#and how scully deserved more time with them

[is-on-its-way]

okay ive finally come to see your vision on mulder here, although i do still think scully was uncomfy too, i think mulder was wildly uncomfy, definately in part due to the normalness of this neighborhood and suggestion this is what married life should look like, and knowing he isnt this person. Hes pushing her away with his treatment of her. But I think theres also another reason hes behaving like this that just clicked everything into place for me.

I preface this by saying i watch arcadia right after one son bc it makes canonical sense that way, they even say its their first case back. And this way i think it makes alot of sense for mulders characterization and for how their relationship would be post their fight

Agua Mala was not the episode filmed directly after One Son. Instead, Arcadia was shot between the two episodes. It simply was not ready to air in time. Mulder even refers to the case in Arcadia as the duo’s “first catch back on the X-Files.” Source: https://them0vieblog.com/2015/07/22/the-x-files-agua-mala-review/

I posit that every time scully is hurt, he goes to the ends of the earth to make sure shes okay, and then once she is, he flees or actively tries to get her to quit the x files, and overtly or inadvertently treats her poorly. Because he cant lose her again and survive, because he thinks he is completely responsible for everything that happens to her because his childhood trauma requires he carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. And because he loves her more than anything and has a decent amount of self hatred so he thinks he doesn't deserve her.

His behavior in one son/two fathers and arcadia to me is directly tied to her getting shot and almost dying in tithonus. I dont think its completely conscious on his part especially this time around but i also think something happened between arcadia monday and agua mala to get them to the more comfortable companionship they display in alpha.

That something being scully finally asking him for something or declaring something like he does when she pulls away. Finally calling him out and asking him to change his behavior, which he does, in alpha when she warns him about women he listens and isnt a dick about it.

anyway yeah thats it lol

Arcadia Analysis: Mulder’s Struggle

Contrary to popular belief, it was Mulder (and not Scully– my long post of her experience here) who was having a rough time in Arcadia. 

When Mulder arrives, his enthusiasm shines brighter than Scully’s placid happiness, momentarily disguising his true mood from her, the neighbors, and the viewers: dour, trapped, tense. 

Keep reading

[deathsbestgirl]

is there a fandom word that's about shipping people as friends, no romantic/sexual context.

[thursdayinspace]

There is something about the way Mulder learns to accept and seek out emotional support and comfort throughout the course of the seasons. With all the casual physical contact that they have going on from the beginning, he seems ready to reach out, but doesn't seem to expect others to do the same. He feels deeply, but he keeps it to himself; something he seems to have learned from an early age. He's had to build his life around other people's pain since his sister disappered. He doesn't want to burden others with his needs.

Scully's "I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you" in "Tooms" is met with a joke immediately to lighten the mood -- a flirty joke, but still. He doesn't think he deserves how much she cares about him. Caring is his job. It's everyone else's job to disregard and dismiss his feelings and not take him seriously.

Scully setting up their secret meeting in "Little Green Men" -- he seems almost a little confused that she really just wanted to see him. He doesn't react when the touches his hair before she leaves. He doesn't react when she briefly takes his hand at the end. I don't think those little gestures of comfort don't register with him. They do. He simply doesn't quite know how to respond to them. He doesn't hesitate to gently cup her cheek and offer comfort when she wants to come back to work after her father's death. But he would never expect her to do that for him.

In "Anasazi" when he says "Thank you for taking care of me," it seems like he has to think about that sentence for a long time. Not because he isn't grateful, but because he doesn't really understand why she did it. Nothing more embarrassing than thanking someone and hearing "Oh, I didn't do it for you." And he said some pretty rude things to her when he was drugged, accusing her of betraying him. Who knows how much of it he remembers, but apparently enough to feel mortified. He never wanted to hurt her, but he must have, and then, after all that, she saved him and risked so much for him?

The scene in "Detour" comes to mind, the night in the forest when she tries to pull his head into her lap so he can get some rest and so that she can keep him warm, and he jokes "I don't want to wrestle." She doesn't have to do this, he's fine. He's not being a manly man who doesn't need anything, it's just that she's offering something that's hard to accept for him. She offers him a place to let go and stop pushing on. And he doesn't think she needs to do that, he is not fatally injured or anything, he'll be fine. But she wants him to be comfortable. She sees him, and is there for him.

At his mother's hospital bed in "Herrenvolk," she reaches for him and he lets himself cry into her shoulder. It's not just an emotional scene because of what he's going through. It's that he's allowing himself to truly let himself go in front of her. She reaches for him and he gives in and leans his face against her shoulder, holds onto her, letting her hold him. Letting her hold him. That's the really crucial point. Who has ever done that for him before? Who has ever allowed him his pain and told him it's okay, I know you have to feel like this right now, I know you're hurting, and I will be your tether for as long as you have to lose yourself in this?

