hour.”

“He’ll be red as a lobster in less than an hour.”

“Then he’ll have something else to complain about,” he murmured into her lips, collecting another kiss and lingering for a moment before Scully pushed him off of her. 

“Go,” she said, shooing him away. “We have a lot to unpack.”

A week in Quonochontaug with a newly minted ten year old, the start of summer break. Scully actually agreed to five days off the clock, a record as far as Mulder knew, though he’d have to clamshell her laptop onto her fingers a few times to get her off her email. Then he’d have to hide her charging cord. 

They’d broken the drive in two, the meaty chunk having been the day before with an overnight in New York City–William’s first time. A long day in the car capped off with an early dinner at the Palm and the Lion King on Broadway. Mulder had shown William how to tie a Windsor knot, and when he thought back to the moment, his throat closed up a little. 

“I’ll get the groceries from the car,” he volunteered and ducked out the back door to the car port which was surrounded by overgrown hydrangea and woodsy, unproductive lilac. Out on the road behind the house, the mailbox listed tiredly, the faded stickers with the family name missing the R. 

It had been years since he’d been here, not since William was little. He paid a local vacation home management company to turn on the water and drive by every few weeks. There were still sheets to pull off of furniture and it needed a serious airing out. There were shadows lurking in corners. And memories. And a bullet hole in the old wood paneling. 

A scattering of small stones pulled away Mulder’s attention and Will came bounding up to him from around the side of the house. 

“Dad!” he said, out of breath. “Look what I found!” 

The boy held up the carapace of a small horseshoe crab, his face full of wonder and delight. 

“Nice,” Mulder said. “Though don’t bring it in the house, it’ll stink the place up.”

“More than it already smells?” William joked and tossed the dead creature into the bushes. The house had a closed up redolence of mildew and stale air. 

“You have no idea.” Mulder popped the trunk of their car and pulled out a couple of fully loaded grocery bags, handing them over to his son. “Take these and put them in the kitchen, would you? And then I want you to go around and open all the windows. We’ll get this place aired out.”

William reached forward and took the bags without complaint. “Can I sleep in the loft?”

Mulder thought of his sister, of over-warm July nights bunked up with her because she was afraid of the sound of fireworks. 

“Sure, bud,” he said, his voice a little quiet. 

***

Scully at the sink, a billowing plume of steam over the carmine cap of her hair as she dumped a pot of spaghetti into a colander. Beyond her, in the kitchen window, sat a dusty bowl full of sea glass. Mementos were hiding in every corner of the house. 

“Should we eat outside?” Scully asked. 

Mulder had tongs in one hand and an ancient ratty oven mitt in the other, pulling a cookie sheet of garlic bread out of the tired old oven. The smell that wafted up and over him was heavenly. 

“I didn’t get a chance to clean the bird shit off the picnic table yet,” he frowned. 

“Inside it is,” Scully said, upending the dripping colander into a bubbling pot of marinara. “Will!” She called out. “I need you to set the table!”

Mulder ended up helping, the muscle memory of childhood reminding him what cabinet plates were in, which drawer held the serving spoons. The ice tray wasn’t frozen yet, so they sipped tepid water out of olive green glasses, and Mulder opened a bottle of Chianti, fortifying himself with its acidic dryness, warmth spreading through his stomach. 

Around a mouthful of spaghetti, Will piped up hopefully. “Can we go kayaking tomorrow?” 

“Sure,” Mulder said airly. They’d have to rent some. Maybe an ocean kayak they could keep for the week. 

“It might rain,” Scully cautioned. 

The light went out of Will’s eyes. 

“We’ll go rent one anyway,” Mulder said, giving Scully a look. She apologized with her eyes. “Even if it rains,” Mulder went on, looking at the boy. “That way you can go as soon as the weather clears.”

William perked up at this, and took a massive bite of garlic bread. 

“Slow down, William,” Scully said, then turned to Mulder. “Do they rent them at Quonnie Pond? I can’t remember.” 

Mulder shook his head. “There’s a place in Charlestown that delivers. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

***

With the sunrise came the rain. 

Will stood in front of the sliding door morosely, complaining of boredom. 

Scully was curled up on the couch with a paperback and Mulder was so shocked by the sight that he was suddenly and quite determinedly of a mind not to let anything mess it up. Particularly tween ennui. 

“Grab your coat,” he said to his son.

“What for?” 

“We’re going into town. You and me.”

Will looked at him suspiciously. 

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder said, pulling on his own rain slicker and tossing his son’s to him. “Shopping. A tee shirt to prove you were on vacation. Ice cream. I don’t know. Maybe we’ll buy fudge. Come on.”

Scully gave them a Toodleloo wave without looking up from her book. 

As he and Will climbed into the car, he noticed the gutters were full and overflowing next to the house. He’d have to find a ladder and some work gloves. 

The idea of a second house, of a summer home, seemed romantic from the outside, but the logistics of owning two homes–even if his father’s estate paid the taxes on this one–were a colossal headache. And they rarely visited. But he couldn’t bring himself to give it up. It was a place that his sister had been happy. 

“Dad?” William said, his voice tinged in concern. 

Mulder gave him a reassuring smile and cranked the engine.

***

They were running out of shops and the rain was coming down harder, a gloomy June mist that brought with it a particular chill. Mulder had just bought a whale-shaped wooden cribbage board that William was less than enthusiastic about learning how to use. He dropped his change in a ceramic March of Dimes receptacle when the shopgirl gave him a friendly smile. 

“That’ll come in handy,” she said kindly. “There’s a chance it’ll rain all week.”

Out of the corner of his eye Mulder watched William wilt. 

The girl noticed. “Or not!” She backtracked as Mulder took his son by the shoulder and led him out of the shop. “Twenty percent chance of sun tomorrow!”

Will flipped up his hood as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Couldn’t we just play Uno?” he said glumly. 

“You’ll get sick of Uno,” Mulder told him. “And your mother tends to get persnickety about Mattel’s rule that you can’t play a Draw Two on a Draw Two.”

“It’s a dumb rule.”

“I agree.” 

They were crossing an alleyway on their way back to the car when William pulled up short and turned to peer into the murk. 

Mulder stopped a step and a half later and turned curiously to his son. 

“Everything all right?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“Will?”

William glanced briefly at his father and then back down the alley.

“Greyskull,” the boy said, distracted. 

Mulder instinctively reached to his hip for his weapon, but his belt loop was empty—he’d left his sidearm in a lockbox at the house. He wrapped the plastic bag tightly around his recent purchase and slid it into his back pocket. 

“What is it?” he asked, placing a protective hand on William’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know,” the boy said. “There’s something down there.”

“Something dangerous?” If there were, he thought, Scully would kill him.

“I don’t think so,” William said, then took a hesitant step into the alley. 

Mulder, not knowing the right course of action, decided to let the boy follow his instincts. 

After a few timid steps, Will began walking with more confidence, eventually stopping in front of a large black dumpster. Mulder waited warily at his elbow. 

“There’s something in there,” his son finally said, looking up at Mulder for guidance. 

After years on the job, Mulder’s first instinct was ‘dead body,’ followed by several other morbid guesses, each one more distasteful than the last. Without his son staring at him with baleful, please-fix-it eyes, he might otherwise have walked away and let someone else handle it. 

Mulder sighed and hesitantly lifted the lid, peering reluctantly into the fusty gloaming. A moment later, something in the darkness moved and Mulder jumped back, the dumpster lid slamming closed with a crack.

William’s eyes went round as saucers. “What? What is it?!” 

When nothing happened, Mulder, chagrined and more than a little embarrassed, licked his lips and stepped forward again.

“I don’t…” he started. “I don’t know.”

He girded himself, and lifted the lid again. This time he noticed—on top of several slimy black garbage bags and days worth of unidentified refuse—a damp cardboard box slumped against the dumpster’s nearest wall. And inside the box, movement.

Mulder swiped a hand forward trying to hook a finger on the edge of the box to pull it closer, but couldn’t quite get a purchase on it. He sighed, stepping away from the dumpster, his hand still holding up the lid. 

His eyes swept their surroundings. 

“Hey Will,” he said. “Grab me that plastic milk crate over there,” he pointed. “I need something to stand on.”

Will skipped over eagerly and came back with the crate, happy to have a job. 

Mulder set the crate upside down in front of the dumpster and scrambled on top of it. 

Movement again from the box, this time accompanied by a low, animal sound. 

Christ, if this was some batshit rabid raccoon, Scully would have his hide. Nevertheless, the added height made it far easier to reach into the mephitic brume of the dumpster, and he was able to grab a corner of the box and heft it up and over the side, depositing it onto the wet asphalt at Will’s feet. 

As he stepped down off of the crate, the boy was already bent over the box, peering inside. Before Mulder could bark some kind of parental warning, William was looking back up at him, his face showing a mix of surprise and delight. 

Mulder leaned over for a look himself. 

Inside the disintegrating box sat a curled-up shivering mass of damp off-white fur. Sorrowful eyes looked up at him, pleading and miserable. 

A puppy. Some kind of lab mix by the look of it. 

William reached into the box and the creature wriggled under his hand, its tail beginning to thump wetly against the cardboard. 

“Can we keep him?” Will asked with a kind of dulled hysteria to his voice, and Mulder instantly knew he had just unwittingly come upon one of life’s great reckonings. 

“No,” he said levelly, putting his hands on his hips and staring down at the conundrum in front of him. 

The puppy, after a couple of gentle pets from William, was already up on its back legs, its sharp little puppy-claws rapidly rendering the side of the box that contained it into pulp in its reckless enthusiasm to connect with its savior. The boy picked up the wriggling mass and instantly got a face full of enthusiastic kisses. 

Will turned a dolorous eye toward his father. 

“We can’t leave him here, Dad.” 

Mulder looked around helplessly, his options quickly winnowing down into his only real choice. 

He sighed again, looking down at boy and puppy. 

“Shit,” he muttered into the fetid air.

*** 

“Absolutely not!” said Scully somewhat shrilly when William walked into the door carrying the dog. They were not twenty feet into the house. 

William threw a look at his father. They had talked about this in the car, betting what Dana Scully’s reaction would be. 

“Your mom is going to kill us,” Mulder had said. 

“No,” William rebutted from the backseat, the puppy on his lap. “She’s going to kill you.”

If Scully’s eyes were any indication, the boy had been right. 

“Mom!” William pleaded. 

“Scully,” Mulder hoped to at least be able to explain the situation before his wife lost her shit completely. 

“Mulder, what the hell-”

Mulder turned to Will, who seemed reluctant to put the dog down, lest his mother march over and fling the poor animal into the wilds. 

“Why don’t you take him outside, Will. See if he’ll do his business.” 

If the dog peed on the floor, or god forbid, took a dump, the level of escalation Scully would take the situation was heretofore untested, as far as Mulder was concerned. And he’d seen her stand up to Congress. 

The second William was out the door, Scully whirled on him. 

“Mulder-”

He held up a hand. “Scully.”

“Mulder!”

“Dana!” she barked sharply.

At that, she pulled up short and closed her mouth. 

“Firstly, he already knows we’re not keeping it,” Mulder said, watching as her shoulders lowered from up around her ears. 

Mulder exhaled so he could speak more calmly. 

“We found him in a dumpster,” he said, trying to drum up some sympathy for the poor creature. “Someone had thrown him out like trash.” 

Scully’s eyes softened. “Why did you bring him here, though? Will’s going to get attached, Mulder. It’s going to be Mr. Bubbles all over again.”

Mulder thought briefly of their week as goldfish owners. 

“We would have gone right to the shelter, but it’s Sunday. It’s closed. We’ll take him over in the morning.”

Scully sighed. Lowered herself onto the couch. “What were you guys doing in a dumpster?”

“We weren’t,” Mulder said. “We were only walking by the alley.”

“Did you hear it or something?” 

Mulder shook his head, moved to sit next to her. “Greyskull,” he said. 

Scully turned to look at him. 

“He knew something was wrong. Could sense it somehow,” Mulder went on. 

Scully looked a little dazed. Mulder knew what she was thinking. William was a kind, empathetic kid. If he could sense the suffering of animals, people, bad situations, the world was going to be a very hard place for him to navigate. To live in. 

“I’m going to make some calls,” Mulder said. “Loop the Gunmen in, too. See if we can find someone to help him learn how to…I don’t know. Shield himself, somehow.”

Scully nodded, leaned back on the couch. “One day at a time,” she said, repeating a necessary family mantra.

Mulder thumped back into the cushions, himself. “Yes.”

“We can’t let him give the dog a name, Mulder,” Scully said after a minute. “Remember when he named those two lobsters we brought home for a Valentine’s Day dinner?”

“Horace and Petey.”

“He cried for an hour and swore off shellfish.”

Mulder remembered. “More Horace and Petey for us,” he said. “They were delicious.”

Just then, the door burst in on a gust of cool air. William trundled in happily, the dog at his heels.

“He pooped and peed!” he reported happily. 

“Nice work, pup,” Mulder said, smiling. 

“Oh,” said William, reaching down to scratch the puppy behind an ear. “His name is Krypto.”

Mulder could feel Scully’s gaze boring into the side of his head. 

***

The rain hadn’t stopped all day, and by evening, it had gotten downright chilly. 

Mulder threw another log on the fire, hoping the flue wasn’t blocked by leaves or a bird’s nest. Next to the fireplace, leaning against the couch, Scully sat on the floor, Krypto curled up against her leg, his little block of a head resting on her thigh. She was staring into the flames, absently running her fingers through the soft fur of the puppy’s ear. 

Near the door were plastic bags of various dog accoutrements; a small bag of puppy chow, a leash and a collar with the tags still on. Just in case. 

