#dana's like 'he's not my husband!!!!!' to the priest like mulder's a man she's been trying to shake off for twenty years

[backintimeforstuff]

ok confession time. so i've seen a lot of ppl recently talk about how they found out about mulder and scully's estrangement in the revival and how they were shook about it but. basically. ugh. it didn't realy work out that way for me. bc genuinely the first time i saw i want to believe the msr vibes were so insane that i thought they were already estranged. like i fully thought the unremarkable house was just. mulder's house. and scully just came over to visit. and stayed over. in a weird ex-wife sort of way ? so when the revival happened years later and everyone was all: omg mulder and scully broke up ??? i was just there like ???? no kidding ????

truly i have been misinterpreting this show for decades

[ghostbustermelanieking]

praescitum chapter seventeen

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten, chapter eleven pt 1, chapter eleven pt 2, chapter twelve, chapter thirteen, chapter fourteen, chapter fifteen,  chapter sixteen

casefile, season 10, season 11, pre-11x08 familiar. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

note: i finally finished this in full, all twenty chapters, so i should be able to post pretty regularly from here on out!! i plan to post the next four chapters every few days until i’m done, abiding to the schedule i failed to commit to in october lol. 

---

seventeen.

february, 2018

In the aftermath of the broken laptop, Scully seems to be very on-edge. Jumpy, tense, jerking whenever Mulder touches her shoulder. He suggests that he go out and buy a new laptop (he feels like the least they should do is replace Ryan's broken one), and she immediately insists on doing it herself, like she doesn't want to be left alone in the room.

After the laptop had flown across the room, he'd expected her to immediately come up with several rational explanations for how it had happened. He'd expected her to dismiss it as a normal occurrence. He hadn't expected her to be afraid, although he can't blame her. He is plenty spooked himself after everything. But it still throws him to see her reacting this way. In the aftermath of the crash, she hadn't said anything. She'd just stood there, fists clenched. As he went to go examine the broken machine, he'd thought he saw her fingers shaking.

They end up going to get the laptop together, simply because Mulder doesn't particularly want to be in the room alone, either. He'd expect her to tease him about being scared, just a little, but she stays quiet, winding a scarf around her neck under the sharp edges of her hair. They drive to the store together, taking the broken laptop, and pick one out that looks fairly similar.

Scully is unflinchingly stubborn about the entire thing. She doesn't want to talk about it. When Mulder brings up setting up some sort of device to monitor further paranormal activity in the hotel room, Scully says, “No, Mulder,” and that is that. No explanation as to why. She refuses to engage in further discussions on the subject. And he'd be willing to leave it alone if he didn't see the way she tenses up when they re-enter the room and her eyes fall on the dent that the laptop left in the wall. She's stiff, her hands clenched in her coat pockets.

Mulder steps close to her and puts a gentle hand on her back, murmurs, “Are you okay, Scully?”

She tenses even more, but when she turns around to face him, her response is less hostile than he'd expected: firm, but surprisingly gentle. “I'm fine, Mulder. Okay?” No room for argument.  

He rubs circles on the small of her back habitually; he doesn't believe her. “I'm a little on edge, too,” he says. “That was pretty unnerving.” Still nothing. Her gaze is somewhere between neutral and defiant. He runs his palm along her spine. “Do you want to get a different hotel room?” he offers. “Maybe at a different hotel?”

Her nose wrinkles, and she shakes her head automatically. “Don't be ridiculous. That's entirely unnecessary.” She steps away from him, setting her bag down on the little table. “So, what's the plan for tomorrow?” she asks, changing the subject smoothly. “I feel like one of us should go and see Joy Seers. Just to check in, maybe see what she remembers. Maybe talk to her husband, too, since he knew the girl who died before the Caruthers did in 2002.”

He doesn't push. He doesn't want to push too hard and drive her away. “That's a good idea,” he says. “I'd like to do some research, too, into ways to get rid of the ghost. Find out if there's some way to get rid of it without involving a priest.” He chuckles a little, and Scully shoots him a wry smile. But it comes out a little wobbly. “But we can both go to visit Joy, if you want,” he offers, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

She shakes her head. “No, you should focus on this research. I can pass on your well-wishes.” She bumps her elbow against his as she sits beside him. “Besides, we don't know if Skinner or Kersh are going to figure out where we are, and insist we come back,” she adds. “Tomorrow's Monday, remember?”

“Oh, nobody ever comes down there to check on us,” he says dismissively, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She doesn't shrug him off, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He kisses the top of her scalp. He murmurs into her hair, “Are you sure you're okay, honey?”

He can feel the clench of her jaw. “I'm fine, Mulder. Really.” She lifts her head and turns to kiss his cheek. “I'm going to take a shower, okay? We should get some sleep.”

She stands from the bed and begins pulling things from her overnight bag. Mulder watches her go, a little wistfully. He wants to reassure her, somehow, but he doesn't know how to. She's stoic, closed off, and she doesn't even believe in ghosts.

---

Scully can't sleep. It's ridiculous, but she can't. She can't relax enough. She's tense, jolting at every little sound: the air conditioning, the floorboards outside of their room, the wind outside their window. It sounds just the way it did on Halloween night of 2016 in their hotel room; it sounds like a human wail.

Mulder sleeps through all of it, snoring softly beside her, turned over on his side. She wishes, now, that she'd taken his offer to move to another hotel, but she is too embarrassed to admit that he was right, that she is frightened. He admitted that he was on edge, too, he gave her every opportunity to confess her nervousness, and she still held back. She can't admit how much seeing the laptop fly across the room scared her, she can't admit how frightened she's been by the things she's seen ever since they started coming to Willoughby. And as much as she's tried to rationalize the whole thing, she just can't.

She curls up against the warm plane of Mulder's back, her nose pressed against his shoulder, and shuts her eyes. Whatever she's seen, she reminds herself, he's seen it, too. Halloween of 2016 in the school. The night the assassins broke in, the night before they went to Norfolk, both times in dreams. She's seen it twice in dreams, she thinks—definitely after they came back from Norfolk, and possibly the night before the fire in Willoughby, back in 2016 (she thinks she remembers it that way)—and twice in person. Once in this very hotel, and once in her own home. And then tonight, whatever tonight was. It feels like nowhere is safe. She doesn't know what it is—whether it's a hallucination or paranoia or really, actually a ghost—and she doesn't know why she and Mulder keep seeing it, but she knows that it is not good. She knows that she is starting to agree with Mulder: that this thing needs to be gotten rid of. She just doesn't know how.

She finally falls asleep, uneasily, her chest to Mulder's spine and her hand on his hip, feeling the rise and fall as he breathes. When she drifts off, she is telling herself that she needs to tell Mulder, that she has to find a way to be honest with Mulder. But she falls asleep before she can figure out how.

---

In the morning, they have breakfast in the lobby. Scully thinks that Mulder must notice the circles under her eyes, but he doesn't say anything about them. Instead, he talks about some articles he found online. “There's lots of different options for getting rid of hostile spirits,” he says, “but I'm not sure how many of those would help in our situation. I don't know what Ryan did to get the ghost out of his house, but I don't think we can sage an entire town.” He chuckles, and Scully offers up a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. He takes a bite of toast, adding, “I thought I could walk to the library today. Kick it old school. Isn't there some book with a section about the Specter?”

“Sounds familiar,” says Scully, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Could be useful.” Mulder tears off a corner of toast and folds it around his last bite of bacon. “You going to talk to Joy?” he asks around his mouthful.

“I think so. I need to call her.” She takes a bite of yogurt, staring at her plate. “It doesn't feel right to just drop in,” she adds quietly.

Mulder reaches across the table to pat her hand. And then he asks it. “Are you okay, Scully?” he murmurs. “It looks like you didn't sleep at all last night.”

She yawns, and tries to stifle it. Tell him, a small voice in her head urges. Just tell him. You need to tell him. But she can't find the words. “Guess I was just restless,” she says. “But I'm okay.” She smiles toothily at him across the table, forcing the corners of her mouth to turn up.

He doesn't look convinced. He squeezes her hand. She tries, lamely, to change the subject. “Anything from Skinner yet?”

“No, not yet. I'd say we're in the clear, but it's still early.”

He smiles wryly, and her forced smile shifts into a genuine one. She loves him. She loves him so much, it hurts sometimes, and she's missed him desperately for years now. And here he is. She squeezes his hand this time. “I'll join you at the library when I'm done at the Seers's,” she says.

---

Scully calls Joy Seers after breakfast, using a number she finds listed in the phone book (she has Joy's cell from 2016, but after well over a year, who knows if it's still in use?). Fortunately, Joy seems open to a visit, subdued but still somewhat cheerful on the phone. She remembers Scully, and she tells her to come on over.

Scully finds the house easier than expected and parks on the street. The door is answered by a bearded man with glasses, who gives her a polite but questioning look. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Dana Scully,” Scully says, offering her hand to the man. “I’m an FBI agent. I… know Joy. I spoke to her about coming here?”

“It's okay, babe,” a voice says from behind the man, and then Joy appears in the doorway. She's a bit thinner than Scully remembers, hair down past her shoulders, but she smiles broadly at her and motions her in. “Agent Scully, it's good to see you again,” she says. “This is my husband, Ben, by the way.” Ben nods politely at her, shaking her hand as she enters.

“It's good to see you, too,” says Scully, really meaning it. “Mulder and I were so… worried, when we heard what had happened. And very, very relieved to hear that you were okay.” She feels awkward, unsure of what to say; a part of her wants to reassure Joy, tell her, I was in a coma, too. I know what it's like to have missing time. But she feels like it would be hollow, considering how different the circumstances are; she spent much less time in a coma, for one thing.

“I can tell you that I was very relieved as well,” Joy says with a soft laugh, motioning Scully towards the couch she'd sat on during her last visit. She waves at her husband as he disappears further into the house and folds her hands in her lap as she sits opposite Scully. “So what's up? I guess you guys are back in town because of the Specter? Has something happened?”

“Sort of,” Scully says, shifting uncomfortably. She's not exactly going to disclose that they are in town partially because Ryan Caruthers thinks she is possessed. She gives her the least descriptive summary she can. “We’re… here, more or less, because of Ryan Caruthers. He seems afraid of the… ghost.” After all this time, she still finds it hard to say the word. “He wants us to find some way to get rid of it.”

Something flickers over Joy's face, some dark sense of agreement, before it's replaced by neutrality. “I can't disagree with that sentiment,” she murmurs, shifting uncomfortably in place. She clears her throat and continues. “So, I guess you want to talk to me about that night?”

Scully nods, uncomfortable herself. This always was the hardest part, after she'd had to endure countless interviews of her own about various traumas and losses. Just tell us what happened. She hates it. “If you don't mind,” she says softly. “Whatever you can easily recall.”