"Sein und Zeit" -- he clings to her so tightly, lets her be his lifeline in this moment, as he knows she wants to be that for him. Letting go like that is so, so scary. There is always the fear that it will change someone's opinion of you. Make them think you're weak. Let them know what gets to you, and then you will always always always have to deal with them looking at you trying to asses how okay you are in stressful situations. It leaves you wide open and vulnerable. Learning that she doesn't expect him to be strong, that she doesn't believe that things don't affect him, that's a new concept. It requires so much trust.

Being able to take an offered hand is really fucking difficult, especially when you've been conditioned to be the one doing the reaching out. Leaning on someone is terrifying. Some patterns are hard to unlearn. But her steady presence finally allows him to show weakness and trust her to catch him when he falls. It lets him understand that he's allowed to fall sometimes.

[daynascullys]

LISTEN THROUGH SILENCE: An MSR Playlist ⤷ Part Two: Scully

It feels close to you, somehow, to say your name out loud.

playlist / songs ↘

SIX by Sleeping at Last / Similar to with Mulder, I haven't really thought about what enneagram I think Scully might be, but the lyrics of this song are so her. Plus: "I want to believe—no, I choose to believe—that I was made to become a sanctuary." I constantly think about "I want to believe" in the context of Scully because that's very much Mulder's thing, but it takes on so much significance when you think about it relating to Scully (just like Mulder choosing not to believe things takes on special significance as well). Mulder wants to believe in so many things, but Scully wants to believe in Mulder—and she chooses to believe.

RENEGADE by Big Red Machine & Taylor Swift / Very very Scully to Mulder. I mean— "there was nowhere for me to stay, but I stayed anyway" and "you fire off missiles 'cause you hate yourself, but do you know you're demolishing me? And then you squeeze my hand as I'm about to leave" and "it's time, you've come a long way / open the blinds, let me see your face / you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody" and "is it insensitive for me to say / get your shit together / so I can love you." But "open the blinds, let me see your face" really gets me because Scully truly does see Mulder, she sees him better than anyone ever has.

BETWEEN THE LINES by Sara Bareilles / Oof, this one huuuurts. I chose the title of this playlist from this song ("listen through silence") because I feel like it goes pretty well with Mulder's playlist ("amidst the chaos," also from a Sara Bareilles song) and because it's so much of what Scully does while Mulder learns—she listens through silence and reads between the lines. ALSO: "I'm queen of attention to details, defending intentions if he fails." Scully is forever the first to defend Mulder no matter what he does, always from a place of love.

BREATHE by Lauv / There are so many songs that could be applied to both of them, but for some reason or another I choose it for one of their individual playlists (this being one of them). I think one of my favorite parts fits Mulder better—"I should leave 'cause you deserve better"—but overall this song made me think of Scully, especially during I Want to Believe. "You're my all and more, but I need room to breathe."

WATER WORSHIP PRAY by Grace Power / This song also makes me think of I Want to Believe, and I especially love this song for Scully because of all the religious imagery. "How can two people fall apart when they both want the same thing? How can my happiness be you, but I'm not happy at all?" OW. And also: "First peace I ever knew / Can't love you well enough to keep you or enough to let you go / I'd rather stay in purgatory with you than in heaven alone."

IF PATIENCE DOESN'T KILL ME by Alison Sudol / I'm very aware that this is a pretty specific sound that not everyone will love, but I love Alison Sudol and I feel like this song is perfect for Scully so I kept it anyway. I just feel like the lyrics fit her perfectly—"if patience is a virtue, I abound / ... / if patience doesn't kill me, I'm yours." And it's where the description comes from—"it feels close to you, somehow, to say your name out loud." It feels like they constantly are calling for each other both because they want them there and trust they will be there, but also because the simple act of calling for each other makes them feel less alone.

GIVE UP THE GHOST by Rosi Golan & Johnny McDaid / Another song I love (I would've titled this "Quiet the Noise" if I hadn't already used that as a playlist title) that takes on new meaning when you think about it in an MSR context. Ghosts take on a different significance when thinking about Mulder (also, @leiascully just KILLED me with her fic and "I don't love anything more than I love you, Scully. Not even ghosts." Literally what the fuck). Even the very beginning of this song—"come here, it's all worth the fight when it's you, dear." And "slow down, we're losing the meaning of words now / quiet the noise 'cause we made a mountain of minuscule things." And Scully really does quiet his noise.

THE BEACON by A Fine Frenzy / The lyrics in the gifset are from this song and if I could write out the entire song without it being ridiculous, I would. I swear this could truly be a song written by Scully about Mulder. I mean, just starting with the first verse: "You say your time has come / you're tired of waking up / don't be obscene, I can't conceive of living without you / You say you drag me down, no one should want you now / I start to cry, you kiss my eyes and say I'm not allowed to." And then, AND THEN the second verse: "you were a child forgot / lessons of love untaught / now no embrace can quite replace the one that never found you / I was raised tenderly / all that was taught to me / I will apply / Your parents tried, but they didn't know how to." Like. Okay. Sure. That's fine.

