#and also to dana for that cuff on his arm

[skelavender]

Dana Katherine Scully knows she is a very rational person. She’s a doctor, a woman of science, she has to be. It was the whole reason she was assigned to the X Files in the first place. The whole reason she even met Mulder. The whole reason she met her best friend. It’s also the reason she proposes to him. OR After a few too many instances of being separated at hospitals, Scully and Mulder decide to get married. Simply for practical reasons.

read chapter one of kind of perfect on ao3, or below the cut!

Dana Katherine Scully knows she is a very rational person. She’s a doctor, a woman of science, she has to be. It was the whole reason she was assigned to the X Files in the first place. The whole reason she even met Mulder. The whole reason she met her best friend. 

It’s also the reason she proposes to him. 

***

Mulder is hurt, again. Because he is a stupid, reckless, adorable, clumsy motherfucker with no regard for how his actions affect Scully’s blood pressure. 

They’re fighting some irrelevant bad guy in an abandoned warehouse. She cuffs the guy who shot Mulder to the closest storage rack and rushes to her partner’s side. As she maneuvers around the crates towards where Mulder yelped from, she calls for an ambulance.

It’s a bit of a blur sometimes, when Dr. Scully takes over, pushing aside both Agent Scully (concerned about making sure the perp doesn’t turn into goo or go invisible or go missing in some other inexplicable way) and Dana (worried, needs for Mulder to be okay) so she can focus on the very rational need to fix the gunshot wound gushing blood from Mulder’s arm. 

She lets the paramedics take over when they arrive and directs the local PD to arrest whats-his-name-the-bad-guy. When she’s sure they have it handled, she goes toward the ambulance they’re packing an unconscious Mulder into. 

When she goes to step up into the ambulance, a young paramedic puts her hand up.

“Are you his wife?”

Scully almost laughs. “No, I’m his partner at the FBI.”

“Family only, ma’am. Sorry.” She closes the door in Scully’s face and the ambulance drives away, literally leaving Scully in the dust. 

***

For years to come, Scully will maintain that what she does next was perfectly rational. It made sense. It was not borne from not sleeping for two days, or her desperation to see her partner. It just made sense. 

When she makes it to the hospital, she has a shitty ring from a nearby 24-hour CVS wrapped around a finger on her left hand like it belongs there. When she approaches the nurse’s station, she asks for Mulder with her best worried doe eyes.

Followed by “He’s my fiancé.”

The woman behind the desk gives her the room number immediately, requesting no other information. 

When she makes it to Mulder’s room, he’s asleep. She grabs the chart from the end of his bed and leafs through the stack of papers like it’s routine. At this point, it is. Everything is about how she would expect. He’ll be fine, just stuck home and calling her at all hours with increasingly insane theories for the next couple weeks. More frequently than usual. 

Scully sits down in the uncomfy chair to the right of his bed and brushes some hair out of his eyes. Places a kiss on his forehead. Despite her knowledge that he was minorly injured, she had been worried. She always is. Mulder is reckless with himself at the best of times, and she fears that someday it’s going to get him killed. 

But for now, he’s alright. He’s safe. Her hands can stop shaking. 

She takes the tv remote and switches to a Price is Right late night rerun. She glances back at Mulder, who hasn't moved other than the slow, thankfully steady, rise and fall of his chest. She grabs onto Mulder’s hand before she can think too hard about it, and focuses her attention very intently on Bob Barker. 

About half an hour later, Scully feels a squeeze on her left hand. She turns to Mulder, blinking sleepily at her. 

“Hey, Scully.”

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. You feeling okay?”

“Mhmm,” He says, “‘Dja get ‘im?”

“Of course.” She gives him a reassuring smile, “Everything’s taken care of. He’s in custody.”

“Good. Why’re you here, you need to sleep.”

“Too much adrenaline, and I wanted to see you.” She brushes his hair out of his face again. 

Mulder hums, “Thank you for being here Scully.”

“Of course,” She says. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

He drifts back off, and she doesn’t mean to follow him. But the next thing she knows, she’s blinking awake to a nurse bringing in new meds for Mulder.

He’s still holding her hand. 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” He echoes her greeting from earlier, “Too much adrenaline to sleep, huh?”

She shifts back up in her chair, stiff. “Must’ve been the sedative effect of The Price is Right.”

He and the nurse both laugh, and she leaves, telling them that the doctor would be in to talk to them soon. 

“So,” Mulder says and runs his thumb over the ring on her left finger, “What’s this? Something you wanna tell me?”

Scully huffs a laugh, “Yeah, you owe me $5.99, Mulder. That’s our engagement ring.” 

“I think I’d recall proposing to you, Scully. And I’d certainly pay more than $5.99 for your ring”

“I appreciate that. No, I, uh,” she pauses, “They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance because I wasn’t family, so I said I was your fiancée when I got to the hospital so make sure they’d let me in after hours.”

A smile forms across his face, “Why, Scully, you little liar.”

“I do what I have to.”

He doesn’t let go of her hand until he has to.

***

Scully keeps the ring in the inside pocket of her suit jacket from then on out. When she leaves the house in the morning, she checks for her cell phone, wallet, badge, and ring. It's ingrained in her routine, like brushing her teeth. 

It’s come in handy a couple times, too. When Mulder got stabbed in the gut a month ago, when he got a nasty case of bronchitis two months before that. He would call her from the hospital, or request for a nurse to place the call to his “fiancee,” and she would drop everything and slip on the ring. It worked. 

Until it didn’t.

Her landline rings when she's unloading groceries.

“Scully,” she greets, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear.

“Hi, my name is Maria, I’m an EMT. The owner of this phone was involved in an accident and doesn’t have identification on him. The first number on the speed dial didn’t pick up and this number is second, what is your relation to him?”

“I’m– What happened?”

“It appears he was on a jog and ran out from between cars, and is currently unconscious. Please, ma’am are you an immediate relative?”

“I’m on a landline, I can’t see what number you’re calling from. What does he look like? Where are you?”

“Brown hair, about six foot, we’re on Hegal in Alexandria.”

Scully drops the eggs that are halfway into the fridge. They shatter. 

“Ma’am?”

Scully takes in a shaky breath and rubs her now-empty hand on her brow bone, “Mulder. It’s – his name is Fox Mulder. He lives on that street.”

“Are you a relative?”

“I’m his fiancée.” It comes so naturally by now. Almost like it’s true. “What hospital are you taking him to?”

“Alexandria Hospital.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

She’s out the door without even grabbing her jacket. The jacket which contains her fake engagement ring.

When Scully makes it into the emergency room, she slaps her hands on the nurse’s station in a large, dramatic motion. “My name is Dana Scully, I just received a call that my fiancé was in a vehicle accident. His name is Fox Mulder.” 

The nurse behind the desk looks at her hands and then at her face with an astonishing lack of concern. “If you’re his fiancée, why aren't you wearing a ring?”

“I –” she looks down. She is not, in fact, wearing the ring. “I was just –”

“If you aren’t immediate family, I can’t let you through.”

“You don’t understand, I need to–”

“I’m sorry ma’am. You can sit until he wakes up and confirms we can share information with you, if you like.”

“But he’s–”

“You can sit, or you can leave.”

Scully sits. For hours, in fact. With no clue what the extent of Mulder’s injuries are, if he's even awake. She asks the nurse for an update every twenty minutes, and every time she tells her that she can’t say anything. Finally, after three hours, another nurse whispers something in the woman’s ear and she meets Scully’s eyes. She stands immediately.

“Miss Scully?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You can come back and see Mr. Mulder now. He’s confirmed you as his emergency contact.”

“What happened?”

“He was hit as a pedestrian, as I understand.”

“Yes, but how badly is he hurt?”

“A couple broken ribs, one of which put some pressure on a lung and caused some breathing issues. He’s stable now, but we’ll keep him for a day or two. He asked for you, though.” She stops and gestures to the door. “Here you go. Visiting hours are until 11. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Scully says and opens the door.

“Hey, Mulder.”

He looks over and gives a soft smile. “Scully. “

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a car.” She lets out a huff of a laugh in reply

“From what I hear, you did.”

He laughs. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course I did, I came as soon as they called me. You didn't have any form of identification on you, just your phone. Apparently, I'm only second on your speed dial. I’m almost offended.”

“You’re first and second. Cell first, because I'm more likely to use my cell to call your cell.”

“Sounds redundant.”

“It usually is, but considering the fact that you didn’t pick up your cell when I was in mortal danger, I think it worked out.”

“I didn’t–” She pats her pockets, “Oh. It must still be in the car, I guess I didn't grab my purse when I brought my groceries in.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I overdid it on my speed dial Scully quota.”

“I guess it is.” She points to his chart. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

She flips through the file, “Damn, Mulder, how’d you manage to break your second and third ribs? Car accidents are usually much lower, especially on someone of your stature.”

“Raw talent.”

She huffs, and places the chart back where she found it. She takes a deep breath. “You’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.” She avoids looking at him, but sits in the chair next to his bed like she has so many times before. “I sat in that waiting room for three hours, not knowing if you were even alive. They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Not even when you told them we were engaged?”

“I forgot the ring. The nurse didn’t believe me. It’s usually in my jacket but I– I left so fast, I didn’t even think to grab it. God, I’m a wreck today, forgetting things everywhere.”

“You really dropped everything to make sure I was okay, huh.”

“Yeah, literally. I have a carton of cracked eggs sitting on my kitchen floor.”

She finally looks at him. She can’t read his expression, it’s one she’s not used to catching on him. 

“Thank you, Scully.”

“Of course,” she says, “That’s what we do.”

They fall into comfortable silence. Scully thinks back to the pain of waiting, of not knowing. Something she knows he’s felt on a much worse scale, and for a much longer time. 

“Maybe we should get married.” She doesn’t really mean to say it out loud. 

“Are you serious?”

Scully pauses, and when she speaks, her voice is small. “I don't like being... kept away from you. Not knowing if you're okay it – it kills me, Mulder.”

“I know the feeling.” She meets his eyes, and he’s already looking at her. “When you were in the coma after you were abducted, when your mom and sister took you off life support and I couldn't – I know those were your wishes, but I felt so distant and powerless, Scully, and I couldn’t stand it.”

“I don't want that. You get a say, Mulder. You’re my closest friend, and the most important person in my life right now.”

“You deserve a say too. You're the only one I trust with my life.”

For a moment, they only hold each other’s eyes. Scully thinks, very hard, for any reason she shouldn’t do this. She can’t think of one. 

Mulder cuts through the thick silence, “Plus, just think of the tax benefits.”

She laughs, “That’s true.”

“Spousal immunity too.”

“The only concern is the Bureau. We aren’t even allowed to share a hotel room, I can't imagine HR would be particularly happy about a married couple working cases together, even if those cases are the X Files.”

“Everyone already thinks we’re together. Plus, if we explain it to Skinner, he’ll work it out.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Ask me properly, Scully.”

A moment passes where Scully examines Mulder’s expression. She runs it against a mental database of the faces he makes, and can’t detect one ounce of jest or doubt. She takes out the thin hair tie holding the top half of her hair up and shakes it out. Then she loops the hair tie to make it smaller, the size of a ring. She holds it out to him.

“Marry me, Mulder?”

He smiles, and offers his left hand. “Any day of the week, Scully.”

next chapter ->

[petty-in-prismas]

*shows up months late with starbucks and a final design for my Apprentice* hey guys, what did I miss?

[phillippadgettwrites]

Idle Fantasy

Rated X / Posted to AO3

It could have been just after the airport, maybe. With Kycek in cuffs and Mulder all fired up. 

  She blushes as she thinks about it, which strikes her as ridiculous. It’s just a fantasy, not anything that would actually happen. Not anything she’d even want to actually happen. 

  That's not entirely true. She might actually like to do some of the things she fantasizes about with Mulder. But not Krycek, that traitorous rat. Albeit a very good-looking traitorous rat…

  Maybe they would have taken him back to Mulder’s apartment for questioning. And even though Mulder hates the double-crossing piece of shit, he would have taken the cuffs off to make him more comfortable. He's such an empathetic man, her Mulder. That’s part of what leads her to believe that he’d be generous and giving in bed. Krycek would be forceful. Controlling. One man sweet and adoring, one rough and demanding. And one Dana Scully caught up in the middle. 

  Maybe Krycek would kiss her just to spite him, and she’d let him, just to see how Mulder would react. And then…

  Mulder steps forward, grabbing Krycek’s arm where it rests on her shoulder and ripping it away, shoving the other man’s chest and causing him to stumble backwards away from her. 

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spits furiously, stepping in front of her as a human shield. 

  “She didn’t seem to mind,” Krycek retorts derisively, and Mulder turns to look at her with hurt, questioning eyes. 

  She can’t bring herself to deny it. She did like it, his mouth hot on hers, though there’s another mouth she would have much preferred. The one she can’t seem to have. She looks away from him, and it’s all the answer he needs. 

  Suddenly his hands are on her waist and his mouth is on her neck, desperate kisses trailing up to her ear where he speaks too quietly for Krycek to hear him. 

  “You don’t want him, do you? Tell me you don’t,” he begs, insecure and needy. 

  “I want you,” she says, her eyes on Krycek over Mulder’s shoulder. He’s watching them with a hungry look, one hand resting over the crotch of his jeans. “But I want him too,” she adds, and Mulder freezes. 

  He pulls away from her slowly, looking at her face for confirmation of what she’s just said. She nods once, and Mulder looks back at Krycek, who does the same. She can tell that Mulder doesn’t want this, but even more than that he can’t allow it to happen without his participation. 

  He begins to undress her and Krycek appears behind her, aiding him in the task. The two men work together, stripping her down to her bra and panties in less than a minute. She feels exposed and afraid, but also electric and excited. 

  Mulder stands and starts to kiss her, and her fingers find the buttons on his shirt, divesting him of his suit jacket and then both his oxford and the white undershirt beneath. She touches the smooth plains of his chest, running her fingers through the fine hairs on his pectorals and breathing a satisfied sigh. Behind her, Krycek is licking and sucking his way down her spine, coming to rest on his knees as his hand wraps around her and dips into the front of her panties. She startles a little when his fingers brush over her long-neglected lips and Mulder pulls away, looking down with wide eyes at what is taking place before him. 

  Mulder grabs Krycek’s wrist, pulling his hand free and scooping Scully up, walking with her to the couch and depositing her across its cushions. He hurriedly pulls her panties off her hips and down her legs, tossing them to the side before he pushes her thighs open wide and presses his face between her legs. 

  She can’t help it, she gasps and then moans low and long. He’s humming and lapping at her like it’s the best meal he’s ever had, his eyes closed in concentration. Krycek strips down to his boxers and crosses the room, kneeling beside the upper half of her body where he unclasps her bra and draws a nipple between his lips. She lurches, pushing her pelvis firmly against Mulder’s face as she feels him slip a finger inside. 

  Heaven on Earth. This must be it, with one man sucking on her clit and another on her nipples. Mulder sees again what’s taking place and he tugs her hips towards him, pulling her out of Krycek’s reach before he encourages her to move to her hands and knees. She hears the jangle of his belt buckle and the soft drape of cotton, and then his hard cock is pressing at her slick opening. She looks over her shoulder at him, holding his eye as he slips inside. It’s so perfect she whimpers, dropping her head to the couch cushion as he gives her half a dozen hard and fast pumps. 

  She lifts her head to see where Krycek is and finds that he’s now fully nude, his cock in his fist and his eyes on Mulder as he fucks her. She reaches for him, squeezing his balls to get his attention and then gesturing with her eyes for him to sit. He does so, his back against the arm of the couch and his legs on either side of her, and she dips down to take him in her mouth. 

  The sounds are wet and slick, her moans muffled around the cock in her throat and the men each letting out little groans in symphony. 

  “Fuck, your girl has quite the mouth on her, Mulder,” Krycek teases. “But I guess you wouldn’t know, would you?”

  Mulder withdraws from her and hauls her to the floor, lying on his back and encouraging her to climb on top, leaving Krycek alone on the couch with his glistening cock cooling in the open air. She sees the wounded look in his eye at Krycek’s remark, and decides to assuage him by scooting down and running her tongue up the underside of his shaft, then swallowing him whole. He bucks up against her, and she tastes herself on him. He’s bigger than Krycek, thicker, and she flashes her eyes up to him and quirks a little smile that he can see in her eyes, given that her mouth is full at the moment. He lays back to enjoy it, and she does her best not to react when Krycek scoots up behind her and slips into the vacancy that Mulder left. 

