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is-on-its-way · 10 days ago

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My one Fictober post

(because im a slow writer)

Prompt: 22 why are we doing this again?

This is “au” for after season 8 || read on AO3

She stared out across the lake sized pond, they called lakes ponds here, making her wonder what Maine’s lakes looked like. She made a mental note to ask Mulder to take them to see one after.

Everything was so vast and open and endless. Sun drenched mountains stood ancient and unmoving past the parting of the trees on the opposite bank. Their rocky tops colored an amber yellow in the sunrise. Tall pine trees hugged the shore but for the rocky beach she was standing on. The water was a clear shade of greenish blue, reminding her of his eyes in the light of a sunrise.

Rocks as big as her feet under her bare toes were warm to the touch, baked in the morning sun. They felt wonderful in the chill air surrounding her, remembered from the night before. It was cold here in the evenings, the warning of winter came as early as late August. But they were cozy in their cabin, with a cast iron stove and a furnace and a fireplace to keep the chill out.

She liked the wildness of it and loved feeling the cold prick her skin at the closing and opening of each day, chasing her and being chased by the sun. There was a comfort there, of the silent and unmovable force of nature after being pursued for so much of their lives by things much less impressive.

They would all flee inside as their daily ritual, Mulder their shepard when she or their boy were inevitably stubborn. But he was being strict with her, and would never allow it.

She wanted to sit outside around the firepit on occasion but Mulder wouldn’t hear it. He worried about her, insisting she come inside. Telling her there would be other summers and autumns when she could. And the funny thing was, she let him. She didn’t even have to fight herself and her independence at all really, she found his protectiveness, her cheeks reddened just thinking about it, sexy.

He’d missed out the last time she told herself, he deserved to have this. So she let him herd them all inside and cuddle up as a family every night on the cozy couch by the fireplace and they would all take turns telling stories and adding new chapters to their favorite ones until one of them, usually her, fell asleep.

Besides it made her feel a comfort she couldn’t describe or understand. His care for them, she couldn’t have imagined how good this could be.

A wind blew off the water wipping her hair around her neck and she shivered pulling her sweater tight around her and glancing back to the hammock tied between two trees to make sure it wasnt swaying too much in the wind. He was warm enough she’d put a sheepskin down and then a wool blanket over top of him. The impression their little boy made was so tiny and she had a sudden wild feeling of joy and sorrow mixed together in the most confounding way. How small he used to be, with his little rabbit ear hat. How big he would seem in seven more months. Everything felt like it was going so slowly in this calm, but when she stopped to look she realized everything was going at the speed of light.

The truth was he wasn’t tiny, she couldn’t really lift him up anymore, and they’d started transitioning to couch cuddles when he needed comfort. He was in the 94th percentile for height. Mulder had kissed her head and said “Thank those recessive Scully genes your brother got, huh?” at his last checkup. To which she’d muttered back “He's a Mulder.” Mainly to see the pride flicker across his face. He had started planning to put a basketball court in beside the driveway.

She turned back to the water chin dimpling at the passage of time. She’d always loved the fall, the shade of sunlight on her skin in the mornings and the sharp angles and yellow sunsets cast across living rooms in the evenings. This fall though, was the happiest of her life. The stillness of it was turning her world on its axis. God knows, she wasn’t one to remain in one place for long, neither was Mulder. She smiled at the thought. But they had soaked this in for two weeks now and she could envision seven months more, longer. Safe. Him safe. Together and enjoying each other for the first time… ever.

It was like a honeymoon phase they never really had. They were like teenagers exploring their newfound freedom and the change in their lives for the first time it felt like, for the better. She couldn't stop smiling. Neither could he. Sometimes by the fire in the evenings, her, curled up in the big armchair reading, him, typing on the sofa next to their son fast asleep; they’d meet each others gaze and just grin dopily at each other.

Even Liam saw their newfound giddiness. “Momma you’re happy now?” Hed asked this morning, through a spoonful of oatmeal. They’d eaten a later breakfast than Mulder after he had left for an early morning hike.

“Yes baby, I’m happy.” she’d said kissing the top of his sun bleached, sandy brown head.

“Are you happy my love?” She asked, playing with his hair.

“Yeaaaaah!” he’d exclaimed and wiggled in his chair and shed laughed.

Shed been saddened a bit by this. It had only been months that they’d finally been free.

Their son had grown up with both of his parents filled with worry, and anxiety, and serious conversations, and fights even, about the right thing to do, the time it would take them, the sacrifices they were making, even the moral thing to do. He’d spent his toddlerhood in an underground medical lab that was soulless and sunless and the bane of her existence for three hellish years.

Scully sometimes couldnt believe they’d gotten through it. Couldn’t believe she and Mulder had come out of it together and loving each other the same way, if not more deeply.

She shook off her memories of that time determined to enjoy the world in front of her now. Mostly alien-less and beautiful and sunny and windy. Oh how she’d missed the wind.

And people! Strangers, smiling as you passed them on the street. It’d taken them a couple of days to get used to the college town hospitality but how refreshing it was to see people. No weirdos, no cults, they'd employed the gunmen to double check, just students and parents and seniors posted up at the local coffee shop all day. Nothing but normalicy. Well except for the three of them. But she could live with that.

She could live with a lot, she realized, once that low hum of anxiety, the constantly on guard state of being she’d become so accustomed to fell away. Mulder too, was more relaxed and happy here, just them, in their own universe.

——————————

He’d been booked for a flight to a case he’d been working with the lone gunmen when it happened. It would’ve been a normal case with them otherwise, like he had done since they’d been freed. Free of the FBI, free of the conspiracy, and the group that had been a danger to them. Some in the government were taking the threat seriously and many of the survivors had been placed on the most wanted list. They were, more importantly, free of the colonists. They’d gone once the vaccine program had been rolled out, the earth, useless to them now.

It felt like a weight that she hadn’t known she carried since she had woken up in the hospital in 1994 had been lifted off of her. No more experiments, no more women and children in danger. She could rest now. They could rest now. And rest they had.

She’d come back from the doctor in a daze. She’d been feeling under the weather and silently, she’d feared cancer, she hadn’t said as much to Mulder, but he had offered to drop Liam off at her mothers and go with her. She’d said no, it was probably nothing and if she needed him she’d call. He’d sent her off with an extra tight hug and a thousand kisses, whispering things that made her face flush thinking of them now. When the nurse had told her to do the standard pregnancy test before any imaging could be done she hadn’t even thought…

Mulder and Liam were dozing on the couch when she got home. She’d gone to the kitchen and turned on the faucet, hands shaking, mind blank, watching the water.

Mulder appeared at the kitchen door, wordless and waiting. She swallowed and managed a smile. “Not sick” she’d said.

And he’d been so relieved by this news he’d hardly noticed her fighting to remain calm while he woke Liam and they’d jumped around the kitchen shouting the lyrics to everything’s gonna be alright by Bob Marley. Mulder said they’d been waiting to have dessert with her, so she picked at the ice cream and watched her boys chatter and laugh for what she realized would be the last time as just the three of them.

She’d waited until they’d put him to bed and he went to the couch holding a hand out, waiting for her to join him in their nightly cuddle.

Instead she’d sat on the coffee table, taking his hand. She’d whispered “Mulder, I got some news at the doctor.”

“I thought..?” He’d looked worried then and she’d wanted to beam her thoughts into his mind to stave off the five extra seconds of worry.

“No its nothing bad, its…” She didn’t quite know how to say it, which if she wasnt so distracted she would find hilarious given this was the one thing she’d rehearsed in her dreams every single night the first time around. It came tumbling out of her mouth instead.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

He’d blinked at her in complete shock and then his brow had furrowed and she’d wanted to say something else but he’d just leaned into her, took her in his arms and drew her into his lap.

“You’re sure? How scully..?” He’d mumbled from her neck.

“I dont know” she’d cried, holding onto him like a life raft.

They’d been overcome, trembling together, his tears wetting her neck. And she’d held him and kissed his cheek.

He’d whispered ‘oh my god’ and found her hands and kissed each finger and then her face giving her little kisses all over, until the tears turned into giggles and they sat back and looked at each other faces red and puffy and happy.

The feeling that welled inside her then was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. At the chance to tell him. The second chance at everything.

“What about the placenta?” he'd blurted out serious. And her heart could’ve shattered at his care for her. “Will they check it? Make sure you two will be safe not like last time?” His arms wrapped around her waist hugging her close to him.

“Well it was a great deal more stressful last time.” He squeezed her hand “but yes my OBGYN wants me to come in as soon as possible to do some testing.”

“Tomorrow?”

She nodded.

“I’ll take you.” he said it with a finality that raised her deeply ingrained self suffient hackles and perplexingly turned her on a little.

Normally she’d have shaken her head. She almost did it automatically. But instead she’d smiled. “I’ll call to see if we can come in when Liam is at Bill and Taras.”

He’d sunk to the carpet, let her lie back on the couch as he rested his chin on her hipbone and whisped salutations to their child. Her fingers raked through his chinchilla hair. Trailing his fingers across her bare belly, asking for her to un button and unzip her pants so as to be as close as possble to where their baby currently inhabited her belly. He whispered about how he hoped they’d get her beautiful nose and come to think of it her eyes and the shape of her earlobes. She’d added

“Tell them about your jawline and your soft hair.”

“And your mom wishes you’d get my jawline so maybe work on that in there while you can, but I like her hair better so its up to you kid.”

She’d giggled, and they’d cried, and he’d carried her to bed. That night Mulder wrapped his body around her, entangling his limbs in hers, his hands placed protectively around her belly.

