#Scully in his dress shirt is just so hot

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: Scully likes to be called “good girl”

She’s over fifty now. Chipped, scarred, hollowed, violated. She’s been to too many funerals, too few weddings. She sits on the low wall of the porch drinking red wine from a stemless glass.

Scully’s wearing a skirt suit because she had a meeting at work and she still feels toughest, most competent, in a suit. She takes another swig of wine and lets her heels clatter to the porch.

“I think I’m going to retire,” she says, refilling her glass.

“You keep drinking like that and they’ll fire you,” Mulder says, uncorking another bottle just in case.

Scully waves a hand. “Fuck Ybarra,” she says, a little slurred.

Mulder gets up then, in his beat up cargo pants and his frayed Patagonia shirt. He moves between her knees, which she likes, because she’s polished and crisp and he’s got his stubble against her cheek.

“Shocking language, Dr. Scully,” he says into her moussed hair, her diamond solitaires. He curls his fingers at the base of her skull, thumbs her jaw.

“I really like the glasses,” she says, nipping at his earlobe. “You would have had a great time in academia if for no other reason than the number of women who would have hurled themselves at you.”

“I do all right,” he says. Mulder bunches her skirt up and discovers she’s wearing thigh highs instead of stockings.

“Well, well, well,” he says.

Scully smirks.

“A/C is blown in the conference room, which is one of the reasons I’m going to retire,” she says.

He pushes her panties aside, presses a finger against her labia. “Ybarra finds out this is what you wear to his uptight little meetings and he might rethink that vow of chastity.”

“I’m a rebel now, Mulder.” She shifts her hips to give him better access, sighing when he tongues her clavicle.

“Not you,” he mumbles into her jugular notch. “You’re still a good girl.”

It trips something in her when he calls her that, always has even though they’ve never talked about it. Never formally acknowledged it any more than the other things they never formally acknowledged. Still not married, her mother reminds her.

Scully gets wetter when he says it, feels his fingers push into her. Her heels press into his thighs as she rocks against his hand.

“So good,” he purrs into her neck, his forearm tight against her still-clothed belly.

She pushes her cheek right to his, her knees drawing up against his ribs. The elastic of her panties cuts into her thighs and she wants them off but the pain is good too.

She whimpers against his temple.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, his sandalwood voice against her mouth now, his fingers playing all her favorite notes.

“Mulder,” she gasps, not ready to be finished because she’s missed him and this is still too infrequent and she’s still fully dressed and there are fireflies rising in the meadow. Her wine glass falls next to her shoes.

But he knows her so well, knows what he’s doing, just says “Shhhh,” to her weak protests. “Be a good girl, Scully.”

She melts around him then, groaning, the elastic-lace tops of the thigh-highs slipping down as she squeezes his wrist between her thighs. Her skin is hot, sticky. Trembling.

“Christ,” she hisses, head bumping his chest.

Mulder pulls his fingers from between them, licks them.

She kisses him, tasting herself; it’s been ages since she was shy about anything.

“So what will you do when you retire?”

“Mmm. Maybe this. All day.” She kisses him again, his saltwater tongue.

Mulder runs his hands up her legs, smooths her thigh highs back into place. “Well, I’ll be breaking the air conditioning,” he says.

She runs her knuckles along his rough cheek. “Bad boy,” she murmurs, biting at his mouth.

[atths--twice]

Think Again

While on a case, Mulder makes an after work suggestion to Scully.

July, 2017

Las Vegas in the summer was no joke.

The heat made it feel like you could actually spontaneously combust, as Scully had sarcastically said to Mulder one day.

She pulled her hair up and held it on top of her head as she walked up the stairs to her motel room door, the heat feeling as though it could nearly split the backs of her legs open.

“God,” she said, sliding the card key in the slot and pushing the door open. The room was only slightly cooler than the temperature outside and the air felt thick.

Closing and locking the door, she lifted the door to the air conditioner controls and turned it to the coldest setting. It shuddered on and began to blow out cold air, much to her relief.

She took off her blazer, tossing it on the bed. Unbuttoning her shirt, that too joined the bed. Standing in front of the air conditioner in her bra and skirt, she let out a deep breath as the cool air hit her sweaty skin. Holding her hair up again, she turned around and moaned as she began to cool down.

“God, it is so hot,” she murmured, moving her neck from side to side. “I hate it.”

When she felt somewhat cooler, she walked away from the air conditioner, stripping off the rest of her clothes on the way to the bathroom and leaving them where they landed.

Taking a tepid shower, she washed her hair and body twice, getting rid of the sweat from the day. Drying off, she put on her robe and walked into the bedroom.

“Oooohhhh,” she exhaled with a smile, the room now cool and refreshing.

She checked her phone, but saw no calls or messages from Mulder. He had gone to speak to witnesses and family members of their victim, while she had been at the coroner’s office. Not having heard from him, she had left the office and driven to the motel.

Sitting in traffic on the Vegas strip, had left her irritable. Needing to park at the far end of the motel’s lot and thus walking to the room through the heat, had only added to her irritability.

Now, clean and cooler, she felt better and wondered what he was up to and when he would be back.

Her stomach growled and she realized she had not eaten since breakfast and it was now going on six. Deciding to get dressed and then call Mulder to see where he was and what he wanted to do for dinner, she took out her clothes and laid them on the bed, exchanging them for her blazer and dirty shirt.

Not wanting to stand under a hot hair dryer, she brushed her hair a few minutes later and left it to air dry. Putting on minimal makeup, she was replacing the cap on her mascara when she heard a knock on the door. Smiling, she put the mascara down and walked to the door.

Checking to be sure it was him, she then opened the door and took in his flushed face.

“It is so fucking hot,” he said, stepping inside and moaning as he took off his jacket. “Oh… it is so much better in here.”

“Hello,” she said, closing and locking the door.

“Hi,” he said, untying his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. “The fact that I got this sweaty just walking from the car is insane. How is it so hot here?”

“It’s a desert. Did you not learn about geographical locations when you were in school?”

“Shut up,” he said, walking toward the air conditioner and sighing as the air hit him.

“Did you leave the air on in your room?” she asked and he groaned.

“I… think so?”

“Give me your key. I’ll go turn it on for you.”

“May the Lord bless you,” he said, handing her his key and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, fanning it open and closed.

“You don’t believe in the Lord,” she said, snorting out a laugh.

“I can respect the blessing,” he said, making the sign of the cross, completely out of order.

“Shut up,” she parroted back at him, rolling her eyes as she unlocked and opened the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, closing his eyes with a low hum as he turned around.

She shook her head as she stepped out and closed the door, cursing the heat that hit her in full force.

“Jesus Christ,” she grumbled, walking to his room next door.

Opening the door, she turned her head as the warm, stuffy air washed over her. Quickly turning his air conditioner to the lowest temperature and the highest fan setting, she closed the door and walked back to her room.

Two sharp raps and the door opened a crack.

“Yeeeeessssss,” Mulder said in a deep Lurch voice.

“Open the door.”

“Password?”

“Get the fuck outta the way,” she said, laughing as she pushed against the door.

“Correct,” he said, opening it wider.

“Oh, it’s so much better in here,” she said, agreeing with his previous statement as she closed the door, sighing happily and handing him his key. “I don’t know how people are walking around the strip in this heat. I thought I might spontaneously combust earlier when I was walking up the stairs.”

“Scully,” he said, looking at her with a pleased smile. His dress shirt was now off and he was wearing only his undershirt and pants.

“Does that make you happy? That I was on the verge of combustion?”

“No, not that. Just that you believe it could happen… that’s enough for me.”

“You’re weird.”

“Eh, you already knew that.” He shrugged and she smiled with a nod.

Yes, she did know that.

“Anything to report about the day?”

“I’m hungry. Other than that… not much.”

“Same,” he said with a nod. “To both.”

“We should get dinner.”

“I was thinking the same on my way back here. And then after, maybe we could see a show.”

“A show?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah. I stopped to get gas and I saw this inside the station. I thought maybe you’d like to go?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pamphlet, and handed it to her with a grin.

She took it and then looked up at him.

“The Thunder From Down Under?”

“Crickey,” he said, in an Australian accent.

“You…” she said, looking down at the pamphlet again and taking in the chiseled and oiled chests of the half naked men. “You want to go to this show?”

“If you do? Sure.”

“Have I…” She opened the pamphlet and looked at more pictures, her eyes widening as she shook her head slightly. “… ever expressed an interest in this type of show?”

“Not that I can recollect, but you know what they say: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” He grinned at her and she bit back a smile. She closed the pamphlet and then hit it into his chest.

“No, we’re not doing that,” she said. “Or at least, I’m not. If that’s something you want to do…”

“Oh, this was a sacrifice I was willing to make for you,” he said, looking down at the pamphlet. “I mean… I can’t deny they are good looking men, but not exactly my scene.”

“Your sacrifice is noted,” she said.

“The only problem now… what am I supposed to do with the large amount of ones I stopped and got at the bank?” he said quietly, running a finger over his lips as he stared at the pamphlet.

She kept her eyes on him, waiting for him to raise his eyes to hers. Holding his gaze until he was no longer able to keep the smile from his face, she rolled her eyes and smiled.

“So weird,” she whispered as he chuckled softly, crumbling the pamphlet in his hands and then tossing it into the trash. He winked and she shook her head. “Go shower and we can get something to eat.”

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his jacket, shirt, and tie. “My room is probably cooled off by now. Or at least somewhat cooler.”

“Probably,” she said, crossing her arms.

“You sure the answer is no?” he asked, glancing at the crumbled pamphlet in the trash can.

“Unless you really wanna go,” she said, raising her eyebrows as she stared at him.

“Hmm… I’m good.”

“Good. Go shower. I’m still hungry.”

He grinned as he opened the door, nodded at her as he stepped through it, and then groaned as the heat hit him and he closed the door. She shook her head as she smirked and let out a deep breath.

Picking up her clothes that still lay on the floor, she placed them in a small pile on the bottom of her closet. Straightening up the small table with her files and case notes, she laughed softly, thinking about the half dressed men on the pamphlet.

“Crikey,” she said, shaking her head and laughing again, imagining Mulder walking into that show, his pockets full of dollar bills, the music pulsing around them.

Maybe she should give that pamphlet another look…

[slippinmickeys]

Madam Scully’s Spiritual Services, Inc. (5/?)

He still wasn’t certain why he’d walked into the fortune teller’s shop. He was sure however, about why he’d stayed long enough for a reading.

It had been a blisteringly hot day at Quantico, one in which they were running outside, and one of the few nights the cadets had off, allowed to leave the Marine Base where they were housed and trained. Everyone had been close to heat stroke when they finished their five miles, Mulder included, but to him, a night out drinking with his classmates held little appeal. His plan, such as it had been, was to grab something to eat and study for the upcoming Legal II exam — a test even seasoned attorneys sometimes failed — but every restaurant he passed looked less appealing than the one before it. Until he saw the sign for El Compadre. A few tacos and a cold coke were just the thing.

But when he got out of his old Land Rover to head into the taqueria, he’d glanced into the window of the fortune teller’s shop next door and had seen the woman sitting behind the counter, her head bent low as though she were reading. Even through the grimy window, her hair shone like polished copper, and her skin was dewy with sweat. He was intrigued by her rather than struck dumb and had paused outside, reading the smattering of signs in the window. “Heal your past, learn your future” said one. “Walk-ins welcome,” said another. Well, he was a walk-in. And he did just that.

The inside was fusty and warm, an oscillating fan in the corner moving around a thick, stolid breeze. The decor inside was all kitsch, its shelves filled with new age crap; crystals and geodes, and lots of purple and black velvet. And when the woman looked up? The ice cave blue of her eyes fixing on him, well…

She led him through the door now, the night not nearly as uncomfortably hot as it had been the first time, and they were met by a taller, willowy woman who Mulder assumed was the “real” Madam Scully. She was a couple of years older than Dana, her hair a darker auburn. She wore bangles on her wrists, and a flowy, flower print dress over a white capped-sleeve tee shirt.

Dana inclined her head. “My sister,” she said.

The woman gave him a frank, penetrating look.

“Madam Scully, I presume?” Mulder said, holding out a hand.

“Melissa,” she said, putting a limp four fingers in his grasp, which he shook clumsily.

“This is Fox Mulder,” said Scully, looking between them a little awkwardly.

“Ah,” Melissa said. “So you’re the guy who brought the spirits into my shop and then left without paying.”

Mulder gave her a chagrined look. “I have rectified the latter,” he said. “But hoping you could help me with the former.”

Melissa stared hard at her sister before turning back to him.

“No,” she said firmly.

He and Scully both said “What?” at the same time.

Melissa sighed. “I’m happy to act as an advisor,” she said. “To both of you. But this spirit didn’t come to me. She came to you.” She turned to Scully. “And you . I am not a part of this triad.”

“But-“ Scully started, but Melissa held up a hand, and turned back to Mulder.

“Someone wants to communicate with you. You need to decide if you’re ready and willing to hear what they have to say. You may not like it.”

“And you,” she said, turning back to her sister and letting what Mulder assumed to be frustration leach into her voice. “You can’t dabble in this world while looking down your nose at it. You may not believe in these spirits, Dana, but one of them certainly believes in you.”

Scully paled and Melissa’s tone took on a more sympathetic bent. “We’ve been through so much.” She reached forward and put a delicate hand on Scully’s cheek. “You tried to pass through this door when Mom and Dad died, and now it’s standing wide open. Are you able to walk through it now?”

Melissa looked steadily at both of them and then turned and walked into the back of the shop, leaving them standing awkwardly in the small lobby. Scully looked shaken, stiff, and Mulder wanted to reach out to touch her, but didn’t dare.

He was about to open his mouth to say something but Scully’s quiet voice came first.

“She’s right,” she said, finally looking up at him. “I did try to talk to them. Our parents. I wanted to know if they… I wanted to know what happened to them. I wanted justice.”

He nodded at her.

“All I got was silence.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the shop.

He gave her a moment and then followed. She had walked back out to the picnic table, and was sitting at it, looking small and dejected.

Mulder gingerly slid in next to her.

“That must have been hard,” he said. He could picture her in the little back room, desperate to reconnect just one more time. He was certainly familiar with the impulse. It was why he was here in the first place.

“It was,” she said. “But I know you’ve been through something similar.” She leaned her shoulder into his. “When you think about it,” she went on. “We both just want answers.”

Mulder nodded, sighed. “Yeah,” he said, the wheels in his head turning.

He turned to her after a moment.

“I don’t know what to make of all this,” he said. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen. But what if…”

When he trailed off, she looked up. Her eyes were watery, but wide and bright. It took him a moment to remember what he was going to say.

“I’ve been assigned to work in VICAP,” he said. “When I graduate in a couple of weeks. That’s the violent crimes unit at the Bureau. And I was thinking… Maybe we could get answers for each other.”

“How?” She wanted to know.

A frog in the knot of trees across the street began to make its nighttime noises. He took in her profile; her delicate chin, her Roman nose, and inhaled deeply, the smell of hot tar and cumin thick in the air.

“If you’re willing to help me talk to my sister…” She gave him a dubious look, but didn’t stop him. “I’m willing to bet I can get my hands on the casefile from your parents' deaths. Maybe there’s something in there the police missed.”

Her eyebrows rose slowly.

“So you want to make a deal, is that it?”

For a brief moment he was thinking yes, if that means I can see you again. But instead, he said:

“A mutually beneficial arrangement.” He smiled at her. “I have the resources and expertise to help you, and… Well, you have the same for me.”

“So it’s a business arrangement?” she asked. Did he detect a hint of disappointment in her voice?

“If you like,” he said.

She thought about it for a moment, licked her lips, then stuck out her hand for a handshake.

“Okay,” she said. Her grip was strong, firm, the opposite of her sister’s. “You have a deal, Mulder.”

[mulderwearingglasses]

Stupid Cupid

Summary: When a work emergency prompts the FBI to call in their best and brightest on Valentine's Day evening, Mulder shows up in a tuxedo, prompting Scully to wonder what kind of hot date he had just abandoned.

Scully must quiet the jealous storm brewing within as the two work together to search for a little boy. Scully soon finds all is not as it seems, and maybe this won't be the worst Valentine's Day, after all.

Word Count: 5,325 // Read on AO3

The shrill ring of a phone snapped Scully out of a dream she wished she could continue -- one that she’d been having more often lately involving a certain coworker and the olfactory overwhelm that happened whenever she got near him and inhaled the leather-y, salty, aftershave-y musk that was Fox Mulder.

Groggily fumbling the phone to her ear, she answered with a sleep-thick “Hello?” and grew increasingly alert as she heard an addled Skinner on the other line telling her about a kidnapping of a senator’s kid, how this was of utmost importance, top priority, how the bureau needed their top people on this and how he needed her to get down there ASAP.

It was clear he was surrounded by bustling agents peppering him with questions -- God, was it only 9:30 p.m. on a Friday? It felt so much later, but, then again, it didn’t really matter -- so she just responded in the affirmative and told her boss she’d be right there.

“Agent Scully, have you had anything to drink?” he asked.

“Uh...no, sir,” Scully said, eyes shifting to a half-full glass of chamomile tea on her coffee table. She assumed that was not the kind of beverage her boss was referring to.

“OK, great,” he said. “Please, hurry.”

He said to come as she was -- that everyone had. That time was of the essence.

When the line went dead, she stumbled into the bedroom so she could at least throw on a clean sweatshirt over her favorite New York Knicks t-shirt, which no longer smelled like its original owner but felt symbolic in the same way writing Brad McDonald’s name in her sixth grade social studies notebook over and over felt like it meant something.

She ran a toothbrush through her mouth, which felt filmy and dry in the way only falling asleep on the couch could do, and grabbed her bag, out the door and to her car before her thoughts could even catch up with her.

Cranking the ignition and speeding out of her parallel parking spot, Scully’s mind wandered to her partner and imagined him doing the same dance she was, although his insomniac tendencies -- and the fact that it was 9:30, Jesus Christ, she was lame -- meant he was at least probably awake when he got the call.

As she drove in silence, Scully let her thoughts warm up along with the car engine. It made sense to call in profile boy genius Mulder, but she wasn’t quite sure what her medical know-how could add to a kidnapping case at the moment.

She smiled as she imagined Skinner hanging up with Mulder and taking a beat before calling her, knowing that Mulder worked best when she was around. That they were a team. That they were something special together. That she was with him and he was with her, a package deal.

She let herself have these warm and fuzzy thoughts while she could, knowing that the frantic fight to save a child’s life was ahead of her and all that entailed.

She pulled into the parking garage and hustled up the operation room where she could see a frenzy of activity.

When Scully walked through the door, a room full of curious eyes landed on her and gave her a quick once over before returning to their activities.

Everyone was so...dressed up, Scully thought. Like, really dressed up. Several female agents stood before her in cocktail dresses with updos and pristine makeup. Men wore suits and ties, but the kind they save for outside office hours.