William had begged to let the dog sleep with him that night, but Scully had put a stop to the thought immediately, telling William that the dog was likely to need to get up and be let outside in the night and that she would oversee the process. He needed his sleep if he was going to kayak the next day. The boy didn’t like it, but he saw the sense in doing exactly as his mother said in their current situation. He’d gone to bed without a complaint or a plea for ten more minutes.

Mulder poked at the fire until it was burning to his satisfaction, and, confident the chimney was drawing properly, he lowered himself to Scully’s other side, draping an arm around her shoulders. 

“What time does the shelter open?” Scully asked, leaning her head back to rest against Mulder’s arm. 

“Nine, I think.”

“Hmm.”

Next to her, the puppy woke, stretched his legs out and yawned with a soft doggy sound. His sleepy eyes rove up until they connected with Scully’s, and his tail began to thump softly into the floor. 

“Another man unable to resist the exquisite Scully charm,” Mulder commented softly. 

Scully huffed a soft laugh and ran her hand over the length of the puppy, earning her a more vigorously wagging tail. 

“Krypto,” she said, shaking her head. 

The puppy wiggled more firmly into her side. 

“Superboy,” sighed Mulder.

Scully reached over with her other hand and squeezed his leg. 

“We talked about getting him a dog, don’t you remember?” Mulder asked. 

“When he was begging for a sibling,” Scully clarified. “And six years old.”

“Your argument was that he wasn't old enough for the responsibility.”

Scully rolled her head to look at him. 

“I’m not advocating anything here, Scully,” he said. “I’m just saying.”

Scully was silent for several minutes, and the dog eventually sat up. One second of eye contact with the woman before him and he climbed into her lap and licked her face twice. 

Scully reached forward, held the puppy’s face in two hands, gazing into his sweet brown eyes. 

“We’re not going to the shelter in the morning, are we?” Mulder asked softly. 

His wife sighed, still holding the dog’s downy white head. 

“God damn it,” she said. 

[pigeonwit]

mulder and scully can be platonic or romantic or a spectrum of the two but the one thing i stand firm on is that they are not a father/daughter relationship. scully does not see mulder as her father, mulder does not see scully as his little sister, and if they did then their professional and personal relationship would not work. there are definitely elements of the two they see in each other - scully sees her fathers dedication in mulder, mulder could definitely see scully as someone samantha could've grown up to be friends with - but mulder is not ths superior intellectual guiding his unrefined kid sidekick, and yeah its weird you see them like that. their partnership is based on them being professional and intellectual equals, and their greatest friction comes from when they dont treat each other in that way. the reason their bond is so deep and long-lasting is because of the way they respect each other not in the way a daughter respects her parent or a father respects his child but as total equals. but by all means tell me why you see mulder as the intellectual guiding force that should be looked to for the answer, and why you see scully as a little girl crying for daddy's attention. im sure its for normal reasons.

("oh but canonically-" "but its written in the script-" "but chris carter said-" i cast Lazer Beam and Read a Book About the Role of Audience Interpretation in Film and Television)

[scullysexual]

Time Can Heal Rewrite

A canon divergent/Irresistible fic. What if Scully’s post-abduction trauma was actually dealt with. What if Mulder realised that his quest for the truth was costing too much?

A/N: A Time Can Heal rewrite because 25 year old Powder is gonna have a better way of telling this story than 20 year old Powder. Also it will most likely have a different title but I haven’t decided yet. It has been inspired by Jean Helm's And Death Shall Have No Dominion (since the two fics were recently confused for each other; highly recommend you read that fic, it's my favourite) And also the scene in Irresistible where Scully sees Pfaster morph into a bunch of different people. I also just wanted to write a fic that addresses Scully's trauma. The original was never completed, I got to 10 chapters but I've decided to rewrite it since it was such a long time ago and me and my writing have both matured since then. You'll find similiarities between this one on and the original, obviously, but I'm hoping this is the better version.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Chapter One

They put her apartment up for sale. Good.

Her mother promised her she would try to get it back.

“You were gone for three months,” her mother says, justifying her actions. “We didn’t know when you would be back. We thought…” Her mother glances towards Melissa, her sister materalising for the first time in a year and a half, unable to say the word.

“You were dead,” Missy answers softly.

Scully was dead. She had floated up to that white room, laid on a table, a man standing over her; her father, who had forced her back down.

Between the bright light that had blinded her atop of that freezing summat to the hospital room she lays in now, she had been dead.

“I’m sorry,” says her mother.

There was nothing to be sorry about. Scully didn’t want her apartment back; it's lonely, soundless rooms made for one. Scully wanted noise, the presence of another person, the knowledge that somebody might be there to protect her. 

She chided herself. She is supposed to be the protector. But how could she ever protect others if she couldn’t even  protect herself? 

There was an ever-present fear. Her stomach twisting as she lays in the bed of her mother’s guest bedroom. It keeps her awake. Watching shadows twist in the dark as she tries to remember anything but there is nothing, just the sense of time missing, something lost. Maybe that is what scares her; memories of time that she will never get back.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She has her first nightmare a week after she returns. 

Trapped inside the trunk of her car, she bangs against the roof to no avail. There are people around her; she can hear their voices speaking in a language she can’t understand, someone laughs, there’s the sound of a gunshot, and the undeniable stench of cigarette smoke.

Scully wakes in a panic. There’s something over her head, her body. Hysteria takes over her as she truly believes she is in that trunk still, that she had hallucinated her survival and recovery.

But the top of the trunk is soft, the material lays against her body and when she kicks her feet or moves her unbounded hands the material moves with her.

She kicks the duvet off her body, hears the sound of it falling onto the floor in a heap. The November chill seeps through the cracks in the windows and Scully shivers yet she can’t bring herself to pull the duvet back over herself. Instead, she curls into the foetal position and gently closes her eyes, willing the nightmares away.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

A nightmare doesn’t wake her. In fact, Scully is unsure if she even had a dream last night but the duvet is over her again and that is enough to send her heart beating rapidly and her breaths quickening. She kicks the material right off.

“Scully?”

Scully opens her eyes to find Mulder staring at her with puzzled concern. The sight of him immediately calms her, temporarily banishing her fears to the corners.

“Hi, Mulder.”

She hadn’t seen him in two weeks. Those first couple of days she couldn’t get him away from her but over time, once she was moved and settled in her mother’s house, his visits had decreased exponentially. It had been a week since he last visited not that Scully had minded, she understood life and work took precedence and with the X-Files having been reopened she knew better than most how busy Mulder must be right now. 

Still, that hadn’t stopped her from missing him and seeing him here now fills her with as much joy as it does comfort. 

“You doing okay?” he asks.

Scully shrugs. Head down, fingers fidgeting with each other she doesn’t want to burden him with her nightmares and worries.

“As well as I can be, I suppose,” she answers.

Mulder looks unconvinced.

“Your mother tells me you haven’t left this room since you got here,” he says not buying it.

Scully frowns, feeling defensive. Were Mulder and her mother judging her? Surely they must understand. Besides, she was still healing, the pain in her abdomen still hadn’t gone away, it hurt to even walk over to the ensuite bathroom some days.

But they were excuses, she should get out of this bed, soon she will be back at work.

Scully looks towards the window, curtains drawn open so she could see the light dusting of frost outside. Mulder must’ve opened them when he came in because they were closed over last night and all day yesterday. Scully didn’t want to see outside let alone be out there. The thought of leaving this bed, of facing the world and the monsters that inhabited it made her stick to the sheets like glue. Her mother and Melissa had both tried to coax her outside to no success, Scully would just shake her head, say she was tired. Eventually they gave up and left her alone.

Mulder, she knew, would do no such thing.

“You can’t stay in bed forever, Scully.”

She closes her eyes at his words. She knew that but still…

“Come on,” he urges, holding out his hand. “Let’s sit outside, we need to talk anyway.”

Scully looks at his hand then back outside. Just to the porch, she tells herself. That wasn’t scary, that was still her mother’s property where the monsters couldn’t hurt her. (She had thought that of her own home but they had still found her there) No, that wasn’t the same, this time she had Mulder, this time he would protect her.

She takes his hand and eases herself out of bed for the first time in two weeks.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It’s cold on the porch. The chilly air nips at her cheeks, bites at her fingers that she wraps around the mug of tea her mother handed to her and Mulder. Scully sips at it slowly, tasting the hot bitterness of it, letting it burn her tongue slightly, it feels good.

Mulder is silent beside her despite his insistence on talking. She wonders if it had just been a ploy to get her out of her bed but when she looks over to him she can see him thinking, his face crunching when he doesn’t like a thought, pausing when he thinks he is onto something. It’s fairly interesting. It also fills her with dread. What could he possibly be wanting to say that is taking this long?

“Scully,” His voice cuts through the silent air and makes her jump slightly. “I handed in my resignation to Skinner.”

Scully frowns. She knew this already. During Skinner’s one and only visit- one that had surprised them all- he had recounted the tale of how Mulder had handed in his resignation but Skinner had refused to accept it. It had been told with humour, as if to try to add some light to the situation, and Scully had smiled along but when she looked at Mulder to gauge his reaction he had been sombre, lost in thought, somewhere far away.

“Yes, Skinner told me, remember in the hos–”

“This morning.”

It cuts through the air like a knife. Cold ice runs straight through Scully’s body that has nothing to do with the temperature. Her back straightens, tea forgotten.

“Excuse me?” she asks quietly because maybe she heard wrong, maybe he’s got it all mixed up.

“I’m leaving. My final day was yesterday.”

No, no he can’t…

“The Bureau?”

“The X-Files. I asked Skinner to close them, lock the basement door if he has to, burn the filing cabinet. Anything to…”

It’s a sucker punch to the gut, everything he is saying. She was back, they could work together again, everything could go back to normal but instead he had made decisions without her.

“And you did all this without talking to me first?” She makes sure he can hear the betrayal, the anger she feels.

“Scully–”

“And what about Samantha? What about discovering the truth? You’re really just going to leave all that?”

“Yes! If I must!” he says, his voice rising. “Don’t you see? It’s all too much risk. I’ve already killed Deep Throat because of this cause, I almost lost you…It’s too much.”

“But I don’t blame you for that, Mulder, you know that.” She tries to explain it, to make him see, why can’t he see that he’s all she has, her anchor. “We knew the risks when we signed up. This is why you should’ve spoken to me first.”

But Mulder shakes his head. “You can’t change my mind on this, Scully, I’m sorry. I leave tomorrow. I’ve handed over my apartment keys, my things are all packed into a van. This is the end, I’m sorry.”

Keys? Van? What? A panic grips her as she tries to make sense of the words.

“Leaving? Where are you going?”

“Just… away,” he answers, revealing nothing. “There’s an opening in one of the Field Offices, I’m transferring there.”

“Well, which one?” She fishes into her pockets for a notepad and pen so she can write it down, remember it, but of course she is wearing a robe, she had no notepad and pen. “Maybe I could see if they have another opening–”

His hand reaches out to touch her forearm, halting her movements. “Scully,” he says, his eyes pleading. “Don’t you understand? This is your chance to get away from me, to live a normal life.” 

Scully shakes her head. “I don’t want to get away from you.” Maybe it’s the cold or her fatigue but she can feel tears beginning to form in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says and for some unknown reason it makes her angry, angrier than she was before. Suddenly she can’t stand to be around him.

“Go then,” she says, standing up abruptly it makes Mulder jolt backwards slightly. “No point wasting time here.”

“Scully–” he calls to her, standing up himself.

“I don’t care anymore, Mulder, okay? If you want to go then just go.” Her hand is on the doorknob, ready to push it open.

“Please understand, Scully, I’m doing this to protect you because I care about you.”

If he gave even one shit about her he would stay. Scully’s hand pauses on the door handle, she turns her towards him slightly, eyes and voice cold as she tells him, “I don’t need your protection.” She rips the front door open and slams it shut behind her, it vibrates through the house like a gunshot, killing them both.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder packs the last of the boxes into the Gunmen’s WV bus, pulling the door shut after himself and heads up to the driver’s seat where Langly, Frohike, and Byers sit together up front.

“You sure you don’t want a lift?” asks Langly.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll follow you up there.”

Langly nods, twisting the key in the ignition.

“So what’s up in Minneapolis anyway?” asks Frohike over the hum of the old engine.

Mulder shrugs. “A fresh start, I hope.”

“And what about the enigmatic Dr Scully? Will she be joining you?”

Mulder falters. His argument with Scully was still an open wound. For his last interaction with her to end that badly made him want to throw up. He had stood on that porch for a while after she had gone inside, until he had caught the attention of Mrs Scully who had wondered what had happened.

He had had no words for her, just silently handed the half-drank mugs of tea back to her and left, resisting the urge to look up towards the second floor where he could feel Scully watching him.

“That remains to be seen,” Mulder says, not wanting to tell the exact truth. “She might even go back to medicine.” A blatant lie but one he wishes to be true all the same.

“Well, we’ll certainly miss you,” Frohike says, an agreement made in mutters by Langly and Byers.

“Good luck, Mulder,” Byers wishes him.

Langly holds out his fist and Mulder bumps him. “See you around,” he says. He puts the bus into gear and with Mulder’s belongings takes off down the road.

Mulder watches them go, his eyes trained on them until they disappear around the corner, then he pulls out his cellphone, dials a number he knows off by heart now, lingers above the call button for a second, then presses it. He puts the cell to his ear and listens to it ring.

And ring.

And ring.

And ring.

It goes to the answering machine. To Mrs Scully’s soft, kind voice telling him she wasn’t home and to leave a message. Mulder buttons it instead, placing the cellphone back into his pocket. What was he even expecting?

When he gets to Minneapolis he’ll delete the number. And the two others. It won’t matter, he could recite all three in his sleep but he needs to try to cut her off, from his life, from his entire world if he even stands a chance at keeping her safe.