“No, it's okay.” Joy offers her a small, considerably muted smile. “I still remember… some things from that night. Some things since.” She shrugs. “I remember… my necklace breaking by some invisible force,” she says, and it's only then that Scully notices the empty space at Joy's collarbone. “I remember driving home,” she continues, a little unsteadily. “I was just driving along, and… the radio just came on. I didn't touch it. I couldn't turn it off; I was just frozen. And then, I-I felt something come over me.” Her jaw is clenched, her teeth tight, and she is practically shivering in place. “I couldn't do anything, or stop it,” she finishes. “I couldn't stop it. I looked into the backseat, and I saw something, and it lunged at me. And then everything went black.” She shrugs, a little shakily.

Scully doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what she could say. She doesn't want to ask the obvious question—What do you think that was? The answer seems obvious.

Joy clears her throat and continues. “I-I don't remember anything after that. I just remember waking up in the hospital.” She pushes curls behind her ear and offers Scully a muted, polite smile. “I assume,” she says, “that it had something to do with the hauntings. I know it sounds so silly, but… after everything that happened that night… I don't know what else it could be. All the things moving by themselves, all the things I had no control over…”

“I understand,” says Scully, and it feels like a confession, like the closest she'll come to admitting what she hasn't been able to tell Mulder. It almost feels like a betrayal, and that's what is truly silly. She should be able to tell people; she should be able to tell her husband.

Joy nods, running her fingers through her hair. “I don't know what to make of it,” she says. “I still have nightmares, sometimes, where I can't breathe, can't move… I still hear things sometimes that I think might be a ghost…” Scully is tempted to suggest sleep paralysis, but she keeps her mouth shut. Joy fidgets, nervously. “And things have been so strange, since I woke up…” she says in a soft voice, nearly a whisper. “I-I'm constantly on edge. I can't relax. I always feel like someone's watching me. And there are long periods of time that I can't rem—”

Joy stops, suddenly, mid-sentence, freezing in place. Her face goes stiff and expressionless; her eyes go blank. She quivers a little in place. “Joy?” Scully asks, and then, with more fear when she doesn't reply, she repeats, “Joy?”

The woman quivers again, blinks slowly, and shakes her head. “I'm sorry,” she says, almost delicately. “I am afraid I lost track of what I was saying.”

“Are you all right?” Scully asks, feeling Joy's forehead with the back of her hand. “Does your head hurt? Do you feel dizzy?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Joy says, surprisingly composed. She smiles, but there's something different about it. Something more biting. Scully removes her hand from her forehead.

“Is there anything el—?” she starts to ask, but Joy seems to have zeroed in on something else. She's staring at Scully's collarbone, her cross and her wedding ring, peeking up above the collar of her shirt.

Self-conscious, Scully starts to tuck the necklace away, but Joy reaches for it first, gesturing to her cross. “This necklace is very beautiful,” she says in a soft voice.

Scully shivers inadvertently. She vaguely remembers having a discussion with Joy about their similar necklaces, but she isn't sure whether or not Joy remembers that. She wonders if Joy's necklace was lost after the accident. “Thank you.”

“A lovely cross. And is that your wedding ring?” Joy traces the shape of the ring in the air with one finger. Scully swallows, nods. Joy looks up at her, her eyes dark as they meet. “I assume your faith in God is quite strong,” she says. “As is your faith in all other situations. That you trust your God to protect you. Am I correct?”

Scully swallows again, roughly, and looks away. “I suppose so,” she murmurs. She's uncomfortable, her spine crawling, her heart thudding. “I appreciate you talking with me like this, Joy,” she says, tucking hair behind her ear. She suddenly remembers something, a lame grab at shifting the subject. “Actually, do you think your husband would mind if I asked him some questions? I know that he knew the girl who committed suicide back in 2002—Holly Smith.” She has a sudden revelation and shifts in her position, away from Joy. “And he had the theory about the ghost being malevolent, right? The one you told us about last Halloween?”

“Yes,” Joy says, subdued. “You wish to speak to him?”

Scully's eyebrows raise. The change in Joy's demeanor, in her pattern of speech, is vaguely concerning, but she doesn't say anything about it. She's still unnerved by their earlier interactions. “Yes.”

“I will go get him.” Joy stands and starts for the door. To Scully's shame, she lets out a little exhale at her exit. She feels horrible, but Joy's shift in behavior threw her. After a nearly sleepless night, she doesn't think she can handle more tension.

A few minutes later, Ben Seers pads in, absently pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Joy said you wanted to talk to me?” he asks. “Agent Scully, right?”

“Yes. I would like to have a word, if you don't mind.” She starts to stand, but Ben motions to the couch, and she sits back down. He sits in the chair across from her. Scully clears her throat, picking at a cuticle, feeling awkward. “I wanted… to ask about Holly Smith,” she starts, and Ben's eyes almost immediately cloud over, a familiar look of grief. This is always one of the hardest parts. “You-you were close with her before she died, right?” she continues awkwardly

Ben laughs bitterly. “We were dating,” he says. “Is this because Jared Caruthers is going on parole this week? Or because of the Specter legend?”

Scully pushes at her cuticle. “Sort of both,” she admits uneasily. “Do… do you believe in the legend?”

Ben bites his lower lip, shifts in his chair. “Back then, I thought I did,” he admits. “It was… exciting, and mysterious, and I wanted to believe in ghosts. Hol and I, we both loved ghost stories. We did research together in our spare time, I was thinking about writing my thesis on local history, and it made sense… Joy told you about my theory, right? That the Specter is—was, whatever—demonic?” Scully nods. “That wasn't my theory, not exactly. It was Holly's. I found all the pieces, but she put them together. We kept digging further and further, to form a hypothesis; I know she was talking to Jared about it. She actually got excited when she told me that she was seeing the ghost, as if it couldn't absolutely destroy her.” Ben laughs again, rubbing his eyes wearily. “I don't know if I believe in the ghost anymore,” he says. “Fifteen, sixteen years ago, my girlfriend and I research the ghost, she starts seeing it, and then she commits suicide. A year and a half ago, my wife tells me about her classroom supposedly being haunted, and then she has a car accident and falls into a coma for a year and a half. Part of me wants to make something more of it, and part of me just wants to leave it alone. Jared tried to figure out why Holly died, if it wasn't her fault that she died, and he ended up killing his brother and sister-in-law. I may be selfish, but I don't want to look any further, you know? I don't want to risk anything else happening. I'm just grateful that Joy is okay.”

“I understand,” says Scully, because she does. She pushes at her thumbnail with her pointer finger. She tries a different approach. “Can I ask you about Jared Caruthers? I guess you must have known him pretty well in the time before he committed the murders.”

“I did.” Ben nods. “He was Holly's best friend. Since childhood. They hung out a lot, and I know they really loved each other. And to be honest, I liked him a lot, too. He was a good guy. He was absolutely devastated when Holly died. Tried to convince me that the Specter was responsible.” He rubs at his eyes again, his forehead. “I don't know why he committed those murders. At first, I didn't think he had committed those murders. I couldn't believe it; I thought he must've been framed. And now? I don't know. I hope he takes this chance on parole to turn his life around.”

“You didn't see any indications that he was going to hurt anyone?” she asks. She is trying to cover all of the bases. She still doesn't know if she believes that Jared Caruthers was possessed or not. “Any signs?”

Ben shakes his head. “I didn't. But then again, I wasn't really looking. I was grieving, and I didn't see a lot of him after I rejected his theory of the Specter's involvement.”

Scully nods. She has more questions she feels like she should ask—she thinks that Mulder would want to ask more questions—but she doesn't want to push. She understands the pain, the worry, the grief; she's seen it a thousand times, felt it a thousand times. She picks up her bag and stands. “Thank you so much for speaking to me,” she says. “You and Joy.”

Ben nods. “I hope I could help,” he says. “Although I'm still not entirely sure what it is you're investigating.”

Scully laughs quietly despite herself. “Neither do I, half the time,” she admits, and Ben smiles politely. She starts to walk off, but the sound of footsteps further in the house makes her pause. She remembers Joy's strange behavior, the sudden way she seemed to change: right in the middle of a sentence, something about long periods of time since she woke up. It's stuck in her mind, she can't let it go. She steps a bit closer to Ben's chair and says in a soft voice, “If you don't mind me asking… how has Joy seemed since she woke up?”

Ben looks surprised. “S-she's seemed fine,” he says. “Pretty healthy… maybe a little odd at times, but I figured that was to be expected, with the adjustments… Why do you ask?”

There are the footsteps again, heading towards the living room. Scully straightens up, replying, “No reason,” in an even voice, and hating the fearful tingle traveling up and down her spine. “I just wanted to check in.” You are being ridiculous, she scolds herself silently. There is nothing to be afraid of. There's nothing to be afraid of. She smiles brightly at Joy when she re-enters the room.

---

Mulder calls her en route to the library. Scully presses the Answer button and tucks it between her ear and her shoulder, answering, “Hey,” in lieu of her usual Scully. She admittedly loves the advantage of caller ID.

“Hey, Scully, it's me,” Mulder says, the same way he did twenty years ago. (Despite the caller ID.) He sounds stunningly solemn. “I just got a call from Skinner. He's got a case for us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It's, uh… it's a child.” His voice is grim now, almost apologetic. “The son of a local law enforcement officer in a little town called Eastwood, Connecticut. Found dead in the woods.”

Scully winces on instinct. “That's horrible,” she says.

“It is.” Mulder sighs on the other end, weary and emotional. She knows that emotion. She recognizes it as well as she did the things that Joy and Ben Seers were feeling. This is going to be hard.

She tries to change the subject. “So, why are we being called in? What's the X-File?”

“Local police are saying it's an animal attack, but the FBI thinks otherwise,” says Mulder. “Skinner wants us to take a look; he's sending the file our way. But I think the general theory is that it may be a murder, and Skinner seems to think it has the M.O. of an X-File.”

“Well, whether it's a murder or an X-File, I think it's worth looking into,” says Scully. As it much as it hurts to say it—as much as she knows it will hurt to work this case—she knows it needs to be solved. For that child, for his family. “Especially if the local police are ignoring facts.”

“I agree,” says Mulder. “And Skinner told me that no one else was available to fly out to Connecticut, anyway.”

Scully bites her lower lip and nods. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, still tense and jittery. “When do we leave?”

“In a couple hours. There's a flight at one. I think, if you're up for it, we could probably take a look at the crime scene at maybe examine the body today. I'm headed back to the hotel to pack up.”

“I'll meet you there,” she says. “I'm on my way back from meeting with Joy Seers.”

“Okay,” Mulder says. “Oh, how was Joy doing? Did she remember anything?”

“She did,” Scully says. “It's a long story, I'll fill you in.”

“Okay. I'll see you in a few.”

“See you in a few,” she says, and he hangs up.

She exhales deeply, dropping her phone in the passenger seat. She's tired. She's very tired. And she knows this case is going to be incredibly hard. She's been thinking of her son frequently for years now, and almost constantly since December, and she knows that this case is probably going to just make it harder. Operating on almost no sleep and a fearful demeanor won't help, either. She's going to buy a cup of coffee at the airport and possibly try to nap on the plane.