The air was thick with perfumes and colognes.

As Skinner -- who looked just as dapper -- finished up a phone call, Scully stood in the doorway awaiting further instruction and scanned the room looking for -- oh my god, Mulder.

His eyes were already locked on her when she found him toward the back of the room, standing over the printer.

Mulder was dressed in a tuxedo?? A tuxedo! With dress shoes!

When her eyes locked onto his, he smiled and held up his hand in a wave, motioning that he’d be over once the documents finished printing.

Was everyone going undercover? Was her outfit en route? Was this some kind of bizarre-o dream? Why did everyone look like they were about to do some sort of red carpet event when she was clad in black leggings, a sweatshirt and -- oof -- she didn’t think she’d even run a brush through her hair, gone puffy and scraggly from her post-work couch nap.

Her face was barren, having washed off her work makeup before she crashed in front of the TV. Her freckles were on high alert.

Come as you are! Everyone had! And everyone had just happened to leave the opera, or what?

Scully could see Mulder watching her.

His eyes followed hers as the wheels in her head spun.

Finally, Skinner walked to the center of the room, and everyone seemed to snap to attention. He cleared his throat, and the room settled.

“Thank you all for being here,” Skinner said, before launching into a rundown of the facts of the case, the players involved, a couple leads.

Everyone took notes, paying close attention.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your night, especially on a night like tonight, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how critical the next couple hours will be for getting Julian back safe and sound.”

Skinner started handing out assignments.

“Especially on a night like tonight?” Scully mused internally.

She could feel Mulder’s eyes back on her as her eyebrows knitted together in contemplation. With the intensity of his gaze, it felt like he was reading her running inner-commentary.

“Agent Mulder, Agent Scully,” Skinner said, snapping her attention back. “I want you to head to the Hilton downtown. Julian’s parents were there at the Valentine’s Day ball, and I want you to be on scene.”

Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day. Jesus Christ. Of course.

She had been cognizant that it was coming, obviously. The heart-shaped chocolates and sad red rose arrangements were popping up in the drug store and the sitcoms she kept on in the background on the rare occasion she was home at a reasonable hour to make dinner were having their holiday episodes where the lead characters dangled in front of audiences across the span of too many episodes in agonizing “will-they-won’t-they” fashion finally shared a kiss or a candy heart exchange.

Scully didn’t hate Valentine’s Day -- she thought giving the day that much power was worse than simply letting it wash over her. Another Valentine’s Day alone. Another Valentine’s Day where her mom would call a few days prior, an eagerness in her voice that made Dana angry, to ask if she had any plans for the weekend.

Sure, the day was fun when you were freshly coupled or when you were in the second grade and got to make one of those Valentine mailboxes out of a shoe box, but it was now just a day to Dana Scully. Maybe a day where she’d snag a cupcake with frosting that would turn her mouth pink from the bureau’s cafeteria, but just an average Friday, nonetheless.

And on this Friday, she and Mulder had been busy from morning till he cut out a few minutes early, chasing down leads and making plans for a potential mothman reconnaissance mission the two were embarking on next week. She hadn’t had time for the cupcake, hadn’t had time to think about the day or why Mulder had left the office a few minutes earlier than usual.

She’d simply bid him a goodnight and headed home, tired from the long week, and conked out on the couch after noshing on some leftover pizza.

Happy Valentine’s Day, indeed.

And here she stood, surrounded by agents with grand-plans-now-interrrupted. Agents whose ensembles told a story of fancy dinner reservations, dances, theater tickets, parties. Whose winged eyeliner and bobby pinned curls meant they were desired, loved, lusted over.

Whose dress shoes and tuxedo meant Mulder was desired, loved, lust over.

Her stomach lurched. Cheeks burned.

She self-consciously tugged at the bottom of her sweatshirt, tried to tuck a frizzy curl behind her ear.

She could feel Mulder’s eyes burning a hole in her skull, but she couldn’t dare meet his gaze. She could feel her eyes burning, praying they weren’t red-rimmed.

She didn’t want to know who he was with...where...how long.... She couldn’t know. Not now. They had work to do.

“And Agent Bender, please go with Agents Mulder and Scully,” Skinner said. “I know you talked to the parents on the phone earlier. You’ll be familiar to them.”

Suddenly, Mulder’s hand was gripping Scully’s arm.

“Scully...” he said, in a tone laced with guilt, almost as if the next words out of his mouth wanted to be “I can explain” but what was there to explain?

They were not together.

Well, they were quite literally always together, but they weren’t together together. They simply called each other in the middle of the night when one or the other had a nightmare and knew each other’s coffee order depending on coffee chain and had spare clothes at each other’s places and nursed each other back from the brink of death on countless occasions and had broken down in each other’s arms and spent too many a tension-filled evening falling in love in clandestine seclusion on a shitty motel bed over styrofoam boxes of lukewarm takeout.

Agents headed out the door to their respective assignments staring at the Mulder and Scully locked in a grip, parting around them like the Red Sea.

Agent Bender -- a brown-haired, brown-eyed woman who Scully noted always wore lip gloss and was wearing a beautiful blush satin spaghetti strap dress tonight -- sidled up next to the two, eyes darting back and forth from Mulder to Scully to their connected arms and back again.

Sensing this was not the time, Mulder let go and Scully flinched back into herself.

“Um,” Bender said, breaking the tension. “I’ll drive.”

By the time they made the stilted walk to the bureau car lot, Bender had regaled the two with wistful details about her evening cut short: her boyfriend-of-one-month Lloyd had bought her that designer bag she had always wanted and taken her for drinks on some rooftop somewhere in the city. Before she could get a drink in her, Skinner was calling.

“If only I had downed something faster, I could have gotten out of this,” she said, followed by an exaggerated sigh.

“What about you?” Bender said pointing to Mulder as she unlocked the car. “What were you doing ton-”

“While I appreciate the recaps, I don’t think we have time for all this bonding,” Scully said bitterly, cutting Bender off.

Mulder cleared his throat, subconsciously loosening his bow tie.

He opened the passenger door for Scully who stalked past him, throwing the back sedan door open and sliding in with her arms crossed.

“Scully, I -”

“Mulder, you get car sick,” Scully said, briskly. “Get in, take the front, and let’s go.”

Bender looked in the rearview mirror, eyes dancing between a pissed off Scully in the backseat and an anxious Mulder in front a few times before she started the car and took off toward the Hilton.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder’s head was muddled as he flew to the bureau after getting a call from Skinner about a kidnapping.

His thoughts were already in a weird place -- his Valentine’s Day was not exactly what he had expected -- and now a kid case. Kid cases always messed with his head. His mind drifted to Samantha, to the Eve’s, and, as always, to Scully.

He was hoping he might see her tonight. He didn’t know what her Valentine’s plans were. He had tried to suss it out a number of times in the previous weeks, but it seemed like Scully didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe she was already half a bottle of wine deep with some guy she met at the gym.

About 15 minutes after he made it to the bureau and was put to work while Skinner organized the crew, he spotted a tuft of copper hair bouncing toward the operation room, and he felt a warmth spread throughout his bones.

When she stepped through the door, he couldn’t help but smile.

She hadn’t seen him yet, but she looked adorable. Like the version of herself Mulder had the privilege of knowing when they’d had an especially long travel day and she was sleepy and not the pristinely put-together Scully she worked so hard to present to the world.

He liked her when her freckles started peaking through her makeup and her hair got fluffy and she got a little loopy with tiredness. Hell, he liked her all the time.

As she looked around the room, he watched her head cock to the side and her eyebrows furrow increasingly.

When she spotted him, he gave her a dopey grin and waved like a dork before he could stop himself.

Her eyes bugged out at the sight of him. He looked down at himself and remembered he was wearing a tuxedo.

Oh, right.

He watched her hands glide over her hair, tug at her sweatshirt. She smiled at him and waved back, but had a befuddled expression on her face.

A quick scan of the room, and it was suddenly evident to Mulder that one of these things was not like the other.

Everyone but Scully was dressed to the nines. Everyone was coming off of Valentine’s dates....except for Scully?

His heart clenched. He didn’t want her to feel self-conscious. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. No one else could even compare.

He suddenly wanted to whisk her out of the room, take her somewhere else and away from the harsh lights and wandering eyes of the operation room.

Scully still looked confused as Skinner began talking. Mulder couldn’t take his eyes off her, but he dutifully took notes with his eyes trained on his partner. He’d been doing it for years now. No sweat.

Suddenly, Scully’s eyes went wide, and a deep rouge overtook her ivory cheeks.

Skinner had given them their assignment at the Valentine’s Day ball.

Oh, shit.

She forgot it was Valentine’s Day, didn’t she? They hadn’t mentioned it at all during the day, had been too busy planning for a mothman adventure in the next week.

She didn’t even ask questions when he ducked out a few minutes early.

He wanted to explain, wanted to tell her everything but she wouldn’t even look at him.

He broke out into a cold sweat which only intensified when Skinner assigned Agent Bender to go with them.

Great.

The woman who practically bathed in cotton candy-scented body spray that gave Mulder a headache whenever he passed her in the hallway.

He tried to get her attention before they left the room, but she refused to meet his gaze and then the two of them were following behind Bender, left to fend for themselves downwind of the lethal sugar aroma.

After a painfully awkward car ride in which Bender talked their ears off about some poor sap named Lloyd who sounded as boring as Bender, the crew arrived at the hotel and transformed into work mode.

Mulder and Scully had worked together plenty of times under awkward circumstances -- fights, petty jealousies, when the sexual tension had gotten too thick and made things weird -- and the work always saw them through.

They worked together efficiently and professionally, communicating as the three of them took statements and interviewed witnesses at the hotel and began the tedious task of watching hours of security camera footage.

The missing kid, 7-year-old Julian, had been in a hotel room watching Disney movies in bed while his 16-year-old sister Carla was in an adjoining room talking on the phone with her boyfriend while their parents danced the night away in the ballroom below them.

“A 16-year-old was having a more exciting Valentine’s Day than me,” Scully thought glumly before kicking herself for having such an insensitive thought.

Bender interviewed the parents while Mulder and Scully talked to Carla.

They sat in a corner of the bustling lobby, teeming with local law enforcement and federal agents, as moonlight filtered in through the hotel’s big windows.

Scully spilled a big splotch of coffee on her sweatshirt as they got settled and cut a glance at Mulder who she expected to be cracking a grin at his clumsy partner, but he hadn’t noticed. His eyes were faraway and pleading.

Scully knew this was exactly the kind of case to get her partner in a funk. She was sure he related to Carla -- a sibling taken right from under their nose. The guilt and shame of it all.

He was being especially kind and careful with his questioning. When Carla started to get emotional, he offered her an olive branch.

“My sister was taken when I was watching her too, Carla,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Your sister...” she said. “Did they find her?”

Mulder looked away, cursing himself for mentioning it.

“They....” he started. “We’ll find Julian. I promise.”

With that, he stood up and left the room for a minute while Scully took over.

When she was through, she reunited Carla with her parents and went to find Mulder, who had wandered to a stairwell in the hotel.

His bowtie was untied, and he was standing with his head hung.

“Hey,” Scully said, softly resting her hand on his shoulder from behind.

He lifted his head and turned around to face her.

“Hey,” he said back, softly.

“You okay?” Scully asked, plucking the bow tie from around his neck and stashing it in her purse.

“I’m an idiot,” he replied, rubbing his face over his hands.

“Well, sure, but we knew that already,” Scully said, a teasing lilt to her mouth, as she rubbed Mulder’s arm soothingly.

Mulder huffed out a laugh through his nose.

“But really, Mulder, you were very good with her,” Scully said. “You have shown her kindness in a dark time, which is not always something you were shown.”

“It is now, Scully,” he said, pulling a flyaway curl from Scully’s head and tucking it behind her ear. “You show me kindness.”

The pair smiled, Mulder’s hand still lingering behind her ear, retracting when Bender barged through the stairwell which suddenly reeked of cotton candy.

She paused, studying the two agents for a moment, before saying “They got him. Julian. He’s safe.”

Mulder and Scully exhaled loudly, bodies sagging in relief.

“Turns out, the kid wandered out of the hotel by himself, off looking for his own Disney adventure,” Bender said. “The hotel clerk who said she saw a man run off with a little boy matching his description has shit vision, it turns out. Must have been his own little screamin’ demon. Those damn astigmatisms, will get you every time. Anyway, Julian was found curled up asleep in a McDonald’s play place a few minutes ago. They’re going to get him checked out, but looks like not a hair out of place.”

“Thank God,” Scully said.

“Yeah,” Bender said. “Can’t believe I ditched cosmos with Lloyd for some kid who wanted to go down the slide. Anyway, local PD has it from here. Skinner’s called us off. I, uh, called Lloyd, and he said he’d forgive me for ditching him if I -- well, I’ll spare you the details, but are you two able to get the car back?”

Mulder and Scully exchanged amused glances.

“We’ll manage,” Mulder said. “Give Lloyd my regards.”

“Thanks,” Bender said. “You two have...plans for the rest of the evening?”

“Coming down from a cotton candy-induced stupor,” Mulder mumbled under his breath, and Scully put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laughter.

Bender, who hadn’t heard Mulder’s quip, narrowed her eyes at the two.

“You two are weird,” she said. “And I’m gonna go. See ya.”

“Mulder!” Scully hissed when Bender was out of earshot.

“Well, I hate that perfume!” Mulder said. “She’s gonna trigger a migraine one of these days.”

“I thought you’d like working with her,” Scully said, twirling her finger around a piece of her hair.

“Bender?” Mulder questioned.

“She’s...” Scully pursed her lips, trying to decide how she’d like to finish that sentence. “Tall.”

Mulder guffawed.

“Yes, her height was refreshing,” Mulder teased, knocking his hip against his partners as they started walking toward the car.

Scully yawned and stumbled into Mulder, her cheeks coloring as he grabbed her side to steady her.

“Woah,” he said, righting her. “Sleepy?”

Scully shook her head vehemently.

“Nope,” she said, a stubborn rigidity to her voice. “Wide awake.”

At least they were about to be alone where he could explain his evening to her in private -- something he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do, but he did. Very much so.

A light snow had started to fall, so Mulder opened the passenger door for Scully while he took the ice scraper and got to work on the car windows.

By the time he was done, Scully’s head was tilted against the passenger window, and she was fast asleep.

He smiled to himself. She could fall asleep anywhere, any time.

He warmed the car up for her and started heading toward the bureau garage before reverting course. He couldn’t drop her off at her car to drive the rest of the way home. He wasn’t about to have her fall asleep behind the wheel.

His place wasn’t far away. She could have the couch, and he’d make do elsewhere.

The warm car ride must have lulled Scully into a deep sleep. Her gentle snores were accompanied by occasional twitches and murmurs. Mulder kept his hands at ten and two, but his eyes did wander to his sleeping partner every so often.

When he noticed what looked like a shiver run up her small body curled against the side of the car, he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and draped it over Scully, enveloping her in his body heat and that Mulder smell.

Reflexively, she pulled the jacket closer and inhaled, a sigh escaping her lips.

“Mulder...” she mewed in sleep.

He couldn’t wipe the cheeky grin off his face.

By the time they got to his building, he didn’t have the heart to wake her up. He knew his partner could sleep through a jackhammer convention, so he hoped that held true because if she woke up through this, she’d surely kill him.

He got out of the car gently opened her car door, letting her dead weight lean on his sturdy body. He cradled the underside of her knees and her back in his arms and lifted her out of the car, making sure to keep his jacket tucked around her. She stirred in his arms and snuggled closer into his chest, another sweet sigh escaping her lips.

Mulder buried his nose in her hair, lightly kissing the crown of her head before hauling Scully up into his building.

In a genius maneuver Mulder was excessively proud of, he hiked his leg and anchored it to the door to help balance Scully on top of while he unlocked his apartment one-handedly, sweeping her into his place that glowed green with aura of fish tank.

Setting her gently on his couch, he repositioned his jacket over her while he drew back to go get changed.

It was only when she lost his body warmth that she stirred enough -- mumbling in protest -- to wake herself.

Mulder turned around once he heard her sleepy groans and watched as her eyes popped open.

With cat-like reflexes, she darted up and looked around, a panic in her eyes.

Mulder rushed over, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Hey, hey,” he said. “You’re alright. You’re in my apartment. You’re OK.”

She slumped back into the couch.

“What the hell, Mulder?” she said, annoyed. “What's going on?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he said. “You fell asleep on the way back to the bureau, and I didn’t think you should drive if you were that tired. I just took you here to crash. Is that....OK?”

“I would have been fine to drive,” she muttered.

“I’m sure you would have been,” Mulder said. “Do you want some tea?”

“I -- well. Yes. Please,” Scully said, her expression softening a bit.

“Coming right up,” Mulder said, smiling at her.

As he puttered around his kitchen, a place that felt foreign to him in his own home, he thought now would be a good time to casually bring up what had been nagging at him all night.

“So, I wanted to tell you about tonight --” he started, his back turned to Scully as he searched through his cabinet for some honey.

“Mulder, you don’t need...I don’t...You don’t owe me an explanation,” Scully said, measuredly. “I’m.....happy for you.”

He turned around and quirked his head, inquisitive eyes boring into her.

“Um,” Mulder started again. “I’m...happy for you, too, Scully. I was at the Butterfly Kisses Valentine’s Dance.”

“I don’t need details, Mulder,” Scully interjected, turning red with an envy she couldn’t keep at bay.

“It’s a father/daughter dance,” he said.

That shut her up.

Her head snapped up to look at him as her jaw fell.

Finally, he could talk.

“I was there with Maya,” Mulder said, walking toward Scully, two steaming mugs in hand which he gently set down in front of her and took a seat beside her.

“Maya is nine. She’s the daughter of Joseph Richter. Agent Richter and I worked together quite a bit in my first years with the bureau. One case, there was a serial convenience store robber in town who kept shooting the convenience store clerks. They couldn’t catch the guy. We thought it would be an easy day. Things, uh....” Mulder scratched the five-o-clock shadow appearing on his chin and stared off through his window, the snow falling gently through the beams of streetlights.

“Things didn’t go as planned,” Mulder said. “We, um, well, Agent Richter was shot. We had just switched positions as we approached the suspect. The bullet was meant for me. Richter had a wife and a little girl at home.”

Mulder didn’t notice until now that some time during his speech, Scully had grabbed his hand and was rubbing soft circles against his skin with her thumb.

“We lost Agent Richter. I had to tell his wife, Ann. They had only been married a few years. Anyway, I told her that myself and the rest of the agents with us on that case would always be around to help. Sometimes I’ll change their porch light or clean their gutters. This year, Ann called and said there was a father/daughter dance at Maya’s school for Valentine’s Day. She asked if one of us could take Maya. The rest of the guys had dates but I...was available, so. Anyway. I was with Maya tonight. That’s where I was.”