[randomfoggytiger]

"BILL SCULLY"

*-*-*-*-*

The Bill Scully POV series, re-edited to fit canon's timeline. [Ao3]

Many thanks to @baronessblixen, who kept this series going; and to @justice-for-queequeg for the X-Cops prompt.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 1-

"Mr. Mulder, I Know Something About You"

The first time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was the day after his sister and her partner were sucked almost dry and hospitalized in Washington State for nearly two weeks. One fuzzy, panicked call from Tara and one fuzzier, harried call from his mother sketched in the slim details: Dana was on the mend, she’d been investigating a missing loggers’ case with her partner--

“What 'partner'? She’s in the field?”

She had been, for months. He’d forgotten to ask at their father’s funeral, convinced that her height and lack of experience had kept her teaching at Quantico.

“Dana's mentioned him once before, I think. You know how tight-lipped she is about her life.”

“Mom, do I need to come home? Is she….”

“No, Bill. But I’ll call you if she takes a turn for the worse.”

So, Bill stayed on board; and Dana got better, and Tara celebrated over the phone, and Maggie remembered the name: Fox Mulder.

*-*-*-*-*

The second time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder were the days following his sister’s abduction.

His mother talked of little else-- with Dana’s captor dead, any possible leads had died with him. There was nothing now but faith and hope.

“But I know Fox will call as soon as he finds her.”

Fox. His sister, Tara had told him, still called him Mulder. Then again, Tara’s attention was currently wrapped up in calendars and planners and endless negatives. For that matter, his was, too; and what little time he had to think of family he thought of her, alone, counting the rising costs of their countless tries, alone, while he worked as often as he could to cover those costs, alone. And his sister, somewhere, alone; and his mother back in Maryland, alone.

Dana and her former partner’s professional relationship wasn’t a top priority, or even a distant concern.

*-*-*-*-*

The third time Bill heard the name Fox Mulder was after promising his eldest sister that Tara would try her fertility herbs. His wife was curled up on one side, quiet, when Melissa stuck her toes in his other side, slyly smiling.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” she concluded, setting aside the herb pouch and pinning him with her eyes, “why haven’t you given Dana a call? She hasn’t said it, but she’s been expecting one.”

“Don’t start, Missy.” He’d have disengaged, too, but Tara’s head was pressing into his neck, a sure sign she was falling asleep. And sleep was precious these days, what with the hormone shots and regular appointments and never-ending stress. He’d promised to shoulder her troubles for nine more weeks; and whether this was a test or not, Bill Scully had and would never back down from his word.

Melissa, opportunistic woman that she was, had banked on it, waiting for her sister-in-law’s “dozing” tea to kick in before launching the subject. “Billy, you know you want to talk to her. What’s the problem? I mean, she almost… we almost lost her. Why can’t you let whatever you’re holding onto--”

“Miss--” he stopped, voice abruptly, temporarily, startling them both.

“You owe it to her, Bill. You two haven’t talked in months-- no one’s too busy to pick up the phone and call. It’s Dad all over again; but Dad was blind to what it did to us."

“And what about Dana? She's back on her feet and running straight toward her crazy cases and top-secret autopsies. You can’t point a finger at me without three pointing right back at her. At least I try to be there for my family.”

“You weren’t there when she was gone.”

He swallowed, angry and stung. “And who was, Melissa? You?”

Her toes gripped his hip, guilty. “Fox.”

*-*-*-*-*

The fourth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was during his sister’s not-so-secret battle with cancer. His mother called often to vent and cry, unable to share her worries and pain with her only living daughter and unwilling to burden Tara with more stress.

Fox had become a footnote of late, so consumed was he and Dana in their work.

“Mom, how can you let Dana run herself down like that? She should be resting or looking into treatments-- anything rather than chasing after rag magazine cases half across the country!”

“Bill, not everyone can run to sea to escape their problems. Not even you.”

*-*-*-*-*

The fifth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was after he’d met the man-- watched him fill Dana’s head with insane theories about chips and government conspiracies and backed off, awed, when Dana’s cancer miraculously went into remission.

He was roaming the halls, searching for coffee to wash down the remainder of his rage over Fox Mulder’s red eyes and dazed expression when he noticed another government type walk stiffly towards the nurse’s desk, brusquely flash a badge, straighten his stiff spine and stiffer tie, and promptly demand to see “Fox Mulder.”

“I know where he is,” Bill cut in, saving the nurse the hassle but still getting a glare for his trouble. “Bill Scully. How can I help you?”

“Yes-- I was sent to bring him back for questioning; and we’re expected in,” he looked significantly at his watch, “forty minutes. If you would take me to him--”

“Take Mulder where?” Bill snapped around to see Walter Skinner, A.D., striding over, eyebrows drawn and face grim.

“Yes, Sir. Agent Mulder is being called in for--”

“The committee’s been disbanded until further notice, Agent Colton; and until I have those further orders, my agents are not to be bothered or contacted while they are in this hospital. Is that understood?”

Bill watched the other man’s jaw lock, grind, and shift as it worked its stubborn way around “Understood, Sir.” Then Agent Colton turned tail and fled, heels thudding down the tile on their thunderous path to the elevator.

A.D. Skinner wasn’t done yet. “My apologies, Mr. Scully. That agent was out of line; and I'll see to it that your family isn't bothered again.”

It was best to nod and let the A.D. think he was frustrated with the intrusion.

Mulder could have been mid-conversation or on his way out by now. Instead, he would still be on that bench long after the family left. He seemed the type.

*-*-*-*-*

The sixth time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was over another phone call, mere months before the birth of his child.

“Bill Scully? You might not remember me, but my name’s Ethan, Ethan Minette, and Dana and I used to date back when, well rather, right after she was recruited by the FBI. She ever mention me? Yes? No? Anyway, not important. Calling about information you might possibly have on, lemme check… Fox? Mulder, yep, Fox Mulder. Dana’s partner? There was a case she was involved in recently, really gruesome, real Frankenstein abomination stuff; and Colton, Tom Colton? You know him? Dana’s friend? Anyway, we keep in touch, we’re related somewhat, you know? And he named you as a hot tip and I was wondering if you…. Yeah, yeah, I can wait.”

He and Tara fought afterward: Tara as big as a house, ready to cave the roof in.

“Dana’s coming for the holidays, Bill! And you two will spend the week in stony silence avoiding each other and, and Mom and I will have to try to keep the peace instead of celebrating our first Christmas as a growing family, and-- and how could you do that, Bill? After all Fox Mulder did for our family?”

Bill was lacking even to his ears; and, after cooler heads prevailed, he dialed Ethan back up and insisted his name be kept out of the article. Ethan talked doubly fast, banging a pen up and down every other word for emphasis as he cajoled and steamed about losing necessary credibility; but, inevitably, gave in.

“I’ll only do this because you’re Dana’s brother and she was a real sweetheart. But if I need to call you in future…?”

“I don’t have any more information.”

Dana skipped most of Christmas, anyway.

*-*-*-*-*

The seventh time Bill heard Fox Mulder’s name was when he flew in for Emily Sim’s hearing.

“I need him as a witness if I’m to have any chance getting custody of Emily,” Dana had stated carefully, meticulously avoiding eye contact. Bill still caught her bewilderment and fear… and joy.

“When’ll he get here?”

“Tonight, tomorrow… he didn’t say when, just that he’d be here.” He caught her smile, too.

“Dana…” Her head snapped up, and he paused. “We’ll be there.”

“Bill, you don’t have to--”

“We’ll be there, Dana.”

And they were.

And so was Fox Mulder.

Bill left with Tara, tired and emotional, and Maggie, displaced and confused, after exchanging silent, cursory greetings with his sister’s partner. While he slowly walked away, both women in tow, he heard a curt “Dana Scully and Fox Mulder” echo behind him.

And, in spite of everything, he sent up a prayer for both.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 2-

"You Up For Joining Us?"

Bill had arranged it with Dana ahead of time: Dad’s first mates guarding the perimeters while Charles, Hessa, and the kids stood inflexibly in the middle.

As usual, their mom slipped away from the rules, tying her trembling bereavement to Dana's strength; and Tara drifted closer to him, burrowing tighter into his grip until Bill pulled her against his shoulder.

Charles’s grief hissed out in great huffs of air, Dana’s voice cut the silence with undetectable questions, and their mother's answers wobbled thinly, distant and dismayed.

“Bill, don’t you let go,” Tara whispered, both aware he was the one trembling.

And all Bill could think about was Melissa, taking the long route home over the vast, watery grave of the late Captain Scully.

*-*-*-*-*

The house was quiet: Dana had left immediately after the service to work, face closed and lips sealed; Maggie had slipped from room to room until she shut herself away to cry; and Charles had wrangled his pedigree wife and two sons into the car to revisit old Maryland Scully haunts.

“I should call Melissa,” Bill rasped, rubbing a hand across his eyes, wondering if his father would already have done so. So many “done so”s still to learn.

“I’ll give her a ring if she doesn't check in by five.” Tara plopped a husband-sized mug of childhood memories and cinnamon sticks to his side of the couch and pulled a wife-sized chair up next to him. “Why don’t you put your feet up, Sweetie? I made Mom’s apple cider you love.”

“How do you always know what to do?”

“Because I have you captured between… what did Dana say were the ribs right on top of the heart?”

“I can’t remember.” He sank down next to her, mood softening despite the Charles-shaped headache throbbing between his eyes. “Did you get to talk to her?”

“Mm, no. She was… I think she wanted to be left alone. She had her face on, y’know?”

“Angry? At you? What'd she say?”

“Nothing! She wasn’t... she was, y’know, withdrawn. Quiet. So, I left her alone.”

The couch, Bill realized, was comfortable; and he slipped his dress shoes off to half sit, half recline along the length of it. That, and the drink was good. “There’s something a little extra in this, Honey. What’d you put?”

“Dad’s ashes.”

Both of them snapped up at Charles’s voice, his towering torso and knitted brows appearing in the doorway a second later. “I’m driving Hessa and the kids back to the hotel. We still doing the photo albums?” The pretense was hollow: everyone knew he and the wife would find and excuse and be out before it got too dark.

Bill wondered why his brother still bothered. “Yeah, if Mom’s up for it.”

“Great. See you guys then.” The torso and scowl slid away, light steps tripping over themselves down the hall and out the slammed door after a few customary noises.

“Just couldn’t keep it to himself, could he? Had to spread it to everyone else.”

Tara sighed and reached for one of his cinnamon sticks. Both knew they were hers, anyway.

*-*-*-*-*

A few weeks after the police and the FBI and the press had turned his sister’s apartment upside down, Bill walked in and was nearly crushed by his mother’s fierce hug and flashing, determined eyes.

“Dana will be back soon, and you know how fastidious she is about her apartment. I want this place ready for her when she gets here.”

“Mom--”

“And we won’t argue about it, William Scully, especially when there’s work to be done.”

They worked until the moon streamed through the garishly taped window, sporadically reflecting off of tiny, bloodied specks of glass previously concealed in the carpet.

“Hidden in plain sight,” his mother had muttered; and Bill quickly distracted her with Melissa's spotty news and his and Tara’s five-year plan: a child hopefully by next year, or an incumbent relocation to better technology in California.

He didn’t tell her no one expected Dana to return, and that he and Tara decided to name their first daughter after his lost sister.

*-*-*-*-*

Melissa picked up on his fourth attempt.

“Billy, is something up? Mom called, but I’m usually not at this number--”

“Melissa, Dana’s back.”

“Day’s back? Where’d they find her? Is she okay?”

“She’s in a coma.” The seconds hand ticked louder and louder in his ears. “Look, Melissa, I know you hate hospitals, but Mom needs you there."

“Of course. I’ll join you three as soon as I can. Is Charlie with you? Tara, Hessa?”

“It’s just Mom.”

More silence, then a pitying, “Oh, Bill….”

“Can’t be helped, so keep an eye on them for me, Missy-- and leave the woowoo talk out. Mom has enough on her plate as it is.”

“I’ve got a bus to catch and a flight plan to figure out, so I'll be unreachable for a bit. And don’t call Mom because it’ll be quicker for me to get there. Love you, call you soon.”

“Love you, Miss.”

*-*-*-*-*

Melissa was back in California, whiling the hours away with tea and toffees for Tara until night fell and the latter went to bed. Bill found her stuffed in the corner of their temporary love seat, plucking contemplatively at the cheap threads poking from its arm.

“Burning the midnight oil? That’s more Dana’s style.”

She smiled warmly and leaned over to yank the pathetic thrift store cushion from Bill’s designated indent. “I haven’t had a talk with her like that for years. Now, she’s so…. She used to have such free-flowing energy, but she’s blocked all the paths off into their own, separate loops instead of connecting them back together. Like us." Melissa locked eyes, rebukingly shaking her head at the Scully stubbornness. "We just got her back, but we're all no different than we were right before Dad died.”

“Well, what do you suggest I do? Ditch Tara and fly across the country on the hope that Dana or Charlie will clear their schedules and meet up? I don’t have time to iron out the family problems anymore; and all you’ve gotten them to admit is that Dana wishes she had more time for us, and Charles only remembers we exist once or twice a year."

Melissa slowly nodded, blinking once, twice, in silence.

“Missy? Is there something wrong?”

“Mom had a dream again.”

He scoffed and looked at the ceiling in disbelief. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“It’s important, Bill. Mom had a dream like the one before Dana disappeared, only… she didn’t see who was in danger or why. And she’s frightened to death-- afraid it’ll happen all over again. And even if she were to tell Dana, Day's so closed off she won't listen to her inner voice anymore."

“Men and women put their lives on the line of duty every day, Miss, and nothing bad happens. The nut that took Dana lucked out on a one-in-a-million chance; and it won’t happen again no matter how many guys she puts away. If Dana wants to waste her second chance on the field and her superiors green light her antics, then there’s nothing I or you or Mom or even Charles can do to change her mind.”