  She’s never had the opportunity to experience two men back to back like this, taking her from the same position, and she can’t help but compare their technique. Mulder fucked her in full, deep strokes, while Krycek grinds his hips against her ass and rocks against her walls in figure eights. Both good, just different. 

  She feels like she might come and she doesn’t want it to be from Krycek, she knows that would hurt Mulder too deeply, so she releases Mulder with a wet pop and moves up, Krycek sliding out of her only seconds before she impales herself with Mulder. His eyes fly open with surprise and he brings his hands to her hips as she rides him. She leans down so she can kiss him, unwittingly leaving herself wide open to Krycek. 

  First it’s just his finger that presses against her asshole, testing the waters. When she doesn’t object, he repeats the motion with the spongy head of his cock and she stills to make it easier for them both. She doesn’t know if Mulder realizes what’s happening. She kisses him deeply, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth as he cradles her head in his hands. Krycek is, thankfully, slow and gentle, and there is only a short sting of pain before he is fully inside her. Before they both are. 

  Krycek starts to move in slow, deep, pumps, and Mulder’s eyes open, looking around her to see what is taking place. 

  “Sorry about those little ball taps,” Krycek says tightly, but there is amusement in his voice. “Kind of hard to avoid.”

  She feels overwhelmed with sensation, and somehow knowing that the men are making contact, even incidentally, sends her careening towards the finish line. 

  “Do you like this, Scully?” Mulder asks, and she looks at him with wide, bottomless irises and nods. 

  It takes them a minute to find a rhythm that works, Scully grinding forward and back on Mulder while Krycek slides in and out of her as she moves away from and then toward him again. Mulder is kissing her and lifting his hands to touch her breasts, and there is not a single pleasure point on her body that is not being fully engaged. 

  “Oh my god,” she says suddenly into Mulder’s mouth, and both men groan in tandem. She swells and hangs at the precipice deliciously long, then crashes over the edge into a fit of embarrassingly loud wails. Krycek increases his pace and grunts, emptying into her, and Mulder follows quickly thereafter, kissing her desperately all the while. 

  She lets her head drop against Mulder’s sweat-damp chest, wincing a little as Krycek withdraws. She lays there panting, Mulder still inside her, as they listen to him dress and then leave wordlessy, the door slamming loudly behind him. She lifts her head to look at Mulder, and-

  “Scully? Hello? Earth to Scully.”

  She snaps her head up to see Mulder looking at her curiously, one hand waving inches from her face. She feels a flush of heat to her cheeks and clears her throat reflexively. 

  “Sorry, what?” she asks, her voice hoarse. 

  “Are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern. “You look flushed, do you feel sick?”

  “No, Mulder, I’m fine,” she insists, straightening in her chair. “What’s up?”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[slippinmickeys]

Voyeur

This is just a one-shot writing exercise, but I had fun. 

The person who was assigned to run surveillance on the basement office of the Hoover Building was a man with the unlikely name of Ichabod Weaver.

Ichabod had been previously employed in wetwork but had been demoted after a collosal fuck-up, which had been Percy-Fucknut-Ryan’s fault, but Ichabod was in charge of his own operations and ultimately took responsibility. Running surveillance on the X-Files project was a punishment, pure and simple.

“If you happen to kill the wrong person down there,” his employer had said to him initially, blowing a plume of smoke into Ichabod’s face, “it would take care of several of my problems.”

Anything would have been preferable to the drudgery of listening, day after day, to the insane theories of Fox William Mulder (Subject 240629) and his skeptical lady partner (one Dana Katherine Scully, Subject 241204). They were intelligent (pretentious), talented (annoying), and honorable to a fault; the kind of people who would point out to a waitress if she hadn’t charged them enough for dinner. It was enough to make a guy puke. Ichabod would have happily put his old skills to work on himself to escape the tedium of his assignment, but he had two years left on his contract and enough savings in the bank to live out the rest of his days on an island somewhere near the equator. If he didn’t die from boredom down here, that meant he also wouldn’t die of it while lounging in a hammock slung between two palm trees.

Ichabod mostly ran audio surveillance, but there was video too, if anything got interesting. He mostly used that when Mulder or Scully was out of the office leaving the other alone. Mulder would inevitably watch porn, which Ichabod could see if he adjusted the camera just-so, and Scully would take the opportunity when Mulder stepped out, to reach into her bra for one reason or another, or adjust her pantyhose or stretch her long, elegant neck. It was the best he would ever get from an uptight, conservative broad like Scully, and Ichabod was a guy who would always take what he could get.

When he first started the gig, he thought it was fairly obvious that the two agents were fucking. With Mulder’s constant proximity to Scully’s tight little ass and round plump mouth, Ichabod could hardly blame the guy--but they never did anything untoward in the office aside from light flirting and the occassional glancing sexual innuendo, and after nine months Ichabod decided that in actuality, they weren’t fucking each other, but that they obviously wanted to. God, what idiots. If Ichabod had learned anything in life, it was that life itself was too damn short.

They had been out of the office for a week and a half out in the field -- some other poor shmuck’s problem -- and Ichabod hadn’t even bothered coming in the last three days. They were back in their office today and had beaten him to work, which he discovered when he set down his coffee and flipped on the speakers to find the two agents and their boss, the stick-up-his-ass AD, in the middle of a conversation.

“--surprised you were able to get a confession, Agent Scully, the local PD had interrogated the suspect on four separate occasions and never got enough to justify a warrant.”

“Agent Mulder should get the credit for this one, sir,” Scully said, standing -- judging from the sound of her voice -- on the other side of the room, “it was his idea to use the interrogation technique that garnered the confession.”

“Well,” Mulder said, his voice casually modest, “we were all ears and he was all mouth.”

“Nevertheless, it was a job well done,” Skinner said. “Can I expect your report on my desk by Friday?”

He must have gotten a nonverbal confirmation, because the next thing Ichabod heard was the office door closing and the sound of the assistant director’s footsteps fading away to nothing.

“You didn’t have to do that, Scully,” Mulder said, after a brief minute of quiet.

“Do what?” she asked on a shuffle of papers.

“Give me all the credit,” Mulder said, “you know I wouldn’t have gotten a confession from the guy if he hadn’t been so hot for you that he didn’t even notice when he confessed to the crime.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mulder,” Scully said, in a tone that it made it obvious to both Mulder and Ichabod that she most assuredly did.

“The guy had a pretty severe priapic condition when you stood him up and slapped on the cuffs, or don’t you remember the thing practically brushing your arm when I was Mirandizing him?” Mulder said, his tone playful.

After a moment, Scully rose to the bait, answering in just as playful a way -- something that grabbed Ichabod’s attention, because it was something she’d never, ever done before.

“The genitalia of the male of our species is a complicated system of hydraulics, Mulder. His priapic condition as you call it, could have been caused by any number of stimuli, be it sexual or otherwise.”

Ichabod was certain that if he turned on the video right now, he and Mulder would be wearing the same impressed/amused reaction.

“Otherwise?” Mulder’s voice was low.

“You pumped him full of cola, Mulder,” she said, and Ichabod could hear the smile in her voice, “maybe he just really had to pee.”

“As the owner of ‘a complicated system of hydraulics,’ and a person who spends hours a week in confined spaces with you, I can assure you, Agent Scully... he didn’t have to pee.”

Ichabod leaned back in his chair and began clicking a ballpoint pen. The tension in that office was so high it was leaking into his cramped surveillance room through the wires that fed its sound.

“And trust me,” Mulder’s voice came so quietly that Ichabod had to turn up the volume on his speaker, “when the hydraulics kick in, it doesn’t feel all that complicated.”

There was a muffled sound of footsteps, a mumble he couldn’t make out and then the quiet wisps of a sound it took Ichabod a minute to identify as the rustle of clothing, and he went flying in his office chair across the room and to the video monitor that he hadn’t turned on in weeks.

It took several long seconds for the screen to flash to life and another few for Ichabod to jostle the joystick that controlled the camera until he brought the two agents into the center of his screen, as close together as he had ever seen them, inches apart but not touching. Mulder was leaning down into Scully’s space and she was looking up at him intensely, her hands at her side, fingers clenching open and closed as if she were trying to make a decision.

Mulder brought his hands up slowly to her face, holding it gently, his thumbs rubbing along the seam of her plump, ruby lower lip.

“Awww, he’s gonna do it,” Ichabod said to the empty room, then, as if the people on the screen could hear him, said, “Do it, Mulder. Do it.”

As if in answer, Mulder leaned slowly down and brushed his lips lightly across Scully’s, and both Ichabod and Mulder seemed prepared for the inevitable slap. Instead, Scully stepped in even closer, the tips of her shoes stepping on the tops of Mulder’s own and pulled him down into a kiss that started sweetly, but turned passionate in matter of moments.

One of Mulder’s hands stayed on her face, but the other arm snaked around her waist, his hand grabbing hot handfuls of her tight ass, and Ichabod had to bite a knuckle in jealousy.

He could hear a tight female moan and then the sound of desperate pants and huffed breaths, followed by a cacophonous waterfalling thud as a stack of files fell off the desk as Mulder pushed Scully into it -- the sounds all a half second out of sync from the video screen before him.

Ichabod saw Mulder pump his hips against Scully once and fumble his hands at her shirt, pulling it out of the waist of her skirt. Scully took the moment to run her hands up over his shoulders, cleaving the suit coat from his back so that it pooled to the floor at their feet. Mulder’s hand was up and under her shirt in a flash, and Scully threw her head back from where she sat on the desk, the column of her throat almost white in the dim light of the basement.

Mulder’s mouth was at her neck an instant later, and Ichabod was impressed with his dexterity, his mouth working at his partner’s throat even as one hand was filled to bursting with her ass and the other was working her breasts, and all Ichabod could hear were her moans and a roaring of blood in his own ears.

When Scully reached for Mulder’s fly, he almost reached for his own, but then stopped as Scully did, who put a hand up to Mulder’s chest, where she wrapped his tie around her hand once and leaned her forehead against his heaving chest.

“Not…” she struggled to catch her breath, “Not here.”

“Yes here,” Ichabod said to the screen, willing the agents to keep going, his thumb continuing to click the pen, in and out, in and out, faster and faster.

“Scuh-” Mulder started to say, one hand reaching down to lift her chin until she was looking him in the eye.

“Not like this,” she said to him, her eyes searching his, “I want it to be right, I want you to-”

“To what?” Mulder whispered, then touched the tip of her nose with the gentlest of kisses.

Her head fell downward again, her hair falling like curtains to block what Ichabod could see of her face.

Mulder then whispered something Ichabod couldn’t make out. She looked back up at Mulder, her face as yearning and bright as any classic Hollywood starlet. She pushed herself off the desk and pulled herself up to her full height, then pulled on Mulder’s tie, bringing his face slowly down to her own. She gave him a firm, full kiss, her tongue invading his mouth once, quickly.

“I love you too,” she said earnestly, and Ichabod felt something in his chest loosen and fly free.

“Come to me,” she said quietly, and Mulder’s eyes never once left hers, his hands holding her tightly to him, “tonight.”

Mulder nodded once firmly, and then reluctantly released her. He took one step back.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice raw and needy.

Scully reached up with a hand and ran it gently through his hair once, then let her hand fall. She stepped away from her partner.

Ichabod stared at the screen before him as both agents stepped out of frame, the basement office quiet but for the dull background hum of desktop towers, the quiet buzz of monitors and various investigative equipment. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

After a few moments of introspection, Ichabod looked at the video recording device in front of him for a full minute and then on an impulse, rewound it quickly and pressed the “erase” button. Then he pushed back from the desk, loosened his tie and made for the door. Ichabod needed some air.

[fihznzqli]

Ursa Major - Part Of My Charm

Chapter 1 - Chosen

A/N

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravity Falls. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and Disney owns it.

However, I do own a few OCs in this story.

The story takes place after

Weirdmageddon 3 (Gravity Falls Epilogue).

This story is going to need a lot of work and a lot of research. But all I need is your approval and praise for this story.

______________________________

The sounds of boots can be heard across a very hall of a greek-like temple. A young girl, about 13 years of age, who's face cannot be seen under her white hood with blue accents that goes all the way to the cuffs of her long sleved yet comfortably body suit she was wearing but only strands of her black hair can be seen in front of her face.

She inhales and exhales deeply as she struggled to keep a steady breath. Her eyes shows anxiety and excitement by the impossible news she has.

Something has happened in Earth, something has happened. The oracles can see it. She need to find the Malco-

"Maya? What's the rush?"

She hears a familiar voice behind as she looks over to her shoulder and a tall man in his thirties wearing a white smog mask with noticable yellow glow brewing in one of the mask's outline , wearing silver pauldrons on his shoulders with a yellow accent running down each side and underneath is avery tight metallic body suit that hugs his body very well. He wears a waist guard that has an emblem shape like a unicorn and silver legplates.

He steps closer and looks at the girls face, Concerned, he kneels down to the girl's level, holding her shoulders in comfort. He knows something is up.

"Maya. Whats going on?" he asked.

His face of concern slowly turns into confusion as he sees her slightly smiling with excitement.

"Malcolm! Oh my god! Oh my god! Your not gonna belive this! You see I was visting one of the watchtowers and one of the watchers came to me and said a new constellation has been chosen. And your not gonna believe this, it's finally back." She rambles in a slight Russian accent. She jumped in excitement and breathing for air as she tried to form a few words or sentences from her mouth, because of running about 3 miles to get to this place to tell the General about the incredible news. She couldn't believe it herself.

She had heard of the legends, the myths, their stories, their fights, their adventures. She admired them even if she has a different mark and path but they were once one of the amazing constellations of all time.

She had never expected to be this excited. But after 100 years of its absence and involvement after the Dark Ages, It finally chose someone. Whoever this is, might be as powerful as she hopes like in the stories.

"What? Who, Maya? What constellation?" Malcolm asked as he seems to be catching on to whatever the girl is saying. He has a pretty good idea... And he hoped it is true.

Maya looks up to his face with a grin.

"An Ursa Major has been chosen."

______________________________

"Maso- Dipper Pines?"

"Present"

It was 8:37 AM in the morning at school. Class for the past few days has been normal.

A little too normal for the Pines twins, Dipper and Mabel Pines.

They were sitting at the third row, bored and a little tired. Mabel covers her mouth with uer hand and let out a muffled yawn while Dipper is struggling to sit up straight and rubbing his eyes with bags underneath.

Everything went back to normal, in a bad way for them when they returned to Piedmont, California. Nothing has been the same since Weirdmageddon in Gravity Falls, Oregon. While it was a really bad memory to even forget, that town that they used to live during the summer, holds many good memories to them. 

Of course, they could always come back next time...

Dipper was copying the lesson written on the blackboard when he felt something hit his neck, something wet. Then he realizes and he frowns. Spitball... He looks behind to the direction where the projectile hit him and sees his childhood bully, Chad. Looking really innocent and looks at Dipper with eyeborws furrowed.

"You got a problem, Dipstick?" He sneered at Dipper with a smug grin plastered on his face. Dipper looks down under Chad's desk and sees him holding a straw. He turns his back to the board again, plucks the spitball and flicks it away from his reach.

"Psst!" he hears his sister from his side and whispers "Ignore him, don't let him get through your head" with a comforting smile, but soon turned into a frown when she shoots a glare at the bully who scoffs and rolls his eyes at her.

______________________________

Dipper stuffs most of his books in his locker and closes it. He sighs since today was horrible for him. Not for his sister, Thank God. Somehow, he's glad that no one bothers his sister but him. If anyone ever lays a hand or hurts Mabel's feelings, who nows what he'll do.

"Hey, bro-bro!"

Dipper turns his head to see his sister with a sheepish smile on her face.

"Could you tell Mom and Dad that I will be coming home late today? I have cheerleader practice later after school."

"What? But, we go home together... And why are their cheerleader practice after dismissal?" Dipper asked with a raised eyebrow. It was odd that they have practices after school.

"Oh don't worry, Dipper. It's only 2 hours. I'll be home right on time." Mabel reassuringly says to Dipper.

She was ecstatic when she joined cheerleading club of their school. Dipper, on the other hand joined the chess club.

Dipper sighs. "Ok, you can go practice. But Dad will come pick you up after that."