Mulder pulled back and picked up his cup of tea with shaky hands and took a ragged sip, steam masking the hurt played out across his face.

Scully stared at him with big, wet eyes.

“I’m sorry your evening with Maya was cut short,” she said, hiding a tremble in her voice.

“We got through the dance, so that’s good,” Mulder said. “I was just about to take her for ice cream to make up for my two left feet, but luckily her mom was there, too, so I told her I’d take a rain check for some rocky road, scout’s honor.”

Scully smiled softly.

“I bet you made that little girl feel like a princess,” she said, smoothing the collar of Mulder’s crisp, white shirt.

“I hope so!” Mulder said. “She certainly looked like one -- purple, sparkly tutu and all. Speaking of...” he said, scooting closer to Scully. “What happened here, princess?” he said, a teasing gleam in his eye as he pointed to the coffee stain on Scully’s sweatshirt.

“Oh,” Scully said, softly, embarrassed. “I’m a mess. When I walked in...everyone looked so dressed up and there I was looking like...well, like this. I sort of...forgot...what day it was. Lame, I know. When Skinner called tonight, I was actually asleep on the couch, if you can believe it. I’m sure you can. When I saw you dressed like this....and then Skinner said it was Valentine’s Day....Well, I’m sorry I was so unpleasant all night. I just felt.....I don’t know. Silly, I guess.”

Sometime during Scully’s rambling, Mulder had picked up her hand and was rubbing soft circles against her skin with his thumb.

She smiled down at his reciprocated act of comfort.

“You don’t look like a mess to me,” he said, quietly, staring deeply into Scully’s blue eyes.

“No?” Scully questioned, their soft breathing the only sound that could be heard as they gazed.

“No,” Mulder responded, snapping out of the moment after too long of a pause. “Aside from this coffee stain. Take that sweatshirt off, and I’ll pop it in the washer. I’ll give you something of my mine in the meantime.”

“Uhhhh,” Scully said. “No, no, that’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Scully, while I promise it’s better than cotton candy, you smell like a Starbucks,” Mulder said. “C’mon, it’s no trouble. It’ll be good as new in the morning.”

Eyes glued to the floor, Scully grumbled as she tossed the sweatshirt over her head and clamped her arms over the front of her New York Knicks T-shirt.

Mulder tried to fight off a smile.

“Heyyy,” he said, in mock discovery. “I know that shirt.”

He rubbed the material between his fingers.

“Thought I lost it,” he said. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”

“Hmm,” Scully said, busying herself with her tea. “Must have been at the bottom of my laundry hamper. I just did a load this evening and threw something on before leaving the house.”

“Interesting,” Mulder said, stifling a grin.

Scully shrugged nonchalantly, blowing on her mug, followed by a massive yawn.

“Right,” Mulder said, standing. “You’re tired. Let me get you a pillow and some blankets.”

Scully blushed as she realized she was still hugging Mulder’s jacket close to her body. She picked it up and folded it neatly beside her.

When Mulder came back, he looked at the jacket next to her and the goosebumps rising on her arms.

“That’s OK,” he said, handing her a sweatshirt. “You can keep it tonight. I’m sure you’ve got it all warmed up to your liking.”

He picked up the jacket and laid it back over her, placing another fleece blanket on top and lying a pillow on the end of the couch for her.

Scully reclined, settling in under the soft, Mulder-y warmth of multiple items of his clothing.

“Mulder, where are you going to sleep?” she asked, through another yawn.

“Don’t worry about me, Scully,” Mulder said, sitting on the floor with his back propped up against the couch. “I’ve got some late-night infomercials to catch up on.”

He turned the TV on low and heard Scully getting comfortable behind him, snuggling deep into the leather indents of his couch.

Scully wondered if nestling against Mulder’s couch imprint was the closest she’d ever get to cuddling with the real thing. But the back of his head was sat close enough for her to run her fingers through if she wanted, so she was more than content to fall asleep wrapped in his clothes, his scent so close.

As she started to doze, she heard Mulder whisper “Happy Valentine’s Day, Scully.”

She smiled and hummed back to him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mulder.”

[oohnotvery]

Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 7)

Mulder

A storm brews up in the evening and the thunder, lightning, and Scully’s irritation with him cause Mulder to toss and turn all night. At dawn, he kicks off the jacket he’s been using as a blanket and throws open the door, glancing up at the clear, azure-blue sky and wispy, wind-blown clouds. It looks like the start of a gorgeous day, but he feels foul.

He jumps in the shower as quietly as he can, keen on not waking Lydia. Though she rarely speaks and seems shy in conversation, he can’t help but remember the overly-friendly way she slinked her arms around his naked torso in the pool the day before.

When he pops out of the bathroom, jeans slung low on his hips and a towel around his neck, he jumps at the sight of Scully in the kitchen.

She glances at him over her shoulder and tosses him a quick, friendly smile.

“Coffee?” she offers politely, as if she isn’t the one using his coffee pot.

“Uh, sure,” he mutters, grabbing a rumpled t-shirt in his suitcase and tugging it over his bare chest. He rubs the towel in his hair for a few seconds and tosses it on one of the kitchen chairs. Scully shoots him a disapproving glare.

He scowls back at her. “This isn’t su casa, Scully, so don’t give me any of your looks.”

His little comment ends up souring the mood even further, and she ends up not pouring his coffee. Frustrated, he wrenches the pot out of the machine and hot liquid splashes up his arm. He curses violently, and suddenly there is a hand on his arm.

“Mulder,” Scully murmurs, staring down at his reddening skin.

He tosses her an irritated look. His restless night, the hot coffee, his bad mood—it’s all her fault. She stares up at him knowingly, her thumb brushing the hairs on his arm, and he sighs heavily.  

“You look like you didn’t sleep at all,” she says, pulling away.

He nods. “Storm kept me up.”

She stares at him for a long moment, then nods. She looks like she’s about to say more when Lydia pads out of the room, dressed in a pair of white cotton shorts and a matching button-down flannel.

She greets him with a wide smile, her eyes lighting up under her sleepy gaze. Her face falls the moment she sees Scully.

“Oh,” Lydia says, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Is Joe here too?”

Scully shakes her head and makes her way to the front door. “I just came for the coffee.”

Don’t leave, Mulder wants to say, but he hasn’t given her much of a reason to stick around. He lasts all of five minutes alone with Lydia before he has to escape into the fresh air. He’s sitting on the porch, letting the morning breeze whip at his hair, when he sees Evan hiking in. He sits up a little straighter, watching as their guide emerges from the forest and onto the gravel path leading to the cabins. If he and Scully can manage to get along tonight, he’s sure they could do some recon up in the woods and find that jeep trail they found the other night.

Evan waves enthusiastically and Mulder touches his fingers to his forehead in greeting. He ducks inside to call Lydia over and together, they head to Scully and Joe’s cabin, which has been their go-to gathering place for meetings with Evan.

“I’ve got great news,” Evan says as soon as they’re all together.

Mulder notices Joe is standing as far away from Scully as he can be, and he notes with a perverse sort of triumph that the recliner looks slept-in once again.

“It is exceedingly rare to get this opportunity,” Evan starts mysteriously, and Mulder can’t help but glance Scully’s direction. Like a magnet, her eyes meet his. “But Grace and I had so much fun yesterday that we wanted to invite you to a community dinner tonight on the main grounds.”

Mulder’s eyes shoot back to Evan’s face as his heart rate ticks up. An opportunity for boots on the ground in the community itself? This is a precious invitation.  

“I can’t overemphasize how rare this is,” Evan continues, “so please do remember your best manners tonight.”

He starts explaining the day’s plan, mentioning that the lovely weather makes for a perfect beach day, but Mulder isn’t concentrating on that. His mind is working double-time. Why is the community allowing them onto the property? What happened yesterday that made them eager to welcome them for dinner?

He glances around the room and sees Scully’s face shift into a neutral expression that he knows means she’s thinking hard. She must be wondering the same.

To his relief, Evan announces that they’ll be on their own today. He leaves them with a promise to pick them up at five p.m. for dinner and a reminder not to explore past the first beach.

Mulder could care less about a day at the beach, but his companions seem to think it best to keep up the façade of vacationing in case they’re being watched. After changing, he treks down to the ocean with Lydia, the silence between them as awkward as always.

It seems Scully has found a bathing suit in her luggage, because when she and Joe finally arrive and take their place on the sand, he spies a tiny red nylon strap hanging out of her shirt. Joe excuses himself to take a dip in the ocean and Mulder lies down on the sand, tipping a baseball cap over his eyes to shield his face.

He wakes up a while later to someone squeezing his arm. Disoriented, he lifts slowly, wincing at the crick in his neck and cringing as sand falls away from his body. Scully is kneeling over him, her lips quirked into a soft smile.

“I hate to interrupt your beauty sleep,” she starts.

“Of that, I’m sure,” he grumbles, blinking against the brightness of the sun.

She thrusts a bottle of sunscreen into his hand. “But I can’t in good conscience let you burn out here.”

He taps his heart. “You do care.”

She rolls her eyes fondly and sits back on her heels. Dutifully and under the careful eye of his personal physician, he applies sunscreen to all his exposed parts and then glances up and down the beach. Joe and Lydia are also napping in the sun.

Scully’s eyes are bright and clear in the harsh light. “It’s unusual,” she begins thoughtfully, her brows creasing, “that we’re being invited into the community.”

He tosses the sunscreen in her bag and nods. “Makes you wonder what they want from us.”

Her lips twist into a frown and she leans closer. “I think we need to bring our weapons tonight, Mulder.”

He considers it. “Perhaps. Are your Scully-senses detecting danger?”

Distractedly, she digs a hole in the sand. “Not exactly,” she says honestly, “but I don’t get a good feeling about Evan, and I’m mistrustful of their motives. If this is truly a cloistered community, why in the world would they invite tourists in?”

He knows what she means. The idea of a community dinner is both intriguing and fishy, and he’s got a strange feeling in his gut. Something else is nagging at him, too, though and he glances over at Joe and Lydia, who both appear to still be sleeping. Scully follows his eyes, turning over her shoulder to glance at their companions.

“Hey,” he says, tugging at her hand to get her attention. She turns back to him. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Her cheeks, already pink from the sun, seem to darken. “It’s fine,” she says with a shake of her head.

“No, I mean it,” he says earnestly. “Look. I don’t want to go into that dinner tonight on bad terms with you.”

She frowns. “We’re not on bad terms, Mulder.”

“You know what I mean.”

She studies him for a long moment and he stays silent, giving her time to gather her thoughts. “I didn’t actually mind it,” she finally says, her voice as quiet as possible, “the . . . possessiveness. I know—I know you feel protective of me.” Her eyes flash to his quickly and then drop to her hands digging in the sand. “And that’s natural, because we—I—have been through so much. And Joe doesn’t know a thing about me or my history, not the way you do. So, what I’m trying to say is I appreciate what you were trying to do back in the pool.”  

His heart stutters and he tries to meet her eyes, but she refuses his gaze.

“But Joe and I are married here,” she reminds him, her voice returning to full solemnity, “and you can’t interfere with the two of us.” Her eyes rise to his.

“Noted,” he says carefully, a very small, relieved smile reaching his lips. She bites her lip, withholding her own smile. He lets his finger glance over her hand, scraping the sand back and forth across her skin. His voice drops lower. “And further noted that you’re extremely turned-on by your strikingly handsome, incomparably brilliant partner getting a little possessive over you.”

Her eyebrow jumps and then she leans into him, a coy expression playing across her features. “If only you knew just how much.”

His mouth drops open slightly and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly, rising to her feet. Sand flies everywhere as it cascades down her legs and ankles.

He turns his face up, grinning at her giddily. She shakes her head, meeting his eyes one last time, and then turns towards the ocean.

Without a backwards glance his direction, she shucks her t-shirt and pants, revealing a bright red two-piece underneath. A few feet away, Joe seems to sense a shift in energy and rises up onto his elbows, blinking distractedly at Scully’s ass.

Either entirely aware or entirely unaware of the effect she is having on the men on the beach, Scully jogs towards the waves.

When she ducks her head under the water and rises up, skin glistening under the sun, Mulder yanks off his own shirt, exceedingly tempted to join her. When else will he have a chance to swim with a half-naked Scully?

But before he can make his move, Joe is standing and throwing off his clothes. He tosses Mulder a huge grin.

“That’s my wife,” he says eagerly, and runs down to the shore.

Disappointment rises and crests in his chest as Joe joins Scully in the waves.

“They look good together,” Lydia says, and Mulder flinches. He didn’t know she was awake.

He stares at his partner swimming alongside Joe, the man’s dark hair slick and wet. He shrugs.

“You wanna swim?” he asks, glancing hopefully her way.

He catches Lydia staring at his bare chest, and her eyes blink slowly up at him before she shakes her head. A pulse runs through him. He knows that look.

Lydia is into him.

He glances back at Scully and Joe, who are now splashing each other in the waves, then looks back over at his wife.

He stands, offering her a hand and helping her to her feet. She’s staring at him like he hung the moon, and he hangs onto her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Walk with me,” he suggests.

A slow smile graces her face and she nods.

But as they walk hand-in-hand down the beach, he can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching him.

He just hopes that it’s Scully.

[muldermuse]

The Best Medicine: Fox Mulder X Reader

I have had a very boring Sunday

Thermal leggings, pyjama pants, Fox’s old joggers, three sweaters and a dressing gown. You were wearing all of that and you were still freezing. Everywhere felt ice cold apart from your forehead which was burning hot. You’d spent the past 24 hours bundled under copious comforters and blankets on Fox’s water bed. When you mentioned you were ill, he was adamant you stayed with him. He was working at the office so he could nip back and see you often. Your illness meant that really you had no idea where you were but you appreciated that he was taking care of you. You knew that Fox had been there, ensuring that your water was full and that you had any tablets you may need. You would sleep for a few hours and then be gently woke up by his warm hand on your shoulder, moving you softly to give you a tylenol and place a straw in your mouth to help you sip water. You unsuccessfully tried to convince yourself you weren’t being a burden.

You felt the right side of the bed dip as he climbed under the covers, turning the TV on low as he clicked his bedside lamp off. He wrapped his arm around you and moved your head onto his chest, his fingers tracing the back of your shoulders through your six layers. “No, you’ll get sick and then you’ll hate me” you slurred into his chest as he held you, “I don’t want you to get sick”. You felt his chest move as he laughed, pressing a kiss to your scalp, “trust me,” he muttered, “I am not going to catch this, I have been around much worse”. The rhythmic beating of his heart helped you to drift off to sleep as he watched Cops reruns.

The analogue clock blinked 3:23am as you slowly tried to adjust to the lack of light in the room. Your head pounded and you still felt freezing cold, you felt tears prick into your eyes as your illness slowly swept over your body again. Your sleep an enjoyable respite from the pain every synapse of your body was going through. The bed felt colder than it had before you fell asleep, it slowly dawned on you that Fox was not there. You heard shuffling in the kitchen and the sound of pills hitting the tiled floor. You dragged a blanket round your shoulders as you slowly walked into the kitchen and there he was. He looked awful, dark rings under his eyes, his usual proud posture slumped against the counter as he looked at the pills scattered across the floor.

“I told you you’d get ill” his eyes met yours as a tired smile crossed his lips. You plodded along to him, slowly wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Do you know how annoying it is to be told anything along the lines of ‘I told you so’?” He mumbled into your hair, inhaling the scent as he soothingly ran his hands down your back.

“Almost as annoying as me being right?” Suddenly the tears in your eyes were back again, your brows scrunched as you slowly started to cry into his strong chest, “I never should have stayed here, I’ve got you ill and I’m just here being a burden”. The emotion of feeling awful just overtook you, you felt his shirt get wet as you sobbed into him. You always got emotional when you were ill and you kicked yourself for not mentioning it to Fox before.

He wrapped his arms around you and placed his head on top of yours. He held you tight as you cried, as he felt the sobs start to slow he brought his hands to your chin and lifted your face to look at you. “I wanted you to stay, I invited you and you’re not a burden. Actually, I think you’re the easiest patient in the history of medicine. All I had to do was put tylenol on the bedside and give you water every few hours.” He laughed, "I think I’m going to retrain as a Doctor, might mention it to Scully in a few days”. His face lit up as you smiled, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

Without speaking, he took your hand and lead you back to the bed. He laid down first and gestured for you to rest your head on his chest. The damp spot on his chest acting as a nice comfort to your heated forehead. You sighed as your body relaxed, the cry seemed to have helped as your brain felt less foggy but you felt more exhausted than ever.

“The best medicine I can think of, in my professional opinion, is to spend the next few days sleeping here with you and watching whatever trash is on TV-does that sound okay with you?” he whispered to you as you fell to the cusp of sleep.

Too tired to respond, you simply nod and feel him place a kiss to your head. You smile as he holds you and you drift to sleep, your illness falling further from your mind.

[spookyshipperfics]

Viewing Experience

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: Teen & Up

Tagging @today-in-fic

What is it About? Mulder and Scully have a scary movie night that inspires them to reveal their feelings. Basically, the ’90s version of “Netflix and Chill.”

Read it: It was horror, plain and simple. The crying. The screaming. If Scully was being dramatic, she’d say that God had forsaken this place, had forsaken them. Their office had burned down. They’d been assigned to Kersh, and the ensuing background checks were like monotonous thorns in their sides.

It’s how they ended up here, in an overstuffed daycare in Virginia on a hot summer day. Mulder had somehow been saddled with holding a toddler, and Scully was waiting for paperwork that may never come. Her gaze landed on her partner right as vomit exploded onto his face. It was a pale green like fresh-cut grass turned vile.

Peas. It had to be fucking peas, she thought.

She was sure her mouth hung open, her shock apparent for all to see. Mulder’s eyes were narrow; his lips twisted into a grimace of disgust. The green goo dripped down his face onto his white dress shirt and suit jacket—an Armani one, of course.

“Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry,” the daycare owner gushed, rushing across the small room filled with toddlers and crying babies. “I shouldn’t have asked you to hold her. That was unprofessional of me.” The woman retrieved the unhappy toddler from Mulder, who was now holding the child at arm’s length like a bomb, rigged and ready to explode.

“It’s no problem,” Mulder replied, but he was already backing away, excusing himself to the bathroom where Scully suspected he’d be muttering under his breath and cursing Kersh for sending them on this poor excuse of an assignment in the first place.

As Mulder and the daycare owner retreated to take care of their respective messes, one of the childcare workers approached Scully with an apologetic smile. “Here’s that paperwork you were looking for,” she said, handing her a manilla folder. “Oh, and extend my apologies to your partner.”

The fresh air and sunlight were a nice change from the chaotic daycare. Crying leaked through the doors, and Scully hoped it was just the heat getting to the kids. It was certainly getting to her. Mulder grumbled from behind, and she guessed it was getting to him too. That and his encounter with a puke-happy toddler.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m just great, but my dry cleaner might not be quite as happy.” The sarcasm rolled off his voice with a thickness that made her uneasy.