Melissa fiddled with her fingers, spacey and distant. “It’s not just that, Billy. I’ve had a feeling lately.” She returned to the present, studying his face for a long moment before clutching, desperately, at his arm. “And it feels permanent.”

Her conviction was both moving and goading. “Then feel this, Missy: a year from now, Mom’ll be having nightmares about the baby crawling around this rat trap apartment until a house on base opens up. Dana will take just enough time off to visit for the holidays, Tara might dye her hair red again to fit into the Scully family Christmas photo, and we’ll all pretend you aren’t handing off hosting duties to your roommate while secretly keeping your niece to yourself.”

Melissa was charmed, if not relieved. “With our luck, it’ll be another boy. Besides, you and Tara want one, anyway.” Elbowing him playfully in the gut, she scooted over and shoved the pillow against his shoulder. Voice softening, she wistfully added, “But if it were a girl, I’d be devoted to her. We Scully women have so few people to look out for us.”

*-*-*-*-*

There was no Christmas, no baby, and no warning; only another somber gathering, one less family member, and a gray, lifeless inscription:

MELISSA

SCULLY

BELOVED SISTER

AND DAUGHTER

1962-1995

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 3-

"Think He'll Call You Tonight"

Charlie was the one that convinced their father.

“But Dad, Dana wanted a gun, too, and she’s really good at being careful, and she does everything else with us, and we have the money to get one, and it’s a really nice one, and Bill and I’ll keep an eye on her and teach her and make sure she doesn’t shoot anything that you told us not to--”

And whether or not it was his arguments or his enthusiasm that won out, Dana was surprised with a BB gun a couple months shy of her birthday, both boys brimming with pride over their recently emptied pockets.

Charlie saw the snake first; but Bill boldly grabbed it, tossed it into a shorter patch of grass, and took the first shot. The air rang with pings and tiny thuds as the snake absorbed pellet after pellet, writhing in pain and shock; until, finally, it stopped wiggling and lay still, limply waiting for death to claim it. Dana had walked towards their target-- Bill assumed for closer range-- and startled her brothers by weeping over the snake’s dead body in her tiny hands.

The attack of conscience was swift: their youngest sister, who was more prone to outraged anger than tears, broke down; and Charlie, who was more likely to cry than holler, yelled at Bill and ran off into the woods.

Their mother was no less furious than their father though Dana fessed up honorably-- refusing to let her brothers take all the blame. Both she and Bill apologized, took their punishment, and were forbidden from shooting until both parents deemed them more responsible.

Charlie didn’t reappear for hours. After dark everyone was worried; and the house and woods were canvassed until late into the night. It was Melissa’s idea to double back and check his room; and Dana who caught sight of his leg, dove under the bed spread, and grabbed him to her, apologizing over and over.

Bill noticed his brother never quite shook the quake in his hands before a shot.

*-*-*-*-*

Bill was out of the house before his brother reached the rebellious teen years. He was annoyed, nonetheless, when home would ring him or he’d ring home and Melissa would insist on telling Charlie’s latest scrape amidst laughter that cracked a sentence in three different places. Dana would take over and summarize her sister’s spotty narrative; and Maggie would hear the commotion from the hallway and insist on excusing some of his behavior.

Excusing. Bill heard that a lot.

Melissa never let anyone off the hook, including him. “Charlie and Dana have stories on you too, Billy, so I wouldn’t test either of their patience. He’ll be home any minute if you want to hear a few.”

“I’m good, thanks.” And the conversation inherently turned to a new thought experiment in Melissa’s collegiate classes or Dana’s impending graduation and solidifying plans for medical school.

*-*-*-*-*

Tara and he had just gone steady when Bill got Melissa’s letter. Grateful that she’d canceled their night out immediately, he’d hugged his sweetheart goodbye and booked it to the nearest payphone.

“Mom, he just met her; and now he’s going to throw away his future and marry the girl? What kind of sense does that make?”

“Bill--”

“I know you’re scared Mom, and Dad must be furious, what with Melissa dropping out and now Charlie--”

“William Scully, will you calm down--”

“Is that Bill?” That was Charles. “I want to talk to him, Mom.”

“Charlie, don’t make this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“He’s already poking his nose in, isn’t he? Huh? Making assumptions about Hessa and me behind our backs-- give it over, Mom, he can say it to my face--”

Bill hung up, unwilling to let the situation spiral out of control.

His father called a couple days later, fresh off the boat and abreast of the particulars. And sharply disappointed. “You’re going to fly over here when your command can spare you, and we’re going to talk through this thoroughly. Don’t ever put your mother in this position again, William.” 

The meeting took place in his parent's new home in Maryland, paint and pine sol and candles warring against each other for supremacy.

Charlie refused to try even one year of college, determined to bind himself to Hessa and break into the stock market with her godfather’s tutelage. “I figure facts and figures are my specialty,” he’d cheekily dismissed, “and where better to put them to use?”

Dana immediately lapped him by throwing out a few facts and figures he hadn’t contemplated; and Charlie, offended, had tried to deflect the uncomfortable moment by focusing on her recent, intimate knowledge of family planning and retirement. That's when Melissa had piped up with a pointed hint towards adolescent secrets their father was still ignorant of; and the focus was naturally shoved firmly back where it belonged.

Bill flew back to Maryland six months later, best man at his brother’s showy wedding, staring at the pew where his father, stone faced, mother, apprehensive, and sisters, irritated, sat. Melissa and Dana thawed for the bride, giving her a congratulatory kiss-- which she lightly returned-- while their mother welcomed Hessa as the newest Scully. But the captain only nodded, and Bill only smiled.

*-*-*-*-*

He and Tara were married, Melissa was somewhere around the world, Dana had dropped medical school for the FBI, and Charles and his two Baybrook-blooded kids were living off of his wife’s investment properties when the Scully patriarch suddenly and unexpectedly died.

Charles hadn’t revisited the past-- let alone his family-- but Bill knew the residual resentment from their father’s withdrawal lingered. Partly because Charlie’s college fund had not gone towards Charles’s investment projects, and partly because Captain Scully only privately acknowledged the marriage after the birth of his first grandchild. 

Given the state of their unsteady relationship, it was shocking that the late captain’s son was the only one who understood his father’s unorthodox cremation. 

“It makes strange sense, though I’ll bet Missy put it in his head.”

Tara, who had been quiet since the burial plans were announced, shakily looked up from her lap. “I think it was me. We were talking about Melissa’s book on Celtic traditions and practices a year or so ago; and I mentioned that I could have seen him being cremated if he were born a couple hundred years ago. I guess--”

They were silent, warring between irrational anger at Tara and higher reason. Bill hugged her to himself, shielding her unnecessarily, as Charles’s stare strayed from his sister-in-law to his father’s urn, thoughtfully distant.

*-*-*-*-*

It was Charlie who called two years later.

“Bill, she’s… she’s dead. Died, uh, thirteen hours ago. And… and, uh, Mom says she understands you won’t make it for the funeral… and.... She didn’t call me, Bill, either, because she thought Melissa’d pull through. And Dana’s back-- Dana was off the grid for a bit. We think the guy that got Melissa was after… anyway, one of us’ll call back with details when we can. …I’m sorry, Bill.”

*-*-*-*-*

A switch had flipped after Melissa’s death: while Bill was at sea, the absent siblings spent more time at home. Charles had-- Tara reported-- became a regular, doubly so a regular philanthropist. He helped Maggie patch up various expenses, recommended his wife’s hairdresser to Dana and covered the difference a few times, and funded Tara’s recuperative trips to and from Maryland and California between grueling trials and pregnancy tests.

“Are you doing okay, Mom?” Bill asked, spending yet another Saint Patrick’s Day on yet another floating hunk of metal.

“Hmm. Melissa was going to throw a party today. Did you know that? She started a new tradition after Dana was returned last year.” Her breath came raggedly over the line. “I miss her, Bill. And your father." 

“Yeah, Mom.”

She paused, then sighed a long, sad sound. "Are you going to be alone for the holiday?”

“Some friends are throwing a celebration later. One of them even looks like Charles, strangely. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

“I know, Bill. I’ll let the others know you thought of them.”

“Okay, Mom. Bye.”

*-*-*-*-*

Dana’s cancer blindsided all of them.

Maggie let out the secret in tears a few weeks after Dana began and ended her treatment, heated and lost and afraid. “She won’t try chemotherapy anymore because she wants to work-- she just pretends it doesn’t exist and refuses to talk about it. I don’t understand her, Bill. And I don’t know how to tell Charlie because he feels they’ve gotten so close over the last few months. It’ll hurt him; and I don’t want to hurt my baby.”

Bill, so furious he was calm, told her to fly out to Tara. “I know she’ll enjoy having you around, Mom. And maybe Dana will decide to share it with us on her own.”

Dana did not tell anyone else, choosing instead to pretend nothing was wrong: congratulating Bill and Tara on their impending parenthood, sloughing off Maggie's subtle references, and running around thoughtlessly while her health weakened and worsened.

A day before Bill’s arrival, his mother called: Charles had finally been told; and-- at the mention of late-stage cancer-- hadn’t taken it well, venting choice words about being the last to be considered before hanging up. 

Neither he nor Hessa joined them for Dana’s last supper. Despite the desperation of the next few days, he'd remained withdrawn and unreachable.

*-*-*-*-*

“Charles? It’s Bill-- Dana’s in remission. She asked me to give you a call in case you wanted to drop by. We’re calling it a miracle, Charlie. A new beginning, Dana said. If you want.”

For once, Bill was happy her paranoid partner was there to keep his sister company-- anything to distract her from picking up the phone, dialing, and getting bad news on top of good.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 4-

"You're Not Here, Dana-- You're a Million Miles Away"

He didn’t know what had gone wrong.

Dana was fine at the airport. She'd been chatting, laughing even, fresh off the plane, debating some feminine topic with their mother as the two wheeled their luggage closer and closer to the exit. Catching his eye, she’d lit up-- like a firecracker, as Melissa used to say-- and even quickened her pace to soak up “a Big Brother Bill hug”-- another Melissa maxim which rubbed off on the rest of the family.

Maggie had deferred the passenger side; and the three of them chit-chatted and caught up on the drive to the base. They’d asked spirited questions about Tara while Bill, per his wife’s specific instructions, refused to give away any hints about how big she’d gotten. “He’s a dad already,” smirked Dana. The teasing and good-natured snipes trailed after them until they turned the last corner.

Everyone had been delighted with each other, Tara had had her fun surprising her guests, and no one had seemed, in his mind, bothered about the sleeping arrangements.

It was the phone call that did it, he realized: Dana had come charging up the stairs, tense and distraught, insisting on driving someplace he knew she’d never been before. Somewhere he’d never been before, either, for that matter.

“Bill-- I had a call, just now. I need to take the car.” In hindsight, she’d been unnaturally pale, nails digging into the stair railing.

He'd taken her, of course. He’d taken her despite how vague her story sounded, waited outside the crime scene until Dana finished poking around, heard her pronouncement-- a voice that sounded like Melissa’s-- then driven her home. She’d remained tight-lipped about what had happened; but that was to be expected: nothing had come from their detour other than a sense of confused embarrassment. They’d both silently moved on from it as soon as possible.

It was after the phone call that she'd begun to withdraw.

*-*-*-*-*

Tara went to bed early: up at four and likely tidying and cleaning until their guests arrived after noon, the day had caught up with her-- so Bill supposed-- after the last of her luxurious dessert disappeared from the plate. That, and his sister had sat quietly through the meal, seeming bruised rather than pleased during his wife’s happy monologue at dinner.

“Bill, is everything okay with Dana?” Tara sighed as he helped maneuver her around the temporarily cramped room. “She’s been awful quiet since you two returned from the crime scene.” 

“I think she’ll be okay. Probably just processing.”

“So I didn’t offend her?”

Bill stopped pulling the quilt back, turning to assess how badly his wife’s feelings had been hurt. “It’s the case, Honey, don’t worry about it. You know how I get about work sometimes--”

“But Bill, this seems different. Maybe she was hurt, somehow, by what I was saying about a family or becoming a mom; or she feels guilty because Melissa’s not here.”

“If it’s more than just the case, Mom’ll get it out of her; and if it’s about us, Mom'll fill us in later. I don't think there's cause for worry, Sweetheart.”

Tara sighed, sat down on the bed, and reluctantly smiled as he bent to take off her comfortable house shoes. “You’re so good to me, Bill. I just want this Christmas to be perfect-- it’s the first since… well, a few firsts since.”

“The past few holidays have been hard on us Scullys. We’re due a really, really good one.”

“Baby here included?”

“I thought he was supposed to arrive after Christmas.” Their son was supposed to be here already. 

“You’d better hope it’s a boy then, Bill Jr., because the Scully women seem to have a mind of their own.”

He nodded, grabbing her empty glass to refill downstairs. “Still thinking of Melissa for the name?” The old game had been exhausted, months ago; but they moved it forward, regardless, in darker moments. 

She smiled, reaching out to catch his arm and pull him closer. “As long as we’re still thinking of Matthew for a boy.”

*-*-*-*-*

Melissa was an inescapable presence this Christmas. She lingered like a benevolent ghost, lounging on the sofa from the corner of his eye or twinkling companionably from the photographs displayed around the house.

The creaking floorboard, however, was a reminder that Dana, not Melissa, was up and wandering. It was after midnight at least, but she was probably still on East Coast time, Bill assumed; or, of course, she was taking a private call and would be flying out when it was light. Try as he might, the thought that his remaining sister would be called back to work with Mulder-- away from her family, over the holidays, after a miraculous cancer remission-- made his blood boil.

He waited up after the car drove off, arguing himself out of calling Ethan Minette back to retract his retraction.