"And I will need your help on some of the homework. Thanks, Dipper. See back at home!" Mabel hugs her brother and runs off.

Dipper slungs his bag over his shoulder and walks outside to his father's car waiting for them. Well...for him actually.

As Dipper walks towards the car, thr front seat window rolled down to see Alex Pines, his father.

"Hey kiddo. Where's Mabel?" He looks over to Dipper's shoulder as if to see his daughter standing behind his son.

"Cheerleading practice."

"After school?" Alex asks.

"Eh. School's getting weird these days. But, she can handle herself. Trust me." Dipper says to his father as he open the car door and sat in the backseat.

Alex deeply sighs and turns his head to Dipper with his right arm resting on top of the front seat.

"Listen, I know that whatever happened in Gravity Falls, I hope it doesn't happen in here too. And I am concerned for both you and your sister's safety. I mean gnomes, flying eyeballs, manotaurs, time travelers, 'dream' dimensions? Things like them exist in our world? How is that even possible?"

Alex and his wife, Dana was very suspicious whenever they asked the twins about how was their summer, they were hesitant... But the only thing they told them was that Grunkle Stan had a twin brother and he came back after he went missing for two years.

It took an hour for them to close their mouths from the revelation that day. But completely shrugged it off later.

His own son was a lot like him when he was young, smart, curious, adventurous, and a nerd. But that didn't stop his future wife to marry him and have twins.

So like Dipper, he 'checked' Dipper's room one day and found a blue journal with golden accents   around the cover. He read it and it was filled with ripped pages, obviously not ripped from the book itself. It was old and written in black ink. He could've swore it was also written in blood...

Dipper came in later on, mouth gaping as he saw his dad holding the pages from his journal. A heated argument can be heard with Dipper shouting at his father for looking through his stuff and Alex, who is a little angry tried to apologise and tries to explain what he was doing. It's a good thing the two were alone, Mabel is with her mother, going shopping.

After the argument, Dipper calms down and sit nexts to his father in the bed as he tells him. He explains that Gravity Falls is a place where magic and monsters reside. He says it in a excited way, like he always does when it comes to solving mysteries.

Alex have had a hard time believing the things his son is saying that monsters and ghosts exist in real life. What is this... A Mystery novel now? He was also shocked to hear that Dipper and Mabel met Stanford Pines. Not the one who runs the Mystery Shack. But the real one who was stuck across the multiverse.

Does that mean that their Grunkle Stan, his Uncle Stan was not 'Stanford' but 'Stanley'? The other twin who faked a car crash?

He thinks he might have a heart attack.

Then Dipper told him that they stopped the end of the world by a flying dorito demon thing.

He doesn't know if he should be worried or proud, he probably prefers the latter. This will take a long time getting used to. But he trusts Dipper's choices, as long as he doesn't get any trouble. He promises to keep this a secret from her wife. Knowing she will freak out and become overprotective to her little angels. He told her daughter that he knows and has nothing to be worried about.

"Dad look, We're fine. Me and Mabel have fought gnomes, haunted wax sculptures and tiny golf people. But we're still in  good shape. We can handle ourselves. We are still your kids but you don't have to worry about us." Dipper comforts his dad while he scratches his birthmark on his forehead under his hat that Wendy gave as a farewell.

His dad sighs and says "Ok, But, please be careful. And protect your sister. For my sake-" He looks at Dipper who was scratching very loudly, he can hear the scraping it makes. It is really cringey

"-And stop scratching your head. You'll probably get rashes on that."

"Sorry, My head feels itchy just now. This never happened before." Dipper says that as he continues to scratch his forehead.

"Well, you'll only make it worse. Your mother probably has some skin treatment. Ask her." Alex starts up the car and drives away from the school.

Dipper asks "You'll pick up Mabel later, right?"

"Of course, what time will her practice be over?"

______________________________

"I thought you were one of the most powerful entities of this multiverse. Have you lost your fucking mind?!" A man with gruff voice shouted at someone.

The man was about in his forties, who looks like he's Midwestern, is very large, has a well shaven head and a bushy beard and a small scar across his left eye. He was wearing armor similar to the armors from the gladiators in Greece, but it's color are charcoal black and has magma flowing in his armor's accents. He is like a living volcana.

He has two large pistols that resemble deagles but almost has the same design as his armor.

Beside him was a small man, about as tall as his shoulder height. He was blonde and has noticeable stubble in his face. And he looks to be Australian. He iswearing a green scaly tabard instead but with armor leggings. He wears gauntlets in his arms, and it has a noticable blade inside it.

They were talking to a giant white lizard who was actually one of the powerful entities known as the Axolotl.

"I am aware of what you're feeling right now. But, he needs to be helped. He is troubled, he always has been. All those stories are merely stories only for everyone to see him as a threat." The Axolotl states in a very deep voice that can be heard a mile away.

"As much as I have a hard time believing that, Why did you want us take care of this bastard? And couldn't you at least ask other blokes to bring his sorry arse with them?" The small man crosses his arms and narrows at the Axolotl. Waiting for a good reason why they we're brought here.

"Isn't that what you Constellations do? Protect the Earth and its inhabitants, prevent any disasters, and contain dangers?.. like him?" The reptile says as if it was the most obvious thing.

"That is true. But why would you think that he would be redeemable? He destroyed his home and entire family. And just because he invoked your name that doesn't mea-" The large man was suddenly cut off by the reptile's action.

Axolotl stomps in front of the two and stares at them. Almost looks like he's glaring at them.

"I see him as just a troubled child who was manipulated into doing those horrible things. I was upset that he has had the nerve to invoke my name and bring him out of death's grasp. But I sense that he deserves a second chance if you guide him through your path. He will not be like you, but he will fight on the same side." Axolotl states in his booming voice at the two.

The two men looked at each other for confirmation, until they both decided and looked back at the Axolotl.

"Fine, bring the wanker in. Before we change our minds." The small man narrowed his eyes to the reptile.

He nods and opens his mouth to shoot a beam in front of them. A small blob can be seen in the beam and is forming into the shape of a triangle with arms and legs a top hat hovering on its head. It suddenly screams, like its being burnt to death. It quickly reforms and turned into human male body. Black and yellow fabric wraps around him and creates clothing around him with his top hat still intact on his head.

The beam then slowly disspears, and the person or thing flops to the ground, groaning.

He then he sits up and sees the two men who was glaring at him, arms crossed. He stiffens when he looks at and turns back to see the Axolotl.

Oh boy...

"You know, when I invoked your name and asked to be return to the living. I never expected living with these hippies" Bill Cipher narrows his eyes at the reptile, who merely shrugs with his arms. Bill scoffs and felt a hand grabbing his suit tightly.

"Hey watch it, Scorpio! I just got my clothes back."

"Shut up, you twat." Scorpio shots back.

Bill then looks at the large man with a raised eyebrow.

"What're you supposed to be? An Aries? Thought you guys would be bigger."

That earned him a black eye.

______________________________

A/N

Wow! This took like 2 days to write. I'm completely new to writing but I'm getting pretty good here. I hope you all enjoy this book. More chapters will come out randomly. Sorry it's not scheduled. I'll try to formulate on how the story progress.

7/14/19: Completely changed the entire chapter for improvement... I hope this is way better.

I hope you all enjoyed reading and I'll see you guys next time. PEACE!

[mldrgrl]

Sleep, Sleep, Sleep

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Post-The Truth

Mulder couldn’t remember the last time he’d really slept.  Not since before his abduction, most likely, and that was a good two years ago.  He’d always had a rather fractious relationship with sleep, but there were pockets of contentment in his life where it wasn’t so bad.  He felt that way now, lying in Scully’s arms in an anonymous motel room outside of Roswell.  He could let the physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion he felt win the battle and just sleep for days as long as she was there to keep vigil.

Outside, the rain swelled and lightning flickered, but Mulder’s senses had dulled so that everything was reduced to the quiet sound of Scully’s breathing and the feeling of her caressing his face with the tip of her nose.  He was brought back to one of the handful of nights they’d spent together, lying in his bed whispering secrets they’d never intended for one another to hear, but that had come pouring out in a post-coital haze where it felt safe to spill confessions into each other’s ears.  He’d become so drunk and drowsy by the hushed and husky sound of her voice that he’d begun to find himself floating on a cloud of unconsciousness.  “Are you listening to me,” she’d whispered at the corner of her mouth, and he’d felt her words drift past his lips where he’d swallowed them whole.  He’d felt her smile and her lashes against his cheek and the tip of her nose alongside his.  “Mulder, are you listening?” she’d murmured at his brow.  “I hear you, Scully,” he’d thought, but was unable to speak, safe and hypnotized in her embrace.

And so he slept like he’d done two years ago when her voice and her body and her touch had quieted the cacophony of thoughts that normally kept him awake.  Two years ago though, the noise was softer.  He had more to contend with now.

It was still dark and the rain still fell with intensity when he woke.  His heart was pounding and his temples dripped with sweat.  His t-shirt stuck to his chest where he was damp with perspiration.  He was also cold.  For a few fleeting moments, he was still in his dream when he opened his eyes, limbs immobilized by fear and steel cuffs locking his wrists and ankles.  He was waiting for the drill to be lowered, but it disappeared as he blinked, fading into the shadows on the ceiling as the whir of machinery became the patter of rain.

Mulder wiped his face with one hand and then plucked at his t-shirt.  He began to shiver.  Immediately, the mantra he’d developed for dealing with these particular nightmares kicked in.  You’re okay, he told himself.  You’re okay.  You’re okay.  You’re okay.  No ship.  Safe.  Safe.  Safe.  He sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it leave his lungs.  

Still trembling, he shifted onto his side to look at Scully.  As he watched her sleep, his body began to relax and his heart rate began to slow.  He reached over and touched her hair, rubbing the ends between his thumb and forefinger.  It was longer now than he’d ever seen it before.  Still soft, though.  He wished it wasn’t so dark so that he could count the freckles on her nose.  He’d missed her so much.  His hand hovered over her shoulder for a few moments, but then he curled his fist and pulled his arm back to his chest, not wanting to wake her.

With a sigh, Mulder turned onto his back again.  There were two things that had sustained him through his isolation in the desert.  One was Scully, and the other was William.  When times were the toughest, when he’d felt so lonely he’d wept until he was lightheaded and his chest ached, he’d reminded himself he was doing it for them.  That one day, they would be together again.  The three of them.  One day.

Alone and with nothing but time on his hands, he’d begun to self-reflect in a way he’d never done before.  He’d been using the excuse of his missing sister for his feelings of incompleteness for so long that he’d begun to believe it, but the cold hard truth was, he’d always felt that way.  He’d always wanted a father that didn’t prefer a handshake to a hug.  He’d always wanted a mother that listened instead of saying ‘not now’ when he needed someone to talk to.  His search for his sister was actually a desperate need to repair a family that never even existed.

Mulder would sit in his trailer and wonder if his father ever ached to hold him the way he’d ached to hold William.  He wondered if his father ever cried knowing he was missing first words or first steps or first teeth.  He wondered if the thought of never seeing his son again was as unbearable for his father as it was for him.

He turned his head to look at Scully again as his chest tightened and his nose stung with the onset of tears.  Now neither of them would see their son again and he wondered how she could have even gotten out of bed in the morning.  He wondered if she blamed him or why she was even here with him and if he really loved her like he claimed to love her, he knew he should leave her behind instead of dragging her into hiding with him.

His breath hitched and he screwed his eyes shut as the tears began to fall.  It was selfish of him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having to do this alone any longer.  If she wanted to leave, he’d let her go, but he was sure it would kill him.  He needed her too much and right now, she was the only thing he had.

Mulder turned over so that his back to was to Scully.  If she woke, he didn’t want her to see him crying.  He was cold again and he hugged himself to keep from shivering.  He was so, so tired, and everything hurt.  He let exhaustion take hold and pull him under again.

When Scully woke, she woke with the same startled jerk of the last year and one singular thought.  William?  It was dark and rainy and it took a moment to remember that she wasn’t in her own bed, but in a motel, with Mulder.  Mulder!  And that the static from the baby monitor had gone quiet weeks ago and William now belonged to someone else.

Her eyes adjusted gradually and she found herself staring at Mulder’s back.  He was curled in on himself in a way that made him look strangely small to her.  Her throat ached and her hand crawled across the space between then, but she stopped short of touching him.  There was about a foot between them, but it felt like an impossible gulf and she swallowed back the bile that churned her stomach.

Oh God, she thought.  What have we done?  How can we do this?  How could I have been so rash to think I can leave my life behind and do this?  What life, Dana?  There is no William, no x-files as you knew them, nothing to hold you there.  And the truth was, the thought of Mulder was what kept her moving forward the past year.  That one day, they would get through this, and would be together again.  The three of them.  One day.

That would never happen now, and she wondered if Mulder would come to resent her one day.  Maybe not now, when the novelty of seeing each other again was still so overwhelming, but one day when he would see a little boy about William’s age, would he hate her a little?  Should she leave now before it would be too hard later?

She couldn’t.  She wouldn’t do that to Mulder, or to herself.  They had lost too much and gotten so little in return for her to willingly walk away from him now.  She had already been through what life was like without him and it was too unbearable to do it again, especially now.

Why then, when her arms had opened so easily for him before, why should it be so hard for her to reach for him in the dark?  She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that welled and felt them slide down the side of her nose and across her upper lip.  She turned over in bed so that if Mulder woke, he wouldn’t see her crying.

Eventually, she wiped her face with the terrycloth sleeve of her robe.  Her dry eyes itched and burned and her nose was blocked, making it difficult to breathe.  She felt cold, and hugged herself, drawing her knees up closer to her chest.

“You still awake?” Mulder whispered.

“Sorry,” she whispered back.

Mulder sighed, and then as though it took great effort, rolled over and pulled Scully into him so that she was snug inside the cocoon of his arms and his knees bent up into her bent knees.  She pressed her cheek against his bicep and pressed her lips to the inside of his elbow.

“I’ll understand if you need to leave,” he said.

“I’ll understand if you want me to go,” she answered.

Both fought back the lumps that rose in their throats.  He tightened his grip on her and she pressed her teeth into his arm.  His heart beat so fiercely in his chest that it hurt.  Her fingers found his and they fumbled to twist them together.

“I can’t,” she said.  “I won’t.”

“I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“What are we even doing?  Where are we going?  How will we…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.  We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

He hid his face in her hair and breathed her in.  She closed her eyes, a sort of sudden serenity coming over her.  Whatever difficulties that were bound to arise in this new life, she could take them on as long as Mulder was with her.

“Scully,” he whispered, and she twisted in his arms so that her face was pressed to his throat and her legs were tangled with his.  “I have nightmares.  Sometimes even when I’m awake, I have nightmares.  You should know that.  And I should tell you that the sound of ticking clocks scares me and I don’t know why.  I can’t eat General Tso’s chicken anymore.  It gives me heartburn.  Some days I thought I might never see you again and I...are you listening, Scully?”

Scully’s mouth opened slightly against his throat and her bottom lip caught and dragged just a fraction against his skin.  She was in a haze of contentment, one he was familiar with.  He was glad for it.  It helped ease the ache in his chest.

“It won’t be easy,” he said.

“It never has been,” she murmured.

“Scully…”

“Shh…”

He palmed the back of her head and then snuck his hand into the collar of her robe to rub her neck.  His thumb circled the small bump of puckered flesh between vertebrae.  

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.  “Are you listening?”

She had fallen asleep, but he knew, simply because she was there, that she heard him.

The End

[mehmetkali]

Vietnamese relationship applications y services and karaoke programs to Flappy Bird, Vietnam happens to be addicted to https://ift.tt/3b7Vomu

Vietnamese relationship applications y services and karaoke programs to Flappy Bird, Vietnam happens to be addicted to

From on-line shipments treatments and karaoke software to Flappy chicken, Vietnam was endlaved by development. At this point, a set of locally-based romance apps are bringing in Vietnamese single men and women around the world of online dating services. By Dana Filek-Gibson. Visuals by Sarah Joanne Nixon.