Scully flips on her turn signal as she prepares to change lanes. Her eyes shift up absently to her mirror and note the car behind her. And then land directly on the dark, humanoid shape in the backseat.

Scully screams, shrill and fearful like a child, and slams down on the brake. The car screeches to a stop abruptly; a horn honks longly and indignantly behind her. She looks over her shoulder at the backseat, and then back at the rearview mirror. There's nothing there.

Her heart is thudding too hard against her ribs, she's breathing too rapidly. A tear wells in her eye, and she frustratedly wipes it away. Grits her teeth, takes a deep breath, and takes her foot off the brake. There's nothing to be afraid of, she tells herself. There's nothing to afraid of.

But the more she thinks it, the more it doesn't sound true.

---

After school, Ryan's doing homework at the kitchen table, trying his best to concentrate on that and not worry about his aunt at work, or wonder why he hasn't heard from Agents Mulder and Scully yet, when the doorbell rings.

Ryan clambers to his feet immediately and heads for the door, assuming it must be the FBI agents. But when he opens the door, he finds a kid standing there with rumpled hair and a Spiderman sweatshirt. It takes a few seconds, but he finally recognizes him: it's Robbie O'Connell, much taller than Ryan remembers. (He hasn't seen very much of the kid since the fire, for obvious reasons; the sheriff was pretty amicable about the whole thing at the time, and he knows that Annie is still friends with Bonnie O'Connell, but it's not like they're getting invited to barbecues anymore. And certainly, there are no more offers to babysit.)

“Rob,” Ryan says with shock. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Mom and Dad told me not to come,” Robbie says, rocking back and forth on his heels. Ryan raises his eyebrows at the kid, and he continues. “But I wanted to come. I didn't know who else would know what to do.” The kid looks up at Ryan, almost shyly. “And I don't think you set that fire to hurt Dad. You wouldn't do that.”

“Oh,” Ryan says awkwardly. “Um, thanks, kid.” Robbie is still staring at him with those little-kid eyes, so Ryan adds, “W-what's going on?”

“I'm seeing the ghost again,” Robbie says in a rush, bouncing up and down on his feet, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt. Ryan's eyes widen instinctively; in the back of his head, he thinks distantly: Oh, shit.

Robbie's still talking, nearly rambling. “I've seen it four times since Christmas, Ryan, and I'm really, really scared,” he says. “The last time that happened, my dog ran away, and my dad and my Uncle Kenny almost died. I don't want that to happen again!” His lip trembles like he is going to cry.

“Hey, hey, buddy.” Ryan leans forward and pats the kid's shoulder. He's never been great with kids—marked by both the fact that everyone in town thinks he's a criminal, and by the fact that he's never really been around them, anyways—but he'd always felt pretty okay with Robbie. He pats Robbie's shoulder, trying his best to be reassuring. “It's going to be okay,” he says, and hopes desperately that it's not a lie.

“D-do you know what to do to stop it?” Robbie asks softly.

Ryan meets the kid's eyes, and tries his best to look serious. To convey seriousness and comfort with one look. “I'm working on it, Rob,” he says. “I promise you, I'm working on it.”

He knows what Robbie is fearing. He's been seeing the ghost, too, and it's been more frequently than normal, which is saying something. He's worried about what it could do to his family. Jared is going on parole in a couple of days, and now Robbie is seeing the ghost again, and it all feels too convenient. His house is safe—he thinks, he hasn't seen the ghost inside the house since last December, but he can't really know for sure, can he? He's scared, too. He's scared, too.

Robbie sniffles, dragging the back of his wrist across his nose like it's running. And Ryan suddenly remembers something: Robbie didn't used to be scared of the ghost. Robbie used to think it was cool. Robbie used to want to see the ghost. “Hey, Robbie?” he asks tentatively. “What happened? Last I remember, you used to like the ghost. You thought it was really cool.”

Robbie looks up at him, his eyes huge. “The ghost always shows up before bad stuff happens, but he never tells you what to do about it,” he says—incidentally the same case Ryan has been making for years, but he lets it slide. Having just one more person believe him about the ghost being evil feels like a victory.

“And—” Robbie continues pointedly before pausing, licking his lower lip thoughtfully. “You remember how I used to feel when I saw the ghost? Real good, like it was an angel?” he asks, and Ryan nods. “Well, it doesn't feel like that for me anymore. It feels bad. It feels scary.”

It'd never felt that way for Ryan. He's been seeing the ghost since he was little, and it has never once felt good.

---

Ryan sends Robbie home, mostly because he hardly wants to be on the O'Connells's bad side. Before the kid leaves, he promises he's going to do everything he can to help him. “You remember those FBI agents who came to town when your dog was missing? The ones you called Men in Black?” he asks, and Robbie nods. “I called them,” Ryan says, feeling almost proud of himself. “They're going to help. They're going to try to get rid of it.”

But that isn't exactly true, he finds out a few minutes later. He calls Agent Mulder from the number he saved into his phone last year, to let him know that Robbie saw the ghost, and also to see if they've made any progress. But Agent Mulder doesn't pick up immediately. And when he finally does, it's with apologies. Apparently they've been called out of town to Connecticut. Some case that apparently takes priority over this one. “I'm sorry, Ryan,” he says, “but we were in such a hurry to get out of town, I forgot to get in touch with you…”

Anger rises in Ryan's throat—sudden, like bile—and he blurts, “That's bullshit!” Agent Mulder tries to say something on the other end, but Ryan keeps going, plunging like a freight train. “You said you'd try to help me. You said you'd do your best!”

“We will do our best, Ryan,” Agent Mulder says, his voice annoyingly patient. “We want to help you. These orders to work this case are coming from above us, and it's more or less urgent… it's a murder investigation. It's more of an actual investigation in general… We couldn't justify staying in Willoughby over this case.”

Ryan works his jaw back and forth, grits his teeth until his bones ache. “That's bullshit,” he mutters, quieter. It does make sense, he guesses, but at the same time, it doesn't. Why would they come here if it wasn't a priority? What will he be able to do if he doesn't have any help from them? The local police won't be any help—they’ll just laugh at him and tell him the Specter isn't dangerous—and he can't do it by himself. He can't do it by himself.

“Ryan, I'm sorry,” Agent Mulder says, and he does sound almost genuinely sorry. Almost. “There wasn't anything that could be done… How about this, okay? If anything happens… if anyone is in danger, or gets threatened, if anyone gets hurt… call me and Agent Scully and I will be there as soon as we can.”

Ryan shuts his eyes with frustration. He feels like a little kid, the way this guy is talking to him. It infuriates him to no end, the promise of help just to have that hope taken away. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles angrily, kicking a leg of the table. “Whatever. See you later, I guess.”

“Wait, wait,” says Agent Mulder before Ryan can yank the phone away from his ear. “What did you call to tell me about? What happened?”

Ryan thinks of Robbie, weepy and frightened on his porch. He thinks of the ghost outside his door, Annie's or Mrs. Seers's blank eyes, the scissors raised in the air. He thinks of the fact that they're pretty far away, and that they didn't seem to think they could help anyway. Especially Agent Scully.

“Nothing,” he snaps. “Good luck on your murder case, I guess.”

“Ryan—” Agent Mulder starts, but Ryan has already hung up. He drops the phone on the table and drops his face into his hands.

---

That night, Ryan can't sleep. Can't relax, can't stop thinking. He gets up and checks the salt lines along his windows, a habit he's developed in the weeks since the banishing incident. He replaces them weekly, all over the house, and frequently sages. Annie has stopped questioning it. She doesn't argue, but Ryan can tell she doesn't exactly approve. He doesn't know if she believes in the ghost, the danger; he doesn't care.

Ryan rechecks the salt line and notes, satisfied, that the line is still there, unbroken. He straightens up, looking out into the dark night as he reaches for the shade, and then he freezes. His eyes land on a hulking figure down by the tree in the backyard. A small light flicks to life, almost like a lantern.

Ryan clenches his jaw to keep from huffing in disgust and yanks the shade down, hiding the shape from view. He checks the line one more time: still unbroken.

He tries to scoff it off, tries to act like it's no big deal. But he can't stop shivering, as if freezing, as he climbs into bed. His hands won't stop shaking.

---

march, 2018

A few days later, Ryan gets a call from Jared, who is officially out on parole. They've more or less made up since their argument in December, although Ryan senses that Jared is still upset that he tried to banish the ghost, and he is still hurt that Jared scolded him for trying to protect himself. But whatever the case, Ryan has been trying to keep up with the parole process. He's scared to death about what's going to happen now that Jared is out. It has been something of an awkward process with his aunt's resentment for her brother, but he's somewhat been making it work.

“I just wanted to check in,” Jared says when he calls. “An old friend from in here who got out a few years ago agreed to let me stay with him; he lives in Winchester.” (The next town over from Willoughby.) “He's just picked me up, we're headed over now. I just wanted to tell you that you're welcome whenever—”

“No, no, no,” Ryan interrupts, waving his hands in the air frantically like he can erase the words. “No, you can't go there, Uncle Jared. You gotta come here. You gotta come straight here.”

There's a moment of empty silence on the other end, and then a nervous laugh on Jared's part. “Ryan, I-I don't know that that's a good idea,” he says. “Your aunt, she… she doesn't want to see me.”

Almost as if on cue, Annie walks into the room and sees him on the phone. Her eyes narrow, as if she's zeroing in, and she mouths, Is that Jared? Ryan nods impatiently, turning in his side so he doesn't have to awkwardly stare at her. “It doesn't matter. You've gotta come anyway. It's the only safe place; I've made it safe. The Specter can't hurt you if you're in the house.”

Ryan can sense Annie's discomfort behind hm. “Ry—” she protests briefly, but he ignores her. “Please,” he says, his voice husky. Ever since the FBI agents left town, he's been on edge. Worrying about himself, his friends, his family. Robbie O'Connell and his family. He can't stand worrying anymore. “Please come here.”

Jared laughs again, uneasy. “Oh, Ryan, I don't know…”

“Come here. Straight here.” He stabs the tabletop with his finger. “Aunt Annie is fine with it.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“She is, I swear.” Ryan turns in his chair to face his aunt again, and throws her a pleading look. She looks pissed, her arms crossed, but she's not shaking her head. She leaves a sigh, rolling her eyes, and shrugs. “It's fine,” he insists into the phone—it’s not entirely a lie. “Seriously. Please come here. W-we need to figure out what to do about this. We need to figure out how to stop it.”

Jared sighs, almost the same way as Annie did. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I'll come, but not permanently, okay? This isn't going to be easy, Ryan.”

“ I know. I know. Just please come here, okay? It'll be fine,” he says, irritated. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Jared says with a sigh. “Ryan, I don't want to doubt you… but are you sure it's this dangerous right now? You've been seeing the ghost for years, right? Why is right now so important, after everything that's happened over the past sixteen years?”