SATURN by Sleeping at Last / I know I'm not alone with this one because I've seen multiple videos of them set to this song, but I chose to put it on Scully's playlist because it really makes me think of Mulder's abduction arc/when he wakes up in "Deadalive." Just imagine her listening to this song sitting by his side, holding his hand, willing him to wake up. GAH.

YOU MATTER TO ME by Jessie Mueller & Drew Gehling / This is another song I was debating for both of them, but the first verse especially makes me think of Scully: "I could find the whole meaning of life in those sad eyes / they've seen things you never quite say, but I hear / come out of hiding, I'm right here beside you / and I'll stay there as long as you'll let me."

SOMEONE WHO LOVES ME by Sara Bareilles / This song wrecks me and has some of the most beautiful lyrics I've ever heard. One reason I love it for Scully is because of the hug at the end of "Irresistable." This is another song I would have considered for a playlist title ("my home, my heart") if I hadn't already used it before. But the way it's sung always gets to me—"my home, my heart, thank god you are someone who loves me," like she's exhaling into the safety of his arms.

I F*CKING LOVE YOU by Zolita / The song pretty much says it all: "what if I let it slip, tell you that oh my god, I fucking love you."

WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT by Emily James / I absolutely love the first part of this song when she says "I just wanna say that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon unless it's with you." What really made me think of MSR was this, though: "'cause we've been busy lying to ourselves, swearing it would never work / promising that we were just friends / it's funny how it doesn't make sense / and then it does." And I love the idea of Scully thinking again about how different her life is, how this is so far from where she thought she'd be, but with a little bit of wonder: "who would've thought that it would've been you?"

[frogsmulder]

The Ring

Sometime after Mulder and Scully Meet The Weremonster, they both get a little handsy and are embarrassed that they have worn their wedding rings as a necklace the entire time they have been separated; 1.3k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic

Part 1: The Ring

The ring is a symbol of unity, eternity, constancy, and hope. They had always had that in excess, there was no doubt, or at least Mulder had thought. He considers each of these things as he thumbs the gold band Scully had placed on his fourth finger almost a decade ago. The wedding ring, once placed, shouldn’t be removed, not for poverty, not for sickness, not even in death. It should have tied them together forever. The cold overhead office lights catch and glimmer on the ring as Mulder twists it between his fingers and swivels in his chair. He still considers himself a married man, even through his failings. It has been over for a while between them, but hope is a hard thing to kill, especially when he again gets to see her smile everyday.

The distinctive click of Scully’s heels gets louder as she walks towards the office door. An involuntary grin, pulls at the corners of his mouth. Quickly, he drops the ring behind his shirt, where it hangs out of sight on a chain he wears around his neck. She saunters in with two steaming coffee cups in her hands and a new file tucked under her arm. “Skinner has sent us another case–one to get your paranormal juices flowing.” 

Seeing Scully in good form, beautiful as always, his grin turns coy as his heart beats allegro presto. He stands and swoops around her, taking his coffee and talking closely in her ear, “Paranormal juices?” he delights in her smirk– “Is that a quote from Skinner or have you got more creative juice in that coffee than you are letting on?”

He may have pushed her away, she may have moved out–called the end to their relationship–but he is still a married man and hope is a hard thing to kill.

Part 2: The Unity

...Some time later...

Mulder pauses for a moment, appreciating the beauty sitting in his lap before him, how she seems to grow finer with each passing year, like a wine he can’t afford to taste, but can’t help thirsting for. The lights of the lamps in the living room are dim, giving Scully an ethereal glow as he brushes his fingers through her hair. It falls like the red curtain at the end of the final act around her face, tasting him with a hunger that reminds him that the story is never over. She had been off the menu for so long and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her desire again but he doesn’t question it as her tongue seeks his, falling to her will so comfortably. 

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he remembers that she took him up on his open invitation for dinner at their once shared home; she was the one that suggested a film when the case reports got too tiring; she snuggled up to him on the old familiar couch, thighs touching side by side and then a head resting on his shoulder. He had embraced her brazen physical contact like catching an individual cherry blossom falling from the sky: admiring its wonder and cautious of its fragility. Scully had taken the worry of that blossom and thrown it aside the moment she had turned her lips against the pulse point of his neck.

Her tongue drags along that point now, drawing out an appreciative groan from him. His hands settle on her hips and rock her closer, appreciating how her body, still strong, has softened with the years. 

He keeps his eyes open, afraid that this is a cruel dream, that if he blinks she will drift away like smoke as she did many years ago. He watches as her perfect blue eyes roll back and her eyelashes flutter when she grinds herself against the bulge in his jeans. It’s a vision he’s witnessed many times but never tires of. His thumb trails up her body to rest on her chin, gently coaxing her lips apart, replacing her need for air with his own lips. He can feel her smile against them.

