#SKINNER SWEEP

[nowheregoat]

As promised

[cosmica-galaxy]

SKINNER SWEEEEEEEP!!!!!

[nowheregoat]

If skinner wins I'm going to draw him oiled up

[hauntedppgpaints]

Hottest Goalie on Each Team Poll Results!!

GOOOOOOOOOD MORNING HOCKEYBLR!

I've got the piping hot results of the poll I posted this week, served fresh and ready to be read! The final count was 588 votes!

TOP 10 ACROSS THE LEAGUE:

Alex Lyon, 562 votes

Juuse Saros, 540

Joel Hofer, 535

Marc-Andre Fleury, 516

Joseph Woll, 509

Jeremy Swayman, 485

Stuart Skinner, 478

Elvis Merzlikins & Kaapo Kahkonen, 451

Mackenzie Blackwood, 439

Alexandar Georgiev, 425

BOTTOM 10 ACROSS THE LEAGUE:

Matt Murray (Dallas), 7

Ville Husso, 12

James Reimer, 14

Antti Raanta, 15

Justus Annunen, 17

Casey DeSmith, 22

Eric Comrie, 25

Kevin Lankinen, 48

Jack Campbell & Jordan Binnington, 53

Calvin Pickard, 57

Detailed tallies, pie charts, and fun facts are below the cut! Sorry about how the teams are paired together, there's a 30 image limit on posts :(

Blue Jackets:

Elvis, 451

Daniil, 137

Hurricanes:

Frederik, 373

Pyotr, 137

Spencer, 63

Antti, 15

Islanders:

Ilya, 378

Semyon, 210

Devils:

Kaapo, 451

Jake, 137

Flyers:

Sam, 327

Ivan, 261

Rangers:

Igor, 355

Jonathan, 124

Louis, 109

Capitals:

Darcy, 390

Charlie, 198

Penguins:

Tristan, 335

Alex, 253

Sabres:

Devon, 414

Ukko-Pekka, 149

Eric, 25

Bruins:

Jeremy, 485

Linus, 103

Panthers:

Anthony, 303

Sergei, 285

Red Wings:

Alex, 562

James, 14

Ville, 12

Senators:

Joonas, 319

Anton, 269

Canadiens:

Cayden, 381

Sam, 207

Maple Leafs:

Joseph, 509

Ilya, 79

Lightning:

Jonas, 406

Andrei, 182

Blackhawks:

Petr, 351

Arvid, 237

Utah:

Karel, 379

Connor, 209

Stars:

Scott, 293

Jake, 288

Matt, 7

Avalanche:

Alexandar, 425

Ivan, 146

Justus, 17

Predators:

Juuse, 540

Kevin, 48

Wild:

Marc-Andre, 516

Filip, 72

Jets:

Laurent, 332

Connor, 256

Blues:

Joel, 535

Jordan, 53

Flames:

Jacob, 423

Dan, 165

Ducks:

Lukas, 321

John, 267

Kings:

Cam, 379

Pheonix, 148

David, 61

Oilers:

Stuart, 478

Calvin, 57

Jack, 53

Kraken:

Joey, 325

Philipp, 263

Sharks:

Mackenzie, 439

Devin, 149

Golden Knights:

Jiri, 321

Logan, 199

Adin, 68

Canucks:

Thatcher, 317

Arturs, 249

Casey, 22

FUN STATS!

2 teams had more than one goalie in the bottom 10: the Red Wings, and the Oilers

Two ties: 8th place in the top 10, and 9th place in the bottom 10

The two teams with the closest to even results: the Stars, and the Panthers

The tallest goalie in the top 10 was Joel Hofer, at 6'5''

The shortest goalie in the top 10 was Juuse Saros, at 5'11''

the tallest goalie in the bottom 10 was Justus Annunen, at 6'4''

the shortest goalie in the bottom 10 was tied between Antti Raanta and Casey DeSmith, both at 6'0''

In the top and bottom 10, there were 9 Canadians, 6 Finns, 5 Americans, 1 Latvian, and 1 Bulgarian

The oldest goalie in the top 10 was Marc-Andre Flerury, at 39

The oldest goalie in the bottom 10 was James Reimer, at 36

The youngest goalie in the top 10 was Joel Hofer, at 23

The youngest goalie in the bottom 10 was Justus Annunen, at 24

All of the goalies in the top and bottom 10 catch with their left hand

The three biggest sweeps were the Red Wings (536 points between first and combined second and third place), the Predators (492 points), and the Blues (482)

The three closest calls were the Panthers (18 points between first and second), the Senators (50), and the Ducks (54)

[randomfoggytiger]

Do you have a list of comfort fics? Not them comforting each other but for when you're feeling wrecked and you just need something lovely to make it better?

randomfoggytiger's Comfort Fics

I'm not joking: I've reread more fics than I'll ever read new ones. My usual routine is to pop open Google docs, select an author, and mow down their list.

These three pieces were the ones that started it all; but I forgot to include @seek-its-opposite's photosensitivity. A+s, all of 'em.

Authors that I can't single out comfort fics from and can't tag because Tumblr is restricting my tag options: @baronessblixen, @settle-down-frohike, @onpaperfirst, @markwatneyandenesemble, Lapsed_Scholar, Apostrophic, @ghostbustermelanieking, @o6666666, touchstoneaf, @welsharcher, @scenes-in-between, @mldrgrl, @spooky-nerd, @melforbes, etc.

**Note**: Will ghost edit later~

PART I

Bittersweet Comfort Fics

misslucyjane's Scully seeks insomnia advice from Mulder, and Mulder dies, then lovingly watches Scully live the rest of her life

Kipler's cancer arc set casefile involving WWII vets and letters

melforbes's cancer arc Mulder takes his new bride to the sea for her last spring, and Pre-IWTB Mulder and Scully finally have a home

MldrItsMe's AU Redux II Scully is REALLY suffering, and Sein und Zeit Mulder's suicidal confessions

@discordantwords's Mulder and Scully are almost killed by the Fiji mermaid

mixiz877's Mulder and Scully fight off a gryphon

@fbismostunwanted1158's Scully is beaten down ala Stella Gibson in The Fall

Joyce's S5 AU Mulder is killed, comes back to life to save Scully, and Mulder dies but stays as Scully's partner solving cases with her (Part 1, Part 2, and-- my favorite of the three-- its Halloween sequel)

@teethnbone's post Travelers fic with Mulder and Scully

@sarie-fairy's AU Tithonus love confession, Post Milagro Scully realizing what it feels like to be Mulder, and Post The Unnatural Scully is bleeding out on a failed Sasquatch hunt

@sigritandtheelves's Post Monday Scully remembers Mulder's death

whatliesabove's Post Milagro Scully stays dead (or does she?)

ChaneenW's Pre-IVF arc Mulder is shot into a parallel timeline, reliving the Small Potatoes adventure with Scully

dee_ayy's post Amor Fati recovery fic (with baseball)

@bohoartist's Sein und Zeit through Scully's eyes, and Post Closure Scully rescues a photo of baby Mulder

Lolabeegood's AU where S8 Mulder is returned with false memories (would also recommend Lolabee's IWTB era fics, btw.)

@dreamingofscully's AU S9 Skinner entices Mulder back into profiling... and it doesn't end well

@television-overload's Pre-IWTB Mulder surprises Scully with a baseball field (and his old self again)

@queeenpersephone's AU where IWTB Scully stuck it out with Mulder

@danascullysjournal's Post IWTB bonding fic between a discouraged Mulder and uplifting Scully

@kateyes224's Mulder and Scully content in their UH, and Mulder sells the UH, and Scully buys it

@realmofextremepossibility's Breakup Mulder waiting for Scully's return Part I and Part II.

vulcanscully's Post Breakup Scully stops hearing from Mulder and assumes the worst

enigmaticdr's AU post IWTB Scully thinks she has cancer again (she's pregnant), Breakup Mulder is defeated at their anniversary dinner, AU where Revival Scully gets cancer, and The Revival baby laughs for the first time

prufrockslove's AU Mulder is a Welsh prince, Scully is his betrothed bride, and lots of Prince John high court drama ensues (part I of a sweeping, interconnecting AU series)

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[leiascully]

“I wish you would write a fic where…” — Scully is pregnant with (or has already had) baby 2, and Diana is somehow not dead & she comes back into the XF…. Set in either IWTB era (Mulder’s depression) or post s11 (the fall out of CSM and Jackson etc)

1/2

Here you go!

Scully’s in the office looking at pictures of baby Joy on her phone when she hears the knock. It takes her a moment to look up. Joy’s only been in daycare a few weeks, and the only person who ever knocks is Skinner. Instead, when she looks up, there’s a tall woman with an elegant grey chignon and a chic suit with a visitor’s pass clipped to the lapel. Scully’s breath catches in her throat. But it’s not Teena Mulder - it doesn’t even really look like her. There’s just something about the aura she brings that carries that same scent of graceful suffering, like a vintage perfume that’s spoiled somehow.

“Diana,” she says evenly. “Or is it Agent Fowley?”

“Hello, Agent Scully.” Diana gestures to a chair. “May I sit?”

“Be my guest.” Scully sets her phone on the desk, face up. Diana would know she’s recording their conversation. They’ve both learned to keep track of the evidence.

Diana glances at her screen. “She’s a lovely child.”

“Thank you,” Scully says without flinching. “She’s our little miracle.”

“Yes,” Diana says, “somehow they do find their way to you, these miracles. But I suppose you deserve them, after all you’ve endured.”

“Is it Agent Fowley?” Scully presses.

Diana demurs, sweeping away the idea with one hand before it returns to clasp around her crossed knees. “Fox might have returned from the grave to his former employment, but I had no wish to rejoin the FBI’s ranks.”

Scully smiles faintly. “That was a long time ago.”

“Another lifetime,” Diana says. There’s a glint in her eyes, a tension around her lips. Scully doesn’t respond to the jab.

“How can I help you, Diana?” She picks up a pen. “Assistant Director Skinner assured me they’ve upgraded the fire mitigation system, by the way.”

Diana doesn’t react. She seems to be thinking. “I suppose I came to talk to you,” she says at last.

“To me?” Scully tilts her head. “I’m not sure exactly what you think we have to say to each other.” She stares at Diana for a long moment, sifting through the memories. It’s been so long. Another lifetime indeed.

She remembers her last encounter with Diana, the oblique contact, the fear, the rage, the genuine sorrow. “I do owe you a thank you. You’re the one who left the envelope with information about where they’d taken Mulder.”

Diana stirs, as if she’s come back from the depths of her own mind. “Whatever you think of me, Agent Scully, I never wanted either one of you to die.”

Scully smiles, just a little. “Likewise.”

“I believed in the mission,” Diana tells her. “I believed it would save us all. I knew I was working for men in over their heads, but I didn’t see another way.”

“I know,” Scully says, and she does. She does, now that the world didn’t end. Now that the black oil has receded and the shapeshifters have vanished, now that the supersoldier project has been decomissioned, she understands the things Diana did, and why. She will never understand the rest, but she has that.