Dana had never been good at sneaking out; and he listened to her tiptoe back in before sunrise, settle in the dining room, and stay there as the minutes, then hours, ticked by.

The morning newspaper thudded against the front door, the sun began to rise, Bill slid down before his military wife or mother could wake and start the day.

“Dana?”

*-*-*-*-*

He knew disappointment should be second-nature by now with Dana and promises she couldn’t keep. Likely, the sting was keener because Melissa, for as flaky as she’d been, had never pretended or promised to be someone she wasn’t: she coasted in and out of their lives whenever the mood struck but always with a tenderness to their fixed positions. Even Charles didn’t hide who he was or what he’d decided behind a false front. His littlest sister, meanwhile, passed herself off as stalwart and dependable before jerking left and ditching medical school, the FBI mainstream, and familial obligations.

“Alright,” he’d agreed. “Lunch!” And she’d tightly smiled; and left.

Although this was her work and her business, it was quickly becoming the family's problem: Tara, puzzled by this impossible situation, did her best to distract Maggie by hostessing her around; and Maggie, tight lipped whenever Dana’s name came up, tried to talk over ruffled feelings and assure everyone her daughter would be there for the Christmas party, of course, so nice to meet friends of Tara’s, they were such nice people, reminded me of the Stotes family we knew in ‘75, remember them, Bill?

It was the Scullys' first Christmas after so much grief and miraculous second chances-- his and Tara’s as much as Dana’s-- and still, Dana flaked.

“It’s work, Honey. You know how that is,” Tara reassured, taking on the previous night's role of comforter. “God and country come first in your jobs.”

It wasn’t country Dana was putting first. Or God.

Bill kept these thoughts to himself, let Tara pull back the covers for him tonight. He even smiled when she promised to refill his empty glass of water after New Year’s.

“After New Year’s,” he agreed.

*-*-*-*-*

Dana left with Detective Kresge before Bill finished an insignificant morning errand.

“She didn’t even say hello to you or Tara, just left? I thought she wanted this vacation, Mom.”

“Dana does, Bill. She’s just… going through a hard time right now.”

“And she doesn’t want to share that with us? Just wants to sleep here most nights and leave in the morning before I can even say ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’?”

And it had come tumbling out. Dana and Maggie, huddled at the table mere hours ago, denying and insisting about PCR tests and a long-lost Scully daughter.

“I know Melissa, Bill-- she would’ve never had a child without telling me. Dana is believing in this possibility because she sees that little girl as a chance that was… taken away from her. And,” she paused, gripping her arms and steeling her voice, “I know my babies. I know myself. There were so many small things after your father passed…. Sometimes, I’d see him from the corner of my eye, smiling at me; or I’d hear his voice late at night, announcing he’d suddenly arrived back from deployment.”

“But, Mom--”

“Yes, I know they weren’t real; but there are things that feel real, and your sister is struggling with them right now. This Christmas has been hard, Bill, as much as we do our best to make it a beautiful time for you and Tara and the baby. Dana has more than the loss of her father and her sister to wrestle with.”

*-*-*-*-*

The day passed in preparation for the evening’s party, more decorations and more food and more people filling up the space before Bill could take a moment to relax. An innocent remark about his late father flew completely over his sister’s head; and, tired of walking on eggshells, he asked her to help him in the kitchen.

Careful Billy, you meddler, Melissa used to tease. Perhaps that was her version of wisdom; and perhaps he should have remembered it before his directness came across as accusation, slipping from one point of irritation to the next without tact or grace.

You know Dana hates how direct we are, Billy: it shoves her into a corner that she can’t escape from.

It’s never stopped you, he'd said.

Yeah, well, why do you think she doesn’t ask me for advice very often? she'd replied, poking him companionably.

Bill mumbled their back and forth, alone, with somber fondness.

*-*-*-*-*

He’d been given the picture shortly after Melissa became a more permanent fixture in their lives.

“It’s a good one, isn’t it? Had it taken before… you know.”

They’d been sitting in his rattrap apartment listening to Tara prattle to one of her girlfriends about how happy she was to unpack the last of their things-- relaxed and hearty and if not happy then something close to it. Their little sister’s abduction and return had unsettled them, unsettled him; and her quick recovery and dogged insistence on going back to work soon, too soon, rankled. But Bill had finally given in and called up Dana at Melissa’s insistence-- the wound, though it remained, was healing.

“I never understood why you left for so long without at least calling more than once in a while.”

“Bill, I just… I needed to resettle after Dad died. You all were there for Mom, even Charlie; but I….” She shrugged, changing the topic by pointing at the photograph. “My friend took that right before I had to jump in the car to go. She said, ‘Think of a beautiful memory and I’ll capture it forever’; and the most beautiful thing I could think of was the smile you flashed me after I threw an orange right between Harry Pinklewhit’s eyes.”

He’d laughed in spite of her non-answer; and their conversation drew Tara in, who’d also laughed at nine-year-old Melissa’s incredible throwing arm.

Bill didn’t feel like smiling when he’d handed over that photograph to Dana, the question of Melissa's legacy laid to rest in the replica of his sisters' girlhood bedroom. He and Tara, his mother, and Melissa had been where Dana now stood-- defying the inevitability of loss. Painful as it may be, the facts would give her an opportunity to grieve and move on.

Standing in the doorway as Dana, rebellion and determination in her eyes, slid past him with the social worker, Bill wondered when-- or if-- she would ever accept it.

*-*-*-*-*

The three had resolved not to question his sister further. If she was pursuing adoption, then a decision would be finalized either way; and in the end, this Christmas was about the four of them.

“Five”, Bill amended; and Tara had teared up and given him a big hug.

Determined to have a good time on Christmas morning, even if the youngest Scully might get up and walk out on a moment’s notice, they’d flocked in, woken Dana, and pounced on the presents before she’d completely defogged-- a strategy unintentionally spearheaded by Tara. Seizing the opportunity, Bill swept along beside her, kneeling down to hand over the biggest present she'd been drooling over for the past month. His mother gravitated to Dana, snuggling up next to her on the couch; and teamwork or group effort or separate but uniting plots seemed to successfully keep his sister from bolting.

Until he’d gleefully stumbled to the door and inadvertently shepherded in Dana’s latest twist in the case.

“According to this… I… am Emily’s mother.”

And what could anyone say to that?

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 5-

“You're Only Going to End Up Hurting Yourself”

The first time Bill Scully saw Dana’s child was after the hearing.

Maggie showed him Emily’s picture in passing-- though when or how she’d gotten it, he hadn't known-- mumbling, “I said she doesn’t look like Melissa; but she does, doesn’t she, Bill?” Mulder’s car drove up then; and his mother dashed off to put the photo back.

While Dana and her partner spilled out and wove around each other-- indescribably in-sync shadows-- Bill thought, Yes, she does look like you, Melissa-- more like you than Dana.

*-*-*-*-*

He allowed Mulder to stay past polite visiting hours, maintaining a silent, though stern, distance. Because of this man's testimony, Dana stood a chance. Her daughter stood a chance.

“Bill, I’m so tired,” Tara whispered, massaging her drooping head with both hands. She looked up, eyes clouded with confusion and grief-- for Dana, for this little girl, for their first Christmas as a growing family. “I just want to get some sleep.”

His own headache seemed to radiate from the top of his skull to the slope of his shoulders: everything tensed, everything ached. Wearily standing, he nodded. “Then let’s get you to bed, Honey.”

“He won’t think it’s rude?”

“I don’t think the normal standards apply to him, Tara. It’s late, anyway.”

They lumbered to the staircase, fatigued, when his sister poked through the doorway. “You guys okay?”

Of course they weren’t. His sister was murdered. His other sister had an unidentifiable chip in her neck. His brother had only recently started speaking to him-- “A gift, for bygones” the Christmas box had read. His wife’s hard-won holiday was shot. His baby was due two weeks ago. His little sister had a daughter that wasn't hers. His mother was almost sick with worry. The pain never stops.

“Could you take Tara’s other arm so we can…?”

And Dana did, like he knew she would: a need to be of use. Perhaps as penance, for everything.

*-*-*-*-*

He should have expected Dana and Mulder would vanish in the night.

He woke a fitful hour later to the surprise of an eerily quiet house; and was still more surprised that the two of them had not simply dropped into a deep sleep on the couch rather than… wherever they’d gone. He didn’t know which outlook was more grim: the thought she’d followed her partner back to his motel or the suspicion that they were both chasing down another lead in the Sims’ case.

It was after eight when the phone rang, about the time his mother would be up and about.

“Hello? Um, it’s Dana… Mom, if you can pick up the phone--”

“Dana? It’s Bill.”

He heard her long sigh through the wire, wondered how many times she’d watched the clock to increase her odds of avoiding him. “Bill. Hi.”

“Where are you, Dana?”

“I’m… at the hospital. Emily’s sick.”

The pain never stops. “She is? How sick-- what happened?"

“I don’t know. She has a rare disorder that was being treated before her parents’ murder. We don’t… we’re working on a thorough diagnosis right now so we can cure her.”

“Do you want us to be there with you?”

“No. No, I, uh, think it’s best that you and Mom and Tara keep your distance, for now. Until we know something.”

“Is her condition communicable?”

“Bill…. It’s safer if you three stay away.”

“Dana.”

“...Yes?”

“We’ll pray for her.”

*-*-*-*-*

Maggie intended to call Dana after lunch, but by eleven o’clock the three of them had checked into labor and delivery. By four, Dana still hadn’t answered her phone; and by five they were transferred to a private room.

“Mom, leave it!” Bill yelled, his wife’s excruciating grip sapping away the last reserves of his patience; but it was Tara’s pleading “Mom,” that drew her back.

It was late when his sister reconnected; and, with labor stalled and an epidural in, he nodded-- with his wife's go-ahead-- at Maggie, who hurried to wherever the Sim girl's ward was and back in under forty minutes.

Matthew was over six hours old before Dana called again. From his periphery, Bill watched his mother grab the phone and dodge into the hall as Tara shifted slightly in her sleep. His all-consuming focus, however, was on the quiet baby in his arms-- staring at his son’s tiny, clenching fists; wondering if his baby hairs would rust like his sisters’ or darken like his own.

He didn’t glance up when Maggie reentered and approached; but he snapped to attention when her quivering exhale broke the silence.

Tears were streaming down her red cheeks, black makeup smearing in small splotches around her eyes.

“Bill….”

Emily was gone.

*-*-*-*-*

Dana poured her grief into meticulous planning. Despite wanting to do more, the family was only allowed to assist with sorting paperwork and dialing up Bill's priest for the funeral service.

Between baby Matthew’s homecoming, Tara’s recovery, new parenthood, and necessary arrangements, it took over a week before Bill realized Mulder no longer came to the house.

*-*-*-*-*

The first time he saw Dana's child in person was at her wake.

She was Melissa-blonde-- the red not yet prominent enough to shift her from strawberry to flaming-- and Dana chubby. Her pretty little dress still smelled new, its blue perfectly complementing the small, gold cross necklace draped across her neck.

Bill stood silently by as the funeral director lowered the coffin lid, refusing to think about the fact he’d never gotten to look into his niece's eyes.

*-*-*-*-*

New flights were booked two days before Emily’s funeral; and two days after, his mother and sister were packing for their return trip back to D.C.

“D.C.? Don’t you want to spend time with Mom in Maryland?”

Dana had paused and straightened to her full height. “No. My extended leave is almost up. Besides, I need to get back to work.”

“Back to work? You want to go back to work after everything?”

“Bill,” she snapped; then deflated, slumping onto the bed. “I can’t have this discussion right now.”

“Dana… we almost lost you, we’ve lost Melissa-- now Emily’s buried in my church cemetery. When will it be enough?”

“Bill, please. Don’t.”

She was going to cry. With the lack of sleep, the unreality of the past few weeks, and the infuriating nature of this impossible situation, even he might cry.

As if on cue, Matthew’s wails and Tara’s animated shushes floated down from the master bedroom, by turns swiftly grieved and swiftly soothed. Bill stood, half-in and half-out of Dana's door, trying to fathom the overwhelming protective surge that coursed like fire under his skin. In a split second, something ripped or erected or split apart-- hard to define, but powerful in its finality.

Turning to walk away, he added, “Fine. But tell Mom not to call me when you’re in trouble again, Dana-- I won’t lose my child, too.”

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 6-

"Creating This Whole Scenario to Fulfill a Dream"

He'd crunched the numbers again three weeks after Dana left, woken in the darkest hours of the morning by nightmares of his sister’s likenesses swallowed up in cold little graves.

Tara and Matthew found him at the table later, head in his hands and papers strewn about in anger.

"Bill...." She stopped, drew to his side, dribbled tears onto his hair.

"We were supposed to have a little Melissa.” He groaned, thumbing his eyelids.  

"We could always--" Tara suggested weakly, stopping short when Bill grunted violently.

"None of them will be like her.” Dana’s her. “With Missy’s smile. Or hair. Or face.” 

"I know, Honey. I know."

*-*-*-*-*

Bill stopped asking questions.

On Sundays, he stood before a God that impossibly created human life in under a month. On every fourth Sunday, he stood before Emily’s headstone and read Sim over and over until his eyes burned.

*-*-*-*-*

Tara-- lovely, exhausted, but determined Tara-- shoved Matthew at him and disappeared into the attic the day she hit eight weeks postpartum. Reappearing twenty minutes later sweaty, winded, and just as determined, she lugged Emily Sim's box of belongings in her wake, politely demanding her husband unpack it.

Emily had more drawings than toys: incomprehensible sketches in crayon or marker or even ink were stacked thickly in unassuming animal folders, one a face, another a misspelled object. Emily, Seven Months or Emily, Age Two decorated the bottom right of most pictures in careful cursive. Bill found he couldn't begrudge her adopted mother this, at least.