Ryan sighs, rubbing his forehead with his palm. He thinks of Robbie seeing the ghost, of seeing the ghost outside his window that night. That's not the first time it's happened, and that's not the last time, either; he's seen it several times since. It all coincides: Robbie seeing the ghost, him seeing the ghost, Mrs. Seers being possessed, Jared getting out of prison… He knows what people are saying around town. They're saying that Jared is coming back to kill him and take his final revenge, or that he's coming back to team up with him, and the Caruthers will go on a killing spree around town. It's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, but he's probably not doing a very good job of steering clear of those rumors, asking Jared to come here. But he doesn't care. He just wants to keep the people he loves safe, and with those FBI agents out of town, he doesn't know how else to do that. “It just is,” he says. “Trust me, okay? Let's not have history repeat itself.”

Jared chuckles humorlessly, bitterly. “That's a low blow, kid,” he says. “I'll be there in about an hour, okay?”

“Okay,” Ryan says, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Okay, thank you. Thank you. I'll see you then.”

When he hangs up, he looks up to find Annie staring at him, eyebrows raised. “You know, kid,” she says, “I figured you'd want me to spend some time with my brother after he got out. I just didn't think it would be so soon.”

Ryan sighs heavily. “I'm sorry, Aunt Annie. I just…”

“It's not safe anywhere else but here?” she asks incredulously. “What the hell does that mean, Ryan? Are you still scared of the Specter?”

“It's a long story, okay?” he replies, nearly whining. “Can you just… trust me? Can you trust me about this? I'm doing all of this to keep us safe.”

Annie shuts her eyes with frustration, shaking her head. “I just don't get it,” she says. “I want to support you, Ryan… I want you to do what you need to do to get over what happened… but I just don't understand how you could feel safe around that man, after what happened. After what he did to your parents.” She groans, rubbing her temples as if she has a headache, and shakes her head as if to erase the words. “I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't say those things to you, but… I know something's going on. It's been going on for years. And I've never completely understood it, but… can you explain it to me? Can you try?”

Ryan's not looking at his aunt directly anymore. He's looking over her shoulder, through the kitchen window. By that same tree in the backyard is the familiar form of the Specter, sans lantern. He's turned away so Ryan can't make out his face but it's him, he'd recognize him anywhere. And then as Ryan blinks, he's gone. As if he was never there.

“I'd tell you…” Ryan says in a tremulous voice. “But… I just don't think you'd believe me.”

[greekowl87]

Fic: False Flags Redux 9/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) | AO3

And, as always, thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie for helping make this possible. And thanks to everyone who has  read, commented, liked, and reblogged this story. Tagging @today-in-fic .

9/13

Yorktown, Virginia October 12, 1862

Scully brought her wool shawl around her as she held her basket close to her chest and struggled down the muddy main street back to the small farmhouse that she and Mulder shared with an old man and his wife. By now, she honestly thought they’d be in Richmond by now but with the war and the Union’s undying peninsula campaign, she was just happy to be alive and with Mulder by their side. So they went into a small lull of paradise living in Yorktown. In an agreement, they kept up their appearances as Katherine and William, a young couple who had yet to be married. A young couple who had given up their wedding bands in favor of their lives never allowed the chance to marry, with all family dead. But things had changed. Tomorrow morning, despite the union occupation, they were ready to tie the knot, officially, well, Katherine and William were on paper, but it would her and him, as Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, officially husband and wife. But it made her smile. False names, false lives, but her and Mulder were genuine. For the first time in her life, she could remember being happy.

Scully kicked a loose pebble stuck in the mud as she trudged through the main street towards the carriage house she and Mulder lived in on the small farm. As she neared the property, she went to the main house first to drop off her basket from the market. She opened the door and undid her shaw, placing the basket on the kitchen table. “Sharon, I’m back!” she called.

“In here, Katherine. We, um, have a visitor.”

Scully stiffened, her hand dancing around her  apron where she wore the knife that she hid in her dress. “Where’s William?” she called, thinking of Mulder.

“With me.”

Well, she thought, if they weren’t dead, then things had to somewhat safe. She relaxed and forced a smile on her face and walked into the sitting room. Mulder instantly rose first, holding out his hand to her. Scully grasped his hand tightly and glanced at the old couple who took them in, Walter and Sharon Skinner, and then the stranger, a familiar man dressed in a Union officer’s uniform. Scully felt Mulder’s arm come around her possessively and she gave a weak smile.

“Charlie," Scully greeted him stiffly.

Mulder loosened his grip on the mention of her younger brother’s name. Scully turned to him and placed a calming hand on his chest. ��It’s Charlie, my brother,” she whispered, “we’re okay.”

Mulder focused on her and nodded. Mulder had never met any of Scully's family but he knew their names. Scully rubbed Mulder's arm soothingly. “Charlie, how did you find me?”

“Can we speak in private, Katherine?”

Mulder did not let her go and the old farmer, Walter, stood angrily. “I will not be demeaned in my own house, nor will they! I tolerate the Union Army but I will not be belittled in my own home.”

“I mean you no harm, sir. And my apologies” Charlie bowed in humility. “I have searched for my sister so long. It’s been months since I last received a letter from her.”

Mulder arched an eyebrow suspiciously. It had been months since Scully attempted to write her family. Mulder pulled her closer as Charlie gazed at Mulder cautiously before looking at Walter. “It is okay, Mr. Skinner,” Scully said, hugging Mulder. “This is my youngest brother.”

“Are you sure, Catherine?”

“Yes. I would recognize him anywhere." She could feel Charlie's gaze bearing into Mulder and the fact he held her. "I’ll bring William with me. I wish to talk to him in private.” Mulder’s eyes never left the union officer’s face, staring at him with contempt. “It’s okay, William.” Her hands came out and rubbed his arms. “William. It’s okay.” He nodded. Scully took a deep breath and turned to their benefactors. “We’ll be okay, Walter.”

The bald farmer eyed the union officer wearily. “Sharon and I will be out in the kitchen if yout need anything.”

The three watched the old couple leave before the Union office hissed at Scully. “What the hell were you thinking, Dana, running off with the Union coming?”

Mulder released Scully and watched Scully immediately grow stern, fostering a presence he had only seen in private in between them. He saw a strong and capable woman and he fell in love with her even more and his heart soared. “Mulder,” she began, motioning to the officer, “this is Lieutenant Charles Scully, my contact, and youngest brother.”

"Mulder?" The youngest Scully glared at Mulder. “Dana, this was your contact?”

She wrapped her arms defensively around herself and walked to the window. “Scully, you okay?” Mulder asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she replied, giving him a small smile.

“Dana, what happened to your husband? Your mission?”

Mulder looked at the new stranger. “He was wounded in the thigh during the battle of the ironclads. Damn fool took one of the rifles from my marines to fire on the ship and shore.” Mulder spoke brusquely.

Charlie turned to gather and measure Mulder and Scully stormed in between them. She caught Mulder’s hand gently, instantly calming him and the action did not go unnoticed by her brother. “Where is your husband, Dana?”

“Dead as far as I am concerned,” she shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him since he transferred Mulder to ‘watch over me.’”

“Then why is he still here?”

"We escaped when the Union came to Norfolk. We thought it was best if we ran."

"You letter indicated Richmond. Why are you not there?"

"The opportunity never presented to itself."

"Then why are you still here?"

“I love him.”

Mulder smiled and fought from letting it showed, despite the tense situation, but he remained silent but he loved Dana Scully more than ever. “You love him, Dana? You’re a married woman!”

“I am a person,” she detested hotly. "And as far as I am concerned. A widow. I do not know if Franklin is alive or not. I do not know where he is."

“A fallen woman,” her brother echoed ominously.

“My life is my decision, Charlie.”

“You risk our cause, Dana! All for what? This man?”

“This is the man who got you your information,” she yelled. “He risked everything for is. Isn't it enough I trust him with my life?”

“So much you forsake your own marriage? Who are you now?”

“What marriage?” she answered heatedly. “I hated him. As far as the world is concerned, my husband is dead, Dana Buchanan is dead. I'm Dana Scully once more. And I am to marry Fox Mulder this Sunday, officially, in front of a Catholic priest. I would appreciate if you were there.”

The invitation left the air bitter as Charlie chewed his jaw. "If I could find you, and if Buchanan is alive, Dana, how do you know he won't find you?"

“The question I should be asking is how you found us,” Scully countered.

“Do not turn this around to be about me, Dana.”

“If you found me, what is to make me think we are safe anywhere?” Scully turned to Mulder, fear and worry etched in her face. “Mulder, we can’t stay here.”

“Scully, calm down,” he said softly. He hesitated before reaching out to grasp her hand. His other hand cupped her cheek. He could feel Charlie's scorching gaze. “We’re safe here. No one has found us.”

“How long, Mulder before someone does?”

Mulder glanced at her youngest brother wearily. He debated whether to go any further with revealing his identity. She sensed his hesitation and took his hand. “Charlie is okay, Mulder,” she whispered affectionately. “It would be big brother Bill you would have to worry about. You can trust him. We're safe.”

Charlie relaxed slightly seeing his sister open up to this towering stranger which he regarded with distrust. “Dana, who is this man anyways to you,” he asked, forcing himself to calm his demeanor.

“My real name is Fox Mulder,” the tall man replied, straightening up to his full height. He held out his hand in greeting. “Former lieutenant in the Confederate marines, and before that, a captain in the United States Army, and used to be a spy.”

“You were Dana’s contact,” Charlie asked, shaking the hand reluctantly. “The mysterious ‘M.’”

“M. for mysterious?” He chuckled. He cast a sideways glance at Scully. “Scully, you make me sound more appealing than I am.”

“You very appealing, Mulder,” she murmured affectionately.

“Mr. Mulder, or should I say, Mr. Healey?” Charlie asked.

“Healey,” he specified. “We are a young married couple who never actually had a chance to marry. Officially.”

“Beauty of poor wartime record keeping,” Scully added.

"Right."

“I will be outside with Walter.” He kissed her cheek softly and squeezes her hand. “Just holler.”

With that, he left brother and sister standing awkwardly in the small kitchen. Scully crossed her arms defensively. She gazed outside and watched Mulder walk towards the small outcrop of buildings, waving in greeting to Walter and Sharon. She looked at her baby brother critically. “How did you find me, Charlie?”

“You have a bounty hunter after your...partner.”

Scully overlooked his snide comment. “What bounty hunter? We covered our tracks.”

“Apparently not well enough,” he murmured.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were supposed to stay put in Norfolk.”

“What good would I do with the army occupying that city? I would have sat there, bored to tears. No, I did what I thought was best. It’s my life, Charlie. Not anyone else.”

“You were always too headstrong, Dana,” he sighed. “What about dad?”

“I did not want to marry that man. He is close to twenty years my senior, Charlie. He is dad’s age. It’s vile. I despised being married to him for several years. He already has nine children. He does not need me for that.”

Charlie looked down at the ground. “Mom would kill from grandchildren, you know that, Dae.”

“Because Missy choose the freer lifestyle, the responsibility of continuing the family line falls on me? I don’t think so,” she said defiantly. “Bill has three children, I know you’re wife is expecting soon, right?”

“We lost him two months ago, Dana."