“I’m sorry for my part in what they did to you. But I wouldn’t change the choices I made.” Diana nods toward Scully’s phone. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you got your miracle.”

“Thank you,” Scully says, and she means it.

They gaze at each other, blue eyes and brown. At last they have taken the true measure of each other, and neither is found wanting. The betrayals of their younger years are old scars now. There isn’t any pain there. It almost doesn’t matter who was right and who was wrong. They moved through different worlds. Of course their paths diverged. Scully, who has loved Mulder and lost him and fought her way back to him a hundred times, understands the urge to reach for him.

Beyond this moment, she knows they will never see eye to eye. She knows Diana knows it too. This is the peace soldiers only find in the middle of the battlefield, when the war is over.

“Thank you,” says Diana.

“For what?” Scully is startled.

“For standing up to the Syndicate, at great personal cost. If their mission was just, their methods were not. Spender’s least of all.”

“Jeffrey came back, you know,” Scully says.

“Yes. He always had too strong a sense of justice to stomach the work.” Diana leans forward just a little. “Thank you for taking care of him.” She doesn’t mean Jeffrey Spender.

“You’re welcome.” Scully’s voice is steady, somehow.

“I can’t say I was deceived,” Diana tells her. “I went into the work with my eyes open. But the world shifted. The plans changed. Whether I couldn’t keep up or I didn’t want to is irrelevant. I wasn’t given the choice.”

“You were a pawn to them,” Scully says.

Diana inclines her head with a economy of motion Scully can’t help but admire. It’s neither agreement nor disagreement, just an acknowledgment of Scully’s own truths. “Well. I’m not any longer.”

“Good,” Scully says.

Diana uncrosses her legs and stands up. “There’s no need to tell Fox I was here.”

“I assumed you came to see him.”

Diana tilts her head and smiles. “No, Agent Scully. My unfinished business was with you.”

They don’t shake hands. Scully watches Diana leave. She taps her phone to stop the recording and then cups her chin in her hand, staring into space. She wonders if Diana will be on the security footage. She wonders if anything has gone missing in the last hour or two. Maybe respect can look like paranoia. Maybe the past can’t be entirely overwritten, but the book can be closed. Maybe this is what peace feels like when a ghost is laid to rest.

Mulder comes in half an hour later and finds her still thinking. He sets a coffee down on the desk in front of her.

“Missing our pride and Joy?” he asks.

“Hmm?” Scully says. “Of course.” She comes back to herself and shuffles the papers on her desk.

“What were you up to all morning?” he asks, settling into a chair with the lazy grace he’s never lost.

“Oh, talking with an old friend,” she says, and it hews close enough to the truth.

[psychics4unet]

20 Simpsons Psychic Predictions That Came True 🚀

Hey there, fellow Simpsons fans! 🎉 If you’ve been following The Simpsons, you know that this iconic show isn’t just about laughs and donuts (though we love those too). It’s also about some eerily accurate predictions that have left us all scratching our heads. 🤔 How did this cartoon get so many things right about the future? Grab a seat, grab a donut 🍩, and let’s dive into some of the wildest psychic predictions from The Simpsons that actually came true! 🚀

🌟🔮✨ Curious about what the future holds for you? Just like The Simpsons predicted some mind-blowing events, you too can uncover what’s in store for your life. Click the link below for your own personal psychic reading and get insights that might just amaze you:

1. Donald Trump’s Presidency 🇺🇸

Season 11, Episode 17 (“Bart to the Future”)

In this episode from the year 2000, Lisa becomes the president and mentions that they inherited quite a budget crunch from President Trump. Fast forward to 2016, and Donald Trump becomes the 45th president of the United States. What the what?! 😲

2. Smartwatches ⌚

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

During a future vision of Lisa’s wedding, her fiancé uses a watch to make a phone call. This was in 1995, way before smartwatches became a thing in the 2010s. Talk about being ahead of the curve! 📱

3. Disney Buys 20th Century Fox 🏰🦊

Season 10, Episode 5 (“When You Dish Upon a Star”)

In 1998, there’s a scene showing the 20th Century Fox sign with a subtitle “A Division of Walt Disney Co.” In 2019, Disney actually bought 21st Century Fox. Coincidence? I think not! 🎬

4. Video Chatting 💻

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

Again in Lisa’s Wedding, we see video calls being made. This was years before Skype, FaceTime, or Zoom became part of our daily lives. The Simpsons were definitely on to something here! 🖥️

5. The Shard in London 🏙️

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

In the same episode (wow, it’s like a crystal ball!), we see a skyline that includes a skyscraper eerily similar to The Shard, which wasn’t built until 2012. 👀

6. Lady Gaga’s Super Bowl Performance 🎤

Season 23, Episode 22 (“Lisa Goes Gaga”)

In 2012, The Simpsons showed Lady Gaga performing at a concert, suspended in the air. Fast forward to 2017, and Gaga did exactly that at the Super Bowl halftime show. Fly, Gaga, fly! 🎇

7. Nobel Prize Winner 🏅

Season 22, Episode 1 (“Elementary School Musical”)

Milhouse predicted that Bengt Holmström would win the Nobel Prize in Economics. And guess what? Holmström did win it in 2016. Way to go, Milhouse! 📊

8. Ebola Outbreak 🌍

Season 9, Episode 3 (“Lisa’s Sax”)

In this 1997 episode, Marge suggests that Bart read a book titled “Curious George and the Ebola Virus.” Years later, in 2014, there was a significant Ebola outbreak. Chills! 😬

9. Siegfried and Roy Tiger Attack 🐅

Season 5, Episode 10 (“$pringfield (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Legalized Gambling)”)

The show depicted a white tiger attacking entertainers similar to Siegfried and Roy. Tragically, in 2003, Roy was indeed attacked by one of their white tigers during a performance. 😥

10. U.S. Wins Olympic Gold in Curling 🥌

Season 21, Episode 12 (“Boy Meets Curl”)

Homer and Marge compete in curling and win a gold medal. In real life, the U.S. men’s team won the gold medal in curling at the 2018 Winter Olympics. Sweep that, skeptics! 🥇

But wait, there’s more! Let’s keep this prediction train rolling with some honorable mentions that didn’t make the top 10 but are still pretty mind-blowing. 🚂💨

11. Horse Meat Scandal 🐴

Season 5, Episode 19 (“Sweet Seymour Skinner’s Baadasssss Song”)

Lunchlady Doris used “assorted horse parts” in the cafeteria food. In 2013, a scandal erupted in Europe when horse meat was found in various beef products.

12. FIFA Corruption Scandal ⚽

Season 25, Episode 16 (“You Don’t Have to Live Like a Referee”)

The episode features a storyline involving corruption in the World Football Federation. In 2015, several FIFA officials were arrested amid a corruption investigation.

13. Farmville 🚜

Season 9, Episode 12 (“Bart Carny”)

In this 1998 episode, kids are seen excitedly playing a yard work simulator game. Fast forward to the 2000s, and Farmville became a massive hit on Facebook.

14. Faulty Voting Machines 🗳️

Season 20, Episode 4 (“Treehouse of Horror XIX”)

Homer tries to vote for Obama in the 2008 election, but the machine keeps changing his vote to McCain. In 2012, there were real reports of voting machines changing votes.

15. Beats by Dre 🎧

Season 8, Episode 14 (“The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochie Show”)

In a scene from 1997, we see a character wearing what looks like modern-day Beats by Dre headphones, years before they existed.

16. Mutant Tomatoes 🍅

Season 11, Episode 5 (“E-I-E-I-(Annoyed Grunt)”)

Homer grows mutant tomatoes after using nuclear power on his crops. In real life, scientists created genetically modified tomatoes that glow in the dark.

17. NSA Surveillance 🕵️

The Simpsons Movie (2007)

The movie depicted the NSA spying on citizens. In 2013, Edward Snowden revealed that the NSA was indeed conducting mass surveillance on American citizens.

18. Shard Building in London 🏙️

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

We see a tall building in the London skyline that resembles The Shard, which was completed in 2012.

19. Michelangelo’s David Censorship 🗿

Season 2, Episode 9 (“Itchy & Scratchy & Marge”)

The episode shows Springfieldians protesting against Michelangelo’s David being exhibited. In 2016, Russian campaigners did try to cover the statue.

20. Autocorrect Fail 📱

Season 6, Episode 8 (“Lisa on Ice”)

Dolph writes a memo that says “Beat up Martin” which gets autocorrected to “Eat up Martha.” Apple’s iPhone autocorrect has had many such hilarious fails.

It’s wild, right? How does a cartoon get so many things right? Well, it’s probably a mix of clever writing, sharp observation, and maybe a bit of that Springfield magic. ✨

And it's not just us hardcore fans who are intrigued. Thanks to the internet, more and more people are discovering the spooky accuracy of The Simpsons' predictions. Social media platforms are buzzing with theories and speculations. Reddit threads are filled with fans dissecting episodes, and YouTube is packed with videos analyzing every prediction. It's like a virtual treasure hunt where every frame might hold a secret clue to our future! 🔮

Some folks even believe that the writers have a time machine or some sort of psychic ability. While that’s probably a stretch, it’s fun to think about! One thing’s for sure – The Simpsons will keep surprising us with their uncanny knack for predicting the future.

Whether you’re a longtime fan or just curious about the show’s “psychic” tendencies, it’s clear that The Simpsons is more than just a TV show. It’s a pop culture phenomenon that continues to influence and amuse us, while also making us think twice about what might come next. So, next time you’re watching, pay close attention – you might just be getting a sneak peek into the future! 🕵️‍♂️✨

Stay curious, my friends! And remember, the truth is out there… or maybe just in the next episode of The Simpsons. 🌟🚀

[beardedmrbean]

California’s Democratic-controlled legislature axed a Republican proposal that would have exempted tipped-income from state income taxes, striking down a policy proposal similar to ones endorsed by Vice President Kamala Harris and former President Donald Trump.

"It is deeply disappointing that the legislature chose not to consider a proposal that could have provided much-needed relief to California’s workers," Republican State Sen. Rosilicie Ochoa Bogh, who introduced the measure, said in a press release after it was defeated.

Ochoa Bogh introduced the amendment in California’s Senate on Thursday that would have exempted service industry workers with a state tax exemption on tips, but the proposal was voted down on a mostly party line vote without discussion or debate by the Democratic majority.

TRUMP PLEDGES TO ELIMINATE TAXES ON TIPS FOR SERVICE WORKERS DURING LAS VEGAS RALLY

"With Californians facing one of the highest costs of living in the nation, our service and hospitality industry employees are particularly burdened by a tax system that leaves them struggling to make ends meet," Ochoa Bogh said. "They deserve better, and today’s decision is a missed opportunity to support those who need it most."

The attempt to exempt tips from taxes in the state comes as both Trump and Harris have expressed support for federal tax legislation that would exempt tipped-income on the campaign trail. Trump was the first to champion the proposal during a June rally in Nevada, while Harris, who started her political career in California, echoed a similar sentiment during an August rally in Las Vegas.