Displaying flared cuffs and an eye-assaulting, rhinestone-bedazzled coat, Cas figure excels against a lazer history. Swipe left. Nguyen, or even more exactly, some Bieber-haired Korean soap star, gets a piercing gaze from understanding definitely the outcome of a Google picture research. Swipe lead. Hien seems good plenty of, grinning extensively into his own sex cam, maybe a little unusual if you think about the cartoon duck floating above their arm. Definitely, clearly, before the higher pair of arms pops into viewpoint. Appears Hien does not really love ducks or cartoons: thats where their ex-girlfriends face was previously. Swipe put. Possession with his pockets, Vys lanky framework bends against a concrete wall. Relating to the tousled hair and the somewhat creased V-neck, the photo could go for an American gear ad. Swipe great.

Over coffee-and a compelling internet connection, Ive put the past 20 minutes approximately on OakClub, a locally-based a relationship app, accepting and rejecting different humans. Theres a thing enjoyable, maybe even a bit of addicting, about swiping one-way and also the various other. OakClub, which introduced eight times before on facebook or myspace and revealed its cell phone app in March, makes use of an individuals place and facebook or twitter facts to track down close individuals with the same passions and common partners. Liberated to browse other users, owners swipe directly to recognize and handled by decline, having community denial from the picture. As long as there’s a mutual destination between people do OakClub put the two in touch.

In an attitude where online has started to become progressively vital in everyday interactions think sending text messages, Facebook, Viber, emoticons together with the half-dozen selfies a person witness on a regular basis Im certainly not alone just who locates this interesting. Indeed, as both online and smartphone use continue to grow across Vietnam, progressively teens are coming around to the very idea of fulfilling their match on the internet.

In indonesia, [online a relationship]s still not approved, but we think its an issue of moments vendor community will accept it a question of study course, claims Phil Tran, co-founder of OakClub and Chief Executive Officer Pansexual singles dating sites of windshield Egg, the apps adult providers.

Though OakClub has brought a hands-off way toward marketing, permitting the foundation to develop organically through word-of-mouth, a steady rise in owners indicates that attitudes toward electronic matchmaking, specifically among young age bracket, were shifting on their own. About 70 % of OakClub consumers are actually between 18 and 27 yrs old.

Our associate we have found an excellent situation, states Tran. Most of them are in going out with age. Theyre in their middle- to late-20s and they have throw-away returns. What they dont need is lots of your time whichs a lot easier in order for them to encounter a person online and sorts of display screen all of them, communicate with them, before they actually see rather than have to go to a club or a bar to fulfill some one, and we determine despite the presence of our personal workers here whichs being acknowledged.

Area of the key to this approval, Tran believes, is definitely making certain the app sticks to online dating compared to becoming a facilitator of casual hook-ups. So, each OakClub page are often processed by an editor, and any photos or kinds thought improper become deleted.

Weve often thought about how exactly to place ourself, Tran describes. whatever you dont want it to be, obviously, happens to be a meat sector. Thus were cautious about keeping they clean. All Of Us emphasise the fun of a relationship and de-emphasise the sexual intercourse.

In other places for the digital dating world, Paktor, a Singapore-based software with a comparable layout, had the introduction last Sep and has now since taken a special ways to alike close, promotional alone as a social app developed not only for matchmaking but also for finding close friends.

We dont consider dating only because meeting men and women is definitely exciting, claims Pham Thi Phuong Linh, Paktors marketing supervisor. Previous December, the business manufactured headlines by setting the Guinness World Record for all the greatest speed-dating celebration of all time, which delivered 484 singles to regional place Q4. Ever since then, Paktor offers lasting to force its app online via facebook or twitter also widely used websites, including motivating consumers to consider their own friendships and associations clear of the digital world today. Linh these days keeps routine in-person meet-ups, providing a good and sociable atmosphere whereby Paktor people can link in real life.

i used to be wondering so long as you match with a guy and then he invites an individual out for a coffees, in Vietnam for a girl it is maybe unsafe, she points out. To promote consumers to get to know minus the stress and anxiety of a one-on-one date, the every month hangouts take place at various locale all over area, often cafes, and consist of only 25 men and women.

While neither features a large next, the long term appearances brilliant for online dating programs in Vietnam. As of Summer, Paktor targeted to achieve a million individuals across five parts of asia, and though its too soon determine the apps Vietnamese advancement, the as a whole quantities will up. The same is true for OakClub, where in actuality the apps cell phone element shows promise.

Right currently we merely give attention to Vietnam, states Tran. But our aspiration will be stop by Southeast indonesia, particularly Thailand and Indonesia and possibly the Philippine islands at the same time.

Using various excellent success stories also helps. Not long ago, two users approached OakClubs promotion division, seeking that her pages get deleted after getting discovered each other with the app. Even though they missed two customers, the business grabbed it as a compliment that theyd extracted the requirement for their program.

Paktor, also, provides been able to take folks collectively. Early on previous thirty days, the corporate published a video to its Myspace membership asking the storyplot of Thuc and Uyen. Thuc, 22, joined up with Paktor soon after its introduction in Vietnam and scanned a lot of pages regarding application. Most of the photographs looked too good to be true until the guy happened upon Uyen, 20, exactly who seemed an even more legitimate people than the people hed experienced. At the start, the two hit upward a discussion only using the internet, chattering and occasionally texting each other. Eventually, the two worked up the courage to meet up with personal. For the next several months they can gradually turn from buddies into something much more. Fast forward half a year, and the lovers possesses wants to be engaged, proving that a little electronic matchmaking can go a long way.

At the same time, Im still looking. A guy presents beside a life-sized Smurf. Swipe kept. An image of one in jeans and a button-up, block higher than the throat. Swipe left. A selfie, tastefully presented in an animated Kung Fu Panda edge. Swipe leftover. This stuff require time.

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[turnertimeline]

Bars are Never Fun

Collection: Kate and Danny

Year: 1990

Characters: Daniel Turner, Kate Jackson

Content Warnings: none

Rating: K+

Style: Prose

Summary: Grown up Danny Turner doesn’t particularly enjoy bars, but his buddies make him go out from time to time. Usually citing the fact that he’ll probably wither if he stays cooped up in his room.

Bars really aren’t Kate’s favorite place to be, but often she finds herself in them when she trudges along when her friends make her go out. Not one for drinking, she usually orders a soda. Most nights she sets herself a time limit, and ducks out before it gets too late.

She knows making an effort to go out and not just hole up/drift around on her own is probably healthy, and she puts a lot of effort into trying to seem normal.  So when one of the girls in her circle of acquaintances talks her into going to the pub with them to meet up with some of her nursing class friends.

When she gets there and sees Danny she's a big "ugh" like, they've managed to pull already? But she sits down and Danny smiles and waves at her and he's introduced as a fellow nursing student who "never sees the light of day" and he shrugs a bit sheepishly. "Nursing is important!" and someone cuffs him affectionately on the back of the head.

Kate's not a student. She left home as soon as she was able to, went right into working and living on her own. It tends to be coworkers who drag her out, maybe some friends she still has from school. Danny looks like a jock. He has his sperm donor's build. And Kate's just like ugh why is someone like him here?

Daniel tries not to stare at Kate, she was pretty and something told him that he should get to know her. He'd seen her a few times in the same pub, with people some of his friends knew. But he'd never interacted with her and didn't even know her name. Every time he'd seen her, he noticed how she usually looked like she didn't really want to be there. Perhaps she was dragged out by over enthusiastic friends as well.

He hadn't really wanted to go out that night, he had an exam coming up and should really be studying. But his friend Mark, the boyfriend of one of his classmates, insisted that he get some socializing.

"You look just as thrilled as I am to be out tonight." Danny tries striking up conversation.

Kate gives him a look up and down, surprised that he came over to talk to her. "I'm not much of a drinker." She shrugs a little. "Dana is a friend of mine, she tries to make sure I get out of the house at least once a week for something other than work."

"Ah. Mark does the same to me, but to pull me away from studying too hard. He seems to think that I'll waste away from being cooped up." Danny laughs quietly and is a little happy to see Kate chuckle too.

Danny tries really hard not to be creepy or to make anyone uncomfortable. The worry he might turn out like Kenneth afterall never quite left him, even with everyone's repeated reassurance he is demonstrably nothing like Kenneth at all.

"So what are you studying?" Kate asks, letting herself relax around him a little. As men in pubs go, he's so far relatively non threatening.

"Oh!" Danny replies, and enthusiasm colours his voice. "I'm studying nursing. I wanted to go midwifery, like my Grammy, but they wouldn't let a man in the program, so hopefully I can get into paediatric care instead." It comes out in a big rush of words and Kate blinks as she follows what he's saying, and then blinks again.

"That's an... unusual choice."

Kate's a little thrown off by him calling his grandmother Grammy, even at 20 years old. Not Gram, but the childlike Grammy.

Danny takes a sip of his drink and grins. "For a guy I guess it is. But I really admire the work done by district nurses and midwives and that's what I grew up around." Danny realizes he might be talking a little too fast or a bit too much. But Kate doesn't seem to mind. "What do you do?" He asks.

Kate shrugs a bit, suddenly seems withdrawn again. "Oh, just, managing the counter girls at the department store in town."

Danny seems just as enthusiastic though. "Oh cool! My mum runs the haberdashery back home, helps make clothes and stuff!"

Danny doesn't see the point in looking down on people for their jobs. Because if they have a job doing that, then there's obviously a need for what they do. Unfortunately Kate isn't used to people not turning their nose up at her working in a store.

Kate laughs a little. "I didn't know people still called them haberdasheries."

Danny laughs too. "They don't. But Violet got mad if we called it anything else and Mum kept up the habit." they've ended up slightly in the corner, talking together quietly away from the main crush of people

Kate thinks it's cute and quaint, not that she'd actually say that out loud. She's surprised that she feels at ease with him. Maybe it's because he's not drinking either.

"I'm Kate by the way. Kate Jackson." She offers her hand to him.

Danny shakes it possibly a little too happily. "Danny Turner. Nice to meet you Kate." He's definitely swooning a little inside because a pretty girl shook his hand.

Definitely swooning. She's pretty and he made her laugh and oh gosh.

"So tell me more about being a nurse," Kate says, finding she liked how enthusiastically he spoke about it, which is unusual. "Are you the only boy?"

Danny grins. "Only boy in my year yes. There's a handful that have gone through the program. And most end up as A&E or surgical nurses. I've not met any in pediatrics."

It doesn't really bother Danny that he's the only guy in his classes. Mostly what bothers him are the jokes about how the girls must be fawning over him, and how lucky to be the only boy. He thinks those are gross. Always has thought that really.

He also doesn't like when people joke that he might be gay, as if his maybe being gay is the punchline.

"I suppose it's not a very masculine profession," she replies, and then winces a bit. "Sorry."

Danny shrugs. "It's okay." He doesn't really care if it's 'masculine' or not. The men who're apparently the most masculine and who he's supposed to emulate are generally twats. "I guess I've just been around nurses and midwives most of my life and have seen all the work they do. My Dad's a Doctor but I like that nursing is more ... personal."

Now Kate is the one swooning just a bit...as swoony as she gets which isn't very. But Danny is just...glowing...as he talks about it.

"Wow, grandmother's a midwife, Dad's a doctor. Seems to be a family business." Kate jokes a little.

Danny lets out a laugh. "It really is! My grampa's a doctor and one of my aunts is a nurse, the other a psychologist." He takes another drink again. "Enough about the Turner family business though, tell me about you. Do you like being a shop manager?"

Kate crosses her arms in front of her. "It's alright, I guess. Pays the bills."

Danny frowns briefly at how unhappy she sounds but shakes his head. It's not his place to meddle or judge - he doesn't know why she's working there and trampling all over the situation won't help. "How long have you been working there?"

Danny knows not everyone is as lucky as he is. He doesn't have to support himself through school, his parents are helping, he has a part time job at the university to have spending money. But he's not one to judge about what other people have do to get by.

Kate looks down a little, slightly embarrassed. "Going on 8 years now? I started part time when I was in school. Have gone full time now as a manager."

Danny gives her a smile. "A manager at twenty-four? That's pretty good though isn't it?" He doesn't like the shame he sees on her face.  

She smiles at him a little. "I guess so. I've never thought about it like that.

Danny nods. "Yeah! That's pretty awesome, to be management already!" Danny finishes his pint and makes an ‘ew’ face at it. "I keep telling them not to buy me beer."

Kate laughs at his expression - she's not used to guys who're so open with their emotions, even when it's a comically grossed out face. "I was going to get another if you want something?"

Danny fishes around in his back pocket for change and hands her some. "Please? Just coke will be great."

Kate walks up to the bar and gets blocked by Dana who has a huge grin on her face.

"Having fun with the boy nurse?" She teases, words only a little slurred.

Kate gives her a look, not sure if she's making fun of Danny or just teasing. "You know Danny?"

Dana nods "Mostly know of him. Friends with some of the nursing girls."

Kate eyes her warily. "He was just telling me about his studies. I'm going to get us more drinks." She takes a step forward as she says it, trying to push past Dana without actually pushing past her.

Dana rolls her eyes. "Did he tell you the story about his 'Grammy' yet?" She sounds fond but also a bit mocking, especially around Grammy.

Kate tries not to sigh. "He seems to admire her, said she's the reason he wanted to go into nursing." Kate tries to dodge around Dana again and succeeds this time and is able to get to the bar. She orders two more cokes before Dana is back at her side.

Kate tries to ignore her but eventually sighs and turns to her, their drinks in hand. "What, Dana?" She tries not to sound too annoyed or exasperated. She sometimes alienated people, and she does like Dana, she just hates the drunk meddling and inability to take a hint and the casual way she makes fun of people.

"He never shuts up about her," Dana tells her. "Apparently he gets into fights with the medical students about things even!"

"Well with half is family in medicine he probably knows more than they do." Kate's voice is sharp. She has very little patience for drunkenness. And the mocking tone in Dana's voice has gotten more annoying.

Dana's eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. "Oh. My. God." Each word punctuated and getting louder than the last. "You like him!"

Kate rolls her eyes and is so glad the pub isn't very well lit because she's sure her face would be red. "I've only just met him."

"You do!" Dana near shrieks and Kate rolls her eyes at her and does push past her this time and back over to Danny, although she slows down when she realises he's talking to someone she doesn't recognise. He spots her coming though and waves her over.

"Kate, this is Gemma. One of my friends from back home, she's doing nursing too."

Gemma waves at her. "Hi, Kate. Anyway, I'll leave you to your drinks. Just pass my love to Cam, alright? We miss her!"

Kate tries very hard not just fall into her chair in exasperation at Dana and waves back at Gemma.

"Cam?" She questions when Gemma is out of earshot and they both have their drinks in front of them. She's kind of hoping it's not a girlfriend. Not that she'll actually admit that to even herself.

"One of my cousins. Gemma went to the same grammar as my sister Liz and our cousin Cam." Danny takes a gulp of his drink when he notices that Kate relaxes just a bit when he says that Cam was family.

They sit and drink in silence for a while - but it's not as horrifically awkward as Kate would have thought it might have been.

Danny clears his throat after a while. "So," he says, and grins at her. "Not really your kind of scene?" He gestures to her glass of coke and obvious sobriety and her exasperation at Dana, dammit she thought she'd hidden that better. She realises they really are tucked away in a corner, somewhere where there's actual light and as far from the sound system as possible. She's surprised to find she isn't threatened by the fact their knees are nearly touching under the table they're sharing, and that it doesn't feel like a ~date. Or at least, Danny isn't going to insist it is, he isn't trying to invade her space or puff out his chest like guys usually do.

Kate shakes her head. "Nah. Too loud and too many drunks. Not yours either?"

Danny shakes his head too, and his hair kind of flops about. "Nope, not really. Same reasons really." He gives her a smile.

Kate's not quite sure what to make of him. Usually the guys who chat her up are....a little more imposing. Not that she really minds that, she's not a stranger to one night stands or flings. But he seems to honestly want to get to her know. And that's kind of freaking her out.

Danny yawns and she finds herself tracking the movement, admiring him arms. He doesn't look the way she imagined a male nurse would.

"So... do you do anything outside of studying too hard?" She asks him with a smile and a head tilt. His interest in her is freaking her out a little, but if she can get him talking about himself... it's usually easy enough, with guys who're trying to impress her. And she’s not an idiot, it's obvious he at least thinks she's pretty, even if he's not flirting outright. Maybe he's shy?

Danny scratches the back of his neck. "Well, my family is involved in a lot of community stuff so I usually end up helping out there. But honestly, I'm mostly a homebody." Sometimes Danny realizes how...lame? his life must seem. He really ends up spending most of his free time with family. "What about you. Outside of the wonderful world of retail, what do you get up to?"