As they approached the car, she took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him. He’d done the best he could in the daycare bathroom. His face was clean, but his shirt was still stained around the collar. Mulder was right–his dry cleaner wouldn’t be happy.

His jaw was clenched, eyes blackened with aggravation. The expression had become all too frequent since they’d been booted from the X-Files. A man like Mulder wasn’t cut out for repetitive tasks. Background checks and busy work were eating away at him. It seemed he was always antsy these days. His patience slowly slipping away from him with the rest of his soul.

His tension was like a contagion. A cold Scully didn’t want but always seemed to catch. They were so interwoven; his pain was her pain. Something needed to change. She knew what she wanted. It was there, simmering under the surface—a desire she could never seem to say out loud.

“At least we got what we came for,” she offered.

“You mean evidence that the local daycare wasn’t, in fact, a front for a methamphetamine cooking operation? I’m not surprised.”

“Muld—”

“Kersh knew this was a waste of time. It’s why it was assigned to us.”

“I guess we can be grateful it was an easy case.”

He huffed. “The only thing I’m grateful for is that you weren’t taken away from me as punishment too.”

Their eyes locked, and her knees suddenly felt weak. The idea that they could be separated at any time felt like a guillotine hanging above their necks. Every day they silently prayed Kersh wouldn’t pull the rope and send the shiny, silver blade careening down.

“I don’t think I could do this without you,” he added. “Any of it.”

And there it was again. That low tug of desire. That nagging, frantic feeling to tell him what she desired. His mouth against hers. Slow and deep.

They got into the car and drove off in silence. It wasn’t until they reached the freeway that she dared to glance at Mulder. She replayed the incident in the daycare. Her composed partner covered in half-digested peas. Mulder barely concealing his disgust as he held the toddler at arm’s length. He could be so dramatic at times. She’d seen him handle biohazard bags with more grace, for crying out loud.

Scully felt wild giggles rising in her throat. The absurdity of their life, the tension, the stress all spilled out into laughter that would have made a hyena cringe.

“What?” Mulder asked, his eyes bouncing from her to the road.

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly something. You’re acting like you have front-row seats at a comedy show.”

“The peas,” she uttered between giggles. “The peas just reminded me of The Exorcist, that’s all.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “I almost wish that had been the case. Then, at least, our involvement would’ve made sense.”

“Are you implying you’d rather encounter demons than run a simple background check?” she questioned, her laughter finally settling.

“That’s a tough one, Scully,” Mulder began. “Facing demons from The Exorcist or taking orders from Kersh are both pretty awful choices. A coin flip might be in order.”

“Hey,” she said in faux outrage. “You better not be insulting The Exorcist. It is one of my—”

“Favorite movies,” he finished. “I remember.”

She smiled. Of course, he remembered. Leave it to Mulder to catalog a throwaway statement she’d made five years ago in passing. He barely remembered her birthday. The big stuff didn’t seem important to him, but the little things were his specialty. He knew how she took her coffee. He knew she added bee pollen to her yogurt. Just like he knew teasing her about it would get under her skin because he was right; she was a scientist and should know better.

“I have it, you know,” Mulder announced, breaking her thoughts and redirecting her gaze from the passing trees back to him.

“Have what?”

“The Exorcist. I have it on VHS.”

“And here I thought your videos only included one particular genre. The kind with big-breasted blondes on the front.”

“We could watch it,” he said, ignoring her sly remark. “Tonight. Together.” A second passed, maybe two. “It’s Friday,” he added as if that would strengthen his cause.

It did.

“I’ll be over at 7,” she responded and went back to staring out the window.

They sat at opposite ends of the couch. The room was dark apart from the glow of the fish tank. Scary movies were always scarier in the dark, Mulder had insisted.

As The Exorcist began, so did the game. It was one they often played. The name? How close they could get to each other without being too obvious.

Mulder started it (he usually did). He rose to get them beers. When he returned, he sat closer. He repeated the move when the pizza arrived thirty minutes later. Handing her off a slice, he plopped down only a foot away. She got the next round of beers, closing the space and bringing them inches apart. By the time the movie reached the hour-and-a-half mark, their thighs were touching.

Mulder stretched his arms above his head, and in a moment of excited horror, she realized he was using it as an excuse to wrap one around her. He was about as suave as a teenager, but that was okay. She felt like a teenager, too, with her heart beating wildly in her chest.

She was a mess of hormones and nerves. Still, when Mulder pulled her closer, feigning terror after the head-spinning scene, she let him. And when he jokingly swore to protect her (From what, Mulder? If anything, I’d be protecting you), she sunk into him, placing her head on his upper shoulder.

It was the closest they’d ever been—surely a new high score for their unspoken game. And when the movie ended, neither of them pulled away. For all Mulder knew, she was extremely interested in the end credits.

Mulder cleared his throat. “So, what did you think of the… movie?”

“What do I think of the movie I’ve seen a half dozen times before?” At some point, her hand had found a home on his chest. She wasn’t sure when that had happened, but it didn’t stop her fingers from fidgeting with his T-shirt. “I don’t think it should shock you that I enjoyed it.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I guess I just never really talked to you about the movie before.”

It clicked, then. The inflection of the word. The way it sounded round and slow on his tongue. He wasn’t asking her for a film review. He was asking her thoughts on him… on this… on the situation that had her snuggled against him on the couch in a very unpartnerly way.

“Oh,” she gulped. “The movie.” She paused. Collecting her thoughts was difficult with two beers in her bloodstream and the butterflies in her stomach. “Well, Mulder, the movie was familiar but also a little scary.”

“Scary, huh?”

She shrugged. “Not in a bad way, more like in a I’m-scared-of-ruining-things kind of way… with the movie, I mean. I wouldn’t want my fear to tarnish your… um… viewing experience.”

He chuckled at that. “I don’t think you could ever ruin my viewing experience, Scully. I think you and I could handle whatever viewing experience was thrown at us.”

The hand that had been playing with his T-shirt seemed to have a mind of its own. It had slid lower to his stomach. She could feel his abs through the thin cotton and suddenly wanted to slip her hand underneath the fabric. It would be so easy to just—

“So, you like it then… the movie?”

“I like it,” she affirmed just above a whisper.

“Just like it?”

Her heart was pounding wildly. They were so close, she wouldn’t be surprised if Mulder could hear it. Just say it, her brain screamed. For once in your life, just say what you feel. “A part of me would even say that I love the movie.”

His hand found her jaw then, and he tilted her head to look at him. “Love is a strong word, Scully.”

She wondered briefly if she looked normal. If Mulder could tell that she was a gelatinous pile of goo beneath his fingertips like something out of another horror film. “I told you already, Mulder. This is one of my favorite movies.”

He kissed her then. Slow and deep. The way she’d fantasized about him doing earlier in the car and countless times before. His tongue entered her mouth only after he had thoroughly explored her lips. He tasted like beer and pizza and something so very Mulder. The combination had warm. And when his hands began to roam her body, it had her blazing hot.

As he eased her backward onto the cushions, he broke the kiss. “Did you say, ‘ONE of your favorite movies?’”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Mulder. You know you’re my favorite.”

His eyes crinkled with a smile. God, she wanted to kiss him again. “There are no other movies,” she assured him, and then she pressed her mouth against his as the VCR whirred.

*I normally don't post my entire fics on Tumblr, so this is a first. Comments and kudos on ao3 are always much loved

[katy-kt-katie]

Uncle Vicent

November Open Prompt Challenge Prompt: “Character A is nervous for Character B to be liked by family because their family is notoriously difficult to please.”

Notes: I took a little creative license and made it less about the family member being hard to please and more about them being intimidating because of their stature.  Also- this is NOT a baseball story, this is an MSR story with a sprinkle of baseball thrown in.

Rating : MATURE

Thank you so much @agent-troi for the Beta read! You are such a kind, supportive person!

Read here on AO3: Link

“Ohhh,” Scully mewled, softly. His hand pinning hers above her head as he thrusted into her; in and out, in and out.

“Baby, you are so hot,” Mulder whispered into her ear. “Fuck, Skinner,” he continued.

“Mulder,” she panted, “Stop worrying about that, it’s just a movie,” she leaned up and pushed her lips towards his and kissed him assertively, pushing in her tongue, lathing the soft skin inside his pouty lower lip.

He grunted, still annoyed.

“Mulder,” he thrusted, and she moaned, “I’m yours,” thrust and moan. “No one else's,” thrust and moan. "Haven't been for years,” thrust and moan. “Fuckkk,” she whined as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, coming apart in climax.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you? Since we met, isn’t that right?” his voice low and growly as he approached his own climax.

“Yes,” she said, light as a feather still floating from a profound orgasm.

“Mmm, Scully,” he groaned, finishing and collapsing onto her chest.

She stroked his face gently before getting up to use the restroom and slipping into the luxurious terrycloth robe supplied by her fancy Beverly Hills hotel room. She climbed back under the covers, next to Mulder and smiled.

This thing with them was still very new but she’d quickly realized her normal aversion to cuddling was non-existent in the arms of Mulder. She snuggled up against his chest and sighed, happily. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. Maybe I could lay like this forever, she thought just as her stomach growled loudly, making Mulder laugh out loud.

“Hungry, Scully?” he teased.

“I guess so,” she hid her face deeper into his chest, just a tiny bit embarrassed. “I only had some popcorn earlier. Should we order some room service? Come to think of it, Skinner would be curious if we didn’t charge anything to the FBI card he gave us.”

“True. He might just think we were making out the whole night,” he tickled her side.

Scully giggled, “Guilty.”

Mulder stood to find the room service menu.

“Hey Mulder, before I forget, I wanted to take you to meet my uncle tomorrow. He lives out here. He heard I was out here in January and he’s mad I didn’t come see him. He’s working tomorrow so we will have to meet up with him where he works.”

“Meeting the family, huh Scully?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“He’s my dad’s brother and we haven’t done a great job keeping in touch with that side of the family. But I have so many fond memories of him growing up.”

“Sounds good Scully. What’s his name? You don’t call him Ishmael or some name from Moby Dick too, do you?”

“No,” she giggled, “It’s Vincent. Uncle Vincent.”

“Okay, Uncle Vincent, it is,” he said, smiling. “How about some steak, Scully?” 

“Mmm. Sounds good,” she grinned.

Mulder picked up the phone and dialed room service.

//

Mulder would have happily laid in Scully’s arms all day if he could have. Sunday was a day for reflection and worship, and he would gladly worship at the altar of Scully and reflect on his burgeoning love for her.

Their shift into lovers was what he’d always hoped for; and now that he had her, he wanted all of her, all of the time.

But she had smacked him on the butt and told him to get ready and so here he was up and hopping into a cab she’d set up.

Scully had told him to wear something casual, which he thought was odd to meet an older family member, but he happily dressed in jeans and t-shirt, and she did the same.

It was about twenty minutes in the cab, and he took in the palm trees and sunshine as they rode.

Scully grabbed his hand and started to stroke his thumb gently, “My Uncle Vincent…he’s a great guy…but he intimidates people.”

“Oh?” Mulder asked. 

“Yeah, I think he will like you though.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Mulder, remember the private baseball lesson you gave me?”

“Yeah,” he leaned over and nuzzled his mouth against her ear, “How could I forget…hips before hands Scully,” he winked.

She giggled, “I loved that night, that’s when I knew something was going to happen with us.”

He smiled and kissed her gently on the lips.

He sighed and laid his head on her shoulder for a beat, before continuing the conversation in confusion, “Scully, what does that have to do with your Uncle Vincent?”

“Well Mulder, I actually grew up around baseball. A lot of baseball. I pretended I didn’t know because I,” she smirked, “I liked you touching me.”

He nodded his head cockily and whispered, “You don’t have to worry about that ever again honey, because I would touch you all day, every day if I could. I plan to make up for lost time.”

She giggled and smacked his shoulder lightly, “Mulder, what it has to do with my Uncle Vincent is, he’s worked for the Dodgers my whole life and I grew up going to games with him.”

Mulder felt the cab stop and realized they had pulled up to Dodgers Stadium. His mind started flying through the few details she’d told him, and his eyes flew wide open in astonishment.

“Vincent Scully,” he said out loud and cocked his head, “Scully, do you mean Vin Scully?” he shook his head in disbelief. “The Vin Scully, that’s your uncle?”

“Yep, I figured you may have heard of him” she teased and grabbed his arm after paying the cabbie. “Come on, let's go find him.” 

Mulder’s memory began to shuffle through so many things he’d heard and read about her famous Uncle. He’d been the play-by-play guy for the Dodgers for decades. He was definitely one of the most famous voices in baseball.

“Heard of him, Scully, the man is a legend.” He ran his hands through his hair, “Shit, Scully now I am nervous.”

“That’s why I haven’t told you before, you baseball nut,” Scully said, giving him a reassuring squeeze around the waist.

//

Scully was not surprised to see her Uncle and Mulder hitting it off. 

Mulder was grinning cheek to cheek as her Uncle regaled him with a particularly fascinating story about Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale. She enjoyed the view, watching the grown man she loved acting like an excitable kid with her Uncle.

She crossed the room and wrapped her arm around Mulder. “This one, he’s a good one, Dana.” Uncle Vin said, winking at Mulder.

“I’m pretty fond of him,” Scully smiled at them both.

“You know, Vin, we’ve worked together for seven years now. Every man in the FBI is intimidated by Dana. She’s a sure shot, absolutely brilliant, not to mention she’s saved my life several times,” he blushed, doting on her to her family.

She raised on her tiptoes and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, thanking him for his sweet praise.

“Oh yeah and she’s drop dead gorgeous, too,” Mulder grinned.

All three of them smiled and paused for a beat before Uncle Vin began to nod, clearly thinking about something serious. “Dana, I know your dad wasn’t sure about the FBI for you and he didn’t live long enough to see where it took you. But I know he’d be very proud of you and all you have accomplished.”

Dana gave her Uncle a hug, “Thank you Uncle Vin, that means a lot to me.”

"So, kids, I have to get to work. Someone has to broadcast this thing,” Uncle Vin chuckled, “But I have two tickets for you behind home plate, if you want to stay and watch.”

Mulder looked like a kid in a candy store, asking with his eyes, can we…can we?

“Thank you Uncle Vin, we’d love to,” Scully beamed.

A box of cracker jacks, a stadium dog and two cold beers later, they found their seats in prime real estate.

Their romance was still new, and Scully was reluctant to display her affection publicly in D.C., but here in L.A. it felt like they were just another random couple. She leaned into him and sighed. 

“I can’t believe your Uncle is Vin Scully, Scully!” Mulder said, with a bite full of hot dog in his mouth, “And he’s such a sweet guy.”

She smiled at her handsome man as mustard dripped down the edge of his lips.  She reached over and cleared it with her finger. It reminded her of a case their second year together when he wiped barbecue sauce from her lips. She remembered being so surprised when he did it and smiling at him thinking something might have sparked between them.

She giggled to herself, thinking there was a spark, but man was it slow to flame. Mulder turned to her and smiled as she licked the mustard off her fingers. She wondered if he was having the same memory.

He broke his attention from the game for a moment and pressed his lips softly against her ear, whispering, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

She kissed his cheek, and he shifted his face slightly and found her lips for a chaste kiss.

“Ohhh, Sheffield!” He stood up clapping as a Dodger player hit one out of the park.

As the L.A. sun shone on them and blanketed them in warmth, she laid her head onto his shoulder and sighed. He kept watching the game and she kept watching him. 

[machihunnicutt]

haha hellooooo just stopping by to say that 1. I loved what you did with this section the stand-in of clothes and 'fitting' for a larger issue of belonging was brilliant I loved it and also the way that you played with the taboo idea that there might be some things BJ missed from the war and 2. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!!!

BJ Hunnicutt had never expected to get a divorce. He’d expected everything to fall into place once he was home. He held things together, for a while, even though he jumped at loud noises and took quick, freezing showers, on instinct. And sleeping was difficult. Peg found him curled up on the floor, in Erin’s bedroom more nights than not. He kept a compulsive watch over her crib. Erin was often the star of his nightmares.

His hands shook sometimes, in surgery, and when he was done with work he had to hide in the bathroom stall and hyperventilate until his heart stopped pounding.

Peg was trying, but BJ was distant. He threw himself into projects: repainting the house, starting a garden, restoring an old motorcycle from the 30s. He worked late and sat in his car in the driveway for ten minutes before he came inside. 

Most of the time BJ felt like none of his clothes fit. His pant legs were too short and the waists too big and then, in time, too small. Shirt seams chafed and made him break out in rashes. Shoes he’d had for years started to give him blisters. It was like he was a stranger in his own body.

And he longed for the Swamp. He longed for his lumpy cot and the burn of dogshit gin. He missed nights when the air would get hot and heavy and punishing, and BJ would be drenched in sweat, half‐dressed, staring up at the top of the tent. He’d listen to Hawkeye’s breathing, beside him, and his muttering. He’d sit up and watch the shadows moonlight made on their things: the spidery lines of the still, the deep blue‐black of vinyl on Charles’ record player, Hawk’s robe, draped over a chair. Some of those nights BJ had felt completely at peace.

tysm for asking!!

i think mostly I’m obsessed with costuming, particularly in mash and particularly bj bc he develops such a distinctive personal style that is so contrary to the wife guy/boy next door/square whatever you want to call it bj persona we’re introduced to in season 4

and despite that being personally relatable to me (i am a shy gay loser and i love ridiculous fashion choices), i think it serves as an interesting closeting/visibility metaphor and makes me wonder what happens when bj goes back to the suburbs and has to fit in the way he used to? Will it come naturally now that he knows what it’s like to express himself outside of the conventions of a 50s marriage? Will he recognize himself in his old masks? — tangent about how i think Margaret’s costuming does similarly interesting things with regard to her expressions of femininity (wedding dress, scully, dress her hair over time etc.) and I love margaret & bj comparison moments. they are my top 2 for a reason.

I also think that bj’s repression is so intense that he will have physical reactions at home. I think that disengaging from his feelings and trauma from the war will lead to a dissociation in his body UGH it’s so much I really love writing bj he’s really sooo insane babygirl to me

he just needs so badly to feel like he’s needed and seen and understood for who he is and he’s sooo bad at using his words to ask for these things 😫

on the point of the taboo of missing aspects of the war I think it ties into my (extensive) gfa thoughts on bj going home to a life that is almost certainly going to blow up. he does not have the self awareness or emotional availability to be a good husband/father. he has barely been able to say goodbye. the war has changed him irreparably in ways that WILL impact his family and so of course the war is also going to be a source of escape too. It was a time when he didn’t have to worry about his responsibilities at home and could maintain a fantasy of what his family life was. It was a place he didn’t have to hide, he could just be himself and be understood !

tangent 2 I’ve also been thinking about this point while watching mad men ! Like the idea of going back to a normal job after being in a war and like how don draper uses his slick persona to cover up the trauma of his backstory idk idk it’s all about repressed assholes for me I guess

Thanks for reading and asking I hope this all makes sense I love to ramble 😭

[sisterspooky1013]

Time Warp

Rated X | 3842 Words | Read it here on AO3

Mulder hits the buzzer outside The Lone Gunmen’s place and heaves a sigh. It’s not that he isn’t excited about the party, which has become an annual tradition that he looks forward to, he just wishes he knew what Scully was up to. 