According to a press release by California Senate Republicans, the proposal in that state was aimed at helping service workers navigate California’s "unsustainable tax burden," allowing workers who rely heavily on tipped-income to have more take-home pay.

REPUBLICANS BLAST BIDEN ADMIN OVER PLAN TO CRACK DOWN ON WAITERS' TIPS

All nine Republican state senators supported the amendment, while almost all the state’s Democratic senators, except for Senate President Pro Tempore Mike McGuire and State Sen. Nancy Skinner, voted in opposition. McGuire and Skinner voted to abstain.

"The negligence involved in a refusal to even debate a policy issue of this magnitude cannot be overstated," Republican Senate Minority Leader Brian W. Jones said in the release. "Legislative Democrats knew they were on the wrong side of this important issue, so they chose to sweep it under the rug rather than do the right thing for working Californians. The push to eliminate the federal tip tax has made its way to the campaign stage for both major party’s this year, yet California Democrat politicians don’t believe it be even worthy to discuss at the state level for residents here." 

McGuire’s office did not immediately respond to a Fox News Digital request for comment on the Democratic majority’s opposition to the amendment.

[mersei47]

sKINNER SWEEP LETS GOOOOO

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SKINNER SWEEPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bongaboi]

Florida Panthers: 2024 Stanley Cup Champions

SUNRISE, Fla. -- Crisis averted. The Florida Panthers are Stanley Cup champions.

"So special," Panthers forward Matthew Tkachuk said. "I don't think we realize what we've just accomplished just yet. Every time I look at that trophy it'll get better and better."

Carter Verhaeghe had a goal and an assist, Sam Reinhart scored, and Sergei Bobrovsky made 23 saves for the Panthers, who defeated the Edmonton Oilers 2-1 in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final at Amerant Bank Arena on Monday.

The Panthers, who joined the NHL for the 1993-94 season, won their first Stanley Cup championship in their fourth chance to get it in this series. They lost the previous three games after taking a 3-0 lead and were in jeopardy of becoming the first team since 1942 to lose four straight potential clinching games in the Stanley Cup Final.

"To become a true champion you have to overcome adversity, and that was the moment you have to get together and get the job done," Bobrovsky said. "We weren't afraid to make a mistake. We played with freedom. We attacked."

Florida coach Paul Maurice finally won a Stanley Cup championship after coaching the most games in NHL history before his first title with 1,985 (1,848 in the regular season, 137 in the Stanley Cup Playoffs). He also improved to 5-0 in Game 7 for his NHL career.

Mattias Janmark scored, and Stuart Skinner made 19 saves for the Oilers. Connor McDavid, who led the NHL with 42 points (eight goals, 34 assists) in the playoffs, was held off the score sheet. So was Leon Draisaitl, who was limited to no goals and three assists in the Final.

McDavid still won the Conn Smythe Trophy as the most valuable player in the playoffs. He is the sixth player to win it while playing for the losing team and the first since goaltender Jean-Sebastien Giguere for the Mighty Ducks of Anaheim in 2003. Anaheim lost the Cup Final to the New Jersey Devils in seven games.

"It goes back the character of the group that we showed all year long," said McDavid, the Edmonton captain. "We showed all year long that we could fight back even in the most dire situations. It's obviously tough to be down three and it's tough to win four in a row against a team like that, but we were right there."

It was the first time since 1945 that a Stanley Cup Final went the distance after a team took a 3-0 lead. That season, the Detroit Red Wings won Games 4, 5 and 6 to tie the Final before losing 2-1 to the Toronto Maple Leafs in Game 7.

Edmonton was trying to become the first team since the 1941-42 Maple Leafs to pull off the reverse sweep, winning Games 4-7 after losing Games 1-3. It was also trying to become the first Canada-based team to win the Stanley Cup since the Montreal Canadiens in 1993.

But the Panthers responded after being outscored 18-5 in Games 4-6 to stop the Oilers from making history in Game 7.

"It's tough to put into words right now," Draisaitl said. "You’re one period, one shot away from maybe winning the thing and now you have to go through 82 regular-season games and play well enough to get another kick at it. It's hard right now."

Bobrovsky, who allowed 12 goals on 58 shots in the three previous games (5.06 goals-against average, .793 save percentage), made five saves in the first period, nine in the second and nine more in the third.

He said getting away from the rink Sunday and not skating in the Panthers' practice allowed him to reset and refocus for Game 7.

"I was trying to cut off everything outside of myself, to just settle down, relax and focus on one shot at a time," Bobrovsky said. "I think it was a great moment that I didn't skate yesterday. The goalie coach came up with the idea to just have a rest, go away. I went home and played with my daughter. She's my motivation. She's my inspiration. Just relax, reset, come this morning for the morning skate ready to go."

The Panthers scored the first goal for the first time since Game 3.

They never trailed.

"They played with freedom and that's what I'm going to remember from this game," Maurice said. "The story gets written differently if we don't win, but under the most pressure they found the courage to play with some freedom, to make plays, to move the puck.

"They get to say, 'In Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final, I was at my best.'"

Verhaeghe gave the Panthers a 1-0 lead at 4:27 of the first period, six seconds after their first power play of the game expired.

He played the puck from behind the net to Evan Rodrigues along the left wall, and Rodrigues whipped a shot from there to the net. It looked like it was going wide right, but Verhaeghe got his stick on it in front, deflecting it down and through Skinner's legs.

It was Verhaeghe's first goal since Game 1 and the first time the Panthers led since Game 3.

"The last couple games they scored so many goals off the hop, and to play with the lead, it felt good," Verhaeghe said.

The Oilers got the goal back quickly with Janmark scoring on a breakaway to make it 1-1 at 6:44.

"I thought they were the better team in the first period," Edmonton coach Kris Knoblauch said. "I thought they came out with a little more urgency and won a lot of puck races. I thought we defended well. I thought in the second and the third period, I thought we found our game, I thought we played well, but couldn't capitalize on our opportunities."

Instead, it was Reinhart giving Florida a 2-1 lead at 15:11 of the second period, scoring with a low, short-side shot from inside the right face-off circle.

Florida defenseman Dmitry Kulikov cleared the puck away from the Panthers crease before he fell into the net. The puck went to Verhaeghe, who moved it up to Reinhart.

Reinhart was looking for a pass as he went through the neutral zone and across the blue line, but eventually chose to shoot, and the puck squeezed through Skinner to give Florida its second lead of the game.

"You're hoping that's it, right?" Reinhart said. "I mean, there was a lot of work to do, a lot of game left, but absolutely I'm hoping that's the one."

Bobrovsky said from there he treated the rest of the game like it was overtime.

"I wasn't happy when they scored [on] a breakaway because we had a good lead," he said, "but Sam scores the second goal and I was thinking it's better to not let that go."

McDavid and Zach Hyman each had a look at what was an open net for the Oilers with just over seven minutes left in the third period, but neither could get enough of the puck.

Sam Bennett and Brandon Montour dove into the crease to help Bobrovsky keep the puck out of the net on Hyman's attempt, preserving Florida's lead at 12:56.

Skinner went to the bench for the extra skater with 1:10 left, but the Oilers couldn't get another shot attempt.

"We really believed we were going to get one," McDavid said. "I have that one in front, Zach has a whack at it, 'Bouch' (Evan Bouchard) has got all kinds of looks. We had a lot of looks, it just didn’t go."

The Panthers froze the puck in the corner for the last six seconds to win the Stanley Cup.

"The last three games before you're hoping," Reinhart said. "You're hoping you're in it and you have a chance at the end. That's a dangerous spot to be in against a team like that and it showed. That hope went away tonight, and we were able to find our game. It showed."

[tojisun]

ive missed so many games, IM SORRY SUNSUN!!! I HAVE TO CATCH UP! ive been in a funk; only able to read, not yap. which makes me sad! i miss u cutie, but ill be yappin to u soon !!!!! i love you always🩷

omg love dont u worry about a thing!! im just glad to be talking to u :'> i missed u so so much and i hope u are doing well!! and pls, i cant wait for our yap sesh teehee <33

i love you always kai my star!!

hockey ramble (a long winded break down of the finals so far, from an oilers fan) under the cut so pls feel free to ignore again heheh

so the oilers win western conference and headed to finals, facing off with the panthers.

games one and two were played in the home ice of the panthers because during the regular seasons, after tallying each team's wins, the panthers had more wins than the oilers (104 EDM - 110 FLA)

the finals started really badly for the oilers. game one was a shutout (0 EDM - 3 FLA), game two wasn't any better (1 EDM - 4 FLA). game three saw oilers managing to shave the score difference to one point but they ended up losing too (3 EDM - 4 FLA). these three consecutive wins for the panthers means that they only need one more game to win the cup.

and then game four happened.

this was played in the edmonton home rink (so was game three), and because it was the final game that the panthers needed to win to get the cup, it was riddled with anxiety.

oilers scored first.

scoring first is necessary for shifting the momentum, but it was not a goal that really settled our nerves because game two started that way too, with the oilers scoring first only for the rest of their shots to be blocked by the great wall that bobrovsky (panthers' goaltender) makes.

but then they scored another one, and another one, and ended the first period with a two point lead (3 EDM - 1 FLA), with one of their goals this period made during the panthers' power play.

it was exhilarating. the flicker of hope grew and it turned into a whole blaze.

period two saw more beautiful progress for the oilers, with their captain and forward, and arguably the very heart of the team, connor mcdavid finally scoring his first goal in the finals of the playoffs.

not soon after, davo matched his goal with an assist to nurse, bringing up the score difference between the oilers and the panthers to four. it is by then that the panthers pulled their starting goaltender out, bobby, and subbed in stolarz who made his "first career playoff appearance" in this game.

stolarz struggled too, and, in the end, facing the spectacular plays made by the oilers, game four was snagged from a panthers sweep and extended the oilers' season. it was a tremendous victory (8 EDM - 1 FLA). historical, even.

non-fans called it a fluke, saying that the panthers just wanted to win the cup in home ice, while fans saw this as oilers finally waking up and playing how they usually do.

game five was played back in the panthers home ice. again, one more win for the panthers and they would be the cup winners, so tensions continue to mount and peak.

davo, in an interview, said that they will win this game and "drag them back to alberta." (talking about game 6).

dude, i can't even begin to explain how monumental yesterday's game was, but drag it back home they did. i'm still reeling over the final score so i'm still incoherent and pretty much in disbelief so do forgive me. but:

stuart skinner, the man he is.

i forgot which commentary youtuber said it but this is how they described skinner: he is average at best, especially against bobrovsky, but he is volatile. he is a beast when he gets in his groove. unshakable.

we saw that skinner yesterday. in a sport where goaltending amounts to the final score, stuart skinner made impossible saves yesterday. yes, it's not a shutout and yes, the panthers scored three goals more than comfortable, but the saves that skinner made were the tight and hard-hitting ones.

the momentum he carved out for the team in period one was kept consistent throughout the game.

connor brown and his shortie - a goal made during a panthers power play. it was the first goal of yesterday's game, during a crucial moment, and shot after an impossibly terrific of a pass from janmark.

connor mcdavid.

i may sound too biased but you have to understand where i'm coming from. davo is the best NHL player of this decade, and this sentiment is very much founded.

he has so many highlight moments from yesterday's game, but three of the monumental ones for me are: his second goal, his assist to perry's goal, and his clutch goal during the third period with only about less than twenty seconds left in the clock.

tkachuck was able to save the initial empty-netter goal. it was a tremendous save and cinematic, to be honest. he hooked the puck with his stick and used his full body to fling it out. he ended up caught in the net - cue the memes - but davo skated after the puck, took control of it, and amidst cheers for tkachuk's miracle save, he sent it back in the net, ending the game with a two point lead for the oilers (5 EDM - 3 FLA).

it was SOMETHING.

everyone knew it then - game five was a historical play.

and it was: the oilers are the "first team in a stanley cup final to win a game 5 on the road after trailing 3-0."