He loves spending time with them. But it's not very exciting and or impressive, when he tells other people about it.

"Oh, you know, this and that. Mostly I'm pretty tired when I get home. I read a lot?" Kate twirls a strand of hair around her finger and tries to deflect again. "What kind of community stuff does your family do?"

Most people he tells usually make fun of him about it. But he doesn't mind because he genuinely enjoys being with his family.

"Oh, you know, this and that." He teases lightly. "My Grammy is really involved in the local church and will do different classes and events. The whole family gets in on it. My one aunt does art classes, another does some exercise and healthy living things."

He notices Kate's face twitch a little with the mention of the church. He's not too involved in the religious aspect and hopes he hasn't just scared her off.

They lapse into silence again, and this time it is a little bit awkward. Church? Jeez. She didn't sign up for that.

Danny coughs a little. "I mean, Grammy's pretty involved with the church still. She used to a nun." The family joke doesn't *quite* land without the context, but he sees Kate's lips twitch a little and her lean towards him.

"Oh?" Kate is intrigued despite herself.

Danny grins a little "Yeah. Left the order to marry my Grampa." He takes a sip of his drink, debating on pulling the family joke out. Oh hell, why not? "Apparently the Turner men can even charm a nun out of her habit." And he gives her an exaggerated wink.

Kate laughs despite the absolute cheesiness of the joke.

Danny grins at her, delighted, and laughs along. "Although I think Grammy did most of the charming, all things considered." Kate is still a little amazed at the warmth and fondness that comes through in his voice when he talks about his family. And not just because she can't imagine being that fond of her family.

"Duly noted," Kate replies, still laughing a little. "Shame the charm stopped there," she adds, teasingly.

Danny drops his jaw in mock indignation. "Hey now!" he laughs before pouting a little.

"Aww, should I get you some ice for that tiny burn?" Kate keeps teasing him.

Teasing and flirting is easier for her than where their conversation could have gone when he mentioned the church.

"Yes," Danny replies, with an exaggerated pout, before he can't keep a straight-ish face anymore and giggles. "I'll have you know burns are very serious business."

Kate's glass is nearly empty so she fishes out a piece of ice and chucks it at him. "Here ya go!"  She laughs when he throws his hands up to try and block the ice. She tosses a few more at him before he drains is glass and retaliates. Soon bits of ice are scattered over their table and they're both laughing to hard they're nearly crying.

Danny gets the hiccups as he's calming down, which sets his off again, and he ends up with his face pressed into his arms in the table, laughing and groaning occasionally. "Oh, my tummy hurts," he whines in between giggles and laughter.

Kate starts laughing at him again, although a little more composed then he is. "Oh my god, you big baby," she teases him, and kicks him under the table. "Look at the mess you made!"

Danny raises his head just enough to stick his tongue out at her "You started it!" he half shouts before dissolving into laughter again.

Kate can't remember the last time she laughed this hard with anyone, let alone a guy.

Danny doesn't look like he's calming down anytime soon, so she pats him consolingly on the shoulder and gets up to get some napkins for the table - she doesn't want wet elbows, as the ice is melting quite quickly in the warm room - and to get them another drink. She wonders at herself a little as she waits at the bar, how much she's getting on with this guy and how open she's being - for her, anyway.

Danny has recovered himself a little by the time she gets back. Kate is mostly glad Dana is too drunk to notice she's still talking to Danny, and when she glances over Dana is almost in the lap of some random dude.

If Dana had noticed that Kate was still talking to Danny, Kate would never hear the end of it. She might still never hear the end of it just because of talking to him earlier.  But she's really enjoying talking to him, and he's not angling to get in her pants. Which is unusual. And if she lets herself think about it, she likes it.

Danny takes the napkins and starts mopping up the little ice puddles and fidgets with the wet lump of paper when he's done.

She watches him fidget with the wet napkins for a while. "Everything okay?" She's startled to realise she really does want to know of there's something wrong.

Danny looks up and flexes his hands. "Sorry, I'm just not good at keeping my hands still." He looks like a little kid getting caught touching something he shouldn't.

Kate gives him a warm smile. "I can understand that." She looks down at her watch and realizes that it's nearly 11pm. "Shit, I didn't plan to be out so late, I have to open in the morning."

Danny frowns automatically too. "Shit, me neither. I should probably be heading home... I hope I didn't keep you." he looks genuinely, hilariously worried about it, too

"I can't really say that I mind." Kate's smile is a little shy. Because she actually likes him. Not just wanting to jump him. "Although, morning me might be a little angry at my decisions." She laughs and stands up.

Danny returns her smile with a goofy one of his own.

Danny gets up too and pulls his coat on. "I'm heading out too. Stuff to do tomorrow. Stuff I should have done tonight," he amends a bit sheepishly. "Hope morning Kate isn't too mad."

He hesitates a little. Doesn't want to cause her any worry he might follow her home. "Bye," he says, and waves, so he'll be leaving before her.

Kate is still kind of just like 0.0. He's so sweet. Most guys would have like tried to walk her home and "care for a nightcap?" and like half expect the night to end with sex. Even though they'd just been talking for the past two hours.

She really wants to see him again.

[jessahmewren]

Miles between us and miles to go. Chapter 3/6

Written for @thexmasfileschallenge Day 10: Gingerbread

-0-0-0-

Scully was only vaguely aware of dying. Red and purple explosions bloomed behind her eyelids, her lungs screamed for air as her oxygen starved body lost its vigor with every beat of her heart.

She weakly fought toward the surface. She didn’t have the strength.

Her lungs spasmed and she inhaled instinctively, coughing and sputtering on iron-tinged, tepid water. She was drowning. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, she thought wildly. She had bled out too slowly and was still conscious when she went under. The water in the bathtub, now rose-pink with Scully’s blood, pulled her down like quicksand. A heavy blackness crept at the corners of her consciousness, threatening to close in. She lay immobile in a watery tomb, death on either side of her, waiting.

So much for not making a mess.

-0-0-0-

7:32pm

Bethesda Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Consciousness came to her in violent pants for air. Her lungs heaved, her arms strained against the cuffs. She was in the hospital, not in her hotel room. It was nighttime, not that morning.  And she was still alive.

Her forehead was wet with perspiration, her lips dry. Her racing heart throbbed in her tattered wrist. Steady. Steady, she willed herself. It was the same dream every time she closed her eyes, ever since they’d brought her here.

It was fitting punishment for botching a suicide.

She took a shaky breath. The room was the same, only now it burned with cold, artificial light. The same glass of water stood untouched on the rolling table at the foot of the bed, now joined by another neglected food tray. She caught her reflection in the darkened television, distorted like a funhouse mirror. She was a ghost, a dark shadow floating on a sea of white emptiness. She looked away.

Scully examined her shackled wrists, then something caught her eye. An orange plastic chair was pulled flush to the bed. She swallowed.

Suddenly, as if in answer to her unspoken question, the door to her hospital room opened. It was Mulder.  He stood against the nervous activity of the hallway, silently regarding her from across the room. “Hey,” he said quietly. He was holding a cup of coffee.

She didn’t want him there. She closed her eyes. Just go away, Mulder, just go go go go go a silent litany pleaded in her mind. She wished it was anyone but him, anyone else seeing her like this. She looked away from him, to the opposite wall. There was nowhere to go. “Mulder.” Her voice was small, quiet. “Mulder why are you here.” She couldn’t look at him.

He approached her steadily, depositing the coffee on the rolling table with the other silent sentries. He settled into the plastic chair. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said tenderly. His eyes were gray in the cool light, and patient. He was hers for as long as she needed him.  He was hers forever.

Scully refused to face him, but when he reached for her hand she did not stiffen. Unbidden, hot tears streaked down the side of her face. She set her mouth, willing them to stop. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. “Scully,” Mulder intoned quietly. Her name was honey in his mouth, and she hated him for that. She hated he was here, a firsthand witness to how pathetic she must look. She had always been the rock.  The strength. She was merely a shadow of that.

“Mulder you should go,” she finally managed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Mulder released her hand, letting it fall gently to the bed. She refused to look at him, and he knew why. Never show your weakness. He’d learned that about her after so many years together.  The wall goes up.  

“Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave,” he rumbled smoothly. He was leaning over the bed now, murmuring in her ear. Scully bristled at his closeness, the sound of his voice, the heat of his body. She turned into his gaze. She was the only one that could meet Mulder toe-to-toe, even at her worst.

Their faces were inches apart. She could feel his breath on her cheek, his capable arms tensing on the bedrail. He filled her vision and overwhelmed her senses. Mulder was everywhere. She looked into those unflinching eyes brimming with depth and sincerity.

“Our son, Mulder. I want to see our son again,” she said as tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking the pillow.  I wanted to watch him grow up.”  

The hole opened even wider, threatening to swallow him.  Guilt, his lifelong companion, filled the void.  Mulder cupped her face with his hands, shushing her softly, cooling her hot face.  His hands were shaking.  “I wanted that too,” he said, his voice thick with tears.  “I wanted that too.”  He rested his forehead against hers

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” he soothed quietly.  She closed her eyes against his voice, against the room and her reality. Tears silently escaped her matted lashes. She clung to his touch as darkness overtook her. It was blissfully quiet for a long time.

-0-0-0-

8:34 am

Bethesda Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Sunlight streamed into the windows of the fifth floor psychiatric ward at Bethesda Medical Center. Sara Marshall stood amid a bustle of activity at the nurse’s station and arranged the medicine doses for each of her patients. She also checked the daily therapy schedule and cross-checked it for any conflicts. “So what time did Agent Mulder leave,” she asked casually. She received no response, save for a few confused glances from her fellow nurses. She smiled to herself. “Dana Scully, in 514…what time did her visitor leave?”

A middle aged nurse huffed. “Honey, he didn’t leave. He’s been out of that room maybe twice in twelve hours.” Sara looked in the direction of the room, thinking. Somehow that news did not surprise her. “Well, how is she this morning,” Sara asked mildly. “Dunno, haven’t been in. Patty was on duty last night, though.” The other nurse shutdown, disinterested.

Sara approached 514 and rapped softly. A pause. “You can come in,” was the detached reply from the other side. It was Dana. Sara could’ve been knocked over with a feather.

She walked in to find the blinds had been opened, and the eastern-facing windows were taking the brunt of the morning sunlight.  It was pleasantly warm within, although a pervasive gloom still hung in the corners of the room. Dana sat partially upright in the bed. Her red hair, a shade or two brighter than gingerbread, spilled over the pillow and feathered around her shoulders. Her face was pale and drawn. Mulder was an ever-present fixture at her side. She was out of her restraints.

Sara glanced at the unbuckled cuffs, then at Mulder. He fixed her with an inscrutable gaze, the meaning of which she understood perfectly. She gave a miniscule nod. “Well good morning Ms. Scully,” Sara began. “How are you feeling today?” Scully smoothed the gown in her lap, a useless action. When she looked up her eyes were hard. “I’m not,” she replied blankly. Sara shrugged it off and approached the bandaged wrist, lifting it with care. Dana actually stiffened a bit at her ministrations, which Sara took as a good sign. Emotion, any emotion, was an integral part of recovering from a suicide attempt. Her previous lethargy appeared to be diminishing, but it would be rough going for awhile.

Mulder averted his eyes from the exposed wrist, no doubt for Scully’s benefit.  As a result, Sara’s patient relaxed a little, staring vacantly ahead. When Sara was finished, she locked eyes with her. “When can I leave,” Scully asked flatly. She looked at Sara as if the nurse were the only person in the world keeping her there.

“Well, you know Ms. Scully, that decision is ultimately your doctor’s.” Sara stole a glance at Mulder, who was listening to every word. She lowered her voice, folding her arms over Dana’s chart.

“Your vital signs are good,” she said carefully, “but that doesn’t mean you’re getting better.” She leveled soft eyes over her glasses. “But I think you know that, don’t you?”

It was a question to which Sara did not expect an answer.

-0-0-0-

[keywestlou]

I AM THE FACE OF ANARCHY

Portland is turning more and more chaotic. Trump’s “gestapo” are being met with a backlash. Not bad yet. However obvious that people will not remain silent for long when being defecated upon by the man sworn to protect them.

Trump is playing the Portland game merely for political glory. Whatever, it can at some point become retaliatory.

Though the protesters have been on Portland streets evenings for more than 50 days, their conduct for the most has been respectable.

Allison Hyder is a Portland resident. She wanted to see up close what was going on. She grabbed a helmet and googles and was off to the demonstration. Her intent to stand in the rear and watch. Nothing more.

Allison is no teenager. She is a grandmother of 5.

In the early hours of tuesday she found herself not in the rear, but up front. Locking arms with other mothers dressed in yellow.

Allison told a reporter, “I am the face of anarchy. The people of the United States need to know that moms, grandmas and nurses are out here in the middle of the night demanding rights for everybody.”

Interesting. Grandmothers, mothers and nurses protesting front line on the streets of Portland.

Pew Research Center recently completed an analysis as to the composition of the Portland protesters. Surprising results.

Only 1 in 6 Black Lives Matter protesters are black.

The percentages speak for themselves. Whites 46 percent, Blacks 17 percent, Hispanics 22 percent, and Asians 8 percent.

Texas coronavirus numbers keep sky rocketing. No end in sight. Hospitals claim they are facing a “tsunami” of patients who will finally overwhelm them.

One doctor said, “Our hospitals look like war zones.”

The numbers tell the story. One thousand deaths in 10 days. As many deaths as occurred in the previous 3 months.

Not good.

No one seems to know what they are doing. Similar in most of the rest of the U.S.

The head public health official for Hidalgo County issued a “shelter-at-home” order monday. Governor Greg Abbot says it’s unenforceable.

Called “working together.”

Trump’s new reality show aired for the first time yesterday at 5. Doubt it will receive any awards. Doubt it will last long.

He read his report. No speaking off the cuff as he enjoys. His report overall not interesting.

There were 3 significant points made.

He changed his position on face masks and social distancing. Finally!

He did not wear one during the broadcast, however.

One of the doctors speaking on a news show afterwards said if Trump had taken that position 3 months ago, there would be 50,000 fewer deaths today.

The final item concerns Jeffrey Epstein’s good friend and procurer who is presently under arrest. A reporter asked about Ghislaine Maxwell. A put Trump on the spot question. He handled it with a smile on his face and his foot in his mouth.

The question was baited. Trump bit hook, line and sinker!

Note Ghislaine is accused of aiding Jefferfy Epstein in the sexual abuse of minors.

Trump’s response, “I just wish her well. I’ve met her numerous times over the years, especially since I lived in Palm Beach and they lived in Palm Beach. I wish her well.”

Dana Milbank in a Washington Post Opinion piece yesterday described Trump’s show as the “Five O’Clock Follies.”

Milbank said the show was dull. Predicted it faced an early cancellation. Not so much because of ratings. Primarily because “the lead actor hates his role.”

This is day 127 of my self-quarantine.

Amazing how many people are self-quarantining also. I have received e-mails from all over the U.S. from people who are doing as I. Most from people 60 and older. A few in their 90’s.

I confess I have cheated 6 times. Out of necessity. Doctor visits and hospital visits for tests. Still in the cycle. I have intentionally failed to share the purported problem. Probably bullshit. Hopefully bullshit.

The 6 visits were quick. I was only out of the house 45 minutes each time.

Yesterday was a doctor visit day.

Let me say in passing I am impressed how most doctor’s offices are handling the coronavirus problem.

My primary care physician is Dr. Norris.

In order to gain entry into his offices, I now press a bell. His door  always locked. A nurse comes out immediately. Takes my temperature while I am standing outside. Then takes me in. Quickly does the blood pressure, etc. routine. Then to an examining room to await the doctor.

No siting in a waiting room first. No one ever in the waiting room these days.

Not what I intended to share with you. Interesting, however.

As I drove down US 1 to Key West, then down North Roosevelt Boulevard, ending up at Dr. Norris’ office on Southard, there was no traffic. Like nothing. Almost zip. Eerie.

Parking places. Whole blocks of them.

Very few people seen walking.

Key West was a “ghost town” yesterday morning. Probably has been for a while and will continue to be for some time to come.

The desolation reminded me of 2 movies. The 1959 film On The Beach with Gregory Peck and Ava Gardener and the 1971 film The Omega Man with Charlton Heston.