And when they woke up three days later and he’d prepared to go to the airport for the gunmen’s case, they both could barely look at each other.

And he’d hugged her and said, “Don’t worry Scully, no monsters just run of the mill missing persons.”

But her stomach dropped into her abdomen and stayed there as the door closed behind him, and as she’d started breakfast and cried silently at the stove begging god not to be so cruel. Not to take him a second time. Knowing he’d be okay but feeing deep down something would go wrong, the darkness would find him.

And it jumped into her throat ten minutes later as the door crashed open and she heard him call her name and his long strides coming determinedly to her in the kitchen, catching her face in his hands, and wildly searching her eyes.

She’d cried his name as he’d asked desperately.

“Why are we doing this again?”

“I dont know” she’d broken down then; relieved, and so happy he’d come back to her. And he’d grabbed her and kissed her like he should’ve the first time, like he wanted a second chance, like they could relive the past and physically force it to change.

“I dont want to miss a second of you this time.” he’d muttered into her hair holding her to him.

“Mulder” she’d choked out, emotions too vast to put into words.

“Momma waffles” Liam had reminded her and she saved them before they burned

“Breakfast” she’d smiled weepily at Mulder, as they both wiped tears away.

“Yes, then let’s get out of here.” he’d said looking at her as seriously as she’d ever seen him.

She tilted her head in question

“Lets go to the maine house.”

She tried to hide a smile. “For how long?”

“The rest of it. A year. Forever. However long you want.”

She’d raised her eyebrows. This was her Mulder, all or nothing all the time. She’d fought a smile. “What happens when we get bored?” She crossed her arms, spatula still in hand, after putting the waffle on Liam's plate.

“I have a book to write that I’ve been putting off. You have a baby to grow and two full shelves of books you've been wanting to get through and…” he searched for more concrete reasons, “you wanted to decorate that house…Fall is the best time for antiquing” he’d said fluttering his eyebrows enticingly.

“We can stop at Brimfield on the way up.” he added in a sing song, knowing this would do the trick.

Her eyes lit up, he knew he had her, and he grinned.

“What about my training?”

“Can you take a sebatical?”

“Maybe, I can ask”

“Ask”

“Okay I’ll call after breakfast.” She said excited at their new plan.

“Good” his fingers found hers and pulled them around him spatuala and all, as he pulled her into a hug.

“I’m so happy.” he mumbled in her hair “Its terrifying.”

She nodded into his chest and said “I know exactly what you mean.”

And then he started laughing and she laughed with him and then Liam started his cutest five year old laugh and soon everyone had dissolved into giggles and hugs.

—————

The sun dappled her dappled cheeks catching a tree on its rise. She found herself smiling at the memories and she sighed.

He walked up behind her. She didn’t turn around knowing it was him from the sound of his footfalls. He stopped behind her and wrapped his arms under hers and over her slightly swollen belly, tucking his nose into the side of her neck. “Mmm” she hummed “Hi”

“Hi”

“Nice walk?”

“Very relaxing” he muttered into her, lips brushing against the top of her shoulder setting her skin alight in goosebumps.

“Tomorrow we can all go.” She whispered, tilting her head so he could continue the path up her neck.

“Okay. I found a perfect little outcrop that looks over the lake. The trail is mostly flat.” His nose drifted across her jaw.

She smiled at his worry.

“Mulder” she said in that exasperated voice she knew he loved “I worked for the FBI the first time I was pregnant I can do a hike.”

He just breathed her in. “You smell different.” He murmured from the soft bare skin behind her ear.

“Better or worse” she asked, voice still playful.

“Just different. I love it. I love being here with you, watching you.” He breathed her in deep over exaggerating, and she giggled.

“You’re amazing. Have I told you?”

“Today? Not yet” she teased.

“You’re amazing Dana.” He said kissing her jawline.

“Thank you Fox.” she whispered as if his name was their secret.

“I have something for you.”

She turned in his arms looking at him questioningly. He dug in his back pocket and pulled a notebook out, opened it and on the page there was a perfect maple leaf in fall colors. The veins of it were still green but the colors faded outwards from them in a tricolor rainbow of brightest yellow to deepest red around the very edges.

“It’s beautiful” she said studying the way the colors merged from one vein into another.

“It wasn't ready to fall but it did and it ended up better for it.” He said. “Like us.”

She smiled earnestly up into his eyes. She twirled the stem in her fingertips the light catching it and illuminating the colors even more.

“Fall always reminded me of you.” He said in a low voice still holding her. She reached up to his face brushing a finger across his plump lower lip. He answered her unspoken request, bending down to brush his lips to hers and allow her to open her mouth to him playing with them between her own, tasting the familiar taste of him on his tongue. Before parting, and pressing her cheek against his chest, looking out at the sun fully risen over the water now.

“I have something for you too” she said glancing up at him, finding his eyes a smile playing on her lips. She dug in her sweater pocket and pulled out a smooth stone and held her hand out with it lying on her palm. He took it beamused, then his eyebrows raised “Its shaped like a UFO” he said surprised. She laughed pleased he could see it too.

It was. It was oblong a perfect sphere from the top with a small hump on one side that could’ve been a cockpit.

“Don’t go imagining it actually is with tiny aliens inside, its just a coincidence in a stone.”

He smirked at her “Maybe” he said suggestively.

She shook her head staring back at her leaf

“I think I can put this between wax paper and preserve it.”

He kissed her temple their presents held in each others hands.

“I can’t wait for spring, we can swim.”

“The babys due in May, I dont think I’ll be able to for a while after.”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll wait for summer.”

“You’ll take Liam, teach him to swim.” She said with certainty. “We can watch.” She spoke as much to him as her belly.

Mulder smiled and she saw tears flood his eyes threatening to spill over his bottom lashes. She put a hand to his cheek and asked for his eyes.

He sighed and smiled “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

@today-in-fic

#txf #msr #x files #mulder and scully #msr fanfic

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actual-changeling · 7 months ago

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i thought about the end scene of 'beyond the sea' too many times and this is the result. mulder is so soft with her for the entirety of the episode, and it drives me insane.

first ficlet i've ever written for these two, so hopefully i got their voices right.

—

Mulder's hand against her arm is warm and comfortably heavy, a tether keeping her close enough to the ground to not drift away like she's been prone to do for the last few days. When her eyes flutter shut on their own accord, Scully doesn't fight it, all too aware of the hours of sleep she hasn't been getting.

Between fragmented nightmares about her father and the feeling of blood under her fingernails—Mulder's, dried and darkened no matter how hard she scrubbed—the last time she got more than twenty minutes at a time was before she saw her father's ghost in the flickering television light. The regular beeping of the machines echoing through the hospital room calms her somewhat; they're familiar sounds, no matter how far from medical school she might have ended up.

"Maybe you should head home, get some rest," Mulder suggests softly after an extended period of amicable silence, slightly squeezing her shoulder before reclaiming his hand. Her fingers twitch against the sheets as she fights the urge to chase after him, her body suddenly oddly cold. When she opens her eyes again, she catches him staring at her with concern clouding his gaze.

"I'm fine."

It's a reflexive answer, a lie she keeps telling even though they are both aware she's everything but.

"I know," he replies, smoothing his palm down her arm until he can gently take her hand, and the chill disappears as quickly as it has arrived. "The last couple of days have just been a lot, and you deserve a break."

The noise is out of her mouth before she can stop it—something between a dismissal and a sob, tinged with bone-deep exhaustion. Even if she were to go back to an apartment full of Christmas decorations and unwanted quietude, she wouldn't be able to get any rest at all; not with guilt sitting on the bottom of her lungs and fear poisoning her breaths.

Scully tightens her grasp on his hand and turns to watch his heartbeat weave its way across the monitor. Alive, it whispers, over and over and over.

Alivealivealive, and no thanks to her.

She thought about it a few times, only when the darkness seemed entirely ubiquitous and the sleep deprivation spun webs across her ceiling, if maybe her choice to join the FBI, to go against her father's wishes, to put her life on the line while the distance between them grew—if all the stress she caused him somehow made her responsible for his death.

No matter what she tries to tell herself, her father will still be dead, and Mulder will still be injured because she allowed him to run off alone despite Bogg's warnings. She had known without wanting to that he was going to get hurt, and yet. Always too little, too late.

"…Dana."

A tug on her arm rips her back out of her mind, and the worry carved deep into Mulder's face tells her that he has been trying to get her attention for longer than she can simply shrug off; she attempts to smile anyway and fails miserably.

"Whatever it is you're blaming yourself for, you're wrong."

"Mulder—"

He releases her hand in favour of cupping her cheek exactly as he had days ago in their office, and she relaxes into it without wanting to, the touch warm and comforting.

"If you don't want to go home, at least close your eyes for a little," he smiles for the two of them, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. Whatever protest she was about to utter dies on her tongue, so she simply nods. Mulder pulls back slightly to invitingly lift his arm, and for once, Scully doesn't even pretend to need time to consider it.

God, she is beyond tired.

She toes off her shoes and lies down on the scratchy hospital sheets, conscious of his injury as she carefully fits herself against his side. With her cheek resting on his chest and one palm above his heart, Scully closes her eyes and enjoys the comfort of Mulder holding her like she is doing him a favour.

His fingers trace slow patterns up and down her back, and when she feels him press his lips to her hair, she inches impossibly closer in silent thanks.