"I'm sorry," she choked."

He waved off the condolances. "I could not contact you because I did not know where you were. Jesus, you just ran off with some stranger!”

“He is not just some stranger,” she hissed. Scully’s voice took on an edge that held ages’ worth of devotion and love for Mulder. “He is everything to me, Charlie. Everything. I have never felt such life and hope until I met him. I trust him, more than anyone else on this Earth, and not just with my life, my heart as well.”

Charlie gazed at her for a moment. “That’s a lot coming from you, Dae.”

“I mean every word.”

He weighed what he said next carefully. “Does he make you happy, Dana?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

He nodded. “I have duty come a calling. I am stationed here until February but come to the yellow house by the river if you can meet. That’s where I am staying. Maybe I can meet your new…”

“Husband,” she said.

“Husband." He licked his lips. You haven’t actually married, have you?”

“I already told you. We haven'. Yet. This Sunday, hopefully. I want to, but with our names…” Scully shook her head. “We’ll be by. When is convenient?”

“Tomorrow night around eleven. We’ll be safe and have privacy.” He gently kissed his sister's cheeks. “Till tomorrow, Dana.”

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Scully stretched as she regained consciousness, sleeping lingering around the edges of her perception. She stretched, like she usually did, feeling her muscles stretch but her morning ritual was stopped by a warm solid body pretzeled around hers. With her movement, a large hand from the arm resting around her midsection flexed against her abdomen, lingering over her fresh bullet scar from New York before caressing her skin lightly. Then a soft kiss on her shoulder and a large nose nuzzling her cheek.

It had been real. Not a dream from a lifetime ago.

“Hmph. What time is it,” he grumbled into her hair.

She blinked away the sleep from her eyes and saw darkness except for light from the parking lot lights filtering through the hotel window. “The sun hasn’t even risen yet.”

“Hmph. Go back to sleep.”

“Mulder.”

But he only answered her with a soft snore. Scully smiled and took the moment of silence to take in the moment. Ever since she had reclaimed her past memories of the 19th century, she had dreamed about Mulder, about moments like this. Scully had always some attraction to Mulder. She probably did not remember when it started, likely their first case when she had thrown herself into his arms half naked in fear of mosquito bits when the power had gone out. She remembered his hands smoothing over her back and the shivers she had gotten afterward. Maybe it had been then because that was when the fantasies had started, always starting with the lingering sensation she recalled of his hand on her shoulder.

But now. She snuggled against his chest as he was spooning her from behind. It had been so long since she had been touched like this. Sure, she hugged and kissed her mother but that was obligatory. She yearned for Mulder’s subtle touches, even if she would not admit it to herself, but now. This very moment. It was not a dream. Holy hell. It was real. Last night had actually happened.

She turned with difficulty to face Mulder, his arms hanging around her, their legs entwined in a knot. She raised her hand slightly and touched her cheek lightly with her index finger, tracing his features slowly, as if trying to memorize him and this moment.

They did. They actually did it.

A part of Scully expected a cheerleading squad and the Philadelphia Phillies mascot to burst in her hotel room and celebrate this momentous achievement, but she settled for his quiet breathing instead. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong against her palm. He was alive. He was here. He was with her.

“Mulder,” she spoke softly, caressing his cheek.

His eyes fluttered open and focused on her. He stretched as his hands lazily played up and down her sides. “Morning, Scully.”

“Morning yourself, Hot Stuff?”

“Hot Stuff? Really?”

Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing against him. “Mm-Hmm. I am myself, all at once.”

Mulder was quiet and stroked his hair. “Everything?”

“Well, this lifetime and the last. I remember. Clear as day.”

“Everything?” he asked again.

“Everything,” she confirmed, kissing his lips. “No regrets?”

“No regrets,” he smiled pushing back her hair. “I don’t remember everything, but enough. I remember you. I'll always remember you.”

“I was married to him, Mulder, in my last life.” The words sounded foreign on her lips as she admitted to a past life, but it felt right. “But you.  You saved me.”

“We’re key to this,” he admitted softly. “Whether we like it or not.”

“We can’t tell anyone,” she said, resting her forehead against his chest.

“We won’t,” he affirmed. His arms came around like a cocoon and she closed her eyes. His words came from two lifetimes of experiences and love. “There is only you, remember that, Scully. You’re the only one that matters.”

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 18, 1998

Mulder watched Scully sit in a conference room through the window, watching the television intently, a file and notepad sitting in front of her. After last night, she quietly told them in their rental car she wanted to watch the interview videos alone once they got to the field office, citing what they had originally intended last night. Mulder was making use of a spare desk out in their bullpen, his original profile and the evidence of his journal from his imprisonment. He sipped the bitter coffee as he hunched over the journal. But Mulder could not bring himself to read Buckley’s personal journal. His thoughts kept drifting to Scully.

He glanced at the conference room across the way and saw his partner before refocusing on the task laying in front of him but he could not focus at all. He rubbed his hand across his face and a memory, unspurned and unhurried flooded his senses, and he closed his eyes. He could feel her tender touch against the nape of his neck...was it from the 19th century or from last night?

I love you, Mulder, she breathed into his ear.

Had she said that? Did she say that?

Mulder felt himself shiver uncontrollably. He felt the ghostly sensations of her touch lingering. Mulder, her ghostly form had called.

His present self-pushed his work forward on the borrowed desk and stormed to towards the conference room where his partner was in. He slammed the door shut, starling her. He drew the blinds closed and looked at her hungrily. Scully causally paused the VHS tape and stayed focused on the television screen.

“It’s chaotic, isn’t it?” she asked

She was still facing the fuzzy television screen and Mulder slouched against the door as if the new memories threatened to crush him.

“Scully.”

He called her name. She flashbacked to a memory from her previous life. Mulder screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares. She remembered, her older self, cradling him protectively, kissing away his tears. “I’m here, Mulder. I’m here.”

When had she spoken those words? This life or the other? She glanced at the closed blinds quickly before cradling his large, lanky form against her. Scully allowed her older self to guide her current body. She held his lanky form against her in a tight hug the best she could. He pressed his face into her neck trying to steady his breathing, clutching her like an anchor to reality. She kissed the nape of his neck and ran her hands up and down his back soothingly.

“Focus on the present,” she whispered, recalling how thinking about Mulder was the only thing that kept her centered. “Think about me. This moment is real, Mulder. This is the present. This is our lives.” She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear. “Last night was real.”

Mulder sighed against her as the rush of memories ebbed to a dull throbbing in the back of his mind as he focused on the moment of Scully cradling him. “I’m sorry,” he managed. He tried to get up but ended up slouching beside her. Scully took his hand and squeezed it. “I can’t...I can’t separate now from then,” he admitted quietly. “I know how you must've felt. After last night, everything’s come back in full force. We were a hot item, Scully.”

“We’re a hot item now,” she murmured softly. Scully slouched next to him against the door and turned her head to look at him. “I know what you mean. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“How did you do it?” he whispered. “Separating everything?”

“It is not necessarily separated but rather, but blended together. I am myself all at once. And I had you.” She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to touch him. She corrected herself. “I have you, Mulder. I’ve always had you.”

Mulder took a deep breath, focusing on Scully. She caressed his cheek. “We have work to do,” she whispered. “We can work this out tonight, okay? I figured out what Buckley wants.”

“We need to tell the ASAC then, Scully,” he replied.

“It’s not that simple. Mulder, do you trust me?”

“Is that even a question?”

“We’ll talk about it tonight then,” she promised.

. . . . .

Mulder’s head was still swimming as he sipped the lukewarm coffee. Scully sat next to him as she had discreetly rubbed his thigh underneath the table in comfort. He felt himself relax a fraction with the soothing sensation of her fingers running against his suit pants. As they gathered with the rest of the other agents and U.S. marshalls, he cast a glance and noted Diana leaning against a corner with her arms crossed. Her dead brown eyes locked with his momentarily and he looked away, focusing instead A cold shiver passed over him and Mulder squeezed Scully’s hand gently, a silent affirmation. Wordless, she returned the squeeze and let her hand go slack in his under the table.

“All right, everyone, listen up!” ASAC called. “Devins, dim the lights!”

“Yes, sir!”

The lights dimmed and a projector came on, displaying a slide of the gruesome murder scene from Hampton the previous day. Scully could hear murmurs of disgust and even an 'Oh my, God' muttered under someone's breath.

“We are losing time, ladies and gentleman,” he began. “Francis Buckley killed yesterday afternoon. This time in Hampton.”

A new slide flashed in place, revealing the blown out brains all over the concrete. Scully grimaced. “According to the autopsy performed by Agent Scully, the victim was killed, execution style with a .44 round projectile at the base of the skull.”

“Executed more like it,” someone commented.

Scully felt herself shiver, rolling her neck side to side as if to shake the cold feel of metal being pressed against her skull. Mulder squeezed her hand and stood up, walking towards the front of the group. “Buckley is growing more reckless,” Mulder began. The slide changed to Buckley’s original mugshot when she and Mulder arrested him the year before. “Agent Scully and I captured Buckley after he murdered three people. There were no connections between the first three victims and there is nothing connecting the current victim. He was your run of the mill murderer. In the first three, there was something that was stolen like money or a ring, something of value. This was not the case with this most recent murder.”

He took a deep breath and let his gaze linger on Scully before continuing. “He has acted out, lashed out. I reviewed all recorded interviews with him over the past week and he shows signs of mental instability.”

“What about his belief in past lives, Agent Mulder?” Diana spoke up from the back.

Mulder’s hazel eyes darted to the darkened corner and saw Diana standing with her arms crossed, looking expectantly at him. She was challenging and trying to bait him. "And what about past lives, Agent Fowley?”

Scully heard the coldness of his tone and she shifted in her seat to see Diana's reaction. “His journal indicates he is aware of past lives, his own in fact. Wouldn't you agree that has an impact on the current case.”

“Multiple personalities. He has been diagnosed as schizophrenic in the past,” Mulder answered easily, not indulging Diana. “It is not my place to investigate the claims you are insinuating, Agent Fowley.”

“It used to be.”

The entire task force was now caught up in the soap opera drama between Spooky Mulder and Agent Fowley. “I no longer run the X-Files. My job is to catch a killer. Since we are on the topic of mental instabilities, this is a new addition. The thought of multiple personalities is a real possibility.” He looked at the group of agents. “This makes it harder to predict him. In your handouts, you have my updated profile.”

“Thank you, Agent Mulder,” the ASAC nodded.

Mulder returned to his seat beside Scully quietly. “Now, we are going public, hoping someone will have some information. The marshalls are helping us. We are going to hold a press conference and be brief as possible in explaining the situation in the next day or two. That’s it for now. Get to work, people.”

Scully gathered her notes and Mulder did the same as Diana stormed to Mulder. Scully glanced at her partner wordlessly and he whispered, “Why don’t you get our things together,” he whispered. “I’ll meet you out by our rental.”

She heard the tightness in his voice but she nodded, replying, “I’ll be outside in the car waiting.”