He’s afraid to ask but he has to know, so on a shallow breath he murmurs, “What are we doing?”

“Reconnecting.” Scully lets her forehead rest against his. “Is this okay?”

“God, yes, I just…”

It’s her turn to run her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

With a wicked grin, she starts slowly rolling against him again and he lets her play this slow dance, basking in the waves of pleasure she creates. Her fingers wander down from playing with the fuzzy hair at the nape of his neck to laying her palms flat against his chest, mooring herself at his harbour. 

Mulder stiffens and his blood heats, his heart beating erratically against the walls of his chest. Under his shirt, between the frame of her hands, lies a chain that’s tied him for so long, its presence had become a second skin. It wasn’t a secret, but it was hidden out of sight: a symbol of unity and eternity he could not part with even when Scully had parted with him.

“Mulder?” Her sweet voice cuts through his embarrassment, her worry bringing him back to the moment.

“I’m alright. I just…” He sighs. There shouldn’t be shame in carrying that part of her close to his chest in a gold band. He couldn’t have let her see it on his finger–their marriage through, or so he had thought–but he couldn’t part with it either. Despite his failings and her forced distance, he still considered himself a married man. He couldn’t let her know he had never kept his promise of letting her go. Gently, he moves her hands away from his chest. He couldn’t let her feel the ring.

“Mulder…” Her bright blue eyes pierce his soul as she searches for an answer to his hesitation. “Talk to me.”

He chews his lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Crestfallen, she whispers, “What do you mean?”

“We were doing so well, keeping on friendly terms, not complicating this relationship… I–” The gold burns into his chest. Hanging his head, he mumbles, “I don’t want to lose you again. Not over a stupid mistake.”

He can hear the slight tremble in her voice and can picture the tears unspilled in the corner of her eyes. “Do you think this is a mistake?”

“No! That’s what I mean. I–”

Scully interrupts him this time, bringing his hand to lie flat over her chest. He can feel the thrumming of her heart so lively directly beneath his palm. Curious, he looks up to her.

She closes her hand over his, sealing a sacred truth. “You never lost me.”

Something cold tickles thumb just underneath her shirt. He tries to move his hand to find the source of it, suspicious that she has kept him close by too all this time, yet her grip tightens around his, holding him in place. Her face is painted with the same shock and instinctive worry that he had felt earlier. Slowly, trusting, she loosens her grip.

Mulder places a chaste kiss to her cheek, not reaching for her shirt but instead unbuttoning his own. “You never lost me,” he repeats almost with a chuckle. Reaching beneath his shirt he pulls out his wedding ring and places it in her upturned hand, watching the chain spool in her palm. “I was afraid that you would uh think… less of me if you saw this.”

With his index finger, he caresses down the opening of her shirt, tickling her flushed skin. He smiles when she pushes her chest into him despite herself. Hooking his finger around the second hidden chain, he pulls out her wedding ring, the cool diamond he had felt earlier glistening in the light.

She dips her head to hide her laugh like she used to in her youth. “I guess I should have seen this coming.”

He drops her ring into her hand and wraps his arms around her, chuckling as he kisses her, “We both should have.”

Between their bodies, Scully clutches her fist, holding their rings together, unified at last.

[adricthemindnimon]

I love how quickly Scully becomes defensive of Mulder. She knows how he's judged by everyone around them, and she is ready to fight them all from about day 2. Like in Ghost in the Machine. Episode 7. A former partner of Mulder's takes advantage of his good nature, steals his work and claims it as his own. Mulder just brushes it off, and even lies to Scully that the guy apologized for it. Meanwhile Scully stares murderous daggers at the man every time he's in sight. Or even earlier than that, in Squeeze, episode 3, where she's about ready to murder her own (former) friend because he won't take Mulder seriously. It's such a fundamental bedrock of their relationship: even when they disagree they always take each other seriously. And more than that, they each see all the ways in which the rest of the world doesn't take the other seriously - Mulder for the "Spooky" stuff, Scully for being young, pretty, and a woman - and they will burn the fucker down to make sure the other one gets the respect they deserve.