The day bleeds from her limbs, and little by little, the tension in her aching muscles dissipates until only exhaustion and a familiar sense of safety remain. For the very first time since waking to see her father's ghost in her living room, sleep comes easily and remains completely dreamless.

Mulder keeps her wrapped in his embrace and rests easier than he has in years.

#alex writes x files #the x files #x files #dana scully #fox mulder #scully x mulder #mulder x scully #msr #txf #msr fanfic

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leighlew3 · 8 days ago

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What were the aspects of Supergirl (show in general or character) that resonated with you personally?

First and foremost, Kara herself... as someone with a ton of trauma, who would have every reason to do not so great things or wield her power for evil, yet does good things and channels her energy into trying to help people -- she's amazing. She is someone who feels isolated a lot of the time and struggles with anger issues but ultimately is such a light and a good person and somebody that just wants to do good for the world, even when it's not always appreciated or understood. Even if it means constant self sacrifice.

I relate to pretty much all of that.

I also loved the idea of Supercorp obviously, because it was such an epic tale in how they were so similar but so different and so inherently fated to be side by side. It could've been so successful if canon romantic on the show instead of just baited. Taking the decades-old lore of Super vs Luthor and instead turning into Super & Luthor -- a story of hate turned into a love story -- that's an incredible concept, and so rich and full of so much storytelling potential. Them just being friends is the 'lite' version of turning that lore on its head. But to go even deeper would've been nothing short of revolutionary.

Alas, instead they chose to tarnish the show's legacy and taint the good it DID do elsewhere in LGBTQ representation (because YES a show can have ancillary rep but still queerbait a lead dynamic -- especially when it's bait that existed before any other rep was even introduced on the show) ...by choosing to be one of the worst examples of queerbait in TV history (due to all of the romanic tropes and parallels and teases and lack of denials by TPTB who very clearly wanted people to stay tuned in based on hope for canon endgame since that very first Clois parallel in 2x01). It was also just an absolute waste of creative potential and true travesty that ultimately only hurt the show and cast and fans and everyone involved, whether everyone is ready to admit it or not.

Anyway, I enjoyed the fact that so many of the characters -- from Kara and Lena (these two especially), to Alex, Nia, and Kelly... so many of them came loaded with one form of trauma or another, but they still were ultimately inherently good people, a great example of 'found family', and heroic as heck in the end, no matter how dark it got at times for some. In large part because they had each other. I mean, I wish they all weren't LITERAL superheroes or supernatural by the end because I think the show (amongst numerous other issues) lost sight of their own messaging that "anyone can be a hero even without powers" but -- they really were inherently such good / ripe characters, the women especially (plus Brainy and J'onn).

Sure, they all (again, the women especially) often were sadly let down by superficial or just plain poor writing and overall creative direction a lot of the time, especially in the end -- but at the core, everyone could find something to relate to in at least one character, if not multiple characters, and that's great.

I know much like fans of Dana Scully in the 90s, a LOT of girls/women were inspired to get into STEM over this last decade now because of Katie McGrath's portrayal of Lena Luthor. And even more people related to Lena's trauma as a survivor of lifelong abuse at the hands of her family and especially her unhinged brother. Seeing that someone can slip into darkness as the result of years of sadistic mind games and abuse of all kinds but still come out the other side a hero, empowered, and a good person who helps others and is capable of loving and deserving of being loved? That's beautiful, and Lena offered that to SO many viewers, so it's no wonder she was a top fan favorite second only to the lead herself. And seeing how that impacted people, was so very moving.

Seeing people impacted by Alex's coming out arc in Season 2 was amazing. Having the first trans superhero on TV was amazing. And so on...

Look, there's a lot the show did wrong. In fact, possibly more was done poorly or wrong than well or good, overall, unfortunately. Alas, there were some little sparks of light to be truly appreciated.

But again, for me, I connected most to Kara's story, her strength, her dichotomy, and her indelible sense of HOPE... despite every reason at times to give up. And to the Kara/Lena love story, in all its infinite, incredible, and still mostly untapped potential.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara zor el #kara danvers #lena luthor

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leiascully · 17 days ago

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X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 15: Unruhe

Mulder had wondered, at the beginning of the case, what would be revealed by his own thoughtographs. Blurred UFOs, maybe, or a flash of bare shoulder from the occasional dream about Scully that left him yearning and ashamed. He’d been fascinated by the phenomenon. Sometimes he wasn’t even certain what he was thinking; it could be so helpful to have a visual representation to analyze.

And it was helpful. The boys in DC had pulled out the long-legged specter, which had led Scully to arrest Schnauz in the first place and bring him in for questioning.

One more example of how self-centered he could be. He had imagined Schnauz leaving the thoughtographs for him, but Schnauz had been focused on Scully. Mulder hadn’t seen it in time; he’d been too busy gazing into the depths of Schnauz’s mind. He’d been wrapped up in the mystery of it all. The screaming. The howlers. The strange inaccuracies. The thoughtographs were visions of the future, but only visions. Whatever Schnauz imagined, it didn’t match the reality of the situation.

Mary LeFante had been troubled, but she hadn’t deserved her fate. There was no justice in an icepick to the brain. Alice Brandt had been blameless, as far as they knew.

And Scully.

He’d left her alone, waiting for a photograph. He’d left her alone when he knew Schnauz was abducting women. Schnauz wasn’t the first perp to fixate on Scully. Mulder knew better.

Six fingers reaching around the side of her face. Six tombstones. He’d seen her tombstone, once. He never wanted to see it again.

After they’d left the trailer, after her testimony to the police, she’d gone back to the hotel. She’d had a headache. She was groggy from the lingering effects of the Twilight Sleep. It made sense. He was lonely every minute that she slept. In the airport and on the plane, he kept an eye on anyone who approached her. He took her back to her place, lingering in the doorway until she assured him she was fine. But she was still pinching the bridge of her nose. He went home with an uneasy heart and an unsettled mind.

Schnauz was wrong. Schnauz had to be wrong. Scully didn’t have howlers or anything like them. She slept well. He ought to know; his shoulder had been her pillow all the way home.

He’d kept a copy of the thoughtograph for the file, but he couldn’t look at it. It was clipped to the paper face-down, only the neat label showing. Evidence. Manipulated image of Scully, Dana. He wondered if she’d look at it, when she wrote the report. He almost hoped she wouldn’t. This one was a message to him from Schnauz. It said that he’d failed. It said he’d nearly lost her.

He couldn’t lose her.

#xfiles octoberficfest #my fic #leiascully fic

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television-overload · 9 months ago

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chance encounter

an X-Files Fanfic

Read on AO3

Summary: "Six months after becoming fugitives from the US government, Mulder and Scully have a chance encounter with someone that is very important to them."

Word Count: 6,556

Tag List (let me know if you want taken off or added!): @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @mulderscully @perpetually-weirdening @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

It was him.

There was no way to explain how he knew, but he did.

The little baby sitting in the puddle deep water at the end of the pool was William.

His hands, still chubby like they had been in his infancy, splashed excitedly, and Mulder could hear his squeals of delight over the sounds of the other children playing. An electric yellow swim shirt paired with a dinosaur-patterned bucket hat kept him shielded from the hot California sun, and he wore striped yellow and blue swimming trunks.

Mulder thought he'd never seen a swimsuit so small.

What were the odds that of all the places they could have traveled to, he was here?

They'd been on the road for 6 months, stopping at unremarkable motels and campgrounds all the way, never staying in one place for more than a few days at a time. It was a fluke they were even here at all.

Perhaps fate.

The hotel was certainly a step up from their usual accommodations, but Mulder had insisted. It was their anniversary, he said. Anniversary of what, Scully wasn't sure. The progression from coworkers to friends to lovers happened so gradually that it was hard to pin down a particularly important date for anything. But he wanted to celebrate, to find a brief reprieve from living in darkness, so they splurged a little on this modest, if slightly run-down, hotel by the ocean.

Where their son and his new family just happened to be vacationing.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about this possibility. In those nights where Scully was extra quiet, eager to fall asleep at the end of a long day, of course he'd lay awake and think, what if.

What if we found him? What if we saw our son again? What would we do?

The idea was so far-fetched that he hardly gave it any real consideration. His thoughts ranged from “steal him back, take him with us” to “pretend you never saw him and flee town.”

The urge to do the latter was strong. It was not safe here. They'd given him up for this very reason, what would be the point if their being here got him injured or worse? Was it really worth the risk to William? To Scully?

His next thought was 'Should I tell her?' Should he tell Scully he'd seen him? Would she want to see him too, even if from a distance?

The loss of their son had broken her heart. Broken his too, but not in the same way. She had spent months with him, almost a year, only to be forced to give him away with little time to prepare.

He knew she felt the loss like a phantom limb. Even all these months later, she still awoke with his name on her lips, panic written on her face as she looked around for him. It drove a stake through his heart every time, yet part of him felt he deserved it after leaving her to deal with it herself.

He watched the boy.

He'd only come out here to enjoy the sun, sit on one of the loungers for an hour or so while Scully took a nap in their room. It was a much more comfortable bed than they've had in a long time, though that wasn't saying much.

He hadn't bargained on having his whole world tipped upside down in the short time they were apart.

As stressful as it was, life on the road lended itself to relatively simple decisions. Fast food or canned? Motel or campground? Will you drive, or should I?

This was different.

Should he tell Scully?

The thought of keeping this from her made him feel sick. He couldn't do that.

Then again, would it hurt more to know? Ignorance is bliss, they say.

Mulder had never believed that, though.