He’s in touch with the fact that he’s not entitled to know her whereabouts at all times, regardless of recent…developments in their relationship. She is and will likely always be fiercely independent, which is one of the many things he loves about her. 

But when he asked what her plans were for the Saturday before Halloween and she said she was busy without elaborating, it struck him as odd, and he hasn’t quite been able to shake the feeling that she was intentionally avoiding telling him something. 

Probably not a date. He doesn’t think she’s seeing anyone else, but they haven’t exactly talked about the status of their relationship. A handful of hot and heavy makeout sessions quickly escalated to one instance of frenzied, desperate sex on his couch, and that was a week and a half ago. Last weekend took them out of town for a case, so there really hasn’t been an opportunity for it to happen again, which leaves him wondering if that’s even what she wants. So when she dodged his question about her plans this weekend, he took it as a sign that she’s avoiding putting herself into a situation where he might expect it, and he’s been preparing himself for the possibility of her breaking things off. 

“Hello,” warbles a slow voice from the speaker mounted above the door. 

“It’s me, Langly, open up,” Mulder says, turning his face toward the camera he knows is concealed in the trim. 

“Costumes required man, you know the rules,” Langly says, breaking character. 

Mulder huffs and strips off his trench coat, leaving him in white briefs and an unbuttoned dress shirt with nothing underneath. 

“Glasses,” Langly pipes in, and Mulder glares in the direction of the camera before he digs a pair of black framed glasses out of his jacket and puts them on. 

“There, you happy?” he asks, his jaw already chattering. “Now let me in, it’s freezing out here.”

The door buzzes and goes through a familiar series of clicks and pops before it opens to reveal Langly in an impressively accurate Riff Raff costume, his glasses removed and deep purple bags painted under his eyes. His long blond hair is stringy and hangs over a hump at the top of his back. 

“Hello,” he warbles again, and Mulder rolls his eyes. 

“Now I ask if I can use your phone, and you say ‘you’re wet,’ and I point out that it’s raining,” Mulder says impatiently, hopping from one foot to the other. “Can we get to the part where you invite me in?”

Langly moves to the side and Mulder rushes into the heat of the house, tossing his coat on an already towering pile near the door and kicking off his shoes. 

“Janet’s already here,” Langly tells him, and Mulder quirks his head in confusion. “Angie from the DnD group?” Langly reminds him. “She’s dressed as Janet this year.”

“Hot patootie, bless my soul! I really love that rock n roll!”

Mulder turns to see Frohike bouncing his way down the hall, his jeans and cutoff leather jacket smeared with fake blood and a saxophone hanging from his neck. 

“Eddie, I see you’re going post mortem this year,” Mulder says, clapping the shorter man on the back. 

“Frank-N-Furter already got to me,” Frohike says sadly. “But on the bright side, Columbia is extra tasty this year. Worth dying for, if you ask me.”

“Oh yeah, who’s Columbia this year?” Mulder asks, and Frohike’s eyebrows lift. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, genuinely surprised, and Mulder shakes his head. 

“Guess you better go make the rounds,” Langly suggests, the corner of his mouth threatening a smile. 

Mulder narrows his eyes and heads down the hallway, issuing hellos and Happy Halloweens to throngs of Transylvanians as well as a scantily clad Janet Weiss and a wiry man in a blond wig and gold underwear doing his best to fulfill the role of Rocky Horror. While he wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends, the faces are familiar and he’s always felt welcome and comfortable at the Gunmen’s parties. 

“My oh my, Mr. Majors,” calls a familiar voice, and he turns to see Scully hovering near the punch bowl, decked out in a sequined top and jacket along with tiny pinstripe shorts and fishnet stockings. She even has a gold sequined top hat and a giant red bow around her neck, leaving out no detail on her Columbia costume. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks with a smile, weaving through the crowd until he arrives by her side. 

Her cheeks are pink, not from blush, and her smile is bright. She looks carefree and adorable, and his heart tightens in his chest. 

“Same thing you are, unless that’s not a costume,” she says coyly, flicking her eyes up and down his bare chest and legs. 

He suddenly feels self-conscious regarding his outfit. She’s seen him naked, felt him naked, but it’s still so new, and there’s something about tighty whities that’s inherently unflattering and embarrassing. He clasps his hands and holds them in front of his groin, slouching a little. 

“Speaking of costumes, did you just throw that together for the party?” he asks, gesturing with his chin toward her outfit. 

She looks down like she’s surprised to see the way she’s dressed. 

“I’ve had this for years, actually,” she says wistfully. “Missy and I used to dress up as Columbia and Magenta and go see the movie around Halloween.”

“I haven’t seen a Magenta here,” Mulder comments, scanning the crowd. 

“Me neither,” Scully says. “I kind of like that, though. I don’t want a replacement Magenta.”

There’s a brief silence that’s heavy with the loss of Scully’s sister, and after an appropriate amount of time has passed, he changes the subject. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asks, nudging her shoulder with his arm. 

Scully smiles devilishly and takes a sip from her drink. 

“Byers told me about the theme, and he said you usually dress up as Brad. I thought if I told you I was coming, you might chicken out.”

Mulder balks, but he knows it’s true. He would have dressed as Brad before Columbia and Magenta took his clothes, or later in the film when he’s wearing a bathrobe. But the idea that Scully wanted to see him in briefs enough that she withheld information from him is intriguing, and he drops his arms to his sides and straightens his posture. 

“Speaking of Byers, has he made his appearance yet?” Mulder asks, serving himself a cup of blood-red punch labeled “Eddie’s Innards.”

“Appearance?” Scully repeats with a curious quirk of her eyebrow. “I haven’t seen him. Who does he usually dress up as?”

Her question is answered when the music cuts out and a voice booms, “I’m here, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Everyone shrieks and elbows their way toward the hall, where Byers is strutting out of the master bedroom in full Frank-N-Furter regalia. Scully’s mouth drops open before she lifts her hand to cover it, looking back and forth between Mulder and Byers as he begins to lip sync along to “Sweet Transvestite.” When he throws off his cape, revealing tiny black underwear, a corset, garter and fishnet stockings, Mulder playfully covers Scully’s eyes. 

They drink cup after cup of punch until their lips and tongues are dyed cherry red and their eyes grow glassy. They do the Time Warp every hour on the hour, the steps growing more and more sloppy until finally Mulder wraps his arms around her waist and she stands on the tops of his feet, gasping when his pelvic thrusts push his burgeoning erection against her belly. 

“Hey, that’s my fiance you’re hanging all over!” shouts a very inebriated Janet Weiss as she tugs on Mulder’s arm, making her breasts jiggle in her exposed bra. 

Mulder tightens his grip on Scully, not giving Janet’s decolletage so much as a passing glance. 

“Sorry, Janet,” he says, his eyes on Scully’s face. “Columbia and I have something special.”

“Wanna get some air?” Scully asks, her breath sweet and hot against the side of his face. 

They slip onto the back deck through the sliding glass door, the sudden quiet of the outside making his ears ring and the degree of his intoxication become much more apparent. Scully long ago shed her top hat and jacket, and her bare chest and shoulders glow in the moonlight as she leans back against the railing of the deck, her elbows resting behind her. She smirks at him as he steps up in front of her, his stocking feet bracketing her Mary Janes. He touches the sides of her bowtie, tugging on them as though tightening the knot. 

“Will you take that off?” she asks, letting her head fall to the side. 

He leans forward, feeling for the small plastic clasp on the prop tie. Not finding it, he spins the whole thing around so the bow is at the back and he can see the clasp well enough to unhook it. Scully watches his face while he works, and when he finally gets the bowtie off and holds it up triumphantly, she reaches out and runs her cool fingertips over his waist under his open dress shirt, making him shiver. 

“Cold?” she asks, though her own jaw is starting to quiver. 

“I may be a bit underdressed,” he points out, and she looks down at his body and then back up, a smile stretching slowly across her mouth. 

“I’m a fan of this outfit, actually,” she says, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her fingers dig into his sides and she pulls him a little closer. 

“You have curious tastes in men’s underwear,” he tells her, pushing her hair behind her ears before the breeze sets it loose again. 

“I have curious taste in men,” she counters, titling her face up in invitation. 

He kisses her in sweet, chaste pecks, and then long, slow smooches, and then his fingers are in her hair and his tongue is in her mouth, and she tastes like strawberries and jello shots, and something uniquely her that he hasn’t quite been able to pin down yet. 

She hums, and he knows he’d be getting hard right now if not for the icicles of wind that keep shooting across the back of his neck and over his exposed thighs. He breaks the kiss, brushing his lips across her cheek up to her ear. 

“It kills me to say this, but I think if we don’t head inside soon I may never recover from the level of shrinkage that’s happening right now,” he murmurs, and she laughs brightly. 

���Lucky for me you’ve got plenty to spare,” she purrs, and suddenly getting hard in the whipping cold seems like a possibility. 

He pulls away from her a little, looking at her pink cheeks and the slight tremor of her bottom lip. Lucky for me makes it sound like she’s counting on continued access, both to him and what he’s sporting under his tighty whities. 

“What is…this?” he asks, moving his index finger back and forth between them. 

She doesn’t react to the question, perhaps because her brain processing speed is slowed by Eddie’s innards. Or perhaps because the question isn’t as terrifying to ask as he’d thought it would be. 

The sliding door slurps open and Byers steps through, an unlit cigarette perched between his cherry red lips. 

“Oh, hey guys,” he says, pulling a lighter from the waistband of his garter belt. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Scully observes with some measure of surprise, and Byers shrugs. 

“I don’t, actually, but Frank-N-Furter does and I feel like it helps me get into character,” Byers supplies, then flicks at the lighter until it sparks to life, stoking the tip of his cigarette into a glowing orange ember. “Thanks, by the way, for help with the shoes, Agent Scully,” he adds, gesturing to the six inch white platform heels on his feet. “This is the first year I was able to complete the look.”

Scully nods and Mulder gives her a perplexed expression, raising his eyebrows in question. 

“I gave him some pointers,” she says demurely with a shrug. 

“She’s being modest,” Byers insists. “She sent all three of us through high heel bootcamp. Me for the costume, and Frohike and Langly for fun.”

Mulder’s perplexed expression shifts into one of surprise. He wants to ask when, but he doesn’t want it to sound like he’s upset by it. In fact, the idea that Scully might have a friendship with the Gunmen that extends beyond their shared ties to him makes him feel warm despite the chill in the air. 

The door slides open again and Langly pops his head out, squinting at them without his glasses. 

“Agent Scully, Frohike is looking for you,” he informs them, and Mulder happily follows her back inside where he goes from warm to overheated within the space of three minutes. 

They weave their way back to the living room and find Frohike holding court in the middle of a small circle. When he sees Scully, he smiles widely and gives a thumbs up to a Transylvanian sitting near the stereo. “Whatever Happened to Saturday Night” begins to play, and Frohike extends a hand in invitation that Columbia share this iconic dance with Eddie. Scully plays along, jumping around to the beat of the music and smiling broadly as Frohike spins and dips her, and this time Frank-N-Furter doesn’t put an end to the fun with a pickaxe. 

Mulder watches, grinning, and she intermittently steals little looks at him that feel incredibly intimate. It’s these minutiae of having a person, a partner, that catch him off guard the most. The sports section of the newspaper set aside for him, his coffee arriving just how he likes it even when he didn’t specify, the unspoken understanding that he will always take the room closer to the ice machine. Catching her eye in a crowd and knowing immediately exactly what she’s thinking, exactly how she’s feeling, even when neither of them have said a single word. 

The song ends and he begins to make his way toward her, but stops short and yelps at a sudden sharp pain above his eyebrow. Scully’s face falls and she leaves Frohike, rushing through partygoers until she is by his side. He looks up, dazed, and sees that he walked right into a light fixture that would typically be out of reach above the dining room table. Scully reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, pulling him down closer to her. 

“You’re hurt,” she says, frowning, then wordlessly takes his hand and guides him into the bathroom. 

Scully pushes the door closed and the din of the party fades to a persistent hum, and she begins to root around in the cabinets for antibiotic ointment and a bandaid. Supplies in hand, she hops up onto the counter and motions for him to come closer. He steps into the space between her legs, resting his palms on the tops of her thighs as she cleans and dresses the small cut on his forehead. He fingers her fishnets, plucking at the threads and then slipping his fingers into the holes of the open weave. 

“You should wear these more often,” he says, and she smiles but offers no response. 

“All set,” she tells him, crumpling up the band aid wrapper and chucking it in the direction of the trash can, but missing by a longshot.

“Thanks, Doc,” he says, getting a good look at her costume makeup in the brighter lights of the bathroom. 

She blinks up at him, resting her hands on his bare hips. Her fingertips thread under the waist of his underwear and a shock of arousal rushes through his pelvis. 

“What do you want it to be, Mulder?” she asks, and it’s immediately clear that it’s a continuation of their earlier conversation. 

He screws his mouth to the side. His intention in asking her was that she would be the one to answer—he never gave much thought to what he might say if presented with the same question. Not that he doesn’t know what he wants this to be, that’s one of the few things he’s sure about at this point in his life. But how to tell her in a way that won’t scare her off is another matter entirely. 

“To be perfectly honest, Scully, I’ll take whatever I can get,” he says with a shy smile. 

“Well,” she says on a sigh, “I hope this doesn’t make you think less of me, but you can get a whole lot, Fox Mulder.”

He laughs, surprised, and her cheeks pink even further than the rosy hue of alcohol that’s been present all night. 

“Is that so?” he asks, moving closer. 

She nods, then grabs two fistfuls of his shirt and pulls him into a searing kiss, wrapping her legs around his hips. He tugs her to the edge of the counter so that his groin is tucked tightly between her thighs, and she groans.

Bang bang bang bang.

Scully startles and leans away from him, looking to the door with an alarmed expression.

“You about done in there? I gotta piss like a race horse!” someone calls from the other side, and she hops off the counter and unlocks the door, leaving him to try and conceal his erection with very little fabric to work with. 

As the last guests trickle out into the inky, frostbitten twilight, Scully yawns and Langly suggests that they crash in the guest room, given that it will be near impossible to get a cab tonight. It’s not so much a room as a den, situated on the opposite end of the house from the other bedrooms and down a small flight of three stairs. It’s the kind of split level common area that might have once hosted a 1960s style conversation pit, but now offers a futon and a foosball table, as well as several life-size posters of women in high-cut one piece bathing suits that barely cover their large breasts. 

Mulder sleeps in his costume, minus the shirt, given that he typically sleeps in his underwear anyway. Scully changes out of her Columbia outfit and into the dress shirt from Mulder’s costume, though she buttons it closed. Her face is scrubbed clean and she sits cross-legged beside him on the bed, tracing her fingers over the indents on her legs left behind by the fishnets. 

“C’mere,” he says with a cock of his head, and she slips under the covers as the last of the lights in the house go dark, leaving only the pink glow from a Miller High Life beer sign casting shadows across their faces. 

She cuddles up next to him, her head on his chest and one of her legs draped over his. He still feels drunk, but without all the noise and distraction of the party it’s mellow, not disorienting. Like his busy brain has been dunked in molasses, and he can finish one thought before the next butts in. Currently, he’s thinking about how fucking good this feels, how right. But he’s also thinking about how terrified he is that, like all good things in his life, she will be taken from him too.

Her hand slides across his belly and finds his arm, trailing down and down until she grabs hold of his hand and brings it up to her lips. She kisses his knuckles and then holds them against her cheek, the downy brush of her skin like velvet.

“I’m choosing not to be scared,” she says in a near whisper. 

“Easy as that?” he asks, wondering not for the first time if she can somehow read his mind. 

“No, not easy,” she says, then scoots up a little so her face is hovering beside his. “I just don’t think I can pretend anymore, Mulder.”

“Pretend what?” he asks, knowing damn well what the answer is but wanting to hear her say it. 

She is quiet for a beat, and though he can barely make out her face he knows that their eyes are finding each other in the dark. 

“Like I don’t want this,” she says, her voice tight. 

She kisses him then. Not urgently, not frantic or rushed. Not like it might all evaporate before their very eyes at a moment’s notice. He runs his hands through her hair, down the column of her neck, over the fishnet-dented skin of her thighs. He threads his fingers under the hem of her panties and squeezes her ass, and blood roars in his ears en route to his cock when she whimpers. He unbuttons his own shirt, exposing her breasts before he covers them with his hands, his mouth, his tongue. They keep quiet, only the occasional gasp or low moan interrupting the stalwart tick of Langly’s godfather clock. When she is beneath him, panties discarded and shirt spread open wide, his ridiculous underwear in a ball at his feet, she cradles his face in her hands and whispers, “Please,” as though he would ever deny her. As though she even has to ask. 

It was so haphazard the first time, pants still around ankles as they raced towards the finish line they’ve been carefully avoiding for years. And it was incredible, amazing, nothing he could ever summon an ounce of regret for—but it wasn’t this. He feels her surge around him as he slowly pushes into her, and quickly learns that a moan is good, but holding her breath means it’s even better. He teases her close again and again, bathing her throat in soft kisses as she surrenders to sensation and pleasure. Her fingernails rake painfully across his hips, and he already can’t wait to see it in the morning, this evidence that it’s all real, that it happened. That he held his lips against hers as he made her come, as she went rigid and then melted in his arms, throbbing around him so tightly he couldn’t hold back anymore. That she murmured his name, again and again, with intermittent yeses and you feel so goods. That she wanted him, wants him, maybe always has. But he has her now, and that’s what matters. 

She’s never slept over, hasn’t yet had a chance to, and so they spend their first night together on a futon at the Gunmen’s, his cum sticky between her thighs and their hearts full of hope and optimism that against all odds, it will all work out. 

They choose not to be afraid. And even if they are, they’ll do it anyway. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

[aloysiavirgata]

Hi! I'm not sure if you've done this before, but my prompt is: 2023 Mulder and Scully rediscovered an old copy of their Hollywood AD film. Thanks so much!😍

It was the kind of autumn Gothic novels were written for, blustery and orange-gold with purple velvet twilights. The house was creaky with uneven seams that the cold seeped into, left Scully in thick wool socks at breakfast, flannel pajamas at bedtime.

She went to the thrift store after work to hunt for handmade quilts. She liked to rescue them from the sad racks under fluorescent lights, imagined women gossiping and sewing them with fingers as nimble as any surgeon. Remembered how Playtex seamstresses sewed the first space suits with 1/64th of an inch tolerances.