[xf-cases-solved]

i am aware that this is likely not a new take at all, and i'm not like, claiming it as mine, but i never had the chance to have this opinion (or hear other ppl have this opinion) on a public forum before, so i just want to take this opportunity to say to another person, possibly for the first time with the exception of mb my mother, who is no longer here to agree with me, that "existence" came out when i was 8 years old, i watched it live, and literally the day i watched it i remember thinking to myself "why did they have a boy named william? they should have had a girl named samantha. OF COURSE they should have had a girl named samantha," like it felt so obvious to me

and tho i couldn't rly articulate it this clearly at the time, my little muddy 8 year old thought process was that the entire story of the xfiles starts with samantha, right? mulder has his beliefs bc samantha was taken; he says so in the very first episode. the whole reason he even thinks aliens are real to begin with is bc of samantha. the person he spent his whole life searching for was samantha. he MET SCULLY bc of samantha. samantha is the thread that ties the whole story together, so then how beautiful--how narratively perfect--would it have been to tie THEIR story--their love story (bc xfiles is, at the end of the day, a love story, fight me) up with a bow, where the beginning starts with samantha getting lost, and then ends with samantha there in their arms, finally found, just in a different iteration. (instead of naming the baby after mulder's dad who he doesn't even like? or scully's dad. or scully's brother. or mulder's middle name, which is after his father ik, but still, why are there so many fucking williams??)

like, imagine it. rly sit there and take a moment to imagine how the end scene in "existence" would have gone if mulder had said, "what are you going to name her," and scully had said, "samantha"

not only does it get the "ding ding ding, you're the dad!" point across, but how fucking Touched would mulder have been to have the woman he loves--the PERSON he loves--more than anything on earth honor the sister who took up so much of his soul for so long? who always will take up part of his soul, just in a healthier way. it would be scully saying, "we know she's gone from this world now, but she's not gone from our hearts" emphasis on OUR hearts, bc mulder's pain is scully's pain; mulder's quests are scully's quests. she never met her sister-in-law (they're married, fight me), and will never have the chance, but by naming their child after her, she would be saying, "i love her anyway. i love her because you love her, and because anyone you love deserves my love as well, bc we are intertwined at our core. our fundamental values, our suffering, our joy, it is felt in us both concurrently, bc i am your person, and you are mine, and together we made a whole other person who is a literal representation of our combined selves, and we are going to call her SAMANTHA, bc that little girl you watched get stolen from you however many decades ago has been the pillar that has kept us going as a team for the last eight years"

or maybe it would have been even simpler than that. maybe she would just be saying, "your sister is IMPORTANT, mulder, even in death, and her memory isn't held only by you. it is unrelenting, and preserved forever in our child"

i wanted that scene. i wanted to feel the heaviness of mulder's grief mixed with his elation and gratitude and love. i appreciate william for who he was in the scheme of things, but that moment in the bedroom, with their baby between them, shouldn't have been lessened for me bc they chose a name that made me pause and go "his dad was named william? oh yeah! forgot about that guy, it's been a few YEARS since we saw much of him, and what we did see of him wasn't like... awesome. but sure, name your baby that ig, if you must"

that scene should have hit so much harder, and if that baby had been a samantha? it could have hit like nothing ever has, and for all the mishaps that show took after that (and there were MANY), i think the thing i will always have the most resentment for is the fact that i felt robbed of something that would have meant so much to me as a viewer who had followed their journey from the start (or, well, almost start. i was born the year it came out, so i didn't start watching until 1998, when my brain came online, but i'd seen the past stuff at least)

anyway! that's all to say, 8 year old me was salty as hell about that, and ykno what? she was RIGHT and should have been able to say it. but, again, 2001, 8 years old, not old enough to participate in fandom, so that thought has just festered and rotted away in my brain like a piece of old, putrid meat. but! finally i can give my 8 year old self some catharsis by letting her bitch and bitch and bitch to her heart's content about how "existence" should have been the series finale, and how that baby should have been a girl named samantha, and how i climbed onto that hill 23 years ago, and how i will die there with my heels dug down deep

ty, internet, for coming to my extremely overdue tedtalk. somewhere in the past there is a small child (who definitely shouldn't have been allowed to watch xfiles as young as she did, but what can you do?) finally has a weight off of her chest. it's just a tv show, and in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter, but also, it's a tv show that i grew up with in my formative and unfortunately very traumatic years, and it genuinely feels like a loved one who has always been there to comfort me, and so yeah, it doesn't "matter," but the truth is, it Matters so incredibly much

that's all

-diz

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully moments from s1

when she gets SO mad at mulder's assumption that werewolves are real in episode 19 that she yells about how "no one can change into an animal! >:(" and gets out of the car

talking to her friend in episode 5 who says something like “isn’t that guy you work with cute?” to which she responds “he’s a jerk. no, he’s not a jerk…” lmao. crush behavior.

when she deserved the nobel peace prize in episode 10 for not slapping mulder upside the head after getting roped into treating horrific burn victims AND THEN coming back to his room where he immediately jumps into a new alien rant

(and, earlier in the same episode, when she showed up across the country to bail his ass out for breaking into another top secret facility… have we all thanked her for dealing with this nonsense?)