There were only two photo albums-- the misplaced Scully having been an only child-- and most photographs captured scattered holidays, birthdays, and yet another trip to the hospital.

It was Bill who discovered the tape first, resurrecting Emily Sings Us Her Song from layers of packing like a holy relic. He dragged Matthew's bassinet next to the couch and attacked the VHS system with a vengeance. Tara just managed to lay their son down properly when he flipped the remote around and pressed play.

*-*-*-*-*

Emily was on her second chorus of "The Mice Ate the Cake While the Rat Was Away" when Bill felt Tara press close. He lifted an arm up, squeezed her closer, and secured her tight to the spot northeast of his heart.

"What is it?" she asked, her hand rubbing circles wherever it flitted and landed. They both knew he was shaking.

"She's--" Bill admitted in relief, "--she's nothing like either of them, Honey. Melissa was watchful; and Dana was serious. She's too... solemn."

His wife nodded slowly. "And sad."

They watched Emily pause her drawing, look over her shoulder, and loop the chorus once more.

"And sad."

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 7-

"Because the FBI Has Nothing to Hide"

Charles hadn't bothered to call or catch up since New Years; nevertheless, the phone went off an hour after Matthew's head finally hit the pillow.

"Bill, you catching the COPS episode tonight?"

Bill, wrist-deep in receipt sorting, was not.

"Dana and her partner are on the air." And Charlie laughed and laughed, tears mingling with his wheezes while Bill yelled "What?" and stumbled from the kitchen to the couch.

Agent Mulder. He should have known. "Catch... catch him?" Dana's partner mumbled, pointing diffidently at a sketch of.... No.

Bill's stream of consciousness must have broken a new record because Charlie was now guffawing and Tara was whispering violently from the other room. Eyes glued to his sister's awkward relay of their superior’s directive, he barely registered either. 

"'Nothing to hide'?" he exploded. "Wasn't Skinner the assistant director at the--" Bill caught the word back before the moment soured over past cancers and absences. "Why's he-- why's Dana still participating in this--"

"C'mon, Mulder, do the werewolf stance again!" Loud slaps echoed through the wire: Charlie was either smacking his thigh or the wall in unbridled ecstasy. "She hid behind the EMT door, Bill, you should have seen it."

Mulder did much worse: release a litany-- an irrepressible ramble-- on the technicalities of werewolves. Bill, Christianity lost in rage, bellowed, "Oh, for--"

"Bill!" Tara hissed, head shooting through the doorway. He jolted, mouthed a sorry, and miserably watched her eyebrows scrunch skywards in recognition. "Hey, isn’t that Dana on the tv?" 

"Always wanted to be a cop when I was younger," his brother drawled, voice touched with regret. "Just couldn't trust 'em after their behavior during my truancy period."

"And you thought Wall Street was a more honest profession?" Bill scoffed. The anger of losing a hundred-dollar sure investment-- how many years ago was that? Too many-- would burn until his dying day.

"Can it, Bill."

But Charles said it like he used to; and they hung up friends.

*-*-*-*-*

-CHAPTER 8-

"I've Already Lost One Sister to This Quest You're On"

It would be easy to miss anyone amidst the tidal wave of Saturday morning shoppers. Head down, leaning over a folder, Fox Mulder looked like every other slim, dark-haired American male knocking back a burger and soda.

Bill, eagle-eyed and resentful, picked him out from across the food court.

Mulder hadn't noticed his approach; and, not one to pass up an opportunity, Bill slapped a food tray on the table loud enough to startle. He was pleased when Mulder twisted upright with shock and a touch of outrage pinched in the corners of his mouth.

“Mr. Mulder.”

“Bill.”

A few years ago, Dana's partner would have hunched defensively, posturing against oncoming judgment. Now, he seemed roughened, gazing warily out from under distrustful forehead lines and disheveled, sharply cut hair. His sleeves were too large; and he pushed them further up his forearm as his eyes carved unblinkingly into Bill's. 

“Dana with you?”

“Yeah.”

Of course she was. When wasn’t she.

Tara had run into her in the deli aisle. From his wife’s tactful “two salads, two sandwiches, and two cups of dessert”, it didn’t take a math degree to deduce his sister was still traveling in pairs. Bill figured if he found one of them, he’d attract the other.

Hence, the impromptu lunch meet.

Mulder watched, without disguise, while he pulled the cart close and sat in the only available chair; then, shrugging, took another bite of the thickly wrapped, thickly layered burger Dana most certainly hadn't wasted money on.

“On a case?”

“Yes.”

“Staying long?”

“We have a flight out this afternoon.”

Of course.

Ripping off a poptart wrapper, Bill grunted. “Was she planning to stop by, or was that too out of your way?”

He watched Mulder’s jaw clench, unhinge. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I’d have to see her first.”

“You saw her at Christmas.”

“And then work came up.” He leveled a glare across the table, refused to back down when it was leveled back.

“Not every Christmas, Bill.”

“Yeah. Just the big ones.”

Mulder’s chair scraped backward, its raucous jerk spinning a few heads. Bill figured he had about five seconds before his chance to see Dana turned tail and stormed off.

“Mr. Mulder.” As expected, the other man politely paused mid-sweep, hand poised around a hill of crumbs. “I’m not here to argue. I just want to see her.”

To his credit, Dana’s partner digested his words, and sat-- albeit stiffly, with clear intent to ignore.

In silence, they waited.

And waited.

“She said she’d be awhile,” Mulder disclosed, working his way through a mound of fries.

“She usually doesn’t take this long.” Pivoting in his chair, Bill scanned the room. Even if she were close, her head wouldn’t clear the shoulders crowding together.

“She does when it’ll be awhile.”

“Mr. Mulder, I know her. Dana’s up and out the house in under an hour, back from an errand in under two. Always has been.”

“When she has to be. Scully usually prefers to take her time.”

There was no mistaking the challenge in that ambiguous statement; but Bill swallowed his response and counted it for glory.

“She loved these as a kid,” he abruptly confessed, pointing at the unfinished half of his poptart. “We’d fight over the brown sugar ones. When she was really little, Dana’d get mad and try to argue it wasn’t fair I got the bigger piece because I was older. So, Mom gave her have one all to herself. That cured her. Dana’s always been sensitive to junk food. Makes sense why she became a doctor.”

Mulder was still, posture slowly unwinding as he balled up the food trash and nodded once.

“Charles stole a couple cookies from the jar one time and needed an accomplice to help finish them. He begged her; but she didn’t want to feel 'sugar sick' later, so refused. After he was punished, Melissa caught Dana crying about it in her room.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t know the answer after seven years with her, Mr. Mulder, you never will.” It was a cheap shot, Bill owned, but earned.

His opponent flinched but didn’t waver. “She felt she’d let him down.”

“She always was a little Mother Teresa.”

Mulder tilted forward, elbows planted on top of his reading material. “Is that what you think she does? Make her choices based on the weak and wounded? Find a charity case and become its bleeding heart?”

“I think you underestimate her nature.” Plowing over Mulder's snort, he insisted, “You buy her unbeatable act because it allows you drag her across the country no matter how much pain she's in. Dana would rather die than admit defeat. And I think you feed her inclination to go above and beyond so that it won't become a solo act, chasing your little...."

It was too hard to keep anger alive, the recollection of darker times grim and sobering.

"Little green aliens," Mulder finished. “If that’s what you believe, then you don’t know your sister, either.”

When he stood this time, both knew Fox Mulder wasn’t coming back. But he stayed a moment, contemplating, before reaching out to briefly touch Bill's shoulder. "But... you can, Bill. You can know her."

Without another word, he tossed his trash, offered a parting nod, and walked away, head disappearing above the crowd as he meandered further and further off.

And Bill sat, and waited, and wondered.

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging: @today-in-fic.

[lilydalexf]

Hi, I’ve had a good check of your fix recommendation list but can’t seem to find what I’m looking for. Do you know of any pre pilot ones?

Here are a bunch of very good pre-X-Files fics set sometime before the Pilot. Enjoy!

Came on Lion by amyhit closer than a girl can get / to trouble if she hasn’t yet / got in it

california winter by skuls @ghostbustermelanieking Fox and Samantha Mulder, brother and sister, disappeared from their homes on November 27, 1973. (A shift in the events of Samantha's abduction leads to a very different outcome.)

A Case of Compromise by Joann Humby It's 1991, Mulder has the X-Files and no partner. Scully is working at Quantico. A Senator's daughter goes missing and Mulder's life gets difficult.

A Change of Cast by Susanne Barringer The unauthorized, uncensored true story of Dana Scully and Jack Willis.

Contingency Plans by bardsmaid 1967. CSM does Teena Mulder a favor. but motives are rarely unselfish.

Dance Card and What Happened After That by Sab The road not taken. / Kept kissing me kept kissing me kept kissing me kept kissing me...

Eleventh Hour by Rachel Anton Some feeling defy the confines of time.

Floreat by LibbyT @libbytxf This is a stand-alone story about Mulder’s first year in Oxford.

For God and Country by ML Family connections are always worth cultivating.

God by Oracle "Why would God allow this to happen? Why do bad things happen to good people? Religion has masqueraded as the paranormal since the dawn of time to justify some of the most horrible acts in history." -- Fox Mulder, 'All Souls'

Gravity Plays Favorites by anythingbutgrey The boyfriend goes quickly and the physics stays. That’s what she likes the most.

Here’s Where the Story Ends by Rebecca Rusnak A random peek at Mulder and Scully's childhoods reveals how it is often the little events that shape us.

Lammtarra by Joann Humby, LuvMulder, and Ruefrex Mulder spirals down into darkness when he begins to believe that an old ISU friend of his, who had apparently committed suicide, was really murdered by a dastardly elusive killer.

mahogany obsidian by eggschiptune For her birthday, Dana Scully meets with her sister for coffee, and they speak about the curious new assignment she's been given.

Moongate by Kel and Michelle Kiefer Bermuda, 1965. Two women, two men. Two sons, one father.

Oklahoma by Amperage and Livingoo (gooligan) It's 1987 and the Oklahoma cops have an unsolvable case. Fox Mulder, golden boy of the VCU, is called in to stop the murders of children across the state. What he finds takes him places he never wanted to go and forces him to make the pivotal choice of his life.

Out of the Shadows by Joann Humby It's 1991 and Mulder is working for Behavioral but is about to get caught up in a string of cases that make him think it's time to leave. Scully is working at Quantico.

Past Imperfect by Joann Humby The FBI wants Mulder to find out what went wrong with Bill Patterson, Bill is keen to talk, but why? Mulder and Scully consider the people who walk into the abyss and the people who they drag down with them.

renegade by skuls @ghostbustermelanieking Why Diana Fowley went over to the other side.

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by Plausible Deniability The beginning of an affair, before CSM became a black-lunged bastard and Mrs. Mulder repressed it all. [This fic begins a series that continues with Somebody’s Fool, You Don’t Know Me, It’s All in the Game, and When I Fall in Love.]

While You Were Sleeping by Skinfull Mulder falls for an intoxicating red head he spots in the park, then saves her life but not before she is injured and put into a coma, then he meets her sister! Den den dehhhhhh!

[tennant-the-tigger]

Cheat

M: I'm way too wired, I'm going for a run, you want to come?

Can I say, Scully would have been ready to run if she wanted to? Homegirl was wearing running shoes, cross-legged in bed while typing those reports. Also running ahead is definitely a baby sister of two brothers move. And this Mulder is adorable.

TXF Fanart ☆ MSR Fanart

[dinolich]

Hiro and Bea Fun Facts

HIRO

Favorite show is Ghost Scramblers, and idolizes it’s host Jak Zagans (based on one of MY favorite shows— Ghost Adventures hosted by Zak Bagans)

Runs a blog on paranormal incidents around town for a very tiny audience, it’s mostly BS and conjecture, but he’s passionate about it

First learned how to fight with swords at an anime convention workshop, and even took classes outside of that for a while.

Really into anime, especially in the vein of in-universe shows that would similar to Death Note or Paranoia Agent

Has a younger sister, and they are African-American (dad) and Japanese (mom)

He’s very much inspired by John Boyega in on of my favorite movies of all time, Attack the Block

Takes things extremely seriously, even if it seems silly to his peers, which leads to an off-putting personality to most

Bea is the only one who really understands where he’s coming from. They’re both too intense in different ways.

The two of them have a shared love of horror media (movies, anime, manga etc) but also stupid action movies like Fast and the Furious

After his flip phone was turned into a frog, he kept it as a pet. It’s name is T9.

BEA

Has an indeterminate number of rats. Some of them are named Neil, Ratatouille, Gonzo and Pockets

She also keeps treats in her pockets for rats she encounters in the streets.

Would you believe I designed her hair to look like rat ears

Her distaste for Halloween comes from her family taking it so seriously and usually needing to help with the yearly home made haunt instead of getting to run around the neighborhood as a kid

Despite this, she loves horror movies and has a big soft spot for puppetry and practical effects stemming from her dad and brother

Middle child in a family of three, Lucas is younger, Parker goes to a local college for theater tech. Hank is a single dad.

Really good at rhythm games

Perfectly content in keeping a select few friends. She cares immensely about her best friend Hiro, despite her cold demeanor. 