Both involved backgrounds where war or some disease had killed most everyone world wide. Only a handful left. Anticipating death or doing everything to avoid it.

In both, the streets were desolate. Empty. Stores and buildings, also.

The Monroe County Commission and the Key West Commission have overall done a good job in dealing with the virus. There have been screw ups, however.

Both have failed as regards lobster mini-season which occurs next week.

Florida is rampant with coronavirus. Miami-Dade and Broward Counties are the worst for the disease in the nation.

Drinking and partying rules stringent in certain instance. Especially as to bars and beaches.

So the people in those counties hop in their cars and drive down to the Keys. Bringing with them, coronavirus. Key Largo has suffered the worst. The first “major” community in the Keys as one drives south.

Mini-lobster season will bring these same party goers back. Most are young.

The Monroe County Commission should have shut down mini-lobster season. Did not. Apparently only the Governor could. He refused.

Rules in this time of major disease are meant to be bent. Just the way it is.

The County Commission should have said no mini-lobster season this year and closed all boat ramps from Key Largo to Key West to everyone, except locals.

Instead, the County Commission closed certain boat rams in the Key Largo area. No where else.

Islamorada is located mid Keys. Islamorada closed their boat ramps before the County even decided what they were going to do. And Islamorada intends to keep the boat ramps shut.

Key West should follow Islamorada’s example. Close down the ramps! Pay no attention to what the Governor or County Commission say in this instance. Key West should do the right thing. Close down the boat ramps and declare no mini-season in Key West.

My plan is appropriate. Key Largo is effectively closed to non-locals. Islamorada likewise. The next major Keys community is Key West. Do the same here.

Those who want to come down for mini-lobstering know they cannot go to Key Largo or Islamorada. Most will say no problem. Let’s go to Key West. The only major partying town left open for mini lobstering and partying! The two go together.

If Key West remains open, I predict that 2-3 weeks thereafter Key West’s coronavirus numbers will go up dramatically.

Some forget lives are more important than money. There are those instances.

Love the William Hackley and May Johnson diaries the Key West Citizen has been running!

I continue to learn.

Two comments received by my blog yesterday involved “Household Words.”

Household Words was an English weekly magazine. It was edited by Charles Dickens in the 1850’s. Household Words’ name was derived from a line in Shakespeare’s Henry V: “Familiar in his mouth on household words.”

Hackley’s diary covers 1855. Hackley frequently mentions he spent an afternoon or some time reading Household Words.

Today’s blog way longer than intended. I got hooked up with the mini-lobster season/coronavirus thing. Everyone’s life has value. I feel strongly that life should be protected.

Enjoy your day!

  I AM THE FACE OF ANARCHY was originally published on Key West Lou

[bamby0304]

The Hart: Chapter One

Summary:  When Lizzie was just a few months old, she lost her father. Fifteen years later she lost her mother, and then her sister. Now in her early twenties Lizzie spends her days and nights hunting things and saving people. When the Winchesters meet the bright eyed and bubbly blonde they don’t realise what they’re in for… and neither does she…

Part Five: I’m an Aquarius

Masterlist

Warnings: Nope :):)

Bamby

DPOV

The lawyer was back, with a female detective I hadn't met, and a few other people who'd set up a camera in front of me. Sheridan was also back. I didn't like the guy, and it wasn't just because he was a cop. There was something else about him.

"Counsellor." Sheridan nodded to the lawyer. "Your boy decided to confess."

"Mr Winchester, I'd advise against that strongly." the lawyer warned.

Ignoring the lawyer, Sheridan looked to me. "Talk directly into the camera. Start by stating your name for the record."

Clearing my throat, I leaned forward and looking into the camera. "My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women." I grinned. "And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did." I looked up at Sheridan then as I went on. "Or rather, what did. Of course, can't be for sure, because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory is that we're looking for some kind of... vengeful spirit."

"Excuse me?" the female detective spoke up.

"You know, Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?" I explained. "Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing it the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil ain't easy. Sometimes the spirits, they get things jumbled. You remember redrum? Same concept. You know, it's, uh... Could be word fragments.

"Other times..." I pulled out the piece of paper I'd written on before, showing it to the camera. "It's anagrams. See, at first, we thought this was a name, Dana Shulps. But now, we think it's a street. Ashland. Whatever's going on, I'm betting it started there." I grinned into the camera again.

"You arrogant bastard." Sheridan shook his head. "Tony and Karen were good people. You're making jokes."

"I'm not joking, Ponch." I knew they wouldn't believe me, but there was a reason why I was doing this...

"You murdered them in cold blood just like that girl in St. Louis!"

"Oh, yeah, that wasn't me either." I turned to the camera as I explained. "That was a shapeshifter creature that only looked like me."

"Get up!" Sheridan grabbed my shoulder and pulled me from my chair, pushing me against the wall.

"Pete, that is enough!" the female detective warned.

"You asked for the truth." I shrugged.

Sheridan let me go and started for the door. "Lock his ass up."

I was turned around by another cop before I felt cuffs wrapping around my wrists once again.

EPOV

I'd followed the guys' instructions. I found the first hotel in the phone book and I booked a room under my alias' name. That was a few hours ago now, and I'd been spending my time waiting while trying to figure out how to finish this case.

A knock on the door of the hotel room had me climbing off my bed in a scurry and hurrying over to see who was here.

I threw the door open and wide smile spread on my lips before I threw my arms around Sam's neck, reaching up on my toes as I did so. "I thought you two were goners. You had me worried sick."

His own arms came around my waist in a hug. "Dean distracted the cops so I could get out of there."

"So..." I stepped back and looked up at him confused, "Are we breaking him out? I mean, I'm all for it. I'd just like to know what the plan is before we dive into this head first. The last thing we need is all three of us behind bars."

But surprisingly, Sam shook his head. "We're not breaking Dean out." he started as he moved to the bed, grabbing some of the information scattered over the blanket before he went to sit at the table. "We're finishing this case first. Dean figured out Dana Shulps is an anagram. There's a street called Ashland. We should look it up." he suggested.

"Okay." I shrugged, a little unsure but I trusted Sam enough to go along with it. "So let's figure out what it is we're dealing with." nodding, I dropped on to the bed again as I started to read through the paper work once more, determined to finally get to the bottom of this.

DPOV

I was back in the interrogation room. Waiting again. Cuffed again. This was getting pretty tiresome, pretty fast.

The door opened as the female detective walked in, not looking too good. If anything, she looked a little scared. But I was too tired to care. After the crap Sheridan put me through, I wasn't really in the mood to play along with whatever crap they wanted me to do now.

"Can we make this quick? I'm a little tired." I told her. "It's been a long day, with you partner assaulting me and all."

She ignored me and asked her question anyway. "I wanna know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier."

"Time Life, Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up." was all I gave her before turning away.

"Let's pretend for the moment, you're not entirely insane." she started, walking to stand on the other side of the table, right in front of me. "What would one of these things be doing here?"

"A vengeful spirit? Well, they're created by violent deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt them."

"And, uh, these spirits..." she lifted her hand to scratch at her neck nervously, "they're capable of killing people?"

I grinned, about to give some smartass answer, honestly believe that she was just pulling my leg. That was until my eyes noticed her bruised wrist peeking out from the long sleeve of her jacket. That's when my smile fell.

"Where did you get that?"

She looked down at her wrist, lowering it so she could give me a better look. "I don't know." she checked the other wrist, finding a bruise there as well. "It wasn't there before."

I understood then. "You've seen it, haven't you? The spirit."

"How did you know?"

"Because Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. I bet that if you look at Giles' autopsy photo, he's got them too. It's got something to do with this spirit." I shook my head, unable to put the pieces together. "I don't know what."

The officer turned away from me, taking a couple of steps towards the two-way mirror. She held her wrist as she looked off with a terrified look in her eyes. She was scared, and she had every right to be. Everyone else who'd been in her position is dead.

But there was also doubt in her mind as she tried to rationalize everything. People always tried to find some logical reason behind everything.

"I know. You think you're going crazy. Well, let's skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing, died pretty soon after. You hear me?"

She turned to me again then. "You think I'm gonna die?"

"You need to go to Sam and Liz."

"Liz? Who's Liz?"

"Our friend." I shook my head, going on. "They'll help you."

"You're giving them up?"

"Go to the first motel in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford. It's how Sam and I find each other when we're separated." I told her, knowing perfectly well that I was giving her everything she needed to bring both Sam and Liz to the station. "You can arrest them if you want. Or you can let them save your life."

SPOV

A knock on the door had me turn to Lizzie as she sat on the bed, looking through a file. "You expecting anyone?"

"Nope." she shook her head. "You think Dean got out?"

"I don't know." though I honestly didn't think he would have, I still got up and answered the door to check.

Instead of Dean standing there, it was Diana...

She spoke quickly, not giving me a chance to open my mouth. "Before you slam this door on my face, we need to talk."

"Sam, who is it?" Lizzie asked as she came over to check. That's when she froze behind me. "You do realize she's the cop that arrested you..."

"Yeah, I know." I sighed, stepping back as I opened the door for Diana. "And she's coming in." I could tell there was something she needed to say, and the fact she came alone told me I could trust her.

"So... You must be Hannah." Diana looked Lizzie up and down. "I heard you left town."

Lizzie grinned, moving to sit on the bed again, grabbing one of her strawberry Twizzlers off the night stand. "Well you heard wrong."

"Ah, Diana... How'd you find us here?"

"Dean told me." she answered, turning away from Lizzie as she looked to me. "He said you can help with these." lifting her hands, she showed me her bruised wrists. Curious, I moved closer to get a better look at the bruises as she spoke again. "I saw the... Ghost."

If she was willing to talk about ghosts, then I had no reason not to trust her for the moment. Anything to get the job done. "These showed up after you saw it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"All right." I let go of her hands. "You're gonna have to tell us exactly what you saw."

But she just shook her head, walking away. "You know, I must be losing my mind. You're a fugitive. I should be arresting you. And you?" she pointed to Lizzie. "I should be taking you in for questioning."

"You got cuffs?" Lizzie winked, raising her hands out in front of her as she pressed her wrists together, Twizzler hanging from the corner of her mouth. "Take me away officer."

"You're not helping, Lizzie." I sighed.

She was a good hunter and becoming a good friend. I liked her. She knew how to be serious and she knew when to joke around. But whenever she didn't like someone, or whenever someone got on her bad side, she could be painfully sarcastic and sassy. It was funny really. She had a lot in common with Dean...

"Look, you can arrest me later, all right. After you live through this. But right now, you gotta talk to me. Okay?" I told Diana who reluctantly nodded. "Okay, great. Now, the spirit, what did it look like?"

"She was... Really pale. And her throat was cut. And her eyes, they were like this deep dark red. It appeared like she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn't. It was just a lot of blood." she took a seat on the other bed then.

"You know what? Here." I moved over to the table, grabbing a bunch of photos I'd gathered. "Lizzie and I have been researching every girl who's died or gone missing from Ashland Street."

Diana frowned as she stood and moved towards me, looking down at the photos. "How'd you get those? Those are from crime scenes and booking photos."

I just gave a light chuckle and short shrug. "You have your job, I have mine." I answered, handing her the photos. "I need you to look through these, tell me if you recognize anyone."

Taking the photos, she sat on Lizzie's bed and began to look. Lizzie and I waited patiently as she flicked through them, giving each a scan before moving on. She's been through about half the pile when she stopped.

"This is her."

Lizzie looked over her shoulder and at the picture. "Are you sure?" she asked, attitude missing from her tone, now back to business.

"Yes." Diana nodded. "I'm sure of it."

I reached over and grabbed the photo. "'Claire Becker, twenty-eight years old. Disappeared about eight or nine months ago.'"

"But I don't even know her." Diana insisted. "Why would she come after me?"

"Well, before her death, she was arrested twice for dealing heroin." I noted. "You ever work Narcotics?"

"Yeah. Pete and I did. Before Homicide."

I lifted the photo so she could see Claire's face again. "You ever bust her?"

Diana shook her head. "Not that I remember."

Sighing, Lizzie crawled off the bed and came to sit next to me, grabbing Claire's report. "Apparently she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. The police searched the place, but didn't find anything." she dropped the papers and turned to me. "We checking it out? See if we can find the body?"

"What?" Diana's eyes went wide.

"Well... We gotta salt and burn the bones." I explained. "It's the only way to put her spirit to rest."

"Of course it is."

"I call shotgun!" Lizzie grinned as she got up from her seat and headed for the door.

EPOV

Sam, Diana and I entered the abandoned building on Ashland Street. The place was covered in dust and dirt, spider webs stretching everywhere and anywhere in the many rooms and hallways of the place.

With my torch shining in front of us, I lead our small group, moving slowly and carefully as I made sure we looked for any give away where a body might be buried or hidden.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" Diana asked from the back of the group.

I didn't trust the woman. But I didn't really trust any cop or fed. It was one of the many branches of my trust-issue tree.

"I'll let you know when we find it." Sam answered before he tapped my shoulder and pointed over to some stairs. "You wanna check it out?"

Nodding I turned to look at Diana. "Stay down here and call us if you see anything?" I told her before Sam and I went to leave.

Before we could get far, she called out to me. "See what?"

Rolling my eyes and supressing a sigh, I looked over my shoulder at her. "I don't know. Like a scary ghost or a rotting body." I shrugged. "Something along the lines of that." I told her before continuing for the stairs, Sam right behind me.

I hadn't always been like this when it came to cops. My mum had actually been a cop. I'd loved every bit of it growing up. Going to the station, riding in the car, playing with the siren. My mum was a hero. A super hero to me.

But then she died. My sister wasn't too far behind her. I was left alone and I was angry. Following the monsters that had killed my family. I dodged the cops and social services for ages. They were just distractions and obstacles in the way of my revenge.

Then I'd gotten my revenge and calmed down, but the chase for me didn't. I was on the run again, killing whatever monsters I found on the way. Going from hotel to hotel. Perfecting the art of lying. Learning how to pick locks and hotwire cars. I did whatever I could to keep distance between me and the law.

I'd prefer it to stay that way. I really didn't want to end up behind bars, and I would do pretty much anything to make sure that never happened.

"You know, you don't have to be so mean to her." Sam spoke as we moved from room to room, looking for any signs of a body or ghost. "She's confused and scared."

"Please." I rolled my eyes. "She's just waiting for us to save her ass so she can lock a pair of cuffs on each of us and send us down the yellow brick road, all the way to prison."

Sam shook his head. "Come on, Lizzie. She's nothing like that. We need her help, she needs ours. That's all. Once we're done here, we'll all part ways."

"You say it like you mean it. Like you've been through something like this before." I watched him carefully. "Have you worked with cops before. And I don't mean like how you and Dean pretend to be FBI. I mean, have other cops found out the truth about what you do?"

"Yeah." he shrugged. "A couple times."

"And you trusted them?"

"You gotta trust some people sometimes, Lizzie."

"Sam!"

Sam and I turned for the door without hesitating a second. We ran for the stairs, rushing down them as fast as we could as we ran in the direction Diana's voice had come from.

She was scared and something was clearly wrong. She needed us, and at that moment she wasn't a cop. She was someone I had to save.

"Hey!" Sam and I came around the corner, seeing Diana's pressed against the wall shaking. "Hey, we're here. What is it?" he asked, a little out of breath. "What happened?"

"Claire."

I turned to shine the light of my torch around the room. "Where?"

"She was here."

"Did she attack you?" Sam asked her, a look of panic in his eyes.

"No. No, she was just, like, reaching out to me. She was over there by the window." Diana gestured to the window she was facing. Sam and I watched as she moved to the shelf under the window. "Help me move this."

Both Sam and I stepped up and grabbed a side of the shelf and dragged it along the floor, moving it out of the way so Diana could get a better look at the window.

Through the glass we could see the letters D-N-A-L-H-S-A-P-U-S painted. It was fading, and a lot of letters were missing, but it was obviously a sign which once meant something, and considering it was backwards, I guessed it had once said 'Ashland Supplies'.

Diana shone her torch on to the glass. "Our little mystery word."

"Now the extra letters make sense." Sam turned so he was facing the wall opposite the window as he pulled out his EMF reader.

"What is that?" Diana asked, looking around him to see the device.

"Spirits and certain remains give off electro-magnetic frequencies." Sam explained as he started stepping closer to the wall step by step.