.

.

im sorry for the hockey rant, its just that. what started as a passing interest for the team that beat my team (canucks) turned into a full-blown love because how can you not???

[offside-the-lines]

Lord Stanley's BINGO: Daily Report

A fruitful day of bingo; in the first week (and a bit), we have ticked off 34 out of 100 prompts! We are thinking of sharing an new generator link for the second round (with new prompts) since so many have been ticked off, would anyone be interested in that? But first, @imperatorrrrr and I here for the summary.

Round 1 — Apr 26, 2024 (We missed this one) ✔️ Player is sassy (or bitchy) to the media (Evander Kane responds to Mark Spector's "drama" rant earlier this week in his post-game presser after EDM - LAK, Gm 3) Round 1 — Apr 28, 2024 ✔️ Team not being able to score on empty net (Nashville up 3 - 2 with 1:45 to go in the third, VAN - NSH, Gm 4) ✔️ Team ties the game with less than a minute in the third (Brock Boeser with 8 seconds remaining, VAN - NSH, Gm 4) ✔️ Sweep - Home first team (NYR sweep WSH) ✔️ Shut out (Stuart Skinner, EDM 1 - 0 LAK Gm 4)

If you think we missed something, please let us know; but, don't let our lack of inclusion of anything stop you from crossing it off!

Want to join in the fun? Use this link to auto-generate your own card. Once you have generated a card, make sure you save it as it will generate a new card every time you click the link. Feel free to generate multiple cards! If you make posts, please tag us or '#2k24 nhl playoff bingo' so we can keep up with your progress!!!

[readerbookclub]

Hello everyone, I finally have a new book list! So sorry this is so late, I've started uni again this month, and things were a bit hectic. Anyway, this theme has been requested for a while, so I hope you enjoy!

As always, please vote for your favourite book using the link at the end of the post :)

Still Life, by Sarah Winman

Tuscany, 1944: As Allied troops advance and bombs fall around deserted villages, a young English soldier, Ulysses Temper, finds himself in the wine cellar of a deserted villa. There, he has a chance encounter with Evelyn Skinner, a middle-aged art historian who has come to Italy to salvage paintings from the ruins and recall long-forgotten memories of her own youth. In each other, Ulysses and Evelyn find a kindred spirit amongst the rubble of war-torn Italy, and set off on a course of events that will shape Ulysses's life for the next four decades.

As Ulysses returns home to London, reimmersing himself in his crew at The Stoat and Parrot -- a motley mix of pub crawlers and eccentrics -- he carries his time in Italy with him. And when an unexpected inheritance brings him back to where it all began, Ulysses knows better than to tempt fate, and returns to the Tuscan hills.

With beautiful prose, extraordinary tenderness, and bursts of humor and light, Still Life is a sweeping portrait of unforgettable individuals who come together to make a family, and a richly drawn celebration of beauty and love in all its forms.

The Bone Maker, Sarah Beth Durst

Twenty-five years ago, five heroes risked their lives to defeat the bone maker Eklor—a corrupt magician who created an inhuman army using animal bones. But victory came at a tragic price. Only four of the heroes survived. 

Since then, Kreya, the group’s leader, has exiled herself to a remote tower and devoted herself to one purpose: resurrecting her dead husband. But such a task requires both a cache of human bones and a sacrifice—for each day he lives, she will live one less.

She’d rather live one year with her husband than a hundred without him, but using human bones for magic is illegal in Vos. The dead are burned—as are any bone workers who violate the law. Yet Kreya knows where she can find the bones she needs: the battlefield where her husband and countless others lost their lives.

But defying the laws of the land exposes a terrible possibility. Maybe the dead don’t rest in peace after all.  

Five warriors—one broken, one gone soft, one pursuing a simple life, one stuck in the past, and one who should be dead. Their story should have been finished. But evil doesn’t stop just because someone once said, “the end.”

In the Lives of Puppets, by T. J. Klune

In a strange little home built into the branches of a grove of trees, live three robots--fatherly inventor android Giovanni Lawson, a pleasantly sadistic nurse machine, and a small vacuum desperate for love and attention. Victor Lawson, a human, lives there too. They're a family, hidden and safe.

The day Vic salvages and repairs an unfamiliar android labelled "HAP," he learns of a shared dark past between Hap and Gio-a past spent hunting humans.

When Hap unwittingly alerts robots from Gio's former life to their whereabouts, the family is no longer hidden and safe. Gio is captured and taken back to his old laboratory in the City of Electric Dreams. So together, the rest of Vic's assembled family must journey across an unforgiving and otherworldly country to rescue Gio from decommission, or worse, reprogramming.

Along the way to save Gio, amid conflicted feelings of betrayal and affection for Hap, Vic must decide for himself: Can he accept love with strings attached?

Author TJ Klune invites you deep into the heart of a peculiar forest and on the extraordinary journey of a family assembled from spare parts.

Empress of Forever, by Max Gladstone

A feminist Guardians of the Galaxy—a smart, swashbuckling, wildly imaginative adventure of a rag-tag team of brilliant misfits, dangerous renegades, and enhanced outlaws in a war-torn future.

A wildly successful innovator to rival Steve Jobs or Elon Musk, Vivian Liao is prone to radical thinking, quick decision-making, and reckless action. On the eve of her greatest achievement, she's trying to outrun those who are trying to steal her success.

In the chilly darkness of a Boston server farm, Viv sets her ultimate plan into motion. A terrifying instant later, Vivian Liao is catapulted through space and time to a far future where she confronts a destiny stranger and more deadly than she could ever imagine.

The end of time is ruled by an ancient, powerful Empress who blesses or blasts entire planets with a single thought. Rebellion is literally impossible to consider--until Vivian arrives. Trapped between the Pride, a ravening horde of sentient machines, and a fanatical sect of warrior monks who call themselves the Mirrorfaith, Viv must rally a strange group of allies to confront the Empress and find a way back to the world and life she left behind.

A magnificent work of vivid imagination and universe-spanning action, Empress of Forever is a feminist Guardians of the Galaxy crossed with Star Wars and spiced with the sensibility and spirit of Iain M. Banks and William Gibson.

The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, by Sangu Mandanna

A warm and uplifting novel about an isolated witch whose opportunity to embrace a quirky new family--and a new love--changes the course of her life.

As one of the few witches in Britain, Mika Moon knows she has to hide her magic, keep her head down, and stay away from other witches so their powers don't mingle and draw attention. And as an orphan who lost her parents at a young age and was raised by strangers, she's used to being alone and she follows the rules...with one exception: an online account, where she posts videos pretending to be a witch. She thinks no one will take it seriously.

But someone does. An unexpected message arrives, begging her to travel to the remote and mysterious Nowhere House to teach three young witches how to control their magic. It breaks all of the rules, but Mika goes anyway, and is immediately tangled up in the lives and secrets of not only her three charges, but also an absent archaeologist, a retired actor, two long-suffering caretakers, and...Jamie. The handsome and prickly librarian of Nowhere House would do anything to protect the children, and as far as he's concerned, a stranger like Mika is a threat. An irritatingly appealing threat.

As Mika begins to find her place at Nowhere House, the thought of belonging somewhere begins to feel like a real possibility. But magic isn't the only danger in the world, and when a threat comes knocking at their door, Mika will need to decide whether to risk everything to protect a found family she didn't know she was looking for....

Please vote using this link.

[starwalker42]

febuwhump day 28: "you're safe now"

sequel to days 7 & 19 | tw: aftermath of torture, overdose, graphic injury | general audiences

It takes 24 hours to get a full list of possible suspects: anyone in the nearby area who matches Mulder’s rough description, who’s been in prison recently for violence against women or girls. The list is only 13 names long, but that’s still more than the local police can track down and interview in one day, and they’re running out of time.

Scully hasn’t had a vision since the one during the briefing, and she tries not to think about what that means.

It’s 8pm. The police force aren’t willing to send out officers until the morning, even though they have a list of addresses, even though Mulder might be dying, or dead – don’t think about that – and she’s rereading the names again, unable to do much else, when she realises she recognises one of them. It takes her ten minutes of scouring through the casefile before she finds it: one of the first witness interviews, for the first abducted man, before he was found dead, before the FBI got involved.

The man – Marshall Dunn, aged 35, released from prison 5 months ago after serving 2 years for aggravated assault - wasn’t a suspect, hadn’t even been called down to the station. But he’d worked in the same auto repair shop as the first victim. That’s a link.

It’s a hunch. A Mulder-sized one. But it sure beats waiting for another ten hours.

xXx

Less than an hour later, and Skinner’s pulled some strings to get her backup. Ten minutes later, they’re on the road, a ragtag convoy of her sedan and two FBI SUVs, and that’s when she gets another vision.

Mulder isn’t in it.

Instead she watches as the man washes his hands in the sink – his hands, stained red with blood – and pointedly looks up, into the mirror. She looks right into the eyes of Marshall Dunn, and feels her blood run cold as he speaks.

“Come find me. My work’s all done now, anyway.”

The vision fades away, and she pulls off the road, heart pounding so hard that for a moment she worries she’s going to pass out. It takes a minute to even her breathing, and when she raises her head she sees Skinner leaning out the back of one of the SUVs, looking over at her with concern painted across his face. She nods to him, once. Jaw clenched, she forces back tears.

Okay, you bastard. I’m on my way.

xXx

Marshall Dunn is upstairs, in the back bedroom, with an empty bottle of vodka and a pill container that once held prescription methadone. He’s still breathing, shallowly – by the time Scully gets to him, he’s already been put in the recovery position and an ambulance is on its way.

Even though she’s the doctor, and probably has some legal obligation to stay and help, she leaves the room without a word. The house isn’t very big, and it doesn’t take her long to sweep through the few rooms. There’s a bathroom – the bathroom, she recognises the mirror, and the sink is still stained with blood – a kitchen, a front room, but there’s nothing, no sign of Mulder’s presence. She checks the garage last, but even that reveals nothing – there’s no blood, no sign of a struggle, no weapon. It’s not the same room she saw in the visions.