pretty much every scene in episode 13 broke my heart, but i was especially moved by her asking her mother if her father was at all proud of her (to which she receives the non-answer "he was your father")

when jack gets shot in episode 15 and the other doctors say it’s not worth trying to save him, she tells them to keep trying or she’ll do it herself (angry doctor mode <3)

when she learns about the guy who somehow managed to grow salamander hands in episode 16 and she is SO shocked and pleased by this fact. regardless of the implications (nerdy doctor mode <3)

despite her lack of belief in the existence of spirits, she tells the girl who is being protected by her deceased loved one in episode 6 to "tell him you love him" which had me crying

she’s always running around reading stuff from files and each time it makes me SO happy. like yes girl tell us why that guy’s autopsy was super suspicious!

that time in episode 17 when one of mulder’s weird alien buddies takes her $20 and rips it up she gets so mad (which is entirely understandable and I would be too!)

anytime she interacts with an animal (dog, horse, monkey... she assumes they are all friends)

taking the time to talk about losing her father with both of the victims in episode 19 who lost their family members as well

when phoebe decides to show up and kiss mulder right in front of scully in episode 12, she does her absolute best to look away because she's a very good friend

and after phoebe finally leaves, she decides to get revenge on mulder by knocking at his door and doing a phoebe impersonation: “aren’t you going to take me for lunch?” ohhh yes that was deserved! more scully being british please! it's good for the soul!

[is-on-its-way]

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

[actual-changeling]

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.

[leighlew3]

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.

[leiascully]

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.

[television-overload]

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.”

[thursdayinspace]

fic master post

wild side - G, 1,205 words (AO3 link)

“Hey, Scully?” “Yeah?” “What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” Or: sometimes being stuck in the middle of nowhere on a dark and stormy night with your work partner of five-plus years is the best possible version of events.

in conclusion - T, 3,370 words (AO3 link)

It's the middle of the night in a freezing cold motel room and they both haven't slept. The best time and place to figure out how relationships work -- theirs in particular.

time and space - M, 2,604 words (AO3 link)

Sometimes he wonders if it would be easier if she'd be gone from his life completely. Then he reminds himself: if she moved to the ends of the earth he would still want to follow her. And when she calls, he always answers the phone. Set during the revival era. They always find their way back to each other.

five ways to says "I love you" (plus one including words) - T, 4,501 words (AO3 link)

Just because something is unspoken, it isn't always unsaid. You just have to know what to look for.

sanctuary - T, 1,550 words (AO3 link)

In a world full of lies and fear and darkness, they have each other to be the light and shelter that they need. That's something to hold onto. They watch each other sleep and consider everything that means.

mend into pieces - Explicit, 1,641 words (AO3 link)

There is nowhere she would rather be than here, with him, making the biggest mistake of her life and enjoying every second of it. Every mistake made with him is greater than every win, every success, every moment of perfect joy she has ever experienced. She’ll break herself for him as he does for her. -- Set in early season 2, right after Scully's return.

travel in style - G, 1,401 words (AO3 link)

“I can’t believe there wasn’t a single room available anywhere,” Scully says, snuggling deeper under the jacket she’s using as a blanket, already sounding half asleep as she tilts the driver’s seat back into a reclined position. “Three motels and not one single bed to be found.” Mulder shifts in the passenger seat – which she had insisted he should take because of the leg room – and desperately tries to get comfortable. “That has literally never happened before,” he agrees, sliding the seat back as far as it will go. It’s still too cramped. “God, Scully, how can you ever sleep in the car? You always make it look so easy.”

from this morning forward - Explicit, 7,233 words (AO3 link)

Moving back in happens slowly. It's not a decision, it's not a plan. They've each battled their own demons, and now that the wounds are starting to heal, she's so tired of pretending that she doesn't miss him every day. After all, through the good times and the bad, it's always been the two of them, together. -- Set during the revival era.

it's the day the world didn't end - Explicit, 1,544 words (AO3 link)

The clock ticks over to the day the world doesn’t end and he kisses her. She kisses him back. It’s not a new year’s kiss, it’s a kiss more than six years in the making. -- Millennium fic.

got you covered - T, 2,419 words (AO3 link)

“Is it a bit cold in here?” He wraps his arms around himself, looking at her in her thick cardigan next to him on the couch. “The heating’s broken,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should have called you before you came over.”

words behind the meaning - G, 3,175 words (AO3 link)

He tells her he owes her everything and she owes him nothing. She knows that's not true, but she doesn't get to tell him. Life has other plans. But she knows. And once life lets her, she will tell him. -- Post-Fight the Future: they don't kiss in that hallway, but they get there eventually.

tuesday - M, 894 words (AO3 link)

They get married on a Tuesday. It just feels like the time is right. They've waited long enough; it doesn't matter that they're only just beginning to realize that.

yesterday's future - Explicit, 3,189 words (AO3 link)

They deserve to be happy. It's not too much to ask. It's something worth fighting for, something to hold onto; the light at the end of the tunnel. That is the one thing they promise each other above all else: a future where they don't have to run anymore.