Mulder passed her the rental keys and Scully left. Mulder took in the measure of his former partner and ex-wife. Memories blurred for him between what was and what was happening. Scully. Just thinking about her made him feel grounded and centered. He took a deep breath and looked at Diana. “What the hell was that, Fox?”

“What was what?”

Mulder looked at her evenly. “I am here to catch a killer, Diana, not chase wild theories about past lives.”

“You didn’t use to be like this, Fox. I know that look you have in your eye. You are considering the possibility.”

Mulder recalled Scully’s hands against his body from last night and centuries ago. How she made him feel. Alive. Whole. Complete. He tried to push past her. “You aren’t my partner, Diana. Scully is.”

“So you follow her science now? She is holding you back.”

Just the opposite. Mulder recalled the tension between him and Scully and now he knew, he only trusted Scully. No one else. Mulder did not grace with Diana with a reply. “I need to go.”

. . . .

Scully shivered as she turned up the heat in the car as she waited for Mulder to come join her so they could head back to their hotel. The gray overcast sky, which she had just noticed, opened up and began to snow. She sighed, her mind replaying the day. Mulder looked so uncertain, earlier that afternoon when she held him and beheld the same old age in his eyes that she had. She jumped when the car door open letting in him in and he slammed it shut. Mulder silently gripped the steering wheel, the whites of his knuckles showing. Scully gently placed her gloved hand on his forearm as he relaxed. “Scully,” he whispered softly, “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” she asked softly. “For what?”

“I couldn’t protect you. It was my fault. When he caught us in Yorktown. I should have protected the both of you.” He closed his eyes and leaned backward. "I should have protected you."

It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to, her vision of her own execution and he was remembering. She bit her lip and whispered, “It was not you, Mulder. It wasn’t your fault. It’s already done. You didn't cause us to be caught. You weren't the one who killed me.”

“I should have done more,” he bemoaned.

“Take us back to the hotel, Mulder, we need to talk.”

. . . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 19, 1998

Scully recognized when he would withdraw into himself and martyr himself to guilt. He sat on her hotel bed in his jeans and a green knit sweater. Mulder’s legs were crossed as he leaned back into the pillows, his eyes closed in thought, his arms raised, cradling his head, and his eyes closed. Scully wore a pair of black jeans and her University of Maryland hoodie. She sat at the edge of the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch him to comfort him. The silence was deafening.

After last night, Scully wanted to act on that new intimacy that they had created (or rediscovered) last night. “Mulder.”

His eyes opened and focused on her. She wanted to do so much more. She quietly sat next to him, closer to the headboard, and wordless brought her hand to his chest, resting it on his heart. The uneasy silence he was unsure how to operate in this new space they had created. Mulder quietly released his arms and wrapped it around Scully’s shoulders and brought her towards his chest. As foreign as it seemed, it felt so natural. Scully relaxed and melted to his side. He sighed, relaxing as she ran her hand lightly across his stomach.

“I don’t know what we are going to do, Scully,” he whispered.

“We need to remember everything,” she replied.

“What do you remember?”

She looked up at him before looking back down, wrapping her leg around his waist and his own. “I was married to him. I remembered this morning. He was my husband for seven years, and you...you were one of his officers.”

“A marine. I remember seeing you for the first time. I felt my heart seize in my chest and your eyes, Scully.”

“What about my eyes?”

“When you walked into the basement office, you looked so cute decked out in that god awful jacket. But, you looked me in the eye and never winced away. Everyone else did.”

“Why would I do that?”

Mulder was safe. Mulder was always safe with her.

She closed her eyes and her mind drifted as a new memory took over. A ship. There were on a ship. No. Not a ship. A hammock? “Well, I tend to make people want to stay away.”

“Lucky for me because I get to keep you all for myself.”

A silence engulfed them as Scully detangled herself from Mulder reluctantly and he was already wishing she was back against his side. “What could you not tell me earlier today,” he asked softly.

Scully blinked, recalling her brief conversation with Mulder. She shifted hesitantly, looking down at the comforter, playing with the hem of her jeans. “How much...how much do you remember, Mulder?”

He sat straighter up and leaned back into the pillows and crossed his arms. “I told you already. Enough,” he answered tentatively.

“You know, in that life, Buckley was my husband,” she repeated in a whisper. “Captain Franklin Buchanan.”

“Who was I, Scully?”

“He was a navy captain in the Confederacy during the Civil War. You were a lieutenant on his ship,” she spoke slowly, watching him close his eyes. She reached for his hand, grasping it lightly. “You saw me in the street once. But it was at a dinner party, and I just knew you had to be the one.”

“What happened?”

“We were spies, Mulder,” she spoke softly. “Well, I dragged you into it, but we were spies.”

“Like Moose and Squirrel,” he teased lightly. “Not that different I suppose.”

She gave a small smile. “Well, after a few months, things between us moved quickly and the Union retook Norfolk. We decided to run.”

“Together.”  It was a statement rather than a question. She nodded again. “He wants revenge.  Revenge…”

Mulder was already in full profiler mood, analyzing what could and could not be. “I’m going to bed, Mulder,” she spoke quietly.She slid off the hotel bed and kissed his cheek, startling him out of his reverie. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Mulder.”

“You’re not staying?” he asked, surprised.

“We still have a case, Mulder.” She hesitated before placing a brief kiss on his cheek and giving him a cheeky smile before disappearing into the adjoining room.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia October 12, 1862

That night was colder than Scully had anticipated and her thin cloak was failing to keep her warm. Mulder walked beside her small form and she felt his arm come around her waist and pull her closer. She gazed at him knowingly and he just smiled. “You know I’m a rebel.”

“Used to be,” she whispered. “Thank you for doing this.”

Mulder kissed her lovingly as they came to the end of the muddy main street and large white building that sat near the shore of the York River. She felt him grow tense as they approached a fortified area with Union soldiers. She placed a calming hand over his heart as the came closer to the white building and coiled around her slightly like a large shadow. Subtly, she led Mulder up the steps past the Union soldiers as if they were not there. He was quiet as she opened the door and ushered them inside. In the receiving room, Scully saw her brother standing in the common room in front of the fire. Scully patted his chest before untangling herself from him.  She took a few steps forward. “Was that really necessary, Charlie? The soldiers?”

“They’re my men, well, Major Howe’s men.” The Union Lieutenant turned to face his sister and took full measure of Mulder. “You can’t be too careful, Dana. How do you know you can trust him?”

Mulder gritted his teeth as Scully turned, to look at him, willing him silently to calm. “Because I do, Charlie,” she replied tensely. “That should be good enough for you. I trust him just as he trusts me. He is a deserter and a spy. I am a spy and if either one of us is caught, we are dead. How did you find me?”

He held up a finger and withdrew from his breast pocket a stack of letters. “They were hoping I would see you since they have not heard from you since April.”

“Well,” Scully huffed, “it was not like I had the time to.”

“Because of him.”

“Charlie, stop it. My choices are mine alone. Mulder had nothing to do with us running except for following me. You detested Franklin. Only because Missy decided to be the free spirit and go to Europe so I had to marry. Bill is the perfect son. Missy is the black sheep. I have to be the perfect child. You can do as you please. How is that fair?”

“You’re a woman, Dana. It’s expected.”

Mulder used all of his willpower to keep quiet. He understood where her brother was keeping from, Mulder understood societal tradition. But Charlie did not know Scully, his Scully. He only knew Dana. He reached out his hand slightly to her in affirmation. Discreetly, she squeezed it while keeping her attention on Charlie.

“If it is expected that in place of my husband’s death to find a new husband than I did.”

“You’re husband’s not dead,” Charlie answered softly, watching Mulder. “Captain Buchanan was promoted admiral and resides in Alabama. He is still recovering from his thigh wound.”

Mulder lowered his eyes in shame. What was he doing? Scully sensed the change and turned suddenly to look at him She cupped his face and suddenly there was only them. She caressed his temples with her thumbs and smiled. “I regret nothing,” she murmured. “Stay?” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Who are you, Mr. Mulder, to my sister?”

He looked up at Charlie and took measure of the other man. Scully released his face as Mulder grew more confident knowing he had her. “Fox Mulder, former Lieutenant of Confederate Marines, and before that, Lieutenant of the United States Army, adjunct to the war office.”

“Seriously,” Charlie laughed. “Didn’t you graduate from Virginia Military Institute?”

“What if I did?”

“Mulder, it’s okay,” Scully soothed.

“I am not implying anything, good sir. I heard stories about you when I went there myself. I was two years behind you in class.”

“That’s why I picked him, Charlie. He knows what he is doing.”

“Hmph.” The younger Scully stalked to the fire. “Tomorrow night, Dana. I desire to see you again. I want you to come alone.”

“Charlie.”

“It’s non-negotiable, Dana.”

. . . .

Scully shivered and turned into Mulder’s warmth in their small bed above the Skinner’s coach house. He sighed, kissing her forehead as he disappeared and came back with two wool blankets and draped it over their bed. Mulder crawled beneath the blanket and held her as she began to cry.

. . . .

Holiday Inn by the Airport Norfolk, Virginia December 18, 1998

Mulder awoke when he heard a door close. Still groggy with sleep, he sat up only to feel a warm, soothing hand across his chest, resting quietly against his heart. A petite figure crawled beneath the covers of his hotel bed, coiling around him like a snake. He felt the warmth of freshly fallen tears as she nuzzled his chest. His arm came around her instantly. “Scully?” he murmured.

“I love you,” she cried silently. “I love you, Mulder.”

Half raked with sleep and old memories. He pulled her close, remembering an odd night where he had held her in a small bed in some carriage house. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispered, kissing her hair, his own voice sounding foreign, “we’ll be okay. We'll figure this out, Scully. Just you and me, like always.”

[snickerl]

Mom’s The Best

A collection of XF ficlets

I started this collection of stand-alone ficlets about Margaret Scully because she’s always been one of my favorite characters and a season 11 without her seems too much to take.

With the first installment, I asked for story prompts and have received one so far. I’m already working on it. Feel free to feed my creative brain with story ideas - fluffy or angsty, canon or AU, set in seasons 1-9 or 10 and beyond.

So far, the collection contains the following ficlet:

PEPPERMINT TEA

APPLE PIE

Thanksgiving was Margaret Scully's favorite holiday.

She had spent days preparing food and her famous apple pie would be the crowning finish of a delicious meal. Her whole family had gathered at her house. Bill and Tara had come with the kids from whatever Navy base the were stationed at and even Charlie had brought his wife Sandra and their three children this year. Dana was there, which filled Maggie with joy and gratitude every year after she'd been painfully missed during the years she couldn't attend the family gatherings.

Of course, there were some people dear to Maggie who weren`t with them tonight. Ahab, her beloved husband of almost four decades who'd passed away too early. Melissa, her older daughter who'd been taken away from her in cold blood. William, her miracle grandson who sat at another family's dinner table. And last but not least, Fox, her surrogate son and somewhat son-in-law. ‘Somewhat’ as they had never made their relationship official, had never signed a wedding certificate or spoken the vows in front of a priest. Or would ex-son-in-law be the more appropriate term? Maggie didn't know, and she assumed Dana didn't know either. They had separated, had called it a temporary breakup, but that had been more than two years ago.