The thought she’s not dared to think creeps into her mind: What if Mulder was never in the house at all?

Then she hears it; a human grunt of pain.

Her heart stops for a moment, relief and shock stopping all higher brain function, before she runs over the corner of the room. There, half-hidden under a tarp, is a trapdoor. It’s locked with a brand new heavy-duty padlock, the implications of which aren’t lost on her.

“Mulder?”

His voice – pained, shaky, but definitely Mulder – replies. “Scully.”

“I’m going to get you out of there.”

No time to find a key. She’ll have to shoot the lock off. It’ll destroy evidence – really, she should wait until someone can photograph it – but right now she doesn’t want to waste any more time. She fumbles with her gun, heart pounding in an echo of the two-beat in her head: Mul-der, Mul-der, Mul-der.

“Mulder, keep talking to me.”

There’s a sound from the other side of the door, one she can’t make out.

“Mulder?”

“Cold,” he whispers.

“I’m coming down there.” She forces her hands steady and takes aim at the lock. “Cover your head.”

The sound of the gun echoes through the garage, and she distantly hears shouts of surprise from upstairs. She should have warned them. Never mind. The trapdoor, now without the padlock, is easy enough to lift. She shines her flashlight into the hole and sees nothing but the floor.

“Mulder?”

No reply. She holsters her gun and drops down.

There’s a crunch as she hits the ground at an angle, her foot twisting awkwardly under her weight, but she grits her teeth through the pain. Raising her flashlight again, she realises that this is it, the place in the visions – the same cold dirt floor, the same breezeblock walls. She turns, orientating herself, and there’s Mulder, hunched in one of the corners, trembling. God.

She limps over to him and crouches by his side, assessing the situation. His shirt is in tatters, torn and cut away from his body, and his chest is covered in bruises and wounds. There are three long, deep cuts across his chest, one of which she recognises as the one she watched him receive. Scully knows they’re infected, too; one in particular is inflamed and still weeping fluid.

Mulder’s hands are pressed into the left side of his stomach, shaking worse than the rest of him; she wraps her fingers around one wrist, and eases it away from his body. Underneath is a mess of blood and torn fabric – he’s tried to stop the bleeding, probably too far gone to realise it wouldn’t help – but she can tell it’s bad. A penetrating abdominal wound, probably with a dirty blade.

Lying her coat on the ground, she eases him down until he’s on his back. He whimpers, eyes opening, and she leans over into his line of sight.  

“Hey, it’s me. You’re going to be okay.”

There are tears in his eyes. She’s not sure if they’re from pain or fear or both; either way, she swipes them away with her thumb, trying to soothe.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Under her hands, she feels his pulse start to calm as his body stops shaking. There’s movement above; she hears Skinner’s voice, shouting for someone to bring the paramedics, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Mulder’s. There’s an emotion in his gaze that she can’t quite label, but it brings a lump to her throat that she swallows down.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs again, as his eyes start to close. “You’re safe now.”  

@today-in-fic

[iamprchung]

Incognito

The final part of the 'Complementary Mints' series.

An excerpt.

Skinner was just about to resume his knocking when a tumbler turned, and latches clicked from beyond the door. Soon, the door came fully open to expose the quizzical expressions of the three lone gunmen.

Skinner withdrew his fist from where it was suspended in mid-air. "Oh, good, you are here," he nonchalantly said.

"Is something wrong?" Byers asked, but Skinner didn't answer and only stamped forward into their headquarters, headlong for the first solid piece of furniture he saw.

The workbench turned out to be not as solid as he had perceived it; the force of his weight against the bench caused it to sway and everything on it that wasn't anchored rolled and fell to the floor. Wordlessly, Langly lunged forward to secure the multitude of various tools and equipment on the table.

"Oh boy" Frohike declared.

"Are you injured?" Byers asked, the only one in the room who hadn't figured it out yet.

"No," Skinner grunted, distrustfully watching a cautious Frohike approach.

Langly sniffed the air. "I smell... pickles."

"I hate pickles," Skinner growled, leaning fully on the worktable, "don't know why I ever kept any in the ice box to begin wifth."

"I think the rabbi's had one too many cucumbers," Frohike remarked and looked around at his cohorts, nodding assuredly as he announced, "he's bagged."

Skinner straightened abruptly and turned, giving the three men a long sweeping glare. "I need to find Scully-- and you three are going to help me," he informed them.

"Why? Where is she?" Byers questioned, stepping forward.

"Well, if I knew that, I wouldn't have come here, now would I?" Skinner asked with a sneer and cocked his head.

"She's missing?" Frohike asked, stepping forward.

"Can't the Bureau track her?" Langly asked before Skinner could answer Frohike.

Skinner looked at the floor and rubbed his nose, avoiding all eye contact as he spoke. "No," he said, low, "I can't... I can't use Bu-- Bu-- FBI resources for this."

Langly crossed his arms over his chest and looked down, while Byers cleared his throat and Frohike stared at Skinner.

Suddenly, the three men understood.

Skinner looked around at them, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Well?" he asked them, "are you going to help me or not?" He slammed his fist down on the worktable, jarring everything across it that hadn't already fallen to the floor.

"Come on, big guy," Frohike said and took Skinner by the arm, "time for some of my famous Java."

"I don't want any damn Java," Skinner spat, pulling his arm free of the man's grip. "I just want to know where Scully is, and I know you can find out--"

"Does she want to be found?" Frohike asked him, looking him straight on and undaunted.

[randomfoggytiger]

*-*-*-*-*-*-* Brief Encounter *-*-*-*-*-*-*

-*-*-*- of the Interdimensional Kind -*-*-*-

Happy Birthday, @baronessblixen! :DDDDDDDDD

Words cannot express how deeply your work and your ways have impacted my experience in this fandom (and life, as a whole.) So, I shall keep all speeches short; and only observe that-- having spent a month first watching, then writing, then thinking and rewriting-- I hope this endeavor does credit to your favorite movie. You deserve it, and much, much more~.

*-*-*-*-*

Prologue

We're neither of us free to love each other. There's too much in the way.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

The clouds had gathered for a storm, but only succeeded in blocking out the sun. 

Whimpering drizzles pattered the windshield, streaked tears across the windows, glistened occasionally in the waxing moonlight. The road stretched on and on; and the wind, the rain, and the engine roared with cacophonous, irrepressible force. Her head thrummed with pain, drumming in time with Nature’s protestation. 

Twenty more minutes and she would allow herself to think. 

The trees on either side began to gather around fences. Then farmhouses. Then neighborhoods, landmarks taking shape in the mystic dark. Turns, lanes, and the final road. 

Then home. 

Five more minutes. 

Purse, keys, exit. 

Her mother met her at the door, gloved and coated and anxious. “We were worried sick-- are you okay, sweetheart, where’ve you been?” 

“Yes, Mom. It just took a while getting back.” 

“It’s been over an hour, Dana.” She paused, snappish and loving and hurt. 

“I’m sorry.” Purse, shoes, coat. “I won’t keep you, it’s late.” House slippers.

“Tomorrow, then. We’ll talk after your shift.” 

Kiss goodbye. “How was William?” 

“You should ask him, he’s still up.” 

Ask him, ask him. Can’t ask him. “Why? Does he feel sick--”

Her mother’s hands, warm and clean, gently touched her face, gently drew her chin away from the stairs. “He wouldn’t say. But he loves you, Sweetheart-- he needs you.” 

Scully stilled, stayed in that spot until her mother kissed her cheek, said her goodbyes, drove down the driveway and into the night. 

“But I don’t, Mom,” she confessed, startling as the wind howled and the house groaned. Their anniversary clock ticked its seconds loudly in judgment. I no longer love him.

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 1

I'm a happily married woman - or I was, rather, until a few weeks ago. This is my whole world, and it's enough, or rather, it was until a few weeks ago. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks ago, she saw him. 

She saw him; and doubted herself, doubted the familiarity he shed in passing. Set aside the prickling sense of deja vu and kismet and every other word she’d once learned to give meaning. Dismissed the force of loneliness pinching, squeezing, crushing her heart. Labeled these sensations under false names and placed them in faulty categories. Stood in the weakening sun of a small-town airfield and refused to think until the skies opened up and the rains fell.    

It wasn’t unusual for rain to sweep the airfield and wash five to five dozen soggy souls into the small, stapled airport. Workers and servicemen, mothers and children were fractured into groups and driven off to their chosen recreational areas-- chaos and skinned knees and runny noses often mingled in the lunch hall; restraint and sopping boots and rustling purses often flocked to the lounge. 

Four weeks ago, only two wandered aimlessly down the long, rangy hallway. 

She heard his voice behind her, stumbling curiosities to an attendant; and turned, turned, turned against every force of nature to drink him in with her eyes. 

“I’m Fox Mulder, I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he was rambling, patting at his coat, rifling through his empty pockets. “Um, I don’t have my badge on me, but…. I need to use your phone so I can call my boss-- my boss, Assistant Director Skinner-- if I could just call him--”

“Mulder.” 

He stopped, a toy unwound with its key removed. Lost, vulnerable; a breath away from flustered, furious. 

His hair was dark, bangs flat. The creases in his forehead were smooth, the hollows under his eyes filled, the ridges of his cheekbones soft and young. He looked for all the world like a boy, innocence barely tainted enough to be searching for a badge in a coat. 

Fox Mulder wore a wedding ring. 

That ring shook Scully from fantasy to reality; and she stared at this man, this stranger, and didn’t run. She didn’t run, but maybe she should have.  

“Do I know you?” he asked, ring sweeping back and forth as Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation ran a hand through his hair. Stepped forward in cheap leather shoes and a mismatching cheap, polyester tie. “Ma’am?” 

“No,” she replied, but it felt like a lie. “But I overheard; and… and you can use my phone. Here.” 

He stared at her, stepped back, wrinkles appearing above his furrowed brows. Took her phone carefully, flipped it open like it might explode. Studied it like a holy relic. Looked back as if she’d given him a miracle. 

“You know where I can get one of these?” 

*-*-*-*-*

They ate lunch together. Something small from the food court, something he could eat one-handed while pressing buttons, opening and scrolling and marveling. She sat across and watched the wonder wash afresh over his face with each discovery, wondered herself what would inspire this abject devotion. 

A new song kicked on, overhead-- something the composer must have thought was heady on paper, in the sound booth; but was cheap and tawdry and overdone, pitchy and nichey, among the living. Fox Mulder slammed his thumb one last time, turned around, and tilted his head from side-to-side until he located the speakers. “Never heard that one before.” 

“Hm, neither have I.” Scully unwrapped her sandwich, delicately nudged the ingredients apart, and handed him a pickle with the tip of her manicure. 

“You don’t like pickles?” he asked, plucking it from her finger, trepidatious. 

“I do,” she realized, set her sandwich down. “My husband, William, used to love pickles. I never got out of the habit of trading for his onions, I suppose.” William’s fingers, cold and slack. William’s voice, damaged. William, changed. 

“My partner, Diana, prefers mustard on everything. Plain, only mustard. She’d take it with her coffee, but the Bureau’s got rules against that.” 