Scully perused the DVD bin as she waited in line, a Rising Sun quilt in shades of blue over her arm. She smiled as she went through them, remembering the times she had seen the films. A Few Good Men, When Harry Met Sally, Gladiator, and…oh.

Christ.

Scully felt her face go hot, glanced around as though anyone were paying attention. She tucked The Lazarus Bowl under the quilt, tossed a twenty on the counter, and fled.

***

Mulder hadn’t really stopped smirking since she came home with it, cracking wise as he assembled a large plate of nachos for them to share.

Scully, angry at herself for this weakness, glared at him from the depths of a laundry-basket quilt in shades of green.

“Should I call Walter?” he asked, settling next to her. “Your main squeeze?”

“Fuck off.”

“How many Hail Marys from Sister Spooky for that?” He hit play.

Scully, visible only as narrowed eyes and a messy bun, watched Téa Leoni sprint across the screen in Manolo Blahniks.

Mulder loaded a chip with refried beans. “Look at her go,” he said with admiration. “You’ve got to be impressed with her commitment to verisimilitude.”

Her onscreen doppelgänger paused to let her bosom heave.

“I would never run in that bra, that would just ruin your neck.”

“Well, that’s why she got paid the big bucks.”

They watched in silence for a while longer, eating, listening to the wind scrape tree branches together over the mortifying dialogue.

“You ever miss it?” Scully asked. She’d be sixty in a few months. Sixty, my god. She was thirty-six when this mess had come out and had been starting to feel past her prime just then.

She’d been a child. An infant.

Mulder made a non-committal noise around a pickled jalapeño. “Sixty-two now, I’d have been punted out 5 years ago anyway.”

“I think the kids say yeeted now,” Scully remarked. “We’d have been yeeted.”

“That’s very lit of you, Scully.”

“I’m hip to the lingo. All the new residents are like…sixteen.”

Gary Shandling waved his gun, made dire threats that violated the Geneva Convention.

“Look at this fucking idiot,” Mulder scowled. “I showed him how to hold the thing, Jesus Christ.”

Scully smirked. “You ever show him whether you dress to the left or the right?”

He grabbed her under the quilt, drew her against him as the windows rattled. “Just you. In the limo, if I recall. God this is a terrible movie.”

“Only on the way back,” she clarified, his hands under her shirt. “I made you buy me dinner first.”

“Always a lady,” he mumbled into her neck. “Though…that was the Bureau card. I guess ol’ Walter bought you dinner and I just reaped the benefits.”

Scully shoved him away.

“Wh-“

“I can’t live this lie any longer, Fox. I’m in love with Associate Producer Walter Skinner.”

[atths--twice]

Blissful Early Mornings

I recently saw a collection of pictures of Scully in different sets of pajamas. In one of them, the one below, she looks like she’s wearing Mulder’s dress shirt. I mean, I know she’s not, but hey, we can dream, right? 

She stretches languidly with a sigh, not quite ready to wake up, the bed warm and comfortable. Her eyes closed, she breathes deeply and she smiles; the smell of fresh laundry and the unmistakable scent of the man who sleeps in the bed, filling her senses.

She reaches out and finds that the other side of the bed is rather cool to the touch, signaling it has been unoccupied for quite some time. Her fingertips tracing up where his chest should be, she grabs his pillow, holding it close and breathing deeply again.

Her legs slide across to his side, the coolness of the sheets shockingly different than the warmth of her own. With a soft intake of breath, she smiles as she thinks of the feel of his legs entwined with hers last night, the way the hair on his contrasted to the smoothness of her own.

“Softer than anything I’ve ever touched,” he had whispered in her ear from behind, as her leg slid across his again, and he trailed the backs of his fingers over her stomach and around her navel. Her muscles had quivered as she moaned softly. “So goddamn soft, Scully.”

He had been hard against her and she shifted, allowing him to slip inside of her, her leg moving to lay across his, high on his hip.

“And wet,” he had breathed. “Soft and wet.”

“Mmm… Mulder,” she had moaned as he pulled nearly all the way out, before pushing back in as she thrust with him.

“No. Slow…” he had whispered, his mouth on her ear, his teeth scraping across her lobe. “I wanna go slow. Make it good for you.”

“It’s… ohhh… it’s always good for me. You… Mm… Mulder… yes, like that.”

And he had obliged. Making her moan and gasp his name as his fingers danced and teased, setting a tandem rhythm with his thrusts. She had fallen over the edge, twice, his desire to go slow adding to her pleasure, the anticipation of release causing her heart to feel as though it might burst from her chest.

He was an incredibly attentive lover, but of course she had known he would be. He could bounce quickly from subject to subject, but when he was truly focused on something, his attention remained rapt and intense. And his center of attention of late, resided between her legs.

Everywhere on her body really, but sweet Jesus, that man made her legs weak when his fingers touched or his tongue licked, drawing out cries from her as though collecting them in a mental glass jar; keeping them safe and able to call back on later. His smile, when she was able to once again focus on his face, could almost be described as a smirk, if his utter happiness did not bleed through.

Rolling over, now feeling slightly aroused, she sighs as she opens her eyes and lets go of his pillow. Cotton and down are a poor substitute for the real thing, which must be somewhere in the apartment.

Maybe he’s making me breakfast, she thinks with a small chuckle, along with a roll of her eyes, as she stretches and sits up, completely naked. With a smile, she stands up and stretches further, her muscles deliciously sore.

Feeling her hair, she shakes her head, knowing there is no point in attempting to fix it as it does not matter to either of them. With other men, she had taken the time in the mornings after lovemaking, to touch up her hair or makeup, but now she does not care. He has seen her at her worst. But, tousle haired and warm from his bed, that is the best look she feels she has ever had.

Deciding to not simply walk out in her naked glory, she bends down and picks up her underwear from the floor; the lacy lilac ones that had dropped him to his knees last night. Seeing his white dress shirt lying a couple of steps away and knowing her shirt is somewhere in the living room, she picks it up and slides it on along with her underwear. Buttoning only two buttons, the shirttails hitting the backs of her thighs, she rolls up the sleeves and inhales his scent.

God, he smells so good.

Walking into the bathroom, she picks up her toothbrush, the pink one he presented her with two days ago, after they had watched a movie. Well, not so much watched, as listened while they had discussed their recent case. Her hand had been in his, his thumb rubbing circles along the top of hers, driving her crazy with desire.

He had left the room to use the bathroom and she followed him a minute later, turning off the television as she left, no longer feeling the need to pretend that she had been paying attention to the movie. Or was it a show he had recorded? She had not known and did not care.

Walking to the threshold of the bathroom, he eyes had locked onto hers as he looked in the mirror, his toothbrush in hand. She had smiled at him as he had stared at her.

“You’re staying?” he had asked, hopeful but not expectant. She had nodded, as the craving she had for him, settled like a blazing fire low in her belly.

He had smiled with a nod and glanced down and to the side before raising his eyes again. Her eyes had followed his glance as she stepped closer to him. There, in the cup where he kept his own toothbrush, was another one- a pink one, the same brand she always chose. Smiling slowly, she had looked at him and he shrugged with an adorably awkward smile. I just thought… so you don’t need to bring a bag up every time.”

“Hmm…” she had hummed, reaching for the toothbrush and licking her lips. She bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath. The simple act of him buying her a toothbrush made her heart race.

God, she loved him so much.

“Thank you,” she had whispered, blinking her eyes quickly, as sudden tears pricked at the backs of them.

“It’s just a toothbrush,” he had said with a shrug and she raised her eyes to his in the mirror.

She could have easily turned her head to look at him, her shoulder brushing his arm as they stood so close. But looking at him in the mirror felt more intimate in an odd way, as though she was truly seeing him. Silently, she had told him that it was not just a toothbrush. He had nodded and smiled softly, reaching for the toothpaste and handing it to her first.

“It’s a nice toothbrush,” she had said as she placed the toothpaste on it and then handed it back to him. Turning on the water, she wet her toothbrush before beginning to brush her teeth.

“Well, I was going to buy blue, not wanting to assign gender to anything, even a simple toothbrush,” he explained, placing the toothpaste on his own toothbrush. “But as I stood there, I couldn't remember if my toothbrush was blue. Not wanting to take a chance of them getting mixed up and accidentally using the others, I decided on the only other available color choice: pink.”

He had grinned before brushing his own teeth and she had taken a deep breath, finishing her brushing and staring at him.

As soon as the cup had once again held their two toothbrushes, she had wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly on the lips; his kiss tasting of mint. His hands had slid under her shirt, his fingertips on the skin of her back, adding fuel to that constant fire that seemed to constantly burn within her.

Her shirt had come off and landed somewhere on the floor as he had hummed out a chuckle. He had lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist, as he walked them into the bedroom, where they had fallen onto the bed.

Humming out a breath, she shakes her head and takes a deep breath, smiling at the memory before she brushes her teeth and rinses her face. Patting her face dry, she looks at herself in the mirror and smiles. Fluffing her hair just a little, she steps out of the bathroom and crosses his room to search for him.

Opening the door, she finds him sitting forward on the couch in a pair of plaid pajama pants and one of the dark grey shirts she loves so much. A cup of steaming coffee sits on the coffee table in front of him along with an open case file. He looks up at her with a happy smile and she sighs as she steps over to him.

She bumps his legs, silently asking him to move them and make some space. He sits back and she stands in front of him, the case file blocked by her body. He hums as he runs his hands up her thighs and moans softly when he hits her ass, coming up to her waist and bringing her closer. His dress shirt opens a little and he kisses her bare stomach and it is her turn to moan.

“I like seeing you in my shirt,” he says in a gravelly voice as he rubs his slightly stubbly cheek across her skin, causing her to draw in a sharp breath.

“Hmm… well as I was not one hundred percent sure of the whereabouts of my own shirt, I figured this was better than appearing completely in the nude,” she teases, running her fingers slowly through his hair.

“I wouldn’t say I like seeing you in it that much,” he mumbles against her navel and she chuckles, before gasping as he softly nibbles at her flesh, his thumbs rubbing at her hip bones.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks softly, her fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“No. And I didn’t want to wake you, too. You looked so peaceful.”

“Well, I slept really well. I suppose good lovin’ will do that to a person,” she teases, tugging at his hair gently. He smiles as he leans his head back and looks up at her. She smiles back, telling him that while said in a teasing tone, her words are quite sincere.

“Hmm,” he hums, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands locking together. “I feel the same and slept very well myself… well, for a while anyway.”

“As you should have,” she states with a smirk and he nods, his hazel eyes searching her face. Raising her eyebrows, she asks him a silent question.

“It’s just something about this case was niggling at me when I woke up and, like I said, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Hmm...” She brushes his hair back, his eyes closing as she does. “Perhaps the questions that seem to be niggling at you will keep and we could look at it together… later.”

“Later?” he asks, opening his eyes and staring up at her, a smile tugging at his lips.  

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, her fingernails running lightly down his face as he begins to stroke her back and the top of her ass. “I woke up naked and alone in your bed. Alone, Mulder. And did I mention I was completely naked?”

“Scully,” he groans, his eyes closing briefly, as his hands move to the backs of her thighs, bringing her even closer to him, his lips once more kissing her stomach.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, her fingers moving to the top of his head, closing her eyes as his tongue runs across the top of her underwear. “Mulder.” She squeezes his head as she pitches forward with a shaky moan and he grips her thighs.

“So… it seems I made a mistake,” he says softly as he raises his head, his eyes shining and his mouth curving into a smile. She smiles back, her hands moving to his face and running her thumbs across his lips. “Leaving such a beautiful woman alone… and naked… it should be a crime.”

“I agree.”

“Hmm…” he hums with a smile, softly kissing her thumbs. “What can I possibly do to rectify such a heinous crime?”

She smiles as she raises her eyebrows, knowing exactly what she wants from him. He grins slowly, as though reading her mind, his hands stroking up and down the backs of her thighs once more, goosebumps of anticipation rising in their wake.

“Oh, I know you know I’ve already thought of something.”

He grins with a slight nod as she bends her head, her lips landing on his as her heart races and that constant fire within her, begins to rise.

[scullyverse]

Day 19: Silent In Their Grief

Prompt: Period Sex Pairing: Mulder/Scully Rating: Explicit Words: 1,769 AO3 List || Masterlist

🖤 Content warnings; mulder/scully, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, anger, blood, period sex, rough sex, vaginal sex, shower sex, ivf arc, failed ivf 🖤

A child was one step too far.

Trigger Warnings: - Grief from failed IVF - Depictions of blood - Rough Sex

It hadn’t worked.

It hadn’t fucking worked.

Scully’s last chance of being a mother was rapidly spiraling down the drain, blood diluted in scalding water.

Her period had decided to rip her heart out of her chest — just barely beating in her hand — and wake her up in the middle of the night with cramps and a wet stickiness between her legs.

Of course, she should have known.

A pregnancy was just too much to hope for; too much to pray for. Maybe God had forsaken her. Maybe it’s a horrible cosmic karma for her wavering sense of faith or maybe, simply, after all her battles — she’d used up all her chances.

A child was one step too far.

Scully was glad for the water that pricked at her skin in an attempt to cleanse her body — like washing a pig after its senseless slaughter.

Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back and lets the water wash over her face, erasing her treacherous tears into nothingness.

“Scully…”

She can vaguely hear her name. It sounds so muffled, so far away, like she was hearing it from miles under the sea, water pressure pulsing against her eardrums.

“Scully…”

There it is again, clearer now it’s accompanied by a touch to her elbow. It brings her back to earth suddenly, like a stinging slap to the face.

“Jesus, Scully, the waters’ too hot!” Mulder’s gasps, concern lacing his voice as he quickly adjusts the shower taps.

She both loves and hates him for it.

Opening her eyes, she looks down at the shower floor, her toes gripping onto porcelain. The tinge of red no longer stains the water. Good, she didn’t want to be reminded of it.

“I don’t have another chance,” Scully whispers, repeating her earlier words, just barely audible over the static of the shower. “I’ve got nothing left.”

Mulder stands on the opposite side of the shower — though he may as well be on the other end of the planet. Even as his thumb caresses the soft skin inside her elbow, she can’t feel it. He’s both too close and too far away.

There’s nothing for him to say.

No words of comfort could he give that he hasn’t already struggled to voice. 

Of course, the first thing she’d done when she awoke, stained in her own blood, was call him. He must have broken the law with how quickly he had arrived at her door, where he found her; still in her stained satin pajamas with a negative pregnancy test barely gripped in shaky fingers.

Scully can feel her pain pushing at her throat, clawing viciously and leaving a searing heat in her eyes. Angrily, she swallows down the lump and refuses to let her tears fall.

How could she mourn what she was never allowed to even hope for?

It had been stupid to think she could defy the laws of science. It had been stupid to lean on the side of hopes and prayers.

It had been so stupid. She had been so stupid.

Her gaze falls on Mulder, who stands there, unwavering in her grief; shouldering a burden in his eyes that reflect an image of her own. Suddenly, she needs him. More than she needs to breathe.

She needs to be selfish in her desperation for him to shoulder just a little bit more of burdens…of their burdens.

Even though he’s still dressed, he doesn’t hesitate in getting under the spray when she beckons that of him. Doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around her as she clings so desperately onto his shirt, burying her head into the rapidly moistening material.

Her shoulders shake as she struggles to wrestle down her tears.

“Dana…” His voice is gentle, ushering her into a comfort that she doesn’t feel she deserves. She doesn’t want to be seen like broken glass — not when she loathes herself for feeling exactly like she could break at any moment.

“Shut up,” Scully snaps, voice lacking all sense of venom — just grappling with getting the words out of her constricted throat. “I don’t want to talk.”

He doesn’t reply, just squeezes her tighter.

The tighter he holds her, the more she feels broken.

The tighter he holds her, the more she hates it.

The more that defiant brat inside her head screams for her to spit in the face of her pain; a caged, petrified animal left with no other alternative.

Her lips are on his before he can even comprehend what’s happening, her fingers shaky as she claws at his leather belt. It’s wrong — there’s a part of her that knows it — but she hungers for something, anything, that can dull her pain…even if it’s only for a brief time.

Mulder barely kisses her back, his fingers tight around her own as he stops her frantic struggles at his jeans.

“Scully,” Mulder’s voice is shaking. “We can’t do this…”

“Why the fuck not?” Scully flares up at him with a boiling anger to her eyes.

Her fury visibly takes his breath away.

Maybe he’s expecting her to be overcome with sadness, crippled wholeheartedly by her grief — but she will fight tooth and nail to protect those vulnerabilities with all the anger she has raging beneath the surface.

All the anger at the men who did this to her. All the anger of her precious, treasured, respected science abandoning her. All her anger at a God who’s denied her.

All the anger at him.

All the anger at herself.

“I don’t know,” Mulder swallows so tightly that she can see the bulge move in his throat.

His pure uncertainty makes her waver; a crumbling in her eyes as she wiggles out of his grip.

“I need you, I don’t-“ Trailing off, Scully feels the sadness welling up in her chest; a compression so severe that’s almost suffocating. “I want you to take it away. I don’t want to feel it anymore.”

She’s never been this candid with him, never allowed herself to be this transparent and when his lips crash against hers, the saltiness of his tears teasing her tongue, she quietens. 

It’s like he’s stopping her grief from over flowering; attempting to block the flood with his own forthcomings.

He knows what she needs. He always knows.

Even if they know it’s wrong — they both know it, it’s a sharp niggle at the back of their brains — who are they to deny each other.

He tries to shoulder her pain.

She tried to bear him a child.

Her fingers are like talons as they dig into his back, his hands working deftly to unbuckle his jeans. They pool on the floor. Pooling amongst the seeping of red that now flows from under his fingers to mingle with the water.

The calloused pads of his fingertips are rough against her clit and the sting of pain soothes.

She needs more.

He’ll tell her later how ashamed he was with how hard he was in her hand as she strokes him. 

Mulder hikes her leg high onto his waist; opening her up for him in a way that’s just as raw as the gaping wound in her chest.

The evidence of her punishment is diluted on her thighs, matted in her pubic hair and he acknowledges it with a hesitation.

No, no, no, no.

Scully’s desperate tongue laps at his own, teeth clashing together as she chokes back a sob.

He understands.

The pain is sharp and breathtaking as he slams into her; her back hitting the wall hard enough for her shampoo bottle to topple off the shelf. She’s incredibly tight around him, lubricated only by her misfortune — but it’s enough.

He grunts heavily into her mouth as his fingers gauge bruises into her ass, hips unrelenting when he thrusts. When he pounds.

Every thrust is painfully exquisite.

Her shower doors rattle in their hinges as he holds her weight against the wall, the leg around his waist swinging helplessly and the other; toes struggling to find purchase on the slippery shower floor.

She doesn’t speak, there’s no need.

The only sounds leaving her lips are gasps; air forcefully ejected from her lungs. Scully buries her head into the solid mass of his shoulder, teeth latching on as her mouth fills with the suffocation of cotton.