The Truth, with a capital T, was the one thing that connected him and Scully. Though their beliefs and methods differed, they valued the Truth above all else. That was what drew them together. That was what propelled them forward, even now.

She had to know. She had to know her son was here, even if knowing might hurt.

She could make the decision for herself, whether she wanted to see him or get as far away from here as possible. It might be the last decision she makes as a mother, who would he be to keep that from her?

She might never forgive him.

Swallowing back emotion, Mulder stood to his feet, trying not to draw attention to himself as he made his retreat. His sunglasses thankfully hid the redness of his eyes, a small mercy in this endlessly unfair life.

He stole one last glance back at William. There was a chance this was the last time he'd ever see his son, his baby boy. If this was it, he'd treasure this moment for the rest of his life.

A woman dropped down beside William, showing him how to cup the water in his hands and throw it.

'A quick learner,' Mulder thought, watching as he gleefully tossed small handfuls of water in the air, giggling as it rained back down on him.

Okay. He could do this.

Find Scully. Tell Scully. Find Scully.

He rushed into the moldy-smelling hallway of the hotel, not bothering to take the elevator up to their floor. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time, finding himself out of breath by the time he reached the 4th floor.

He nodded politely at a passing family decked out in beach gear, not wanting to draw suspicion. Once they were gone, he gave a quick rhythmic knock on the door to let Scully know it was him, then slipped his key card into the slot to unlock it.

The room was still dark, the curtains drawn tight to block out the midday sun, and he could hear soft breaths coming from the lump on the bed.

His heart twisted involuntarily as it so often did when he looked at her.

“Scully,” he whispered, approaching the bed. “Honey, wake up.” He settled on the side of the bed, placing a gentle hand atop her shoulder and jostling her just so.

“Mm,” she hummed, curling into her pillow. A good nap, then. That was nice, at least.

He shook her again, saying her name a little louder. “Scully, you need to get up.”

This time her eyes opened, sensing the serious undertone to his words. He could tell she was waiting for bad news, for him to tell her they needed to leave again. Wanting to put her worries at ease, he tried to smile.

“What is it?” she asked, blinking at him in confusion.

“Uh—” he hadn't gotten this far in planning what to say. But she was waiting for him now, so he needed to say something quick. “Scully, I saw some people outside...”

“Government people?” she asked, sitting up suddenly, ready to start packing.

“No, not the government,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders soothingly. “Scully—it's William.”

He could see the moment his words hit her. She blinked, like she might think she was still dreaming, but she saw the truth in his eyes. Her expression shifted.

He wasn't sure what reaction he expected, but his first guess wouldn't have been anger.

“Did you know he would be here?” she asked, her voice laced with hurt and betrayal. “Mulder, I told you not to look into it! Why—Why would you...”

“I didn't know,” he promised, begging the tears in his eyes to keep from falling. He clasped her hands in his, pulling them from their grip on the fabric of his shirt. “Scully, I swear I didn't know. I was just out at the pool, and—”

“You're sure it's him?”

His heart broke looking at her. Equal parts hope and dread, she didn't deserve this.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure.”

She let out a shuddering breath.

“What do you think about that coincidence, huh?” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

She shook her head.

“Mulder, we can't see him. It's not safe, it's not—”

“I know.” He didn't like interrupting her, but he didn't want her worrying unnecessarily about things she shouldn't. They had enough of that already, these days. If she didn’t think it was a good idea, he’d be okay with that. “We can leave, if you want. I just thought you should know.”

Her blue eyes met his, brimming with unshed tears.

“Is—Is he…?”

“He's beautiful, Scully,” Mulder answered her unspoken question. “He looks happy.”

She choked out a sob, and he immediately enveloped her in his arms, holding onto her tightly. She clutched at him like a life raft, and he ran his hand over her back in comforting circles, murmuring soft words into her ear.

“What do you want to do?” Mulder asked, knowing that time was ticking, and the little family might not stay out there much longer.

Scully sniffed.

“We could—we could go see him,” she said uncertainly, looking at him to decipher his thoughts on the matter. “From a distance.”

Mulder nodded, then stood, helping her to her feet.

“I'm with you,” he reminded her, grasping her hands tightly in his. “It'll be okay.”

With an arm slung around her shoulders, he led her out the door, this time opting to take the elevator down to the ground floor. Scully seemed nervous, almost frightened, and he didn't blame her. He tried to picture how he would feel if their positions were switched, and he couldn't imagine that he'd take it very well. Eventually, they reached the glass doors leading out to the outdoor pool, pausing for a moment.

“They can't see us,” Scully warned, looking anxious and ready to bolt, but she was glued to his side and scarcely able to move without his guidance. He nodded and took her hand, leading her out to a couple chairs in the corner, hopefully obscured enough by the shadow of the fence that they wouldn’t be seen. That bright neon shirt was still there, easy to spot, and Mulder felt tears rising to his throat again. This was the first time they had all three been in the same vicinity since those first few days when he was born.

He squeezed her hand, checking one last time to make sure she was okay. She searched his eyes, trusting him wholeheartedly, and he was certain he had never loved her more.

“Over there,” he said in a low whisper. “With the little hat on.”

Scully followed his line of sight, gasping when her eyes settled on the playful baby in the water.

What followed next was a sob, and he quickly lost his battle with the tears that stubbornly refused to go away. He wrapped his arms around Scully, offering her what solace he could, while his own chin wobbled miserably.

She alternated between sneaking glances at her son and crying into his shirt collar, muttering “Mulder,” desperately as he rocked her back and forth, his hand smoothing out her hair for her comfort as much as his own.

He couldn’t watch anymore. Seeing her like that... it made it hard to stay strong, but he needed to be. For her. He closed his eyes, pleading with the universe never to give her this kind of pain ever again.

When he opened them again, his stomach dropped to the floor.

The woman he'd seen earlier was looking at them, her eyebrows pinched in concern.

He cursed under his breath, his arms tightening around Scully. She was in no state to leave. The best they could do was avoid eye contact and keep to themselves.

But it looked like that wouldn't be enough.

The woman, William's adoptive mother, whispered something to the man she was with, nodding in their direction. His concerned face matched hers, and he nodded. With a sickening lurch, Mulder realized she was getting out of the water, wrapping herself in a towel and heading toward them.

It was too late. They'd been made.

“Scully,” he said, alarm creeping into his voice. She only had a moment's warning before the woman was there, glancing down at them with a worried frown.

“Is she alright?” William's mother asked, empathy oozing from her.

Mulder hurried to compose himself, knowing Scully was a lost cause at this point. It would be on him to get them out of this.

“She's fine, sorry,” he managed to speak, wracking his brain for a believable excuse. Best to stick close to the truth. “We—We can't have children, so—” he nodded toward their son, hoping she could fill in the blanks.

Looking behind her at the boy in the water, her face eased into one of understanding.

“Oh, I know how that feels,” she said, smiling consolingly. “Our son over there is adopted. Every day we thank God for blessing us with him. He's our little miracle.”

Scully grips him tighter, barely restraining a mournful wail. His heart sinks, knowing this interaction isn't going well at all.

He presses a desperate kiss to her hair, wishing he'd never exposed her to this pain. Wishing they were alone in the confines of their hotel room or car so she could let it all out without arousing suspicion. Wishing this woman, as kind-hearted and friendly as she seemed to be, would leave them alone.

“Are you sure she's okay?” she asked Mulder, brows furrowing again.

His hand rubbed up and down Scully's shoulder, and he nodded. “She will be. This is—hard for her.”

“Okay,” the woman said, not sounding fully convinced. “Let me know if there's anything I can do. Like I said, I've been where she is.”

“Thank you,” Mulder choked out, eyes flitting about, looking for their escape.

Through the gate. Through the hotel. Down to the beach.

“Oh, sorry,” William's mother spoke, turning back instead of leaving. “I never introduced myself. My name is—”

“No!” Scully stopped her, looking suddenly panicked and alert.

The woman startled at the outburst, jumping back slightly.

“Mulder, we can't know,” Scully said, looking pleadingly at him. “We can't know anything, we can't!”

“It's okay,” he said softly, coaxing her back from the edges of a total breakdown. “It's okay.” He looked back up at William's mom, smiling an unconvincing smile. “I think we'd really better get going. It was nice talking to you,” he said as he helped Scully to her feet. “Come on, hon, back to our room.”

It was hard to move quickly with Scully desperately clinging to him, but it wasn't the first time they'd been in this position. Once they got back inside, he'd run her a nice warm bath and apologize over and over for everything he'd ever done to hurt her.

They just. Had to. Get. Through—

“Wait.”

He froze.

“You're—You're his parents, aren't you? The ones who gave him up?”

Ice water filled his veins. He could feel Scully shaking like a leaf under his arm.

“We really should be going—” he tried, refusing to turn back around.

Her voice was closer now. “You are. I—there's so many things I've wished I could ask you. At least let me thank you. Please.”

Against his better judgement, he risked a glance back.

“Mulder, we have to go,” Scully begged, now standing on her own and pulling him by the hand. His feet were rooted to the ground, unable to take a single step forward or back.

“Just wait a minute, Scully,” he said, his brain running a mile a minute to calculate the amount of danger each potential course of action held.

He met the woman's eyes, serious.

“Look, this is not easy for her. For us. Our situation right now is—” his eyes scanned around for anything out of place, “We—We really shouldn't be talking to you.”

The woman stepped closer still, a pleading expression on her face.

“It was a closed adoption, I know. But—”

“I'm sorry. We can't.”