“Your wife?” A funny detail to neglect-- a wife at home-- with a female partner at the FBI. A funny detail she’d neglected, too, until his mouth softened around Diana. 

“Not my wife.” He let the statement rest, clicking a few more buttons until her stare realigned Earth’s gravity, pivoted his eyes back up again. “My partner. She put a ring on it,” Fox Mulder of the Federal Bureau explained, twitching his fourth finger, “but not my wife.” 

“Why not married?” Scully caught a new notification sliding across the screen, looked up in time to catch its reflection in his pupils. 

“We’ve never really found the time.” 

“I and my pickles, you and your ring?”

“No,” he chuffed, “Your husband's pickles and my partner’s ring.” 

“Well,” she conceded, crumpling up a wrapper to bide time. “You still haven’t called your boss. How do I know you’re actually with the Bureau?” 

“You wouldn’t have handed me the phone if you didn’t believe me.”

Perhaps there were moments that made as much sense, as much nonsense, as this, in recent years. Scully couldn’t remember them, couldn’t help wondering when life had started making too much sense. Stopped herself from wondering because she knew; she knew when. “And how do you know that?” 

“I’m a profiler-- ‘t’s what I do.” Fox Mulder stopped his idle investigation, drummed his hand on the table, wiped a stray dot of ketchup off his forefinger, and clenched his jaw. “I don’t even know if he’d answer my call. Can I tell you something?” 

“Tell me what?” She was eating the last of her fries, not quite sure when she’d started, not quite sure how they’d quickly disappeared. Not quite sure where this conversation was going; but suddenly sure, absolutely sure, where it was going. 

“I think I’m from an alternate universe.” He waited, shoulders tense, for her reaction. Waited longer, exasperated, when she paused, mid-chew, to weigh his seriousness. 

As if waking from a dream-- from a nightmare, its funk still putrid in her mouth-- and finding the world brighter and more beautiful for it, Scully blinked, sat back, and whispered, “I thought you were going to suggest time travel."

*-*-*-*-*

Though not out of the realm of possibility, dimensional travel was a topic neither wanted to explore in the din of the food hall. Reclaiming her phone and navigating them down the hall seemed the best option. Picking the cafe or the lounge or the tourist traps to settle did not. 

Fox Mulder spotted the rec room, old-school projector queuing up a movie as they scuffled in and settled in the back. In the darkness, they crackled with anticipation, the energy of like-minded intrigue and challenge flowing between them like an entity, like a conduit of another world, bearing messages and olive branches to fortify communication. 

It was 1991 and Fox Mulder was 30. It was 2004 and Dana Scully was 40. 

“If your theory is correct and we’re locked in an unfortunate crossover, then there would be some sign, universally, that the fabric of known reality was being torn through, or punched through, or, or, burdened, in some way, in order to break the known laws of physics. And there isn’t, as far as we know. I mean, have you noticed anything odd, Mulder, about our reality?” 

“I have, yeah.” He had snagged a bag of peanuts, the mainstay of all liminal spaces, during a brief but necessary cooldown from string theories and Copenhagen Interpretations. “You keep calling me Mulder.”

“What?” Scully moved away, jolted from the security their heated debate had given. Aware of the dangers a dark room with a relative stranger posed; began to seriously question how long they had been exchanging strange and alluring ideas. 

“Not Fox, but Mulder. The only ones who call me Mulder are field agents, or my superiors. But you knew.” He was reaching past her to the empty seat where they’d flung the coats; and she half-thought Mulder was going to grab his things and run, half-afraid she’d grab her things and run after. 

“Knew… what?” 

“That I preferred to be called Mulder. That I was going to propose something as wild as time travel. That I needed help calling my boss,” he added, mouth slipping into an easy grin, tap-tapping at the phone lying by her purse. 

An old, uneasy feeling slid into Scully’s gut, crawled up the back of her spine and clutched at her throat. “You think I’m behind whatever happened to you?” 

Mulder stopped, surprised she’d assumed his assumption of her guilt. Surprised he hadn’t assumed her guilt. “I think you’re connected to it, somehow. I believe the sooner that we--”

And Fox Mulder vanished, snatched away by the inscrutable universe. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 2

You see, we're a happily married couple and let's never forget that. This is my home. You're my husband.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She searched: the rec room, the lounge, the food court, the cafe, the terminal, the front desk, every space in-between. No one answered to his description: tall, hazel-green eyes, flat hair, Fox Mulder-- “a gold ring on his left hand”, she’d remember, then forget again. The day spent, she drove home, bereft of something she couldn’t name, couldn’t place. 

Her mother answered the door, updated her on the home health nurse’s instructions while Scully tucked away her purse, slid off her coat, unbuckled her watch and placed it with the keys. Listened as Captain Scully’s widow promised to drop in tomorrow afternoon.

“William’s asleep, but he finished a sudoku puzzle today. Dana, you should have seen his face-- it lit up with pride.”

“Oh, Mom….”

“I know, dear,” she cried, gripping them both in a long, tight hug. “He said Mom just like he used to. He even asked for his special candy afterwards.”

“He always asks for his Thursday candy.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a good sign. Oh--!” Maggie darted away, disappearing into the kitchen where the faint whistle of a kettle began to shriek. “I made tea to take up with you. Hopefully it’ll help settle his stomach after the medications.” 

“Thanks.” Acquiescing and agreeing were all Scully felt up to, the smell of peanuts on her hands, on her sleeves narrowing her abilities to a singular focus. To the mystery of the vanishing Mulder, and his theory of her connection to his displacement. He was no longer displaced, now; or, rather, she hoped he was back where he came from. 

The house was emptied, dinner eaten and tea drunk, before she was aware time had moved on and left her behind. 

She was at the table, and William’s scratched-up worksheet hung proudly on the fridge. Her mother had written Time: 8 hrs., 8 min., 8 sec. in the top-right corner and -William underneath. A thin, whispery line under -William was drawn from dash to ‘W’ before the writer changed his mind and started afresh, tracing badly over the old one but following it through to completion. (William’s line) was scrawled underneath, with a neat, precise arrow pointing upward to his contribution. 

William no longer finished crosswords, no longer lobbed her questions across the table, across the couch, across the room; no longer asked her, in Trebek accent, “What’s Mount St. Helena?” to make her smile. William no longer drove, no longer left home, no longer left bed. 

Time had left Scully behind again: it was seven thirty, it was eight, it was going to be eight fifteen. She was tired, it was late, her husband was awake by now. It was eight twenty by the time her dishes were done, eight twenty-five when she began to trudge up the steps and realized her heels were still on. 

“William? Are you awake?” 

His door was already open a crack, wooing her with lamplight and weeping violins. Sharing William’s secrets, or the allure secrets, to draw her closer and closer in. Her iPod was playing Bruch’s Fantasía Escocesa Op.48, the third on a playlist he’d requested she or her mother or the nurse cobble together. Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy. 

“Violins are beautiful,” she’d told him one night when he was relearning her. “I can always hear them on the opposite end of the house.” And he’d laughed, the mirth of one relearning himself, and kept asking which were her favorite songs. She’d express a preference once, and he’d forget; and ask her to repeat it countless times. Bruch and Grieg and Mendelssohn had worn thin, then reinvented themselves through necessity-- for both their sakes. 

Her husband driving home from work, dashed on the road, split open, by a drunk. Her husband seizing on the table during major surgery. Her husband surviving, a miracle of God. Her husband becoming gravely ill, losing two years of recovery due to brain lesions. Her husband losing his job, losing his independence, losing himself, completely. 

She’d misspelled Grieg as Grief, once. 

“Yeah,” his voice piped, long a smothered under the coverlet. Sleepy, accomplished.

“Your meds on the desk?” 

William’s second “Yeah” was quieter, drifting off before Scully finished shuffling across the shag carpet. Shaking one of the pill containers softly by the bed lump made it shake, further evidence he’d fallen neatly into a doze; but his hand slowly maneuvered out from the pile of blankets, grabbing at the air until she secured it with her arm. 

“First one,” she dictated, humming affirmatively when he echoed her. “Don’t chew, remember?”

“Not for the night pills.”

“Right. Not for the night pills. Do you want to take them all at once, or with some water?”

A head-shaped lump shook-- no-- and she guessed that meant no water. 

“All right. I saw your sudoku today. You finished it in eight hours?” 

“Yes.” The s stretched out, theatrically. “I still don’t like it.”  

Knowing he couldn’t see, Scully squeezed her eyelids shut until stars behind them faded into darkness. “I know. Do you want to do something else? I can have Mom bring you a different puzzle in the morning.”

“No, I. I want… to like it.” Voice matter of fact, smooth. As smooth as extensive damage would allow. William Smooth, as he called it on his good days. 

“I know, William.” 

“I want to like things, Dana.”  

“You’re still healing.” Slipping onto the bed, she patted him to scoot backward. Cautiously. He’d fallen on his side again. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He played with her arm, rubbed and smoothed the fine hair there. “And I solved kid sudoku today.” 

“It’s still sudoku, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Long s, tired. 

“Do you want me to read tonight?” He hummed, groaned. A broken but healing sound that reminded her of Mulder’s frantic, searching eyes. “Moby Dick? Just skip the…?”

William chuckled. Light, tonight. “Just skip the kissing parts.” 

“All right, all right. But you owe me when it’s your turn to read.” Moby Dick, collector’s edition, hardback, lay face-up on her end table. With practiced ease, she heaved off the bed, around the baseboard, and back again before her husband had a chance to nod off. Pushed his Thursday treat into his hands and settled while he thumbed it absently. “Chapter 16, The…. Oh, my mistake. There’s no title for this chapter.”

“Hm. Melville?”

“Yes, Melville. ‘Not seldom in this life, when, on the right side--’”

Scully read; and the candy dropped to the floor, and William slept. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 3

I imagined being with him in all sorts of glamorous circumstances. It was one of those absurd fantasies, just like one has when one is a girl being wooed and married by the idea of one's dreams. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She saw him, again, at the airport. 

“Dana!” Mulder yelled, bursting from the teeming crowds of collected newcomers. “Dana Scully!” Hurried, harried, haggard, he rushed down the hall where she stood, wallet in hand, by a food stall. 

“Mulder--” He was here, he was here, and what did it mean? 

“What day is it?”

“Mulder, how did you--”

“Dana, what day is it!” He was gripping her arm; she was dropping her wallet. “I need to know.”

Someone was asking if she needed help, someone else was handing her her wallet, and a third person had recognized her, she could see it in his eyes. “It’s nothing, we’re fine, my friend’s just upset, Mulder, let’s go to the--”

“Dana!”  

“It’s Thursday, Mulder! Let’s go--” But where would they go? “Let’s go, Mulder.” 

Tugging his hand, plucking his sleeve, pulling at his arm, Scully caused him to yield. The fight left and he followed, shoulders drooping, to the car where she swiftly undid the locks, threw on the air, and told him to loosen his collar and take deep breaths. He was sweating, and flushed, and stank. 