Maggie witnessed first-hand how much Dana suffered from the situation. She saw her bury herself in her work, volunteering to take double shifts and on-call services until she broke down in the hospital from sheer exhaustion. She saw the dark circles under her eyes from insomnia and her drop weight from having lost her appetite. Only recently had she gotten better, since they had started working together again. As much as Maggie had cursed the FBI in Dana's and Fox's first turn as Special Agents, she silently thanked Skinner, their former and current boss, for bringing them together again. 

It was doing them both good. Mulder, who had been fighting a depression after having lost all purpose of his life, was thriving again. The feeling of being needed, of being of service, of having a reason to get up in the morning filled him with the energy and power everybody thought he had lost for good. And Dana? Dana also thrived sharing parts of her life with her former partner once again. Even if they weren't back together, simply conversing with him over a case, working hand in hand with him, seeing him almost on a daily basis, steadied her. The color had returned to her cheeks, she actually smiled again and looked content in a way she hadn't in a long, long time.

But Maggie wanted more for them. Although Dana didn't get tired assuring her that neither of them thought of resuming their physical relationship, that their desperate love for each other had been all-consuming and had nothing left for them to give to the other, Maggie knew better. That was why she had invited Fox to her traditional Thanksgiving dinner this year. She had asked Dana if it was okay for her, hadn't wanted to catch her out playing Cupid, but she hadn't told Bill Jr., who had never been a fan of Mulder's. He would simply have to deal with the situation. So she as she was residing at the head of the table, watching everybody chatter happily, nervousness crept up her spine for the chime of the door bell she expected any minute. Matthew, her oldest grandson, had just whined about when dinner would be finally served when it happened. Bill threw his mother a surprising look and Dana couldn't hide a slight smile.

"I get it," Maggie explained and shoved her chair back to get up.

She opened the front door to a groomed, shaven, properly dressed and smiling Mulder with flowers in his hands. What a difference compared to the man he'd been a few months prior, before he'd started working with Dana again.

"Hello Fox, I'm so happy to see you. Come in," Maggie welcomed him.

"Thanks for the invitation, Maggie" he answered, stepping into the hallway. He placed a gentle kiss on the older woman's cheek and handed her all the flowers but one, a single yellow rose. He slipped out of his jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. There had been a time this house was like a second home to him. "Am I late?" he asked nodding to the living room where a loud chattering was coming from.

"Oh no, you're perfectly on time. Matthew just asked when dinner would be served. Teenagers," she sighed, "always hungry."

Mulder followed Maggie somewhat tentatively through the hallway, clutching the rose with both hands. "Uhm, Maggie...does Dana-" he started but was cut off by a gentle "Hi Mulder" of the woman he had just mentioned. She stood at the end of the hallway, showing him one of her small, toothless smiles. Maggie was pleased to notice her daughter's delight upon seeing him although she tried to hide it, as well as the way Fox beamed at her. Maggie closely observed their interaction for more hints that her plan might work out after all.

Fox took the remaining few steps until he reached the spot where Dana had positioned herself. He placed a cautious kiss on her cheek as well and gave her the rose. She smelled at it, then smiled. "Thank you."

"I hope you're okay with my showing up here. Your mother wouldn't take no for an answer," Fox mumbled. 

"It's fine. I'm glad you're here," Dana answered. 

"Your brother won't share your enthusiasm, I'm afraid."

"Don't mind Bill. Charlie’s here, too, and he's always liked you. Plus, mom placed me between Bill and you, so consider me your protective shield."

"You're tiny, Scully, and your brother has long arms and huge hands. Are you sure you're able to protect me from a hostile Navy captain?"

"I protected you from hostile monsters and psychopaths, I'm fully capable of protecting you from my brother. Who I managed to rein in when we were kids, I might add. By the way, since I’ve had my self-defense training at the Academy and am allowed to carry a gun, he's tame as a kitten," she added with a tight-lipped grin. She grabbed his arm and tugged him along. "Come on, Mulder, time for you look the patriarch of the Scully-family in the face."

Maggie couldn't help but smile at their little banter. The mood between them hadn't been that light and playful for a long time. It even reminded her a little of the time when their relationship hadn't yet been tainted by a lonely pregnancy, a resurrection-from-the-dead experience, the loss of a son, a life underground, and an endogenous depression. What a great idea to invite him over, Maggie thought and mentally patted herself on the shoulder. She went into the kitchen to get a vase for the bouquet Mulder had brought her. When she returned to the dining room the first thing she noticed was the yellow rose on the table in front Dana's plate. Next, Bill's sour face and that Mulder was seated next to Scully and sort-of trying to hide behind her. A hopeless endeavor from the start, of course, as her daughter was almost half his size.

Maggie shouted out orders to everyone so that the food would be put on the table quickly. Her family cooperated well, Mulder too, who made sure the wine for the adults as well as the soda for the children made it safely to the table. When all of them had taken their seats, Maggie shushed her guests and was the first to fold her hands, tilt her head and close her eyes. The table fell silent and everybody, even the kids, listened carefully when she began to pray.

"Thank You, Heavenly Father, for this food we are about to eat. Thank You for Your amazing power and work in our lives, for Your goodness and for Your blessings over us, the ones we've seen, as well as the ones we haven't. Thank You for looking out for those who cannot be with us today. Ahab, Melissa, Emily, and William. We miss them, but their absence reminds us to keep our eyes fixed on heaven where we will all meet again some day. We give You praise and thanks, for You alone are worthy! In Jesus' Name, Amen."

Everyone mumbled 'Amen' and the adults crossed themselves; all but Mulder, who'd never been a religious person. But he was familiar with the tradition at a Scully Thanksgiving, for he had been a guest to a few of them; or so he thought. What he didn't know was that they had a new ritual established in the years of his absence during the worst phase of his depression and the following separation from Scully. Maggie started it by grabbing Bill's hand who was sitting to her right and Sandra's on her left. The others followed, taking each others' hands as well. Scully took Mulder's left hand, Louise, one of Charlie's daughters, held his right. 

When the circle was closed, Maggie explained, "Fox, this is something we’ve been doing for a couple of years. We take each others' hands and think of what good has happened in the past year. It can be something small or something big, something personal or not, it doesn’t matter. Just something we're grateful for. I, for example, am grateful, that in the past year all of my grandchildren found the time to pay me a visit. One stayed for a few days and helped me when I had the flu," she threw a warm smile at Louise, "one dropped by for half hour on my birthday." The exact same warm smile was thrown at Matthew who pursed his lips. "It didn't matter how long you stayed, the fact that you didn’t forget your old grandmother filled me with joy. I thank the Lord for the wonderful grandchildren he’s given me. The ones who are here tonight, as well as the ones who can't."

Maggie knew she made two people's heart ache particularly with this, but it was important to her to let Dana and Fox know that she considered William and Emily to be her grandchildren just like the others, that they belonged to their family and had a firm place in her heart like the ones sitting at her dining table right now. She noticed how Mulder's hand squeezed Scully's a little tighter and how both of them fought with their emotions.

"Your turn, Sandra," Maggie said, passing the torch to her daughter-in-law.

One after the other voiced their gratitude, and just as Maggie had explained, a smorgasbord of events and things was coming up. Neil, Charlie's youngest son was grateful for his new bike, Tara for the fact that Bill had returned safely from an overseas deployment. Charlie was grateful that he'd been offered a new job, and Louise for the experiences she made working part-time at a retirement home.

And then it was Mulder's turn. Maggie looked at him as he cleared his throat and squeezed Scully's hand again before he started to speak. "I am grateful, endlessly grateful, that in the past year a person has been led back into my life I'd already deemed lost forever."

Bill moaned silently and was kicked in the shin under the table by his mother. Dana stared at the rose in front of her working hard to keep her composure. Maggie could tell by the way her daughter chewed the inside of her cheek. Everyone else at the table had fallen silent, for they all knew about the sad and complicated history of their relationship.

Mulder continued. "This person, who'd been the light of my existence, my savior both literally as in the figurative sense, is the reason I'm still here on this planet, and I'm grateful for every minute I was allowed to spend with her." He cleared his throat again from a lump and coughed nervously.

'Jesus, Mulder,' Maggie heard her daughter whisper and him replying equally subdued, 'Sorry, Scully, but it's true.' "Thank you, Fox," she then said loud to break the awkward silence scattering the room, "for sharing with us such an intimate issue. Dana, you're next."

"I...uh," Scully blinked a tear away and licked her lips, clearly taken off-guard by Mulder's open words, "I am grateful for another year in remission. I know I'm saying this every year but every year that's been given to me since that nasty cancer is a gift. Not all of them were happy years, but I don't want to miss a single one because they have brought me to where I am at this very moment. And I'm grateful for being here today."

Now it was Mulder who blinked away a tear. Maggie was moved by what she heard from Dana and Fox. It was proof of how scarred the souls of those two were, but also how only they had the power to heal each other. She had been so right to play Cupid. They belonged together, in one way or another.

Bill finished the round by thanking the Lord for holding his protective hand over the men of his Navy unit, and soon, the somewhat heavy mood was dispersed by the passing around of bowls and platters, the clinking of glasses, a cheerful chatter and laughter. Maggie's heart leapt at the view of three generations of Scullys - and she had always added Mulder in - sitting at her table enjoying each others' presence. In a few years, a fourth generation might join them. She hoped to live long enough to see that happen. She sent a silent prayer to her late husband, phrasing in her head, 'Look, Ahab, how wonderful our children and their children are. I wished you were here but I know you're looking at us from above. I love you.' 

When all stomachs were filled, the entire party worked together to clear the table quickly, moving back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen. Eventually, Maggie shooed them all out of her realm, all but one.

"Fox, would you give me a hand with making coffee and cutting the apple pie?"

"Sure," Mulder said.

"You still know how to operate the coffee maker, don't you?"

"Of course, Maggie, it's not exactly rocket science," he replied and flicked the power switch, bringing the machine to life. He opened an overhead cabinet and took out some coffee cups and saucers. He still knew himself around Margaret Scully's kitchen. He'd helped her often in the past. Actually, they'd had some of their best conversations while she was cleaning the dishes in the sink he then dried and put away.

"That was very sweet what you said earlier, during the gratitude round," Maggie said, handing him the bag with the coffee beans.

"Hmm," was all he replied.

"Dana liked it too."

"I'm not so sure about that. She hates her emotions being dragged into the public."

"We're not the public, Fox, we're her family," Maggie insisted.

"Yeah, but still."

He sighed noisily. Maggie sensed his doubtful state of mind, although he had his back turned to her so she couldn't read his face. She walked over to where he had busied himself with fumbling at the coffee machine which was actually working perfectly well on its own. 

She put her hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter, Fox? You seem a bit at odds with yourself."

He turned around and looked at her.