spectacular - Explicit, 2,238 words (AO3 link)

They make rules, and they make them for good reasons. No kissing at work. Definitely no sex during work hours. And they would absolutely, definitely, under no circumstances ever break their own rules. (with wonderful art here)

ellipsis - Explicit, 3,758 words (AO3 link)

He's a free man again – it’s what they’d barely dared to dream. Now, she barely dares to ask him what he wants to do with his freedom. He doesn’t know.

beyond a doubt - T, 1,164 words (AO3 link)

Maybe their second meeting will be better than their first. He’s here even though the world has fallen apart. And she’s afraid. What will she do, what can she do if it’s not really him? If they have succeeded at last, destroyed him and left only an empty, Mulder-shaped hull in an awful prison suit. or: the kiss from The Truth, told in 1,000 words.

distractions - G, 1,181 words (AO3 link)

He wants to ask if she’s okay, but he knows the answer to that. And she’s told him more than once that she doesn’t want to talk about it. She says she has no memory of what they did to her. Sometimes he’s not sure he believes her.

coffee and pancakes - T, 1,881 words (AO3 link)

It’s amazing, he thinks, how quickly you can get used to things just because they feel right. It’s been no more than a few weeks since they unpacked the last of her boxes; there hadn’t been many to begin with. She had left a lot of stuff behind when she’d moved out and barely acquired new things during the time she’d been away. Everything is back where it belongs now. or: Scully has moved back in and Mulder is realizing that a home is not just four walls and a door.

no longer dreaming - Explicit, 2,626 words (AO3 link)

She refuses to do anything while he still has his arm in a sling. And while his body is straining towards her with every cell, deep down he’s grateful. All these years they’ve waited. He doesn’t want to rush this now. -- Post-millennium, they finally let themselves have what they've both wanted for so long.

home furnishings - Explicit, 5,008 words (AO3 link)

It starts with a sprained ankle and frustration about a broken chair. He knows it’s not IKEA’s fault. He and Scully have gone through a number of chairs over the years. But he thinks a billion-dollar multinational company will survive the scorn of one grumpy customer. (or: Mulder writes reviews. Mulder also loves Scully.)

all after such a desert - Explicit, 31,990 words (AO3 link)

He would rather stick his fingers in a wall socket than hurt or upset her, ever. He keeps waiting for this love to start hurting the way he knows all love hurts at some point down the road. But he’s loved her for years and here they are. Tentatively, timidly, his soul is still reaching for hers, asking it to soothe old hurts and pain. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to be enough, but he’ll try, he’ll try. And hope that eventually, maybe, one day he will deserve her, if he just tries hard enough. In which Mulder learns what it truly means to be a whole person to someone.

every possible way - Explicit, 7,268 words (AO3 link)

There's a first time for everything, but when the thing itself defies explanation, maybe there are more firsts than just the one. Or: five moments and everything between and after.

More short ficlets under the cut:

the ginger invasion - G, 723 words (AO3 link)

Mulder is sick. He never gets sick, and it's awful. It's terrible. Scully will be wondering why he isn't at work. He should call her. He just about manages to lift his head and there she is, Scully, in his bedroom doorway.

starstruck - G, 671 words (AO3 link)

"So, I guess she's sticking around, then?" Frohike asks, and Mulder looks up from . . . whatever it is Byers just put on the screen in front of him and nods. "Seems that way. At least for now." -- Mulder has a crush. The gunmen know it.

how many stars - G, 472 words (AO3 link)

"What are you thinking?" she asks, and he turns his head to the side, looks at her. "The universe," he says.

had you big time - G, 540 words (AO3 link)

"I've thought about our weekend away," he whispers against her lips, before he kisses her again. "I've had the perfect idea."

tasting raindrops - G, 385 words (AO3 link)

She laughs with him and can't look away, raindrops clinging to his lashes, water dripping from his nose -- not kissing him in this moment would defy every law of the universe.

what time do you call this? - G, 495 words (AO3 link)

He stirs as she carefully lowers herself onto the mattress and she pauses, not wanting to wake him. It's way after midnight and it's enough if one of them will be entirely sleep-deprived the next day.

heaven and hell - T, 996 words (AO3 link)

Hell doesn’t burn. There is no pit of fire. Heaven isn’t a green garden under a cloudless sky. Everything is made of moments, and they don't happen on schedule. But often, they happen with his hand in hers.

[randomfoggytiger]

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

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

Happy Birthday, @baronessblixen! :DDDDDDDDD

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

*-*-*-*-*

Prologue

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

Twenty more minutes and she would allow herself to think. 

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

Then home. 

Five more minutes. 

Purse, keys, exit. 

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

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

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

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

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

Kiss goodbye. “How was William?” 

“You should ask him, he’s still up.” 

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 1

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks ago, she saw him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Mulder.” 

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

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

Fox Mulder wore a wedding ring. 