Scully looked exhausted, frightened, and sick all at once. Every second they stood there chipped away at her, the anxiety sinking deeper and deeper into her skin.

“You're right about one thing,” Mulder conceded, glancing over at his son and drinking in his unconcerned, innocent features.

The next words nearly choked him with sorrow.

“He is a miracle.”

They were meant to be parting words, a reminder to this woman to never take what she has for granted, but before he could move, a hand landed on his forearm, effectively stopping him.

“We'll let you see him,” the woman offered desperately, near tears herself. “Please. Just a few moments.”

And with that on the table, Mulder was torn.

On the one hand, this woman had offered them something invaluable: a chance to say goodbye, something they hadn't been able to do properly the first time.

On the other hand, it would be selfish. To put their son and his new family in danger simply because they got caught in a moment of weakness... it was unfathomable. He couldn't be responsible for more suffering. He didn't think he could bear it.

“Please?” the woman said again, squeezing his arm.

He had a decision to make. Glancing once more at Scully's crumpled face, he caught sight of the slightest hint of hope. A barely-there gleam that he'd tear down earth and heaven for the chance to brighten.

His decision was made for him.

Cursing his lack of willpower, he turned suddenly to meet the woman's eyes.

“Not here,” he whispered sternly, pointing in her direction. “Give us half an hour, then come to room 409.”

“409,” the woman repeated, nodding. “We will.”

Mulder hardened his jaw, giving one final nod before collecting Scully and hurrying off into the building without another glance back.

“This is dangerous, Mulder,” Scully said worriedly as they passed through the hall, though he knew deep down she was relieved that she might get to see her son again. He only hoped that this risk would be worth it, that they'd be able to find some semblance of peace here and leave feeling less like a part of them was missing when all this was over.

As soon as they entered their room, Scully broke down.

“Oh my god, Mulder,” she gasped, crouching low to the ground and covering her face with her hands.

He immediately dropped to his knees to help her up, ushering her over to their bed.

“Did you see him? He's gotten so big.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, a mix of happy and sad, and though he'd known Scully and her nonverbal cues for so long, he still wasn't quite sure what she needed right now.

“Yeah, I saw him, Scully,” he answered, pulling her into his lap and rocking her gently.

“Do you think they'll really come?” she asked, hopeful, but hesitant.

“We need to be prepared in case they don't,” he answered realistically, thinking of an entire squad of police cars surrounding the hotel with their flashing lights and sirens. “I can pack up the toiletries, you got the suitcase?”

She nodded, grateful to have something physical to do.

Mulder checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes. If they didn't come in twenty-five minutes, it was time to get out of dodge.

“I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips. “I love you, Scully.”

“I love you too,” she answered, breathing deeply to calm herself. Checking one last time to make sure she was okay, he nodded and released her, each to their own assignments to ensure they were ready to make a quick escape if need be.

As the minutes passed, they became restless. They watched the clock, counting down the seconds until they should have arrived.

Their cutoff time came and went. Mulder was about to call it and give the signal to run, already gathering bags and suitcases, but the subtle knock on their door stopped him in his tracks. He held up a finger to his lips, gesturing for Scully to stay quiet while he checked the peep hole.

The sight before him caused his shoulders to slump in relief.

“It's them?” Scully asked hopefully, reading his body language.

He gave a cautious smile back, then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

There they were, William’s adoptive parents.

And William.

It nearly took his breath away.

This close. They were this close to him, after thinking they’d never see him again. He felt like a dehydrated man in a desert stumbling upon an oasis when he was sure he was going to die.

“Hi,” the woman said, looking more uncertain now that they weren’t out in the open. Her husband looked similarly guarded, but they were here, that was all that mattered.

“Uh, come in,” Mulder said, finding his voice.

He stepped aside to allow them entrance, and Scully immediately stood from her seat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands in front of her.

“I promise we’re not here to take him,” he assured them, closing the door behind them. “As much as we wish we could.”

Once the door was secure, he went to stand by Scully, placing a hand on her back.

“We were just passing through, I couldn’t believe it when I saw him sitting there in the pool.”

The woman nodded, still a little tense, but wanting to believe him.

“Small world,” her husband said, standing protectively next to his wife and child.

Mulder nodded.

“Look, there’s not much information we can give you. For his safety and yours, this is the way it had to be.”

“I always wondered where he came from,” the woman said. “I thought maybe a teen mom, or someone who just couldn't take care of him, but, you—”

“He was always wanted,” Scully spoke, finally able to speak for herself. Her voice came out strained, gasping for air between words. “I prayed for him for so long.”

Mulder's hand found hers, giving it a squeeze to lend her some of his strength.

“He was our miracle.”

The woman looked down, saddened by this news.

“But you were right,” Scully continued, steadying her voice. “We couldn't take care of him. Our life—it isn't stable enough for a child right now. It might never be again. So, I gave him up.”

“Didn't you have a family member who could have taken him? A friend?” the man asked. “Why a closed adoption?”

Scully shook her head, looking down at her feet. How she had wished she could have sent William to live with Bill and Tara, maybe even Charlie. But it wouldn’t have been enough. It would have only endangered more people she cared about.

“That's something we can't disclose,” Mulder answered for her. “But someday, when he asks, I want him to know...” He breathed, summoning the strength to form the words. “I want him to know that we loved him... so much.” With each breath he took, tears filled his eyes, clogging his throat until he wasn't able to speak anymore.

They would always love him, for as long as they lived. Giving him up wasn't going to change that.

“Well,” William's new mom said through tear filled eyes. “I can't tell you how much it means to us to have him.” Scully bowed her head, nodding along with a steady stream of tears. “I promise to take good care of him. He'll be safe and happy with us.”

“Thank you,” Scully whispered, unable to look the man and woman in the eyes.

“We've been worried about him,” Mulder admitted, “hoping he was alright...” He checked in with Scully, reading her like he was so good at doing, before deciding it was safe to speak for them both. “I think, seeing that he is... is a huge weight lifted off our shoulders.”

Scully gave a nod in agreement, looking up at Mulder with something of a promise. A promise that they would be okay, eventually.

“I can't imagine what you must have gone through,” the woman said. “But we are so thankful. He—I don't suppose you want to know his name?”

“No,” Scully said quickly. “I—we can't. I couldn't handle the temptation.”

The temptation to track him down, just for the chance to see him again. That was a dream that could never be.

“What did you call him?” the woman asked, and Mulder squeezed Scully's hand again, letting her know it was okay. It was a common enough name, there couldn’t be any harm in telling her the truth.

“William,” she answered. “His name was William.”

To hear it spoken aloud after all this time was a relief. It had been almost taboo the past six months, too painful a word to be uttered. But now, there was something freeing about letting his name hang in the air.

Letting go, Mulder realized. They had to let him go.

“Well...” the woman began again, smiling at them reassuringly. “William is such a bright and curious child. He loves building towers out of blocks and throwing things at it to knock it down. He—He has this stuffed fox he takes everywhere. They're practically inseparable. His first word was 'mama'. He likes watching baseball and hockey with his dad. He—He's everything we could have hoped for, and more. So, thank you. Thank you for making such a beautiful child for us to love.” Her eyes shone with happiness, the kind which Scully wondered if she’d ever felt. “I knew you had to be remarkable people, because he's a remarkable child.”

“And now we know where he gets those lips and that hair from,” the father added, lightening the mood as much as possible, under the circumstances. “He's covered in sunscreen, must be your genes,” he said, nodding at Scully with a smile. And wonder of wonders, she laughed, a sudden, unexpected thing, and leaned into Mulder's side.

“We should let you go,” Mulder said after a moment, hating that it had to be done. “We'll need to be heading out soon.”

“To where?”

“We can't tell you that.”

Will's adoptive father's eyes met those of his biological one, and a look of understanding passed between them.

Adjusting her hold on William, the woman spoke, glancing between them as she did.

“I wouldn't feel right if I didn't give you a moment with him.”

Scully's head snapped to attention.

“You've already sacrificed so much,” she continued, “And I trust you. You're doing what's best for—for William. I know you have his best interests at heart.”

Mulder wished, wished, wished he could honestly say it was in William's best interests to be with him and Scully... but it wasn't. The truth of their reality was such that it could never be. Not through any fault of their own as parents—but because of external forces working against them, desperate to tear them apart and leave them with nothing.

But they had failed.

Because what they had was more than nothing. They had each other. And though they would have to live with the knowledge that a part of them was missing, maybe after today they would be able to make peace with what they do have. To live life to the fullest given the circumstances they've been forced to survive in.

In truth, he hadn't felt this hopeful about the future since the moment Scully first placed his son in his arms. There was still a mountain of hardships to surmount, but it didn't seem quite as impossible as before. And it was all thanks to a chance encounter with their son, at the precise moment they needed him most.

“We'll leave you be,” Will's mother spoke, checking with her husband to make sure he agreed. “If you need us, we'll be downstairs having some coffee.”

Scully's brows slanted in worry. “You don't have to go, it's okay,” she said, wanting to stop them.

“You deserve some time alone,” the woman said kindly, shaking her head. “I can see how much you need it, dear.”

Scully's chin wobbled, dangerously close to another round of tears.

And then she was coming toward them, William perched on her hip. She deposited him right into Scully's disbelieving arms, and Mulder immediately felt his throat close, the sight one he'd seen almost every night in the most heart wrenching of his dreams.

This was what he'd hoped to come home to after his time in the desert. This was what kept him sane between bouts of torture in a prison cell. To see it now was equal parts fulfilling and painful.