“How long have you been here?” she asked, handing him a bottle of water always kept in case of emergencies. 

“All morning. All night, I think. I woke up to someone patting my face. Didn’t have my badge, didn’t have cash, didn’t have your phone.” 

She snapped away, glaring thunderously up at him. So used to standing above William that it annoyed her having to look up to a man. “You stole my phone?” 

Mulder’s head rolled from right to left, trying not to blink when a flat, sweaty bang fluttered, caught in his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to, Dana, it was in my hand when I teleported.”

The fight curled and snapped and wanted to bare fangs, but now was not the time to lay blame. Not when they had a crisis on their hands. 

“Where were you before you… ‘teleported’?”

“Home. I think. I came home from work and went to bed. I woke up, here.”

“Was Diana there with you?” 

Mulder scowled-- at her, or in recollection, or over some third thing he hadn’t shared. “No, Diana wasn’t there. She was out of town.”

“Was she there last week?” 

“No.” The scowl deepened, and he drew upright to analyze her evenly. “Do you think she’s involved in some way?” 

“I don’t know, Mulder. I just… want to solve this as much as you do, and we have no place to start except the variables. What changed from last week to this? What changed from last week to the week before? Any, any difference in routine, in, in professional or personal relationships?” 

His face smoothed, conscious diving deep into the unconscious for answers. The shift and the click of his mind, its turning and butting and rerouting, were visible/through the green of his eyes, in the tugs of each zygomaticus muscle. 

“Dana, I never made it home.”

“I thought you said--” 

“No, no, I thought I did, too. I was flying back to D.C. after wrapping a case. And I… I stayed behind, got a late flight, and slept on the plane. I don’t remember waking up.” 

“Were you traveling last week?”

He nodded. 

“On a case?”

“It’s why they put the ‘I’ in FBI’,” Mulder shrugged, lips curling, eyes twinkling when she gave him a pity smile. 

“Did you fall asleep at the airport?”

The gears, turning. Without another word, he leaped from the car, blinking against the sunlight. 

“Mulder, where are you going--”

“The airport, Dana. I was here, at this airport, last week.”

Evil can lurk behind the heart of any man, she knew. But it was hard to imagine 1991 rural West Virginia in such turmoil that it had to personally call in an FBI profiler. “Really.” 

“Yes. And yesterday, the plane would have had to fly over this airport to land in D.C.” 

“So, I’m not the problem,” Scully whispered, watched his inconsistent double growing and shrinking on the hood of her car. “I didn’t cause this.” 

Mulder was quiet, too quiet. He was waiting for an explanation, his arms bending, melting over each other in the car wax. 

“Last week, you said I was connected to… this.” 

“I thought you were, Dana. And I was wrong.” 

A wail from the mercurial wind promised rain; and they both looked up to see distant clouds gathering, blackening. She dipped down, grabbed her spare umbrella, and closed, locked the car. He shut his door, too. 

“Lunch,” she decided. “Bring your wallet next time. You owe me two meals and a phone.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder was expertly juggling two green salads dripping in bacon grease, two wraps coated in garlic sauce, and two supersized, overpriced waters when he drifted back to her side, looking from her to the display and back again. “This where I found you?”

“This is where you made a scene, yes.” Rich vanillas and caramels, salty toffees and shortbread, woody almonds and pecans, butters, creams, and chocolates blended, broke apart, came together in an unmistakably luxurious scent. One that deceptively passed itself off as simply coffee, simply butter, simply vanilla, all while evolving into unimaginable decadence. Simply delicious. A matter of survival. 

The server looked up and grinned-- a regular. “What’ll it be for William today, Ms. Scully?”  

“Two Billy Butters, please.” 

“They make fresh candy here?” Mulder asked, chest swelling as he took methodical, insatiable gulps of air. 

“Yes,” laughed the server, punctuating her statement with a smack, catching the register with ease as its door sprung open, “every day a new batch.”

“You must be talented bakers.” 

The server laughed again; and Scully smothered a chuckle, knowing what was coming. “No, no one’s a baker here! We simply make up the treats.” 

“They serve family recipes,” she explained, “passed down to the owner.” 

“Yes-- and very good ones, too. Anika learned them from her grandmother; and she follows the instructions, and we follow her instructions. And every Thursday,” the server chattered, pleased to have a captive audience, “we put secret messages inside William’s wrapper for him to read.” 

“He’s always pleased to read his messages. Thank you.” Fishing out her change, Scully handed a five and declined the receipt, tucking a candy into her purse and handing the other to Mulder. “For you.” 

“Sweets for the sweet?” he returned, palming his reward with unexpected tenderness. 

“Alms for the poor. Let’s go find a place to sit.”  

*-*-*-*-*

It happened while she was trying to tell him a story. 

Melissa was perpetually slipping in the creek because Scully couldn’t get past that part without giggling. Mulder was chuckling, too, trying to help her rework a sentence or start the story someplace new-- in vain. 

“You look so young,” he said; and the world stopped, it melted, it was consumed by the burning flesh of the sun. Cold, beautiful, fearfully made wonders bloomed from the stars, stretched their wings into nebulas, formed their magic into galaxies. 

“How?” she trembled, fearing, believing. 

“Your eyes.” His voice was impossibly soft, his gaze immovably fixed. “They contain… everything, Dana.” 

Languages of the ancient dead thrummed and rang and sung inside his eyes. Immutable strengths that fell greater men and plunged down, down into the deep. Love, she knew, that was more precious because it could not be taken, only given. That would not let her go until she turned away. 

“Scully. Call me Scully, please.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 4

It's awfully easy to lie when you know that you're trusted implicitly. So very easy, and so very degrading. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

I no longer love him. 

The rain keeps falling, she mused, afraid to move from the door. Scully didn’t know what she meant to think; only that she did, and that was what she thought. 

“I’ll be here next Thursday,” Mulder had warned, grin splitting his face when she gave up the act and smiled, too. “I’m buying.” And that had seemed too wonderful for words, too tender, too glorious. 

That’s why she thought of the rain: the night had shuttered in and the heavens had opened, dashing down their young ones against her windshield, trapping the moon in their little bodies splattered on the car wax. It was too wonderful, it was too glorious, warned Icarus’s wings. It had to end before it started. Before it continued. Before it came to a filthy, fleshy conclusion.  

The rain had flooded in as her mother left, dripping, dripping from her hair, dripping, dripping from her clothes, dripping, dripping from the walls and ceiling and onto the floor. Spreading inescapable mirrors Scully must tread through to ascend the stairs. 

The server will recognize him. We’ll have to stay in the car, with the sun visor up. But my car will be seen, and the visor will add to suspicion. Someone I know will be there, and will spot us.

And it would break William, irreparably. 

He was sitting up in bed, head bent towards a sudoku booklet in his lap, shocks of silver hair sprouting from sutures sewn lengthwise across his skull. Her irrepressible, unbeatable, unsinkable Molly Brown sinking into a man she didn’t recognize-- one without likes, dislikes, preferences. One who clung to the booklets handed to him because they were handed, to her books and her music because she volunteered them. Who shied away from stories before the accident, before the illness, before the lesions and the loss of that last bit of himself. He loved her. He needed her. 

She had believed she loved him, too. 

William shuffled to the next song, and the next before she could face him. 

“'She walks in beauty,'” he quoted, painstakingly looping a circle before looking up to her. 

“'In the night',” she finished, settling on the bed, under the quilt before unfolding her palm. “For you.” 

“Ah, a Thursday surprise.” William carefully closed his fingers, one by one, around the gift before slowly lowering his arm to the bed. One by one his fingers pawed at the wrapping, one by one they peeled back this, then that corner. “Did Anika make this looser just for me?” 

“Hm, no. I think your fingers are getting stronger.” 

“That’s good. One of these days I’ll be able to hold your hand properly.” 

There existed a violent and fierce love in her soul for the wounded fighters with odds stacked against them. She knew it. She needed it, craved it. “Give me your hand. We can try now.” 

He became still, muted in the face of challenge. “I… think we should wait until I’m stronger. I don’t want….”

“William,” she pleaded, dabbing at the tips of his fingers, closing them in her doctor’s hands. “I’d never hurt you.” Please, she thought as his exhale shuddered and creaked. 

Slowly, slowly, he nodded. Slowly, slowly, she slid her palm over his, slowly, slowly pressed on it until the candy wedged between them. 

“Try,” he whispered; and she clasped his fingers and tugged them towards her own. 

Scully waited for the Eighth Wonder of the World. She waited for resurgence: for the disintegrated terra firma to reconstruct its borders, for the galaxy to be shrunk, infinitesimal, and swallowed by the immeasurable pull of a black hole. But there was only waiting, then wincing, then a noiseless yield in William’s stifled groan. Her hand sprang back, wrapper sticking to her hand like flypaper. 

“William--” 

“I’m fine, Dana, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine, William--”

“You’re not, either.” 

The wind machine whirred and the iPod played Mendelssohn and neither moved. Could move. 

Working her throat past the taste of hot iron, Scully dipped her chin and focused on breathing. “Do you still want to hear what Anika says?” 

Yes, he nodded. “Yes.”

She peeled the wrapper off, held it between both her index and middle fingers, worked her thumbs under the smudged, smeared, illegible script. Sighed, aimed for a believable lie. “She sends her love.” 

He nodded yes, no, or perhaps nothing intelligible. “Will you help me lie down? I, I can’t….” 

“Yes, William. Always.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 5

As it is, you're the only one in the world that I can never tell. Never, never. Because even if I waited until we were old, old people and told you then, you'd be bound to look back over the years and be hurt. And my dear, I don't want you to be hurt. 

-Brief Encounter 

*-*-*-*-*

She didn’t go Thursday. 

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t, not after the week William had. Not after she’d watched him meekly tailor his preferences to hers, watched him choke down a tasteless bran muffin not because it was tasteless but because he was proving himself. Not after he’d clung to her hand like a failure and tried to solve a sudoku a day for the nurse to hang on the fridge-- proof that he was better. 

Scully couldn’t stay home, either. 

She told her husband, “I can’t swing by the airport today”, and drove as fast and as far as possible before coming back to herself. 

The breeze sighed into her window, unfamiliar with its scent of golden sunshine and golfer grass and white flowers and old metal; twisted somewhere concretely in her chest. It was the type of breeze, the type of day, that siphoned wishes from the ether, transmogrified them into reality.

She couldn’t be here, either. 

*-*-*-*-*

Scully drove into the hospital, let the car idle in the parking lot, and listened. Wondered if it was fate that the sky remained cloudless. Wished Mulder would materialize from the oppressive heat like an Arthurian legend, a mirage that promised unconquerable hope. Hoped he wasn’t wandering lonely and hungry, distraught she hadn’t shown. Wondered if he did bring his wallet, wondered if she was missing out on a king’s feast. 

It hadn’t rained today; and she wondered if that was a sign. 

*-*-*-*-*

“Dana!”