Reluctantly edits for Hiro’s blog, mostly to make sure he doesn’t make himself look TOO crazy

Bea's full name is Beatrix

Additionally— their dynamic is a blend of Mulder and Scully + Dib and Gaz + Ash and Misty

[actual-changeling]

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

———

scully knows too much about him. too much and somehow never enough. whenever she dares to assume she has finally figured him out, a new piece appears and destroys the picture she's been puzzling together. in the back of her mind resides an ever-growing collection of useless information she has no idea what to do with now.

he no longer looks at her the same, heavy and searching and all hers, and she tried to settle for whatever remained; she really did. whenever he raised his voice at her she lowered hers, she swallowed his anger and shrugged off his blame no matter how violently it weighed her down.

she didn't know she had lost his trust until his doubt ate away at her soul like a chemical burn, hot and all-consuming. until she went numb and then some, a cloud of cold slowly killing her nerves. until all that remained of them was a blistering trickle down her spine she could never quite reach and wipe away, even if she wanted to.

instead, she immerses her hands in boiling water and waits and waits and waits for the frostbite to disappear. pain paints a picture for her with wild, flickering strokes, and she watches.

mulder walks away from her, and she sees him find her in the middle of the forest, in the snow, in panic and bone-deep need. he avoids her gaze, and she sees him kneeling at his mother's bedside, younger, just as broken. he refuses to take what she offers him, more and more desperately, searching for something, anything, in return—the hurt that sparks and is buried underneath his hands on her back, washed away by the tears he cried over his sister.

he tells her he loves her, and she knows enough to know that he means it, too much to believe that it will change anything.

that night, scully doesn't sleep. she hasn't slept in two days, and she's cracking open, falling apart in the dark silence of her bedroom. he loves her, he has loved her for longer, too long, not long enough. she can trace it back all the way to oregon.

why say it now? why bring to life what should be unspeakable? he tells her because he stopped showing her until she stopped believing, but somehow he still wants her to know. maybe because it's cloaked in honesty but carried by lies. maybe because he almost died while she lost the last parts of herself looking for him. maybe because he needs her as deeply as she needs him.

maybe it's a kindness offered, his guilt erased.

her fingertips burn against her skin until they too grow cold, until the morning blinds her with greying light, until she has recited every single thing she knows about him under her breath. tiny, forgettable facts surrounded by the building blocks of their life, and she knows he loves her. she knows. he has to. the lasting pain etched into her can only be a result of love, twisted as it is.

it has to be.

it's what makes staying—no matter how much he takes and takes and takes—worth it.

(it has to be.)

still, the days pass, and nothing changes, and she holds onto the useless information with white knuckles and tells herself the truth they're looking for is somewhere within. it has to be.

———

i am once again thinking about triangle so have some more messy s6 angst

[aloysiavirgata]

Ahead Into Gallilee

Summary:  For the anon prompt “Five Times A Character Didn’t Die”

Title: Ahead Into Galilee

By: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: M

Category: MSR

Timeline: Pilot - Requiem

Notes: Thanks to @slippinmickeys for the read-through!

***

For the anon prompt “Five Times A Character Didn’t Die”

I.

She isn’t an innocent like Scully’s mother. His mother knows about clones and viruses and labs where horrors are created. He bets she knows about Emily but by god Emily’s name will not pass his lips in front of her.

Scully has apologized for her older brother, but Bill is a tyro’s practice next to Elizabeth Kuiper Mulder.

“A baby,” she sniffs. “With your…partner. It’s a bit déclassé, Fox. And an Irish Catholic girl, really.”

He doesn’t bother acting offended. “Sorry, I don’t have a blonde WASP secretary and the nice Jewish mothers won’t let their daughters talk to me since Jenny Silverberg’s Sweet Sixteen. Biological clock was ticking and Scully is the best I could do. You’ve a grandchild on the way. Mazel tov.”

Teena regards her son for a long moment. “You had your first marriage annulled. I suppose the Vatican will let her marry you, Diana aside. You can have the wedding at the Vineyard if you want, my expense of course. I’ll give you the house as a wedding present, though heaven knows your father’s estate left you a bundle. Not that you act like it, Fox. Still in that awful apartment; have you even sold his house? The lawyers say 2.2 at least.”

Mulder coughs out a mouthful of lemonade. He imagines Scully in some silk taffeta meringue gown, his mother’s garden club friends trying to shame her for knowing mid-century military aircraft.

“Mom, really, we hav-“

She holds up a veined, beautiful hand. “Fox, it’s time you stopped running around with a gun.”

Mulder gapes. “You and Dad are literally the reason I run around with a gun, are you fucking kidding me with this shit?”

Teena purses her lips. “Watch your language, Fox William. I’m still your mother.”

He sighs. He sighs and he understands that he has a child coming and that his mother loves him in the terrible, unconscionable, best way that she knows how. He understands his own inamorata is a very new sort of woman.

“Sorry, Mom,” Mulder says. Refills both their cups of lemonade and leans back in his Adirondack rocker.

“How was Bellefleur?” his mother asks at length.

He stares. “What?”

“I’m trying to make conversation. Nothing too eventful, I hope? Not for Agent Scully, with a baby coming?”

Mulder narrows his eyes. “No more than usual. Made contact with a few old…connections. Why?”

She smiles, just a little. Just a softening at the edge of her upper lip. A curl of a patrician nostril. “I made contact with a few old connections too, Fox. Remember this conversation sometime down the road. Your sister was a dandelion clock, no matter what I tried back then.”

He asks for answers. Begs.

She dismisses him as ever.

“Mom, please, this baby, Scully and I need to know things.”

Teena says no more and he drives home, furious.

***

II.

Fellig disappears into some new alias and it’s not worth tracking him down.

Ritter is put on leave and Mulder finds him in a parking garage. He beats the living shit out of him and it doesn’t fix anything, but it feels pretty good. He cries for a while after that, in the darkest corner of a terrible bar on M Street.

Ritter, with three broken ribs and his jaw wired, has the good sense to say he was mugged by two unidentifiable assailants.

Mulder resigns, effective immediately. He throws his phone into the Potomac. He doesn’t go to her funeral. He doesn’t go to Margaret Scully or his apartment or his office ever again.

*

He goes to his father, with two vials of genetic material. “You owe us both,” he says, in a voice like granite.

*

He calls his newborn daughter Sylvia Charlotte for no reason other than finding it pretty. The names have no intrinsic meaning, no history to him. She has a dense thatch of black hair and her mother’s eyes. She has plump, dimpled hands and feet like Parker House rolls. She has impeccable government documents.

Mulder is smitten immediately. He holds her to his bare chest. He dances with her at 2 AM, he reads to her, he buys preposterous baby gear and tiny clothes far more stylish than his own. He is certain that she is, at minimum, the most exceptional baby of all time.

Sylvie toddles behind him along Lake Tashmoo, dragging lobster pots. Sylvie does his makeup and puts his hair in barrettes. Sylvie has both her first piano recital and her first tee-ball game at five.

*

“How come you don’t have a mom?” Kate asks her while they build a sand castle together.

“I’m adopted,” Sylvie says, sticking little pebbles onto the top of the castle. “My dad picked me out himself, so it’s just us.”

“Cool,” Kate says. “That’s lucky to get picked out. I was just borned.”

“Yep.”

They return to their work, Sylvie’s dog Queequeg keeping watch.

***

III.

“Fucking Christ. Sit still if you don’t want me to screw up your remaining hair.”

She sits still, a baby sister always. “Don’t make it too brassy, Miss. You know I can pay you, right?”

Cancer thin and white and brittle as Bernadette of Lourdes. But even Bernadette said she’d seen ghosts and Scully could never, could not ever -

Missy scoffs, offended. “Hey, Danes, are you fucking your partner? Charlie says yes and Bill says you wouldn’t. I’ve got $250 on this, so be honest with your only sister.”

Scully (she’s always Scully now, but she’d never tell Missy) jerks back, aghast.

Missy lightly slaps her hollow face. “Be still.”

“Then don’t ask me questions like that!” Scully knows her cheeks are hot. “Do you guys actually have a pool?”

Missy, lushly tressed and curvaceous and cinnamon-sugar alive, laughs. “Dana Katherine Scully, are you engaged in unconsecrated sexual congress with your FBI partner? Please note, for the court records, that I know about your cardiology professor and your FBI instructor so like…?”

Looking-glass Scully watches her sister do something complicated with a clip, with foils and a tiny brush. Watches her own Lenten-rose face, a Jabbereock, with eyes of flame.

Scully is quiet for several more seconds. She wishes she could explain the hot verging energy of the basement. The way science and conjecture and cryptozoology entangle in unholy alchemy along the margins of her education into… them.

The way it feels to have the emperor of all maladies raise a scepter in her sinus; the king of terrors claim a throne in her heart.

I’m dying, Missy, I’m dying, the oncogenes, they….p53, I … dead already, Missy, please…

“Dana? Bear in mind I’ve seen him and smelled him and I would fuck him silly myself.” Missy, fresh as a peach, clips back another section of hair.

Scully sucks in air like an Everest climber at the Death Zone. 500 more feet and she’ll make it. 100. Top of the world, the ice and the oxygen forgotten, she-

She can win, she can be the best, she can summit, she -

(Green Boots, still desiccated and unidentified up there.)

“Yes,” she breathes. Someone should know the truth at her grave.

“Good girl,” Missy says. Kisses her sister’s concave temple. “And no, we didn’t have a pool, little sister.”

***

IV.

The endless halls are painted a washed-out sea green that is somehow the opposite of color. A suffocating silence that is more than the absence of sound.

She flashes her badge to the sentry who squints, then nods, then lets her in.

Roche propped up in the narrow bed. He’s even thinner than he was when Mulder shot him, even grayer.

“Agent Scully,” he says, affable as ever. “I thought those were your footsteps. Forgive me for not getting up.”

He grins at his own joke. His face looks like an animated skull.

Scully settles into the hard vinyl chair. She sees that Roche is handcuffed to the hospital bed, which seems a very pointed kind of gesture.

“Mr. Roche,” Scully says. “You’re looking well, considering.”

“Turns out your partner is a shit marksman, who knew? Where is Agent Mulder, by the way? Didn’t he want to come see his handiwork?”

“No,” Scully replies. “He’s not like you.”

“Mmmm, I wonder. You know, they say it’s a miracle I can breathe on my own with this kind of C4 damage. Plus I can move three fingers on my left hand.” Roche waggles them slightly.

Scully pulls a yellow legal pad and a good pen from her bag. “I guess basketball is out for a while.”

“I guess. Other than the breathing and half the left hand, I’m completely paralyzed below the armpits. My lawyers are going to have a field day.”

She smiles politely. “I don’t think so.”

Roche laughs. “No? You don’t think the ACLU will be all over this?”

“No. I really don’t. You were shot because you abducted a little girl after escaping federal custody. And Agent Mulder was able to preserve your life. No one cares about you, Mr. Roche.”

She draws out a little curlicue in the pad, so it looks like she’s writing.

Roche’s face hardens. “And the sucker punch from your partner?”

“It was reported. Disciplinary action was taken.” She doodles a series of cubes.

He scoffs. “I doubt it was even the proverbial slap on the wrist. Why are you here, really?”

Scully looks up, eyebrows raised. “I’m a doctor and an FBI agent. My partner shot you. I thought a follow-up was only appropriate.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Roche snaps. “God, it must gnaw at you that he missed.”

“Why is that?”

Moves those three fingers again, Roche does. “You were a nice little Catholic girl once, weren’t you? Little kilt, little blouse. You haven’t changed much, though you’re rather too old for my tastes now.”

Roche leers and she knows, knows, that she is right. But she’s not ready to end this. Not yet.

“I was.” It takes so much to keep her voice conversational when she longs to give him what she is certain that he wants.

Roche tilts his head. “I don’t believe in god. I believe that before we are born is nothing and after we are dead is nothing. I’m not afraid of dying. But you? You believe I’ll pay for all of this again and again. You believe there is retribution after this…mortal coil. Don’t you want me there now?”

She does, she does.

Scully shrugs. “You’ll get there in time. I won’t see what happens, it makes no difference to me.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh, and it’s horrible in his cadaverous face. “Keep lying like that and we’ll end up in Hell together.”

“That’s for God to decide.”

Here it comes, she knows. Here it comes. She stays steady.

Roche’s face suddenly sly. “Perhaps you are His instrument, Agent Scully.”

She feigns confusion. “Mr. Roche, I-“

“Kill me,” he says. “You can finish what Mulder couldn’t finish himself, though I bet you do that for him all the time.” Roche winks lewdly as he goads her.

“Primum non nocere,” Scully replies, prim.

“A doctor, as you say. You’d get away with it, Scully. Come on, a little air bubble between the toes. For old times’ sake.”

He’s trying to sound light and chatty, but she hears the panic in his voice. She’s his only chance to escape mindless years in soiled diapers, parked in front of a flickering television. A blank wall. Night.

Scully fixes him with a long, cool stare. The one even Skinner doesn’t like. “I should think our prior interactions made it clear that I would never harm a prisoner duri-“

“Ahhh, but you want to,” he cajoles. “Come on, Scully. All those pretty hearts. The little girl you saved is going to be fucked up forever. One more kiddy-diddler off the taxpayers’ dime, Dana.”

She shakes her head, chuckles a bit in spite of herself. “They were cheering outside Bundy's execution. The taxpayers will love knowing you’re suffering. We’re savages at heart, I’m afraid.”

“You knew I’d ask,” Roche hisses, dropping the act. “You’re eating this up, you fucking bitch. You fucking cunt. You’re nothing to Fox Mulder, you realize that, you’re a piece of ass to him so you might as well do one real thing in your worthless life.”

She prays her voice will be steady. “I’ve already had you put on extended suicide watch; told them to check the staff. I told them you’d ask.” She holds up a mini tape recorder.

His eyes go black. She sees now what those little girls saw in their last moments, the genial salesman mask removed.

“I swear to your fucking coward god that I will walk again just to rip your fucking heart out of your fucking whore throat,” Roche spits, face contorted.

She rises. “Thank you, will there be anything else?”

A choked howl of rage that follows her out into the hall.

“Fucking BITCH!” Roche roars after her. “I swear to-“

The door closes.

Her heart soars.