Diana followed Sam curiously. "So if Claire's body was here, that would indicate that?"

"That's the theory anyway." I shrugged, looking around for something heavy I could use to break down the wall. Just as I grabbed a slightly heavy, and old pipe, the EMF reader began to beep. "Jackpot."

"Here." Sam gestured to the pipe. "I've got it."

I had wanted to smash the wall down, but I had a feeling I wouldn't have done much damage. The wall looked pretty sturdy, and the pipe was pretty heavy. So I handed it over to Sam and stepped back with Diana, the two of us watching as he brought down the wall brick by brick, until there was a gap big enough for him to look inside.

"Yeah." he nodded, pulling back from the hole. "There's definitely something in there." he grabbed the pipe again, and started to hit the wall once more. "You know..." he grunted as he worked. "This is bothering me."

"Well, you are digging up a corpse." Diana shrugged.

"No, not that. That's pretty par for the course, actually." Sam chuckled lightly.

"Then what?"

"It's just... I mean, no vengeful sprit I've ever tussled with wanted to be wasted. What about you?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "Nope. All nasty assholes who wanna stay right where they are."

"Exactly. So why the hell would Claire lead us to her remains? It doesn't make any sense." he finished breaking down enough bricks then. "All right, Lizzie, give me a hand."

Sam and I reached into the gap in the wall and grabbed on to what I could only assume was a body wrapping in some sort of sheet. Pulling it out, we carefully moved to lay it down on the ground. Diana came to see what was under sheet as Sam and I pulled it away.

Sure enough, there was a body.

Diana reached for the wrists, seeing them bound together.

"Her wrists." Sam nodded, looking from Diana's to the body's. "Yeah, they'd be bruised just like yours."

Something else caught Diana's attention then. Reaching forward, she lifted the necklace from Claire's body.

"That mean anything to you?" I asked from where I was crouched beside her.

"I've seen it before. It's rare. It was custom-made over on Carson Street. I have one just like it." she reached into her shirt and pulled her own necklace out. "Pete gave it to me."

"Holy shit." I shook my head, standing up. "See, this is why I don't trust the police."

Sam stood as well, ignoring my comment. "Now this all makes perfect sense."

"I'm sorry?" Diana was clearly confused.

Sighing, I explained it to her. "Claire isn't a vengeful spirit. She's a death omen. She's not killing anyone. She's trying to warn them." when Diana still look confused, I went on. "Some spirits aren't assholes. Some just want justice. Claire led us here for that. She wants us to know who killed her."

It took a moment longer, but eventually there was a change in Diana's face, and it was clear she understood what Sam and I had figured out.

Sam hesitated a moment before asking, "Detective, how much do you know about your partner?"

Diana's jaw dropped. "Oh, my God."

"What?" Sam and I asked at the same time.

"About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously if was a cop. We never found out who did it. But whoever did it would need someone to fence their product."

Sam nodded. "Somebody like a heroin dealer. Somebody like Claire."

DPOV

"So I'm being extradited to St. Louis, huh?" I asked as I sat in the back of the police van, still hand cuffed. Sheridan was driving, escorting me alone. Which was not giving me good vibes. "And you just decided to transfer me yourself, eight hundred miles at two in the morning?" when he stayed silent, I knew I was in trouble. "This can't be good."

SPOV

"All right, thanks." Diana hung up the phone.

I turned to look at her from where I sat in the passenger seat. It was clear something was wrong. "What is it?"

"Pete just left the precinct. With Dean."

Lizzie leaned closer to Diana. "What!?"

"He said the prisoner had to be transferred, and he just took him. Dispatch has been calling. But he won't answer the radio." Diana explained.

"Radio?" I frowned. "He took a county vehicle?"

"Yeah."

"Then it should have a LoJack." I shrugged. "You just gotta get it turned on."

DPOV

The van came to a stop, and from what I could see, we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. There probably wasn't another soul within the mile...

"Pee break? So Soon? You know, you might wanna get your prostate checked." I joked, hoping the situation wasn't going where it looked to be. Instead of replying, Sheridan got out of the vehicle and started to move to the back of it. "Son of a bitch." Here it comes... Sure enough, he opened the back doors. "Hey, I'm cool in the van. You go do what you gotta do."

He reached for me and pulled me out of the van, throwing me on to the dirt. "You're a cocky son of a bitch. You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that crap you telling? Here's the thing. You're not gonna make it to St. Louis. You're gonna die trying to escape." he pulled his gun out and aimed it at me.

"Wait!" I lifted my hands up in defence. "Wait. Let's talk about this. You don't wanna do something you're gonna regret." but he just cocked the gone. "Or maybe you do."

"Pete."

We both turned to see the female detective standing a few feet away, her own gun raised at Sheridan. Behind her stood Sam and Liz. The moment Sheridan turned to them, Sam lifted his hands in the air while Liz pulled out her own gun and aimed it at Pete.

"Put the gun down, Pete." the female detective warned.

"Diana?" Sheridan shook his head, shocked. "How'd you find me?"

"I know about Claire."

"I don't know what you're talking about." it was clear Sheridan was guilty, yet he was still trying to play the innocent card.

Diana wasn't buying any of Sheridan's crap. "Put the gun down."

"Oh, I don't think so. You're fast." Sheridan shrugged. "Pretty sure I'm faster."

Liz spoke up. "You think you're faster than two bullets, Pete."

Sheridan laughed. "Oh, you're not gonna shoot me. I'm a cop. You're a civilian. It's a fast way to get locked up."

When Liz tensed, getting ready to pull the trigger, I shook my head at her, hoping she wouldn't do it. "Elizabeth, don't."

She eased up a bit, doing as I said. But I could see the hesitation in her eyes. She wanted to. She wanted to shoot him, even if that meant killing a cop.

"Why are you doing this, Pete?" Diana asked.

"I didn't do anything." Sheridan insisted.

"It's a little late for that."

"It wasn't my fault. Claire was gonna turn me in. I had no choice."

"And Tony? Karen?"

"Same thing. Tony scrubbed the money. Then he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything. It was a mess, I had to clean it up. I just panicked."

"How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?"

"There's a way out. This Dean kid's a frigging gift. We can pin the whole thing on him. Okay? No trail, nothing, just one more dead scumbag."

I turned to glare at him then. "Hey."

He just pointed the gun at me again, causing me to shut up. Looking to Diana again, he went on. "No one will question it. Diana, please. I still love you."

It took a second or two, but Diana actually lowered her gun.

Thinking he'd won, Sheridan smiled at her. "Thank you. Thank you." then he turned to me again, ready to pull the trigger.

It all happened so quickly. Two shots went off and I thought for sure I was dead. But it was Sheridan who fell to the ground. That's when I realized I wasn't hit, so I quickly rolled out of the way.

"Dean!" Liz dropped her gun as she and Sam hurried over to me.

Diana walked up to Sheridan casually. "Yeah, why don't you buy me another necklace, you ass."

Sheridan grabbed at her legs and tripped her before he reached over and grabbed his gun again, aiming it at Sam and Liz. The two of them froze and my heart sunk. I couldn't watch my brother and our friend die. I couldn't let this asshole take them like that.

"Don't do it. Don't do it." Sheridan warned. He looked from Sam, to Liz, to me and then down at Diana. It was clear he was ready to kill her, and then the rest of us.

It was a groan that stopped him.

Sheridan turned to find a ghost of a woman standing behind him. She was pale, with red eyes and a cut throat. She was the ghost we'd been looking for.

Frozen in fear and confusion, Sheridan was distracted long enough for Diana to grab her gun and shoot him in the back, right through the chest. He fell to the ground, hard and heavy dying in a matter of moments.

EPOV

With the bad cop dead and dealt with, I hurried over to Dean. "Are you okay?" I asked as I pulled a clip out of my hair and started to pick the locks of his cuffs.

"Uh... Yeah. But there were two shots... I wasn't hit. Diana didn't have time to pull the trigger that fast." he looked up at me. "Did you shoot him?"

Shrugging, I successfully unlocked one wrist before moving to the other. "You're my friend. You were in danger. Kinda felt like I had to do something."

He grinned. "So you were willing to kill a man, a cop, to save my ass?"

Looking up at him, I gave a short nod. "Yeah."

"Does this mean I can start calling you Liz?"

I rolled my eyes, finishing with the second cuff. "I guess you've earned that right."

Sam came over to us then, offering Dean and hand. The three of us stood and turned to look over at Diana as she crouched by her partner's body. He was dead, there was no doubt about it. He was bad, that was obvious. But that didn't mean she wasn't hurting.

"You doing all right?" Sam asked her.

Sighing, she got to her feet and started towards us. "Not really. The death omen, Claire. What happens to her now?"

"It should be over." Sam answered. "She should be at rest."

"So..." Dean shifted on the spot. "What now, officer?"

"Yeah, you gonna arrest us?" I lifted my hands in front of me, pressing my wrists together. "Take us down to the station? I mean, I did shoot a cop."

Diana just shook her head. "Pete did confess to me, he screwed up both your cases royally. I'd say there's a good chance that we can get your cases dismissed." she noted to the guys before turning to me. "And you shot him in self-defence... Kind of."

Sam was impressed and surprised- almost as surprised as I was. "You could take care of all that for us?"

"I hope so." Diana shrugged. "But the St. Louis murder charges? That's another story. I can't help you. Unless... I just happened to turn my back and you walked away. I could tell them the suspects escaped."

"Wait, are you sure?"

Dean turned to his brother quickly. "Yeah, she's sure, Sam."

"No, it's just you could lose your job over something like that." Sam had a good point.

"Look, I just want you three out there doing what you do best. Trust me. I'll sleep better at night." she went to turn away before she stopped. "Listen, you need to watch your back. They're gonna be looking for all over you now."

"Great." I sighed.

"Get out of here. I gotta radio this in."

Before Diana could leave, Dean stopped her. "Hey, wouldn't happen to know where my car is by chance?"

"It's at the impound yard on Robertson." she answered, looking to each of us before shaking her head. "Don't even think about it."

"It okay, it's all right." Sam assured her. "Don't worry. We'll, uh... We'll just improvise. We're pretty good at that."

"Yeah, I've noticed." she smiled. The three of us went to turn and leave, but this time she stopped us. "Uh, Lizzie, can I have a moment?"

I paused and looked to the guys, giving them a nod each to let them know I was okay, before I turned and walked back to Diana. "What's up?"

"I know you don't trust police, and I can understand why. But maybe you should try letting people in. You'll probably find it'll help." she rested her hand on my arm comfortingly. "People aren't all bad." was all she said before she finally walked off.

Her words had shocked me. As much as I hadn't liked her in the beginning, I guess all the violence and drama had helped me warm up to her. It didn't change my opinion on all cops, but it at least had me giving this one a chance.

Turning around, I hurried after the brother, catching up with them quickly enough.

Dean looked at me as I came to walk on his right. "Everything okay?"

I gave him a light smile. "Everything's fine."

Diana was right. It was about time I started letting people in. It was time I stopped guarding myself, and started trusting my gut instinct.

Sam and Dean, they're good people. I knew I could trust them, and I was sure they trusted me. I hadn't lied to Dean. I meant it when I said I was willing to kill a cop if it meant saving Dean. The same went for Sam. They were my friends, and it was becoming pretty clear that we were going to be together for a while.

Bamby

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[the-whump-files]

fic: “in the wee, small hours”

TITLE: “in the wee, small hours” FANDOM: X-Files CHARACTERS: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder AUTHORS: the-whump-files {my girlfriend beta’d, but since she’s not part of this community {{she just loves me a lot}} her identity is staying anonymous} RATING: Teen {some very mild sexual innuendo and language} TAGS: whump, hurt/comfort, sneezefic, x files, msr AUTHORS’ NOTES: look, there is not NEARLY enough Scully-centric whump fic out there, and I consider it my life’s mission to change that sad fact. SUMMARY: In which Scully is sick during a stakeout and Mulder is teasing and there's lots of bantering because what else do you do on stakeouts, right? {Also lots of comforting and snuggles, because of course there are.} SPOILERS: None! A few references to the show, but nothing major. FEEDBACK: Always gratefully accepted and appreciated!

“Goddammit,” she hisses.

She should’ve thought this through.

She’s just barely, finally gotten the glove compartment to shut--and stay shut--when Mulder opens the driver's side door. A blast of frigid air follows him in, and she shivers as it dissipates around her already well-chilled form. More cold air shoots out of the vents as Mulder turns the key in the ignition; in typical federal government fashion, their FBI-leased rental is a shitty mid-80s Taurus with a moody heating system. Mulder seems content, though, even pleased: smiling and very slightly vibrating the way he always is when they’re en route to their latest X-File. Scully often finds it charming (she’d never in a million years tell him that) but tonight it strikes her primarily as smug and annoying, and she huffs impatiently from the passenger seat. His eyebrows raise and he casts her an irritatingly cheery sideways glance, which only annoys Scully further.

“What are you so smiley about?” It has been silent but for the pathetic chugging of the engine for the first few minutes of their drive, and when she hears her words hit the air they have more of an edge than she’d intended.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead he hums along to the CD (Tom Waits--he does have good taste; she’s regularly grateful that their musical interests are so closely aligned) for a few minutes, pretending not to hear her, and at first she thinks he really hasn’t. As the song finishes, he answers: “Nothing like a good stakeout to keep life interesting.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “I can think of fifty other things I’d rather be doing tonight,” she says.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Watching Law and Order. Sleeping. Cleaning my oven. Shoving bamboo shoots under my nails. Committing hara-kiri. Literally anything else.”

He turns to her, and he still seems amused, but there’s confusion mixed in there now, too; this isn’t quite her thing in the way that it’s his, but she’s not usually quite this violently opposed to it, either.

“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” he comments softly.

Scully sighs. “Sorry,” she says. “Just tired, I guess.” She shivers again, then sticks her hands out towards the vents--cold air is still rushing out of them, even though the engine should be more than warmed up by now. “Mulder, do you have the heat turned on?”

He glances at the dials, then frowns. “Yeah,” he says. “I do. Weird.” He fidgets with them a little, but nothing changes. He shrugs, and turns them off completely. “I guess it’s broken.”

Scully shuts her eyes and resists the urge to groan. Of course it’s broken. She wraps her arms tighter around her chest and pulls her legs in closer to her body. She considers delving into her hastily packed glove box of rations, but decides against it for reasons of personal dignity. “How long until we get there?” she asks.

“Fifteen minutes,” Mulder answers. “Maybe twenty.”

Scully leans her head against the window. “Great,” she mumbles. “Just great.”

Mulder stops suddenly at a newly red traffic light, and the glove box pops comically open; it bangs against Scully’s knees and she hisses in pain. “Don’t tell me that’s broken, too,” Mulder says, but frowns when he realizes it opened because it was full to bursting. “Did someone leave all their stuff in here?”

“No,” Scully says, grunting slightly as she unsuccessfully tries to shut it again but it just won’t fucking CLICK. “It’s mine.”

“Blankets?” Mulder asks, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. “You brought blankets? Scully, did you have something in mind?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Because though we don’t have a hotel room at the moment, that can easily be arranged.”

“Mulder.”

“And is that a flask?” he exclaims, utterly delighted. “Agent Doctor Dana Straightlaced Scully, I’m shocked. Did you bring enough to share with the class?”

“It’s hot chocolate,” she says grumpily.

“My question still stands.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to share this with me.”

Mulder scoffs. “Yeah, I think I’ll make that decision for myself.”

Scully exhales with practiced patience. “Let me rephrase,” she says. “You can’t share this with me.”

“I don’t see why I can’t--tissues? Why do you have three whole boxes of--? Oh,” Scully can almost see the light bulb appear and flash on over Mulder’s head. “Oh.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully says with a tired little sniffle.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mulder says, and if he weren’t driving, Scully knows both hands would be up in the air in mock surrender.

“Yeah,” she grumbles, “but I heard you thinking it.”

Mulder just laughs.

* * *

It’s sleeting and all of 38 degrees outside, and they’ve been sitting in an empty parking lot for close to an hour now. Mulder can feel the rash of tiredness and boredom beginning to scratch at the backs of his eyes; Scully is faring far worse. She hasn’t stopped shivering since they left, and she occasionally sniffles into the cuff of her blazer. Mulder can’t quite tell if it’s from the cold outside or from the cold she likely has; Scully hasn’t said anything, but he suspects it’s a mix of the two. Though, of course, as she has been known to remind him, he isn’t a medical doctor.