He grunts again.

This time she’s sure it’s out of pain as he lets her take her grief out on him, ready to suck her dry of it. Her nails indent his shoulder blades with blunted half moon crescents.

Her climax happens suddenly and without warning.

Like a bullet exploding from a cocked gun, she cries out into his shoulder, eyes unavoidably rolling into the back of her head as she spasms around him, almost painfully. 

Her orgasm isn’t pleasurable. No sparks or tingles…just a pulsing of guilt as she milks him, her bloodied arousal slick on his cock.

He doesn’t slow until she comes again.

A pitiful howl rips from her lips as a more powerful climax overtakes her — rendering her breathless, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She’s sobbing — silently wailing — when he finally comes, thrusting one last time before spilling his own guarded grief into her. He pulses gently through his orgasm as he holds her, sheltering her from her outside world as she shatters.

Silence turns to cries.

In their raw, primal state; his cock spurting inside her as she opens herself to him — she’s utterly helpless to suppress her tears. To suppress the rising level of suffering she feels could drown her in a heartbeat.

She’s helpless in how she still sends up a prayer.

Praying, begging, pleading, that maybe God will forgive her…That maybe this time…

Mulder holds himself inside her with a desperation of his own; burying himself to the hilt, that makes her wonder if he’s praying too.

She struggles to breathe.

Mulder pulls out of her and she wobbles on unsteady legs, watching as he cleans the deep red blood off his cock. She can’t even contemplate touching herself to rid the evidence of their coupling, just steps out of the shower and grabs her towel. Little splashes of water mark her path to the bedroom as she lets the water pool under her feet.

They’re silent as they dry themselves.

They’re silent as Scully re-emerges from the bathroom later with a tampon secured inside  — absorbing her failings.

They’re silent as they get into bed, Scully instinctively reaching for Mulder — who has already wrapped his arms around her to hold her close.

They’re silent in their grief.

Until they’re not.

“I’m sorry, Dana.”

[slippinmickeys]

The Annapolis Grant, part 2/?

He was, frankly, shocked when he saw the client. He was used to older women -- women who'd been divorced, widowed. Women who needed company. About half the clients he went out with didn't even want sex -- they just wanted someone to talk to, someone who'd pay attention to them and treat them with kindness and make them feel pretty, looked after, wanted. For men, escorts were about sex. For women, it was about companionship. He supposed beautiful women needed companionship too, but… He’d never had a client who looked like this. She was young. She was stunning. He wouldn't have been surprised to find her likeness carved in marble at the Smithsonian. She had flowing auburn locks and alabaster skin awash with the lightest freckles. And her eyes. Her eyes were a cobalt blue that could make you forget what you were going to say. This was going to make for an interesting job.

“Hi,” he said, his voice coming out more lively than he’d planned, “are you Dana?”

“No,” the woman said, then shook her head. “I mean yes,” she said. He smiled at her — he was used to women being nervous when employing him for the first time, and he found excessive friendliness generally put them at ease. He grabbed the back of the chair opposite her and asked if he could sit. When she nodded, he sat down and immediately shook out the cloth napkin on the table in front of him, draping it across his lap. Then he reached out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dana.”

She tentatively reached out and took his proffered hand, her own hand small, but her grip firm.

“What’s your name?” she asked him, the lashes framing her eyes thick as a field of wheat.

He cleared his throat. This woman was making it difficult to think. “What do you want my name to be?” he said, not realizing that it sounded like a creepy pick-up line until the words were out of his mouth.

“This isn’t going to work-“ she started, pushing her chair back from the table. He held out a conciliatory hand, feeling terrible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely. “That wasn’t a come-on. Melvin explained to me your situation. I wondered if you’d given this guy your fiancé’s name? I know I’m playing a part here, I’m just trying to figure out what the part is.”

“Oh.” She said, looking unsure.

He leaned back in his chair and put both hands on the table.

“Let’s start again,” he said, “Dana, it’s nice to meet you, my name is Fox Mulder. You don’t have to tell me that it sounds like a stripper name.” He saw a corner of her mouth quirk up. “If you’d prefer, you can call me Mulder.”

She nodded slowly, her lips still slightly upturned. She reached out a hand once again.

"It's nice to meet you, Mulder."

XxXxXxXxXxX

"So, how does this work?" she asked.

"You tell me how it works," he said. He was wearing glasses, and she could just make out flecks of gold on his mossy irises through the lens. "I'm at your disposal. Whatever you need… I’m at your beck and call."

"Like Pretty Woman?" she asked.

He chuffed a laugh.

"If you like." He looked over the rim of his spectacles, assessing her for a moment. "Dana, you run the show, here. You're spending a lot of money, and I'll be and do whatever you need."

It felt odd somehow to hear her first name from him.

"Call me... call me Scully. To your Mulder." She knew it was a distancing tactic psychologically, but it made her feel better about what she was doing and who she was doing it with.

"I can do that."

She looked at him a moment with her lips pursed and then all at once, she told him her story in a torrent of words -- her lab, the Annapolis Grant, McKay and his reputation, her spur of the moment white lie about having a fiance, and the domino effect it had had on her life lately. He listened attentively, nodding, his hands on the table in front of himself, his fingertips laced together. He sort of reminded her of a therapist, though she supposed what he did was a kind of therapy. In any event, she felt like she'd exhaled a too-long-held breath, and leaned back in her chair after she was done talking, relieved of a burden.

"Wow," he said.

"Yeah," hearty agreement. She took a breath and leaned forward again, assessing him. She may as well be upfront. "Do you think you can play the part? We'll be running in elite circles... I'll be frank with you -- this whole bonkers idea makes me nervous. Do you think you have the required etiquette to pull this off? I need the Annapolis Grant. Badly. But I'm staking my entire reputation -- personal and professional -- on this. And if there's even a chance..." She fumbled for a moment, a million thoughts running through her head. She had a nightmare picture of him sitting next to her at dinner with McKay, spouting nonsense and being handsy. "I've looked at your medical records and drug tests... I'm not interested in sex," Dana, stop talking! she thought and then plowed ahead. "But you seem clean and polite and... oh God, what am I even trying to say?" She felt flustered and flush (why the hell had she brought up sex?!), and his calm, intense gaze wasn't helping.

He unlaced his fingers.

"In the course of my... work," he said, his voice even and gentle, "I've attended State Dinners and Kennedy Center Honors. I've been at tables with Senators, Congressman. I can be who you need me to be. I can do what you need me to do." She felt tension drain out of her shoulders. "I guess the real question is... can you?" There it was. The real crux of the issue in this madcap scheme. Then, his voice a honeyed rumble, "I can be the person you need me to be with you. Do you think you can be it with me?"

"Yes," she said, the word out of her mouth before she could think it. She felt a steely resolve. "I think I can."

He reached across the table and took her hand, running his thumb over the skin of her wrist.

"Then you've got yourself a fiance. Let's say we go get you a grant."

XxXxXxXxXxX

They had discussed logistics but not minutiae, though they had a five hour flight ahead of them, and she supposed they could tackle it mid-air. She fluffed out her hair and checked her reflection in the passenger-side visor for the fifth time in 20 minutes.

"You need to relax, Dana," Missy said as she flipped the signal for the exit to Reagan National, "if you're going to be this nudgy the entire trip, you should call it off."

"It's just nerves," Scully said, irritation creeping into her voice, flipping the visor back up with a whack.

Missy gave her a side eye and then proceeded to merge toward Departures. "Maybe you should avail yourself of this guy's services right off the bat," she said cheekily.

"I'm not sleeping with him!" Scully didn't know why she was being so defensive.

"Why not, you’re paying for it,” Missy said, smiling, “Anyway, orgasms are good for 'nerves.'"

"Stop."

"I'm just saying, get your money's worth."

"Missy!"

Melissa pulled her car up to the curb, and threw it in park. She turned to Scully.

"It's going to be fine, Dana. One week. From everything you said, this guy has impeccable manners and is fairly intelligent. Just relax about it, okay? Enjoy yourself-"

"Missy-"

"Not like that. Just... try to have a good time? You're going to be on a megayacht for God's sake. Revel a little."

Scully let out a slow breath. "Okay," she said.

Melissa smiled at her reassuringly and popped the trunk.

"Is he meeting you here?" Missy asked.

Scully looked at the window at the various people milling about the sidewalk and skycap.

"Yes," she said absently, scanning the crowd for him.

"Is he cute?"

"Yes," she said, before she realized what her sister was asking. Missy laughed and got out of the car. Scully was just reaching for her own door handle, when the door opened on its own.

Standing there with a smile was Mulder, his hair a glinting chocolate in the hot Virginia sunshine. He was dressed in a tan linen suit, the white shirt underneath buttoned casually. He was wearing glasses and had a large, expensive-looking garment bag looped over his shoulder.

"Scully," he said, holding out his hand to help her from the car. When she stood, she saw her sister standing at the rear of the car watching them, her mouth slightly open, not quite gaping.

"Oh," Mulder said, noticing her by the trunk, "let me get that."

He moved quickly to the trunk and pulled out Scully's suitcase, which he extended the handle of, setting it on the ground. While he was doing this, Melissa connected eyes with Scully, mouthed oh my god! and fanned herself. Scully could feel her face go crimson.

Mulder closed the trunk with a thud.

"Hi," he said to Melissa, holding out his hand, "I'm Mulder."

Missy extended her hand slowly.

"I'm Melissa, Dana's sister," she said, shaking it once, "it's a real pleasure."

"Pleasure is all mine," Mulder said, then looked to Scully expectantly. "You ready to get checked in?" Scully nodded and reached for her suitcase. “I got it,” he said with a smile.

Scully gave him a tight smile back and then waved once to Melissa, turning on her heel toward the airport doors. She could feel Missy's eyes on her, and then felt Mulder's hand come to rest gently on the small of her back, leading her forward into the unknown.

[spookyshipperfics]

Unprofessional

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: Explicit

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

Tagging @today-in-fic

What is it About? Scully isn't happy when a case sends them to a New Orleans swamp. She's even less thrilled when a local tour guide gets the hots for Mulder and invites him to dinner.

Read a Sample: A woman’s arm had been discovered on the outskirts of a campground. Scully suggested an alligator attack; Mulder rambled about folkloric legends. She ordered the nearby swamp to be dredged while Mulder sought the expertise of a local tour guide with a pretty face and a southern twang. Marybeth ran a haunted boat tour, and Scully suffered through eye-rolling tales. Somehow a man who haunted the swamps and killed anyone unlucky enough to enter his vague supernatural territory became their top suspect. When Marybeth mentioned an old, spooky cabin, Scully’s eyes narrowed. Mulder’s widened.

Mulder was her constant opposite. What fascinated him only annoyed her. What sent him barreling ahead had her gripping a crumbling surface. In some twisted way, it worked for them—or it usually did. Things got messy when someone else stepped into their universe, sending their tight, little world tipping on its axis. Scully watched Marybeth touch Mulder’s arm, fingers closing around his forearm as they hunched over a map. It was Dr. Berenbaum all over again. The laughing. The looks. Suddenly Bambi didn’t seem like such a ridiculous name.

“We should discuss this over dinner and drinks later,” Marybeth whispered to her partner. Scully stormed out before she heard Mulder’s response.

She hadn’t even wanted to come to Louisianna, never mind a New Orleans forest where trees gave way to algae-covered swamps, and reeds grew as tall as her disdain. Yet, she’d let Mulder drag her. Pull her. Verbally coerce with a boyish smile and puppy dog eyes.

She let it happen again after lunch. Her previous mistake repeated as he led her from the campground, where the trails were overgrown and wild.

“Marybeth says there is a cabin out this way, Scully.”

She could hardly suppress her eye roll, barely bit her tongue. Marybeth had gone home. These neglected trails were apparently no place for pretty tour guides. Scully marched ahead, her heels sinking into the marshy ground. She tried to ignore Mulder’s purposeful lagging the same way she attempted to quell the twisting sensation in her heart.

We should discuss this over dinner and drinks later.

The heat was oppressive. The smell was earthy. She couldn’t hear herself think over the unrelenting orchestra of cicadas. They weren’t dressed for this. Dry-cleaned slacks and silk blouses were laughably unsuitable. She whipped around to find Mulder, suit jack thrown across his shoulder and shirt unbuttoned too low. Scully felt as tight and taut as a rubber band. His pushed-up sleeves revealed toned forearms, and when she thought about Marybeth touching him there, she finally snapped.

“This is pointless, Mulder. We’re getting too far from the crime scene.” She pointed in the direction they’d come. Somewhere, not far, police officers were doing real work. Forensics was sweeping the area, yellow crime scene tape creating a boundary that did not account for supernatural meddling.

“You want to go back?”

Yes, she wanted to go back. She also wanted to scream. “If legend is to be believed, your ghost cabin is ten miles north of here.”

“But Marybeth said—”

Scully scoffed, couldn’t help it. “Mulder, that woman is either mistaken or misleading you.”

“Misleading me? For the purpose of what?”

“Maybe so she has something to discuss over dinner and drinks.” The ending of her sentence was sharp like a razor blade, intended to wound even if she had no real reason to draw blood. They were just partners. He owed her nothing. “What you do on your own time is no business of mine, but when you bring me into it, it becomes unprofessional.”

“This isn’t about Marybeth; this is about the case. So, I think it’s you who is mistaken.”

“Am I, Mulder?” She tossed her hands out to the side. “Because here I am, standing in the middle of some swamp looking for a ghost after watching you and Marybeth batting eyelashes at each other all morning. Like I said, it’s unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional,” he huffed. “You’re the one who’s been borderline rude since we got here.”

She’d been caught. Defeated. Her envy was on full display. Mulder grabbed her shoulder, rooting her in place before she could run.

“What’s going on?”

His arm dropped, but his voice was like a chain, his question a shackle. Her feet felt as heavy as her pounding heart.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted.

“Come on, Scully. What is it?”

His iron hold burnt her skin. The invisible chain between them clanged and rattled. She wanted to pull him closer but knew she couldn’t. The FBI forbade it. Her own stupid heart forbade it, too. “It’s nothing,” she repeated, this time louder.

“You’re lying.”

Suddenly, she hoped this ghost would appear, that he’d yank her into the water and far away from Mulder’s prying eyes. His gaze pierced her shell. It grated and tore at her cold exterior.

Her fists clenched in defiance as he took a step closer. “Why are you lying to me, Scully? What’s going on?”

“I’m jealous,” she practically yelled. Her cheeks burned, and her skin burst into flames. She couldn’t hold his stare any longer. It’s why she didn’t realize he’d approached until he was already there.

The tilt of her head was met by the crash of his mouth. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. And when he pulled back to gauge her reaction, she closed the distance. Her mouth found his again, her tongue making up for all the complicated, messy feelings she couldn’t say out loud.

Find the rest on a03

[katy-kt-katie]

Truth Serum Chapter 2

Skinner needs Mulder and Scully to test a truth serum post "Fight the Future," what could go wrong?

Rated: Explicit

Read COMPLETED FULL STORY now on AO3: LINK or chapters posted here daily.

Mulder stopped by his house, changed into some basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and got an overnight bag. He secured a bag of tacos and found himself at Scully’s door. He knocked twice and she answered with a smile, looking adorable in sweatpants and a light purple tank top.

Damn and I have to play truth games with her all night looking like that, he thought smiling like an idiot as she waved him inside.

“So, here is the serum,” she said, holding two vials of liquid up for him to see. “Should we just drink it, or did you want to eat first?”

“You tell me, doc,” as if it wouldn’t be hard enough to take a truth serum with his partner of five plus years, doing this in her apartment while she was dressed so casually felt incredibly intimate. But she seemed very comfortable, and her relaxed affect eased his mood too.

“Let me have a taco and then I’ll drink it. I’m so hungry and it smells so good,” she giggled, grabbing into the bag. He loved that she wasn’t ever afraid to eat in front of him like so many women he’d spent time with previously.

The tacos hit the spot, they were crunchy, hot, and delicious. As Mulder bit into his, some of the greasy taco meat shot out dribbled down his chin and landed on his Knicks t-shirt.

“Damn,” he chuckled and before he could do anything about it, Scully had grabbed a napkin and was tenderly wiping at the corner of his mouth.

“Mulder, let me put your shirt in the washer so the grease doesn’t stain it.”

He appreciated her concern but grew worried realizing he’d brought his dopp kit and his Navajo blanket but not an extra shirt.

“I don’t have an extra shirt, Scully.” He said, tentatively.

“Oh,” she paused for a moment, he caught her eyes on his chest, “It’s fine, I’ve seen it all before, Mulder.”

She had; they’d seen each other naked during cases, but the thought of hanging around her apartment sans shirt was a whole new concept. Nonetheless, if she was okay with it, he was too.  He pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to her with a smile. He thought he caught her blushing as she turned to head towards her washing machine.

She returned a moment later, “All set,” she smiled.

“Thanks,” he grinned back. Taking this truth serum tonight could go really well or horribly wrong, he thought as he stared into her blue eyes. There is so much he wanted to know and so much he was terrified to share.

She discarded their taco mess and held the vials up again. “Mulder…” she started to say, and he could tell she was collecting her thoughts. “…I just want to say, no matter what happens tonight with this ‘truth serum’” she did air quotes to demonstrate her questioning whether this would actually do anything at all, “I promise it won’t change how I feel about our partnership…about you.”

She was staring at her bare feet a bit nervously; she looked beautiful, and he thought how he may be in love with her, at this very moment. “Scully me too, I trust you…us…together. This will be fine.  No secrets, right?” he said nervously, realizing immediately how stupid it was to refer back to their game of chicken from earlier, but it felt right in the moment like some kind of odd camaraderie.

They moved to her couch and sat at opposing corners, each with one knee propped up to face each other.

“Okay well…” she handed him a vial, “bottoms up.”

He took the truth serum like a shot of whisky, and it burned a bit just the same. “9:02, Scully. We should probably make a note of that; note when we took it and when or if it takes effect, and when or if it wears off.”

“Already on it Mulder,” she giggled as she held up a sheet with columns and times she’d prepared.

“Of course, you are,” he chuckled.

“I think we should start to ask each other to disclose our ‘Skinner secret’ once every minute? Until something happens,” she suggested.

“What’s your Skinner secret, Scully?” he said. She shook her head no.

It seemed like this serum might not actually work; both of them easily resisting their tell. But after just seven minutes, after she’d vehemently denied the serum having any effect just the previous time he’d asked, Scully let the cat out of the bag.

“What’s your Skinner secret, Scully?” he’d said at minute seven.

“Skinner had a pony named Buttercup as a kid,” as she said it her hand flew to her mouth to cover the secret. Clearly some part of her brain knew she should resist, but another part forced the secret to tumble right out of her mouth. “Oh my God! It’s like I had no control whatsoever of that thought coming out,” she exclaimed.

Mulder was amused at how cute she looked, embarrassed that she couldn’t hold this secret in any longer.  