“I can give you something, a guarantee we won't run off with him,” he choked out, working to free his wrist from his moderately expensive watch. William's dad reached a hand out and stopped him.

“We trust you,” he said with a sad smile. “We'll be back in an hour. Please, take all the time you need.”

And with that, they left the room.

As soon as they were gone, Scully's head dropped to rest against the strawberry blond locks of their son, and she let out a sob.

“William,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his head. He seemed unfazed, and part of Mulder wondered if he still remembered her. If deep down, he knew this was the woman who had once fed him from her own body, sung him to sleep in an off-tune melody, soothed him when he had nightmares...

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

The same couldn't be said for him, however.

“I can't believe this, Mulder,” Scully cried, her tears falling into his downy-soft hair. Mulder led her back to the bed, sitting beside her with their son on her lap. “Did you hear what they said? He's so much like you, watching sports on TV, knocking his blocks down... He'll be throwing pencils at the ceiling in no time.”

That brought a small smile to his face, and he leaned to his right to press a kiss to Scully's forehead, his hand falling into place on their son's back.

William leaned away, taking in the new faces with a curious tilt to his head.

“Hey, bud,” Mulder said, offering him a finger to hold. For all the time he'd spent thinking of what he'd say to his kid if given the chance, he was coming up short now that he was face-to-face with the reality. “I missed you so much,” he managed to say, “And look how much you've grown!”

William reached out, holding his hands up in front of him, and Mulder's heart leapt. Glancing at Scully for permission, he slid his hands under his arms, lifting him to his chest and nuzzling him close.

“Oh, Scully,” he said, beginning to cry again, feeling the weight of William on his chest, real and tangible. “Sometimes I thought it was all a dream. But we have a son.”

It was hard to think of him out in the world, when he was hardly more than an idea. But now—he had face to put to the name, a personality to remember. He had a son.

She nodded, watching them with a watery smile. He pulled back just to look at him again, to memorize those chubby cheeks and the way he smelled. The precise shape of his eyes, their color, still the same as his mother's.

“I'm so glad we stayed here, Mulder,” Scully whispered. “To think I tried to talk you out of it...”

“Fate was working its magic, Scully,” he said, cutting her off. “This was meant to be.”

For the next hour, they played on the floor together, using Mulder's keys as a toy to hold William's attention. He was walking now, and took turns toddling between them, excitedly holding the TV remote in one hand and squealing when they praised him for successfully making it without tripping or falling.

For a while, they could almost forget this wasn't real. That they weren’t on borrowed time, already risking things they shouldn't be for this blissful moment of being a family.

Mulder got to see Scully as a mother. She saw him as a father. Finally, they had the chance to step into those roles, feeling fulfilled in ways they never could have imagined. It went far beyond any truth that once lay hidden in the X-Files. Nothing in that office of theirs could have given them purpose like this. Only each other, and the life that was formed out of the love that was sparked right there in the basement of the Hoover building so many years ago.

Mulder had always wondered how it would sound to hear the words “da da da” come from a child's mouth, and to know they meant him. Though his babbling wasn't intentional, merely a repetition of the same syllables “da” and “ma” over and over again, he was soaking it in. Committing it to memory. Praying—because only something like this could drive a man like him to prayer—that his son would think about him. Would think about his mother. That he'd grow to know and understand and appreciate the heartache they suffered at giving him away.

That maybe he'd love them too, despite never knowing them.

And maybe.

Maybe.

One day, they'd see each other again.

It was getting late. Scully could tell it was past William's bedtime. She laid him on their bed, and laid down beside him on her stomach, content just to look at him and be near him for however much time they had left.

Mulder joined her on the other side, resting a hand on top of William's gently rising and falling belly.

“I love him more than I ever knew was possible,” he whispered, and noticed as Scully wiped away a tear.

“It hurts, knowing we have to say goodbye.”

Mulder nodded, reaching a hand over William to rub circles on Scully's back.

“But not as much as it hurt before.”

Mulder remembered how Scully screamed, when he first found her in that dirty, abandoned house in Georgia.

“Don't take my baby. Please don't take my baby.”

It was different now.

This time, it was on their own terms. Their curiosities were satisfied, the things they always would have wondered about.

Who he resembled more. What his voice sounded like. His smile and his laugh when he was happy. The way he scrunched his face when he wasn't.

But above all else: would he be okay?

And now that they knew without a doubt that he was? They could let him go.

As much as any parent could let go of a piece of their soul, their own flesh and blood.

He would always be a part of them. They would always wish things could have gone differently. But at least now, Mulder had had a chance to say goodbye. At least Scully wasn't being forced to leave him with little warning, worrying that she was abandoning him to an unknown fate.

A blanket of peace fell over this humble, outdated hotel room. And for the last few minutes they would spend as parents together, Mulder and Scully counted themselves lucky. For this time was a gift, far more than they could have ever hoped to receive.

The same knock from earlier sounded, and a heavy feeling settled in Mulder's chest. He dragged himself away from the bed, while Scully lifted the sleeping William into her arms and held him close.

“How did he do?” their son's mother asked, looking perfectly at ease in a way that calmed and reassured him.

“Great,” Mulder answered. “He—He's perfect.”

The time had come. Scully knew it too. They'd already stayed longer than they should have. He knew there was a long night of driving through pitch darkness ahead of them, and he really, really didn't want to go.

But he had to do what was right for his son. That was all he ever wanted to do, as a father. He just didn't want to be the one to break Scully's heart all over again.

“I guess this is it,” Scully said, sounding calmer than he would have expected. He knew her, though, and he could see the emotions brewing beneath the surface.

It would be a tearful night for both of them.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she said to William's new mom, stepping fatefully toward her. But before she could pass him over, she paused, looking down at him for the last time in her own arms. “William?” she spoke, her voice strained. “Mommy loves you.”

“Daddy loves you too, baby boy,” Mulder said, never having referred to himself as such before, but wanting to know how it felt.

He cupped the sleeping child's head, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then another, not able to convince himself that each would be the last.

“I'm so sorry, William. Be good for your mom and dad, okay?”

Scully leaned against him, her strength beginning to wane.

“Goodbye,” she said, kissing him desperately all over, playing with his socked foot and each of his tiny fingers. “I want to believe I will see you again someday.”

As they passed him over, together this time, William's new parents smiled tearfully.

“If—If he suddenly gains an interest in Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster,” Mulder began in a worried, cautionary tone, “just buy him some picture books. He'll be okay.”

Though it easily could have been a joke, no one laughed. In fact, the man and woman nodded, taking his advice to heart. He felt better knowing their son would be accepted, no matter who he grew up to be. The child of the FBI's most unwanted was sure to be a bit of a loner.

“And tell him he'll grow into his nose. Sort of,” he added, this time eliciting a small smile from Scully.

“I promise, we'll tell him every day how loved he is,” the woman vowed. “I'm glad we met you.”

“I'd call it a God-given miracle,” the man said, and he reached out a hand to Mulder to shake. “Stay safe,” he said, then catching sight of Scully's necklace. “We'll be praying for you.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Mulder's arms suddenly felt empty. He could see Scully felt the same, wrapping hers around her own torso just for something to hold. He enveloped her in an embrace, holding tight to keep both her and himself from chasing after them.

“Bye,” the woman said over her shoulder, her worried eyes unwilling to turn away from the sad couple they'd met. She gave a small, consoling smile, and lifted William's pudgy hand to wave goodbye.

Mulder and Scully waved half-heartedly in return, smiling as genuinely as they could, and watched as they disappeared through the door.

Once they were gone, Scully turned into Mulder's chest and held tight. His cheek rested on top of her head, and they swayed, silent but for the sound of the ocean nearby.

“We're gonna be okay,” Scully said at last. “Mulder—”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes with sincerity and love.

“We're gonna be okay.”

#x files #txf #xf fanfic #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #msr fanfic #post-series #the truth #william mulder #jackson van de kamp #chance encounter

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randomfoggytiger · 1 month ago

Text

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

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

Happy Birthday, @baronessblixen! :DDDDDDDDD

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

*-*-*-*-*

Prologue

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

Twenty more minutes and she would allow herself to think.

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

Then home.

Five more minutes.

Purse, keys, exit.

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

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

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

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

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

Kiss goodbye. “How was William?”

“You should ask him, he’s still up.”

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 1

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks ago, she saw him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mulder.”

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

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

Fox Mulder wore a wedding ring.

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

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve never really found the time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knew… what?”

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 2

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

“Oh, Mom….”

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

“He always asks for his Thursday candy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“William? Are you awake?”

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

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

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

She’d misspelled Grieg as Grief, once.

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

“Your meds on the desk?”

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

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

“Not for the night pills.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, William.”

“I want to like things, Dana.”

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

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

“It’s still sudoku, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Long s, tired.

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

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

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

“Hm. Melville?”

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 3

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She saw him, again, at the airport.

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

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

“What day is it?”

“Mulder, how did you--”

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

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

“Dana!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was Diana there with you?”

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

“Was she there last week?”

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

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

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

“Dana, I never made it home.”

“I thought you said--”

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

“Were you traveling last week?”

He nodded.

“On a case?”

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

“Did you fall asleep at the airport?”

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

“Mulder, where are you going--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

“Two Billy Butters, please.”

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

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

“You must be talented bakers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

“How?” she trembled, fearing, believing.

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

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

“Scully. Call me Scully, please.”

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 4

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

I no longer love him.

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

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

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

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

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

And it would break William, irreparably.

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

She had believed she loved him, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“William--”

“I’m fine, Dana, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, William--”

“You’re not, either.”