***

V.

A storm outside and mosquito bites on her back and shame still fuchsia on her face. She’s wearing the best robe she could afford, the color of poison apples. She bought it at a Macy’s sale with her first credit card.

The scent of hot wax in the cheap, oatmeal-colored room. The overlay of the scents Mulder favors.

“Tore the family apart. No one would talk about it. There were no facts to confront, nothing to offer any hope.”

She thinks of her three siblings, her rowdy cousins, and her chest clenches. What would she be without her sprawling, tumultuous family?

“What did you do?” she breathes. The dark is so tender and velvet-soft. Frames her partner’s long lashes and good cheekbones like a Rembrandt. Chiaroscuros

(Dana no. Dana, didn’t you learn anything after Jack?)

“Eventually I went off to school in England, I came back and got recruited by the Bureau. Seems I had a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases.”

Scully gazes down at Mulder with a tenderness she hadn’t expected in this impossible assignment. In this unfair humanistic trial.

“You’ll find him, Samantha,” she says. She strokes her partner’s fall of inky hair. She feels so alive.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully and mulder moments from s1

the evergreen classic mulder reaction to a terrified scully knocking at his door in the very first episode- how he checks over her, holds her close, and brings her into his room

(and then ANOTHER instance of examining each other for aliens in episode 8 which was wild. if i had a nickel for each time they had to look at each other's bodies for evidence of aliens, i'd only have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but its weird that it happened twice)

him playing with scully's necklace in episode 3, while admitting he feels "territorial"

the first time he calls scully "dana", right after her father dies- which surprises her so much she mumbles her name back to herself- and he follows up by grabbing her face and gently running his finger over her cheek

(and the first time she tries to call him "fox", after he had been awake for 3 straight days on a stakeout, and she begs him to go home- he laughs and says he even made his parents call him mulder)

((still, she brought him a sandwich and a drink- “if there’s an iced tea in that bag, could be love” “must be fate- root beer”))

scully in Doctor Mode™ after mulder got stuck in the fire in episode 12, trying to give him water as he lays in bed, while he gets all emo and pushes her hand away

when scully gets kidnapped in episode 15 and mulder calls her "dana" again over the phone, her first name slipping out in his fear, then he tells the kidnapper "listen to me, you lay one hand on scully, and so help me god..."

(and THEN he tells everyone going on her rescue mission that this is a very important mission to him, so please everybody do their best)

the endless banter: "i still don't get it. what does this have to do with us?" "robbing a jewelry store is a federal crime" (flatly) "thank you."

when he is at an autopsy with scully in episode 18 and makes it very clear he does Not Want To Be There (but she still is sad he won't join her on her next one in episode 22!)

"happy birthday scully!" (pause of confusion) "you're two months early!"

when she finally listened to the psychic to get evidence for a case in episode 13, trying to make mulder proud- "i'd thought you'd be pleased i'd opened myself to extreme possibilities"- only for him to yell at her for putting herself in danger

(later in the same episode she screamed at the criminal, saying that if he did anything to mulder, she'd kill him herself)

((AND their conversation at the end of that episode when mulder is laying in a hospital bed: "why can't you believe?" "i'm afraid"))

the very empire strikes back coded fighting in the arctic compound in episode 8

"you think it's remotely plausible that someone might think you're hot?" (stunned silence. scholars are still trying to figure out what was going on here)

oh, this one made me weepy: "i have never met anyone so passionate and dedicated to a belief as you. it's so intense, sometimes it's blinding. but there are others who are watching you, who know what i know, and whereas i can respect and admire your passion, they will use it against you. mulder, the truth is out there, but so are lies" aka the episode 17 monologue… what if i melted into a puddle? how would you react to this news? how about mulder the protector turning into mulder the protected?

(also, episode 17 had a moment where he grabbed her shoulder and leaned in and i had to restrain myself)

them having hand signals to indicate watch what you say, we’re being listened to

in episode 18, the preacher’s kid tries to taunt mulder with information about his sister and scully tries to shut him down Immediately

they’re looking for each other in the dark in episode 19 while a wild beast is on the loose and mulder finally kicks open the door and finds scully while she whispers “it’s okay, it’s me, it’s okay”

episode 20, when he shows her a bunch of lumberjacks, which he describes as “rugged manly men in the full bloom of their manhood” and he says she should look for anything unusual or a boyfriend among them... and she laughs

scully losing her mind when the evil cocoon bugs get on her, screaming at mulder to get them off of her, while he holds her still and explains it’s okay as long as they're in the light

(and then they sit on the bed, side by side, talking through the night)

when mulder’s friend dies and she kneels and says to him, “you’ve been through a lot… more than I think you realize” and encourages him to take some time for himself

any episode where they both wear big coats (for the snow in episode 8, or the rain in 20) is an instant classic to me

“mulder, you’re rushing me out of the room… is there a girl coming over?” from episode 11... yeah I laughed. and then laughed even more when he was just hanging out with deep throat in the next scene!

episode 23’s “how was the wedding? Did you catch the bouquet?” “maaaaybe 😊”

and who can forget the finale! she apologizes for doubting his alien leads; “I should know by now to trust your instincts” “why? no one else does” (both smile and i, once again, collapse)

there's so much to unpack here and i could spend a lifetime doing it, but before i watch s2 for the first time i needed to make note of the things that especially made me happy or brought great angst to the forefront; i am studying their dynamic and putting it in a bottle <3

[scullysbagelmuldersicedtea]

My thoughts on En ami S7E15 , also Mulder is royally pissed- love it.

My analysis- i spent too much time thinking about it due to the controversy. Please note revival spoilers***, do bookmark and revisit this when you're up to date. I spilled my gut..

3-5 min read :)

CSM- A father figure

He mentioned his affection for Mulder and Scully. He essentially created them. Mulder's obsessive quest for the truth, especially surrounding his sister's abduction was orchestrated by him.

He loved Mulder. He was seen to be mourning (privately) when Mulder was "dead" S4E24 S05E01. He protected him, not selflessly of course. Likewise, he protected Scully. CSM had no qualms about assassinating powerful figures throughout his life—it would’ve been easy for him to eliminate Mulder and Scully if he had truly wanted to. But he didn’t.

Father (metaphorically) of the miracle 

"How else do you explain that fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and, yet, a life alone? You'd die for Mulder but you won't allow yourself to love him."

Beautifully said by CSM. He observed, knew and understood Scully and Mulder as though as they were his own children.

Let's ponder what happened in the revival (spoilers ***), stay with me before you roll your eyes, gag or BOTH. The notion of CSM being the father of William can be seen metaphorically. Please hear me out ..

Sometimes it takes an outsider to point out the obvious- to enlighten Scully. The invisible wall came down and she finally gave herself a chance to love Mulder — ultimately led to William's conception. In that sense, CSM is, indirectly, the “creator” of William. Okay maybe too much credit to CSM... read on

Yes, CSM spun the narrative to suit his agendas—he always does. The “William parentage” twist, written by Chris Carter, was deeply disturbing for many. But it got people talking. The show never fully explored this claim, and considering CSM’s long history of lies, I believe it was another one. After all, the producers and Carter himself have repeatedly confirmed that William is the biological child of M&S.

En Ami (french) —as a friend He wanted to be an ally. He chose to keep Mulder in the dark for obvious reason. He chose Scully because she was a scientist (discussed later) and also because she was altruistic(not to say Mulder wasn't). She was a scientist and a medical doctor and hence possessed the skillset which ultimately made her the "ideal" person to contact for this mission- using Scully to destroy disc.

In the car, he picked up a cigarette, then proceeded to discard it —said "maybe it is time to stop", hinting that it was time to be an ally. His smoking was a reflection of anxieties and guilt due to his past and position within the Syndicate (as revealed in the Musing of the CSM episode). So that scene (to stop smoking) showed that he thought about being good, to be an ally to Scully - ultimately Mulder and humanity.

Why Scully? No, I do not believe Scully acted out of character. A good scientist is inherently inquisitive. She was compassionate. It is my opinion that no man in this universe deserves such great power to heal, let alone holds the secrets to curing all diseases. We are not meant to be immortals. Natural selection must runs its course! The knowledge the disc contained could very well doom humanity. Let’s be honest—humans are selfish by nature. Neither Scully nor Mulder could protect that information from the world forever.

En Ami or Enemy? (pardon the tongue twist, also not a native speaker) A true villain always believes in the righteousness of their cause.

Two ways to view the action of CSM:

He was trying to be an ally to humanity by destroying the disc.

(More plausible reason) He extracted what he needed from the disc to heal himself, then destroyed it to ensure he remained at the top of the food chain. In doing so, he once again became a villain to Mulder and Scully, having used Scully in a selfish mission under the pretense of goodwill. Therefore proceeded to smoke again as he deals with the weight of the world's darkest secrets.

The concept of “scientific impregnation” could also be spun into this narrative. Alien technology might have been used to repair Scully’s DNA, enabling her to conceive again. No (sexual) violation involved—just a cutaneous prick/jab of alien tech. Like your parents vaccinated you as a kid- you weren't given a choice were you? A “gift” (in CSM's opinion) to Scully, offered under the guise of friendship or guilt- WHO KNOWS....

Alternatively—or additionally—CSM may be seen as a metaphorical father to William. He thought his manipulation and carefully chosen words could have opened Scully’s heart to Mulder, ultimately leading to the child’s miraculous conception, possibly aided by alien tech.

Last but not least, it was a beautiful performance piece by Gillian Anderson, William B. Davis, and David Duchovny. The episode was more layered and nuanced than I remembered. Mulder was royally pissed and I love it!

[mytardisisparked]

Toothbrushes

While Doggett searches Mulder's apartment during "The Gift," he finds evidence that connects some non-case-related dots.

Read on AO3

The apartment is only a little dusty, which is a miracle, considering how long he’s been gone. The fish in the corner bookshelf seem content and their tank is fairly clean; a testament to Scully’s care. Doggett appreciates that she looks after her partner’s pets and home while he’s gone. There is a special kind of trust there, in giving a key to your home to someone else and knowing they will know what to do in the event that something happens to you.

Doggett tries not to think about the lockpicks in his breast pocket.

He gives the fish a little feed as a way of apologizing for disturbing their afternoon, disturbing their home.

He’s opened all the drawers in the living room with little to show for it. It’s mostly papers, supplies, bills, mail, and the occasional case file borrowed from the basement. Nothing of note. 

Despite the clutter, which Doggett feels a little bad adding to, the living room does not yield the gun he suspects Mulder has hidden here somewhere. 

He moves to the bedroom. The carpet is clean and appears to be fairly new. The mattress and bed frame are the same. He can’t help but wonder what might make a guy buy all new carpet and bedding at the same time, but he lets that thought go after failing to find anything of interest under the bed or around it, aside from a few shoe boxes full of trinkets. The nightstand is clean and holds only a few small items – a generic medicated chapstick, a photo of a young boy and girl that Doggett assumes must be Mulder and his abducted sister, and a baseball cap that says “STONEHENGE ROCKS” on it in bold letters. 

As Doggett smiles and looks at the hat, his eye catches on a small, black box tucked underneath. He sets the hat on the bed and picks up the box, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes that it’s covered in velvet.

He swallows and opens the box, finding exactly what he expected inside: an engagement ring. Judging by the wear on it, it’s old – perhaps it belonged to Mulder’s recently deceased mother? He relaxes. Carefully, he replaces the box in the drawer and sets the hat back on top of it before rocking back onto his heels and taking a deep breath.

He moves to the closet next, finding a few boxes of files inside, all pertaining to the Samantha Mulder case. They’re covered in dust. Doggett thumbs through them briefly, but finds that most of them are out-of-date. He figures Mulder has kept them for sentimental reasons, or as backups. Hanging above the boxes are a few suitjackets and a collection of the ugliest ties Doggett has ever seen. He smiles as he examines a few, reminded of the ties he wore back in the 80s. 

The bathroom is clean and well-organized. The medicine cabinet has a handful of bottles; mostly NSAIDs, but there are a few others that he assumes were for managing Mulder’s illness. There are some band-aids and other basic first-aid items. Most of the first-aid kit appears to have been used – par for the course, Doggett supposes, when you’re working the X-Files.

Under the sink is a plunger, shaving supplies, and an unopened box of tampons. Doggett nods at that – he always kept a box in his glove-box for his female coworkers, too. Beside it is a hairdryer and a scrub brush for the toilet.

Doggett stands and takes one last look around the bathroom for anything he missed. His eyes stop on a small cup by the sink.

The cup holds a comb, a tube of toothpaste, and toothbrushes.

Two toothbrushes. Equally used.

Doggett suddenly feels his cheeks heat. Investigating the life of an agent he has been tasked to find is one thing, but those toothbrushes mean that he’s looking at someone else’s life, too. Her life. Agent Scully’s life.

He knew that Mulder and Scully were close and that their relationship probably crossed more than one professional boundary, but he has never asked, never dared to assume. It’s none of his business and he doesn’t need to know.

But those toothbrushes…

The persistent, hard look in Scully’s eyes makes sense now that he has a better approximation of how far this goes, how entwined their lives really are. He can’t help but wonder what she was like before Mulder disappeared, what she would be like if she was happy.

What she’s like when she’s with the man she loves.

Doggett backs out of the bathroom and looks away from the toothbrushes. He feels a little sick to his stomach about it, but he needs to keep looking for that gun. He makes for the dining room and kitchen, hoping that space feels less sacred.

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 30: When You Know What You Want

Prompt: "I won't let you down"

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

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to do that, Mulder.”

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

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

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

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

“Sure thing. I won’t let you down.”

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

“But they’re also cute.”

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

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

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

“Mulder?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could meet someone tomorrow and-”

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

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

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

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

“Scully, that is wonderful news.”

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

Her child.

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

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

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