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

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve never really found the time.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knew… what?” 

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

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

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

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

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 2

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

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

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

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

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

“Oh, Mom….”

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

“He always asks for his Thursday candy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“William? Are you awake?” 

His door was already open a crack, wooing her with lamplight and weeping violins. Sharing William’s secrets, or the allure of 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’ last night?”

“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, was 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 grow and shrink 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 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?” She 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.

[myheadsgonenumb]

Fanfic Interview

I'm stealing this from @sliebman10 and encourage all the other fic writers to steal it too.

How many works do you have on AO3?

18 - though one of them is currently hidden

What's your total AO3 word count?

3,039,123

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

The Wolf's Tail (currently not available)

It Wouldn't Be An Adventure Without You

Dark Things Are To Be Loved in Secret

A Grim Tale

Bite and Prejudice

... So all my Harry Potter fics, basically

Do you respond to comments?

I used to, but I've switched comments off on all my fics now.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I have a one shot for Angel the Series called Twenty Years which is quite angsty throughout or a Harry Potter one shot called Letters to No One that ends on a heartbreaking note.

For longer fics, season 3 of my AtS rewrites ends in nothing but badness and for HP I guess Nearer, My God, To Thee, because it's a Titanic wolfstar rewrite and they're both dead at the end of it.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

A lot of my works tend to be part of a series, so they don't really end so much as reach a point where the story stops being told in one fic and then gets picked up again in the next. I think my fic with the simplest most traditional happy ending is Bite and Prejudice - as that's just Pride and Prejudice and wolfstar and has the Pride and Prejudice ending.

Do you write crossovers?

So far only once (not including Buffy/Angel which are the same universe) and that was still within the Whedonverse. One Night In A Bar On Deadwood is a Buffy/Angel/Firefly crossover one shot where Spike meets River in a bar, where the crew are making a delivery.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Never anything personal to me, but I have had angry comments from people spontaneously bashing characters (who had done nothing to deserve it within the fic - just from their own preconceptions), angry comments from people who are very upset that there is some form of conflict in a fic, as they don't seem to like there being story in their stories, and one incredibly rude James stan who must have read over 150 000 words of The Wolf's Tail (in one sitting based on the time stamps) who wrote comment after comment about how I was writing my fic wrong, and how much I clearly hated James (I don't - canon James is a non-entity and I have no opinion on him and I am very fond of my James) and basically just spammed my inbox with how much they didn't like my fic because it didn't match their headcanons for the entirety of the day.

Do you write smut?

Not if I can avoid it. I prefer fade to black. If I have to write a sex scene I prefer to focus on the emotion of what is happening than the mechanics so it's still not that smutty.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes - Maybeonedayshewillbefree translated It Wouldn't Be an Adventure Without You into Chinese and Red_Yennifer translated Letters to No One into Russian. I'm still so amazed, flattered and touched that anyone liked my writing well enough to spend their time translating my work so more people can enjoy it.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No - I don't play well with others

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Mulder and Scully (I think I would die if David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson got together in real life!) But I am satisfied with what we get of them in the X Files and so have never felt any need to write about them.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I have an unpublished WIP called "I Know What You Did Last Autumn" which is a sort of horror/ghost story that starts with Snape being killed in The Prank and Sirius covering it up. I'm not sure I'll ever get around to finishing it because I have so much other HP stuff to write that I expect I will be exhausted with HP by the time I have time to write it.

Over on Buffy I have Hunger Longing Jealousy and Guilt which is a canon divergent fic where - instead of the Thanksgiving episode we get in canon - Angel gets captured by the Initiative and the scoobies and Doyle/Cordy have to team up to save him. I'd love to finish it but I won't until I drift back from the HP fandom to the Buffy one... and if I do that then I won't finish all my planned wolfstar fics.

What are your writing strengths?

I don't overthink it. What you read on Ao3 is pretty much the first draft (editing is mostly correcting typos) - I write quickly and fluently and just sort of let the words appear. I think that comes from having plotted quite extensively/ having a good idea of where I want the story to go.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Making things properly sad. I can make myself cry when I write it but when I read it back it just doesn't hit. Scary and sad - I can't do them very well.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I've used other languages - especially in It Wouldn't Be An Adventure Without You, where wolfstar travel across Europe. Usually I only use other languages when the protagonist doesn't understand what is being said, because then it doesn't matter if the reader understands it or not either. If I want the reader to know what is being said in a foreign language then I write in English but put it in italics.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I did consider writing a Stranger Things fic over the summer - it would have centred my beloved Steve Harrington... but I don't think I will ever write it and don't feel any pressing need to dabble in Stranger Things at the moment (this may change if Steve does not survive s5)

What's your favourite fic you've written?

I can't pick one.

Though I did just finish re-reading Dark Things Are To Be Loved in Secret and really enjoyed it.