"I meant every word I said, Maggie. I'm so glad to have her back in my life. Work is great and we function together as if we'd never quit, but..." he trailed off, stifling another sigh.

"But?"

"I want to have her back completely, all of her. I can't imagine myself with anyone but her."

Maggie knew that the same applied to Dana. For all the time they'd been separated, she'd never been out on a date, and Maggie was sure several men had been interested. Once she had even witnessed how Dana rebuffed a fellow doctor quite frankly, telling him she was 'not available'. But she also knew that after all Dana and Fox had been through, wiping the slate clean wasn't that easy.

Dana had told her how much she enjoyed working on the X-Files again. On the one hand, the cases challenged her scientist's intellect in a way not even the most complicated surgery could, but on the other hand, and maybe more important one, she had missed Fox just as much as Fox had missed her. They had never fallen out of love with each other, despite the severe problems they had faced in their relationship. Maggie knew her daughter and she assumed that is was mainly fear that held Dana back. She kept Fox at arm's length for fear of hurting again, of not being able to make it last.

"I thought of asking her to move back in. She lives in that tiny apartment which costs a fortune when at the same time there's plenty of room at our house. She'd have an office of her own and a bedroom. We could be...roommates."

Maggie pursed her lips, tilted her head and arched an eyebrow. "Roommates? Is that what you want her to be? Your roommate?"

"Of course not! I want her-" Mulder swallowed the rest of the sentence when Scully appeared in the doorframe to the kitchen. "Do you need any help in here?" she asked.

"No thanks, honey, we're almost done," Maggie said. "Why don't you two go outside for a moment? It's nice and the neighbor's boy, Tyler, did a wonderful job painting the garden shed. Maybe you'd like to have a look at it? I'm fine getting the pie ready myself."

With this, Maggie nudged them out of the kitchen. She was on a mission and just hoped that outside, being on their own with no curious family members within earshot, they might find a way to talk about what they had both said at the table earlier. She had a perfect view of the garden shed from her kitchen window. Giving them some undisturbed privacy didn't necessarily mean she had to rein in her own curiosity.

So Maggie watched through the window above the sink how they stepped outside in their jackets, Fox placing his hand at the small of Dana's back. They were walking side by side the few yards over to the shed, came to a halt and turned to each other, not deigning to look at the kid's painting job for even a second. Not that Maggie had really expected them to. The coffee machine was announcing the end of its task with an ongoing beep but Maggie didn't notice. She was too distracted by what was happening outside. They spoke to each other and Dana cupped Fox's cheek. This was going in the right direction, Maggie thought, absent-mindedly operating the milk frother for several minutes now.

"Mom?" 

Bill Jr. had startled his mother. 

"The coffee machine is beeping," he said, switching it off. He threw her a bewildered look. "What are you looking at?" He joined her at the sink and looked outside. When he saw Mulder and his sister deep in a conversation, he groaned. "What the-" slipped out of his mouth, and he just managed to keep that last word inside.

Maggie set the milk frother aside. She took the apple pie out of the pantry and handed him a knife. "Make yourself useful, Bill, and cut the pie."

Bill took the knife from her but ignored the pie. "What is she doing? She's not falling for his syrupy vows from earlier, is she?"

"Bill," Maggie tried to appease.

"No, seriously, mom, why is she even listening to him?"

Mother and son were both standing shoulder to shoulder now, staring outside. Maggie's heart jumped in anticipation, whereas Bill felt bile rising up his throat. Eventually, they observed how Mulder leaned in and placed a shy kiss on Scully's lips.

"Nooooo," Bill groaned, "Dana, please! How is he able to bewitch her again and again, mom? I don't get it!"

"She loves him, Bill, what's there not to understand? Your sister has been in love with this man for many, many years."

"But she left him! Why did she leave him if he's such a great guy?"

"You're a married man yourself, you know the ups and downs of a relationship. Dana and Fox had to fight demons, none of us would've been able to deal with."

While Maggie and Bill were discussing the relationship of the two people they were watching, said two people moved closer to one another. Maggie's heart beat a little faster when she saw how Dana let Fox pull her toward him, how he cupped her face with both hands, and how their lips met. They shared a tender kiss which soon turned into a quite passionate one, that much was obvious from their observation post. Fox's hand went into Dana's hair, Dana's arms around Fox's waist.

"I can't believe this pitiful loser is sweet-talking her into following him again," Bill huffed, sliding the knife crudely through the apple pie.

"William Scully Jr., watch your mouth! I know you're only worried about your sister, but she's no stupid little girl who can be manipulated with a few charming words. And Fox is a decent and very kind man who'd give his life for Dana. Accept the fact that those two belong together and learn to live with him being your sister's choice. Now you cut that pie into fair slices, I take care of the dishes." With this, she left him alone in the kitchen.

When her husband had still been alive, the patriarch of the family, Margaret had rather been the sort of housewife and mother who dealt with the unwanted behavior of her children in a gracious and tender manner, leaving it mainly to her husband to tell them off or punish them. When they'd been grounded by their father, she'd bring them milk and cookies and pardon them ahead of time if she thought the punishment was too severe. But since Ahab was not around anymore, she had to take over his role, and just because her children were adults didn't mean they didn't need some serious motherly talking once in a while.

The moment Maggie entered the hallway with a tray full of the dishes and silverware she was about to put on the dining table, the front door opened and Mulder and Scully stepped inside. Maggie almost dropped the tray when she noticed that they were holding hands. Dana's cheeks glowed, Fox's eyes sparkled and Maggie's heart threatened to burst.

"Oh hi, mom," Scully said, letting go of Mulder's hand as if it was a hot potato.

'Cute,' Maggie thought, 'like when I caught her holding hands with her first beau. What was his name again? Brandon? Yes, Brandon McCoy, her classmate in school.'

"Mulder and I...uhm, we...well, uh..." she started clumsily. Fox was standing behind her, smiling like a Cheshire cat and obviously touching her at places which made her squirm. Maggie wasn't stupid.

"It's okay, honey. We saw you."

"We?" Scully shrieked.

"Bill and I. Through the kitchen window."

"Bill? Bill saw us kiss?" There was a slight hysteric ring to Scully’s voice now.

"He'll get over it. I'm not so sure about the apple pie, though. He might have slaughtered it by now."

"Bill is holding a knife in his hands? I better go and hide. I'm sorry, Maggie, I didn't mean to ruin your Thanksgiving dinner," Mulder interjected and Maggie cringed because of how truly contrite he sounded.

"Don't be ridiculous, Fox! You haven't ruined anything but made an old woman very happy. Just don't screw this up again, you two. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Mulder replied, placing his hands on Scully's shoulders and a quick peck on her cheek from where he was still standing behind her, evoking a joyful smile and a girlish giggle from her that made Maggie warm all over.

"Put your coats back on the rack and join us in the dining room in a few. I'm going to fill the other's in, although I'm quite sure they will be able to read it in your faces. The women, at least," Maggie said with a grin, then turned on her heel and headed toward the dining room. Just when she'd walked around the corner at the end of the hallway and was out of sight, she heard Bill step out of the kitchen. She held her breath. The last thing they needed was a fight between two men in their belief they had to protect Dana. She stayed put, pricking up her ears to be ready to separate the gamecocks if necessary.

"Dana. Mulder," she heard Bill huff.

"Bill-," Fox started but was cut off instantly by Dana. "Mulder, go inside! This is something between my brother and myself."

"But Scully..."

"Go!" Dana insisted and shoved him forward, Maggie figured by the sounds coming from the hallway. 'Good girl,' she whispered. When he had caught up to her, she just handed him the tray and motioned for him to move further to the dining room. She didn’t want him to overhear what she was going to eavesdrop on.

"How could you, Dana? What kind of a toxic relationship is this?" Bill's voice came from the hallway. Maggie's stomach churned. Hadn't he understood a word she'd said to him?

"He's a good man, Bill, despite what you're thinking of him."

"You suffered. You were hurt. You were mistreated. Jesus, Dana, this man has brought more pain into your life than one person should be dealing with in their life."

"You're saying this as if he did it on purpose. He suffered, was hurt and mistreated just like me. That's what's been melding us together, don't you see? For goodness sake, we have a child together we had to give up, Bill! Imagine I told you to let go of Tara just because I thought she wasn't good enough for you."

"It wouldn't be the same."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't know Tara like I do."

Maggie covered her mouth to stifle a chuckle. She knew Bill had just maneuvered himself into a corner now.

"But you know Mulder better than I do? Nobody...no-body knows Mulder better than I do. I know him better than he knows himself. We're the only ones who fully understand the other's issues, who have the ability to heal each other. If you like to call it toxic, then go ahead. I know you're only trying to protect me, Bill, and I appreciate your concern, but you've got to leave the choice of whom I'm sharing my life with to myself."

'That's my girl.' In her mind, Maggie applauded her. She didn't hear Bill reply anything, she assumed because he simply didn't know what to say. Dana had made her point, and she'd made it convincingly. Maybe, hopefully, he had understood by now.

"I just want my little sister to be happy."

"I am, Bill. As much as I can ever be."

"If you say so."

"I do. There's really no need for you to worry about me. I'm a big girl."

"Alright. Okay. Fine. I'll do my best to keep my mouth shut from now on. But as soon as he mistreats you in any way, I'll be back."

"He won't, Bill. He won't." 

Maggie could hear the smile in Dana's voice. A load had been taken off her mind and she leaned her head against the wall in relief. She peeked around the corner into the hallway and what she saw made her eyes watery. Dana had put her head on her brother's broad chest and Bill had folded his arms around his sister's shoulders. This day not only seemed to be a new beginning for Dana and Fox but also for Dana and Bill.

"Mmmm," Dana hummed, "that's nice Bill. I could use a brotherly hug like this once in a while."

"Whenever. But for now, we should go back inside and make sure we get some of mom's apple pie. As far as I know, your Mulder has a sweet tooth, and Matthew never seems to be done eating these days. And if I don't get a slice of that pie, I'll get grumpy, that's for sure. I've been looking forward to it for days."

"You’re making a point here, Bill. Let's go."

Maggie heard Dana’s chuckle approaching and sneaked into the guest bathroom in a hurry because she didn't want them to find out she had eavesdropped on their conversation. She closed the door behind herself and sat down on the closed toilet lid, breathing in and out a few times. What a perfect Thanksgiving this was. She had a lot to be grateful for. All that mattered to her at this stage of her life was her family, and it filled her with joy that at this moment in time. Every member of the Scully family was healthy, loved and well-cared for. There was only one person she couldn't be sure about, William. He was the only blind spot on the otherwise colorful family tree, an issue that kept Maggie awake night.

She got up and clicked her tongue when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. "Margaret, your mission as head of this family isn't completed yet," she told herself, "there's one more thing you have to do. Bring that last lost sheep back to the herd." She rubbed her cheeks and smiled at herself. When she opened the door, she was fiercely determined to have one more member of the Scully clan sitting at her Thanksgiving table next year.

She couldn’t wait to make a plan.