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

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

Yes, he nodded. “Yes.”

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

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

“Yes, William. Always.”

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 5

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She didn’t go Thursday.

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

Scully couldn’t stay home, either.

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

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

She couldn’t be here, either.

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

“Dana!”

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

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

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

Then Mulder appeared.

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

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

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

“Did he have any headaches, Mom?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you bring home… something?”

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

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

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

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

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

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 6

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She was late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he has secrets, this unfathomable man.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“We don’t, Scully.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mulder, I love you.”

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

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

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

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

And Fox Mulder vanished for the last time.

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 7

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks after it began, it ended.

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

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

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

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

“Mulder--”

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

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

“Dana.”

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

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

*-*-*-*-*

Acknowledgments

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

*-*-*-*-*

I shall be uploading the chapters to Ao3 here.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

#txf #Brief Encounter of the Interdimensional Kind #randomfoggytiger's fic #Happy Birthday #Anika! Hope your day is the best!#And if it isn't #then I hope this story helped make it a teensy bit better~#baronessblixen #xfiles #fic #mine #x-files #xf fanfic #the x files

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thursdayinspace · 6 months ago

Text

I was going to do a complete season 1 review for the rewatch, but instead I did a close reading of this scene from 1x24 The Erlenmeyer Flask, because I can’t get it out of my head, I love it so much.

Scully: Wait a second. Mulder? I just want to say that I was wrong. Mulder: It's all right, don't worry about it. Scully: No, um, if you'd had listened to me, we wouldn't be here right now. I should know by now to trust your instincts. Mulder: Why? Nobody else does. Scully: You know, I've always held science as sacred. I've always put my trust in the accepted facts. And what I saw last night . . . for the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe. Mulder: Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully, when you walk into that room? Nothing sacred will hold.

This is a big moment for various reasons. It’s a defining moment for their partnership. This is almost a summary of the season.

Possibly the biggest thing for their partnership is her admitting she was wrong and Mulder’s reaction to it. We don’t know this, but from all the context we have of his life at this point, it’s safe to assume that Mulder doesn’t get apologies very often. “I just want to say that I was wrong.” It’s important to her to let him know that. And that alone says something about the way she sees him. He’s generally seen as crazy and paranoid. But not by her. More than that, she sees him as a person with feelings that can be hurt, and she wants to make sure he knows that wasn’t her intention. “I should know by now to trust your instincts,” that is a huge thing to say and has to be something that needs a minute to sink in for him. She trusts him. Which is something he knows already to an extent, but to hear it said that openly after how vehemently they disagreed on this is a different thing.

In that context it’s worth looking at their exchange after visiting Doctor Berube. She tells him: “I mean, this has reached the point of absurdity, Mulder. We're out here on half a hunch off of a cryptic phone call chasing down a clue that's based on nothing but speculation.” She voices her mistrust of Deep Throat and Mulder asks her “You think he does it because he gets off on it?” To which she replies: “No. I think he does it because you do.” And then she walks off, effectively ending that argument, she doesn’t have anything more to say. She’s made her point. And to come back from that the way they do in this scene, that is a real testament to how much respect they have for each other. Yeah, he was right. And yeah, he gets that she has to ask the uncomfortable questions.

Just the fact alone that she thinks he deserves an apology is a lot; she doubted him and she’s sorry for that because she knows he’s not crazy. They’re partners and they work as partners. She’s not there with him right now because he asked her. She’s there because she genuinely wants to be and genuinely believes that his explanations of the facts hold value and that she takes them seriously. And nobody ever takes him seriously. He points that out to her right away.

In fact, his whole interaction with her in this scene shows a vulnerability that needs the context of the rest of the season to be fully understood. He could say all of these things to anybody else, word for word, and it would simply be the equivalent of a shrug and a “fine, let’s move on.” But with everything they have been through and with the way we’ve seen them opening up to each other, this means something very different.“It's alright, don't worry about it.” I mean. Shit. The thing is, it probably is alright on the surface. It is a way to shrug it off. Not being taken seriously has to hurt, but he’s used to it, so really, she shouldn’t worry about it, she’s there now and that’s all that matters. But it’s not all that matters to her.

His reaction to her telling him that she should know to trust his instincts? “Why? Nobody else does.” The way he says this, it doesn’t sound like he’s testing her. It sounds a little bitter, but that bitterness is not directed at her. After years of being at best ignored, more often ridiculed, of course he doesn’t have a more positive reaction to something like this at hand. But I don’t think there can be any doubt that it means something to him. She smiles after he says this, and that also says something: she doesn’t count herself among the people who dismiss him and she gets that he’s not dismissing her. She sees the self-deprecating humor in his response. She also hears the “thank you for not being one of them” in his response. His face stays sincere. He isn’t challenging her, but he needs to know why she’s sticking around. It’s such a loaded response. You can hear a lot of things in it if you want, which makes it such a well-written exchange: he is a little confused as to why she’s sticking around, he’s thanking her for being there, he’s bitter about and/or used to nobody believing him, I mean, hell, it isn’t even impossible to find a flirty note in there. In any case, he’s downplaying her apology not because he doesn’t appreciate it, but because he didn’t see it coming since most likely nobody has ever bothered or seen the need before. At the same time, he’s telling her he trusts her too.

Scully has had her beliefs challenged, and she shows right here and right now how much of a scientist she really is. She is ready to admit that one theory hasn’t worked, so she is prepared to examine a different one that looks more promising. This is one of her core traits: she never clings to her theories out of some sense of vanity. She doesn’t have to be right. She just wants to understand, and she needs facts to do so. Poking holes in things is part of science, to see how well it holds up. It’s about getting as close to the truth as they can. And with the evidence to support Mulder’s arguments, she can be convinced to have a closer look at his theory. She says: “I've always held science as sacred. I've always put my trust in the accepted facts.” And that’s what is being challenged here. This is seriously stretching the boundaries of what she accepted to be fact. But she doesn’t stubbornly cling to what she believes. It’s a process, and she respects that as much as he does. Their arguing is never just for the sake of it.

Scully says: “For the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe.” How big is that? But this is something that reiterates and reinforces something we have seen throughout the season again and again: they trust each other. She isn’t afraid to admit her insecurity to him. They’re faced with something she can’t wrap her head around, when knowing things is kind of her job? She makes herself very vulnerable with this statement. His response picks up on that and tells her she’s right to question everything: “Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully, when you walk into that room? Nothing sacred will hold.” He’s telling her it’s okay, it is all a bit hard to believe. He’s well aware of that. This is not trying to convince somebody to try mayo instead of ketchup with their fries. This is about the fundamentals of her worldview. He does not expect her to be convinced. He is sure she will be impressed. But he accepts her doubt, he always does. “Whatever it is you do believe.” No pressure, but here’s a cool thing that will definitely give you some answers. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen, but that’s a different story.

This little conversation between them is such a pivotal moment. It truly shows who they have become individually and as partners. It wraps up the season very nicely and at the same time cements the foundation of their partnership for season two. Because they can have a conversation like this one and understand what the other one is saying, their pining after each other at the beginning of the next season makes sense. They’ve become very important to each other, they show each other their vulnerable sides, they take care of each other. This little conversation sums that up perfectly.

#txf #the x files #x files meta #msr #mulder and scully #I'm so far behind on posts I've already finished s2 in the rewatch #but I seriously love this and needed to ramble on about it #thursday's x-files rewatch #txf meta

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defectivevillain · 1 year ago

Text

so it goes...

pairing: Jake Peralta/Reader

reader’s pronouns are unspecified but masc-intended.

summary: You’re stood up on a date, only for Jake to come in and save the day.

word count: 2.3k

[ao3 version]

You have a date today—with someone you’ve been texting back and forth for a while. You wanted to keep it a secret, but the news soon came out after Boyle took your phone from you and started reading your texts aloud. You couldn’t gather the energy to be mad at him for it. Besides, according to Gina and Rosa, you had been acting rather distracted for most of the day anyway. Somehow, the entire precinct now knows you have a date tonight. To your surprise, everyone is extremely supportive and wishes you well. Rosa gives you pointers on how to dispose of a body, which you pretend not to hear. Gina tells you to insist that the other person pays, because your presence “deserves monetary compensation.” The sarge tells you to be safe, and Hitchcock and Scully…. Well, you don’t let them finish what they were going to say to you. That seems to be a wise choice, because Hitchcock later admits that his remark wasn’t tasteful.

Somehow, Jake Peralta is the only one that you don’t see at all. For a moment, you wonder if he’s avoiding you. You then remember that the two of you have a sort of strange relationship. You’re work nemeses and the two of you usually bicker back and forth instead of having a genuine conversation. Therefore, you’re not exactly surprised that Jake doesn’t approach you to ask you about your date. You don’t think the two of you are close enough to have that kind of conversation.

That notion is proven wrong later that same evening. You’re getting dressed for the date when your phone vibrates a few times. You check your notifications, only to find an unknown number texting you.

Unknown Number: hey

Unknown Number: oh it’s jake peralta btw

You: oh hi

You: what’s up?

Jake Peralta: u have a date 2day right

You: yes, why?

Jake Peralta: where is it

You pause for a moment. Why does he want to know where it is? Whatever. It’s not like any harm will come to you if you tell him. You decide to send him the name of the restaurant, and the two of you text back and forth for a bit longer. You can’t quite discern the purpose behind the ensuing discussion.

Jake Peralta: lmk how ur date goes

You frown in confusion. Why does he want to know? You decide to bite the bullet and just ask.