Scrubbed, prepped, and reading through the schedule, Scully knew, knew it wasn’t Mulder; but her hands wouldn’t pry away from the clipboard no matter how she willed them. By the time she’d straightened and released a breath, a fellow doctor flanked her, throwing intrusive questions and curious glances behind a cup of coffee and two, three, four scratches on a sheet of desk paper. 

“Dana, I thought you took off today--” It was Dolly: innocent curiosity in one hand, rumors and unending speculation in the other. A far cry from Mulder; an inescapable force of her own. “Was there an emergency autopsy? I didn’t hear about one, mind; but then again, I’m hardly ever up to date on morgue affairs--” 

Scully grit and bore it, chastised herself for not anticipating gossip. Smiled at a passing student as she mused on the inescapability of Thursdays-- how they attracted run-ins and questions and mysteries she wanted to avoid after William’s escalating traumas. One transfer hadn’t escaped them; a second was not only impractical, but cowardly. She’d resigned herself to fate and chose her battles.

Then Mulder appeared. 

“It’s not William, is it?” Jerked back to reality, Scully stared, eyebrow up and eyes slit and sharp while her interlocutor rambled on. “He was doing so well this past month, y’know. Maybe he just wanted some alone time with your mom--”

Scully cut in, sharp and demanding. “How did you know my mother stays with William on Thursdays?” 

"Now, now, Dana, don’t get your back up. You told me before, remember?” Had she? “You poor lamb, it’s all the stress you’re going through with… your situation. And understandably--”

“Excuse me,” Scully mumbled, speeding away from the desk, mentally lost to time slots and autopsy assistants and trying, trying, trying to remember if she’d mentioned that fact before. No, I haven’t. She must have learned it from Mary or…. She paused, feeling an immense rush to sit down; and resisted the impulse. I didn’t tell her. I know that much. 

Thursdays were Thursdays, Mary would be spoken to, and everything, she reassured herself, was fine. 

*-*-*-*-*

William was pretending to be asleep when she came home. Her mother, puzzled, greeted her at the door, ushered her in with a worried, “He said he was tired.”

“Did he have any headaches, Mom?”

“No.”

“Lethargy? Speech irregularity? Did he skip meals?” 

“He missed supper, but… do you think anything’s wrong, Dana? He kept asking when you’d come home.”

“Mom--.” Scully did not want to have a conversation-- not now, and definitely not with her mother. “I’ll go check on him, okay? He’s probably catching up on some sleep he missed.” 

Unappeased, unabashed, Maggie Scully grabbed her daughter’s elbow before the latter could retreat. “Dana,” she warned, and Scully stalled, head down and mouth flat. “Is there something wrong I should know about?”

‘Something wrong.’ How wrong and right that word is. “No, there isn’t. I’m going to try to coax him to eat, all right? I love you.” And she hurried into the kitchen, hurried past the bare fridge-- No sudoku, today-- hurried back with his cold supper, hurried away from her mother’s parting, “Careful, sweetheart!”, and hurried up the stairs and down the hallway. Wished that she were hurrying farther and farther and farther into an abyss to think.  

William was pretending to sleep, but at least he had the decency not to snore. 

Releasing a breath, Scully laid the tray down on his end table and navigated the thin strip between his bed and the wall until she came to the master bathroom. A long, relaxing bath; a short, cleansing shower; and a detailed skincare ritual ate up close to an hour of her time, pushed her nearer to the crucial nine o’clock when she could climb into bed and end Thursday. 

The house was groaning with age-- young in comparison to other houses, young like the houses her family would inhabit at each Naval station. It was a comfort to her to own something so closely linked with carefree times, to offset a recovering spouse and longer, demanding hours with the sense of ‘settling in.’ But there were no haunted voices to fill up the attics, or the basement, or the corners where William’s wind machine whirred, and Mendelssohn was whippled on repeat. 

“Dana?” Her husband called, scratchy and retiring. Old before his years. 

“Yes?” She sat on the toilet and clasped her hands before her face. Waited, listening. 

“Did you bring home… something?” 

It was Thursday; and he’d forgotten what she’d said in parting. 

Scully straightened the bathroom, swept out in a cloud of warm vapor, settled on the edge of his bed and touched his fingers, his elbow, his shoulder while he worked it out. 

William waited, waited, waited; then couldn’t meet her eyes. “I forgot again, didn’t I?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” 

He stiffened under her touch, tried to pass off a lean-away by readjusting his posture. She didn’t chase him. “I’m sorry,” he echoed; and pretended to sleep. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 6

This can't last. This misery can't last. I must remember that and try to control myself. Nothing lasts really. Neither happiness nor despair. Not even life lasts very long. There'll come a time in the future when I shan't mind about this anymore, when I can look back and say quite peacefully and cheerfully how silly I was. No, no, I don't want that time to come ever. I want to remember every minute, always, always to the end of my days.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She was late. 

She was late, she was late, and she wished she could be later. One glance between them and he knew. It was over. 

Mulder remained fixed, a statue with dark stubble and dark eyes, deaf and dumb to the irregularity of the busy crowds swirling around him. So, Scully went to him, reaching out to grab his hand in a way she hadn’t in many, many years. It was sure, and it was true: Mulder’s hand from another life, another world. 

“I haven’t been honest with you,” she admitted, swiping her tongue across her lip in shame. “You know I’m married to a man named William.” 

He nodded, tender. Serious. “His full name is Fox William Mulder-- isn’t it, Scully?” 

She missed that beautiful, beautiful mind. Knew her Mulder missed it, too. “You knew.” 

His eyes were the same microcosm of green, growing things, his voice the same fathomless deep. His heart the same tinderbox that set fire to the world. “I haven’t been honest with you, either.” 

Of course he has secrets, this unfathomable man. 

“Diana and I aren’t partners.” His hand slipped through his bangs, his hair, ring thudding against his head as a reminder, as penance. “She transferred to Europe a couple months ago.” The hazel in his eyes was gone; and they were brown, lonesome and dark. “I’m joining her in the spring.” 

“Mul-- No.” Diana Fowley, perched sympathetically next to a victim, cataloging wounds and weaknesses. Compiling names for the abduction census. Mulder by her side, bangs and ring and penance. “Not with her. Not like this.” 

“I was recruited, Scully. They know where she is, my sister. I’ve told you about Samantha?” 

“Yes.”

“They told me they knew where she was. That they’d take me to her.” 

He could not sacrifice the altar of his mind for so little, could not lose it there as he had here. “Mulder, she’s dead. They took her, and they kept her prisoner, and they experimented on her. She died in California six years after she was taken.” 

“That’s what they said, too.” And his eyes were green, sick. Resolute. The stars behind her lids were falling, falling, falling.

“You can’t go to Europe, you can’t give in, Mulder. These men have no conscience-- the evil they do to save their own skin is beyond words. But we don’t become like them. We fight, Mulder. We fight, and we survive, and we win.” 

“We don’t, Scully.” 

She paused, and a tremor of premonition passed through her. Cold, foreboding. Her tongue couldn’t form the word cancer while the world spun and Mulder looked at her with strange, dead eyes. 

“Dana Katherine Waterstone died in a car accident one Saturday afternoon with her husband and his daughter. The driver, Maggie Waterstone, took a wild turn into traffic. She wasn’t road-ready but had insisted on driving. Dr. Waterstone and she survived most of the impact. Scully… did not.” 

There must be another explanation. “She, she might have been a different Dana Katherine. Maybe your universe’s way of playing a cruel joke.”

“I had some friends look up the obituary. Read the memorial. Visited her grave.” Mulder’s shoulders dropped, his neck drooped, his young face looked impossibly old. “I had a busy week.” 

Her fingers launched forward, clung to his cold arm like ivy. “Don’t do this.” 

“I have to, Scully.” His resolve: unmatched, unchanged. Still the same man who ran after her to the ends of the earth. Who questioned her, challenged her. Who laughed with her in the rain. There would be no Bellefleur graveyard in his universe.  

“Mulder, I love you.” 

Mulder looked up from the impossibly polished floor, a secret smile tugging at his mouth. In another universe, it seemed to say, I would have said, ‘I know.’ “You have William.” 

“He’s not--,” and she clung tighter-- couldn’t, wouldn’t, knew she had to let go, “--you.” Tried to swallow the tightness in her throat, tried to blink back ineffectual tears. Icarus had warned her. 

“But he’s stable.” Yes. “Dependable.” Yes. “Won’t blink in and out of your universe at inopportune times.” Yes. 

There was one last terrible look-- she peered up, fixed her gaze, and opened the gates of her soul. He’s not you. Mulder looked, and looked; was touched to the quick, and opened his mouth in reply.

And Fox Mulder vanished for the last time.  

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Chapter 7 

I had no thoughts at all, only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything ever again.

-Brief Encounter 

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Four weeks after it began, it ended. 

She was home early-- very early, because there was nowhere else to go. 

Scully made record time leaving the outskirts of society, passing, unawares, by the woods, the fields, and the roads until the house’s pinched and preening veneer rose from the earth like a tomb. She shooed her mother away with a simple, “I need to talk to William”; then sat in the kitchen, sat in the living room away from his pinned paper on the refrigerator; fell into the gloom of late afternoon, and dozed. 

She was wakened by an animal cry of pain, deep and wrenching screams echoing through the house. Scully shot off the couch, shot out of the room, shot up the stairs, shot through the hallway, shot to his room, chanting, “I’m coming, William, I’m coming!” He continued to scream, continued to thrash when she burst through his door, wouldn’t hear her, “William, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” above the terror that gripped him, that turned his face red and sent sweat dripping across his quaking body. 

“William!” She yelled, finally desperate, giving his shoulders a shake until he burst from dreamworld and glanced wildly about him, locking onto her with his one good arm as unto salvation, gripping her to him as he howled, tearless, voiceless, into her hair. She heard “-ully, -ully, -ully” tumbled clumsily in his mouth. 

“Mulder--”

“William,” he whimpered, clumsy and reproachful and terrified. “William.” 

“William, William, it’s me, it’s Scully, shhh--” 

“Dana.” 

“It’s Dana, William. It’s all right, I’m here, shhh, I’m here.” 

His poor broken body would spasm if he continued this abuse. As gently as she could, Scully rolled over him and tucked herself into the dilapidated quilt, ignoring the tear her husband’s foot had rent near the bottom, ignoring the burst of humid, sweaty air that billowed from the coverlet. Pulled him closer, let him pull her closer. “William, it’s me, it’s me.” 

“Thank you,” he murmured, clutching at her with his good hand, pawing at her with his other. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“For what, William?” Waited for his words, wondered if his breath would have slowed or his heart would have stopped or his brain would have burst if he’d kept on howling, trapped and alone and afraid.

“Thank you for coming back to me.” 

His eyes were fathoms and fathoms deep, hurt and broken and humbled. And they watched the storm break, and Dana Katherine Scully crumble.  

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Acknowledgments

All my thanks to Anika, whose support embraced and encouraged me in the fandom. Happy Birthday, and many more years to come~! :DDDDDDDDD

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I shall be uploading the chapters to Ao3 here.

Tagging @today-in-fic.