Another shiver wracks through Scully, and finally Mulder asks, “You cold over there?”

“No,” Scully says firmly, holding very still as she tries to control her chills. Blue-lipped and pale, she looks like a child who leapt fully clothed into the creek and is being forced to serve her due time-out in a belligerent, adorable caricature of misery.

“You know,” Mulder says, “I seem to recall there being some blankets in that glove box. Just throwing that out there.”

“How very observant of you, Mulder.”

“Blankets are very warm.”

The corners of Scully’s mouth twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “Right again, Sherlock.”

Slowly, very slowly, Mulder opens the glove box and retrieves a purple and especially cozy fleece blanket. Unfolding it halfway--it’s made for a queen bed, but Dana Scully isn’t quite a queen-bed-sized human--he drapes it over Scully’s legs and lap and pats it gently a few times, like it’s a sleepy kitten. The shivering she’d been trying so valiantly to suppress begins to slow almost immediately. “Well,” Mulder says, “would you look at that.”

Scully pointedly ignores him and instead plays absently with the delicate gold crucifix hanging around her neck (it’s one of her tells; Scully is a remarkably cool-headed human being, but even she has them). If Mulder had a betting partner, he’d place money that it’ll take Scully at least ten minutes to make any more use of the blanket, assuming she even chooses to do so at all. Mulder checks the clock: 11:06. He decides to give it until 11:17.

They sit in a silence that’s become comfortable after so many stakeouts in their years together, and 11:17 comes and goes. Scully hasn’t even glanced at the blanket, and Mulder is long past the point of knowing whether or not her stubbornness is endearing or frustrating as hell or some baffling combination of both; all he knows is that Scully isn’t going to fully use it willingly and that he can’t stand to see her shiver one more time. He takes the blanket and unfolds it completely, then drapes it over Scully’s shoulders; she moves almost imperceptibly to allow him to wrap her more closely into it. Once she’s been properly tucked in, Mulder rubs her arms vigorously a few times. He grips each of her small hands in his larger ones; they’re like ice, and he wishes they had a pair of gloves. This will have to do. Not that I mind...

Scully doesn’t look pleased, but she doesn’t shrug the blanket off, either. Mulder considers that progress.

* * *

“Strip poker.”

“No.”

“Come on, Scully.”

“Mulder,” Scully says, “it is freezing outside-”

“Six degrees above freezing, actually,” Mulder points out.

Scully makes a growly sound through her teeth. “It’s six degrees above freezing outside,” she amends. “I’m not stripping out of anything.” She’d wordlessly added a second blanket to her purple fleece one around 12:15, and to underscore her point she pulls both of them more snugly around her. Only her face is visible, really: the pinkened tip of her nose, her freckled cheeks that are flushed in the way they always get when she’s sick. Mulder bites back a smirk.

“That’s it?” he says. “That’s the only reason we can’t play strip poker? Because it’s too cold outside?” He leans back in his seat. “Man,” he continues. “I’m gonna remind you that you said that when we’re on a stakeout in August.”

Scully makes a small sound in the back of her throat that could be from illness, or expressing irritation, or both. Likely both. “Never Have I Ever?” Mulder suggests, but Scully shakes her head.

“I’m not playing a game that involves making personal confessions,” she says.

“Do you really think there are any deep dark things I don’t already know about you, Scully?”

Scully raises her chin a few notches. “I,” she says, her small voice going theatrically deep and haughty, “am a woman of mystery.” Mulder laughs out loud. She smiles a bit--the first time that night--pleased with herself and with her partner’s reaction.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Twenty Questions?” It’s a pretty harmless game, he figures, one not even Scully can find fault with.

He’s right.

“Fine,” she acquiesces with a yawn that turns into a sneeze. “Hehhh-mptchh! Twenty Questions is fine. Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

“You think of something,” Mulder instructs. “I’ll guess.”

Scully pauses for a moment, and Mulder knows she’s running through various options in her head; she’s wearing her thinking expression, her pensive expression--her mouth set primly and her eyes staring blank--which is just something anyone would come to recognize after working this closely with a person for so long, Mulder tells himself.

“Okay,” Scully says. “Go.”

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“Well,” Scully says, smiling slightly, “technically it’s none of those.”

Mulder stares at her. “You can’t make anything easy, can you?”

“Never.” There’s a little glimmer of impishness in her light eyes when she says it, and it’s equal parts relieving and--okay, fine--and adorable.

He gets eight questions in and he knows for a fact that it’s a TV show, and by question nine he’s pretty sure it’s The West Wing (he is a trained profiler and Scully is sometimes hilariously transparent; it’s her favorite show as of late), and he’s about to ask question ten when he gets an idea. “Does this thing,” he says slowly, as if he’s deliberating it, “have… a stuffy nose?”

Scully makes her patented what-in-God’s-name-are-you-talking-about-Mulder face and says, “Mulder, we’ve established that it’s a television show.”

“Does it have a stuffy nose?” he repeats obstinately.

“Mulder,” Scully says (her consonants are warped and dull, the m in Mulder especially, and while it may not have a stuffy nose, Mulder notes, she absolutely does), “the thing in question isn’t me. And even if it were, the answer would still be no.”

Undeterred, he regroups. "Does this show have an ensemble cast?"

Scully looks at him suspiciously, unsure of why he's suddenly willing to play along again, but simply says: "yes."

"Is this show airing on TV now?" He fires off the next question without pausing, and Scully blinks sleepily as she tries to adjust her groggy mind to his fast pace.

"Yes."

"Does it have a sore throat?"

Yes, so sore, she thinks. She swallows hard and tries not to visibly wince. "TV show, Mulder."

"Is it a drama?"

"Yes."

"Do I like it?"

"Not really, but you watch it with me because I do."

"Is it feverish?" She doesn't even bother gracing that one with a response.

Mulder gets to question seventeen and decides that he’s done being subtle: “Does this thing feel awful?”

“Possibly,” Scully sighs, surprising him. “Slightly.”

“Was that an affirmative answer?” Mulder asks. “It’s supposed to be yes or no, Scully, but I can make an exception.”

Scully blinks, caught in his trap, then scowls. “I just wanted to get the damn game over with,” she huffs. Mulder catches a whiff of her breath--is that… alcohol?

“You sure that flask only had hot chocolate in it, Scully?” he asks. (She’d opened it around the same time she’d gotten her second blanket, and true to her word has not shared a sip.)

“What do you mean?”

“No peppermint schnapps?”

“What?--no, I have not been drinking schnapps.” Scully looks scandalized at the very thought.

“But your breath--” Mulder murmurs, then it occurs to him. “Cough drops.” He offers her a knowing, sideways glance. Scully frowns, but pulls the little package of Ricola lemon throat lozenges out of her pocket, confirming his guess without meeting his eyes. “I take it the thing really does feel awful?” Mulder says, nudging her slightly.

Possibly. Slightly. “Nope,” Scully says, and pops a lozenge in her mouth. “Just have to get my kicks however I can, Mulder.”

Mulder rolls his eyes; Scully must rubbing off on him. “You were thinking of The West Wing,” he says petulantly, too frustrated to let her have her last few questions.

“You knew the whole time,” Scully says. “Didn’t you?”

“Not the whole time,” Mulder says. “Maybe around question three.” It was pretty obvious, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

* * *

It’s nearing 2:00 and Scully has spent the better part of the last hour trying to sniffle her increasingly runny nose back to composure. They're all out of games; it’s becoming abundantly clear that the stakeout is a total bust. Scully is pale and drawn and shivering again, even cocooned in her blankets. She also keeps having sneezing fits, irrepressible ones, that leave her worryingly wheezy; Mulder has taken to counting during them to hide just how nervous they make him. "It happens when I gehh--hit'chiiEEEww! G-get chilly," she explains during a particularly bad one. "My nose s-starts to run and...and...ahhh...ah'Nngsh! And then I can't st-stop...oh, my Gohhh...God...hihh'hitchiEEw! "

"Sneezing? That one was nine, by the way."

She nods blearily. "Yeah," she says. "That."

"Probably doesn't help that you're sick," Mulder says in an off-hand voice.

Scully isn't fooled. She scowls and tentatively sniffles, mindful of setting her nose off again. "Mulder, for the hundredth time," she says. "Not sick."

He bats at her nose. "Yeah," he says as she halfheartedly bats his hand away, "healthy people are always all...drippy here."

She pouts and looks ready to argue, but Mulder keeps going. "You've been coughing, too."

"It's post-nasal drip, Mulder. That's all."

"And where's that coming from, hmm?"

"Where's it--? Mulder, it's coming from my nose."

"So your nose is runny."

"Mulder!" Scully snaps. "It's cold outside and it's cold in this car; of course my nose is runny. That's a natural bodily response to near-freezing temperatures."

“You know what?” Mulder says. “You're right. About the nose thing." He gives an exaggerated sniff. “Mine is starting to get a bit drippy, too.” He opens the glove box and pulls what might be close to twenty tissues out; he loudly fake-blows his nose on one of them, and then opens the window and throws the rest out into the parking lot. “That’s better.”

Scully gasps. “Mulder!” she exclaims. “What did you do that for? We might need those!”

“Need them?” Mulder says, playing at confusion. “What ever for?” She huffs and rolls her eyes; he isn’t looking at her, but he can feel it. “You haven’t been putting them to much use tonight, Scull.”

She looks slightly flustered and she stares longingly out the window, where the once-good tissues are going to waste on the cold, dark asphalt. “Well,” she says, “anyway, you just littered, which is illegal. You rebel.” If she were in a much better mood and/or vaguely inebriated, she might have punctuated that statement with a punch to his arm. Mulder grins at the thought.

“Covering up government conspiracies is illegal, too, Scully; but that doesn’t seem to stop anyone, now does it?”

Scully sneezes quietly, twice, in response. "Hih'chshh! H'ngsht!"

“There are still some tissues left,” Mulder says, but Scully merely repeats her customary cuff-sniffle and shrugs.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says flatly.

“Scully,” Mulder says, wholly exasperated now, “you’re the one who brought them in the first place.”

She sneezes again. “Bless you,” Mulder offers, which only earns him a glare.

“Shut up, Mulder.”

“I was being nice!”

“Well, don’t,” Scully says.

“Fine, I won't.”

They grow quiet again, and this time it’s for so long that Mulder wonders if Scully’s maybe fallen asleep; he almost hopes she has, sleep would be good for her. He worries that she doesn’t get enough of it. He knows he doesn’t. After all the things that they’ve seen, all the things that they’ve done, it’s not surprising. Unpleasant, sure, but not surprising.

It is at that moment that Scully inhales sharply and just barely manages to catch three surprisingly violent, loud sneezes in her cupped hands. "Hep-TSSCH'ooo! Hehh...hetchiiieeeEEEw! Huh-ISCHIIIEEEW!

Startled, Mulder turns to look at her; a few seconds pass and she still hasn’t taken her hands down from her face. If it weren’t for the garish melon glow of the nearest streetlamp--or, more honestly, if he didn’t have such wildly accurate Scully-senses and a detailed mental schematic of her facial features--Mulder would never have been so lucky as to see what he’s pretty sure he is in fact seeing: Dana Scully blushing.

“Mulder?” she says, her voice muffled.

“Yeah?” He does a surprisingly good job keeping the amused/self-satisfied smirk out of his voice for the entire monosyllabic word.

“Could I maybe have some of those remaining tissues now?”

“Feeling a little under the weather, are we, Scull? Gesundheit, by the way."

Scully mumbles something unintelligible into her hands, and as he pulls a handful of tissues out for her, Mulder says, “Yeah, yeah, I know: shut up, Mulder.”

"Actually," Scully says between nose-blows, with a small but genuine half smile, "I was going to say thank you."

* * *

It’s 3:45 and Mulder has reached the point where he’s too tired to even feel tired anymore; instead, he’s weirdly nervy and wired and running on nothing but caffeinated iced tea and adrenaline reserves. Scully nodded off around 3:00, and though he misses her company, he doesn’t have the heart to wake her. Her head is resting on his shoulder and she’s snoring slightly through her congested nose; at one point, she whimpers and shivers slightly, and Mulder takes off his jacket and adds it to the blankets she’s already using. It dwarfs her, but the shivering stops, and that makes him smile.

He loves her. He thinks of that often when they’re out on a case together: on long watches like this one, in the cloying dark of a million different drab motel rooms, under blankets of stars as they race through the night--trying their damndest to solve the unsolvable. It’s never some silly, Victorian declaration of affection, never oh, Scully, my dearest darling, every moment I spend without you near me is well-nigh unbearable. His mind wanders to C.S. Lewis, to The Four Loves. Storge--empathy bond. Philia--friend bond. Eros--erotic bond. And Agape--unconditional love. God love. He doesn’t know that he buys into all this, doesn’t know that he trusts someone as religious as Lewis, doesn’t even know if one can actually experience all four kinds for the same person at the same time, if all that love could even fit into any one person… especially when said person is so very small.

And yet. Still.

He loves her. I love you. Neither of them ever say that aloud; that would be crossing a boundary that’s invisible yet still very, very present. And anyway, that would feel far too easy, too predictable, too trite. In so many ways, their relationship defies words, platitudes, logic. It is infuriating. It is impossible. It is terrifying. It is all-encompassing. It is theirs. He’s hers, and she’s his. They don’t need to say anything for that to be true. It’s always been true. It’s been true ever since a rainy graveyard in Bellefleur, Oregon, where she stood in front of him and laughed, dizzy and thrilled, because she believed.

He doesn’t know if she loves him in the same way; he suspects it, sometimes even lets himself hope it, but this is an area where Scully is all but unreadable. But it’s alright. Being present with her, close to her--that’s enough, for now.

Next to him, Scully stirs, blinks her eyes open, coughs. Mulder very nearly takes a hand and smooths an errant lovelock behind her small ear, but decides against it. The hand drops heavily down onto the car seat. “I think you drooled on me,” he says.

She quickly wipes a hand over the corner of her mouth, a gesture that makes her look about twelve years old. “Sorry,” she says, her voice little and raspy, which makes hersound about twelve years old, too. Mulder is more charmed than he’d like to admit.

“Any updates?” Scully asks, dabbing delicately at her nose with a tissue.

(TissueGate 1999 ended not too long ago and Scully’s already used up over half a box. With what he considers to be an impressive amount of self-control, Mulder has restrained himself from saying I told you so. Thank you very much.)

“Nope.”

Scully’s face works itself into a funny, exaggerated pout. “I could’ve been in bed hours ago,” she whines.

“And missed all this?!” Mulder exclaims, gesturing at the sad expanse of abandoned shopping center parking lot.

Scully giggles tiredly. “Oh, you’re right,” she says mock-seriously. “Missing out on the empty parking lot show would’ve been a veritable tragedy.”

She blows her nose, and this time Mulder actually does tuck the hair behind her ear. Scully looks up in surprise. “Mulder--” she says, half-touched, half-warning.

“I’m just sorry you had to do this when you don’t feel well. That’s all,” he says, hoping it’s a good enough explanation.

She shrugs. “I told you, Mulder,” she says. “I’m fine.”

He narrows his eyes. “You,” he says, ���are the opposite of fine, Scully.”

As if to prove his point, Scully opens her mouth to retort and sneezes instead. She shivers, and finally (finally) leans into him, shamelessly greedy for the warmth his body offers. “Okay,” she says. “I may have a little cold.” Now Mulder is this close to saying I told you so, he can’t help it, when Scully holds up a hand. “Just a little one,” she says firmly. “A slight cold. A minuscule one, even.”

“A minute cold,” he repeats, deadpan.

Scully slumps down further, until her head is almost in his lap (which is how he knows she truly is sick and exhausted; someone walking by would automatically assume something much dirtier was going on, and Healthy Scully would never allow that risk). She’s so short that she can easily tuck her legs underneath herself and fit comfortably on the two seats. She shuts her eyes, and when Mulder ghosts a tentative hand over her back, her happy sigh is confirmation enough that it’s okay.

“A minuscule cold,” she confirms, sweet and drowsy.

“Whatever you say, Scully.”

“You’re damn right,” she murmurs, and before Mulder has even finished laughing, she’s already fallen back to sleep.

Mulder glances at the clock. 4:19. If they wait long enough they might even get to watch the sunrise.

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