You: why?

He leaves you on read; you frown. It seems Peralta doesn’t want to answer that question. Ah well. You give up on the idea of interrogating him for further information.

You: okay, i will.

He leaves you on read again—interesting. You don’t know Peralta very well, but it almost appears as if he’s… angry. Did you do something? You scroll up through the conversation one more time, trying to look for anything you could’ve done wrong. You don’t see anything. You get another notification—this time, though, it’s from your date. The conversation with Peralta falls to the back of your mind as you finish getting ready for your date.

Approximately thirty minutes later, you find yourself sitting in the restaurant by yourself. The place is rather fancy, to your chagrin. You certainly wouldn’t have chosen this place for a first date—that’s for sure. The hostess leads you to a table and you sit down.

Minutes pass, and there’s no sign of your date. You’re beginning to feel everyone staring at you with sympathy, and it makes you sick to your stomach. You can’t help but feel horribly embarrassed. Have you been stood up? As time passes, you begin to think that’s the case. It’s now a full thirty minutes from the time you were supposed to meet and you’re forced to come to the conclusion that your date ditched you. You’re humiliated. You’re moments away from crying and getting up from your seat when you see someone out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, babe.” You look up, only to find Jake Peralta walking over to you. He’s dressed rather nicely and there’s an embarrassed smile on his face. “Traffic was horrible.” His voice is a bit louder than it needs to be. You stare at him in confusion. Meanwhile, Jake leans towards you as he takes off his jacket, whispering in your ear. “You never texted me.”

“Peralta…” You break off, beginning to realize what’s happening here. Jake is saving you from any future embarrassment—diverting everyone’s attention by pretending to be your date.

“He didn’t show up?” You nod silently. Jake’s expression turns from suspicious to absolutely indignant. His fists clench at his sides and, for the first time, he looks unspeakably angry. You’ve never seen him look so serious before, and it’s a huge juxtaposition to his typical goofy nature. You suddenly feel the need to break the tension settling in the air.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. Thankfully, outside attention is finally falling away from you, as the couples around you lose interest in your predicament.

“It definitely isn’t,” Jake says with a sigh. “But, whatever. I’m here now, so you don’t have to worry.” He grins cheekily. You roll your eyes, although you’re sure the relief on your face is evident. The two of you stare at each other for a moment and you realize that this entire situation feels wrong. It’s not Peralta’s presence that throws you off—it’s the restaurant. Your date picked it, and you’re starting to realize that you feel pretty out of place.

“You want to get out of here?” You eventually suggest. Jake looks up from the menu he had been frowning down at. “I’m not really in the mood for this kind of food, anyway.”

“Sure,” Jake shrugs, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and moving to put it on again. He turns to look at you expectantly. “What’re you in the mood for?” Well, that’s rather courteous of him to ask. You stop to think for a moment.

“Greasy fast food?” You suggest.

“Hell yeah,” Jake grins mischievously. He extends an arm and you take it, allowing him to lead you through the restaurant and outside. Once the two of you are successfully outside, you let your hand fall from his arm and take a deep breath. Jake rattles off a few food places nearby and eventually, the two of you decide to go to the closest one. What follows is a rather enjoyable meal and interesting conversation. Because of your unofficial work rivalry, the two of you had never quite talked to each other except to bicker. It’s nice to learn more about Jake. He’s pretty goofy at work, but you know that he has other things going on under that immature exterior.

“I’m sorry your date ditched you,” Jake says some time later. There’s sympathy written all over his face and you suddenly feel deeply, profoundly embarrassed. You bite your lip. You’re thankful for his concern, of course, but…

“It’s fine,” you lie through your teeth. Silence descends in the air for a few moments and you can feel Jake’s gaze burning into the side of your face.

“You sure?” Jake’s expression is so concerned that you can’t help but feel guilty at the thought of being the reason for his worry. You inhale shakily. You had tried your best to push aside any thoughts about your original date, but now, they’re rushing back in full force. Why did he ditch you? Were you not worth the effort?

“No,” you admit with a whisper. Jake doesn’t respond to that, instead extending his arms and inviting you to hug him. You wrap your arms around him and bury your head in his shoulder, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears falling down your face. You quickly wipe them away. Jake’s grip is firm and reassuring.

“Thanks, Jake,” you say, once you’ve regained your composure. “I really appreciate it.”

“Any time.” Jake responds, with a frightening amount of sincerity. The two of you part ways soon after that, with the promise to talk more tomorrow. Jake tells you to text him when you get home and you do so. That night, you fall asleep with conflicting feelings. On the one hand, you’re extremely grateful that Jake stepped up to support you. Plus, your night with him was very enjoyable. On the other hand, well, being stood up on a date makes you feel rather sad. You have to push aside the pointless questions you’re asking yourself—if you had done things differently, if you did anything wrong, etc.—and just go to sleep.

“What was the guy’s name?” Jake asks the next day, once the two of you are in the precinct. You raise your eyebrows at him and he scrambles to explain. “I’m asking for a friend. Definitely not for any other reason.” You glance at him in knowing amusement and he sighs in defeat. “Hey, it was worth a try.”

“Thanks anyway,” you say, unable to hide the fond smile growing on your face. “And, hey, if he hadn’t ditched me, we wouldn’t have had such a great night.”

“You had fun?” You’re unsure how Jake can seem so surprised about that.

“Of course,” you respond, “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Jake responds without hesitation. He then pauses, as if trying to search for the next words to say. “Can I ask you something?” You nod in agreement. Jake averts his eyes for a moment. He seems uncharacteristically nervous. His gaze flits about restlessly. “You want to go to dinner tonight?”

“Sure,” you answer, with no hesitation whatsoever. Jake is evidently surprised by your quick answer and he seems to be on the verge of saying something else, so you decide to clarify. “Like a date?”

“Say yes, Jake,” Charles says, popping out of literally nowhere. You flinch in surprise and then stare at him in disbelief. Had he been listening to your entire conversation? And where did he even come from?

“Sorry, he found out about last night-” Jake tries to explain to you, only for Charles to cut him off.

“I have great news for you lovebirds!” Charles grins. Dread coils in your chest—that mischievous smile never means anything good coming from Boyle. Jake seems to think the same thing, if the apprehensive look on his face is any indication. “You now have a reservation for my favorite Japanese restaurant-!”

“The one that serves octopus balls?” Jake interjects, shuddering at the thought. You feel the same. You’re not a very adventurous eater to begin with—which was part of the reason you suggested fast food last night. “Thanks, buddy, but no thanks.”

“Please?” Charles begs. “The restaurant is really hard to get reservations for! Their waitlist is several months long! That’s why I’ve had to order to-go the past few times…”

“If the waitlist is so long, then how did you get reservations in the first place?” You decide to ask. Something feels wrong about this, but you can’t quite tell what it is. You decide to wait for Charles to explain further.

“I made them a while ago,” he says excitedly. “I’ve been wanting to eat there for months!” Charles seems unaware of what he’s revealing by saying that. Jake and you exchange a look, before Jake decides to say something.

“…Charles?” Jake asks. Charles turns to look at his friend. “The reservation is for three, isn’t it?” That seems to be the likely conclusion, the more you think about it. If Charles wanted to go so badly, he wouldn’t just make a reservation for two people—he’d include himself in the reservation, too. You look at Boyle and await his answer.

“Of course, Jake,” Charles responds, squinting at him. Jake and you sigh. Charles just grins infuriatingly. “I’ll pick you two up at seven!” He then disappears. You blink at the space he had occupied. That man needs to wear a bell or something, so that he doesn’t give you a mini heart attack every time he mysteriously appears.

You take a deep breath and turn to Jake. “He’s going to be third-wheeling the entire time, isn’t he?”

“Yep.” Jake says, shaking his head in disbelief. You can relate to the sentiment. Charles is quite crazy, sometimes.

“Well, that’s okay—our first date wasn’t exactly conventional, either,” you then acquiesce with a shrug. Jake freezes and stares at you with wide eyes. You immediately feel self-conscious. Did you say something wrong? “What?”

“First date?” Jake repeats, a strange expression on his face. It looks to be a mix of guardedness and hopefulness.

“Yesterday,” you blurt out, before you can realize your mistake. You had characterized it as a date, but you never confirmed that with Jake. You glance at him for reassurance. “...Right?”

“Yeah,” Jake remarks quickly. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.” The two of you are staring at each other and he takes a step forward to close the distance between you. Jake’s hands come up to bracket your face and he leans forward-

“I’m loving this tension.” You flinch and Jake freezes, before you turn to look at the new presence. Charles is standing next to the two of you once more, a starry look in his eyes. Jake sighs in exasperation and you look at Charles expectantly.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” Charles smiles, backing away a foot before continuing to stare at you. Jake’s hands are still cradling your cheeks, but evidently, neither of you are comfortable with kissing in front of Charles.

“Buddy-” Jake breaks off.

“Fine,” Charles sighs dramatically, wisely taking several steps back as he registers the annoyed look on Jake’s face. “See you at seven!” He exclaims, before running back to his desk and smoothly avoiding punishment.

“Now, where were we?” Jake says hesitantly. You roll your eyes and lean forward to kiss him, valiantly ignoring Boyle’s excited shrieks in the background.

#b99 #b99 x reader #male reader #masc reader #transmasc reader #Jake Peralta x reader #Jake Peralta x male reader #Brooklyn 99 #Brooklyn 99 x reader #Brooklyn 99 x male reader #Brooklyn 99 x gn reader #gn reader #b99 x gn reader

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