“Ask me then,” Mulder said.

“What’s you Skinner secret, Mulder?” He shook his head no. The serum wasn’t affecting him.

“Maybe it only works on women,” Mulder wondered.

Three minutes later, Scully barely had to ask him; mid question his answer spewed out of his mouth like a volcano erupting, “Skinner took tap dancing classes in college. Remind me- we need to make him show us some moves,” like a mirror to Scully’s earlier reaction, his hand also shot up to cover his mouth.

“Oh shit, Scully. You are right, I had no control over that, you asked, and I couldn’t keep from answering, and honestly couldn’t even get control of how I said it, it was like my inner monologue just came out,” he shook his head. “I wonder why it took longer to work on me.”

“Probably has something to do with metabolism or body weight,” she said, scientist Scully coming in full effect. While this version of her sometimes shot down his ideas, he couldn’t help but admit to himself how cute she was when she turned into a lab rat. “So, on average 8.5 minutes,” she continued, “Let’s try to determine a little more about how it works.” He nodded and she continued her scientific examination. “I wonder if you need to be asked a question directly or if the serum can just make you blurt something out that you don’t want to say?”

“Well, why don’t we each think of something we really don’t want to tell each other and see if we can just stare at each other and make it come out,” Mulder suggested.

“Okay,” she said. He thought about what he would be embarrassed to tell her; so many things , he thought. But he landed on how he’d secretly placed tracking devices on her phone and in her purse once she had been returned from her abduction.

Scully nodded at him, indicating she’d thought of something.  They stared at each other intensely, trying to see if the secret would jump out of their mouths. But nothing happened.

“I’m sticking with my theory that a question needs to be asked. So, what are you thinking about that you don’t want me to know Mulder?”

Just as Mulder felt himself willing the secret to stay within him, he caught his mouth moving and the words already coming out, “Scully I’ve been low jacking you since after your abduction. The Gunmen helped me place tracking devices in your cell phone and the lining of your purse. I can find where you are at any time. I should have told you, but I thought you’d say no and it’s only because I worry about you so much.” He paused and cringed. “Are you mad?”

She gasped, “Mulder! I should be. That’s so invasive. But Mulder that’s so incredibly sweet…no invasive!” Mulder had asked her if she was mad, and it was clear the truth serum was battling her thoughts for the right answer.

“I’m sorry Scully, truly, but I feel like it’s the right thing to do, to keep you safe.”

“How often do you check on my location, Mulder?”

“I only do if I’m worried you are in danger,” his answer, “or if I’m bored and thinking of you,” the truth serum’s answer. “Shit, I’m sorry Scully,” he said, hanging his head.

“It’s okay Mulder. I think we should try not to get mad at each other while this thing is still in effect.”

“Okay, Scully.” He was distracted, feeling bad and almost forgot he could ask her what she didn’t want to tell him. “Scully, what were you thinking about that you didn't want me to know?”

“Mulder, I don’t think your mom treats you well. Actually she is just mean. My mom loves you so much, she asks me if we are getting married everytime I talk to her.”

His eyes felt like they were bulging out of his head in surprise. “She asks about us getting married? That’s kind of cute,” he laughed. “But I’m surprised she’d jump to that since we aren’t even together . Is that something you’ve talked to her about or thought about Scully?” Mulder asked, shocked.

“I guess I’ve thought about it…maybe someday. Shit, Mulder, you asked me a question back. I can’t help it. Has the thought ever crossed your mind?”

He felt an unintelligible babble leave his lips as he struggled to fight what was coming out of his mouth, “Yeah, Scully it has. You are my best friend, and we are single. Maybe someday,” he smiled awkwardly and shrugged.

“Wow,” she said.

“Yeah. Wow,” he agreed. That they both thought about being married someday, implied that they both thought they’d eventually end up in a relationship and he was mind blown.

She smiled and paused for a beat, ignoring the awkwardness by returning to the lab rat version of herself, “So I guess we know a question needs to be asked to prompt the sharing, but once asked, we have no control over spewing out our thoughts, and no regard for how they are shared either; it comes out a little raw. The only other thing we don’t know is how long it lasts.”

He nodded and they sat in silence for a while, stealing glances at each other. Skinner had told them the effect could last for hours and the experiment part of this little mission was just about complete after less than twenty minutes.

“So, what should we do now, Dr. Scully?” Mulder teased.

“I want to ask you all the things I’ve always wanted to know, but couldn’t ask,” Scully smirked, he could tell that was the serum talking, she hadn’t wanted to say that thought out loud. He chuckled.

“That sounds horrifying, Scully. Are there things you really want to know?” He replied.

“Yes! Aren’t there things you want to know, Mulder?”

He shook his head no while his mouth said, “There are things I really, really want to know.” He had no control over his response to her request.

She was staring at him hard. He wondered what she was thinking. He could just ask, but he chose another question that had been plaguing him for weeks.

“Scully, did you see the spaceship in Antarctica? Do you believe in aliens now?”

“Of course I did, and of course I do, Mulder!” Her eyes shot wide.

Mulder jumped off the couch and pumped his first in the air, “HA! I knew it. Why are you always denying it?”

“Because the science doesn’t make sense. But aliens are real, you are right,” she said, burying her face in her palm in embarrassment. 

“Scully, this is a breakthrough; we can go to Roswell together or Area 51, and you can help me break down the physics of spaceships…”

“Mulder, sit!” she yelled. “I admit to what I saw, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I am not joining MUFON!”

“Okay, Scully.” he said, grinning like the cat that got the canary as he reclaimed his side of the couch. I knew she saw the spaceship!

He saw her close her eyes and take a deep breath. Without even opening her eyes and without warning, she fired a question back at him.

“What’s the nature of your relationship with Diana Fowley?”

“Colleagues. Just colleagues. We used to date and work together. Don’t worry about her Scully. She’s nothing compared to you.” 

She was quiet for a beat. Mulder didn’t feel reluctant to answer questions for her at the moment; he didn’t feel the answer about Diana struggle to come out; it was the truth, and he wasn’t ashamed to say it. Apparently, Scully had been reluctant to ask. “Scully, Is that all you want to ask me?”

“Mulder this seems dangerous,” she giggled at her own apparent mischievousness. “But I don’t want to stop asking you questions. Should we take a break? Physically separate from each other so we don’t say something we regret?”

“Scully, no,” he whined. “I don’t like to be apart from you, it makes me sad. That’s why I call you so much.” Fuck, the serum has me acting like a sad puppy , he thought.

He saw her immediately blush; he was sure he was blushing too. She scooted toward the middle of the couch and touched his shoulder, seeming to calm his embarrassment.

He took a deep breath and focused on her. “Okay. Maybe one more question each for now, Mulder I’ve been wondering,” she leaned her shoulder against his, giving him a playful little bump as she asked, “All you said to me in the hallway, how I kept you honest, made you a whole person. Did you mean that or was that just an attempt to have me stay?”

“Oh Scully, I meant every word,” he sighed. “I’m sorry that you had to ask me that while I’m taking truth serum. I guess I’m not so good at sharing my feelings sometimes. You are the best, most incredible partner.” He stared into her ocean blue eyes, “I love you.” 

Mulder closed his eyes, not wanting to see the reaction on her face. He knew she’d assume he meant platonic love and that’s probably for the best.  Hopefully she wouldn’t ask him what he meant by saying he loved her, because if she did, he’s sure the serum would have him saying something ridiculous like I’m so in love with you I can’t concentrate sometimes .

He heard her sniffle a bit and opened his eyes, finding her softly crying, overcome with emotion. He wrapped his arms around her, and she hugged back into his bare chest.

After a beat, Mulder realized he still had a turn. He realized he might cross a line by asking this, but he couldn’t help himself, especially while her face was pressed into his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close they had gotten to a shift in their relationship. “Scully,” he whispered into ear, “what if you weren’t stung by the bee? What would have happened in the hallway?”

“I would have kissed you until we were out of breath, and then I think we might have had sex.” He realized she had closed her eyes in embarrassment, but the truth kept coming out, “God, I wanted to. I love sex but I can’t imagine doing it with anyone other than you, so I’ve been a little lonely for years.” She gasped and nuzzled her head deeper into his chest. “Mulder this is so embarrassing, that’s probably not what you were thinking in the hallway, was it?” she whined.

“Are you crazy, Scully? I imagined you being reassigned and how I’d never kissed you or gotten to show you how much I need you; how badly I wanted to make you come.” 

She giggled against his chest, “I guess I’m not crazy, because I thought about how good you would look naked and aroused. You look so hot right now with your shirt off. Are you even attracted to me, Mulder?” she pulled her face back to find his and winced in embarrassment.

“Scully, you are so hot. I don’t even watch my tapes anymore, I just think of you, your perfect little ass, and your perky breasts. God Scully, I’m so sorry for being so blunt…it’s the serum. Do you think I’m an asshole?” Mulder rolled his eyes, betrayed by his own mouth.

She hugged him, consoling, but her sweet gesture was a contradiction to what the truth serum forced her to say, “Mulder you aren’t an asshole. You sound like a healthy man, with a good sexual appetite and a big dick too, I just wonder if I’ll ever get to see it aroused?” she slammed her head back against the couch, incredulous.

“I want to show it to you, Scully. I want to feel you. I bet your pussy is so tight and warm. Don’t you think about it…us?” He growled, his erection growing by the second. 

“Yes, but aren’t you scared, Mulder? What if having sex messes up our partnership?” That was some truth coming out of her, for sure , he thought.

“I’m scared too,” he said, as he tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear so he could see her face still mostly buried in his chest. “But I can’t imagine being with anyone else and I’m so lonely sometimes, please can we try? I’m begging,” he growled in frustration, “Fuck this truth serum is making me sound pathetic.”

She pushed herself away from him, not in anger but in desperation. “I want to kiss you, but we can’t,” she started marching towards her bedroom and appeared to him like a person being physically pulled somehow forward and backward at the same time. She struggled but made it to her doorway. “Let’s separate for thirty minutes and then we will see how things are. I really want to jump in your lap and ride you, but it will be for the best if we separate, okay?”

Mulder stood from where he was watching her on the couch. “Scully, you want to ride me? Come back, don’t leave. Are you mad at me?” he said, sounding like a little kid who was having his toy taken away.

“FUCK!” she exclaimed. “We are fine, I’m not mad. We have to stop asking each other questions! I’ll come out in a bit,” she said as she slammed her bedroom door.

Mulder laid back on the couch; a full gamut of confusing emotions running through his head. He was so embarrassed for confessing how badly he wanted her, but she wanted him just as much. Despite that realization coming to surface, he remained completely unsure about what might actually happen with them. The truth serum was forcing confessions but forcing them in an awkward and overly blunt way. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind when he heard her door creak open.

“Mulder,” she whispered.

“Yeah, Scully. What’s on your mind?”

“Come in here so we can talk; so we can have sex.”

He looked up in time to see her hand fly over her mouth again, embarrassed. She motioned for him to join her in her bedroom, and he did.

He sat on the side of the bed and looked at her, she was standing several feet away, looking a bit guarded.

“Mulder, why haven’t you told me how you felt before?”

“I was scared it would ruin things and I didn’t think you felt the same way. Scully, why haven’t you told me what you wanted?”

“I really didn’t think you felt the same way, in fact I thought you were sleeping with Diana again. You are positive nothing’s happening with her, Mulder?”

“No. I could fuck her though, she’d let me in a heartbeat,” he winced, the serum still had the controls. “But I just want you. I want you so much.”

Scully smiled and took a step toward him but put her arm out to prevent him from grabbing her, she wasn’t finished talking, “Here’s how I see it Mulder, we are both interested in exploring a physical relationship. The truth serum has brought that to life, but it isn’t affecting our judgment. I feel well with in my abilities to consent to sex, in fact, the truth serum will actually force us to give full and truthful consent if we just ask each other.”

“Okay Scully, do you want to have sex with me tonight?”

“I want to have sex with you right now more than anything. You are so hot, it’s so distracting, sometimes I think it would help me focus better at work if we were doing it,” she mused. “What about you, Mulder, do you want to have sex with me tonight?”

Mulder grinned, bigger than he’d grinned in years. “Scully, the answer Is yes. I want to give you pleasure; I want to explore all of you…can we?” he reached for her, and she stepped closer allowing him to graze her hip with his knuckles.

“Okay, one thing though,” she paused. “We need to avoid asking each other anything else, the truth serum might make it awkward, like imagine you stick it in and ask me how it feels, and it hurts because…you are big.”

He chuckled. He was big and he didn’t have any issues with that bit of truth.

She shook her head again so embarrassed, “And normally maybe I’d just work through it, but if you ask me how I feel, I’d probably say ‘it hurts’, I don’t want to mess up our first time with those kind of awkward truths. Can we just stay quiet?”

“Quiet sex…I’ll try. I know you’ve noticed over the last five years I don’t shut up much. Can I kiss you now?”

She laughed at his bluntness, realizing he was still forced into the truth too. “You have to kiss me now, or I feel like I might hyperventilate,” she said.

Truth Serum Experiment

Skinner needs Mulder and Scully to test a truth serum post "Fight The Future", what could go wrong?

Rated: Explicit

Read COMPLETE FULL STORY on AO3: Link, or chapters here daily.

Betas: ❤️❤️ @tofuttim and @agent-troi ❤️❤️

CHAPTER 1/4

“Please take a seat, Agents,” Skinner said motioning to their customary seats across from his desk.

Mulder nodded at Skinner and snuck a glance at Scully. They didn’t know why their boss wanted to talk to them. They’d been on thin ice lately; ice being the operative word to describe their chaotic summer which included a trip to Antarctica to save Scully from an alien virus.

The talk amongst the Chief Directors had shifted away from Scully being transferred, but decisions about their roles and the X-Files remained unresolved.

“The Bureau needs your help with something kind of delicate ,” Skinner said, the last few words in a whisper.

“Anything, sir,” Scully replied, immediately. While Mulder usually admonished her willingness to take orders blindly, he was actually in alignment here, being asked to do anything at this point was better than being completely ignored like they had been in recent weeks.

“How can we help sir?” Mulder added, to show his support.

“Well, there is a chemical weapon. Defense has gotten their hands on it, they won’t disclose how or from where, but it’s designed to act as a sort of truth serum. Supposedly, when administered, you can get someone to tell you anything; they cannot withhold the truth.”

Mulder nodded and glanced at Scully as she nodded too. “Okay, why involve us?” He questioned.

“Defense wants to have someone try it, see if it really works as well as they’ve been told. The trouble is, everyone is reluctant to try it for fear that they will overshare or embarrass themselves.  I was asked to consider if we had any partners at the FBI who could try this. You two make the most sense, for one, Scully is a doctor so she can monitor if there are any concerning physical effects.

“Sure, I could do that. Do they believe there are any dangerous side effects?” Scully wondered.

“No, they don’t,” Skinner replied. “And the second reason Agents; I know you two have no secrets from each other. So, you shouldn’t have to worry about oversharing or embarrassing yourselves. You two are the closest partners I’ve ever supervised; you know each other better than anyone else.”

The room fell silent for a moment. Mulder didn’t have any little secrets from Scully. She knew about his porn collection, she knew his shitting schedule, she’d even seen him naked during medical emergencies.  But he did have some big secrets; like how he was falling for her, how he never watched porn anymore because he spent most nights thinking of her.

He looked at Scully to try to get a sense of what she was thinking. She smiled, but Mulder quickly realized it was a fake smile.

Skinner broke the silence, “You two don’t have any secrets from each other, right?”

Mulder didn’t want to admit to Scully that he had thoughts so embarrassing that he kept them from her. He was certain she had the same concerns; he knew she guarded herself from him.

It was like a game of chicken, who would admit first that this potential situation made them uncomfortable? Who would admit they had secrets? Not me , Mulder thought.  He’d seen Scully interrogate witnesses and he did not want to endure questions about what secrets he was unwilling to disclose.

Scully must have been thinking the same thing, because almost in unison, like two perfectly matched secret harboring partners they both said, “No sir, no secrets.”

“Great,” Skinner said, seemingly relieved. “Here’s the suggestion, you two lock yourselves into one of your apartments. We can’t have you wandering around and risk someone asking you something about FBI business and you blurting out confidential information. Take the phone off the hook too. They don’t know how long the effect may last, but it is temporary. You may be tired after too, so you should plan to be locked up together for a full day or overnight.”

Mulder turned to see Scully nodding with her mouth ajar. She looked overwhelmed.

“I’ll tell you each an inane secret separately; once the truth serum kicks in, the other can interrogate and see if the secret is revealed. We will not only want to know if it really forces you to tell the truth but also how difficult it is to get the truth out.”

“Okay sir,” Scully said, meekly.

“However, we can help,” Mulder said, matching her tone.

“Agents…can you do it tonight? This is kind of time sensitive. Sorry it’s a Friday, hope you don’t have plans.”

Mulder saw Scully nodding, “Yes sir, we can do it tonight,” Mulder said. His only Friday night plans lately had been hoping to get Scully over to watch a movie.

“Great, I’ll get the serum from DOD and you two can get it from me at the end of the day. Thank you for doing this, it should go a long way in pleasing the brass.”

“Okay, thanks sir,” Scully said meekly, before standing up and heading out of Skinner’s office.

Mulder followed behind her. They stepped into the elevator and found themselves alone. “Scully, you seemed a little worried in there. Are you sure you want to do this? We can say no.”

“Mulder it’s fine. I have no secrets from you whatsoever,” she said directly, the game of chicken continuing. Neither wanted to admit they harbored hidden truths.

“Right. Me neither. Open book for you, Scully,” he teased.

“Let’s plan to do it at my place after work, since I have a bed and a couch.”

“Okay, Scully, sounds good.” Mulder said, feigning confidence.

They sat in near silence the rest of the day, shuffling through paperwork. They weren’t allowed to take any new cases until decisions were formally made about the future of the X-Files, but that didn’t stop the bosses from burying them in expense reports and case summaries. They were separately called by Skinner and told their ‘secret’ for the purpose of their mission.

Mulder kept catching Scully with dazed expressions. He wondered if she was lost in thought, considering the same things he was. He had a million secrets from Scully, and they were secrets for a reason. They were either incredibly embarrassing or about her.

As the morning grew into the afternoon, he couldn’t help but focus on the secrets he’d be most embarrassed to share with Scully, sometimes I’m so lonely I call a phone sex hotline just to talk to someone ; and the secrets he is most nervous to disclose because they are about her, I think I’ve been in love with you for a while and I don’t know what to do about it.

Near the end of the afternoon, Arlene had called to tell them the serum was ready to be picked up. Scully agreed to go retrieve it, and Mulder was going to grab his overnight bag and pick up food for dinner.

As she stood to leave, she turned to Mulder and sighed. “Okay, well…I’ll see you in a little bit then.”

“Okay, I’ll be over shortly. Don’t start without me,” he teased, trying, and failing to break the tension as she left their office.